AFTER A REAL-LIFE ‘VIDEO-LIKE-GAME,’ of blasting and blowing-up live-primates – both the teenagers partied with more psychedelic Gochi, washed-down with more fine-champagne, IN THEIR ‘HIDEOUT,’ at the Stamford Hotel, till 4 AM. They-both had a lot of wild-sex until the sloshed Peter quit… when he had serious back-cramps…

… he woke-up hours-later, with a massive hangover – Jezebel was ‘not’ on the bed, by his-side – but her big-dog was. He cried out calling her name, and Peter’s loud-shouts woke-up the Alsatian-Pepper.

“Shoo! GET OFF THE BED, you dirty fleabag!”

Pepper snarled at him, by baring its teeth – Peter backed-off, in fear of being bitten…

“Okay-okay, sleep in your master's bed, you stinking-mutt – as long you don’t bugger-me…”

… Peter pulled the comforter over his head… and he-then instantly slept-off… to nurse his terrible hangover.

<>

MEANWHILE, AT THE HOTEL LOBBY – Jezebel was to dressed to go out. She was having coffee in the waiting room. At her feet below, was a huge-black trash-bag and the metal-rectangular bag, of yesterday.

The Crowley heiress was watching the TV-news, of Lord Stamford reported, had donated $30-BILLION… TO PERTHLAND’S Nuclear research-project.

Ian McNelly the #2 ranking of the security-detail approached her – as Todd Sweeney was with her uncle, as they were present in the parliament with the prime-minister John Blake, that morning…

“Ms Crowley, the car is ready.”

She nodded and pointed at the trash-bag, and the metal-bag…

“Take those to the car.”

Jezebel stood, as she finished the coffee – and followed McNelly, who carried the load outside the hotel, where the limousine waited, at the hotel-front. McNelly opened the door, and loaded the baggage… Jezebel got into the backseat… as the bodyguard proceeded to the front-seat with the driver. She spoke…

“You don’t have to follow.”

“But Ms Crowley, it’s my duty to provide security to you…”

She cut him off…

“You-stay… you-go guard my ‘visitor.’”

The limousine drove away – to the downtown of Perthland.

<>

CHUCKY MIGGS WAS THE CRIME-BOSS OF PERTHLAND – he was running all major criminal activities of Perthland, openly… with the ‘blessings’ of the corrupted prime-minister, to hide behind in the wrongdoings which he was involved. The opportunistic head-mobster was following the TV-news diligently – and was finding ways to profit, in the government-approved projects…

… he saw the PM John Blake greenlighting Perthland’s nuclear project, after the massive funding from the Crowley Foundation… followed-by the other reports of the backlash – by the environmental activists, rallying protest outside the parliament for green-earth.

Miggs was startled to see Jezebel Crowley, entering his office…

“Ms Crowley, what an-unexpected surprise, of you dropping in, for the 2nd time… is there any problem with my ‘service?’”

“No, Mr Miggs – I’m completely satisfied with your offerings… so far…”

She placed the heavy trash-bag in front of him, on his office desk…

“What is this?”

He opened the plastic black bag to see – the weapons, that she had ‘bought’ from him yesterday.

“The ‘hardware’ is yours to keep, you had paid a good-million-dollars for it…”

“Nah… I paid the good-million JUST FOR THE BULLETS, which I had used – furthermore I don’t need them now, as I have my armed bodyguards for my ‘own’ self-protection.” She said as she sat, opposite to him.

The mobster was baffled… looking at the metal-bag on the floor, at the teenager’s feet.

“So… what is in the bag…?”

She-the placed the metal-rectangular case on top of his desk, near the black trash-bag of the used-guns. Miggs open the bag, to beheld of the content of cash…

“What is this…?”

“Mr Miggs, I have a proposition for you, TO FULFIL FOR ME TONIGHT – I want you to make a ‘hit.’”

The mobster laughed…

“You came to the ‘right’ person, Ms Crowley – who should I put ‘off?’”

“Listen… let me be specific… I do ‘not’ wish this-person to be KILLED BUT ‘ONLY’ INJURED. Do you think you do that, for me for a million dollars?”

The mobster ruminated a brief moment, and he nodded…

“Who?”

“My uncle…”

“What… are you bloody-crazy… you want a hit on Lord Stamford!!?”

“Can you do it, or ‘not’…?”

