"You put me in a coma instead of siccing a monster on me." You reply as you pull the snug lid off slowly. "That hardly counts as... saving... my...."

The lips around the cigarette turn upwards as John raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe that covers it then?" He asks, striking the wheel and lighting the edge of his Silk Cut.

In your hands, nestled in a nest of red and yellow streamers, lies a wet lump. Pale pink flesh crisscrossed with tiny black veins. A disgusting sheen still shows on it as the light makes it glisten like defrosting meat. You toss the box out of instinct and watch as the lump, about the size of a golf ball, squelches on your floor. You look up at John in horror and see him wiggling his fingers.

"Ta-da. How's my magic now, ya git?"

>Punch John in the face.
>Hug John.
>"What the fuck. What did you do? WHEN did you do this?"
>"How the hell is that possible? You told me that your magic couldn't get the tumor."
>"What's the catch? I know there's a catch with this shit."
>Write-In