It had been an excessively slow week in the Gaming Hall, which could only mean one thing: as lousy and terrible as the Game Master's day was, she was about to make someone else's so much worse. She groans in boredom as she lies on the ground, trying to get someone to care.

"Ughhhhhh-"
…

She looks up from left to right. Nobody was coming. She huffs and groans again, louder this time.

"UEGHHHHHHHHHHH"

Despite her best efforts, her call remained unanswered. The Game Master sits up, having had enough. "Motherfucking— God damn it!" Snapping her fingers, she warps the space of her level within itself, depositing two of her permanent wards, Umari and Gray, on the ground in front of her.

"GOOOOOOOOD MORNING BITCHES. I'VE GOT NEWS FOR YOU— MANAGEMENT CALLED, AND THEY SAID IF YOU TWO DON'T START PAYING YOUR FUCKING TAXES, THEY'RE GONNA SEND THE IRS!"

As she yells in their faces, two clones of the Game Master appear on either side of her, with pieces of paper that say "IRS" taped to their faces.

Gray looks up at the Game Master with a tired expression.

"Do we really have to do this today? I was just starting to hate myself again."

Umari rolls his eyes.

"We get it dude, you hate your wife." He says, giving Gray the finger. "Now can we just get this over with so I can go back to doing uh…"

Umari flicks his eyes to either side.

"THINGS! Doing things."

The Game Master stares at them with a blank expression. Deafening silence fills the empty hall, until it's broken by the Game Master's shrill voice once again.

"WELL GOD DAMN IT, GET READY THEN! I'M BORRRREEEEDDDDDDDDDD." She exclaims dramatically, falling to her knees and raising a hand over her forehead in the same way a cartoon princess would faint.

Umari looks at Gray, giving him the side eye.

"For people LITERALLY experiencing 'I have no mouth and I must scream;' How in the FUCK did we get THIS as our eternal overlord?"

Gray exhales in annoyance. "Just lucky, I guess."

The Game Master is jerked up by invisible puppet strings, wildly locking her body back into place. She snaps her fingers twice, bringing forth the rest of the Theatre of the Absurd¹ into the main room.

"GOOD NEWS EVERYONE, IT'S TIME FOR A CLASS ACTIVITY! WE'LL HAVE A RANDOMLY SELECTED GUEST JOINING US THIS FINE MORNING, BE SURE TO BE ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR. PLACES EVERYONE, PLACES!!"

The Game Master pauses for emphasis, before clapping her hands a single time, sending a shattering BOOM! throughout her level. A few prop lights fall from the ceiling as the room shakes, shattering and spraying glass all over the floor.

As the dust begins to clear, the Game Master whirls around, preparing her entrance speech.

"WELCOME, DEAR GUEST, to the MOST AWESOMELY WONDERFUL AND COOL GAMING HALL you've EVER SEEN! Fret not, lonely wanderer, should you best ME, the GAME MASTER, at a game of your choice, you—"

The Game Master abruptly cuts off her sentence, as she sees who she's brought in for this match.

Spec groans as he flicks his eyes around the Gaming Hall.

"You've got to be fucking joking. I JUST got out of h—"

The Game Master's eyes narrow as she teleports in front of Spec.

"SEEMS LIKE ITS YOUR UNLUCKY DAY, ASSHOLE. DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY WITH THE SHIT YOU PULLED THE LAST TIME YOU WERE HERE?"

Spec stares blankly into the electronic face in front of him.

"Uh… yeah? You're kind of an idiot."

The Game Master groans in annoyance.

"ARGHHHHHHHHH… I WISH I COULD JUST KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!"

Spec shrugs his shoulders, and responds in a singsongy tone. "Not my fault you're bound to your wooorrrrdd."

The Game Master yells out in frustration again, teleporting Gray to her location, and immediately punching him in the face.

"HEY!" He yells out as he hits the floor.

