Mrs. Kelly, the head of the animation department, watched with her arms crossed and a slight furrow as artist Dean Tera retouched Beans' skin, which showed some ugly and apparently painful splatters which had eaten his ink.

"And how on earth did you get those?" Mrs. Kelly wanted to know.

"We were playing." Buddy replied, looking very guilty. What was he but a child whose immaturity got him into trouble after all?

"I don't know what kind of games were you playing, but you should know better than to stay close to paint thinner. Use your common sense. Do you got any idea of how scared I was when they called me so early in the morning to tell me my big stars were damaged?"

"We're sorry, Mrs. Kelly." Buddy and Beans said to the unison.

"Bah, it was nothing. See? Like right out of the drawing board." Tera said, drawing back to contemplate his work.

"Thanks!" Beans told him.

"Keep the new movie in mind as an incentive to be a little more careful, okay? After the struggle we had to make Dwayne Johnson say yes."

Mrs. Kelly ended up leaving after patting their heads. Tera shook their hands, grabbed his utensils and went home too. Left alone in the room, Beans and Buddy's expression changed completely. They only needed to exchange a look to talk to each other about the things happening that night. The bad course things were taking...

"I'll check on him. Make sure he's still uncontaminated. We still got a chance, don't we? As long as he's ignorant about everything...We'll be fine..." Buddy shuddered.

"Fine." Beans replied, almost distractedly. "Buddy..."

"Huh?"

"Porky probably saw us. Or maybe not. Anyway...if he becomes a threat...If something must be done about him...I'll do it. You heard me? He's mine."

Buddy was silent for a second, then nodded.


The sun was coming out. At least, in the outside world. In Warner Falls, where the clouds covered everything, one could only tell it was daytime because the clarity increased.

The sun was coming out and Father Stewart was still very, very, very angry.

He was furious when all those cops pounced on him, and after having to stay in that dirty cell for hours, his mood did not improve one little bit.

"Rackin'-frackin' eejit hasenpfeffer barnacles...!"

He shot without seeing what he was aiming at. He left a hole on a brick wall.

"Blue blistering bell-bottomed doggone flea-bitten balderdash...!"

Another shot. He made a portion of soil jump.

All he had learnt at the seminary, everything the Scriptures taught, even what his good momma taught him, like not to swear—all of that was completely gone. Father Clayton Stewart's head was empty of everything that used to matter to him and there was only rage. It was the only feeling he could experience at all. The feeling everything was wrong. The feeling that his own body was wrong, clumsy, inconvenient and ugly. The feeling everyone was a treacherous snake.

So he wandered the streets, his teeth gritted like he wanted to break them with the force of his own jaw, his hands holding the two pistols tight, willing to shoot at everything that moved, didn't move or just existed.

Because he was angry, that's why.


Everything seemed better under the cold water. Completely immobile, Martin felt it was helping him think better—but for how long, he wondered, before he got those bad thoughts again.

See? There it was again.

His stomach hurt. He was so hungry.

He spent a long time in the shower, just thinking. Something was very wrong with him, and Treg was paying for that. The bite…No, that wasn't an accident; the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. He knew what he was doing. He wanted to bite him, tear as much flesh as he could and then swallow it. One part of him was utterly disgusted and disturbed by the thought of that; the other, overstimulated by that glimpse of his taste, wanted him to finish what he started, and quick. He had tried to silence his stomach with a generous breakfast, but he found none of the things they had in the fridge were convenient to him. In fact, he pushed them away with disgust. He only wanted one thing.

As he dried himself and put his clothes on, he started thinking about what he would do. Get professional help...Yes, that seemed like the sensible things to do in a case like that. He would have to go to the doctor too, because that hunger was not normal, those thoughts could only be a madman's. He had to do it while he still retained some common sense.

He looked at himself in the mirror and saw a starving wild animal...

Knock, knock.

"Martin?"

Martin didn't reply, so Treg knocked again.

"Martin, are you alright?"

"Treg, go away…"

"May I come in?"

"No."

But Treg opened the door anyway, when Martin was almost done, putting his shirt on. Treg had never cared about decorum or privacy.

"Hey bud, I wanted to apologize." He said. "That hurt, but I shouldn't have shouted at you. I didn't want to kick you in the balls, either. It was automatic, you know?"

"It's no problem, really, Treg. Just…please, leave me alone."

"No, I'm not leaving. I want to make some things clear. I've heard you walking in and out and around the van all night. I know because I haven't slept one minute, either. Have I done something to you?"

"You? No…I…I don't think so."

