Well, it's finally here. The next installment in my Flood Fiction. Like I said, it's still a work in progress, so I'd appreciate any constructive criticism. Hopefully this won't get hidden like all the others. Enjoy. The door swung open, revealing the face of a small, round man. “Good evening, Greene,” he said with a peculiar suavity. “My name is Tikkititamiflosdradbanm, but most call me Meursault. Take a seat. Your host will be joining you shortly.” Greene stepped off of the porch (hue) and into the warm foyer to see four others seated around a large table in front of a fireplace. Then it occurred to her that these were all people that she knew, but she couldn’t recall what from. “What am I doing here?” she asked, “Why was I sent this letter?” She raised the piece of paper in her hand so that they could see. “K.” responded a woman by the fireplace. “What? I-“ Greene stuttered, confused by the woman’s response. “Don’t bother trying to speak to her. She always says that to let you know how little she cares.” Explained a middle-aged man with a neck beard wearing a fedora on top of his trilby on top of another fedora. “Greene contemplated this. She felt as if she knew her from somewhere, but she still couldn’t figure out what. “Okay… what’s your name then?” “MyNameIsCharlie” “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.” “No, I mean that my name is MyNameIsCharlie.” “I know that, Charlie. You should really work on correcting that stutter.” The conversation continued in this way for some number of hours until they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Meursault waddled over to the door and opened it to a wet and smiling Gatsby. “Hehehe, porch.” he said as he walked in from the rain. Upon looking across the room filled with five extremely bored guests, his smile vanished. “Wow, some party this is.” A man sitting between the woman who said her name was CamCamm and MyNameIsCharlie answered, “Party? There’s no party here. We were just told to come to this location at this time and did so without asking any questions despite how strange it seems.” Gatsby tilted his head to the side as a puppy does when it’s confused, “By whom?” Before anyone could explain that none of them knew, MyNameIsCharlie exclaimed, “I got it! I know who our host is! I thought that I knew you all from somewhere.” He turned to the man seated between him and CamCamm. “What did you say that your name was?” “My name? Elegiac.” He replied. “Of course! Greene, CamCamm, Gatsby, Elegiac, myself, our mystery host, and… and… that guy.” MyNameIsCharlie gestured to the seventh member. “The Haloz. My name is The Haloz. Why does no one remember me?” “Right, that. There are seven of us, not including the kind butler, Meursalt. And seven in any context ever naturally has to relate back to Bungie, one of the most fantastic game developers ever!” MyNameIsCharlie went on, “That’s what we all know each other from, Bungie’s online discussion forums.” It all began to make sense. That was what Greene knew these strange people from. “K.” CammCam stated, uninterested. “So…” Gatsby said, “Our host can only be the best person to ever post on Bungie.net!” “K.” “Of course! Then our host would be…” “That’s right,” said a man descending the stair case, wearing a suit and a burlap sack over his head. “I’m your host.” Gatsby’s jaw dropped in awe. Elegiac danced for joy. The Haloz shouted at the top of his lungs, but no one heard him. CamCamm was at a loss for word/letters. Greene cried golden tears of sunlight. MyNameIsCharlie quaked with fear. This was undoubtedly the most marvelous man that they had ever seen, and it could only be the famed Scarecrow.