Spec rubs the smooth glass side of the vial, watching the deadly substance inside pulse and react to his presence as thoughts race through his head.

"Why do I even bother? Wouldn't it just be better to give up and try to live a normal life?"

He sighs to himself as he stares into the swirling blackness of the ooze. What even constitutes a normal life anyways? With everything that’s happened these past few years, defining normality has become a challenge in and of itself. Is escaping death by the skin of your teeth every other week normal? Certainly not in the traditional sense, but then again, the ‘traditional sense’ has no meaning when stability is constantly out of reach. He's barely holding himself together—sometimes he wondered if the Backrooms simply hated him. That would certainly help make sense of it all.

"Why?" Spec ponders. "Why does it feel like I'm constantly being used as a punching bag for the universe?"

Ever since his arrival in the Backrooms years ago, it had just been tragedy after tragedy, with no end in sight. From losing his arm to a Scream Eater that somehow followed him into Level 37, to the loss of countless friends, nothing seemed to get better. His stability within reality only continued to decrease, up until the point that he had to be rescued by a literal knight in shining armor to save him from his own ineptitude. Why? Surely, there had to be some divine purpose for all of this? A reason. A method to the madness of the unknowable cosmic force trying to put him in the ground day after day. There must be some explanation—some process that explained why stories like his were so common in this hellscape, right?

His musings are cut short when the distinct crackling sound of a no-clip bulldozes into his eardrums. The energy signature of the perpetrator invites no alarm, and Spec doesn’t bother getting up from his comfortable beanbag haven.

"Avalon. Welcome to mon château. Try not to make yourself at home.”

He looks up at Avalon, absent-mindedly initially, but her disgruntled visage and tattered clothes beget a double take. The day’s muck combined with dry blood gave her a war-torn appearance fit only for the nightmares of a small child. The stench of her followed shortly after, and Spec couldn’t help but gag. She stumbled towards his workbench by the side of the room, placing down a manila folder on top of it before laying back to support her weight. Half-woman half-corpse, Avalon turned her head towards Spec and stared right through his eyes.

"Don't fall for this shit again. She does this every time."
"But she's our friend! She's in pain… it wouldn't be right to just leave her—"
"We're not good for each other, whatever the occasion."

"Holy shit Avalon, what the fuck happened to you?" Spec asks, practically leaping from the beanbag to her.

"Rabbit… Rabbit blew my cover." Avalon says flatly. “Careful where you… where you touch. Bruised all-over.”

"Context would go a long way right about now. Are you talking about the Moon Hare? The self-loathing loser from the terror hotel? Do I have an excuse to kill Bun? Just tell me what you—“

“Can it,” she interrupts, moaning painfully. “Just… shut your trap for once.”

Spec stammers for a reply, but finds none. He sits Avalon down on a beanbag, and promptly begins rummaging in his backpack. Avalon simply lays back in silence, wincing every now and then.

Knowing Avalon for close to three years now, he shouldn't have expected the courtesy of a proper reply. Ever since he'd saved her from a Memory Wyrm attack, they'd began a sort-of contemptuous 'friendship' on the grounds of not having anybody else in their respective lives. They'd initially bonded over their bad luck, their shared impulsivity, and the mutual benefit they provided to one another by teaming up. Past that however, they bickered and fought like cats and dogs, and they could never quite make things work in the long-term. Within a year, resentment began baring its ugly fangs, but their dependence on one another metaphorically chained them together by the neck: Spec knew Avalon needed to stay hidden, and Avalon knew how to convince him to let her squat in his basement. Frankly, he'd have been content with seeing her as little as humanly possible, but fate always had a way of bringing them back to one another for one reason or the other.

"Your skin's uh—you look dehydrated." Spec croaks, his mouth drier than it was just a few moments ago. He felt around the bottom of his bag a bit more, until he found his canteen. “I’ve got some water here, take it. You need it.”

Avalon elects to stay silent, staring blankly at the ceiling and taking labored breaths.

"Avalon—hey, c’mon,” he says, lightly tapping her on the cheek. “Drink some water, you’ve lost a gallon of blood and then some. You’ve got to begin replacing that.”

Silence.

"Look dude, I'm just trying to look out for your own wellbeing. I've got water, I don't want anything in return for it. Just—here, take some."

Spec unscrews the cap from his canteen, and brings it to Avalon's mouth. She purses her lips tightly, and all the water falls uselessly on her chest as Spec mutters curses under his breath. After a brief moment of struggling, he gives up.

