//------------------------------//
// Far Left Side of the Brain 
// Story: We're all a little crazy 
// by Draconaquis 
//------------------------------//

        Crash marched purposefully ahead, whistling a tune, and swinging a machete by his side. Nervously following behind him was Empathy, and Reginald brought up the rear. The teenager noted that the house was now out of sight, although they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. 
He mentioned this, to which Reggie responded, “We stopped moving the moment our house was out of sight. That house is the only part of this,” He waved a hand around, “That Franky controls. Once we leave the area we are completely at the mercy of the subconscious.”
Empathy shivered. “So why is nothing happening?”
Crash answered that one. “It probably hasn’t decided what to do with us.” He said. “It seems more… Empty than usual. Like it’s waiting for something.”
Reginald nodded. “We should be near the cliffs, if they’re still here.” He noted.
The teenager looked up. “Cliffs? What cli- Oh.” As he spoke, they approached a massive wall of white. Empathy craned his neck, trying to see the top of the mountain. There were cracks and valleys and crevices just like an earthly formation, except for the fact that it  was the same blank white as everything else. “What?” He said confusedly. “Why couldn’t see these before? They’re huge!
Crash pulled a sawed off shotgun from somewhere in his coat, and tossed it to Reggie. “Nothing makes sense here, kid. Catch.”
The blonde personality fumbled with the small hunting knife Crash flipped at him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Defend yourself. See that canyon?” The red headed man pointed with his machete towards a crack in the cliffs, leading deep inside the white giants.
Empathy nodded suspiciously. “Yeah.”
“You’re going first. Move.”
“What?! Why do I have to go first?”
Crash glared. “Because I want somebody expendable up front if there’s an ambush. Now move, you little shit, before I start cutting off fingers.” 

So, with Empathy in the lead, Reginald in the middle, and Crash in  the back, the trio entered the cliffs of the subconscious. Unbeknownst to the teenager, the order made tactical sense. The canyon was only wide enough for one single file, so if the situation arose that they had to retreat, Crash would lead it. This way, he didn’t have to elbow past anybody. Also, even though he would never say it outloud, he believed that Reginald was the most important of the personalities. By placing him in the middle, the well dressed man was two times less vulnerable. 
After a while trudging over featureless, colorless rocks, and maneuvering through tight spaces, Empathy spoke up. “What are we looking for?”
Reggie, who had been mostly silent, responded, “The subconscious.”
“Oh.”
After a moment, Crash spoke. “Why are you stoppin’, buddy?” Empathy turned around to see Reginald stopped in the center.
“Why are we here?’ The intellectual asked with a terrified look in his eyes.
The boy was confused. “You just said, to find the-”
“No,” Reginald turned to Crash. “Think about it. Why would we search for the subconscious at all?”
Crash looked confused. “Franky said… To show the kid around.”
“How does that mean venture into the white?” Reginald sounded frantic. 
The muscled man shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He looked up. ‘Why are we here?” Suddenly Empathy released a piercing scream as the cliff walls around them seemed to erupt.”


…







“Franky, are you alright?” Intercom guy watched as the tall man seemed to spasm in pain.
The prisoners eyes burst bust open. He stood rapidly from his cot, and dashed to the door. “I!... Ah… Oh shit, what do I do?”
The asylum employee was at a loss. “Do about what?”
“How am I supposed to fall asleep now?” He exclaimed. “It's Ten o’clock!
Today, Intercom guy was really having his patients insanity driven home. “Why do you need to fall asleep?”
Franky was looking wildly around his cell. “I… Uh…. I just do, ok?” I’m wide awake, and they’re being killed! “Intercom guy?” He said. “Will I be sedated if I say I’m in intense pain?”
“Uh… Are you in pain?” The younger man couldn't tell if the prisoner wanted  to be sedated or not.
“Will they sedate me?”
“No. No medication can be ministered until psychoanalysis has been completed.”
Shit! Franky looked around his cell.
“Are you in pain? I could send some orderlies-”
“What if I started causing trouble?”
“What?”
“If I started breaking things, would they come down and sedate me?”
Intercom guy was becoming increasingly confused. “What would you break?”
The prisoner reexamined his cell. “Good point.” He said. “How about if I started hurting myself, like biting and scratching my skin off?”
“You’d probably just be put back in your strait jacket. Why do you need to fall asleep so badly?”
“Nothing. It’s just… Family matters.” The tall man eyed his sheets. If I strangle myself into unconsciousness, I’ll probably die. “Is there anything you can do to knock me out?” He said, facing the camera.
Somewhere in his office, Intercom guy baffled-ly shook his head. “Sorry man. Can’t help you.” 

