A Dark Cubicle
You are sitting in a dark cubicle – yours. The furnishings include a plain desk of cold hard varnished wood, a chair in which you sit, and a small wastebasket. They do not include anything else. There are several shadowy forms on the desk, one of which gently glows a sickly green. You know these as your computer monitor, keyboard, mouse, and desk clock. It is the clock which is glowing. The darkness does a passable job of masking the oppressive blandness of the space.

> x watch
On your wrist is a clunky digital watch. You wisely forgo straining to read the cracked display: your boss just went home recently; it is too early in your shift to be counting the minutes till closing time.

> wait
Nothing happens.

> wait an hour
(using time reference: boss went home recently) You wait an unknown period of time.

> x watch
(reading clunky digital watch) You consider straining to read the cracked display, but don’t feel like doing that right now.

> wait an hour
(using time reference: boss went home recently) You wait an unknown period of time.

> pass the time
Pass the time how?

> use computer
Please be more specific.

> turn on computer
The ancient Dell tower is already on.

> turn on monitor
You reach out for the monitor’s power switch. You kinda reach. You probably could push it but don’t feel like doing that right now.

> use keyboard
You aimlessly mash some keys. The ancient Dell tower beeps angrily at you. If you felt creative, you might imagine it to be saying, “You and me both, buddy.” But you don’t, so you don’t.

> x clock
The little analog desk clock rests on your desk. It is broken. The sickly green glow makes you feel slightly ill. The clock reads 10:00.

—- Time reference: boss went home recently subtracted from inventory.
—- Time reference: it’s always 10 o’clock added to inventory.

> wait an hour
(using time reference: it’s always 10 o’clock) You wait an unknown period of time.

> x clock
The little analog desk clock rests on your desk. It is broken. The sickly green glow makes you feel slightly ill. The clock reads 10:00.

> sigh at broken clock
You kick your desk so that the broken clock rattles back and forth awkwardly – a moderate expression of contempt for the world – and have a bit more energy.

—- Time reference: it’s always 10 o’clock subtracted from inventory.

> turn on monitor
You flip a switch and the massive CRT display on the desk buzzes to life, bathing the office in a soft blue light.

> check email
(at computer) You open your email client.

(at email client) (at computer) There is one new message, from Meow Meow Anim.

> read message
(at email client) (at computer) You read the message from Meow Meow Anim, to the effect that a new blog post has been posted on the blog.

The message includes a link, ostensibly to the new blog post.

> click link
(at email client) (at computer) You click the link in the email. The gears of the ancient Dell tower grind for a moment, and then one by one the divs of Meow Meow Anim are drawn over your email client. You struggle to read the words for a minute or two. Finally a bounding window is rendered around the web page, with a mercifully opaque background, and you can now make out the words of the blog post as distinct from the words of the email about the blog post.

> read blog post
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) You read the blog post. It is about the Bible.

Your mind is blown. The reason for Meow Meow Anim’s author to have begun reading the Bible is unfathomable.

> post reply
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) You reread the blog post. It is about the Bible.

Your mind is blown. The author of MMA has revealed himself a complete ignoramus. You are furious.

> post angry reply
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) You re-reread the blog post. It is about the Bible.

Your mind is blown. You pray this is the last post the author of MMA ever makes on the topic. You fly into a rage.

> post angry reply
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) You re-re read the blog post. It is about the Bible.

Your mind is blown. Genesis is NOT a rip-off of NHG! That show isn’t even good! Your rage has reached fever pitch.

> post angry reply
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) Your rage explodes in righteous indignation. You anonymously attack the Meow Meow Anim comment section with spoilerz.

You hit the Meow Meow Anim comment section but you fail to pierce its damage resistance. The Meow Meow Anim comment section takes no damage.

The Meow Meow Anim comments section bans you.

> post angry reply
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) You have been logged out.

(at email client) (at computer) There are two new messages, both from Meow Meow Anim.

> read message
(at email client) (at computer) You read the first message from Meow Meow Anim, to the effect that a new reply has been posted in response to your last comment.

> delete message
(at email client) (at computer) Done.

(at email client) (at computer) There are two new messages, both from Meow Meow Anim.

> read message
(at email client) (at computer) You read the first message from Meow Meow Anim, to the effect that your last comment has been deleted due to spoilerz.

> delete message
(at email client) (at computer) Done.

(at email client) (at computer) There is one new message, from Meow Meow Anim.

> read message
(at email client) (at computer) You read the message from Meow Meow Anim, to the effect that you have been banned due to spoilerz.

