RECAP: Alfred and Arthur are knee-deep in spooks. Game characters James and Maria are still traversing the hospital in Silent Hill. And Matthew was kidnapped by the Russian mafia.

"Are you alright?"

Alfred breathed deeply, in and out, striving for a pace less than hyperventilating. His breaths came muffled, as if his hands covered his face.

"Yeah. . . ." he responded and paused for a shaky breath. As Arthur thought to suggest they end the session here (for the sake of Alfred's mental well-being), he resumed, "I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" he asked dubiously.

"It takes more than that to bring me down. Just, uh . . . what's my motivation again?"

If Alfred was adamant about continuing, then Arthur supposed he could indulge him. "A little girl needs to be saved. Your dead wife awaits your return. The monsters need to be killed. Your viewers will be upset if you gave up halfway through the game. Take your pick."

"For the girl," Alfred agreed. "For dead wives everywhere. For all the monsters that just really need to stop. For my loyal viewers."

"For Narnia," Arthur said with his usual dry humor.

"Damn it, Arthur," Alfred tried not to laugh but failed. He finally found the fortitude to un-pause the game.

They had yet to leave the second floor after Alfred dispatched the nurses. He now pulled up the map to see where they should go. On every floor, there was a large Day Room, but this one turned out to be as unreachable as the ground floor Day Room had been.

"Why is daylight being kept from me?" Alfred demanded.

"They knew you were coming and blocked it off."

"I am personally offended."

"You brought this on yourself. Just look what you did to their poor nurses."

"They were hell spawn! You told me to kill them!"

Arthur tutted at him. "We mustn't blame others for our own actions, Alfred. Now be a good lad and check out the other rooms."

"Yes, Mom," Alfred said mockingly and had James storm off back down the hall they came from.

Down a hallway past the stairs, there were a cluster of rooms: a linen room, a nurse's station, and a men and women's locker room. Alfred refused to mess with Satan's room (the nurse's station). It was covered by a metal shutter and Alfred gave it a wide berth in case anything popped out. The linen room door was broken and couldn't be opened. That left the men and women's locker room.

Alfred entered the men's locker room.

"Oh my God," Alfred said in wonder. "There are lockers."

"In a locker room? Blasphemy."

"Who'da thunk it?" he agreed. He turned James left and right, shining the flashlight over the small, rectangle of a room. There were two rows of lockers hugging the walls and parallel from each other—about ten in total. Faded words had been carved into the rusted metal doors. A white coat with dried blood hung over the top of one. Another locker sported a worn poster featuring a swimsuit clad, blonde woman.

"Oh children, look away!" Alfred exclaimed dramatically at the 'scandalous' poster. "I think I need an adult."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alfred, you are an adult. Or I was led to believe you were one."

"Says who? I didn't register for that."

"Come off it. She's fairly decent, you know. There are far worse images out there."

"Don't know what you're talking about. My innocent eyes shouldn't be tainted. . . . When you squint at it, it kinda looks like Maria."

Arthur snorted. "I thought you weren't looking?"

"I'm not. James is. He's telling me about it." Indeed, Alfred did have James facing the poster from an inch away. "She's blonde, and she's even dressed in red. Like Maria."

"Maybe Maria had a modeling career?"

Alfred gasped. "You mean she didn't crawl up from the fiery pits of Hell to steal my immortal soul? Nah, I don't buy it."

Alfred searched the room. None of the lockers would open, and with nothing to be found, they left the room. Alfred wanted to leave the area altogether, never mind the women's locker room. "I'm a man. I can't go in the women's locker room," Alfred said or some such rubbish. Arthur thought the better of reminding him that this was only a video game and told him to just search the damn room already.

Across the hall they went. Upon entering the new locker room, the first noticeable thing that stood out was how James's head pointedly stared down towards his left at a long desk sandwiched between the lockers. Arthur had noticed the game character did this whenever there was an item of note. There were a few objects on the table, just not anything terribly noteworthy. A soft drink can, a small stuffed bear, and what looked like pictures lay scattered about.

"James wants a Coke," Alfred said.

"I do believe he's wondering more about the bear." It was a small thing, sitting upright on the stained table. Amazingly, it looked to be in fair condition, its light brown fur untorn. It seemed sad sitting there without an owner to claim it. "What's something like that doing here?"

"I dunno. Maybe it's from the gift shop. Hospitals have gift shops. I remember when I broke my ankle, a lot of people got me stuff from the gift shop."

"Goodness, may I ask what happened?" Despite playing video games, Alfred did seem rather, erm, fit. Arthur could easily imagine him playing all sorts of sports and getting into trouble.

