Sounds like the start of a prank call... [ Possibly a waste of radio waves to share that, but impulsive connections are impulsive connections. Will's standing now, craning his neck to look out both sides of windows. Rows of normal things twisted beyond and beside recognition greet him; stairs that ascend to nothing, buildings with doors facing the wrong direction, a bench with its upholstery on the base instead of the top.

No sign of a person yet, though. ] And— no, it isn't.

There's no wheels. [ In case anyone thought fixing this bus was a remote possibility. ] It looks like it's...grown into the ground.

[ The question is a stark, humanizing moment. Will's quiet for a little too long out of pure surprise. ] Will, [ he finally shares over the radio. ] What's yours?