There was no need to kill the boy. He would be unconscious long enough for him to do his job. And he found that fear had left him. He was no longer afraid of killing small things, because he was no longer afraid of killing men. He had been able to kill when he had to, but more important, he had been able to keep from killing when it wasn't needed. He didn't need to be afraid of the old blood-lust--because he knew now he could best it. And Julie had seen. She had seen something she had never believed was possible. That a man could keep from being a savage without the restraints of the Broadcasters or of society. He limped to the stacked pseudies and sat down. "Now we can make it clean, Julie. We can end the whole mess. Ready?" "Yes," she told him. He picked up a pseudie and threw the switch. * * * * * The radio signal went out, and all over the world receivers noted a pseudo explosion in the heart of a Disaster Area. Danniels could imagine the men in the council room in the heart of the city seeing the flash and feeling the doom of a renewed twenty years of isolation and heading for the exact spot of the flash. More signals flashed. And flashed. And flashed. And he thought of the people all over the world wondering about the devastating sneak attack on the United States, and the incredible readings of the instruments. "Keep working," Danniels said. "The Wolf Pack or the officials from the city will be here soon. I hope it's a dead heat. But," he said, "I think we've done it. But we can keep working on the safety margin." "What have we done, Abe?" Julie asked trustingly. He was going to feel foolish saying it. "We have just blown up the world according to the official records of the War Games." "Then they'll have to start over," she said. "Maybe," Danniels whispered. "If they do, we'll all start even. Everybody's a Jonah. The world is a Disaster Area. Maybe they'll start the War Games over. Or maybe they'll try the real thing again, now that they've seen how easy it is with pseudies." He felt the numb foot and knew he would have to have an emergency operation if he survived the mobs that were coming. But he had a way of surviving mobs. He looked at Julie. He would see that their children could eat. "At least," he said, triggering another H-bomb for the world's records, "it isn't a bad day when the world has been given a fresh slate, a new start." There were footsteps outside, coming closer. End of Project Gutenberg's The Place Where Chicago Was, by Jim Harmon