@dustin @djsundog

The man stood at his workbench, his tired, bespectacled eyes essentially useless in the dim pre-dawn. His large hands, bakers hands before the catastrophe, skittered across his workbench through the dark, finding thick hollow metal rings with practiced ease.

Mechanically, the man affixed a bag of some sort -- a piping bag, left over from his previous life?-- and filled the metal rings with black powder, then a cap, then a fuse.

He sighed. "Time to make the doughnuts." Fred mumbled to himself.

Fred's "doughnuts" were an ingenious creation, small bombs that could be dropped with incredible accuracy down guide ropes, ensuring that their intended targets were destroyed, without the risk of harm to bystanders.

Fred was immensely proud of his doughnuts although, even as a baker, he'd never really acclimated to the early mornings they demanded.

@dustin @djsundog

Fred wondered idly about today's target. Would his pirate comrades be enacting a darring rescue, extracting justice from a plutocrat that had evaded the law, or merely providing a distraction, cover, for an operation that was happening elsewhere? He'd find out soon enough, once everyone else was awake. Until then, it was time to make the doughnuts.

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