Note: read “Sweater Get Going” first, and “Dragon Quest” Parts XVIII and XIX too.
Hey, uh, it’s Jeff. Jeff Robinson. You know, Ugly Sweater Guy?
Hi. Good to see ya again.
It’s been a few weeks since I stopped playing the game with Chaos, and me and Electra have left Korkeaopolis behind, heading back to my hometown of Detroit.
And trying to plan out our next move.
We’re not staying in Detroit, we’ve decided. It would invite me to fall back into old habits.
But I’ve gotta get back to my house, which Chaos has been keeping safe for me ever since he first banished me to Korkeaopolis.
I’m gonna be packing up everything of sentimental value, and then…
Then I’m gonna sell the place. Like I said, I can’t stay in Detroit.
By now, news of my exploits in Korkeaopolis has probably reached Detroit, so I’m not expecting a hero’s welcome. Jaws wasn’t my only buddy from my abuser days, and he won’t be the only one to be disappointed. He was the worst of the bunch, sure, but none of them would be happy to see how… hugboxy I’ve become.
And I wouldn’t trust any of them around Electra.
I’m probably gonna have to sell the car, too. I mean, it’s not big enough for all of my stuff.
I might buy a truck, instead.
I’ve also been thinking about that consultant job Cal offered me. I was expecting him to bring it up before I left, but maybe he doesn’t want to pressure me.
I’m gonna be heading back to Korkeaopolis sooner or later, right? Might as well see if there’s a good place in the city.
But not yet. It’s too soon. And I’ve got shit to take care of in Detroit, first.
You know Cal and Marley have their own mechas? We drove past them on the way out of town, they’re kept in two big pits outside the city.
I’d heard a few people mention the Impact Site, and had no idea what that was.
Now I know, and now I have another reason not to piss those off. I mean, mechas? They’ve got mechas too? Christ, they could really make things unfair for abusers if they felt like it!
What’s next? Am I gonna find out that the ChaotiX has its own space station? Or a flying island?
Nah.
Even they’ve gotta draw the line somewhere.
Right now, I’m driving down the freeway in Wisconsin, heading south, towards Madison. We’re gonna have to go around the south end of Lake Michigan.
I’m wearing the sweater at the moment, because it’s kinda chilly today. As Chaos promised, the sweater isn’t itchy at all, and is actually very comfortable.
I think it’s as warm as it needs to be.
Electra, of course, is riding shotgun in her carrier.
I’m planning to get one of those fluffy-safe booster seats for her. I saw them at the Flufftopia in Korkeaopolis, and there’s gotta be a Flufftopia in Madison too, right?
She’s got that Korkea plushie in there, and I have learned the hard way that it has a voice box, because once she accidentally triggered it, she began deliberately triggering it whenever she thinks it’s funny.
“Call me Cal! Everyone does!”
She knows that it bugs me.
So far, the drive home has been… peaceful. We’ve been taking the scenic route, enjoying the sights along the way.
Plus, y’know, giving some of those fluffy toys away to any ferals we come across.
It feels nice, seeing how happy that makes them.
Strangely, every night, when we stop at a motel, we tend to discover that someone has already paid for the night on our behalf.
With a rainbow-colored sack of cash, that often smells faintly of cheese.
And the next morning, someone fills the tank for me.
Oh, you can probably guess who.
We’ve run into Chaos a couple of times on our way through Wisconsin, which wasn’t a surprise in hindsight.
I haven’t forgotten that he’s got a passion for dairy, especially cheese, and this is Wisconsin, America’s Dairyland.
Why wouldn’t he love it here?
My run-ins with Chaos throughout the state of Wisconsin usually end with me walking away with some kind of dairy product, and yes, it’s cheese more often than not.
So I’ve been putting Jaws’ knife to good use.
And not bad use.
It’s the strangest thing, but while we were going through Minnesota, I was pulled over by a cop, who merely recognized me as Ugly Sweater Guy and wanted to snap a selfie with me, and the knife and brass knuckles in my glove compartment seemed to be nowhere to be found until after I had driven away.
Thanks for looking out for me, Chaos. I dunno how I’d explain those to a cop.
And yeah, I’ve been dealing with that too.
If I’m wearing the sweater and/or Electra is with me, people can recognize Ugly Sweater Guy from a mile away.
Otherwise, I might as well be invisible. Remember, I’ve got a very average, forgettable face.
So yeah, I think there’s a lot of people who know about me by now.
