The Puzzle of Escher Bradley: Chapter One

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The first thing I notice when I step into the the police station is that there is nothing different about it. The vending machine is still eating people’s money, with Sergeant Mackle as angry about it as ever. The chairs are still squeaking, and the air still sweet. It’s me. Only I’ve changed. I’ve just become detective. This wasn’t exactly my dream growing up. I always looked up to the “boys in blue”. I thought of them as the ones on the front lines, the ones putting themselves in danger. It was only in the later years as a teenager that I realized I was one hundred percent correct about this. Even then, though, I never thought I would end up in law enforcement. As I’m striding through the “pit” I imagine my old mentor, Detective Pender, watching me from the coffee maker. But he’s still working in Kansas City, and I know that this is where I’m meant to be.

“Congratulations,” my captain says to me. “You’re the first person to make detective in Springfield the 1990s.” He drops a load of files in my arms, and sports a half-smile. “Here’s a bunch of paperwork.”

“Thank you, sir. And there were actually a lot of us—”

“Don’t call me sir,” he interrupts me to insist. It’s not that he’s a man of the people, he’s just so apathetic that formality makes him feel inadequate.

After the captain walks away to grab a nap, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I can tell that Hummel is on his way to me. I turn around, and immediately say, “Officer Hummel, I’m detective now. I don’t have time to help you anymore. You should have this figured out by now.”

“I know,” Hummel says, “but I have this call. They didn’t call 911, they called the station. It’s a man. His son is missing.”

“How long?”

He’s not sure if he wants to answer, but does, “an hour. But there’s something weird about it.”

“Weird how?”

“I can hear a woman in the background, saying something about the caller being crazy. I dunno...”

I sigh and hand him my paperwork. “Do as much as you can with this, and get me that address. I’m goin’ out.” I pick up my coat, and leave. First day on the job, and I’m already responsible for a possible new case. It feels good, but I’m worried. The case could get real bad real quick, and I can’t mess it up. The media would eat me alive.

Once at the address, I park on the street and get out for an initial impression. There are boxes and other crap in the driveway, and on the lawn. A moving vehicle is parked up a little too close to the garage overhang. Either these people just moved here, or they’re trashy as all hell.

A woman comes out of the house, wrapping a shawl across her stomach. “I’m sorry my husband called you,” she says to me. “We are perfectly all right.”

A man comes bursting out of the house. “We are absolutely not all right, Cheryl, our son is missing!”

Cheryl keeps looking at me and shakes her head, “no, he’s not.”

“Yes!” the man screams. “He is!”

I keep my left arm back at my hip, ready to loose my gun, in the event it’s necessary. This case is already weird. I present to them the international gesture for calm down with my right hand. “My name is Detective Kallias Bran. I’m here to help. First thing I need to know...is where is your son?”

“He’s missing,” the man claims.

Simultaneously, the woman says, “he doesn’t exist.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“We don’t have a goddamn son,” Cheryl insists.

“The hell we don’t!” The father is only growing angrier.

“Sir,” I say in an authoritative, but soft voice, “I’m gonna need you to keep it together. Now, Mister...”

“Bradley,” he says, still angry, but holding back. “Tyler Bradley.”

“And what’s your son’s name?”

“He doesn’t have a name,” Cheryl interrupts as Tyler is trying to answer.

“Ma’am,” I warn her.

“Escher,” Tyler is finally able to say.

“That is...a great name,” I say to him. “How old is Escher?”

“He’s eight,” Mr. Bradley says, feeling a little better just from having someone believe him. “He’ll turn nine this year.”

“Okay,” I tell him. “He probably just wandered off. I assume you just moved here?”

“That’s right.”

“This is bullshit,” Cheryl says, shaking her head once more. Her default setting.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to hold off on the swear words.”

She pointed to herself as she drew closer to argue with me. “I’m not crazy. I would remember if I had a son. But we’ve never had a son. We’ve never had kids at all!”

“Then why did we get rid of the two-seater?” Tyler jumped in.

“It got old,” she reasoned.

“It was running great,” he countered. “We got rid of it, and bought this van, because it’s more practical when you have a family. But make no mistake, Detective Bran, we are not van people. We just need one to get Escher to soccer practice...should he ever finally agree to try soccer for me.”

