"So, how exactly did you find out about the Gungeon?"

Thirty minutes had passed since Casey was taken from the abandoned mines in the backseat of Bea's car. During the ride back to town, his friends explained that they learned of the cult's existence a good while ago and had planned on making a rescue of him the day he had originally gone missing. They also gave him the lowdown about how the murder cult was basically a bunch of old guys that made sacrifices to an eldritch horror in the mines to curry its favor in preserving Possum Springs. Casey naturally accepted this explanation without question; no surprise after all the other weird shit he'd been through.

Bea then offered to take him to the hospital or even back to his place. He declined, saying he'd much rather have something to eat. Thus, the decision was made to convene at Pastabilities, where the five friends sat around a table that offered ample elbow room and dined on some fairly good faux-Italian cuisine. It came off as utterly surreal to the scruffy tom, having dinner with friends when not even an hour ago he was in a desperate gunfight for his life. As though there weren't bodies lying in the deep dark he was responsible for. Or that he was told something utterly undeniable. His appetite wasn't affected one bit, though, so as Casey treated his restored body to its first (semi)proper meal, discussion inevitably turned toward the Gungeon.

The matter of his friends' awareness of its existence was a moot point. They had to have had some prior knowledge of his whereabouts; how else would they have known to go looking for him at that exact spot, within that general timespan, when for all intents and purposes he had disappeared without a trace? Still, he was curious as to the means by which they came to learn of it.

"It started as some rumor passed around by this old guy," Gregg explained, quite composed after having given his old buddy about fifty hugs since coming back from the woods. "A place to go to undo your past. Bogus-sounding kid stuff, only made slightly interesting with the inclusion of guns."

"Naturally no one bought into that garbage." Swiveling her eye around, Bea added, "Save for a certain someone in our group."

"I was a total trailblazer!" Mae exclaimed happily, arms raised and a smile on her face, completely bereft of shame. Seeing that random burst of enthusiasm from her nearly made Casey chuckle, maybe even cry.

"Troublemaker, to be correct," Bea said teasingly. However, Mae was quick to lower her arms and resume her previous casual expression.

"But seriously, with all the bad, dumb shit I've done, I thought it'd be worth a shot to look into. And I had literally nothing else to do at the time. Boy, who'd have thought I'd stumble onto the jackpot of 'rumors that actually turned out to be legit'?"

"Wound up dragging us along for the ride as well," Angus said, followed by Gregg slamming the table and saying,

"And a hell of a ride it was! Woo! Bullets for days!"

"Not to mention exhausting. And repetitive," Bea further added, oblivious to the floored look of surprise on Casey's face.

"Wait, all of you have been through the Gungeon?" Four nods answered his query. "So then, that means you all…"

"Killed our pasts? Effin' right we did!" Mae said proudly. "I stopped myself from bashing in a kid's face."

"I saved some sheep *and* got to relive my childhood. Well, that second one wasn't *as* great as the first, but still."

"I had some abusive parents. Put them in their place when it mattered most."

"I took care of some family issues as well, though nothing as extreme as with Angus."

"Heheheheh, you hear that, Cap'n? You're totally extreme."

"Only when the situation calls for it, Bug."

"Wow…" Casey slumped back in his seat, dumbfounded. "I figured Mae would go through with something like this, but not all of you. Did Germ go in as well?"

"We're not sure," Mae admitted. "He never mentioned anything about it, and he never asked us. But who knows; it's Germ, after all."

"Certainly wasn't dragged along like the rest of us," Angus reiterated, adjusting his glasses before taking a sip of cola.

"You're making it sound like it was a bad thing, Angus. But it was worth it, right?" Mae asked "I mean, it's the reason I got into therapy by the time I was fifteen, Casey. If I hadn't gone to the Gungeon, I would've ended being angry and miserable without knowing why, making stupid-ass mistakes and screwing up the lives of me, my parents, and Andy Cullen. But now I'm on meds, everyone's fine, and I'm still in college!"

"I never even had the chance to go to college in my… old life? Alternate past? One of those," Bea said. "I also didn't have as positive an outlook for my future for a number of very unpleasant reasons. But, this time around, I fixed things up so it's not as grim. Also, having Mae around helped a little."

"And now we're College Sisters!" Mae tried reaching up to wrap an arm around Bea's shoulders, but her short stature forced her to settle with half-hugging the crocodilian's waist. "Mayday and BeeBee: The Queens of English and Psychology! Representin' Possum Springs and showing those snooty rich kids how to keep it real!"

"Mae, the most *real* thing you did was climb a bunch of statues and binge on pizza during midterms."

"And I didn't throw up until after taking all the exams. That's pure fortitude there."

"No, that's just you, Mae."

That time, Casey did chuckle, as did the two gal pals. Though he knew firsthand how practically inseparable they were, he somehow felt that they had never always been this close. Like two sets of memories banging against each other. No doubt caused by all this time travel BS.

