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“Ah.” Bradley leaned back to look at Avery. “Houston, we have a problem.”

“’Problem’?” asked Avery - “and who’s Houston?”

“Houston’s You-ston. And I can’t see the dog.”

Avery darted out to the room Brad was standing in to look for Virgil, and before he could protest, they had their eyes on the monitor.

They backed away slightly.

“Alright,” said the journalist, “take it easy – we can figure that out later, but for now, we should get on that dog’s trail! Also, keep an eye out for a little girl. Five and a half feet tall or so, pink dress, wears a smiling mask. You can’t miss her – well, that and she’s probably the only living thing in here apart from us and the Killer.”

The pair started walking up the corridor, briefly scanning each room as they passed. Avery did their best not to panic – that would help nobody.

“You say that like there’s a Killer apart from me,” they said while swiftly exiting a block of toilets (the urinals scared them), “but… I don’t think that’s how the story goes. VIRGIL!”

“EMMY? Perhaps it is,” said Brad, “or maybe The Narrator’s just setting that up. You saw the footage in there – those were modern weapons, and I doubt you’d know a gun if it hit you.”

“’Gun’? Is that the one which had all the fire coming out the end of it?” they asked innocently. “Viiiirge, buddy, where are you? I’m starting to worry…”

“No, my friend, that one’s called a flamethrower,” he explained, turning to the stairs.

“Ohh,” they said, jogging to catch up, “that makes sense. I can see that. But, if I’m supposed to be the Killer, and… And I’m not one… Then maybe we’re safe?”

The journalist contemplated this briefly. “Either that, or The Narrator had a backup plan.”

----------

Avery did not like that theory.

Their face twitched.

“If that bastard has done anything to the dog, by the Gods I’ll…” Their voice trailed off. The ex-mage had spoken in a manner quite unlike their usual energetic means of vocalisation, sounding more menacing than they probably seemed capable of.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet,” said Bradley wisely, “otherwise you’re already the Killer and a grade-A idiot.”

They failed to respond.

As they began to descend the steps, Bradley addressed his stream again. One might have anticipated him being lost for words by now, but apparently the guy could talk perpetually.

“What an interesting turn of events! It would seem our omnipresent overseer has made a misjudgment of character, but will he be able to get his story back on the rails?”

Avery stopped walking.

They were at the base of the stairs with their eyes half-shut, clearly concentrating on something.

Bradley looked at them inquisitively. “What’s up?”

“Hold on,” they said, raising a hand to indicate he should stop talking – “j-just a second, but I think…” They fell quiet for a moment.

“Yes, YES!” they practically shouted, shooting down the hallway and opening one of the doors. The room it guarded was enormous compared to the others, littered with tables and short stools, most of which were toppled and broken. “VIRGIL!” they cried, “VIRGE, IT’S ME!”

Bradley ran to join them, pacing to the centre of the room and looking around. “Virgil? Emmy? It’s only us! You can come out now!”

And still, there was nothing.

“I should have brought that light-stick,” growled Avery.

“You mean a flashlight?” asked Brad, “that would have been useful, yeah.”

“Shut it,” they snapped, once again sounding sinister.

He raised both hands in a mock surrender, still smiling. “No need to get snappy, my fine fellow! I’m sure they’re alright… Although, in most horror stories, somebody’s dead by now.”

Avery rounded on him, cape billowing after the motion. “What are you suggesting? Because, I can assure you, Bradley Hunt, things will get a lot harder if you carry on that way.”

“Okay, okay,” said Bradley, “it’s usually one of the 'us' who’s dead, anyway. Why don’t we go back to searching for the others?”

The other put a hand to the bridge of their nose and nodded, appearing tired. “Yes… I reckon that’s for the best… Sorry,” they murmured.

----------

It took ten minutes to find anything. But, eventually, Bradley discovered them both. Virgil, sprawled helplessly on his back, leaning against Emmy.

“…Avery,” said the man.

Was the dog breathing?

