Make our getaway. Revolution may as well have suggested they affix portraits of Lightwards to the raptors' backsides and parade them through the city. People didn't escape from Epics. They ran, sure, but that ended as well as could be expected. The safer option was to stay under the radar, do as commanded and pray not to be noticed. Not that it helped you any. Six months. From the day he was hired to the end of his first December at the casino, Nathan had been certain each day would be his last. Two years. That was how long he had spent watching. Listening. Serving Epics and learning from them, becoming slowly more adept at evading their wrath. One year. Over that year he had grown steadily more confident. Beatings decreased. Compliments, such as they were, increased. Six months. He was a pro. He had outlasted many, survived Epics known to kill on sight. He was a fixture there, the one new servers sought for advice. He and the other long-timers gathered in their apartments to regale the newbies with tales of the more ridiculous Epics they'd seen. He knew his job and did it well. His experience kept him safe. One night. One minute. One question and Fortuity dashed that notion to bits. Compared to Funtimes, Fortuity was the picture of sanity and stability. "She can teleport, so we have to make sure we leave when she can't follow. And if we can swing it..." He glanced over his shoulder, saw they were just as alone as they had been before, and lowered his voice anyway. "If we can swing it, we should convince her we'd be better off leaving without her. So she can stay behind and fight while we look for safer ground, then let her think we just got separated or something. To do that, we'd need to earn her trust, which means...." He broke off with a small chuckle and a rueful smile. "Any date ideas for a guy whose girlfriend thinks Calamity is the Flying Spaghetti Monster?"