X-Men: The Unnatural Omega's Volume 1, Fractured Realities

Chapter 7: Regis, Dettlaff, and The Crones Game

With a steaming cup of tea nestled in her hands, Bulma found herself seated next to Goku. Unlike her, Goku seemed to be taking everything in stride, happily munching away on an enormous sandwich as if their current surroundings were the most normal thing in the world.

Across from them were an unlikely group of characters. Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and the rest of the Looney Tunes were animatedly discussing their own experiences and interjections. They all seemed so... real. The fact that she was sitting across from actual cartoon characters was so absurd that Bulma had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

Her reality had become an enigmatic cocktail of her familiar life back on Earth, infused with the inexplicable and implausible. She took a long sip from her cup, the warm liquid doing little to clear the haze that had wrapped itself around her mind.

Goku, noticing Bulma's deep thought, nudged her gently with his elbow. "You doing okay, Bulma?" he asked, his voice warm and comforting.

Bulma nodded, forcing a small smile onto her face. "Yes, I'm fine, Goku," she responded. Her voice, however, lacked conviction.

In the background, the Looney Tunes carried on their conversation, punctuated with the occasional slapstick joke and laughter. The surreal scene unfolding before Bulma, although unusual, didn't feel threatening.

For now, all she could do was sit back, sip her tea, and attempt to comprehend the crazy ride she had found herself on. This was only the beginning, and something told her that things were going to get even stranger.

Ensconced comfortably in a plush chair, Bulma shifted slightly, regarding her two interviewers with a mix of curiosity and unease. Jean Grey, an ethereal figure with fiery red hair, had an almost soothing aura, while Yennefer, with her raven locks and striking violet eyes, exuded an air of intensity.

The two women had explained their own origins to Bulma – one a mutant with psychic abilities, the other a powerful sorceress from a world known as 'The Continent'. But it was the information about herself they were after now.

After a series of questions regarding Bulma's work as a scientist, her interactions with the Z fighters, and her involvement in various cosmic incidents, Jean reached for a book that was lying on the coffee table. She held it up for Bulma to see.

Bulma gasped as she looked at the cover of the book. It was a manga, one she recognized all too well - 'Dragon Ball'. She was right there on the cover, her illustrated self staring back at her.

"This is you, isn't it?" Jean said, her voice soft yet firm. "It's a record of your journey, your adventures with Goku and the others. All from a different universe, documented as a form of entertainment in ours."

Yennefer leaned forward, her violet eyes boring into Bulma's. "How does it feel, Bulma? Knowing that your life, your struggles and triumphs, are a story for others?"

Bulma took a deep breath, her mind reeling. It was all too surreal, too disconcerting. Yet, she knew she had to answer, to make them understand. For they, too, were out of their respective universes, their lives also serving as tales for others.

"Well," Bulma began, her voice shaky yet determined. "It's a lot to take in..."

"Alright, then," Bulma started, trying to manage the overwhelming situation she found herself in. "What are your stories? What's it like in your worlds?"

Jean Grey, the mutant telepath, started. "Well, in a way, you're in my world now, Bulma. Or at least a part of it. We're currently on Krakoa, an island nation for mutants. In my world, there are beings known as mutants. We are born with unique abilities, a result of a mutation in our genes. Our struggles have been many and varied: acceptance among those who fear our powers, threats from within our own ranks, and even external cosmic forces."

Bulma blinked, the information taking a moment to sink in. "Cosmic forces?"

Jean nodded, her eyes reflecting countless battles and hard-won victories. "Yes. In my world, we're not alone in the universe. We've encountered alien races, time-traveling mutants, even gods from ancient mythologies."

Before Bulma could dwell too much on that, Yennefer took over. "In my world, the supernatural is more... commonplace. It's a realm filled with diverse species - elves, dwarves, humans, and all manner of beasts. I'm a sorceress, one of many who use a chaotic energy called Chaos to perform magic. And like Jean's world, we too strive for a better world amidst a myriad of challenges."

As the two women spoke, Bulma realized the incredible variety and richness of their experiences. Each one of them, in their own way, was a warrior - fighting their unique battles for a better world.

"Thank you," Bulma finally said, her heart swelling with a newfound determination. "It's comforting to know that even here, even now, I'm not alone."

