Ford watched in horror as his brother tumbled toward the portal.

"Stanley!" he screamed. He pushed off the control switch, flying to his brother. His hands scrambled for his twin in a panic; he managed to catch onto Lee's pant leg just before his safety rope went taut. He pulled on it with all his strength until he could wrap his arms around both of Lee's knees. "It's okay, Lee! I've got you!"

No response. Ford glanced up.

Lee was halfway submerged in the opening of the portal. Color danced around him.

"Lee! Can you hear me, Lee!" This close, the roaring of the portal was so loud that Ford could barely hear himself. All he could do was hope for the anomaly to end soon — before his rope snapped.

And before he lost his tenuous grip on his brother.

Just as Ford thought he couldn't hold on any longer, gravity disappeared. With gravity no longer pulling Lee away from him, Ford heaved his brother out of the portal. The frantic motion sent both brothers flying away from the portal and toward the far wall. They hit with a thud and rebounded, floating to the center of the room.

Ford did his best to rotate Lee in his arms until they were both oriented the same way, facing each other. "Lee, are you okay?"

Stanley just stared at him with wide, unseeing eyes.

"Lee?"

A breath burst from Lee's chest, and he gave loud, gasping breaths as he clung to Ford. "I'm. . . never. . . doing that. . . again."

Ford let out a breath of relief. He was okay.

Gravity returned, sending the brothers back to the ground. Ford hurried Lee out of the portal room, calling for Fidds to follow. There were still ninety seconds on the timer — ninety seconds before the portal truly opened — and Ford wanted to wait out the rest of the anomalies where they wouldn't have such dire consequences.

Lee braced his hand over the control station desk and leaned on it, breathing heavily. "Lee, are you okay?" asked Ford, putting a hand on his back. "What. . . what did you see?"

His response was another wide-eyed look. "I. . . it's. . ." Lee shook his head. "It's a wasteland in there, Sixer." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Nothing but an empty wasteland." Then a wince. "A very bright one, though."

What? No, that couldn't be right. There had to be something on the other side. Something to discover, something to study. "Maybe you didn't get past the white barrier," Ford said. "You probably didn't get through to the other side." He turned. "Right, Fidds?"

He froze as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Fidds?" He took a step back, putting his hands up. "Fidds, what's wrong?"

Fidds' hands shook as he pointed the stun gun at his research partner. "I'm sorry, Stanford."

He fired.

Lee caught Ford as he fell. "Fidds, what the—"

"You got to see the other side."

Lee stared at him warily. "I. . . I did. Wherever you have that portal set to, Fidds, it's empty. Now, just put that down, and we can—"

"No." Fidds' hands shook even more. "No, it can't be empty. I've been promised — great rewards—"

"What?"

Fidds shook his head. Never mind. There was an explanation, he was sure. Ford was probably right: Lee probably hadn't seen the other side at all.

"Fiddleford, put the gun down." Lee stepped forward, reaching out. As he did so, gravity disappeared again, sending him higher into the air with his footstep than he'd anticipated.

Above them, the timer beeped to 00:00:00. The portal burst into white flame — so bright that, even though there was a wall between him and the machine, Fidds had trouble seeing.

He fired the stun gun, hoping the shot would hit its mark.

When gravity returned, when Fidds' vision cleared, he saw Lee's body fall to the ground, landing near Ford. A wave of nausea hit him as he realized what he had just done — and what he was about to do.

Fidds stepped into the portal room and fixed his gaze on the machine, willing himself to calm down. The portal, now open, pulsed with soft white light, caressed by swaths of blue. This. This was the face of Fidds' destiny.

The sight helped him immensely.

He walked toward the portal and discovered that gravity lessened the closer he got to it. Ah, so that was how Bill would enter the portal. He would simply push off the ground and float into it.

Fidds' brain hadn't quite processed that he would be the one floating into it, while carrying Bill inside his body. That thought still made him shudder with nervousness.

He took a deep breath. Don't think about entering the portal. No one was going in yet. Fidds still had work to do.

Fidds hurried up to the lab and grabbed his memory gun, going over in his mind exactly what he would type in before he shot the brothers. Stanley. . . he knew what he would type for Stanley. But he wasn't so sure what he should do with Stanford.

Halfway down to the basement, Fidds realized what he needed to do, and his stomach sank. Of course. Ford would wonder where his brother went, no question. Fidds had to make sure he wouldn't go looking for him.

