Joey was spasming in the park with people carefully walking around him – except for the guy who stole his wallet – when he realised her was actually being scanned by a level nine Xnylonian cellular analyser. Joey put the whole anaphylactic shock thing on hold for a moment and looked up in surprise.

    The man watching him was dressed in a neat grey business suit, with bowler hat and umbrella, and he was carrying a rolled up Paradopolis Times under his arm. Except he didn’t really look like that at all when Joey squinted and saw him as he truly was.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Entity known as Joey Z?” the man in the bowler asked. He handed a document to the Naiucluvian wanderer.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Who wants to know?” Joey demanded, checking the paper he’d just been given.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Oh, I’m just a process server,” the stranger told him, tipping his hat then vanishing in a field of dull grey sparkles.

    Joey read the paper. It indicted him for the destruction of the Shee-Yar Imperium, the murder of over ninety billion beings.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I never murdered ninety billion beings!” Joey protested. “It’s a bum rap!”

    It went on to explain that he’d therefore been scheduled for cosmic deletion, and politely explained that he had twenty-four hours to put his affairs in order.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t have affairs,” Joey wailed. “I wish I had affairs.”

    He went back to spasming on the ground for a while and worried about what to do next.

Only if you're being treated by Dr Mary Pfeffercorn, a.k.a. Mary Prankstar