I squinted against the sunlight and staggered forward. The metal box clanged shut behind me. My crocs hit cracked pavement. Weeds pushed up between the concrete slabs.
I was behind a hotel. I could tell by the big green letters on the back wall:
Holiday Inn.
I looked around. There were dumpsters. Vending machines bolted to the wall. One had exploded—or maybe melted. The door hung open like something had burned it off.
I stepped closer.
That's when I saw footprints.
Blackened, smudged prints on the pavement. Still steaming faintly. Each one was perfect—heel, sole, ball of the foot. Burned slightly into the sidewalk.
And judging by the size?
They were mine.
I stared for a second.
Then sighed. "Okay. Guess I'm tracking myself now."
I adjusted the jacket, made sure Miku was still in my pocket, and started walking. The meatballs squished faintly in the other pocket as I moved.
I rolled my shoulders and followed the trail.
Time to figure out where the hell I'd left my friends.
I kept walking.
Out of the hotel lot. Past the valet area where a cone was smoldering. Through a side hedge that now had a perfect human-shaped hole burned clean through it.
One guy eating a muffin on the patio dropped it when he saw me. Understandable.
The footprints led out to the street.
I walked.
For hours.
The city slowly woke up around me. More cars. More people. Some stared. Some didn't.
The heat baked into my bones finally cooled. The steam coming off me started to fade. I unzipped the jacket halfway and adjusted the IKEA shirt underneath, which was starting to cling in very unflattering ways.
About forty minutes in, I passed a bus stop with a map. That's when I saw it:
Orlando.
I stopped.
Blinking.
A cruiser rolled by, window down, lights off. The cop inside looked at me once, then looked again. His brow furrowed. I waved awkwardly.
The side of the car read: Orlando City Police.
I turned my head slowly.
"...Orlando?" I muttered.
I sighed.
Then kept walking.
And the footprints just... kept going.
I passed a family taking photos with a guy in a Goofy costume.
Still going.
A double-decker bus with a giant Minnie on the side honked at me when I jaywalked.
Still going.
It wasn't until I passed a big fountain shaped like Mickey's head that I stopped dead.
A massive arched sign stood up ahead, bright and welcoming:
"Welcome to Walt Disney World – The Most Magical Place on Earth!"
I squinted.
Looked down.
Yep.
Scorched footprints.
Right through the gates.
"...No. No way," I muttered.
But yes.
People shuffled past me with churros and strollers and sparkly Minnie ears.
I sighed, deeply.
Then I followed the prints under the arch.
The concrete path ahead still shimmered faintly with heat in the late morning sun, leading deeper into the happiest place on Earth.
I pulled out the meatballs and took a slow bite like a prisoner walking to the gallows.
"Might as well."
I walked through Disney World like a man retracing the worst bachelor party in history.
The footprints led me past vendors, parades, and one churro stand that was definitely still slightly smoldering. A cast member gave me a thumbs-up like he thought I was in costume. I gave him a finger gun and kept walking.
The trail veered past Epcot, curved wide around Magic Kingdom, and then—somehow—made a straight shot through a hedge maze that wasn't supposed to have a shortcut. I stepped through a busted fence panel and found myself facing a vast, paved sea of cars.
Animal Kingdom loomed ahead, its fake trees towering, park music drifting faintly on the breeze.
The footprints continued down the lot. Space after space. Row after row. I walked past SUVs with Star Wars stickers and overheated minivans filled with forgotten juice boxes.
Then I saw it.
Just sitting there.
Like it belonged.
The Sparrow with the big, beat-up canvas duffel bag, resting gently across a painted white line between two compact parking spots.
One of the flaps was slightly open.
I stopped a few feet away and stared.
The bag didn't move.
I rubbed my face.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I walked up, crouched, and tapped the side gently.
"Hey," I called into it. "Everybody still alive in there?"
No answer.
Then the zipper twitched.
A soft groan.
And a bleary voice—Rhea's—muttered from inside:
"...If you left us in a theme park parking lot, I'm breaking your kneecaps."
I exhaled a shaky laugh. "It's good to hear your voice too."
The bag rustled again. Someone—Elia, probably—grunted, "Where are we?"
I looked up at the fake mountain in the distance.
Then down at the white letters painted on the asphalt beside me: Giraffe 18B.
