Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Veils between worlds can be surprisingly thin.

All it takes is a small push against a weak point in the fabric of reality to have the entire world turned upside-down. This very event (nicknamed “The Great Collide” within modern history books) occurred shortly after the second World War as popularity with cartoons began to rise.

Humanity was shocked to find out that media created for entertainment had seemingly gained a mind of it’s own, and created an entire reality as well.

Humanity is a perpetual lonely species. With no contact from outside species, there was only one option to turn to: creation.

When the planet shares a dream, that dream shall come true. If humanity wanted company and kinship? Then by the powers they shall receive.

This has led to a powerful pillar of belief : “Nothing is as powerful as the capacity to dream.”

As far as it could be perceived, the species dubbed “toonkind” existed within a limited pocket dimension of humanity’s accidental creation (named the “Storyverse” as a verbal fusion between “story” and “universe”). This rift was formed directly above Point Nemo, warping the earth below it to form a land mass approximately 64 km². Inside the rift physics were not just unstable, but completely subjective to whatever the “toons” found to be convenient for their antics.

For quite some time, creating transformative art that could potentially yield another “universe bubble” within the Storyverse was prohibited by international law. It was debated whether or not a single person should be able to have the ability to create dimensions. Opposing parties argued that humans have been creating art for decades, and it wouldn’t be possible nor beneficial to silence these artistic movements.

Within the early years of The Great Collide, humanity mingled freely with toonkind. This would end up having disastrous effects on the stability of the planet Earth, but not without a significant amount of testing beforehand.

This took place directly within the Cold War, when both the United States of America and the Soviet Union wished to test the secondary dimension’s abilities. Alongside the space race was research into the Storyverse. Tests ranging from opening up secondary rifts (impossible), storing weaponry (unsuccessful; equipment damaged), and espionage (unsuccessful; humans received too much attention) had damaging effects on the location of testing.

Toonkind, while naturally resilient, could be warped much more negatively with outside influence. This in turn would cause existing media containing cartoons or fiction of any kind to fade.

Their own worlds were being actively rewritten from the inside, and the beings within no longer fit the narrative.

The Fictional Ethics Organization (F.E.O) was created as protection against using the Storyverse for military, monetary, or political gain. The F.E.O argued that not only freedom of speech was being revoked, but sapient beings were being directly harmed and potentially erased from existence. After considerable debate, the UN added an amendment to the Geneva Conventions surrounding interaction with the Storyverse.

With help from Toonkind, the tear in reality was stabilized; fitted with a large door, heavily guarded, and monitored by scientists specializing in the unique phenomenon. Limited access was allowed for humanity, and external access for toonkind was prohibited.

Integrity of the dimension was to be maintained at all times, though artists were encouraged to continue creation regardless of the topic. The UN deemed this as “an act of preserving humanity’s legacy via art”, which resulted in an explosion of art, spearheaded by the Disney Renaissance.

The creation of the internet not only strengthened the Storyverse, but expanded it to incomprehensible proportions. The once small pocket dimension with a handful of bubbles became nearly as imposing as the dimension it stemmed from.


Which leads to the current day, and your new job opportunity.

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Ever since the pandemic, you’ve been pursuing your master’s degree in psychology. The unique circumstances with being required to isolate from others yet being connected to the rest of the world through screen made for some fascinating thesis topics.

It began with you researching the effects of social media on the psyche. Then, your curiosity of online cultures. This several month long rabbit hole lead you to the fascinating realm of the Storyverse. Every scholarly source you researched showed little to no information on the psychology of toonkind, despite their proven sapience.

When you suggested to your Professor that you wanted to do a thesis on toon psychology, she was incredibly excited (professionally so, of course. This is an academic setting after all.)

She mentioned how she considered pursuing the topic herself, but she was far too occupied with working at the University.

Your Professor said to meet her in the Dean’s office once classes had concluded for the day, and directed you out of the classroom. The rest of your classes had been a blur of droning voices and stacks of paper.

At the time, you couldn’t help but be anxious. While yes, she said herself she was interested in the topic of toon psychology, being told to meet her in the Dean’s office was incredibly worrying.

You knew that few people were able to research the mysterious sister dimension, and even fewer allowed within. Countless thoughts assaulted your mind;

‘Has this topic been researched before? If not, how am I possibly the first? Is there some unspoken taboo I’m walking directly into?’

You prayed you hadn’t walked directly into classified territory as you sped-walked down the halls from your final class. The student body around you grew more sparse, until you were standing directly before the imposing door itself.

The Dean’s office.

You knocked a few times before a deeper voice urged you to come in. Inside, you were met with your Professor sitting on a plush leather chair, and the Dean himself lounging imposingly in his spot behind an old mahogany desk.

“Well aren’t you a go-getter? Got here awfully early.” he glanced at you from behind his glasses, motioning for you to sit down.

In direct contrast to your openly anxious body language, your Professor looked like she was going to burst from excitement.

Your attention was sharply brought back to the Dean as he cleared his throat.

“Rarely do we get such… intriguing thesis topics from students nowadays. Despite the status of our University, many students prefer to study “within the box” so to speak.” He dipped down to open up a drawer in his desk, speaking the whole time. “Educational stability is the first choice within this economy, after all. Can’t waste money on a potentially lucrative thesis topic.”

“Which is why I just had to inform the Dean!” your Professor chirped. “You have an incredibly sharp mind, it’s clear you would be a student to break the mold!”

There was a brief lull in conversation as the Dean searched through his desk drawers, taking far too agonizingly long for your liking. You jiggled your leg impatiently.

He was content to sort through the drawers until letting out a quiet “Aha!”, producing a worn envelope.

“Now, it’s no secret that we produce exceptional students. Our curriculum is uniquely structured to produce fantastic psychologists, therapists, and all gifted minds alike.” he slid the paper across the desk into your line of sight.

You felt your heart jolt at the sight of the large F.E.O insignia. From how faded the ink looked, it had to have been nearly a decade old

“We were contacted by the F.E.O quite a few years back with the offer of a grant. It was to be given to a promising student who wished to research the topic more in depth.” he sniffed before continuing “Of course, this was much earlier within the Internet’s lifespan, so many things have changed since then. Lots of “dimensional expansion” that is not within my several degrees to explain to you.” The Dean stated with a dismissive wave.

You held back a glare. It wasn’t that hard to understand that the Storyverse expanded with the boom of the internet. And of course he had to find a way to squeeze bragging about his degrees into the conversation.

‘Come on, I can’t think too negatively here! I’m being presented with a great opportunity, no matter how much of a hard-ass this guy is! Plus, the grant….’

You eyed the envelope again. It obviously wasn’t stuffed with cash, but who knows how much the F.E.O invested into this?

“Obviously, you must be wondering why such a grant has gone untouched all of these years.” The Dean slipped the string binding the envelope off casually, sliding out a decent amount of papers along with a check.

“For starters, inflation has gone up considerably this past decade. It’s still no pocket change, but it’s far less convincing for students when they’re met with the deal-breaker.” You could see the immediate shift in his demeanour. The Dean leaned across his desk and folded his hands together. He met your confused expression with a stern, yet strained one.

“You will be required to live within this dimension for the duration of your thesis. No exiting for holidays, family emergencies, or anything of the sort.”

You sank into your chair, utterly shocked. Staying inside the Storyverse? For the entirety of your thesis? How would this even affect your psyche, let alone body?

Your Professor spoke up, as if reading your mind.

“There would also be— physical tests performed on you incrementally during your stay. Blood work, psychological evaluations, things of the sort. But-! But I implore you to consider pursuing this subject for your thesis!” She grasped your hands, evidently struggling to keep the sheer elation out of her voice.

“Not only will valuable information be gained from your physical evaluations, but the research you’re conducting will be groundbreaking! Imagine how far humanity will be sent into the future with all of the untapped information that’s gone uncollected!”

The Dean cleared his throat once again and glared at your Professor, causing her to shrink back into her chair.

“Unusually, connection via mobile devices and other modern technology is unimpaired within this—what was it re-named to? The Storyverse?”  He scoffed before continuing on.

“You would be fully connected to the internet, and any resources you may need will be sent to you. Housing will be provided within one of the more stable locations, and some researchers set up at the gate will be able to safely and effectively test the effects of “unique dimensional exposure” on your body.” The Dean held up air quotes as he spoke.

You couldn’t help but voice your concerns on the subject.

“I’m sorry sir, but how am I supposed to effectively conduct research if my physical well-being is potentially at stake? Hypothetically, say this has an incredibly detrimental effect on my psyche. Not only would I be a liability to our university’s reputation, but I may have a negative impact on my toonkind patients!” You waved your hands around in exasperation.

