Chapter Five: Planet Slightly Irritated
Simon had thought he understood the extent of the manual’s grumpiness. He had been wrong.
By the time Chapter Five rolled around in his mental ledger of catastrophic events—which was, coincidentally, the length of an actual ledger that he should have probably burned—the manual had escalated from blinking at them, humming sarcastically, and occasionally projecting mildly threatening Morse code, to relocating their entire selves out of London.
Doug had, unsurprisingly, predicted this possibility.
"Simon," he said as the rooftop shimmered violently and the city lights blurred into elongated streaks, "I did warn you. The manual is an aggressive book. Not physically aggressive, mind you—it’s a book—but aggressively capable of transporting humans."
Simon clutched the silver rod for dear life, feeling a sudden tug in his stomach like every organ had simultaneously remembered it had a gravitational preference and immediately rejected it. "Transporting… us? Where? I haven’t even finished breakfast!"
Doug shrugged. "Cosmic relocation doesn’t do breakfast. You know that. Now hold on."
With a flash that could have doubled as a small sun, a gentle pop that sounded suspiciously like a bubble being asked to explain itself, and a faint smell of slightly burnt toast, the world around them dissolved into a swirling kaleidoscope of colors, shapes, and smells. It was vaguely familiar, like Simon had seen it in a fever dream or a particularly confusing episode of a late-night cartoon.
And then they landed.
Simon fell forward, landing on something that felt like… jellied moss with intermittent sparks of static electricity. He opened his eyes.
Doug was already standing, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. The shopping cart was also there, slightly flattened but functional. And the city of London, along with its rooftop pool, was gone.
They were on a planet. A planet that looked like someone had accidentally spilled the universe onto a canvas and then left it in the sun to dry.
Colors defied names. The sky was a shade of greenish-magenta that seemed to hum faintly, occasionally blinking like a slow, judgmental eye. The ground was soft and malleable, squishing gently under Simon’s shoes, and occasionally bouncing him a centimeter upward as if it had a playful sense of humor.
"You brought us here," Simon said, staring around. "The manual… it did this?"
Doug adjusted the silver rod, now glowing in urgent bursts of light. "Yep. The manual has… moods. Sometimes it teleports you to other locations. Other times it makes minor adjustments to gravity. Or slightly rearranges your digestive system. Consider yourself lucky—so far it’s only moved us across planetary coordinates, not made your spleen sentient."
Simon’s stomach twisted. "Lucky? I just stepped on a… what is that?"
A small creature, roughly the size of a teapot, with six eyes stacked vertically and what appeared to be an internal clockwork mechanism protruding from its left ear, was looking at him. It blinked in a slow, judgmental pattern.
Doug waved. "Hello! We come in peace. Manual says… we are authorized visitors."
The creature tilted its clockwork ear toward Doug and let out a soft whistle that smelled faintly of cinnamon and regret. Then it scuttled away.
Simon swallowed. "This is… normal?"
Doug shrugged. "Normal on this planet, yes. By interstellar standards, moderately unusual. By human standards, catastrophic and possibly lethal in a very indirect way."
Simon noticed that the flora around them was… odd. Trees had translucent leaves shaped like elongated triangles, and occasionally one would lean over him, brushing a tendril softly across his shoulder, producing a faint ting sound as if apologizing for the intrusion.
"Doug," Simon said, pointing, "is that… a river?"
Doug squinted. "Sort of. It’s liquid, yes. Flowing, yes. But it’s made of something resembling… soda, except it’s slightly sentient and occasionally hums show tunes. Approach with caution."
Simon took a tentative step forward. The liquid bubbled happily. A small note appeared, floating above the surface in shimmering text:
Do not drink me. Seriously.
Simon blinked. "Did the manual write that?"
Doug shook his head. "No. I think the planet just… knows. Or is… warning us. Or passive-aggressively mentoring us. Something along those lines."
As they walked, the landscape continued to grow stranger. Hills rose and fell like they were breathing. Rocks occasionally turned themselves inside out to reveal miniature galaxies spinning inside. Plants moved if ignored, and occasionally whispered things Simon could not comprehend, though he was fairly sure one had called him a "squishy misplacement specialist."
"Doug," Simon said, voice trembling, "why would a book… why our book… bring us here?"
Doug’s grin was faint but ominous. "Because, Simon, the manual is highly displeased with our answers. It decided we needed… experiential learning. Practical application. And judging by its previous moods, 'experiential' usually involves being very confused, possibly mildly terrified, and occasionally lightly toasted."
Simon groaned. "We’re going to die."
Doug waved his hand. "Only probably. Worst case, we learn a lot. Or turn into custard. Statistically speaking, either outcome is acceptable to the manual."
They reached a plateau overlooking what could only be described as a valley of vaguely sentient geometric shapes, all of them nodding rhythmically as if counting something.
Doug whispered: "Simon, the manual likes symmetry. Pay attention. Those shapes… they’re a test. Ignore them, and it’ll rearrange our reality in ways we won’t enjoy."
Simon looked at the shapes. They seemed… slightly irritated. One triangle even wagged a vertex at him, like a finger pointing in disapproval.
"Doug," Simon muttered, "I think… I think we’re in trouble."
Doug adjusted the rod. "Simon, my dear misplacing friend, trouble is the manual’s default setting. This is just… level one. Welcome to Planet Slightly Irritated. Population: slightly grumpy geometric beings, a semi-sentient soda river, and us. Get comfortable."
Simon sighed, surveying the landscape. "I’m not sure comfortable is an option."
Doug laughed. "Comfortable is always an option if you redefine it. I prefer moderately panicked."
A loud pop echoed in the air. The orb that had transported them here hovered in front of them, spinning rapidly. It blinked, almost impatiently.
Welcome to your manual-induced field trip. Begin learning.
Simon groaned. "I hate field trips."
Doug clapped him on the back. "You’ll love this one… eventually. Maybe."
And so, Simon and Doug stepped forward into a world that defied physics, logic, and reason, guided only by a book that had decided it was personally responsible for their education.
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