Fred Clark falls on a bright summer evening.

He's busy investigating a peculiar burrow in the tiny forest next to his equally tiny house, squinting against the blinding sun, when he finds that he's gotten in too deep and the ground gives way beneath his feet.

A shriek escapes his mouth, and his first thought is that this is revenge for calling one of his former friends stupid for tripping into a manhole while drunk off his ass.

He might break his legs, or his arms, or, most likely, his neck. If he dies, well, then he dies. Idly, he wonders whether his ex-friend will bother to show up at his funeral just to get the last laugh. Probably not. And in any case, he won't know, 'cause he'll be dead.

And if he lives—

Well. This is probably a bad time to remember that his health insurance expired last monday.

Death by falling. Well, it could be worse. At least he isn't drowning. If he'd had a choice, he'd have liked to die in bed, old and wrinkled and surrounded by— okay, this is a little far-fetched, but he is falling to his death, after all— a myriad of crying friends and family, looking to him a some sort of dying sage. He would have liked to die being something other than a twenty-something loser with a boring office job and exploring strange holes in the woods as a side hobby.

—

Fred Clark doesn't die.

See, funny thing, the hole doesn't just stop. No, it keeps going and going and going, and there's some odd mist floating about too, and all of a sudden he comes crashing into icy water.

This is unexpected. Is this an undiscovered ocean? No, wait, it doesn't work like that, does it? Uhhh…

As he's sputtering and flailing in the water, wondering what mess he's gotten himself into, something appears from above, and his first thought is, woah, shark attack! except shark attacks aren't really that common and he's in an underground cave, anyway, and—

He's flying now. So it's not a shark attack or whatever, he's probably dead, and then that makes this an angel attack— wait, no, that's not how it works—

"Overlander," says some pale guy.

"You— angel?" Fred Clark sputters.

"Uh— Anchel," says the guy. "Welcome to the Underland?"

—

Fred Clark isn't dead. The angel turns out to be a guy and a bat. Fun. He ought to be panicking, but if he's honest, this is the most interesting thing to happen in his life since good old Joey slipped into a manhole after they got shitfaced in that bar back in the day.

He laughs, which probably isn't the best reaction to being stuck in an underground world with oversized animals and a penchant for war. But hey, while he's here, he better make the best of it, doesn't he?

The scout who found him drops him off in a weird rock town. Then an old guy gives him the full tour, lore included, and Fred has to fake a coughing fit so as not to burst out laughing at a mix of the formality of these people, the Sandwich person who apparently brought these people down here, and the bossy kid with the crown that they pass in the hall who allegedly is the queen of this place. The old guy gives him a concerned look, so Fred says, "Uh. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, was it?"

And the old guy calls his observation clever before going on to drop some more info on this whole place. The gist it goes like this: the weird rock town is called Regalia, the humans and bats are as good friends as Fred and Joey before the manhole incident, and the rats are, generally, out for blood.

"Heh," says Fred Clark, "sounds like more fun than upstairs." He jerks his finger upwards.

And the old guy gives him another concerned look.

—

Fred Clark can't sleep.

It should be easy, considering that there's no sun down here.

But that's it.

There's no sun.

And what's darkness without light?

"Getting philosophical, Freddy," he mutters to himself. "You'll be fine."

—

Fred Clark still can't sleep.

Oh, sure, he's had fun. He knows the names of some of the people down here now. The old guy is called Vikus. The bossy kid is called Luxa. The scout who found him is called Anchel, and the bat Daphne. They remind him of Joey.

He's never quite sure if he misses the Overland. He never really had much upstairs — he was a loser, and he knew it. Since he's an Overlander, he's slightly less of a loser down here. Well, if you don't count the rats who apparently have a personal agenda against him because of some of that Sandwich dude's prophecies.

It's always nice with some variety.

It's just—

He misses the feel of grass beneath his boots. He misses the clamor of cars on the road. He misses the taste of junk food, and he misses—

He misses the sun.

—

Fred Clark misses the sun.

The days go by, except they're not really days because there's no sun.

He can't sleep.

—

Fred Clark wakes up in the night— so maybe he can sleep, and this will all get better—

—

Fred Clark wakes up again. He stumbles his way through the darkness, clutching a lantern in his hand, and by pure luck, he finds his way out of the palace that he's been placed in and onto a dock.

An odd canoe waits.

There's an odd noise in the air — a churning, wild noise, like a knife chopping meat.

Then a voice behind him. "Fred Clark!" It's Anchel the scout. "You cannot sail the river on your own!"

"I—" Fred tries turning, but his eyes remain on the canoe. "No, I— I have to see the sun."

"You need a flier for that!" Anchel shouts, taking a lunging step. His fingers graze Fred's back. "Daphne and I can—"

"I need the sun!" Fred recoils, and oh, what is it with all this clamor in his head, and why is the sky so dark, and, and—

He leaps. The canoe appears beneath him, but it is still so dark.

It's so—

SO

DARK

He flies too far. His legs smack against the canoe. It's an odd feeling. He feels afloat, for just a moment.

Then comes the water, and with it, the darkness.

He screams. He screams for the sun. He screams for his tiny house and his tiny forest. He screams for his office job and his manhole-victim friend. He screams, and the water flows in through his open mouth.