“This is obviously avoiding the elephant in the room of my evident concern for personal safety! Which is-”

“-Which is why nobody has taken this opportunity.” The Dean cut you off. He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing on.

“Those willing to be “test subjects” rarely have the intellectual capacity for this required research, and those that do refuse to be physically tested on. It’s certainly a hassle.” He sighed.

Your Professor scooted her chair closer to yours, ignoring the irritated look of the Dean.

“My dear, I have had precious few students who have shined like you have within my classes.” she carefully clasped your hand within hers again, but far more gently this time.

“Your capacity for empathy and emotional intelligence make you a wonderfully caring person, and an incredible therapist to boot!”

She rubbed your thumb over your knuckles before continuing.

“Do you remember closer to your first year you spent here? When we were discussing the subjects of human fears?” You nodded at your Professor, watching her smile softly at the memory.

“One of the most prominent fears of humanity is the fear of the unknown. Far easier to deal with the devil you know than the devil you don’t, right?” She flicked her eyes to the Dean and bit her lip, clearly fighting off the urge to laugh. You giggled quietly at her silent joke.

“The fear you’re feeling is deeply instinctual. It is of no surprise to me that you would be concerned for your well-being. I am as well! I’m not exactly the type of woman to send off her best students to some— death realm!” She chuckled.

“But humanity hasn’t grown within the absence of risk, has it? No, despite what our deepest instincts tell us, we throw ourselves into the unknown with the promise of discovery! Isn’t that incredible? Defying your very nature in the pursuit of knowledge and betterment of our kind?” Your heart felt like it was caught in your throat as she passionately spoke.

“No matter what choice you make, I will never see you as any less of a brilliant mind. I however, am not immune to bias, despite my many years working within the field of psychology. I am certain you are the perfect student for this subject!”

You felt choked up. Your Professor always made university worth going to; every subject was exciting and felt like you were exploring directly into the human mind. If you closed your eyes while she spoke during her lectures, is was if you were talking across large expanses of grey matter and tightrope walking across neurons.

You rarely encountered teachers who were genuinely thrilled to teach their subject. But with her? It was hard not to be excited about anything she spoke of. You swear that lady could make the smallest speck of dirt feel like a mind-shattering breakthrough.

It was against your better judgment, you knew that clearly. You obviously needed at least a few weeks to think, plan, and schedule around something as massive as this. But looking into your Professor’s eyes as they sparkled with hope and decades of wisdom, you couldn’t help but do as she said.

You couldn’t help but dive head-first into the unknown.

“How do I begin?”

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Those four words led you directly to where you stand right now:

The Gate to the Storyverse

Months of preparation, countless emails sent out to loved ones, irritating physical exams; it all crumpled away in your mind as you stared up at the gate.

The research equipment, buildings, and mess of wires felt sorely out of place on this beautiful island. The heavy scent of ozone permeated your nose as the air crackled and warped around the gateway. It was roughly the size of a four-story building, and just as wide. The thick archway was composed of old growth redwood, elegantly curved upwards and carefully adorned with copper detailing. With the massive door in front of you being made out of the same material (with a massive, curved door handle too large for a human to use) it felt as if you were crossing directly into a story book.

‘ I suppose that’s exactly what I’m doing.’ You thought to yourself humourlessly.

Gripping the handle of your overflowing suitcase, you watched as the heavily suited workers around you brought a modified excavator forward. The attachment was hand-like, ideal for gripping the comically large handle above you.

Somewhere behind you, a mechanical timer began counting down. The workers in their hazmat suits all scuttling around you seemed to fade within the edges of your shrinking peripheral. Not even the muffled voice of the worker directly in front of you could tear your attention away from the gate as the handle was twisted.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

'“-y kid! KID! Snap out of it, would ya?” The worker in front of you shook your shoulder, forcing your attention onto them.

“Listen, we’re sending you to a bubble that’s a bit more stable, yeah? It’s one of those uh, one of those internet show type ones. Not too big to screw us if things go south, but big enough to not scramble your atoms. Should feel like going under for anaesthetic, but without the weird cold feeling, and a whole lot faster.” The worker chuckled as you stared completely horrified.

“Ah, you academics are all the same! Don’t get your lab coat in a twist, it’ll be over in a blink.” They handed you a hefty briefcase, yet another thing for you to lug along, as they debriefed you on the task at hand.

“This briefcase is real special, got it? Fancy non-warping metal to withstand the other side. It’s got a locator built into it, so don’t just toss it when you get the stuff from inside.” They had to raise their voice to be heard against the grind of machinery.

“You’ve got all the essentials inside: documents going over everything, a solid laptop, work phone, emergency first aid kit, and most importantly of all— ya gotta pay attention to this bit —your ID card. ” They grabbed your thumb, pressing it against a groove near the handle. The briefcase flipped open, and they grabbed the lanyard that held your ID.

“Not only will this be used to identify you to the toons in there, but it helps us send you to the right coordinates. Don’t want you being warped directly into a tree or something! You gotta keep this on you at all times, no matter what. If this gets lost, we can’t locate ya.” They slipped the lanyard around your neck, holding the card up for emphasis. Buried in the card you could faintly see a weak, green, glowing dot in the upper right corner.

The blood drained from your face at the thought of being stranded so far from home. You were already standing on Point Nemo, the farthest point from the rest of the world (which you had to be flown to; no connecting bridges to trek back across). But being an entire dimension away? Just how incomprehensibly far will you be from your home?

“On the bright side, this bad boy is water resistant, fire resistant, lava resistant—don’t ask me how the lab guys managed that—and pretty much any kind of resistant you can think of. Might as well be a damn Nokia— hah! ” They mimed wiping away a tear from their eye, despite their face being entirely hidden behind their hazmat suit.

“Basically, wear this thing on you 24/7, even if you’re butt naked in the shower. Can’t be too careful given the circumstances, right? But back to your deployment, we’ve got a little “base of operations” set up for you on the other side. Functionally, just a suburban house. Pretty cozy from the blueprints I’ve seen!” You wanted to ask how they managed to build a house in there, but you decided the less questions asked, the better.

“Things will look a bit weird, but this place isn’t too different from Earth. Eh, that’s in relation to it being third-dimensional. Things will look real simple, like a video game or something! You may notice that you’ll look a bit different yourself, don’t worry too hard about it. We may not have a whole lot of research on long term effects, but your body partially assimilates to the environment. It’s not permanent, and it doesn’t hurt.” The ground shakes, startling the both of you. The faceless worker curses and pats you on the shoulder.

“Read your case file, relax, and make sure not to be too damn serious! When in Rome, kid! When in Rome! ” They shouted to you as they ran into position behind a control console.

The tension was palpable as the massive handle was twisted. You held your breath, expecting to see an array of nebulae, or stretching swirls of countless cosmos.

There was no flash of light. There were no shining stars, nor burst of wind to push against you.

Inside the gateway was pure, still, whiteness.

You hesitated as a worker motioned for you to walk forward. Letting out a deep breath, you began moving forward. The worker behind the console said it would be over in a blink, what did they mean by-

You were standing within a suburban home.

You couldn’t avoid the shriek that escaped your lips as you stared down at your 3D modelled body.




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Chapter Text

Suitcase. Handle. Plastic.

Briefcase. Texture. Leather.

Lungs. Expand. Deflate

That was the best attempt you could make of the tried and true grounding exercise. How were you supposed to ground yourself when your whole concept of reality was flipped on its head?!
Offhandedly, you remembered a quote from a game you watched a play-through of late at night. The name is eluding you, but you decide to mutter it anyways.

“Heart, Lungs, Liver, Nerves.” You stumbled over to the oddly textured couch.

“Heart, Lungs, Liver, Nerves.” Sitting down, you felt the gentle give of the upholstery. It felt good. Felt familiar.

“Heart, Lungs, Liver, Nerves.” You dug crescent moons into the meat of your thighs. The clothes on you felt ever so slightly smooth.

“Heart, Lungs, Liver, Nerves!” You were an up-and-coming therapist. A gifted student. If the horrors reared their ugly heads, you were perfectly equipped to comprehend them.

You could do this.

As you always had, you would observe. You would absorb any little bit of information about this world, and mentally conquer any minor oddities. Because that’s all they were; oddities.

Ah, that reminded you! You grabbed the briefcase you carelessly dropped beside you during your panic attack. Still buzzing with anxiety, you shakily pressed your thumb against the little black groove once again. A bio-lock, your mind supplemented.

Much to both your mixed confusion and relief, the objects within remained shockingly detailed. You suppose that if items within the setting of this universe don’t require as many polygons to sculpt in a classic 3D modelling setting, they wouldn’t be nearly as warped.

