The Reaper

HANSUKE

I didn't understand what was going on.

Katsumi held me around the waist, screaming over my shoulder at Kiyoshi, while the latter steadfastly refused to answer. His shoulders squared, spine stiff and unyielding, he stood some feet in front of us - meeting the gaze of the Dove who held us hostage.

The world was devoid of intelligible sound - everything crackled like static in my ears.

[later]

"You don't fight!" Katsumi shrieked. There was an edge of desperation in his quavering voice now.

Though he had his back to us, from the movement of his shoulders and the way he held his head, I knew Kiyoshi was laughing, albeit silently.

"Still," he said, turning to give Katsumi an uncharacteristically grim smile, one that looked stenciled onto his white lips, "I've always been better than you, haven't I?"

_________

"You know what Kiyoshi's favorite meal is?" Katsumi asked me, his smile simply monstrous in the dim light of the alley. "Do you? He's never told you, right? Because he wants to protect that oh-so precious image of himself he's painted for you? Well, you're gonna love this, Hansuke-chan - Kiyoshi absolutely loves eating hearts."

_________

The Reaper danced closer and closer.

She swung her weapon like a scythe, aiming to cleave Kiyoshi into congruent halves, but he twisted out of her path, just barely. A streak of crimson painted the ground where he'd stood a moment ago.

_________

The Reveal

HANSUKE

"I'm not asking you to just accept me like that" - his emphatical snap was a rippling echo in the dead quiet of the alleyway - "and I know it's kinda useless to ask that... that you're not scared of me..."

He took one step closer; I stumbled back into the immovable wall behind me, though my eyes never left Kiyoshi's, wildly transfixed as they bled like an open wound, the crimson dye slowly leaching away to reveal their original, sparkling black.

The playful hue had vanished, returned to a time before the weight of his secret trampled the both of us.

"But there's something I need to do, Holt - no, Hansuke."

He never used my given name, unless... My mouth went dry as I dug broken nails into the cemented indentations lining the brickwork, waiting, just waiting, unable to move, without any reason to do so beyond unbridled fear and an ingrown flight response.

"Hansuke..." he murmured, standing right in front of me, just inches away - and I couldn't move. "You're probably gonna send me packing after this, maybe even call the CCG on me" - the presence of his hands at my jawline stopped any denial I could have sputtered - "so that's why I've gotta do something now, even though you look like you're about to pass out on me. Just... "

For a second - a measly second that felt like a year of silence - he only looked at me, his flickering eyes moving over every inch of my face, my eyes, my nose, the wavering lines my lips had become. Committing it all to memory, I thought, the beginnings of scalding tears pricking just behind my eyes.

He smiled, a beautiful, familiar patented Kiyoshi smile.

And then the world shrank away as his lips met mine.

How to describe it? The feeling, the subtle pressure of Kiyoshi's lips was intoxicating,

01: Initial Contamination

KATSUMI

The sweet tang of liquid metal coated my tongue in tantalizing amounts, its lustful aroma sending my mind into a dizzied nirvana as I sank my teeth into another pound of supple, still-warm flesh. It was fresh, practically melting in my mouth, and I swallowed with a euphoric smile pulling at my lips. This was perfect, this prime choice of meat, this indescribably rich flavor.

I was right in thinking teenagers made the best targets: Children weren't nearly developed enough, and adults tended to have a dryness to them that made me wrinkle my nose in distaste. They were a bit stringy too, most of them worn thin from being overly stressed and whatnot.

Still, I took what I could get, and prey wasn't as easy to come by these days; I was only lucky, coming across this girl, all alone and feeling lonely, seeking some companionship (preferably male) for the night ahead.

Broken hearts are the easiest to steal, I mused, absently licking my fingers clean before I reached for my jacket. Bloodstains were nightmares to get rid of, and I didn't have the luxury of a capable washer, anyway. She was kinda pathetic, though, getting so down over a guy turning out to be gay. Doesn't mean he didn't like you, just means he didn't want to fuck you.

I rolled my eyes; I really didn't understand the inner workings of a girl's emotionally ravaged mind, human or ghoul.

Pulling up the hood of my jacket to mask any traces of blood that had found traction in my hair during my frenzies feeding, I gathered my legs beneath me and stood, swiping a thumb at the corners of my mouth so as to make sure I wasn't gifted with the likeness of a messy vampire. Even though that act killed with the ladies, it tended to make me look as though I'd just killed a person. And the Doves wouldn't like that at all.

