#dirk patrick

“With the robots?”

“No...well yes but that came later. Story for another day.” he adds as he sees curiosity spark in the detective’s eyes. “I mean I literally made friends from the random crap I found lying around.”

“That sounds...creative.” It’s clear that Dirk is trying to find something positive to say, and he’s obviously reaching. Still it’s nice to not have the brown-haired human he’s talking to shut him down immediately.

Mare shrugs. “I had my moments.”

He’d always been good at making things into other things. Sure it was mostly in an imaginary capacity, but who knows, maybe one day he’d have been a sculptor, or an architect. Anything could have been possible.

“Let’s see,” Mare taps at his chin as he casts his mind back, trying to remember his old friends. “There was Mr Hugs, he was a vacuum cleaner, Bucket Bob, Pan Stan, Mr Can-do, and good ol’ No. 1 Crate.” With the last one, Mare raises one hand, giving a very cheesy finger gun at Dirk, before rolling his eyes and lowering his hand again. “It was lame.”

“Sounds adorable.”

“Well it was a tragedy.” Mare corrects him, “I was a sad, lonely little kid and it never should have happened.”

Mare tries to do his best to look on the bright side, but he was still a kid, dead, alone, murderered and slowly going insane trapped in a space where his killer constantly kept coming back. As much as it disgusts him, if the other kids hadn’t shown up when they did, he may well have still been there when the place burned down.

Dirk stares at the spirit, taking in his cavalier attitude and surprising level of candor. It’s kind of surprising that Natemare is being so open. As he realises the truth, he chuckles.

“You’re only telling me that because no one can see me.”

“My point is,” Mare says way louder than he probably has to, doing his best to drown out Dirk’s accurate assessment, “death crazies pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Please,” Mare scoffs, “If you’re anything like Mad then you’ll-”

“Lucas.”

“What?”

“My brother’s name,” Dirk nods towards the bed, crossing his arms and glaring at Mare quite firmly,  “is Lucas.”

Yeah, Mare had heard that. He’d had a good laugh about it too because honestly he couldn’t imagine a less appropriate name for his best friend. Still, as he looks at the underlying current of Patrick stubbornness burning beneath the surface of Dirk’s face, Mare makes the wise decision to not say that out loud.

“If I call him that,” Mare gently smirks, nodding to the bed, “he’ll exorcise me.”

There’s a knock on the door before it swings open.

“Whaaaaaaat?” Mare groans as he turns to the doorway. Can’t these asses leave him alone for five fucking minutes?

One of the new guys leans against the doorway, he hasn’t bothered to ask their names yet. It’s one of the ones who shares his face, the one wearing the blue shirt. This stranger is a few inches taller than him, a touch leaner and definitely looks a good few years older, not that Mare even cares.

“We’re having a meeting.” the stranger says.

Mare scowls at him. “I’ve just been at a damn meeting.”

“That was their meeting. This is ours.”

Mare squints. “Whose?”

“If you turn up, you’ll find out.” the stranger smirks and leaves.

“Dirk.” Mare grumbles.

“Go,” Dirk nods, “I got him.”

This wasn’t what she wanted.

There have been so many deaths tonight. It’s nothing new. Death has this annoying habit of literally following her around, an unfortunate price of the road she walks. She knew very few people would escape this night, but Dirk was different. He was smarter than most of the other sheep led into this slaughter. Sure he was compassionate and caring, but beneath the surface there burned a fire that so few of humanity carry around any more. A willingness to fight tooth and nail for what he believed in. To die for it.

Safiya loosens her grip, straightening up. Her face is still as marble, and she exudes a terrifying level of calm as she turns without a word to Calliope, raising her blood-stained fingers towards the bitch. Within her eyes burns a rage unbridled, fingers twitching, gripping seemingly at nothing. Calliope starts to choke, seemingly on  nothing.

The arm raises and so does the woman, feet dangling, airway closing.  Safiya merely watches, as though she’s done this a thousand times before. The life of this creature means nothing, and ending it will bring no closure, but still, it no longer deserves to breathe.

