Gravity eventually remembers everyone. That was Rafael's core philosophy as he plummeted back to Earth on the back of an overheating, barely-conscious platypus that had just coughed up a cassette tape and screamed something about taxes.
"This is your idea of a majestic descent?!" Rafael shouted over the roar of air and the wailing of distant sirens.
The platypus quacked once. Mournfully. Then released a final gout of flame from its posterior propulsion system and crash-landed directly through the shattered skylight of an abandoned megamall.
Rafael blacked out on impact.
***
When he came to, everything smelled faintly of discount cologne, cinnamon pretzels, and the creeping scent of seasonal depression.
Somewhere nearby, a long-dead escalator groaned in protest, like it had just woken from a three-decade nap and immediately regretted everything.
Rafael sat up with a grunt, brushing flakes of plastic snow and melted reindeer fur from his coat. The mall's decor was stuck on "Christmas in July Apocalypse Edition," and an animatronic elf was twitching violently next to a melted Santa who now held a flaming candy cane like a holy relic.
[System Alert: New Location Discovered – Skyfall Mall. Danger Level: "Festive Carnage."]
"Oh no," Rafael muttered. "Not a mall. Anything but a mall."
Volcanopteryx the Lesser lay sprawled across what used to be the food court, half-buried in an avalanche of Orange Julius signage, Auntie Anne's pretzel bones, and the skeletal remains of a mutant churro. The creature gave Rafael a thumbs up. With its foot. Then it farted smoke and passed out again.
Stanley's voice crackled through an earpiece Rafael didn't remember owning. "You alive, champ?"
"Define alive."
"Breathing, swearing, and capable of sarcasm. That's close enough. Listen, I'm getting weird readings from that place. Something's active in there."
"Define something."
"Something that still accepts coupons. Possibly for your soul."
That wasn't comforting.
Rafael limped toward the nearest storefront. It had once been a high-tech boutique, now turned into a shrine of melted game consoles, shattered VR headsets, and a looping demo reel for a 2007 fitness tracker that promised immortality via squats.
In the corner, a Roomba circled endlessly around a pile of expired energy drinks, now glowing faintly blue and hissing.
Then he heard it.
Squeaky wheels. Rapid. Aggressive.
He turned just in time to see a swarm of mutated shopping carts charging toward him, their baskets filled with expired makeup, torn Build-A-Bear carcasses, and half-digested mall sushi. Their eyes (yes, eyes) glowed red, and their wheels sparked with eldritch fury.
[New Threat Detected: Mallspawn - Class: Consumer Revenant]
"Why? Why is it always cursed retail?"
Rafael ran. Not heroically. Not gracefully. But with the pure, undiluted panic of a man who had once been mauled by an animatronic bear in a discount arcade while trying to win a plush banana.
The carts shrieked and gave chase, rattling across cracked tile like a stampede of caffeinated doom. One launched a compact disc like a shuriken, slicing off a lock of Rafael's hair and part of his dignity.
He dove behind a fountain shaped like a mermaid holding a chainsaw and a bottle of perfume.
"Okay, think. Weapons. Mall. What would a tactical sociopath do?"
As if on cue, a ceiling tile exploded and Stanley dropped in like a gremlin from a Saturday morning cartoon, dual-wielding Nerf guns modified with plasma cores and wearing a hoodie that read "Born to Shop, Forced to Survive."
"Did someone say tactical sociopath?"
"You're late."
"You're welcome."
They stood back-to-back as the cart swarm reformed like an angry steel sea.
"How many rounds you got?"
"Enough. Probably. Maybe. Okay, no idea. But I also brought you this."
Stanley produced a box labeled Bargain Bin of Holding and upended it. An avalanche of semi-functional mall gadgets spilled out—hair straighteners, glow sticks, glitter grenades, fondue forks, karaoke microphones, battery-powered back massagers, and an entire shelf of cursed tamagotchis.
Rafael grabbed two glitter grenades and a waffle iron.
"Let's paint the food court red. And maybe teal. And probably mauve."
Together, they fought like holiday warriors high on expired eggnog and mall rage. Glitter explosions coated everything in sparkling doom. Rafael deflected attacks with the waffle iron and delivered righteous judgment via a pogo stick modified for combat. Stanley unleashed a barrage of laser-tag darts and weaponized gift cards.
One cart exploded in a geyser of expired moisturizer. Another fired a whole rack of clearance leggings like rubbery missiles.
In the chaos, Rafael roundhouse kicked a mannequin dressed like a zombie Abercrombie model, then ducked under a flaming pretzel stand. Stanley performed a somersault over a kiosk labeled "Ye Olde Vape Shoppe" and threw a blender at a cart's face.
The final cart shrieked like a banshee with seasonal depression and exploded in a majestic spray of coupon confetti and shattered dreams.
Panting, Rafael leaned against a melted info kiosk.
[Quest Complete: Tame the Consumer Revenants. Reward: 1x Mystery Coupon Booklet (Sentient).]
The booklet blinked at him. Its voice echoed inside his skull.
"Would you like 10% off your fate today?"
"Burn it," he said.
The booklet hissed and scuttled away on tiny legs.
"Burn it twice."
Volcanopteryx stirred, rolled over, and belched out a coupon for free yogurt.
"We need a better ride," Rafael muttered.
Stanley picked up a cracked mall directory. "Or a better destination. You ever been to Sector Omicron-Delta? They've got an amusement park run by ex-cultists and a roller coaster powered by regret."
Rafael sighed. "Is there anything in this world that isn't trying to kill us in thematically ironic ways?"
A nearby photo booth sparked violently, printed a strip of cursed selfies from the future, and ignited. Rafael's eyes glowed in the third frame.
He tore it up without comment.
"Lead the way."
***