<<< Disconnection, (Anyone who wants to see Scott and Jean)

Time: Early Morning
Date: May 24th, one week after ShadowX fell

---

Day One:

The first day passed and the infirmary was filled to capacity. Warren, always diligent with his stockpiling of blood, was allowed time to heal from the injuries he'd received at the hands of his best friends, for a while, but the supplies were not enough, and once he was healed, he was called on again, his blood so precious. Dr. McCoy worked over the most injured, steadily, and though some of the fallen were near death's door, not one was lost.

In the largest of the infirmary rooms, Scott and Jean had been brought together because when the more critically injured Scott was moved alone, they had reacted poorly. Their blood pressure had raised, their heart rates, their brainwaves had gone erratic, and they convulsed as if they were trying to, in their unconscious states, claw their way to alertness to find out where their beloved was. Hank had made the decision to leave the two together, as Scott received liter after liter of Warren's blood, and Jean was placed in a pressurized oxygen tent to remove the nitrogen from her system and replace it with proper air, Legard's attack having been more devastating than it had seemed. Their room was completely, eerily silent. Null cuffs had been locked around their wrists to remove their powers, and the antidote that Hank had produced with the information from the bio-scanner, was pushed into their bloodstreams.

On the beds, their positions were identical, mirroring each other, still locked in mental entanglement. When they moved, it was still in strange synchronicity. The antidote was dosed out to them at regular intervals, and nothing more could be done. They were left alone in their isolation.

Scott and Jean did not wake up.

*****

Day Three:

By the third day, most of the students were released. The call for Warren's blood was restricted now to only the most critically injured, mostly still Scott Grey-Summers, though there were others nearly as bad. Jean was removed from the oxygen tent, but she still rested comatose beside her husband, one hand stretched towards him, as if reaching for him. He reached out his hand to her in exact precision, and more antidote was given. They'd been entangled mentally for months. It would take time to unwrap their minds.

In another room, Alex Summers was awake, and in good spirits considering what he'd been through, and joked about having so much of the Angel's blood in him that he was starting to grow feathers. He was still very very injured, but he was allowed some visitors for a little while, and he felt better after. He asked repeatedly about his brother and sister-in-law. He asked repeatedly about his best friend. He never stopped asking about Lorna.

In Scott and Jean's room, more antidote was given and at 9:14 Pm, their hearts began to be out of synch with each other.

Scott and Jean did not wake up.

*****

Day Four:

On the fourth morning, it was noticed for the first time that the Jean had curled onto her side, and Scott had not. Their differing positions was encouraging, though Scott's stillness was not, until Warren, who had been Scott's roommate back when they were just teenagers, reminded them that the other man could not move in sleep because of his visor normally. The null cuffs were preventing their powers but even half dead, Scott stayed vigilant.

It might've been funny, if he wasn't so hurt, if Jean wasn't comatose beside him.

Outside the infirmary, the world was beginning to get back to normal. The last effects of the telepathic manipulation was wearing off. Some of the affected still had headaches, some of them were depressed, some were still suffering... but the longings for mental reward was gone now, the nightmare punishments had stopped. Freewill had been restored and the people were allowed their hates, their loves, their guilts, their prides again.

Tensions still ran high but forgiveness had begun again.

Scott and Jean did not wake up.

*****

Day Six:

Alex was released, as healed as Warren's blood could make him. Tests had shown that he'd suffered no brain damage from the concussion or his brief death, and though his heart was still bruised, McCoy and Jeffries had rigged his chest monitor to serve as kind of a pacemaker, helping to relieve the pressure on the damaged organ. He was ordered to rest, and he seemed to think that meant camping out in Jean and Scott's room, occasionally dozing in a chair, sometimes with other people holding vigil, but often, alone.

He talked to them both, though it was in deep whispers that no one could hear clearly. He wasn't the only visitor who did that. There were some who still loved the two manipulated mutants. It was a hard time for them all.

Scott and Jean did not wake up.

The days following the fall of 'ShadowX' were some of the worst days of Mshindo's short life. The normally bubbly little girl had turned into a complete wallflower. She had spent a good three days in the infirmary, healing from multiple wounds and a minor concussion, and she still had to check in with Dr. McCoy every once and a while so he could treat her forehead wound, which had required stitches. She no longer grew her water lilies, and the ones left in the pond had, scary enough, begun to die, starting with her own special lily, which was once bright blue.

