Ricky Kronbach witnessed the death of his little brother when he was only fifteen-years-old. The black ichor that dripped from the animatronic's jaws in 1987 still stain his sneakers a decade later — a week before — in another life — beyond the spheres that define the edges of the perceivable universe. What begins with the choice of working alongside one "Steve Raglan" to bring Jeremy back — extending beyond the curved reaches of pixelated planes, technicolor pools, monochrome pages, and binary codes suspended in digital landscapes — ends where it all truly began: in a hospital, by the bedside of a crying child.

This is not a time loop for time is not linear. This a dive into a pit many would call a lake; a lake whose red surface bubbles with infinite possibilities no human could ever fathom. That begs the question — who, if not what, is Ricky Kronbach?

Well, he's just a car mechanic with a taste for classic rock and questionable men twice his age. A perfectly average guy.

Mostly.

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Driving Through Tunnels (With No Light at the End) - AO3

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