The Not-Particularly-Excellent Adventures of the Keanu-Spawn

Written by Anakin McFly

« Chapters 1–2
« Chapters 3–8
« Chapters 9–14
« Chapters 15–17

18. Seeking Answers
19. Surfacing
20. Reunion
21. Back
22. Minutes and Plans

Chapters 23 onwards »

Group D: Neo, Eddie

Standing about did not bring not-Tim back, and eventually they got unenthusiastically back to their snack lunch, eating in silence, giving only the occasional quick glance at each other, the unasked question of not-Tim's location hanging in the air between them. Neo finished a packet of chips and crumpled up the empty packet. He trudged over to the trashcan, chucked it in; then the door opened and both him and Eddie gave a start.

Neo's mouth fell open in surprise.

One of the three people standing in the doorway broke into a tired grin.

"What-" Neo started. "Where... you..."

Ted shrugged. "We didn't see any of you, but then we found Bob here and he said that everyone went back after the totally heinous shooting started. So I thought that maybe you got stuck in here or something..." Ted hesitated, looking around. "Where's everyone else, dude?"

"Hi," Bill said, feeling out of place in present company.

Bob Arctor wandered off to stare at a wall.

"I don't know where the others are," Neo said. "We got separated. ...What's going on out there?"

"People running about, mostly," Ted said, grabbing a cup off the shelf and getting himself a drink from the watercooler. "Dude, they got the police! And the army, I think. There are helicopters and everything! It's most excellent chaos." He grinned and downed the water. "...it's kinda bad if you're wearing yellow, though. King Kong thought some people were bananas and ate 'em. Then the helicopters started shooting at him and he fell down and people were running away and me and Bill found this place where they gave us free food because they thought we were cool."

"They had really excellent pizza," Bill confirmed.

"Yeah." Ted tossed the cup aside. "With extra anchovies and mushrooms and... Where's Sid?" he asked. "Is he still in the cafeteria?"

"Who's Sid?" Neo asked.

"Siddhartha," Eddie suggested. "The orange guy."

Ted frowned. "He's not orange. He's the Buddha."

"Fine," Eddie muttered.

"I don't know," Neo said.

Ted looked disappointed. He liked Sid.

#

The Where in the Multiverse am I? Afterlife

Not-Tim finished signing the autograph and passed the dodgy Matirx DVD back to an ecstatic Taxon.

"Whoa," he said in awe.

Not-Tim nodded towards the computer. "Now look them up."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah." Grinning, Taxon put the DVD aside and typed at the computer. Suddenly his face fell. "Uh-oh."

Not-Tim gave a start. "What happened?"

Taxon shrugged. "The intranet is down. We've been having all sorts of problems since we switched to Windows Vista... ah, there we go. Okay." He glanced at the sheet of paper that not-Tim had handed to him and typed in the first name. "Right," he said a short while later. "Jack Traven is kind of, um, a dog."

Not-Tim choked on the oxygen in his mouth. "What?"

"...Yep. Alex's dog, in fact."

"What?"

"Hey, I'm not the one responsible. Don't worry, he's happy. Eating well, and he'll soon be fully toilet trained."

Not-Tim put his head in his hands. "How's Alex?" he asked without looking up.

"He's a good master."

"I mean after he died."

"Oh. He's working at IBHA as an architect."

"IBHA?"

"The Isolated Bubble of Hyperspace Afterlife. They're building a new recreational wing. Alex is helping with the design."

"...Okay. What about Jjaks?"

Taxon typed in his name and hit the Enter key. "...Uh-oh," he said.

Not-Tim looked up. "What? What happened to him?"

Taxon blinked. "Huh? Oh... Nah. Windows just crashed. Hang on, I need to reboot the computer."

Not-Tim returned his head to his hands.

#

Group A: Conor, John C, Johnny U, Paul, Nelson, Tod, Jesse, Kip, cornflakes guy
+ Group E: Ludlow, Eric, Marlon, Rupert, Derek, Heaver, Jack not-Traven

Rupert leapt to his feet in shock as Derek gave a shout.

"What was that?" Ludlow demanded, staring at the suddenly-vacated spot on the cave floor.

"Someone took Winston," Rupert said breathlessly. "Some old guy... appeared and grabbed him and vanished..."

On the other side of the fire, across the invisible line separating the two groups, Johnny Utah raised an eyebrow, but it was dark and no one saw. Near him, the cornflakes guy was meanwhile staring mournfully at the fish that Paul had kindly cooked for him. He wanted cornflakes. He didn't want fish. ":(," he vibed again.

"Are you eating that?" Jesse asked him.

The cornflakes guy looked at him.

Jesse tugged experimentally at the fish, met no resistance, and took it for himself. "Thanks," he said.

There was a fairly animated conversation going on in the other group, consisting mostly of:

"He was just sitting there!"

"What d'you mean he vanished?"

"I don't know! He just-"

"Are you sure he didn't just walk off?"

"YES!"

From out of the darkness came the sound of footsteps and voices, and the sound of something being dragged-

Several figures emerged from the shadows with a dead but edible-looking alien creature and dumped it near Ludlow and co. "Dinner," one said.

Others glanced at the newcomers of Block F. "Who are they?"

"Ask them," Ludlow muttered.

"Someone kidnapped Winston and vanished," Rupert reported.

John Constantine got up. Curious eyes followed him as he went looking for Marlon and more fish. John halted and glared at them. They stopped staring, and John continued on his way to the pool.

#

Group C: Julian, Kevin, Griffin, Scott, Ron

The lift doors opened on the top floor, and they got out. The lobby door was hanging on its hinges. Griffin stepped over it into the stairwell; the door to the main corridor was in a similarly wrecked state.

