***ALEX***

"Guys!" Annie's voice calls out somewhere in the middle of all this opaque light. I blink, and every time I do so, the light dims just a bit, revealing a row of metal cylinders in front of me, and another row behind me when I turn around. Also behind me is Harlan, who stands out even with his white skin almost blending into the light.

"Where are we?" I scratch my head. "Did...did Alicia teleport us?"

"She did." Harlan clears his throat and looks around, still blinking rapidly. "Uh...well, I know some light scrivs can do that, but it's one of those powers that's super-rare, you know?"

To my left, feet slap against the floor. It's Annie, and she's looking frantic. "Guys...guys..." She pants, stopping to catch her breath. "Over here..." She jerks her thumb back into the infinite light around us, somewhere behind her.

"What is it?" I follow Harlan as we walk that way.

"It's...well, you should see it for yourself." She leads us to a point in one of the rows of cylinders where the otherwise uninterrupted row is broken. One cylinder is about a foot out from its neighbors, with steam issuing from a set of small holes near the bottom.

Near the top is a window through which we can see the cylinder's contents.

It's Russell, looking strangely serene as he stands with his eyes and mouth closed - not exactly his natural state, either of those. No glasses, either. And visible at the very bottom of the window is a set of two or three IV lines connecting to some artery - subclavian, I think. They stick out of his bare chest like he's in a hospital bed.

"Holy shit..." I blink, unable to believe what I'm seeing. Now I'm remembering how Alicia said Russell was dead, though I'd disregarded it in the heat of the moment to work at pissing her off.

"Y-Y-You didn't know?" Harlan gulps, and I see him sobbing, as is Annie. "You saw the bombing at the Guardian building, right? H-He was there."

"Wait, but that means..." I gasp. "How the hell did we get here?"

Faintly, I hear the sound of music coming towards us. Not just any music, either - I think it's the theme from Ghostbusters. And it's not only tinny, like it's coming from someone's earbuds, but I also hear, more loudly and clearly, a guy whistling the tune. I turn to look at the music's source and spot it coming out of the light - another guy in glasses, one I haven't seen in the flesh in a long, long time.

He stops short upon seeing us, then takes his earbuds out and adjusts his glasses. "Hmm. Last time I saw you, lady, you basically condemned me to die. Again."

"Steve?" I approach him first.

Steve Walker pockets his earbuds (better hope he doesn't have Elves in tow) and waves one hand in the air. The light assault on our eyes dims away, and instead, we mostly see the shiny stainless-steel color of the rows of cylinders around us. "Didn't I say I was gonna send a postcard? You guys got it, right? The postcard, and the first part of the map to that Black Mirror thing? Did you use it? Thompson really wants to know, but he's been stuck in his pod for a while. Charging, you know?"

I clear my throat to stop his rambling. "Steve...are we in the Third 'Verse?"

"Shit, the secret's out..." He looks around, as if expecting people to start coming out of the cylinders and form a zombie army against us. A naked zombie army, I bet, based on what we saw of Russell. Upper chest and above only, but anything else would have been TMI, especially for his siblings. "Well...wait, you're not dead, are you? This whole row here just filled up, like, an hour ago...you're not from...wait, no, you wouldn't be." He chuckles under his breath. "No, not when you've still got your threads. I had to steal these from back in the Second last time I went through there. So...no, I guess you're still alive.

"Too bad about these poor bastards, though." He gestures at the row of cylinders of which Russell is a part. "Oh shit, he's here now too? What the hell is going on back home?"

"Way too much," I say. "Some of it, I don't even really know about it myself."

"Well, don't worry. If he's just gotten here..." Steve rubs his temple with the tips of his index and middle fingers, his lips moving as he works through some kind of calculations in his head. "Okay, we just gotta get to the end of this row and you guys can get out."

I look nervously at the cylinders all around us, which, for people who supposedly just died in the Second, there are a lot of them. How many from the Guardian bombing, how many from those riots on the edge of Bearville?

And where's Freddie in all this mess?

Actually not that far away. He's across the way from Russell, sandwiched between a couple of guys I think I recognize from the Peppermint truck. Great, more deaths on my hands. Not entirely mine, of course, but I played a pretty big role in their deaths any way you slice it.

Gideon, Ty, and Kelly don't find out about these. Ever. Is that the first time I've said this? I feel like it isn't, and if that's the case, it's no surprise.

I lock eyes with Harlan and Annie for a moment, then turn to Steve again. "What's the catch?"