"Disney," I said flatly. "You're in Disney World."
A long pause.
Then Rhea: "...Why."
"Honestly?" I shrugged. "I don't know. But I brought meatballs."
The bag opened wider.
Nico peeked out—pale and exhausted, eyes squinting against the sun.
"...Are they warm?"
I held up the half-thawed IKEA packet.
"Naaah."
A beat.
Then: "I'll take it."
They climbed out of the bag one by one.
Rhea was first—bed-headed, eyes bloodshot, hoodie half-zipped. Elia followed with her knife still in hand, just in case. Bianca carried a now-sleepy Nico, who looked like he'd aged six months overnight.
"So," Rhea said, crossing her arms, "mind explaining what the hell just happened?"
Elia glared at me.
I rubbed the back of my neck. Still warm. "Yeah, uh... so, bad news first?"
Rhea groaned. "Always."
"I... got possessed."
Bianca blinked. "Like... ghost possessed?"
"No," I said. "Like demonic fire skeleton possessed. Spirit of Vengeance. He moved in. Long-term lease. Probably subletting my soul."
They stared at me.
I sighed. "And now that the cat's out of the bag—and the bag is out of Norse territory—I might as well say the rest."
I glanced around. Nobody nearby. Just cars and faint background music about magical animals and happily ever afters.
"There are other pantheons," I said, tone flat. "Like, a lot of them."
Nico blinked. "More than just the Greek gods?"
"Way more. I think I... stumbled into the Norse one."
Rhea rubbed her face. "Stumbled? You went full infernal WWE in the sky. The World Tree caught fire. I heard war horns."
"Yeah." I scratched my jaw. "So. I might've... accidentally killed a few gods and other creatures."
"Might've?" Elia hissed.
"Like, publicly," I said. "In Asgard. Loki. Surtr. A big-ass dragon. A super squirrel. I left a mark."
Rhea stared at me, stunned. "You mean to tell me that while we were in the bag having a panic spiral, you were possessed by a... a biblical demon-angel-vengeance thing and declared holy war on an entire other religion?"
"I wouldn't say war."
"What would you say?!"
I paused.
"Performance review?"
Elia groaned.
Bianca finally asked, "Why you?"
I hesitated.
Then muttered, "Turns out my... ancestry's weird. I'm connected to more than one pantheon. My grandfather is Bacchus. I guess that makes me cross-realm compatible and makes weird stuff happen to me? that's my best guess."
Rhea blinked.
"You're saying your soul is has catnip to divine's?"
I pointed at her. "Exactly."
She threw her hands in the air.
"Anyway," I added, "the demon angel—his name's Zarathos, by the way—is still kinda in here. Quiet now. Probably napping."
Elia looked at me like I was radioactive. "You... burned your way through Asgard."
I held up the packet of meatballs.
"So what actually happened that day you went away?" Rhea asked. "You never told me. The letter just said, 'Give to Hestia.' That's all."
I hesitated.
Then sighed. "The Fae were invading. Not just random monsters—like, organized. The Wild Hunt. I ended up working with a Celtic gods to stop them from tearing a hole into the eastern seaboard."
Nico's jaw dropped. "What."
Bianca was just staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
"And now," I continued, because at this point it didn't matter, "we've got Lovecraft cultists trying to summon something with too many vowels, and there's an Egyptian angle that apparently involves the Rosetta Stone."
Rhea rubbed her temples.
Elia stood up and paced a tight circle, muttering something about therapy.
"I don't even want to ask how the Rosetta Stone fits into this," Bianca mumbled.
"No one does," I said. "Athena was real vague, but apparently the Egyptian gods got... sealed in it? Something weird. The Olympians implied it's above our pay grade."
"And they told you to handle it?" Rhea asked.
"They told me to not talk about it," I said. "So naturally, I'm telling you guys."
Bianca looked toward the bag. "I want to go back inside."
"I'd join you," Elia muttered, "but the dogs were getting lovey-dovey in there."
I sat back, letting the weight settle. The sun was hot. The meatballs were thawing in my pocket.
"Anyway," I said, "we should probably figure out where the cult is hiding before they summon something with tentacles and opinions about humanity."
Nico pulled his hoodie tighter. "Can't we just go to Epcot?"
