Finding himself in a now empty room, the Writer understood his folly. He ran to the elevator door as soon as it shut. It opened again, but it too was empty. He stepped inside, the door closing behind him, and pressed the button for the lobby, hoping to catch her. When the door opened again, she was gone.
The lobby had transformed. Gone were the bodies, the blood, the water, and the electric poles. Everything was as it was when he first saw it: the carpet clean with its diamond pattern still visible, the furniture perfectly arranged, and the waterfall cascading serenely into the fishpond in the center of the room. The only reminder of the chaos was the concrete wall blocking the entrance. Otherwise, it was as if nothing had happened.
Yet the room, too, was empty. The voices and people had vanished. Then he heard a door close, the sound coming from the wall by the Challenge Room. He looked through the windows lining the wall but saw only the empty room inside. He reached for the doorknob, hesitating.
Would he be able to catch whoever closed this door? If he entered, would he find himself in yet another empty room? The writer surveyed the vacant lobby, his thoughts drifting to his own desolate room upstairs—a single framed picture the only adornment. Then, as if by magic, the concrete wall vanished, leaving an open hole. The writer’s shock mirrored that of the crowd on the other side. They hesitated briefly, then surged forward, wreaking havoc in the recently restored space—overturning furniture, plunging headfirst into the fish pond.
Several of these newcomers noticed the writer, standing near the Challenge Room, and charged toward him. Panic set in. He glanced at the elevator, but it was blocked by people tearing sections of carpet to use as makeshift coats. Yet, what awaited him upstairs? A lifetime of staring at his picture?
With the mob closing in, he made a split-second decision: he flung open the door to the Challenge Room.
Stepping through, he was greeted by the same blank white room. No one else was there. Suddenly, a display appeared: "+100 Tokens - Transfer from User: Rapusha001." Then the same choices of writing machines as before appeared:
* Typewriter – No Delete/Backspace: Free
* Laptop – All Keys: 100 Tokens – 1 Gem
* High-powered Desktop + 1 All Stats: 1000 Tokens – 10 Gems
* Tablet with Folding Keyboard +60 Minutes: 1000 Tokens – 10 Gems
He smiled as he picked up the laptop, which felt light in his hands. Another display appeared: "-100 Tokens."
“Thank you, Miss Rapusha,” he said though she was not here and could not hear him.
He placed the laptop on the table and sat at the desk, the keys felt comfortable under his fingers. He wondered how long he would be able to keep it or if it was only for this one use. Then words appeared on the screen: “Tap your Tattoo and say ‘Console Control Advance Mode Yellow – Mod Code S001.”
He looked down at his arm and wondered about the words. It puzzled him, who wrote them, but he thought they must be from Miss Rapusha, so he followed the instructions. “Console Control Advance Mode Yellow – Mod Code S001.”
In an instant, the walls, floor, and ceiling turned a bright shade of rubber duck yellow. His desk and laptop remained the same, but everything else changed.
A young woman's voice filled the room, speaking in a slow and peaceful tone. “Welcome back, Mod S001. We appreciate your return and feedback on our Beta review judgment system. If you would be so kind, please write a campaign speech for Mickey Mouse if he ran for Prime Minister. Due to your gold moderator status, all payouts are tripled, and the time limit is eliminated, but please limit your word count to 300. Best of luck!”
His mind was instantly flooded with memories of Mickey Mouse and campaign speeches. The Writer remembered watching Steamboat Willie on an old T.V. and he recalled presidents and ministers making addresses before crowds. When the memories subsided, he looked around. The yellow seemed happier than the white. The room had a better feel, perhaps because the timer was gone and he felt no need to rush. He liked this Yellow Mode. He smiled as he looked at the keys. He stood up and walked around, finding that he liked to pace before writing. He was sure he had done this before, walking and waiting for an idea to strike, letting his muscles move and fire signals in his brain. Then it came to him: that black mouse with his white shoes campaigning with passion against cats.
“Too long have we hidden in fear. Too long have our young been afraid. Yes, the elites in their ivory towers might say that the cats of today are not the cats of the past. But they do not live with them as we do. Since the start of eternity, cats have killed our kind, murdering us for sport. I have been chased by cats all my life, starting at the steamboat, but now I am told by those sitting in the halls of parliament that I am to live beside them.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
To this, I say no, to the politicians trying to force this unnatural bond upon us mice. I will not raise my children beside the wicked poison of cats. I have nearly lost my dear wife Minnie to the evil likes of cats more times than I can count. The vile influence of cats on our society brings unimaginable pain; they have been slaughtering our progress for too long.
They are not like you or me. Cats do not know the definition of hard work, seeking only endless naps in the sun, waking for mere moments to hunt down and kill our kind. Do not be fooled by the radicals’ propaganda saying that cats now seek to live by us in harmony. A cat cannot live peacefully; they only know how to kill!
