The Last Thoughts of a Dying Man:

Michael lay there, suprisingly devoid of feeling, cold steel death at his throat, his limbs charcoal and he thought of Lin. She was a good wife, and a great mother to the kids His four kids, or or was it three? Didn't one die the other day, or was it some other family? Somethimes he lost count. Haha, migod, that was funny.

"Hey, how many kids you got man?"

(Offhand.) "Oh, three.... or four....."

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

The last thing he ever saw was a pair of steel grey eyes. Very cold steel grey eyes. And so very, very empty,

and......

The President of the World appeared on the 'scan dressed in a clowns outfit complete with a red rubber ball on his nose. He was high on Dalmathion 101.

"Aliens landed in Canada today," he was saying, "and migosh golly, are they fun....."

Stephen wanted to commit suicide. To spite his landlady who lived below, he used an atomic grenade and took the entire block with him.

and......

A thief trying to break into a car fumbles and the anti-burglar device blows his hand off. A man passes, murmurs "What an interesting little gadget" while simultaneously filing it away for future reference.

and.........

The pycho-sociologist isn't laughing, he is crying.

and..........

A little girl stealing a small packet of vitamins from a grocery store is chased and cut down by the owner's portable flame thrower before she has gone fifteen metres. While half the onlookers are congratulating the shopkeeper's accuracy, the others half are laughing and pretending to warm their hands on the still burning corpse. "Best damn gadget I ever did buy," the shopkeeper is saying.

and......

A man snatches a pink cyclamen from its stand in the Museum of Ancient History but is vaporised by the intruder alert system which unfortunately destroys the plant too. "Never mind," say the people, "the holograph is just as good and will require less care....."

and.....

The door clicks and and 3/Jon starts to walk through. "Congratulations, Sir," rasps the metallic voice. "Your machine is number 897554."

Jon stands at the threshold, drinking in the sight.

Imagine.

A huge workshop filled with repair machines. Filled with men like him. Real men. Men who'd fought for the right to use these machines.

The New Order.

Bespotted with gore, he starts to slowly and proudly walk to His machine.

"Just a minute!"

The foreman)?) is standing there; a well-built woman in her early twenties, with cold black eyes and brightly polished quartz teeth.

His smile falters.

"You're fourteen minutes late, 3" she says, and devoid of any expression withdraws a laserlight from her chest holster.

The emerald light glinted and danced on her teeth as it neatly punched a hole through his heart.