“Oh, you love this van!” Cheryl yelled.

“No, I don’t. Neither of us do. Escher offered to sit on the roof of a cool car so we could get rid of our embarrassing van.”

“Who the shit is Escher?” she cried. “Stop saying that.”

“Ma’am, language.”

“Oh, fuck your language!”

“All right, that’s enough. You’re going to have a timeout in my car while I discuss the situation with Mr. Bradley. I reach out, but I do not touch her.

“Get your hands off me!” She overdramatically pulls her arm away. “I’m not getting in your car, like a criminal.”

“It’s either the cuffs or the cruiser. You are not being arrested,” I promise.

She purses her lips and inhales. “Fine.” She starts walking towards my car. “You go have your chat, and look around. You’ll see that this Escher Bradley kid is just in my husband’s imagination.”

After letting Mrs. Bradley into the back of my car, I pull Mr. Bradley to the side. We start walking through the lawn. “Look, she may be angry enough for me to put her in a car, but I’m having trouble with the both of you. You say there’s a kid, but she doesn’t. I don’t see a kid.”

“He’s missing.”

“I know you think that, but where’s your proof?” I start mumbling a bit, because it’s a bit of an overstep. “I mean, I don’t want to say that either one of you is crazy, but either there’s a kid, or there’s not. One of you is wrong.”

“Okay,” he says, speeding up to enter the house. “Let’s go find some proof.”

He leads me upstairs, and into the only room besides the kitchen that actually has things in it already. I take a look around. There are a few boxes here and there. Trinkets, clothes, music band posters. There isn’t any furniture yet.

“This was gonna be his room. That’s all his stuff.”

I take a sweater out of one of the boxes. It does look small enough to fit a child. I sift through the rest of the garments, and they’re all for children. That isn’t proof, though. Anyone can buy these things. “I dunno, Mr. Bradley.”

“Tyler.”

“Tyler. These could be yours from your own childhood, or a nephew’s...or you bought them in hopes of having a child one day. It’s a pretty thin argument.”

“They’re his; they’re Escher’s,” he emphasizes.

I just shake my head slowly. I don’t know what else to do. “I don’t know what to tell ya.”

He thinks for a moment. “Pictures! I have to find the pictures.” He runs and trips back downstairs, and I hear him moving things around as I’m following at a more reasonable pace. The house is pretty big for just two people. Again, that doesn’t mean a whole lot. They could be planning a family for the future, or some people just have more space than they really need.

When I reach the bottom, I see him having found what he was looking for. It’s a brownish leather-bound photo album. “This is mostly him.” He smiles and opens the book. There’s no child in the pictures; just the two of them, and a few relatives or friends. “He’s not in any of these.” He turns the page. “No, not these either.” He turns the next page. “I could have sworn he was in this one.” He turns another.

“Is that him?”

“That’s my boss’ son. We had them over for dinner.” He continues to turn page after page, desperate to find one that featured this Escher, but none of them did.

Finally he stops, and I notice something weird. “What’s up with this one?”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Why are we so far apart?”

I stare at the photo. It looks like a family portrait, but there’s entirely too much space between the two of them. “There’s supposed to be a kid between you.”

“Yes, there was!” he says excitedly. “So you believe me now?”

Not necessarily. I take the album from him and start looking through it more discerningly. It’s not the only one like that. Many others show too much dead space, either between people, or on one side of them. Some of the photos are just of doorways, or picnic tables. It’s crazy to think that an entire individual was ripped from a boy’s mother’s mind, and also physical evidence. Either this is an extremely elaborate prank that could potentially go back years, or this is really happening.

“Where did you last see him?” I ask, knowing that I have to explore this, regardless of which one of them is telling the truth.

“He’s a little young to be all that helpful in the move, so we let him take a break. He went straight for that empty lot next door. I turned around and he was gone, though.” He takes the photo album back and starts concentrating on filling it with his missing child.

“What empty lot?” I ask.

He keeps his eyes on the pictures. “To the North.”

I walk across the dining room, and peer out the window. The house next door is about as far from this one as any two houses ever are in the suburbs. “I don’t see what you’re seeing. There’s a house there.”