Jean returned her resolve with a warm smile. "You're definitely not alone, Bulma."

"And we'll navigate this together," Yennefer assured, the confidence in her words bringing a sense of fortitude to Bulma's spirit.

Even in the face of such strangeness, there was unity in their shared experiences. They were all warriors from different worlds, and they would face this challenge the same way they faced all others - head-on and together.

In a dimly lit room, an eclectic group was gathered. Geralt of Rivia and Ciri, hailing from the world of The Witcher, stood alongside the trio from Middle Earth - Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli. Wolverine, known as Logan, and Deadpool were also present, their faces grim with anticipation. Amidst this seasoned group, a new face was present - Ember's Shadow.

Ember's Shadow, with a single fiery eye socket and a dark sword, crowned with a black monolith on its pommel, was an imposing figure. She was the daughter of Tenebrous, the son of Shrowd. Shrowd was a figure of legend and fear in her home, the Dark Multiverse, and also the half-brother of Derek. Tenebrous was no longer among the living, and Ember had journeyed across dimensions to prove herself and carry forward the legacy of her fallen father.

The mission ahead was uncertain but crucial. They were investigating a facility rumored to house something from Geralt and Ciri's world. Its identity was shrouded in mystery, making the mission potentially perilous.

The group brought together a diverse set of skills and experiences. Geralt and Ciri, with their monster hunting expertise, were a vital part of the mission. The Middle Earth trio - Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli - offered their respective skills in leadership, archery, and close combat. Deadpool's unpredictable antics could prove advantageous, while Logan's regenerative abilities, healing factor, and combat experience made him a formidable ally. And finally, Ember's Shadow, whose potential remained largely unexplored, brought her fierce resolve and determination to the table.

As the mission parameters were laid out, the room filled with a grim determination. Whatever lay within the facility, they were prepared to face it together, their resolve unwavering.

Geralt, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, responded, "It's hard to say without knowing exactly what we're dealing with. But if it's from our world, expect the unexpected."

His golden eyes met each of theirs, a serious expression on his face. "Our world is full of creatures both monstrous and magical. We could be dealing with anything from necrophages, ghouls, or drowners, to spectral wraiths or even higher vampires. Each requires a different approach."

He glanced at Ciri, who nodded. She added, "And if magic is involved, it could be even more unpredictable. Spells and curses from our world can be...tricky."

Looking back at the group, Geralt concluded, "Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and be ready to adapt. That's the best advice I can give."

Ember's Shadow listened intently, her single fiery eye focused. She had much to learn but was ready to face the challenges that awaited them. Logan and Deadpool exchanged a glance. They had faced countless strange and dangerous situations before; this was just another day's work. As for the Middle Earth trio, they were no strangers to facing unknown threats and nodded in understanding at Geralt's words. The room was filled with a quiet tension as they prepared for what lay ahead.

after arriving a familiar face was there, that logan and Deadpool recognized... it was modok and the guy next to him was... Geralt flinched... it cant be?! he muttered... standing there was the form of the higher vampire from his time in Beauclair,...Dettlaff?

Geralt hesitated for a moment, processing the familiar face in front of him. He turned towards his group, his golden eyes flashing with deep concern.

"I know him...his name is Dettlaff van der Eretein, a higher vampire," he began, "and it should be impossible for him to be here. He was killed by another higher vampire named Regis, a friend of mine, in a conflict back in our world."

As he spoke, the room was enveloped in an eerie silence. Each of them listened intently as Geralt began to unravel the tale. He told them about the human woman Dettlaff had fallen for, Syanna. How she had manipulated Dettlaff for her own revenge on those who had wronged her.

"She was the sister of the queen, and when Dettlaff found out he was being used, he... unleashed hell upon Beauclair," Geralt paused, the memories of the horror clearly etched in his mind, "The city was in ruins, and the innocents were caught in the crossfire."

He continued, recounting how he and Regis journeyed into the Land of a Thousand Fables, a realm enchanted by magic. "It was there we found a ribbon... something I'd exchanged with a girl named Jossy, in the form of a little match girl. Unbeknownst to me, that ribbon ended up saving Syanna's life when Dettlaff sought to kill her, teleporting her away at the moment of attack."

