Sam groaned as he came to, disoriented and dizzy. He tried to move, but he was pinned down by a heavy weight on his chest. Panic surged through him, and he thrashed, trying to free himself. But the weight only pressed down harder.

"He's awake, come here Mr. Pickles," a voice said, and the weight lifted off him. Was that a dog? Sam blinked, looking at the thing that had been sitting on him. It was indeed a dog, a very large, very black, and very fluffy dog. It happily took its place by its master's side, its tail thumping against the floor. But looking closer it wasn't just any dog. It had three heads, each one looking at him with a different expression. One head was panting, another was growling, and the third was... who knows what that one was doing. It looked a bit off, it's eyes were crossed and it's tongue was sticking out the side, drool dripping from its mouth.

"Theres no escape, don't think about it," the voice said, and Sam realized that it was coming from the dog. Specifically the center head, which had been growling before. The other two heads were still panting and... whatever that third head was doing. Was it trying to lick its own ear?

He blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. A talking dog with three heads? Okay, he must have hit his head harder than he thought. He tried to remember what had happened, he was on the way back to Gray's workshop from the hardware store, and then... nothing. He must have blacked out. Was he attacked?

Sam recalled the last time he was mugged, back on Earth. He had been walking home from work, and a group of teenagers had jumped him. They had demanded his wallet, and when he refused, they had beaten him up. He had woken up in the hospital, black and blue, with a broken nose and a concussion. It had taken him weeks to recover, and years to pay off the medical bills. 80,000 dollars for five days in the hospital? What a ripoff. Just thinking about it made him dread the future. He didn't know how healthcare, or even money, worked in this new world, but if it was anything like his old home, he was screwed.

Speaking of which, how was he going to pay Gray back for making his body? He didn't exactly have anything of value on him, and he doubted that she would accept his services for payment. He wasn't exactly a skilled laborer, and he doubted that she needed a janitor. He could try asking her for a loan. Were there banks in this world? He didn't know. He began to feel a headache coming on.

"Relax, Green," the owner of the dog said, and Sam looked up to see a figure standing in the doorway. Yes, it was a figure, because he couldn't make out any features. The figure was shrouded in darkness, and the only thing Sam could see was a pair of glowing red eyes.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

"No one of consequence," the figure said, stepping into the room. "I'm just here to deliver an important message just for you."

"A message?" Sam repeated, "What kind of messanger kidnaps people and has their dog sit on them? I thought I was going to be crushed to death!"

"Don't be rude to Mr. Pickles," the figure said, "He's a good boy and is on a diet. Right Mr. Pickles?"

The dog barked in agreement.

"I couldn't have you running away," the figure continued, "People tend to do that when they hear the message I have to deliver."

"What message?" Sam asked, dread creeping into his voice.

The figure stepped closer, and Sam could see that it was wearing a long, flowing robe, with a hood that obscured its face.

"What goes on four feet in the morning, two feet in midday, and three feet in the evening?" the figure asked, its voice echoing in the room.

Sam blinked, trying to make sense of what the figure said. "What?"

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"What goes on four feet in the morning, two feet in midday, and three feet in the evening?" the figure repeated, its voice growing louder.

"I heard you the first time," Sam said, "are you being serious right now? That's the oldest riddle in the book. The answer is 'Man.' Stop wasting my time and let me go."

The figure chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Sam's spine. "Well you got me there, Green. I was stallin' for time, waiting for the boss to show up. I am not really a fan of the whole kidnapping thing, but orders are orders and I have bills to pay."

"Sherman, you can go now," a new voice said, and Sam looked up to see another figure standing in the doorway, "I've wired the money to your account. Your services are no longer required."

The figure, Sherman, turned to leave, and Sam watched as the dog, Mr. Pickles, followed him out of the room. The new figure stepped into the room, and Sam's heart skipped a beat

"Let us begin the arbitration."

At that moment, the room began to shake, and the walls shimmered and dissolved, revealing a familiar void. Eyes-not-stars blinked open, staring at Sam, and he felt another presence in the space, a presence that made his skin crawl.

"INTELLECT," the figure said, bowing low. "I have brought the materials as you requested. Please accept this offering and grant me my wish."

"The materials, one Samian Green, has been deemed acceptable," INTELLECT said, its voice echoing in the void. "a request of equal value will be granted. What is your wish, Samian Thane?"

"Bring my wife back," the figure, Thane said, his voice breaking. "Please, I beg of you. Bring her back to me and let us go back to our world. We won't come back here ever again. We have suffered enough."

Sam began to panic, his heart racing in his chest. Material? Offering? Was he going to be sacrificed so that this Thane could get his wife back? He tried to move, but he was frozen in place.

"Stop!" Sam shouted, his voice echoing in the void. "I refuse! INTELLECT, did you bring me here to be sacrificed? I didn't ask for this! Let me go!"

Infinite eyes-not-stars blinked open, their gazes shifting to him. "Samian Green," INTELLECT said, its voice booming in the void. "Your protest has been deemed irrelevant. You may select another argument."

Sam's mind raced, trying to come up with something, anything, that would get him out of this situation. "I have more value to you alive than dead," he said, in desperation. "My life is more valuable than his wife's. I can do more for you than she can. I can work for you, I have potential. Why waste me on a wish that won't benefit you? Spare me and I will become your servant. I will do whatever you ask of me. Just don't kill me."

The void was silent, and Sam held his breath, waiting for INTELLECT's response. The eyes-not-stars continued to stare at him, before slowly closing, one by one.

"Thane, your request has been denied," INTELLECT said, its voice cold and final. "Upon reapprasial, the materials has been deemed of insufficient value to grant your wish. Return when you have something of worth."

"No!" Thane shouted, his voice filled with despair. "Please, INTELLECT, I beg of you! You accepted the materials earlier! Why did you change your mind?"

"INTELLECT does not change its mind," INTELLECT said, its voice echoing in the void. "The value of the materials has decreased since the initial appraisal. Return when you have something of worth. The next arbitration for this case shall be held in 100 years."

With that, the void dissapeared, and Sam found himself back in the room, gasping for breath. Thane was on his knees, his head bowed in defeat.

----------------------------------------

"YOU!" Thane shouted, pointing at Sam. "This is all your fault! You ruined everything!"

"Me?" Sam said, incredulous. "You wanted to sacrifice me to get your wife back! What was I supposed to do, let you kill me?"

Thane lunged at Sam, his hands outstretched. Sam tried to dodge, but Thane was too fast. He grabbed Sam by the throat, his eyes filled with rage.

"Forget the damm arbitration," Thane said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll end you now!"

Fists flew at Sam's face, and red hot pain exploded in his head. Red hot pain that turned into white hot rage. Sam's vision went red, and he lashed out, his own fists connecting with Thane's face. The two of them grappled, rolling on the floor, each trying to get the upper hand.

You want to kill me? Sam thought, his mind a blur of anger, fear, and pain. Take a number, buddy. I've been through worse.

Sam's hands found Thane's throat, and he squeezed, his fingers ripping into the flesh and into the machinery beneath. Thane gasped, his eyes bulging, his hands clawing at Sam's face. Sam's grip tightened, and he felt something snap beneath his fingers. Neon coolant spurted from the wound, and Thane's eyes rolled back in his head.

Sam let go, panting, his hands covered in bits of Thane's throught. Thane lay on the floor, unmoving. Sam looked down at him, his mind a whirl of emotions. What had he done? Did he just kill him?

"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap" Sam muttered, navigating to the phone app on his eye-phone. He dialed Gray's number.

"Gray, I need your help. I think I just killed someone."