The alley was empty apart from myself and the decimated carcass of what used to be a pretty brunette who loved my eyes and thought I'd be able to make her forget about Takumi. Or Takao? Takashi? Something like that. In the gathering darkness, nothing looked out of place: the dark crimson stains blanketing the ground beneath her body blended seamlessly into the shadows; I'd made sure to position her behind a few scattered trash cans, giving the illusionary image of a girl, wasted on any number of drugs, who'd taken a spill and hadn't been able to get back up.

I had a day or so before she made the six o'clock news and the Devil's kill list gained another victim.

Wonder what her name is. Guess they'll show it under her picture, so I'll take a look then. More importantly, where am I staying tonight?

I didn't have a set residence these days, and I blamed this misfortune entirely on that damnable Binge Eater who was dominating the news lately. My kills hardly registered when she was gobbling all those horny guys every other damn night. She'd also kicked me out of my hunting grounds, which happened to contain my apartment (where I was squatting). I'd tried to go back once, thinking she wouldn't care if I was only sleeping on her turf, but no, that was unacceptable. The moment she'd caught wind of my scent, she'd pounced on me, thrashed me like a boxing bag, and then tossed me aside just outside her sphere of influence.

It'd taken me three damn days to heal, and I'd had to settle for dining on a random elderly man who'd thought I was in need of medical assistance or something. He could have been a pedophile for all I knew or cared, though it wasn't as though it mattered in the grand scheme of things. Good samaritan or child predator, I was still digesting him at the moment.

I sighed, tilting my head back to study the bruising sky. Purple-tinged clouds scuttled past at their leisurely pace, chasing the sinking sun down to the horizon. Apart from the skittering of rats around my feet and the distance squawking of disinterested birds, silence rang in my ears. I suppose you would dub this a peaceful scene, but I wasn't one for nature's stark beauty. I cared about feeling full and living another day. Those were my priorities.

I should go. Don't wanna draw attention to this place by sticking around longer than I have to.

I made my way to the mouth of the alley, hugging the brickwork wall as I peered out into the streets, in search of any witnesses who could link me to the scene. As it was growing later, the number of aimless pedestrians was dwindling, though there was usually a few stragglers who persisted in giving me grief. They were plastered most of the time, but unless I was planning to eat you, I didn't want you getting a glimpse of my face when I'd taken off my mask.

Just as I'd deemed the coast to be clear, a tinkling laugh shattered the looming veil of quiet, and I instinctively ducked back into the alley. Assured of my camouflage, I watched as a young couple ambled past my oh-so secretive crime scene. But my breath caught sharply in my throat when the girl's head spun around, nostrils flaring, her eyes finding me easily even in the oppressive blackness of the shadows.

Kamishiro Rize.

"Well, shit," I mumbled as she gave me a demure little smile, placing a finger to her curled lips, as though I'd ever dream of breaking up her latest date. I almost pitied the poor raven-haired sap at her side; he looked completely taken with her, chatting up a storm even though she'd clearly stopped giving him her full attention. Seeing as she was still watching me, her dark eyes hooded in what she probably considered a seductive manner, I mouthed, Get the fuck on with it because there was no way in hell I was any threat to her.

She smiled again, nodded, and tugged childishly on her new beau's arm, quickening their pace as they continued down the street. Leaving me alone with a dead body.

A low groan slipped through my gritted teeth as I ground my forehead against the shopfront wall I was glued to, banging my clenched fist down just beside my head.

That bitch, she can go fucking die. She's going to get us all fucking caught if she keeps up with her damn insatiable appetite.

Fucking Rize.

HANSUKE

"Holt, teach me English, I beg you."

I laughed, pushing Kiyoshi's marked up English textbook back across the table, careful not to jostle any of the half-empty coffee cups we'd collected over the past few hours.

"I told you, Kiyoshi, I don't speak English. Just because my dad's a foreigner doesn't mean I automatically know the language."

"So?" he demanded, sinking down onto the table, his arms thrown over his head. "How different could English and Norwegian be, anyway? Their countries are... sorta close together? They're both islands, right?"

"Norway's attached to Sweden and Finland, technically, so not really?"

