Chapter Text
He slowly rose to the surface of his consciousness like a breathless diver.
Everything was at first dark, heavy, suffocating... then a muffled hum began to pulsate in his ears, regular and hypnotic.
He breathed in suddenly, as if his body remembered that he needed air. The air he was sucking had a strange smell: a pungent mixture of disinfectant, plastic and a metallic scent that evoked blood. His eyes were opened in fits and starts. The light immediately assailed him, white and raw, like a spotlight in the darkness.
The ceiling above him seemed too neat, too smooth, almost unreal.
A cold sensation pulled the skin from his arm: an infusion. He wanted to move his hand and wings, but a numb pain ran through his muscles, as if they had slept for centuries. Shadows passed at the periphery of his vision. Low, indistinct voices mingled with the regular beep of a machine. Then a figure leaned above him: a woman in a white blouse, surgical mask raised on the face, with tired but vigilant eyes.
— Mr. Shedletsky... Can you hear me?
He blinked. His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first, just a hoarse breath. After a painful effort:
— ... Where... am I?
— Robloxia General Hospital, she replied softly. You... you’re awake from a coma.
His mind, still drowned in the fog, tried to cling to his memories. He relives images without order: dark corridors, distorted silhouettes, a serious and mocking laughter echoing in the void... then a sensation of infinite fall.
— How... time? he murmured, almost frightened of the answer.
She lowered her eyes slightly before answering, as if to soften the shock:
— Eight years.
The word echoed in him, creating a dizzying emptiness. His hands trembled on the sheet. Everything he still believed to be real suddenly seemed old, erased, dusty.
He wanted to ask why he was here, what had happened after the fall... but a strange invisible pressure tightened his throat. As if something prevented him from asking these questions.
How was he here? How was he alive? What happened to the others?
Since his awakening, time was running out in a strange way.
Sometimes Shedletsky thought he had been awake for hours, but the position of the sun behind the window remained the same. The noises of the hospital formed a repetitive backdrop: trolleys that creaked, not hurried in the corridor, whispers behind the neighboring curtains. We kept telling him to stay in bed, how could he? From what he heard, Builderman and Dussekar are in a deep coma too and he wants to be there for them.
Too bad his wings are as numb as his legs, otherwise he would have already flown out the window.
He was half asleep when a noise heavier than the others stopped just in front of his door. A hand gently knocked.
— Come in, he said in a feeble voice.
The door opened, revealing a familiar silhouette.
Dussekar.
He appeared thinner, more marked by time, but his gaze had retained this almost worried intensity. In an instant, the mist in Shedletsky’s mind dissipated slightly.
— Dussekar... is that really you?
This one sketched a tired smile.
— In the flesh and bone, my friend.
He approached with difficulty and, without thinking, placed a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. The embrace that followed was nothing dramatic, but it carried the weight of a war in hell.
— I woke up a few weeks ago, said Dussekar, sitting on the chair by the bed. I was told that you woke up recently and so I rushed to your room.
— We were asleep for eight years, but I saw you fall with me, not even 2 weeks ago... said Shedletsky, still in disbelief.
Dussekar slowly nodded, then lowered his voice, as if any word could be heard beyond the walls.
— Since I have been awake ... I have tried to pronounce words of Forsaken to the other administrators who have pleasantly visited me. But it was impossible. The words stuck in my throat, as if... a force prevented me from doing so.
Shedletsky furrowed his brows.
— Me too... earlier. When I wanted to ask what happened after... the fall. It’s as if my voice was cutting out.
— Exactly. But... I can tell you about it, to you. As if... we were part of the same circle. The survivors, perhaps
A heavy silence settled, punctuated only by the regular beep of the machine.
Dussekar replied:
— As soon as we are recovered, we shall go to the HQ of Robloxia. If our friend Builderman is there, we put our memories in common. We must understand. And find our missing companions.
Shedletsky sat up slightly despite the pain, and replied with a simple:
— Sounds good to me, pal.
