"So, I have some questions that I'm way too afraid to ask the big angry guy." Marley asked Izzy as she watched the viewport from the den.

  "Sure. What do you wanna know?"

  What's the deal with the eyes and the telepathic stuff?" he asked.

  "We Osirians have sped up our evolution using technology, but before that we were essentially dragons. All the myths about dragons you hear from Earth culture was just misunderstanding and distorting of what they saw in our ancient ones, when they first visited Earth. Most organics use food as fuel for a metabolic system of creating energy."

  "Of course. Eat, digest, poop, energy." he nodded. "Standard metabolism."

  "Our ancestors used a different process. Their world was too radioactive to support much life, and what life it did support was hostile and hearty. No plants, not enough animals to sustain a carnivorous food chain on its own, so they evolved to eat radioactive isotopes and use the pulses from their dead star to generate a kind of fusion."

  "So…you guys are nuclear?" he asked.

  "Yea, more or less. Their eyes worked very different, instead of relying on light to see they use the radiation generated by the brain like a sort of light echolocation. It's all we ever knew so we still use it, now with digital technology to add what humanoids would call normal vision as well. The older generations like Greg and…me, have some genetic throwbacks to a time before everything was lab-grown and standardized. Some of us developed different mechanisms to survive, like radiation hypnosis, or being gigantic."

  "So that means you guys are just walking around beaming out shitloads of radiation everywhere you look?" he asked, discreetly scooting further away.

  "No more than anyone with a cell phone experiences. It's heavily filtered, so unless an Osirian power core detonates, it's pretty harmless."

  "How often does that happen?" Mar asked.

  "It's extremely rare. Only about 3 Osirians in our technological history have ever overloaded a power cell unintentionally.

  "I feel like one of those 3 might be the big guy in the hot tub." he said looking skeptical. She scrunched her eyebrows like she was trying very hard to deny it without just flat-out lying to him.

  "About that…" she started, stalling for time.

  "Yea that sounds about like our luck. Maybe don’t mention that to the others, they prefer to die ignorant, and part of me kinda wished I hadn't asked too." he yawned.

  "Silver lining…um, you wouldn’t feel anything. Core overloads are a chain reaction so you would go from oblivious to oblivion way quicker than you could consciously perceive anything like fear or pain." she shrugged.

  "That's fun. Let me know ahead of time if he starts to look core-overloady so I can go get baked and eat all of my snacks in rapid session." Mar nodded.

  "Honestly, he kinda looks that way every time he's pissed off.

  "So just…all the time ever?"

  "Yea, pretty much." she admitted.

  "Okay, back to the telepathy. What's is that about?"

  "Osirians have always had a rudimentary communication method of using their radiation to signal one another. As Osirians brains became more and more reliant on implants and modifications, that evolved into digital communication and when Greg's son, Christophe was created, he was experimental and had a real-time communications system that could transmit consciousness over a distance so he could transfer himself over a distance to a remote body for what is effectively instant galactic travel. He discovered he could pilot more than one at a time and thus began the practice of Osirians having multiple clones in different places and sharing one consciousness. Officially it's supposed to be personally encoded and unhackable, but there are ways to get around it. That's off the books by the way, not public knowledge. Greg is an older model and his advantages keep him from fully upgrading and that makes him more susceptible to hacking. For some reason, Jenny seems to have cracked it. She's one of the elders who has the throwback for hypnosis."

  "So the biggest security risk in the universe has a weak password, and Jenny knows Greg's password. That's well thought out." he scoffed.

  "Its not easy, and they have been working on it, but with his memory damage and the fact that he's been hacked before, makes it impossible to encrypt perfectly. All Greg avatars are running off the same original Greg and we can't shut that one down to start over like we would with everyone else. When an Osirian is damaged, we just shut down the damaged original, repair or clone another, test it and recycle the old one. So there is always a fresh and upgraded body running the consciousness. To shut down and repair you have to kill the first host and grow a new one." Izzy explained.

  "Greg not a fan of being killed and cloned like the others?"

  "Oh no, he's fine with it, we just…can't figure out how to kill him."

  "Have you tried just unplugging him and plugging him back in? Works with my stuff." he suggested.

  "He's pre-digital, so even if they shut down the Implants, the communication nodes and sensors, he's perfectly alive organically."

  "What about one of those overloads, would that just atomize him?"

