Inside the alternate space known as the Dark Place, there exist areas called Folds.
A Fold is a looping zone that reflects a fragment of the real world, but distorted — as if seen through a mirror of nightmares. Sometimes it recreates something fictional — for instance, scenes from Alan Wake's books. Since a Fold is a "room within a room" containing countless doors leading to other spaces, it often houses the Taken — beings enslaved by the Dark Presence. These can be humans or even animals who have lost their will and become part of the darkness.
At that moment, Alex was inside another Fold he had entered after passing through a dark alley — the same one where he had just witnessed a scene from Alan Wake's book, where the detective character, Alex Casey, was killed by an unknown shooter.
Now, before him stretched a gloomy grocery store filled with an oppressive atmosphere.
Alex stood at the entrance. Behind him — old automatic doors twitching spasmodically, as if alive; before him — long, empty shelves. The lights flickered and hissed, whispering softly in the darkness.
Lighting another cigarette, Alex glanced back, considering whether to return to the previous Fold — the noir alley where it all began. But as soon as he took a step, the doors behind him shuddered violently and slammed shut with a loud clang, clearly signaling that there was no way back.
He just rolled his eyes and kicked the doors. The impact sent them flying off their hinges and vanishing into the darkness.
"Don't tell me where to go. I'm a grown man — I'll decide when and where to walk," said Alex, lowering his foot.
The only answer was silence.
Alex had long since realized that the Dark Place was alive — a conscious yet senseless entity. Here, even thoughts could take form and become reality.
Looking away, he began searching for the next door. But a sudden gust of wind made him turn — from the shadows flew the very same doors he had just kicked out.
Alex leapt and spun midair. The two doors whizzed past, toppling shelves and scattering decayed packages across the floor. One door embedded itself into the wall, while the other crashed through everything in its path before finally slowing down.
"Missed," Alex said lazily, resting his hands behind his head.
No sooner had he spoken than both doors began to tremble, shrouded in thick smoke from which black mist oozed.
Scratching his cheek, Alex muttered, "Maybe I should stop being sarcastic..."
The door lodged in the wall suddenly tore free and shot toward him like a spinning saw blade. Alex reached out, caught it midair, and instantly sliced it into pieces. The second one darted after him — he turned and with a powerful kick sent it soaring upward, smashing through the ceiling.
A gaping hole yawned overhead, revealing a sky drenched in darkness.
Shrugging, Alex walked deeper into the store. Activating his magic sight, he followed a thin thread of energy leading to a door marked Janitor's Closet.
Raising an eyebrow, he pulled the handle. From within came a man's voice — someone softly humming a tune.
Curious, Alex opened the door wider and saw a man in a janitor's uniform. He was holding a mop like a microphone, enthusiastically performing a song by Old Gods of Asgard.
Alex recognized him instantly — Ahti, the mysterious janitor, as enigmatic as Warlin Door himself.
While Ahti, eyes closed, "played" a solo on his mop, Alex activated his magical sight again. The result stunned him — Ahti existed everywhere and nowhere at once.
He was a phenomenon, a paradox like Schrödinger's cat — both present and absent simultaneously. Unlike Warlin Door, who used the "Door of Worlds," Ahti was the door — a being existing across all worlds and times at once.
In short, Ahti was the most unique anomaly Alex had ever encountered.
When Ahti finally finished his song, he took off his headphones and turned to the visitor.
"Ho-ho-ho! Didn't expect to have an audience. How can I help you?" he asked with a grin.
"Nice mop solo. You must've been a member of Old Gods of Asgard once?" Alex replied with a smile.
"Ah, those were the days... We still play now and then. But tell me, my friend, what brings you to this place?"
"I'm looking for a passage. Can you tell me where to go next?" Alex asked calmly.
"If you need an exit, it's behind you," said Ahti, pointing to a door marked Emergency Exit.
"No, I'm not looking for an exit. I need a way forward," Alex replied, pointing to the door that had appeared behind Ahti.
Ahti studied him carefully.
