The whimpers were like that of a child, even if the voice was old inhuman. As Christine eased around the perimeter of the radio signals, the monsters cries shook her to the very core of her being. She hated the being, or wanted to at least. Scars and fresh wounds littered the beast and a bear trap was latched onto its arm. Chains covered its body and years ago Christine would have blasted it to ash without a second thought. But the whimpering was so pitiable, a part of Christine nearly forgot that this was Elijah's dog—his plaything. His tortured maniac who did as the old man wished. It was Dog's fault that she was at such a disadvantage in the first place.

Christine chose to focus her disdain instead on the voice that echoed from her collar. It wasn't Elijah. She wasn't sure who it was, but they were the only thing helping her to stay alive and away from the radios that seemed to be hidden more often than not. Did the ghosts do that on purpose? Were they actually self-aware enough to set up traps for food?


Dean led her back through the thicker clouds of smoke, arm around her waist as they successfully avoided most of the ghosts under the thick cloud's protection.

"It's not so bad for you, in small doses I mean." He remarked quietly, peaking around the corner while Flora gathered chips from the smaller fountains.

She didn't quite believe him, but it's not like Flora could say anything. And even if she could, it would have been cut off by her jumping up and firing two shots into the head of a ghost that was lunging for Dean.

"Fucking hell!" he tried to whisper, but it came out as a harsh growl. "Use a bloody spear next time, you're going to get us swarmed!"

She shrugged, giving him that strange smile as she continued to saunter off in the direction of the fountain. Dean sneered back, but couldn't ignore the sway of her hips for long. Even mute, there were certain things about her that just screamed Vera—that arse especially. But it was also her eyes, the way she held herself, and something overwhelmingly unreadable that frustrated him to no end. She fit the part alright. But he was supposed to be the one calling the shots here, and she seemed to be leading him the whole time. Even through the cloud.


Dean knocked on her door. Despite having already moved in with Sinclair, Vera still maintained an apartment in Ultra Luxe so that she could have some semblance of privacy from her rather possessive lover. The Hotel fit her perfectly, or at least, the idea she had of herself. Elegant and perfect. Yes, that is likely how she saw herself, and wanted to be seen as by others. Vera opened the door already beaming with a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Deano! Come in, I have the best news, come in!"

"Don't I get my hello first?" he growled with a smirk, pulling her into a hungry kiss that she eagerly returned.

"You weren't followed?" she ask once Dean finally pulled away.

"How would I? This place has plenty of security on the bottom floor, doesn't it?"

"Fine fine fine!" Vera pulled him to sit next to her, grabbing a photo album from the coffee table. She was positively radiating excitement, and Dean couldn't help but feel some of it as well. Terrible actress, but there was no denying the way she seemed to push emotions into people. It was how she had pulled in Sinclair…it was how she pulled Dean, years ago. But that didn't matter now, she had news.

"Sinclair sent this to me yesterday," she said, practically throwing the portfolio open.

The album was filled with pictures of construction. Villas, market places, and even a casino by the looks of it. Vera pointed excitedly to a photo of a promotional poster. It was a woman beckoning the beholder to join her with the words, "Begin Again at the Sierra Madre Casino and Resort!" plastered across the bottom.

"That's me! He's making a casino for me!" She squealed, taking another sip from her glass. "Do you know what this means?!"

"I'll say so, this means we've done it!" Dean exclaimed, having the presence of mind to take her glass and put it on the coffee table before laying her across the fainting couch.

"Don't you mean I did it?" she asked with a quirk of her lips.

"I was the one who introduced you, and I'm here to help once we get into this Madre place. Speaking of, Sinclair is going to need more than one entertainer, I'm sure. Put in a good word for me, will you, Lovely?"

Dean kissed her neck as he spoke, lips travelling lower. Dragging her skirt up, he massaged her thighs, sucking on the skin as he got closer and closer to that heaven between her legs. Oh he loved to hear her sing, alright. She wasn't the best actress, but her voice…it could pull a crowd.

"Of course…Ah! Dean…" Vera carded her hands through his hair, tugging him closer and squeezing his head. If he suffocated and died this way, Dean would have no qualms. Might even give Saint Andrew a wry wink as he was thrown down to where he truly belonged.


They arrived, greeted by Christine and that damn Elijah's lap dog who were on exact opposite sides of the fountain.

