"Contradictions are to be avoided at all costs. A Tower that contradicts itself unravels not only its challengers but its very purpose."

Overseer’s Handbook. Rule Number 3

"That looked like fun."

I was a bit too busy trying not to bleed out to respond immediately.

"I mean, not 'ha ha' fun," the Great Slacker continued, voice as casual as if we were sharing a pint and not me actively leaking HP all over the platform. "But you know, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Or, in your case, half their torso."

I still didn’t answer him. Too much effort, right now.

I was slumped on the platform, clutching the lever I’d just pulled, the glowing healing light that had dispelled the fucking frenzy creatures doing its best to knit my insides back together. The shambling figure of the Great Slacker was opposite me, shimmering into existence the moment I’d yanked the lever down.

And, hoo boy, did he look worse for wear.

The last time I’d seen him, back in that alley in Eldhaven, he’d at least exuded an aura of easy charm—a sort of dude who gives surprisingly good advice at 3 a.m. at a house party vibe. Now? Now he looked like he’d crawled out of the bottom of a skip behind a Greggs.

His robes were wrinkled and stained, hanging off him like laundry someone had given up on halfway through folding. A scraggly little goatee sprouted on his chin, giving him the distinct air of a philosophy undergrad who’s been arguing about how The Matrix is really a Biblical allegory, and Morpheus is John the Baptist for six days straight without sleeping.

All in all, it was less Gandalf-the White-dramatically-resurrecting and more flasher-staggering-out-of-the-disabled-toilets-in-Euston-Station-at-midnight-looking-for-his-latest-victim.

"Hello to you too," I said, finally mustering the strength to glare at him. "You’re looking... well."

"Glasshouses and trebuchets, mate," he replied, pulling himself upright with the dignity of a man who’d just lost a fight with a skip. "How about we just agree we’ve both seen better days and call the name-calling quits?”

Dude had a point. “Fine.”

I went to let go of the lever, but as soon as my hand slipped off, it started creeping back up, the healing light dimming ominously. At the same moment, a distant, familiar screech echoed through the chamber—the frenzies. My stomach sank.

"What happens if I let go of this thing?” I asked, my grip tightening instinctively.

"Fuck knows," he said with a shrug, pulling a crumpled roll-up from behind his ear like it was an Olympic torch. "I’ve never been here before, but considering you’ve summoned me, I’d wager you’re circling the drain. Might want to keep holding on until you’re less... mushy.”

"What, so you appear when I’m about to bite it?” I said. “Like some kind of cosmic Get Out of Jail Freecard?”

He snorted, a noise so derisive it could have peeled paint. Then, with all the grace of a hungover goat, he spat a glob of dark green something onto the floor.

"Yeah, sure," he said, gargling audibly as he spat again. "Let’s go with that. Though, if we’re being honest, it might help rationalise your expectations to see me as less cosmic saviour and more final witness to the shitshow. You know, just in case it’s funny enough to make the highlight reel."

"Great. Nice to know my suffering is prime entertainment," I said, glancing warily at the lever. "Should I be worried about this thing? Because I’m not loving the you die if you let go mechanic."

The form of the Slacker flickered like bad TV reception. "Worried? Nah. Terrified? Maybe. But hey, that’s what you get for climbing a bloody Tower instead of, I don’t know, staying in bed like a normal person."

"Dude! You’re the one that has me on the ‘save the stacked warrior, save the world thing! I’m only hear because of you.”

“Yeah. I suppose that is true,” he grinned, exposing the yellowest set of teeth I’d ever seen. "What can I say? Consistency isn’t really one of my trademarks.”

“Scale of 1 to 10," I said, wincing as the healing glow fought valiantly against what felt like several shattered ribs, "how do you reckon I'm doing saving the world thus far?"

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"Well," said the Great Slacker, "I'd give it a solid... effort."

He jammed the rollup between his lips. Barely a half-inch of it remained, flattened and battered like it had spent a few months on holiday in a washing machine. Watching him try to light it was, quite honestly, one of the more excruciating experiences of my life—and I’d just been used as target practice by a swarm of high-speed murder bats.

The lighter he produced had obviously come free with a ten-pack of crisps, and he flicked it repeatedly, producing nothing but a faint spark and a smell of cheap plastic burning. Undeterred, he kept at it, muttering curses under his breath.

Finally, via an unholy combination of determination, sheer laziness, and what I suspected was divine intervention, he managed to coax a tiny ember to life.

"Ah," he said, exhaling a wisp of smoke so thin it barely qualified as an exhale. "Perfect. That’s the good stuff."

"Glad one of us is winning," I said, “a little help, maybe?”

"Right, so let the dog see the rabbit," the Slacker said, clapping his hands together and surveying the scene. "Oh dear, oh dear. This really is a bit of a shitshow, isn’t it? Level 2, you say? Fuck. You didn’t do anything stupid like piss off the Overseer, did you?"

