After the killing of Ricardo and Ruth B. Gilligan, Marcelini was spirited out of the country. The death of the Police Captain was splashed all over the papers, as was the Police Captain's involvement with the drug baron who was murdered at the same table.

She emerged from a recently landed plane, to behold the view of a hard, snowy landscape. The plane had landed in a secluded airfield, and in spite of being dressed warmly, she felt very cold as she walked down the mobile staircase which had rolled up to service the large aircraft. The plane had other passengers, but she could only guess as to their purpose; none of them talked to her, and she was in too sullen a mindset to strike up a conversation.

Marcelini walked through the the windy, snow-ridden cold of the airfield, heading for a log lounge whose chimney was puffing smoke. A bundled up man whose face was indiscernible was waiting for her near the building. "Are you Marcelini?" he called as she passed by.

She stopped, turned to him, and nodded.

He gestured for her to come. "Mister Kingston is expecting you. Please come with me."

Issac Kingston. The Russian anarchist who declared Siberia its own sovereign state. She could never have guessed, of all the people who might shelter her after what she did in New Florence, it would be him. The man took her to a large halftrack parked in an open space near the cabins. The vehicle looked surprisingly identical to the one from the Abadeer estate's underground garage. She entered the passenger's side of the halftrack, shutting the door as quick as possible to keep the wind and cold out.

The bundled man got into the driver's seat. The vehicle's engine was already running, left to idle to counter any risk of freezing. The man put the vehicle in gear, and headed away from the airfield and cabin, onto a rough and snow-ridden road. The heating vents kept the inside of the cab warm as the vehicle carried them off.

Marcelini knew, and was reminded before she carried out the deed, that killing Ricardo and R.B. Gilligan would mean she had to leave New Florence. Leave the country. Leave everyone she knew, and be away from it all for a long time. It was described to her quite efficiently: "'Till people forget."

"Can I ask questions?" Marcelini asked the bundled man driving the halftrack.

"Of course you may, Miss Abadeer."

"Why Issac Kingston? Who is he? Why did he agree to harbor me?"

"I thought that you were already aware, Miss Abadeer."

"Aware of what?"

"Issac Kingston... is your godfather."

"Ignition Point?" Finn asked, having repeated words only just spoken to him.

"Yeah." Cake said, holding a freshly faxed sheet of paper. "That's the code name of the project: Ignition Point."

Finn was sitting on the rear of a large van, parked in the lot of a small roadside motel. The rear doors of the van were opened, allowing him to hang his feet out, resting them on the asphalt. The day was hot, and the surrounding terrain was arid and void of plant life save sparse cacti.

"Would this... Ignition Point project happen to link to an undocumented location in the Tendime Bank building?" Finn asked. "Only just uncovered by the authorities?"

"Yeah, that's right. How did you know it would link to that?"

Finn leaned back and opened an ice box next to the fax machine, taking a bottle of Coca-cola out of it. He popped the cap off, and took a long gulp before speaking. "I was there, when whatever was there was stolen."

"I see," Cake said. "I suppose if you knew more you'd share it wit-"

"Dog Man!" The voice was Marshal's. He came behind the van and then turned and looked straight at Finn. His arms were crossed and his face was frowning. "Dog Man, we gotta rent a second room. This coed crap isn't working at all."

"I heard that!" Fionne's high-pitched shout came from inside the open door of their room.

Finn's forehead was being rubbed by his hand. "Okay... did you set up the surveillance array like I asked?"

Marshal's face became, switched to a tight, humorous smile. "That's going smooth as silk, Dog Man. Gumball's just setting the aerial on the roof now."

Finn and Cake walked out from the van, getting a look at the roof of the single-story motel. Gumball's frail figure was sitting atop it, and he was attaching light metal booms to a fixed pole.

Finn turned to Marshal. "He doesn't seem comfortable. Why are you having him do it?"

Marshal was still smiling, close-mouthed with clenched teeth. "Why else? Because I don't like him. He's frail and lame and I want him to suffer."

"Marshal..." Finn was pinching his forehead, growling the name.

"I'm pulling your leg, man." Marshal quickly amended.

