HEART, AND EAR, AND EYE
Operation: Turtle Rescue
Sly makes his way through the city, from rooftop to rooftop, avoiding every guard and patrol. Below him, arm in arm, travel Carmelita and Thaddeus. Thaddeus uses his cane to walk, leaning as though he needs it for assistance instead of combat; Carmelita holds the umbrella. Every now and then, she fusses with her wig: long, blonde, and so curly it doesn't all fit under their umbrella.
Impeccably dressed flies and mice greet those arriving at the theater. The Contessa herself waits by the door, chatting briefly with particularly famous or rich guests. Carmelita runs a hand through her wig again, then speaks through the binoc-u-com: "You ready, Sly?"
"I'm ready," Sly says, jumping the street and catching a drainpipe. He settles in position on a small pole holding the name of the play, just below the roof, a place unnoticed by the guards. There are two on the main roof, and several on the ground, all looking out; they must think no one would, or could, stand where he is now.
And under normal circumstances, they may be right: it's 1875, so Tennessee may not have invented the Rail Walk and Rail Slide yet.
Still, that's no reason to be complacent. "You two be careful," he says, watching as they approach the theater entrance. "We don't know what you're going to find inside."
"We will be fine, Sly," Thaddeus assures him. "The two of us will both be in the building; with her jumping skills, and my own maneuverability, should anything go wrong we will reach each other in moments."
Sly nods, not that they can see him. "Murray, are you in position?"
"I've got the tank!" Murray replies—which both is and isn't an answer. "I'm driving it over now."
That's all they have time for before Thaddeus and Carmelita reach The Contessa. "My dear lady, you have done wonders." Thaddeus releases Carmelita's elbow to reach for The Contessa's hand. He kisses it. "Transforming this old building into such a place—truly, your coming was a blessing to the arts."
The Contessa smiles and takes a step towards Thaddeus, away from the building. "Do I know you?" she asks. "You look... familiar to me."
Thaddeus releases her hand and straightens. "I'm retired now, madam, but perhaps you know my nephew? He lives in the colonies—I beg your pardon, in the states, in Tennessee. Or, no, you're said to come from further East; my sister moved to Germany a dozen years back." Thaddeus shakes his head. "If you do know them, I do beg your pardon; I'm something of the white sheep of my family. Unless they've changed in the past few years, their manners are far from desirable."
The Contessa takes another step towards them, giving Sly room. He drops from his perch and lands soundlessly behind her and relieves her of her wallet. "Do you have a name, then, sir?"
"Thaddeus, madam," he says, sweeping off his hat. "Thaddeus Cooper. Thirty years as a private detective."
Sly digs deeper, coming up with a gleaming skeleton key. He makes his way back up a drainpipe as The Contessa says, "Cooper? Yes, I do believe I am... acquainted... with your family. It's nice to know one of you follows a proper order to the world."
Thaddeus puts his hat back on his head. "Someone has to."
Sly watches as Thaddeus and Carmelita make their way inside. "Nice work, pal!" says Murray in his head. "Now get over here; I want to know what's down that tunnel."
"You and me both, buddy," Sly says, and makes his way off the roof and back through town.
I could describe his journey through the city streets, how Murray pops out of the tank to give Sly a fist bump when he gets to the rift, could tell you all about Sly's second perilous journey through the tunnel of red light and water-filled pits that make stalagmites appear where they're not. But instead,I'm going to tell you all about what Murray's doing while Sly makes his way through the tunnel.
It isn't guard duty, like he's supposed to. As Murray settles in to watch, there's an ominous grinding noise from the direction of the carriage shop. "Hey, Sly?" he asks.
"Yeah, Murray?"
"Will you be okay if I go check something out?"
"Sure," Sly says; there's the faint noise of splashing in the background. "Just keep me updated."
With that, Murray starts driving his tank through the city streets. They're all deserted, not even any guards for him to run over, which is... rather unnerving. No sound but the crunch of the tank's treads on the street, no movement anywhere.
Until he turns the corner to the carriage depot and sees the line of tanks starting to peel out. "Uh, Sly? This could be a problem. The Murray is good, but even he can't take out that many tanks."
"If you destroy the building, no more tanks can come out," says Sly over the binoc-u-com. "Then you can track down the tanks that got out before they can make our lives a misery later."
"Righteous! Building, say your prayers, cause The Murray's got a TANK!"
