Archive of Our Own

A low growl hammered from the engine of Zacharie's motorbike. His business in Zone 2 was finished. After single-handedly constructing a mall and an amusement park, he was finally ready to head to Zone 3 and start the process all over again.

The smallness of Saint-Gilles didn't bother Zacharie very much. It didn't take long to get around, and everything was close together, well-organized. The all-encompassing Nothingness at the border was only slightly unnerving. Zacharie hadn't yet worked up the nerve to try driving his motorbike through it.

Better to not question it. There was nothing left beyond Saint-Gilles. Or the city was so heavily quarantined that escape was impossible. Either way, the boy certainly had his reasons for isolating them.

Zacharie's bike was fast enough to avoid the spectres, but he encountered a swarm of them shortly after arriving in Zone 3. He was invisible to them, but he still didn't want to risk drawing attention, so he drove slowly until he found a spectre-free room next to the factory's dormitory.

He'd just finished unpacking his motorbike when his first customer wandered in.

"H-hello?" an elsen peeked through the barely-open door.

"Hello, there, friend!" Zacharie beamed. "I'm currently establishing a small shop in this area, if something of that nature would pique your interest."

"Wh-what are you selling?"

"All manner of helpful things. Luck tickets, for instance, can instantly improve your health. I have Fortune Tickets as well, should you desire a more potent cure."

"Who would need such a thing?" the elsen wondered. "I've never been sick...so that doesn't sound very useful.."

"They're quite useful," Zacharie countered amiably. "With these, you can heal absolutely any injury. And with so many dangerous entities in the area-"

"D-dangerous?" the elsen interrupted. "Th-there's no d-danger here..."

Zacharie was taken aback. His salesman instincts failed him, and he could only stare blankly at the elsen. "But..the spectres?..."

Zacharie noticed a small crowd had formed inside his new shop, and they didn't seem to be there to sample his wares. They were whispering fervently amongst each other, occasionally glancing at Zacharie with suspicion.

"Excuse me, Mr. Shopkeeper," another elsen piped up. "Sorry to interrupt, but the Director wants to see you..."

"I hear that you've been issuing some...complaints, about the state of my facility," Enoch said. Large as he was, he wasn't very intimidating. A wide clown smile was permanently affixed to his round face. He wasn't even angry--he sounded positively cheerful.

Zacharie was seated across from the director, straining his neck to look Enoch in the eye. "There is a particularly large volume of spectres in this zone. Even in the living facilities, which must be an inconvenience, at the very least."

"That's ridiculous!" Enoch said. "It's good that the phantoms are here! The phantoms are our friends!"

"People are dying," Zacharie pointed out helpfully. Enoch had set out a kettle of tea, two cups, and a heaping bowl of sugar. Zacharie kept his hands folded in his lap. "Just because they're not afraid of the spectres doesn't mean they aren't still dangerous."

"Even better!" Enoch chuckled. "More corpses means more sugar, and sugar makes everyone happy! How could such delicious sweets ever be wrong?"

"You don't find the increased number of spectres concerning?"

"Not at all!" Enoch said, a little too forcefully. "You mustn't think such unhappy things, you'll make the boy worry. Everything is absolutely under control, nothing to be concerned over. We've always had some spectres floating around the factory. And even if there were a few more than usual, that would just increase productivity. Things are as good and safe as they've always been, maybe even better!"

"Ah. I see." Zacharie hung his head, glad that Enoch couldn't see his bitter expression. "Well. I do hope you'll be making time to visit Hugo tonight."

"Of course, of course!" Enoch chuckled, his entire body shaking with such force that the walls began to buckle. "That is, if I'm able to get away from my desk."

Zacharie didn't ask whether Enoch was speaking metaphorically or literally--both were possibilities. "Very well. We'll be expecting you at the party."

Hugo was a precocious, lonely child. There were no other children in Saint-Gilles, after all. He had only his dear mother and the guardians, who were all, without fail, too busy to spend time with him.

But tonight, the Queen was throwing a party. The occasion was not specified, but Zacharie knew the guardians had all been invited.

