Chapter 1.3: Stalker Without a Crush

As we're walking along I happen to glance in the direction of the main lobby. An arm and hand belonging to someone on the other side holds the door slightly ajar, though it shuts as I watch.

"You know what I've been thinking?" Qwark asks. "That I'm so dashing and awesome I should be wearing more appropriate attire for the tour. If only I'd remembered to pack my girdle and tights."

"Isn't…what?" I stare at him blankly. "...isn't Vox supposed to be there with us?"

"He sure is! We can't start the show without the ringmaster. Not implying that this whole shindig is a circus act, but…"

That had been Vox's arm I'd seen, I'd recognized the navy-colored sleeve of his suit. It looked like he'd been at the door talking to someone in the lobby.

"Lombaxes first," Qwark says when he reaches the teleporter. It takes him a moment to realize he's left me about ten feet behind. He reads the room, exclaiming, "Hey! I recognize that look!"

"What's that?" I ask distractedly, staring at the lobby doors.

"That's the I'm-about-to-do-something-I-probably-shouldn't-do-look! Though, it's more or less your default expression."

"No it's not."

I blink and Qwark's spawned at my shoulder, blurting, "What are you about to do?"

"I just saw Vox leaving...over there," I nod my head towards the lobby. "I'm gonna follow him and see what he's up to."

Why? I really can't say. Just spot checking, I guess.

"I do have to wonder, too! I don't know what else he could have on his schedule right now," Qwark says, rubbing his chin. He gasps in sudden realization. "Oooh Ratchet, can I—"

"Come stalk him with me? You're not exactly hard to figure out," I respond, starting to walk away. "And also, no."

He pulls me back by my tail. I shoot him a warning look over my shoulder.

"You can't do it by yourself, how are you gonna get past all those guards in the lobby?" Qwark challenges. "They'll question you and your intentions, you know!"

I hadn't thought of that possibility. For a moment I begin to think I wouldn't be able to sneak out. Then again, the fact I was considering this in the first place was undoubtedly stupid, but there's merits that come with taking risks like these. Or so I like to think. Maybe I'd be screaming in a torture chamber by the end of the day.

My eyes drift to one of the curtains hanging on the wall. I eye it up for a moment, forming a hasty plan barely strung together by figments of logic and legitimately. It's as brilliant as it will ever get.

I turn to face Qwark, only to lean my head back since his face is an inch from mine. "Okay…you can help, then. You'll probably be late for the tour. Don't know if you'll care or not, though I'm sure you already know where everything is, including all the mouse holes."

"Really?!" Qwark yells.

I have a feeling he hadn't heard anything after 'you can help'. I hold up a hand. "Yes. But…chill out, okay?"

"You know what?" he says with sudden realization, "I'll help you, but it'll come at a price!"

"Are you—when did that come into the equation?!"

"The equation's not complete! We haven't solved for Q yet," Qwark says, winking. He crosses his arms, turning away. "But it stands! I won't help unless you agree to my terms."

My fingers twitch for his neck. "Which are?"

Qwark faces me again, looking so giddy that it instinctively causes a flicker of terror to run up my spine. He leans down and whispers into my ear.

Moments later I back away, giving him a look of vague horror and confusion. "…what?"

We stare at each other for a few moments.

"…huh," Qwark remarks. "I thought you'd give me more of a reaction. Or at least a threat, I like those."

"Okay, but…why would you…"

I'm speechless for a moment, unable to process the weirdness I'd just heard. Part of it had been a secret of his I'd been better off not knowing about. For the sake of my own dignity I won't disclose what he asked of me, but simultaneously it doesn't strike me as being ridiculous as any of his previous requests.

Or…oh no. Maybe I was becoming desensitized to him. Was that it?

"…I refuse," I answer, almost trance-like.

Qwark's eyes widen slightly, and he grumbles to himself with discontent. "…well, I thought for sure that was tame enough for you, Ratchet…fair enough."

He shrugs, walking off. "By the way, there's gonna be ice cream during the tour. Are you more of a banana cream sundae guy, or do you prefer strawberry spinach?"

"You really can't come up with anything else?" I ask, exasperated.