“Always with the rage.” Says a calm familiar voice behind her.

It’s one she knows, though it’s not enough to draw her focus until Calliope stops twitching. The body drops and Safiya turns.

A soft-faced gentleman with short brown hair, round black-rimmed glasses and a brown cardigan over a white shirt and pink tie stands a short distance away. He regards her with a solemn sadness, though even now a slight smile tugs at  his lips.

“Emile.” she greets him. “What an unwarranted surprise.”

“I thought you were looking for Henrik?” he tilts his head with that insufferable kicked puppy dog look he always wears. She ignores it though, glancing to the air around them

“Does that mean she’s here?”

Lady Fate. Judgemental bitch. Floats around like nothing can touch her. Like she’s so much better than the rest of existence. They say hate is a strong word, but for Safiya when it comes to the Lady, it’s not strong enough.

“Something came up. It’s just us.”

Safiya looks to Emile. It’s been a while, a couple of decades at least, since they last shared the same space. Back in the good old days when the four of them worked together in relative harmony. An impossible feat these days, what with Henrik’s disappearance and the oncoming dangers.

“How did you find this place?”

“This little polyp of greed, and death? We’ve known about it for years.” Emile looks almost impressed as he glances at the world around them. “A single frozen second of time stretched out like a rubber band to span months creating an almost unending moment of non-time in a temporary pocket universe.” he smiles, “Sometimes the mortals really are quite remarkable.

“You’re a bit late.” she gestures to the bodies behind her.

Emile shakes his head. “I’m not here to intervene.”

Of course not. There’s a time and place for things like that. Very specific times that are never clearly explained. Far more important things to focus on like the balance that doesn’t exist, and other bullshit like that. There’s a reason Safiya doesn’t listen to the Universe. Often, it acts like it’s drunk.

“Then why are you here?”

“There’s a new Deity,” he holds his arms to his side, “and I’m the Welcome Wagon.”

“Oh?” Safiya scoffs. “I didn’t realise one of your kids was here.”

“Oof.” Emile holds a hand to his chest and pretends to wince. “That one hurt.”

Safiya raises her hand and shoos at him.

“Go on. Welcome your precious little Deity. None of them will be any help in the end. I’ll just grab what I came here for and get back to looking for Henrik.”

“We know about your army.” he calls out as she turns to leave. “And you can’t take the ink grunt.”

“Says the Lady?” she calls over her shoulder.

“The Universe has a plan.”

“The Universe always has a plan, Emile.” Safiya walks to Calliope’s body and proceeds to pat her down. You never know. Joey isn’t a complete and utter moron. It’s likely there may be something valuable on the gypsy woman’s corpse. “Usually something cryptic and convoluted that it never tells us. We’re supposed to maintain balance and it keeps secrets. I bet,” she pauses, raising a finger to jab in Emile’s direction, “the universe already knows where Henrik is and just isn’t telling us. Instead lining up the dominoes to fall at just the right moment, while we’re running out of time.” Nothing. Maybe she overestimated the blond bimbo. She stands and glares at Emile. “And you can’t stop me.”

“The ink grunt is the Deity’s challenge.”

That stops her in her tracks.

Every Deity, every single one since the dawn of the early eons to the last ever syllable of recorded time must face a test of adversity. A dilemma that prompts a decision that will guide them into their role, or remove them from the path forever. A decree from the Universe itself. No one, not even Lady Fate can change that path. If Emile isn’t lying, and she’s never known him to, then the ink grunt is beyond her grasp.

“Come back to us, Safiya.” Emile steps forward, purposefully avoiding the bodies, a hand reached out towards her, “We can work together to find Henrik, and-”

“I’m doing my job,” Safiya isn’t crying. She isn’t some bratty teenage girl who’s been told she can’t go to the dance. She’s not some weak little bitch who needs validation. She isn’t crying. She isn’t! Safiya steps away and glares at Emile. “Like you should be.” That fatherly tone may win over everyone else, but Safiya is not some basic bitch mortal who can be coddled by some loving father act. “I hope your son does it better.”

