Hobbes woke up in someone else’s bed. For a moment, he forgot how he arrived there and his heart raced. Once he recollected the night of drunk rambling and lost keys, probably somewhere under a piece of furniture, he relaxed. He didn’t know the owner of the house personally, but she offered the bed, insisting he was in no state to walk back to the hotel. Drunkenly and smartly, he thanked her and stumbled up the stairs, following directions poorly until he found the room with the blue walls.

Now, here he lay. The alcohol left his body exhausted. He had nowhere to be, so he lay there, perfectly still. He rarely had full hangovers. Usually, his stomach was the only thing to reprimand him for forgetting moderation. This time, the nausea had not set in yet. His stay in the bed seemed pleasant. He rolled over on his back to stretch and felt the bulk of someone else beside him. He sat up, leaning against his elbows and looked curiously at the guy. All his clothes were on, so Hobbes let his initial panic subside. He sighed and decided to settle back into the covers to sleep a little more.

He closed his eyes before something occurred to him. The guy looked… His breath caught in his throat. He reached out slowly, shakily. “Hey,” he said softly as he jerked the guy’s shoulder. “Hey!” The guy didn’t move.

He cursed. Leapt out of the bed. Cursed again. He stood there and stared. “Come on! Wake up!” He shouted but didn’t dare touch the corpse.

He ran for the door, stopped and looked at the body again. He cursed. The guy was definitely dead. He stared again, eyes unblinking. How did this… why did this happen? He backed out of the doorway and into the hall. I just need help. He needs help. No, he’s dead. It’s useless. But I need someone still…

He turned and almost tripped over another guy. A curse hissed between his lips. The body remained motionless on the floor. Hobbes’s jaw dropped. “He can’t be…”

“Hey, it’s you,” a voice from behind. Her voice. Hobbes spun around, heart racing wildly.

“What’s going on?” He demanded, voice rough against his dry throat.

“They’re dead,” she answered sharply, simply. She was smiling.

Hobbes didn’t hesitate when he saw that smile. He reached beneath his jacket and pulled a double-barrel pistol from the folds of a pocket. “How?” He asked, cocking the gun. Madness lurked in his dark eyes, the woman was unaffected.