Franky sat frustratedly on his cot. There was no way he could just force himself to fall asleep. It was 10 A.M., and he was adrenalized with worry for his mental companions. He sat for a moment, knowing that every second passed meant less  of a chance for Crash and Reggie. An idea came unbidden to the prisoners mind. Something she had taught him, long ago. She had always been about chakras and chi and crap like that. Meditation had always been particularly difficult for Franky, because he had to convince his personalities to cooperate. It’s hard to clear one's mind with a red headed fitness buff constantly muttering, “This is fucking retarded.” But, when meditation did work, Franky fell straight asleep.
“Intercom guy?”
“Yes?”
“Could you play some relaxing nature noises over the speaker?”
The younger man was suspicious. “Umm…”
“Look, I know you’ve got a computer up there. I would bet money that there is no protocol against this. I just need to fall asleep.” When Intercom guy hesitated, franky continued. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do today.” 

The man on the monitor consented, and after a moment , calming sounds of a river and chirping birds washed over the prisoner. He positioned himself in the center of the cell, facing the window, through which warm sunlight bathed his face. He sat cross legged and placed his hands on his knees. With a deep breath, he thought, Let’s do this.


…




Crash laughed as hundreds of disembodied hands crawled towards him. When they swarmed onto his pants, he swept his machete, sending fingers flying. After a moment, when a maimed pile of hands lay before him, the survivors started to retreat a few yards back. “Fucking pussys!” He shouted. “Get back over here!” They climbed over each other, forming a larger and larger pile, until one gigantic hand faced the red head. He laughed again. “Really? Come on. That’s so cliche.” In response, the hands began to melt off, revealing a pale yellow slime beneath. With a violent explosion, the hand residue flew off, leaving behind a massive slug creature with spider legs. Crash whooped and charged forward. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

Reggie watched the spectacle warily. The initial ambush had consisted of small dog like creatures, tunneling out of the side of the cliff. Reggie had easily fended them off with his shotgun, and hadn’t been attacked since. He considered helping Crash, but the tattooed man seemed to be handling himself. The suited personality spun around searching for Empathy. The boy was nowhere to be found. Reginald turned to notify Crash, when suddenly he was somewhere else. He blinked. “What?” He attempted to say, when he realized his voice made no sound. It was significantly darker than before, as if he was in a massive room. He could only see about twenty feet in any direction before it faded to darkness. This obviously is a trap. He thought, But, if I stay in one place, I will be an easier target. So, he he trudged off, awkwardly toting the shotgun. 
Presently, Reginald spotted a  light, off into the apparently infinite darkness. As the well dressed man approached it, he noticed two figures in the light. As he got closer, he recognized them as Crash and Empathy. They were tied together, back to back, and had something like a spotlight shining on them. Reggie attempted to get their attention, but he remembered that he could not speak.  He strode to the edge of the light, cautiously, and waved his hand at them. Empathy had his head down, and Crash was staring off into the darkness, neither noticed their brother. He circled the edge, positioning himself directly in front of the older captive. He waved frantically, and although it seemed the redhead was staring straight through him, he gave no notice that he saw. Startling Reggie, Crash spoke.
“Alright kid.” He said. Empathy looked up. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. My ropes are pretty loose, and I’ve almost got em off.  I’ll take yours off, and, when they come back, I’ll take the one with the spear lookin fuckmadoodle. Got it?”
Empathy nodded shakily. “Then what?”
“Then we run.”
Reginald cautiously peered around for whoever ‘they’ were, and immediately flattened to the ground when he saw two figures approaching.
“Crash!” Empathy whispered. “Here they come!
“Ok, stick to the plan.”
“But my ropes are still on!”
There was a pause. “...Alright. Just hold on.”
As they got closer, Reggie noticed some disturbing details about his friends captors. They were extremely tall, each about nine feet. This was paired with an inhuman slenderness, as if they were made purely of bones. He couldn’t tell, however, because they were covered entirely by a rough khaki cloth, including a hood. Their face were obscured by bandannas and red lensed reflective goggles. Indeed, one also carried a long spear-like weapon, it’s head artistically flared and barbed. Reginald was flooded with fear for his friends, but he didn’t know what he could do. The tall creatures stepped into the light, and both of the captives stiffened. The one without a spear circled around in front of Crash, and knelt down close to his face. 
“Don't trust the horse.” It said, in a voice that sounded like it was choking on blood. 
Crash, who had been glaring defiantly, blinked. “What?” With startling swiftness, the tall creature punched the redhead in the jaw. “Son of a bitch!” The captive was stunned for a moment, then angry. He spit out a generous amount of blood, a few teeth, then muttered, “Ok, kid. Now!”
“Wait, no no! I don’t have my ropes off yet!” But it was too late. Crash was up and attempting to get his rope around the neck of his abuser. The creature also stood, and swung a fist into the tattooed mans stomach. Crash doubled over, but straightened up in time to catch another fist to the face. This one knocked him to the ground. The creature with the spear hadn’t moved at all, and simply stared at Empathy, who was still struggling with his ropes. 

