[A face turns, not in recognition of the name, but towards the sound of a voice breaking the lonely silence - staring at Miguel with haunted, fearful eyes. This truly was Peter's clone... with his hair shorn short like this, it was unmistakable. The only difference was the diseased flesh sprawled across his face like a nasty scar, tendrils of failed tissue. A mirror of the decay that surely killed all the rest.

Like a cornered, feral animal, 'Aracha' pulls his rags around himself and bristles, unsure whether to fight or flee. His voice is hoarse, but grieving.]

Stay away! I'm warning you--!