Welcome to the Apocalypse. Leave a Message After the Beep.

Imagine being born as the Antichrist, missing both thumbs, and realizing the divine bureaucracy managing the end of the world is just as dysfunctional as a middle-management corporate nightmare. That’s the reality for our happy-go-lucky Antichrist, Shakespeare Williams.

really BAD Shakespeare is a 12-episode penny dreadful serial that takes classical drama, pulp horror, and dark satire, shoves them into a blender, and pours out a chaotic, meta-theatrical ride through the end times.

What to expect:

📞 666 Unanswered Voicemails: A protagonist who just wants answers from an elusive Archangel.

🏛️ Divine Bureaucracy & Glitches: Celestial manipulators, eerie successors, and ordinary mortals caught in the crossfire.

🎭 Dark Comedy & Pulp Horror: Fast-paced, punchy, and thoroughly unhinged.

The end of the world isn't written in stone—it's written in bad script notes.

[Read Episode 1 Now]

Episode 1: "PLEASE, God, let him telephone me now."

A frustrated young man makes one final phone call, hoping to reach the one person who refuses to answer. Unfortunately, Shakespeare Williams isn't just any young man. As old resentments boil over and an unanswered voicemail becomes something far more dangerous, the first domino of Revelation begins to fall. Sometimes endings arrive with trumpets. Sometimes they arrive with a message machine. "Acceptance isn't the ending. Adjustment is."

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND NINETY-SIX

[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Saturday

Unlike yesterday morning, Caleb approached the insanely expensive door on the second floor where his brother called home and immediately reached for the doorbell. He was still a little apprehensive, if he was being honest with himself, but this was Boyd’s home, and he’d been on this very doorstep twice more since then.

Robbie opened the door a couple of minutes later, and Caleb immediately barked out a laugh at the mismatched buttons of his shirt and the mess of his usually perfectly styled hair. “You need a doorman, man,” he cackled instead of going for the classic ‘did I interrupt something?’ acknowledgment.

Robbie’s grin was unabashed, and the two shook hands.

Or rather, Caleb shook Robbie’s hand.

Then, before he knew what happened, Robbie hauled him forward into a tight embrace. “O…kay,” he said over the older man’s shoulder, torn between being touched by the heartfelt greeting and deeply awkward about being hugged by his brother’s half-dressed, former sex-working roommate.

“I am sooo sorry about last night,” Robbie said, pushing him out to arm’s length to project his sincerity. “I shouldn’t have dumped you in the middle of the family like that. If I’d known Barris knew Boyd and Lucas—”

Caleb shook his head, drawing himself up proudly. “Don’t sweat it. I’m a Marine. Running into the middle of unknown warzones is what I do for a career. Compared to some of the places I’ve been, your family with their noses out of joint is the least dangerous situation.”

Robbie squinted as if he was trying to decide how many screws needed tightening in Caleb’s brain, and the Marine chuckled. Most civilians didn’t understand the hell of true combat and probably never would. Compared to facing a hail of bullets in a country that didn’t speak English, arguments within a single household weren’t dangerous and, in the unlikely event they did bubble over into something else, he had the training to see himself through.

Though Lucas was an MMA champion. That could potentially be problematic. At least until Caleb stopped fighting fair, which was a luxury combat zones beat out of people real fast.

“Are you looking for Boyd?”

Caleb gave himself a quick shake. He didn’t need to be thinking about who he could and couldn’t take down in his brother’s household. “Yeah. He’s not expecting me this time, and I did just have lunch with him and Lucas, but I’m kinda hoping that maybe I can just hang out with him some more before I ship out tomorrow morning. Maybe watch him carve?”

Robbie cast a worried look over his shoulder at Boyd’s studio. So, he is in. “C’mon. I’ve already been in his studio, remember?” Caleb hoped his reluctance stemmed from Boyd’s desire for privacy and not because Boyd and Lucas were getting their freak-on. That was not an image he needed in his head…annnnnd fuck you, bro. Now I need brain bleach. “You saw me in there when you came in to take Boyd to his doctor’s appointment. Remember?”

That had Robbie relaxing some, just as he’d hoped. “Just … give me a second to see if it’s alright with him. I mean, it probably is, but he’s in the zone and I don’t want to assume, you know?”

“Sure. I can wait here, if you want.”

“That’d be great.” Robbie nodded, then turned and jogged towards the studio door.

Charlie, Lucas’ little sister, poked her head out of the second doorway and smirked at him. Unlike Robbie, her V-neck shirt looked the same no matter how quickly she threw it on, but her ponytail was loose and twisted to one side. “Last time I do you any favours with your cousin’s car, mister,” she said, pretending to scowl at him.

“Awww…that’s not nice,” Caleb laughed, placing a hand against his chest in mock-hurt. “After everything my brother’s done for you.” He even threw in the pretence of wiping away a tear.

Charlie frowned. “What?”

“Well, I’m willing to bet he’s been plenty distracting where that overprotective detective brother of yours is concerned.” Caleb smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “Aren’t you the baby of your clan …aannnd the only girl?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll do him the favour next time.” She stepped out of her office and walked across the hallway to 2B, socking him in the shoulder on the way through. “You, sir, are still on my shit list.”

Surprisingly, her punch actually hurt. For such a petite civilian, that fist had some serious pepper behind it. Not enough to do any damage, and certainly not the kind he took from his people, but that didn’t stop Caleb from clutching his shoulder as if he’d been shot. “Owww…”

Charlie paused in the doorway. “Dork,” she laughed and went inside.

Caleb dropped his hand and chuckled as she shut the door behind her.

While he continued to wait, someone started whistling nearby. The tune was irritatingly cheerful, every note hit perfectly, and also weirdly familiar. It took him a few seconds to recognise the goddamn show tune ...except Boyd and the others have all sworn up and down that Angelo doesn’t live here anymore.

Since the main apartment’s front door had been left ajar, Caleb wandered over and peered inside.

The kid …the same one he’d upset the night before with the cat, had somehow managed to ‘Kung-Fu Panda’ himself up the kitchen cupboards, with one hand braced against the cupboard above the ovens and the toes of his left foot hooked through the handles of the adjoining cupboards. His free leg dangled in space, and his other arm was almost up to the shoulder inside the top cupboard, reaching for something.

…and he was still humming show tunes!!

What followed was so reminiscent of that iconic movie that Caleb could only stare at the boy who removed a square container from the cupboard before noticing him.

“Ahhhh…I am not the person you’re looking for…” the kid mocked, waving the container in a tight circle at him, in a god-awful attempt at the Jedi mind trick.

Caleb kept staring at the kid, wondering if he was some younger relative of Angelo’s. He’d personally witnessed Robbie, Angelo, and Lucas move through a parkour course with that level of agility years ago, and Angelo was the only one who whistled those dumb tunes while he did.

But show tunes and the agility level aside, he just couldn’t see the resemblance. His instincts told him someone was moving up on his left, but he continued to stare at the kid, willing the answer to come to him.

“BROCK!” Robbie roared, somehow flowing through the narrow gap between Caleb and the door as Brock and the container dropped separately to the floor, leaving the cupboard hanging open behind him.

“I was just gonna take one!” the kid laughed, genuinely laughed—like there wasn’t an angry adult bearing down on him like a territorial bull—as he raced down the hallway towards Boyd’s room. “CPS! CPS!”

“I’ll CPS you, you little cret—!” A slamming door cut off Robbie’s words, leaving an echoing silence in its wake.

Caleb blinked. He’d seen plenty of teen reactions to being busted by an adult of authority over the years. Surliness. Anger. Fear. This was more along the lines of two friends baiting each other.

He almost missed his brother’s quiet approach from his left. “Hey,” the big guy said, watching him carefully.

Caleb stared up at his brother, his cheeks puffing as things refused to make sense. He eventually pointed at the apartment. “What is that kid’s story?” He’d been weird last night, too.

Boyd lifted his gaze to the apartment. “We did a trade,” he finally said. “Angelo for Brock.”

“Did they know each other?”

At Boyd’s slight frown, Caleb continued. “I know they’re not family. They look nothing alike. But I swear, when I close my eyes, everything I just saw and heard in there could have been overlaid onto Angelo, and that makes no sense.”

The muscle in Boyd’s jaw ticked, meaning he knew something. Caleb turned and levelled his most authoritative Marine-officer glare at his big brother. “What the fuck is going on here, bro?”

“It’s a Nascerdios thing,” Lucas said from behind Boyd.

Caleb hadn’t seen or heard the detective, though in his defence, using Boyd as a shield was like having a mobile wall in front of him.  The Marine lieutenant turned back to the apartment, but not before he caught the exasperated scowl Boyd shot his fiancé.

Now that he thought about it, it did kinda make sense. If the kid knew Angelo from the parkour circuit, and they were both in some kind of trouble, it made sense to swap their accommodations until whatever trouble they were dealing with was rectified. The kid certainly had all the right moves to be a cat burglar, and even Caleb knew how easily show tunes could become earworms. If Brock had spent any length of time around Angelo, the man’s obsession with the classics was bound to rub off.

Boyd’s massive hand landed on his shoulder, twisting ever so slightly to redirect him towards the studio. “Come on,” he said, while Lucas led the way. “I’m just varnishing up the first few figurines for your team.”

Caleb balked. “Already?” he asked, craning his neck to see if his brother was messing with him.

Instead of answering him directly, Boyd’s gaze shot forward. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, his hand tightening protectively on Caleb’s shoulder.

“Boyd…” Lucas’s tone was just as cautionary.

“No.”

It was a strange conversation, no different to the silent ones they’d had at breakfast. The ones that left Caleb wanting to scream. Or deck them. Or both.

“I have some of the sharpest tools in the world,” Boyd said, as they began walking again. “They were a gift from the Nascerdios.”

With the impending deflection obvious, Caleb felt his temper start to slip its leash. “If you try and tell me they’re the reason your work is as good as it is, I’m gonna dick-punch you into your next birthday.”

“As much as I’m on your side of that argument, pick another part of his anatomy to threaten,” Lucas quipped. “I’m rather fond of that particular piece.”

Boyd sighed but said nothing, which wasn’t much better.

Caleb scowled at them both.

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

Friday morning, Takahashi sent:

Heater fixed.

I replied:

Congratulations.

Two minutes later:

Come verify.

I looked at the message.

Why?

Because you diagnosed “something loose.”

That was not a diagnosis.

Then come hear professional work.

I checked the afternoon.

One appointment at one.

Nothing after three.

After 3?

Yes.

Then:

Garage. Not coffee shop.

I knew where he worked only approximately.

He sent the address.

That surprised me.

Not because it was private.

Because after all the time we had spent together, I had never been there.

Temple.

My house.

His house once.

Keiko’s house.

River.

Restaurants.

Road.

Not his work.

I looked at the address again.

Then wrote:

I’ll come.

The morning was full enough that I forgot about it for several hours.

A memorial schedule.

A call about incense.

One woman asking whether a Buddhist name had to be printed on a particular document.

No.

Another family asking if a child could sit rather than kneel.

Yes.

A delivery that actually arrived at the correct place.

I almost thanked the driver excessively.

Did not.

At one, the appointment arrived.

An older couple.

No death.

That was unusual enough that I asked:

“What would you like to discuss?”

The husband looked at the wife.

The wife looked at him.

Then she said:

“Our daughter is getting married.”

I waited.

This did not seem like temple work yet.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

The husband said:

“She wants us both at the ceremony.”

“Yes.”

The wife continued:

“My husband does not want to go.”

There.

He frowned.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said you don’t want to fly.”

“That is not the same.”

The wedding was in Hokkaido.

Flight.

Hotel.

Two nights.

He hated flying.

The wife wanted me to tell him to go.

I knew before she asked.

“Reverend, what do you think he should do?”

I looked at the husband.

“What do you want help with?”

He answered immediately.

“Not flying.”

His wife sighed.

“He can take the train.”

“Too long.”

“Then fly.”

“No.”

I almost smiled.

This was not theology.

Not really.

“What does your daughter want?”

“Both of us there.”

“Have you told her you are afraid to fly?”

The husband looked offended.

“I am not afraid.”

His wife looked at me.

He corrected:

“I dislike flying.”

“How much?”

He did not answer.

That was answer enough.

The wife said:

“He hasn’t flown in twenty-eight years.”

There.

I asked:

“Would you attend if the wedding were here?”

“Yes.”

Immediately.

“So you want to attend the wedding.”

“Yes.”

“You do not want to fly.”

“Yes.”

His wife said:

“That is exactly the problem.”

“Yes.”

She waited for me to solve it.

I did not.

Instead I asked:

“What travel options have you actually checked?”

Neither had checked carefully.

They had argued about the concept.

Not the routes.

I turned my computer screen slightly.

Train.

Ferry.

Flight.

Combinations.

Travel time.

They began discussing actual hours.

The emotional problem did not disappear.

But it acquired timetables.

That helped.

Eventually the husband said:

“I could take the train and ferry.”

His wife stared.

“That takes forever.”

“Yes.”

“You’d really do that?”

“For her wedding, yes.”

There.

The wife became quiet.

Not because she liked the route.

Because he had finally said what he was willing to do.

She said:

“I’ll fly.”

He looked at her.

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“You hate airports.”

“I hate twelve hours on trains more.”

They both laughed.

Different routes.

Same wedding.

No need to travel together to prove marriage.

That seemed obvious once spoken.

They left with no final booking.

Only options.

Enough.

At two thirty, I finished the note.

Not:

marital conflict resolved.

Only:

family consultation regarding attendance logistics.

Even that was more than necessary.

I closed the file.

At three ten, I drove to Takahashi’s garage.

I found it because of the tires.

Stacks outside.

A blue sign.

Two bays open.

One car raised on a lift.

Another with its hood open.

Metallic sound from inside.

Air compressor.

Radio.

Someone laughed.

Then an impact wrench started.

Loud enough to make the entire place feel occupied even before I entered.

I parked where a sign said visitors.

Good.

No need to ask.

Takahashi was under the raised car.

Only his legs visible.

I stood near the entrance.

A younger mechanic saw me.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Takahashi.”

“Appointment?”

I almost laughed.

“No.”

The mechanic looked toward the car.

“Takahashi-san.”

No answer.

He shouted louder.

“Takahashi-san.”

A voice from underneath:

“What?”

“Visitor.”

“For what?”

I answered before the mechanic could.

“To inspect your heater.”

Silence.

Then Takahashi rolled out on a low creeper.

He saw me.

“You actually came.”

“You invited me.”

“Yes.”

He stood.

Work clothes.

Gloves.

A dark mark across one sleeve.

Different Takahashi.

Not radically.

Still him.

But placed correctly.

This room made sense around him.

He looked at the younger mechanic.

“My friend.”

There.

No pause.

No explanation.

The mechanic nodded.

“Ah.”

That was all.

Friend.

At the garage.

The word worked here too.

Takahashi removed his gloves.

“Five minutes.”

“I can wait.”

“Car almost done.”

He pointed toward a chair near a small office.

“Sit.”

I looked around.

“Can I watch?”

He looked surprised.

“Why?”

“I came to your workplace.”

“That doesn’t answer.”

“I’m curious.”

He shrugged.

“Stay behind the yellow line.”

There was a yellow line painted on the floor.

Actual boundary.

Excellent.

I stayed behind it.

He returned under the car.

The younger mechanic handed him a tool.

They spoke differently than Takahashi spoke with me.

Short.

Specific.

Numbers.

Part names.

Torque.

A question.

Answer.

No teasing.

Mostly.

Then the younger mechanic said something I could not hear.

Takahashi replied:

“No, because if you do that, we get to do it twice.”

The mechanic laughed.

Maybe some teasing.

They worked.

I watched.

There was something satisfying about seeing someone do what they knew how to do.

No hesitation.

Not absolute certainty.

He checked things.

Asked for light.

Looked again.

Changed one decision.

But the uncertainty belonged inside competence.

That interested me.

A customer came in.

Older man.

He looked at me first because I was standing nearest the office.

“Are you in charge?”

“No.”

“Good.”

I almost corrected his word out of reflex.

Did not.

He continued:

“My car was supposed to be done by three.”

Takahashi heard.

Rolled out again.

“Mr. Sugawara.”

The customer turned.

“You said three.”

“I said around three.”

“It is three twenty.”

“Yes.”

“Done?”

“Ten minutes.”

The man looked annoyed.

“Why?”

“Bolt was seized.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it took longer.”

“Did something break?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

Takahashi stood fully.

Not irritated.

At least not visibly.

“Because removing the old part took longer than expected. The repair is done. We are checking it now. Ten minutes.”

The man looked at the clock.

Then at his phone.

“I have to pick up my wife.”

“What time?”

“Four.”

“You’ll make it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Takahashi paused.

Then corrected himself.

“You should, if traffic is normal.”

I smiled.

He saw.

Ignored me.

The customer said:

“Fine.”

Then noticed me again.

“You waiting too?”

“I’m visiting.”

“Customer?”

“No.”

Takahashi answered from behind him:

“Friend.”

Again.

The man nodded as if that was enough.

It was.

Mr. Sugawara sat.

I stood.

He looked at the raised car.

Then at me.

“What do you do?”

There.

Ordinary stranger question.

“I’m a priest.”

He looked surprised.

Then looked at Takahashi.

“Friend?”

Takahashi, without looking up:

“Yes.”

The man seemed to find the combination improbable.

“From school?”

“No.”

“How?”

Takahashi finally looked at him.

“Long story.”

I said:

“Coffee.”

Takahashi laughed from across the bay.

Mr. Sugawara looked even more confused.

We left him that way.

Eight minutes later, the car came down from the lift.

Takahashi checked something under the hood.

The younger mechanic drove it out.

Returned.

“Fine.”

Takahashi completed paperwork.

Explained what had been replaced.

Showed the customer the old part.

Not theatrically.

The customer asked whether it had really needed changing.

Takahashi showed him the wear.

Pointed.

Explained.

The man understood enough.

Paid.

Left.

Fourteen minutes after his complaint.

Not ten.

He still had time.

No apology crisis.

No lecture about expectations.

Work completed.

Takahashi washed his hands.

Then said:

“Now.”

“The heater.”

“Yes.”

We went outside to his car.

He started it.

Cold engine.

Heater fan on.

No rattle.

I listened.

Nothing.

He looked pleased.

“Well?”

“Silent.”

“Professional work.”

“What was loose?”

“Small bracket behind the blower housing.”

“So my diagnosis was correct.”

“No.”

“Something was loose.”

“Everything in a car is something.”

“But that something was loose.”

He stared at me.

“You came here to be irritating.”

“You invited me to verify.”

He laughed.

“Get in.”

We sat in the parked car.

Heater running.

No rattle.

He looked toward the garage.

“Coffee?”

“You’re working.”

“Break.”

“Here?”

“There’s a machine inside.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It is.”

We went back.

The coffee machine produced something dark.

I tasted it.

Takahashi watched.

“Well?”

“This may explain your standards.”

“Exactly.”

“You drink this?”

“Emergency only.”

We stood beside a metal cabinet.

No proper visitor table.

The younger mechanic passed carrying a wheel.

He looked at me.

“Priest coffee.”

“What?”

Takahashi said:

“He thinks our machine is bad.”

“It is bad.”

The younger mechanic nodded.

“Yes.”

Consensus.

Takahashi introduced him properly.

“Endo.”

Endo bowed slightly.

“Niioka.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Takahashi-san talks.”

There.

Again.

Takahashi looked exhausted.

“Everyone stop saying that.”

Endo laughed.

“What does he say?”

I asked.

Takahashi immediately:

“No.”

Endo thought.

“Fishing.”

“Yes.”

“Bad tea.”

“Yes.”

“Bookshelf.”

“Yes.”

“Car battery.”

“Yes.”

Then Endo smiled.

“He said you called him a friend before he called you one.”

Takahashi turned.

“I did not say that.”

“You did.”

“I said the delivery driver asked.”

“And you told us what Niioka-san answered.”

Takahashi looked at me.

I smiled.

“Interesting.”

“This conversation is over.”

Endo carried the wheel away.

Not over, apparently.

I took another sip of terrible coffee.

“So you talk about me at work.”

“No.”

“Endo has supernatural knowledge.”

“Yes.”

“That seems dangerous around machinery.”

Takahashi sighed.

Then:

“You talk about me?”

I considered.

“With whom?”

“Anyone.”

Morita.

Old priest.

Perhaps Kondo indirectly.

But not as gossip.

Still.

“Yes.”

“What do you say?”

“Mostly that you make bad tea.”

“You are lying.”

“Yes.”

He laughed.

Then:

“Do they know I’m your friend?”

I stopped.

Morita probably inferred.

Old priest knew.

Maybe others.

“I think so.”

“That wasn’t a difficult question.”

“No.”

He nodded.

No more.

A phone rang in the office.

Takahashi answered.

Work voice again.

“Yes.”

Pause.

“No, tomorrow morning.”

Pause.

“Because the part isn’t here.”

Pause.

“No.”

Longer pause.

“I understand. But I cannot install a part that hasn’t arrived.”

I looked at the coffee.

Almost smiled.

He continued:

“If it arrives by ten, afternoon. If not, Saturday.”

Pause.

“Yes.”

Pause.

“I know.”

Then:

“I’ll call when it arrives.”

He hung up.

Looked at me.

“Customer service.”

“Priesthood.”

He stared.

Then laughed.

“Fair.”

I had expected perhaps ten minutes.

I stayed almost an hour.

Not because he asked.

Because watching the garage interested me.

Takahashi moved between cars.

Phone.

Tools.

Questions.

One moment certain.

Next moment checking a manual.

Once he asked Endo:

“Are you sure?”

Endo said:

“No.”

Takahashi replied:

“Good. Check.”

That sentence stayed with me.

Not because profound.

Because it showed how he worked.

Uncertainty did not embarrass him here.

It triggered a check.

Different from other parts of life.

Perhaps everyone had places where uncertainty was easier.

I did not ask.

At four twenty, Takahashi looked at me.

“You can leave.”

I looked at him.

“That sounded rude.”

“You’ve been standing around for an hour.”

“I know.”

“Do you have work?”

“No.”

“Then why are you still here?”

I thought.

“Because I like seeing you work.”

There.

His expression changed.

Not much.

Enough.

Then he looked toward the car in front of him.

“This is mostly tires.”

“I know.”

“You’re easily entertained.”

“Apparently.”

He smiled.

Then:

“Stay if you want.”

There.

Not invitation exactly.

Permission?

No.

Recognition.

I stayed another twenty minutes.

At four forty-five, Endo left.

He changed his shoes.

Put on a jacket.

Then said to Takahashi:

“Tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

To me:

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Then:

“Come again. He’s nicer when someone is watching.”

Takahashi threw a rag at him.

Missed.

Endo laughed and left.

I liked him more.

The garage became quieter.

One bay empty.

One car still inside.

Takahashi closed the large door halfway.

Not fully.

He had paperwork left.

I sat in the office chair now.

He entered numbers into a computer.

I watched for a while.

Then:

“This part is less interesting.”

“Yes.”

“Now you understand work.”

“I already had paperwork.”

“Priest paperwork is different.”

“Numbers are numbers.”

“Do you track parts inventory?”

“No.”

“Then different.”

Fair.

At five, I stood.

“I should go.”

Takahashi looked at the clock.

“Dinner?”

I considered.

Not today.

I wanted home.

“No.”

He nodded.

No disappointment theater.

“Okay.”

Then:

“Thanks for coming.”

“You asked.”

“Yes.”

I put on my coat.

At the entrance, he said:

“You were quiet today.”

“I was watching.”

“That was unnerving.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

Then he paused.

“Did it look normal?”

“What?”

“My work.”

I understood the real question badly enough to ask:

“What were you worried it would look like?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Maybe messy.

Maybe unimpressive.

Maybe ordinary.

I answered:

“You looked like you knew what you were doing.”

He smiled.

“Mostly.”

“Exactly.”

That seemed to matter.

I drove home.

No temple stop.

No errand.

At a light, I thought about the workshop.

Takahashi under a car.

Hands dirty.

Answering a customer.

Saying:

I cannot install a part that hasn’t arrived.

Obvious sentence.

Useful sentence.

No philosophical structure needed.

Reality set some limits without moral conflict.

A missing part was missing.

A seized bolt took longer.

A repair could be delayed without anyone being malicious.

Maybe that was why I had liked watching.

Work that resisted interpretation.

At least from outside.

At home, I found a message from the woman from the difficult consultation.

The one deciding whether to invite her late husband’s brother.

I invited him.

Then:

He said yes.

I waited.

Another message arrived.

I’m still not sure I want him there.

There.

I called.

She answered.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I thought I’d feel better after deciding.”

“But you don’t.”

“No.”

“Do you want to withdraw the invitation?”

Silence.

“I don’t know.”

“Then don’t decide that tonight.”

She breathed out.

“He already said yes.”

“Yes.”

“So now I’m trapped.”

“No.”

She stopped.

“You can still change your mind. But because he has now arranged around your invitation, changing it would affect him.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t mean you are trapped. It means the next decision has consequences too.”

She was quiet.

Then:

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Fair.

“I know you hate it.”

She almost laughed.

Better.

Then:

“What if he comes and I’m angry the whole time?”

“Then you may be angry.”

“That seems terrible.”

“Do you need to be un-angry before he attends?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you need to reconcile with him for the memorial to happen?”

“No.”

There.

Important.

She had been treating attendance as reconciliation.

Not necessarily.

“He could come,” I said, “and you could still disagree with him.”

“Yes.”

“You could speak only as much as you want.”

“Yes.”

“You could also change the plan later if you decide you genuinely do not want him there.”

She sighed.

“I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

No.

“Then tomorrow.”

We ended.

No complete resolution.

But clearer shape.

I ate dinner.

Simple.

Rice.

Fish.

Miso soup.

No one across from me.

Fine.

At seven thirty, Takahashi sent:

Endo says you distracted productivity by 8%.

I replied:

Based on what data?

None.

Then invalid.

He says 12% now.

I smiled.

Then:

Come again sometime.

I looked at the message.

Not:

Next Friday at three.

No plan.

Just welcome.

I will.

Then, after a moment:

I liked seeing where you work.

His reply took longer.

I liked having you there.

There.

No need to improve it.

Good.

I sent it deliberately.

Three dots.

Then:

Thief.

I laughed.

No Morita.

No old priest.

Again.

Their absence was beginning to feel less like a missing chapter component and more like ordinary silence.

Good.

No.

Fine.

Later, I opened the desk drawer for the charger.

The card was there.

I took the cable.

Then noticed grease on the cuff of my coat.

Small dark mark.

Probably from leaning somewhere at the garage.

I rubbed it.

Did not come off.

Tomorrow.

Laundry.

No symbolism.

I closed the drawer.

Thought about something Endo had said.

Come again.

He’s nicer when someone is watching.

A joke.

Probably.

But the phrase stayed.

Not because I had learned a hidden side of Takahashi.

I had not.

I had simply seen another side that existed every day without me.

That mattered.

Friendship could become strangely self-centered if every story about another person began when they entered your room.

Takahashi existed at six in the morning before fishing.

At the garage while I conducted services.

At Keiko’s house when I was not invited.

In years when we did not speak.

In conversations where my name never appeared.

Of course.

Obvious.

Still, seeing his workshop made the obvious physical.

Cars arrived.

Cars left.

Endo asked questions.

Customers complained.

Takahashi checked parts.

He made decisions.

He got things wrong sometimes.

He corrected them.

His day had a structure I had not built.

And when I entered it, I did not become its purpose.

I was simply there for a while.

That felt good.

No.

That felt right.

My phone buzzed once before bed.

Takahashi.

A photograph.

The heater control panel.

Caption:

Still silent.

I replied:

I already verified it.

Second opinion.

Same mechanic?

Me.

Then not independent.

Pause.

Friend opinion?

I looked at that.

Then wrote:

Heater works.

He replied:

Accepted.

That was all.

I plugged in the phone.

Tomorrow, he would go back to the workshop.

I would go back to the temple.

Separate rooms.

Separate work.

Separate people asking us different questions.

That did not weaken anything.

We did not need to spend every available hour together to prove the friendship existed.

Sometimes I would be in his day.

Sometimes he would be in mine.

Most of the time, neither.

And somewhere between those separate hours, there would be another coffee.

Another call.

Another invitation.

Or perhaps nothing for several days.

The relationship did not have to occupy the whole table to have a place at it.

Today, I had stood behind a yellow line and watched my friend work.

For an hour, that was enough.

Part 4 PDF

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Chapter 9: Rough Draft

Orlaen went east.

She did not march. Marching had too much rhythm decided in advance.

Instead, she walked toward Numaeriel’s temple with the confident grace of someone arriving to rescue a room from itself.

The mortals who tended the eastern temple met her at the stairs. They were polite. Disciplined. Prepared. Several of them had brought ledgers, rulers, measuring cords, charcoal plans, and questions arranged by category.

Orlaen looked at all of it. Then she smiled.

“Oh, this will be difficult for all of us.”

They did not know whether that was encouragement.

It was. Well, mostly anyway.

She entered the temple and stood in the main hall, where everything still worked exactly as intended. The light fell correctly. The benches faced correctly. The shelves stood correctly. The paths moved correctly. The whole place behaved itself so thoroughly that Orlaen almost wanted to misbehave on its behalf.

So at first, she did.

She filled the entrance with banners. She covered clean walls in murals. She ordered musicians into corners that had been designed for storage and placed sculptors in corridors meant for movement. She hung colored glass where measured light had once entered cleanly. She asked for carvings on columns, poems above doorways, painted ceilings, softened corners, brighter cloth, warmer lamps, and fountains that no one had requested.

For a brief and terrible moment, the temple became more interesting. It also became worse.

Visitors stopped to admire murals and blocked the main path. Music drifted into reading alcoves until scholars began pinching the bridges of their noses. Colored light fell beautifully across the worktables and made half the ledgers harder to read. A statue near the archive entrance was deeply moving, but only if no one needed to open the archive door all the way.

Orlaen stood in the central hall, arms crossed, watching a procession politely squeeze around a newly added pillar carved with weeping stars.

“Goddess, the pillar is beautiful.”

“Yes, I know,” Orlaen said, her face neutral.

The attendant’s voice stuttered. “But it is also in the way.”

Orlaen sighed. “Yes. I know that too.”

Orlaen walked the temple alone that evening. The lamps had been trimmed low. The records were closed. No lectures filled the halls. No workers waited for divine instruction. For the first time since she had entered the place, she stopped trying to rescue it.

She listened.

The silence was not empty. It was held.

Every chamber made room for thought. Every path spared the visitor from confusion. Every shelf preserved someone’s work from being lost. Every plain wall gave the mind somewhere to rest. The temple had not lacked meaning because it was ordered. It had lacked invitation because its meaning had been kept too quiet.

Orlaen touched one of the unadorned columns. It did not need to become a sculpture. It needed to be allowed to speak.

The next morning, she began again.

This time, she removed more than she added.

The banners were moved away from the entrance and placed where they could guide processions without slowing them. The murals were thinned, not erased. Instead of covering every wall, they gathered at turning points, thresholds, and places where visitors might need to remember why knowledge mattered. The colored glass was changed so morning light still reached the worktables cleanly, but at dusk the central hall filled with gold, violet, and deep red.

She also discovered that beauty could name a place without numbering it.

Storage rooms that had once been marked by plain symbols and orderly labels became distinct through image and color. The wildflower room held spare cloth, dyes, and festival banners beneath painted fields of yellow and violet. The waterfall room stored basins, pitchers, cleaning tools, and folded linens beneath blue glass and a narrow mural of falling water. The lantern room held lamps, oil, wicks, and polished reflectors beneath a ceiling of small painted flames.

Nothing clashed. That mattered. Each room still belonged to the temple’s larger order, but now visitors could remember where things were without reciting a category, row, shelf, or subsection. Mortals no longer asked for storage room two or supply alcove one. They could ask for the wildflower room, the waterfall room, or the lantern room, and they found what they needed. She had added theme to order instead of replacing it.

The musicians were moved out of the small performance room. Its acoustics were perfect, but their music rarely reached anyone beyond its walls. Needless to say, they were thrilled to no longer feel like they were being tucked away.

Orlaen gave them a narrow upper gallery instead, one shaped so music could descend during ceremonies but leave the archive in peace. The sculptors were asked to carve the ends of benches, the rims of lamps, the undersides of arches, and the handles of doors. Beauty entered where hands already reached.

The poems above the doorways remained. Most of them.

The fountain stayed where it was. Orlaen had considered changing it drastically, but for once, restraint proved more useful than drama. She did little more than clean the stone, adjust the flow, and have shallow channels carved outward from its basin. Its water cooled the courtyard, filled basins for travelers, and moved along verses about patience, curiosity, and work done well.

Slowly, the temple changed. But it still did not become Orlaen’s.

That surprised her more than she liked, and more than she would admit.

The structure refused to vanish beneath beauty. Its order remained. Its clear paths, strong shelves, useful rooms, measured light, and disciplined bones remained. But now the order no longer felt like a command. It felt like an invitation that knew where it was leading.

A visitor could still find the archive without asking, but now, on the way, they passed a mural of a child learning letters from an old mason with scarred hands. A scholar could still work without distraction, but now, above the writing tables, thin carvings of stars and tools followed the beams like quiet companions. A lecturer could still be heard from the farthest seat, but now, when the hall filled before a lesson, soft music moved through the upper gallery and made waiting feel less like delay and more like arrival.

Orlaen looked at the perfect pattern of repeating squares across the ceiling. For a long moment, she hated how much she liked it. Then she raised one hand.

“Leave the squares,” she said.

The mortals nearby looked shocked.

Orlaen narrowed her eyes. “I know what I said.”

Instead, she had them paint inside a scattering of squares. Not all of them. Not evenly. Not predictably. Just enough that the eye began to wander, then wonder, then search. A bird here. A flame there. A compass only slightly off-centered. A half-finished equation curling into a flower.

The pattern remained. The pattern breathed.

Orlaen lowered her hand and studied the ceiling. A smile betrayed her before she could stop it. She gave the faintest shake of her head, let out one soft, elegant sound of defeat, and said, very quietly, “Annoying.”

Chapter 10: Inertia

Numaeriel went west.

She did not hurry. She had no need for additional preparation.

Before offering a single instruction, she spent time observing the mortals of Orlaen’s temple, taking notes as she sorted their habits into useful categories: how they worked, how they argued, how they carried tools, and how often they abandoned one task because another had suddenly become more beautiful. Only then did she begin crafting a strategy.

Notes on the mortals assigned to the western temple were organized by trade, temperament, reliability, and how often they used the phrase “it felt right.”

When she finally approached, the mortals of Orlaen’s temple were already waiting. Some held sketchbooks. Some held instruments. Some held flowers. One held a ladder painted with stars for reasons Numaeriel refused to ask about.

All of them held their breath.

She looked at all of them. Then at the temple. Then back at them.

“This will require discipline.”

A painter slowly lowered her brush. “Are we in trouble?”

“Yes,” Numaeriel said.

The mortals froze.

Then she opened her journal. “But not irreparably.”

At first, Numaeriel corrected too much. She straightened corridors. She numbered rooms. She removed three unnecessary alcoves, two decorative half-walls, one extremely beloved but structurally foolish arch, and a hanging sculpture that made visitors duck at the exact moment they should have been looking up.

She demanded clear signage. She assigned storage. She measured the main hall’s echo and declared it “artistically confident, acoustically irresponsible.” She moved benches into usable rows. She marked proper walking paths. She made the archive reachable without requiring visitors to pass through the costume room, the mural hall, and what appeared to be a chamber devoted entirely to emotionally significant ribbons.

For a brief and terrible moment, the temple became easier to use. But it also became worse.

The paths were clearer, but less inviting. The hall carried speech better, but inspired nothing worth hearing. The shrine remained open to the sky, but the air around it felt more instructed than guided. The rooms began to behave, and in behaving, several of them lost the very thing that had made people pause inside them.

Numaeriel stood before a wall where workers had covered an uneven mural with clean pale plaster. The wall was now smooth. Balanced. Practical.

It was also dead.

A young mason stood beside her, holding a measuring cord. “Goddess?”

Numaeriel did not answer immediately. The mural had been inefficient. Its proportions had been inconsistent. Its placement had interrupted the visual order of the corridor. But people kept slowing down where it had been. Even after it was gone. They still looked toward the blank wall as though some part of them expected to feel something there.

Numaeriel’s expression tightened. “That wall was doing work,” she said.

The mason blinked. “It was?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

Numaeriel stared at the blank plaster. Then, with visible irritation, she said, “The kind I failed to measure.”

That night, Numaeriel walked the parts of the temple she hadn't modified yet. She expected disorder, but when she looked closely she found patterns.

Not symmetry. Not repetition. Not clean hierarchy. Something less obedient and more difficult.

The winding corridors did not move randomly. They slowed visitors before emotional spaces. They concealed the central shrine until the moment of arrival mattered most. The mismatched columns forced the eye to linger. The carved marks in the floor were not mistakes in the work. They were records of the hands that had made it.

Even the chamber that existed because someone had once cried beautifully in that direction had become useful. Not useful for storage. Not useful for lectures. Not useful for processions. Useful because grief needed somewhere to go where it would not be corrected.

Numaeriel hated how reasonable that was.

The next morning, she began again. This time, she corrected less.

She reinforced the leaning wall without straightening the mural away. She widened the most troublesome passage, but let it keep its curve. She moved storage into places that did not interrupt wonder. She kept the shrine open to the sky, but adjusted the surrounding walkways so crowds could gather without confusion.

The main hall was the hardest. Numaeriel studied its echoes for sixteen days. The musicians were delighted. The lecturers were not. On the seventeenth day, she stopped trying to silence the hall and instead taught it when to sing.

Panels of carved wood were added between the upper arches, each one shaped by calculation but painted by the temple artists. During ceremonies, they could be opened, and the hall would bloom with sound. During teaching, they could be closed, and speech would carry cleanly to the farthest seat.

The mortals called it a miracle. Numaeriel called it an “adjustable acoustic solution.”

Both descriptions were used.

She did not remove the colored glass. She did, however, make it useful.

By season and hour, the windows cast different colors toward different rooms: gold toward the gathering hall at dawn, blue toward the quiet chambers in the heat of the day, red and violet across the shrine at dusk. Visitors began to learn the temple by light. Children knew when lessons ended because the green reached the western wall. Singers knew when to gather because the gold touched the floor-circle. Mourners came when the blue made the grief chamber cool and soft.

The beauty remained. Now it also gave directions.

Numaeriel found this deeply inconvenient to her earlier argument. But she kept going anyway.

She made the beautiful entrance face the road without destroying the original approach. The old winding path remained for festivals, lovers, poets, and anyone who believed arrival should take its time. A second path, straighter and gentler, was built for elders, carts, teachers, messengers, and people who were simply tired.

Orlaen’s mortals looked nervous when Numaeriel announced this. Then she added carved archways along the practical path, each one framing a different view of the temple.

The practical path became beautiful. The beautiful path remained impractical.

Numaeriel decided this was acceptable, because at least now the impracticality was optional.

Near the end of the fourth year, she stood in the central shrine. The empty space remained. She had not filled it. Several times, she had considered adding a lectern, a statue, a schedule board, a proper ritual diagram, or at minimum a low circular marker to clarify where people should stand.

Each time, something in the temple had resisted her. Not magically. Worse. Persuasively.

So the empty space stayed empty.

Instead, Numaeriel had the surrounding floor repaired, leveled, and strengthened. Every mortal carving was preserved. Names were cleaned but not corrected. Uneven lines were sealed, not erased. Misspelled prayers remained misspelled. Tiny flowers carved too deeply into the stone were filled with gold so they would not crack wider.

A worker asked whether the mistakes should be fixed.

Numaeriel looked down at the floor. “No,” she said.

The worker waited.

Numaeriel sighed. “They are not mistakes anymore. They are evidence.”

The worker smiled. Numaeriel pretended not to see it.

When the renovation ended, Orlaen’s temple was still Orlaen’s temple. That was the most annoying part. It still curved. It still surprised. It still made visitors stop speaking before they understood why. It still welcomed singers, painters, mourners, dancers, storytellers, and silent people with full hands and fuller hearts.

But now they could find where they were going. The main hall knew when to sing and when to listen. The windows did more than dazzle. The stairs did not betray the elderly. The archive could be reached without emotional pilgrimage. Now the temple did not merely make people want to stay.

It helped them remain.

Numaeriel stood beneath the colored glass and looked up. A thousand fragments of light crossed the ceiling in shapes no ruler would have chosen. She studied them for a long time.

Then she took out her journal and wrote one sentence she immediately hoped no one would ever read.