I’m just hoping that Chaos won’t conveniently stop looking out for me the moment I enter Detroit’s city limits.
Wouldn’t put it past him to think that’s a hilarious prank.
“Am we dewe yet, Jeff?”
I keep my eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel.
I don’t have to keep a hand free for scratching anymore.
“We’re getting closer, Electra. Once we’ve gone through Madison, we’ll be on our way to Illinois, and then we’ve gotta go through Indiana. Then, we’ll finally be in Michigan, and Detroit is close to the state border, so we won’t have to go too far to the north. Hopefully, we can get in and out without any unpleasant surprises.”
“Wike wunnin intu wunna yu owd fwends?”
“Yeah, like that. None of 'em are as bad as Jaws was, but that doesn’t mean they’re good. And none of them really like fluffies a lot. They probably don’t even know what happened to Jaws, just that he left town and never came back.”
And I haven’t heard anything from Cal about Jaws breaking out of Hell.
I wonder what they’re doing to him?
Meanwhile, on the tenth circle of Hell, Jaws is marched into the Not-Safe-At-All Room by two of the elite demons.
They kept him in that excruciatingly boring waiting room for ten thousand years, but now, they’re getting serious about his punishment.
You haven’t forgotten that time works differently on the Other Side, have you?
Jaws looks around at the room, a fluffy’s saferoom scaled up to human size, the dominant color being, of course, red.
On one wall, there’s a rack of sorry sticks. Big, metal, spiked sorry sticks.
“The fuck is this? A goddamn saferoom?”
One of the elites laughs, holding up a fluffy costume. Pink, to make it extra humiliating.
“There’s nothing safe about it, Humphries! Didn’t you read the sign? Or are you ILLITERATE, retard?
But you’re HALF right, it’s definitely goddamned! Now put this on.”
When Jaws sees the costume, he scowls, adamantly shaking his head and crossing his arms in a way that clearly says “No way, José!”
“Aw here no! I’m not wearing that thing!”
The other elite demon sneers at Jaws.
“Oh yes you ARE, dipshit! You can either put it on voluntarily, or we can hold you down and FORCE you to wear it. Your call.”
Jaws grumbles, taking the costume and putting it on with extreme reluctance.
One of the elites roughly zips up the back for him.
Once it’s on, Jaws spreads his arms, wiggling his hands, now encased in a pair of big plush fluffy hooves, in a sarcastic “are ya happy now?” manner.
The costume’s head exposes his shark-like face, and the expression of pure, unadulterated dissatisfaction on it.
“There. I’m wearing the damn costume. So what’s this all about? Why do I gotta look like a shitrat?”
The first elite gestures around, a gleeful, mocking grin on his face.
“Wow, you really ARE a retard. Haven’t you figured it out? In here, you’re going to be treated the way YOU treated fluffies in life.”
The other elite nods, grinning in the exact same way.
“As you saw on the way here, this circle is full of assholes just like you. Pathetic losers who thought that killing a bunch of weak, stupid pig-horses made them look badass. Newsflash, retard: it fucking DOESN’T. The only people you’ve impressed are riding the short bus like you.”
“You aren’t even worth the effort of making you a demon, you know. The Boss made the decision to not turn fluffy abusers into demons anymore. We’ve seen the results, and they’re usually VERY disappointing. For every competent demon we get, there’s ten morons with swollen egos like those fucking Oldmans. The Boss is sick of flipping that coin and seeing it come up tails.”
“Hey, you SAW how hard he laughed at you when you asked him for a job!”
As the demons cackle at him, Jaws cringes.
“Goddamnit. I hate it Down Here.”
The first demon cackles even harder, basking in Jaws’ misery.
“It’s your own goddamn fault you’re here, Humphries! You KNOW that!”
“And you’d better get comfy, because this Not-Safe-At-All Room is going to be your home for the next MILLION years of your afterlife.”
There’s more than one Not-Safe-At-All Room, in fact.
There’s as many as there need to be.
Vanessa Valentine, founder and leader of the Abuse Syndicate, is in another room like this one.
As a known enemy of the ChaotiX, the guards are keeping a very close eye on her.
Because the last few breakouts were all enemies of the ChaotiX, and the guards are capable of recognizing a pattern.
The second elite condescendingly pats Jaws on the head.
“The ONE thing you’ve got going for you is that you don’t have any counts of RAPING fluffies on your record, which disqualifies you from the REALLY fucked up punishments. Such as, say, an extended stay in the Rape Chamber.”
