"Sup," iCeD said, his voice cracking with pubescent glee. iCeD removed his lensless sunglasses and placed them on the top of his head, which was immaculately trimmed of every hair. Jazz knew at once that this was his time to act. Reaching for his butterknife, he screeched with the fury of a thousand suns and went at Dethman's sweet Persian lover. He knew where to aim - the freakish, unexplained lump at the zenith of his head that would have been his Achilles' heel (if Achilles' heel had been a freakish, unexplained lump on Achilles' head).