So . . . hey?
WELL, I POSTED QUICKLY. SOMEBODY GIVE ME A BLOODY MEDAL.
This feeling when only one bit of action with the story. /depression
Ah, well. I guess it is pretty damn weird. I can't blame you.
Onwards, young'uns~
Chapter 52: The Need for Power
No one came to get him, that night. Tobias remained still as he lay on the bed. He could hear the muted grumbling of the pipes in the facility; hear the groan of the floorboards above him. He knew he was safe. Jason would not walk in just as he drifted off to sleep to remind him how utterly weak and powerless he was.
No, Tobias reminded himself: he was not weak anymore.
Even if someone walked into kill him, Tobias wouldn't even think of the fear. What use was it, anyway? The human body is strong except for its kinks in armour. Death came quickly to humans.
What was there to be afraid of, knowing that?
He would not go to the doctor to have his 'head' checked. No one else ever had. Why the change? He would not go for a medical check-up, either. He didn't need any more proof of what had happened.
But, the way he was now, there was only so much he could do. His opponents would surely be more than human. Humans were weak creatures. How could he possibly be strong enough to protect anyone while he remained in his same, fragile place?
Tobias's mind drifted in and out of a dozing stage. He made sure to keep his eyes wide open, because the last thing he needed was for the vivid memories to play themselves on the black screen of the back of his eyelids that was the cinema of his memories.
Where is your god?
The words seemed to hang around Tobias, like his own curse.
God doesn't exist. He knew it. What kind of god would be around here, anyway? Even if he was 'supposedly' descended from a war god, what good could it possibly be?
Blood spills and runs dry, gold or not.
Nico sat Clyde down. Slowly, the older man clasped and unclasped his hands on the desk. "I want you to have an operation to be given a synthetic voice box."
Clyde remained silent, letting the words wash over him.
"We have the best team on the job. It will confine you to bed for two weeks, minimum, though."
Two weeks is too long. Clyde wrote on his memo pad. What could Tobias do in those two weeks? For all Clyde knew, the boy could turn the place on its head. Two weeks was enough to fuck this place sideways.
"During those two weeks I plan to send a small group out to locate Annabeth. Her strength would be the one thing we need, right now."
Put Tobias in that group.
"Already done that, Clyde," Nico said, the slightest undertone of smugness present in his voice. "He's going out. Having him stay here is too risky."
At least Nico has some sense.
"We've located a spare body in the morgue, and we're separating Valdez. This morning he told us the location of the Discs, which puts Gaos in a tough spot." The smugness was gone from Nico's voice. "But not tight enough."
Is Piper cured, yet?
"No." Nico reclined back into his chair. "There's been an advance, but Valdez isn't sure if a procedure will kill her, yet. As much as I hate it, we need him to take the chance. Jason, however . . ." Nico pressed his lips together. "It's another matter, for him."
Clyde sighed. Nico wasn't a fool: he knew what could happen. Clyde tried to swallow, only to be reminded of his dodgy throat. Slowly, Clyde wrote with a shaking hand and showed it to Nico.
Okay.
"Chase! Get back here!" the voice of her superior, Lynne, screeched after her. Annabeth had neglected to clean a stall. That morning had been a nasty one, the constant prickle at the back of Annabeth neck that meant people were talking about her hadn't shifted, and it made her crabby. The horse was being a pain. Fine, it could stay in its dirty straw for as long as Annabeth cared.
Lynne was not so kind.
"I don't care what your deal is today, Chase," she snapped, "but you've got a job and you've got to do it. None of this crabby business. Get to work properly." She shoved the pitchfork back into Annabeth's hands. "Go beat up some people in the gym or something. Maybe teach them."
Annabeth snorted. "I'm never teaching again."
"Good. You'd be shit." Lynne stalked off. Over her shoulder, she called, "And that stall better be spotless when I next look into it!"
Annabeth grumbled something and set to work. The Pegasus was already tethered to the stall door, letting her manoeuver in and out of the cell with the wheelbarrow of soiled hay. It wasn't a hard task, Annabeth knew, but after a whole day of cleaning stall after stall of thirty-seven horses, her patience was nearing its end.
As if on cue, the horse had kicked the wheelbarrow over, scattering its contents across the hall.