"I can, but I won't, Ratchet."

"We'd be wasting even more time!"

"It's not like I'm asking to do it now, in public," Qwark says, turning and giving me an insufferable grin. "It'd still be on me to decide when, though."

"Okay—fine!" I barely stop myself from shouting, lest they hear me from the lobby. "Ugh, I should strangle you with barbed wire. Freak."

"Thank you!"

Qwark zips back over, biting his lower lip and waving his fists in excitement. "I hope you forget," I grumble, knowing full well he won't. "Here's what—stop grinning at me! Here's what we're gonna do…"

"Hello to one and all!"

Qwark bursts into the lobby, raising his arms. He makes the movement so fast I almost slip off his back. "Easy!" I hiss, readjusting my grip on his shoulders. The curtain— Qwark was all too eager to wear it as a cape—covers me just fine as long as I press myself tightly against his back.

A guard to our right speaks first. "Hi, Mr. Qwark."

"How do you do Martina? Laying off the drinks while on duty?"

"Oh—y-yes well, I..."

"And what about you?" Qwark turns his show to someone else. "Looking a little red in the face."

"My face is always red, Mr. Qwark."

I'd heard that voice earlier today and it makes a faint tingle run down my spine, all the way to the tip of my tail. It really was a good thing I hadn't come out here on my own.

"Right, right, it is your natural skin tone. Forgive me, Mars. I'm in the neighborhood looking for an old pal of mine, do you know where Guzman went?"

"He left with Mr. Menzoa just now. They requested they be left alone."

Predictably, Qwark stops and becomes one with tension. "What? Why?"

"They should be heading towards the park. Laklight Park, not the uh, competitors-only promenade behind the stadium," Mars continues, unenthused. "Mr. Menzoa has a speech, or something like that, set to be broadcast on live Holo-vid."

"Wouldn't stop talking about it," someone else interjects several feet from our left.

Mars laughs scornfully. "Oh, for real. I'm assuming the Director for whatever reason decided to join him at the last moment. We've all been updated on the slight bump in the itinerary for today, Mr. Qwark…did you not get the message from Kodiak?"

Someone coughs from somewhere across the room. I'm already on edge and the sound makes me jolt. My ears are lowered but still pick up other noises in the lobby—the squeak of a chair, clothes rustling, the low murmuring of voices...

A sudden whistling pierces the air, but I realize it's the sound of Qwark's rage escaping from his pores. "I sat on my phone and broke it this morning," Qwark says, sounding like he's talking through grit teeth. Then, to himself he mutters, "Bunch of nonsense...I bet I could've given my own speech or whatever without bothering The Director to come along!"

I clear my throat lowly, hoping he gets the message. I can't tell if Qwark does, or if he's so angry he's about to rush out and commit homicide, but he does start to move again with more haste.

"Mr. Qwark," comes the voice of yet another guard, "is there a specific reason you've taken a curtain off the rod?"

"Wait, did I? Must've been trying to cosplay earlier and forgot to remove it."

And to my horror he starts to pull it off. I pound his shoulder with a fist and he abruptly drops the hem, remembering I was there in the first place. Geez, he could have the memory span of a fruit fly.

"D'uh—on second thought, I think I'll go out and shoot the breeze a bit," Qwark says.

"Yes, but...the tour?" Mars asks. "It starts in less than five..."

"I won't take long. I've uh...gotta get something off my back. I've been pretty tense lately."

The curtain is thick but if someone looks hard enough they'll notice something's up. I hold my breath, pressing myself impossibly closer to his back, hoping no one would pay him much attention. My fingers are beginning to cramp and it feels like they're slipping more with each step Qwark takes.

There's another round of coughing, the shuffling of papers, then fingers on a keyboard. Maybe we were passing the receptionist desk?

Then…

"Mr. Qwark—wait one moment."

I freeze, clenching my teeth when Mars suddenly speaks up.

"Huh?" Qwark wonders, sounding as dumb and unassuming as I really need him to be.

"I saw...I thought I saw something underneath that curtain."

His footsteps are on rapid approach, and Qwark casually turns to face him. "Oh, yeah?"

"Surely."

"Well, what'd it look like?"