"Oh, I jumped off a roof."

Arthur's jaw literally dropped. Alfred didn't hesitate in the slightest. He said it as if it were just another fact, as if people admit every day to their dark past. He'd never pegged Alfred as the sort. The American always presented himself as lively, full of heart and laughs. This new information didn't mesh with what Arthur had seen thus far, which explained Arthur's struggle for words. "Alfred . . . were—were you, you know?"

"Yep!" Alfred declared proudly. "I was trying to see if I could fly. Like Superman. But that didn't really work and my mom got mad at me."

Arthur covered his mouth and barely had the strength to ask, "You . . . you were trying to fly, like a superhero?"

"Yeah! I had this cool plan and everything. It involved a tarp and a really big fan—"

"Please tell me you honestly weren't this foolish as a child?"

"What are you talking about? This happened last summer."

Arthur hung up on him.

Matthew glanced around himself with the increasing awareness that he did not belong here. Here being an upscale steakhouse featuring a dark wood setting, leather seats, and white-clothed tables decorated with wine glasses and silver cutlery. Golden sconces lined the black, glossy walls, emanating what should be a warm light but only made Matthew wish for windows and natural light. On the way in, he swore he spotted a piano and a sleek, rounded bar. At this time of day, the place was about half full. Glancing at the other patrons, Matthew was willing to bet that they weren't the sort to look at the prices on menus.

"This is nice, don't you think?" Ivan said from across the table. The white-clothed fancy table. He looked pleased as punch.

"Very nice," Matthew agreed. Too nice, he silently added. His fingers played with the edges of the table cloth. When was the last time he had eaten somewhere with an actual table cloth?

"I have been here before. The food is good and the people competent."

Matthew nodded in lieu of answering. To avoid Ivan's gaze, he stared down at his menu. He gulped to see that all of the prices were in the double digits.

"So Matthew, what is it that you do exactly?" With the gleam in Ivan's eyes, Matt wondered if he already knew the answer and was just humoring him with small talk.

"I'm an undergrad student. Studying wildlife science. I work at the pizzeria on campus too. Nothing that special."

Ivan brightened with all the delight of a child. "You like animals then?"

"I love them," he admitted. He was torn between being polite and not getting too invested in this conversation. It's not like he knew that much about Ivan, and what he'd seen of him, Matthew wasn't sure that they were, ah, compatible as friends. Besides, Ivan would probably grow bored of him quickly anyway.

"What is your absolute favorite?"

Matt blinked at the surprising realization that, even if he wasn't, Ivan was quite invested in this conversation. Unless he had phenomenal acting skills. That might explain why he was looking at Matthew so eagerly.

"Uh, that's hard to say," he responded noncommittally. "I like otters a lot." Just the other day, Matthew had been showing his brother pictures of otters. Look Al, they hold hands when they sleep! "Oh, I really like bears too!"

"Bears? That is surprising."

"Why?"

"They are very fierce animals. I know this because I was bitten by one once."

"Oh my gosh, were you alright?" Matthew gasped, genuinely horrified on his companion's behalf. In the back of his mind, he berated himself for asking such a stupid question. How could anyone be alright from surviving a bear attack?

"Of course. It tickled a bit, so I bit him back."

Matthew didn't know what to say to that and was glad when their waiter came back with the drinks that they had ordered.

"Are you two ready to order?" the waiter asked, pen at the ready. The young man gave them a minimal, professional smile. What was he thinking about them? Did he think Matthew and Ivan were coworkers? Friends? Dating? Did he know that Matthew couldn't afford to eat at places with tablecloths?

"Yes, we're ready," Ivan replied confidently without glancing at Matthew for confirmation. "I'll have the dry-aged rib eye."

The waiter nodded and added a couple more specifications that Ivan made. Matthew hurriedly looked over his menu for the cheapest item he could find that wasn't water. Maybe a salad?

"I'll have a sala—"

"My date will have the same as me," Ivan talked over Matthew. And just as Ivan never bothered to ask Matthew directly, so too did the waiter ignore him. He jotted the order down and nodded to Ivan (um, excuse me sir, I exist too), telling him their meals would be done in a flash. In the next moment, the waiter had taken their menus and was striding away, lost to the great beyond (the kitchen).

"It is a very good choice," Ivan assured Matthew. Maybe he could see how stricken Matt looked? "You will like it. Isn't this fun? It was a great idea, for you to treat me."

Matthew inwardly sobbed over the fate of his poor wallet.

Alfred went into full-blown panic mode when Arthur dropped out of the call. One moment, the Brit was there, offering witty remarks. The next, dead silence. It could only mean one thing.