"The more the merrier," the Queen told Zacharie in her harsh whisper. "Although I'm afraid we can't risk inviting the general populace."

"You're referring to the elsen?" Zacharie clarified.

The Queen seemed to flinch, although without any facial features, it was hard for Zacharie to tell. "Yes," she answered. "We can't trust them to keep their composure, you understand. Dear Hugo is a terribly nervous child. Everything about the party must be just-so. For his sake."

"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him, actually," Zacharie prompted.

The Queen ignored the implication. "You shall have the opportunity at the party."

Zacharie wanted to know why he couldn't just meet Hugo now, but he figured he'd give the Queen, the supreme ruler of this world, the benefit of the doubt.

"Remember, you mustn't speak of...the unpleasantness, around Hugo," the Queen said tersely. "You mustn't even think of it. Hugo is deathly afraid of ghosts."

Zacharie understood how rare it was for Hugo to leave his room. There was something not quite right with the boy, something that no one was able or willing to name. Hugo was not a cruel child, but it was only natural that his fear get the better of him from time to time.

In Hugo's case, such slip-ups could be catastrophic.

The first time someone had told Hugo he was sick, tried to give the boy medicine, they'd been sent deep into the Nothingness. Zacharie couldn't ask who that unlucky fellow had been, since the only other person present had been the Queen, who was the second to make that mistake. Hugo liked his mother, though, so he hadn't sent her away. He'd changed her instead.

Zacharie wondered whether such a fate was preferable. He could distinctly remember Hugo's mother once having her own face, her own name. Whatever currently sat upon the throne, it was no longer the woman Zacharie had known.

These incidents had left Hugo with a deep-seated fear of illness, of death. So Hugo confined himself to his innermost Room, a sanctum within a sanctum, that not even Zacharie could access uninvited. The Queen ruled in his absence, but this was, undoubtedly, Hugo's world.

Hugo was a precocious child, but a child all the same. Even with the best of intentions, his world was unquestionably flawed. Nothing to eat but raw meat, oceans of undrinkable plastic, the absence of an afterlife where the dead could rest. And all this before Zacharie discovered where the sugar came from.

With ill intentions, who knew what Hugo was capable of?

"You claim that you summoned the spectres?" Zacharie's feet swung off the magenta ledge. The enormous library hung beneath him, with the rest of the zone arrayed around it in a neat rectangle. Elsen screams were rising from the residential district. Zacharie kept his eyes on the ground below.

"Yes. My divine retribution," said Valerie in a voice that was not Valerie's. Zacharie didn't know this cat as well as he knew Pablo, but he knew something was wrong. Though Valerie spoke and sat with perfect poise, his eyes were dull. Something in his chest was squirming.

Enoch had said the spectres were simply the souls of dead Elsen, but Zacharie wasn't inclined to believe him. The spectres were a new development, he was certain. He'd had to double, then triple his stock of luck tickets and jokers in Zone 2, and it still wasn't enough to satisfy the frenzied elsen.

Zacharie addressed the being inside the cat. "If you don't mind me asking, what advantage is there to attacking one's own citizens?"

"Disobedient children must be punished," Valerie answered, staring toward the residential district. "This is all preordained, written in one of the last remaining books in existence. They will pay for their crimes, and all shall be peaceful again. My phantoms will vanish. The boy will be safe."

So he, too, was acting out of concern for the boy. "I must say, I'm surprised. I didn't think Hugo was fond of ghosts."

Valerie flinched at Hugo's name. "This is all necessary," he said, more forcefully now. "We must each keep our kingdoms free of any blemish." The cat was cowering, as if Hugo would be summoned by the sound of his name.

"Besides," Valerie continued, "these phantoms were sent to me by the Queen Herself. She would never do something to upset the boy. This is all part of Her divine plan."

Zacharie pondered this. Yes, perhaps the Queen had sent the spirits after all. But somewhere along the line, Zacharie suspected, Her plan had gone astray.

"But how will these machinations end?" Zacharie prodded. "The souls of the dead have not anywhere to go. One could say the phantoms are a permanent fixture. The problem will not be solved with further casualties."