Stanley was going where Ford could not follow.

So when Fidds stood over the unconscious Pines brothers, his shaky hands typed the input phrase: Saving Stanley.

He stood over Ford, gun pointed at the man's head, his finger faltering on the trigger. Could he really do this? Could he make Ford forget that he had saved his brother from the portal? Losing his brother. . . it would tear Ford apart.

But he was going to lose his brother either way. Making him think Stanley had gone through the portal, and not that he'd been taken by the Order, felt like the more merciful option. Or, at the very least, it was the option that kept the Order out of suspicion. Ford had already found out about them once; Fidds could hardly imagine the disaster if he found them a second time.

Fidds screwed his eyes shut and fired the gun.

Nothing changed. The beam from the gun mixed with the light from the portal before disappearing as it hit Stanford's temple.

Fidds peeked open his eyes to see the last of the beam dissipate into the air. "I'm sorry, Stanford," he repeated in a whisper.

Then he turned to Stanley.

Now, Fidds didn't much like Stanley. He never had. A year of torture, that's what Stanley was to Fiddleford.

Yet. . . was that enough cause to completely erase his memory?

Fidds shook his head. No, Fiddleford, he reminded himself. That's not why you're erasing his memory. It's not for some personal vendetta. It's for Bill.

It's for the great rewards on the other side of that portal.

With trembling fingers, Fidds typed in a new input phrase. This time, it was solely a name: Stanley Pines.

He had to do this. He had to prove to Bill that he was worthy.

He swallowed back bile and fired the gun a second time.

Again, no visible change. Stanley lay there, as unconscious as ever. But the weight of Fidds' actions swept over him, driving him to his knees. He knelt on all fours, staring at the ground in shock as his body convulsed in dry heaves. His mind scrambled to get ahold of itself.

Focus. Focus, Fiddleford. Focus on your destiny. What's next?

Next was. . . next was getting them both upstairs.

Fidds sat back on his heels, wiped his mouth, and frowned at the Pines brothers. He wasn't very strong. How was he supposed to get them in an out of an elevator, then up a flight of stairs? He couldn't do that. He doubted even Bill Cipher could do that, if he was limited to the physical strength of Fidds' body.

Then he'd just have to find some of his fellow Order members to help him. And be quick about it, for he only had two hours maximum before the brothers awoke.

He hurried up the stairs, trying to remember where Percy Pleasure's house was. Had he ever been there? Or had he only seen the Order leader at headquarters? Would anyone be at headquarters after those anomalies?

Thankfully, he didn't have to go far. He didn't even have to leave the house. When he opened the door, about to leave, he found four men standing on the doorstep.

He yelled and jumped back, startled by this unexpected sight. It took him a moment to realize these were Order members, headed by Gabriel Northwest himself.

"Apologies for startling you," said Gabriel. He stepped into the house without asking permission, and his three companions followed him.

Fidds reached for the door and closed it behind them. He'd only seen Gabriel Northwest a few times; he had worked much more closely with the son, Gaston, than he ever had the father.

"Lord Cipher informed us that you would need assistance with the Pines brothers," Gabriel said. "Where are they?"

"Th-this way," Fidds stammered. He awkwardly moved around the group, then led them to the basement.

"Lord Cipher told me to ask you," Gabriel commented on the way down, "whether you had followed his instructions. I assume you know which instructions he means."

Fidds' stomach flipped. "Y-yes," he said. "I m-m-mean, I have more, but I've done everything up to this point."

Gabriel nodded, looking vaguely curious as to what Fidds meant by "everything". But he held his peace on the subject.

The elevator bumped to a stop, and the Order members stared at the portal as it came into view.

"Magnificent," Gabriel breathed. He glanced sideways at Fiddleford. "And you are to be the vessel that carries our lord to his freedom?"

Fidds squirmed under Gabriel's gaze. Had everyone known about that but him? Finally, he managed a nod.

Gabriel simply lifted an eyebrow.

"The, um, the brothers are over there," Fidds said unnecessarily, with an equally unnecessary gesture. The Order members traversed the room and hoisted the limp bodies onto their shoulders.

They took two elevator trips back up. Fidds told the first group to put Stanford on the couch, then stayed with the second group. He was sure these Order members could be trusted, but he still didn't want to leave anyone alone with the portal. Before he went upstairs, he gathered the memory gun and all three Journals into his arms.