"Arthur's dead," Alfred wheezed. He'd already quickly paused the game, but that didn't help. The monsters could still come through the screen and eat him. They'd probably gotten to Arthur already. Alfred knew it was a bad idea to play this game.

Over and over Alfred tried to call Arthur. The call failed each time.

His room suddenly felt too small, too dark. And here he was, alone, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck.

Was that a noise from the living room he just heard?

"This is like a horror movie," Alfred said to no one but himself. At least he was recording himself. That way, if a monster busted up into his room, they'd know why his body was ripped to shreds. Or dude, what if they never found a body?

"Maaaaaatt?" Alfred called in a tone too high pitched, looking over his shoulder at the door.

Nothing stirred.

Alfred gulped and had the deeply disturbing notion that, if he walked to the door and opened it, he would find his brother bleeding out on the carpet. Or being pulled into the television by that dark-haired chick from that one scary movie. Or a demon possessed him and he'd be crawling on the ceiling. Or—

"Hello."

Alfred shrieked bloody murder and ripped off his headphones. His terrified gaze fell on the computer, where Arthur's image had returned. It took longer than it should have to realize that the sudden voice had been Arthur's.

Of all the jump scares Alfred had been prepared for, who would have thought Arthur would be the worst one?

It was a testament to how brave and cool Alfred was that he didn't dissolve into hysterical crying. He replaced his headphones—hands totally not shaking—and gave a winsome smile.

"Hey, I thought I lost you there, buddy," Alfred greeted. He could have pat his own back for how normal he sounded.

"Are you sure you don't need a minute?" Arthur asked warily. "You screamed so loud that Jasper ran out of the room like Death was chasing him."

Alfred laughed awkwardly. "Ha ha, me? Need a minute? Nah, I'm good. I was—I was testing you! Yeah."

"Testing me for what?"

"What about that call drop, am I right?" Alfred said in a rush. "Your internet okay?"

"My internet? Yes. My ears? That's debatable," Arthur grumbled, rubbing said appendages. "Sorry about all that. These calls can be rather unreliable."

"You sure it's all good?"

"Yes, certainly." Arthur did look composed and not-mauled. "Shall we continue with the game?"

"Oh, right," Alfred said distractedly. He looked around himself quickly to make sure he didn't knock anything over when he had jumped out of his seat. He settled himself once more, ready to un-pause the game. Well, as ready as he'd ever be.

"This isn't going to mess up the video, is it?" Arthur asked.

"What, the call drop? Nah, it's all good. I can just edit that part out." Nobody needed to see him spazzing out like a little girl at nothing anyway. "So, where were we?"

"The bear."

"Right, right." Alfred un-paused the game and clicked on the bear. A cut-scene came next.

James reached out to run his fingers over the bear's head. He flinched in pain and jerked his hand away, having been pricked by something. Alfred momentarily thought that maybe the bear was sentient and had bit James. But no, a bent needle stuck out of the top. James extracted it and added it to the inventory. The cut-scene ended there.

"That's it?" Alfred asked.

"Why did he take the needle?" Arthur asked.

"I dunno, but I'll probably need it for something later."

"But why would James pick it up if he has no reason for it? It doesn't make sense."

"It's game logic, Arthur. You've got to start thinking like a gamer."

"It's stupid is what it is. Hey, aren't you going to take the bear too?"

James did keep on staring down at the bear, as if it held more purpose. Alfred clicked on it again.

"'Just a normal stuffed bear. There's nothing else,'" Alfred read the words aloud that popped up. "Nope, guess that's it."

"But that's not fair!" Arthur argued. Alfred was surprised by how genuinely invested he was in this. "If you should be able to take the sorry needle, then you should be able to take the bear."

"Well, I can't."

"Try again."

"Arthur," Alfred laughed. "The game won't let me. The bear's obviously not important."

"Now that's just rude." He imagined Arthur to be pouting and it nearly made him want to check on what his expression looked like right now. "I still say you should be able to pick it up. It's not fair to the bear that he's left like this."

"It's okay. We'll come back and tell Mr. Bear all about our adventures." It didn't help much to soothe Arthur's worry for the bear (seriously though, that was kind of cute, how much he wanted to take the stuffed bear along). Alfred listened to more complaints as he checked the rest of the room. What he found in an open locker made Alfred completely forget about the bear.

"SHOTGUN! WAHOO!" Alfred cried in victory. He may have done a happy dance. Just a little. "Maria, we got a shotgun! Look at it! Look!" He equipped it and showed it off to Maria who stood nearby, hand on hip, and appearing rather bored.

