"Chris? You don't look too hot, bud."
Martin and Chris were in the outback, halfway through a day of slogging over red sand hills and bushy shrubs of grass. It was hot, really hot, but even Martin could tell Chris was sweating a ridiculous amount. He was unsteady on his feet, having to stop every so often to just stare at the desert floor and reorient himself. Martin probably would've guessed heat stroke was to blame, only, Chris had seemed off since the very beginning of the day, before they'd gone out into the sun. It was even to the point that Martin had been tempted to encourage Chris not to come out into the field at all, which was a pretty big ask, given the gravity of what they were dealing with.
"I'm fine, really." Chris said.
"You keep saying that."
"That's because you keep asking."
Martin frowned. He knew Chris was lying.
"Chris, if you're not up to it -"
"I am! My stomach just hurts a bit, really!"
"Wait, it does? For how long?"
"See, this is why I didn't want to say anything." Chris grumbled.
"Chris, how bad is it."
"It's fine, really!" He snapped, though, turning his head sharply threw him off balance, and Martin had to catch him by his shoulder before he tripped over himself completely.
"Chris, tell me."
"Fine, it's hurt since yesterday."
"What? But you weren't like this yesterday!"
Chris just gave Martin an angry glare.
"Wait, you mean - has it just been getting worse?"
Chris sat down.
"Chris, how bad is it now? Like, on a scale of one to-"
"Martin, really! You didn't seem to mind when we both got dengue."
"That was different, Chris." Martin scolded.
"Yeah! Back then, we were just stubborn and wanted to see the monkeys. Now, something actually important needs our attention, and you want to play mom, even though if you had the same thing I do right now, you'd be just as stubbornly out here!"
Martin huffed. He didn't like it, but this was a good point. They were here looking into anonymous reports that someone had been stealing dingoes, possibly to take back to America and put into a dog fighting ring. Dog fighting in general was disgusting, and Martin would've wanted to put an end to it any way he could, but there was something about stealing animals from their natural habitat to thrust them into a cruel world of violence that made it that much more deplorable, and demanding of their attention. Not to mention, it was finally their area of expertise, dealing with poaching as opposed to dealing with inner city crime. They had to put a stop to it, and finally, they could.
But Martin just had a bad feeling about Chris coming along.
Martin sighed. "Fine." He said. "I don't have to like it, though." He gave Chris a hand, and pulled him up.
"I don't either, but we have to get this taken care of." Chris said.
"You just have to promise me you'll hang back if we run into trouble."
"What, like I always do?" Chris laughed. "You're still the impulsive one, remember."
Martin frowned. "Chris, I'm serious."
Chris paused and breathed for a bit. "Alright, I will."
"And don't overexert yourself."
"Yeah, got it."
"And keep drinking lots of water."
"I said I got it, mom."
Martin chuckled and rolled his eyes. Chris had lost his balance, but at least he hadn't lost his spirit.
Martin just hoped that would keep up.
.
.
.
A couple hours on, Chris' wellness had only degraded. It wasn't desperately so, but it was enough to make Martin regret throwing him a bone. By the time the sun had set, Chris could hardly focus, so preoccupied was he with the pain in his gut. He had gotten snappier, dizzier, but every time Martin pointed it out Chris stayed defiant, insisting that they had already come so far into the outback, there was no point in turning back now.
So, imagine Martin's disdain when, at the top of a plateau, he spotted something in the distance, something that wasn't supposed to be there - a large camp, with jeeps and marquees and men armed with guns, guarding a hoard of cage traps.
Martin was tempted to fib. To suggest to Chris then and there that they should set up camp for the night, and then sneak off to deal with it himself. Only, Chris had spotted it too.
"Shit, there they are!" Chris said. He got on his stomach and pulled out the binoculars.
"What do you see?" Martin asked.
"No captured animals," Chris said, "thank god. It looks like they're setting up to head out or something."
"We may need to act fast then." Martin said begrudgingly. "If a group that big splits up, there's no way we can put an end to this."
"Don't worry, we have the element of surprise."
"No." Martin said. "I have the element of surprise. You need to call Aviva, and wait here for backup."
"Like hell I will!" Chris said, though he had to take a pause to clench his gut.
"Chris, you're not coming."
Martin was cut off by the sound of distant shouting, carried hauntingly on the still summer air.
"What's going on down there?" Martin asked.
