**Shit. Shit. Shit.*

The Sinners just reached the abandoned L Corp building, alone in the endless Great Lake, surrounded by murky green water and fog. The Pallid Whale had been here, the building was entirely covered in that veiny, disgusting, white membrane. But that isn't the bad part.

The Middle had trailed them. They couldn't escape. Vergilius and Charon were still far away and unaware on the boatbus. A man stood out on the approaching ships, wearing a purple leopard-print coat, with furry ends. The sound of chains jingling came with his every step, his hair was a unique color, a hot pink. Harpoons launched, embedding into walls, The Middle began using the ropes attached as ziplines, heading towards them. With nowhere to go, the Sinners got ready.

Yi Sang: The man lets out an oddly calm breath despite the impending trouble, then unsheathes his dagger, he looks towards the ocean with dark eyes, then sighs softly, turning back to the issue at hand. "This situation is.. very unideal. Though, if a trial must be weathered, we shall do so."

Faust: "We have drawn the attention of a Finger syndicate, the chance of survival is minimal, manager." She says clinically, not at all unsettled by her own information, she grabs her zweihänder with perfect posture, her powder-blue eyes unreadable.

Don Quixote: "Hark! We shall fight until our final gasp doth leave us! En garde!" The boisterous woman yells, looking very passionate, yet a flicker of rare doubt flashes across her face for a moment, before her juvenile hope returns, her lance gripped so hard it shakes.

Ryōshū: "Hmph. A B.B of The Middle. Time for my one last cig." She says coldly, red eyes narrowing at the ship, she grabs her blade by the sheathe, pulling it off her hip, but doesn't unsheathe it, as always, she never unsheathes it.

Meursault: "Our odds of getting out of this unharmed is infinitesimally low, in fact, close to nil." The tall man states blankly, lips a straight line of apathy.

Hong Lu: "Ah, how interesting~ That guys hair looks weird, is it a common thing out here?" He continues to smile, as if uncaring. He holds out his guandao, the red ribbon billowing in time with his ponytail.

Heathcliff: "..!" The man's eyes widen slightly at the sight, he fixes his grip on his bat with a scarred hand, mouthing something under his breath.

Ishmael: "I cant die now.. I need to kill her.." Ishmael murmurs ominously, face shadowed and serious, a hint of something dangerous in her eyes. She isn't acting as usual, she hasn't been this entire mission since they got to U Corp.. She holds out her mace blatantly, her shield in her other hand.

Rodion: "T-That guy, standing there at the center..." Rodion said with uncharacteristic anxiety, a bead of cold sweat forming on her head. She grips her axe tighter. "Don't you recognize his tattoos?"

Sinclair: "T-This feels really bad.. do you know that guy Rodion?" The small man gulped in anxious fear, hands sweaty. He grabbed his halberd and pretended to not be scared, but failed miserably.

Outis: "Manager, hide! All hands. Prepare for battle. This foe will not be like any other." Outis ordered loudly, then pulled her kopis out, instantly in guard, her olive-skin sweating already, out of rare stress and extremely uncharacteristic yet hidden fear, eyes completely locked onto Ricardo. "We shall negotiate! If you wish.. we're more than willing and ready to listen."

Gregor: "Hah, look at us, guess we're gonna be the ones begging now." Gregor said dryly, sighing. His bug arm twitched, betraying his typical attempt to stay calm.

Dante: They hid at the back of the group, far away, knowing if they died the Sinners wouldn't be able to revive and the missions would all be over. Stressed steam rises from their clockhead.

Ricardo: "So.. In all those years I've spent as part of the Middle.. I had this ONE iron rule that I never broke... Until today, that is." His tattoos pulse and glow purple with his sudden anger, he yells. "Your raid of my personal safe has forced my hand! So here on this day, I declare your sins, o guilty ones. Your unforgivable sins...!" Ricardo's anger simmers slightly as he continues, yet remains strong, growing more serious. "Listen. We live in a binary world. The world that is luscious... and the world that is bristly. Are you aware of their differences?" Ricardo clears his throat, fixing his glasses. "The luscious... Is what flows and wraps gently around your hand when your fingers comb through it..." He pauses, breathing. "And the bristly... is what roughly stabs and pokes out between your fingers." He nods, as if expecting acknowledgement, before continuing again. "Patience, perseverance, and a delicate pair of talented hands are crucial to becoming the most luscious that one can be. Do you understand? Do you understand now, the incredible amount of effort that goes into maintaining this hair in the right shape and the perfect lusciousness? There once was a coupon. A coupon to get the coveted personal hands-on hair care... from the director of a top-level luxury hair salon on one of the richest ports of U Corp., the Stingray Portship! Continuously, for FIVE HOURS!" He yelled the last part out as if it was the most important thing in the world. "It is said that, with that coupon, anyone could enter the world of the luscious! And anyone with a coupon had the privilege of an appointment-free visit!" The Sinners collectively looked at him in bewilderment. "They were to be my first steps into the world of the luscious. Yet, the coupon thief... has left me stranded indefinitely in the world of the bristly... Behold. Behold the testament to your heinous sins." Ricardo tossed a piece of paper before the Sinners. On it.. was a picture. Of Heathcliff. Robbing his safe.

Heathcliff: "I-I didn't know the safe was his! Look! It's got colorful kitty stickers on it! You've got to be absolutely barmy to assume that it's the safe of the Middle's Big Brother, right?!" He threw his scarred hands up indignantly.

Ricardo: "Everyone has... different tastes, just like the numerous, colorful lakes of the Great Lake." He yanks the book off his belt, opens it, and begins scribbling words into it with passion. "Your blatant lack of respect for diverse, differing tastes will have to be added to the Book of Vengeance as well."

"And the price of your sins..."

... ... ... "uh lets see. Title 8, section 20 says.."

... ... "on row A... Line 6... Hair Salon Coupons..."

... "Aha! I've found it."

"Complete and total extermination of all involved parties; execute the coupon thief and any and all of their affiliates. Effective immediately."

Fight start.