Steady Ground | ✔

19 | The bald man can wait!

Atlas could almost watch the theoretical hourglass drain of sand as they built an escape plan. He could feel it in his bones and hear it in Ashe's shallow breathing when they huddled close together, speaking quietly as if Chaos couldn't eavesdrop whenever he pleased.

Atlas flipped his photobook to another page.

No new memories.

August had said memories would find him. And when they did, they'd appear here. Although it had done nothing to help him in the past, he knew now that it made for a great foresight tool. It remaining blank meant that Chaos hadn't thought of another surprise to throw at him yet.

"Still good?" Ashe asked.

He nodded. "Nothing yet."

He glanced at her face. She was stoic, but he knew she had to have been just as exhausted as him and in much more pain. He didn't have the guts to ask her what Chaos had done. He tried not to look at her injuries. Thankfully, she never brought it up.

So far, they had come up with a couple ideas. The longer he thought about them, the more he believed them, too.

Their exit items, like Atlas' photobook, were distractions to a more obvious escape.

Chaos didn't have reigning power over all people in the realm all the time.

It gave him the extra motivation to scratch out a plan. Half-baked, but a plan nonetheless. However now, they were faced with the hardest question.

"How do we get out?" Ashe asked.

He almost expected the skin to rumble below him with Chaos' laughter. A slew of childish taunts. But it never came. The air didn't prickle. He wouldn't let himself think that maybe he wasn't listening.

But the answer was clear. So far, everything in this realm had one purpose or another, even the absurd or random. He grimaced thinking about it.

They had nothing to do but try.

Atlas stood up, pressing a hand to his ribs like they might fall out otherwise. "This is horrible," he started, "but I think these slugs will work."

"Dude, no." Dizzee shook his head. He sat with his back against one of the magnified nose hairs, as far as he could from the corner of their cell that leaked chaos snot.

He felt like he needed to explain himself. "Well, they disappear before they get to the bars."

Dizzee threw his hands up to stop him. "No need to explain. You do whatever you want. But I'm not helping."

Like any child or teenager, Atlas had at one point found the one dollar Flubber barrels hilarious. And when he grasped the little slug-shaped droplets that slipped out from the ceiling, he almost expected it to feel like that. Something warmed by body heat. A strong plastic smell and an oily surface that left your hands soft afterwards.

But that wasn't the case. He was surprised that it felt like soap. Hair conditioner, perhaps. Cold and smooth. It squished through his fingers the same, too, making little plopping sounds as it landed on the ground.

Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. This felt like what had been flicked onto his face when he first awoke in the jail. Besides, he was in Chaos' realm. Anything was possible here.

Whatever boyish instinct he had made him sniff it. He recoiled immediately. That's why everything smelled sour and salty. He gagged.

"Did you just—"

The other boyish instinct he had was to immediately flick some into Dizzee's face. Ashe stifled her laughter, covering her mouth in a hand.

Atlas grinned as the fire fighter gave him a deadpan glare, wiping snot from his nose. Then, before he could change his mind or realize what he was doing, he smeared it onto the bars.