So it was that the Big Bad G returned to his predatory days and stalked the corridors in search of the rest of his choir. It was hard at first, because everywhere he went his reflection announced his presence and the light gave him no place to hide. He found that if he covered himself in dust from the floor and squinted then he was camouflaged enough that the ghosts could not see where he was coming from until it was too late.
Yet even the sacrifice of his vanity was not enough for he remained voraciously hungry. He consumed the choir faster and faster until eventually there was only one of them left. It was an old man, pungent with wisdom and much like his brother left alone in the world. With the same stoic acceptance, when the Big Bad G came for him he simply turned and faced his demise.
The Big Bad G saw something familiar in the situation and paused. With a fossilised cracking he found himself speaking to the old man, ‘Who are you?’
Wasting no time, the old man replied, ‘A reflection of no one. But I know a way out of this place.’
The Big Bad G cocked his head sceptically at this pronouncement and said, ‘Liar. I created it, I would know of any path out.’
‘As a prisoner knows every lock of his own gaol? You are trapped. I am not.’ The beast drew back pensively and offered more time, so the old man continued, ‘This is not my first body. This will not be my last. If you want freedom from this existence then let it end. There will be another.’
The booming, tectonic laughter that ripped from the Big Bad G at this showed how little he had learnt from his lifetime of suffering. His own life was not at question, was not a chip to be bartered with. Wasting no more time on what he saw as foolish nonsense he devoured the old man in one greedy motion.
With that he found himself alone in the dazzling lambency of his lair, still hungry and suddenly devoid of any sense of purpose. He slumped down to the ground, each of his joints collapsing under the weight of his future. He found himself surrounded only by reflections of himself, themselves prisoner in all the frames that stared back down at him.
He saw his matted, dank coat and wept openly. The hundreds of faces that stared back at him also wept, preening themselves slowly and gently, trying to wash off the filth. Hours passed as the Big Bad G scrubbed and licked and rubbed and gnashed and tore at his fur yet only scant patches of his previous colour showed from underneath.
As he looked more closely he saw the sheen had gone from his fur and that his bones now lined his figure, angular and fragile. The diet of ghosts and reflections had done nothing to sustain him and he had wasted away without realising it.
The Big Bad G lay his head down on his arms, flattened on the ground like a felled trunk. He would have stayed that way until he died as well, except that now he was not distracted he saw something move in one of the mirrors. One of the reflections was looking at him and had just scratched his arm. And the fur on the arm was bright, thick and shining with a health that he had once possessed.
At once the Big Bad G leapt to his feet and fixed his eyes on the mirror. Realising his disguise was wasted the reflection fled, but as it fled it turned into a thousand Big Bad Gs, each heading in a different direction, each looking plump, healthy and full of meat.
The hungriest Big Bad G of them all fixed his eyes on one of them and set off in pursuit. A wide and voracious grin spread across his face as he realised that the hunt would be a great challenge, for the prey knew all of his tricks. But it was no matter, he would catch himself, he would eat well, and then he would be able to get his beautiful fur back.