Mars hesitates. "...like a...rope, or tail or something," he says wearily. "Have you got something else under there?"

"Sure I do!" Qwark says grandiosely. "It's just another one of my antennae. I've got more than just the one on my head, you know."

"Uh...you do?"

"Yeah! I've got seven of them, want to see?"

Someone lets out a sputtering laugh, and several snorts and giggles echo across the room. "Uh, wuh, well…not really?" Mars stumbles awkwardly over his words. "Forget-forget I wondered…"

"Copernicus," a new, curt voice speaks. "We've got competitors incoming. Please move. They can't get in."

The big oaf hastily sidesteps. Part of the curtain slips off his right shoulder, exposing my head.

There's five guards in my field of vision. Two of them sit in the corner next to a front window, one is leaning against the far wall going to town on a bag of chips, and another is taking a quick swig from a flask in her pocket.

Mars is the closest, standing near the receptionist's desk which has an elderly Blargian woman behind the counter. It's a good thing he, and everyone else in the room is distracted somehow.

Qwark seizes the curtain, pulling it back over my head. "Sorry!" he says quietly. "I thought I tied it better...!"

"Just go, while they're not paying attention!" I almost croak, sure that he could feel my heart pounding against his back.

He sidles to the side, keeping his back to the doors. Meanwhile, the other two competitors wander in.

"Sorry. We're late," one of them speaks promptly. "Got lost in the promenade."

"That's fine, Mr. Blight. Just take the doors over there and make a left, you should find the teleporter," the receptionist says distantly. "But one moment, Mr. Blax…"

"Uhh…my glasses again, right...?" a second, shyer voice asks.

"Yes. Here they are," the receptionist says. "They were returned them to my desk earlier. You should keep them on a strap in the future Mr. Blax, at least when you're competing."

"Yes, ma'am, I—thank you."

There's a faint slap and an 'ow', as if he'd been hit.

"You better be glad someone found them, bro," his partner, his brother, snaps. "All that time we wasted looking for them in the promenade and they were back here!"

"Well sorry, I thought I'd had them when…"

The conversation turns indistinct as Qwark finally steps out of the hotel, creeping away from the view of those inside. "Okay, you're good."

I pull my head from underneath the curtain to gaze around. I'd learned that this boulevard, with its interconnected streets, had a gated perimeter and was an area reserved for the guests and competitors. For the time being the road is empty and the sidewalks are almost bare.

"This is the quietest part of the Dome. They reminded me of something, you really should check out the promenade later," says Qwark, thrusting a huge finger northward. "It's just behind the stadium. It's a great place for couples, you could take—"

"Vox!" I exclaim. I've spotted him and Menzoa some fifty feet up the block. Thankfully they hadn't gone far yet. I slip off Qwark's shoulders, saying, "Come up with anything, but make a good excuse as to why I won't be at the tour. Especially if Kodiak asks."

"Why would he care enough to ask? I'm pretty sure he hates your face."

I open my mouth, pause, then actually laugh. "You're not wrong, but he won't be asking because he likes me, Qwark."

"Then I'll come up with something so terrible to happen to you, he'll...they'll..." Qwark struggles for a moment, then sort of shrugs as he turns for the hotel. "Eh. Don't know what they'll do, but anything to take the suspicion off you, right? Don't forget our deal, by the way!"

"Ughhh…"

I glance about and, making sure I can't be seen from our hotel's windows, dart across the street, crouching behind a phone booth. I leap from there, rolling behind an advertisement for Choochie Bars, then peer out to search for my next hiding spot.

A hovercar traveling down the street passes my position. Some thirty feet down it continues, but I've also gone just as far, presently taking cover behind a trash can. Now I'm directly across the street from them.

Menzoa is, unsurprisingly, irate. He paces in a circle, flailing his arms in the air. I chuckle at the sight. He looks like one of those inflatable tube men outside of dealerships. He's just as full of hot air.

He probably thinks he's whispering and that's the only reason I can't tell exactly what he's saying, but his voice is still an indistinguishable, annoying squawk that likely makes ears within ten feet of it bleed.

That's probably why Vox looks catatonic. He's sitting on a bench, resting one leg on the seat and rubbing behind his head as he stares off into the distance.

