The alarm buzzed, and the radio clicked to life. It was an allegretto somewhat fast, somewhat lively.

. The tune it played, though with spirit, was not altogether happy: Perhaps it was the key A minor th at served this purpose. The minor keys were mirrors of the major keys, after all ; while A major was the key of innocence, love and hope a key of childlike aband on A minor was its more reserved cousin. It was not entirely corruption, hate an d despair it was, rather, the key of a person in the thrall of maturity, too jad ed and wearied by the presence of life to see a glass of water with the half-ful l eyes of youth. Carl would know. He had once written about the keys of music, for a pape r he had once written. It was somewhat well received, but not truly out of the ordinary. None of this, of course, was running through the mind of Carl Fermata as he woke up. His first thought, instinctively, was to consider throwing his alar m clock through a window. Same as every morning, really. That buzz, and the clic k of the radio switching on, meant another day of work. Another day of getting u p, going through the routine, eating dinner and going back to sleep. Why couldn't it be the weekend, Carl thought. It was almost unfair that out of the five days he had to go through this, he only got two days of the week end to compensate. To read a book, go for a walk somewhere...anything else. But, routine was routine: After thirty seconds of lying in bed, Carl thr ew the covers aside, swung his legs over the bedside and pulled himself out of b ed. He shivered slightly It was october, but the screen was open. It shouldn't h ave been a problem, in this climate. Except... Aww, man! Carl muttered. Somewhere during the night, it had started rainin g. Not just the faint, misty crap you got in autumn, either. Big, fat, thudding splats of rain showered down from a sky as grey as iron, blanketing the noise of the music with heavy percussion at relentless tempo. The wind was blowing north , thank heavens; if it had been going southward, his north-facing screen would h ave done nothing to keep the water from soaking his bed and slicking the tile on the floor with rainwater. No sense in trying to keep the room outside fresh now. Carl groggily walke d over to the windows, pulling them shut. The sounds of rain outside dampened sl ightly, and the allegretto increased slightly in volume. First things first: He had to keep tally on what was going on today. His schedule was taped up to the wall; he would have to shower, get himself properl y groomed, ration out his time. Get done the things he had to get done, and he w ould be one day closer to success. The cellular phone rang. Carl frowned. This early in the morning? It wou ldn't be his parents, of course, so it would have to be a friend. Probably wante d to hang out or something this afternoon, but there was work to be done and so things would have to get set aside for some other time. Ugh. Carl grabbed the cell phone, checking the number. That was weird. Instea d of a seven-digit sequence, it was showing seven question marks. There was no n ame given, either. Weird. They must have Caller I.D block on or something. But w ho would do something like that? Mac? Carl doubted it. Mac was a quiet guy, soft -spoken, maybe a bit shy around woman. But he didn't think of Mac as the paranoi d type. Not the kind of guy to go out and call people, but also not the kind of guy to hide his number, either. Carl ran through a mental checklist of his other friends none of the rest of them seemed like the type to hide their number, and

he sure as anything had talked to them before. The phone rang again. Maybe it was a telemarketer? Nah. Why hide their n umber? That would deter salesmanship, prevent a contact reference. Besides, he w as pretty sure it was illegal to try and call people anonymously, or something. For the purposes of sales or whatever, because...if they were doing it, that mea nt they were trying to fly under the radar, and sold goods not up to safety stan dards. Yeah, it has to be something like that, Carl rationalized. The phone rang a third time Okay! Cripes! Whatever! Carl blurted, to no-one in particular. His dorm wa s single-occupancy; a bit pricier, but the silence was totally worth it. He didn 't have to worry about waking others up that way, didn't have to worry about any hassle or clutter. Except for this circlejerk with his cell phone number. Carl picked up the phone, and was in the process of flipping it open whe n he realized it was probably something really sleazy on the other end of the li ne. Probably, his cell phone number got leaked by some kind of website or anothe r, and this was some stupid phone sex line or something else equally ridiculous. I might as well just see what it is, the resigned voice in his head rationalize d. Bracing himself, Carl hit the answer button. I should probably get around to checking my email this morning, too, Car l thought. Hello? I was worried that you wouldn't pick up! Huh? The voice on the other end of the line was most certainly not the voice of anyone he recognized. It wasn't his mom female, definitely, but not anyone he knew. Is this a prank call? Am I being pranked? okay, okay. I guess this seems a bit weird to you but please, don't hang up the phone. The voice was younger his age, or around it. Maybe a bit younger, but ha d to be within a couple years or so. She had to be the voice of a her, Carl real ized she sounded worried, and more than a bit hysterical. I think you have the wrong number, miss... No, this is Carl, right? I really need to talk to you. Carl froze. How do you know my name? The phone crackled a bit, buzzing with a bit of static. The storm outsid e must have been interfering with reception, but the voice on the other end pick ed up soon enough. - and you need to help me out. There's three things - Wait, slow down. I didn't hear the first bit. The voice at the end of the line paused. was it the reception? Yeah. Hey, how did you- Fuck!

