“Most of the newly arrived don’t remember,” says Muldoon sympathetically.

Trent looks dubious. “I want some proof.”

Muldoon hits the button, and Trent’s body slides out on a tray. His face is peaceful.

“Wow,” mumbles Trent. “Uh. Yeah, that’s… that’s me.”

“All that matters now,” says Muldoon, “is the war.”

Trent’s still slowly nodding as he signs the enlistment form. Muldoon slides the body back in, glad he didn’t check the fingernails; this was a rush job. Nobody quite knows the ratio of presumed to pronounced in the Army of the Dead, and if he can help it, nobody ever will.

“It’s started already,” says Billie Youngblood. Pierrot believes her. His nose is considerably longer, but hers is as sharp as frost.

He kicks Azazello awake. The old thing hisses at him, but Pierrot kicks again. “Air’s turning, scapegoat,” says Pierrot. “Go quickly and we might save you some bones.”

Azazello tries to look bored, but his long pupils dilate all the same. “Wanna rabbit bones,” he sniffs.

“You might get dust.”

Azazello snarls and scuttles up the hill, launching at the crest. Billie and Pierrot watch, as always, at the way he turns dawn’s light oily: an angel with pigeon wings.

Orrin imagines the quantum blade tickles as it passes through his throat, but really he doesn’t feel anything. His vision doubles a little, dimming quickly, and then the headsman reaches up and pulls: it’s gone.

Orrin stares at the perfect copy of his head. His facial expression is stupid.

“Thus is the sentence carried out this… ah, seventh day of August, in accordance with etcetera etcetera,” says the sherriff. “Okay, pop him.”

Orrin’s cuffs fall away; he doesn’t move. “Some… some me is dead?” he asks. “Somewhere.”

“It’s only capital punishment,” says the sherriff reassuringly. “We’re not trying to kill anybody.”

“I just ride around town on my bike like normal?” says Big World.

“Absolutely,” smiles the company man.

“And wave to people like always. And wear the t-shirt you give me. And I get paid?”

“Every two weeks. You’ll be a… celebrity representative.” The company man chuckles. “Can you just sign here, on the endorsement? And here.”

“What’s the second one?” says Big World shrewdly.

The company man looks uncomfortable. “It’s called a waiver. It absolves the company of responsibility if you have an–”

But Big World’s already signing. He knows what that is. Imagine, a whole company seeking absolution!