Some moments ago—.
Rafael coughed dust out of his lungs as he picked himself off the ground. "Well, that's one way to make an entrance," he muttered, brushing bits of asphalt and what might have been confetti shrapnel off his coat.
[Congratulations! You survived your first environmental hazard of Reboot #19.]
[+1 XP | -2 Dignity]
"That tracks," Rafael said, patting down his pockets. The plasma pistol was intact, though smoking slightly. His boots—still unmatched—were coated in glitter.
He squinted at the skyline. The buildings hadn't collapsed in the explosion. If anything, they were... rearranged.
One now stood sideways, supported by nothing but a glowing wireframe scaffold. Another was perfectly upside down, defying gravity and common sense. A third seemed to be arguing with its own reflection.
[System Tip: Don't try to make sense of it.]
"Oh good. Sanity is optional now."
He limped toward what looked like a convenience store embedded in the husk of a sentient vending machine. The sign above the flickering glass door read: "TUTORIAL ZONE – NO REFUNDS".
A bell dinged as he stepped inside. The store was mostly empty, save for a dusty rack of vacuum-sealed food pouches, a shelf full of apparently sentient rubber ducks (each one glaring at him), and a refrigerator with a blinking green light.
The fridge spoke first.
"Hey there, hot stuff. Need a frosty bevvy?"
Rafael stared. "Please tell me I haven't been rebooted into a dating sim."
[Daily Quirk Modifier: Still Active. Talking aloud = narrating internal thoughts.]
"Oh, I don't judge," said the fridge in a sultry tone. "You want soda, ice cream, or maybe to open my heart-shaped freezer?"
Rafael groaned. "I'm begging you to be a normal appliance."
"Too late," said the fridge, opening with a hiss. Inside sat a single glowing can labeled: "Tutorial Juice – Flavor: Existential Dread."
He took it out warily. "Do I drink this or throw it at someone?"
[Tutorial Item Acquired. Do Not Chug.]
He popped the can and took a cautious sip. The liquid fizzed with the taste of spoiled lemons and bad decisions. Immediately, his vision went white as data flooded his brain:
—NEW REGION UNLOCKED: Spiral Sector Echo
—TUTORIAL OBJECTIVE: Discover how you broke time. Again.
—COMPANION AVAILABLE: STANLEY, THE CONSPIRACY HOBO (Pending Acceptance) (Temporary)
When he blinked back to reality, the fridge was humming an old jazz tune. "You okay, sugar?"
"I think I just drank a PowerPoint presentation."
He turned back to the fridge. "Out of curiosity, how many people have survived this tutorial?"
"Define 'survived,'" the fridge said, nonchalantly spitting out an ice cube in the shape of a question mark.
Rafael squinted. "That's not comforting."
Outside, the sky briefly changed color—from yellow to mauve to polka-dot—before settling on a slightly judgmental shade of blue. Rafael stepped out of the store just in time to nearly trip over a man wrapped in tinfoil and cardboard armor.
"STANLEY?" Rafael asked.
The man blinked. "What? Is there a duck in my eyes?"
"No. Well, not really. Anyway, apparently, you're my... tutorial companion?"
Stanley puffed up proudly. "Yup. This time around, I teach newbies the ropes. Like how to fight mutant pigeons and avoid sky tax collectors."
Rafael considered walking into the nearest glowing sinkhole. "Why do I feel like this reboot is going to be more exhausting than usual?"
Stanley pointed dramatically toward the horizon. "Because the apocalypse is evolving. And this time, it's personal."
Rafael rubbed his temples. "You practiced that line, didn't you?"
"Every reboot," Stanley said solemnly. "Every single one."
He handed Rafael a pamphlet titled 'Surviving Reboot #19: Tips, Tricks, and Therapy Coupons.'
[Quest Acquired: Follow Stanley. Try not to die.]
As they walked, Stanley began explaining the local factions. "You got the Glowpunks—techno anarchists who run on soda and spite. Then there's the Bureaucravores—they eat paperwork and vomit legislation. Oh, and don't get me started on the Church of the Unseen Koala."
"Wait—what?"
"They're serious about the Koala. Real fire-and-fur kind of religion."
Rafael blinked slowly. "This explains why my last memory was a marsupial trying to baptize me in hot sauce."
Stanley snapped his fingers. "See? You do remember! Despite the weird one, progress is progress. Congratulations!"
They passed a broken streetlight sprouting mushrooms that played jazz, and a fire hydrant that occasionally screamed motivational quotes.
"You get used to it," Stanley said.
"I don't think I want to."
He pulled his coat tighter around himself, holstered his half-fried plasma pistol, and followed Stanley deeper into the neon wasteland.
Tuesday wasn't over yet.
And neither, apparently, was Rafael.
***