"Then are you feeling alright? You're not…doing drugs or something like that, right?"

"Of course not, Treg, what are you saying?"

"Because you're acting very weird these days and if it's not something I did or said, it must be because there's something going on."

"No, Treg, I'm not doing drugs and nothing is happening. Why don't you?-"

"You're lying. You don't trust me. Okay...I know I'm no shrink or the kind of a guy people tell secrets to, but I'm here to help you. But you already know that, don't you?" Martin avoided looking at him and Treg moved even closer to invade his field of view. "Like, Martin, you saved my ass when I needed someone, you've been a pal to me all of this time. The least I can do in return is listen if you've got some kind of problem and try to help you. You know you can count on me, right?"

That smell…That delicious smell…Why was he torturing him with that, approaching so much, so he could smell it?

"Treg, please, go away…" Martin whispered, feeling his blood rush.

"No. Martin. I'm serious right now. It may be surprising for you, but I'm being serious for once. Tell me what the matter is, why you are so nervous and weird and hungry."

"I don't even know that myself, Treg, but please, leave me alone, okay?"

"Will you be alright if I leave you alone?"

"Sure, what do you think?"

"I just don't want you to do something stupid."

"Treg, this is pointless and ridiculous. You…oh, that smell, do you do that on purpose?"

"What smell? What are you talking about?"

There was a reason why he hadn't gotten rid of this hitchhiker years before. Treg thought he was the only guy who bothered to stop for him, when, actually, it was him who first made him feel like he was visible. He had had a hard time making friends at school, at college, in his working days, because he was very introverted, unsociable, didn't find anything in common with the other people. He heard them call him names, laugh. Remarks about his scarecrow appearance, his lack of hygiene, his silent attitude which made him seem dumb, his fixation with everything that was logical and had a certain place...That was why his degrees were useless. If you don't know how to handle people, you're doomed. The only thing you can do is get a van and look for somewhere where they don't show the smallest interest in you, not even to bother you, and you can be as dirty and studious and quiet as you want. Look for jobs where you work with your hands on something you don't need to talk to. And then this kid appeared. Treg was the only one who bothered to get to know him. The only one who wanted to talked to him. He didn't think he was a know-it-all or a weirdo. Like...so was he. He got comfortable enough with him to tell him about it. One of the reasons why he left his house. He never shut up, never was quiet and calm, he bothered everyone in the class, his family. They even thought he was hyperactive and made him go see a doctor. He had no friends and no place in this stupid world, either, for the radical opposite reason.

Treg didn't stop approaching until Martin let him in. Martin knew he would never give up on him.

"...Treg...I want you out. Immediately." Martin muttered.

Treg just rose an eyebrow.

"Take your things right now and leave." Martin insisted.

"What got into you?" Treg asked.

"This is my van, I make the rules. I don't want you to stay any longer. Understood?"

He was not supposed to be talking with him. Or watch television together, or play video games, or anything. He was just supposed to hunt him down and eat him. Nothing else...

Treg shook his head in disbelief. "This proves it. You're not right. We were fine last week and now you're kicking me out without giving me a reason. What's going on? And don't tell me it is nothing, because I don't believe you."

Martin wished he could give him a reason, but he didn't know where this instinct came from himself...

Silent, trying to keep that stone cold expression, the oldest just pointed one body finger at the door. Hopefully this would make him see he had lost his time with an imbecile and leave him. He would save himself...

But Treg placed his hands on his shoulders and shook him.

"Martin, I'm not leaving you with whatever it is you're going through, just like you didn't leave me in the lurch back in the day. I'm trying to understand and help you. Please. Help me help you!"

No, he would never give up...

Martin could only do one thing to protect him.

With a strong push which made his shoulder hit the wall, Martin got his friend out of the way and darted towards the door.

"Where are you going?! Martin! MARTIN!" Treg stood up as fast as he could and chased his friend. This was all proof he needed to confirm is friend had gone mad.

He had gone mad...As Martin ran, he a burning feeling inside his chest. A good bunch of feelings, all at once...

He placed both hands on his temples, his fists clenched, and let out a groan. He wasn't a monster. He didn't want to hurt anybody, less that boy who had done nothing bad to him except making his life a lot less lonely and a lot more interesting. He had to be sick. He needed to fix himself...

...No...

The little devil on his shoulder was whispering very convincing arguments to him.

He was better off alone. He was supposed to be on his own. It was in solitude where the brain could work at its fullest potential. Any kind of company was a liability.

Treg was not what he seemed. He was his enemy. He had stolen him time and focus. He was the kind of person he despised. Yes, he hated Treg. There was no way he could have actually felt sympathy for that brat. Brat? That is, if he was even human...

