I wake up to the realisation that I am still here, a gross and inconvenient interconnected pile of flesh. A great sensation of bursting pressure forms in my bladder, I go to relieve myself, the pain subsides. I lay there for a while longer, feeling my lungs crackle with every intake of breath. My heart beat, irregular as ever, thumps on well enough to keep me alive. My muscles all over ache, my eyes hurt at the sight of light, my brain screams from the pressure demanding to be let out, my joints feel like they're calcifying. The pain reminds me of who I am, and that comforts me.

What I don't trust as my supposed organs that do nothing but continue living without screaming that they are there. Have you ever felt your kidneys scream? Until the day my alcoholism catches up to me and I hear they're whimper, they're nothing to me. What does not scream is not working hard enough, and gets no sympathy nor care from me.

They always told me that our bodies want to exist, that our organs serve us - their great master. But this is false. The organs hold us prisoner, they make demands and threaten, they cause pain and refuse to work and, if we don't appease them, make us ill or die. We are hostages, our organs are captors and I, well, they don't call me Void The Negotiator for nothing. I once negotiated a £40 full body massage into a £115 faecal cleanup fee.

There's a mutiny in my abdomen, and I'm not invited. During the night when my brain thought I was sleeping, I astral projected myself into a being imperceptible to their defences and listened in. They scheme. They plan. They organise in meetings and vote. But there I was, an unknown third party, a spy, the name's Bond, James May, May I listen in and oh god no they saw me.

With no time to lose, I opened my shirt to reveal I had tapped 36 Grenade bars to my chest, totalling over 9500 calories. "I'll do it! I'll release these here and let you deal with the consequences!" I yelled.

"If you do that, you will shit yourself before morning, and be forced to clean up the soiled mattress you sleep on." they replied in eerie unison. "And I don't think you want to do that for the third time this week"

They had a point.

"Ah, but there's just one thing you don't know about me..." I jabbed back. "If I shit myself, and you're to blame, I will eat every nugget, slurp every bit of paste, and wring my bedsheets over my open mouth to send it all back through. You think I'm scared of the taste? I merely have to put up with it for a few minutes, you'll have to put up with it for hours."

I couldn't help but let the smug glean in my eye spread to a grin. I had them, and they knew it.

At this point my bladder cast a nat 20 piss-myself spell and, even though I was astral projecting, the urine visibly started leaking out of the blue-hued apparation that I took the form of. They all pointed and laughed.

This is just like my first job all over again. Is there no battle I can win?