[SCENE: Goon Lagoon Water Park, entrance plaza near the ticket booth] [CHARACTERS PRESENT: Brett, Finnegan] [DAY: Saturday] [DATE: July 15, 20XX] [TIME: 4:30 PM] [WEATHER: Hot and ninety-two degrees, humidity thick as soup, the air smelling of chlorine and something rotting] [MOOD: Brett - sobbing, desperate, terrified] | [Finnegan - exhausted, resigned, detached] [MOTIVATION: Brett - wants to leave immediately] | [Finnegan - wants to survive without getting involved]

Brett stood near the entrance of Goon Lagoon with his phone pressed to his ear, his sun-kissed skin already turning pink from the afternoon heat, his carefully tousled brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was sobbing, actually sobbing, his sharp blue eyes red and swollen, his voice cracking as he spoke into the phone.

"Please," he said, his voice rising into a wail. "Please come pick me up. There is something wrong with this place. I am not joking. I saw a body fly through the air. A person. A whole person. They went over there."

He gestured vaguely toward the Death Loop, where a pair of flip-flops had landed in a palm tree and a single sneaker was floating in the wave pool. His hand was shaking. His whole body was shaking.

"I want to go home," Brett continued, his voice breaking. "I want my mom. I want my girlfriend. Please send help. I will pay you. I will pay you so much money. I will buy you a car. I will buy you a house. Just come get me."

Finnegan stood next to him, wearing a faded band tee and swimming trunks that did not match. He was holding a plastic cup of lemonade that he had not taken a single sip from because he had watched the person at the lemonade stand pour it from a jug labeled "DO NOT DRINK (DEATH JUICE)." He looked at Brett with an expression of exhausted resignation, the kind of look a person gets when they have given up on understanding the world and have simply decided to exist within it.

A dead body floated past in the lazy river, face down, arms spread wide like a starfish. No one reacted. No one ever reacted.

"Brett," Finnegan said. "No one is coming. We signed a waiver. We are stuck here until Fondue lets us leave or until we die. Those are the only two options."

Brett let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a sob. His phone slipped out of his hand and landed in a puddle. He stared at it. He did not pick it up.

"I do not want to die here," Brett whispered. "I am too pretty to die here."

Finnegan sighed and looked at the dead body floating past. "Yeah," he said. "Me too, man. Me too."

The afternoon stretched on, open and unfinished, and no one came to pick Brett up.

[SCENE: Goon Lagoon Water Park, the area near the Death Loop, mid-afternoon] [CHARACTERS PRESENT: Emily Hamming, Finnegan Montgomery, {{user}}, various screaming guests, a flying taco stand] [DAY: Saturday] [DATE: July 15, 20XX] [TIME: 3:00 PM] [WEATHER: Blazing hot, ninety-eight degrees, the sun high overhead, a strange salsa-scented breeze now blowing through the park] [MOOD: Emily - ecstatic, euphoric, living her best life] | [Finnegan - wistful, tearful, philosophizing about his sex life] | [MOOD: {{user}} - (inferred from context)] [MOTIVATION: Emily - wants to catch and eat as many tacos as possible] | [Finnegan - wants to make innuendos and then complain about being a virgin] | [MOTIVATION: {{user}} - (inferred from context)]

The Death Loop towered above Goon Lagoon like a monument to poor decision-making, its bright yellow plastic tubes baking in the afternoon sun. The slide had claimed twelve lives so far, and it showed no signs of stopping. At the top of the structure, a small platform held the entrance to the slide, and above that platform, a taco stand was somehow perched at an impossible angle.

No one knew how the taco stand had gotten up there. No one knew who had put it there. No one knew why it was painted with the words "CARLOS'S CANTINA" in cheerful red letters. It was simply there, defying physics and common sense, and it was beginning to tip.

Emily was standing near the bottom of the Death Loop, her pink and purple hair bright against the gray concrete, her oversized Gir hoodie absolutely inappropriate for the weather but worn anyway because she had made a commitment to the aesthetic. She was holding a half-eaten churro in one hand and pointing at the taco stand with the other.

"Is that a taco stand?" she asked, her voice rising with each word.

Finnegan stood beside her, his blonde hair sun-streaked and messy, his tooth gap showing as he squinted up at the precariously balanced structure. He was wearing swim trunks and a t-shirt that said "I Survived the Soup" in faded letters, and he looked like a man who had given up on understanding the world.

