Neon lights shimmer, overtaking the darkness of the parking lot. The gas-station lights flicker. Flynt paces over the curb, peering through the shattered window. Dragged into the center of the room rests a small, circular table. Braellyn sits beside that table in a folding chair, pecking at a bowl of spaghetti. She cocks her head up, toward that shattered window, before returning her gaze toward the noodles. Flynt paces around the brick front-wall of the building. He stops just before the front door. The crashing of glass rings out, accompanied by the snapping of wood. As Flynt peers through that glass doorway, Braellyn is no longer in sight, the bowl of spaghetti lying fallen on the tiled ground.

“Flynt… What the fuck are you doing?”

Flynt tilts his head, opens the front doors, and steps inside, followed by Avery and Jack.

The pale attendant drops from the ceiling, hanging by her disfigured legs, mangled into a thin, bloody pulp, strung through the thin tiles of the ceiling. Her mouth is a void of static, bearing a wide grin.

“Welcome! Hello, hello! Are you buying or selling?”

His eyes half-closed, Flynt stares at the attendant. She jerks her head toward Avery.

“But first!”

She snatches Avery by the back of her hair and smashes her head against the side of the counter with a resounding crack. Flynt glances at Avery as she collapses onto the tiled floor, then he glances back up at the attendant. Jack drops to the ground, helping Avery back up to her feet.

Flynt swipes the envelope from out of his sweatshirt pocket, and he holds it up toward the woman, staring ahead. She stares down at him, swaying from the rafters.

“I don’t know what to make of this! Flynt! This has absolutely no value to me.”

He stashes the envelope into his pocket and meanders across the room toward the center. He empties the contents of his sweatshirt pocket onto the vacant table: a deck of cards, a matchbook, a switchblade, a bottle of whiskey, a handkerchief, a paper bag, and an envelope. The pale attendant stares at the clutter from across the room, until she stretches her arm across the floor with a series of grinding cracks. She swipes the deck of cards from off the table.

“Ooh! These are rare! I can assure you: these have an unusual presence. I will absolutely hold on to these.”

She glances about the room, swaying from the ceiling.

“In exchange, I’m sure I can come up with something fun for you.”

She shows off a massive, toothy grin.

“Wow! And to think, without me, you would never know that these had such value!”

She slides the deck of cards into her pocket.

“Great! Let me make you something of equal value.”

She glances about the room for a moment, before crinkling one of her arms on top of the circular table. Flynt snatches his goods back into his sweatshirt pocket, while the pale attendant places her hand over the table. In an instant, smoke climbs her arm, and the table crumbles into discrete chunks. She crinkles her other arm over toward the primary counter. It too crumbles, and she snatches the cash register from above. She crunches the metal leg of the circular table through the cash register, sticking together. She cackles.

“Here you are! I have a knack for these sorts of things, you know. For taking things apart and putting them back together.”

Jack looks up at the woman.

“What is that, exactly?”

“I don’t know!”

The lights flicker. In a blur, she slinks up the ceiling, receding behind a ceiling tile. Flynt glances about the room, settling his gaze onto the demolished table at its center. He paces up to it, grabs the bowl of spaghetti from off the floor, snatches the paper bag from out of his sweatshirt pocket, and squashes the noodles into the bag. Flynt crouches down against the floor, hoisting the pole-and-register into his arms, dragging it against the floor. He pushes through the front doors into the parking lot, pacing past Jack and Avery. Jack stumbles behind him, with Avery leaning over his shoulder, pushing him down as they stroll across the parking lot. At once, Avery glances around, wipes the blood from off her forehead, and reels away from Jack, regaining her balance.

“I’m getting kind of tired of Deagon’s shit...”

Jack stares at her with his eyebrows raised. Flynt strides further away from the two, dragging the impaled register across the pavement. Avery creeps to a stop, glancing about the parking lot.

“We’re taking you back…”

“What? Why?”

“I just told you why, stupid.”

Avery paces around to the front seat of the car, while Flynt settles his register across the backseat. Jack taps Avery’s shoulder.

“Hey. By the way, are you sure that you are alright?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Over the course of the night, you have taken—”

Jack pauses, his eyes darting about the lot.

“—more than a few mortal injuries.”

“I’m good… Thanks.”

Jack sighs and tosses open the backseat door.

“Sure thing.”