Four gunmen are standing in the woods, recently deputized by the new regime in the budding of a civil war. Before them, a gagged and hooded prisoner on their knees, sobbing at the edge of an empty grave. Behind them, nine already filled.
The first looks nervous. "I've been counting the prisoners since we hooded them and loaded onto the truck. This must be Dr. Aaron. This man donated bone marrow to save my mother, if we kill him my parents will never look me in the eyes again."
The next says "Dr Aaron? This man's son was my best man. If we kill him, his son will hate me to my core, and doubtless he will use his equally brilliant mind to find a way to take terrible revenge on my wife, maybe even my children. Jesus, he even knows where I hide my key."
The third says "Dr Aaron called my little brother down from a rooftop ledge, and has treated his anxiety ever since. Wrote us a letter every year. If we kill him, my brother will walk off that edge once and for all, my sister will starve herself with grief and my father will hang himself in shame for what I've done. He treated all of them."
The fourth checks his clipboard, brow furrowed. "Oh. ****. Guess I should have mentioned I've been bringing them out alphabetically.