Salt rose off the table and took off his hat, carrying it under his arm. A white walking stick with a golden, rounded top appeared in his free hand and Salt smiled.
"Jeremy," he repeated, walking towards the stunned man, "whatever was that for?"
"I was told to," Jeremy replied in a hoarse voice. "You're dead, sir."
"Sir?" Salt echoed, raising an eyebrow.
"I used to work for you," Jeremy rumbled on. "In the lower levels. But I worked directly for Albin. My wife and I, we, we both worked there. She was a lot younger than me and people scorned us. You scorned us."
"I really can't remember you," Salt apologised. "But your wife... Natalie, yes? Natalie Richards."
"Yes."
"That would make you... someone. Anyway, your wife, she was a very, very bad girl." Salt smirked and put his hat back on, lowering the peak of his hat so that it covered the upper half of his face.
"What do you mean?" Jeremy growled, starting forwards. "What did you do to my wife?"
"Nothing," Salt protested, raising his hands, walking stick swinging. "It's what she did to me, however, is what really grates on my nerves."
"What?"
"And my dad. Ooh, that was naughty." Salt smirked again and ran his fingers across the brim of his hat.
"Natalie was faithful," Jeremy snarled, grabbing Salt's collar and throwing him at the glass windows. "She would never do anything like that!"
Salt hurtled backwards and then stopped, swirling around in the air like a marionette on strings. He had no wings, nothing to keep him up and yet he was floating above a nearby table like there was no point in walking anymore.
"I never implied that," Salt laughed. "No, what I was going to say is that she tried to burn us both alive. Naughty, naughty Natalie. That's why I had to get her shot." Salt shrugged. "No big deal."
"No big deal?" Jeremy cried. "She's dead!"
"So are you," Salt said, "you just don't know it yet. A zombiefied substance, created by... Ooh, let's see. Shabby workmanship, a drugged state, used to do dirty work, carrying weaponry. It could only be Blizzard's work, am I right?"
"How many of those stupid weather companies are there?" I said loudly, exasperated.
"Lots," was Salt's reply. "You know of Rainfall, Thunder, Hurricane and now, Blizzard. Right?"
"Yeah, I think so. I haven't really been keeping track."
"You really should," Salt said to me with a frown. "It might be important."
"Rainfall's gone, Thunder's gone, Hurricane gave up and Blizzard has just started," I said, ticking them off on my fingers. "I think that only weird zombie place is important right now."
"Just like in Outlast," Trix chipped in. I frowned at him but he missed it, moving his gaze to a terrified Jeremy.
"Am I really dead?" the man whispered. Salt nodded sadly, a mock pout on his face.
"And I'm going to have to send you on your way," he said, pointing the golden end of the walking stick at Jeremy. A golden beam shot out and exploded on impact, surrounding Jeremy. Within seconds he had gone but what remained in his place was a small, ticking bomb.
"Oh shit," I said just as the bomb exploded.
Fire burst out and everything moved in slow motion. The glass was breaking, tiles were cracking and people were screaming. I could see it all planned out before my eyes - Salt ducking and covering his face with the golden top of his top hat, hair blowing backwards from the shockwave. I saw Tom catapult backwards straight into a metal supporting beam, blood spilling from his mangled head. Elenia screamed once, a note of sorrow and pain just before a broken glass bottle embedded itself in her chest. Beads of red blood dotted her blouse but then her heart stopped beating and her eyes saw nothing more.
Trix didn't seem to know what to do. He was dodging and ducking everything that came his way but a table hit him square in the face and he was thrown back into the street. A taxi swerved to avoid him, horn blaring. Passers-by were running out of the way or phoning for help, screaming or laughing at the destruction.
Claws dug into the back of my neck and I heard an anxious, terrified wailing. Cat had found me through all the smoke, fire and panic and was clinging to me with all his kitten strength. I put up the hood on my recently-sourced jacket to prevent him falling off or being stabbed from behind. It was only a thin sheet of grey material but it was all I could do for the baby animal.
The lights dimmed for a second and I realised that there was a strong odour filling the air. I sniffed and froze.
Gas.
"Another explosion," I murmured to Cat, talking out of the corner of my mouth. "Brace yourself, kitty."
The smell grew stronger and the bomb flickered once more, the final sparks going out. But it was enough to ignite the gas and cause yet another explosion.
This time I flew backwards across the room, my legs catching on the broken glass poking out of the window frame. The red and purple walls of Chaotic were burnt and singed, the paint melting away as I watched.
A sudden rush of heat blasted me further away from the building and my brother, sending me flying over Trix's motionless body and backwards from Tom and Elenia's lifeless forms.
Cat was screaming, I was screaming, everybody was screaming. The noise was getting unbearable yet so was the pain. I was burning alive from the inside, fire lighting me up. Tears rolled down my cheeks, soothing them momentarily yet also rubbing salt into the wounds. Cat had gone quiet but I could still hear the hisses emitting from him, could still feel him scratching the back of my head.
I thudded to the ground, head first. My hands shot out and I somehow managed to make sure that I landed on my stomach, not crushing Cat to the floor.
Wheezing, groaning and covered in soot and blood I somehow managed to sit up. I lowered my hood and let Cat out, cradling him in my arms.
I coughed and blood dribbled down my chin. Cat meowed and rubbed his head on my chest. I stroked between his ears and closed my eyes, resting my head against the brick wall behind me, waiting for someone from the emergency services to approach me.
People were still running around either screaming or yelling for loved ones. I opened my eyes a fraction to see Trix drag himself upright, covered in blood and rubble. The table that had smashed into him was in splinters at his feet and there was a deep, diagonal gash across his lips.
He looked around at all the shouting people and pulled out his gun. He fired a few shots into the air, glaring around at the surrounding Americans.
"Will you all be quiet?" he snapped. "I nearly died back there and you're all panicking about screaming your lungs out or talking to journalists. All I can say is stop it, you greedy, arrogant bastards." He paused and slipped his gun away. "Now, someone get me some medical attention 'cause I don't want to have a split lip for my entire life, thanks."
"Trix?" I croaked. "I think I have it a little worse than you."
"Please don't turn into a unicorn," he begged, running over. "I can't handle anymore stress right now."
"I... I won't," I said uncertainly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's just a scar," he shrugged. "You, however, were concentrating too much on that kitten of yours."
I looked down at Cat and held him closer, more protectively. "He's vulnerable," I said defensively. "I can protect myself."
"You really can't," Trix said scornfully. "Look at you!" He pulled up the sleeve on his jacket and wiped something off my face, rubbing a little harder than I thought necessary.
"You're covered in blood and grime," he continued, "and it's obvious that you're injured. You can't open your eyes properly and your weird shirt is in tatters."
"I thought you hated it," I mumbled.
"I do, but I liked making fun of it." Trix picked up a strip of the fabric and sighed. "Now I can't."
"I'm not getting another one," I said. "No way."
"What happened to 'it was a good decision at the time'?"
"It got left behind in the wreckage of Chaotic." I smiled weakly and closed my eyes again, hair flopping over my closed lids.
"You need medical attention," Trix said in concern. He raised his gun and pointed it upright, shooting the air.
"That'll get the police and the ambulances to come a little quicker," he assured me. "It always does. Sometimes I have mere seconds to get away..." He continued to ramble on, supporting me when I slid sideways, talking like a madman talking to his victim, such were the subjects he breached. But all the while he had a soft, gentle voice, lulling me into sleep.