Emile frowns in confusion. “What do yo-?”

The air crackles and pops, Emile’s entire body convulsing as vibrant chaotic pink sparks dance and jitter across his entire body, burning and scarring as it goes. Just as you think it might stop, it goes on, dragging on for minutes before it stops and Emile finally drops to the floor. Dead.

A person stands over him. A striped long sleeved undershirt, half covering their extended hands, hooked over their thumb, beneath a bright yellow set of dungarees with each pocket topped by a thick black line. The weird outfit is finished with a neon pink crop hoodie, the hood of which is pulled half-way over their curly brown hair. Yet none of this outfit comes near to the level of creepy that their bright, wide unnatural smile does. It strains at the edges of their mouth, almost as though it’s about to split their face in half, and the longer you look, the less it seems that the smile reaches the bright pink irises.

“There. Wasn’t that fun?” Bending down, they gently jab the body in the ribs. Straightening up, they spin in a complete circle, dusting their hands off. “And the job is done.”

“Smiler.” Safiya barks.

The unnatural smile turns to the Investigative Journalist, eager and awaiting instruction, and looking even creepier opposite the obvious anger.

“Search for survivors,” Safiya gestures to the town, “Avoid anyone near the Deity. Understand?”

“Got it boss.” Smiler gives a huge wink and enthusiastic finger guns before dashing away, still smiling. Recruitment is always the best part of the job.

Safiya steels herself as she watches Smiler run. This may not be how things were supposed to go, but she’s nothing if she’s not resourceful. It may be a set-back, but there’s much still for her to do.

Progress has been slow and Dirk’s learned far more about his brother than about being dead. Like the fact he lives in a condemned warehouse, or that all of his friends apparently hate him, or that he was known as a Madman long before he ever reached Everlock. Pretty much everything Dirk’s borne witness to so far has been somewhat of a wake-up call, and nothing more so than Lucas’s collapse.

For a brief second, as he saw his brother drop to the ground, Dirk felt panic. Short, sharp, like a stab to the chest. Nothing had come of that moment but it’s the first thing he’d felt since his death, and it’s all he can feel right now.

In a dark room that unfortunately seems likely to be his brother’s bedroom, Dirk is pacing back and forth, watching over the unmoving form of his brother laid out on a poor excuse of a single bed. The panic isn’t currently sharp or choking, more like a steady undercurrent of anxiety sitting low in his chest and despite the unpleasantness of it, the fact he’s feeling anything is kind of a relief.

The doctor and the blind man had spent a long time looking over Lucas but now they were gone and the last twenty minutes have been Dirk speaking aloud nearly every thought that passes through his head. No one can hear him, Natemare’s with the group. Apparently they’re deciding what to do with the mechanical man, which leaves the dead man alone and unseen in the room with his unconscious brother.

“You know,” Dirk eventually offers, “I think that blind man could see me.”

There’s no response, but he’s starting to get used to the silence.

“I know, I know,” he answers, waving a hand dismissively at the imagined response, “But I swear, he kept looking at me.”

Not untrue, the Host having repeatedly glanced over to the corner which Dirk had retreated to during the assessment. Except he obviously didn’t see anything. For one, he’s blind, and for two, he’s living. Still, the ever inquisitiveness of Dirk’s mind coupled with the tingle of anxiety coursing through him helps to mould a mystery out of the mayhem.

His pacing stops and he turns, frowning at his brother. “Well you’re the idiot who lives in a warehouse.”

Still nothing, but Dirk frowns, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

“I’m not responsible for your poor life choices.”

Silence.

“Well that’s hardly my fault I-”

“You’re doing it again.” Natemare is suddenly stood beside him, also watching Lucas, face surprisingly calm. The meeting must be over.

“I am not.” Dirk protests, gesturing to his brother, “Lucas is the one….on the bed...unconscious… Ah.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Natemare places a reassuring hand on the detective’s shoulder as Dirk tries not to face palm, “the death crazies hit everyone weird.”