"Say what?"

"You make it sound so easy, getting out of this place. What's the catch?"

Steve scratches his head again. "Uh, well, there shouldn't be one..."

"Tell us." Annie's voice is raw because she's been unable to talk for crying for the last couple of minutes.

Steve finally gives in to this command. "The Third 'Verse has this, uh, gatekeeper. You thought Grace was a hardass? You haven't met Michael. Don't underestimate him-" He stiffens, then turns around slowly, his hand filling with fire.

"Could you not?" It's a guy's voice with an English accent. He's coming at us from down the row, the opposite direction from where Steve came to us. "I just gave you back your visiting privileges, Steve. Don't go surrendering them now."

I watch as Michael - I'm assuming this is he - steps closer and really comes into view. What really surprises me is how much he reminds me of Gabe, or, more accurately, a potential picture of Gabe in his early twenties. Tall, slim, longish blond hair - though his is bleached, if the difference between how fair it is vs. his dark eyebrows is anything to go by. I mean, seriously, the guy looks like a dandelion, although I'm pretty sure dandelions don't wear white hoodies and denim with padded armor over their torsos like one of the Kingdom soldiers from The Walking Dead.

"What?" he asks when he sees me staring.

"Nothing," I say, blinking rapidly. "You just look...kinda familiar to me."

He brushes his bangs out of his eyes. "I get that a lot, actually. You'd be surprised. Er, but you don't belong here, do you?" He tilts his head. "Primer?"

"How'd you guess?" I ask.

"All I had to do was look into your head. We've got telepathy around here too, you know." He steps up to me and holds out his hand. "My name's Michael, and if you don't belong here, it's my job to get you home."

I don't shake his hand. Instead, I look over his shoulder and see Steve behind him, shaking his head and mouthing what looks like the word "Don't."

"Nice of you to offer," I say, crossing my arms, "but my friends and I are pretty capable of walking ourselves home, thanks."

"Are you sure?" Michael looks crestfallen. "After all, you didn't exactly walk in through the front door, did you? It was that Alicia woman who sent you here, no?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I'm sorry, but Alicia ought not to meddle in the sort of shit she does."

"No shit," Harlan mutters. "You know how dismaying it is when your idol tries to fucking murder you?"

"You what?" Michael bursts out laughing. "Oh my God, really? 'Idol,' you say?" He makes himself stop laughing long enough to say, in pure deadpan mode, "Really sorry, mate."

"Don't be."

"Listen," Annie says, "we really do need to get back home. We have a rematch to do against Alicia, so we're just, uh, gonna leave..."

Michael steps into her path, blocking her. "What's the hurry?" he asks, trying to sound as genial as ever. "You haven't even met my boss yet! Mr. Graziadei would really love to meet you all!" He looks up from Annie and over to me - we're almost the same height, he and I. And Gabe too, enhancing the resemblance between them. "Especially you, Alex. And Gabe, wherever he may be. Not here, I'm guessing." He cocks his head. "Though you think he kinda looks like me? No shit! Just like how you remind me of my own brother." Here his smile slips a notch or ten, if only for a split second, before returning to at least two-thirds of its previous width and half the dental visibility.

"Oh great," Steve groans. "Here we go...Michael's gonna hold us back so he can whine about his brother's supposed 'betrayal.'"

"Don't sass me with your fucking air quotes." Michael's smile really vanishes, and his voice drops about half an octave. "And don't get me started on Josh. The shit I've had to put up with ever since he conned his way out...and Mr. Graziadei pretends he planned for it all along, that bloody bastard..."

I clear my throat to get him to shut the fuck up. "We're done here. Guys, let's go, huh?" I beckon Harlan and Annie to follow me past Michael and down the hall, where I bet a doorway back to the Terminal or something awaits.

"NO!" Michael clenches his fists, and sparks of lightning fly out, forcing us all to back away lest he teleport us further away from our respective home 'verses. "If the boss wants to see you, he's damn well going to see you! On his terms, not yours!"

"I don't do well with working on other people's terms," I say. My friends chime in with similar statements, then I add, "Like I said, we're done here."

Michael stretches out one hand towards Russell's pod, then rotates his wrist so his hand points palm up while his index finger and thumb still point at the cylinder. Or, more accurately, at the keypad next to the cylinder, which beeps and turns green.

Just when you thought the evil light scrivs had no further tricks up their collective sleeve, out pops another like Stephen King's jack-in-the-box.