"Ah, it seems the old man is a bit short staffed this for this album." Dean adjusted his sunglasses. "So is it the lackey or the egomaniac?"

"I'm sure you can guess," the mutant growled back.

Dean spread his arms in in affected enthusiasm. "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we've all been waiting for since the New Testament, get ready for the rapture because God is here!"

The performance fell flat and the silence was infuriating for Domino before Christine explained, "This one's mouthy, but I don't want him running back to Elijah."

Flora raised her eyebrow, looking between Christine and "God".

His returned glare was almost physically painful. "Take a picture."

Pulling her aside, Christine explained, "Look, mutants can't be trusted but Nightkin manage to be even worse. They don't like being looked at, mostly due to a life of stealthboy abuse, but at least they can be reasoned with a little better than most greenies that aren't part of the first generation."

This left Flora only more confused, but she nodded anyway.

Dean called them back, not liking Flora getting out of his sight for too long. "Our maestro is here, gather round everyone, gather round."

"That will be all, Mister Domino." A booming voice snapped.

Vera had been replaced by a still projection of an old man. God, Dean, and Christine were seething as they glared at him, but Flora was still holding out on the gold so she just smiled faintly and waved.

"It is time for the festivities, and your parts in all of this," the man named Elijah continued, seeming to speak more to Christine than anyone else. "The only way to get into the Sierra it seems, is to trigger the Gala event—don't as ask me why. Honestly between an FEV reject, a mute, a ghoul, and…you…let's just say this batch doesn't inspire my confidence. But there's no sense in wasting you. Might as well let you attempt to surprise me; after all, it's no skin off my nose if you die…and I am a patient man."

"Cut the crap, Elijah; just tell us where we need to go," Christine snarled, a stark contrast from the calm she displayed towards Flora. "The sooner we get to the casino, the sooner I can find you and put an end to all of this."

"Watch your tongue, girl," he snapped, "Puesta del Sol and Salida del Sol to the West and East respectively. Puesta del Sol is where the switching station and speaker systems are, the fireworks and Event control panel are in Salida del Sol. Figure out among yourselves who will be in charge of triggering what, just get it done."

Elijah was gone and Vera once more stood before them. As if pulled by a string, each head turned to the others, silently trying to decide which job would involve the lease amount of risk.

"Well…"God"…Seems like we are the odd men out in this little Quartet. What do you say we go to Salida del Sol and get things set up for the ladies?" Dean asked leadingly, knowing how Christine would react.

"Not so fast," she interjected, and Dean resisted the urge to smirk, "I think I should go with God. You and Flora can take care of things in Puesta del Sol."

"Why, so there's a smoothskin to watch each of us?" God sneered. "Or is it because we all know that activating the control panel is the safest job, and you want to guarantee your own survival so you can enact your revenge on the old man?"

"Don't be stupid; all of us need to live or none of us will," Christine insisted.

"The switches to activate the fireworks are probably completely rusted out by now. The only one with a chance of being able to turn them on is God. Flora, you can operate the switching station, can't you?" She avoided God's first accusation, even though it was dead on. She didn't trust those…things. And she fully expected them to go plotting for their own benefit if left alone.

"So, what, that just leaves you and I as the odd ones out? Doesn't require a lot of talent to push a button or turn on a boom box."

"You're the musical man, aren't you? Dean Domino from all the posters? Surely you know that musical accompaniment for the Gala event is more than just a holotape that needs to be thrown into a tape deck."

Dean knew what she was doing, even if there was no need to do it. She was the one playing into his hands, not the other way around.

"Fine," he spat. "But how about we let Flora decide who she wants to go with."

Suddenly all their eyes were on her. It wasn't like she had been able to have input until that moment. But Flora had caught on to Dean's little ploy almost immediately. This little choice given to her wasn't even that: it was a test.

Of course she would pass it. Flora walked to his side, sliding her hand into his. Dean stiffened, not used to contact of any sort that didn't involve a spear being thrown at him.

"So it's decided then," Christine said smugly. "Let's go, God."


There was a clatter and the sound of breaking glass on the other side of the door when Dean banged on it. Vera took too long to answer, so he fished out his spare to get in.

"Deean!" she whined, practically falling off her chair. "I was just about to answer the door, you're too impatient!"

