We're running 'round like we don't care

Damien was fed up with the noise. His ears were flat on his skull and he was looking skywards in desperation trying hard not to crush the kid's cranium and end it once and for all. But the crying didn't seem to bother Cicero. No, he was just there, speaking casually like none of it was happening. It was that what made Damien's nerves twitch even harder.

"Well, if he doesn't shut up then I'll have no other option than to pull his damn lungs out!" he said in an exasperated tone. But Cicero's next comment made total sense, even for Damien, the quick-tempered fury. They already had a plan, one that was meticulousley structured, and they couldn't afford spoiling it for Damien's inexperience. They had to work like Dark Brothers, they were almost adults now.

"I know that. But what should we do about him, then?" he asked. Lately, Cicero had demonstrated a psycological development that was reminescent of only Meldresi's cunning. He and Potema were the smart ones of the bunch, and Damien was the performer.