Part 6: Running on Empty

The winds picked up, as grey clouds loomed over the sky. The windows of Professor Pizza’s Pizzas rattled from the chilly gales of a coming storm. Oliver ran after the incensed panda in the parking lot, as he struggled to open his car door.

“Marcus! What the hell, mate?” Marcus snapped his head around to Oliver, dwarfing him in size. Oliver stepped back. He had never seen Marcus in this state, nor did he even think it was possible.

“He never gave a crap about any of us! Never! He didn’t care when he sent Tiffany off to die! He sure doesn’t care about Wing Guy when he knows full well he can stop all this! And oh, guess what?! He won’t care about you when you inevitably die running his stupid little errands! Open your eyes, man!!!” His raw voice broke in the middle of the empty parking lot.

“Marcus-”

“I don’t care what it takes! I don’t care if it kills me! I’m going out and finding Wing Guy myself, just to prove a point. That no one else is gonna die to humor his… his delusion!!!” Oliver slowly approached the panda, whose face scrunched up in pain.

“Marcus, please. Just listen to me, mate. We can still work this all out, we… we can figure out something together, and get him back in one- er, mostly one piece, but for now, we… we’ll just collect ourselves and stay out here, for-” He thought back to his first day, in the car with Marcus, back to his calm, reassuring presence when Oliver needed it the most. “For however long we need to.” Oliver stood with him in the parking lot, with a faint and desperate smile, as Marcus shook his head, sighing.

“I’ve already worked it out, man. I’m done.” The burning rage in his eyes quickly faded into a fatigue. “I’m not gonna sit here cleaning up his pepperoni monsters while our coworker is being left to rot. I’m not working with that… thing.”

“I’m not giving up on him either, mate. I’m not giving up on you. But if we’ve got any shot, we’ve all got to stick together. Maybe, just maybe, we can get the professor to actually help us.”

Marcus snorted as he looked down at the koala. “That’s not gonna happen. Look man, you’re frankly the only one here who doesn’t just suck in every conceivable way. Working with you… didn’t feel like work.” He looked down, his ears flattened, before looking back up. “If you go back in there… to all of that… then no offense, dude, but you’re probably the single dumbest person I’ve met.”

“Come on, mate. We’re- we’re delivery guys.” Marcus sighed a hot puff of air through his wet nose.

“Just forget it, man.” He opened his car door, slamming it shut, as he pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Oliver standing there all alone in the drizzly wind. The faint, muffled sounds of Professor Pizza’s loud, hapless yammering could be heard through the closed glass window, as he took a deep breath in the middle of the empty parking lot.

The following days were long, brutal, and hectic. It was just Oliver and Professor Pizza, trying to keep a business running alone. Oliver scrambled desperately, between making the pizzas, making the wings, trying not to burn anything, writing lists, scribbling those out and having to write new ones, manning the register, answering the phone, looking for Wing Guy, endlessly researching the given coordinates, delivering pizzas to various dangerous, confusing worlds he didn’t understand by himself, cleaning up shop, cleaning the bathrooms, reorganizing things just to have it all undone, closing up shop, keeping the trash beebo free, and relocating the tiny, screaming people who lived in the gutters. Day in and day out, Oliver stayed hours late every day and worked on his days off, alone with the professor, running around like a bloink with all three of its heads cut off. Even when they were on top of things, Oliver still constantly felt like nothing was getting done, and tried to work through Professor Pizza’s maddened ramblings. Oliver was trying with everything he had to give 110, even 120%, but the harsh truth was that there just simply wasn’t enough of him. He’d go home every night, too exhausted to get anything done and filled with the dread of knowing that the next day, he’d have to do it all over again. So, this was hell.

The little cardboard help wanted sign, a crude replacement of the shattered original, wasn’t drawing in nearly as many eyes as either of them hoped. Maybe everyone else knew better, and Oliver was the only one foolish enough to stay. Maybe Marcus was right, about everything.