Geralt took a breath, concluding his tale with Dettlaff's downfall. "In the end, Regis had to kill him. Higher vampires can only be killed by their own kind. So Dettlaff died... or he should have. His appearance here is... puzzling, to say the least."

The room was filled with a tense silence, the gravity of Geralt's story sinking in. A dead higher vampire back from the grave was a conundrum, one that deepened the mystery they were about to delve into.

"Hold on a sec," Deadpool waved a hand dismissively, "A 'higher vampire'? Can't we just stake the guy, chop off his head, sprinkle some holy water, say a prayer and call it a day? I mean, I've seen enough vampire movies to know how this works."

Geralt and Ciri exchanged a glance before the Witcher replied, "Not exactly, Deadpool. Higher vampires aren't like those you'd find in your stories. They're much, much harder to kill."

"Exactly," Ciri chimed in, "They can regenerate from nearly any wound. I've seen it myself. Once, a higher vampire got his head cut clean off, only to grow it back. It's like they're immortal."

Geralt nodded in agreement, his gaze stern. "They can't be killed by normal means. Even magic has its limits against them. Only another higher vampire can truly end them."

Deadpool, looking more serious now, took a moment to digest this information. He'd faced down some serious bad guys in his time, but the idea of an unkillable monster was something else entirely. It looked like they'd have their work cut out for them.

"Alright then," Deadpool finally said, turning his attention back to the looming figure of Dettlaff, "Guess we'd better tread carefully around Mr. Fangs over there. And maybe see if we can find another higher vampire handy, just in case."

"But still though... per their own words... death is supposed to be permanent... yet here he is..." Geralt's words echoed in the silent chamber, a cloud of uncertainty and concern hanging over the group.

"Yet here he is," came a familiar voice, completing Geralt's sentence from behind the group. The smooth, calm tone of the speaker was instantly recognizable to Geralt and he turned sharply towards the sound, his eyes widening in recognition and surprise.

"Regis?" Geralt asked, disbelief etched across his face. Emerging from the shadows was none other than Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, or simply Regis, another higher vampire and Geralt's friend from his time in Beauclair.

"Yes, Geralt, it's me," Regis replied calmly, pushing his spectacles up his nose as he stepped into the dim light. "I agree with you. Higher vampire death is supposed to be permanent, and yet... our friend Dettlaff is standing there, seemingly alive. I suspect foul play."

His gaze shifted towards MODOK, his calm demeanor not faltering. "Yes, I too was pulled into this world," he confessed to Geralt's unasked question. "It appears this universe isn't picky about who it brings in."

Finally, Regis turned his attention towards the rest of the group, making eye contact with each of them in turn. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, but you may call me Regis."

With Regis's arrival, the group couldn't help but feel a tad bit reassured. Even though they faced a higher vampire, and the daunting figure of MODOK, they now had someone who truly understood the gravity of the situation on their side.

"Regis, you've always had a way of seeing through the complexities. I suspect you already have a few theories?" Geralt's statement was more of a question, his eyes studying his old friend closely. Despite the uncertainty of the situation, there was a sense of relief in having someone familiar by his side.

Regis met his gaze, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Astute as always, Geralt," he complimented. "And yes, I've been mulling over some possible explanations. However, at this stage, they remain purely speculative."

He then turned his attention to Logan. "In my time here, I did some research. I found out that resurrection, despite being outlawed, wasn't completely phased out. There are still those who have been finding ways to use it."

The vampire's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the imposing figure of Dettlaff. "But bringing back a higher vampire, one who has already died, is something I've not heard of. It's a puzzle indeed."

Regis' calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the unsettling situation they found themselves in. His presence and the measured way in which he spoke brought a sense of control to the chaos, giving them hope in a situation that seemed increasingly dire.

As Dettlaff and modok went into the facility, he sniffed the air, and generate what should happen next as he says the guards are on patrol, but they have shifts... so it'll be hard to get in there without being noticed.

A slight grimace passed over Geralt's face. Getting past the patrolling guards without a scuffle was a challenge, but he had a plan.

"Unless...," he trailed off, turning his gaze to Ciri. "You're not uncomfortable with a vampire with you?" His tone was a mix of seriousness and concern.

