Mortimer bursts through the front doors of Taco King like a hurricane’s water surge, soaked to the bone from the persistent drizzle. His sweaty fur is matted against his face, the raccoon mask askew from his mad dash across town. The electronic components strapped to his body buzz and crackle faintly from the moisture.

  "Six King Don tacos, five supreme tacos, four mega grilled burritos, three black bean nacho bowls, two large Mountain Splashes, and one pineapple slushy!" Mortimer gasps, stumbling toward the counter.

  The teenage rabbit at the register stares wide-eyed, but before he can respond, Juarez emerges from the back, his face contorting with recognition and rage.

  "Are you kidding me? Do you and the Hobo coordinate your antics to piss me off!" shouts Juarez.

  Mortimer stumbles to the counter, gripping it tightly and wheezing.

  “Give me a break, will ya? I haven’t been here in months,” says Mortimer, his voice ragged airy.

  “It hasn’t even been close to months. Now get out of my restaurant!" yells Juarez.

  “I need some food for my girlfriend. Well, not my girlfriend, but my friend who happens to be a girl.”

  “So, your girlfriend?” says the cashier.

  “Just ring up my order, kid,” says Mortimer.

  The employee starts ringing him up, and he pulls out his wallet, eyes flicking between his money and the total tallying up on the register’s display screen.

  “Put some extra napkins and sauce packets in there, too,” adds Mortimer.

  “No, stop,” orders Juarez. “He’s banned. He’s not getting anything from us.”

  Mortimer growls, and his battery pack and gloves spark. “Stop being a prick! I’ll pay double for this.”

  “That’ll mess up my final count. Piss off.”

  Mortimer holds his hand out to the side. His glove sparks brightly, and a metal dividing pole in the lobby floor is ripped out and flies into Mortimer's hand, flinging broken tile across the floor.

  “RING ME UP RIGHT NOW!” screams Mortimer.

  Everything goes quiet and still. Even the machinery seems to have stopped. Mortimer’s brown eyes smolder behind his mask, and sparks snake up and down the pole in his hand as he bears his sharp teeth, a loud growl rumbling in his throat.

  “Ring him up… I’ll make the food,” says Juarez slowly.

  “Thank you,” says Mortimer sharply.

  The employee finishes ringing him up, and Mortimer drops double the amount on the register. Then drops another wad of cash on the counter.

  “For your floor. I’m going to sit down now.” Mortimer points at Juarez with the pole as he walks backwards. “If you spit in my food or do anything weird to it, I will burn this place down.”

  “With us in it?” asks the cashier.

  Mortimer stops and sneers at the cashier. “What? No. What’s wrong with you people.”

  He walks away, shaking his head, and sits at a booth, legs stretched, and pole held against his chest.

  “Man, this town is messed up,” says Mortimer to himself.

  *****

  Out on the wet streets of Bliss Town, Jayson and Lexia continue their walk in circles, eating their food and sipping their drinks. Their damp bodies and billions of water droplets are illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlamps.

  They stop by a monument of a soldier wearing a gas mask, carrying a rifle, and running. On the plaque is a winged DNA strand and near the monument is a gazebo, its paint peeling and wood splintering in parts.

  The pair finish their meal and put their garbage in an overflowing trashcan. After that, they sit in the gazebo, and Lexia takes off her boots socks and massages her feet, starting with her white left foot, and then moving on to her right brown foot.

  While this happens, Jayson gives her an odd look, and she pauses, mid-rub of her brown foot and looks at him curiously.

  “What?” asks Lexia.

  “You don't have to do that in public,” says Jayson.

  “My feet are killing me.”

  “What you’re doing is kind of weird though.”

  Lexia frowns. “Out of all the crap we've been through for the past however many days, this is where you draw the line at weirdness?”

  Jayson is about to say something but closes his mouth and decides to lie on the bench across from Lexia. He stares at the ceiling while holding his cosmic wood sword tight against his chest, and the pair remains quiet while the drizzle bangs on the gazebo’s wooden ceiling, a single light being the only bit of illumination inside.

  Lexia lays down a couple of minutes later but keeps her boots off and watches her feet and toes bob, twist and stretch as if they are conducting an orchestra.

  Silence ticks by, and soon Lexia groans irritably and rubs her back against the bench while Jayson remains perfectly still.

  “How do you do this every day?” asks Lexia.

  “Lots of practice,” says Jayson.

  “Bull. You’re probably numb to it.”

