9

Evil drove a Mazda?

Well, actually, that made a lot of sense, all things considered.  Still, Marcus would have assumed it drove
a Humvee or an SUV. Or maybe even one of those wood-paneled station wagons with a huge ass, an oil leak, and no brakes.  And a “Honk if you’re horny” bumper sticker as the coup de gras.

He had gone outside the gates of the school and stood in the road, hoping to at least temporarily divert
the aim of the big-ass evil.  Wesley was parked on one of the outer walls in a sniper position, in case Marc needed the help once the big bogie locked onto him.  Xia was up there with him, ready to shield him from return fire if need be.

He could hear the rapidly accelerating car engine as it roared towards him, but he didn’t get a look at it until it rounded the corner of the tree lined drive that led to the fancy, well manicured gates of Xavier’s school.  The first thing he saw was that it was a bright blue car, a color that wasn’t quite 'Bob' in intensity, but still looked familiar. He was getting a Human heat signature from the car - and again, one that brought on mild déjà vu.

Although he still had a gun out, Marc waved his hands to flag down and stop the car. He was prepared to dive out of the way if it decided to run him down.  But the driver stomped on the brakes, and brought the vehicle to a screeching halt in the center of the road.  The side window rolled down, and Scott stuck his head out, shouting, “What the hell are you doing, Marcus?”

Boy Scout was the big ass evil?  Why didn’t that surprise him?

Marc turned towards Wesley’s hidden position, and shouted, “It’s okay!  This is Cyclops, one of Xavier’s people!” But he didn’t holster his gun, not yet - just because it appeared to be Scott didn’t mean he was beyond trying something.

“Who are you shouting at?” Scott asked peevishly, glancing towards the gates. “And will you get out of
my way? What are you even doing here?”

“There’s some weird shit goin’ on, man. You almost missed the party.”

Scott laughed humorlessly, still revving the car motor. “Weird shit is going on?  Tell me something I don’t fucking know, okay?  Are you going to get out of my way now?” He was distracted as Wesley manually opened the gates.

“Xia and Xavier confirmed his identity,” Wesley told him. “But Amaranth still insists he has something powerful with him.” Marcus assumed Xia went to tell the others it was a false alarm, as she hadn’t come out with him.

Scott’s brow furrowed in consternation, pushing his visor down a micrometer. “Who the hell is that?”

“That’s Wesley, one of Logan’s friends.”

From the way he shook his head, he knew Scott had rolled his eyes. “Is Amaranth a friend of his too?”

“No, Bob’s … grand-daughter? Something like that - a relative.”

Scott groaned as if physically hurt. “Oh wonderful.  The gang’s all here.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” After a pause, he approached the car, taking a surreptitious glance into the back seat, glad his goggles kept Scott from seeing his eyes. “So what d’ya got?  Amaranth thinks you got something.”

“What?  I don’t have anything. Well, except that thing in the trunk.”

Bingo. “What’s in the trunk?  Can you pop it?”

“The trunk? Yeah, but I warn you, I have no idea what the hell that thing is, only that a bunch of people with no eyes want it.”

“No eyes?” Marc repeated, as he walked around to the back of Scott’s car. The trunk jumped up slightly as Scott released the interior locking mechanism. “How do they see you then?”

“I have no idea,” Scott replied, exasperated. “Do you know what the hell is going on?  There was an elephant in the subway -”

“Chaos wave,” Marc said, and nudged the trunk open from the side, in case something leaped out. Nothing did, which was almost disappointing.

“Chaos wave?”

“Wes, give him the 411.” The only thing in the curiously clean trunk (how anal was this guy?) was a spare, a pneumatic jack and other tire changing equipment, a thermal blanket folded into a neat square, and a beaten, dirty backpack.  Since the dirty sack stood out like a sore thumb, it must have been what Scott had picked up.

Even before he dumped the pack out onto the street, Marc was picking up an odd energy signature in the infrared spectrum.  It was a sickly purplish blue, like something decayed, and the energy seemed jittery somehow - not alive, just … frantic.

What popped out of the sack was a tarnished metal container slightly smaller than a cigar box, but in roughly the same shape.  That polluted energy seemed to leak through the seams, the imperfect joints of
the box.