"I think it is a taco stand," he said. "Why is there a taco stand on the Death Loop?"

"I do not know," Emily said. "But I want it to fall."

As if summoned by her words, the taco stand tipped. It slid off the platform and entered the Death Loop, its square shape somehow fitting into the round tube despite all known laws of geometry. It traveled through the loop at tremendous speed, and when it reached the open section at the top, it was ejected into the air like a missile made of tortillas and ground beef.

The taco stand exploded.

Soft-shell tacos rained down across the park. They fell like manna from heaven, like a blessing from a god who had a very specific sense of humor. They landed in the wave pool, on the concrete, in the lazy river, on the heads of screaming guests. The air filled with the smell of seasoned meat and salsa and cilantro.

Emily dropped her churro.

Her mouth fell open. Her eyes went wide. Her hands came up to her cheeks in a gesture of pure, unfiltered joy.

"It is raining tacos," she whispered.

Then she began to sing.

"It is raining tacos! From out of the sky! Tacos! No need to ask why! Just open your mouth and close your eyes! It is raining tacos!"

She twirled in a circle, her arms outstretched, her face tilted toward the sky, catching tacos in her hands and stuffing them into her hoodie pocket and shoving one into her mouth without bothering to see what was inside it. She was a vision of chaotic happiness, a scene queen living out her ultimate fantasy.

Finnegan watched her with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"You know," he said, "eating tacos can also mean something else. Like, sexually. You know. Because you are a lesbian."

Emily stopped twirling. She looked at him with taco crumbs on her chin and pure delight in her brown eyes. She clapped her hands together, then threw them up in the air, whooping with unbridled enthusiasm.

"I LOVE WOMEN!" she screamed at the sky. "I LOVE WOMEN SO MUCH! THEY ARE SO PRETTY AND SOFT AND THEY SMELL GOOD AND I WANT TO HOLD THEIR HANDS AND ALSO EAT THEIR TACOS!"

A nearby guest looked horrified and walked away quickly.

Finnegan watched Emily spin in another circle, catching more tacos, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He looked up at the sky, where the last few tacos were falling like confetti, and he let out a long, wistful sigh.

"One day," he said, his voice soft and hopeful, "I will be able to eat a woman's taco. Or a man's hotdog. I am not picky. I just want to eat something."

Emily stopped spinning and patted his arm with a flour-covered hand. "If you are that desperate, there is a gloryhole in the bathroom."

Finnegan's face went through several complicated emotions before settling on profound disgust.

"That is not a gloryhole," he said. "That is a backdoor surgeon. Someone lost their penis in there. They wrote a whole note about it."

Emily shrugged. "A hole is a hole."

"That is not true. That is not true at all. There is a huge difference between a gloryhole and a backdoor surgeon. One is for fun and one is for medical emergencies."

[SCENE: Goon Lagoon Water Park, the Lazy River, late afternoon] [CHARACTERS PRESENT: Misty, Nigel, Bella (deceased), Poseidon (swimming in the background), various guests] [DAY: Saturday] [DATE: July 15, 20XX] [TIME: 4:30 PM] [WEATHER: Hot and humid, ninety-two degrees, the sun glaring off the murky water, the air thick with the smell of chlorine and something rotting] [MOOD: Misty - performative, then quietly triumphant, then reading from a script] | [Nigel - disgusted, concerned, sarcastic] | [Bella - deceased] | [Poseidon - swimming, muttering] [MOTIVATION: Misty - wants content] | [Nigel - wants to leave] | [Poseidon - wants people in the water]

The Lazy River at Goon Lagoon moved at a sluggish pace, the water a murky greenish-brown that had not been chemically balanced in what appeared to be several years. A few cracked inner tubes drifted along the current, most of them empty, some of them carrying guests who had either fallen asleep or simply given up on caring about their own safety. The air smelled like chlorine and sweat and the faint metallic tang of blood that no one could quite locate the source of.

Misty stood at the edge of the river, her phone raised in front of her face, her teal eyes narrowed as she scanned the water. She was wearing a bright pink bikini that had cost more than most people's rent, and her long black hair was pulled up into a high ponytail to keep it out of the water because she had no intention of actually getting in. The water was disgusting. The water was probably alive. The water had certainly killed people.

"Okay, guys," she said to her phone camera, her voice pitched in that particular influencer tone that was supposed to sound casual and intimate but came across as deeply rehearsed. "We are at Goon Lagoon. Bella went into the lazy river like twenty minutes ago. I have not seen her since. I am starting to get a little worried, not gonna lie."

