Granted, I have never been allowed to join Lisa at a real sporting event. I believe that I could if she were to get me registered as her support animal. During Commander Zideo’s absence, when he was unfairly taken from me and residing at Plasma House, Lisa had actually printed out the paperwork and left it on a side table in the living room, intending to fill it out while watching watching the big glowing rectangle. Ironically, it was playing a game—I know not which sport, the one where people convey a ball back and forth while crowds cheer—when she left the room and I took it upon myself to shred the paper and spread its remains around the couch.

Obviously I didn’t know the weight of what I was doing, I just followed my instinct. Humans, don’t punish dogs for doing this. We have good intentions, and we all believe we are doing you a favor by dividing and subdividing those too-perfect quadrangles of paper leaf into manageable bits, and ensuring none are too close to one another. None of us are sure why we do it, as there is no paperwork in nature. But we know that the more important and obscure the document, the more crucial its obliteration. It may be that we are saving you from yourselves. The next time your dog tears up something important, ask yourself: “Did I really need that?”

Boy did I hear about that one. Lisa shrieked at me for minutes on end, and I cowered in a corner. I would say “lesson learned,” but let’s be honest. I’m gonna do it again.

Through a veritable forest of noisy, active legs shoes and boots and toes and talons we walked, doing our best to stay together. The original task force was back together, minus Zideo—if you counted DuChamp, who was unaware of his participation in the founding of the Game Fellows and his secret task for the Princess, thanks to the shapeshifter.

We climbed up bleachers, which is easy for those of a bipedal persuasion, and awkward but manageable for a natural beast such as myself. I wondered at the prevalence of man-like animals in these worlds. What could explain this tendency for hedgehogs, turtles, cows and lizards to walk upright? What forces of nature or divinity could have taken away their gift of quadrupedality? Or had they forsaken it intentionally? I strongly preferred how things were in Airy Zone, finding a natural and beneficial complement in equation involving two-legged humans, and four- (or more, shout out to my bug homies) legged beasts. It just felt right. You, the two-legged, drive to the R-Mart in your Honda Micro-Commuter EVs and bring back snacks. We, four-legged, handle the low-to-the-ground stuff, like chasing squirrels and quickly snatching up discard or dropped snacks. It only makes sense.

If I had expected more of the marble ruins, I was disappointed. The bleachers were rather ramshackle, built hurriedly to support the growing crowds in the time since the race track had been deposited here by the Total Conversion. We went as high up as we dared, where clusters of similar beings sat together in smaller and more spaced-out patches, raising their red cups in salute of the proceedings. A miasma of beer breath pressed down upon over us like a stale, wet blanket made of… well, beer. And bad breath. All faces watched the track. All bodies reacted as one.

We huddled around the burly form of Mayor Bo “Da Champ” DuChamp, who was a head taller even than Addrion, and his shoulders wider than her ax-blade-shaped pauldrons. I think in Airy Zone his shirtlessness would have been commented upon, and caused some difficult social dynamics. Here, among anthropomorphic rabbits and bird-people crushing plastic cups in their feather-fingers, nobody noticed.

“So where is he?” said Addrion, impatient to be answered.

“Zid… he is fine, love.”

“I didn’t ask how he was, I asked where he was.”

“He’s grabbing hotdogs.”

“Does he know where to find us?” she persisted.

“No, but that may be for the best,” said Helmgarth. The brutish mayor’s steely eyes, not without their charm, jumped from face to face. “We need to talk about him for a minute.”

“We’re in the viper’s nest here,” said Addrion, eyeing a standing group of Sorrow Troopers, whose cheering body language contradicted the built-in frown on their masks. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I don’t have my blaster anymore.”

Helmgarth scratched the new stubble on his chin. “Bad for us, but good to know.” He turned to DuChamp, and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a shadow falling across us all, and he reached for the trowel at his belt. A low-flying stingray-shaped transport skimmed overhead, the buzz and whir of its propellers sounding like a wasp with the flu.

“They’ve been arriving all day,” boomed DuChamp. I noticed he was the only one of the group who had not tensed up. “Looking for you, I’m guessing.”

“They know we’re here,” said Addrion. “We should strike before we’re spotted.”

