Chapter Six: Exploring Planet Slightly Irritated (And Surviving to Tell About It)
Simon had come to a conclusion within the first five minutes of stepping foot on Planet Slightly Irritated: he was not equipped for this.
Doug, naturally, had known this already, and had been waiting to watch Simon discover it for himself.
"Simon," Doug said, adjusting the silver rod that hummed ominously like a disapproving bumblebee, "today we explore."
"Explore?" Simon asked, his voice tight. "You mean wander around a planet that defies every law of physics and probably has an innate grudge against humanity?"
Doug smiled faintly. "Precisely. And also, we try not to die. Mostly."
Simon sighed. "Mostly not die? That’s… reassuring."
The landscape before them was a dizzying array of impossible colors and shapes. The ground pulsed underfoot, responding to each step with a soft squish and occasional pop as if it were testing them, judging their rhythm. Hills rose and fell like the breathing of some massive, invisible beast. Rivers of soda-colored liquid meandered through valleys, occasionally letting out a little burp as bubbles formed faces that winked at them. Simon decided it was probably best not to ask how it tasted.
Doug began walking with purpose, dragging the shopping cart behind him. "First stop," he said, "the Forest of Slightly Concerned Trees. They like greetings, preferably polite ones. Otherwise… minor inconveniences."
Simon squinted at the forest. The trees were tall and translucent, with triangular leaves that hummed faintly as if singing a lullaby in a key no human was meant to perceive. Some of the trunks bent forward slightly, nodding, as if they were eagerly awaiting conversation.
"Polite greetings," Simon muttered. "Right. And what happens if we’re impolite?"
Doug shrugged. "Oh, just a mild temporal displacement or the spontaneous growth of itchy hair in inconvenient places. Nothing fatal. Usually."
Simon cleared his throat and gave a very formal, slightly trembling, "Hello, trees. We mean no harm. Please do not rearrange our internal organs."
One tree leaned over, brushing a triangular leaf against Simon’s shoulder. The hum of the leaf shifted in pitch, almost like a sigh of approval.
Doug nodded. "Good. You passed the first test. Barely."
Simon groaned. "Tests? We’re being tested by trees, Doug."
Doug patted him on the back. "It builds character. And keeps the manual entertained."
They walked deeper into the forest, each step a surreal experience. Mushrooms that resembled miniature hourglasses clicked softly as they passed, counting some incomprehensible time metric. Flowers with five petals spun in place, occasionally opening and closing rapidly as if trying to communicate secret messages. Simon decided to pretend he understood.
"Doug," Simon said, staring at a particularly bright flower that seemed to be pointing at him, "what do we do if they… ask questions?"
Doug shrugged. "Answer vaguely. The manual likes ambiguity. Keeps it guessing."
Simon took careful notes, scribbling in his notebook labeled Things That Probably Shouldn’t Be in My Apartment (Or On Other Planets).
Hours—or what Simon assumed were hours, time being notoriously unreliable here—passed. The forest gradually gave way to a plateau overlooking a valley filled with geometric creatures: cubes, tetrahedrons, and shapes so complex Simon couldn’t even name them. The shapes floated lazily in the air, spinning, blinking, and occasionally nodding in ways that suggested impatience.
Doug leaned closer. "Those are the Valley of Slightly Annoyed Polygons. They’re… temperamental. Approach with caution."
Simon blinked. "Temperamental? They’re… shapes."
Doug sighed. "You have much to learn."
Simon stepped forward carefully. One of the shapes, a cube with a face on each side, rotated to face him. It blinked in patterns, and Simon swore he heard the faint sound of laughter.
"Remember, Simon," Doug whispered, "the manual likes symmetry. Observe, don’t interfere. They’re watching for signs of chaos."
Simon nodded, though he had no idea what that meant.
As they moved through the valley, strange phenomena became more frequent. Gravity shifted subtly, causing Simon to stumble sideways despite walking forward. Small floating orbs darted around them, projecting images that made no sense: a cup of tea tipping over, a cat wearing a monocle, an entire city made of translucent jello. Simon was beginning to suspect that the manual had an unusually dry sense of humor.
Doug, meanwhile, was unfazed. He seemed to glide through the shifting gravity, cart in tow. "See that over there?" he said, pointing at a cluster of tall, spindly towers that shimmered like liquid metal. "The Manual Tower. We’ll need to inspect it eventually. That’s where it stores… well, most of itself."
Simon swallowed. "Stores itself? It… it’s alive?"
Doug nodded. "Alive-ish. Semi-sentient. Slightly grumpy. Definitely judgmental. And it likes to play practical jokes on travelers."
Simon groaned. "Practical jokes. Great. Just what I needed."
They continued exploring. Each step brought something new: a river that ran uphill, stones that whispered secrets in a language Simon couldn’t parse, and a field of flowers that projected faint holographic images of… himself. Each hologram performed increasingly ridiculous tasks: juggling sandwiches, slipping on banana peels, trying to negotiate with his own reflection.
Doug laughed. "The manual is amused. Very amused."
Simon muttered under his breath, "I hate being amusing."
Eventually, they reached a plateau with a view of what could only be described as a city made entirely of moving light. Buildings shifted constantly, reconfiguring themselves while inhabitants—creatures resembling a cross between octopuses and chandeliers—floated between them. The manual, somewhere above, hummed a low, expectant tone.
Doug whispered: "Simon, the city is… optional. But if we ignore it, the manual may decide to escalate. And by escalate, I mean reality could start… spontaneously rearranging. I’d rather avoid that."
Simon swallowed. "Fine. Optional city it is."
They descended carefully into the city of moving light. The inhabitants seemed friendly, nodding politely as they passed. Some offered advice in a language that sounded like wind chimes. Simon tried to nod intelligently, though he had no idea what they were saying.
Doug, meanwhile, took notes on the silver rod, which was now glowing brighter with each step. "The manual likes exploration," he murmured. "It wants to see how we react to novel environments. Tests. Always tests."
Simon groaned. "I’m beginning to feel like a cosmic lab rat."
Doug smiled faintly. "You’re a cosmic lab rat. Congratulations."
They wandered through streets that shifted underfoot, encountering markets where food levitated, fountains that ran with liquid light, and libraries where books read themselves aloud in overlapping voices. Simon scribbled notes furiously, trying to keep up with the overwhelming absurdity.
At one point, a small, floating creature resembling a cross between a teapot and a jellyfish hovered in front of Simon, blinking expectantly. A holographic message appeared above it:
Answer three riddles correctly to avoid custard-related consequences.
Simon groaned. "Doug… three riddles?"
Doug patted him on the back. "Welcome to the learning stage, Simon. We’re officially enrolled. And yes… custodial consequences are very real."
Simon sighed. "I hate learning."
Doug laughed. "Everybody does. That’s why the manual enjoys it so much."
And so, Simon and Doug continued through the shifting, singing, puzzling city, knowing one thing for certain: the manual was watching, judging, and thoroughly entertained. They had survived trees, polygons, rivers, and floating holograms… but the worst, as Doug had warned, was still to come.
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