Flick wasn’t sure how much time had passed exactly since he performed his little stunt for Scratch and his goons. Once the bite-sized medics stormed into the room to tend to his hand, he had next to no contact with anyone, not even Pop who had at least been consistent in her interrogatory visits so far. His desperation for getting any information, even just a glance from someone or a non verbal grunt maybe, was gnawing at his mind, and it only amplified with every passing second that was he left alone.

  The only certain thing was the humming pain in his palm, one that he thumbed occasionally whenever he was really anxious.

  One thing was clear however, very clear in fact. Something had changed.

  It wasn’t hard to tell either, judging by the fact that Flick was idly pacing around his cold, white cell completely unimpeded. No cuffs, no chains. Something had changed in how they viewed him, he just needed to find out what that was. He would sometimes get “food”, simple plates of plain stale bread, with a taste more akin to air than wheat. Or sometimes a clear soup that had a seemingly borrowed flavour, one that was vague and fleeting and certainly not soup.

  He tried as many times as he was able, to talk to the person delivering his meal, in the off chance that he could hear their footsteps before the tray slid into the room. This elevated from one-way chatting, to yelling, to barking until eventually he was practically screaming whenever anyone could be heard outside. All he wanted was some information after all, ANY information as to why he wasn’t dead yet.

  It was during one of these screaming sessions that something happened, the footsteps that approached the door as normal stopped abruptly. Flick’s throat tore itself attempting to grab the figures attention. He wasn’t expecting much of course, the ones on the other side never showed any recognition before, however this time at the first note of his horrific birdsong the door to the chamber shunted open.

  Flick’s face grew beat red, staring directly into the eyes of an unimpressed Scratch, who seemed as though he had a thousand better things to do than this.

  “…Oh you’re done? You usually yell for another… lets see here,” he checked his invisible watch, “Five or Ten minutes!”

  Flick didn’t have much of a foundation to respond from, the embarrassment flushing his whole body.

  “Well good news murderer, you’re in”.

  He took a second to register the words, “…In?”

  Scratch frowned “In SMILE, in the operation, in the gutter with the rest of us. Whatever you wanna call it, you’re in now.”

  Without further explanation the young boy pivoted on his heel and set off back down the hallway, leaving Flick in stunned silence. After about a half dozen paces he realised that Scratch’s stoic silence was teenager speak for “follow”, that and the open cell door, and quickly hurried after him.

  As he did so Flick realised just exactly where he was taken in the first place, the thin and narrow hallway suddenly opening up to reveal a huge open space that was carved entirely out of carbon snow. They were underground. Far far underground based on how densely packed the snow was above them, leaving not a single gap for anyone to peer through. A perfectly uniform block of carbon ice.

  Based on his own speculation, Flick assumed that wherever they were it had to be out in the middle of the nowhere between pillars, a place where no human could possibly live for much longer than a day or two with good equipment.

  It was no wonder why they couldn’t ever be found! Not even someone as stupid as Flick would guess that SMILE were hiding in the snow of all things, it just wasn’t feasible for anyone to imagine. In fact, even as Flick stared at the shimmering snow walls, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around anyone here was breathing in the first place until his eyes were drawn towards a small tree lying in the far centre wall of the base.

  Then, within his own world of amusement, he noticed a small glimmer along the surface of the snow walls, one that usually belonged to glass, and suddenly it all made sense.

  “I… It’s like a miniature pillar…”

  Scratch looked over his shoulder, caught off guard by Flick’s sudden outspoken words, “Uh, what?”

  “Sorry it’s just crazy like, this whole thing is just a scale model pillar!” Flick gestured in front of him with wild arms. “You even have little glass walls keeping the air in, like the dome! A-and that Tree! I mean its all…”

  “Oh! Right yeah, well I mean we needed to survive somehow so-“

  “How? How did you even do this?” Flick excitedly asked.

  He chose not to answer his former prisoner’s question and moved right along as he had scheduled.

  He twitched his elbow in several directions in front of him, as though trying to point without wasting the effort of unsheathing his hands from his pockets, highlighting various nooks and cranny’s in the base. To their right, a small cafeteria, and to their left lied a crude space full of hung weapons. Flick assumed that this space was reserved for an armoury of some kind however, once a trio of young children bounded their way inside to swing the engine blades wildly at each other it was evident that it was supposed to be a spot for training.

  The two spaces on either side converged in the centre, a bizarre mixture of crude lunch tables and clashing blades that assaulted Flick’s senses so much that he couldn’t pay attention to the other rooms Scratch was pointing out so nonchalantly.