Carl wanted to giggle, despite the weirdness of the situation. The voice sounded far too worried to actually make the curse sound offensive. Worried and , well, soft like the person wasn't used to swearing much. Okay, the voice on the other end of the line picked up. I want to keep thin gs simple, in case the reception goes bad again. There are three things I need y ou to do for me. One - Wait a minute, how did you get my number, anyway? What's going on? Carl, I promise, this isn't a joke- Yeah? Well, it kind of seems that way to me. Carl snapped. Why are you doin g this, anyway? What did I do to deserve this kind of bullshit? I don't even kno w you- Carl, PLEASE! The voice was sliding into hysterical again. Carl realized that he shoul d be hanging up the phone right now, writing this off as some kind of bizzarre m isdial from someone probably doped up on energy drinks and club drugs. But...who ever it was, she sounded worried and scared. And she knew who he was, too. Unles s... Are you sure this is the right Carl? Carl Fermata, the music department major, registered at the dorm of - A chill ran down Carl's back. This was starting to become eerily like on e of those cheesy horror movie flicks that they aired every friday night in the dorm lounge. No, wait, that's probably part of the prank, or whatever this is. M aybe it's some kind of phone game? Whatever, I might as well play it out. Wait, stop, I get the idea. Carl said, irritably. Look, can we be honest wi th each other? Is this really just some kind of prank, or game, or whatever? I m ean, not that I don't appreciate things, but I've got a lot that i'm going to ne ed to do today - I promise, okay? The voice was almost squeaky soft, now. It was the kind of voice that ma de Carl want to reach out and give it a hug, the kind of voice that one of those shy, inoffensive characters would have on one of those foreign cartoons. ...Okay. Carl said resignedly, as he pulled out his desk chair and flipped open his laptop. I might as well get this sucker booted up while I wait for wha tever it is she wants to tell me. So, what's this about? Okay, one. Don't turn on your computer. Carl froze, his hand over the power button. What? Don't turn on your TV, either. Nothing with a screen, except the phone I think this phone's okay. Carl sighed. This is definitely one of those alternate-reality games, is it? Where people go around pretending things are bugged - Just don't, okay? Not right now.

Carl sighed. I have to check my mail, you know. Is there a mail call at the front desk? Check there. No, I mean my email messages. Can you let them wait? Carl thought about sighing for the third time in fifteen seconds, but de cided that whoever it was on the other end of the line was clearly not getting t he point. If it's that important to you, it can wait. Can you at least give me a hint as to why, though? Just...Okay. So go to the mail call and check your letters there, but don 't do that yet. Don't leave the room, don't turn the computer or the tv on and d on't turn the radio off. So those are the three things? No, not the radio. It's probably going to turn off soon enough. And, uh, I guess you're going to need to leave the room, but that's what I was going to t ell you about. Those three things. Can you just tell me what they are, so we can be done with this? Your backpack. Take the schoolbooks out of it, you're going to need the r oom later. Make sure to bring it with you whenever you go out of the room. Um... your diary, too. Stick that in there. And something to defend yourself with. You're making it sound like there's some kind of apocalypse going on. Carl said. Please! I promise i'll explain everything, but we need to get going right now, or - The phone crackled again, heavily. A tone chimed four times in his ear. Disconnected. >Something to defend myself with? Do I even have anything like that? Carl clicked the phone shut, setting it down on the desk. If this was ju st some prank, he was glad it was over. It was a little uncomfortably close to a ctually creepy, though. Someone clearly put time and effort into whatever it was THAT was. Or, possibly, they were actually trying to warn him about something. ...What, though? They didn't make any sense, was the problem. It was jus t specific enough to get him into a tither, and just vague enough that there was n't any way of doing something about it. Which made it a perfect joke, really. Still... Carl checked his phone. N o bars of reception. It must really be raining, Carl thought. A cursory glance o utside the window told him that it was coming down buckets. It was probably time to break out the big umbrella. There was a dinky, r ed thing that he had around when it was light rain he remembered getting it at a n air show, some promotional item or whatnot. And then there was the BIG, heavyduty umbrella, that his mom had sent...

