The elevator doors creaked open, revealing topside.
Caitlyn stepped out first, stretching her arms a little.
"I was actually surprised how welcoming it was," she said, walking forward. "I mean, yeah, we saw some strange things—but Powder and Vi? They're different. You know what I mean?"
She turned to look back at Crane.
He wasn't there.
Still inside the elevator, Crane stood hunched slightly, breathing through his nose like he'd just come up from underwater.
Caitlyn raised a brow and kicked a loose rock across the floor toward him.
It tapped his shoe.
Crane blinked and looked up.
"You weren't even paying attention," she said.
"I don't think I was," he admitted, voice quieter than usual.
He kicked the rock back toward her and stepped out of the elevator to catch up.
"What were you saying?" he asked as she resumed walking.
"Too late," Caitlyn replied. "You should've listened. But seriously—what's up with you? You seemed like you were in another world."
Crane gave a short chuckle. "My mind is practically another world."
They approached the edge of the crowd now—people moving in busy, blurred currents across the city street.
Caitlyn paused, reaching up to undo the clasp of her hooded cloak. She pulled it off and looked at it, frowning.
"I can't be seen wearing something this dirty," she said. "No offense."
She folded it and handed it to Crane.
"None taken. It's not my cloak."
He unfolded it and draped it over his shoulders.
Then he looked at her. "It's easier to wear than hold."
——————-
Before heading to her estate, Caitlyn took a detour to a nearby candy shop.
The place was warm and colorful, with jars stacked to the ceiling and glass displays filled with sweets.
Caitlyn paid for a small assortment, and they left with a paper bag rustling between them.
They walked along the quiet path, each picking through the candy.
Caitlyn unwrapped something pink and popped it in her mouth. "I needed something sweet to get the tentacle taste out of my mouth."
Crane had a round candy between his teeth, rolling it from one side to the other.
Caitlyn turned toward him. "That one's good. Hard shell, but the inside is gooey and sour."
Crane nodded slowly.
About a minute passed before his expression twisted—the sour hit all at once.
"I don't like sour," he muttered.
"Yeah, I can tell," Caitlyn said, amused.
Crane quietly pulled the rest of the candies from his pocket and tucked them away. "Let's just go to your estate."
⸻
The Kiramman estate loomed tall and refined as they arrived, bathed in the soft glow of evening light.
Caitlyn turned to him at the steps.
"That was an experience," she said. "The Undercity… a needed one."
She gave a small smile. "Bye, friend."
Crane extended a hand for a handshake.
Caitlyn raised a brow, then stepped forward and hugged him instead.
"Friends hug. Only acquaintances shake hands."
Crane stood completely still, arms awkward at his sides.
Caitlyn pulled back, grinning as she backed away. "You know… you actually smell way better than anything in the Undercity."
Crane stood at the steps of the Kiramman estate, watching Caitlyn walk inside. She didn't look back.
He blinked slowly, his heart still racing.
"…Thanks," he murmured, even though she was already gone.
He turned and walked off into the street, hands in his pockets. The city lights buzzed faintly overhead.
I don't blush, he thought. I don't care about this sort of thing. I never have.
But he could feel it—his cheeks were still warm. A reaction that shouldn't be happening.
By the time he turned into a side alley, he was lost in his own head.
I even said it myself… in that dream. Caitlyn caring whether I thought she smelled good—
I thought that was weird. Now I'm thinking about it too.
I'm a hypocrite.
He touched his cheek with the back of his hand, annoyed. Still warm. Dammit.
With a low breath, he opened the seam at his torso and reached inside.
His fingers curled around the coarse burlap, and he pulled out the mask.
He slipped it on. The familiar scent of old fabric and fear settled over him like a second skin.
His pulse slowed.
It's not bad, he thought, not exactly. Now that I understand how she feels… I could reciprocate. That wasn't possible before.
The calm settled like fog in his mind. His thoughts quieted.
As he stepped deeper into the alley, a small figure caught his eye—a kid, maybe ten, wandering between trash bins, clearly anxious.
"Hey, kid," Crane called, voice slightly muffled behind the mask. "What are you looking for?"
The child turned. "I'm looking for my brother," he said softly, then held up a crumpled paper.
A missing poster.
The kid turned the poster toward him—then froze, eyes widening as they met the hollow black sockets of the mask.
He stepped back, gripped by instinctive fear.
Crane tilted his head slowly. "Don't worry," he said, voice low.
The kid took a shaky breath. "Why do you wear a scary mask, sir?"
Crane crouched a little to meet the child's eye level. "When I put on the mask, my fears disappear," he said. "The mask makes me stronger."
He paused, then asked gently, "Are you afraid?"
The kid nodded. "I'm kinda afraid. I'm afraid… I won't find my brother."
He looked down at the crumpled poster in his hands. "Wish I had a mask to make me stronger, too."
