In an old room in south Rapid City, the dust had settled. Spiders and flies swam playfully through its dull benthos, leaving small whorls and piles as on a snow-angel holiday, to adorn the woodwork with some naïve remedy for its age.
The insect fete was interrupted by a ragged clap on the far door, facing opposite the tattered valances, letting in just enough morning light to draw dim lines along the floor. The aisle of light trailed faithfully along the jagged floorboards until it met the rattled door, which shook a second time with enough violence that it collapsed inward.
A large figure, dressed hurriedly in a suit of the same grey pallor as the dust, clambered in, and with a baritone expostulation thus: “Yes! This shall be my greatest scheme… the most worthy scheme, that the Council has ever seen. I sat by willingly as they killed off the slop in the Student Senate, and now they’re so enamored with the accomplishment that they’re blind to the factions. The factions, Edward!”
A man, scarcely visible behind the first, appeared nonplussed by the boast and warning. Perhaps a bit over half the size of the larger one, he wore a t-shirt and jeans, torn and stained. In fact, he also seemed nonplussed by the fact that until a few minutes ago, this room hadn’t existed per his two-year memory of the house. And, as la crème for the nonplus sundae, he didn’t flinch as his foot slammed heavily crosswise into an upturned board in the floor, which cleanly broke off his remaining big toe. It rattled away like a stone. “Yes, the factions,” Edward morosely said.
“I see that my conditioning hasn’t worked completely,” the other man said, digging in his pockets and pulling out a smooth black box, which was engraved with a crescent moon, (since crossed out thickly with a red marker). “Yet,” he finished, and pressed a small button at the top of the box. Behind him, the small man convulsed in an awkward, nonplussed way, then broke his strange involuntary dance momentarily to glower at the large man in a strained way. The rebuttal was short-lived, the convulsions started again, and didn’t end until smoke started to pour heavily from Edward’s ears and collar.
Now staring at the floor, Edward said, slowly, “Yes, the factions, sir.”
“That’s better, Cullen,” the large man said. The sun peaked a little more confidently through the shades and met his stark black hair, slightly squared metal glasses, and excited grin. “Now, why do these factions start?” The man continued explaining out loud. “Because some upstart students get the idea that they can exist happily outside the sphere of the Council, that’s why. And so, the only answer is to remove any inkling of happiness from their lives! And,” his voice had slowly risen into a boom, “what makes people more happy than cute, fuzzy, innocent little kittens, Edward? WHAT? I’ll tell you… nothing!”
With that, the man slammed his fist into a dusty sideboard, and the floor of the room began to slowly creak open. Muffled mews could be heard from below as the gap widened, and revealed a reeling mass of feline fluff.
“When the world wakes from their petty dreams tomorrow morning, Edward, their precious putty-tats will all be substituted by my Crazy (stuffed) Animals of Terror!! Let this be a lesson to all who build offense against the Council. No more cats! Only… CATS!!! Hahahaha,” he belted maniacally, as he whirled around and strode from the room.
Edward glowered from behind him, in a nonplussed manner.
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