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In the depths of the Hall, Kiki Familia dreams.
She dreams of an endless blue expanse, soft and dark, the pull of it calling to her like the waves of her home. She lets it fold itself around her, embraces its promises of rest, and dreams of a quiet presence, wide eyes and waving tentacles, always watching, protecting.
She dreams of faces she knew, if only briefly, and faces she never before had the chance to meet. She dreams of Elijah, whose bat she took up and then dropped in the very next game. He does not hold this against her, merely smiles a sad smile and says he would have been proud to have her fill his spot on the team. She dreams of Moody and Mclaughlin, the others who fell on her first day, and though they do not say much to each other, they do not need to; they understand. She dreams of Antonio, bright bones silhouetted against the dark. He arrives so soon after her that he has little news, saying only that Quack has taken her place.
Quack, her familiar, torn away from her -- but not entirely; a bond such as that can never truly be broken. Kiki has no heartbeat, not here, but sometimes she feels a soft flutter in her chest, the echo of wingbeats, and knows he is out there, still fighting for her.
She feels the presence of the others, always, not unlike the way she used to feel his. It's a simple understanding, a connection, a thread that tangles them all together into the same dream. They have no need to talk by moving lips or hands; they simply understand what their hallmates wish to convey, images and feelings and words that drift between what remains of their minds, their hearts.
She is sad to dream of Workman, to see them here, though it is a comfort to have someone who understands her pain, as much as pain can be felt in this place. For a second time, Workman has had to leave Beasley behind.
She dreams of those who came before, of teammates who are not quite hers, of Trevino and Kennedy and Tyler, who seem closer to ghosts, their outlines more vague, as if their time here has begun to wear them away as the waves wear away the shoreline.
She dreams of everyone, of Cali’s gently shifting petals and the wild flash of Landry’s sparks and Randy's grin, sunny even in the depths of the hall. Of Boyfriend’s many kind blinking eyes and Tillman’s smirk and the distant figure of Hobbs in his self-imposed solitude, too ashamed to approach anyone.
She dreams of peanuts, small offerings that fall and pool like rain at her feet, dreams of tentacles reaching out to collect them. Dreams of a number next to her name and her name next to Workman's more often than not, though the list is always shifting.
Sometimes, she dreams distant dreams, dreams of those beyond her reach, of memories and echoes. Of Ziwa trying to welcome her despite their grief, and Dot’s words at the practice, and Morse’s thank you as she made what would become her final catch, and Quack, always Quack. Of flying and falling and flames, burning over and over until the steady blue presence returns to wash it all away.
And after endless dreams, she finally dreams of Jaylen Hotdogfingers.
Jaylen herself is no dream. She is vivid and bright despite returning to the hall, to death, fingers pressed to her neck and finding no response. She is there with a purpose, a plan, and her stride is powerful even as her form flickers. The sparks from the feedback shine like stars in the dark, start to drag Kiki from the depths of sleep.
Jaylen's eyes flicker, too, but this has nothing to do with the microphone and everything to do with her being unable to linger on the ghostly gazes of those she has sent to the hall.
They do not confront her, though. Grudges no longer seem to matter so much in dreams; they belong to the waking world, to the past. She is here to make things right, and that is what counts.
(She also sent Tillman away, which does not go unappreciated by everyone.)
Jaylen tells them to be ready. Fourteen of them, a team to take on the Pods, and the others must stay.
They do not fight for the spots. They could not; it is dependent on who receives the most tributes. Those who are most loved, most missed, are deemed most worthy, and the others must make peace with it. This is not too difficult, for though they do not rest in peace, they do rest, and they dream, and they know their time may come again some day.
Workman deserves their spot, of course, Workman who set records and went out so memorably, who welcomed Kiki during her short time on the team, who has loyal fans and two teams and Beasley to miss them. The others make sense, too -- Landry, whose incineration united a league, inspired the three words inscribed above the hall. Kind-hearted Boyfriend, who left so many partners behind. Morrow, who shattered reality and changed the world once already.
