Sponsored Content #3
Kenny is struggling to maintain his friendly demeanor, but he seems deeply put off by my gesture.
My request is simple enough, even if it doesn’t make much sense to a guy who’s naive to the supernatural drama swirling around him.
I’ve asked plenty of men to do much stranger things in my lifetime, but this reaction is a new one.
Of course, the answer is obvious, and when it finally comes barreling into my conscious mind I can’t help letting out a short, awkward laugh.
I don’t look like an influencer anymore.
While Eddie’s powers of persuasion seem to have only grown with the destruction of his outer shell, it appears mine have withered away.
“Hey!” Noah calls out from across the room, unexpectedly stern. “Put it on and keep it on.”
Kenny’s confusion remains, but his expression softens as he slowly reaches up and places the clip on his nose.
“Thank you,” Noah says.
With that, Kenny hurries off into the other room in search of a medical kit. It sounds like he’s rummaging around in a metal cabinet.
“I really am fine!” I call in protest. “If you wanna help, just make sure that clip is snug on your nose!”
No response. The sound of pens and pencils rustling, drawers opening and shutting.
This main chamber of the building is quite large, with vaulted ceilings that are built to resemble a log cabin.
The middle of the room is full of small posts that can be linked with fabric bands at various points to create line formations, although none are currently connected, and there’s a small gift shop nestled on the right.
Balancing this out is a long ticketing desk to the left.
A taxidermy ram stands proudly at the far end of the room, watching over us with its marble eyes.
Noah takes off in the opposite direction, heading down a staff hallway, and while I appreciate Kenny’s desire to help, right now I’m sticking with my friend. The last thing we should do is split up.
We twist and turn through the structure, making our way down a staircase and then doubling back past a row of small windows.
I glance into one of the glass-paned openings, catching sight of a large engine room that churns and chugs away.
A gargantuan spool of cable rests at the center of it all, nestled within various bays of industrial equipment and panels of blinking lights.
Eventually, we arrive at what appears to be a simple break room, ducking inside.
There’s a fridge and a microwave set up in the corner, and the opposite wall features several rows of small lockers.
Noah immediately hurries over and yanks one open, rummaging around a bit and then pulling out a small plastic jar.
He brings it back and hands it over to me.
“Let’s hope this works,” he says.
I turn the jar over in my hand, studying the label like it’s some kind of mythical tincture sent from the gods. A thin layer of this stuff sent Eddie into a frothing, choking fit. I can only imagine what the whole thing would do.
I read the label aloud. “Aldafedrix topical cream—fluorouracil and more.”
Unfortunately, when I unscrew the cap and take a look inside, I’m struck with mild disappointment. The cream is mostly gone, gouged away over time until there’s just a few smears left at the bottom of the jar.
It’s probably enough to get the job done, but we need to be smart about it.
“So what’s the plan?” Noah asks.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Open to suggestions.”
Marlo raises her hand, waving for my attention. “What if you stick it in the monster’s mouth?”
I hesitate, amused by this straightforward proposal. “I mean … yeah, pretty good plan. I think I’d probably get my hand bitten off, so I was hoping for something a little sneakier.”
Marlo nods with understanding, furrowing her brow.
“He seems pretty ravenous,” Noah jumps in. “I can just … put the cream on another patch.”
“No way,” I counter. “Besides, Eddie’s not that dumb.”
There’s a quiet knock on the break room door, Kenny’s voice carrying out from the other side. “Poppy? I’ve got those bandages.”
Noah turns to open the door, barely considering his own instinctive movement.
Proceed with caution. We can’t trust anyone.
It happens so fast, I barely have time for the moment to register.
My entire frame jerks and the very beginning of a warning syllable just barely passes the edge of my lips.
If I had more time, I’d tell him to stop.
I’d remind him that, despite our introduction upstairs, I haven’t yet given this well-meaning security guard my name.
The door is only halfway open when a deafening blast hits my ears, transforming the relative silence into a constant, high-pitched whine.
The world is briefly consumed by a flash of light, streaks of movement seared across my corneas as a shotgun blast tears through Noah’s chest, blowing him backward in a plume of gore.
His body moves quickly, thrown by the impact, but not so fast that I miss the massive hole through his torso—bone, blood, and organs ejected onto the wall behind us amid an eruption of metal pellets.