Chapter 6: Monsters Paradise.

The page changes.

Not gently.

The margins darken first — a bleed, subtle at the corners. Ink gathers where there should be none. It does not sparkle. It does not hold motes of distant light.

It is starless.

Thick.

Slow.

It drips downward across the sentences themselves, warping letters just slightly, as if the words are being watched from underneath.

A pause.

Then—

A shape steps forward from between the lines.

Envy does not enter the scene.

He enters the page.

He looks outward.

At you.

And smiles.

“Welcome to my side of the tracks, everybody! Wow… you all look so beautiful today.”

He spreads his arms wide as if presenting a stage, polished shoes balanced perfectly on the suspended platform. The abyss below churns. The vats pulse pale blue. The Husks sway in patient rhythm.

But his attention is not on them.

It is on you.

“Please forgive my Brother,” he continues smoothly, tone theatrical and indulgent. “He means well. He truly does. But sometimes… he miscalculates.”

Behind him, Lu struggles to unhook the Dreamer from the chair. The body is heavier now that it is slack. He fumbles with the restraints, nearly dropping the head before catching it awkwardly.

Envy does not turn.

“He presses red far too often,” Envy sighs lightly. “And when he presses red… I inherit.”

He gestures lazily toward the conveyor system, toward the vast pale vats below.

“This,” he says, with a small bow, “is Doma Tasu.”

The name echoes slightly, as if the machinery itself respects it.

“The Recycling District. The reallocation of purpose. The gentle reassignment of wasted flesh.”

He smiles again.

“Whenever Lu makes a mistake and kills a man—”

A quick glance over his shoulder. A correction, silk-wrapped.

“—deep sleep, forgive me… whenever a Dreamer drifts too far into forever…”

He places a hand over his chest, mock solemn.

“It is my duty to make them work again.”

Behind him, Lu finally wrestles the Dreamer free from the chair. The limp body tips sideways. Lu yelps softly and scrambles to keep the exposed head from striking the metal platform.

Envy watches this with peripheral amusement.

“You see, paradise requires maintenance.”

The pale vats bubble softly.

“The surface world calls this cruelty. I call it efficiency.”

He steps slightly aside, allowing the audience a clearer view of the main dunking platform at the center — chains suspending a circular frame above a vast basin of pale blue plastic.

“Down there,” he continues pleasantly, “we strip away the unnecessary.”

His red lenses catch the industrial light, reflecting it back in twin crimson moons.

“Memory. Desire. Identity. Voice.”

A pause.

“Pain, if we are feeling generous.”

Lu drags the Dreamer forward awkwardly, nearly tripping over his own tail. He avoids looking at Envy directly.

Envy’s smile sharpens.

“Once reduced to a clean shell, they are filled anew. Reformed. Productive.”

He tilts his head.

“Better.”

The word hangs in the air like a promise.

Behind him, Lu finally steadies the body at the edge of the dunking frame. His hands tremble slightly.

Envy clasps his own behind his back and leans forward just a fraction.

“And now,” he says warmly, eyes fixed outward at you once more, “you may observe.”

The ink along the margins thickens.

Not a single star flickers within it.

The ink thickens further.

Envy steps around Lu in a slow orbit, hands clasped behind his back, admiring the way the pale vat below ripples like a patient ocean.

“As I was saying,” he begins, posture immaculate, “the conversion process is remarkably elegant. First, suspension—”

Lu glances outward, almost apologetic.

“This is how Husks are made,” he murmurs quietly, adjusting his grip on the Dreamer’s limp shoulders. “You dunk them, strip the mind, empty the person… and then fill them. They don’t scream for long.”

He hovers the body carefully above the vat. The pale blue goop below churns softly, releasing faint chemical vapors that glow faintly under the industrial lights.

Envy smiles, pleased with the staging.

“Yes, Dog, hold him just so—”

The crystal mirror flickers.

Angelica’s form ripples into view.

She presses her clawed fingers together sweetly, her long serpentine body coiling within the frame. The red eyes along her face and neck shimmer like a string of ornaments catching firelight.

“Brother~” she purrs.

Envy freezes mid-step.

“Yes, my Star?”

She tilts her head, halo glinting faintly.

“Can we change the music?”

Her voice lifts in hopeful cadence. She bounces slightly, almost childlike in her excitement.

Tom Waits’ grinding percussion rattles in the background.

“I found something new~ It hasn’t reached outside the Divide yet. It’s electric. It’s divine. The band is called GUNSHIP.”

Her many red eyes widen with puppyish anticipation.

Envy melts.

There is no other word for it.