He comes over, a little frustrated by the tangent, and looks out as well. “No. There’s not.”

“Holy shit.”

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Microstory 625: Eradication of the Narvalian Gardbirds

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Narvalian Gardbirds did not evolve anywhere naturally. They were genetically engineered in a laboratory by a strange geneticist with a flair for the dramatic. When the first wave of exodus ships arrived in the galaxy, factions began claiming territory. They believed that, since there were plenty of habitable planets, there was no real problem in that. But these claims did not come without their disputes. Military conflict spread across the stars. People sometimes didn’t even know who or what they were fighting for, the theatre became so confused and complicated. This was not what the Sacred Savior had in mind. He was not concerned about all the killing and death, but these conflicts were making it difficult for anyone to establish their lives anywhere. If allowed to continue, we would destroy ourselves before we even got started, and the dirty communists we escaped from would win. So he convened a summit on what’s largely considered to be the most beautiful planet in the universe. The Narvali Summit was not designed to discuss peace, but resolution. It was time to decide who was owed what, and how much they were willing to pay for it. These were not decisions that could be made by the pawns with sticks and stones. They required the intellect and strategic insight of the elite. After weeks of negotiations and dealings, boundaries were drawn. All those deserving possessed their own territory. But there was one important property that was yet to be decided upon. Narvali itself could be a source of great advantage over rival factions. Of course, we believe that Sotiren Zahir, and his Lightseeing followers had the right to it, but our wise Savior knew that demanding the system would cause an unnecessary protraction of war.

Days later, all faction leaders realized that they were at a standstill. No way was anyone giving up their commitment to seizing this territory. In the end, the only conclusion was for no one to have it. All travel to the Narvali system was completely banned, and for decades, this remained the status quo. But following Sotiren’s death, new plans began brewing. New faction leaders, some of new factions, circled back around to the concept of taking ownership of Narvali. At this point in history, our peoples were well established in the galaxy, with the majority of us identifying themselves as Fosteans. The war for Narvali would no longer put our independence from the communists in danger. Fearing this war, and worried about his loved ones, the aforementioned geneticist released a small flock of avian beasts that he had created into the Narvalian wild. They were nearly indestructible, and were capable of replicating their species faster than they could be killed with our weapons. They were also engineered to destroy the environment each time they were under threat, in a sort of instinctual scorched land policy. The campaign to take control of Narvali would be pointless if, by the time they overcame the Gardbird obstacle, there was nothing but barren lands anyway. And so Narvali was once again left alone...until now. Under orders of newly appointed Loctener, Luvras Seldasic, scientists began to rework the problem of eradicating the Gardbirds. They came up with a virus that spread so quickly, the birds barely had any time to react before swiftly spiraling into extinction. Now Narvali was not only free from this terrible blight, but also controlled by Lightseers, and their Sacred Light.

Microstory 624: Appointment of the Loctener

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The Loctener may be the important taikon out of all of them. It is certainly the most important one yet. It refers to the second highest position in the galaxy, and it’s also never been held before. Sacred Savior, Sotiren Zahir—in his unmatched wisdom, and capacity of humility—came up with the idea during the first exodus from Earth. He wanted someone with unparalleled loyalty, who would never betray him, and who would be able to act on his behalf. By the time the exodus ships reached Fostea, however, he had changed his mind. He determined that his eleven eidos would be good enough to manage the galaxy in his stead. Yet he kept the concept of the Loctener in the back of his mind, and decided that such a position would most likely need to be filled during the fulfillment of the taikons. And of course, as always, was he right. With the forces of the Lightseer military spread across multiple battlefronts, as well as other related war campaigns, even the great Sotiren Zahir needed help. The Loctener was designed to be the Savior’s right hand, but also to lead the war efforts, so it needed to be filled by someone with basically the same qualities. He needed someone who was just as loud, just as passionate, and just as strategically intelligent. The Book of Light, in other passages, speaks of the divinity of humility; that those with little had just as much chance of gaining power as someone born with it. The galaxy was founded on this principle, making it the only consistent concept amongst the belief systems of all residents, regardless of religion. Literally everyone here believes that no one has unfair advantage over anyone else. Perhaps there is no one more humble than the Grelvo citizens who rose against their oppressive dictator, and usurped his power. They were led by a man named Luvras Seldasic. He was one of Grelvo’s youngest warriors, but was a force to be reckoned with. As a born leader, he was instrumental in breaking the giant wall that separates Townville City from Castle Palace. It was his unorthodox and masterful strategy that caught the Sacred Savior’s eye. Only Seldasic could become the first and only Loctener, but only after proving himself by completing a task of strength and bravery. He would have to find a way to eradicate the gardbirds of Narvali. Fortunately, he had some experience getting through walls.