She saw the crime-boss shudder, in his seat, and his mind contemplating in thoughts…

… before he nodded… after pondering, awhile…

“Good… but remember MY-UNCLE SHOULD SURVIVE… in the ordeal…”

The mobster nodded, after a sigh…

“Why do you want this insane-madness to be carried out – are you an anti-nuclear protester?”

“No questions, Mr Miggs – ARE YOU IN-OR-OUT?”

“Tell me any-way, girl…”

Jezebel stood up – and slammed the open metal case of cash…

“Looks-like, I’m going to your competitors…”

The mobster lunged and…held-on to the money-bag…

“Okay! No questions asked…”

“Very-well… I will give you an ADDITIONAL $10-MILLION if my uncle survives ‘your’ attempted assassination – please be meticulous if you WANT TO COLLECT THE BONUS.”

Jezebel walked to the door…

“I’ll call you about the ‘details’ – later in the evening…”

Chucky Miggs had a windfall-dropping-his-lap moment…

… he WANTED THE ‘BIG-MONEY’ of the $10-million-bonus… to do-so, he had to put his top-assassin in this ‘suicide-mission’…

… he thought that Hajji Ibrahim-Eusoff Adeyemi, as the perfect-man for the job…where he would pay him a-half million to GET THE JOB ‘DONE’ – and if Lord Stamford ‘survived’ – Hajji’s family in Nigeria, would benefit…

… an additional half-a-million of the ‘bonus’…

… for their ‘loss’…

‘… nothing ‘personal,’ for the loss-of-human life – it’s the nature of business…’

<><>

JANE WOKE-UP TO HER EXACT BIOLOGICAL body-clock’s timing of her-Perth, which was 7 AM. And, on Saturday-today…

… she laid in bed, wondering and pondering over last night's visit to the Dreamworld, where she met with the ‘gang’ … and also her 2nd encounter, with the green entity SeeIn – who was the ‘watcher’ and record-keeper in – parallel-realms, of events of past-present-and-future…

‘… this is ‘not’ your world…’

… was ‘the’ message… OF THE ULTIMATE-REVELATION – but she also-remembered Paul’s attitude of…

‘… enjoy your problems…’

… which she-had scolded him ‘before’ to change – and to ‘deal’ with the problem, as it was negative to ‘enjoy-your-problems.’ She had-seen Paul having a ‘change’ to-positive since-then, and she was glad that he did…

… but can she take her ‘own’ advice, in-both mentally and positive actions, to balance her revelling-emotions, which was dictated to her depression-meds?

… would that MAKE HER BE-in-denial…?

Today, she laid in bed in her pink-pyjama, and decide to ‘enjoy-her-problems,’ by worrying of the ultimate-sacrifice THAT SHE HAD TO ‘GIVE-IN’ – in order to go-back to her-Perth. She stared above at the rotation fan – and, her mind was in a million places…

… both THERE-AND-HERE, in Perthland…

… after 15-minutes of pessimistic-worrying… Jane had enough of negativity, in-a-lifetime. She jumped out of her Queen-sized bed to indulge in some positive actions, instead of more decimating negative-thoughts. She saw her Samsung which was switched off…

… it was TO-BE REMAINED ‘OFF’ that morning – as she did ‘not’ to talk with anyone.

Instead, Jane wanted to do something positive and mindful – and she went to her desk, and sat a moment… she thought of the alphabets and digits she had learned, for the past few days, by observation-and-YouTube…

… she wanted to improve her art-of-penmanship writing on paper – she wrote ‘positive’ notes to her parents and her-brother saying from her-heart – of how much she had loved them… it was after several crumpled balls of papers on the floor, mainly unsatisfied of her spelling mistakes – Jane HAD WRITTEN 2 NOTES, which she was satisfied-with, and placed them, in 2 envelopes. She put those into her study-desk drawers.

Jane wrote the 3rd-note on the Hallmark-card, THAT SHE BOUGHT – when she went to shopping yesterday… she opened by writing…

‘Beloved Paul…’

<>

HE WOKE UP AND HIS FIRST THOUGHT WAS-OF JANE – as-last night, was the ‘first’ time he had an OBE experience of being with her… and went to the Wilsons AS AN AURA, and kissed her, in her bedroom…

… but he had a 2ND-DREAM-LATER, after the Garden-of-Eden – of his twin…

…who-was her first boyfriend – AND, IN-THIS-DREAM, his-twin went over to the Wilsons, after coaching her-tennis… and, they ‘make-out,’ in her bedroom upstairs…

... while he played videogames downstairs with Alicia

Paul felt jealous, over ‘that’ dream…

‘… bloody-Peter, ARE YOU MESSING with me…?’

