Quackity was sitting on the roof of the tallest building in Las Nevadas, curled up in a corner fenced off from the abyss. He was finishing his cigarette, looking down, already stoned and drunk. The lights of the city blurred into blurred spots, and music from the bars came in a muffled hum, mixing with the sound of the wind. He felt disconnected from everything, as if he was hanging in the void, like a satellite that had lost contact with the Earth.

Barely a few seconds remained for him to hang in space, as a cigarette was slowly pulled out of his lips. Quackity looked up at the person without surprise, only raising his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes. In front of him was the ghost of his ex-husband; Schlatt, who gently, as if in a daze, took a cigarette from him, and began to slowly smoke it himself.