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((Aaaannd the rest! AP updated shortly after this post goes up.))

Afternoon of the second day...

The meganium's focus shifted to Juno as it watched her making a run for the tree. Angered by the resurgence of its original target, it chased her to it. With little warning but the beast's sudden paralysis, the leaves on the tree stood straight out from the branches, stiff as knives. Half broke off and began spinning dangerously around the tree, their razor edges slashing Juno's exposed, unprotected body. However, she was not without aid. Zoidberg, already prepared to do what was necessary, slammed bolts of ether into the meganium's eyes, making it reel in the attempt to keep its balance with only one stamen. Then, with an almost martial movement of his spoons, he teleported the charmander and the alcohol-soaked shirt to the dinosaur's face. Fire met combustible, and a bright flame incinerated the cloth. This, though, was no long just ethereal fire - lit by the charmander's tail, perhaps, but burning something very real and very carbon-based.

As Oddjob fell to the ground, the leaves in Juno's perch ceased their mad flight and drifted down, some stained with her blood. The meganium screamed horribly as its eyes were burned, and Amlund shrieked in fury. Ignoring the shouted warnings of her comrades, she rushed forward to the great beast as it fell again to its side, ignoring Oddjob on her path. Vaulting over its tremendous body, she smoothly extracted a bottle from one of the pockets of her oversized cargo pants, uncapped it, and showing no fear crouched near the thrashing creature's head and began muttering soothing words to it. Within seconds, it was trying to watch her out of blackened, cracked eyes while she poured the contents of the bottle down its throat.

The great beast began pulsing with a white glow - Zoidberg could easily recognized the inverted ether pulsations of devolution. Within mere moments, the animal had turned to a bayleef, its tremendous petals darkening to green and the stamen and stub on its head merging into a larger leaf. It only retained that form, six feet tall, for a few seconds, before it pulsed once again, and shrank still further. Finally, no more than three and a half feet tall, it was an innocent, stub-tailed chikorita, panting and breathless on the ground. Most of the burns had healed from the process of devolution, and the eyes, though still not in great shape, looked like they could be healed over time. With a flash of red light, Sarah reclaimed her pokémon, then stood and pocketed it and the empty bottle.

She was enraged, but refused to let it show, and stared down Paul McCulloch. "All right. You win. So get along out of here; both of you." Her three underlings were glancing nervously at the sky, and she also tossed her gaze to the heavens for a moment. "I missed my opportunity. Make sure that stupid little girl doesn't die from blood loss. Good luck whatever the hell it is you're doing."

"But... but major..."

"What?" she barked, rounding on the rifleman who had spoken and stalking towards him. "A couple of little kids are going to cause the apocalypse? I swear to GOD if that man has brainwashed you, don't..." She stopped talking. "You know what? The world doesn't need people like you jackasses." With no warning, she lifted the battle rifle and unleashed a series of short bursts. With no time to react, her former colleagues fell. Little puffs of red gasped from their chests, their bodies convulsed, and it was over. The three were dead in seconds.

Something strange had come over Sarah. She looked back over her shoulder at the remaining two humans. "What the hell are you trying to do, anyway?" It was as though the defeat of one of her life's greatest achievements was chewing its way through her dogma. There was a frustration in her features that spoke of more than just this defeat, though; becoming Bishop for the Exterminant had been no easy task. She was a hardened woman - a hardened woman with a battle rifle, who was undergoing mental rewiring. Those she addressed needed to think carefully before responding.

---

The items Gerard received were decidedly awesome. It turned out that Thatcher had offered his help to Gerard, and as the young-un tried to leave, he found Thatcher blocking his exit. "Hey, kid. I've been assigned protective detail on you. Oh, hold on." He turned from the doorway and unleashed a hail of bullets on a charizard that was chasing down a small family. They didn't quite kill it, and it only made the dragon angrier, and turn its attention to Thatcher, who was having trouble reloading. About the time the beast was in range to unleash its own fire, a manhole nearby fired its own cover high in the air. Holes in the sides opened up, and a rain of flechettes screamed out of it as it spun, tearing open the dragon's throat and sending it crashing to the ground. Jacob turned back to Gerard, unfazed. "Ah, Sig and Ed's little contraptions. Anyway. Grab your bike. Let's get the freak outta here. Other Waverly's, your son's safe with me. Anything hurts him, they won't realize they're hurtin' 'til they're dead."

