Elsewhere, wadley is tending to a garden, along with an assortment of gardeners who have had their free thought and will surgically removed. Though wadley seems content, neordo grows restless from his chamber, and paces as he ponders his next course of action. Max Flower stares at a large clock near the garden, still waiting for the right time.
"Bloody hell, will this time never come?!" woes Max, before he realizes that the clock he's been looking at has a sticker covering its face. Upon peeling off the sticker, Max sees that the actual time is three in the morning, also known as the witches' hour. Max steps back in shock, and begins looking for a hiding place, as witches begin to crawl out of every nook and cranny in the area. As the witches prepare to cause chaos in these forsaken parts, Meatsmith heads back to his humble shop, and begins going through a log of Beatsmith's activities to see how much his disciple messed up while working in his stead. Meatsmith narrows his eyes, and knocks on the door to the closet where Beatsmith is currently packing meats and spices.
"You been up to something while I was gone?" Meatsmith inquires.
"Uh, I, uh, had to deal with some guy." Beatsmith admits, glancing awkwardly at Meatsmith. "So, anyways, my shift's almost over now that you're back, so…"
"Right, right…" Meatsmith mutters, looking through the logs in further detail. While looking over Beatsmith's activities, Meatsmith notices an icon on the screen, indicating that someone else is viewing the information logs. He tries to view the user in question, but no information appears. Meatsmith's heart rate begins to accelerate as he realizes that this anonymity almost certainly means that someone shady is planning something with his establishment, and he rushes to interrogate Beatsmith about who he may have contacted, only to find that Beatsmith has already left into the night. Meatsmith curses to himself quietly, and locks up the shop, sighing.
Beatsmith switches into his street attire and begins looking for people foolish enough to walk through his turf at this hour of the night. Beatsmith spots someone, and pins them to a wall, reaching for his gun. Jackery Jack Jak Jackson, upon being pinned, opens up a brick in the wall and escapes through it like a door, leaving Beatsmith perplexed, his fingers moments away from grasping his trusty 9mm. Beatsmith shakes his head, and looks around again, noticing another figure silhouetted in the alley across the street.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing? This street is my turf. If you wanna hang around here, you'd best be willing to pay the price." Beatsmith shouts.
"Oh really? Well, why don't you come over here and settle the deal yourself?" Cryo rasps, chuckling. Beatsmith scowls, and begins stomping towards Cryo, not noticing as he steps over a frozen patch of sidewalk grass. Cryo sees that his Stand has been triggered, and turns around, smugly walking in the opposite direction as ice begins to coat the sidewalk behind Beatsmith, crawling straight towards him. Before Cryo can get very far, though, two pops ring out through the empty air, and Cryo halts in place, eyes wide open as he falls to the ground, two smoking bullet holes drilled through the back of his head. The ice behind Beatsmith shatters, melting into a puddle of water, as Beatsmith marches across the street and searches Cryo's body.
"Punk-ass son of a bitch didn't even have any money on him. The hell is this?" Beatsmith picks up Cryo's communication device, squinting at it. "Eh, might be worth something." Beatsmith shrugs, pocketing the device and continuing his patrol of the street.
Back on the artificial moon, Conspiretithesist is wondering why the flight has not yet taken off, seeing how the negotiations were cancelled hours earlier. Just as this thought crosses through Conspiretithesist's mind, the speaker on the plane crackles to life.
"Apologies for the delay, we encountered some unexpected difficulties, but should be returning to the mainland momentarily." says the pilot, as Conspiretithesist holds tightly to the decoy wreckage, bracing for the g-force of the plane taking off. Seconds later, the plane abruptly lifts off at a smooth 87 degree angle out of the moon, and just as abruptly shifts to be parallel to the ground as soon as it reaches cruising altitude. These rough adjustments have left the rear hatch latch worse for wear, and it threatens to come undone in protest.
"I'm gonna come undone!" yells the latch, prompting a couple of passengers to come to investigate the outcry. Realizing that he cannot afford to be discovered at this stage of his investigation, Conspiretithesist grabs a gun and kills the latch, before omsluding out the now-open hatch. Alarms blare as luggage and passengers begin to be sucked out of the opening, but the cruel and heartless pilot just keeps flying forwards, not stopping to pick the fallen passengers back up. Conspiretithesist spots another stowaway crawling out of a suitcase, and hugs the decoy tightly to make sure it remains his own property. The other stowaway, Zither, unfortunately doesn't see Conspiretithesist, so when he goes to land on the decoy to stabilize his fall, he steps right on Conspiretithesist's fingers, causing Conspiretithesist to howl in pain and let go of the decoy, falling directly into a large 3D unprinter and being swiftly eliminated from this world. Zither looks down at the fast-approaching ground, and sees a large pile of passengers and luggage forming. He sees this as his best bet at surviving the fall, so he steers the decoy wreckage towards the pile, before storing it away in his big pocket and bracing for impact. Zither slams into the uncomfortable pile of miscellany, the decoy puncturing a hole into his leg as he rolls off the pile to the ground, beginning to bleed out from the wound. Zither tries to get his bearings, and he sees the sign to Minneapolis nearby. The thought crosses Zither's mind that it's quite suspicious for yet another flight to encounter trouble over Minneapolis, but he figures that since the plane is still airborne and is not on a crash course, this is likely not cause for concern. Just as he thinks this, though, Zither rolls over and notices that among the pile of cargo and passengers is the one of the plane's engines, which is evidently a very bad omen. Though the plane has not yet reached the ground, some over-eager survivors of the fall have already begun photographing the engine and claiming that the plane has crashed in hopes of getting attention before any actual news outlets can cover the incident. Most of these survivors quickly hide, though, as a notorious outlaw of the Minneapolean wasteland struts menacingly towards the scene. The only survivor left standing in the open, an avid plane-rider named Passenger Prime, crosses his arms and stares the outlaw down, as a tumbleweed blows between the two of them.
"So, what do you lot think you're doing out here?" the outlaw demands.
"We fell off the plane." Passenger Prime responds, shrugging.
"Don't get many planes around here. The boys and I usually shoot 'em down before they even cross the border. Y'all best scram or we'll take the loot and leave ya for dead." the outlaw says. Passenger Prime nods, and whistles his fingers, before running away with the other survivors. The outlaw watches the group running away, eventually converting into low-polygon models before exiting render distance entirely and disappearing. Zither looks up at the outlaw, and with the ex-passengers now being unloaded from the scene, enough space has been freed up to read the fine print on the outlaw's bandana, revealing his name to be Red-Ant Revolver. Zither doesn't want to risk being caught, even if it would mean asking for assistance, but it seems that Revolver has already spotted him.
"You gonna get up, son? Or would you rather die at the hands of the Red-Ant gang?" Revolver asks. When Zither doesn't give a response, Revolver shoots him in the bzang, taking the decoy wreckage for himself and whistling for the rest of his gang to gather up the remaining wreckage. Revolver looks up at the sky, and watches as the plane descends through the air, before coming to a relatively safe landing at its destination. Revolver shrugs, figuring that the haul he and his gang just obtained should make up for not shooting down the plane.