Wesley, who had brought Scott up to speed as quickly as possible, joined him in looking at the thing. “Rather small for big ass evil, isn’t it?” Marc noted.

But Wes crouched down and peered at it intently. “Not necessarily.  Some evil has no physical dimensions.”

Now, see, what normal person would say something like that?  It was like Wes had walked out of a Bram Stoker novel sometimes. Or so Marc was guessing - he'd never managed to get through an entire Stoker novel. What a whack-ass command of language those Victorians had.

Wesley reached out to tap the box with his finger, as Scott got out of the car to join them. “It’s lead,” Wesley proclaimed. “Often that metal is used to contain supernatural emanations.” When no one made a comment about what a fucking weird statement that was, the Brit glanced up at Scott, and asked, “These eyeless beings after you - did they have claws, and a fringe on their scalp, like a mohawk?”

From the way Scott’s jaw slackened, then tightened, he guessed Scott was staring at Wes like he had
just snapped and bit the head off a passing infant. “What?  No, they were Human!  They had their eyes … gouged out, I guess, and they were … well, I’m pretty sure they were dead.  I shot one guy, and he …
..lost pieces, but he didn’t even flinch.  He just kept coming.”

“You shot him?”

“That’s his power,” Marc explained, getting what Scott meant.  Like the Boy Scout packed a Ruger.
“He shoots beams from his eyes.  That’s why the funny headgear.”

“Oh,” Wes said, as Marc realized Scott had shifted the death stare to him. What?  It was true, wasn’t it? “Well, zombies are an … unwelcome surprise.”

Marc shook his head. “Just blast their kneecaps off.  No legs equals stationary zombies.”

Wesley gave him a curious look, then said, “Oh, right, you were with Logan in Santo Marco.  I guess you have some zombie fighting experience then.  Good.” He looked back at the box, and said, “Curious that Xavier was able to find you via the object.  The lead should be keeping it contained …”

“It’s leaking.” When they both stared at him, Marc said, “I’m seeing it in infrared.  The seam’s are imperfect; there’s energy coming through.”

Wesley sighed in resignation. “That answers that.  How did you come across this?”

It took Scott a moment to realize he was talking to him. “Would you believe someone threw it at me in a parking lot?”

Marc scoffed, but Wes seemed to be taking him seriously. “Where did this happen?”

Scott crossed his arms over his chest, and Marc was sure he was getting ready to be defensive. “Hartford, Connecticut.”

This sounded more and more like a joke to him, but Wes looked absolutely rapt. “Really?  That’s one of the first states hit by the wave.”

“What?” Both Marc and Scott asked in unison.  He wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised.

“That explains it then,” Wes continued, as if it did.

“How?” Marc asked.

“Chaos. It isn’t all elephants in the subway, or eyeless zombies.  Sometimes it’s quite subtle.”

“Like a guy throwing an evil mystical object at me in the parking lot when I’m taking out my garbage?” Scott asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Wesley said, so calm and rational it was hard not to believe him, as irrational as it all seemed. The upper crust British accent probably helped loads; things always sounded more rational coming from the high class Brits (unless they had one of those accents where it sounded like they were talking through a mouthful of pudding - then, they were worse than Cockneys). That’s why they were such good villains in spy and action films; they seemed so bloody reasonable, even when wanting to blow up the polar ice caps. “In fact, from the sound of it, you’ve been at the crest of the wave all the way here.  That object may have been the only thing keeping you from getting completely swallowed by the chaos; it anchored you here.”

“What?” Scott looked at it like he had never seen it before. ”But this thing is evil, right?”

“Most likely. But even it has to exist somewhere. Unlike truly living creatures, inanimate objects don’t usually shift dimensional planes in a chaos wave, they just shift positions within their own plane.  This is doubly true of objects charged with mystical power.”

Scott opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, only to try again and quickly abort once more. Marc wasn’t sure he got it either, but he wasn’t even gonna try and ask.  If it was important, he’d hear about it later.  Finally, Scott said, “An object at rest tends to stay at rest.”

“The third law of thermodynamics?” Marc guessed (it was one of those laws).  Was that relevant?