A part of Oliver wanted so badly to quit and join Marcus in his endeavors, but he had bills to pay. Plain and simple. Besides, he couldn’t just turn around and go home, after everything. He just couldn’t bring himself to leave Professor Pizza on his own, even after all of that, and the Mobian job market was extremely competitive, even among pizza delivery drivers. He’d sacrificed so much just to get here. He hardly talked to his family and girlfriend, and he spent his share of his late father’s inheritance just to travel through the Sydney gate and have this opportunity. If he went back now, all of it would have been in vain.

“Sorry bud,” Stan said as he stood at the counter, glancing at the sign. “I’d love to help you guys out and apply, but I just took up another part-time job at the pet store. Those were my last free four hours of the week.”

“It’s alright, I get it. Thanks though.” Oliver slid the triangular slice into the box.

“Shame about that Marcus fella. I always loved that guy.” Oliver said nothing as he rang up the fly’s total.

“That’ll be-” Stan put the plastic credits on the counter.

“Fifty MoCred. I been comin’ here long enough. Heh, doc says I gotta cut back on the pizza, says it’s not good for the ol’ ticker. I says they shouldn’t make ‘em so damn delicious then.” Oliver handed him the hundred-fifty MoCred in change, as Stan waved his hand. “Keep it.”

Oliver paused. “I- wow. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Stan smiled a bristly smile. “Good luck with everything. Don’t wear yourself too thin, bud. A rubber band’s only got so many stretches in it.” As the fly left, Oliver suddenly remembered something.

“Wait, Stan! Hang on! I’ve got your container in the fridge!” He scrambled to the fridge and grabbed the square, plastic container from the tater tot casserole. “Marcus said he was meaning to give it back to you.” He handed it to the fly, completely washed.

“Aw thanks! Glad he liked it.” He paused. “Y’ever notice how fridge is short for refrigerator, but it’s got an extra letter? Why is that, if it’s supposed to be for short?”

Oliver paused. “Huh, I guess I never noticed.”

“Anyways, see ya around.” The fly tipped his baseball cap and buzzed his wings.

“Take care!” Oliver always got a kick out of Stan’s little observations, which he and Marcus referred to as ‘Stan-isms’.

Suddenly the phone rang. Oliver picked up after the first ring.

“Professor Pizza’s Pizzas, this is Oliver speaking.” The phone delayed for a second, before the voice on the other end spoke through the receiver.

“You the one who keeps blowin’ up my phone with all those voicemails?” Oliver recognized this voice as the man from the truck.

“Er, yes, sorry. I’ve been trying to reach you-”

“What do you want?!” His voice was immediately confrontational. Oliver figured he was innocent in all of this after all, as it wouldn’t make much sense to try and ransom off his own stepson to his job, and if that was the case, they didn’t want money. They wanted pizza. Even a man his size wouldn’t eat 444 pizzas. Still, Oliver’s stomach twisted when this guy spoke. He didn’t trust him, nor did he respect him.

“If you don’t mind me asking, you’ve got a stepson who works part time at Professor Pizza’s Pizza, right?”

“Yeah.” This was the best chance Oliver had.

“Sir, your son is in danger. He’s been missing for two weeks, and-”

“I haven’t seen him ‘round here either. He’s probably off doing something stupid, and getting himself into trouble.”

“No! Listen! We found his-”

“I don’t know where the hell he is, but if he ever comes back here after all this, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born. I’ve been hounded by reporters and enforcers all week, I haven’t got a single call or text this whole time, I’ve had to spend so much of my hard-earned MoCred lookin’ for his ass, all ‘cause he wants to be a rebellious little piece of crap.”

Oliver’s blood ran cold at this statement. His own son was missing and in danger, for all he knew his kid was dead, and he just didn’t care! It was all about him, his money, his inconvenience. His tone showed no empathy, no worry, just annoyance and anger. Oliver opened his mouth, so as to keep talking, but stopped himself. Even if Oliver told him about the finger, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t care. More than likely, if Wing Guy was rescued, he’d just ‘kick his little punk ass’.

“Stop blowin’ up my phone, or you and me’re gonna have a real problem.” Oliver slammed the phone onto the receiver, without saying anything. The entire situation was infuriating. This excuse of a guy was no help, and a danger himself no less. The enforcers were no help. Their boss was no help. It were as though he and Marcus were the only ones who cared at all about this kid. It made him feel so powerless. The familiar beep of the oven sounded in the back, before he had a chance to even think. He glanced back at the phone, with a disappointed hesitation, before running off to the kitchen.