I shrugged helplessly. I would have helped him if I'd been able, and Kiyoshi was well-aware of that fact, so my inevitable guilt wasn't as pricking as it could have been as he groaned, burying his face in the gibberish-laden pages of his current assignment.

This was standard procedure for our daily visits to Anteiku. Kiyoshi would huff and moan and generally dawdle, using whatever means he could to procrastinate doing his homework or project or whatever it was he'd brought with him. And I'd sit with him, draining cups of espresso as the day wore on while I steadily made my way through my own work. I probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, I was so hopped-up on caffeine, but I didn't mind. Being with Kiyoshi was worth any exhaustion I'd face tomorrow.

After another round of muffled complaints, spoken into his discolored, overworn blue sweatshirt's sleeve, he lifted his head, obsidian eyes wandering around the quiet cafe. I didn't think anything of it until he reached over and pinched the eraser of my pencil between his thumb and forefinger, prying it from my grip.

"Hey--"

"We're missing some people, aren't we?"

Blinking, I sat back in my seat, taking the opportunity to stretch my prickling arms out behind me as I scanned the cluster of mostly empty tables that littered the area around the counter. There was always someone enjoying the atmosphere at Anteiku; I couldn't remember a time when the place had been completely empty. And there were regulars like us, who came by too often but paid their dues with the unhealthy amount of coffee they sucked up.

"Kaneki-kun's not here," I realized, seeing that the raven-haired boy, always together with that energetic blond, wasn't at his usual table.

"Kaneki? You know him?" Kiyoshi asked, twirling my pencil absently around his fingers.

"Mm," I hummed in confirmation, tilting my head to the side, "he was in here one day, and he was reading out of one of the textbooks I use, so I asked him for help with a problem I was stuck on." I shrugged again, grinning. "He's nice, but seriously shy."

"Kaneki, huh..."

I wasn't sure if Kiyoshi had even been listening to my response. His pale cheek rested against his equally pale knuckles, his free hand dragging through his blue-streaked hair, sweeping it back over his skull, as his narrowed eyes jumped from Kaneki's customary table to one a bit further back, also empty.

I'd only seen her enough to remember thick, amethyst hair, but I knew a girl sat there often, usually engrossed in a book.

Worry gnawed at the lining of my gut. Kiyoshi looked as though he knew something he wasn't letting on about, but it wasn't like that was something that bothered me. Everyone was entitled to their secrets, and Kiyoshi rarely held anything back from me; he had a right to keep whatever this was to himself. But there was something - a darkness, a forlorn shadow - that clouded his gaze, that made me want to lean clear over the table and crush him in a hug.

"Whoa, Holt, the hell are you..."

Heat crept into my cheeks as I realized I'd actually done it, gotten up out of my seat and practically thrown myself across the table to reach him. Mumbling a rushed apology, I was about to untangle myself from him and contemplate why I'd ever been born when his arm snaked around my waist, holding me in place.

His breath warmed the skin between my shoulder and collarbone as he murmured, "Heh, thanks, Holt, I needed that, something to wake me up. Sorry about zoning out; I just had something on my mind."

I nodded, because that was all I felt I was physically capable of doing in this situation, as my face was hot enough to warrant it being on fire and my throat had closed the moment Kiyoshi's arm caught me.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing," he went on, and I felt his pleased smile against my feverish skin, "just something stupid that you have nothing to do with. Neither do I, actually, so I shouldn't have thought about it in the first place. Now, c'mon, let's get back to work, huh? I still need you to teach me English!"

And just like that, our night at Anteiku was back to relative normality.

NAOKO

"Another investigator was killed in the Fourth Ward, I heard."

"That place has become a suicide mission, hasn't it? The ghouls there are getting rowdy..."

"No worse than the other lower wards. They're always complaining about the infestation."

My pen stilled mid-word as I listened to the fading conversation travel down the hallway adjacent to my office.That was a discussion I'd been hearing all too often as of late. Just what was happening in the Fourth Ward that the CCG couldn't handle?

Sighing, I set pen to paper again in an attempt finish writing up the incident report I'd been saddled with. I'd only been asked to do it because they knew I was officially on any assignments as of right now (or ever, really). I was the usual scapegoat for unwanted paperwork.

Damn.

