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Arthur pivoted on the spot, wheeling around as he frantically searched his surroundings. It made no sense. Why was he suddenly here? His head was pounding, like burning insects were crawling along every spindling vein in his brain. The dull throb angrily pumped behind his temple, his limbs feeling tired and unsteady as he tried to right himself. How had he gotten back here, to the platform? Had he sleepwalked? He'd never done so in his life, but then again today had been filled with all sorts of oddities and bizarre speculation; it wouldn't have been so farfetched as to assume he'd changed too along with so much else.

He had to take stock. Conclude the facts and then theorise from there. He had slept with that officer, Tyson the Rottweiler, which finally culminated in the early hours with an exhausted slumber. Arthur was certain he had fallen asleep, as he'd been plagued by that freakish vision manifesting itself as a dream. It didn't seem to have any connection to what he was experiencing now. Nothing explained it. Everything had been perfectly normal. The only viable explanations Arthur could arrive at was their either he had indeed taken on a bout of extreme sleepwalking, both dressing himself and then trekking the long road up to the station all the while sound asleep, or he had been abducted by someone and brought here during hours of dawn. Both were as absurd and unreal as the other, but Arthur couldn't think of any other such explanation.

Whatever had brought him here though, he had to get back. Maybe if he was quick enough and it was still early he could sneak back to Tyson's place and act like he'd just gotten up before him. He could make breakfast. It wouldn't seem at all out of the ordinary. That's what lovers did, after all, and the Rottweiler had done and awful lot for him in the single day they'd spent together, even letting him stay at his place until he had somewhere of his own in this strange town. The circumstances were now admittedly well beyond what he would consider normal, fucking a guy he'd just met and all, but if anything was an indication that things weren't normal, then Arthur wasn't hard-pressed to find something that proved otherwise.

He dusted himself down and made his way for the exit, pushing through the doors connection to inside the station and headed for the entrance to the building. All looked and appeared to be just as Arthur had left it the other day, not a single speck of dust out of place. Quite literally too, which startled him most. His brisk walk slowed to a crawl as his eyes flitted along the floor. Only two sets of footprints - one coming and then leaving, another joining the individual on the way out. It must have been Tyson's and his own, from when he'd come to pick the Labrador up. But that ruled out the possibility of anyone bringing him to the station, let alone theories of sleepwalking or kidnapping. Nobody brought Arthur here, not even himself. If it weren't so intriguing, he might even be scared at the reality of the situation. But he could dwell on who, what and why later. For now he had to get back.

Arthur headed out into the beating morning rise, the sun just cresting the horizon far off into the distance. The town below was cast in a stretched shadow of the dawn, the residents probably just rousing themselves for any early shift they might have or a rough night of sleep. Arthur hoped Tyson was as much a heavy sleeper as he appeared to be, just as much as he hoped the Rottweiler also liked his lie-ins. But if he were to wake and find the Labrador gone, what would his reaction be? With any luck, it might just be uninterested curiosity later compelled by duty to find the missing man, but since he was an officer of the law and Arthur was an unknown stranger to the town chances were he'd get up immediately to locate him. Ultimately that would only end with one outcome if he wasn't back by then; manning a search party to go look for him. He could cause quite a scene if he wasn't quick. It'd be a gruelling walk. He might even have to sprint or jog some of the way, but he couldn't risk arousing suspicion about himself, especially in a place like Haven Falls.

But it seemed he wouldn't need to fret over whether Tyson might mount a search party for him if he woke early and got suspicious. His question was already being answered with the sound of dirt and stones being kicked up in a vicious flurry as a truck sped up the hill to the station. Arthur recognised the battered vehicle immediately, and his stomach dropped. Another four-by-four was close in tow to the pick-up, the model different suggesting he had company, but who exactly? As he stood there rather gormlessly with an innocent though peculiarly apologetic look on his face, Arthur waited as they veered up the road and finally ground to a halt not a few paces away from him, the dust cloud kicked up by their tyres settling in a blanket, the yellowed mist fading by the second. The sound of doors being thrown open in dramatic fashion and slammed shut with equal measure cut through the quiet morning air, the scrape of footsteps rapidly approaching through the sand. Gormlessly with the only sheepish smile he could muster, he stood looking rather like a lost child, bashful that he'd been caught out. But innocent as he was acting, Arthur saw the vehemence glowering in Tyson's eyes as the Rottweiler rushed towards him, and already the Labrador could see his fist clenched, the muscles along his arm seizing up as he reined back his arm for a nasty swing. It was only the intervention of his boss, that fearsome Doberman, which stopped the dog from giving him a black eye. Arthur staggered back as Tyson came close, seeing the bristling anger that scored across the Rottweiler's body, every muscle it seemed was on edge, the canine literally trembling with what he could only assume was rage.

"Barbarot!" She snapped, her fist wrapped tightly around his wrist, an amazing feat of strength as she whirled his torso round so that he was forced to face her, "Either you keep your cool or you'll be dismissed and I'm taking over." Her gaze was levelled with the Rottweiler's. Arthur could feel the prickling tension of uneasiness just from standing there only a few feet away, flitting between the two of them as they stared each other down. Part of him almost thought Tyson might rebel, throwing her off and lunging for the Labrador anyway, as his eyes certainly seemed to tell that story, but slowly, as dreadful seconds passed by, his body relaxed if only somewhat and his knuckles unclenched, paw flexing as he worked off his stress. Tyson let out an angry snort, clearly unhappy he had been pulled rank on, but moved himself away from Arthur, back turned to him, "You." It was Cheryl now, her glare directed at the Labrador, "You have some explaining to do."

"I don't know what's going on!" Arthur couldn't hide the panic from his voice. He'd expected an unusual reaction out of them if they'd learnt he'd reappeared at the platform, but he hadn't considered them turning violent and aggressive. But he was dealing with so many unknowns and variables, and he was getting the impression he was more in the dark than most people who wound up in Haven Falls. Working from a disadvantaged perspective meant he could land himself in dark waters should he say the wrong thing or put a footpaw out of place. From now on, judging by the animosity he was facing from just two police officers who'd done their best to be hospitable, he would have to be extremely careful with what he said and did.

"Save it, we need to document this. Otherwise we're gonna have residents breathing down our necks for answers." Cherly stomped up to the Labrador, paw reaching to her waist as she snatched a pair of cuffs from her belt and made a grab for Arthur's wrists. He didn't even have time to really register what was happening until the first cuff had snapped around his paw, Cheryl twisting his arm behind his back as she moved to lock the other one too.

"I've done nothing wrong, what the fuck!"

"Just shut up." Cheryl's voice, cold and quiet, stung in his ear as he felt the cuff sag around his wrist and close up tightly, "You know damn well what you did. And we're gonna find out why." With Arthur safely secured in her eyes, she seemed to calm down a little, though she still carried that pissed off attitude she'd charged onto the scene with, and Tyson didn't seem to be any closer to really letting go whatever it was that was riling him up so much, "Fucking hell, I hate the nut cases."

Nut cases?

In the dulled morning of day, Arthur found himself not only lost but now a suspected criminal of sorts, a deranged mad man accused of something they refused to tell him about. The injustice sat bitterly within his gut, but he didn't dare make the situation worse by protesting. Goodness knows what they could do with him now, if they believed he'd done something truly atrocious, enough to warrant the reaction they'd demonstrated just now to it all. What could possibly be so monstrous that it would have his lover turn into a violent brawler and the Sheriff to become icy and cutting? Not that Arthur had put much stock in his faith of Cheryl, but Tyson at least... what had caused him to revolt as he was doing, with such fury in his eyes that it almost seemed inconceivable? He was beyond just angry, he was close to having a psychotic outburst. As Arthur watched the Rottweiler from the corner of his sight as he was led to the Doberman's car, it seemed there was more to it though than just simple rage. What that was, however, was just another mystery to an already expansive and confusing list of messed up stuff that was going on around him. He gave one last look to Tyson, enough to see the pained frustration one final time, before he was shouldered and shoved disgracefully into the back of the car, the door slammed shut in his face, leaving him to muse over what fresh hell awaited him down at the station.

~ ~ ~

There was an uncomfortable silence in the cell.