The corridor itself was littered with the bodies of dead guards, victims of vicious physical attacks. The five of them moved past in uneasy silence, heading for the arrival room, still lighted, with someone still-

"Hello."

Kevin fell back in shock and crashed into an unhappy Scott. He hadn't been unhappy a moment ago, but falling Kevins have a tendency to change one's mood.

The receptionist gazed calmly at them from behind the blood-stained desk-to-ceiling barrier. "What are you doing here?"

"You're not human!" Kevin said, pointing an accusing finger at her once he had regained his footing.

The receptionist gazed calmly at him. "You're not supposed to be here. Go back to your floor."

"What's going on here?" Julian asked. "What year is this?"

"2009. Go back to your floor or I'll call the guards-"

"THE GUARDS ARE DEAD!" Ron suddenly yelled. "Everyone is dead! Don't you get that?" He bashed a fist against the unbreakable barrier and glared at the receptionist. "How do we get home?" he asked through gritted teeth. "How do we get back?"

The receptionist gazed calmly at him. "You're not dead," she pointed out.

The receptionist had been Captain Obvious in a previous life.

Ron shouted something incoherent and probably rude and went psycho on the barrier until Kevin pulled him away, the teen struggling to get away.

"Let me go!"

"It's no use," Kevin said. "It-" Then he got Ron's fist in his face and that shut him up.

Julian took a step towards them. "Hey-"

The receptionist gazed calmly at everything. Griffin was busy pacing aimlessly around the room and in and out of the doorway, hands in his pockets. Scott leant against the doorway attempting and failing to look cool, mostly because the way Griffin kept passing him on his pacing rounds tended to spoil the effect.

The receptionist didn't flinch as Ron shrugged off Julian's steadying hand and got back in front of the desk, gripping its edge as he glared at her.

"Is there any way out?"

"No."

"Huh. Is that your standard answer or the real one?"

"My standard answer."

The receptionist was drawing a picture of a dog. She added a waggy tail to it and smiled.

"The fire exits," Julian said suddenly, before Ron could go psycho on the barrier again. "If they exist here as well-"

"There's no use in that," Scott said, still leaning against the doorway not-looking cool. "We'd just end up in the future of some alternate world. How would that help us?"

Julian ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Okay," he said. "How are people brought into this place?" he asked the receptionist.

"The machine."

"Right. And is there a... computer... that operates it somewhere?'

"Maybe. You really shouldn't be asking these questions. I'm calling the guards."

The receptionist pressed a button.

Ron gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah," he said. "Call the guards! I bet they'll be more helpful than you. EVEN THOUGH THEY'RE DEAD!"

"Please be quiet," the receptionist said, and went back to her drawing. She decided to call the dog Jack.

"Where's the computer?" Julian pressed on.

"Julian?"

He turned.

Scott pointed at a door next to the desk. 'Computer Room', it said helpfully on its label.

Julian gave a wry smile. "Thanks."

#

Groups A + E

"We've been here for... five days? Has anyone been keeping track?"

"Five days," Martin confirmed with a nod.

"Yeah," Harry continued. "It's pretty amazing we actually managed to survive so long. We thought we'd never even make it past the first night, when it started getting colder and all, but then we found this place. And there were those... squid things inside... Ortiz tried to attack one of them and it, well, kind of burst into flames..."

"I miss Ortiz," Rupert said sadly.

"At least it meant we had heat," Harry said, looking on the bright side. "Then we found that fish pond, and it turned out that Marlon's actually a really good fisherman. But I guess we won't be staying here much longer, right, 'cause you're here and-"

"We're not a rescue party," Nelson cut in. "We're just as lost as you are."

"Or more so," Conor added.

"But you're here," insisted some teen named Mike who for some reason gave off adult vibes. "You know, we spent the last few days thinking we'd never see other people again-" John Constantine made a noise that could have either been a cynical snort or an attempt to dislodge a fishbone caught in his throat, "-We thought we would die here once the food supply ran out or the fires died or the pond froze over. Because every day was the same. Nothing changed. Until now."

Cancer aside, John Constantine appeared perfectly healthy, so it probably wasn't a fishbone.

"Sorry to get your hopes up," he muttered.

"Whatever brought us here was the same thing that brought you here," Conor said. "There was some... kind of time discrepancy, but that's it. It doesn't... doesn't mean anything."

Martin was looking curiously at the cornflakes guy.

"Is he all right?" Martin asked, gesturing at him.

":(," vibed the cornflakes guy.

"Has he eaten?" Conor asked.

"I gave him a fish," Paul said.

"Uh, I ate that," Jesse said. "Yeah. Uh... sorry. He didn't want it... I think he only eats cornflakes."

Harry got up and pulled John Constantine's fourth fish off the cooking ledge, dangling it by the tail where it was cool enough to hold. He stepped over to the cornflakes guy and held it out for him. "Here you go," he said. "Sorry pal, we've got no cornflakes here."

Paul took the fish on his behalf and looked at him. "You've got to eat," he said.

"...," said the cornflakes guy, who was not well-versed in the technicalities of human nutrition.

Paul picked off a bit of fish and held it out. "It's good," he said.

"At least someone knows we're here," Ludlow said in a change of subject, as Paul continued in the thankless task of attempting to feed the cornflakes guy. "Someone took Winston. And he was quick about it. It was planned."

"But why would someone take Winston?" Derek asked. "What did they want with him?"

"Ransom?" Martin suggested.

"From whom, his parents?" Ludlow asked with unnecessary sarcasm. "Who are they, interdimensional superheroes?"

Rupert shrugged.

"Maybe he just kidnapped him for fun," Tod said.

Ludlow raised an eyebrow at him. This made Tod uncomfortable, and he went to occupy himself instead with the less-dangerous activity of playing with his fish skeletons.