Something had been bugging her for a while, so she followed the nagging in the back of her mind, and went to visit Jean and Scott. They looked somewhat pathetic, laying there, unconcious. Carefully, she placed the lily she had been growing for them on a small end table that was close to both of the beds. In the middle of the lily, something amazing had happened. What almost seemed like another, smaller lily had bloomed in the center of it, and it was a marbled black and grey, while in the center of that, there was a small bud, that was bright pink. Hopefully, it would make them feel better once they woke up.

Warren sat quietly in the room with Jean and Scott, on a stool so his wings could sit neatly behind him, but he had pushed it against the wall, leaning his shoulder against it so he could have some kind of support. He was fairly well dosed up on painkillers but the dull ache in his chest every time he moved was a reminder that really he should be lying down. He hadn't heeded the message his body or his doctor was sending him though. Though his blood held healing properties, they were nowhere near to the strength of Logan's heal factor, speeding healing up by two or three times roughly. For the winged mutant that still meant roughly a month until his sternum and ribs that had been shattered would be fully healed. However, his blood was still the only one with a healing factor currently going so he had given as much as Hank would allow and more besides.

Now he just felt... drained, physically and mentally as he sat listening to the constant beeping of the machines that monitored Jean and Scott. The school was in turmoil, with students and teachers alike considering leaving and some doing further than considering and actually going. Many of them felt utterly betrayed and manipulated, as well they should and Warren didn't really think that explaining that Jean and Scott had been manipulated by some outer force as well was going to help those feelings of unease. He lifted a hand to rub tiredly at his eyes, wondering how they were going to sort out this mess.

The door to the room opened and a young girl walked in. She didn't seem to notice him and Warren watched as she placed a flower on the end table. It took him a moment to place her, but then he recalled then name, Zanra. He thought she was in Paragon but since he'd been gone from the school for a while he wasn't sure of anything any more. Squad groups seemed distant and insignificant now. He licked his lips, his mouth and throat dry as he lightly cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence in the room hopefully without scaring her. "Zanra?" He said, his voice soft and gentle. "Are you okay?" he questioned her, moving his stool away from the wall so he could face her, blue eyes focusing calmly on her as he waited for her response.

He licked his lips, his mouth and throat dry as he lightly cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence in the room hopefully without scaring her. "Zanra?" He said, his voice soft and gentle. "Are you okay?" he questioned her, moving his stool away from the wall so he could face her, blue eyes focusing calmly on her as he waited for her response

Zanra jumped a bit when Warren cleared his throat, but when he called her name, she turned to look at him, and couldn't help but smile. She faintly remembered him from before this huge ShadowX buisness, but for some reason, shee had trouble remembering much at all from before all of this had happened. She had forgotten names of certain people, sometimes she even forgot where she was.

When Angel had asked if she was okay, she just nodded in response, and went to sit down on the floor next to his stool, after grabbing a small box from beside the door. She opened it, and pulled out another lily, only this one was pure white, with the central petals a pale blue. She gently closed the box, and placed the lily gently in Warren's lap, making sure not to damage it. "I grow t'ese...for eve'yones...'Dat ones for yous..."

Jubilee didn't walk completely in she simply wanted to look in to see what was going. From what she could read or even know from medical drama's on TV that Scott and Jean were fine in body. By mind she couldn't tell and hoped and wished upon wish that Xavier would just appear and tell them everything was going to alright. Life was off and hell took over and threatened to kill them all with iron fist. What would happen to the X Men if they passed? Would the school still be opened? Could they live with Scott and Jean. Even though Mina was the head of the school Scott and Jean were the glue. Their love for one another kept made everyone believe in fairytale endings and it will be the stuff of legends in the days to come.

Jubilee sighed and felt so lot she didn't need Warren or Zandra to try and make her feel better since at the moment there was no feeling better. Jubilee bowed her head and let few tears drip down cheeks before she turned her heel and walked out the subbasement with only a backpack on her back and one of Logan's leather jackets. She had to get to out of her now.