I leaned back on the curb and let the last few minutes swirl in my head: Norse gods, Fae wars, Egyptian curses, Elder Gods waiting in the wings.
My bones still ached from the hellfire hangover. My friends were staring at me like I might sprout wings or horns any second.
Then I glanced toward the Animal Kingdom gates.
I could hear faint music, laughter, someone yelling about Dole Whip.
I thought about what we had ahead—hunting cultists, stopping a summoning, probably burning down some libraries.
Then I shrugged.
"...Screw it," I said. "Let's take a day."
Rhea blinked. "A day?"
"Yeah." I stood and stretched, groaning as my spine cracked. "We've got cash from a god-sanctioned murder tournament, and half of us are traumatized. I say we hit the parks. Cool off. Breathe."
Elia crossed her arms. "You're saying the fate of the world can wait while you ride Splash Mountain?"
"Yes."
Bianca looked at Nico, who was blinking like he didn't know if he was dreaming. "I mean... he's not wrong."
"Think of it as divine tactical decompression," I added. "The gods do it all the time. Usually with orgies. We're just going to do churros and fireworks."
Rhea squinted at me. "You serious?"
"Deadly," I said. "And speaking of death—remind me before we leave? I want to hit Magic Kingdom. There's a magic shop on Main Street. I might need to grab a Ouija board."
There was a beat.
Elia narrowed her eyes. "Why."
I tapped my chest. "Gotta talk to the demon in here somehow. He hasn't really spoken to me. I figure if we're soul-roommates, I should probably check in."
Bianca looked mildly horrified. "Like... make sure he's okay?"
"Or make sure he's not planning to turn me into a flaming trebuchet mid-conversation. Either way."
Nico mumbled, "I don't think those work like that."
"Magic shop Ouija boards definitely don't," Rhea muttered, already massaging her temples.
I grinned. "Well, it's Disney. Maybe they have one enchanted by Walt's cryogenically frozen skull."
Elia groaned and started walking toward the gates. "Fine. But I swear, if we end up fighting a zombie princess, I'm blaming you."
"Oh, I'm counting on it."
I zapped the hellhound with a flick of my fingers—just subtle enough that no one in the crowd noticed.
It yelped—a little puff of brimstone and spark—and vanished behind a pretzel stand before it could fully prepare to hunt us. Tough break.
I leaned back on the bench, sweat sticking to the back of my IKEA shirt. The jacket hung off one shoulder, half-unzipped. People passed by in waves—sunscreened and wide-eyed—none of them realizing they were walking through a war zone disguised as a theme park.
In my palm, I held her.
Tiny.
Viking Hatsune Miku, battle-axe slung over her shoulder, plastic smile filled with purity.
"Pretty sure the others are scared of me," I told her. "I mean, I get it. Flaming skull. Demon. Driven by my base instincts. Doesn't exactly scream stability."
Miku said nothing.
I sighed. "I need to figure this demon thing out. Fast. Before I wake up chained to a pillar in some cave while Zarathos joyrides through the Vatican."
She blinked plastic silence at me.
I rubbed the heel of my hand against my temple. "I'm just... tired, you know? Like, yeah, fighting's fun. Explosions, powers, all that. But could the world maybe not end for one week? A weekend, even? Let me just be a person. A really strong person with baggage and excellent hair."
Still nothing.
I glanced across the plaza.
Nico, Bianca, and Rhea were clambering into some spinning ride shaped like flying dinosaurs. Nico looked hesitant. Bianca was already dragging him by the hand. Rhea laughed once—real, light. That was nice.
Elia sat on a bench across from me, absolutely obliterating a turkey leg the size of a warhammer. She had her back half-turned to the crowd, eyes scanning everything. Watching for monsters.
Didn't realize I'd already zapped five of them.
Girl deserved a break.
"What do you think, Miku?"
Silence.
I sighed and leaned back again.
Sitting beside me. Giant foam head. Blue sailor cap. Massive eyes.
Donald Duck.
He turned slowly toward me. We made eye contact.
Well. Beak contact.
"I don't know, man," Donald said in the most flat, exhausted normal guy voice I've ever heard. "I earn minimum wage and I haven't seen the sun in four hours. Maybe... visit a priest? Or a therapist?"
I stared.
He stared back.
Through two fogged-up plastic eyeholes.
"...Thanks," I said.
