The Second Wave

 There were more of them now. They'd discovered that almost as soon as they'd been teleported to England. There were four more 'culprits' and four more characters. Of the four 'culprits', there were all sorts of ethnic backgrounds. There was Hanien, a girl from Dubai. There was a Scot named Fiona, Joanne's friend apparently. There was a Filipino girl who went by the name of Kriss - sometimes Krisscross - and Giovanna from Brazil. Hanien had brought with her Thomas LeFroy, Fiona had brought Dr. Nicholas Garrigan, with Giovanna was Robbie and Kriss had been accompanied by Max Campion - wait, Johnny Martin. Yeah, Johnny.
 They had resurfaced somewhere anonymous with absolutely no landmarks to speak of, which was where they'd found what they'd named 'The Second Wave'. They'd been sitting vacantly on the ground in pairs, the pairs leaning against each other, nobody saying anything. It took a while to determine the identity of Johnny but this was mostly due to the confusion over whether his Realised form would take the shape of his true form or of the supposed persona of Max. They were sat on a rolling hill in the middle of what they'd been informed within their head was English countryside.
 They had originally decided - at Brian's suggestion - to walk and walk and eventually they'd have to be directed where they were going by the Head Voice. They'd walked in relative oppression, but conversation had been present. It just wasn't the rowdy larks that had been had in the Meeting Place.
 "Do you think you'll ever try University Challenge again?" Joanne asked Brian, to which he replied, "I doubt they'd let me."
 "What's your favourite dish to make?" Tara asked Joe, to which he replied, "Vegetables. I hate cutting the heads off things."
 "Are the clothes okay?" Jan asked Mr. Tumnus, to which he replied, "My backside is burning up like the fires of Hades. But other than that I'm great."
 "Can you show me how to bend bullets?" Eliphia asked Wesley, to which he replied, "Considering I myself am fictional here, I'm sure that ability is just as unreal."
 Then they'd come across the eight subdued figures.
 "Hello?" Mr. Tumnus called, "Who have we here?"
 "Four characters, all male. Four culprits, all female," Nicholas returned, "You?"
 "Four in turn of each of the same."
 "What?"
 "Four characters, four culprits. Same gender split."
 "Fifi?!" Joanne cried.
 "Jo?" a cute, short girl replied, "You too, huh?"
 "Yup. Okay I can see you're with Nicholas Garrigan. Who's that behind you?"
 "Is it Robbie?" Jan squinted.
 "No it's Tom!" Eliphia decided.
 "Oh, yeah," Jan pointed to the other side of the path, "There's Robbie!"
 "And that would be Max - I mean Johnny - do I?" Tara concluded.
 "Yeah, the name's Johnny," he curled his accent around the words.
 The First joined the Second on the hill for an anxious catch-up. Now they were on their way to ...

Bristol

The Orb

 It flickered and buzzed as if its existence was only conditional on whether or not it actually desired to exist. It was a perfect sphere and was coloured a sort of translucent indigo. It hovered about the height of Pippin the Hobbit off of the ground. Shimmering, it was enticing, inviting them to set the world straight. For surely that was what it was, what they were looking for. This floating, insubstantial orb, was surely the reason they were in Chicago. Presumably, there would be others that they'd have to collect.
 Brian was fascinated. Brian loved to be fascinated. It was his favourite thing to be. Of course, he preferred to fascinate other people, but fascination was the next best thing. This was impossible. There was no projector attached to any wall anywhere. There was nobody shining a torch down the alleyway. There were no gaps in the brick-work where a light from a building could have shone through. Besides, this was the wrong shape. A ray of escaped light would be a straight line. This was a circle.
 The were in a slim alley fitted between the café they'd just left and a barber next door. Joanne had spotted a glint of blue teasing them from within and had grabbed Brian's sleeve to alert him. He'd alerted the rest of the group, which followed him and Joanne down the alley. Now they stood waiting, hoping for that voice to tell them what they were supposed to do. None came. Brian shot his hand through the light. It shimmered violently but recovered. He then proceeded to slap his forehead with the ball of his hand.
 "Idiot!" he cried, "Of course!"
 Jan raised an eyebrow, "What? Of course what?"
 "It's Wesley," Brian's eyes lit up, "It has to be Wesley!"
 "You mean...?" Wesley murmured, "You mean I can make it go away?"
 "Yeah," Brian nodded elatedly.
 Wesley readied himself and took a deep breath. He extended the tip of his finger into the blueness. Immediately, Wesley's entire form tinted blue, then returned to its regular hue with a twinkling flash of light. And the orb was gone.
 Wesley inspected his , then gingerly showed his fingertips to Brian, presuming that he'd know what to do. Brian nodded.
 "What is it?" Joanne asked.
 Wesley extended his index fingers and displayed them to the group. The tips were stained blue as if a ballpoint had exploded in his hands. He rubbed them gingerly against his thumbs but none of the colour was imparted to them. After a few moments, the smudges dissipated into defined rings that circumnavigated the spot just below his fingernail.
 "It's part of you now," Brian announced, "And we'll be hoping to follow your lead soon."

