“What? Listen, I don’t know how long you’ve been napping but right now Voggoth is the only thing I’m worried about. He’s got-“

“Voggoth ain’t nothing! He’s insignificant! A token force! Just here to watch and keep us on our collective toes!” The sound of the Old Man shouting-a hysterical shout-knocked Trevor off balance. He had never seen such a reaction from his benefactor. This appeared more like…

Trevor’s expression corkscrewed from befuddlement to fear then to understanding.

“I can’t believe it. Holy shit, I really don’t believe it.”

“What? Now you listen, Trevvy, I don’t have time for whatever bird-brained idea that might be scheming in that noggin’ of yours.”

“I get it now. I see,” and Trevor did. And it frightened him. It also angered him. He directed his anger at the Old Man. “You’re in denial. You refuse to see what Voggoth is doing here, is that it? What’s wrong, this wasn’t part of the agreement?” Trevor sneered, “Just a token force. Just to observe. Just to keep us on our toes. Bullshit.”

“Watch it, now. Listen here. You can’t understand. Your little brain-“

“It’s you who doesn’t understand. You can’t believe it, can you? You can’t believe that Voggoth would break those precious rules of yours and send a full-blown army to wipe us out. I’ll bet he did the same to the Feranites, too, didn’t he?”

The Old Man’s virtual eyes widened at the mention of the Feranites, a race originally nicknamed by humanity as the Tribe of the Red Hand. While in the clutches of The Order’s torture machine, Trevor’s mind had traveled to the alternate Earth where the Feranites battled for survival. They lost.

He pushed the Old Man, “You keep talking about the rules of this little game you dragged my people into, but those rules don’t mean shit. Voggoth is here, Old Man. Why I’ll bet he’s right here, on this Earth, overseeing the whole party; I’ll bet that is against those rules of yours, too. He’s going to wipe us out unless you and your buddies do something to help.”