Another pin pushed in
To remind us where we've been
And every mile adds up
And leaves a mark on us
And sometimes our compass breaks
And our steady true north fades
We'll be just fine

West – Sleeping At Last


"We gotta rez at least one of them."

Huh?

"-n't expect this."

Oh. Words. Right.

"It's too Dar-"

Hm. The words come, but not the voices. Who?

"-rrying three of them isn't-"

Wait, there are voices, you just forgot how to hear them. There's still disconnect. The voice makes a noise and somewhere words happen, but you feel like you can't understand how the sound makes the meaning.

"Hold up, Cayde."

Cayde. You know that name. You just… can't remember. Probably good. Right? It doesn't make you feel nervous, at least, like… some other name. You can't dredge up any other names right now.

"-out of their systems-"

It's too hard to wrestle any sort of coherency out of the snippets. You have no idea what's going on. They continue, something about backup, and armor, and Fallen. The words filter down like debris falling through the water. It takes you what feels like an eternity to figure out you might be in a fight.

Maybe you should… try? Something? Hm. Hold up.

If you think the right way, then…

Eh. That's not working.

The two voices- or are there three? They might be arguing. Or maybe they're tense. Or angry. Something… not pleasant. Does that have anything to do with… this? Whatever this is?

You get the feeling this isn't normal, but…

Hm.

Something in the world shifts. The universe tilts on its axis.

Hello, inner ear. So nice to meet you again.

You find your tongue glued to the top of your mouth. Thirsty. A dull heaviness behind your eyes. Your face feels like rubber. Your limbs, when you reach for them, are lead-encased jelly. There's a slight… something. Regular, rhythmic.

Your breathing, maybe? It's kind of annoying.

Your eyelids feel impossibly heavy, and even when you manage the force of will to open them, they only crack open slivers. Gummed up. You blink them rapidly, trying to clear it. It takes physical will to roll your eyes around to see.

The yawning blankness threatens to cover you again. You fight against it ferociously. It surprises you. When did you get enough presence of mind to have motivation?

With a great deal of effort, you manage to get your eyes open and your vision at some level of focus.

"She's waking up."

Ah, that voice is immediately familiar. It's a good thing. The name to it, though, still eludes you.

"Azra, buddy. Look at me."

That's a different one. Still good. Something blue and white comes into focus. A person. Ah! A person you know!

Who is that, again?

"She still is pretty out of it."

You manage to swallow, but it only manages to bring to your attention that your throat feels like it's coated in sand. "Nnnygheah," You say.

"So that's a no on you walking?" the blue person asks.

You are so confused. Your Ghost tries to tell you something in your mind, but his nice little thought-packages end up jumbled and blurred like spilled watercolors and sand-drawings washed by the waves.

Oh! Him! That's your Ghost. The... whatever-number-voice. Your Ghost. That one. Good. His name is Spark because he shocks you sometimes, but you really don't mind, in fact you think it's a good thing, it doesn't really hurt but it makes him interesting and it gives you something to make fun out of that you know neither of you really care about, and it appears your first learned behavior in humor is teasing. Maybe you should learn a different one. But you never really do humor-teasing things with people you don't know well enough to not-hurt. Or know not to hurt, or… what?

"That's a no," your Ghost confirms. You're still confused. Who's telling jokes?

"Nobody's telling jokes, Azra."

You give up and close your eyes.

"Nonono, stay awake." That's not Spark, that's… that's not the blue guy, is it? It's the orange guy. Well you suppose he's technically more black and red than orange, but that's just… his color. He's orange. You haul your eyelids up again.

"We should move again." Sure, orange dudebro. You always know when to move. Let's go. There are more words there, but they run fast through your mind, leaving no more impression than the noise of a buzzing fly. You're so very glad you trust these people, because it's all you can do to just hold on as one of them lifts you into an awkward piggyback carry. You at least are able to adjust your grip so you don't strangle them. The person lets go for a moment for some reason. You're left struggling with numb fingers and it's so hard to breathe for some reason you don't know but you're drowning again-

His hands come back under your knees to support you. You breathe easier, but not easy. Your eyes sting.

You turn (well, the person carrying you turns) and you catch a glimpse of the dudebro. He's got another form balanced over his shoulders. It's draped in black fabric.

