The sun rose over the city, and Petre had not slept a wink.

Blurb nuzzled at his heel as he reclined on his favorite chair. He had spent much of the night sitting. He scarcely even noticed the sun's arrival.

He had been waiting, and he had (Petre was rather fond of waking nightmares) been imagining.

Because the polici would arrive in a couple minutes. They would shoot him in the head (But not before they shot him in the legs and the fat of his belly and a few other places a bullet could poke and make hurt).

Or the military would arrive in a few moments. They would kick down the door (But not before throwing poison gas through the windows), and men in green fatigues would bash his face into a crimson pulp with the butts of their rifles. He would be thrown into a prison, tortured, and then forgotten.

"Forget the polici. Forget the army." Petre started to fidget with his foot. A constant thrum of thump, thomp, thump echoed throughout the room. "Some... scientists. Occult scientist types."

He could not even imagine what they would do to him.

"Which is lie," Petre said. "Because they'll dissect me. I'll still be alive, of course. They'll experiment on me. They'll change me into some kind of freak. More of a freak. More of a freak..."

[ Mow! Mow! ]

"Oh, Blurb!" Petre said, not without warmth. He looked down at the gooey black pup that had so unceremoniously crashed into his life. "Why is this happening to me?"

[ Mow! Mow! ]

The words were the same wet plop as before, but more feline than canine. Even Blurb's rounded bits seemed more narrow, more cat-like. A wandering of his mind, perhaps.

"Because... What if...?"

Could Petre dare to hope?

"Because despite my... colorful imaginations, there have been no polici, no ambulance, nothing."

Ever since the Landlord had fled his apartment, Petre had waited for some acknowledgment (Like a bullet to the head) that the afternoon's horror had truly happened. For an ambulance to cry out for the Landlord's aid. For a car to hastily speed off from the Bayksu Flats. For the polici to knock on his door with dark looks and darker questions.

"But nothing has happened!"

Petre was on his feet, his head light. Blurb bounced at his feet with evident joy. It had seemed as good a name as any for the black gooey blob of pup.

"How wonderful it would be if I were simply insane," he said. "No murder. No violence. No monsters. Just my brain turning into mush. Or whatever happens. Lord God! Let me just be insane!"

[ Mow! Mow! ]

He knelt beside his small alien monster, and smiled. He ran a hand over the three gelatinous blobs that made up its body. They were soft to the touch and produced an amicable jiggle. Petre might have compared them to the round breasts of a woman, but he had not been in a relationship (He had dated a Rasa in university, but she had lost interest in him within a semester) for at least five years.

"How much easier all of this would be," Petre began. He pinched what he thought was Blurb's gooey cheeks, "if you could just talk."

[ Mow! Mow! ]

[ tAlK? ]

Petre blinked.

[ tAlK? TaLk! ]

Petre rose, a little shakily, and stumbled over to the windows. The morning sun had begun to dye the city a brilliant crimson.

[ tAlK! tAlK! bLuRb tAlK! ]

"Oh... Oh, oh..." Petre muttered to himself as Blurb nuzzled his leg. "I really am insane."

He jumped as a shrill noise filled the room. The polici were here, guns drawn. He did not want to die. He did not want to get shot. He did not want to hurt.

But it was just his phone, and Petre cursed.

"The one damn thing that wasn't stolen," he muttered as he stomped over to the living room table.

As a rule, he never took his cellphone with him when he left the house. It seemed like madness (Petre was a small expert on the matter of madness) that people would carry around a small portal for others to pester and bother them no matter the place, no matter the hour.

He peered down at his phone and then cringed away from the flashing caller ID of DOOM. He waited with bated breath for the call to go to voicemail. He did not dare to touch the phone while it still rang, as if it were a live grenade ready to burst.

His body sagged with relief when the call ended and quiet returned to his apartment.

"Damn!"

Because DOOM reappeared and his ringtone blared.

"So noisy!" Petre said. Never mind that it was the ringtone he had chosen.