Now for his next assignment.

They left Stanford at the lab and walked down the street, in open daylight, with Stanley's bags on their shoulders and Stanley himself unconscious in their arms. Gabriel assured Fidds that no one would come out to see them, for the townspeople were still cowering in fear from the gravitational anomalies. "Gaston will have a field day cleaning up after you," he remarked.

Fidds' guilt, mixed with uncertainty over whether or not Gabriel was being humorous, resulted in nothing more than a weak chuckle.

When they arrived at Order headquarters, they were greeted by an enthusiastic Percy Pleasure. "It appears everything went smoothly, then," he said cheerfully. He gestured to Stanley. "I'll show you where to put him; follow me."

He led the group deeper into the compound, where he eventually opened a door to what appeared to be a bedroom. A simple bed and dresser furnished a stark stone room, with lantern-bearing sconces on the wall.

"Place him on the bed and handcuff him to that sconce there, you see?" instructed Percy. "Put whatever clothes he has in the dresser, then dispose of the rest of the items in those bags. And you, Fiddleford, come with me."

Fidds swallowed and did as Percy said. They walked down the hall, turning the corner so they could have a reasonably private conversation. Fidds was nervous, but Percy's easy smile quickly soothed any worries about their meeting.

"I'm proud of you, Fiddleford," he said.

Unexpected tears brimmed Fidds' eyes, and he blinked them back. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"You still have more work to do," Percy reminded him, "but you've done wonderfully so far. I assume those are for me?" He inclined his head to the items in Fidds' arms.

"Oh, y-yes," Fidds replied. He held out the memory gun, along with the first Journal. He'd left the other two Journals at the lab; he would hide those elsewhere. The first one, though, was the one Bill had told him to leave with Percy.

"Marvelous," Percy said as he accepted the items. "Lord Cipher told me of his deal with you. He assured me that he wouldn't take over until after you'd completed your tasks — unless you had trouble completing those tasks. I take it you had no trouble, then?"

Fidds thought about his shaky hands, about his hesitancy, about his dry heaving. "No, sir," he lied. "No trouble."

Even as he said it, the taste of bile lingered in his mouth.

"Good." Percy clasped Fidds' shoulder. His eyes shone with fervency. "You, Fiddleford, have a great privilege. For you are to be the first member of this Order to set foot in Lord Cipher's home world."

Unbidden, the memory of Stanley describing it as empty sprang to Fidds' mind. He shoved the thought away. "I am. . . I am deeply honored, Master Pleasure."

Percy's smile widened. "Rightly so, Fiddleford. Rightly so."

He squeezed Fidds' shoulder and let go. "I will let you leave to finish your tasks," he said. "May we see each other again in Lord Cipher's home, yes?"

Fidds managed a smile. "Yes. I look forward to it."

With that, he left.

He returned to the lab, where he took the other two Journals, his personal computer, and the prototypes of his memory gun, and placed them in a box. Now to his next location: the bunker.

As he gathered the items, he marveled over Bill's foresight in these things. Last night, Cipher had informed him that the secret compartments Fidds had built, all those years ago, were for a purpose such as this. One next to the bunker, built into the fake tree — the other across the forest, near the home of the fairies. Fidds hadn't known the purpose of their construction when he'd built them. But of course, Bill had reasons for all things.

Fidds picked up the box and returned to the entryway. Upon glancing at Ford, still lying prone on the couch, he had to squelch the fluttering guilt that sprang up in his stomach. He turned away.

Ford moaned.

Fidds jumped. Maybe he was just crying out in his sleep? But no, Ford was stirring — he seemed to be waking up.

"Stanley. . . Lee. . . Lee, no!" Ford shot up to a sitting position. Fidds immediately set the box down by the door and moved to his friend.

Or. . . to the man who thought Fidds was his friend. Fidds doubted he deserved the appellation after what he'd done.

"Fidds! Fidds, what happened? Where's Stanley? Why am I up here?" Ford got to his feet, stumbled a bit, and grabbed onto Fidds' shoulder for stability.

"What. . . what do you remember?"

Ford squinted at the far wall as if it would hold the answer. "I. . . I remember Stanley falling towards the portal." His eyes widened. "Stanley was getting sucked into the portal — I — I was going to save him, but. . . I don't remember anything after that. What happened?"