I rubbed tiredly at my dry eyes, absently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I'd have to redo the braid at some point, as I was probably going to be pulling an all-nighter to slay the mound of work that had piled up over the last week. With mandatory training sessions and seminars, I hadn't had time to sort out my own commissions, let alone the ones "left in my care".

Is it too much to ask that I'd be trusted with something more important than an accident report for someone who had their finger sliced off by a malfunctioning quinque?

"Rank Two Hajime?"

I dropped the pen, straightening up abruptly in my chair, so quickly the crack that rippled up my spine only had a moment to shift locations, settling in the crook of my neck. The flaring pain dulled after a moment, and, suppressing a wince, I swiveled around to face whoever'd entered my office without my knowledge.

I blinked.

"Rank One Amon?" I questioned, as it was surprising in itself to have anyone visit me, considering my reputation and the late hour, but doubly so when it was someone of such caliber as Amon Koutarou, the so-called successor to Arima. That was bull, in my opinion; no one, not even Amon, with his burgeoning skill, came close to rivaling Arima.

He removed his knuckles from the doorframe as I stood, smoothing a hand down my jacket to press out any wrinkles I'd garnered from my excessive lounging.

"Hajime-san, it's nice to see you again."

"You as well, Amon-san," I recited automatically, my lips forming a reflexive smile to mirror his own. Amon was polite, if a bit stiff, though it wasn't as though I had any room to complain. My brusqueness had caused me more than enough trouble in my years working as an investigator. "Is there something I can do for you?"

His gaze flickered past me, to the dual stacks of crisp reports that were in desperate need of my attentive scribbling. Something akin to guilt crossed his fine features, but was gone in the next instant, and I dismissed it as the hazards of an overworked mind trying to acclimate itself to changing scenarios.

"I've been requested to inform you that you'll be taking on the Devil's case, effective immediately."

"Oh, is that all? Then I'll..."

I blinked again.

The Devil? We had a small file of information regarding his appearance, known hunting grounds, witness reports and the like. He wasn't on par with the Binge Eater, or the Gourmet, both of whom had recently been causing quite a stir in the Twentieth Ward's relatively peaceful streets - but he was dangerous nonetheless, and had killed at least twenty innocents in the last year alone. I'd heard the investigator who'd been tracking him up till now was forced to resign from the case due to an on-the-job injury, presumably doled out by the Devil himself.

What, was every other capable investigator out to lunch when this was decided?

My hostility wasn't necessary, I supposed, but it felt fitting just then, to question why I'd been chosen to handle this particular ghoul when, for months now, I'd been treated as a secretary of sorts.

Still, I wasn't about to turn down my first chance to prove my worth as an investigator of the second rank.

Amon pressed the file into my hands before dropping his arms to his sides again, returned to his stiff, resolute facade. I didn't think I'd ever seen Amon falter, which was comforting on some level. The CCG was lacking in backbone already.

"You should be careful with this, Hajime-san," Amon warned me, watching as I rearranged the cluttered contents of my desk to accommodate the latest acquisition. "The Devil likes to play with the investigators who target him."

"I'm aware," I assured him, my attention slightly diverted by the stringy lock of hair that had fallen out of place again (I was fairly certain it was the same as before) and my efforts to tuck it back into the intricate folds of my braid. "If nothing else, I've seen his exploits on the news. I know he's the playful sort. They're always commenting on how inept we must be, seeing as how we're unable to catch a single ghoul who's made no real efforts to avoid conflict with the CCG when we manage to find him."

Amon grimaced; I offered another monochrome smile.

"I'll be fine," I said, tapping two fingers at the manilla folder, drawing his eye. "It's about time the Devil met his reaper, no?"

02: The Devil's in the Details

NAOKO

"So the Devil likes teenagers, for the most part..."

That made things easier, in a sense. I had a demographic to question now.

His file was far from intensive, but that was true of any ghoul's. The carefully bound pages contained minute descriptions of his appearance: he was, according to eyewitness testimonies, well over six feet, with a compact build, and the mask for which he was named, the upper portion of a generic devil's face. Unfortunately, apart from the mask, that description fit any number of residents of the Twentieth Ward.

"Hajime-san, your coffee."

I looked up from the notes I was inking into the margins of the Devil's report. Touka - one of the young waitresses who worked at Anteiku - set my order down on the table's edge to avoid having it disturb the papers I'd spread out before me, maximizing the minimal space I allowed myself to occupy. I smiled in return (free from the constraints of work, I didn't hold back in being frank with my emotions).