Reggie watched all of this, stunned, from the shadows. It had all happened so fast! He was still lying on the ground, paralyzed with worry, and Crash was being beaten to death. He was a planner, not a fighter! How could he help? A clear, calm voice pierced through his panicked mind. Save them. Before he had time to think, “How?” he was on his feet, and he rushed into the light. Crash’s assaulter paused to look at the newcomer, a distraction that the red head used to kick it in the crotch. The only effect this had was to shift its attention back to him. It grabbed him by his shoulders, and pulled him to his knees. Reggie charged the creature, wailing on it with his fists like he had seen Crash do with the punching bag. It was like punching a brick wall. Knuckles shattered, Reggie staggered back, and could only gasp in pain, for his voice was still gone. 

While the unarmed assailant restrained him, the creature with the spear approached Crash from the front. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Reggie charged the creatures again. Crash’s eyes met his brothers, and the redhead smiled. Then, the hooded monster plunged it’s spear into his throat. Reginald found that his voice had returned.


…




Franky winced. He had not tried meditation in a long time, and it was made particularly difficult by the tormented cries in his head. They sounded like Reggie’s. Focus on something else. The nature sounds from the intercom were still playing. Alright, He thought. I’m in the middle of the river. There are trees lining the banks. The image manifested itself in his mind. It’s dawn. There’s the sun, rising over that waterfall. He rested on top of the water, like Jesus in repose. The birds that chirped and flapped around him were bright reds, yellows and blues. Some of them had four wings, and others had tail feathers that seemed to sparkle. Although the serial killer may have had many issues, a lacking imagination was not one of them. Large, transparent fish swirled in the water, occasionally stopping to nip a bit of algae off the surface. Stop. Franky told himself. You’re rabbit trailing. He took a deep breath, and attempted to clear his mind. The river and it’s denizens vanished, and the prisoner was sitting on what felt like sinking cotton. He was alone, on a peaceful, tranquil white plane of rolling clouds. He felt himself slipping into a slow slumber, when his minds eye burst wide open.

 Amid the endless sea of clouds, there seemed to be a fire. No, not a fire. A curly mass of orange hair. And that hair was accompanied by a body. A body Franky knew very well. She strode towards his spot in the fluffy cotton balls. Franky’s breath caught on his chest, and he felt his grasp on sleep fade away. Then, she laughed. That simple, beautiful sound shook him to his core, and his physical eyes jerked open. He was back in his cell, and the screaming was still there. He couldn’t tell who it was now. The black haired man put his head in his hands. That certainly had been an unexpected surprise. Although he supposed it shouldn’t have been. Repressed memories tend to return through meditation. He looked up, shook his head, and placed his hands back on his knees. Now there was a steely determined look in his eyes. I don’t have time for this. He thought. My friends are in danger. His eyes closed, and he brought himself back to the clouds. 