"No problem."
We sat there for a beat.
I tossed another hellhound a subtle bolt. It yelped and burst into sparkles behind a churro stand.
"Hey," I said, glancing back at Donald. "You think I could hook up with a princess while I'm here?"
He didn't move.
"Legally I'm not allowed to comment," he said.
I nodded, solemn. "Fair."
Somewhere across the park, the kids screamed on the ride. Elia looked up, alert, then relaxed when she saw it was joy, not murder.
I slouched lower on the bench.
Donald handed me a Mickey-shaped pretzel without a word.
The magic shop on Main Street was everything I hoped for.
Crystal balls that were obviously plastic. Tarot decks themed after Disney characters. A "Witch Starter Kit" that came with a sticker sheet and a cinnamon-scented candle. The Ouija boards were stacked by the register like cereal boxes.
I grabbed the least glittery one—black box, faded lettering, probably older than I was—and brought it to the counter. The cashier gave me a long look, clocked the leather jacket, the pants, the weird hat.
"You planning to contact Walt?" she asked dryly.
"Nah," I said. "I've got a demon inside me."
She blinked once, then rang me up like that was the most normal sentence she'd heard all day.
Behind me, the kids were going feral.
Bianca was trying on sparkly mouse ears. Nico had found a black hoodie with a Nightmare Before Christmas patch and was holding it like it was the Holy Grail. Rhea bought a churro wand. Elia had on sunglasses and a Goofy hat and was acting like none of this was happening.
I paid with a mix of tournament drachmas, gold coins, and a Starbucks gift card I stole from someone pockets, for some reason the cashier didn't even blink.
Outside, the sun hit hard. Music played somewhere near the castle. Bubble wands sparkled in the air.
A black sun burst into life.
It hung there for a moment, then poured something into my skull.
A gift.
Maximized benefits of chemical substances. Enhanced reactions. Boosted clarity. Minimal side effects. Tolerance resistance. Auto-detection for contaminants. Detox failsafe. Even an internal combustion override.
A power.
For drugs.
I blinked slowly.
"Oh," I said aloud.
Elia turned. "What?"
"Nothing. Just... thinking."
I looked around. Kids with balloon swords. Dads trying not to sweat through their khakis. Cotton candy melting in the heat.
I tapped the box in my hand—the Ouija board.
Then, deadpan, mostly to myself:
"Where could I score some drugs at the happiest place on Earth?"
Rhea choked on her churro.
Elia stared at me like I'd grown a third eyeball.
Nico whispered, "What kind of drugs?"
"Not the bad ones," I said as fast as I could.
Bianca pointed toward a gift shop. "That place sells scented candles."
"Think I need something stronger," I muttered.
We started walking.
The Ouija board under my arm, mouse ears on half the squad, sunglasses on Elia, churros in every hand.
CP Bank:0cp
Perks earned this chapter: 400cp The Best Part of Waking Up (Warhammer Fantasy: Skaven) [Benevolence] ... IS SNORTING WARPSTONE DUUUUST! You think I joke-squeak, but it's actually quite the habit among Grey Seers. It does so much for them, too: A quick and dirty boost-growth to their magical potency, an influx of energy to keep them awake, numbs the pain of any wounds they may have received... And-and if we're being honest, they're just plain addicted. Of course, snorting the raw solidified essence of the Warp and Chaos-stuff is not without its dangers, as some mutated and insane priests can quite readily attest to.You have the benefits of such a warpstone addiction, without the nastier side effects - and such a benefit applies to any other drug, ingested concoction, or edible in the skaven larder or chemical laboratory. At most, sniffing up a line of warpstone dust will make your eyes bulge out momentarily, or make you have the suspicion that your whiskers are plotting violent betrayal.
Any other drug or similar object will drastically maximize the benefits over the disadvantages, at the same time ensuring you won't suffer pesky issues such as "overdose" or "brain overload."
Milestones: None348Magus exploratorMay 21, 2025View discussionThreadmarks Chapter 37- Show me the Head!View contentMagus exploratorMay 23, 2025#2,513"Here you go, Puff," I said, sliding him a neatly folded stack of hundreds.
The dragon blinked at me. Slowly. Costume head bobbing slightly like the guy inside was processing all his life choices at once.