It didn't make much sense to Arthur why he felt so on edge, why he didn't like having his back exposed in the jail, but he kept himself pressed into the corner all the same, knees tucked up and clutched to his chest as best as he could manage. Psychologically speaking, his brain was perhaps trying to tell him he was resorting to the foetal position because it provided him with the most security in what was transpiring to be a harrowing ordeal, from being wrenched from all he knew and understood into an alien environment filled with wary and invasive inhabitants all judging his arrival like he was a foreign savage come to their civilised tranquillity with nothing but carnage on the mind. Perhaps it was because he was now facing the true extent of their unpredictable wrath, having awoken in yet another impossible location after drifting off to sleep in the arms of his newfound lover, on top of the experience of taking pleasure from a man in ways he never thought possible for the first time in his life - or at least he assumed it was the first, his memory was still so scattered he wouldn't have known either way. So far his time here had been spent uprooted and flung about, everything coming into question one way or another, with no means of anchoring himself to just one feeling or thought. Arthur had desperately wished he could have used Tyson as that anchor, a single feeling of warmth and passion contained within one night, to comfort him in such a dire time of need, but the image of that snarling, ferocious Rottweiler hell-bent on hurting him for whatever hell the reason was, soured it all. Whenever he tried to cast his mind back to the night before, all that came creeping in was Tyson's anger overlaid on every intimate detail.

Arthur wound his arms tighter around his shins, paws scrunching up his clothes as he held onto himself for what felt like dear life. Was he not trying his best to keep a calm demeanour and not give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him break down, Arthur was just a stone's throw away from bursting into tears at everything. It was all so unfair and yet there was absolutely nothing to be done, at least not in his favour. He would either have to do his best to come clean and be frankly honest with the officers or he would have to guard himself closely and not allow the mistake of letting anyone else in, if Tyson was to be the result.

To distract him from his woes, Arthur took stock of the cell once again. Relatively plain as one might imagine at first glance, the Labrador looked from wall to wall as he took in his surroundings. Painted in a blank, pallid blue and white, meeting only at the middle roughly a third of the way up from the dark grey floor, flecks had since peeled away from age and probably more likely overuse if the residents had a habit for law-breaking. Though Arthur somehow believed this wasn't the case, which only left him with the rather ominous question of what then did they use these cells for. He recalled there being two other neighbours to his own, both vacant thankfully, so it wasn't as if the precinct operated on a grand scale. Why would you for a town this big? But Arthur had to wonder what would happen if Haven Falls continued to grow at the inexplicably uncontrollable rate they seemed to boast. If new people turned up at random, with no cause for concern, then did the town just simply adapt and increase its borders? Arthur had seen much of the town from the crest of Platform Zero's hilltop and whilst the place itself was big, the desert encapsulating it from horizon to horizon beyond seemed almost unfathomable.

He breathed in a sigh, once again picking up on the faint yet undeniable stench of disinfectant; routine cleaning of the cells, most likely, from blood, vomit, or what other bodily fluids might have graced these walls. It made Arthur sick to consider what might have come before him, that he could very well be sitting in the exact same spot another visitor could have relieved himself, or worse still. But it was not enough to make him budge. His fear of what could happen if he paced and fraught over what was to become of him once they'd all come to some final judgement kept him fixed to the corner. If he allowed his brain to run away with all sorts of ideas and outcomes he would grow anxious and volatile. He'd panic and fall into a psychotic lapse. What if Haven Falls implemented some kind of capital punishment? Maybe that's how they controlled the population, through manual measures. Though Tyson had said nobody could get hurt, or that whatever had injured them simply healed up within a matter of seconds out of sight, he hadn't concluded though what occurred when someone died. There had been an allusion, he had simply refrained from answering, but at the time he'd considered it to follow the logic of what they'd been speaking about. What if he'd gotten the wrong impression and Tyson had been withholding information, just like everything else that seemed to orbit this mystery? Perhaps people could die. Perhaps they could be killed. It might even indeed be true that they executed any criminal so as to maintain what fragile order they could through the iron paw of fear and intimidation, all residents living under the threat of death.

No, Arthur thumped the side of his head, eyes clenched and temple pressed between his fingers to massage the scalp, no he couldn't think like that. He couldn't afford to. These had to be rational, sane people. They had given an impression of such so far, why would they suddenly turn? Arthur knew quite well what isolation and group mentalities could arise from highly pressurised and hostile situations, but he was chartering into unknown lands with this case. Never had he encountered wide spread shared amnesia of the past before Haven Falls and random appearances of new residents at a train station. It was almost like something from a novel.

Another sigh, only this time his breath was shaky and uncertain. Surely there'd be a way out of this? Tyson wouldn't throw him out to the mercy of the people? If they did indeed adhere to any sense of normality and sensibility, then they would protect him, even if they didn't trust him. As much as Arthur wasn't happy about it, he could only take that reluctant solace in the fact they were, above all else, police officers and not executioners or judges; they wouldn't kill him, at least not immediately - though those last four words did not sit well in his stomach.

From beyond the door of mottled steel and rusted paint, Arthur's ears perked as he heard the clatter of keys upon a hip, heavy footpaws padding along a concrete barren floor. It was time for whatever ordeal they had in store for him. He lifted himself up, uncurled from his little cocoon and stood uneasily in the centre of the cell, smoothing out the crumples to his clothes. They hadn't changed since he'd arrived at the station, either of the two times. It was something that bothered the Labrador but there was no feasible explanation he could muster behind it. Perhaps in the reverie of his subconscious he had replaced the clothes he'd appeared in and put them back on, what with them being his only belongings currently. Neither Tyson nor Cheryl had had to confiscate anything from him, meaning he'd turned up with nothing but the garments upon his back. It was interesting to say the least, something for his mind to chew on whilst he abstained from regarding the real pressing matters currently lurking before him.

There was a rattle of a key entering a lock - a rather outdated concept, but Arthur had since abandoned the point of caring so much why nothing made sense anymore - and the door was pulled open, the grave and stale looking Rottweiler staring down at him, expression as blank as the dog could manage though his gaze spoke volumes. Still that ferocity lingered, muddied now with some kind of unspeakable sadness. It bothered Arthur greatly to not know what thoughts were swimming around in the canine's head, as it must have been something truly awful to have set the Rottweiler into such an abysmal rut.

"Come with me." Tyson held out a pair of polished steel cuffs, clearly with the intent of snapping them around the Labrador's wrists. Arthur scoffed at the sight of them,

"Are they really necessary?" He nodded his head, inclining to the pair as Tyson held them up. Most of him expected the bigger dog to relent in a test of the connection between them to see if it still existed, but the Rottweiler seemed unmoved. He spoke the low, cold syllable with equal measure across his face,

"Yes."

That would be that, Arthur supposed, as hesitation crossed his mind for a brief moment before he figured it'd just be best to play along. He still didn't know why they were so angry with him, or what law he'd apparently broken if any. His understanding of suspicion and paranoia and how it plagued the brain was not scant, but it seemed absurd to be treating him like some wanton criminal for unusual behaviour, especially considering the unusual circumstances. Dejectedly he stuck out his arms, paws held upwards with enough distance between his wrists for the Rottweiler to clasp each cuff about them. As they clicked shut, firmly tightened and digging against his skin, burrowing at the fur, he felt a sense of despondency. Why was he being punished? It was such a profound change in his thinking he didn't even realise it at first as he was led from his cell and down the cold, grey corridor back upstairs. He had done nothing wrong, that much he was sure of, so why were the people who were meant to keep him safe and secure treating him as if he'd done something atrocious. Why was Tyson treating him like gangrenous tumour only fit to be severed at a moment's notice, disgusted in his presence but resigned not to show it? Arthur had, up until now, tried to put the true reality from his mind but now it swallowed him whole, rushing up like a predator in the dark with vicious jaws to clench onto him and wrench him from the last remaining glimmers of sanity and stability he had left. He had trusted Tyson, beyond everyone else, and he'd sacrificed something dear to the dog. Why now was it being thrown all back in his face like it meant nothing?

He was led up the darkened stairs and back up into the main body of the precinct, returning back to the world that, in some small way, felt a little familiar. Arthur wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been kept down in the cells, whether it had been all day or just a couple of hours, but as he glanced at the clock with Tyson's insistent paw planted firmly against his back, he read that it was late into the afternoon. So the pair, Cheryl and Tyson, had been up to something, discussing whatever fate Arthur should deserve or if whatever was going on warranted a different reaction. Maybe they had brought in other members of the town for consultation; by now most if not everyone ought to know that Arthur had been incarcerated. He suspected that, in a town like Haven Falls, word would travel exceedingly quickly.

