Intro_RD

The incinerator was humming, like an idling engine, but Felix didn't understand how that could be. The door was rusted shut and it had always been shut. There was no way to open it and put coals in, which meant there was no way to start it up. And yet, two impossibilities had occurred. The incinerator **was** on. And **she** was inside.

He wanted to turn and leave, but he was sure he heard her voice from inside the machine. He was sure of it. He wanted to call out and hear no response. He wanted to be wrong. If he called out, he'd know. But he was mute. His voice was stuck in the back of his throat. But why, he wasn't certain. Still, somehow he was certain she was in the incinerator.

There were footprints with the viscosity of blood but a red too bright to be blood leading to the humming heater... they were too big. They couldn't have been her footprints. It was like someone else had dragged her there, but there was no sign of dragging, no footprints leading away, and the door was still rusted shut. Tools, too silvery and sterile to have been used, littered the filthy floor. Felix didn't know what their use was, either. Some seemed like wands, others like claws, a few were strange and alien, and some were oddly familiar. The speckless, stainless silver of these instruments were a stark constrast to the black and brown tainted floor. Inverted triangles, pentagrams, and odd runes were carved into the floor and traced into the filth, gritty from dirt and syrupy from blood.

"...Felix..." He jumped. Weak and shaky, her voice came from the huge, black, prison-like machine.

"Oh god, y-y-y-y-y-you, you-- ah!-- you're really in there!" He cried, rushing towards the incinerator's door, but jumping back at the intense heat radiating off of it. "Shit! I can't reach! It's too hot!"

"...hurry... Felix, escape..." Her fingers appeared from within the darkness beyond the door's grate. The skin was putrefying, peeling away from the pure whiteness of bone and the slightly browning flesh beneath the skin. There was no blood, but the skin was bubbling, lifting and popping. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't crying. But she had to be seeing her skin, peeling, rotting, cooking--right in front of her. For a brief second he was grateful for the hum, because if there was some noise to be heard-- if he could hear her flesh cooking, if he could even smell it-- he would vomit. And luckily, he couldn't smell it either.

Guilt, relief, and fear crashed down on him all at once. He couldn't leave her and escape. He couldn't stay here and die. He was glad he wasn't trapped, but ashamed that he was happy it was her trapped in that chamber. His feet were stuck in place, even though his entire body was screaming for him to run, run and escape this nightmare.

"...ru..." She coughed and her flesh broke its tenuous grip on her bone and plopped to the floor. It had been the pad of her finger, but now it was just meat. Felix could taste the bile rushing up from the pit of his stomach and he leaned over, opening his mouth as the rush crested against the back of his throat--

"God, Felix! That's gross!"

He coughed. Sure enough, there was the acidic, bitter taste of vomit in his mouth, along with the uncomfortable, over warm feeling in his throat. His throat tingled and he was having difficulty swallowing air. The pungent smell of vomit wafted over him. "S-Sorry," He muttered, staring at his shoes. They were ruined. He closed his eyes and he shook off his shoes. He had to block out the sight of it, because that and the smell were bound to make him vomit again. A hand clapped his back. He nearly threw up, but managed to keep the contents of his stomach down.

"You okay, man?"

"...'m fine. I think."

"Che... who the hell throws up in their sleep?" Felix glanced to his side. Dante was gazing at him, the normally serious looking man giving him an overly cautious once over. "You sure you're okay? You didn't even seem to be having a nightmare."

"Not all of us are as violent in our sleep as you are, Dante," Felix snapped. The handsome man ignored Felix's barbed tone, instead bringing his hand to Felix's throat.

"Oh, of course this is warm. You just threw up." He raised his hand to Felix's forehead. "Mm. No fever, seems like. Just sleep vomiting."

"Ugh."

"Right?" Dante leaned back against the bench and Felix took a look around.

"The... bus still isn't here?" He wondered, staring out over the mostly empty, desert-like plain. They were sitting at an old bus stop, with posters that were all washed out and tattered beyond recognition. Everything but the bench seemed like a good sharp wind could blow it to pieces, and even the bench seemed rickety enough to fall with a couple tries. It was hot, too. The sun shone down from a clear, cloudless sky. Felix could see the heat rising up from the ground. The way the air waved hazily back and forth made him feel sleepy, but he wasn't about to go back to sleep now. He doubted he could do it if he tried, anyway-- Felix felt kind of clammy, although that could have been partially from throwing up. It would be difficult to sleep when he felt so uncomfortable. "Did we miss it while I was asleep?"

"Nah. I'd have gotten you up," Dante murmured. "Mostly there's been nothing but quiet." He ran a hand through his dark hair, seeming annoyed. "I kind of wanted to redo my hair, too. It's too hot. If we were on a bus with AC, I could apply gel without it getting that brittle grainy feel to it."

"Why? I mean, what's the point? There aren't any women around. And I doubt there'll be any at the stop. Who are you trying to impress, me?"

Dante let out a bark of a laugh. "Felix, with these looks and my brains, I impress you every day."

Felix rolled his eyes. "You're right about that. Your brain definitely impresses me."

"Hey. Your snark is appreciated, but unnecessary, especially considering you vomited all over *both* of our shoes. Now we smell like-- I dunno-- rotting versions of your lunch." He grumbled something further under his breath, but continued on, "At least you can take this time and get a tan. I, on the other hand, look as flawless as ever so I'm just bored. I don't even need a tan. I'm perfect."

"Firstly, black people can't get tans," Felix argued. "Err... right?"

"Wrong. And I dislike the term black people, you racist."

"*I'm* racist?" Felix laughed and leaned back, looking at Dante. "Where am I from? What ethnicity am I?"

"Some kind of Asian. Chinese?"

"Racist."

"Che, fine," Dante waved his hand nonchalantly, "You win this time by pulling the race card."

Felix chuckled, shaking his head. "Whatever, Dante. By the way, I'm Japanese. Not "some kind of Asian"."

"They're all the same," Dante deadpanned. Felix grinned.

"Whoa. Super racist," He teased. Dante rolled his eyes, though he gave Felix a good-natured smile.

"I was kidding. But just so you know, I'm--"

"You're Brazilian. You bring it up every time anything happens. Are we at the airport? Did you know that this is a Brazilian passport? Because Dante's from Brazil! Are we at a bar? Did you know that this is a Brazilian driver's licence? Because Dante's from Brazil! Are we at the doctor's office? Did you know prices are better in Bra--"

"I'm just saying I'm not black. I'm light skinned. At the very least call me brown. See, this kind of predilection for the word black when describing people of my skin tone is--"

"You know what, Dante? *You* win. I honestly would rather talk about tans right now." Felix held up his hands. "So please. Let's talk about tans."

Clearly pleased with himself, Dante flashed a grin at Felix before returning to his rather serious expression. "Let's. Let's talk about you. You're pasty. You should brown up a little. Not my complexion, clearly, but--"

"Asian people look awful with tans."

"Says who?"

"Says me!"

"Yeah, but you don't know anything. Look, take it from me--"

"--The guy who has yet to explain why he dressed in a trenchcoat for a trip to the desert--"

"--The fashion expert. And I told you I hate the coat. It just looks more... *detective-y* than my other stuff."

"You don't think *being a detective* is detective-y enough?"

"You gotta look the part."

"You *look* ridiculous."

"To who?"

"To me!"

"Yeah, but you don't know anything."