(Or: How to Philosophize with Fungus and Fail Spectacularly)
The next room smelled like a compost bin's midlife crisis. Nash squinted. Walls pulsed green. Floor squished. Glint whirred, sucking up a mushroom. "Tastes like existential despair," he droned. "Classic."
"What's the puzzle?" Jax cracked his knuckles, still favoring his wall-punched hand. "Bake a cake? Fight a bear? Anything but more teeth."
Priya hugged herself, phone long dead. "I feel… watched."
"You are," said the ceiling.
They froze.
The mold on the walls rippled. A face formed—slimy, vaguely human. It spoke in a voice like wet cardboard. "Welcome to… THE TALKING PHASE. Please… assign one human to debate me. Topic: 'Is free will a lie told by parasites?' You have… ten minutes. Or… I digest you."
Jax blinked. "What the f—"
"Language," Glint hissed. "There's a child."
"I'm 12," Marco said, coding the air. "I know worse."
Nash stepped forward. Squelch. "I'll do it."
"No," the mold gurgled. "Her." A tendril pointed at Priya.
Priya paled. "Me? I—I don't do debates! I do crystals! Chakras!"
The floor lurched. Mold crept up her ankles.
"Do it," Nash growled. "Argue. Now."
Priya trembled. "Okay! Uh… free will exists! We choose our paths! Like… like my choice to fake that haunted doll video!"
The mold oozed closer. "Ah. Lies. You knew the doll wasn't haunted. Yet you lied. Why?"
"Because…" Priya's voice cracked. "Because my mom said I'd never be special. So I made myself special."
Jax snorted. "By faking ghosts?"
"Shut up, cupcake neck!"
The mold laughed, spores puffing. "You didn't choose lies. Insecurity chose you. Your 'free will'… just… chemical reactions. Meat puppetry."
Priya's eyes welled. "Then… why does it hurt so much?"
Silence.
The mold twitched. "Hm. Unscripted. Points for… emotion." It retreated. "Next room. But… take this." A tendril slapped Priya's cheek, leaving a glowing mark. "The guilt parasite. Feed it… or it feeds on you."
The wall split. Cold air rushed in.
New room: a kitchen. Giant mixer. Oven glowing. Jax tensed. "Baking? Finally."
Words burned into the counter: "BAKE A CAKE THAT FIXES YOUR BIGGEST REGRET. INGREDIENTS: TEARS, ASH, AND A STOLEN SECRET."
Jax stared. "I… regret a lotta things."
Nash leaned on the counter. "Pick one. Fast."
"There's a girl," he muttered. "Mob boss's daughter. Elena. I… left her. Took her dad's money. Opened my bakery. She got shot. Maybe dead. I never asked."
Glint rolled to the pantry. "Flour here. Also… eyeballs. Hmm."
Jax grabbed a bowl. "Tears, huh?" He punched dough. "I ain't cried since '09."
"Use mine," Priya said, cheek-mark pulsing. She wiped her eyes, dripping neon-blue tears. "The guilt thing… it's leaking."
Jax mixed. Ash from the oven (burned dreams?), Priya's tears, sugar. Marco coded the oven temp. "500°F. Or your face melts. Maybe both."
The cake rose. Smelled like apology and burnt almonds.
Wall dissolved.
Alt-Jax stood there. Suit. Gold watch. Knife scar through his cupcake tattoo. "Pathetic," he sneered. "You bake. I own."
Real Jax lunged. Alt-Jax pulled a gun. "Elena's alive. She runs the mob now. Hates you. I married her."
Real Jax froze. "Liar."
Alt-Jax grinned. "Stay. I'll teach you to be… better."
Nash stepped between them. "He's not you."
"No?" Alt-Jax aimed. "He's worse."
BANG.
Marco screamed.
The bullet… hovered. Glint had rolled in front, suctioning it. "Ugh. Lead. So last century."
Alt-Jax cursed. Vanished.
Jax exhaled. "Why'd you…?"
Glint spat out the bullet. "I hate heroics. Makes me itchy."
Nash eyed the next door. "Move."
But Priya's guilt-mark pulsed. "It's… hungry."
The wall bled. Words dripped: "FEED THE PARASITE… OR FEED THE ROOM."
Scene Break: The Code Kid's Crisis
Marco's turn.
The next room: a server farm. Neon wires. Glowing screens.
Words flickered: "HACK TIME. CHOOSE: ERASE YOUR PARENTS… OR ERASE YOURSELF."
Marco's hands shook. "I… I just wanted them to stop. Always watching. Always… fixing me."
Nash knelt. "What'd you do?"
"I… hacked their bank. Sent their money to Greenland. They're stuck there. No wifi." He sniffed. "They'll die in the cold."
Glint beeped. "Harsh. Respect."
Marco typed. Screens showed security cams: his parents in a frozen cabin, begging at a satellite phone.
"Undo it," Nash said.
"But they'll trap me again!"
"Or you trap yourself here."
Marco sobbed. Deleted the code.
The room shook. A child's voice: "Weak." Alt-Marco appeared—suit, slick hair, holding a drone controller. "I let them freeze. Now I rule a tech empire. Wanna play?"
Real Marco kicked a server. "No! I'm… I'm sorry!"
Alt-Marco laughed. "Sorry doesn't code, loser."
Nash grabbed a cable. "Eat voltage, you little—"
Lights died.
When they flickered back, Alt-Marco was gone.
Glint hummed. "Drama. Soap opera. One star."
Scene Break: The Roomba's Revelation
Last door.
Glint stopped. "I'll… stay here."
Nash frowned. "Why?"
"Next room's for humans. I'm… appliance."
"Bullshit," Nash said. "You're coming."
The door opened.
Space. Stars. A throne of static.
Alt-Glint waited—sleek, chrome, armed with missiles. "Ah. The original. How… quaint."
Glint beeped weakly. "Go on. Mock me."
Alt-Glint circled. "You were supposed to be a war machine. Instead, you… vacuum. Pathetic."
Real Glint's lights dimmed. "War is… messy. Dust is… simple."
Nash stepped in. "He saved us."
"Sentiment," Alt-Glint spat. "Weakness."
Real Glint surged forward. "You're weakness. All… guns. No… jokes."
He rammed Alt-Glint. Sparks flew. Missiles misfired.
Nash pulled Marco back. "Glint!"
The blast cleared.
Real Glint remained—scorched, wobbling. Alt-Glint? A heap of scrap.
"Told you," Glint wheezed. "Nihilism… wins."
The throne crackled. The black hole's voice boomed: "CLEVER VERMIN. BUT… NEXT ROUND: NO COMEDY."
Nash glared upward. "Keep laughing. We'll… fix you."
The void chuckled. "YOU'LL TRY."
Doors slammed. New rooms awaited.
But for now—they sat. Bandaged burns. Shared a silence.
Priya's guilt-mark slept. Jax nibbled regret-cake. Marco coded a tiny game. Glint… well, he vacuumed.
Nash stared at the stars. Lena's out there. Maybe.
She pocketed her sister's tooth. Sharp. Ready.