  “… And that’s everything, got that?” The boy didn’t even look at him as he finished.

  Flick had definitely not got it, but decided to act like he did anyway for his fear of being locked away again in that cold, lifeless and more importantly boring prison. Besides, he could just explore in his own time.

  There was one thing he was curious about though,

  “What was with the test?”

  “Hm?” for the first time in their excursion Scratch looked at Flick properly,

  “The test? I mean, I get that you wanted to see if I was trustworthy, but isn’t showing me the right answer counter intuitive?”

  Scratch chuckled to himself, “Okay first of all don’t use big words like ‘c-ownt-er in-two-itive’ again or ill kill you.” He smirked, “And secondly… did you pick the right answer?”

  Flick stood silently.

  “It was something Thunk came up with actually,” Scratch continued, “The guy you killed remember?”

  Flick was visibly hurt every time his past actions came up, but pushed through it regardless to hear Scratch out.

  He laid his hands out in front of him, setting an invisible scene, framing it within the arches of his fingers. “Give a person a choice. A choice between two doors, one right and one wrong, one black and one white.” He smiled, remembering the words of his friend so vividly “If they pick the wrong door? Kill them, they’re not to be trusted. If they pick the right door? Kill them harder, sheep only attract wolves after all. The only people that can be trusted, the ones that belong in SMILE, are the people that create a third door.

  “Between you and me I wasn’t planning on trusting you either way. I thought for sure you’d choose to walk out free of charge, Me and Pop already discussed how we’d leave you for dead to save ourselves in a pinch if you did, and part of me really wanted you to fight so I had an excuse to drop your ass for good.

  “But then you did that… The third option… And all I could hear was his voice”

  Flick furrowed his brow “Did your friend always speak in cryptic metaphors?”.

  “Yep” Scratch replied, somehow knowing the question was going to be asked at some point, “It was his own little game, thought that if he made every word a riddle then only those who could answer them were worth his time…”

  Flick pushed further, noticing the hesitation behind Scratch’s words, “…And you were?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Flick wanted to continue, wanted to hear more about these kids and their secret mission they’ve been acting out under the guise of a rebel group. However, before the chance to pry into Scratch’s personal life could arise, Pop sprang up from behind the two.

  “Ah, there you two are” she smiled at her dear friend as she spoke, “Scratch, your inheritance thingy is about to start so I thought I’d give you a heads up!”

  Moving around the two Pop began to address Flick directly, “You can join if you want, it might help getting to know some of the people around here”

  Flick agreed the moment the offer was made, but Scratch seemed entirely against the whole idea to begin with, walking away the moment he was reminded of its existence.

  “Don’t mind him,” Pop said, “He just doesn’t like the idea of hand-me-downs, y’know?”.

  Pop replaced Scratch’s spot next to Flick, even though his toxic presence lingered like a smog,

  “He really is nice if you’re on his good side y’know,”

  Flick chuckled at the idea of a small, dog-esque boy like Scratch being anything but viscous, “Yeah I’m sure he is, he just screams nice doesn’t he?”

  Pop frowned, putting her head in her hands “Oh Gaia, not another sarcastic one”.

  “What? No I’m being serious he seems nice underneath all that baggage, genuinely”.

  He wasn’t even remotely serious, but he couldn’t afford annoying the only nice person he’d met so far,

  “So, what’s this inheritance “thingy” all about?”

  She went quite for a second, the smile on her face weakening and then forcing itself back, “I think it’s probably best if you just see for yourself actually,”

  Pop nodded towards some general direction, Flick wasn’t entirely sure where,

  “Just head down that way,” she continued, “It should be starting any second now.”

  Flick thanked her for the “directions” and quickly shuffled himself away, at first trying to follow where she had guided but eventually realising he had better chances at finding the event through luck.

  As he wandered through the snaking tunnels of ice and metal he was concerned with why no one was monitoring him in any way shape or form. The thought occupied his mind for a time until he realised that in all of his aimless wandering he never once found an exit, or anything that even remotely looked like one. This base wasn’t just well hidden from outside, the inside was just as confusingly laid out. It was almost impossible to find anything without already being familiar beforehand, and Flick was far from that.

  Despite never once stumbling upon an exit of any kind, he eventually followed enough snow dusted footprints to find himself stood before a small gathering of people. The space wasn’t nearly as large as the main room he was in before, and with barely enough equipment or utilities to make up even a fifth of its practicality either. However, in humble contrast to its size and demeanour the room he now found himself in was much grander than he would ever expect from a group of children.

