I sat down at the main living room screen, casually browsing through Illuminated records for the umpteenth time, doing small audits on everyone's stuff, making sure resources weren't vanishing into thin air. Self-supporting... sponsored, he checks out.. hmm, a little-affiliated one, if he wants to do that he can go right ahead, he doesn't have to accept our support if he doesn't want it. He checks out, just a small private guy. I don't mind them, especially since what he's doing- public television, with a free forum for anyone who wants to show up and blab their points. That's a good thing, especially since he's broadcasting on channels few people watch anyway, making the assorted fringe groups with little or no Illuminated influence feel like they are being heard by the gullible masses. Freedom of speech is great when no one listens.

I went through the list in alphabetical order. I would have a servant do this, but they don't yet have the eye for what I'm looking for. He checks.. and he checks... he probably checks, but I gotta be sure. I sent out an unidentified high-level request for the specific sales information of Timothy Heilker's merchandise, which is equipment for mental hospitals. Most of the larger mental hospital organizations are run by Illuminati anyway, but there's a few smaller ones that aren't.

She checks.. him? Hmm, these expenses seem to add up, but they don't seem to make a lot of sense, what the hell would a 'youth camp' need with hospital restraints? (Bought, coincidentally, from Timothy Heilker.) Oh. Now I get it. I've heard about these places before, when the old Dominator was teaching me about self-contained control facilities. James Baker is running a 'boys' ranch', one of those little places out in the woods (in this case, the desert), where parents send unruly children who they feel need more 'supervision' than they can give. It's great- usually the cops and other local authorities would send kids to those sorts of places, but then it's state business, and people get worried when the state interferes- so records are kept, severely limiting our abilities (at least for the next decade or two- we're slowly shifting from normal record-keepers to servants and Enforcers in many areas, and of course we hack computerized records all the time.) to use them as we'd like, which is to cull the true threats and possible servants from the mix of delinquents. We can still do it, of course, it's just harder and requires more resources.

But, when a parent sends his kid there, it's far, far different. The state is only minimally involved. The parent expects harsh discipline, usually the harsher, the better. Their own conscience and morals prevent them from doing something that they hire someone else to do- much like a hit man. Only in this case, it's multi-layered child control, attempting to use force to turn them from rebellious youth into good, God-fearing, obedient citizens. Of course, given the natural human streak of rebellion, this is sometimes impossible (of course, when it works, the camps always let everyone know about it!) - so instead they just get turned into petty criminals, graffiti-sprayers and lawn-defacers. Slightly annoying, but harmless.

This guy seems to be in order.. hey, wait. The figures add up all right, but they're unreal. He owns not one, but a string of these camps, but even so, that income is up there. I checked one out- ironically named 'The Help Center', located in western Nevada, there's 189 'enrolled'. Yet, that place reports income of $2,534,400/yr. I opened up Calculator and checked it. No... way. Wait, maybe it's my judgment that's at fault. I took a look at it to make sure that all their income was from clients - ah, no, it's not, they get donations from private citizens. Like they need the cash. I looked into this guy a bit more, got a bit suspicious, and -- hey, wait a fucking minute. This guy has all his ten staff members as Enforcers (he is a fourth level), yet he ordered five sets of extra implants, with no clue as to their use. What gives? If he's doing what I think he's doing, he's putting us all at risk.

"Oh, shit!", said that usual high voice from behind me. Once again, Sarah was looking over my shoulder, seeing what I'm doing. Not that I mind- I've come to the realization that the stealthier she is, the better. She doesn't bug me when she comes in and she doesn't let herself be known until it's necessary.

"Yup. Looks like this guy's doing something very, very bad over there."

"You gonna raid him?"

"No. I can't afford that in secrecy damages. I'm tempted to just blow the whistle the usual way and have him executed or something, but with this... who the hell knows what could happen. And I don't plan on telling any more people than I have to."

Billy came down the stairs curiously, wondering what the fuss was about. "What's going on?"

"Billy- read this." He did, and didn't seem too surprised.

"So he's hoarding them, or..?"

"He runs a youth camp." Billy took about a twentieth of a second to make the connection.

"Howard, you really don't think he's using them on those kids do ya?" There was some irony in that- most of 'those kids' are years older than we are.

"Looks like it." Which is another problem. It only looks like it. Who's to prove he's not storing them in little sealed plastic bags in his desk somewhere, waiting for the chance to legitimately acquire servants?

