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"Apologies for the long flight, kiddos. I wanted to find a nice local workshop to use, but it seems like the Sandies were pretty paranoid about me using their own toys against them. Either that, or there was a series of freak accidents involving soul-empowered fire! Which is actually more common than you might think, eheh!"

A foot arrived and rolled Parson over onto his back, forcing him to look up at the Mad Demon looming over him.

"So? What do you think?" Morgunov looked over his audience, who were all battered even more badly than Parson. Blood, bruises, and scorched or frozen flesh abounded. "Pretty impressive haul, wouldn't you say? Everyone is going to be so jealous of my collection!" And he pointed. "Especially that one, eheh."

Parson turned and saw the unconscious face of his superior and long-time mentor. Lamont.

Parson shut his eyes. He hadn't lost control of his emotions in many, many years, and he didn't intend to let it happen now.

It was difficult, though.

"Hmm?" said Morgunov, pressing a gloved hand to his heart. "What's everyone bein' so quiet for, eh? No questions for me? Or concerns? C'mon, fellas, I'm here for you! Feel free to open up and talk about your feelings. The REAL stuff, y'know? And don't worry. There will be no judging. This is a safe place. No one--except me--will EVER hurt you here! I promise!"

Nobody said anything, in part because half or more of them were still unconscious and the rest knew how bad this situation was. The amount of mission critical intel Morgunov would have access to if he got any of them talking...

He could agonize over that later, Parson decided. "...Where's Jackson?" he asked.

"Ah, concerned about the flamey boy, are ya? Well, if it makes you feel better, he did manage to wriggle out of my grasp. But, uh. Eheh. He won't be feelin' too hot for quite a while, I expect."