Simon’s knees hurt. In truth, he hurt all over, but his knees were the body part he was focused on right now.

They were all kneeling with their arms cuffed behind their backs in front of some ghetto-rigged altar: Blake, Angela, creepy Agent Winters (who Simon still didn’t trust, no matter how clueless she was), The Baron—who wasn’t so much kneeling, as he was slumped over—and himself. Lying nearby was a cop that had gotten worked over pretty good. His badge read “Crowe”, and Simon wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.

Simon noted bitterly that he was the only one gagged. They were probably afraid he’d call another kug, which wasn’t likely to happen. Simon’s kug calling days were behind him.

Up on the altar was Dr Gage, butt-naked and chained. She was kind of hot, for a dead lady. There were Dho-Nha equations scribbled all over her body. Dho-Nha? Not good. Somebody was trying to put something inside of Dead Girl, and they wanted it to stay in.

“Blurg,” Simon thought. “Maybe I should rephrase that.”