"Ugh!" he grunts. "Why are you being so difficult about this. I'm trying to help you. Can't you see I'm just—that… what's your issue Avalon?"

More silence. A headache hits Spec, reminding exactly why he didn’t miss Avalon. He takes a swig of the flask himself before making a beeline for the file she’d just brought him. Just before he grasps it in his hands, he hears Avalon shift behind him, and the file flies straight towards her before he manages to pick it up.

"Yoink," she mutters to herself with the enthusiasm of a brick wall. "Nobody ever told you not to take what isn't yours?"

Spec rolls his eyes and huffs. "Really? Mortally wounded, yet you’ve still got the energy to be a petty bitch?”

Avalon shakily sits up, eyebrows arched fiercely at Spec. "What do you mean 'really?'" You keep asking for my help and you expect me to do slave labor for you. You take advantage of my kindness Spec, y’know? I can’t just keep doing this for you free of charge forever.”

“Ah, so you’re just here to start a fight then, are you?”

Avalon scoffed, craning her neck backwards. “Please, as if I’ve got the time to waste on pointless bickering. I’m here to do business with you, though you’ve- cough -seemingly forgotten that I’m not the means to the end here. I’m just as human as you are. Whatever happened to hospitality and generosity?

“This the same person that refused my kindness just now?” Spec huffs, annoyed. “Because it’s really rich of you to paint me as this manipulative misanthrope that uses you for what you bring to the table, when you can’t even put your pride aside for a moment to accept the hospitality you complain I’m not giving you.”

“See, this is your whole- *cough* -whole fucking issue. I’m hardly a human for you, and if I dare complain, you guilt me for it. That doesn't sound like friendship Spec, and it doesn’t sound like partnership either. The common denominator is—"

She begins coughing and hacking, wheezing in between violent exhalations, as Spec watches with his mouth open at the scene unfolding before him. She recovers of her own accord, before turning her attention back to Spec.

“…the common denominator is respect, which you clearly have none of for me.”

Spec's brain feels like it's on fire from the day's stress. Avalon's words anger him in unquantifiable ways, and for one of the first times in his life, he is left with no retort.

“If you really care, I don’t need your plain water or your pity. I need the good stuff. Get me some of your purified almond water.”

“Fat chance. If I’m so disrespectful, you shouldn’t want anything to do with me since that would compromise your strong sense of morality, or whatever… You can leave now, actually.”

Avalon sighed with exasperation. “I was asking nicely you fucking knobhead, but I guess you just continue to prove me right. The gift that keeps on giving,”
She extends her hand forward sluggishly, and scrunches up her face. Before Spec can react, a flask of almond water shoots into her hand, and she uncorks it with renewed vigor before she begins to gulp it down ravenously.

“Have you any manners?” Spec replies with venomous tone. “You don’t just get to take things from me if I said no.”

Avalon rolls her eyes and flips him the bird, flask in mouth. Her wounds begin to slowly close. "Grow up, you child. If I’m your 'friend,' treat me like one instead of subjugating me to your own tired grievances—it’s the least you can do after everything I’ve been through for you today.”

“Oh, so we’re talking friends now, are we?” Spec replied, oozing resentment. “I’ll clue you in on another fun fact about friendship—friends respect boundaries, Avalon. If I tell you ‘I don’t want you taking my almond water,’ you don’t take it. Apply that to all the other times you screwed me over for your own purposes, and there’s a lesson to be learnt about the respect you whine about, you snively, facetious cunt."

“Cry me a fucking river, you asshole!” she says, mock crying with her hands under her eyes as she gets up from the beanbag. "It's always ‘me, me, me,’ with you, always the victim in every scenario. Infallible and delicate and oh-so perfect. Fuck out of here with your self-righteousness. What have you done for me lately Spec? May I remind you that I’m here with a file that you wanted from me? Stick your neck out for me sometime, before I wring it for you.”

She walks up to him intimidatingly. Spec stares her down, not backing off. “Convenient that you mention sticking your neck out for people, because I can’t recall a time where you did something without expecting some act of service in return. I don’t do charity work for the same person who wanted payment for food the one time I found you and I was half-starving…“

“Yeah, it’s called an exchange of resources, a.k.a., ‘not being a bum’. We’re all survivors down here.”

