Chapter Text “PIZZA TIME” The place was familiar to me from my time at Volcano High. Before Fang and I were close enough for me to enjoy her Dino-Moe’s discount, this was my go-to pizza joint. Not because of the quality, Raptor Jesus no, but because they sold slices for a buck apiece. Honestly, It doesn’t come as a surprise to me now that this establishment is running illegal businesses out of its basement. Explains how they’re still open at least. To my left, Hale glances between his phone and the door, probably reading some sort of instructions from the boss on how to open this featureless hunk of metal. It seems like this is the first time he's met Wing here, too. Usually he just tells us to come by where he's closest, like a public place that isn't behind a bunker door. Hale approaches the door with a skeptical look and knocks rhythmically a couple of times. Silence follows. Just as I’m about to step over, the door swings open to reveal a dark steel interior, like a meat locker. Obstructing the view is a portly, blue stegosaurus of about 50 years wearing a well-worn army jacket, complete with shoulder patches. Wing smiles warmly and steps aside, saying, “Anon, Hale, welcome welcome! Get in here you two, you’re letting the heat out.” Hale and I oblige, struggling to slip past Wing’s rotund frame. We’re surrounded by metal shelves stacked with pizza ingredients and beverages, yet the vacuum-sealed square packages piled on the counter remind us of the real “food” down here. “So…” Wing inquires excitedly, “I don’t see any cash on you, does that mean what I think it means?” I turn and pull out the keychain, jingling it for confirmation. Wing loudly exhales and claps his hands together with animated glee. I toss them over his way, hoping it's the last time I have to hold them tonight. “That's what I’m talking about,” He snatches the keys from the air and holds them in front of his face, turning the chain back and forth before tucking the key fob into his breast pocket. He gives us both a look of faux guilt and says, “Was it that obvious I was hoping you’d get this over the money?” Hale chuckles and adds, “Never would’ve guessed, Wing,” He clears his throat, “Speaking of the car, please tell me you called us here because it’s sitting right out in the lot?” Wing waves his hand flippantly, “No, it's still somewhere back in Caleb’s little pit stop of an auto shop. But don’t worry about it, I got another guy to do that. You’re here for something else tonight.” I look in confusion as he slides the keys down the rusty countertop. They glide past where Hale and I stand, and we turn to see somebody standing in the back of the room where the keys come to a halt. Has he been there the whole time? The man in question appears to be a raptor, with cream-colored scales and sparse brown feathers. His eyes are dull and an unlit cigarette…wait no, a toothpick hangs between his teeth. He just stands there, staring with a dopey grin for an uncomfortable amount of time before grabbing the keys and walking past us into the night. In the light, I can see he’s wearing a white satin jacket with what seems to be a fossil embroidered on the back in yellow thread. What. Wing notices me and Hale’s puzzled expression and offers, “New guy, yeah. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s a hell of a driver, This job is right up his alley,” He scratches his stubbled chin and continues. “Don’t stress it, you two probably won’t be seeing much more of him. That's why you were called here tonight, yknow.” His expression suggests that he gave us some sort of hint, but I’m still clueless as to why we’re in an underground pizza pantry/drug warehouse instead of a public place. Hale shrugs apologetically, and Wing sighs and straightens his back to say, “Enough beating around the bush then,” He spreads his hands out and punctuates them with a slight wave. He smiles and exclaims, “You two are up for a promotion! How ‘bout that, huh?” Hale raises an eyebrow, and I can only blink in response. Promotion? The fuck does that mean, extra sick days? Four months doing this, and I never even thought of this…whatever this “business” is as having a hierarchy, besides Wing handing out odd jobs to guys who need money. At least that's how he sold it to me when we first met in Skin Row. I really didn’t know what I was getting into, did I? Wing crosses his arms and grunts, “What’re you grumbling for, Anon? This is a good thing! Both of you relax, man. I put in a good word for the boss upstairs, he just wants to say hi, make sure you don’t got any screws loose and all.” Hale speaks up with a raise of his hand, “And who is this ‘boss’? Why have I never even heard of him?” “That’s just how he does things. Prefers having guys like me working personally with folks while he does all the thinking. Even I hardly see him, once a week at most.” Wing assures as Hale lowers his hand, a look of unease lingering on his face. “Like I said, he just wants to see you two face to face before he’s got you doing anything