Her words were slurred and it was clear Vera had consumed more than just alcohol. Again.

"Vera, we have fifteen minutes until rehearsal." Dean tried to remain calm, but his blood was boiling. It had become harder and harder to manage her since they arrived in the Sierra Madre, especially while keeping their plans a secret from Sinclair.

"May I ask what's in the needle that's stuck in your arm?"

"Jus' a little bit of med-x, darling…I've been having some terrible pain lately…"

"Bullshit," he grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her to the kitchen for some water to clear her head. He would drown her if he knew it would work. "If you're sick you should be at the clinic, not "self-medicating"."

Dean splashed water in her face, much to Vera's distress. He hated seeing her this way. Med-x was such a weakness, and she was such a slave to it. She was never this bad when they were together…

Suddenly Vera felt herself yanked towards the door.

"Wh-where are we going at this hour, Deano?" She asked, still disoriented.

"First, it's barely ten-thirty. Second, the clinic. I don't want Sinclair seeing you like this. But for God's sake, you better learn your songs by this weekend."

"Or what, you'll tell Sinclair?"

His face was inches from hers in an instant, but all Vera could do was giggle senselessly at him.

"What the hell has gotten into you?!" he hissed, "Do you honestly want to ruin everything when we are so close?"

"We? I could have done all of this without you!" She was indignant now, weakly trying to tug her arms out of his grasp.

"I introdu—"

"Introduced like hell! You were just bored and wanting to ruin another life, Domino!"

A slap rang out in the room, leaving Vera shocked and clutching her cheek, tears forming in her eyes from the sting and the shock. She was certainly sobered up, now. Dean was breathing heavily before he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Put on some make-up. I'm still taking you to the clinic."

She was silent for a moment, clearly scared now. Good. She went back to her room without a word to change. When she returned, she asked meekly,

"H-hey, Deano…you won't really tell Sinclair…will you?"

Bingo.

Dean smirked, clasping her hands in his as he said with sickly sweetness. "Well that all depends on you, dear heart."


"So this is where I perform."

Dean looked about. Once again the two found themselves on a roof, but the ghosts were so dense below them, it was a wonder they made it with all their parts still intact. Those monsters must have sensed something was happening—something big. Did the ghosts also have some drive in the back of their heads to get in the Sierra Madre casino? Some faint memory from before the war that promised peace and comfort? Dean and Flora stayed away from the edge, not wishing to egg the monsters on to come chase them or throw something explosive their way.

"Now where is my orchestra?" Dean mumbled, lighting up a cigarette as they looked about.

Flora was the first one to spot the frayed and sparking wires. They connected to a pair of giant speakers, but also ran across the walls, spreading out to the entirety of the resort. Snorting despite herself, Flora couldn't believe how flawed Elijah's plan was. Dean came to see what she was looking at, and immediately hissed a string of curses.

"Is he fucking kidding me? Is that bastard is honestly trying to kill me off! Even if I do survive this, who's to say there isn't more damage down the line?"

Flora pointed to the sparks flying from both sides; if there was damage, one or both wouldn't be sparking like that. Taking his arm, Flora traced out the words: Series current.

'How did I know that?' she wondered. Had she been an electrician before getting hired as a courier?

Dean was frozen as she touched him, still very much not used to human contact after two-hundred years of loneliness. He felt his cheeks warm and thanked whatever God was out there—and most certainly not the blue one—that he could no longer blush. The urge to sneer was almost irresistible. It had been far too long since he was a young school boy, even before the damned bombs. There was no reason he should be reacting this way.

"Fine," he said, softly. "But how the damn am I supposed to keep the guests at bay? Holograms may scare them, but the music will have those blasted things crawling up the walls."

Flora thought for a moment, looking back out along the horizon. There were two fountains to the north and south of where they stood. Not nearly as big as the one at the entrance, but Flora spied the same sort of device in the center. She walked back inside as Dean watched her in silence. After bypassing the password security, Flora looked through the device controls. The northern hologram was controlled right here, but the other one was controlled by a different terminal. She looked back to Dean, pointing at the screen.

"Yeah…that would work. Where's the other one, partner?"

She shrugged, re-loading her gun and checking her pockets for extra stims. Signaling for him to wait there, Flora moved out.

