Radio Broadcast: Let's listen again to the interview she had all those years ago.
Radio Broadcast: "As the youngest Floor Ritual record holder of the century, you're just one step away from becoming the world champion. What else do you wish to achieve in your career?"
Radio Broadcast: "My ultimate goal is to win the finals of the Uluru Games."
Radio Broadcast: "But I'll also register for as many events as possible."
Radio Broadcast: "I have a lot I want to achieve, but I'm patient, and I'm sure I can do it all eventually."
*clink—clunk* The sound of metal cuts through the darkness.
Willow: Now, old friend.
Willow removes her prosthetic leg, her long fingers stretching out toward the machine lubricant resting on the shelf.
Willow: It's just you and me, isn't it?
As she gropes for the lubricant, she comes across a piece of crumpled paper.
Worker I: Careful with the scaffolding, fellas. You wouldn't want it to fall on your feet. You'll be hobblin' about for months!
Workers are busy disassembling the stage, carrying wooden posts and equipment to the door.
Mr. Fog: Here's the reimbursement application form. Just fill in the numbers and give me the receipts for the materials. I'll contact the Uluru Committee for your compensation.
Worker I: Is there really no hope, Mr. Fog? We didn't build all this just to tear it all down.
Mr. Fog: I'm sorry.
Worker I: To be honest, we'd rather not do this, even if we are gettin' paid for it.
Worker I: We were over the moon when we got the job. I mean, just look at this place. The huge billboards and that lovely stage background.
Worker I: How could we not be? It's been yonks since we last had an event like this, and who knows when we'll have another?
Worker I: Is there really nothin' we can do?
Mr. Fog: I ...
Caroline Bartley: Excuse me. Um ...
A voice floats over from behind the ladder in the workers' arms.
Worker I: Oops! Look at me, blockin' the doorway with my ladder! Beggin' your pardon, Miss.
Caroline Bartley: That's quite alright. I'm glad to stay a little longer and talk with everyone. None of us want to leave, actually.
Worker I: How sad. But it's true. Who'd want to leave after all the trouble we've gone to?
Mr. Fog: Ms. Bartley? I must say, I didn't expect to see you here after all the qualifiers were canceled.
Caroline Bartley: Hello, Mr. Fog. I'm glad to see you back on your feet.
Mr. Fog: Well, I can't wallow all day. There's a lot of cleaning up to do, and someone has to do it.
Mr. Fog: How about you, Ms. Bartley? Will you be leaving shortly?
Caroline Bartley: Yes. I suppose I'll go home and wait to hear the arrangements the committee's come up with.
Mr. Fog: ...
Brimley: Why don't you stay for a few more days?
Caroline Bartley: Well, I don't think there's much point.
She looks around the almost deserted venue.
Caroline Bartley: In fact, I'm the number one seed this year, so I don't even have to participate in the qualifiers to advance to the finals.
Caroline Bartley: It's a new system they introduced to get a step closer to the standardization of human sporting events.
Caroline Bartley: I only joined because I couldn't pass up the opportunity to compete in my hometown.
Caroline Bartley: This was going to be ... the last competition of my career.
She sighs. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she speaks again.
Caroline Bartley: And I thought ... No, never mind.
Caroline Bartley: I wasn't surprised when the news came out, to be honest. We were just fooling ourselves before, and now it's time to face the fact that—
Worker I: Sorry to interrupt you, but ain't it too early to be gettin' this dark, Mr. Fog?
The three of them look up at the sky as the world is plunged into darkness.
Brimley: Crikey. What time is it, mate?
Mr. Fog: I don't have to look at my watch to know it isn't night yet.
Brimley: Then what's going on?
The thick black-and-yellow smog surges upward, like a massive arm poised to sweep them away.
Brimley: Whoa! What the bloody hell is happening?!
COMBAT
Tooth Fairy: Are you alright?
Brimley: All good, thanks. What the blazes was that?
Tooth Fairy: It looked just like the black fog that attacked the hospital.
Tooth Fairy: Only smaller. And it was a different shape.
Tooth Fairy: Let's move to your office, Mr. Fog. There's something we need to talk about.
Tooth Fairy: I believe all these problems we're having—the smog, the tuberculosis, the failure of your machine—have something to do with the black fog.
Mr. Fog: What?
Tooth Fairy: But first, we need to get everyone out of the stadium in case it attacks again.
Upon entering the office, Brimley heads straight to the purifier and gives its glass top a curious tap.
Mr. Fog: Leave it be. It's no use worrying about it now.
