Five years ago.

Location: The western and slightly-northerly (but not too northerly) desert.

Emma kept vigil on the shifting sands. She had for days. No one was ready to speak yet. The colors of sunset splashed upon the waves of granular earth, creating the effect of stained glass that died off in a somber blue at the horizon line. Stained glass is fitting, Emma thought. Back when she was on Earth, the real Earth, she had never been religious. And now, after two years spent living out the sick twisted joke of some primordial trickster god, she knew she never would be. There was only one thing she could have faith in now: that there was a chance her and her party could get back home.

Now she grasped her faith tightly like a snake, constricting it, squeezing it for every ounce of hope she could. Brennan was dead. She never thought he would be the first. The pain of regret shot through her heart as she struggled to maintain her hope. Her misery was like squeezing blood out of a stone. Everything ached. Everything held sharp pain. Nothing ached. Everything was dull. Nothing made sense. As the sun sank further over the horizon, the colorful desert gave Emma the distinct impression of shattering glass, until all was a deep blue.

Fuck. I need to say something.

She was the party leader now. And she hadn’t spoken for days. Brennan had made her the deputy on day one. He had made rules for this case. If he was to die. It was almost like he expected it.

“Guys. I’m sorry.” She collapsed on the sand and cried.

Asenette sat down next to Emma and hugged her. Perrin threw another kobold bone onto the fire, the crack of marrow popped in a smidge of smoke in the nighttime air. Davinci, who was scrolling on the Zune, sighed and sat on Emma’s right, showing the screen to Emma. It was the 1995 Very-Late Show with Guy Blanco interview with Roan Jivers. Emma chuckled at the sextuagenerian actress’s sex joke. The fact that the Gunslinger wished she had appreciated the actress more when she was back on Earth was another regret from the two years she had spent on Joke Earth. That, however, was a regret she could fix once she was back. If she ever got back to Earth. Her faith cracked a little bit more.

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“It was everyone’s fault, Emma. We thought we understood leveling. We were wrong. Dead wrong. We didn’t know dragon’s could take levels. Hell, we didn’t know anyone could take levels besides us. And it sure” Perrin grabbed another kobold bone and threw it into the fire in his frustration. “Take that motherfucker! I’ll see you in hell you son of a bitch.” he yelled. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“On the bright side,” Davinci interjected in his thick Kazakhstani accent, “we got all of the dragon’s gems in the Bag of Holding. Do you guys remember the look on that fucker’s face? It was glorious. It was like a big chihuahua who tried to fight a bigger dog, and the bigger dog finally barked. You know?”

The group gave a pity-chuckle. The dragon’s reaction would have been funny if Emma hadn’t just watched her brother be immolated. His screams lurked at the back of her head. She had to do something to stop this pain. Something to punish herself for her failure. She looked at the Zune. Brennan’s Zune. The one item that had kindled the flame of the party’s hopes for the past two years. Brennan had filled it to the brim with Guy Blanco episodes and the music of obscure twentieth century American composer Lou Harrison. She’d grown to love both things of those things in her time on absurdia. Everyone had. It was all they had left of the past. Of Earth. The pain of losing the Zune, Emma needed it to feel whole again. It didn’t make any sense, but she knew she had to get rid of it.

“Give me the Zune. I want to bury him with it.” Emma said, coldly.

Davinci recoiled, and tried to hide it away.

“Give it to her, dick. It’s her’s, she can do what she wants with it.” Asenette said. Davinci cowed, and handed Emma the Zune.

“Sorry, Emma.” Davinci looked guilty. Disgust bubbled up in Emma’s head. First at herself, and then at Davinci. That’s right. We deserve this pain. Fucking coward.

She ran for ten minutes northward. She knew where the spot was, right next to the thirty foot tall saguaro. The moment she was at the plant's base she dropped to her knees and frantically tossed up sand, looking for the shroud of cloth they had buried the charred body in. Brennan’s hand had slipped out, somehow. Emma closed her eyes, and felt around for the hand, and caressed it for a minute. It would be the last time she ever touched her brother. She wretched at the smell of overcooked meat. Quickly she scrolled through the Zune, put on her brother’s favorite episode of Guy Blanco, set it within his burnt fingers.

The smell of overcooked meat wafted into her nose again. The dragon’s face flashed through her eyes. She vomited, she sobbed, and then she wailed.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bastard. I’ll kill you. I swear to every single god on this dumb fucking planet that I will kill you.”

And with that one utterance, Emma abandoned her faith for vengeance. Little did she know she had probably doomed Absurdia and Earth just minutes prior.