Killjay's guide to waking up at least one sea away from your destination.

Something I learned today: a redheaded twenty-four-year-old girl wearing a spaghetti-strap top, sky-blue short shorts, and flip flops does not fit in when it comes to the streets of Jerusalem.

I had the exact location of the place Tiger was conducting her...activities, too. I was all set to break Dodgy out when the two-story scaffolding I had taken so long to get to the top of for the express purpose of spying went snap. I didn't think it was anything; I was concentrating on the fifth-floor window of the building across the street. I figured some guy on the ground had broken a plank or smacked a stick on something, or maybe, I dunno, a bird broke its neck. I really wasn't concerned. But then the next support pole over went snap, and another, and another, until the whole thing creaked like an ancient castle's drawbridge pulling up after six hundred years of disuse.

It really only got worse from there. You know, as you can imagine.

If there had been anything to grab onto, believe me, I would have. But it all happened so fast that I barely had time to say "What the shit" before I crashed into the ground, hard, amid a cloud of dust and fluttering papers. Two huge-looking dark blobs whose forms vaguely resembled those of human beings came out of the clouded air and stood over me. One of them crouched down and flicked a cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it out with his boot. The other one started to look like Batman, but that was probably just me trying to sift through the mental haze resulting from a possible concussion. Probably. I mean, whoever it was had a cape and really big ears.

"This the hopper?" asked Cancer Wannabe.

"That's her," said Batman Wannabe.

Both of them sounded like they were talking through Darth Vader voice modifiers, but Cancer Wannabe's voice was a lot raspier than Batman Wannabe's. Cancer Wannabe started laughing, which quickly turned into a cough, but Batman Wannabe picked it up for his/her/its buddy, making a big deal out of it and going "Bwa ha ha ha ha" like a Saturday morning cartoon villain.

Not that I would know anything about that. Long story short, I blacked out and woke up with a very professional-looking man bustling about a small room, cooking up something in a pot on one of those camping gas stoves. He was wearing a pinstripe suit and pink tie, and probably still is, with a rather squarish face and short-cut, dark brown hair. If it wasn't for the dust all over his nice leather shoes and the lack of a superficial lying smirk on his face he'd fit in perfectly on Wall Street.

Oh, God, political jokes on a blog. Or economical jokes. I never cared much for it myself, being too busy with, I don't know, not dying, and sometimes drinking a beer.

The professional man's name is Jeremy. I feel like I know him, but I'm not sure. Turns out that he was boiling up some hot water to make a poultice, which I had no idea people still made by hand. But I'm grateful to him, and for lending me some new clothes.

I would...switch my way out of this situation, but I'm scared. I can't do it as much as I used to. It's not getting harder or anything, but I have this bad feeling that the Hunger will find me faster.

And those two wannabe bastards took my coin.

I know a guy who knows a guy who knows THE guy.

I fucking hate this reconnaissance shit. It's officially my most boring and risky pastime.

Which is why I'm glad it's over. Now, granted, I still have to get all the way across the country and then I've got some very fine-grained searching to do, but the hard part is over. Even the rescue itself shouldn't be too hard. I can get in easily, and I should be able to get out easily, if I keep in touch with whoever I find to help me. Maybe I'll call up a favor.

And I really don't care that Tiger can see quite clearly what I'm planning to do. It'll just make it all the more satisfying if I pull it off.

The eye is closed...but I don't really like this, anyway.