Unwanted memories.
The Queen is dead.
The Batter stands over her, panting, standing in her blood as her body shrivels up like a dried squid and fizzles away in a bright light. This isn't what I wanted. Through my blurry, tear-filled vision, I see the monster for the first time, maw gaping and dripping blood and saliva. "Player," he said, glancing pointedly at Omega, who is dark and still, an unresponsive ring on the floor. I haven't even noticed, too distracted by the Batter beating his wife to death. He calls to me again and I back away.
"No," I whisper. He turns on me and the monster flashes in my mind, jaws open wide, eyes nothing but glowing, white sockets in its head. I retreat further and the Batter returns, his eyes, all four, open in confusion. He abandons his bat and approaches but I still scream, still twist away from his reaching hands until my back hits a wall, because I know the monster inside him could break me with his bare hands if he wanted to. "Don't," I beg, and he respects my wish for space.
"I need you," he says, "Now more than ever."
"Liar." He goes back to where he killed the Queen to retrieve his bat and the fallen Omega. "You never needed me." I leave him there in that great, gray hall, but not for long. We have something to see through together, after all. Even if I am not needed as a guide, I am needed as a spectator. The play loses meaning without an audience.