13

The SacrilegeMobile roams the land, shaped like a metallic wolf. It roams across North America, in search for another shot at the chickenhawk it couldn't kill at the band camp in Cedar Rapids.

The Sacrilegious Six soon learn that killing men while the size of a flea is even funner than doing it full-size. To them, it almost feels like giant-slaying...

The SacrilegeMobile roams to the West Coast. It leaps off a cliff. While in freefall, it shapeshifts into a falcon-with the team still aboard. It spreads its wings, and flies across the Pacific.

This is Manchuria. It's a vast open amount of space, up for grabs by its stronger neighbors, for there are rumors that get spread throughout the region that neither Manchuria nor Korea are strong enough to protect themselves.

The SacrilegeMobile is still airborne. Not for long. It descends, and shapeshifts into a boar. It snorts, and roams across the Manchurian plain.

To the Sacrilegious Six, is a strange ride. The wolf and the boar are both bumpy; they're not complaining about that...anymore. But the wolf and the boar are two different creatures-and the AI knows it. But at least they're both forbidden by Islamic/Jewish law, and THAT'S what makes the Sacrilegious Six so sinister.

In forty years, there's probably going to be a war here. But fortunately for the Sacrilegious Six, no one on the team is Russian or Japanese...or Manchurian or Korean, for that matter.

Now, this is Norway. The fjords and cliffs are a sight to behold. Across the ocean lies Beerenberg, an active volcano. Fortunately though, the Sacrilegious Six's next target has enough common sense to not hunt reindeer near a volcano.

And no, there are no dragons living in it, contrary to popular Old Norse myth. Then again, some things aren't ENTIRELY impossible...

And, it's back to the American Frontier. The SacrilegeMobile is a falcon again. It lands, and becomes the wolf again. The wolf roams the land, in search of one of any of the four final targets.

Luckily, there were no witnesses to the other ex-husbands' murders. OTOH, that's probably because the Sacrilegious Six were the size of fleas while committing them...

If only they could've thought of that before going after the pizzeria in Queens. Oh well; no plan goes perfectly... But then, neither one of them will be singing that tune half as sweetly if Allan's or Reilly's testimony goes as far as getting them all back to where they were to begin with: female inmates on death row. And then everything they've worked so hard for, and come so far for, will be in shambles.

The sun has set over the Frontier. The wolves howl. The dust clouds float through the air. The dry forests whisper.

The SacrilegeMobile has slowed. Its sensors, in the form of the wolf's nose, probe the surrounding areas for traces of Spider-Man, Ms. Allan, Ms. Reilly, or the final husband. The witnesses haven't been around; a dog's nose would be useless in finding them. But last the Sacrilegious Six checked, the final husband had a scent-and as far as his relevant ex-wife is concerned, it is NOT, and was NEVER, by any means, a pleasant one.

High above, the moon shines brightly. The SacrilegeMobile is metallic; the moon on its metal's breast gives the luster of midday, for it is beneath. Not the wolf's breast, of course; the SacrilegeMobile would have to be upside down/on its back for that. But whoever wrote "Twas the Night Before Christmas" sure had a crappy way with words...

Good thing he didn't write any more poems besides that. He...DIDN'T write other poems, did he?

In the shadows, a female wolf lurks, having abandoned her pack. Her eyes barely glow.

She can see the SacrilegeMobile. He looks interesting. He's handsome. Could he possibly be the lone wolf whose administration could possibly be more slack-cutting than that of the awful alpha who killed her favorite mate, just so he could be in charge?

She chases him through the woods. Moments pass before Trachtenberg turns around, in the rear saddle, and sees that the SacrilegeMobile has a tail...besides its rudder, of course.

Kershen, the driver, raises the throttle. The SM runs faster. So does the black bitch tailing them. Trachtenberg can't tell in the dark, but she thinks she might be gaining on them...

