Yoko sometimes had this daydream of a vast underground behind the red doors across the street. She wondered where it all came from.
She met with Cindy A., Jim A., and Todd A. in a secret Cassandra City niche on Wednesday. The A.Team they’d dubbed themselves, the seed of the surname erasures. “You sure you guys want to go through with this?” Yoko asked after the niceties had run their course. All nodded in tacit agreement. No one dare speak the deed aloud at this point.
Jim A. had worked and worked at the maths, making sure everything checked out. Now all they needed was a test. But where? Jim thought again of the forbidden sinks, particularly the 13th on this day, the so-called Super Bowl. Could it be possible — no — but: what if… what if… in ancient times…
It was a combination of abilities. Jim A. had the maths, the brain, Todd A. was the genius in project management, and Cindy A. provided the technical expertise. Planes to rockets — not a big leap in her evolution. Professor Suckaluck should have seen it all those years back (“Maebaleia, pheh. *Satori*”); reported it to the Northern authorities. Because the A.Team — Cindy A., Jim A., Todd A. — were never really from the Pipersville area. They’d rehearsed the accents for years before the move.
Cassandra City, Queen jewel of the Deep South. They were home again.
All looked around the table before leaving, realizing they had a Keith problem. Keith knew too much. Keith was in the middle, which, as we all know now, is unfortunately in the way. They had lured him (and themselves!) down here through trickery. Now the trick was to throw him under the bus. A Magic Bus.