And he should, after all how much of his brother is left in there? Sharp taloned fingers, both arms, both eyes, his hair, nearly every visible part of him is this slick shiny black. All that remains is the majority of the left side of his face. Dirk raises the revolver, squaring it up to shoot at Lucas’s chest.

It would almost be a mercy wouldn’t it? Releasing his brother from the sickness that’s consuming him? I mean he looks like a monster, and it’s taken a while, but now Dirk sees that unmistakable sheen to the blackness that covers him. The kind of sheen you only really see on ink…. Lucas is sick, and Dirk knows where it came from.

Still, seconds tick by, and he just can’t squeeze the trigger.

Lucas has noticed by now, tossing his own key aside and raising his arms to his sides in a show of surrender, though the scowl on his face never leaves. He’s probably figured out what’s going on.

“Come on then!”

This game started with how many people? Twenty? Thirty? He can’t remember any more, the night dragging on forever, the pain and the loss all blurring together in an unending stream of hurt and suffering. His sanity has only survived this long by simply washing his hands of what’s happened. He’s not the one who’s killed these people. It’s the game! It’s the monsters! They’re the one who put them in here! It’s all their fault! Not his!

Except….

How hard has he fought to try and keep people alive? How many people did he allow to walk to their possible deaths knowing one of them won’t come back? Dirk has had so many chances, so many chances, to stop this, or at least to try, and he never has. Not once. The only difference is this time, they’ve literally put the trigger in his hand.

“COWARD!”

Dirk’s aim wavers. Can he do this? Can he actually shoot and kill someone? Does life really mean so little to him? ….No. Someone has to draw the line. Someone has to say ‘Enough is enough’ and at this point, he’s the only one who can. He lowers the gun, closing his eyes as he lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“What are you doing?” 

“I won’t do this.” He tosses the gun aside. It clatters to the floor and lays there. He won’t use it. “I won’t be a part of this sick game any more.”

Lucas points a clawed finger across at him, anger peeling off him as he shouts, “You know killing me is the right choice!”

Dirk shakes his head. “I don’t know that.”

“They’ll kill you if you don’t!”

If Dirk didn’t know any better, he might think his brother sounded desperate, but even so, the Detective shrugs, “Then I guess it’s my turn to die.”

Lucas screams, a loud human, gutteral scream of frustration. He’s supposed to be smart! This is the only option! The game makers aren’t going to let them create a third one! If they don’t play by the rules, then Dirk is going to die and, with Liza’s screams echoing in his head, Lucas refuses to let that happen.

“Then I have one thing to say...” The two of them stare at each other across the chaos, Dirk determined, Lucas angry. This is not going to end well. “Activate Protocol 12.”

“….what?”

Lucas launches himself across the arena, Dirk barely having time to react. They collide with a horrid thud, falling to the ground. Talons slash, over and over, cutting and tearing at the Detective’s leather jacket. His cries are more from shock than actual pain. When the flailing stops, Lucas has the upper hand, pinning his brother to the floor, one hand around Dirk’s neck, the Detective’s fingers trying to hold them from just breaking his neck. Everyone watches with bated breath as a clawed hand raises, priming to strike, to tear out the Detective’s stomach when-

BANG

Lucas drops, a dead weight on top of the Detective. The grip on his neck loosens and Dirk turns to see Lucas’s droid inside the arena, the discarded gun in his hands, smoking barrel pointed at the two of them.

“What are you-?”

BANG

BANG

BANG

The weight on top of him shakes with each impact and Dirk flinches, amazed that none of the bullets hit him but still staring in shock, completely at a loss.

Gun still raised, the droid strides over, using its foot to kick the slumped form off the Detective, keeping the weapon trained on him as it bends down and drags Dirk to his feet.

Dirk grips at the hand on his shoulder, feet scrabbling as he stands, stepping back, mind gripped by shock as he stares at the body on the floor. Lucas doesn’t move. He doesn’t shift or shake, doesn’t breathe or even twitch. He’s dead.

“You killed him.”

“Trust me,” the droid turns him around so Dirk can’t see any more, hand still gripping tightly. It doesn’t trust the boy to stay back from the ‘body’, so it will hold on until they leave this place in the dust, and the sooner the better, “he’s not dead.”

