If John had a headache with only Aizawa and the sundry numbers of the dead under the sand, then he was going to have a worse one in town.

Aizawa, however, seemed unbothered by his state. For all he knew, he was dead anyway -- and his only goal was to stop the incessant loop that they were all entangled with. Frowning, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to John.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I'm tapped out. Try to get yourself a little cleaned up before we get back to town."

His tone was as flat and mild as always, but there was a noticeably tension in his jaw as he scoured the horizon. Unease gnawed at him, and sharpened his ears to every little sound that whispered over the desert.

"The script is different already," he said, verbalizing the source of his tangible discomfort.

"We never woke up in the desert before. I don't like this."