Another hidden hole. A dead end in the labyrinth of an empty lair. Scarab Moles by the look of it. Glad they were gone.

Enoch’s hand shook a little as he retrieved the bottle from his pack. The music picked up the tension. The electro switched to deeper notes. Ominous guitars started slow crescendos in the background.

“Something is bothering you Enoch?” said Choo.

“I’m leaving for a trip. Not the pleasant kind.”

“How? I don’t see any mode of transportation. Some hidden magic?”

“Oh, I’ll stay here,” said Enoch. He shook the potion. Uncorked it with his thumb. “My mind is going away.”

“Will I follow you master?”

“It wasn’t in the patch notes. I doubt it. Hope not for your sake.”

The core didn’t react. The AI always went blank when player talked about the real world or the game engine.

Enoch continued, “anyway, will you guard my body?”

“With my own, and my shield.”

“Good.” Enoch drank the Major Potion of Scrying. Hint of honey on his tongue, dominated by an omnipotent sourness.

***

The stone ceiling stood there, doing nothing. Calm music. Stale air. Boring potion. Not what he remembered.

Whiffs started flowing over his body, prickling individual air. Enoch expected much worse.

Choo’s purple color bent. Strange. The ceiling dropped. A bit worse. It flew back, way, way past its original location, draining up toward a focal point of perspective. The rest of the world followed, stretched toward the singularity.

Rainbow pixels popped in and out of reality. His own hand blurred, trailing each dimension. Then his fingers stretched. Long, long fingers, undulating upward, twisting in swirls. Enoch’s mind followed.

A part of him disappeared. Another heard a psychic question, “Scry, scry, what is it that you seek?”

And that, right there, was the whole problem with that potion. What did, in fact, sought? Who was he? Too weak. Too far gone. Shredded. Synapses fried.

His point of awareness searched. A river there, bright white with rainbow foam. It pooled into a dark lake then turned into a multilayered canvas. What was he even seeing?

Lost.

***

“Choo Choo!” a tiny voice pierced the matrix. “Choo Choo,” a real train this time, loud enough to impact Enoch’s soul. No, not so real. The shape of a train, outlined in purple light, pixel smoke coming out of its chimney, flowing backward in a long, long line.

The train circled Enoch, its horn booming. The sound, galactic, morphed to two words, repeated to the humming of the train’s wheels.

“Drones Hive.”

“Drones Hive.”

“Drones Hive.”

“Drones Hive.”

“Choo Choo.”

Words appeared, distorted at the edge of his awareness.

“What I am watching?”

“The devs have jumped the shark on this one.”

“The commentator was right this time, he didn’t have the skill for this potion.”

“What a way to die.”

“About time.” Tag | Little Bro

“Oh my.” Tag | Mom

“Choo Choo.”

“Follow up the safety guidelines guys, especially about in game drugs.” Tips | 150$

Enoch's awareness left the meaningless words. Found the sounds stuck in a loop.

“Drones Hive.”

“Drones Hive.”

“Drones Hive.”

Enoch, suddenly, said “Drones Hive.” He didn’t know why.

The same psychic voice, heard an aeon ago, or 10 seconds, hard to know, the voice, it said, “Scry, scry to the Drone Hive.”

The whole universe spun into a cyclone rushed at hyper speed, stopped abruptly. Enoch’s awareness saw the Drones Hive, magnificent in its glory. Its sea of drones, rotating around a multitude of cores. Bringing raw materials, leaving with upgrades. Drones of varied types, varied uses. Hovering over the ground for most, lifting immense weight on strong, metallic legs for others. Bright. It shone of golden light, reflected on the detailed armors, amplified by individual Sparks animating their own drone. Sentience merged with AI. Past human comprehension.

Then it all rewound, in detail, etched into Enoch’s memory. Each turn, each slope, each stair. Through the traps, without damage, through the monsters, without impact. Back, back to his body. Back to his face. Back to his eyes. Back to his brain.

Enoch turned to his left side. Barfed beige pixels dotted by bits of rehydrated, partially digested mushroom. The spice coating long gone.

He ignored the mess. Rolled to his scroll case. Map out, he traced the path, marked the traps, added notes for the monsters. A direct path to the Hive.

Choo floated in a corner of the room, bumping on the same spot again and again, mumbling to himself.