Beauty can be load-bearing.

Chapter 11: Practical Beauty

At the end of the fourth year, Orlaen and Numaeriel met where the contest had begun.

Neither arrived early. Neither arrived late. They stood on the road between the two hills, close enough to speak and far enough apart to make speaking difficult. For several moments, neither goddess said anything. Orlaen looked toward the western hill, where her temple stood changed by Numaeriel’s hand. Numaeriel looked toward the eastern hill, where her temple stood changed by Orlaen’s.

Both had heard things. Mortals talked, and mortals talked more loudly when they thought gods were not listening. Visitors praised the renovations. Workers bragged. Scholars whispered. Singers gossiped. Children, who had very little respect for divine pride, openly declared both temples better than before.

Orlaen wanted to say something about that. Numaeriel did too. Neither did.

Orlaen shifted her weight. Numaeriel adjusted the edge of one sleeve. The silence grew too proud for its own good. Each moment stretched it further from dignity.

Then Kaedrion appeared with Torvael in hand and saved them from it.

“Excellent,” he said, looking between them. “You are both here, both quiet, and neither temple appears to be on fire.”

Torvael became a magnifying lens.

Kaedrion glanced down. “Yes, yes. We will inspect thoroughly.”

He looked back at the goddesses, smiling with unmistakable enthusiasm. “Last time, we began in the east. This time, we begin in the west.”

Orlaen’s expression sharpened. Numaeriel’s did not change, which somehow made her look more pleased.

Kaedrion turned toward the western hill. “Let us see what structure has done with wonder.”

They followed the road toward Orlaen’s temple. The first thing Orlaen noticed was that the beautiful approach remained.

This annoyed her.

She had expected Numaeriel to straighten it into obedience. Instead, the old winding path still curved through gardens, painted tiles, low walls, and hanging chimes. It still took its time. It still allowed arrival to become anticipation.

A second, gentler path crossed it at careful intervals, offering easier passage without spoiling the old approach.

Orlaen stared at it. The practical path was beautiful. That annoyed her more.

Numaeriel looked straight ahead. “I preserved your overture.”

Orlaen glanced sideways. “You built a second one.”

“I built an entrance.”

“You built a second overture.”

Numaeriel’s mouth tightened.

Kaedrion smiled and said nothing.

They entered the temple. It still overwhelmed. The rooms still carried feeling the way a cup carried water.

But now the feelings had paths. Color guided visitors without diminishing the wonder. The temple had not become tame, but it had become legible.

Then Orlaen began to notice what the order had made possible.

A narrow room that had once held crates of unfinished canvases had become a long gallery, its walls shaped to hold every painting without crowding the next. Sculptures that had waited for years beneath cloth now stood in alcoves where visitors could walk around them. Songs once practiced in storage rooms had been given chambers with ceilings that carried them properly. Half-planned mosaics, abandoned because no one could find enough floor, now moved through the corridors in bright rivers of stone and glass.

Numaeriel had not made the temple smaller. She had found the space hidden inside it.

Orlaen stopped before a mural she had believed lost to storage forever. It had been too large for every wall, too delicate for the weather, too beloved to discard, and too impractical to place anywhere useful.

Now it curved along the inner passage toward the shrine, lit by blue glass and protected from damp by a narrow stone channel below it. The passage did not bend because the mural demanded it. The mural belonged because the passage had been taught how to carry it.

Orlaen looked at it for longer than she intended.

Numaeriel noticed. Wisely, she said nothing.

Orlaen walked slowly. Too slowly.

At the reinforced wall, she paused again. The mural and its slight curve remained. Only a careful eye would notice how much work had gone into preserving the appearance of effortlessness.

Orlaen’s fingers brushed the painted surface. She did not compliment it.

Torvael became a small hammer, and Kaedrion tapped the wall. The sound answered firm and clean.

“Good,” he said.

Numaeriel nodded once.

Orlaen continued forward. The hall that once sang over every voice had changed. The painted panels now gave its echoes direction without stealing its music.

Kaedrion lifted Torvael, and the tool became a tuning fork. He struck it gently against his palm. The note rose, expanded, gathered warmth, then settled where it was meant to settle.

Kaedrion tilted his head. “This hall has learned manners.”

Orlaen’s lips pressed together.

Numaeriel said, “It has learned control.”

“It has learned manners,” Kaedrion repeated, because he enjoyed accuracy when it annoyed people.

They reached the central shrine, and the empty space remained.

Orlaen stopped. For one awful moment, she had feared Numaeriel would fill it. A lectern. A marker. A schedule. A statue. Some precise object to inform visitors where to stand and what to do with their hands.

But the space remained open to the sky, and the marks left by mortal hands remained beneath it. Nothing had been erased. The floor was stronger, and the deepest carvings shone with gold.

Orlaen crouched before one of them and looked at the little golden flower for a long time.

Then she said, “You preserved the mistake.”

Numaeriel stood very still. “It was no longer a mistake.”

Orlaen looked up at her.

Numaeriel’s face remained composed. “It had become evidence.”

Orlaen looked back at the golden flower. The gold did not hide the flaw. It honored the place where care had gone too deep. For once, Orlaen had no better version of the thought waiting on her tongue.

Numaeriel noticed. Wisely, she said nothing.

The shrine went quiet.

Kaedrion looked at Torvael in his hand for a long moment. Then he nodded, smiled, and said, “Agreed.”

He stepped into the center of the shrine and inspected slowly. He watched a child find the gathering hall without asking for directions. He watched a mourner enter the blue chamber and sit without needing to ask where grief belonged.

Finally, he turned back to the goddesses.

“This temple is still Orlaen’s,” he said.

Orlaen’s shoulders loosened before she could stop them.

Kaedrion looked toward Numaeriel. “But it has learned how to serve what it welcomes.”

Numaeriel’s expression did not change. Not much.

Orlaen hated that she understood the judgment.

They left the western temple and crossed the village toward the east. Numaeriel did not look worried. That would have been unreasonable. She had seen the reports. She had observed visitor flow from a distance. She had heard the workers describe changes with emotional language, which was irritating but occasionally informative. She knew Orlaen had not destroyed the temple.

Knowing this did not help.

Chapter 12: Bloom

As the eastern temple came into view, Numaeriel slowed only slightly.

The broad face of the temple still stood exactly where it meant to stand. Its stairs, roads, and rain channels still served their purpose.

But now it did not merely stand. It greeted.

Banners marked the approach without blocking it. The courtyard fountain sent water along verses carved into the stone.

Numaeriel looked at the flowing water, then at the carved words, then at Orlaen.

Orlaen smiled innocently.

They entered. Inside, the temple still worked, and that was the first irritation.

The archive remained accessible. The work tables still received clean morning light. Every room served its purpose.

But the temple no longer felt empty between uses. Murals gathered at thresholds and turning points, giving the walls memory without obstructing movement.

Numaeriel paused before the mural of a child learning letters from an old mason. It was placed precisely where visitors turned toward the archive. It slowed them for half a breath. Not enough to block movement. Enough to remind them why records mattered.

Orlaen watched her notice.

Numaeriel disliked being watched while noticing.

Kaedrion approached one of the benches. Torvael became a magnifying lens, and he inspected the carving on its end.

“Good placement,” he said. “The hands already touch here.”

Orlaen looked extremely satisfied.

Numaeriel looked at the carved bench end. Beauty entered where hands already reached. She found this difficult to object to.

They moved into the main hall. The upper gallery held musicians, but the archive remained quiet.

Kaedrion stood in the center. Torvael became a tuning fork, and he struck it. The note rang cleanly through the hall. This time, something followed. A low harmony rose from the upper gallery and traveled along the carved arches. It did not blur the sound. It accompanied it. The note remained precise, but it no longer felt alone.

Kaedrion listened until the final warmth faded.

“This hall has found its voice. It has learned that it is allowed to answer,” he said.

Orlaen smiled.

Numaeriel looked up at the repeating squares across the ceiling, surprised to find that Orlaen had preserved them. More irritating still, she had somehow incorporated them into her own design. 

Around the upper walls, thin lines of ink and paint moved through the temple in delicate chains of equations, formulas, proofs, ratios, and measured diagrams. They passed between murals, curled beneath shelves, followed the undersides of arches, and slipped along the edges of stone like ivy that had learned mathematics.

Numaeriel followed one line with her eyes.

It was correct.

She double-checked.

It was still correct.

She followed another.

Also correct.

Her gaze sharpened. Every formula she checked was accurate. Every ratio held. Every proof resolved. Nothing had been faked for beauty. Nothing had been simplified into decoration. Orlaen had not painted the appearance of knowledge. She had painted knowledge behaving beautifully.

The equations all moved toward the center of the main hall. There, spread across the ceiling above the speaking floor, was the masterpiece.

A vast painted flower bloomed from the geometry of the temple itself. Its petals were formed from solved equations, careful measurements, architectural ratios, star paths, load calculations, musical intervals, and proofs of balance. Each line could be followed. Each figure meant something. Each curve was beautiful because it was true.

The flower was not painted over Numaeriel’s order.

It had grown from it.

Numaeriel looked up for longer than she meant to. Her expression did not soften. Not exactly. But something in her attention did.

Orlaen saw it. Something in Numaeriel had gone quiet before the piece.

Orlaen had seen gods admire art, praise it, criticize it, and misunderstand it. Numaeriel had always met beauty with intellect first. She could appreciate themes and recognize the talent behind a work, but she examined it, explained it, and placed it in relation to everything around it.

This was different.

This was not admiration, criticism, study, or interpretation. This was a god standing before her own purview and finding a new way to understand something she already thought she knew completely.

Orlaen understood there was nothing kind to gain by speaking. So she let the silence keep what it had been given.

Kaedrion noticed too. But for once, he did not explain, measure, judge, or correct. He let both goddesses keep the moment in their own way.

Torvael became a mason’s square. Then a brush. Then a mason’s square again.

Kaedrion looked down. “Both, yes.”

He inspected the places where Orlaen had chosen to leave plainness alone.

That, Numaeriel realized, was what unsettled her most. Orlaen had not simply covered the temple in beauty. She had learned where not to.

Its order had survived every change. But now the temple gave visitors more than efficiency. It gave them reasons to care about the efficiency.

They reached the inner hall, where the original inscription remained:

KNOWLEDGE IS HONORED BY ORDER.

Below it, in smaller letters, Orlaen had added:

AND REMEMBERED THROUGH LOVE.

Numaeriel stared at the addition. The spacing was correct. The lettering was balanced. The phrase was irritatingly appropriate.

Kaedrion read both lines. Then he looked at Numaeriel, then at Orlaen, then back at the wall.

“Clearer now,” he said.

Numaeriel closed her eyes for exactly one breath.

Orlaen smiled at the floor.

Kaedrion stepped back into the center of the temple. Torvael became a hammer, and he tapped the floor, a column, and the threshold. Kaedrion held the hammer still.

For once, Torvael did not change.

Kaedrion nodded.

“This temple is still Numaeriel’s,” he said.

Numaeriel opened her eyes.

Kaedrion looked toward Orlaen. “But it has learned why anyone would be grateful for that.”

Orlaen’s smile softened.

Numaeriel looked around her temple. For the first time that day, she did not look like she was searching for a flaw.

She looked like she had found one and decided not to correct it.

© 2026 RADIOACTIVESLAM

It happened in passing, almost casually.

They were walking back from the club one quiet evening, the world around them settling into dusk. The campus lights blinked to life one by one, each pool of yellow spilling softly over the wet pavement. The air smelled faintly of rain and roasted peanuts drifting from a nearby stall, that comforting scent of small, ordinary evenings.

Aarna was talking, animated, alive, her hands moving as she spoke, her bracelets chiming faintly with every gesture.

“My internship supervisor keeps saying I should think bigger,” she said, rolling her eyes with mock annoyance. “He even suggested I apply abroad for my master’s. Imagine that.”

She laughed as she said it, light and effortless, but the word abroad hit Aarav harder than it should have.

It landed somewhere deep, where fear had been quietly sleeping.

His steps faltered, not enough for her to notice right away, but enough to break the rhythm between them. When she turned her head, her curls brushed her cheek, and she caught the brief stiffness in his smile.

“And… would you?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though the words came out quieter than he meant.

Aarna shrugged, her gaze lifting toward the half-clouded sky. “Maybe. I mean, it’s scary, but also kind of exciting, right? There’s so much more out there than this.”

She gestured vaguely at the familiar campus road, at the hostel blocks they’d both outgrown, at the world they had built together without realizing it.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m standing still while everything else keeps moving.”

Aarav nodded slowly. “Yeah… I get that,” he said.

But inside, his chest felt heavier than ever.

He wanted to tell her that this, this small, fragile world they’d built between library corridors and tea stalls and quiet benches, was enough.

That not every dream needed to stretch across oceans.

That sometimes the most beautiful thing was staying.

But the words wouldn’t come.

They never did when he needed them most.

The rest of the walk unfolded in silence, a kind of silence that wasn’t empty but thick with things unsaid. She hummed softly under her breath, a tune he didn’t recognize but wanted to remember. The night air wrapped around them gently, and Aarav found himself memorizing every detail, the rhythm of her footsteps beside his, the way the lamplight curved around her profile, the faint smile she wore without realizing it.

It all felt like a memory being written in real time.

By the time they reached the crossroads where their paths split, Aarna turned and said lightly, “See you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

But even as he said it, something inside him whispered that tomorrow was already changing.

That night, sleep refused to come. Aarav lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, the fan spinning in slow circles, casting thin shadows across the wall. Every sound felt louder, the tick of his watch, the hum of his phone charging, the faint laughter from the corridor outside.

Her words replayed on a loop in his mind: Think bigger… abroad… there’s more out there than this.

Each repetition carved a deeper ache.

Finally, he sat up, turned on the small desk lamp, and opened his notebook. The pen trembled in his hand as if it, too, understood what he couldn’t say aloud.

The words bled out slowly:

Goodbyes don’t always arrive
with tears or warnings.
Sometimes they slip quietly
into a conversation,
a single word
that plants itself in your chest
and grows into fear.

He pressed his palm over the page, as though the pressure might keep the words, or her, from slipping away.

The ink smudged faintly beneath his skin, but he didn’t move.

Aarna hadn’t left.

She hadn’t even decided.

But something had shifted.

Maybe goodbyes didn’t begin with distance at all.

Maybe they began like this, in the space between sentences, in the hesitation before an answer, in the quiet ache of knowing that nothing stays untouched forever.

And for the first time in a long while, Aarav was afraid again.

Not of loneliness.

Not of rejection.

But of watching love, the one that had taught him to breathe again, walk quietly away, not out of cruelty, but out of inevitability.

[Cultural Note] _Coana Chirița is Romania's original influencer, invented 150 years before Instagram by playwright Vasile Alecsandri. She's a rich provincial lady who pretends to be Parisian and calls a fork "furculision" because she can't pronounce "fourchette". Every Romanian knows her.

From Coana Chirița's "little forky-warky" straight to the Champs-Élysées in the Instagram era! How much does a parsley leaf arranged Feng Shui-style in the middle of a giant plate cost, and why do today's "ladies" faint? You'll laugh yourself into a coma... without it being induced!_

A1: Let's hop on our two-stroke engine and cruise gently towards our days. And look... here we are... On the Champs-Élysées.

And guess what? Chirița's little fork is still here. Only now it's called "fourchette" and the menu costs 300 euros.

The dames are still precious, only the powder has become HD foundation and the fan has become an iPhone 50. They bat their false eyelashes and say: "OMG, this is literally the best vibe ever!"

They still faint with style, but now they post on Instagram: "Feeling faint #blessed #parisianvibes".

And the gentlemen? The gentlemen are still putting the country on the right track. Only the cigarette has become a Cuban cigar or a mango-flavored vape.

And instead of "the Oriental Question" they solve "cryptocurrency" and "artificial intelligence". They puff importantly and say: "You know, my dear sir, the situation with the AI is delicate. It needs regulation! One more espresso and we'll pass a law."

A2: Speaking of the 300-euro menu. Imagine a huge plate, and in the middle an island of pommes de terre and stuck in the middle a little green parsley leaf like a flag. Take that, mister!

A1: Lord have mercy, you killed me! And for parsley leaves I should pay 300 euros?

"Voilà, madame! L'essence de la pomme de terre, déconstruite! Bon appétit!"

And you sit there with the 300-euro fork in your hand and stare at the island like at an eclipse. No wonder Ladies faint at the Parisian vibe! They faint from hunger, poor things!

That's why they say "OMG, I'm literally dying", because it's for real. Poor things! They are dying of hunger. They paid so much money for one leaf and three peas arranged Feng Shui and now they take a picture of the empty plate with #foodporn! That's porn with an empty belly! To die laughing, as you say!

What has changed in a hundred years?

The clothes! Because Coana Chirița is present, just more superficially dressed, with false eyelashes and "lady" airs.

A2: That as that may be! But they became economical with words when they write. They don't say "Oh my god" anymore but OMG, "What are you doing?" became "wdyd"? It's like they buy letters with hard currency!

And this so they can buy pre-ripped jeans and say it's new fashion, or get botox, so they can't even talk or laugh anymore.

The men... they get a crest on top of their heads like they're Spartan warriors ready for attack, but if their crypto server crashes, they cry behind their cigar like kids left without a lollipop.

Here they faint from hunger, in Chicago they faint from frolicking to the Charleston rhythm.

The journey continues........... to Chicago

Book 1 | Book 2 Index | Previous: Chapter 23: The Hook | Read ahead on Patreon

Update schedule: Book 2 now posts Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Daily was too fast to keep the quality up, and this pace lets the honeymoon last a long time.

Patreon: Chapters 25 through 35 are already up on Patreon if you want to read ahead. They'll post here on schedule.

Chapter 24: What Dusk Weighs

Wick stood up.

It was the first time she had been on her feet in a hundred years, and the chair came with her a little, the way a bandage does, and then let go. She stood in the third row with her arms hanging and her bare feet flat on the floor and looked down the whole length of the table at Ruth like a woman about to read out a sentence.

“I ironed it,” Wick said.

Ruth blinked. “The coat?”

“Every night. I ironed that coat every night for a hundred years. There’s a little stove in the back, Maud lets me use the flat iron, and I ironed it, and I hung it on the back of the chair, and I told myself she’ll want it pressed when she comes back.” Her voice went up and cracked and she dragged it back down by the collar. “It’s wool, Ruth. You can’t iron wool every night for a century. I wore a hole in the elbow. I darned the hole. I learned to darn, from a woman two rows over, so your coat wouldn’t have a hole in it when you got home. And you never got home. You weren’t even looking for home. You were out there eating burgers.”

“It’s a really good burger,” Ruth said, miserably.

“I’m sure it is!”

“Wick, I’m not defending the burger, I’m just—”

“Don’t you dare tell me about the burger!”

Ray opened his mouth, got a look from Scarlet that could have stopped a train, and shut it again. The entire table watched Wick walk down the aisle between the chairs, slowly at first and then not, one hand knocking against the backs of them as she went, and every chair she hit rocked a little and settled. She walked to the end of the row and turned and walked back. Her feet slapped on the boards. Somewhere a few seats down, a thin woman with a braid started to cry quietly, not for herself, for the sound.

“A hundred years of Tuesdays,” Wick said, to the ceiling. “Do you know what they’re like? They’re all the same, that’s what they’re like, and we all knew it, and nobody said so. The cloth sets the plate and we eat the soup and someone makes a joke and someone laughs at the joke and they’ve laughed at the same joke since before the Civil War. And I sat there and I thought, if she just comes back, if she walks in, if she just looks at me, I’ll know what to say. And now you’re here, and you’re eating soup, and you’re sorry, and I’ve got nothing.”

She had run out of walking and she stood there with her hands open.

“I’ve got nothing,” Wick said again, quieter. “That’s the worst part. I had all that time and the whole speech turned out to be one sentence.”

“Why did you go,” Scarlet said.

“Why did you go.”

“It’s a good sentence,” Scarlet said. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed of it. I’ve been trying to get Ruth to answer it for six weeks.”

“You have not,” Ruth said.

“I’ve been drawing it at you.”

“Okay, that’s true.”

Wick laughed. It surprised her, Ray could see it surprise her, the little shocked bark of it, and then she was crying and laughing at once, both hands over her face, standing in the aisle with her coat-less shoulders going up and down. Nobody moved. Maud set her ladle down very slowly in the groove it had made in the cloth, and for the first time Ray saw her wipe her own eye with the back of her wrist, fast, like it was an accident.

“Okay,” Wick said, into her hands. “Okay.”

“Okay what?” Ray said.

“Okay, I’m done.” She took her hands away. Her face was blotched and wrecked and weirdly younger, as if the anger had been holding her up from the inside. “I’m not over it. I’m just done for tonight. I think that’s all I’ve got in me and I’d rather say so than make a speech about it.” She looked at the card on the cloth, still folded, still warm. “Turn it.”

“I could,” Ray said.

“Not you.” Wick shook her head. “You weren’t there. Her.”

Ruth had gone stiff. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s a card,” Maud said. “You flip it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is exactly that simple, you’ve just made it complicated by bleeding on it,” Maud said, with great gentleness, and nobody could have said whether it was the best or the worst thing anybody had said all night.

Ray picked up the card.

He had carried it a long time, since the second night, since a cornfield and a pinkie and a bite on the shoulder, and in all that time it had never felt like anything but a bookmark. Now it was heavy. It weighed like a stone you’d fished out of a pond, cold in the middle and warm on the skin, and it lay in his palm as if it had always known the exact shape of his hand.

“I’m noting,” Ray said, to Hesper, “that this card has been following me around for a month and a half.”

“It’s been following her,” Hesper said. She had come down from the head of the table without his noticing, and she stood at his shoulder with her hands tucked in her sleeves, gazing at the card the way you look at a letter from someone who died. “It can’t go back until it’s given. It tried you because she gave it to you, and you were the next closest thing to the table. It’s been looking for the way home through you. You’re very warm. You’re a very warm man, Ray.”

“Thank you?”

“It wasn’t a compliment, it’s just load-bearing.”

“I’m noting that it’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about me all week.”

“Hey,” Scarlet said.

“Second nicest.”

“Better.” She had put the notebook down. She got up from her chair, and she came around and put her hand over Ray’s hand, over the card, and her fingers were smudged with charcoal, and she looked across the cloth at Ruth. “All three of us. Not just you. You took it and you didn’t know. We’re giving it back and we do.”

“I can’t ask you to—”

“You didn’t,” Scarlet said. “I offered.”

Ruth stared at them. Then she stood, and walked around the table, her bare feet silent, and put her own hand over both of theirs, small and cold and shaking. The three of them stood there at the head of the table, in a ring of hands, with a folded card in the middle of it like a coin at the bottom of a well.

“On three?” Ray said.

“Don’t count,” Ruth said. “I’ll lose my nerve.”

“Okay.”

“Just do it when I breathe.”

She breathed in.

They turned the card over.

It was the smallest sound Ray had ever heard a room make. Not a bang, not a chime. Just the click of a latch slipping out of a notch, a long way off, at the back of the world, and then a breath going out of every chest at once, the way a held breath goes out when the person who was holding it finally believes they can stop.

On the card, in perfectly ordinary ink, was one word. Dusk.

And the light changed.

It didn’t get darker. It got softer, the way a room does when the sun finally goes behind the house, and every shadow under every chair stretched itself out and lay down. The cloth went slack. For the first time since Ray had sat down at it, the long white table looked like a table and not like the surface of a held breath. Down the rows, chairs began to creak.

People stood.

They did it slowly, a few at a time, the way you stand up from a bath. A man in a brown vest put both hands on the table and pushed himself up with a grunt, and stood there swaying, as if he’d just stepped off a boat. The thin woman with the braid stood up and sat down again, and stood up again, and laughed out loud at herself. Someone in the back row was saying oh, over and over, very softly, like a word they’d forgotten. And then the whole room was getting to its feet, a long ripple of bare soles on boards, and the sound of it was a little like rain.

“Where do we go?” someone asked, near the middle. It was the woman with the braid. She was looking around her with the face of somebody who had never once been asked. “I’ve been here since, I don’t even know. Where do we go?”

“Anywhere,” Hesper said, and her voice had a catch in it. “That’s the point of it. Anywhere you like.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay and have the soup again.”

“Then have the soup again. Have it somewhere else. The soup goes.”

“The soup goes?”

“Maud goes,” Hesper said, looking down the table, “and so the soup goes.”

In the fourth row, an old man had not stood up. He sat with both hands flat on the cloth and a face like a wall, and when the woman beside him touched his sleeve he shook her off without looking at her. Ray watched him for a second and decided not to say anything about it. Some people got to the end of a meal and didn’t want the end.

Maud was on her feet. She had picked up the ladle and tucked it in her belt like a sidearm again, and she looked around the room with narrowed eyes, as if she were casing it.

“Right,” she said. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“There’s no kitchen, Maud,” Hesper said. “The cloth made it all.”

“Then I’ll find one. Four hundred years I’ve been telling people to eat, and not once did I stir a pot that was mine.” She looked at Ruth, and the little muscle in her jaw did a thing. “You. Thin one. You’ve got good taste. You know a place with a stove?”

Ruth opened her mouth, shut it, and then gave an answer she would later describe to Ray as the single bravest thing she had ever said. “I know a place with a bathhouse.”

“That’ll do,” said Maud.

And at the far end of the room, past all the feet and the rising and the quiet, a door that had not moved in a century ticked once on its hinge. The sound ran down the long hall like a dropped pin.

Everyone turned. Ruth turned. Ray turned.

Wick had not.

She was still standing in the aisle, one hand on the back of her chair, looking at the empty seat next to hers, where a green wool coat lay folded over the arm with the darned elbow showing. She had her back to the door. She wasn’t touching the coat. She wasn’t stepping toward it either. She was just looking at it, the way you look at something you’ve waited so long to be allowed to do that you’ve forgotten how it’s done.

“Wick,” Ruth said.

“Not yet,” Wick said, without turning around.

“I wasn’t going to—”

“I know. Just. Give me a minute.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Everyone give me a minute. It’s a door. It isn’t going anywhere.”

But the door, Ray noticed, had started to open, very slowly, an inch at a time, onto a color he did not have a word for yet.

Next up: Chapter 25: The Door Opens Both Ways, Monday, Oct 26.

Can't wait? Chapters 25 through 35 are on Patreon now.

Book 2 Index | Book 1

As the light faded, shapes began to emerge from the darkness.
I could hear voices, though they sounded distant and muffled, as if I were listening to someone speaking underwater.
“Ryan… Ryan!”
Someone was calling my name.
I tried to open my eyes wider, but everything remained blurry.
“Ryan!”
A sudden jolt struck me in the back.
I lurched forward, and the world snapped into focus.
“Ryan, are you all right?”
I blinked several times.
I was standing in the middle of a training ground surrounded by teenagers. Some were practicing with summoned creatures, while others stood in groups, discussing their abilities. The ground beneath my feet was covered in packed dirt, and tall stone buildings surrounded the training area.
What was going on?
I turned toward the voice.
A young boy stood beside me. He had messy brown hair, a determined expression, and features that immediately reminded me of the description I’d read in The Summoner’s Pride.
Leon.
The protagonist of the book.
I stared at him.
He was supposed to be a character in a novel. Yet here he was, standing right in front of me.
“Are you listening?” Leon asked.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
What was I supposed to say?
Sorry, I was reading about you a few minutes ago, and now I’m somehow inside your story?
That would probably make me sound insane.
I nodded instinctively.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Leon studied me for a moment before smiling.
“Good. Don’t give up, okay? You’ll summon a strong monster one day. You just have to believe in yourself.”
I stared at him.
Why was he saying that to me?
Before I could ask, another voice called from across the training ground.
“Leon! We’re leaving!”
Leon turned toward the voice.
“Coming!”
He looked back at me and gave my shoulder a friendly pat.
“I’ve got to go, Ryan. Keep practicing. I’ll see you later!”
With that, he hurried away.
I watched him disappear into the crowd.
Ryan?
Why did he keep calling me Ryan?
I slowly lowered my gaze.
Something was resting in the palm of my hand.
A slime.
It was a small, translucent creature with a glossy surface that reflected the light. Its soft body wobbled whenever I moved my hand, and two tiny eyes stared up at me.
I leaned closer.
My reflection stared back from its surface.
Except the face looking back wasn’t mine.
My breath caught in my throat.
The reflection showed a thin, pale face, long silver hair, and pointed ears.
I raised my free hand and touched my cheek.
The reflection did the same.
I pinched myself.
“Ouch!”
Pain shot through my cheek.
I stared at my hand.
This wasn’t a dream.
At least, it didn’t feel like one.
I looked around the training ground again, taking in the unfamiliar buildings, the strange students, and the summoned creatures wandering between them.
Where was I?
And why was I Ryan?
A loud bell suddenly rang across the grounds.
The students stopped what they were doing and began gathering their belongings.
“All students are to report to the auditorium for the summoning fundamentals lecture,” a voice announced. “Repeat, all students are to report to the auditorium immediately.”
The crowd began moving toward the academy buildings.
I remained where I was for a moment.
The auditorium.
Where was that?
I glanced around helplessly before a memory surfaced in my mind.
The training grounds were located near the center of the academy. The auditorium stood directly across the main courtyard.
I knew that.
But how?
I shook my head and followed the other students.
As I walked through the sprawling campus, I couldn’t help staring at my surroundings.
The academy was enormous. Stone pathways connected several buildings, while gardens and training fields filled the spaces between them. Students wandered everywhere, some carrying books and others accompanied by strange creatures.
And the students themselves were just as unusual.
Some had long, pointed ears like mine. Others had dark skin, short horns, or catlike ears and tails. I even spotted a girl with pale blue scales running along her neck.
What kind of world was this?
I knew it was a fantasy novel, but seeing everything firsthand was something else entirely.
Eventually, I reached the auditorium.
Students were filing through the entrance, and I joined the crowd.
Inside, rows of wooden benches filled a large hall. A raised platform stood at the front, where a stocky man was arranging several books and scrolls on a table.
I recognized him from the story.
He was one of the instructors at the Summoner’s Academy.
I was still trying to figure out where I should sit when someone waved at me.
“Ryan! Over here!”
Leon.
He had saved me the trouble of finding a seat.
I walked over and sat beside him.
“Hey,” I said.
Leon smiled.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I was worried about you back there.”
I forced a smile.
“Nothing to worry about.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned toward the front.
A moment later, the instructor stepped onto the platform.
“Settle down!”
His deep voice echoed through the auditorium.
The remaining chatter faded, and the students took their seats.
“Today’s lecture will cover the fundamentals of summoning. Some of you may believe you already know everything necessary to call a creature, particularly those of you who have successfully formed a contract.”
His gaze swept across the room.
“However, a successful summoner must understand more than simply how to call a beast. You must understand the nature of the contract, the requirements of the creatures you summon, and the consequences of failure.”
I sat up straighter.
This was interesting.
Even though I had read the opening chapters of the novel, the story hadn’t explained summoning in much detail.
Now I had an opportunity to learn firsthand.
The instructor continued.
“Summoning begins with mana. A summoner must gather their mana and channel it into a summoning circle. Once the circle is complete, the summoner activates it, sending out a call into the realm where summoned creatures reside.”
He raised one hand, and a glowing circle appeared above his palm.
“That call seeks a creature capable of forming a contract with the summoner. However, not every creature will respond, and not every creature that responds will accept you.”
The circle flickered before disappearing.
“Some creatures possess sufficient intelligence to understand the contract and decide whether they wish to form a bond. Others lack the necessary intelligence and cannot establish a stable connection. Such summons will fail.”
He paused, allowing the information to sink in.
“Furthermore, a creature that rejects your contract may cause a backlash. The severity depends on the strength of the creature and the amount of mana involved. In extreme cases, a failed contract can injure the summoner or permanently damage their ability to summon.”
A strange sensation stirred in my stomach.
It felt like something twisting inside me.
I pressed a hand against my abdomen.
What was that?
The sensation faded after a moment, leaving behind a dull ache.
I frowned.
Had Ryan suffered a backlash before?
I couldn’t remember.
The instructor continued explaining the mechanics of summoning, covering the importance of mana control, the formation of summoning circles, and the risks of attempting to call creatures beyond one’s ability.
Surprisingly, it all made sense.
The process sounded relatively straightforward.
Gather mana. Form a circle. Send out a call. Establish a contract.
Of course, understanding the process and actually performing it were two different things.
By the time the lecture ended, my head was full of information.
Students began gathering their belongings, and Leon turned toward me.
“So, are you going to try summoning again?”
I hesitated.
Then I nodded.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Leon grinned and clapped me on the shoulder.
“That’s the spirit! Don’t give up, Ryan. You’ll get there eventually.”
He stood and joined a group of students waiting near the exit.
“Come on!” one of them called. “The dungeon won’t explore itself!”
Leon laughed.
“All right, all right. I’m coming.”
He glanced back at me.
“See you later, Ryan!”
I raised a hand in farewell.
The group left the auditorium, chatting excitedly about their plans to explore the academy’s dungeon.
I remained seated.
Apparently, students who hadn’t successfully summoned a creature weren’t permitted to enter the dungeon. Without a summon to protect them, they were considered too vulnerable.
That meant I was stuck in the training grounds.
I leaned back against the bench and stared at the ceiling.
What was I doing here?
A little while ago, I’d been sitting in Ravenshire, reading a book.
Now I was inside it.
The only explanation I could think of was that my awakening talent had something to do with what I was experiencing.
Story Inheritance.
The name echoed through my mind.
Perhaps this was what the talent did. Maybe it allowed me to experience the lives of characters in the books I read.
If that was true, I needed to make the most of this opportunity.
I had no idea how long I’d remain here, or what would happen when the experience ended.
But I had a chance to learn something useful.
And I wasn’t about to waste it.
I stood and headed back toward the training grounds.

The training area was quieter when I returned.
A few students remained, practicing their summoning techniques under the supervision of an assistant instructor. Several others were gathered around a group of small creatures, attempting to strengthen their existing contracts.
I found an empty section of the grounds and sat down.
All right.
Time to summon something.
I closed my eyes and tried to follow the instructor’s explanation.
First, I needed to gather my mana.
I concentrated on the strange energy within my body. At first, I felt nothing, but after a few moments, a faint warmth began to gather in my abdomen.
I focused on that sensation and guided it outward.
The air around me seemed to shimmer.
I imagined the shape of a summoning circle, drawing upon the knowledge I’d gained from the lecture.
Lines of light appeared beneath me.
They formed a circle, followed by a series of intricate symbols that glowed faintly against the dirt.
I opened my eyes.
It had worked.
A small smile crept across my face.
Now came the difficult part.
Ryan had struggled with summoning for a long time. His mana control was poor, and every failed attempt had left him frightened of trying again.
But I wasn’t Ryan.
At least, not entirely.
I might be living his life, but I had my own thoughts, my own determination, and my own reasons for wanting to become stronger.
I wasn’t going to let fear stop me.
The instructor had explained that the strength of a summoning depended partly on how much mana the summoner invested in the circle.
More mana meant a stronger call, though it also increased the danger if the contract failed.
I stared at the glowing symbols.
Then I made my decision.
If I was going to do this, I would do it properly.
I poured my mana into the circle.
The light brightened.
The symbols began rotating, and a low hum spread across the training grounds.
I felt the mana leaving my body, flowing through the circle and into something I couldn’t see.
A silhouette appeared at its center.
It was enormous compared with the tiny slime resting in my hand earlier. The shape seemed feline, with a powerful body and a long tail.
I couldn’t make out the details.
The light intensified.
I pushed more mana into the circle.
My head began to ache, and sweat gathered along my forehead.
The silhouette shifted.
It grew smaller.
Smaller still.
Until the light finally faded, revealing a sleek black cat sitting in the center of the circle.
I stared.
The creature’s fur was so dark that it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Its eyes glowed faintly, and its tail flicked from side to side.
A voice sounded inside my head.
Do you possess the strength to form a bond with the Nightshade?
I swallowed.
I didn’t know what a Nightshade was, but I wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity now.
I pushed the last of my mana into the circle.
I accept.
For several tense seconds, nothing happened.
Then the summoning circle began to fade.
The black cat stepped forward, its paws making no sound against the ground.
The symbols disappeared completely.
And the creature remained.
I had done it.
I had actually summoned a beast.
A grin spread across my face.
“Yes!”
I pushed myself to my feet, barely able to contain my excitement.
I’d succeeded where Ryan had repeatedly failed.
The Nightshade looked up at me.
Then it walked over and sat beside my leg.
I could feel it.
A connection had formed between us, something that went beyond simple obedience. I could sense its presence, its awareness, and a faint current of mana linking us together.
It was an incredible feeling.
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, I felt as though I understood what was happening.
I had summoned a creature.
I’d formed a contract.
And I’d done it myself.
Unfortunately, my celebration didn’t last long.
My knees began to shake.
The world tilted.
I suddenly realized how exhausted I was.
Summoning the Nightshade had consumed nearly all my mana, leaving me barely able to stand.
I stumbled backward and dropped onto the ground.
“That… took a lot out of me.”
The Nightshade settled beside me.
I leaned back on my hands and tried to catch my breath.
Then the ground shook.
At first, it was barely noticeable, little more than a faint vibration beneath my palms.
I frowned and looked around.
Another tremor followed.
Stronger this time.
The students nearby stopped practicing. One of them turned toward the academy buildings, while another hurried toward the edge of the training grounds.
“What was that?”
Before anyone could answer, the ground shook again.
A loud alarm rang across the campus.
A moment later, the academy’s announcement system crackled to life.
“Attention, all students. The academy dungeon has suffered a breach. Monsters have escaped containment and are moving through the academy grounds. All students are to evacuate immediately. Repeat, all students are to evacuate immediately.”
My stomach dropped.
A dungeon breach?
I knew what happened next.
The story had mentioned this event.
During the chaos, Ryan would be caught in the attack and killed by a hobgoblin.
I scrambled to my feet.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I wasn’t going to die in some fictional academy because I’d decided to play around with a summoning circle.
I looked down at the Nightshade.
“Come on. We’re leaving.”
The cat rose and followed me toward the exit.
We’d barely taken a few steps when an explosion rocked the training grounds.
The wall to my right burst apart.
Stone fragments and clouds of dust filled the air, throwing me backward. I hit the ground hard and slid several feet before coming to a stop.
Pain shot through my shoulder.
I coughed, trying to clear the dust from my lungs.
“What the hell was that?”
I pushed myself onto my elbows.
Through the haze, I could make out a massive figure standing in the newly formed breach.
It was a humanoid creature with green skin, thick muscles, and a broad, ugly face. Its pointed ears stuck out from the sides of its head, and its enormous hands wrapped around a crude wooden club.
A hobgoblin.
I recognized it immediately.
I’d read about these creatures in the novel.
They were dangerous opponents for inexperienced summoners, possessing strength far beyond that of an ordinary human.
And this one was standing directly in front of me.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I couldn’t fight that thing.
Not with my current body. Not with barely any mana left.
I needed to run.
But then I noticed something.
The hobgoblin was dragging a student by the leg.
The boy’s body bounced against the ground as the monster hauled him toward the training grounds.
He wasn’t moving.
I stared at him.
For a moment, the academy disappeared.
I saw a ruined house.
I heard screams.
I remembered a massive claw reaching through a tear in the sky.
My parents.
The Abyss beasts had taken them from me.
And now another monster stood before me, dragging an innocent person as though he were nothing more than a piece of meat.
My hands began to tremble.
I was afraid.
Of course I was afraid.
I was an ordinary sixteen-year-old boy who had barely learned how to summon a creature. I had no combat training, no armor, and almost no mana remaining.
Every sensible part of my mind screamed at me to run.
But I couldn’t.
Not again.
I had hidden beneath a bed once while monsters destroyed everything I loved.
I wasn’t going to stand by and let another person die if there was even a chance I could help.
I clenched my fists.
“This might not be my world,” I whispered, “but monsters are still monsters.”
I looked down at the Nightshade.
“And I’m going to kill them all.”
The cat’s glowing eyes met mine.
I could feel the connection between us, faint but unmistakable.
“Will you help me?”
The Nightshade rose.
Its body began to change.
The small cat grew larger, its limbs lengthening as dark fur spread across its powerful frame. Within moments, it had transformed into a full-sized feline beast, its shoulders rising nearly to my chest.
It opened its mouth and released a low, rumbling roar.
The hobgoblin stopped dragging the student.
Its ugly face turned toward us.
Then it dropped the boy and stepped into the training grounds, gripping its club with both hands.
The weapon was enormous, thick enough to crush a man’s skull with a single swing.
The hobgoblin raised it.
I swallowed.
“All right,” I muttered. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The monster charged.
It swung its club in a wide arc, sending a gust of wind past my face.
The Nightshade moved.
It darted beneath the blow with astonishing speed, slipping past the monster’s reach before leaping onto its side.
Its claws raked across the hobgoblin’s chest.
Three deep gashes appeared in the creature’s green skin.
Dark blood seeped from the wounds.
The hobgoblin roared in pain and stumbled backward.
I stared in amazement.
“That was incredible!”
The Nightshade landed gracefully and circled its opponent.
For a moment, I thought we might actually win.
Then the hobgoblin’s expression twisted with rage.
It slammed its club into the ground.
The impact sent a shock wave racing across the dirt.
The Nightshade leaped over the wave, but I wasn’t nearly fast enough.
The force struck me square in the legs and threw me backward.
I crashed into the wall.
Pain exploded through my body.
The breath left my lungs, and I crumpled to the ground.
For several seconds, I couldn’t move.
I tried to inhale, but my chest refused to cooperate. My head throbbed, and something warm trickled down my forehead.
Blood.
I touched the side of my head and stared at the red smear on my fingers.
“Oh, that’s not good.”
I tried to stand.
My legs wouldn’t respond.
Something was wrong.
I looked down and saw a jagged piece of metal protruding from my abdomen. It must have been torn from the wall during the explosion.
The realization hit me like another blow.
I was impaled.
I couldn’t breathe properly, my vision was beginning to blur, and the hobgoblin was still fighting my summoned beast.
“Great,” I whispered. “Just great.”
I was going to die.
Again.
Except this time, I wouldn’t wake up in my bed.
I watched helplessly as the Nightshade continued fighting.
The two creatures were evenly matched. The Nightshade was faster, dodging the hobgoblin’s heavy swings and striking whenever an opening appeared. But the monster’s strength was overwhelming, and every blow sent dirt and stone flying.
Neither could gain the upper hand.
My vision grew dimmer.
I tried to move my legs again, but they remained unresponsive.
The Nightshade needed help.
I needed to do something.
Anything.
But my body refused to cooperate.
Then I heard shouting.
Several figures rushed through the opening in the wall.
I recognized one of them immediately.
Leon.
He had returned with his friends.
His expression changed when he saw the hobgoblin, and he immediately raised his hand.
A summoning circle appeared beneath his feet.
Light erupted from its center.
A gigantic dragon emerged, its scales gleaming beneath the sunlight. It spread its wings and released a deafening roar that shook the training grounds.
The hobgoblin turned.
It didn’t have time to react.
The dragon lunged.
Its jaws closed around the monster, and with a single violent strike, the hobgoblin was thrown to the ground.
The creature didn’t move again.
I let out a shaky breath.
Good.
At least no one else would get hurt.
The Nightshade approached me, its enormous paws making almost no sound against the dirt.
It lowered its head beside me and sat down.
I looked at it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The creature tilted its head.
“I’m a terrible companion, aren’t I? I dragged you into this mess, and now I can’t even stand.”
I tried to smile, but the pain made it difficult.
“You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll release the contract. You can return to your world.”
The Nightshade remained beside me.
I reached out and touched its fur.
It was warm.
Somehow, that made everything feel worse.
I didn’t want to die.
I didn’t want to leave this strange world, even if it wasn’t really mine.
And I certainly didn’t want to lose the first creature that had ever formed a bond with me.
But I had no choice.
My vision was fading.
Footsteps approached.
Leon dropped to his knees beside me, his expression filled with alarm.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying. My ears were ringing too loudly.
He grabbed my shoulder and leaned closer.
I managed to make out a few words.
“Help is coming! Hold on!”
I glanced past him.
The healing mages were already treating the student the hobgoblin had dragged. One of them looked in my direction and shouted for assistance.
Leon turned back toward me.
“You did it, Ryan! You finally summoned a beast! We can go into the dungeon together now!”
He gave a nervous laugh.
“Just hold on a little longer, okay? The healers will fix you up.”
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t think they could.
I wanted to explain that I wasn’t really Ryan, that I didn’t belong in this world, and that I had no idea how any of this had happened.
But I couldn’t find the strength to speak.
Instead, I reached out and gripped his hand.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
I looked toward the Nightshade.
“Thank you.”
Then I released the contract.
A faint light surrounded the creature.
The Nightshade lifted its head and released a low roar before its body began to dissolve into darkness.
I watched it disappear.
For some reason, that was the last thing I wanted to see.
Then the world went black.