After a brief while there was quiet, and then...

Bong, boom, boom boom, bang went his phone for a third time, and Petre snatched it up in irritation.

"Yes? Hello?"

"Don't you hello me, nephew!" Lyov Predav shouted from the other end of the phone.

"S-sorry, nuncle," Petre said, bowing his head as if the man was in the room. "Good morning. How are- "

"I sent you a text last night," Lyov said. His voice was deep and gravely. "I needed you to come in early."

"Oh? Oh. I am... so sorry, nuncle," Petre said, biting his lip. "I am... You will not believe me, but- "

"I will not believe any excuse that comes out of your mouth, nephew," Lyov said. "You are late. I need you in the office now."

"I-I am sick, nuncle," Petre said. "I meant to call. I did. I... I... It slipped my mind."

"I know you are sick," Lyov said. "That is why your father put you under my charge. All of you young people."

Petre nodded his head like a well-trained dog as his nuncle went on a small rant over the failings of the New Generation. By the time Lyov had said his fill, the sun had fully risen over the city.

"So I will not abide any of your laziness, nephew," Lyov said. He sounded as though he wanted to spit into the phone. "You are coming into work or I will send that niece of yours to pluck you from your cave!"

"Come on, nuncle!" Petre said, his shoulders sagging. "I'm almost thirty now. You can't send Manya to check up on me anymore."

"Almost thirty and you still have to be shouted out of bed!" Lyov laughed on the other side of the phone, but there was no humor to the sound. "Leave now. I do not care if you have not eaten, have not bathed, have not dressed. I will have breakfast for you here. If you are still in your underwear, I will even have a change of clothes ready. Leave now. Much love. See you soon."

"Nuncle!" Petre shouted, but there was a click and the call was over.

"Come on!"

Petre stood beside the living room table, his mood dour. There was no helping it. The thought of Manya knocking on his door, a grown woman come to collect a grown man, made him burn with shame. And nuncle would have his niece collect him.

[ bLuRb tAlK! ]

"Geez!"

Petre jumped as Blurb bounced at his heels. He had altogether forgotten about the alien monster.

"I need to leave," he said to the dripping black goo. "I have no idea if you will be here when I return."

Petre patted Blurb on its head (Or at least what he had decided was Blurb's head) and hastily grabbed his new wallet from his bedroom. Despite his annoyance, Petre was a little excited to see how nuncle and the others would react to his new wardrobe. As far as he could remember, Petre had worn the same clothes to work for the past three years.

"I am ready! Or not."

Petre had been halfway out the door when he noticed Blurb at his heels.

[ bLuRb LeAve! ]

Petre's face twitched.

"B-blurb stay here, and why am I talking like an idiot? You have to stay here, Blurb."

[ bLuRb lEaVe? ]

The words made Petre shiver. A few yip yips had been one thing, but it seemed wrong for his hallucination (And he still prayed with all of his heart that he was just insane) to speak.

"You have to stay here," Petre said. He pushed the black blob back into his apartment with his foot. "And... and stop that. No more... talking."

[ bLuR... BlUrB? ]

He shut the door and tried to push yesterday's horrors from his mind.

Special Entity Zero-One stood behind the closed door for twenty-five minutes and thirteen seconds. They did not so much as twitch.

And then their form melted away into a puddle of black ichor. The sentient wet flowed in seven different directions across the floor. It followed the itch that had continued to burn, burn, burn since their arrival at Petre Predav's apartment.

Special Entity Zero-One found seven different metal tubes and glass balls. Their reflection shattered into a hundred infinitesimal shards as Special Entity Zero-One crushed each camera between the black of their smooth tendrils.

The itch disappeared, and Special Entity Zero-One remained absolutely still for seven minutes and forty-three seconds.

And then a decision was made. Special Entity Zero-One flowed towards the same window they had come in and slid out the glass. They dripped down four stories of chipped brick and followed after the smell.