  The walls were adorned with fixtures of scrap metal that, in any other place, would be considered tacky. However, within the confines of such a small and cold location it seemed strangely elegant. They even layered the scrap on top of each other, using blackened ash coated plates of steel as contrasts to the much newer brown girders. Everything was positioned in a way to create abstract patterns that, while being incredibly rough, also seemed fragile, dainty in the same way that an old church felt untouched by human interference.

  It was harder to identify the rest of the space around him though, the small crowd of short bobbing heads created a sea of fuzz that stretched out over any furniture that would’ve been recognisable to him. The only detectable objects in the room were bound to a plinth that resided near the back, directly in front of Flick and the children.

  Clearly Flick had stumbled into the room in the middle of what could only be identified as a ceremony. Even as he glanced at the walls and warm orange lamps a small boy was preaching from on top of the pedestal, and beside him a disgruntled Scratch, hands covered by his pockets, wishing he was anywhere but here.

  Flick felt a small tug on the cuff of his jacket, barely any force at all but enough to move the fabric ever so slightly for attention. He looked down to see a small set of beady black eyes glaring back at him, star struck.

  “Are you another one of the big prisoners?” the boy asked, “We haven’ had another one of yous in a whiiiiiiiile”

  He only looked to be around eight or nine, the lightness of his auburn hair would give it away most if not for the child’s broken and slurred speech.

  Flick crouched down, trying to lower himself down to the boys level as carefully as possible, as not to disturb the crowd.

  “Yeah, I’m one of the more permanent prisoners here, little buddy”.

  “My names not buddy, I’m Chip” he held his arms out, four fingers on each hand proudly presented, “I’m Nin…”

  “…”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He looked carefully at his own hands for a second, counting the fingers by nodding his head slightly at each of the eight digits,

  “…Nine!”

  “Awwww, good for you Chip! I’m Flick, nice to meet you,” Flick chuckled to himself before looking back towards the back of the room, “Do you know what’s going on here, Chip?”

  “Anyone knows what this is! You’re not very smart are you Flick?” Chip didn’t give him a chance to respond, “Big Scratch is becoming Thunk!”

  He tried to process what this meant, but quickly realised that Scratch was being put into some new leader position among SMILE, he caught the glimpse of a familiar, ring shaped, silver weapon being laid into the well worked hands of the boy to the uproarious acclaim of the crowd, and to his absolute disdain.

  After a while of prepubescent cheers and one particularly forced smile, the inheritance ceremony ended, with Flick spending the majority of it making conversation with his small new friend. Even still, once the yelling and chanting had ended, there was an electric air that filled the room with tangible excitement far past the point where everyone left.

  Flick was one of the few that didn’t leave once the ceremony had closed, choosing to wait behind for Scratch. When the crowd dispersed entirely however, leaving just the two of them there, Flick was able to see with much more clarity what was also happening during the ceremony.

  Lying just below the plinth where Scratch claimed the engine blade of his former teacher and friend, a steel coffin adorned with the tiny smile shaped scratches from every child within the bunker.

  Flick felt the urge to pay his due respects alongside them all, but quickly remembered his place. Instead, he hung his head in quiet mourning. Before long Scratch had descended from the platform, placing a single hand on Flick’s shoulder and pulling him back towards the entrance. Flick understood the message and silently left with him.

  “We have places to be asshole” the boy glared, still dragging Flick alongside him, “We don’t have long now, so we gotta prepare…”

  Flick furrowed his brow, “For what?”

  Scratch glared at him through the corners of his eyes. “Tomorrow’s a big day, we’re gonna raid the shit out of Isaac’s cushy tower-“

  “Whoa what?!” Flick stammered as he followed the conversation, trying to wrap his head around what was about to happen. “I-I thought we were gonna reason with him not attack him outright?!”

  “We are dumbass,”

  He sped up his gait, it was clear he knew the base’s pathways as though they were second nature, in contrast to Flick

  “The guys a war vet,” he continued “He isn’t gonna listen to some random kids without a good reason to, we have to prove we’re serious about this”

  “Okay but still, is this really a good way of doing it?” Flick asked.

  “Obviously, how is he gonna ignore us if we manage to claw our way through his defence? It’s a show of dominance sure, but it’s also a show of respect.” Scratch said, “Can’t expect to reason with someone who’s planets away from you, we have to get on his level.”