Another door was opened up for Arthur to be pushed through, a light shove from the Rottweiler forcing him to enter what could only be an interrogation room, improvised as it might have been. Void of pretty much any furniture or other such things, a single table stood in the centre with two chairs placed at opposite sides. A handle - or something looking rather similar to one - had been welded to the very middle of the surface of the table, the metal around either hand uneven and discoloured, clearly a makeshift improvement designed by some creative mind. Overhanging from the ceiling was a bare bulb, indiscriminate in the light it bore out, its wire dusty and the glass smeared with dirt. The room hadn't been used in a long time as much was reflected in its condition as with the light fixture. Either spring cleaning was quite some time away or the precinct didn't necessarily have many interviews within this room. Arthur let himself be guided to the chair furthest from the door, a paw clamped upon his shoulder pushing him down to sit. He allowed Tyson to manhandle how he saw fit, undoing one cuff from the Labrador's wrists but still not freeing him. Instead the other end was snapped around the handle at the centre of the table, Arthur's arm outstretched so that the metal wouldn't bury into his flesh as he was bound to the furniture - kinky for some, but only under circumstances not like these. Silently he watched the Rottweiler had back around the room and poked his head back out through the door, muttering something incoherent to the Labrador to whomever waited outside. Within seconds Tyson had resumed his position standing guard by the only entrance and ultimately exit, whilst a silhouette came into view beyond the glass pane of the door.

It came as no surprise as the uncanny figure of the Doberman entered, Cheryl composed of her usual brusque demeanour, but Arthur was by no means comforted as she took her seat opposite him. There was no file in her paws, nothing to suggest she was prepared or anything, but she sat so arrogantly and defensively away from Arthur that he feared she may just let her emotions run wild, just as Tyson had earlier.

He was sick of the silence, sick of the judgement and the cold stares he was getting. The Labrador broke the quiet first, voice bitter and desperate,

"I have no idea what the hell is going on." Cheryl snorted, the Doberman amused by something it would seem, as she straightened herself out, Arthur already hearing the haughty tone before she spoke,

"I think you know damn well what you did." We're just trying to figure out why you did it and whether you're going to be a danger to anyone else."

"A danger? Why would I be dangerous? If anything, I have just as much right to suspect you of being the dangerous ones."

"Us, the police? We're the suspicious ones?" Another snort; it would seem to Arthur he was wasting his time trying to battle his corner from a moral high ground. Cheryl, and most likely Tyson too, would have already made up their minds.

"Given the circumstances, I'm ready to believe anything. You can't say there's never been a corrupt cop..." He tried to speak with as much conviction as he could, but he feared he faltered on the last words. The glare he got from the pair of them would have lived up to the phrase of 'if looks could kill'.

"You're accusing _us_of being corrupt now? You really are despicable..." Tyson spat the words like acid, piping up from his quiet position behind Cheryl, but he silenced himself again when the Doberman snapped a glance over her shoulder, pulling rank Arthur thought. But he felt like he was losing whatever semblance of trust he had left, and what remained was slipping away like the very sand that surrounded them, running through his fingers until he held nothing at all. The feeling of being alone and isolated in this strange world was mounting up on him like a fierce monster, with brutish fangs and a nasty appetite. With Tyson behaving so cruelly toward him, Arthur couldn't help but throw his mind back to the night they'd shared. The Rottweiler had spoken of the people of Haven Falls needing an anchor, something real and alive to ground them to stop them from getting swept up in the madness of the landscape. Arthur believed, well and truly, that he was beginning to feel the first ebbs of that insanity: the overwhelming and crushing sensation of just being utterly afraid and alone in a world far beyond his control. As a man of science, he had been raised and been taught that so long as one could understand the world and relate to it on some level, be it physical, emotional or further, then one could find their footing. But Haven Falls had thrown everything out of balance. The people were stranger, the land stranger, and the atmosphere was quickly turning foul. As Arthur sat in the tight room, he felt like he was drowning, drowning in the middle of an acrid desert surrounded by smothering reality of faces and places he could never know, staring right down the barrel of the authority all the while under threat of something awful.

He had to do something.

"Alright!" There was no choice but to concede and admit defeat, if only in some small part, "Alright, let's just say whatever you think I did, let's put that aside. Let's suppose you're right and I did something horrible, but we'll forget about that and we'll play a game of pretend instead." Cheryl shifted in her seat, confused and clearing not wanting to be any pawn in a game, but Arthur persisted, "Just... humour me, okay? Please? I'm very scared and just once, please let me have this..." There was a tiny moment of silence, the sort of tension that electrified the air in a feeling of horrible unease. Cheryl, with such a delicate and minute movement, turned her head to look back to Tyson, offering the decision up to him in an unusual turn of events. Perhaps she was aware of what the two of them had done - that would be embarrassing - and was allowing the Rottweiler, who theoretically had the better judgement of the Labrador's character, to make the call. Stoically he said nothing, eyes bearing down at Arthur measuring him up, the gaze equally vacant as it was piercing. Arthur could only sit there and hope that deep down within the Rottweiler there was something still aflame and sparking, otherwise his efforts would be for naught.

The big dog gave a heave of his chest, inhaling sharply before a deflated, defeated sigh burst from his lips. His eyes shifted away, almost ashamed he'd betrayed his duty to gut instinct. For Arthur though it was a miracle as Tyson spoke flatly,

"Go ahead..."

"Okay..." Arthur took the chance to collect himself taking a breath too, fixing himself in his chair and wiping his brow before starting, "Pretend I've not done whatever it is you're accusing me of. Pretend I don't even know what's going on. Pretend that from last night when I went to sleep to when I woke up that I had no recollection of how I'd gotten to the station. Let's just pretend that everything I've been saying up until now has been true... Can you please just tell me why you think I'm dangerous and am a criminal of some kind?"

Both the stares of the Doberman and the Rottweiler were as inexpressive as the other. Neither of them really wanted to be the bearer of news, though Arthur feared that somewhere in the backs of their heads they were about the throw the towel in on this little exercise and be done with messing around. He supposed, to them, it was all a waste of time; things in Haven Falls from the sound of what he'd learnt so far would be fairly predictable. Little ever fell out of bounds of the ordinary, everything ran like clockwork and nothing ever surprised them. But since Arthur had arrived they had seemed on edge, almost as if people knew and realised he didn't belong and didn't fit the mould. It could be why the police were dealing with him so abrasively, and were just presuming on knowledge they knew but Arthur didn't, and supposed he might just confess eventually and align himself to the truth in their heads they expected to hear.

It was the Rottweiler who surprisingly spoke first, his voice quiet,

"You died."

The two words, two simply syllables, took many seconds for Arthur to fully process.

First there came the bashful dismissal. They were joking. It had to be a lie, some ruse to throw him off his guard and get him to cough up the truth. How could he be dead if he was sitting right before them, alive and well and not the least bit worse for wear? It was preposterous, outrageous even, ridiculous they would even try to pull something so obscenely stupid. What did he even mean, 'you died'? How could they be so resolute in their answer? Did they genuinely believe, with absolute conviction, that he had somehow passed away by some means in the middle of the night, magically transported himself back to the station and resurrect himself from the dead? It was positively outlandish.

But then there came the second feeling, of dread and uncertainty. Why then would they suggest such a thing if it was immediately absurd and insane? They wouldn't be sitting here with such grave expressions, treating him like some kind of monster, if they believed otherwise. They must be truly convicted in their assumption that Arthur died somehow and woke up at the platform. Reasons as to why and how they could believe that would probably remain a deeply seated mystery to him, not being within the fold, especially not now. Even if he dismissed Cheryl's indifference as purely being her character, it didn't explain away Tyson's shift in demeanour, the cold fury, the venomous distance. If he was trying to hurt Arthur, he was succeeding. The quietly flirtatious and warm-hearted man he'd met yesterday was now gone and replaced with a husk he barely recognised. Arthur could only conclude than that at the very least Tyson believed what they were suggesting, as his actions thus far would be wildly out of order.

It slowly sapped on then to the third and final feeling of fear. If they believed what they were saying was true, then Arthur could only assume, for the time being if he was to work his way out of the situation, that they were correct. He had died, which left the rather terrifying question of how. How could he have died after falling asleep in his bed beside the Rottweiler? Could he have had an aneurism, heart failure, a sudden bout of some toxin he'd never encountered before? It was a strange land after all, but Tyson had informed him that physical injury and damage would simply vanish, that once forgotten they'd be immediately removed and void from existence as if they'd never occurred in the first place. Natural death therefore seemed implausible, which could only mean...