His body was tangled in smooth black tentacles, holding his limbs at odd angles, squeezing his neck… One even forced its way inside his mouth and down his throat.

“Yes, Bradley? Have you found anything?”

Emmy frantically pressed a finger to her mask’s mouth, shushing him noiselessly.

But…

But the tentacles were coming from her back.

“Avery, come quick,” he said.

----------

They peered over his shoulder at the girl and the dog.

“VIRGIL!” they shouted, pushing Bradley to get by, “Virge, I’m so glad to see you, are you alr—“

They noticed the tentacles.

Immediately, they grabbed the one trailing into his muzzle and yanked it as hard as they could.

Emmy shrieked and retracted all four of them.

Virgil clawed his way into a standing position and slinked behind Avery and Bradley, head low as he coughed up droplets of thick, dark blood.

“You,” hissed Avery with a piercing stare which drilled into Emmy, threatening to break her mask. “You’re the bloody Killer, aren’t you?”

“No!” she replied, pushing herself away from the ex-mage.

“You were trying to kill my dog…”

Bradley stared on from a few feet away. The girl's eyes were on him, pleading for help... His index finger hovered beside his visor, ready to swipe it and cut the stream should things get gory. “Avery, we don’t know that.”

“St-stop,” the little girl’s voice was shaking, as if she spoke through tears, “p-please, please don’t kill me, it’s not my fault…”

Avery slammed a fist sideways against the wall, hair falling before both their eyes, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING TO VIGRIL?!”

She was openly bawling, now. “Hiding!! Just hiding! I was hiding from you! D-Don’t hurt me!”

They laughed hysterically, arching their back. “Hiding from me? He’s my dog, why on gods’ clean Earth would you be hiding my dog from me?”

“Avery,” said Bradley, walking forth, squatting, and placing a hand on their shoulder. They swivelled to face him quickly with an expression of sheer ferocity, which softened into fear. They were like a startled animal, their whole body shifting with their fast breaths. “She thinks you’re the Killer. She’s scared. Just like you.”

Helplessly, they glanced from Brad to Emmy, then back again. Their eyes fell upon Virgil a moment - the way his being shook, the blood dripping from his tongue.

They turned back to Emmy.

“You hurt him.”

She sniffled.

“You hurt him a lot.”

“H-he had to be quiet,” she said in a small voice.

Their face twitched again, and they stood.

“We’re going to sit here, and we’re going to wait for the Killer,” they said forcefully (despite their lack of confidence and the sadness and loss weighing on their shoulders), “and it’ll chase us to the button, and we’ll get out.”

“’Button’?” asked Emmy.

“Don’t worry,” they responded bluntly. “It’s not for you.”

----------

There was a clearing amongst the damaged, scattered furniture, so the quartet went and sat there. Emmy stayed as far from Avery as possible – and they were not about to blame her for it. Virgil lay with his head in their lap, and they gently stroked his cheek, trying to calm both him and themself. Bradley sat beside them, leaning against a table, head turned to face them.

“You’re all fucked,” said a donator.

“Thanks for that assessment,” replied Avery.

“Yes,” said Bradley, “thank you, OptimusLime.”

“And I like the name,” said Avery.

…

“Well, seeing as us dying here and now wasn’t part of your plan,” said Bradley, twirling his microphone in the air and catching it after one full rotation, “could we add a new step where I interview you?”

Avery nodded, tugging their cape snugly about their shoulders like a blanket. “I don’t see why not.”

Emmy curled up, resting her head on her forearms. She settled down after some hesitation, supposing Bread would warn her if the Killer acted out.

“Fantastic. Alright, let’s go from the beginning,” said Bradley, holding the microphone out to them. “What are you?”

“Well,” responded Avery, looking down at the dog’s head on their leg, “that’s an interesting question, actually. I was human, but then I got cursed by a powerful witch, and things have changed.” Gripping their pointy ear between a finger and thumb, they waggled it. “These are a tad different – plus I have claws, bigger teeth, white hair and all that.”

