The alleyway he traversed was dark and uninhabited, and unlike his prior excursion the night sky was overcast, so there was no moon to give him away. All the same, Antauri tried to stick close to the shadows and generally be as unobtrusive as possible.

Mandarin had contacted him the evening after Sprx and Gibson woke up by radioing his private comm directly, which had taken him by surprise, somewhat. To be fair, he hadn't really known what Mandarin had meant when he'd said he'd "be in touch," nor had he really considered it, given how chaotic everything later became. Moreover, in addition to other system changes made after Mandarin had been deposed, the entire Team had changed their personal communication frequency. And Antauri knew for a fact that Mandarin's comm had since been damaged (though, again, to be fair he had no idea whether that was something that had been repaired in his time working for Skeleton King).

This could all be attributed, he supposed, to the time Mandarin had spent in Otto's company back when he'd been on the Team. Clearly he'd either made repairs of his own or fashioned something for himself that he could use to send messages, and had one way or another cracked Antauri's new comm frequency. Antauri was just relieved he'd contacted him directly rather than send out a missive to the entire Team. Even trying to imagine that situation made Antauri's insides (mechanical as they were) twist.

Mandarin had at first requested they meet earlier in the evening, but Antauri had insisted they wait until dark. Mandarin had initially been suspicious of his specificity, but eventually relented. This of course meant that, yet again, Antauri was forced to sneak out of the Robot after everyone else was asleep.

Two nights in a row without a proper recharge. The amount that Antauri was pushing his luck was nothing short of terrifying.

"Why so shifty?" a voice suddenly cut through the night, making Antauri jump (his focus really was a mess these days, it was throwing his senses completely off; he allowed himself a moment of frustration). "You're not a wanted criminal; no need to sneak about."

Turning around, Antauri saw Mandarin reclining on the sill of a boarded-up second story window, grinning unpleasantly. "So jumpy as well. Were you afraid I was going to ambush you, Antauri?"

Antauri kept his face neutral. "You simply surprised me Mandarin, that's all."

"Lost in thought, were you?" Mandarin asked, sneering. He leapt down from his perch. "That was always your biggest failing, Antauri; you think too much and act too little."

Antauri frowned. "Interesting you should say that, I believe there are some who would accuse you of the reverse."

Mandarin's face twisted into a snarl. Antauri observed him, unaffected.

"Where is the rest of the Team?" Mandarin finally barked, making a show of looking around himself. "I don't see them anywhere, and moreover they're not on my scanner—"

"Where did you get a scanner?" Antauri asked, vitriol temporarily put aside in favor of inquisitiveness.

Mandarin huffed and pulled out a small device from under his cloak. It looked similar to the handheld scanners that Gibson favored, though this one was clearly an amalgamation of several different small electronics. As Antauri inspected it, curious, Mandarin said disinterestedly, "The security at the local hardware shop is abysmal."

Antauri's head snapped up, his expression caught between incredulous and disproving. "You stole the parts to make this?"

Mandarin gave him a withering look. "Not at all, I purchased them with the salary I obviously have. The very same salary I've been using to purchase food, in fact, along with various other basic amenities."

Even after years apart, Antauri found he was far too desensitized to Mandarin's particular brand of melodrama to feel much more than exasperation at his sarcasm. (Let the record show that he internally rolled his eyes, however.)

"It isn't as though I had much choice in the matter," Mandarin went on. "I needed something to keep track of all of you in case you tried anything underhanded. Not to mention… other things."

Well that certainly wasn't suspicious in the least. "Other things?"

"Other things," Mandarin repeated forcefully. "General things. Threats that may pop up in the nearby vicinity that I'd want to be alerted to. Just… general, other things."

As Antauri debated whether or not he should press that topic, Mandarin went and changed it all together. "Now answer my question. Where is everyone else?"

Ah. Yes. That. Antauri made sure his back was straight and his posture relaxed, and in a tone that (he hoped) was firm enough to sound definitive but neutral enough to not broker extra questions, he stated evenly, "They won't be coming."

Mandarin stared at him for a moment, and Antauri braced himself for questions. Instead, he made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and grumbled, "I suppose I should have expected that…"

Antauri's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, what is that supposed to mean?"

Mandarin gave him a singularly unimpressed look. "Am I supposed to be surprised that you've run off to try to fix things all on your own?"

"You say that as though I make a habit of it," Antauri said, not sure if he should be offended.

Mandarin looked at him incredulously, then began listing things off with his fingers. "That time on Talmak 3, that time on Ranger 7, that time we fought that giant mouse monster – against my explicit orders, may I add—"

"That was one of the first missions we'd ever gone on as a team, I panicked. It isn't something I do now."