A long pause followed. "It is unwise to think such things, merchant," Valerie said testily. "Think of happier things. Think of peace, and order. Of everyone living happily once these little problems have been solved. Have patience."

Patience was not something commonly found in young children. Japhet couldn't hide from Hugo, not even inside that poor cat.

The distant screaming stopped. There were only two possible explanations, and Zacharie had a good guess as to which one was accurate.

"Pardon me, my feline friend." Zacharie stood up and started to climb down the ladder. "But I'm afraid there's somewhere I need to be."

Hugo had made Something, a long time ago. Before he'd been confined to his room, back when he'd had friends to play with. When Mama was there to spend time with him. And Papa, too, sometimes, until one day he inexplicably stopped visiting. Hugo didn't miss him, though, so he decided to stop thinking about it.

Everyone else was very bad at not-thinking. They tried to keep their thoughts secret, but that was silly. Even when they tried to scribble over the bad thoughts with good ones, Hugo still heard everything, and he wanted to help.

Mama used to ask for Hugo's help all the time. But then she'd said something mean, so Hugo didn't want her around anymore. Not until she took the mean words back. Until she told him how silly she'd been, that he wasn't sick not even a little bit and his world was perfect and everyone was happy.

So he asked New Mama to throw a party for him and all his friends. Then they would have to come and be happy. Maybe then they would come play with him again, and Mama could come back, and he wouldn't have to worry about ghosts ever again.

Hugo didn't like watching them every day, but he didn't know how to turn it off. Everyone always sounded at least a little sad, or sick, or scared. It was because their brains were all jumbled. Hugo wished he could just take the bad parts out. He'd tried that with Mama, but it hadn't worked very well. He worried that this wasn't going to be a very good party.

The Something pressed harder against the inside of Hugo's forehead. Something he'd put away in the Nothingness a long time ago, and forgotten about. Something that had sat alone for so long that it had no thoughts at all; it couldn't get sad or sick or scared. Something very scary, scary enough to kill all the ghosts. Scary like Papa. Scary like the bad guy from his comics.

It knew Hugo was afraid, and it wanted so badly to help.

"Okay, go ahead," Hugo told it. "That's your job now. Make sure you do it."

By the time the Player finally rolled around, Zacharie was too impatient to bother with formalities. Why dance around the fourth wall when one could simply break right through it? Why should he bother learning the false moniker the game had assigned the Player when he knew their true name? He preferred to talk straight through the avatar and address the Player directly. Besides, secret identities were already kind of his shtick.

Zacharie's role in the game was easy, neutral. The whole thing was so scripted, and the player's progress so linear, they were easy to follow. Whenever Zacharie wasn't playing the merchant, he was free to watch them from just beyond the boundary of the screen.

When the Player'd finally put in a good day's work and quit the game, Zacharie could inspect the avatar properly. The baseball motif was interesting; maybe it'd be explained later in the game. Or not. Not everything had to have a deeper meaning.

"What do you want?"

Zacharie jumped when the Batter spoke. His mask hid the blush that had spread across his face. He'd been standing right in front of this guy, staring at him as openly as one would admire a statue, and yet the Batter had waited until now to speak up.

"Pardon me, I...I wasn't aware you could speak," Zacharie said as he gathered himself. Now he was interested.

"We've met before."

"Yes, but that was...different," Zacharie explained lamely. So this game asset did have a role beyond simply acting as the Player's stand-in. The Batter didn't necessarily know he was in a game, though, and Zacharie didn't feel like explaining. "May I ask why you've spent the past few minutes standing in front of this cube, motionless?"

"I'm waiting."

Talkative, wasn't he? "Yes, but why? There's nothing for you to do here. I could show you around, if you like."

"No thanks." The Batter submitted to shifting his eyes upward to look at Zacharie, but otherwise remained still.

Zacharie made an annoyed snort. This was either an unnecessarily complex avatar, or a very boring character. The Player had been much more entertaining to watch, as they explored every corner and feature the game presented to them. 'The Batter', if he was a separate entity, seemed content to stand motionless for hours, or days, or however long until the Player picked the game back up.

And that was by no means guaranteed.