“In what sense was it a ‘curse’, then?” asked Bradley.

“Ah. See, in my world, people don’t take too kindly to magic, which is what all this looks like,” they explained, gesturing from their head to their lap where Virgil was wheezing softly. They swallowed, steeling themself, more than a little unnerved by the state of their companion. “But it was good in the end, means I have a sort of… Bond with Virgil. He can understand speech, and he’s ageing more akin to how a human does – health-wise, anyway.”

“A-ha! He did seem a lot smarter than your average mutt. Got any magic yourself?”

“Yes! Well – at the time, no, but later I gained a set of powers after—“ they stopped speaking, their face turning whiter than usual. Gulping, they continued – “uhm, after I was trapped in a freak-show for eight months. I-I can control rocks, now,” they said, pitch raising at the end as though it were a question. “I’d show you, but… ‘Crimson Grin’ doesn’t like me trying.”

“Interesting,” said Bradley, “and a freak-show, you say? Care to go any further into that business?”

The ex-mage sighed deeply. “There isn’t all that much to tell you. I’d been at my lowest for about a year, then someone caught me stealing loaves from a baker, and that was that. Locked up, mocked – I’m a bard by trade, so they made me tell my stories while people pelted me with all sorts of things I don’t care to mention now.”

“You mean to say this right now isn’t your rock bottom?” asked a donator. “That’s—“

The journalist tapped the green visor before his eyes twice quickly, and ignored the comment. “Ouch, I’m sorry to hear that. How’s the road to recovery going?”

Avery looked at him intently. “Did you… Stop the donations on account of that?”

“No,” said Bradley, “just the messages.”

“Isn’t that the main incentive to give? And—and you don’t have your ‘three-D printer’ box, so—“

“I just thought it best to turn them off for now,” he said.

“Wh… Why?”

He looked them in the eye. “Because I want a proper conversation, and one of us will likely be as good as dead soon, anyhow.” He paused. “Please, continue.”

“Right. It’s… Fine, I guess,” said Avery. “I realised a couple of things while I was in that cage, and, uh… Made some… Lifestyle choices…” As Bradley opened his mouth to speak, they hopped in again swiftly – “I won’t make you ask. I’m the villain now.”

“’The villain’?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “What does that entail?”

“Well,” they said, fiddling with Virgil’s ear as they stared at the peeling surface of a wall, trying to organise their thoughts. “Since everything was so mundane all the time, I figured I should… Liven things up. Give people their own stories to tell – lots of them lived vicariously through mine, long ago - I was actually famous across my homeland for them… Th-that aside, though, I do my best to perform small acts of not-quite-malice with negligible lasting damage… That way everyone gets to be the protagonist in their own tales.”

“That’s… Oddly sweet,” said the journalist, tilting his head.

“Thank you,” they replied with a lopsided grin, “thanks, I… I try." The smile faltered. "I think everyone assumes I do it for the glory, or something – the moment you work as an entertainer, from then on you’re just an attention hog, right?” The man rotated his head sideways in a sort of half-nod, acknowledging their point. “But I do my best not to care.”

“Sounds like an intriguing story in its own right, Avery,” said Brad with a kind smile. “And I see why The Narrator brought you here. You’d make one Hell of a protagonist.”

Avery furrowed their brow. “What? No, no – you saw me earlier, I act out. I go too far. The villain thing – it’s hard to draw the line,” they said, speech accelerating, “and it’s almost like an addiction, but I hate myself every time it happens, and I push people away because I don’t expect them to be kind to me, so when they are I don’t know what to do with myself after a while, I need to protect myself, right? Because, I mean, people just tolerate me, usually, apart from a few - I was always just the storyteller, there to make them laugh and then go away, and the few who did stay are gone, and it’s just Virgil, so I trust him but everyone else secretly -- or openly -- hates me because I’m weird and I’m perpetually wrong and I—“

“Slow down, buddy,” said Bradley, “hold your horses. Breathe. That’s it.”

Heeding his advice, they took control of their lungs, drawing greedy breaths of the dusty air.

