Another group gathers outside of the Abrahamic Corporation, but without well intentions. They look over their plans, and where they can go.

They spot the following methods of movement.

Going through the unlocked front door.

Going to the basement.

Going to the garden.

Going with the graveyard.

Kinder is no longer a [Team Killer].

Forget Me Not does not die because a turn has not really ended yet.

The void orb is no longer [Lazy], though due to being in an orb currently, this does not change much.

THE ORB IS POPPED OPEN!

The group heads towards the garden.

"Waaan."

"Bawk?"

The two wander the garden, until they reach a clearing in the center of it all. A tall tree stands. A few red heart-like fruit hands from it. Only a few remain, with the rest eaten by animals or collected already.

A heer chewing on a fruit seems totally fine.

The heer hisses at Ketonels as he goes to grab fruits. It chases him up the tree, attempting to take a fruit from him. The heer is greedy, but soon Ketonels grabs one fruit.

Does he eat it?

Ketonels eats the fruit from the tree. A few seconds after the first bite, he is filled with endless positive thoughts, happiness, joy. He feels as if he wants to...no...needs to compliment those around him, and of course, the tree itself for making such a lovely meaty tasting fruit.

The small group moves forth, minutes pass and the garden becomes a dot in the distance, the graveyard is farther than one would assume. When the graves start popping up, one person accidently steps on a grave.

The ground begins to...sing.

The group mistook Jesus saying that those in the graves were sleeping as a polite way to say they were dead. But now it was clear. The dead were still very much alive under their feet.

The adult wandettle from before swoops above them, heading deeper into the graveyard. The group is forced to follow........

What they see...they cannot believe.

The comment might seem strange. Of course they are dead. But the duo thinks back to the singing behind them.

Whatever these things were, they shouldn't have been dead.

Finding traps is hard for the group. These poachers have seemed to ramp down their production, but only because there are no wandettles left.

In the cracks along the ground some platzels poke their heads out before, with a hiss, returning to their unreachable homes. A few forgotten traps are removed. It's not much, but it is an effort, and the adult wandettle watches from atop a skull, at peace with the duo.

The wandettle adult flutters down, and hands The Alchemist a small wandettle. The Christians have been so good at protecting her children, doing the best they can with the circumstances, and only the Christians come here without guns or platzels. She just assumes The Alchemist is "one of the good ones" and will take care of her child. She has handed off many before to the Christians.