It makes me feel... Wicked. Grab on!

Not only can your mind make a long time seem short, it can also make a short while last forever. This ability is wonderfully arbitrary except for a single rule: You can’t control it.

Anyway, a couple of things happened. Here’s what you remember happening:

• You grabbed the rope.

• Fell upwards.

• Then it hurt a fuckbunch.

Now. Life isn’t really experienced through our bodies. They’re just these sacks of flesh that things happen to. No, the real space is in our brains. So, here’s what you thought as things were happening:

You’re imagining yourself somewhere far, far away. Like a theater similar to the one Jorrel works at, but indoors and with red velvet seating instead of wooden benches. It’s entirely dark beyond the raise platform which makes the stage, but you’re sure an audience looms out there in the seating arrangement. There are no actors on stage. Just you. All the spotlights are centered on you, making your way across the stage.

You make your way to a stool and open one of the water bottles for a quick drink. There’s awkward laughter in the audience. Chit chat. They’re waiting for you to speak. Thankfully, you brought your note cards.

“We'd like to ourselves masters of our own destiny.” You start, dramatically. Your voice carried through the device taped to your collar. Oh, you’re wearing a suit. Cool.

You continue, moving across stage, “We'd like to think we have a choice in matters of importance. We don't. Sad, but true.” A little genuine laughter from some in the audience. You didn’t intend this speech to be a comedy, but a little humor helps serve a point. “For example; If you're covered in oil and grease, odds are there's a good reason for that. Things could have gone differently,” There’s a clicking noise behind you. You turn, hold a dramatic pause, and hit a homerun.

“But it didn’t. We’d like to think we’re making choices. That – in choosing one thing over the other – we become masters of ourselves. Ultimately, it is irrelevant in the larger scope of things.” With a click, you present the story of a baker, displayed on a large canvas behind you. Opening shop, fixing economics, other stuff a baker has to do, probably, maybe. Then you show the last slide of the story. A shot of a house on fire.

“At the end of the day, it doesn't matter if you chose to bake one thing over another. What matters is the one predetermined thing bound to happen; Your business burning down.”

Uninterrupted, your audience captive – quite literally, you’re sure – you proceed. “I am pretty sure the mastermind behind all of this is destiny. Destiny is a cruel, unchanging monster. Toying with you like a cat would a mouse. Keeping you alive for long enough to have its fun, then shrieking its ghastly howl and sucking your bone marrow, as its adrenaline tendrils keeps you alive for long enough to experience every single moment of excruciating pain. Exactly like cats do. All. The. Time.”

“Now, all of this is muddled and confusing. So, I’ve come to deliver to you a simple method of relief.” Click. A picture of you appears. Snot-faced and tears streaming in mighty rivers down your cheeks. “You’ve heard of sniffles. You’ve chopped onions. But here’s a revolutionary concept: To Shiva.”

“Don’t believe me? Well, have a look at these stats!” Click.

You turn to the audience, all roaring with laughter. Desperately, you shout without being heard, “Sorry I’m crying. Again. I know it’s weird. It just… Mostly it’s the shock.”

Jorrel looks to Emalie and says, "You didn't tell her what would happen?"

The audience and the large indoor theater is gone, replaced by a small room your friends have claimed as ‘base camp’ this time around. Backpacks lying about the room. Nobody said you'd be spending the night!? When did they agree on this! You've brought nothing! Nothing!!!

"I told her to hold tight and she, like, really did not hold tight at all. She should ‘a hold it like this-" Emalie makes a display of mimicking holding on to something hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

"Right, and you could, maybe, have shown her how to do that instead of treating her to shitty free-fall!" Despite being a together for seven years, Jorrel and Emalie has an uncanny ability to never run out of things to argue about and the same intense shared love of arguing for arguments sake. Jorrel isn't really arguing for you. He's just... arguing.

Through tears, you manage to kinda say, "You didn't tell me that gravity would cease being a thing!"

Oddly calm as always, Mute joins the conversation from somewhere else entirely, "Gravity didn't do anything. As you touched the rope, it merely aligned with this place's version of gravity. Or, more accurately, the polar opposite. To get in, you have to touch something trying to get out. To get out, you need to... probably the opposite. Hopefully."

In the darkness of - whatever this place is - Mute is using his glowing-sticks as a source of light, drawing his usual map and writing down his usual notes. He barely looked up at you when he spoke. Most likely catching on to your internal monologue, Mute's beautiful eyes looks right at you and adds, "Oh, right, also, are you okay?"

Thumb. Thumb. Thumb. Yes, hello? This is Shiva's rational thoughts. We'd like to partition for a case of 'forming coherent sentences when talking to our crush.' Ha ha, yes, Ma'am! We know it's a silly concept. Yes, well, you're entitled to your opinions. Okay. No need for ****, I'll leave. Oh god, blood everywhere. Finnegan! Finnegan, you bastard! Call an ambulance! No, not for me! She's going on another brain tangent. Yes! I know! She's just staring at him! I KNOW, FINNEGAN, she's making quite a fool of herself.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mute says, turning his attention back to his maps and notes.

Oh my god, you managed to maintain eye contact with him for several seconds. That's a success. Except you're still grimy, dirty and ugly. He was probably mostly looking at you to process the sheer amount of ugly cry-face in front of him. So, not a success, actually. Damn.