Oseku turns around in her saddle, and sets her shades to nightvision. To her dismay, the she-wolf IS gaining on them. And she's got black fur; which means she's NOT Shakira. But even if she weren't an anachronism here, the nearest border of Latin America a hundred leagues south of here...and the border to Colombian Panama is even farther south than that.

It's time to take a stand. Oseku orders the team to arms, and to stations.

The SM spins, and bares its metallic fangs. Like fleas, the Sacrilegious Six assembles, in combat formation, on its head.

The she-wolf stops. She whimpers, and assumes a prone position.

Alas, the Sacrilegious Six were raised Islamic/Jewish; they don't know as much about dog sociology as they'd like. They come from a world where women should, if they're not, just as capable of beating the shit out of anyone as a male jihadi on a stormy Ramadan.

Kershen advances past the front line. She's got her crossbow. She crouches still, and aims at the poor bitch's pressure point. As big as the black bitch is, she's clearly less threatening than before.

Kershen fires. At her size, it takes the bolt some time to reach its target. But when it does, it hits with more force than a .243 bullet at point-blank. She whimpers, and falls over.

SheVulture takes flight. She flies in a circle over the hurt she-wolf, and unleashes a barrage of rotary cannon fire over her coat. She'd look like one of those cows, in O Brother, Where Art Thou, who George Nelson will shoot with the machine gun while avoiding an impending police chase. But for now, the Sacrilegious Six should be thankful that the Great Depression won't happen for another seven decades...even if the Odyssey and the Iliad have long been written.

Mystria imagines herself into a phoenix, flies over the hurt wolf, dives, and sets her on fire. She yelps, and squalls in pain.

Elektra raises her sais, and summons some lightning. She strikes the she-wolf with a huge bolt of it.

Worked up, Oseku inflates the balloon in her prosthetic back. She floats over to the burned, shot, struck she-wolf, and lands on a place on her neck where the phoenix fire has gone out. She elongates her prosthetic tentacles. Below, the she-wolf's eyes look up at them, in terror...

Splitting the tentacles two ways, Oseku wraps them around the she-wolf's neck. And she squeezes. With her sais, Elektra strikes Oseku's prosthetics with more lightning, hastening the she-wolf's asphyxiation. She does this until Mysteria whispers, and warns her that she'll bring the she-wolf back to life if she hits the wrong cells with electricity.

At long last, Oseku feels the bitch die. She releases the power over her prosthetic tentacles, and they all contract back to their regular lengths. For the honor of Afroasians everywhere, they've killed a bitch. Nevermore will she defile an unsuspecting Muslim or Jew, anywhere.

"I don't think that was necessary," Marya warns them. "I think she was backing down."

Trachtenberg chuckles. "She would've started chasing us again as soon as we would've tried to ride away. That's how the female mind works. We would all know; we're all females."

"Not bitches, we're not."

All eyes stare at Marya.

"I mean...we ARE bitches, but... Look, wolves might be degenerate, but they have souls."

Oseku returns. "It doesn't matter anymore. Good or evil, that one's soul is history. Now, as memory serves, we were hunting our ex-husbands to extinction?"

They all mount up. With Kershen back at the reins, they ride away.

Hours pass. The she-wolf's corpse stays where it is. The moon sets. A cooler wind blows through the forest.

From the shadows, another wolf emerges. He's as tall as a horse at the shoulders. He's got longer fangs. A collar, made of chrome metal, hangs from his neck.

On the collar, an Asgardian symbol is branded. This wolf is a berserker...one that specializes in wolf-morphing.

He sees the she-wolf, with his glowing green eyes. He nudges her carcass with his paw. He moves his nose around it, checking for scents. He detects them. They're of human females. He'd expect them to be more pungent than his nose detects...

Whatever the case, he can tell that this death was of no blight's doing. Versus that, his eyes change, and glow red.

Bitch killer, he whispers telepathically, consider my following signal both a warning, and a war cry! With that, he sits, cocks his head back, and howls.

All around him, far away, his brothers return the same howl. And the womanhunt for the six bitch-killers is on.