“Since I’m just oozing with personality, the universe couldn’t handle me in my rawest form.” You dryly laughed.

Grabbing the supplied notebook and pencil, you began taking notes on your physical state and sensations.

- Noises that should be present (barely audible bodily noises, gentle rushing of blood through ears, etc) are not

- Aspect ratio of body maintained; no body parts have expanded or shrunk with crossing over

- While physical form has been simplified, certain textures can be felt despite not being visually
reflected. Uncertain if this is brain supplementing existing textures, or if physical form is an illusion

Your mind drifted to a post you saw online that popped into your head far more frequently that you would have enjoyed. If you look at an object, you can imagine what it would feel like to lick it. Despite your stress, that memory made you laugh. And in a way, your brain may be doing just that.
As you relaxed more, you focused on the texture of your clothing. In your panic it had felt smooth, but running your hand over it more deliberately felt closer to the cotton/polyester blend you had grown used to. Humanity always finds a way to adapt, it seems.

Yet another reason marked down in the long list of why the human brain was so fascinating to you.

You had to focus, though. You weren’t here just to log inter-dimensional effects on your body. You were a therapist, dammit! Not officially licensed, but damn good at what you do. You didn’t want to waste a single moment in here if you could manage it.

You pulled out a hefty case file on your assigned patient, and began flipping through. You were struck with a sense of familiarity when staring at his manic mugshot.
Your patient was named “Mr. Puzzles”, no noted first name. Assigned gender at birth: male. Roughly middle age, approximately 11 ft (335 cm) tall, missing date of birth.
He was imprisoned for-

You took a deep breath at the massive list of convicted crimes before you began reading.

- Two accounts of first degree homicide

- Multiple accounts of attempted homicide

- Multiple accounts of aggravated assault

- Violation of civil rights

- Multiple accounts of kidnapping

- Mind control

- Mass enslavement

- Multiple accounts of torture

- Gross negligence

- False imprisonment

- Trespassing

- Intimidation

- Theft

- Stalking

- Unlawful use of pocket dimensions

- Filming without consent

- Reckless endangerment

- Physical torture

- Psychological torture

- Mutilation

- Coercion

- Grand larceny

- Unlawful use of a theme park

- Illegal weapon utilization

- Terrorism

Your draw dropped as you continued reading. There was a footnote on how several of the crimes listed, while fully criminal within the human realm, are legal grey areas inside of the Storyverse. If certain actions are deemed “comical in nature”, then they’re automatically waived.
In theory it made sense, given the aggressive nature of comedy in cartoons, and even further more with internet shows.
These listed crimes were deemed to be, directly quoted from the document, “not for the bit”. This is what led to your patient’s continued imprisonment.
Your patient pleaded insanity in court, and was imprisoned within a uniquely constructed maximum security asylum. Ah, so that’s why you were required so desperately. It seems no other social worker within their right mind would want to be within several meters of this guy, let alone forced to work with him.

A bead of sweat ran down the back of your neck. It wasn’t explained to you just how you would avoid being assaulted. Even if you made it out of a scuffle in one piece, it wouldn’t be possible to take it to this world’s mess of a legal system.

You exhaled deeply through your nose and carded through the rest of the patient’s file. Nothing else jumped out at you, and you were beginning to think that the extra information wasn’t even necessary.

Judging from…everything, you would have to take a more informal approach to your patient’s treatment. Surviving in this world would require a lot of improvisation, your best attempts at comedy, and forming connections with toons who could keep you safe.
You set everything carefully back within the briefcase and locked it. Before you left to have your first session (which had no listed schedule—more work for you!) you wanted to at the very least straighten out your appearance.

The house was simple, but certainly charming. The first floor had an open-floor plan with plenty of room. While sparsely furnished, it had everything you needed while giving you plenty of creative freedom to decorate to your heart’s content.
Up the stairs was a hallway with four separate doors. The first two on your right led to a guest room and master bedroom respectively. On the left side were doors that led to a moderately sized bathroom, and a gorgeous office.
‘It must have been decorated with a therapist in mind!’ you thought. Each wall in the hexagonal room was adorned with a built-in bookshelf, save for the very back that had a large window with billowing sage curtains. There was a loveseat, two leather chairs (one being behind your desk) and a beanbag. The desk itself was a similar make to that of your Dean’s, being finely shaped mahogany.
No matter how limited the details in this universe could be, it didn’t stop how overjoyed you felt standing in such a lovingly furnished office. Even from a glance, it was ideal for hosting sessions in already!

You returned to the bathroom with a smile on your face. You wished you knew who to thank for the office, it felt like a bit of home was brought with you here.

Well, time to deal with what you were putting off: your appearance.

Even with plenty of time to calm down, it was still incredibly jarring seeing just how much you’d changed. The most notable feature was your eyes. They were much larger, and fit directly into the art style of 2D-inspired-3D this universe had. Your iris was significantly saturated, and partially oval-shaped to fit your new eye structure.
Very startling, obviously. But potential body dysmorphia aside, you looked...pretty good in this art style! Not exactly main character material, but you still looked nice.
Briefly straightening out your lab coat, you strode back downstairs with purpose. The file mentioned the asylum was at least 30 minutes away, so you would have to make it there and back with the utmost caution. Just get in and out, no wacky encounters needed!

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You threw open the door to your house, and immediately yelped when you were staring down the barrel of a military tank. Instinctually, you dove to the side and covered your head.

“LOLOLOLOL HEY CHRIS DID YOU SEE THAT. THEY TOTALLY FELL FOR IT THEY’RE SO DUMB.”

“Shut up man, you’re gonna get us fired again.”

“NO U.”

You hesitantly peeked outside to see where the source of the robotic noises came from. Standing proudly on top of the tank was a disturbingly low-poly man in a far more detailed crossing guard vest. Another man lacking an equal amount of body geometry was poking his head out, hand on his face in exasperation (you think? It’s hard to tell with their lack of facial expressions and tone of voice.)

“WHAT IS UP DOCTOR N00B, THE NAME IS SWAGMASTER6969696969 AND I’LL BE YOUR IDIOT WRANGLER FOR TODAY.”

“Swag-” The other man was cut off immediately.

“-BY IDIOT WRANGLER I MEAN I WILL BE WRANGLING YOU, THE IDIOT.”

“-Swag for fuck’s sake back up the tank.”

There was a brief pause as “Swag” limply angled his body out of the tank to see a lawn flamingo crushed underneath the treads.

“THAT THING TOTALLY HAD IT COMING. SHRIMP SUCKER LMAO.”

The tank reversed out of your now ruined lawn, which you didn’t doubt looked lovely before. The second man did his best to clear his throat with his mechanical text-to-speech voice.

“I’m Chris Gordman. I’m legally required to look after this dumbass or else he’ll explode everything he sees. Otherwise, it would be just me escorting you.”

Swagmaster began to lean forward once more out of the tank. Except, he kept on leaning. And leaning. And leaning, his body geometry clipping from the strain of how far he stretched to get right in your face.

“DON’T WORRY LIL’ SQUISHY, YOU CAN TRUST OL’ SWAGGY TO PROTECT YOUR BOOTY.” He mechanically pat your head twice before grabbing you by the collar.

“NOW GET THAT BOOTY IN THE TANK.”
You were abruptly yanked into the tank, choking on the strain put on your neck. You hit your head against the side of the hatch, then fell directly inside.

“God dammit Swag you’re gonna get us fired again. You know proto-humans are fragile.” Proto-humans?

“IT WAS JUST A PRANK BRO LOL. GET YOUR PANTIES UNTWISTED AND START DRIVING THIS THANG.”

The tank's hatch slammed shut, and you were left within the dark, cramped space with two toons of questionable morality. You went to rub the pain out of your head, and found that it faded much faster than normal. Was this another way your body adapted to this world? Increased resistance?

“Um—excuse me, Chris was it? What exactly did you mean by proto-humans?” You tapped the man’s shoulder, which felt far too solid to be flesh.

“Ok so basically you guys came first, then we got made. We’re different-”

“-AND WAY SEXIER.”

“…And stronger than you. There’s a lot of different humans, you guys were just the first.” You gripped onto a nearby handle as the tank swerved violently.

“GOD DAMMIT CHRIS YOU DRIVE LIKE A BITCH. LET ME SHOW YOU HOW A REAL ESCORT DOES IT.” Swag leaned forward and started wrestling the controls away from Chris.

“Swag you dumbass don’t fuck with the controls. And don’t call yourself an escort, no one would have sex with you even if you paid them.”

A pixelated tear sank down Swag’s face, fading away.