Microstory 623: Ascension of the Humble

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Though our galaxy is not run by a central government, there are a powerful few who make decisions for a significant percentage of the population. These leaders made their way to the top by working hard, and being able to provide something for the economy that others couldn’t, or at least not as well. Some of these are Lightseers, while some are not. In any case, they tend to be egotistical and self-righteous, and true Lightseers are better than that. We rise above. On the planet of Yrosfulh, there was a relatively isolated nation called Grelvo. It was run by a dictator who had risen to power some twenty years ago. He practiced a form of rule involving keeping his citizens poor, and on the brink of starvation, so that they would not have the energy to rise up against him. Some even lived in literal ruins. Still, the majority of them held onto their faith, and have the potential to be great Lightseers. He actually fed his Arkeizen thralls better than his human subjects, knowing that Arkeizens are not intelligent, or organized, enough to endanger any established system. These Arkeizens he kept as a sort of strange military contingency, should anyone attempt to conquer them. The country is of little value to anyone else in the galaxy, so this has never happened, and it’s doubtful Arkeizens could ever do much good on the battlegrounds. They certainly were not effective here. As much of a right as Supreme Leader Grelvo had to treat his subjects however he pleased, he was clearly a poor leader, and it would seem that these subjects believed this as well. They started rearranging their rations so that the youngest and strongest in their villages were able to eat the most. Some of the elderly even let themselves starve to death just so that the able-bodied warriors could gather their strength, and formulate their plans. After about a year of this, they executed their dictator, killing every single thrall in the country in order to reach that point, including the ones that surrendered. It was such a minor story in terms of galactic news that it was nearly missed, but a loyal Lightseer discovered this current event, and reported it to the Highlightseers. It has now been determined that this development qualifies for the twenty-third taikon. The humble have ascended, and one has proven himself to be more qualified than all of them put together.

Appointment of the Loctener

Microstory 622: Feast of Zest

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As you’ve heard, in relation to the warbad parasites, there are some things in this galaxy that do not meet our people’s standards. In the old worlds, all recreational drugs were illegal. Alcohol, amphetamines, depressants; if they didn’t treat a medical condition, they were not to be consumed. Though we’ve tried to leave behind the old ways, there are a few practices we’ve held onto. One of these involves drug use. Now, there are some drugs in Fostea that are acceptable in moderation, though they are regulated by a special law enforcement body. This is one of only a handful of regulatory agencies, because of course, we in Fostea believe in a free market. For the most part, people in our galaxy, just as in any other, don’t have much interest in partaking of drugs anyway, so it’s generally not a problem. There is only one drug originating from the galaxy that has been deemed completely illegal. They’re called simply verbeans. These black and yellow fruits make you so energetic and enthusiastic, that you party and dance until you die. Literally. Once you’ve eat enough verbeans, you’ll feel like you won’t ever have to sleep again, and then you won’t. It starts out heavy, with an unending desire to loosen up and dance around. Then they’ll keep you awake for days, sometimes weeks, which could be long enough to suffer from exhaustion. They’re not addictive, but also have negligible effects in small doses, so the only time a user experiences any change in feelings or behavior, it’s probably too late. It’s nearly impossible to cure, with only one attempt out of hundreds of cases being successful. It would seem, however, that the taikon passages in the Book of Light command they be taken. Many have tried, but have found no other logical interpretation to the prophecy about a feast of zest. And so, a group of insignificant Fosteans were placed on a random moon, force fed verbeans, and left alone. It is the only taikon that has been arbitrarily carried out, but this was at the request of Eido Ivanka herself, so it had to be done.

