Not Alone

The Door

Brown woke from never ending nightmares to find himself looking up at light.

Not blue sky. Far above him were squares of yellow glass, interlocking windows through which the sun shone weakly.

He was alone. There was no Strider in sight, or anyone else.

It was so quiet. No shooting, no singing toilets, no helicopters overhead. He couldn't remember the last time he had known such silence.

Am I in Heaven?

Being dead wasn't so bad. He wasn't in any pain anymore. His legs—

He lifted his head enough to look down at his body.

He was whole again.

His legs were back, as if they had never been gone. Maybe it had all been a dream. The battle— had the battle been a dream too?

Wait.

Those weren't his trousers.

They looked more like the powder grey pants worn by Speakerman soldiers. And the shoes, were a Speakerman's pointy-toed dancing shoes.

Had he died and come back as a Speakerman?

But Speakermen couldn't see...

Brown sat up, looking down at himself, his calm mood evaporating to be replaced by confusion. His familiar brown coat and striped tie were still in place. He reached up to touch his head. Still a camera.

He stood up, new legs wobbling underneath him. They were too short. Not his legs, the obliterated remains of which were on a battlefield somewhere far away. It was like wearing someone else's clothes, but so much worse.

Where was he?

He looked around. An empty warehouse, a dusty, vast concrete room whose glass ceiling rose far above his head. He took a few awkward steps forward to realise that he was on the edge of a ledge, far above the ground. Below him was a mess of broken glass and wire, something that looked horribly like the remains of another agent, and —

Oh no.

Him.

The Strider was facing away, sharpening his swords.

This wasn't Heaven. It was Hell.

The Strider hadn't seen him yet.

He had to think his way out.

If he could jump on the Strider's back and flush him— he was a hundred feet away horizontally and he towered almost all the way to the warehouse roof.

If he had a jetpack it might be possible.

Brown didn't have a jetpack.

He looked down at the ground far below, wondering if he could jump without breaking himself into pieces. He knew he couldn't. He was stuck on a featureless shelf.

Trapped again.

He wondered what Plungerman would have done in this situation. Plungerman, who was with TV Woman, in a place of safety and healing.

Maybe he should just jump and get it over with. He wasn't getting out of this alive anyway.

No. He couldn't give up that easily. Beyond the Strider, on the other side of the huge warehouse, was a door. A wide wooden one with the neon green word EXIT above.

Brown couldn't fight a monster like the Strider himself, but maybe he could get out and return with reinforcements. It wasn't what Plungerman would do.