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Fantasy Run-On Sentence

Lyro

Errant Chronicler
Moderator
Shroot:

“Gyaah!” I tripped and landed on my face, but picked myself up and continued to run. “No!” I gasped as I realised that I had backed myself up into a corner. With a panic stricken face, I turned around to face my attacker, a masked figure in black. In his hand was a knife “Don’t do this. We had a deal…” I said as I inched away from him. There was no response from him, but he walked closer, taking his own time. I shut my eyes and looked away as he raised his hands to strike.

“Aaaand cut!” The director called out. “Well, that’s a wrap on this shot. Pack up everyone, we’ll need to get to the next location before sun-down.”

“Gosh, someone get me some wipes,” I shuddered, dusting away the dirt on my hands, and the kimono costume that I was wearing “Ugh, I swear I stepped on poo. And Daniel, you call that acting?” I shot a blank look at the masked figure.

“Wha- But I didn’t do anything wro-“

“Exactly. You didn’t do anything.” I rolled my eyes as I walked off to my trailer. “Heather!” My manager called after me, “Honey you were wonderful-“

“Save it. I need a break,” I groaned as I opened the door, “I’m sorry. Could you please get me an advil?” I asked with a smile before closing the door on her face and falling onto the tiny bed/sofa.

Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Heather Stars, a rising star and talented actress. Daddy helped me get into this business long long ago, and I did really well. That is until one of my projects ended in a huge disaster. None of it was my fault, but the press wanted a scandal. And what better than to attack the actors? So anyway, I recovered from the incident (barely) and started acting again. But I tell you, it doesn’t feel as good as I did. It’s almost as if nobody cares to create real masterpieces anymore. Like the current project I was working on. It was a horror thriller set in Japan. Sound familiar? Yeah, I thought so too, but the director decided it was his original masterpiece. Anyways, I liked the theme and decided that I needed a change from the regular scripts. And that is how I ended up in the middle of a forest, somewhere in Japan.​

Lyro:

"somewhere in Japan" Hmm. Would that be good enough? Maybe I should have narrowed it down a bit more, that'll sound like I haven't researched the setting. Which... I haven't. Too late now, anyway. I can always drop some random location's name some time later; just need to remember to check out an atlas from the library on my way home. I sigh and sit back in my chair, pondering Heather's next move.

A fiction author. How could I have sunk so low? I had dreams once, you know, ambitions. The whole world would come to know the name of Vincent Trebile, writer extraordinaire. Columnist, critic, biographer, poet, artist, I would be all of these things and more. Alas, fast-forward several years, and here I am, just another drone in a cubicle churning out some drivel nobody will ever read. Could there be any greater injustice? At least this one will be the last. This one. Definitely. Just one more book and I'm out of here, for good this time. It's not too late, it's never too late.

Another sigh. Yeah, right. That's what I told myself last time. And the time before that. Just face it, Vince. Your big break's not coming. You'll finish writing Stars's story, and then move on to the next character, and then the next, and you'll keep doing so until... You'll keep doing it for a long time. That's the one upside of this place - job security. There'll always be somebody's story to tell. And I might as well be the one telling it.

I roll back to my desk and pull the typewriter's return lever. The carriage starts sliding back, and then becomes stuck.​

Shroot:

A loud bang on my door startled me awake… At least, I think it was someone knocking on my door. I jolted upright and looked around in a disoriented manner. ”Hnnng, I must have dozed off,” I stifled a yawn as I stood up and stretched. “I’m coming,” I said, soliciting no reply. Looking outside the window, it seemed about the same time as when I had walked in here. Yet, I felt as if I was in deep sleep. Strange.

I opened the door and jumped back in surprise. My manager stood in front of it with her hand posed to knock. What was odd was, she was still posing. “Uhh, hello?” I called, crossing my arms and giving her an annoyed look. But nothing. “Ooookay then,” I crept past her and left my trailer and the first thing I noticed was silence. It was unnervingly quiet. My eyes darted around and I noticed the second thing. Everything was still. People were frozen in mid-conversations. There was someone who reached out to catch their sheets which hung suspended in midair. The trees seemed to be windless too. Suffice to say, I was freaked out for a moment. Okay, I get it. This is a joke.