Chris looked again through the binoculars. "Uh, we may not have to worry about who's going down there."
"What? Why not?"
"Because they're coming to us." Chris dropped the binoculars. "They've spotted us. They're after us!"
By now Martin could see that too. One of their jeeps had been loaded up, and was barreling towards the brothers' direction, kicking up mean trails of dust behind them. They were still quite a distance away, but that gap was going to close quickly.
"Chris, go run and hide. Call Aviva."
This time, Chris didn't argue. "What are you going to do?"
"Draw them as far away from you as possible. They can't chase both of us."
"What? Martin, you can't outrun a Jeep!"
"That's not the plan."
"You'll get caught!"
"Probably."
"Martin, just hide too!"
"There's no time to argue, do it, just go!" Martin lead his brother by the arm in one direction across the plateau, and shoved him to try and get him moving. He backed up, turned, and bolted down the other side of the plateau.
The jeep was getting awfully close. The headlights were starting to be piercing, and the rumble of the jeep was crescendoing into a monstrous roar. Looking the driver dead in the eye, Martin sprinted across its path, making absolutely certain that car was pursuing him.
Martin ran as hard and as fast as he could, but it didn't take long for the car to catch up. He went ahead and slowed to a jog once the vehicle sidled next to him, both because it was futile to try and get any further, and because he was exhausted.
Before the car had even stopped, a passenger leapt out of the back and pointed a rifle at Martin. Martin put his hands up without contest.
"Where do you think you're going, boy?" The man sticking him up spat. He was horribly thin, but in big overalls. He had a creepy grin with missing teeth, and was balding in weird ways. Martin honestly couldn't tell if he was old or a heroin addict, but, like the tipper suspected, he certainly was American. "Answer the question, where were you going!"
"Away from you." He lied.
The jeep came to a complete halt finally, and about five other mean looking guys spilled out, all also toting a firearm of some kind. Martin gulped.
"And what're you doing way out here in the outback?"
"I'm just a tourist..." he lied again, "camping. I don't mean trouble."
The guy laughed. "That's a good one! No tourist dresses like that." He wiggled the tip of his rifle around, gesturing to Martin's Creature Power Suit.
"Hey, what's wrong with my outfit? I like it." Martin joked, to try and keep himself from panicking.
"Oh, give it a rest, would ya? We know you're one of them animal super heroes. We suspected you might show up, since we had a dirty snitch in our midst."
"The tipper was... one of you guys?"
The man spat, a big, gross, wet one. "Don't worry about him, he got his comeuppance. Now, where's the other one?"
"Other one?" Martin stammered. "What other one?"
"You know, your buddy? Where's he at?"
"There's no other one." Martin said, feeling a knot form in his chest.
The man laughed. "You are just lovin' to lie, ain't'cha? Our scout saw two of ya on that plateau. So? Where's he now?"
"Long gone." Martin said, dropping all his nervousness, thinking, there's no way I'm letting them get to Chris. He gave his captor a threatening stare.
"We'll see about that." He grabbed Martin by the collar of his vest and slung him towards the jeep. "Boys! Tie this bastard up and put him in the trunk! We'll go search the plateau."
No, don't was all Martin could think as two of the men rustled him and tied his arms behind his back where he stood. He wanted so badly to fight back, whether to actually beat them all, or just keep them away from Chris as long as possible, but he now had three guns trained on him, and they didn't seem like the types who would hesitate to shoot. Martin knew all too well, as helpless as he was now, he wouldn't be any help to Chris dead. He just hoped they wouldn't find him.
One of the men who had tied him grabbed him by the back of the neck, and forced Martin to march to the rear of the car. They opened up the trunk, and stuffed him into it.
Martin could only lie in dread, as he felt the car sputtering from men climbing back into it. It had never been turned off, so it was set to just lurch forward. Martin was jostled as the jeep made a sharp turn, to head back in the one direction he wished them not to go. Martin hadn't been able to run very far from the mountain, so it didn't take the car long at all to get there, maybe two minutes in total. The car stopped again, this time turning off completely. Martin felt the car shaking once more as all the men poured out. He heard through the trunk door them being ordered to split up, and their footsteps on the gravel fading out in different directions. Martin had been left with a guard, but that was more manageable than all six of them. Martin tried to feel around in the trunk to see if there were any sharp edges he could free himself on. The trunk was cramped and lightless, he could hardly move and hardly see. He wanted both to get out as quickly as possible, but also not make so much noise that his guard got suspicious. It was a difficult line to tread, especially with all those limitations on him.
