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“Excuse me, it's time for medication. You must leave. Rick must rest.”

Corinne and Peter slowly left the room. The boy dressed in a white robe kindly accompanied them to the exit.

“Is he always like this?” Peter asked intrigued.

“Oh, no. There are worse days. Some days he thinks he's Superman or even God.”

“How could our great world hero look so bad?”

“The last great battle in Dallas. A fight to the death against Patrick Swuaize.”

“Wow...”

“Yes, Patrick, the King of smokers was superior in everything. Style, movement, strength, performance... He was the only smoker capable of dancing, singing and putting a cigarette butt in his mouth all at the same time.”

“How could he...?”

“Beat him? He only had one chance. He grabbed his old Texan hat, and throwing it towards Patrick's face, he managed to create a little distraction. If Patrick fell, the rest of the smokers would be history, the gregarious instinct of the smokers encouraged them to choose a leader, so if Patrick fell, the smokers wouldn't know where to go. Smokers have always needed icons to continue to exist. And Patrick was the greatest of them. Our great hero knew it, so he played his last card. Humanity's last chance. With his perfected Karate technique, he made one last flying kick less than a meter away from Patrick's face. And he did it. The body of the famous smoker fell to the ground, but the smoke intake had been excessive. Anyone else would have died, or even worse. But not him. Not our great hero. However, his mind, filled with all that crap, simply broke. Since then he is in neuropsychiatric treatment, away from all those he saved in life.”