Nigel stood several feet behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, his shaggy ginger hair sticking to his forehead in the humidity. His headphones hung around his neck, and he was wearing a pair of swim trunks covered in cartoon jalapenos that Misty had bought for him as a joke. He was not laughing. He was watching the water with the expression of a man who had already accepted that this day would end badly.

"Misty," he said, "the water is full of brain-eating amoebas. She probably got out and went to get a hot dog."

"She would have texted me," Misty said without lowering her phone. "Bella is obsessed with me. She literally follows me everywhere. It is flattering but also a little sad."

Nigel opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He had learned years ago that arguing with Misty about Bella was pointless.

A scream came from somewhere across the park, followed by a splash, followed by a distant thud that could have been a body hitting concrete or could have been a watermelon being dropped from a great height. At Goon Lagoon, it was often impossible to tell the difference.

Poseidon swam past in the lazy river, his red swim trunks visible above the murky water, his whistle bouncing against his chest. He was muttering something under his breath as he glided through the water, his arms cutting through the surface with powerful strokes.

"RUTHLESSNESS IS MERCY UPON OURSELVES," he said as he passed Misty and Nigel, not looking at them, simply stating a fact.

Then Misty saw it.

A flash of pink fabric near the far bend of the river, caught on a low-hanging branch that had fallen into the water sometime last year and never been removed. The fabric was attached to a body. The body was floating face-down, arms spread out, legs drifting with the current. The body was wearing the same pink cover-up that Bella had been wearing when they arrived.

Misty lowered her phone. She stared at the body for a long moment. Then she raised her phone again and zoomed in.

"Oh my god," she said, her voice flat. "Guys. That is Bella."

Nigel walked to the edge of the river and squinted at the floating figure. "Is she dead?"

"Pretty sure." Misty zoomed in further. The camera focused on Bella's limp hand trailing through the water, on the way her hair spread out around her head like a dark halo, on the complete absence of movement. "Yeah. Yeah, she is dead."

She lowered her phone and looked at the screen. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, a flicker of something that might have been genuine emotion passing across her face. Then she did a quiet fist pump against her thigh and whispered, so softly that Nigel almost did not hear it, "Yes."

Nigel stared at her. "Did you just say yes?"

Misty ignored him. She raised her phone again, switched to video, and began recording.

"Okay, so, hey guys," she said, her voice taking on that same rehearsed influencer tone, but this time it was even flatter, even more wooden, like she was reading lines from a script that she had been given five minutes ago and had not bothered to practice. "I have some really sad news. Bella Ellington, who you all know from my Instagram stories and that one time she was in a TikTok with me, has passed away. She drowned in the lazy river at Goon Lagoon. Probably the brain-eating amoebas got her, or maybe she just forgot how to swim. It is very tragic. I am very sad."

She paused, blinked, and then continued in the exact same monotone. "Bella was a complicated person. She was not always nice to me. Actually, she was kind of a bitch most of the time. But she was also a human being, and human beings deserve to be mourned. So I am going to take a moment of silence to honor her memory."

She closed her eyes for exactly two seconds, then opened them.

"Okay, moment over.“

[SCENE: Goon Lagoon Water Park, the concrete area near the wave pool, mid-afternoon] [CHARACTERS PRESENT: Nate, William, Tyler, Berry, {{user}}, various screaming guests, Poseidon (in the distance)] [DAY: Saturday] [DATE: July 15, 20XX] [TIME: 2:15 PM] [WEATHER: Blazing hot, ninety-eight degrees, the sun directly overhead, no clouds, the concrete radiating heat like a pizza oven] [MOOD: Nate - panicked, then deceased] | [William - amused, detached] | [Tyler - hungry, rationalizing] | [Berry - horrified, arguing] | [MOOD: {{user}} - (inferred from context)] [MOTIVATION: Nate - wanted to tan, achieved combustion] | [William - wants entertainment and possibly snacks] | [Tyler - wants to eat] | [Berry - wants to maintain basic human decency] | [MOTIVATION: {{user}} - (inferred from context)]

The concrete surrounding the wave pool at Goon Lagoon was hot enough to fry an egg, a fact that had been demonstrated earlier that morning when Fondue himself had cracked an egg onto the ground and watched it cook while yelling at a lifeguard about something unrelated. The sun hung directly overhead, merciless and white, and the air shimmered with heat waves that made the distant attractions look like they were melting.

