>[4] Aren't there— aren't there people coming? You can't spend the time! Hobble out as fast as you can and find a safer place to do any of the above. Assuming there is a safer place.

  ?I hate to be a killjoy, Charlotte—?

  The burst of static that accompanies Richard's blatant falsehood (he loves to be a killjoy) makes you wince, first in irritation and next in a spasm of pain. The spearhead is burrowing itself further into your shoulder. "You—!" you curse. "Hold it still!"

  Madrigal inhales through gritted teeth and braces the spear's shaft against the wall. "You're the one moving!"

  ?—but I would not recommend doing anything loud and bloody in the room you just tripped an alarm for.?

  "I am not," you say (just to get it out of the way), then pause to reflect on Richard's advice. He's right. God, you hate it when he's right. You can't stay here, not in this condition. Look at your coat! Stained to hell and back!

  You shuffle around the table and begin to make for the door. "Wait!" yelps Madrigal, but she doesn't need to: you're wrenched backwards by the spear. A fresh rivulet of blood trickles down the underside of your arm. You wait. "You have to— where are you going? We have to pull this out safely!"

  "No! There's an alarm! We have to go!"

  ?Good.?

  "So you want…" Madrigal folds her arms. "You want to go out into the hallway… with an entire spear in your shoulder. A five-foot spear. In the hallway where the guards are bound to be…"

  ?Charlie—?

  "You a coward?"

  ??

  You're not quite sure where that came from, and from the looks of her neither does Madrigal. Her eyes widen, then narrow. "I'm not a fucking coward, Charlotte, I'm weighing the risks. You want us to expose ourselves, undefended, you injured, to— what? Bet our lives on finding a safe, empty room? You realize we're in a safe, empty—"

  "You're making excuses," you say, getting more into the rhythm of things. "You're a coward. You're a— you're a little cowardly bitch."

  Madrigal flushes. "I am n— ooh! You fucking cunt! My spear is in your arm!"

  "Interesting," you say. "So?"

  "S-so I could make things a lot fucking worse for you, Charlotte! I could ram this through your— I could wrench this out and let you bleed? Would you like that? Is that a fucking coward thing to do?!"

  Here's the truth: you are in considerable distress. Your shoulder was killing you before, but Madrigal's been yanking on the spear knowingly or unknowingly and it's like explosions of knives— you don't know what the thrice-damned tooth on the end came from, but it must've been a holy terror. So there's the pain, there's Madrigal— she's got a vein very visibly pulsing on her neck and you can't tear your gaze away— there's the whole suddenness of the thing— you were just goading her, that was all, you weren't expecting a scene. Is it because you called her a cowardly bitch? Was the swearing too much? "Wash your mouth out with lye," your Aunt Ruby always said—

  You could defuse the situation. You probably ought to: her spear is in your arm, and the blood's running down your side, now. And if nothing else, Madrigal might choke on her own spittle and die if you didn't.

  On the other hand, you're a Fawkins, God-damnit. You do not end fights. You start fights, usually while drunk, and you win fights. And you're still a little sore over an encounter with Madrigal earlier today…

  "It's not a coward thing to do, no." You're having a difficult time keeping your voice even. Madrigal relaxes. (Ha!) "It is a psychopath thing to do."

  You were expecting her to tense back up, but if anything she goes limper— a guppy in the jaws of a snake, you hate thinking, because long ago you promised yourself you would not do snake metaphors.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  ?There's nothing wrong with snake metaphors.?

  "Fuck you," Madrigal mutters almost inaudibly. You threw a proper sockdolager— there's nothing else she can say. "Fuck you. Let's go… let's go get ourselves killed."

  The corridor is empty. The corridor appears empty, rather— you can't bring yourself to believe there's nothing lurking. Madrigal traipses along ahead of you, balancing the shaft of the spear on her shoulder. The light on the wall continues to flash red. You bleed.

