'Arry set his ship to autopilot and walked out of the bridge along a well-lit corridor. Al followed him closely, not wanting to get left behind.

“So,” said 'Arry, staring at Al through his one good eye. His bad eye was hidden under his glasses and it was rumoured that it was actually an ultra-magnified range finder to help with his distance shooting. “Aren't you going to thank me?”

“Thank you sir,” said Al quickly, suddenly petrified by the company he was keeping.

'Arry cackled, a deep throaty laugh.

“You don't have to be scared of me, whatever the stories are. I saved you didn't I?”

“Yes sir,”

“'Arry,”

“Sorry, 'Arry sir,” panicked Al. “But why exactly did you save me?”

“I've had a bad day too,” he stated. 'Arry paused and looked around thoughtfully. “Ever thought we look similar?”

“I guess so…” Al nodded as 'Arry stopped and pressed a button on the wall.

“The news,” he said succinctly.

“....There have been reports of thirty thousand black haired males killed in the last six hours around the Outer Galaxies. Quinton Marks is on the scene in Outer Schindolos.

Yes, thank you Jane. Another seven men have been killed in this town alone tonight, all by groups of people chasing them along the streets. The bodies are piling up. Two men were decapitated, one man was burned. Another was shot with a pocket laser pen and two more were crushed in a stampede. The final man is rumoured to have been killed by nothing but implied guilt. The senseless killing goes on. None of these men have done anything wrong, with the exception of looking a little bit like Jake Spencer...”

Suddenly it was clear to Al. 'Arry had felt sorry for him, because he too had been being chased by members of the public all day long too. Get that, a sympathetic assassin!

“So 'Arry,” he asked, suddenly inquisitive. “Where are we going?”

“You, my friend, are going to relax in here until we are safe again.”

'Arry waved his hand and a door slid open. Al walked into a giant but cosy lounge room where forty something skinny black haired men were sitting drinking tea. He waved a butler over who silently poured Al a cupful.

“I,” he continued, “am on a mission. I am going to kill Jake Spencer.”