“So you’re not going to work on the bean paste thing,” Dawn said after Steve explained the situation back at their apartment. Steve had just returned with some awful club sandwiches he’d gotten at the Square Root of Sandwich drive thru.

   “No, I think that’s pretty much being put on hold for now. I asked for time off,” Steve said as he finished the awful fast food.

   On a small table surrounded by three chairs and a bathtub, the beings tasked with safeguarding the antichrist gathered to eat their fast food and collect their thoughts. Steve kept rubbing his hands against his horns as he tried to eat, while Dawn sat slumped and looking at the ceiling.

  “Three days to revive the Antichrist,” Gore said as he shoved another box of curly fries into his mouth. “With a sandwich.”

   “Messed up, isn’t it?” Steve asked.

   “I would have struck him a blow to resurrect him from this trance.”

   “That’s your solution to everything,” Dawn noted.

   “It has yet to fail in achieving the results I desire.”

   Burney chose that moment to try and steal one of Gore’s curly fries. Preventing him from doing so perfectly exemplified Gore’s point that physical violence could solve any problem.

   While Burney cried out in pain from inside his bathtub, Dawn tossed him a few fries from her unfinished bag of greasy fast food. The fries smoldered against his skin, but Burney still screamed in delight as he munched on the burnt potatoes.

   “Hitting Damien wouldn’t have stopped him from obsessing over that game,” Steve said. “And Gore hitting him might just kill him.”

   “It would put off that whole end of the world thing for at least a few years,” Dawn said.

   “I will take up arms against the Antichrist if that is what you ask,” Gore said. “I relish the challenge.”

   “He’s a three-hundred-pound gamer with no muscle mass to speak of,” Steve noted.

   “Then I will relish the very brief challenge.”

   “No one is asking you to kill him, Gore.”

   “Why not?”

   “Because that wouldn’t solve my problem. The demons would flay me for a million years if I screwed up their big revelation plan. That or set me up with a charcoal skin like Burney.”

   Burney screamed with sympathy.

   “I always thought this whole Watcher for the antichrist thing was a joke anyway,” Dawn said. “Bummer they’re actually making you do something. Why did you take this job in the first place?”

   “Because the others all involved too much effort for stupid things,” Steve said. “Corporate lobbyist, California politician, all those things are day to day stupid evil things. This one just involved making sure some guy didn’t get killed. Never thought they’d actually use him.”

   “Technically you were successful in your task,” Gore stated.

   “At least the Christian hate-inducing demons get monthly expense stipends.” Steve rubbed his face in his hands. “I could be in Kansas telling a preacher that gay people need to be exterminated but no, I had to take the job that I could get exterminated over.”

   “Tough break,” Dawn said. She finished her sandwich and tossed the trash on top of Burney, who gleefully disposed of it.

   “Are you truly bringing about the Last Battle? My sword yearns for the clash of blades with the angelic armies,” Gore asked, and checked his sword. “It has not tasted the blood of my enemies since this morning.”

   “Gore found a squirrel,” Dawn explained.

   “It had the audacity to throw an acorn upon my helmet.”

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   “He was trying to crack it open.”

   “My helmet cannot be cracked by a mere acorn!”

   “No, the squirrel was trying to crack the acorn.”

   “And Gore’s helmet is no cracker of nuts! As great a foe as the squirrel was, I desire to once more seek out worthy challenges. Steve, I shall help you in this quest.”

   “You’ll what?” Steve asked.

   “My blade is yours,” Gore said, and slammed his sword onto the table.

   “Gah!”

   “The sword of fury shall strike down all that stand in your way.”

   “You crushed my curly fries!”

   “And so shall we crush those between you and the resurrection of the antichrist.”

   “I was still hungry!”

   “Hungry for destruction!”

   “No, hungry for my curly fries. They’re the only good thing at Square Root of Sandwich!”

   “It shall be a battle of legends,” Gore said, off on his own train of thought. He thrust out a fist and shook it with excitement. “Our quest for your sandwich.”

   “Our quest?”

   “You proclaimed that all you need is a sandwich and the end times shall begin, correct?”

   “Kinda.”

   “Then take up my sword.”

   “Do what now?”

   “Take up my sword,” Gore insisted, rising and shoving the sword a little closer to Steve.

   “It’s a symbolic gesture, Steve,” Dawn explained, and scooted her chair away from the table. “He wants you to pick up his sword and give it to him.”