Why did he doubt that?

But the more he thought, the more human attributes he took away from him, until, in the end, Treg was just a thing with no feelings and no rights. Something he could dispose of as he wanted.

His sanity protested. No! But it was an itsy, bitsy, tiny voice which became quieter and quieter until it bothered him no more.

Get him.

Kill him.

Eat him.

His running became walking, then he stopped.

A fine grin grew on his face. Treg was worried about him. How moving. He would let him find him, if he wanted to see him so.


When Mrs. Hart woke up, she was surprised to find the house so quiet. Isadore was usually up at this time to set everything ready for work. However, she approached his bedroom and saw there was no one there. He wasn't in the kitchen or the bathroom, either. Izzy wasn't at home. He had probably left already. His boss was always changing his swift whenever he wanted.
She served herself a glass of tea with milk, some buns and turned on the radio to have some company. She wondered if Pip would be free that day to go take a walk. A sound made her walk towards the door and open it. She watched the streets from the frame sipping her tea with a frown.

All these thunders...Would it finally start raining?

Her eyes then met some big dark drops on the pavement in the entrance. Her frowning grew deeper and she crouched down to touch it. She couldn't identify what it was.

While she meditated, her grandson was in a car with someone he was sure he knew. The other man...he wasn't so sure.

"See? Everything can be solved in life except death and taxes. You complain too much." José told Isadore as he stopped the cat in front of Joey's house.

"Oh, yeah, silly me, complaining about broken bones..." Isadore puffed, his nose bandaged.

"For someone who's supposedly taken so many blows, you complain like a little girl. Unless you are lying."

"I am not lying. I'm telling you I used to get many, many, many of these. It used to be just unpleasant, it didn't hurt this bad and for this long. But of course, you don't know: you were the one who held the hammer..."

"You look like you deserved it. I hate people who hurt those who are smaller than them..."

"I am a cat! Cats eat mice and birds, it's in our nature."

José seemed both amused and disturbed about this—or somewhere in between.

"So...You're saying that the little chamaco was a bird in his past life and I...was a mouse?"

"That's right."

"A mouse. A talking mouse."

"You didn't seem to care about it."

"Hm. I should punch you for calling me a pest."

"But you won't because you know it's true."

"...I remember a cat. A big, mean cat who gave us a hard time...Who is we, I am not sure..."

"The other mice, obviously."

José remained sat, his gaze lost somewhere on the dashboard. Isadore let out a tired sigh and placed a hand on his face.

"I'm not thirty-three. In fact, if I am not mistaken...I first opened my eyes on the drawing board of a cartoonist called Friz...Friz what? Friz something...a long, long time ago...Wait, World War II. I remember being there when they announced war was over. I had just been around for a few months, I didn't quite get what was going on. And that makes me think...That means that old lady living in my house is not my grandmother. My parents never died in a car crash when I was a toddler. I...Suffering succotash, I am a dad myself! Junior! I...I have a kitten! Oh, and I've got no idea of where he is or what he looks like!"

José listened to his laments without intervening. He had enough with his own struggles. He knew about a gringo pussygato who used to do mean things to his people and so he felt in his right to do mean things to him. But...who were his people? Were they even people? Isadore told him they weren't, but he refused to believe it.

Isadore closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. After a while, he shook his head and turned his head towards José.

"You can't fool me: you do remember more than you say. You hate me, and it's not because of what I did to the kid."

"I don't hate you. I just don't trust you fully and I am going to keep an eye on you, in case you try to do something. But...I still think this is all crazy. We can't be fictional characters. It's just impossible. Our lives...It can't all be a lie..."

"That's what I thought. But it's true. It didn't use to be like this. We didn't use to look like this. Life was about something else..."

Life was about something else...Not just working hard to obtain a green card and sustain oneself and a sister who gave people a reason to talk...Putting up with people who thought they were better than you because they were born just a few kilometers upper in a map and worked in an office...

"If you are one more victim of this situation, who did it?" José asked.

"No idea. If it's true the last guy who asked that question was blown into smithereens, I'm not sure I wanna know."

"That's not right. Living in a lie is not right. Someone has to do something. We can't let those who put us in this situation win." José said, finally leaving the car.

Isadore smirked, following him.

"You didn't change much, really...The hero. Always defending the weak..."

"Is that what I was like? A super-mouse?"

"Kind of. Speedy Gonzales, the fastest mouse in all Mexico...An icon...Remember that song Pat Boone wrote to you?"

"A song? About me?"