…





A hand reached for the machete that had embedded itself in the brain of a massive slug creature. Despite the monster consisting mostly of slime, the machete was deceptively hard to pull out. Once it was free, Crash shook the knife trying to to rid it of the mucus. “Fuckin gross.” He said. He spun on a heel, ready to face whatever new monster had risen to face him. But there was nothing. The canyon was empty. “Reggie?” He shouted. “Kid?” There was only his echoing voice. “Huh.” The redhead reviewed his options. He could backtrack through the canyon, and end up back in the white, where Reggie would have gone if he had escaped. Or, he could go deeper into the canyon, where they would have been taken if captured. Which, He rationalized, is probably more likely. So, he started off again, into the belly of the beast.

After a few minutes, he began to feel extremely uncomfortable. It was the silence. Oppressive. Omnipotent. It was soaking into his pores. He reached once more into his coat, and produced a small speaker, about the size of a cellphone. He pressed a button on the side, and suddenly the silence was broken by a thumping beat, and a fast, timbre voice. Crash nodded along. Fuck yeah, Tupac. He had already weighed the consequences of his enemies knowing he was coming against walking in that accursed silence. Honestly, if they were in the canyon, they knew he was coming anyway. The redhead walked for a few minutes, and aside from the occasional glance around, he let his guard down. He trusted his reflexes enough to save him from an ambush, and the stress of constant wariness was something he didn’t need. Truthfully, the walk was peaceful, an adjective not normally applied to any part of Crash’s life. He could have been worrying about his friends, but what would the point have been? He had no idea where they were, or whats head he would have to lop off to get to them. So, if he kept his mind clear, open and ready, nothing would come as a surprise. And also, he really enjoyed the peace. 

Crash knew he was real, but he also knew he wasn’t fully his own person. All the frustration, rage and anger came from Franky, and there were no hard feelings between them. But out here, in the place where Franky had no influence, he could be calm. 

He approached a sight that shook him out of his reverie. He paused his music, and stared at the scene before him. The canyon abruptly opened up, spreading about one hundred feet in either direction. That, however, was not what made the coated mans jaw drop. A crowd of people, thousands strong, had gathered in the opening. Well, people was a loose term,as only a few were human. Some were ten feet tall, and looked as if they were made of huge lego blocks. And others hovered on clear dragonfly wings, shouting in clicks and clacks. As a matter of fact, they were all shouting, creating such a roar that Crash was amazed he hadn’t heard them before. Also, everyone of them had their backs turned to him.

Before he could be noticed, he took up one of the chants that he could understand. 
“Kill them all! Kill them all! Kill them all!” Nice, He thought. He would have put his machete away, but plenty of the others had weapons as well, so he fit in. Crash could not, however, see who or what they were chanting at, so he started elbowing his way through. Some did not like that, and started elbowing back, not necessarily at Crash. Soon, something akin to a mosh pit had broken out, alien limbs bashing against each other, angry chants changing to war cries. Although Crash would have loved to stay and rumble, he still pushed his way through the crowd. His friends were up there, somewhere. The mob was calmer up front, but not quieter. Here, the chanting blotted out all other sounds. Whoever they want to kill is fucked. The redhead winced at that thought, because he knew who it probably was.

After politely stepping between a massive blue rhino and a man who had his eyes sewn shut, Crash’s fears were confirmed. About twenty yards in front of him, Reggie and Empathy were being held on a wooden structure the coated man recognized immediately. A gallows. They were being guarded by about seven really tall guards, that were covered from head to toe in a weird cloth. Also, they were extremely skinny. Crash paid less attention to their appearance, and more to the large sticks they all carried. The chanting was growing louder now, and more frenzied. The tall creatures were preparing Reggie and Empathy for death, tying ropes into knots that  only had one purpose. Crash made the decision that planning took too much time, and that only action was an option now. He sprinted away from the crowd, towards the gallows. Adrenaline had begun it’s work now, and to Crash, time slowed. He had time to gulp as he approached the first guard, thinking, That’s a really big stick. For this one, at least, he had the element of surprise. Crash used his momentum to drive the machete through the creatures narrow chest.  It was like stabbing a tree, but the blade still came through the other side. The creature fell without a sound, but nine feet collapsing still alerted the others. Which posed a problem to the red headed rescuer. The guards were converging on his position, and his machete was stuck in the creatures rock-like chest. He placed his foot on its torso, and yanked with all his might. It loosened, but did not come free. He glanced behind him, and thankfully, the crowd seemed to be focused on the prisoners, and not him. He placed a strong kick on the handle, and it flew free. Just in time, too, for the rest of the creatures had arrived.