 Sooner than anyone had expected. Through another portal they plummeted, resurfacing in somewhere a whole lot chillier than Chicago.

Carl's Diner

 And so they were back. Though of course they hadn't moved. The information of their whereabouts had been temporarily blocked from their minds, in the same way that the fish had not been revealed to them, and they'd been refused existence of the room. In essence it was brainwash but what was inflicting it? What was placing that knowledge - whether truth or lies - into their brains? Eliphia and Wesley had talked about it many times and were now almost certain that they could beat it.
 When you look at a photograph, you're immediately flooded with memories of when it was taken. It happens with words too. When you say 'factory', you immediately picture a squalid lump of cement, with turret funnels protruding high into the sky, clouds of pollutant steam being born and unleashed into the world like a pet monster. Therefore, if they combined memory and images, they only had to associate a word -which had its own image - and an image with a memory.
 For example: The memory to be preserved was Eliphia walking to school. She associated the image of litter with the memory. She wrote litter on her arm. When she looked at the word litter, she saw litter, then jumped to the litter on the way to her school.
 So, to remember that a room existed beyond that door - the one where they'd been "convinced" it did not exist, just before they'd all met up - they remembered the room they'd started in. They concentrated on that and wrote 'room' with a pen in Wesley's pocket onto their forearms. They hadn't blinked as they stared at it and the struggle made their veins pop with effort to simply remember the concept of 'room'. Worrying what this meant the sinister power contained within the murky clouds of the ... room ... was capable of, they had felt their victory hollow.
 They didn't know what they'd have to remember but they were confident something would be "convinced" out of them. They relayed their instructions to everyone else ... and those were the last words they smoke in that place.

 Once again they plummeted through a tunnel of semi-consciousness and aroused in a café. It was night time but the darkness outside was halted at the window. Chairs slid in and out from tables and plates clattered like castanets. They were sat at a square table with two chairs to an edge.
 "Where are we?" Mr. Tumnus asked. Thankfully his clothes had teleported along with him and were now stretched uncomfortably across his form.
 The group collectively shrugged, except for one member.
 "Chicago," Wesley murmured, "I'm home."
 Eliphia could sense that Wesley had tensed up. His muscles were raised about a centimetre from where they'd lay, relaxed, in the flesh of his forearm. Eliphia placed a hand on his arm and rapped out a simple rhythm on it with her fingers. Yet Wesley did not seem to notice. Bones jutted out of his neck and his head trembled with the effort of staying still when he so obviously wanted to stand up.
 They were approached by a rotund man with a flabby face and puffing breath. His skin was coloured a deep, luscious violet, as if he'd only just completed the London Marathon. The veins on his arms and face were criss-crossed in a network of pink zig-zags, each line perhaps the width of a spider's leg. His eyes popped out of his head like an impaled pig's when he laid eyes on Wesley.
 "Wes?" he shook his head, "Why, I've not seen you since you gave that Janice a talking to. I didn't even have the chance to congratulate you, eh? That woman's needed putting in her place since the day she tapped her little infant foot and demanded a feeding."
 "Thanks, I guess, Carl," Wesley almost choked with nerves.
 "So where've you been? And who're all your friends? May I say those three gents do look a great deal like you," Carl furrowed his brow.
 "Well..." Wesley attempted.
 A startlingly accurate American accent sprang from Brian's lips, "We're his brothers."
"You never mentioned them, Wes," Carl tutted, "How negligent of you!"
 "Sorry," Wesley muttered.
 Carl took their orders and fussed a great deal over Tara, Joanne, Jan and Eliphia, whom Brian had gone on to list as 'cousins'. After a greasy burger and some fat chips, they were ready to move on.

