[Hiding out in the coffea shrubs at a lakeside in Guatemala, surrounded in berries in shades of green and red, he'd found them: Very run-down, rusted cages filled with very dirty, very hungry, very frightened children. The lack of sounds of distress, save for the occasional sniffle, worried Kanji: Didn't their folks teach them to scream for help when it was needed?]

's too quiet here...

[He wouldn't dare lift his voice, but he would start cracking his knuckles.]

Don't see the Kishin Egg anywhere, though. Y'want those cages on the left, I'll take right? Let's bust 'em outta here.