Friday, September 10, 2004


Apres Kidnapping

So you got the kid?


He’s on ice?

Not exactly.

Whaddya mean, not exactly?

I tried to sedate him and it didn’t work. Ten grains of amytal and the little fucker was still yelling. So I tried to debone him.


He ain’t a kid. He’s a robot.

You’re telling me Jesus is a robot?

Filled with weird mechanisms and shit, yeah.

So what’d you do?

Found the power pack. Pulled the plug.

So he’s quiet?

As long as I keep the screens shut and spray around the baseboards.

Whaddya mean?

The power source is bugs. The thing somehow turns bugs into electricity.

No shit. Puts a whole new spin on that plague of flies thing, huh? Listen, we got other trouble, too.

Like what?

There’s someone putting microprocessors into clouds. Creating intelligent storms—tornadoes, hurricanes and such that can be remotely controlled. They can even talk.

And this means what to me?

It means you gotta sit on the kid while I go find out who’s making smart storms. The kid is our ace in the hole, now that I think about it. I wonder if Yahweh knows his son is a robot?

You think Yahweh is behind these smart storms?

Nah. This is the work of some renegade scientist. Probably a former Soviet scientist named Lev Davidov now in the employ of the RNC. I gotta do a little legwork. If I need to, um, mention the kid as leverage, I want you to be ready to move. Got it?

Sure, yeah.

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