“Not dead? You shot him!” Dirk tries to pry the droid’s fingers from his jacket but it’s pointless, and they continue to leave the arena.

“Well you weren’t going to.” The droid’s voice sounds smoother than Dirk remembers, more human. There is definite snark in there that wasn’t there before, and that scowl has to be something it learned from Lucas because to this point, it’s done nothing but smile.

The rest of the remaining group are scattered throughout the room, scouring through every item they can in a desperate search for the final piece that Calliope has tasked them with finding. The aim is to find the pieces that will allow them to fix the droid, but this small, black gear is impossible to find and they’re running out of time.

It’s unspoken but understood by everyone that if they don’t find this piece, then Lucas is probably going to die. Not that the infected man seems bothered by this, his attention completely consumed by the robot, watching it with an eagle eye and yelling to the others that they need to fix it. Of course Dirk’s brother is more concerned with the machine than his own safety.

As he circles the room, the Detective repeatedly glances between the doppelganger droid and his brother. It doesn’t take too much of a stretch to guess that machine-mad Lucas probably made it. As for why it looks like them, well that’s not something he really wants to dwell on.

“You are out of time.” Calliope calls out and everyone turns. She has spent the time quietly circling the room, collecting the items as the team bring them to her, holding them safely in her hands. As the others gather, their faces are solemn, angered at being unable to find the final part. Meanwhile, Calliope moves towards Lucas, plucking a key from a nearby shelf before unlocking the handcuff that restrains him.

Everyone watches in silent confusion as the Madman glares with his black empty eyes at the gypsy, rubbing absently at his wrist until she nods gesturing across the room. He doesn’t need telling twice and all but launches himself across the room, sliding to a stop on his knees beside the droid. Joey, the Savant, has to leap out the way to avoid getting knocked aside as Lucas dashes past.

The others soon start to fight, arguing back and forth, throwing around the finger of blame like it’s going to explode in their face at any moment. Dirk’s attention though is focused on his brother as he steps closer.

Over the years he’s always been mildly fascinated by his brother’s works. The various machines that he would make, or take apart. Just what was it about them? What was the appeal? How did he approach it? Lucas has always been kind of secretive so growing up he’d never really had a chance to watch and this is an opportunity too rare to pass up.

Panicked hands quickly pass over the chassis, carefully pull it together before reaching to grab something from a nearby workbench. Each movement is clearly calculated, no motion wasted, though he’s clearly frantic, fingers shaking, continually muttering to himself, though Dirk can’t hear a word he says. Once in a while something slips from his fingers, but it doesn’t discourage him, picking it up and continuing as though it never happened. It’s probably the calmest, and most in control he’s seen his brother in a good number of years.

Lucas stretches for something nearby, but it’s just out of reach, still the Madman strains. Without thinking, Dirk steps over and picks it up holding it out for his brother to take. They lock eyes and Lucas stares at him a moment, honestly looking kind of monstrous with his clawed fingers and eyes, still he carefully takes the item from his brother.

It continues on like this, Lucas describing a part as best he can, voice angry but muted, clearly struggling to hold it together while Dirk will fetch it for him. Within five minutes, the Madman is carefully reattaching the arm and must flick a switch or something because suddenly life sparks within the droid’s dead eyes, the cold brown quickly becoming warm as it blinks up at them.

Looking between the two brothers, the droid frowns.

“This can’t be good.” it comments, eyes flitting to Lucas before sitting up. “Mad?”

Dirk frowns, glancing to his brother. “Mad?”

“Damage assessment.” Lucas instructs.

The droid closes its eyes, its head tilting slightly. “Nothing structurally, minimal software corruption.” It opens its eyes again and levels a familiar glare at Lucas. “Where’s Mare?”

“This is-” Dirk gently shakes his head, honestly not sure how to react to anything at this point, but then something clicks and he swings around to look to the others. “Wait.”

Across the room, beyond the others still bickering, Calliope still stands, hands calmly folded and still clasping the items they’d gathered. Dirk hadn’t needed to go to her for a single thing.