Don't kill the horse, Annabeth reminded herself, pressing a palm to her face. They're setting you off. You know this. They just want a laugh. Bloody Pegasi.
The horses pretended not to notice her frustration and decided something on the other side of the barn was incredibly interesting.
Annabeth sighed and cleaned up the mess that had fallen. She pressed it against the wall, far enough so the horse couldn't reach and far enough to give her a headache every time she ducked in and out with a forkful of hay.
She hadn't done a very good job.
She didn't care.
"Oi, oi, oi!" Lynne snapped as she saw Annabeth leaving the stall. She stood, hands on her hips, glaring her down. "Is this the part where you say sorry and try again?"
"No," Annabeth said simply. "It's not."
"Oh, what a shame." Lynne pointed to the stall with one arm. "Do it again. Do it properly, for God's sake, or so help me I will stay here and make you."
Annabeth grumbled and turned back, knowing she was being unreasonable. "What's so important about it anyway?" she muttered as she returned to the stall in question. "I've stayed in rooms dirtier than this."
"That says a lot about you, doesn't it?" Lynne snapped. "You know the phrase 'treat others as you want to be treated'?"
Annabeth scoffed. "Heard it but never seen it in practice."
"You and majority of the world," Lynne said, tone softer. "But now that you're here, you're treated with respect. Fighting among ourselves solves nothing, in case you haven't realised already. From now on, those horses will respect you if you respect them."
"Why would they respect me? And why should I both respecting them?"
"I'm not sure if you know," Lynne said, tapping the side of her nose, "but the scent of the sea god is all over you."
Annabeth's hand froze on the pitchfork. She stared into the darker stall. "Don't make jokes like that," her voice shook.
Lynne paused for a moment, realising she'd gone too far. Lynne was surprising gentle for someone with such a sharp tongue. "Well, that Pegasus is a real troublemaker for us, but so far he's only messed around with you a bit."
"Are you kidding?" Annabeth wondered, clipping the lead onto the winged horse's head collar and tethering him outside again. "He's a pain in the arse."
Lynne smiled. "You should look at him more closely. He likes you."
"He can like me all he wants," Annabeth growled, shovelling the hay again. "I won't like him."
Lynne's smile turned into a toothy grin, as if she was on the edge of laughing. "You say that now, but you'll see. It's impossible to hate horses."
She turned away, whistling to herself as she walked down the stable again.
"I'm assigning you on a mission," Nico says. The graveness to his tone never seems to leave, as if he's weighted down by an invisible ton and every word brings him closer to death. "You're going to locate Chase and the rest of our soldiers we have stationed in the Westers."
There are eight people in the room. I don't know any of them. Not even the ever-present Mirror and Armena are here. He must have decided their strengths are too valuable to even chance losing. However, the idea of them dying is hard to understand.
"You have six weeks to complete this job. You will bring our forces back—which is approximately twelve—before you head into New York and give them this." He presses a small envelope onto the table. The leader of the mission, a tall young man with chestnut-brown hair picks it up. Nico regards his movements, the quick stuffing into a secure pocket. He nods in approval. "It's an order for weapons. In short, we need a lot more."
Nico stands, walking to a filing cabinet behind his desk. "In the event you are attacked, you flee. Don't fight—never fight. If you start a fight, they'll start a fight, and they have a lot more than just ten people."
"Ten people?" the leader asks, confused. Nico nods wordlessly, pulling out the file. He places it on the desk. "Tobias Eaton will also be part of your group."
"You mean the guy that—"
"No." I stand, my voice harsh and sudden to my own hears. "You can't—"
"I can, I will, and this is an order. You have no right to refuse me, Tris Prior."
The sound of my full name after so long sounds unfamiliar to me. I swallow. "You can't make him come with us," I continue. "Why should he—"
"Beatrice," Nico snaps, "he is part of the group I have assembled. It doesn't mean you have to so much as talk to him. I couldn't care less how you work as a group so long as you get the job done."
My arms shake, so I clench my hands into fists at my sides. I let out a long breath, trying to calm down. "Okay," I say through gritted teeth. "It's fine. Okay. Right. Just a mission."
Nico doesn't smile, but he nods. "That is correct. In six weeks I'll expect you back here. You leave tonight."
"If you don't mind me asking, sir," the leader asks, "but who is this Tobias guy?"
Nico shrugged. "I'm not sure. Stay on his good side, and he won't kill you."