The last remaining conclusion Arthur reached was a chilling one.

"You... you think I killed myself?" His voice was quiet, nearly silent even. Arthur couldn't even believe the words he was saying. He could feel his throat tremble as he spoke, coming to the stark realisation that the people opposite him genuinely believed without a doubt that Arthur had the capacity to end his own life after a night of love-making with the Rottweiler. Tyson stiffened as Arthur spoke, his expression bleeding for just a fractured second of absolute sorrow, or tormented heartbreak and infinite pain, before the stoic mask was replaced again with burning glares, "You think I killed myself, right?"

"That's correct."

"Why?!" He spat the words with such anger. How dare they call him suicidal! He was perfectly sane, of sound and reasonable mind! There wasn't a single shred of himself that would even dare to contemplate the thought, "How the fuck did you come up with that?" Arthur heard his voice break before he felt it. He couldn't stop it even if he tried, it just happened as he bitterly held back what might have been a sob of frustration. He was not suicidal. He did not kill himself.

"Because when people die, and they do die, they don't simply drop dead. They disappear and then reappear." Tyson was doing his best to keep his voice level too, Arthur's emotions spiking his own. It was difficult, an ultimate betrayal coming to light as the pair felt either end of a double-edged sword neither saw coming, "They die. And then they reappear at platform zero, at the station."

That was certainly new information, though it did little to shed light on the situation other than to confirm why the police - and now anybody else, for that matter - believed Arthur had killed himself. That was the unspeakable abominable act he'd performed that had left him isolated and ousted from their trust. He supposed he couldn't blame them, but he was perfectly innocent. He'd done nothing of the sort!

"I didn't kill myself," Arthur said, the despondent emptiness claiming his voice as all the frustration and anger dissipated to nothing but a void of acceptance, "I didn't commit suicide."

"Then would you care to explain what you were doing back at the platform," Cheryl folded her arms, a defensive posture, closed off and unyielding, "A spot of sight-seeing? Figured you'd skulk around town in the dead of night with no one witnessing you, only to then take a nap at the station?"

"This is all wrong..." Arthur slumped, his head held in his paws as he muttered under his breath. What was going on? Nothing made sense and now he was being accused of something awful. Did they truly believe that he had it in him to just kill himself after one night? Did they really think he was so mentally unstable that being uprooted in a strange environment would send him over the edge into reckless behaviour?

"That's the understatement of the year." She sounded so proud and assured of herself. It pissed Arthur off. Cheryl, and for some part Tyson, were both acting like they had already won, that they'd figured out his little game as if it were child's play, albeit the Rottweiler's attitude came with the sour note of dejection and dark depression that simmered behind his eyes. Perhaps this was a battle Arthur simply couldn't win, not when his opponents had already decided what the outcome was going to be. There was no way he could fight back when they held all the power regardless of what he brought to the table. He could only sit back and allow them to judge him, mull over what was to be done with him, and then accept whatever was to come his way.

"So what now then," even he could feel the acid in his voice, "What happens now?"

Cheryl cast a small look back over her shoulder, though what it was meant to mean was lost on Arthur. Even Tyson failed to really register her. His eyes were fixed firmly ahead, glassy like he'd just died on the inside. Arthur couldn't blame him really.

"We'll have to convene with the council, probably have to arrange a trial or something, that'll be a first." Cheryl sighed, finally shifting on her chair and turning to Tyson, "Contact Valerie, we'll most likely need her professional opinion, although being just a nurse I don't know how willing she'd be." The Doberman rose up, getting to her footpaws, whilst Arthur was left cuffed to the table, simply resigned to remain in the room for the time being. He watched her, eyes blank but hiding a dark ferocity, as she made for the door, "You just sit tight, won't be long now."

That was the last that was said to Arthur. Even as he looked desperately to Tyson, hoping for some last slither of kindness and hope, he got nothing from the impassive gaze that refused to recognise him. The pair left, the Rottweiler perhaps lingering for a moment longer than he ought to, but he slipped out the door, letting it click softly shut, though it may as well have been slammed to achieve the same effect. The sounds of their footsteps moving away were as loud as if they were right in Arthur's ears, each step a resounding deadening toll as his grasp on things slipped away. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest as a knot formed at the back of his throat, his gut twisting in such horrific ways as he considered what would happen. No, they wouldn't kill him, that seemed illogically redundant and worthless, but indefinite incarceration seemed just as likely. Might he be confined to isolation and constant counselling for his supposed suicidal thoughts? But if they didn't have a trained professional to deal with that sort of thing, would they even attempt to cure his illness? A nurse was many things, but someone capable of resolving another's mental instability spurred on by all sorts of factors and complications from personal trauma to general sickness was something else entirely removed. Arthur wasn't even sure he had the capacity himself to carry out such treatment. Certainly he specialised in neuroscience, though his application was more to technology and its integration with organics, but he was convinced he would be more qualified than a general practicing nurse, and even then he was in entirely the wrong field of study.

So he was to be treated like a cancerous tumour, to be handled as coldly and callously as a criminal but treated with the simplest of basic dignities. What kind of life would that be though, confined to a singular room and placed under constant watch, whilst the people whom he would come to rely on for sustenance and care judged him forever more. Even if he did convince them he was no longer a concern to them, would that ever silence their worries? Arthur doubted their anxieties would simply disappear overnight, somewhere down the line. He'd be under a constant state of surveillance, never to be trusted again. A grown man never autonomous again. He'd never have control of his own world, as bizarre as it was shaping up to be. It filled him with bitter anger, slamming his fist against the cold steel of the table-top whilst more hot sobs rose in his throat. What was happening to him? Was there no way out of this?

Just as he was about to break down to tears though, the strangest thing happened. Out of the quiet, quick to stifle his tears and snarls of frustration, came the uneasy chime of a phone ringing.

Three clatters, the bell sharp and crystal clear in the near-silence. Over and over, again and again, the telephone rang out into what seemed to be an empty precinct. Arthur waited, listening, transfixed by this odd sound. He half-expected someone to answer it, just enduring the sound until, finally, the noise stopped. The phone fell silent and the line dead. It was a peculiar occurrence, and Arthur was close to thinking nothing of it, until the ringing started up again.

Tugging at the cuffs still fixed to the table, Arthur strained to stand from his chair, looking to the door,

"Hello?" He called out, "Is anyone there? Is nobody going to answer that?" But nobody replied, and still the phone rang. Once more, Arthur yanked at the cuffs, in some vain attempt to see if they'd release and he could go get it himself, but he didn't know really what he was expecting. They held firm, "Seriously, is no one there, answer the damn phone!"

A thought came to Arthur though as he stood hunched over, wrists still bound to the table by the cuffs; was this the same telephone that 'she' rang? Arthur had assumed she had been Cheryl, but Tyson had eventually revealed she was somebody else, someone called 'Rosie', but he hadn't divulged much else than that. Only that she seemed to deliver whatever information and news about people coming and going from the station, about people arriving to Haven Falls. If this was indeed the right phone, would that mean someone else had arrived at platform zero?

"For fuck's sake..." Angrily, almost violently, Arthur wrenched his wrist at the cuffs, more venting his fury than anything else and only rewarding himself with a sore paw once the metal sank and dug into his skin and fur with each futile tug. "Is no one out there?"

A sudden cold chill hit Arthur like a brick wall. He nearly stumbled, his whole body feeling weak as it washed over him, sinking into every fibre of his being until all he felt was cold and wet. His head was swimming, cloudy and fogged, as the icy frost crawled across his skin and sent his fur on end. Fuck, it hurt so much, his teeth gritting as the world seemed to kilter on its side, revolving round and round, tumbling over itself and shimmering. Arthur had to clench his eyes and force himself not to throw up, as everything cracked and reasserted back into reality. A tight, freezing clutch dug at Arthur's wrist. It was almost painful, causing him to wince and look down to the table as the cuff felt unnaturally icy, burning at his coat. But his eyes widened as the smooth, polished steel of the table's surface was gone, replaced with a deep, swallowing blackness that betrayed perception. Though Arthur was well aware the table did not have any sort of depth into some kind of hidden chamber, it appeared as if the black abyss could be reached into, falling down into somewhere beyond with no end in sight. Much like the mirror from the bathroom and just like his hallucinated dream, the same green cursor blinked impassively at Arthur from within the darkness. The cold sensation was new, however, but disregarding the unnatural nausea that stung at Arthur's senses, not much was different. He waited, eyes trained on the cursor, as words began to flow once more:

Activate operational interface.