Shit. You don't know why, you don't know how you don't know why, but you do know…

what? It is very hard to keep thinking. Whoever you're clinging to (rather ineffectually) starts forward. There's a scraping sound. Something about the feeling of your breathing is still impossible to ignore. His breathing is labored, like you're really heavy. You know the sound; it's tied in your mind somehow to the blue guy. Or beige guy. One is how he looks, one is how he just kind of is…

You drift a little, thinking about colors. Time passes. You don't know how much. It's just a haze. Slowly, slowly, you pull yourself out of it, forcing your way into your own limbs, pushing back the fog inch by inch until your thoughts are just underneath a layer of water instead of buried in mounds of snow. You realize your chest hurts. You realize you're nauseous and have an enormous headache brewing behind the muddled clouds.

The… however many there are of you stop moving. It feels like it's been days. You feel very dizzy. The world tilts out of focus, and there's nothing for to hold on to, your very mind feels like it's spinning away. The person you're still being carried by turns a bit too fast, and, well-

Your stomach rebels. The person helpfully puts you down, but your limbs refuse to take your weight. Not even kneeling. It's all you can do to hold your face off the floor. Your arms are far too weak. They tremble even with this minor task.

Your gut muscles just kind of do their thing, and you let them. There isn't much there. When it's done, you do your best to flop to the side. The nausea fades for a moment, leaving you dizzy again and in danger of going back over the edge of unconsciousness.

Fuck, your ribs hurt. All that throwing up didn't help.

Doesn't Spark usually help with this? You shove the pain in your chest to the front of his mind. He responds verbally, apologetic.

"We're on low-Light mode. We can't spare it to heal you-"


Azra grunted and braced herself against the doorframe. "I don't have a lot of ammo left, man! What's about making some more?"

"I'm busy healing all your bullet holes at the moment."

"We don't have a lot of time before the rest of the party comes crashing in here."

"Internal organs or ammo. You get to choose."


"-if we need to rez someone-"


"This old drill, then. I might not have enough to fix all of you. What should I do first?"

They'd done this in the Vault, many times. The Light was dim there, so they'd had to prioritize…

"My ankle, first. Gotta run to survive."


"-and you're in no shape to fight in any case. I can't-


The Ghost puts what Light he can into healing the shattered bones. Survival here depends on being able to run and fight. The Hunter bows her head and murmurs an apology. There's not much point. She will fall again, and not have enough Light to catch herself. It was inevitable. The Ghost finishes healing her wrist and secrets himself away in the folds of her hood. His eye is the dimmest of stars.


"-get this out of your system without a revive-"


"Our Ghosts can heal our injuries, and if we die they can bring us back, most of the time. A rez cures all ills, even drunkenness, so this is how we get smashed and still have a sober lookout without someone sitting out all night. Now hand me the Jäger."


A bitter taste floods your mouth. The world shimmers, too bright and loud, and you float, untethered, in buzzing numbness. The dull roar of whatever this is builds, nausea rising new in your stomach, the smell of burning in your nose-

"Oh boy, here we go again. You should back up."


Azra woke up, again, kind of. More than last time, at least.

Everything was sore, yet numb. It felt like she'd just been hit by a Pike and then submerged in icewater. And had her entire skin replaced with silicone. And then been stomped on by an Ogre a few times for good measure.

She was lying on her back. She blearily opened her eyes, surprised the ceiling lights weren't too bright-

Oh, there weren't any. They were in a tunnel of some sort, dark and dank.

She swallowed the blood in her mouth and nearly choked. Coughing brought fiery pain in her ribcage, so much she nearly went under again. She rolled to the side, everything kind of… flopping, more than turning.

Eventually the world steadied, and she could breathe a bit.

"Well, guess that solves the mystery of what happens when an Arcstrider has a seizure."

"That's one fucking mystery," she tried to say back. It ended up sounding more like "Zaz onefug-kin myzztri." Her mouth tasted horrible. She was so confused.

Someone- Shiro, she decided, helped prop her up against a wall. Mentally, she pleaded her Ghost for some water. He materialized a canteen, but it slipped through her numb fingers. "Fuf," she said in an attempted swear.

"What she's trying to say," Spark translated, "is she is very confused and would like a sitrep. And some water."

Shiro held the canteen steady for her. Wow, even her gums hurt. Her lips and cheeks were itchy-numb. The water only awakened the horrible taste in her mouth. She still gulped it down greedily. The canteen was taken away when some went down the wrong hole and she was left a coughing, sputtering mess.

