Juile sat on the curb of the level's exit plaza, boots dangling over a crater that had once been a hedge maze and was now… spiritually a suggestion. She flipped her HUD screen open, the one that absolutely did not exist until she decided it did.
Zeke leaned on his squirt gun, helmet tucked under his arm, still buzzing from the last explosion. "So," he said, grinning, "we already punched a hole in a Martian spaceship with soda cans. That's got to be the weirdest sentence I've ever lived."
Juile nodded solemnly. "Alien Invasion Repulsed. Nine thousand nine hundred points. History will remember us as heroes. Or litterbugs with aim."
Zeke's eyes lit up. "Wait—could there be more?"
She turned the clipboard so he could see it. The list was… long. Disturbingly long.
"Okay," Juile said, tapping the page. "First up: Axeman Begone. Five thousand points for wiping out every single crazy lumberjack on a level."
Zeke winced. "Chainsaws?"
"Chainsaws."
"…I hate how enthusiastic they are."
"Same bonus applies," she added, "if they're specifically chainsaw-themed maniacs. Different vibe. Same screams."
Zeke laughed. "Worth it."
Juile flipped the page. "Next: Bonus for Pass Completion. You throw footballs. The football players catch them. Ten successful passes or more."
Zeke blinked. "In the middle of a monster apocalypse."
"Yes."
"…That's incredible."
"Multitasking builds character," Juile said. "And points."
She pointed lower. "Extermination Bonus. Kill a lot of ants."
"How many is 'a lot'?" Zeke asked.
Juile shrugged. "Enough that the universe nods approvingly."
He nodded back. "Fair."
"Then there's Fish Fry. Squidmen. One thousand points. Basically seafood night, but violent."
Zeke grimaced. "They always come in groups."
"They always do," Juile said, smiling like someone who had accepted this long ago.
She leaned in conspiratorially. "Now—Massive Destruction. Two thousand points if we leave the level looking like it lost a fight with a tornado that cheats."
Zeke looked behind them at the smoking ruins. "I think we're… overachievers."
Juile checked a box. "Oh, absolutely."
She tapped another line. "No Bazooka Fired. One thousand points for restraint."
Zeke coughed. "Hypothetically… what if I thought about firing one?"
"Thoughts are free," Juile said. "Rockets are not."
She flipped again. "Secret Bonus. Two thousand points. Sometimes it means a bonus level. Sometimes it just means the game smiles mysteriously and hands you points like it knows something you don't."
Zeke squinted. "I don't trust that."
"Neither should you," Juile agreed cheerfully.
"Weed Cutting Bonus," she continued. "Sweep up enough weeds. Pod Plants don't count."
Zeke sighed. "So many rules."
"And finally," Juile said, lowering her voice, "Vampire Destroyed. Kill both vampires."
Zeke stiffened. "Both."
"Both," she confirmed. "Miss one and the night remembers."
There was a pause.
Then Zeke grinned again. "Okay, but what about the extra stuff? The… secret-secret rewards?"
Juile's smile turned sharp. "Ah. Extra Bonus Victims. If we do well enough, the game literally gives us new people to save. Undoing death with good performance."
Zeke swallowed. "That's… actually kind of beautiful."
"And if we're already full?" she continued. "Extra Bonus Player. Extra life. Or—if we're maxed on everything—Perfect Player Bonus. Five thousand points for being so absurdly competent the system runs out of ways to reward you."
Zeke looked around at the burning level, the empty soda cans, the footballs, the wreckage.
"…So," he said, "you're saying the universe can be impressed."
Juile closed the clipboard with a snap. "Briefly. Until the next level loads and it decides to test us again."
The exit door shimmered into existence.
Zeke straightened. "Alright then. Let's go make the universe nervous."