Evil Breeds
By Fewthistle

Jack McCoy stood in the cold of a clear winter's night and gazed at the hole in the earth where once two towers grasped at heaven. The ordinary noise of the city surrounded him. Life went on. Life always went on. Somewhere in Poland, in the sight of crumbling brick chimneys and so much death, life went on. So did evil.

Turning his collar up against the chill wind, Jack walked slowly past the dim lights of a neighborhood bar, and the forgetfulness found in a bottle of Scotch. Tonight, at least, he would remember.