“They really fucked this city up, huh?” Thomas asked himself as he entered a large dilapidated shack situated between a handful of dark and empty skyscrapers. Neonight Basin was the lowermost part of the city, below even the sewers that collected the vast amount of rainwater that came down. It was festering and ridden with crime and illness. A perfect place for Thomas Finn to collect what he wanted so desperately without any oversight.

“Thomas!” a man in a suit that was stained with mildew called from behind a small washed-out podium. The entryway into the rest of The House of Memories was behind him, and the two were standing in a small entryway with peeling wallpaper, water damage, and holes punched in the drywall as a result of angry patrons. “It’s been too long!”

Or way too short, Thomas thought. “Yeah, I’ve been a bit . . . busy . . . y’know, on my grind and whatever. You get it, Frank,” Thomas answered nervously.

“Yeah, I get it. Just head on through. We’ll put whatever you grab on your tab. Hey, that rhymed!” Frank responded enthusiastically.

“It sure did, buddy.” Don’t quit your day job, Frank. “It sure did,” Thomas repeated as he walked through the doorway behind the “bouncer,” Frank. Inside was a large, dank, dimly lit living room with dozens of individuals of all walks of life collapsed on floors and couches alike, their eyes rolled back into their heads and glazed over with a bluish hue. It breaks my heart to come here. Maybe I’ll start a business where people deliver the Chorus right to you! Wait, no. Self-improvement, self-improvement, Thomas thought as he stepped over a passed-out young teenage girl, her mouth wide open and slack-jawed. “Phantrana,” Thomas whispered as a set of phantom hands lifted the girl up and placed her upright on a couch, while Thomas kept walking.

He stepped into a dank backroom, which was about the size of a janitorial closet, and began to lift several bottles off of the shelves and into his backpack. He could smell the other patrons, covered in their own sweat, vomit, and . . . other things. But it didn’t register as a sense of disgust to Thomas. It smelled familiar. He would have no right to judge them. He would have no right to blame them either. Imagine waking up one moment after the happiest moments of your life, to reveal it had all been a dream, and you’re in some horrible place far away from happiness. Thomas would go back into the fantasy. He did, almost every day. It was a cycle that too many people ignored.

Thomas spun around suddenly as he felt a tug on his sweater. “Look, I’m not buying anything for anyone, okay? Oh.” Thomas saw that a young child—about ten, maybe younger—was trying to get his attention.

“Mommy?” she said.

“Um, I’m sorry kid, but I’m not your mommy.” Thomas noticed that the kid’s eyes were tinged blue, and his heart sank. “Um, listen . . . oh, who am I kidding? You can’t hear me.” Thomas grabbed the child’s hand, who kept saying the word Mommy repeatedly every few seconds, caught in a loop. Oh, Jesus, I can’t believe kids are getting a hold of this stuff now . . . It’s getting worse. This entire section of the city is already dependent on it, and now this . . . I need to get this kid somewhere safe.

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Thomas walked out of the closet with the young girl, pulling her by the hand into the large living room, past the Chorus-drunk inhabitants, and into the front foyer. Except, while Thomas expected to exit into a small, cramped waiting area, he instead emerged in a bathroom. “What the fuck? Did I go through the wrong door or something?”

“Mommy.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all miss our mommies. Trust me. It doesn’t go away. Now let’s get out of here,” Thomas said in disgust as he saw the various fluids on the floor of the tiny, yellowed bathroom. “It’s carpeted. This is no place for a child,” Thomas said, pulling the girl by the hand as they returned through the way they came. And found themselves in a large basement. “This . . . this isn’t right,” Thomas said aloud as he saw the massive concrete expanse that he now found himself inside. It had a very low ceiling, and Thomas was barely short enough to stand up straight. It faded into darkness after only a few feet. It felt like being in an abandoned underground parking garage.

“Mommy.”

“Yeah, I’m freaked out too. This is called a Civ attack. Can you say Civ attack?”

“Beldam,” the girl said.

“That’s pretty close, I guess. Why am I talking to you like you’re a baby? Come on. I’ll help you find your mother.” Thomas spun around to look back at the metal door the two had just walked through. But upon closer inspection, Thomas could see that a thin line of bright purple thread had lined the doorway. “Who would sew into a door?” Thomas laughed to himself before opening it and stepping through, only to find himself still in the dark underground. A shocked and panicked expression covered Thomas’s face as he stepped back through and looked around, soon spotting a doorway a few dozen feet away on a far wall. And through it, he could see himself, looking away. “Fuck,” Thomas whispered. “Sorry for the language, child.”

“Where the fuck is that kid?” Thomas heard a female voice echo through the underground garage. She sounded like she was yelling but also like she was still far away. Then, Thomas heard a male voice say something—too quiet for him to hear the specifics of but loud enough to know something had been said.

Thomas pulled the girl behind a piece of old furniture—a mildewy couch that had been flipped on its back. This entire underground storage area seemed full of stuff like this, although Thomas couldn’t make out the entire basement of the House of Memories. If he even still was in the House of Memories. Who the hell is doing this? And whose voices are those? I feel like I’ve heard them before, Thomas thought as he unleashed a phantom eye and ear to travel towards the sounds of the voices. Standing around more overturned furniture about fifty feet away were three figures—one woman with long, messy red hair that made her look crazy and a seven-foot-tall giant of a man, with long blue hair braided into chains, his face obscured by the darkness.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be down here, Dad?” the turquoise-haired woman asked.

No answer.

Oh fuck. I knew it was unsafe to come here while the people who owned it were hunting me down. Well, I didn’t, but still. Also, the child? Thomas thought as he looked over at the girl he had been dragging around this weird place. “Are they talking about you?” he whispered.

“Beldam,” she answered quietly.

“That’s not really a yes or no answer. Is that why you wanted my attention? Are they after you t—” Thomas cut himself off as his vision shifted to a different scene. A view of the same underground storage area, only from a different perspective. He was higher off the ground and could see the enormous figure of Cyrille. He was seeing from Celine’s eyes. He could still see through his phantom eye, but his view of the young girl had vanished.

“I see her. She’s down here.” Thomas heard Celine say. “She’s hiding with someone behind a couch,” she uttered while Cyrille scanned the basement. Catching a view of Thomas’s phantom eye.