Mousse didn't quite remember the events of the previous night after he had decided to stop moping and be a man. His head was pounding (had he taking a beating?) and his right hand, though wrapped in bandages and in a sling, was still without any signs of feeling, short of throbbing pain. To make matters worse, a nurse had forced him to wear such strange clothing! Brown cargo pants and a black shirt with some writing on it about enlightenment or something (What the hell did "Nirvana" have to do with the three western looking men?) were not his idea of fashion.

Still, he went along with it, not really in the mood to deal with much of anything. Where were the people from last night? It didn't really matter. He boarded the first bus he saw and slumped against the window.

So. They were going somewhere...