What has Kiki Familia done? She got a hit, made a catch. She played less than a full game in the ILB. She didn’t even know the Talkers for three full days. She should not be the one to rise.
“They want to give you the moment you deserve,” Workman says, lips moving, signing even though they don't need words to be understood here in the hall, the familiar movements making Kiki’s eyes sharpen, her mind start to wake up a little more. “Everyone knows your story, and they know it shouldn't have ended so soon.”
“I meant it when I told you I'd be proud to have you take my place,” Elijah says. “Go on up and win for me.”
“And me,” Antonio adds.
“For the Moist Talkers,” say Trevino and Kennedy and Tyler.
“For the Tigers,” say Moody and Mclaughlin.
More and more players surround her, adding thoughts of their teams, each one another bright flare in her chest until she glows with the hope of the whole league.
She will fight, then. Fight for those who don't have the chance to. For those they will leave behind in the hall, for Quack, for her team, for the league, for the world. For everyone.
“It's time,” Jaylen says, though the knowledge of it is already flowing through them all as the tide begins to turn. They feel the grip of the tentacles loosen, but not fall away; they are still bound to the Hall, to each other.
Jaylen steps back, lets the rest of the fourteen gather. Landry is the first to feel it, the pull, the freedom, and he blazes a path for them in the dark, leads them on and out and up.
The Hall Stars rise.
Out of the blue depths, out of a dream, into the world above. Into chaos.
The peanut hovers overhead. BOW BEFORE MY PODS, it demands, the blood-red letters opening up gashes in the sky, carving themselves into Kiki's mind.
Kiki does not bow. She stands tall, looks past the peanut and finds the sun, bright and beautiful and uneclipsed, spreads out her arms and lets the warmth wash over her. She is awake, alive, or at least she feels like she is, and she is going to fight, and she is going to win, because the world has changed since she was last in it.
She can make a difference now.
BOW BEFORE MY PODS, the Shelled One repeats in desperate anger, but Kiki shakes her head, responds with one word.
Justice.
There is a pounding in her chest, again, and it may not be a heartbeat, but it is heart, it is power, it is the collective spirit of her new team. It is Workman’s resolve and Landry's wild energy and Boyfriend’s love and Randy’s excitement and Dominic's protectiveness and Yazmin's quiet determination and Sebastian Sunshine's calm and Sebastian Telephone’s hope and Cali's gentle strength and Tyreek’s guiding light and Emmett’s enthusiasm and Morrow’s desire to fix the world instead of breaking it and Jaylen's desperation to make things right, all tangled together into one.
And above it all, joy, from somewhere distant yet closer than it's been in a long time, wings fluttering stronger in her chest. Quack, her Quack, calling to her and finally finding a response, lending her strength again.
She is going to need it, she realizes, as she stares down her opponents.
Kiki never met any of the players who now stand in front of them as Pods, but she shudders all the same to see their expressionless faces. So many Tacos, all standing apart from each other, showing no indication that they are teammates twice over. York Silk, small among the others, but gripping the Vibe Check with unnatural strength. And at the center of them all, Jessica Telephone, pointing the Dial Tone at her brother. Her enemy, now.
Sebastian is calling to his sister, but she does not, can not answer. Jessica has gone somewhere far away, left her literal shell behind only to become something just as empty. Her eyes are as blank as the other Pods’, nothing but the dark outline of a peanut on a blood-red background.
RING RING, the Shelled One mocks.
Kiki feels Seb’s anguish wash over her, and sends back reassurance. We will save her. We will save them all.
Jaylen is on the mound, fingers pressed against her neck, her heartbeat pounding steadily in the chest of her teammates. She doesn't throw a pitch, not yet, waiting for something.
The skies shift, pink and crackling. Kiki does not hear the ringing of the microphone, but she watches the Pods flinch at the sound of it, and smiles. The plan is in motion.
