In an unoccupied corner of the media library, Satori quickly made sure that nobody - especially not Marco - was around. There's something to be said for the merits of curiosity, but there's even more to be said for not looking completely ridiculous.

After a long, hesitant pause, Satori started up Escape from Bug Island.

A bit of fumbling around with the wiimote later, she figured out how to navigate the menus. New Game. Normal. Nunchuck configuration? Who knows, pick one at random. The next hour or so consisted of roughly equal parts squinting at bad storytelling, wrestling with a combination of terrible controls and never having played a videogame in her life, and getting eaten by giant bugs.

"As I thought, total nonsense," Satori muttered to herself, unaware that she had long since stopped paying attention to who might be passing by or coming in.

To a few onboard Stacy, some would recognize the surroundings in one of the Sensoriums.

It was Gotham City. But, not just any Gotham, it was the Gotham before the earthquake, before No Man's Land, before its rebirth. To some, it would be a bit of a nostalgia, especially after what they've learned some time earlier.

Of course, the painful screams and breaking of bones certainly something that would either creep people out or add on to it.

The source of that? One Jean-Paul Valley, the second man to take up the Mantle of the Bat, tearing through everything coming towards him. Small time crooks to those such as Mr. Freeze, Killer Croc, the Scarecrow and more - all fell to his blades. The System, the psychological brainwashing the accessed his skills, kept pushing him on, driving him more and more, not letting him stop...

...until he heard it.

"JEAN-PAUL VALLEY..." a voice called out. As the last crook dropped, Jean-Paul turned his head and looked up. Underneath his helmet, his eyes widened. Above him was a man, garbed in nothing but Crusade-era armor, a sword and shield in his hands.

"...Saint Dumas... you're okay! You're safe!" Jean-Paul said, his voice wavering.

"DO NOT PATRONIZE ME, JEAN-PAUL." Saint Dumas said. "YOU HAVE FAILED IN YOUR MISSION. THOSE YOU WERE CHARGED TO PROTECT ARE NOW GONE. THOSE ON BOARD THIS VESSEL HOLD FAITH IN THE OTHER AND YOU, WORSE OF ALL, HAVE FORSAKEN ME FOR ANOTHER..."

"Forsaken... I haven't forsaken you! I swear!" Jean-Paul said.

"YOU HAVE FORSAKEN ME FOR ANOTHER HERE. YOU DISAPPOINT ME, JEAN-PAUL. YOU WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO HERE AND FOREVER MORE..." Saint Dumas said, disappearing. Jean-Paul dropped to his knees.

"No... no I haven't forsaken you. I... I can still complete my mission, I can still protect those I am charged to protect..." Jean-Paul muttered. He lifted his head up and thrust is arms into the air "DAMN YOU, SAINT DUMAS! DAMN YOU AND YOUR WORDS! I WILL COMPLETE MY MISSION OR DIE TRYING!"

If anyone saw Jean-Paul during all this, they probably would have seen him arguing with thin air.

Nicholas Angel was, by nature, not the happiest of men. There was no doubt about it from anyone that knew of him that he loved his job, that he was married to the service. Official vocab guidelines say "the force" is seen as too aggressive. The notepad was the greatest weapon any officer could ever have—that was one of his most fervent beliefs about his entire training, all of his school, you could catch lies if you wrote everything down.

He'd managed to put Danny to the back of his mind as he took in the new surroundings, hated the organic, living, undulating, pulsating, sick and twisted and disgusting suit that was apparently the only thing he had to wear. Or anyone had to wear, for that matter. He had no pocket to put his notepad in. This meant he felt silly just walking around in the ugliest thing he could ever imagine without a place to put his greatest weapon.

There was a deep exhalation of stiff breath as he came to an area he didn't know. As a matter of fact, he didn't know any of the areas around this place. He hadn't asked, too busy taking in all the surroundings and memorizing them for later. He'd know his way around this breathing, moving, living "ship" in a few hours if he walked around even more.

He put his hands on his hips and stared up at the "ceiling" if it could be called that, not oblivious to the sounds of the ship and any others who might pass by, but completely lost in thoughts of...a Greater Good.

Kazuya sat cross legged in the Sensorium's recreation of the Hon-maru temple deep in meditation. The shrine in front of him remained untouched, but the scene behind him looked like a war zone. The usually large open and pristine hardwood floor was covered in large craters, and there were several holes in the ceiling where the cloudless night sky could be seen. The scene itself was oddly serene, considering it would take only a simple gesture on Kazuya's part to start a simulation where an army of androids would attack him.

For now though, he was simply meditating. So much had happened in the short time he had been on the ship. He had lost the driving cause he had to live; bringing his father to justice and ending his family's cursed bloodline. He had also lost the one thing keeping him sort of sane, the hope of finding his lover.

With so much on his mind, his other self was vying for control of him. He was outwardly calm and peaceful, but any psychics in the area would easily pick up on the vicious battle for control for his mind.