When he sees the look on Jaws’ face, the first elite leers at him.
“Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like, so consider yourself lucky you aren’t IN there. Personally, I think it’s a damn shame. I was hoping to bring Footlong Frank in here for a private session with you.”
“I’m not going to ask why he’s called that.”
“He’s got a dick like a Pringles can, THAT’S why. And I DON’T mean the small ones.”
The second elite holds his hands a foot apart from each other, like a fisherman saying he once caught a fish this big.
“Yeah, and when he became a demon, it just got bigger, sharper and HOTTER.”
“It somehow looks like every single Tetris block at once.”
“So try not to piss us off too much, or we’ll send you to the Rape Chamber, call Frank in, and…” finger quotes, “FORGET to file the paperwork.”
“OR we could put a French maid outfit on you, shove a few pineapples up your ass, and let you get cozy with Hitler. Honestly, I think you could ROCK that maid outfit. You’ve got the legs to pull it off.”
“It would look better on you than that fluffy costume, eh, Lady Legs? Shit, I don’t think anyone would complain if we played What Can We Fit Up His Ass with you.”
“We do that to uppity little shits like you all the time, none of the lower-downs give a fuck. This is HELL. As long as we’re making you assholes suffer, we’re doing our jobs properly. All of that paperwork we make the damned souls of bureaucrats do is just to punish them, it all goes straight into a big shredder and gets recycled. It’s like that whole thing with Sisyphus and the boulder, but modernized.”
“And you’re looking like a sissy puss to ME. If you wanna do THAT instead, just say so, it can be arranged.”
“…I’m thinking it over…”
I keep driving, wondering what kind of unbearable tortures Jaws must be suffering in Hell.
Eh. It’s not really my problem anymore.
My train of thought is interrupted by the sound of Electra triggering her plushy’s voice box again.
“A king who won’t defend his own kingdom is a sh[BLEEP]y king!”
They sell those things to kids, that’s probably why it’s bleeped.
Cal’s got kind of a foul mouth, but I’m no better.
I dunno if Cal recorded those voice clips himself, though.
It sounds just like him.
“Damnit, Electra.”
She grins at me, curled up on a cushion in the carrier, her hoof still on the plush Cal’s stomach.
“Ewectwa nu cud wee-sist. An Ewectwa fowt dat yu am stawt-in tu wike mistah Caw.”
“Like is a strong word… I tolerate him. I’m grateful to him, because he helped us… but we’re not exactly friends, are we?”
I keep my eyes on the road. It’s a bit late in the afternoon, the sun’s gonna start setting soon, so we should probably think about finding a place to stay the night.
Chaos will know which motel we pick before we even get there.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s watching us right now–
Wait.
When did those fuzzy dice get on my rear view mirror?
And why are they purple with… yellow… dots.
“Chaos?”
The fuzzy dice reply in a cheerful, flamboyant voice.
“Yes, it’s me. Just thought I’d drop in for a chat. So, you’re almost home, huh?”
“Just gotta drive through a couple more states, yeah. And we’re not staying there for long, Chaos.”
“Jeff jus gutta gwab him fings, an seww da housie.”
“Shouldn’t be too complicated, right?”
The fuzzy dice are silent for a few seconds, and when Chaos speaks up next, his voice is tinged with… concern?
“Yes, it shouldn’t be complicated. Say, which way are you planning to enter Detroit from?”
“The shortest way? According to Google Maps, we’ve gotta go from Madison, to Rockford, through Chicago–”
“Home of the deep-dish pizza!”
“–and then around Lake Michigan. After we get through Kalamazoo, and Ann Arbor, we’ll practically be home.”
“Could I make a suggestion?”
“Always, but I can’t say I’ll act on it.”
The fuzzy dice chuckle.
“Fair enough. I was thinking that it might be best to enter Detroit from Flint instead.”
“Really? That’s gonna require a detour. This isn’t the setup to a prank, is it?”
“Oh no, no no no. Do you trust me, Jeff?”
“Not even a little.”
“Haha! Okay, I deserve that. But I’m not screwing with you this time, Jeff. I have my reasons to make this suggestion.”
“And what are those reasons?”
“I’m truly sorry, but I can’t elaborate. But you might be able to figure it out, if you think about it. It’s something we’ve discussed in the past.”
What the hell is he alluding to?
Meanwhile, in the Newberry State Forest, Michigan, the Octovirate’s camper van drives through the forest.