With that begins, you guessed it, a whole lot of tank fun. Murray takes out the building fast; after the first few shots, cannons appear on top of it and start shooting at him, but dodging them isn't that difficult, and the tanks themselves don't shoot. By the time he's finished, only five tanks have left, all but one of them out of sight.
Tracking down the tanks and taking them down, without getting his own tank destroyed, takes a while. He only has two tanks left when, over his binoc-u-com, he hears Carmelita ask, "Bentley?" After a pause, "Rescuing you. I found Bentley."
"You did? Awesome!" shouts Murray.
"How is he?" asks Sly, voice full of concern.
"He doesn't look hurt," Carmelita says. "He should be fine once he's away from the lights." There's another pause, long enough for Murray to destroy another tank, before Carmelita continues talking. "Don't worry about it, shell boy. I'll carry you out, since your chair isn't here. Can you hold on to my back?"
"One of us can find his chair," says Sly. "Just take care of him, we'll do the rest!"
"I'll pick him up in my tank as soon as you're clear!" adds Murray, locating the last tank. He destroys it with glee, then turns around to head for the theater and pick-up.
Well, that removes a lot of the mystery of Bentley, but we still have to REWIND and jump back to Carmelita and Thaddeus.
Thaddeus stops not far into the main room, where the earlier ball was held and where the orchestra sits now, warming up for the evening. "I do hope Sly will forgive me for this," he remarks to Carmelita, and digs in a pocket. "Go to the theater and begin your search; return here when you are finished. I will intercept as many people as possible and," he produces a battered, worn, and obviously legitimate police badge, "inform them that they need to leave at the earliest opportunity."
Carmelita's eyes widen. "Where did you get that?"
"It's mine, my dear," he says, smiling. "And I may have discussed some inconsequential things with some old friends of mine, who are also in the vicinity. You needn't worry about it."
Carmelita's jaw drops. "We're doing this legally?!"
"I'm afraid so," he says, with the air of someone admitting a great shame. "Do forgive me; you have all been operating with such secrecy that I was unsure how you'd accept outsiders to this investigation."
A grin breaks out across Carmelita's face. "You're not really retired, are you?"
"A detective's work is never finished," he assures her. "I am not retired, but it serves me well to have people believe it. As it serves my friends to believe you and the others are undercover agents from abroad, and that this woman is wanted abroad for charges that include kidnapping and extortion." Thaddeus's tail gives an amused whisk. "I didn't even really lie."
"I can't wait to tell Sly about this," Carmelita says, and leaves to head for the seating area.
Play resumes as Thaddeus. He takes in the whole room with a long look, his gaze going from various party goers, to the nearly empty dance floor, to the various statues and decorations. "I need to do something that will cause a large number of people to leave at once," he says, looking around at the various statues and other decorations. And at the orchestra, a dozen people with musical instruments, talking with each other as they warm up. At irregular intervals, one or more of them will stand up to leave and use the bathroom or something, leaving their instruments behind.
Perfect.
Many minor acts of mischief and several silent apologies later, all the strings on the violins have snapped, the trumpeter and saxophonist have started a brawl, and the drummer is trying to explain that he thought the flutes were his drumsticks (they don't appear to believe him). With every moment the orchestra spends in a disastrous musical disarray, more well-dressed dogs and minks and badgers sniff and trail from the room. Only a small portion of them have actually seen Thaddeus's badge.
The room is almost empty when, over the binoc-u-com, Carmelita says, "Rescuing you," to no one, followed by, "I found Bentley."
Thaddeus smiles and continues ushering the last people out.
REWIND
Carmelita makes her way to a large auditorium, finding the lights already dimmed and the stage lit, though the curtains are still closed. The spotlights aimed at the stage are different colors and move in odd patterns: blue and pink and yellow, squiggles and circles and figure eights that make Carmelita dizzy to watch. She shakes her head and turns her attention to the seats.
The floor slopes so those further away are higher up, but that's where the similarities between this theater and most others end. This one isn't laid out with aisles in set places. Instead, the gaps in the chairs are random: missing chairs for five rows in the center, leading to a solid mass of chairs; the right side, near the center, is missing a row and two columns of chairs in a deformed U shape; a diagonal of missing chairs zigzags up on the left; and other places entirely at random. The balcony sprouts out of the back of the theater, rather than having its own entrance; and there's something about each and every chair that just seems... off.
None of the seats on the ground floor are occupied. From where Carmelita stands, she can't see into the seats on the balcony. She'll have to move to the back of the room to search there.
