‘For fuck’s sake, not this shit again,’ I groaned at my lack of self-control. ‘I swore I’d never drink to the point of corrupting my save file again!’

  I had no idea how the fuck I ended up lying on this comfy floor, nor who brought me here. I reluctantly cracked my eyes open, bracing for the usual hangover horrors: light stabbing my retinas, my head pounding like a war drum, my stomach going on strike, my nose turning into a puke inducer—and the cherry on top, getting shat on by whoever I’d pissed off, beat, or bedded last night.

  Instead, I was met with… an eerie white room? Field?!

  ‘What is this place?’ I squinted, but I couldn’t make out a damn thing. No walls, no ceiling, no buildings on the horizon—not even a horizon. I sniffed the air, expecting the familiar post-drunk stink, but nothing. ‘No puke, no sweat… just me?’

  The only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat and breathing, echoing unnaturally close, as if it were strapped directly to my ear.

  ‘How the hell did I end up in nopeland?’ I racked my brain, trying to recall my last memory: missing the urinal and leaving a mess in the bathroom, enjoying the bliss of hand dryers, and… the waitress in the bathroom? Then—nothing.

  I crossed my arms and rubbed the back of my head. ‘Don’t tell me. I got roped into some MK-Ultra shit? Sure, a third-world drunk monkey like myself is prime vivisection material.’

  I took a deep breath ‘I’ll put the tinfoil hat on later. First—post-blackout protocol.’

  Taste test? No puke, no blood—not even the stale aftertaste of beer.

  Arms and legs? Wobbly but intact. No fractures, no bruises.

  Hands? No cuts, no dirt—hell, even my nails were clean.

  Pants? Unsoiled.

  Shirt? Freshly washed.

  Boots? Spotless.

  ‘This is too clean. Drunk-me can’t be this smooth.’

  I wrapped my left hand around my right forearm, squeezing where the scars should’ve been to ground myself—except there weren’t any.

  ‘Scars don’t fucking vanish for no reason.’

  It made no sense. And that’s when I realized where I was.

  ‘Ah. I’m still snoring.’

  I instantly relaxed. My shoulders slumped, and a deep sigh escaped me. I decided not to wake up just yet—if I’d really gotten that wasted, I needed the sleep.

  ‘Mmm… still weird. I never dream after a blackout.’

  “Oh, Frank!” Nelson yelled right in my ear. I spun around to snap at him, but—nothing. No one was there.

  ‘Hey, brain. You forgot to render my idiotic friend.’

  “Over here!” His voice boomed again, but it didn’t come from anywhere. It just vibrated in my ears like an overenthusiastic mosquito.

  ‘Jesus Christ, he’s making my ears bleed.’

  I turned aimlessly, scanning the endless white void. Finally, I spotted him jogging over, like it was a lazy Sunday morning at the park.

  Before I could call him out for casually jogging in nopeland, he blasted my ears again. “Frank, welcome!”

  “The audio is glitched,” I muttered under my breath, just to creep him out. I echoed, “glitched,” a few more times, letting it hang in the air.

  Nelson swatted at his ear. “The fuck, man?!” he yelled.

  ‘Oh. He reacts like the real thing.’

  “Keep it down! The audio is glitched!”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “You are finally awake!” He gestured around dramatically. “Still, I would’ve preferred if my brain had rendered a big-tiddie cutie,” he chuckled.

  “Hold up. This is my dream, not yours.”

  “Ha! You even argue like the real Frank,” Nelson laughed.

  “Shut up! I’ll turn you into a flattie! Idiot removium!” I pointed my hands at him, pretending I had a wand.

  “Frank deletum!” he countered. “Femme manifestum!”

  Our memetic spells did nothing. I looked at my hand, then back at Nelson. I tried to fly, summon something—anything—make a flower appear. Nothing.

  We exchanged a glance. I began to doubt myself.

  “My real self is too drunk to control my dream. What a day I must’ve had,” Nelson yawned, completely unbothered.

  “You seriously believe it’s a dream?”

  “Yeah. My dream.”

