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The floor cracks beneath Mack’s feet. “Uh oh.”
Fi blanches. “Get back towards the wall, or—”
He tries to grab Mack’s flipper, but it’s not in time. The floor gives way, wooden planks splintering and snapping in pieces, and Mack tumbles into the darkness below. They scramble to grab something—anything—to slow their fall, but the only objects nearby that aren’t wood scraps are fragile, antique furniture that get caught in the collapse.
Before Mack can even scream, they slam into the ground, hard. Pain shoots up their back. They grimace and tense, gritting their teeth as they bury their head into the ground. Too focused on riding out the wave of agony, they barely hear the crashes of the antiques shattering around them.
Gradually, the sharp pain subsides into a dull ache. It takes less than a minute overall, but to Mack, it feels like hours.
“Mack!” Fi shouts from above, his voice echoing off the walls. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
They push themself into a sitting position, nodding wearily. “I think so. Don’t think I broke anything.”
“Good.” They can hear the relief in Fi’s voice. “Stay put, I’ll use the elevator to meet you down there.”
Mack's ready to agree, but looking around, this doesn’t seem to be a room they’ve encountered yet. The fourth floor, the room they should’ve fallen into, was a fancy lounge area decorated with velvet chairs, a fireplace, and enough candelabras to set the room ablaze. However, the Puffle Hotel’s layout has been corrupted by the supernatural, and instead they find themself in something much more barren. The walls are brick, dimly lit. A single light bulb would have been the only light source if it hadn’t gotten caught in the collapse and broke next to Mack’s feet. The room itself is empty, save for a boiler and a thin rug (and the remnants of the antiques from above).
Most worryingly, there’s no door.
“I’m not sure you’ll be able to find me,” Mack says. “I don’t see a way out.”
Fi waves them off. “I’m sure it’s through some secret door in the sitting room. I’ll get to you, don’t worry.” And he disappears from Mack’s line of sight.
Mack pauses to think, the aching still pulsating throughout their back. There probably is a way out, even if it isn’t obvious. For all of the illogical, non-Euclidean geometry they’ve seen tonight, there have still been entrances and exits.
They stand, wincing, and make their way towards the boiler. It’s about the same size as the one under the Night Club. As they search for a hidden switch or a set of wires to connect, the boiler begins to glow a sickly lime green. It’s not until they flinch that they realize the boiler itself isn’t glowing, but rather reflecting light from behind them. Mack whirls around and finds another penguin has joined them.
“Oh my goodness, are you alright?” Skip asks, face heavy with concern.
Mack’s too surprised to answer. “How’d you get in here?”
“I heard a crash and had to see what happened,” Skip says. He tilts his head up to acknowledge the broken ceiling. Mack follows his gaze. “It seems you took a rough fall.”
“Yeah, and now I don’t know how to get out.”
“Why not rest for a couple? Moving around could exacerbate the injuries.” Skip steps closer.
Mack puts their flippers up and steps back. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I wasn’t hurt that bad. It just stung, is all.”
Skip defies them, grabbing their flipper. “You EPF agents are always so selfless—worry about yourself for a change! The least I could do is give you a once-over.”
Not wanting to push, Mack obliges. As Skip checks them over, his expression leaves them on edge. They’d expect a look of worry, or a determined stare focused on finding bruises, but Skip seems disinterested. He’s clinical about it, going through the motions like he’s done this several times before, not unlike a fisherman checking out his catch before he slices it open. A shiver runs down their spine.
Satisfied, Skip nods. “Nothing too bad.” However, he still has hold of Mack’s flipper. They’re just about ready to ask him to let go when their eyes widen; Skip’s flipper has become translucent, and it’s merging with Mack’s.
Mack yelps and jerks their arm back like they’ve been burned. Skip locks eyes with them. “What’s wrong?”
Taking another step away, they point a shaky flipper at him. “You’re—you’re not a penguin.”
“What?”
“You can’t be a penguin. Flippers don’t do that.”