"They might not have been after Winston specifically," Johnny Utah said. "Could have been anyone of us. It's dark, it's hard to tell-"

"Why would anyone do that?" Kip asked. "There's no one who would care about just anyone of us."

"Keanu," Tod said suddenly.

Conor kicked him. Then he realised that he was sitting down, which meant that Tod had not received the kick and now his knee felt funny.

"Who?" Ludlow asked.

"Nothing," Johnny said, as Conor managed in a weird fit of acrobatics to surreptitiously knee Tod in the back. "He coughed."

Group B: Shane, Perry, Tommy, Chris, Matt

"Hey, what's that-"

Speeding up the crawl, spurred on by the promise of a change in scenery, a way out of the labyrinth; brought to a halt by the sight of the metal grille, but beyond that not more corridor, just empty space, dark space, the rush of water suddenly audible-

Desperate fingers clawing at the grille, feeling, exploring, another pair of hands join the first, grasping for a hinge, an opening-

"Stuck," Shane said. "It's either rusted over or-" He got a better grip on the grille, shook it forcefully. It budged slightly.

"Do you hear water?" Chris asked from next to him, peeking out through the grille for hope of a glimpse below. He made out the far-off sparkle of light on flowing water, a waterfall, perhaps, or river of some sort.

"Move back," Shane said. "I'll try to kick it in."

He got down on the ground and shoved his foot against the grille, again, again... on the third time it finally gave, its sides coming clean off the walls to land with a distant but distinct splash.

Shane poked his head out the hole and peered downwards. Nothing much. He reached out a hand and felt along the side of the wall below them, feeling for grooves or handholds or-

A ladder.

He closed his hand over the cold metal of the top rung, then the rung after that, and gazed back out at the darkness. Shane withdrew his head from the opening.

"There's a ladder there," he told the others. "I don't know where it leads."

"A ladder?" Chris echoed. "Did we end up in the water system or something?"

"Whatever it is, it's too late now," Perry said. He looked back the way they had come. "We can't retrace our steps."

"So we go down," Shane stated.

"It's dark," Tommy said quietly. Claustrophobia, homesickness, Jjaks' death, and now the yawning pit of darkness through which he'd need to climb, no ground below that they could see, perhaps the ladder broke off halfway and they'd be left clinging there until they fell-

"Right," Shane said. He took a deep breath. "I'll go first. I'll see if it goes anywhere, and-"

"I'll go," Matt interrupted.

"...Sure?"

Matt crawled over to the front, Chris moving back to let him through. He lowered himself over the edge, his feet finding the rungs of the ladder, hands moving down to grasp the sides.

"Okay, just... give a shout every ten rungs or so, so we'll know you're still there," Shane said as Matt began his descent into the darkness.

"Ten!" came the call several seconds later.

"Twenty!" more distant than the first, echoing hollowly off the walls.

"Thirty!" A pause. "It's wet."

Several more seconds of silence, then a small splash, and:

"Bottom! Thirty-six!"

"What do you see?" Shane hollered downwards.

"I don't know, it's too dark!"

Shane turned to the others. "If any of you have a flashlight, now would be a really good time to say so."

No one had a flashlight. Shane stuck his head back out the opening.

"Matt, you still there?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Stay around the ladder. We're coming down."

Shane dropped his feet onto the top rung. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go."

Tommy looked uncertainly at the void beyond.

"If we stick together we'll be safe," Shane added. "Keep together. We'll be fine."

"What about what happened to Jjaks-"

"Shut up about Jjaks!" Shane shouted. He swallowed. "That's over, okay? Let's go."

The far-off reddish glow of the tunnel they had left cast a dim spot of crimson light around the vicinity of the ladder, just enough for them to make out each other's faces. Sprays of water hit them intermittently from what they now saw was not a waterfall but an open spout from which the liquid gushed to flow away past their feet into the dark recesses of the tunnel beyond.

"Is this the sewage system?" Chris asked, stepping off the last rung into shallow water

"Doesn't smell like it," Shane said.

They looked out at the two tunnels leading away from them.

"If we're in the plumbing, we can assume we're underground," Perry said. "We need to go upwards. There should be a ladder, or-"

"We just came down a ladder," Tommy pointed out.

"Another ladder, then," Shane said. "Both of those tunnels have to lead somewhere."

"It's dark."

Shane splashed his way towards one tunnel. "Keep to one wall. Human chain. Hold hands. Don't let go."

#

"I can't bring them back to life," Taxon said. "Company policy and all that... if they found out, I'd get fired and be sentenced to eternal toothbrush manufacturing duty or something."

"Okay."

"But yeah, if it's just you, you might have a shot at getting back and reaching the others... hang on, let me call someone."

#

The cloaked skeleton loomed up before not-Tim, scythe in hand and grinning; not that skeletons are capable of any other expression. I mean, if critics think that Keanu is bad, what would they think of skeleton actors? All they do is grin: when happy, they grin, when angry, they grin, when loved ones die, they grin...

choose your game, Death said.

"Um," not-Tim said. "Chess?"

15 minutes later...

"Checkmate."

this sucks, Death said. He sighed. oh all right, you win. you can go.

"Thank you." Not-Tim got up, when Death stopped him with his scythe.

not so fast, he said. can i have your autograph?

#

Group C: Shane, Perry, Tommy, Chris, Matt

Fingers yanked suddenly as Chris slipped in front of him; grabbed tight, pulled him up again and let him regain his footing-

Splashed on in the darkness, Shane leading, feeling his way against the cold rock walls.

Then after an eternity they saw light; sped up towards it, up the ladder and through the open manhole – if it was a manhole – and into the red-lit street beyond.