"Really, is that so?"

"Yeah..." A pause, "I put him up there because he's scared of heights."

Gumball was very slowly, very tentatively trying to stand atop the roof. But he quickly sat back down again.

"It's... ah..." Marshal was looking at Finn, trying to gauge his reaction. "It's just horseplay, you know?"

Finn proceeded to shoo him off, "just go rent the second room-"

"I'm on it," Marshal quickly dismissed himself.

"What exactly are we doing here, Dog Man?" The plump, deep-voiced Cake asked. "This isn't anything like what I have experience with."

"There's another motel, closer to town a few clicks east down this road. A bunch of apple merchants are going to have an exchange there within the next few days."

"Apple merchants..?"

"Diamond smugglers. By now, our method actor Lumpy has taken position as the receptionist of this other motel, and Monochrome is the custodian, going through all the rooms and installing wiretaps on the phones."

"Why in Glob's name are we bothering with apple merchants? I thought we were after the big fish. The one-man nightmare who just blew off a mayor in California, and a ton of other people back during the War."

"The intelligence docs PB gave me, according to B.M.O. they link von Lichtenstein to the names of two people who may possibly take part in this diamond exchange. Capturing them is the best lead we have. If we're super lucky, our target may even show up."

"So I'm guessing you want someone on the monitors in our room at all times, awaiting word from our away team or wiretaps."

Finn went back to the rear of the van, taking a seat and resuming the drinking of his Coke. "You got it, Cake. We have to be ready to move at a moment's notice."

"The antennae is ready!" Gumball called from atop the roof. Finn and Cake walked out yet again to see. Gumball continued, "now if someone would be so kind as to put the ladder back..."

Finn saw that the ladder was tipped over to lay on the ground, stranding Gumball on the roof. "Marshal..." he groaned as he walked over to it.

When Marcelini was four years old, she had been taken from the life she knew by her biological father who, up until that point had not been aware of her existence. She'd lived with him from then on, and the memories of her life before then faded from memory, only seldom recalled.

However, there was one part of this memory she distinctly remembered, even to the present. It was the memory of her caretaker. She remembered him as a dear friend. But in regard to his appearance, she could remember nothing.

"Where are we going, exactly?" She asked the driver.

"Mister Kingston's compound. It's an under-ice settlement, and this is one of the entrances."

Marcelini was in the passenger's side of the halftrack as it went downhill, into a ravine of ice and snow which led to an open clearing. The clearing was lit by electric lights atop metal towers arranged along the surrounding natural wall. They were in front of the vast mouth of a natural ice cavern which covered half the clearing.

The driver took the vehicle into the mouth of the cave, out of the wind and snow. He parked it in one of many empty spots.

They got out of the vehicle, and she followed the bundled man to a steel hydraulic door in the ice. It was cold, even in the low ground where the wind was weak, and she buried her head into her muffler, walking with a stiff, bundled posture as she kept her hands inside her coat pockets. She waited with forced patience as the bundled man interacted with an intercom next to the door.

"Password," requested the voice on the other end. It sounded almost identical to the bundled man.

"Gundy? It's me, Gunthy. I brought Marcy."

The door emitted sound from its hydraulics, and then a release of pressure. It swung open on hinges, revealing its thickness as it cleared the way for them.

It was an underground bunker built inside the ice. They entered, and the door automatically shut behind them. The inside was cold as well, but there was no wind.

"So what did you mean by Kingston being my godfather?" She asked this as she caught up to the Bundled Man by walking a bit faster. "Is that true?"

"I thought you knew. Why else would you come to Siberia?"

"I didn't know. I was forced to leave the United States."

"I actually don't know much about the guy; nobody does." They passed by several intersections in the corridors, and then emerged to a catwalk overhead a large, semi-rock cavern. "But I'm taking you straight to him. You can ask him yourself."

The cavern their catwalk ran through was an air pocket for a body of water occupying the far half of the expanse. At this water line, there was an array of concrete docks, three of which hosted a surfaced submarine.

