“You’re at 129 total,” I commented. “I’m at 125.”

  "Ain't you a math wizard," Nessy teased, her fluffy tail swishing as she studied her stats with obvious pride. “Hmmm. Look at all that agility. Am fast doggo.”

  I frowned at my own stat window, particularly at the [Reconstitution: 0/100] that seemed to mock me with its sad zero. My fingers again unconsciously rubbed the scars where the conceptoid had torn me open, now fully healed but still tender.

  "What's 'Scrutiosmia'?" I asked, pointing at her Core Affinity.

  Nessy's ears perked up, her tail wagging with pride. "Oh! I think I’ve been using it all week, without actually knowing that it was a System core skill with numbers n’ stuff. It means I can smell... deeper than normal."

  “Oh? Deeper how?”

  "Deeper to the n'th degree!" She tapped her black nose with a grin. "Not just surface scents, but emotions, intentions, even the past or the future sometimes. It's like... smell-vision but for everything."

  "Smell-vision?" I repeated skeptically.

  "Yeah! It’s how I found these waters so quick and easy. And how I found you all the way from Ferguson. And… Like, right now how I am smelling that... you're distrustful, hurt and exhausted," She sniffed pointedly and frowned. "And... I can also smell that your clothing belonged to a construction worker who ate onion rings regularly and had an orange cat."

  "That's... actually impressive, especially the cat's color... if you're not making that up," I admitted.

  "Am not!" She shook her mane. "Hey, cheer up! I bet your 'Reconstitution' is really cool too. Can you regrow limbs? That would be handy."

  "I could, the conceptoid bastard nearly chopped my arm off. Sadly, it's at zero now," I explained with a sigh, gesturing at my stats. "I used it all up poorly fighting for my life."

  Nessy's joyful demeanor faltered slightly. "So... if something tears you apart again, you won't heal?"

  "That appears to be the case," I confirmed grimly.

  She stared at me for a long moment, her expressive blue eyes searching my face. Then she straightened up, squaring her dark, fluffy shoulders beneath her mechanic's overalls.

  "Well, that settles it," she declared. "I'll just have to protect you until your magic healing juice refills!"

  "I don't need protection," I protested automatically.

  Nessy gave me a skeptical look, gesturing at the sliced holes, blood spots and burn marks scattered across my orange coveralls from the light-bees. "Sure, tough guy. You're doing great so far. Anyways, we need food and I think it might be time to sniff extra hard for such!"

  She closed her eyes, her nose twitching rapidly as she took several deep breaths. The stat window above her showing [Scrutiosmia: 33/100] start to drain, ticking down to [32/100] and then [29/100] as she inhaled deep a few times, spinning in one spot, fluffy ears twitching.

  "There are seventeen people within half a mile of us," she announced, eyes still closed. "Three of them smell... wrong. Broken. Fused with another idea. Hollow. Emptied. Unfinished. Like the conceptoid we fought. Two more smell like... ugh, like they're decomposing but still walking." Her nose wrinkled. "And beyond that—ooh! There's a stockpile of canned food about three blocks west. Beans, mostly. Some fruit cocktail. And—" her eyes snapped open, wide with excitement, "—dog treats! Actual, proper, artificially-flavored bacon dog treats! Ahhh! Want!"

  I stared at her. "You can smell all that?"

  "Yep!" She grinned, showing slightly pointed canines. "I've always had a good sniffer, but after the System came, it got... supercharged n' stuff." She tapped the side of her nose. "I can smell so many emotions! All the emotions. Like right now, you're skeptical with a hint of impressed, and..." she leaned closer, sniffing, "...very hungry! Ha!”

  "Fine, I am. Let's go find that food stockpile," I said. "I'd rather eat actual food than your pocket sandwich."

  "Hey! Don't disrespect Sandwichu. He might save your life someday!" she protested, patting her pocket protectively.

  "...Did you just name the sandwich?"

  "Of course. Everything tastes better when you name it first," she said with complete seriousness.

  "I'm not naming my food."

  "Your loss, buddy." She swatted me with her fluffy tail.

  We made our way deeper into the department store, navigating through overturned racks of clothing that had begun to fuse together into grotesque and bewildering textile reefs. What had once been mannequins stood in frozen poses, their plastic skin partially melted and reformed into unsettling organic textures. One appeared to be growing hair—actual human hair—that cascaded down its back in a rippling black wave.

  "Yeesh. This place gives me the creeps," Nessy muttered, staying close to my side.