"Thanks, Touka-chan. I'm sorry about the mess."

She shook her head, indicating it wasn't a problem as she wiped her hands on her apron. She seemed to hesitate a moment, then crossed her arms and jerked her chin at the work I'd accumulated.

"The usual?" she asked.

The staff at Anteiku had become accustomed to my bringing work home (and I honestly was here more often than I was my apartment), and as it hadn't been any secretive information, I'd ended up confiding in them about certain topics. My annoyance at being the CCG's universal patsy had come up more than once, and though I was ashamed of my childish whining, the venting was what kept me from cracking during office hours.

"No, actually," I said, speaking around the lip of my coffee mug, "I have an actual case to fret over, now."

I wouldn't go into details about this; it was better for civilians not to know the specifics. They had a tendency to panic and work themselves into a frenzy, which only ever interfered in our investigations. I'd learned that from watching the failures of other investigators while I crowded the sidelines.

"Oh. They're depending on you more, right? Congratulations."

"You could say that," I sighed, swirling the dregs around the bottom of my mug for the simple purpose of distracting myself. "They're probably testing me... It's not like they've assigned me to a high-ranked target."

I didn't receive a response, as I'd been expecting. Touka spun away, hearing her name called, but bid me a hasty farewell before she slipped around the counter and into the back room.

Another sigh rose from my chest, but I bit it back, worrying my lip between my teeth as I lowered my mug and flipped over another page of the Devil's file. Nothing new greeted my inquisition. This was tired information, tried and tested on numerous occasions. I couldn't even trust where his supposed hunting grounds were said to be; his latest kill (a poor girl by the name of Akiyama Shizuka) was as far outside his given radius as you could get while still remaining in our ward.

But the Binge Eater's been given credit for kills in his usual area...

The pressure trapping my lip increased as I made a half-hearted note beside the section regarding his habits; copper blossomed on my tongue, warm and familiar from my own habit.

Their territory's pretty vast for a single ghoul, and with them around, the activity of other ghouls has drastically decreased. I wonder... if they fight over hunting grounds, like wild dogs.

The thought wasn't altogether impossible, and it would explain the sudden dropoff in liveliness from the other known ghouls of the Twentieth Ward (apart from the Gourmet, whose discerning palate didn't seem at all affected by the Binge Eater's arrival).

I scribbled down another note before turning due attention to my rapidly chilling coffee.

As they usually did, my eyes wandered about the cafe, flitting from the inviting pools of sunlight that dappled the empty tables to the occupied seats. The atmosphere of this place was lovely, an unlikely refuge from the fast-paced dystopia that seemed to be denied entrance at the door, held at bay by the welcoming smiles of the staff even as customers trickled in at odd times and from odd places. I didn't question how and why this cafe existed; I was too grateful just for its continued existence.

"Kiyoshi, English isn't..."

"I looked it up! It says Norwegian and English aren't all that different, 'cause see, English-speakers can learn it kinda easy--"

"That's for native English-speakers, Kiyoshi... And English is one of the hardest languages to learn, no matter your native language."

"Tell me about it, dammit..."

I stifled a laugh, watching the pair of teens toss retorts at one another across their shared table. We were only separated by a few table-lengths and their conversation was heated to the point of being broadcasted to the entire cafe - which, at this point in the day, amounted to myself and whatever staff was on duty today besides Touka. I doubted the ravenette was aware of how far his voice carried, but the blond's face was slowly flushing an alarming red, and once or twice I spotted his gaze flicking towards me, though he didn't make any effort to silence his friend.

He must know it would be worthless to try.

A faint smile curled my lips above the mug's screen as I lowered my gaze, finding renewed interest in the splattering of disjointed clues hidden in the black ink lining these pages.

It might be better if I just beat the pavement for a while, I decided as I drained the last of my drink. I'll scout around the area the last victim was discovered; there might be something worth finding. And even if there isn't anything, it's a place to start, and I'm sorely lacking one of those.

Just as I was leaving, having left the payment and Touka's tip beneath the still-warm mug, said star waitress returned to the scene, delivering another round of espresso to the dueling teens. The ravenette cut off in a hiss as Touka's fist clipped his chin; she ducked her head, her mouth level with his ear.

