Chapter One: How to Misplace an Entire Universe
Simon had always considered himself a reasonably competent man. He could make toast without setting the kitchen on fire, navigate the city without accidentally driving into the bay, and even fold fitted sheets into something vaguely resembling civilization. So when the Universe’s User Manual disappeared under circumstances that made absolutely no sense, Simon assumed it was probably his fault.
He was right.
It all started on a Tuesday that smelled faintly of burnt coffee and cosmic disappointment. Simon was in his apartment—apartment 42B, a number he claimed had no particular significance except that it made him feel vaguely philosophical—when the phone rang.
It was Adam “Doug” Douglas, an old friend who insisted on being called Doug despite the fact that the universe had already given him two first names and one of them was Adam. Doug had the voice of someone who knew far too many secrets and none of them were comforting.
“Simon,” Doug said, the word stretching like taffy, “have you done it again?”
Simon blinked. “I’m sorry, done what again?”
“The thing with the manual.” Doug sounded almost… amused. Not the kind of amused one expects from a human being. More like the amused of a small galaxy watching a confused comet.
Simon groaned. “I don’t… the Universe’s User Manual?”
“Yes,” Doug said patiently. “The manual. The one that tells you how reality works. The one that prevents stars from spontaneously turning into custard. The one I specifically warned you not to leave on your coffee table.”
Simon squinted. “I put it there for… reading purposes?”
Doug sighed audibly, a sound that might have shattered a small moon. “Simon, that manual isn’t a book. It’s a piece of intergalactic property, with more security protocols than your bank account. And it’s missing.”
Simon’s first thought was to check under the sofa cushions. His second thought was to panic, but panic was Simon’s backup plan. His third thought was more immediate: “Missing? As in… gone? Like… poof?”
“Exactly like poof,” said Doug. “And if you don’t find it soon, the universe might notice and… you know… start improvising.”
Simon swallowed. “Improvising?”
“Yes. Improvising. Stars might form in inconvenient places. Planets could spontaneously combust. And don’t get me started on sentient spoons.”
Simon stared at the ceiling, which, at that moment, seemed suspiciously judgmental. He had misplaced keys, wallets, even a neighbor once, but losing an entire universe’s user manual was—objectively—a new low.
Doug cleared his throat. “So. Here’s the plan. You, me, a borrowed shopping cart, and whatever else we can carry. We track down the manual before reality turns into a particularly angry pudding.”
Simon tried to argue. “Wait… why me?”
“Because, Simon,” Doug said, his tone sharpening like a well-honed cosmic blade, “if anyone can misplace a universe, it’s you. And if anyone can find it again… well. Also you. I checked.”
Simon groaned again, this time more dramatically. “I think I need coffee. Or maybe a small black hole.”
Doug laughed, a sound that somehow made the walls vibrate in protest. “No time for coffee. The manual isn’t going to return itself. And trust me, Simon—if it does, the universe might file a formal complaint.”
Simon sighed, grabbed a notebook labeled Things That Probably Shouldn’t Be in My Apartment, and realized that today, like most days recently, would probably involve things he neither understood nor asked for.
He also realized that somewhere between misplacing the manual and surviving Doug’s explanations, he might just learn why the universe preferred chaos to competence.
And that, Simon thought, was probably going to be the easiest part.
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