"I certainly won't force curiosity on you, but you'll be missing out on this sparkling conversation," Zacharie prodded. No answer. "Very well, then. Enjoy your cube, amigo."

Taking Zacharie's jab at face value, the Batter looked back down at the save point, settling back into his unwavering sentry position.

Perhaps the Batter wasn't a true character after all. He behaved more like one of the hundreds of Elsen, or like the spectres. Limited autonomy, simple dialogue. A null value filling empty space. The only difference was that the Batter remained active (barely) when the Player was gone.

Zacharie certainly hoped that Hugo's party was part of the game, so the Player could attend. He couldn't imagine that the Batter would be much fun at parties.

Seeing that he was already in the area, Zacharie may as well make one more visit. How Hugo had befriended someone as unpleasant as Dedan was beyond him, but Dedan had made it onto the short list of invitees nonetheless, same as the other two guardians.

"Thieving street merchant. Siphoning off credits that belong to the community. I hope for your sake you're not here for more handouts." Dedan was irritated by Zacharie's rare visits. The merchant had to be bored out of his mind if he thought bothering Dedan would be a pleasant experience.

"I'm here for reasons of a personal nature. Nothing to do with commerce, I assure you," Zacharie placated. "I just so happened to be near the postal office, visiting a friend."

"Is that so?" Dedan snarled. He'd explicitly forbidden Zacharie from conducting business in the Shachihata building itself, but he had a suspicion that Zacharie had simply relocated to the basement. Dedan had hoped the spectres would take care of the nuisance, but the cheeky bastard was evidently immune to their hostility. "Then spit it out already. I'm a busy man."

"Yes, yes, I understand," Zacharie nodded. "But you are planning to attend Hugo's party, are you not?"

"I'll go if I damn well feel like it!" Dedan snapped. "We're behind schedule enough as it is. My zone comes first. The boy's tough, he'll get over it."

"I've heard there's someone already taking care of the spectre problem. That should free up some of your time, no?"

"What?! Fuck no! I'm the only one who can exterminate 'em, and I got more important shit to take care of! Besides, they're not all bad."

"You want the spectres in your zone?"

Dedan shrugged. "If the phantoms do some of my work for me, so be it. Show the little bastards who's in charge around here. 'Bout time they showed me some damn respect!"

"Are you sure that's a wise approach?" Zacharie had a sinking feeling he knew exactly how this conversation would play out.

"Bah!" Dedan scoffed. "As the Queen's Royal Inspector, I have complete authority over my employees, and I will manage them as I see fit."

"I wasn't referring to Her Highness," Zacharie muttered.

"Who else is there?" Dedan's voice was loud, but his eyes were shifting side to side. He knew exactly whom Zacharie was talking about.

"Perhaps it's none of my business, but if I may-"

"Damn right it's not your fucking business!" Dedan exploded, glaring over his desk like a gargoyle. "You think I'm afraid of some wimpy phantoms? Or of a little boy? The Queen Herself has granted me-"

While Dedan was mid-tirade, Zacharie started to pack his things away. This had been a long shot, after all, but there was no harm in trying. The Batter's credits would be spent all the same.

"Best of luck," Zacharie said half-heartedly as he turned to go. He felt Hugo's attention focus on Dedan's office. Zacharie had to get outside the flesh maze before the Batter finished his scripted encounter with the sentry.

Dedan couldn't pretend to be happy to save his life. At least boss fights made for big spending.

A few hours later, when Dedan heard knocking at his door, he found himself hoping it was just Zacharie, back to annoy him some more. Instead, a pale figure dragged a baseball bat into his office, smearing blood all over the floor.

The only beings left on this floor of the Shachihata building were spectres, and Dedan had just cleared out the latest batch himself. Who was this lone straggler? And what kind of spectre bothered knocking?

When the Batter didn't immediately attack him, Dedan released his rage into a thread of insults and curses. He was unsettled, not able to pin down exactly what this new creature was. An elsen would have cowered. A spectre would have charged him. But this thing...just stood there, coolly answering Dedan's accusations without the slightest hue in his steady voice.