Skip lets out a confused laugh. He flashes his flippers up by his face—both opaque. “You’re just imagining things.”
“I just saw you. You’re up to something.”
He reaches out again, this time for both of Mack's flippers. Mack tries to dodge his grasp, but Skip is quicker. “I know this is stressful. I’m scared too! But we don’t need to make baseless accusations.”
Mack does not bite. “Skip. How did you get in here?”
“Being at each other’s throats will do us no good, you know.”
“How did you get in here?” Mack repeats. “If there was some secret passageway, I would’ve heard something move, even if I didn’t see it. But there wasn’t any sound, you just appeared. How?”
“Arguing will just make it harder to collect the ghost catcher parts and capture the ghost puffles—”
“Answer me.”
“I don’t have to answer to anyone!” Skip explodes. His grip clamps down on Mack’s flippers, merging with them again and glowing. Mack tries to pull back, but they’re connected now; any movement backwards pushes Skip forwards. Their stomach drops as his whole body transforms into the same translucent lime that they got a peek of just a moment ago, and to match, the whites of his eyes sink into dark green. “I floated through a wall, if you’d really like to know,” Skip says bitterly, chipper demeanor erased.
Mack continues to tug, to no avail. “Let me go!”
“Nah. I don’t wanna.”
He inches closer, and Mack watches in horror as their arms merge together. Pins and needles spread wherever there’s contact. “What are you doing?”
“Relax, it doesn’t hurt. You won’t remember a thing.” The numbness has reached their feet, Mack realizes, and their eyes dart downwards, panicked. Skip is moving slowly, methodically, taking in each second as more and more of their body gets absorbed.
Mack attempts to stay resolute. Though they quiver in fear, they want to find out all they can. “You—you didn’t answer my question again.”
Skip considers this, before shrugging. He figures it’s safe enough to give the scheme away.
“I need your body for a bit. Your friend is onto me, thinks I’m not trustworthy. You know who he does trust? You.” He lunges forward, creating an overwhelming surge of pins and needles. Mack whines. “If ‘you’ put in the good word for me, he’ll be more willing to do my bidding. Got it?”
“Fi,” Mack gasps. Fi is looking for them, and there’s a chance he’ll find a way to them in time to stop Skip. Maybe their voice can guide him. “Fi! Help!” they yell as loud as they can.
“Don’t think that’ll work. Brick is pretty soundproof.”
With what little feeling they have left, Mack leans away to create the tiniest semblance of distance between them, and they cringe when they hit a wall. Skip, undeterred, continues to take piece by piece. He’s so close now that he’s all Mack can see.
Mack’s vision starts to flicker, dark spots appearing in the corners. They want to shout, want to squirm and free themself, but the same crackling numbness that has infected the rest of their body is seeping into their head. Their eyes droop. There’s a ringing in their ears. “You…”
The only thing they can make out is Skip’s leering grin. “Hold still. We’ll be right back.”
And then it all cuts to black.
Surrounded by a ransacked, mish-mash of books scattered on the floor, Fi pulls the final book off the shelf. The wall beside him grumbles, and a hidden passageway slides open. On the other side, he spots Mack sitting alone in the dark room he left them in.
They look up at the sound of the sliding door. “Fi!”
Fi smiles as he pops his head through the entryway. “Told you there was a secret door! Hope I didn’t keep you long.”
Mack meets him and shakes their head. “No, I was alright. I tried to find my own way out, but I couldn’t find anything.”
“No worries, I’m just glad you’re okay.” They both head back towards the elevator and step inside. While the elevator glides up to the next room, Fi speaks up again. “Listen, we need to be more careful about traps. That floor collapse could’ve been nasty.”
“Right.”
“I don’t have much evidence yet, but something tells me that bellhop might be the one setting them up. Something’s… off about him.”
“You mean Skip?” Mack fidgets with their flippers. “I think he’s innocent. I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense if the ghost puffles were the ones making the traps? They’re the ones getting captured.”
Fi clicks his tongue. “I guess so.”
The elevator dings.