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George and Joe lived in the Monster's Arms. Every morning, Orville paid them a visit and snuck looks at George's thumbs. They were intact.
George wanted to have a son, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Orville's visits grew shorter, and Orville's manner grew more irritated. Still, George had no son.
One day, he waited until Joe was napping, and slipped out through the iron-maiden elevator, right down into the utilidor.
The tram driver recognised him and took him out to the cabin. The last mile of the utilidor was dusty and disused. George leaped off the tram and walked quickly to the cabin, his heart racing. It had been so long since he'd seen Bill and little Tom. He missed them terribly.
The little cabin was even smaller than George remembered it, and it looked sad, sagging and ramshackle. He hesitated at the door, then, feeling a stranger, knocked.
There was movement inside, but no voices, and the door stayed shut. George opened the door.
It was a disaster. The kitchen cupboards were smashed in, the little table knocked over and splintered, the bedding scattered and soiled. Deep shadows collected in the corners.
"Bill?" George called, softly. A shadow stirred, an indistinct figure within its depths.
"Bill, it's George. I missed you. I need to talk with you. I'm confused."