Lhemis squints doubtfully. "That sounds like it might be a sex thing," he replies. "If you wanted my clothes, why didn't you just ask?"

He squints right back at the man in his arms.

"And that would have ... worked?" he questions.

"I mean, I probably would have wanted to trade for something, unless you really needed them. But it looks like you've already got some fancy clothes, so I doubt you don't have anything to trade," he points out.

Mike helps the man back to his feet.

"Okay, I'm sorry, let's try this again. I would like to buy your clothes. Would you be willing to swap clothes with me?"

"Boss," Jeff begins to say, but Mike waves him off.

Lhemis sizes him up.

"Yeah, sure. We look as though we're about the same build, and I think your pants will fit me," he agrees. He pulls things from various pockets and settles them in his over-the-shoulder pouch, and then pulls his robe over his head and holds it out to Mike.

Mike is momentarily weirded out again by this guy's lack of reaction to being nude in an alley, but he takes the robes and ducks behind a garbage bin to swap it for his own clothing. He steps out, hands his pants and shirt to the guy, and then bends to re-lace his boots.

Lhemis slips the pants on, and then looks speculatively at how they fit him. "Not bad. I wasn't expecting the fabric to stretch a little like this. That's a clever design," he remarks, pulling his shirt on over his head.

"Do you folks need anything else? Otherwise I need to go if I'm going to catch my train."

Mike waves him off. "No, thank you, that's all we needed. You have a good day now," he says.

Jeff has long since forgotten to be on the lookout for purple pants, and is now staring at Mike. "What is going on, man?"

"I think I have it figured out," Mike tells him. "And it's not aliens. Here, Timmy. Timmy! Can you walk?"

He feels pretty wobbly, but he pushes to his feet.

"Me? I'm fine," he says.

"You took a head injury that knocked you out, if only for a bit," Mike tells him. "You're not fine. But we need to move. Jeff, you steady him, and let's get along through here and then turn and start heading up a cross street. Keep your eyes out for anywhere that sells clothing."

Jeff obeys, but his impatience grows by the moment.

"Look," he asks. "What do you think you have figured out? Because I think it has to be aliens — mind control to make the population docile."

Mike thinks for a moment about that. "Yeah, maybe," he agrees. But that's not what he thought of, and everyone knows Jeff isn't the brains of the operation. "But I don't think that's it. I think we're in the Garden of Eden, or some alternate timeline where Eve didn't eat the apple."

He gestures back towards the other end of the alley.

"Didn't you see how that guy acted? He didn't know his own nakedness. And he couldn't even conceive of the concept of sinning by theft."

Jeff frowns. "I don't know, man, that seems pretty far-fetched. But what's the plan, now? You sound like you have a plan, and it had better not be to throw ourselves on god's mercy."

"The plan is ... Cheddar goes and talks to the tellers, and you and me stay by the doors and cover the room," Timmy slurs.

"Shit," Mike swears. He stops, and waves a finger in front of Timmy's face.

"Hey, Timmy, follow my finger. Do you know where we are, man?"

Timmy tries to focus, but has a hard time following the slow figure-eight Mike draws in the air.

"He needs a doctor," he tells Jeff. "And not of marine biology, thank you. It wasn't funny the first seventeen times either."

Mike thinks for a moment.

"Okay, this is what we do. We pull another trade to get you some local clothes, and then the two of us, we bring him to those white-robed people — I think they must be some kind of EMT, right? — and say that we're so worried, we want to stick with him like the good little Samaritans we are. He gets taken to the hospital and seen by a doctor, and then we break him out."

Jeff is silent for a moment, the uncertainty of the situation warring with the momentum of adrenaline. Then he sees a woman in purple pants walk past the entrance to the alley and pause.

"Nah, fuck that, man. Nothing's gone to plan today, and I don't even think we're in the same city. I'm out."

He sprints for the far end of the alley, and vanishes from sight.

"Fuck. Damn it."

Mike steadies Timmy, and turns back the way they came. He's never been a very pious man, but now definitely seems like the time for it.

"God? It's me, Micheal. I know I've fucked some stuff up, but ... please let it turn out okay? Amen," he mumbles to himself as he rounds the last bin.

Kyaris is a trained emergency services professional. Which means that she has actually received training in talking people down.

When she sees the men coming towards her down the alley, one slumped against the other, she waves in a big, slow motion designed to make it clear she's seen them without being startling or threatening.

"Hello!" she calls, once they're close enough. "My name's Kyaris. Is everything okay?"

"I found this man," he starts to say, and then winces about lying right after asking god for help. "And I think he needs a doctor. He doesn't know where he is."

Kyaris taps the phone velcroed to her shirt. "Dispatch, Kyaris. One man in fancy black clothing with signs of a concussion. Send the cart, please?"