"Just joking," Isaac said with a shrug.
Ronald's face brightened immediately, like someone had flipped a switch.
Isaac smirked. "It's almost too easy. The way his face changes—it's like watching a mood swing on fast-forward."
I couldn't help but nod. "Honestly, it's kind of impressive."
"Rona thinks so too!" Rona chimed in, throwing her hands up like she was cheering for a halftime show.
Ronald stared at us with the wide-eyed betrayal of a boy who'd just discovered we ate his birthday cake. "Big bullies! All of you!"
Grinning, I threw an arm around Isaac's shoulders, scooped Rona up with the other, and turned away with theatrical flair. "Come, fellow bullies. Let us leave this wounded soul to wallow in his tragedy."
"Wait!" Ronald cried, scrambling after us. "Don't leave me in the trauma dirt!"
We trudged through a wasteland of ash, debris, and exactly zero dignity. The ground was a crunchy graveyard of unidentifiable junk—twisted pipes, scorched panels, and, disturbingly, what looked like a half-melted blender welded to a flip-flop.
I clapped my hands. "Alright. Time to rely on our one beacon of hope. Our brain. Our begrudging GPS."
Isaac rolled his eyes but stepped forward like a grumpy prophet. "Everyone stay behind me. Don't touch anything. Don't lick anything. Don't breathe too confidently. This place is unstable."
Ronald nodded solemnly. "Got it. No licking. Learned that lesson in the slime tunnel."
Rona skipped beside Isaac, whispering loudly, "He did lick the slime tunnel, you know."
"I thought it was candy mold!" Ronald snapped, scandalized.
I took a cautious step back. "I guess… you must've been really hungry. Most people don't just eat mold."
We moved through the junk field like disgruntled archaeologists, following Isaac as he muttered cryptic equations and waved his wrist interface around like he was trying to summon Wi-Fi from the underworld. Every so often, he'd kick a rock, frown, and mutter, "Nope," before veering in another direction.
"This pathfinding is really... high-tech," I deadpanned, stepping over what looked like a melted shopping cart.
"Shut up," Isaac snapped, not even glancing back. "You want a dramatic explosion, or do you want to not be soup?"
'Fair point.'
A few paces later, Ronald tripped over a rusty hubcap and collapsed face-first into a suspiciously soft mound of garbage. He didn't immediately rise.
"Just leave me," he groaned. "Let the trash consume me. This is my destiny now."
"Nope," I said, grabbing the back of his collar and hauling him up. "You're my emotional support disaster. You don't get to die here."
He whimpered but followed, dirt-covered and full of regrets.
After dodging three booby traps, one sentient toaster (I swear it hissed my name), and an overly aggressive raccoon—which somehow survived incineration, and definitely not the way we did—we found ourselves in front of a crooked metal chute tucked behind a leaning tower of rusted furniture.
Isaac slapped the wall beside it with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no backup plan. "This is it. Emergency disposal escape hatch. Should lead us straight out."
"Should?" Ronald asked, voice cracking like a snapped twig.
I eyed the dubious-looking hatch. "Are we absolutely sure this isn't just a wormhole to another dimension?"
"Nope," Isaac replied flatly. "But it's either that, or stay here and get turned into molecular confetti. Pick your poison."
"Poison doesn't kill me, but this probably will," I muttered, backing away instinctively.
"Oh shut it. Pick!" Isaac snapped, gesturing wildly.
We exchanged glances. No one looked eager. But it was the only option.
We braced ourselves and tried to pry open the hatch—pulling, yanking, swearing a little—but the thing didn't budge.
I turned to Isaac. "This ain't looking good."
"This is the only exit," he insisted, jabbing a finger at the wall. "I swear on my algorithms."
"I didn't say I doubted you," I replied evenly.
"Your face said otherwise!" Isaac fumed, eyes narrowing. "It said, 'Wow, Isaac, what a failure you are, leading us into an unopenable door of doom!'"
"I don't think my face knows that many words."
"Well, it's very expressive!"
Rona giggled. Ronald prayed.
And the hatch still didn't move.
Then, without warning, the entire place dimmed.
"Eh?" we all said in perfect, horrified unison.
A soft mechanical hum began to build around us, and the faint flicker of warning lights glowed from the walls.
"What's happening now?!" Ronald shrieked, eyes darting wildly.
Isaac stared at his wrist interface, tapping furiously. "Looks like… it's the start of the countdown."
"Countdown to what?" Ronald asked, voice rising like a tea kettle on full boil.
"To disintegration!" Rona announced cheerfully, raising a finger like she'd just won a game show.
Ronald froze. Then, in pure panic, he jumped up and grabbed Isaac by the shoulders, shaking him like a soda bottle under pressure. "It can't be true, right?! Say it's not true!"
