“Wait . . . wait. Combat? Like, violence and self-defense?” I asked.

“Answer: Of course. Combat is a neglected skill among Caretakers but an important one all the same. Kush will have to teach you the more in-depth information, but for now, I can teach the basics.”

“Well, wait, bud!” I said, thinking this was going too fast. “What do you mean? I don’t need to learn anything. I know my way around a blunt or sharp object. I fucked up those donut-soldiers just fine!”

Confused, ME took a moment to respond, then said, “Error. No informational context.”

I decided to tell the whole story, but for some omissions here and there to make my entry into the under-reality slicker.

ME then said, “Ah, okay. Understood. Resumption: those foes were golems. They were special tools used by Full Time in extreme circumstances. Furthermore, they attacked you while you were in your home plane, the upper-reality. You are inside a Shimmer and therefore within the under-reality. Which means, the rules have changed and simply charging in with fists or a weapon will not have the same effect as the tools specifically designed to fight within this unique geographic manifestation.”

Understanding what ME meant, I nodded my head: “So, essentially, what you’re saying is this: when it comes to fighting these monsters, these super-normie aberrations which did not properly acclimate to the under-reality, I will only be able to hurt them with special weapons like the dagger I found in that purple web?”

“Answer: Yes. Thank you for understanding.”

Well, shit.

“Okay, then, lay it on me,” I said to ME after catching my mental breath.

Like starting a new video game for the first time, I prepared myself for a long-winded tutorial. And considering what followed, a ‘video game,’ was the proper analysis.

“Look at the weapon you found: discover what it is,” ME said.

I followed ME’s instructions and looked at my weapon. It looked like an ordinary long dagger. A bit on the antique side with the filigree on the side, but whatever. It didn’t look any different than what I would expect from a stylized— and then I saw it.

In my field of vision, up popped a box. An information box. Wisps of words and numbers appeared smokily within a hazily defined rectangular box composed of smoke. But whatever the strange appearance, it was definitely a stat poster. It said, “Arcane Dagger. Caretaker Weapon. Base+0.”

“What. The. Fuck?!” I said, my words, as always, coming up in their own dialogue box, but this time, my words appearing to me as somehow extra video game-y.

“Error: is something the matter, Marcus?” ME asked.

“Yeah, bud . . . why the hell is a stat pop-up a thing?” I replied.

Unsurprisingly, ME had no idea what I was talking about. He was evidently not a big gamer.

“Error: more context is needed.”

So I tried to explain to ME the best I could why I thought it was weird seeing an item stat box in real life. At the end of the lecture, he seemed nonplussed.

“Information: I do not know your reality as you see it, Marcus. I can only offer this as an explanation: the under-reality is trying to conform to the way you see and have understood the world. And in doing so, it seems to have latched onto this media-oriented way of information presentation. It sees that you are enmeshed in the culture of your time and thinks that it is the quickest way of bringing you up to speed with the reality of the under-reality.”

“So, life is not actually a video game? It is not becoming a video game despite the cosmic mode, side-scrolling, two-dimensional, dialogue box, stat pop-up bullshit? Oh, and the graph in my mind?” I shot back.

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“Statement: No. Marcus. Life and the world remains the same as it ever did. It is not becoming a video game. Period.”

Well . . . that was good. I guess. Or it was at least nice knowing that I wasn’t going crazy. Because, for real, if my world was becoming gamefied, then that would be it. Game over. I lock myself away in a cray-cray box.

Taking in what I was just told, though, I had to believe ME and accept that my world was just changing in how it was presented to me. If it was anything other than purely aesthetic, though, I would have to deal with that at a later time. Right now, though, I had to try and be a bad-ass and save Felix and Kush from whatever strange fate they got themselves into by way of ambush.

“Okay,” I said, taking glancing looks at my new dagger and seeing how long I had to stare at it before the info box popped up. “what now?”

“Answer: Now, you learn how to fight.”