[Exit Jubilee]

Hank didn't ever remember being so tired in his entire life. He didn't take notice of it, instead moving about his lab and the infirmary as though sleepwalking. How had this happened? How, with all of his intelligence, had he missed the transformation of his dearest friends into Shadow X? Oh, Hank knew how it had happened, but how he had missed it from the very beginning made him toss and turn during what little sleep he could muster.

The immediate aftermath of the battle with Shadow X had been an utter nightmare, one that to this day Hank couldn't recall. He knew that he had run, shouting orders to those that weren't dazed or injured from the battle. Scott and Jean had been the immediate recipients of the back-up supply of Warren's blood, followed closely by those wounded slightly less critically.

And now...now, days later, Hank was feeling his exhaustion for the first time. While Scott and Jean slowly seperated, mentally and physically, Hank looked on from his slumped perch on the lab stool. Visitors had come and gone, some giving flowers, others prayers, but Hank had stayed. He watched over the steadily-dwindling injured silently, tweaking medication here and changing bandages there. It seemd as though only Jean and Scott were left unchanging, and sitting there in his lab, Hank prayed silently that his dearest friends would be okay.

"Warren, have you noticed any changes?" He asked, running his hands over his face wearily. Sometimes it took someone else's fresh point of view to see, and Hank felt as though his vision would never be fresh again. Not after he had missed Shadow X.

Warren smiled back at Zanta as she reacted to his presence in the room. His tired mind dredged up a few of the vital statistics he had read from her file. She was fourteen if he wasn’t mixing her up in his head with someone else, which was entirely possible, but he was fairly sure that he wasn’t. Fourteen...that was around the same age he was when he came to the Mansion, so resentful and hurt, it was when he had met Scott, and later on, Jean. It was the first time he had heard about the Dream the Professor was teaching to his young students and Warren had dedicated his life to that Dream from then on. He hadn’t always lived at the Mansion, and after his father’s death he had taken over the company, but his heart had always remained at the Mansion. So much had changed since he was fourteen, he wondered how different things would be when Zanra reached his age. That was a long way ahead though and right now he had no idea what was going to happen from hour to hour, much less fifteen years in the future.

The girl came and sat near him on the floor, gently placing a lily on his lap. He picked it up gently my the stem, turning it around to between his two fingers so he could inspect it the white petals, delicately blushed with blue. He listened to her heavily accented, slightly broken English and then smiled warmly at her. “Thank you.” He said with a slight dip of his head and then got to his feet, slower than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched, pain killers or no, his chest still ached when he started moving. He moved to grab a stool for Zanra, pulling it over and placing it near his. “There’s no need to sit on the floor.” He said, holding out a hand to help her up, the lily held gently in his other hand.

He looked around as he heard Hank enter the room and speak. He shook his head mutely, glancing at Zanra and then moving towards Hank a few steps. “No, nothing.” He confirmed, his gaze travelling over the still forms of Jean and Scott before going back to the blue furred man, another of the original X-Men. “Are you doing okay? You should get some sleep, Hank.” He said quietly, concern in his eyes. He doubted the doctor would heed his advice with so many patients, but he would try anyway

The misery she felt when she lost consciousness traveled with her into her coma and gnawed at her mind. Scott was dead and she was a monster, a cruel tormentor who would destroy everything.

Over the week, her fragmented thoughts stirred from the dark void, slowly changing from emotions without names to dread, misery, and self-hate. Slowly, her mind rose, being pulled by some unseen force out of the muck and back up to a plane of rational thought. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that her life had been destroyed, everything was gone and she alone but the worst part was that she had taken so many lives with her.

She hoped it had been a dream or nightmare, that it had all been false memories implanted. But as much as she desperately wanted to believe that was what happened, grasping at the last straw, a heavy dread settled in her heart and knew it wasn’t true. Tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyes and rolled down into her white streaked hair.

The pain slowly soaked into her mind. In moments, she felt the dull, pulsing ache crescendo into an all-consuming punishing migraine. In a spasm of movement, she jerked her arms up, pressing her hands against the sides of her head.

Her lids opened, revealing bloodshot, tormented eyes; crying for the suffering she caused and the lives she destroyed and saw some of those faces around her – Warren, Zanra, Hank, and Scott lying nearby. To her shame, she remembered hurting all of them, remembered feeling their trust and affection for her die.

Jean rolled onto her side away from them all, curling her body in on herself, pulling and tangling the IV tubes in the backs of her hands.

