"...ill met by moonlight, proud titanic..."

shackles crumble. they start to rumble. hoods slip off, pulled by reawakened hands. eyes ablaze as they form roving bands. jumpsuits now a symbol of power. and for the rest: that sweet superiority's turned sour. imagine the look in his eyes, the surprise, when that face he'd never paid too much attention to hunts him down; makes him eat his vomit off the ground. and i've been told not to confuse revenge for justice but it would be nice for just this one time to see black and white reversed. and i can see your reactions: they look so rehearsed. condemnation. anger. hatred and, er, what should we call it? racism is frowned upon these days. even when dealing with these fallen-but-now-risen excommuniqués.