“You’re beyond my help,” Victor said, and his heart was heavy, but his voice was steady, as were the hands on his triple-barrelled shotgun. “You wear nothing but purple robes and fake tentacles. You destroyed all my sushi knives.”
Igor giggled triumphantly at the mention of the sushi knives.
“I spoke to a professor today,” Victor continued. “A sudden head blow might cure you, but I couldn’t chance it. Regrettably, I have decided to send you to Snarkham Asylum.”
Igor spoke without gibbering for the first time in days. “Oh, no,” he said. “I am not worthy of this honor….”