 Crash scrambled for the machete, unknowingly ducking a swing from one of the guards sticks.  He spun around, and deflected another swing with his blade. Fortunately, it seemed only three had come to confront him. Unfortunately, the rest had gathered around Reggie and Empathy. Two of the guards charged him head on, and the other circled off to his right. Crash sidestepped a downward blow, but took a stick to the shoulder that almost knocked him over. That might have been the end, had not one creature tripped over its fallen comrade. The redhead took this opportunity to sever its head with a hard swing, and this time he held onto his blade. The head rolled, and black, clumpy liquid began to pool on the ground. Now, the one on the right swung its stick, which Crash barely dodged. He jabbed the machete into its stomach, but this only slowed it for a moment. It kicked him in the jaw, its long legs showing an unnatural agility. The redhead stumbled backwards, seeing stars. His vision was swimming, and suddenly another blow to his back brought him to his hands and knees. He gasped for breath, and rolled to his left, narrowly avoiding a blow that would have crushed his skull. He saw a pair of legs, and hacked at them, bringing one monster down to his level. Before it had time to react, he scrambled to it’s head and slit its throat.

 He managed to push himself to his feet, and he studied the remaining enemy. It held its stomach, bleeding black, in one hand, and a stick in the other. The two fighters charged at each other, weapons raised. Crash ducked and rolled, bringing himself behind his adversary. He stabbed the back of one leg, bringing the creature to it’s knees. He plunged his machete into it’s back, and it sprouted from the monsters chest with a satisfying crunch. He withdrew the knife with difficulty, and circled around to face the creature, feeling it was time for a one liner. “Eat a fucking sandwich.” He said. The dying creature eyed him with red goggles, as black leaked from its wound. With a deep gravelly voice, it said, “Don’t trust the horse. She is not one of us.” And then it collapsed onto its face. 

Crash didn’t really register that these words didn’t make sense, because he was already sprinting towards the remaining guards. Also, the gallows. And, even more importantly, his friends. The fight had taken a few minutes, maybe only two, but even that had been too long. The ropes were already around the captives necks. The redhead pushed one guard aside, dodged another, and even made it onto the stairs of the wooden structure. But, suddenly, he stopped. His insides were… White. Burning. Burning white hot. He looked down to see a golden, flared and twisted blade protruding from his side. He followed the spear to its owner, another guard. This one was different. Scarier, Darker. And he had a spear. Crash fell to his knees, and looked up at his friends. They were bound and gagged, but he could see their eyes. Reggie looked at his tattooed friend, and smiled, with his eyes. Then, a lever was pulled, and Crash’s brother fell. And Empathy fell. And the crowd roared.





…







Franky watched as the hole he had fallen in got smaller and smaller, feeling very much like Alice, descending into Wonderland. A part of his mind realized that ‘falling asleep’ was often a literal term for him. He landed with a ‘bloop’  into a sea of jello-like water. He took a tentative breath, and not surprisingly, he could breathe. He rolled over to face the surface, and blew bubble rings, watching as they ricocheted around the ceiling of what was now a huge victorian church. He got to his feet, and studied his surroundings. On either side of the church were massive stained glass murals depicting saints and various biblical scenes. In the front, about five steps led up to an altar, which sported a crucifix. And the crucifix sported a life-sized, statuesque Jesus. But what interested Franky more was the pews. They weren’t full, by any means, but worshippers dotted them like people waiting for a plane at an airport. 

