He served his sinister novitiate at the Crash Madonna's side, learning about benevolent psychopathology firsthand. To his formal lab coat, he had added accrotemonts indicating his own warped obsessions with speed and destruction.
As they stood on the deck of the observation platform, The Crash Madonna pointed to a helicopter locked into a doom spiral, smoke billowing from its fuel tank, as if she were noting a beautiful natural phenomenon. Left of shot, her heavy-duty rifle lay propped against the railing, next to a table full of cocktail drinks.