  "He's survived 5 of those already. The core entity is, as far as we can tell is indestructible, and he can re-grow from nothing but that in about 5-20 minutes depending on energy depletion."

  "So if he suddenly decided to self destruct, he could nuke a small orbital base off the map and then just grow back from a floating toenail…and he's remote controlled, and that evil bitch in the rear of the ship can hack his mind…did anyone think this out or was it designed specifically to be a cluster-fart from square one?" Marley asked.

  "It does seem like a pretty big oversight, or a really elaborately done running joke that refuses to stop. Nobody really knows, and Greg's too crazy to tell us."

  "I'm convinced that all of reality is just there to entertain some all-powerful deity who is just super bored and incapable of a social life."

  "That's dark." she nodded.

  "So is space, baby…so is space." he said taking a puff and looking deep in thought.

  "Why can't you grasp this?" Greg sighed as Duffy tried to understand the math involved. Lawg stared blankly with wide eyes, trying to remember if a multiplication symbol was an X or a hashtag.

  "So giant bugs took over your kingdom?" Lawg asked.

  "Technically they aren't bugs, their just other aliens that vaguely resemble bugs."

  "So your sister-in-law vaguely resembles a huge bug, and she cloned herself a fadjillion times and took over your kingdom?"

  "More or less." he said giving up on the details.

  "I thought Izzy was your daughter-in law."

  "She is…sorta. Her older clone sister married my son, so she's either my daughter in law or my ranking officer, because technically she is the same person genetically as the woman who gives me orders. But this one is a blank slate that she illegally wiped…soooo"

  "How many daughters in laws do you have?" Lawg asked. Greg looked overwhelmed as he counted.

  "Sixty…three?" he answered.

  "Holy balls. Do you have like 63 kids?" he asked.

  "Most of them are Christophes. Christophe has about 20 wives." he shrugged.

  "I stand corrected, that man is my new hero. Sorry Batlad, Christophe is the real black knight of the city…only his city is sweet-sweet poontang." he said squinting philosophically. Duffy rolled her eyes.

  "Lawg, he's a clone too. They're all clones, the whole species is clones. The guy's son has been cloned like 40 times, and half of his clones have a wife. It's not just one guy on a throne with a harem of 20 women in a pile around him." she informed "It's not that, right?" she asked discreetly to Greg.

  "No, no that's not his way." he assured.

  "See, Osirians aren't just immortal horndogs with poon-gaggles surrounding them." she informed. Greg looked guilty for a moment.

  "I've actually had a similar harem scenario, to a lesser extreme. Still pretty excessive. I'm sort of the black sheep of the family. Elders tend to be hornier. Newer generations think sex is unnecessary. So overall, no, our species aren't just sheiks with harems and orgy pits…mostly just the Gregs." Greg yawned.

  "How do you manage that?" Lawg asked in awe.

  "Professional help. I hired a lot of very business minded intelligent professionals to manage it for me…all gorgeous women as well. You forget I have basically infinite money. I may be universally hated, but I did kinda own the empire."

  "Must be nice." shrugged Marley as he shuffled past. "We don’t even have enough to buy a good ship, usually just enough luck-money to keep this crap-shite mostly functional, and enough extra for food and the occasional weapon or two. Oh, I've been meaning to ask this…are we fugitives right now?" Mar asked.

  "Oh yea. We stole a prison transport and are currently transporting 2 criminals." Greg nodded.

  "Oh no, did the crazy bitch clone herself!?" Lawg said panicking.

  "Noooo. That criminal would be me." Greg informed.

  "You didn’t realize he was a criminal?" asked Duffy.

  "There's a lot to keep track of right now. Giant aliens just booped into my ship and now we have an empire at stake and a clone army of Kentucky sister-cousins with nuclear superpowers and Ex wives who can read minds. Somewhere in that fun little romp I missed the part where Greg was a literal criminal." Lawg yelled.

  "I mean…" started Marley "Literally the first thing he did was break into our ship, followed by hijacking our ship, then he killEEeugh, I mean knocked you out cold. Then he hogtied some chick and took her prisoner, then he killed some people, we hijacked a prison ship and left 5 noses to die on a grass planet while we make a plan to hijack a penal colony. Seems pretty obvious." he shrugged.

  "A penal colony?" Lawg said looking appalled.

  "No, Lawg…not a village of dicks. Penal Colony: a colony owned by the Penal system." Duffy explained.