The ghosts were already scarcer now, looking at her warily from the shadows but never coming close enough for her to waste bullets. Jumping the roofs became fairly easy, especially in these more tightly packed areas.

Dean watched her from afar; she was practically gliding from building to building. Even in the bulky security uniform she had found earlier, her grace couldn't be ignored. She ducked into another hole in the wall, only for the second hologram to stutter to life moments later. Flora's head peaked out, eyeing the hologram to make sure it stayed up. The faint blue glow fell across her pale skin, making her appear almost spectral…and Dean was struck.

They…they were so much alike. And would be even more so soon enough. It was only a matter of time.

Flora joined him again after a few minutes. He could see the traces of lipstick framing her smile and smudges of charcoal about her eyes that looked at him in that way of hers. Dean reached into his bag, pulling out a bottle of water. It was a bit irradiated, but otherwise clean.

"Here, this should help with your throat, partner," he said, unable to thank her for making sure he was safe.

Flora gave the bottle an odd look, but cracked it open, taking a few sips. Those eyes scanned his face and Dean swore she could see right through his sunglasses. Setting down the bottle, Flora licked her lips. Reaching out with fingers that were too damn soft for the wasteland, she traced his jaw and the corner of his mouth. He couldn't breathe. Scarred flesh and exposed muscle clenched and twitched in his neck, yet still he didn't move away, didn't question. His eyes fell shut with the hypnotic warmth. They only flew open again when she kissed him. Lips like silk moving like the water across his own calloused and chapped ones. A sigh as her tongue peeked out; she didn't ask for entrance, but simply lingered there, tasting his skin. There was no look of revulsion in her hooded eyes. She was completely unreadable. Backing away after what felt like an eternity, Flora took his hand and traced out: Be careful.

After that, she was gone.

More than the cloud seemed to choke him now. It was never supposed to be this way—just like before.


Christine tried to lead the way despite God clearly knowing the resort better. She was merely a tourist in his eyes, hardly worth his time. God may have lived in the Sierra for a time, but he had experienced plenty of the Brotherhood, and heard even more from Elijah through his ramblings.

After a particularly harsh fight with a group of ghosts, the two rested and licked their wounds under the comforting glow of a hologram. God glanced out of the corner of his eye to spy Christine glaring at him, spear in hand as she waited for the radaway drip to empty.

He scoffed, "Typical…"

"Excuse me?" Christine, with just as much menace as her stance had suggested.

"You Brotherhood can't seem to give it a rest. I used to work under the Master, and even I'm not so brainwashed as you."

"The Master lead slaves, the Brotherhood is nothing like he was!" Christine bite back. The Brotherhood had their problems—big problems, but… "We would never enslave anyone, and at least we are doing some good for the fallen world."

"Is that so? Before I was trapped here, the few Brotherhood who didn't try to kill my kind on sight still maintained the opinion that if they were fighting some great holy war. You people never even try to learn of the world outside your bunkers, do you? If you see something old and shiny, regardless of the consequences or loss life, your people will do everything in your power to take it, won't you."

"It is not our fault that the world has become overrun with abominations like yourself, freak."

God would have laughed, if that would not attract even more undesirable guests. "For someone who hoards artifacts of the past you sure don't know much about the era to which they belong. Two hundred years ago, it is you who would have been called the abomination...oh yes, Elijah has rambled plenty in regards to you and your preferences."

Taking great pleasure in the sudden change in her visage, God continued, "In Mexico there was a place called the Yucatan. Do you know why?"

"Why?" Christine was relieved at a change in topic. She didn't like to be reminded of why she was thrown from the Brotherhood's ranks.

"Colonizers—or so they like to call themselves—arrived on the shores of what they believed was a new land. The invaders pulled an indigenous man away from his people, demanding a name for the land. After some hesitation the man replied, 'Yucatan'. From then on, the colonizers called it so, pillaging and raping the land and its people in the name of their own God. Do you know what Yucatan means?"

Christine was silent.

"'I do not understand'. The Brotherhood may rationalize their actions in the name of some 'greater good' but your victims will only ever see thieves in old world armor, completely oblivious to the true suffering of the world."

She was silent still, but Christine could no longer look him in the eye.

"…Let's get moving." She said at last.

At last they arrived at the breaker station, and it only took a few moments for them both to realize that in order to prevent the ghosts from attacking God, he would need to be locked in. He would get hungry during that time.