Wesley nodded. “It’s one of the few laws of physics still applicable in a chaos wave, even one as unprecedented as this. Objects that have no entropic tendency beyond the normal - and inanimate object that can only decay, but otherwise has no say or control over its own environmental factors - is a “blind spot” in a wave like this. This is why houses aren’t being flipped in from pre-industrial age.  Houses may shift from Florida to Texas, but they will fundamentally remain unchanged, and no house from another dimension will come in.  Unless it’s alive.  People are the most entropic systems of all, which is why they will be hit the hardest by this wave.” Before anyone could ask about that one (Jesus Christ, Wes sounded like a big old brainac sometimes, didn’t he?  Marc bet he and the Prof could get together and have a grand old time throwing twelve syllable words at each other) he grabbed the knapsack the box had previously been in, and said, “Let’s get this inside before the zombies come.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Scott asked. “I should get it out of here if it’s a magnet for those things.  I don’t want to bring them here.”

It was then, before Wesley could reach for it, that Marcus noticed the corroded energy stopped leaking
from the box; as if the seams had sealed up. What the fuck ..?

“Oh no, Scott, I do believe it’s just what the doctor ordered,” a familiar voice said cheerfully.

They all turned to find Bob leaning casually against one of the open gates, grinning at them with
maniacal glee. “We ready to do this thing?”

Well, at least that explained why the box had sealed up.  Bob was a detail-oriented kind of guy.

10

Logan knew there’d be 'others' here, but he was still surprised to see so many people.  Angel for one,
who looked deeply uncomfortable among all the strange people (Wes, on the other hand, seemed to be gaining converts with his cool and knowledgeable demeanor), and all his surviving former Organization “colleagues”, which was a true shocker.  Xia seemed happy to see him - Tom less so - and it was impossible to read Spider’s expression, but apparently he’d been teaming up with Marc as of late, which was kind of curious.  They all agreed that Specter wouldn’t be coming, and even if he did, he would turn invisible and hide under the table until it was all over.  Poor Specter - what kind of operative hated violence?

He introduced Yasha around, and she seemed to handle the crowd better than Angel, but then again, she was a beautiful woman who'd learned to make being aloof work for her, and that often helped.  On the other hand, Rogue was occasionally making moony eyes at Angel, who didn’t seem to notice (or at least hadn’t caught her at it).  Bobby had noticed, though, and didn’t look overly pleased about it.

Piotr joined the party late, as did Helga, who was wearing the mark of Moros once more - red paint (blood?) circling her right eye, reduced to a single thick, straight line that disappeared into her green hair. Logan wondered if they were all going to have to function under the aegis of a god to fight this - and if anyone would allow it, considering what had happened when Camaxtli met Jean.

But Logan knew he was ready.  If Bob wanted to amp him up, fine - great.  He was ready to go.

Bob waited until he got them all in the lounge (save for Xavier and Amaranth, but they didn’t need to be physically in the room to know what was going on) before informing them of the battle plan.  Logan really wished he’d changed his shirt - a General wearing a Comic Book Guy t-shirt and Jim Morrison style leather pants just wasn’t naturally inspiring. “Okay, now, I’m gonna split you into teams,” Bob told them, not bothering with foreplay. “Everyone will have a different task to complete, and I don’t want any of you questioning my group assignments.  I swear, I know what I’m doin’ here.

“Okay. What I have been able to learn from various sources is that a serious disruption in the dimensional barrier allowed someone to launch a full scale attack on this dimension.  Actually, someones - this is a group effort by those who will benefit most from this Earth being chewed up and spit out.  They are being inadvertently assisted by a powerful, obscure cult called the Brotherhood of the Panoptes, who believe they are doing this at the behest of their god, Argus.  They’re not - in fact, they’re being conned.”

“How would they not recognize their own god?” Angel asked, garnering a number of surprised glances,
as it never even occurred to anyone to ask such a question.  Angel appeared briefly mortified by all the stares.

“They’ve been mimicking his energy,” Bob explained, treating it like the valid question it was. (These god newbies just wouldn’t understand.) “And the more they help along the chaos wave, the more dark power is being funneled to them.  They’ll be the first to die, but when you start getting all that power, it never occurs to you that the very bounty you're enjoying can end up tearing you up like a banana in a monkey cage. Right now, they may be the most supernaturally powerful Humans on the planet.”

“So how do we fight them?” Tom asked impatiently.