Jaylen winds up and throws a fast pitch to Peanut Bong, who swings, expressionless even as the bat makes contact and send the ball flying towards --
Towards Kiki.
She leaps, feeling the push of invisible wings lifting her up, and the ball lands neatly in her glove as she falls back to earth with it. There is no fire to greet her, this time, only the glow of pride from her team and the anger of the peanut in the sky as a fraction of its spirit drains away.
Having your spirit drained is a significantly unpleasant experience, as the Hall Stars soon learn when Francisca Sasquatch smashes a home run into the stands and they all gasp in unison as a wave of pain washes over them. Waves, though, are nothing to those who have burned in flames, and so they let it drift away. Kiki doesn't miss a step when the next pitch gets hit towards her, scooping it up to end the inning.
Two of those outs are hers, and she is swarmed by her team on the way back to the dugout, feeling their smiles before she sees them. We knew you could do it, they all say.
She belongs here, she does. This is what it was all leading up to, when she first stepped onto that field under the shadow of the moon. This is her moment to make a difference, to help save them all.
But it won't be easy, and that's made all too clear when Boyfriend goes up to bat and quickly gets out, and so does Landry, and the pain crashes over them all again, wave after wave. Still, they fight back, because they must. Randy steps up with an eager smile, undeterred, and hits the ball right out of the park. Kiki can barely feel the peanut’s rage over the glow of triumph.
And this is how the battle goes, a game of blaseball where the score and the innings don't matter; every strike and ball and hit and out is just another stab at their opponent. They fight under skies that darken as the sun fades and lighten when it returns to blood-red clouds and darken again but with thousands of wings, and then Jaylen concentrates and they're back to fighting under pink static and reality flickers and -- who are they fighting, now?
Axel Trololol has appeared on the mound, slowly lowering his cannon as the mark of the peanut fades from his eyes, replaced by confusion and horror.
Will you fight for us, for them? the Hall Stars ask, and he nods, raises the cannon, fires a strike past Alejandro Leaf, ignoring the Shelled One’s protests.
When the Hall Stars step to the plate again, they're facing Jaylen, and though they cannot feel her now, she is still theirs, and she smiles as she winds up to throw.
Dominic Marijuana hits a solo home run!
Sebastian Telephone hits a solo home run!
Morrow Doyle hits a solo home run!
YOU ARE CHEATING! the Shelled One tries to tell Kiki as she steps up to the plate, but she lets its angry red words fade into the nothing that they are, fills her mind with the glorious blue glow of her teammates’ triumph. This is her moment, and it is not done yet. She may not be the best hitter, and she has Jaylen to throw the ball exactly where it needs to be, and so it is not a proper measure of her skill when she hits it and watches it soar far into the sky -- but she is not here to show off her skills, she is here to save their friends, by any means necessary. And Kiki is happy all the same, her teammates’ cheers glowing in her soul, and she rounds the bases with the push of joyous wings urging her forward.
Even then, there is much more fighting left to be done. The battle rages on, the pitchers swapping back and forth, the blaseballs flying into the stands, the energy slowly draining away from both sides until it becomes a test of who can last longer.
But the Hall Stars have died once already, and this time, they intend to survive.
Workman Gloom hit their last home run in a blaze of glory under shadowed skies, a moment of defiance that the whole world knows about, that Kiki dreamed about back in the hall, the image managing to sear itself into her mind even in death. Workman can't help but think of that moment now as they step up to the plate again, the skies a safe pink, and grip their bat tight, trusting Jaylen to do her best to make up for it.
She does, eyes narrowed in concentration, focusing on this moment rather than the past, and throws. Yet another ball goes flying out of the park, and Workman comes home safely to a team triumphant.
And in that moment, the skies darken again.
Every one of them knows that look in the umpire’s eyes, knows how it feels to be set alight from the inside out. Sebastian Telephone turns away from congratulating Workman and finds himself staring into that soulless gaze, and they all know.
For the first time, Kiki sees Jessica's eyes widen, sees her lips move to form her brother's name.
Seb?