"Well, I remember you distinctly saying you planned to implant everyone." That would have been funny if I was in the mood for humor.

"Yeah. Not like this! Five deaths with cloned or questionable bodies? Oh, we can keep investigators out, cover it all up, but you know as well as I do, bad shit happens! One false move and he could as one of his last actions blow the secrecy on them and there could be a panic. It'd take us years to clean that shit up. We need to find out what he's doing, exactly."

"A young Enforcer?", suggested Sarah.

"No, no, if the guy came around he could tell. But.. oooh. Hey." I grinned, and checked the age range for that camp. "Oh, Paaaaul!", I shouted into the intercom. Billy looked at me with his mouth stark open, unable to speak for lack of words. Sarah shrugged as to say 'Didn't I say he was useful for spy shit?'

"What?", he said in an 'I'm here, and I bet you're going to use me now' voice. I could hear assorted sounds of gunfire and splats in the background, he's playing Starcraft.

"You are to put on normal clothing and eat a good meal 71 and a half hours from now. You are to be ready for further instructions 72 hours from now." It takes about 60 hours for agents to set up a normal family lifestyle, with a house, used car, and all the trappings- but I like to give them more time for more thoroughness.

"What for?"

"You, my dear Paul, are going spying."

"Oh fucker, can't you make Sarah do it?" The rest of us shared a chuckle.

"Not in this place."

"This wouldn't happen to be one of those boys' ranch places would it?" From the way he said it, I could tell what the term meant to him. It meant pain, control, and rigorous 'discipline', things the Illuminati have phased out. It meant a palace of horrors, where you can't do anything and only things are done to you. It's probably an extremely bad fear for normal children who know about it, and it probably brings back bad memories for him.

"How the fuck did you know?!", I shouted. Paul's getting damn good at this. I took an instant to ponder the existence of actual telepathy- nah, it's totally unproven. But this is getting ridiculous.

"Educated guess. By the way, those places suck."

"Yup. Which is why you're going. You don't have to be worried, though, as soon as you find out what he's doing,", I said, playing on (and with!) his emotions, "you'll be back to your regular hell in no time!" Something about what I said made Billy hold his forehead, bend over a bit, and get giddy.

"Yes, I guess it does need some variety.", Paul muttered. I turned the intercom off.

"Howard, can't you send someone else?!", said Billy, semi-annoyed once he figured out exactly what Paul would go through.

"Hardly. I don't want to discuss this one with anyone until I'm sure. Any contact could trigger something that I don't want, namely all hell breaking loose. Relax. He's in any trouble and I'll get medieval on this guy's ass."

"You can't teleport, Howie.. what if he's dead before you show up?", Billy said.

"Not likely. The worst thing that could happen to him is that he gets found out, and then we'll have a brief hostage situation." Very brief. Paul looked at me and walked down the stairs. "He's not dumb enough to kill him, especially if he finds out who he is."

"Are you betting my life on someone not being stupid enough to kill me?", Paul asked.

"Yes, I am.", I answered. Not a bad bet, really.

"So much for that twelfth birthday party I wanted.", he replied. Sarah found that funny and I pondered how Paul might die if he did. They probably wouldn't kill him there, they'd.. oh, wait.

"Wait a minute. What if they take him somewhere else?", Billy asked.

"It works like this, Billy.", Sarah said, as if instructing. "We contact Paul on a regular basis. If we can't get through, we use Illuminated methods of data acquisition or we send operatives. We continue until we feel the need to end the mission." I don't mind her use of the royal 'we'. She is, after all, the highest assassin of the Illuminati.

"What I mean, is exactly what are we going to do if he gets sent somewhere else, we want to end the mission, and we have to go and retrieve him? What if this guy takes him somewhere normal and we'd have to sift through normals to find him?!"

"Billy, I've had to find and kill a disguised Illuminatus three times in the middle of normal areas before. Finding and retrieving is actually more difficult, but it won't be that hard."

"Speaking of which, is that what you're going to do, disguise Paul?" Yup. "But how do you plan to keep track of him, though?"

"Hmm... subdermal implants?", I figured.

"Subdermal?", said Paul in a panicky voice.

"Under the skin, Paul.", Sarah said. Paul gasped, shuddered, and made an 'ugh' face. "But it doesn't matter. All that stuff's done at Northberg..."

"Yeah.. hmm, I'm pretty sure they do a full body cavity search...", I said.

"Full body cavity search? You mean they're going to..", Paul said, mildly afraid.