"Hmm... So you choose to dive deeper instead of resurfacing. That's unusual. Most people try to swim upward when they're drowning, not down."
"Who said I'm drowning?" Alex said, meeting his gaze. "I dove in on purpose. Only by reaching the bottom can you understand where it all began... and where it all ends."
Hearing Alex's words, a faint yet noticeable smile appeared on Ahti's face. His gaze held more than mere curiosity — it was genuine interest in the man standing before him.
Alex returned the same kind of smile. For a few moments, they simply looked at each other in silence, as if words were unnecessary. Then Ahti stepped aside, opening the way forward.
He said nothing. After all, why stop a man who already knows where he's going — and what awaits him ahead?
Adjusting the strap of his bag, Alex calmly walked past Ahti. When he reached the door, he grasped the cold handle.
"I hope you find what you're looking for at the bottom, stranger," Ahti said from behind him.
"Trust me, Ahti, I always find what I'm looking for. And before I go — tell Jesse hello for me. Let her know we need to meet. I think she'll figure out how to find me," Alex replied, slightly turning his head.
Ahti's eyes widened for a brief moment before his usual friendly smile returned. He nodded.
Alex opened the door — behind it yawned only darkness. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, and the door slammed shut behind him.
Ahti simply went back to work — picked up his mop and resumed cleaning, as if nothing had happened.
The passage through the darkness once again felt to Alex like sinking into thick, viscous mud. When he blinked, he was already standing in a spacious hall of a luxurious hotel.
He slowly looked around. The ceiling was adorned with a massive chandelier, the floor covered in soft carpet, and the furniture gleamed as if freshly polished. Everything was pristine, like in a five-star resort.
Alex spun Ahti's name badge on his finger, quietly smirking. He wondered how long it would take the janitor to notice it was missing. But Alex wasn't about to leave the Dark Place without a souvenir, and the badge made for a pleasant trophy.
Deciding not to rush in finding the next passage, he walked up to the reception desk and hopped over it. Settling onto a spinning chair, he tried to turn on the computer. As he suspected — it was just a prop, meant to sustain the illusion of reality.
However, when Alex pressed the power button, the monitor flickered to life. Suddenly, the screen filled with a bloodied face of a man twisted in a mad scream. The jumpscare hit his nerves like a whip, and Alex, reacting instantly, punched the monitor.
The screen exploded; the reception desk shattered into splinters; cracks crawled across the floor and walls. The hall trembled, as if the hotel itself had been frightened.
Alex stayed seated, his arm extended forward, face expressionless.
"I hate it when they do that," he muttered, rolling his eyes and lowering his fist.
He rubbed his face with a hand. The screaming man had been none other than Alan Wake — or rather, his dark counterpart, Mr. Scratch.
Alex lifted his gaze. The lights flickered — and everything instantly returned to normal, as if nothing had happened. Even the desk looked intact again. Alex snorted.
"Convenient. A self-repairing Fold," he said under his breath.
The monitor now showed another recording. On screen — Alan Wake in an attic. The image flickered, sometimes clear, sometimes blurred. In one scene, Alan paced around muttering that he had to fix everything; in another — furiously typed on a typewriter; then simply sat still, staring out the window into the darkness beyond the glass.
Alex watched in silence. He didn't yet understand why the Dark Place was showing him this. But gradually, the meaning became clear — Wake was slowly losing his mind. And that meant he was sinking deeper into the whirlpool of darkness.
"So, the deeper he goes insane, the closer I am to the point I need," Alex murmured.
He placed his hand on the screen, closed his eyes, and tried to catch the energy trace — a thin thread leading deeper inside. But it suddenly snapped, pulling him back to the start.
Alex clicked his tongue.
"Damn it, Alan… you've turned this place into a mess — now I have to clean it up," he exhaled, leaning back in the chair and rubbing his temples in weary irritation.
Swaying lightly on the chair, Alex thought about his next move. Should he continue searching for other doors leading to new Folds — or go back? While his thoughts wandered, he pulled out his phone to check how Emmet was doing.