Ciri straightened her back, meeting his gaze squarely. A tiny smile flickered on her lips as she shrugged nonchalantly, "With you around, what's one more supernatural being?"

Laughter erupted from the group, cutting through the tension like a sharp knife. The relaxed atmosphere was short-lived as they all knew what lay ahead. The mystery of Dettlaff's resurrection and infiltrating MODOK's facility – their mission had only just begun.

Harnessing her Elder Blood powers, Ciri focused intently on the layout of the facility she'd committed to memory. With a concentrated effort, she teleported the group into a secluded area of the facility, away from prying eyes and omnipresent cameras.

In the blink of an eye, they found themselves inside, staring at sterile walls and hushed corridors. Dettlaff, still having the same abilities he possessed as a Higher Vampire, morphed into an ethereal mist and darted through the facility. He used his vampiric control over electricity to short circuit the surveillance cameras one by one.

As the last sparks fizzled from the final camera, Dettlaff rematerialized beside the group. The facility was now blind to their actions, but that didn't mean the challenge was over - far from it. It was time to delve deeper and uncover the secrets that lay within.

Logan, with his adamantium claws dangerously close to the scientist's throat, held him in a firm grip. The man was terrified, his eyes darting between the gleaming blades and Geralt, who had started to wave his hand in a slow, almost hypnotic manner.

A blue aura started to emanate from Geralt's hand. "You will tell us everything about the experiments conducted here," Geralt commanded, his voice echoing an irrefutable command. The Witcher's Axii sign was known for its influence on the mind, and this time was no different.

The scientist's terrified expression slowly softened into a vacant stare. His fear was replaced with a sudden sense of calm. "Yes, I will tell you," he began, his voice shaky but compliant.

As the scientist began to unravel the details of the operation, his words fell like icy chills onto the listeners. "MODOK...he was approached by a figure named Weevis," he uttered, his words slightly slurred from the magical influence. "She...she was interested in the mutant resurrection technology. Wanted to use it for her own purposes."

A visible flinch ran through Geralt and Ciri at the mention of the name 'Weevis'. They both shared a glance, a sudden understanding of the gravity of the situation dawned upon them. Weevis was not just any other name. It was the name of the cruelest of the Crones they'd encountered back in their world.

"She promised MODOK an unkillable weapon," the scientist continued, oblivious to the reactions his words were eliciting. "An army of Dettlaffs... all indestructible, all under his command."

The room was filled with an intense silence after the revelation. The name Weevis held a dark significance for Geralt and Ciri, and it seemed like they were all about to dive deeper into a more dangerous plot than they'd anticipated. The resurrection of Dettlaff was just the beginning. They now had to prevent an army of higher vampires from being unleashed.

After the scientist was dealt with, Geralt turned to his companions, a grim expression on his face. "Weevis, or as we know her, Weavess, is one of the three Crones of Crookback Bog. They are vile, ancient beings, feeding off the despair and fear of the villagers living in their realm," he began, his voice bearing the weight of his past encounters with these wretched creatures.

Seeing the confused and horrified expressions of the others, Ciri took over. "The Crones are heartless. They demanded yearly tributes from the villages nearby, in the form of young children. These poor kids were never seen again, taken by Weavess and her sisters to meet a gruesome fate," she explained, her voice trembling slightly at the horrifying memory.

Ciri paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "They were made into a stew... a source of power for the Crones. It was sickening." Her eyes held a far-off gaze, as if reliving the terrible experience.

A heavy silence fell over the group, the gruesome tale leaving them with a sinking feeling. The thought of an unkillable army of higher vampires being controlled by such a vile creature made the situation even more critical. It was clear to them all that they were dealing with an enemy far more dangerous and terrifying than they had initially anticipated.

what does she look like... does she stand out in a crowd? Deadpool asked.

Geralt grimaced, as if the mere thought of describing Weavess was distasteful. "Weavess... she doesn't exactly blend in. She's a hag, a monstrous old woman with a grotesque appearance. She wears a necklace of human ears, a grisly trophy from her... victims."

