Inside Samantha’s Spa, Dixie is thrown onto the main office floor, bound and gagged. Rolland, Dacre, Shae, and Cyrus file in with their shotguns ready, and Claribel stands in the doorway leading to the hallway, flanked by more thugs wearing ski-masks, and armed with clubs and rifles.

“Keep her with you at all times,” orders Claribel.

"No problem,” says Rolland.

Claribel hurries into the hallway and uses her tail to tug the door shut. Once shut, she adjusts her coat and hat and walks down the hallway while readying her Tommy gun. Her escorts follow her down the hallway, keeping up with her quick pace.

"Is every entrance secured?” asks Claribel.

“It is. No one is getting in or out without our say,” says a thug.

“Good. Now we wait.” Claribel lifts her sleeve to check her Block-World watch. “If I don’t see Mortimer in thirty minutes, we’re putting a bullet in that patchwork fuzzball.”

******

Back at the old building, Jayson still watches Samantha's Spa. The rain beating against the window gets heavier, and Jayson looks at Lexia out of the corner of her eye. She is currently doodling an angry face on one of her rockets.

"Are you okay?” asks Jayson.

"I will be when I have my mom back,” says Lexia.

Jayson nods and looks outside again. As he stares out the window, the world darkens, and Lexanne appears behind him in the reflection and slides her ghostly hands on his shoulders.

“Are you okay, Jayson?” asks Lexanne with a playful purr.

Jayson tenses, and his cosmic wood sword pulses, briefly slowing time around him. But despite this, Lexanne giggles normally, completely unaffected by the manipulation.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"You're excited. I can feel it. It'll be great to beat more of Mama Bear's goons bloody. Just don't get distracted with Lexia. She hates you, remember?” says Lexanne. “If something were to happen to her, just let it be. It’ll be better for you if you do.”

Jayson's eyes flick between the reflection of Lexia and Lexanne before returning his focus to Samantha’s Spa, shrugging off Lexanne’s hand in the process. The demonic specter giggles and fades away, and the darkness breaks along with the manipulation aura, leaving everything cold and wet yet again.

******

Back at Hideout Two, Mortimer's claws pick at his palms, tearing apart the black pads and making his hands slick with blood. The crimson dots dribble on the floor, and his eyes are focused on Trafford, who is playing on his phone.

"Hey, goat person, I have more information about Ramsey,” says Mortimer.

Trafford stops playing his game and looks at Mortimer with a curious gaze.

"You can have it all for yourself and to hell with the eagle,” says Mortimer.

“What’s the catch?” asks Trafford.

“Do you have any of those protein bars left?”

“You want my protein bar?”

“I would prefer Taco King, but I’m stuck here and haven’t eaten in a long time. Give me a protein bar and I’ll tell you about Ramsey’s escape route.”

Trafford thinks for a second. Then he flips his phone shut, stuffs it in his pocket and pulls out a protein bar from his inner coat pocket, slowly opening it as he approaches Mortimer. When he is close enough to the fox, he holds the bar to his muzzle, but rather than Mortimer biting into it, he rips his hand through the straps and uses his claws to slash Trafford’s femoral artery.

Trafford yelps and his leg gives out as his pants are rapidly drenched in blood, and then Mortimer stabs his claws into Trafford’s neck and twists. Flesh is shredded, and Trafford’s throat and chest is soaked in crimson. He crumbles with his eyes wide open and body twitching.

As Trafford’s blood spreads across the floor, Mortimer yanks out his other hand and tears off strips of Trafford’s shirt to bandage his hands. After that, he goes to a lone case in the dark corner of the room and breaks it open, finding his electromagnetic gear waiting for him. He grins, quickly puts it on and hurries out into the storm.

After a grueling thirty minutes of hiking through the forest in the downpour with no decent protection against the elements, Mortimer steps onto the road right as a car approaches him. He holds out his hand and his gloves spark and the car is forced to stop and is slightly levitated.

The engine revs and the tires spin uselessly in the air, flinging dirty water everywhere as Mortimer walks towards it, blood dripping from his injured hands with some burnt on his palms from his device. When he reaches the driver’s door, he peers inside and sees a terrified rabbit clutching the wheel tightly and staring at him with wide eyes and drooped ears.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you. All I need is a ride to town. It’s urgent,” says Mortimer.