Microstory 621: Parasitic Infestation

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Not everything in this galaxy is perfect. To be sure, there is no galaxy out there with absolutely zero problems. In order to achieve such a thing, you would have to build one yourself, like they do in the ancient broadcast series Starscapers. Wise and capable Sotiren Zahir knew this going into his mission of finding a new galaxy to call home, and this was the best of a multitude of options. One particularly nasty problem with Fostea, however, has to do with a single planet. Before we even arrived, Sacred Savior Zahir ordered all Fosteans to stay away from the Warbad system, in order to protect everyone, for it houses the most dangerous parasite ever encountered by man. Scientists have concluded that warbads are probably only parasites when there is a species worth taking as hosts. While in a period of what science has called peace time, they live just as any other creature, eating what bacteria they find naturally in their environment. It is only when they encounter a suitable species that they enter their war time, which is where it gets its name. There are five kinds of warbads; the king, the queen, the purgers, the proliferators, and the civilians. They all look like tight strips of dark hair. There is only one king and queen in any given warbad platoon. They mate with each other up to nine times a day. Afterwards, the king will birth a troop of purgers, while the queen births the proliferators. These proliferators then go on to propagate their species with civilians. Another organism’s body is often the best place to lay a new city of civilians, but it is not technically necessary. Once a suitable species is identified, the king and his purgers will get to work with their own purpose, which is to weed out hostile conditions.

You see, though host organisms make for great brood environments, they can also provide inhospitable environments, depending on the individual. Instead of merely ignoring these unsuitable hosts, the purgers are responsible for destroying them, so that only the desirable hosts remain. They do this by infecting a mediocre host’s brain, ultimately directing it to kill its own kind in an endless quest for blood. Purger-infected hosts go on killing sprees, cleansing the battlegrounds of any host that might limit the warbad platoon’s ability to survive, and protecting the hosts that might be used by the proliferators. Health professionals and other researchers have been unable to identify the parameters of what the warbad considers a good host, versus a bad host, but it has recently been turned into our advantage. A new platoon has somehow managed to escape their home planet, and begun infecting the galaxy. But they are not going after just anyone. They’re only killing and infecting nonbelievers. Somehow, they know who has the light, and who does not. Atheists are being used as proliferator hosts so that the warbad civilians can multiply, while members of rival religions are being turned into purge vectors, and gone about killing each other. They began their crusade with the silenced blasphemers. By the end of the taikon, the only ones remaining should be Lightseers. Blessèd be The Light, and all its seeds, and only its seeds. Our day of illumination is upon us.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 20, 2135

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Sometime in the interim year, Darko and Marcy had grown closer, and formed a solid romantic relationship. To everyone else, this seemed perfectly normal, and though Mateo and Leona knew they had been gone for that year, it still seemed far too fast for them. These crazy kids needed to slow down, or burn out. But no, this was totally acceptable, wonderful even. Back in the old days, when Mateo was just starting out, missing important life milestones was one of the first problems that arose. Since then, following the advent of immortality, this became less of a problem. People developed and changed more slowly these days. A several month journey from Earth to a moon of Saturn no longer ended with dying on that moon. It was very easy to go there, spend a lifetime worth of years there, and come back to do something else, or go somewhere new. Soon, people will be going to planets outside the solar system. It will take the first ships decades to get to even the nearest star, but it will be worth it, because that’s nothing compared to the amount of time they have ahead of them. Even after reaching the fastest speeds known to be possible, these trips will take years, but that won’t be a big deal. One day, it won’t be unheard of to take a fifty-year vacation. This is all coming from Leona’s lessons.

As was tradition, the remaining members of their island group were having breakfast together. “Did you know that Arcadia would be moving you here when you first came?” Leona asked of Marcy.

Darko didn’t look pleased. Marcy was content. “I was hoping I would be able to stay,” she answered.

“Why is that?” Mateo asked.

“Last year,” Marcy began, “you carried out the art expiation so that one of Aldona’s family could eventually come back from nonexistence.”

“Right.”

“You didn’t ask what that person’s name was.”

“It was you?”

“Yes,” Marcy replied. “I am Aldona and Gino’s daughter.” She paused to comfort Darko, who was conflicted by the whole thing. Likely grateful for her presence now, but bothered by what Arcadia had done to her. “I was returned early as a gift in good faith. Now you know that it can be done, and that she is not a monster.”

