CAPTURED: The West Point Menace

WEST POINT. For a week, West Point smelled like a gun shop on fire, because it was one. The Menace emptied Stendo's of every last round, then struck a match on the way out. The grocer went next. The roads grew signs saying they were under maintenance. They were not under maintenance.

The traps

Then came the little surprises, tucked round town like Easter eggs that take your legs off. You learned to walk West Point looking at your boots. The Recorder counted them up and found her guilty of every single one.

The visit

Here's the bit nobody can explain. She was home. Doors shut, feet up, the quiet you earn after a week of hard work. Then Corporal Cornelis was standing in the room. No knock, no glass going, nothing on the stairs. Just a man in a long coat where a second ago there wasn't one, and a pair of cuffs.

The cell

A bunk, four walls, a door that doesn't care how you feel. Asked about escape, the prisoner was honest.

Not really any way to escape.

The West Point Menace, in global chat

Go to West Point this week. Walk the main street without checking your feet. Smell the air. It's ash now, and ash is a hell of an improvement.

Enjoy it. For now.