The day was coming to a close, and Inkling was brought to the stand, looking incredibly pained.
The guards threw her on the stage as she gripped her stomach and grimaced.
"Today, we prune another, I would hope you have chosen wisely this time. Our numbers are swiftly dwindling, we have an infestation," said the robot announcer, seeming troubled, and indifferent. He turned, and looked into Inkling's eyes, confused as to why she looked so strained. He turned his head, like a dog, then his eyes widened as his long dead masters had designed them to do, to seem more human. He pulled a long bar out of his belt, he moved it over her body carefully, and as he went over her stomach, the bar began to beep.
Quickly he saw her hand move to her pocket, and in a flash he raised his sharp hands and slashed her stomach open, a small bomb falling out along with her innards. He picked it up, and rose it above his head and turned to the shocked audience.
"For better or for worse, we have erradicated an important character," and with that, the sun set.
Inkling was the BOMB
It is Night