Plan B

Prologue | The Beginning of the End

About a month ago...

Well, that was that. He'd blown it. He'd had his chance to recall all the times he'd spent with his friends back at home, to remind himself that every moment he'd spent outside of recording episodes had been worth so much.

And he'd blown it.

Come to think of it, ever since he'd woken up in his workplace, the workplace he hadn't seen in months upon months, he'd been pondering everything. Every injudicious thing he'd said, only to later regret his words.

"That sounds really boring."

"But we don't really want to- we're going to miss our show."

"Be quiet. Stop talking."

"Shut up!"

Now, in this present moment, it stung. His own words stung him. Considering the fact that he was the only one who'd known the truth all along, how could he have been so ignorant? The Teachers weren't the ones at fault; they never had been. He'd known this, and yet he'd compiled all his insults, quips and snarks into the forefront of his mind, and fired all those hurtful words at them.

Now, the only real question he could ask himself was why. Just why he'd done this. The Teachers had already been facing more than enough hardships, more than enough affliction, as it was, and he hadn't done anything whatsoever to aid them. Hadn't once shown even a smidgen of enthusiasm whilst reciting his lines, hadn't once played along like Doi and Robin had.

But why? Was it so he could present himself as a positive role model to Doi? So he would see and hear his actions and be influenced by them? So he would know that such oblivious naivety would never get him anywhere in the recording of a show run by his father? Perhaps. Perhaps, even if subconsciously, he was attempting to let Doi see the reality of his situation and learn the truth about his father. But in doing so, he was plunging the Teachers further down into their pits of despair too.

They were created with the sole intention to be used for torture. But none of them had wanted to. They showed pity of the Trio they were supposed to be above, showed genuine reluctance to let the camera crew start recording. So, he remembered, in his fury, Roy had decided he'd use the machines he'd crafted them with to take over their minds. To do the job of torturing his son for them.

So not only had Harry proved to be a terrible role model for the rest of the Trio, but he'd surely also deepened the wounds of the Teachers.

Well done, he thought to himself, wanting to rake his palm across his face. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That's what I am. Stupid. Part of him was suddenly wishing to return home- even though he'd only been here in this part of Clay Hill for about two months- to make amends with everyone. If those amends weren't beyond making by now.

He sighed inwardly, deciding he might as well take a brief look around to gain a baring of whatever was going on now. In all directions, stretching as far as the eye could see, was an unending, black abyss; a void, placed atop a checkered floor. It felt as though there was no solid ground beneath him, and yet he stood directly on those black and white squares.

But... how had he gotten here? Where in the world even was 'here'? He knew a bell was ringing somewhere in a distant corner of his mind at the sight of this place, but he just couldn't put a finger on where he was. Only seconds ago, he'd been at his local bar, the (not so talented, mind you) pianist allowing him a place onstage.

And he'd tried to bring it all back. To bring back the feeling of being with his friends in the oh, so familiar Funny House, in the midst of recording an episode. He'd been faced by an audience of a countless number of his own kind, singing. Singing in the hope that he could recall those times, those times which felt so long ago.