“Y ARE YOU SO MEAN TO ME CHRISSU-SAN. I THOUGHT YOU WERE TOTALLY HOMO FOR ME.”

“Shut the fuck up Swag and sit down. I want to get paid.” This seemed to sadden the more outgoing man, and he slumped back down beside you.

You raked a hand through your hair, trying to process everything. These two seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t place your hand on why they were. Not to mention the information-bomb of “proto-humans”. These two were so casual with you, but was that just because of this universe’s comedic setting? Would other toons be afraid of you for the potential to create and warp universes, or has that information faded into myth due to lack of contact?
What about your own capabilities inside the Storyverse? Did your very nature as a human being mean you could unintentionally twist the world around you? Oh god, what if you hurt people? Or worse, erased them from existence?!

Your internal meltdown was interrupted by Swag and Chris once again fighting over the controls to the tank.

“HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME FEEL EMO GIVE ME THE FUCKING WHEEL.”

“Swag get the hell off of me, this road is super crowded. We’re gonna fucking hit someone.”

“THAT’S WHAT WE CALL “BONUS POINTS” IN THE BIZ, CHRISSY BOY.” Swag went to do air quotes, then remembered he can’t move his fingers. This distracted him enough for Chris to kick him out of the way. Swag’s face smacked against the periscope.

"GASP. CHRIS WE ARE ABOUT TO GET SONIC SPED IN T-MINUS RIGHT GOD DAMN NOW.” You pushed past Swag to look through the periscope yourself.

From what little you could see through the periscope, there were two toads (from the Mario Bros. franchise, you remembered) slowly carrying a glowing yellow pad with orange arrows moving in quick succession on the screen.

You knew immediately it was a speed boost pad.

Everything around you felt as if it slowed down. Your adrenaline spiked, yet you couldn’t move. The voice of the worker who walked you through the gates faded into memory.

“When in Rome, kid! When in Rome!”

You were no stranger to video games. With the bizarre internet content and brain rot you ate up in between classes to stay sane, you were slowly recognizing the world you were thrust into. An internet show referred to by the creator’s name; SMG4.
You didn’t watch a ton, but it was a mish-mash of internet culture and gaming alike. The world was unhinged, so you’d have to be just as unhinged to survive.

You pushed Chris out of the chair with a quick apology, and yanked the periscope along with you.
‘Clear view of the road, and firm grip on the controls. Perfect.’

“Kid what the hell are you doing. This tank isn’t made to go this fast.” Chris shook your shoulders.

You turned to him with a manic grin.

“When in Rome, Mr. Gordman!” You shoved the tank into motion, watching as the toads dropped the speed boost and scattered. As you hit the boost, you could hear the sound of Coconut Mall playing from an unknown location.

“OH SHIT. DR. N00B JUST BECAME DR. FUNTIMES.”

Swag laughed monotonously as Chris held on for dear life. It was like the road itself was built perfectly for racing on! The tank was far from easy to control, but the boosts you would hit at random intervals kept you gliding along as if you were in a racing kart.

A rainbow item box glimmered up ahead, exploding into sparkling pieces upon contact. A large bullet bill fell directly into your lap.

“A—ahm gonna…kill you an’ keep killin’ you an’- HOOUGH!” An unfittingly Scottish voice came out of the bullet as it shot directly out of the tank. Your vision from the periscope was cut off as the three of you lurched forward with the sheer speed you were being accelerated to.

The music picked up pace. The tank was shaking. Swag was screaming, but it just sounded like he was saying the letter “A” over and over again. You felt like you could barely breathe.

You all slammed into the back of the tank as it stopped moving. Looking through the periscope for a final time, you saw the bullet bill detach from the tank and look directly at you.

“Yer doin’ good, lad!” Its voice was muffled as it blasted off. You think you may be going insane.

“Well. I’ll admit that went a lot better than I expected.” Chris rubbed the back of his head before popping open the tank’s lid.

“Yeah, sorry about all of the chaos there. I want to fit into your world properly, you know? I was also running on pure adrenaline at that point.” You sagged, grabbing onto the ladder to pull yourself out.

“IT’S ALWAYS WORTH IT TO SEE CHRIS SCREAM LIKE A BITCH.”

“Swag that was you screaming back there, not me.”

“NO U.”

Swag noticed you were struggling to pull yourself up. When he made a move to grab your collar again, you held your hands up defensively.

“No thanks! I got this! I’ll exit the tank on my own!” You waved around frantically.

“OH LOL RIGHT, FORGOT YOU WOULD GET SHREDDED BY MY MASSIVE ARMS. THEY’RE BUILT SO SWOLE CHECK IT OUT-”

“-Swag for fuck’s sake let them go.”

As the two bickered, you carefully crawled out of the tank and landed on the pavement below. Finally you were able to get a good look at your surroundings outside of that stupid tank.

The building in front of you was no less imposing than advertised. A wide, empty stretch of dirt and dead grass surrounded the asylum. Only the top floor had windows, with everything else composed solely of dirty red brick. Sturdy stone walls were built to hold in the entrance way, topped off with viciously sharp barbed wire. There seemed to be other buildings nearby, one with wide columns that you could only assume to be a courthouse of sorts. Everything here was built with much larger residents in mind, seeing how everything dwarfed you in size.
Somehow, the sky had grown darker during your drive to the asylum. The clouds were painted dangerously grey, wicked winds whipping your lab coat and forcing you to shield your face.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

‘You can do this.’

⚞ ✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰⚟

It was a brisk walk over to the main gate. You flashed the guard your badge, but they motioned for you to come closer.
They sat inside an enclosed cube with thick bullet-proof glass shielding them from the outside.

“I need to get a better look at that. We were expecting you, but it’s just formality.” They said in a less grating text-to-speech voice. This guard was similar to Chris in Swag in appearance.

‘Do most humans look like this, or just those in this field of work?’

You unclipped your ID off the lanyard, much to your dismay. The gap to slide in your card was ridiculously small, forcing you to shove it several times before it popped through to the other side. The worker pulled out a card reader boldly stamped with the insignia of the F.E.O. They picked up your card, turning it over in their blocky hand before slotting it inside of the machine. Just a few moments later, the card reader dinged and spat out your ID.

“Alright, you’re good to go. I’ll open this gate and you can follow me through.” They slammed your card against the glass, causing it to clip violently through and hit you in the chest.

While the gates creaked open, you dusted yourself off with a huff and retrieved your ID off the ground, clipping it back onto your lanyard.

“He’s holed up through several lines of security at the very back of the building. This may take a few minutes, be prepared.” You walked beside the guard through the dusty courtyard.

“You know, we just got this place renovated. New guard towers, bigger building, the works!” The guard said cheerfully(?)

“Had to beef up security since the big guy was sent here. They still didn’t upgrade the damn break room even with twice as many staff on hand.” They waved at the several armed men at the front, who entered in a code on the door to open it.

The main entrance was fitted with a round, white desk, off-grey checkered flooring, and more windows lined with bars on either side of the desk. There was a single, tacky plastic plant placed on the desk, but everything else was barren. You were directed to the right door, and motioned to begin placing down your belongings.

“Is my patient the only resident of this building? I couldn’t help but notice how…quiet it is in here.” You hopped on one foot, yanking your shoes off to put with your briefcase.

“Eh, we have a few wackos in here, but the line between “funny” and “dangerously insane” is kinda blurry. Puzzles is our most dangerous inmate though, so we have to focus on his containment the most.” They grabbed your arms and lifted them up. You jolted at the sound of the metal detector blaring.

A second guard came in with a handheld metal detector and began waving it around your body. It loudly beeped when held over your ID, but the guard who escorted you in waved off the other security guard and pushed you along. You hardly had any time to slip your shoes back on and grab your briefcase before they began moving again.

You could hear a pin drop with how suffocatingly quiet it was inside the hallway ahead of you. The off-grey checker patterned floor followed along into this stretch of room as well. One or two wheelchairs were left strewn about, with some stretchers lined up against the walls inbetween the thick metal doors that lined the walls.

The guard made a motion for you to stop, and walked over to one of the doors.

“Hey, check this out.” Their voice pitched down into a whisper.

They slid open the metal grate on one, loud peppy music immediately spilling out.
You stepped cautiously towards the slitted gap, raising your eyebrows when you saw Nyan Cat bouncing off of the walls.

“Yeah, this guy is a real sicko. It helps that we have high tech soundproofing, eh?” The guard closed the window, plunging the room into silence once again.

“Puzzles’ cell sparked the whole “renovation” thing. He’s got some real freaky powers I’m sure you’ve already been briefed on. A whole lot of electrical stuff mainly, he kept friggin’ with the damn lights when he was in one of the normal rooms here.”