  "Says the humanoid dog who thinks a moldy sandwich is a suitable pet," I quipped.

  "Hey, Sandwichu takes offense to that statement," she retorted, but I could see her ears were still flattened with anxiety.

  "I'm not eating that moldy abomination," I muttered, but my stomach chose that moment to growl traitorously.

  "Your tummy disagrees," she smirked. "But don't worry—we can totally get to those yummy canned foodle goods if we're careful. Just have to avoid the, you know, undead and the not-quite-people and other moving things. I sniffed the safest way there, so we should be okay.”

  I glanced around the dimly lit department store, trying to get my bearings.

  More mannequins stood in eerie poses throughout the space, sprouting what looked like television antennas from their heads.

  Clothing racks had fused together in vinelike tangles, and from the ceiling hung what appeared to be lighting fixture flowers that occasionally pulsed with a dim, organic light.

  "Alright," I said, gripping my stop sign tighter. "Lead the way to the food, Scrutiosmia-girl."

  Nessy struck a dramatic superhero pose. "Scrutiosmia-girl, away!" she declared. "Always wanted to do that. Come on."

  She moved with grace through the debris-strewn store, her nose constantly working as she navigated us toward a back exit. I followed, trying to step where she stepped, trusting her enhanced senses more than my own.

  We passed through a doorway into what had once been the home goods section. Kitchen appliances had partially merged with the floor and walls, creating grotesque sculptures. A refrigerator had sprouted arms made of metal shelving that reached toward the ceiling. A row of microwave ovens pulsed with faint blue light, their doors opening and closing in a slow, synchronized rhythm.

  "Sheet. Are those... breathing?" Nessy whispered, pointing to the microwaves.

  "I really hope not," I replied, giving the appliances a wide berth.

  Walking through the lingerie section, I noticed something odd—the mannequins here seemed to be... watching us. Their featureless heads turned slightly as we passed, tracking our movement with an attentiveness that sent chills down my spine.

  "Uh, Nessy?" I whispered, nudging her and pointing.

  She glanced back, her ears immediately flattening against her head. "Yeah, I see them. Don't make eye contact—or, uh, face-contact, since they don't have eyes. Yet."

  "Yet?!"

  "Keep moving," she hissed, her pace quickening. "These ones only animate fully if they think you're shopping."

  "How could they possibly—how do you even know that?!"

  "Scrutiosmia," she replied as if that explained anything, pulling me away from the lingerie shop.

  I glanced at her stats. Her Scrutiosmia now sat at [28/100].

  We hurried through the remainder of the store, emerging into a loading dock area where delivery trucks had once brought merchandise. Now, the concrete pad was cracked and buckled, with strange, metallic plants growing up through the fissures. They resembled coat hangers that had been twisted into botanical shapes, their "leaves" thin sheets of plastic price tags that rustled in a breeze I couldn't feel.

  Nessy led us down an alley, then across what had once been a small parking lot but was now a field of shopping carts half-submerged in the asphalt, their handles reaching upward like the arms of drowning swimmers.

  "Don't step there or you'll sink too," she advised.

  I nodded with a gulp.

  "It's just ahead," she whispered, pointing to a squat brick building with the faded letters "MINI-MART" still visible above its entrance.

  We approached cautiously, Nessy constantly sniffing the air, her ears swiveling to catch any sound. The mini-mart's windows were intact but opaque with a layer of dust and something that resembled frost but shimmered with rainbow colors when light caught it.

  "I don't like this," I muttered, tightening my grip on the stop sign. "It's too... undisturbed."

  "That's 'cus someone's been here recently," Nessy confirmed, her nose working overtime. "Human, I think. But they've gone now." She sniffed again. "Left maybe an hour ago. We should be okay… I think. This place smells… safe. Extra safe. Trust me.”

  I chose not to question her instincts.

  We pushed through the front door, a bell jingling cheerfully above us—a sound so ordinary it felt alien in this transformed world. Inside, the mini-mart was surprisingly well-preserved. Shelves stood in neat rows, most of them empty but structurally intact. The refrigerator units along the back wall hummed softly, their glass doors frosted over so completely I couldn't see what, if anything, lay inside.

  "The canned goods are over there," Nessy pointed, already merrily bounding toward a back section of shelves.

  I followed more slowly, scanning our surroundings. Something about this place felt off, like a trap waiting to be sprung. The calm normalcy was uncanny after the chaos outside.