important. After that, it's smooth sailing, and you’ll be making major dough.” Hale tilts his head to look at me, and I shrug. Can’t be avoided. Besides, it's just a quick powwow with someone Wing can vouch for, then it’s more pay from here on. What’s the worst that could happen? … Damnit Anon, stop thinking about Goodfellas! Wing makes a shooing motion and says impatiently, “What’re you waiting for, boys? Get up there, don’t keep him waiting!” He motions to a door in the back marked as a stairwell. “And feel free to grab a slice at the counter. Free of charge, everyone working up there is in on this thing.” He adds with a wink. I give him a friendly salute and say my thanks, turning to the stairs as Wing returns the gesture and busies himself on his old-school cell phone. I guess if they wanted to kill me, they could’ve just done it when we walked in. Who am I kidding, I’m not important enough to get whacked. I think. I hold the door open for Hale as we begin our ascent to the restaurant. We climb the flight of stairs in silence. This whole affair came far enough out of left field to put Hale deep in thought, enough to dampen his snarky comments for the time being. I can’t blame him, the thought of moving up in the criminal underworld is foreign and unsettling. I fear that sooner or later I’ll have to draw the line between what I’m willing to do and what’s required of me. I can’t say I know where that line currently lies. We reach the top of the stairwell to find a staff entrance, and I step forward to push it open. The interior of the pizzeria hasn’t changed much in the past four years, but the vibe is much different this time of day. Maybe it’s the knowledge of this place’s secrets or just the time that's passed, but something feels off, more sinister somehow. The floor is dimly lit in shades of purple and blue, and the faces of the few guests in the booths are all but obscured. In the back of the room, an elevated section forms a tiny stage, where three silhouettes seem to be fiddling with sound equipment. I realize now that we were never told where the boss was, or what he even looked like, but after a cursory glance at each patron in turn it becomes clear. Everybody is sitting in one of the booths by the wall, save for one man seated in the middle of the dining floor. It’s hard to make out his features, but he’s clearly facing me and Hale, slouched over with his chin in his hands. Hale taps my shoulder meekly and whispers, “Hey, I’m gonna grab something from the counter. Why don’t you go say howdy to the boss there? You wanted to get out of here quick, right?” Without waiting for a response, he slips away, trying his best to look casual as he speed walks to the bar. Asshole. I remove my beanie and step up to the wireframe table where the lone man sits. I’m not entirely sure what etiquette calls for in this situation, so I sheepishly cleared my throat and asked, “Uh, are you the…boss? I mean, Wing asked us to-“ “You’re Anon?” The man interrupted, a hint of accent discernible in his soft voice. Up close, I can make out his features more clearly, and he couldn’t have been farther from what I had imagined. For starters, he was a human, with deeply tanned skin and long, wavy black hair tied into a ponytail that reached past his shoulders. His monochrome outfit was a simple jacket and dress shirt, which hung awkwardly on his tall and wiry frame. His face was still mostly shadowed, but I could tell he was young, around my age, and clean-shaven with bags under his eyes. He looked like an office intern who had just been laid off for messing up somebody’s coffee order. I slowly nodded and responded, “Yeah, I’m Anon. Hale’s grabbing something to eat, I think, but you wanted to talk?” He looks over to the bar, and I start to pull out the chair in front of me, still unsure if I’m proceeding correctly. If I was supposed to kiss his ring first or something, Wing would’ve told me, right? I’m assured when he turns his attention back to me, waving his hand invitingly and nodding as I take a seat. He takes hold of the plastic cup in front of him, swirling around its contents lazily before continuing, “Yeah, I wanted to talk. You’ve been working under Wing for a couple of months now, right?” He drinks deeply from the cup in his hands, staring off into the distance. I looked up distractedly, thinking back on the day this all started. I had only been out of the Navy for a week or so, and I was basically at Rock Bottom (very funny). Like most other vets coming home broke and lonely, I decided to spend my dwindling pension check on booze and cigarettes. Turns out those are exactly the kind of people Wing looks for. We first met at some shitty drinking hole, and by the next day I was “doing him a little favor”. I only learned later the name “Wing” wasn’t some Air Force thing, but from his knack for swooping in on poor saps like me when they're at their lowest, taking them in under his proverbial appendage. I opened my mouth to formulate a response but was cut off by a resounding