Thunder rumbled outside, ponderous and oppressive. Yeah, it was definite ly big umbrella time. Walking to his closet, Carl threw the door wide. An array of coats, jackets and top wear greeted him organized by degree of formality, for what ever situation arose. First things came first, of course, and he reached f or the corner of the closet, where his big umbrella always was and always should be. It was a mammoth thing; long and black, with a wooden handle. The patter of rain grew slightly louder as Carl fished it out, and tested the grip of the handle experimentally. Carefully, Carl ran one hand from the base to the tip to make sure he couldn't feel any rips or tears in the fabric. None. Before he set it down on the bed, Carl eyed the tip of the umbrella: a long, gleaming piece of metal. All bound up like this, it kind of looked like a fencing sword. In a sudden display of whimsey, Carl hopped forwards and backwards, parr ying and lunging at an invisible foe. Not that he knew the slightest thing about sword fighting, but who here would correct him? Concluding the routine with a s ingle, dramatic downwards slash, Carl chuckled to himself. No way he would have anything to fear with this! He was totally ready to en poissant or riposte or wh atever it was that fancy people in fancy films did. And it was the closest thing he had to something to defend himself with, a nyway. (Umbrella Get!) (Umbrella modifier get - fancy footworking) Anyways, enough silliness. He had to get dressed, or he would be late fo r his classes, or...whatever the voice wanted. Carl vaguely recalled he had a me eting with somepony...someone, he corrected himself, what was he thinking...conc erning an upcoming performance. This called for factor-four seriousness: Buttondown shirt, sleek pants, faint cologne. Carl carefully selected what clothes he wanted for the day, set them aside on his bed and looked for shower supplies. The radio concluded its' movement. There was a couple of seconds of sile nce, then the background chatter something generically bright and happy abruptly warped into static. The phone rang again. Sighing at the combined affront to his senses, Car l walked back over to his cell phone and picked it up. Seven question marks, aga in. Hello? You didn't touch a computer, did you? No. It was the same voice, again. Whoever it was, was methodical. And what about the radio? It switched itself off. You didn't turn it off, did you? No. It just started getting static a couple of minutes ago. Wait a minute. Is this part of the prank? Because if you damaged my radio... It's not me, I promise. The voice switched back from immediacy to meekness .

Then whatever is going on, can you get it over with? I have a shower to t ake, I need to get ready for- Are you sure? What the hell kind of prank WAS this? What do you mean, am I sure? Have you checked to see if the bathroom is still there? This was ridiculousness and a half. If I go tell you that the bathroom is still there, will you please stop this nonsense and let me get on with my life? Okay. The voice said, quietly. Okay? What the hell kind of answer was that? Furious, Carl slapped the p hone shut in the palm of his hand, threw open his dormitory door and stormed out side. The doors were gone. Not his door, but the doors of everybody else on his floor were gone. Th e halls were the same manilla, like an envelope. The trimming was identical on t he corners a rich mahogany. But there was nobody there but him; just a seemingly endless stretch of hallway, leading down in both directions, farther than he co uld see in either direction. What in the world was going on? The phone rang a third time. Seven question marks on the screen. Same Ca ller. Carl? Okay, what exactly is going on here and what do you have to do with it. You didn't find- The Bathrooms are gone. Heck, ALL the rooms are gone, and the hallway's s o long I can't see the end of it. It's like i'm living in a nightmare or somethi ng - On a wild impulse, Carl cradled the phone to his ear and pinched himself , hard, on the arm. Nothing. He really WAS awake, after all. We are. Carl was suddenly acutely aware of the sounds of the static and the rain emanating from his bedroom. The ambiance those two sounds created was downright eerie, as if intentionally designed to be... Hold up. Carl breathed into the phone. What do you mean, we are? the phone crackled with static again, loudly. Carl winced and held the r eceiver away from his ear for a couple of seconds, until the noise abruptly stop ped. Carl brought it back to his ear to hear the voice say - but we need to get y ou out of here, first. We don't have much time. Why?

Music. It's keyed to music. More loud static. -But as long as you have mus ic on, it - More static. -You'll be safe. You're breaking up really badly over here. I know. The voice got quiet again. Carl was at a loss for words. He was expecting to wake up to today being relatively normal, not this...nightmare. Was the voice on the other end speakin g the truth? WAS this some kind of nightmare? If so, how did he get out of it? This was crazy. This whole thing was crazy. There was no way that all th e other doors just disappeared into the aether, that didn't happen. Maybe it was a nightmare after all, but why didn't he wake up? Carl pinched himself, hard on the neck. His eyes watered slightly, from the pain and panic. Nothing. Ow, he muttered. What? The voice on the other end sounded alarmed. It's nothing. Are you hurt? No, I just tried pinching myself. This isn't some dream. Then what is it? Carl was at a loss for words. When he responded, his voice shook. Who are you, anyway? Do I know you? I don't think so. I don't think we met, anyway. There was a pause. That sou nds creepy. I'm sorry. Don't be. Just...help me, okay? Whatever this is, it's creeping me out. My name is Luna. Okay. Luna. That's good. Luna what? Just Luna. You don't have a last name? No. The crackle of static. Okay, and you Miss? Mrs.? Ms.? Luna, You're going to help me get out of.. .whatever the hell this is? I'll try. I don't think i'll be very good at it. >Tell me exactly what's going on. >Help me get out of here, then. >We need to meet up. My phone's going bad.

Equipment: Umbrella: a large patch of canvas, stretched over wires. It is designed to be gripped by a handle attached to a metal rod. The tip looks pointy. (Modifier: Fancy Footworking. You have at least given thought to using t he umbrella as some kind of defensive tool, which might help protect you at some point in time in the future). Cellular Phone: An older, clamshell model; it didn't get the internet, b ut up until today it was reliable and serviceable. You've been getting a lot of static since this morning, though. Notes: Music: Might be of help to you, or not. Apparently, you will be safe as long as it is on, whatever that means. Probably just a prank. Luna: The voice on the other end of the phone. Apparently, you are in so me kind of trouble and she wants to help you. Kansas: You might not be in it anymore.