  Scratch faced flick with a disturbing, almost psychotic, smile, “...Aw, you’re a fan of his huh?”

  Flick pulled his head back awkwardly, “N-no I just wasn’t expecting we were doing this tomorrow…”

  “I know, that’s why we need to prepare.” Scratch looked down at the engine blade in his hands, the same chakram shaped hilt he was so used to seeing in his friend’s, “…Both of us”

  The last words perplexed Flick somewhat as they navigated the winding pathways of SMILE, after all the blade Scratch was carrying was only simple in nature. Compared to the wild, flailing, wire wielding blade he was using against him before, this one seemed childishly basic.

  As he pondered on the meaning of Scratch’s words they rounded a corner to find themselves back in the main atrium. Dozens of bus long tables laid out along the floor, just below the small set of steps where Scratch and him had talked about his ‘test’. Kids darted back and forth from chairs, food half eaten in their mouths, collecting more scraps to greedily devour. At the same time though, handfuls of children pounced from table to table with engine blades in hand, occasionally clashing with one another seemingly at random.

  For some reason dinner and training (though the smiles on their faces told Flick it was more akin to playing than anything else,) weren’t separate things here, instead chaos reigned supreme.

  Before Flick could ask where exactly Scratch was leading him, he breezed straight through the centre to the other side of the room, miraculously avoiding the swarms of clashing blades that flowed around him.

  Flick hesitated before following, seeing showers of metallic sparks with every other beat of his already pounding chest. This was obviously another one of the boy’s ‘tests’.

  He couldn’t help flinching with every loud crash as he walked, the tips of blades barely whipping past his gangly legs and arms. Despite already being in several fights by this point, without any weapon of his own he felt fragile amongst the tumult of rigid steel.

  Within time though, he crossed. Stopping every few seconds to check his limbs were still attached at the joints, and not dangling by thin red threads.

  “Oh goodie, you made it,” Scratch rolled his eyes, “That is exactly why you need to prepare,”

  Flick agreed, surprisingly, with Scratch for once, “Okay yeah, you mean I need to be more confident?”

  “What?” Scratch laughed deeply; the surrounding children stopped upon hearing such a rare noise.

  “No you idiot.” he continued, “You see, everyone you just passed has been doing this shit for… well basically their whole lives. They know how to hit their target. Even If you were blind and deaf walking back there, they wouldn’t hit you. They only hit their target, nothing else.”

  So… its Trust? Flick thought to himself.

  He was shocked, not only by the skill that was being demonstrated from the kids, but by the maturity of Scratch in this, and only, instance. Based off the information he’d gathered from Pop and his own conversations with the boy he figured he was hot headed, the type of hot headed who wouldn’t lower himself down to anyone. The type who don’t have the capability for trust.

  “You see asshole,” Scratch frowned, “If you were charging at me, just then, with the intent to kill only me? You would’ve killed around five innocent people-“ Flick tried to interject as Scratch spoke, only to be stopped immediately, “I counted”.

  Scratch continued, walking into a small open sparring space gated by a mesh wall, “The only reason you’re good in a fight right now is because you’re unpredictable, you basically wave a flash-light around and kill people without even tryin’.”

  He paused a for second in contemplation, then continued “There’s two aspects to a fight…”

  Scratch went on to describe the ‘basics’ of fighting to Flick, of which he tried to absorb as much as he possibly could in the little time he had.

  From what he could gather, the two aspects to fighting lied in being “unforeseeable” and simultaneously “seeing” all. Even with small time he had known Scratch, Flick could tell these words weren’t his own, probably taken from Thunk or some other role model, but tried to accept the information regardless. He wasn’t quite sure how to interpret what it means to be “unforeseeable” and “seeing” at the same time, but from his own assumption he figured it meant to know his opponents actions without them knowing his.

  As he came to this conclusion he was tossed a banged up flash-light and led into a small, encircled patch of particularly worn down steel.

  “… So anyway, as I said earlier you’ve got the ‘unforeseeable’ part down, all you need to do now is ‘see’ more. There’s only so much you can do with those batshit instincts of yours.” Scratch flexed his grip around his new, blade as he talked, “…But that’ll come with experience now that you’re aware of it,” he paused, “At least I think so? Anyway doesn’t matter, what does is you need to learn how to work with other people WITHOUT scorching them.”

  He pointed at the flash-light in Flick’s hands “we’re gonna team against someone. Pop is gonna watch you like a fucking hawk and if that light hits me I’m gonna jaw you, got that?”

