Where was he? The warmth of the sand under his skin felt like the fleece blanket he always wrapped around his shoulders when he sat with his carton of Chunky Monkey on a winter's day.
He sandpapered the grit out from his eyelids and there it was - those massive concrete wings exploding into the clouds. The Sydney Opera House! He sat up, grimacing. He alighted on the fact that it had to be his quick thinking and dexterity that had forced him to blast his way through the tsunami and now here he was on the smooth expanse of sand, all alone. Or was he? A midgety squat figure hovered nearby.
"Ray? Is it you?"
"Who else would it be?", the rich gruff voice was cello to his ears. "I escaped from their frozen clutches to follow you. You know I wouldn't let you do this alone. But it looks like you could easily have been a man short after all because - You were magnificent back there... And now you have just one last little thing to do, one little thing that only you can do..."
A sound nearby stopped him short, a sound that grew louder and louder with each tick. Their eyes propelled themselves reluctantly to a silver clock, half-buried in the sand, with six blackened letters - 'W-I-B-L-E'.
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