> load Meow Meow Anim
(at computer) You load Meow Meow Anim. The comment section is ablaze with idolatry for Meow Meow Anim’s author and misinformation and misunderstandings related to the Bible, all in need of correction.

> post angry reply
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) You re-re reread the blog post. It is about the Bible.

Your mind is focused in rage. Time doesn’t work like that!

> don internets superhero garb
(at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) “Oh Noes! Someone is wrong on the internet! SRS BSNS MODE ENGAGE!!!”

> post angry reply
(at SRS BSNS MODE = ON) (at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) You anonymously attack the Meow Meow Anim comment section with a spoilerz/insultz combo. You hit and score a mighty blow! The Meow Meow Anim comment section takes 48 damage.

The Meow Meow Anim comments section is dazed. Somewhere in Los Angeles a fanboi cuts himself with razor blades.

There is a flash as 5:30 comes and goes, but you miss it.

> post angry reply
(at SRS BSNS MODE = ON) (at Meow Meow Anim) (at computer) It’s time to up the ante. No more simple spoilerz, no silly insultz. This case calls for a straight-up honest-to-God theological dissertation. If they want to get educated, you’re gonna educate them.

You really give this one the time it deserves.

Approximately eighty minutes later the masterpiece is complete, a divine Layething of the Smaketh Down the likes of which the Meow Meow Anim comments section hasn’t seen since that other one two weeks back in response to the post about Shana figurines with heat-sensitive color-changing hair. Man, that was one stupid blog post.

You anonymously attack the Meow Meow Anim comment section with political flamebait.

> turn and click away in slow motion
(at computer) You don’t wait to see the outcome. You don’t need to. Who’s got time to watch a flamewar? You don’t look back. You keep on shining. You don’t think about the n00bs you’ve pwned.

As you keep on walking, you accidentally the clunky digital watch on your wrist. It’s approximately 7:00 am. Your shift ended an hour and a half ago.

> close web browser
(at computer) Your web browser finally concludes its slow motion close.
(at email client) (at computer) There are no new messages.

It occurs to you that your West Coast girlfriend may have gotten bored with you. It is a harsh come-down from the high of a moment ago. You feel defeated, and slump back in your chair.

> go home
You don’t feel like doing that right now.

> sigh
“Maybe she got bored with me,” you mutter, giving voice to the voice in your head – a miserably lame expression of scorn for the world – and have marginally more energy.

> shut off computer
You gather all your strength and get to your feet, powering off the Dell without shutting it down properly first.

> shut off monitor
Yeah. You flip the switch on the monitor too.

> exit cubicle
Yeah.

A somewhat-lit cubicle farm
You’re standing in an somewhat-below-par cubicle farm, just outside the human cubby hole you call your own. The lights are on, now that the sun is out. People are milling hither and thither. They are your colleagues – or they would be if you and they acknowledged each other as such. One is moving straight towards you.

> dodge
With an “excuse me” you clumsily evade your would-be colleague and related social interactions, avoiding physical and eye contact as you make your way to the exit.

Parking lot in Queens
You’re standing in a parking lot in Queens. Behind you is the dreary building to which your nights belong. In front of you is the glorious day, the sky a nice, soft cerulean.

“But seriously,” you wonder, “what was Meow thinking?”

—- Stage Clear —-

—- Would you like to save your progress so far? (y/n)

> y

—- Progress saved

—- Proceed to the next stage? (y/n)

> y

—- Loading…
—- Loading….
—- Please wait….

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Jason considered protesting the dachshund’s decision to turn off the internet, but he saw the anger in Dax’s eyes and remembered the violent beating Pablo had received, and he decided to let it be. He walked over to Frog, who sat as usual in front of a computer, hunched forward, eyes darting rapidly across his screen.

“Yo, Frog.”

“Yo, Jason.”

“You’re still watching Berkeley, right?”

“Yep. No real changes in our operations, though they smell a bit more like pig grease lately.”

“Alright. Well, here’s the plan.” Jason placed the bag of Angel Stones on a stool next to Frog’s. “We need to find another nineteen of these. Little red gems that glow a bit, should all be in Berkeley. Can you use the surveillance system to locate them?”

“Our cameras are everywhere, and the nightvision lenses the DHS sprung for three years back are finally coming in handy,” sighed Frog, pulling himself away from the screen to examine one of the Angel Stones. “What are these?”

“They’re called ‘Angel Stones,’ apparently. Dax says we need them to find and defeat the source of all this trouble.”

“Tell me more?”

