Victor is just constantly tallying the list of registered accounts, comparing it to his score, and frowning in sadness. He doesn't sleep, he barely eats, and all the lights in his den are out, leaving only the glow of the monitor itself to highlight the sallow bags growing under his eyes. He hasn't shaved in days. Work has stopped trying to call him. Now there is only the score, and the heroin-like high of validation that it brings.
