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So, Cyrus, I was your day. I don't know. Bad meds scientists dropped me into a trap door into a pile of old bones. How was yours?

I do not understand, Cyrus.

Neither do I, Hermione. Neither do I.

What was Dr. Woody or so afraid of me finding out? And more importantly, what's he going to do to holiday in my family?

Also, how will you get out of here?

Good question.

A wonderful bony over here ever wondered the same thing. Old bony, you know, the skeleton.

Processing.

Right. There must be a way out, right? But I don't see any doors.

I detect a slight draft of air coming from the southwest. This could indicate an exit route is nearby.

Are you kidding me? What am I saying? You're a robot. You can't kid.

I actually do know some jokes. What's a robot? Favorite dance move? The human.

Ha ha ha.

Okay, now is not the... although that one was pretty good.

I have 457 more robot jokes. Number two.

Let's hold off on that for now. Show me where the straffed of air is so I can get back upstairs and stop Whittier before it's too late.

If we leave now, we will disircle the area a few times. Look for Whittier Corp Goons.

And I'll keep an eye out during the meeting.

Monica, are you sure you know what you're doing?

Angelica Graves took our son. We've done nothing but played defense. Time to take the fight to her.

I like the way you're thinking, Mom.

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