They had only traveled a short time when the trail curved and climbed around dense hedges. As they navigated a short, steep incline of man-made rock steps, they rounded the hedges and emerged onto a bluff. The same bluff they had stood on sometime before, when they overlooked the town. They were about 20 yards farther from the town than when they had started.

"Wow," Antehero said, "This is exactly like playing golf with you."

"One question before we head into town," Mojave said. "How will they know what's canon?"

"It's all canon," Antehero replied. "Time is a sphere, we will live them all. Just because there are otherworldly creatures out there who exist in so many dimensions they can flip through our lives like a book, doesn't mean we have to constrain ourselves to a certain number of pages."

He stopped on the way to buy a nicotine vape at the convenience store where his friend’s older brother worked. And he puffed away when he coasted downhill toward the far-side-of-town park, in between bouts of pedaling.

And as he neared the entrance of the park, lungs burning, he realized, if he could just take The Shortcut, someone who could drive would undoubtedly be at the far lot, where the teens congregated. And that person would undoubtedly give him a ride back home. And they’d be happy to stop here, near the entrance to the park, to pick up his bike.

It followed along under the shade of mature trees, older than any parkgoer. Occasionally, the trees broke enough to look out over the town down in the valley.

Sometimes the walkway curved away from the edge, leaving gaps that were filled with curated grass and metal benches. Solitary perches where a solo visitor or small group could soak in the serenity.

Near one end of The Shortcut, where the nature trail ran along a pavilion, rocky formations and small dents that could not be called caves undercut the bluff. It was steep and treacherous in the best of times, but short. More than one teenager had scrambled up and down it over the years. And more than one had been hurt.

Jake felt a drop of rain on his neck and hopped off his bike, right on the edge of the road. It was easy because he had teenage knees. He took a few steps into the ragged ditch, full of brush. He shoved it aside with his bike until he was through, standing in the rocky shaded soil where nothing grew. He stared up at the boulders and cliff face.

He was very close to the top when it started raining. It was cold. So cold. It didn't start falling, it just dumped. It poured off the leaves in streams, hit the dry ground faster than it could be absorbed, and flooded down the cliff face in sheets. He paused for a moment to figure out what to do. Huge mistake. Sometimes that's all it takes. It sucks, but enjoy the thrill of being here.

He looked down and his eyes told the truth again. It wasn't that far, compared to some things. But it was far enough. He would be shattered.

The rain hid it well, but he started to cry. He started thinking about his parents that night. Sitting down to eat dinner with an empty chair. They would probably have a nice meal.

And they would probably enjoy its company. At least the quiet. Having no idea that in a few days they would burn the chair so they never had to see it again. Never to be reminded of the meal they enjoyed while his broken body was laying outside.

And he fell an eternity. It was forever. It was about two-thirds of a second when his wrist caught on the rock and he jerked to a halt, bouncing from the end of his shoulder socket like stretching a rope. The iron hard dig of the rock crushing into his wrist.

He looked up to understand how he was stuck and he saw an old fat face, drooping down at him from gravity. Rain running down its unprotected bald head and pouring out of a long black and grey beard, like someone was rinsing white paint from a brush.

"No problem," Antehero replied. "I had to pee for a while, and it's confusing to explain but I can't really remember if I did. I'm glad it's raining this hard, swimming pool rules." Antehero continued. "I guess I probably shouldn't tell you that after I was directly above you. Do you believe in trickle down economics? I have a rap for that."

"I don't know," Jake said. His breathing was quick and wheezy. He was pale from the cold, and still scared. And now he was confused and it was taking him a while to think of words.

"What are you doing out here?" Mojave asked.

"My friends." Jake said.

"What should I do?" Jake asked. He was hugging himself, knees slightly bent by the shivers.

"Stay in school," Antehero said as Mojave draped an emergency thermal blanket around the kid's shoulders. "And don't try nicotine. I mean, in some ways I respect the type of nihilistic imperative that would drive someone to juggle addictions and just rage against the futility of life. But on the other hand the longer you last the more nachos you get to eat."

"And have fun," Antehero added. "In a balanced way. Do something productive but don't forget to relax."

"What?" asked Jake, clutching the blanket around himself.

"He's saying go home, kid." Mojave said.

"I'm Jake." he replied.

"Traffic is torture," Antehero elaborated. "You think dying in nutty putty cave is bad, imagine living in traffic. That is one thing that is not temporal. There are always assholes in the way. I swear to god there was some piece of shit with a one-ox wagon in the left lane on the Oregon Trail."

"What do I do? Can I walk with you?" asked Jake.

"Are you 21?" Mojave asked.

"No." Jake admitted.

"Then no," Antehero replied. "Joining a hero crew as a secondary character is an adult choice. Doesn't always end at a rainbow. Plus everyone had enough Jakes dying in the dark tower."

"The what?" Jake and Mojave asked.

"The author wrote about someone trapped in a Sisyphean nightmare," Antehero continued, "betraying everything dear to him for what was really dear to him, his quest. He was miserable as fuck, like time was a flat circle. But even at the end of the series, when the protagonist started his journey all over, the author left room for things to change and gave him a new tool to help on his next journey. How temporal is that? We don't even know what happened and nothing in the story mattered. But that shit was fun to read. I hope I can pull it off."

At this point Antehero was seeing a little devil Mojave on his shoulder. And a little back in 15 minutes sign where the little angel Antehero should be. He wasn't even there to protect himself.

"You already tried to spread the word on social media and failed." the little devil Mojave said.

Antehero raised his finger to flick the little devil Mojave, but then he paused. He adjusted the little back in 15 minutes sign to back in five. Whenever you hear the voice of a friend talking shit to you as a little devil, you can probably learn some shit about yourself if you are willing to listen. But don't be afraid to build yourself back up after, either.

"What kind of weirdo drinks Red Bull late at night because he feels like it would be unethical to sit down to write and not drink one after he said in his FICTIONAL story that he always drinks one when he writes? No one is even here. Who are you writing for?" little devil Mojave ranted.

"I don't know him at all, but I'm pretty sure I'm right." Antehero continued. "I know what he felt like. And if I'm wrong it doesn't matter, because it's the message I got from what he wrote. So maybe I'll send a message to someone too. Maybe there is a little teenager out there somewhere. Maybe they accidentally cut themself with a razor blade in their mom's sewing kit one time. And maybe now that kid is cutting themself and they don't even know why. And they won't be looking for a solution and reading real important shit, they'll be looking for an escape. And they'll turn to this immature, foolish, weird little corner of literature. And they'll learn they just have a maladaptive response to unbearable feelings. And that includes feeling nothing. So when they cut themself on accident and got that rush of endorphins they got negative reinforcement. It's not their fault."

And while he was lashing out, trying to write something to let his brain walk that imaginary path of self discovery, he had to let little dark tower jake take a few different paths. He couldn't bear to show us one facet of that character. So I won't show the world one facet of mine. All of those paths that everyone will take, that can be all of our journey together. And all that stuff the author wrote is part of him now, the way the pizza I ate today will be part of me. Maybe that's why he gave the protagonist a new tool at the end, because he subconsciously realized he found a spoon while he was writing."

"It doesn't really matter," Antehero said. "Maybe I'm hoping I can do better. Maybe instead of giving everyone little bits and pieces of paths the character took, I have plans to let everyone submit a path and build a character themselves. Maybe I want to help them go on a journey but get to be part of it instead of read it. Maybe I could accomplish something and teach people there's always another dark tower. Maybe no one will show up and I'll just play with my friends. That's the cool thing about nachos, easy to share at various ratios."