"JUST PICK YOUR FUCKING GAME SO I CAN INVERT YOUR INTESTINES, YOU FUCKING SLIMEBALL!" The Game Master screams into Spec's face.

"FINE! You're not going to let me leave? Giving me bullshit? I'll play your stupid fucking game. What are my options?"

The Game Master's tone completely changes, and she leans back and claps her hands.

"AH! Wise beyond your age. The rules are simple: choose any game and win, and I let you go home!"

Spec looks up at her quizzically. "Any game?"

The Game Master nods, electronic smile spreading across her face.

"Any game! If you'd like something a bit different, I've made some my—"

"I choose The Campaign for North Africa." Spec says flatly.

As soon as the words leave Spec's mouth, the lights in the level cut out— the background noise goes silent for a few moments, before brightness returns to the room.

When the light allows clear sight once more, the Game Master's expression is noticeably absent— only a blank screen remains.

"Theeeee ffuck DiD yoU just S-sSAy?" The Game Master responds, twitching and slurring her words like a robot dropped into a swimming pool.

"I said, I choose The Campaign for North Africa." Spec repeats.

The Game Master's body snaps back into rigidity, and her face returns with an angry red glow. She looks at the ceiling, shaking her fist as she yells into the abyss:

"I FUCKING HATE YOU FOR THIS. THIS FUCKER JUST LEFT." She turns to look down at Gray and Umari. "THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR MY RENTERS NOT PAYING THEIR FUCKING TAXES." She yells.

"Renters?" Spec snickers. "They're tied to you, G.M. That isn't being a landlord."

Umari laughs. "At least someone gets it. Long time no see, Spec."

Spec flicks his gaze over to the familiar voice.

"Umari! It certainly has been a minute. 'Don't think I saw you in here during my first encounter with this bag of sticks."

Umari shrugs. "I can usually get out more. The rest of us? Dubious at best."

"Can it, Umari." A new voice rings out, as a weird, twisted amalgamation of plastic arms and legs descends from the ceiling, its 'head' snapping at him angrily.

"AH, FU—" Umari dodges the unwelcome greeting, only by a hair.

"Hey, Spec, remember that complete freak I told you about the other day? Ellie? Yeah, say hello."

Spec gives the two a look, his face bearing an expression that could only be summarized as "you've got to be fucking kidding me." Even for his standards, the chaos that the room was erupting in was a becoming a bit much.

Gray is arguing with his wife, Gwyneth. Julie, a twisted amalgamation of flesh and various electronic pieces, is holding Ellie back from popping the yellow balloon-creature, Festa.

The Game Master snaps her fingers, separating everyone in the room into two teams, as well as summoning a massive table to use. The room is refurbished to look like your average 80's "man cave" basement. The noise dies down, and the Game Master slams her hands down on the table, leaning over to become face to face with Spec. The Game Master's team consists of Julie, Gray, and Ellie, whereas Spec's consists of Umari, Gwyneth, and Festa.

"This is your fucking fault." The Game Master hisses.

Spec leans back in his chair, shrugging.

"What batshit stupid rules do w—"

"NONE." The Game Master cuts him off.

"YOUR STUPID ASS PICKED THE ONE FUCKING GAME TOO INSANE EVEN FOR ME TO FIND A WAY TO MAKE IT WORSE. I HOPE YOU'RE FUCKING HAPPY, BECAUSE THE NEXT TWO AND A HALF MONTHS OF YOUR LIFE ARE GOING TO BE SPENT IN THIS SHITTY NECKBEARD BASEMENT. I'M NOT JUST GOING TO WIN, I. AM. GOING. TO. KILL. YOU."

Spec raises his eyebrows. "Jeez. Ok, take a Xanax or something, Jesus chri—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The Game Master screams, standing up from her chair, and punching a hole in the wall. "I CAN'T FUCKING STAND YOU!"

"So then let me go? I don't see the problem." Spec retorts.

"I. CAN'T. I'M PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE UNTIL THE GAME IS COMPLETED, WIN OR LOSS. AND TRUST ME SPEC, IF YOU LOSE, I'LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN."