"I'm not a spectre," the Batter had finally said, after Dedan took a breath between cusses. Dedan refused to believe it. The design was different, but the signature was the same. The Queen could not have made this--this was clearly a child's rough outline of a character, scribbled in with only the barest excuse for consciousness. Another accidental creation, a simple-minded spectre.

So why was the Batter as covered with spectre-given battle scars as Dedan himself?

"I'll kill you," Dedan growled, but there was far less menace in his voice than he'd like to admit. The office around him disappeared with a low hum and a bright flash of light. Dedan cursed himself as he teleported away; he should've destroyed the Batter on the spot, but...no, he'd fled to his main office in Alma instead. He had to admit it: he was afraid. Not just of the Batter himself, but of the force guiding him.

The moment Dedan arrived in his stronghold, the ground shifted beneath his feet. For a split second, he felt naked, as though someone was looking straight through him. Someone was tearing a hole in his fortress, as easily as if it were made of paper. Exposing him.

The tram will now stop in Alma, someone decided.

Dedan paced his office. The invisible, all-seeing gaze watched every step. He kept pacing, fruitlessly, until he was once again face to face with the Batter. This time, he had nowhere to run.

The party was supposed to be starting soon, but there were no party guests in sight. It would be beneath the Queen to summon the Guardians personally. She could only wait, praying that, today of all days, they would come to see Hugo. It was the only thing in the world that the boy wanted, and the only thing she could not give him.

When the Queen grew impatient, pacing on her obsidian throne, she went to Hugo's room herself. The party would not be ruined by her subordinates' selfishness. She stepped toward his bedroom door, hand outstretched, but could not make contact with it. So Hugo had still not yet forgiven her.

This party needed to be perfect.

Hugo felt New Mama approach. He didn't have to look; he could hear her footsteps clearly. She wasn't quiet, not like the visitor Hugo was expecting. So it wasn't time for that yet. Not now, but soon.

"Hugo? I've prepared the party, where are the others?"

"They got sick," Hugo coughed weakly. "They were thinking sick thoughts. So they're not invited to the party anymore."

"No one is sick, dearest. I have done nothing but keep you safe," the Queen urged.

"They already left. You should leave too."

The Queen pulled back from the door like it had bitten her. Nothing had changed, but she couldn't forget the intent in Hugo's voice. He wasn't speaking to her, but to someone--Something--else. Something was already on its way.

"You must come to the party." The Queen tried to keep her scolding playful, but fear soured her words. She wasn't supposed to sound mean. She'd made that mistake once, and she wouldn't survive making it again. "You should forget about those silly things." Take it back, she couldn't help thinking. It was no use keeping quiet, Hugo heard her clearly. And it was too late to take back what he'd said.

"I'm not coming out," Hugo exclaimed with every ounce of energy he could muster. "You're sick."

The Queen jumped back to her solitary precipice, as if to outrun Hugo's words. Once again, nothing had changed. As far as she could tell, she hadn't been changed.

With that mortal worry addressed, the Queen realized she was not as alone as she'd thought. A single party guest had made the journey after all, standing atop the staircase, politely waiting to approach.

"Yes, merchant," the Queen sighed. "Do come in."

The Queen knew the merchant didn't belong here. He'd arrived without her knowledge, but had proven himself to be no threat. He may have riled up the guardians--some more than others--but that was hardly her concern. Zacharie, like the stray cats who'd similarly wandered in from the outside world, were beneath her notice.

Hugo had wanted lots of party guests, so she'd invited him on a whim. Perhaps a new friend would ease the child's troubled mind. Distract him from less cheerful topics.

Well, the merchant was here now. This would have to be a party for two.

"Someone may as well enjoy this cake. Would you care for a slice, merchant?"

Zacharie coughed awkwardly. "Many thanks, Highness, but..ah.." He gestured vaguely at his masked face. "Eating is something of an inconvenience, you see."

The Queen's shoulders fell. "Pity. It would seem that all this preparation has been for naught."

Zacharie took a seat at the table anyway. A colorful plastic tablecloth sat beneath a full tea set, with places set for six. Pink balloons hung in the air, untethered, with prizes inside waiting to be claimed. The cake was on a silver serving cart, untouched. He poured himself a cup of tea and rested his hands against the sides. He could appreciate the warmth, if not the flavor.