"I think I'm going to go home now," Jake said. "I'm a little scared."

They stood there a few seconds, tentatively. Awaiting whatever impending calamity would appear. Necks slightly hunched as they waited for the ball to explode, or a bored sentient tree to bat Antehero and the ball off into the distance.

Then, a dog walked out of the bushes and onto the road. It had a muscular frame, but was elderly and showed some loose skin where it had lost weight with age. It had dark brown, thick short fur that looked slick to the touch. Antehero and Mojave stared at the dog and it stared back at them.

Antehero tossed the ball and the dog watched it roll away, then looked back at Antehero.

"Oh, did you not want to chase that?" Antehero asked.

"Ok," Antehero said after a moment, walking to get the ball. "I get it."

"Are you staring at the grenades on my chest?" Antehero finally asked, and the dog yelped.

"What? Do you want to play one last game of fetch?" Antehero asked.

The dog yelped and placed his paw on Antehero's foot.

"Do you want to end it all, boy? Is that it?" Antehero asked. The dog wagged its tail happily and positioned itself to run after the grenade.

"Mickey O'Neil, brother," Antehero said, reaching out to pet the dog. "You stay until the job's done. And the movie Snatch is more applicable than Mojave and I liking dogs and having hero advice. It's temporal as fuck. When you go in reverse, things come from behind you. If death is what you really want, keep going forward dog, that's the direction death is. Don't live in the past and hurt, get the fuck on with moving toward death."

"He's right, even though he's been talking to a dog way, way to long." Mojave said, nodding. "Good dogs and heroes don't get to leave like that. We carry on until the end."

"My sidekick agrees with me for once," Antehero said, as Mojave started shaking his head no. "You should head up the road that way a bit, I think there's either a mall or a farm that need a good dog. You'll find plenty of chances to die on a farm, or you can hang out at Hot Topic."

"Hope he gets the farm," Antehero said.

"I'll gladly adopt him when I get back," Mojave said. When Antehero turned his head to look, Mojave continued, "Did you see the acreage? I'm 90% sure I'm buying that place, if it's a real memory."

"Is she going to be cool with you living the same house as that many girlfriends?" Antehero quipped, laughing. Laughing and laughing at his continued, repetitive insinuations that Mojave's terrible misfortune was attributable to sexual deviance rather than a defective road.

Mojave rolled his eyes and crossed his fingers that Antehero would soon need to balance the story by writing about his own horrific injury.

The dog hunkered down and looked at Mojave, then back at Antehero.

"That's right, we can make him fetch it for you," Antehero continued, "he works for m-"

"Oh my god," Mojave interrupted, walking toward Antehero and the dog. "This is enough pages, enough jokes I'll just do the temporal shit."

"Look, dog. He's saying spheres have infinite paths. There are many types, for example chords, diameters, geodesics, great circles. All types of loops and arcs and yet they all converge and some cross." Mojave rattled off, as he grabbed the ball from Antehero and handed it to the dog.

The dog hunkered down and Mojave reached down to pet it.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Antehero replied, "it's not linear, its baller. And gravity tugs balls."

"No, it would be a tensor field. It's so stupid," Mojave said, shaking his head in rage. "But it would mean gravity is just altering your path through time so it checks out and I'm pissed. You can not say stuff like this people already think the earth is flat."

The dog rubbed the ball against Mojave's foot, then backed up a few steps. It took one last look at Antehero and Mojave, and started walking.

"What kind of dog doesn't want to talk about science?" Antehero asked.

"I'm jealous," Antehero continued, looking at the group of kids one by one. "I wish I had friends that made beats or could sing. All my friends work for the man."

"Don't you work for the man?" Mojave asked.

"Only physically," Antehero replied, looking over at the children. "My real work is more interdimensional."

"No," Antehero continued. "I'm kidding. That's not a thing at all and it's stupid. There are infinite universes, so no one would gain power. Or, if we accept the premise there are a limited number of parallel universes, tons of people would be superpowered. The whole concept is stupid. The One was still a good movie though. No disrespect."

"What's really important is that you all get some entertainment!" Antehero bellowed, spreading his arms wide. "No shirt no shoes just serve us!"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Antehero yelled, hopping side-to-side in front of the group. "Welcome to the show! We don't have exotic animals from across the world because the world is flat. No animals are exotic now. It's all temporal."

"One day you will probably move away," Antehero continued. "And you will return home and everything will have changed. But it's still your hometown, so nothing's changed."

"Let me give you some authentic advice that you're going to ignore," Antehero continued, "from the heart. Enjoy these years. You've got some time. I know you guys are at school on Monday like, hey what did you do this weekend? And your friend is like, I waded hip deep through a pile of shit for fourteen hours. And you're like oh no what happened. And they're like a 60 dollar game was on sale for 3.99. Never regret it. Time well spent."

"And ignore those people," Antehero said, pausing to catch his breath.

"But some people want their small, safe sphere." Antehero continued. "It's a slippery slope. One minute, they want to keep things the way they are. The next minute, they're telling you how it was healthier to eat like a cave man. And it's like, you shop at the grocery store nobody is making you be here. Go fuck off to Alaska and eat berries and die of a toothache or whatever. And don't get me wrong, the good old days were awesome. But you can make the new days pretty good if you live life the right way. But it's all temporal. You can bring the best parts of the good old days back. There's nothing stopping you from having the best of both. Except probably capitalists."

"And they will remake games from when you were a kid. And you'll look forward to it for months. And you'll preorder it and get it brand new. You will complete the new game ritual. Carefully cut the box open. Gently peel that plastic. Open it and breathe in the carcinogens, fresh plastic smell. And you'll play a bit and be like, whew. I'm tired. This game is ok, but I'm sleepy."

"Oh!" Mojave said, "I think I get it now. Ocarina of Time is all temporal."

"Exactly!" Antehero boomed. "See, if I can teach him I can teach you."

"And that is why every person gone is a loss." Antehero said, lowering his voice out of respect. The group of children leaned their heads forward. "All of our threads are connected into the fabric, and every thread tugged away is harder on the others."

And every thread hurt is frayed, and can not support the ones around it as well. All those threads," Antehero whispered, "if you change your frame of reference and zoom out enough, it's fucking beautiful."

"That is what is so great about hero work," Antehero said loudly, clapping his hands. "We kill bad guys and preserve the pattern. We make it so much prettier. And no I did not steal that from Wanted I forgot about that movie until after I typed that. But whatever, this is different enough."

"I thought you weren't going to rap," one of the kids said.

"Oh, well thank you," Antehero replied. "My point is, broken parts don't ruin a person. And mistakes don't ruin time. All these days can be the good old days. If you ever find yourself doubting that one day, remember that the doubt is temporary."

BROKEN PARTS
DON'T RUIN
A PERSON

"Who are you?" one of the kids asked.

"I'm your creator." Antehero said.

"What?" the child asked.

"Never mind," Antehero said, "It's complicated. "

"Now, I gave you all some advice," Antehero explained, "And you are not old enough, or I'd offer to let you see me shoot a bunch of bad guys. So which way is town?"

"What the fuck?" one of the girls said.

"Wait," Antehero asked, "How old are you guys?"

"He was supposed to be making beats," Antehero said. "Maybe next chapter I'll talk about how many dollars worth of Moog synths are in his shipping container. Now let me teach you how to make a lot of money and never go to jail."

"Hey you!" Antehero said, pointing at you. "Drop me a fucking beat. Use your imagination and make it good."

Some people made a lot of money selling drugs!
color me impressed,
those are really hard to sell,
they must be the best.

