Breakfast was a quiet affair, and Rex rather liked it that way. Better than having to fight over the last scrap of bacon or something else as ridiculous. As far as he was concerned, his brothers were morons. His brothers, but morons nonetheless. "Can't win 'em all," he muttered to himself, chomping down on his toast. "Can't pick your relatives, unfortunately." Immediately after that a simple thought ran through his head: [i]But you[/i] can [i]pick when they die and where they're buried.[/i]

Rex shuddered. The Voice was back. He figured that it was his Beast, whispering little thoughts into his brain. "As much as those flying monkeys annoy me, I will [i]not[/i] kill them, Beastie."

[i]Just wait. I give you three months.[/i]

"That's what you said three months ago."

[i]Today could be the day![/i] The Voice sounded chipper at the idea.

"We have guests," Rex grumbled. "Not likely."