While Papa is probing the firewall for possible weaknesses to exploit, he notices an incoming call from a number he hasn't seen in his display for the last couple weeks.

It's Siren calling. When he answers the phone call, her familiar voice greets him.

"Heya! How's things going? I've got a couple days off and I've followed your P2. Looks like you've been very busy, too. Oh, and I have this little problem with my firewall. You see, there's this new music portal, and you know how much I love music, but it just won't let me on there. There's always some message from my firewall about my connection being shut down for security reasons. Something about a spoof-something. But really, security reasons? I mean, what bad things could possibly happen when you want to listen to some music, huh? Anyways, you are so way ahead of me in this stuff, so I thought maybe you could spare a minute and have a look-see? If it fits into your busy schedule, that is?"

The bass heavy sound of March of the Battle Trolls echos around the large blue smurf as he sprinkles a light coating of magic dust around the firewall. The invisible shield around the node is nearly flawless. A yellow'ish bird flutters nearby; neon blue numbers on his breast display a clock. Damn glad I didn't get cocky and just try to thump this thing on the fly.

A squirrel makes its way in front of the electron wizard, holding an acorn. Reaching down with one hand, Papa touches the acorn, while his other hand continues to spread dust on the invisible barrier. He listens to the message from Siren. He then cocks his head as he finds the right type of crack. It is no wider than a hair, but unlike a few others he found, this crack goes down to the foundation. He smiles and strokes his virtual beard. Looking up at the yellow bird, he frowns at the time it took.

Ever paranoid, he moves the van several blocks away, re-spoofing both the van and his comlink in route.

"Siren. Girl, how are you? Things have been pretty crazy... gonna get crazier. We should meet. Physical possession is always easier for cleaning up possible infections. I'm heading out to the Hahn Free Market later today; in San Bernadino at the moment. Where are you?"

He then quickly realigns his loaded programs and steps towards the crack. Stepping sideways, he becomes 2 dimensional and slides into the crack...

Olethros begins to run towards the spire making sure to pace himself with the others so they stay together.

Siren continues the phone call with Papa.

"Yeah, that would be cool. Hope you can tell me something about that crazy stuff. Right now I am in Santa Monica, but I have my car here, so no problem getting somewhere. Hahn Free Market you say? Just say when. An hour or two in advance would be great, so I can actually make it in time."

Papa recalls, that Santa Monica is where Siren lives... normally. Though she was looking into getting a nice little flat in Downtown recently under one of her IDs.

Papa

Sliding through the crack, you find yourself standing in a cloud of electronic noise. None of the data appears legible and your analysis returns gibberish. The noise grows louder with each passing second.

Questers

Moving quickly, you close the distance to the spire. In the reflection from the bowl, you can see harpies and other monstrosities appearing in the sky overhead. All around you, the horrors of the void reappear.

As you get nearer to the spire, a man stands surrounded by eight demonic forms made entirely of blood. He's a mirror-image of Uetz, with war paint matching the standard-bearer.

"Come brother, it is time to climb to the top of the spire. You must perform your duty and I perform mine."

The smurf begins to squirm, immediate deactivating his spoof then running his decrypt. As the seconds pass like hours, he grimaces. Amateur mistake.

Brock took note of all the scary crazy and doppler twin of Uetz popping out at them made him question just about everything he knew about life as a normal mundane troll. I sigh of relief came as uetz and Ollie strarted talking about getting to uetz home plan which seemed from the sound of it to be a more majestic and not so bloody and deathly place which would be a nice change of pace. Brock held his hammer tightly and kept up with the other ready to barrel charge anything that came at them to slow them down.

Papa

Slowly, the system comes into focus, the digital noise fading into the background. The node has a generic interface sculpting. File archives are represented by a long archive of books, autonomous programs are rough geometric icons. One of the programs is holding a book, scanning data rapidly.

The meat body breaths a sigh of relief and the bio-monitor feed into the VR HUD shows his heart rate and respiration lowering. Inventory node perhaps?

With the stealth program running, Papa Smurf looks more like his Predator variant, blending into the background of the node. Looking through the reading glass on the end of his pudgy nose, he looks for the user accounts. Time to figure out the security landscape.

Spotting the tell-tale signs of an alarm, Papa grimaces. He pulls the paint brush from his belt, ink already blotted on the brush. Brush in hand, he edits the system alert to a false positive from some spam and issues a cancel on the alert from the firewall.