About ten minutes later, Martin hadn't made much progress. This was too bad, because, for whatever reason, the rest of the party was slowly starting to return. Martin knew he'd lost his window to escape, but he hoped maybe everyone else had given up on finding Chris.
That is, until one of the last ones returned, accompanied by the sounds of his struggling brother. Martin clenched his teeth. He had failed.
"This one's a fighter." The insidious culprit sneered. "Too bad he has two left feet!"
Martin heard a sharp crack, and Chris cry out in pain. It put Martin's heart in his throat - it sounded like maybe they had kicked him in the shins, but Martin couldn't help but assume the very worst.
"Alright, put him in the trunk with the other." Said one man.
"Is there room?" Said another.
The trunk was opened up. In a last ditch effort to do something, Martin kicked at the person who had opened the trunk, who happened to be the guy who first held a gun to him. The wrangler was surprised, but still caught Martin's foot, keeping the hit from landing. He was surprisingly strong, as he forced Martin's leg back into the trunk, though he gave himself an unfair advantage by pinning Martin down by a pressure point on the back of his neck.
"Yeah, there's room." The man said. "Just enough."
Martin got released, but hardly had any time to move before Chris got forced in next to him. There really was barely enough room, and Martin got smashed every which way, against the floors and walls of the trunk which, by the way, had clearly not been washed in a while, and smelled like tobacco, booze, and blood.
The trunk door was shut on them.
"Hey." Chris said.
"Chris! Are you okay?" Martin said through the side of his smushed mouth.
"No." Chris wheezed. "But, it's not like I can go back to the Tortuga now."
.
.
.
Martin and Chris got dragged out of the jeep and into the center of the camp. Big lights had been set up, which were a stark and blinding contrast to the night sky. They drowned out even the stars, and Martin had to squint coming into them from the dark trunk.
The brothers were forced to their knees. Martin's first priority was checking on Chris, now that he could actually see him. He looked about as bad as Martin feared - sad and dazed, staring blankly at the ground, his chin trembled slightly. He was febrile, and tired, and - Chris winced, probably as another wave of pain from his gut hit.
"We caught ourselves somethin' better that dingoes, boss!" Said the man, who Martin still couldn't make up his mind on whether he was old or an addict.
The man who was apparently the boss stepped forward, muscular arms folded. "I hope you boys had a pleasant trip?" He sneered.
"I could've used more leg room." Martin fired back.
"Look, boys, we're on the clock here, so I'll make this quick." The man said. "I know who you are, I know why you're here, but that doesn't matter. You may think you have some standing to take us down, but you don't. We're all getting paid per dingo, so it's in our best interest to do as good a job as possible. You're already wearing us thin by being here, the last thing we wanted was to spend precious manpower on guarding you nitwits, so I suggest you behave yourselves, or else we'll decide not to waste our resources on you, and kill you instead."
"Good to know." Martin retorted.
"You don't know what you're up against, do you?"
"Poachers? Crooks?" Martin asked.
"We are the best poachers, and the best crooks." The man turned his attention to Chris. "This one hasn't said much. Hey. Hey." He kicked dirt up into Chris' face, which made him sputter. "What, is this guy broken or something? He's just been staring blankly, is he slow?"
"What happened to not wasting any time?" Martin asked, in a desperate attempt to draw his attention away from Chris.
"Nah, something's going on here." He crouched down and got right in Chris' face. "There something I should know about, pal?"
"Stealing dingoes is bad?" Chris said, a surprisingly good comeback considering his condition. Martin felt a little proud.
"Right, so you're just an ass too." The man stood up. "I told you to behave. Were you even listening?"
Chris continued to stare forward, though now his brows were deeply furrowed. This just angered the man.
"This'll learn you!" He kicked Chris in the gut.
"CHRIS!" Martin cried. This was the last thing he wanted to happen. No, no, no, no, please be okay.
Chris doubled over, crying in agony, and threw up onto the dirt, before slumping over completely onto his side. He convulsed a bit, and threw up a second time.
The assailant jumped back in surprise. "Woah! That's all it took? I didn't even kick that hard, boy, is this guy weak or what?"
"He's sick!" Martin finally confessed with an enraged crack in his voice.