"Plus, because we all went back, we got the chance to get together to come save you," Gregg said. "Like, originally, it was months before we found out that you had been killed, and there was no way me, Mae, or anyone was gonna let that happen again. Although, you wound up saving yourself just fine, so the whole rescue operation was a bust. But it's the thought that counts, and we were totally ready to eff up some dudes to save you."

"Yeah, I appreciate that, Gregg. All of you."

After a comfortable silence, Mae then posed the question, "So how did you find out about the Gungeon, Casey?"

"Yeah, I've been wondering that too," Angus said. "That old man didn't come here until months after you disappeared. Did you hear it somewhere else before that?"

"It's uh, it's pretty weird how I learned of it." Now for things to get awkward. "I'm pretty sure it's the same old guy you know, only he… talked to me after I was dead."

Four sets of eyes looked at him blankly, either from surprise or disbelief, as everything instantly hushed. Yup, definitely awkward. This unpleasant silence didn't last too long, however, as Gregg broke it with a fitting, "Dude…"

"For real?"

"It's all blurry as to where we were exactly," Casey told Bea. "He just offered me a chance to… redo things, and then put me in the Gungeon. I even got a body to use since, I guess, you can't do it as a ghost or something?"

Another brief silence, which again was broken by Gregg with the very apt, "That's frickin' crazy."

"So then, ghosts are actually real? As well as an afterlife of some kind? In our world, specifically?" Angus asked, genuinely curious if a tad unsettled by this revelation.

"But if you went into the Gungeon," Mae started, unperturbed the least by what had been spoken. "If you went there, that means just now, you had…?"

"It's how I got away from those psychos," Casey said. "I woke up with two Blanks and a gun right before they could off me. That's what I used to get out of there."

"That would certainly explain how you got away in this instance," Bea surmised. "Though it's concerning that you had to die first before you could do all that."

"But that doesn't matter now; you're back in the land of the living, dude! You're still with us!" The little greaser caved in to emotion once more and practically dove to provide another patented Gregg Hug to his buddy, who didn't feel entirely comfortable with himself in the moment.

"Y-yeah, I am. But I… killed, people. People that are from here."

"It was in self-defense, though," Mae assured him without missing a beat. "They tried to kill you first."

"They're also not the kind of people to lose sleep over," Angus put it bluntly. "For everything they've done, I wouldn't have hesitated."

"Totally extreme. Like I told ya, Angus." The bear blushed at his boyfriend's little tease.

"We can talk about the Gungeon and the murder cult some other time," Mae offered. "Right now it's good friends, good food, and good not-as-effed-up-as-before lives."

"I guess so," Casey nodded, taking up a half-eaten breadstick. "Kinda need some time to get used to being back in boring-ass Possum Springs."

"We'll get you grounded," Bea said confidently, while Gregg gave Casey a supportive pat on the shoulder.

"You can count on it!"

Mae was about to say something appropriately cheesy, but stopped when she noticed something at the other end of the restaurant. Standing by the exit was a tall figure in a familiar weathered red tweed coat and moth-eaten scarf, clutching a withered black cane to their side with a thick brown-gloved hand. A grin formed beneath the frayed wide-brimmed hat just before the man slipped out the door. The petite feline instantly felt antsy.

"Hey, I'm gonna go, uh, pee real quick. Be back in a sec."

"Sure Mae. Just don't slip."

"It was just the one time, Bea. Geez. Anyway, be right back."

Having excused herself, Mae left the table, then quickly but stealthily made for the exit. Stepping out into the warm summer night, she looked both ways over the desolate road, squinting against the heavy shadows cast by the streetlights. Her ears picked up someone's singing in the direction of the Snack Falcon, and immediately she leapt from the steps and hit the sidewalk running.

She ran past Gregg and Angus' apartment, the bar, and the Snack Falcon before catching the old man casually strolling by the Clik Clak.

"Hey, hold up!" she called out, causing her pursuee to stop his walking and cane-clacking at the outer edge of the diner's corner light fixture. Mae caught up and came to a stop beneath the light as he turned around, giving her the same smile that greeted her outside the woods in another lifetime.

"Well well, if it isn't Margaret."

"Okay, it's still freaky how you just know my actual name. And that you're spying on us like some creep."

"My apologies then, Mae. I just happened to be passing by and thought I heard some familiar voices, and lo behold I see you sitting amongst your friends. Which means that you have conquered the Gungeon's prize."

"Yeah yeah it was a real blast. Listen, you brought my friend Casey to the Gungeon as well."

"Indeed I did. A very eager Gungeoneering candidate for sure."

"But he says you showed him after he was *dead*. What are you exactly? Are you some kind of ghost?"

"Au contraire, my dear. I'm just as real as you or any of your other friends." He chuckled warmly, but Mae was still on edge.

"Uh-huh. Doesn't really explain what you are."

"To be honest, I'm merely an old traveler at heart, performing a service to the master of the Gungeon on the side. Spreading word of its existence, delivering fresh up-and-coming Gungeoneers. You could consider me a recruiter of sorts, though I like to fancy myself more a resources contractor." Looking a little more serious, he then asked, "Though, why should it matter to you as to what I am?"