Mr. Fog glances at his once-revered purification machine, now sitting inert in the corner.
Brimley: You pushed it too hard, mate.
Tooth Fairy: Don't be too hard on yourself, Mr. Fog. The fact that you made something that worked at all in just a matter of weeks is an achievement in itself.
Mr. Fog: Haha, I appreciate it, Ms. Tooth Fairy. I know it doesn't make any sense to keep it around after it failed so spectacularly, but I just ... ugh!
He tries to raise it off the ground to shift it, but doesn't succeed.
Mr. Fog: I can't bear to break it down. At least not for now. I enchanted it with my arcane skill, so we're linked together. It used to breathe as I did, and now I cough and splutter just like it does. cough
Tooth Fairy: You should go to the hospital as soon as possible.
Brimley: See? How many times have I told you that, and you never listened?! Even the doctor's saying so!
Brimley: Anyway, what was it that you wanted to talk about, Ms. Tooth Fairy?
Tooth Fairy: The experiments I've been doing these days. Here's a sample of the black fog. I collected it from the alley after it attacked me.
Tooth Fairy: As for the tuberculosis, I analyzed the black fog's composition and found some components very similar to those in the patients' saliva. I've concluded that this fog critter is the root cause of the disease.
Tooth Fairy: This critter is fog-soluble, can change its form, and is indestructible. It feeds on smog, and, most interestingly, sensitive emotions, which it seems to absorb to nourish itself.
Tooth Fairy: In conclusion, the answer to our problems lies in capturing and containing these critters.
Tooth Fairy: Also, in one of my experiments, I cultured two samples under the same conditions and put one of them in the sun, like this.
Tooth Fairy delicately places the bottle containing the black critter on the windowsill.
Tooth Fairy: See? Even in today's dim sunlight, it shrinks very quickly.
Tooth Fairy: Just wait a moment, and you'll see ...
Tooth Fairy: Its true being.
Tooth Fairy: Sunlight is their weakness. That's why you never see them in areas with clear skies.
She pauses, as if to add gravity to her point.
Tooth Fairy: As you can see, London provides the perfect conditions for it to survive and multiply: heavy smog and the anxiety and depression caused by the cancelation of the qualifiers.
A thoughtful silence falls in the office.
Mr. Fog: I do believe you're right, but it won't be easy to capture these things.
Tooth Fairy: No, definitely not.
Tooth Fairy: I'm still trying to figure that one out. We may be able to lure them into a trap, but we need to make a specific plan so that the process is controllable and the results predictable.
Mr. Fog: A specific plan? The only plan I can think of is to pray to God!
Tooth Fairy: Some people may seek answers from the divine, but whether that works or not is another matter.
Flutterpage: Oi!
Tooth Fairy: ...?
Brimley: Hmm?
Flutterpage: Helloooo!
Mr. Fog: Is that Flutterpage's voice?
Brimley: Sure is. Over there, mate. Outside the window!
There's a tap at the window.
Outside, Flutterpage drifts in the air, a white bedsheet clutched in her hands. Below her, a crowd of all ages makes their way along Cross Street, all heading for the sports stadium.
Flutterpage: Ms. Tooth Fairy, Mr. Fog, Mr. Brimley! Would you like to join us?
Tooth Fairy: What?
Flutterpage: The residents of Cross Street have got together to petition for the reopenin' of the qualifiers!
Flutterpage uses one hand to steady the bedsheet and the other to point excitedly at the crowd congregating below.
Will: Oi, folks! How 'bout this iron? It's a family heirloom, but it'll be perfect for the Floating Shot Fling!
Neighbor I: And I'll be the stopwatch! I'm an excellent timekeeper. I can keep time down to the millisecond!
Neighbor II: We also need a fair judge, right? Then I'll put myself forward! Everyone on Cross Street knows I'm an excellent mediator!
Flutterpage: Everyone's brought things from their homes! Ladders, hangin' rods, clotheslines, anythin' that might be useful. We're goin' to rebuild the stadium together!
Flutterpage: So? Will you join us?
Mr. Fog: What? Are you serious?!
Brimley: Strewth! I don't know what to say. This is unbelievable!
The crowd pushes on to the stadium, a few individuals joining the throng as they pass by their homes.
There is a resolute happiness in the air, as though no force could diminish their fervent hope.
Flutterpage: Since the qualifiers have been canceled, we'll just have to hold our own Games.
Flutterpage: Ms. Tooth Fairy, I've found the right way to look at the fish tank.