When Gerard had finished up, they mounted their bikes, revved up, and shot off towards the east exit.

-8 AP: Gun, TM, potion, pokéball; store (character history) cuts cost.

---

Evening of the second day...

With a loud click, the water immediately stopped, and sounds of a scratching pencil could be heard. "Can do, Mr. Renwald. So it could..." The voice cut off and was replaced by incomprehensible murmuring. Something about a second switch echoed down to him, and then the interrogator's voice came back. "So, anything else?"

Thomas knew he couldn't get out with his scyther, but now that they knew this about the porygon2... He heard a click again, and the water came back. "Come on, Abe. Help us out, here."

Halfway across the underground community, Elian Joss was once again being led through the honeycombing interior. David and Solomon flanked her, and as before, people got out of their way with humble words of obeisance. It seemed like there were more, now and many were wounded - some must have returned from the attack on Glenville.

Suddenly, Elian felt a chill run down her spine, like someone had dumped freezing water down her back. An image seized her, and suddenly, it was as though she was in a cramped space with someone else, barely able to breathe, certainly unable to move as a thick spray of gelid water rushed over them. She was facing him, and saw his eyes. "Abraham Renwald" flashed through her mind. Somehow, she knew, if things went wrong, this man could save her. But first, she needed to save him.

The image faded. In her mind, like the magnetosomes in bird brains, she felt a draw to a particular part of the compound, one story down and likely at the very edge.

Both kadabra held her steady with their telekinetic powers in case she fainted, and she could detect their genuine concern through Aislin. "Oracle?"

---

Everyone was finally out of Glenville. Back in their command center/lab, Sigmund and Edward heaved deep sighs of relief. The Pack was being cleaned up, and many of the humans (who were largely the most dangerous) had turned back to wherever they had come from. Unfortunately, damages were far too heavy to spare anyone to follow them - not a large enough contingent to ensure their survival, anyway. Both had been active with their electronic defenses, operating point defense on rockets and electrode bombs. Now, their job was done - it was up to other authority figures to handle damage control and casualties.

"Whoa! Whoa, come watch this, Ed! Check this out!" Sigmund whispered excitedly. "He's talkin' to some weird old guy." Edward rushed over with Grimstrip and Charlesworth to look at a single video feed of a place north of Glenville.

There, on the barren earth, two black-garbed figures faced one another. One wore an unforgettable, sable hat. The other had wispy, gray hair waving out behind him in the wind. The brothers couldn't hear the two of them, but if they could, they would have first heard the older man, unable to hold himself in any longer, scream, "HOW? How did you do it? How could you possibly turn that many around? That's impossible! How did you kill fifty of my warriors? TELL ME!"

And the man in the hat, face pallid and stretched, started laughing. He laughed, and he cackled, and he guffawed, and he shouted his laughter out into the dry air, doubling over and clutching his abdomen as he did. The laughter was crazed and wild and he fell to his knees, beating the ground with a fist in his maniacal hilarity. "Hah! HAH! HAAAH! AAAAAAAHAAAAHAHAHAA! You're such an idiot! You're SUCH an IDIOT, Beati! You scumbag! You... hehehehehee! You retarded little scumbag!" And then, the laughing figure vanished the cackling still echoing through the air, while the older man's cheeks flushed with rage before a small patch of darkness passed over his own shadow, and he, too was gone.

---

Thus ends Chapter I. Congratulations, Cinders who are yet here!

Gerard roared out of Glenville for a second time, racing along beside Thatcher. He rode in silence, listening any time the gun-toting guardian decided to speak, responding if necessary but generally refraining.

They were out in the wilderness again. As they flew through the area where Gerard had captured Guts, he looked for the site of the battle, but it was nowhere to be seen in the trees.

