Chapter 1:

  A Fantastic Blunder

  Defeat. The red letters blared out against the fading background. The last glimpses of the hero bled into black as the evil necromancer cackled. The dim screen was the only light in the dark room. For anyone trying to traverse through the chaotic mess, they could pass with just barely enough visibility to not slip into a pile of paper plates and used napkins. However, from three feet away, the screen was blinding. The definitive word scorched a bleary set of bloodshot eyes like a taunt. From three feet away, Allyn Macallan sat furious, burning eyes burning holes in his computer monitor. He had a knee jerk reaction to quit to the main screen and fire up a new run of his favorite, brutal roguelike RPG game. He felt like uninstalling hit, stripping the SSD drive from his computer and throwing it into the fire place. He felt like adding holes into the drywall, or waking up the neighborhood with an angry shout. Then, as quickly as the rage flared, he sighed and slumped, checking his phone for the time. 3:37am. Sleep math was never fun, but he always found himself calculating it.

  Ok, so fall asleep at like 4am, set 15 alarms at strange intervals leading up to getting out of bed at 7:45am, shower and out the door at 8am, no time to make breakfast or pick anything up, so it’s a breakfast hot pocket, 20 minutes to the grocery store, 5 minutes to park, get into the building and clock in, should be able to do all that by 8:30am and not get a markup for being late. I can do this. Sure, it’ll be an 8 hour shift that probably turns into a 12 hour shift because someone won’t show up and I’ll be stuck with the responsibility, but there’s caffeine quite literally in the building. I can do this. Shit, I’ve done this the last three weeks straight, not a new maneuver.

  This was more or less routine for Allyn, but only part of the routine. He neglected to consider that going to bed at a weird time like 3:38am is gross, so he’ll end up doom scrolling video shorts until 4am and lose track of time. Suddenly, he’ll swipe around to check the time and it’s 5:23am and measly three and a half hours of sleep shrinks to barely two. Then there’s the choice of trying to sleep then and there, likely sleeping through all alarms, or push through an all-night-er and try to get to bed early later that night. He didn’t have a choice tonight. He'd barely set his alarms and plugged his phone in before he’d passed out cold.

  Battleship sirens blared; it was 8:05am. Now do we call off sick or push through? It was early in the year and he’d already used up almost all of his sick days. Ok then. He erupted from the bed and quickly through a hot pocket in the microwave. Allyn flew all across his studio apartment, brushing his hair quickly and throwing on a hat, applying deodorant, frantically clothing and checking his pockets for all the essentials. The microwave sounded like a whistle. Now the race really began. He snagged his breakfast and ran out the door, locking it and sprinting to his car. If the traffic lights were kind and he sped across town, he could still possibly clock in on time.

  Chancing yellow lights and weaving through adults with proper time management and restraint, he made his way to the store and had a parking space at 8:28am. He sped his way through to the management office and tried to punch in, but was held up near the registers. Customers needed help with coupons and self-checkout stations. There was no hope now. Even if he was on time, he’d be scolded for not helping out shoppers, regardless of being on the clock or not. Allyn caught his breath and despite feeling and likely looking like a greasy rat that swam through a barrel of beer on the way in the door, his eyes brightened and he put on a smile as he tried to resolve the patrons’ issues.

  The prophecy had been correct. Two people called off, forcing him to stay an extra 12 hours. His manager had woken up on the wrong side of bed, so clocking in 5 minutes late meant the entire rest of the shift was unsalvageable and fucked. At times like these, Allyn was sharklike in that he had to keep moving and doing something or else he would fall asleep standing. He restocked everything constantly, cleaned the bathrooms, assisted with check out lanes, helped customers find entire grocery lists. The day felt simultaneously like eternity, but had also passed in a blink of the eye. He’d never gotten a scheduled break or any appreciation from his manager. The sun was setting as he lit a cigarette at the stores rear loading dock. He sat on the curb, leaning against the brick wall of the store. Opening his eyes after every blink brought a dull, stinging pain. His body ached and his stomach growled. He had 5 minutes left in his shift and was having a smoke to run out the clock. After one big inhale, he sighed contentedly. Let’s be very clear, this is 25-year-old who hates his job. He has no aspirations of climbing the corporate ladder or management, no career plans, and no love for his position. He does obsess over his personal standard for work quality and enjoys helping people. In those regards, he felt accomplished with his work for the day. He felt that way right up until his manager through open the back door and stormed towards him.