“Okay guys. You got me. Suspended action? Very good. You can come out now.” I said as I looked around. Again, nothing. Not a single thing moved out of it’s place. I strode up to one of the frozen crew members, “Seriously, stop.” I said, nudging his shoulder. To my horrid surprise, nothing happened. Not even a crease where I had touched him. It was almost as if I didn’t touch him.

“This isn’t funny anymore!”​

Lyro:

Broken. The damn typewriter is broken. I try to push the carriage manually, but it seems to be stuck. Even the paper seems to have jammed somehow - I give it a few tugs and only manage to tear off a small part of it. I pick up the machine and start shaking it, hoping to dislodge whatever is causing its malfunction, to no effect. And now the keys won't even move when I press them. Brilliant, just brilliant. What a way to start the day.

I get up and look over the edge of my cubicle at my neighbor. I struggle to remember his name for a few seconds; company policy is that social interaction takes time away from writing, and so should always be kept at a minimum. "Heeeey..." I finally say as he looks up from his notes and spots me. His blank expression doesn't change, but one of his fingers begins to tap impatiently against his desk. "Jim. James. John. J-man. I need your help. You wouldn't happen to have a spare typewriter you're not using right now, would you?"

He adjusts his glasses as I finish my sentence, then pointedly removes them, takes out a cleaning cloth and starts to wipe off non-existent dust particles. "My name is Phillip, Trebile. As you would know if you had bothered to look at my name plaque." He points to an ornate metal rectangle hanging on the wall behind him, polished to a mirror sheen. Freak. "Right, right, Phil!" I reply with a nervous chuckle. "Sorry about that, you know how--" "Company policy is very clear on this," he continues, pausing only to breathe on his glasses before resuming his cleaning. "Every writer gets one and precisely one standard set of tools. Therefore, to answer your question..." He marks another pause, raises his glasses, looks at them in the light, then puts them back on before turning to look at me with a predatory smile. "No, I do not have anything to spare for you. Good luck dealing with management." On that note, he swivels his chair around and goes back to typing on his perfectly functional machine.

Ugh. Smug, self-satisfied little... he'll see, one day, they'll all see. I turn my back to him and walk back to my typewriter. Out of frustration, I give it another shake, only to hear a small metallic clang as something becomes loose within the mechanism and starts rolling around. Alright, take it easy, don't make it any worse than it already is. This must have happened before, considering how many people work here. Someone must know how to repair these contraptions. No need to get management involved. I pick up the typewriter and start walking down the hallway, trying my best to ignore the odd looks everyone is giving me. Isn't there a maintenance department somewhere around here? I'm pretty sure I've seen a sign for it before. I just need to find it.

Everything will be fine.​

Shroot:

I spent a good… I don’t know how long; I spent a WHOLE LOT of time walking around trying to understand what was going on. “Okay Heather. You’re probably just imagining all of this up. This is all just a dr- EEEEKKK!!!” I shrieked loudly as a deafening rip penetrated the sky. And since it was awfully quiet till then, it was terrifying. I looked up, only to see a clear blue sky. No sign of clouds whatsoever. So why was there thunder?

“OKAY. This. Is just a dream. Now get a grip and WAKE UP!” I said, willing myself to wake up. I opened my eyes and saw everything just as it was… Just as it was a second ago. “Gah!” I groaned and walked away from the rest of the crew.

Thump… Thump…

I stopped walking a while later, straining to hear a soft thumping. I didn’t know where it came from, but I could still hear it. “H-hello?” I asked, cursing myself for walking away empty handed.

This is crazy. Did someone possibly drug me or something?

The noise stopped and I sighed in relief. Everything was hushed once again, so my sense of relief didn’t last very long. “Okay. Now I’m just going to walk through this place and see if I can find help somewhere…” I was still convinced that I was dreaming though.​

Lyro:

"What do you mean, that's not your job?!"