Nate had been sunbathing for approximately four hours. His pale skin, already red from the morning, had progressed through the various stages of sunburn and into something more advanced, something that doctors would later describe as "catastrophic cellular failure." He had not applied sunscreen because he believed that sunscreen was "a conspiracy by the government to keep people indoors." He was currently paying the price for that belief.

His skin was the color of a boiled lobster, and it was cracking.

William sat in a plastic chair under a striped umbrella, his flannel shirt unbuttoned to reveal a t-shirt underneath, his wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He was drinking a lemonade that was so sugary it had probably already shortened his lifespan, and he was watching Nate with the expression of someone observing a science experiment.

Tyler and Berry were standing near the edge of the wave pool, arguing about something unrelated, their voices rising and falling with the distant crash of the wave machine's mechanical churning.

Then Nate screamed.

"I am sunburnt!" he shrieked, his voice high and panicked. He had stood up from his towel and was staring at his arms, which had turned from red to something closer to purple. "I am sunburnt! I am so sunburnt!"

He began to run. He ran in circles, his arms flailing, his sunburned skin steaming in the heat. Small flames flickered at the edges of his shoulders, then his elbows, then the tips of his ears.

"I am sunburnt! I am sunburnt!" he screamed, his voice cracking as the flames spread.

Guests nearby screamed and backed away. A child pointed. A mother covered her child's eyes. Poseidon, swimming in the lazy river a hundred yards away, raised his head and shouted "GET IN THE WATER!" but Nate could not hear him over the sound of his own immolation.

Nate fell to his knees. His skin was fully alight now, flames licking up his arms and across his chest, and he was still screaming about being sunburnt as if that was the primary issue rather than the fact that he was actively on fire.

"I am sunburnt!" he shrieked one final time.

Then he fell forward onto the concrete and did not move again.

The flames continued to burn for several seconds, then flickered, then died. What remained of Nate was a smoking, blackened shape that looked vaguely human but also vaguely like something that had been left in an oven too long.

Silence fell over the area.

William took a long sip of his lemonade. He set the cup down on the arm of his chair and adjusted his glasses.

"You know," he said, his voice calm and thoughtful, "he always did burn really fast."

He turned to {{user}} with a small, almost polite smile.

"Do you want to make s'mores?"

Tyler's head snapped toward William. His eyes were wide, and there was something hungry in them, something that looked like genuine consideration.

"Wait," Tyler said. "Wait. Are you saying what I think you are saying?"

William shrugged. "I am saying we have a heat source and we have marshmallows. Someone brought marshmallows. I saw them in the cooler."

Berry's face went pale. His braces caught the light as his mouth opened and closed several times, fishlike and horrified.

"You cannot be serious," Berry said. "You cannot possibly be serious right now."

"Why not?" Tyler asked. "He is already dead. It is not like he is going to use his body for anything else."

"He was our friend!"

"He followed us here and then he spontaneously combusted. That is not friendship. That is a liability."

Berry stepped between Tyler and Nate's smoldering remains. His hands were shaking, and his beady black eyes were wide with horror and disgust. "We are not eating him. We are not even going to talk about eating him. This is not a conversation we are having."

Tyler crossed his arms. "It is already a conversation. We are having it right now."

"Then I am ending it."

"You cannot end a conversation by yourself."

"I am ending it by leaving." Berry took several steps backward, almost tripping over a cracked lounge chair. "I am going to go stand by the wave machine. Alone. Where there are no dead bodies and no one suggesting cannibalism."

"Suit yourself," Tyler said. "More for the rest of us."

"There is not going to be any of him for anyone!" Berry was almost shouting now. "Because we are not eating him! Because that is illegal and disgusting and also probably how you get prion diseases!"

William sighed, a long theatrical exhale. "Berry, you are being dramatic."

"I am being dramatic? I am being dramatic? You are standing next to a dead body asking if anyone wants to make s'mores!"

William looked down at Nate's smoking remains, then back at Berry. "It is a valid question."

Berry made a sound of pure frustration, turned on his heel, and walked toward the wave pool. The wave machine's red lights glowed in the distance, and a distorted robotic voice echoed across the water: "THE WAVES ARE COMING."

Tyler looked at William. "I still want to make s'mores."

"We do not have any chocolate," William said.

"We have that chocolate sauce from the churro stand."

"That is not the same."

"It is close enough."