“I don’t even like horses,” they said with a miniscule laugh.

“Hmm,” pondered the man, scratching his beard, “yeah, I can see that. You don’t strike me as a ‘horses’ kinda guy.”

“No?” questioned Avery, grinning.

“Not one bit.”

…

“Can I ask you something?” asked the young ex-mage.

“Go right ahead.”

“Why d’you think The Narrator brought you here? N-no offence, of course, I just… Don’t know that much about you, so…” Avery let their sentence dwindle into nothingness, and needed not wait long for his response.

“Oh! Funny story: The Narrator didn’t bring me here on purpose.”

“Really?!” Avery perked up, visibly and audibly excited. “How come you’re here at all?”

“I’m here on account of some… Personal business,” he explained, eyes narrowing a fraction.

Emmy stirred a little – she had dozed off, and rolled to face the others.

“An old friend of mine showed up a little less alive than I had known him to be, thrown out of a portal.”

“I had a portal!” shouted Avery – it was a wonder the girl remained asleep, and she winced a bit. “It was white, the whitest white you’ve ever seen, the kind of white that only exists in the realm of the gods – which probably isn’t real, anyway, so it really was a first.”

“Ah,” said Brad, “I guess it was more of a vortex, upon second thought. And instead of bright white, it was pitch black.”

“Sinister,” chimed Avery.

“Mhm – so the body’s there, I check the ID – a card he carried, to prove his identity – sure enough, it’s my friend (though, I might add, he was near unrecognisable)… I take my dimensional transporter, hit the button, and a portal opens up, just as dark as the vortex.” As he stopped to draw breath, Avery interjected.

“G-Gods, Bradley, I’m sorry – I totally skipped over the part where you mentioned your friend passed,” Avery said guiltily.

“It’s fine…” he said, “all in a day’s work. Anyway, I headed through the portal, and I ended up in this place… Think ‘the Void’, but the polar oppo—“

“That’s enough of that.”

Emmy was very much awake.

----------

Description
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“Ah.” Bradley leaned back to look at Avery. “Houston, we have a problem.”

“’Problem’?” asked Avery - “and who’s Houston?”

“Houston’s You-ston. And I can’t see the dog.”

Avery darted out to the room Brad was standing in to look for Virgil, and before he could protest, they had their eyes on the monitor.

They backed away slightly.

“Alright,” said the journalist, “take it easy – we can figure that out later, but for now, we should get on that dog’s trail! Also, keep an eye out for a little girl. Five and a half feet tall or so, pink dress, wears a smiling mask. You can’t miss her – well, that and she’s probably the only living thing in here apart from us and the Killer.”

The pair started walking up the corridor, briefly scanning each room as they passed. Avery did their best not to panic – that would help nobody.

“You say that like there’s a Killer apart from me,” they said while swiftly exiting a block of toilets (the urinals scared them), “but… I don’t think that’s how the story goes. VIRGIL!”

“EMMY? Perhaps it is,” said Brad, “or maybe The Narrator’s just setting that up. You saw the footage in there – those were modern weapons, and I doubt you’d know a gun if it hit you.”

“’Gun’? Is that the one which had all the fire coming out the end of it?” they asked innocently. “Viiiirge, buddy, where are you? I’m starting to worry…”

“No, my friend, that one’s called a flamethrower,” he explained, turning to the stairs.

“Ohh,” they said, jogging to catch up, “that makes sense. I can see that. But, if I’m supposed to be the Killer, and… And I’m not one… Then maybe we’re safe?”

The journalist contemplated this briefly. “Either that, or The Narrator had a backup plan.”

----------

Avery did not like that theory.

Their face twitched.

“If that bastard has done anything to the dog, by the Gods I’ll…” Their voice trailed off. The ex-mage had spoken in a manner quite unlike their usual energetic means of vocalisation, sounding more menacing than they probably seemed capable of.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet,” said Bradley wisely, “otherwise you’re already the Killer and a grade-A idiot.”

