Now, where is this "Eights" they've heard so much about?

Mm nom nom.

"Anna! Sandy!" says Stella. "Well, I wasn't expecting that, but I should've."

"Do I know you?" says Eights. "I really don't think I know you."

"I know I don't know 'em," says Chainsaw, pointing his fork thoughtfully at each of the visitors in turn.

"Oh, not you specifically, but there's alts of you in my world. They work for me."

"Speaking of alts," says Nathan, "Eights, assuming it hasn't been a few thousand years since I skipped town, you might remember me talking about my world's empress? These are alts of hers."

"No, you, I remember you," she says, nodding. "And you," this to the Bells, "I think I took a contract for somebody with that face once. The question that desperately needs answering right now is, what the fuck are you all doing here?"

"Oh, we don't like the way this place is set up and intend to fix it," says Stella. "The one you met is Shell Bell. She got caught by a torturer who kept her in his basement for a quarter-century and is not accompanying us for obvious trauma-related reasons. Me and Juliet are here to discuss how to present this to the population, assuming we can do anything about the admin."

Speaking of fixing the place, what will it take to fuck up torturer's control permanently, Downsidewide?

Timely, too, because Chainsaw is smiling in a not particularly friendly way and ahem-ing like someone who sees a problem with this plan.

"Why don't you tell me how, exactly, you intend to fix the place."

"Well, first of all, this being dead thing is a bad deal. Shell Bell went home, for instance." (She's not going to bring up Juliet; not if they don't know yet how that information can be used.) "We'd like to send other people home insofar as we can. That's going to be easier to keep under control in Bell-operated worlds, but we'll figure it out for the others as best we can. People who don't meaningfully have homes to go to anymore - if it's been a hundred years since they died, say - or who don't miss where they came from should at least get to exist in an environment free of people randomly exercising body-control powers for nonconsensual amusement. We have nothing against consensual amusement, so whatever you and Eights do when you aren't having pancakes together is fine - assuming you are a Sandy and an Anna and don't just look remarkably alike and have suspiciously likely professions. We might move some people who don't want to go home per se but don't like it here even with that issue patched into our worlds. I can terraform a few solar systems for 'em, I'm probably best set up to take the immigration - Shell Bell or Amariah or Golden could set up to match, I guess, Aegis might be able to fold some in, but I'm the one who's already colonizing space."

"Question. Who the fuck are Sandy and Anna?"

"And does anybody else want pancakes?" adds Eights.

"I'll take some pancakes," laughs Juliet.

"Sandy and Anna are people from my world who look like you and Eights, respectively, and they're on my payroll. They help me with magic stuff. Sandy lives on a Jovian moon, designs buildings with spare magic, there's a giant chess set, he's got four surprisingly realistic imaginary friends, gets along famously with my boyfriend who is an alt of someone you met not long ago, does any of that sound about right to you?"

Eights serves up a plateful of pancakes for Juliet. They are tasty and warm.

"I meet a lot of people," Chainsaw says dryly. "I guess I don't get along with most of 'em. What's his relationship with power tools?"

"I don't involve myself in the details," Stella says archly. "My guess is that it would be a friendly-like relationship."

Mmm, pancakes. "Thanks!"

"Then I bet you've got the right guy," he says. "So what are you gonna do about it?"