It was the same reddish glow of the tunnel, but lighter, and more still; and when they looked past the empty street lined with short buildings and turned their eyes upwards, they saw not sky, but more rock, spreading up and away into a gigantic cavern.

"There's no one around," Chris said, and his voice set off a faint echo far above them. They stood facing outwards in a small clump near the spot where they had emerged, gazing at the strange dead world they had arrived in.

The streets were cobbled stone reddish grey in the light, and the broken pieces rattled hollowly down the street when Tommy kicked at them.

Eventually they made the instinctive move towards the buildings – Matt starting towards one and the others trickling behind him, growing sparser and further apart, for somehow this place felt safe, contained, untouched for many years.

The buildings were houses – small affairs no larger than a single room, cube-like structures lined neatly in rows.

Matt pushed at a door long rotted with age. It crumbled quietly at his touch into a heap of fine rubble on the ground.

He stepped in. The others followed from behind. Bed, desk, some shelves, cupboards.

Shane sank down on the bed and stared at the floor. He looked up at them, resignation on his face.

"We're going to die here," Perry said quietly.

Matt checked the stuff on the shelves for anything that might be of use – food, perhaps, to at least ease their hunger; Chris joined in soon after, but they found nothing other than strange foreign trinkets: hard beads glazed black, cloth that fell apart in their hands, ointments or liquids thick and almost solidified. Initially they returned the things once inspected to their original positions, almost not wanting to disturb the age-forced sanctity of the place; but then actions grew more frantic, urgent, boxes chucked to the ground, things dropped, Matt silently choking back angry tears.

Tommy sat on the chair and stared blankly past Perry out the doorway, down the deserted reddish street that seemed to go on forever. And he remembered home; squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, visualised his house, his bedroom, his belongings scattered all over the floor where he had last left them; remembered faces of friends and family, now so far away in some unreachable plane of reality and yet still so close in his mind... just a week ago he had been there, home and safe with everything all right with the universe...

Matt swept the last few items off a shelf in frustration and dropped to sit on the floor, glaring at nothing. Didn't want to die, wanted to fight, fight anything, whatever it was that had brought them here and held them here, just to do something instead of waiting quietly for starvation and thirst to take him...

"All this way for nothing," he said, his voice tight.

"We got out," Shane said, his words limp to his own ears. "We got this far. Better up here than down there."

"Jjaks got lucky," Matt continued bitterly. "Quick death."

The short conversation lapsed into silence.

Shane brought his legs up to the bed and lay there, trying to hide in sleep.

"I hate him," Chris blurted out with sudden force where he still stood before the shelves.

"Where is Reeves now, huh?" He turned to the others. "It's his fault we're here!"

Perry stepped towards him. "It's not," he said. "He was just doing his job-"

"We wouldn't be here if not for him!" Chris yelled in retort.

Perry grabbed him by his shoulders. "Who else do you want to blame?" he asked. "Your parents? You wouldn't be here if not for them, either."

"It's not the same," Chris said, pulling himself away. "You know it's not!"

He broke free and ran out the door.

"Chris- CHRIS!"

The teen ignored the calls, shoes pounding their way down the subterranean street, driven by blind frustration. He didn't know where he was going; he didn't care, it would make no difference if he was going to die anyway, if there was no way out-

The place wasn't flat. There was a horizon in the distance, far off down along the unchanging street; and soon, when Chris stopped for breath and looked back, he could no longer make out the small house where the others were; and strangely they seemed now to grow faint in his memory, as though they had never existed and it was just him, here, always had been-

It was cooler here in this part of the street, some cold draught of air blowing from somewhere... somewhere above...

Chris looked up. And then he saw the far off glimmer of bluish light coming from a wide crack far above... and moving his gaze downwards, he could make out rough steps hewn into the rock, leading up...

"Chris!"

Someone running after him from behind, possibly all of them, still too far away for it to matter. Chris grabbed hold of a step and started his climb, working his way towards that spot of rippling light, the cold intensifying as he got closer...

He poked his head out the crack at the top. He was at the side of some cave. Not too far from him he could make out the ripples of a pond, and sitting next to that, a fisherman.

"Uh... hi," Chris ventured.

Marlon stared at him.

+ Group A: Conor, John C, Johnny U, Paul, Nelson, Tod, Jesse, Kip, the cornflakes guy
+ Group E: Ludlow, Eric, Martin, Harry, Rupert, Derek, Marlon, Heaver, Mike, Jack not-Traven

"WHERE THE F*** DO YOU PEOPLE COME FROM?" Ludlow shouted, interrupting the short happy reunion that had proceeded among the fourteen Keanu-spawn of Block F, 4th floor. The noise died down. Tommy and Jesse agreed that it would probably not be a good idea to poke Tom with a stick.

"Same place you did," John Constantine said. He wanted a cigarette. He didn't have any. This did not make him happy.

"I take it you're not a rescue party, huh?" Martin asked.

"Yeah, we're not," Shane said. "Look, uh, do you have anything to eat?"

"Yeah," Ludlow said, not done glaring at them. "We do. You don't."

Harry glanced at him. "Come on, Tom..."

"There's not enough," Ludlow continued. "We can barely feed ourselves as it is. You think you can just barge in here out of nowhere and take our food? We've been here five days. You've been here for less than one. Why don't you try getting out there and fending for yourself, instead of feeding off the resources that some of us have f***ing died to-"

"Show some hospitality, will you?" Johnny Utah asked through gritted teeth.

Ludlow looked at him. "Why?"

"Because there are fourteen of us and only eleven of you, and if you wanna fight this out you're gonna lose-"

Ludlow looked at the cornflakes guy and raised an eyebrow.

":(," vibed the cornflakes guy.

Shane pulled the FBI agent back. "Johnny don't-"

"Yeah, all right," Ludlow said once he was done intimidating the cornflakes guy. "You want to fight? Okay, let's fight!"

