nadiathesaint | Room 507, Thursday morning

Nadia stood against a post, her hands behind her back. A disgusting man in sunglasses and a tan uniform stood next to her, holding a sword.

"Ready, aim--"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, stop the execution!"

The man rolled his head. He probably rolled his eyes, too, but you couldn't tell behind the glasses. "What is it this time?"

"This is all wrong! Didn't you read Phoebe's column? You have no proof."

"Proof?" the man scoffed. "I don't need no stinkin' proof!"

"I demand a retrial!"

"You never got a first trial."

"Who are you, anyway? Where is Tex?"

"We let her go."

Nadia frowned. "What do you mean, let her go?"

The man stepped in front of her, staring her in the face. His breath stank. "What I mean, little girl, is that I had her fired!"

The firing squad obeyed, as they always do. The man jerked up straight, then slowly, stiffly, fell over.

Nadia grinned. She was beginning to get the hang of this.