Blake started to run after Simon, but stopped abruptly. “Okay, that’s enough,” Blake shouted to Oz. “I’m tired of being in bloody ‘Nam, I don’t want to run after the kid, and I think I just stepped on a damn Bouncin’ Betty!”

“Really?” Oz said with a smile.

“About that last part, very certain; I feel the pressure plate under my foot,” came Blake’s reply. “Do your damn thing already, Oz.”

“You know there’s going to be more for me to repair or erase before this over, can’t we just wait and do it all at once?”

“No,” Blake screamed, his eyes wide. “Undo the damn war and bring the kid back, now!”

“Fine,” replied Oz, a sneer covering his face. Oz waved a hand and Chicago was back to normal, people walking down the street with nary a concern, and Simon was standing by their side.

“That was frakkin weird,” Simon said, confused. “What the hell just…”

“Oz is The Creator’s direct representative here,” Blake said. “You know, the weave of reality and the weaver.”

“Um…” Simon stirred, preparing to run again.