"Oooh, yeah, that makes sense. He shouldn't've come into work today, then!" He laughed and spit in Martin's face.
Chris was still on the ground, curled up in a ball, heaving and gasping in pain. Martin hoped at the very least Chris was suffering from food poisoning, and that little number had gotten everything out of his system. But it was a fragile hope, Chris was in exponentially greater pain, and to make things worse, all these thugs now knew how vulnerable he was.
"Alright, I've had my fun. Let's get back to business. Just, tie these clowns to the extra jeep, alright? We have some dogs to catch."
Chris and Martin were bound to the car's push bumper, first by their already tied arms, and then around their fronts. Their feet were gotten too, especially after that elderly heroin man told about Martin's apparent kicking habit. Martin allowed himself to take his attention away from Chris and onto the guys packing up their things and driving off into the outback they planned to violate. He was hoping to pick up on anything about them, anything at all, that may be of use for escaping, but he had no such luck, all the way until their dastardly vehicles disappeared into the night. Like the leader promised, three guys stayed behind to keep watch, though they didn't seem to threatened by their prisoners, as they stood a ways off, all complaining openly about them, and how they had been left out of the action just to watch them.
Martin returned his care to his brother.
"Chris, talk to me."
"It hurts," he said through clenched teeth. "It hurts so much worse. You - you were right, I should've - stayed, I -"
"Chris? Chris, let's not worry about that, okay? We gotta focus on what's going on now, and what we can do later."
"I called Aviva," he wheezed. "She knows what's going on, well - she knows you got taken, but I told her th-that if I didn't call back in an hour, I was too."
"Attaboy," Martin said. "But what about you, what's going on? I know it's hard, but just tell me what the pain is like, ok? We need to know what we're dealing with."
Chris breathed through his teeth. "It-it's changed. Like, it-t didn't just get worse, it - ah!" Chris cried again and tried to curl forward, but the ropes kept him in place.
"Breathe, Chris. It's gonna be okay."
Chris coughed, and threw up again, though it was little. By now tears had been forced from his eyes and were streaming in droves. Martin felt so powerless; he tried to get his ropes free, but even with the slight struggle he put in he could tell they were tied tight as chains. All he could do was watch as Chris had to settle back down from his latest spell, his face contorted and red.
"Are you good to talk again?" Martin asked gently.
"I-I-" he began to trail off.
"Chris! Come on, buddy, stay with me." Martin said.
"It's... moved."
"What? Chris, you're not making any sense."
"It... it was in the center, but it moved. It hurts on the right now."
"Wait, but - that means -"
He knew what this was. He heard that it could happen to anyone at any time, heck, he even knew a set of identical twins, where one got it and the other didn't. But it was scary, and probably the worst thing Chris could've had.
"Martin, what is it?" Chris pleaded, sensing his brother's distress even in this weakened state.
"No, I - I don't want to worry you."
"Martin, tell me."
"I can't, I -"
"Please, would you-" Chris' words were cut off, as he broke into another scream. This one was prolonged, and faded in and out of a constricted whimper. Martin couldn't help grimacing as he watched his little brother suffer.
"Chris, I think it's your appendix."
"Oh." Was all he said.
"This is bad. This is... pretty bad. I - I need to think." Martin looked up at the smothered sky. How long did he even have before the hunters got back? If he did escape before then, could he even take on the three guards, considering Chris' condition? He banged his head repeatedly against the car. He wasn't just backed up to a wall, he was bound to it. He could wait for Aviva to arrive, for help to come, but, just like his captor's hunting trip, he didn't know how long that would take. Martin would have to somehow manage his brother's illness until then, and he didn't know how to do that in general, let alone tied so tightly. Martin got a flash of horror when he remembered what he had heard about how Houdini died, that his appendicitis got accelerated fatally after he got punched in the gut - similar to what just happened to Chris. And Chris himself was fading fast; Martin examined him again and noted that his brother's head was hanging down, eyes closed, no reactionary winces of pain rolling across his face - he had passed out, or maybe worse.
Martin wanted to cry. He had to save Chris. He had to save the dingoes. He had to act as soon as he could, as soon as he came up with a plan.
Martin sighed. None of this was going to end easily.
.
.
.
Martin tried so hard not to fall asleep. He assumed that would be doable - bright lights shone in his face, he was positioned quite uncomfortably, and the determination to keep an eye on his brother and come up with a plan ran through his mind. And yet, Martin found himself woken by the sound of roaring, metal machines.