As Oliver slid the new, uncooked pizzas into the oven and set the timer, Professor Pizza appeared behind him.

“NEWCOMER!” Oliver jumped. “Professor! Just in time. I’ve got the wings in for 20 more minutes and the pizzas set for 5. I mean- the wings for 5 and the pizzas for 20! I’ve still gotta give behind the fridge a good wipe-down, I haven’t had much-”

“BEHOLD, NEWCOMER, FOR I HAVE MADE A NEW DISCOVERY! COME! TO THE LAB!” Oliver looked at the sizzling fryers and the oven, radiating with heat. He hoped this wouldn’t take too long.

“What is it, Professor?” The professor leaned in closely.

“FIRST, NEWCOMER, I POSE A QUESTION. I’VE BEEN EXAMINING THE SUBSTANCE YOU GATHERED ON EVERY CONCEIVABLE LEVEL, DOWN TO ITS LAST QUARK. I EVEN HAD TO BUST OUT MY BOOK OF INCANTATIONS. SOME WOULD CALL IT CHEATING, BUT I SAY, IN TURN, BAH!!! FOR YOU SEE, THE ARCANE ARTS ARE SIMPLY SCIENCE WHICH IS UNEXPLAINED!” Oliver looked at the substance in a jar, the numerous whiteboards full of notes and spreadsheets. Was this what he’d been working on all morning?

“Is it…”

“EXCREMENT?! IN A COSMIC WAY, PERHAPS.” His tone grew inquisitive. “WHEN YOU AND MARCUS CHANG HAPPENED UPON IT, DID YOU NOTICE A PHENOMENON WITH THE SKY?!”

Oliver looked surprised. “Yeah, why?”

“…THEN MY THEORY IS CONFIRMED.” He levitated the jar with his mind. “THE EVENTS YOU’VE WITNESSED ARE PART OF A SURPRISINGLY RARE PHENOMENON. THEY CALL IT… DIMENSIONAL ROT.”

“Dimensional… rot?” Oliver looked confused.

“STAND BACK! THIS MAY BE OUT OF YOUR MIND.” The professor continued. “WHEN ACUTE FORCES SUCH AS A POWERFUL, ANCIENT RITUAL OR A MAJOR NATURAL EVENT RAPIDLY DETERIORATE A UNIVERSE’S STRUCTURE, LESS ON A COSMIC SCALE AND MORE AT THE SPEED WITH WHICH ONE CAN OBSERVE IT, IT COLLAPSES IN ON ITSELF. TO US IT MAY BE A LIFETIME; ON A COSMIC SCALE, A MERE INSTANT!!!” Oliver looked at him intently, trying to follow. “THE SUBSTANCE YOU COLLECTED IS A MERE SYMPTOM OF THE ADVANCED DIMENSIONS ROTTING AWAY, AN EXCESS SLUDGE OF SORTS. THE UNIVERSE’S EXCREMENT. IT’S ALSO QUITE GOOD FOR THE SKIN.”

“Wait, so let me get this straight, Professor… that world is rapidly collapsing in on itself, and this is a symptom of it dying?”

“DESTABILIZING YES.” Oliver’s face dropped.

“Hang on!-”

“SILENCE, NEWCOMER! ALLOW ME TO EXPLAIN! MY BRILLIANT THEORY WAS CONFIRMED CORRECT WITH THE BURNING GASES VISIBLE IN THE ATMOSPHERE. AT THIS POINT, THE DIMENSIONAL ROT IS IN QUITE AN ADVANCED STATE. WHAT WOULD CAUSE A DIMENSIONAL COLLAPSE AT THIS RATE IS BEYOND EVEN MY CURRENT UNDERSTANDING. A PUZZLE INDEED!!!”

This was all so much for Oliver. Apparently entire realities could just… be destroyed. His ears sunk.

“How much longer… does that world have?” The professor leaned closer, the greenish glow of various devices and containers illuminating his meaty form in the dark room.