He ran a hand over the gun at his side. It wasn't that he was nervous, but more that he was not used to the weight, both physical and mental, that a weapon like that bore. It was strange.

They were making good time. It would only be a little while until they made it to their destination, unless something happened along the way.

Abe flinched and the panic was beset by frustration. "Dammit, that wasn't even close to a minute!"
The cold water hit and his nerves screamed in response.
Think, dammit! What do you know?!
His brain fired off at a mile a minute in response to the nerve stimulation.

1. Problem: My only means of escape is a single window that acts as a drain limit. Solution: The only way to get there is to be carried by water.
2. Problem: The water will cause me to go into hypothermia. Solution: Change the water temperature.
3. Problem: Even if I change the temperature, the water is leaking too slowly. Solution: Make it fill faster.
4. Problem: I have no way of manipulating the water controls. Solution: Find one.

I helped build this system. The water controls are derived from a server undoubtedly in the room the geezer's in. Computer resources are meek, as are people that know how to use them, so undoubtedly everything that can fit on a single server in regards to this room is there.
He was shivering now. His vision was a bit blurry and he could feel the water at his waist. His brain was beginning to process slower.
The...digital sensors. The data they would read if I released Porygon2 would be terabytes in size. All of that...has to be on a separate server. That still doesn't solve...the underlying problem. No way for Porygon2 to jack in. Everything's controlled by landlines.
His thoughts were starting to fade. He thought he heard something about a second switch...
That's right...this room...I could shut off the water...but...when that happens, they just come back for me. I'd still have no way of reaching that damn drain window...
Come on...come on...there's gotta be...something wireless...
"Come on, Abe. Help us out, here."
The screeching volume of the damn earbud wasn't hel-
Wait.
No guarantee, but I gotta try.
His shivering caused his voice to quiver, but he seemed a bit more confident than before. Only a bit.
"Fine....I'll help you out...you want Porygon2's data...take it!"
He released Porygon2 from his pocket and it immediately bobbed up to the surface.
"Brebre?"
"Cyberspace, now!"
Porygon2's color suddenly drained and became a simple framework before that, too, vanished.
Abe's voice was quick and a bit panicked.
"Server 225.27.35.449 Port 5093 /H20Data/config.bat -var set parameters double temp = 98.7 double gps = 50 Execute!"
Right before water began pouring from the hatch, Abe took a deep breath...
Everything was chaotic for a few seconds, but Abe finally felt the current pull him through the drain latch. He opened his eyes and coughed some water up.
He tore the earbud off and placed Porygon2's Pokeball against it. "Realspace, now!"
A spark flew from where the Pokeball and earbud touched, and it felt heavier. Porygon2 was safe inside.
There was no telling how much data from Porygon2 they'd gathered while it was in the room. Probably everything dealing with its chassis. Then when it deconfigured itself into Cyberspace, they probably got a whole lot more. Between that and what he'd told them about Conversion2, they pretty much had everything about its capabilities.
Hopefully not enough to duplicate it. He shuddered to think about his years of work in the hands of these...lunatics.
He gathered his wits and figured out his surroundings. He had only one way out now, and that was the Oracle.
So Abe did the only thing he could do.
He ran.
((Well, hobbled really because of the shock to his nervous system, but that would be far less dramatic.))

II. "Suffering's Cessation. This is the noble truth of the cessation of suffering: it is the remainderless fading away and cessation of that same craving, the giving up and relinquishing of it, freedom from it, nonreliance on it." - Siddhartha Gautama

---

Bishop Sarah Amlund was a woman who had lost faith more times than any human being should. She had been born a Catholic, and grown up her whole life under the warm embrace and watchful eye of the papacy, actually living in Rome for the first sixteen years of her life. Those had been beautiful days, and she had learned to put her full faith in God. Her mother, father, and younger brother had supported her in this faith and ascribed to it, themselves. She was destined to enroll in conservatorium, to study organ and oboe performance for the betterment of her ability to worship the Lord Almighty. While playing, while singing her praises, she could feel the warmth of that all-knowing, all-powerful Being wash through her body, enlightening her, enrapturing her. She had lived for God, and God only, as much as she knew how.