They failed to respond.

As they began to descend the steps, Bradley addressed his stream again. One might have anticipated him being lost for words by now, but apparently the guy could talk perpetually.

“What an interesting turn of events! It would seem our omnipresent overseer has made a misjudgment of character, but will he be able to get his story back on the rails?”

Avery stopped walking.

They were at the base of the stairs with their eyes half-shut, clearly concentrating on something.

Bradley looked at them inquisitively. “What’s up?”

“Hold on,” they said, raising a hand to indicate he should stop talking – “j-just a second, but I think…” They fell quiet for a moment.

“Yes, YES!” they practically shouted, shooting down the hallway and opening one of the doors. The room it guarded was enormous compared to the others, littered with tables and short stools, most of which were toppled and broken. “VIRGIL!” they cried, “VIRGE, IT’S ME!”

Bradley ran to join them, pacing to the centre of the room and looking around. “Virgil? Emmy? It’s only us! You can come out now!”

And still, there was nothing.

“I should have brought that light-stick,” growled Avery.

“You mean a flashlight?” asked Brad, “that would have been useful, yeah.”

“Shut it,” they snapped, once again sounding sinister.

He raised both hands in a mock surrender, still smiling. “No need to get snappy, my fine fellow! I’m sure they’re alright… Although, in most horror stories, somebody’s dead by now.”

Avery rounded on him, cape billowing after the motion. “What are you suggesting? Because, I can assure you, Bradley Hunt, things will get a lot harder if you carry on that way.”

“Okay, okay,” said Bradley, “it’s usually one of the 'us' who’s dead, anyway. Why don’t we go back to searching for the others?”

The other put a hand to the bridge of their nose and nodded, appearing tired. “Yes… I reckon that’s for the best… Sorry,” they murmured.

----------

It took ten minutes to find anything. But, eventually, Bradley discovered them both. Virgil, sprawled helplessly on his back, leaning against Emmy.

“…Avery,” said the man.

Was the dog breathing?

His body was tangled in smooth black tentacles, holding his limbs at odd angles, squeezing his neck… One even forced its way inside his mouth and down his throat.

“Yes, Bradley? Have you found anything?”

Emmy frantically pressed a finger to her mask’s mouth, shushing him noiselessly.

But…

But the tentacles were coming from her back.

“Avery, come quick,” he said.

----------

They peered over his shoulder at the girl and the dog.

“VIRGIL!” they shouted, pushing Bradley to get by, “Virge, I’m so glad to see you, are you alr—“

They noticed the tentacles.

Immediately, they grabbed the one trailing into his muzzle and yanked it as hard as they could.

Emmy shrieked and retracted all four of them.

Virgil clawed his way into a standing position and slinked behind Avery and Bradley, head low as he coughed up droplets of thick, dark blood.

“You,” hissed Avery with a piercing stare which drilled into Emmy, threatening to break her mask. “You’re the bloody Killer, aren’t you?”

“No!” she replied, pushing herself away from the ex-mage.

“You were trying to kill my dog…”

Bradley stared on from a few feet away. The girl's eyes were on him, pleading for help... His index finger hovered beside his visor, ready to swipe it and cut the stream should things get gory. “Avery, we don’t know that.”

“St-stop,” the little girl’s voice was shaking, as if she spoke through tears, “p-please, please don’t kill me, it’s not my fault…”

Avery slammed a fist sideways against the wall, hair falling before both their eyes, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING TO VIGRIL?!”

She was openly bawling, now. “Hiding!! Just hiding! I was hiding from you! D-Don’t hurt me!”

They laughed hysterically, arching their back. “Hiding from me? He’s my dog, why on gods’ clean Earth would you be hiding my dog from me?”

“Avery,” said Bradley, walking forth, squatting, and placing a hand on their shoulder. They swivelled to face him quickly with an expression of sheer ferocity, which softened into fear. They were like a startled animal, their whole body shifting with their fast breaths. “She thinks you’re the Killer. She’s scared. Just like you.”

