And this is definitely not Callisto anymore. He can tell by the way he's on soft grass and surrounded by trees, a lake several feet behind him. Or the exploding stars decorating the night sky above. Or the building over there, which looks nothing like any buildings he's seen. It's... probably what a pub on Earth was like, some time ago.

While he rests on his back, staring up, the world around Meteor slowly reassembles itself. His dreamlike surroundings take on a sort of hazy halo in his probably-damaged head. Ten feet to his left, the Atmocraft he'd stolen is so much scrap, laying still where it had crashed. Nothing behind it but trees and grass. No Garage. No city, no pursuers, no Baldash. To his right, the odd historical building. Meteor had seen neither grass, trees, nor stars with his own eyes ever before, but he'd seen them in virtualities. He'd never seen them personally because the urbanization of the Sol system had destroyed them epochs ago. He can't be where he is. It isn't possible.

Meteor resists the urge to panic, forces himself to think. First: body check. Try to get up. See if I'm all... He wiggles a toe, a foot, one leg, the other. An finger, a wrist, an arm. His right fist still grips his notebook. He tests muscles in his face, then in his neck. Everything seems more or less functional, though several places punish him for the slightest disturbance. He thinks.

Assess: Been in an accident. Having multi-sensory experiences of things that I know cannot be real. Probably broken some ribs. Might have internal... 

Theories:  #1. Dead, and there's an afterlife, and this is....

#2. Severe brain damage, I'm dying, and these are hallucinations. Impressive that I can hallucinate something I've never experienced with such...

#3. Clinically bodydead, and my brain is being used for some secret scientific experiment in virtual...

#4. Insane, I've been insane for an indeterminate amount of time, and I cannot trust my own conceptions of what is and is not, or what is and is not possible...

#5. Fucked up killing Baldash. Baldash caught up with me, and this is all him, somehow... 

#6. Landed in some hidden garden that's been cultivating plants for lifetimes of stars...

None of these theories seem plausible or pleasant. Still, in at least half of these theories he probably needs medical attention one way or another, and that pub is the only sign of civilization. His body burned and ached in protest, but gradually, gently, Meteor rises to his feet. He double checks his hand for his notebook. He double checks over his shoulder for Baldash. It's about 100 yards to the building, and every step is a new lesson in pain. 

When Meteor finally reaches the door, he pauses. Laughs at himself for considering knocking, and then scolds himself for laughing, which only sets of the burning in his ribs again. He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and promptly collapses on the floor.

He will promptly find himself being levitated by a girl in a frilly colourful dress.

He seems to be in a bar. It's clean and nice and quaint, and there are patrons of all species and ages, or at least that's what it looks like, there's so much variety. There's a fireplace over there, with sofas around it and some people sitting there chatting. The windows show more of the exploding stars he saw outside, and the bar's unmanned but somehow people seem to have food and drinks. In fact, just as he's watching someone has a plate of something very foreign appear mysteriously in front of them. Some people look at him but they seem to assume the girl in the dress can handle it, as she starts taking him towards a door near the back.

Floating. No way does a secret historical garden pub have a Zero-G engine. I'm insane, or I'm dead/dying, or I'm virtual. This isn't real. 

Together with the revelation comes a rush of relief. Baldash and his crew almost certainly can't follow Meteor into un-reality. Meteor's debts and responsibilities are over. His brother Balduris can go on living without him. Meteor lets his eyes shut and laughs. It hurts, but he no longer cares. Might as well enjoy whatever this is, right?

Tears fall off Meteor's pale face in streams. He giggles at his own floating purple hair.

He even starts to sing.

"They invented a reason
That's why it stings
They don't think you matter
Because you don't have pretty rings
I keep telling you I don't care
I keep saying there's one thing they can't change

I'm your moon
You're my moon
We go round and round
From out here, it's the rest of the world that looks so small
Promise me
You will always remember who you are

Let them shuffle the numbers
Watch them come and go
We're the ones who are out here
Out past the edge of what they know
We can only be who we are
It doesn't matter if they don't understand

I'm your moon
You're my moon
We go round and round
From out here, it's the rest of the world that looks so small..."

While he sings he witnesses the most wonderous things. People and foods and objects of every conceivable kind, and many not conceivable. He observes with some delight an exquisitely carved wooden end-table as he passes, engraved with images monkeys swinging on vines and trees. Beyond it, a vast window showcasing the night sky, full of stars sparkling and popping like campaign. He idly wonders if that's what stars really looked like. They certainly seem more... active than he remembers seeing in the virtualities.

As they pass through a door, Meteor laughs again and comments to the girl in the pretty dress, who seems to somehow be the source of his current position above the floor, "Certainly the most pleasant hallucination slash psychotic break slash virtual world I've ever experienced! Say, do you know if I'm dead or insane? I suppose it doesn't really matter, but I'm curious..."

She tilts her head. "Neither, this is just Milliways," she explains as if that explained everything. She sets him on a comfortable bed in a medium-sized room and asks, "Have you broken anything? Where does it hurt? And do you have any chronic diseases or old injuries you'd like me to fix?"

