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“That’s it?”
“You dispatched him with little more than an eye twitch, don’t you feel any regret?”

“Did you feel the power when the weight of the front bumper made contact, and then the crunch of bone and sinew as each wheel rolled over the remains.”

Saryn’s involuntary retch at the words of his commander he knew would cost him a promotion. He couldn’t help it. This was a simple assignment to observe and report, not dispose of.

“I hit a trash receptacle, that I might add was in the middle of the road. Don’t look so aghast.”

“You hit …”

“Lucky for us I saw his essence leap into that vessel or we’d have to hunt eons for the traitor.”

“Your own brother. He’s not confirmed as anything more.”

“The difference between blood and that crumpled piece of plastic lying in the grassy median is minimal at best.”

And the difference between our untimely death and his, Saryn thought as they plowed into the concrete barrier igniting the tanker full of fuel, is non-existent.



My post to Cara Michaels challenge #MenageMonday, tweaked some after the fact to make it better. I found the site on Twitter following it through Jeffrey Hollar @Klingorengi who has his own blog and submission. His in fact spurred the idea for my entry, so read both.