  “What do you think you’re doing out here? You’re still on the clock for another four minutes! Until it’s time for you to punch out, I expect to see you cleaning, stocking or working the register. This habit of sneaking away is unacceptable!”

  Allyn had been working here for over three years now and constantly performed to his own standard, which was way higher than the stores. He rarely got the chance to take his scheduled breaks, and was constantly going above and beyond. Yet his manager would neglect these facts and tunnel in on the few things she didn’t like. Normally, to avoid conflict and complications, he would nod, agree, apologize and try to diffuse the situation. Today though, he was exhausted, and his momentary contentedness melted away. Rage flared in him. He wouldn’t allow himself to explode. He calmly stoked the flames and let it burn. Pointedly, he replied.

  “I’m sorry. I just worked a 12 hour shift and didn’t get a single minute of a break. The store is fully restocked, I just mopped half an hour ago, the 9 to 5er’s have cleared out and we have 5 shoppers in the store. There’s 6 other employees on hand that aren’t working the register. I assumed we were stable enough that I could take a breath.”

  “I’m not paying you to engage in your filthy addiction. If you’re smoking or taking a break, you do that off the clock. I’ll be taking these 5 minutes out of your overtime pay and writing you up again in addition to your tardiness today.”

  Partially to impaired brain function, partially to outright stupefaction, Allyn had no idea what to say. He wasn’t bragging when he said he was the best worker in the store. Sure, his occasional tardiness wasn’t amazing, but when he was on the clock, shit got done, and done well. There were regulars that asked for him in particular when they needed help, or just to chat with him. His tendencies towards OCD meant the product he stocked looked immaculate and when he cleaned, those areas were spotless. Yet she still acted like he was a slacker that didn’t earn his keep. As he took one more long drag of his cigarette, he finally found the words to reply. He exhaled, standing up from his seat and stepping on his half-smoked tobacco.

  “Don’t bother. No point writing up and employee that doesn’t work here anymore.”

  Her jaw dropped and eyes went wide as she realized she pushed to far this time. “Excuse me? You can’t quit, that isn’t right! You have to give us time to replace you!”

  “Michigan is an at-will state. I can leave any time just like you could have fired me any time. But you never did despite all the lectures you’ve yelled at me, because everyone else on shift just bullshits through the work and hooks up in the guest bathroom. I’m the only reason you have a clean, stocked store and customers that get help when they ask for it. Never got any appreciation for that though. Oh, and good luck replacing me, you’ll need like 6 more people to do that.”

  He smiled at her as he walked by her on his way to punch out. It felt like a long walk as his mind processed what happens next. I don’t have much in my savings, I don’t have any other leads on work, and now I won’t have anymore paychecks after next week. He knew that the other shoe was going to drop soon, but for now, he gets a short surge of happiness as he walked out on his shitty job. That won’t even last long, so he tried his best to enjoy it while he could. He didn’t make a scene, didn’t even say goodbye to anyone. He just clocked out quietly for the last time. Then a thought occurred: he still had a night left with his employee discount.

  It had very quickly become 3am yet again, only this time, Allyn was supremely exhausted. He felt like a raccoon that spent an afternoon on the freeway getting flattened by semi-trucks that was then scraped off the pavement and dropped into a barrel of whiskey. This morning, he had only looked hangover, now he was drunk. He’d gotten a pizza order, a handle of cheap whiskey, and a fresh pack of cigarettes, and by now they had all disappeared. Yet again, he glared weakly at a black background screen announcing his defeat in bold, blood red. He shut his computer down and stumbled to bed, flopping two feet away into his sheets. Rolling over to stare at the ceiling he began to evaluate his life. This was not the right time, but he never paid attention to things like that.

  I have barely enough money to get by two months of living expenses. I have no job. I don’t even have a career path. I could try to pursue photography, like I went to school for, but I hate failing. I don’t want to pick a battle I can’t win, and I don’t want to shoot for a career that I can’t get by with. Tomorrow I’ll have to blow the dust of my resume and apply out to a bunch of places.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  He groaned and pulled out his phone. He wanted to call his sister and talk, but then he checked the time and saw that it was nearly four in the morning. He flopped his arms out to the side, dropping his phone onto the floor with a loud clatter.

  “Aaaagh, God dammit. I’m so stupid. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what I’m trying to do, and I don’t know why I’m trying in the first place. I’ll just scrape by just enough to not be homeless for the rest of my life? I don’t want my family to worry, but we aren’t that close anyways. I doubt they’d concern themselves anyway. I just want someone to talk to. I just want someone to know me and tell me what I need to be doing. I don’t want to live my life waiting to die.”

