Flojo ran over to Ren to make sure he was okay. He got him to sit up, then the door flew open, and three sailors rushed in, armed with a ragtag assortment of weapons. One had a gun; the other two were wielding a pipe and a large, formidable-looking wrench. Ren got up from the ground slowly with Flojo's help, and the gunman trained his weapon on them. The other two just stood there, kind of looking menacing.

“The captain wants a word with the two of you,” he said, gesturing with his gun for them to move toward the door. The two were both looking worse for the wear, but Ren was clearly the more injured. He had a number of somewhat deep slashes along his torso and arms, and a nasty burn on his leg, which looked like it would have some hellish blistering later. Flojo had gotten off with only a few cuts and bruises. Ren and Flojo moved slowly toward the door, the former leaning on the latter, and out of it.

The sailors escorted them to the captain's office, where the captain sat behind his desk, the ship's medic sitting in a nearby chair. The medic got up as soon as they entered, wondering loudly what the hell had happened to Ren as he helped him take off the remnants of his shirt and began applying medicine.

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