  “Probably.”

  They fall silent again, listening to the rain and getting damp in the wet atmosphere.

  “Hey, remember when I said I had no problem taking you to the homeless shelter?” asks Lexia.

  “You mean the one that was a hundred miles away? Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago,” says Jayson.

  “Yeah… We also haven’t fought about our territories in a while, did you notice that?”

  Jayson thinks for a moment, his lips puckered. “You’re right. We haven’t.”

  “Derrick really sucks at making maps. But we should fight over who gets what again.”

  Jayson tilts his head to Lexia, eyebrow arched. “Why?”

  Lexia shrugs, her eyes fixed on the ceiling and her toes wiggling. "Because it was our special thing, and then it got ruined with all this complicated stuff."

  Jayson absently ran his thumb along the grain of his cosmic wood sword. "I guess I can see that. A social ritual is comfortable."

  "Exactly! Like, you’d go on my side, and I’d shoot a rocket at you, and I’d go on your side, and you’d whack me with your stick," says Lexia. She sits up and gesturing wildly. "Now we're dealing with weird experiments and people who can melt and-” She stops abruptly, her eyes widening. "Holy shit, Jayson."

  Jayson pauses his rubbing and looks at Lexia curiously. "What?"

  "I just realized something. What if Trafford was telling the truth about us? What if we're... experiments?" She gets off her bench and sits in front of Jayson, her voice dropping to a whisper. "What if we're not even real?"

  Jayson sits up with a surprised look on his face. “You heard all that?”

  “Yeah. I was kind of in a twilight sleep, where my eyes were closed and my body was too tired to move, but I heard everything.”

  Jayson lays down. “Oh, I hate those.”

  “Me, too. They’re the worst.”

  “They really are… But to answer your question, we are real,” says Jayson. “I can feel pain. You can feel pain. I have memories, you have memories. Both of us have thoughts and actions. We even ate tacos and burritos."

  Lexia taps her head. "But what if we're just programmed to think we're real? What if all of this…” she gestures broadly at the gazebo, the drizzling rain, the town beyond, "…is just some kind of simulation? I mean, I can break reality, you got the time warping thing, Derrick has his weird thing, and everything about Bliss Town is weird. Even the damn sky is cracked! That is not natural, unless it is a graphics program. See what I mean?"

  "If this is all a simulation, then it's a pretty shitty simulation," says Jayson. “They could have made my life better, and you are not a lunatic.”

  Lexia slaps Jayson’s head. "I'm serious, Jayson. What if we're just programs? What if someone else is typing commands on their computer. Or worse. What if we are playable characters and this is all a giant MMORPG for aliens! What if we’re in a book written by some guy who put words on a page? Words on pages are basically programs, right?"

  Jayson stares at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "No, words on a page are not programs, and I’m not even going to entertain the rest of your hysteria. I’m real. You’re real. And we should start heading back to the Crystal Plate. It's almost ten."

  Lexia groans but goes to her bench to put her socks and boots back on. "Fine. But I'm not happy about walking in the rain again."

  "You have an umbrella."

  "Yeah, but my feet are still gonna get wet."

  Jayson smirks and stands, stretching. "Welcome to my world, cookie."

  As they step out of the gazebo, the rain seems to have lightened somewhat, transitioning from a steady drizzle to a fine mist. Streetlights cast hazy halos in the damp air, and the occasionally passing car sends sheets of water spraying from the gutters. But as wet and gloomy as it was, Jayson finds the walk peaceful, and he keeps his steps slow just so he can enjoy it for a few minutes longer.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  *****

  Mortimer skillfully balances the overflowing bags of Taco King as he navigates the safehouse hallway. His fur is still damp, and his electronics occasionally spark, but his face is set with determination. Balancing the drink carrier in one hand, he uses his elbow to knock on Claribel's door.

  "Special delivery for the prettiest snake in Bliss Town," he announces, his mask slightly askew from the journey back, and his voice weighted with concern despite the light tone he’s using.

  The lock clicks, and the door swings open. Claribel stands there, looking steadier on her feet than when he left. Her eyes widen at the sight of all the food, and she steps aside to let him in.

  Mortimer staggers in, catching a glimpse of her Block World game. Her mouse avatar, Ms. Fritz Bee, is standing on the roof of a block house with a lot of decorations.

  "Did you buy the entire menu?" asks Claribel, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “I should have done that, but no. I just bought a lot of food,” says Mortimer.

