Bulge dropped to his knees with a loud crack that echoed across the icy room. He hadn't meant to fall just to kneel dramatically but his boot slipped on a cracked tile. Now he was awkwardly sprawled at Freeze's feet, like a coat someone had tossed aside.
Freeze didn't even blink.
"No."
Bulge looked up.
"Please....."
Freeze crushed the rolled-up newspaper in his hand...the headline "EARTH'S DEATH: OFFICIALS KNEW?" disappearing into a fist of paper and frost.
"This isn't a field trip," he said coldly. "You'd slow me down."
Bulge's eyes darted to the paper.
"You… read Candid?"
He hadn't meant to ask....it just slipped out.
That made Freeze pause. Only for a moment. His brow twitched slightly, like an eyebrow raising somewhere beneath a glacier.
Without a word, he tossed the crumpled paper into the corner....,where other failed reports, broken data cubes, and an empty synth-vodka bottle sat frozen mid-spill.
"I always read it," Freeze muttered. "Trash tells the truth."
Everyone said Candid Chronicle was fake news, made-up conspiracy theories for weirdos and retirees. But Bulge read it too. He knew exactly what Freeze meant.
"They print what Central censors," Bulge said softly.
"Leaks. Disappearances. Places we're not supposed to talk about…"
Freeze lit a cigarette with a snap of his fingers, the frost on his gloves flashing white-blue as the flame sparked.
"They get most of it wrong," he said. "But sometimes… they get too much right."
The room fell silent again. The cigarette hissed as he took a drag. The smoke rose in perfect spirals, then froze mid-air like glass before shattering into nothing.
Bulge clenched his fists on his thighs. His pants offered no protection from the cold. His skin felt numb, like the cold was working its way into his bones. All he could feel was the burning shame rising in his chest.
He stood up slowly. His legs felt like rusty antennae,wobbly, stiff. He turned toward the door, the sting of rejection making every step heavier.
Then....,
A sound.
A long sigh. Low. Tired. Like a mountain of ice shifting ever so slightly.
"...Get your clothes ready."
Bulge froze.
He turned around, heart hammering in his chest.
Freeze stood there, cigarette still hanging from his lips. Frost was slowly melting off the collar of his coat, dripping like the room regretted letting him go.
"We might have to jump to Universe-2," he said.
Bulge's heart nearly exploded. He spun back toward him., mouth open, disbelief shining in his eyes.
"Don't."
Freeze exhaled. The smoke curled, then froze into tiny crystal shapes before fading.
"Just go."
Bulge didn't argue.
He ran.
The hallway flew past him. Every flickering light, every freezing tile felt new now., alive with possibility.
His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he charged back into the reception room, nearly knocking over Carmichael's whiskey bottle.
He slammed both palms on the desk, grinning so hard it hurt his face.
Then he struck a ridiculous superhero pose,chest out, fists on hips, eyebrows dancing with victory.
"Grandpa!" he shouted.
"File it! Write whatever! Tell EF we are in it....,"
Carmichael didn't even look up from his betting sheets.
"Hm."
He took a sip of whiskey.
"Got yourself a detective, huh?"
Bulge nodded so hard his neck cracked.
Carmichael's mouth twitched. It almost looked like a smile.
Then he narrowed his eyes.
"…Who'd you trick into saying yes?"
Bulge's pose fell apart instantly.
His arms dropped.
His smile faltered.
Carmichael leaned forward, elbows popping like old pipes. His voice sharpened like broken glass.
"Ooooh well? Who is he?"
He is coldness himself