“AT THIS RATE, NEWCOMER, BASED ON WHAT YOU HAVE TOLD ME… THERE IS NO MORE ‘THAT WORLD’.” This information hit Oliver like a brick. Their new hangout spot, everything in that world… gone. All of those poor creatures. All of that beautiful land. Suddenly, Oliver had a truly horrible thought; it was he and Marcus’ hangout spot! What if Marcus was there, and was destroyed along with that dimension?!

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“THIS IS INCREDIBLE! I’VE NEVER SEEN AN EVENT SUCH AS THIS UNFOLD BEFORE. THANKS TO YOUR FINDINGS AND MY DISCOVERY, OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE STRUCTURE OF THE MULTIVERSE HAS JUST MULTIPLIED… BY TWO! NAY, BY THREE!!!!!”

Suddenly, the smell of burning wings trickled into the lab, the beep of the timer having not been noticed.

“NEWCOMER! WHAT DID I TELL YOU BACK IN THE DAWN OF THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER ABOUT HEADING DOWN A DARK PATH?!”

“S-sorry! One moment!” Oliver ran to pull the burnt wings out from the fryer. He pulled out his phone and desperately texted Marcus, trying to get him to respond. He pulled up his contact, to try to call him, as he stumbled, his head still spinning, falling off the step-stool and onto the ground. He pulled himself up, desperately trying not to pass out. How long did this world have? How long did any world have? Did his friend even EXIST anymore? All while his other coworker was out there, missing! He ran to the front of the shop, to the soda machine, pouring himself a cup of lemonade. His hands shaking, he slammed it back as quick as he could, the sour citrus shocking his brain, as he sat down and tried to control his breathing. His nerves had just began to settle, like pulp at the bottom of a cup, when he heard a familiar ding. No. Not now. Please, not now!

“NEWCOMER! AN ORDER AWAITS!”

The waves of the sea of souls crashed along the side of the rotted, wooden vessel. The perilous waters were endless, leaving only a horizon with the chance of rocky shores: the seas giving off a faint glow from the souls of the scores of hundreds of drowned men. The ship bore the lingering stench of corpses and despair. Oliver was bound upside-down to the mast by old chains, his tugboat dragged onto the deck, to be split apart and used for firewood. The crew, made of the decrepit, ghoulish undead, surrounded the poor koala with rusted scabbards. At the front stood the large captain, his eyes empty, glowing vessels of malice, the remnants of a long, unkempt mane surrounding his crooked head, and a rusted blunderbuss with knotted wood at his hip.

“Alright men, we puts it to a vote!” His voice sounded like acid eating away at a chunk of metal. “Majort’y rules. Either we ties ‘im to the keel haul, lets the barnacles tear ‘im up, or we cuts ‘im open like a fish and chokes ‘im with ‘is innards!” The crowd cheered, as Oliver wriggled in the chains. His heart, for all intents and purposes, should’ve been pounding. Which it was. He was in a perilous situation, and had neglected to bring his gun, which led him to a certain demise. But all he could feel was stress. Stress about the wing guy. Stress about Marcus. Stress about the dimensional rot. Stress that he was in over his head. Stress about all the things he still had to do. No matter if he was keel-hauled or cut open, who would close up shop? Who would answer the phone? Who would open up shop tomorrow morning? It was all stress. Just stress.

“Show of hands, who votes we cuts ‘im open?” The captain counted hands as Oliver pleaded desperately.

“Let me go!”

“Quiet, rat!” The captain struck him in the head with the end of his blunderbuss. Oliver felt a shooting crack of pain as he saw stars. “Twelve… thir’een, four’een, fi’een… And who votes we keel hauls ‘im?”

“Mate, please! Just listen!” A voice from the back spoke up.

“‘Mate!’ Oy, he is a pirate!”

“Cram it, Seventh Steven! Or I cuts off your other leg!” The captain’s booming voice echoed among the deck. “I knows a pirate when I sees it. He’s no pirate. Jus’ a rat!”

“I told you already, I’m not a pirate! I’m just a pizza delivery guy! I’m just here to bring you a bloody pizza.” The crew clamored around him.

“What’s a pizza?”

“Cap’n, he sure is a noisy rat!”

“Not for long, he ain’t!”

