Leaving his office, Gronk rounded a corner to meet the Pinkshirts. There were about five hundred men in ranks eight deep, all the way down the High Street. Destructors were parked to the sides. Gronk had been working on combat uniforms for this very moment. The usual black boots, black trousers and a ‘V’ of pink shirts were still there. Sinister with a hint of style. Why change a design success like that? The fashion-Commander had rhetorically asked himself. Because I’m clever enough to ask a question which had no answer. Yes, I really am that intelligent. But the combat jackets were different. In disruptive pattern material, they had been transformed into a pink and black camouflage. Many more had new haircuts. The ones with hair, anyway. Bowl-cut black hair, like Gronk’s, was the way ahead. All the others wore black woolly hats to mimic his hairstyle, which looked almost as good to Gronk. He stood before his men. As silence descended, Gronk took a long moment to speak. He stuck his lips out and moved them about. Raising his eyebrows, he cleared his throat.
“Ahem… I am… err, WE’RE going to teach those miscreants a lesson! We are status warriors, here to preserve our rank and wealth. Out there, beyond our borders, is the common man. And he is threatening our very existence. It is a challenge to my authority and must be snuffed out. Eradication, gentlemen, is what this is all about. The undesirable element must be conquered. That lot… err… don’t have a scintilla of a chance! We are hungry foxes about to enter the chicken coop. And our superior status will see us through. We are the noble officer class. We will win by ANY means necessary. We are better than them!! The future belongs to us. With calibre like ours, nothing is impossible. You are the defenders of Area Seven. Prepare yourselves for distinction. Today, we make history!! To coin a phrase ‘Let’s do this!’ Bring me back glory!!!” Gronk oozed portentously with a hollow voice. His bottom lip quivered with emotion. He was vehement. It was all or nothing now.
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