A green shape enters my peripherals and my eyes snap to it. A guard has rounded onto the street, arms folded behind her back. She greets them both with a wave. Only Vox returns it.

I duck down more, just in case her wandering eyes happen to look my way, and follow her path. Okay. She was going towards the hotel...

There! She was in. I go back to spying on the pair. I was ready to wait here all day if I need to.

Talwyn leans her head down next to mine, staring in the same direction. "...whatcha looking at?"

I bolt up with a yell, only for her to grab my collar and pull me back down. Menzoa's voice falters for a moment, then he goes back to bitching. Guess they hadn't detected me.

"Ratchet, shush!" Talwyn whispers, now hiding behind the trash can with me. "Good thing I was here, or you would've blown your cover."

"…oh ho, really?" I say, grinning. "I'm gonna get you back for that. I totally thought you were a guard…"

She purses her lips, lowering her eyebrows.

"Not that...I've gotten in trouble or anything. So uh, what're you doing out here, just walking around?"

"Sort of. I was heading back to my hotel. You know, the one that's right in front of yours? I've been out shopping."

Her hoverbike is parked nearby with several bags on its handlebars.

"Oh," I say. "But I thought you left your bike behind?"

"I was going to, but I had the giggles when we were leaving and forgot to take it out of my ship. So who are you following?"

"Vox. And the event spokesman," I say, looking around. My jaw almost hits the ground when I see they're not there anymore. "HUUUH?!"

I stand up, but Talwyn drags me down again, this time by the ear. I hadn't noticed at first but another guard is walking into view, rolling his neck and shoulders. He yawns, looks around, then slips into an alley. Moments later, a thin haze of purple smoke begins drifting from the entrance.

Talwyn points to our left. "There they are."

Vox and Menzoa have crossed to this side and are striding out of sight.

"Do you know where Laklight Park is?" I ask quickly.

"Yes. It's not far. But they're definitely going into the thick of it."

"Crud, then I'll lose them for sure," I say. "Even if I could avoid guards, people are going to recognize me as a competitor and still probably blow my cover…"

"I've got this."

She reaches into one of her bags with her tail, drawing out a mass of black fabric. She stands me up, grabs my shoulder, then spins me so hard and fast I see into five different dimensions at once. There's a whoosh, and a dark shadow covers me.

By the time I stop spinning, I'm dizzy and now covered in a cloak a little too large for me. "Wait…Talwyn, where'd you get this?"

"I bought it at the Hood and Knife shop. I was actually going to use it myself, but I'll let you borrow it," she answers, pushing the handle of something deeper into her pocket. "This place has everything, you know. You should see what I got at the Toy and Mattress Shop."

She pulls the hood over my ears, then boops her nose to mine. "I'd get moving."

Thinner streets, more people per square foot, attractions of all kinds crammed together like sardines, and the unquenchable thirst of consumerism. Yeah, Talwyn was more than right.

Banners commemorating the events are strung across the street lamps, several of them portraying silhouettes of competitors amongst bright and intense graphics. Long lines from stores vendors stretch carelessly in the streets, and the few drivers that dare to navigate the roads have to go at a slow pace to avoid a vehicular manslaughter charge.

Pubs and cafes dominate as the busiest businesses, filled to the maximum capacity. People who can't find spots inside are content with sitting on the curbs, leaning up against light poles or over gutters. The sidewalks are choked, thickened with foot traffic, and I get bumped and jostled mercilessly. Times like this remind me how much smaller I was than the general population. People sure are surprised when I seemingly appear out of nowhere after a collision.

I won't lie. Sometimes I wish I were bigger. You know, to see how it feels to throw my weight around and to tower over everyone else for a change.

Boy, what I wouldn't give right now to be fifty feet tall and being able to see everything for miles. Oh well, a guy could fantasize.

When I finally squeeze from the general sea of bodies, I'm panting and a bit frazzled. Oh, but purchase—through a gap in the thinning crowd I spot Menzoa and Vox walking along. Traffic is bustling along the next street they're heading.