"You used to love it...I mean, when you were a..."

José looked away, sighing through his nose.

"How evil it is, to take someone's memories..." He muttered, ringing at Joey's door.

When they got there, everything was exactly the way they left it. Pip was still sitting on the armchair, his arms stretched on both arms, staring into space, and didn't react when Isadore showed up. Sheldon was still sitting too, and he had not lost that expression of someone who's wide awake in spite of not having slept that night. The only thing that was different was Joey bringing coffee, orange juice and some buns for everyone. Isadore, José and Sheldon grabbed something to eat and drink, but the child didn't move yet.

"...I am not a human being..." He finally unlocked his lips to say in barely above a whisper. "I am a pet...A pet! And a very old one...Gee, am I old..."

"C-Come on, don't think about it now. You're ti-ti-tired, that's all. Go-Go to sleep. Or eat something. Here, I g-got some buns and co-coffee and j-j-juice for you guys." Joey tried to comfort him, offering him what was on the tray of food.

"No, thanks. I feel I'm going to puke..." Pip gently shook his head.

"But what made you remember so fast? Marvin wrote in his log that it took him a lot, and me, I still don't remember a thing." Sheldon said.

"I don't know...But when I saw Izzy, I mean..." Pip looked at Isadore, and he didn't know what to say. "When I saw him, I just saw everything clear."

"Same here. I only needed to experience the same things I used to go through and it was like...click!" Isadore snapped his fingers.

"I'm not getting punched in the face or anything, I'm warning you." José rose his hands.

"It wasn't just that. I've been feeling different ever since he showed up." Isadore said.

"Yes, the same happened to me. Ever since I started talking to Mrs. Hart..." Pip finally changed his posture, sitting straight, his eyes showing a bit more lucidity. "...Her...She contributed...I...That's it! That's why I felt so safe around her! That's why I felt so fond of her! Granny!"

In his voice was such a sweetness that his whole being seemed to melt.

However, Isadore's eyebrows furrowed.

"My Granny..." Pip kept on whispering, now with a smile on his lips. "She was my mistress...The one who kept me safe from all the cats and loved me...She's changed too..., but she's still Granny...I still love her, even if I didn't remember...We lived in the same street for so many years and never said hello, but, deep down, even if we didn't remember, we still loved each other. We just needed to be together again..."

"The Granny's a toon too?" José asked.

"This is ma-ma-madness...Animated animals turned into people! Wa-Wa-Walking and talking around!" Joey exclaimed, walking in circles around the room. "Is that what we are su-supposed to be, all of us? Like Beans and Buddy, those doodles from the te-te-television?"

"We are. I know we are—Or were." Pip replied.

"At this point, I don't know what to believe anymore..." José sipped from the juice like wishing the vitamins would help his headache.

"I don't see m-myself in front of a ca-ca-ca-camera, acting silly..." Joey continued to say.

"I perfectly can." Sheldon smirked. "That's why old Leon liked me better."

Joey's stroll around the living room suddenly stopped.

"...Leon...Leon Schlesinger?" He slowly turned his head towards Sheldon.

"Yeah...Do you know him?"

"...Y-Yes...I-I remember like I saw him yesterday..."

This was very interesting. So interesting that he sat in front of Sheldon and he changed his posture so he could look at Joey closely.

"Everyone in the studio licked his soles, because he was the guy with the money." He started to remember aloud. And helped Joey collect more and more memories.

"He was a-always sm-sm-smo-smoking."

"Yeah, he was. Every time we went see him to his office, he offered us a cigarette."

"It-It wasn't frowned u-upon that the audience saw us sm-smo-smoking back then. Children were not our inten-intended audience yet."

"His office smelt like tobacco, that cologne he bathed himself in and sweat from the artists who showed him their work."

"Yes, b-but he was still better than the guy who came after him...This...This..." Joey snapped his fingers, trying to remember. "Eddie Selzer!"

"Ah! Selzer! That boring coot did nothing but interfere!"

"Tha-That was the good thing about Leon: he didn't know anything about the ma-matter, but he let us do what we wanted as long as it pro-pro-produced money."

"We had so much fun when he was the head of the department...The guys and us had freedom to get creative. We could act like total goofballs. Even if we worked in a place infected with termites, we couldn't have laughed more."

"Oh, yes, the team was a-a-a riot!"

"Chuck was one of them, right?"

"Sure! And...And Friz, and Bobby, and..."

"Sid, and Virgil and..."

"Robert and...and..."

"But Leon had his temper, alright. He was sometimes unbearable. He took credit for things he didn't deserve. I grew to hate him because it was his fault that he left."