Her father was afflicted with a latent, highly resistant strain of tuberculosis when she turned fourteen. The concerned family moved further south, into the "sole" of Italy, and he seemed to improve. Through constant prayer and meditation, Sarah believed her efforts would be successful, and her father would recover from this mysterious illness. He always told her not to worry. "It's okay, Sarah. It is God's test; if it takes me, then it is my time to go, and embrace the warmth of Heaven." His voice was still strong, like a great, bronze bell ringing in a church.

Six months later, he suffered a relapse. The tall, vibrant man grew pallid and suffering creased his face every time he coughed; Sarah forced herself not to look away when blood sprayed his handkerchiefs. She took them from him, washed them, prayed over them, and returned them. She grew weak from caring for him, as did the rest of the family. He could not work after a while, so her mother spent the time she was not caring for him and the children teaching piano lessons. She and her brother took part-time jobs, but on their father's insistence, stayed in school. "I get much more happiness from seeing you and your brother grow than I have pain from being ill. You are strong, strong children."

The disease took him away from her, and from the rest of them. For a time, she could depend on prayer, after that. For hours on end, she would pray for his soul, thanking God for what time he had had and what good he had done, praising Him for the blessing of her father's existence, and asking that her family be protected in the years to come as they scraped together a living. But eventually, she noticed something that she could not escape: his voice was gone, heard only in the bells, and his face, when she had seen it placidly in the casket, had not been smiling. The corpse had been a waxen, lifeless, and unrealistic object, on display for a mourning crowd, most of whom would not be affected by his death.

This picture, this silence, ate at Sarah. It took months open months, but gradually, she began to be angry with God. Her mother could not find enough work to do more than feed them, but still the woman demanded she and her brother finish their schooling. The father's mother came to live with them, and had her own sets of demands she imposed on the household. Sarah found magazines full of pictures of half-naked and naked men under her brother's mattress. She never confronted him about it. Her mother started smoking. Everything was deteriorating.

So one night, she decided to find for herself if God actually cared. She started walking immediately after dinner that night. She walked out of the city, and into what was left of Italy's wilderness. She walked until the city lights could not be seen, until her legs burned, until she was lost among tall, foreboding trees in a thick, umbral forest. Once there, she sat down, and began talking to God, as she had for years and years.

"God, Lord Almighty, it's Sarah. You know. The girl who's father you murdered. This one. I'm doubting your existence again, God. I need reassurance. I need to know you're here. I need to know you are real, that I can believe in you." Her voice grew shakier as she went, and sweat started shining on her forehead. "So. I'm going to do something your Word has told me to never do: I'm going to test you. If I feel empty, cold, different, then I will know you were with me, and I will serve penance the rest of my life. But if I feel nothing, then you never existed, and I will forsake this farce of a religion."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and continued. "I hate you, God. You're not real. The people who follow you are fools. There is nothing for us in the afterlife. We're animals without souls; our feelings are moot; and nothing will last when we last close our eyes. You are a lie, and I despise you for that." She did everything she knew to shut herself off from God. She closed her mouth, and her mind. She stopped praying. She sat against a tree, crossed her arms, and waited.

Nothing happened.

After two hours, she very calmly stood up, followed the breaking dawn into the nearest city, and took a cab back home. It was not the last time a religion would betray her.

---

Now, she was staring at this man and this girl. She had medical supplies, but the girl seemed happy to help herself. They had destroyed her most recent success; possibly blinded it forever. And they wouldn't answer her question.

Why had she killed her own men? "Because there was no reason for them not to die," she said distractedly. "They didn't mean anything alive; they don't mean anything now. The Exterminant's teachings say their souls will be purified by the mew and dissolved into the greater essence of ultimate Life that will begin at the end of the world. But the Exterminant also wants me to murder a group of children. I don't think even Islam was that harsh." She had ascribed to the Exterminant as long as it had filled her need for something to depend on. For a Bishop, it was supposed to be guaranteed that she would never reach a position in which she would actually have to kill another human being - others would always do it for her; others who were lesser. So, she had decided to kill her cohorts, when her first plan had failed, the project that had been so successful up until then, that had filled her heart like playing her oboe once had, and see if that were true; see if the mew would bless her and take the girl away.

