"There's got to be a door. There's always a door." Art had seen the Truman Show, even in a studio this size, there had to be a way out.

( And he'd been right. )

And then Art faded as well, finding himself back at the hotel, sprawled in front of the television like he'd been before he'd been Gilligan. A quick scramble through the channels told him he'd only been gone for an hour, not the days it felt like.

But he was home. And so was everyone else, if the shouts he was hearing were any indication.

Not being together was a foreign state for the Stepfords. Ever since birth, they'd been inseperable, made even worse when the hivemind developed. For the time they'd spent enthralled by Spiral, their subconsciousnesses had nonetheless sought out the minds it missed, and slowly but surely, ate away at the magic binding them. They could not be apart, this was wrong, this could not continue.

All five of them gasped when it finally clicked, pausing mid-sentence and their eyes suddenly flaring white-blue. That which was wrong was made right, and they stared blankly at those they faced, trying to work out what on earth was going on. But they were blinded by the magic still falling over them all, so they sought out the brightest minds they could find, those they believed could further break the spell that so ensnared them all.

Jean. Madeline. Emma. Betsy. Monet. Their fellow telepaths quickly fell into place, the contact from the Stepfords waking up the power that was trickling back to them, reminding them of who they truly were. Now time to find everyone else...