As the line slowly moved, Raven noticed statues standing in niches and on top of pedestals. As the line went forward, the statues would change. The previous would have bulky armor and cluttered with weapons. The next one she came to would be more streamline. This pattern would repeat as they walked forward.
"Those statues?"
"What about them?"
"They change as we go forward."
"Progress."
"Progress?"
"Yes, earlier more primitive form of a fighter," pointing towards the statue they pasted, "Next generation more streamline, more effective," motioning towards the one across from them, "Progress."
"Progress?"
"Slowly progressing forward like this line."
Ahead of them were two men walking towards them.
Her ears detected, "Don't take it too hard, Ford," came from a man in a bath robe and pajamas.
"Arthur, it never left my side."
"We can always get another towel."
"True, but can never replace the memories," walking past Raven.
"A towel? He's crying over a towel."
"Who's crying over what?"
Pointing over her shoulder, "He's crying over a towel."
Staring past her shoulder, "Who are you pointing at?"
"Them," turning around, "They're gone."
"Who's gone even if they existed in your mind?"
"Arthur and Ford."
"Arthur and Ford! And who's crying over the towel?"
"Ford."
"Good hitchhiker. He knew his priorities."
"It's a towel."
"You're not a hitchhiker, you would never understand."
"Make me understand the importance of a towel."
Pulling a book from his satchel bag, "Slapping the back of your head with this guide book would be fun, but it's more painful and rewarding if you read this," handing the book to her.
Staring at the big letter that was Don't Panic!
"What does that mean?"
"It means it's a bestseller. Now shut up, read, and learn something," turning forward.
"I like to know if this book can be shoved up your ass," she thought.
"Quit your dirty thoughts and read that book," was remarked inside her head.
"Stop entering my head without permission," she shot back.
As Raven was gaining wisdom or a headache, maybe going insane, back in an abandon Blood temple, a huge muzzle was sniffing among the pile of bones. It was searching. What, that depends on the black robed figure who was watching the werewolf.
Pushing bones away, a mechanical right hand picked up a scorched skull.
Walking towards the figure, "Here, mother," handing the skull over.
Taking the skull, "Thanks, son," staring into the eye sockets, "Time to bring your new brother back."
The huge beast metamorphosed into a young man.
Placing his bionic hand against his chest, "Yes, mother," bowing.