"Normally," he says as Russell's pod opens up, "we'd give you time to end your dream cycle before letting you out for exercise and/or refreshment. But his dream cycle's not done yet, so this can get a mite unpredictable..." He gazes almost fondly on Russell's half-naked form (the pod has opened up enough to reveal he's wearing olive-drab shorts like when the Marines come out of hypersleep in Aliens), which then tumbles slowly out onto the floor, trailing IV lines behind him. Also like in Aliens, Russell's pod is kept dry, so at least he's not leaving a ton of sludge on the floor as he comes out. Only a little bit of drool from his mouth, for which I'm sure the janitor will be thankful.

Russell gasps and wakes up, then jumps to his feet. He tries to run forward, but the IV lines (still connected to his chest) hold him back. Panting in terror, he pulls at the lines until he disconnects them, spraying a bit of blood - less than I'd thought, actually. Then I remember that they wouldn't be connected to an artery anyway. Stupid me, why'd I think that before?

On another note, though, I stand corrected about the thankful janitor.

But back to Russell. "Where am I?" He looks around wildly until he sees Harlan, then runs over to him, grabbing him by the front of his hoodie. "Where am I? Who are you?"

"Dude, calm down, calm down!" Harlan grabs Russell's wrists and pushes him a foot back so he's not too close. "It's me! It's Harlan! And...and Annie's here too! And Alex-"

"What? No!" Russell pulls out of Harlan's grasp. "No, no, no, no, no, no...you're not Harlan. You're lying! Who the fuck are you, huh?" He grabs his brother and shakes him roughly. "Where'd you put my family? Talk, ugly!"

At the same time, Annie and I run in and force them apart. Behind me, I hear Steve storming up to Michael. "You bastard! What did you do?"

"I? I didn't do anything! It's all his programming - or, more accurately, the pod's programming. It's literally all in his head, and the program never ended."

I turn around, wondering why Steve hasn't burned Michael to a crisp by now. Turns out, Michael is using his electricity powers to keep Steve stuck firmly in place. I'm thinking it's not telepathy, even if it looks like he's Kylo Ren-ing the shit out of him. I'm going with electricity - screwing with Steve's neuroelectricity, specifically.

Makes sense that someone from a higher number of universe would be more powerful than anything we've seen before. But how much more powerful can you get? Next thing you know, we'll probably have to challenge God Himself. I'm not looking forward to that day, let me tell you.

I'm not sure if I can step in and pull Steve to safety. I mean, I probably could with physical strength alone, but what if I get caught in whatever psychoelectric tractor beam Michael's got? Again, it's a risk, and I feel like I have to take it.

So I do.

Steve doesn't move easily. Under Michael's elemental spell, he might as well be made of stone, so even if he's smaller than I am (though not much lighter, because he's stocky while I'm slender), he's also very inflexible, and I'm really trying not to break anything I shouldn't. Like his legs, or his ribs. If we angels had the power to turn people into rubber, or liquid metal...but some things only exist in Bryan Singer and James Cameron movies.

I didn't say that Steve doesn't move, though. He does, but only a few inches. At least, as long as I'm the only one pulling. Annie joins in as well - and though she be but little, she is fierce. Or whatever that line is from that Shakespeare play I read in middle school. Midsummer Night's, maybe? Together with Annie, though, I manage to bring Steve out of range of Michael's power.

But that's when he turns his attention to the other pods, not just Russell's. Several of them open at random and release their occupants, who do just like how Russell did, scrambling to pull out their IV lines.

"What are they gonna do?" asks Annie.

Steve finally regains control of his muscles - I guess Michael can't control him and the pod keypads all at once - and gets his flames ready again. "If they're all still in dream mode, he can make them...he can make them come after us."

"What?" I ask.

"Yeah." He goes pale. "Kinda like mind-controlled zombies."

Harlan shakes his head. "Are you kidding me? Not the mind-control shit again!"

Michael stands in the middle of the crowd of twenty or so underwear-clad, creeped-out Third 'Verse pod people he's just set free. "Your objective is straight ahead!" he yells, pointing at us. "Defend the gateway from these intruders at all costs!"

About a hundred feet separate us from them at this point, but it might as well be just one.

I'm not ready for yet another fight, but I'll be damned if I won't go down swinging. Or, at the very least, propping up my ice shield to stop whatever attacks these guys will send after us.

Behind us, a distant door opens. I don't even turn around, but I have a shrewd feeling I know who it is anyway.

I'm not disappointed.