You decide to wait for Ajax. Turning to the others, you tell them as much: ‘Let’s wait for Ajax; he’ll remember me, I can talk to him, and we can get out of here.’
The others nod grimly, and a few moments later you hear Ajax howl from the other room.
‘What was that?’ Achitophel cries, hearing him.
‘Horus is dead!’ Ajax replies lugubriously. Then, as Achitophel gives the expected response (wailing, throwing her arms around, demanding the dancing alumni to break formation and search the building with the intent to Kill), you and the gang exchange glances while you hear Ajax stomp in your direction.
There aren’t really any decisions left to make. The dancing alumni are making a congo-line up the stairs, Achitophel is tearing out her hair, the windows are alight with a bloodred sky outside, the cacophonous drumming makes it impossible to think, the woman of a certain age is clutching her ears while blood from them pours through her fingers, the twins clutch each-other as if they were little children all over again, and Ajax barrels through the door to the rafters and doesn’t even stop when he sees you.
‘You!’ he cries, all anguish, all vindication as he picks you up (yes, he was always quite strong), breaks your back on his knee, then tosses you off the rafters, letting you fall, fall, fall like Icarus or Lucifer or M. Night Shyamalan from whatever successes you enjoyed earlier, down onto the stage, where you don’t die but definitely break a few bones (rafters being quite high, after all {remember that shot in Citizen Kane? Mhmm}).
Well, this isn’t how you wanted things to go. And yet, you didn’t want the dancing alumni to gather around you, either. Is this some sort of team-building exercise? Networking event? Alas, if only you’d brought along your business cards, which you never would have used otherwise – in fact, why are business cards still a thing? And, speaking of, why are you dying? Because you made the wrong choice somewhere along the line, evidently, ’cause
Homecoming of Horrors 