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[AN: Originally written on April Fools' Day.  Fair warning.]


There is a quiet knock at the gleaming door to Adrian Veidt's office.   "Mr. Veidt?  I have the test results you requested, and the latest  report on—"

The assistant looked up from the file he'd been  glancing at, finally seeing the carnage before him on the otherwise  immaculate carpet.  The neat stack of papers that had lain on the large  central desk was now scattered about the room, some spattered or soaked  in red.  Furniture made from rare hardwoods and plush fabrics was  reduced to so much kindling amid shards of ancient pottery, all  surrounding what was left of Adrian Veidt's body.  Nearby, gnawing on an  errant rib-bone and growling softly, was Bubastis.

"Oh, dammit, not again."

Irritably,  the assistant moved back to the door and dialed a code into the  intercom.  "Sommers?  It's Johnson.  Get the tank ready again."

"Shit, really?  Which one was it this time?"

"Veidt."  He shook his head and sighed.   We're going to need another office remodel as well."

In  less than two minutes a small team in generic gray coveralls began  quietly leading Bubastis away and carefully gathering the remains into  biological waste containers.

The foreman tsked.  "That's two for  Bubs so far this year."  He watched as a once-elegant chair was hauled  to a side door.  "He's gonna look like the shallowest s.o.b. on the  planet if this keeps up."

"Yes, well," the assistant slapped the  file against his leg in an irritable tattoo, "until he wants to figure  out another way to be the smartest man in the world, we'll just have to  keep working on our PR angles, won't we?"

"Heh.  Remember when he decided he wanted to catch bullets?"

"Oh lord, don't remind me."

The foreman glanced over warily as Bubastis' tail disappeared through another door.  "We gonna have to liquidate her too?"

"No,  no.  Mr. Veidt has decided it increases the challenge."  He shrugged.   "During her last replacement, he saw to it that she won't go after  anyone but him anyway."

"What, he made her that way?"

"After the incident with Saunders, he decided steps should be taken."

"Damn."   The foreman shook his head in disbelief.  "That's gonna completely  blow the betting pool now.  I stood to win big if she got re-cloned  again this month."

"Well, we all have to make our sacrifices,  don't we?"  The assistant gave the ruined office one last exasperated  look and went back to the intercom.  "Sommers?"

"Yeah boss?"

"This can't continue.  We need to arrange a more remote facility for Mr. Veidt's more... complex research projects.  Start looking for promising locations and get back to me by the end of the day."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"How 'bout Antarctica?" The foreman chuckled on his way out, not seeing the assistant's eyebrow raise thoughtfully behind him.


- th'end (I'm so sorry...)
Written for the following prompt at the Watchmen Kinkmeme (v.5.0):


"Adrian gets mauled/killed/eaten by Bubastis. Not as any kind of retribution, not as any kind of cosmic justice - if anything, maybe for the hubris of keeping her around, but that's it. She can be playing or attacking, but the long and the short is that the smartest man in the world ends up with his intestines on the floor.


Because even a genetically engineered wild animal is still a wild animal."


...I had way too much fun writing this. :evillaugh:
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