He then felt stupid – of having negative-mixed emotions ‘worked-up’ over a dream…

… but ‘was’ it…?

‘… Peter is possessed in this world… and have strange-evil-powers, as Iskur-the-incubus – and even THE AURA OF JANE – had-caught the entity having sex with the teenaged-Jane ‘host,’ in her sleep…’

He sighed, and looked over at the alarm-clock – 9:07 AM – he reached to his iPhone, and wanted to check-on Jane… to see if she was ‘alright,’ after she was troubled in the ‘dreamworld,’ with the SeeIn’s revelation of ‘self-sacrifice’…

… but Jane had SWITCHED HER PHONE-OFF…

Paul lazed in bed trying to bring logic to his mixed-emotions – and compare it, and asking dark questions… with the REVERSED-FATE OF THIS ‘CURSED-REALM,’ where…

… good-things happening to bad-people – vs – bad-things happening to good people…

It was a good-thing that Mercury had TOLD THEM ‘NOT’ TO PROCEED with the self-sacrifice-choice option – and spend the rest of their lives, by-living ‘normal,’ in their current teen-bodies in Perthland…

… Jane would-be ‘happy’ over-here – as the Wilsons of this-realm were loving, understanding and supportive OF THEIR TEENAGED DAUGHTER who was having-depression… vs … over-there, she had a domineering doctor-mother who ‘dictated’ her… and father, who had been a handicap, with stroke.

… but it-would ‘not’ the same for-him, at the end-of-his-stick, where…

… the enforcement Dickson-parents at home would kick-him-out of their house if he doesn’t graduate, by-next year… and he should get some low-paying job-later and live on his-own somewhere ‘outside’… but he would ‘still’ have Jane…

… or would he…?

‘… what about Dougie…? He is Jane’s boyfriend ‘over-here,’ – just like Peter-was, in their ‘other’ Perth…’

Paul blew a long-sigh, and sank-in deep into the bed, with low-self-esteem-and-confidence with the thoughts of competing with a millionaire’s son, and losing-out to him eventually – even jealousy set-in, as he had seen selfies in Jane’s Samsung…

…of them-BOTH KISSING…

He fought-hard to forget-and-erase the drowning and choking negative-thoughts of defeat… and tried to find something positive and good in-his grey-matter memory-bank to replace-it…

… but found-none…

‘… please… please… please – give-me-something… coz’ I don’t wanna lose my-Jane…’

After mind-flicks of memories, that flashed in fast-random – he had arrived at the ‘problem,’ in which his-Jane Wilson had TOLD HIM TO FORGET…

‘… Oh-shit… Oh-shit… Oh-shit!!!’

HE ‘HAD’ FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE ZOO…

… how could he have FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE ZOO??? He would be a would-be-criminal, who would be imprisoned…

… if the digital-footprint WOULD CATCH-UP TO HIM…

Paul sprung-out from the bed… but stood-on-the-spot as he trembled all-over in trepidation… his bladder was full-of-his morning-pee – and realised he wasn’t wearing any adult-diapers, like in ‘other’ Perth…

… he rushed to the bathroom in his room, to relieve himself in the porcelain-bowl, rather on the carpeted-floor… like the demonic-possessed Linda Blair, of The Exorcist…

… he was-now having clarity-of-mind, and the NEXT-CAUSE OF ACTION was – to-fire-up the laptop…

For the next half-hour, Paul went on a through-search online… from end to end… all the way through, of major news-portals of any ‘breakout’ responsible from ‘criminal’ animal-activists in South-Perthland Zoo…

… but he found ‘none,’ and he was deeply relieved that the WhatsApp ploy was just an assumed hoax… of mere hot-air blown about, in false-pretext of ‘dare-yous’… played-by foolish youth, including his teen-self – as online keyboard-brash-warriors.

He chuckled to himself, that he had bloody-Fear-Factor moments just-now, that had spiking-out of ‘nothing.’ His stomach growled-aloud and Paul came downstairs for brekkie.