Ciri shuddered. "She's one of the most revolting creatures I've ever seen. Her body is twisted, and her face is scarred. Her eyes are pale and lifeless. Her hands are large and bony, tipped with sharp, talon-like nails."

Logan frowned, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Sounds like the kind of monster we should take down. Quick and clean."

Deadpool shivered, making a disgusted face. "Ew. I've met some ugly dudes in my time, but she sounds like she'd give Freddy Krueger a run for his money. And that's saying something."

Meanwhile, Ember's Shadow, being from the dark multiverse, nodded in agreement to Deadpool's comment. Her eye socket glowing brightly, she thought, 'Yes, these Crones would indeed be at home in the dark multiverse.'

The group moved cautiously through the corridors of the facility, avoiding security patrols and staying out of sight. The sterile, metallic environment felt alien to Geralt and Ciri, used to the wild forests and ancient ruins of their homeland. As they neared the heart of the building, the sense of danger intensified.

Regis in his bat form scouted ahead, using his vampire senses to detect any threats. He returned to the group and nodded towards a heavily reinforced door. "This is it," he communicated telepathically.

They carefully infiltrated the room to witness a sight that caused Geralt's heart to skip a beat. Inside a glass cylinder filled with a strange, luminescent liquid was Dettlaff, perfectly preserved and dressed in his trademark trench coat and black outfit. He appeared unconscious, floating serenely in the tank. His eyes were closed, and his body was unnaturally still.

Across the room, MODOK hovered near a control panel, his oversized head and diminutive limbs making him look bizarrely out of place in the starkly clinical lab. His fingers danced over the controls, his gaze never leaving the figure in the cylinder.

Deadpool drew his swords, his grip tightening on the handles. "Well, this looks like a party. I say we crash it."

Geralt nodded, drawing his silver sword. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Dettlaff's unconscious form. "We need to act fast and smart. MODOK isn't to be underestimated."

"And neither is Dettlaff, if he wakes up," added Ciri, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. Logan growled, his claws snicking out. "Then let's make sure he doesn't."

Moving in unison, the team sprung into action. Geralt was the first to move, calling upon his Witcher's signs. His hands moved in the patterns of Quen, a protective forcefield enveloping him as he stepped into MODOK's line of sight, drawing the creature's attention.

Deadpool and Logan advanced from either side, blades at the ready. Ember's Shadow held back, her fiery eye flaring as she prepared to provide support.

As MODOK turned to confront Geralt, the Witcher swiftly changed signs. With a quick movement of his fingers, he cast Aard. A kinetic wave of force burst from his hand, aimed to knock MODOK off balance.

MODOK's telekinetic shield absorbed the force of the Aard sign but it was enough to distract him for Deadpool and Logan to close in. The two clawed warriors, one a mutant and the other a contract killer, descended upon MODOK with ferocity.

Meanwhile, Ciri and Regis focused on the tank holding Dettlaff. Regis, using his vampire abilities, started to manipulate the controls to shut down the revival process while Ciri stood guard.

The battle with MODOK had been fierce, but with a combination of Logan's adamantium claws, Deadpool's unpredictable fighting style, and Geralt's Signs, they managed to bring down the monstrous entity. But their victory was short-lived as the containment pod's hissing filled the room.

All eyes turned to the pod as Dettlaff fell out, his body hitting the cold floor with a hollow thud. The group watched, tense as he slowly rose to his feet, his familiar trench coat hanging off his lifeless form.

Regis took a step forward, his vampire eyes analyzing his old friend. There was a deep sorrow in his gaze, a pain that echoed through the silent room. "There's nothing there..." Regis' voice was a bare whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a knife. His gaze was locked on Dettlaff's eyes, or rather, where his eyes used to be.

Those eyes that once held so much life, fury, and passion were now vacant, devoid of any light. They were hollow... empty. It was as if all that Dettlaff was, his memories, his personality, his very soul, had been ripped out and discarded, leaving behind an empty shell.

The sight of Dettlaff's empty shell was like a punch to the gut, a vivid reminder of the desecration that resurrection could cause when misused. Just then, a mocking voice echoed through the lab, slicing through the heavy silence.

"You didn't have any qualms when you engaged in resurrection, Logan." MODOK's voice was chillingly triumphant, even in his disabled state.