She's only gotten through a few rows of chairs when the lights go out entirely; she can only see by the glow of the ethereal spotlights on the stage. "The play will now begin," says a voice over the intercom. The door Carmelita came through slams shut on its own.
Carmelita grits her teeth and continues through the rows of chairs, jumping for the clear areas, spots dancing in her vision as she ignores what's going on behind her. Or, mostly ignores; she risks a glance, at one point, to see a very poshly dressed spider, unmistakably of the upper class, and a fly in workman's clothes step out. Their lines echo throughout the room; the live orchestra doesn't seem to be playing. The rich man appears to be offering the fly a job beyond her wildest dreams, riches like she could never imagine doing what she loved, a chance to make things right for her lover at last. But the very cadence of the words suggests that there's a catch, that if she accepts, she'll never see her lover again. 'Variations on The Spider and the Fly' indeed.
Carmelita's missed her jump twice (and bruised both knees) by the time she makes it to the balcony. There she stops to take in the area. There's laser security up here, dull red and moving; that wouldn't be a problem if the spotlights weren't already making it hard to see. But there's a turtle sitting in the balcony, front and center, staring straight ahead and not moving no matter how much noise Carmelita makes getting there.
By the time she's made it to the row of seats, the first act is finished, the curtains closed once more. Carmelita grabs the turtle and turns them towards her. "Bentley?"
It's Bentley, all right. He's tied to the chair, missing his glasses "Carmelita? What are you doing here?"
Carmelita growls under her breath and starts undoing the knots holding his arms to the armrests. "Rescuing you," she says, then adds over the binoc-u-com, "I found Bentley."
"You did? Awesome!" shouts Murray.
"How is he?" asks Sly, voice full of concern.
"He doesn't look hurt," Carmelita says, watching him rub his eyes. "He should be fine once he's away from the lights."
"I should've known why you'd be here," Bentley grumbles, rubbing his head. "It's hard to think straight."
"Don't worry about it, shell boy," Carmelita says. "I'll carry you out, since your chair isn't here. Can you hold on to my back?"
"One of us can find his chair," says Sly. "Just take care of him, we'll do the rest!"
"I'll pick him up in my tank as soon as you're clear!" adds Murray.
As Carmelita bends down to help Bentley get on her shoulders, there's an announcement from the stage. "Act Two," the voice purrs. "The owl and the raccoon."
The curtains open.
A dozen tiny metal owls swoop out, red eyes gleaming, and dive for Carmelita.
Carmelita abandons the 'shoulders' plan, grabs Bentley around the shell, and dives sideways, just avoiding the first wave. She stands back up just in time to see a laser wall go up between the front of the balcony and the stage, preventing her from taking Bentley to the door by just jumping down. She's going to have to make her way back the hard way, dodging—and shooting—tiny, bloodthirsty owls with glowing red eyes.
Bentley pops into his shell. "I can't come out," he says, his voice miserable. "Every time those things stare at me my head fuzzes over."
"Don't worry about it," Carmelita says, picking him up. "I can carry you."
She can, but she can't do her mega-jumps while carrying Bentley, and the auto-aim doesn't work when she's shooting one-handed. Time and again, she finds herself setting Bentley down on a nearby chair to do a flurry of shots before picking him up again to struggle through the sprawling chairs and so-called 'corridors' of the room. Over her frantic shots and the mechanical hiss of diving owls come the words of the play.
The words of an owl tricking a raccoon into becoming its next meal, and the raccoon, knowing what the owl is doing, tricking the owl in turn.
The second act of the play must be nearing its end when she reaches the door at last. She sets Bentley down, grabs the handle, and pulls.
Locked.
And it doesn't respond to being shot or kicked.
"Guys, I'm trapped in here," Carmelita says, turning to face the room and the owls once more. The actors on stage have eyes even swirlier than Bentley's; she ignores them as she shoots down owl after owl. "The doors won't open."
REWIND
Sly takes a moment to peer through the bars on the door at the end of the dark stalactite corridor, then slides the key into the keyhole and turns it. The door whispers open; Sly tucks the key back in his leg pouch, then creeps up the slight stairwell, finds the door, and opens it.
It opens into a large, empty room—easily the size of the ballroom where Carmelita and Thaddeus danced—and the walls are patterned in spiderweb motif and hung with orange pennants tipped in white, like the rest of the theater. The area is empty, not even a sound creeping through, but unnerving nonetheless. Light bulbs litter the room's edges, spotlights lay aimed at every wall, flickering on and off sporadically, just to the outside of a huge hexagonal rug, orange with white corners and a white spiderweb pattern on it. A spiderweb rope goes through it and the floor in the very center, angled downwards. The only places in the room without spotlights or other decorations are the door he just came out of and the door across from it, which is ajar ever so slightly.