He lunged at Johnny, sending them both to the ground, fists flying, Johnny yelling, and the surrounding people learning that it's always a painful idea to stand behind an angry FBI agent.

"Look," Conor said. "Can we just-"

Then he got a punch in his head and all peaceable notions violently deserted him.

John Constantine calmly bent down and picked up the cigarette that had fallen out of someone's pocket.

"Got a light?" he asked Perry.

"Yeah."

And John was happy again. He leant against the rock wall, blew smoke out his mouth and enjoyed the civil war.

Then a ripple in the air; and suddenly a circular portal opened, and not-Tim stepped out.

"..." he said, surveying the scene.

"Uh, hello?" he said.

Conor looked up; swore; let go of Rupert's hair and stood looking guilty, blood dripping from his nose.

"And who the hell are you?" Ludlow yelled at the newcomer, giving the mostly-comatose Johnny one last kick for good measure.

Not-Tim looked at him for a long while.

"The rescue party," he said finally. "You can call me Chuck."

#

Not-Tim walked up to the semi-conscious Johnny and crouched down by his side.

He glanced up at Ludlow, who still didn't look too happy.

"What did you do to him?" Not-Tim asked.

"The little punk was asking for it."

Not-Tim looked back at Johnny. "Quarterback punk," he murmured.

"Can we go now?" Ludlow asked tersely.

Not-Tim stood back up. He surveyed the scene with its beaten and bloodied, his gaze meeting eyes that sometimes turned to look away.

"Just one question," he said. "WHAT THE F*** IS ALL THIS?"

He stepped over Utah. "Derek, let Nelson go. Yes, I see that you've got him in a half-Nelson. That's very clever of you. But will you please-"

"How do you know my name?" Derek asked.

Not-Tim laughed. "How do I-"

A vaguely psychotic grin spread out on his face. He waved a finger in the air and jabbed it at people as he hopped about navigating bodies. "Tom," he said at Ludlow. "Martin. Harry. Rupert. Marlon. Johnny. Jack. Mike. And- uh."

Not Tim blinked. "Who are you?"

Eric looked crestfallen. "Eric," he said weakly.

A pause. "Um, sorry. Eric, okay. Yeah. And-"

"You guys?" Ludlow cut in incredulously. "You're the ones that started it, aren't you? Kidnapping that-"

"Started what?" John Constantine asked.

Ludlow stared at Not-Tim. "'Chuck', huh? What's your real name?"

"Yeah, that's... that's a form of Charles. It's my middle name, see. K. Charles-"

"What's the K stand for?"

Not-Tim hesitated. "Kool Breeze Over the Mountain," he said.

"Actor?"

"Nah, you don't have to call me that. 'Keanu' is fine-"

Not-Tim saw Ludlow glaring at him and decided that it would probably be a good idea to shut up.

That was when the cornflakes guy broke free of Eric's grasp and bolted towards him, attaching himself firmly to Not-Tim's leg. He smiled. He missed Not-Tim. Not-Tim understood him.

":)," vibed the cornflakes guy.

"Um," Not-Tim said, looking down at his left leg's newest inhabitant. "Can you, uh-"

He tried shaking his leg to disengage the cornflakes guy.

":(," vibed the cornflakes guy, and held on tighter.

#

Neo stood in the doorway of his room, arms folded as he calmly watched the sorry procession pass by into the common room in various states of injury.

Ludlow's gaze lingered on the blanket-covered dead!Alex on the corridor.

John followed his gaze. "That's what we do to people we don't like," he suggested darkly.

Neo watched as Conor and Kip dragged the comatose Johnny Utah along the carpet by his hands.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Civil war," Conor said.

"Who are the others?"

"Found them in a cave and now they won't go away."

Neo watched Not-Tim limp by, the cornflakes guy still hanging on to his leg.

"Hi, Neo," said Not-Tim.

"What happened to you?" Neo asked.

"Hmm?"

"You're bleeding."

"Oh, that. Yeah..." Not-Tim wiped blood off the healing wound on the side of his head. "I killed myself earlier. Shot myself in the head. But I'm all right now. Uh... can you help me get him off?" He indicated the cornflakes guy.

Neo looked at him.

":)," vibed the cornflakes guy.

"I think he'll need to be surgically removed," Shane said. "Oi, Julian!"

"I don't think we need to summon medical assistance just yet-"

Julian popped up. "What is it?"

Shane pointed at the cornflakes guy. "I'm thinking malignant tumour growth-"

Kevin was busy trying to drag his sofa back into the room; he gave up, left it there in the corridor and plopped down on it.

"All you do is sit on that couch," Nelson said. "Ever thought about doing something more useful?"

Kevin sat up and jabbed a finger in his direction. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, not knowing what to say. He settled for looking angry and misunderstood and decided that defending guilty clients was far easier than defending his right to sit on a sofa and do nothing.

Nelson smirked and walked on to the common room, where others were milling aimlessly in and out waiting for something to happen.

A resounding scream broke the air as Julian succeeded in surgically removing the cornflakes guy from not-Tim's leg. "Hold him," he said as Shane willingly grabbed the struggling cornflakes' guy and dragged him further from not-Tim.

":'(," vibed the cornflakes guy, hands desperately flailing as he tried to regain his grip.

Not-Tim shook his leg, enjoying the returned mobility. "Thanks, Julian," he said.

He patted the cornflakes guy on the head. He jumped out of the way of a grasping hand.

":("

"Could we sedate him?" Shane asked, trying to figure out the best way to immobilise his captive.

"I don't know," not-Tim said. "Neo? Know anything that might help? Just to keep him still, not injure him or kill him-"

Neo shook his head.