  Nessy had already reached the shelves and was excitedly pawing at several cans. "Beans! Just like I smelled. And look—fruit cocktail! And..." her voice dropped to a reverent whisper, "...beef ravioli. Ahhhh! Eeeeee!"

  She began stuffing cans into her makeshift bag, squeeing, her tail wagging so hard her entire rear swayed with it.

  "Slow down," I cautioned, still scanning the store. "We need to be methodical. Check expiration dates. Make sure the cans aren't bulging."

  "Yeah, yeah," she replied distractedly, examining a can of corn. "Hey, do you prefer peaches or pears?"

  "Either is fine," I said, moving toward the counter area, curious to see if there might be any useful supplies there.

  As I approached, I noticed something behind the register—a jacket hanging on a hook, still looking relatively new. Beneath it, a small backpack rested against the wall.

  It was then that I noticed that small, yellow, post-it notes with eyes, noses and ears drawn on them were taped all over the counter and random shelves.

  "Someone's definitely been using this place," I called to Nessy, who was now happily sniffing each can before placing it in her bag.

  "Like I told you," she replied without looking up. "About an hour ago. Smells like... human male, maybe forty-ish. Smokes. Alcohol." She paused, her nose wrinkling. "And gun oil."

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "Gun oil?"

  "Yeah, like from a pistol or—" She froze suddenly, her ears shooting straight up. "Shit. Someone's coming."

  We both went still, listening. At first, I heard nothing, but then—footsteps, approaching the front door. Heavy boots on pavement.

  "Hide," I hissed, ducking behind the counter.

  Nessy dove behind a display rack just as the bell above the door jingled again. I peered carefully around the edge of the counter to see a tall, broad-shouldered man step inside. He wore stained cargo pants and a denim jacket over a flannel shirt. A lush, ginger beard covered the lower half of his face, and a baseball cap covered in… tinfoil shadowed his eyes. Most concerning of all - a pistol was holstered at his hip.

  The man paused just inside the door. Silver-blue eyes flashed in the dark, staring at a wall.

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  "I know you're in here," he called out, his voice gravelly but undeniably human. "I can see, smell and hear you. Both of you! Stand up slowly!"

  I exchanged a panicked glance with Nessy, who looked equally alarmed. The man hadn't moved from his position by the door.

  "Look," he continued, "I'm not looking for trouble. This is my domain and my stash, but I'm willing to share. If," he emphasized the word, "you come out now and we talk like civilized folks."

  Nessy's nose twitched as she silently communicated with me through exaggerated facial expressions, first pointing to her nose, then giving a half-shrug that I interpreted as "he smells mostly okay." She followed this with a series of complicated gestures that I completely failed to understand, culminating in her pointing urgently at herself and then at the ceiling.

  Before I could decipher her meaning, she stood up, paws raised in a universal "don't shoot" gesture.

  "Hi there," she said, her tail wagging tentatively. "Sorry about the... uhh... unexpected intrusion. We, uhh… smelled the food and were really hungry!"

  The man stiffened, his hand moving instinctively toward his holstered weapon before stopping halfway. He stared at Nessy with undisguised shock.

  "What the heck are you?" he blurted out.

  Nessy's ears flattened slightly. "Rude," she muttered, then louder, "I'm a husky."

  “Thought there was something off about you,” The ginger-bearded man continued to stare at Nessy. I decided this was as good a moment as any to reveal myself as well, slowly standing up from behind the counter, my stop sign held loosely at my side.

  "Right. There are two of you," the man observed unnecessarily. "A dog... person... and a regular person with a stop sign."

  "That about sums it up," I agreed, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

  The man studied us for another long moment, then let out a bark of laughter. "Well, shit. You're the most normal thing I've seen all week." He removed his hand completely from his weapon and gestured to the cans Nessy had been collecting. "Like I said, I'm willing to share. Got a little kitchen set up in my office at the back. Even rigged up a way to heat food." He paused, looking between us again. "You two... together? Like, traveling companions?"

  "Something like that," I hedged, not wanting to explain our complicated situation to a random stranger.

  "Yep! Best friends since childhood!" Nessy declared simultaneously, causing the man to raise an eyebrow at our contradictory responses.

  "Right..." he drawled. "I'm Calvin. Been holed up here since the world went to shit." He jerked a thumb toward the back of the store. "Come on back if you want a hot meal. Been a while since I talked to anybody who wasn't trying to eat me or turn me into a chandelier or what-have-you."

  Calvin turned and walked toward the back without waiting for our response. I glanced at Nessy.

  "He seems okay," she whispered after a sniff in his direction. "Smells concerned but... not deceptive. Safe. Definitely safe."

