Mike blinked down at her. He was on his knees, sitting on the cold stone floor, cradling his leader to his chest. The moment he saw her eyes were open, he started trembling, and for a moment she swore the moron was about to go full waterworks.
"Winnie! You…. I was so, and…" he was breathing very rapidly. Fred blinked back up at him slowly. Mike had this tiny dot on his left cheek.
"What the heck," Harry swore, whistling. "When we got here, it was like, weird man. You were lying on the floor, kinda half there, half not there. You looked almost like a ghost, or… an echo."
"You… you came to help me?" Fred started to try to scoot onto her own feet, but found that she was quite lacking the strength. Her eyes widened as another figure leaned down beside her.
"Indeed," Emily said solemnly. "We wanted to make sure you weren't hurt."
Mike helped Fred to her feet. "I told you dunderheads to go keep yourselves safe," she growled, pushing off from Mike and then slumping back onto him as her knees buckled. "You guys are so dead, once we get out of this." Arg, her knees felt like jelly. What had happened, she'd been… No, she didn't have time to dwell on it right now.
Fred turned towards the small door, finally managing to find her feet. "He must be through there. I would have expected a more dramatic entrance, but whatever. Come on, his guards should be back any moment.
Emily came to stand at her shoulder. Fred nodded at her formally, her hands on her hips. "Yes? Will you stop us from attacking your master? Or are you actually, you know. Human."
"Mrs. Washington, I will support you. But first, I believe you should fix your clothes. They are on backwards."
A short time later, a furiously silent Fred emerged from one of the darker side caverns. She walked up so Emily was between her and the guys, and then gestured them forward.
A small plaque adorned the door. "Control room," Harry read. He chuckled. "Huh, even God has a sense of humor."
Fred glared, and seized the doorknob. The door slid open without a creak, and they stepped through.
The tunnel beyond was even darker then from where they'd came. They crept along, hands out in front, and pebbles squeaking beneath their feet. Soon, a small light became visible, shining far above them.
They came to a stop. Subconsciously, the foursome moved back-to-back, and gazed up at the lone star.
Fred cleared her throat. After a moment, she cleared her throat again. "Hey, uh hello? HEY! HEY, MR. BEARD IN THE SKY! OLD DUDE! I'M TALKING TO YOU!"
There was no sound. The light was motionless, flickering slowly.
"This is Winifred Washington, leader of the Battlefront that you have imprisoned here, and are attempting to eliminate as we speak! I have come, not for mercy, but for justice. SHOW YOURSELF! SHOW…"
Fred trailed off as abruptly, the light changed. They saw a door open, and a figure step through, illuminated in the glow. A hand reached by the side of the door, and more lights flashed on.
Fred and the others blinked in shock. A man stood on a platform far above them, gazing down silently.
He wasn't short, but then was hardly tall. He wasn't old, barely older than them. Dim eyes glinted above a long nose, both encompassed by shoulder-length, perfectly straight black hair. A pale grey cloak was wrapped around his spindly shoulders. His skin was as pale as a worm.
Fingers wrapped around the railing like spider legs as he leaned to look over them.
"Hey, you! Yo, creepy dude!" Harry yelled up. He paused. "Who are you?"
There was a long pause before they received a reply. When the stranger finally spoke, it was with a quivering rasp. He barely whispered, but somehow his words echoed down in their entirety.
"…They have arrived at the control room? That is odd. Most unorthodox. This area is not designed to be accessible…Peculiar."
Fred grit her teeth. Steel flashed in the dim light as she raised her rifle up at the looming figure. "Look, who the hell are you? Are you God?"
The figure was silent for a moment. "How curious. What curious souls. This is highly irregular. Steps must be taken." He cleared his throat. "Initiating: Sentient relations interface." The man coughed, and then suddenly looked down, meeting their eye.
"God, you said? My, my, now isn't that a personal question," the figure spoke, his voice suddenly as smooth and full as chocolate. "But no, I am far from it. I am known as Osiris." He bowed, cloak draping his shoulders. "I am the caretaker, the supervisor of this world in which we exist.