The blade in his voice dulls instantly.

“For you?” he replies softly. “Of course.”

Lu shifts slightly, arms trembling under the weight of the Dreamer.

Envy gestures to pause, then steps away from the vat toward a cluster of desks and control tables near the viewing deck.

The Husks fall silent obediently.

Angelica giggles through the mirror, coiling with delight.

The old music cuts. A hum. A rising electronic pulse. Then the sound breaks open—

Synth waves surge through the cavern, heavy bass layered beneath neon-streaked chords. The atmosphere shifts instantly. The vats seem to vibrate differently. The metal skeleton supports hum with resonance.

Angelica begins to dance in the mirror — small, ecstatic movements of her upper body, wings flexing, coils swaying.

Envy stands still for a moment, eyes reflecting the electric blue glow now flooding the recycling chamber.

He is enchanted. Completely.

Lu’s arms shake. He glances left. Then right. No one is watching him.

The bass swells. Angelica claps in rhythm.

Lu exhales. His grip slips. The Dreamer drops.
There is no ceremony. No alignment.
No countdown.

Just a wet, heavy splash as the body plunges into the vat of pale blue paste.

The surface erupts.

Chemical foam bursts upward violently.

The chains rattle. Envy turns.

The moment stretches. And then—

A shrill, raw, unrestrained screech tears from him.

“AH—!”

It is not theatrical.

It is not controlled.

It is fury.

The vat begins to convulse, the pastel goop shifting from gentle churn to violent agitation as something inside it reacts far too quickly.

Angelica freezes mid-dance.

The mirrors shudder.

Lu stares at his empty hands.

The vat explodes upward in a violent, bubbling froth.

Not graceful.

Not ritualistic.

Just chaos.

Envy’s composure shatters.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

His voice cracks — actually cracks — and he lunges forward, coat flaring behind him. The pale blue goop churns violently, streaks of darker matter surfacing, dissolving, then resurfacing again in grotesque little islands of ruin.

“There were steps!” he shrieks, scrambling for a long-handled ladle from a nearby hook. “There were FIVE other steps, Dog!”

He plunges the ladle into the vat with frantic precision, scooping up something that used to resemble a shoulder. It slides apart mid-air.

“No pre-soak! No stabilization! No integrity purge!” he rants, grabbing a slotted spoon with his other hand like a deranged chef defending a collapsing kitchen.

The synth-heavy bass from GUNSHIP continues thumping in the background, wildly inappropriate for the situation.

Angelica bursts into delighted laughter from the mirror.

“Oh, Brother, look at you~!”

Envy ignores her, leaning dangerously over the vat.

“It’s contaminated! It’s contaminated— we can salvage this— we can—”

He scoops again.

This time, something more fleshy. It falls apart in his spoon.

He lets out a guttural, strangled sound.

Lu rushes to the edge beside him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“STOP APOLOGIZING AND SCOOP!”

Lu immediately plunges both bare hands into the vat.

The goop hisses faintly against his skin.

He flinches but does not withdraw.

“I’ll fix it! I’ll fix it!” he insists, scooping up soft dissolving chunks and tossing them blindly into a nearby disposal bin.

The bin overflows almost immediately.

Angelica giggles, coiling in the mirror.

“This is so romantic,” she purrs. “Look at you two cooking together~”

“THIS IS NOT COOKING!” Envy snaps, nearly dropping his ladle in panic. “This was a calibrated batch! Do you have any idea how long it takes to refine the viscosity ratio—”

Another wet bubble pops loudly.

Something inside the vat implodes.

A thick plume of darker blue spreads like a bruise across the surface.

Envy freezes.

“No… no no no no—”

He scoops desperately, splashing goop onto his pristine shoes. He does not even notice.

Lu, half-submerged to his forearms now, winces as faint chemical burns begin to sting. He keeps going anyway, scooping with frantic devotion.

“I can get it out! I promise! I’ll scoop it all!”

“YOU CAN’T SCOOP A REACTION, DOG!”

The vat gives one final violent convulsion.

Then—

It collapses inward.

The entire mixture shifts color.

From pale blue.

To a murky, uneven sludge.

Dead.

Ruined.

Silence hangs for half a second.

Then Angelica laughs again — softer this time, almost affectionate.

Envy stands frozen, ladle dripping.

His jaw clenches.

Slowly.

He lowers the spoon.

The music continues to pulse behind them, absurdly triumphant.

Lu blinks down at his hands, now lightly blistered, still clutching a dissolving scrap of what used to be a human rib.

“I… think I made soup,” he mutters weakly.