3. Fracture

Felix had been taken to the doctor that operated out of the backroom of Tappers, Dr. Herb Miller, before he'd been able to offer up any kind of explanation for what he'd done in the basement.

For what he hadn't done more like.

Miller was just a background character who'd only appear, briefly, when a customer got so drunk they weren't able to sit upright any longer and Tapper himself was already busy. Random bodies slumped about the place was bad for business after all, so Miller had been hired. Where he'd been hired from – what he'd been created for – was a frequent topic of conversation when there was no other Arcade gossip to chew over.

At the sound of a buzzer Miller would drag the unfortunate customer out of a side door to his clinic (also known as the converted cleaning supply room) to pretend to treat them with his advanced medical skills while they had a sleep and sobered up. So when Miller was genuinely needed he acted as if the most amazingly important problem ever created had landed on his doorstep, and that he alone could solve it and bring peace and order to the universe once again.

Everyone in the Arcade tolerated this behaviour since he was their only medic after all, and some even enjoyed the attention and heartfelt belief that their problem was so significant. Some actually looked forward to getting injured, and it never failed to amuse him that most of this class had been forced to learn to live with the unfortunate fact that their core programming prevented them from ever getting seriously hurt, even within their own game.

He could understand this desire to want what you weren't supposed to have, and he could certainly sympathise with the low simmering irritation that had crept up on them; the worm that had politely demanded to be acknowledged, blankly ignored all attempts to overlook it and then moved in permanently, burrowing just under the skin to nibble relentlessly at the surface.

His own core programming had kicked in at exactly the same time as the remote surge protector had. Just before the safe had approached critical overload the protector had fired up and encased that section of the wall in a protective blue lattice, and he had felt sick to his stomach. He'd tried to bend down to snatch up his hammer and hurtle himself at the smoking debris of the safe, but he couldn't. He just stood there, frozen, watching the yellow flames and ice blue web fight over the safe with eyes widened from horror and a mouth open with disbelief.

When it was over – when the flames had been extinguished and the protective web had contracted back into the grid – everyone apart from Deanna immediately declared that he was ill. Announced, in scared and sympathetic and knowledgeable tones, that something had happened to Felix to make him do that. Or make him not do that. But whatever it was that did or didn't make him do those things just now is obviously a glitch, or an error, or a virus and oh my any one of them could be fatal they're so bad! Better get him to Dr. Miller right now!

Everyone, apart from Deanna, patted him (cautiously) on the shoulder and promised him things would be fine and that he'd be back to normal in no time and, so, Felix, better come with us to the train and get you looked over by Dr. Miller quickly now because you don't know how many patients he'll have at this time of day.

Everyone, apart from Deanna, tried and failed to suppress a mild excitement as he was led out of the basement.

Everyone, apart from Deanna, managed to soothe his red raw conscious just a little bit with their words and actions and bustling familiar presence.

Everyone, apart from Deanna, made him want to crack open the safe and tear its innards out again.

Q*Bert was the only other patient in the doctors when he arrived. The harmless orange oddity had been trying to practice English, and had asked M. Bison something that had been answered with a blackened eye, a busted nose and multiple cuts and bruises.

Most of the older Arcade characters had learnt Qubenese. Well that wasn't strictly true now; most of the older hero Arcade characters had been strongly encouraged to undertaken lessons to learn this unique language. The original Surge Protector had hosted them, with a great deal of emphasis on diversity and equality and something else –ity that he used to believe in whole-heartedly but now couldn't be bothered to try and remember.

With not as much fussing as he would have liked, he'd been lowered down gently onto the sofa to wait his turn. Mary had handed back his hammer and offered to stay with him, but after only two polite declines had scuttled off quicker than she had entered. He sat straight and still, and wondered why he didn't feel more concern about the pixelated blood threatening to leak out of Q*Bert's side.

Q*Bert saw him and immediately launched into a stream of Qubenese explaining and justifying and placating his actions, and all Felix could think of was how annoying it was that no-one else was around to absorb this. Of the older characters still around no-one else had bothered to keep up with their Qubenese language skills, and the knowledge that only he could translate made him itch.

Q*Bert continued to pour out his pain and Felix shifted uncomfortably. This train of thought wasn't fair, he knew that, but he couldn't end it.

Perhaps didn't want to end it.

He jumped to his feet and began to pace. The surge of his core programming fighting against this…well, this new algorithm that had infected him somehow, must be disrupting his code. Maybe if he just took it easy for the next day or so he'd calm down. Maybe if he saw the doctor and told the truth he'd feel better. Maybe if he reversed his hammer and sunk it into Q*Bert's blabbering mouth he'd-

He closed his eyes and ground his teeth and stopped pacing.

No good, he had to get out of here. It was all too raw and tight and the startling speed of events had thrown him; had opened up a crack in his foundations too smoothly and too easily for him to feel comfortable decrying it with any conviction.

He turned and strode towards the door but stopped. Something he'd just thought of punctured him again; it slipped under his skin and sunk into his brain as if returning home. A brittle and tarnished chain of a plan flowed easily in its wake, and the nausea in his stomach clashed against the thumping of his heart.

Disrupting his code.

Perhaps if he could get to his source code he could stop this; could put an end to this sudden expanse of velvet blackness that both repelled and fascinated him. If he could at least examine his source code he could know for sure, and possibly find out what was wrong.

He could make things back to normal again.

He could fix it.

He looked down at Q*Bert, at the character that had been around longer than he had, and felt a blanket of needles envelop him smoothly. His hands reached out seemingly of their own accord, and he knew this was wrong but if it was for a greater good then it must be right.

Besides, he reasoned with himself as Q*Bert was pinched and lifted and began to drip thickly, he deserved this; deserved to know why and certainly deserved to have something for himself for a change.

Squealing with fright and disbelief, Q*Bert looked but didn't see. Felt but couldn't process. And heard but couldn't understand Felix's politely asked question as his small heart pumped and faltered.

'Where is my game's code room hidden?'