"You three got kidnapped," Cayde said. Oh good, Cayde was here, too.

"Free?" Azra slurred. Which three?

"Yeah, they gassed the whole campsite, set off an EMP that took me and Shiro out before we could even wake up. By the time our Ghosts rezzed us, they'd made off."

Shiro screwed the top back on the canteen and set it on the ground. "Seems the new Kell of Winter isn't too happy about his predecessor getting offed. Handed you over to the Splicer Priests."

Azra choked at the memory of fire in her veins and electricity at her neck like a malevolent hand crushing her windpipe. Andal had been screaming.

Spark kept explaining. "You just had a seizure. That's number four in the past six hours. Something I could fix, but it's very Dark."

"On the upside, it's kinda pretty," Cayde butted in. "Next time you feel the urge, tell me and we'll toss you on a pack of Dregs. That'd be a Lightshow."

Shiro doted, wiping her face with his cloak, propping her up a bit more soundly against the wall. "Don't know what the hell they gave you, but Andal and Tevis are still unconscious. You're not getting anywhere near sober without a revive, which we barely have enough Light for, or a long wait. We don't have a long wait."

Azra was nothing if not quick on the uptake. They only could muster the juice for one rez. "We vote Andal," Spark said.

"Why?" Shiro asked.

Azra opened her mouth to explain, but only a croak came out. She put her head between her knees and let her Ghost do the talking.

"Better three people running and one crawling than just the three up," Spark reasoned. "Why waste a rez on half a consciousness?"

"Thfink," Azra managed. The other point she wanted to make. Spark translated. "If anyone can weasel our way out of this situation, it's Andal. Unless you have a plan already?"

Shiro and Cayde made eye contact. Shiro shrugged. Cayde drew the Ace of Spades. "Well, Shiro buddy, it seems you've been outvoted. Charin? We good?"

The black-and-white Ghost appeared in realspace. "We should be. Standing by for resurrection."

The shot left Azra's ears ringing in a way that refused to fade.


?

Andal Brask was on his feet immediately. Several things battled for his attention. He was dressed in something light. No armor. His cloak was fastened messily around his shoulders, though. No weapons. No gear at all. The space was small and dim. Quiet.

His sweep caught no enemy combatants. They were in some cranny, a hallway open only on one side. The opposite end was a closed door of Fallen make. The whole hallway was of Fallen make, in fact.

Cayde stood guard on the open end of the space, Ace in hand. He looked fine. Shiro crouched over a prone Tevis. He looked up to make eye contact with Andal, nodding his unhurt status as well.

But Tevis- his face was too pale, too lax. It was impossible to tell whether he was dead or unconscious. Dried blood from a badly broken nose still crusted his lip. His curls were matted down with sweat. He also was missing his armor, dressed only in a thin shirt and some leggings, torn through in places to show bruises or nasty cuts.

On the other side, Azra. She was sitting up, but she didn't look in much better condition. She slumped against her own knees, unnervingly loose-limbed. Her fingers were swollen. An interesting pattern of burns spiderwebbed up her neck and onto the right side of her face. Her eyes were bloodshot.

But she grinned. There was that at least.

Andal's Ghost began transmatting armor. He strapped it on with purpose and efficiency. "Sitrep," he ordered.

Shiro rose from his crouch and handed Andal his favorite Hand Cannon. "We're two, two and a half klicks deep in a House Winter nest. They know we're here, no doubt the entrances are sealed. You three got kidnapped. Drugged. Just rezzed you. Tevis is still out. Azra's in no shape to walk. As you can tell, we're in a Dark Zone. Very Dark."

Azra made a sound like a failing engine, coughed, and then slurred, "Seeshrs fugn."

Her Ghost sparked into existence over her shoulder. "No, Azra, I'm not translating that."

"S'true," she protested.

"Not," Spark argued back. The Arcstrider sighed and the Ghost drooped. "I know," he said quietly.

Cayde called back over his shoulder. "Oh, and apparently something the Splicer Priests tried did not agree with Azra's brain. So if you see her get all pale and start sparking, I'd give her a berth."

"Fine," Spark huffed. "Azra says that seizures are fun. Happy?"