I follow them discreetly, merging into what shadowed spots I can find like behind bus stop signs and underneath benches; I guess someone skulking around in a black cape doesn't look suspicious because I've passed more than enough guards that have clearly seen me.

"Excuse me!"

Or maybe all but one of them didn't care enough to investigate. I turn around cautiously, preparing an explanation for the guard sprinting up with a radio in her hand. Then I realize I'm not her target and stumble out of her way.

She charges for a jewelry shop up ahead and a cloaked figure hurtles from the front window. He spots the incoming guard and takes off, burdened with the heavy sack over his shoulder. Another guard stumbles to the broken window moments later, wincing and clutching a hand to his bleeding shoulder.

The crook doesn't get far, but it wasn't just from the weight of all the carats he was trying to make off with. More guards suddenly materialize from places out of my perception, taking him down in the middle of the street in seconds. He hadn't stood a chance against seven of them at once.

I walk by the scene whistling casually with my hands in my pockets, hearing the crook snivel and begging them not to tell his mother.

The noise has attracted Vox's attention. He's lagging behind, watching the activity with concern.

"Guzman," Menzoa barks over his shoulder, without breaking stride; he's strutting across the street and towards the park. Drivers stop for him, honking as he jaywalks but Menzoa simply holds his head up high, ignoring them. The Director hurries after him, and I can hear his faint apologies, tinged with embarrassment.

I did recall seeing a teal-colored patch of land on the initial trip in, but hadn't given it a second glance. The grass, bushes, as well as the oddly shaped trees are a rich bluish green. Troughs filled with water are dug into the ground, forming intricate shapes, swirls and symbols; the sidewalks are of black stone that are speckled with glittering grains.

I slip between two parked hovercars, taking notice of a statue in Menzoa's likeness erected nearby. Oh, you have to be kidding me. I'm actually upset I don't have any toilet paper on me.

The pair stick faithfully to the sidewalk. I dart between trees and anything else that can cover me, intent on not losing them. This was the closest I've been to them yet. Other people in the park flock towards the Director to speak to him, but Menzoa's harpy screech successfully wards off anyone who gets too close.

They remain unbothered as they come to a bridge. Vox is beginning to move with less enthusiasm, back to tailing Menzoa with his head down. After they cross I sneak underneath the structure, careful to avoid the toothy little brats lurking at the water's edge.

In the near distance is a stage and stands, easily enough to make a show for several hundred people. Very few spots in the stands were empty. A Holo-vid crew hangs around the front of the stage, their cameras and other equipment at the ready.

No guards from what I can see. Weird. I'd think if Menzoa was so important and they knew Vox was now going with him, there'd be more of a security presence here.

It takes me a little too long to realize something is off. I frown, gasping when I look down at myself. Wait, the cloak was gone!

At the sound of dozens of little voices cackling, I whirl. The cloak floats on the surface of the water in pieces, looking like black confetti with how badly destroyed it was.

Schools of silvery, bite-sized fish leer up at me from the water. They've been trying to nip at the back of my ankles ever since I'd gotten under the bridge.

I thought I would've been able to ignore them. The idea of them stripping the cloak off me should have never even been a plausible thought, yet here we were. I'll just put this incident on the long list of things I hoped Talwyn would never ask me about.

"You little punks…" I hiss. They all dart away, still giggling in their high-pitched voices.

What a pain. But, this wouldn't stop me.

I stay low behind the hedges growing on the riverside, tracking Menzoa and Vox as they take the adjacent sidewalk. The river curves slightly about the back of the stage, and I actually reach a good vantage point to where they're coming towards me.

I peer out from the leaves, a moment before Vox glances in my direction. I duck down quickly, sucking in a sharp breath.

"What's wrong now?" Menzoa asks briskly. "You're all pale. Is the crowd still getting to you?"

"I thought I…saw something."

Menzoa doesn't respond to that concern. "Come now, this way. We've got to prepare."

"Yes, right."

After a few seconds I dare to peek out again. They're vanishing backstage. The door doesn't open without a key card and it's already closing.

I throw all caution to the wind and charge out of hiding, hardly thinking of anything else than getting there in time. When I'm about twenty feet away, a security guard slips out of the opening. He starts when he sees me. "What—"

I dig my heels into the ground, sliding to a stop several inches in front of him. Time to play dumb. "Uh…hi?"