But that sounded like crazy talk.

---

Thatcher was perfectly happy not to impose conversation on Gerard. Though he had kept on his smile, the last hour had not been pleasant. He had watched buildings fall from the sheer weight of pokémon pushing them from aboveground and burrowing under them; he had watched feral humans bite into their more sane comrades; he had watched a swarm of insects, both mundane and pokémon, cover a gunman and leave behind a skeleton within seconds. It had been far more horrendous than anything he had before experienced.

It had become quite common for the odd pack or motorcycle gang to try its hand at invading Glenville. Usually, a few well-aimed shots would scare off the former, and a few grenades worked for the latter. Every now and then, a particularly nasty pack - composed of sneasel and weavile, for instance - would break through and kill a few people, destroy cars, and whatever else, but rarely were there any huge casualties.

Three hundred citizens of Glenville and yet-uncounted pokémon had just died. No one knew how much of the Pack had been killed, but the numbers were far, far higher than Glenvillian casualties. Bodies littered the city, and were heaped in piles at the main entrance. It was not something he wanted to ever see again. When Sigmund had given him the opportunity to leave, he had welcomed the idea and left immediately for the Waverlies. After all, he was just a military leader; he had given command to his more than competent right-hand-man and gotten the hell out.

Thatcher liked the kid. It was clear he wasn't stupid - he had armed himself, and seemed prepared enough for the kinds of resistance he might encounter on his way to Woodmount. Getting in Woodmount would have at first been difficult, but with Thatcher, it shouldn't be a problem. Jacob grinned to himself a little and felt the weight of the two pokéballs in his pocket. He was exceedingly well-armed, guns aside.

As they road, the scenery was much the same as Alexis had seen: abandoned farms, blasted towns and cities, dusty ghost towns; the like. Eventually, they came upon one that their road ran straight through. Jacob took the lead and they began to move more slowly, the veteran's eyes constantly on the look-out for anything that might move. He saw a bike off to the side of the road that, unlike the rest of the town, was at least somewhat intact. He signaled to Gerard to follow his example, cut off his bike, and walked on foot towards the other. It was set nearby a post office, for some odd reason.

Heh. Someone still hasn't gotten their reality check, seems like. He glanced around. The smell of gasoline was still in the air; whoever had ridden in had done so recently. "Hey!" he shouted out suddenly, "anybody here?"

---

"Hah! That kid doesn't know what's good for him, and I doubt you do either, geezer. Give 'em Kronos, Slash!" shouted the leader. Immediately, the one who was behind Ulysses threw a pokéball and let the force from expelling the pokémon bring the ball back to his hand. A sleek, doberman-like, devil-horned and devil-tailed, seemingly armored creature took no time to start running and leap at Ulysses' back. It seemed from the corded muscle in this canine and the relatively thin frame of his master meant this creature had been raised with one purpose in mind - to fight as though more than just one life depended on it.

---

Evening of the same day...

"He got out?"

"He got out."

"How?"

"Sluice-gate."

"I TOLD YOU TO PUT HIM IN THE OLDER CELL! I haven't been down here in years, but you f****** live here and you can't remember which is which? That f***** should spikes IN HIS COLON by now, but you can't follow a simple order! Damn it!"

Contrary to Abe's fears, the Exterminant (like most people on Earth) did not have the equipment to measure an electronic device thoroughly enough to interpret its circuitry and software with any degree of accuracy. They had taken electromagnetic readings and ether readings, and the two had confirmed what they had feared - in the disruption of the ethereal field as the construct had been released and recaptured, they knew it had been infused with the same seemingly other-worldly power as all other pokémon.

"This is bad," the interrogator said, wiping his hands. The technician and jailer were doing their best to nurse their various broken bones in the corner of a small control room. The interrogator leaned down close to a microphone near a computer terminal and said, "Noah's ark has holes. Confirm: Noah's ark has holes."

With a sadistic grin, he turned and walked out of the room to the pleasant sounds of weeping grown men.