"Maybe after we rendezvous back at the casino, I can play back the holotape of your voice again—"

"Forget it. I need food to hold me off. I'm not going back in that cage."

Christine was taken aback. She hadn't actually seen him eat yet, but why would she expect he didn't need to?

"I can't exactly spare you my rations, maybe if we collect enough tokens from the fountains…" Her voice trailed off, knowing that that plan would take far too long, and put them in too much danger. She also realized that wasn't what he meant.

God sneered. "The ghosts aren't fresh, but they are preserved."

Blood running cold, Christine took a moment to fully process what he had said.

"Then again…you could always make me go back in my cage…but that would make you no better than Elijah…wouldn't it?"

Swallowing the thick burning tar that had suddenly formed in her throat. Christine muttered, "He's the real monster here. More I'd say, even than you. Will three bodies be enough?"

"Plenty."


First would come the pre-recorded announcement. Then the fireworks. After that, it would be up to him to keep the wires connected all while Ve—…Flora keeps all the power directed towards the gala event. Hopefully it would be enough to pry those damn doors open.

Dean crushed his fifth cigarette with the heel of his shoe. There was no better method, but he hated being dragged into the show. He'd much rather watch from his balcony seat…like he used to. Like a grand aristocrat, watching the prisoners of war get slain and eaten by the wild animals in the colosseum below.

The echo of her lips ghosted through his mind, causing Dean to touch his mouth without realizing. He could still feel her there, taste her. Warmth seemed to linger, spreading from where she had touched him.

She was so fresh…and new…newer than Dean had had in a long time, even before the bombs.

Like a fresh Vera.

And the way her hair fell about her cheeks, the full curve of her lips as they puckered around a cigarette. And those legs…not exactly long, but they led to a little juncture he wished to be far more acquainted with than this blasted resort.

He would like to see a nice dress around those legs. Something that flowed, but was tight in all the right places. All of Flora's places were all the right places…

Dean shook his head. 'Fool me once, shame on her…Fool me twice…'

But they weren't the same, wasn't that the whole point?

The point of what?

Suddenly the sky was filled with the last voice he wanted to hear right now. Vera's.

Everyone, please may I have your attention - guests and residents of the Villa alike. I ask you to step outside and look to the night sky, it's the moment you've been waiting for, the reason we're all here. The Gala Event, the grand opening of the Sierra Madre Casino, you are the ones who have made this momentous occasion possible, and for that we thank you. So raise your glass in celebration, let music fill the streets. Fireworks light the sky and promise of new beginnings fill your hearts. No matter what your fortune, no matter what your cares - let go this night and begin again. I suggest you hurry, though; the gates of Sierra Madre are open but only for a brief time. After that the doors will close for the evening's festivities and won't open again till morning.

Dean practically dived for the wires holding them at the ready like a pair of cymbals. As soon as the thunder cleared, so came the lightning. A kaleidoscope of boom and crackle and the cloud got a little finer with all old world glamor, however brief. Just before they cleared, Dean pressed the two ends together, trying to ignore how stiff his arms became, and how much faster his heart began to beat as the electricity coursed through the wires and partially through him. Flora was taking care of the rest.

Suddenly, silence. Darkness. Soon all that was left was the hologram starlets, posing in their most winning fashion…until they too flickered out.

A string of swears escaped him in a breath, and true panic replaced it. They would come. Somehow, even though they were as old as he, their eyes had only grown sharper; finely tuned to hunt—to search for even the slightest movement. The air didn't move here. Nothing moved unless it was alive…or dead.

Dean hastily reloaded his gun, getting it cocked and ready as he followed the path Flora had taken before him. Jumping across the roofs and balconies was hard on Dean's knees and ankles, but he ignored the pain when he heard the ghosts growl and skulk beneath him. He nearly tumbled when he fell to the filthy tiled ground before the double doors that separated Puesta del Sol from the rest of the resort. They were harder to open now, more than ever before. The cloud pressed deeper into his lungs.

The possibility of freedom made the poison that clung to his mottled skin feel so much more violating, but the resort became a maze and without the lights to guide him, Dean felt lost. At last he passed the giant fountain in the center square. Even that one was lacking in lovely glowing starlets.