His cool and cloudy eyes narrow, shifting about the surroundings before settling on me again. "…good afternoon, Mr. Ratchet," he says suspiciously. "Pleasure to meet you. May I ask what you're doing out here?"

"I was never good with directions," I laugh nervously. "So where're all the other competitors, this is where the tour is, right?"

The next few seconds are very still and very uncomfortable. His expression loosens and he looks at me expectantly, resembling an adult waiting for a child to admit something.

"Oh alright, I was following the Director," I sigh, holding out my hands. "You can turn me in now."

"I won't, actually."

"I figured you'd say that. Guess I should—" I stop, blinking twice. "Wait, what?"

He's got quite the long antennae sprouting from his head and he swishes it about, resting the end of it over his left shoulder. There's a metallic band fastened several inches up from the tip. "You're not supposed to be here at the moment, but you're not technically doing anything unacceptable," he answers calmly. "Unless you were planning on committing a crime. Were you?"

"Ah…I didn't plan on it?"

"I don't think you should instigate any potential matter, Mr. Ratchet," he says, tugging at his collar to realign it. "If I may, I suggest returning to your schedule."

"Uh huh," I say distractedly, trying to see if I could listen past the door.

"Just my suggestion," he reiterates, holding up a hand. "It's my obligation to give you all fair warnings. I'm the onsite supervisor. Wade."

"I've heard your name before," I remember, trying to recall from where exactly.

"Probably from Kodiak. He likes to uh, toss my name out there on a whim. Make me handle a little bit of anything and everything," Wade continues. "I micromanage, you know, do the things he uh, ahem…feels he's too important to do. Not that you heard that from me."

"I don't mind people telling the truth," I say.

"I like to be forward. I also like to cater to the needs of the competitors. You lot are my top priority," he clears his throat, pointedly looking over my head as he continues, "If any of you are to need something, I'd do my best to assist…as long as protocol isn't put under too much strain."

"Hmmm," I raise my brows knowingly, unable to hide a smirk. "I get you. Familiar with the book from front to back, are you?"

"I certainly don't see the issue with holding doors open for people," Wade says, blinking slowly and settling those cold eyes of his on my face. "If you think it's worth staying around for, Karen will be going live soon to give his speech. I believe it's simply promotional for audiences outside of the Dome."

"And Vox is with him, why?"

"I'm afraid I don't know."

I found it odd because I can't see Vox coming along voluntarily, not at least without something else factoring in. When he was on stage at the banquet, he already seemed a little nervous while addressing a room with less than thirty people in it.

"I do know," Wade says slowly, "that Menzoa has a way to be persuasive, if not forceful at times. He tends to usher those who are less liable to disallow it…"

Then, before I can respond, he holds up a hand for silence. "One moment. Stay quiet," he says, lifting the tip of his antenna and speaking into the metal receiver.

"Don, you just called me ten minutes ago. I left as soon as Karen and Guzman arrived and I'm moving as fast as I can. You know how the traffic is out here."

I can't hear the response, but apparently Wade can. He listens with a flat look on his face, then rolls his eyes slightly. "Okay, alright. I'll be there soon."

He lowers his antennae, reaching into his pocket. "I can't stay any longer, Mr. Ratchet. Kodiak needs me over at the stadium to assist with the tour. Copernicus…"

"What happened to him?!"

"He's fine. Apparently he was eating an ice cream sundae and accidentally dropped it. Well, when that happened Copernicus began crying so much he created a large puddle on the ground, which Kodiak slipped on and fell, spraining his ankle. So, the good old boss needs me to replace him."

"He fell in front of everybody?"

Wade's teeth gleam. "Yes."

There's another pause…then we both break out in laughter. Wade turns about, using his key card to open the door and peering through to check if the coast was clear. He stands back and holds the door. "I've got to give you one last chance. If you go back with me, you won't arise suspicion…"

I walk past him and into the interior hall. He nods with that unruffled smile of his.

"One last thing. Although I don't agree with your decision to stalk the Director, I will respect it."