"Yes, Paul. They are. But since this guy's Illuminated he's not going to do anything esoteric or permanently hurtful. He can't, it would attract attention.", I pointed out.

"Well, good.. guys, I really don't wanna listen to this.. Howard, just make your damn decision and then tell me what's going on.", he said, running up to Billy's room. I let him go. I can't say that I blame him for that- no one wants to listen to their pain being discussed, especially not Paul after what Damien did to him.

"You're not going to..", Billy said, obviously going to finish with 'keep Paul here to listen' or somesuch.

"No. I'm not.", I said, shaking my head. "I don't need to and he doesn't need it." He doesn't have to be in on our discussion of Baker, either.

"That guy doesn't want to attract any more attention than he has to, especially if he's running what I think he's running.", I said.

"What if he tries it on Paul?" I forgot to consider that.. there's no way I can be slipping, is there?

"Then he'll really be surprised, won't he? I hope that doesn't happen. He might freak out and kill him, or try some other shit."

"Some other shit, maybe. I don't think he'll kill him.", Sarah replied.

"Yeah, he'll check to see who he is, and when he finds out, he's just going to head for the fucking hills." Discretion is the better part of stupidity. "Of course, I'm going to have guys making sure James doesn't go very far."

"Let's hope this works and that Paul doesn't go any crazier than he already is.", Billy said.

"He won't. That's why I can do this with complete confidence, because I know he has the resilience for this."

"I've got it.", Sarah said. "We don't need Northberg for this. I can put a good transmitter in the back of his neck, covered by hair, stitch it up no problem. He can have a list of code phrases, we can make sure he calls regularly, and we get a good idea of what's going on as well as a signal if we decide to raid the place. Oh, I'm such a fool... I don't need to."

"Why not?", Billy asked.

"How could I forget? The implants already transmit, Billy." Aaack! That's what I forgot to do! I never turned off their implant transmissions! I was going to do that back at the beginning of the first test! "They transmit a unique, coded signal every three seconds. It takes very little of the brain's energy because the signal is very weak. The transmission can be turned off, but his are almost certainly still going."

"Yes, we can pick it up.", I said, annoyed with myself. "Both of you get dressed, get down to Northberg, and get your implant transmitters turned off. Now. And don't go hinting at what I'm going to do with Paul or try to ask for other solutions to this." Billy, I'm sure, would love to find some way of doing this that spares his friend some misery, but I'm not going to let him jeopardize things by asking around. They left shortly.

"So.. how long am I going to be there?", Paul asked when they were gone.

"About three weeks tops if you can't find anything. If you can immediately, it's a very short stay." Paul looked downcast and started to go back upstairs. "Come here for a bit.", I told him, and he did, stopping about a foot from me. I reached out and hugged him with my right arm (damn, he's soft- I don't have any females this soft, and I had a temptation to get one), gently mussing his hair with my left. "Paul, it's just a spy mission. Your nightmare's over."

"But Billy's aren't.", he replied.

"Yeah, I wish there was a way to do something about that. I can't afford to fuck with the implants or his brain, and neither can he, really." Paul understood. "Okay.", I said, letting go of him. "You can go back up if you want." He did.

When Billy came back from Northberg, he asked the same question about how long Paul'd be there and got the same answer.

The next two days were spent as we usually do, but I could feel the worry in Billy, as much as he tried to hide it. It's so much different when it's him or Sarah, isn't it? They're engineered. Sarah would have no problem staying for days in a strange place of possible mild horrors. Normals are so frail...

Paul didn't seem that worried- perhaps he was hiding it well or just not feeling it anymore- when it was finally time for him to get ready. Sarah taught him various specifics of spying and twenty different code phrases. And then she brought out the small pieces of fake skin. "All right, disguise time.", Sarah said, applying the strips of fake skin to his face. "Now, look, these things are meant to be worn a long time, so don't worry about that. Oil will go through them to the surface, just like natural skin, and you'll be able to wash your face okay. But they can peel off." Paul did, indeed, look substantially different with the disguise on.

With a quick "Goodbye, Paul." from me and Billy (and I could tell he hated saying it), he was gone.

Billy was nervous practically the whole time Paul was gone, making no secret of it. It's okay. I was starting to get a bit nervous myself, even though Paul reported daily with messages of 'finding nothing'. Why, though? Why get nervous over something like that? Fuck it, I might as well face it- I care about him. Not as much as I do an engineered, but yes, he's special, with all the qualities that make a good friend and servant. He's still going to finish this, though, and I'm still going to use him again the next time it's wise to do so. I hold pragmatism in high esteem. In the middle of that time period, I showed Billy and Sarah the puppies- they were growing up well, but at drastically different rates; that's what happens when you randomly mix engineered and normal DNA.