“Quiet!” Leaping to his feet, his shout silences the others as they turn to him in confusion. “This wasn’t a normal game.”

“What?” Safiya, the Investigative Reporter, glances between them.

“We didn’t find the last piece, so the droid should be unfixable.” Dirk gestures over his shoulder to the functioning droid. “But we didn’t even need those parts. So what were we even doing?”

“Very observant, Detective.” Calliope congratulates him, giving a sly smile as she carefully places the items in her hand on a nearby table. “This was a trap. To catch the saboteur.”

Shane, the Rogue, steps towards the gypsy, a face like thunder. “Wait, someone’s screwing with the game?”

“Of course there are no cameras in Everlock, so we had to bring in a little outside help.” she gestures towards the droid. Lucas has managed to climb to his feet, clawed black hand curled protectively as he purposefully places himself firmly in front of the robot.

“I don’t much appreciate people messing with my property.” he almost growls.

Calliope ignores the barely veiled threat and instead addresses the droid directly.

“Galileo. Who has the final piece?”

The droid has one hand on the Madman’s shoulder, as though it intends to hold him back, though none of them think it would have the strength to do it. At the request it glances to Lucas, who’s a bit hyperfocused on the gypsy.

“Mad?” It asks.

Barely turning to glance over his shoulder, Lucas gives a slight nod and the droid raises his hand and points. Everyone holds their breath in that moment, time seeming to run slow as the finger draws upwards, crossing through the air before coming to rest….

On the Explorer.

“She has the gear in her pocket.” the droid says.

Everyone turns

“Liza?” Joey asks, putting out an arm to stop Shane who steps forward, anger on his face.

The Explorer looks between them, her face becoming stony as she takes a step back from them “I did what I thought I had to.”

“By messing with the game?” Shane practically spits the words out and tries again to step forward, but Joey turns and forces him back muttering to him.

Safiya speaks up. “You know, someone could have died.”

“That’s probably what she was going for.” The droid has managed to gently push Lucas to one side, and keeps one hand on his shoulder. “I’ve only been active about five minutes but from what I can gather, she most likely intended for someone to suffer permanent consequences for the task’s failure.

“She’s voted for me in the last four death challenges.” Lucas comments.

“That’s supposed to be private.” Liza’s fists are clenched at her sides in anger as she glares at him.

“Then maybe you should try not being obvious.”

“Look at him!” Liza blurts, desperately looking between the others. “Look at what is happening to him! As long as he’s in the game, none of us are safe! He-!”

Flames burst into life around her and Liza’s words are lost in a soul-twisting scream of agony while the others leap away. She writhes and twists as though held in place as they cruelly lash at her, rising high around her before finally extinguishing, allowing the Explorer’s charred corpse to fall to the ground.

Behind her, Calliope stands, hand raised to where Liza had been stood, a stern look on her face.

“Obey the rules and you may survive..” There is no room for questions in her tone. It’s not up for debate.

Nobody says a word. They stand in shocked silence until Calliope leads them out.

There are five of them left. Well five, and one droid. Is the droid now in the game? Lucas has this look that says it’s not going to happen. Either way, the numbers are low, and though it’s been a long night, the risk suddenly feels that more real. How many of them are even going to survive? Is this going to be last man standing?

This vote isn’t like the others. They’re not voting for someone to die, they’re voting for who is going to keep the rest of them alive. Even so it’s not easy to keep the underlying angers, grudges, and annoyance from their minds as they each cast their vote.

The Savant is the first to be drawn, definitely uneasy and not sure whether to feel relieved that he has no chance of dying, or afraid that he has so many lives resting in his hands.

No one is surprised as Calliope raises the Madman’s card, a perfect recreation of Lucas’s face, right down to the aggravated black lines across his skin. Everyone, save for his brother is honestly a little afraid of him. Why is he in this game? How can he care so little about the consequences? You’d be hard pressed to find someone who would find it a shame were he to die.