The hunters had come back to camp.
Martin examined the setting blearily. The sun hadn't come up yet, but the sky was grey with approaching dawn. The hunters were laughing and shouting, to Martin's dismay, about a job well done. The jeeps all came to a stop, the men piled out, and they began unloading cages filled with yapping, whimpering, growling, frightened orange dogs. Martin counted about fifteen captured dingoes, of different ages and genders. He clenched his fists and scowled.
If I was free, I'd beat every one of these bastards -
Martin realized that while he was asleep, anything could've happened to Chris. He started to panic, turning to him, hoping he hadn't just died in the night.
Chris was alive, he was breathing unsteadily, but he was still unconscious. Martin saw traces of vomit that wasn't there before; Chris must've thrown up again at some point, and Martin wanted to hit himself for not being awake to comfort his brother.
"Well, that's a wrap!" A sonorous voice abducted Martin's attention. It was the ringleader, slapping his hands together in satisfaction and stalking towards the brothers. "That's a five-hundred grand catch we just hauled in, despite your meddling." He boasted. "We did a pretty good job! All that's left is to take them down to the dock, and ah, figure out what to do with you two. Eh, we'll decide on something when we get there."
It's now or never. "Wait! Listen to me!" Martin pleaded.
"Oh, come on. If you're about to go on some speech about how what we're doing is wrong and animals are people too or whatever, save it."
"It's not that." Martin said. The bad guy raised a brow. "My brother is really sick."
"Brothers? That's what you two are?"
"I don't think he's going to make it if you drag him along with you."
"Is that so? Well, I suppose," he pulled a handgun out of the pockets of his hefty cargo pants, "I could put him out of his misery." He pointed the gun at Chris.
"NO!" Martin screamed.
The crook laughed, lowering the gun, thankfully without firing it. He was toying with Martin, trying to make him desperate. And Martin was.
"What, you have a better idea, kid?" The man sneered.
"Let him go." Martin said.
"Ha! Really?"
"My crew knows what's happened to us." He said. "They can track us, and they won't stop trying to stop you. Believe me, they don't even listen to threats."
"So?"
"If you let Chris go, I can tell them to not come after us."
"So... like a trade?" He leaned in towards Martin's face. "How can I trust that this isn't a trick?"
"There's a communication pod in my back pocket. Just, let me call them. You can smash it after for all I care, but I can tell them right here, right in front of you, to back off. No tricks. You wouldn't even have to meet up with them to hand off Chris, we can just leave him here and they'll pick him up. You get a job well done with no more trouble, and less people to guard, and... I won't give anymore fight. We'll all be happy."
The man hummed thoughtfully. "Tempting," he said. "Alright, I'll do it."
Martin directed him to where his pod was, as the man, quite uncomfortably, wriggled his arm around the ropes and into Martin's back pocket. The villain examined the device for some time, and Martin feared he was going to go back on his word and break it then and there, but finally he asked Martin how to dial up "that crew of your's." Martin complied, and the pod was put up to his ear. Martin pinned it there with his shoulder, ignoring the strain it put in the side of his neck.
Aviva's voice came through. Despite the worry in her tone, it was such a calming force. It gave him conviction, almost reframed his whole mindset, made him think, this isn't my only option, this is my best option.
"Martin! Is everything alright?" She said. "I got the call from Chris, and I followed, I - we're hiding right outside the bad guy's camp, I can see you by the way. We were just finalizing a plan to get you guys out of there, but what's - what's going on, how did you call me, what's - hey, why aren't you saying anything?"
Martin breathed deeply. Aviva was not going to like what Martin had come up with. But it was the best option.
"Chris is really sick. I think it's his appendix, it might've ruptured."
"What? Oh my god, that... that complicates things."
"Yeah, it does, but -" he paused. Here goes nothing. "I made a deal. The bad guys are gonna let him go."
"What? wait - deal? In exchange for what?"
Martin sighed. "You have to pick him up, and get him to a hospital."
"Okay, but -"
"And not follow us."
"Martin - wait, what? Are you serious? There has to be, there can't be -"
"You have to."
"No, Martin, I told you, we're right outside the camp, we can storm it, we can save you -"
"It's too risky, Aviva. These guys know Chris is hurt, they might -" he glanced nervously at the leader, who had not taken his watch off of Martin, and was threateningly cleaning the handgun he had pulled on Chris. "I don't wanna risk it."