Turning on the feed from the drone watching Emmet, Saga, and Casey, Alex saw something that made him laugh. On the screen, the trio was fending off the Taken Nightingale — and not just fending off, but barely dodging a massive log that he swung like a giant club.
The reason for Alex's laughter was simple: Nightingale was completely naked. Emmet, possessing the strength to crush an opponent with his bare hands, didn't even try to strike — it was far too disgusting to touch a fat, dead man possessed by the Dark Entity.
"Hmm… looks like Nightingale's gotten a lot stronger than he should be. Casey and Saga have already unloaded a full clip of ultraviolet rounds at him, and he doesn't even flinch," Alex said, spinning in his chair as he watched.
He smirked as Emmet leapt to the side, loudly cursing and accusing Nightingale of cheating. Alex decided to help a little, without revealing himself. Connecting directly to the fairy drone, he created a tiny green magical circle — and in an instant, a thin wind blade shot out from it. With a whistle, the blade sliced Nightingale's leg at the knee.
Nightingale collapsed, dropping the log, and Emmet instantly seized the opportunity to retaliate for the hit to his nose he had received at the morgue of the police station. Satisfied that the trio could handle themselves, Alex pocketed his phone and went back to thinking about his next move.
However, his thoughts were interrupted by a noise. Jumping over the reception desk, Alex approached the hotel door and peeked outside. The world beyond the threshold had changed — instead of impenetrable darkness, there were now the dark streets of New York. From somewhere outside came footsteps and cries.
Looking closer, Alex saw a man running in panic from the black fog. It was Alan Wake. Seeing him barreling straight toward the hotel, Alex flung the doors open and, waiting until the writer reached the threshold, pulled him sharply inside, slamming the doors shut just in front of the encroaching fog. Then, with a rumble, he dropped the iron shutters, which closed with a creak.
Alan, breathing heavily, sat on the lobby floor. Sweat and fear glistened on his face. He was sure he wouldn't make it in time. And yet, for some reason, it felt familiar — as if he had lived through this moment again and again, and each time he hadn't made it.
Looking up, Alan saw a man in a sharp black suit, a travel bag slung over his shoulder. His face remained calm, but his gaze was attentive and serious.
"Thank you… I didn't think there was anyone alive here," Alan exhaled, rising to his feet.
"No need to thank me, Alan. I was actually looking for you," Alex replied with a slight smile.
"And… do we know each other?" Wake asked warily, taking a step back.
"No, we don't. But you can call me Alex. I know you, but you don't know me — and it seems you've forgotten a lot of what you've done," Alex said calmly, lighting a cigarette.
"What do you mean? What I've done? Are you… the voice from the payphone?" Alan asked, skeptical.
"No, this is our first meeting. We haven't talked or met before. Believe me, you've done a lot, but we'll get to that later," Alex said, rolling his eyes and exhaling smoke.
"Then who are you? And what are you even doing in the Dark Place?" Alan asked, relaxing slightly.
"I'm exploring this place," Alex replied, watching the fog uselessly slam against the doors. "But now, since I've met you, it seems it's time to leave."
Alan wanted to ask a hundred more questions. Despite everything he'd already been through, the situation seemed almost absurd. The man before him looked like the perfect prototype of a detective — cold-blooded, confident, and knowing far too much. If Alan hadn't known what his character Alex Casey looked like, he would have thought he was standing right in front of him.
But his thoughts were interrupted by another heavy, echoing strike against the wall. The black fog thrashed against the doors again.
"Alright. It's time to go. The exit is nearby," Alex said and headed toward the elevator.
Alan looked at the Dark Entity, furiously pounding against the hotel doors. Within the swirling black fog, he made out a silhouette — the twisted, rage-filled face of Mr. Scratch. Its silent scream of fury seemed to vibrate in the air. Alan understood: if he had been even a couple of seconds later, Scratch would have grabbed him.
When he turned to Alex, he was already at the elevator, methodically pressing the call button with a precise rhythm, as if keeping time with a metronome.