  As he said these last words to the ceiling, tears started to form in his eyes. He thought about his life and wondered how it wound up and led to this moment. He’d performed well through school and continued to college. He’d met so many cherished friends along the way, but they were so far. His only way he knew how to connect was through video games. But they were all starting families or busy with work and/or life projects. He didn’t know how to stay in touch. He didn’t want to appear awkward, and when they inevitably ask how he’s doing or what he’s up to, he didn’t want to have to lie or tell the truth and sound like he’s only getting in contact to ask for a hand out. He didn’t want pity.

  His mind ran trying to think his way out of a situation that he couldn’t simply think his way out of, but with no idea which action to take, all he could do was think. He liked games for this reason. There’s limited action available to the player. When deciding what to do, there were countable options. He could think through the following steps and strategize, find the line that led him to a winning position. Roguelikes were interesting in that way. Each time the world was different and new. Different items, weapons, enemies and opportunities were laid before him each time, and he had to come up with answers to the immediate challenges while planning for the others that awaited him. Sometimes he would win, others not.

  Life wasn’t a game. He had infinite agency and too many options to pursue. They were all so complex he couldn’t comprehend following steps. Decisions couldn’t be made rashly, because there was no way to retry. Failure was irreparable. He’d been passing his turns for three years now, doing nothing to affect the board state of things, and today he’d finally made his first move. What a fantastic blunder. Now he only had bad moves to make. The plain and daunting ‘defeat’ screen was seared into his mind.

  With all this weighing on him, exhaustion finally took Allyn as he fell unconscious. Tonight, his dreams were unsettlingly clear and detailed.

  He found himself back at the grocery store, endlessly completing his tasks. He found it upsetting. It felt exactly like a regular work day. Angry boss, constant flow of tasks, no time to take a break, and no real assistance from the others on shift with him.

  Each time he completed a task, he felt himself drained, almost of life itself. After what felt like years, his hands became wrinkled and thin. He looked in the mirror and found a grey, disheveled and wrinkly old man that looked like him. He closed his eyes and opened them hoping to see his young self again or just for his heart to stop beating.

  His eyes opened and he was sitting around his sister’s coffee table. She looked at him with concern. There was no shame in her eyes, or pity. She looked driven. It was as if she would have fought side by side, supporting him towards his victory screen if that’s what it took. She looked at him like he looked at his videogames, searching for the line that led to success. Looking over her shoulder, Allyn saw his nephew stumbling into the room with alphabet toys in hand. He smiled as tears filled his eyes. As he closed his eyes to wipe away the wet, he opened them again and they were gone.

  He was looking down the sight of a camera at caterpillar. It broke its way out of its cocoon. It lay dead on a twig not far from it’s intended place of metamorphosis. Behind it stretched a valley of trees and rivers that the sun set at the far end of. It was an incredible picture. He couldn’t snap the photo. He couldn’t compel himself to record the image. Allyn exhaled and took a picture of the landscape, excluding the dead thing beside him. Then he sat and watched the sun sink beyond the horizon as it set the sky on fire with amber and peach colors that streaked out, fighting a losing battle against the tyrannical night sky.

  Allyn’s eyes closed. A summer breeze danced across the mountainside. He breathed it in an exhaled, thinking about the caterpillar. When he opened his eyes, it was gone. It was all gone.

  He stood in an empty white void. Looking around, all he could see was nothing. Then, as he panned his gaze back ahead of him, he saw a what looked like a man. They were dressed casually in a plain blue t-shirt with black sweatpants. They reclined in a sofa chair and stared at him with a polite smile.

  “Hello Allyn”

  “Uh, hey, how’s it going?”

  The person looked surprised and smiled delightedly at him.

  “You know, I’m doing pretty well. It’s funny, I didn’t think you’d be asking how I’m doing before anything else.” He said with a laugh.

  “Oh, I just thought it’d be polite is all. How do you know my name? And what’s yours?”

  “Ah ha! Now these are questions I was prepared for. Allow me to start with my introduction. There are some who call me… Tim? And as for how I know your name, you could say I looked you up.”

  “Did you really just reference one of the greatest movies of all time? This really must be my dream. I do have good taste after all’s said and done.”

  Tim smiled again. “Well Mr. Macallan, I’ll be dropping a lot of truth bombs in a minute, but brace yourself for the first. This isn’t a dream. It’s important you understand that for what comes next.”