I slam my fist down on the counter in anger and point to the sign labeled "Technical Support" above the woman's head. "My work tools are broken. They have a technical issue. I can't fix it on my own and need some support. And therefore..."

Unperturbed by my outburst, the woman seated in front of me just flips another page of her magazine and carries on in the same monotone. "Yes, as previously stated, this is clearly an issue for Internal Supplies. If you believe you have been issued defective supplies, please file a ticket with them."

"I. Did." I growl through clenched teeth. "They told me the machine was fine when they supplied me with it, and sent me back to you, saying maintenance was your responsibility. So do your job, and let me get back to work."

The woman looks up at me for the first time, a brief glance away from her magazine. "Try opening the ink cartridge's cage. Thank you for your time. Next." Before I can respond, the man waiting in line behind me shoves me aside and starts loudly complaining about a burnt-out light bulb. Sounds like he's having just as bad a time as I am with this. This is just unacceptable. I make a note to submit a formal note of complaint about the service here. Just need to find the complaints department first. But first, I might as well try out her only useful suggestion.

I sit down on a nearby waiting chair in the hallway. Navigating this place is a nightmare - every hallway looks exactly the same, and the signs often don't make any sense. Which would explain all the chairs and benches strewn about the building in every location, often with people sleeping on them. The only reason I found this help desk in the first place was because a broken elevator had an emergency stop at this very floor. Getting back to my cubicle is going to be equally harrowing, and I'm certainly not looking forward to it. But first things first.

I flip over the typewriter and pull at a small latch on the back. I've done this before, whenever I needed to change the ink cartridge. It's a finnicky process, but at least it's pretty straightforward once you get the hang of it. Usually. This time, the moment I pull the latch, the cage's cover flies away and ink spills out all over my fingers and I drop the machine in surprise and rage.​

Shroot:

The world around me disappeared in darkness and I yelped in surprise. With every passing moment, I grew increasingly afraid. I jumped at everything and I HATED being like this. Wait! This was a horror-thriller. What if the director wanted to shoot a candid scene of me? “THIS IS NOT FUNNY OKAY?” I yelled on top of my voice, now trying to navigate in complete darkness.
I tripped multiple times and this time, I had no one to hand me wipes when I needed them the most. After many failed attempts at getting nowhere, I decided to trip all the way back where I came from. “It could take a while,” I mumbled to myself, “But hey. It looks like I’ve got all the time in the wo-”

SMACK!

I cursed and held my face. It felt like I walked into something. LITERALLY! My nose buzzed with pain and I was closer to losing it than ever before. “What now?” I sighed as I felt the area in front of me. To my surprise, it felt flat and felt like… a door. Was I back at my trailer? It felt different than a metal door. I groped around in the darkness for the handle. “Come on… There!” I held onto it and twisted it open. At this point, I was too dazed to care about the consequences.​

Lyro:

I finish washing up my hands in a nearby washroom. It feels like the entire cartridge was just emptied. There wasn't any doubt in my mind now that I would get the one responsible for this mess fired. "Try opening the ink cartridge's cage," I mutter angrily to myself. "Great idea." Now what, though? My prolonged absence was certain to be reported sooner or later, I had to think of something. Maybe I could try finding another typewriter? Surely there must be some lying somewhere around here, they couldn't all be in active use.

Bending down, I pick up my increasingly battered-looking typewriter. My arms are starting to feel the strain of holding on to it while going up and down winding staircases. I'm not too sure of my next destination, so I'm about to start just wandering down hallways looking for people who can help me when one of the bathroom stall doors opens right in front of me.​

Shroot:

“Tch!” I shielded my eyes from the sudden wave of light. I opened the door wider and took a step forward. Once I was sure my eyes had adjusted, I opened them. “Oh,” I found a man standing infront of me. Oh shoot… Did I just intrude into someone’s home?