Enough fake raps and lyrical nonsense,
liars that say they got rich without business.
You want money, you wanna be a kingpin?
Easy, I'll show you what a capitalist is.

At least people that sell drugs provide a service,
when they profit off addiction.
I'm a parasite I'm worthless,
Making money off their existence.

Selling necessities at inflated parasite prices,
while people go to jail for servicing vices.
Never lift a finger never get my hands dirty,
Just wage theft and the cops evict them for me.

Never once thought about my carbon emissions,
inflate my real estate bribing zoning commissions.
Don't pay cash got rewards on my card,
And only the people that pay my bills work hard.

"How was that?" Antehero asked, "Lesson learned?"

The group of kids stared at Antehero a few moments in silence. From the back, one finally blurted out "You're fucking old and weird."

Suddenly, about 20 yards in front of them, a large cloud of black smoke erupted from the ground. As it quickly dissipated, a samurai stood in the center of the road. He was wearing ornate samurai armor, adjusting the kabuto on his head as he stood.

"See, you're just not doing research," Mojave said. "The ninjas used the smoke bombs."

The samurai continued toward them. His sheath clicked as he walked, beating in time to his words. "You would be surprised what 3d printing can do these days." He said as Mojave nodded." But there is no room for a hero here," he said.

"Then I'll carve us out a spot," Antehero said, holding his hand out as he looked at Mojave. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Mojave replied, handing over his sword. "I could not possibly miss a chance to watch an overweight 40 year old try to win a sword fight."

Antehero took the sword in his right hand and held it over his head, shouting, "There can be only one!"

"You are so old," Mojave commented wryly, "No one has a clue what Highlander is anymore."

"Ambience is always important," Antehero said, as he looked past the samurai and saw a small tea shop. The owner stood in the doorway, holding a teapot in her hand. At the window, hands clutching steaming cups, were more customers.

"We thought our friend got what they wanted before they died. But I guess I have a little cleaning up to do. I hope you like the taste of green tea steel," Antehero said.

“Four out of ten,” Mojave cheered. "Also, everybody knows you had to look that up. The only tea you have ever heard of is earl grey."

“First. Picard was a man of culture. I had no idea whether he was drinking Japanese tea or not. Second, you interrupted me,” Antehero said, “I hope you like the taste of green tea steel, because, uh, I’m about to brew a pot of my sword up your ass." Antehero shook his head, "Fuck!”

“Dope Haiku,” Mojave cheered from the sidewalk, talking around his nicotine vape.

“Somewhere above you gods look down,” Antehero preached, “and they watch, and they listen. And soon you will send them your prayers. And they will… and they will pull up the blankets and…”

Antehero turned toward Mojave, “What was it again, my memory is failing me. I wasn't really paying attention last time.”

“Because we are under their beds right now, and this is my domain.” Mojave replied. “You definitely said monster though… dude, how did it go it was so awesome.”

Antehero pointed his sword at the man, “THE GODS ARE LISTENING, MOTHERFUCKER. BUT I SHIT IN YOUR BED!”

The man charged forward in a blur, swinging.

“Damn, you suck,” Antehero said, holding the katana in a single hand. He held his arm to the side, elbow locked straight with the blade flat, so it glittered in the sun. An ethereal hum seemed to emanate from the sword, as the wind blew over it.

A single cherry blossom petal fluttered by in the wind. Delicate and so light it floated and drifted in the air, caught in the slight breeze. It touched the edge of the blade and shamisen twang rang out as it parted. The two pieces fluttered down to the ground in tightening spirals.

Antehero looked back to see Mojave fiddling with a small synth. "Thanks man, that totally sounds like magic sword noise," he said.

"Did you even fold the steel a thousand times? Or swing ten thousand times every morning?" Antehero continued, looking down at the samurai. "Tsk, tsk," Antehero chided him, before bringing the sword down and calmly beheading him.

“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with where this story is going," Mojave replied. "Or the amount of cultural appropriation."

Suddenly, about 20 yards in front of them, a cowboy was leaning against a fencepost. He had black boots, a silver gun on his hip and silver spurs to match. And most importantly, he had a black cowboy hat. In hero stories, that means he's a certified bad guy.

"See, you're just not doing research," Mojave said. "There's no way a cowboy would be a cow rapist. You can't mix business with pleasure like that. "

"Never assume criminals are as good at diversifying their portfolio as you," Antehero replied. "Why do bad guys always dress so fancy?"

“Well, well, well,” the cowboy said, stepping away from the fencepost and walking into the middle of the street. He adjusted the rim of his hat as he talked. Antehero eyed the 17 small notches in the leather headband. “Your little friend found themself some heroes. How did that work out for them?”

His boots clicked against the pavement as he walked, beating in time to his words, “Unfortunately for you, this area right here is plumb full of heroes. There is simply no room available for a pair such as yourself.”

“Thanks,” Antehero replied, before turning to face the cowboy. “YOU LOW DOWN LYING SON OF A BITCH!” Antehero said, spitting on the ground and beginning to whistle western music as he walked closer to his opponent.

A barber stepped into a doorway, holding a straight razor in his hand. At the window, cheeks still covered in fresh white foam, stood a man with his neck shaved.

"Where did that come fr-" Mojave started to say.

"Shhh," Antehero hushed, "“Welcome to the gunfight at the you are not going to be OK Corral."

“Six out of ten,” Mojave cheered.

The cowboy stood motionless, hand resting on his pistol. He was fearless, as the powerful often are. A unique cocky look on his face to accompany the fact that he was a unique bad guy.

“True story," Mojave said. "He arrested his own son for murder. Put him in fucking Leavenworth for life."

"That's right," Antehero said, nodding his head. "And if he would do that to his own son, imagine what I'm about to do to you."

"W-" the cowboy started.

"Two!" Antehero loudly interrupted. "The cow is a domesticated animal. Beef is for pets, or eating, or a tool of fate to make fun of your friend's crash so you can laugh at his agony. No sex. You and your six-shooter ready?" Antehero asked.

“Wait," Mojave said. "Shouldn't this be six and not two then?"

“He’s right,” Mojave commented from the edge of the road, “You’re just using 23 words to say people regret what they say sometimes.”

The cowboy tilted his head knowingly at Antehero.

“But it will still dope trash-talk, screw him," Mojaved added, "8 out of 10.”

“Reach for that gun whenever you're ready to leave this wo-” Antehero said, stopping as his pocket vibrated.

He looked down at his pocket, confused. "Oh shit, our phones work here?" Antehero said, turning his head toward Mojave.

The cowboy drew. Or rather, the cowboy decided to draw. And his hand did move toward his pistol. But Antehero’s gun was in his hand so fast Mojave wasn’t sure if he had already been holding it.

Antehero typed on his phone with one hand while they started walking. He looked back at the cowboy's body. “Nice try kid, but I’ve been playing Fast Draw Showdown at shitty arcades since I was 6. Fifty cents cents a pop on a 5 dollar allowance, the incentive was there.”

"Why did you shoot him six times?" Mojave asked. "I set you up."

"I got carried away," Antehero replied. "I almost shot off the screen to reload."

The pair had only walked about a mile back toward town when Antehero tried to pee again. He took a few steps into the woods and was settling in when he turned his head toward Mojave. "You know in Chinese the number four sounds almost identical to death. It's considered unlucky. Finally," he continued, with relief in his voice "things are starting to look up."

With the invitation for calamity, fate took it upon itself to detach a branch from a tree.

After a few moments of eternal terror, waiting to break his neck. He slammed into the water at the bottom of the pipe, and was stuck with his head submerged. He tried to wriggle his arms to push himself back up the pipe but it was slick with scum. He tried to stay calm but the panic overwhelmed him. His heart was already starting to race. His mind was full of panic at the end.

