Flynt stands at the base of the elevator. The elevator doors grind themselves open, and Flynt steps out into the concrete room. Deagon stares over at Flynt for a moment, while Jack stares with his back against the steel doors. Flynt glances about the room, at the light hanging from a thread, flickering, casting the room in darkness for a moment before reintroducing it to the light. Flynt turns to his side and paces toward the side of the room, leaning against the back wall. For a moment, he stares at Jack, and he wanders out in front of him, holding out his hand.

“Flynt. I’m glad to see you here too. What does that gesture mean?”

Flynt points at the sweatshirt worn by Jack. Jack sighs, throws off the sweatshirt, and hands it over to Flynt between his arms, bowing his head. Flynt grabs the sweatshirt, and he squirms into it, shoving his hand into its pocket, pacing toward the side of the room. Deagon turns to face Flynt.

“Hey! Everybody’s here now, so we can get this shit started anytime. Flynt, why don’t you go keep the elevator safe and shit? That wouldn’t hurt.”

As Flynt approaches the doors, they fall shut, gliding with a subtle whoosh as the elevator ascends. Jack looks back toward Deagon. The elevator stays open for a moment, and Deagon looks behind him, past Flynt, and he stares into the elevator, at the robed figure within.

“Deagon. It’s been a long time.”

“It really has.”

The room falls silent for a moment.

“You can’t kill me. I hope you know that.”

“Don’t worry. I know I can’t.”

The woman shrugs and steps out toward the front of the room.

“I don’t have to kill you.”

Deagon steps between the robed woman and Jack. He holds out his hand, just before the woman, and he grins.

“Come on. Have at it.”

The woman pauses for a moment, glancing about the room. Flynt, Avery, and Jack stare at the two from around the room. Deagon stares back at them.

“Once this starts, you won’t have much time. Be quick.”

The woman grabs her clock, and she throws the shiny robe to the floor, revealing her street clothes. Her long braids hang down her back.

“Deal.”

She lunges forth, grabbing Deagon’s hand. A surge of electricity flows through the man. He grits his teeth as blood flows down his chin, as his flesh crackles in the heat. He stands still through the jolting. The woman crackles just as much, with no change of expression. Sweat pours down her face, as sparks berate Deagon’s skin. Eventually, the onslaught dies down, and the woman falls to her side. Deagon stares down at her for a moment, chuckles, and falls onto his face as smoke rises from his body. After a moment, the woman pulls herself off the ground, staggering as she rises.

Flynt grabs the vodka from out of his pocket, and he sets it down on the floor, sitting just beside it on the hard concrete. He gouges out the lid, and he grabs the handkerchief from out of his pocket, stuffing it into the glass. Avery jerks around toward Flynt, and she stumbles toward him from across the room. Flynt pulls the matchbox out of his pocket. Avery lunges at him, tackling him to the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

Flynt kicks Avery away, and she stumbles back for a moment before sliding her hands into her pockets, standing over Flynt. Flynt ignites one match against the side of the box as Avery swipes her hands out of her pockets, adorned with brass knuckles.

Muriel gestures to Jack toward the observatory, paces toward them, and throws them open in front of Jack. Jack, bug-eyed, steps toward the observatory doors, the inside of which is dark and indistinct, like television static. The echoing of its metal shutters being thrown open sounds like a hushed whisper, and the darkness inside the room spills over into the dusty concrete room. Jack turns around, slamming the steel doors shut behind him.

Meanwhile, Avery approaches Flynt. Flynt swipes a pistol from his back pocket, points it up toward Avery and, with no change of expression, unloads the clip into her torso. She stops for a moment. Many fresh streams of blood trail down her gut. She pulls herself back to her feet and stumbles toward Flynt. At once, Flynt pops up, the box of matches in hand. He strikes one. In that moment, Avery lunges toward him, smashing into him, striking his head between the wall and her knuckles. Flynt throws his arms up in front of his face and braces his legs out in front of him. Avery continues pummeling him into the wall. In this, a burning sensation creeps up Flynt’s forearms as they bleed. Avery speeds up in her striking. Flynt pulls the bottle up from his side with his other arm, and ignites it, before crashing it against the side of Avery’s head. The fire rises, overtaking the damp cardboard boxes populating the room, and overtaking Avery as she falls to the ground.

In an instant, the fire dies. The room becomes quiet. The others stop moving. Flynt reaches for another match, but his body refuses. The steel observatory doors crumble into dust. The fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling shatters, and a superior darkness to the one engulfing the room floods in through the open observatory doors. Muriel steps toward Flynt.

“Can you see it, yet?!”

Flynt snatches the switchblade from out of his pocket.

“Everything we’re doing right now matters! It’s all important! It’s not over. This all happens over and over. You won’t die.”

From behind them, static overtakes the room, like a flood. The fog engulfs the woman. Her voice gets muffled underneath the static. At once, Flynt is alone in a garbled slate. Underneath them, the floor crumbles away, until, in sight, in sound, and in smell, the world goes static.