['death warrant' might be a little bit of an exaggeration considering that the last couple of people kavinsky was responsible for killing got dead because too much vodka and wandering into the street while tripping balls. still, the rumors do flatter. it helps that kavinsky always has his own audience to cater to.

albeit one that's laughing now, at ronan's display.]

Yeah all right, [kavinsky says, lightly. always one to play along.] Check it out, team we're-still-humans. Lynch here thinks he's Bruce fucking Wayne. All the gadgets and the good intentions. Purity of spirit by Pinterest. Vigilante against vigilntism. Well shit. We all know how that ends, don't we?

[there's a requisite chorus of laughter from below.] Well, [says kavinsky, but there's no clever punchline, no eloquent last word. he steps back, aiming the blaster cheerfully at the middle of the other boy's back. he's never seen the gun do more than toss beer cans off a low wall, short a television, or knock over a line of motorcycles, but you know-- human experiments have their charm. it's true for pills, and it's true for alien weapons.

he pulls the trigger.]