I needn’t had worried about a long winded tutorial since everything was straightforward and little more complicated than saying some sentences and kicking me out the door. It turns out that ME was always in this strange building at every turn and conjecture, so I didn’t need to actually stay in the office to learn about violence. That was something that I could learn about anywhere, white collar or no.

Just like in real life. Okay, then.

Out the door with Chippy still on my boots— he looked to be shaking in his— I entered the vast series of hallways that somehow exist in the Full Time base. Physics be damned!

I remembered the hallways right away from the time that I stayed the night. Unending and they always led back to the office. I decided to ask ME about that.

“So, am I just going to wander around these halls until I find my buds? Last time I was here, I kept getting lost and coming back to the office area,” I said.

“That is the nature of this place. You must use your Delvendive to navigate in here properly. I saw you organize properly when you came back in earlier. Continue doing that.”

“I guess now is not a good time to say that I was running on emotional impulse?”

“Emotion is not random. It is concrete and powerful. You will learn to channel it and focus it if you want to save your friends. And not be killed.”

Ah, so now we start with the whole, ‘if you don’t do this you will be killed by demons’ bullshit. I wondered how long it would take. Not long, I guess. A couple of months? Then again, what was I expecting? On the night I met Felix I also met ghosts and donut men and fucking a what else? But, fine. I knew my way around violence. I work retail.

I held up my hand and took ME’s advice. I concentrated on my gloved hand but also myself. I tried to steer myself clear of those unproductive emotions, like doubt and anxiety. I knew that those emotions wouldn’t help me in saving my fellows. I focused and focused and— nothing. Nada.

And then, like all insecure men, I got angry when I couldn’t perform. I hit the wall and growled— literally growled— as I lamented my inability to understand this bullshit.

Ironically, it was Chippy who then said something helpful. And I say ‘ironic’ since as a bag of chips, what does he know about life other than being eaten and killed?

“It’s ALL bullshit, mate. Just let you do you, ya know? What does it mean to ‘concentrate’ or to ‘focus’ when you’ve been thrown into madness? Turn the madness into something you can work with, yeah?” Chippy said.

I heard Chippy talk and for once, I was not filled with sardonic amusement at hearing a bag of potato chips speak. He was right. And not even ‘technically’ right. Just good old fashioned right. I followed his advice, closed my eyes, and let my feelings flow . . .

I supposed the truth is obvious. Like, I was thrust into this so-called ‘under reality’ suddenly and without warning. I take a hit of something from some dude at a gas station— and why, because I was bored?— and now I am a fucking agent in some weird goddamn supernatural agency? And then the magic and work bullshit, whether I can even trust the guys that I allied with and all. Not even talking about the perspective change bullshit. At a certain point, I felt like a rag doll. And I guess I still do. But if I am just a lost sailor at sea being buffeted around by the crushing waves of surreal monster and magic nonsense, then why do I have to acclimate to a way of doing shit that is not my own? Why bother to process everything as some superhero from a TV show? I ain’t no fucking superhero or wizard or Anime fighting star. I am ME— well, not ME-ME as in the computer voice, but me as in Marcus— and I need to fucking embrace that instead of pretending that some half-remembered bullshit meditative nonsense from high fantasy books is the way to go. I have to let myself be the engine of my time in this wacky fucking world and —

And then I felt it. Within me. Outside of me. I felt build in me suddenly and then disperse, but I felt as though I had finally come to a new understanding of how to use magick. It was less concentration— like meditation and focus— and more believing in yourself when you know what you were all about; like, a total embrace of yourself and actions in pursuit of a goal. I was calm and ready and I had a purpose with me that wasn’t there before, one that took a snack bag to point out for me to understand. Ironic.

I held my hand to the wall and willed my desire into the wall. And just like that, the walls and interior and all of the strange rickets and thickets of this place’s interior shifted; a terrible groaning echoed from all around before the dust settled. But with a loud and deep click the re-arrangement was done and before Chippy and I, the path was set.

Felix. Kush. I’m coming for you!