Accessing mainframe...

Deactivating safeguards: subroutines delta24 and gamma01 have been disabled.

The cuff around Arthur's wrist suddenly unlocked itself, the metal clattering the unseen table-top, hovering within darkness as if held by the invisible surface. On instinct the Labrador retracted his paw with a snatch, rubbing the tender rings around his wrists as he stared at the blackness, the words glowing with an unnerving green hue that seemed to bleed through the dark. He couldn't quite pull his gaze away; he couldn't just allow himself to turn his back on the text as it hung in the blackness.

Encrypted transmission incoming...

Arthur stared at the words, bewildered as to their meaning, just as for the third time the phone started up once more. It startled him, finally glancing up from the table and to the door, as the sound cut through the whole precinct as if it were rattling through the very walls. But as he looked down, much to no surprise it seemed, the words and blackness were once more gone, as whatever it was that had happened within a fleeting instance, dissipated and returned to normal. The room warmed back to reality and Arthur felt more like himself again, everything working back into order.

A soft click from the door to his supposed 'cell', though it was more his interrogation room, snapped in the air, as its hinges swung unaided and the door opened itself. Arthur watched it in blank amazement, by now more intrigued to what was going on than frustrated or frightened. It had since transcended those feelings, moved to something far more surreal and accepted the absurdity of what he was facing. With a slow walk, he moved around the table and pushed the door open properly, poking his head through to scan for signs of life. But there was nothing; Tyson and Cheryl it seemed had already left and moved on, to go talk with the 'council', whomever they might be, and had left Arthur alone, though he seemed to pose little threat considering he was still cuffed when they had left him. Which meant he had the run of the precinct, at least for now, and his attention was foremost fixed to the telephone which continued to ring incessantly, seemingly non-stop as it shook upon its holster.

Arthur followed the crude noise, wandering around the forgotten desks and chairs until he found the rather obvious telephone. An old rotary design, retro perhaps might be a fitting word, its receiver sat atop its body held up by metal prongs, weighing the contraption down and awaiting someone to answer. A fine rope cord connected the phone to its dial, worn and tangled by what would seem like many years of use, but the numbers still plain and crisp as if they'd never been touched. Arthur typically might have expected some wear and tear on them, even just the faintest signs the rotary had been used, but it seemed to be in relatively new condition, which perplexed him still. Hesitatingly he reached a paw forward, fingers brushing against the smooth black enamel and wrapping around the rather cumbersome phone, lifting it up and tentatively bringing it to his ear, the phone stretching down to the corner of his muzzle as he held it to his head,

"H-hello?" There was no response, not immediately, just the low fuzz of static as his words smothered the line, "Is anyone there?" Still, nothing. Arthur bit his lip, eyes glancing around the room, hoping he wasn't about to be rudely interrupted with no warning. He felt on edge. If someone caught him now, he'd only make matters worse for himself. He could easily just remedy the entire situation and resign himself to what they decided of him, cuffing himself back to the table and pretending he was none the wiser to what was going on. That was always an option, no matter how many seconds ticked by, no matter how many minutes that bled in to, but still he couldn't resist. On the spur of the moment, he considered what he could do, "Is this Rosie? Rosie, please respond."

There was no reply, but an almost imperceptibly change in tone on the other end of the line did not go amiss to Arthur. He expected the line to go dead, like someone was pranking him in such sick twist of luck. However, whatever it was the Labrador had done to spark the reaction, a smooth, toneless female voice answered him, though not directly,

"Security key accepted. Hello, Doctor Quintos."

Arthur swallowed, a lump of anxiety rising in his gullet. Why was she responding to him? Who was Rosie meant to be exactly? How did she know who he was? What was with the bizarre language she used? All these questions were teeming in his head, and he wasn't entirely sure which he was to ask first, though something deep inside him doubted she'd even give anything close to the answers he wanted. But, he had to try, as hopeless as it might seem,

"Rosie? Who are you?" She didn't reply, Arthur sighed, "Where am I?"

"You are on platform zero." That didn't make sense, but then again he hadn't expected it to. Just some redundant knowledge he already knew, though vague delivered as it was.

"Why am I here? What's wrong with this place, with everyone?" He was getting angry with himself, knowing she wouldn't really answer his questions properly. "What am I meant to do?"

There was a long, slow, terse silence as she didn't say a word. Arthur figured she wouldn't have anything to say; only his ragged breathing was the only thing that filled the line. He rubbed his face, fatigue beginning to beleaguer his constitution, as he was very tempted just to hang up and be done with it all. But Rosie's voice cut through the fuzzed silence, rather abruptly, as Arthur was just about to place the receiver back down upon the phone,

"User 0236-01 requires maintenance."

"What...?" Arthur spoke softly, his other paw coming up to clutch the phone to hold it closer to his head, pressing it to his ear to better hear her talk. Though it seemed random and nonsensical, it was something new and he didn't recall either Tyson or Cheryl telling him of Rosie talking about 'users' before.

"Platform zero has been compromised. User 0236-01 requires maintenance."

A huff of indignation; his needed to phrase what he said carefully to plumb for the right information he needed. He figured Rosie might only respond to certain words or sentences, a particular order or topic that needed to be mentioned or said. Whoever Rosie was, she was very exact.

"What do you mean it's been compromised?" No response. "Where can I find User 0236-01?" Arthur wondered if that was the right way to ask that, but hoped for the best, "Where is User 0236 located?"

"User 0236-01 is currently located at the north-most point of platform zero within the environment."

Before Arthur even had a chance to ask where that would be or what Rosie meant by the rather cryptic remark, the line was cut dead. Either she had hung up or she'd been cut off, and once Arthur was certain she was no longer on the other end, he looked at the receiver like it would deliver some immutable answer he longed for. But naturally there was nothing but the oblivious silence and the empty room which surrounded him. Who was 'User 0236-01' exactly, why were they important? Were they in danger, or was this some lead Arthur was being given as a lifeline, something for him to cling to? In reality, he knew he had little choice else. The town was turning against him, it would seem, on the grounds that he was a suicidal threat to them all, and it burnt within Arthur for him to understand his circumstance. If he could find any clues, then they would most likely reside with 'User 0236-01', whoever they were, and whilst he only had a loose grasp on where they might be, it was more to go on since he'd arrived at the town. But leaving the precinct, by running altogether and going off in search of this user, it would be silently convicting himself and calling for any last vestige of trust to be shattered and crushed to dust that they still had in him. Questions would be raised, uncomfortable ones, such as how exactly Arthur had escaped from his confines and trappings or what he was doing going off in search of a random person after being told from a disembodied, alien voice to 'repair' them. His sanity, above all things, would be scrutinised, and he'd most likely find himself in a worse off position than if he just returned to the interrogation room and locked himself back away. Frankly Arthur couldn't even be sure if he wasn't crazy himself, but the thought of being treated as someone deranged was in itself enough of a punishment to not be made worse by harsher treatment. Isolation was fundamentally crippling, no matter its complications.

It seemed as terrifying as it was to Arthur that he had made up his mind. He holstered the phone back upon the desk, letting it click into place as he himself hung up on the other end of the line. He would simply just have to try and find this 'User 0236-01' as best he could, and then improvise from that point onwards. The Labrador had no clue what 'maintenance' would be expected of him, but he sought to find out at the very least.

Collecting himself, Arthur headed for the entrance, once again repeating the process of gingerly opening the door and pushing his head out to look for any witnesses to his escape. But the town was just as silent and ominous as it had been when he'd arrived, devoid of much life, a mere ghost town if ever there was one.

As the canine stepped out into the beating heat, he was met with his first feeling of being outdoors once more after many hours of imprisonment. The heavy wind rolling against his fur felt glorious, the hot sun, which he was sure would quickly turn sour, was wonderful as it warmed his skin and sunk to his bones. The feeling of the rough dirt beneath his footpaws was a welcome sensation, a nice change from the cold linoleum and concrete floors of the precinct and its cells. It just felt good to be in contact with the world again, every sensation so real and alive he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be free and unconstrained. Though he'd been separated for only a few hours, it had felt like an age for Arthur, and part of him wondered if it wasn't just the exhaustion catching up with him.