“Sorry, Frog, but I think I’m just going to get back in the van again, get moving. Call me with locations as I drive. I’d like to give you more information, but it’s not necessary at this juncture, and the sooner we get this all over with, the sooner I get internet access back.”

“That turned out to be a surprisingly good motivation,” chuckled the dachshund, grinning up at Jason. Jason scowled but didn’t say anything in response.

“That’s fair, I guess.” Frog turned back to the computer and began scanning video logs of Berkeley for Angel Stones. “It’s pretty common for our superiors to keep information from us, calling it ‘unnecessary.’ Hopefully you can fill me in when this is all over, Jason.”

Jason nodded.

Jason looked around as he made for the exit. He stopped with the door half open, one foot still inside the dimly-light Pizza Hut.

“Where’s the inspector?” Jason was used to not seeing her at work, so he hadn’t noticed her absence initially. He couldn’t shake the eerieness of not being berated via speaker, however, and wondering about that eerieness led to him remembering that Inspector Kris was supposed to be in the room.

“She’s out gathering crowbars.”

Jason strode into the Pizza Hut, El in one hand and bag of Angel Stones in the other. The dachshund trotted along at his feet, glaring at the sight of Pablo. The unfortunate LAW1 employee still lay on the floor, though he had been dragged out of the way by one of his colleagues to make room for a tangled mess of power cables. Jason noted that the entire LAW1 van had been emptied out into the Pizza Hut; all the equipment he was used to seeing in the darkness of the van was now basking in the flickering lighting of the post-apocalyptic pizza chain.

The disgruntled worker still stood impassively behind the counter, oblivious to everything going on around him.

In one corner, Dorito George and the LAW3 gunmen were arguing in loud whispers about whether or not to turn off the internet in California. Dorito looked up as Jason approached him.

“These assholes wanted to pull the plug on internet country-wide,” he said, mouthing each word as though it were an insult to humanity. “I got them to reduce the scope of their ambitions, but they’re still set on screwing someone over.”

“Commander M1A0, we considered it carefully and it is crucial—”

“No,” answered Jason, cutting off the LAW3 worker. “No pulling plugs. Access to the internet is a basic human right.”

“Commander, the European Union was dissolved by the Establishment three years ago! Their edicts do not affect any of the world’s citizens.”

“Like I’ve been saying,” said Dorito angrily, turning back to the gunmen, “without internet, people can’t read Jason’s blog. You can’t do this.”

“Is that the argument you’ve been giving?” snorted the dachshund.

“It’s a perfectly sound argument.”

“And I thought you were mildly competent, Dorito. Look. I told you that these goons are under your command. If you don’t want them to do something, they don’t do it. You have the authority.”

Dorito nodded and then glared meaningfully at the LAW3 men, who both shrugged and gave disarming smiles.

“… that SAID,” continued the dachshund, furrowing its brow, “I’m overriding you on this one. Gentlemen, please proceed.”

“Why?!” cried Dorito and Jason in unison.

“Idiots! If people around the world knew that the sun no longer sheds light on this state, what do you think would happen? Europe would strike back at the Establishment, perhaps aided by Asia! It would be a disaster. A disaster! Let me make this clear to you, bloggers: it would be like the announcement of a security hole in WordPress.”

Jason and Dorito looked at each other and nodded. Once again they spoke in unison:

“If no one knows there’s a hole, it can’t be patched.”

The dachshund growled in frustration.

“We’re here to patch the hole. No one else needs to know. LAW3, do your thing.” The gunmen saluted and dashed out of the Pizza Hut. “Now, Jason. About those cameras you mentioned.”

“‘Extreme,’” chuckled Joe. “What’s new?”

He knew that the footage in question was the footage dorito had told him about. He agreed with the sentiment that an American invasion on the grounds described was a bit much. But still he was surprised. He had joined his brethren “cyber hacker terrorists” on numerous occasions to wave signs and distribute pamphlets in front of fake churches, but that was on an entirely different scale.

Killing false gods while eating cake and exchanging internet jokes with the Anonymous collective was fun and profitable.

Opposing the Establishment was death.

Joe shook his head and closed his web browser. He wasn’t going to delve further into this.

When he brought his inbox back to the foreground, however, he found that ‘this’ wasn’t exactly going to leave him alone. Fifteen copies of the Anonymous e-mail had filled the first page of his e-mail list and the application was checking for more.

Right before his eyes, his inbox was inundated with wave after wave of protest-related spam.