Spec's smirk falls flat. "I see."

"SO… GAME. FUCKING. ON." She responds with venom, snapping her fingers to automatically spread out the appropriate sheets, information booklets, counters, and storage trays.

"Whoa—" Spec jumps back as a pile of miniatures spawns in front of him. He's getting to organizing the vehicles, when he pauses and stares at the table, and then over at the Game Master.

"DID YOU MAKE ME THE FUCKING NAZIS?"

Umari raises an eyebrow, covering his smirk with his hand. The Game Master just offers a shrug.

"Well… you ARE the whitest person in the room—" Umari starts, giving the snarkiest tone possible.

The Game Master's face-screen displays an "XD" for a few seconds, before she starts cackling. "I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING, EVEN YOUR OWN TEAM HATES YOU!"

Spec slams his hand onto the table, making the miniatures bounce into the air.

"YOU'RE LITERALLY AN AUTHORITARIAN FORCE! YOU HAVE AN ENTIRE CROWD BENT TO YOUR WILL, AND YOU FUCKING KILL PEOPLE! RESTRICTING PERSONAL FREEDOM IS LITERALLY IN THE FACIST GUIDEBOOK!"

Umari points at Spec's prosthetic. "Yeah, but you're the one ruling with an iron fist right now—"

"Oh you've GOT to be fucki—"

The Game Master flicks her finger at Spec, attempting to force him into his seat to stop the bickering. Unfortunately, she had forgotten he's a reality sink, so the resulting force is blasted straight into Umari's face.

As Umari's chair promptly shatters, Spec just smirks at him. "What goes around comes around, no?"

Umari groans, standing up and leaning on the table.

"So, how the fuck do we play?" He asks, to which the Game Master laughs in his face.

"YOU DON'T! THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT! THE GAME IS DESIGNED TO BE UNPLAYABLE! THE LONGEST AND MOST COMPLEX BOARD GAME EVER CREATED, THERE HASN'T BEEN A SINGLE RECORDED GAME COMPLETION! EVER!"

Spec smirks. "So we're setting a world record?"

The Game Master's electronic face begins to glitch out, as a red exclamation point flashes periodically.

"SUCK MY FU#@% &#$C% YOU GOD DAMN #$#$@% PIECE OF TRASH!" Loud beeps have begun to censor the Game Master's language, as her face continues to angrily flicker. She slams her head into the table a few times, before slowly pulling herself back up, her face once again in its normal state.

"Let's just… let's just get started…"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN WE DON'T HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY POINTS TO MOVE OUR TANKS?? OUR BATTALION HAS TWENTY-FIVE POINTS, THE ACTIONS WE WANT TO TAKE COST TWENTY-FIVE!!" Spec screams across the table.

"Yes, Spec. That's correct. Howev-"

"Then what's the problem, hmm?" Umari interjects.

"The PROBLEM, Umari, is that you're using ITALIAN tanks."

"So?"

"Your troops needed to be allocated an extra ration of water at the start of the turn, because Italian troops require one point's worth of extra water to boil their pasta rations. Because you didn't do this, your actions cost extra points, and you are no longer able to use the overspending points rule."

Spec looks over at Umari with a tired expression. "I'm going to k— no, Blanche told me I'm not allowed to say that anymore. I'm going to engage in healthy coping activities!!!!"

Umari responds by slamming his head onto the table.

"I'm TELLING you Umari— if we set up our tanks along the right, and buff up our air support, we'll be able to win! Look, if we just go here, here, and here—"

Gwyneth points at different squares on the board.

"…We'll be able to completely annihilate her! She has almost no anti-aircraft, and our planes far outnumber hers!"

Umari pauses for a minute.

"You know what, you're right. Spec, what do y— oh no…"

Spec has fainted, his head lying smack in the middle of the rulebook. The miniatures and markers on the board have been completely scattered.

