“Jackie boy. How’d it go with the lady?” Dark said with a familiar grin, he wiped off his pressed grey shirt and adjusted a few buttons. “No wait. Don’t tell me…” He put his first two fingers on his forehead, closed his eyes and drew his mouth into a thin line as if to feign deep concentration. “You guys broke up!” he stated flatly, the smirk returning to his face once again.

Maybe I’ve spent too many lives as an outsider, poor and resentful, to really be able to enjoy true wealth without sinking into self-hatred. Maybe it’s the voice of the Fox, reminding me that the whole business is just another kind of lie, an illusion which distracts people from the real business of life; survival.

Maybe I’ve spent too many lives as an outsider, poor and resentful, to really be able to enjoy true wealth without sinking into self-hatred. Maybe it’s the voice of the Fox, reminding me that the whole business is just another kind of lie, an illusion which distracts people from the real business of life; survival.

Neither of those statements is entirely true. Or even a little bit true.

The way he said it helped of course; if you took a BBC radio presenter from the 40s and made him eat nothing but plum pudding drenched in warm chocolate sauce and drink nothing but brandy mixed with caramel for about thirty years while being voice-coached by an angel then he might just be able to recreate the hypnotic posher-than-thou sound of Gregory’s voice. You could put that voice on a plate with cream and eat it for dessert.