“I didn’t sign up for this crap,” Joe muttered, and Dan rolled over, humming some anime song about family in his sleep. And this isn’t a tactic of the Anonymous I know. Must be a bug in some script somewhere… Well, I can’t work like this. Might as well skip out early. Get some sleep while it’s still light out.

“Dan, Dan,” he whispered, poking the redhead’s arm.

“MMmmmfghnr?” snorted Dan, pawing at Joe’s hand.

“May I go home?”

“… the four dango on a skewer…” murmured Dan, and Joe took that as a yes. He turned his computer off and stepped out of his cubicle. He felt a little guilty for leaving early, but the party had thrown off his work rhythm anyway, and he was not in the mood to deal with the spam. Maybe tomorrow. As he hurriedly quit the office, he passed Sam’s cubicle. He glanced in briefly.

Somehow the overhead lighting of the office didn’t penetrate the Sam’s workspace. A figure in a black hoodie sat hunched over a laptop in the darkness, motionless. The only light in the room came from the laptop’s screen and its user’s glasses The sound of keys clacking occasionally reached Joe’s ears despite the absence of any typing motions.

Joe got the chills watching his supervisor. He felt like he might get sucked into a black hole if he looked on for too long. Pulling himself away, he made good his escape from work.

A Street Corner in San Francisco, California
You are standing on a street corner in San Francisco, California.
There is a nondescript black van parked here, casting a mighty shadow.

> x van
The van is black. It is nondescript, just the way your employer likes it. Having reflecting on the matter at length, you have decided that it is in fact nondescript to the point of being conspicuous.

> x shadow
It is a mighty shadow. The San Francisco fog doesn’t sit heavy today, so the scene is less diffusely lit than typical. As a result, the edges of the lengthening shadow are sharper than you are accustomed to, casting back onto the van more of an effect of a more imposing figure – broad, boxy, erect.
Young plants avert their blooming flowers in embarrassment at the unstoppable behemoth of a shadowcaster.
You, too, cast down your eyes in shame, now touching your chin, now fumbling with your watch. It’s five o’clock, and you are no less than 100% late for work, and on the one day you were told to be here at a certain time, so that your orientation could be done properly.

> approach van
You cross the threshold to darkness, and are overcome by an ominous chill.
You are now closer to the van.

> approach van
You penetrate deeper into the soul-consuming shadow, and are paralyzed with meekness.
You are now closer to the van.

—- Last shred of confidence subtracted from inventory.

> x van
You can’t do that while paralyzed.

> stab thigh with dagger
With a horrendous gut-wrenching roar, you plunge the kunai into your own thigh, a fountain of blood erupting to splatter and stain the flowers quivering in the van’s mighty shadow. The pain clears your head, dispelling all non-permanent negative mind effects and giving a temporary +4 circumstance bonus to will saving throws for ten rounds.

You can move again.

> x van
HDR bloom effects around the edges of backlit van, while impressive in their own right, make those edges less clean due to color bleed and the imperfections of your eyes as light measurement devices. This significantly undermines the overall imposingness of the van’s aspect.

—- A shred of confidence added to inventory.

> type code into number pad
Done.

> open crew door
Done.

> enter van

Inside of Law 1 Van
You are inside a van. The interior space seems—
“MIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIM” screech-drones intensely the inspector’s voice over the speaker.

There is a lifetime supply of verbal abuse here.

> what?
“MIMIMIMIMIMIMtoddlerIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIseriousMIMIMIMIMIMIMIM” screech-drones intensely the inspector’s voice over the speaker.

> wha?
“MIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIM” screech-drones intensely the inspector’s voice over the speaker.

> whu-
“MIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIM” screech-drones intensely the inspector’s voice over the speaker.

> bu-
“MIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIM” screech-drones intensely the inspector’s voice over the speaker.

> mu-
“MIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIM” screech-drones intensely the inspector’s voice over the speaker.

> th-
“MIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIMIM” screech-drones intensely the inspector’s voice over the speaker.

> say “andsoinspectorthatswhatIwasdoinglastnightHadthisbigpartygotprettywasteditsembarassingtosaybutyeahmyfriendswouldntletmebetheysaidwehadtokeepcelebratingsothatswhyIdidntgettobeduntilfiveandwhyIdidntgethereatpreciselynineoclock”

“The one day I tell you to be here by a certain time, so that we can do your orientation properly, you show up late, Jason.” intone the inspector’s harsh tones over the speaker.

The pain in your thigh has now subsided.

> protest this horrendously unjust unfair undeserved unwarranted-
You fail your will saving throw and freeze for one (1) rounds.