"I'd better not touch that spiderweb yet," Sly mutters to himself. "If I have to leave one untouched until we've got Bentley out of here, it's better if it's one that's easy to access." He pads over to the door and peers through it.
He looks out into a recognizable hallway, with a computer by his door and one other and two metal doors swinging open slightly, scorch marks from Bentley's bombs visible by the handles. The other doors—the one to the costume room and the one to the theater Carmelita's searching—are closed. Sly slips out of the room and to the closest of the metal doors.
The room is filled with piles of junk: torn costumes, broken props, all creating a sort of maze. Sly climbs the piles with ease, finding even more junk on top, including a rather charred area that Bentley must have bombed his way through once. He works his way through the rubble, jumping from one pile of junk to the next with no more effort than Murray would eat a pizza, and finds himself through the room almost at once, looking at a spiderweb cord stretching down through the floor.
Sly reaches in his leg pouch and pulls out the portable laser generator. He flicks it on, then spends precious seconds burning through the rope. When it's cut, it snaps like a whip; he has to leap back to avoid being hit.
One down. And no sign of Bentley yet.
Sly makes his way out of the room and through the second metal door. Lasers, from the ceiling almost to the floor, block his path. Sly drops to the floor and belly-crawls beneath them, but it's safe to stand almost at once. There are more laser grids to low to crawl under, but with spots that he can ninja-spire jump across; moving laser grids that he jumps through, avoiding the lines of light with the ease of long practice; laser walls making laser corridors with occasional moving lines of lasers through them that he slips through, his actions unthinking as breathing. He has to duck and crawl a few more times, but he reaches the second spider rope at last.
As he burns it, tensing for this one to snap, he hears Carmelita over the binoc-u-com. "Bentley?"
Sly sucks in a sharp breath, but keeps his attention on the rope.
"Rescuing you," Carmelita says, then, louder, "I found Bentley."
"You did? Awesome!" shouts Murray.
The rope snaps; Sly jumps back. "How is he?"
"He doesn't look hurt," Carmelita says. "He should be fine once he's away from the lights."
Sly breathes a sigh of relief and starts making his way back through the laser maze. Bentley's safe; now all they need to do is deal with The Contessa.
"Don't worry about it, shell boy," Carmelita says in his ear again. "I'll carry you out, since your chair isn't here. Can you hold on to my back?"
"One of us can find his chair," says Sly, slipping through some moving lasers. "Just take care of him, we'll do the rest!"
"I'll pick him up in my tank as soon as you're clear!" adds Murray.
Carmelita goes quiet again. Sly doesn't blame her: carrying Bentley, and possibly going through guards and security systems, would take a fair amount of concentration. "You have no idea how much better I feel now that Carmelita has Bentley," he remarks to no one.
Thaddeus replies anyway. "I believe I have some inclination," he says. "The last 'guests' are leaving; the only ones remaining in the building are the actors and ourselves."
Sly smiles as he leaves the room and turns to the one locked by a computer. A couple key presses, a trick Bentley taught him before they stole the Fire Stone of India, and the door opens with an audible 'click'. "Good to hear. Any sign of Bentley's chair where you are?"
"None as of yet," says Thaddeus. "I will continue to search."
Sly slips in and finds this room even messier than the last, but the junk is a lot worse: he makes a face and throws wall-hooks onto it to get to the top. "Don't bother," he says when he reaches the top of the first pile. He pulls out his binoc-u-com and zooms in on the spider rope, and a a wheelchair further beyond it, just a little more difficult to reach. "I think I've found it."
With that, Sly makes his way through a spectacular mess. Getting from the door to the spider rope involves jumping and railwalking and wallhooking and even some ninja-spire jumps, but he makes it to the rope, and past it, to the wheelchair. "Looks like everything's still here," Sly says, checking it over; he folds it up and ties it to his back. Then it's back to the spider rope to cut that.
Just as the rope snaps, he hears Carmelita again. "Guys, I'm trapped in here."
Sly's blood runs cold.
"The doors won't open."
"I'm on my way," Sly says. "Just hang on; I may be able to pry open the door backstage."