Andal remembered. He remembered pain, burning-without-burning, the more mundane aches of broken fingers or lacerations; he remembered a kick to his head; he remembered screaming as the fire ate away at him.

He remembered too much. Andal pushed it far back in his mind and locked it away. There would be a time to process. Now was the time to escape.

"Map?" he asked.

"Very incomplete," Shiro replied as he sent the file. "This place is new. This is all we've explored."

"Idiots," he mumbled. "The two of you, breaking into a place like this? How'd you expect to get out?"

Cayde answered that one. "With three more people than we came in with."

Fair. Still pretty reckless, though.

Time for business. Dragging two people made the ducts a no-no. It also made stealth that much harder. Fighting their way through the hordes was going to be… interesting.

"We'll head for that control room," Andal decided. "Mess up all their systems. It'll throw them into disarray. We'll unlock all the doors. Scratch that, lock all of them except the ones we want. Maybe encrypt some key that lets only us access."

"I might be able to do something like that," Spark offered.

Shiro's Ghost spoke on the feed, though absent in realspace. "I've got half a plan as well."

"Two halves of a plan is as good as we're going to get. I'll let you guys figure that out on the way over. Who's been carrying two?"

Cayde gestured with his gun. "Me, most recently. Still got our fun 'lil stretcher."

"Then I'll take Tevis, Shiro get Azra. Cayde's in front. Let's go."


Azra woke up, and she concluded to herself that she'd much rather stay unconscious.

"You're right, it is kind of pretty. But too dangerous. If that happens in the middle of a fight-"

"I'll fix it, then."

"We got enough breathing room for that?"

She opened her eyes. The familiar shell of her Ghost filled her vision. Deep blue, like the sea.

"I got you. Just a moment."

The flash of light hurt her eyes. Azra was immediately distracted by two things.

First, the immediate clarity of thought. Gone was the fog. Her eyes snapped back open on instinct. The ceiling was in perfect detail. It had been Andal and Spark speaking to each other earlier.

The second thing grabbed all of her focus a split second later. Pain. Her neck hurt. Her face hurt. Her hands throbbed. Her chest was absolute fire. Every nerve in her body was abruptly and all at once howling at her.

She screamed. It wasn't a choice. The ragged, inhuman noise tore its way out of her throat before she could stifle it. Heartbeats later, everything dimmed again. The pain lost its edge. The world retreated back to a safe distance. The sound faltered and stopped. Azra was left stunned and dazed. But still hurting.

She curled into herself and tried to strangle back a sob but it hurt, so much it wrenched its way out of her and left her gasping for breath, for space to think through all the pain.

Spark sent encouraging thoughts her way. They hit less as words than notions, splashes of determination and optimism that helped distract her from her ribs, just a little bit.

Enough to focus her attention back outwards. There was shouting. Someone roared.

She knew that voice. Wasn't Tevis supposed to be unconscious?

Spark sent her a feeling of the sun rising, setting, and a mirror of her own slow fight for consciousness.

Made sense he'd wake up sometime, too. What crappy timing.

The muziness continued to pile itself on top of her, and she sank into the depths gratefully. Soon, she couldn't feel her face again. All the pain retreated to a safe distance, distracting but not overwhelming, as long as she didn't move.

She rolled and struggled back into a sitting position, cursing her own weakness. Eventually she managed to arrange herself in a semi-stable slouch against the wall. The others had successfully quieted Tevis.

She must have zoned out or something, because to her awareness, Andal literally appeared next to her. "That sounded bad. You alright?"

Azra hummed noncommittally. The universe dipped and swayed as her inner ear tried to make sense of all the crossed signals. Andal seemed to be very far away. Everything did.

"No," Spark answered. "She's got seven broken ribs, a punctured and slowly collapsing lung, three recently re-located fingers, Lichtenberg burns along her entire right abdomen, acute kidney failure, damage to the tendons in her right knee…" The Ghost trailed off. Azra was surprised. She hadn't known about the knee thing. "I feel so helpless," her Ghost admitted.

"I hate it too," Andal said. "But don't you worry, Little Light. We're getting out of here."

"I hate it when you call me that," Spark muttered. Andal chuckled.

"Ready to go?" the Gunslinger asked. "We're done here."

"M'helmet," Azra said. Spark gave it to her. She slid it on, turned up the sound dampening, and turned off her input to the voice channel. Then she nodded at Andal.

