Over in LFN-land, Michael's having a bad day:
Michael walked out into the evening, the obligatory rain fell steadily on the city streets as he borrowed his brother-in-law Jacques’ motorcycle and sped away. His hair rubber-banded away from his grief-stricken face allowing him a deportment that said, ‘don’t fuck with me’, suiting the man to a tee. The motorcycle’s protective headgear was a perfect fit with its black shiny plastic form guarding Michael’s noble head and he donned it following local helmet laws.
But no matter how bad it is, at least he's following local helmet laws.
Michael took a turn off the highway and came to a grabble road lined by a chain link fence.
Um.
Michael’s world turned dark in an instant, he became inanimate in the blink of an eye and as of that moment his worries became a mutt point.
It's a mutt point! Not even a dog cares about this point!
Repression, anguish, vicissitude, chaotic dreams, dramatic glimpses at inhuman behavior, adverse reactions, virtue-less obligations, these were all premonitions that lined Nikita’s mind as she toiled at some senseless task.
These were all...premonitions?
But what Madeline didn’t know was that Nikita and Michael were so in sink with each other that they communicated in a different level deeper than any other two humans.
Any other two humans EVER. In a sink.