Isaac, who very much hated being shaken, responded by stomping on Ronald's shin.
"OW—!" Ronald dropped like a deflated balloon.
Isaac adjusted his glasses with cold efficiency. "It's true. So unless you want to be atom dust, I suggest we get out. Fast."
Ronald whimpered something about resigning from life.
Then a soft click echoed around us—and a glowing ring lit up on the wall.
"Oh?" I said, squinting. "Has the countdown started now?"
"We're going to DIE!" Ronald wailed, dragging himself up in terror.
"How long do we have?" I asked, tugging on the hatch with renewed desperation.
Isaac checked his interface again, eyes narrowing. "Until all the rings light up. That's the full sequence."
I looked up.
There were three rings in total. One was already glowing.
"…That's not many."
"Exactly," Isaac said grimly. "And based on the interval pattern—one ring lights up every ten seconds."
"That means—" I started.
"We only have twenty seconds left!" Rona chirped happily, hopping from foot to foot. "Rona is great at math!"
I reached over and ruffled her hair. "Thanks, Rona."
She beamed.
I turned to the paralyzed Ronald and slapped him hard across the cheek.
SLAP!
"ACK! I'm up!" he gasped, clutching his throbbing red cheek.
"Good," I said, pointing to the stubborn hatch. "Now stop fainting and use those big muscles of yours to open that damn cover."
"But we already tried!" Ronald whined, eyes watering. "It won't open!"
"That's because you probably didn't use every fiber of your sad, soggy muscle." I thwacked him on the back. "Now move it!"
Sniffling like a kicked puppy, Ronald dragged himself over to the emergency disposal hatch.
Isaac, watching this sad procession, sighed. "You know, I feel bad for him. Just because he's big doesn't mean he's actually strong."
"How much does that hatch weigh, anyway?" I asked.
Isaac gave me a look. "Why do you want to know that now?"
"Just guessing—A ton?"
"Yup. About that."
"Perfect," I said, grinning. "His Master once told me he made Ronald carry a ton every day. So this should be easy peasy."
Isaac blinked. "Then how come he couldn't do it earlier?"
I frowned. "Apparently, the lower his self-esteem, the weaker he gets."
"Ah. Makes sense now…"
DING.
The second ring lit up.
Ten seconds left.
Suddenly—CREEAAAK!
A groaning screech tore through the silence as a plume of dust burst from Ronald's direction.
We coughed and waved the cloud away.
"Cough! Cough! Ronald, you okay?" I called out.
Through the settling dust, Ronald turned toward us, tears glittering in his eyes. "I did it!"
"Way to go, Ronald! I knew you had it in you," I shouted, jabbing a finger at the half-open hatch. "Now get your ass in there!"
"Eh?!" Ronald panicked, backing away. "No way! What if it's worse in there?!"
I pointed upward, my voice sharp. "We're already on the last ring—time's almost up!"
He looked up, saw the glowing circle—and screamed.
Before he could change his mind, Rona flung herself past him with a joyful, "WHEEEEEEE!" and vanished into the hatch.
Ronald whimpered. "Why does she enjoy this?!"
"It's called momentum, Ronald!" I shouted, giving him a firm shove. "Let it carry you!"
His scream trailed off as he plummeted into the chute, flailing all the way down.
Isaac dove in after him without a word, like a grumpy missile.
And I went last, gripping the edge of the hatch and yanking it down behind me—using my weight and gravity to slam it shut just as the final ring blazed red and the disintegration field roared to life.
One by one, we dropped in—yelling, tumbling, limbs flailing—and after a thrilling (and slightly nauseating) slide through pitch-black tubing, we landed with a glorious crash in a pile of leaves, mud, and discarded snack wrappers.
Alive.
Dusted. Bruised. Emotionally scarred.
But alive.
Isaac stood up first, adjusting his crooked glasses and brushing off a leaf that clung to his head like a badge of honor. "Told you I could get us out."
I gave him a lazy thumbs-up from where I lay, sprawled out in the filth. "Remind me to update your job title to Grumpy Saviour."
"Still better than Human Pancake," he grumbled, flicking mud off his coat.
Rona popped upright on top of a broken lawn chair like she was striking a victory pose in a post-apocalyptic fashion show. "That was AWESOME! Can we go back and do it again?"
Ronald groaned beside me, lying flat like a man whose soul was halfway to the afterlife. "Please… never again…"
I lay back in the dirt, laughter bubbling out of me as I stared up at the grey sky, framed by a canopy of rusted pipes and wilted leaves. We'd made it. Escaped the guards. Dodged the incinerator. Evaded vaporization. Survived a haunted toaster. And somehow, miraculously, even escaped Isaac's sense of humor.
'Maybe… just maybe… my luck wasn't as bad as I thought.'