“Strike what?” asked DuChamp. She nodded covertly at the golden Radian, sinking back into the track.

“Bad idea,” he muttered.

“Why’s that?”

“For one,” he shrugged, and the movement of his shoulder muscles was nearly audible. “This place is compromised. Do you see anyone fighting back against the Boss forces? Or even complaining a little?” I looked around and watched the onlookers enjoying themselves, laughing and spilling beer on one another, gambling between races. I wondered if they even wanted to be saved.

“We came by way of the Blue Frost,” said Helmgarth. “Through Pengoon Peaks.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

The mayor’s brow furrowed. Both of his eyebrows were so bushy, they were like a second and third upside-down mustache above his eyes. Addrion was the first to do the math.

“You’ve been working with them.” She stood up. Her jaw was set. She had no weapon to attack him with, but I knew that would not stop her.

DuChamp made no move to stand up or defend himself. “Cool your jump jets,” he said. “I’ve got information you need. Hear me out.”

“How’d they pay you off, huh?” Her voice was ice, and there was no warmth in the smile creeping across her face. “Talk about compromised.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

I have gotten better at understanding what an “awkward silence” is between humans and humanoids. Dogs, take note. You can spot them when the rhythm of a productive conversation suddenly halts. One sure sign is when people stare openly at one another without saying anything. What we in the wild would perceive as an threat that must be answered is, for humans, an awkward silence. It usually means someone has some explaining to do.

DuChamp blinked slowly and intentionally. He was the picture of composure even under her verdant glare, which must surely come in handy in politics. His charisma was undeniable, and you couldn’t help but root for him. His doppelgänger back in Ludopolis had shared this charm, even after flicking my ear.

He sighed. “I am used to a certain lifestyle.”

“Oh, right.”

“Rampage City is gone. I'm still here." He chopped the air forcefully with each point. "I have to lead. I have a calling. I’m a politician.”

“You’re a grappler,” she said. Addrion was barely containing herself, and the potential for violence rippled my fur. I stood. “You’re a main character, is what you are. Or were.” She spat, rhetorically. “What happened to Mr. Tough on Crime?”

That did it. He scowled, and made a chopping motion in the air with his oar-sized hands. “I’m still tough on crime. We remade my home. They let me govern again.”

“Govern who?” she said, almost laughing.

His palm flat, he twisted it side to side, a gesture of uncertain balance. “It’s not what it was. But nothing is anymore. We’re all finding our place in the new order.”

“We?” She was like a water balloon left on the spigot too long. Helmgarth recognized this and intervened.

“We have to bring the sun back to Ludopolis,” he nearly whispered. “Gobo told us Bailey Blastoff came through here. I think he is who the Princess sent before. Can you help us find him?”

“Gobo? Gobo’s used up his three strikes. You know what’s about to happen to Gobo? Hell, speaking of whom…” He pointed to the pretty autumn sky, where a single stingray transport was going back in the opposite direction of the Blue Frost, toward the other end of the Shard.

I felt sick to think that peculiar old dragon was being brought in on our account. I could only hope Peligrosa and the other pengoons had been spared.

“This to stop,” said Addrion. “You know that.”

“Will you shut up and listen to me?” he said. Even his more excited words were conveyed as though he were somewhere else, like none of this was real enough to harm him. “I want to defect. If I tell you where Bailey is, you have to make a spot at the table for me.”

“You’re a traitor,” said Addrion as levelly as she could, although her voice cracked. “Your table is in the Torrence’s dungeon.” As a dog and an advanced reader of body language, I knew that she was aching to pummel him. Still he did not rise to the provocation, although due to fear or the supreme lack thereof, I could not say.

“I’m a mayor. I have to may… er, govern. It’s in my code.”

“How about my foot in your code?” she retorted. “So, so far up your code.”