The speaker continues berating you with the inspector’s voice.

> protest
You fail your will saving throw and freeze for one (1) rounds.

The speaker continues berating you with the inspector’s voice.

> protest
You fail your will saving throw and freeze for one (1) rounds.

The speaker continues berating you with the inspector’s voice.

> apologize
You stammer out some pathetic sniveling whimper of an “I’m sorry!”

—- Last shred of self-respect subtracted from inventory.

The speaker continues berating you with the inspector’s voice.

> apologize
You try to stammer out some pathetic sniveling whimper of an “I’m sorry!” but fail.

The speaker continues berating you with the inspector’s voice.

> take it
—- A lifetime supply of verbal abuse added to inventory.

With a disheartened sigh, the speaker finally peters out.

—- Stage Clear —-

—- Would you like to save your progress so far? (y/n)

> y

—- Error
—- Progress cannot be saved
—- Error
—- Save command returned Error, Code DPD :: Drawing girls in snow is difficult
—- Save loop exit (save unsuccessful)

—- Proceeding to the next stage

—- Loading…
—- Loading….
—- Please wait….

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A food court in Berkeley, California
Bland. You are standing in a bland food court in Berkeley, California. The sky is dull and grey; in every direction a lame fog permeates the space between you and everything. Bland sky, bland food, bland food court, bland street, bland city, bland country, bland world. The fog is probably even hovering on the ground just to dampen your footsteps, padding everything from everything, muffling your being. The meal you have just discarded flops lamely in the trash bin, following so many others you haven’t had the appetite for. Your gaze scans the other food vendors, but it makes no difference. You’ve tried them all, it’s all the same. Bland. There’s nothing to see. There is not a single discernible detail for your eyes to notice, for your mind to study.
Bland.

> exit food court
You can’t discern a way to do that here.

> cast Find Exits
The thoroughly insane notion pops into your head that lurking in the darkness are great powers just waiting to be violently awakened, which you will be able to channel to cast magic spells. If only you had your spirit guide power animal with you!

> summon spirit guide power animal
The thoroughly insane notion pops into your head that your spirit guide power animal is nearby, and will come if you just whistle the right tune. If only you knew how to polyphonically whistle!

> spontaneously instantiate spirit guide power animal
The thoroughly insane notion pops into your head that if you conjure a sufficiently effective vibrant and detailed image of your spirit guide power animal, the creature will suddenly quite of its own actualize before you.

You close your eyes and begin visualizing…

> visualize spirit guide power animal
(in your mind’s eye) What animal do you visualize?

> visualize rabbit
(in your mind’s eye) The Energizer Bunny pounds past. Power animal indeed! But hardly a spirit guide.

> oh whatever!
You are no longer visualizing.

> x food court
Bland. You try to focus but there is not a single discernible detail for your eyes to notice, for your mind to study.
Bland.

> reminisce about how the food court used to be
You close your eyes. The old images come floating back. You recall the first time you visited Berkeley, five years ago, before the switch. The food court had character – interesting food, each shop distinctive, eager students in yellow caps — especially that one — bustling about studiously, dealing drugs and swapping CDs, pigeons pouring out their bowels on everything. And a short dilapidated wheelchair ramp to the south.

—- From the darkness in your heart, memory of the food court exit is violently awakened!

> exit food court
With a sigh you step out of the food court to the street. Try as you may, your desire to describe this movement as “emerging” cannot be reconciled with reality.

Hearst Avenue
Bland. You are standing in a dull spot on a dull street enveloped in dull fog. A constant stream of headlights emerges from the fog, oozing up the hill, fading again at the other end of your small pocket of world. Bland.

Every so often, a car with a broken headlight trundles past, like a holy beacon of uneven light, to be grasped at, desperately clung to. Then its place is taken again by the next dull vehicle, the same as the rest, moving perfectly in line, in time, lock step, clean rhyme, all fine design, no shine, no grime, no whine, no spine.

> x cars
Bland. You try to focus but there is no discernible detail for your eyes to focus on, for your mind to study. The throng crawls ever forwards, but even as from moment to moment it is surely always moving, still each moment it looks the same. Bland.

> i
Bland. You try to focus but from pocket to pocket your senses are too muted to make out what’s what and your mind just can’t seem to grip to keep track. You’re probably wearing your backpack, or is it that new jacket you put on this morning that’s still kind of stiff why would you have your binder in your arm if it could be in your backpack or is that your purse in hand but your wallet is over in the left pocket unless that’s a packet of flashcards but weren’t they over here on the other side or was it you feel like you should be more worried that you lost your keys but it’s all just too dull.

