AN: This is a friendly reminder of this being related to ACT 0 If you haven't finished it or even never read it, it's best to read it now as INTERMISSION takes place during Hazzle's perspective during the events of the main story, giving more insight but also needs more context than the main story needs to, its highly recommended but unlike the initial ACT 0 chapters, it's up to your choice, Are you a big fan Hazzle or want to see the expanded world, sure read the chapters, want to continue, we'll see you in a month but sure why not, it could be a bit confusing for both sides, but its not crucial  - Z

The sun rose, a cloudy orange, its light filtering through the gaps in the clouds. Hazzle stood like a machine, her reptilian scales rougher than the sea. The doctor surveyed Kate's meager belongings—or rather, her family's: the boat and doll from long-gone siblings, and the desolate room. Two beds gathered dust: one for a thief burdened by guilt, the other a makeshift nest for a mouse who'd overcome her fear of biohazards. The sound of waves was her only companion, a reminder of the hope that Kate was in England, deported, bittersweetly free. Creaks and guttural sounds from Hazzle's ancient form echoed through the house and her office. She'd written a short letter for Kate the night before.

The scattered clothes had been organized since Kate's departure. She'd changed into Hyde, a male persona exuding confidence and a false sense of invulnerability. She inhaled the musty, tainted air of the streets where Kate had once been a menace. But no other thief could replicate Kate's unique presence, especially for Hazzle. Then she noticed the newspaper—a sign of the town's recovery, yet a depressing one. Picking it up from the porch, she sat down with a cup of herbal tea. The headline made her drop the cup, the tea spilling onto the floorboards. A pained, almost inhuman cry escaped the doctor's lips as she read that Kate's ship had been destroyed, finally ending the story of the undead thief.

 Weeks passed quickly after the reports of Kate's demise spread like wildfire. The town was barely changed. Even with the burden of Kate gone, it felt empty—a double-edged sword. Kate was gone, but so was the chaos, the mass hysteria, the wild celebrations. Kate's absence from the shores felt wrong, like the comedown from an addictive substance. After the initial relief, a hollowness remained. 

Even before Kate had impacted everyone, the mines had been a source of sorrow. There was no sense of the recovery they'd expected. The focus had simply shifted to nothingness, with no one to care. The morning sun was foggy, an orange haze seeping weakly through the window cracks. Hazzle lay on an unmade bed in near darkness. She rose, her eyes bagged, her vision dreamlike, the sounds around her a numbing drone. She walked to the restroom and stared at the jester mask lying nearby. 

She straightened her messy hair, scoffed, her voice rough as sandpaper, and put on the mask. The sounds sharpened, and her vision returned to normal. This was what she needed to say. "Today, Dr. Hyde. Someday, Hazzle," she muttered to herself. This persona kept the past with Kate buried. A bitter, faint smile played beneath the mask. Outside Hyde's office—Hazzle's living space—a horse galloped down the street, pulling a carriage. 

The coachman chatted with a passenger. "So, what brings you to the infamous town of Gramleton?" The man replied, "I wanted a thrill, but briefly, I'm meeting an acquaintance before heading to the next town." He chuckled. "Even I know staying here too long could get you an unwanted souvenir, like a chipped tooth." He asked, "Besides the downsides, what are the lovely activities in Gramleton, Mr. Coachman?" Arms crossed, the coachman recounted, "Let's see... there are taverns... some markets, especially for fish—even in a depressing place like this, they have some of the freshest seafood... and, right! That brothel..." He then remembered, "Right, the brothel was destroyed almost a month ago. Heard some stories about it." The man responded, "I knew that before coming." He tapped twice on the roof, telling the coachman to stop. "We're here." He gave the coachman some silver. 