The door at the end of the hallway had a slider for a key card. The guard fished around in their pocket for a moment before grabbing one to unlock the door. They continued forward, nearly closing the door in your face.

“So, we got him set up in a basement level here.” They continued, skipping a few steps at a time in the concrete stairwell. You did your best to keep up, but didn’t feel comfortable hopping down at the same speed they were going.

“The warden had a great idea; what if we just dug his cell right into the damn earth? Cheap, quick, and does a great job diffusing any stray signals he could send out, weak as he is right now.” At the base of the stairwell, you sucked in a breath at the sight of a dozen turrets all pointing red lasers at you. One of the guys standing by the iron door across the room laughed, then deactivated them with a remote.

“Originally, his cell was just a cube with a bit of space in between the walls. Real hard to just stand outside, especially if the metal door closes on your ass. Turns out our guy Jimmy read “two meters” and assumed it was the same as “two feet.” Literally. The guy measured both of his feet and dug out the area based on it. That’s why we call him Jimmy Tinytoes.”

One of the guards piped up with a quiet “Hey!” as the door opened up. Looking down, you saw that he had comically tiny feet.

The guard escorting you laughed mechanically, punching “Jimmy” in the shoulder as you both walked past.
Beyond the thick metal doors was a steep sloped hallway tunneled directly into the earth. No lights, no support beams. Just the potent smell of rich soil—and as the door slammed shut behind you—pitch blackness.

There was a small “click” as the guard turned on a flashlight, unfazed by the routine.

“I’ll be waiting right on the other side of the metal doors for you. We’ll get you a proper visitor card next time you come here, but for now just knock on the door when you’re done.” Dirt crunched beneath your shoes as the two of you descended deeper into the tunnel. It took a few moments, but you were at the final barrier of entry.

They slid their card into yet another keypad, waiting for the doors to open to do the same for the entrance directly into the padded cell.

“Keep a foot in the door, ok? If that thing shuts while you’re inside, we won’t be able to hear you scream for help.” You stared incredulously at the guard. Was there no way for you to get out if you were stuck?!

They pushed you forward by the small of your back, waving as the mechanical doors slowly shut.

“Keep the door open, remember!” Your head shot over to the cell door as it was creaking shut, jumping to shove your foot in.
With the massive door behind you closing with a metallic groan, your hearing adjusted to the still atmosphere.

‘…What was that sound?’

⚞ ✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰⚟

Through the crack of the door, you caught a glimpse of your mysterious patient.

He laid across an examination table bound in rope. The only other things in the room were a metal end table with an odd doll resting on top, and a monitor hanging down directly from the ceiling for him to see.
And the inmate himself? He was huge. 11 ft is no size to scoff at on paper, but is far more intimidating in person. He had the typical orange prison jumpsuit on, with some personal touches included. Suspenders, gloves, shoes, and a bow tie all in the same unsightly orange. It made for a unique wardrobe, that’s for certain.
You looked down at your foot still wedged in the door. Even with the door wide open, you didn’t trust that it wouldn’t shut on its own, given how rusty the hinges looked. You decided to slip off one of your shoes to wedge in the gap as you stepped inside.

Despite all of the noise you’d been making, he didn’t acknowledge your presence. The TV man before you was swaying his head back and forth to a melody playing on the monitor above him. This would be a good time to assess his current living conditions.

The padding on the walls were appallingly dusty, with a few gashes into the fabric around the door. An attempted escape, you could only imagine. The hum-buzz of fluorescent lights wormed into your ear irritatingly. It was a wholly unpleasant living area. You understood why toons would put a criminal like him in such awful living conditions. But if they wanted any hope of rehabilitating him, this would have to change.

The dust was overwhelming your nose. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a quiet sneeze.

You froze as the man before you began to chuckle.

“My, my, my! And who do we have here?” He jerked his head up in one swift motion to lock eyes with you.

His screen showed a manic colour bar grin with wide, uneven eyes. The larger one was blue with little eyelashes, you noted.

“Heterochromia!” You blurted out.

This caused the inmate to falter for a moment.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

“Your eyes, you have heterochromia. One is blue, and the other is black.” You explained.

You walked around the examination table to stand beside him.

“Roughly 6 in every 10,000 people have the genetic mutation where I’m from, so it’s always special to see.” You smiled warmly at him.

“I like your hat by the way, I believe that’s called a bowler cap? I’m glad you got to keep it in here!”

You could tell that he was preening over the praise with how his expression flipped to a smug grin.

“Why yes, I am a man of rather exceptional build and taste!” His face flipped back to the previously uncanny stare.

“But you my dear, you! Such a gem appearing within my humble holding chambers? How thrilling, what a delight! Leggy 2.0 over there is good company, but she’s oh so shy when it comes to speaking!” You turn around to get a better look at the doll sitting behind you.

It was a rock with a face scribbled on. It was crowned with a cheap, orange wig and sat on little brown shoes.

You had to make him feel welcome above all else. Therapy can’t be as effective if it’s fully clinical, after all.

“Oh my goodness, it’s so nice to meet you, little Leggy 2.0! Thank you for doing such a good job of keeping him company!” You cooed at the strange doll.

“Does Leggy 2.0 like being pet?” You turned to your patient with a small smile.

He looked utterly overjoyed to see you bonding with the little effigy. He happily giggled, swaying his head from side-to-side.

“Why yes of course! My dearest Leggy—ah, Leggy 2.0 would be thrilled to be pet, gently if you please! I would do it myself of course, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment!” He cackled.

You carefully pet Leggy 2.0, making sure the wig wouldn’t slide off of the rock. You turned back to the inmate and clasped your hands together.

“She’s an absolute sweetheart! Such a polite young lady, you must be proud! How did you two meet, if I may ask?” You leaned casually on the examination table. It was frigid.

“Ah, wanting to hear a grand tale from one of the best filmmakers in history, eh? You’re in luck, my dear! I have the perfect equipment to regale such a story to you!” The monitor above you clicked as something new began to play.

“Our scene opens soon after my tragic defeat at the hands of the WRETCHED SMG4 crew! I was swarmed—quite literally mind you!—with police officers. Crawling out from under the copious amounts of vehicles, I was met face-to-face with a striking piece of rubble.”
The screen reflected his story, showing multiple camera angles around him. When the camera panned to the rock, the frame was bordered with a pink hue and sparkles.

“I was told to make friends as a child. MAKE friends! Such an obvious solution, I was a fool for not taking it literally!”

On the monitor, he stumbled to his feet to grab the rock and run. White lines framed him as he ran, making him look much faster than he was actually running.

“If Leggy abandoned me, I would just create a better Leggy! One who wouldn’t bite me, or betray me, or do something as silly as be horrified with my plots of revenge!” An animated expression played on his screen of him rolling his eyes. A tinny laugh track emanated from the speaker below his dials.

The scene shifted to him crashing through a beauty store and pilfering an orange wig from the front display, causing the elderly koopa at the cash register to shriek.

The version of him on the screen slid over to the poor woman, casually leaning on the counter.

“Excuse me miss, but could you direct me to the shoe aisle?”
The elderly koopa was shaking and crying, but pointed off to the side regardless.

“Oh you’re an absolute peach! Put these and the window damage on my tab, will you?” He slipped out of frame.

The next scene had the camera to his back as he sat with his legs crossed, arms a blur of motion as he grabbed eyeliner, lipstick, and glue from nearby shelves.

“All she needed was her iconic and incredibly marketable smile, then she was born; a STAR!” You watched back the recording of him dumping glue on the shoes, squishing the rock onto them, sliding on the wig, then scribbling on the expression with eyeliner and lipstick for the tongue. He held up the doll with a teary smile on his face.

“Of course, I was still actively being pursued by law enforcement at this time.” The camera shifted to outside of the store, where about a dozen more police cars crashed into the store with an explosion. The monitor abruptly clicked off.

“I was escorted to prison, but not without my lovable Leggy 2.0!” He chuckled as his voice darkened. “I made sure of that.”

A far more manic expression flickered on his face for a brief moment before switching back to a wide grin.

“All footnotes, really! And up until now it’s just been me, Leggy 2.0, and this lovely monitor I’ve been provided with!” He gestured back up to the monitor with his head.

“I was curious about that, actually. I was under the impression there weren’t any electrical connections inside this cell aside from the lights. How exactly were you watching shows earlier?” You cocked your eyebrow.

“Child’s play my dear, child’s play! Within my beautiful television head is every single movie, show, and video as of the date of my imprisonment!” He beamed, attempting to wiggle his hands for emphasis.