Conor emerged from the common room where he had just deposited Johnny Utah beside the kitchen sink. He looked at Shane and Julian. He looked at not-Tim. He stared back at them. Then he walked off to the sofa and an attempt at returning it to the common room.

Shane looked awkwardly at not-Tim, remembering who he was.

"Let's... take you somewhere else, okay?" he asked the cornflakes guy, and went off with him to the common room where people were accumulating.

Julian stood around looking nervous, then he followed Shane.

Not-Tim looked sad. He looked down at his shoes for comfort. He decided that they were falling apart. Time to bring out the duct-tape-

"Where's Jack?"

Not-Tim looked up to see Griffin standing there.

"He died," he said after some time.

A disappointed nod.

"Miss him?" not-Tim asked.

"I liked Jack."

"Liked him or wanted to kill him?"

"Is there a difference?"

"For most people, yeah, I think there is."

Griffin stuck his hands into his pockets.

"Jonathan and Eddie, huh?" not-Tim pressed on with measured tone. "Planning to do the rest of them in, too? And me?"

"Not you."

Not-Tim laughed. "And why is that?"

Griffin looked at him. "Because you're the only one who understands me."

The common room was the most crowded it had been, but still large enough to accommodate the thirty or so people hanging around waiting. Ludlow stood by the table and talked quietly with Conor, the latter with arms folded defensively, yet willing to listen and exchange necessary facts. Martin listening from behind Ludlow; John Constantine leaning against a shelf, smoking and attempting his best to make Ludlow angry just by looking at him.

Most of the others sat scattered about the floor in smatterings of uninspired conversation, the group divided between those from Blocks F and L, casting the occasional suspicious glance at each other. Johnny Utah lay unconscious by the kitchen sink for all to see. Away from both groups, David Allen Griffin leant against the wall by the television screen and watched them.

Bill S. Preston Esquire felt highly out of place. He got a bunch of curious glances, which didn't make him feel any better, and instead joined Ted in an animated discussion of what they thought Sid was up to, and how he had gotten so orange in the first place.

Near the back of the room, Tommy and Jesse were discovering the extreme dissatisfaction that came from poking Marlon with a stick. All he did was look at them, and sometimes not even that.

The door opened. Not-Tim walked in, and the conversation from the Block F side of the room suddenly died down into nothing.

Ludlow looked up to see the source of the sudden quiet.

"Hi," not-Tim said, and tried to look inconspicuous.

Ludlow walked towards him; he stopped at an arm's length away and stared at not-Tim with an intense calculating gaze.

Not-Tim fought the urge to look away.

Ludlow turned to face the others. "Why're you all so afraid of him?" he asked.

No one said anything.

Ludlow turned back to not-Tim. "He's just like the rest of us," he said.

In a sudden motion he grabbed not-Tim and slammed him face-first against the wall, ignoring the yell of pain as he grabbed hold of the actor's left arm and twisted it.

"Don't feel so powerful now, huh?"

"Let me go!"

Paul and Shane jumped to their feet and dashed forward. Shane tripped over the cornflakes guy and fell.

"I'm taking over this bunch of f***ing morons, you understand that?" Ludlow continued, elbowing Paul in the nose.

"Okay," not-Tim gasped. "Okay. Let go my arm. Please," he added.

Ludlow wasn't finished. "And you'll do what I tell you, same as everyone else."

"Yes!" not-Tim shouted. "Let go my arm!"

"Yes sir," Ludlow hissed into his ear.

"YES MR. LUDLOW SIR!"

Ludlow released him with a shove, not-Tim stumbling to regain his balance, massaging his arm and blinking back tears of pain.

"Sit down," Ludlow said.

Not-Tim sat down, still wincing and rubbing his arm.

"I'm okay," he said quietly when Julian gave him a concerned look.

Tommy realised that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it.

People from Block F looked nervously from not-Tim to Ludlow.

"Okay," Ludlow said, sweeping the room with his gaze. "The issue here is how to get home. Can they get us home?" he asked, looking pointedly at not-Tim.

"I don't know," not-Tim said. "You'll have to ask them."

"How do we do that?"

"Get out... March on their headquarters..."

"I think they're already doing that," Bill said. "That's why they started shooting."

"Who are you?" Ludlow asked.

"Bill S. Preston Esquire..."

"You're not one of us."

"He's my friend," Ted said firmly.

Ludlow gave up. "Fine. So we go out there and join them-"

"I think you missed the part about the shooting," John Constantine said drily.

A bump at the door. Everyone turned.

"Hi, sofa coming through!" Another bump. Paul got up and opened the door for Tod and Kevin and the sofa and helped them attempt to drag it through the door, whereupon it got stuck and refused to budge unless they tilted it diagonally. They decided they couldn't be bothered, so they left it there.

Tom Ludlow was not happy at his plans being interrupted by a sofa. He glared at it.

":(," vibed the sofa in the language of the cornflakes guy.

"Can we get b-"

And then a Mysterious Old Man suddenly appeared out of nowhere and rudely cut-short Ludlow's sentence. He gazed casually at not-Tim. "I see you're alive," he said.

Ludlow glared at him. "Who are you?"

"Could have fooled me," Dem continued, ignoring Ludlow. "I even sent Winston home."

"You can send them back?" not-Tim asked.

"The question is not if I can, but if I want to." Dem smiled.

"What do you want?" not-Tim asked.

"You haven't exactly been very cooperative, have you?" Dem asked. "Do they know what you did to Jjaks?"

Everyone looked at not-Tim.

"What did you-" Shane started.

"I didn't do anything to him."

"You let him die," Dem said. "You could have stopped it."

"Then other people would have died!"

"Noble fellow, isn't he?" Dem asked the others. "Willing to sacrifice the lot of you for the greater good-"

"Look-"

"What?" Conor demanded.