  "Because you're a dog person," I pointed out. "That would concern anyone."

  "Says the guy holding a stop sign like a battle axe," she retorted, bumping me with her hip as she passed.

  We followed Calvin to a door marked "E?m?p?l?o?y?e?e?s? [Calvin Bo Goulash] Only". A post-it note with a sketch of Calvin hung above it. He pulled out a sticky note and wrote “& guests:” on it and looked at us as if he was expecting something.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  "Your full names, please," he said. "First, middle, last. Don't lie to me please, or the note won't work."

  "Alec Benoit Foster," I offered reluctantly.

  "Nessy Rex Whitepaw!" Nessy declared with considerably more enthusiasm, her tail wagging.

  Calvin nodded, scratching our names onto the sticky note with surprisingly sharp penmanship. Then, to my surprise, he pulled out a small pencil and quickly sketched two remarkably accurate portraits of us—mine looking appropriately suspicious, Nessy's capturing her doggy grin perfectly—and taped both to the door.

  "There," he said with satisfaction. "Now the door knows you're allowed in."

  "The door... knows?" I repeated.

  "Oh yes," Calvin replied, tapping the door with his knuckles. "Everything knows things now. Especially if you tell it. Haven't you noticed?"

  As if to prove his point, he turned the handle and the door swung open smoothly, despite the visible rust on its hinges. Beyond was a small office that had been transformed into a surprisingly cozy living space. A camping cot occupied one corner, while a makeshift table fashioned from milk crates and a plywood board dominated the center. Most remarkably, a small cooking station had been set up using what appeared to be a modified hot plate connected to... nothing at all. It sat there, glowing red-hot, with no visible power source.

  "Welcome to Casa de Calvin," he announced, gesturing us inside with a flourish. "Mi apocalypse es su apocalypse."

  The walls were covered with hundreds more sticky notes, each with simple drawings—eyes, ears, noses, mouths, hands—meticulously arranged in patterns. Above the desk hung a particularly complex arrangement of sketches surrounding a 2025 calendar covered in scribbles.

  "Have a seat," Calvin offered, gesturing to some overturned orange buckets. "I'll fix us something to eat."

  As he busied himself opening cans and pouring their contents into a small pot on the hot plate, I studied our host more carefully. The tinfoil hat was secured to his baseball cap with what looked like electrical tape. Small sketches of stylized eyes and ears were taped all around the rim of the hat. Bigger ones were are the back as if he needed to see things behind him or something.

  Nessy sniffed appreciatively as the smell of heating beans filled the small room.

  "So," she began, always the more sociable one, "you've been here since... everything changed?"

  "Indeed. Since Systemfall," Calvin agreed, stirring the pot. “Aka the day reality got a software update nobody asked for.” He sighed wistfully. “The old world made more sense and I’m still figuring out the rules of the new one."

  I exchanged a glance with Nessy, whose ears had perked up with interest.

  "The old world?" I prompted.

  "You know," Calvin waved the spoon expressively, "the one where dogs were just dogs, not people. Where refrigerators didn't dream about steaks or grow arms or legs to hunt for food in the night. Where the laws of thermodynamics weren't just strong suggestions."

  Nessy's tail stopped wagging. "Dogs were... just dogs?" she repeated slowly.

  "Yep. Four legs, fur all over, no talking, no thumbs." Calvin pointed his spoon at her. "No offense, but you definitely look like a System-born merger."

  "Told you,” I said.

  Nessy's ears flattened against her head. "That's... that's not right," she muttered. "I've always been like this."

  “Have you now?” Calvin asked. “Curious.”

  Nessy nodded vigorously.

  “Hrm hmmm,” he pondered. “I can absolutely check how real you are. One moment.”

  He dug deep into his denim jacket pocket and pulled out a device, unfolding it. It looked like a compass duct taped to a prodding stick. He prodded Nessy with it.

  I noted that the compass had a bunch of small notes taped inside it. One said [Entropy] the other [Infinity], the third [Syntropy] and the fourth [Linearity].

  The red arrow spun to [Linearity] and wobbled there.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Ha,” Calvin let out. “Well, I’ll be! She’s real. As real as they come!”

  “Told you,” Nessy jabbed me in the side with a furry elbow, copying my prior words with a snarky expression.

  I glanced at the man’s tinfoil hat, implying that one should not take the opinion of a man in a tinfoil hat too seriously. Nessy rolled her eyes at me, implying that I don’t get to backtrack now that things aren’t going my way.