  I began chewing on my index finger, my eyes drifting toward the void. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Nelson closed his eyes, furrowing his brow in concentration. “The last thing I remember is the soft butt of the waitress, emptying a second tequila bottle. You stumbling to the bathroom. Then—here I was.” He opened and closed his hand, his expression distant, like he was still mentally holding onto that waitress. “I bet she’s lying in bed with me right now.”

  Too many words for a dream NPC. Too stable for a dream invader.

  I looked at Nelson. His lack of awareness made my chest tighten.

  I paced back and forth, muttering, “Did we call someone to pick us up?” “Why are we spotless?” “Why is my scar gone?!” “Dammit, fucking brain—restore the missing files!”

  “AAAH!” I groaned in frustration, gripping the hair I didn’t have. “This fucking sucks!”

  Fear curdled into anger and boiled over. I spat on the floor in disgust.

  The spit didn’t splatter.

  It sank—eerily slow.

  “W-what the sinking fuck?!”

  I blinked, did a double take, and crouched down. The universal human instinct to poke strange things kicked in, so I reached out to touch it—but my hand didn’t clip through.

  ‘Theory one scrapped. The CIA can’t make no-clipping floors… yet.’

  Nelson watched the bizarre display, muttering to himself. “No-clipping floor?”

  “Yes, it’s a goddamned no-clipping floor!” I yelled. “The only theory left is—no, please no. Not the space probers!”

  Nelson, being the human equivalent of a gas can, tossed kerosene on my paranoia. He smirked mischievously.

  “I tried jogging until I hit a wall, but there’s nothing—not even a bump in the floor.”

  “What?!” I snapped, my voice cracking. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”

  Nelson shrugged, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. “It’s a dream, so I didn’t pay it any mind.”

  “Shit’s too weird, Nelson! It’s fucking aliens! We are fucked!”

  “Ah yes, paranoid Frank. Next stop: elves,” he laughed, clearly enjoying my breakdown.

  I clenched my fists in frustration. “We’re getting our asses probed!” I declared, my tone as grim as if we’d been sentenced to death by hanging.

  Nelson’s lips twitched as he struggled to suppress a laugh. “Jonathan once told me he got abducted by aliens. He swears that if you ask them nicely, they won’t probe you,” he said, smiling smugly. “Everything will be fine!”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “The same Jonathan who said he successfully summoned a succubus—and then had to be exorcised to get rid of the Irish gay ghost?”

  Nelson burst into laughter, unable to contain himself.

  “Take this seriously!” I shouted, my paranoia reaching full bloom. “We’ve been abducted by space Epsteins!”

  Nelson truly believes this is a dream—or he’s a delusion himself. ‘These fucks are trying to mess with my mind, and they’re winning!’

  “I won’t let those space cunts probe me alive! Nelson, gimme your pocket knife!” I thrust out my hand, fully committed to butt insurance.

  “I’m not giving you shit, Frank,” Nelson snapped. He was still laughing, but even he could tell I was spiraling out of control.

  “You still believe this is your dream!” I argued. “You won’t need the knife!”

  His words didn’t convince me. I snorted, certain he was just trying to keep his own ass probe-free. ‘I know you well enough, sly bastard.’

  Grabbing his shirt, I yanked him closer. “The knife, Nelson! Give me the damn knife! I can feel them getting close!”

  My eyes darted wildly, unfocused. “They’ll come from the goddamn walls!”

  “There are no fucking walls, Frank! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” Nelson roared, slapping both my cheeks at once, rattling my brain like a maraca.

  He flinched immediately, jerking his hand back and fanning it as if he’d touched a hot stove.

  “What the fuck?!” Nelson screamed, clutching his hand. His voice thundered in my ears, the audio glitch amplifying every word.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?!” I asked, flabbergasted. It was wrinkled, bony, fragile… mummified.

  “What’s wrong with your cheek?!” Nelson shot back, pointing at me with his cursed hand.

  Like the normal human being I am, I poked the thing that had just cursed Nelson’s hand—my cheek. It was freezing cold to the touch.

  “What the—”

  My save file was restored.