-O-

He came to a quiet downstairs, with no-Dickson to stare-and-scrutinize him…

‘… where are they…?’

Peeked-out the window and their cars were ‘not’ there…

‘… are they working on Easter-Saturday…?’

He had a deja-vu of back in his-Perth – where he had spent most of his waking-hours after-school, BEING HOME-ALONE, with his-mom at work long-hours and his-twin loitering after-school, with his own agenda. And, as a homebody, he had-spent those lonely-hours and occupied his attention in playing video-games and occasionally studying and doing his homework…

… then, a girlfriend name Alicia Wong entered his life – and her phone-calls and texting had been a cure to his loneliness…

Paul scoffed as he walked to the kitchen and he recalled ‘this’ Perthland’s Alicia –who had kicked-him-in-balls and punched him-in-the-mouth, in front of her parents and the Dicksons.

He saw a note stuck on the fridge…

Paul,

Heat up mac n’ cheese for lunch.

Low heat – DON’T BURN

MY FRYING-PAN!!!

Paul laughed-aloud in the empty house, noticing Caroline had ‘used’ loud-CAPS AND UNDER-LINED her message-instructions – he opened the fridge door… and laughed even louder – seeing a post-it-note, on a green Tupperware of leftovers: ‘MAC N’ CHEESE.’

He shook his head that Mrs Dickson was meticulous n’ possessive in her organisation-and-kitchenware-usage in ‘her’ kitchen – and compared her-to his busy ‘Mom,’ who just left lunch-money for her twin-sons to order pizza and what-not. But he was amazed and respected – that the remarkable Dicksons-couple were into healthy-living and lifestyle.

‘… damn, I miss my-coffee…’

His stomach growled again – he thought of the excellent fried-eggs sanger, which Mrs D had made him on Good Friday, that went well with the sweet-hot-Mocha… he cursed that he had drunk the last-of the Mocha-sachet… as he was ‘not’ much of tea-drinking-person.

Paul placed the frying-pan and switched-on the induction-plate to low heat – as-instructed –so ‘not’ to burn the Teflon of the pan. He forked a lump of butter that went sizzling, like it was a Chinese ice-skater going-around the pan, as it melted to-brownish…

… and he later cracked an egg at the side of-the-pan… and soon-saw a perfect-sunny-side-up. He then innovated on-the-spot, by sprinkling some parmesan-cheese on the yolk, as to-salted it.

In-no-time, Paul sat on the dinner table, having double egg-sandwiches, with a glass of water… he had to stay hydrated as it was sunny-hot weather, since his ‘arrival.’ He had planned his morning, to do-more dance-practices later, to ‘perfect’ his-moves for tonight.

After brekkie, he washed his plate but ‘not’ the frying-pan – as he would be using it later, for lunch. Paul went upstairs to his room, and the first thing he did was to call Jane…

… BUT NO-LUCK… she still had offed her cellphone…

He felt lonely in the empty-house… he walked out of his room, and opened the other room – the cats’ room… KiKi and RaRa came running to him. Paul picked-up the female feline Siamese-cat and cuddled it, talking to it gibberish-sweet nothing, as he walked back to his bedroom. RaRa hopped on his bed while Paul placed KiKi on the desk, with the laptop playing YouTube videos of solo-dancers, around the world.

He practised his dance moves till lunch-time and he stopped, to look at both RaRa and KiKi asleep on his bed – in stealth-mode, he walked downstairs to the kitchen, ‘not’ waking them-up… as he did ‘not’ want to share his-mac n’ cheese with them…

… but the leftovers were too-much – one-and-a-half portion – he kept the-half in the frying-pan and he intended to refry it later, and eating it before he went to school for the celebration. Paul sat alone at the dinner table and ate his pasta… he looked around and observing the surrounding – he saw a racing-bike mounted near the backdoor wall, and assumed it was Joe’s…

… since he wasn’t a cripple anymore, he wanted TO ‘BORROW’ THE BIKE, and cycle to school… as how his twin-Peter did in their-Perth – he did ‘not’ to rely on the public-busses nor Uber…

… after the bad-encounter with the Gary-the-driver, at church on Good Friday-yesterday.

