Chapter Four: Negotiating with a Manual and Avoiding Custard
The orb pulsed impatiently above the rooftop, flickering like a lighthouse for confused galaxies. Simon had learned two things in the past hour:
The manual had a personality.
Its personality was roughly equivalent to a caffeinated librarian who had just realized someone replaced all the books with mildly judgmental custard.
Doug rolled the shopping cart closer and adjusted the humming silver rod, which now seemed to be glowing in response to the orb.
"Remember," Doug said, eyes serious for once, "the manual doesn’t negotiate like humans. It asks questions, tests logic, and occasionally rearranges your internal organs metaphorically. Answer carefully."
Simon swallowed. "Answer carefully… or it’ll… what? Turn us into custard?"
Doug nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Though it prefers to start with minor annoyances first, like temporarily deleting your socks from existence or making your hair grow in inexplicably geometric patterns."
Simon shivered. He had a fleeting vision of himself as a perfectly triangular-haired adolescent.
The orb blinked rapidly, then sent a thin beam of light that wrapped around the silver rod. Letters appeared in midair, faint but readable:
STATE THE PURPOSE OF YOUR EXISTENCE AND JUSTIFY YOUR AUTHORITY OVER COSMIC MATTERS
Simon’s jaw dropped. "Oh. That’s… that’s not subtle."
Doug muttered under his breath, "The manual likes to start strong." He turned to Simon. "You first."
Simon froze. Purpose of existence? Authority over cosmic matters? He glanced around the rooftop. There was a pool, a few lounge chairs, and the city spread below like a neon circuit board.
"Well," Simon said, "I exist to… mostly not ruin things. And… uh… my authority over cosmic matters is… minimal at best?"
Doug pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tell it that. Honest answers are better than bluffing. Trust me."
The orb blinked. The light pulsed faster, then coalesced into a new message:
ANSWER IN COMPLETE SENTENCES. THE UNIVERSE HATES FRAGMENTS
Simon groaned. "Fine. I exist to survive long enough to figure out why the universe seems to misplace crucial objects and occasionally destroy cities. My authority over cosmic matters is limited to what I can reason through and the luck I’ve accidentally accumulated."
The orb paused. Then it spun slowly in a clockwise circle, letting out a low melodic hum that Simon decided sounded like… approval.
Doug clapped once. "Good. Very good. The manual approves. Kind of. Momentarily. Don’t celebrate yet."
Simon wiped sweat from his brow. "Celebrate? I barely survived the first question."
The orb floated closer, almost hovering over Simon’s head. Then it blinked once, in a pattern that spelled:
DEFINE ‘LUCK’ AND EXPLAIN HOW IT AFFECTS THE CONTINUITY OF MULTIVERSE EVENTS
Simon groaned again. "Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no."
Doug patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Deep breaths. You’ll do fine. Or the manual will just rearrange your hair again. Worst-case scenario."
Simon’s stomach twisted, the city below blurred with neon lights, and the hum of the silver rod seemed to grow louder, syncing with his heartbeat.
He realized two things simultaneously:
Negotiating with a universe-sized manual was exhausting.
Custard was still technically a threat.
Doug grinned. "Ready to define luck, Simon?"
Simon took a deep breath, nodded reluctantly, and began explaining.
And thus, Chapter Four ended with the universe holding its breath, a rooftop shopping cart, and two very nervous humans attempting to reason with a manual that had apparently read more philosophy books than the combined librarians of Earth.
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