  He looks around, pacing in circles, and Claribel clears off a section of her desk and grabs the drinks.

  “You carried all this by yourself?” asks Claribel.

  “Yep. I was taught how to juggle, balance, and all kinds of other crap when I attended that magician school,” says Mortimer proudly while setting the food down.

  Mortimer makes some final touches on arranging the food while Claribel settles back on her bed, propping herself against the headboard.

  "How are you feeling?" Mortimer asks, handing her the pineapple slushy.

  Claribel takes a long sip, closing her eyes momentarily. "Strange. Everything's intense. Colors, smells, tastes." She opens her eyes and looks at him. "But I'm alive, thanks to you."

  "And Ramsey," adds Mortimer reluctantly while giving her a King Don taco.

  "Mostly you," says Claribel, setting the taco aside. “If you hadn’t been there, the Hobo would have crushed my skull.”

  Claribel shudders.

  “I’ve killed a few people, and some struggled, and I’ve seen so many eyes, but this was different. His eyes, his face…” Claribel shudders again, her tail rattling. “It was like the Hobo wasn’t there. It was like looking in the eyes of a demon. I’ve never seen that before, and I know that wasn’t Jayson looking at me because I’ve seen his eyes plenty of times. Those weren’t Jayson’s eyes.”

  Mortimer stares at Claribel, the worry back on his face, and she forces herself to smile and leans forward to take his mask off.

  “But let’s not worry about that. Let’s eat,” says Claribel.

  They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Mortimer watches Claribel carefully, noting how she seems to savor each bite more intensely than usual, her eyes occasionally widening with surprise at the flavors.

  "This is incredible," she murmurs between bites. "I can taste everything. The processed spices, the low quality of the meat, even the preservatives. It’s all dialed up to eleven!"

  "Is that good or bad?" asks Mortimer, unwrapping his own burrito.

  “It is a bit overwhelming, but I’m too hungry to be uncomfortable by it." Claribel takes another bite, then pauses, and slowly swallows as she locks eyes with Mortimer. "I can also smell your emotions. They’re very strong."

  Mortimer coughs on the food in his mouth. “What? Seriously?”

  Claribel nods. “Your relief smells like rain.”

  “I smell like rain because I’m covered in rainwater and probably sewer water since the water was bubbling out of those drain areas,” says Mortimer.

  “Yeah, I can smell the sewage on you, too, but the relief is different.”

  Claribel's tail wraps around his wrist, a gesture so gentle it makes his chest ache, and she pulls him towards her.

  “I can also smell something else,” says Claribel. Her tongue flicks out to taste the air between them, her forked tip barely missing Mortimer’s nose. "Attraction. It smells like cinnamon and electricity."

  Mortimer swallows hard, his fur standing on end as he stares at Claribel with wide eyes and a racing heart. The food forgotten, she pulls him closer until their faces are inches apart. His heart is now racing, and even he can hear her heart racing a little bit. Her eyes search his face, betraying the anxiety she is hiding behind growing excitement and relief.

  “I think I know what you’re smelling,” says Mortimer. “I bought some cologne from one of those booths at the Bliss Town Mall. And I got this big battery thing and these gloves they go sparky, so cinnamon and electricity makes sense.”

  Mortimer finishes with a chuckle, and Claribel smiles and strokes his face. He feels the smallest of trembles on her fingers, despite the smile on her face.

  "I've always been able to read your body language," she says, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that is stilted, like she has been practicing in front of a mirror. “But now I can literally taste how much you want me. And I can also taste your fear, your anxiety, your sadness. You’ve been through a lot, and I want to make you feel better."

  Before Mortimer can respond, Claribel closes the distance between them, pressing her lips against his dark lips. The kiss is tentative at first but quickly deepens as Mortimer's initial surprise melts into eager response. His hands find her waist, careful of her bandaged areas, while her tail wraps more firmly around his arm, and he pushes forward, making them tumble on the bed.

  Mortimer's electronics spark slightly as his hands tangle in Claribel's blonde hair. Their kiss deepens, grows more urgent, and Mortimer feels his electromagnetic equipment’s sparks intensify in response to his racing heartbeat, making the lights flicker and the computer dim slightly.

  "Your batteries," gasps Claribel between kisses, her hands already working to unfasten the straps around his torso.

  Mortimer nips at her neck, drawing a sharp gasp from her.

  “Do you need help?” asks Mortimer.

  “I got this,” says Claribel, planting another kiss on him as her fingers deftly work to remove his equipment.