I jolted upright.
My eyes flew open, and I sucked in a desperate breath.
For several seconds, I couldn’t do anything except gasp for air.
My hands flew to my stomach.
I expected to feel the jagged piece of metal still lodged there.
But there was nothing.
No blood.
No wound.
I looked down at myself.
My clothes were intact.
My body was unharmed.
I was sitting in the chair beside Ravenshire’s front window, with an open book resting in my lap.
The Summoner’s Pride.
I stared at it.
“What…?”
My voice came out as little more than a croak.
“Bad dream?” Grandpa asked from behind the counter.
I turned toward him.
He was watching me over his spectacles, one eyebrow raised.
“You nearly jumped out of that chair. Whatever you were dreaming about, it must have been quite frightening.”
I swallowed and tried to steady my breathing.
“It was…”
I stopped.
What was I supposed to say?
That I’d somehow entered a book, lived as a boy named Ryan, summoned a creature, fought a hobgoblin, and nearly died?
That sounded ridiculous.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead.
“Yeah. Just a bad dream.”
Grandpa studied me for another moment before returning to his work.
“Well, try not to fall asleep while reading. You’ll strain your neck.”
I nodded.
“Sure, Gramps.”
I looked down at the book.
My hands were still trembling.
It had felt real.
Too real.
I could still remember the weight of the summoning circle beneath my feet, the warmth of the Nightshade’s fur, and the pain of being thrown against the wall.
I could still smell the hobgoblin’s foul stench.
And I could still taste the blood in my mouth.
I pressed a hand against my abdomen.
Nothing.
Not even a bruise.
Perhaps it really had been a dream.
An unusually vivid one.
I let out a shaky breath and looked back at the book.
Then something caught my attention.
I remembered reading the story before the vision began. Leon had just arrived at the academy, and I’d reached the part where he met Ryan.
I hadn’t read much farther than that.
Yet I knew what happened next.
I flipped through the pages, searching for the section describing the dungeon breach.
My fingers stopped on a chapter several pages later.
I began reading.
The words blurred together as I searched for the details.
Then I found it.
Ryan had died during the dungeon breach.
He had been struck by debris from the shattered wall and impaled by a piece of metal. Leon had arrived too late to save him.
The Nightshade had returned to its summoning realm after Ryan’s death.
I stared at the page.
My heart began pounding again.
That was exactly what had happened to me.
The same creature.
The same fight.
The same wound.
Even the same words Leon had spoken to me.
I flipped backward through the pages.
I hadn’t read this far before the strange experience began.
So how had I known what happened?
And why had everything felt so real?
I closed the book.
My mind raced through every possible explanation, but none made sense.
The awakening.
The visions.
The darkness.
The strange voice announcing my talent.
Story Inheritance.
I slowly lowered the book into my lap.
Could it be?
Had I actually entered the story?
I shook my head.
That was impossible.
People didn’t enter books. Stories were just stories.
Yet I remembered every moment.
Every conversation.
Every sensation.
Even the pain.
I stood abruptly.
“I’m going to lie down for a while.”
Grandpa looked up.
“All right. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
I nodded and hurried toward my room.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.
My heart was still racing.
I needed to think.
If what I had experienced was real, then my talent was far more extraordinary than I’d imagined.
But I needed proof.
Something that couldn’t be dismissed as a dream.
I sat on the edge of my bed and replayed the events in my mind.
The training ground.
The lecture.
The summoning circle.
The Nightshade.
I remembered exactly how I’d gathered my mana and formed the circle. I could still recall the strange sensation of channeling energy through my body.
If it had been nothing more than a dream, I shouldn’t have been able to remember the process so clearly.
And if it hadn’t been a dream…
I swallowed.
There was only one way to find out.
I held out my hand and concentrated.
At first, nothing happened.
Then I felt it.
A faint warmth stirred within me.
Mana.
I guided it outward, remembering the movements I’d made inside the story.
A thin line of light appeared in the air.
I nearly lost my concentration.
It was working.
I continued, carefully shaping the mana into a circle. Symbols formed along its edge, glowing faintly as the pattern took shape.
The summoning circle was smaller than the one I’d created in the training grounds, but it looked almost identical.
I stared at it.
No way.
I pushed more mana into the circle.
The symbols brightened, and the air began to vibrate.
I could feel something on the other side.
Something responding to my call.
A familiar silhouette appeared within the light.
Four legs.
Pointed ears.
A long tail.
The same creature I’d summoned inside the book.
The Nightshade.
My breathing quickened.
I didn’t even have to ask for a contract this time.
The connection formed almost immediately, as though the creature recognized me.
The circle flashed.
Then the light faded.
A black cat sat on the floor in front of me.
I stared.
It stared back.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then I slowly reached down.
My fingers brushed its fur.
Warm.
Soft.
Real.
I snatched my hand back.
“This can’t be happening.”
The cat blinked at me.
I stood and paced around the room, trying to make sense of what I’d just done.
I’d summoned a creature.
Not through a skill book or a beast scroll, as was customary in this world.
I’d summoned it directly, using nothing but the experience I’d gained inside the story.
And the creature had accepted my contract without hesitation.
I stopped pacing and looked at the cat.
“Are you the same Nightshade I summoned inside the book?”
It offered no answer.
Instead, it stretched, padded toward my bed, and jumped onto the mattress.
Then it curled into a ball and began purring.
I stared at it in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The cat closed its eyes.
Apparently, it had no intention of helping me understand what was happening.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
All right.
Let’s think about this logically.
Summoners existed in Silvercrest, but their methods were well established. They acquired summoning skills through skill books and used beast scrolls to call creatures they had established contracts with.
They didn’t summon creatures this way.
They didn’t enter a book, live as a character, and return with a new ability.
At least, not according to anything I’d ever read.
I looked toward the cat again.
It was still sleeping on my bed.
I couldn’t help smiling faintly.
I’d wanted a combat talent.
I’d wanted the power to fight the Abyss beasts and avenge my parents.
And now, on the very day I’d awakened my talent, I’d summoned a creature capable of fighting a hobgoblin.
It wasn’t the swordsmanship I’d expected.
It wasn’t the magical ability I’d dreamed about.
But it was something.
Something extraordinary.
I walked over to the bed and sat down beside the cat.
“Well,” I murmured, “I suppose I should give you a proper welcome.”
The cat opened one eye.
I scratched behind its ears.
It began purring louder.
A small laugh escaped me.
For the first time since my awakening, I felt a flicker of genuine excitement.
If I could bring skills and creatures out of books, then perhaps my talent could help me become stronger than I’d ever imagined.
Perhaps I really could fight the Abyss.
But there was still one problem.
I had no idea how to explain any of this to Grandpa Edmund.
A knock sounded at my door.
“Alaric! Dinner’s ready!”
I froze.
Then I slowly turned toward the cat.
It looked back at me, completely unconcerned.
I stared at it.
Then at the door.
Then back at the cat.
How was I supposed to explain this?
I sighed.
“This is going to be a long evening.”

The lunch plaza rested in perfect symmetry, framed by cold marble and meticulously engineered trees.

It was an ordinary afternoon.

Yet once again, Taesung sat alone on the marble bench that had once felt more like a dining table than a seat.

Soyi was still the person closest to him.

But they no longer occupied the same moments.

The lunches they had shared—the casual conversations, the effortless laughter—already felt like memories from another lifetime.

I want to rest...

I'm so tired.

When had a single minute of solitude become this unbearably long?

He had convinced himself he had grown accustomed to the sterile silence of this perfectly controlled city.

But a heart drained of meaning was never truly prepared for loneliness.

Slowly, Taesung lifted his head.

Covering the face of a skyscraper nearly a hundred stories tall, a colossal media façade flooded the plaza with brilliant blue light.

It displayed the latest project personally designed by the superintelligence Aura.

[NEW LIFE]

Relive Humanity's Perfect Past.

Tired of the emptiness of everyday life?

Step into humanity's most beautiful era, faithfully reconstructed by Aura.

Experience history—not as an observer, but as someone who truly lived it.

Unlimited freedom. Total immersion.

Pre-registration for the New Life Project is now open.

It was a virtual world created by humanity's supreme intelligence.

A system Taesung himself helped maintain every day as part of the Master Server Division.

Its message was simple.

Leave behind the dull, lifeless present.

Lose yourself in the romance of a perfectly restored past.

The immense wall of blue light bathed the entire plaza in an almost sacred glow.

Yet beneath that dazzling spectacle...

Not a single person looked up.

Not one.

Every citizen remained seated with their head lowered, trapped inside a silence that seemed to belong only to themselves.

As though the advertisement had never existed.

Taesung let out a long, weary sigh.

His eyes drifted upward for a moment toward the vast artificial sky above the city.

Then, almost unconsciously,

they fell once more to the cold marble beneath his feet.

The same meaningless movement.

Again.

And again.

Part 1

Jinwoo never let go of the child’s small hand, feeling a quiet, steady, and deeply reassuring warmth linger between them that didn't belong to another person, but to a part of himself he had finally stopped pushing away into the dark. For a long while, neither spoke as the empty playground dissolved completely, leaving them once again standing within the endless expanse of white where the silence no longer felt cold or suffocating, but profoundly peaceful.

The child looked down at their joined hands before slowly raising his eyes to meet Jinwoo’s, asking if he was really okay now. The question was deceptively simple, yet Jinwoo didn’t answer immediately, thinking back on the long, difficult journey that had brought him to this very moment—the fear hidden behind a wall of indifference, the loneliness buried beneath years of silence, and the bitter disappointment carried without ever daring to admit it. Then his mind drifted to the brutal reality of the battlefield, where burning warships tore through the dark, falling defensive lines shattered under relentless assault, and countless automated machines sacrificed themselves one by one just to buy humanity another single heartbeat of time.

Slowly lifting his head, he watched as a section of the endless white world began to ripple, momentarily mirroring the harsh reality of the outside world with explosions lighting up the void of space and warships burning in silence. The vision vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, but it was more than enough, because Jinwoo finally understood that there would never be a future entirely free of fear, only a future where he actively chose how to face it.

Looking back down at the child, he offered a soft, gentle smile and spoke.

"No."

The child blinked in surprise. "No?"

Jinwoo let out a quiet, honest laugh. "I’m still afraid. I still hate failing. I still don’t want to get hurt."

The words came naturally now, unforced and unburdened by lingering shame or a desperate attempt to hide his flaws. He looked down at the child’s small hand resting securely in his own.

"But..." His voice dropped to a quiet, resolute whisper. "I don’t have to run anymore."

A gentle, refreshing breeze drifted through the endless white as the child watched him carefully, searching for any trace of the old pretense, finding only raw honesty and total acceptance. Slowly, a peaceful, radiant smile spread across the boy's face, the brightest Jinwoo had ever witnessed on him.

"Then..." the boy whispered softly, "...that’s enough."

Jinwoo smiled back, and for the very first time in his life, he truly believed those words, too.

Part 2

The child’s peaceful smile lingered in the air, free of the lonely facade or brittle disappointment from years ago on that empty playground, as a soft, luminous white light began to gather gently around his body, shimmering like morning sunlight dancing across a calm lake. Jinwoo watched without a shred of surprise or panic, already beginning to understand that this wasn't a painful farewell.

The child looked up at him one last time with a playful glint in his eye, remarking that he had always foolishly thought Jinwoo forgot all about him. Jinwoo’s expression softened into deep affection.

"I did. Or perhaps... I tried desperately to."

The child nodded knowingly. "I know."

Silence settled comfortably between them with nothing left to conceal or pretend to be, and Jinwoo tightened his grip ever so slightly around the child’s hand, apologizing for leaving him out in the cold all this time. The child slowly shook his head, his voice remaining gentle and warm as he noted that Jinwoo had come back for him, and that was enough.

The white light surrounding his small form grew steadily brighter, his outlines turning transparent as he returned home like a missing puzzle piece sliding back into its rightful place. Jinwoo watched every single moment unfold without reaching out a hand to stop it, knowing the child had never truly disappeared, but had always been a fundamental part of who he was.

Looking deep into Jinwoo’s eyes one final time, the child reminded him not to forget, prompting a warm smile and a playful remark about how the child had always thought he was a bit weak. The child laughed along with a bright, ringing sound that echoed purely through the endless white.

"No. Because you’re weak, you can truly understand people who are hurting. And because you intimately know fear, you can actually choose courage."

Jinwoo’s smile melted into a look of deep, profound understanding, finally realizing that true strength was never the absolute absence of fear, but the fierce resolve to keep moving forward despite it. The child’s body dissolved gracefully into countless particles of warm white light that drifted toward Jinwoo and settled deep within him, bringing no blinding flash, only a profound, steady warmth and a feeling of absolute wholeness.

Arena’s calm, synthetic voice echoed softly through the white world, noting that self-acceptance had reached eighty-two percent while traditional archery data remained locked, prompting Jinwoo to smile and acknowledge that he had begun to truly understand himself, even though understanding still had to become complete acceptance.

Part 3

The warm light slowly receded, returning the endless white which no longer felt empty or hollow as Jinwoo stood quietly in the exact spot where the child had finally returned to stay, closing his eyes for a brief moment to find that the heavy loneliness had been acknowledged, embraced, and accepted. Opening his eyes, his breathing felt completely natural and unforced for the first time since stepping foot into the Warrior Project, with no lingering internal resistance, only absolute calm.

Arena’s voice resonated softly, confirming the eighty-two percent self-acceptance and the still-locked archery data, and Jinwoo looked up with a faint, relaxed smile, understanding the rhythm of it now that true growth had never happened all at once. Far beyond his isolated white world, the others were continuing to walk their own difficult paths—Hanul sitting back-to-back with his other self, admitting that he had hated being overlooked and no longer felt the need to prove a damn thing to anyone; Darin smiling gently with her reflection, deciding to laugh and cry whenever she genuinely needed to without hiding behind a practiced smile; and Soyeon standing face-to-face with her reflection beneath glowing threads of light, accepting that she wouldn't carry the whole world by herself anymore.

Beyond every isolated white world, reality continued to burn fiercely as another devastating explosion tore through Earth’s orbital defenses and entire fleets vanished beneath roaring waves of fire, yet the machines and defenders never retreated, buying precious seconds of breath for humanity. Arena observed every chaotic battlefield in absolute silence before reaching out to all the children once more to announce that self-confrontation progress had reached eighty-seven percent, and that one final stage remained.

The white world trembled beneath their feet as something slowly emerged from the rolling mist deep within Jinwoo’s space—not a buried memory or a child from his past, but a tall, ancient, and pristine mirror whose polished surface reflected absolutely nothing at all. Jinwoo stared at it with a strange, unfamiliar feeling settling deep within his chest, knowing that while everything up until this point had been about the past and lingering wounds, this mirror was fundamentally different, waiting not to show him who he used to be, but to reveal who he was truly capable of becoming.

[Beginning] [Prev CH] [Next CH] [Royal Road]

Chapter 10: Emergency Declaration, When All Hope Is Lost - Part 3

He grabbed the left side of the doorframe and stumbled slowly out of the room as he entered the area with the printer. Barely able to move properly, as he was going to grab the second door to get out to the hallway, a gang of Witches appeared, and a left kick came flying as he managed to get his right arm up barely. He heard something crack right below his elbow before he flew straight through the other door in the printer area. Darkness loomed over the room as Berk felt like he had barely any energy to get up from the floor. Something sniffed his head as he slightly turned his head and saw three red eyes in the darkness. Several Witches hurried to the room but stopped before entering. Strangely, the Witches slowly backed a couple of steps back when a leader in the group came all the way to the doorframe to check; he could see from her murderous look that she wanted to kill him, but she was fully aware of the three eyes watching her in the corner of the room. She tested the waters and stepped into the room when a growl made it clear she wasn't welcome inside. Berk moved his hands around to find out what kind of animal his brother had been keeping, and he noticed a bowl. He turned it toward the light at the entrance and saw two letters: 'B.G'. The thing started to breathe, sounding like a dog, and he slowly sat up, leaning toward the wall as he tried to focus on its breathing and avoid taking deep breaths because it was too painful.

"W... why are you sitting here in the dark room?"

The eyes moved slightly as it pushed something down on the floor beside him. He picked it up and held it to the light, noticing it looked like a one-earpiece with a seashell covering.

"What is this?" He asked when he heard three eyes bark, which reminded him of the past in that intense moment, and tears filled his eyes. He put the earpiece in his right ear, and it was chaos:

"BERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRABERRA!"

He took it off and looked at three eyes and asked:

"Berra...Berra Golden?"

"VOFF!...VOFF!"

Berra moved up close to him and sniffed him everywhere while wagging his tail, and Berk caressed Berra for a couple of seconds as he could not hold back his tears. During his childhood, Veronica told him that Berra died from the injuries in the accident that day, but it looks like Zark had him hidden all this time. He put the earpiece back on when Berra was breathing all over him as the chaos continued:

"WANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAYWANNAPLAY?"

He took it off slightly, put his finger to his mouth, and Berra spread his two front paws, leaning and wagging his tail, waiting for Berk's next step. He put the piece back into his ear and told Berra:

"Okay, steady and stand up!" Berra took the orders as if they were his master's, since Berk's smell was the same as his master's.

"Good boy!"

He clapped Berra's head.

The Witch leader made another attempt to get into the room, but Berra reacted quickly with a growl.

"Do you know this cukrin dog?" Berk asked them in a lowered voice.

They looked at him and got insecure for a moment as the leader's facial expression changed completely.

"Pft! It can't be!" She uttered in disbelief.

Tamy and Famy tripped inside the area, and when they saw the dog, Tamy yelled:

"NOOOOO, I AM NOT DOING THIS! You can manage on your own, Berk!" They both quickly left the area.

"Is that...?" The leader uttered before stopping.

Berk nodded.

She looked back at the other witches and gave them instructions in a firm voice:

"Everyone, back slowly out of the area."

They started to back slowly one step at a time when one Witch all the way back yelled:

"WHY ARE WE BACKING AWAY? HE IS RIGHT THERE. IT IS ONLY A CUKRIN DOG BESIDE HIM."

Everyone stopped that stupid comment and looked at Berra, worried he would react.

"The one in the back, you seem to be new to the organization, so let me make this clear to you. Veronica Von Silfer has only lost three battles in her life: against Zark, against an unknown human, and the one she never mentions to anyone is when she lost the battle against a cukrin dog; this is most probably the same dog she lost against."

The silence in the air, with all the tension shifting to worried witches, made Berk move slowly forward as they backed away from him. From nowhere, a Witch in the middle tried throwing a black thread towards Berk when Berra flew up in the air in an instant, and before it even came close, the Witch-leader screamed:

"JUMP TO THE SIDE!"

Berra made a normal attack move:

"VAAAAAAAUUUOOFFF! A strong whirlwind wind pushed out from his mouth. It easily destroyed everything in its way, taking the big printer with it, and a couple of Witches flew around, hitting the walls and ceiling as it broke down the wall and continued into the hallway and cut through the corner in the area as more Witches flew around hitting walls, floors, and ceiling in all directions. Several Witches ran for their lives away from Berk, saw an opening, and started moving forward, with Berra taking the lead as they appeared in the hallway. The alarm was on, and the emergency water system was activated because Berra probably destroyed something in the ceiling with the bark. He tried to go left, but a lot of Witches blocked the pathway, probably idiots who didn't know how dangerous Berra was. He moved toward the corner and noticed part of a conference room had blown away when he saw Griselda standing still, her green eyes fired up behind her glasses, as she looked at him, with several witches staring at him; he realized it was some class they were having. The room flooded, and the water soaked Griselda's white blouse, revealing her blue bra.

"So...it was you who was causing all the uproar in the building?" She asked him.

Berk pointed down at Berra as she looked down and shook her head.

"I can sense a lot of Witches on this floor, and the exit out of the building is blocked, so the only way to get out of here is there." She pointed past Berk.

He looked behind him and saw the window. This one, though, was strangely placed; he had fallen through the lunch area earlier. Was it magic, or had the idiot who designed the building made it tighter on the other floor? The big difference was that this floor had walls and fewer conference rooms, while the other floor was all windows. He looked for a couple of seconds and thought that he didn't want Berra to massacre a lot of Witches, and Griselda would probably be able to stop them, so he touched Berra's head and said:

"We are going to play jump; You will go first, Berra, and I will jump on you right before the window. You need to do a small bark to lessen our impact...hopefully you understand what I said"

"PLAYPLAYPLAYPLAY!" Was all Berra responded.

"Go!" Bark said, pointing toward the window as Berra moved toward it, and several Witches were running after them. With his last strength, he followed Berra, upped his speed, jumped above Berra with impact, and grabbed him as they were falling. Berra inhaled when Berk noticed a car on the ground with a small paw sticking out from the backseat. Just as Berra was about to bark, he grabbed the dog's chin and lifted it, stopping him from barking, then changed their position as they fell toward the roof of the car, with Berk taking the impact.

[Beginning] [Prev CH] [Next CH] [Royal Road]

Chapter 9: Emergency Declaration, When All Hope Is Lost - Part 2

"BERK...VAN...POLAN! May I ask what you have done this time?" She uttered in her murky voice that always put off Berk.

He looked around, trying to check if there was a good escape route, but her snake whip would easily put him on the floor, and being in cuffs didn't make the situation any easier.

He decided to face her, but he was getting weaker; fighting several opponents at once drained him.

Berk knew, typical Crystal, or muscle Crystal, with veins visible all over her upper chest area, arms, and legs. Several veins were visible on her throat and sometimes on her forehead on the right side when she was really pissed off. She always wore a black bra under her white shirt, with half of it unbuttoned, and her extremely short pink skirt beneath that was not safe for work, as it was all visible when she sat down, with her extremely thin thong beneath it and her green high heels. A brief memory of when he dropped a pen under the table; when he went under, he got the sight of his life, and he started to gag in disgust as she was approaching him.

“*Cough*, Eh...Nothing, Teacher Crystal."

Berk tried his hardest to get the under-the-table sight away when she slapped him on his back with some force, so he had to take two steps forward. He held up his hand, trying to signal that she shouldn't slap him on the back again, and tried to gather himself.

After a moment, Berk noticed the sad look on her face, and he knew instantly that it wasn't allowed to hurt other Witches within the Organization. The sound of many footsteps surrounded them in a square along both sides of the hallway; it continued until the Witches were the last ones to cover the elevator. All Berk could think about was 'Ah, fudge me!' as he noticed how surprised Crystal was by the vast number of Witches who had entered the fourth floor. Crystal noticed the elevator area crowded on the right, and the stairs were the same on the upper left. She moved closer to Berk, who looked dumbfounded about why there were so many Witches for one single guy.

"I COMMAND ALL OF YOU TO STAND DOWN...NOOOOOOOOOOW!"

Berk gave a short chuckle, as Crystal's command only triggered a rainbow of colored threads surrounding them.

"Eh...I don't think it worked, Crystal! Maybe try with a leaner voice?"

She looked at him as he gave her a half-hearted smile to show all the positivity he could.

A Witch with black hair stepped on glass from the right side and responded to Crystal:

"There is a KOS command on Berk Van Polan coming from higher up."

“Griselda?” Crystal asked.

The Witch nodded in denial.

"It can't be Veronica?"

Denial again.

"There is nobody higher up than Veronica."

The black-haired Witch pressed her wristband, and Crystal noticed it wasn't from their Organization. A voice started to speak, a very recognizable one, the voice of the Valiant Queen:

"It has come to our attention that the Von Silfer Organization is under investigation regarding possible involvement in the bombing within the Elves Kingdom. Veronica Von Silfer will be in prison and interrogated until further notice. The Valiant Kingdom will take over the Organization from now on."

Crystal closed in to Berk and whispered in his ear:

"Listen to me, Berk, your brother's office is on the third floor. Veronica, Griselda, and I are the only ones who know your brother left emergency documentation in case something bad would happen to you. Go down to the third floor and get the documentation your brother left there to find an escape route out of this building. You were only to be shared the information if your life was in danger."

"Got it!" Berk answered, realizing he didn't know where Zark's office was, and followed up, "Where is his office now again? Just need a refresher."

Her hopeless look and quick nod made her realize how often her old student was a moron.

"The second-to-last door on the right side where the elevator is."

He lifted his hand slightly in the upper-right area, half-attempting to point; she confirmed with a blink.

The Witches surrounding them started to take a couple of steps towards them, entering the first rooms from the corridor.

"You take the right, and I take the left!" Crystal commented, lifted her right wrist, and spoke into a watch, "This is an emergency! Move to the third floor and protect the Van Polan boy at all costs!"

Pfft...boy! He took it as slightly humiliating, since he was what today's society calls a man...or male. They split up, and he realized that the whole situation was a bad idea when several burning threads flew towards him in different colors as he slid on the ground and kicked a chair forward, hitting two witches before jumping up on a desk, grabbing a hanging lamp on the ceiling and lifting both his legs high up. A big thread came roaring from behind as Crystal swung her big, anaconda-shaped thread, immobilizing several of them on Berk's side and taking a big chunk on her own side. Berk knew he needed to be careful of her special move; she hit him several times while training him because he always tried to run away. The ceiling cracked, and he fell on the desk, with Witches grabbing both his feet, and a fist hit him in the stomach, so it caught orange flames. He tried to put it out as one more Witch came from the right, his eyes widening as it looked like a freaking purple asteroid coming towards his face as he flailed around getting his right foot loose. He kicked the Witch, holding his left foot, and spun slightly to the left as he kicked with both feet towards the purple Witch moving towards him. One more fist came at him, and he rolled off the desk to the other side, moved under it, and grabbed the Witch's legs as she fell; he climbed over her and stood up when a high kick came from the right, and he managed to get his arms up at the last moment before impact. Nobody moved for two or three seconds when the agony and screams from the other side echoed through the whole area, and he thought for a split second about why he was still in freaking handcuffs, as it made it harder for him to defend himself. He fainted to the right but misjudged the distance, and a Witch managed to punch him in the nose. He immediately ran left, trying to move toward the stairs in the upper-left area, but it was too crowded with too many Witches. He broke right again, trying to move into the corridor to tighten up som space, and grabbed a chair while running, throwing it to the right to open up a little space and create a halfhearted blockage.

"A window!" He commented in a low voice.

He noticed a fire hydrant on the right side of the wall and got a really stupid idea that might work. He got several hits on his back while he pushed forward, kicking around without aim to make the Witches back away to reach the fire hydrant. Glancing back, several threads moved towards him as he suddenly threw himself on the floor. They hit the Witches in front of him, and he grabbed the threads and pulled them toward him as they fell; he tried to jump between them and reach the fire hydrant, but the crowd behind him and on the right side, noticing him doing something dodgy, started to rally toward him. He tried to get the hose out of its locked state and started kicking it when the lock broke. He spun the hydrant to get as much of the hose out as possible when several Witches jumped on him, trying to get him on the ground. Several screams echoed behind them as Crystal showed up, pulled one more thread from her other hand, and whipped the Witches, who scattered to the side; now it was a standoff, with Witches coming from two directions toward them. With clear space, he kept pulling quickly to get as many meters as possible for himself.

"So, you got an idea. Are you going to use the water cannon? I think there are too many even to have an effect." Crystal asked him.

He looked confused for a second and responded:

"Fudge, no! The window."

"Oh...Ah!"

He cleared some space around him so he wouldn't have any surprises, and the Witches moved forward at them as Crystal swung in all directions around her with the two threads. Berk started to run towards the window when two Witches managed to avoid Crystal's attacks and closed in on him. In the exact moment of impact, the two Witches grabbed him as he held on to his life, not even knowing how far down the hose would go. For a moment, the traffic beneath them, as they moved downwards, felt like they were going to fall all the way down when the movement of the hose stopped and they moved towards the building, crashing through the building as Berk, on impact, rotated 260 degrees, falling on his stomach. His head took the first impact, and the right side was bleeding a lot as he felt to see if there was maybe glass stuck on his head; there wasn't, but he could feel a wound that seemed quite deep and when he looked down on his hands both was soaked in blood and he was a little worried that he might not have much time left before passing out or even dying of blood loss. He looked back and noticed one of the Witch's legs was hanging out on the edge, and he grabbed her hand and dragged her body into safety. He looked around, trying to assess exactly where he was, and saw a coffee machine, noticing it may be the lunch area on the third floor...maybe?

Moving slowly against the door, he heard something to the left and saw a blond girl with a bobcat haircut and big breasts as they rested on the table and spilled jam on her. They stared for a moment before he realized who it was.

"Oh my god, are you not Tina Finina, the Witch from the US Swimsuit calendar of 2023? Damn, the white bikini on you with your giant tits was awesome. I am sorry you did not win against Octupussina; having a couple of tentacles and being flexible has its perks, I suppose. I wish they would allow me to vote, but I managed to smuggle in the calendar; you were so hot...I mean, great." He commented, not realizing her face had turned red, as he continued, "Oh, what was your specialty now again. Oh yeah...Oh, Fudge!"

He pushed the handcuffs quickly up and only managed to get his fingers to reach and cover his ears when a punch came flying from the left. Time and space stopped for a moment as Tina opened her mouth and a high-pitched sound wave moved towards him and the Witch. He saw the left side of the Witch's ear starting to bleed as everything moved, and he flew right at the door, hit it so hard, and fell down outside the lunch area into the corridor. Four hands picked him up as he noticed it was Famy and Tamy, and they moved quickly through the corridor to the other side when a door opened from a room with three Witches stepping out, noticing Berk being dragged away. All of them pulled out their threads, ready for battle. Both Witches leaned him up against the wall, and Famy commented:

"Do not take deep breaths, Berk, just small ones."

"W...W...Where is my Zar...offi..."

Both of them looked at each other and realized how bad a condition he was in.

"Just around the corner, the door has the letters ZV on it. Try to move, and we will take care of the three in the corridor," Tamy responded.

He slowly moved to the corner, realized this area also had a window, saw the letters, and opened the door. He came into a small area with two doors, one in front of him with a big printer to the right and another door after it. He opened the door in front of him and noticed the office setting, and he started pushing down several books from the shelf and moved slowly around to the desk and opened the drawers. Stopping in his movement, he noticed a book that was shoved at the end; it was behind the stacked books, and it was only visible if someone actually threw down all the books. He moved to the bookshelf and grabbed the book that had a paper inside it. The header of the paper just read 'When All Hope Is Lost,' and he pulled out the paper, which did not have much text written beneath the header.

"Three in the Jungle wanders in the green bushes; you and I always looked for the purpose of finding the truth in the third that was on the left with the flag raised high in red and white."

What the hell? It is a riddle. He repeated the words to remember it and then ripped out the upper part and started chewing on it. The two pain-in-the-ass witches who had bungee jumped with him came rushing in through the first door, with one of them holding a knife, and right before she was going to hit his stomach, he managed to get the book up; as the knife hit it, a big white flash blinded everyone temporarily, and when he opened his eyes, he was swaying above the ground. Everything went silent around him as the Witches were frozen; his body looked like it was rolling backward on the table. He was outside his own body; was his spirit outside? Did he die?

"You need to take over before he enters his body again." A drunken voice uttered.

"We are not supposed to take over; he is supposed to be worthy of taking over the responsibility, and he has not even shown a slight chance of being worthy of taking over for us." A female voice countered.

"Listen, Stella, if you do not act now, even if it will take ten more years of your damn astral energy to charge, he will fucking die. If he dies, we die, and then the fucking waiting you have done to have your little Maid energy of astral on him will be pointless because we will all be dead for real, finito!" The drunken man commented with a lot of anger now.

Berk looked around, trying to figure out where the two voices really came from.

"FINE, I WILL DO IT!" Stella screamed out in the air, with Berk being so confused by this whole ordeal.

Everything around started to shake, and his spirit floated towards his body when all sound came back, and he opened his eyes back in his body, realizing he made a backflip to the other side of the desk, but everything turned pitch black after a couple of seconds. His hands suddenly caught white fire, and the two Witches were colored white as his handcuffs burned off. He did his utmost to try and control his body, but he...was not in control. He made a couple of stretching movements with a lot of cracking sounds in his back as he noticed his breathing improved a little bit. One Witch tried to round the desk, but he jumped, leaning with one hand over the table, and kicked her in the same movement as her white colored body fell on the ground and with a fast movement before the other Witch could react his body moved with a left punch with white fire and he kept hitting the head on the Witch with the wall filling up with white splatter. Then he turned around before the Witch on the ground could react and hit right through her right side of the stomach, making a huge hole on her right side. She coughed up blood, and it seemed like her life was over. He moved around the desk and lay down on the floor.

"He won't remember anyway what happened. Good work, Stella!" The drunken voice said.

That was the last thing he heard before everything went pitch black.

[Beginning] [Prev CH] [Next CH] [Royal Road]

Chapter 8: Emergency Declaration, When All Hope Is Lost - Part 1

Berk woke up with everything around him spinning, trying to coordinate himself up from the ground and grab the edge of the desk; everything just went slower for him as he tried to remember what had just happened. He managed to get up to a standing position when he felt immense pain on the lower right side of his stomach. With blurry vision, he tried to look down, but couldn't make out what was in the painful area. He slowly touched his right hand there and felt the knife, which luckily had not gone all the way in. Leaning his left arm on the table, he made a fast pull and grunted at the exact moment. A swoosh broke the sudden silence, and his vision cleared as he could see his surroundings again. He noticed a Witch leaning against the wall, her brain splattered in pieces all over. Noticing someone trying to gasp for air, he slowly walked around the table and noticed another Witch on the Floor, lying completely still.

"C-C-Call a doctor!" It was the only thing she could utter before she coughed up a lot of blood.

Berk got down on his knees, even though he was in pain on his right side, and grabbed her hand. No doctor could save her. Looking at her, his eyes were getting watery, and a tear ran down his left eye as he looked at the big hole on her right side; her right lung probably not functioning properly, a big hole where it had taken a part of her ribs, all gone.

"Everything will be okay!" He uttered with a trembling voice.

She looked at him as her breathing got worse, and suddenly there was no more breathing, no reaction at all from her. He trembled as he let go of her hand and slowly covered her eyes, shutting them. He got up with the last strength he had and saw himself in the mirror with a bloody shirt, his throat covered with someone's blood, and his hands looking like he had dipped them in blood. He looked down at the Witch who had just died and said:

"I am sorry!"

 

15 minutes earlier...

 

Berk quickly grabbed Bitch's head before she could turn around and pulled her slightly back, squeezing Sabrina to the wall. He tried to lean on Bitch's body to make a double-footed kick at the Witch on the left, but his heavy weight made them both fall face-first to the Floor before he even managed to get his legs up in the air. He quickly turned on his back with a baton hitting him on the stomach as he raised his knees to block the second hit, but he kicked with a lot of strength right on the Witch's knee, and she screamed out in pain. He bent his head slightly to the right as another baton hit to the left beside his head, and he kicked hard in the face of the Witch with an injured leg as she fell on her back, not moving. The Witch behind him tried to steady herself and slam the baton down again, but he got his hands up; the cuffs kept it from hitting his head, and he lifted his legs and kicked both feet above his head, hitting the second Witch. He tried to coordinate himself and managed to barely get slightly into a sitting position before the the Bitch struck with the knife towards him. He had no choice but to take it on his right palm, screaming out in pain when it pierced through his right hand all the way to the edge, and he grabbed hold of the Bitch as she tried to pull the knife out while the other three Witches hit the batons towards his head. One hit was so bad he bled from the upper-left side of his head when Sabrina screamed out in the air and tried pushing them aside. Giving him a couple of seconds as he leaned down, using bitch as cover for more hits when he rolled with her to the side and pulled in his knee when both were in side position, and kicked her so hard in the stomach that she hit the wall as the other two Witches stumbled to the Floor. He didn't manage to pull out the knife before he lifted his arms as the one behind him hit his arm, aiming for his head, as he managed to get them up in the last second. Spinning 180 degrees directly after the block, he kicked with both his feet on her right knee as she screamed out in the air in pain, and he rolled two times to the left as Bitch. The other two managed to get up on their feet as one of them threw herself toward him as he lifted his knees, and the baton came swinging toward his head as his left arm blocked it. The Witch was completely frozen above his knees as she had thrown herself with force, and the kneecap hit her beneath the chin. He pushed her to the left as he pulled the knife from his right palm; his hand was shaking. The other Witch was going to attack when he kicked her left shin, so he fell and hit her head on the Floor, bleeding from her nose. The Bitch stared at him, but did not attack, and moved slightly to the right and picked up one of the batons on the Floor. Berk tried to get up but only managed to get on one knee when Bitch swung the baton towards his head. Putting his arms up, protecting his head, and using his strength, he managed to get his right foot on the Floor, and he pushed with all his strength forward as Bitch was lifted onto his shoulder in the air and slammed hard against the wall, with her breathing getting worse as she was barely standing. Berk gave her a hard right elbow, probably breaking her jaw as she stumbled to the ground.

