Damage control? thought the Narrator.

He cupped his hands around his mouth, looking aggressively childish, and said, “Who are you talking to?” His voice was muffled, distorted by the makeshift megaphone of his hands. Are you talking to yourself – or are you, perhaps, talking to the unnamed content-consumer, viewing our interactions from beyond the fourth wall?”

An idea seemed to strike him, then, and he crossed his arms and began walking around the limited space of the office. His leather shoes made a faint noise against the cheap carpet. “There’s conflict between us,” said the Narrator, thinking out loud. “Definitely conflict – what we need, if we ever wanted to form an unlikely partnership, is a larger, overarching evil that will unite us…”

“I was talking to you,” he said, pointing right at the Narrator’s chest, “And I’d appreciate it if my stay here was as short as possible, thank you very much.”

He turned towards a nearby desk and started to smear cement on a crack in the Wall. It was oddly close to one of the computers…

“You think?” he said, sarcastically. A bit here, a bit there…

He continued to ignore the Narrator, even as the latter began pacing. And then he said something that gave the inkblot cause for alarm.

“Wait, what?” he asked, turning around. “Why would you…I mean, you would be willing to destroy…Is there any other…What would…?”

He trailed off, still staring at the Narrator incredulously.