"Hahaha~! Miliways, of course. Serves me right for asking the delusions to explain themselves. Well, pretty image, I believe I've just been in an Atmocraft accident. I'm pretty sure I have broken ribs, and basically everywhere hurts. As for chronic, no. I never had anything the docs couldn't cure. If I am insane, though, please don't cure that. I rather prefer this to my previous mental state, you see. Don't know how a delusion would cure its source anyhow, but I suppose it's not my place to judge..." He rambles, mostly to himself, whole-heatedly amused and delighted by this entire situation.

"This isn't a hallucination," she explains patiently as she lays her hands on him and starts working—whatever magic she's doing. Her hands are warm, and the warmth spreads through his body and starts mending his injuries. "It's a magical bar at the end of the universe. It probably stole a door from your world, which is paused until you return. You can ask Bar for a better explanation, she'll tell you stuff."

Meteor scoffs, condescends, "You're sweet for trying, pretty image, but the likelihood of magic suddenly being real is a lot lower than the likelihood that I'm experiencing some form of un-reality. But don't worry! I'm happy to play along. Which one of you is Bar?" 

"Bar is the bar, she's outside in the main room—and I'm done. I think they might have someone for mental health if you need it but otherwise you should probably just enjoy. Oh, to talk to Bar you just tell or ask her stuff and she'll reply with napkins." The girl stands up and dusts herself.

"Haha! Napkins of course. Thank you very much for healing me, image. I feel much better."

Meteor stands up also, and follows the girl back out to the front area. He sits down on a stool a little away from the other denizens. No one seems to be manning the counter, which strikes him as a little odd, even for a delusion. He shrugs, and talks at the counter-top.

"Hi, Bar. I'm Meteor! The girl who healed me said you stole the Garage door I crashed through. Thank you for that, I suppose. I..." His voice trails off, and his cheery demeanor flows into sadness. "...it was the end of the line for me back there, one way or another. This is a lovely death, so.... thank you."

A napkin appears with stuff written on it: I would say you're welcome but that'd be misleading—you're not dead and I'm not in charge of the door.

Meteor puts his smile back on, but this time it hangs crooked. "Right, right. Not dead. Sorry, I forgot you seem touchy on the subject of your reality. I won't bring it up again, I promise. Anyway. If you're not the one who brought me here, who did? ...Also, is there anything I need to do in order to stay here? I'm not keen on going back to... um, where I was." 

Whoever is in charge of the door has not seen fit to inform me. You can rent a room for locally appropriate rent prices, and obtain food, drinks, or other nonmagical nonliving things you might want similarly. The first drink is free.

Meteor blinks. He wasn't expecting his delusions to require monetary compensation. "Don't have any money. I was a captive held for ransom for... several months or so, before I arrived here... The ruined Atmocraft in the wood outside is yours, if it's worth anything to you...?"  

I can purchase it from you, yes. If you have a bank account or some other remotely accessible money storage I can magically withdraw funds from there. If you open the door you should have access to your world and be able to ask for someone to retrieve money for you.

Meteor briefly considers whether this might be some elaborate scam to get his finance ID, but decides that the likelihood is down with magic being real. "Whatever you say, counter-top! My finance ID is #J1986-0987-18. Um, but the door I came through isn't there anymore, if that matters. Nothing but open sky and... trees. Out there."

You can use the door to return to your world, although the location it will open to is not consistent enough in cases like this. Do you still wish to sell your Atmocraft?

"Sure, go ahead and buy it, Bar. I'll have that first drink too, please...." Meteor take the moment to relax and collect himself. He looks around at all the impossible things around him. Everything, from the people to the furniture, everything is beautiful. Clean, colorful, and surprisingly laid back. Maybe I've been a good boy and this is Heaven. You'd think Heaven would own up to it, though... 

Well not everything is beautiful. There's a patron that looks like the cross between a frog and a naked mole rat, and some more variations besides.

I have deposited an appropriate sum in your account. Do you have something in mind for your drink or would you prefer me to suggest something?

Meteor giggles again. "I am fascinated with the idea of a counter-top giving drink suggestions. Hit me with your best shot, Bar."

So a fizzy green drink with a lime and a purple umbrella on top appears in front of him.

It is the most delicious thing he has ever tasted in his life.

Meteor sips. Blinks, and then chugs it down like a starving baby on his mama's tit. He puts the glass down and breathes again. "Most delicious thing I have ever tasted in my life! What do you call that?"

She gives him the name of something he has never heard of with completely imaginary or made up ingredients. Or, well, possibly alien ones.

The drink information Bar provides goes completely over Meteor's head. He concludes that it is made out of crazy-virtual-afterlife-magic. 

He notices the girl in the pretty dress, and it occurs to him that he might have been a little rude to her before, what with denying her existence and all. He wonders if delusions ever feel bad about being delusions, or desire the same rights and respect as Real Things.

"Hey Bar, I'm going to go over and talk to that girl. Watch my drink, won't you?"

He gets up and walks over, marveling at everything in eyeshot while he walks. (Yes, even the frog-molerat-thing.) He finds her sitting on one of the couches. "Um, hi. I'm sorry about how I acted earlier. You were very kind to me, and I-- well I must have sounded pretty crazy! Oh, ah, I'm Meteor. May I ask your name?" He blushes, knowing how silly he sounds, and knowing how silly it is to worry about how he sounds to un-real people.

"I'm Mary," she introduces, smiling, and scoots over to the side to give him space. "And you don't need to thank me, it's my job. Well, part-time. Whatever that means when my world is paused. Is this your first time in Milliways?"