A talking fucking bat. At least Ripley had started barking enough that he couldn't think through the shrillness and how loud she managed to get.

But if he let her keep it up, she'd give him a bitch of a headache, so he sharply said, "Ripley, enough."

She subsided, mostly. Kept growling and letting out soft, almost-to-herself barks, but mostly stayed quiet.

Then he looked down into his shirt pocket, pulling it open so he could see.

Yeah, there was a talking bat in his pocket.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill David," he muttered. Not that he knew how David had drugged him, but it was the only reasonable explanation for all this shit.