Franky walked up and down they rows, smiling as the devotees avoided looking at him. He crouched in front of a child, who was sitting in between his parents. The boy clenched his hands together, and bowed his head, not meeting the killers gaze. But Franky remained, and eventually, shakily, the boy looked up. The black haired man grinned.
“You’re going to hell.” The boy whispered. 
Franky’s grin widened. “What makes you say that?” The boy put both of his fists on top of his head, then lifted his index fingers. The black haired man reached to his own head, and sure enough, two small horns protruded from his forehead. The boy put his head back down, and began praying fearfully. Franky laughed, and stood. He glanced behind him. Aw, no tail. He walked the pews some  more, stopping behind a woman with short blonde hair. Her eyes were closed, and she was praying fervently. He bent close to her ear and whispered, “Hi.” She flinched, but her eyes did not open, and the praying did not stop. “I’m sure you know who I am.” He continued, tracing her cheek with a surprisingly sharp fingernail. Her voice cracked, and she shivered, but she did not cease her prayers. “Well, anyway, I know who you are.” Franky chuckled. “And guess what? So do they. They all know what you’ve done.” She shook her head, tears dripping down her face. “Oh yes.” He said. “And there’s no forgiveness for you. No redemption. When it’s all over, you’re coming with me.” He wound his tongue, which seemed to be several feet long, around her throat, and somehow kept talking. “I could strangle you right now, and they would do nothing. Their God would do nothing. You have been abandoned.” 

She whimpered, still shaking her head, trying to deny the whispers in her ear, but her prayers stopped. “No, no, no.” She said, but the damage had been done. When Franky drew his tongue away, a golden, sparkling essence came with it, and there she sat. Colorless. Soulless. Her deceiver stood, dusted off his hands, and began to walk away. And then, he stopped. Well, He thought, It’d be cruel just to leave her like that. He turned back, and now she sat alone, on a bench in a park. Except for her grey, vacant eyes, it was sunny, green, and altogether cheerful. He took her face in his hands, and blew softly into it. She seemed to awake, her eyes at least. And then, he was gone, and she sat, contentedly stroking the kitten in her lap as her color slowly returned.

Franky marched down a busy road in a large metropolis, overturning cars, sinking people into the sidewalk, and uprooting skyscrapers, causing them to float away. But his mind wasn’t really in it. He approached a tall building that was probably a bank, but as soon as he touched the door handle, the whole thing melted. He allowed himself to be washed away, carried by the gushing current of building. He laid on his back, lazily floating as people screamed and tried to escape the oncoming flood. Normally, he would have been laughing hysterically, causing chaos as the opportunity presented itself. But now, his mind was… preoccupied. Why? He thought. Why  didn’t I just leave her, sobbing, in a church for a god she thought had forsaken her?
Because that’s cruel. He thought.
So? I do cruel shit all the time. I’m a serial killer for christ sakes! Cruel is my- He stopped, physically and mentally. Wait! He thought. I’m thinking! I’m lucid! Franky immediately snapped his fingers, the chaotic city giving way to an endless white. So much time wasted! They could be dead! He blinked, shaking his head, and ran to the door of the cabin Crash and Reggie shared. He grasped the handle, but drew away when he saw the chains and locks barring it. He knew what they meant, and he slowly turned to face the white. A shiver ran the course of his spine, having less to do with the chilling wind, and more to do with the ominous sense that his friends were not going to make it. Franky snapped his fingers, and what resembled a jet ski appeared next to him.  He mounted the vehicle, and just in time, to, because the white was now a sloshing milky liquid. He gunned the motor and raced forward, leaving the homely cabin in his wake. 

He knew that once the house was out of his sight, the dream would no longer be under his control. So, as he rode towards the white horizon, he outfitted himself with some things he was likely to need. This included an eight inch hunting knife in his belt, and a Ruger P89 strapped to his thigh. He also summoned a small backpack, and filled it with odds and ends that might come in handy. A glance behind him confirmed that he was now in the subconscious. A hard jolt confirmed it again, as the ground suddenly became solid. The jet ski began to spin wildly on the glassy white surface, and Franky jumped (or was thrown), off the vehicle and tumbled for a few meters before rising to his feet. The ski slid for a moment, before dramatically exploding. If he had had time, Franky would have smiled, appreciating his minds flare for action. But, at the moment, his mind was trying to kill his friends, so the black haired man started sprinting in the direction he hoped the cliffs were in. 

