The Disappearance of Chill

Chapter 1

Brew couldn't recall when, he must have slept. Waking up with his legs dangling over the edge of his bed, he was stretched across it. He walked into the kitchen, still drowsy, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He tapped twice on the table before collapsing into a chair. Brew muttered, "My usual."

"A single cup of..." The coffee maker responded, a hint of disapproval in its mechanical voice, "I can't believe you drink this, coming right up."

Brew moaned, massaging his temples as he awaited his caffeine fix. The whole research thing was tiring and giving him headaches along with his usual nightmares.

"It seems unbelievable that Chill vanished just a few days ago," he said. "I'm hoping he's okay."

The house was in disarray since Chill was gone. Grill had been acting rashly without him around, even  going as far as taking Brew's hairspray and using it to construct a flamethrower. Needless to say, things didn't work out well, and Grill burned himself in the process. Without Chill, things were getting out of control because normally, Chill would have talked him out of such foolishness.

Brew had been attempting to locate Chill for hours, but had not been successful. He'd gone through the entirety of Grill's channel as well as looking at Spill's. But Grill's videos stopped before Chill vanished. Spill's videos showed no mention of Chill or anything about his whereabouts. Even Brew's own audience had become aware of his absence, leaving a deluge of comments on his videos pleading for Chill. Sure, Grill had shown up, but now they needed Chill's serene presence. Brew had no answers to give. His concern that Chill's disappearance was related to his recent separation with their flatmate persisted.

Grill appeared to be alright, at least initially, but might he have done something differently? Grill was not without his fury, but would he really go to that extent? Brew smacked his forehead against the table, forcing the gloomy ideas out of his head. He was always the first to assume the worst. Feeling for the coffee mug Howard placed in front of him, he took a long, desperate drink.

"You alright, Meatbag?" With a note of worry in its synthetic voice, Howard questioned.

"No, pots, I'm not," Brew answered, a blank expression on his face.

"I'm not a pot. My name is Howard" Howard corrected unenthusiastically. Brew always did this and by now he was used to it but wasn't going to stop correcting.

With a moan, Brew moved away from the table and staggered towards his office.

"Yeah, yeah, you get my point," he said.