 Which word best describe Wayne’s worst fear?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962. Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. They were squareheads one and all, marking moron time in a gray dream. What do we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Squareheads going around either unconscious or with eyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retire into limbo. He strode under a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casually to the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and a pansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. "Thanks, sarge dear," Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. It's a big city and you're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babes are clever hellcats in a dark alley." He checked them on a receipt ledger, while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled the cylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. The big stone-walled office, alive with stuffed lion and tiger and gunracks, seemed to grow smaller. It had a head shaped like a grinning bear. "Wayne Seton," said Captain Jack as if he were discussing something in a bug collection. His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fear the way a dog snaps at a wound.
 Punk
 Gun  Cat  Punk  Red