His hopes were soon verified, as the looming mountains rose up in front of him. Franky spotted the canyon that led into the cliffs, and drew the Ruger from his side. He never made it, however, for an invisible force manifested itself as a wall in front of him, which he slammed into at full sprint. Franky lay on his back, blinking at the silver stars that swarmed his vision. His nose was warm, and when he raised a hand to it, he realized it was broken and bleeding. It wasn’t until his vision started to fade did he realize that it was a much harder collision than he had thought. “No.” He said weakly. “No, I don’t have time for this.” As his eyes closed, he thought he saw a tall figure with red eyes standing over him. 

…







        Franky peered over the edge of a tremendous cliff. More off the edge of a mountain, really. He could see the ground, but it was miles away. A chill ran down his spine, despite the Australian sun beating down on him. 
“Nope, nope nope. Fuck that.” Crash said. ‘Not happening.” 
Oh come on. It’s not-  Franky gulped. It’s not that bad. 
Statistically speaking - Reggie started.
“Uh-uh! Don’t even talk to me about statistics! That shit is like three miles!”
-We would survive. Reggie finished.
A hand touched Franky’s shoulder , and he spun around.
“You ok, hon?” The woman before him was a goddess, her hair like a wild fire, her
eyes like emeralds, and her pale skin dotted with freckles. Franky experienced something akin to butterflies in his stomach. 
“Yeah.” He said. “I’m good.”
She nodded. “Sweet. Check my straps, would ya’?” She presented her parachute, and Franky gave them a once, then twice over. 
“You’re good.”
“Cool. Spin around.” He did, and once she confirmed his straps were secure, she shoved him towards the edge. Crash and Franky simultaneously shouted, “Mother Fucker!”, but before he tumbled off, she pulled him back. He collapsed on his back, heart pounding like a bass drum at a rock concert. 
“Des.” He gasped.
Deseret, who was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe, managed to answer, “Yeah?”
“That was not funny.”
This sent her into another fit of laughter. “It was pretty goddamn funny!”
He got on his hands and feet, growling from under his hair. “Oh really?” He sprang at her, and she was caught off guard. With an ‘Oof!’ they rolled, a cluster of red, black and white. They landed with Deseret on top, pinning Franky’s arms down. 
“Ha! Beat ya’ again.” He grinned, and leaned up for a kiss. When she closed her eyes to receive it, he pushed her upwards over his head. She landed on her back with a ‘thump’, and her partner pinned her arms down. Crash cackled. 

The pair wrestled for a while, before stopping, gasping, before the edge of the cliff. They sat together, feet dangling over a ten thousand foot drop, watching the sun set over the Australian outback. The reds and pinks of the horizon melted with the yellow of the desert, blending into a masterpiece that reminded Franky of Sherbet. 
If you weren’t with her, it would have reminded you of blood. Said Reggie. The black haired man reflected on this. It was true, Deseret had a taming effect on him, even though she was an adrenaline junkie. When they had run from the bulls in Pamplona, or through molotov cocktails at the police in the riots at Egypt,  he hadn’t been thinking about killing, or even surviving. He had been having fun, and more importantly, fun with her. 

By now, the sun was gone, but the light wasn’t. A joint force between the moon and the bright Australian stars kept everything bathed in a brilliant dark blue. It was, in a word, beautiful. A voice next to him broke Franky out of his reverie. 
“I think it’s about time.” Deseret handed him one of two pairs of rather expensive looking goggles. The both strapped them on, then stood. Des chuckled, and wiped some straggly hair out of his face. “You ready for this, dickhead?”
Franky smiled. “You bet, asshole.”
She grinned, and pecked him quickly on the lips. “Let’s do this.” With that, and with Crash quietly muttering, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” the whole time, they dove off the cliff.