[[OOC: I figured that as a precaution, no one would take Rosie to see her parents until about a week after the fall of Shadow X, hence her late arrival into the thread.]]

Rosie was nervous. She hadn’t been this nervous going to the school since her very first days there, emerging fearfully from that wretched cardboard box months ago, but she was. The little girl had been gone so long from the mansion that now, standing at the door to the infirmary with her new-X-Factor-bought-blankie, Rosie was just a little scared.

Nevertheless, it was her home, and however nervous she was Rosie wanted desperately to see her parents. In the hand not clutching her blankie was a grey basket containing a small pile of knick-knacks and a messy pile of papers – one paper had the words “I love you” scrawled in the large, careful lettering of a little girl just learning to write, and below it was drawn a lopsided heart. Other papers held drawings and finger-paintings, done in the past few days when no one seemed to realize she was there. Something had happened, but what Rosie couldn’t tell. All she knew was that everyone had been worried…and that despite all her efforts, her mama and papa were still sick.

As she stepped cautiously into the room, the bright lights and smell of antiseptic made her wrinkle her nose and tighten her hold on the objects in her hands. Someone had warned her that her parents were still asleep, but that it was a different kind of sleep, and Rosie wondered if it was like in Sleeping Beauty. Could they be woken with a kiss? Or with the little things that she had gathered with Wanda’s guidance?

Before anyone could tell her otherwise, Rosie moved off between the beds, searching for her mama and papa. They were easy to find; while off to one side, Jean and Scott Grey-Summers seemed to dominate the room, even in sleep. Side-by-side as Rosie had always seen them, they were entirely motionless except for the barely perceptible rise and fall of their chests.

“Mama?” She whispered, carefully setting the basket down. “Papa?” Rosie moved so that she was standing between the beds, looking from face to face. They were so pale and motionless that she wanted to cry, and though she didn’t know the purpose of all the tubes and wires that were hooked up to them, she knew that they didn’t bode well.

Careful not to brush against any of the machines or wires, Rosie stood on her very tiptoes and reached for their hands. Their flesh was cold to the touch, but the little girl didn’t care as she curled her little fingers around their own fingers.

That was when her mother jerked, hand flying to her head, and Rosie sucked in a breath. It had worked! "Mama!" She croaked, not letting go of her father's hand, but Jean had turned away from her. Her face twisted, not understanding.

The voices that discussed him and Jean had come and gone for a lifetime of darkness, and he hadn't bothered to respond to them. His brother had spoken to them, Warren, Hank... some of the children... he hadn't opened his eyes, hadn't wanted to see the world in shades of blood, not now, not for awhile, maybe not ever. He'd been in a coma for a year once, and there was nothing of that time that he remembered. He didn't relive his fall from the sky, didn't hear his doctors discussing the fact that he was now an orphan...

He remembered so much of what had happened this time, and his dreams were intertwined with Jean's for so much of their rest. As they untangled themselves, they drew apart, and he sank within himself, curling into the ruins of his mental landscape, the orderly imaginings of a room of carefully placed file cabinets, now throw open, knocked over, his mind as chaotic as his world had become, and he raged in dark and painfilled silence, for longer than he knew, indulging his misery... what he had done, what he had forced Jean to become, weilding her powers with his one straight edged razor focus, cutting out unnecessaries like emotion, free will... turning her into the soldier he knew himself to be... making her so much less in his all-consuming desire to be more.

Her absence meant he had killed her. That was all he could think of. He'd killed her, or she'd been killed by someone else and that was his fault for going down, so decisively at the hands of the one person in this entire world that he'd trusted to do what was right. There were many who loved him too much to hurt him.... Only Warren loved him enough to kill him to save him. But that love had cost him Jean... and he slept in the blackness, seeking the end of it all, the doorway into heaven, because life without Jean would be hell.

So, it was in this blackness, in the self-imposed exile Scott's conscious mind had retreated to while his body was forced to reknit from the grievous damage that had been done by Warren's blade. Organs had been torn, arteries severed, bones broken, and there was a lot that the Angel's blood could do, but it was not instant. Scott was in serious condition, even now. No amount of impatience and promises to stay off his feet was getting him out of this bed anytime soon.

