Morlane hung his head. At times like these, his emotions were torments of conflict. He was grateful, yes; but he was ashamed. He was melancholy, true; but he was jubilant. Every month for the last 4 years he had made the trek; every month he had experienced these emotions again. He couldn't talk to anyone about these feelings. His father, raised on a quiet farm, couldn't know about such things. His fiancee, sophisticated city girl that she was, couldn't be expected to understand. Only his regiment could understand. And he was the only one left. Except for --

"GOD BLESS...

"Psst, Mary," whispered Bishop. "Mmmmm," replied Mary, lost in dreams of debauchery. "Mary!" said Bishop, loudly, causing Jazzmin and Pony to stir. "WHAT?" was the irritated response from Mary, naked on the woven paisley bedspread. "Hey, man, got any dough in your stash box?" "No!" said Mary, rolling over, trying to regain her dream. It involved a barnyard full of chickens and Robert Plant selling hash brownies. "C'mon, babe! Don't bogart all the dough!"

"FUCK!" snapped Mary, forcing herself upright. She rolled off the mattress onto the floor -- a five-inch drop, since the mattress was on the floor. "What...

They were back again. The Crasoons. And this time she was ready. Ever since they'd laid waste to her town, reducing it to wilderness in a matter of weeks, carrying off the wreckage with their dreadful claws, she had been planning. The white noise in her headphones would drown out their hypnotizing cries. She wouldn't go on a killing spree, no matter what the benign-looking destroyers told her. She was here for one purpose, the purpose she'd been training for for a year and a half: The destruction of the Crasoons. Her red shirt would lure them. And once they...