Being carried was torture, but at least Azra was free to scream her lungs out.


They managed to get Tevis rezzed after another thirty minutes or so of fighting. He woke up already furious. Angry Cayde or Andal was one thing. Angry Tevis, truly angry Tevis, sent shudders of fear down Azra's spine. He didn't froth at the mouth or start ranting, but Azra did not like the look in his eye one bit. He looked fit to murder the whole world.

They held a quick conference in a storage closet. Azra only offered suggestions through her Ghost. Her voice was hoarse from shouting. The drugs were wearing off, if slowly. Every heartbeat brought more pain into focus, and she was having a harder and harder time dealing with it.

The main topic of debate: what to actually do. Escape had been the only option before, but now that they were all together and at least semiconscious-

"We could just go, sure. But what's to stop them from just doing this again the next time we piss off a Kell?" Tevis argued.

"We could keep night watch," Shiro offered. Even he didn't seem convinced of the validity of his suggestion.

"For the rest of our lives?" Cayde said. "Pass."

"This is crossing a line," Tevis continued. "We need them to think long and hard before they start messing with us. Give 'em something to chill their breath when they wonder about kidnapping."

"I'll not cry for any of these Fallen," Shiro said. "But is it worth it? We're not exactly flush on ammo here, and there's no way to call for backup."

Azra was not an angry person in general. She was too pragmatic, too quick to accept things and move on. Perhaps that was why she was so bad at Solar things. She just couldn't muster enough energy towards feelings like vengance. Her focus was better spent looking to the future.

But accepting this? This was wrong. She could not just chalk up what had happened (and what was still happening) as a simple fact of the universe.

Tevis was right. They had no real way to counter EMPs and knockout gas while sleeping. If they were to stop this from happening again, they'd have to make it clear that having the Crew in your base was a bad idea, period. Unconscious or not. Especially unconscious.

Besides, Andal had been screaming. She refused to accept that as something that could just happen.

They talked, in hushed tones, about their next move. Tevis was eager for revenge. Cayde had sore pride and anger born of helplessness. But Andal and Shiro were still too cool, shaken and unwilling to take risks.

Azra knew something that would motivate them.

She turned off her HUD and stared at her own reflection in her visor. Eye whites splotchy with blood, tear tracks through the grime on her face, a split lip, lighting-patterned scaring creeping up her right cheek and curling around her eyebrow. Her face was taut and pale with pain.

With a good deal of effort, she undid the latches and removed her helmet. It fell clumsily from her hands to hit the floor with a dull thud.

"I say we do it," she rasped with vocal cords shot from yelling. All eyes turned on her, and she saw the difference it made. Andal's expression grew dark. Cayde's jaw worked and his optics dimmed in fury. Shiro looked taken aback. It was easy to forget the pain once your wounds were healed.

Azra spat a wad of mucus and blood on the floor. It still took too much effort to draw in a breath, and her heart thrummed fast and ineffectual in her chest. She didn't care much about that. She knew the others would likewise set aside their own injuries and pains. But Andal had been screaming, and Tevis had been afraid, and Azra could not abide that. She saw the reflection of her own anger in their eyes.

This would not happen again. And if the way to prevent it was by bringing burning justice down on the heads of the creatures that had hurt her Pack? All the better.

"Alright," Andal rumbled.


March 14, 2878, 01:44; Crew's Campsite, 350km SE of Hotan, Old China, Earth

They held each other close that night. Nobody really wanted to go to sleep, even after they moved camp, even though Tevis sat on top of their rock overhang and kept vigilant watch. The camp was a half-finished mess. Things were still scattered about from their haphazard unpacking. The fire circle was just a clear space on the ground. There was no way the Fallen could find their site so fast, in the middle of nowhere as they were. Still, it was hard to relax.

Shiro was flipping through Fallen channels, taking in reactions to the Crew's capture and fiery retribution with a grim look on his face. Azra was sorting through all of the files they'd taken. A lot of the Fallen-made maps needed to be adjusted for Guardian formats and double-checked against existing files. Other snippets of intel she sent to Cayde, who mostly seemed to be shoving them in a folder and ignoring them, staring out at the night's darkness instead. Andal dictated reports and apologies. Azra was settled so close to him she could hear the tired rumble in his chest. It was a comfort.