Fidds pulled on all his skills of deception to muster a horrified look — which wasn't too hard, considering how horrified he felt at himself. "You don't remember? I. . . Stanford, I'm so sorry."

"What do you mean?" Ford searched Fidds' face warily. "Why are you sorry?"

"Stanley. . ." Fidds closed his eyes. "Stanley fell into the portal. He's gone."

Ford stared at him in uncomfortable silence. Then he sank back onto the couch. "No. . . no, I must have saved him. My rope was long enough."

"You just missed him. You ran out of line before you could reach him."

A determined look leapt to Ford's face. "Then we have to go after him. Come on, Fiddleford, let's—"

"What?" Somehow, Fidds hadn't imagined that Ford would want to go into the portal in search of his brother. But now he realized — of course Ford would want that. How did he not think of that? What could he do to stop it?

"We're going in after him," Ford said.

"But — the portal was too unstable. I had to shut it down after you got knocked unconscious. We'd have to spend another eighteen hours turning it back on—"

"Then we'll do that." There would be no persuading Ford about this. And if he went downstairs and saw that the portal was still on — then what?

Fidds wished he still had his memory gun.

Wait. He did — sort of. He at least had the prototypes.

"Okay," Fidds said. "Okay, let me grab the ignition key."

There was no ignition key, of course. The portal wasn't a car — and Fidds preferred codes to keys, anyway. But it was the only excuse he could think of. He hurried back to the cardboard box with the prototypes and rummaged through them. Which one should he use? He didn't want to harm Ford, and some of these prototypes had adverse effects.

"There is no ignition key," Ford said, a frown lacing his words.

Fidds cringed. No time to choose. He grabbed one of the prototypes — one without an input phrase option. Right, this was one that didn't actually erase memories. It just cast out a net that pushed them out of the way, so the mind wouldn't think about them as readily. That would work: Fidds didn't want to erase Ford's memory of his brother entirely, but he also didn't want Ford to go looking for Stan.

"Fidds? What are you doing?" Ford's voice sounded closer.

Fidds turned, once again pointing a gun at his research partner. A good portion of him was horrified at himself — was he going to shoot Ford three times in one day? — but not enough to overrule his determination to prove himself. If he couldn't do this, Bill would take over and do it for him; Percy had made that much clear. Fidds didn't think he could live with that humiliation.

So he pulled the trigger.

Ford fell, and Fidds lunged forward to catch him, dropping the gun. He dragged Ford back into the living room. "I'm sorry," he whispered, again, as he lowered him onto the couch.

He wondered if Stanley had also awoken. It made sense that they would wake up at about the same time. Unless erasing Stan's identity resulted in a longer bout of unconsciousness.

With that thought came a crippling rush of guilt.

I did this. I erased Stan's mind. And I made sure his brother won't be able to find him.

Maybe Fiddleford should have let Bill take over after all. Then he wouldn't have been the one to destroy these men's lives.

He shook his head. No, don't think that way. Surely Bill would be proud of his determination.

Motivated only by this hope, Fidds returned the prototype to the box and left the lab.

The rest of his errands went off without a hitch. No supernatural creatures crossed his path on the way to the bunker; Fidds imagined they were all hiding in secure places to stay safe from the gravitational anomalies.

He hadn't thought about what the gravitational anomalies would do to the creatures in the forest. Hopefully they were safe.

In the bunker, he placed the items in various places around the observation room, then hid the third Journal in the nearby secret compartment. The second Journal he took to his other compartment by the fairy grove. He didn't see any fairies.

The compartment slid shut with the familiar creaking of machinery, and Fidds stood, brushing dirt from his pants. That. . . that was it. He was done. He had completed his tasks from Bill. As he turned his feet back to the lab, he realized with a start what came next. Bill would take over. The two would enter the portal together. If everything went well, Fidds would never see this dimension again.

That thought made him slow down. Would he never set foot in this forest again? Surely there were more beautiful things in Bill's dimension, or in other dimensions of the multiverse. But. . . still. This forest held so many memories for Fidds. This forest was his.

He would miss it. But he had to remind himself that, by fulfilling this final assignment from Bill, he would receive much more than a single forest.

Fidds wasn't greedy. He didn't particularly want to rule over dimensions, like Bill had promised. But he did want to achieve greatness. He did want to fulfill his destiny. He did want to make Lilith proud. If she ever flew to Gravity Rises and discovered the magic here, he wanted someone to tell her about his many contributions to the Order.