Logan's eyes flared with rage. The mention of his own resurrection, the memories of the pain and loss that accompanied it, was a low blow. He strode towards MODOK, his metal claws glinting dangerously.

"Don't you dare compare the two," Logan growled, his voice echoing through the silent room. "What we did was restore life... You, you just create mindless shells!"

Silence pervaded the room following Logan's words, only for it to be broken by the cruel chuckle of MODOK. "Yeah, look me in the eye and tell me you're the real you... and not just some clone?" The words of Mistress Death echoed in Logan's mind. The unshakeable reality was that MODOK's words held some bitter truth. But regardless of whether he was the 'real' Logan or not, he was resolved to try and be a better version of himself.

Taking a deep breath to stave off the anger threatening to consume him, Logan did something entirely unexpected. He didn't succumb to his rage, he didn't let his instincts take over. Instead, he sheathed his claws and turned to MODOK, a newfound resolve glimmering in his eyes.

"The old me would have killed you by now," he began, his voice steady and resolute. "But I'm not that man anymore, and I have no intention of returning to that state." His words resonated throughout the room, leaving a profound impact on everyone present. It wasn't a threat or a promise, but a solemn declaration from a man determined to rise above his past, no matter how daunting the challenge might be.

As if on cue, a bone-chilling laughter filled the air, reverberating off the walls of the facility. The voice was raspy and sinister, carrying an eerie sense of foreboding that sent shivers down everyone's spines.

"Such a battle-hardened spirit, that's how I likes them! Yum, yum!" The voice of Weevis, the hideous krone, echoed throughout the room. There was a certain cadence to her words, a mocking lilt that seemed to take pleasure in the discomfort it instilled.

Geralt and Ciri stiffened at the sound. The voice brought back a rush of unpleasant memories, a grim reminder of their encounters with the monstrous entity in their own world. Their faces hardened, a shared resolve igniting in their eyes as they braced themselves for whatever came next.

Embers Shadow stepped forward, her flaming eye socket glaring with a determination that seemed to light up the dark facility. "Show yourself, krone!" she demanded, her voice echoing through the cold, metal walls. The others stood tall behind her, each ready to face whatever the cruel witch would throw at them.

The mocking laughter returned, the sound grating and spine-chilling, seeming to resonate from every corner of the facility. "Oh, how I would love to, dearie," Weevis's voice cackled. "But I have more important matters to attend to."

Ciri's breath hitched as the witch continued. "Did you miss my sisters, child of the Elder Blood? They've missed you terribly. We've all been longing to spend some quality time with you again."

"But alas," Weevis's voice drawled, carrying a sense of false regret. "We must go. Our dear MODOK has served his purpose."

MODOK's face paled as he took in the witch's words. Betrayal flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by fear as he realized the witches had abandoned him to his fate. The once cocky and confident figure now looked small and pitiful, a stark contrast to the monstrous being they had been battling just moments ago.

"Just one more thing before I go, dearies," Weavis' voice echoed, full of malicious glee. "You should know that this isn't the real Detlaff. No, the real Detlaff is somewhere else, far from your reach. This was just a poor imitation."

The laughter echoed throughout the facility one last time before abruptly cutting off. The room fell silent for a moment, before the Detlaff clone suddenly collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Almost instantly, his body burst into flames, burning away until there was nothing left but ashes.

Regis let out a growl of rage and frustration, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His gaze, usually so calm and measured, now blazed with fury. The cruel game of the witch had cut him deep, using his old friend as a pawn, and leaving them all with a bitter sense of defeat and helplessness.

Regis, usually a paragon of self-restraint, lost his calm demeanor. His usually kind face morphed, revealing his true vampire nature. He bared his sharp fangs, his eyes glowed eerily, and he swiftly closed the distance to MODOK, grasping the villain in his powerful grip.

"If you ever," Regis growled, his voice a threatening hiss, "Think about doing something like this again... I promise, you will wish for a fate as quick as death." He held MODOK's gaze for a few more seconds, letting his words sink in, before he abruptly released him.

With that, he turned back to the others, his features softening as he regained his calm. "We must inform the others," he said, his voice once again steady. "These changes everything. They need to know what has transpired here."