The walkway took them into another tunnel, and they came to a valve-locked steel door, of the sort one would see on a ship. The Bundled Man turned its valve and then pulled it open, stepping aside to make way. "This is far as I go, Miss Abadeer. Issac Kingston is expecting you.

Beyond the door was a flight of steps. Marcelini tentatively stepped through the door and then walked up them.

The stairway emerged to an open recreational room. All along the broad wall ahead of her was a massive glass viewing window with vertical steel ribs. The room was carpeted, and gently lit with blue and orange light sources.

It was deserted. Unoccupied furniture and large bookshelves occupied the open space to her left, to her right, and behind. The stairwell was situated in the middle of the open floor.

She kept scanning the room, looking outside as well. The window overlooked a lit outdoor compound, seen through the hazy snowfall of nighttime Siberia. Her hearing picked up nothing. The large recreational room was deathly quiet, save for the pendulum ticking of a grandfather clock.

"Hey, Marcy!"

The sudden shout came from behind. Marcelini jumped involuntarily, stepping briskly away from the source of the sound as she turned around.

He was a little bit shorter than she was, with light blue skin and a pointed nose. His face was dominated by a woolly white beard, and hair that went past his shoulders.

She knew who he was. "You're... Issac Kingston."

He had his arms spread, and his pointed teeth were showing as he displayed a dumb smile. "It's so good to see you Marcy!" He walked up to her, intending to hug her.

"Oh, okay..." She said awkwardly, not knowing what would be the courteous thing to do. He gave her a big warm bear hug, and she remained stiff and still, waiting for it to finish.

Once the hug finished, Issac looked off, shifting his attention in a 90 degree pivot. "I wonder where my record player went..." he walked off.

"Hey, excuse me." She followed him. "I have... a lot of questions for you."

"I have some questions for my record player, once it's finally been caught." He laughed briefly at his own joke.

"Is Issac Kingston your real name?" She followed right behind him as he moved past reading tables and chairs that were situated in clusters, heading for a forest of bookshelves.

"Why yes, I am Issac Kingston thank you for noticing." They reached the bookshelves, and were walking through the narrow isle way. "I declare an independent, sovereign Siberia that's free of Russian rule. If they want this worthless expanse of frozen death, they'll have to fight me for it, by thunder."

"Why are you my godfather? Did you know my real dad?"

"You Italians and your godparently traditions." He rounded a corner, passing the shelving units' ends.

She rounded the corner as well, easily keeping up. "It's a Christian thing, not just done by Italians. And I've been told it was done by you, to me. And so I assume you knew my father."

"I'll do it to my record player once I've found the elusive thing. Then I'll know every last bit of what it's been doing behind my back."

They emerged to a round open space in the maze of bookshelves, surrounded by four curved shelving units which formed an even encirclement around the large space. In the center of an arrangement of tables, desks and shelves, on a small end table, sat a record player which Kingston noticed, and was walking toward. It had a large, brass horn piece.

"Kingston." Marcelini said as they reached the record player. "I know you're not touched in the head; you couldn't possibly have done all the things the news says you've done if you were. I want you to be straight with me."

"Really?" He was grinning again with his pointy teeth, looking toward her as they stood next to the record player. "You think I've done impressive things?"

"Well..." She scratched her head, suddenly feeling placed on the spot. "Except for the whole Siberia separatism thing. That's kind of weird."

"Oh... where's that record?" He bent down and opened a drawer under the player. It had a row of paper record cases, which he flipped through.

"What are you looking for in there?"

He found it, a wide, black disc inside a blank paper case which he took out, blew off and then placed in the player. "This is a recorded record."

"Of course," she said. "All records are recorded."

"No no, I mean recorded by speaking into a player while it spun and scratched out a blank."

"What is it a recording of?"

He turned the play switch on the player, and the record began spinning as its tonearm moved over it. "I think you should sit down, Marcy."

He suddenly seemed sober; serious. She complied with his suggestion, settling back on a large recliner.

Many seconds of static as the record spun, then a voice: "June Sixteenth, Year Nineteen Thirty Two. Note to my future self. Listen to this, you fruit loop. Drill it into your head, because it's going to become important one day." It was a male voice, legible but blurred by the poor sound quality of the record. Issac giggled at this line. "He's talking to me."

