It's dark back here behind the shops, out of the way of the open town square, and a metal grille in the wall to your right blows hot air in your face. It smells of grease, the fried remains of what might once have been potatoes, and meat so processed it's practically vegetarian.

In front of you, the bum from the dumpster sits rocking back and forth. He's backed up against the wall, and he's staring at you with eyes so wide you can practically see his skull.

"Pu... puh..." he mutters. "Please... duh-duh-don't..."

You stare at him, frowning slightly. His head is bruised in a way that's making your stomach rumble.

He continues to rock and mumble. "Please don't... don't eat my brain..."