“Note I said Humans; that doesn’t include all of us in the room.” Bob gave him one of his Cheshire Cat smiles before moving on. “These morons gotta know they’re pretty damn powerful, and are probably all stoked on the god lovin’, unaware they’re bein’ actually buggered by the milkman.  The chaos wave is far too advanced to make cutting them off from their god power a tactical solution; if the basement’s flooded already, killing the main ain’t gonna reverse the damage done.  But they are a direct conduit to one of the fuckers behind this siege, and that’s how I intend to use them."

“Now, here’s the big problem.  Most of you are Humans, and can’t be expected to survive a dimensional transit unscathed, let alone face a potential god and have a chance at all -”

“No way,” Scott interrupted angrily.  Logan just knew he’d be the one to do it. “We’re not going to let you put us under the aegis of another god again, not after what happened to Jean.”

Logan heard Wesley whisper to Marc, “Who’s Jean?”  He heard Xia whisper to Storm, “What happened to her?”

“I figured as much,” Bob told him. “But ya don’t really have to.  Ammy’s gonna cover you.”

“Hold it,” Yasha interjected skeptically. “She might be a strong witch, but she doesn’t have that kind of power. No witch does.”

Bob conceded that with a terse nod. “Most witches don’t, no.  But Ammy’s of the blood, and she’s connecting to Aradia right now.”

“Of the blood?” Someone asked, and it didn’t really matter who.  Angel told them, “God blood.  She’s a … demi-goddess, for lack of a better term.”

“Who’s Aradia?” Marc asked.

“The goddess of witches,” Bob explained. “All goes as planned, Ammy will be operating under her aegis.”

They had their own gods too?  Wow - it was like there was a god for everything.  What sad sack of shit deity was the god of lost keys?

“Aradia has enough power to protect all of you, through Ammy,” Bob continued. “But some of you won’t need the protection.” Notably, he looked in the direction of Logan and Helga. “I need a ground team, people willing to stay behind and protect Ammy and Chuck.  The bad guys are bound to figure out what we’re doing, so they ‘re going to attack here, try and dump our anchor and our protection.”

“What about the kids?” Piotr asked, both confused and concerned.

“Oh, no worries - I’ve already shifted them all to Sydney.  They think they’re on a field trip.  Now, don’t get your knickers in a twist.  They’re being looked after by some of my kids, and if things go all diddley fuck, Australia is in the fortunate position of being the most likely last place the chaos wave will hit. ‘Cause, as you know, Oz is pretty chaotic on its own.  Platypus, anyone?”

Bob had inadvertently confirmed something Logan had been wondering about - what the fuck was Xavier doing?  Obviously he was doing something if Bob thought he might need protection.  But what?  He was being purposefully vague about some things, and it was always irritating when he did that.

“Now, I’ll brief the separate teams on their specific goals, but I want you all to understand something. Protection doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt, or can’t be killed; it just means the bad guys will find it harder to do, and your powers will be amped up to actually effect the beings you‘re fighting.  Never forget that you are fighting for your lives, along with everyone else’s.  If you really think you can’t kill if it comes to it, stay with the ground team."

“Also, there are multiple breaches into this dimension, and since I’m intending to take the battle there, you will all be shifting into alternate dimensions.  Some dimensions will be exactly as their creators want them to be; others will shift based on your personal perceptions. Meaning, if you expect to end up in a fire and brimstone hell, you will.  Do not expect the worst!  The experience will be disorienting enough on its own, don’t let it feed off your fears as well.”

“Creators?” Storm asked. “Are you saying gods create their own dimensions?”

Bob nodded. “Oh yeah.  If you could build your own paradise, wouldn’t you do it?”

“Why haven’t you?” Marc shot back.

Bob gave him what looked like a variation on his own shit eating grin. “Who says I haven’t?  Now, I know I’m asking a lot of you as it is, but I’m gonna have to ask for more - I’m gonna have to ask that you trust me. I know most of you don’t, but you must believe I don’t want Bondi Beach or my family to cease to exist.”

Scott sighed heavily.  He was going to have a hard time with this, all the way down the line.  If Bob was smart, he’d keep him on the ground team.

