A prompt attempts to pull me from my self-pity.

Would you like to try adopting a different Pet Companion?

Yes/No

Why? So I can just get rejected again? I’m a terrible pet owner. I don’t deserve to have a Companion.

“Bane says to stop wallowing,” Jake says, acknowledges something else Bane just mumbled, then adds, “He also says not to be mad at him, and he still loves you.”

I sigh, and minimize the prompt. “Tell him he’s a traitor.”

Jake turns to my dog, and grumbles. Bane grumbles back. Jake chuckles again. “He says you should have fed him more treats and taken him on more walks.”

“Is that what he really said?”

“And that you’re a sad lonely human and if you don’t start fixing your self-limiting beliefs and address your fear of abandonment that you’ll never be able to experience the joy of a healthy, loving relationship. Oh, and that you do deserve happiness.”

Either Jake is fucking with me or my dog is a pretentious self-help guru. “Bane, the psychopathic freak...said all that?”

“More or less.”

I shake my head. I’m a waste. I sulk back into my office and let the weight of my existence gradually force me onto my back. Its gravitational mass causing me to sink further into the rug as I contemplate my pathetic life. No one loves me and everybody leaves. Even my dog has abandoned me because even he doesn’t love me. He’s a dog. That’s, like, supposed to be his thing. Hell. English Bull Terriers are supposed to be even more loyal than other breeds. And mine chose my friend, and it’s all my fault because I suck, and I can’t even be a crazy cat dude later on, because the cats will for sure hate me, and goddamnit, I’m going to die alone.

This rug is comfortable though. Soft. Kind of warm and tender. Is this why a consumerist society comes so naturally? Because we’re all afraid of never receiving love that we never give it to others and all of us just feel the need to seek out inanimate objects that we can cherish without fear of rejection?

Then again. Who knows.

Maybe my dog...Jake’s dog...is right. I could possibly deserve happiness and companionship. Not likely. But I can at least try for it. I reopen the previous prompt and select Yes, only to receive another directive.

To find the Companion you wish to adopt, please equip your Monster Dex

I find the Monster Dex in the Key Items section of my Inventory, select Equip. My backpack makes a sound, and a light shines from within it as its zipper magically slides the pack open.

In the pale light, there’s something spinning into existence.

Then there’s a ding sound, and I lay eyes on the Monster Dex for the first time. Hovering in mid-air over my pack, the dex looks like a much more mobile version of the first ever handheld Gamebox, same button layout, color scheme and all. On its back is a super nerdy looking clip. I don’t even know what the thing does yet and I’m already in love with the damn item. I pluck it out of the air. Its screen has all the 8-bit typography and similar graphics, revealing the words, Monster Dex, and underneath, the silhouette of what looks like a dragon with antlers, flying. At the bottom, it says, Press any button to continue. I do as instructed.

Monster Dex

The dex reveals data on Monsters already battled. Upon first sighting, partial data will be gained. When a monster is slain or captured, all information is provided. Companions fall under the monster category. For the adoption process, all available Companions’ data has been filled as if you have already experienced your first sighting.

Warning: It has been previously stated that pet Companions must choose to adopt you as their partner. This is because many Simulans have shown to be aberrant animal abusers, and Companions deserve a good life. Know this, anyone who wishes to adopt a Companion has three chances to do so. Should you be refused by three different potential pets, then you will never be allowed a Companion and your Soul (innate code) will be scrambled.

I exit out of the unnerving pop-up notification and navigate through another screen until I arrive at the Companion selection page, where I start shopping.

#001

Flerbel: Native to forests, this mouse-like critter flaps its feathery ears in hopes of someday flying.

Sluttily Selective

#004

Axolurtle: After birth, its back swells and hardens into a shell. Magically regenerates limbs.

This looks like a second evolution:

Moderately Selective

#007

Tigrunt: Don’t let its pygmy size fool you. This ferocious winged cub has burnt the hands of any incapable of fueling its fire.

Extremely Selective

#010

Pupuirrel: Legend has it that a squirrel and caterpillar are to blame.

Not Selective

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

I try to keep going but my hands have moved quicker than my mind and right as I’ve processed Entry #007, I can’t not return to it. Tigrunt...Tiny fire-breathing tiger? With wings?! That sounds fucking epic and adorable. I force myself to read its selectiveness classification and my heart is broken. Extremely Selective. That does not bode well for me. I put my dreams of having a Tigrunt by my side, grit my teeth, and scroll on.

A lot of what I’m seeing is catching my eye but none of the companion silhouettes really sing to me. That is, up until I reach Dex entry #42.

#042

Ailurae: Courageous by nature, these small but powerful reddish fur balls are highly selective and fiercely loyal.

Highly Selective

#045

Canisper: Said to be revived from kill shelters after owner abandonment, this mopey mutt haunts humans in hopes of finding the companion it never had.

Extremely Selective

The Ailurae reminds me of a red panda cub, which sounds cute, but I’m actually more drawn to the emo-mon, Canisper. Its sad origin story just makes me wanna take it home and play fetch and tell it how valued it is. But...it’s also Extremely Selective.

Trauma strikes again.

I scroll past several more until a particular 8-bit beast captivates my inner eleven year old: Called a Rayke, the icon depicts a baby manta ray, or maybe a stingray.

What’s the difference again? Fuck, why can’t I remember?

Do I care? Answer: Nope.

This little baby batoid has the most innocent, stupid fucking adorable face ever. Big-ass smile, like it lives in a perpetual state of happily high out of its fucking mind.

I could use that sort of happiness in my life. No chance I find it on my own.

Skip reading the short description. Instead, I open the Rayling’s more informative description. Mostly just looking for any glaring problems I might run into.