“I’m not a rat either! I’m not even from here!!!” The cold chains pressed tightly against his skin and fur. “Look mate, you can even keep the three dubloons you owe! I don’t care! I was sent to the Death Isles just to drop off the pizza that you ordered! I don’t want any trouble! Please, just let me go!!!” The crew looked around, confused.

“Death Isles?”

“Did he say the Death Isles?”

The captain looked down at the koala, his torn sneer dropping to a menacing scowl.

“Then how come you was in the Doom Isles?” Oliver looked around, confused.

“Yeah, bloody hell! Whatever you guys call them!” He paused.

“Well, was it the Death Isles or the Doom Isles, then?!” The confusion on Oliver’s face showed.

“I- I thought it was the Death Isles…” He looked the captain up and down. “You are Harold the Bloodthirsty, right?” The captain growled, weighing his options.

“There’s been a mistake.” The disappointed crew grumbled as they unchained the bewildered koala.

“We was gonna put ‘im in the soup!” The captain paced along the deck of the ship, looking out at sea.

“The Doom Isles ain’t the Death Isles. They’s two diff’rent isles.” Oliver looked around.

“…So where’s Harold?”

“He’s with the skele’on vikings in the Death Isles. The Doom Isles is ours.” Oliver’s head ached.

“Skeleton vikings?” The undead captain turned to his crew.

“He ain’t plunderin’ what we’s ar’dy plundered! He’s jus’ a stupid rat who don’t knows the difference!” The crew howled with guttural, undead laughter, as Oliver got his bearings, annoyed. This whole situation was completely ridiculous. He just wanted to go home.

“Right. Sure. Er, how do I get there?”

“If you rows at four knots, twen’y degrees starboard, you’ll gets there before the witchin’ hour.”

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what you mean.”

The undead crew were at least kind enough to heat up the now cold pizza in their crusty, centuries-old oven before sending him off in the right direction. The vessel of skeletons he eventually encountered were no friendlier, but he’d managed to win their trust too. If there was one thing the undead pirates and the skeleton vikings could agree on, it was their shared hatred of the fleets of ghost spartans. The lore of the open seas was, by all means, an untamed and never-ending quagmire.

Oliver eventually returned through the gate back in Mobius. His socks were wet, he stunk to high hell, and his head was pounding. Worst of all, he had to return to work, despite the fact that it was now dark out, and help Professor Pizza close up shop. The gold dubloon jangling against his phone case in his pocket did little to soften the blow. As he drove, he suddenly remembered what the Professor had said earlier, and made a U-turn in the middle of the road. He pulled back up to the gate as the enforcers scanned his temp ID.

“I’d like to go to Dimension 44… er, 44M…470λ, please.” The enforcer processed his request.

“We’re sorry, Oliver Henry, but that dimension is currently unavailable. Please choose a different dimension.”

Oliver sighed, sinking into his seat. The professor’s theory had been confirmed. He sat at the wheel, not speaking, just staring ahead at the wheel. He hoped to God that Marcus wasn’t in there.

“I didn’t quite catch that. Please choose a different-”

“Sorry, right. Thanks.” He put up his hand. “Sorry.” He turned the vehicle around and drove back to Professor Pizza’s Pizzas in the night, the city buzzing around him. He was numb and tired, as he slowly navigated through the streets of Mobius. He slowed the car down and drove past the spot listed by the coordinates, as he did every day, waiting for several long minutes, hoping to see something, anything, but once again, he saw nothing. He shifted the car back into drive and pulled back out onto the road.

Oliver finally walked in the door of his studio apartment later that night, turning on the lights. He sluggishly walked over to the medicine cabinet, taking a couple of tablets for his throbbing headache, before collapsing onto the bed out of sheer exhaustion, still in his work clothes, only realizing he hadn’t eaten as his stomach grumbled, but he didn’t want to get up. He set his alarm, realizing he had to get up in six hours. He sighed into his pillow. Sure he was beat, but he still wondered if he’d actually get much sleep tonight. His eyelids grew heavy, his mind beginning to drift on and off, as suddenly he heard a familiar ringtone; the one he used exclusively for Iris. He hesitated for a second, realizing it’d been about a week since he’d heard her voice. He figured he’d better catch up, as he swiped to answer.

