A Steel Swiss Watch: Of Frank Sinatra

Bainbridge strutted down the alley, a devilish smile creasing his worn face. It was a face that life had marred and twisted into a mask of hate and disgust, and was now shot through with demented glee.

It just felt so damn good!

Good to break away from the Collective and their plans, paths, and phony altruism.

Good to give the middle finger to Breucker and his pretentious balderdash about a clockwork universe.

Good to take charge. To grab Life’s throat and squeeze until things started happening.

He felt a tingle in his spine. Immediately, Bainbridge pulled out his pocket watch and froze its hands. The tingling stopped. He laughed, thinking of Breucker turning red and swearing in German, helplessly unable to enter the Steel path.

Several drops of Ms. Bloom’s blood stained his left sleeve’s cuff. They didn’t come off when he wet his finger and rubbed at them.

He shrugged, a smile bubbling into his face again.

With a raspy growl, he crooned softly, “And more, much more than this, I did it my way.”

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