Dirk stares at his brother, trying to get a read on him, but there’s nothing but stoic annoyance on the idiot’s face. It takes quite a shove from Ro to finally get Dirk’s attention, the Jet-Setter raising her eyebrows and very not-subtley inclining her head at Lucas.

The two of them had had a brief talk earlier, away from the rest of the group. A quiet discussion in which she heavily implied that Lucas is not being entirely truthful about something and maybe Dirk should try and get it out of him. No doubt she thinks this might be the perfect opportunity for the two of them to talk.

“Wait,” The Detective steps forward, a hand raised, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “I volunteer to take Joey’s place.”

“You can’t do that.” Liza says sternly, honestly just wanting to go through that door and back again. The sooner this starts, the sooner it will be over.

“I don’t mind!” Joey interjects, and everyone turns to Calliope.

She glances between them all, pausing before saying, “If everyone agrees.”

Before the group has a chance to devolve into chaotic arguments that just waste time they probably don’t have, Dirk raises his hands and speaks firmly and confidently.

“Has anyone heard of the single-soul theory?”

The general confusion would suggest the answer is probably no, though Safiya gets a curious look on her face. Not surprising; of the group, she’s the one Dirk would expect to have at least heard of it. But the only response he’s watching for is his brother’s

You can practically hear the cogs turn as the unspoken message is received and Lucas shrugs.

“I say we let him do it.”

The twins each step up to one of the stones, able to see over them to the other side while the group stands in nervous anticipation between them. Nobody trusts the apparent simplicity of this task, there’s probably something very sinister at work here but there’s no time to dwell.

“Blue, red, green, green.” Lucas calls out the first code and Dirk punches it in on his stone.

The doors swing wide, neither of the twins able to see through it from their standpoint, only able to watch as the group walks through.

“Green, blue, yellow, red.” Dirk calls back.

Time passes, both of them losing track of it as they continue to put in the codes. The air between them is tense and awkward but they’re used to it by now.

Lucas is the one to break the silence.

“I didn’t think you believed in the single-soul theory.”

A widely speculated but mostly unsubstantiated theory that twins are born as a single soul shared between two bodies. As they grow, they become more individual while managing to maintain a mental and spiritual closeness that is unobserved in the rest of the population.

“Neither of us has said a single color in the last five minutes,” Dirk points out, “yet we haven’t missed a code.”

He would hardly call himself a believer of the theory, but he’s more of a skeptic than a naysayer. Maybe when they were younger, when they did everything together, and people struggled to tell them apart, he would have believed it but when they were about twelve years old, something changed. Dirk had assumed it was something to do with puberty, or maybe there was something in their environment, but Lucas started to push him away. He started to push everyone away no matter how hard they tried to reach him, and after what happened at Drew Studios, everything just fell to Heck.

Reaching across he presses the yellow button, then green, then the blue twice, his hand guided by instinct. After a moment, his lights blink out a new sequence; the code was correct. Yeah, there’s definitely something here.

“Why did you really volunteer?” Lucas asks as he puts in the next code, unprompted.

“Ro said you keep getting this look,”

“What look?”

“Like you’re hiding something.”

“Ah. So you want to keep an eye on me.”

Dirk glances up at his brother. Lucas is skinny, clearly unwell, his hair’s all over the place and even beyond that he has an air of scruffiness about him. Though the guy has been AWOL for the last few years, and Dirk won’t even pretend to know what happened to him, he can see that Ro was right. There’s just….something this guy isn’t saying.

“What I want is to help you.”

The laugh Lucas gives is hollow and almost makes Dirk want to punch him. “I’m beyond your help, little brother.”

Dirk scowls. “You’re the little brother.”

A shriek beyond the door, snaps both their attention to it.

“Was that-?”

“Dirk, what’s the code?”

Whatever link they may have had before is broken, the Madman staring blankly at the lights, blindly reaching for the instinct that had been driving him before, but grasping at nothing. His anxiety quickly spikes. Dirk is distracted, oblivious, staring at the door.

“Dirk!” Lucas snaps, finally getting his brother’s attention long enough to look at the code.

“Yellow, red, bl-” he starts.

