Page 9 of Zen's Crash

The questions begin coming hard and fast, each with a cash offer beside it. People offer me money for answering their questions—not a lot, but enough to make it a worthwhile way to earn some extra cash. I’ve been making money in a variety of ways since my college days, and I try never to leave money on the table.

What’s with the second quest?

I thought I knew right from wrong but now I’m not so sure.

I can’t get past the AI guardian on level twelve. Bruh, this is a mind fuck.

How do I unlock the alternate reality feature?

Do I need to study fucking quantum physics to play this game?

Did you design the game or design an AI who in turn designed the game?

Why the fuck is this game such a mind-bender?

I chuckle to myself at how desperate my online friends and acquaintances are to find the answers to their queries. They’re all so close yet so far away, and the program wouldn’t allow them to proceed without learning the grisly lesson they’re meant to learn every step of the way.

I start answering their questions as I perform the normal operations of my day. I check my personal emails, take a peek at my social media, check my crypto accounts, and skim the news.

Before long, I’m getting pulled into several games at once. Players want me to help raid castles, solve riddles, and fight the AI bosses. I do the best I can. With each job I complete, my cash app button jingles as another happy customer makes their payment. I get the easy jobs out of the way and double down on the more complex ones, like test-driving a new game, creating a bot to track clicks on a newly emerging product, and giving reviews on how authentic AI interactions are on a particular platform. By the time I’m finished with all the paid jobs and my energy drink, I don’t have much juice left in my tank.

That’s when I get a text message from my sister.

Lori: Cody, I need to talk to you right away.

It’s hard to tell much from a text message, but she sounds tense.

Me: I’m pretty wiped out. Can this wait until morning?

Lori: Okay.

Me: How about I stop by in the morning, and we can talk it over at breakfast?

Lori: No. It’s something personal. I don’t want mom and dad to hear.

Me: Alright. I’ve got to get up really early. Set your alarm for six in the morning and we’ll go for a drive somewhere.

Lori: That sounds perfect, bro. Thanks.

I close my phone and crash out on the bed, kicking off only my shoes. After tossing and turning, I can’t get comfortable, so I pull off my shirt and jeans. That helps tremendously.

Concerns and worries plague me as I tumble off to sleep. I hope whatever was going on with my little sister doesn’t turn out to be too serious. Unable to sleep, I worry that she’s being bullied, ended up unexpectedly pregnant, or has decided to take a gap year after getting into Stanford University.

That last one would be the worst. I could put a quick stop to any bullying and support a medical solution if that’s what she wanted to deal with an unwanted pregnancy, but mom and dad would absolutely lose their everlovin’ minds if she didn’t end up at that prestigious university she got into. Stanford wasn’t one of the twelve universities recognized as Ivy League, but it was referred to as the Ivy League of the West for a reason. It was certainly not an opportunity to be passed up.

I don’t want her to go through what I went through when I dropped out of Cal Tech. Our parents became incredibly focused on my future to the point of becoming overwhelming. Ifinally had to threaten to go low contact to get them to ease up and allow me to find my own path in life. I didn’t want that kind of stress for Lori. She’s only eighteen and has a bright future ahead of her.

***

I drive to my parents’ house at the crack of dawn the next morning and find Lori standing outside, waiting anxiously for me. I slow down and pull over right in front of her. Lori rushes forward, opens the passenger side door and jumps into my vehicle, the one I brought both because it was freezing outside and because we couldn’t have a nice talk with her on the back of my bike due to the loudness of the motor.

The second she’s safely inside, I ask, “Are you safe? Did someone threaten or hurt you? If they did, I’ll have a conversation with them.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

I pull away, and start driving. “Is someone bullying you? Are you pregnant or dropping out of college before you even get started?”

“Jesus, no! It’s nothing like that. To be honest it’s worse.”

---