chord coming from the stage. Even the boss turned in his seat to see the band kicking up the intro for their number. It…actually wasn’t terrible. The amps were set up so that the guitar would echo for ages, making it hard to tell when new notes were being added to the busy yet gloomy melody. I still couldn’t see the performers with the dim lighting, but I could make out a drummer in the back and two others up front with a guitar and bass, the latter standing in front of a mic stand. Where was I again? Wing, Right. It was hard to think or hear with the melancholic rhythm drifting through the air, but I turned to the boss and said loudly, “Right, I met him a couple of-“ The screech of metal on linoleum interrupts for the second time as Hale crashes into the seat next to me, bearing a massive tray of nachos drenched in plastic cheese. I furrow my brow and give him a derisive look, but he’s fully focused on the boss, who’s leaned back in his seat to make space for Hale’s carbohydrate cornucopia. The tray drops to the table, and Hale thrusts a hand towards our host, who hadn’t even begun to reciprocate the greeting before Hale starts talking, smiling from ear to ear. “Hey, what’d I miss? No offense, man, but you look absolutely miserable! I should’ve warned you, Anon’s not much in the conversation department, no, far too gloomy,” He rolls his eyes in supposed nonchalance, yet even I can see nervousness is written all over his face. “But where are my manners, I’m Hale, and I’ll bet Anon hasn’t even asked your name, hmm?” Despite the barrage of verbiage, the boss seems markedly unfazed, regarding Hale the way a high schooler looks at their teacher during a 7th-period lecture. He slowly extends his hand to shake with Hale, giving me a look out of the corner of his eyes before saying, “It’s Ezra. And no, we haven’t even started yet.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but something about this guy, from his casual mannerisms and dejected appearance, none of it adds up to “Skin Row crime boss”, besides the skin part. Even his age doesn’t make sense. He can’t be much older than me or Hale, yet he’s handing down orders to seasoned vets like Wing? I can see why he doesn’t mingle much with his subordinates, any numbskull bruiser with half the mind could probably snap him like a twig. I notice Hale opening his mouth again, and decide to shave at least half an hour off this meeting by interrupting him to address Ezra’s question. “Yeah, I’ve known Wing for a few months now, he got me started in this whole business. Met Hale soon after by chance, and since then we’ve been running most jobs as a pair. Shakedowns, protection, moving money, whatever Wing can put us on, really.” Hale turns his head to me with a frown, probably upset I reduced the story of our relationship to a couple sentences. Cry me a river, I just want to get home before the sun comes up at this point. Ezra grabs a nacho off the tray and chews indifferently, waiting to swallow before responding “Cool, cool. Yeah, he trusts you two,” He grabs another tortilla chip, pausing to digest it completely. “So, how soon can y’all be working?” I blinked, a little stunned at how soon that came. That’s it? One question I half-answered is enough for this guy to put us on payroll? Hale looked up to answer, but something else caught my attention. An ethereal voice floating through the room layered in with the ambient music. A woman’s voice. It was powerful, and hauntingly beautiful, clearly a cut above your average vocalist. Not what I had expected to hear in a place like this, but as it drifted between the somber melody of the guitar, an intense impression struck me. It sounded familiar. In a daze, I looked over Ezra’s shoulder towards the stage, my eyes having adjusted to the indigo mood lighting. I could make out the ankylosaurus drummer in the back, his eyes closed in fervent concentration as he laid out a steady measure. The guitarist, a human, was tapping her foot on the floor as her fingers danced across the frets. And in front of the microphone, dressed in all black and dotted with various tattoos, was a dull-hued, female pterodactyl. Raptor Jesus. It was Fang. Her wings were threadbare, the ends patchy and frayed as if they had been held over a wildfire. Her argent hair had been shaved to the roots, and the spiked collar on her crest had been traded out for a length of tattered black cloth. This isn’t real. Her eyes which once resembled lustrous stones of amber now likened to dying embers, devoid of any warmth. That’s not Fang. Her dusky makeup looked as if someone had dragged a stick of charcoal across her face, and she wore it with an austere look of dismal grief. That can’t be Fang. A knot of sorrow grew tighter in my chest. I want to shut my eyes but my body won't let me. That can’t be Fang. This has to be a dream - no, a nightmare - a waking nightmare, yes. I’m just tired, my mind is playing tricks on me, it has to be, I- The tattoo on my wrist burns in remembrance, cutting through the haze of self-deception. My God, what happened to you, Fang? Her elegant figure, once so full of life, was reduced to a frail mannequin scrawled with careless etchings of sable ink. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s gone through to end up here in this ragged state. My heart sinks at the thought. Is this what I’ve become, too? A miserable, washed up and- “Helloooo? Earth to Anon?” The words are enough for me to wrench my eyes off of her, looking towards the source. Hale is staring right at me, showing abject stress as he waves his hand in front of my eyes. It takes me a couple of seconds to fall back into my surroundings, and fighting the urge to glance back at the stage, I slowly turn my head to the other guest at the table. I’m met with a sight that drags me back into the heavy cloud of dread. Ezra gazes deep into my eyes with the look of a predator studying his quarry. His casual air has dissipated completely, replaced with an aura of measured perception as he examines me intensely. He breaks eye contact for a moment to glance back at the stage, then back to me. I can see the gears turning in his head as he thinks and after a short pause, a knowing smile tugs at the ends of his mouth. —— The light at the end of the cigarette I held burned down to the filter, flicking my fingertips with tongues of heat. Tossing it over the concrete barrier, I watched the stub drift down to the streets below. From the fifth floor of the parking garage behind the pizzeria, I still felt dwarfed by the skyscrapers in the heart of the city. I grab a fresh smoke from the pack in my jacket and spark it to life, drawing a long pull deep into my lungs. I was checked out for the rest of the meeting. Hale did the talking from there on, and we got our first job soon after. Two days from now, back at Pizza Time, details on arrival. I didn’t stick around long after that. I needed fresh air, and to get away from Ezra. Should’ve known there was more than meets the eye with a guy like that. Of course, that’s the last thing I’m thinking about right now. I still can’t come to terms with what I saw down there. Fang was here in Skin Row after all this time, playing her heart out to an audience of shadows in that dreary restaurant. The sight of her on that stage had already started to seep its way into my memories. While I was scrubbing floors on an aircraft carrier without a care in the world, she was wasting away back home, barely holding on to her passion for music. All those times I thought about her on her own, doing better without me, it was all a lie now. …No, that’s not true either. She would’ve been better off without me. She’d still have her friends, her family, and she’d have never become the ghost I saw today on stage. Sure, she had her problems - hell, some of them I even helped her with, but none of that mattered in the end. All of that progress, gone in an instant. And it was all my fault. ‘People never change.’ Lies again. A projection of my own doubts that somehow justified my stagnant decline over the years. The only one who hasn’t changed is me. I’m just- *bzzz bzzz* My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check the screen to see an incoming call, from a contact labeled with a bespectacled nerd emoji and a tomato. That’d be Hale. I tap ‘accept’ and lift the phone to my ear. “What’s up, Hale?” I blankly state. His tinny voice comes over the phone carrying a subdued tone. “I should be asking you, man. Where are you now, did you get home safe?” I take a drag from the cig between my fingers, savoring the burning sensation in the back of my throat. A groan escapes my lips as I slide down the concrete barrier, flopping down onto the curb. Glad he’s looking out for me, but I’m not in a talking mood tonight. “Yeah, I’m back at my place. I’m about to sleep actually, so if you don’t mind I’ll-,” “Hey c'mon, I could tell something was off with you tonight, okay? ‘Just tired’ won’t cut it, what’s going on?” Another intake of smoke prepares me to let out another lie. “Nothing’s ‘going on’, Hale. I’ll be back at 100% if I could just get some sleep, so I’ll see you then-“ “Got a spare?” A husky female voice sounds from right in front of me, and my eyes refocus to meet a pair of weathered black boots standing a few feet away. My gaze trails up to see who they belong to, and just as quickly I return to the very interesting view of the floor. Shitshitfuckohfuckshitgoddamnshit- WHY IS FANG UP HERE?! She had covered up her revealing outfit on stage with a long black puffer jacket, and an instrument case was slung on her shoulder. Stay calm, Anon. It doesn’t seem like she recognizes you, or she wouldn’t be asking for a fucking smoke. Just…play it cool, and see how things shake out. Maybe she’ll just go off and smoke in her car or something. My heart is pounding like a drumroll. I hung up the call with Hale - nothing too personal - and powered off my mobile, still trying to avoid eye contact as I grabbed the carton of cigs in my pocket. I flip off the top and hold it