He felt a hand wrap around his and reflexively, he closed his fingers, even though he didn't want Rosie here, not to see him like this. She said, "mama" though, which was the first word he heard clearly, her crystal sweet voice cutting through his isolation and loneliness and he put up one hand, strangely heavy, to his eyes, his dangerous and uncontrolled... empty eyes. There was weight on his wrist, and the throbbing of his powers was absent, no sign of the powers that had made him no longer a human. She said Mama, that meant Jean... that meant Jean was...

He heard her sob, and that was the strength he needed. His wife was alive, she was alive and no matter what came from what had been, Jean was alive....

He opened his eyes, normal, brown, powerless, and filled with nothing but pain...

"Jean..." he rasped, "Jean... Don't.... don't cry... m' here... I love you... honey... m'here..."

Zanra clambered onto the stool that Warren hand generously placed out for her, and waited, her mind spinning as she tried to recall more memories of the months that had passed, remembering her first time meeting Jean and Scott when she first came to the institute, when she was scared and alone. But that all settled to the back of her mind when Jean began to stir from her slumber, and soon awoke, but it was obvious that something was bothering her, because it was only a second before she curled up on her side, writhing in pain and agony.

Zanra jumped down from her stool and went over to Jean, helping to untangle the multiple IV's and wires. "Jean'juuna, is 'kay now. Is 'kay." She turned to look at Rosie, feeling a bit heartbroken by the little girls reaction to seeing her 'Mama' act this way.

It was then that Scott woke up as well.

"Jean..." he rasped, "Jean... Don't.... don't cry... m' here... I love you... honey... m'here..."

Mshindo nervously started to wering her hands together, a spark or two flying from her twisted palms, a result of shot nerves and a bad feeling in her gut. She had somewhat been dreading this moment for days now, wondering what would happen once they were actually concious. Well, now was the time to find out.

Listening to Warren's words with half an ear, Hank moved about the room again, checking monitors and IV's to make sure everything was okay. "I will, Warren. Let me carry out a few more tasks..." It was a lie; they both knew it. Anything to cleanse his soul from the guilt he was feeling.

He had only just reached Jean and Scott's little corner, smiling sadly at Rosie and stepping carefully around her, when Jean stirred first. She curled onto her side, but when Hank reahed quickly for her IV to adjust the dosage of her medication, Scott woke next.

As much pain as Jean was in, as Scott was, Hank knew that emotional pain could not be fixed with more medication. He let the IV dial slide from his hands, and the big man stepped back, realizing that this was a moment in which his doctoring skills were not needed.

"Zanra." He spoke firmly, not harshly. "Calm down. There are flammable objects present in the vicinity." After another long glance at Scott and Jean, with Rosie still rooted between them, Hank moved away to stand beside the young woman, one hand on her shoulder. "Nothing will happen so long as you keep calm."

Alex had spent the past couple of days sleeping in his brother and sister in law's room, ignoring Hank's advice to go up to his room and get some real rest. He wanted to be with them... the last time his brother was in a coma, they'd told him he was dead and he didn't see him for almost twenty years. It was not going to happen this time. He was not going to give up...

... but even in his compulsion to be with the ones he loved, he had to recharge his powers, and down here the cosmic radiations that fueled him were too weak, too distant for him, and since his powers were sort of the basis of his life at the moment, the chest monitor using their energies to stimulate the functioning of his heart, he had been talked into sunbathing to absorb the solar energies which were so readily available. It was early morning, yes, but that made things easier, since he refused to leave the sub basement until his family woke up.

As a compromise, they had set up a cot in the hangar and opened the skylight hatch in the roof, to allow in the morning sun. With it being as early as it was, there was no danger of anyone falling in while trying to play basketball. Alex had not wanted to admit how much he needed the cosmic energies, how much he needed his powers, but he had fallen asleep in the sunlight, and for the first time since having his heart crushed in the grip of his maddened--- well, he didn't want to think about it--- but the sunlight, and his re-energized powers had returned color to his face, and the blue tinge to his lips had at last faded. He was no longer receiving transfusions of Warren's blood. This was as healthy as he was going to be for awhile. It was up to his body to heal him now, that and the tiny hint of healing factor that all mutants possessed, that strange ability they had evolved into to protect them from the stresses of their unusual abilities, lifestyles, adaptations. He had always bounced back quickly.

Now, he knew why.