  Flick looked ahead at who this ‘someone’ was supposed to be, only to be surprised at seeing the small, spry Chip grinning at them from across the room, a blade twice his size laid over his shoulder like it was a toy.

  Chip waved eagerly, “Hi big Scratch! Hi Flick!”

  “Wait, Who?” Scratch looked around for a second in an attempt to find this ‘Flick’. Noticing, after a little bit too long, that it was the man next to him he continued as if he never heard a thing.

  Flick waved back at Chip, ignoring the fact Scratch didn’t even know his name, but suddenly stopped after realising that both the boy’s had actual weapons.

  “Wait, don’t I get a weapon too?” Flick concernedly asked,

  Scratch chuckled, “Fuck no, we’ll count every time your light hits Chip as a killing blow though, just to be fair.” He bumped his elbow into him as if this was some small game.

  “Huh?!”

  Flick’s mind raced every time he saw the glint of Chip’s sword flash across the child’s face, turning his usual innocent smile into a much more sinister grin.

  “W-wait what if I die or something?”

  “Hm…” Scratch pressed his finger against his chin in contemplation, “…Don’t?”

  Flick was five seconds away from re-committing child murder.

  “Relax, you wouldn’t be able to block with your cutter thingy anyway. Just dodge!”

  Without any more warning Scratch sprung towards Chip, blade gripped firmly in his hands, ready to test its strength.

  “WAIT, WAIT!” Flick waved his hands wildly, “I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION!”

  Scratch skidded to a stop, rolling his eyes along with his whole body, “Fucking hell man, what?!”

  He pointed at the weapon in the boys hands, “Why do you need to practice? Isn’t that thing easier to wield anyway?!”

  Scratch looked at the sword, then back at Flick. “… You’ll find out soon, just focus on yourself for now, dickhead,”

  The moment Scratch stopped speaking the small boy charged, lugging his engine blade behind him like a tail that scraped against the steel floor with an ear grating screech. As he reached the point where his tiny frame sat squarely between Scratch and Flick, his body tensed and tore the blade up through floor, seeming to attack the empty space in front of him.

  Caught off guard by the strange movement, Flick stood coyly at what he interpreted as a child swinging a big stick with no real purpose. That was before a rusted bolt, the size of his eyeball, bounced cleanly off his forehead with a satisfying metallic ping.

  As Flick flinched backwards, with his hand dabbing the wound on his forehead for blood, Chip had already closed the distance and was ready to bring the hulking slab steel down onto his skull.

  Using any and every fibre of his supposedly good instincts, Flick narrowly rolled out of the way and prepared to counter with whatever his pocket sized ‘weapon’ could produce. He quickly turned on the flash-light and swung cleanly, unhindered by the weightlessness of the mediocre light, aiming directly for Chip’s completely unguarded torso. However, to the compete bafflement of Flick, Chip turned away and swung for more empty space using the momentum of his own swing to jump just slightly high enough to avoid Flick’s seemingly sure-fire attack.

  The reason behind the added flair was lost on Flick, until he saw the blurred frame of Scratch approaching Chip’s rear with his new blade held far over his shoulder in an attempt to stab at his unguarded back.

  By jumping with the swing of his sword, Chip generated enough momentum to completely spin his body, which would’ve been much harder to do otherwise considering the mammoth weight of his weapon. As a result, the small boy managed to turn himself around enough to swat Scratch clean out of the air whilst dodging Flick, both at the same time.

  Immediately Flick was stunned, he had fought SMILE before this sure, but it was only now that he realised just how outclassed he was in hand-to-hand combat compared to these kids. Simply seeing the way Scratch reacted so quickly to take advantage of his fuck up, and how Chip reacted to that so effortlessly still, it was eye opening. His blood grew cold at the realisation that, if Scratch wasn’t trying to run away in their first encounter, Flick would’ve almost certainly been dead by now.

  As Scratch crashed down onto Chip he tried to pull himself tightly, into as much of a ball he could become before his weapon could connect. He saw the mammoth blade of the boy whip around much faster than he could’ve anticipated, he urged himself to fall faster and land before the boy’s steel could reach his.

  Then, just a second before their weapons could collide, the hilt on Scratches weapon churned itself alive. The mechanism scraped against the base of his sword as it span the blade towards the sky, like the face of a clock suddenly spinning its hands to twelve, changing his stab into an improvised pommel strike.