  Mortimer pauses his excited nips, and looks at Claribel as he breathes heavily, watching her work on his gloves now, carefully peeling them off his hands one finger at a time.

  “Wait, are you sure about this? Are you thinking clearly? Because if you’re going nuts from sensory overload then I don’t want to go any further,” says Mortimer.

  A mischievous smile spreads across Claribel's face as she tosses his gloves aside and pushes the straps on his torso so his battery pack falls off. “I’ve never been surer of anything. I’ve actually been waiting for this for a long time.”

  Claribel pulls Mortimer closer, their lips meeting again with renewed hunger. Her scales feel different against his fur—harder yet somehow more sensitive, making her gasp at each touch. His hands trace the outline of her bandages, cautious yet desperate, as if confirming she's truly alive beneath his fingertips.

  "I thought I'd lost you," he whispers against her neck, his voice catching.

  Her tail wraps around his waist, drawing him closer.

  "You saved me," she breathes, her tongue flicking out to taste the air between them. "Let me show you how grateful I am."

  Her hands move to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them with deliberate slowness.

  Mortimer's breath catches as her cool fingers brush against his chest, tracing the scars that connect to his neck and face. The lights in the room seem to pulse with the racing of his heart, despite his equipment being disconnected. He pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, finding them dilated with want.

  "Are you sure you're okay? Your injuries are severe," says Mortimer.

  "My injuries have healed," says Claribel, guiding his hand to her side where the bandages cover what should be fatal wounds. "Whatever Ramsey did, it worked. I feel a mix of soreness and greatness."

  Claribel then shifts her lithe, serpentine body around, and Mortimer follows her lead, leading to her on top, pinning Mortimer beneath her with her thighs on his pelvis and her hands braced next to his head, trapping him so they are eye to eye. Her blonde hair falls around them like a curtain as she leans down to nip at his throat, drawing a low groan from him, his hands sliding up her sides, careful of the bandages but emboldened by her assurances.

  Claribel's lips find Mortimer's again, her body moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm against his. Her hips roll forward, drawing a sharp gasp from him as his hands slide up her thighs to steady her. The grinding motion intensifies as her fingers work at the remaining buttons of his shirt, exposing more of his fur and scars with each movement.

  "You're a handsome fox," she whispers against his mouth, her tongue flicking out to taste his lips and nose.

  Mortimer's hands tremble slightly as they move to the hem of her Block World pajama top.

  “You’re easy on the eyes, too,” says Mortimer awkwardly.

  Claribel snickers and licks his nose as she grinds against him, drawing a sharp inhale from Mortimer. Her hips begin a slow, rhythmic movement against him, drawing a strangled gasp from deep in his throat. The friction between them builds as Mortimer's paws fumble with the fastenings of her Block World pajamas.

  Claribel giggles and straightens herself on Mortimer’s lap. She continues grinding as she teases him with deliberate slowness, unbuttoning her pajama top and shrugging it off her shoulders, revealing more of her lithe body. The light shines on her orange scales, the five brown spots on her shoulders, and the brown stripe of her face traveling down her neck and stopping at her cleavage, her chest covered by Block World themed bra.

  Mortimer stares in awe, his paws tracing reverently up her sides, feeling her firm muscles and being entranced by her slender beauty. A hungry smile plays across Claribel's lips as she leans down, her tongue flicking against his ear and her hips grinding harder on his lap.

  “Now for the part we’ve been waiting for,” says Claribel.

  As the remaining clothing begins to fall away piece by piece, the drizzling rain outside lightly drumming against the window in a rhythm that adds soothing background noise to their accelerating heartbeats as the grind together, coupling their bodies in a moment that had been fermenting since they first met years ago.

  Ms. Fritz Bee's block house is forgotten in the digital world as Claribel and Mortimer create their own sanctuary in reality as the storm outside continues its steady percussion. Soon, the screen goes dark, but neither of them care. This is their time, and they will spend every minute of it with each other.

  *****

  Outside on the hill, still concealed from prying eyes, Bridgette remains prone as a cold, wet, and very annoyed bird. Her body is getting numb, her talons ache from the chill, the dying drizzle lingers like curse whose only purpose is to annoy her. Yet, she remains at her post, eye peering through her scope.

  “Hey, Bridgette, we need help taking out Mama Bear’s stuff in Bliss Town”, says Bridgette, poorly mimicking Nermal’s voice.