---

Down in the sewers he had landed in, Abe held his nose against the smell while he ran along the pathways. He was not as familiar with the maze down here, but he reasoned that it would likely correlate roughly to the upstairs; if that was true, he would eventually reach a gate out into the open world, wherever this place was, be able to wash off in a river, and leave. The arrival had not been pleasant - the first tube had been clean, as it was used specifically for draining off the water for prisoners. Later, as it continued to merge with other pipes, his way had become less pleasant as the fumes permeated the air, almost making him choke. Finally, he had been deposited with a wet splash into the larger sewer system, with items he preferred not to attempt to distinguish floating around him in the strong, but slow current. He had found a ladder, and though he was soaked, at least he was on his feet.

But things were not to be so simple. An ominous grating of metal on metal echoed through the expansive caverns, and water could be heard rushing in. Before Abe had taken another ten steps, he heard it - the distinctive sound of water trickling down a slope that was far too close to him for him to have missed it before. As he turned around, a tentacle whipped out to try to grab him - he could see the domed, cerulean upper body of its owner and the black, deadly eyes of that tentacruel as it started to make wet, gurgling noises, readying its venomous load.

---

Elian's visions assaulted her mind again. This man Abe... he would find find freedom, but not yet - no, not yet. Another threat was surfacing, one that did not want him to survive. And he needed to live - she knew that much. He needed to live, and right now, he seemed stopped several stories beneath her. The kadabras by now were ordering water to be brought for her, and asking if she needed to lie down.

What idiots! was all the retired ether specialist could think. No time to study nor evaluate their opponents. Just jumping in headlong without strategy! This mistake would almost undoubtedly be their last in this lifetime. If they were lucky, there would be a chance to repent for their foolish deeds, but Shonevsky carried little belief in that. His philosophy in such a situation was simple: seek the course of least minimal harm. Should a threat present itself, destroy its ability to act.

Ulysses heard the command and the unmistakable sound of a pokéball being deployed. Unfortunately, there was no time for him to react, and he had been planning accordingly. Junior stirred only slightly; all this ruckus and the old geezer's mental prodding had drawn him from sleep. Doing what he did best, Shonevsky and the small psychic were transported directly behind the lead biker. Ulysses raised his shotgun and fired without hesitation or moral dissonance. They had struck first, and it was now his turn to unleash upon them his righteous fury which heralded no mercy for the wicked. It certainly did not help their situation that Ulysses's house had just exploded and that he was of the mind to believe that in one way or another these jack***** were connected to that event.

Junior's job was still incomplete. As there were four bikers and also four properly trained combatants (see: Ulysses & co.) to oppose them, the abra still had his own part to play elsewhere. It was a simple maneuver. First, he teleported himself atop the motorcycle of a biker that had yet to engage in combat. Then, grasping the bike with his legs and the rider with his little claws, Junior teleported for the third time. The abra, bike, and biker came back to the physical plane twenty feet in the air. However, they all returned upside-down. The bike was above the rider whom still straddled its metal flanks. Junior released his hold on both bike and biker; from there, gravity took over. A fourth jump landed him a seat against Ulysses's left calf. Sleep would undoubtedly overtake him in the next few minutes assuming nothing disturbed him again.

Djinn, seeing the fast-approaching hound, quickly became excited. This was far more action than he had even hoped for. Ever since befriending the aging man, he had seen a steady decline in the amount of time he spent sparring or otherwise engaged in combat, be it a friendly sport or fierce competition. This journey from home was turning out to be highly rewarding in his opinion.

The purple ghost acted immediately, lunging toward the canine pokémon with the scariest visage he could muster: his eyes became larger, looking more crazed and his mouth opened wide, wide enough to swallow the assailant whole. Djinn flew straight toward his opponent in this fashion, and appeared to gobble up up the houndoom in one go. The mirage was brief, however, and the gengar simply passed right over the canine, sure to send strong wintry chills throughout its body. Cackling maniacally it seemed to simply vanish, as ghosts were apt to do. It reappeared beside the stunned houndoom to give it a rather comical slap across the jowls. It even carried with it that memorable sound that 21st century folks were sure to recall from their favorite sitcoms.