We must deport all cats living within our borders. If they do not wish to leave, they must be made to leave! This is our land, not theirs. With your vote, we can restore this country, the whole of the land, back to God-fearing mice. Make this country great. Vote for Mickey, vote for the De Maus Party.”
Floating above him appeared a red button just as he finished his last sentence. The button said "Submit"; he clicked it, and the voice returned.
"Thank you for your work, Mod S001. I am sure your work is brilliant. Now for your challenger ‘Opponent: Advanced AI. Objective: Write a campaign speech for Mickey Mouse if he ran for Prime Minister. Word limit 300.’” The AI system instantly produced a story, appearing on a floating page in front of him, complete from beginning to end.
The woman’s voice returned. “Please read the challenger’s piece. Our reviewers are currently evaluating your work.”
The Writer picked up the challenger's paper and began to read:
“It’s me, Mickey Mouse, standing before you with a heart full of hope and ears full of dreams! Today, I’m here to ask for your support in becoming your Prime Minister, bringing magic, joy, and progress to our wonderful nation.
For decades, I’ve dedicated my life to bringing smiles, laughter, and happiness to children and adults alike. Now, I want to take that same energy, enthusiasm, and commitment and channel it into making our country the happiest place on Earth.
My vision is simple: to create a world where everyone has the opportunity to thrive, where kindness and community are at the heart of everything we do. We’ll focus on key areas that matter most to you and your families.
First, education. Every child deserves a quality education that unlocks their full potential. We’ll invest in our schools, support our teachers, and ensure that every student has the tools they need to succeed.
Second, health care. Everyone deserves access to affordable, high-quality health care. We’ll work to reduce wait times, improve services, and make sure that no one has to choose between their health and their financial security.
Third, the environment. We have only one planet, and it’s our duty to protect it. We’ll implement policies that promote sustainability, reduce pollution, and preserve our natural treasures for future generations.
Finally, community and inclusion. Our strength lies in our diversity. We’ll work to build communities where everyone feels safe, valued, and included, regardless of their background or beliefs.
Together, we can make our nation a beacon of hope, happiness, and harmony. With your support, I promise to lead with integrity, compassion, and a little bit of magic. So let’s go, pals! Let’s make our dreams a reality!
Thank you, and remember, it all started with a mouse!”
The Writer burst into laughter after finishing the AI piece. He put the paper on the table and said, “Well, they took that in a happier direction,” though no one would hear him. The room was empty; no display had appeared like last time. It was just him. Instead, he sat down in the chair. He looked around and saw a counter on one wall. It said "1/5." He stared at it for a bit longer until it changed to "2/5." There was very little still in the room. His laptop had gone, and now only the two papers remained on the desk. Other than his chair, the desk was the only thing in the room. So he continued to stare at the slowly changing timer. It read "3/5" after almost 40 minutes.
At some point, the Writer fell asleep. In his sleep, he began to dream. In this vision, he was a teenager at a pond, fishing with two other people, a boy in a hat that was too large and a girl in pink cowgirl boots. The girl pulled in a large fish with whiskers on its gills. His line went down too, and he began to reel in, but then he was awoken by the voice.
“All reviews are in. Thank you for your patience, Mod S001.”
He opened his eyes to see a flood of reviews in front of him in two columns, one titled with his name and the other with the words "Advanced System."
Under his name, he read:
* Five Stars: “Unique, quick read.”
* Two Stars: “Repetitive. Repeating.”
* One Star: “Fascist.”
* Five Stars: “A really funny story with great social commentary.”
* Four Stars: “I guess the one-star guy doesn’t get it. It’s not supporting fascism.”
Then he glanced at the other column, the AI’s reviews:
* Four Stars: “Sounds right.”
* Five Stars: “This speech is so accurate that I think a politician might really use it!”
* Two Stars: “Okay.”
* Two Stars: “Mickey doesn’t live in the Magic Kingdm.”
* Four Stars: “Probably right.”
The Writer tried to average the stars, but he couldn’t do the math in his head. He attempted to add them up but couldn’t figure it out. 5 + 2 + 1 + 5 + 4 is 17. What is 17 divided by 5? But he didn’t need to think for long. Soon, the woman’s voice returned.
“S001, your work is reviewed at 3.5 stars. The challenge was reviewed at 3.5 stars. The result is a tie. Followers: 102.”
The Writer sighed, wondering what a tie meant.
A green-tinted display reappeared: "+50 XP."
The voice then returned. “Thank you for your attempt, Mod S001. Please try again soon. Returning you to the Western Frontier.”
Suddenly, the room was empty, and the door opened. However, it did not open into the lobby. Instead, as he walked through the door, he was greeted by an old western town.