The Story of the Cemetery

It seems that was the end. At least that's how it felt. The cold October wind walked among the bare branches, picked through the young grass that had barely appeared here and there, and ruffled N’s hair. N's presence here seemed wrong, alien. He was silent, but in itself was a cry that broke out in this eternal silence. Not even the chirping of birds could be heard, the only creatures that are not afraid to disturb the silence in such a place, creatures that usually bring here a strange feeling of hope and peace. They were afraid of this robot in a dark yellow jacket. Seething from within, ready to scream and cry at any moment, although the emotions seething in his soul could not be read on his face. Liam Vickers has died. Liam Vickers had been dead for almost twenty-one years. Serial Designation N stood in front of a simple gray gravestone, almost invisible among the large Victorian monuments of Brookwood Cemetery and the greenery so characteristic of old English churchyards. Pomni was sure that they would have missed the right place if not for the clay pot with pens and pencils of all shapes and sizes that stood in front of the stone. N had been silent for about an hour, and Pomni couldn’t even imagine what her friend was thinking about now. Although Pomni owed some of her creation to Liam Vickers, she had no connection to Liam's own characters, so she couldn't now feel the same way as N. Any of his versions. So Pomni stood to the side and read. The book was given to her by the guy in whose house they found themselves, transported to this reality. At first, N and Pomni decided that this was Liam Vickers, because according to the conditions of transferring the characters into the reality of their creator (as Pomni remembered this action), they had to end up directly with their author. If only it were really that simple. The guy wasn't Liam Vickers. His name was Kevin, and he was very scared when a murder drone and a cartoonish jester jumped out of his laptop screen. Kevin turned out to be a screenwriter from Australia, the creator of a series called “Meta Runner” and “Sunset Paradise”. In their universe, he was Braxton, a worker who died 4 times. For some reason Pomni liked this story. But here Kevin was THEIR author. By that time, Pomni had already gotten used to the idea that she was just someone’s invention, but she did not expect to turn out to be a television character. N - the other one, drawn by hand, and not in an animation program - fell out of the piece of paper, so Pomni automatically decided that she herself had appeared from one of them. To their questions: “Where is Liam Vickers then? We need to ask him about “Cliffside” and other projects. Why were they left unfinished after our succession?” - Kevir did not answer, he just held out the book, offering to find out everything for ourselves. When they opened it, Kevin said in a nice, friendly accent:

A book about funny colorful animated shows with random murders

At first, Pomni thought that this was one of the versions of the scripts of their universes that she had seen from Kaine. But the book was electronic, not paper, and under the familiar names of the stories there was another inscription. It said that this book is the history of the creation of Glitch Production and, to some extent, a biography of the author, including Liam Vickers. So this means that Kaine and the circus were also created by another people! That explained a lot. And this book was written by a certain Kevin Temmer. N knew this name: he was in their universe too. Only not as a character, but as the editor-in-chief of animation, like “Ferdinand” - something like the British “Playboy”, according to N, only smarter. Kevin said that they needed the twenty-second chapter - there was a bookmark on it, because Kevin did not have time to read further, and the book had been on the shelf in this form for several years. Perhaps she was waiting for this very moment. Pomni opened the necessary page. Liam Vickers has died. This is how the chapter began. Liam Vickers died almost twenty-one years ago and now rests in a cemetery in the village of Brookwood, Surrey, England: after the stunning success of the animated series "Murder Drones", other projects were never completed and were just a few scraps, almost unrelated with each other, which were later combined and released under one cover. And if they had been finished, it would hardly have remained stories about Drones. They didn’t want to write in this vein at all. Pomni thought that maybe that was why the plot elements didn't want to stick together. Because the pieces of the puzzle did not initially fit together. "Biscuits, Case Solved!" - N would have said. But he didn’t say that. Instead, N turned to Kevin and asked if there was any possibility of getting into Brookwood. The plane disappeared immediately. Since they are the heroes of the series, it means that in this world there are at least two people with the same voices. And perhaps with too recognizable faces to go through passport control under the names Pomni and N. The coat on N was a very ordinary one, not the larger ones inside, so the likelihood of finding a teleporter or funnel manipulator somewhere in their depths was extremely slim even for this galactic sector. N never learned to teleport during hiccups. Pararibulitis, what Kinger was suffering from, unfortunately, did not work in the opposite direction. But it would be so great, instead of eerily real hallucinations that cannot be controlled in any way, to be able to imagine something yourself and bring it to life! The solution was suggested by Kevin - since he created them, he could write a script about how N and Pomni suddenly, as if by magic, were transported to some other place. At least to Brookwood! The solution seemed too cheaty to work, but it was worth a try. Kevin opened a text editor and began scribbling a story. Several minutes passed, and Pomni already thought that this would not work (Kevin also wrote about this) and closed her eyes for just a couple of seconds. She opened them already in Trafalgar Square. It was early morning - the only time of day when the square was not filled with a crowd of young people and tourists. N stood nearby and looked around. Kevin has too little idea of ​​Brookwood, complained N - he chose for them a too poppy tourist place, from which it’s a good forty two hours to the cemetery. It's good that “Charing Cross” is nearby. N led her to the subway entrance, and only while waiting for hid friend to buy tickets did Pomni realise that she was still holding Kevin’s book in her hands. — Pomni, do you have a pen or pencil? — N finally broke the silence. – I would like to leave something here. — Yes, it was somewhere. Wait a minute. Pomni looked up from her book and began rummaging through her pockets. The pen was found in her hat. It seemed like it had been lying there for an eternity, although only a week had passed. But it wasn't just any pen. A couple of weeks ago, N insisted that their merch, like any real organization, should have different branded attributes, and among other things, stationery. About ten days ago they received the first few samples, including this very ballpoint pen with the inscription “JCJenson in SPAAAAACEEEE!!!” on the handle body. Pomni must have instinctively tucked this into her hat after a client call that required her to write something down. And then she completely forgot about the existence of the pen. Pomni grinned. It seems that the Universe did everything right this time too: it “led” the pen to the most correct place for this. Pomni turned the pen in her hands a little more before handing it to N. He smiled bitterly after reading the inscription, sat down near the tombstone and put the pen in the pot next to the others. — What's next? - Pomni asked as N rose to his feet. — The most difficult part. We need to get home somehow, - N smiled. He seemed to be himself again. - But first, let’s eat. I'm just dying of hunger. I remember somewhere nearby there was a kiosk that sold excellent fish and chips. Pomni, you should definitely try the fish and chips. Nobody cooks it like the British. Nobody. By the way, what date is today? I was completely confused about time when the week started over. — Friday, October twenty-ninth. — And I have a feeling that this is a great date! Let's go, Pomni! Did I mention I'm terribly hungry? N headed towards the exit from the cemetery, and Pomni leaned towards the tombstone for a second and whispered something. She didn't tell N that she read about today's date in a book, but it really was great. And they will somehow get home too. As a last resort, wearing virtuality glasses.