“Wow…that’s honestly incredible! The average human mind can only contain roughly 2.5 petabytes of information, I can hardly imagine how many people it would take to store all of that!” Predictably, he puffed out his chest at this.

“Yet another reason I am far too valuable to be kept within such a ghastly prison! A true paragon of cinematography, information, and showmanship alike!”

You chuckled, adjusting your footing. A chair would have been great for looking less imposing (and being comfortable) but you had the feeling he looked down on everyone regardless.

“Which brings me to the reason I was sent here. I’ll be your therapist to aid in your rehabilitation process. We’ll be having sessions every day for an hour at a time, though that schedule can be shifted if you want days to yourself.” He squawked in panic.

“Days off aren’t necessary, I assure you! And only one hour at a time?! You wound me, doctor! Surely we could spend a bit longer together, right? Right?!” Your heart broke as he scrambled over his own words.

Solitary confinement was horribly cruel to you. No matter how awful a person is, they will only become worse under these conditions. You breathed out a sigh before continuing.

“Mr. Puzzles, I can assure you that I’m here to help you. I’m unsure of what physical requirements you may have, but being tied down to a table deep underground seems counterproductive for personal growth. Ideally, my first goal would be to get your ropes undone.” He squeaked out of excitement, but you silenced him with a raised finger.

“But, but, only if you show good behaviour. I was made entirely aware of your criminal record, and for my own safety I cannot, in good faith, have you unbound and capable of injuring me during our sessions.”

Mr Puzzles wilted, looking down at his binds with tears in his eyes. You felt for him, you genuinely did. But your safety had to come first. And you can’t just blindly place trust in this man, no matter how charming he is or how awful his circumstances are.

Two accounts of homicide. Several accounts of aggravated assault and attempted homicide. Torture. Mind control. Terrorism. Mutilation.

Mr. Puzzles was not a man you could trust. You’re positive he would let you rot in this cell if it meant he could run free.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

‘Stay focused. Make him comfortable.’

You placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, making him jump.

“Mr. Puzzles, this doesn’t mean that I can’t do my best to improve your living situation beforehand. No matter what kind of person you are, no one deserves to suffer like this, don’t you agree?”

“…I suppose I can agree with that sentiment. Though I enjoy the idea of my enemies sharing a similar fate.” He sniffed.

You walked around the side of the end table and gave the Leggy doll another affectionate pat.

“I’m sure Leggy here would be sad to see you get in trouble again, right? She loves you very much, in my professional opinion.”

“Her name is LEGGY 2.0 and she is PERFECT! SHE DOESN’T HAVE STUPID EMOTIONS!” Mr. Puzzles screeched, thrashing against his restraints. You bit the inside of your lip before continuing.

“…Leggy 2.0. I apologize for the mistake, Mr. Puzzles.”

He scoffs, turning his head to focus on a particularly interesting stain on the wall. Despite the man’s haughty demeanor, his chest is heaving from the brief outburst. Either he was unfit to begin with, or the forced inactivity of laying down this long had caused slight muscle atrophy. At the very least, his body was deconditioned to any quick movements.

“If you don’t mind me asking, are you experiencing any forms of muscle strain or fatigue?” Your topic change earned a sharp laugh from your patient.

“Concerned for my body, are you doctor? Well, and here I thought you were here strictly for my mental health! Quite the jack-of-all-trades, eh?” If you weren’t properly trained, his mood swings would be dizzying.

“While I’m not formally trained when it comes to physical health, it can heavily impact your mental well-being. It’s in my best interest to have you well in both mind and body; I hope it would be in your best interest as well.” You idly worried your thumb across the side of your ID. ‘Bad habit, don’t damage the card.’ Your hand slipped up to squeeze the rubber-like material of the lanyard instead.

“Battered, bruised or broken! My form can take anything the plot requires! Ahah—well, that would be much easier said than done if I was able to retract it properly.” He tapered off with a grimace.

Oh, this man was fascinating. You only partially regret not taking a minor in biology, mainly due to how you wanted to compare his abilities to the capabilities of the human body in your reality. At the very least, you wanted to see what a collapsible endoskeleton would look.

“Pardon me, “retract your body”? While asking how you can do that seems unexplainable, I’m more curious on how that would benefit you.”

“Once again, my perfect head takes centre stage! Within my TV is a world of my own creation and control, free to manipulate anything inside to my heart’s content! I believe the phrase “self-healing can be found within” is more literal in this case, hm?” This entertainer never missed an opportunity to show-boat. It almost put a damper on the incredible reveal of his internal pocket dimension. Almost.

“Amazing! An easily accessible pocket dimension certainly explains your internal storage capacity. It must be awfully convenient to patch yourself up in there.”

“It is! Which is why it’s INFURIATING that I’m unable to access it right now! I’m so sore, and tired, and MISERABLE, doctor! You must free me from these binds at once, my mental health is on the line!” Mr. Puzzles sobbed theatrically, peeking an eye open to see if you were still watching.

“Once again, I want to give my condolences for your current imprisonment conditions. It’s clear to see how much this is distressing you, and I want to do my best to make you comfortable during our sessions.” The weight of the briefcase in your other arm made itself known with how long you’d been holding it. ‘Speaking of how long-’

“I would like to bring some things to our next session, if that’s alright with you.” Hoisting up the briefcase as you spoke, you opened the bio-lock to grab your phone. “Cleaning supplies first and foremost, so I can tidy up all of the dust. A chair for you to eventually sit in, though I can’t lie and say I didn’t want to take a seat during this session!” That earned a small chuckle from him. “And finally, a hand exercise ball. If not to help build up some of your strength again, then for stress relief.”

Your eyebrows shot up when you saw the time on your phone. You only had about five more minutes with your patient! Even with the shorter introductory session time, it went by so quickly! You internally cursed at your absent-mindedness. Your surprise didn’t go unnoticed by Mr. Puzzles, either.

“I must apologize for the abrupt ending to our session, Mr. Puzzles. This first session is supposed to be only 45 minutes-”

“-WAIT, WAIT! HOLD ON—hold on, dearest doctor! What could possibly be the rush? You’re here for me, and it’s such a hassle to get in and out of this tacky prison! Why not cut out the middleman and stay for a few more hours? You were clearly astonished by my personal stories, I wouldn’t want to leave you on such a cliffhanger!” He cried out desperately.

“I assure you, I’ll return as soon as I can first thing tomorrow. You want your room to be nicer, don’t you? I’ll have to leave to get supplies for you.”

“Yes, yes all of those things can happen in due time! Surely you don’t want to stay for another few stories, a movie perhaps?” You could only imagine how long he had been in solitary confinement to make him this desperate for interaction, excluding his evident extroverted nature.

You didn’t want to leave him panicking, but your schedule was strict. Glancing over at the end table, you were struck with an idea that could keep him busy for the time being. Walking over to the Leggy 2.0 doll, you whispered conspiratorially where its ear would be.

Mr. Puzzles’ panic shifted to confusion, then curiosity. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him straining to listen.

“Alright, you know what to do, Leggy 2.0!” You pat the doll’s head.

“What was that, what did you say to her?!” Hook, line, and sinker. You couldn’t help but grin.

“Well, I gave her the condensed plot to a very dramatic movie. Unique setting, building tension, and oh—the twist ending! You’ll have to guess what it is though, she seemed like she wanted to make it a guessing game!” You watched his mouth make an “o” before he giggled in delight.

“Oh I adore twist endings! Don’t you fret, my dear doctor; I’ll figure out your little story!”

“I sure hope you can figure it out before I come back, you may not be able to guess it in time!” He regarded your comment with a withering look.

“Oh please, did you forget I have every movie within my mind? You already narrowed down the answer by giving me the genre! Such a rookie mistake, doctor.”

“You better start searching now, otherwise you might miss out on the secret prize for figuring it out.” He was clearly reward driven, judging from how his expression immediately switched to a loading circle.

“Go on now, shoo! I must begin brainstorming with Leggy 2.0, you’re distracting me!” Mr. Puzzles did his best to “shoo” you with a wiggle of his fingers.

You heard no further complaints from the erratic inmate as you left the room. You slipped on your shoe and shut the door behind you, banging on the steel gate in front of you.

A moment passed. Then a minute. Then another minute.

You were worried the guard may have left you by yourself before the metallic groan of the gate opening grabbed your attention.

“You certainly took your sweet time! That old bag of bolts didn’t run you through, ey? I can knock some respect into him if needed.”

You politely laughed, giving the guard a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I assure you, my patient was just fine. I was actually concerned about how his current holding conditions may be negatively impacting his psyche.”

