Faust decided against having a dream sequence, because everybody just skips those anyway. Instead, he lay back and enjoyed the odd sensation of heat that always rose from his body when he was incredibly tired. When he got like this, an hour could pass in a blink, and his brain shut out all light and sound. 

Gunshots woke him.

First came one, the sound racketing through the narrow passageways of the tower. Then another, and another, the rumble crescendoing until it became so distortingly loud that even when Faust covered his ears the shots still thumped him in the chest.

Connie jumped in front of the sofa, slinging the axe as if to defend him. Faust felt a pang of envy rising in his gut as he took in the sight of her apartment — it reminded him of how little he had to his name. Why would someone successful even tolerate being on a team with a pauper like him?

"What should we do?" she shouted above the noise. "Is he coming?"

"I doubt it," said Faust.

"What?"

Oh, right. The mumbling. Projection seemed to come so naturally to other people.

"I doubt it," he shouted. "It's more likely that their standoff just turned into a shootout."

Tarquin erupted from underneath the pile of cushions, launching them throughout the room as he said, "But we should go and help them, right? We haven't got much time! Let's be off before they—"

As abruptly as it began, the shooting gave way to silence, which gave way to tinnitus. Outside, the wind howled and the three team members looked at one another, dread on their faces.

"I sure hope I don't have to prep any more bodies today," said Faust. "Especially the child."

"Depending on who just won down there, you might be prepping ours, man," said Connie. "What are the chances it was Beck?"

"I counted twelve shots," said a woman.

Faust turned to the voice, feeling like his privacy had been somehow violated , and saw Eirlys sitting up on the bed, adjusting her glasses, one arm draped over the tiger.

"Eirlys!" beamed Connie. "Glad to see you're up. Can I get you a drink?"

But Tarquin had already rushed forward with a steaming thermos, saying, "Careful, young miss. You've just been through a bad case of hypothermia — you were completely delirious, weren't you? Don't you think you should be taking it easy for now?"

Eirlys looked past him to stare at Faust joylessly. Smiling at her was like smiling at a spider. She had an air about her that instantly made him feel insecure, like nothing that he did would ever be enough to make her acknowledge him.

"Thank you for looking after me," she said, shaking her head at Tarquin's coffee. "But if you insist on continuing with these pleasantries, I would rather talk to the moody one."

"Pleasantries?" asked Tarquin, taken aback, while Connie's face fell.

"Moody one?" exploded Faust. "I'm not moody! I'm just… eh…  it doesn't look like you'd know an emotion if it stabbed you in the heart!"

"Uh uh," she tutted. "Before we argue, somebody should barricade the door."

"Alright, man, Jesus, I'll do it," said Connie, storming over to the entrance. "Oh wait, it's an automatic door! What do you propose I do to stop it from sliding open, you fucking boffin?"

"Is it locked?"

Connie silently pressed a button on the panel. "Yeah! Who do you take me for?"

"Sorry. I'm more of a situation than a people person." Eirlys stood up and stretched, effortlessly towering over Tarquin. "Can I know the names of my saviours?"

Connie stuck her tongue out. Tarquin politely looked to Faust.

"Faust," said Faust. "The moody one who tells himself he's going to die on the phone."

"Thank you, Faust," said Eirlys, strolling up to him and inspecting him from head to toe, paying particular attention to his ropelike beard. God, she probably thought he was an absolute loser for never shaving. "Do you remember recording your own phone message?"

"No." Hearing himself speak on Tarquin's phone had been the last big nope of the morning, and Faust had forced himself to nap before he could think too hard about it. Just... ugh.

"Hang on now," said Connie, disrespectfully pulling Faust closer to her, "We haven't even had a chance to discuss this as a team! Where do you get off butting in?"

Eirlys trained her eyes on Connie's t-shirt and said, without a trace of emotion, "That's an exceptionally expensive shirt..."

"... It’s Connie!" she beamed, smoothing back her hair. "And thank you! Your hoodie is pretty cool too!"

Eirlys nodded. "I will thank your team for saving me by pledging my support for a vote of your choice. I was just thinking that Faust here is... lucky... to have found himself in such an interesting situation."

"Who spoke on the phone for you?" asked Connie.

"For me, an Australian woman. For Saheel, an Irish man. For Greer... Greer. What happened to Greer?"

And there Faust saw it, for the briefest of moments — a tense mouth, water in her eyes, and then as if nothing had happened, back to granite. Faust got the impression that smoothing it over with pleasantries would probably break her down even more, so he was quick to reply.

"We couldn't save her in time," said Faust. "Some wanker wants to be a megalomaniacal antagonist, and he filibustered until the count hit 10,000."

"Oh." Eirlys tucked her hands into her hoodie pouch. "And Saheel?"

"We don't know, do we?" said Tarquin, oddly harshly. "After those shots, we just don't know."

Eirlys walked over to the floor-length windows, Connie hovering around her to study her reaction, making Faust radiate with envy. Was this really an appropriate moment to revel in the success of her career? What the hell did stuff like status matter now that they were all going to die anyway?

Eirlys stared long and hard out into the clouds, before saying, "He'll come through."

"Are you sure?" asked Connie, leaning on the glass. "Did he have a gun, or something?"

"We agreed — the three of us, that is — that if somebody insisted on voting no to everything to appear to be interesting, then we'd have to force their hand."

Faust shuddered at her intonation. It made her stoicism sound like barely contained malice. He nearly jumped out of his skin when somebody broke the silence by rapping their knuckles on the locked front door.

They looked at each other, and after pointing back and forth silently, nominated Connie to tiptoe over to the entrance with the axe. At the same time, Tarquin crept to the knife block and passed around kitchen knives. The metal felt dead cold in Faust's hands.

They gathered around the door, heartbeats in their ears, spreading out so that they could leap out from different angles to attack. Connie sliced the axe through the air a couple of times, making a whooshing sound, then jammed her elbow into the door button, quickly bringing her weapon above her head—

"Shit fuck!" she cried, dropping the axe with a thud. "It's... it's the kid."

Kari poked their bloodstained head through the door, made eye contact with every one of them, and beckoned.