But there was no time to allow himself time to rest. He would have to work fast before the town learnt of his escape, and part of him suspected that in such a small commune he'd be discovered quickly with everyone working against him. So he cast his eyes to the sky, picking out the scorching blotch of light that was indeed the sun, and tried to judge the time of day. It was coming up to high noon, though just past it, if Arthur was to believe himself correctly, as he was sure he'd been incarcerated in the early morning and left to stew whilst Cheryl and Tyson had deliberated over how to deal with him, giving him extra time to allow the reality to take hold and for his emotions to run fraught.

If the sun then rose in east, then whichever direction it was leaning to more would conclude to be the west. Arthur pinpointed which ways that would be and then surmised the path between the two would have to be north. At least, that was his hope. As a man of science, he was appalled he was having to use crude knowledge they taught to children to deduce which way to go, though even if he was wrong, all he would have lost is time and little else, if not the opportunity too to make headway on the mystery of Haven Falls. But he tried not to dwell on it. Arthur consigned himself to heading north, making sure he was quick on his footpaws and stuck to the shadows, doing his best to avoid running into anyone. Word would travel fast if he was seen, and it felt as if eyes were everywhere, watching his every move...

He would have to work fast, that much he was certain of.

~ ~ ~

At the north-most point of the town, there was little to be desired.

So far, Arthur's imagination had allowed him to construct this impression of a modern town, an urban oasis, stranded in a sea of sand and left for dead. But as he ventured further and further out, moving towards the outskirts as civilisation fell away into the barren, acrid land that surrounded them, he began to take note of the shabbier buildings and torn roads and sidewalks. Everything had an unkempt feel, and that nobody had any wish to repair or fix the area until it was absolutely necessary, or that it was even in the background of their minds. It had been left to ruin, much like most things it would seem. Soon, all Arthur found himself walking along was empty roads, if they could even be called that for they were merely just tracks in the dirt, and moving past half-finished and rundown homes and constructs. It was falling to nightfall, the sun beginning to set, and a chilled wind was beginning to pick up along the air that just set that ultimate uneasy feel in the Labrador's stomach. Perhaps he should have turned back and remained in the precinct. Maybe he would have had a better chance talking to them once they'd all calmed down a little and spoken amongst themselves. Arthur could have vouched that their paranoia was not as potent as his fears were making them up to be.

But he'd come too far now, and whatever fool's errand Rosie had sent him on, he was sure he'd find some answers by the time he got there, wherever that was meant to be. He was treading into unknown waters and he didn't like it a single bit, but there was no other choice now. He couldn't turn back.

Arthur however couldn't see where he was meant to go. He had hoped that by the time he was getting close there'd be something to indicate where to go, something obvious and out of the ordinary that would give some more direction beyond 'north-most'. All he could do for now was keep heading further and further out of town, trudging along at his slow walking pace, his footpaws killing him and begging for a reprieve. The dog sniffed the air, just getting a sense of his bearings, but all that seemed to be clinging to the environment was the stale smell of heat that had baked the streets just hours ago, now cooling off and leaving everything with that same unnatural chill he'd felt not long before. Everything was still deathly silent; Arthur hadn't come across another soul in a long while, and whilst he was thankful he hadn't be discovered it was still a little disconcerting to have been the only mortal he'd run across so far in his little venture. He took a moment's pause, just listening intently to the stilled sounds, hoping to maybe hear a murmur of voices, a scuffle of footpaws, anything that would just say he wasn't utterly alone in his nightmare. His ears twitched when he picked up on something, so faint he might not have registered it, but his skittish state had him focusing on it with primal instinct, zeroing in on the noise. Some distant rumble, churning up dirt as it thundered, far off but getting closer...

It was the sound of an engine battling the desert roads, tires fighting with the broken road. Somebody was coming this way.

Acting quickly, Arthur lunged for the nearest building he could reach, sprinting across the open expanse and diving for cover, tucking himself into what he could only describe as an alleyway, drenching in the shadows until he was positive he wouldn't be seen in a brief drive-by. They couldn't have found him so soon, could they? Were they looking for him already? He had hoped he'd have a little more time than that, but if they were starting to scan the area for him then he supposed there was little choice else except to accept the reality. It would just make being stealthy all that much harder. Arthur held himself back, pinned to the wall, as he watched and waited, eyes trained on the road as the sound of a truck barrelling along came closer and closer. Holding his breath, his heart pounding at his ribcage and threatening to burst, he prayed they wouldn't spot him.

Not one but two cars drove past as Arthur was busying himself with trying not to be seen. Incidentally, it was two that he recognised: one was Tyson's battered truck and the other Cheryl's, and neither seemed to be looking for him. If they were, they would have been driving slowly, scanning the side streets and looking in every nook and cranny they could find to search for him. Both seemed intent on wherever it was they were going, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the vehicles retreating, careful not to reveal himself from his bolthole, spotting the familiar frame of the Rottweiler's head in the window, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as they spurred through the setting dark. Arthur supposed he ought to be relieved, but now he wondered why they were making their way out to such a remote point of the town. Had Rosie spoken to them too? Had she delivered them the same information as she had to Arthur, and now the pair were acting upon it? That could only mean two different situations; one, it was something unusual and therefore warranted an immediate investigation, putting Arthur on hold for the time being, or the more worrying second scenario was that this wasn't new at all, and they had in fact been withholding information from Arthur about the nature of Haven Falls and about Rosie herself. The Labrador really couldn't be bothered though to differentiate which it was for the time being. All he was setting his mind to was finding out what Rosie had told him, but now he had a lead. Assuming Cheryl and Tyson were now going to the same destination as he was, he could simply follow them and eavesdrop to whatever it was that was going on. Maybe they would know more about 'User 0236-01'?

Making sure not to be seen, keeping himself flat against every wall and never rounding a corner before they'd made the next one, he ran after them, his already tired body protesting at the extra exercise as he fought to keep up with their convoy. Honestly he didn't know how long he could have kept it up, bolting across crumbling roads with the stones digging against his footpaws and the stagnant air refusing to refresh his lungs, but he came to a skidding halt once he realised they'd already stopped. He hadn't been far at all, it would seem, and he clung behind the corner of a building as he watched the pair park up and exited their vehicles.

Neither seemed to be talking, in fact there seem to be some cold distance between the two of them. Arthur observed from his vantage point in the distance as the two made their way towards what had to be the only maintained house in the surrounding area. It was old fashioned in design, seeming more like a grandly manor than anything else, but the two canines didn't head for the main doors. Instead they moved around, heading for the small office attached to the side, a shack of a building and seemingly converted from a garage of sorts, and they knocked, waiting. Arthur's brow furrowed even more in confusion as the door was opened, and a middle-aged badger answered, from a distance he couldn't make out much but it appeared to be a she, and she spoke with the two dogs as if it wasn't a surprise, almost like she'd been expecting them. It only gave credence to the second conclusion of Tyson and Cheryl knowing something more than they were letting on, but the Labrador tried to push it from his mind for now. He stayed where he was until the two of them had been invited inside, and the door firmly closed behind them, before he made his advance.

Keeping as low as he could, Arthur jogged forward and snuck up to manor house. His curiosity seemed to be set more with what appeared to be the abandoned homestead more than what was going on in the office beside it. As he came closer, he could pick out the finer details. The woodwork was exquisite, professionally done and to a very high degree, painted an immaculate pale green and soft white, having suffered no damage from the sandy winds at all it would seem. The building itself was an impressive two storeys, towering much above the rest of its surroundings by a whole floor, but it stood proudly like a beacon in the dark. Arthur crept up the steps to the porch, taking shelter beneath its overhang and moving towards the front door, an imposing set painted the same white as the rest of the home, with a heavy golden knocker embedded to its front. Strangely, a deadbolt had been crudely fixed to the door, an equally nasty looking padlock holding the bolt firmly closed. It was just the first inkling that something was amiss to Arthur, as that wasn't quite what startled him most. No, that honour was left to the cast iron bars that seemed to be fitted to each and every window, and the remarkable disrepair the interior seemed to be suffering. It had been too dark to see so far away, but up close Arthur could see them quite plainly. Across every window, it seemed, they had been welded to the very walls of the house, the windows behind them grubby and mottled in dust and grime, whilst the metal itself was polished and clean. They hadn't been there entirely long, something new they'd installed perhaps. But then Arthur could only ask why? What could have inspired them to fortify an empty home in such a remote part of the town? And why then have some aging woman sit beside the vacant property in an office, all by herself? Could this be the prepared prison for Arthur, or was this meant to house something else? Or... someone else?