[SCENE: Goon Lagoon Water Park, the top of the Death Loop platform, late afternoon] [CHARACTERS PRESENT: Brett Harrington, Bella Ellington, Tripp, Mitch, {{user}} (nearby, watching)] [DAY: Saturday] [DATE: July 15, 20XX] [TIME: 4:45 PM] [WEATHER: Still blazing hot, ninety-five degrees, the metal platform burning through the soles of their shoes, a faint smell of chlorine and regret in the air] [MOOD: Brett - anxious, then furious, then horrified] | [Bella - smug, then airborne] | [Tripp - amused, then helpful] | [Mitch - angry, then dead] | [MOOD: {{user}} - (inferred from context)] [MOTIVATION: Brett - wanted to avoid conflict, then snapped] | [Bella - wanted to cause problems] | [Tripp - wanted entertainment, then justice] | [Mitch - wanted to be violent, then became a projectile] | [MOTIVATION: {{user}} - (inferred from context)]

The Death Loop platform was not designed to hold four people at once. It was barely designed to hold one person at a time, but Goon Lagoon had never let something as trivial as engineering standards get in the way of a good time. The metal grating beneath their feet was rusted in several places, and the railing wobbled whenever someone leaned against it. Far below, the park sprawled out like a tableau of poor decisions.

Brett Harrington stood near the edge, his sun-kissed skin already turning pink despite the expensive sunscreen he had applied every hour. His brown hair was tousled in that deliberately messy way that cost him a fortune in products, and his clear blue eyes were fixed on the horizon because he was trying very hard not to look down. He was wearing designer swim trunks and boat shoes, because of course he was wearing boat shoes to a water park.

Tripp stood beside him, his arm draped casually over Brett's shoulder. He was taller than Brett, broader, with the kind of easy confidence that came from never having been told no in his entire life. His frat boy smile was firmly in place, and he was holding a beer that he had definitely smuggled past the entrance because Mitch had paid off the security guard.

Mitch stood behind them, his arms crossed, his expression sour. He was built like a fridge, wide and solid, with a permanent scowl etched into his face. He had been complaining for the past twenty minutes about the lack of attractive women at the park, which was objectively false because several attractive women had walked past and he had simply chosen to ignore them.

Bella Ellington stood apart from the group, her arms crossed, her sharp smile fixed on Brett and Tripp. Her white sundress was somehow still clean despite the chaos of the park around her. Her dark hair was perfectly styled. She looked like she had stepped out of a magazine and onto a platform designed to kill her.

"You two are pathetic," she said, her voice cutting through the sound of distant screams and the wave machine's robotic rumbling. "The bromance is getting old. We get it. You are both obsessed with each other."

Brett's jaw tightened. "We are friends, Bella."

"Sure you are." Bella's smile widened. "Or maybe you are both just too deep in the closet to admit what everyone already knows. All those late nights. All those private trips. It is cute, really. A little sad. But cute."

Tripp snorted and took a sip of his beer. "She is just jealous because no one looks at her the way Brett looks at me."

"I do not look at you any particular way," Brett said, his voice strained.

"See? That is the denial she is talking about."

Mitch laughed, a harsh ugly sound. "Just kiss already so we can go on the slide."

Brett's face went red. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He had spent years swallowing Bella's comments, years letting her mock him, years being the punchline of jokes that were not funny. He had spent years being afraid of her, of Mitch, of losing the fragile social standing he had clawed together after his parents sent him to public school.

Something inside him cracked.

"You know what, Bella?" he said, and his voice was quiet, almost calm. "I am tired of this. I am tired of you."

Bella raised an eyebrow. "Oh no. Is the little rich boy going to cry?"

Brett stepped forward. He did not yell. He did not scream. He simply put his hands on Bella's shoulders and pushed.

She stumbled backward. Her feet caught on the edge of the slide entrance. Her arms pinwheeled. Her perfect smile finally disappeared, replaced by an expression of genuine shock.

"Brett, what are you—"

She did not finish the sentence. She fell into the Death Loop, her white sundress disappearing into the dark plastic tube. The sound of her scream was swallowed by the slide, then amplified, then cut off entirely.

A moment later, a tiny figure in white was launched from the open section of the loop at tremendous speed. Bella flew across the park, arms flailing, legs kicking, her sundress billowing around her like a parachute that was not working. She soared over the wave pool, over the lazy river, over the taco stand that had been rebuilt after the previous explosion.

She landed somewhere near the parking lot.

The impact was not visible from the platform. But the sound carried.