Papa

The adjustments appear to take hold and the klaxons around you fade away. There are no visible changes to the system or programs deactivating. It doesn't appear that IC programs were launched.

Questers

The spire has a rough texture and easy handholds. Brock and Ollie set a swift pace, climbing up the rocky surface. The yellow-striped warrior climbs easily as well, surrounded by the blood spirit coterie. One of the spirits takes Uetz by the arms and begins to lift. The warm blood flows upward, pulsing a counterpoint to Uetz's own heart.

Atop the spire, an obsidian altar rests. Straps made from the braided intestines of unknown monstrosities, show blood stains of long use. Channels are inset into the altar to guide the flow of blood. The spirits gently strip the jewelry and clothing from Uetz's reflection. He lays upon the altar and the straps are tightened.

"Perform the ritual, priest." A distant voice rolls across the wind.

All around the spire, winged horrors circle in anticipation.

"No," he says resolutely.

Uetz looks at his counterpart.

"Not until you tell me what madness this is."

And perhaps not even then...

Questers

"I am the chosen of Tezcatlipoca. My time is done, now I must be sacrificed to fulfill my obligation and save the people from Cipactli's wrath. It is fitting that the priest of Quetzalcoatl do this. All that is created by the others, you destroy. When my lord made the sun, you destroyed it. When Tlaloc became the lord, you smote him. There can be no creation that your lord does not rule in the land of men. There are other worlds than these and other truths, but still you come and call to your lord, extending his demesne. If you cannot do this thing, the maidens will take up the burden."

The man lays his head down and closes his eyes. He takes a deep steadying breath, and lets it out slowly.

Back in the mundane world, the team's hacker breaths a sigh of relief in the fact that he may avoid being sacrificed this day. Praying that his ruse is working, he assigns his analyze frame to watch for changes in the system that denote either heightened security or heightened scrutiny. Meanwhile, now understanding that his is in a com, he strarts working to determine who the owner of the com is and what access & subscriptions the user has.

"That is a twisted lie. With Xolotl's aid, he braved Mictlan and risked the wrath of Mictlantecuhtli to retrieve the bones of those lost in the Fourth World. With Cihuacoatl's help , he gave of his own blood to restore humanity's life and give rise to the people of the Fifth World. He granted my people the gift of maize, the knowledge of astronomy, and the skill of crafting. Despite the need for sacrifice, he opposed the taking of humans and asked only for the lives of hummingbirds and butterflies. Only extremists believed that he needed human lives to continue the cycle, and I do not stand those misguided few.

"To say that you need a priest of Quetzalcoatl to perform this rite is an insult to him and the Serpent's Feathers, but what should I expect from a minion of Tezcatlipoca, the Enemy of Both Sides? Perhaps your master still fumes after Quetzalcoatl stripped him of the First World's rule."

Olethros looks around the peak and seems to be deep in thought, almost disconnected from the scene playing out before the him. He opens and closes his hands without thought as Uetz explains his reluctance to do what is being asked of him.

"Enough."

He moves slowly but with purpose to stand before the prone reflection of Uetz. His voice is soft and firm as he speaks.

"You brought us here to help you recover your sister in spirit made flesh, lost and banished to this place deeper within. I respect your beliefs but this place is formed by the entirety of your tradition - all practitioners help create this place including ones that travel darker paths to power than the one you seek now. My kin know this reality and I have long since accepted my place and my station. Let me do what my nature can accept."

He calmly draws the knife from the bowl and raises it over his head.

"Your time is done and I release you. The cycles continues and our journey can continue."

He plunges the knife into the heart of the prone figure with a look of reverence and respect.

Papa

Scanning through logs and data files, you find the tell-tale signs of a SIN. Ludmila Soren, licensed contractor for Watanabe Security Consulting. There are corollary documents, sundry licenses, and travel papers for an extended business trip in the PCC. The PAN is actively subscribed to  pair of touch gloves and AR glasses.

Your search is interrupted when your analyze program alerts you that an active trace is running. It identifies the agent you previously noted analyzing data files as the source of the trace. 

A new process begins on the system, a text editor.
// hello thief.
// looking for something?

Questers

As the knife bites into the chosen of Tezcatlipoca, the spirits merge into a solid wall of blood. The heart blood of the sacrifice runs along the altar, seeping into the channels. It pools in depressions and flows down to the undulating wall of crimson.

