Rachel and June belong to me. Everyone who is recognizable belongs to Marvel. They are used without permission purely for entertainment purposes. No money is made off of this. Everyone else is an innocent bystander. :) Also, the idea probably isn't unique (someone told me there is a kill your favorite character challenge out there -- I am just too lazy to find out whose challenge it is). Send comments to ckazmierc@aol.com PS this is in a train of consciousness To know whom you worship, let me see you in your shop, let me overhear you in your taste, let me know how you rent your houses, how you get your money, how you keep it, how it is spent. The sacramental test of your religion is not your Sunday idly spent, not the words of David or Jesus which you repeat; it is your week-day life--itsis your work and not your words. --Theodore parker Undoing. By kaz Everything would have been fine. He could have just kept doing what he had been doing without any problem. Well, a few raised eyebrows. Nothing much. That was until the body count started. Excuse me. When the children started dying. It wasn't the government mages who got hurt that did it. They had to clean up after a few idols were broken; idols which released some things that had to manipulated back to the seven -- oops -- nine realms. That could have easily happened to anyone. How could anyone who hadn't been an apprentice know? Even though Rachel got torn up a bit in it. It was the kids. Nine of them. Dead of biological warfare. A terrorist act. The jerk had blown up the local anti-body manufacturer. The doctors in charge only had enough to cure half of the one-room school house in the small Iowa town. They could have rationed out the medication -- maybe added antibiotics -- but all the kids might have died then. They, the doctors, sent out for more but the closest manufacturer was across the bridge from where I am now. There was no way to get it there in time when the diagnosis was correctly made. I could have cared less for their teacher or parents, but the kids? With their whole lives ahead of them? I could have forgiven him. Until Rachel pointed out that there were signs where he had obviously been. Sings on what was manufactured there and why. I do believe her words were "Jesus, if it is obviously a biological health hazard you are dealing with -- isn't it fucking logical to make sure you know what in the hell you are blowing up and not just take the whole building out. How much of an idiot is this guy? Friggin' lap dog who never questions his role till now decides to..." But I digress. And paraphrase. I still could have forgiven him. Till I saw the tape of him going in and destroying the place. Okay, so there might have been some dangerous stuff stock piled there. But give me a break -- the place had documentaries done on it and its work. He could have gone to the internet and ... the kids would still be alive. The end point is that he didn't do enough checking on his sources before acting. And that makes him a threat. Ignorance makes him dangerous. Not that we don't all go off half cocked at times. But not like this. Not without triple checking our sources. Even a double check would have worked. Does the average person in this country know how many terrorists acts occur here on a daily basis? How many bases were overrun doing the cold war? How many citizen where killed on there own ground by our 'foes'? Or our 'allies'? Probably not. Unless they listen to Public Broadcasting. Always someone on the radio picking it up. Maybe a line or two in college text book if you are a criminology major -- but... How many people who think the government is a war-monger would suddenly change their oppion? Thank the gods that level heads took over the situations. Ain't worth thinking about. So Rachel and I, June, are sitting in San Francisco. In a cafe. In an alley of the couple of streets which make up the French quarter. Somewhere between the Avenues and China Town and... Waiting for our target. We are specialists in telekinetics. The ability to move stuff with our minds. Rachel's a mage. I am a mutant. We have similar abilities. Just different ways to go about it. All evidence of our mission was destroyed last night. Amazing what a pair of scissors, nail polish remover and apple cider vinegar can do to photos and paperwork. Well, when the things are properly applied. We usually don't do this. Our specialty is working over and dismantling white slave rings and street level dealers. A funny thing was found out in Oakland a few years ago. Many people are willing to risk their lives being king pins. Few are willing to risk their lives on being a street level dealer when the odds are high that he or she won't get away with it. Counterintuitive, no? We are here for a gift show. Technically, we work for a small chain of gift stores. She buys for Southern California. Me, I buy for a few midwest states. But how many buyers get paid twenty-five dollars an hour? There he is. With a few teenagers in tow. What do they call themselves? 'X' something? Gods, I almost feel sorry for him. But not by much. Black hair, cute, in a skinny -- I just act ornery, really I am a nice guy -- kinda way. I feel more sorry for his ex. All accounts say she's still hung up on him. Nice kid, hope this doesn't push her over. She's a member of the X-men. Speaking of which, someone wants them around still. Although posing as mutant terrorists was and still is not the way to get mutant and human peaceful relations going. In my view at least. Her dad has Yakuza ties. Rachel and I have toyed with the idea of cutting those after this is over. Like we owe him and, through him, her. Still... Yep, that is the London accent we heard on the tape. And the face in the photos. Just wait for the right minute. I give her the small signal we previously arranged. We start talking about our husbands. Waiting... Waiting.. Let him settle down. Light up his cigarette.. Take a few puffs... Show time! Reach out and stop the heart. It is taking him a while to respond. Two seconds. Three. Grab for the chest. Four. Five. Six. Seven.... Ten Seconds. Gasp for breath. Fall down with a loud crash. Time slows-- Rachel leaps the table to his aid. "I am first-aid qualified." Putting it mildly -- she used to be a paramedic in North Richmond -- right across the bay. Easy now, girl... go through the steps. Keep calm. You can do this, Rachel. Rachel is there 'trying' CPR, but to no avail. She is actually trying to resuscitate him. Even as she keeps his heart from beating. I actually stopped it. We are both keeping it still. Gods the effort! I am digging for my cell phone. Calling. Too bad he will be dead on arrival at the hospital. Peter Paul Wisdom. Who knew that a failure to check his sources would be his undoing?