The Queen slipped into the seat across from him. She also poured herself a cup of tea, although she had no mouth with which to taste it. Such a waste.

"All of my carefully laid plans, my empire..." the Queen lamented. "I give my children such beautiful gifts, yet they push them away. I did everything I could. Why does he not understand?"

Zacharie considered his next words carefully. "Knowledge...does not always entail understanding. It requires experience, as well as perspective. He may understand once he's older," he added cruelly, knowing the Batter was drawing closer. The child would never be anything but. The pleasant lie just fit so nicely into the painfully cheerful party decor.

"But what did I do wrong?" Emotion broke through the Queen's voice. The few facial muscles she had left strained into something resembling a pleading expression. "I tried to help him, but he didn't want to get better. He didn't let me make him better."

Zacharie shrugged. "Children have been known to throw tantrums. Perfectly natural."

"I raised him better than this."

You didn't raise him at all. "He's still a child."

"Hugo is no mere child."

Zacharie stared intently at the Queen. "He is not a god, either. It is unfair to judge him as such."

The Queen studied her empty lap. "He saved us, when all else had failed. He could've...no, we could've created a better world, a stable world. If only I'd known then what Hugo was capable of." She thought back to Hugo's earlier words, and flinched at the memory. "I still have trouble believing him capable of...this." She gestured around herself, not so much at the party as at the empty seats. The staircase silently promised a third and final party guest.

Zacharie followed her eyeless gaze to the staircase. He looked back to the Queen with a sad smile that was completely nullified by the mask. "He giveth and he taketh away, I suppose."

"Then why? Why save us at all, only to destroy us now?"

"You're looking for a narrative, but I'm afraid this isn't a story, Your Highness. This is merely a video game."

"You say this isn't a story," the Queen mused, "but it has an end, does it not?"

"Naturally, Highness. Everything does."

"Must it happen so soon?

"Maybe not, but it makes no difference now. It's already happening."

The air around them seemed to glow, the colors on the tablecloth more vivid now. The final barrier had been destroyed. The Queen felt it tear beneath her skin, a chrysalis cracking open prematurely. Her illusions had all been shattered, and yet the intruder remained, marching ever forward.

The Queen hunched over the table, fists balled, shoulders shaking. This was no way for a hostess to behave. She gathered herself enough to say, "I suppose you have to go now, Zacharie."

"Yes, I suppose so. One last sale to make."

The Batter squinted. Looking directly at the Queen was painful, even with protective eyeblack smeared across both of his cheeks. She was a flame under glass, a eulogy to a dying star.

Memories like paper dolls forced themselves to the forefront of the Batter's mind. She was the woman of his dreams. A nightmarish facsimile of a loved one, lurking beyond his bedroom door.

The Queen stood tall, her shoulders broad. She could hold the whole world in her lap. And not even she could contain her son's cancer.

Two holes appeared in her taut drum of a face. The Batter winced. At this distance, barely past the top step, he could feel the disease leaking from her body. No more Guardians to absorb the excess, no more cities to drink in her toxic rainbow. Here, atop the Queen's throne, the new world would make its final stand.

"You were not invited to the party, Batter." The Queen's words tore across his skin like barbed wire, tangling in his ears. She spoke melodically, in cadences that refused to resolve. This wasn't a song the Batter could hear through to the end.

Regardless, the Batter listened quietly. Nothing he could say would deafen the Queen's song anyway.

"How rude of you, to show up uninvited. And after everything you've done." The Queen hadn't seen, only felt, the collapse of her Zones. Their intricate strands of energy snapped like spiderweb. It all rushed back to her in waves, until her skin threatened to burst from the pressure.

The Batter's expression remained blank, guiltless. "I did what I was told."

Sigils of energy flanked the Queen at her back and sides. Words alone would not satisfy the Batter, nor would they quell the Queen's rage. It would be a duel, then. They were no true replacements for her old subordinates, but these Add-Ons would have to suffice.

"You would blindly follow the commands of a child?" The Queen sneered, Add-Ons pulsing with each cutting word. "We were meant to guide him, protect him, not indulge these outbursts. You will only frighten him."