Naturally, off the beaten path.
Once again, the Hungry Rider is driving, being the only person in the camper who knows how to drive.
And once again, Lord Dehak is riding shotgun, reading the map.
The one time Dehak attempted to drive, he almost crashed the camper into a tree, so he’s happy to let the Rider take the wheel.
Although, he’s made it clear to Varney and the Many that he has permanently called shotgun.
If he could use his magic without alerting Earth’s entire magical community, he would place a most unpleasant curse on the passenger seat.
“So much for reaching St Ignace by sunrise.”
“Yeah, I told you I couldn’t make any promises. But we should still get to our destination in time.”
“Are you sure about this, Rider?”
“I’m sure. The fastest route from Madison to Detroit will take Robinson directly through Ann Arbor. It’s the perfect place to set a trap.”
“I suppose. We’ve been following his journey home via scrying, and he sure is taking his time getting home.”
“Hey, are you gonna complain? He’s giving us plenty of time to prepare for him. What’s strange is that Chaos hasn’t interfered yet.”
“Oh, that meddling trickster’s under orders not to harm us. Apparently, his boss wants to give the boy and his friends a chance to handle us on their own.”
“If that’s the case, they’re doing a bad job.”
“I don’t have a clue what you mean, Chaos.”
“Well, you’ve got time to figure it out. Just remember what I said. You’re smarter than you think you are, Jeff. Oh, and you can keep the fuzzy dice. I hope you like them.”
“They do look nice. Thanks, Chaos.”
“You’re welcome, Jeff. When you’ve got time, perhaps we can have a fluffy playdate! Loki and Eris would love to meet you, Electra.”
“Ewectwa wud wike dat, Kay-ohs.”
“Of course, you’ve got other things to deal with first. Enjoy the journey, you two! Oh, and check out the Olbrich Botanical Gardens while you’re in Madison! It’s very colorful.”
“I’ll… keep that in mind, thanks.”
Just like that, the fuzzy dice fall silent.
I shrug, and keep driving.
“Dunno why he wants us to take a detour, but I’ll roll with it. We should be in Madison soon, Electra. You think you can hold out until then?”
Electra nods.
“Ewectwa am kinna bowed, Jeff.”
“Well, I’d let you read one of those books we’ve got, but teaching you how to read is a work in progress.”
Electra knows the alphabet by heart, it’s just putting the letters together that she struggles with.
But she’s a clever girl. She’ll get there.
I’ve been reading all the books I got in Korkeaopolis. Not while driving, obviously. After checking in at each motel, I usually spend some time reading.
That’s after checking if there’s any ferals to donate toys to in the area.
And if there’s nothing good to watch on the Discovery Channel, or National Geographic. Hey, I’ve grown to like those channels. I spent a lot of nights too itchy to sleep, and with little better to do.
Did you know that river dolphins are actually a thing?
Anyway, I felt completely out of my depth when I was staying in Korkeaopolis. As much as I despised the ChaotiX, I didn’t actually know a whole lot about them.
And yeah, I’m on better terms with them now. I’m not gonna ask Cal to measure me for a battle suit or to pass the doobie or anything, but I can be around them without having to fight the urge to run away screaming.
It’s easier when they’re in street clothes.
If I come back, I wanna be prepared, so I won’t feel so hopelessly lost.
I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.
Maybe you can relate.
To Hell And Back is a surprisingly good read. I didn’t know fluffy shit made for such a great fertilizer.
Wherever I end up settling down, I’m thinking about starting a vegetable patch, and Electra can help with that.
She’ll be my, ha, Number Two.
As for Who’s Who in the ChaotiX, well, for a recovering fluffy abuser, that book is scarier than the worst things Stephen King could come up with on a literal mountain of coke.
And I’m talking about the guy who wrote an underage sewer gangbang.
Now that’s disturbing.
How about a little more PG and a lot less 13 next time, Mr. King?
But there are a lot of interesting tidbits in Who’s Who. I’ve learned a lot about the team members I didn’t get to meet. Apparently, the ChaotiX has a swordsman named Glenn, who was cursed with a fluffy head for several years.
There’s pictures of the before and after in there.
It’s funny as fuck.
“I can’t read to you, because I’ve gotta focus on driving. We’ll see if there’s a Flufftopia in Madison, they can help us with this.”
I’m… probably gonna buy some more toys to give away, anyway.
Hey, it feels good. Better than shooting fluffies ever feit, frankly.