  "So it's just owned by dicks?" Lawg asked, genuinely befuddled. Duffy gave up.

  "Yes. The planet is owned by dicks. They're called the government." Greg corrected.

  "I don’t wanna go to the Peener planet." Lawg whined.

  "PENAL…PENALTY…PENALTY SYSTEM…PRISON!" Greg said slowly.

  "Don’t explain it, you're just scaring him more." Marley sighed. "Now he thinks it’s a dick planet with some form of discipline society."

  "It's a mining planet. No dick-aliens, just criminals and heavy mining equipment. Lots and lots of large machines and volatile fuel, power plants, advanced alloys and raw metals ready for refining. It's basically a scrap yard for building a small army. You're gonna pretend to have arrested me, get me locked up, and then I start a mutiny and take over the prison. Free labor, free machinery, free resources and a whole planet nobody cares about covered in rocks and metal." Greg explained.

  "So slaves?" Marley asked.

  "Not slaves. Slavery is bad. Liberated criminals with a potentially grateful mindset and lots of opportunity. We pay them, let them run the prison under my guidance and when we've built a solid foundation for the empire; we reward them with the rest of the planet. We're freeing them and offering them employment." Greg explained.

  "So what if they just wanna leave?" asked Marley.

  "They can't, their criminals. How is that worse then what they already have?" he asked.

  "Yea, it's kind of a win, I guess, but it's still pretty much owning people." Mar yawned.

  "They broke some law to get there, so the system took their freedom, maybe for good reason maybe not. Neither is my problem, I just work here." Greg sighed.

  "But…you are also a criminal, so shouldn’t you kinda, just go there and be in prison?" asked Marley.

  "Prisoners have riots and take over all the time, I'm just smarter and way tougher so I can enforce it. I'm just practicing evolution, the strong survive and the weak follow."

  "Can we just, like, not be involved at all or maybe way less? We can drop you off and get the hell out of this system." Suggested Marley.

  "I need the teleporter to print more stuff, plus I need people familiar with this universe, mechanics and technicians are essential…don’t really need Lawg for anything but I feel like you guys won't cooperate if I toss him to the criminals, so he can do something…sweep floors."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Maybe this isn't too bad actually." Duffy thought aloud.

  "Alien invasion, prisoner mutiny, slaves." Marley reminded.

  "Of course we could just do what you do and tuck tail, run from the thugs and factions forever, until the damn bugs find this universe and turn it into a series of hives for more bugs, turning you and everyone into actual slaves without any cool benefits or merciful understanding." Greg shrugged.

  "Oh boy, that sounds even worse." Marley sighed to himself.

  "Either way you get dominated by a foreign alien force and your universe takes heavy invasive population. You can either pick the side that has hives and forced labor and will lock you underground forever, or the one that has hot tubs and beach-parties." Greg smiled sinisterly.

  "I'm more of a beach party bunny than a cave-dwelling bunny." Mar nodded. Lawg looked kinda sad, nodding for beach parties as well.

  Greg pondered his plan alone in his cell. There was a knock on the bars and he looked up to see Izzy standing there with some coffee.

  "Brought me a beverage?" he asked.

  "No, I just brought me a beverage." she corrected. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

  "Of course, we're friends."

  "Why are you such a gigantic dick-hole all the time?" she asked abruptly.

  "Friends with benefits, the sole benefit being honesty." he smiled with a tone of sarcasm.

  "I don’t get it. You can't make friends with the humans and the bunny?"

  "I think Lawg is some kind of technical alien that just looks conveniently human to avoid creativity or animation cost." Greg shrugged.

  "See? You always have to be a smartass." she sighed, rolling her eyes.

  "Well we already have a few dumbasses, so I mixed it up for diversity."

  "Can you even shut it off, or are you just like this naturally?"

  "Defense mechanism. See deep down inside I'm just an emotionally fragile little boy who needs a hug." he said pouting his lower lip slightly.

  "No you're not."

  "No I am not." he shook.

  "How did my older clone ever tolerate you? You don’t listen to anyone, you think you're always right, you only see from your perspective as an unstoppable tank. You're spoiled."

