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Hawthorne

“Well,” says Amovar, “I’d put chainsaw teeth on the locomotive, obviously.”

“Humdrum!” brays Furtenstein. “Pedestrian!”

“I wasn’t finished,” snaps Amovar.

“I’d try a bit of macromillipede biotech myself,” says Hawthorne. “Infinite legs skittering down the rails, poison tail and so on.”

“Far-fetched! Unlikely!”

“You’ve yet to offer anything yourself,” says Amovar sourly, and squints against the dust of the 3:13. “I’d also make the whole thing a particle accelerator–”

“But would you make it run on time?” quips Sanjay.

They stare at him.

“It would take a different kind of madness altogether,” murmurs Hawthorne, “to even try.”

“Pervert!” says Amovar.

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