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“Current kaiju forecasts call for Welbaru to rampage south-southeast this evening,” smiles Quentin into the camera, before Welbaru rampages north, directly through their studio. When the rain of cinders has slacked off, they struggle choking into suspended rubble-dust.

“Listen,” says producer Rayanne, “I think we can spin this so he actually went south after all.”

“South is relative,” nods Quentin.

“North!” snorts Rayanne. “Who needs north? North is what they’d like you to believe.”

Then they do a headcount and hardly anybody’s dead except the staff kaijologist, whom they were going to kill for this anyway! Oh, too soon.


In a hurry, citizen?” booms Murdron, towering above Margaret’s Chrysler. Its deputy badge is a gold dot welded to titanium armor; its clipboard is a flatbed.

“Well, yes,” says Margaret.

What was so urgent as to make you exceed the posted limit?

“The kaiju battle,” says Margaret, “mostly,” as Vulfhor subjects Welbaru to a radioactive eyeblast. Welbaru shrieks. Margaret’s hair falls out.

Murdron shakes its head. “You put yourself and others in grave danger!

“With all due respect–” Margaret begins, before Welbaru flattens her car.

Truly, a tragedy no one could have foreseen,” is the box Murdron checks on the paperwork.


Murdron and Garmegula have been battling so much lately that people are starting to talk.

“Do you even remember the last time Murdron threw down with Welbaru?” says Gerania, eyebrows high.


“February! I checked!”

“You really think something’s going on?” says Hebron, as they duck and cover from a blast of napalm breath.

“I don’t know how they expect to stay off TMZ.”

Garmegula and Murdron are engaged in a long, staggering clinch; Garmegula’s dorsal blades shred the bank tower. There’s a lot of subsonic grunting.

Watching from the volcano a mile away, Akikai weeps. It’s probably just the fumes.