The Owl King holds up the mask, now discarded, staring into it. Revolting. Even the glassy eyes are a fake.
He looks back down at Chuck, shaking his head: "Never thought you'd have it in you to stay that deep under cover. Almost a life-time. Identity shifting, pineal piracy, the Crumps, the Rodents, Darkstar— all that corruption, all without a suit. They weren't sure you'd handle it. You had everyone fooled."
Chuck spits, the inside of his mouth like brine, sickness. He tosses his pipe away with an idle movement, his body stiff, unsettled, but with an increasing return of inner strength. The strength that sustains.
"Always. Wouldn't have it any other way," he answers.
"They say the game is changing," the Owl King says, handing off a small folder.
"The game is the game," Chuck shrugs, taking the new docket. "Just a new round."
"There's always another round."
The Owl King smiles, bowing out into the shadows.