> s
Though you’re having trouble working out the details, the cars are moving, and therefore dangerous. It’s probably not a good idea to move from here until you’ve gotten a handle on the traffic flow.

> reminisce about bad drivers
The next time a car with a broken headlight trundles up the hill, you seize on it. It evokes a memory of a time when people would casually forget to turn their lights on in the fog, drive drunk, stop their cars in red zones, and cross the street wherever and whenever they felt like it.

—- From the darkness in your heart, memory of jaywalking is violently awakened!

> s
With a sigh you guide your small pocket-in-the-fog across the street.

Hearst Avenue (other side)
Bland. You are standing in a dull spot on a dull street enveloped in dull fog. A constant stream of headlights emerges from the fog, oozing up the hill, fading again at the other end of your small pocket of world. Bland.

> w
With a third sigh in as many moves, you start down the hill, headed for home.

—- Stage Foggy —-

> what?
Excuse me?

> w
At the base of the hill the fog thins slightly.

—- Stage Clear —-

—- Would you like to save your progress so far? (y/n)

>y

—- Progress saved

—- Proceed to the next stage? (y/n)

>y

—- Loading…
—- Loading….
—- Please wait….

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Joe sat back down to his computer. The party had gone on for hours, eating away at his usual lunch break and preventing him from getting his usual meal of pizza, but he didn’t mind too much. He’d given in to JP and tried the salad and it hadn’t been so bad, and Dr. Pepper was a nice change of pace from his usual diet sodas. Sometimes, he wondered why he bothered with diet soda when he couldn’t quit the cheap pizza. Times like when he drank non-diet soda and enjoyed it.

JP had left Joe’s cubicle first, leaving the barely-touched salad in favor of a conference call with Ms. Harris and the heads of various other offices. Maria had followed not too long after, offering as an explanation nothing but smiles, though Joe could tell she was uncomfortably tired from dealing with Dan for so long. Sam had disappeared in silence at some point, though Joe didn’t know when. One minute he was there, lurking in the corner, next he was gone.

Dan lay on the floor, fast asleep, packages of dumplings both consumed and uneaten littering the area around him.

Ignoring him, Joe turned his thoughts back to work. Guess I better reply to this… Bob… character. Just as he was about to click reply, though, his attention was drawn away from Bob to a new e-mail in his inbox.

From: Anonymous <spambot@your.base>
To: Me <king_j@hotmail.com>
Subject: I’ll jupst pleave thips herep.

• phttp://frjp.whyweprotest.org

Joe sighed to himself. Another self-styled “Anonymous.” A self-styled Anonymous with one of the most tasteless e-mail domains ever, at that. Joe clicked the link because he clicked links in e-mails sent his way. He didn’t expect much of the site that had failed to kill Scientology and Iran.

The webpage loaded in Joe’s browser and he was instantly confronted by a sea of Guy Fawkes masks.

“Join the fight,” read one bold-faced link in the header. “You can be anonymous, too!” chirped an as-of-yet unofficial HTML5 element at the bottom of the page. Joe rapidly right-clicked on the instructional video and made it disappear with his ad filtering software.

Flashy element taken care of, Joe began reading the introductory blurb at the top of the page:

“The Establishment of America has invaded the independent nations of France and Japan as a punitive action in response to the two countries publishing certain satellite footage to the internet. This footage did not belong to America. It depicted a potential supernatural phenomenon and America—perhaps fearing for its national security—sought to censor it. Anonymous believes that America’s actions are extreme and ungrounded, and Anonymous will gather to protest them.”

After Sam and Joe had sat regarding each other in awkward silence for fifteen minutes, with Dan in turns a) ignoring the awkwardness and being his usual bubbly self, and b) holding out the awkward balloon in the hopes of raising the cubicle’s spirits, the office door squeaking open and subsequently slamming shut signaled the return of JP and Maria. Joe breathed a sigh of relief, Dan pumped his fists, Sam stood silent.

“We’re baaack,” called Maria.

“Welcome baaack,” responded Dan, imitating Maria’s intonation.

Maria walked into the cubicle carrying two bags of drinks and snack food.

“We got ingredients for a fresh salad, which JP is making right now. We also have… lemonade, Dr. Pepper, some potato chips, and… here’s your Japanese shit,” she laughed, fishing a plastic package of spherical dumplings out of one bag and handing them to Dan.

“Sweeeeet,” grinned the redhead, opening the package and popping a bite-sized green ball into his mouth. “Chou wan one, Djoe?”

