Alternate POV: Ian McTea

Your name is Ian McTea. You are narcissistic, weathered, paranoid, and long retired founder of a computer security company. In your long retirement you tried to cure the Zika virus, sell crypto snake oil to suckers, and absolutely deny all allegations against youd. You went on the run for the third time when the IRS noticed you forgot to pay some tens of millions in taxes, as if taxes were real and the snakes floating in front of your eyes were a **** trip hallucination.

Oddly enough, and for no real cosmically fair reason, things are about to turn around and become unbelievably awesome for you.

You open your eyes. You are flat on a white tiled floor in a waiting room. In the distance you can hear typing. The room is brightly lit, almost as if you are in heaven.

You sit up. “Ugh. The bath salts are wearing off. Maids, bring me meth!” you demand.

You notice that you only have on a thick red robe, with no underwear, shirt, or shoes. Hey, it’s your average Tuesday!

This place has a DMV vibe. No wonder no one is topping up your crystal meth. There’s a single doorway next to a checkout counter. Behind this counter, you see a radiant brunette who is the source of the typing noise you heard earlier.