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Having killed two Evil Minions—and placed them under an electronically-based preservation field, which I’m hoping everyone will take on faith—Reynard decides to have some breakfast, as you do.
Since he is a Pressman, whose cyber-implants run on both electricity and dense biofuel, he does not waste his time with cornflakes.
He is my hero in all sorts of ways, is Reynard. . . .
Reynard stepped over the body on his way to the kitchen.
I followed him. “We need to report this.”
“Yes,” he said, “but it would be somewhat inconvenient to do so before your trial.” He went to the fridge and removed several items with little nutritional value, including two flavors of ice cream, a can of whipped cream, and a large jar of bright red maraschino cherries. “A full report and recording has been sent to the Police on time delay,” he said, taking a large bowl down from a cupboard, “triggered for twenty minutes after your trial is underway—I will pay any levied fines.” He looked up and caught me staring. “Would you care for some toast?”