A high-pitched scream sounds from beyond and that’s it. The Detective slams his hand on top of the stone, easily vaulting it in one leap and rushing for the door. As he passes just through the arch, a loud gong sounds. They’ve missed a code.

He skids to a stop as the doors slightly close in on him, just barely past the arch, hearing Lucas shouting obscenities but it’s too late at this point, the only thing they can do is make sure the others make it through the door in time.

Beyond the door is an empty grey hallway that turns off a short way down the path, filled with a foul stench that the Detective would rather not identify, though it’s strong enough to topple an army. If he were to guess, this hallway is near the heart of the Demon’s Keep and the group can’t be that far away.

Dirk cups his hands round his mouth and shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls. Within less than a minute, Safiya, Alex, and Liza speed into view, all of them passing Dirk without a second thought as he continues to call out. Shane isn’t far behind, carrying the artefact, only stopping for a second as Dirk grabs a hold of his arm.

“Where’s Ro?”

“I don’t know,” Shane gasps, not really comfortable being stopped so close to being on the good side of the door, “She was with Joey.” With that the Renegade pulls out his grip and runs through the door.

Another gong sound and the doors close a little more again. There’s just barely enough room for a person to pass through at this point, and after the next one, the doors will close.

That’s all the motivation he needs, ready to dash forward and carry the others back to the door if he has to. Before he can even take a step, firm and desperate fingers grasp tightly to the Detective’s wrist, holding fast and not allowing him to move even slightly.

Lucas, having slid through the small gap in the doors has a tight hold of his brother and tries to drag him back through. There’s no reason for all of them to die.

“Let me go!” The Detective rages, twisting and turning in an attempt to break free. He’s sick of all this death. Is it too much to want to finish one game with every single person still breathing? Is that such a crime! Is that such a bad thing! But Lucas is nothing if not stubborn, holding tight and refusing to let go. Of course it’s beyond his understanding. Why would a murderer understand!

‘What happened to murderer?’

Dirk’s struggle stumbles as he realises what he’s just thought, unintentionally proving his brother’s distrust of him right. Lucas takes full advantage of it, bending to throw the Detective over his shoulder and just barely managing to squeeze them both through the barely open doorway, just as the final gong sounds. The doors thud shut behind them.

Everyone is gasping as Dirk is thrown to the floor, each of them shaking with adrenaline and fear, none of them okay with what they’ve just lived through.

“I’m sorry.” They all jump, having forgotten Calliope was still there, turning to her with looks of utter heartbreak. “The Jet-Setter did not make it.”

Joey steps from beside the door, clearly shaken and afraid. He must have slipped by while the brothers were fighting.

Dirk’s movements are slow as he pushes himself to stand again, chest awash with a hateful mix of confusion and anger. She didn’t deserve this! She didn’t deserve to be left behind! If Lucas would have just-

A loud -SMACK- splits the air as the Madman’s hand slaps the Detective across the face. A hand raised to his reddened cheek, Dirk stares in shock as his brother begins to scream at him.

“I needed the fucking code!” the pure rage pushes everyone but Dirk away. “And why did you run in-”

Words devolve into heavy coughing, Lucas seemingly choking on his own anger as he screams, only the words aren’t continuing and the coughing only gets worse.

A hand against Dirk’s chest shoves him back as the Madman bends double practically hacking his lungs inside out while he attempts to drag any amount of breathable air into them.

When he straightens up, his right eye is almost completely black, while the veins that litter his already too pale skin have stretched even further across it.

Everyone stares, none of them sure of how to process whatever it is they’ve just witnessed. As Lucas looks over them all, they step back, a predatory look in his eyes and a shiver running down their backs. Only the Detective stands firm, meeting his brother’s stern glare with his own look of determination.

“We should leave.” Lucas growls, a strange and honestly terrifying gutteral tone to his voice that none of them have heard before. With a scowl, the Madman steps forward, around his brother, striding angrily towards the others who part before him like the red sea.

Once he’s gone, the strange oppressive feeling they hadn’t noticed in the last few minutes is suddenly gone and they all share worried looks.