“Sorry, I-” Without wasting a moment, I took a couple of steps back— only to feel something cold against the back of my knee. Ugh, I really wish I didn’t turn around at that point. I gasped in horror when I did. “EW EW EW EW EW,” I gasped and shuddered in disgust as I moved away from the vile thing. How did it even get there?

Seriously. WHAT IS GOING ON?!?

Lyro:

A woman in the men's restroom? At this point, I couldn't care less. With a shrug of my shoulders, I turn my back to her and start walking out only to stop as something clicks in my mind. I turn around and take a good look at her. Something about her seems familiar, but I'm pretty sure I have never seen this woman before in my life. The kimono actually looks a lot like...

"Oh god," I groan to myself as I put the pieces together. "How did you...? Well, never mind that." Holding on to the typewriter with my other arm I reach out and grab her arm. "We need to get you back home, and fast."​

Shroot:

"H-hey!" I glared as this stranger grabs onto my arm. "We need to get you back home, and fast." He said. I stared at him feeling utterly confused and lost. Where was I? How did I end up in what seemed like a guy's restroom? And what did he mean?

I tugged my arm free from his grasp, crossed them and gave him a stern look. For all I knew, he could be trying to take advantage of me. "First of all mister..." I trailed off. None of the questions I wanted to ask made any sense. I noticed that this guy had a typewriter in his hand. A typewriter. Didn't those things go extinct like a million years ago?
I stumbled for words, finally finding them, "I'm not moving from this spot until you explain whatever you meant."

... Even if that meant standing next to a disgusting cubic- No. I just couldn't. I took a few steps away so that I was standing far enough from it.​

Lyro:

I fidget nervously with my sleeves, finding it hard to meet her gaze. "You shouldn't be here," I mumble uncomfortably. "Characters should stay in their books, corporate doesn't approve of..." I wave my hand vaguely in the air, unsure of how to describe the current situation. "Exits."

I quickly dart my head out of the room, looking from side to side in fear. If we were to be discovered here... "Look," I add in hushed tones. "I can explain on the way, but we really, really need to move for now. At least to find you some new clothes. You... you kind of stand out right now." I gesture helplessly at her elaborate and colorful attire, a sharp contrast to my drab, ill-fitting shirt and pants. "Please, Heather."​
 
You shouldn't be here," He mumbled. I was about to ask why, when he spoke again, "Characters should stay in their books, corporate doesn't approve of... Exits."

I gaped at him in shock. First of all, I did not approve of the way he gestured me. Secondly, an Exit?!? This guy was crazy. "Exit?" I snorted, "Are you sure you're not talking about yourself?" I didn't know what he was talking about. But if it was an insult, I was going to make sure to hand it back to him.
"Look, I can explain on the way, but we really, really need to move for now. At least to find you some new clothes. You... you kind of stand out right now." He whispered. I looked down and blushed, realising what he meant. A tight-fitting kimono was not something I'd want to be found roaming around in, unless it was designer. He did have a point, however.

"Please, Heather." The man said. I flinched and looked up at him for a second, "How did you know my n-," Oh wait. Silly me. I'm a celebrity. Of course he knows my name. I sighed, "Alright. But you better not be lying."
 
I nod and turn back to look at the hallway. Still nobody around. A part of me wants nothing more than to just sit down and talk with my character (my very own character! just as I had envisaged her, right down to the clothes she is currently wearing!), but in my current state of rising panic I can't think of anything but what will happen if my superiors find out. Not that I actually know what would happen, but imagination has a way of filling in the gaps.

I spot a janitor closet just across the hall, with the door left ajar. The janitors here all wear uniforms, don't they? They must have some spare ones in there. I gesture to Heather to wait, then scurry over to the closet, slipping inside. Yes, suits! Slightly dirty and baggy suits, admittedly, but beggars can't be choosers. I peek back out from the closet and wave at Heather to join me.
 
Being inside the men's restroom is embarrasing enough. I waited for the guys signal before swiftly walking to the... closet. I looked at the dirty rags that littered the tiny room. "Oh no. Nu-uh," I hissed as I held myself steady. "There is no way I'm wearing any of these... these monstrous rags."
 