"And yet here we are."

Antauri frowned deeply. "If a situation calls for it, I'll take initiative to contain the problem as much as I can, yes. I hardly find that grounds to accuse me of 'trying to fix things all on my own.'"

"Mm. Indeed. Tell me again, what exactly were you doing the other night when we stumbled across each other…?"

Antauri opened his mouth, then closed it.

The sides of Mandarin's mouth twisted upwards unkindly. "Precisely."

Antauri looked away.

"Am I to assume, then, that the rest of the Team has no idea that we're working in conjunction with each other? Or that I've even returned at all?"

"What leads you to that idea?" Antauri asked, trying not to be obviously evasive.

"They're not here when by all accounts they should be, and before you insisted we do this in the dead of night. Why do that unless you're keeping secrets?"

Antauri hesitated, then finally shook his head, guilt swelling. "No. They have no idea."

Mandarin's brows knitted together as he turned away briefly. He didn't look pleased with this information, but after a moment's deliberation he nodded curtly and turned back. "Good. Keep it that way. The less they're aware of my presence, the better."

Antauri didn't like the sound of that, be he was – for the moment – forced to agree. "Very well."

Mandarin nodded again. "So do you have a transport, or shall we be walking to our potential doom?"

"This way."

Antauri led the way back to where he'd hidden the Moon Buggy. To his knowledge, Otto hadn't noticed anything amiss with the buggy after he'd returned it the first time, which was a relief. To be fair, he'd been severely preoccupied with his injured teammates waking up and needing to make repairs on the Fist Rockets, so the conditions of his Moon Buggies probably hadn't been much of a thought. In a way, it was almost lucky that Krinkle had made so many alterations to the Fist Rockets, because it had allowed Antauri the opportunity to top off the buggy's fuel for the evening's journey. He made a resolution that he'd do so again before returning it to the workshop, both in preparation for future treks (if there were any, which he hoped there weren't) and to hopefully prevent Otto from noticing anything once his attention was no longer focused on the Fist Rockets.

When they reached the vehicle, Mandarin made a move to get into the driver's seat. Antauri took firm hold of his shoulder and pulled him back.

Mandarin took it about as well as he'd expected. "I'm the one that can see the trails! I should drive!"

"You need to focus to see the trails," Antauri said, giving him a small push in the direction of the passenger side (which Mandarin actively resisted). "It'll be easier for you to do so if you don't also have to focus on not crashing. I'll drive."

"I can do both I'll have you—"

"Mandarin," Antauri said, dangerously close to becoming frustrated, "this is a Hyperforce vehicle, and it will only be driven by a Hyperforce member." He crossed his arms resolutely. "Please get into the other side."

If Antauri hadn't already been fully robotic, the look Mandarin sent him likely would have been enough to grind his heartbeat to a halt.

After a few more seconds' hesitation (presumably just for the sake of being stubborn), Mandarin stomped over to the passenger's side and fell hard into the seat. He crossed his arms, angling his body away from Antauri, and glared in the opposite direction.

Antauri outwardly rolled his eyes, that time.

He got in behind the wheel, and closed the hatch. Seconds later, they were off.

After a minute's worth of driving in silence, Antauri asked, "Which way?"

"Leave the city from the southeast exit," Mandarin grunted, not looking at him. "Don't bother me until we're past its borders."

Antauri was fine with this.

In the time it took to reach the city limits, Mandarin had slowly uncurled from the moody ball of sulk he'd bent himself into and entered a lotus position in his seat. As they entered Shuggazoom's outskirts, he pointed out the windshield. "Head that way." Antauri did as requested.

There were several more minutes where they drove in silence. Then, slowly, Mandarin said, "You've changed form since last I saw you, Antauri."

Antauri briefly glanced over to Mandarin before returning his eyes to his driving. "So have you," he said lightly.

He felt Mandarin scowl more than he saw it. "I never agreed to that, you know," he said, and his tone was so bitter that Antauri didn't doubt it. "That undead imbecile lured me back to his ship under false pretenses, and then, then…" Mandarin made a series of incensed gestures. "…turned me into that."

Skeleton King lied? How shocking. (Antauri wisely didn't comment on that.)

"Why do you look, er… 'normal,' I suppose, again?" he asked instead.

To his surprise, Mandarin's anger faltered, replaced by something Antauri couldn't quite pin down. "When Skeleton King decided he preferred a second-rate copy over myself, he evidently decided to take back the… additions he'd provided. I was taken away by some formless and—" he actually shuddered, which Antauri found mildly alarming, "—drained of the implants."