Gloria took a quick second to analyze the movements of her companions before lunging at the other unengaged biker. Her claws aimed for his chest, her teeth were set on a course to meet the soft flesh of his neck, and fire was pouring forth from the ninetales' gullet to tenderize the target.

All in all, it was a well-coordinated counter-offensive, but deep down the only one that had wished for such an outcome was Djinn. Fighting was in his blood, so to speak. Gloria, on the other hand, shared Ulysses's outlook on it all: she desired to avoid conflict, but should it be thrust upon her there would be no hesitation in striking down her assailant. Junior, being an abra, simply wished to be left alone and doze in the comfort found in the grasp of the doctor's arms. There was no desire in him at all to engage in a physical exchange of any sort, but such was the nature of abras in general.

((Quick warning: I'm headed to Florida tomorrow morning, and I'll be there until Sunday evening. So I'll be on hiatus during that time.))

Juno sat on the ground as she wiped off as much of the blood as she could with her ripped shirt. "Will you kill me if I ask to use some of your medical supplies?" The woman said nothing, so Juno took that as a sign that the lady was willing to share her supplies. Whether the Bishop would or wouldn't, Juno wasn't in the state of mind to really be able to tell. "I'm guessing that means it's okay," she mumbled with a slight smile. Yep, the pain was really starting to affect her.

Evie was licking the blood off of the young girl's arm. "Thanks, Evie," she mumbled. It seemed that Evie wanted to get supplies for the human, but the older woman wouldn't give them to the fox-like creature.

Until the lady actually offered her supplies, Juno looked through her little kit. Ooh. Bandages, sewing kit, and cream to fight infection. This was a gift from Heaven. Well, it would even better if she had some of the supplies that the lady had, but at least Juno had her meager med kit with her. Juno first took out the alcohol wipes and attempted to dab at her leg and arm wounds. She started with the deepest wound on her right thigh. "Mmph!" She bit her lip at the sting. "I really need help with this," she said while looking at Paul.

This has to be the most pitiful thing I've ever done. She'd always prided herself on being strong. She was always the one that her siblings looked up to. But they're not here. And this isn't the safe city of Glenville. She had to grow up and realize it was okay to ask for help. Actually, I should be thanking God that I'm not dead yet.

While Paul had started on the leg wounds, Juno strained to ignore the stabbing pain and looked at the Bishop. "Th-they didn't need to die. Everrrrybody matters." She hissed at one of the deeper wounds being cleaned up. "They might have had families. With wives and kids," she trailed off. She'd remembered her own father who died needlessly. She was brought back to reality thanks to a white hot pain right above her ankle. "Ow!" She gave Paul a light glare, but she knew it wasn't his fault. I was stupid to - OW - think I'd be fffffffffffreakin' safe in a tree. It was certainly not one of the best ideas she ever concocted.

Well one thing was certain now. The crazy lady was crazy. Killing for the sake of killing was not a very sane thing to do. Wants to kill me, yet is letting me go? And Paul, who'd been helping her, was a kind, kind man. Who probably wants something.

Juno was confused, tired, and in pain. She just wanted to find the people she needed to meet and get sleep.

Jeremiah was more than slightly disconcerted with the unfamiliar voice suddenly floating around in his head. Before he could attempt to say anything in return, the voice vanished, leaving him to wonder what had just happened.
His face contorted into a look of thought as he habitually ruffled the feathers of Loki's head.

"What do you think?" Jeremiah asked, keeping his eyes focused on the Cliffshire, "Do you wanna go have some fun?"

Loki tilted his hat-shaped head and stared at Jeremiah for only a moment before closing his eyes and making a short sound of approval.

Jeremiah smiled uncertainly, "That's what I like to hear."

He readied his bike to head northwest and took only a few more moments to study the Cliffshire. In a way, he envied their way of life, but he knew he would never be able to live like that, not since that time...

Besides, it was much more fun to go around the way he was, and much more satisfying. Though, at times, that satisfaction seemed almost empty.

"Alright Voice in my head," he said quietly, "I'll take your offer."