It was said without emphasis, but in their looks reflected the same certainty: This hellish realm had not finished with them.
A few weeks later, the visible and invisible scars of Shedletsky and Dussekar had closed... at least enough to leave the hospital: Dussekar could float but much slower, Shedletsky still didn’t have enough strength to spread his wings and their dreams where filled with terror and dark memories.
Shortly after their release, the return of Builderman had been announced all over Robloxia and they pressed to go there.
Robloxia HQ stood before them like a familiar yet strangely foreign fortress. Its glass facade reflected a golden and orange sky, giving the building an epic and warm aura despite everything that happened inside. Inside, the hall shone with a sanitized white, perfectly orderly. Yet, in the eyes of the two survivors, it seemed almost too perfect, like a frozen game set. The employees passed by, absorbed in their tasks, ignoring the invisible weight that followed each step of the two administrators returning from between the shadows.
An imposing man was waiting for them near the elevator: DoomBringer.
He held out his hand to them, one to each, with a firm handle and a visible expression of relief
— Glad to see you standing. Go ahead, Builderman is waiting for you.
They climbed all the floors with the elevator to the last one, and hastily entered the only office on the floor, the office that they knew so well.
The room was bathed in a soft light coming from a large bay window. Builderman stood behind his desk, and at their sight, he gave a tired smile.
No words were necessary at the beginning. They advanced and took themselves in a brief but charged embrace of all that eight years of suffering in an unknown kingdom , and of those few weeks of separations after the incident.
When they sat around the desk, Builderman broke the silence:
— How are you?
- I woke up more than 1 month ago, my weakness fades by the day, replied Dussekar.
-Personally, it’s okay, I woke up a few weeks after Dussekar, I still can’t fly but I was so eager to get out of the hospital to eat some fried chicken. And you?
-It’s going well thank you, nothing that coffee can't fix. I am relieved to see that you are doing well.
Dussekar replied with a nod.
— When I woke up, I was told that you two were still in a coma. I tried to tell the others about The realm... nothing. The words block. But with Shedletsky, it seems to be fine. With you too my friend. I believe that only the survivors can discuss it.
Builderman nodded slowly.
— DoomBringer thought I was delirious when I tried... Impossible to say a single word.
Shedletsky took a pen and pulled a blank sheet of paper towards him.
— So you have to put everything on paper. Everything we remember, as long as it’s still clear.
The squeal of the pen filled the room while they were lying on the sheet fragments of memory:
The names of the survivors with them: Taph, Guest 1337, Chance, OO7n7, Two Time, Elliot, Noob.
The cards from the rounds, some still clear in their minds, others blurry and distorted.
The chalets where they had taken refuge. (Sketch of Dussekar included)
The threatening silhouettes.
The sounds, smells, impressions that still stick to their mind.
The more the list advanced, the more they noticed holes, as if someone had nibbled at their memories. Dussekar is the one who remembers the chalets most clearly, Shedletsky remembered more clearly the different round rentals and Builderman perfectly remembered everyone’s abilities.
-So basically, do we remember almost everything except the killers? exclaimed Shedletsky
A great silence passed. Buildermand and Dussekar looked at Shedletsky with shock, as if he had just said that the sun was made of ice.
Builderman hit his forehead. -Killers... but yes of course!! Those are the mysterious and threatening silhouettes! How could I forget?
- Well from what I observe, everyone has fragmented and different memories. It’s not a big deal that you don’t remember anymore that they were killers, my friend. But it still seems that none of us remembers who these killers were precisely.
— We won’t be able to rebuild everything alone, said Shedletsky.
Dussekar nodded.
— So, we find the other survivors. Each missing memory may be complete in someone else’s mind. Do you have any information about our compatriots?
Builderman placed the pen slowly, as if this act sealed a silent pact.
— I didn’t have time to look into it, I was bullied into resting. We start the search tomorrow. And this time... we’ll go all the way.
The three agree to this plan and spend the night making up for lost time and planning their research.