"Ciao!" This was Bingo, dressed in casual yet professional attire, complete with sunglasses. He knocked on the door. Hazzle, hearing this, quickly finished dressing. Bingo, while waiting, opened a journal, a faint smile on his face as he read. The door creaked open, and Bingo put the journal away, smiling. Hazzle's masculine voice, as Hyde, greeted Bingo. "Good morning. I apologize for not opening at this..." A sense of familiarity struck her. "Do I know you, sir?" Bingo scoffed. "Of course. I'm the guy from the trial a while back, Dr. Hyde, isn't it?" Bingo chuckled. Hyde, slightly confused, asked, "Are you the one who helped Milky, right?" Bingo responded, "Not exactly, but I did help him get that prosecutor job, which led me here, I suppose." Bingo's smile faded slightly. "I just wanted to apologize for sending Milky in the first place." Hyde, with a bitter smile, opened the door wider. "If you want to, I have time for a conversation." A relieved smile spread across Bingo's face. "Sure, some tea would be nice, but it'll have to be quick. Unlike you, I'm a bit busy with someone."

As Bingo entered, taking in the antique and musty surroundings, Hyde closed the door and asked, "Who is this 'someone'? Someone like a date?" Bingo reassured him, "Oh no, it's someone familiar. Not a romantic interest. It's the Judge, the pale one. After his 'theory' about the mines—you know, the mines that used to be here—well, the lawmen were offended by him yelling that he believed the incident was fabricated in front of the witnesses. So, he got a little temporary retirement as punishment. As for me, I'm his officer for a week or two—a caregiver, you could say." 

Bingo continued, "I got the role thanks to the prosecutor and his confessions. I was given a sort of service-punishment mix, along with some observation duties, like the grumpy prosecutor. But since he confessed, and given my involvement with him, I got a miracle, to say the least." Bingo paused. "Well, for a guy with multiple jobs, it's more like a minor inconvenience." Hyde responded, "Oh, so you have multiple jobs?" 

Bingo scoffed, sitting on a decrepit chair. The sound of a boiling teapot brought some life to the house. "It's surprising for those who meet me, but calling them 'gigs' is simpler." Bingo continued, his eyes shifting to Hyde, who was preparing the teacups and pouring. Bingo's tone turned serious. "Well, I have some questions, but did you hear the news...?" Silence hung in the air for a moment. Hyde froze, the teacup overflowing. Bingo responded with a hint of guilt in his voice, "The silence answers that question. I apologize." Bingo stood up, but Hyde snapped out of his trance, a trace of her feminine voice slipping through. "Oh no, it's okay. I'm over it. It's my fault." Hyde sniffed. Bingo sat back down as Hyde brought the tea. "Do you have any other questions, if that's alright?" Bingo returned his initial, though slightly faded, smile. "Sure, why not?"

Hyde sat down, placing the tea on the table. Bingo asked, "What's with the jester mask? Is it important?" Hyde chuckled. "Ah, this mask. I've been using it since an incident at the brothel..." A hint of Hazzle's vulnerability surfaced as she mentioned the event, but she quickly changed the subject. "Back in my hometown, near Ireland." Bingo, sipping his tea, reacted with a slight flinch. "Huh, didn't expect 'crocodile tears' in this tea." He chuckled, but his smile faded. He looked out the window, his thoughts drifting. "Well, I think you and I, Hyde, can relate. I remember a similar incident. Scars were made, but scars remind us who we are and who we once were. A simple mask covering them is a blessing; they're usually at the back of my mind—mine, or a missing limb."

Bingo sighed, echoing Hyde's earlier words. "You know, Hyde, where your family is, and how you feel about them?" Hyde looked at the tea's reflection, vaguely altering some details to make her story less supernatural. "They're probably somewhere nearby, I hope... I don't really remember them; it's been a long time." A bitter smile appeared. "But I know if we met again, joy would be an understatement." Then Hyde asked, "Why are you asking? It's too personal for a random question, and I don't see how it relates to the court." 

Bingo replied, his chuckle gone, replaced by a lukewarm frown. "Hometowns remind me of something. You're lucky your parents are at least supportive in their own way."

Hyde responded, "My past isn't great. I don't even have a father." Bingo spoke directly, a faint, bitter chuckle escaping as his tone shifted to serious yet conflicted. 

"Never expecting your father to be non-existent... how oddly lucky." 

Hyde looked at Bingo. "Excuse me?" Bingo quickly said, "Sorry, ignore that. Just some personal thoughts. But it brings me to one more question before I go." Hyde responded with a confused, "Sure?" Bingo closed his hands and took a breath. "This community... Gramleton," Hyde responded directly, "Gramleton?" Bingo clarified, "Gramleton, this town you live in." Hyde responded, "Huh, you learn something new every day. Anyway, continue with your question."