Eventually, the Fallen moved on to other news. Andal's paperwork dried up. Azra found herself staring blankly through the holographic maps into the dark. There was nothing but silence and stillness for several long minutes.


TYPE: GUARDIAN CUSTOMS PROJECT
PARTIES: Five [5]. Five [5] Guardian-types, Class Hunter, designates Cayde-6 [c6], Azra Jax [aj], Shiro-4 [s4], Tevis Larsen [tl], Andal Brask [ab]
ASSOCIATIONS: Brask, Andal; Cayde-6; Elyksul, Kell of Winter; Fallen; Jax, Azra; Larsen, Tevis; Shiro-4
CUSTOMS ASSOCIATIONS: Dark Ages; Death, Final; Debt; Injury; Nightstalkers [Hunters]; Pack [Hunters]; Revenge
/AUDIO UNAVAILABLE/
/TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[c6:01]: That was… bad.

[c6:02]: Shoulda seen it when we first found you. Thought you were already gone, you all were lyin' so still. I don't… if those Splicer priests had done you in-

[aj:01]: They could have.

[s4:01]: Death was inevitable. Blood loss, kidney failure, brain damage. Matter of when, not if, at that point.

[c6:03]: I thought all three of you were gone and I didn't know what to do.

[silence]

[aj:02]: But we weren't gone. Even if it could have happened, it didn't. Because of you.

[tl:01]: When I started waking up, I just heard Azra yell and I thought…

[ab:01]: I knew they'd come for us. Never doubted it.

[tl:02]: Pair of optimists, the two of you.

[aj:03]: If it's that or nihilistic navel-gazing, I'll pick the sunshine and rainbows.

[tl:03]: Don't know what else I should have expect from you, Azra. Creepy optimism.

[aj:04]: What are you talking about?

[tl:04]: The first time you drew your Bow you ended up laughing at the inevitable heat death of the universe.

[aj:05]: … Alright, got me on that one.

[ab:02]: Things could have been bad, but they weren't. We're lucky we've got people willing to break into an unknown, unmapped Fallen nest to save our sorry asses. That's something to celebrate.

[c6:04]: Well, Tevis still owes me a lot of glimmer, so…

[tl:05]: Shut up, Cayde.

[c6:05]: Oh, does Mr. Larsen not like being reminded of his debts?

[tl:06]: You're playing the greedy angle because you can't confront how much you care about us and how weak that could make you, since you'd be broken by losing us like you almost did.

[ab:03]: Harsh.

[s4:02]: It appears Mr. Larsen does not like being reminded of his debts.

[silence]

[c6:06]: Fuck, I'm not just gonna sit here-

[aj:06]: If you move, Cayde, I swear to the Traveler I will stab you.

[c6:07]: What?

[aj:07]: It's going to be cold tonight, and you're the space heater.

[silence]

[aj:08]: See how it feels, being trivialized?

[c6:08]: Damn, Azra, alright. You don't have to threaten to stab me over it.

[aj:09]: Say iiiiiit.

[c6:09]: Fine, I would be very upset if anything bad happened to you guys. Something bad happened, and now I am upset. Happy?

[aj:10]: Only if you get your ass over here. I'm actually cold.

[ab:03]: Mood's a little too dark for the trivial stuff tonight, I think.

[tl:07]: I have had a lot of close calls in my years, but that was a Dark Age-flavored mess. It's one thing brushing death yourself. Another thing entirely to have to sit there and listen and not being able to do anything about it but swear revenge.

[ab:04]: That was certainly a bolder move than I expected to see out of the Fallen. Especially House Winter.

[s4:03]: Their new Kell isn't exactly prudent. He'll continue making rash decisions until it gets him overthrown or killed.

[tl:08]: I think he's already made a rash decision that'll get him killed.

[c6:10]: Hear, hear.

[ab:05]: … I think we should relocate to the City.

[aj:11]: It's 3 pm there.

[s4:04]: Think we're going to get any decent sleep out here tonight?

[c6:11]: I call a vote.

[ab:06]: All in favor?

[beat]

[ab:07]: All opposed?

[beat]

[aj:12]: Dammit.

[s4:05]: The people have spoken, Azra.

[aj:13]: Fine, but we're pre-buying breakfast. I'm not doing any more midnight donut runs. Shopkeep always looks at me like I'm crazy.