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“Said the mouse to the cur, ‘Such a trial, dear Sir, With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath.’ ‘I’ll be judge, I’ll be jury,’ Said cunning old Fury: ‘I’ll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.”’

- Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Mercygiver leaned back in his chair, growing bored with all of this.

It wasn’t that he was tiring of hurting people, it was just that he always seemed to be hurting the wrong people.

He ran a hand through his hair and watched as the model train once again made its way through the exquisitely detailed miniature town.

The small plastic residents were gathered in the charming park area which served as its town square, watching as a man in a top hat lit a scruffy-looking bottlebrush of a Christmas tree.

All told, it was a work of obvious love. A portrait of vanishing Americana, captured by someone who knew it very, very well.

Mercygiver hated it, for some reason.

He hated seeing all of those little homes and their happy decorations. He hated the little plastic people, clustered together in community and love. He hated how the tiny children were waiting in line to give the tiny plastic Santa their letters and have their tiny plastic dreams fulfilled.

Because all of that was bullshit.

It was a lie.

It was just a facade, hiding the truth.

He picked up one of the plastic couples from the town square, looking into the little colored dots which represented their eyes.

Their love was obvious. Even rendered in plastic and model paint .

He envied them that. …It was almost pathetic how much he envied them that.

At this particular moment, he’d gladly switch places with either of them.

He’d jump at that chance. They’d found their soulmates, cast together in a single piece of plastic at the factory, their limbs forever connected.

There was no way they would ever leave each other behind or hold slight disagreements against the other.

They weren’t that petty or vindictive. If they had a tiny accident, like, say, if one of them had stabbed the other, that wouldn’t mean that their entire relationship needed to end.

The little plastic train village couple were in love. He could look at them and feel it.

He glared at them, his anger and pain growing.

Love didn’t fucking exist . It ended with betrayal and pain and your partner moving on without you.

…It ended with being so broken and crazy by that abandonment, that you sat around and cursed the supposed love of inanimate objects.

He carefully placed the plastic couple back into their original position, making sure they had a good view of the model tree-lighting.

He was losing it.

He could feel that. He recognized his own insanity, he was just powerless to stop it.

Mercygiver hated it when things were normal and happy. To Rondel, the entire world was a cesspool. If you wanted to survive in it, you needed to be the toughest, strongest rat swimming in the shit. And nowhere in that equation did model railroading figure.

He vindictively knocked the train over so that it crashed into the crowd, crushing dozens of residents of Plasticville.

But the couple had survived it. Somehow. Their love would undoubtedly only grow, as they dealt with the trauma.

Mercygiver fucking hated them!

That woman had made him so irrelevant that he couldn’t even destroy toys now.

“Are you a history fan? I am. Do you know who Vladimir Demikhov was?” He asked casually, removing the novelty train engineer’s cap he was wearing, and tossed it aside.

He didn’t even care anymore. “Few people do. Demikhov was a genius. He practically invented the entire idea of organ transplantation, which saves millions of lives annually.” He got to his feet and gave his companion a swift kick to the ribs.

“But that wasn’t the limit of his experiments.

” He continued, ignoring the woman’s struggles to get to her feet.

“Demikhov’s favorite kind of operation was to surgically attach the head and shoulders of one dog, onto the head and shoulders of a separate dog.

Right between the shoulder blades, creating a creature with two heads and six legs.

” He paused for a long moment, his tone haunted.

“The part that’s always scared me? They didn’t die right away, because he connected all the veins and muscles.

Both dogs were alive . They knew what had been done to them.

One of his Frankenstein dogs lived for thirty days like that.

Can you even imagine ? Can you think of anything more horrifying than that?

” He thought about the kind of living hell that was, then looked down at the woman sprawled at his feet.

“You have a strange name, by the way. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Oklahoma Mike got onto her hands and knees, trying to stand back up. “Never come up, no.” She replied flippantly, her voice strained from the pain.

She really was a ludicrously pretty woman. But she was soft. Her body wasn’t made for fighting or enduring pain.

He had no respect for weakness.

