The group staggered out of the party, swaying violently towards the next bar. “Wait!” Janet said. “I have the GREATEST IDEA EVER!” They emerged from the tattoo parlor an hour later, fingers oozing blood. “Now our whole lives are stache bashes!”

Future history textbooks would be filled with pictures of the sinister curled mark. Some were on pennants flying above military parades. Others adorned young officers, their fingers outstretched towards state enemies. But, inevitably, the tattoos made them easy to find. As nations were brought to account, some pleaded that they hadn’t known.

But how could they not have known?