  "Spoiled?" he scoffed. "I spent thousands of years earning what I have and because I got used to my winnings, I'm spoiled? You were baked in a test tube 22 years ago and you have more luxury than I do. You just got lucky your sister shacked up with the ruler of the new empire and then cloned herself younger. Everything you have is free because you're older yourself/sister Izzy decided to make a brattier version of herself and raise it like a daughter. She couldn’t just have a kid like everyone else does the old fashioned way through random genetic engineering and from-scratch personality development?"

  "That's not my fault, I never asked to be grown in a jar into a rich family."

  "Yea you kinda did…older you made that happen. You literally did choose to be born, you just don’t remember it because you also chose to be a clean slate!"

  "Well…you can't be mad at me for something I did before I was born to do it. This is insane, Am I Izzy or am I my own thing because this back and forth is confusing."

  "I don’t know, Osirian lineage is a trainwreck, that's why I let the kids figure that out. Every clone of mine comes with the same data pack of 15 millennia of me being me, so thus far none of them have changed enough to matter. I also avoid interacting with other Greg's because frankly I don’t trust me very much, I know me enough to know I can't trust me, and I wouldn’t have anything to talk about that I already didn’t know."

  "You ruined my life. I was gonna be an art major."

  "Well now I did it. I removed someone from society as irreplaceable as an art major. The empire is screwed without you flinging paint on a canvas and calling it "Angst" with an accent."

  "You were a painter too, I've seen your art." She snipped.

  "I'm trillion years old, I've been everything twice because I've been everything so long ago I forgot what I did the first time. That's why I'm good at so many things, I'm just old as dirt. Age is experience and age is also senility so you get the perks and the crazy as a package deal. You wouldn't understand, you're still a young woman in her prime, and you need to get your ducks in a row, because you won't be this young and pretty forever. Some day you'll wake up and realize you're 800 and the years just flew past you."

  "What are you, my college professor or my life-coach?" she scoffed.

  "I don’t know, I'm still trying to decide if I'm your elder and I outrank you, or if you being a clone of my superior officer makes you my boss. It's pissing me off because I don’t know if I need to trust the experience you don’t have yet, or teach you a lesson. I hate cloning so much sometimes." he growled.

  "Well I'm pissed off because I think you're the most arrogant, annoying, stubborn old fart in history, but I also freaking love your music and I hate you even more for being my celebrity crush, and also being the guy who stranded me in the freaking dipshit universe." she yelled as her eyes began to glow.

  "And I hate your sister…so I think I hate you too, but you sort of also didn’t do all the shitty things that made me hate her, so I don’t know why I'm blaming you and I don’t know why I'm yelling!" he yelled.

  "You're yelling because I'm yelling and you can't walk away from conflict."

  "You're damn right I can't, because I'm a loose cannon of primal rage and barbarism and we both know you sort of admire that." he provoked.

  "You are so…impossibly infuriating. The only thing I hate more than you, is the fact that I can't entirely hate you, despite really hating you." she said, lengthening her canines as they stomped closer and exchanged growling looks of intimidating, trying to show the other who is boss, while neither was fully confident themselves. There was a good awkward 6 seconds of silence as they breathed radioactive water vapor and slowly moves nose-to-nose. Greg chose his words carefully…like a poet.

  "Are we about to kill each other or screw, because I honestly don’t know which!?" he growled, still trying to be intimidating.

  "I'll let you know when I figure that out." she growled back. They stared for another moment. More silence and heavy breathing.

  "This suspense is ridiculous. I regret being the one to ask that question aloud because now either way I look like the jerk or the perv."

  "You already look like a jerk and a perv. You always look like that so why do you care?" she snarled.

  "I don’t, I'm just killing time hoping one of us will figure this out and I won't be the one who made the first move." Greg growled.

  "Weeeeell, I respect your honesty?!" She growled in a tone that didn’t fit her agreeable dialogue.

  "And I'm a patient man, so if this is a game of sexual chicken I assure you that you're not winning." he said, regretting the wording and now craving chicken.

  "You're just an immature boy trapped in an old man's body. It just happens to be a really masculine and fit body for an old man that looks thousands of years younger."

  "And you're just an old woman rebooted in a young woman's body. And I can't decide if you look better old or young. There are pros and cons to both but mostly just different flavors of Izzy and their both pretty hot!" he roared.

  "What the hell are we doing?" she barked aggressively with no inflection of a question."

  "At some point this situation is going to seem like a broken record and one of us will have to make a move. I don’t really have a preference because I like fighting about as much as banging, and this universe has very few good option either way."