“Addrion,” said Helmgarth in a rare direct address. “You are cool under fire, and that’s one of the things I like about you. I feel like I don’t tell you that enough.” He flashed her his asymmetrical smile, and she blushed openly. I wanted to frame the moment and hang it on a wall somewhere. If he could talk the space exterminator out of a fight, then truly this version of Helmgarth was more powerful than we knew. “Mayor DuChamp. Our goal is to get…” He nodded, unwilling to say it out loud in the crowd. “…and return it, and its other pieces to Ludopolis. The rivers have run dry. Each day more refugees flood into the gates. And now they do so in darkness.” He let the huge man sit with that for a moment. “I would never speak for Her Majesty, but surely there is a place for you.”

Another awkward silence followed, I am pretty sure.

“Don’t go after this Radian. There’s no scenario where you get out once you’re spotted.”” He filled his lungs, his pectoral muscles rising a full foot. “Bailey Blastoff came through here a few days ago. Before you touched down. He was looking for Nereus.”

Addrion and Helmgarth were silent. I had not the foggiest idea who that was or what it might mean.

“We could… really use Nereus’ help,” said Addrion.

“Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen. Blastoff found him, but he’s been Crystalliced. And Blastoff’s—”

His eyes focused on the track, and a thunderous cheer swept over the crowd before us. We all followed his gaze to see a new group of six racetrack contenders. Two wiry Street Toughs, a ghoul of some kind doing stretches, and two others made up of so few polygons that it was hard to tell what they were supposed to be. And then there was one remarkably realized human with pink and aqua hair and a tie-dye shirt. His arms stretched to the bright but sunless sky. The crowd applauded enthusiastically for him, hooting and shrieking.

My human.

A woman clung to him, doting and overawed by his glamor. She had long, white hair, and wore a rough denim jacket over a starlight-colored miniskirt. Her mirror shades sat atop her head. She teetered on high heeled shoes, laughing and overreacting to everything Zideo said, pawing flirtatiously at his chest.

“What the hell is the Princess doing here?” asked DuChamp.

“That’s not the Princess,” said Addrion and Helmgarth at the same time.

He took his place as the sixth runner.

“He’s going to get the Radian!” said Helmgarth.

“He’s going to get killed,” said Addrion.

“He’s going to get jack shit,” said DuChamp. “It’s a fake.”

I felt a horrible offense at the shapeshifter impersonating the Princess, as though this were a bridge too far. He saw us and waved. “Guys! Look who I found!” he shouted. She turned her head to us and rested it on his shoulder, flashing us a look of imperturbable triumph. Even at this distance I could make out her gray-green irises. She whispered something too closely, pressing her body against his, her tongue touching his ear, I was certain.

The crowd hushed. “What IS this place?” he asked. The book fluttered to life. Beer froze in midair. Mouths halted midsentence. Hot dogs paused mid-throat.

* Entry: The Trackin’ Fields

* Description: Every good platformer has side objectives for the player to dig into. The Trackin’ Fields evolved from the the second level of the first Nereus 3D Adventure (19Ω6), where the player can accept Pheidippides’ challenge to race him for a reward.

The thrill of multiple thousand creatures experiencing the Compendium’s Pause for the first time was unbearable. They laughed and screamed and roared together, their words coming out wrong.

Zideo dismissed the book, and the resulting cheer nearly bowled us over. But it did not vanish. It went into his hand, and he handed it to the false Princess to hold while he took on the race.

The spectators were energized like never before. The excitement was palpable. Sorrow Troopers were looking toward us and pointing.

“I can’t be seen with you,” said DuChamp. “Find me in New Rampage City. It’s in this zone.” He slipped away into the crowd as furtively as a giant might, whose shoulder span is the width of a normal man’s height.

Addrion could not hide her shock. “He just… gave it to her! We have to stop him!”

Helmgarth stood. Sorrow Troopers were making their way up toward us. “We have to get out of here.”

Xue-Fang, in the guise of the Princess, clutched the closely to her. Him, but I will describe what I saw even though I know it was wrong. “She” rewarded my human with a kiss on the cheek, and took him by one shoulder to position him on his starting place.

“Oh, no,” groaned Addrion.

The crowd hushed, waiting for the starter pistol, a taught silence only interrupted by insistent Sorrow Troopers coming up the bleachers toward us.

A click sounded beneath the track, no doubt the deep workings of the obstacle course. Zideo dropped into the ground, leaving nothing behind but a dark black square. The crowd went wild.