"I—"

"And I warn you," Wade cuts in, "if you continue to snoop about like this, you may find more trouble than you'd want. I will see you soon, Mr. Ratchet."

Before I can say anything else he closes the door, shutting the hall into near darkness. There's an odd chill in the air, or maybe it's just my nerves.

Ahead of me is a bathroom. I tread lightly, pausing when I notice another door to my left and slipping through. There's a gap in front of me that leads to the stage proper but I hide behind the curtains, trying to find a split in them. I jump, stumbling slightly when Menzoa gives an unnecessarily loud groan.

Annoyed, I make a small gap and peer through the curtains. Menzoa's at the podium and needs to stand on a step stool to see over it. He shoots a glare to the left, jabbing his finger out.

"Guzman, why did you insist on coming with me if you're like this? It's like I've toted a lifeless blow up doll with me! You think that'll make any sort of professional impression?"

I adjust the gap, enough to see Vox. He's standing with his back to me, arms crossed and looking at the ground. Menzoa grunts, going back to adjusting his tie, his fake beard—I almost snicker.

Then finally, Vox speaks.

"Do you really think they'll believe I'm not him?"

"What?" asks Menzoa sharply. "Of course! Are you doubting yourself at a time like THIS? This was your idea! You have to convince them you're not like that scum Gleeman."

I recoil slightly.

"It's YOUR responsibility, your decision, so you have to commit! I mean, I can't do it for you."

"W-Well, I thought…"

Menzoa freezes, staring over in disbelief.

"You thought—?! You couldn't have, are you serious? I can go offbook about many different things but I can't be your voice on a matter like this, it's such a particular principal to acknowledge in the first place! And it's not as though it's already on people's minds. Oh, indeed. I would say the universe expects you to speak on this at some point, and YOU alone. YOU'RE responsible for your own credibility. I, on the other hand, have been hired to authenticate the credibility of your business. I can't do my job and yours, Guzman!

"Or are you so suddenly caught up in your own doubts you've decided to withdraw? Hmm? Because that's what it surely seems like. I won't let you back out of this, either. This is your chance to be your own voice! Don't you realize?"

"I," Vox's voice is barren, and cracks slightly. "I wish I…could."

Menzoa sighs. "Don't be so concerned about being the subject of scorn. More people will believe you than not, even then, don't give attention to the naysayers. You need to have your mind where the matter is. That's how you draw people in and gain their admiration. Not by," he lifts up a hand, looking The Director up and down, "being frail and indecisive."

Vox doesn't respond. Menzoa strides off the podium and in front of the Director, standing on his tiptoes. He shoves a finger in Vox's chest. "Dig your heels in! Straighten up! Get a backbone! You need to make this happen! I hate it when you're like this, it's so counterproductive…"

He turns away, pulling out a pocket mirror and eyebanging himself for a moment. "…oh, now you know you'll be in the red if you do anything but see these events to completion. That's worst case scenario, but it's still a distinct possibility that should affect every single one of your actions. That should be something constantly on your mind. Instead, you're too busy being concerned with wanting everything in known existence to like you! It's so childish, Guzman."

"I'm sorry," says Vox. "It's just a lot of pressure."

"Don't tell me sorry," Menzoa says, bringing a comb through his blonde hair. "You should be telling Ophelia that. Your fiancé! You'd let her down the most, oh literally, because if you go down, she will too. If there was anything," he stresses, pointing his comb at Vox, "anything I could tell you, it's to be strong for her. She's been with you since the beginning and made sacrifices on her own. Just for YOU. You mustn't forget that."

Vox makes an odd sound, like a barely repressed whine. He stares at the curtains in front of him for a moment, then sticks his hands in his pockets and walks away out of my line of sight. It's quiet for a full ten seconds before Menzoa groans like he's constipated again.

"Oh, it's just about time and all this shuffling and waiting has got my hair in a mess…I need to freshen myself up! I'll be in the bathroom, page me if I'm needed."

He turns on his heel; I crouch low behind the curtains, lying still as he hurries out. The door slams behind him. I stick my entire head out from the curtains, watching Vox raptly as he approaches the podium. He leans forward on it, resting his head on his arms.