Some of the blood flows across Olethros' hands. It runs into the wound, as if driven by a concerted will. The wound seals itself and strength flows through the fighter's muscular frame. 

As the sacrifice releases his final breath, a woman's voice seems to come from his lips.

"Regaining your mantle lies in returning that which has been stolen from us."

The wall of blood closes into a dome, blotting out all light. The darkness slowly gives way to tree branches in a lush jungle. All around you, the colors feel brighter, smells are stronger, the sensation of the fabric on your skin clear as when you first are dressed.

A monkey resting in a tree over head looks down. "You should not be here mortals, this is the land of rest for those who have passed beyond. These are the rewards for true service to our gods."

The scathing wound in Papa's pride does not slow him down. As the end user is caught up in typing the message, Papa moves at the speed of thought that comes having his brain hot-wired to the matrix.He unloads the ice and deletes trace program results. As the user finishes typing, he unsubscribes the user's AR gloves, copies off the personal data (SIN, licenses, access codes) and logs off.

Once out of the node, he puts the van in motion, leaving the area at a normal pace. He waits a few seconds for the data transfer to finish then re-spoofs the access ID of his com.
<<@Siren [Papa] My schedule just opened up. Wanna meet now?>>

Time to find another out of the way place to re-spoof everything and change the van's appearance... again.

Uetz bows reverently to the monkey speaking to them.

"We apologize for crossing into your realm. My name is Uetzcayotl Tlaloc, a follower of Quetzalcoatl and Nahualli. These are my companions, Olethros and Brock. We are dwellers from the tomb of rock and water, but we have come to Tamanoachan to rescue my twin sister. She is a spirit and denizen of this realm, but crossed the veil that separates our planes to come to my aid. She was banished back to this plane in battle, and we have come to rescue her.

"We would be grateful for whatever aid you can offer to send us on our way. Her name is Quauhtli."

Papa

You slowly drive away. No sirens or alarms go off. Driving through town, you take the time to change the van's appearance, sweeping the tracks away.

Questers

The monkey turns his head sideways as if knowing the words, but their meaning was wrong.

"There is no creature here that requires rescuing. This is Tamoanchan, and the realm of Itzpapalotl, grand-matron of the one you serve, but there are none kept here against their will.

"Your journey here, is to take Quauhtli back? What need is so great and pressing that you must wrest her from her well earned sojourn?"

As the monkey speaks Quauhtli's name, your vision blurs for a second. All of you see a wide valley, untouched by civilization, stretching out below you. A river cuts through it, with distant mountains. Movement. A creature scurrying out from under trees to get water. Distance blurs past your vision in an instant, as you dive at speeds you've never dreamt of. The reflection of the water shows a large, golden eagle--claws stuck deep within a lizard almost a meter across.

Your vision snaps back to where you are standing.

Uetz looks up confused at the monkey.

"My sister called for me in the physical realm, and so I set out with my companions to bring her free her from the effects of her disruption. While we are not bound by blood, we are entwined in spirit. I am her compassion, and she is my courage. Together, we are Precious Twin.

"I seek Quauhtli's aid as we have been informed of a creature from the metaplanes that seeks to disrupt the balance of existence. This creature is known as Locket, and she is hunting down relics of the past and power. We have been asked by the one known as the Huntsman to oppose this Locket.

"If you know where she is, I would speak with her. We passed through another's realm, and I have not felt her presence since then."

Brock stood in the metaplane watching Ollie kill Uetz image on the rock and now a talking monkey he was so lost in what this place was and what it meant to have a true understanding of magic. He made a mental note to research some of the names they all mentioned to better understand it so if he ran into anything resembling it he would at least know what he was facing slash dealing with. Brock listened to the other two talk to the monkey which only perk more questions which he knew he would probably never truely understand. Being the mundane meat of the three he let the other two do all the talking and kept a defensive posture next to the other two constantly watching for danger.

Questers

"Come with me, I shall take you to her."

As the monkey speaks, he jumps out of the tree on to Uetz's shoulder. The jungle closes behind the pair suddenly, separating the Aztlaner from his companions. A voice come from behind Olethros and Brock.

"He shall stay in these lands for a time, until the Quauhtli is prepared to leave. She has earned her rest and shall not be forced out of these lands by mortal hands."