out weakly while muttering, “Uh…sure…go ahead.” Still got it. “‘Preciate it.” Fang pulls a coffin nail out of the carton in my hands and leans against the barrier, looking out over the web of lights below. From my awkward view on the floor, it was hard to get a good look at her up close, but thankfully she couldn’t see my face either. I can tell she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Damn, I haven’t heard these alarms in my head since high school. She produced a lighter and sparked up her cig, cremating half of it in one heavy drag. Wisps of smoke trailed from her mouth as she glanced down at me and said, “Hm. You look kinda familiar…” I practically swallow the cigarette between my lips when I hear that. Fuck my life. I thought that maybe I’d have the luxury of taking this one step at a time, but nope. The band-aid’s coming off clean I guess. Don’t know what I expected with my shit luck, but- Fang raps her claws against the surface she’s leaning on. “You were in the restaurant, right? Pizza Time?” I let out a long breath and deflated into a small pile of relief. If I have to go through another emotional swing like that I’ll wind up swinging from a light fixture. But she doesn’t know who I am. I’m back to random-skinnie square one. Raptor Jesus, why here and now!? Of all the ways I’ve tortured myself thinking about this very moment, I would have never imagined it would go like this. I get my breath back under control and respond, “Uh, yeah. I saw you playing on stage,” My cigarette is reduced to a stub in a final breath. I let it fall to the ground, still smoldering. “Sounded good,” I add. Fang goes silent for a moment, turning back again to look out over the city. I think the compliment struck a chord with her, but she tries not to show it. The Fang I once knew would’ve beamed at praise like that, but now… Maybe I shouldn’t talk as much. Fang recovers, and continues, “So, what brings you up here?” I keep my eyes lowered, watching the burning stub at my feet slowly turn to ash. It's so tempting to just come clean, to jump to my feet and let out everything I’ve wanted to say since that day. To apologize endlessly, to beg for forgiveness, even if she wants nothing to do with me. I need this closure, one way or another, no matter what. But I can’t. I lost that privilege four years ago. I come out of thought and say, “I don’t know, just needed some fresh air. What about you?” “I come up here after work. Something about the view, I guess,” Fang pauses again as if she’s catching up to the words that come out of her mouth. “First time seeing anybody else this late though.” All I can offer is a shrug. After seeing her on stage, I immediately jumped to pessimistic conclusions about how she would be after these long years. Bitter, cold, maybe cracked out on some dino tranq, pretty things like that. But talking with her now, one-sided as it is, it almost feels like nothing’s changed. Like it’s just the two of us back on the rooftop, passing the time over a couple of cigs. Yet she has no idea who I am. Fang flicks the remains of her cigarette over the barrier, and I instinctively reach for my pack to grab another for her. She looks surprised as I hold it out to her, but when she flips off the top a dusting of pink rises on her now flustered features. Confused, I tilt the pack my way to see its contents and immediately feel a similar rush of color fill my face. I offered her the last one in the pack. Good job Anon, the one time you try to have Fang avoid talking to you, you pull some sappy move like that right out of your ass. For the first time tonight, a toothy smile lights up her face, and it nearly brings me to tears. The way she seems to treasure this simple gesture shows she hasn’t been around good company for a long time. Fang takes the cigarette from the box and mutters, “…Thanks,”, placing it between her lips and raising her tiny gray lighter to produce a flame. I swiftly nod, trying to look natural as I drag my beanie down to try and cover my embarrassed expression. Fang lets her cig idly burn between her fingers, then perks up to say, “I’m Fang, by the way,” She pauses, “My name, I mean.” An awkward silence follows. Shit, she’s waiting for me, huh? No names are coming to me right now, especially from people she wouldn’t already know. I hadn’t even considered that she might still be seeing some of our friends from good ol’ Volcano High. Clearly, she’d found a new band, but what about her family? No, there’s no way they’d stand to see her living down here, especially not Naser’s racist ass. Think, Anon! “I’m Caleb. Nice to meet you…Fang.” It comes out tentatively, but she doesn’t seem to bat an eye. She turns forward so that we’re both facing away from the view, with me still down on the curb by her feet. I’m struck by a memory of the two of us, sharing our first smoke behind a public bathroom after narrowly escaping Naomi’s tour of the city. Our first “date”, although we hardly knew it then. Fang nods and replies, “Same goes. I’ve never seen