Bingo continued, his jokes and quips now gone. "Does this community support a particular crime—well, not exactly a crime—but does it understand or tolerate the subject of... 'fruits'?"

 Hyde considered Bingo's meaning, and a ghastly yet bittersweet flashback of the brothel appeared—or rather, the time just before the chaos, the den of lust, the brief, unsettling encounter with that red-haired stranger, and then Kate's arrival. She remembered Kate saying, "Haz, you like to lick the forbidden fruit." A weak frown appeared beneath the mask, and Hyde covered her eyes with a limp hand. "No... not at all. You, Bingo, lucked out by talking to me first," she said with dread. Hyde tilted her head. 

"Oh, that's just great..." Bingo stood up again, looking bitter, but Hyde asked another question, realizing the implications of his questions. She stood up and asked loudly, "Wait, why are you asking all this?" 

Bingo turned back, opening the door slightly. "Just asking." Hyde retorted, "Well, if you're asking these questions, why not just say what's on your mind?" Bingo turned around, failing to find a reason to hide anything. His face went blank. 

Meanwhile, Hyde said, "I can help if you have any personal issues, especially regarding that last question." Bingo closed the door and sighed. "Okay, I know I have someone to watch over, but..." He paused; a hint of pain flickered in his eyes as he turned back. "Sure, if I need tending, you can do it."

 Under the ever-laughing mask, Hyde smiled bitterly, seeing that Bingo had accepted her offer. "Come on, you can lay down your troubles in my office." The two went upstairs, their footsteps differing. Hyde's were more confident and accepting, quick and light, while Bingo's were slower, his hands sliding to his thighs, as if into pockets, but beneath his pants. 

Bingo lay down on the once-infamous thief's bed like a corpse at a funeral, his hands on his chest. Hyde sat on her messy bed. 

"So, Bingo," Hyde began, "what's bothering you? Anything. A grudge, a trauma... just talk."

Bingo's playful mask slipped. His voice dropped, a hard edge to it. "First, the prosecutor. Milky. The laughter? It's not funny, not entirely. It's a trigger. Something that changed things with my father. I still don't know whether to hate him or thank him. Anything about milk or honey... it's how I cope. It's what this... persona hides."

He paused, then continued, "I hide behind these roles. I keep track of them – notes, gigs, the whole shifting mess – to remind myself..." He looked at Hyde, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "Forgive me. I loved a man. Not a friend, not a rival... love. I know it's a crime. I just... hope someone understands I'm still human." Hyde, drawn to Bingo's earlier charm, felt a pang of understanding. Connection, in any form, was a rare and precious thing.

The shared vulnerability forged a strange connection. Two men, bound by different kinds of paternal conflict—one who'd never had a father, one whose father had caused him pain.

Then, Hazzle's buried persona resurfaced. "Hey, drop the act. My real name's Hazzle. I'm... also pretending to be a man. You're not alone, Bingo."

Bingo blinked, then a wry smile touched his lips. "Impressive. Working the system. Good for you, 'forbidden fruit.'" Hazzle chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. "I know, right? It fits too well. Though sometimes I wonder..."

SHATTER!

Glass sprayed across the floor. They rushed downstairs. "Not again," Hazzle muttered. "I thought this stopped last week..." Bingo's eyes widened at the brick lying amongst the shards.

Hazzle sighed, picking it up. "Another brick. Just great. I didn't expect this."

"Why would someone throw a brick?" Bingo asked.

Hazzle turned the brick over, revealing a crude drawing: Kate being burned alive. Her voice was flat. "I saved Kate."

"Oh," Bingo said softly. "Right. Gramleton." He saw the tension in Hazzle's shoulders. "Want to get out of here for a bit?" he offered, a touch of his earlier lightness returning. "A break from all this?" Hazzle looked up. "Yeah. I could use the company." She muttered, almost to herself, "Like with Kate." 

Bingo grinned. "Perfect! We'll be a team! We'll be... Super Gay Friends!" 

Hazzle stared at him. "What?"

TO BE CONTINUED