"He, who?"

Sheldon went quiet.

Yeah, who?

Joey gazed at him with his lips parted.

"...I-I knew it...I knew we had met somewhere before...A-At work..."

"You are certainly...Very familiar to me...Now that I think about it...That stuttering is very familiar." Sheldon muttered.

"What about the things that were chasing you? Are those familiar too?" José interrupted what seemed like an intimate moment between the two of them.

"Sure they are! I used to watch their cartoons when I was little!" Sheldon said.

"I mean, something else."

"Actually...No."

"Uh-uh." Pip shook his head.

"Aside from them being famous cartoon characters..., no." Isadore shrugged.

Joey hesitated. He wanted to say yes. But he ended up shaking his head as well.

"I'll ask Kath. Maybe she knows." Sheldon said.

He gave everyone his number and left the house, hoping to fill in the blanks. After he was gone, the remaining four kept on pondering.

"I don't know...But the more I f-find out, the less com-comf-comfortable I find myself in this situation. I know now why the mayoralty fe-feels so oppressing...It's not just that...It's this...b-body, this pla-place...This is not who we are me-meant to be...where we are meant to be...Someone p-put us here, ga-gave us a story, but we chose none of this...We were created for a pur-purpose, and we couldn't be further f-from it..."

"Do you remember your creators?" Isadore asked.

"B-Barely."

"I remember Friz." Nostalgia filled his voice. "He made us like exaggerated versions of himself. Short-tempered, butt of people's jokes...But he was a nice guy. And a professional. He made us film a scene many times because he wanted to do things right."

"People used to take him for granted, because he wasn't that over-the-top as the others." José nodded.

"See? You are remembering!" Isadore smiled.

"I don't remember any Leon, or Selzer or Friz, but...I get the feelings, . The feelings some people brought me..."


Kath was at home, luckily. And when she opened the door, Sheldon didn't find her dressed in black or anything. That was good news, right?

"You got no idea of what you missed!" He said, just stepping in. "We've been talking all night, and Joe and I have confirmed that we used to be something in the past, and we've remembered some names. Chuck's not the only one. There's also Friz, and Bob and Robert, and..."

"Sheldon. Shel, what are you talking about?" Kath interrupted him.

"It seems talking with others makes things easier. It stimulates the brain cells or something. I can feel it, girlfriend: we are getting closer and closer to the truth. I'm telling you: we'll be French-kissing it in no time!"

"Oh, come on, are you telling me that you actually bought what that guy told you?"

Sheldon's smile started to fade.

"...You're kidding me, right?"

"Between us, Sheldon...You need a hobby. Or a girlfriend. Or both."

"...Uh, should I remind you that you were there and saw?"

"What did I see?"

"The papers."

"Yeah, doodles made by a deranged man who believed he was an alien."

"The walking doodles attacking us!"

"Think of what you've just said. Walking doodles. Attacking people. Seriously, Sheldon, you need help."

Sheldon furrowed his eyebrows, his mouth was left open.

"...You...You're mocking me, right? Tell me this is a joke."

"I'm not joking. You're acting just like him and if you don't stop, you'll end up the same way he did: in the streets, consuming yourself over some nonsense."

"You...You forgot?"

"There is nothing to forget. I was there. I saw nothing. Nothing at all. It didn't make any sense. It's you who's seeing things that are not real."

"It's not just me! The other guys are certain too! You think we're all mad?"

"No, but I think you bought the first conspiracy theory you came across."

"You were not thinking that just a few hours ago...Wait...What happened? What did your mother tell you? Did she tell you something? Did she play any tricks on your brain?"

"Don't talk about my mother like that, warning number one." Kath shook her index finger in a threatening gesture.

"You were fine until she called you!"

"You're going to call my mom an obstacle again? It's so easy for you to say that, huh?: you don't have anyone to take care of!"

"Don't you remember? The guys at Termite...Termite something! Leon! Bob!"

"I've got no idea of who those people are!"

"Kath, I'm serious..."

"Me too. I don't want to know anything about this, alright? Come back when you've gotten rid of all the Martians in your head!"

She pushed him out—she was stronger than he was, he didn't have a chance—and closed the door in his face. Sheldon mumbled exasperatedly and then kicked the door.

"Maybe it's you who's crazy for throwing you life away for someone who's burying you alive!" He shouted, then angrily walked away.

Kath almost opened the door to slap him but contained herself. She just grunted and walked back to her mother's side.

"Who was it, dear?" She asked.

"Nobody, Mom." Kath replied harshly.