...the decrepit ghost-town hotel, where he awakes with a start to find G.I. Jake delivering the very bad news that Ava's been devoured by the METAL TEETH CHOMP! Or, you know. Missing. Your choice.

Aftermath. Sam and G.I. Jake stumble down the hotel's front steps and split up to search the town for their missing compatriot. Meanwhile, lurking in the background, is Ava herself. DUN!

Back in the threshold to the safe room, Dear Little Doomed Gay Stoner Andy's edged past the protective line of salt on the floor to poke his head out into the hallway, but he quickly hops back inside once he hears suspicious creaking elsewhere in the hotel. And when that suspicious creaking reappears right behind his back, he spins around to find Ava at one of the windows. "Where'd you go?" he wonders as she ominously draws a finger through the salt on the sill, breaking the line. "Didn't you hear us yelling?" he continues, entirely unaware of what she's doing. "Yeah, I heard you," she replies, somewhat bored, and with more than a hint of distaste for Poor Little Doomed Gay Stoner Andy coloring her tone. And with that, she clutches at her temples and groans a little bit, in the process summoning tonight's swirling cloud of bitterly black demonic goo into the room through the break she made in the salt on the windowsill. So, earlier? When she was clutching at her temples while Sam was rummaging around in that trunk? She was actually summoning the demonic moppet to off The Lesbian. Clever show. Clever, clever show. In any event, Poor Little Doomed Gay Stoner Andy barely has time to react before the ghastly and shrewlike demonic moppet coagulates upon the floorboards and, with her actual claws already bared, pounces upon him, knocking him flat on his back on the floor right before she rips open his poor little doomed gay stoner chest. Choking spasms of blood fill his mouth, and he tries to scream just as the demonic moppet hits an artery that sends a lurid gout of red SPLATTING against one of the windows, and...Raoul? Um, Raoul? Oh, I'm sorry -- I'm certain Raoul would offer his customary shriek of glee at all of that were he not currently curled up in the fetal position on his overstuffed armchair with his eyes buried in his paws. "EVIL!" whimpers Raoul. "Pure, Satanic EVIL!"