The male voice continued: "Hey, Marcy! Come over here a second? I'd like to talk to you." There was a sound of rapid footsteps on the recording, growing louder. "What is it?" The voice was that of a small girl.

"Marcy, I... think you should probably sit down for this."

"What for?"

"Marcy, please." The man said this in an easy, casual tone. "It's a kind of big thing."

The sound of stepping up a stool, and plopping onto a wooden chair several times bigger than her. "All right, I'm all situated," She said this satirically, ready to laugh. "What's this big thing?"

Marcelini was looking at Kingston. She raised a finger, pointing to herself with her eyes wide open. Kingston nodded in reply.

"I've just found out who your father is, Marcy. And he knows about you."

There was silence in the recording. The girl said nothing.

"And... you're going to be staying with him for awhile."

"..Who is he?" She had a restrained, tense tone kept to a low pitch.

"Hunson Abadeer. He lives in the United States. He's sent for you, and I have to go along with it."

"I... have to leave?"

"He's your real father. I'm not in a position to refuse."

"And why should I care that he's my real dad?" The girl's tone was suddenly angry, confrontational. "He could have been here for me, like you, but he never was."

"He didn't know you existed."

"That's not an excuse!" There was a pause, and the man did not reply. "Not an excuse... for taking me away from you."

"Marcy..." He took a breath. "With him, you'll have a better life than I can possibly provide; an education. You'll eat every day."

"I don't care about that." There were breaks in her voice. "I want to stay with you."

"Marcy, there are things that I need to do. And you can't be around for it. This is going to let me do those things without worrying about you."

"It has to do with the blue stuff, doesn't it? The stuff that's making your hair white."

"Yes, Marcy. The Blue is going to enable me to do the things I need to, but it's also going to change me. You can't be around when that happens."

"You... don't want to get rid of me?"

There was a noise, of the man standing up and walking close to the girl. He got down and embraced her. "No, Marcy. I'd never want to get rid of you. If I could, I'd stay with you forever and ever."

"I see a car on the road."

There was a second of silence as the man stood and turned. "Yes, there is."

"Who could it be? It's not the Bubblegum lady's car."

"Remember that Ambassador Bubblegum is a friend, Marcy. She's done a lot for us. If you're ever in need, you can trust her."

"I know, you've said that a lot. But what about this car?"

"It's your father's men. They're here earlier than I'd anticipated."

Issac Kingston stopped the record player. The dimly lit library became silent, save for the wind outside the large windows of the distant wall. "That..." His voice broke the silence. "That's pretty much how it happened."

Marcelini was staring at the man, trying to see a resemblance, a familiarity In his blue, pointy-nosed face. "Is it... are you really him?"

He was looking off, and she saw his facial profile from the side. "We lived in Europe, and it was right after the war ended. Times were tough, and we went from town to town, doing anything just to get by. That recording was made in an abandoned single-room cabin we'd found."

"What's your real name, Issac?"

"You were five, or six or so. When your father came for you, we'd made an agreement: That if anything were to happen to him, I'd be the one to take care of you again."

She stood up, taking a step closer to him, "your real name..."

He looked directly at her. And now, his cold face wore a warm smile. "It's me, Marcy."

Her eyes widened, her face twisted, near to tearing up.

"I am Simon Petrikov."

She embraced him, hugging him tightly. "You... It's really you."

He hugged her in turn. "Have I got the story to tell you, Lil Marcy."

"Yeah..." She broke into a smile while chuckling a single time. "Me too."

"Alright, let me see if I have this correct," Finn said. "You want me to abandon my mission, take my entire team, and help you with some job you can't tell me about until I say yes? You realize you're asking a lot, right?"

Night had fallen at the roadside motel. Finn was outside their rooms, next to the unmarked van parked in front of the doors. The doors of the rooms, and on the van were propped open, allowing all members of his team a clear line of sight with one another.

Jake was there, talking to Finn. His own car parked two spaces away from the van. Accompanying him was a girl in her teens, with glowing orange hair. She remained in the background, not speaking.