With that he dismisses us.
"How's the game?"
"We've already cheated."
"That was obvious."
"So has he."
"I'm going on a mission?" Tobias asked, curious. Nico had called him in alone, despite explaining there were nine other people in the group. Nico nodded. "For six weeks. You're going to San Francisco to collect our scouting forces. Hopefully you can also locate Annabeth. Then you'll go to New York. The Squad Leader will explain everything else."
Tobias scratched at his wrist as he thought. "Anyone I should know about on the mission?"
"If there was," Nico started darkly, "would you disobey an order?"
"No," Tobias answered calmly. "Just wanted to know."
Nico shrugged. "It depends how you see it. Personally, I don't think so."
"All right."
So it was to Tobias's surprise when he walked over to join the group that he saw a familiar, blonde-haired person among them. She didn't look at him, instead remaining in conversation with some other guy with brown hair, a solid inch or two taller than Tobias.
"You're Tobias, right?" the man in question asked, extending a hand. He had a dopily kind face but clear-cut, bright eyes. "I'm Simon."
"Tobias." He didn't smile, but shook the man's hand. Simon's grip was strong, which surprised Tobias. He nodded. "I guess I'll be your responsibility, Squad Leader."
"You will be," Simon assured him. "So, if you get out of hand, don't blame me if I have to kill you."
"You and Nico had a 'talk', I guess?"
"That's right." Simon smiled. He was like a child, caught red-handed and guilty, but not really caring. "So, make sure you follow orders."
Simon turned and addressed the group as a whole. "We'll be heading out now, so let's hope you've said all your goodbyes and all that."
Tobias wondered if he should have said anything to Clyde, but he brushed it aside. As if the guy would want to talk to him right then, anyway. Almost instinctively, he glanced towards Tris, who wasn't looking at him.
She'd grown taller these few months, Tobias realised. While she was still short, that growth to willowy from childish, that she'd always wanted, had finally happened. Her hair was growing long again, and she'd had to tie it back off her face.
She looked like someone else.
I'll definitely protect you, he thought as he followed the group outside. No matter what.
Clyde wasn't sure what to expect from the operation. Within the hour they had him attached to an IV and with an anaesthetic mask over his face. The surgeons were some of the kindest people he'd seen at the complex that far. They smiled as he nodded off. Dimly, Clyde wondered if it were possible to dream while in a medically-induced coma.
Yeah. He wondered.
"Hello, Clyde."
Clyde blinked, finding himself sitting at a small coffee table in a bustling café. He looked around. Hadn't he just been in hospital, nodding off as he was about to have an operation?
What the hell?
He looked around, standing up. The café was full of ghostly, wispy figures, blurred out as they spoke and chattered in the small, run-down café.
All except one: the boy who sat across from him.
The room, mustard yellow with the paler browns of tables, was flooded with afternoon light through the windowed storefront. Everything was bright, which was why the dark boy at the other side of the table stood out like a sore thumb.
He was the one who had spoken.
"Where am I?" Clyde asked, heart pounding. What was going on?
"You're dead, Clyde."
"Bullshit." Clyde brushed him off instantly.
A moment of silence stretched between them.
"WHAT?" Clyde screamed. The boy took a leisurely sip of his coffee. The chatter of the café continued around them, unaffected by his screaming. "What the fuck do you mean, I'm dead?"
"The operation failed. You died. The end."
"Bullshit!" Clyde slammed a fist onto the table. A cappuccino, for him, presumably, had been on the table. It rattled and spilt as he pounded the table. "I can't be dead! I'd barely fallen asleep! The operation hadn't even started yet!"
"It's common that, with death, people forget the moments leading up to their deaths," said the boy calmly, placing his coffee down. "With deaths such as yours, which was a result of losing oxygen to the brain, you can have severe amnesia."
Clyde stared, numb. His instincts told him to fight it; he was just dreaming, or something. Nothing serious. But, looking at the boy before him, with his dark hair, black overcoat, gloved hands holding the delicate handle of the cup, something struck a chord.
He believed him.
"Who are you?" Clyde asked, slumping down into the chair. The boy clasped his hands on the table, showing off the tattoos on the back of the fingers on his left hand.
"I'm Death. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but we've already met many times."
"What do you mean?"