  Calvin stirred the pot of beans on the impossible hot plate, seemingly unaware of the tension brewing between us.

  "The Identifier generally doesn't lie, especially in my domain," he said with the certainty of a scientist describing gravity. "Been calibrating it for weeks. It shows what's real versus what's System-generated. Linearity generally defines something real, linear."

  "She's a talking dog," I pointed out.

  "A real talking dog!" Calvin said.

  He prodded me with the Identifier as I tried to come up with a rational rebuttal. The arrow spun lazily and settled on [Linearity].

  "Both of you register as Linear beings," Calvin explained, returning to his bubbling pot of beans. "That means you have consistent internal logic and memory cohesion and follow linear, mundane rules. The arrow doesn't lie."

  "What do those odd labels even mean?" I asked, pointing at the compass face on his device.

  Calvin's eyes lit up at my question. He set down his spoon and picked up the Identifier with the reverence of a professor handling a rare artifact.

  "[Linearity] means you've got a continuous existence—a coherent before and after," he explained. “[Entropy] is for things that are breaking down, decaying into chaos. [Syntropy] is the opposite—things organizing into impossible complexity. And [Infinity]..." He paused dramatically. “Is some really fucked up shit, really best to be avoided.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like an infinite Superstore,” he said. “Or an infinite stairwell or hallway. You walk into a place like that, you do NOT walk out.”

  I frowned, trying to imagine an infinite Superstore.

  "Linear things and beings work well with other Linear things n' beings," Calvin said, scratching his ginger beard thoughtfully. “One can trust Linear things not to screw you over at random.”

  “Good to know,” I nodded, eyeing the smug looking Nessy. “So… if she's real, how did she get here?”

  “Don't know,” Calvin shrugged. “Maybe she fell out of another place and time through an entropic or infinite crack in reality. The point is that she was born au-naturelle, has linear existence. She's not a broken or conceptually merged thing. Why don't you tell us how you got here, Nessy!"

  “I… umm, mostly just followed my nose until I found my best friend,” Nessy said, eyeing me.

  “A linear path across a non linear space, towards another linear being,” Calvin raised a finger sagely. “An excellent choice. One must always have a special, specific destination in mind when traveling across the world now. It's the best way to survive out here.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “Lots of points in Foresight and Wisdom,” the bearded man replied.

  We all fell silent at that.

  "What's with all the sticky notes?" I asked, gesturing at the hundreds of drawings plastered across every surface.

  Calvin grinned, his silver-blue eyes twinkling beneath his tinfoil-lined cap. "Eyes to see, ears to hear, noses to smell, mouths to taste," he explained, once again stirring the beans. "The System rewards observation and interaction. I figured out pretty quick that if I drew these sensory organs and placed them strategically, they'd boost my local awareness."

  "How does that work exactly?" I asked

  "Everything is alive-ish or has potential for being alive now, even concepts. The concept of 'seeing' exists independent of actual eyeballs. So I draw eyes, and they channel that concept." He gestured proudly at his walls. "Got eyes watching in every direction—nothing sneaks up on ol' Calvin!"

  He laughed merrily.

  Nessy leaned forward, clearly fascinated. "And the ears? The noses?"

  "Same principle. Ears boost what I can hear, noses what I can smell."

  “And the mouths?”

  He pointed to a cluster of crude mouth drawings. "Those are for tasting wrongness and talking to things that shouldn't be able to talk."

  I glanced at his jacket spotting dozens of tiny hand drawings that formed an intricate pattern. "And those?"

  "Dexterity boosters," Calvin said with a wink. "How do you think I drew such good portraits of you two so quickly?”

  “Drawing talent?” I threw in a guess.

  “I do have some of that,” he agreed. “Was studying to be an interior designer before Systemfall after working in this office for fifteen years. But I honestly wasn’t that good at drawing people or… dogs. My thing was landscape art!”

  “So if I got some dexterity in me…” Nessy contemplated.

  “You can channel it into artifacts and become even handier,” Calvin nodded.

  “Eeeee,” the husky squeed. “Um, does it have to be sticky notes?”

  “Nah,” Calvin replied. “They are convenient and relevant for me but you should find a medium that sings, appeals to you best. That and a domain. Like my little office. A place where you feel safe, an environmental-type personal artifact that you know REALLY WELL and can mod and empower basically. I suggest you make an Identifier or two if you have Wisdom for such. Good for avoiding really fucked up places and fucked up things.”