"And who the flip is the girl?" Finn continued to ask. "Is she the reason you deserted?" He was restless, pacing in front of Jake. Protocol would dictate that he arrest his brother for the crimes he was suspected of, but he hadn't yet considered doing this. Nevertheless, he was upset at him.

Jake raised a hand. "Listen Finn, I just want to get a word in edgewise."

"Great!" Finn threw his hands up, still pacing. "You can tell me what the math you've been doing. I really quite would like to hear your side of the story." Finn was not surprised that Jake was able to find him here, and so didn't ask about that. Jake was the best in the business at finding people.

"I can't," he said. "Not until you agree to join me. Whatever you're doing can't possibly be as important as this."

"I... don't know about that. But nice of you to assume I'm taking the cushy assignments, Jake. Real classy."

"Finn..." Jake's bulldog-like face was contorted somberly. There was a sobering in mood. "I need your help, man. I'm out of options."

Finn leaned back against the side of the van. "Aww, Jake..." His face relaxed as his forehead was pinched inside his hand.

The orange-haired girl remained quiet, observing the conversation between the two men with interest.

"What's your mission, Finn?" Jake asked.

"What?" He broke out of entranced thought.

"It's wrong to ask something for nothing. I'll help you with what you're doing, and once that's done you can help me."

"Your own mission can wait?"

He nodded. "It's a matter of danger, and I can imagine no place safer than rolling with you and your team." He turned his face back to the orange-haired girl. "Phoebe, what do you think of that? Traveling with these people."

Her eyes widened a bit, and she smiled, nodding wordlessly.

Finn felt elated at this. He huffed a couple of times in excitement as he extended a hand. "That sounds mathematical, Jake. Welcome aboard."

"I am one happy son of a beorc." Another voice interjected as their hands shook. It was Marshal, leaning against the motel wall next to the open door to their room. "We have both Werecanine Brothers. Von Lichtenstein is gonna be a very, very dead bastard."

Jake suddenly appeared petrified. His head did not move as his face froze in its expression.

"Yeah..." Finn trailed. "Now's a good a time as any to brief you. Von Lichtenstein has escaped Treesap Rock, and our mission is the manhunt for him."

"Finn..." Jake snapped back into motion as he grabbed his younger, smaller brother's shoulders. "Are you out of your mind? Why the math would you take this mission?"

He frowned. "Peebles handpicked me for it. What was I supposed to do?"

"Say no!" After almost closing his hands around his face, Jake turned around and gripped his forehead, groaning. "You're young, Finn. You have a life ahead of you. This is way too risky."

"This kind of thing is my life, Jake. I go after the bad guys. I protect the people of this country. And risk is a part of the job. I don't recall you getting like this when we planted bugs in the Cuban embassy."

"Finn, listen."

Finn continued, "or when we trekked through the night in the freezing cold to kill a finished double agent. There's also that firefight in Messina, Sicily; we barely got out of the city alive. Why now, of all times are you getting cold feet?"

"That stuff was easy." Jake said. "Easy, compared to von Lichtenstein. He's not normal people; you can handle normal people. This guy, he's supernatural."

Finn nodded, "Then you know how important it is that he be stopped."

"Ah, guys... we have a car." Marshal interjected again.

They turned to look. Out on the road, an expensive-looking, four-door car was riding along the road. It moved at a sluggish pace but did not stop. It came from the left, and was on the lane closer to the motel. It had tinted windows.

"Do you think..?" Finn suggested.

Jake nodded. "Yeah. Phoebe, get inside the motel room. Walk naturally, don't run. He was suddenly tense, with a welling up of fear that could only deride from the most serious of situations.

She'd only just looked toward the car out on the road. "What do you mean..?"

Finn and Jake both looked ahead, not staring at the car for more than a second.

"Just do it." Marshal hissed at her from next to the wall. "I go inside after you."

Confused, she nonetheless complied, walking naturally toward the motel room door.

"What's the call, Jake?" Finn asked.

Jake looked at Finn, preserving the appearance of their normal conversation. "That car is their cover; their pillbox. We lay a suppressing fire and they move their heads down. They can't fire on approach, and we've bought ourselves the seconds we need."

