“Like | said, Snipper’s just running corpses, and Sam’s fine, since 
sound doesn’t really... oh, actually, the internal acoustics of Bob’s 
stuff might fuck with it. Something else you'll have to figure out 
tomorrow morning, but it’s a tiny issue, you'll be able to figure it out. 
I'll be fine since my stuff’s mobile anyway. We've cut this close, 
gentlemen, but we know what we’re doing. We have our battle 
plans. After this, nobody’s going to forget why we’re the cool ones. 
I'll see you all tomorrow.” 


The Sculptor straightened his papers, placing them into a small 
folder, then walked out of the room, shortly followed by The Builder, 
Composer, and Painter. The Snipper snuggled into his corpse pile, 
The Janitor observing every movement. A voice came from deep 
within the pile. 


“Why? Why do you clean up after them?” 
The mask’s diaphragm buzzed. 

“That is my role.” 

“Who set that role?” 

“The Critic.” 

The Snipper lifted his head above the pile. 
“How does he strongarm someone like you?” 
“| have free will. | follow willingly.” 


The Snipper frowned. 


“Nobody who follows instructions is really free.” 
The Janitor remained silent. 

“Does he know who you really are, then?” 

“lam who | am who | am.” 

“Do you know who you really are?” 

The Janitor remained silent. The Snipper cackled. 


“You’re like a caged bird, except the cage is made of glass and 
you’re a rhinoceros. You don’t even realise you can break free, do 
you?” 


“lam already free.” 
“No. No you aren't. You poor thing. You poor, pitiful little thing.” 


The Janitor faced The Snipper, again shooting lightning down his 
arms and drying out his mouth. His face betrayed nothing of it. 


“lam more free than you will ever understand. | am free from desire, 
free from emotion, free from everything. You may be free from 
others, but | am free from myself. | shall take my leave.” 


The Janitor left the room with a single step, leaving The Snipper to 
lie in collected viscera. He sucked the blood from his thumb, spitting 
it out onto the floor. It was lying, it was deluded, The Janitor was not 
free. 


That would not do, Pico thought. 
He would have to free it. 


All face-up monsters on the field are changed to Attack 
Position and their battle positions cannot be changed. 
« The Cool Kids | Hub | The Friday Exhibition » 


The Friday Exhibition 


“What.” 

“Joey, why is there a pile of corpses here?” 
“| dunno, none of us were doing this.” 
Arsehole tentatively poked one of the bodies. 
“Pretty fucking metal.” 

“Well, yeah, but it’s not really that clever.” 
“So, what, get rid of them?” 


“Nah, someone was working on this. We censor it, we’re as bad as 
The Man.” 


“Yeah, but at least, like, chuck a blanket over them or something, 
right?” 


“No. We work around the corpse pile.” 
“Fine, whatever.” 


Arsehole tapped ash from the end of her joint onto the pile. Artists 
were still setting up their pieces in the series of courtyards and 
alleyways. Joey and Arsehole walked over to Overgang’s collection 
of CRT screens and buzzing computer towers. 


“Joey, Arsehole. Shouldn’t you guys be getting ready?” 


“I’ve got the food sitting out on tables already, Arsehole’s waiting on 
Hiro.” 


“Ah, cool. Joey, take a look at this. Whipped it up last night, thought | 
needed something new.” 


Overgang tapped a few buttons on a mechanical keyboard, 
triumphanily hitting the Enter key. All screens displayed the same 
text: ‘To Joey, who taught me how to be cool, and Overgang, who 
almost made it out.’ 

“Joey as in me?” 


“Well, yeah. And it only says my name there since | was the one 
who played it last.” 


“I’m flattered. What does it do?” 
“Keep watching.” 


A scene appeared of an oil tanker, a pixelated captain watching out 
at the ocean as birds flew across a deep red sunset. Words scrolled 
up the screen, saying ‘The Book of Tamlin’. 


“Damn, is everything in this game named after me?” 