He tried to move his arms but the pipe was unyielding. No matter how hard he pushed, his tomb pushed back harder.

His heart was hammering in his chest, it was all he could hear. He kept his eyes clamped shut, terrified of the darkness and filthy water.

He tried to scrape, but the scum filled his fingernails. His fingers slipped against the pipe futilely. He held his breath while his lungs quickly became fire, because to admit defeat and inhale was to accept the end.

Something touched his leg. Hopefully not a deep sea squid. Antehero kicked.

His leg hurt and whatever it was had him. Hard. Clamped on his leg like an iron claw. Then he was yanked. And there he was. Smashed into an unnatural shape and trapped in a tiny tube. Hurtling along with no concept of speed in the darkness. Half delirious, half asleep, one hundred percent cramped and miserable. Pretty sure he was going to die and holding his breath trying not to vomit. Pretty much the average airline experience.

And then his eyelids were bright and he hit the dirt on his back. He took a ragged gasping breath as he opened his eyes. Standing over him was Mojave, reeling in a grappling hook on his belt.

"Ok," Antehero said, as he rolled to his hands and knees. "That was pretty close to watching my first kid being born. My wife wasn't moaning in pain as much as me. I think you get the idea though."

"Pretty much how I imagined it," Mojave said. "Except I pictured the baby with less back hair. And I don't know if I'm allowed to say a bigger penis."

"You know," Antehero said, standing and shaking water out of his wife's purse. "My balls aren't hot anymore. Maybe my luck is changing. Look, there's a little shortcut around the edge of the park."

The pair had only walked a few miles toward town when the woods around them began to shift. The roadside began to clear, and in the distance small wooden buildings were visible. As they drew nearer, Antehero saw part of an old wooden sign hanging into the road.

Curious, he stared as they walked closer, until he could see that it was weathered, bleached from years of sun. When they finally arrived in front of the building, Antehero stopped, entranced. He stared at the sign, hanging from two rusty chains attached to a horizontal pole. It didn't say anything, it just had a symbol on it.

Mojave grimaced and started unpacking his first aid kit. "Does that say what I think it says?"

48 students stood outside the door of the dojo, anxiously waiting. All eyes were on the doorway, the left door was shattered, lying on the ground. The right door leaning against damaged hinges. They could hear the muffled thuds from inside the building. The tension was palpable. Everything went silent. They stared at each other, fear in their eyes.

An unearthly howl erupted from the dojo, echoing outward and upward from the courtyard's internal walls and channeled through the doorway. It erupted from the door and pierced into the waiting ears of the students. They began to cheer.

The students were now all facing Mojave and Antehero, staring dumbfounded as they disappeared into the distance. Behind them their sensei appeared in the doorway. He had one hand braced against the doorframe to hold himself up, and the other held in the air.

"Victory!" the sensei yelled, and his students returned the cheer.

Antehero stepped through the massive double wooden doors and found himself in a courtyard. Dirt pressed hard as cement from years of feet moving through lessons. It smelled of cedar, sweat, dust and rust. On both sides of the courtyard were rows of students. Uniform in their white gis, all with black belts.

He paused in the entrance and turned, roundhouse kicking one of the front doors. With a loud crack and the ripping sound of quick splitting wood, it tore loose from its hinges and fell to the floor with a thunderous boom.

"That was expensive!" the man on the metal elephant said.

"Well, I didn't expect you to fight me for free." Antehero replied, looking around the courtyard. "How much do you charge these kids each month?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Antehero interrupted, "Bricks don't hit back blah blah. You definitely talk more than a brick. I'm sure you float like a turd and sting like my pee."

"Bold words," said the man. "Are they spoken by a stranger to these lands? Someone who doesn't know the power of kung fu?"

"The art of eight limbs," Antehero continued, raising his voice. "The sweet science, the way of the foot and fist, the way of the empty hand, vanishing hands, burning hands, iron hands, iron wrists, iron fingers. Fist of the Flowing Water, Palm of Still Water." Antehero stopped talking.

"W-", the man began again.

"Tiger Palm, Tiger Claw," Antehero resumed, perusing art on the wall as he strolled, hands clasped behind his back. "Crane Fist, Snake Fist, Monkey Fist, Dragon Fist, Drunken Fist, Demon Fist, Death Touch."

Antehero paused before a statue of Buddha. He walked around it in a circle, viewing the sculpture in serenity.

"Th-" the man tried again.

Antehero stopped to pick up an ornate jade figure. A small recreation of the temple, carved to scale from a single piece of jade. Polished for ages to reveal a beautiful green sheen and the dark hues hidden deep inside. He punted it over the wall of the dojo as he continued, "Ninth Life Palm, Nine Sword Style, 18 Dragons Style, Lotus Palm, Stone Skin, 8 Diagram Pole Fighter, Five Deadly Venoms, the 36th Chamber of Shaolin. Shit, forget Mortal Kombat, I even played Killer Instinct."

As he finished speaking, Antehero came to a stop in front of the metal elephant. He stood, looking into its eyes, not at the man on top. "But this," Antehero said, "This interests me."

He trumpeted, then dropped to a crouch, one hand on the ground and one arm waving in front of him. He crouched there, on his toes, center of gravity low. "Welcome to the elephant graveyard."

"Elephants remember everything, so do I. But imagination allows you to remember that which you have never experienced. Would you like to know what style can beat an elephant?" Antehero asked, "Even a metal one?"

"Enough talking," the man said.

"Don't even need kung fu for this," Antehero continued. "I just read The Mouse and the Elephant to my kids, it's an old fable."

As the sensei charged Antehero dropped to the ground and rolled at him. The sensei was shouting "Step of the Ancestors!" and raising his leg into the air when Antehero erupted from the ground with one hand over his head, shouting "Sneaky mouse shit!"

Antehero turned to Mojave as he finished rubbing his hands together to erase the last of the sanitizer, "Oh, yeah, thanks man." Mojave nodded. "And thank you for reminding me, you're a good sensei," Antehero continued. You see kids, you should not be reading this. But if you are there is no need to be impolite, no matter the circumstances. You can still be very threatening.

"You are welcome," the sense said, getting to his feet. "Now, as I was saying, you are an imposter. You write about kung fu but you know nothing about our culture."

"If I offend anyone I'm sorry for them," Antehero continued as Mojave looked around at the students, nodding his head. "But we have a serious situation here. I'm trying to be funny and write a story and I'm pretty sure we just murdered a family of cannibal cow-fuckers that had off road vehicles!"

"I promise you anything you find me create is made out of the genuineness of my heart," Antehero said, looking at you and the sensei. "And I might make mistakes and be offensive, but at least I didn't ask you to accept cookies when you loaded the website. And I hope you enjoy the story. And if you don't, fuck off and watch reality tv bullshit."

The room was silent. Then there was a zipping sound as Mojave closed his first aid kit.

Antehero looked around at the dumbfounded students. "How many of you are there?" he asked.

"Forty-eight," Mojave answered.

"Ok then," Antehero said, twisting his body and whirling his arms in the air. "Ultimate technique, mouse eats 48 bodies!" he screamed, continuing to spin.

The students rushed for the door in one mass. They crowded into the opening and pressed against the one remaining door. The doors creaked as their bodies pressed against one and their feet trampled the other.

"Wait outside" Mojave yelled, "I put landmines around the building!" he continued, shrugging at Antehero's glance.

