"If you wankers don't stop arguing." The General declares after a long period of thought "I'm gonna shoot the fuckin' lot of you and be done with it. If you hadn't remembered, we've got a bunch of stage-threes inbound." He looks at Jewel. "And if you don't let 'em shave a patch, I'm gonna start with you. Are we all clear?"<br/><br/>Baz takes a deep breath and jumps down off the Land Rover's hood, drawing his shotgun on the way down as he leaves the SAW behind.<br/><br/>"Now rumour I've heard on the channels is this: There's a possible antidote. A full-blown cure, in a lab somewhere near Dutch Harbour, Alaska. A fuckin' long drive, I know, but..." He looks at the military personnel present "You' guys'll understand. I watched my men degrade into stage-three cases. There are ninety-two of the best damn soldiers I ever served with out there right now, and while there's ANY damn chance of curing just ONE of them, I'm gonna take it, even if it's a long shot, a suicide run. A one-in-a-million chance. I have to. Otherwise I'll have failed as a general."<br/><br/>He pauses, and re-lights his cigar. "Help me or run. You're either with me or... well. Just stay outta my path. You never know..." He laughs mirthlessly. "We might even pull this shit off and get universities named after us. The General Baz Yat Military Academy... got a ring to it, no?"