Gates turned the corner in full sprint, and skidded to a stop. “Bollocks!” he shouted. Another hallway. Another dead-end.

Gates could pilot a Skiff from one end of spacetime to the other, blindfolded, with a bottle of Jack in his right hand and a supermodel in his left, using only his meat and veg to steer. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t navigate his way out of this mad excuse for a funhouse. The geometry of the place was twisting like a multi-dimensional puzzle box. If only he could suss out the pattern before she found him…

On cue, Jeanne d’Arc stepped around the corner, carrying a Military Rocket-Rifle.

“Joan, baby. Heard any voices lately?”

“Là vous êtes, vous porc Anglais!” Jeanne spat, aiming the rifle.

“Joanie, love, you fire that thing, you’ll vaporize us both!”

Jeanne paused, thinking. “C’est un pari que je suis disposé à prendre,” she said, squeezing the trigger. Gates clawed desperately for the Sonic Reducer as the missile blasted towards him.

“Ceci est combien je vous déteste,” she whispered.