He tried to get his breathing under control as he looked down on Sabrina, who looked scared for her life.

"K-K-Key, uncuff me!" He uttered as she got extremely nervous he would hurt her as she moved around, checking all her pockets, finding it, and moving close to his feet and uncuffing his legs, making him feel some freedom; he could run now. When she tried to stand up, the elevator suddenly moved, and the door behind opened. Turning around, he saw a Witch standing in the corridor; noticing her colleagues on the Floor, she pulled two black threads of flame from her hands and slowly took a couple of steps forward. Berk looked back at Sabrina and wondered if she was an innocent victim in all this. He stepped out of the elevator to stop the Witch from coming closer as he walked away from Sabrina.

"Press the button and make sure the injured Witches get treated."

Sabrina more or less fisted the number zero button as the door slowly closed, with Berk just realizing, 'Fudge Fudge Fudge, I forgot to get my cuffs off my hands,' but he acted cool and fake-scratched his head, covering his expression as he got pissed off at himself and made a small scream into his right arm, trying not to expose himself as being quite screwed in this situation.

He moved two steps forward as the Witch moved forward three steps; the tension was mounting in the air as he glanced to the left at the glass wall. Several glass conference rooms stacked after one another; it looked like they were having meetings in most of the rooms, as the fog covered quite far into the corridor. The Witch smiled at him, hit the wall, and he noticed a device on it.

"This is an Emergency Declaration, I repeat, this is an Emergency Declaration. Berk Van Polan has escaped from custody on the Sixth Floor. I repeat, Berk Van Polan has escaped from custody on the Sixth Floor. Initiate immediate lockdown of the whole building." She spoke to the device with a smile.

The fog from the glass walls suddenly disappeared, and a lot of Witches stared, looking around until they noticed him standing at the right corner in the corridor. The footsteps of a couple of Witches sounded as they had exited the rooms on the other side, moving in Berk's direction. He looked at the elevator and knew that wasn't possible, as an error sign was on it. He looked for stairs, but remembered it was on the other side.

"FUDGE!"

A couple of more witches appeared in the same corridor as the smirking Witch, leaned back a step, and ran with full force towards him as she tried to one of the whips, but he was too fast and jumped to the right on the wall and pushed himself to the left, crashing into the closest conference room as he rolled quickly beneath the table seeing several feet on the ground and a quick low kick made one of them fall on the ground as they tried to coordinate themselves, and he quickly moved out beneath the table as he put his back towards on the glass wall when a blue light ball came towards his head as he dodged it in the last second as the glass behind him shattered and something curled around his legs grabbing it and he fell hard on the Floor and the Witch who tried punching him barely seconds ago had a blue ball coming down towards his face when he rolled slightly to the left and suddenly got swung up in the air into the room that just had its glass wall broken as he landed on their table on his stomach and with a quick push with his hands he managed to get on his back and made instant scissor kick left and right as two Witches who was approaching fell down. He rolled off the table onto the Floor when the blue ball maniac came towards him again, but he used both feet and kicked her in the chest as she fell. Several Witches joined in from the corridor as Berk tried to catch his breath for a second when they made a half circle around him.

"Eh...How is this a fair fight?"

Two of them started to laugh out loud in the air as everyone stared at them for a second, and Berk tried to sneak out through the door on the right. When he opened it, he found himself in a corridor in the middle of the Floor, surrounded by conference rooms. He needed to get to the corridor in the same direction as the walls, and before he could take a step forward, the glass shattered as the idiots who stared at the laughing Witches reacted quickly to his not-so-subtle exit. The space was so narrow that two people could walk side by side, and with one direction blocked, he had no choice but to run to the other end. He turned around, and more Witches went out from the conference rooms as both directions were now blocked. He moved away from the Witches and started to move in the other direction, as there were not as many as there were behind him. He started to jog towards them as one of them threw out a burning yellow thread from her right hand. Suddenly, a Witch jumped up in the air, supporting herself with her feet against the glass, and was moving with her feet down towards Berks head, which, with a quick move, threw himself on his back on the Floor, pushed up both his feet as she slammed down on them, and she made a somersault over him like this crap was the Olympics. Two threads grabbed his legs and started to drag him when suddenly a pink thread surrounded the yellow one and burned through it all the way to the two Witches, who got pushed back into the crowd behind them with full force like a strong wind. He got up, surprised for a moment, wondering what the pink spit was, or maybe it was also a burning thread out of both his feet. He turned around, noticing the other crowd was keeping their distance, more like they looked cautious.

"I thought the handcuffs on him were blocking his powers." A pink-haired one at the front asked the others.

One in the back, not visible to Berk, answered:

"Yes, it is blocking his Demon powers, but I do not think the handcuffs block the powers of a powerful Witch.

"He cannot be a powerful Witch; only the Female ones are the strong ones. Only the ruler of the Witch Kingdom is the strongest of all Witches; male or female does not matter. Other Male Witches should not have a chance against any female Witch, and his feet just burned through a thread on a female Witch. Male witches do not have that much power." Pink-Haired responded.

"I was not sure about the rumors that have been circulating, but the rumor goes that he and Zark are the children of Trissa Pinlum."

"Pfft, that is not possible; his last name is Van Polan." A green-haired witch in the middle commented.

"That is where you are wrong; Trissa disappeared after the Valiant War and married a half-demon and half-human. I am not sure, but maybe she changed her name to Trissa Van Polan." The one in the back countered, and the Witches in the crowd moved to the side, opening up a pathway all the way back to a short Witch in the back who just stared forward like she was lost.

All Witches pulled out their threads, and Berk turned away to go in the opposite direction when the other crowd, who had managed to get on their feet, managed to pull out their threads also, all ready to attack at any moment. Berk glanced slightly to the right of the crowd and noticed someone staring in their direction two conference rooms away, a person wearing a green shirt.

"Ah, Shit!" He said

Green flames suddenly took over the room as he stared. A whip suddenly broke the glass in their hallway as fast as a snake attack, and it pulled back into the room. When the crowd in front of him could barely react to the shattering sound, Berk went down on his stomach in an instant and stretched out his arms as another Witch threw herself beside him, also on her stomach, when an enormous whip shattered through several rooms as it moved towards them at high speed, as it hit everything in its way just a couple of decimeters above the Floor, as Berk saw dark green flames passing right above his head as everyone around flew in different directions. He got on his back and made a fast upper kick to get on his feet, but the Witch beside him made a low kick; he fell on the Floor, and she went up on her knees and tried punching down at his face with burning blue flames as he rolled to the side. He got up on his knees as both watched each other, as it looked like a one-on-one battle was going to occur. A whip surrounded her feet and, with a fast move, threw her against the ceiling as she fell and lost consciousness. Berk slowly turned left as the sound of the big boots he recognized approached, and he knew exactly who it was. He wasn't sure if she was friend or foe, but he knew he wouldn't stand a chance against the 2nd lieutenant of the Von Silfer organization.

Moonmelt Tea Cookies🍪

Soft bedtime cookies sweetened with crushed honeycomb. A traditional Mistwood hearth recipe, and the cookies from Chapter Nine, “Touched.”

In Eldmar, these pale, soft cookies are given to children before bed alongside a warm cup of Mistmint or Hushleaf tea. The name Moonmelt comes from the way the honeycomb melts into golden patches across the tops, resembling tiny moons drifting through early dawn clouds.

Eldmarian Children’s Rhyme
(Recited before bedtime with a Moonmelt in hand)
Little moon, little bright,
Melt away the fret of night.
Honey drop and Hushleaf tea,
Carry gentle dreams to me.
When the morning warms the skies,
Wake me where the soft light lies.
In some regions, children press the cookie to their forehead first “to catch a dream.”

Bake 350°F / 175°C · 8–10 minutes

Ingredients

Dry
1 ½ cups flour
½ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
1–2 tsp finely crushed tea herbs (Mistmint, chamomile, lavender, or a mild blend)

Wet
½ cup softened butter
½ cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 tbsp honey

Topping
small shards of crushed honeycomb (or honey candy)

Method
Grind the tea leaves finely with your fingers or a mortar until fragrant.
Whip the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Add the egg, vanilla, and honey; mix until smooth.
Stir in the flour, baking powder, salt, and crushed tea herbs. Do not overmix. The dough should stay soft.
Roll into small rounds and press gently into thick, soft discs.

Bake on a parchment-lined tray at 350°F (175°C) for 8–10 minutes, until the edges just turn gold.
In the final minute of baking, press a few tiny shards of honeycomb onto each cookie. Let them melt slightly but not disappear.

Cool until warm and tender, never crisp. A Moonmelt should sigh when bitten.

Valeander Winehearst: “Children fall silent for these, which is a remarkable thing. I cannot taste them, but the scent alone is… gentle. Like a memory of a firelit room I may have once known.”

Next story post: Neverbound #8, Chapter Ten “Bound,” Sunday October 25. Book One is complete.

Part 2 Post

Part 3 PDF

Chapter 7: Nothing More

After ten years had passed, Kaedrion appeared wielding Torvael. He met Orlaen and Numaeriel where all four of them had last spoken.

Both goddesses had many things they wanted to say to each other. None of them kind. Most of them boastful. But both wanted their projects to do the talking, so they remained silent until Kaedrion stood directly in front of them.

“So,” Kaedrion said, “both of you have been hard at work.”

He nodded to the tool in his hand. “We have been looking forward to this day for quite some time.”

He smiled ear to ear. “So let us not delay any longer. Let us take inspiration from Helios and start east, then head west.”

Numaeriel did not smile. But the way she turned toward the eastern hill was very close to a victory march.

They followed the road up from the village, and the temple came into view piece by piece. First, the stairs. Then the columns. Then the wide, balanced face of the temple itself.

It stood exactly where it meant to stand.

The approach was clean. The road was properly graded. Rain channels lined the sides without interrupting the walking path. The stairs rose in even measures, broad enough for crowds, shallow enough for elders, and spaced so naturally that no one had to think about climbing them.

Kaedrion stopped at the first step. Torvael became a measuring rod.

Numaeriel’s chin lifted just slightly.

Kaedrion measured the first rise, then the second, then the third. Then he looked down at Torvael.

“No. I was not expecting them to be wrong.”

Torvael remained a measuring rod. Kaedrion sighed through his nose and measured the fourth.

Numaeriel’s mouth did not move, but satisfaction gathered around her like a well-placed shadow.

They entered the temple. Inside, everything worked.

Sound carried cleanly from the speaking floor to the farthest seat. Light entered through high windows and moved across the stone in careful bands, illuminating worktables in the morning, reading alcoves at midday, and the central hall before dusk. Shelves lined the archive walls at reachable heights. Doorways were wide enough for processions without wasting space. Side chambers held tools, ledgers, instruments, maps, water, spare cloth, and writing materials exactly where hands would look for them.

Kaedrion walked slowly. Torvael became a plumb line, then a mason’s square, then a small hammer. He tapped one column, listened, tapped another, and listened again.

“Good stone,” he said.

Numaeriel nodded once, as though she had personally expected the mountain to provide nothing less.

At one point, Torvael became a magnifying lens. Kaedrion examined a carved inscription near the inner hall. The letters were exact. Perfectly spaced, aligned, and legible.

He stepped back. The inscription read:

KNOWLEDGE IS HONORED BY ORDER.

Kaedrion tilted his head. “A clear statement.”

Numaeriel allowed herself a small smile. “Thank you.”

Orlaen looked around the temple. Her expression had become harder to read.

There was no bad craft here. That was the irritating part. No weak beam. No foolish angle. No wasteful corridor. No vanity pretending to be purpose. The temple did everything it had been made to do.

It welcomed study. It held debate. It preserved records. It guided movement. It honored discipline. It would endure.

Kaedrion reached the center of the main hall and stood there for a long moment. Torvael became a tuning fork, and he struck it gently against his palm. The note rang out. It carried beautifully. Cleanly. Precisely. Then it ended.

No echo lingered. No warmth followed. No strange second note rose from the stone. The hall gave back exactly what it had been given.

Nothing more.

Kaedrion lowered Torvael. Numaeriel watched him carefully. Orlaen said nothing.

Kaedrion turned once, taking in the whole of the temple. “It is an excellent submission,” he said.

Numaeriel’s shoulders relaxed by the smallest possible amount.

“Structurally sound. Sensibly arranged. Built with discipline. Every chamber serves. Every path understands its purpose. It will survive time, weather, use, and neglect better than many temples survive prayer.”

Numaeriel’s eyes brightened.

Then Kaedrion looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling was clean. Balanced. Well-supported. Unadorned except for a perfect pattern of repeating squares.

“But it does nothing for the soul,” he said. “Yes, this will keep bodies well comforted, but it asks nothing of the heart.”

The temple became very quiet.

Numaeriel blinked once. Orlaen nearly smiled, then remembered she should not outwardly enjoy this.

Kaedrion continued walking, not cruelly, not gently, only honestly. “This temple can teach, store, gather, organize, and it can withstand. But a temple is not only a place where people go because they need something. It is also a place where people return because something in them wants to.”

He looked around the temple, his eyes landing on one sharp corner after another. His voice softened. “People come to temples in their hours of need. When they have an abundance of pain, a drought of hope, and a longing for guidance.”

Then he looked across the clean stone, the ordered shelves, the perfect rows, the flawless light. “Any song would sound breathtaking within these walls,” he said. “But this place inspires nothing to sing, and gives no one the desire to come in and listen.”

Torvael became a chisel.

Kaedrion glanced down. “No. Not yet.”

The chisel remained a chisel.

Kaedrion narrowed his eyes. “Today, we are judging, not correcting.”

Torvael remained a chisel for one more breath before becoming a hammer again.

Numaeriel looked at her temple. For the first time since they had arrived, she did not look victorious, but she did not look defeated either.

She looked as though she had discovered a flaw in a proof she had been certain was complete.

They left Numaeriel’s temple and crossed the village toward the western hill. Orlaen did not smile, but the way she lifted her chin toward the setting sun came very close to a curtain rising.

Chapter 8: With Feeling

Her temple did not appear all at once. It revealed itself. First came the color. Then came the music. Then came the shape of it, rising from the hill as though the stone had been persuaded to dream.

The road toward it curved through gardens that had not been planned so much as discovered. Flowers spilled over low walls. Painted tiles caught the sun in broken flashes. Wind chimes hung from branches, eaves, arches, and places where no one could explain how they had been reached. Every step offered some new little surprise.

Numaeriel’s mouth tightened. “The approach is inefficient.”

Orlaen’s eyes stayed forward. Her voice was calm. “The approach is an overture.”

Kaedrion said nothing. Torvael became a measuring cord. Kaedrion looked down at it, then up at the winding path, then down again.

They continued upward. The temple stood in warm stone, painted wood, colored glass, carved pillars, hanging cloth, and shaped metal. No two columns were exactly alike. No doorway had been carved with the same pattern as another. The outer walls were covered in stories: dancers, storms, lovers, grieving parents, laughing children, open hands, burning hearts, birds in flight, and musicians with mouths wide in song.

Above the entrance to the central shrine, carved in flowing letters, were the words:

BEAUTY NEEDS NO PERMISSION.

It was beautiful. Annoyingly beautiful.

Numaeriel looked as though she wanted to take notes and protest at the same time.

Kaedrion approached the entrance. Torvael became a mason’s square. He held it to one side of the door, then the other, then slowly lowered it.

Orlaen’s face became innocent. “Is something wrong?”

Kaedrion looked at her. “No one who asks that already believes the answer is no.”

Orlaen wisely said nothing.

Then they entered, and the temple immediately overwhelmed.

Light fractured through colored glass and spread across the floor in pools of red, blue, gold, green, and violet. Murals climbed the walls and vanished into the ceiling. Tapestries moved slightly in the passing air. Every chamber seemed to carry a different mood. The first hall felt like arrival. The second like memory. The third like longing. The fourth like joy so full it bordered on grief.

Numaeriel stopped despite herself. For one moment, she forgot to look for flaws.

Then someone in the far end of the hall spoke, and their words dissolved into a beautiful, useless echo.

Numaeriel closed her eyes. Then she said softly to herself, “There it is.”

Kaedrion glanced toward the ceiling. Torvael became a tuning fork. He struck it gently against his palm. The note rose, then widened, then wandered, then returned from three different directions at three different times, each one lovely and none of them helpful.

Kaedrion listened until the last echo faded. “The hall sings,” he said.

Orlaen brightened. “Thank you.”

“I did not say it sang in key.”

Orlaen’s brightness dimmed by a carefully measured amount.

Kaedrion walked farther in. He checked the floor and found three different kinds of stone arranged in a pattern that looked breathtaking from above and mildly treacherous underfoot. He checked the windows and found the light stunning, but poorly placed for reading after noon. He checked the side chambers and found one full of instruments, one full of half-finished poems, one full of costumes, one full of drying paint, and one that seemed to exist because someone had once cried beautifully in that direction.

Numaeriel stared at the last chamber. Orlaen cleared her throat.

“It was an important cry.”

“I’m sure it was,” Numaeriel said, with the solemnity of a funeral bell.

Kaedrion continued. Torvael became a plumb line. The line hung true. The wall did not.

Kaedrion looked at the wall, then at Orlaen.

Orlaen looked at a mural on the opposite side of the room as though seeing it for the first time. “The painting is excellent.”

“The wall is leaning.”

“But with feeling.”

Torvael became a chisel.

Kaedrion glanced down. “No.”

The chisel remained a chisel.

Kaedrion sighed. “No, we are not fixing this one either.”

The chisel became a hammer again, though somehow reluctantly.

They reached the central shrine. There, the temple became almost impossible to criticize.

Almost.

The shrine was open to the sky. Colored ribbons moved in the wind. A circular floor of polished stone held thousands of hand-carved marks from the mortals who had built it: names, lines of verse, small prayers, sketches, music notes, tiny flowers, and small mistakes left uncorrected because someone had loved them.

In the center stood no statue. Only an empty space where performers, mourners, singers, storytellers, painters, dancers, and silent visitors could stand and make the temple briefly theirs.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. Kaedrion stepped into the center. Torvael became a small hammer, and he tapped the stone beneath his feet. The sound did not ring cleanly. It did not carry evenly. But something in the floor answered. Not with precision. With presence.

Kaedrion looked down. Then he looked at the carved names, the hand marks, the unfinished lines, and the mortal errors protected by divine approval.

His eyes softened, and a sincere smile came across his face. “Now this is alive,” he said.

Orlaen’s shoulders relaxed. Numaeriel looked at the shrine again, slower this time.

Kaedrion walked the circle once. “It welcomes feeling. It remembers hands. It gives mortals room to leave more than footprints behind. No one could enter this place and believe it was made by accident. No one could stand here and feel uninvited.”

Orlaen’s smile returned, softer than before.

Then Kaedrion looked toward the crooked passage behind the shrine, where three visitors had already taken the wrong way and found themselves in a storage alcove full of festival masks.

“But it is difficult to navigate. Difficult to hear in. Difficult to maintain. Difficult to teach from. Difficult to gather in without confusion.”

Orlaen’s smile held, barely.

“This temple makes people want to stay and return,” Kaedrion said. He turned toward her. “But it does not always help them know where to stand or how to exit.”

Torvael became a measuring cord.

Kaedrion looked down. This time he did not argue.

Orlaen looked around her temple. For the first time since they had arrived, she did not look triumphant. She did not look ashamed either.

Kaedrion stepped aside and held Torvael close. The two had a quiet conversation that neither goddess could eavesdrop on, though not for lack of trying.

Orlaen leaned slightly left. Numaeriel leaned slightly right. Neither heard a word. To this day, neither has determined whether this was because of Kaedrion’s stealthy speaking, the room’s poor acoustics, or both.

Finally, Kaedrion looked at Torvael in his hand for a long moment. Then he nodded, smiled, and said, “Agreed.”

He returned to the goddesses. His voice rang with a jovial boom: “We cannot in good conscience name either of these temples the victor!”

Orlaen looked at Kaedrion as though she had been personally wronged by the concept of fairness.

“Oh, wonderful,” she said. “I am so glad we spent the last ten years proving neither of us won.”

“That… that is not acceptable,” Numaeriel said. “There has to be a winner.”

Kaedrion held up both hands, one of them still gripping Torvael. “Do not fret. I have a way to settle this.”

Both goddesses narrowed their eyes.

“You have both proven yourselves equally capable in the ways of inspiration.” He nodded in approval. “So let us try something different.”

His grin spread ear to ear.

“Innovation.”

Both goddesses looked at each other, then back to Kaedrion.

“You will have four years to renovate each other’s temples.” He looked between them. “You both had free rein in guiding your own temples, but I suspect you will get more joy out of improving each other’s.”

He stroked his beard with his free hand. “And since the contest is going longer and has added a new dimension, bragging rights alone no longer seem sufficient. It is only fair that the prize must also increase to reflect this.”

His face lit with enthusiasm, and he held up an index finger. “The winner of the competition will receive both temples as her prize.”

Both goddesses looked thrilled.

Orlaen smiled first. “Oh, this is going to be good. I am going to kick your butt in your own temple, then kick your butt out of it.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “When I win, I am turning your temple into a storage facility.”

Numaeriel had already begun writing in her journal. “In that specific scenario, you would at least have optimal space for storage,” she said, with just the slightest hint of self-satisfaction. “Though I will say that I am pleased to see that you have finally recognized your excessive and aggressive overflow.” She closed her journal. “Regardless, I already have notes on Kaedrion’s critiques of your disaster. I am sure you were watching butterflies or something while he walked through my temple.”

“On the contrary,” Orlaen said, “while we were walking through your temple, I was daydreaming about how much more interesting it would be to watch paint dry than to be underwhelmed by your bland submission.”

Numaeriel’s pen stopped. Orlaen smiled.

Kaedrion looked down at Torvael and sighed. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I also suspect this was inevitable.”

© 2026 RADIOACTIVESLAM

Previously:

As Yvonne made a life changing decision, the truth about the arson accidentally got exposed. Elsewhere, Jenna caught herself a job at the Vic as Paula found herself somewhere she shouldn't be...

Episode 14 Preview:

The Jenkins cover one of their own. And as things go from bad to worse for one couple, appearances barely manage to keep up for another. Elsewhere, the Slaters get a knock at their door...

———

10:49PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

The silence and tension is both so thick they could be cut with a knife.

Tasha and Oscar's hearts pound as they stare at each other, wondering what to say.

Nicola steps closer slowly as Barry stays by the door

Nicola: "What did you just say?" She asks Tasha quietly but firmly, in shock

Tasha stutters as she looks between her parents and her brother

Barry steps forward

Barry: "Kids...did you two set the Slater's burgervan alight?"

A small silence sits there before Oscar speaks up

Oscar: "I did. It was me" he says quietly

Nicola starts pacing and Barry sighs

Barry: "My fucking God" he whispers

The room wakes up and snaps into chaos

Nicola: "And you knew– sorry, "Backed out" of this!?" She shouts at Tasha

Tasha: "I told him it was a bad idea and that we shouldn't do it! I didn't know he was going to go ahead with it anyway!" She shouts back

Barry: "When– how– when did this happen?" He asks them both

Tasha and Oscar look at each other, wondering who should speak

Oscar: "It happened a few days after the crash"

Tasha: "Like, literally two or three days after"

Oscar: "We– the Slaters...look at what they did!" He stumbles on what to say at first but finds his feet

Oscar: "They put my brother, your son! In hospital on life support, and their kids are walking around scott free! How is that fair!? Hey?!"

Nicola: "You don't go–"

Oscar: "Oh dont go giving me all that, mum! So you're allowed to fly off the handles and throw slaps and pull hair but we cant—"

Barry: "Can't set their van on fire? No!"

Tasha: "Well look, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad that it happened anyway. Im glad Oscar went through with it after I told him not to. He's right. They deserved it. They trashed our house"

Nicola: "We dont know that–"

Barry: "Oh of course it was them Nic!" He says finally

Barry turns to them: "So, give us a proper run through. What happened?" He asks quietly

Nicola leans on the bottom of Jamie's bed and Barry sits in a chair opposite his kids

Tasha: "Well...it was only a few days after the crash so you two had been here non stop. Me, Oscar and Gaz were at the house with Kylie. And we saw– and felt, what that slater family had done to us. To Jamie. Their daughter, the blonde one, was walking out of a cab while our brother lies here, basically dying–"

Oscar: "It wasn't fair" he cuts in

Tasgha continues: "So it was like, late at night. We were all at the house except for you two, and I told him I was going to back out of it because it was dangerous and we'd get caught. Not because I didnt think that they didn't deserve it, because they did. They do! But, it was too risky. And thats when I made him promise that he wasnt going to go through with it either"

Nicola: "And did you?" She asks Oscar

Nicola: "Did you promise her you wouldn't?"

Oscar: "Yeah. But I couldn't just sit back and do nothing" he defends himself and his actions

Nicola sighs: "Fucking Hell..."

Tasha: "I thought you hated them lot! Why do you care so much!?–"

Barry: "Because you both could get sent down for this!" He snaps. A silence settles

Barry: "After everything that's happened and with everything we've got on our plates at the minute, the last thing we need is for you two to get taken away from us and put in the nick"

Tasha: "Well im only sixteen"

Oscar: "And im thirteen. We–"

Barry: "Young offenders, lad. And thats no laughing matter either" he sighs

Another moment of silence sits there before Barry stands up again and starts slowly walking around the room

Barry: "So, what then? You told him not to go through with it and then what? What next?"

Oscar: "Well, Gaz and Kylie were up in Gaz's room and Tasha was downstairs in the kitchen. I went up to our room, got dressed, and took some deodorant and a lighter"

Barry and Nicola sigh and look at each other

Oscar continues: "I snuck out the back door and stayed out of sight. I crossed the street to their burgervan and...thats when I done it. At first it wasn't easy, I sprayed the deodorant and the lighter but the outside of the van didnt catch straight away. So...so I found something thin and hard to pry open the serving hatch a little bit. And when I did that, thats when I poked the lighter and deodorant can through the hatch and sprayed"

Barry: "Fucking Hell Oscar" he whispers, wiping his eyes

Oscar: "It lit up inside the burgervan all bright orange like a pumpkin" he starts laughing

Oscar: "Oh and the heat too—"

Barry: "Enough! Stop. Enough" he holds his hand up

Nicola: "And that was it? What did you do next?"

Oscar: "Well i left didnt I. I made sure that the whole thing would catch and spread before I left. So when I saw that it was gunna for sure spread, I ran home"

A long silence sits there this time as Barry slowly paces the room, Nicola stands at the bottom of Jamie's bed, and the kids sit there...

Tasha: "So...what next? What happens now?" She quietly asks her parents

Barry and Nicola look at their kids then at each other

Barry: "Oscar, are you sure nobody saw you?" He asks quietly

Nicola: "Like, absolutely one hundred percent sure?"

Oscar: "Yeah"

Barry: "Totally sure, now?"

Oscar: "Yes. I made sure of it. Im not a mong"

Barry: "Okay..." he sighs in relief

He thinks

Barry: "Okay. Listen to me, all of you" he says to the room quietly

Barry: "The police obviously got fuck all on us. Otherwise Oscar wouldn't be sitting here with us right now. So that means we're laughing and nobody's none the wiser"

Tasha: "So?"

Barry: "So, we keep it that way. We act normal. As if nothing happened. Like, this conversation never even happened"

Nicola: "You sure its gunna be that easy?" She whispers to Barry

Barry: "It has to be Nic" he whispers back to her

Barry: "We've got no other choice" he says before turning back to his kids

Barry: "Oscar, that night, you and Tasha were in the living room, or in the house just doing whatever. Yeah?"

Oscar nods yes

Barry: "This conversation never happened and as far as we're all concerned, we have nothing to do with that fire. Got it?"

He asks the room

They all look at each other and slowly, they all nod in agreement

Barry: "Okay. Good. That's it then. We don't speak of this again" he whispers to them all

———

02:13AM. Pandora's Box Gay Bar. Downtown

17/01/1999 | Sunday

———

The bar has not long closed its doors to the public and now a few workers, including Reese and Mitchell, are left behind, cleaning and closing up.

Confetti and spilled drinks cover the floor and every surface around. Music quietly plays in the background now, instead of blaring peoples eardrums awake. The overhead lights are back on and slowly, everything is getting switched off and locked.

At the bar, sits Mitchell, recently just got dressed in his regular clothes again. He's counting his tips at the bar. He slaps a fiver down. Then another, then another and finally, one more.

Niiice

Reese: "Twenty quid's worth of tips on your very first night! Im impressed" he says with a big grin on his face as he walks up beside Mitchell who's sat at the bar

Mitchell turns

Reese: "Especially coz you can't dance for shit" he teases

Mitchell: "Hey! Give me a break will ya? My first day!" He jokes back

Reese laughs: "Yeah, yeah. I know. Seriously. You were pretty good on your first night. But uh...yeah. You're right. Let's leave the pole for when you're more advanced yeah?"

Mitchell: "Cheeky sod" he smirks quietly

Reese: "Right- go on. Home. Go get some Well deserved rest. And i want to see you at 9 on Tuesday night. Sound good?" He asks with a smile

Mitchell: "Sounds great" he smiles back and gets up off the stool

Reese: "Good" he quietly smiles at Mitchell

Mitchell: "Guess I'll see you then, then" he says, slowly walking backwards to the door

Reese: "Guess you will" he fighting the temptation to wink

Mitchell: "Night" he says heading out

Reese: "Night!" He shouts at Mitchell, who's already out the door

———

04:27AM. Tony's Warehouse Flat. Water Street.

———

The large, moody and airy room is mostly in darkness with the exception of a few lamps lit up here and there in the odd corner.

Sirens wail off in the distance, along with a dog barking. In bed, Tony stirs and his arm falls where Paula seems to no longer be. He quickly sits up, with the blanket falling down his torso, and sees Paula quietly but quickly getting dressed over in the living room.

She's crying. Trying not to wake Tony. She doesn't see that he's awake

Tony slowly stands up and puts his pyjama bottoms on, and slowly walks over to Paula, who's sitting on the sofa, doing her boots up.

Creeeak

Paula turns around and sees Tony standing there

She wipes her eyes and sniffles

Tony: "Leaving so soon?" He asks quietly with a small grin

Paula: "This never should've happened" she says doing up her zips

Tony: "Not what you were saying a few short hours ago"

Paula: "I was recked. Still am"

She finishes getting dressed

Tony steps closer

Tony: "Come onnn. You don't want to go back to him do you?" He asks in a teasing voice

Tony: "I thought we were having fun here. Just you and me"

Paula: "He's my husband, Tony" she says in a quiet angry tone, before storming towards the door. Boots clacking on the wood

He watches her leave

As she gets to the door she turns around

Paula: "And dont you tell anyone, about this. I swear to God Tony"

Tony: "Okay, okay, feisty" he holds his hands up and quietly laughs

She frowns, gives him daggers, and then opens the door before slamming it behind her on her way out.

———

05:49AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop. Upstairs Flat

———

Upstairs in bed, Michael lays wide awake, looking up at the ceiling. Thinking. Most likely about Mitchell and his new job as a dancer ad a gay bar.

A life that Michael is so foreign to

He slowly turns his head towards his alarm clock on the nightstand and sighs, before deciding to get up. He wasn't sleeping much anyway

As he slowly gets up and walks out of the room, Yvonne's eyes open straight away. She's also just been laying there, wide awake.

———

07:31AM. Number 27. Slater Residence. Kitchen.

———

At the small, round, cluttered kitchen table in the corner of the Slater's kitchen sits Kelly, Danielle and Jenna. All eating either toast or cereal, with a cup of tea each. The radio quietly plays in the corner of the room, while Julie finishes making her and Gavin a cuppa.

She takes both cups of tea to the table before walking through to the living room and scouting downstairs to Gavin who's in his garage bedroom;

Julie: "Gav! Your cuppa's ready!"

She shouts down

Gavin: "Alright ta mum!" He shouts from the garage

Julie walks back into the kitchen and sits at the table with her girls

Julie: "That was some lovely good news we got at the Hospital yesterday about Katie" she says to Kelly and Jenna

Danielle: "Yeah. Bout time we got some good news ey?" She says before taking a chomp of her toast

Jenna sees an opportunity here and takes it

Jenna: "Speaking of good news" she says, sipping her tea

Jenna: "Got myself a new job" she smiles at Kelly and Julie

Julie: "What!?"

Kelly: "Aw really? Well done Jen!"

Julie: "Where? Why?" She asks in happy curiosity

Jenna: "At the Arms. Got the job yesterday" she smiles, taking another sip of tea

Julie: "Aww well done love!"

Kelly: "You knew about this i take it?" She asks Danielle

Danielle: "Yeah. And Gav"

Julie: "What was wrong with the job you had at the restaurant?" She asks Jenna

Everybody quickly glances at each other and Julie doesn't notice

Jenna: "Oh um...it was just...too much. Too many shifts, the work was too hard and it was too far away for my liking. I figured I'd be happier working somewhere I'm familiar with. Somewhere more local"

Kelly: "Like the pub?" She teases

Jenna: "Least I have got a job. Layabout"

Julie: "Ah well good for you love. Really"

Jenna: "Thanks mum. Um, I was wondering. Since you're out of work as well at the minute, maybe I could ask Eddie and see if he'd take you on as the pub's chef?"

Julie: "Aw thank you Jenna, love. But I dont see that happening do you?"

Danielle: "Why not?"

Julie: "The Vic doesn't really do food does it?"

Jenna: "Yeah. Because they've got no staff in the kitchen. They used to though, remember?"

Julie: "I'll ask when I go in tomorrow. See what he says"

Julie: "Ah okay then. Thanks love"

———

09:12AM. Number 41. Maureen's Home.

———

In Maureen's kitchen, Kylie and Maureen both sit at the table drinking tea and chatting about the day ahead of them.

Maureen: "So, what about we pop into town and do some shopping? Get you some new clobber"

Kylie takes a sip of tea

Kylie: "Well, I was actually thinking of phoning me sister Nikki. And maybe meeting up with her. Its been months since we last spoke and I need to know if she's okay"

Maureen: "Need to know if Nathan's been dripping poison into her ears you mean?"

Kylie nods yes

Maureen: "Ah well okay then Kylie love. You let me know if all goes well will ya?"

Kylie: "I will. Well- thats even if we do end up meeting. She probably won't see its tried texting her. Always loses her phone" she jokes

Maureen giggles and gets some food out of the fridge to make some breakfast

At the table, Kylie gets up "Nikki" on her phone, and texts her;

"Hey sis. Know its been awhile. Can we meet asap? Got stuff to tell u. -K x"

She clicks send

And puts her phone down on the table

As Maureen drops some bacon onto the pan and it starts smelling, Kylie gags and she runs upstairs to the bathroom

Maureen notices

Maureen: "Kylie love!? You alright!?"

———

12:24PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

As Yvonne scans Julies items at the checkout, there's a small tension between them.

Julie speaks up first

Julie: "How is everything?" She asks politely

Yvonne: "Everything's good thank you Julie" she smiles back. Business as usual

Julie pushes

Julie: "Any idea what...what you're going to—"

Yvonne cuts in

Yvonne: "Okay not that its any of your business, but—"

DINGALING

The bell above the door jingles and Sunita walks in

Julie immediately looks back at Yvonne

And Yvonne stops for a second

Sunita: "Good afternoon ladies!" She says in her usual warm tone

Julie: "Hiya Nita you alright?" She greets her

Yvonne: "Actually, this is as good as any time to tell you both i guess. You both know, im pregnant"

Sunita and Julie immediately look at each other, surprised that the other knew

Julie: "She knew?"

Sunita: "She knows?"

They ask at the same time

Yvonne nods yes

Yvonne: "Turns out im not as good as keeping secrets as I'd like to be. You both caught me at bad times and thats how you both found out"

Julie: "So...if you dont mind me asking, does Michael know?"

Yvonne: "No. And he won't"

Sunita and Yvonne look at each other

Yvonne: "Last night i decided to abort it. With Sunita's help"

Sunita holds her hand up

Sunita: "That is not what it sounds like. I just offered an ear. A shoulder to cry on. A confidant"

Julie nods

Yvonne continues: "Well, its Sunday. So the clinic is closed and I'll have to make an appointment tomorrow. I'll let you both know what they say but look, please please dont tell a soul about this. Okay?"

Julie: "Of course"

Sunita: "Absolutely"

They say in unison

A bit of silence sits there before Yvonne asks;

Yvonne: "Can...can I ask you both something?"

Julie: "Of course"

Sunita: "Yes, anything"

Yvonne takes a second to ask this, but she does

Yvonne: "You're both...mothers. What's it like? Being– having kids?"

Julie: "Oh Yvonne, it's one of the most wonderful things you can do, being a mum. I mean dont get me wrong its is hard work but they're all worth it. Every single one of them"

Sunita: "It is wonderful, yes. And my Maya never gets up to no good. Never has. Though I suppose that does all depend on the parents. I wouldn't change a thing for the world"

Julie nods in agreement

Yvonne listens

Sunita: "But Yvonne, don't you let anything stop you from becoming a mother if thats what you want"

Julie: "Do you think Mike would want to be a dad?"

Before Yvonne can answer, the staff only door behind the counter opens and Michael walks out with a smile

Michael: "Ah, good morning ladies!" He says with a smile

Julie: "Afternoon you mean"

Michael: "Aha my bad" he laughs

He walks behind Yvonne and wraps his arms around her from behind

Michael: "Have you ladies been talking about me?" He jokingly asks with a smile, before kissing Yvonne on the cheek

They all giggle, knowingly, playing innocent

Julie: "Right, well, that was fun ladies. I better be off now, to see my Katie"

Sunita: "Oh tell her we're thinking of her!"

Michael: "Yeah us and all Jule!"

Julie: "Will do!" She shouts as shes almost out the door

———

1:14PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Its Sunday, so the pub is closed. Like every Sunday. But downstairs isn't completely empty.

Eddie walks around, cleaning every corner, every surface and every crevice of every room absolutely top to bottom.

Its the cleanest its been in...ever

Behind the bar, Paula walks out of the staff only door from upstairs

Eddie hears her but doesn't turn. He's wiping the same table hes been wiping down for over five minutes now

Paula: "You okay?" She quietly asks, almost cautiously. Noticing his behaviour

Eddie: "Yup" he immediately says, without turning to face her

A long stretch of silence sits there

Paula: "Can't i help with–"

Eddie: "Where did you get off to yesterday?"

Paula's taken aback

Eddie: "Well– and last night. You didn't come home until gone four"

He finally turns to her

Paula: "I...I needed space. Time to think"

Eddie: "And did you get what you were looking for?" He asks before moving to another table

Paula: "I dont know..." she quietly says

Paula: "I dont know anything anymore"

Eddie: "That makes both of us" he mutters, wiping down another table

Paula suddenly walks out from behind the bar and right up to Eddie

Paula: "Look, im sorry about what I said yesterday, okay?"

Eddie says nothing. Doesn't even look at her

Paula: "Ed? Ed please. Ed look at me!" She pulls his shoulder

He finally turns to her and looks at her

Paula: "I'm really, really, really sorry about what I said downstairs in the cellar yesterday. I really am. I- i was upset and...you weren't helping and—"

Eddie: "Paula that's all I try to do is help"

Paula: "No i know—"

Eddie: "And it gets us nowhere does it?"

Paula: "I was...sad. Scared. I..." she sighs

Paula: "I'm probably just having a midlife crisis" she tries to wave it off

Paula: "Its usually around this time of age people suffer with them right?"

Eddie wipes another table

Eddie: "I dont know Paula. Look, im tired too. And im trying to help. I really am" he looks at her

Paula: "I know you are love and Im so thankful for it. You have no idea"

Eddie: "Are you? Because every time I try to step in I feel like I'm met with either hostility or ignorance"

Paula: "That's not true! I know you try to help me as much as you can. I know that!"

Eddie: "And yet here we are, going around in circles" he mutters loud enough for her to hear, wiping down the table

Paula quietly stutters and then sighs

Paula: "Maybe I should go stay with Rebecca for a bit, up North" she says quietly

Eddie: "Yeah. Maybe you should" he says, without turning to face her

Eddie: "Maybe some space is what we need"

Paula didn't exactly expect him to say that. She nods and walks away upstairs, presumably to pack a bag or two.

