"I wouldn't be so sure of it" Descartes stepped slowly out of the shadows. In his hand, the Frenchman held an apple, eyeing it intensely as if studying every vast intricacy of it- moving it around, polishing it and sniffing it before the Frenchman finally leaned his neck over to take a bit. As his mouth receded from the apple, there was a dent- it was plastic. Turning his attention back to the group, Descartes stayed silent, crushing the apple in his hand before tossing it aside.

Descartes scanned his surroundings. "So cat man" Descartes said, addressing Taokafka, "What's the next step of your master plan?"