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Defunct

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“When you are defunct, you come to me little man,” he said in a stern, remorseless voice.

“But… I’m not broke…” he said standing on the table, his head arched back to see the massive man’s face, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“That’s not what the report filed on you says,” he replied grabbing the paper on the table and flicking it with his free hand, “Ah yes, slave number 6738029872083008.”

“We have numbers?” the little man asked.

Lowering the paper so he could see the tiny, “Of course you do. How do you expect us to keep track of you?”

“You make it sound like we’re just objects…”

“You are,” he interrupted coldly.

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