I didn’t say anything.

"Ah," he said, dragging the sound out like an underwhelmed teacher about to mark my paper with a fat red pen. I had quite some context for that sound. "That’s a ‘yes,’ then. Classic. From what I understand—and I’ll admit, my interest in Tower lore has always been selective—the difficulty level is supposed to graduallyincrease as you ascend. You know, ease you in. Not… whatever this is. Seems a touch harsh for everything to be FUBAR already."

Still, I didn’t say anything.

He raised an eyebrow—well, I think it was an eyebrow, though it might have been a wandering, very hairy caterpillar—then began wandering around the platform. Occasionally, he bent down to squint at something, muttering incomprehensibly under his breath.

"Okay," he finally said, pulling out a battered notepad from somewhere deep within his outfit and jotting something down. "Let’s take stock, shall we? You’ve got no clue what’s going on. The Tower’s throwing absolute pelters at you. The Overseer’s almost certainly taking the piss. And you’ve got me here to… observe. Maybe heckle. Depends on how this shit shakes out. Now, let’s see if we can turn this shitshow into slightly less of a disaster, shall we? Give me my book.”

“Your what?”

“My book. The Tao of Slacking. It should be back to normal now. You know, after the last time I pulled your cojones out of the fire.”

I brought it up in my inventory. “You want me to just… hand it over?.”

The Slacker shrugged. “Yeah, and?”

The book materialised in my hand, radiating that faint hum of cosmic importance that always made me feel like I was holding something way above my pay grade.

The Slacker snatched it, flipping through its pages with an indifference to how fragile the damned thing looked. "Let’s see here... Yeah, here it is. Chapter Twelve, Bureaucracy Is a Weapon of the Truly Lazy. Very underrated parable. Now shut up and listen.”

Weirdly – I mean, I’m stood holding a lever down, on a glowing platform surrounded by flying murder bats, so I’m not sure I should be the de facto judge on weirdness right now – cleared his throat dramatically and in a voice that somehow managed to sound both disinterested and grand at the same time, he began:

In the great city of Y’hangra, nestled at the foot of the Mountains of Too Much Effort, there lived a wise and profoundly lazy administrator named Lo-Fahn. Lo-Fahn had been tasked with overseeing the city’s defences against the Warlord Ak-Thann, a brute so ferocious his sneeze had levelled an entire village.

When Ak-Thann’s forces arrived at the gates, Lo-Fahn did not rally his soldiers or prepare his catapults. Instead, he unfurled a scroll so long it required six assistants to carry it.

‘What is this?’ bellowed Ak-Thann, his axe gleaming in the sunlight.

‘It is the Official Siege Application,’ replied Lo-Fahn, yawning. ‘As per city regulations, no siege may commence without the proper documentation.’

Ak-Thann, no fan of paperwork, was about to order his men to attack when Lo-Fahn held up a finger. ‘Ah, but there’s more. Without an approved Siege Application, any casualties inflicted upon the city may result in a lengthy investigation by the Imperial Tribunal. Fines will be steep.’

The warlord hesitated. Fines were bad for morale.

‘Additionally,’ Lo-Fahn continued, ‘should you proceed without filling out Form 387-B, you will be in direct violation of Subsection 14 of the Code of Honorable Conquest, which—’

‘Enough!’ roared Ak-Thann. ‘I’ll fill out your cursed forms.’

For three days, Lo-Fahn kept the warlord and his lieutenants busy with revisions, additional clauses, and ‘accidentally’ misplaced ink. By the time the paperwork was completed, Ak-Thann’s forces were so demoralized they abandoned the siege entirely.

And so, Lo-Fahn protected his city without raising so much as a finger—unless you count pointing at the forms.

The Slacker closed the book with a theatrical snap and handed it back to me. “So, there you have it.”

“There I have what?”

“The answer!”

“Mate, if that is the answer, I’m not wholly sure what the fucking question was.”

The Slacker sighed. “Freeloader, the lesson is simple: Sometimes, you don’t win by fighting. You win by making the other guy tie himself in so many knots he gives up.”

“You’re telling me to… what? Bury the Overseer in paperwork? I’m not sure that’s really going to fly.”

He grinned, his scraggly goatee twitching. “Not paperwork. But something close. You’re in a System-driven world, mate. Rules, contradictions, loopholes—they’re everywhere. You just have to look for the right one and let the Tower tie itself in knots.”

“And you’re just… sure that’ll work?”

“Does it look like I’m holding a weapon, mate? Exactly. Now, think like Lo-Fahn.”

I stared at him for a long moment before glancing at the glowing platform beneath me. Somewhere in the distance, I swore I could still hear the Overseer laughing.

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let’s see if this Tower can handle a taste of its own bullshit.”