The Batter braced his weapon against the floor, steady as the wind whipped around him. "He was already frightened. I'm helping."

"You have done nothing but shatter my crystalline kingdom," the Queen snarled, "and you cannot even name your crimes? You are woefully misguided, Batter."

"I am the voice of reason. Surrender your hold on this doomed empire" The Queen's mounting rage only hardened the Batter's outer shell. His expression remained blank, even as tears dripped onto his chest. There was fear in the Batter's eyes, but it did not belong to him.

The Queen relented her attack for a moment. She was not moved by the Batter's uncharacteristic tears, but by what he'd said before. It'd tugged on a memory of hers, one so old it hardly felt like her own anymore. It was assuredly her own hands that had held the pill bottle, and her own voice shouting fearfully when it was wrenched away from her by a second pair of hands.

I don't care if he doesn't like it. He needs to take his medicine. -at-er knows best.

The Batter didn't react when the winds died down. He watched the Queen lower her arms, briefly gesturing for her Add-Ons to wait. With the very air behind her glowing, the Queen stepped toward him, and carefully took his hands in her own.

She remembered this pair of hands.

"I know exactly what you are." The winds coiled back up around them, and the Queen flung herself back to battle position, Add-Ons at her side. "Turn back now, or I will have no choice but to attack."

That final world roused the Batter. Micromotions flickered across his body, weight shifting, muscles tensing, eyes dilating. No flashy shows of force. Just a man with a blunt hunk of metal. Watching the Queen expectantly, making no move to retreat.

"OK."

"I'm here."

The Batter stopped just inside The Room. The real Room, no longer royal black but blood red. For the first time he could remember, he had reason to pause. At this point, his directive was uncertain.

Protect the boy. Destroy the sickness. But the boy was sick.

Hugo stared up at the man in the doorway. He was tall and lanky, dressed in funny stripes, but the man did not look funny. He looked very, very scary.

"It's you."

While the Queen's voice had been a blade, Hugo's was a blunt weapon, a mallet of gravity crushing the Batter from all sides. Yet he remained standing. He was still in this bright red room, standing right in front of the boy, unscathed.

The last time the Batter had been caught by that psychic fist, he'd been sent into the Nothingness. Left to rot and fester until there was nothing left but the disease itself, a homunculous of fear. Pure white bleached bones, with only the faintest traces of the flesh they used to wear.

Out of everything, the Batter's eyes were what scared Hugo the most. The Batter was quiet now, but Hugo heard the echo of his father's voice, pleading. For Hugo to rest, to take the pills. To stop screaming. To stop pulling his body apart like a jigsaw puzzle.

Hugo hugged his hunk of meat closer. "Papa?"

"No."

"B-Ballman?"

"No."

The eyes were wrong. They were close enough to Papa's to be familiar, but they were someone else's eyes entirely. Someone Hugo had never seen. Hugo listened intently, but all he heard from the Batter were his own thoughts reflected back at him.

Hugo had never encountered a mirror before.

With a choking sob, Hugo allowed himself to cry. It was far too late to pretend everything was okay. He had nothing to hide from this hollow man.

"Papa, I'm sorry," Hugo blubbered. His father hated crying. He was going to be so angry with him.

The Batter's eyes narrowed. He didn't feel the impulse to correct the boy this time. Instead, he said, "I think...your father would forgive you."

"I was bad." Hugo's hiccupy crying had faded to silent weeping, a steady flow of tears from his watery eyes. "I didn't listen, and now you and Mama are hurt and everyone's gone and-"

"Stop that," the Batter said sternly, but not angrily. Hugo complied, but he still looked to be on the verge of tears. "It's over now. Worrying about the past is pointless."

"S-so what happens now?"

"I will complete my mission." Yet the Batter was held back, as much by his own misgivings as by Hugo's. A child couldn't be asked to confront his own mortality. Not alone.

Hugo waited for the Batter to move. The room was silent for a full minute. The Batter did not so much as shift his weight.

Hugo relaxed, just the slightest bit. "Is it scary? Out there?"

"No. The world is nearly purified."