  "You do have a preference and you just don’t wanna be that guy by admitting it."

  "YOU WANNA FLIP A COIN?" he roared as his skin began to glow slightly.

  "I DIDN’T BRIG ONE!" she roared back.

  "NEITHER DID I!!!" he replied.

  "DAMNIT!!" she howled.

  "I KNOW!! RIGHT?"

  "Man I can't hear a thing through these impenetrable soundproof cells." Marley said moving his huge ears around the wall.

  "Nothing at all?" asked Lawg.

  "I think they are fighting." Marley said

  "How can you tell?" Duffy asked.

  "The wall is getting really warm." he said jumping back and running like hell.

  "Code Blue!" Yelled Duffy. "All crewmen to the indestructible cargo crates of survival." she added. They darted to their designated cargo crates and bunkered down. After a while, Duffy heard the doors open. Smoke rolled from the airlock as the oxygen scrubbers gently vacu-sucked the presumably toxic mist. Izzy strutted out.

  "He dead?" asked Lawg.

  "No he's not dead. He cant dead, he's Greg!" argued Marley.

  "Greg is in time-out. I suggest you not open that door without a hazmat suit." she said brushing her hair behind her pointy ear and heading for the shower. The gang filed back to their stations as Lawg stood in place with a look of deep pondering as if solving a riddle. Maybe he lost his good belt.

  "Hey guys?" he asked looking around. "Did they just sex?"

  The SS Taste-E-Chill and its towed trailers gently lowered through the atmosphere, the "Chill portion" drooping downward sadly as its lack of landing thrusters caused it to sag from the hitch ball. Behind the transport trailer dangled the 50 meter tether with the maximum security pod you probably forgot about that had that psycho chick restrained like Hannibal Lector in the back. You remember now, don’t you?

  The string of ships loosely connected as one ridiculous thing, touched down, pod first, then the nose of the Tast-E and then with a very troubling crunch and scrape the whole thing straightened out and deployed landing ramps. The crew got out, looking around for the giant mining pits or the entrances to the giant underground mining pits.

  "We did get the right location, right?" asked Greg.

  "Both Tam-Tam and Carmen agreed. Mining planet number 221. If we went too far we'd end up at Slaveo, and trust me, we would know we screwed up before we landed." Marley chuckled.

  "It's gotta be all underground." Duffy rationalized.

  "I'm not reading any blasting vibrations or large laser output waves. Maybe it's abandoned." Marley suggested.

  "The nose-people wouldn’t send us to an abandoned prison mine." Greg deduced.

  "All I got is a landing pad just beyond the ridge and a tiny building. Scanners show underground cavitations but not a lot. Talkin about the size of an Office-Max at best. Warehouse maybe. Strip club if we're lucky." Marley shrugged.

  "One way to find out." Lawg nodded with determination and hope. Greg reached the door and as the scanner asked for a password he just pulled it off the hinges and kept walking casually, right down the steps. Another security asked for a fingerprint scan and he punched the panel out before opening the door and leading the crew further.

  Greg stood looking confused. He opened his mouth to ask a question, stopped, and then contemplated his life to this point, and what he has accomplished. This was not his proudest moment. In front of the dipshits was a vast warehouse of nerds behind computers. Like identical little programming mice, they typed away and silently adjusted their ergonomic chairs.

  "Um… this is different." said Marley. Greg strolled with a look of passive brutality to the end of the row, where a supervisor was standing.

  "You can't be in here, very sensitive stuff. Who let you through the gate?" The super asked. Greg chuckled a bit to keep from exploding.

  "You really need to make this bullshit make sense before I just flat-out lose my chill and dead this whole universe. What exactly is going on?" he said trying to be pleasant as he left eye twitched and his forehead vein glowed slightly with his pulse.

  "Work as usual. Everyone on schedule and clocked." he started. Greg grabbed him by the shirt and drug him closer.

  "I was informed this was a mining colony for prisoners."

  "We don’t like the word prisoners, we use the phrase soon-to-be-reformed. This is a facility for nonviolent inmates to contribute to the greater community until they serve their 1-5 year community service." the supervisor informed.

  "This doesn’t look like a mining operation." Lawg noted.

  "I assure you it is…Data mining." he said nervously. Greg's eye twitched more.

  "What does that even mean?" asked Marley.

