Some part of Terry expected Kelima to come out of her tent in the immediate aftermath of his emotional breakdown. That would have been the most awkward possible thing that could happen at that moment. A real shit cherry to go on top of the shit cupcake that he’d just eaten. Well, on balance, he’d been eating those cupcakes since he arrived. He just hadn’t been quite so keenly aware of eating them as he was now. Yet, despite the perverse joy the universe seemed to take in heaping embarrassment on top of his misery, Kelima didn’t come out of her tent. Terry was so suspicious that she was huddled in her tent, hand clamped over her mouth, and barely suppressing giggles, that he went over and looked in.

  Nope. She was still unconscious. Granted, that made her about as useful as the result of a drunken night of illicit lovemaking between a labradoodle and a chihuahua. However, he could take comfort in the knowledge that a tiny shred of his dignity was still intact and safeguarded from the judgment of others. Thank God other-Terry can’t talk to her, thought Terry. The very idea of those two being able to exchange words sent of wave of such undiluted horror through him that it caused an involuntary shudder. Even in Chinese Period Drama Hell, Terry thought that some things should never be considered. Not even in the privacy of one’s own mind. After all, he just never knew who might be paying attention.

  He'd never gotten a satisfactory answer about the existence of gods in this world. Some people claimed that not only were the gods real, but that they would manifest. Others claimed that while they thought the gods were real, they didn’t believe that they intervened directly except in highly unusual circumstances. Still others claimed that the gods were real but distant, unknowable figures who took no part in life in this world. And, then there were the atheists. Terry’s big takeaway was that this place was so fucked up that there was no way to be sure and, depending on just how fucked up it was at a base level, he might discover that all of those people were right in some twisted way. Like, maybe the gods were in some kind of weird Schrodinger’s Cat state of both existing and not existing depending on who was looking or how they were looking.

  It always gave him a headache to think about, so he mostly didn’t think about it. Unless a god or goddess appeared to him, he figured that it was best to just leave things the hell alone. He had enough problems without literal divinities showing up and vomiting god things like prophecies and destiny onto him. Fuck that noise. Leave that shit for people who believed and other crucial stuff. Stuff like actually caring. It was the agnostic life for him all the way until he physically could not avoid the issue. Unfortunately, the best way to avoid it becoming physically impossible to avoid the issue was to get stronger. And the only way to do that was to bend to other-Terry’s will. He’d known it was inevitable. He just hadn’t liked it. So, he’d dragged his feet for as long as he could.

  Having finally bumped into someone Terry was certain could bring his life to a swift and brutal end had convinced him that procrastination was no longer an option. Of course, that had been before other-Terry had taken to chiming in without warning to say things like—

  Hey, Captain Snot-tastic, thundered other-Terry inside Terry’s consciousness. You need a tissue? Oh, they don’t have those here, do they? Well, I’m sure some kind monster will lend you a hanky!

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  I’d tell you to take a flying leap at a rolling donut, but I guess you’d need legs for that you disembodied asshat, retorted Terry.

  That would have worked better if I actually wanted legs, which I don’t.

  Uh-huh. Sure, you don’t.

  That wasn’t funny. That was just mean, complained other-Terry.

  Relentlessly taunting me about snot, which is something that always happens when you ugly cry like that, isn’t funny either. But it hasn’t slowed you down one little bit, has it?

  Well, I hope you’re happy. You just sucked all the fun out of that. I guess we need to give you a new title. Terry Williams, Joy Murderer.

  Rarely have I been so happy that there is no internet here. That’s the kind of shit that both sticks and is always misinterpreted.

  There was a longer than usual silence before other-Terry spoke again.

  Was that an AI joke? If it was, I didn’t get it. Also, if it was, I’m not an AI, dammit.

  Calm the hell down. It wasn’t an AI joke. Jesus, you’re awfully sensitive for someone who likes mockery as much as you do.

  That was followed by an awkward silence. At least, it felt awkward to Terry, which made him wonder about how to define awkward silences. Did both parties need to feel like it was awkward? Was it enough if only one person in the conversation felt awkward? The longer he thought about it, the more it felt like one of those trick questions with no right answer that philosophy professors ask students. Like that trolley one where you had to decide if you’d turn it to run over Hitler or Stalin. At least, Terry was mostly sure it was something like that. There had been a pretty girl in that class, and he’d been distracted a lot. Maybe it had been that you turned the trolley to run over Hitler’s brain in a jar or Stalin’s brain in a jar.

  That didn’t feel quite right, either, and he finally gave up trying to remember. It wasn’t like it made a difference now. Then again, in this world, it might be possible to do something that would make the trolley run over both Hitler's and Stalin’s brains in jars. That would actually be kind of awesome, thought Terry. So, it’s probably not possible. Nothing awesome ever happens here. That led Terry to a moment of rumination. Okay, he admitted to himself, being superhuman is a tiny bit awesome. I just wish it had happened somewhere I hate a little less. Recognizing that he was actively procrastinating now just to avoid doing something he didn’t want to do, Terry took a deep breath.

  So, I guess it’s time we started talking about how I get strong enough to survive this place.

  Other-Terry’s mental voice came through like he was speaking very slowly.

  Is one of us drunk? I feel like one of us must be drunk. I’m not even joking right now.

  Look. We both know that guild master could have taken me out. I didn’t like that feeling one little bit. So, minimally, I need to learn enough and get strong enough that people like him aren’t an instant death sentence for me. And by me, I mean us.

  Shit, muttered other-Terry. Of course, you pick now to decide to get your head out of your ass.

  What difference does that make?

  It doesn’t. Not really.

  Then, why are you cursing at me?

  Because I finally got comfortable with being lazy all the time. Now, I have to break that habit and actually work. I don’t want to actually work.

  Welcome to the joys of adulthood, said Terry. You get to work even when you’d rather wipe your ass with sandpaper.