“I am a history fan.” He informed her again, absently watching her try to regain her balance.

“I love history. Di Vinci called himself a ‘disciple of experience,’ and I’ve always thought that a wonderful way to think about life.

” He punched her in the stomach and the woman went down hard, gasping for breath.

“Try, learn, and try again. We can’t be afraid of new things, Oklahoma.

Daring where others relent. Tear down the old and rebuild it in our own image. ”

She struggled into a sitting position, trying to stand up again. In doing so, her gaze flicked to the open door to her left, obviously plotting an escape.

Mercygiver tried not to roll his eyes. “Oh, there’s no running away from this. You’ll never make it.” He warned.

“Run?” Oklahoma looked genuinely insulted by that accusation. “ I’m fucking Wellesburg! ” She choked out, voice cracking in pain and fury. “Wellesburg doesn’t run. We move the world...”

Mercygiver kicked her in the face, cutting off the woman’s nonsense.

Oklahoma sprawled on her back, which was probably a familiar position for her, making an incoherent mumbling sound through her split lips. “We…”

“Stay with me now,” he gently slapped the side of her face several times, trying to keep the woman conscious, “we’re not finished yet.”

Her eyes cleared some, regaining her senses.

He hadn’t hit her that hard .

Some women were so breakable it was disgusting.

“I am in need of a location.” He reminded her. “You have the address, I need it. Give it to me and I will leave and you’ll never see me again. You have my word.”

He could tell by her eyes, swollen almost shut as they were, that she wasn’t going to cooperate with him.

“We just need to be logical about this...” He began.

“Fuck logic, I work for Montgomery Welles.” She reminded him. “Which means the truth is whatever I say it is and I can do whatever I want.” She met his gaze with a cold determination. “I don’t have to be afraid of a goddamn thing … even you.”

“Uh-huh.” Mercygiver couldn’t constrain the eye roll this time.

People always had to be so overly dramatic about things.

He grabbed her by the front of her suitcoat, pulling her to her feet.

“Not to sound argumentative, but I think we both know that I could kill you right here and his only reaction would be to place a help wanted ad on Craigslist tomorrow morning, seeking some new streetwalker to take your place.”

“Probably. But then again, I’m an Irregular.

And he’s fiercely territorial.” She took on the tone of a religious zealot quoting scripture.

“This world is a great machine, there is only one man at the controls.” She shook her head at him in pity and warning.

“And you’re not a Welles.” She let out another suicidal chuckle, like all of this amused her.

“He’s going to make you his fucking bitch. ”

Her phone rang to the theme of Tetris and he glanced down at the name on the screen. “Speak of the devil.” He held it up for her to see. “Sadly, I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to take this call. Frankly, I don’t know why he got you involved in this at all.”

“You know, that seemed odd to me too. But I’m an Irregular; I don’t ask questions.”

“Do you want me to deliver any last words?” Mercygiver pulled out his pistol and pressed it to her forehead.

“He already knows what I’d say.”

“You’re really going to die over this?” He asked her again, in utter amazement. “Over a simple address?”

“Montgomery Welles asked for my help.” She said simply, like that was all the explanation which was needed.

“Plus… I’ve always fucking hated you.” She stood straighter, not flinching away from the gun barrel but standing up to it.

“So when he comes for you? And he will . You tell him,” she insolently spat out a mouthful of blood into his face, “ that was all you got out of me.” She met his eyes, beginning to laugh in suicidal glee. “ I won’t tell you s hit. ”

Mercygiver’s finger curled around the trigger, wanting to pull it so desperately.

He wanted to see that bitch’s brains spattered all over her fucking model of her perfect fucking small town.

He wanted to blow her obnoxiously pretty face off and leave behind nothing but disgusting tissue and broken skull.

She’d earned that! She’d earned it for being loyal and loving something, even an evil something, more than her own life! She’d earned it for fucking having something! Anything!

Mercygiver had NOTHING!

He fucking hated her!

But something held him back. He wasn’t sure what.

So instead, he clubbed her with the gun, knocking her out and sending her crashing into the tabletop model.