> Arc 1: Fever-dreaming in Apocalypse
---
The first thing Rafael noticed was the smell. Burnt ozone, synthetic citrus, and just a hint of blood.
He blinked. Concrete ceiling. Flickering neon bulb. The gentle hum of a dying ventilation unit somewhere above. He groaned, sat up, and promptly knocked his head against a pipe labeled: "DO NOT LICK."
"Ow. Rude," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.
His System chimed into existence with all the subtlety of a car alarm in a monastery.
[Welcome, Rafael Vagathris, to Reboot #19.]
[Initializing Personality Core: M.O.T.H.E.R...]
[Error. Error. Personality module corrupted. Defaulting to backup AI: T.I.N.A. (Temporary Intelligence, Not Asshole). Have a nice day!]
Rafael blinked. "Wait. What happened to Mo?"
[M.O.T.H.E.R. is currently experiencing a severe identity crisis. She believes she is a washing machine. Please do not attempt to reason with her. Or load her with delicates.]
"That tracks."
He swung his legs over the side of the metal cot and winced. The bunker was in shambles. Ash and cracked monitors. A poster of a smiling cartoon duck giving a thumbs-up had been half-burned, leaving only the word 'uck' visible.
He tapped the side of his head. "System, give me a diagnostic. What day is it?"
[Tuesday.]
"Figured."
[Apocalypse Type: Unknown.]
[Global Threat Level: Creative.]
[Daily Quirk Modifier: You now involuntarily narrate your internal thoughts aloud. Enjoy your heightened vulnerability to stealth attacks.]
Rafael sighed. "Great. I'm talking to myself again, and now it's mandatory."
His voice echoed faintly through the wreckage of the bunker. A few mutated roaches scurried for cover.
He shuffled over to the rusted locker in the corner. It coughed open with a groan and gifted him the usual: one half-charged plasma pistol, a pair of boots that didn't match, and a can of Nuke Beans™. He held the can up to the light.
"Still warm. That's either a good sign or the beans are fermenting again."
[Warning: Nuke Beans may cause temporary bioluminescence and irreversible optimism.]
"So... not breakfast, then."
He slipped into the boots, grabbed the gun, and stepped outside.
The world had changed.
Again.
Where once had been the collapsed ruins of Old Seattle (the third one, after the worm cult incident), there now stood a jungle of neon cables and impossible skyscrapers—some floating, some upside down, all humming with technomagical energy.
A sky whale cruised lazily between towers. Somewhere in the distance, a building exploded in slow motion, raining down confetti.
Rafael rubbed his eyes.
"I miss the zombies. They were stupid and direct. This... this is just showing off."
[Quest Received: Find the Source of the Confetti.]
"No."
[Quest Updated: Find the Source of the Confetti (Optional: Dance). Reward: ???]
Rafael groaned. But he smiled.
Despite everything—the memory loss from his allies, the reboot roulette, the fact that he was pretty sure his spleen had respawned backwards—he was still here. Still snarky. Still Rafael.
And this time, he had a plan.
Step one: survive Tuesday.
Step two: figure out why the world looked like a video game designed by drunk architects.
Step three: maybe, just maybe, stop the apocalypse for good.
"Alright, world," he said, shouldering his half-functioning plasma pistol. "Let's see what you've got."
He took one step forward.
And the pavement exploded.
---
He woke up two seconds later, lying face-down in a pile of neon-coated pigeons.
"Ow," he muttered. "Note to self: check for pavement mines."
[Achievement Unlocked: Faceplant into a New Timeline. Title Earned: The Unlucky Oracle.]
[Title Effect: +5% Awareness when horizontal. -3% Dignity.]
A loud honk interrupted his recovery. Rafael looked up to find a one-wheeled delivery bot stuck in a feedback loop, shouting "Hot noodles! Hot noodles! Hot--" before spinning in place and firing packets of ramen like throwing stars.
One stuck to his forehead.
"Seriously?"
He grabbed the noodle-packet and followed the trail of chaos. Buildings here were all slightly wrong: upside-down furniture gardens, elevators that only went sideways, vending machines that sold emotions.
A woman with feathers for hair offered him a coupon for free existential dread.
He passed.
"Rafael Vagathris," said a familiar voice. He turned to find a grizzled man in a bathrobe and a cape made of caution tape. "You died again."
"Stanley," Rafael said, half relieved. "You're still here. Still crazy."
"The loop keeps us all crazy. But you're the only one who remembers. Sometimes it's me too. But you and the System was certain. And maybe the raccoon cartel."
Rafael blinked. "They're still around?"
Stanley nodded. "Stronger than ever. They control the black market on nostalgia chips and cheese whiz. Be careful."
"Noted."
Stanley leaned closer. "Something's different this time. Can't you feel it? The world's rebooted, but the flavor's off. Like... it's not random anymore. Someone's steering."
That chilled Rafael more than the pigeons had.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
[New Quest Unlocked: Uncover the Hidden Programmer.]
[Optional: Steal Their Keyboard.]
"T.I.N.A.," Rafael muttered, "what's our real objective this time?"
[Answer unclear. Try again after a musical number.]
"...No."
He looked out at the upside-down skyline, the drifting whales, the confetti smoke and the screaming noodle drones. And for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel tired.
"Okay, apocalypse," Rafael said. "Let's dance."
And this time, he meant it.
***