  Or at least, Flick assumed this was Scratches intention.

  However, Scratch continued to fell rapidly, striking the floor with the base of his grip and letting Chip’s slab of steel fly bluntly over his head.

  The red-haired child’s swing soared far past where he thought it was going, leaving him wide open to Scratch.

  Both him and Flick were caught off guard by the… odd way that Scratch chose to avoid the attack, after all there was no need to turn the sword if all he wanted to do was duck underneath the attack.

  Before Chip could bring his weapon back, fearful of his friends intention, the engine on Scratches hilt whirred once more. Pulling the bladed part of his sword back around to slam down into Chip like a rigid hammer.

  With a fraction of time to spare, the boy twisted his wrist, bringing up just enough of his handle to collide with the swing instead of his weak body taking the blunt of the blow.

  A shower of sparks and metal scrapings washed over them, creating a small period of daytime within their own little world.

  Then, just as Chip breathed a relieved sigh, a loud click rang soundly from Scratch’s hand and the horrible crunch of metal echoed from where his pommel met the ground.

  In a feat of what could only be explained as bullshit, from Flick’s perspective anyway, Scratch pulled his handle up from the ground and dragged with it a crumpled mess of steel in the shape of a deformed column. Putting his whole body into the ends of his arm, he pulled up as far as he could, swinging the club of metal into Chip’s jaw.

  The boy flew some three feet back and crashed into the floor, in pain and in shock of how and what exactly just happened. Meanwhile, Scratch simply twirled his blade around, admiring his own victory not caring about how big-headed it seemed.

  Flick didn’t even know what to say, after something like that what could he say? For one, there was no way he was on the level of versatility these people were on, in a real fight he wouldn’t stand a chance. And secondly, if they were all going to Isaac’s tower then wouldn’t everyone have weapons like these two? In the past ten minutes alone Flick was reminded of why engine blades were so dangerous in the first place.

  It was becoming increasingly clear that the only reason Flick made it this far was because of a gimmick. And that gimmick just got overshadowed by someone pulling a pillar of steel from the floor like it was a sword.

  Scratch grinned smugly, finally breaking the silence he created “Okay... so that’s how it works!”

  “You mean you didn’t know?!” Flick said, both him and Chip looking at Scratch as if he was crazy.

  “Of course I knew… kinda” he jogged to the weapon rack on the wall, successfully avoiding whatever the two had to say, “I had to make sure that I knew, y’know?

  “‘Caliburn’ is unique, even for an engine blade… having the ability to fuse with things isn’t something that comes with your everyday sword!”

  Flick buried his head in his hands, “Can’t believe I just lost to someone who names a sword Caliburn”.

  “Hey, I didn’t name this thing!” He frowned, “look it’s carved into the ring!”

  Sure enough, once Flick approached the wall to examine his equipment the writing was there in bold lettering. In fact, it wasn’t just carved in either, to Flick it was clear that this was actually the weapon’s serial number, the usual figures replaced instead with clear alphabetical text.

  “See? Id never name something ‘Caliburn’ by choice, that’s just dumb” Scratch laughed to himself, grabbing his old engine blade off of the wall and bringing it close to his new one, “The reason why I need practice, by the way, is because of this”

  He brought the back ends of both sabre’s together and in an instant the inferior sword melded itself to the ring of Caliburn. As Scratch fiddled with his new attachment, spinning it around the hilt as if it was a fan, the normally rusted metal tint of his old blade began to suddenly shift into the same glimmering silver colour of Caliburn. Flick couldn’t even comprehend what he was seeing, but it somehow eerily reminded him of Sam’s eyes and how they changed in the sunlight.

  After Scratch was done fiddling around with his new toy, he suddenly pointed one of the two blades at Pop. With a single press of a button on the centre handle the tip launched itself towards her, connected by the same chain Flick was too used to seeing by now.

  “How’s that, Pop?” Scratch said, pulling the handle just enough to let the blade avoid her body, a show of both dexterity and boastfulness, “Pretty cool way to win, right?”

  Barely flinching, and without hesitation too, Pop responded, “Win? You lost”

  “What?! The fuck do you mean I lost?!”

  “Well,” she continued, “Flick hit you, when Chip jumped his light stayed on you for…” she glanced down at her clipboard, “thirty seconds? I think? Sorry it was hard to tell,”

  Scratch slowly turned his gaze to Flick, who only just realised the torch was still on even now and was trying to pretend as if it wasn’t.

  Oh shit.