“Well, no, not unless you're the one looking at it. The name syncs to 
the players’ surname at startup, it was ‘The Book of Dood’ when | 
played it before.” 

“So what does it do?” 

“Play it and find out!” 


“Dude, | don’t have time, just tell me. I'll play it tonight.” 


“Spoilsport. It runs through your memories, procedurally generates 
your life story and lets you replay through key points.” 


“Sounds cool.” 


“It is cool. Still getting a few more things ready, making sure these 
things aren’t going to explode.” 


“Is that likely?” 
Overgang shrugged noncommittally. 


“Not really, but you fuck around with computers as much as this 


thing does, you make sure you’re ready for anything. How’s 
everyone else going?” 


“Well, Nibman’s got his books up and running. Literally, | mean, his 
books are running all over the place, screaming out ‘SNAPE KILLED 
DUMBLEDORE ’, stuff like that. He was building a tower of cards 
when we left, | dunno if that’s actually going to be something or if he 
was just bored.” 


Arsehole interjected. 


“Ah, | think those cards were just boredom, yeah. Nate and Kyle 
brought along Miley, too.” 


“Miley?” 

“Yeah, you know Miley, from the thing in Alaska?” 

“Oh, that Miley. What are they working on?” 

“| actually have no idea. They’re hammering nails into the ground 
and wrapping a bunch of string around them, you know, like one of 
those kiddie craft projects.” 

“Intriguing. Oh, can you give this to FTF when you see them? 
Candice asked me for some new synths and | had a bunch lying 
around from years ago.” 


“Can do. See you tonight, dude.” 


Arsehole took the CD case and shoved it in her back pocket, then 
walked along the sidewalk with Joey. 


“So where to next?” 


“Well, | think FTF’s setting up in the south courtyard. Let’s meander 
that way.” 


“Meander? Joey, | love it when you use esoteric vernacular.” 


The pair continued meandering. People were busy smearing posters 
over the walls, twisting space through impossible structures; it was 


Experiment Log 723-A: 


Experiment-723-A-1 

Date: / /20 

Subject: D-723-1 

Equipment: Handheld camcorder, with eight-hour battery 
life; audio transceiver 


Results: Subject was instructed to remain in verbal 
contact with the overseers throughout the test via the 
transceiver, and ascended the stairs as normal. The 
subject's expression underwent visible change as they 
crossed the fourth step, paused, and then continued to 
climb after prompting from test overseers. Signal from 
audio transceiver ceased approximately twenty seconds 
after visual contact was lost. Subject did not respond to 
further prompts, both via the transceiver and vocally. 
Video recordings were unable to be recovered. 


Notes: Standard recording methods are ineffectual. 
Recommended that alternatives be explored in future 
experiments. 


Experiment-723-A-4 

Date: / /20 

Subject: D-723-4 

Equipment: Handheld camcorder and audio transceiver, 
both connected to monitors at the staircase's base via 
standard, plastic coated copper cable. 


Results: Subject agreed to ascend the stairs after being 
forcefully restrained by security. Subject was then 
instructed similarly to the previous experiment, with the 
addition of trailing the cable behind them as they 
climbed. After crossing the fifth step, subject sharply 
inhaled but continued forwards. Video and audio signal 
was maintained once visual contact had been lost, but 
began to rapidly deteriorate. Subject was asked to report 
any visual or audible anomalies, to which they 
responded that they were ‘feeling fine’. When asked to 
elaborate, the subject mumbled indecipherably. At this 


indeed a wretched hive of scum and artistry. They were blocked by 
a giant crate being wheeled towards them, forcing to sidle against 
the wall. When they passed, they saw the person who had been 
moving it; a schoolgirl wearing a black dress and carrying a similarly 
dark parasol. She cheerily waved to the pair. 


“Joey! A-hole! How’s it going?” 

Joey grinned back. 

“Rita! We’re good! What’s in the crate?” 