For they were his contributions. Not Percy's, not Gabriel's, not Gaston's. They were Fidds'. Even if Percy did end up in Bill's dimension, he would never forget that Fidds had been first, that Fidds was Bill's chosen servant. Fiddleford was a name destined for great things, just the way Lilith had said all those years ago, and Fidds was about to fulfill that destiny.

When he got back to the lab, he packed up all his belongings — not because he particularly thought he would need them, but because he wanted to leave no trace of himself where Ford could remember and come after him. It pained him to leave Ford, but he had to hope that, someday, Ford could come join him. When Ford saw him again, his accomplishments would be even more, even greater than they were now.

All of his clothes and such could fit in a single duffel bag; his personal inventions were safe in the bunker; everything else, such as the stun guns, he would leave with Ford. A persistent itching stayed in his stomach as he packed — nervousness, he presumed, about this major change that was about to occur. He packed quickly, then made his way down to the basement.

Upon passing Ford, he stopped. He didn't dare touch him, for fear of waking him up again, but he couldn't resist taking a moment to look at his research partner.

"Goodbye, Ford," he said. "I'll remember you. When I make the discoveries you wanted to make, I'll do it for you."

Ford, unconscious as he was, gave no response.

When Fidds got down to the basement, the portal greeted him with its swirling mass of white and blue. The humming of the machinery felt like music to Fidds' ears: the music of freedom. Bill's freedom.

This was it.

Fidds felt a tug on his back.

He whirled around, but there was no one there. No one had touched him. What was that, then? It. . . it felt like someone tugging on the back of his shirt, except. . . deeper. Like someone pulling on Fidds' very self.

The tug came again — but this time, it was stronger. This time, it was a pull. Fidds cried out as he was yanked backwards. The world spun, then disappeared entirely. Fidds heard a sickening tearing noise. All sense of orientation left him.

Then it passed. Fidds' vision cleared, showing the basement just as it had been before.

Except now Fidds was floating. Floating and looking down at his own body. His own body, which now had yellow, slitted eyes.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" It was Bill's voice. It was Bill's voice, coming from Fidds' body. "I haven't possessed anyone in so long!"

"My — my lord." Fidds bowed as best he could in this spirit body, shoving back his dizziness. He shouldn't be dizzy; he wasn't in a physical body that could feel dizzy to begin with. It must be all in his head.

Bill looked up at Fidds and grinned widely. It was disconcerting to see that grotesque smile on Fidds' own face.

"You did it, Portal-Bound!" Grotesque smile notwithstanding, Bill sounded proud of Fidds. "I was worried, I'll admit, but you performed wonderfully."

"Is. . ." Fidds swallowed, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to this question. "Is Stanley gone? Did I erase his identity?"

Bill nodded enthusiastically. "In terms of his memory, he's a blank slate. I don't know what Sixer's head looks like, of course, but that was a great improvisation with the prototype."

Fidds bowed again, though he felt sick — for, despite not having a stomach with which to feel sick, his mind still called up the memory. He'd done it. He really had erased Stan's identity.

Well. . . well, maybe the new one would be better than the old. Maybe Fidds had given Stan the opportunity he needed to start over and build something greater than he had before.

It was a paper-thin justification, but Fidds clung to it.

Otherwise, he'd be guilty for destroying someone's life.

Bill moved around the basement, typing commands into the control station and pushing buttons and pulling levers. "What are you doing?" asked Fidds.

"Sabotaging," Bill replied cheerfully. "I'm setting the portal to close behind us. We don't want anyone following us — or escaping into this dimension."

"We don't want anyone following us? What about Percy?"

Bill shrugged. "I like Percy. Perhaps I'll create another passage into this dimension and have him join us later. But for now, we have to cover our tracks."

This really was final, then. Fidds wouldn't be coming back. Yet he found himself unnaturally calm with the idea. Or maybe that was just the shock of a major change.

Bill finished his adjustments. "There. Shall we go?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He picked up the duffel bag with Fidds' belongings and walked into the portal room.

Fidds followed, finding it easier to move as a spirit than he'd supposed. "My lord," he said, unable to keep the nervousness out of his voice, "Stanley said — after he fell into the portal, and before I, um—" He swallowed. "He said the dimension was empty on the other side."