Helplessly, they glanced from Brad to Emmy, then back again. Their eyes fell upon Virgil a moment - the way his being shook, the blood dripping from his tongue.

They turned back to Emmy.

“You hurt him.”

She sniffled.

“You hurt him a lot.”

“H-he had to be quiet,” she said in a small voice.

Their face twitched again, and they stood.

“We’re going to sit here, and we’re going to wait for the Killer,” they said forcefully (despite their lack of confidence and the sadness and loss weighing on their shoulders), “and it’ll chase us to the button, and we’ll get out.”

“’Button’?” asked Emmy.

“Don’t worry,” they responded bluntly. “It’s not for you.”

----------

There was a clearing amongst the damaged, scattered furniture, so the quartet went and sat there. Emmy stayed as far from Avery as possible – and they were not about to blame her for it. Virgil lay with his head in their lap, and they gently stroked his cheek, trying to calm both him and themself. Bradley sat beside them, leaning against a table, head turned to face them.

“You’re all fucked,” said a donator.

“Thanks for that assessment,” replied Avery.

“Yes,” said Bradley, “thank you, OptimusLime.”

“And I like the name,” said Avery.

…

“Well, seeing as us dying here and now wasn’t part of your plan,” said Bradley, twirling his microphone in the air and catching it after one full rotation, “could we add a new step where I interview you?”

Avery nodded, tugging their cape snugly about their shoulders like a blanket. “I don’t see why not.”

Emmy curled up, resting her head on her forearms. She settled down after some hesitation, supposing Bread would warn her if the Killer acted out.

“Fantastic. Alright, let’s go from the beginning,” said Bradley, holding the microphone out to them. “What are you?”

“Well,” responded Avery, looking down at the dog’s head on their leg, “that’s an interesting question, actually. I was human, but then I got cursed by a powerful witch, and things have changed.” Gripping their pointy ear between a finger and thumb, they waggled it. “These are a tad different – plus I have claws, bigger teeth, white hair and all that.”

“In what sense was it a ‘curse’, then?” asked Bradley.

“Ah. See, in my world, people don’t take too kindly to magic, which is what all this looks like,” they explained, gesturing from their head to their lap where Virgil was wheezing softly. They swallowed, steeling themself, more than a little unnerved by the state of their companion. “But it was good in the end, means I have a sort of… Bond with Virgil. He can understand speech, and he’s ageing more akin to how a human does – health-wise, anyway.”

“A-ha! He did seem a lot smarter than your average mutt. Got any magic yourself?”

“Yes! Well – at the time, no, but later I gained a set of powers after—“ they stopped speaking, their face turning whiter than usual. Gulping, they continued – “uhm, after I was trapped in a freak-show for eight months. I-I can control rocks, now,” they said, pitch raising at the end as though it were a question. “I’d show you, but… ‘Crimson Grin’ doesn’t like me trying.”

“Interesting,” said Bradley, “and a freak-show, you say? Care to go any further into that business?”

The ex-mage sighed deeply. “There isn’t all that much to tell you. I’d been at my lowest for about a year, then someone caught me stealing loaves from a baker, and that was that. Locked up, mocked – I’m a bard by trade, so they made me tell my stories while people pelted me with all sorts of things I don’t care to mention now.”

“You mean to say this right now isn’t your rock bottom?” asked a donator. “That’s—“

The journalist tapped the green visor before his eyes twice quickly, and ignored the comment. “Ouch, I’m sorry to hear that. How’s the road to recovery going?”

Avery looked at him intently. “Did you… Stop the donations on account of that?”

“No,” said Bradley, “just the messages.”

“Isn’t that the main incentive to give? And—and you don’t have your ‘three-D printer’ box, so—“

“I just thought it best to turn them off for now,” he said.

“Wh… Why?”

He looked them in the eye. “Because I want a proper conversation, and one of us will likely be as good as dead soon, anyhow.” He paused. “Please, continue.”