I close the door and turn on the light as she enters and then turn to face her. There isn't much room in here so I press myself against the wall as she comments on the clothes. I tug nervously at my collar. "Okay, okay, that's my fault, I wrote you that way." A buzzing sound interrupts my thoughts and the color drains from my face. I reach into my pocket, pull out my pager, and look at the incoming message with apprehension. It's brief: "REPORT TO HR"

"T-they've noticed my absence," I say quickly as I slip the pager back into my pocket with trembling fingers. "Are you sure you can't wear...? Or maybe you could wear my clothes and I can wear the, uhm, wear the rags?" I struggle to think of any other places that might have some spare clothes, but I'm drawing a blank. "Otherwise we could, we could try going outside and buying you some, but..." I peek my head out of the closet to look at a nearby sign on the wall. "This is the second floor apparently, and we'd be noticed going downstairs. Unless we, that is to say, unless..." I swallow and finish in a whisper. "Well, we could always go out the window..."
 
This guy seemed more nervous than my pet Chipoodle, Saachi. By the time he finished talking, I felt kinda bad for him. Was me being here some kind of a problem? Ooooh maybe he had a wife and if they snapped a photo of us together, he'd be done for. I vetoed the idea of me wearing his clothes and him wearing rags because that meant we'd be changing here together. That, and it wasn't really fair for me to be doing that.

"The window huh..." I crossed my arms and thought. So basically I somehow managed to walk into the second floor of what seemed like an office. And there seemed to be some problem with me being here (God knows why), and now I need to "skedaddle".

"Okay." I nodded, before mumbling, "I mean, you could always say you were sending a client off or something and get me out. Whatever, if jumping out of a window is your plan, I'll go along with it."
 
"I heard that, you know," I check the coast and then head back to the restroom, walking to the far side where I had spotted the window. I gesture at Heather to follow me. "And we don't get clients, or visitors of any kind here. That would be... that would be ridiculous, frankly." I chuckle nervously at the thought while I slide the window open; fortunately, it isn't locked. Outside, the sprawling mass of the city is revealed, with all of its dirty streets, grey featureless buildings and anonymous citizens running about on their business. It looks like it's going to start raining soon, too.

"I'm not crazy either, if that's what you're thinking. I'm not about to jump out - we have health and safety regulations here." I stick a leg out the window, followed by the other leg, and slide out, landing on the metal railing of the fire exit. I turn to look back at Heather. "See? Completely safe." I turn around to look at the folded metal stairwell that needs to be lowered to reach the ground and my eyes spot a small metal box attached to it. "Ah. It's one of those coin-operated fire exits." I take out my wallet and start counting out some coins. "You wouldn't have change for a quarter, would you?"
 
"I heard that, you know,"
"Good, you were meant to hear that," I said, almost sticking my tongue out at him. I didn't, because that's childish. I stared in horror as he let his legs dangle out the window. "What are you doi-"
"See? Completely safe." He said. I peeked out the window and saw what he meant. It was a stairwell.
"Oh..." I leaned against the window and looked out. I followed suite and stood next to him.
"Ah. It's one of those coin-operated fire exits. You wouldn't have change for a quarter, would you?" He asked.
".......... Do I look like I'd have change for a quarter?" I asked, motioning to my kimono. I had literally just jumped off the set and so I had nothing else with me.

"More over, Do I look like someone who'd have change for a quarter?" I bit my tongue at that. That wasn't something that was called for, but oopsie, too late to erase those words.
 
I can't help but chuckle at her last remark. "Just like I imagined you..." I flash her a quick smile then go back to counting coins, and my expression darkens. "Ugh, I'm a nickel short. And it only seems to accept exact change." I try to mess with the mechanism a bit in an attempt to force it to unlock, but to no effect. Placing the typewriter down temporarily (my left arm is really starting to complain - I should remember to switch sides from time to time), I try to give the device a kick, but only end up with a dull pain in my right foot.