Antauri raised his brow. "'Drained'?"

"I'd been pumped to the gills with formless material," Mandarin snapped curtly. Antauri noticed he was slowly curling back into his ball. He must be getting annoyed. "So yes, drained." He turned to him fully all of a sudden, and gave him a look. "Now why do you look completely different?"

Antauri didn't say anything for moment (no doubt further annoying Mandarin in the process), before finally speaking. "I explained that Skeleton King was attempting to awaken a Dark One, yes?"

Mandarin nodded.

"He… succeeded."

"He what?" Mandarin balked, pushing himself forward in his seat.

Antauri stared forward, watching the grounded whiz underneath the buggy as it sped forward. "Do you remember learning of that particular ritual, back on Koraladol? The one that focuses the perpetuator's entire being into Power Primate energy?"

Mandarin's expression twisted, disbelieving and (just perhaps) a bit horrified. "No…"

"The egg needed to be sealed," Antauri said quietly. "My spirit managed to anchor itself to Chiro in the chaos. He transferred me to this robotic body afterwards."

Mandarin tilted his head. "'Robotic'? As in—?"

"I am now fully mechanical, yes."

There was a pause that stretched for several seconds. Finally, Mandarin muttered, "It's shorter than your last body," as he flopped back into his seat.

Antauri glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "So is yours," he replied lightly. As Mandarin turned to give him an irritated look, Antauri gave a small shrug. "Truly though, this body is about the same size as my organic one."

Mandarin's face scrunched. "No it isn't; you and I used to stand shoulder to shoulder—"

"You're taller than you used to be, Mandarin," Antauri said. He considered, then backtracked, "Not as tall as you were, clearly, but you're taller than you were the last time you were…" He cast around for words, "properly proportioned."

Mandarin had a strange expression on his face. "You're still around the same height as the rest of the Team?" he clarified.

Antauri offered him a marginally confused look. "I suppose so…?"

"I am… this much taller than all of you?" He was quiet for a second, and then to Antauri's utter disbelief he slowly began to look pleased. "Well. Hm."

Antauri was continually boggled how one individual could possibly be so petty.

They drove in quiet for several minutes more before Mandarin suddenly sat bolt-upright in his seat, drawing Antauri's attention.

"Mandarin?"

"Shut up." He was staring intently out the windshield, eyes tracking (searching for?) something Antauri couldn't see. After a moment he snapped, "Stop the vehicle!"

Alarmed, Antauri complied. Mandarin had thrown the buggy's hatch open before it had even come to a complete halt, floating out swiftly. He remained suspended in the air as he scanned the area, movements becoming more agitated the longer he looked.

"It's gone."

Antauri looked up at him from the buggy, startled. "What?"

"The trail we were tracking!" Mandarin snarled, still furiously surveying the area. "And whatever's at the end of it! It's gone!"

Hammerspace was a gift, as far as Valina was concerned.

When her master had relocated her to the Zone of Wasted years, he'd been generous enough to provide her with some tomes on magic so she could continue to hone her skills. She suspected they were in fact his old tomes from back when he was mortal, and as such she considered them the most precious objects in her possession. Hammerspace had been one of the first things she'd taught herself from them.

The term referred to a mini pocket-dimension that was created and maintained by a singular individual, most frequently as a place of holding. The benefit – beyond the fact that it meant she never had to worry about lugging cumbersome items from place to place, which make no mistake was incredibly handy – was that once something was placed within her designated hammerspace, it meant that only people with the corresponding knowledge could take it back out. It was, effectively, the simplest and fastest way to guard items while still keeping them close.

The moment she was able to pry the location of the master's skull from the monkey's filthy mouth, she transferred it directly to her hammerspace. For good measure, she cast a small concealment spell on it as well. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, but given what it was she was protecting she had a difficult time labeling any precaution as "unnecessary." The weight on her mind eased somewhat knowing it was there.

The tomes, speaking of such, had been what she'd settled on as a starting point for her investigation. If she could perhaps find recordings of an instance similar to what she'd experienced, she might be able to form a plan of action, or at least a springboard of one. Though mostly concerned with spell work, there were the occasional history and philosophy books scattered throughout the collection; certainly at least one of them would have some useful information…

Unfortunately, this made a second pair of eyes a resource too useful to ignore. Which meant that – tragically – her time spent with the simian was far from over.

The monkey was, predictably, making a fuss about it.

"You went on endlessly," he hissed, "ENDLESSLY about how we had to drop everything to resurrect the master, and you're putting it on hold?!"