"Your Eidolon form, when it was created; the soul of your host's body. In many years, when you will come back here."
"I'm not following."
"You're not meant to," Death said. "In your world, I'm known as someone else. Someone called the Daemon, I believe?"
Clyde jumped back, throwing his chair backwards. "You? You're the Daemon?"
"What difference does it make?" Death asked, calm. "The person who knows what is like to die the most is the one put in charge. It just so happens that I also became involved with your world."
"It was Annabeth, wasn't it?" Clyde asked. "You were looking for her, weren't you?"
Death took another sip of his coffee. "And if I was?"
"You creep," Clyde snapped. "How many girls did you have to look through to find her? Why are you so obsessed? Do you want her to die unpleasantly, or something?"
Death put down his coffee and sat back. "It seems Elektra has spoken to you a lot about me," he said.
Clyde's blood ran cold. "Why . . . why do you talk about them like you know them?"
"That's because I do, Clyde," Death said, massaging his thumb. "I know every person who's ever lived, or will ever live. Ever person ever, that has their life ended, comes to this shop, and talks to me. Everyone is given a choice with dying. You can go on and die, or you can go back to your life and suffer through it."
"This is sick."
"Sit down, Clyde," Death said, looking up. Though his eyes were hidden that infernally long fringe, the sharp outlines of his cheekbones and gaunt, bruised-coloured lips were enough to make him comply. With a shaking hand, he took a sip of the coffee.
It was good coffee.
"Now that you're here," Death said, "there are things I have to tell you."
"Why? I'm dead."
"Weren't you listening?" Death asked, patient and calm, like this happened every day. Who knew, maybe it did. "Everyone has a choice, Clyde. If you feel that you have to go back and save people, then you can. If you want to move on and have another life, then die."
"I'm an Eidolon, though. I don't understand."
"Everything dies, Clyde." There was an odd finality in that statement, a deep-rooted despair that made everything about the conversation halt. Death sipped at his coffee again, although it was nearly empty.
"You'll die. Through some accident or whatnot, probably Jason's meddling, your Eidolon soul has fused to the body. You're no longer just an Eidolon. The T-series was faulty to start with. The V-series, though, they're pretty good."
"How does this matter?"
"I got off-topic," Death sighed. "Anyway, you're dead. So, I have to give you a 'talk'. Normally this would just be a nice, calm, 'how was your life?' kind of thing, but this time Jason is involved, and that son of a bitch needs to have his arse handed to him." Death tapped the table with his fingertip. "That's why I'm going to tell you some important answers."
"How do you know I won't choose death?"
"So you're going to choose the better option, then? That would make my life easier. Please, step on through that door."
"Shut up, I'm not dying." Clyde drank more of his coffee. "What do I need to know?"
Death almost smiled. "Beatrice Prior. I've had a talk with her, too."
Clyde nearly spat out his coffee. He gulped down and then spoke, "What?"
"She's a Deadman, isn't she? She chose life, too. She's quite a strange girl."
"What does this matter?"
"In three weeks," Death said, "she'll die."
Clyde's hand froze where it was about to take the handle of the ceramic cup. He stared down at it, unable to fully understand. "Can you please repeat that?"
"Halfway through their mission to recover the people in the other cities," Death continued, "she'll be involved in a fight with the Amazons. She'll be gravely wounded, and she will bleed to death. Tobias Eaton, who I'm sure you're aware of, is a little bit . . ."—Death made a circular motion with a finger next to his temple—"off, up there. Her death will set him off, and about three hundred people will be killed.
"Obviously, I don't want to have anything to do with this," Death finished. "Dealing with all those people who just up and choose death, well . . . it's pretty depressing, to say the least."
"You have an awful lot of personality for someone who lets people die for a living." Clyde took a moment to realise the irony in that statement. He snorted into his hand.
"Amusing, isn't it?" Death pondered, almost amused. He meshed his hands together again. "Unfortunately, as a being such as myself, earning money isn't a problem. Let's not get distracted," Death said. "This world you live in, by Jason, is viewed as a 'game'. I have to view it in kind to participate in it." Death sat forward, leaning on the table. "So, I'm going to cheat."
Clyde felt his stomach drop. Something was seriously wrong, here.