But he didn't care. The fear of death was very real in Mister Domino. More than it had ever been, even when the first bombs fell. Even before that…

She was a nervous wreck now. None of the other cast spoke to her, hardly. Too afraid to set off her hysterics, he imagined. Sinclair—concerned for what she had vehemently insisted was bronchitis, had given Vera her own personal robotic doctor, to shower her with uppers and downers whenever she pleased. Ever since that it had been moved to her room, Dean only had brief chances to meet with her in the changing rooms. Vera would nod or shake her head when Dean prodded her about her progress, but spoke very little.

She only sang on stage, now. The few private moments they had that weren't spent conniving often involved Dean taking her over a desk or against the wall while Vera shuddered, the occasional moan escaping her lips. She always came—Dean was nothing if not a gentleman—but she no longer gave him that little solo he always liked to hear. He couldn't seem to help himself these days. There was such a stark difference between now and back before the Sierra Madre idea had even been conceived. She used to be loud, but charming…now she was just quite.

"Sinclair will be here in a few minutes to wish me luck before rehearsal." She said quietly, wiping her legs off with a handkerchief he had lent her before dabbing her face and shoulders with a napkin and spritzing on a little perfume.

Her eyes were kept down. She rarely looked him in the eye anymore, but Dean never noticed, or refused to notice.

"Fine, I'll make myself scarce." He said, although he wanted to say 'hand Sinclair!'

"Is the auto-doc working for you?" Dean added the last bit, and for the first time in weeks, Vera actually looked up at him, slight surprise flashing across her face.

"I wouldn't want that lovely voice of yours to be ruined before our finale." He continued, fixing his tie in the mirror.

"…Yes it has…its working just fine." She looked back down, differently this time, as if she didn't quite get the response she had expected or hoped for.

Dean ignored the snappy tone. When this was all over, he might take a trip to the Bahamas. Maybe if he stayed away long enough, he might see whatever it was that was appealing about Vera when they first started dating. Just looking at her now gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. A bitter taste he couldn't seem to quit.

"Good. When Sinclair actually manages to gather the balls to propose to you, make sure you have some eye drops on hand. Your crocodile tears were never very convincing—on or off the stage…I'll even talk to him for you; Get the ball rolling and whatnot."

"Don't you think that's going a little too far? I thought we were just gonna get the money…"

Dean waved his hand dismissively. "You don't have to marry the bastard, just say 'yes' to the proposal!"

"Don't call him that." There was a bite to her tone.

"Ooh? Getting soft are we? You know you're supposed to trap the lion, not feel for it." He mocked.

"Stop it!" She was almost shrill now. "He's a nice man, he doesn't deserve the way you treat him!"

"Or the way you treat him?" he shot back, "Don't forget your part in all of this. Wasn't it a week ago that you claimed I did nothing, and all the genius came from you? Don't fool yourself, Keyes; you're as much a part of this as I am."

He stepped closer, and with each step she backed away until Dean was towering over her and she was shrinking into the couch.

"And just as you are a part of this, you can't just quit whenever you feel like it."

"Why. Not?

"Because Sinclair hates me. I'm used to it. But I don't think you could bear for him to hate you."

"…he would forgive me." She said, but unsure of her words.

"Would he? He's a powerful man, dear. A powerful man with a powerful temper—you'll see. Who could ruin everything. Your career, your reputation—you'd never work in Hollywood again…And if he didn't, I would."

The atmosphere was thick between them, and Vera was the first to blink.

"A proposal…If that's what you think will work," she said, barely above a sigh, and at last Dean moved back.

The tapping of her nails as they strummed across the counter became too aggravating. Dean left her to wallow in whatever thoughts pooled in that shallow little pond she called a head. He hated to see her pout, but sometimes just looking away wasn't quite enough.

Dean burst through the gates, slamming and locking them shut behind him. Even with that checkpoint cleared, he didn't stop running up the thousands of stairs that led to the casino, never looking back until the doors to the casino were shut behind him.

They had done it…truly, the plan worked!

Panting and trying to catch his breath, Dean finally had the chance to look about the luxury untouched for hundreds of years. But it was spoiled by the three bodies lying before him. God's, Christine's, and…

"Vera!" Dean ran for Flora, but the gas took him first.

He had already breathed in too much; it was a wonder he stayed conscious for as long as he had.

The holograms dragged the burglars away.