(-*PREFACE: This is a continuation of the events started in my story, "Karen"; reading it will make this work a lot easier to understand.

I apologize for this short chapter and the future overall schizophrenic length of chapters; I did not originally write it with this website in mind, so the chapters will merely follow the scene breaks. I'll be uploading fairly quickly however, as this story has already been finished entirely.*-)

It was not yet dawn, and the factory was cold as Hell. The conveyor belts would be frosting up in the gears no doubt, and all the little children's toys would just have to be delayed a bit as the workers tried to warm up the machinery when morning -- wait, no, what was she thinking? She laughed, remembering that the place was about to come down with a chronic case of arson.

In one hand, she held a bottle of whisky and an unlit cigarette. In the other hand was the twisted wrist of ill-fated Elizabeth Lauder, the shattered bones shifting perturbingly as the mauled corpse was dragged across the floor.

As the woman (the living one, that is) made her way through the hollow production room, she noted the dirty footprints of women and children from the last day's work. She snorted in derision at this society's self-destructive habits. They were so frightened of their early ends after inefficient lives that they didn't give their little ones the chance to apprentice properly. They stuck a tyke in the labor force as soon as the kid could pull a lever. She wouldn't have been surprised to find a bin for dirty nappies next to the punch clock.

The dark sky outside was blueing in the east. The factory slaves would be arriving soon; it was time to finish her mission, and quickly. She found an office and turned on the lamp, scattering a few roaches, and then she sat Elizabeth's body in the chair behind the desk. She swigged a bit of whisky and tossed the open bottle on the corpse's lap and waited a moment for it to soak enough to stink. She lit the cigarette with her fingertip, resisted the sudden urge to suck it down to ash in one drag, and tossed it onto the body.

Foom!

She watched her handiwork go up in flames, savoring the scent of sweet burning flesh, fabric, and alcohol. "Oh Bethy. This could have all been avoided if you hadn't been such a jealous bitch. I would have even considered a three-way."

Elizabeth said nothing but crackles and pops in response.

Shrugging, her pyre-builder pictured the next destination in mind, and threw herself like a drop of oil through the fluid of the cosmos just as the factory door opened.