"Alright, well..." I say as I finish hopping about while waiting for the pain to subside. Leaning over the railing, I look down at the street below. The floor below doesn't have a similar balcony for the fire exit, so without those stairs it's a straight drop down to the street. I look back at Heather. "'So... any ideas?"
 
"Just I like Imagined you," The man said as he smiled at me. I blinked in confusion, what is that supposed to mean? ... Please don't tell me that's some weird fetish. That's just wrong.
"Er... Thanks, I think?" I said breaking away eye contact.

We seemed to be marooned on the stairwell since there wasn't enough change for the machine. "So... any ideas?" He asked.
"Um..." I bit my lip as I tried to think of a way out. Oh right! We could walk out through the front door! But Typewriter Man here seemed against the idea. "We're on the second floor right? Why not just run down the emergency exit... You do have those right?" I asked as I tried to think of something, "If anyone asks, I'm just a tourist with amnesia and accidentally came into this dull building thinking it was a shopping complex. You're the kind fellow who offered to show me out." I smiled at the brilliant idea.

"If some one spots us on the way, we just make a run for it."
 
The apprehension on my face must be pretty apparent as I slowly nod. "Y-yeah... There are emergency exits, that much is true. We could try those." Not that I've ever used one before, but they do exist, and unlike other locations in this building, they're not that hard to find. "And we'll pretend you're a tourist. Wearing a kimono, for some reason. Probably the same reason you waltzed into a publishing company's offices," I add with a hint of despondence to my last sentence, as I take one last look at the ground beneath me. Would jumping really be that bad?

Yes, yes it would.

"Alright, let's do it." I slide back through the window and wait for Heather to follow. "Maybe... try to look... tourist-y?" I'm not sure what that really means, but she's supposed to be an actress, she can figure it out. Hopefully.
 
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"And we'll pretend you're a tourist." He started. I was glad that he caught my drift.
"Exac-"
"Wearing a kimono, for some reason." And no, he was being sarcastic, "Probably the same reason you waltzed into a publishing company's offices,"
"Sue me for being in the middle of a shoot," I hissed, air quoting "shoot". Well, atleast now I knew where I was. Geez I didn't think I'd land in some Japanese publishing company. Not that I even knew how I got here.

"Alright, let's do this," he said as he went back in. My idea triumphed. Obviously. "Oh, you forgot your... Typewriter thingy," I said as I followed him in.
"Maybe... try to look... tourist-y?" He said. Okay, now he was just insulting my talent and looks.

"...... OOOOH WAS THIS THE MEN'S LOO? Excuse me, I was looking for the bookstore! Stupid signs," I said in an exaggerated tone, "I saw the word publishers and thought this was a store!" I faked a loud laughed as we left the restroom. Now, to make light conversation as he lead me out.

"I guess I'm sort of what you locals call... Hmmm what was that word again? Moe,"

Not.
 
My heart skips a beat when she mentions the machine. I quickly dip back in through the window, grab it and hold it close to my chest. Deserting my post for so long is bad enough. Letting a character loose in the building is even worse. But abandoning my primary tool? Unthinkable. I mumble thanks as I duck back in and cautiously poke my head out into the hallway. Still nobody in sight. Maybe this'll work just fine, and we won't even--

"...... OOOOH WAS THIS THE MEN'S LOO?"

I nearly drop the typewriter I'm holding on to in fright as I stumble into the hallway. What the hell? Is she trying to get us caught? I turn around to yell at her to be quiet, but then I notice her smirk. Of course, of course she would do that. Think back to chapter 7, you dolt.

"Alright, I'm sorry," I hiss at her. "No need to use stupid aliases like 'Moweh' just to rub it in, either. If anyone asks, you're simply Heather Stars - nobody knows you here anyway," I finish with a trace of bitterness. One day my books would start selling, one day.
 
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I gasped in offence. "Okay, I get that you don't know or like me and that's your opinion. But that's rude you know." I said. Maybe I was over acting but hey! I'm an actress.
"And besides, you don't know what moe is? Actually, don't answer that. I bet you don't even care. I don't either. I just heard these crew members going on and o- I'm rambling..." I said, finally agreeing to stay silent. I didn't get what was so troublesome anyway.

