"...singer, honored to serve under your name, but now I seek your aid..."

Metaphor softly prayed in the veil of the night. She prayed for the safety and health of Buddy, their missing friend. It was a rather lengthy prayer, but her clan had always been a wordy bunch. She and her companions, Hero, Stripe, and Tesla, decided to stay at the mill for the night. Dalton was offering them a stay, while he would try to convince their boss-- or in other words, pester them until they submit.

Metaphor was going to return to the land of sleep, but before she could do so, a mellow light briefly flooded the room through the large window which was thankfully covered with a peach curtain.

She peeked through the covers of the curtain, curious of the light, like a moth to a flame. Outside was serene, illuminated with silver moonlight. In the distance, the grand castle was ablaze with fiery light that seemed to dye the very mountains with dusky oranges. Most curious of them all was a newly arrived vehicle. It appeared to be carrying a large creature inside its large metal shell.

Metaphor grabbed her notebook, and snuck into the corridors. She was curious. Darkness was very thick in the corridors, almost bordering solidity, almost acting semi-solid. On her way to the outside, she overheard a conversation between Tesla and Dalton.

"...stop here of all places. Just why? Whose bright idea was this anyway?" Dalton shouted, almost screamed.

"Definitely ain't mine. We're just informed that they changed their minds five minutes ago. Ugh."

"I hope our guests are not awake."

Metaphor was shocked to find their Tesla and Dalton were part of some conspiracy. What was in that truck that would require secrecy? Maybe Buddy was in that truck. Buddy was regarded as a threat to national security after all.

"They're working on the hover rail as we speak. It should be ready to go by midnight."

Metaphor snuck away from her eavesdropping. She reached the chamber where the great machine was housed. Moonlight filtered through the ceiling, which appeared to have become more transparent than it was in the day. The black machine appeared silent, sleeping, dormant. Despite the peaceful appearance, the machine was far from asleep. The fluids continued to flow with equal vigor as it was during the day, cauldrons of sludge constantly churned, and loads of plastic products were still being molded.

Metaphor crawled upon the catwalks, trying to evade the notice of the great sleepless machine. She crept with her body close to the floor, producing nary a sound.

As she closed to the opening on the other side, Metaphor stepped on the panel held by loose screws. The catwalk made a sharp creak, and Metaphor winced. The great machine turned its attention towards where she was on the catwalk. She bated her breath until the machine turned its attention away from her.

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Metaphor snuck down the last corridor. Plastic doors occasionally popped left and right, and until at long last Metaphor came to the large metal door they entered the mill through. It was locked with fat looking bars and bolts, and stood strongly against her, stronger than she could hope to be.

But alas to the door for Metaphor came prepared (at least somewhat). She pulled her notebook of arcane text. She read a passage in silence, and held the meaning in hand. Her body turned to clear liquid water, and so she flowed around the door. She unfortunately had to leave her notebook behind, for the spell she casted did not affect anything beyond the caster.

Metaphor snuck out. Under the veil of night, she stealthily set sight of the truck. She slipped easily between the lax eyes of the trembling inexperienced guards. She reached the great door of the truck's container, and flowed through the cracks.

Inside the back of the truck was a space obscured completely by solid shadows. Not even shapes could be seen. Metaphor's watery self had solidified now, replacing water with flesh and blood.

"Buddy?" Metaphor whispered.

"Metaphor?" A weakened voice quietly replied. "D-do not move. Leave."

The voice sounded like it belonged to Buddy, but Metaphor's sight could not pierce the darkness. She followed the voice, hoping the source was indeed Buddy as she thought it was.

She slowly, and carefully traversed the dark truckscape which was oddly devoid of obstacles. The dark space was empty. Stagnant air hanged in the atmosphere like knives held aloft by thread.

"W-wait a second. No." The voice whispered. "Th-this... Save yourself."

Metaphor carefully followed the voice, but amidst her walk, she tripped upon what seems to a pipe, a round pewter pipe. She then fell into a puddle of liquid. Blood? Soap? Grease? Oil? She could not determine what the liquid was. It was too dark to see it. The liquid smelled... oddly like roses.

"Metaphor?" The voice went again. The source was very close perhaps even standing right above her head.

Drips could be heard. The source was clearly sopping wet. Metaphor moved her gaze to the creature that was now standing before her. The darkness was obscuring her sight, but with a snap of a finger, she summoned an orb of light, banishing the darkness.

Buddy was standing before her, pitiful. Its shiny red coat soaked with the strange rosy grease of the puddle they stood upon. In Buddy's green eyes were flaming hot coals of scorn.

"You should have turned around, gone to sleep," Buddy began. It stepped closer towards Metaphor who now had risen from the puddle. Buddy then proceeded to hug Metaphor, and Metaphor hesitantly hugged back. The feeling of warmth flooded through Metaphor's system.

Metaphor felt something on Buddy's back. A metal box. A metallic box with an arm attached to it. In the arm's hand was a syringe with an clear liquid inside, ready to strike and inject. The arm was tense with its joints taut, ready to swing at any moment. Fear began to drizzle within her.

Metaphor tried to escape, but Buddy's hold was fast, firm, and inescapable. She squirmed, but could break its grip. She cried for help, but the walls of the truck muffled them.

"I am sorry, Metaphor. I am truly sorry." Greasy tears flowed Buddy's eyes. "But this is for the best. If only you turned back."

The metal arm swung hard. The needle struck Metaphor's scales with enough force to shatter one. It pierced through her skin, and the clear chemical flowed into her bloodstream.

She felt woozy, dizzy. Empty blackness darker than darkness itself swiftly crept at her eyesight until it completely consumed her vision. Her consciousness frayed, and sleep overcame her. Her unconscious body drooped, and laid on Buddy's shoulders.