Paul washed up his plate, after lunch – but he was still thirsty from the lots of cheese, he had eaten since brekkie. He walked up to the fridge of the health-conscious Dicksons without expecting any-Coca-Cola in it… he saw a half-dozen Joe’s Victoria-Bitters, sitting at the lower-rack – and took a bottle…

‘… well, I’m a teenager now… and my teen-self drank it too, in the drunk-video… here’s to-unemployment…’

He took a sip out of the bottle… it was a stranger-taste than any-cola, as he had ‘not’ drunk any beers, in his-Perth before.

Paul walked-up to the telly and switched it – he took another swig-of-beer as he saw the news – of Prime-Minister John Blake giving a speech, on the job-opportunities in various-sectors, once the nuclear-project was implemented, in Perthland. Paul scoffed, and switched off the telly…

… Mayor John Blake was a ‘joke’ in his-Perth– and was a sleazy and dishonest, and an opportunistic politician… who was booed each-time, he came-up to give his speech.

Without further procrastinating, Paul went upstairs carrying the beer-bottle. His closed his-room-door and continued his dance-practises. His iPhone then-rang… it was the site, he had ordered his LED-shoes – telling him to expect the delivery, at three-ish…

Around 2 PM, with a heavy-lunch and a beer, Paul felt sluggish and collapsed on his bed. KiKi came-up friendly and slept-curling-up as-a-womb, on his chest. He stroked its head… as he continued to talk his-gibberish cat-language, it purred in response – and before-long they both were napping… purring and snoring, on a Saturday afternoon.

It was 4:37 PM when he woke-up… still, no delivery of the shoes as they had-promised. He hit the shower. Came into the wardrobe-closet, and tried selecting what-to-wear at the ball, that would impress Jane…

‘… why has she kept her phone off, all day-today…? Is Jane avoiding me…?’

There was nothing matching-to his black designer-jeans. Wearing a towel, Paul walked into Peter’s room – and he went through his twin’s clothing, to see what was-fancy and strike-out. He found a black-hoodie FUBU jacket and a colourful motif-tee-shirt… that was ‘perfect’…

‘… since you had moved-out, YOU WON’T BE NEEDING-this, yea Petey-mate…?’

Back in his room, he did ‘not’ want to dress-up with his ‘best’ outfit-yet… as he was cycling-over… and he would be ‘sweaty’ after-riding 18 kilometres to school. He looked at his dull ‘pathetic’ short-hair in the tall-mirror, and combed it centre-part…

… he missed his K-pop spikes, where he had his hair-done before @MataHari… where Alicia-and-Robin had designed, his then ‘crown’…

Paul sighed at those past-memories… he plain slapped on a cotton t-shirt-on his back and was ready to leave. He stuffed the FUBU-jacket into his backpack – picked-up the sleeping cats and locked them-back in their own-cat-room before he headed downstairs…

… it was coming-up to 5:11 PM, and the living-room was ‘too’ quiet. Paul switched on the telly and saw an advertisement for King-Living-Furniture… which reminded him of Jane’s father who used to work there, in his-Perth. He was running-late, and looked out of the window…

… still, there was no expected-delivery, of his ‘fascinating’ dancing-shoes, as promised…

Paul scoffed, and his confidence dropped… when to sneakers were ‘not’ there. And, he went to eat his cold-pasta straight from the frying-pan, with a fork – he wanted to leave the house by 5:30 PM…

… where the opening SHS’s 131st-ceremony was at 7.

He washed-up the pan, and cleaned up the mess on the inductor-cooker plate, before Mrs D came, and have to say about her untidy kitchen. He looked at his watch – 5:28 PM – he took-down the mounted bicycle from the wall and brought it outside the front door. Paul then re-entered the house, to switch off the telly but… was distracted by a phone call…

… it was the delivery-van, hooting in front of the gate. Paul hurried and went-out to collect his parcel, and he paid the delivery charges of $8, and even tipped the driver, by ‘not’ accepting the balance-change for his tenner. He-then looked-up… at the approaching Audi.

The white car entered the narrow-compound, once the van backed-up, and left. Paul saw a weary and tired Mrs D in her Sargent-uniform, getting off the driver’s seat.

“Mom, can I borrow the bike?”

He got no response – as Caroline was on her cellphone… and spoke on it, while entering the house. Paul followed her as he carried his shoebox-parcel, and observed her…

… who-made a quick-mental cleanliness ‘inspection’ of her-kitchen, while speaking to her husband on the phone.

Paul placed his parcel on the kitchen table, and began unwrapping it… the telly in the background was the news reporting of FOREST-FIRE UP-NORTH...

