There's a string dangling from one of Stacy's vents.

It's tied to a 20-pound dumbbell that, more than likely, came from the Posessions locker.

Isn't that odd?

Up the vent, and far out of sight, Zuko elbows his way through Stacy's inner workings, carefully reeling out twine as he goes.

It's humid, warm, and uncomfortably tight in Stacy's vent-nostrils, and Zuko doesn't like it one bit. The Avatar had better be grateful for all this trouble, once Zuko finds him.

Jo had, after harassing several members of the crew, discovered that there was indeed a place she could go and play do some target practice with her guns. The sensoriums. One of them - she'd already forgotten who - had tried explaining in great detail what the sensoriums were and how they worked, but she honestly didn't care how they worked. To her, the sensoriums sounded something like GD would come up with, and honestly? She was not about to refuse using one of them.

So there she was, inside one of them - which looked just like a shooting range - with everything from paper targets, a back wall with a sloped bank, reinforced baffles, air locked individual firing points! Jo was in heaven!

Smiling, she laid out the weapons she'd brought in with her and began to look over them, contemplating on which one she was going to use first.

Cale stood in the media library in one of the pod-rooms, the broken pod-room, to be exact. His brow was creased and his nose scrunched up as he concentrated on the bizarre-looking terminal on the wall. He pressed one of the buttons and got a low ‘beep’ in reply, but the screen remained blank. He tried another. Another beep, still blank. He frowned but he wasn’t giving up. With practically nothing to do on this ship—what with the medbay taken over by the crabby green guy and this being the only other area left on the ship (the sensoriums were almost in constant use by other crew members) with any kind of identifiable technological aspect to it, Cale was determined to at least keep himself busy. And busy meant trying to TURN THAT DAMN SONG OFF!

Over and over the thing had repeated. Never stopping. Never giving even a moment’s break, and with the door wide open and it playing full volume, it was impossible to concentrate anywhere else in the media library—which is what he’d been trying to do earlier. Now, he was determined to fix what was broken…or at least drive himself crazy trying.

Beep. Beep-beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep. Beep.

There! Right there! He’d had it. It went away but he’d still had it, if only for an instant. The screen flashed for just a moment and then went black again. He was making progress, getting closer. It was just a matter of time before that painstakingly awful song was gone for good.

“Yeah, and you thought I couldn’t do it, didn’t you,” Cale said aloud, apparently speaking to the troublesome terminal. “Well, I’ve got news for you buddy, I am about to own you.”

Down in the city, there is a loud crash. Followed by several bangs. And they're coming from the Vatican. From inside St. Peter's Basilica to be exact.

Sawyer is inside the massive cathedral, hard at work--for once. The top of his leaf suit lowered as he, dripping sweat, toiled away in the church. Having discovered a set of iron tools in one of the museums, he is busy making some not-so-subtle renovations to what had been--before it was stolen--the seat of the Catholic church and the home of the pope. The heavy pews are no longer anchored down and have been moved against one wall. Some will be nailed together to form beds, while others will be ripped apart and used to cover the stained-glass windows.

All the candles in the basilica have been collected and lay on the altar waiting to be sorted. All the gold and silver in St. Peter's--including most of the candelabras--have been tossed into two separate piles to be melted down and made into bullets. They'll eventually be joined by some of the iron, steel, and bronze in the museums. Only the tools and weapons that are useful as is will be left.

If anyone were to help him, he'd probably be a prick about it, but still appreciate it nonetheless.