"Okay, see-"

"Since when did you speak for us? Huh?"

Not-Tim looked at him and repressed the urge to say, "In your case, 2001."

Conor shook his head. "I've had enough of this," he said. He stormed out the room. He found his way blocked by the sofa. He kicked it. It wouldn't move. He climbed over the sofa and finished storming out the room.

They heard various loud noises and swearing from outside as Conor went around hitting things.

"New deal," Dem said cheerily against the background noise. "I offer to either bring those dead guys back to life, or they stay dead and send this lot back home."

"Hey," Ludlow said. "Who told you you could just barge in here and-"

"I'm not talking to you," Dem said. "Well, Mr. Reeves?"

Not-Tim hesitated. "It's their call."

#

So it was that the one-for-one deal was forged, and Winston Connelly found himself rudely returned to the place he thought he'd escaped for good.

"Hi, Winston," someone said, as Dem trudged out to the corridor, followed by a trailing line of Block F Keanu-spawn.

He pulled out a boot from his coat pocket. "It's the Boot of Life," he explained when asked, and delivered a sound kick to dead!Alex lying in the corridor.

Nothing happened, except the body got bounced around a bit.

"Oops," Dem said. "Wrong boot. That's the insomnia one." He pulled it off and stuck another one on and gave another swift kick to dead!Alex.

A bullet fell out onto the carpet. Wounds healed shut. Colour returned to skin. Alex coughed and lay still.

Dem decided that another kick wouldn't hurt. So he kicked him again, and Alex's eyes flew open with the confused terror that one is wont to experience upon being brought back to life only to see some old guy kicking you with a boot. He swore and rolled out of the way of the next kick.

Dem shrugged. "Guess that's it for now, then." He vanished.

Alex looked up at the people staring at him. They looked down at him.

"...Welcome back," Conor said.

Alex got slowly to his feet. He dimly recalled being exploited as free labour in some strange afterlife place that needed a new recreational wing. The details were growing fuzzy in his mind. He needed to sit down. He sat back down on the carpet.

"Okay," Shane said when it looked as though no further interesting thing was about to happen. "Lunch."

"More like dinner," Conor said.

"We can have both," Tommy suggested.

"What time is it?" Chris asked, but everyone was too lazy to look at the clock. It was probably around six.

Jesse poked his head into the common room. "Who's hungry?" he called out. Several people decided that they were. So they got up, to the decided displeasure of Tom, who wanted everyone to just sit down and cooperate.

The group went enthusiastically out into the stairwell in search of the cafeteria and food.

Sitting on the floor, Alex still felt uncomfortably like a zombie. It didn't help that he was kind of covered in blood. He left for the central block, returning soon after with a free change of fresh clothes, then headed duly for the bathroom and a good shower.

Back in the cafeteria, the chefs stood around in a deactivated sort of way. The food embargo was still on.

The place was eerily still, and clean, and white, the rows of empty tables freshly cleaned and gleaming, the work of the small cleaning robots that now lay dormant by the walls.

Their footsteps echoed as they entered.

Tod prodded one of the chefs. Nothing happened.

But there were ingredients lying about in the cooking areas, and some of them knew how to cook, and others didn't mind eating raw ingredients, and so they got themselves sufficiently full, although the food didn't taste a quarter as good as it would have if Adam Jones had been among their number.

#

Alex held out his hand. "Alex Wyler."

"Tom Ludlow."

They shook hands.

"Where were you guys from?" Alex asked, tossing his towel onto the sofa to dry.

"Block L. The 29^th floor."

Alex gestured vaguely at the door. "Have you met Keanu?"

"Yes," Ludlow replied shortly.

"Okay."

"What's he doing here?" Ludlow asked.

"I don't know."

"Trying to build some f***ing kingdom of his own?"

Alex shook his head.

Ludlow snorted. "It's pathetic."

Alex just looked at him.

"He walks in and suddenly everyone's on their best behaviour-"

"It's partly fear. And respect."

"For what?" Ludlow demanded. "What the f*** has he ever done for us? I've spent my whole life getting by on my own, and he had no say in it as far as I know. He might as well never have existed. Why should that change now?"

Alex just looked at him.

"All he's done so far is to get us stuck in this place. This prison. And since then he hasn't done a single f***ing thing to get us out of it."

"He didn't have much of a chance," Alex said. "He got locked up in a room the moment we found out who he was."

"Could have done something earlier, couldn't he?"

"Look around," Alex said. "I think we're the only ones left in this place. Everyone else got out. Because of him."

"Did everyone miss the part about the shooting?" John Constantine asked rhetorically from a corner. He didn't need food. He had a cigarette.

"We don't even know what's going on outside," Martin said in a fit of eavesdropping-turned-intervention. "We weren't the only ones that ran back. There were lots of people who would've got sent... who knows where. Most likely they're still there now."

#

Forced friendliness at the table where they sat down to eat; that mix of fear and pity, the tensions running high, and not-Tim thus excused himself to let them breathe more freely.

Bill and Ted exchanged a glance. They got up and joined him.

Not-Tim returned the smiles.

And the vegetables that Ted snuck onto his plate.

#

Dinner eaten, stomachs full, the whole of Kenselton Hotel free to roam; down lighted hallways and winding stairs, past silent bartenders that did not move. Together again, anarchy high; they mourned the loss of those who died; and vowed that they'd get home some day, against all odds, and come what may.

#

Alex found him in the dark of the common room, sitting at the small table between the shelves engrossed in a book beneath the low desk light.

"You're still up?" Alex asked. The clock ticking in the shadows said 2 am.

Looking up; a shrug. "Yeah." A hand closed the book. The Collected Works of William Shakespeare.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb-"

"It's all right."