“She is,” Darko argued.

“Honey,” Marcy said to him. “Maybe you should meditate?”

“Yep.” He stood up and walked straight into the jungle. He was changing a lot.

Marcy continued, “I am here to stay until you complete your expiations, but I do not come without conditions. One, Arcadia reserves the right to remove me from time, or simply the island, at any moment. Two, I am not allowed to help with these expiations. Three, if you fail in any one of my family’s expiations, I will be immediately taken out of time again; this time for good.”

“We won’t fail you,” Mateo said. “We will complete these expiations. All of them.”

She smiled. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you know what we will be doing today?” Leona asked.

“You’ll more than likely be working to save my brother, Loris.”

“What was he like?” Mateo asked. He then corrected himself, “is like?”

“A chef!” she said excitedly. “He can cook anything, and it’s always the best thing you’ve ever had.”

Mateo looked down at his food, then to Leona’s, and then just up into space. “I think I know what the expiation is gonna be.”

In the blink of an eye, the scenery completely transformed. They were still on Tribulation Island, at about the same part of the beach as before, but everything else was different. The stage consisted of four tables, three of which were facing the fourth, which was more off to the side. Aura and Lincoln were standing at one of the chef’s tables, Mario and Leona were at another, and Horace and Darko were at the third. Mateo and Marcy were sitting at a smaller table, along with—with...is that? It couldn’t be.

Arcadia was wearing a flamboyant dress, standing between the chef’s tables, and the audience, which were seated on a platform of floating bleachers in the water. Mateo wasn’t sure who these people were, or what they thought they were doing there. She was also addressing a series of stacked cardboard boxes that roughly approximated the shape of a video camera, which was being ‘operated’ by Paige. “Ladies and germs, welcome to the first daily Tribulation Tryouts! As always, I am your host, Arcadia ‘Sweet Stinger’ Preston. It’ll catch on...” She kept holding the microphone, but pretended to be telling a secret by holding her hand to one side of her mouth, “I hope.”

The audience broke out in laughter according to their reaction cues.

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“Please give a round of applause to each of our judges. Ever angry, ever absent, Mateo Matiiiiic! Starving artist, Marcy Calligaris! And our celebrity guest judge...Jaaaaaaames Van Der Beeeeeeek!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” James-frickin-Van Der Beek said, smiling with his eyes closed. “It’s an honor to be here, really. Humbled, so humbled. Just don’t make it too spicy, I can’t handle that.”

The audience laughed.

“Seriously,” James Van Der Beek urged, still sporting a smile. “It does not sit well with me.”

The audience laughed even harder.

Now James Van Der Beek stopped smiling. “No, really.”

“Oooookay,” Arcadia went on with her spiel. “Introducing our contestants! She’s a once-mother with a dark past who can’t even remember her own son from an alternate reality; he’s an uptight lawyer who remembers everything, from every reality! It’s Aura and Lincoln! At our second table, we have a father who also can’t remember two of his children, and is so uninvolved with his other son that it’s easy to forget they’re even related; and a little girl who once somehow gave herself kidney disease so that she could trick her unrequited love interest into making her a time traveler! It’s...Mario and Leona! And finally, we have some villain named Horace, and also a time traveler who happens to be named Darko! How original, hashtag-amirite?”

“You are right!” the audience recited back from the teleprompters.

James Van Der Beek put his hand over his mic and whispered to the other two judges. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Where am I again?”

“The future.”

“Right. I’m getting paid, though, right?”

“I don’t know,” Mateo answered honestly.

“Whatever. Better than a Dawson’s Creek reunion.”

“All right, contestants, now for the secret ingredient.” She waited to create a false sense of anticipation, which the audience was pretending to experience. “The secret ingredient is...” They were literally on the edge of their seats, for no logical reason. “...nothing. We don’t do that on this show. Now, as you all don’t know, the premise of this competition is to make something halfway edible using ingredients found naturally on the island. Then the judges have to eat and keep down everything. Yes, that’s right, not only is it a cooking challenge, but also an eating challenge.” She looked over to the judges. “I don’t love your chances.”

The audience sparingly let out a few awkwards laughs. The reaction cues must not have been telling them to do anything.