Marching Order Map

Jan could tell how uncomfortable Mr. Tumnus was in the dungarees. The material scraped up and down his legs, ruffling the fur. Whenever he stood up, a protesting lump rose from the small of his back. When Jan referenced to it Mr. Tumnus leaned into her shoulder and whispered straight down her ear canal that it was in fact his tail. Jan spluttered in a mixture of laughter and horror at the fact that he thought he still had to hide. The room was of amicable temperature so Jan nodded at his pleading stare.
 Mr. Tumnus cleared his throat, "What I'm about to do may be misconstrued as somewhat salacious and I would like to now dispel these impressions. I want to make a good impression, really, I do, but this just has to be done."
 He whipped off his t-shirt first, then shimmied out of his trousers and propped himself back onto the table. He had expected a glance or two but even Jan was transfixed by his head, actually just above it.
 "Oh right," Mr. Tumnus reached his hand to his head, "Hat."
 And there was the faun. In no way hidden, with his horns, legs and tail on display for all humans to mock. But of course they didn't. They were like young Lucy. They'd never do anything to hurt him. No.
 "So it's true," Brian Jackson was the first to speak, "I assumed your legs and tail would become costume when you got here -"
 "Brian, stop," Jan warned.
 "I was just going to say that'd have been a right shame!" Brian protested.
 Jan grinned at him and Brian nodded his understanding.
 "So ... anybody else of a different species?" Mr. Tumnus ventured.
 "Shame Professor X isn't here," Eliphia observed.
 The group fell silent as they realised that, somewhere out there, Professor X and every other James McAvoy character could well be floundering around on their way here. Then they were interrupted.

 The half-essence squirted from countless nozzles that appeared around the room - more likely they had simply "not noticed" them - and swirled from lonesome tendrils into an angry mob of cloudy smoke that engulfed everybody in a shroud of confusion. They were paralysed by the smoke but each individual paranoid that he or she was the sole victim of this predicament. None need have feared, for had they been physically able to move, they'd have been rooted to the spot by an undefined terror that swooped around their veins, becoming them.
 They were not in that room, but they weren't anywhere new. It was as if their location was unimportant and so had been left out. They weren't anywhere, because they didn't need to be. If they could be described as anywhere, they were trapped in the murky depths that we tumble into when we close our eyes to sleep. They were of course - bodily - still in the exact same positions but their minds were nowhere.
 They saw a map, a map of the world. Marked out were many red blimps. They ranged around the western world - Great Britain, America - and there was even a single pulsing light in Africa. It became clear upon further inspection that this was placed specifically in Uganda. Sure enough, they all matched settings: one for Wesley in Chicago, one for Joe somewhere in England, one for Brian in Bristol and another somewhere in the English countryside. There were others all over the map but these four pulsed faster and brighter than the others. Nobody knew how they were supposed to get all these places - or to Narnia for that matter - but evidently those were their marching orders. They would find a way.

Custard Creams

 Joe MacBeth surveyed the inmates. They'd decided they were inmates since the doors had all shut simultaneously and of their own accord, not to mention we'd already been labelled as 'The Culprits'. The collected company could have been an insane pick-n-mix, a child throwing together all sorts of people like a selection of sweets. Joe also had the distinct impression that the entire group being 'gobbled' was not out of the question. The timid faces of the room's occupants suggested they suspected likewise - even the guy Wesley was shaking and he was apparently some kind of assassin or something. Joe hadn't contemplated being on this side of the butcher's knife. His guilt heightened.
 There were three other characters in the room and four culprits - including Tara. Maybe they weren't all culprits, just the girls. For they were all female. Was that just chance or ... The culprits - Joe thought he should perhaps instead refer to them as 'companions' - were of varying ages. There was a There were Tara and Jan, who looked fairly similar in age, though Joe couldn't have quite placed where. There was Joanne, unmistakably a teenager as she was still not full-height. And there was Eliphia who could have been either late teens or early twenties, somewhere around there. They were accompanied by Wesley, Mr. Tumnus - God knows what his age was - and Brian Jackson. Brian Jackson was interesting. He was apparently portrayed by James McAvoy in 2006, when the actor was twenty-six. Brian however, was adamant that he was eighteen years of age. Which he was, was a moral issue. Was he his character or his actor? Which was Joe? Joe had been written bad. Had James been written too? Which was he?
 All in all, it was best not to think about it.
 "What should we do, do you think?" Brian asked of nobody in particular.

