-Chapter 2-

"August sixth. 2006. Sasha Nein reporting from within the psyche of a diagnosed bipolar," said Sasha into his tape recorder. Thanks to the psycho-portal, astral projections of both himself and his tape recorder were inside Gloria's subconscious, where Sasha was dutifully recording what he observed.

"I am standing in what appears to be a large theater. The floor is—" He stomped experimentally. "—made from what appears to be wood. The ceiling is high. I do not see any censors or other mental beings. In fact, it is quite empty except for some very cheap wooden scenery over there. This confirms my early hypothesis that Gloria is quite absent-minded."

"Hey, you!" shouted a voice from across the theater. It echoed. Sasha jumped, then quickly regained his cool and smoothed down his jacket.

"Making contact with a mental being," he reported into his recorder as a very normal-looking woman approached him. She was dressed in a simple plaid skirt, high-top sneakers, and a long-sleeved shirt; her hair had a practical style that contrasted greatly with Gloria's fantastic red 'do. Aside from her large headset, the woman simply wasn't remarkably.

"She's simply not remarkable," reported Sasha.

"Hey! Who are you calling unremarkable!"

"No one," said Sash quickly. "Who are you?"

"Becky, Becky Houndstooth. I'm the director, and if you don't mind, you're standing right in the middle of the stage!"

"Excuse me," said Sasha, letting Becky drag him out of the center of the huge amphitheatre. "I'm simply such a big fan of Gloria's I thought I'd, erm, stand in the middle of her theater."

"Why?" asked Becky, face twisting in confusion.

"Never mind," said Sasha quickly. He went for his recorder. "Mental being is unaware of—"

"Hey, I'm right here! Geez, you're weird. What are you, a reporter?"

"No, I'm a scien—yes! Yes, I am a reporter. Please tell me all about this production," asked Sasha, thrusting his recorder into Becky's face.

"Okay, okay, chill out there, eager beaver. This is a play called 'Razputin Fights the Phantom.' It's all about how last year, we had this phantom who was haunting our theater and freaking out our main star. Then this kid comes in out of nowhere, gives us a bunch of great screenplays, gets rid of our phantom, and bam, disappears. Great, huh?"

"Compelling," agreed Sasha. "Tell me about some of your other plays."

"Mostly we do plays about Gloria. But this one is turning out okay. Watch—FROM THE TOP, PEOPLE!" she screeched. Sasha cringed.

With a lot of loud squeaking, a backdrop of a theatre exactly like the theatre they were in hit the ground, and on stage, two small creatures wearing an over-elaborate costumes stepped out. One was wearing googles and a backpack; the other had a headset.

"OH, WHY OH WHY DOES THAT TERRIBLE PHANTOM RUIN ALL MY PLAYS!" shouted the headset actress loudly.

"DO NOT WORRY, BECKY! I HAVE COME TO FREE YOU FROM THE PHANTOM!" shouted the other one.

"WHO—ARE—YOU?" shouted the actress playing Becky, with a massive fake jerk of surprise.

"I—AM—RAZPUTIN! A YOUNG AND MYSTERIOUS BOY WHO COMES TO FREE YOUR FROM THE PHANTOM!"

"What'd you think?" asked Becky.

Sasha's face twisted. "It's certainly…" he searched for a polite way to say terrible. "…loud," he finished politely.

"He hates it!" came a new voice from above them. "He thinks it's a piece of utter tripe, and so do I! I'd rather be having a root canal right now than watch another minute of his horrid production!"

"Shut up, Jasper!" snapped Becky calmly without even turning around.

Sasha squinted. Above their heads, an empty balcony seemed to be talking.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Oh, that's just our local critic, Jasper. Ever since we revealed he was the phantom last year, he's been pretty mellow," said Becky breezily.

"Oo. I must interview him!"

"Naw, forget it," advised Becky. "You'd be better off watching the rest of our play. It just gets better and better!"

Sasha cringed noticeably. "I'd love to, but I need to, ah, get going."

"Gonna disappear on us like that kid, huh?" asked Becky, sounding disappointed. "Let me tell you, we've searched the whole theatre and still have no clue where he went. Bonita wanted to thank him personally for putting Jasper in his place."

"Mental beings are unaware of a world outside their theatre," Sasha reported into his recorder.

"What?" came the voice from the balcony. A squat face with two tufts of cone-shaped hair on either side of its otherwise bald head peeked over the railing. "There's a place away from this wretched piece of poorly produced garbage?"

"Yes, but you cannot come," said Sasha flatly, getting ready to get out of Gloria's mind via a small box of smelling salts.

"Wait! You have to take me with you! I can't stay here any longer!" cried Jasper in anguish. "The acting is so… so… sub-par!"

"Good-bye," said Sasha to Becky, pulling open the smelling salts. At the exact same moment, Jasper leaped off the balcony and tackled him—and with a dizzying jolt, both were thrown back into the physical world.