Joe shook his head. He was more interested in the chips and soda.

Maria ran out of the cubicle quickly, returning moments later with a stack of plastic cups. She poured five cups of lemonade and five cups of soda and smiled.

“We’ll have a toast once JP finishes with the salad.”

Dan cheered, spraying dumpling halfway across the cubicle.

“Oh, and I guess, since it hasn’t been said yet–It’s nice to meet you, Joe.” Maria extended her hand. Joe took it and shook it meekly. “Was it a funny one?”

“Was what a funny what?”

“The crazy e-mail you got, was it funny?”

“I… guess,” shrugged Joe. He was fairly weary from all the insanity happening around him. Too weary to be amused by more of it.

“It was hilarious,” chirped Dan. “Remember ‘Time Machine?’”

Maria spun and punched the cubicle wall.

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”

“What’s wrong, honey?” asked JP, walking into the cubicle holding a large bowl full of greenery.

“Oh, nothing,” sighed Maria. “Just some customers getting smart with us and talking about the tastes of certain things.”

“Again? We get one of those at least once a month,” JP said, putting the salad down on Joe’s desk and scratching his head expressively.

“What’s in that?” Joe asked of JP’s bowl, looking down his nose at it.

“I made a salad with arugula because I’m a pinko liberal commie faggot,” explained JP.

“He’s joking,” whispered Dan.

Joe was at a loss for words. He wrinkled his brow and sighed, “oookay.”

“Well, shall we celebrate?” asked JP, chuckling. Maria passed out drinks, and the cubicle held a toast of initiation for Joe. Maria and Dan engaged in cheerful banter about the TV shows they were watching. JP went around the room, doing his best to force the arugula salad upon his coworkers. Dr. Pepper after Dr. Pepper seemed to disappear into the void of Sam’s hood. Joe wasn’t sure whether he should laugh along with his colleagues’ good cheer or despair at their kookiness.

In any event, he admitted internally, it sure felt like a party.

“Sam, are you going to come over?” called Dan. “Party in Joe’s cubicle.”

“Is there even room for all of us in here?” asked Joe. His cubicle wasn’t exactly spacious, and there was only the one chair–his.

“Oh for sure, we’ll just crowd in a bit. By the way, I was wondering. Boss-lady said you were bad with people. Bad at talking to them. You’re awfully talkative today, though. Did something change, or is she bananas?”

Joe flinched. Thinking about it rapidly he realized that he did feel more comfortable around Dan than he did around most people, probably a result of Dan’s effusive exterior. It was moments like these, though, that reminded Joe to stay on guard around the affable–the more extroverted a man was, in his experience, the more likely he was to confront unpleasant topics.

Trying to find some way to answer Dan without either addressing his disdain for human interaction or lying, he took the easy route.

“Bananas,” he said.

“Isn’t she just?” smiled Dan. “Completely boinkers. Zonkers. Off-the-hook insanity!! That’s the boss-lady and we just love her for it. At least, I do! She’s unreal!”

“Mmmm, unreal,” nodded Joe. And then he stopped nodding. A dark figure was standing behind Dan, looking every bit as ominous and frightening as a ringwraith. “Behind you!” he yelled, and Dan spun around, delivering a deft karate kick to the man behind him.

“Oh, damn it,” Dan exclaimed, kneeling down over hs victim, whom Joe could now see was just a human being in a black hoodie. “My reflexes are good, Joe. In the future, please don’t startle me.”

“I don’t know what about those reflexes could be called ‘good,’” snorted Joe, leaning forward in his chair. “Do you know who he is?”

Dan pointed to the employee badge clipped to the man’s hoodie pocket. It read “Sam B.”

“Sam?” Joe asked. Dan nodded. “Will he be alright?”

“Indeed so. The man’s resilient. He should come to any minute.”

Joe crossed his heart and prayed for the swift recovery of his immediate superior. Then he laughed internally at the thought of Sam as his immediate superiorr. Though Sam was the one in charge of him, Dan felt more like a supervisor–after all, he spent a good hour or so in Joe’s cubicle over the course of an average work day, and this was Joe’s first time seeing Sam outside of IRC.

Sam stirred and then sat up.

Between the black hood, a pair of glasses, and ample quantities of facial hair, his face was well-obscured.

“Sam?” asked Joe, extending a hand toward the bearded glasses.

“Sam,” confirmed Sam, leaning forward and shaking Joe’s hand.