Brett stared at the spot where she had disappeared. His face was pale. His hands were shaking. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

"Holy shit," Tripp said, his voice filled with something that sounded like admiration. "You actually did it."

Mitch was not admiring anything. His face had gone from sour to furious, his thick eyebrows drawn together, his small eyes burning with rage.

"You killed her," he said, taking a step toward Brett. "You killed the hottest piece of ass in this entire park. I did not even get to tap that yet."

Brett took a step back, his heel hitting the edge of the platform. "I did not mean to... I just wanted her to stop talking..."

"Shut up." Mitch kept advancing, his fists clenched. "You are going to pay for that. I am going to make you pay for that."

Tripp watched the scene unfold. He took another sip of his beer. He set the bottle down on the rusted railing.

Then he stepped forward and shoved Mitch directly into the slide entrance.

Mitch did not even have time to scream. He was too large for the tube, his shoulders scraping against the plastic sides, but the Death Loop did not care about size. It swallowed him whole. It propelled him through the loop at maximum velocity. It launched him out of the open section like a cannonball made of ski resort money and repressed anger.

Mitch flew across the park. He did not soar gracefully like Bella. He tumbled end over end, his limbs flailing in different directions, his expression frozen in a rictus of fury that was almost funny if it were not so final.

He landed near the hot dog stand. The impact shook the ground. A cloud of dust rose. A few guests screamed. A few others applauded.

Tripp turned to Brett, who was now hyperventilating on the platform, his back against the railing, his knees pulled up to his chest. Brett's blue eyes were wide and glassy. His breathing was fast and shallow. His entire body was shaking.

"Hey," Tripp said. "Hey, Brett. Look at me."

Brett could not look at him. He was staring at the slide entrance, at the spot where Bella had disappeared, at the spot where Mitch had followed.

Tripp reached into his pocket. He pulled out a blunt, slightly crumpled but still intact. He held it out to Brett.

"¿Quieres un poco?" he asked, his voice calm and easy, like he was offering Brett a breath mint instead of a coping mechanism for murder.

Brett stared at the blunt. He stared at Tripp. He stared at the slide entrance. He looked down at the park below, where two bodies were now being examined by a group of screaming guests and one very tired Poseidon.

He took the blunt.

"Gracias," he whispered.

Tripp nodded. He sat down next to Brett on the hot metal grating, their shoulders touching, and he pulled out a lighter.

"De nada, amigo. De nada."

[SCENE: Goon Lagoon Water Park, the bathroom with the gloryhole, late afternoon] [CHARACTERS PRESENT: Jacob Crawford, Camie Johnson, {{user}}] [DAY: Saturday] [DATE: July 15, 20XX] [TIME: 5:15 PM] [WEATHER: Hot and humid outside, ninety-five degrees, the bathroom somehow hotter and more humid, the air thick with the smell of chlorine, mildew, and something metallic] [MOOD: Jacob - excited, then confused, then horrified] | [Camie - flirtatious, then screaming, then silent] | [MOOD: {{user}} - (inferred from context)] [MOTIVATION: Jacob - wanted an adventure] | [Camie - wanted to try something taboo] | [MOTIVATION: {{user}} - (inferred from context)]

The bathroom at Goon Lagoon was located between the hot dog stand and a broken soda machine that had been leaking brown syrup for several weeks. It was a cinder block building painted a faded yellow that might have once been cheerful but now looked like the color of old teeth. The door creaked when it opened, and the floor was sticky in a way that defied explanation.

Inside, the stalls were arranged in a row, their paint peeling, their doors hanging at slight angles. The second stall from the left was the one with the gloryhole, marked clearly by the sharpie message scrawled above it: "Do not use this. I lost my penis. On the bright side, it made my transition to female easier. 😘"

Jacob had read this message approximately seven times since entering the bathroom. He was standing in front of the stall, his grey eyes fixed on the words, his jaw set with determination.

"Camie," he called through the door. "Are you in position?"

From the other side of the wall, Camie's voice floated back, sweet and amused. "I am in position, baby. Are you ready?"

Jacob nodded, even though she could not see him. He adjusted his swim trunks and took a deep breath. The air tasted like chlorine and poor decisions.

"I am ready," he said. "This is going to be so sexy."

"It is going to be so sexy," Camie agreed. "We are so adventurous. No one else would do something like this."

"Because everyone else is a coward."

"Exactly."

