A pair of large metal doors swung open into a long, ill-lit cavern. Many guards stood at attention along the walls, half hidden in darkness, but the slim, hooded figure that came through the door knew they were there. He walked quickly inside and turned right to go down a separate corridor, but was stopped by a circle of guards that placed themselves around him. They simultaneously raised their swords to his chest.

'Password?' one of the guards asked.

'Red-nosed nuisances,' said the hooded figure. The guards stepped aside and allowed him to pass. The figure walked swiftly, turning left, and then right in memorized sequence down the corridors. He came to a halt in front of a second pair of huge metal doors, but these held two plaques; the language unknown to him. He entered the room. It too was a large cavern, but well-lit with an innumerable amount of candles and several studio lights mounted on the ceiling. Two guards stood at the door he'd just walked through, and two more stood at the other end beside a silver throne. He walked down the middle of the cavern towards the throne. When he reached it, he kneeled down in front of it and waited. Moments passed before a door to his right opened, and his master stepped into the cavern.

'Greyscale, there's no need for such formalities. Come here.'

The hooded figure stood up and walked over to the man. His master was shorter than the average man, but had a large, bulbous head. His entire body apart from that head was concealed by the silvery cloak he wore.

'What news do you bring me?' he asked.

'I have brought a photograph of the children and their psychiatrist. Perhaps it will help you?' said Greyscale. He pulled the picture from underneath his cloak and handed it to his master. It was taken with utmost interest. His master inspected it with care, and also something that looked to Greyscale like loathing.

'It's of no use to me,' his master said. 'Something confuses me, Greyscale. I just don't understand it. I know everything in the world... except what these children are!'

'Why does that bother you, master?'

'I am all-knowing! I know EVERYTHING! Which is more than that Wally Llama could say for himself. I even know why hot dogs come in packages of ten, while hot dog buns come in packages of eight! But can I figure out what these kids are? NO!'

'Master...'

'I don't even know what you are, Greyscale. You look exactly like this Warner boy! But you... you are of use to me, you can get close to the Warners, so I tolerate it. For now.'

'I am grateful...'

'I know you are,' his master thought for a moment. 'Bring me the Warners! We'll get the answer out of them. They ought to know what they are. But I warn you, don't let the psychiatrist know. We'll have them back to him in a matter of days... if they co-operate.'

'And if not?'

'I'll get that answer one way or another,' and with that, his master turned on his heel and left, dropping the picture on the floor. Greyscale picked up the cracked frame, and stuffed it into his cloak. He wondered for a moment why his master didn't just ask him what he was; he was there most of the time. But then, he didn't know himself. It did seem like a petty reason for kidnapping the Warners, though. There must be some other motive... Greyscale thought.