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Drums of War Not Patty Cake

Martin only paused, that quizzical look of his plastered on his goofy mug. The sound of my own heart played as the drums of war in my ears. The lingering heat of the shower combined with the fire of rage in my belly flushing my ears red. As I waited for him to speak I couldn’t help but think how regretable it would be if I had to kill my friend.

His pensive look disappeared, and he said as though it were nothing at all, “I’m in.”

“You’re what?” I asked without really having time to process or think.

“I’m in. The plan. You know, boom, or whatever.”

“But…”

He rolled his eyes and gave me a flippant wave of his hand, “I’ve got family, but for what? So we can all die together on what’s left? I mean, I’d kind of accepted it, fatalism and all that, but this sounds like more fun.” I gave him a look of sheer incredulity to which he responded with a grin, “Besides, now I don’t have to fell all gay for thinking you have a cute butt.”

“Don’t think you’re getting any.”

He shrugged, and the team was born.

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