 Stay put.







"Well why?" Joe asked, presuming they'd all been instructed the same.

 Your instructions will be ready soon. For now, please, have some biscuits. Enjoy yourselves, you won't be enjoying yourselves much longer. Make the most of it.






 Mr. Tumnus grinned and grabbed a custard cream. Jan tapped him on the shoulder as he did so and Tara realised he'd grabbed two, one for her and one for him. They were all sat on either chairs or edges of tables for there had not been enough chairs to accommodate them all. Those on edges of tables had positioned them to face another table, around which the chairs were arranged. Joe and Tara sat beside each other on the end of one, Jan and Mr. Tumnus on another. It had been vital that Mr. Tumnus claim a table for the chairs refused to accommodate his legs or tail, the poor faun. In the chairs were Eliphia and Wesley, on one side of the table, Joanne and Brian on the table's other side. All wore expressions a cocktail of fear, apprehension and disbelief, which made for a right glum bunch.
 They waited through thirty-seven minutes of nothing, timed almost to the second by Joanne and the watch she claimed to have had since primary five. Tara grimaced when the lunch they'd not noticed - they could guess what pesky half-essence had caused that little mix up - revealed itself on one of the tables not being sat on. It was fish. Tara's nose wrinkled upwards but she took a deep breath and nibbled her way through her share. She had no clue when next they'd be graced with more of these 'wonderful surprises'. Food could be days away. She ate the fish because she needed to, and didn't moan because she didn't want Joe to think her weak. Tara leaned on Joe once she'd finished, despite the suffocating aroma of breaded haddock that hung in the air. Joe held her steady on the edge of the table, bracing himself with the ball of his hand on the edge of the table's surface. Joe's stubble and floppy hair were pillow and duvet to Tara and she even managed a seven-minute nap to break the monotony. Despite herself she was happy, happy to be with her friends and four imaginary people she knew inside out.

Together

Brian grimaced as he zipped down the labyrinth of corridors. He detested the unknown, and yet here he was running straight into its welcoming arms - or punishing claws. He could have gone slower, in fact he reckoned Joanne would have been very grateful if he had, but he had to know. He had to know what was waiting for him. Mystery left too much to the imagination. Mystery meant he could be about to plunge into a tank of starved sharks, or be shut in a black room full of bats, or vampires, or werewolves, or monsters, or rabid dogs. Anything. He could promise himself that there was no such thing as Dracula but what if James McAvoy had done a stint as him and he was waiting around here somewhere too. Or worse. A cannibal. He hoped this guy had a tendency to play humans. Humans who did NOT eat other humans.
Then they came to the door. It had a great red disc for a doorhandle this time, instead of the maritime wheel from before. The door itself was clear but the view inside was...well it wasn't. It must have been the half-essence again because as much as he told himself there was a room beyond, something calmly assured Brian that there wasn't.
"That looks like a KFC door!" Joanne exclaimed.
Brian's stomach growled "Lunch." Brian patted it fondly and assured himself he'd get food soon. He doubted it but "something" told him he would. By now they could hear voices at the opposite end of the room and judged that it was maybe the size of the average classroom. Brian guessed that whatever waited on the other side would be far more sinister.
Joanne stood close to him and, though he fists were taught in fists, her entire being was trembling, and it wasnt particularly cold. Brian held her closer and wrapped an arm round her.
If he'd had X-Ray vision, he'd have glimpsed around the four compass points three girls or women of varying ages being held in a similar embrace by three figures who each held striking resemblance to himself and each other, even that fellow with the goat's legs.

 Enter Convergence.

