He Who is Red has such an odd speaking voice. That rumbling Scottish monotone,
'Like Aronson before him, Lime was charged by Spiderfingers to give The Discordians some practice in fighting minions. Long story short is Lime got dangerous, Spiderfingers had to abandon him in a dark world called the Necrosphere. Only gods know the way in or out of that black hell. Of course, in here Lime exists as one of Spiderfingers' memories, a memory driven mad by the truth.'
And Red points on Blue's behalf at the droves of people milling past us. There they are, another batch of French maybe Italian teenagers. These people who don't realise they're extras, they're exiting the warm world of the Underground for the larger darker one. They join a happy mob watching a drummer provide a beat for a clown, a clown lowering a bar for herself to limbo dance beneath. None of these nonentities acknowledge the big yellow baby who just lies with his back to the flyer-covered concrete, snoring. If this is my new life I miss the relative normalcy of my day to day, where bad guys are for the most part - bad guys. None of this.
'How do I leave this place?'
'Through my brothers mouth. I can't guarantee you'll survive the journey though.'
I look into the snoring mouth of the big yellow baby.
I don't know why, but I think of Mr Lime's jibe about exposition and I just have to - I'm compelled to ask, 'What use am I in here? What kind of life can I lead if it's nothing but a dream?’
I'm feeling dizzy.
I need He Who is Red to be quiet...
Need to stop seeing myself on posters and billboards and places I don't think I've been. A secret life mapped out in Courier font...
It's all too much, and He Who is Red, he won't stop jabbering!
'I don't feel right.' I whimper.
But Red carries on, 'The batch of tales that led to your existence had a working title of Life Through Fiction. Treasure your life. There is nothing more powerful than a dream.'