"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT SPEC." Gwyneth shouts, yanking the hood of his sweatshirt as hard as she can. Spec promptly gets knocked out of his chair.

"AHEGH… FUCK, OK! I GET IT! Is it our turn yet?" Spec shouts angrily, the haze of sleep being immediately quelled.

"No, we just really hate you." Umari responds, rolling his eyes.

"We WANTED your input on Gwyneth's plan, but it seems like you'll be reorganizing all the pieces you knocked over." Umari gestures towards the hundreds of tiny markers strewn across the board.

Spec sobs.

The Game Master pours another bottle of unlabeled liquor onto her face. Having a plastic screen for a face, this is about as close as she can get to drinking. The screen sparks and fizzles, and the Game Master recoils with each snap as if she's getting shot.

"OW! FUCK! GOD DAMN IT- GFGAUEGH!"

Her face displays various different expressions with each circuit fried, the chaotic movements of the malfunctioning technology causing her to slam into a bookshelf. Said bookshelf promptly falls, crushing both her and Ellie.

The Game Master teleports back into her seat, laying her head face down on the table.

"AEGUHHHHhh… WHY… WHY HAVE I BEEN FORSAKEN…"

Gwyneth and Gray are having an argument over past relationship issues. Shocker.

"…And THEN you tried to blame ME for how our GOD DAMN TAXES were filed!! LAST TIME I CHECKED, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE PROOFREADING THEM!" Gwyneth yells.

"YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME ABOUT ETIQUETTE? DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH." Gray retorts. "I'VE SEEN A LOT OF SHIT IN MY DAYS, YOU KNOW THAT AS WELL AS ANYONE. I'VE WATCHED SMILERS GORE MY FRIENDS, I'VE WATCHED NIGHTMARES UNFOLD IN WAYS YOU CAN'T EVEN FATHOM."

Gray gestures to Spec, who is still tangled up in wires, dangling upside down.

"I CAN HANDLE A TWINK TIED TO THE CEILING, BUT FOR FUCKS SAKE, USE A FEW COMMAS!"²

Spec sighs in exasperation.

Spec loudly groans as he takes a look at the positions of his army. Despite his best efforts, he wasn't able to break through the Game Master's line. This being said, it wasn't like the Game Master was doing much better. The amount of logistical errors she had made were starting to catch up with her, leading to a game state that left neither party in a favorable position.

"Umariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii what the fuck do we doooooooo…" Spec lazily slurs as he flicks his half-closed eyes over to his acquaintance.

Umari stays silent for a few moments. Spec isn't sure if he's completely zoned out, or is deep in strategic thought. He takes a deep breath before speaking up.

"Yknow Spec, I think it's time for a change in approach. If we want to WIN as the axis, we have to PLAY like the axis. We've got to play dirty— we've got to get in character."

Spec gives him a look of sheer contempt as he gives his response— scoffing at the absurdity.

"Get in character? Are you telling me to call you a slur and send you to the timeout corner the next time you fuck up the rations?"

Umari shakes his head.

"No, no… nothing like that. We don't need to get racist, Spec…"

Umari reaches into his backpack, and hefts a massive bag of white powder onto the table.

"…We have to get high."

Spec snaps his fingers, a credit card and dollar bill appearing in his hand. "You had my interest, Umari. But now, you've got my attention."

"This HAS to be against the rules…" Gwyneth says, looking up at the Game Master, who is staring wide eyed at the scene in front of her. This was it: she had truly seen everything.

"Well, I suppose we can give them props for historical accuracy— it is one of the main points of these war ga—" Gray points out, before immediately being cut off by Spec.

"CAN YOU NOT FUCKING HEAR WHAT I'M SAYING BITCH BOY? IM MOVING MY FUCKING TANKS YOU FUCKING WALNUT, DO THE GOD DAMN MATH BEFORE I CRASH THE FUCK OUT!"

"…Spec you weren't even talkin—"

"WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?" Spec asks, whirling his head around.