 The door swung automatically into the room. Brian glanced a few inches down and to his left to match his sight line with Joanne's. She inhaled sharply and nodded. They shuffled through the door.
 The room was lined with shiny wooden planks, the kind that make you sound like an expert tap dancer as soon as you flip out a quick heel-toe. A few chairs were cluttered around the room and the half-essence had completely dispelled. The tables were constructed of an old oak wood with swirling age rings. Brian had been told to expect Wesley Gibson, Mr. Tumnus and Joe MacBeth. He spotted the faun immediately and heard the bearded man say something to the faun in a very Scottish accent so he presumed that was Joe and that the other man was Wesley.
 They were together.

Convergence

Wesley awoke in Eliphia's spare bedroom, disorientated to the point of dizziness. He recovered from almost falling out of the bed and sat up against the headboard. He had slept in a white T-shirt and a pair of boxers, the T-shirt a hurried purchase from Primark and the underwear he was already wearing. He could not figure out where he'd put his trousers and severely hoped Eliphia lived alone for he would simply have to go to breakfast without them. He sauntered downstairs and his wish was granted. Whether she lived alone or not, Eliphia was alone right now. He wasn't especially pleased to be trouserless when he'd known Eliphia under twenty-four hours, but at least she knew his predicament.

 Eliphia was sat at the table when he entered, munching on some toast. Wesley raised his eyebrows at the toaster to ask if he could make some for himself. Eliphia nodded and motioned to the cupboard that housed the bread. He hauled out the bread and slipped it into the toaster.

 "So that thing that said we had to go to all the settings for these filmsand TV shows?" Wesley turned to Eliphia.

 "Yeah?"

 "Do we have to meet up with all these other people too?"

 "Well, I'm presuming not all characters were being watched and -"

 "Please, don't say characters," Wesley grimaced.

 "All the ... people. I think we just meet up with those four people and go to those four places."

 "Where are we?"

 "New Delhi."

 "How are we going to get to Chicago?! I'll never get home."

 And then they were both tumbling. Eliphia a first-timer, Wesley practically a veteran by now, they slid through layers of reality - real, daydream, fafantasy, nightmare - then climbed doggedly back through to the real world. They were in a grey box room, lined with the half-essence that had slipped out of Eliphia's television. The floor was constructed of mirrors and Eliphia wondered if any Scottish characters had been ejected, and whether they'd be wearing kilts. Everybody knew what went on under a kilt.

 Proceed to Convergence.

 Wesley motioned to a metal door with a great tiller of a doorknob he leaned to the right and hauled open the door.

Spock Meets East 17

It would be considerably more difficult for Jan to take Mr. Tumnus out for dinner. Not because she highly doubted ever dragging him away from that electric kettle, though that was of course quite a major issue. No, mostly on account of his being a faun. X-Men had proved that the World could not accept even mutants, a species radically similar to their own so what hope did Mr. Tumnus, only half human and with a tail, have? Not much, was the answer but Jan was determined to get him outdoors. He would want to see this world. Tara had informed her that Joe had kept his head low and not been recognised as James, and so Mr. Tumnus, with an altered nose to that of his actor, would be safe if they could conceal his lower half.
"Any ideas?" Jan asked him as he flicked the kettle with a fingernail.
He finally turned around and remembered where he was, "You mean to get me outside, Ma'am?"
"Jeez, called me Jan! And yes that's what I mean."
"Well, how big are your trousers? I know my legs bend a little but I could pretend to be crippled. What about the horns?"
"Hat. And I'll get, like, some Giant Elizabethan Trousers from the fancy dress shop."
"Thank you very much. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Well, try to get used to technology and electricity," Jan handed him a tablet computer, "And remember, stay out of sight of the windows."
Mr. Tumnus nodded.

The shop had had one pair, ragged and full of holes, which would have given passage to the fur that hugged Mr. Tumnus's legs. She had proceeded to a charity shop, intending to sew together a jumble of decaying garments. What had been almost at the forefront when she'd entered the shop was a pair of loose dungarees in denim XXXL. Presumably that would accommodate the bow in his legs and provide sufficient cover to fool an observer into thinking he simply had the legfs of an elephant. They may have been women's but that wouldn't matter.
When she showed them to Mr. Tumnus, Jan realised he'd never worn clothes on his legs before and that apart from the scarf he was actually stark naked. Jan took a moment to appreciate this then it occurred to her that he must be freezing in this British summer. He shoved them on, and Jan remembered he'd survived the White Witch's eternal winter and was almost sad he'd had to cover up. No matter, she slung him a long-sleeve T-shirt and and woollen skater hat, both of which she'd discovered in the same shop as the dungarees.
"Well, what species do I look?" Mr. Tumnus ventured hesitantly.
"A cross between a member of East 17 and Spock."
"Sorry?"
"Well, your ears are sort of pinned up, so they look like Spock's. The East 17 thing is the hat."
"No, I meant who're East 17? And who's Spock?"