———

2:19PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

Nicola is sat beside Jamie and Tasha and Oscar are sat on the sofa underneath the window, while Barry slowly walks around the room. Thinking.

Barry: "Okay"

They all look at him

Barry: "Im gunna take you kids home, get some proper grub in you. Oscar when we get home you're gunna get me the clothes you were wearing on the night of the...you know. And I'm going to get rid of them. When i get back to the house, the three of us will come back here. Sound good?"

He asks everybody

Nicola: "Yeah. Fine" She mutters

Barry: "Nic, love. Is there anything I can get you at the house or while im out?"

Nicola: "Uh...yeah. Some fags and a drink. Need something for the nerves"

Barry nods: "Okay..."

Barry: "Right– kids, come on" he clicks his fingers

Tasha and Oscar get up and walk out of the room first, and as Barry gets to the door, he turns and faces Nicola

Barry: "Nic"

She looks up at him

Barry: "We'll get through all of this"

Nicola: "I know" she whispers

They smile at each other and Barry leaves the room with the kids

—

Out in the hallway, Oscar and Tasha have already basically ran to the other end of the hall, waiting for their dad.

As Barry walks past Katie's hospital room window, he can't help but side eye in. And as he does, he sees Julie sitting at Katie's bedside, they're both chatting away. And they both make eye contact with Barry too. He keeps walking though, towards his kids

—

Inside Katie's Room

—

Julie: "Have they been causing you any trouble next door?" She nods towards Jamie's room

Katie nods no: "No. They've actually been pretty...decent. Apart from last night. There was a bit of shouting and I couldn't quite make out what they were shouting about. But apart from that they've been fine"

Julie: "Hm. I dont trust them. Never did"

Katie: "Mm you and me both"

At that, there's a knock at the door and the Sr Dr walks in

Sr Dr: "Afternoon Katie, Ms Slater"

Katie: "Hiya Doc"

Julie: "Afternoon" she says with a smile

Sr Dr: "I come bearing more good news. Katie, how would you like to get taken out of intensive care tomorrow?" He smiles at her

Julie and Katie gasp and smile at each other

Katie: "Really!?"

Sr Dr: "Mhm. We've noticed a rather impressive progression in your injury. And usually i wouldn't say this, especially to a patient who's been in a car accident, but, i think that you taking that short walk the other day may have actually done you some more good than bad. So, what we're going to do is give you some physiotherapy, where you'll basically practice walking and moving a certain amount of time a day, so that you'll get used to it again. And if all goes well, you should be out of here within the next two weeks"

Julie: "Aw you hear that love?" She smiles at Katie

Katie: "Thank you!"

The doctor giggles

Sr Dr: "Of course" he smiles before leaving

———

3:38PM. Water Street. Commercial street. "Water StreetSide Caff" Café.

———

In the small, greasy spoon streetside café on Water Street near Marlas Estate, Kylie sits sits in the middle of the cafe, at a table of four, up against the wall.

Three four seater tables line each opposing sides of the café with red and white gingham tablecloths and condiment baskets in the middle with small glass salt and pepper shakers.

And in the middle of the caff is a few single tables with a chair on each four sides, matching tablecloths and matching assortments.

At the back of the caff is a long counter which stretches from one side of the room to the other, snd the sounds of a busy kitchen can be heard throughout the whole building. Loud sizzling, and chef's shouting mostly. And some pop music plays through the speakers, and there are quite a few people jotted around the place, having lunch and and drinks.

At a table on her own though, is Kylie. Sitting with only a small white mug of tea in front of her. Shes nervous for once. Bopping her knees up and down. Waiting for her sister to show.

———

3:49PM. Number 41. Maureen's Home

———

In her living room, Maureen and Julie are having a drink and a catch up. Maureen Is sat in her arm chair and Julie is sat on the sofa, on top of the duvet.

Julie was just telling her about the good news she received earlier

Julie: "Yeah. Tomorrow if all goes well. And then some physiotherapy to help her walk and what have you" she says before taking a guzzle from her can of Carling.

Maureen: "Aw thats wonderful news Julie, love"

Julie: "Yeah"

Julie then addresses the elephant in the room. The makeshift bed on the sofa

Julie: "You got company staying with you Maur?" She asks out of curiosity

Maureen goes to say something, then stops herself. But then speaks anyway

Maureen: "Yeag. A young pretty lass. Kylie, her name is. Poor thing hasn't got anyone or anything to her name"

Julie: "Aww"

Maureen nods

Maureen: "Been sleeping rough she has. After she escaped her ex boyfriend Nathan"

She says before taking a sip of her gin

Julie: "Fucking Hell. Poor girl. Is she thay young woman with dark brown hair, pale skin, pretty?"

Maureen: "That's her yes"

Julie: "Oh. I thought she was staying at number 33?"

Maureen: "She said she was. But that she couldn't stay there anymore for some reason, the poor girl. She's meeting her sister today after not speaking to her for months"

Julie: "Oh God" she mutters

Maureen: "I know"

———

3:53PM. Water Street. Commercial street. "Water StreetSide Caff" Café.

———

Kylie sits in the same seat that she's been sat in for nearly half an hour.

She looks up at the clock on the wall beside her and decides to get up.

Fuck it...maybe shes not coming

As she stands up and goes towards the door, she sees her sister Nikki walk past the window and open the glass door to the café.

Immediately, they see each other.

Nikki Allen has a very distinctive, bold, slightly rough around the edges look, with bleached yellow blonde hair that falls around her shoulders, often layered, tousled and a little messy rather than perfectly styled. She has a soft, confident face, fair skin, prominent cheeks and expressive eyes, usually emphasised with dark eyeliner, mascara, defined eyebrows and fairly noticeable makeup, with warm foundation, blusher and pinkish lipstick or gloss.

Her overall appearance is feminine but certainly not polished, combining a slightly trashy, urban working class glamour with a tough, casual edge. She wears fitted tops, vest tops, colourful shirts, jeans and practical jackets, but her most recognisable look is her love of leopard print, especially her bulky leopard print puffa jacket. Her wardrobe often features bold patterns, strong colours and figure hugging pieces, mixed with everyday clothes that look lived in rather than carefully coordinated.

She suits noticeable earrings, particularly hoop earrings, alongside simple necklaces and everyday accessories. She's got that unmistakable bleached blonde, dark eyed, leopard print, hoop earring aesthetic feminine, brash, slightly scruffy and unmistakably working class, as though she's thrown herself together to go out without ever worrying too much about looking perfectly put together.

For a split second, its just them two standing there in the middle of the café, staring at each other.

Nikki: "Kylie?" She whispers, lip trembling

Kylie: "Hiya sis" she whispers back

And with that, Nikki runs at Kylie full speed and wraps her arms around her. They both fall into a tight sisterly hug. One that they've both been desperately needing.

Nikki finally pulls away

Nikki: "Where the hell have ya been? What's going on?"

Kylie: "God Nik. I've got myself mixed up into some messy shit" she whispers

They both walk to the table that Kylie was just sat at, they sit opposite each other near the wall

Kylie: "Was beginning to think you weren't gunna show. Any longer they would've charged me for just sitting 'ere"

Nikki: "No, never. I'd never ignore ya. Now tell me, what's going on?" She holds her sister's hands across the table

Kylie: "Well...remember that night i had the fight with mum and Terrance?"

Nikki nods

Kylie: "Well I'd stayed with Nathan since then hadn't i. And...God i dont know. He slowly got...controlling. Like, obsessive almost. And you know I love doing coke as much as the next person, but when hes there killing my buzz...you know?"

Nikki: "Yeah"

Kylie: "Anyway, me and Jacko. Since we're close mates and all, I confided in him. Told him about Nathan and what have you. And he managed to convince me to plan on nicking his coke, some money, and we'd drain him for everything he's got, and I'd leave him and me and jacko would leg it together"

Nikki: "Leg it? You mean...you weren't gunna come back? Like– ever?"

Kylie: "No! Nonono. No. We were just going to leave. Nowhere too far, and not forever. Just, you saw yourself what Nathan can be like when he's raging and pissed. You even told me yourself at one point that maybe I should think about leaving him"

Nikki nods

Kylie: "Well, jacko had opened my eyes to him too. And i agreed to go along with it. So, when it came to it, I went to Nathan's, we got pissed, done some coke, and had our own little party. That day i planned on sucking him dry of everything he had, you know seeing as he's a dealer with loads of dosh i thought it would be an easy score if he was out of it, you know?"

Nikki: "Yeah"

Kylie: "But, he locked the door to his flat, hid the keys and was acting all weird. For two days Nik he kept me locked up in his flat. Two days! He knew. He knew about the plan that me and Jacko had made. I dont know how. But he knew'

Nikki: "Fuuuck"

Kylie: "And thats not even the worst bit. No. One night he was out of it, right? So i managed to grab some stuff and got the keys to the door. He saw me trying to leave and we get into a physical fight and...I accidentally knocked him out and legged it to jacko's where I told him everything that happened"

Nikki: "Shit! Are you okay? Is jacko?"

Kylie: "Yeah– no we're fine. Im fine. But ever since then I've been hiding. So has Jacko. He's staying with Lorna and I'm—"

Nikki: "He's staying with Lorna? She's letting him stay with her?"

Kylie: "Yeah"

Nikki: "After what you did?" She laughs

Kylie: "I know" she smiles

Kylie: "She must really like him don't she?"

Nikki: "Clearly"

Kylie: "Anyway, im staying with this woman who lives on the Estate up the road from here. Nice woman she is. A laugh, she likes a drink too. You'd like her"

Nikki: "Ah sound. So, what's your plan then? You coming home?"

Kylie: "Sis, you know thats not gunna happen. Not only do I not want it to, but mum and Terrance dont either. Thank fuck. I don't know how you can still live there with them pair"

Nikki: "Need the money dont I?"

Kylie: "Mm. Anyway, I also wanted to tell you because you need to keep an eye out for Nathan. Stay away from him if you can and if he sees you, tell him I've gone far away or something. He can't find me"

Nikki: "You really think hes that–"

Kylie: "I dont know Nik. We dont know what he's like do we?"

Nikki: "Yeah s'pose so"

Kylie: "And i dont know about you but–" she stops mid sentence

Nikki: "What?"

Walking past the window, is Barry. Before Kylie can do anything, he mindlessly looks into the cafe as he walks past and sees Kylie. And she sees him.

Kylie: "Shit..." she whispers

Nikki: "What? What is– is it Nathan?"

Before Kylie can answer the door opens and Barry walks in, with one of Gaz's sports duffel bags slung over his back.

Kylie can already feel her heart pounding and she cab already hear the questions about her disappearance

Kylie: "Hiya Barry you alright?" She asks really quiet and sweetly, kind of scared of him

Barry: "Well I've been better. I should be asking you that though? Where you been? Gaz has done a runner an' all and Jamie's still not too good. Oh, and we've been vandalised"

Kylie: "Shit what?"

Barry: "Yeah. I dont know what the fuck is going on"

Kylie: "Uh yeah. I'm- im sorry I left you in the lurch like that, I had to um– this is my sister Nikki. I went to stay with her for a while" she points to her sister

Nikki: "Alright Barry?" She nods and smiles at him

Barry: "Hiya, nice to meet you Nikki. Can tell you two are sisters" he giggles

Kylie: "You think I've got a gob? You don't know my sister" she giggles

Barry: "I bet" he quietly chuckles before getting serious again

Barry: "So Kylie, when you gunna be back around our neck of the woods again? Coz Gaz misses you and we—"

Kylie: "Oh i Uh...I dont know Barr. Im sorry I left the way I did i just..."

Nikki senses the tension and steps in

Nikki: "We both have a lot going on right now and, well...nobody understands you better than your only sister" she giggles

Kylie: "Yeah" she mutters with a smile

Barry: "Right. Well...if you see Gaz please tell him we're all looking for him and we're worried. And that we need him. Yeah?"

Kylie: "Yeah, yeah will do" she smiles

He goes to turn to walk away but Nikki's curiosity wins her over

Nikki: "What's in the bag?" She asks casually out of plain curiosity

Barry: "Oh, uh– just some dirty old clothes. Taking them to the laundrette. Washer's broken down"

Nikki nods

Barry: "Well, it was lovely meeting you Nikki"

Nikki: "Yeah. You too" she offers the smallest of smiles

Barry: "And Kylie?"

Kylie looks at him

Barry: "Don't be a stranger yeah?"

Kylie: "Yeah. I won't" she smiles

Barry: "Okay" he smiles and leaves

As door closes, Kylie sighs in relief and Nikki laughs

Nikki: "What the fuck was all of that?"

Kylie: "Oh dont even go there" she sighs

Nikki: "You really weren't lying when you said you got mixed up in some shit" she chuckles

———

6:53PM. Outside The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

The sky is a dull grey-ish blue, only getting darker by the minute. Outside the pub, a black taxi cab pulls up and Paula stands up from the wooden picnic bench in the smoking area, pulls her wheelie suitcase as she walks towards the cab.

As she gets to the boot, she pops it open, and puts her suitcase in, and closes the trunk. She walks around to the passenger side door thats facing the pub and opens it.

She stands there at the open door, and turns to face the pub, where Eddie is standing at the door. Watching.

Paula gives a small smile and a smaller wave. He does the same. Before she gets in the back.

Paula: "Walford Train Station please" she says to the driver quietly, before the cab pulls out of the Estate, leaving Eddie alone in the darkened and closed pub tonight.

———

7:16PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Downstairs in the main shop, Michael is closing up for the night. They close at seven on a Sunday. He's shutting the lights off and locking the doors, while upstairs in the flat, Yvonne sits on the edge of their bed, looking down at the abortion information pamphlet in her hands.

Wondering if she's made the right choice...

While downstairs, Michael's mind is also spinning with thoughts. Did he make the right choice?...

———

7:41PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

The sky is almost pitch black now, and Katie's room is very dim, except for the small overhead lights above her bed.

She lays there in bed, quietly falling asleep, glad to be healing better than expected. And thinking, about her life. About the mess. About everything.

———

8:02PM. Number 41. Maureen's Home.

———

In the warm, cosy and darkened living room, Kylie lays on the sofa under the duvet. Mindlessly watching the TV, thinking about her life. And her mess. Her sister. And when she's going to be able to live normally again.

———

8:09PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

The room is dark, quiet and tired. Nicola lays asleep face resting on her arms on Jamie's bed. While Tasha and Oscar are both curled up on the small sofa. Its peaceful.

Barry quietly walks in, without the duffel bag from earlier, and softly closes the door behind himself. He looks at Jamie and Nicola, and then to Tasha and Oscar. They're all asleep. He slowly sits down in the chair beside Jamie's bed. Snd rests his eyes too.

———

9:39PM. Canal River

———

Underneath a dark and grimy brick bridge, lies a long, dark and deep canal river. The blaxk water shimmering under the orange glow of nearby streetlights dancing in the reflections.

And somewhere deep at the bottom of that canal, lies a black duffel bag of clothes. With the residue of crime on them.

———

10:27PM. Outside number 27. Slater Residence.

———

The Estate is dark and cold now, with the only light coming from glowing windows and streetlights emitting the nostalgic orange glow we all know and love.

A black taxi cab squeaks and it's engine hisses as it pulls up on the curb outside number 27.

Loud chatter is heard from inside the cab even before any of the doors open. Two loud voices?...no...three?

The door to the curb side opens and a pair of black heels and tights step out first, heels clacking on the concrete pavement

"Get the bags and stuff out the boot will ya? I'll get the door"

A confident and loud sounding woman says to the two other people, before she starts making her way up the driveway of number 27

—

Inside, everybody's watching TV. Danielle's doodling in her book, while Gavin eats a bowl of cereal and Jenna and Julie both drink tea.

It's a usual evening in the slater house when—

BANG BANG BANG

The front door downstairs knocks loud and everybody jumps

Danielle: "Shit!"

Gavin: "Fucking Hell..."

Julie: "I'll get it" she says before taking a sip of tea and putting her mug down on the table.

As she makes her way down the stairs to the door, there's more knocking

Julie: "Alright alright im coming mun!"

She opens it and—

Julie: "Georgina!? Mam!? Dad!?"

Her younger sister and parents are standing there all with smiles on their faces, though looking tired.

Carrying bags and suitcases.

———

That's episode 14! I hope you liked it and thank you for reading if you made it this far! Please let me know what you think and episode 15 will be out soon! ☺️

Chapter 26: The Last Traitor

The screen went black.

IDENTITY OF NIGHTFALL DIRECTOR — REVEALING.

Then nothing.

No lights.

No alarms.

No machines.

For the first time since entering the Black Vault, the entire facility was silent.

Adam stood motionless.

The photograph had been almost completely revealed.

He had seen the outline of the face.

He knew that face.

But he couldn't remember where.

"Bring the system back online," he said.

Noah rushed to the console.

"It's dead."

"Fix it."

"I'm trying!"

Adam grabbed the edge of the console.

"TRY HARDER!"

Suddenly, a small red light appeared beneath the screen.

One message flashed.

BACKUP SYSTEM ACTIVATED.

Then another.

DIRECTOR CONNECTION LOST.

Daniel raised his rifle.

"That doesn't sound good."

46 looked toward the ceiling.

"It isn't."

Adam turned to him.

"What does it mean?"

46 answered quietly.

"It means someone just lost control."

48 slowly stood up.

"Or someone wants us to believe that."

Before anyone could respond, a metallic crash echoed through the chamber.

The black door behind them opened.

A single figure stood in the doorway.

Motionless.

Watching.

Adam raised his weapon.

"Identify yourself!"

The figure stepped into the light.

And Adam's blood ran cold.

It was Daniel.

But Daniel was standing beside him.

Adam turned.

The Daniel beside him was still there.

The newcomer removed his mask.

Same face.

Same scars.

Same eyes.

Daniel lowered his rifle.

"No..."

The newcomer smiled.

"Hello, brother."

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Adam looked between the two men.

"Someone explain this."

The Daniel beside Adam shook his head.

"I don't know him."

The newcomer laughed.

"Still lying, Daniel?"

Daniel aimed directly at him.

"Don't take another step."

The newcomer raised his hands.

"Relax."

He looked at Adam.

"My name is David."

Adam narrowed his eyes.

"Another subject?"

David smiled.

"Not exactly."

46 suddenly stepped backward.

Adam noticed.

"You know him?"

46 didn't answer.

Adam turned toward him.

"DO YOU KNOW HIM?"

46 finally nodded.

"David was part of the original Nightfall team."

Noah stared at him.

"That's impossible. The original team had only twelve members."

David smiled.

"Thirteen."

Noah's face went pale.

David looked at Daniel.

"You remember what happened to the missing member, don't you?"

Daniel's weapon began to tremble.

"You're dead."

David shook his head.

"That's what they told you."

He looked at Adam.

"That's what they told everyone."

Then he pointed at the dark screen.

"And that's why the photograph never finished loading."

Adam frowned.

"What does that have to do with the director?"

David's smile disappeared.

"Everything."

David walked toward the console.

Nobody stopped him.

He placed his hand on the scanner.

The screen flickered.

AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.

Noah stepped back.

"How do you have director-level access?"

David didn't look at him.

"Because I designed the original system."

Adam raised his weapon.

"You said you were part of the original team."

"I was."

"Then why are you here now?"

David looked at him.

"Because Nightfall has reached its final stage."

Adam's jaw tightened.

"Where is Voss?"

David laughed.

"Voss?"

He shook his head.

"You're still chasing names."

Adam stepped closer.

"Answer me."

David turned toward the screen.

The photograph began loading again.

This time, it appeared completely.

Adam stopped breathing.

The face on the screen belonged to a man he had trusted.

A man who had helped him escape.

A man who had stood beside him through the worst moments of his life.

Noah.

Adam slowly turned around.

Noah stood frozen.

His face had gone completely pale.

Daniel immediately aimed at him.

"Don't move."

Sarah struggled to sit up.

"Alex..."

Adam couldn't look away from Noah.

"Tell me it's fake."

Noah said nothing.

Adam's voice broke.

"Tell me!"

Noah finally looked at him.

"I'm sorry."

Adam stepped backward.

"No."

Noah lowered his head.

"I never wanted it to happen this way."

Adam raised his weapon.

"You were there when they took Sarah."

"I was trying to protect her."

"You helped create Nightfall!"

"Yes."

"You knew about 46!"

"Yes."

"You knew about 48!"

Noah closed his eyes.

"Yes."

Adam's hands tightened around the weapon.

"And you knew who was running everything."

Noah looked directly at him.

"Yes."

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Adam stared at the man who had stood beside him since the beginning.

The man who had warned him about Elias.

The man who had helped him search for his father.

The man who had repeatedly told him not to trust anyone.

"Why?" Adam whispered.

Noah took a breath.

"Because your father asked me to."

Adam froze.

"What?"

Noah continued.

"Twenty years ago, your father discovered that Nightfall had become something he couldn't control. He knew the organization would eventually come after his sons."

Adam shook his head.

"Then why didn't he destroy it?"

"He tried."

"And failed."

Noah nodded.

"So he made a deal."

Adam's expression hardened.

"What deal?"

Noah looked at 46.

Then 48.

Finally, he looked at Adam.

"He gave Nightfall one thing in exchange for your lives."

Adam waited.

Noah whispered:

"Your memories."

Adam stared at him.

"My memories?"

"Your father allowed Nightfall to erase your childhood. He believed that if you forgot everything, the organization would leave you alone."

Adam shook his head.

"That's not what happened."

"No."

Noah's eyes filled with regret.

"It wasn't."

David interrupted.

"Because your father didn't understand the contract."

Adam turned toward him.

"What contract?"

David pointed at the screen.

"The deal didn't protect you. It protected the Core."

Adam frowned.

"Explain."

David continued:

"Nightfall agreed to leave you alone until your memories returned. In exchange, your father would never reveal the location of the original Core."

Adam looked toward his father.

His father was staring at Noah.

"You made that deal?"

His father shook his head.

"I agreed to erase your memories. I never agreed to give them the Core."

David smiled coldly.

"That's where you made your mistake."

He tapped the console.

A new file appeared.

CONTRACT: NIGHTFALL

SIGNATORY: NOAH

AUTHORIZATION: DIRECTOR

Adam looked at Noah.

"You signed it."

Noah nodded.

"Yes."

"Without my father's permission?"

Noah's voice became barely audible.

"Yes."

Adam's weapon lowered slightly.

For the first time, he understood.

Noah hadn't simply been hiding secrets.

He had made a decision that changed all their lives.

And he had kept it hidden for twenty years.

Sarah suddenly grabbed Adam's wrist.

"Alex, look at the screen."

A new message had appeared.

DIRECTOR AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED.

David stepped away from the console.

"Now we find out who really controls Nightfall."

Noah stared at the screen.

"Don't."

David smiled.

"Why not?"

Noah's face changed.

"Because if you reveal the director, the entire organization will activate."

David nodded.

"Exactly."

Adam turned toward Noah.

"What happens then?"

Noah looked at him.

"The war begins."

Before Adam could respond, the system activated.

DIRECTOR AUTHENTICATION — ACCEPTED.

A second photograph appeared.

This time, it wasn't Noah.

It wasn't Elias.

It wasn't David.

It was Adam's father.

Adam stared at the screen.

His father slowly stepped forward.

"No."

David turned toward him.

"Yes."

Adam looked at his father.

"You?"

His father shook his head.

"I was never the director."

David pointed at the screen.

"Look closer."

Adam did.

Beneath his father's photograph was a line of text.

DIRECTOR — TEMPORARY AUTHORITY

Then another line appeared.

CURRENT DIRECTOR: UNKNOWN

Adam frowned.

"Unknown?"

David nodded.

"The system doesn't recognize a human director anymore."

48 stepped forward.

"What does it recognize?"

David looked directly at Adam.

"It recognizes the Core."

The screen changed.

DIRECTOR AUTHORITY TRANSFERRED.

NEW DIRECTOR: SUBJECT 47.

Adam froze.

"No."

David's smile returned.

"Congratulations, Alex."

He spread his arms.

"You now control Nightfall."

Every screen in the chamber turned on.

Maps.

Military installations.

Underground facilities.

Secure communications.

Thousands of files.

Adam could see them all.

Every secret Nightfall had ever buried.

Every operation.

Every person they had watched.

Every order they had issued.

And every weapon they controlled.

Then a message appeared.

AWAITING FIRST COMMAND.

Adam stared at the screen.

His father approached him.

"Alex, listen to me. Don't issue any command."

Adam looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because the system will interpret your words literally."

David laughed.

"He's right."

Adam turned toward him.

"Then why did you make me director?"

David's expression became serious.

"Because I didn't."

He pointed at the screen.

"Your memories did."

Adam suddenly remembered the white room.

The black door.

His father's hand on his shoulder.

And a sentence spoken long before he understood its meaning.

Your choice.

The system wasn't waiting for him to give an order.

It was waiting for him to decide what Nightfall should become.

A deafening alarm interrupted his thoughts.

EXTERNAL ATTACK DETECTED.

Daniel ran toward the monitors.

"Someone's attacking the facility!"

Noah checked the map.

"Multiple locations. They're hitting every Nightfall installation in the city."

David's face changed.

"Who authorized that?"

A new message appeared.

UNKNOWN COMMAND SOURCE.

Then another.

ALL UNITS — COMBAT MODE.

Adam looked at the screen.

"Can I stop them?"

David hesitated.

"Yes."

"Then do it."

David shook his head.

"Only the director can override a combat order."

Adam stared at him.

"You just said I was the director."

"You are."

"Then help me!"

David stepped aside.

"Your command, Alex."

Adam looked at the screen.

Thousands of armed personnel were waiting for orders.

The city was on the edge of war.

He could order them to stand down.

He could send them after the people responsible.

Or he could destroy the entire network.

His father grabbed his shoulder.

"Alex. Whatever you do, you cannot undo it."

Adam looked at Sarah.

Then at 46.

Then at 48.

Finally, he looked at Noah.

The man who had betrayed him.

The man who had also saved his life.

Adam turned back to the screen.

He placed his hand on the console.

DIRECTOR COMMAND READY.

He took a breath.

"Cancel all combat orders."

The system paused.

COMMAND ACCEPTED.

For one second, everything went silent.

Then the screen turned red.

COMMAND OVERRIDDEN.

Adam's eyes widened.

A final message appeared.

DIRECTOR AUTHORITY REJECTED.

TRUE DIRECTOR ONLINE.

David stepped backward.

Noah whispered:

"Oh, God..."

Adam stared at the screen.

A live video appeared.

A man sat in a dark room, surrounded by monitors.

His face was hidden in shadow.

But his voice was unmistakable.

It was the same voice that had spoken inside Adam's head.

The same voice that had welcomed him home.

The man leaned toward the camera.

"Hello, Alex."

Adam raised his weapon toward the screen.

"Who are you?"

The man laughed softly.

Then he answered:

"I'm the one who created you."

The transmission ended.

Every weapon in the facility activated simultaneously.

NIGHTFALL WAR PROTOCOL — INITIATED.

And beneath the final message, a name appeared.

SUBJECT 00.

To be continued...

Takahashi did not ask again.

Monday passed.

Then Tuesday.

No question about the person I had not described.

No message saying:

You stopped halfway.

No joke.

No indirect attempt through Keiko.

Nothing.

That should not have been remarkable.

I had said:

I’m not going further today.

He had said:

Okay.

That was the entire agreement.

Still, by Wednesday morning, I had thought about the unfinished answer more often than I wanted to admit.

At ten fifteen, Kondo’s mother came to the temple.

Not to fold newsletters.

Those were finished.

She carried a small paper bag.

“What is that?”

“Lunch.”

“For me?”

“For me.”

She looked offended.

“I’m meeting a friend.”

Right.

She had said she was going to lunch with one.

“Why are you here?”

“Too early.”

“How early?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“And the restaurant?”

“Five minutes away.”

“So you came here.”

“Yes.”

She sat in the wall chair.

Not asking for work.

Not asking for permission about her husband’s belongings.

Not bringing photographs.

She simply waited.

That was new.

I continued paperwork.

After perhaps three minutes she said:

“You don’t have to entertain me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

No.

I ignored it.

She took out her phone.

I signed two receipts.

For ten minutes, we shared the office without doing anything together.

Then she stood.

“Time.”

“Enjoy lunch.”

“I intend to.”

She left.

No temple task completed.

No problem solved.

Still a visit.

At noon, Takahashi sent:

Heater rattling again.

I smiled.

Experienced.

His reply:

Come listen sometime.

I looked at the message.

Not:

Fix it.

Not:

Tell me what it means.

Come listen.

I wrote:

Friday?

Coffee first.

Yes.

Then nothing.

I put the phone down.

The unfinished answer returned.

Not because he had asked.

Because he had not.

The afternoon consultation was ordinary.

A family deciding between two dates.

One Saturday.

One Sunday.

The daughter could attend Saturday.

The son could attend Sunday.

The widow said:

“I want both of them.”

No one date allowed that.

She looked at me.

“What would you do?”

I almost answered.

Then asked:

“Do you mean which date would I choose if this were my family?”

“Yes.”

That was different from asking me to choose for her.

I considered.

“If having both children there mattered most to me, I would look for another date.”

She blinked.

“We can do that?”

“Yes.”

They had treated the two dates as if they were the only ones because they were the first two I offered.

I opened the calendar.

The following weekend had another available morning.

Both children could attend.

The widow smiled.

“There.”

Her word.

Not mine.

We booked it.

Sometimes a question did have a practical answer.

That was refreshing.

At five, I closed the office.

The weather was turning colder.

No service that evening.

I drove home.

Halfway there, I realized I did not want to go home yet.

Not because anything was wrong.

I simply wanted company.

Takahashi?

I could call.

No need to wait until Friday.

I pulled into a parking area.

Called.

He answered.

“Car?”

“No.”

“Temple emergency?”

“No.”

“Soup?”

“No.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“Are you busy?”

There.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

Pause.

“I’m at the garage.”

“Working?”

“Just finished.”

“Do you want dinner?”

Another pause.

Then:

“Yes.”

“Where?”

I named a small restaurant halfway between us.

“Twenty minutes.”

“All right.”

We hung up.

Simple.

I did not explain why.

I did not fully know yet.

He arrived four minutes after me.

No discussion of punctuality.

Progress.

We sat near the back.

Ordered grilled fish set meals.

Takahashi looked at me.

“You called.”

“Yes.”

“Wednesday.”

“Yes.”

“Without mechanical failure.”

“Yes.”

He waited.

I knew what he was doing.

Nothing.

He was waiting for whatever I wanted to say without pulling it out.

That was somehow worse.

I picked up the water glass.

Put it down.

Then said:

“Sunday.”

“What about it?”

“At the coast.”

He nodded.

“You asked whether there was anything like what happened with the woman you almost married.”

His expression changed only slightly.

“Yes.”

“I said I wasn’t going further that day.”

“Yes.”

He did not add:

And?

So I had to.

“I want to tell you now.”

There.

Takahashi nodded.

“All right.”

No excitement.

No:

Finally.

No demand.

Just space.

Food arrived before I began.

That helped.

Rice.

Fish.

Miso soup.

Pickles.

Something ordinary between us.

I ate two bites.

Then said:

“There was someone.”

Takahashi kept eating.

“Years ago.”

He nodded.

“Not someone you know.”

Another nod.

“She worked at a hospital.”

I stopped.

Not because the fact was difficult.

Because once I began, the story existed outside me.

Interesting.

No.

Uncomfortable.

I continued.

“We saw each other for about two years.”

Takahashi looked up now.

“Serious?”

“Yes.”

“How serious?”

I almost said:

What does serious mean?

Did not.

“We talked about living together.”

There.

That answered enough.

Takahashi set down his chopsticks.

Then waited.

“She wanted me to leave the temple eventually.”

“Completely?”

“Yes.”

“Did you want to?”

“At first I said maybe.”

Takahashi gave me a look.

I noticed.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It is the same word.”

“Yes.”

His woman had wanted to move south.

He had said maybe until maybe became no too late.

I continued.

“I thought I might be able to do both for a while. Temple work and a different life.”

“Could you?”

“Probably not the way we imagined it.”

“When did you know?”

There.

The harder part.

“Earlier than I told her.”

Takahashi looked down.

Not judgment.

Recognition.

That was worse in one way.

Better in another.

“She asked you directly?”

“More than once.”

“And you said maybe.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Months.”

He exhaled.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Then:

“Why?”

I knew now.

At least partly.

“I did not want to choose.”

“That isn’t quite the same as not knowing.”

“No.”

There.

The fish cooled.

We ate for a while.

No need to keep the confession flowing continuously.

Then Takahashi asked:

“Did she leave?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

I remembered exactly.

That surprised me.

“She said I had turned waiting into my answer.”

Takahashi stopped.

His chopsticks remained above the bowl.

Then he put them down.

“That’s good.”

I looked at him.

“Painful.”

“Yes.”

“Accurate?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

Nothing else.

“She moved away later,” I said.

“South?”

“No.”

“Do you know where?”

“Yes.”

“Still speak?”

“No.”

“Since then?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

I thought.

Not recently.

Not really.

The story had remained alive longer than the relationship.

“No.”

Takahashi nodded.

Again, no recommendation.

No reunion suggestion.

Good.

I ate more.

Then said:

“For a long time I told myself the temple made the decision.”

“Did it?”

“It mattered.”

“But?”

“I still made the decision.”

There.

That was the sentence I had avoided for years.

Not because I had stayed.

I still believed staying had been my choice.

What I regretted was the period before I admitted it.

“She asked me to choose,” I said.

“And you wouldn’t.”

“I chose by not answering.”

“Yes.”

I looked at him.

“You don’t need to agree that fast.”

He almost smiled.

“I have experience.”

Fair.

The restaurant door opened.

Cold air entered.

A couple came in.

Someone at the counter laughed.

Our table remained ordinary.

That helped.

I had expected telling the story to change the room.

It did not.

My rice still needed eating.

Takahashi still had half his soup.

No one else knew.

The world had not tilted.

Eventually he asked:

“Why tell me now?”

There.

I had considered this all day without finding one clean answer.

So I gave him several.

“Because you told me yours.”

He waited.

“And because you didn’t ask again.”

That made him look up.

I continued.

“If you had asked me Monday, I think I would have said no again.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

He thought.

“Because then it would still be my question?”

Maybe.

“Yes.”

“And today?”

“My decision.”

There.

Takahashi nodded once.

“I understand that.”

No praise.

Good.

Then he said:

“I almost asked.”

“When?”

“Sunday in the car.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You said not today.”

“That simple?”

“Yes.”

I believed him.

That mattered more than I expected.

Dinner ended.

We paid.

Outside, neither of us moved toward the cars immediately.

Cold.

Clear sky.

Takahashi said:

“I’m sorry.”

I looked at him.

“For what?”

“What happened.”

“To me?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t do it.”

“I know.”

There.

Sympathy without taking responsibility.

I accepted it.

“Thank you.”

He put his hands in his pockets.

Then:

“Do you regret staying?”

At the temple.

The question I had asked myself many times in different forms.

“No.”

He nodded.

“Do you regret losing her?”

I thought longer.

“Yes.”

Both.

No contradiction.

“I regret how I lost her.”

Takahashi waited.

“And I regret that we could not find a life that worked for both of us.”

“Yes.”

“But if you could go back?”

There.

Dangerous question.

Too easy to write a better person backward.

“I would answer sooner.”

“What answer?”

I looked at him.

“I don’t know if it would have changed.”

“Then what would be different?”

“She would not have had to spend months waiting for me to say what I already mostly knew.”

Takahashi nodded.

That was the part I could honestly change in memory.

Not the outcome.

The conduct.

We stood in the cold until Takahashi said:

“My heater works once it gets warm.”

“That is not the same as working.”

“It stops rattling.”

“Eventually.”

“Come listen.”

I laughed.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

So we went to his car.

He started the engine.

Rattle.

Clear.

I listened.

“Something loose.”

He stared.

“That is your professional diagnosis?”

“I am not a mechanic.”

“Why did I invite you?”

“You wanted me to listen.”

He laughed.

“Right.”

We sat.

Heater running.

Rattle slowly changing as the car warmed.

Neither of us spoke for a minute.

Then Takahashi said:

“Did she know about me?”

I turned.

“What?”

“Back then.”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows rose.

“What did you say?”

“Not much.”

“That is disappointing.”

“You were someone I knew.”

“Friend?”

I thought.

At that time?

Yes.

Probably.

Before distance fully happened.

“Yes.”

He looked pleased.

“You survived the story.”

“Barely.”

The heater stopped rattling.

Takahashi pointed.

“See?”

“It still rattles when cold.”

“Temporary problem.”

“That returns every morning.”

“Like people.”

I looked at him.

“That is terrible.”

“I know.”

We laughed.

At home later, I did not feel lighter.

Not exactly.

The story had not been weight I could unload onto Takahashi.

It was still mine.

But it was no longer mine alone in the same way.

That distinction felt important.

I did not try to name it further.

Thursday passed without consequence.

Friday, as planned, Takahashi came for coffee.

He did not mention the story until I did.

That mattered too.

We sat in the office.

He drank.

Then I said:

“About Wednesday.”

He looked at me.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for not bringing it up first.”

He frowned.

“You told me because you wanted to.”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“So I noticed.”

“Fine.”

No.

He smiled.

“Noted.”

We both let that fail as a joke.

A little later he asked:

“Can I ask about it now?”

There.

Clear.

Fresh.

“Yes.”

“Only one thing.”

“Yes.”

“Did she ever know you regretted how you handled it?”

I stopped.

“No.”

“Would you want her to?”

I thought.

This was different from wanting contact.

Could I want her to know something without making it her job to hear it?

Yes.

But telling her would create contact.

Possibly disruption.

Maybe unwanted.

“I don’t know.”

Takahashi nodded.

No suggestion.

The question remained open.

That was appropriate.

Then he changed the subject to the heater.

That afternoon, Kondo’s mother called.

Not Kondo.

Her.

First time in a while.

“Reverend?”

“Yes.”

“My friend cancelled lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“She has a cold.”

“Yes.”

“She said sorry six times.”

I smiled.

“Are you angry?”

“No.”

“Disappointed?”

“Yes.”

“Are you asking me something?”

Pause.

“No.”

There.

“Then why did you call?”

Another pause.

Then she laughed.

“I suppose because I wanted to complain.”

I leaned back.

“You may.”

“She always gets colds at inconvenient times.”

“That sounds difficult to arrange.”

“She laughed when I told her that.”

We spoke for perhaps five minutes.

No advice.

No temple business.

At the end she said:

“I’ll eat somewhere alone.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Then enjoy it.”

“I intend to.”

Call ended.

People were beginning to use my number for reasons other than religion.

I was not sure whether that was good.

No.

Not everything needed classification.

That evening, I received no message from Morita.

No old priest.

Again.

The silence was welcome.

Some things did not need external judgment once spoken.

At home, I opened the desk drawer because I actually needed scissors.

Not charger.

Scissors.

The envelope was there.

I moved it slightly to reach beneath it.

For a moment, the card was physically in my hand.

I did not open the envelope.

I put it down.

Took the scissors.

Closed the drawer.

No charge in the action.

That was new enough to notice and ordinary enough not to celebrate.

I cut open a package.

Inside, replacement filters I had ordered days earlier.

Wrong size.

Of course.

I laughed.

Then called customer service.

The woman apologized.

Correct size would be sent.

Return label included.

Problem solved.

Sometimes life was kind enough to provide a mistake with a clean remedy.

At nine, Takahashi messaged:

Heater bracket loose.

I replied:

You fixed it?

Yes.

So my diagnosis was correct.

“Something loose” is not a diagnosis.

It was accurate.

Pause.

Unfortunately.

Then:

Thanks for Wednesday.

I looked at the message.

He was thanking me?

For what?

Telling me.

There.

I sat with that.

The story had not been a service to him.

But receiving trust could still be something one was grateful for.

I wrote:

You’re welcome.

Then:

Thanks for listening.

His reply:

You’re welcome.

No more.

Before bed, I thought about the woman from years ago.

Not her face first.

Her sentence.

You turned waiting into your answer.

For years I had remembered it mainly as accusation.

Now I heard another part.

She had eventually stopped waiting.

She answered too.

Maybe that was why the sentence had hurt.

She had done what I would not.

Made the uncertainty end.

I did not know whether telling Takahashi changed anything about that.

Probably not.

Nothing needed changing.

The past did not become fair because I understood it better.