"So, Paul, how's it all coming along, okay in there?", Sarah had the agent playing Paul's aunt ask, about 88 hours after I'd sent him.

"Yeah.. yeah I think life here is pretty good, they still feed me, everything's A-OK." That means 'I'm really starting to get suspicious but I don't have any hard evidence.' "So, yeah..." Something sharply cut his words off.

"Sorry, Mrs. Abrams. That's all the time we're allowed to give, other people need to use the phone.", a male Enforcer said. He's using the basic voices for public Enforcers? Although normals won't recognize it, that's arrogant in a potentially secrecy-damaging way. "Rest assured that your son is perfectly healthy and is receiving the best care we can give." I'm sure he is.. "Have a nice day."

No.. I don't think today is going to be a nice day at all..

"Do you smell it, Howie?", Billy asked me. I knew immediately what he meant. Does it smell? Sniff, sniff..

"Yeah..", I began. I started sniffing harder. Of course it smells. It smells foul, like Cthulu's microwaved shit mixed with rotten oysters, something I don't want to touch. It smells wrong. But at the same time, it smells like.. rage. "Yeah.. yeah I smell it, I can't help from smelling it, same as you!! Billy!! Sarah!! Get ready then let's get over there and let's ROCK!!" Someone is going to die. A lot of people are going to die. All shall perish; none shall survive. First I'll rip their arms off, then I'll eat their bodies bite by bite. I can't remember the last time I felt this kind of purified hatred.

"Us, Howie?!", Billy asked.

"Yeah.. us." Of course. I want it done right, after all. I went upstairs and got the Micro, although I doubted I'd be able to use it. I hate secrecy. If it wasn't for that, I'd just walk in there and exterminate, using all five hundred megajoules to start my own personal holocaust. I'd laser off Baker's legs just to give him time to scream, then I'd crush his skull with my hands- and I'd have every kid in there chanting my name by the time I walked out. Where the hell's that retrovirus when I need it?

"I'm ready. I suppose we're raiding that asshole the quick way?", Sarah said, as I walked out of my room.

"Oh yeah.", I said, my face twisted in a grimace. I threw the large sliding window open, and walked out.

"So are you going to tell him he's being hasty?", I heard Billy say to Sarah, and he obviously didn't care if I heard him.

"He already knows that.. and that's not going to stop him. I just wish I could go berserk with as much precision as he does." Which is what I'm doing. Going precisely berserk. But no one, and I mean no one, does this to my servant, my organization, and me!!

The jet blasted off like a rocket, and although I didn't send us into space, I stayed high in the stratosphere, immune to radar and normals. There's an Illuminated airfield not more than 15 miles from that concentration camp of his, concealed inside a military base. I asked Sarah what she thought she should bring to the forefront and she ordered assorted cammo gear, weaponry items, a highly-trained Enforcer replacement for one of Baker's trusted assistants (who wasn't at work today- I said a few words and he'd never be at work again), and a corpse in a plastic bag with its head blown off. She worked out the minutia- and, of course, we also knew that Paul's mysterious disappearance didn't have to be worried about. Baker had certainly already arranged that end of it- it's just where he's disappearing to that's at issue.

The disguise/mannerisms replacement would be there, ready to lurk in the shadows and step into the limelight, in a half hour; ten minutes to disguise and mold face, ten minutes to learn mannerisms, ten minutes to memorize names and faces of the boys in the ranch- and it is hellishly easy for us to get that info! It'd take maybe all of fifteen minutes for it to get to us from the installation it came from. It's only the ass kicking I have to worry about, and of course I don't exactly have to worry... but what if- no, he's not that stupid. James knows what killing Paul would do to him, he has to.. he better. That torture chamber is still in perfect working order, no matter how little I use it.

