Al didn’t say anything, but he could easily have told Shrike who wasn’t going to lose their mind when they made the jump – himself, obviously.

Al was the smartest guy he knew. But he was in fact only tracking on about half of the conversation. Until Rasta-geezer had thrown him in with all these geriatrics, he’d paid no mind to any of this third, seventh, fifth world mythology. And no one had bothered explaining it to him. From listening to their conversations, he’d gathered that at some point in the maybe-real-maybe-not past, an earth rather older than the Good Book said it was had been overrun by veritable armies of the same Lovecraftian sort of abomination they’d sent packing back on Magical Mystery Island, the very sight of just one of which had been enough to send his usual insomnia into paralyzing overdrive for months. And apparently now that the forces of Satanism were somehow flooding the world (again???), these freaks were just waiting for a chance to flood back in. And to cap it all off, some geniuses or other were trying to help them get here quicker.

He figured that would be about the worst thing he could imagine. So, the craziness of the world having opened his mind to maybe a ten percent possibility that all this was true, he was on board to stop it. Just in case.

He did not even begin to understand the machinations and intrigues that appeared to be surrounding the various factions these crazies kept referring to, but one point was painfully clear – of the array of individuals and groups that knew about this threat and were ostensibly invested in stopping it, each and every one was willing to jeopardize their slim chances of saving the world for a shot at coming out on top of some petty rivalries and bettering their own imaginary position.

In other words, the world needed saving, and Al was the only one in the game that wasn’t a self-serving asshole.

So of course he’d be the one that kept his head.

*****

Such were his thoughts as they made their way to the beach. The LAV was there as promised. And the pilot. And, as a bonus, what could only be another ten-thousand-year-old-in-adolescent’s clothing. Well, if he at least had the same ten thousand years of ass-kicking experience Shrike, Sian, and Kayden had boasted (and that Alessandra said she boated), then Al supposed the new guy would be welcome enough.