Arthur peered inside, pressing his face as close as he dared to the window, but he couldn't see much. He moved along the porch, creeping across the veranda and trying not to be heard, careful for creaking floorboards or scuttling stones. His intrigue was piqued when he came across a window unlike the others. Whilst it was still barred and just as reinforced, the window panes behind it had been shattered and not yet replaced. It was if a chair had been thrown through it, the pattern of the break looked as if something incredibly large had been thrust through it with incredible force, glass hanging outwards, much like something had tried desperately to get out. It only begged the question of what or who was worth all the trouble of keeping inside such a pristine home, someone who clearly didn't want to be there, that required such extreme measures.

Voices drifted along the quiet air through an open window in the office, most likely left ajar to ventilate the stifling heat as the cool night set in. Arthur glanced across, making sure the voices weren't those of people exiting the office and not simply coming from within, watching the shadows move across the casting glows of lights from inside,

"We need your help, Valerie. We don't know what's going on with him." Cheryl, if Arthur could recognise the tone from anywhere; barked orders and a clipped disposition. Even when not aggressive, she seemed to carry an affronted tone, "He killed himself but seems intent on denying it."

"Do you not think he's telling the truth?" Another woman's voice, someone Arthur didn't recognise, but it sounded tired, almost bitter, like it wasn't taking kind to Cheryl's approached. There was no response, only a huff and tense quiet between them all, until this woman, someone he assumed to be Valerie, spoke up again, "What do you think, Deputy Arkov? You fucked the guy, surely you'd know better than us what he's like."

Deputy Arkov, Arthur could only assume, would be Tyson. He heard a low, threatening growl. It seemed the Rottweiler was in a foul mood and wasn't appreciative of the jabs Valerie was taking. The badger sighed, audible enough for Arthur to hear from where he stood just beside the broken window, "That's what I thought. You've made a mess of things, and now everyone's on edge. Not to mention people were freaking out when Grant began to act up. Everyone lost their shit when he tried to escape, just think how they're going to be now when they find out he's been more and more active lately ever since this Quintos fellow arrived."

Grant... the name didn't sound familiar to Arthur, but his behaviour was certainly peculiar. Who was he and why was he acting up in such an erratic way. If the whole town was reacting to his outburst with such paranoia, then it could only mean he was somebody of significance. Perhaps a stately individual, somebody esteemed above the rest considering his homestead, but then why the office for Valerie, the nurse, or the prison-like additions? Was he unwell? Was he unstable?

"Before we jump to conclusions, let's try to be rational here. We know how things work, it's never changed before, so why now?" It was Cheryl, obviously trying to steer the course through what was shaping up to be one hell of a storm, it seemed.

"I don't know... but I have the strangest feeling that that dog is somebody important. Grant has been unsettled ever since he became aware of his presence. He's been impossible ever since yesterday and he refuses to calm down. I've never seen him so agitated before."

There was movement in the corner of Arthur's eye. He snapped his head round, squinting into the dark beyond through the shattered window, just as he saw a figure, shrouded in the dust and black, moved out of sight - somebody was inside. Grant, Arthur presumed, and he seemed to have a deeply profound connection and understanding about the Labrador being there. Or, at the very least, he was against the canine being in Haven Falls. This was, after all, the north-most point of the town, and by the sounds of things Grant was somewhat out of sorts, potentially crazed. Arthur couldn't help but recall what Rosie had told him, that 'User 0236-01 required maintenance', and part of him suspected this was what she meant.

Grant was User 0236-01.

Arthur felt another unsettling chill roll across his shoulder blades, making him shudder visibly as the uncomfortable sensation clung to his bones. Once again, just in his periphery, his eyes focused just on a flash of light, something glinting within the remaining shards of glass that had yet to be cleaned up from the porch. A larger splinter than the rest, an irregular shape, caught his attention, and he bent down to pick it up. The darkening light of the sun, replaced by the ebbs of the moonrise and smattering of stars, didn't quite reflect properly against the shard. Gingerly Arthur held it between his paws, twisting it ever so gently this way and that, but he held his breath as he once again stared into a dark abyss with the tell-tale green cursor waiting for him once more. He swallowed, his mouth running dry, fearing what might come now.

Activate operational interface.

Accessing mainframe...

Deactivating safeguards: subroutine alpha76 has been disabled.

To the side there was a heavy clatter as something clicked. Arthur's head flitted up, eyes scanning for what had made the noise, but there was no one there. On the door, however, the padlock which had once been locked now hung open, ready to be swung and removed from the deadbolt to allow whoever desired it entry into the manor. He looked back to the shard of glass, but the green text and the unwelcoming blackness had just as swiftly disappeared again. It left Arthur in the reality that now he had access to the manor whereas before he had not. It gave him an uneasy, awful feeling, as if someone were watching him, mapping his every move and guiding him to something unknown. But there was nothing else to be done. Arthur would just have to take some consolation in satisfying his curiosity and in answering the cryptic remarks of Rosie once he could speak to Grant, whomever he was.

Moving around to the front door, Arthur's paw tentatively lifted the heavy weight of the padlock up and off the deadbolt, gently placing it down onto the floor with the shard of glass, careful not to make too much noise as he slid the bolt across its body, essentially unlocking the door. He let his paw rest now on the doorknob, taking a moment's pause as he braced himself for whatever he was to find inside. There was a sick feeling in his gut, that he was about to enter some place very dangerous, but he couldn't quite understand why. From what he'd overheard, Grant certainly didn't think favourably of the Labrador, but Arthur had no choice else but to press forward and see what awaited him inside. All he could do was take a deep breath and then hesitantly click open the doorknob, pushing the frame of the door until it began to swing inside, giving himself just enough space to slip inside before he let it heave itself shut.

Inside was just as he expected; dark, gloomy, and musty. Sheets covered what little furniture seemed to remain and the home looked almost unlived in. There were few decorations, nothing worth noting or that seemed to retain any value, and Arthur noted absently, or perhaps out of his own paranoia, that there wasn't a single mirror or reflective surface to be seen. Provided his own bizarre, freaky hallucinations he'd had so far, it disturbed him to no end. Surely there was no connection, he sincerely hoped...

"You shouldn't be here."

Somebody was rushing up to him, scurrying along the floorboard, and the voice was raspy and panicked. Arthur lurched back, stumbling almost, as he was taken off guard and desperately fought to escape the clutches of whoever it was that was assailing him. He fell to the floor, footpaws still digging into the wood, as he scratched and scrambled away, just as a ragged figure lunged from the shadows. There was a snap however as something pulled taut, metal rattling against metal, and the figure's body jarred and came to an abrupt stop, though it leaned forward as much as it could with its arms held behind it. As Arthur let himself adjust to the darkness, he peered at this creature, looking up from his spot on the floor as he allowed himself to calm down, though his nerves were still very much on edge.

From the dark had emerged this tired looking creature, an individual who Arthur had a hard time of defining their species. But as his eyes got used to the dim light from whatever pooled in through the grubby windows, he could make out the faint outline of a feline. Definitely male, though much emaciated and with fur falling out, they looked to be insane, with pupils just pinpricks and the whites of their eyes marred with streaks of red with bloodshot. It was a sorry state to see them in, Arthur judging their species to be a panther of sorts, and he had the utmost sympathy for them, but he couldn't help the fear that was rising in his chest. No matter how long he looked at and reconciled with himself about the individual, he still couldn't push aside the tension that palpitated under his bosom. The feline was snarling at him, letting out the occasional hiss, and whilst Arthur would rather have just left him to his business and fled the scene, he needed answers, and he needed more so to be quiet so as to avoid detection,

"Are you... Grant?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no," 'Grant' giggled, "She calls me 0236-01 though. I like her."

"Are you referring to Rosie?" Arthur ventured, keeping his voice hushed. He was getting to his footpaws, but the clarification seemed to enrage Grant, who lurched again at his bindings, snapping at Arthur,

"Who else?!" He spat the words, quite literally, and Arthur backed away to avoid the spittle, "She saved us all! She keeps us safe! Only no more, no more, no more..."

Arthur didn't understand a word Grant was saying. It was all just unhinged gibberish, the rantings of a mad man. So that would be why Valerie was stationed beside the building, she was the pseudo-guardian of Grant, a medical professional to look after and watch over him to ensure he didn't lash out, hurt himself, and looked after his health. It would explain why he was in such a remote point of the town, why people were skittish over what he did and how he acted, but it didn't explain his importance. Why take a man like Grant, who was deranged, so seriously? If he was indeed insane, why did it matter then what he thought?