  "Well nobody really knows for sure, that's why we can charge so much. Has to do with quantum passwords and Bitcoins. You folks interested in inventing in bitcoin?"

  "Isn't that just imaginary money?" asked Greg.

  "Of course not, its virtual money, there is a huge difference." he defended. Greg grabbed the guy's stress ball off the desk and popped it in a way that made him realize that was a warm-up for another kind of ruptured ball in his future, if he didn’t cooperate.

  "There is absolutely no difference…imaginary money." the supervisor admitted nervously.

  "I knew it." Greg whispered.

  "So what is the point?" asked Marley.

  "Well, people keep buying it so we keep selling it, and you gotta make things to sell, so we mine data and use nonviolent criminals as cheap labor. Get's them off the streets and feeling like they paid a debt to society. Makes society feel like they are being fairly disciplined and reformed. Everyone wins and we make a lot of imaginary money doing it." the Super admitted.

  "So no mining equipment, no ore processing facility or massive powerplants, let alone hardened workers with desperate needs to get revenge and freedom as a malleable mass of expendable pawns that could be used to build an army?" asked Greg.

  "Nope." smiled the supervisor. "But we got a new microwave in the break room. Next month we get 3 new computers for the holiday special blowout sale. You guys from the safety department or the Union reps?" he asked.

  "I'm leaning towards the safety department, because I feel like there is about to be an accident in the workplace." Marley joked.

  "Seems pretty safe to me." smiled the supervisor as Greg growled under his breath. "I'm about to lose my job aren't I?" he asked with the same blank smile.

  "So that's it? Mission failed?" asked Izzy, pacing around a table as Greg pondered and the others stayed close to the door.

  "Yep…pretty much that." he sighed, spinning his new microwave.

  "There has to be another way, we can't just call it a failure because we got one dead-end." she insisted.

  "Let's do some math here, kids. This is the ass-butt of the galaxy, our ship at maximum speed will take about 2 weeks to get to the next star system. We don’t have enough fuel anyway but the wormhole has about 5 or 6 days left before it closes and we no longer have a mining planet to power a breech-saturator to keep it open longer. If it closes the singularity, we will barely be able to get a video signal through, let alone us. This was the plan. There is no plan B. Older Izzy had the backup plans. I can't make miracles happen. I may be big, blue and overly animated, but I'm no genie. So unless anyone has a planet-sized energy saturator in their ass. The mission is over. And not even Izzy's ass is THAT big." Greg barked.

  "Does that mean you're stuck here with us?" asked Marley.

  "At least until we can stumble across a means of making trillions of dollars and building a gate on this side from scratch." Greg yawned.

  "Crewman standard rate is 20 percent of profit." Duffy suggested reluctantly.

  "That's almost all my profit if we split it 5 ways." Lawg objected.

  "Yea but we got a lot of enemies, not including the noses that got killed. Having a couple of robot alien tanks on the ship might be a good thing." informed Duffy.

  "What if they mutiny the ship?" he asked.

  "What if you piss them off by informing them right after they got stranded forever in a foreign universe, that they cant even get a job as a salvager and they just decided to leave us here to die and take the ship anyway?' she informed.

  "Good point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend." he nodded.

  "That's not really applicable here but yea, better to be friends with the big alien overlord than his first meal after a rough day. They seem adaptable. Plus she is kinda his babysitter." Duffy shrugged.

  "I dunno, I got lost way back with the relations and ranks. But you are right crewman Duffy, they could totally kill us and take the ship anyway. I'll offer them ten percent each and that's final. And no hot-tub privileges!" he squinted. "Congratulations, we decided to make you officially part of the crew…unless you ever want to leave or we can't find you for more than 30 minutes."

  "The hell do you guys do anyway?" asked Greg.

  "We scavenge, transport cargo, usually dangerous or illegal if it pays better." Duffy informed.

  "Oh I think I can contribute to the idea-bank." Greg nodded. "And I know where the money is, juuust waiting."

  "Duffy…are we about to go rob a bank?" asked Lawg.

  "I don’t know. That's probably an adventure for another time." she shrugged.

  "I smell time travel heist on the horizon…"Greg sniffed. "But for now, we'll have to settle for robbing something smaller." he shrugged.

  "Oh, you are not kidding are you?" Izzy said resisting the urge to cry.

  "Dipshits…let's rob ourselves a hospital." Greg grinned.