Sex and death, the Burroughs mechanism of reality tripping!
Beefcake Burroughs had just fled, dead of auto-erotic asphyxiation between the legs of a whore.
Gumshoe Gad Gosh ignored the hysterical woman and plucked a hair from the head of his prey. He popped a pill of homebrewed Instajaculate and jumped, the end of his tie attached to a ceiling fixture causing his neck to crack and his legs to arc into a wide Y.
Spurting into the tabula rasa of womb memory, he waited, biding his time in a warm amniotic dream plunging into the frigid reality of rough prodding hands and stale breath then the warmth of breast to breast to breast, the love of mothers and fathers and friends and the delight of first moments, playing the role for the thousandth time with the patience of a method actor, until one day, he sighted Beefcake Burroughs at the play yard, his usual antagonism mowing down the weaker physiques of the generation.
Gumshoe Gad Gosh grinned.
A pedestrian at the crosswalk saw this and was chilled. This would be her last thought when she died thirteen years later, the memory of that baring of teeth that did not belong on the face of a child.
As in countless stories before and countless stories forevermore, the pure archetype Gumshoe Gad Gosh, mythical Protagonist, took the first step, for the nth time, towards the eternal Antagonist.