   “Pick it up yourself, that thing’s heavy,” Steve said.

   “Take up my sword that I might join you on this quest!” Gore demanded.

   “To get a sandwich.”

   “Yes!”

   “Gore, I just made that up to buy time. I don’t know what’s going to get Damien to start actually being the antichrist.”

   “Your reasons are sound and your quest is the greatest of challenges. It matters not the means to this end, but that we bring about this end.”

   Burney, wanting to be a part of the discussion, tried to pick up Gore’s sword and hand it to Steve. Instead, Gore picked up the sword and skewered Burney on it.

   “And now…” Gore declared, “my blade is baptized in a—”

   “Gore, put Burney down,” Dawn said with a sigh.

   “He’s fine.”

   Burney screamed and squirmed from his position as an unwilling kabob on Gore’s sword.

   “Why did you have to stab Burney?” Steve asked.

   “It’s symbolic,” Gore said, still holding his raised sword.

   “Of what?”

   “Of… death, and… stuff.”

   “Put Burney down.”

   With a twist of his wrist, Gore turned over the sword and let Burney fall into his bathtub. The tortured soul landed with a clang and came up shouting angrily at Gore. Burney had enough time to stick a burning hand through the gaping hole in his chest and make an unseemly gesture at Gore before the wound cauterized.

   “Are you going to take up his sword?” Dawn asked when Gore once again offered it to Steve.

   “Why do you care?” Steve asked.

   “Are you really going to try and revive the antichrist from his video game addiction?”

   “Maybe.”

   “And start the great war between good and evil?”

   “Yes!” Gore said.

   “That’s still up in the air,” Steve countered.

   “Sounds fun to me,” Dawn said. “I’m not putting any sort of weapon on the table in a symbolic gesture or anything. I will buy the first tank of gas, though. How’s that?”

   “Swell.”

   With Dawn standing ready beside Gore, all eyes went to Burney, who was still scream-grumbling that Gore had stabbed him. Once he realized everyone was looking at him, however, he knew he had to say something.

   With calculated, slow motions, Burney stood in his bathtub. His enflamed brow wrinkled as he looked upon his companions, pondering the task at hand. Then, Burney screamed.

   “See, Burney’s in too,” Dawn said.

   Burney threw a chunk of burning flesh onto the table beside Gore’s sword.

   “That was wholly unnecessary,” Steve said.

   Burney screamed.

   “I don’t care if you wanted to make a symbolic gesture or not you singed my table,” Steve said.

   “The time for tables is over!” Gore said, and slammed his sword onto the already scratched and burnt table, shattering it to pieces.

   “Well it is now!”

   “It is the time for decisions. Will you lead this quest for destruction and evil?”

   “And sandwiches,” Dawn added.

   Burney screamed.

   Steve thought about it a moment. He glanced at his broken table, at his small apartment, at his three friends. “What the hell,” he said, and grabbed Gore’s sword. He immediately dropped it because it was extraordinarily heavy. “There, pick it up. That’s gonna have to be symbolic gesture enough.”

   “Huzzah! We shall ring the black bells before the night is ended!” Gore exclaimed.

   “We don’t have any black bells.”

   “Fetch me the black bells!”

   “We don’t have any black bells!”

   “Fetch me some un-forged brass then. I shall use Burney to construct black bells!”

   Burney screamed, happy to be part of the group.

   “I’m not going to get you black bells, Gore, and I’m not doing this for the sake of evil,” Steve said.

   “Do you not want to see the world rent asunder?” Gore asked.

   “No!”

  “Then why are you doing it?” Dawn asked.

   Steve sighed. He took off his hat, and rubbed his snubbed horns. “What choice do I have?” he asked.

   “You could always accept eternal damnation,” Dawn suggested.

   Burney screamed.

   “No, Burney, that won’t make us twins. And no thanks,” Steve said.

   “So what will you do?” Dawn asked.

   Steve put his hat back on, and adjusted it under his horns. “I guess we’ll figure that out on the way.”

  “Then we shall gain you this sandwich,” Gore said as he sheathed his sword.

   “Where are we going to find it?” Dawn asked.

   “I don’t know. Memphis sounds good,” Steve offered.

   “To Memphis!” Gore shouted, and leapt out the window with a war-cry, screaming “Memphis!” as if it were a colossal giant he were challenging to a duel.

   Steve went to the window and shouted, “Gore! Gore, the car’s the other way!”