"And though you fought valiantly," Antehero continued, eyeing Mojave. "And did triumph, the unnamed, but very heroic and good-looking martial artists escaped with a small jade figurine, never to be found."

The sensei raised his hands and adopted a fighting stance.

"Ok, Round 3." Antehero said, slapping himself. "There are many kung fu styles. But there is one animal that never made it to Asia. One animal with an attitude much like myself."

"Polar bears!" Mojave said, confidently. The sensei nodded his head.

"Two animals that never made it to Asia," Antehero continued, raising his voice. "One of which I am well suited to emulate."

The sensei maneuvered around the center of the courtyard, attempting to get an angle on Antehero for a comfortable attack. He turned and turned as Antehero continued to move around the room.

"The one animal no kung fu has a defense for, because no one could possibly prepare for that which does not give a fuck." Antehero spoke, as he continued around the room, thumping and thudding into the walls.

Mojave gasped.

"The one animal that also is a little sweet like me," Antehero said, winking. "Dad jokes."

Mojave groaned.

"Nine out of 10," Mojave grinned. "Only because you can't give yourself ten out of ten when you're the 5th wall breaking author."

"Make it worse," Antehero said, as the sensei struck. And they became a blur of agony and dust. Every attack by the sensei was met with pain, and every attempt to defend hurt worse. Within seconds Antehero grabbed the sensei by the neck with one hand and uppercut him with the other, then kicked him in the kidney as he fell to the ground. The sensei groaned and held up his hands in defeat. They were covered in bite marks.

"Winner winner chicken dinner," Antehero said, walking to Mojave.

Antehero reached into his pocket and Mojave grabbed him firmly by the wrist. "Nope," Mojave said. "We are at so many pages already."

"Ok," Antehero said, as Mojave turned his back and squatted down. "This isn't your fault, you were just character development in a hero story." Antehero jumped onto Mojave's back and looked at the sensei one last time.

"This is all temporal. It will fade," Antehero said. "It could be worse. We just lost someone important to us. I just can't say their name right now for 6th wall reasons." The sensei stared at him, to stunned to speak.

"Now watch this," Antehero said. He let out a guttural shriek, and Mojave burst out the door, scooping up Antehero's armor on the way out.

"Who knows," Antehero said, as they started walking. "You know when I was doing research in law school I read that the Five-Percent Nation had a numerological system called the Supreme Mathematics. The number 5 represented the power of refinement. In other words, the ability to govern oneself. To empower yourself with knowledge and self-discipline. It was called Five Percenter Rap by Felicia M. Miyakawa."

"First, that is some real Marcus Aurelius vibes," Mojave said. "I like it. Second, what the fuck law school did you go to?"

Antehero was just getting ready to talk about how to manipulate educational institutions to your advantage, when the woods around them began to shift.

Mojave rolled his eyes so hard he veered off course as they approached the group. As the drew within talking distance, one of the apparent leaders of the group turned toward them. At least one of the kids who felt the need to be confident in front of his peers.

"Hey! Old guys! One of you want to rap battle?"

"Veto," Mojave said. "This is chapter 4, don't embroil me in this. Nobody wants to hear you rap battle. You talk like a lawyer."

"Ummm," Antehero said looking up to the sky. "I could probably take Post Malone."

"What?" The kid said, "Are you scared?"

"When I was growing up," Antehero continued, "Mario was a hero, and he's a plumber. What does it say about a generation when their hero is a plumber? Did I subconsciously know the shit-storm that was coming?"

"Was it all temporal?" Antehero mused, moving his hands in an arc across the sky like the sun. "Did little 5 year old Antehero somehow sense that one day, his corporate job would be the functional equivalent of cleaning others filth from the pipes that keep society functioning?"

"And my friend here is right," Antehero said. "I suck. I listen to music other people make and think of my own words. That's pretty uncreative, right? But you have to live within your means."

"But I believe in the power of imagination. Real Authentic Poetry. Now, you have a fountain of wisdom before you, kids," Antehero said, turning back to face them. "I'm old and a lawyer. I know a lot of big fucking words."

"I can't battle you," Antehero continued. "I'm no rapper, I'm support staff. But maybe I can teach you something. So you tell me, why are you out here battling?"

"I'm sure it will be fine," Antehero replied. "Where would we find dangerous insects this close to town?"

The pair had only walked about a mile back toward town when the woods around them began to shift. Eventually they saw the entrance to a public park. Both the signs at the entrance, and the numerous rocky trails branching out from the gravel lot, made it clear the entrance to the park was a starting point for off-road vehicles.

And at the edge of the gravel lot was a small restroom. A small cinder block structure, painted white. The building was bifurcated with two doors, unpowered with a plain metal roof and small vents at the tops of the walls.

"Are you about to get pinkeye of the lungs for nicotine?" Antehero asked.

Mojave nodded in agreement and stepped outside.

Antehero took a few moments to consider his options and unzipped where he stood. He then attempted to pee several feet in an arc into the toilet. He heard the hum as the septic pump kicked on.

"Hey, that's weird," Antehero thought to himself. "Why do they have a septic pump and no lights?"

The hum of the septic pump became the hum of a thousand septic pumps. Antehero kept peeing.

Suddenly, a bee crawled onto the rim. "Hey little buddy," Antehero said nervously.

"I told you I don't like that," Mojave said, his voice coming through the vents in the wall. "I've been taller than you for like 20 years now."

Mojave was standing outside, eyeing the various trail entrances and vehicles around the gravel lot. He was just leaning against the building when he heard Antehero yelling.

"Mojave," Antehero called, "are you looking at the door?"

"I can be," Mojave called back, stepping away from the wall to guard the door.

"Do you promise not to shoot me?" Antehero asked, "No matter what?"

"Sure," Mojave said, unlatching the safety on his rifle.

Antehero opened the door and stepped out slowly, covered in a living black suit. Barely an inch of his body was visible. His silhouette shifted as the bees wriggled past one another.

Gingerly, he took a few steps toward Mojave and globs of bees separated from his torso. They clumped and fell like tar onto his legs, but were reabsorbed into the humming mass. Mojave took a step back and lifted his gun.

"Where did they come from?" Mojave whispered, backing up.

"The toilet," Antehero whispered back.

"Uh," Mojave whispered, "The toilet full of shit?"

Antehero looked at Mojave with a dawning, horrific realization on his face. His eyes widened. His mouth closed. At least, Mojave assumed they did. He could not really see Antehero's face under all the doo-doo bees.

"I'm not hyperventilating," Antehero whispered, with his eyes closed. "I feel fine. I'm not covered in thousands of little bee footprints of human doo-doo." A bee walked across his lip as he talked.

"Some of it might be bee poop if it makes you feel better." Mojave whispered. "Is this the time for doo-doo-plomacy?"

As if they understood him, the bees separated from Antehero as one. They moved in unison, with incredible precision, lifting away from his body and hovering in the air. Then they formed an arrow in the air, above the heads of the pair of men. It pointed into the bathroom.

Antehero looked at Mojave. Mojave looked at Antehero.

"I'm not going in there," Mojave laughed. "They are clearly offering to let you finish peeing."

"No, I can't piss on their home," Antehero said, reflecting on his position. "As odd as it sounds to say, it just doesn't feel morally decent to pee on their little doo-doo honey and doo-doo-bee babies."

Antehero stared at the toilet, disgusted. It used to be white, but now seemed yellow from decades of smeared brown stains. It was covered with a pathetic and broken black plastic seat. As he got closer he could see the specks and streaks of fecal matter going down the inside of the bowl, disappearing into the black cavern of the septic tank. When he finally stood over it, he could see the tank was nearly full. A putrid mass of every disgusting thing imaginable, covered with a thin layer of his pee. The top was right there, a few inches below the floor.