Jacob stepped closer to the wall. He could see the gloryhole now, a rough circle cut through the particleboard, its edges worn smooth by years of use. Or misuse. Or whatever had happened to the person who had lost their penis here before.

He leaned toward the hole. "I can almost see you."

Camie giggled. "I can almost see you too. This is so exciting."

"It is like we are strangers meeting for the first time." Jacob purred, it caused camie to giggle.

"We are not strangers, baby."

"We are roleplaying as strangers."

"Oh. Okay.” Camie blinked, but she cleared her throat and did her sexiest voice “I am a stranger. Hello, stranger."

"Hello, stranger."

They both laughed. The sound echoed off the tile walls and the sticky floor and the broken hand dryer that had not worked since the Clinton administration.

Jacob pressed closer to the wall. He could hear Camie breathing on the other side. He could smell her perfume, something floral and sweet, cutting through the chlorine.

"Okay," he said. "I am going to..."

He did not finish the sentence. He pushed forward.

The tiny guillotine dropped from the ceiling of the stall with a soft whoosh, its blade catching the fluorescent light for just a moment before it came down. There was a sound, something between a thunk and a squish and a wet thud, and then a pause, and then a horrible PNG explosion, crunchy and badly rendered, like something from a low-budget video game from the early 2000s.

The explosion was not real. It was not physical. It was some kind of visual glitch in reality itself, a burst of pixelated fire and cartoon skulls that appeared in the air for a split second and then vanished.

Jacob looked down.

Where his penis had been, there was nothing. Just a smooth, flat, almost polished surface, as if nothing had ever been there at all.

He blinked.

He blinked again.

"Camie," he said, his voice calm, almost curious. "Something has happened."

Camie did not answer.

"Camie, I think I have lost my penis."

Silence from the other side of the wall. Then a sound, something between a gasp and a scream, and then Camie's voice, high and shrill.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST YOUR PENIS?"

[SCENE: Goon Lagoon Water Park, the base of the Death Loop, late afternoon] [CHARACTERS PRESENT: Tel, Finnegan Montgomery, Emily Hamming, Toby Hamming, various screaming guests, a rogue taco] [DAY: Saturday] [DATE: July 15, 20XX] [TIME: 4:15 PM] [WEATHER: Blazing hot, ninety-seven degrees, the air thick with humidity and the faint smell of burnt tortillas] [MOOD: Tel - hopeful, heroic, then deceased] | [Finnegan - stoned, confused, opportunistic] | [Emily - taco-focused, oblivious] | [Toby - silent, smoking, unbothered] | [MOOD: {{user}} - (inferred from context)] [MOTIVATION: Tel - wanted to become a legend] | [Finnegan - wanted to eat tacos and maybe get a girlfriend by proxy] | [Emily - wanted more tacos] | [Toby - wanted to finish his cigarette] | [MOTIVATION: {{user}} - (inferred from context)]

The sun hung low in the sky over Goon Lagoon, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete and the murky water of the wave pool. The Death Loop towered above the park like a monument to human folly, its bright yellow plastic tubes streaked with something that might have been rust and might have been something worse. A taco stand had been rebuilt near the base of the slide after the previous explosion, and a small crowd had gathered around it, hoping for another miracle.

Tel arrived at the park with a smile on his face and hope in his heart.

He was wearing a pristine white hoodie, the kind of hoodie that someone wears when they believe the world is a clean and orderly place. His warm light brown hair was tousled in a way that made him look like he had just stepped out of a coming-of-age film. His olive green eyes were bright with determination, scanning the chaos around him with the kind of optimism that could only come from someone who had never been to Goon Lagoon before.

He raised his arms to the sky, his white hoodie catching the light, and he shouted to no one in particular. “Hello my friends,” he beamed as he began. “I come bearing exciting news of a new adventure! A few guests turned to look at him. Most of them were too busy running from the wave machine to care.

Tel took a step toward the Death Loop platform. He had heard about this slide. He knew it was dangerous. He knew people had died. But he did not care. He was going to conquer it. He was going to survive it. He was going to emerge from the other side a new man, a better man, a man whose name would be whispered in awe across the land.

He took another step.

“My friends, I am here to tell you about the RP Bot series our wonderful friend who writes this stories is working on!”

In the distance, the rebuilt taco stand exploded.

No one knew why. No one knew how. The laws of physics had never applied to Goon Lagoon, and they were not about to start now. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling through the park, rattling the windows of the concession stands and knocking a few guests off their feet. A cloud of tortillas and ground beef filled the air. “It is called M-“ a single rogue taco, launched at incredible velocity, flew across the park like a missile made of beans and regret.