Crane stared at him for a moment.
Then he grinned—a toothy, unsettling smile that made the mask stretch unnaturally over his face, revealing sharp, shadowed teeth.
He pulled off his cloak in one smooth motion.
"Well," he said, "you're just in luck."
"Really?" the kid asked, wide-eyed.
"Yeah," Crane replied, turning his back. "Keep looking around—I'll whip one up for you real fast."
He ripped a strip from the cloak with a sharp tug.
From the seam of his stomach, he retrieved a few small tools—needles, thread. His hands worked quickly and precisely.
Within minutes, he crafted a miniature scarecrow mask—simple, rough-edged, but solid.
He tucked the tools back into his body, then turned around.
The kid stepped closer, eyes wide. "If I wear this… my fears will disappear?"
Crane nodded slowly. "Not entirely. But enough."
The kid slipped the mask on, the mask a little too big for his face. He took a deep breath, then exhaled.
"I don't know how I feel," he admitted.
"But you look scary," Crane said. "And scary things don't get messed with."
The kid straightened his shoulders, like he believed it.
"Okay," Crane continued, "I'll help you look for your brother."
The boy nodded eagerly.
Together, they searched through alleys and corners of topside's alleys, calling the brother's name.
While the child was distracted, peeking behind a stack of crates, Crane slipped one hand into his pocket and retrieved the candy from earlier.
He pulled out a syringe from his stomach and carefully drained the sour center of the candy.
Then, with practiced precision, he injected it with a concentrated dose of fear toxin—harvested directly from his own blood.
Crane returned the syringe to his body, sealing the hidden cavity.
He stepped ahead of the child and pointed toward the distant hospital sign.
"What if your brother's at the hospital?" he asked.
The kid tilted his head. "I don't think so… My parents asked the hospitals already. They said no."
Crane lowered his arm, adjusting his tone just enough to sound casual.
"Weird. I saw a kid who looked like your brother go in there. He was bouncing a ball. Over and over."
The kid's eyes lit up. "A ball? My brother always had a ball with him!"
Crane smiled faintly. "Then maybe we're closer than you think."
He reached into his coat and pulled out the altered candy, holding it out to the boy.
"Here," he said. "Eat this. It'll give you courage."
The kid looked at it, shrugged, and popped it into his mouth.
60 seconds until Fear.
"Now go in there," Crane said, kneeling down to meet the boy's eyes, "and surprise him. Be the first one to find him."
The kid grinned with excitement. "Yeah, okay!"
He turned and started running—
50 seconds until Fear.
"Wait! Come back!" Crane called out.
The boy skidded to a stop, bouncing back to him with jittery energy. "What is it? I gotta surprise him!"
Crane calmly adjusted the crooked mask on the boy's face. "The mask was slanted," he said. "Would've ruined the whole look."
He patted the kid's shoulder. "Go quickly."
The child nodded, mask straightened, and bolted toward the hospital doors.
40 seconds until Fear.
Crane lowered himself onto the ground, laying flat on his back with a content sigh. He let out a low, amused laugh.
This should be interesting.
He turned his head, eyes following the child's joyful sprint into the building.
30 seconds until Fear.
Crane reached into his stomach cavity and pulled out a small rubber ball.
He tossed it into the air, catching it lazily.
Bounce. Catch.
Bounce.
Catch.
——————
Inside the hospital, the boy burst through the front doors, eyes scanning the bustling lobby.
He ran up to a nurse behind the desk, thrusting out the wrinkled missing poster. "Have you seen my brother?"
The nurse glanced between the poster and the crude scarecrow mask covering his face. She frowned. "No, I haven't seen anyone like that. Young man, take off that mask—it'll scare the patients."
20 seconds until Fear.
But the kid didn't stop.
She's wrong. He has to be here. She just didn't see him yet.
He dashed past her and down the hallway, weaving between startled doctors and curious patients.
The lights overhead flickered slightly as he reached a large, double-doored room.
Without hesitation, he pushed them open and stepped inside.
10 seconds until Fear.
A few doctors turned at the sound of the door. "Hey, kid! You can't be in here!"
The boy blinked, suddenly dizzy. The lights overhead flickered.
His vision blurred—white walls twisting, edges smearing like wet paint.
"Where's my brother?" he murmured, staggering toward the center of the room.
His eyes fixed on the patient lying unconscious in a hospital bed, surrounded by murmuring doctors.
5 seconds.
The walls began to grow smaller.
4.
A doctor stepped forward. "Kid? Are you alright?"
2.
The boy looked up—and the doctor's face melted, skin sloughing away in steaming clumps.
1.
Everyone in the room twisted into monsters. Grotesque limbs, snarling mouths, clawed hands reaching.
0. Fear.
The boy screamed and lunged.