Forty long minutes later (BURN that fuel), I had sunk the jet to the bottom of the base, got the goods, and was being shuttled to another spot- the inside of a normal-looking car, which we exited in a half hour. The replacement Enforcer for Baker's assistant tried to triangulate the signal, but the concrete fucked that up, and all we could tell was that he was on the top floor instead of the basement where everyone assumes this kind of thing goes on. Sarah had selected a side to climb- we flipped over the fence and grappling-hooked our way up all five stories. The guards' movements were watched by the Enforcers, the few on the ground and the one with us, constantly communicating and giving us information on where they were and what they were using. No night goggles, merely flashlights and the ambient light around doors. The windows were barred but that's about it- it's a 'boys' ranch' with only teenagers in it, non-Enforcer guards on patrol, no one's breaking out- and who the hell would ever want to break in? No corner sentries, no spotlights, just silence, crickets, (*SMACK!*) mosquitoes, and us.

We walked along the ceiling with silence, tracking the signal. It was close... close... shit. Paul is less than ten feet away from me, and I'm in the middle of the building. I'm standing directly on top of him. The obvious problem with normal installations is the stealth factor. If we came through the front door, moshing along, we'd have to do a gigantic cover-up afterwards. Sneaking in is not all that easy, as random people tend to be walking the halls at this hour. Sarah thought up ideas and then discarded them. Billy absently scratched his chin. The Enforcer just stood there, looking around for anyone. Well, hell, there's got to be some good way to get in there...

Fuck, is it hot and humid. And there's no rain in sight. As I adjusted the fabric in response (it's good, but it's not made for this), Billy brightened up.

"Heat lightning.", he said, with a slight grin. I immediately got the idea. Setting the Micro for non-visible wavelengths only and setting the power to a little less than half, I raised the weapon into the air, turned on wide-beam, and shot diagonally downward, away from Paul. If anyone else got baked, oh well.

The entire affected ceiling burned and melted with a sharp crack of microwave-induced thunder. They might think it sounded a bit strange, or maybe like an explosion (which will be the normal explanation), but no one is going to question God's miracles. I put the Micro away and brought out the silenced normal weapons. Sure, the locals would have to hear shooting, but not from many people at once.

We leaped down into the hot hole it had left, blasting bullets everywhere. James was about two feet from Paul, with a horrified look on his face as Sarah sent him to Hell. No point wasting words on him. Paul was heavily an\'e6sthetized, and was obviously undergoing implant surgery. Seeing them already there must have really freaked James out.. I shot two idiots in the room without thinking about it (Ugh. Shell casings are weird. Except for this kind of thing, I'm sticking to Illuminated weapons, which don't use them.) and I noticed Billy doing the same. Normal, Enforcer, it doesn't matter, they all have to die. Either from being involved in it, attacking me, or simply being witnesses. Illuminated operations leave no witnesses.

The normals were dead; there were four Enforcers left in the room, pulling their guns and trying to aim at targets they'd never hit. I shot two, Billy shot two, and Sarah didn't get any kills that day except Baker. Blood, corpses, and pieces of internal organs lined the wall and floor of the makeshift surgical room, with Enforcer blood all over the various surgical implements used for opening up Paul's skull, the familiar copper smell of blood mixing in with the ambient antiseptic, the fluorescent lights causing the room's metal objects, the surgical instruments, and the brass shell casings to gleam in the same way. This scene would be a real treat for a normal investigation, if one was ever going to be done.

"Fuck.", Sarah muttered under her breath. "I hate getting guys that you two already did." Two of her non-kills were fools that we shot first.

What happened next was a blur- the trained Enforcer (who also didn't get any kills) took his position, left the 'gunman's' corpse on the floor, gave the plastic bag to Sarah, and Billy re-attached his skull pieces (easier than it sounds- implant surgery tools make it easy) then took a bandage and wrapped it around his head, Billy and I carried his semi-conscious form out the hole in the ceiling, and we got the fuck out of there before anyone came in the room. Getting out of there was easier than getting in, since all the guards had ran inside- Sarah attached the hook, we scurried down, she pressed a button to release the grapple, Billy vaulted over the fence and Sarah and I threw Paul over it into his arms, and we ran out of there and called it a victory. Sarah called in some pseudo-FBI agents to 'investigate', a medical team took care of Paul's started surgery (and the transmitter) within ten minutes, the transportation conga line took us back to the jet, and I knew that there was nothing left to worry about. As for the other implanted children.. I called up a random first-level Illuminatus in the jet and told his secretary that this one was all his to decide, and he would get James's unused resources. I'm not going to fuck with this any longer.

A bit later, Paul, in the middle seat, turned his head and body left and looked at me. The medical team had also injected a semi-powerful anti-an\'e6sthetic into his veins, and Paul had obviously waited until he was fully awake before talking to me.