Finn glanced right, seeing the orange-haired girl, and then Marshal enter the motel room, leaving the door propped open. He reached behind under his civilian overshirt, gripping his .40 caliber stowed under his belt. "I'm ready, sync?"

"Sync," Jake answered. At the same timing they drew their pistols and snapped their facing toward the car out on the road. They fired, letting loose a volley of semi-automatic fire aimed at the windows of the car. The quietness and peace of the roadside motel was drowned away by the thundering crack of gunfire.

The car accelerated violently, thrusting forward as it made a tense right turn into the parking lot of the motel. It was headed straight for Finn and Jake.

After firing a few shots and as the car was turning into the lot, the two men turned and sprinted for the open door of the motel room. No gunfire came out from the car as it sped for them.

They made it through the door, and Marshal, from the concealed side, slammed it shut with a push-kick. "This is all we flipping need!" He exclaimed. The curtains of the large window near the door were drawn shut; they were concealed.

Finn scanned the room. He saw Fionne and Cake in the adjacent room through the open connector. Gum Ball's head could be seen peeking over a small bar set around the kitchen area, along with the barrell of an MP-40 submachine gun. "Where's the Girl?" he asked in Marshal's general direction.

Her head of orange hair poked out from behind the bar next to Gum Ball.

"Alright, stay put." He waved her down. "Jake."

Jake was sitting low behind the couch of the living room space. He looked over at Finn and Marshal, whose backs were to the side wall next to the door.

"Jake, they're gonna come in through this room. Fionne and Cake are in the adjacent connected room. Go 'round and flank them."

Jake's alert, intelligent eyes darted to the room connection, to the large curtained window, then to Finn. He nodded in understanding, then got moving, crawling low and hastily toward the room connection.

He next turned to Marshal. "Leave the door unlocked." He got down to a crawl. He could hear the opening and shutting of car doors outside. Marshal followed suit as he made his way over to the kitchen bar. They reached behind it, where Gumball and the orange-haired girl were taking cover.

Finn sat with his back against the cupboard below the sink, next to the corner where the orange-haired girl sat. She looked calm, with her hands rested on her knees, which were pointed up in a straight-legged sitting position. She looked at him with an open-eyed wonder void of any panic or fear."

"Um... Phoebe, right?" Finn said. She was extremely cute, and even in the present situation, his shyness kicked in. "We'll have to be properly introduced when this is over."

She nodded. "Alright."

"I don't have my rifle." Marshal announced, having taken a spot next to Gum Ball at the end of the bar. He looked toward Finn. "Can we please save the flirty crap for when we're not under attack? That would be wonderful, thanks."

"Gum Ball." Finn said to the pasty, frail man. "You've got that MP-40. This is all you, once they come in."

Gum Ball was shaking, darting his gaze left and right. "I... I... I..."

"You're trained in small arms, man." Finn said. "You've got this."

"I choke!" he whined. "I always choke with the real thing!"

Marshal groaned. "Glip Globbit, Gum Ball. You're such a chickie-poo."

"Ignore him, Gum Ball, you'll be fine." Finn assured. "You've got to do this. They're forming outside right now, and they want to kill us. If we die, who's going to stop Lichtenstein?"

"That's right," Marshal said. "If you die who's going to set the template for all men of what not to become?"

"I'll do it! I'll do it." He finally said, getting up to a kneeling position, readying his gun to raise up and shoot over the bar toward the door and window. He was shaking.

"Remember to direct your fire at the nasty men." Marshal said in a patronizing tone. "You want to hit them, understand?"

"Marshal," Finn snapped. Marshal looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. Finn replied with two open hands; a gesture to calm down. "He's got this."

Fully automatic gunfire erupted from outside. It tore through their room window and curtain. Bullet holes deposited themselves in the drywall past over the bar.

"This is it!' Finn shouted. "First break in the shooting, you fire back, Gum Ball. They'll come in through the door!"

Gumball was sweating, wanting to bury himself in the ground from the shocking noise of the guns outside. It was many agonizingly long seconds before the shooting subsided.