"I dunno. Just one last mystery to be solved? I mean, wouldn't you be curious to know more about a guy who can take people to a crazy-ass gun dungeon and talk to the dead, apparently? And who also dresses in *way* too many layers. Why you aren't sweating like crazy under all that is a mystery in of itself."

"I see. Well to answer that last oddity, I just happen to have a ludicrously high heat tolerance. As for the rest, is it really so mysterious in light of everything else you have seen? Living ammunition, aliens, spirits, a dragon made entirely out of guns, a gun that can alter the very course of time itself. Is someone like me harder to accept without explanation than any of those?"

Mae pondered that a moment, then replied, "I guess not. Probably not that big a deal in that context. I just found it weird you can actually talk to dead people."

"Were you hoping I could speak to someone on your behalf?" he said half teasingly, half genuinely. Mae looked aside, then shook her head.

"Nah. Maybe at one point, but I've made peace with that a long time ago. Or about as much peace as realistically possible. So I'm just bugging ya out of curiosity."

"Spur of the moment thing, hmm? Would explain why none of your friends have followed."

"Yeah, I still have this habit of running off without telling them," the cat admitted a bit ashamedly.

"That's no good. You and your companions have had quite the shared experience that few else can boast about. You should relate, relish and cherish those thrilling moments together."

"Yeah I totally should. Haven't gotten all the details from Bea and Angus about their runs, and Casey probably did a bunch of kickass stuff in his."

"There you have it. Now, if you have nothing further to ask, please pardon me."

As he started to turn, Mae yelled out, "Hey wait, that's actually something that's been bugging the hell out of me about all this."

Turning back, the gentleman asked, "That being?"

"The point of the Gungeon is to keep The Gun That Can Kill The Past safe, but doesn't telling people about it *and* sending them there completely defeat the purpose?"

The elder looked upon the wily lass amusedly, then chuckled to himself. "Very astute of you, young lady."

"I'm not some kid, you know; I turned twenty a few months ago."

"Quite. Still, you have touched on a rather curious state of affairs. It is true that the Gungeon serves as a vault to preserve The Gun That Can Kill The Past. But, it is one that thrives on the spirit of battle. Its inhabitants, its inner workings require excitement to stay alive; fresh challengers keep it functional. Not to mention, it makes for quite the rousing spectacle, especially when hot-blooded youths are pitted against such myriad dangers."

"Spectacle? You mean, it's being watched, like reality TV?"

"Sort of, but not by conventional methods. After all, in this universe so vast, mysterious and terrible, you can never tell who or *what* is watching."

"Creepy. (Though I kinda already knew that, but whatever, still creepy)"

"In summation, I merely send along fresh souls to liven up those catacombs, while at the same time offering a legitimate chance for redemption to those who are interested. The fact that the end result brings benefit to the Gungeoneer fills this old heart with warmth, doubly so when I see it firsthand, as in the case of you and your friends."

"Okaaay. All kinds of weird stuff you just said there. But I guess, thank you for the help? I mean, we probably would have managed fine without redoing the past, but not everyone gets that kind of chance. So yeah, thanks a bunch."

"You're very welcome. Having said all that, I believe I've tapped enough candidates from this humble town. Therefore, I will have to depart to seek fresh talent elsewhere. They can't all come from the same place, after all."

"Oh, alright. Well, good luck with that. I'll tell my friends that you said goodbye and all."

"That would be very outstanding of you. But, tis my last farewell. May you make the most out of your new path."

"Definitely," Mae nodded as the fellow turned back around. However, he turned his head aside and said,

"Oh, one last thing: be mindful of your friend Casey. He just had a good hard look at his life's worth, and his own deficiencies. Brushes with death tend to shake people up badly, particularly the young and directionless. Be there to keep him upright."

"I will. Thanks again, old man."

"My pleasure. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a train to catch."

With that, the traveler resumed walking the lonely sidewalk, singing in cadence to the tapping of his cane.

Oh how the gentle wind,

Beckons, through the leaves.

As Autumn, colors, Fall~...

Real out-of-season tune to be singing, Mae thought. Yet another unanswered oddity, though that could be chalked up to the eccentricity of the elderly. In any event, Mae watched the heavily-dressed gent stroll farther into the darkness until he practically vanished, although a haunting whistling rang through the air. For a moment she was curious as to where exactly he was going, and who or what else will wind up being plunged into the trials of the Gungeon. But it was but a moment, for with a dismissing shrug she turned around and jogged back the way she came.

Thus, by the milk-lighted moon, Mae hurried back to rejoin her dear friends, to continue forging forward into an unknown, but promising future.

So concludes another series of success stories made possible by the awesome power of the One True Gun, further prolonging its legend within civilization's collective memory. Still, where there are individuals willing to forsake their present lives for one more attempt to make things right, The Gun That Can Kill The Past will never be forgotten. But willingness to cast oneself into unending danger for redemption is one thing. Only the skilled, the patient and, above all else, the persistent can regard themselves true masters of fate, after they…

ENTER THE GUNGEON

(Now you may rap in full)

YOU WON

You have killed the Past

KILLED BY

Nobody. You did great!