He grabbed a scalpel from a nearby tray—its shine warped and flickering—and stabbed it into the patient's chest
Alarms exploded. Doctors yelled and rushed toward him.
"Stop him!"
But the boy fought back—hands wild, clawing, tearing at the doctors in blind terror.
He scratched at faces, yanked masks from their mouths. They tried to hold him down.
Then he coughed—a thick, wet sputter.
A fine mist sprayed into the air.
Concentratedfear toxin.
Some doctors inhaled it. Others had open scratches—the toxin seeped in through their wounds.
One by one, they began to choke.
Then came the fear.
One doctor backed into a wall, eyes wide, tearing at his own skin as if insects crawled underneath. "Get them off! Get them off!" he screamed.
Another spun and stabbed his colleague in the side with a scalpel. "Monster!" he shrieked, blood splashing across his coat. He coughed—spreading the mist again.
Two others stumbled out of the room in a frenzy, hallucinating flames licking up their legs.
They screamed and ripped at their clothes, eyes wild with terror.
Just as they reached the hallway—two guards appeared.
"We heard screaming—what's going o—"
The infected doctors coughed directly into their faces.
The guards flinched—then staggered.
Eyes dilated.
Breathing quickened.
Both clutched their rifles in trembling hands, knuckles white with panic.
Fear ignited.
The infected doctors collapsed to the floor, twitching and gasping.
Screams echoed behind them.
The guards turned—eyes wide.
Down the hallway, more patients and doctors were rushing in, shouting in confusion, pointing at the bloodied figures on the floor.
But the guards didn't see doctors.
They didn't see patients.
They saw monsters.
Grotesque, misshapen things with hollow eyes and blood-slick mouths. Clawing toward them.
The guards opened fire.
Gunshots rang through the hospital—screams rose louder.
People ducked, ran, fell.
The hallway became a slaughterhouse.
——————————————
A loud siren wailed through the district—shrill and shrieking, warning of medical emergency, containment breach, or worse.
A nurse burst from the hospital doors, wide-eyed and bloodied, her voice cracked from screaming. "Help! We need help!"
Others followed—staff, patients, bystanders—fleeing in waves.
They cried for the Enforcers. Begged for someone. Anyone.
Crane caught the distant echo of the chaos, the sound bleeding into the air like a distant melody.
Still lying on his back in the alley, he tossed the ball into the air again and caught it with ease.
He smiled.
Across the way, a group of Enforcers ran into view.
Six of them. Maybe seven. Under-equipped. Disorganized.
And clearly overwhelmed the moment they saw the crowd flooding the street.
Crane sat up, tilting his head.
That's all they sent?
He stood, watching from the shadows.
"Too bad," he murmured to himself. "Most of the Enforcers are playing whack-a-mole in the under-city. Not enough left for a hospital panic."
People were shouting, some pointing back toward the doors.
Others begged the Enforcers to do something. But the officers froze when they saw the inside.
The blood. The gunfire-damaged walls. The madness.
And the kid—slumped against the floor in the middle of it all—still wearing the little scarecrow mask.
His small body was riddled with stab wounds, unmoving beneath the flickering lights.
Blood pooled beneath him, sticky and dark.
Through shallow, ragged breaths, he managed one final whisper:
"Brother… I'm here… where are you…"
Then—nothing.
Stillness.
An officer stepped forward, pale and shaking. His boots slid slightly in the blood.
He raised his voice, loud but brittle—shouting to the other enforcers outside the hospital, eyes never leaving the boy's lifeless body on the floor.
"W-We need backup. Now. It's— It's a warzone in here. We've got casualties. Staff. Patients. Guards—" He broke off, voice cracking.
But Crane already knew.
There wasn't any backup coming.
Too many Enforcers had been rerouted to deal with the chaos brewing in the Under-city.
That topside had been left exposed. Vulnerable.
Crane, still hidden in the alley across the street, rolled the ball between his fingers.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed it out into the open.
The ball clacked softly against the ground, landing in the center of the frenzied street, unnoticed.
Crane tilted his head as he watched the scene. The screaming. The blood. The sirens.
A sigh escaped him.
"I'm… kind of sad now."
He stepped back from the edge, adjusting the mask on his face.
"I thought the candy would make the kid stab one person. Maybe disrupt a few nurses. Throw a scalpel. Something small. Controlled."
He looked toward the hospital again, watching as civilians scrambled to escape the building. Some were crying, tripping over one another.
"But this…"
He watched the chaos swell.
"This is more than I asked for."
With that, he turned his back to the street.
He walked calmly to the nearby elevator hidden in the alley wall and pushed the button.
The metal doors creaked open, the light flickering above it.
Crane stepped inside.
As the doors began to close, he leaned against the back wall and let out a low chuckle.
"How will I ever top something like this?"
The elevator began its slow descent—down into the under-city.
——————————-
Does anyone else walk around in circles in their own room?