“Right. It’s… Fine, I guess,” said Avery. “I realised a couple of things while I was in that cage, and, uh… Made some… Lifestyle choices…” As Bradley opened his mouth to speak, they hopped in again swiftly – “I won’t make you ask. I’m the villain now.”

“’The villain’?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “What does that entail?”

“Well,” they said, fiddling with Virgil’s ear as they stared at the peeling surface of a wall, trying to organise their thoughts. “Since everything was so mundane all the time, I figured I should… Liven things up. Give people their own stories to tell – lots of them lived vicariously through mine, long ago - I was actually famous across my homeland for them… Th-that aside, though, I do my best to perform small acts of not-quite-malice with negligible lasting damage… That way everyone gets to be the protagonist in their own tales.”

“That’s… Oddly sweet,” said the journalist, tilting his head.

“Thank you,” they replied with a lopsided grin, “thanks, I… I try." The smile faltered. "I think everyone assumes I do it for the glory, or something – the moment you work as an entertainer, from then on you’re just an attention hog, right?” The man rotated his head sideways in a sort of half-nod, acknowledging their point. “But I do my best not to care.”

“Sounds like an intriguing story in its own right, Avery,” said Brad with a kind smile. “And I see why The Narrator brought you here. You’d make one Hell of a protagonist.”

Avery furrowed their brow. “What? No, no – you saw me earlier, I act out. I go too far. The villain thing – it’s hard to draw the line,” they said, speech accelerating, “and it’s almost like an addiction, but I hate myself every time it happens, and I push people away because I don’t expect them to be kind to me, so when they are I don’t know what to do with myself after a while, I need to protect myself, right? Because, I mean, people just tolerate me, usually, apart from a few - I was always just the storyteller, there to make them laugh and then go away, and the few who did stay are gone, and it’s just Virgil, so I trust him but everyone else secretly -- or openly -- hates me because I’m weird and I’m perpetually wrong and I—“

“Slow down, buddy,” said Bradley, “hold your horses. Breathe. That’s it.”

Heeding his advice, they took control of their lungs, drawing greedy breaths of the dusty air.

“I don’t even like horses,” they said with a miniscule laugh.

“Hmm,” pondered the man, scratching his beard, “yeah, I can see that. You don’t strike me as a ‘horses’ kinda guy.”

“No?” questioned Avery, grinning.

“Not one bit.”

…

“Can I ask you something?” asked the young ex-mage.

“Go right ahead.”

“Why d’you think The Narrator brought you here? N-no offence, of course, I just… Don’t know that much about you, so…” Avery let their sentence dwindle into nothingness, and needed not wait long for his response.

“Oh! Funny story: The Narrator didn’t bring me here on purpose.”

“Really?!” Avery perked up, visibly and audibly excited. “How come you’re here at all?”

“I’m here on account of some… Personal business,” he explained, eyes narrowing a fraction.

Emmy stirred a little – she had dozed off, and rolled to face the others.

“An old friend of mine showed up a little less alive than I had known him to be, thrown out of a portal.”

“I had a portal!” shouted Avery – it was a wonder the girl remained asleep, and she winced a bit. “It was white, the whitest white you’ve ever seen, the kind of white that only exists in the realm of the gods – which probably isn’t real, anyway, so it really was a first.”

“Ah,” said Brad, “I guess it was more of a vortex, upon second thought. And instead of bright white, it was pitch black.”

“Sinister,” chimed Avery.

“Mhm – so the body’s there, I check the ID – a card he carried, to prove his identity – sure enough, it’s my friend (though, I might add, he was near unrecognisable)… I take my dimensional transporter, hit the button, and a portal opens up, just as dark as the vortex.” As he stopped to draw breath, Avery interjected.

“G-Gods, Bradley, I’m sorry – I totally skipped over the part where you mentioned your friend passed,” Avery said guiltily.

“It’s fine…” he said, “all in a day’s work. Anyway, I headed through the portal, and I ended up in this place… Think ‘the Void’, but the polar oppo—“

“That’s enough of that.”

Emmy was very much awake.

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