Low snores from the sleeping others filled the silence of the room.

"Alex-"

"Yeah?"

The cracked whisper. "Tell me this isn't a dream."

The face that looked up at him held a haggard weariness; tired from insufficient rest, perhaps, or just the toil of the previous week; and somewhere in that gaze came to Alex the sudden conviction that they were equals, after all, equally powerless, equally human, and a wave of compassion washed over him.

"It isn't," he said.

The actor nodded. He buried his head in his hands and did not move for a while.

"Can I get you anything?" Alex offered.

"Water would be fine."

The gush of the water cooler dispensing clear water into a cup; Alex's footsteps padding back across the carpet, and the hand gently placing the cup before him.

"Thanks," he said, and raised his head from his palms.

Alex pulled out the spare chair and sat adjacent to him, watching as he took a sip and put the cup back down, gazing unseeingly at the shelf before him and saying, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Alex asked.

"Anything. Everything. All of you being here. For coming here myself and making things worse-"

"You don't know that things would've been better if you hadn't come."

"Jack might still be alive... and Jjaks. That was part of the deal. They could be alive now. I just had to agree not to come. Other people would have died, but..." A pause. "Who am I to speak for you. Why should it be my decision."

Alex was listening intently, hands clasped on the table before him. "You did the right thing," he said.

"Did I? I don't know if I did." A gulp of water, then a pause, and quieter: "There was a contract. A few months ago. They sent it to a few of us, asking for consent to bring our characters into this world." Another pause. "I said yes."

Alex narrowed his eyes.

"I didn't know. I didn't know what they... how... I didn't think it would be like this. I just... thought... it would be nice to meet you guys and..."

He broke off, looked Alex in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You had a choice," Alex said, his voice terse.

"I didn't think you were real."

Alex looked away from him to the table, brow furrowed slightly.

"I'm sorry," the actor said again.

"They deserve to know."

A rueful smile. "Tom will kill me."

Alex nodded.

They sat in silence for a while.

"Don't tell them," Alex finally said. "It'll only make things worse."

The actor barely registered his words, both hands gripping the cup of water, just looking at it.

"Keanu."

His head turned slightly towards Alex.

"Get some rest," Alex suggested. "It's late." He got off the chair and pushed it back under the table. The other hadn't budged.

"C'mon. You can take my bed. I'm not tired. My whole sleep cycle's been thrown out of whack."

Finally the actor got up, cup in hand. Alex reached around and turned off the desk lamp, then led the two of them across the common room and out the door.

The corridor was silent with night, its light hanging still in the air. Alex pushed open the door to his room and motioned in. Paul was fast asleep in the lower bunk.

The actor paused at the doorway. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Alex took the cup from his hand. "You're welcome."

Paul stirred slightly as the door shut and the newcomer padded across the carpet.

"Alex?" he asked groggily, eyes shut.

"No."

Paul opened his eyes.

He made out the dark figure as it passed him and climbed up the ladder to the top bunk.

"Who are you?" he asked, a little more awake now.

The upper bunk creaked as someone settled into it.

"Good night," came the voice from above him, not answering the question.

Paul Sutton got no more sleep that night.

#

They ran around the hallways stripping bodies of their guns; here is one that's made of silver, here is one that only stuns. Handled different makes and tried them, having mock fights in the halls; fingers slipping on the triggers sent stray bullets raking walls.

"Stop wasting the f***ing ammo!" Ludlow yelled.

They collected themselves back in the common room and dumped the loot on the table.

Ludlow located a box and emptied it of its white tablecloths. Not-Tim looked at them. He walked over, crouched down, and picked up a white tablecloth from the floor. He looked at it for a long time.

Meanwhile a few people were checking the guns for ammo, chucking the sufficiently full ones into the box.

Shane tossed a seemingly empty gun aside. It hit the wall, went off, and blew a hole in a cornflakes box.

The cornflakes guy burst into tears.

Neo dodged the cornflakes rain and picked up the last gun to check it.

"Okay," Ludlow said after that was dropped into the box as well. "Everyone who knows how to use a gun, take one. ...ONE, Anderson! ONE!"

Neo sadly returned the other five.

"And can someone tell him to shut the f*** up?" Ludlow demanded, glaring at the cornflakes guy, still in tears.

Not-Tim sighed. He released the white tablecloth and joined the others on the floor. The cornflakes guy grabbed hold of him.

":(," he vibed, burying his face in not-Tim's jacket.

Not-Tim attempted to retain as much of his dignity as was possible with a cornflakes guy attached to him.

":(," the cornflakes guy continued.

"How old are you?" Ludlow asked suspiciously as Ron picked up a gun.

The teen scowled. "Old enough."

"Riiight." Ludlow pointed at the sole remaining cornflakes box. "Hit that."

Ron duly complied. Cornflakes flew out everywhere.

The cornflakes guy re-burst into tears, falling into sniffles when not-Tim covered his eyes.

Ludlow looked reluctantly impressed. He let Ron be and looked over at not-Tim. He took out another pair of handcuffs from his pocket and gestured towards the door. "Get moving."

"Where?"

Ludlow held up the handcuffs. "You're not coming with us, and I'm going to make sure that you don't. Got any problems with that?"

Not-Tim looked at him. He looked at the cornflakes guy. He looked back at Tom. "What if I promise not to go anywhere?"

"Not good enough."

Not-Tim sighed. He pulled the cornflakes guy off him and stood up.

":( !," vibed the cornflakes guy.

"You'll be safer here," Alex said doubtfully, then winced as the cornflakes guy attached himself to him instead. "Just... yeah. Hey, um, can someone help get this fellow off me?"

Julian went to answer his call of duty.

"You'll be all right," Alex continued as Ludlow led not-Tim out the door.

Chapter 23 »

#