"Why are you doing that?" Alan asked, watching him.
"You wrote yourself that to open a Fold, you need to perform a ritual," Alex replied calmly, not stopping his precise button presses. "Each Fold is a separate subspace with its own rules. To enter another, you need to perform the correct sequence of actions. Sometimes opening a door is enough, sometimes you have to follow a specific order to make it react."
"You've learned to navigate this place?" Alan asked, astonished, eyes wide.
"It's not that complicated," Alex shrugged. "A door is always a door. You just sometimes need to find the key… or at least figure out where the keyhole is. And then — bam — the doors open."
As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
Alan stepped closer and peered into the shaft. Above and below, there was nothing but bottomless darkness. Shining a flashlight, he saw nothing but thick blackness swallowing the light. He glanced silently at Alex, unsure where to go next.
But there was no time to think — the hotel doors flew off their hinges with a crash, and a swirling fog, wrapping around Mr. Scratch, burst inside.
"Alright, Alan. Forward and down. Clench your teeth and don't scream," Alex said, grabbing him by the jacket collar.
"Whaaa…?" Alan began, but didn't get to finish — the floor beneath them vanished.
Alex jumped first, pulling him along into the dark shaft. The last thing he did before the leap was flip off Scratch. In response, Scratch howled, and the wall of darkness surged toward them with furious rage, but it was too late: they were already falling.
The sensation was vile — as if their bodies were sliding through a viscous, sticky substance. Alan screamed the entire time, unable to stop. And then — light.
They were standing on the roof of the same hotel.
Alex looked calmly at Alan, who was still yelling, eyes shut tight.
"Alan, for heaven's sake, stop screaming. My ears are already ringing," Alex said, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving a slight shake.
Alan opened his eyes and looked around, bewildered. They were indeed on the roof. The darkness around them seemed dense, as if the air itself had thickened. Everything felt unreal — he clearly remembered the fall, the sensation of sinking. That sticky, terrifying feeling was all too familiar.
Alan had fought the Dark Entity, the Taken, and Mr. Scratch himself — yet the years spent in the Dark Place had worn down his mind. He had long lived on the edge, holding onto sanity only by the remnants of his will.
Every page he wrote, every attempt to break free only expanded the Dark Place, making it stronger and more complex. It grew from his words, from his fears.
"Where are we?" he finally asked, coming slightly to himself.
"On the hotel roof," Alex replied, scanning the horizon where sky and darkness blended together. "We need to find the next passage before your dark self catches up to us."
"Mr. Scratch will catch us anyway. He always catches up," Alan said wearily, shaking his head.
"Why did you even create this?," Alex rolled his eyes. "You could have made some slow villain. No, you had to create your own evil self to hunt you down."
"How much do you even know?" Alan asked in surprise, staring at him intently.
"Enough to know you really screwed things up, Alan," Alex yawned lazily. "And by the way, you'll forget all this once we leave this place."
Alan shook his head, again confronting the enigmatic man who clearly knew far too much — and yet had no intention of explaining anything.
Meanwhile, Alex wandered the roof, scanning for the next passage — a door leading to another Fold. He had already realized that the man before him was the real Alan Wake, the original, but he also understood that Alan was still down below, in the heart of the Dark Place vortex. His mind had become part of this anomaly, an integral component of its existence.
For Wake to escape, the link between him and the Dark Place needed to be severed — or he had to write himself out, declaring that he was leaving it forever.
But Alan had gotten tangled in his own story. He could have escaped long ago if he hadn't twisted his plot into absurdity, like a writer who lost the thread of his narrative. Alex shook his head, smirking. People, as always, create their own problems — and the solutions are usually far simpler than they imagine.
Seeing Alex searching for a way out, Alan decided to help. But their search was interrupted by a deep rumble — the hotel roof trembled beneath their feet.
"He's coming. Scratch is close," Alan whispered, looking at the black veil crawling along the edge of the roof.