He sighed through the mesh. "It's Figment. Figment the Imagination Dragon. Not Puff."
"Right, right," I said, waving it off. "Sorry. Figment. Now come on, I paid for the full mind-opening tour. Give me the goods."
There was a pause.
Then Figment—either a very tired cast member or an eldritch being playing a long con—reached into a hidden pouch behind his purple belly and passed me a small ziplock baggie.
Inside: a rainbow of LSD stickers, printed with Mickey silhouettes and little floating castles. A couple tiny baggies of coke, ecstasy, and—unless I was hallucinating already—glittering blue capsules labeled Ego Death – 2mg.
I nodded with respect.
"Appreciate it, Professor Puff."
"It's. Figment," he repeated, dead inside.
Behind us, I heard Rhea, Nico, Bianca, and Elia heading toward Soarin'. Elia grumbled about long lines. Rhea was explaining how the scent effects worked. Nico was quietly hyped. Bianca was still chewing on the last churro.
We'd eaten earlier at the Mexico pavilion—tacos and pineapple juice by the fountain. I'd wanted to try Norway too, but the place was under renovation.
I pocketed the bag, careful not to let any fairy dust fall loose.
Fantasyland had never looked so aggressively pastel.
Music played softly from hidden speakers. The air smelled like sugar and faint vanilla. And I was casually leaning on a lamppost, openly flirting with Princess Aurora like we were the only two people in the park.
She tilted her head at me, golden hair catching the light, and smiled in that practiced way only professionals trained for it or royalty could pull off.
"You flatter me, good sir," she said. "Though I must admit, I don't often see knights wearing leather jackets."
"Times change," I said, giving her a grin.
She giggled, hand over her chest. "How very modern. Tell me, do you slay dragons often?"
I leaned in just a little. "You would be surprised, but they aren't nearly as charming as you."
She laughed again—genuine this time.
That's when I heard it.
Thump.
Scratch.
From behind a souvenir cart stacked with Sleeping Beauty mugs and commemorative pins came a low growl. I glanced sideways, just enough to catch the shimmer of something crawling from beneath the bench behind her.
It wasn't small.
It wasn't subtle.
It was a giant badger.
Not a cute cartoon one. Ugly motherfucker. Rough fur, jagged claws, glowing red eyes. It was trying to stalk through a sea of toddlers and parents wearing cargo shorts, and no one could see it but me.
Aurora tilted her head. "Is something wrong?"
"Hmm? No. Just enjoying the view."
I casually raised one hand. Let a thread of music power trickle down my arm, wrapping around my knuckles, my eyes glowing soft black.
The badger growled louder. It was about to lunge at a dad holding a turkey leg and a toddler on one hip.
I snapped my fingers.
CRACK.
A bolt of lightning arced low, silent to mortal ears, and struck the beast square in the spine. It vanished in a puff of glittering gold dust and faint brimstone behind the popcorn stand. The dad blinked once, then sneezed.
She stepped a little closer, voice dropping. "You're very mysterious, Sir Hero."
"I'm a man of many talents."
"Any of them involve dancing?"
I smirked. "I can waltz, but I rather sing."
She raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought the princes had all been taken."
"Oh, I'm not a prince," I said.
Somewhere nearby, Nico yelled something about getting front row on Big Thunder Mountain, and I heard Rhea arguing with a Pin vendor.
Aurora offered her hand.
"Then perhaps," she said, "you'll escort me through my kingdom, brave knight?"
I took her hand.
Behind us, another monster tried to crawl out from under the flower beds.
I lit it up without breaking eye contact.
"Lead the way, princess."
We were leaving the park as the fireworks started.
The sky lit up in bursts of pink and greens, music swelling behind us as the crowd ooh'd and aah'd. Families clustered together. Kids on shoulders pointed at the glowing castle.
I was holding a mostly-empty Mickey brand bottle and feeling just a little too aware of how melty the air felt. My drug affinity was working overtime. Everything had a slight echo. Even my own thoughts were in surround sound.
The group trudged along beside me. Nico had crashed, hanging off Bianca's arm like a particularly goth tote bag. Rhea had a turkey leg in one hand, mid-argument about Space Mountain's structural safety. Elia was quiet, sunglasses on despite it being nighttime, clearly also reevaluating her life choices.
I pulled out my compass.
