5 – Sean MacEoin

The winds were sharp, scuttling across the surface of the dark loch. They whipped the kilt around the knees of Sean MacEoin as he sniffed the air with a relish.

"Ach," he said, "Tis a fine day fer someone else ter die."

His one eye scanned the entire landscape. Mist crawled along the ground around him as though in fear. Now and again the sun would break through the sky, alleviating the chill, only to retreat back into its high-borne prison.

Whistling "Amazing Grace," he crouched over his newest creation, a careful work of chemistry, metallurgy, and the art of ballsiness.

"Mr. MacEoin?" Came a voice from behind him. Sean did not start up, as someone with lesser self-control might have. Instead, he very calmly set down the wire he'd been intending to plug, put down the bomb, and lifted his head. A man with vivid red hair, wearing an old-fashioned hunting suit, was standing in front of him, docking his hat respectfully. " Good morning, sir."

"Who's doin' the good mornin's?" Sean asked, suspicious.

"A man who is sincerely interested in your work," came the gracious reply.

"Aye, an' would that be me work in the Glasgow Demolitions Team," Sean growled, "or me work at Hamish's Pub and Grill?"

"Your work right there, Mr. MacEoin. Your work with what I believe is a three-caliber level A1-13X explosive, aka a 'Minstrel Boy,' of the sort used when you destroyed the remains of the Wardman Building, as well as the swamp environment that surrounded it."

"Aye," Sean nodded with pride. "That were a Minstrel Boy, gone to the wars. Good for detonatin' a swamp. But I've yet to see…" he nodded towards the flat waters, "if she'll put up a fight against the Loch Ness Monster."

"Ah. But is that a true Water Bomb, as it is called?"

Sean's one good eye scowled. "Nay. I can't get the godrotting materials for a true Christ-fornicating Water Bomb in this fucking wasteland. I'll be lucky if this harp-fucking Minstrel Boy manages to make Nessie flounder ashore after Christmas, let alone blast her from here to pox-ridden hell."

"Exactly what materials would you need?" the well-dressed man asked.

The Scotsman listed them, with many an expletive and a colorful adjective.

The hunter nodded at each item and, when the list was concluded, said, "I can provide you all of those materials and more, if you're interested in working for me."

"What sort o' trade?"

The hunter explained. It took some time, but at last, the Scotsman laughed loud and long, crying, "You got yerself a Demoman, Mr. Pine!"

They left the hills together, Sean carrying his not-quite-done-yet bomb under his arm. The sun came out as a helicopter took off, casting a large shadow far below it.

From just under the surface of Loch Ness, a Devonian creature blinked up at the passing helicopter, and gave a sigh of relief, sending a trail of bubbles up to the surface.