you down there before, nor that other guy you were with. First time meeting Ezra?” A chill ran down my spine. She knows about Ezra? I only ever heard about the guy after four months of doing this shit, yet Fang seems familiar with him. That can’t mean what I think it means. I recall what Wing said to me earlier before we went upstairs, ‘Everyone working up there is in on this thing’ I felt sick. The fucking disease of this city had gotten her too, and it's all because of me. God, if only I could just talk to her like nothing ever happened. How long has she been doing this? What kind of awful work have they put her on? I have so many questions about these last four years, but I just don’t know how to ask them. Fang picks up on my silence and remarks, “That bad, huh? Dude’s a total prick, says the only reason he lets me play is so that anybody nosy poking around doesn’t stay long.” I’m hardly listening, still grappling with this new information. I feel as if I was stranded at sea, and a ghost ship just drifted right by without a crew. All I can think about is the past, all of my bad decisions and poor judgments, but I know it won’t help. What’s done is done, I need to focus on the present. If I’m the reason she’s in this mess, I’m responsible for getting her out. A cigarette, half-smoked, falls to the ground by my side, but I’m lost in thought. Why do I always do this to myself? I’m not a fucking savior, I can barely look after myself. And I don’t need a reminder of the last time I tried to help someone else for a change, thats where this all started. Maybe I can tell her family, leave Ripley some kind of anonymous tip on her whereabouts. No, if she’s been making a living the same way I have, she should stay far away from the police. Is it just money? If I could somehow get my money to her, she wouldn’t have to work for Ezra and- A feather lands on my forearm, sticking to my sweater by a glob of viscous red liquid on the end. I jump to my feet and turn to Fang, only to see her trembling like a willow in a storm. Tears run down her face and her wings are drawn tightly around her frail body, as she clutches them with her hands with enough force to tear out bits of down. Slowly she turns her head, and the makeup staining her haunted expression makes it look as if she’d seen a ghost. I can’t even move. She remembers. Was it something I said? I hardly said a word, it couldn’t have been. The cigarette? The view, and the memories? There’s not way she saw my tattoo, I’m sure of it. How could this just happen out of- … I raise a hand to my face. Christ, it was the mumbling. I have to act now. I take a tentative step towards Fang, raising my other hand with my palm outstretched. Immediately she recoils, more feathers drifting off her scarred wings. I hazard another step and swallow hard before attempting to speak, “…Fang, I-”. I pause, expecting her to react, but she stands her ground. I inch one step closer, continuing, “I’m sorry I-“. A blur of motion, followed by blossoming pain in my outstretched hand and face. Her claws swooped up from her side in a rush of feathers, gashing my wrist with long crimson streaks before taking a chunk out over my eyebrow. I jolted back, still in shock, as she gave me a withering stare, hunched over and breathing heavily. Droplets of blood mixed with tears as they ran down Fang’s arm, and she clutched it with her other hand like a wolf keeps its catch from a flock of vultures. She started to move, testing the ground behind her with a still-shaking leg. Before the pain could reach me, I steeled my nerves and yelled, “Fang, wait!”. She froze for a heartbeat, breath catching in her throat, but just as quickly she turned and ran, panting from exertion and emotional strain as she dragged the case behind her as fast as she could. All I could do was watch as she sprinted down the ramp, eventually rounding a corner and passing out of sight. The shock wore off, and the throbbing agony of my fresh wounds hit like a tsunami, putting me down on one knee. Blood dripped down my face, pooling in my hanging palm as I tightened it into a fist. Maybe I can’t change, but she still can. I can fix this, I can get her out of this awful place. Even if she spits in my face, I won’t let her end up like me. I’ll spend the rest of my days restoring what I took from her, and after that I’ll fade away. She’ll never have to see me again, someday she might even forget me, but that doesn’t faze me. All that matters is her. [NOTES] Thanks for making it this far! It’s my first time writing fanfics like this, so I’d be happy to respond to any feedback/questions. I can’t say for certain when the next chapter will come, but expect much more to come eventually. Fun fact, each of the chapter names (as well as the title) are musical references, so see if you can find em. I’ll drop the song for this chapter, because it’s meant to be a parallel to the song Fang plays in this-story’s Pizza Time (and its pretty obscure lol). The song: https://youtu.be/S-fqZAOVCqE?feature=shared