A beautiful woman with living tattoos of butterflies on her skin stands there, in traditional Aztec garb. Looking closely, her fingertips end in sharp claws belonging more to a large cat than a person. The butterflies' wings have sharp edges like obsidian knives.

"Return to your lands and travel here no more."

You find yourself laying on the grass in front of the small house you met the team at before. The van from the driveway earlier is gone. Your commlinks register with the local network, notifying you that several hours have passed. The odd whistling noise and pressure in your ears is gone. The rift appears to be sealed.

Brock gorggy from sleeping on grass and loosing the amount of blood he did looks around noticing the van is gone he figures Papa is probably gone. <@Papa[Brock]"hey chummer you headed back our way anytime soon, Uetz was lead away by a monkey where ever we were and Ollie and I were booted."> Brock looks around and hides his weapons from plan sight laying in the grass with a grenade launcer strapped to him and a Large hammer in his hand didnt send the right image to the neighborhood he didnt think.

Papa runs analyze on the data he's downloaded, just to insure he's not downloaded a nasty surprise with it, and lays in a travel plan for the Hahn Free Market.

Olethros takes a moment to collect himself and adjust the weight of this world. He sits up and looks around the yard, noting the passage of time. With a flick of his eyes he opens an AR window and sends a quick message to Papa.

<<We are back but it appears we are short one person - Uetz has remained behind in the metaplanes and we may require a replacement since it was unclear how long he would remain there. Where are you and where should we meet? >>

He rises to his feet, giving a quick glance to make sure Brock fared well on the return trip. Seeing the troll gather and stow his things seems a good sign he arrived with his mind intact. He looks back over the street as he speaks to Brock.

"Do you have a car?"

<<@Olethros [Papa] Headed towards the Hahn Free Market. I have a chummer who is pretty wiz. She's nots at Uetz's caliber, but she is a grade A negotiator; We're gonna need her to make up for the shortages in gear. Given the opposition, we should also add a specialist spell-slinger. Only question may be working out the pay.>>

About two hours before the meeting, Siren begins her drive from Santa Monica towards the heart of Los Angeles. Judging by her car's navigation system, she will arrive about half an hour early. Some heavier-than-expected traffic and finding a place to park her car before setting over to the island should get that covered pretty easily.

Wednesday -- July 20, 2072
All

Parking in one of various lots and private garages along the tidewall, you weave through the tangled mess of floating roads, island buildings, and down to the waterfront. The water has the fetid odor of metahuman and industrial waste, mixed with the sharp scent of disinfectant. Massive barges move construction workers and equipment along the walls as they hold the tide back from claiming any more of the city.

Smaller ferries, some little more than broad fenced floating platforms pulled behind boats, move around the bay. With the mention on Hahn Free Market, you get passage out to the island. From a distance, the island is little more than tents. Getting closer, you see a collection of small docks and sea-doos pulled up on the sand. Children inundate the dock area, waving and touting their service as guides.

Among the smell of brackish sea-water are the odors of charred meat, unwashed masses, and a sense of freedom. The hairs on the back of your that are always on edge, feeling thousands of electronics eyes upon you, settle down. This is one of the very few places in the metroplex without constant surveillance. Most of the people around you are armed with knives or handguns.

Hundreds of vendors hawk their wares from tables, sheets and tents. Moving through the crowd, gang members wear their colors proudly, selling drugs, weapons, and second-hand electronics. The vendors that have more permanent looking stalls all have a small gray and blue striped flag. Armbands with the same motif are seen on several teenagers and adults, carrying more obvious weapons such as chains and sawed-off shotguns.

Meeting up in the parking lot, another pang of emotion came over Papa. He'd been through more teammates than he could count and had buried several good friends along the way. Looking at the assembled team, he realized that one again, he'd completely turned over to a new team. Siren was his one link to the old teams. He took a breath and forced those feelings deep down in a hole and buried them. Best to keep emotion out of this.

Papa felt like a kid in a candy store heading into the market, but he tried to suppress those emotions too. "Video input systems with various augmentations, armor for the rotodrones, chameleon coating for the fly-spies, upgrades for my body armor and... I think I want an Ares Alpha."

Looking around a faint smile plays across Olethros's face. This place was an odd mix of the the ages before and the current one. The subtle violence lurking beneath the surface and the freedom to pursue it if you were strong enough. He looks to Brock, the troll's dislike of gangs and their members was obvious, how was this going to play out. He found the idea of the conflict made his nerves sing in this host.