It remained what happened.

But now, when I thought about those years, I also remembered a different evening.

A small restaurant.

Cold fish because I talked too long.

Takahashi listening without trying to recover the missing time.

Then a rattling heater in a parked car.

A friend who had been told:

Not today.

And had waited until I said:

Today.

That mattered.

Not because silence always makes disclosure safer.

Not because patience guarantees trust.

There was no formula.

This time, I had drawn a line.

He had left it where I put it.

Later, I crossed it myself.

And because the next step had been mine, the story felt like something I had given rather than something he had managed to obtain.

Set in the world of Life Reboots, today let's reveal a side of Wenfu C. you may have never seen before. Come a little closer and meet the person behind the code.

For as long as he could remember, Wenfu C. had spent most of his life wandering. He disliked staying in any one place for too long—though, for someone who had lived for thousands upon thousands of years, his idea of “too long” was rather long indeed. In some places, war would break out within a year or two; others were plagued by famine. He could only watch impassively, quietly record what he saw, and move on.

He had crossed deserts, where fierce winds swept sand against his cheeks, bringing a faint sting of pain. He could have shielded himself from it all, but chose to feel it instead. Sometimes he watered a lone rose at the desert’s edge; sometimes he faced down the vultures circling overhead. Then he would leave again, until the sand swallowed every trace of his passing.

By the sea, he had watched fishermen return in high spirits, their wives and children rushing into their arms. Once, he joined them on a fishing trip, watching the water turn from yellow to blue, then black. The boat of a fisherman who had shared his fish with him struck a reef. Wenfu fought hard against the urge to intervene, but in the end, he could not help himself. He guided the waves to carry the drowning men into the shallows.

He left once more. His footsteps took him across mountains and grasslands, along rivers and lakes, and over the seas, only for time to erase his tracks. He had seen nearly every wonder this world had to offer and witnessed every facet of human life. Finally, he came to a stop in Selayara.

What a curious place. After all these years, human nature remained the thing he understood least—and found most fascinating. Here, he saw so many tangled thoughts and desires: complex, contradictory, forever wavering.

How long would he stay this time? He took a sip of his treasured tea and felt a quiet anticipation for what lay ahead.

Then let me stay a while longer, and witness the stories that unfold here.

Book 1

Chapter 22: The Coat

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Ruth finished the soup. She did it slowly and completely, the way a person walks the last mile of something, and when the bowl was empty she set the spoon across it, square, like a woman laying down a weapon.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," Ray said.

"It's going to sound stupid."

"I married you at a drive-through chapel in Wyoming while you apologized to the officiant's dog. I'm noting that the bar is on the floor."

Ruth almost smiled. It didn't make it all the way to her face. She reached into the pocket of her skirt, the deep one, the one that had never once had anything useful in it, and brought out her keys.

Ray knew the keys. They lived on the dash of the truck, and he'd handed them to her four hundred times. A house key to a house she'd never lived in, a Millstone walk-in cooler key, and a rusted hook the length of his thumb that she'd said was a bottle opener. He'd tried to open a beer with it once. It had not worked. She'd taken it out of his hand very gently and said not that one, and he had let it go, because that was the kind of marriage it was.

She set the keys on the tablecloth.

"It was on the collar," Ruth said. "Of the coat. I told you there was a hook instead of a button, and that's what I mean. I felt it dig into my neck when I put the coat on, and I thought, that's going to leave a mark, and I wrenched it off on the way down the steps. I don't know why. I was just so angry, and it was the nearest thing that was mine to break."

Nobody at the table breathed.

"I put it in my pocket. I've had it in a pocket ever since."

"A hundred years," Wick said. Her voice had gone very quiet and very flat, like a plate set down too carefully.

"Longer, I think. I stopped counting around the time I stopped being hungry." Ruth put two fingers on the hook and did not pick it up. "I didn't know it was the latch. I swear to you I didn't know. I thought it was a piece of a coat."

"It was a piece of the coat," Hesper said, with the strangled voice of someone doing arithmetic. "The coat's the door. The door's a coat. You hand it to the one who leaves. The hook's what holds it shut behind her. Without the hook it wouldn't—"

"It wouldn't close right," said Maud, without looking up. "It would swing."

"It swung?" Wick said.

"For a century," Maud said. "Every night at about this hour. You'd have felt it, girl. A draft on the left side."

Wick opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she said, with enormous dignity, "I thought that was the soup."

Under the table, Scarlet's foot pressed hard against Ray's ankle, and he understood perfectly. Don't laugh. He did not laugh. It took everything he had. His whole upper body was involved.

Ruth was not laughing either. She was looking at the hook, and Ray watched her face do the thing it did when she found an animal in the road. It was the particular tenderness of a goddess who has never in her life walked past anything small and hurt.

"I'm sorry," she told the hook.

"Babe," Ray said.

"No, I am. I'm sorry. I broke you off something and I carried you around like a bottle opener, and I let my husband try to open a beer with you." She said it perfectly seriously. "That's an indignity. I'm very sorry."

Scarlet put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook once, hard.

"I'm noting," Ray said, with a heroic effort at steadiness, "that you apologized to it in front of a room, and that I think it's the most you, you've ever been."

"Ray."

"Yeah."

"Shut up, please, I'm having a moment with a hook."

"Yeah. Okay."

On the cloth, between the keys and the empty bowl, something was happening. The brown ink of the cloth's good cards wasn't involved this time. The rust was coming up out of the linen itself, slowly, as if the weave had been holding it for a very long time and had finally been given permission to let go. The letters were tall and crooked and pressed in hard, and they spelled out one word.

ASK.

Ruth looked at it. She looked at Wick, whose hands had gone white on the arms of her chair. She looked at Ray, who was holding a card in his pocket that said ask her what she took, and who had done it, he realized. He had asked her. She had answered. And somehow the card in his pocket had known that before he did, which meant it had known there was a second question coming, and it had been polite enough to let him go first.

He took it out and unfolded it under the table, where the dusk was.

The brown word was still there. Under it, in no hurry, the rust was soaking up a third line.

now ask what it took.

Ray read it twice. Then he put his hand over Ruth's hand on the table, over the keys and the hook and her trembling fingers, and said, as gently as he'd ever said anything: "Hey. What did it take?"

Ruth went very still.

"From you," Ray said. "Or from her. Whoever the hook was holding the door shut for. It's been sitting on the dash of my truck for six weeks, Ruthie. It's been in your pocket longer than I've been alive. It's been asking for a while."

"It wasn't holding the door shut," Ruth said slowly, and her eyes had gone wide. "That's not what a hook does, is it? It isn't for shutting. A hook's for hanging something on."

Nobody moved.

"It's for holding the coat," she said. "So the coat's there when you come back."

Down the long rows, three hundred bare feet curled at once.

Wick made a sound like a chair leg dragged across a floor. She stood. She did it all at once, like someone who'd decided before she knew she had, and she crossed the four chairs between them in three strides, bare heels loud on the boards in a room that had gone entirely silent. She stopped across the table from Ruth. She looked at the hook.

"A hundred years I held the door," she said. "I never once thought to ask what it was holding."

"I didn't either," Ruth said.

"You took it."

"I did."

"You took the thing that was holding my place." Wick's voice shook and held, shook and held. "And you've been so sorry, and so polite, and you've been apologizing to a goose, and the whole time, in your pocket—"

"I know."

"—I want to be furious with you."

"Please be."

"I can't." Wick wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, savagely, as though the tears had insulted her. "It's very inconvenient. You brought it back. You brought it back, Ruth, you walked in here with it in your skirt. You didn't even know."

"I think the hook knew," Ruth said.

"I think the hook's been doing the walking this whole time," Scarlet said, from beside Ray, very softly, and when everyone turned she shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It put itself on a truck dash. It sat in a pocket. It waited for the one person in the world who'd stop for a barefoot woman at two in the morning. I'm just saying. That's a lot of patience for a hook."

Ray looked at the rusted thing on the tablecloth, at the little hooked curve of it, the way it had worn smooth where a thumb had been rubbing it for a century. It looked tired. It looked like it wanted to go home.

"I'm noting," Ray said, because there was nothing else he could do, "that I tried to open a beer with it, and I'd like to apologize too."

The hook, on the tablecloth, did nothing at all. But something in the cloth shifted, a small warm settling, like a cat deciding the lap is acceptable.

Maud put her ladle down.

"Well," she said, to the soup, to the cloth, to four hundred years of her own table. "Somebody should hang the coat up."

And from the far end of the long white room, from the door that had stood closed for a hundred years with a draft on its left side, there came the very quiet sound of a latch being lifted from the other side.

Chapters 4 -6

Part 2 PDF

Part 1 Post

Chapter 4: Location, Location, Location

The journey to their final destination was silent between Orlaen and Numaeriel.

So Kaedrion decided to fill the silence with what, according to him, were “fun facts.”

“Do either of you know that mortise-and-tenon joints, pegs, wedges, and dovetails can hold beautifully without metal fasteners? Most settle for nails, but that is the quick way, not the best way to make a piece. Certainly, the joints take more effort and forethought, but they are more reliable and sturdy than nails by a great margin. And it is always important to keep your equipment and surfaces cleaned regularly. For example, do either of you know that metal needs to be both hot and clean enough in order to fuse properly?”

He let out a short chuckle, his eyes bright with memory and amusement. “Many beginning smiths make this blunder at least once before they become journeymen. It is true what Torvael always says: ‘A clean tool is a happy tool.’ And did you know…”

This went on for hours.

Many, many hours.

The only silence came when Torvael was “speaking,” and only Kaedrion could hear it.

To put it mildly, Orlaen was bored to death the entire time. At one point, she looked over to make a joke and offer some catty commentary to Numaeriel. But before she could remember that they were still fighting, she saw that Numaeriel had been taking notes the entire time.

Orlaen’s posture slumped. She let out a defeated huff and continued to follow Kaedrion.

Without a word, the corner of Numaeriel’s mouth farthest from Orlaen lifted just a fraction.

Orlaen came to the conclusion that Kaedrion could probably go on literally forever, but the destination, mercifully, was finite. Therefore, the talking would eventually end.

So Orlaen kept to herself for the rest of the trip. As they walked, Kaedrion’s voice eventually became white noise. She observed the different architecture they passed: the styles of columns, the shapes of arches, the painted shutters, and little flourishes mortals added to things that only needed to stand.

As they walked, she soaked in the scenery. Each glance became a portrait in her mind. She took in the color palette of wildflowers and wildlife, the shifting light across stone and field, and the stunning sunset overhead. Kreisch, the goddess of storm, chaos, and sky, had painted it in colors no temple wall could fully hold.

It was not worth trying to force herself into someone she was not. But she could still thrive by sinking fully into the part of herself that noticed beauty first.

Eventually, they arrived at a large valley village.

There were many buildings, though they were spaced farther apart than their city counterparts. Nothing towered. Nothing gleamed. Nothing demanded reverence.

It was completely unremarkable.

And it was perfect for the contest.

Kaedrion looked at both of them. “This will do nicely. This village is full of craftspeople. Not master craftspeople, but competent nonetheless.”

He pointed to two hills on opposite sides of the village. “This is where they will build your temples. Numaeriel on the east, and Orlaen on the west.”

He lifted one finger. “The contest will take place over the next decade. Inspire and guide the mortals here.”

Torvael became a measuring cord, and Kaedrion glanced down at it before continuing. “This village is not aligned with either of you specifically, but it is aligned equally with both of your purviews.”

Then his expression turned stern as he lifted a second finger. “Sabotage is strictly prohibited.” His eyes glanced between the goddesses. “Any sign of it will trigger immediate disqualification.”

He looked at them both. “Any questions?”

Numaeriel’s arm went up immediately. Orlaen’s remained crossed over her chest.

Kaedrion looked at them both and smiled. “Great! No questions.”

He simply turned and began walking away. Then he looked down at Torvael in his hand.

“No, you do not count. I was asking our contestants.”

Numaeriel looked horrified.

Orlaen smirked ear to ear. “Oh, poor Numaeriel. You might just have to improvise and think outside of instructions someone else gave you.”

Numaeriel’s head snapped toward Orlaen, her eyes narrowed. Then she tapped her notes twice.

“I have more than enough information to complete my temple.” She smirked. “I am sure all of that not-paying-attention you did will work out beautifully for you.”

Orlaen, still unoffended, simply shrugged. “May the best goddess”—she let out a single content laugh, placed her hand over her heart, and smiled—“me, win.”

Numaeriel rolled her eyes. “Best, in this case, is relative to the task at hand. This contest changes nothing in the grand scheme of objective categorical evaluation.”

Before either of them could get off another quip, they each turned and walked away.

Their decade-long contest had officially begun.

And it was the longest they had ever gone without speaking to each other.

Chapter 5: Step by Step

Numaeriel did not waste any time. Before the first sunrise had finished touching the valley, her mortals had been gathered, instructed, divided, and set to purpose. They plotted the hill and measured the slope. They counted materials and planned meals. Nothing began until it had been considered. Then everything began at once.

Nearly all of Kaedrion’s “fun facts” became instructions that would shape every aspect of the design and construction.

The land was marked into clean divisions. The foundation was calculated before the first stone was moved. Paths were drawn according to use, not whim. Storage was placed where hands would need it. Workstations were arranged so no tool had to travel farther than necessary. Even the movement of water down the hill was discussed, redirected, and made useful.

No one guessed. No one improvised without reason. Every choice had a purpose. Every purpose had a place.

A mason suggested a wider entrance and was asked to prove the need. A carpenter proposed a different beam angle and was made to test the stress. A scholar argued for larger windows, and Numaeriel allowed it only after the light was measured across the floor at morning, noon, and dusk. Nothing was dismissed carelessly, but nothing was accepted merely because someone liked it.

Her mortals became efficient, disciplined, and skilled. Her temple rose evenly, steadily, and confidently. It was sturdy. It was spacious.

It was also unspectacular.

No one struggled to hear a speaker. No one got lost inside it. No one wondered where to sit, stand, study, pray, or walk. But no one gasped when they entered either. The temple answered every practical question before it was asked, and somehow forgot to ask for awe.

Chapter 6: Free Form

Orlaen also began immediately, though no one involved would have called it organization. Her mortals did not start with measurements. They started with longing.

They stood on the hill and imagined what it should feel like to arrive there. They argued over color before stone, sang to test the wind, and told stories about what the temple might mean before anyone agreed on where the entrance should be.

The work was chaos. Beautiful chaos.

A sculptor changed a wall because morning light struck it wrong. A painter delayed an entire corridor because the blue was almost right. Musicians tested echoes in unfinished rooms. Poets named alcoves before masons had finished building them.

Nothing matched. Everything belonged.

Her temple rose unevenly, but it rose breathtaking, intimate, alive, and by every standard of wonder, extraordinary.

It was also nearly impossible to use.

The main hall made every song sound hollow and every spoken announcement incomprehensible. The most beautiful entrance faced the worst road. Corridors curved because they “felt better that way,” not because anyone needed to reach the archive. Light fell gorgeously across walls where shelves were supposed to stand. Every room made visitors feel something. Few rooms helped them do anything.

© 2026 RADIOACTIVESLAM

Previously:

As Jamie's condition took a turn for the worse, Kylie found herself running out of places to hide. With Tony Bates asking questions, tensions rose as her secrets threatened to catch up with her. And just when all hope seemed lost, Katie finally woke up.

Episode 9 Preview:

As another witness comes forward with answers about that fateful night, Kylie and Maureen find themselves growing closer as secrets from their pasts emerge. Elsewhere, Michael makes a dangerous mistake, while Yvonne's world is turned upside down.

12/01/1999 Tuesday

———

08:09AM. Maureen's Home. Number 41.

—–—

Maureen's living room is quiet. Quieter than what it's was last night. The only sounds are life from outside, and Maureen cooking breakfast in the kitchen.

Cars passing, people walking by outside, birdsong, distant music.

Pots and pans, scraping utensils, sizzling oil, and the small radio propped on top of her fridge.

Kylie lays on the sofa, tangled in a thick and warm duvet that has a floral cover. For once, she properly slept. Full rested. In some woman's house.

A woman she'd never met before, apart from one time in a bus shelter where she insulted her. Funny how things work out.

The first thing that hits Kylie is the smell of bacon and the sound of the music and sizzling oil from the kitchen. All wafting through into the living room.

Her eyes slowly stir open and she rubs them both with her palms.

She leans up and back on her elbows and briefly scans the room. Internally reflecting herself.

What the fuck is going on?

I'm all over the place. I'm in some woman's living room, sleeping on her settee.

She glances over to the coffee table where her phone is. And reaches over and picks it up.

She flips the screen open and sees missed calls and texts from Gaz.

She opens the texts

From: Gaz: "Where R U"

Delivered at: 10:33AM

From: Gaz: "U at home?"

Delivered at: 10:44AM

From: Gaz: "Its not looking good for Jamie. Plz cum back"

Delivered at: 10:56AM

Missed Call: From: Gaz at: 3:50PM

From: Gaz: "Kylie were R U?"

Delivered at: 3:53PM

Missed Call: From: Gaz at 8:48PM

From: Gaz: "Txt me wen U C this"

Delivered at: 8:50PM

Shit...

Maureen: "Mornin'"

She says to Kylie, walking through into the living room holding two cups of tea.

Kylie sits up properly now, and rubs her eyes again

Kylie: "Morning"

Maureen: "You sleep okay?"

Kylie: "Yeah. I slept good ta. And thank you, again. For...you know"

Maureen: "Yeah of course. Don't mention it love"

Kylie smiles at her. A genuine one. Maureen smiles back.

Maureen: "Eggs and Bacon okay?"

Kylie: "Sounds perfect. Ta Maur"

Maureen smiles and heads back to the kitchen to finish up breakfast

Kylie sits there, wondering how her day is going to pan out. And what shes going to say to Gaz when she sees him next.

———

09:12AM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

The morning sunlight floods into Katie's room. The clock ticks on the wall every second. And Jenna, Danielle, Gavin and Julie are all sitting around Katie. Who's not long woken up.

Julie: "What...do you remember?"

Katie takes a while

Katie: "Um...I remember me, Kelly, uhh...Jamie and Mitchell all getting in the car. And he drove off really fast. We were all having a laugh and then...then...he swerved...I can't remember why though"

Julie: "That's alright sweetheart. You're okay"

Katie looks around the room

Katie: "Where's Kelly? Please tell me shes okay"

Danielle: "She's fine"

Gavin: "Shes in crutches and has a few cuts and bruises. But shes okay"

Jenna: "We left her at home so she can rest. Isn't easy travelling in her condition"

Gavin: "We told her last night that you woke. She sends her love"

Katie sighs in relief

Julie: "The police are going to want to speak to you love. And ask you questions about what happened. You think you can manage it?"

Katie: "I'll try" she whispers

———

11:02AM. Shawcross General Shop. The Strip.

———

Upstairs in their flat, Yvonne is in their bathroom. In the bathroom mirror.

Her top and bra is off. She pushes her shoulder length black hair behind her head, out of the way. And rubs her breasts thoroughly.

Checking

For...anything

For a...lump

Anything that can explain the soreness thats been consistent lately.

She rubs all around. No lump. Nothing. But still sore.

She sighs. And puts her bra, and top back on.

And heads downstairs. Glad that she hasn't found a lump, but not glad that she hasn't found the problem.

—

She steps out from the "Staff Only" door behind the counter, where Michael is serving a young woman with a baby in a pram.

A young mother it seems. And her newborn.

Yvonne watches. Caught off guard.

Michael: "That's seven fifty please" he says to the woman with a smile.

As the woman fishes out the money from her purse, Michael compliments her baby.

The woman thanks Michael but says she can scream the whole Estate down if she'd really wanted to.

They both exchange a little laugh. Then Michael turns and sees Yvonne standing there. Looking dazed.

Michael: "You alright love?"

Yvonne snaps out of it

Yvonne: "Yeah. Yeah. Im fine" she smiles

The woman then pays Michael the money and heads out, with her baby.

Michael: "Cute kid" he mumbles to Yvonne.

Michael notices Yvonne's mind is elsewhere. She's clearly thinking

Michael: "What's got your attention?"

Yvonne: "Um, nothing. I'm gunna pop out for a bit okay?"

She starts heading for the door

Michael: "Okay. Love you"

Yvonne: "Love you too"

She says, already halfway out the door

———

11:13AM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

Nicola and Gaz sit around Jamie. Who's laying basically half dead in his bed. Barry should be on his way back from dropping the kids off at school.

He's late. Very late. Probably taking some time for himself.

Gaz yawns and stretches his arms behind his head

Gaz: "I'm gunna get a coffee from the vending machine. Want anything?"

Nicola looks at jamie then at Gaz

Nicola: "I'll come with ya. Stretch me legs"

Gaz: "Okay" he whispers as he gets up off the chair

They both head out of Jamie's room and down the hall, then take a right, and walk down to the vending machine thats positioned opposite Katie's room.

Gaz punches in the numbers in the vending machine for two tea's and Nicola stands there. Waiting.

She turns around and notices Katie is awake, in her room. With Julie, Jenna, Danielle and Gavin all smiling and talking. Looking cosy.

Gavin and Danielle look up from the sofa where they're sitting and see Nicola standing outside Katie's room window, looking in with fury on her face.

Nicola storms away from Gaz and over to Katie's door. Danielle and Gavin jump up off the sofa, Katie, Julie and Jenna notice and Jenna and Julie stand up.

They all race to Katie's door.

Nicola tries getting in but Gavin, Danielle and Julie are stood there, with Jenna at Katie's bedside. Hand on her sister's shoulder.

Nicola: "Let me in"

Gavin: "No" he immediately replies.

Danielle: "Not a fucking chance"

From the vending machine, Gaz hears this and turns around and sees what's happening. He leaves the vending machine, even though the cup is half full of tea, and joins his mum.

Gaz: "What's happenin?"

Nicola: "Their girl's awake. The other one"

Gaz: "What!?" He tries peering in

Gavin: "What the fuck do you two want?"

Julie: "My daughter's trying to rest in there"

Nicola: "I want answers. True answers. Your other girl didnt say shit"

Gaz: "And the stuff she came out with were all lies"

Gavin: "You're barking up the wrong tree mate. Don't make me put you in the next bed to your brother"

Gaz: "That a fucking promise is it? Don't make me laugh"

Julie: "Neither of you are stepping foot anywhere near my daughter. Either of them"

Nicola: "They both know what happened that might and the other one spun lies. Lies about my boy, who's lying in a coma on life support in the other room!"

Danielle: "Well he shouldn't have stolen a car then shouldn't he have!?"

Gaz: "Your fucking sisters probably put 'im up to it! He'd never do anything like that!"

Gavin: "But he did!"

Julie: "Funny how your lot shows up and there ends up being a crash"

Nicola: "You're asking for a fucking slap"

Julie: "Oh who are you kidding? You're all bark no bite"

Nicola: "Wanna bet?" She steps right up to Julie.

It looks like it's all gunna boil over again but then–

DCI Channing: "Is there a problem here?"

Her voice cuts through the bubbling tension as she stands there, arms crossed and dressed in her light grey suit. And her dark brown hair in a low, loose bun.

Pretty and soft. Yet professional and somehow intimidating.

Everybody turns to her and quiets down.

Gaz: "No. We were just—"

Danielle: "Giving us grief" she cuts him off.

Gaz looks at her and she holds his gaze.

DCI Channing: "Well i siggest you all step away from each other and go where you're needed. I'm sure your children need you"

A silence sits there as tensions ease

DCI Channing: "And I'm sure you don't want to be removed from the Hospital again. Do you, Mrs Jenkins?" She asks Nicola

Nicola: "No." Nicola gives her a big sarcastic, cocky smile

A long silence sits there as Gaz and Nicola head back to the vending machine, with the Slaters watching.

DCI Channing: "Ms Slater, I'm here to get a statement from–"

Julie: "From Katie, yeah" she cuts her off, sounding exhausted. Ready to get it over with.

And like that, the Slaters head back into Katie's room, with DCI Channing following.

They shut the door behind them, leaving Gaz and Nicola standing at the vending machine. Tired of all this mess.

———

11:49AM. Marlas Chemist. The Strip.

———

At the other end of the Strip of commercial buildings, sits Marlas Estate's chemist. Or "Pharmacy" if you will.

Inside is quiet. The faint smell of disinfectant and something sweet sits in the air. Along with the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor, buttons being typed behind the counter on the computer, and quiet music playing from the crappy overhead speakers.

The chemist is light and airy, with daylight flooding through the front doors and windows, slicing down between every aisle.

The Chemist is quiet, only two people queue up at the front counter where they're being served by the worker.

In the middle of the chemist, in the "Feminine Hygiene" and "Contraception" section of the aisle, stands Yvonne. Head heavy and loud with racing thoughts.

She stands there, slightly shaking and chest pounding. Though she's not sure why. And in front of her, lies...pregnancy tests. Cheap ones, expensive ones, clear blue ones, all sorts.

What am I doing here?

After standing there for what felt like an hour, she finally reaches forward and picks up the clear blue pregnancy test.

One line equals not pregnant. Two lines equals pregnant.

The box lightly shakes in her hand.

Yvonne: "Jesus, get a grip Yvonne" she whispers to herself.

She reads over the writing all over the box, when–

Dingaling

The bell above the chemist door jingles and cool morning air wafts in and slaps Yvonne. Though she doesn't notice

She's reading the instructions when–

Sunita: "Good morning Yvonne!"

Sunita greets Yvonne with a warm smile

Yvonne jumps and immediately hides the box behind her back, on instinct.

Yvonne: "Uh- morning Sunita" she forces a smile

Sunita: "How are you feeling sweetheart? Any better?"

Yvonne looks confused

Sunita: "Well the other night, me and Arun couldn't help but overhear you...falling ill. Poor thing. It's all the work you do i think. Must be stressful. I see the way you run the shop. Like the navy" she giggles

Yvonne laughs along but it's clearly forced

Yvonne: "Yeah...yeah. No I'm fine. Just...looking for painkillers"

She smiles at Sunita

Sunita: "Well you're in the wrong aisle then sweetheart–" Sunita giggles but stops immediately. Like realisation slapped her across the face.

Yvonne's smile fades and they both look at each other.

Sunita looks at the shelf in front of them both, at the pregnancy tests.

They look at each other again

Yvonne pulls the box out from behind her back and they both look down at it

Sunita gasps and smiles

Sunita: "Oh congratulations!–"

Yvonne shooshes her immediately, cutting her off

Yvonne: "Shh shhhh sh sh. I dont even know if I am...you know. I might just be ill"

She whispers to Sunita

Sunita hears the quiet but firm urgency in Yvonne's voice

Sunita: "What if you are?"

Yvonne: "I...I dont know" she shrugs as she whispers

Sunita notices the look of dread and fear etched on Yvonne's face. Two looks that Yvonne never shows.

Sunita places her hand on Yvonne's shoulder.

Sunita: "Whatever happens Yvonne darling, I'm sure you'll do the right thing. You have your reasons I'm sure"

Yvonne looks up at Sunita, like a lost kitten

Yvonne: "I'm– im not...built for motherhood" she whispers

Sunita laughs

Sunita: "Oh Yvonne. None of us are. The entire point of being a mother is having a child. Or raising one"

Yvonne listens

Sunita: "Before I had Maya i was terrified. I had no idea what was going to happen. No idea what I was going to do. I was just thankful I had my Arun to help me along"

Yvonne: "What was it like? All of it?"

Sunita: "Well...I found the pregnancy to be fine. I actually didn't mind it. Apart from the uncertainty and fear and what have you. And...the labour was painful yes. But it's becoming a mother that made it all worth it. Though you don't think that while you're pushing a baby out of you" she giggles.

Yvonne genuinely has a little giggle

Yvonne: "Look– I might not even be pregnant. I'm just...not sure. So...could you...you know? Keep this between us?" She whispers

Sunita: "Oh of course, of course! Don't you worry. My lips are sealed" she whispers and smiles at Yvonne.

———

1:03PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room

———

Inside Katie's room, everybody's exhausted.

Danielle's gone to work at the clothing shop, while Jenna, Gavin, and Julie all sit around Katie, along with DCI Channing. Asking the same question for the eighth time.

Katie: "Yes. I'm sure" she sighs

Katie: "He told us that...he loved cars and he applied for college to do mechanics or something. So he knew what he was doing"

DCI Channing: "He knew what he was doing? So thats how he crashed is it?"

Katie: "I told you. He screamed and swerved. I don't know why! But he avoided something. It wasn't an accident. Not completely"

Channing scribbles in her book

DCI Channing: "Did you see what he was trying to swerve?"

Everyone looks at Katie

Katie: "....No. I– I don't–...no..." she struggles to remember.

DCI Channing: "Okay..." she whispers

DCI Channing: "So, to double check. You and your sister Kelly met Jamie at the Victoria Arms pub yes?"

Katie: "Mhm" she nods yes

DCI Channing: "And you and Kelly both learnt from him that he was a 'gear head', after he told you his interests in cars and engines and whatnot?"

Katie: "Yes" she whispers

DCI Channing: "And he didn't coarse you into drinking or anything, no?"

Katie: "No"

Channing nods

Julie: "Well– i wouldn't be too sure about that. You can tell by his family what kind of kid he was"

Katie: "Mum"

Julie: "I'm just saying love. That Jamie put you in hospital. And you sister. And Mitchell! And you're telling the police he's a good kid?"

Katie: "He is!"

Julie: "Katie, are good kid wouldn't—"

DCI Channing: "Julie, please. I, really am only hear for Katie"

Katie: "You don't think im lying do you? Mum?"

Julie: "No! No no no of course I don't love. Its just, I don't know. You might not be as right as you think you are"

Katie: "Mum, i was there. I spoke to him. We got on, we had a laugh. He was a good guy. Is, a good guy"

Katie then turns to Channing

Katie: "He didn't convince me or Kelly to do anything. We all chose to do what we did"

Channing nods and reads her notepad

DCI Channing: "Okay. And are you completely sure that he purposefully swerved? And that you didn't see why?"

Katie: "Yes" she sighs. Tired now.

DCI Channing: "Okay. That's all for now. I can tell you're tired. I'll leave you to rest" she says getting up.

The whole room suddenly eases tension

Channing gets up and pockets her notepad. And heads towards the door. Julie follows her.

In the hallway, Julie stops Catrin and asks her something;

Julie: "They're kid...Jamie?"

DCI Channing: "What about him?"

Julie: "Do you think he's guilty?"

DCI Channing: "Julie you know I'm not at liberty to say"

Julie: "No- i know but, what...what do you think? Personally?"

DCI Channing: "Personally, I honestly think it was just a group of stupid young and drunk teenagers who made a few bad decisions. That seems to often be the case. I can't tell you more than that because, well, i don't know him personally. But based on what your daughter said, he seemed like one of the nicest people in that family"

Julie: "It's not looking good for him. Is it?"

Catrin Channing nods no.

DCI Channing: "Thank you for your time" she smiles before walking off.

———

2:01PM. Maureen's Home. Number 41

———

Maureen's living room is quiet. Except for the sounds of the wall clock ticking every second, and the fridge humming from the kitchen.

Kylie sits on the sofa, which is also her temporary bed. She sits there holding her phone in her hand, bouncing her knee up and down. Thinking. Looking down at her blank screen.

She presses the buttons down to the contact named "Nik". For Nikki. Her sister.

She's about to click "Call" when the back door in the kitchen clicks open.

Kylie grasps her phone and jumps up, heart racing and eyes widen open like a cat scanning it's surroundings. Like a wild animal.

Maureen walks in through the door, pulling her wheelie shopping trolley behind her, that's full of shopping. She closes the door behind her and looks forward into the living room and sees Kylie standing there like she's seen a ghost.

Maureen giggles

Maureen: "You alright Kylie love? You look off your head there!" She laughs. Starting to pull the bags of shopping out of her pulley trolley.

Kylie's face and body eases

Kylie: "Uh no. I'm alright" she awkwardly giggles.

She sets her phone down on the coffee table and helps Maureen put her shopping away.

Maureen: "Aw thanks darl"

Meanwhile, Kylie peers out the kitchen window that looks out into the back garden, and then the alleyway behind it. Like she's scanning for something. Or someone.

Maureen notices

Maureen: "You alright Kylie?"

Kylie: "Yeah" she mumbles

Maureen puts the last of the shopping away and Kylie heads into the living room, where she stands to the side of the living room window and peeks out the side, partly hiding behind the curtain.

Maureen walks in, throws her light blue coat over her chair, and watches Kylie.

Maureen: "Kylie what's the matter love? You look like you're in hiding" she jokes

Kylie turns and faces Maureen

Maureen's face softens. She sighs.

Maureen: "Come on. What is it? Sit"

Maureen sits on her chair and points to the sofa, for Kylie to sit.

Kylie does

Maureen: "What is it? What's wrong?"

Kylie: "...Nothing"

Maureen: "Kylie, drop the act love. You can't bull a bullshitter. What is it? Why are you so on edge? Why were you stuck in that house with Tony yesterday?"

Kylie: "Why did you take me in?"

Maureen: "I asked first. Come on. What's wrong?"

Kylie: "What's it got to do with you? Why do you care?"

Maureen: "I care because you're a good lass. And you're kipping in my front room so until then, it has everything to do with me. If I'm gunna have people knocking on my door with you on the brain i deserve to know why"

A heavy silence settles and Kylie sighs

Kylie: "My life's a mess Maureen. I got myself mixed up in such a fucking mess. I don't know who I can and can't trust"

Maureen: "You can trust me"

Kylie: "Yeah? For how long? It's only a matter of time before everyone turns their back on you sooner or later. I've learnt that the hard way"

Maureen: "I took you in Kylie. I'm not gunna turn my back on you. Only way I'll do that is if i show you the door. And the only way I'll do that is if you don't tell me the truth, now what is it? Why are you im such a mess?"

Kylie: "I'm hiding from someone. My ex. Nathan his name is. Right manipulative fucker. Me and me best mate Jacko planned on robbing him for everything he's got. The whole plan turned south and he locked me up in his flat for two days until I fought back and legged it. Been on the run ever since."

Maureen: "Fucking Hell...so...how did that put you in number thirty three with Tony?"

Kylie: "The family that moved in there, the Jenkins–"

Maureen: "Ooh yeah. Their boy ended up in a crash. Poor thing" She cuts off Kylie

Kylie: "...Y- yeah...well...After i got away from my ex, I ran into this bloke Gaz, their son. In the Vic. We drank, had a laugh. He was a state, I was a state, so he took me back to his and we hit it off. It was a laugh....but then...I don't know. I just couldn't stay there anymore. Didn't feel safe. And now I've got nowhere to go"

Maureen: "Jesus. I'm sorry to hear that love. Sounds like a right mess you're in"

Kylie: "Yeah..." she sighs

Maureen: "Well you don't have to go checking out my windows every ten seconds to see who's out there, believe me. Only people that come round here are TV license lot and Jim"

Kylie: "Jim...?"

Maureen: "He's a pisshead. Always at the Arms. All day everyday, pissing away his dole money on booze. Has a thing for me he does"

They both giggle

A comfortable silence sits there

Kylie: "So...you didn't answer my question"

Maureen: "What was that love?"

Kylie: "Why did you take me in? There must've been a reason"

Maureen sighs

Maureen: "Well I...you reminded me of someone I suppose"

Kylie: "Who?"

Maureen: "Me. A long time ago"

Kylie's face lights up in curiosity

Kylie: "Really? How's that?"

Maureen: "When I first moved to Marlas Estate, guess you could say my live was all over the place and all. Nowhere to go, nothing to my name. Looking for a fresh start i was. Just got out of a horrible relationship"

Kylie: "Fuck that sucks. Sorry Maur"

Maureen: "Oh its fine. Happened before you were born" she giggles

Maureen: "For the first few weeks I had nowhere to go. So...you know where I slept?"

Kylie nods no

Maureen: "Bus stops. Cafés, restaurants, pubs, anywhere i could really. That's why when I saw you, that morning on the bus stop, all I could see was me. When I first got here. Look at me now though."

She waves around the room

Maureen: "Not much of a palace but it's no bus stop" she laughs

Kylie smiles

Maureen: "Mind you I was a tad older than you are now. Twenty nine. Not long had a baby too—"

She cuts herself off

Kylie: "Oh really? You and your baby slept rough?"

No judgment in her voice, just curiosity

Maureen sighs and takes a second

Maureen: "No. No. It was just...just me. I Uh...I left the baby"

Kylie: "Leaving your baby with your ex? Don't know if I would've done that" she giggles

Maureen: "I didn't leave him with my ex"

Maureen says plainly

Kylie looks at her

Maureen: "I left him in a park. On a bench"

Kylie's face drops and a soft look of sympathy washes over her. Guilt too.

Kylie: "Shit...Maureen I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't know I‐ I had no idea..."

Maureen: "Oh its okay. Not your fault is it"

Maureen forces a smile. She gets up, walks over to the small glass tray of booze in the corner of the room, and pours her and Kylie two glasses of vodka. And walks back over, hands a glass to Kylie, and sits back down.

Maureen: "So you see Kylie love? At one point or another, everybody's got it bad. But eventually, somehow, one day, it all figures itself out. You dont know how. You don't know why. But you wake up one day, and you're not asleep in a bus shelter anymore"

Maureen sips her drink and Kylie looks down into her own glass

Maureen: "You want to know why dont you?"

Kylie looks up

Kylie: "What?"

Maureen: "You want to know why. Why I left my baby"

Kylie stutters but nothing comes out

Maureen sighs

Maureen: "I dont mind telling you. I'm a big girl"

She softly giggles.

Kylie smiles, waiting

Maureen: "I was raped"

They both sit there

Maureen: "Had the pregnancy and birth with my partner at the time, at his place. I was trapped. Nowhere to go and nothing to my name, but a rape baby. So, one night, when he was asleep, i packed some stuff, the baby, and snuck out. Figured that the baby would have a better chance of a family if I left him on some park bench instead of leaving him with his father, or sleeping rough with me. So I did. Kissed him, said my goodbye's, and put him down. And walked away. Hardest day of my life"

Her lips start trembling and tears start welling in her eyes. She downs the rest of her drink and pours some more.

Kylie: "You...didn't consider trying to raise him?" She asks quietly. Almost cautiously as not to offend Maureen.

Maureen: "How could I? A young woman in my late twenties sleeping rough. I was in no fit state to be a mother. Not only that, all I could see when I looked at him was his father. A rapist. I loved him, i really did. But it was better for all of us when I left him in that park"

Kylie: "Do you...miss him?"

Maureen: "Every damn day. Not a day goes by where I dont think about him. About the man he's grown up to be. Loads of families walked through that park everyday so I know someone was bound to pick him up, or take him to the police or something. I just hope he had a good upbringing"

Kylie is almost in tears

Kylie: "Oh Maureen I‐ I'm so sorry..."

She puts her hand on Maureen's knee

Maureen: "Oh dont be silly. A long time ago all that was"

They both sit there in silence for a while, both in a sort of shock like state

Maureen sighs

Maureen: "Can't believe i told you that" she laughs

Maureen: "I...I never told anybody that before"

Kylie smiles at her

———

5:14PM. The Victoria Arms Pub. Downstairs

———

The pub is abuzz with its usual afternoon punters dotted around. At the bar, in the booths, at the tables.

Music plays from the pub speakers and chatter battles the sound of it.

Eddie is behind the bar, chatting to Jim. And at the other side of the bar, Tony is talking to Paula. And for once, she seems to be enjoying it.

He's leaning forward on the bar, smiling at her and she's laughing. Enjoying the attention.

Which she usually doesn't

Jim notices. And Eddie notices his face.

Eddie: "What is it Jim? You alright bud?"

Jim: "Didn't realise your Paula was close with Tony. Brave standing that close to the fire"

Eddie turns around and sees Paula chatting with Tony at the other bar. He doesn't say anything.

Weird...

He turns back to Jim

Eddie: "Nah. They're not close. He just has a thing for 'er. Good thing she ain't got a thing for him either" he smiles

———

5:29PM. St Anne's Hospital. Mitchell's Sick bay

———

Mitchell sits on the side of his hospital bed, bandaged up and ready to be discharged today.

His right arm is in a cast and he's got some bruises painted on him but apart from that he's otherwise fine.

He looks down at his phone, and clicks his way down his contacts and finds Michael. He clicks "Call"

———

5:29PM. Shawcross General Shop. The Strip

———

Inside the shop, Michael is restocking the a shelf of crisps while Yvonne sweeps the floor over in the corner. They're both silent. Working away.

After finally finishing stocking up the shelf he kicks the crate aside and looks back at Yvonne as he walks his way over to the counter.