'Baby, I Love You': A sing-song

Tara and Joe received the message just as they were preparing to go out for a meal. Joe's brain was sharper than Brian's - in a way - and had taken to the idea that he had been created long ago by a playwright far easier than his teenage Essex look-alike. He took it as a signal from the universe that he'd been forgiven for his crimes, but those were crimes unforgivable. Clearly, he was supposed to atone for his sins. Unfortunately, this new knowledge of how he'd come to be here, seemed to dictate that one day, he'd have to return to the kitchen, return to Peter's knife. He didn't mind. He deserved it. One more month he'd have. He would make use of it. Nobody else would die, not if he could help it.
"Tara," Joe furrowed his brow, "What did...whatever that was...mean by plural 'culprits'? Are there more of you?"
"Three more that I know of," Tara finished tying her shoelaces.
"Who? Can we go see them?"
"I doubt it. None are on this continent."
"Well, where are they?"
"Two are in the UK, one in Scotland actually, so sounds a bit like you. The other is in India."
"How do you know them? That new Facebook thing?"
Joe's story having taken place in 2005, Facebook was still a little baby in his eyes. Twitter wasn't there at all either. So Tara showed him the James McAvoy Fan Club, as well as an IMDB review of the BBC series 'Shakespeare Retold'.
"Well, I can see the attraction," Joe muttered, "I mean, that is one good-looking fellow."
"He looks exactly like you!" Tara chuckled.
"Exactly!"
Before Joe could break into a round of 'Baby, I love you', Tara received a Facebook message from Jan. Evidently there was a faun in her kitchen, staring lovingly at the kettle, totally mystified by a device that halved the time he took to make tea. According to Jan, he hadn't moved since he found it, seven minutes ago. It was like he'd been turned to stone...
Tara's stomach would wait for none, however and so she suggested Jan fed the faun and herself, then she and Joe set out for dinner.

Joe decided he liked Tara. She obviously knew even his darkest secrets and exactly what would become of him if he returned. She could sense what he wished, that he wished for Peter's revenge more than anything, she knew he wanted to die. He could tell she did not want this, but she seemed to respect this, and was willing to help him. Of course, it could be that this actor and all his non-murderer characters were the motivation for her desire to assist him, but she didn't try to warn him of what was coming, or how he could dodge the knife when he got back. He would die, she knew, and yet she let him go. This Joe was grateful for. He would happily spend this last month with Tara.
"It feels strange being on this side of the kitchen doors," Joe mused, "I guess this is what it's like for your actor guy when he's watching his movie...or BBC miniseries..."
"Well, I doubt the food will be as good as yours but the pizzas here are respectable."
Joe pointed to a dish, "This pizza has chips on - sorry, fries, I guess," then he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, "Is this place run by infants...?"
"No, no, no, that's government you're thinking of. No, this place has top-quality chefs and waiting staff."
A man in chequered trousers emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray in one hand and twisting his pinky finger around in his nostril. A chunk of lamb made to slip off the plate but the man yanked his finger out of his nose and patted it back into place. Tara noticed a sign in the window and motioned to Joe with her arm.
'New Management' read the sign.
"I've not been here since..." Tara trailed off.
"Seems like the turn my kitchen took under my new management," grumbled Joe.
Tara took Joe's hand and offered him a consoling smile.
"Anything is an improvement upon Duncan Docherty," she promised, "Even cold-blooded mass assassination. What made you do it?"
"My wife..."
"Well, I think it's safe to say you are most well and truly whipped."
"Yes. Extremely," Joe took a sip from the wine Snot-Nose had brought him.
Tara began to hum 'Baby, I love you', "Hmmmm hm-hm hmmm hm."
  "Hm hm HM-hm," Joe replied, "Come on, Babyyyy."