“One last bit of business, though. I need a volunteer to work under the goddess Ammit.  Now, I know what happened to Jean, but I can vouch for Ama.  She’s not evil, and she has no interest in taking over the Earth.  She’s easily bored, and she’s been there, done that, bought the souvenir bobblehead.  She wants to help because it’s something for her to do.  But she’s a vengeance god, and pretty powerful, so if you’re afraid you might get overwhelmed, don’t volunteer.”

“Will she sponsor the undead?” Yasha wondered.

Bob grinned at her. “She isn’t prejudiced.  Just don’t hold back.”

“No problem there.”

Logan was briefly worried for her, but not for long.  It would be better if she was under the aegis of a god; she’d have more protection, be safer, and be a hell of a lot more deadly.

Bob clapped his hands together, and said, “Okay then - let’s cowboy up and get stupid.”

Finally.

11

For reasons never explained, Bob not only broke up the teams, he gave them deeply stupid names that obviously amused him.

The ground team - team Pizza (“Greek letter names - Alpha, Beta - are so bloody dull,” Bob had claimed) - was Brendan, Wesley, Rogue, Bobby, and -shockingly - Marcus, who really protested angrily until Bob pulled him aside and explained why. “These kids are good.  They’re trained, and they will fight - but only Brendan will seriously consider enacting the final solution if he has to.”  ‘Final solution’ was the obvious code for death. “Wes won’t flinch - these will be the bad guys, after all , and he knows what’s at stake here - but he still has something he has to do, and he won’t be here all that long.  In a way, Marc, I’m entrusting you with the hardest job. You’re gonna have to protect this place, and your own team as well.  They will hesitate to kill - I’m counting on you not to.”

He nodded, still not happy about it, but understanding.  The kids were really just back up;  he was technically on his own here. As he walked away, resigned to it, they heard him grumble, “Stuck here because I ain’t a pussy.”

(What the hell was Wes supposed to be doing?  Logan bet it had something to do with that box Scott
had brought in.)

Team Vindaloo was Xia, Tom, Helga, and Scott;  team Octopus was Angel, Piotr, Spider, and Storm; and team Zebra Crossing (“It’s a funny name!” Bob insisted) was Logan, Yasha, and Bob.  "We’re going after the real big guys, aren’t we?” He guessed.

“You bet your sweet ass,” Bob agreed. “Can I borrow a claw?”

“Huh?”

“Need to cut something.”

He popped the center claw on his right hand, and asked, “What?”

Bob grabbed the blade, and used it to slice open the palm of his hand. “Hey!” Logan snapped, retracting his claw and yanking his own hand away as Bob’s blue blood dripped on the floor. “Are you completely fucking nuts?!”

Bob didn’t answer, simply rubbed some blood on his thumb, and said something in a language that Logan didn’t understand before reaching out and smearing the blood beneath Logan’s eye.

Oh yeah, he forgot about this part.

As soon as the blood touched him, a lightning bolt four times as powerful as the telepathic one he'd received earlier exploded in his brain, and he felt himself jerk back and hit the wall as his vision fuzzed
out blue, the blood on his skin tingling like venom.

“Sorry, but I just thought you’d want to get it over with,” Bob said, sounding as chagrined as he ever did.

“Yeah,” he admitted, glad Yasha wasn’t here right now.  She’d gone off with Wes, down to the lab where Amaranth was. Logan assumed she was getting her god mark too.  He hoped it wasn’t quite as bad as this.

He straightened up, the ache in his cranium subsiding, the feeling of hot blue plasma swirling in his brain remaining constant however.  Blue energy seemed to pulse in the corner of his eyes like a phantom heartbeat. “We good here?”

“Almost.  First I gotta hand out the jewelry.” Bob picked up a bag off the floor - a bag that hadn’t been there a second before - and started down the hall towards the lounge.

Was it so wrong to just want to be out there, killing something?

Back in the lounge, groups had glommed together, perhaps trying to get used to the idea of working with each other. Scott looked like he was trying to keep his distance from Helga, as if he was afraid of her tail or something, while Piotr, Spider, and Storm were standing slightly removed from Angel, as if worried he was contagious. For his part, Angel just looked miserable and ever so slightly pissed.  The kids were used to being together, and were absolutely fine with it, but looked scared of Marc, who was sulking on the couch.

Since Angel was - in theory anyway - alone, Logan went over to him and pulled him aside. “Hey, how
you guys doing out in L.A.?” He asked.