It was spinning.
Not gently turning—whirling. The needle was having a full-blown existential crisis inside the glass dome, swinging so fast it looked like it was about to drill through the case.
"...Huh."
Rhea looked over. "That's not a good face."
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, no, that's definitely not a good spin."
Elia peeked. "What's it pointing to?"
I stared at it. Then up.
Then down.
Then slowly turned in a circle, watching it flail like a bird trapped in a glass jar.
And then—it stopped.
Just for a second.
Click.
It pointed—dead ahead. Toward a backstage area beyond the hedge. Off the main path. Behind a small sign that read: Cast Members Only.
I squinted at the sign.
Then down at the compass.
Then back up again.
"No," I whispered.
Elia frowned. "No what?"
"No way."
Rhea sighed. "Lucas—"
"No. No way."
Bianca blinked. "Is it dangerous?"
I turned to them slowly, still holding the spinning compass like it was a sacred relic.
"I think..." I said, voice barely audible, "my heart wants the frozen head of Walt Disney."
They all just stared at me.
Nico finally said, "...What."
"I think I'm being summoned," I said, wide-eyed. "By the man himself. The pioneer. The mousefather. My compass literally just hard-locked the moment I thought about him. This is real, holy shit, they really froze his head?"
Rhea rubbed her temples. "You're still high."
Elia muttered, "I knew buying that Ouija board was a mistake."
I held it up like Mufasa.
"Walt wants to talk."
Another firework burst overhead.
Nobody said anything for a second.
Then Nico, dead serious:
"Do we have time to see what the head wants?"
Bianca: "Nico!"
Rhea groaned. "Please tell me this doesn't mean we're breaking into Disney's underground cryo-tomb."
I looked at the compass.
Then the sign.
Then back to them.
"...I mean, it would be rude to ignore a invitation."
We stopped at the edge of the cast member zone, crouched awkwardly behind a decorative hedge shaped like Goofy giving a thumbs-up.
The sky was still glowing from the last of the fireworks, the final chords of When You Wish Upon a Star echoing through the speakers as the crowd behind us began to thin.
I knelt and unzipped the bag.
"Nico. Bianca."
They both looked at me with the immediate twin expression of please no.
"I know," I said gently, "but we're about to do something extremely stupid and possibly sacred-slash-cursed, and I don't trust the park not to be crawling with freaks or eldritch animatronics."
Nico crossed his arms. "I can fight."
I pointed. "You can't. I respect the gusto. But we're breaking into a cryogenic crypt."
Bianca leaned over and peeked into the bag. "Ugh, it still smells like wet dog in there."
"Well, yeah," I said, gesturing toward Sif, who was lounging somewhere. "She nested in there with another magic wolf. You're lucky the walls aren't made of fur now."
Bianca sighed. "Fine."
Nico looked grumpy but didn't argue.
They both climbed in, muttering the whole way. The zipper closed behind them with a final boof from Sif.
Rhea, Elia, and I stood in silence for a moment.
Then I turned toward the Cast Members Only gate.
There was no lock. Just a keypad and a tired-looking latch.
Rhea squinted. "So. Are we actually doing this?"
Elia adjusted her sunglasses. "Why can't we have a normal day, do we really have to follow your Id every time?"
I gave her a thumbs-up.
"Cool. Let's go break into Disney."
We moved low, fast, slipping through a small opening beside the gate where a service truck had just exited. The music faded behind us. The lights got dimmer. Concrete replaced cobblestone. The air smelled less like cotton candy and more like maintenance hallway.
The door clicked shut behind us, and the air changed.
No more park music. No more smiling guests or bubble wands. Just silence, flickering industrial lights, and concrete halls that curved a little too much, never a straight line.
Rhea whispered, "So, uh… this is creepy."
"Yeah," I said.
My compass pulsed once in my hand. Still pointing forward.
We moved deeper into the tunnels, past crates labeled with weirdly specific instructions:
"ANNA: RIGHT ARM – DO NOT DETACH AGAIN- WAIT FOR RELEASE."
"HATTERY – CLASSIFIED – DO NOT OPEN WITHOUT KEYMASTER."
Then the lights dimmed again.
And the hallway changed.
First came the smell—cinnamon and ink. Then the walls began to shimmer slightly, like there was a glamour spell covering something underneath.