I'd just get out of this building, back to my shoot and we'd both get in with our lives.

" How long have you been here anyway?"
 
I shake my head as she says I don't like her but let it slide. Okay, so she is being a bit... difficult right now, but I wrote her that way and so I only have myself to blame. At least she still seems to think she's at her movie shoot - best to keep letting her think that until we're somewhere safer. The last thing we need right now is to attract even more attention with another outburst. If we can just get back to my apartment, I can phone in and say I'm feeling sick. That's common enough, here, they should buy it.

"Feels like ages sometimes," I answer in a low voice as I keep walking, following the emergency exit signs, taking a detour whenever I hear footsteps coming closer. "But really it's just been three years. Three years, two novels and a play, and I'm still stuck in Fiction." I shake my head. "This next book will be my big break, though. Well." I raise my battered typewriter slightly higher and sigh. "If I can finish it. This way."

I abruptly turn left and start climbing a small set of stairs. Why would an emergency exit be up a flight of stairs? But that's what the sign says, and I'm not about to start searching aimlessly again.
 
I followed him as he lead the way. Three years, but he didn't really seem happy about being stuck in fiction. Funny thing is, I make my living out of fiction too. I figured I'd mention that too, if it helped to lighten his mood, but chickened out. He seemed on the edge right now. "... Shouldn't we, I don't know. Be going down?" I asked, after a seemingly good pause of silence. Just as I finished, We could hear a pair of footsteps coming down from the opposite side. I looked at him, wondering what our next action would be.
 
I open my mouth to say that yes, going down absolutely seems to be what we should be doing, but it isn't because this building's architects must have had a few too many drinks when they came up with the layout. However, I freeze as I hear the incoming footsteps and turn to look at Heather. She's looking at me too. I swallow and attempt a nervous smile as I resume climbing. The source of the footsteps draws nearer as hushed voices become audible. It sounds like a heated argument over something. As I reach the next landing and turning the corner, I see them - a man and a woman, expensively and impeccably-dressed, arguing over a piece of paper. Great - executives. They stop their conversation as they notice me and Heather, and the man hurriedly puts the document away. I try to nod as non-nonchalantly as I can, but they just stare at Heather.

"Who are you, and what are you d--"
the woman starts to say, only for me to interrupt her loudly. "T-TOURIST! She's a tourist, just a tourist, very dazed and very lost and I'm helping her find the way out." I attempt a chuckle as their gazes swivel to look down at me. I can feel myself shrinking under that oh-so-familiar stare. "They really, ah, they really should work on improving the signs around this place, haha..."
 
I don't think I've ever been this uncomfortable with being stared at. I mean, gawking is an occupation hazard for popular people, but right now, I got the feeling that they weren't looking at me because I was a somebody. I found myself stepping behind typewriter man. "Y-yes! My apologies," I blurted out with a thick Britain accent. Why the accent?!? I PANICKED OKAY!!!

"Heh... We tourists really need to follow the maps rather than going on intuition. I'm not a corporate spy or anything. JUST your average... well prettier than average tourist." I smiled as I poked my defense who stood in front of me. The two corporates didn't seem very pleased. "Now would be a good time to run, I think." I whispered.
 
The woman and the man exchange glances, then both reach into their pockets ominously. "This is absolutely unprecedented." "You shouldn't be here, and you know it." The man takes out a pencil and a large folded-up piece of paper, while the woman takes out a small notebook and a red pen. She begins to scribble furiously on her notebook as the the man unfolds and flattens the piece of paper against the wall, revealing it as... a map.

"You want to take this exit," he says, pointing to a location on the fifth floor of the map which he circles. "The exit around here was closed down years ago, when we walled it over for the new employee lounge." "Misuse of emergency evacuation equipment, attempted," adds the woman, as she finishes writing her note. She tears it off and hands it to me. I take it with a shaking hand. "Present this to your superior at once. Once you have used the appropriate emergency exit, report again for repeated misuse of emergency evacuation equipment. Good day."