“Oh, you know, bits and bobs, this and that. Mostly spiders.” 
Arsehole moved back from the crate, hearing scuttling inside. 
“And what will you be doing with your spiders, exactly?” 
“They do tricks. They’re trick spiders.” 

“Well. I’ve not seen trick spiders before.” 

“Neither have I, they’re invisible too.” 

“Oh. Okay then.” 

“Know a good place to set up?” 

Joey scratched his chin. 


“| think the west courtyard’s pretty free right now, just take a left 
through there.” 


“Thanks, Joey! Come check it out tonight, okay?” 
“Sure thing!” 


They walked away, the clattering sound of Rita’s crate fading behind 
them. 


“Arsehole, you're scared of spiders?” 


“A bit. Creepy little fuckers, sticking webs everywhere. They’re 


gross.” 
“They are a bit gross.” 


“My uncle had this shed just filled with ‘em, whenever | went out 
there he’d always-” 


Arsehole’s phone buzzed in her pocket; she pulled out the banged 
up Nokia and read the note on the screen. 


“Alright, Hiro’s here, we’ve gotta set up. Here’s the disc or whatever. 
See you tonight!” 


“Cool, see you then.” 


Arsehole passed Joey the CD case, skipping off into the distance. 
Joey walked out into the south courtyard and was bombarded with a 
wall of sound. The members of Futanari Titwhore Fiasco had just 
finished playing their underground hit single, ‘Stereo Shenanigans 
and Binaural Bullshit’, lapsing into the newly released ‘Laser Butt 
Disease Raptor Orgy’. 


Lasers shoot into the sky 
Farting is a way to fly 

Raptors fuck they don’t ask why 
Clever girl, it’s time to die 


Your disease is my desire 
Lasers refract and start a fire 
Within my feeble raptor heart 
Shoot a laser, release a fart 


Endless cravings help me please 
I’ve caught laser butt disease 
Raptor butts light up the trees 
What if everything is bees? 


The raptors all retract their claws 

The raptor orgy takes a pause 

They realise that they have contracted a serious disease 
And all concur that the best course of action is to seek urgent 
medical attention 


The raptors approach an alchemist 

He diagnoses them with laser butt disease 

They ask, how did you know we had laser butt disease? 

He says that it is because he is a medical expert and has been 
educated at Cambridge 


Unfortunately he did not know how to cure laser butt disease 
And they all failed to find a sufficiently experienced physician or 
doctor 

As such, the laser butt disease raptor orgy continued 

Until the end of the cretaceous period 

And that was how the dinosaurs went extinct. 


The scattered artists in the courtyard applauded the performance. 
The three girls on stage bowed in unison. The singer hi-fived the 
keyboardist and guitarist, then jumped from the elevated stage and 
walked over to Joey. Her vibrantly-dyed green hair shimmered as 
she moved. 


“Joey!” 

“Annie!” 

“Didja like the song?” 

“Yeah, it was pretty cool! Catchy, too.” 
“| wrote the lyrics for this one!” 


“Good job! Hey, Overgang gave me this. | think he said Candice 
wanted it, new synth settings or something.” 


Joey offered Annie the CD case. 
“Ol! CANDICE, HEADS UP!” 


Annie pulled the CD from the case and threw it discus-like to the girl 
sitting at the keyboard, who plucked it from the air and placed it in 
the laptop next to her. 


“CHEERS, TELL OVERGANG THANKS FROM ME!” 


Joey frowned at Annie. 
“You could have broken it.” 
“But | didn’t. All ready for tonight?” 


“Yeah, | think so. Everyone seems to be going well. Should be a 
night to remember.” 


“Right, right. Still no sign from any of ‘The’ people?” 


“Nope. If they’re turning up at all, they'll probably just charge in 
tonight.” 


“Heh, ‘charge in’. You make it sound like a war or something.” 
“Well, it kind of is. The war of who's cooler... the Cool War.” 
Joey looked to the sky as it slowly turned from blue into orange. 