We rounded a corner—
—and stopped dead.
The floor was rubber, the walls pastel—but jagged at the seams, like torn cartoon paper. A group of Imagineers stood around a massive sketchpad on a rotating easel. One of them was drawing panel by panel with glowing ink, and as each frame was finished, it moved. Not just animated—moved, like the art was alive and trying to climb off the wall.
A giant pair of toon scissors walked by on its own legs, snipping the air aimlessly.
No one acknowledged us.
"Okay," Elia whispered, hand drifting toward her knife, "this is cool."
We passed another side room where three witches in cast member badges stirred bubbling cauldrons filled with plastic flowers and soda syrup. One of them snapped her fingers and conjured a sugar mouse into existence. Another stirred and muttered, "Not enough joy in this one. Add more MSG."
The compass tugged left.
We followed it past a wall of half-assembled animatronic birds—dozens of half-blinking eyes and beaks twitching—and down a spiraling ramp.
The lower we went, the more real everything felt.
One last hallway. The lights here were gold instead of white. The air smelled faintly like dust, roses, and dry ice.
And at the end, behind a heavy metal door marked simply:
ARCHIVE 33 – AUTHORIZED CAST ONLY
—The compass stopped moving at all.
The needle pointed dead ahead.
"Okay," I whispered. "This is it."
Elia frowned. "What's it?"
I gripped the handle.
"Walt."
The door slid open with a hiss and a blast of cold, filtered air.
Inside was less forbidden shrine and more underground operations center built by someone with a god complex.
Shelves full of film reels and blueprints. Old animatronics with their faces removed. A table covered in half-burned scripts and notes like "Too real – scrap for Tokyo."
And in the middle, floating in a big glass cylinder of bubbling blue goo—
Walt Disney's head.
Eyes closed. Mustache eternal.
Then they snapped open.
"Oh, for crying out loud," Walt groaned through a speaker mounted nearby. "Greeks. Again? Is this about Hercules? It's easier to say than Heracles."
We all froze.
Beside the tank stood Mickey Mouse.
Not a guy in a suit. The real deal. Fur a little white. Eyes a little too still. He was holding a clipboard, posture slouched like a tired worker.
"Uh. Hi," I offered.
Walt squinted at me through the glass. "You with Camp Half-Blood?"
I hesitated. "...Kinda."
He rolled his preserved eyes. "Let me guess. Someone pissed off a dryad in animal kingdom. One of you died in line for Peter Pan. Or maybe another demigod tried to summon fire in the fireworks launch zone."
"I mean, not that I'm aware."
He turned to Mickey. "Wasn't that the Artemis girl with the arrows trying to free the animals in animal kingdom?"
Mickey sighed. "No, that was the Apollo kid who fried the Carousel of Progress last spring."
Walt scoffed. "God-damned art kids."
Rhea leaned in and whispered, "Did you slip me something?"
Elia didn't answer. She just looked ready to stab something.
Walt turned his full, floating attention to me. "Alright, listen up, son. I don't care who your godly parent is or what nonsense you've dragged in. I've got enough problems in this park."
I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
He glared. "Ghosts. That's what. Everywhere. Haunted Mansion? Sure, expected. But It's a Small World? That ride's a poltergeist retirement home. The dolls full of demons."
Mickey gave me a weak smile. "They try to stab the cast members and the maintenance crews."
Walt sighed, bubbling slightly in frustration.
"So here's the deal. I'm not kicking you out—no lawsuits, no memory wipes—but I am politely bribing you to get the hell off my property."
He motioned—well, floated—and a drawer slid out from a nearby machine with a hiss.
Inside was a platinum park pass, a Mickey Mouse watch glowing faintly with enchantment, and a voucher labeled:
ACME EXECUTIVE CATALOGUE.
I blinked. "You serious?"
"I've had to exorcise four haunted monorail carts this week," Walt snapped. "Take the toys and go fight monsters somewhere else. Preferably where the union doesn't have jurisdiction, hate those fuckers."
I looked at the loot.
Then back at him.
"...Can I keep the Ouija board?"
Walt grumbled. "If it keeps you from coming back? Absolutely."
Mickey handed me the tray, completely deadpan. "Have a magical day."
CP Bank:0cp
Perks earned this chapter: None.
Milestones: None.