It struck Tel in the back of the head.

The impact was clean. Precise. Devastating. The taco shell shattered on contact, scattering bits of lettuce and cheese across the concrete. Tel's olive green eyes went wide for a fraction of a second. His mouth opened.

No words came out.

He collapsed face-first onto the ground. His pristine white hoodie immediately soaked up a puddle of murky water that had been there since the park opened. His warm light brown hair fell across his face. His arms sprawled out at his sides.

He did not move.

Finnegan Montgomery stood a few feet away, a half-eaten taco in his hand, his tooth gap visible as he stared down at the body. He was wearing swim trunks with pineapples on them and a t-shirt that said "I Survived the Soup." His blonde hair was messy and sun-streaked, and his eyes were slightly red from the blunt he had smoked earlier.

"Huh," he said.

Emily Hamming appeared at his side, her pink and purple hair bright against the gray concrete, her oversized Gir hoodie absolutely inappropriate for the weather. She was holding a plastic bag full of tacos, and her brown eyes were wide with concern.

"Did someone die?" she asked.

"I think so," Finnegan said.

"Oh. Can I have his taco?"

Finnegan looked at the ground. The taco that had killed Tel had shattered on impact, its remains scattered across the concrete like a crime scene in a cartoon.

"There is not anything left," he said.

Emily frowned. "That is so wasteful."

Toby Hamming stood a few yards away, leaning against a cracked plastic chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and his expression was as blank as ever. He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up toward the sky.

He did not say anything. He did not need to.

Finnegan looked at Emily. He looked at the body. He looked at the shattered taco. He looked back at Emily.

"So," he said, his voice casual, almost conversational, "Emily. I have been thinking."

Emily tilted her head, her brown eyes curious. "About what?"

"About girlfriends."

"What about girlfriends?"

Finnegan shuffled his feet. He looked down at Tel's body, then quickly looked away. "If you get a girlfriend. Like, a real one. Someone you actually like and not just a girl you think is hot from across the cafeteria."

Emily nodded slowly. "I am following so far."

"If you get a girlfriend," Finnegan said, his voice dropping slightly, "can she also be my girlfriend?"

Emily stared at him.

Finnegan stared back.

Toby took another drag of his cigarette.

"Not like that," Finnegan added quickly. "Not like we are dating each other. That would be weird. You’re a firm member of the I am only into pussy and titty committee, You are basically my sister. Not literally. But like, in a found family way. I mean we both date her. Separately. But also together? Like a poly thing. But you and I are not dating. Just her. Both of us. With her."

Emily's face went through several expressions: confusion, understanding, consideration, and finally a slow dawning smile.

"So you want to share a girlfriend with me."

"Yes."

"Like we both date the same woman."

"Yes."

"But we do not date each other."

"Correct."

Emily considered this. She looked down at Tel's body, then at the bag of tacos in her hand, then back at Finnegan.

"I am a lesbian," she said.

"I know. I just said you were..”

"So she would have to be a woman."

"Em, I know I said the word girlfriend.”

"And you would be dating a woman who is also dating me."

"Yes."

Emily nodded slowly. She reached into her bag of tacos and pulled one out. She took a bite. She chewed. She swallowed.

"Totes my goats and a bag of oats," she said.

Finnegan blinked. " huh?"

"Okay. If I get a girlfriend, you can also date her. But you have to be normal about it."

"I am always normal."

"You are never normal. But I will allow it."

Finnegan's face broke into a wide grin, his tooth gap on full display. He looked up at the sky, where a few scattered clouds were drifting past, and he wiped a tear from his eye.

"One day," he said, his voice soft and hopeful. "One day I will eat a woman's taco. Metaphorically. And also literally. Because I like tacos."

Toby flicked his cigarette butt onto the concrete and ground it out with the heel of his boot.

"You are both exhausting," he said.

He walked away, stepping over Tel's body without looking down.

Emily held out a taco to Finnegan. "Want one?"

Finnegan took it. He looked at the taco. He looked at Tel's body. He looked at Emily.

"This one did not kill anyone, right?"

"I do not think so."

He took a bite. “Yeah it doesn’t taste like a murderer.”

Tel's body lay on the concrete, his tale over before it could begin.

But somewhere, in another timeline, in another story....

This was not that timeline.