"I know," Alex replied calmly, waving him over. "Come here. I found the exit."
Alan didn't hesitate — he ran to him. At that same moment, the doors leading to the roof were blown off by a wave of darkness. Scratch appeared on the threshold — his eyes burning with fury, lips twisted into a malicious grin.
Alex smirked and, without changing his expression, raised his hand, giving him the middle finger. That gesture was the last straw — Scratch roared, and the black torrent surged toward them.
Alex merely stomped his foot. Cracks ran across the floor beneath them, and the roof split open, swallowing them both. The last thing they saw was the wave of darkness rushing over their heads before the void engulfed them.
The sensation was vile, as if they were moving through a sticky, viscous swamp. Alan screamed again, feeling his body pulled downward, until he suddenly felt solid ground beneath his feet.
They were in an elevator. Bright, clean, with mirrored walls and soft music, it ascended smoothly. The numbers on the panel changed leisurely, as if this were just an ordinary ride.
After a few minutes, the elevator emitted a pleasant chime, and the doors slowly opened.
In front of them — an empty apartment.
A bright flash blinded both of them; Alan squinted, rubbing his eyes, while Alex merely raised an eyebrow, unsure what it was. When the light faded, Alan blinked and stepped out of the elevator.
He looked around — and his heart skipped a beat. Everything here felt painfully familiar.
"Alex," he said, gazing around, "I know this place. This… is the apartment where I lived with Alice. It feels like I've been here… hundreds of times."
"You really lived here — before moving to Bright Falls," Alex replied, rolling his eyes.
"No, not that," Alan shook his head. "I was here in the Dark Place. But something's wrong. Like… something's missing."
Alex understood what he meant. Alan's memories were distorted, suppressed. The man was subconsciously blocking the most painful ones — those connected to Alice.
Alex sighed deeply and placed a hand on his shoulder. He knew the truth: Alice wasn't dead. She had staged her own death — deceiving not only the Dark Entity and Mr. Scratch but also Alan himself. All of this — with the help of the FBC, who helped her disappear to protect her husband.
Alice understood: if Alan discovered she was alive, the Dark Place would know as well. And then the hunt would resume.
So she left — to save him, even at the cost of her own "life" on paper.
Alex was impressed. A simple woman, without powers or weapons, yet with incredible determination — she had managed to deceive the Dark Place itself.
As he examined the empty apartment where Alice had once left clues for her husband, Alan stood in the middle of the room, bewildered and hollow. Once again — yet another time — he remembered that his wife was dead.
And each time, that realization shattered him all over again.
Alex stepped into the living room, where Alan sat in a chair with a blank expression, staring at the screen playing the recording Alice had left. In it, she explained to her husband that Scratch had been appearing more frequently in her life in Alan's form, trying to reach her. That's why she had installed cameras with bright flashes, to scare him away whenever the darkness attempted to enter the house again.
But Alan, as if hearing nothing, stared at a single point. All he absorbed from the message was that his wife was dead. Something inside him snapped. Everything he had been fighting for, everything he had struggled to escape from the Dark Place for, was crumbling right before his eyes.
"Don't despair, Alan. Or have you forgotten where you are?" Alex said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"What do you mean?" Alan asked quietly, lifting his gaze.
"We're in the Dark Place. Everything here is designed to break you. You know that. How many times has it tried already? The Dark Entity and Scratch know exactly what holds your will together — your hope to return to Alice. By showing you her 'death,' they want to knock away your last support. If you believe it, that's it — you're their puppet again. So don't you dare lose hope. No matter how hard it gets — don't lose it."
There was a subtle implication in Alex's words. Alan understood what he meant — not everything shown here can be trusted. He nodded, trying to grasp that thought, that thin thread of sanity, before despair could drag him under again. But Alex knew: this had happened countless times before. The cycle repeated. Each time, Alan forgot, fell, and Scratch dragged him back — into the abyss where they both were meant to be. After all, Alan and Scratch were one. Two halves of a single soul, torn apart.
