Though I suspect after Solan’s earlier display, they’re even warier than they were.
“Thanks,” I offer, squeezing his large palm.
Shanae pauses as we break free from the dense jungle, her eyes narrowing towards something in the distance. I follow her gaze, blinking rapidly as the sight before me registers.
At first, I think it’s a mirage, some trick of the heat and exhaustion. But no. It’s there. It’s real. And it’s… a bowling alley.
Not just any bowling alley, mind you. The alley is bright pink, its gaudy neon lights still somehow flickering faintly despite what must be years of wear and tear, with a massive sign on top that reads“Strike It Rich Lanes!”The smiling caricature of abowling pin holding a sack of cash winks down at us, though one of its eyes is cracked and darkened.
Jamie is the first to react. He stops dead in his tracks, jaw dropping. “What… the… heck?”
I bark out a laugh, the sound sharp and unhinged. “Bloody hell. It’s a bowling alley. In the middle of a jungle.”
Shanae sighs, running a hand over her face. “It came through in one of the merges. No one knows why or how. We use it now, but… yeah. It’s a bowling alley.”
I can’t stop laughing. The absurdity of it all hits me square in the chest. After everything we’ve been through—fireballs, monsters, jungle predators—this is what finally breaks me. Tears sting my eyes as I double over, clutching my stomach.
Solan steps closer, his expression one of deep confusion. “I don’t understand. Is this structure… important to your people?”
“Not in the slightest,” I wheeze, wiping at my face. “It’s for a game. You roll a heavy ball at pins and try to knock them down. That’s it. That’s all it’s for.”
Solan’s brow furrows, his golden eyes darting between me and the garish building. “And this… entertains you?”
Shanae groans. “Welcome to Earth culture.”
Jamie chimes in, “It’s fun, though. And they have burgers and hot chips and arcade games!”
“Burgers?” Solan repeats, his expression even more bewildered. I suspect he’s filtering through his memories of every Arnie movie he’s ever watched, trying to recall if he’s ever heard of a burger being mentioned.
I lose it again, laughing so hard, I can barely stand. The bubbling hysteria feels cathartic, a release of everything I’ve been holding in since this nightmare began.
Even Shanae cracks a small smile, though her amusement is short-lived. She steps forwards, her tone turning serious. “Allright, laugh it up now, but keep it together when we go inside. The rebel leader is… intense.”
I blink, sobering slightly. “Intense how?”
“You’ll see,” Shanae says cryptically. “Just… don’t provoke him.”
The laughter peters out completely as her words sink in. A ripple of unease moves through our group, the rebels exchanging wary glances.
As we approach the building, I notice more details—reinforced steel plating bolted to the walls, makeshift barricades around the perimeter, and several sentries perched on what used to be the roof. They watch us closely, their weapons trained but not raised, their expressions unreadable.
Shanae leads us through the entrance, the glass doors now replaced with heavy metal ones that creak ominously as they swing open. Inside, the transformation is even more jarring.
The bowling lanes have been repurposed into a training area, the polished wood now scuffed and scratched from years of use. Tables and chairs from what must have been the snack bar are arranged in clusters, covered with maps, blueprints, and weapons. The air is thick with the hum of activity—people of various species moving with purpose, their voices a low murmur beneath the steady clatter of… is that someone actually bowling in the distance?
Shanae leads us towards the back, where an oversized table has been constructed from salvaged materials. Seated at its head is someone who I assume to be the rebel leader.
He’s humanoid, but only just. His skin is a deep, iridescent purple that shimmers like oil under light, and his eyes are a piercing silver that glow faintly in the dim room. Horns curve elegantly from his temples, framing a face that is both striking and unnerving. His build is massive, his presence commanding.
He watches us approach, his gaze sharp and assessing. When he speaks, his voice is deep and resonant with an almost-musical quality. “Shanae. You’ve returned.”
“Yes, and with new arrivals,” Shanae says, gesturing to our group. “This is?—”
“I know who they are,” the leader interrupts, his eyes locking onto me with unsettling intensity. “The ones from the latest rift.”
I straighten instinctively under his scrutiny, my heart pounding. Solan moves closer to my side, his protective presence both comforting and grounding.
The leader’s gaze shifts to Solan, and for a long, tense moment, the two of them simply stare at each other, as though sizing each other up.