"Grant, what do you know about Rosie? What do you know about Haven Falls?"

"We're not in Haven Falls. We are all at platform zero." Grant moved back, circling round the furniture and no longer looking to Arthur. Occasionally his head would twitch, his limbs spasming, as it seemed his brain was plagued by irregular signals and thoughts. He now spotted the glint of metal of the chains that had been latched around each of Grant's wrists, the panther a prisoner in his own home, and for as unpredictable and crazed as he was, Arthur couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor cat, "We're all trapped here. We're all prisoners."

When the panther used the word 'prisoners', he looked directly at Arthur. The Labrador felt another wave of sickness pass over him. It wasn't possible... just as he'd had that thought, had the feline read his mind? Had he pre-emptively guessed what he was thinking? It was implausible, but his eyes seemed to stare right through Arthur, and they hid intelligence and an understanding he could only long for.

"We're all prisoners. Trapped on platform zero. But she keeps us safe. Keeps us happy, content. Rosie keeps us safe."

So Grant supposed Rosie was, what, some kind of overseer? A guardian angel, of sorts? Arthur would suppose she was a resident of Haven Falls herself, someone within the town, but something told him that wasn't entirely the case. The other residents didn't seem too hung up on figuring out her identity. If anything, they'd come to accept her as part of an ordinary way of life. So who then was Rosie, and how exactly did she keep the people of Haven Falls safe and happy? Or rather, Arthur feared asking, safe from what exactly?

"Why do you think we're trapped?"

"Only no more, no more." Grant didn't seem to register any more what Arthur was saying. He was no longer paying attention as he paced about the room with his head hung low, "We're no longer safe, not anymore. No more." His paws were wrangling against one another, the metal clinking and clanking as he squeezed his fingers together, cracking the knuckles, his mind busying himself with something empty and irregular.

"What do you mean 'no more'? Why are we no longer safe, Grant?"

Wild eyes locked on Arthur, the panther once again surging for the Labrador, closing the distance between them. Only this time he didn't back down. He let Grant reach the end of his chains and they hung there, stood face to face, their muzzles mere inches away from one another's, staring deep into the other's soul. Arthur was terrified, but he held his ground and tried his best not to flinch as the feline spoke, words smothered in acid, dripping from his tongue,

"Because you arrived. And now platform zero has been breached." Arthur's blood ran cold. "Platform zero has been compromised."

What was that supposed to mean? Rosie had said the exact same phrase to him, that platform zero had been compromised, but it had meant nothing to him at the time. Did it refer to the train station? The last time he'd been there everything was fine, nothing out of the ordinary. Was Grant referring to the instance he'd woken up there a second time around? How would he have known about that? It seemed highly unlikely, and beyond that it made little sense. Arthur could feel his breath quickening as panic was seizing hold. What was he meant to do now? He'd come to find User 0236-01 and all he had now were more questions and still no answers. He was at a loss as to what to do.

"Platform zero has been compromised and it's all down to you."

Arthur rubbed his face with his paw, fingertips digging against his eyes, trying to rouse some sense into himself. He was so tired; he was ready to give up. He was losing himself to the insanity of the world and he feared he might wind up soon like Grant, raving about nothing whilst holding everything he could ever need to get himself out of this mess. The panther was a dark reflection of what he was to become if he was steering down this path, leading himself to a nightmare that seemed more and more inescapable the further he seemed to wade into the miasma of mystery.

"I saw it all, I saw everything. I saw it all when I died." Arthur sighed, removing his head from his palm,

"What did you see?" He sounded exhausted, defeated almost, if he wasn't mistaken.

"I saw the darkness and the writing beyond. I saw the writing of those above." That... that sounded familiar; Arthur felt his mind spark as he latched onto this one piece of information that he could work with, as it seemed Grant was lucid regarding the issue.

"This... this writing, was it green?" Grant didn't respond, but recognition crossed the backs of his eyes. It was something he seemed to know of, "Yes, yes!" Arthur couldn't help but show his elation, madly grinning as he seized on the moment, "What did it say? What did the green text say? Do you know what it is? Do you know who controls it?"

For a short while, Grant didn't respond, only look blankly at Arthur as the ferocity faded away to vacancy. The Labrador felt despondency beginning to grip at his throat as what seemed like a positive lead was slipping away through his fingers. Maybe Grants activity came in lulls, and Arthur had just caught him at a volatile time, and now the panther was slipping back into unresponsiveness. The dog cursed under his breath as he realised he might not have the hope he'd been yearning for, scratching the back of his head as he considered what to do. He could try persisting with Grant, but he had no idea how much longer he could spend with the feline before he'd have to flee again, or fear getting caught by Cheryl and Tyson. He might try speaking with Valerie, but then again she might very well be harbouring resentment to Arthur, though it seemed impractical to her. All he needed was a plan, that's all Arthur wanted. All he wanted was some direction to take.

"I saw..." Grant mumbled, pupils expanding to dark pools of empty black, "...everything... out in the desert, when I died."

His body seemed to be falling lax and he retreated, skulking back into the darkness from which he emerged like a feral animal, wounded, returning home. Arthur decided he wouldn't press the panther anymore, figuring he'd drilled for all the information he could glean for now, and he dare not go anywhere within the cat's reach for fear the rage might return just as quickly. Arthur breathed a ragged sigh, a sensation he chalked up to something between relief from the tension and relief from the physical exertion he'd been under. He hadn't realised just how weary he was, everything aching and his body demanding that he rest.

But something wouldn't let him pause. He could feel his senses back on edge just as he had considered relaxing, and his eyes snapped open. There was the sensation of somebody watching him, the same feeling he'd had before outside, only it felt more real and founded.

A creak from the doorway confirmed his suspicions, as Arthur looked over to where he'd come in, only to see the silhouette of a towering hulk blotting out the moonlight. The quiet face of a Rottweiler stared at him, sad eyes almost relieved.

"Tyson..." Arthur started, his throat running dry and his voice cracking, "Tyson, please, I swear I didn't kill myself. You have to help me..."

"How did you escape...?" The Rottweiler asked bewildered, "How did you even know to come here? What _are_you even doing here? The things you spoke about with Grant... how did you know to ask all that? Just... What the fuck, Arty... what the fuck..." He sounded defeated, just as Arthur did, morose and battered like it had been just as hard a day as it had been for the Labrador. Arthur couldn't risk getting captured now though, he could feel himself getting closer to the truth and everything inside him was screaming for just a chance, a chance to figure everything out.

"Please, Tyson, if everything between us had meant anything at all... that night, then please, tell me this and be honest..." the Labrador closed the gap between them and placed his paws against the Rottweiler's heavy chest, feeling the thundering heart pounding madly beneath his breast, "Do you really think I killed myself, when you'd saved me from the nightmare?"

Tense, heavy seconds passed by as Arthur looked up into the pained eyes of the Rottweiler, who held back so much distress and fear, and waited. The Rottweiler's breathing, laboured and frightened, was all he could hear in his ears, the heat from the dog radiating against his paw with each tempered heartbeat. Truly Tyson, of all the people in this strange world, hadn't abandoned him yet.

"No... I don't think you did." Arthur felt relief surge through him, a laugh of happiness nearly bursting from his lips, but he held it back. Instead, all that swelling love and joy he conveyed into a spurred kiss, planting himself against the Rottweiler's mouth and acting on instinct. Though Tyson was still shivering from horrific anxiety and embittered frustration, it all melted away in that single moment as the pain between them was quelled. Arthur felt the Rottweiler wrap his arms around the him, paws holding him close with an almost fear of letting go, and they stayed like that for as long as Arthur dared, his mind constantly worrying of them being caught together. When they broke apart, lips leaving one another's Tyson spoke again, "But you need to explain everything to me... I want to help you, but I need to know, Arty. Just what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know myself... but I know I'm getting closer. For now though I need to hide. Once Cheryl realises I'm gone and she figures out you're helping me, she'll come for us both. And if you want me to explain, we'll need to hole up somewhere..."

Tyson nodded, briskly, but with a paw placed on the Labrador's shoulders, he herded him away, leaving behind the madman to his manor and his ramblings. But Arthur couldn't help but look back over his shoulder, as they snuck to the Rottweiler's truck to drive off into the night, and wonder just what exactly Grant had seen that had made him go insane, and just what exactly he had learnt that was so important to understanding the mystery that plagued this town.

Arthur would find the answers. He'd be damned if he didn't.