Bill paused. Then turned. Then sighed. "I don't know what he saw. I lost sight of him when he entered the portal; I can only see humans when they're inside my prison. Like Stanford said, he might not have gotten through to the other side. Or, if he did, if it is empty — well, that's not a surprise. I've been gone for millennia, after all." Upon seeing Fidds' worried expression, he added, "Don't worry. When I get back, we'll rebuild my empire together."

He started toward the portal.

Fidds' work wouldn't be over on the other side of the portal, then. Not that he had expected it to be. If Bill wanted Fidds to rule over dimensions, then he certainly wouldn't be sitting around doing nothing. He was just glad Bill would still be there to help him — because Fidds couldn't do it on his own.

Before pushing off, before entering the portal, Bill paused again. He looked up at the white mass, an expression of defiance contorting his — or, Fidds' — face.

"I hope this works," he said.

Fidds started. "What do you mean?" he asked in alarm. "Of course it will work."

Bill didn't answer. Instead, he jumped, sailing into the portal.

Crack!

There was a flash of light, accompanied by a rush of sound. Fidds was blown back in the wake of the explosion.

"Bill!" he called, but he couldn't even hear his own voice. "Lord Cipher, are you all right?"

No answer. Or maybe there was an answer, but Fidds still couldn't see or hear anything besides pure light and roaring sound. What had happened? Where was his lord?

The light died down enough that Fidds could see vague outlines. He could see the triangular shape of the portal. He could see the silhouette of his own body as it passed through into another dimension.

He could see a small triangle, its top hat askew, drifting toward him — away from the portal.

"Lord Cipher!" He moved to the triangle's side. Sure enough, Bill floated there, his eye closed. His yellow glow was gone, revealing a dull grey form beneath. The sight frightened Fidds more than he could bear. "Lord Cipher, are you okay? What happened?"

Instead of answering, Bill dissolved into nothingness.

"Bill!" screamed Fidds. He looked around the portal room in a panic. But Bill was gone. No one was down here. No one, not even Fidds' body. For that was on the other side of the portal, awaiting its original inhabitant: him.

The portal screeched. The color in its nexus shook.

It was about to close.

Fidds froze up. What should he do? Bill was gone — who knew where — Fidds' body was in another dimension — if he ever wanted to reunite with his body, it would have to be now — the portal shuddered, the light dimming—

Instinctively, Fidds hurtled into the whiteness.

White — then blue — then purple — then black — then white again. All swirling in Fidds' vision, all demanding his attention. Then the colors stabilized into a bright black, streaked with purple, unnaturally vibrant. How could darkness ever be so bright?

Fidds stared out across the new dimension. Stanley had been right: It was utterly empty. Nothing but emptiness.

Except.

Except for Fidds' body.

It floated a few feet in front of him. The duffel bag with Fidds' belongings floated nearby. Other than that, the body was alone. Alone in this wasteland of a dimension. Fidds moved to it—

The portal shut down behind him.

Fidds turned. No. No no no no no—

Yes.

He was officially trapped in this dimension.

With no Bill, no empire, not a single soul in this emptiness.

His ghostly body went through all the motions of a panic attack, purely through the memory of them while inhabiting his physical body. He was trapped here. He'd be here forever — not only had Bill closed the portal, but Fidds had made sure Ford wouldn't turn it back on. He'd sealed his own doom.

For years, Fidds had done Cipher's will. He'd lied to his friend and wiped people's memories, and all the while he told himself that it would be worth it. All the while he waited for his reward.

Well, this was his reward. This chilling emptiness, this deformed light.

He didn't know how long he panicked. There was no way to measure time anymore — perhaps there was no time at all.

Eventually — or maybe immediately — he decided to reenter his body. Then he could go looking for something. What to look for, he didn't know. Something. Anything.

He stared down at his body, lit in the unnatural black glow. The body appeared asleep: eyes closed, not moving, but still breathing. He wondered how his body kept functioning without his spirit to inhabit it. Maybe it wouldn't function for long without him.

Suddenly, though, he was afraid to return to it. What if the restoration of his spirit didn't actually wake his body? What if he remained unconscious forever?

He looked around at the barren dimension. Pure blackness, he decided, would be better than this distorted light.

So, with a final grimace, Fidds flew into his body.

It was the last move he would make for thirty years.