"I mean outside."

"Oh." The boy needed comfort. It wasn't safe to touch him. Keeping his distance from Hugo, the Batter answered, "It's safe there. And quiet."

The boy kept looking at him, expectantly. The Batter wracked his brain for more words. His tender throat was already so torn. He wasn't meant to talk for this long, hadn't had enough practice. Swallowing blood, he continued, "The trip there is painful. But once you arrive, you'll feel nothing at all."

Hugo rubbed his eyes. The pain behind his forehead was getting worse. He must already be on his way. "Will..snff..will you come with me?"

"Yes. I'll be right behind you," the Batter promised. "No matter what happens. You're my home, after all."

The Batter slouched against a corner in a pure white hallway. His holy bat rolled lazily away from his feet. His shoulders trembled.

Zacharie leaned against the opposite wall and watched with mild interest. He tried to hide out of view whenever he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. But, well, there wasn't much game left to hide in anymore.

"Nervous about ending the game, amigo?" Zacharie asked, after it was made clear that the Batter wasn't going to strike up a conversation himself.

"The game's not important," the Batter said through grit teeth. "My mission was to purify the world. The boy left. Why am I here?"

"A glitch in the code?" Zacharie guessed. "Some cruel cosmic joke?"

"This is the last room," the Batter observed. They could practically see the switch from here. The boy had made it easy for him this time. No giant library to scale or chimney to jump down. An empty hallway, and a single switch. So why wasn't he able to stand up?

"You don't have to end the game, you know. You could stick around for a while," Zacharie pointed out as nonchalantly as possible. The purified world wasn't much, but it was something. Until the final battle concluded, the game would continue running, pointlessly. The final choice hardly mattered. Neither option would fare well for Zacharie.

"No." This was an unbearable existence. The Batter had personally stripped it clean and it was still too much. He could hear Zacharie's thoughts buzzing in his head. He could see everything at once: every empty room, every forgotten tramway. The cat waiting for him at the end of this hallway.

"I must admit, I've never seen you hesitate before," Zacharie said, almost teasingly. "What makes this battle any different?"

"Something is wrong," the Batter muttered into his elbow. He should've gone with the boy. He should've been home by now.

The Batter had expected to vanish alongside his creator, but no, he'd been left behind. The air on his skin was too heavy, the breath in his chest too loud. There were no more save points. No way back to the Nothingness.

All along, he'd thought the boy had been the one guiding him. It was clear now that someone else was pulling his strings. Someone who, at this final, most crucial checkpoint, was having second thoughts.

Zacharie had guided the Batter in the past. There was a chance he had some final piece of advice to share.

The Batter looked up from his folded knees, toward where Zacharie's eyes should've been. "What would he want?"

"Granted, I never met the boy," Zacharie offered humbly, "but I think he would've wanted you to finish what you started. Children prefer predictability in their stories. Seems a bit late in the game for a plot twist, no?"

The Batter pondered this. "That's all?"

"Well, I'm afraid I don't have anything left to sell you," Zacharie sighed. "Not that you really need items anymore. I suppose that, whatever the outcome, you'll be heading back where you belong."

"You can't come with us."

"To be perfectly frank, I wouldn't care to. I don't think the Nothingness would suit me."

"Too bad. The boy would've liked you."

"Hugo."

"What?"

"The boy. His name is Hugo."

"Huh." With that, the Batter stood up, easily as anything, and began walking to the switch.

Zacharie averted his eyes. He didn't fancy watching two of his good friends fight to the death. In fact, there were more than a few parts of this game that he didn't fancy. The exploding heads came to mind. And the dead cat puppet. And the sugar. Dios mio, the sugar.

Dark water pooled at Zacharie's feet. He didn't bother turning to see if the world was still there. However the Player chose the end the game, it ended all the same. It would all go dark soon, every virtual sin swallowed up in the credits. When the victims stopped existing, so did the violence. There wasn't any lesson here at the end of the world. It was all just for fun.

As long as the Player had enjoyed themselves, it was good. Every battle, every sacrifice, every death. It was all very good.

And if they hadn't enjoyed themselves, oh well. It was only a video game.