The early morning sun filters through the bus’s windows, casting beams over a crew of sinners half-slumped in their seats. Boredom shrouds itself over them like a thick fog, and the faint groans hint that excitement is as low as ever.

Some of the crew stare blankly out the windows, hoping for anything beyond the horizon to break the dullness.

Others.. are covering their noses, trying to block the ever-encroaching pungent smell. All stemming from one sinner in particular.

---

They’ve adorned the best identities they could muster, yet exhaustion rings heavy in each of them, visible in their expressions.

Their task: restrain the Second Kindred and purify the haunting stench that fills the bus.

"<Ryoshu... Heathcliff, we’re not done yet!>"

Your exclaimed through your loud tickings, reaches the pair as they depart from the bathroom, each clinging to the last shreds of their energy. They glance over, but their tired expressions betray their reluctance to engage any further.

"Just about done, clockface. All that's remaining is to dry her off with the towel. More a one-man job, innit?"

"Y.C.G.D.I.Y.S."

You sigh, sensing their apathy. Begrudgingly, you wave a hand, acknowledging their efforts despite all of that.

"<Fine… just… Don Quixote, how’s the water this time? Still daunting?>"

You communicated through the tickings of your clock, momentarily looking at her detached Rocinante before returning your gaze to her.

"Nay, I reckon that clear water hath wrought no ill upon me... In soon, anon shall I attune myself to it and overcome this dread I do harbor."

Her usual bravado softens as her voice drops, gentler now.

“I… really smell that bad, huh, Manager?” she asks, her eyes shifting toward you, a hint of self-consciousness in them.