#112

Rayke: Loyal, often docile creatures that swim through the sky, dreaming of the day they grow into their oddly majestic final forms. They are not the heaviest hitters, but can be great defensively. They are highly intelligent and loving. They are also shy. Great for children.

Moderately Selective

Would you like to attempt adopting a Rayling?

Yes/No

Great for children? Is that a slight? Should I be worried about their lack of attack? Who cares. I have a Big Sword...ugh.

I reread. Highly intelligent, majestic final forms. Oh. Final form? Intriguing. Mind is wandering again, damnit.

I adeptly avoid plummeting further down my brain’s railroad-tracked rabbit hole and move my finger to press A for selecting. Pause. Close my eyes. Do an anticipatory pre-grimace. And punch down on the Yes.

A light fashes, breaking through my eyelids and causing me to peek. What the hell is that orbiting my head? Looks like a tadpole wearing an ethereal nimbus of light. So yeah, not really sure what to do with this. I’ll just lay here and think happy thoughts I guess? Fuck. Nothing’s coming to mind. Maybe donuts? But when I eat donuts I always eat a dozen and end up feeling sick. The feeling you get when someone loves and believes in you? Fuck. I don’t know what that feels like. Ummm..

Suddenly, the tadpole’s light flashes again. There’s a harmonious hum coming from it, and now its slowly floating down toward my chest, and I gulp. Um. It’s taily thing just landed on my left nipple now. I think it’s listening to my heartbeat? There’s a sound of glee and the light flashes...I can’t believe this...the nimbus just exploded with, like, fractals of rainbow.

Congratulations! Your attempt to adopt the Rayke has been successful!

Something is being either conjured or printed, directly over me. I crab crawl backward because that’s unnerving, and watch in earnest as my new Companion gets printed into existence...just like me? No. Don’t think about that.

My Companion is complete! And, just as I predicted, it is fucking adorable. From its smiley face to its discular floaty cartilogenous wings to its thin tail. A little small, but it’s just a little baby, so whatever. I sit up as it gracefully waves its wings and hovers down to be eye level with me. It coos and purrs and even chirps.

An image flashes in my mind of my new Companion and me. We’re bobbing and skipping through a flowery meadow, picturesque light playing across our happy faces.

That’s definitely not something my mind can conjure. I tilt my head. “Did you do that?”

It nods. I smile. A prompt appears.

Would you like to give your Rayke♂ a nickname?

Yes/No

I pause. I think that’s the male sign. Look my new friend over, and I got it.

“I know you’re not technically a manta ray, but...I think I’ll name you Mando.”

To my surprise, my Companion sends me a mental GIF. It’s of a Mantalerian, and below the armored Diznee IP, are the words, THIS IS THE WAY.

“So you communicate in GIFs? Awesome!”

Suddenly and without any warning other than years worth of past problems Bane is lunging, flying through the air with lips baring, ready to strike down, maim, and tear apart my cute little guy. I’m triggered into protective mode, trying to spin from my seated position to stop the fight from happening, and Jake’s stumbling outta the bathroom. Bane’s mouth opens. He’s gonna beat me to Mando, fuck. But just as Bane’s about to chomp down on Mando’s head, the Rayke emits a pulsing watery viel. Bane smashes into it, and all the points of impact ripple with pastel light, then basically shrink back and repel him backwards.

What the shit.

Bane is fine. Physically. The way he’s sitting isn’t even defensive or alarmed anymore. It’s just mopey, like an old defeated pot-bellied man-dog.

He grumbles, and Jake, who is sitting beside him, translates. “Bane says he’s sorry. And that he’s just a dog and sometimes his primal instincts kick in, and he doesn’t blame you because you tried to socialize him. He also apologizes for the other dogs he’s bit, and says that you’ve been right all along. The three years before you walked into the shelter and saved him from euthanasia had been spent getting trained to fight and being the runt of the litter and so having to always be ready for action.”

“Damn. That’s a lot of backstory.” I turn to Mando. “You okay?”

He nods. An image of a thumb’s up hits me, then turns into a magic wand casting a reflective spell. “Dope.”

I turn to Jake. “It is finished. Apocalypse, here we come.”

Jake rises determinately to his feet, thus exciting Bane into one of his signature tornado spins. Jake’s posture is upright, his eagle eyes peering through our front window. The TV’s music video is casting a brilliant gold that’s haloing around his head like one of those old Catholic paintings. And, because of Bane’s apparently strengthened tornado skills, there’s a gentle gust blowing his long hair around. And then, standing there in all his righteous glory, this hipster Jesus gazes upon me and says, “Logan, barbarian son of Aries.”

He cues me to rise, so I do. I clear my throat. “Yes, Ranger Jake?”

He scowls. “Dude, it’s Jacob ranger son of Sagitarrius. Whatever. We are about to embark on a grand journey, through treacherous terrain, exploring what will surely be a barren wasteland of horror and death. As such, it seems only appropriate that we march forth into darkness with the perfect motivational melody.” He makes a pompous englishy gesture with his hands. “Care to do the honors?”

“I would love to.” I take a moment. Is Ekoh the right vibe for this, I wonder. I consider Pickle Rick. Ultimately decide to go with a vibe a little more true to my roots.

The song switches to I Can Feel It Calling by Trophy Eyes.

We look hard into one another’s eyes. Jake extends his hand. I grab hold. We pay tribute to the mightiest moment of masculinity known to man, and flex our biceps. It’s fucking epic. Alien’s Arnold and Hipster Jesus, teaming up for an action adventure in the apocalypse.

“Let’s quest mother fucker,” he proclaims.

“Adventure and magic await us!” I exclaim.

He glances down. “You should probably change out of your sweats and slippers first.”