By CarolinaC

At the end of a red-carpetted, popcorn-scented corridor stood a set of double doors. They were made of glass, but the glass was dark, smoky, and barely translucent. The handles, richly outlined in gold, invited a hand to take and pull them open.

In front of the door stood three people: a dark-haired man in a tailcoat and sporting a monocle; a similarly-dressed fair-haired man, sans monocle, but plus muttonchop whiskers; and a tall, red-haired woman in knee-high boots and a black sheath dress.

Jones, his fair hair gleaming in the electric light, turned to Smith and Kris, looking for guidance. Smith shrugged, nearly dropping his monocle. Kris sighed. She tossed her red hair.

"We're going in, boys," she said.

Jones took the left handle; Smith took the right. Kris stood just behind them as they swung the door open.

Kris began to laugh — there was nothing dangerous behind the door, and it was not a portal to another pocket of the multiverse. Instead, the door opened onto a theatre lobby. There, in front of them, was a long counter, lined with bags of popcorn, more of which was popping under the supervision of of a teenage boy in a paper hat. There was a brass cash register that looked like it would be at home in Smith and Jones' steampunk world. The cash register was manned by a teenage girl in a paper hat. 

She looked at them curiously. "Popcorn's free," she said.

Kris grinned. She grabbed the largest bag available. "This stuff better not get my new dress greasy," she muttered.

Jones and Smith exchanged glances — then each took a bag of popcorn for himself. 

"Thank you, young lady," Smith said, bowing politely.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You should get into the theatre. They've already started the show."

The girl gestured towards an open doorway to the right of the snack counter. The three friends proceeded into the darkened room.

 ~*~

It was clear immediately to Smith and Jones that they were in a theatre. Red velvet seats in neat rows extended in the darkness towards a screen flanked by curtains. 

"A motion-picture house!" Jones exclaimed, happily.

Kris made a face and sniffed. "Those aren't movies," she said. The screen was not displaying silver flickers as Jones might have expected. Instead, orange squares grew out of the screen in three dimensions, displaying a smattering of words and images. A disembodied voice boomed: 

"Later, we'll be exploring the exciting, history-inspired of SamuraiPunk, AncientPunk, and MusePunk — but next, let's visit the wintry world of SnowPunk! Brilliant works in this hyperborean genre have appeared on Wattpad at least since the 87th Issue of Tevun Krus —"

Jones watched the screen in fascination, chewing his popcorn, but Smith's attention was elsewhere — on the audience that filled the red-velvet seats. They did not appear to be physically present; instead, like the three-dimensional images on the screen, they were images surrounded by rings of orange light. Inside each ring was a unique image — a cat; a quotation; a golden dragon. Smith gradually realised that some of these images looked familiar. He thought. He considered. He elbowed Jones. 

"What?" Jones asked, finally looking away from the fascination of the screen.

"Look."

Jones looked. Then he gasped. "By Jove! Could these be, at long last —"

"Yes! The Writers!"

Jones fought the temptation to fall to his knees. Instead he stared. "There are so many! No wonder we've had so many adventures."

Smith nodded in agreement. "I think a few of these — avatars? — might be Readers, here for the Best of 2021 show that was advertised in the lobby. Most of them, though? I think most of them are the Writers."

Jones nodded, wondering how he might be able to get the attention of one of the mysterious beings. He began to step towards the nearest one, his hand outstretched.

"Ignore the user behind the curtain!" boomed the disembodied voice.

Jones jumped before he realized the voice was not directed at him. At the front of the theatre, to the right of the stage, Kris was holding aside one of the long, red curtains. An orange glow emanated from the resulting space.

"Hey, guys?" She said, "Come and take a look at this!"

Smith hooked his fingers into Jones' crooked elbow and dragged his friend down the aisle towards the stage. When they reached the curtain, Kris gestured for them to look in. There, behind the curtain, was another of the orange-circled avatars, but this one showed a space scene with the letters 'Ooorah!' in black over an orange burst of flame. The user appeared to be speaking — "Next, we'll be visiting the moon, with LunarPunk!"

And the booming voice in the auditorium at their backs also said, "Next, we'll be visiting the moon, with LunarPunk!"

