Randell could barely raise his head. His back was hot sticky and red. But it wasn’t over yet. He was still alive. They would deal the final blow, and it would be over. Randell would be gone, dead to everyone who had known him. He pulled his arms into his chest and painfully struggled to a kneeling position.
He would face his exile with dignity. The punisher opened his arms to the audience,
giving in to the stony, cavernous silence. Everyone stared at the punisher. Nobody looked at Randell. Nobody would ever look at him again.
He would never be useful, because they couldn’t use him, and if he wasn’t useful, he might as well be dead. There was no pain in the thought processes. It was all cold hard logic.
But Randell felt the pain. He felt it pressing its gritty fingers into his open back. He felt its pernicious anger creep into his heart. The punisher opened his mouth for the creed.
Jaumet met Randell’s eyes.
Nihilistic Porcupine 