Michael: "You alright Von love?"

Yvonne: "Yeah. Why?"

Michael: "You've been quiet all day. Especially since you got back from your walk earlier. Everything okay?"

Yvonne looks up at him and smiles

Yvonne: "Yeah. Im okay. Just not been feeling myself that's all"

Michael: "Anything I can do?"

Yvonne: "No" she smiles at him

He sits down behind the counter then–

His phone starts ringing. An electronic beeping melody.

He looks at his screen. "Mitchell".

His heart jumps up into his chest and he gets butterflies. Even though he won't admit it. Not even to himself.

Yvonne: "Who's that?"

Michael: "Uh– Eddie. I'm just gunna..."

He points to the door outside

Yvonne nods and Michael steps outside and answers the call.

Michael: "Mitchell?"

———

5:34PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

The sky is dull now. The sunlight flooding into Katie's room is less bright than what it was earlier.

Julie, Gavin, Jenna and Katie are all just chit chatting. A warm and familiar atmosphere that's been long absent. Since the night of the crash.

Katie: "So...what's everybody up to when you're not here crying over me?"

At first Julie, Gavin and jenna all look at each other.

Julie: "Ah same old same old love. Work and work"

Gavin and Jenna glance at each other

Katie: "Oh come on. There's gotta be more going on. Any fights in the streets? Anyone got arrested for shoplifting recently? What's what?"

Gavin: "Well the usual really. Trashy house parties down the road, neighbours shouting the odds and whatnot"

Katie: "Classic" she giggles

Then, there's a knock at the door. Everybody shuts up and waits, then the door opens and a head peeks through.

Mitchell.

Everybody gasps in excitement and relief, Katie the most though.

Mitchell: "Hello?" He quietly says with a smile peeking in

Katie: "Mitchell!"

Julie: "Mitchell! Come in, come in"

Mitchell comes all the way in and closes the door behind him.

Katie: "You're okay!"

Mitchell: "Better looking than you by the looks of things" he chuckles

Gavin: "How you holding up?"

Mitchell: "I've seen better days. But haven't we all?"

Jenna: "Too right. Glad you're okay"

Mitchell: "Okay as I can be" he smiles

He turns to Katie

Mitchell: "How're you feeling? Heard you woke up only yesterday"

Katie: "I did yeah. Still feel like death"

Gavin: "And look it"

Katie: "Oi! Cheeky twat"

They giggle

Mitchell sits down on the chair beside Katie's bed

Mitchell: "The old bill spoken to you yet?"

Katie: "Yeah"

Gavin: "Yeah. A cop called Catrin Channing. Was she the one that spoke to you?"

Mitchell: "Yeah. Been asking me the same damn questions over and over. Feels like she's trying to trip me up"

Katie: "I know how you feel. She was in here earlier"

Jenna: "Yeah. Not long after that family tried starting on us"

Gavin: "Again"

Mitchell: "Family? Oh, you mean the–"

Julie: "The family who's kid was driving? Yeah"

Katie: "The Jenkins"

Jenna: "Right gobby lot"

Katie: "Nothing compared to us lot though" she smiles at Mitchell

Julie: "So you heading off home today then are you, Mitchell love?"

Mitchell: "Uh yeah. Just got discharged now. Thought I'd pop in and see how Katie is doing seeing as she's awake and all"

Julie: "Ah well that's lovely of you Mitchell"

Gavin: "Yeah. Cheers mate"

Katie: "Yeah. Thanks"

Mitchell: "Of course" he smiles at Katie

Jenna: "How you getting home then?"

Mitchell: "Oh I've got Michael picking me up now in a few. Rang him and asked me if he fancied giving me a lift back to mine"

Julie: "Aw that's nice of him"

Mitchell smiles and nods

Mitchell: "Well listen, I'm gunna head off–"

Katie: "What? Already?"

Mitchell: "Yeah. Honestly I want to get home and thr fuck outta here as soon as possible" he laughs

Mitchell: "Only wanted to pop in on you and see how you were holding up. You know where I am if you ever need me" he stands up and smiles at her

Julie: "Thank you Mitchell love you're a star"

Katie: "Okay. Cheers Mitch"

Mitchell: "Just don't go asking me to hop in any cars with you" he teases

Jenna, Gavin and Julie all look at Katie with serious faces. They didn't know.

Mitchell notices.

Mitchell: "Oh. Sorry I- I thought you all already knew"

Julie: "You convinced Mitchell to come with you?"

Katie: "No I–"

Mitchell: "Julie, really. It's okay. It was my decision. Actions have consequences don't they. And im paying for it now. I think we all are. So dont go giving her any grief, she just wanted to make me smile. And she did. Like a good friend"

He taps Katie's shoulder and she smiles up at him

His phone in his pocket vibrates

He pulls it out and checks it

Text: From: Michael: "I'm here. Outside"

Mitchell: "That's Michael. Gotta go. You all take care alright? And yiu too especially, Kate"

Katie: "Yeah, i will. You too Mitch"

Mitchell waves to them all and they all wave back and tell him goodbye, as he leaves Katie's room.

———

6:07PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room

———

Barry, Nicola and Gaz are all sat around Jamie. Tired. Exhausted. Drained. Nicola is asleep on the small uncomfortable sofa underneath the window, Barry sits at Jamie's bedside and Gaz stands meaning against the wall beside the door.

He walks up to Barry and whispers

Gaz: "Dad"

Barry turns to him

Gaz: "I'm gunna pop to the vending machine to get a drink. You want anything?"

Barry: "No ta I'm good son"

Gaz nods and quietly slips out of the dark and quiet room.

—

Outside in the hallway he walks down to the vending machine, punches in the numbers for a coffee and waits.

While the machine does it's thing, he walks into a quieter corner and pulls out his phone, and rings up Kylie.

Been beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

Nothing. Answer phone.

Kylie's answerphone: "Hi this is Kylie please leave a message and I'll get back to ya. Ta!"

Gaz: "Kylie...its Gaz. You remember me? Your...whatever. Look, I dont know where you are and I dont know when you'll be back. But can you at least text me or something? Anything? Just to let me know you're okay. I miss ya. I'm...im...im scared. I...its not looking good for Jamie and I need you right now okay? Please? Call me"

He sends the voice message

And walks back to the vending machine, waiting for the coffee

———

7:16PM. Marlas Estate. Outside the tower of flats

———

The streets of Narlas estate are dark now, with the January winter sky already a deep deep blue and the glows of the orange streetlights fading down onto the damp concrete slabs.

Outside one of the tallest apartment towers on the whole estate, Michael's car is parked in the dark, under a single streetlight.

Michael's switches the engine off and a silence fills the car.

Mitchell: "Thanks for taking me for that pint after taking me from the hospital. God knows I needed it" he laughs

Michael: "Yeah if course. Bet You did"

They smile at each other as silence sits all around them

Michael: "I would've had one with you too it's just i was driving so..."

Mitchell: "Yeah...didn't want to be in another crash" he jokes

The both of them laugh. Genuinely. Despite the joke being somewhat morbid

Mitchell: "Look, Michael. I'm sorry about what I said to you the other day at the hospital. You know? When you told me about things with you and Yvonne. I guess I just got a bit...jealous. And I snapped. I'm sorry"

Michael: "Hey it's okay. I actually find it quite flattering that you're jealous of Yvonne" he giggles

Mitchell: "Oh shut up" he laughs

Mitchell: "I do still have one good hand you know? So dont make me bruise it"

Michael: "Ha yeah. Yeah right!" He laughs

Michael: "And anyway...things with Yvonne are...whatever. You know? It's married life for you. It's great one minute then shite the next but what can you do? That's what it's all about I suppose. Give and take and what have you"

Mitchell: "...I s'pose. You know where I am though...if...you ever need me. Or if you ever just want a familiar face to talk to. Someone who isn't your stuck up wife" he jokes

Michael: "Oh she isn't that bad" he quietly chuckles

Mitchell: "You sure...?" He whispers as he looks over to Michael

The only sounds surrounding them being wind and slught drizzle hitting the car

Michael looks into Mitchell's eyes

They look at each other

Hearts starting to race

Mitchell: "Because i see you with her all the time and every time you're together...I cant help but notice that you're not...happy. Not yourself" he whispers to Michael softly

Michael: "I'm married to her Mitchell. Married. She's my wife. You said so yourself" He quietly replies

Mitchell looks down to his knees

Mitchell: "I know...I know..."

Michael looks at him

Silence

Mitchell: "Thanks for the lift–"

Mitchell opens the passenger side door and goes to take a step out when—

Michael puts his hand on Mitchell's shoulder and gently pulls him back into the car

Mitchell turns and faces Michael again...and Michael leans over and kisses Mitchell on the face.

Mitchell kisses back and Michael puts his hands on Mitchell's face, Mitchell too. Then—

Michael pulls away, and they both look at each other, breathing heavily. Face to face.

Mitchell leans in this time and Michael doesn’t stop it.

Mitchell pulls his leg back into the car, and pulls the passenger side door shut, and they both grab hold of each other, and climb into the back seat of Michael's car

———

7:38PM. Shawcross General Shop. The Strip

———

While upstairs in the upstairs flat above the shop, Yvonne is in their bathroom sitting on the toilet. Anxiously waiting.

Her knees are bopping up and down and she gets up every now and again and paces the room. Heart racing. She looks up at the small clock on the wall over in her and Michael's bedroom and takes a deep breath.

Before swiping something off of the bathroom sink, sitting back down on the toilet, and finally looking down.

Yvonne: "Fuck..."

She whispers

She looks down at the pregnancy test in her hands

Pregnant

———

And that's episode 9! Please let me know what you think in the comments below! As always any comments, questions and opinions are much appreciated! Thank you for reading if you've made it this far! ☺️

Previously:

While Yvonne fought an internal battle, feelings between Mitchell and Michael proved to be unstable. Elsewhere, Mitchell caught himself an exciting job opportunity.

Episode 13 Preview:

As Katie confronts a horrifying reminder of the crash, Yvonne makes a life-changing decision. Elsewhere, as the truth behind the arson finally comes out, Paula finds herself playing with fire…

16/01/1999 | Saturday

———

08:22AM. St Anne's Hospital. Hallways.

———

In the hallway outside her room, Katie is barely managing to walk. Actually- barely managing to stand. This is her first time out of bed since the accident.

Her dark red dyed hair is long, loose and messy. Falling down her shoulders, and although a youthful messy party girl look was her thing, this is a different kind of messy. An unkempt messy. Her hospital gown sits softly on her body and her face is tired. Not from lack of sleep per say, from everything that's happened.

She's got her left hand on the wall, holding onto a rail, supporting her weight, and her right hand holding her drip, with its small metal wheels squeaking every so often. Her bare feet drag cold on the floor.

She feels like a zombie. She's looking for Jamie's room.

It takes her almost five minutes to make it to the end of the short hallway where the vending machines and elevators are. When she finally gets there, she turns her head slowly towards a window thats onlooking into a dark room.

Its Jamie's.

Her heart drops as she sees the state of him. Her eyes pop open and lips start trembling

Fuck. That could've been me

After the crash, this is her first time seeing Jamie. She knows Mitchell is okay, she knows her sister is okay. So, this is what all the fuss is about. Jamie.

Katie's strong. She never cries. That's what she tells herself. But it looks like she's loosing that battle today.

Nicola, Tasha and Oscar all lay asleep in Jamie's room around him. Tasha and Oscar still in their school uniforms from yesterday.

As Katie finally slowly turns around and goes to walk back to her room, she sees Barry. Blocking her path and just staring at her

Usually, Barry would have something to say. But not today. Not now. He's tired. And Katie looks half dead.

Katie's surprised to see him and don't know what to say

Instead, Barry offers the smallest of smiles, before slinking past her and into Jamie's room.

Well that was...weird

———

08:53AM. Pandora's Box Gay Bar. Downtown. Outside.

———

The main high street in which Pandora's Box sits, is already alive and busy with the weekend morning rush. Peoples shopping, having breakfast out, catching busses, the usual.

Mitchell walks up to the bar to see its all in darkness. He peers into the main front windows and the whole bar is in darkness. He goes to try the main door. Locked.

Weird. Why would I have to come in this early if it's closed?

He looks at the building wondering what to do, what's going on. Then—

Reese: "Oi! Newbie!" He shouts

Mitchell looks around and sees no sign of him at all

Reese: "Up here!!" He shouts down to the street from the top third floor, with his head poking out of the top middle window with a big smile on his face.

Mitchell looks up and goes to speak but Reese cuts in

Reese: "Go round the back! Door's wide open!" He shouts down before reseeding back into the window like a snake in the grass

Mitchell giggles to himself and nods

———

08:56AM. Alleyway Behind Pandora's Box.

———

The alley is wide and long with litter decorating either side of the road. Markings for loading trucks sit on the ground beside some buildings. With some large green dumpster bins invading their spaces.

Either side of the alleyway is shadowed by tall towering buildings. Mitchell walks down the quiet alley to finally see a caged black door propped wide open by a brick. With some cars parked beside the building.

He slowly walks up to the open door and immediately as you walk in there's a door right to the left where a small plain sign says "BAR" written above it. The door is locked. And right in front is a steep wooden staircase that leads upstairs.

—

Inside

—

With every step Mitchell takes the steps creak beneath him. As he gets to the top of the flight of stairs, there's a long but very narrow dark hallway that has a window at the far end of it with doors on either side of the hallway. The window looks down onto the main front street.

He looks around and sees another wooden flight of steep stairs that heads further up. Right next to the flight he'd just walked up.

With each step he takes he can hear laughter, chatter and echoing music getting louder and louder.

As he reaches the top he's met by something unexpected. A very huge bare room that sprawls from and to all four sides of the building. Like a huge, bare attic space. Its dark, with three big dusty windows on two opppsing sides of the room flooding light in. Some are open. There are four large metal columns symmetrically placed around the room for support.

And down at the far end of the room is a very large wooden stage-like platform. With two metal poles in the middle. For dancers. In front of the stage are some large speakers, chairs and a sofa with some tables.

It looks like a huge massive hangout space that's been plopped in the middle of a large industrial warehouse. Theres a huge echo in the large room. There are people here and there. About 5 people stand jotted around the place in total. Including Reese. Laughing, chatting.

As soon as Mitchell ascends from the wooden floor and up into the room, heads turn. Mitchell is taken aback. He feels like he's just stumbled into some sort of secret cult meeting.

Reese turns and his face lights up

Reese: "Everybody! This here is our newest dancer, Mitchell!" He says to the room, walking over to Mitchell and pulling him into the middle, in front of everybody.

Mitchell laughs and stutters

Mitchell: "What...is this?" He quietly asks Reese

Reese: "This" he points to the rest of the room

Reese: "Is our rehearsal studio. And these very attractive people you see before you"

He points to the young men standing about

Reese: "Are dancers. And your coworkers"

For once, Mitchell feels awkward. Shy. Almost embarrassed.

Voices from the group of men murmur introductions

"Alright Mitchell. Hey. Welcome" can be heard through the murmuring

Mitchell: "Hi everyone" he smiles, giving his hand a quick wave

Reese steps in front of him now: "What happened to that cheeky chap i met yesterday?" He quietly asks with a grin

Mitchell clears his throat, pushes Reese out of the way and starts introducing himself to all of the men, confidently.

Mitchell: "Hi, I'm Mitchell! Alright!? Nice to meet ya!"

He says, making his way around.

Reese smirks beside himself, watching

———

09:24AM. Number 27. Slater Residence. Living Room.

———

The Slater's house is in it's usual morning chaos. Kelly and Danielle are on one sofa chatting about Danielle's designs and her dream to run her own clothing stall down the market not far from the estate, and on the other sofa, Gavin and Jenna are whispering about work. Or lack there of.

A clubland music channel plays loudly from the TV, masking all the talking, nobody seems to be paying any notice to what song is playing.

Then, jenna pauses her conversation with Gavin and calls over to Danielle

Jenna: "Dan! Dan! Danielle!"

Danielle finally turns to her

Jenna: "Did you ask around at work yesterday?"

She asks quietly for Julie not to hear

Danielle: "Yeah. I did"

Jenna: "And?

Danielle nods no

Jenna: "Shit" she whispers

Then Julie walks in putting her coat on

Julie: "Im off to the hospital. To see Katie—"

Gavin: "Again?"

Julie: "You staying on the sofa, all day, again?" She shoots back

A few giggle

Gavin: "I mean, mum, Katie's probably knackered and she might want some space or something"

Julie: "And she'll get space if thats what she wants. But I'm not psychic Gav. She needs to tell me that herself. Now, anyone coming with?"

Danielle: "Yeah, I will" she says, putting her sketch book down and going to grab her coat

Kelly: "I–"

Julie: "No. You're staying here" she cuts her off

Julie: "Gav? Jen?"

Jenna: "I can't—" she stops herself

Julie: "Why?"

Jenna: "Work"

Julie nods then looks at Gavin

Gavin: "Yeah. Fine, I'll come" he sighs

And like that, Gavin, Julie and Danielle scramble their coats on, and head out the door.

As the front door shuts, the house falls into complete silence as Kelly and Jenna both sit in thr living room, with the TV turned down.

Jenna: "Know anywhere hiring Kell?"

Kelly nods no

Jenna sighs

Kelly: "Why dont you ask Michael if he and Yvonne need help at the shop?"

Jenna: "Its a small shop Kelly. They won't. And anyway, dont want to get dragged into a domestic"

Kelly giggles: "Fair enough. What about the post office? Im sure Sunita will take you on"

Jenna nods no: "Nah. I'm looking for something like waitressing. Something I'm familiar with—"

She stops mid sentence

Kelly: "What?"

Jenna: "Im going to the pub" she says quickly, scrambling up

Kelly: "What? This early? You haven't got a problem have you?" She shouts into the hallway where Jenna's throwing her coat on

Jenna: "Hopefully not after today!" She shouts back, running down the stairs and out the door

Kelly's left alone, sitting in silence.

Kelly: "Peace. Finally" she mutters to herself

———

09:33AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Behind the counter, Yvonne is sitting there, looking at a mother and her young daughter over by the sweets isle. The mum is letting her daughter choose some sweets

Yvonne watches in...awe?

Michael is wiping the fridges down with a cloth, cleaning them.

Then, the daughter starts screaming: "I want that one!!"

The mum replies: "I said no! You already got these!" She says, holding chocolate buttons up in her face

The daughter starts causing a scene and screaming, like a brat.

Yvonne still watches, not in so much awe this time

Michael walks up to the counter with the cleaning supplies, finished wiping down the fridges, he places the stuff on the counter

Michael: "Fucking Hell. Remind me to never have kids" he mutters jokingly to Yvonne, referring to the screaming little girl behind them

Yvonne looks at him

Yvonne: "What?...Really?" She quietly asks

Michael giggles: "Uh yeah. Fucking nightmare" he laughs, taking the cleaning supplies out back

Yvonne sits at the counter. Mind racing now. Then–

DINGALING

The bell above the door opens as Julie, Gavin and Danielle walk in, getting some bits and pieces before they go visit Katie

Gavin and Danielle separate and do some shopping while Julie walks straight up to the counter

Julie: "Morning Yvonne"

Yvonne smiles at her

Julie: "You—"

Yvonne: "I'm fine, Julie. Thank you" she immediately cuts her off, with a polite smile

Julie smiles, purses her lips and joins her kids in some quick shopping

———

09:47AM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

The pub's been open for almost two hours, it's still quiet. With its usual morning locals slouched about the place. Jim on his stool at the bar, of course. Been there since opening at 8.

Behind the bar, Eddie is drying off some glasses and hanging them in the rack above the bar

Then, Jim finishes the last of his pint snd holds the glass up

Eddie: "Another, Jim?" He asks with a tired smile

Jim: "Another please, kind sir" he smiles

Eddie grins, takes the glass off Jim, and pulls the pint, but only froth spits out of the dispenser. No beer. Just droplets.

Eddie: "Ah fuck...got to change the barrel" he mutters

Eddie: "I'll be two minutes Jim" he says before placing down the glass back on the bar, opening the "STAFF ONLY" door behind the bar, and then opening the black wooden door that leads down into the cellar where all the drinks, kegs and barrels are stored.

—

The Cellar

—

Eddie walks down the narrow concrete steps into the Victoria Arms' cellar.

The air below is cool, damp and heavy with the stale smell of beer, spilt ale and musty brickwork. Bare bulbs hang from the low ceiling, casting a yellowish glow over the cramped, cluttered space. Along the walls, metal shelving is stacked with crates of empty bottles, rows of spirits, mixers and boxes of crisps, whilst cardboard boxes of bar supplies are shoved into whatever gaps remain.

Beer kegs and heavy wooden barrels line one side of the cellar, some connected to the pub's pumps above by thick rubber pipes running along the ceiling. Others sit in untidy stacks against the exposed brick walls, their surfaces scuffed and stained from years of use.

A hand trolley leans in the corner beside a mop bucket, a few discarded bottle caps and a patch of concrete darkened by old spills. And in the same corner, is another narrow concrete staircase that leads to a storm cellar door that leads up onto the street above. That door is always locked.

It's an unglamorous, workaday space — cramped, cluttered and unmistakably the guts of a proper old fashioned pub.

As Eddie turns towards the keg pumps to change a keg, he sees Paula there. Crying.

She's sitting on a crate, knees crossed, smoking. Eyes red. She quickly sniffles and wipes her eyes when she sees Eddie.

Eddie: "Paula, love? What wrong?"

Paula: "Nothing" she sniffles

Eddie: "What is it? What's the matter?" He asks gently, walking towards her

Paula: "Nothing Eddie, I'm fine" she says, taking another puff

Eddie: "Paula, love. Come on. Im not thick. Tell me" he sits beside her on another crate

Paula thinks of what to say, Eddie waits

Paula: "I– i think im depressed"

She takes another puff

Eddie's eyes widen

Eddie: "Depressed!? Why?"

Paula nods: "I dont know. I just...I dont know"

Eddie: "Well there's got to be a reason sweetheart"

He says gently, putting his hand on her back

Paula: "I think I'm just bored. Stupid, I know" she sniffles

Eddie: "Is this about what you said the other day? About– about you thinking this is it?"

She nods yes and puffs again

Eddie doesn't know what to say

Eddie: "I'm sorry love. I dont know what I..."

Paula: "I know. I just...I look around and I wonder when I stopped living"

Eddie: "What you mean?"

Paula: "I used to be...popular. Busy. Out all the time. Doing things. Clubbing. That's how I met you" she says before taking a final puff and stubbing her fag out

Eddie: "I remember. We were off our heads that night" he giggles

She giggles too

Its almost nice

Eddie: "Is there anything I can do?"

Paula: "Like what?" She scoffs

Theres silence for a minute

Paula: "I used to...be excited. I used to do things and get into trouble. I used to have a life. And now i wake up every damn day knowing what's going to happen. The same as yesterday. And the same as tomorrow. Im just so bored" she says quietly

Eddie: "Well thats married life, love" he tries to lighten the mood but it turns sour

Paula turns to him: "No! No! It shouldn't be like that though. Why do we grow up, party and have lives, just do get married and then wait to die!? How is that fair?"

Eddie: "There's more to marriage than waiting to die Paula. Its not as bad as you make it out to be—"

Paula: "Make it out to be!? Make it out to be!?"

Eddie sighs and shakes his head

Eddie: "That's not what I meant. You know what i—"

Paula stands up: "You think i want to feel like this!? You think i want to feel stuck!? Im in my mid thirties Ed and already i feel like my life is over! How is that normal!? How is that fair!?"

Eddie stands up too

Eddie: "I dont know love! Okay!? I dont know. And I'm so sorry that you're feeling like this but...I dont know what to do"

Paula: "I know" she says quietly

Eddie: "Why dont you take the week off and relax? Go do what you want?" He says softly, rubbing her arm

Paula: "Why? Just to come back to the same old just to feel like this again?" She looks up at him

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs

Eddie: "Well what more can I offer you love!? Ey!? I'm trying too, you know! There's only so much—"

Paula: "I need excitement! Danger! Something– anything!"

Eddie: "Well why dont you go look for Tony!? Im sure he'll love to drag you into fuck knows what! Fucking bank robberies, hesist, drug deals and God knows what else! Is that exciting enough for you Paula!?" He snaps finally, screaming in her face

Paula looks up at him and scoffs

Paula: "You know what? I might just do that" she quietly says before walking up the steps in anger

Eddie rolls his eyes in regret and follows her

Eddie: "Paula! Paula! Love im sorry! Paula I didnt mean it!"

—

Upstairs

—

Behind the bar, Paula storms out from behind th staff only door in a rage, then quickly out from behind the bar, past Jim

Jim: "You alright Paula love?" He quietly asks, completely oblivious

Eddie follows her out of the staff only door

Eddie: "Paula please! Come on, what are– Paula!" He shouts after her from behind the bar

But she carries on walking away.

As she reaches the front door, she storms out, and Jenna walks in.

Paula bumps into Jenna's shoulder, hard, and keeps walking out, she passes Jenna.

Jenna: "Oi, watch it!" She says to Paula who's already outside and not looking back.

Jenna walks into the pub and it's quiet. She walks up to the bar

Eddie is standing there, looking exhausted and o the verge of tears

Jenna: "This might be a bad time, but are you hiring at the minute?" She asks quietly, aware of the tension

Eddie: "Actually Jenna sweetheart, your timing couldn't be better" he scoffs

Jenna looks in confusion

Eddie: "You know how to change a barrel?" He mutters

Jenna: "I...I'm a quick learner" she awkwardly smiles

Eddie: "Good enough" he sighs before taking out a cigarette from his jeans pocket, and walking out from behind the bar

Eddie: "I'm going for a smoke" he mutters

Jim: "Ey what about my drink!?" He shouts after Eddie who's already almost outside

Jenna takes this opportunity and runs behind the bar

Jenna: "What can I get you Jim?" She asks with a eager smile

———

12:37PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room

———

Katie lays in her bed, fast asleep. While Julie, Gavin and Danielle all sit around her. Quietly chatting.

Then slowly, Katie wakes up

Danielle's the first to notice

Danielle: "Hey look who's awake" she quietly smiles

Katie smiles as her eyes open up

Julie: "Morning sweetheart. You slept in. You okay?"

Katie: "Mhm. Just tired"

Gavin: "You look it" he teases

Katie: "Mm you too" she shoots back, too tired to try win this roast battle

KNOCK KNOCK

A doctor walks in with a clipboard and a long white doctor's coat hanging off of him

Its the Senior Doctor, the one that delivered the news to the Jenkins about Jamie's operation and his recovery

Sr Dr: "Hello everyone" he says politely

Katie: "Morning" she mutters tiredly

Sr Dr: "Morning!? Its afternoon young lady. Though i suppose I'd sleep in too if I was walking around before I should be"

Julie, Gavin and Danielle all look at her at once

Katie awkwardly giggles

Julie: "You what!?"

Danielle: "You can walk already?"

Sr Dr: "Much better than what we thought actually. We found her walking back to her room, from Jamie Mitchell's"

Again, everybody looks at Katie

Katie: "I just wanted to see how he was!" She defends herself

Sr Dr: "Well i do come bearing good news"

They all look at him

Sr Dr: "I'm pleased to tell you that Katie is now past the most critical stage of her condition. She's responding well to treatment, and we're no longer as concerned about an immediate deterioration. She'll still need care and monitoring, but this is a significant step forward"

Everyone's faces light up

Sr Dr: "She's making very encouraging progress. She's alert, she's communicating well, and we're pleased with how she's responding to treatment. Obviously, she's suffered some significant injuries, and she'll need time to recover, but we're optimistic about her long term prospects. If she continues improving at this rate, we may be able to move her out of intensive care"

Julie: "Thank you! Oh thank you!" She says to the doctor, squeezing Katie's hand

———

1:49PM. Pandora's Box Gay Bar. 3rd Floor. Rehearsal Room.

———

"Welcome to the team Mitchell" one of the guys say as most of the men start walking downstairs, to open up the bar.

Mitchell smiles and nods to them all

Now its just Mitchell and Reese in the warehouse-like room

Mitchell: "Well? How did you think i did?"

Reese purses his lips and then laughs

Reese: "You're lucky you're so cute. Otherwise you wouldn't have a chance up there, tonight" he laughs

Mitchell laughs too, until he hears "Tonight"

Mitchell: "Tonight? Im- I'm dancing tonight?"

Rsses: "Mhm" he nods yes

Mitchell stutters

Reese: "Oh come on. You weren't that bad. Just...maybe leave the pole for when youre more...advanced. For now I'd stick to tabletops and flossing tea towels and shirts. What was kind of hot" he grins

Mitchell: "Okay" he giggles quietly

Mitchell: "Well thank you. For, you know"

Reese: "Taking you on?" He asks, as they both make their way downstairs to the bar

Mitchell: "Yeah"

Reese: "You're very welcome. Its a good thing that you didnt dance straight away when I met you. We might not be having this conversation now otherwise" he laughs

Mitchell chuckles

Reese: "Its a good thing you've got the looks" he side eyes him with a smile before opening the door to the bar and walking through

Mitchell is stood at the bottom of the stairs, with a curious look on his face. He walks through into the bar, following Reese.

———

2:03PM. Number 41. Maureen's Home.

———

Flushhh

We hear the toilet flush from behind the bathroom door upstairs. The door opens and Kylie walks out from the bathroom and into the upstairs landing. Wiping her hands on her jeans.

She goes to the top of the stairs but before taking any steps down, she decides to walk towards the locked spare room. Curiosity winning her over.

She treads like a mouse amongst cats. And as she reaches it, she tries to turn the handle but the door is locked.

Creeeak

The floorboard beneath her creaks and Maureen shouts upstairs from the front door

Maureen: "Kylie, you ready love!?"

Kylie: "Yeah! Coming!" She says, playing it cool before heading downstairs to head to the pub with Maureen.

———

2:41PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room.

———

Inside Jamie's room, Nicola and Barry are being interviewed by DCI Channing, yet again. Regarding their break in and the Slater's burgervan arson.

DCI Channing: "And can you both tell me where you were at approximately eleven thirty PM on Saturday the ninth of January?"

Barry: "Well, we were here" he sarcastically replies

Nicola: "Where else would we have been? Look– our son is in a coma, okay? You think we'd really fuck around with fire?"

Barry: "We know they dont like us. Fine. We dont like them either, but we didnt set their van alight"

DCI Channing: "And you have witnesses to say that you were here at the time you both given?"

Barry: "Yeah. Each other"

Nicola: "And doctors"

Barry: "And doctors, yeah"

Channing nods and scribbles in her small notepad

Channing: "Okay, well. That's it for now—"

She stands up

Nicola: "And ket me guess, you still haven't found who was responsible for the break in?"

DCI Channing: "Have you come up with any more information that may help us?"

Barry: "Isn't that your job?"

DCI Channing: "Well given what you've given us, there really isn't much to go off on I'm afraid"

Barry: "Fucking course not" he mutters

Nicola: "Typical" she rolls her eyes

DCI Channing: "I'll keep in touch" she says, walking towards the door

Barry: "Of course you will" he scoffs

—

Outside Jamie's Room

—

As the door to Jamie's room closes behind Catrin Channing, she looks to her right and sees Oscar and Tasha peeking through Katie's window.

She decides to walk over to them.

DCI Channing: "Hey you two" she says softly

They both sare startled and turn to her

Tasha: "What do you want?" She asks bluntly

DCI Channing: "I'm just trying to figure out who broke in to your house and trashed it" she says with a soft and polite smile

DCI Channing: "And to figure out who burned the Slaters burgervan. Do you both know anything that might help me find these people?" She asks really sweetly

Tasha: "Don't patronise us you pig. We're young, not stupid"

Oscar laughs

Before anybody can say anything else, Barry steps out of Jamie's room and shouts down to Tasha and Oscar

Barry: "Kids!"

They all look over, Channing too

Barry: "Here. Now!"

Tasha and Oscar walk down towards Jamie's room. They walk in, past Barry, while Barry and Channing stare directly at each other, before Barry follows the kids into Jamie's room.

———

4:13PM. Victoria Arms Pub.

———

The pub is alive with is usual afternoon Saturday buzz. Jim hasn't moved from his seat all day. And Eddie is teaching Jenna the ropes behind the bar.

He's showing her what drinks are what and how much everything costs.

Over at their usual corner seat, Maureen and Kylie are just finishing their second drink each.

Maureen: "Same again?"

Kylie: "Oh...you can't pay for another round. Left me"

Maureen holds up her hand

Maureen: "No, Kylie love. Its fine. Really"

Kylie: "Maureen please"

Maureen: "Kylie love, I wanted you to come out. Im paying"

Kylie: "Yeah but you've been–"

Maureen: "Fine. What you gunna pay with?" She straight up asks

Kylie is hugely taken aback, not expecting Maureen to ask that

Kylie stutters. With nothing.

Kylie: "Well I'll pay you back won't I?"

Maureen: "Exactly" she laughs

Maureen: "Thank you anyway darling" she says, picking their glasses up and taking them to the bar

At the bar, Eddie spots Maureen

Eddie: "Ah, here we go Jenna. Your first punter"

Jenna and Eddie both walk up to Maureen

Maureen: "Hiya Jenna, love. Didn't know you were working here"

Jenna: "First day" she smiles

Eddie: "Just showing her what's what" Eddie nods

Maureen: "Mm well, I'm sure you're smashing it Jen"

Jenna: "What can I get ya?"

Maureen: "A G&T please love and a pint of Carling"

Jenna: "Coming right up" she says with a smile, preparing the drinks

———

4:47PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop

———

The shop is quiet, especially now that a group of teenagers have just left. Yvonne sits behind the counter, looking at her coat on the rack by the door. Thinking about the abortion information pamphlet inside her pocket that she got from the doctors yesterday.

Yvonne: "Mike!?"

Michael: "Yeah love!?"

Yvonne: "Can't you watch the shop for a minute!? Im popping next door!"

Michael: "Okay!" He shouts from the stock room

Yvonne walks out from behind the counter, grabs her coat and leaves to go to the post office next door

———

4:49PM. The Strip. Singh's Post Office

———

Behind the glass cover of the counter, Sunita and Arun are chatting away.

Sunita: "But darling there are some good people around here!" She says, trying to stuck up for some people of the estate

Then—

BEEP

The automatic electric bell above the door beeps as Yvonne walks in. Sunita turns to the door

Sunita: "Oh Yvonne hello! Afternoon lovely, how are you?" She asks with a caring smile

Yvonne: "Uh, I'm okay thanks Sunita. I was actually wondering if I could have a word?"

Sunita: "Yes of course love, what it it?" She asks with a big smile

Yvonne: "Um...in private?" She quietly says

Sunita realises

Sunita: "OH! Oh! Oh yes haha! Okay. Uh- Arun"

She grabs his shoulder thats way above her head

He turns and looks down to his short wife

Sunita: "I'm taking Yvonne here upstairs for a private chat. Don't you go calling me" she says firmly yet lovingly with her thick Indian accent

Arun: "Yes, yes. Leave me to do everything"

Sunita: "Makes a change" she says stepping out from behind the counter and grabbing Yvonne's are and taking her to their upstairs flat

A small chuckle escapes Yvonne as she and Sunita reach the "NO ENTRY" door that leads upstairs.

———

5:23PM. Pandora's Box Gay Bar. Downtown

———

The club is getting fuller and louder by the minute. Loud music is already playing and almost all of the seats are taken. Reese and some younger woman are both behind the bar, serving eager thirsty men.

Meanwhile, upstairs on the second floor where all the offices and changing rooms and staff areas are, Mitchell is in the small changing room. The room is brightly lit, got a few mirrors here and there. Some old, some new, some broken. Two wooden benches sit in the middle of the room, with duffel bags of clothes on.

In another corner is a row of seven lockers, each belonging to a dancer. Mitchell's is in the middle. He's dresses in a sexy and teasing getup.

A top entirely made out of chains, revealing his slightly bruised torso, a black choker, and tight black faux leather shorts revealing a bulge on both sides his body.

Its pretty seductive. Snd you can see some cuts and bruises here and there, though depending on the person it may have different effects.

The music and chatter is already pounding from the floor below. Its gonna be a busy night. You can just tell

As he closes his locker and walks over to the floor length mirror to check himself, his head pounds.

Ah fuck...

He grabs his coat jacket that's slung on top of his locker, pulls out his prescribed painkillers of cocodamol, takes one, and then washes it down with a bottle of water thats on the table beside the lockers. God knows how long that's been there. But oh well.

Right, time to make an appearance

He inhales, and then sighs, before opening the changing room's door and heading downstairs. Heart absolutely thudding.

———

5:58PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

Julie, Gavin and Danielle are getting ready to leave. They're all putting their coats on and getting their belongings ready

Julie: "Well that's something hey love?"

Katie nods

Julie: "Some good news for you to think about innit?" She says, putting her coat on

Danielle: "Not long now and we'll be wishing she was back in 'ere" she jokes

Katie: "You and me both" she snaps back in a bitchy sisterly tone

Gavin: "Don't know bout you lot but I could do with a drink" he says heading towards Katie's bed before planting a kiss on her forehead

Danielle: "Yeah. Me too" before doing the same after Gavin

Julie: "Ah well you two knock yourselves out. I personally can't wait to put my feet up"

She says, being the final one to kiss Katie goodbye.

As Gavin and Danielle reach the door, Gavin turns around

Gavin: "And no walking about, you"

He says, turning around to Katie

Julie: "Yeah. Take it easy"

Katie: "Alright, alright. I promise" she moans

Julie: "Good. Alright. Ta'ra baby"

Danielle & Gavin: "Bye"

Katie: "Bye guys"

———

6:19PM. The Strip. Singh's Post Office. Upstairs Flat.

———

Upstairs in the Singh's two bedroom flat, is warm, small, lived im, homely and cosy despite being in Marlas Estate.

In the open kitchen and living space sit Sunita and Yvonne, on the sofa in the living room. The living room is painted a mute, calm orange while lamps and plants are in every corner of the room. Giving the flat a warm and finished feel.

The place smells of a freshly cooked meal. A warm homely dinner.

The three seater sofa in the living room is beige, and a soft fabric, a nice space to have a deep one to one.

Yvonne has shown the abortion information pamphlet to Sunita and they're talking about it.

They're both sitting there with a cup of tea

Yvonne: "Like, earlier today, right, there was this mum and her little daughter in the shop. The daughter wanted some sweets or something and she started throwing a tantrum"

Sunita listens and nods

Yvonne: "And Michael said to me 'Remind me to never have kids'. And– well I think..."

Sunita: "You think what, darling?"

Yvonne sighs and puts her head in her hands

Yvonne: "I dont know. I dont know anything anymore. This is such a mess"

She looks back up

Sunita: "Look, I think you need to tell Michael. And maybe–"

Yvonne: "No. I can't. I won't" she says before taking a sip of tea

Sunita: "But why? This baby is...his isn't it?"

Yvonne: "Of course it is! I just dont think it'll fp us any good. Being parents. I mean we're not exactly in the best stages of our lives and if I do tell him but then end up aborting it anyway, then what was the point of telling him?"

Sunita: "It is a conundrum, yes"

Yvonne sighs, puts the mug down, picks up the pamphlet and sighs

Sunita looks at her

Sunita: "You just need to think, would he want a child if it would be with you?"

Yvonne: "He literally said he didnt want kids earlier"

Sunita: "He didnt say he didnt want a kid with you though. Did he?"

Yvonne: "He didnt have to, Nita. We're not...in the best of places anyway"

Sunita: "There's more to parenthood than finance Yvonne darling"

She sighs as she stands up with the pamphlet in her hand, and walks over to the window

Yvonne: "I know..." she sighs, looking down at the pamphlet

A beat of silence stretches there

Sunita: "So...what are you going to do? And remember whatever you decide, I'll be here if you need me"

Yvonne looks up from the pamphlet, and out the window

Yvonne: "I'm gonna abort it"

She turns around and faces Sunita, Sunita purses her lips before taking another sip of tea

And Yvonne looks back out the window. Thinking about her decision

———

7:14PM. Victoria Arms Pub

———

The pub is full and almost crowded. It is Saturday night after all. Behind the bar, Eddie and Jenna are laughing away, while he's teaching Jenna how to manage a busy night.

Still no sign of Paula, but by the looks on his face, he doesn't care. For now at least

Jim is drunkenly harassing a group of younger blokes about a drunken story. They dont really care. People are at the pool table, and most seats are taken.

At the door, Gavin and Danielle walk in, letting a bit of cold January air seeping in from outside. Immediately, they both spot Jenna behind the bar and look at each other like they're seeing things.