He saw her ending her call…

“Where is Joe?”

“He has gone grocery shopping for EASTER LUNCH-TOMORROW… and, we are later going tonight for Easter-Virgil Mass at 10 – when will you be-back from the birthday-bash?”

“I have no idea, Mom? Why… I have the keys…?”

Paul had opened the brown-parcel-box, by using his house-key to rip-straight the black-duct-tape… he saw the shoes-inside – the right-size but the ‘wrong’ colour… he wanted them-black but got grey-ones instead… he sighed – but luckily…LED-batteries were-included…

… he running late and did ‘not’ test them, and Paul shoved the shoes into his crapped backpack…

“Paul… can you ask Peter to come for lunch tomorrow? Uncle Seth would be coming-over with his-boys tomorrow…”

He nodded to Mrs D… although he had ‘not’ spoken with Peter for the past-3 days since he ‘angrily’ moved-out to Stamford Hotel… and…

… who the hell-was-Uncle Seth-and-the-boys?

‘… probably, Joe-side of his rello…’

‘… what if Peter refuses to come…?’

He saw her cry the night when ‘her’ younger son, fought with her and his stepdad… and moved-in with his new girlfriend… and similarly, in his-Perth, he made his real-mom cry-too, when the-night she cooked them dinner in her busy police-schedule, for family-time with her twin sons…

… where the sentimental-Peter told his FATHER WAS ‘NOT’ DEAD… and during Easter-time, he went to church, ‘finding’ for their-father, Solomon – WHO-WOULD ‘COME-BACK’ from the dead, like Jesus-did…

… but according to Mercury-yesterday, PETER AS AN INCUBUS…

…had ‘killed’ SOLOMON’S SOUL in the afterlife…

Paul was confused with the mysteries of the ‘Dreamworld,’ to the ‘parallel-world,’ in correspondence to the ‘real-world’ from where he was from …

‘… I need updates, to be current…OR I’M ‘LOST’ – who’s gonna give-updates to me, so that I could connect-the-dots…?’

He saw Mrs D going up-the stairs, after a long day at work… he looked at his watch – 5:41 PM – and he was running late. He approached the television to switch it off – and he-froze at the spot hearing the investigating news…

“… last night, 49 primates were found horrifically shot dead, outside the South Perthland Zoo – and police are investigating on this hideous crime. The zoo will be closed on Easter-Day…”

‘Oh-my-God! The Hateful-8 are bloody-killers too!!!’

Paul quickly switched off the TV – fearing the enforcement-parent would be suspicious of him, of the zoo-crime, since they-now have clues of him being an animal activist. He wanted to hurry to get away from their house, but felt soft in the knees, as a cripple…

-O-

… more trepidation set-in and he was hyperventilating, with cold-sweats, as he slammed the door behind… he pushed the racing-bike past the gate, and felt lightheaded dizzy… and the state of passing-out with pounding heartbeats…

‘… Poe… this is it… they are coming for you…’

He got on the bike, and can’t focus on how-to-cycle and almost fell… but he got off… and pushed the bike, and ran with it – he needed to get-away from the Dicksons and far as possible…

‘… soon, they would come knocking at their door… and arrest me…’

Paul saw a nearby bus-stop, and went and sat at it – the negative thoughts set-in…

“Why did Mrs D ask me just now, what time I’ll come home – do they know that I’m involved…and arrest-me later tonight? Where was Joe… I don’t think he went to the stores?”

He was heavy-into anxiety… and wanted to talk with someone – ‘Jane’ was the only one, he knew – he can talk-to, as SHE WAS FROM HIS-PERTH… he took out his iPhone, and called…

… but she HAD SWITCHED-OFF her cellphone, all-day today…

‘… DAMN-YOU JANE… where are you!!?’

He did some breathing-technique exercise… to calm-himself down – and before long, he got on the bike and raced to the school, to see Jane if she was there… to see her for-one-last-time, and say goodbye…

… before getting arrested tonight…

As Paul was halfway in the journey, he was distracted when he saw bushfires, brightening in the distant firmament – it brought to-mind, the similarity of his-Perth, where the Cursed-trio fought the Middle-Eastern demons – Ammut and her pet hell-beast, Ammit…

‘… it is sure going to-be a FIERY EASTER CELEBRATION tomorrow…’