Ryan clung to the side of a jagged, purple obsidian cliff in the Covelo-Peak Retail Rim, the malls most remote annex. Below him, a pack of Discount Dire-Wolves—half-organic, half-plushie—howled for his blood or a coupon. A power surge had locked the Simulated Wilderness doors, turning a casual security patrol into a desperate survival mission.
“Dover, buddy, please tell me the emergency stairs are working!” Ryan shouted into his radio.
“I am currently a vertical pile of misery, Ryan,” Dovers voice crackled through the static. “The surge jammed my treads. I am stuck at a forty-five-degree angle, which coincidentally matches my current level of self-loathing. You are on your own in the Great Beyond-The-Food-Court.”
A robotic hawk with laser-pointer eyes dived at Ryans head. He ducked, swinging his heavy metal flashlight like a club. The hawk chirped a pre-recorded message about twenty percent off all birdseed before crashing into the rock. Ryan scrambled onto a ledge, only to find Nebula Norris frantically trying to light a fire using two glowing Forever-Batteries and a pile of synthetic moss.
“Nebula? Why are you out here?” Ryan gasped.
“I got fired from El Pluto Loco again,” she said, her third arm frantically rubbing the batteries together. “I thought I would hide out in the mountains until the heat died down. I did not realize the mountains would literally try to eat me.”
The sky turned a neon shade of emergency-red. Mr. Meankinders voice boomed over the hidden atmospheric speakers. “Attention, valued employee Ryan! You are trespassing in a restricted survival-marketing zone! You are fired!”
Then, a softer head chimed in: “But you are doing a lovely job staying alive, dear! Have a cookie!”
The third head just made a gurgling, indecisive noise.
Suddenly, the Discount Dire-Wolves began to stack themselves like crates, forming a ladder. Ryan looked at his tattered paper map. According to the legend, there was a hidden exit behind a waterfall of liquid strawberry soda.
“Follow me!” Ryan yelled, grabbing Nebula’s third hand. They leaped into the pink, sugary torrent. They landed on a hard, metal floor.
“We made it,” Nebula panted, wiping syrup from her green skin.
A tall, chrome mannequin with no face stepped out, holding a clipboard. “Welcome to the afterlife,” it droned. “Would you like to sign up for our rewards program before we harvest your organs for the Autumn Collection?”
(This story created by a California earthquake on August 5, 2026. Magnitude of: 4.41. 31 km NNW of Covelo, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75412157)