““The blood cyst works kind of like a whip, doesn’t it?” I asked. “For the sheep to manipulate the host.” “Exactly. Once that forms, there’s no escaping the sheep.” “So what on earth was the Boss after, doing what he was doing?” “He went mad. He probably couldn’t take the heat of that blast furnace. The sheep used him to build up a supreme power base. That’s why the sheep entered him. He was, in a word, disposable. The man was zero as a thinker, after all.” “So when the Boss died, you were earmarked to take over that power base.” “I’m afraid so.” “And what lay ahead after that?” “A realm of total conceptual anarchy. A scheme in which all opposites would be resolved into unity. With me and the sheep at the center.” “So why did you reject it?” Time trailed off into death. And over this dead time, a silent snow was falling. “I guess I felt attached to my””