“...that’s stupid, forget | said that.” 


Tangerine was sitting in front of his completed work, distributing 
business cards to passers-by who seemed interested. Agent Green 
approached him, clearly uncomfortable in a blue hoodie and 
sweatpants. Tangerine jumped on the chance to show off his 
finished product. 


“Greetings, person I’ve never seen before in my life! Like the piece?” 


He avidly gestured towards the slowly shifting wall. It was covered in 
aluminium foil, which had been treated with a heat and pressure- 
sensitive coating. The wall undulated and changed colours, 
sparkling with iridescent and entrancing hues. Occasionally, the foil 
bent slightly outwards, as though something were trying to break out 
from the other side. Agent Green, as much as he hated himself for it, 
could not hold back a smile. 


“It looks great, artist I've never met before in my life.” 


“So, seen anything else of interest tonight?” 


“Two people were standing near the west courtyard, a Sculptor and 
a Builder, it seemed. I’ve heard there was also a local Composer 
around here somewhere.” 


“I’ve seen a Painter moving around. One of his pieces went up over 
there.” 


Tangerine gestured to the opposite wall, covered in adverts for 
various pieces on display that night, along with prices and 
disparaging comments on how derivative they were. It drew some 
attention, but most artists actively ignored the piece. 


“| don’t suppose you’ve seen a Janitor around?” 

“Dude, we’re outside. Why would there be a Janitor here?” 
Green scowled. 

“Have you?” 


“I’ve not, no. Though the best Janitors remain unseen by other 
employees.” 


“Indeed.” 


Tangerine offered a card to Green, who took it and placed it in his 
pocket. 


“How long have you been sitting here, then?” 
“About three hours.” 

“Seen the corpse pile?” 

“Yeah. Nobody saw the artist who put it there.” 
“Pffff. Artist.” 

Tangerine lowered his voice. 

“Taken samples?” 


“Prints and hair.” 


“Results?” 

“None in the database.” 

“Shit.” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’s our backup like?” 

“Thirty on patrol.” 

“Skeleton crew.” 

“Guys upstairs are crossing their fingers.” 

“HEY! TAN!” 

Joey ran up to Tangerine, offering a platter of chopped fruits. 
“Here, try a slice of banana, people are going crazy over them!” 


Tangerine took a piece and stuck it into his mouth. Joey turned to 
Agent Green, who was fighting to keep a neutral expression. 


“You can have some too, of course, sir.” 
“Thanks.” 


Agent Green picked up a slice of banana, feigned placing it in his 
mouth, and palmed it. He imitated chewing and swallowing, slipping 
the banana into his pocket as he did so. He smiled and thought of 
the taste of bananas. 

“Delicious. They taste very-” 


Tangerine panicked as he chewed the slice, realising Green’s 
mistake. 


“You really got the lemon flavouring spot on, Joey!” 


Green froze up, noticing his error. Joey seemed oblivious. 


“Thanks, I’ve had to go buy more bananas three times tonight! See 
you later!” 


“See yal” 

Green looked at the mildly bemused Tangerine. 

“Shut up.” 

“| didn’t say anything.” 

“Whatever. I'll see you later, still haven't seen the north alleyways.” 


Green started to walk off, but then stopped. Someone was crouched 
in front of The Painter’s advertisements with a stencil and a set of 
spray paint cans dangling around his belt. He placed the stencil 
against the wall and it began to shift, the outline changing shape at a 
thought. The figure grabbed a spray can from its belt, evenly 
covered the stencil, then ran off into the crowd. The wet paint 
covered the price tags and scathing remarks with encouraging 
critiques, and placed a stencilled audience cheering at the bottom of 
the wall. The style looked vaguely familiar... Green turned back to 
the grinning Tangerine. 


“Was that...?” 


“Well, he was in town.” 


The Builder and The Sculptor were standing in the west courtyard.