I slept Through the Apocalypse

First impressions?

Greg, the floating vending machine, was aggressively enthusiastic. His screen glitched between ads for "Eldritch Energy Snacks" and ominous slogans like "Insert Soul Points to Continue."

"Welcome, valued consumer anomalies!" he boomed in a voice that sounded like it had swallowed five customer service manuals and none of the training. "You've arrived at: MALL.0 (Beta Patch: Recursive Retail Edition). How may I exploit—uh, assist you?"

I stared. "Are those... molars on your coin slot?"

"Don't body-shame Greg," Gl!tchK!d said. "He's sensitive. Also, legally a minor."

Greg belched a coupon for 10% off regret. I didn't take it.

The mall around us pulsed. Not metaphorically—literally. The walls shimmered between storefronts. One moment we stood in front of Spacetime Gap, the next it morphed into Forever 2D: Anime That Haunts You. Floor tiles rearranged beneath our feet like confused Roombas.

Then came the announcement:

[ETHERNET™ MALL ALERT: Boss Instability Detected in Sector F. Proceed with Heroic Intent or Flee Screaming. We Recommend Screaming.]

Gl!tchK!d perked up. "Sector F. That's the Food Court."

I narrowed my eyes. "Let me guess. F stands for Fatal Funnel Cakes?"

He didn't deny it.

Greg whirred closer, slot-jaws twitching. "Before you face your almost-certain demise, may I interest you in an Upgrade Bundle™?"

A translucent window popped open:

Available Upgrades:

Snore Shield (Blocks one psychic insult per battle)

Dream Decoy (Summons a fake you made entirely of existential doubt)

Pocket Void (Store up to three bad decisions for later retrieval)

"What's the currency?" I asked suspiciously.

"Soul Points," Greg chirped. "Yours specifically."

"I'm gonna pass on vending my soul to a machine that smells like Axe body spray and raw ambition," I said.

"Rude," Greg huffed, spinning 180 degrees and muttering something about "organic freeloaders."

We stepped past him and the mall dimmed like it was trying to be dramatic. At the edge of the escalator (which now spiraled upward sideways), a new figure waited: a girl made entirely of static and snack wrappers. Her name tag read: 404SoulNotFound.

"I heard you joined the guild," she said, voice crackling like bad Wi-Fi. "Tight. You're just in time for the trial."

"What trial?"

She pointed down the escalator, which was now vomiting glitter and dubstep.

"That one."

The floor below us was chaos. Pizza-scented fog. Disembodied mannequins screaming Yelp reviews. An animatronic pretzel stand performing Hamlet. And in the center of it all:

THE BOSS.

It was a cosmic horror in the form of an angry toddler-sized Hot Dog on a Stick employee, armed with twin corndog staffs and a manager's badge that pulsed with ominous authority.

Nameplate hovered above its head:

Regional Manager of Despair™

Level ??? – Weak to Sarcasm & Gluten

"I'm out," I said instantly.

"Too late," 404 said. "You aggro'd him."

The boss pointed directly at me. "YOU THERE. CUSTOMER. DID YOU BRING YOUR RECEIPT FOR EXISTENCE?"

Gl!tchK!d pushed me forward. "Go on, Sleep King. Show him your power."

"I have napping powers! What am I supposed to do—snooze him to death?"

"Yes," 404 said with deadpan sincerity. "That's literally your job."

Crap.

The boss charged. His corndogs crackled with condiments that defied physics. One strike launched a wave of honey mustard entropy. I barely dodged behind a kiosk selling sentient fidget spinners.

The app pinged.

Skill Triggered: Dream Sync (Co-op Naptime Mode – Activated)

Connecting nearby minds... Please remain unconscious during loading.

The world blinked.

Suddenly I was floating in a shared dreamscape, suspended in a vast, soft dimension of clouds, blankets, and gentle lo-fi beats. Gl!tchK!d floated beside me in a beanbag spaceship. 404 had transformed into a cat made of static on a hover-pillow.

"Focus," she said. "Visualize your dream weapon."

I tried. A few thoughts surfaced—some embarrassing, some illegal in three timelines. Finally, my weapon took form:

A Giant Alarm Clock Mace, labeled "Reality Check."

"Okay that's good," Gl!tchK!d nodded. "Go bash him with metaphor."

I dropped out of the dream zone, slamming back into the boss fight with my new weapon in hand.

The Regional Manager didn't stand a chance.

I swung the mace. BONG. His managerial aura fractured. BONG. His employee badge shattered. With a final echoing BONG, he exploded into glitter, coupons, and a single weeping soda.

[BOSS DEFEATED. Soul Points Gained: 42. Existential Clarity: +1]

The mall quieted.

Greg wheeled over again, begrudgingly respectful. "Congratulations, anomalous consumer. You have earned a Temporary Shopping Pass and 5% off your next crisis."

"I feel weird," I said, staggering.

"That's the existential clarity," 404 explained. "It only lasts an hour. Don't drive."

A new ping from the Destiny Router™ app:

MISSION COMPLETE

Corrupted Zone Cleared. New Path Unlocked: "The Patchwork Plains of Beta3."

Warning: User Dream Core shows signs of instability. Recommend Snacc & Nap ASAP.

I turned to Gl!tchK!d, who was munching on glitch-chips shaped like concepts. "Is this gonna keep getting weirder?"

"Buddy," he grinned, "we haven't even unlocked the Tutorial Boss yet."

And with that, a staircase made of receipts unrolled before us, leading up to a glowing elevator labeled:

NEXT: The Root Patch (Now With 300% More Cosmic Bugs!)

I sighed.

My hoodie adjusted itself. Greg saluted. 404 flickered approvingly.

Together, our accidental party stepped into the elevator.

I didn't know what waited at the top.

But if it was nap-resistant?

I was in trouble.

To be continue...