As the elevator with the other group quickly slid out of view, Dr. Henshin, everyone's favorite elderly moth (by virtue of being the only one in the cast) came struggling up behind his party, riding his luggage. Yes, riding it. His luggage was self-propelled, and hovered. He was sitting astraddle the overlarge steel box as if it was a proud steed.

He took a deep breath of the outside air, then coughed and hacked for about five seconds straight.

"Hahhhhh...," Doc wheezed. "Nothing like some nice...—" He sniffed. "—ozone, and... sulfur oxide, and... formaldehyde to really spruce up an afternoon." He took two puffs from his inhaler, then spat out his tongue contemptuously. "Someone please lead the way to the hotel before I have a fit."

"Do you really think a bunch of people like you can win at this?" came a... familiar voice from nearby Jack, Sheffer, Mako, and the others—a horribly familiar, young, asinine voice.

The boy, wearing his hoodie and his seven-emblazoned shorts, was standing dramatically (see: self-importantly) atop a nearby lamppost, about twenty feet overhead, arms crossed over his chest, and head cocked just so, for maximum irritation.

"You know they're talking about the hitting people 'til they fall down kind of boxing, not gift-wrapping presents with little bows, and ribbons, and things, right?"

As if it wasn't already pretty well predicted, Seven avoided Sheffer's attack with relative deftness, twisting and bending at the waist. He did put on a little "ooh" kind of face, as if surprised, but it very well may have been entirely sarcastic. It did throw him just barely off balance, but one wouldn't know it by the way he so loosely toppled from the lamppost, grabbed his former perch with his hand, and whirled right back up to where he was as if never disturbed.

"I hadn't considered entering," he mused, tapping his chin with his finger. He seemed to sense Jack was the leader, and addressed her with little regard for the others. "I was more thinking I would just, y'know, take the dumb thing. But now I think I'll wait a little while!" He reaffirmed his words with a brisk nod. Without leaving much room for response, he quickly tacked on an inquiry: "Oh, oh, before you guys start throwin' more stuff at me, quick question." He jigged a pointing finger between them, eenie-meenie-miney-moe style. "Which one's signing up for the public humiliation tourney?"

"Aah, tch, yeah, running away," sighed Seven thoughtfully in response to Sheffer, shaking his head. "Only electrocuted you, shot you,... and nearly drowned you all with millions of liters of seawater before I left with my objective," the boy bragged, but in a tone that implied he lamented the inadequacy of his actions. "Would you've preferred I stay around to kill you so you wouldn't have to live with the shame?"

He clucked his tongue.

"The real good-guys—like me—show mercy when they can." He tilted his head back and smiled broadly as he looked down his nose at the lot of them. "You know?"