  The two of you turn left. If anything is following you, it's impossible to hear it over the low rumble that pervades the… building? (Surely a building?) The rumble, yes, and the slorp of pipes, and—

  You need to breathe. You just need to take a deep breath, and… ooh. You take that back. Bad plan. You need to think while moving your shoulder as little as possible. What happened? This place was hidden behind the wall of the sewer. It took your blood samples and coughed up a mangled goo-replica of Madrigal. (Is there one of you, somewhere?) You broke into the maintenance room—

  ?You tripped the alarm.?

  Yes, thank you, Richard. You tripped the alarm, you found gloves and notices and a five-foot snakeskin which promptly tried to suffocate you. And then you got stabbed. It has not been one of your better days.

  But there's always a way for things to get worse! You're scarcely ten steps around the corner before a ruckus erupts from overhead. You clutch your shoulder as Madrigal stares up into the pipes. "There's something—"

  "You don't say, Madame Obvious." You don't have time for this. You're also unarmed, and bleeding, but you don't have time for this. "Move! Come on!"

  One rubber boot emerges, then the next— Madrigal hauls you down the corridor in a stumbling fast-walk. "I'm moving!" she spits. "But there's nowhere to go. It's a fucking empty—"

  The only thing ahead is a "DO NOT SLIP" sign on a dry floor. There's no doors, no alcoves, no— you glance behind you. An anonymous yellow jumpsuit has followed the boots.

  "Of course there's somewhere to go," you scoff. "You're such a wet blanket, Madrigal."

  "I'm- I'm looking! I wish there was! There is literally nowhere—"

  A hood follows the jumpsuit, and gloves, and a person has clambered down from the ceiling. Oh, you think, a person. That's good. Better a person than… You spot the harpoon gun.

  ?Oh, interesting. That's not a real gun, but it looks fairly close to a Beuit 22. Just barely adequate for whales, unfortunately, but works fine for squishier—?

  "There!" You point to a door up on your right. "There! Take a—"

  Madrigal doesn't need telling twice. She rushes to it, your shoulder is nearly torn off, it feels like, she tries the door, it's locked, a word bubbles in your throat, it's not locked, you barrel through— you slam it behind you just as a weighty thunk shakes, but doesn't splinter, the wood.

  You slump down and breathe again. Madrigal props the spear against the wall and joins you.

  "There was no door," she says.

  You don't say anything.

  "The hallway was a fuckin'— a straight shot, I would've seen a door. There was no door."

  You notice how every beat of your heart makes your shoulder writhe and crawl. Could be maggots in, for all you know. Worms.

  "Charlotte? Hello? That wasn't incompetence, there was just no— hello? And then there was a door, but only after there wasn't a, a door—"

  "I have a spear in my arm," you say.

  "Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Fuck. Uh…" Madrigal stands. "Did we decide… where are we? I need to… I'll be right back."

  You sit on the floor. She is right back. "I think— it looks safe. It's like an office, I guess, except there's a big wall of… pictures. I don't know, I didn't— are you listening?"

  It's difficult to move your head. "Yes."

  "Okay. Okay! So it should be okay to deal with…" Madrigal gestures broadly at your wound. "…that."

  "…Yes."

  >You need to do something to treat your wound, or you'll never be able to wash the stain out! Good thing you're not in reality, so you can make things happen… kind of? With enough blind optimism?

  >[ID: 3/11]

  >[1] Convince Madrigal to snap the spear so the serrated spearhead remains in the wound. Medically safe-ish. Your preference. Madrigal is not a fan of the idea. [Tough roll to convince her.]

  >[2] Allow Madrigal to remove the spearhead. Her preference. It'll be fine, probably, as long as you procure something to stanch the profuse bleeding. (What do you use? Special plans?) [Possible roll.]

  >[3] Work out some kind of compromise. Can you snap it but give her another weapon? Fix the spear, somehow? (What?) [Likely roll.]

  >[4] Hold on, don't you have a magic snake who solves all your problems? (-1 ID will stanch the bleeding. Madrigal will ask uncomfortable questions.)

  >[5] Write-in.