"I've never been here before. Is there someone we need to steer clear of? Who calls the shots here?"

He directs his question to Papa as he quickly composes another message to send him at the same time.

<<You mentioned a possible issue with payment - I don't require nuyen at the moment if that helps. I would like the right to take from any fallen foes as they say. >>

Brocks dislike of the gangs was obvious as he walked with his hammer reminding himself of the conversation they had earlier at the house about his dislike for such gangs. controlling his temper would be a challenge for Brock how ever he did see a few stands that sold some amusing pieces that he would be intrested in. money wasn't a driving factor for Brock" if we have to take a small Nuyen cut that's fine I require minimal living expenses as long as I get what I was promised in the long run, plus the keep what I kill factor means we will see our fair share of priceless gems to make up for any losses we encounter I'm sure"

With a nod to Olethros, the hacker provides more details to the team.

<<@Team [Papa] I have two primary goals with the nuyen from the previous run: lock down electronics and enhance surveillance capabilities. Too much of comlinks and surveillance gear is off the shelf. Also, I have a personal goal to get myself a more formidable ranged weapon as well and do a little modifying to my helmet.>>

Looking around the more permanent shops, Papa looks for a place with more specialized weaponry... for that afforementioned Ares Alpha.

Noticing Papa amongst the crowd wasn't a difficult task. He was a troll after all, and those were both rare and quite tall.

<< @Papa [Siren] Hey, chummer! I'm right behind you. Who are your friends? >>

Siren meets up with the team on the island, while they are walking the shops and the riff-raff of temporary vendors.

It takes a second glance to spot her in the crowd, but Papa knows her face well enough to notice it. Her usual blonde hair is toned brunette for the time being, the skin a bit more tanned than he recalls, and her clothes are a little less trés chic and more fitting for the occasion. A leather jacket and pants combo, with a slightly worn touch to them. Most likely having been changed in appearance with magic.

The young woman is in her mid-twenties. She is of average height with a slender and willowy figure. Her skin has a light tan and her hair is worn in a ponytail. Her eyes are covered behind a pair of orange-colored sunglasses. She is quite attractive and certainly has what people call personal magnetism.

"Hello there! Nice to meet you. I'm Siren."

Olethros stepped forward with a hand extended in greeting. His lopsided smile in place and his voice friendly.

"Likewise, name's Ollie."

He gives her the once over - nothing hostile, just taking her in to get her measure. His clothing doesn't stand too far out as well. An urban style jumpsuit with a sporty cut and a simple duffel slung across his back. His piercings and scarification make him a little more distinctive but not by much. He keeps the conversation going with Papa
in AR.

<< We might be able to solve some of your money problems with some items back at the house. I noticed some potential artifacts in the miniature loft in your home. You might be able to sell them. >>

As Siren meets up with the team and Olethros introduces himself, Papa then gestures to Brock, another troll.
"And Siren, this is Brock. Brock, Siren."

<<@Olethros [Papa] I had forgotten about that stuff. Yes... and Siren should be able to help us get a better price. Then we can upgrade everyone's comlinks.>>

Brock looks around keeping eyes out, reaches out one of his troll hands to shake sirens hand. "Hello."

Siren has to crank her neck a little to look up to the two trolls towering above them. Nonetheless, she manages to make it look casual and relaxed.

"So, what are your plans for the evening? Some illicit shopping tour?"

Her gestures show, that she is just kidding about it.

"I called Papa because I have a little problem with my link and he knows that stuff so much better than I do."

"Anyways, if you need a hand with the haggling. I could certainly help out there."

Papa nods to Siren and sends her an ARO request for administrative access to her com. "Let's see about that little wrinkle... while we walk." He looks to Brock and Ollie as his shopping list is pretty extensive.

Hahn Free Market

The flow of people is tight in spots, making the occasional brush or bump against others impossible to avoid. As your group moves through the crowd, an ork wearing a leather jacket with a bright orange fire spray painted on to it shoulders past Brock

"Watch where you're going trog. I'm walkin' here."

He flashes a large pistol under his coat, the barrel nearly broad enough to be a shotgun.

brock stands to his full height only glancing at the barrel of what was either a spaz or roomsweeper. "listen here bronzer dont make me turn you into a deb slag. Im not a gangbanger from some dink you have beef with. piss off."stepping closer so i would be more difficult to pull the shotty or what ever he had up from under his jacket.

