Kind of funny that I'm the one who's ended up driving, isn't it?

Oh hey, is that a police convoy?

It's getting dark.

I'm driving my own erstwhile captors north,

to a town where they hope to find a weapon of mass murder in service to an outlawed god.

I am close to laughter, strangely, not to tears. It's ridiculous.

These people snoring behind me are ridiculous.

Their trusts in me, again, ridiculous.

I can't wait to get home and tell someone about this grand, absurd adventure I had on the other side of the border, to sit down amongst my friends in the office and gossip and hear them burst out laughing and tell me what a lucky break I had, not to end up dead or worse.

For once in my life, I feel armed against you, in particular.

Like, I could call you up and say,

Dad, I was hijacked on the river road by a couple of renegades, but it's all right.

And for as long as I needed, you'd stopped grifting, stop threatening and working your angles, and...

Just let me talk.

Page, that's incredible, Paige, I can't believe this happened to you.

Then I remember what's waiting for me at home.

What's waiting for me in the grand glass offices across the

water. And I think the most awful thing in the world would be if I came back now and nobody realized that I'd been missing.

These are the silt verses.

And rather loudly dozing across the back seat, these are our disciples in order of their arrival.

Lucille Valentine, Mavd Bruhn, B. NAR, and Gordon Houston.

Written by John Ware and produced by Munah Hassan.

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