A small gust of wind from the large door shutting fluttered your lab coat. The walk back fortunately held nowhere near as much tension as it had before.

“You’re concerned about the guy? Well damn, I guess you are good at your job! Don’t think I’m gonna go untying the creep though, both of our asses would be on the line.”

“No, nothing like that just yet, I assure you. I wanted to bring in a few things like disinfectant wipes, small cleaning supplies, and ideally, a chair for me to sit in. Awkwardly looming over my patient may make him uncomfortable.”

“And you want to sit on your ass, right?”

You sputtered out indignantly, but the guard just laughed.

“Kidding, kidding! We can provide you a nice, cushy chair for your educated keester to park in. We can’t let you bring in a big chair yourself, since it could be used to hide things inside. It’s just custom, nothing personal.”

“Well, I appreciate you being able to provide the chair. Truth be told, I wasn’t keen on dragging a cheap lawn chair all the way to his cell.” You passed through the next set of gates, not flinching as the lasers focused on you yet again. Some of the guards appeared disappointed at your lack of a reaction this time.

“It’s the least we can do for you wrangling that basket case for us. Before the F.E.O contacted us, we were concerned as all hell he was planning to escape. If you keep him nice and comfortable down there, you can have all the comfy doctor chairs you want.” The guard once again climbed the stairs two steps at a time, leaving you trailing behind. For a brief moment, you wondered how someone who sounded so tired could have so much energy. It’s the accent, probably.

“I was also wondering if it would be possible to bring decorations into the cell? Potted plants, pictures, anything to liven the area up. You know, since you’re keen on me keeping my patient comfortable for our collective safety, yes?” The guard had beaten you to the top of the stairs, and was tapping their foot and holding their chin (to the best of their ability) in deep thought.

“You’re really twisting my arm here, doc. But alright, as long as you don’t bring in all of this stuff at once.” Another tap of the guard’s keycard, and you were back in the sterile main hall.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to take the facility’s generosity for granted. Thank you for giving me permission to bring these things for my sessions. I’m certain the change of decoration will reflect positively on his psyche, and in turn make him much easier to manage.” Unlocking the door to the main lobby, you noticed the side you were exiting from had no metal detector. Shockingly lax at first glance, but it makes more sense considering how strict the security entering the asylum is; inmates can’t exactly give you anything.

“By the way, if you couldn’t tell, I’m your designated escort for both the prison and your way home. Originally, it was just for the prison, but the two idiots we hired to bring you here tore up the main road in a god damn tank! That jackass Swag even tried to blame you of all people for all of the destruction. God, that guy is such a dick. We made sure to fire them both, so you won’t need to worry about the journey here and back again.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. No harm in playing dumb here, especially since you wanted to keep your job.

The guard led you to a sleek black car with no police lights. You slid in the back seat, buckled up, and pulled out your laptop to take some notes.
You transcribed the session in as much detail as you could. Idly, you wondered if recording the sessions was a possibility. You decided against asking the guard, not wanting to push your luck in the meantime.

The more you wrote down, the more you felt your jaw tense. You ground your teeth together remembering how he had shouted at you, then immediately flipped to begging and coercing you to stay longer. The man at the very least displayed both capability and willingness to manipulate others for his own gain, and at worst, showed clear narcissistic traits. It wouldn’t be easy to work with him, but you had no other choice.

You glanced out the window absentmindedly, then looked at your screen. You did a double take.

The main street looked torn up. Cars were knocked over, small flames were only now being extinguished, and deep tank treads streaked across the road. The car bumped as it drove over a particularly deep pothole containing a shattered speed boost pad. You swallowed thickly before forcing your attention back to your laptop.

Your hands were cold as you typed the rest of your notes. The drive home was silent.

⚞ ✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰ ⚟

You carefully maneuvered around the deep tank tracks across your lawn and walkway. You unlocked the door to your home with a tap of your keycard, carelessly dropping your briefcase by the entrance. Kicking off your shoes numbly, you stiffly walked over to your couch (far too plain) spun on your heels, and sat down in the middle. Without turning, you grabbed one of the perfectly placed throw pillows (needing to yank to release it from whatever stasis held it).

You placed your face in it (the fabric isn’t being squished as much as it should, yet you sink in anyways) and scream.

You had to act like all of that was normal. You had to immediately leave your home after being contorted to fit this world, be harassed by a psychopath and his handler in a god damn tank, have a brief manic episode causing you to DRIVE said tank (tearing up the road, and certainly injuring civilians no doubt), walk through a horrifically unethical prison/asylum combination, and meet him. That charismatic, clinically insane, murderer.  A murderer who had an entire fucking pocket dimension in his head, which you just had to write off as “handy.” Because if you said anything else, you wouldn’t be able to keep lying to yourself that everything was fine, and that you were a professional.

You were so far from being a professional.

45 entire minutes passed in that cell, yet it felt like only moments. It was only moments. That conversation would have taken only a few minutes to have, at most around 20. But you left that prison, and the sky had oh-so conveniently darkened. You were glad you didn’t know the time when you arrived, or pay attention to how high the sun was in the sky.

Your polygons muscles felt taught. Your texturing skin felt tight. Condensed horror was physically crawling through your flesh like horrible little maggots ones and zeroes, wireframe model shifting, rendering, rendering-

You gasped sharply as your briefcase that you left by the door gently buzzed. You choked in breaths of air you hadn’t realized you’d gone without.

You were given a phone. That phone was inside of your briefcase. And your briefcase was buzzing because someone was texting you.

You had already crossed the room, opened the briefcase, and were staring at the text message before you realized how your body flipped straight to autopilot.
Your hands were shaking, and you felt utterly nauseous.

That didn’t stop your eyes from focusing on your professor’s name in your contacts.

‘Barbara….her first name is Barbara…?’

Why had you never bothered learning her first name before?

The absurdity of the situation cut through your panic like a knife. And despite yourself, you were kneeling on the ground and laughing. Laughing at the situation, your breakdown, and just how absurd everything was. You were crying, but you hardly felt the tears slip down your cheeks. The faint reflection of your phone showed it though; two painted on streaks of blue. As if your soul had seeped out and drawn your despair in childish streaks of crayon.

As if you were a little toy therapist with no real tears to cry.

Her message to you was so kind, too. Your professor knew exactly what to say to get anyone out of a bad mood. It was her job for the longest time, after all.

Professor Barbara Myers: Hello there, dear! I hope you don’t mind, but I spoke to a few people about allowing me to perform your psychological exams! I figured it would be a lot easier for you to adjust to, given how you already know me. 

(1)7078737862: Hello Professor Myers. I’m glad to hear from you, and hope this message finds you well. When do you wish to schedule the psychological examination? I will leave my schedule open for the remainder of the day to give you sufficient leeway. Best regards.

Professor Barbara Myers: Dearie, you can drop the professionalism around me. These messages are confidential, I promise!

(1)7078737862: oh thank god I hate doing that

Professor Barbara Myers: Hahaha! You’re always great for a laugh, dear 🙂.

(1)7078737862: I have to be honest, I didn’t know your first name was barbara. Forgive me for being such a rude student!! (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Professor Barbara Myers: Oh hush, you don’t have a bad bone in your body. How about we have a phone call, alright?

She startled you with the sudden phone call, and you nearly dropped your phone from flailing to answer.

“Hello there, my dear! I’m so happy we’re able to have this line of communication open between dimensions!” The quality of her voice was rough, but fortunately audible.

“Mrs. Myers, you startled me! I nearly had a heart attack!” It felt strange to flip through so many emotions like a TV channel.

You could feel your emotions flickering in the back of your mind, begging to be released. You had to be professional though.

If not for her, then for the sole reason that lying to yourself was the one thing holding you together right now

“Oh my, I’m so sorry! I was far too eager to test out an interdimensional phone call; I believe I may have “jumped the gun” on that one. You have my most sincere apologies, liebling!” Despite yourself, you could feel your eyes crinkle in fondness.

It had been a long few months without hearing her endearing accent. You knew she only pulled out the German nicknames if she wanted to butter you up somehow. It was beyond you how someone so kind and empathetic could enter such a competitive industry. And yet here she was, sweetening you up out of guilt for starting a phone call a few moments too early.

“Entirely valid given the circumstances, I know how excited you are to be a part of this. I’m fortunate to have a familiar colleague on board.”

There was a brief pause where the phone static buzzed your ear before you heard Mrs. Myers speak up.

“...Dear, are you alright? You, ehm–you don’t have the usual “oomph” in your voice. Far too professional!”

Your throat tightened up. You now remember how she’s made it so far in this industry; she was a damn emotional bloodhound. All you can manage is a quiet huffed laugh without choking.

