“They say it’s unlucky to urinate in the waters of Candirú,” he said. “It’s true. There’s a parasitic fish in the river that’ll swim up your urethra and get wedged in good and proper. Very painful. Don’t risk it, but if you must, the Commissioner might be able to remove it without calling for medevac.” The smirk that had appeared on my face at the word “urinate” slowly transformed into a look of sheer horror; my smothered chuckle ended in a sickened gulp. “Oh. You’re not joking, are you?” Fergus scowled down at me from his two-meter-plus height. “I do not joke. My job is not a joking matter.”
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