It started with the custard. The machine acted strange for days. The Guardians—Ron and White—muttered about warnings, but still filled the bowls. Tinky-Winky ate. The others ate. At first it made him restless. Then the hunger never stopped. He watched Dipsy sleeping in the Superdome. The hunger locked onto the green shape. He walked over, hands on Dipsy’s neck, squeezed until it stopped. He picked up the axe. Two swings—head, chest. The body opened. The hunger quieted a little. By the lake, Laa-Laa ran toward him. He raised the axe. Once. Twice. Three times. He stood aside while Po finished her with a crowbar, then took her eyes. The hunger liked the work. Po talked of deals and a clean hatch. Later, in the tunnel, he found her again. Rope around her neck. He pulled until she hung among the trees. White locked the emergency door. Tinky-Winky forced it open bit by bit. When it swung wide he stepped in, took White’s face, pulled the skin over his own head like a mask, and put on the hat. The hunger felt proud. Ron wandered, collecting notes, fixing power, setting traps. Tinky-Winky hunted him—soft click of fingers, teleport, axe swing, heavy breathing. Ron was clever with beartraps and the key. None of it mattered. When the power was restored, Tinky-Winky knocked Ron out and dragged him into the dome. White’s body was already there. He mixed fresh custard and forced Ron’s face into it until the struggling stopped. The hunger moved on.
