The Sketch Survivors: The Enemy Among Us

Glen

As Revaw vanished from the scene, exiting the chamber via the corridor that Soal and Irene had previously realized, the duo gulped in apprehension. "He must have the Keys," Irene whispered in her comrade's ear. "We need to get to him. There has to be some kind of stairway, or tunnel, onto the main floor of this room."

"Yes, I would think so," a youthful voice resonated in their minds, and they turned to see a boy of overgrown blonde hair, almost confusable with the new Irene at this point. He seemed to be of about eleven years, Soal's age when he had received his original Sketch. His eyes glowed a dim turquoise, and the rest of his body accommodated, slim and worn. His outfit was identical to Soal's, and the rest of the male Polygmians' as well.

"Who are you?" Soal growled quietly yet audibly to the boy standing before him, aware of the threat posed by Lint Corp's mercenaries. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm Glen," he introduced. "I always considered myself neutral in this struggle. Whose side are you on? Why are you away from the others?"

"In order to tell you anything," Irene threatened, "we will have to know your side, and know it well."

"Please, fellow Un-Characters, I mean no harm. But... Lint Corp has nurtured us, and now the Facilitators are under threat of extinction?"

"What do you mean, 'Facilitators'?" Soal reached for his sword, but his arm hesitated. "We have one mission in mind. Are. You. For. Lint Corp?"

"Ahh," Glen stuttered, "I really don't know any better than what they tell me. But they've been getting on my bad side lately."

"I see," Irene considered this Un-Character's legitimacy as a Lint Corp sympathizer. "Do you... know where the Keys of Death have went? Who owns them now?"

"Yes, yes," Glen nodded in surrender, knowing that these Un-Characters were not who they seemed to be. "Whatever you say... um..."
"Commander Soal," Soal greeted, gritting his teeth as a sign of aggression. "and our leader, the Green Phantom. Now show us the way to the Keys."

Glen warily swallowed, and beckoned the two spies. "Uh, just... don't get caught, alright?" he invited them. A doorway did indeed exist next to him, one that Soal and Irene had not noticed earlier, and he sped through it, closely pursued by the Revolutes.

* * *

Glen tugged on the arm of Irene, and yanked Soal down as well, all the way to the foot of a winding staircase that existed almost to entice rumors. They had entered a small alcove in which a concrete picnic table laid, tainted with spills of stained lemonade... and blood. Beyond this dimly lit alcove was a pitch-black cloud, obscuring whatever lay beyond.

Glen sat himself at the eerily dank and dreary bench of the picnic table, and Soal, soon followed by Irene, joined her. "See that cloud?" he pointed to it, just beyond the end of the table. "It's the stuff that haunts Polygmians. They always speak of what they believe lurks within this cloud. No one has ever been brave enough to pass through it. Heck, no one has ever been brave enough to travel down this infinite staircase and stay down here, anyway. We're all kept upstairs, where the Facilitators- that is, the highest regarded officials at the Sketch Facility- wait for our time to be served." Soal felt a chill ride down his spine when he heard that word. Served. Deep down, he knew what it meant. He and Irene exchanged concerned glances.

"Served?" he questioned Glen of his terminology. The soon-to-be Polygmian answered excitedly... almost too excitedly.

"Yeah, served," Glen smiled. "Soon enough, we're going to drop food and live off a diet of soylent, so we'll never need to eat again. Even better, it will grant us superhuman capabilities. Isn't that cool?" Soal and Irene again watched him nervously. He was clearly clueless about his own fate.

"Anyway," Irene shrugged, hopelessly attempting to alter the subject. "How did you get up there at the Bedchambers? Aren't you supposed to be hanging out on the original floor that we were looking down on?"

"Actually," Glen explained, "I received a permit from the Facilitators that allowed me passage into the rooms directly surrounding our chambers. It was due yesterday. I'm afraid that if they catch me running around like a sewer rat, they'll kill me." Irene and Soal looked at him again warily, knowing that he just may be right.

"Well, we don't want to be caught, either. Are you a rebel, too?" Soal awaited a response from this insecure boy on his last days of sanity.

"I don't know. But I want to help you. You seem like... interesting people. And you look like you can help me, too."

Soal nodded, knowing that either this kid was playing dumb, or he really did get such a low level of education about what was to become of him. "Deal?" Soal gruffly asked, and he reached out his right hand.

Glen accepted it, and shook.

"Now," Irene folded her arms, and peered into the eyes of this unsuspecting Un-Character. "About the Keys of Death."