If he sees it, hears it, Kiki doesn't know, because his world has once again become flames, and so has hers, so has the others, and a scream rips out of her throat as the fire roars through her chest, and then it's over and Sebastian Telephone is gone and Scrap Murphy is standing there, his confusion replacing the burning in her heart.
They can die again. Maybe they're still dead. Maybe there's no escape, and the tentacles will drag them all back down to the hall to rest in violence for eternity once their job is done.
It will not stop them from fighting.
Scrap Murphy was never meant to be here, but he is one of them all the same, and he steps up and hits a home run for Sebastian, for the Hall Stars, for the world, and the fight continues, because it must.
Kiki loses track of it all, after a while. It doesn't matter what inning they're in, what the score is, who's pitching. All that matters is that they are still fighting, though they can feel their spirit draining away, though it becomes harder and harder to swing the bat, to make the catch. They fight, and they will win, because they are stronger, because they must be stronger.
The sun cowers behind the moon yet again, shadows washing back over the field. But Landry Violence has never cowered, and when there is nothing left but a faint glow in the sky, he saunters forward, meeting the umpire’s eyes with a smirk to eclipse them.
Kiki feels everything when it hits him, the pain, the burning -- but something more, too, something alive.
The spirit of violence tips his head back as the lightning of his laughter splits the sky, sending a bright and wild sensation crackling through Kiki's bones. The cloak of fire wraps around him and he greets it like an old friend, an old enemy, embraces it and wrestles it into submission, the flames merging with him until he is fire itself, bright and dangerous and alive. He swings his blazing bat with ease, sending the ball high, high up to meet the lightning in the sky as the peanut flashes desperate red words that fizzle out among his brightness.
Rise in violence , thrums the pulse in Kiki’s chest, and she joins in with the others, echoes the feeling of it as she forms the words with her hands, her lips, so the crowd, the cameras, the peanut, the world can see.
Rise in violence.
And there is the beginning of the end, the beginning of their victory. The fight belongs to the Hall Stars now, and the rip in the sky opens up a path to bring the end of the peanut. They all feel it approach, that powerful presence, deep blue and reassuring, the waves drifting ever closer.
Workman is there, again, stands tall even through the exhaustion, smashes another final home run, watches as the Shelled One’s words start to fade to footnotes. The Monitor is silhouetted against the sky now, tentacles outstretched, waiting.
And Dominic Marijuana flashes a tired but triumphant smile, stares the Shelled One down as he hits the ball.
Crack. Kiki feels it reverberate in her soul.
Crack. Dom’s home run slams into the Peanut, splits the shell open, knocks it spinning into the outstretched tentacles.
Cronch. They all feel the exact moment that it disappears.
The angry red words fade, the false god’s bluster finally ended. The Pods stop, drop their gloves, stare at their hands as if uncertain who they belong to. Jaylen and Axel dart between them all, doing what they can to give reassurance that this is over, that they have lost, that they have won, that they are themselves again, or can start finding their way back to themselves, at least.
The Tacos find each other, cling together as if they never want to let go. York sinks to the ground, confronted by the weight of his new body and so much more. Jessica stares at the burn mark that still stains the field, realizing her nightmare was real after all.
This is no easy victory. No one feels like jumping up and down and celebrating, and yet they do feel the glow of pride shared between them. They came back, they defied the Shelled One, they freed their friends, they won. Kiki is here, and she defeated a god, and she proved herself, and she has wings fluttering happily in her chest and a team beside her and Workman telling her that they knew she could do it, telling her in signs because the thread that tangles them all together is starting to unravel, the connection fading.
The Hall Stars are not needed anymore. They have died, they have risen, they have won. The dream is over, and they are awake, and the sun is back to shining, bright and beautiful and uneclipsed once more.
Freedom. It is theirs, it is hers, now. Kiki has endured far too much to earn it, should never have had to earn it at all, but she has earned it, and she will do everything she can to ensure that the world can be free, too.
The fight has just begun.