  Allyn narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Well while I may not entirely remember falling asleep or what exactly I was doing before I did, but I know I just had like three different dreams and was definitely dreaming. I never got old, I haven’t talked to my sister since she had her son and I’m not a photographer lately. This is a dream, what comes next after a dream? Waking up?”

  Tim kept a polite smile, but a level of gravity entered his expression.

  “You were dreaming. Those were dreams. I may have added some of my own personal suggestions to them, but I needed to see how you’d react to those situations for… what comes next. But first I need you to understand that you aren’t dreaming.”

  Two images popped into existence over Tim’s head. One showed Allyn sprawled across his bed with sheets kicked to the floor. Drool pooled at his pillow, and he was snoring to wake the dead. If you could picture how a fairytale princess sleeps, imagine the extreme polar opposite, and it was more graceful than this.

  The other showed a looping 20 seconds of Allyn standing up from his desk and stumbling into bed. He talked to the ceiling for a bit and started to cry before quickly falling asleep.

  “You said you didn’t really remember, so here’s video of your last moments before sleep and here’s you at this exact moment. You are sleeping. As you went unconscious, I used the abilities at my disposal to shape your dreams and then wake your mind but not your body for this talk. Think of it as hyper realistic VR facetime call.”

  Allyn stared at Tim, blinking blankly.

  “I warned you, the truth bombs are dropping.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense”

  “That doesn’t make any sense to your understanding of things.”

  “Ok, so I guess… if I’m to believe that this isn’t a dream, who are you, why is this happening and why is it important that I understand I that I may not be dreaming?”

  “Well, being open to the possibility is at least a start. Call me Tim. I’m… an agent of the cosmos acting out in special circumstances to offer you an opportunity. These special circumstances are allowing for a very unique chance for something unheard of happening, and should you choose to accept it, it is very important you don’t think you’re just having a very lucid dream and will wake up to unemployment in your average life.”

  That’s too much to process at once. Not many details, but there are such vast implications that it’s too much. Start off easy and nitpicky.

  “So… is this like, agent of the cosmos like men in black? Or more like agent Smith? The adjustment bureau? The TVA? Am I getting black bagged? If you’re any of those organizations, shouldn’t you be dressed more business slash business casual?”

  Tim laughed and nodded. “You could say my role is something kind of similar to those, but my charge is more like order than law or control. And if that’s where your mind is going, I’m not here to arrest you for breaking galactic law or escaping the simulation or anything. Also, no, you don’t live in a simulation. But to be candid, technically this right now is a simulation… hm. Tricky. As for presentation, I can look however you want.”

  He snapped his fingers and suddenly transformed into agent smith. “Mr. Anderson”. His fingers snapped again and he was Loki in a jumpsuit. “Have you seen my brother?”. His fingers snapped again and he was Scarlett Johansson. She didn’t say anything but just sat and smiled at him. Then Scarlett disappeared and it was Tim sitting in front of him again with a cheeky grin.

  “Wait, go back to Scarlett Johansson!”

  “No no no no no, I picked this casual display to help ease you into the briefing. I figured you would get distracted with almost anything else, and if I look like her… respectfully I’m not here to ‘distract’ you like that. Again, not a dream, I’m a guy doing his job right now, and you seem nice, but I’m focusing on my career right now. Focusing like trying to do my job.” Tim cleared his throat and gave him a stern glare to make his point.

  “Oh, right, sorry. Didn’t want to make it weird. So… this is an illusion but not a dream?”

  “That’s ninety percent accurate.”

  “Ok. And what are the special circumstances.”

  Tim looked contemplative for a moment. “How about we just say, the cause is very complex and high up the chain of command, but the effect in laymen’s terms is your soul was not intended to take root on your planet. Surprisingly enough, this isn’t an uncommon thing, and it’s almost never a problem, but given your relationship with your situation as it stands, your soul- again, not explaining this perfect- your soul is… allergic to Earth and Earth society?”

  “So, you’re an MIB agent named after a sorcerer, and now you’re offering me a red pill and a blue pill because my soul is allergic to the planet I grew up on?”

  “See, I knew you would be more receptive with a few movie references. That is the crudest way to state it, but that is closer to the situation than it isn’t.”

  “And I need to be sure I’m not dreaming because, no take-backs-ie’s?”

  “Not one take-back-sie in the barn.”

  “Ok. Lets hear how many doors there are and what’s behind them.”

  “What do you think this is? Let’s Make a Deal?” The price is right?”

  “No. But could it be?”

  Time smiled and snapped his fingers.