"I'm right in front of you. Where do you want to move your tank battalion?" Gray asks patiently.

"NO I DON'T WANT TO 'TAKE BADMINTON,' I FUCKING HATE THE BRITISH! SOMEONE BETTER FUCKING FIND MARGARET THATCHER IN HERE SO I CAN HANG HER FROM THE FUCKING RAFTERS! DON'T TELL ME SHE'S FUCKING DEAD, OLD PEOPLE DON'T JUST UP AND DIE LIKE THAT. I'D FUCKING KNOW— IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME UNTIL SOMEONE FINDS JOHN LENNON IN HERE. AND PAUL MCCARTNEY. FUCK IT, ALL OF THE GOD DAMN BEATLES—"

Spec's voice falls a little bit, so he does another line off of the table.

"AaAAEGH ANYFUCKINGWAYS, FIGHT ME BITCH."

Gray, not wanting any more involvement, proceeds to move Spec's tanks to the according positions.

"NOW THEN— RATIONS." Spec looks over at Umari, who is still lying face down. Spec groans like the drama queen he is, grabs Umari by the hair, and smashes his head into the table over and over again. Due to Umari's body being made entirely of fabric and cotton, this does nothing but make a mess of the cocaine lying on the table.

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!!"

Across the table, Julie has her head in her hands, her voicebox playing "Cocaine" by Eric Clapton. The Game Master is telekinetically restraining Festa from consuming the drugs scattered across the table. Ellie has been locked somewhere else in Level 389— The Game Master had snapped her out of existence after growing tired of the antics.

"I SAID WAKE THE—" Spec is immediately cut off by Umari proceeding to punch him in the face.

"OW!"

Umari sighs in his drug induced delirium. "Piss off bitch baby, do your own fucking work for on—"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before he falls backwards onto the floor, knocked out once again. Spec looks at him with distaste.

"Fucking lightweights."

"THERE! I FUCKING DID IT! EAT SHIT, RAG DOLL— I FUCKING WIN!"
Spec slams down his pencil and paper with vindication, doing a line of meth off of the table. He collapses onto the floor, laughing maniacally in a psychotic episode caused by the melting pot of bullshit that has happened over the past two months. He's been running entirely off of pure spite and meth; his mind checked out long ago.

Gray looks at his notes. He checks the Game Master's paper.

He looks at his notes again.

"I think… you're correct. Thank god, we—" Just as Gray begins stand up from his chair, he looks back down.

"Oh no…"

"W H A T?" The Game Master chokes out from her semi-unconscious state.

"Spec… his team about twenty days ago— they had a miscalculation in their fuel supply, so all of our math since then has been wrong. Going by the game's numbers, he and Umari are in such fuel debt that it would be impossible to manage at this point. We can go back to the point where the error was made…" Gray says with a noticeable depression in his voice.

"Fuck no." The Game Master responds. "I fucking give up. I'm sending his ass out of here."

"But… he technically lo—"

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOUR OPINION, YOU CUCK. His downward spiral and experience is punishment enough. Let Blanche deal with his shit— if I keep him here any longer, this place is at risk of fucking exploding from that stupid vacuum of his. Killing him now would be a disaster, and it's worse anyway to make him deal with the consequences of his actions." The Game Master retorts.

"This has got to be the calmest I've ever seen you. How are you—"

"BECAUSE SPEC SNORTED MY FUCKING ADDERALL, TOO."

Gray gives the Game Master an incredulous stare, but decides not to ask questions he doesn't want the answers to.

"Well… now what?"

The Game Master snaps her fingers, and Spec's maniacally giggling, coked up self is whisked away to Level 906.

"That stupid fucking LOSER ASS NERD can deal with him. I… I'm just gonna… lie doo..oo…oooww…w—"

The Game Master's voice slurs, before her faceplate completely fizzles out, and she drops on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Gray gives her a distasteful look.

"Stay classy, Penelope."