"Go!" Gum Ball rose out of cover, his submachine gun set on the bar in ready to fire position. He waited.

"Shoot, bitch! Democracy's at stake." Marshal said.

"Aaaaahh!" His yell was long, low and weak as he opened fire, just as the door was kicked open. A man in a black suit behind the kicked open door was hit by the spray of bullets. He was riddled with wounds as he fell to the asphalt outside, dead.

Gumball retreated back behind cover as two more men angled their fully automatic tommy guns into the room through the door and dumbfired, hitting everything inside at random.

Gumball removed the magazine from his gun and replaced it with a fresh one. "That wasn't terrible," Marshal complimented. "But we're sitting ducks in here."

"This will all be over in about..." Finn checked his watch. "Few seconds more."

A single additional gunshot outside, one of the tommy guns ceased firing. It was followed rapidly by a second gunshot, stopping the other.

"And victory is ours." Finn looked at Phoebe next to him, smiling. She returned the expression, and his shyness welled up again.

"Hello!" Jake's voice could be heard from the doorway. "Anybody alive in there?"

"We're just beautiful!" Marshal announced. He looked at Finn, Phoebe and Gum Ball in the cover of the bar with him. He looked elated. "That's the Man Dog in action: A killing machine even with a dinky fourty cal pistol."

"Glad you approve of my brother." Finn rose to his feet, and extended a hand down for the orange-haired girl. She had a small smile as she accepted his offer.

Jake, followed by Cake and Fionne entered the room through the door. He surveyed the shot up furniture and walls. "Dang, Finn. You always did keep a messy room.

He huffed with laughter at this. "You haven't been around to keep me in check. I'm letting loose."

The phone rang. It survived the gunfight, and made its abrupt ringing noise from the end table next to a chair in the living room.

Jake frowned at this. "Who would call your motel room?"

Finn shuffled past Marshal and Gum Ball to get around the bar and out of the kitchen, hastily making his way to it. "It must be the Lumpy or Monochrome, at the other motel."

Jake looked at Marshal, who shrugged. "Something about stinging a lead on Lichtenstein," he explained.

Finn picked up the telephone, "Talk to me Lumpy."

"..Guess again."

Finn had never heard the voice before in his life. He looked at Cake, who got the signal and went outside to the van, where her equipment was.

Finn spoke again into the phone. "Monochrome?"

"..Guess again."

Cake rushed back into the doorway. "The call is from the other motel's front desk."

Finn's stomach sank. He turned his facing, angling his mouth to the talk piece of the phone. He had to inhale before speaking again. "What happened to them?"

"The fat one is dead." The voice said. It was level, dispassionate in tone. "They meddled, and that made them accountable. Lap dogs of your pink leader."

Finn deliberately, tensely made his way to the shot up couch, resting on it, well within cord reach of the telephone's base. "What about Monochrome? What did you do with him?"

"I have him right here." There was the sound of a gun's hammer being cocked. "Do you want him to live?"

Finn swallowed, quietly. He had to choose his words carefully. "What is it you want?"

The gun went off. A suppressed shot that sounded like a release of air pressure was followed by the sound of a body dropping limp. "What I want... what I want? What I want." The voice on the phone spoke aloud. Finn clenched his teeth. He was gripping the phone in a death grip. "Do you know who I am?" The voice on the phone asked.

"..Yes." There was no hiding the angry breaks in his voice.

"Say it."

"von Lichtenstein."

"Good..." He could be heard adjusting himself in a slouched position on a desk chair. "And you are no doubt the pink one's latest lap dog. I have a question for you, if you'll pardon my curtness."

Finn was glaring ahead in the distance, outside the destroyed window of his motel room. "She said you're not worth her time, so she asked me to clean you up." he was going to kill this man. There was no doubt on his mind.

"I said... I have a question for you."

Finn took a hard breath. "What? What's the question?"

"Do you feel... cold?"

"No, I don't feel cold." He stood on his feet.

"Why not?"

"Because..." Everyone in the room was observing the conversation. Processing what he said. He held the phone in both hands, and spoke into it: "I don't feel cold, because I'm wearing a sweater." He set the phone on its receiver, ending the call.