…




Franky awoke with a gasp. He sat up, and for a moment thought he was blind, before he remembered where he was. He saw his Ruger lying a few feet away, and scrambled for it. In a second he was and scanning for any signs of immediate danger. And then, he remembered where he had just been. Deseret. He thought, choking. She-
No! I don’t have time for this! He pushed himself up. Crash. Reggie. Empathy if I can find him. Franky started off in a run towards the cliffs, carefully this time, in case of any more invisible walls. As he was running, several things occurred to him at once. First of all, it was extremely strange that his friends would come into the white at all. They knew the dangers, and they didn’t like it there any more than he did. So why lead an expedition into the depths of the enemy? And without him? Another thing that occurred to him was something Celestia had said earlier. The subconscious did not receive his thoughts as he had them. “Little or no communication”, she had said. So, supposedly the subconscious had sent her to figure out what he was thinking. But maybe she wasn’t the only thing it had sent.

Empathy. Frankys eyes narrowed. and he growled as he ran. Empathy. It all made sense. When personalities couldn’t hold themselves together, they were reabsorbed into the subconscious. But Empathy had been able to hold himself together. He had been banished,, and apparently the white had recognized him as a useful tool, sending him back  to spy. And somehow, he had convinced Crash and Reggie to come with him. When I find him, Franky thought, I’m going to chop him up into little pieces and feed him to every monster we come across. 

It was now that he encountered a strange sight. At the entrance of the colorless canyon, facing him, there stood a small girl. She wore a black cloak like garment, and had short blonde hair. Somehow, Franky hadn’t seen her before he was close, even though she stood out from the white like a bloodstain on the snow. He leveled his gun at her, tentatively, unsure of whether or not she posed a threat. Slowly, she raised her head, green eyes meeting his. For a moment, it looked as if she didn’t have eyes, just black holes that seemed to tear the breath from his lungs. But then he blinked, and they were green again. 

“Hello, Franky.” She said, in a voice that carried more than just a little girl. Several voices backed hers, like a choir. That’s creepy. 
“Hello.” He said. “I don’t think I know your name.” 
Her head seemed to twitch as she smiled. “You never gave me a name.” With that, she turned around, and began walking into the canyon. When Franky hesitated, her head snapped around. “Follow me.” She said innocently. Franky glanced behind him, and then followed, realizing that it would be best to play along, at least until he found his friends. 

She walked slowly, running her hand along the left side of the canyon.  After a moment, she stopped, put both hands on the left wall, and shoved inward. A portion of the canyon crumbled, revealing a door of sorts. A tunnel would be a more accurate description. 
“Come on.” She said, and disappeared into the hole. Franky peered in after her. He could see nothing except for an inky blackness. With a final glance around him, the tall man ducked, and stepped into the darkness. 


…







Deep within the white, the subconscious, stood a building. A plain building, to be sure, but it was not white, like the endless expanse around it. If it had been in a suburban neighborhood, it would have blended right in. But in the sea of nothing, it very literally stood out.  Only a few stories tall, and a drab adobe pink, it resembled an apartment. From inside, a gunshot rang out. And following that came a tortured sob. 

As plain as the outside may have been, the inside mirrored the aftermath of a horror movie. Blood splashed the white walls in abstract tributes to death, and mangled bodies littered the floor, sprawled in unnatural positions. And cowering in one corner, crying hysterically, was a boy. He had bright blonde hair, and he seemed to be about fourteen years old. His white polo was splattered red. At one point he would have worn glasses, but they had fallen off. Tightly gripped in one hand was a pistol. 
“Please.” Empathy whispered. “No more.” He rocked back and forth, clutching his knees to his chest. 

There was a gasp, and the boy raised his head. In the doorway to the room stood a woman, about thirty, shocked into a momentary silence. Then she screamed. She ran to a small body, dropping the groceries she had been carrying.  She wailed, clutching and cradling a young boy whose head had been blown off. 
“Don’t make me do this, please!” Empathy struggled with his own hand, but it rose fluidly, gun unwavering. The woman glanced up sharply, to see a barrel leveled at her. “I am so, so sorry.” Empathy said, meeting her tear filled eyes with his own. Another shot rang through the building.