Giving Alan a moment to collect himself, Alex suggested they look for the next passage. He could feel it — somewhere nearby was the exit to the real world. Instinct told him they were close: after all, Alan and Alice's apartment itself was a clear sign that they were heading in the right direction.
Alan agreed, and they began inspecting the rooms. Yet the longer he walked through the apartment, the more he realized — this wasn't his home. Everything here felt artificial, foreign, as if someone had tried to recreate his memories but failed to capture the essence itself.
They found the passage quickly — the bedroom window where Alan and Alice had once slept. But just as they approached, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. Alex and Alan tensed, turning toward the door.
In the next second, Scratch appeared in the doorway. His eyes blazed with insane fury.
"Don't think you can escape, Alan!" he roared. "You are me, and I am you! While I'm here, you're here too! Even if you leave, you'll still remain in this place you created! WE CREATED! YOU CREATED ME! WE CREATED US! ALL OF THIS WAS CREATED BY US, ALAN! YOU CAN'T ESCAPE THE WORLD WE CREATED TOGETHER!"
"You're wrong," Alex smirked. "Spear Mode: Dragon Claw of Mount Tai!"
He appeared in front of Scratch in a fraction of a second. Straightening his fingers as if turning them into sharp claws, Alex struck straight into the enemy's chest. His fingers sank into Scratch's body, throwing him against the wall. The impact sent a deep reverberation through the room, and Scratch's body slammed into the concrete, leaving a massive crack.
Scratch slumped to the floor, lowering his head. From the hole in his chest flowed a thick black substance, smoky in appearance.
"Did you… kill him?" Alan asked cautiously, stepping closer.
"No… not killed," came the hoarse, distorted voice.
Scratch lifted his gaze — rage pulsed in his eyes. Despite the hole in his chest, he was alive. He didn't need a heart — his entire essence was made of darkness.
Alex didn't give him a moment to recover. He lunged forward, grabbed Scratch by the face, and slammed the back of his head into the wall with such force that it pierced through. Then he dragged the body along the wall, leaving a long trail of destruction.
Alan stood frozen, unable to speak, just watching.
Alex knew these events were just another turn in the cycle, and Alan's memory would be vague once they got out. He allowed himself a little "venting." According to the story written by Alan himself, Scratch would eventually break into the real world anyway. And that was inevitable.
Alex used Scratch's body as a battering ram, driving him into wall after wall, testing how much the creature could withstand. With each strike, the walls cracked and crumbled, yet not a drop of blood leaked from Scratch's body — only puffs of black smoke erupted and were sucked back, as if the darkness itself refused to let go of its creation.
Alex understood: Scratch exists as long as the Dark Place itself lives. He could have destroyed him if he wanted, but there was no point — the Dark Presence would resurrect Scratch anyway. The story would continue as Alan Wake's narrative demanded. It had all been written already.
Exhaling, Alex grabbed Scratch by the back of his head, lifted him above his head, and without hesitation, threw him through a window. Beyond the glass stretched bottomless darkness, and Scratch's body vanished into it, dissolving into the whirling shadows. The last thing Alan and Alex heard was a desperate, rage-filled scream:
"I'll be back… as always!"
Alex smirked.
"Yeah, Alan. You've got quite the evil doppelgänger. But as a punching bag? Perfect," he said, giving a thumbs-up.
Alan just shook his head.
"I don't even know how to comment on that. But… how did you do it?"
"Do what?" Alex asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Defeat Scratch." Alan nodded toward the shattered window.
"I didn't defeat him," Alex replied calmly. "Any human in his place would have died after the first strike. But Scratch isn't human. He's part of this place. As long as the Dark Place exists, he will come back. Always."
Alan frowned.
"How do you even know so much about this place?"
"Simple. The pages of your book, scattered everywhere, explain everything perfectly. You just have to know how to notice the details," Alex said with a slight grin. "Alright, let's go before your evil twin decides to come back. I think he's a little angry after the last round."