And with that card Kyle gave me, I’ll get a generous discount on my purchases.
“Jeff?”
“Yeah?”
“Wai did we nu jus take da Tewe-Powt dewe?”
“Because we can’t drive into the Tele-Port. I think they’re working on that, though. Besides, I’m not really in a hurry. I want to enjoy my freedom, y’know? I mean, I wasn’t allowed to leave Korkeaopolis when I was playing the game, except for that… field trip to San Francisco. Really, we’re taking the scenic route home because we can. And it’s been fun, hasn’t it?”
“Yuh, bee-fowe Ewectwa came tu Wiss-kon-sin, Ewectwa nu did knu dat dewe am su manee kines of cheese.”
“This feels like the part where I make some kind of godawful dairy-related pun, but that’s Cal’s thing.”
“Yu cudda sed a–”
“A cheesy pun, I know, I was deliberately not saying it. And now I’ve gone and said it anyway, so thanks.”
Electra giggles.
“Yu mite as weww miwk it fow aww it am wowf whiwe we am hewe.”
“Arrrrgh. When did you even learn so many dairy puns, anyway?”
“Yu wemembew wen yu went tu San Fwan-sis-koh, an Kay-ohs wuz keepin a see-pwace awn Ewectwa? Dat wuz wen.”
“I should have known that he had something to do with it.”
Y’know, I’m wondering if Chaos will ever “ask” me to do something like that again.
I mean, if he does, this time he might actually ask, and accept it if I say no.
And I’m wondering if he’s found someone else to play the game with by now.
Jaws is too dead to play, I know that.
In his new Not-Safe-At-All Room, Jaws sits cross-legged in a human-sized sorry box, a look of impotent fury on his face.
Which now has several bruises on it.
“So how long do I have to stay in this damn box?”
The two elites laugh at him. One of them is holding one of those metal sorry sticks, and they’re now accompanied by a demon fluffy.
There’s also a burning demon fluffy turd on the floor.
The demon holding the sorry stick speaks up.
“We told you, Humphries! Until you confess to making BAD POOPIES like the BAD FLUFFY you are!”
“I ain’t confessing to shit! No pun intended.”
Jaws points a big plush hoof at the demon fluffy, who is now snickering at him.
“He’s the one who crapped on the floor!”
The demon fluffy smiles in a faux-innocent manner.
He’s so good at smiling like that, if he wasn’t a demon, a little halo would spontaneously appear over his head.
“Oh nu, fwuffy wud NEBA du DAT. It wuz cweaw-wee yu, Humff-weez.”
“Liar! Fucking liar! This costume doesn’t even have a crap flap! Which is really ironic! This isn’t fair, punishing me for something I didn’t do!”
The other demon strolls over to the rack of sorry sticks, selecting a weapon.
“You’ve been metaphorically crapping on the carpet your whole life. And speaking of unfair: remember all those fluffies you killed? You didn’t give THEM a fair chance. Why do YOU deserve one?”
“Why the fuck do you even care about shitrats?”
The elite grabs one of the bigger sticks, grinning maliciously at Jaws.
“Oh, I don’t give a FUCK about 'em. I just wanna make it clear that what’s happening to you is entirely YOUR fault.”
The first elite nods, likewise grinning.
“You coulda spent eternity chilling with those feathery assholes all the way Up There, y’know. And you wouldn’t even have to join the cross-lovers to get in. But you just COULDN’T stop being a cunt, so instead, you get to hang with US. Lucky you.”
“Yeah, Chaos gave you one last chance. He all but outright told you that you’d end up here if you refused it, and that you should have stopped to think about what he was saying-- or rather, what he WASN’T saying.”
“All you really had to do was swallow your pride, use your head, and play the game. If you had done THAT, you’d still be alive right now, and you might have had a shot at getting into Heaven.”
“But it’s a bit too late for that now. You didn’t believe in redemption, did you? You might be able to apply to be reincarnated, if you’re feeling remorseful enough.”
“But you don’t regret anything you’ve done, do you? You just regret what it got you.”
“We’re gonna keep doing this for as long as we have to. Even if it means that we torture you until the end of time.”
“And believe me, we’ve got plenty of ideas.”
“So, let’s try this again: did you make BAD POOPIES on the nice clean floor, you BAD FLUFFY?”
Jaws sighs, not wanting to be stuck in the sorry box, but also not wanting to give the elites the satisfaction.
“This is gonna be a loooooooooooooooooooong million years.”