Addison Things were getting rough-his mother had always plotted to kill him, but to date she had never contracted out the job to zombies. He thought he had thrown her off his trail by operating only under the code-name Addison, but obviously it hadn’t worked. No doubt it was his teeth-the woman was obsessed with them. If they weren’t essential to the future he would have handed them over years ago, but the stakes were too high for compromise. It was bad enough she had gotten his baby teeth, but he hadn’t been fully read into the situation in those days. Addison slumped against the beige sofa, careful to keep his face in the appropriate demeanor of a drug-hazed patient and pretending to watch the 80s sitcom on the flat-screen idiot box for the benefit of the cameras disguised as smoke detectors. He was in the dayroom, a large airy space well-lit by sky lights, with colorful but not too energetic paintings hanging on pastel walls.