“Okay, kids,” she instructed the contestants. “Go!” As they ran off to look for the staples of this island, she stopped them, “wait! Bugs.”

“What?” Aura asked.

“I changed my mind. There is a secret ingredient. It’s bugs. You have to include bugs, and it has to be obvious that there’s bugs, and you have to be able to taste bugs.”

The contestants just froze in place.

“Well, go on, go! Find bugs!”

Mateo was unable to help Leona...or anyone, for that matter. All he could do was sit there and play to the audience per Arcadia’s goading. He tried to crack a few jokes, as did Marcy, but they could only do so much. Fortunately, James Van Der Beek was good at stealing the show, and getting everybody to watch him. He eventually got out of his seat and started an impromptu stand-up comedy set, which...could do with a little more work. Meanwhile, his family and friends were rushing around the island, looking for anything people could eat, disappearing and reappearing between the trees. Boar, bananas, fish, berries, these leaves they discovered could be made into an energy tea. They also looked for bugs. In the dirt, and in the sand. They were hard to catch, and ultimately even harder to clean.

At the end of James Van Der Beek’s set, Arcadia thanked him for his service, and spoke to the fake camera, “we’ll come back...after the break.” And then she just stood there, frozen. She literally didn’t move a muscle, likely having trapped herself in a time bubble, just for the effect.

James Van Der Beek narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “How is she doing that?”

“Time travel is a thing,” Mateo said.

“What year is it?”

“2135. Listen, James Van Der Beek—can I call you James Van Der Beek?—James Van Der Beek, are you gonna be able to do the bug thing? This is kind of a life or death situation.”

“Oh yeah, sure, no problem. I’ve been through worse. On the set of Don't Trust the Bitch in Apartment 23, craft services didn’t even always have croutons for their salads.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m kidding. I get that this is important. I can stomach it, so to speak.”

“Thank you.”

There’s that nightclub air horn that sounds three times in rapid succession. People often mimic it with their own voices when they think they’re DJs. One of those goes off, signalling to the contestants that it’s time to return and actually begin cooking. They all rush in, holding their baskets of ‘food’ and doing their best to wrangle their bugs. They carry them over to their chef’s tables and begin preparations. As they’re working, Arcadia walks around, commenting on the minutiae of what they’re doing, and asking them stupid questions. She also goes over the judges’ table and asks for their opinion. Rather, she asks two of them, because Marcy’s literally not allowed to speak. She was apparently just placed there to round out the number. Mateo and James Van Der Beek have to explain the process the contestants are going for, and what they might be after with their decisions. Neither one of them is an educated or experienced cook to the calibre of someone who would call themselves a chef, so they have to BS their way through it, which Arcadia has no problem with.

Then came the hard part.

The food was worse than they thought it would be. Sure, these were all things they ate on the regular on the island, but they also had other things, like eggs and fresh Earthan vegetables. Mateo wasn’t sure exactly where it came from, other than a magical pantry down the beach that kept refilling itself every day. The fact is that they never ate a meal with only the island food, and this low level of flavoring made everything seem so bland. The bugs were the worst part, of course, but Mateo was doing okay. He knew the danger in not meeting Arcadia’s expectations. Marcy acted like she ate bugs all the time. James Van Der Beek was a trooper too. Even though he didn’t quite understand who these people were, or what the hell was going on, he forced the food down his throat, and came out the other side a better man than Mateo ever knew. They had to continue making remarks about the food, coming up with meaningless ways the contestants could have done better.

With the wave of her hand, Arcadia apported the audience, the fake equipment, and the furniture away. Now they were all just standing on the beach together. James Van Der Beek was still there. “Okay, the fun’s worn off,” Arcadia told them. “It looks like you’ve passed this expiation. Congratulations.” She looked to James Van Der Beek. “I suppose you want your money.”

“Just take me home,” James Van Der Beek insisted. “That’s all I need.”

“Very well.” She waved her hand and apported him away too.

“Goodbye, Arcadia,” Mateo said, unprompted.

“Have a pleasant evening.” Then she nodded to Marcy. “Marcy. Remember your options.” Then she teleported out of there.

“What did she mean by options?” Mateo asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

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