The reach of the mob is long. It comes with many heads and ravening claws and crazy eyes and it has secret meetings behind closed doors with those who have not yet chosen a side.
“You’re not one of them?” it asks of the uninitiated.
“Surely you’re on our side?” it continues, a scaly paw gripping the leg of its interlocutor, who has begun to grow wary.
“You wouldn’t want us to have to do this to you, now, would you?” The last question is rhetorical.