"I believe I may have a method as well," says Thaddeus, but Sly ignores him. He makes it through the room twice as fast as before, running when he can and taking risks he wouldn't try otherwise, and bursts into the hallway. He races to the stage door, jerks it open, and bounds up the steps.
There's a spiderweb wall between Sly and the stage, keeping him from Carmelita and the owls. The Contessa stands there, facing him, arms folded as she stares him down.
REWIND
"Guys, I'm trapped in here," Carmelita says over the binoc-u-com. "The doors won't open."
Thaddeus turns from the door, where he stood watching the orchestra members leave, to survey the room. His eyes light on the giant owl hanging over the dance floor: huge, heavy, and supported only by rope.
"I'm on my way," Sly says. "Just hang on; I may be able to pry open the door backstage."
"I believe I may have a method as well," says Thaddeus, and for the player's convenience, the ropes supporting the owl gain waypoints. "If I cut those ropes the falling owl should break through the floor-the ceiling of the theater Miss Fox is in."
Without a second thought, Thaddeus gets to work. The floor itself is empty, bare of anything, but there are pillars supporting the ceiling, each one strung with all sorts of decorations that provide nice handholds to climb his way up. Chandeliers and other items hang from the ceiling, providing a way to the furthest wall, where he should be able to sidle along, back pressed to the wall, to the first rope.
When he cuts that, the statue sways, but doesn't fall. There are two more ropes; two more pillars to climb. Sly speaks in the background, a conversation with someone who isn't here, but Thaddeus pays no attention to the words. They're garbled, indistinct. Most important, they have nothing to do with Carmelita and Bentley.
The next two are cut in much the same way as the first, but the statue still doesn't fall. There's one last rope, directly over the owl, tying it to the ceiling.
A fair bit of acrobatics later, and Thaddeus reaches the owl. Stands on its back. And cuts the rope.
Thaddeus rides that owl as it falls like a daredevil rider at a circus: standing, bent over, waiting for the moment of impact to jolt and adjusting his footing as it breaks through the floor and then through the balcony, wood flying everywhere. When it stops, he stands up straight, turns to Carmelita, removes his hat, and bows, paying absolutely no attention to the diving robot birds after their blood. "I believe it is time for our exit," he says, indicating where a few broken boards have formed a convenient walkway back to the dance room. "If you would please follow me?"
"Now that's how you make an entrance," Carmelita says to Bentley as she makes her way towards him.
"Uh-huh," Bentley says. "Get me to a computer; if that door was locked, Sly may be locked in as well. I can hack the doors open remotely."
REWIND
Sly stares at the Contessa, legs braced, cane at the ready. At last, The Contessa speaks. "I see you have not yet been cured of your criminal tendencies."
Sly twirls his cane in his grip. "My criminal tendencies? And what do you think this is?"
"A way of enriching the arts," she says, "my contribution to history. Come, Cooper, you cannot believe your family alone is deserving of its reputation?"
Sly grits his teeth. "Look, Contessa, we both know who'll win this," he says. "I don't know what Penelope promised you—"
and The Contessa starts to laugh.
"What?" Sly asks, staring at her, relaxing his guard in the face of her complete abandonment to laughter. "What?"
"Oh, my dear boy, you are sorely mistaken," says The Contessa. "Have you paid no attention to my play? The spider and the fly, with the fly so eager to help the spider, their courtship a masterpiece—only to crumble and die, not long after their wedding. Of course, when I did it, it wasn't a fly who was eager."
"You're a monster," Sly growls.
"A monster, am I?" The Contessa asks. "And what are you..." She raises her arms, revealing a pair of knives, "but a fly!"
With that, The Contessa charges at Sly, who dodges and whacks her with his cane. It doesn't do any damage, to his shock; he beat her to a pulp in Prague...
...but then he realizes she's wearing gems, just like Rajan, just like Tsao. One around her neck, and one on her belt. He hasn't been able to destroy them by hand in the past, but he has a hand-held laser...
It takes a while for Sly to trap The Contessa in one of her own webs, but when he does, out comes the laser emitter. And away goes her necklace, shattering like glass under the force of it.
The Contessa leaps up, in a daze, and runs for the hallway. Sly's about to follow when there's a tremendous CRASH from the other side of the curtain. "I believe it is time for our exit," says Thaddeus. "Would you please follow me?"
Sly smiles—Carmelita and Bentley will be all right—and goes after that spider.