"I don't believe she's impressed with your little gun," Arthur offered, sounding like he shared that sentiment. "Don't worry chap, happens to the best of us."

"Oh, it's not little! Look at this baby!" Alfred declared, though missing the meaning of Arthur's jab entirely. He made James spin left and right, shotgun fully displayed. "This is a good day today. We're gonna stop all the monsters. Watch out evil scum! There's a new sheriff in town."

Alfred distantly heard Arthur murmur about confidence levels in direct correlation to gun sizes. But whatever! He found a shotgun!

James left the women's locker room a new man. He strutted down the corridors, unafraid of potential hospital horrors. When that same industrial rhythm began playing that alerted the player a monster was nearby, did James run away? Nu-uh. He raced around the next corner, spotted the four legged beast, and blew it to smithereens!

"This is the beginnings of a beautiful friendship," Alfred told the shotgun before bursting into a rendition of "I Will Survive."

What I didn't show in this chapter was what happened with Arthur after he hung up. It was a beautiful tirade to be sure, one that only his cat bore witness too. "I swear if there wasn't an ocean between us, I'd throttle that idiot! I'd take his stupid, smiling, handsome face and rip off his head, and then I'd skewer it and display it on the lawn. And when his brother or his mother or whoever comes around asking 'why have you forsaken my son?' I'll tell them, 'Because he had a terminal case of DUMBARSE!'"

So now there's some stuff going on with Mattie and Ivan? Maybe? Really never planned for Ivan to show up in the first place, but there he is. What are Ivan's real intentions? How open will Matt be to them? No seriously, I don't know. What should I do with them?

By the way, sorry about the long wait. I've been in a funk with my writing, but the other night I found myself reading reviews. I found them so inspiring that I jumped back into writing the next chapter. So if you ever think that reviews don't matter much, think again.

Thanks for all the support. Here, have a bonus scene.

Having finished his recording session with Arthur, Alfred finally left his room to breathe in some fresh air. He felt proud of the amazing footage they made together. Sure, Alfred would have to spend hours editing it, but for now he would bask in the glory of accomplishment.

"That bag of dicks!"

Or . . . not.

"Mattie?" Alfred questioned. He found his brother attacking the furniture with a dust rag. A glance by the front door showed a laundry basket filled with clean, folded clothes. If Alfred ventured to the kitchen, he didn't doubt for a second that he would find the counters spotless.

Alarm bells went off in Alfred's head. When Matthew was mad, he muttered snarky comments to himself. When he was really mad, he cooked enough pancakes to feed a small country. But when he was furious? He cleaned.

Everything.

"Uh, Mattie?" Alfred attempted to approach him, knowing his life could very well be at risk. The last time he'd seen Matthew this angry, he'd stayed up for three days straight working on a research paper only for his professor to reject it on a small technicality. Matthew had been so upset that he accidentally broke his own glasses during a cleaning frenzy. Then he broke down crying and wouldn't calm down until Alfred took him to IHOP. Talk about a rough day.

Alfred sincerely hoped that whatever brought upon this rage fest, it wasn't because of him.

"He used me. He used me."

"For land development?" Alfred asked automatically. He really should learn to think before he opened his mouth. Now wasn't the time for Spongebob quotes. Matthew didn't appreciate it at all. He whipped his head so fast that his neck audibly popped. Matthew didn't react to the sound, glaring at Alfred with the heat of six suns.

"No, that jerk used me for steaks!" he yelled. Not once did he pause in wiping down the end table by the couch. The living room would be gleaming by the time he was through.

"Were they good steaks at least? Wait, someone used you? Who was it, bro? I'll kick their ass!"

"No, Alfred. We are not going to kick his ass. We are nice people. And even if someone forces you to buy them seventy dollar steaks, you don't beat them over the head with a hockey stick. Even though you really want to! Because that's not what nice people do!"

"Uh…so who—?"

"You see nice people just sit there and take it. They let themselves be taken advantage of, and get ignored by waiters, and they wind up poor! And what happens to poor people? They end up living in cardboard boxes and starving in the streets because of steaks that cost seventy dollars!"

Matthew wasn't even wiping the table anymore, more so smacking it with the rag. When that ceased to be enough to vent his frustrations, Matthew tossed the rag aside, growled wordlessly, and flung himself onto the couch face first.

Alfred couldn't think of offering anything better than, "Do you want me to call Mom? I think I should call Mom."

Matthew cried out in anguish, "I don't want to be poooor!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go call Mom," Alfred decided and fled the room to get his phone.