Alan gave a brief nod, understanding that Alex was right. They returned to the bedroom where Alan and Alice had once slept. Alex approached the window and opened the sash. Beyond the glass swirled an endless darkness, but he immediately felt that this passage led outward, into the real world.
Alan stood beside him, staring thoughtfully into the void.
"So… this is the end?" he asked quietly.
"No, Alan. This is only the beginning. Of another nightmare you created yourself," Alex replied, placing a hand on his back. "When you reach the other side, you'll understand. If, of course, you remember everything that happened here. Now—see you on the other side. And remember, even if you forget my words: sometimes, for a nightmare to end… you just have to wake up."
"Alex, wait… what are you talking about?" Alan managed to ask, turning around.
But instead of answering, Alex gently pushed him from behind. Alan plummeted into the abyss, and the last thing he saw was Alex's face, lit by the pale light from the window.
As the darkness swallowed Alan, Alex turned—and saw her. An elderly woman in a black dress, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. Darkness swirled around her, devouring even the light from the lamps. Barbara Jagger, the embodiment of the Dark Presence, stood before him, like death itself in human form.
"You will change nothing," she said in a distorted, hoarse voice, like radio static. "Everything that is written will happen. The world will plunge into darkness again. There is no place for light in this story."
Alex smiled faintly and calmly raised his finger.
"Let's see. But you shouldn't have shown yourself to me, Barbara. Because I am not the being you can afford to touch. Red."
At the tip of Alex's finger appeared a spinning scarlet sphere, pulsating like a living heart.
Squinting, Alex aimed his finger at Barbara. In the next second, the sphere shot forward, leaving a crimson trail in its wake. When it struck, a blinding flash erupted, and the Fold—the reflection of Alan and Alice's apartment—began to collapse.
Walls cracked, furniture dissolved like ash in the wind, and the space itself folded and groaned. The last words the Dark Presence uttered before vanishing into the whirlwind of chaos were ominous:
"You will change nothing. Fate has already been written by the hands of Alan Wake…"
Alex merely exhaled heavily and shook his head.
He burst out, leaping through the window before the Fold fully collapsed. At the same moment, a powerful jolt hit him in the back—as if reality itself was pushing him out. Space warped, and the next second, Alex shot straight onto the shore of Caldron Lake.
He slid across the wet sand and, standing up, glanced back. Behind him were Saga, Emmett, and Casey—all three staring at him in bewilderment. Slightly off to the side lay Alan Wake, unconscious.
"Where have you been?" Emmett asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Too long a story to tell on a cold lakeshore," Alex replied, looking around. "By the way, what time is it?"
"It's already dawn," Casey said, pointing to the sun rising over the lake. "Why do you ask?"
"Hmm…" Alex looked at his phone screen, where the active timer was still running. "I spent an hour inside the Fold. And here, it's already dawn. When Saga opened the passage, it was eleven at night. You see where I'm going with this?"
"Time flowed differently there and here," Saga said, frowning.
"Bingo." Alex nodded, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Now lift Alan up. We're heading to Bright Falls. I need coffee, breakfast, and a little peace. Then I'll explain where I ended up."
Saga squinted skeptically but nodded anyway. He promised to explain everything—that was enough.
Emmett just shook his head. He wasn't worried about Alex—but he knew that if anything happened to him, Alice wouldn't let him go without her 'thanks' in the form of a kick in the back or a heavy hit to the head.
Casey knelt beside Alan, trying to bring him around. But as soon as he touched his shoulder, Alan suddenly jumped up, eyes wide, frantically looking around as if he had just escaped a nightmare.
Alex watched him calmly, unsurprised. Everything was unfolding as it should—some events simply couldn't be rewritten.
To be continued…
(I'm wondering how long this whole Alan Wake plot will last. After all, as I said, I can only devote about five chapters to Alan Wake lore. But I'll probably miss out on some of the main plot. While I'll touch on the most important ones, including Alan's rescue from the Dark Place. Basically, I'm in no mood to think about it right now after visiting the hospital. So, hey, boogie bam bam.)
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