She's waiting for him in the hallway. "Come to hear more about the play?" she asks
Sly growls. "Look, Contessa, it's the gems making you do this. If I just—"
"The owl and the raccoon, and what a tribute to your family that is! I even altered the ending, in reward of your, let's say, your chance, lucky encounter."
"Chance?" Sly snarls. "Lucky?!" All thoughts about trying to talk her down and get more information vanish. Sly leaps at her with a snarl. The hallway is more difficult to fight in—there's less space to dodge the webs she throws, or her charges with the waving knives—but he traps her in her own webs at last, and destroys the gems on her belt.
The Contessa flees to the room with the web rope Sly hasn't cut yet. Sly follows, furious, though the flickering spotlights make the room a mystery. "Why are you doing this?" he demands, facing off with The Contessa across from the rope (which is jerking as though something on the other end is trying to escape).
"And of course, the mouse and the fox," The Contessa says, taking a step towards him, "where the mouse is tricked into service... and then goes willingly, to protect her lover."
"I don't care about your stupid play," Sly snarls.
"It was futile, like in every other act," The Contessa says. "After all, I got Bentley anyway, and sent copies of his technology to my associate."
Sly goes cold. "What?"
"It's easy to turn someone against a person they haven't seen in months," The Contessa says, "and even to get them to cooperate with us, the poor fool. But did you really think someone with a mind as strong as mine was being controlled? No, my poor naive fool." The Contessa's voice turns even nastier, if that's possible. "I use the gems for strength, for grounding, and for an easy contact point with my partner."
"A partner who's stranded you in time?" Sly scoffs. "Le Paradox is in jail—"
"And you honestly think a peon like that could mastermind something like this?" The Contessa shakes her head. "He was a mere distraction, a tool that worked."
"But, we beat him," Sly points out.
The Contessa growls. "Enough talk, insect! I base all my tales in truth, and soon, I will have a new cautionary tale about you."
The final stage of the fight is harder than the last two; the flickering spotlights on the edges of the room make it difficult to judge where things are. The Contessa is shooting web like you're begging her to do it, and flailing wildly with her knives.
But she doesn't have the gems anymore, so all Sly has to do is whack her at every opportunity.
His maskpiece crackles. "Sly?" asks Bentley. "Sly, are you there?"
"It's good to hear you, Wizard," says Sly.
"Good to hear from you, too. The cops are storming the building," Bentley says. "You'll need to leave through that tunnel you came in by. But you'd better hurry. We'll rendezvous above the tunnel entrance. And cut that rope before you leave!"
"I'm on it," says Sly, hitting the Contessa hard. She barrels against the wall and collapses in a heap.
With that, Sly pulls out the portable laser thing and cuts the rope, then starts a mad dash out of there. Down the stairs, with pulsing waves of black light following him. Down the water-logged hall, with the red fairy lights pulling from their anchors, being sucked down towards the theater. Out into the canyon as a blast of wind sucks everything around him into it, so he's hard-pressed to throw his wall hooks. And when he reaches the ground and stands with his gang, the canyon also disappears.
But Thaddeus is holding out an umbrella, and Bentley is in Murray's arms, and for a moment he just stands there, breathing in deep, gasping breaths, before turning to walk into Carmelita's arms.
JOB COMPLETE
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Three areas down, so it's time for another author's note.
Area 3 ran away from me. As I was writing, it seemed a little too easy. This was The Contessa, after all! Wouldn't something go terribly wrong like, I don't know, one of the gang gets kidnapped? ...and then I had 11 jobs instead of 8. Beyond that, though, jobs 6, 7, 9, and 11 all went longer than I wanted them to. You tell me if it was worth it.
Other Stuff: Still no full-time job or part-time job to affect updates, despite much trying. I decided against going to Egypt this year in favor of paying off my car loan (being an adult is SUCH fun).
This note is getting a bit long, but I want to thank all of you for your awesome reviews. I've responded to several of you in messages when I want to say something other than an evil cackle or sheer glee (which describes my reactions to pretty much every review) but I can't do that with you anonymous folks. Nordic Inc, I'm pleased and proud you think my story is still good after 50 chapters(we'll see what you think at 100, and yes, I have gotten to chapter 100. I've run out of job titles). Thanks as well to Unness1000, Guest1998, Indigo, and the Guest(s?) without specific names. I love seeing you all, and hearing from you, and it makes posting worth it.
That's all from me. I'll post the official ending to area 3 next Tuesday, and the opening to area 4 next Thursday or Friday.
Stay awesome, everyone.
-EikaPrime