As I arrive at an elevator that's obviously out of service, I look around. When I point the light at the stairs next to it, my knee aches and throbs and begs me to stop, but that won't do. I let the spider crawl onto the wall and get ready.

"All right, gotta focus. I'm heading up."

«Grand! I'll sing you a tune,» Róisín says, audibly perking up.

"What, no, you don't—"

«No, no, I interrupted your music. This is the least I can do.»

I sigh. It's no use arguing with people who insist on going the extra mile. Or a hundred.

"Fine," I say. "Your mission, your rules."

As I leap up, Róisín begins to hum an elegant tune. The strain in her voice that she tries so hard to mask makes me skip a step wherever I can. I was trying to tell her there's no need to go out of her way like that!

By the time I reach the second floor, my knee's complaints have faded into a mere inconvenience. The upbeat melody of powerful "na na na"s carries me all the way to the fourth floor, where I need to catch my breath.

A fresh breeze blows through the shattered windows. Thirty percent battery remaining. If I don't continue at the same pace, I won't make it in time.

Though I can't give my backing track the twirly dance moves it deserves, I can pull myself up by the railings and keep going. Before long, my body realizes that resistance is futile and lets me push onward to my final destination:

Floor seven, cardiology.

I find myself standing next to what's left of the nurse's station. The desolate corridor extends to both sides.

"Where to?" I ask.

«To the right,» Róisín instructs, interrupted by a cough. «Clarice Lonicera's office.»

"I take it she was the big boss around here?"

«So she was. Over six foot tall, even.»

"That's... a type of big."

«It was her who created my son.»

"Huh."

Does that make Clarice his mom too? What kind of person runs a hospital, is a cardiologist, and makes dolls that hackers with a talent for singing would call their child?

Increasing my pace, I check every door: 7-13, 7-14, 7-15, and so it goes on; patient rooms. Around the corner, unisex restrooms followed by a door labelled "staff only". Every sign is more faded than the last, and I worry I won't find the right room—until it all but slaps me in the face.

Dr. Clarice Lonicera

There it is, written as clear as day, somehow withstanding the passage of time and destruction.

"Found it," I say and head inside, where I immediately flinch at my uneven footing and unpleasant cracking sounds. With every clumsy step I take in an attempt not to fall, another crack echoes through the room.

I finally come to a stop, balancing on one leg, and look down at my foot. The floor is littered with... CD cases?

Wading through the retro sea, I spot familiar names of girl groups that set the mood at any nineties themed roller disco. More damaged treasures pop up the deeper I sink into the ocean, all wiped from the shelves: cassettes with their tapes ripped out, scratched game cartridges (is that GoGoGo TroubleMakerz!?), even one of those round portable CD players.

"That's quite the collection Clarice has here."

«Right? Do admire it while I make the final preparations.»

What preparations? Where's the doll?

A poster rests on top of the countless plastic cases, ink fading away like its era long has. Pictures of five women are clumsily pasted on with the words "SPACE GIRLS" printed below. The A is clearly taped on from some other source, and so are two of the five faces. I respect the dedication to the bit.

"I didn't know hospital bands were a thing."

«They were goin' to be, but the Space Girls were ahead of their time.» Róisín's sarcasm effortlessly blends into a genuine chuckle. «Is the poster still there so? I'm the one with glasses.»

How is she saying that so easily when she was unsure of her identity earlier?

If Róisín is the one with glasses and purple-red hair, the brunette with the big grin must be Clarice. The blurry instant camera quality makes it tricky to guess their ages. Twenties, maybe?

"Looks like fun."

Róisín sighs in a nostalgic sort of way I'm not old enough to fully understand yet. «Pop was never my style, y'know, but this was Clarice's way of tellin' me I'm one of the girls. I'll always be grateful for that.»

"She sounds like a good friend."

Silence fills the room. I head for the wooden desk and check the drawers. To my surprise, one isn't empty: lost and lonely, there's an egg-shaped digital pet toy hidden in the corner.

At the press of a button, the screen shows me a little pixel creature. Looks like a jellyfish. Pretty cute. Although it did just take a giant dump on its digital floor.

Squinting, I navigate the menu with limited visibility now that my phone has entered battery saving mode. Buh-bye, flashlight.

There we go, poop cleaned up. Riveting gameplay. I put the toy in my pocket, if only to satisfy my curiosity about how much longer it's going to last.

Maybe I'll be able to return it to Clarice sometime. Having to leave this place behind must have been painful beyond words.

...I can't wait to go to my place and give a loving hug to everything in my own collection.

«Someone's here,» Róisín suddenly warns me.

"Huh!? How do you—?"

«It's those yokes again. They're very easy to identify.»

I turn to the windows and look down, trying not to get dizzy. There's a single car in the parking lot. That can't be a coincidence.

"Thaaat might be my fault," I admit. "I pissed off this Goldenrod loser earlier and I guess they caught up to me. Looked weak though. I can go beat 'em up."

«It's grand. I'm almost done.»

Maybe that's Róisín's way of saying that I should be more worried sometimes.

A thousand questions race through my mind as I watch the moon get eclipsed by dark clouds over the city skyline, but they all blend into one: what in the world is Róisín preparing?

I scan the office again. My best guess would've been a hidden entrance behind a bookshelf, but it doesn't look that way. Besides, Goldenrod is stupid and all, but surely they'd have found something so obvious.

«Are you ready so?» Róisín asks. Might I add, very vaguely.

"For what?"

«Sounds ready to me.»

"Uh—"

«I'll open the door for ya.»

And a door opens all right.

Beneath my feet.