The simian tugged indignantly at the pink flame around his neck, trotting to keep up as they marched down the halls of her temple. "'We ought to be working to resurrect the master, Mandarin!'" he repeated in a high, mocking voice."'We must resurrect the Skeleton King before it's too late, Mandarin! Oh wait! I've felt something strange that I can't immediately pinpoint the origin of! We must stop everything to investigate it because it made me uneasy—'"

He was cut off suddenly as Valina sent a spell like an electrical current pumping through his body. Pleasantly, the spell also melded his lips together.

"I am not postponing the Master's resurrection because I feel 'uneasy,'" she snapped, stopping to turn and glare down at him. "Properly resurrecting the master requires magic. Whatever this is cannot only alter magic, but ignore the laws that govern it! You admitted you felt it as well; did that truly not give you even a moment's pause?"

The monkey glared defiantly, but made no attempt to argue. Not that he could expect to make much of a point anyway with his mouth sealed as it was, but Valina doubted that would have stopped him if he'd truly had something to say.

"We're going to do research first, to make sure whatever this is will not harm the master as we resurrect him," she said firmly, resuming her stride. "We shall proceed in restoring him only after we've confirmed such."

"You're a hypocrite, Witch," the monkey spat, finally succeeding in wrenching his mouth open (it was truly a shame that particular spell wore off so quickly). Valina glared, but deemed a verbal retort beneath her.

The temple Valina resided in had been abandoned centuries before she'd arrived, which unfortunately had meant much of the space was derelict and crumbling. In the years she'd spent there she'd managed to create a decent enough living space for herself, or at least she'd like to think so. She'd cobbled together a private quarters, a washroom of sorts, and – her current destination – a study.

As they approached the door she flicked her wrist, and it swung open. Once inside, the monkey was flung out of the way with another flick, and the door shut behind them. She selected a stack of books at random, and began shifting through them for volumes she suspected would contain the most pertinent information. Her "library" wasn't largeby any means, but it had enough books that trying to go through them one by one wouldn't be time-efficient.

The simian pushed himself upright, grumbling at having been unceremoniously chucked halfway across the room. Or perhaps he was grumbling because the tether he was attached to had fastened him to the leg of a table. She ignored him either way.

When she was satisfied with the stack she had accumulated, she gathered the pile into her arms, walked over to the monkey, and set the lot in front of him. Had they been less treasurable, she would have dropped the stack on top of him, but oh well. Maybe she could do that with some rocks later, or something.

"What, precisely," he asked, eyeing the books she'd given him with dubious disdain, "am I supposed to be looking for in these things?"

"Anything that discusses the laws of magic, what could potentially bypass them, and how it would affect magic as a whole," she said over her shoulder, skimming through one of the older books. No, not quite what she was looking for. She snapped it shut and set it aside, selecting another. "Or anything that describes the feeling we experienced, and a possible explanation for what it might be."

The monkey grumbled again. She turned around to find him not opening any of the books, or really making any effort to assist in researching at all. Scowling, she made a squeezing gesture in his direction. He gagged suddenly and began grabbing at his neck as the pink flame tightened.

"Do you want the master to be harmed as we try to resurrect him?" she demanded. "Because that's the risk we may run if we don't sort this out." She tightened her invisible grip, and the monkey began kicking his legs uselessly as he clawed at the pink flame. "Well? Do you?"

"No," he finally managed to gag out. "I don't."

She let the flame fall slack. The wheezing sound he made as his throat was released reminded her of air being let out of a balloon. As he massaged his throat, she snapped, "Get to work, then!"

He offered her one last glare before moodily selecting a book and rifling through it.

Satisfied, she turned and resumed picking through her collection. After a moment she'd gather together a stack of her own, which she carried off to her usual reading nook.

"If you bend the pages or scuff the covers, or damage these books in any way," she said icily, cracking open the first tome on her stack, "then so help me Simian I will flay you alive. There's a knife in my bedside drawer I keep sharp for just such an occasion, in fact."

Empty. Hm. Empty.

No screams, no cries. No pleading. Silence. Empty.

Something had been inside before. Used to fill. Given. It should still be there.

Empty empty empty.

Hm. Hm hm hm hmmmm. That must be fixed.

Legs twitched. Once, twice, then moved properly. Pushed it upright. Steady steps. Where had it gone? It hadn't been given permission to leave. Had to go back in.

There was a trail. The scent of fear, scrambling around. Hard to follow, but there.

Its crankshaft slowly rotated in a circle as it moved. The painted face on its front couldn't see, but it didn't need to.

The fear-trail led to a long flight of stairs. There was a trapdoor at the top.

Wouldn't be empty for long.