Sam stood wordlessly, as though Dan hadn’t just floored him. As his glasses caught a reflection from the overhead lights, inspiration struck Joe. Under the right lighting conditions, Joe figured, and given an appropriately ridiculous hat, Sam would look every bit the ideal Final Fantasy black mage.

“Dear Amtrak,

“I am writing to inform you that your trains DO NOT taste like trains. I had the opportunity to sample them four days ago and they were unlike any train I’ve ever taken. I would like this discrepancy fixed. I don’t expect it to be easy, or to go quickly, so I’m not going to say that they need to taste like trains within the next week, but I do need some immediate feedback on this letter to know that it has been received and that you are complying. Please call me. I’ve attached my vCard below.

“Thank you for your time and diligence in fixing the doesn’t-taste-like-train problem,
“-Bob”

“Well would you look at that,” chuckled Dan. He stuck his head out of Joe’s cubicle and called out to his coworkers, “guys! It’s Joe’s first crazy.”

“Oh shit,” yelled JP in response, the sound of an office chair crashing into a filing cabinet punctuating his exclamation. “Hold on guys I’ll hit Wholefoods real quick.”

“What’s going on?” asked Joe, mildly confused by the sudden uproar. The letter, read aloud to the office by Dan, sat neatly in Joe’s work inbox.

“The first time a customer service rep gets a batshit e-mail, we celebrate,” explained a suited brunette, stopping briefly outside Joe’s cubicle before sprinting for the office exit, calling for JP to wait for her.

“Who was that?” asked Joe.

“Maria. I guess she’s going shopping with him.”

“Shopping for what?”

“Celebratory foods, of course. You like Doritos, you said?” Dan beamed. “I can call them, tell them to pick up a bag while they’re out there–”

“I’d rather not,” sighed Joe. He didn’t want to eat something that reminded him of insanity. Rereading the e-mail from ‘Bob,’ he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was so crazy about it. Maybe I’ve been conditioned, he mused, conditioned by Marin and Dorito and those idiot radicals and their doomsaying.

The LAW1 van’s headlights illuminated the eerily dark streets as Jason steered through downtown San Francisco.

“Really, Dax? Angels?” he asked as he made his way onto the Bay Bridge.

“Hah, I just wanted to sound impressive,” replied the dog, sitting snugly in the passenger seat. “We’re finding those things I told you about, the Angel Stones.”

“Oh!” Jason pulled into the right most lane and cut the engine.

“Why are you stopping, boy?”

“Umm, we need to use the surveillance cameras to find them, right?” Jason pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “All our gear is back in that Pizza Hut now.”

“Idiot, what good is there in searching for something if you don’t know what it looks like? We’re going to go pick up the Angel Stones that Marin found, and we’re going to bring those back to LAW4 so that they can find the rest. Make sense to you?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Jason started up the engine again and continued along the bridge. The bridge was oddly deserted, but Jason had been expecting it. When the sun had disappeared, normal life had ground to a sudden halt in the San Francisco Bay Area. Normal life included a bustling Bay Bridge. “So… we’re headed for her apartment, then?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.”

Jason sped toward Berkeley, ignoring speed limits. It took only ten minutes to reach Marin’s apartment with no traffic and no traffic lights. Jason stopped the van, opened his door, and stepped out into the darkness. Dax followed him. They made their way into the pitch-black lobby and ascended the emergency stairs, El casting a faint light on the steps. They came to Marin’s room and entered, and Dax ran over to the desk dominated mostly by Marin’s Apple machine, leapt atop it, and pointed to a pile of red marbles.

“Those marbles are the Angel Stones?” asked Jason.

“Yes,” replied Dax simply. “If you find them all, you’ll be able to unlock Garch’s dungeon. You’ll be one step closer to defeating him, and saving this country.”

“Sounds good,” said Jason, scooping up the five Angel Stones and dropping them into his jeans pocket. “Speaking of which, are you going to explain about the Professor and Code X and all that to the others?”

“They don’t need to know, they just need to fight the demons. You’re El’s chosen one; you will defeat Garch.”

“Umm… I’d like for them to know, I think,” said Jason, hesitating. He was afraid of invoking the dachshund’s wrath after what had happened to Pablo. “I want them to trust me.”

“Then tell them yourself,” growled the dog. “I’m not going to waste my breath on them. They don’t need to know, and they’re all dumb to boot. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that our government employs such useless morons.”

“It’s good that sometimes it finds catches like you, huh,” said Jason as he smiled sardonically. The effect was lost in the dark.

“Don’t even try getting on my good side, boy.”