“..and the time I saved you from the hound pack and you slapped me because I tore your shirt in the heat of the moment. How in the flying fuck am I supposed to cover the both of us, not get one of us torn to smithereens, and also keep you looking immaculate?“

“Sue me, adrenaline does shit to you. Plus, you act as if I don’t know your intentions, you fucking p-"

“Because my primary objective is creeping on you when there’s a gang of monsters in front of us? Last I checked, you’re the nympho between the two of us. Plus, if you want to open that book up—“

“Go ahead, since we’re talking exchange and giving back. I’m all ears if you’re actually a man.”

He bites his lip. Shit. Foiled again by his big mouth.

"Well, go on," she presses. "What do you wanna say about that?"

A whole collection of colorful adjectives crosses his mind, though he doesn't find the power to let any of them out. Avalon, however, clearly still has a lot on her mind.

“I can go all day describing all the times you screwed me over, and yet I’m still here, running errands for you that you could’ve easily done by yourself. Yes, I expect 'compensation' from a ‘friend’ who doesn’t even make an effort to phone unless he needs me, especially when my life is on the line to get you your stupid documents or whatever. But it’s always like this with you. The saddest part on my end is that I stick by you in spite of everything, so give me a reason to stay today before I decide to burn your file and leave you with charcoal. The way I see it, it's owed to me to have my way with you if you're still bothering to reach out. Or are you just using me like you always do? Can't we just do things on my own terms for once?

Spec stared back at her blankly, his eyes slightly narrowing.

"It’s always like this with her. She’s never the problem, it’s always you. Stand up for yourself and stop being spineless, lest she comes out of here today having assaulted you yet again because you’re too scared to be defiant and change the course of the story. She doesn’t own you just because she saved you in the past. Just tell her—“

“Whatever. You win. What do you even want from me?”

Avalon smirked, victorious. “Well, my kindness perhaps asks for hospitality. Treat me like a guest perhaps. We can arrange a deal later tonight if you’d like.” She said, a newfound sultry tone in her voice.

Spec nodded, holding back his tongue. How desperately he wanted to snap his fingers and crush Avalon with the full force of his absorbed liminal energy. Just a quick release on the house of cards keeping him alive, and she'd be nothing more than a stain on his wall to be mopped up. Argos couldn't touch him for it, he avoids him like the plague anyway…

“I’ll show you to the guest room. Just give me the file so I can begin—“

“As if!” she interrupted. “You’re getting this once I get my end of the deal. Otherwise, this is still the fruit of my labor.”

“I’ll bite my tongue. Just… follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”

Avalon turns, tapping Spec on the shoulder. "Before you go… I just want to let you know that I forgive you. Let’s try not to fight again like this. We’re friends, so we shouldn’t act like we aren’t. Right?”

“I… yeah. We are.”

“I hate it just as much as you when we fight,” she continued. "Just… Be careful next time. We’re friends, so we shouldn’t feel like we aren't. Right?"

Spec turned around, beckoning for her to follow without a word. Avalon seemingly didn’t mind the lack of a response, happy that she’d gotten her way anyways. He vowed that this would be the last time that he relied on her services.

"This is the last time I'm ever making a deal with you. When this is over—"

"Yeah yeah," she interjects, smirking at him. "This is the seventh time that this has been 'over'. You'll be back." Avalon retorts, dropping the file folder on top of his desk with a loud SMACK!

Spec just rolls his eyes, shooing her out of the room with a flick of his hand.

---

The night came and went as soon as the morning arrived. When he opened his eyes, he found that Avalon was already gone, just as she had been the previous time, and the time before that, and the time before that, and…

The file laid in her place, a hastily-written note on it scrawled with her handwriting. An explanation for leaving abruptly, something about having obligations elsewhere to tend to that he couldn’t be bothered to read for the umpteenth time. The contents of the file were more important to his end goal, though Spec couldn’t bring himself to read them with her note sitting just a few inches away. Despite the haziness of the morning, and his unwillingness to read the full contents of the note, he was able to make out an apology at the end adorned with hearts and smiley faces. Something about how she hadn't meant to act that way—she never did. That’s always what she said at least.

He shook his head—there were more important matters that required his attention. He’d gotten the file, and he could now proceed to shove the memories of last night deep down into a place where they would never reemerge. Getting up from the bed, he walked to his wardrobe and began to get dressed for the day. The worst 48 hours of his life were about to begin.

Spec noclips himself straight into the viper's nest: The main headquarters of the Wild Hunt, The Grove.