  “Oh really? That’s swell. I’ll definitely help,” says Bridgette.

  “Thanks Bridgette! You’re the best!”

  “Ha, ha, I know, Nermal. Or shall I say… Nuke Baron!”

  Bridgette’s forced laugh turns to an annoyed growl and her talons flex on her rifle.

  “Oh my gosh, I’ve been off sniper duty way too long. I dealt with worse during the Toxic War. No, you haven’t. Yes, I have. No, you haven’t. Don’t gaslight me, me. I lived through the war and know what I did. Did you, really, though? Yes, I-” Suddenly, Bridgette freezes, her eyes bulge, and her talons grip her dial on her scope. “Oh, what’s this?”

  She turns her dial, zooming on her target, her eyes narrow, and then widen again as her face heats up.

  “No… No way… Are they…? Oh damn… Damn! That should’ve been me with Derrick!”

  *****

  Meanwhile, in Bliss Town, by the time Jayson and Lexia return to the Crystal Plate, it is nearly empty. There are no customers left, and Mariana is one of three employees on the floor wiping down the tables and chairs or sweeping the floor, occasionally glancing at the clock.

  When Mariana sees them enter, she sighs heavily and approaches them.

  "You’re ten minutes early," says Mariana.

  "We're punctual people," says Lexia brightly.

  "If only you were this punctual about your library books," replies Mariana. She turns on her heels and waves them forward with a finger. “Follow me to the back.”

  Jayson and Lexia follow Mariana to the back, ignoring the partially confused faces of the employees. Mariana takes them to a secluded area with lockers and clothing hooks. She puts on her yellow raincoat, slips her umbrella loop around her wrist, and unlocks her locker to retrieve a dark brown box.

  Mariana takes them to the back, far away from the door, and under the cover of her umbrella, she uses one hand to pop open her small box, revealing a dozen vials and syringes.

  Lexia grins and rubs her hands, and Jayson stares at it with wide eyes.

  “Excellent~” hisses Lexia. “Now gimme!”

  Lexia lunges, but Mariana steps back and closes the box.

  “I will give these to you, but only on one condition,” says Mariana.

  “Lay it on me,” says Lexia impatiently.

  “Take three doses before you confront Claribel. Failure to do so will lead you actually dying in a horrible way, and then Jayson will go insane, and I’ll have to kill him again.”

  Jayson sneers, and Lexia looks between them.

  “What does she mean by that?” asks Lexia. Before Jayson can reply, she gasps and gets a wicked smile. “Wait a minute…. Awwwwww~ that’s sweet. You really do like me~”

  Lexia rubs Jayson’s greasy brown hair hard, pushing his head down and burning his scalp. As she coos, he frowns and grumbles.

  “And here I was thinking you were being a pill to me because you’re just a smelly douchebag, but really it was all schoolyard antics,” continues Lexia.

  “Are you not going to question Mariana’s statement?” asks Jayson, his eyes partially covered by his bangs and Lexia still rubbing his hair.

  Lexia pulls away, still smiling. “I glitch reality, you warp time with a stick, so Mariana killing you multiple times is not a far stretch.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ve killed you plenty of times when you snapped from Jayson dying,” says Mariana.

  Lexia glares at her. “What?”

  Jayson smirks, and Mariana frowns impatiently, her foot tapping the wet ground.

  “Do you want the anti-venom or not?” says Mariana.

  “Of course I want it!” snaps Lexia.

  “Then pinkie promise you’ll inject yourself with three doses before confronting Claribel.”

  “Uh…”

  Mariana puts the box under her arm and awkwardly holds out her pinky to Lexia.

  “No pinkie promise, no anti-venom,” says Mariana.

  “Fine. I pinkie promise,” says Lexia.

  She hooks her pinkie around Mariana’s, they shake, and Mariana gives her the box.

  “There you go. Good luck. I have to go back to work now,” says Mariana.

  Mariana walks back inside the Crystal Plate, and Lexia and Jayson watch her go, with Lexia holding the box tight.

  “She is so weird,” says Lexia.

  “Yeah, she’s weirder than you,” says Jayson.

  Lexia rolls her eyes and awkwardly opens her umbrella. “Whatever, lover boy. Let's get out here. I want to check on my mom and make sure Derrick isn’t hitting on her.”

  Jayson snickers. “You do know I was joking right?”

  “Your joke could’ve been an accidental truth. Now, let’s go! I must protect my mom’s innocence!”