"Howard?", he said, in a slightly determined, lucid voice.

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever do anything like that to me, ever again." His voice was purposefully restrained- he wanted to scream that at me.

"Which was it, the place or the implantation?"

"The place."

"You've seen worse.", I casually reminded him. For some reason, that phrase made him absolutely livid, and he pulled his left arm across his right side and swung at my face with all the force his backhand could muster- he knew he'd never actually hurt me with normal blows. I was tempted to just take it, but I raised up my right arm and caught his wrist instead.

"DAMN YOU HOWARD!", he screamed at me, his face red as a strawberry and his eyes wet with tears. I let go of his wrist as he yelled at me some more. Might as well let him. I hate being screamed at by agitated Illuminati, but I don't really mind being screamed at by Paul. "You're the fucking DOMINATOR!! You didn't need me to do that! You could have done anything else and yet you did that! I know you don't give a rat's ass about other people's suffering, but I thought you were my friend!" I decided that my ready wisecrack wouldn't be funny to anyone but myself. "You saved me from whatever was going to happen to me when I killed Damien, and then you put me there. First it was extremely bad, next up to bad, then down to very bad and now back up to bad again. Make up your mind." Apparently my logic was in error- they were much more aggressive than I thought. They're taking servants from those places, and I have always felt that mentally traumatized servants are damaged goods and far more dangerous than the regular variety, because insanity and implants simply don't mix. Apparently they don't agree, although I wasn't about to ask Paul any details. "I just had to keep telling myself that I was on a mission."

I just smiled at him. He might have to get used to this.

He just lowered and shook his head, and no one said anything else during our fairly leisurely trip, first to Northberg to get Paul's implant transmitters turned off, then home.

The next day, I examined the Real News and found nothing important I didn't already know. "Dominator raids James Baker!", the headline screamed, and the editor had wisely gone through the trouble of finding out why I did it. There were, indeed, five implanted children- and now that random first level, Akira Mitsuhama, has got them now. What he does with them is his business.

Billy, in his room, was enjoying reading some online normal news. "A job well done.", he muttered aloud.

"I know. I love doing that on short notice.", I told him. It's great being the Dominator. I do the meatgrinding and everyone else does the cleanup.

"Howard, I'm still trying to figure out how you can have a temporary replacement in thirty minutes."

"Easy. Especially in crises, where everyone behaves the same."

"And as for the rest of that.."

"And as for the rest of that, there are a lot of Illuminati who specialize in nothing but secrecy, and Sarah's always been good at it. It's an art and a science."

"So that was my first lesson..", he said.

"No, that was your second lesson. You were subjected to your first lesson.", I reminded him.

"Yeah, I think that was my second lesson too..", said Paul, patting the strip of plastic keeping his head intact. "and I sure learned a lot from it."

"Like what?", I said, grinning a bit.

"Oh, let's see.. how to engage in a direct assault from the ceiling, what that maniac was thinking- other maniacs probably think the same.. how to deal with lots of assholes instead of only one or a few.." I chuckled and Billy grinned. "Oh, yeah, and to maybe think up better ways so you won't tell me to do that shit anymore!" I only smiled at him. If you can out-think me, Paul, you're welcome to do it.

"Paul, there's other ways, but I didn't want to have to warn anyone that I was doing it until I did- you know that."

"Well, it worked, so I guess you're happy..", he said with a sigh. "Now let's just hope there's no more of that shit going around.." Like a contagious virus, one that he's hoping he'll never have to experience again. He wasn't just worried about it- he was terrified.

"Well, if there is, they know to tone it down quite a bit and not make it that easy for me to find out. You all right?" I expected at least a somewhat witty answer to that question.

I got one. "Completely and totally annoyed, amazingly pissed off, and probably going to go completely bonkers by the time I'm thirteen, but otherwise, I'm okay." Billy and I laughed.

"Then it was a success.", I said with a grin. "All right, you two- you know that's not gonna happen again any time soon, so you can probably relax for at least a few weeks." Assuming that the idiots are terrified into not pulling any more stupid shit. "So, Paul- what do you want to do, as of this moment?" There was no purpose for that question. I was simply curious.

"Other than the usual, which is get the hell out of this place and never come back, I want to hurt someone or something, anything, and I don't care what with. Watching you three murder that bastard and all his pals wasn't enough."

"So I suppose you'll be good at Quake right about now."

"Not good in your terms, just bloodthirsty."

"That'll do." Gibs ahoy.