  "Is that what the tinfoil hat is for?" I asked, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. "Protection from... mind-reading conceptoids?"

  Nessy shot me a disapproving look, but Calvin just laughed.

  "Nah, that's just because I like the fashion statement," he deadpanned, then tapped the foil. "Actually, it's a Foresight amplifier. The foil catches psychic emanations, and the tiny eyes I've drawn around the rim process them into useful precognitive information."

  I blinked, unable to tell if he was joking.

  "You're serious."

  "Dead serious," Calvin replied, ladling beans into three mismatched bowls. "How do you think I knew you two were coming? How do you think I've survived this long?" He handed us each a bowl and a spoon. "The System rewards creativity. Figure out its rules, bend them to your advantage."

  The beans smelled amazing, and my stomach growled in anticipation, but I wasn't sure if I could trust food from another person.

  Nessy sniffed hers and began wolfing her meal down with characteristic enthusiasm.

  "So," Calvin continued between bites, "you two are newly partnered, huh? System match-made, right?"

  "Something like that," I muttered. “I…”

  I explained my bath-demise, my awakening, conceptoid encounter and Nessy’s manifestation. Nessy did the same, except from her point of view. Then we revealed our stats and skills.

  “Ah! The ways of Lady Infinity are truly wondrous,” Calvin smiled.

  I gave him a concerned look and finally slowly began to eat my beans, hunger winning over paranoia. They tasted... acceptable.

  Calvin set his bowl down and leaned back on his bucket seat. "Systemfall didn’t just change existing physical reality, ya see. It connected an endless myriad of doomed worlds together like patchwork," He gestured between us. "Thus, I reckon you two are both telling the truth—from your perspectives.”

  Nessy who was done with her food too, her ears perked up in full attention. "So... we could both be right?"

  "In my experience," Calvin said sagely, "you probably are. The System doesn't create Linear beings from nothing—it merges, steals, blends, restructures existing patterns. It connects things across space and time." He pointed at Nessy with his spoon. "In one world-line, she was just a dog who saved you from drowning. In another, she was always a dog-person, your best friend. Mayhaps... The System, in its infinite wisdom or stupidity, decided both should be true… because that is what you both wished for at the same time but in different places.”

  “So if I murder more conceptoids I can assemble a whole gang of questionable characters?” I asked.

  “Oi, I’m not questionable,” Nessy huffed indignantly. “Take that back!”

  “Probably not,” Calvin laughed. “That was a random reward that might never come up again. Like pulling a lever at a casino and winning all sevens on two separate slot machines!"

  I leaned back against the wall, trying to process what Calvin was suggesting. For some reason it was easier to believe Nessy was just a System-generated construct rather than accept that multiple realities had been smashed together like some cosmic jigsaw puzzle.

  "You're saying that somewhere out there is a world where dogs evolved alongside humans as equals?" I asked, gesturing toward Nessy with my spoon.

  "Not just dogs," Calvin replied, refilling our bowls with more beans. "If I'm sensing things right via my eyes and ears... Her world probably had all sorts of sentient animals. Cats running financial institutions. Rabbits doing interior design. Wolves in construction and security. The whole shebang. Right, lassie?"

  Nessy nodded enthusiastically. "Mmph! Yes!!! Exactly! There’s all sorts of Pradavarians where I’m from!”

  "So in your world, what did regular, non-sentient animals do? Like, were there still just... regular squirrels?" I asked.

  Nessy tilted her head, confused. "What's a 'regular' squirrel? You mean the ones that run the postal service or the ones that manage tree nurseries?"

  “Seriously?” I stared at her. “I thought that a human-dog world was bizarre. Now we’re saying every animal where you’re from is sapient?”

  “Yep,” Nessy nodded.

  “Did you have other… animals in school? Why didn’t I see any other… Pradavarians in your photos?”

  “Smol town is smol,” she shrugged. “What are you expecting? Ferguson Valley isn’t a boiling pot like New York or Seattle.”

  Calvin let out a hearty guffaw at my stunned expression, slapping his knee. "See? Different worlds, different evolutionary trees, different rules!"

  “Different evolution?” Nessy mulled. “Hum. So your animals aren’t… sapient, can’t talk, don’t walk on two legs?”

  “Indeed,” Calvin said.

  He flipped a book open and sketched out a dog.

  “This is what our huskies look like,” he explained. “They’re pets. Obedient, adorable, helpful, sweet, fluffy… dogs.”

  Nessy stared at the sketch with a ‘WTF’ expression.

  "That's a dog," I said.