Vic had stood his ground. He wasn’t going to be taken alive. Instead he took them all with him. Seven with one blow. Like the old fairy tale, but without the happy ending, as, well, though he was the victor, he was also one of the seven. Vic was now a blood splatter that had dried brown and symmetrical right above the nice bot-size hole the blast had blown out in the floor beneath him. I had covered it up ages ago with bedding and scrap, and barred the door in the stockroom below from the inside. The bedding was exactly as I’d left it, identical to the snapshot stored in my memory. No one had
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