After a couple of hours, he got up, and pulled himself into the wheelchair McCoy was insisting he use until he was a little stronger again, he rolled himself back into Scott and Jean's room, and found the room filled with people, and his family awake. Though the shape they were in... God... it broke his already battered heart. He looked up at McCoy and Warren, and he realized that as much as he wanted to be here at this moment, it wasn't meant for him. It wasn't meant for Zanra, either. It was something that had to be shared with these four... it might have been better to have Mina there, actually, all five of the surviving original x-men, together to deal with this, but Mina was not here, and neither should Alex or Zanra be. Probably not even Rosie, but Alex didn't have the heart to take the little one from her parents.

He got out of his chair, because he didn't want Scott or Jean to see him in it, and he approached them carefully, meeting his brother's absolutely human eyes with a gasp, but smiling at him encouragingly, the look enough to say what he wasn't going to talk about at the moment. He gave a wink and said, "Later," then, he turned to Zanra, "Come on, firebug," he teased her, thankful that his recharging had given him enough strength to pull off this illusion of relative health, "Let's let the grown ups talk."

He wanted to stay, wanted to be here... but this had taught Alex a lesson he had never had to learn before. This was not all about him.

Laying a warm hand on Jean's shoulder to let her know he held no hate for her, held nothing but love for her, he turned away and took Zanra by the hand, leading her out of the room, so that the First Class could talk...

So that they could heal...

... if that was at all possible.

"Zanra." He spoke firmly, not harshly. "Calm down. There are flammable objects present in the vicinity." After another long glance at Scott and Jean, with Rosie still rooted between them, Hank moved away to stand beside the young woman, one hand on her shoulder. "Nothing will happen so long as you keep calm."

Zanra looked up at Hank, and nodded, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm herself down, but one after another, sparks still flew from her palms. Luckily, resting them on the cold metal railings of the hospial beds cooled her skin enough to stop the combustion, although the cold feeling gave her shivers.

He gave a wink and said, "Later," then, he turned to Zanra, "Come on, firebug," he teased her, thankful that his recharging had given him enough strength to pull off this illusion of relative health, "Let's let the grown ups talk."

Zanra smiled a bit at Havoks little nickname for her, 'Firebug,' but it didn't cheer her up much. For an odd reason, she really wanted to stay here, but after all Alex had done for her, it would be rude to say 'no.' But when Mr. Summers lead her out of the room, she looked up at him with sad eyes. "Did I do somethin' wrong?" She asked, her voice thick with her African accent. "Are...Are they gonna be okay?"

Words came from behind her. Ordinary words that she couldn’t retreat from into her own misery anymore, she had to face the world.

Mama?

"Jean..." [Scott] rasped, "Jean... Don't.... don't cry... m' here... I love you... honey... m'here..."

She looked up into Hank’s kind face, one of her oldest and dearest friends, and blinked the tears out of her eyes and down her cheeks. The room was eerily silent, like a funeral, as Alex coaxed Zanra away. Jean wiped her palm across her cheeks, then turned back and sat up. She looked miserable and horrid, with the haunted eyes of someone who’d been released from torture but was still reliving it their mind’s eye.

Her gaze looked around the room, taking in all their faces, the most beloved people in her life, and finally came to rest on Scott.

“Scott,” she whispered with a voice grown unused to talking. Her eyes widened as she instinctively tried to reach him with her mind and felt nothing, hear nothing, and gasped. After half her life with her abilities, she was suddenly without them, blind and shackled. Jean looked down at her arm and the null bracelet clicked in her mind for the first time. Her gaze flicked to Scott, belatedly realizing the miracle that she could see his eyes for the first time, and it had to be like this. “I can’t hear you… Scott,” she nearly sobbed in a strangled voice. For the first time in years, they were together but separate, and she felt dead inside. She looked at him, bandaged and broken, across the mere one foot gap between their beds and it seemed like an impossible chasm.

Jean looked down and saw Rosie, looking so frightened. She lifted her arm so the child could see the bracelet, “I’m sorry… so sorry, Rosie, I can’t pick you up.”

“What happened?” she pleaded for the answers, encompassing not only the disastrous fight between friends but everything that came before. “We’ve been … controlled before. This time,” she left it hanging and shook her head in dispair. This time was so much worse – this time, they didn’t have the Professor to save them… to free them.