Kris grinned as Smith and Jones exchanged glances. As soon as the sounds from the avatar stopped, Kris attempted to grab it, with both hands.

Kris' attempt to grab the orange circle did not go well. With a sharp sizzle, the circle shuddered out of existence for a fraction of a second, then reformed.

"Hey!" the avatar complained. "Just what do you think you're — oh. It's you."

Smith and Jones exchanged glances again. Kris, on the other hand, said, "Of course it is. We're supposed to be saving the multiverse, remember?"

"You think I'd forget?" The Ooorah! avatar replied. Smith was about to respond, but the avatar continued quickly, "Look, we only have a few minutes while the audience enjoys the LunarPunk segment, so I'll be brief. I've been watching you. I've talked to the Writers. I've talked to the Readers, and I think you're ready."

"Ready for what?" Jones asked. His head was tilted to one side in an attitude that, for him, indicated suspicion.

"To save the multiverse, obviously!" Kris said, "And about time, too!"

If an outer-space scene with the word 'Ooorah!' written across it could be said to smile, the avatar smiled magnanimously. "Yes, exactly," It said. "Or, to be more precise, I'm sending you on your first mission."

"I see," Smith said, thoughtfully.

"What might we do to, erm, proceed with your plan?" Jones asked.

"Oh, just walk through there," the Ooorah! avatar said. It angled itself, indicating the wall to their right. Our three heroes turned to look.

The right-hand wall of the theatre was pierced by yet another glowing, orange circle, but this one had a diameter equal to the height of Smith standing on Jones' shoulders. The centre of the circle looked like a pool of dark water, impenetrable but with the occasional ripple.

"I say, old chap," Smith said, "That looks different from the portals Kris made, and the ones brought on by the pills. I don't know that I want to go in there."

"Nor I" Jones agreed. "We've been all manner of odd places already, and I'm not finished my popcorn."

"You're a pair of babies," Kris retorted, "Portal travel is completely safe."

She threw herself at the watery ripples inside the orange circle. She disappeared immediately. 

Jones made a face. "We cannot leave Miss Kris to her own devices," He said. "It would hardly be the behaviour of a preux chevalier."

"Iknow," Smith agreed with a sigh. He carefully removed his monocle, tucking it into his breast pocket.

Jones removed his diamond cufflinks, placing them in one of his waistcoat pockets. Jones nodded. Smith returned the nod. Both men leapt into the portal.

The Ooorah! avatar began to speak again. "QuantumPunk explores how quantum theory might impact—"

But Smith, Jones, and Kris could not hear it. Smith, Jones, and Kris were somewhere else entirely. 

~*~

The portal closed, leaving the woman and the two men sprawled on cold, hard concrete. They were in a modern city at night, all angles and bright lights. There was absolutely no popcorn. Smith and Jones both now had heavy, woolen coats over their fine clothes. Kris still had her knee-high boots, but the slinky black dress was suddenly made of leather, and she was swathed in a furry stole the colour of chocolate with streaks of charcoal running through it.

"Oooh, faux mink!" She said excitedly, burying her cheek in the soft, vaguely petroleum-scented, fur-inspired article of clothing. A single snowflake landed on her cheek, and she looked up at the night sky.

"Where are we?" Smith asked, squinting at the neon-spattered world around him.

"And when are we?" Jones added.

More snowflakes began their lazy tumble down from the sky, swirling around Kris. She laughed, happily. "We're in Cyperpunk! Finally! When I tried to get that dying star to run my subspace communication network, I never thought that it would take so long to —"

Somewhere far away, a cluster of sleigh bells began to jingle.

Kris began to giggle, sputtering out, "And boys! Listen! It's Christmas!"

To the utter stupefaction of both Smith and Jones, Kris threw her arms around both their necks, drawing them in close enough that they could, to their discomfort, feel her warmth. Still looking at the sky, she exclaimed, "Isn't this the best?"

"Miss Kris, have you gone mad?" Smith demanded. She did not reply, continuing to stare up into the falling snow.

Jones looked at Smith. "I say," he asked, "What was in that popcorn?"