"There are several small actions that can take place at your end of the spectrum that will change everything that happens," Death continued. "You need to locate Jason Grace, and you need to get Piper McLean, and Frank Zhang, Leo Valdez, Nico di Angelo, Thalia Grace, and Reyna Ramírez-Arellano together. Just getting them will change the course of history."
"I'm not sure how I feel about meddling with time."
"Get over yourself," Death brushed his comment off. "Finding them will be hard, and you have three weeks. In your hospital room when you wake up, there will be clues to the remaining members of that group."
"What about Hazel Levesque? Annabeth Chase? Percy Jackson?"
"Hazel Levesque," Death said, "isn't needed just yet."
"Are you just fucking around with death now?" Clyde yelled. "You can't just do that!"
"I can, and I will. Also, Levesque never died. Many decades ago, there was a mass disappearance that Hazel was involved in."
Clyde froze. Everything that he was saying was far, far too much. He wanted to curl in on himself. Maybe dying really was a better option.
"Too late to back out now, Clyde," Death said, sensing his helplessness. "You made your choice, and now it's time to suffer. Armena and Mirror, too—they're not from your world. I had them come to this world on a job, and that was to protect Beatrice Prior."
"Why?" Clyde's voice shook. "What is going on here?"
"You might not realise it," Death said, "but that single girl is what's holding this universe together, and if she dies, the world as you know it ends."
Death drained the last of his coffee. "Now, let's discuss the rest of this plan."
Annabeth shivered. A sudden chill ran down her spine, as if someone was talking about her.
For all she knew, they could be.
She'd cleaned the stall better, this time. She could even say that it was spotless. She straightened, placing her hands on her hips and stretching the stiff back that had toiled over the hay the last half hour.
She walked over to the tethered Pegasus: a huge, dark liver-brown animal with wings like an eagle, tipped with white and gold. Now that she examined it, it wasn't an ugly animal at all: its long, arched neck was gracefully carrying its classically-shaped head, its intelligent gaze staring into her. Its long limbs held it up, and it pointed one of its back legs in patience.
It pricked its ears towards her, noticing her change of perspective.
Annabeth scowled and looked away. "Don't look at me like you know me."
The Pegasus snorted at her. Annabeth curled her lip in return. Naturally, the Pegasus matched her, baring its huge teeth.
"Yeah, yeah, that's enough," Annabeth sighed, leading it back into the now-clean stall. She unclipped its halter and closed the gate after herself. Because of its huge height, it could still reach over easily and attempt to bite at her.
Without looking back, Annabeth slapped it across the nose as it tried to bite her on the arse. "Don't even try it," she snapped, picking up the wheelbarrow and heading down to the next stall. The Pegasus whinnied after her, as if laughing. Annabeth turned back to it, sticking out her tongue.
Damn horse, she thought.
"This is too dangerous. You and Jason are bringing this too close to the edge."
"What? It's not like anything will change."
"You've just forced the entire universe on one person's soul. Everything will come crumbling down as soon as she has another breakdown."
" . . . Maybe I should have mentioned this sooner, but playing safe is getting pretty boring."
I make sure to stay as close to Simon as possible. He hangs by the end, not looking at me and not talking to anyone. I can't blame them; he stands tall, his unusual greying hair and darkened gaze is enough to frighten anyone.
Why is he here? I wonder. As if he'd have wanted to come. Nico just wants to get us both out, and going to get Annabeth is like killing two birds with one stone, isn't it? Bloody Nico.
Six weeks in a small group with him. When he first came back, I was certain I would never be able to face him. However, looking at him now, all I can feel is anger towards him. He's changed, I know it, and I know it's not his fault—but some angry, irrational part of me is just so mad that he had the nerve to stay silent, and not even act angry about what happened.
Perhaps it's just the stages of grief. Getting past depression, and diving head-first into anger.
I'm angry. I'm very angry.
Simon must notice this, because he glances at me from the corner of his eye. "So, uh . . ." he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "What's the deal between you and Eaton?"
His voice is low, and for that I'm grateful. With his quiet voice and the thunderous crashing through the grasses of the Blank, I doubt Tobias would have heard him clearly. That and the chatter of the rest of the group would have helped.
But now that Simon's said his name, he'll be listening.
"It's nothing," I tell him, and push forward angrily, stalking through the grass. Simon catches my arm. "I get it, okay? Now be a good soldier and get back in formation."