"Is this hero stuff?" Antehero said, looking at the bees. "I did not sit down to write this an hour ago."

He swirled his hand around a few seconds before he made contact with something. He grabbed it, no that's a turd. He fished more and felt something tickle his finger, so he raised his hand out of the toilet, still screaming. In his palm was a used wet wipe with a queen bee, shaking the doo-doo moisture from herself. Her leg was tangled in fabric of the wet wipe.

"Hey little dude," Antehero said, looking down at the bee in his hand. Brown drops of water trickled between his fingers and dripped to the floor. He watched as the bee tugged at its leg.

"Are you really stuck?" Antehero asked. He waited a moment and let out a deep sigh.

When Antehero opened the door to step outside, the bees followed him. The swirled around him and rose into the air. After a few seconds of delicate maneuvering, they split into two groups and formed haloes around the pair. One just above Antehero and one several feet above Mojave.

"I knew you were going to smear shit on yourself," Mojave said.

"That was a plunge, not a smear," Antehero said. "Don't worry, we have plenty of story to go."

"Farewell, friends," Antehero said, reaching up to fistbump his halo. A tiny queen antenna reached out to touch his knuckle.

A second cut across the road from the woods. Its bullets carving a line through the branches and leaves. Both buggies were large and powerful. The tires were huge, bulging out wider than the body of the vehicle. Their engines roared, and they had no doors. A driver and passenger could be seen in each, with a mounted gunner kneeling on a small platform in the back.

Mojave started firing immediately. Plinking away at the mounted gunners, who had large metal shields welded to their guns. Dozens of bullet holes were already in the cart. Antehero was looking around confused as a line of holes appeared in the door next to him.

As the gunner reloaded, Antehero held a pistol out with his left hand and started to fire at the bandits. As he emptied his gun, the gunner started to fire back. Their vehicles swerved back and forth in a deadly, delicate game.

Antehero looked down dramatically and pushed the pedal to the floor. Even though he would have already done that. But it was for dramatic effect. The vehicles pulled alongside one another and hundreds of rounds flew through the air. The roof of the golf cart flew off and a chunk of the steering wheel flew out of Antehero's hands.

Mojave carefully aimed his rifle at the gunner and fired 5 shots, the passenger of the vehicle screamed and fell out.

The gunner leaned up from the barrel of his gun and held up the middle finger of one hand, and a grenade in the other. He pulled the pin, and Mojave and Antehero started to worry. Then, the driver of the vehicle was distracted by a cow in a field. And he was driving to close to the edge of the road and there was a defective rut where the water had eaten away at the dirt due to poor construction.

The wheel caught the edge of the road and jerked the buggy off course, where it hit a large rock and flipped onto its side. The gunner was slammed against the ground and the grenade flew into the air, then landed back on them and exploded.

As the golf cart puttered and clunked to a stop, Mojave was untying himself. An avalanche triggered by the explosion cascaded into the street, a mess of boulders and logs and dirt. It crashed into the cart and knocked Mojave down to the ground. Their companion was caught before they could jump out.

"Should we say some words?" Mojave asked.

"Probably," Antehero replied. "They were a good companion. And important enough to the story that we had some touching moments. But not so important that I have time to write two different endings."

"Maybe that's the kindest words you could say about imaginary characters you made up," Mojave replied.

"Maybe," Antehero said. "But fuck it. Let's start showing people who we are." he continued. "I'm tired of traveling. I'm ready to go home. And the only way home is going to be through bad guys. It's time for some action." Suddenly, he threw a 6 sided dice into the air. "I'm A. Hero, let's ANTE UP!" before he was interrupted by a gunshot.

Mojave watched as the slowing coin trembled along, curving toward him gently and slowing as it neared the end of its path, "You know the spherical life is oddly comforting, it absolves you of your mistakes like religion," he said matter of factly.

"I know right, I literally just invented that shit to fill some pages, can I get fucking greenlit for a script yet? But more importantly, someplace, somewhere, you should be proud, you wined and dined and gave that cow the best sex of its life. She still talks to her friends about you."

"Freeze you weirdos!" A mans voice rang out. "Move and I'll shoot!"

"Shut up!" barked the officer, pointing his gun at Antehero.

"Would it help if I explained this is all just a temporal misalignment?" Antehero asked.

"I said shut up!" the officer said, reaching down to pick up a rock. He braced his legs awkwardly, before he threw it underhanded. It hit Antehero above the left eye.

"Ow, dang!" Antehero yelped. Before blurting out, "Wait? did you just throw that underhanded?"

"I said shut the up!" the officer shrieked. "You will have the right to remain silent."

"You're on thin ice, scumbag," the man replied, bringing his weapon back to bear on Mojave.

"Sorry," Mojave said, nodding his head at Antehero. "Can you point the gun at him? He's the idiot always getting shot. Plus he's about to attack you probably."

"Shut up and put these on," the man said, tossing zip tie cuffs onto the ground near the pair. "Incoming." After tossing the cuffs he drew a knife from a sheath on his belt and pointed it at Antehero.

"Scumbag?" Antehero muttered, "Will have? Incoming... what the heck? Did you learn masculinity from television? Did you grow up without a dad? Is that why you overcompensate in both career and armament?"

"No," Antehero said, "Ante like a really cool dude with a unique name."

"Look, Ridge," Antehero continued, "I get it. Having a step-dad is a confusing thing. I mean, I can totally see the reasons for not getting along with the guy banging your mom, that's valid. But if you think about it, you kind of want to get along with the guy banging your mom."

"And you spent your childhood walking on eggshells, right? If I take this last piece of pizza is he going to be like oh, enjoy it kid, I'll remember that when I'm banging your mom tonight."

Ridge's faced turned red, and he began to squeeze his finger on the trigger.

A tuft of confetti was falling through the air, shrouding Antehero and Ridge. Their silhouettes blurred in the flutter of cheap paper. It was the only confetti anyone had ever given Ridge in his life. "It's ok, son." Antehero said, putting his hand on Ridge's shoulder.

"What the fuck?" said Mojave.

Ridge was still clutching Antehero's pinkie in his hand, and a small piece of paper suddenly popped out. His eyes were wide, and he stared at Antehero. Then his eyes shifted to the paper. There was a small drawing of a hand giving the middle finger, below it some text. 'You wanted the finger, you got it.'

"What the fuck?" said Ridge.

"Give me a little credit," Antehero said, "They have it frozen at the hospital. But how was it? That thing cost like $300 dollars. Not to draw attention to the fact I'm wearing $186 armor."

"Wha-" Ridge started to say, when he was interrupted by Antehero yelling "Empty Palm Technique!" in his face and yanking the gun from his hand. "Ninja Trip!" he continued, as he swept Ridge's leg and rolled forward into him, tripping him to the ground.

In an instant, he was on top of him, straddling him in the full-mount position.

"Why are you yelling?" Mojave asked, laughing.

"He learned how to fight from television," Antehero replied, "he expects us to yell our moves."

"A dad can't teach you every lesson," Antehero said, "Some you just have to learn for yourself. Like I got suspended for singing Papa Roach. And I'm arguing with the principal. Like I understand the purpose of rules against profanity. But this is music. That rule is to teach me social norms. But this profanity is being used in art, art is just expression and is allowed certain exceptions to social norms. How can you bring me to an institution of learning and then deprive me of exposure to my peers."

"And he was like, you know you could be something if you try. And I said yeah but when you say I could be something you mean a drone."

"Yeah, that worked out well," Mojave said.