I stand completely still as the man folds his map back up, the woman puts her notebook back into her pocket, and they both head off, resuming their argument as they start to drift out of earshot.
 
Once those two employees left, I looked at... I needed to find his name first. I looked at my guide, "Safe?" I mouthed, wondering if they fell for the thing or if we were in further trouble.
 
I don't answer immediately, and keep looking worriedly at the paper I'm holding in my hand. There must be something I don't understand about this. Maybe the paper is rigged to explode if I don't deliver it soon. Maybe it's got a tracking chip.

Or maybe it's just a piece of paper, and I didn't have to do anything at all.

"I... think?" I finally say, as I pull the typewriter back from behind my back where I had been holding it hidden. "Every department here has their own procedure for dealing with trouble. I guess this one is..." I look at the paper again, trying to figure out why in the world they didn't think I would just throw it away. "I guess their employees are just really loyal?" I shake my head and put the paper away. "Anyway, exit. Fifth floor. If we're confronted again, I could try just showing them the note. Let's go, I'm getting worried." I start climbing the stairs again at a faster pace than before.
 
"What do they call you by the way?" I asked as we went down th- sorry. Up the stairs. "Bob? Melvin? Harvey?" I said, trying to guess his name. "And by the way, I'm sorry if I got you into any trouble..." I said, meaning it. I followed him through the building until we were finally near the exit. Would this be it? I wonder how far the shoot i-

"Oh, would you happen to know how I got here anyway?"
 
"Call me Vince," I reply as I reach the exit. Nobody seems to be around this time, good. I turn to look at Heather. "And don't worry about it. It's not your fault. I'm not sure, but, if anything, I'm guessing it has something to do with this." I raise my typewriter, pointing to the broken cage door that is still swinging open even as I speak. "We'll get it sorted, don't worry. And... quietly." I turn towards the door and push on the exit handle. "Can't be the first time a character--"

The door swings open violently as I give it a gentle push and I stumble forward in surprise. It is pitch-black inside and I struggle for a moment to get my bearings. Finally, I manage to turn around to look at the door frame, brightly illuminated in comparison. I can just barely see a light switch next to it, and reach out to turn it on. Nothing happens initially, but then I hear a faint buzzing behind me and turn to look back at the darkness. Far away, down what seems to be a dark, narrow corridor, a dim light is shining, a single tired light-bulb hanging from the ceiling. I look around, but can't make out any other features in this room. "What kind of exit is this?" I ask myself, shaking my head and starting to walk towards the light.
 
"What is it with you people and darkness?" I whispered, rather whimpered. I stood still, trying to see something infront of me, but again like everytime I tried today- NOTHING. Save the distant light and the silhouette of Vince, I could see nothing. "H-hey wait up!" I called out, running after after him.

"I don't know about you, but this doesn't look like an exit. Nor does it look like the path we're supposed to be taki- are you even listening to me?" I sighed as I poked his back to get him to talk, "Like, don't you work here? How can you not know how to leave?" I asked. "... Don't tell me you're a workaholic. Don't you ever clock out?"
 
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"Well, usually, I leave out the front door," I reply, turning my head to look at her and slowing down a little. The darkness and her nervousness are getting to me; it's taking a lot of self-restraint to stop myself from running towards the light. "But you have to show your badge when you leave, and there are guards everywhere. Security here is ridiculously strict." You feel a shiver run down your spine. There's something wrong about this place, but you can't quite say what. "If they saw me with you, dressed like that and without a badge, I'd be lucky if I was allowed to go home tonight. And as for you... No idea. I've never heard of this happening befo-- ow!"

I stop suddenly as my foot hits something cold and metallic. I look down, but in the darkness I can barely see anything; only a faint gleam of light reflecting off something. I reach down to pick the object up. It's heavy. Strange, it almost feels like... "It's... another typewriter..." I say, as I bring it up to eye level. I turn it over, revealing its damaged cage door hanging wide open - just like my own.
 

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