Aviva laughed nervously. "Martin Kratt, you wanna lecture me about risk?"
"Aviva, please, you have to do it."
"And what about you?"
"I'll... get there when we get there."
"No! Martin, no! I'm not just leaving you alone with these guys!"
"And I'm not letting them take Chris!"
Aviva said nothing.
"Aviva, please. You have to do it."
She sighed. "Okay." Her voice was cracking.
"Promise. Promise you won't follow."
"I... I promise."
Martin sighed with relief. "Thank you."
"Martin, don't -"
Aviva was cut off by the leader wrenching Martin's creature pod away. "That sounds like a done deal, then!" He dropped it on the ground, and stepped on it. "Alright, we don't have a lot of time to wait around, there's a boat to catch!" He nodded at one of his guys, who pulled out a knife. Chris was cut from his binding to the bullbar. They left his arms and legs tied up though, so he wouldn't "walk away," as if that was going to happen. Chris instantly slumped over, and the man who cut him loose grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and thrust him away to the car. Chris shrieked a bit, but fell back into silence one he had stopped rolling.
"Hey, be careful with him!" Martin yelled.
"Hey, don't worry, we're not touching him from here on out." The ringleader said. But, he proceeded to spit in Chris' face.
Martin became tense with anger, but then settled down. Chris was at least let go, and on his way to safety. There was still a good chance he might not make it, and that scared Martin terribly, but - it was better this way.
"Could I... say goodbye to him?" Martin asked sadly.
"Um, that wasn't really part of the deal, sooo..." the guy grinned. "I think not." He bent down by Martin, and grabbed his feet. "Look at the bright side! You got that extra leg room you wanted."
He twisted Martin's legs up next to his chest, and tied them up onto the push bumper. It seemed they intended to drive with Martin just stuck on the front of the car, as if they thought because they were in Australia, they were in a Mad Max movie or something.
The crooks prepped for departure. The dingoes were examined and loaded up, the marquees were emptied and taken down; they of course left their garbage everywhere, adding that to their list of crimes against nature. Martin was at least grateful with how fast and efficient they were all being, because the sooner they left, the sooner the crew could get to Chris.
The last of the things were put away, and the men boarded the jeeps.
"Alright! Move out!" Shouted the leader, who wasn't even on Martin's transport. He did shout to that jeep's driver, though. "Hey Todd! Try not to ram into anything, I don't think your little hood ornament would appreciate that."
They all laughed, and the cars began to move.
The commotion stirred Chris, who until now had been nearly completely out of things. He didn't know what was going on, and was so distressed and confused to see Martin, completely hog-tied to a car for some reason, moving... away from him? But Chris wasn't moving at all, so - what's going on, where's he going? Chris tried to get up but only flailed. He stared fearfully at the ground, then his own chest, then Martin, like he was a small dog who had been put on a leash for the first time, and couldn't made sense of why, why he was trapped like that.
Martin finally cried, having to watch this all as his jeep backed out of its place. He was helpless, Chris was helpless, and there was nothing -
The car finally turned around, and Chris was out of sight. All he could see now was the vast, open desert, the convoy of jeeps and trucks ahead of him, and the sun, finally peeking over the horizon.
Please, please be okay, Chris, he thought. He closed his eyes bitterly, both to try and satisfy his urge to sob, and to deal with the dust that was getting kicked up in his face by the cars ahead.
If Aviva kept to her word, it was up to him now to save the Dingoes. There was always a chance that Martin could do something, heck, he still had his Creature Power Vest. But he was going to wait, until they were safely away from Chris, so that Martin could do what he needed to do without putting his brother in harm's way.
At least it gave him time to try and think up the next steps to his plan.
Let's allow him that time, shall we? I'm afraid, this is the one story here that we'll actually have to come back to some day; the rest are complete, they have endings - well, as much as anything in life can end. For all the short stories that stop and start, there are always more to come. After all, no life ever just has one amazing moment, then ceases to have any more. We are never sad once, never joyful once, never angry once, never afraid once. Every instance is important, every episode impactful, no matter how many of them there are.
So, as I said, we'll leave this one for now, but not forever. Martin and Chris deserve a resolution as much as they do in all the other stories here, so I promise I'll return. We just can't follow them for now, you know, as the deal demanded. Thankfully, the stories never stop. We'll have what we need to pass the time until then.