"Exactly," Antehero said. "I was a punk asshole kid who thought he knew it all. And a man took the time to try and teach me, and when I told him to fuck off he let me go into the world to learn it on my own."

"He... he didn't spend time with me at all," Ridge said with tears welling in his eyes.

"People do strange things," Antehero said.

"It's true," Mojave interjected, "People use trilean logic in their code, it's unprofessional, it is-"

"Going to be way more annoying to explain than the non-linearity of time," Antehero said. "Just consider it a new unknown state. Something you don't know if you want or not. You know, like Schro's donger."

"More like yes, no, indeterminate," Mojave said.

Antehero hopped off of Ridge and sat next to him. Mojave came and sat on the other side.

"Everybody called us the three amigos, because he did." Ridge continued. "Because he had three kids, two from his previous marriage and me. He always called us unos, dos, cero. One of my brothers only had one testicle, because he lost one playing football."

"Oh my god," Antehero gasped, "You lost both your nuts?"

"No," Ridge said. "We both had both. He just always said my other brother was a man, and I was a weak little girl. He said I sucked at sports and I had a tiny little dick and no nuts."

"Now, to clarify, is this happening on video games or around the house?" Mojave asked.

"His asshole was destroyed, man." Antehero said, placing his hand on Ridge's shoulder and squeezing. "Plundered even, like vikings had to raid his storage before winter."

"I don't know if I want to arrest you guys anymore," Ridge sighed.

"My point is that's like the strongest dude I know," Antehero said. "I bet he's got a huge dick. I'm somewhat of an expert. He's probably got nice nuts too, depending on steroid usage. Anyways, my point is that dude was so fucking dumb, something was wrong with his butthole and he waited three days to go to a doctor. It is way more important as a man to not be stupid than it is to be strong."

"See that?" Antehero said, looking at Mojave. "All these dudes learning how to be a man from the internet really need is a conversation with a real dad."

Mojave rolled his eyes as Antehero stood up.

"Now come on, Big Ridge," said Antehero, helping him to his feet. "Welcome to the crew." Antehero turned and then stopped, looking back. "Hey, you're a mall cop. You have a golf cart or what?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah it's right over there." Ridge said pointing.

"Wow," Antehero said as they began walking."You drove a cart right over here, and still got the drop on us? You are pretty good, buddy."

The golf cart slid around the corner of the gravel road like a rally car. Antehero was at the wheel, Ridge was in the passenger seat, riding shotgun with his pistol. Mojave was standing in the back. One of the straps that would normally hold a golf bag was wrapped around his waist. He was braced against the roof like a truck gunner, with is rifle on a tripod.

"I know right, I literally just invented that shit to add some pages, can I get fucking greenlit for a script yet? We can do anything without fear. But more importantly, someplace, somewhere, you should be proud, you wined and dined and gave that cow the best sex of its life. He still talks to his friends about you."

"Finally got you cow-fuckers!" a voice suddenly quavered behind them, "Move and I'll shoot, you perverts!"

Antehero and Mojave turned slowly, to see a small, elderly woman. She was not frail, and she was holding a shotgun, and obviously it was pointed at them.

"Oh, cool! My grandma did that stuff." Antehero said. "And he's the cow fucker, not me. Or technically I am his lawyer, so I have to inform you he is an alleged cow fucker."

She shifted the barrel to point at Antehero.

"Alright smartass," she said, gesturing with the shotgun, "Get walking."

"Look, I'm sorry," Antehero continued. "We don't want to hurt you, this isn't what it looks like, I promise. We're heroes, except I'm kind of smart but also kind of stupid and I'm on the spectrum so I'm not good with people. And that man gets hard around prime beef," Antehero said pointing at Mojave, "allegedly."

"Yeah," said Antehero. "Can I tell you about her? She's awesome. She's a genuine kind person. I've never seen her be mean to anyone on purpose. She was brave enough to want to see the world but loved her family too much. So she went to college near home."

"I was going back to school, so she was a bit younger than me," Antehero said, "So I never really talked to her. But senior year she was in the lab doing homework. And she was looking at the screen on the computer and she was really trying. She wasn't cheating."

"She was just trying to learn for learning's sake," Antehero said, his voice lowering. "And she looked so beautiful. And I know it's all temporal but I wanted her with me this trip through my life."

"Someone had kids with you?" She said, finger tightening on the trigger, "Ok, now I know you're bullshitting."

"Yeah," Antehero said, smiling. "They're awesome, when they eat yogurt they look like an Apache war party. Except I have to clean that up so they're a lot of work."

"Ok," she said, brow furrowed, "that doesn't sound like something you'd make up."

"Oh, he would," Mojave interjected, eyes clamped shut. "I promise you, by the time this story is over he's going to smear shit all over himself."

"What's your name?" Antehero asked, as she stood mouth agape.

"Iona," she replied absentmindedly, continuing to stare at them both. Clutching the shotgun, trembling slightly, the majority of her brain processing power devoted to calculating what was going on.

"And you know, Iona," Antehero continued, "What hurts the most is she didn't sign up for this stuff. I had no intention of fighting lizard people and henchmen all the time. It was supposed to be a relaxing life. But I'm so disdainful of the universe it must punish me."

"Maybe it's punishing me too," Iona said, her finger loosening on the trigger, "I lost my husband a long time ago."

"That sucks," Antehero said, "I'm worried about what's going to happen after she loses me. I'm getting to that age where you stop locking the bathroom door because someone might have to come in there and rescue you by the time it's all over."

"She'll be at her desk working and I just walk by like"

blood diamonds,
blood chocolate,
blood bananas,
blood for profit,
Theres weapons of mass distraction,
and nobody knows what the facts is.
Capitalists taking profit,
in the name of the prophet.
They want me to work incessantly,
but the god damn water's owned by nestle.
war, fire, famines, floods,
six year olds with plastic in their blood.
fuck that

"And she'll be like, that's nice babe." Antehero said, smiling.

"Well," Iona said after a few moments to collect her thoughts, "in a weird way that sounds true. My husband used say all kinds of stuff that made me laugh."

"Stop," she almost whimpered, tightening her grip on the gun, but not her finger on the trigger.

"Let me comfort you, Iona," Antehero said, holding his hand out in front of him, palm up. He took another step. And, using only the tips of his fingers, he gently raised her barrel to point at his head instead of his chest armor. He took another step and the barrel of the gun was pressed against his forehead.

"It's the wrong frame of reference, Iona," Antehero repeated in a whisper. "From the right point in time, none of us are going to make it."

Iona found her eyes locked with Antehero's, and she could not escape. They weren't soft, but they weren't hard either. Like they were firm, but malleable to a gentle touch.

"My wife says they are non-newtonian," Antehero said, staring back.

"Did you-?" she gasped.

"Husband was good with animals," Iona started.

"I'll avoid a husbandry pun," Mojave interjected.

"You'll have to excuse him," Antehero said, "He's up to date on terminology because he reads Hobby Farms at his desk during work meetings and thinks he should be a farmer."

"My husband always took care of this place," she continued, "and now I can't."

"Don't worry, Iona," Antehero said, "your prayers are answered."

"Are you saying god sent you?" Iona asked.

"Oh, no," Antehero replied, "karma is to lazy, people like us get volunteered. Now, tell me about this farm."

"Oh, where to start," she sighed.

"Anywhere or anytime you want," Antehero said, "It's all temporal."

"Well that's funny," Iona chuckled as she started walking, "That's how I ended up with a farm."

"I grew up around cows," Antehero said, following her. "Mojave grew up in the city, but we couldn't let him visit often because of his peculiarities. Speaking of cow-fuckers, what's the story behind that?"