His expression twitched, almost changed - for an incomparably succinct moment, he looked as though his previous smile might have never materialized in the first place - then he was laughing, jokingly shoving Touka away with a friendly Get the hell back to work, slacker and she retaliated by cuffing his ear and disappearing into the back room again.

The blond sat there throughout it all, engrossed in the school work practically dripping from the table's edge, as though this were an everyday thing.

I followed his judgement and dismissed the matter altogether as I pushed open the door and rejoined the nightmarish dreamscape that Tokyo had come to think of as normal.

To me, normal would always be accompanied by the bitter scent of freshly-roasted coffee beans and the undercurrent of chitchat that permeated the air of Anteiku.

Catching the Devil will bring me one step closer to bringing back that type of normalcy to the Twentieth Ward...

KATSUMI

Well, ain't this interesting...

I'd found something amusing by accident, on my way back from appropriating a handful of necessities from an after-hours boutique (in all seriousness, I stole shit from an apartment complex that didn't require me to know a person to enter the building).

Said source of amusement currently stood just below me, hashing something out between the two of them that resembled an argument, just less loud. The taller of the pair - a man who I assumed spent too much time worrying about the definition of his pectorals - looked antsy, pleading with his partner with subdued hand gestures, as though he were trying to suppress the movements but couldn't quite manage it in his agitation.

Doves in this area were rare, honestly, but with Rize and that damn Gourmet hogging all the available spotlight, I'd counted on their increased presence being a when, not an if.

They looked to be a mentor and mentee - a mama bird and her little fledgling. The bumbling newbie (probably less than a year into his career) finally relented and lowered his hands, his fingers flexing around the metallic hilt of his steel briefcase. His partner flashed a faint smile, pleased at his victory, and said something too low for me to make. Then they were moving again, merging with the faceless crowd that filled the sidewalks like plaque plaguing an otherwise healthy artery.

Enticed, I retracted my kagune from where I'd drilled it into the building's metal siding, letting it melt back into a pool of RC cells within my body as I dropped to the ground. I cocked my head back a moment, gauging the visible damage I'd caused. It looked a little worse than the usual wear-and-tear you associated with harsh weather, but it didn't scream ghoul, either. Maybe deranged teen with a hankering for destruction of private property, but not ghoul, exactly.

Now, where'd those Doves get to?

I liked to keep tags on the local Doves; gave me a sense of security, you could say, to put names to faces. The trophies I made off with were that much sweeter, too, when I could recall the exact expression they made as I stripped them of a limb or some appendage, and whatever precious keepsake they had on them at the time.

As I easily wormed my way into the foot traffic, I absently turned the watch latched around my wrist, a wry smile tugging at my lips. The last Dove to come after me had lost it and the hand he'd clamped around it not too soon after he was put on my case. I hoped that gruesome little incident kept them from loosing another spasmodic birdie on me for a while; the ones who couldn't even stretch their wings were boring as hell to deal with, and besides, I hadn't had a break in months.

Guess I was the new hot commodity when it came to promotion-hunting assholes. Not as likely to tear your face from your skull and gnaw on it in front of you as the Binge Eater, not as elusive as the Gourmet - downright perfect if you were looking to land yourself in the hospital and get some compensation from the government for your honorable loss.

These guys, though, I mused, keeping a constant eye on the taller, black-haired Dove, who never strayed from his mentor's side, they seem less gung-ho about the whole thing. They don't have their quinques out yet, which is a nice change of pace, considering the others all had 'em at the ready, like they were trying to compensate for something...

They had experience, and experience together, at that. That made them dangerous. They weren't the type to just outright ambush me; they'd have a plan.

Of course, the fact that they were here didn't mean shit in terms of my spot on the hit-list; they could have been sent in as general deterrents for the ward's population of ghouls, or they could have been assigned some random monster they had on file. Still, I'd have to be more cautious from now on. I may have made a game out of my time with the Doves, but I didn't actively look to pick fights with them.

I wasn't suicidal - or a crazy bitch like fucking Kamishiro Rize.

I'll tail 'em for a bit, see where they're making rounds, then mark that off my list of viable hot-spots. Dammit, with them flocking here, I'm gonna need to come up with a new dining plan...

Well, things'll get more exciting around here, at least.