They exchanged confused glances. "Then… what made you the supervisor? Who do you work for?" Mike called up.
Osiris leaned against the railing casually. "Ah, a simple inquiry. I have always been the supervisor. It is my purpose to ensure that this world …ticks. It is with this purpose that I was put in this world, by my maker. The Creator."
Mike kicked a stone; it skidded away into the darkness. He heard the strikes of rock on rock, then abruptly, a soft thud.
"Are you the one who's set those monsters on my friends?" Fred snarled. "Answer me."
"Monsters? Oh, how amusing. It appears you've quit misunderstood their purpose." Osiris flashed a perfect, sparkling grin. "They are the cleaners. They will wipe away what is hazardous, and like everything I catalyze, they are for the greater good of this world. I have always endeavored to protect this world, despite your constant efforts to the contrary."
"What 'endeavors' do you mean," Fred replied, her voice dangerously calm.
"Whatever I needed to do to maintain balance. I supplied one of your number with certain tools, which I believed would thwart a dangerous trend. When that failed, I attempted utilizing altered copies of the mortal Emily Robinson, an ambush, even a specially made instrument. All failed."
Osiris sighed, oblivious to the looks on their faces. "For the longest of times, the balance was only kept by the conflict between 'The Battlefront' and Mrs. Robinson. You are all simply too unstable. Once that conflict ended, balance was swiftly lost, despite my efforts. Now it is too late. The virus, which my Creator has long strove against, has taken root."
The Supervisor smiled down at them benignly. "But not to worry. The world is being reset as we speak. The NPC's have become the cleaners. They sense souls infected with the virus, so there is nowhere you can hide where they won't find you. In a matter of hours, all infected souls will be remade. Quite efficient."
Mike heard Fred mutter something unprintable, and the next thing he knew his ears were ringing in shock.
"That was a warning shot, just because you're unarmed," Fred spat, as Osiris blinked at the shattered stone crumbling by his head. "You shut those monsters down now, or you can test your own mortality. I don't care what you supervise."
Osiris, however, was untouched. He smiled, his milk-pale face only possessing wisps of emotion. "I'm afraid I can't allow that. Protecting this world is my Purpose. Now, if you're so anxious about the cleaners, then perhaps you would feel better if you met their origin?" With a sudden motion, Osiris flicked something on the rock wall. More lights flashed on around the cavern, gradually illuminating its every recess. In front of them, Mike saw something shift.
"I have the pleasure of introducing the source from which all the anomalies were formed. This is Ammit, consumer of souls. Stand patiently now, tenants of my Creator's world, and wait to be cleansed."
As the lights revealed the true depths of the cavern, Mike once more saw motion. Behind him, he heard Harry's gasp of horror, and felt his own knees almost buckle in shock.
A colossal monster loomed up against the far wall. Its rear was a stomach-wrenching mass of slime. Droplets of ooze ran down its flanks in rivulets, to parallel hind-legs the size of moving vans. The monster's torso was heavily muscled, slime turning to gnarled fur as it reached the head. Around the neck was Ammit's mane, a cackling ring of roaring flame. The fire encircled the monster's leering, lizard head, containing a gawping crocodile's maw lined with a flash of teeth the size of Mike's waist.
At Osiris's words, Ammit stirred. He shifted, and suddenly eyes, burning with hell-fire, crashed down on them.
Chains of fire arched from the walls, anchored around the metal collar around the Beast's neck. As they watched, Ammit reared up, limbs tossing. The chains flickered out of existence.
Mike felt an insistent tug on his sleeve. He glanced down.
Emily pointed back down the path they had come. Mike felt a familiar chill run down his back as he saw a horde of Ammit's progeny oozing forward, their number stretching back into the darkness.
"This is one of those strange maneuvers. A trap. We are trapped," Emily whispered, a quiver audible in her voice.
Behind them, Fred's fist clenched around her rifle.
"Just trust the rules of the system," came Osiris's call. "And you will be processed as is natural. Now, relax. Do not waste effort."
There was a crunch of finality as the Beast's tree-trunk leg stepped forward.