I say nothing, only slow down to let him pass. He winks at me. "I 'get it'."
The son of a bitch.
" . . . you and Eaton?"
His name drifted towards him amongst the chatter. His name, in Simon's voice.
What's all this about?
Tris walks stiffly, hands clenched at her sides. The question must have been unpleasant for her, too. Should he listen? Despite being prepared for the question, Tobias couldn't help but feel curious.
"It's nothing."
Tris's replied, staccato. Tobias shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the surroundings, the endless landscape of golden yellow and a burnt sky, the dusk stretching on for hours.
Ironic, really, how he had crossed the same plains not a day or two ago, yet the feelings couldn't have been different.
Don't think about it.
Mentally, he created a door and closed off the memories of those days of torment behind it. Perhaps it was his childish hope that if he ignored them enough, they'd fade into fantasy.
All that mattered now was that he was strong enough to protect, and he knew what he had to sacrifice.
If you hurt her, Simon, he vowed, I will kill everything precious to you.
Tobias watched Simon reach out and grab Tris's arm. His steps faltered for a moment, feeling a familiar rage grow in his gut. Don't touch her don't touch her don't touch her—
Tris shakes him off and lets him go in front of her. Tobias's hands, unknowingly, were clenched at his sides. He shook them out, rubbing at his chafed wrists. As Simon passed her, he shot her a playful wink.
It made Tobias sick to the stomach.
He knew he shouldn't kill him. He knew. But right then, he wanted to, so badly. He swallowed hard and looked away. No, it was too early. He had six weeks to get through, and he needed as many people between him and Tris as he could get.
It was going to be a tough six weeks.
"Those Amazons," Death said, "the ones you don't know anything about, they—"
"Amazons?" Clyde asked, puzzled. "But they're gone. Kaput. Nada."
"How quaint. But," said Death, pushing his empty coffee cup and saucer to the middle of the table, "they're dangerous. They know what they want, and they'll sacrifice anything remotely unnecessary."
"What does this have to do with anything?"
Death was silent.
Clyde sighed. "What I don't understand," he said slowly, "is why Tris is this whole 'God' thing."
"Because she was the best option." Death deadpanned. "Her soul, surprisingly, is the most solid. I only attached a few strings here and there and suddenly the whole Universe literally rests on her. If she dies, and her soul is severed, then the universe is a bit . . ." Death makes a 'boom' motion with his hands.
"Is that literally what happens?"
"No, it's actually pretty boring," Death admits. "But you didn't come here for that. This plan I've got is to fuck up Jason's game."
Jason.
"Wait, so Jason's—"
"Jason is the one being out there," Death said, "that presents a problem to me."
Clyde let those words sink in. "Is that . . . even possible?"
Death pressed his lips together for a long moment. "I won't explain it. But there is one final thing you have to know before I send you back," Death raised a single finger. "Gaos's plan."
Clyde's blood ran cold. "What about it?"
"You don't know much about it, as an Eidolon," Death said, "but it is very, very simple."
"Can I know about it?"
"There's no reason to tell you the full version, just yet," Death said, his voice dropping. He leaned forward on the table. He was so close Clyde could see the bruised colour of his lips, that scar on his mouth that looked like his bottom lip had been split too many times.
"But in short, Jason—and Gaos—are following the plan proposed by the Wraith, many years ago.
"They plan to resurrect the gods."
"This is ridiculous. End this now."
"You're young. You think I'm a fool."
"You are. You're going to burn this world to the ground!"
" . . . how do you know that that wasn't my intention from the very beginning?"
The blonde boy stared out onto the yellow fields of the Blank. He sipped at a coffee. By his standards, it was pretty disgusting. Especially after having some of the very best coffee for thousands of years.
"You're a cheater, Daemon," he said to the view. He pursed his lips, thinking. Slowly, a grin grew on his face. "But it makes it all the more fun. Tell me, when did you realise that you were going to lose?"
Sup, kids.
Yeah, it's getting pretty weird, isn't it? The more I write it, the more worried I get that people will be like "so ... this is a crossover of PJO and Divergent, right? So . . . who the hell are they?"
Who am I kidding? That's probably what everyone already thinks.
Okay, then. Sayonara, kiddos. Gotta do work. Study. Fail some tests because I was WRITING THIS.
Until the next chapter,
Please R&R,
-Owl