"Well," Iona said while her eyes went to the sky, "that's been happening a few months. But I guess this all started when I met my Husband."

"Oh shit!" Antehero said, nudging Mojave with his elbow. "Flashback!"

The first time Iona called her Husband, she was making coffee when Iona walked downstairs. They had not been married long. She had always been an early riser, because she loved to drink coffee during the sunrise, and enjoy the early morning peace of her farm. And she always made the first cup for Iona, because it made her happy to provide that comfort.

The whole house smelled like bacon, and a pile of biscuits was fresh out of the oven.

Iona couldn't really remember the conversation anymore, and the memories were so old they no longer clearly showed her face. Time will steal everything from you, even your memories. But she remembered Husband.

Mojave continued to assemble the necessary facts to verify his conclusion. "What kind of government do you have?"

"Fascist outsiders," she replied. "They call them nazis."

Mojave turned to Antehero, a disappointed frown on his face. "They're literally nazis and they treat gay people better than our home planet."

Antehero was shrugging helplessly as they turned a corner in the path. A few steps into a dirt driveway and suddenly the trees broke apart. Spread before them was something from one of Mojave's magazines.

The pasture rolled into the distance like carpet. The kind of grass that beckons one to run barefoot. Cattle punctuated the field in little black dots, white birds group among them.

The golf cart slid around the corner of the gravel road like a rally car. Antehero was at the wheel, Iona was in the passenger seat. She was bent forward, hand clutching the roof rail. She was terrified, but having more fun than she had in years. Mojave was standing in the back. One of the straps that would normally hold a golf bag was wrapped around his waist. He was braced against the roof like a truck gunner, with is rifle on a tripod.

"How do you know the bad guys are this way? Iona shouted.

"I don't," Antehero yelled, "But we always run into something. If we run into the bad guys closest to your farm, Occam's razor!"

"Never heard of it!" she yelled back.

3. There is one easy puzzle and one hard puzzle.

4. The easy puzzle is in the text and ends in .txt

5. The puzzle begins now.

what's next might hurt
if you empathise
but it always hurts
seeing through other's eyes

time is not a flat circle
time is a sphere
don't worry about it
they were never here

karma is real on this website
won't it be fun
every story's end
is another's begun

Somewhere, a distant engine accelerated, its reverberations echoing gently from the canyon walls. Somewhere else, a bell marked time passing. The air was still down in the canyon, with the wind blocked. It made the town look oppressive in the heat, like it rose up from the pavement to torture people under the sun.

He continued awkwardly shuffling, "Now I know how you feel when you work a 4 hour shift on your laptop and stand up with your pocket-nuts roasted, it's no wonder you don't have kids."

Mojave was carefully observing visible pedestrians as they moved through his view. "Seems peaceable enough here. Surely they'll have ice water."

"I might dunk instead of drink," Antehero replied.

Mojave kept watch. He saw as people moved through the space, leisurely, seemingly in peace. Mojave was at peace as well. Today was supposed to be a work day, but he was sitting in bushes with a pair of binoculars, relaxing with a nicotine vape. And accelerating his detox by sweating was allowing him to up his dosage.

"Fickle even," Antehero replied. "And I got a call from my daycare. My 3 year old daughter is climbing the outside fence trying to escape. They're worried she'll get hurt so they need me to help get her to stop." At this point, Antehero was completely ignoring the danger surrounding them, whispering through the bushes.

"I sound like a crazy person if I tell them their behavioral expectations are all temporal, a few hundred years ago she'd be encouraged to frolic. So that option is out."

"Always," Antehero replied, "especially when you're an intelligent parent trying to shield your child from the world for a few years."

"Just because everyone else lets their kids suffer through misplaced discipline at school, or fights it and makes their kid a target, doesn't mean I have to. I'm going to teach my kids diplomacy."

"Something you're an expert in, no doubt." Mojave sighed.

"Think about it. Part of the point of formal education is to teach you that to accept suffering is necessary to participate in society. Consider the dentist." Antehero said, gesturing with his hands as if were on a chalkboard about to design a proof.

"If my son is scared to go to the dentist, you know what he'll get? A kiss on the forehead from mom. Why? Because she knows he can take it. She'll shove him in the chair and hold him down herself if she has to. And she'll look to me for empathy as she manhandles him for his tooth health."

"I can't handle the part where they scrape the metal on your teeth." Mojave said.

"It's the vibrating thing that gets me, goes straight to my brain." Antehero replied. "But you can't teach a child to go against their nature, and have a decent human being be the result. I'm teaching my kids they have no obligation to betray what drives them, but they can align it with the world around them."

"But I'll admit, I have my limits. Like last week my middle kid realized you could add sugar to food. He starts asking me for strawberries with sugar on them, and instantly parenting default kicks in and I say no. I explain that fruit already has lots of sugar until he's bored. He's sad but eats the fruit."

"Problem solved," Mojave suggested.

"For most parents, yes. But about 8 hours later I'm stoned, and I'm in the kitchen looking at that fruit. And I'm thinking to myself, 'You fucking hypocrite.' And now I ration the sugar on fruit as an occasional treat."

"Healthier than some options," Mojave mused, leaning forward to adjust the leaves.

"No way," Mojave replied, "That was nothing compared to my average commute to work. It takes a lot of stress away when you're not inching closer to corporate America. Besides, I promised her I wouldn't anymore after I broke my collarbone."

"Well, to add color to the story for our audience," Antehero mused, "You broke your collarbone riding a motorcycle on about day three of a planned, two month cross-country trip. Ruining your entire vacation. And requiring me to drive a trailer across the country. And you broke it allegedly trying to fuck a cow."

"I was riding a motorcycle, yes" Mojave clarified, "and I was distracted by a cow, and the road had a defective part on the edge."

"Just because you pass the bar doesn't mean you get to cross-examine your friends, konkeydonger" Mojave said.

"I'm pretty sure it's the only reason to pass the bar," Antehero replied, "Nobody should be a lawyer."

"Oh yeah, how easy was it with the eidetic memory?" Mojave asked.

"Easy but painful." Antehero replied, "The same as the engineering degree. I had to pay for and attend like 20 classes unrelated to the type of law I was going to practice. And they took attendance."

"Have we had this conversation before?" Mojave asked.

"No, but thanks for asking." Antehero replied. "It probably sounds familiar because we were just talking about it in the last chapter. It's a fucking nightmare."

"Imagine having a brain that can forget your sunglasses on a road trip, then remember it two minutes into the eight hours trip, then vividly record the remaining seven hours and fifty-eight minutes of disappointment in yourself."

"You know how shitty that is? Remember all the mistakes you made? All the mistakes everyone you like ever made? You know how often people repeat the same story to you months later? You'd be shocked."

"That's why I smoke so much weed, I don't remember as much. And I stay mellow. It's a self defense mechanism. I just repeat the conversation, time is a sphere anyway."

"Circle," Mojave interjected.

"What?" said Antehero.

"I'll shit talk myself so, uh, yeah I'll shit talk him for sure. And eternal recurrence isn't some abysmal fate humans are doomed to, it's inherent to the human experience. This bad part is just a temporal misunderstanding."

"Think about it. Time repeats endlessly, therefore you are doomed to repeat, time is a flat circle, boo hoo. These guys always constrain themselves to the wrong dimensional frame of reference. They never got bored enough working a shitty manual labor job to just let their mind wander."

"Fuck it, if karma wants entertainment, lets get weird with it." Antehero said, pulling out a coin.

Mojave's eyes grew wide. "You mother-f"