“Hey babe.”

“Hey.” His voice was weary and raspy. Iris giggled.

“Fun day?” Oliver’s response was more of a noise than an actual response. He stretched his little body and sat up in the bed. “Yeah, I feel you there, mate.” Oliver’s face grew skeptic. He highly doubted she’d almost been violently killed by undead skeleton… whatevers. After all, she worked at a coffee shop.

“You never did send me those pictures you said you were going to.” Oliver’s ears perked up.

“Yeah, I did. Did it not go through?”

“No you didn’t, look. She pulled up the message on her phone. “Read Tuesday, 9:36 PM.” Oliver’s face dropped.

“Oh, sorry. Bloody hell, I could’ve swore I sent those. Sorry.” In the hustle and bustle of the past few days, he’d completely forgotten to send her pictures of the dragon dimension. He quickly uploaded the photo of the soaring dragons in the distance of a majestic plains, a golden castle floating high in the air atop the rainbow bridge. She chuckled.

“What, do you hate me or something?”

“Of course, I can’t stand you.” He matched her sarcasm.

“Oh wow, look at that! It’s like a novel!” Her voice was filled with awe as she opened the photo. “There’s no way that’s real.”

“It is real, just not in our… reality…” Oliver paused as he realized how bad he was at explaining things. It was as real as the room around him. The dragon queen had even tipped him with a magical stone which cured his colorblindness, a stone whose vibrant, red hue sat atop the windowsill.

“Uh huh. Okay.”

“I’m serious, babe. Here’s a selfie I took.” He sent her another photo of his head poorly photoshopped onto a human bodybuilder.

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m your ass.” Oliver paused. He went to speak as she began to talk.

“Sorry.”

“No, go ahead. What were you saying?”

“I don’t even remember. Go ahead.” Iris paused. The two had kept cutting each other off by accident, as there was a slight delay in signals between dimensions.

“Anyways, Hervey Bay’s next week. Hoping it all goes without a hitch.”

“I thought that already happened?” Oliver couldn’t keep track anymore.

“No, it’s a week from tomorrow.” Iris nervously giggled. “There’s gonna be so many people.”

“You’re gonna do great, I know it.” Oliver had full confidence in her capabilities. He always loved her music, listening to it in his free time. Her singing voice was powerful and authentic, the kind of voice that doomed anyone who tried to match it to fall flat. Her acoustic guitar, which she’d had since she was a little girl and had covered in stickers, was simple yet captivating. She radiated a sort of indie-girl charm wherever she went, even when she wasn’t trying to.

“Thanks, I’ll be good once it’s already said and done. It’s just… butterflies.” If everything fell just right, this could be her next big step up. If just the right person heard her, an agent looking for talent in a world full of algorithms and 15 minutes of fame, she could stand out as Iris Hopper. After Hervey Bay, next came Brisbane, Melbourne, London, New York, Los Angeles…

“As Dad always used to say, she’ll be right.”

“I wish you could make it.” Oliver’s ears lowered.

“I wish I could too. More than anything.” It wasn’t going home that was the problem, it was the coming back. Iris began gently strumming on her guitar, as she frequently did, humming to herself.

The two marsupials stayed on the phone for a while, not making much conversation, tired from a long day. The weight of tomorrow morning weighed on Oliver, yet he didn’t hang up. There was so much Oliver wanted to tell her, yet at the same time, there was nothing to say. Maybe soon, he’d save up enough money to take a trip home, or take her up here to Mobius. Eventually, the two decided they’d better get some sleep, which, in Iris’ case, likely meant staying up another two or three hours.

“I’d better get going, I’ve got to get up for work soon.”

“Sorry! Have I been keeping you up?” Oliver slowly blinked, rubbing his eyes. She knew damn well the answer to that question.

“It’s fine, really.” Oliver smiled.

“No. Get some sleep. Love you.”

“Stay out of trouble.”

“No promises.”

Oliver quickly nuzzled the phone before hanging up. He now had four hours before he had to get up. He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was likely out of the question. He sighed through his nose, as he then realized that at least his headache was gone.