Angel looked relieved to have someone to talk to who didn’t think he was going to go all Dracula on them. His nostrils flared briefly, and while he must have picked up on Bob’s blood, he probably knew what it was for, because he didn’t comment on it. “We’re good, considering.” Angel nodded his head back in the direction of the rest of team Octopus. “They’re new to apocalypses, aren’t they?”

“Kinda, yeah.  May have to walk ‘em through it.”

“Figured as much,” he sighed.

“So, uh, why haven’t I seen Cordy around?” Logan asked.  He meant to ask last time he was in L.A., but considering he'd gotten kidnapped first, it kind of slipped his mind.

The way Angel grimaced and looked down at the floor, he knew it was bad. “Is she dead?”

Angel looked up sharply. “No …. not, uh … she’s in a coma.”

Well, better than dead, he supposed.  Still not good. “What happened?”

“It’s a … long story. After this is all over … I’ll buy you a beer and tell you about it sometime, okay?”

Obviously an awkward subject for Angel. It made him that much more curious what had happened to her. Cordy was never much for fighting, so he couldn‘t really see her getting mortally hurt in the course of a battle, but he hadn‘t seen her for ages.  People changed. “Sure.”  Logan gestured to Piotr, Storm, and Spider, and said, “Keep ‘em alive.”

“Do my best,” Angel promised, and went back to join them.  See, vamp or not, he was a pretty cool guy.

As Logan walked back towards the front of the lounge, he found Scott staring at him, eyebrows raised above his visor. “What’s with the war paint?” He asked, swallowing a chuckle.

Logan glowered at him. “It’s Bob’s blood.  It marks me as his avatar.”

Scott paled slightly, lips twisting in disgust. “You have to wear his blood?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I have to or not, it’s just what’s done.  So, are you back or what?”

Scott seemed briefly thrown by the whiplash subject change. “Uh, I don’t know.  I haven’t decided yet. I guess I’ll wait and see if there’s anything left standing after this.”

“Stick close to Hel.  She’ll get you through this.  She’s fought gods before.”

“Apparently you have too. What an interesting thing to leave off the resume.  So what else haven’t you
told us, Logan?”

He glared at him, wondering if that was some sort of challenge or backhanded comment. “I speak every language known to man, and I used to be a spy,” he said, turning his back on Scott and walking away. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but let ‘Clops chew on that for awhile.

“Right,” Bob said, getting up on an end table.  Logan’s sudden fear that he was going to do a strip tease (Bob was capable of anything) was allayed once he produced that black velvet sack again, and reached inside. “For this to work, you all have to wear these.  I don’t care where, just have it on your person at all times.” Bob tossed out a handful, and Logan easily caught one, not surprised to see what was in his hand.

In the center of his palm was a small jade elephant figure, strung like a pendant on a red cord.

“An elephant?” Scott exclaimed, his voice fading away into a small chuckle. “This is one of your jokes, right?”

“No. These are fetishes of a good mate of mind, Ganesha.”

“He does know him,” Angel said, to no one in particular, throwing his hands up in a gesture of exasperation. “I owe Wesley ten bucks.”  What was that about?

“The Hindu god?” Xia said in disbelief.

“With the elephant head, yep,” Bob agreed, done tossing out little elephants.  “See, he’s known as the “remover of obstacles” and is considered lucky.  But it’s not so much luck as his ability to control entropy within a certain area.”

“Entropy,” Logan continued, putting the cord around his neck. As much as he hated to admit it, he already knew this shit - no matter how stupid it seemed - actually seemed to work. “Chaos, in other words. That’s what you meant by making the chaos work for us - you’re turning Ganesha against it.”

“Not exactly against it, but in our favor,” Bob concurred.  The sack had disappeared. “Ganny is going to let you get into the right dimensions; he will also get you home again, and he may influence your fights if chaos energy is at all involved.  Entropy can never be used against him; it’s as simple as that.”

Everyone put on or pocketed their elephant charms, feeling silly but not willing to risk not catching their ride out of here, or not getting a lift home.  Logan briefly wondered why Bob gave some to the ground team, but then he remembered they would be in the chaos too, even if they were remaining here. And if they completely fucked up on their end, they’d be all alone in it.

Now he wondered if Ganesha was enough.