<em>'Why, for the love of night, can't airlines offer some kind of sedative for toddlers before letting them on a plane? It's not like they wouldn't have a market for it,' </em>Ethan thought bitterly as he finally stepped off the winged anchovy can they laughingly called a plane. Even in first class, he hadn't been able to escape the usual flier's nightmare: the screaming child.<em>'Seriously, some people ought to be sterilized or something,'</em>he thought, reflecting on the mother who's behavior was, if possible, even more atrocious for letting her little bundle of terror torment her fellow passengers for nearly three hours.<br/><em><br/>'Ah, well. At least we touched down safe. Perhaps I'll get insanely lucky and that brat will be the worst thing I have to deal wi--' </em>His thoughts as he waded through the throngs of boarding and arriving passengers were cut short by a high-pitched scream from nearly across the lobby.<br/><br/>Ethan turned and saw a man in a dark gray jumpsuit shouting in his direction, brandishing a wet mop and dripping a trail of water at his feet. "Purify the heretics! The unclean shall be cast into lakes of holy fire! The blessed forces of Heaven will strike fear into the hearts of the blasphemers!" For a moment Ethan stole a glance around at the other passengers, and his blood ran cold when he realized the possibly deranged fellow's attention seemed firmly directed at him.<br/><br/>His mouth ran dry and he broke into a sudden sweat as the man started to charge at him, the mop swinging wildly in his hands like a child's makeshift sword. There was nothing playful about the look in his attacker's eyes, however, and Ethan tried to swallow as he fumbled in the messenger bag slung over his shoulders. Forty feet away. His trembling fingers pawed over candy bars, pens, his note pad, a worn copy of<span class="bbc_u">The Roylance Guide</span>, finally clutching at a small round cylinder. Twenty feet away. Ethan ripped his hand free of the bag and pointed the cylinder's tiny nozzle at the man, his finger nearly slipping from the little red button at the top. Eight feet away.<br/><br/>Ethan's lungs tightened in his chest, the peripheral sight of security personnel running to intercept the man gave him minimal comfort, he was too close, they wouldn't make it, he'd have to risk it!<br/><br/>He braced his arm with his other hand, and Ethan squeezed the button as hard as his fingers allowed, sending a thin stream of Mace straight at his assailant's face...