Last night’s kill count: 1. Did you imagine yourself safe, ensconced within a gap betwixt cinder blocks? A king in your fortress of stone? Fool. Weakling. I wield the power of poison and flame. Your attempts at concealment were laughable. Your castle might as well have been constructed of the wind. Let your corpse serve as mockery of your efforts. Your remains the punchline of your pathetic attempt to escape me. Do you not laugh, other scorpions? Or perhaps you prefer to tremble?