The party is broken down and everyone's left and so a boy comes up from the basement and begins to walk the halls of the villa, spewing vomit every few minutes. He's obviously a Baroline victim. As he's soon beaten down by the zealous guards, the boy's body lays in the middle of a room surrounded by an attentive crowd. Balzac immediately jumps to the occasion and starts to peddle the boy's dead body.

“Well, sir, there's nothing like the ass of an eight year old boy. This is Stevenson-grade prime fucking material right here. Why, I had my first piece of ass just like this very specimen when I was sixteen years old. I bit off his tongue so he'd stop screaming and that's a problem you don't have to face because this child is unconscious, people. Completely unconscious in a way that you can't help but notice.”

Dr. Baker stands from examining the boy and says, “He's not unconscious; those monsters beat him dead.”

“You heard the man,” Balzac continues, “not only is the boy out of commission, he's actually dead. Won't have to bite his tongue off in this scenario…unless that's what you're into. I'm taking bidders right now. This boy is full of vitamins and proteins, as you can see by the thick mane of hair that frequents his forehead.”
Someone shouts out, “Is English your first language?” but is shouted down by offers of 60, 70, 90 pietas.

“I think you people are sick,” Dr. Baker says. “This boy needs a full metabolic panel, full blood work, and changed of venue. I'm ready to leave this party because you gentlemen are showing me nothing but the evils of humanity.”
Dr. Baker then ducks as a wine glass flies at his head and I jump to his aid, the economy of need at work again. He's my connection to the Baroline unless I try to score on the street or at the market. I see the whole room in one glance and instantly map out the troublemakers.

With speed I didn't know I had, I quickly do a routine of tossing lamps, dodging shrapnel, and stuffing pietas in hands. The crowd shifts to the other side of the room, closing in on the body. Dr. Baker is allowed to escape.
“Now that the possession game is out of the way,” Balzac is saying, “let's hear from the women. How many of you want a baby to drag around town, to show off your reproductive capacities? Shit, does a crow fly? Let's get back to the men. An ass like this will run you over 100 pietas on the street and is not inert. It talks back. Let's hear bids!”

But the boy wakes up and takes active part in the bidding process, telling his story along the way.
“These conchitas always run grimy over cabasa,” he's saying, probably making up words to fill in what he doesn't know of English. “Why, my madre just turn to liquid one day, shit her soul out through her asshole and then the rest came out. It was mazotto, she shit until her body was shorter and it retreated down her frame, right out her asshole until the rectum was all that was left.

“I ask my dad, 'Padre, why does mom shit herself out?' He look at me, say, 'God's will, she won't waste no more of my money on food for you. She cannibal, she cannibalizing herself, eating her own rosito until the asshole all that's left.' Padre keep that in his pocket because it's the only hole she refused him.”

Balzac patters over the boy, around his statements: “This boy stands up to his old man, eats his mom's asshole, you heard it here! Rimjobber deluxe, just like his old man!” There's confusion over this as many people think Balzac is the boy's father and begin to clear out, this notion even too decadent for them. You must have some principles.

“Not me,” Balzac's explaining. “Not the kid's father. Why, I don't even know where I'd shoot a load in a woman that would keep the damn thing.”
“Me padre is mucho mucho lush,” the boy says under Balzac's speech.
“Grade-A-“
“Ten cocks in my face-“
“No bullshit-“
“Threw me down some stairs-“
“Cum on his face if you want-“
“Cum on my face, no-“
“Watch him shit your cum out-“
“I swallow cum-“
“Pay now, get what you need. This boy could be your last chance to have such a piece of ass. I'll offer a full refund if you're not satisfied. After all, I'm not an animal.”