“Ah! Would it help if this was “off the books” so to speak? Technically the evaluations don’t begin for another few days, I just wanted to check in with you on your first day. Please, feel free to tell me anything you like, good or bad!”

That was the final push in your mental defense, and you heaved out a sob. Then another, and another, as your stoic persona you were shakily clinging onto shattered entirely. You told your professor everything, including how terrifying your new body was, having the barrel of a tank in your face, driving it around during a manic episode, and meeting your terrifying patient. You cried about how your body feels wrong, about how you were scared you may never change back and were stuck here. You even mentioned how ashamed you felt for wanting to go home after the first day.

“Oh, liebling…I can only begin to imagine how horrible your first day must have felt. You’ve had your training wheels ripped off, and were thrown in the middle of a highway!”

That got a weak chuckle out of you.

“I’m sorry that I’m so unprofessional right now. I know I should be following proper training for safely detaching emotionally from the situation, and-”

“-You hush with that right now, ok? Schatz you aren’t a machine, you are a human! You’ve been taken to a brand new world, and given a monumental task that no person has yet to sufficiently tackle. I’m positive I would have had a heart attack!”

You felt more comfortable laughing louder at her little jokes. It felt like the knot twisting up in your heart relaxed when she called you human. Despite your strange new form, Mrs. Meyers could point at you and say you were a person in complete confidence.

Frankly? You trusted her more than yourself.

“Even if you were in our world, and speaking with a human patient, it would be just as understandable if you were overwhelmed! This is your first session outside the walls of the university, you’re doing everything all by yourself!” She gradually spoke louder as she continued.

Mrs. Meyers huffed a bit, collecting herself before continuing.

“No matter how strange and fabricated this world or your body may feel, you will always be real. And you can trust my word, I’m a professional! I’m certain my work explains that perfectly well, no need to shove my degrees in your face like certain individuals.”

You barked out a laugh in surprise. Your sweet little old lady of a professor was being catty! You had never expected her to be the type, but it was a pleasant surprise. Sniffing your nose and rubbing it, you quietly startled at the green paint-like smudge on your hand.

“Pff–Mrs. Meyers? There’s–I went to wipe my nose, and it looks like a little paint splotch on my hand!” This had you both giggling from the sudden absurdity.

“This may be groundbreaking news, my dear student! I’ll make sure to inform the Dean so he nose!”

You felt so light as you laughed with your professor. With just one pun, she made you feel more comfortable with your situation. You can’t help but envy how effortlessly she’s able to comfort others. All the more reason to take mental notes, maybe your patient will like puns!

“Wait, you didn’t mention eating at all, did you! Go! Go to the fridge right now!”

“While we’re on the phone?”

“Yes, while we’re on the phone. I know how young students like yourself burn the candle at both ends, I was once in that position myself in my golden years!”

“Mrs. Meyers, I don’t think you ever left your golden years.” You walked over to your fridge and opened it, scrunching up your nose at the rows of nutritional drink supplements.

“Eugh, it’s just filled with supplements! I thought I was supposed to be getting proper brain food?!”

“Oh no, I know those drinks all too well.” Your professor couldn’t hide the disgust in her voice. “It has the F.E.O insignia, yes?”

“Yup.” You deadpanned, holding up a chocolate flavoured one.

She audibly shuddered before continuing. “As awful as they may taste, they’re fantastic for sustaining you. If you want my opinion, the strawberry one is the most palatable. Might as well start with something tasty to help with your hard day, eh?”

You nodded, grabbing a strawberry supplement instead. With a quick twist of the cap, you forced the far-too-thick mixture down your gullet. It tasted sharply of artificial flavouring and a chemical imitation with a hint of…something like aspartame.

You gagged.

“I know dear, I know. Unfortunately, we don’t know how safe food is inside the Storyverse, let alone the odd bubble you’re staying in!”

You deflated at the thought of choking down these disgusting concoctions before waltzing out to a maximum security prison to poke a dangerous criminal with a stick. No wonder the psych eval was only in a few days rather than a week. With a sigh of defeat, you shut the fridge with your hip and went to clean out the stainless steel container in your sink.

“It’s good that this conversation of ours isn’t being recorded.” Her voice slipped into a conspiratorial tone “I have an offer for you, dearie. Hold out as long as you can, and I’ll find a way to sneak some goodies in with your next shipment of supplements; anything you’d like!”

Now that got your attention. She’d sneak in any snack you wanted? You mentally combed over a list of snacks that would fit each type of craving you may have. Baked goods, savoury foods like chips–you had to get chips–sweet drinks, confectionaries, maybe frozen meals? That might be a bit too big to sneak in, but you’d workshop the list later.

You found yourself yawning as you set aside the now clean container on the sink-side drying rack.

“Jeez, I have no idea how I’m so tired all of a sudden. I’ve spent at most a few hours here, but time is quite literally flying by!” You punctuated the comment with a glare out the window in front of you. It might as well be winter with just how quickly the sun had set.

“Fascinating! This must be the “situational time change” I’ve read about! Just how in stories the scene may shift rapidly, that too is reflected in this world!” Your professor hummed.

“While I’m certain you may feel uniquely jet-lagged from both crossing over and the bizarre timezone, I’m positive you’ll quickly adjust to this! After a week, all of this will feel so routine, you may as well be back at home!”

While her optimism seemed wistful at best, you found yourself focusing on the final thing she said.

May as well be back at home…

“Thank you so much for this check-in, Mrs. Meyers. I genuinely needed the pick-me-up after the day I’ve had. I’m just glad I can start making sense of all of this.”

“Anytime you need me, I’m just a text message away! Now, why don’t you go rest? You sound positively drained!” You certainly felt drained from that emotional rollercoaster.

You bid Mrs. Meyers goodnight before hanging up, leaning your full weight on the kitchen counter with a chest-heavy sigh. You were practically falling asleep while standing up! Slapping your cheeks, you went to grab your briefcase and forgotten suitcase. In your rush this morning, you didn’t bother unpacking your sparse belongings.

Trudging up the stairs felt like an entire ordeal with how your body was betraying you. No matter how exhausted you felt, you still needed to charge your phone at the very least.
In your room you pulled out everything you needed. Your briefcase and laptop were set on the dresser across from your bed. You’d leave the documents in the briefcase, along with the first aid kit you didn’t feel comfortable with leaving at home. You kneeled on the cured wooden floor and unzipped your overflowing suitcase. You’re hesitant to put away your clothes in drawers, on the off chance you need to leave for whatever reason.

And maybe you’re just a bit paranoid that getting comfortable here means you won’t be able to leave. God forbid there’s any brand new fae logic that’ll be sprung on you tomorrow.

For now, you settled on putting on your comfiest set of pyjamas, and balling up your morning clothing in the net-mesh inside your suitcase. Your hand landed on something worn and plush.

Looking left, then right, and closing the blinds to your bedroom window, you pulled out what you’d smuggled with your essentials: a little worn fox plushie.

The colours had faded on Foxie, the legs were uneven, and he was missing an eye. But damn it all, you needed a bit of comfort right now, no matter how childish it may seem to an onlooker! You hugged the little guy close to your chest, then tossed him onto the bed.

Finally, your charger was plugged into the socket by your bed, with your phone plugged in and set carefully on your night stand.

You’d brush your teeth in the morning. Right now, all you cared about was crawling into bed and cradling your childhood plushie like a lifeline. Your eyes shut sluggishly, held down by imaginary weights. Laying on your back, you had the strongest sensation; as if you were doing slow flips underwater without moving a muscle. You blinked a few times, and shook your head. You didn’t trust that sensation, nor how far back your eyes had rolled. You counted your breaths:

‘In: one, two, three, four. Hold: one, two, three, four. Out: one, two, three, four. Rest: one, two, three, four’

Over and over you counted, and breathed, and silently rejoiced as your muscles finally relaxed. You didn’t even realize when you drifted off right in the middle of your breathing exercises.

⚞ ✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰◡◠◡✰◠◡◠✰ ⚟

As you slept, the world subconsciously shifted. Like father time himself was rolling his shoulders, the hours stretched into a more familiar length. Hues in the sky shifted imperceptibly to the naked eye, and cloud textures did not once repeat. Nature felt more concrete, concrete felt more textured, and textures felt more.

Only slightly, ever-so-slightly. If a toon noticed, they didn’t notice, because they were always more fluid, more adaptive than the already rapidly adaptable human race. Toons didn’t have to understand.

But you did. Oh, you just had to. Because the world you sat in was built for you.

And the world you lay down in cradled you.

And the world you drift off to sleep in hushed your worries.

And the world you dreamed in changed, because you were change.