I don't know why I watch him for so long, or what I'm waiting for. Now that I'm here, I don't know what to do next. I want to go comfort him but the signal to move doesn't reach my legs.

And I still struggle with my consciousness. I didn't want the guy to clam up on live Holo-vid and die of embarrassment. At the same time, what can I do or say? I'm not even supposed to be here. If anything, my presence would probably make his nerves worse.

My nose twitches. I pull my head back quietly, frowning.

What was that? Some sort of a pungent, burning smell. I travel along the curtains, catching the flicker of light in the corner and honing into it.

I pull aside a speaker for a better look, only to quickly step back. One glance can't tell me what started the small fire but it's already burnt a large patch of the wall and ground, now creeping along the side of a series of taut ropes and turning the woven fibers black.

I quickly follow the rope line up to the ceiling. My eyes stop at the spotlight hovering above center stage.

Within a split second I react, charging out from behind the curtains. The noise alerts Vox and he looks around, shrinking back; my name forms on his lips but I can only imagine the blackened ropes prying apart, giving in to the heat...

He's two heads taller than me, but my tackle takes him off his feet. Our shadows, black and bold, rear up along the ground.

The spotlight slams into the ground, erupting in a wave of glittering glass shards and terrible heat. I stifle a yell of pain as hot glitter explodes over my backside, sizzling through my clothes and into my fur.

I knew, from my brief stint of being on a movie set with Clank, that those spotlights can get extremely hot. With all quickness I push myself off Vox, shaking myself off as hard as I could before a fire started on my back. No need for the situation to get a hundred times worse.

By now the entire podium is fully ensnared by flames. Fire snakes across the ground swiftly and without direction, choking the shimmering air with heat.

"VOX!"

I whirl on him with the shout. The firelight dances across his suit as he gazes at the sight, pale, and completely petrified.

I stand over him, blocking his view of the fire, seizing his tie and yanking as hard as I can. He gags and sputters, just short of having his neck snapped. His eyes are wide and swim with mindless panic as they focus on mine.

"Listen-to-me," I stress, making my words as clear as possible. "Is there an emergency fire team?"

"Y-Yes, there is, but—"

"Stand," I say shortly, moving to the side and letting go of his tie. "Get up."

His hands slip on the ground and his arms tremble as he fails to coordinate himself.

"Hurry!" I thunder. "Get up! GET UP!"

He scrambles, staggering up on quivering legs. But at least he's up.

"Whoever you need to call, call them so they can put the fire out! At least get everyone out there far away from here!" I tell him.

"B-But Karen—"

"I'll get him! Go!"

I shove him through the stage curtains, startled at the sudden rush of heat on my back. If I caught fire I was totally going to beat his ass later. I throw myself against the wall, clinging close to it to avoid the swelling flames. They just about chase me through the door leading to the interior hall, which is thankfully made of metal.

I rush into the bathroom, finding Menzoa at the mirror pursing his lips at his reflection. He jumps, looking almost embarrassed.

"Wh-What are you doing here!?" he stammers, scowling when I run behind him and herd him towards the exit. "Don't touch me, mongrel!"

"Hey, shut your trap and get outta here! There's a fire on the stage!"

"Stop lying—my comb!" he shrieks, when he realizes he's left it on the counter.

He fights back and actually gives me trouble, but I eventually force him out the bathroom. Then another crash resounds, presumably from a second spotlight. Smoke is already filling the hall and a red glow emanates from the black and charred doorframe.

"No wait, let me get my comb—"

Fed up, I grab his arm and drag him down the hall in a burst of energy. The moron continues to carry on as though I'm committing an act against the entire universe. I kick the door open and hurtle him out, slamming it shut behind me.

Before he can even think about it I grab his ID from his clip, throw it to the ground, then stomp it into two pieces.

"NOOOOOO!" Menzoa howls, clenching his fists. "What have you DONE?! You've ruined everything!"

"You have such keen priorities. Do me a favor and get somewhere safe, Jennifer."

Menzoa screams in anger, flinging his fists into the air. I can't help but to burst out into laughter as I run off to help Vox evacuate.

"MY! NAME! IS! KARE—EN!"