They both run up to the bar

Danielle: "The fuck?" She laughs

Jenna looks up

Jenna: "Oh hi! What can I get you both!?" She jokingly asks

Gavin: "Are you working here now!?"

Jenna goes to speak but Eddie jumps in

Eddie: "Yes. Yes she is" he smiles at Jenna and nudges her shoulder

Jenna giggles

Danielle: "Aw well fair play!"

Gavin: "Yeah we're made up for ya!"

Jenna: "Cheers guys. Yeah me too. But um, let's not tell mum about...you know"

Danielle: "You loosing your job?"

Jenna: "Yeah" she nods

Gavin: "Got it" he smiles

———

8:29PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room/Hallway

———

Inside Jamie's room, Tasha and Oscar are sat in the corner, chatting about Channing.

Oscar: "Do you think she—"

Tasha: "No. No. She doesn't. No-one does" she says, quietly cutting him off

Oscar: "How do you know?"

Tasha: "Well has anybody said anything to you?"

He nods no

Tasha: "Has anyone been acting off around you?"

He nods no

Tasha: "Well there we go. Just...chill. Like you said, they deserved it"

Oscar: "Yeah i know, but everybody's making a massive thing about it—"

—

Out in the hallway, Nicola and Barry are having a moment to themselves

Nicola: "This is so fucking tiring Bar" she whimpers, leaning forward into his chest

Barry: "I know Nic. I know" he mutters to herself, stroking her hair

Nicola: "When will we ever catch a fucking break?"

Barry: "Don't know, love" he mutters

Nicola: "And Gaz too, the fuck has he gone? I know he likes doing a runner but now? Really?" She quietly cries

Barry: "I know babe. He'll come back. He always does. And Jamie's on the up. Things are slowly looking up. I promise. Things are looking up"

Nicola pulls herself out of his chest, and barry wipes her eyes

They smile at each other quietly

Nicola: "Right. Come on, let's get back in there"

Barry: "'kay" he whispers

As they both step into the room—

—

Tasha and Oscar are arguing

Tasha: "Oscar, what did you expect to happen!? That's why I backed out! It wasnt some little prank, you burned it to the fucking ground!"

As soon as Tasha says it, the door to Jamie's room clicks shut— Immediately filling the room with silence

Tasha and Oscar both jump around and see their parents who are standing at the door, both faces painted in shock at what they just heard.

Nicola: "You what?" She asks quietly in shock

Oscar and Tasha look at each other, hearts pounding...

———

10:47PM. Number 2. Water Street. Near Marlas Estate

———

On an old quiet but commercial street a few roads away from Marlas Estate, is shopfronts, cafe's, a pub, the usual. And coming off the main street itself is a long alleyway where a massive old brick factory-like building sits behind the shopfronts.

It used to be an old Bakery. Its concealed by other buildings and alleyways, and even if it was found, it looks abandoned by the naked eye. Its gigantic, tall and wide. Red brick and big black metal framed windows.

The bakery was opened in 1898 and shut down in 1952. After being abandoned for years, Tony Bates decided to take the place as his own and convert it into his very own flat. The ceilings are tall, windows are large, walls are exposed brick and floors are aged wood. The building and structure itself isn't 100% safe, but my God it looks nice. Fancy, almost. Very expensive furnishings.

This is all payed for by blood money of course.

The living room, kitchen and bedroom are all in one room. Very open planned. It is a warehouse after all. Very large and spacious.

Over in the living room, a glass coffee table sits in the middle of a L shaped large pristine white sofa that can comfortably fit at least 8 people. On the glass table is two bottles of wine, one is empty and the other is almost so. And there are clothes strewn over the sofa, and over the floor.

As we look over to the bedroom, there are even more clothes thrown over the floor near the large bed.

The bedroom is also large and expensive looking. A thick white feather duvet, real metal and walnut bedside drawers, a large floor lamp in the corner by the window, and in the bed...

Is Tony...and Paula. Having sex. Hands all over each other.

———

And that's episode 13! Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think of it! Episode 14 will be out soon! ☺️

Previously:

A shocking confrontation leaves the Slaters and Jenkins at loggerheads, while Jamie's future hangs in the balance. As Nicola vows to make Julie pay, Mitchell spirals further into heartbreak, and there seems to be more to living with Maureen that meets the eye.

Episode 12 Preview:

As Yvonne wrestles with a difficult choice, old feelings between Michael and Mitchell remain unstable, and Mitchell scores himself a promising opportunity.

15/01/1999 | Friday

———

05:02AM. The Victoria Arms Pub. Upstairs Flat. Bedroom.

———

Upstairs in their bedroom, Paula and Eddie lay in bed. Its dark. Quiet. Peaceful. The silence occasionally disturbed by small sounds coming from around the Eatate.

Eddie is fast asleep on his stomach and stirs to his side, where he faces Paula. However, Paula lays Flat on her back with her hands resting on her chest, wide awake, staring up into the ceiling.

She briefly turns her head and looks at Eddie. She sighs. Before turning her head the other way and looking at the time on the digital alarm clock.

05:02AM

The day hasn't even started and she already knows what to expect. Same as yesterday. Same as everyday.

———

05:58AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop. Upstairs Flat. Bedroom.

———

A few streets away, in their bedroom, the roles are switched. Yvonne is fast asleep and Michael is the one wide awake.

Yvonne is lightly snoring, sleeping on her side. Her back facing Michael. While he lays on his side, his back to Yvonne.

He's looking at his phone on the bedside table and is fighting everything within him to message Mitchell. Message him not to do anything stupid. Message him not to show up drunk like that again in front of Yvonne. But after what he told him the other day, he can't. He won't. He won't be the first to make a move. He's married. He keeps reminding himself.

He sighs. Before turning on his other side, placing his arm across Yvonne, and closing his eyes.

———

06:13AM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room.

———

In his hospital room, Jamie lays deep asleep in his coma. A few hours out of surgery. It went well. As good as can be expected anyway. They managed to stabilise the rupture in his left lung and reduce the risk of internal bleeding.

Not long after Jamie came out of Surgery, Barry took the kids home, so they could all get some rest before school. They've missed enough of it already. Only Nicola sits with Jamie this morning.

And she's half asleep, slouched to the side on the small sofa under the window, what vision she has left is focused on her son.

She can feel her eyes falling. Drifting her to sleep. Then—

BEEP

A single beep jumps somewhere out of one of the many machines surrounding Jamie. Nicola jumps wide awake into action, as well as her heart.

Nurse: "It's okay. It does that sometimes. Every few hours" she whispers to Nicola from across the other end of the room with a polite smile.

Nicola didn't even realise she was there.

Nicola smiles. Stretches her arms above her head and then reaches into her handbag. She pulls her phone out of her handbag, and as she does that, the nurse finishes doing what she was doing over at the small sink in the corner of the room, and leaves.

Nicola brings up Gaz's number. And calls it.

It goes to automated voicemail.

Nicola: "Gaz, where are are you? Don't need you doing a disappearing act on us now of all times" she says barely under a whisper, through exhaustion.

Nicola sighs: "I dont...I dont even know what time it is. Just get back to the Hospital when you see- when you hear this. Just come back. The house got broken into and fucked with. Nothing got nicked but still. Your brother has had to have an operation. He's fine. He got through it. But you'd know that if you were here. Jamie needs you. I need you"

She clicks "send" and then lays down to sleep.

———

08:11AM. Mitchell's Flat. Flat 34, Marlas Flats, Marlas Estate.

———

In his bed, Mitchell lies completely naked. Body tangled in messy and sweaty sheets. A random car honk outside yanks his head off the pillow and his eyes slowly stir open.

His hair is fucked. Just like his head is pounding. He inhales, and sighs. Looking around the room to see last night's fling has left.

Thank fuck

He slowly pushes himself off the bed and stands up. His bare, slim body vulnerable to the early morning January bite. Even indoors. He stretches and yawns, before strutting out through the trashy living room, to the kitchen.

He grabs a clearly used glass off the counter and fills it with water. Gulps the cold liquid and winces. He drops the empty glass into the sink full of dishes, and palms his forehead with both palms. In pain.

He seethes, before walking to the living room, eyes adjusting to the brightness, and he sees his phone on the living room table, poking out of his jacket. He reaches down and picks it up.

Sees he had a missed call from Michael at 11:02PM Yesterday.

For a second he's glad. Over the moon actually. But then he remembers why he's in this state in the first place. And the smile quickly jumps off his face as quickly as it jumped on.

He scoffs, throws his phone on the sofa, before walking into the bathroom where he closes the door, and we hear the shower turn on.

———

12:03PM. Number 27. Slater Residence. Living Room.

———

In their lived in, living room, Gavin and Jenna sit on one sofa, both eating breakfast, while Kelly and Damielle both sit on the other. Kelly drinking a cup of tea, and Danielle sketching some clothes for her "Clothes Stall" one day. Her tea long gone cold.

They're all watching EastEnders. Apart from Danielle of course.

Jenna: "Never liked that Ian. A right prat"

Gavin: "Mm" he agrees with a mouth full of cereal

Gavin: "Wouldn't mind having is money though"

Kelly: "Damn right" she smirks before taking a sip of tea

Julie walks in from the hall and out of the Kitchen

Julie: "Hadn't you lot better get to work?" She asks the room, apart from Kelly

Gavin: "Got no gigs—"

Julie: "Get one" she cuts him off

Julie turns to Jenna

Jenna: "Don't have a shift today"

Julie: "Ask for more hours"

She then looks at Danielle who doesn't notice the world beyond her page

Julie clears her throat and Danielle looks up

Julie: "And you?"

Danielle: "Don't have work till 2 don't I?"

Julie: "Good save" she teases

A small giggle fills the room

Julie: "I'm off to the shops before heading to visit Katie, any of you coming?"

Jenna: "You gunna be there all day?"

Julie: "Pretty much"

Jenna: "Yeah okay then, I'll meet you there later on"

Gavin: "I might too. Might be busy getting gigs though" he sarcastically chimes in

Julie: "I should hope so" she shoots back

Julie: "Right, see you lot later" she says heading down the stairs and out the front door

Jenna: "Bye!"

Gavin: "Ta'ra!"

Kelly: "Love you!"

Danielle: "Yeah" she mutters

As soon as the door shuts. The room falls into silence, apart from Phil Mitchell's iconic grunt coming from the TV.

After a minute, Jenna turns to Gavin

Jenna: "Know anywhere that's hiring?"

Gavin: "For what?"

Jenna: "Anything. Anything you think I'd be suitable for"

Kelly looks over and sparks interest

Kelly: "Why? What's wrong with the restaurant?"

Danielle: "Yeah. Thought you said waitressing wasnt so bad" she quietly says without looking up from her page

Gavin and Jenna briefly looks at each other before–

Jenna: "Got fired"

Kelly and Danielle both snap their heads up at them both

Danielle: "What!?"

Kelly: "Why?"

Danielle: "Told them i needed some time off so I could work in the burgervan, yeah?"

Kelly: "Yeah?"

Jenna: "Well after it got burnt down, i only got a call from them saying they're choosing to let me go because they 'need someone with more flexible hours'"

Danielle: "Fuuuck" she whispers

Kelly: "And you knew?" She asks Gavin

Gavin nods yes

Jenna: "We both decided not to tell mum. She's already under enough pressure. Doesn't need the news that her daughter's out of a job. We're on our arses enough as it is"

Gavin: "And I'm not booking as many DJ gigs as I'd like"

Kelly: "And I'm fresh out of school"

Danielle: "And Katie still hasn't got a job. Too busy partying. The lazy bitch"

Danielle turns to Jenna: "When I'm at work later I'll ask around and see if there's a work vacancy you can fill"

Jenna: "Cheers"

———

12:16PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

As Julie walks throught the doors and the bell jingles, Yvonne finishes serving a customer behind the counter.

Yvonne: "Thanks, love" she says to a young woman, passing her he bag of shopping.

The young woman walks away from the counter, past Julie and out the shop.

Yvonne: "Hiya Jule, you alright?" Yvonne asks as she sees her walk in

Julie: "Yeah good thanks Von. Where's Michael then? He's usually the one dealing with the punters"

She asks out of curiosity while she scans a shelf for a caramel chocolate bar for Katie.

Yvonne: "Aw he's out the back. Dealing with stock and organising our delivery. Told him I weren't feeling up to it so he decided to do the heavy lifting for once" she smirks

Julie: "Men" she jokingly rolls her eyes as she places the chocolate bar on the counter

Yvonne nods: "I know. How's your girls doing? They both okay?"

She asks Julie, scanning the chocolate bar

Julie: "Yeah they're good. Kelly's at home and she's almost out the woods. On my way to visit Katie at the hospital now actually. Not long woken up a few days ago"

Yvonne: "Was wondering who the caramel was for" she giggles

Julie: "Can't stand the stuff" she smiles

Yvonne: "That's one sixty five please Jule"

As Julie grabs her purse out of her coat pocket, Yvonne puts both palms of her hands against the counter and leans forward. And slightly rocks back and forth, like she's in discomfort

Julie looks up-

Julie: "You alright Yvonne?"

Yvonne: "Yeah...just feel a bit sick" she quietly says

Julie: "Shouldn't Michael be running the whole shop while you rest upstairs?" She asks, fishing out the pound sixty five

Yvonne: "Mm" she hums, looking down to the floor, holding onto the counter for support

As Julie goes to hand the money to Yvonne, Yvonne gags, retches and waves her off quickly. Before legging it into the small bathroom down near the stockroom.

She yanks open the door, and drops straight to her knees and vomits relentlessly. The sounds bring Michael out of the stock room and he sees Yvonne being sick. He walks up to her

Michael: "Aw baby you—"

Yvonne waves her hand behind her back, waving him off and she points to the counter, with her head still in the toilet bowl.

Michael turns and sees Julie standing at the counter, looking slightly concerned

Michael: "Oh sorry Julie!" He shouts over to her from the small toilet

Julie: "Ah you're alright Mike!"

He quickly closes the door behind Yvonne, and walks away from the bathroom to the counter, ready to take Julie's money.

Julie: "Poor thing. Looks nasty"

She drops the money in his palm

Michael: "Yeah, I know. Don't know what's gotten into her lately. Been like it for a while now"

Julie: "Hm. Maybe you wanna take her to the doctors"

Michael: "Yeah. Yeah maybe"

Julie: "Anyway, give her my wishes" she waves the chocolate bar before dropping it in her coat pocket

Michael: "Yeah will do Julie. Give your girls my love yeah?"

Julie: "Will do!" She says, walking out the door

———

12:49PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room.

———

Despite the dull January sky, bright sunlight manages to filter through the blinds in Jamie's usually dark Hospital room. Its quiet. Except for the quiet beeping from the machines and Jamie's assisted breathing.

Nicola walks in, out from the hallway with a hot cup of tea from the vending machine. She slowly walks to the sofa and places the cup on the small side table. She walks to the bottom of Jamie's bed and crosses her arms. Staring at him.

Nicola: "Come on baby. Come on. I know you're in there. Come back to us baby" she whispers to Jamie. Hoping he'll magically open his eyes and be okay.

A moment or two pass before the door to Jamie's room opens again and Barry walks in.

Nicola's head turns to him

Nicola: "Kids get off to school okay?" She asks quietly

Barry: "Yeah. When i dropped them off outside, a teacher saw me and asked why they've missed so much school already"

Nicola: "Fucking nosey bastards" she grits her teeth

Barry: "Told them that we're all busy and going through a lot"

Nicola nods

Barry: "But Nic, they're not happy. Kids are going to have to start going to school a lot more. They can't afford many more days off. Unless we want the social on our backs"

Nicola clearly doesn't like what Barry's saying but knows he's right

Nicola: "I dont know Bar. I want them with us until Jamie wakes up. Or until Gaz comes back at least"

Barry: "I know love, and i agree with you. I see what you mean but still, school is important and if the kids don't go, we'll go to court and the social will be on us like flies on shit"

Nicola nods: "I know" she whispers

Barry: "Gave the house a proper one over too. Before I drove back here" he mutters, slouching over to the sofa and leaning back, stomach peeking out of the bottom of his shirt.

Nicola listens. A silence sits there, and then–

The door opens and the Sr Doctor walks in.

Barry stands up and Nicola turns to the doctor

Nicola: "Any news?"

Sr Dr: "The operation went as to be expected. And we've managed to stabilise his lung rupture. Meaning hopefully, soon, we can take him off of assisting breathing and he can breathe on his own. I'll give it a few more days until then, and if he still needs assistance then, we'll give it to him"

Barry: "Okay..."

Nicola: "You think he's been through the worst?"

Sr Dr: "Hopefully yes. I dont see why not. It was a success and he's stable. If he keeps on this track I reckon we're looking at a week or two before we take him out of his coma"

Barry and Nicola's faces light up and they look at each other

Nicola: "Thank you! Oh thank you!"

Barry: "Yeah, cheers Doc"

Sr Dr: "Of course" he gives a small smile before leaving the room.

Barry and Nicola look at each other and sigh with a smile. Before hugging each other in relief. In hope.

Finally. Some hope. Something to hold on to.

———

1:28PM. "Pandora's Box" Gay Bar. Downtown.

———

Mitchell strolls along the pavement, hands buried in his jacket pockets, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. The town centre is busy enough for Friday afternoon, buses grinding past the kerb, shoppers weaving between one another, the smell of exhaust fumes lingering in the cold air.

He passes a narrow, three-storey building wedged between a boarded-up shop and a grimy takeaway. Its black-painted frontage is weather-beaten, the paint peeling around the windows and the brickwork above stained by years of rain. The windows are heavily tinted, offering little glimpse of what's inside. Above a recessed black door, a neon sign spells out PANDORA'S BOX, although several letters are currently unlit.

Mitchell doesn't give it a second glance.

Until something catches his eye.

Taped crookedly to the wall beside the entrance is a scruffy piece of white paper. The writing is in thick black marker, the ink slightly smudged.

"DANCERS NEEDED!"

Mitchell slows.

He takes a few more steps before stopping altogether.

He looks over his shoulder.

Then he walks backwards, turns and approaches the sign again, studying it with a growing curiosity.

He glances towards the entrance. A small black plaque beside the door reads "PRIVATE MEMBERS & GUESTS". Beneath it, somebody has stuck a faded poster advertising a Saturday night event, the words "MEN, MUSIC & MISCHIEF" printed above a photograph of a muscular male torso disappearing into smoke. Another poster, half torn away, advertises a leather night from the previous month.

Mitchell looks back at the handwritten sign.

He takes one final drag of his cigarette, holds the smoke for a moment, then flicks the butt into the drain.

He pushes open the door.

The first thing Mitchell notices is how ordinary it looks.

Not what he'd expected.

Beyond a short entrance corridor, the bar opens into a long, narrow room with dark red walls, black-painted woodwork and a scuffed chequered floor. A long, polished wooden bar runs along the left-hand wall, lined with tall stools upholstered in cracked black leather. Behind it, mirrors stretch almost to the ceiling, reflecting rows of bottles, spirit measures and shelves crowded with glasses.

The ceiling lights are on, casting a plain, unforgiving white light over everything. Without the neon, the place looks less like a nightclub and more like a slightly shabby pub that's had a rather unusual makeover. The walls could do with a lick of paint. A patch of damp discolours the ceiling above one of the booths. The leather seats have split at the seams, and the floor near the bar is sticky beneath Mitchell's shoes.

A jukebox stands in the corner beneath a framed poster of a muscular man in leather trousers, his face hidden by shadow. More posters cover the walls: male dancers posing against black backgrounds, advertisements for drag nights, a handwritten notice about a private party, and a laminated sheet listing the house rules.

"NO DRUGS ON THE BAR. NO FIGHTS. NO REFUNDS. MANAGEMENT RESERVES THE RIGHT TO REFUSE ENTRY"

A few customers are scattered around the room. Two middle aged men sit in a booth, quietly sharing a bottle of lager. A younger bloke in a denim jacket nurses a pint at the far end of the bar, reading a newspaper.

Mitchell stands just inside the entrance, taking it all in.

His eyes travel over the posters, the bar, the customers. He notices a small raised platform at the far end, currently empty, with a chrome pole bolted into its centre. A couple of spotlights hang above it, switched off. Beside the platform, a black curtain conceals a doorway.

The curtain doesn't quite meet the wall. Beyond it, Mitchell catches a glimpse of a narrow passage, dimly illuminated by red bulbs. The corridor stretches further back than he'd expected, disappearing around a corner.

A small brass sign beside the curtain reads "PRIVATE ROOMS — ENQUIRE AT THE BAR"

Mitchell looks at it for a second longer than necessary.

Then he looks away, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Whatever this place is, it clearly offers more than a bit of dancing.

He moves further inside.

There are signs of the club's other life everywhere once he knows to look for them. A stack of laminated cards advertising private dances sits beside the till. A little blackboard lists the evening's performers, with a note underneath promising "SPECIAL REQUESTS AVAILABLE". A door marked "STAFF ONLY" leads towards the back of the building, while another, half-hidden behind the bar, appears to lead down a set of steps.

Mitchell's gaze keeps wandering.

He likes what he sees.

Not just the men, although there are certainly enough photographs of those to keep his attention. There's something about the place itself: the secrecy of it, the slightly seedy atmosphere, the feeling that a completely different world exists behind the blacked-out windows.

He imagines what it must look like at night.

Because even now, with the white ceiling lights illuminating every stain and cracked leather seat, he can see the potential.

At six o'clock, the place changes.

The overhead lights go out. Pink, purple and red neon floods the room, transforming the black walls into glowing shadows. The chrome pole catches the coloured light. The mirrors throw it back across the dance floor. The music goes from background noise to a pounding wall of sound, loud enough to rattle the glasses behind the bar. The entrance doors are thrown open, the doorman takes his position, and the streets begin to empty into the club.

By midnight, the quiet afternoon bar will be unrecognisable.

But Mitchell doesn't know any of that yet.

All he knows is that he's standing in a gay nightclub at half past one on a Friday afternoon, staring at a handwritten sign that might just have his name on it.

He slowly approaches the bar.

Behind it, a man in his thirties looks up from polishing a glass.

He's tall, athletic, with broad shoulders beneath a fitted black T-shirt and short, dark brown hair. There's an easy confidence about him, the sort that comes from being perfectly aware of the effect he has on people.

His eyes settle on Mitchell.

He smiles.

Bartender: "You lost, mate?"

Mitchell stops at the bar, resting one hand on the polished wood.

Mitchell: "Do I look lost?"

Bartender: "Little bit. Either that, or you're trying to work out whether you've walked into the wrong place"

Mitchell: "Nah. I know where I am"

The bartender looks him up and down, amused.

Bartender: "Do you, now?"

Mitchell: "Saw your sign outside. About needing dancers"

Bartender: "Oh yeah?"

Mitchell: "Yeah. You still looking?"

Bartender: "Depends. You a dancer?"

Mitchell doesn't hesitate.

Mitchell: "Yeah"

The bartender stares at him for a beat, then laughs.

Bartender: "You're a fucking terrible liar, you know that?"

Mitchell's smile falters slightly.

Mitchell: "What makes you say that?"

Bartender: "Because if you'd ever danced a day in your life, you wouldn't have answered that quick. You'd have asked me how much I was paying" he smirks

Mitchell laughs despite himself.

He leans forward against the bar, giving Mitchell another once-over, this time with considerably less subtlety.

Bartender: "Still, you've got the right look about you. Good looking lad. Decent build. And the small cuts and bruises on your face gives you a bad boy look. What's the deal? You get into fights?"

Mitchell tries to play it cool, but the compliment lands exactly where the bartender intended.

Mitchell: "Uh no. No. Not long got into a car accident"

Bartender: "Shit. Sorry"

Mitchell: "Nah its fine. Trying to forget about it"

Bartender: "Well, given your looks, I reckon you'd do well up there" he nods to the stage and pole.

Mitchell: "Yeah? You think so?"

Bartender: "I've been doing this long enough to know what people look at. You'd be surprised what a bit of confidence and a decent pair of arse cheeks can earn you in here"

Mitchell laughs

Mitchell: "I'm Mitchell" he holds out his hand over the bar

The handsome bartender takes it and gives it a firm shake

Bartender: "Nice to meet you Mitchell. I'm Reese"

Reese: "You look a bit young, you ever been on a stage before?"

Mitchell: "Not professionally. But I'm sure i could work my way around a pole" he smirks

Reese raises his eyebrows, impressed by the cheek.

Reese: "There he is. Thought you might have a bit of personality hiding in there"

He puts the glass away and gestures towards the stools.

Reese: "Sit down. I'll buy you a drink"

Mitchell glances towards the entrance, then back at the bartender.

Mitchell: "Go on, then"

He pulls out a stool and sits, resting his crutches-free legs against the footrail as the bartender reaches for a bottle.

Reese: "What you having?"

Mitchell smiles

Mitchell: "Surprise me"

The bartender grins as he turns towards the shelves.

Mitchell settles onto the stool, looking around the room once more, already imagining what this place might become after dark.

———

2:13PM. Shawcross General Shop. The Strip.

———

The shop is quiet, and few customers not long left. Leaving Michael sit behind the counter, alone. Basically twiddling his thumbs.

He's listening to The Prodigy's 'Firestarter' from the overhead small speaker, passing the time. While Yvonne rests upstairs at Michael's command, more or less against her will.

A few minutes of peace passes and then- the "Staff Only" door beside the counter opens and Yvonne walks out.

Immediately, she speaks

Yvonne: "I'm not sitting up there just doing nothing, Michael. I'm fine"

She says, immediately walking behind the counter.

Michael: "Yvonne love you're—"

Yvonne: "I'm fine"

Michael: "You threw up"

Yvonne: "I probably ate something" she almost cuts him off

Michael: "We always eat together—"

Yvonne: "Oh Jesus Michael I'm fine! Okay!? I'm fine!"

Michael: "And how do you know that?"

Yvonne: "Because i know what's—" she stops

Michael: "You know what?"

Yvonne: "I...I know what's wrong with me"

Michael looks her up and down

Michael: "Well what is it? Von?"

Yvonne: "I caught a sick bug. You know, one of those twenty four hour bugs"

Michael rolls his eyes and Yvonne sees it

She slams her hand down on the counter

Yvonne: "Oh you know what!? Just go out and get some air will you, you're doing my head in!"

Michael: "And what kind of husband would I be if I let my sick wife run the shop?"

Yvonne: "Mike, sweetheart. I think you'd be doing both of us a favour"

Michael: "How so?"

Yvonne: "You've been working down here all day and I could do with a bit of space if I'm being honest"

Michael: "Space? I've given you space. I told you—"

Yvonne: "Yeah Mike. You told me. You tell me this, you tell me that–"

Michael: "I only care about you love" he says quietly in a caring tone

Yvonne: "I know you do. I know. But I just need some time to myself. To be busy. You go out somewhere, pop to the pub or something and have a laugh. Go meet up with some mates"

She says softly, rubbing his arm to diffuse the tension. It works.

Michael: "You sure?" He asks softly

Yvonne: "I'm sure. Go on" she smiles

Michael: "Okay" he whispers before leaning down and kissing her on the lips

As he reaches the door, she stops him

Yvonne: "I love you"

He turns,

Michael: "Love you too" he smiles before heading out

———

2:24PM. Victoria Arms Pub.

———

The pub is alive with the usual afternoon end-of-week buzz. People playing pool, playing darts, queuing up music on the Jukebox. Its a good day for the pub.

Behind the bar, Eddie is daydreaming. Staring at Paula who's chatting to a group of youngsters in the corner. They're having a laugh. Shes collecting their glasses and she looks happy. For once. Eddie watches.

Been a while since he seen her smile like that

There's a tap on the bar, then another one, then another, then—BANG

Jim: "Oi! Ed!"

Eddie snaps out of it: "What Jim!?"

Jim is taken aback

Eddie: "Sorry Jim, mate. In a world of my own there"

Jim: "Yeah. I saw. Thought I'd bring you back down to earth to pour me another" he lifts up his empty pint glass

Eddie pours Jim another larger from the pump, and as he finishes pouring and looks up, Michael walks in.

As Michael walks in and over to the bar, Paula overtakes him with glasses between her fingers

Paula: "Hiya Michael, you alright?"

Michael: "Yeah good thanks guys. How're you all?"

Jim raises his glass to Michael: "Grand"

Eddie: "Good ta Mike. What—"

Paula cuts Eddie off and takes Michael's order

Paula: "What can I get you?" She asks with an unusual smile

Jim and Eddie look at each other

Michael is taken aback

Michael: "Uh...Thatchers please Paula"

Paula: "Coming right up!" She says with a smile as she turns on her heel

The three men exchange quick looks of confusion

Eddie sighs and shrugs at Jim, then, Tony walks in.

Eddie: "We wanna get bouncers for this place we do" he whispers to Jim

Jim: "Why don't you ask Tony? I'm sure bashing some skulls to the curb is nothing to him"

Eddie just blankly stares at Jim

Jim: "Oh...you mean to keep him out?" He whispers

Eddie nods

Jim: "Yeah. Suppose they do act like teenagers around each other dont they?" He asks quietly before sipping his pint

Eddie: "Its not just that Jim. Theres more to it" he mutters

Jim looks up at him: "What ya mean?"

Eddie's face faulters

Eddie: "Nothing. Nothing. Never mind forget I said anything" he shakes his head before grabbing a cloth to wipe the bar.

———

3:37PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

Katie sits up in her hospital bed, licking chocolate off her fingers, while Gavin watches in jealousy and Jenna watches in disgust of the mess.

Julie walks in from the hallway, kicking the door open with her foot and balancing two cups of tea and a cup of coffee from the vending machine in her hands

Gavin and Jenna jump up to help

Gavin: "Woah woah woah lemme help"

Julie: "Cheers guys" she whispers, the heat from the cups getting to her

Gavin takes his tea and Jenna grabs her coffee. They all sit down again and Julie spots the empty wrapper of the chocolate bar she bought her this morning sitting on the bed by Katie

Julie: "Blimey I only nowjest gave you that"

Katie: "And I enjoyed everyyy bit of it" she says with a chocolate covered smile

Gavin: "We know"

Jenna: "We saw"

They say at the same time

A silence fills the room as they settle.

Katie: "So" she sighs

Katie: "Any news on the burgervan?"

Gavin nods no

Jenna: "Nope" she purses her lips

Julie: "Don't you worry about that love. You concentrate on yourself. The second we find anything out, we'll let you know"

Katie: "I dont know how you lot can just sit about with your thumbs up your arses. Aren't you scared?"

Julie goes to speak but Jenna jumps in

Jenna: "Scared? You forgetting who we are?" She asks with a grin

Katie smirks

Katie and Jenna: "The Slater sistersss" they whisper at the same time in a giggle

Katie: "Nah but seriously. Someone's got it out for us and what? Nothing's becoming of it"

Gavin: "No proof of who done it Kate"

Katie: "Yeah well we know who done it"

Gavin: "Still. Old bill need evidence and that dont they?"

Julie: "Everything will sort itself out love. It always does" she tells Katie

Katie rolls her eyes

Katie: "When am I getting out of here?" She quietly mutters to herself, looking around the room

Gavin: "Give it a chance sis you not long came out of a coma"

Katie: "A coma? Gav I was basically having a lazy weekend"

Julie: "Katie babe, we didn't know whether you were coming or going"

Jenna: "Not to mention, Jamie is still in a coma"

Julie: "Oh yeah, forgot to mention"

Everyone looks at her

Julie: "Bumped into Nicola yesterday on my way out of 'ere. Told me that her Jamie was having an operation. Something to do with his lung"

Jenna: "Oh God" she whispers

Katie looks down

Gavin: "Any idea what came of it?"

Julie: "No. Guessing it went well otherwise she'd have burned us all to death by now" she says before taking a sip of her tea

Everyone looks at her

Julie: "She made a threat to burn the house down with us lot inside if anything happens to Jamie"

Jenna and Gavin side eye each other

Jenna: "Where does that family get off?"

Katie: "And you just stood there like a lemon I bet" she snaps at her mum

Julie: "Katie, the woman's all bark no bite. She dont scare me. I've dealt with worse"

Katie: "Well just you wait till i get out of here" she whispers to herself

———

4:16PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

The shop is quiet, calm, peaceful almost. Yvonne sits behind the counter reading one of the shop's magazines.

Its pretty good. Its got games like wordsearch and crossword. A TV guide showing what's on TV for the next two weeks, teasers of what might happen in the latest drama series, that kind of stuff.

She gets towards the end of the magazine, and there's a big image of a mother...holding a baby.

She stops

There's a bold title at the top of the page; "NEW TO MOTHERHOOD? HERE ARE SOME TOP TIPS TO EASE YOUR TRANSITION INTO BEING A MOTHER!"

Yvonne's heart starts slightly pounding and she immediately slams the magazine shut. And stares blankly ahead. Mind racing.

She stands up, heads over to the front door where there's a coat rack with some of her and Michael's coats on. She throws hers on, pockets her phone and wallet, and leaves the shop.

—

Outside, she locks the door, pockets the keys to the shop, briefly scans the area and slinks away like she's up to no good.

———

4:48PM. Victoria Arms Pub.

———

The pub has its usual locals slouched all over the place. The usual buzz in the air. Madness's "It must be love" plays from the speakers.

At the far left side of the bar in the main bar room, Jim's head is sleeping on the bar, a mouthful left in his pint. Eddie is collecting glasses around the whole pub, Michael is on the other side of the double sided bar, in the lounge section of the pub, and at the bar, Tony and Paula are laughing away quietly.

Eddie doesn't even have to see them to see how happy she looks.

It wouldn't be so bad if she'd give me some attention like that. But no...

As he reaches the bar, Mitchell walks in. With a massive smile on his face and a kick in his step despite his recent injuries.

He strides up to the bar

Eddie: "Well someone's in a good mood!" Eddie teases

Before Mitchell can answer, he immediately locks eyes with Michael. Who's sitting alone at the other bar across from this one.

Neither of them say anything, instead, Mitchell says to Eddie;

Mitchell: "What's not to be in a good mood about Ed!? Went and got meself a new job!" He says loudly enough for Michael to hear, with a massive smile.

Paula and Tony overhear and listen in

Eddie: "Oh yeah? Doing what?"

There's a beat before Mitchell says anything

Mitchell: "Dancing" he says to Eddie, then his eyes drift behind him to Michael, who rolls his eyes into his drink

Paula: "Dancing? Fair play look at you go"

Tony: "Yeah. Specially after a crash too. Brave"

He says in his gruf tone

Despite his confidence, Mitchell is taken aback by Tony talking to him

Mitchell: "Uh– yeah. Well, gotta get back out there eventually"

Eddie: "Good for you Mitch. Anywhere local?"

Mitchell: "Yeah you might've heard of it. Its called 'Pandora's Box'. Its about a ten minute bus journey from here"

Eddie: "Ooh nice. Nightclub?"

Mitchell: "Gay bar" he says immediately. Then looking over at Michael again.

Michael looks away into his drink

Eddie: "Wow! Well..." he giggles

Eddie: "First one's on me! What you having?"

Mitchell: "WKD Blue please Ed. I start tomorrow night. Dont want to be hungover on my first day"

Eddie nods, smiles and prepares the drink

While from both bars, Mitchell and Michael catch each other's eyes every now and again. Michael always looking away first

———

6:13PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

In Katie's room, Julie, Gavin and Jenna are getting ready to leave. Well— Gavin and Jenna are ready to leave, Julie's taking her sweet time. Making a fuss.

Jenna: "Mum c'mon the poor girl's about to collapse let her rest"

Gavin: "Yeah, we've been here all day. Bet she's sick of us" he smirks at Katie

Katie: "Damn right i am. Naff off"

They giggle.

Julie kisses Katie on the forehead one last time

Julie: "Love you" she whispers

Katie: "Love you too" she whispers back, already halfway asleep

And with that, Julie turns the overhead lights off and joins Gavin and Jenna in the hallway. The three of them start heading out of the Hospital, to catch the bus.

———

6:34PM. Bus stop outside St Anne's Hospital

———

The January evening is dark, damp and misty. A cold drizzle clings to the pavement, and a thin veil of mist hangs over the road. Behind the bus stop, St Anne's Hospital looms beneath the grey sky, its illuminated windows glowing through the gloom.

Julie, Gavin and Jenna stand beneath the shelter of a dark green plastic bus stop, its damp seats empty and its transparent panels fogged with condensation. Headlights emerge through the mist.

And finally, bus approaches, brakes hissing as it pulls up. The doors open.

The three Slaters climb aboard, stamping the damp from their shoes.

Julie steps up to the driver and pays the fare for all three, before they shuffle onto the bus, leaving the cold, misty evening behind them.

—

Inside the Bus

—

Inside the Bus is damp from the wet weather, and dark from some of the lights not working. Quite a full bus

At the front of the bus, there are a few empty seats, and at the back middle of the bus, Julie spots a familiar face sitting there. Yvonne!

Julie turns to Jenna and Gavin: "Yvonne's up there. Mind if I go sit with her?"

Jenna: "No course not"

Gavin: "We'll sit here" he says, as they both already sit at the front end of the bus

Gavin and Jenna sit next to each other, chit-chatting while Julie makes her way up towards the back

Yvonne's looking down at something in ber hand that Julie can't yet see

Julie: "Hello stranger! Mind if I sit?" She asks Yvonne with a smile

Yvonne is startled and looks up

Yvonne: "Oh- Julie! Hi. Um, yeah- yes" she slides over to the window side for Julie to take her seat

Julie sits in the isle seat

Julie: "You alright? You seem off. Better after earlier?"

Yvonne is clearly caught off guard and stumbles on her words. Big time. As she goes to answer Julie's question, she tries to pocket something. A leaflet. But she's shaking, and so she drops it.

In a split second, they both bend down to reach it and pick it up off the floor. Of course...Julie grabs it first.

Out of plain curiosity she reads the bold headline, it's a light purple pamphlet that says "CONSIDERING ABORTION?" right across the top in bold.

Before she can read any more, Yvonne yanks it out of Julie's hand and rams it in her coat pocket.

Julie: "Oh my God Yvonne i am so so sorry! I swear I didn't mean to—"

Yvonne: "Its okay" she quietly smiles and waves Julie off

Julie: "No seriously– i didn't– I was going to give it right back to you— I..."

Yvonne: "Julie, it's fine. Really. Thank you"

Theres a terribly awkward silence between them. Despite the noises of the old bus barely working.

Julie: "Are you...?" She side eyes Yvonne

Yvonne: "Not a word. To anyone. You hear me?" She quietly asks Julie firmly. Basically confirming it.

Julie nods straight away in agreement

Julie: "Yeah- yeah no of course. Not a word"

Another stretch of silence sits there

Julie: "I take it it wasn't planned?"

Yvonne: "Just kind of happened. Still early days"

Julie: "Does Michael—"

Yvonne shoots her a look

Julie: "Sorry! Sorry" she whispers

Yvonne looks out the window

Julie: "You know my door is always open if you need to talk" she whispers

Yvonne: "Thanks" she mumbles, still looking out the window, away from Julie

———

6:50PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

At the lounge side of the pub where Michael is sat, he catches Mitchell looking at him once again, and so with that, he downs the rest of his pint in a big gulp, stands up and picks his coat up off the stool, throws it on quickly and heads for the door.

As he's halfway out the pub Eddie sees him and shouts;

Eddie: "See ya later Mike!"

Michael: "Bye Ed!" He says without looking back incase he makes eye contact with Mitchell once again

———

6:54PM. The Strip. Marlas Estate

———

As Michael walks towards the commercial shopping parade, he turns the corner on to the strip and sees Yvonne unlocking the shop's door and walking in.

———

6:56PM. Shawcross General Shop

———

Michael walks into the shop and Yvonne is sat behind the counter looking flushed from the January breeze. Hair slightly messy from the wind

Yvonne: "Hiya love. You alright? How was your drink?"

Michael: "Uh yeah it was good thanks" he says taking his coat off

He walks up to the counter

Michael: "Where did you get off to?" He asks casually, curiosity getting the better of him

Yvonne: "Nowhere. What makes you say that?" She asks with an innocent smile

Michael: "Just seen you opening the shop a minute ago" he giggles

Yvonne's taken aback

Yvonne: "Oh– oh yeah. I just fancied some air. A nice quick walk to clear my head. Done me some good" she plays off

Michael: "Well let's hope it does the trick" he smiles before planting a kiss on her forehead and heading into the small back office of the shop.

Yvonne is left sat behind the counter, looking at her coat that's under the counter, knowing what's inside. A decision. A big one.

———

That's episode 12! Thank you for reading if you made it this far and please tell me what you think! Episode 13 will be out soon! ☺️