The air sings with potential bloodshed and chaos, it dances along Olethros's skin making his pulse quicken. A look of discomfort passes across his face, the reactions of this vessel to stimulus was still disorienting at times. He looks around and images of battles before superimposed themselves - men with swords on horseback, soldiers with muskets and tribal warriors with spears - nothing he could do that wouldn't threaten his fragile connection to the troll so he prepared to limit the number of combatants. He prepared and waited - it would start soon.

The smell is in the air: Violence is about to happen in a large and bloody way. He sees it coming. He knows it is going to happen. A passing thought even occurs to intervene; the thought passes. There comes a point in which you must let people fall on their sword; I hope this is not one of those times.

Papa's gaze turns from the duo, secure in a belief that, despite not having seen Brock in a fight that he could carry his own. Papa's focus is locating any other members of the gang in the crowd, counting on their distinctive mode of dress and Papa's height to lessen the task.

Brock notices little else once the flames from the gangers jacket registers his memories for a instant to throw his vision red with madness and anger he brings his hammer up from behind his back and attempts to bring the hammers head down full force onto the gangers head trying split it in one blow. now word exchanged between him of others only the vision of his family being gunned down were in his rage filled vision.

Hahn Free Market

The ganger's hand is still going for the Street sweeper as he catches the movement in his peripheral vision. No time to react, his head half turns before the sickening squelch of bone and viscera sounds. The head of the sledge hammer continues its downward arc, catching between the first rib and spine. The motion finishes with the body laying in a spasming puddle of blood, bone fragments, and brain matter.

Evidence of the carnage can be found in Siren's hair, across Olethros' back, along Papa's midsection, and dripping off Brock's massive arms.

All around the market place there are screams, weapons being drawn, and the slamming of plywood on trading stalls. A child sitting on the ground eating a protein bar wails in terror, inches from the broken husk of a man.

Blood drips to the floor aftwr running down his arms he feela the blood dry as it starts to lose its warmth and not drip but harden like dirt clumped to wet skin. He recalls the same feeling when holding his lost love and family . This was only a fraction of who ddestroyed his family and himself. The worda of the metaplane spirirs rang home juat then bringing him back fro
His moment of recallection. Immediatly he hears the sounds of a on comong fight. A fiht he started and one that he npw knows could have been avoided. Still the choice was made and path set he now needed to finiah it. Readying his hammer for the fight he prepares for the worst expecting death if nothing else. Not looking at the others "sorry for the mess" he says to everyone in general.

Siren jumps backwards away from the suddenly erupting violence. It takes a short moment for her to realize what has happened.

"Sorry for the mess? What's wrong with you!? You killed that guy!"

She tries to calm down a bit, looking around for cover in case some huge fight would break out now.

"I mean... that was just some bully trying to play it tough. Surely there would have been other options to resolve this."

Papa turns back from the crowd at the squishing, cracking sounds of the ork's body being unnaturally compressed just in time for the spray of blood to cross his midsection. He looks in horror as Brock says, Sorry for the mess. His first instinct is to kick Brock in the face, but Brock having to pull the large hammer literally from the chest cavity of the ganger, dripping with brain matter and fragments of skull, causes him to hold. This is not my fight.

Papa's reflexes kick in and he grabs Siren's arm at the bicep and moves the two away from Brock. "We need to distance ourselves."

Brock hangs the hammer back to his side finally noticing the mess and site onfront of him. Realizing the shops close thier windows and he starts to look around for any potential immediate threats he either needdd to make a quick escape or make a very convincing reason as to why he would do what he did. Figuring he wouldnt make it on a boat back out on his own he woild try to make a convincing story " let that be a reminder to anyone else trying to steal from a trog" loud enough for everyone around to hear, using the racial slang for his meta type, looking around still for any reprisal from anyone associated with the same gang type.

Looking over his shoulder at the viscera spread across his jacket, Olethros watches the ripple through the market. His face a neutral mask as Siren and Papa begin to withdraw and distance themselves from Brock. He quickly sends a text to Papa.

<< I will do what I can to make sure he gets out of here in one piece but this may not be possible. Meet at the address where we first met? >>

As the message is sent, he pitches his voice low and to the troll.

"We should go."