The worst thing that had happened to Shaun that week wasn't losing his job.

It wasn't being evicted, selling nearly everything he owned, or ending up beneath a bridge during the worst heatwave of the summer.

The worst thing was the goblin standing over him with a short sword.

“Am I going insane?” Shaun asked.

The goblin’s pointed ears twitched. Its skin was somewhere between brown and green. It was about the size of a ten-year-old, assuming the ten-year-old had spent years lifting weights, biting people and avoiding toothbrushes.

It tightened its grip on the sword.

Shaun remembered the pill he had found on the ground.

“I wonder what that pill was?”

“Stop talking to yourself,” the goblin snapped. “And start explaining.”

Shaun remained on the ground where he had fallen when the creature appeared. If he had been standing, he liked to think he would have bitch slapped it from beneath the bridge to somewhere less irritating.

The sword made that difficult to believe.

Two days earlier, Shaun had possessed an air-conditioned room, a computer and access to one of the best virtual reality games ever made.

Now he had a bag of clothes, two blankets and a hallucination threatening to stab him.

Admittedly, some of that was his own fault.

Shaun had never considered himself a particularly good worker. He was slow when nobody watched him, resentful when somebody did, and possessed what his manager had called a “poor attitude toward teamwork.”

Shaun considered that unfair. He had a poor attitude toward people in general, and people tended to return the favour, so at least the arrangement was fair.

A week earlier, Shaun had caught one of his workmates stealing food from the staff refrigerator.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” the man had begged.

Shaun hadn't told anyone. Not out of loyalty. He simply hadn't cared enough.

Unfortunately, witnessing the theft had planted an idea in his head.

Why pay for lunch when apparently you could take it?

His first attempt lasted less than thirty seconds. The same workmate caught him with a wrapped sandwich halfway into his pocket.

“Mate, don’t tell anyone.”

Maybe it was because Shaun had forgotten to say please. Perhaps that was where he went wrong. Later that afternoon, the other thief was called into the manager’s office and escorted from the warehouse.

Twenty minutes after that, Shaun was summoned.

The manager sat behind his desk with the weary expression of a man who had expected disappointment and was still somehow disappointed, “We have been advised that you stole food from the staff refrigerator.”

Shaun said nothing.

“We checked the cameras.”

That seemed excessive.

“The theft was recorded. Effective immediately, your employment is terminated.”

The most annoying part was that Shaun hadn't reported the other thief. Somebody else had done it. The ass wipe thief nark had betrayed Shaun for absolutely no reason.

Shaun went home, locked his door and loaded Defenders of Krondor.

He intended to deal with unemployment later. Later arrived when his landlady knocked and asked about the following week’s rent.

It turned out that spending every cent he earned left him poorly prepared for situations where he stopped earning cents.

Shaun delayed, avoided and ignored the problem with great determination. The problem did not go away.

A large man with even larger hands eventually removed him from the room. Shaun was allowed to gather his belongings, though not at the speed he would have preferred. He dragged his computer, virtual reality gear and anything else worth money to a second-hand shop.

He kept his clothes, a bag and two blankets.

Then the heatwave arrived.

Which was how Shaun found himself beneath a bridge, staring at a goblin that shouldn’t exist.

The creature leaned in closer.

Its breath was terrible.

“You,” it said. “It was you.”

Shaun frowned. Something about the goblin looked familiar. Not merely goblin-familiar. Specifically familiar. The narrow yellow eyes. The torn left ear. The leather armour stitched with scraps of red cloth. The short sword glowing faintly along one edge.

“No,” Shaun said.

The goblin’s mouth spread into an angry grin.

“Yes.”

“You’re Karkit.”

“And you’re the bastard who ruined my life.”

Shaun stared at him.

Karkit had been one of his characters in Defenders of Krondor. A goblin mage with poor magical ability, excellent sneaking skills and a strong interest in acquiring objects that belonged to other party members.

Shaun had created him six months earlier.

During their final game together, Karkit had stolen a magical short sword from the group’s halfling fighter. The other players hadn't found it funny.

To be fair, they had already been discussing throwing Shaun out of the group. Stealing the sword had simply allowed him to leave with something valuable.

Shaun pushed himself onto one elbow.

“It has to be the pill.”

Karkit slapped him across the face.

Pain flashed through Shaun’s cheek, “That felt real.”

“It was real.”

“You can’t be real.”

Karkit pointed the sword at his throat, “You made me steal this.”

“It was a game.”

“You made me rob a halfling who knew where I slept.”

“They were going to throw me out of the group anyway.”

“They threw me into exile.”

Shaun sat up properly. He could feel the heat trapped beneath the bridge, the sweat on his neck and the sting across his cheek.

Karkit looked real.

Smelled real.

Unfortunately, he was also beginning to sound real.

“Say you’re sorry,” Karkit demanded.

“Why?”

Karkit blinked, “Because you destroyed my life.”

“You weren’t alive.”

“I’m holding a sword against your throat.”

“That does complicate the argument.”

Karkit pushed the tip closer.

Shaun raised his hands.

“Fine. Sorry your imaginary life turned out badly.”

Karkit’s eyes narrowed, “That wasn't a proper apology.”

“It’s the best one you’re getting.”

Karkit lowered the sword, though not by much.

“You always were unpleasant.”

“You were a thief.”

“You designed me that way.”

Before Shaun could answer, a deep voice spoke behind him.

“My name is Cleaver.”

Shaun closed his eyes. He did not want to turn around.

The voice continued, “And this is my battle-axe, Clevage.”

Shaun turned.

The half-orc filled most of the space beneath the bridge.

He was bodybuilder huge, with green-grey skin, a heavy brow and an ugly face that inspired fear. An enormous axe rested across one shoulder.

Cleaver smiled.

The smile didn’t help.

Karkit and Shaun spoke at the same time, “Fuck.”

Cleaver’s smile faded.

“What is wrong?”

Shaun remembered swallowing three pills.

There had been no water, and was bored.

At the time, taking unidentified pills from the ground had seemed like a minor risk compared with spending the afternoon sober and homeless.

Now two of his former game characters were standing beneath the bridge. He still had no idea what the third pill had done.

“I need a hospital,” Shaun said.

He stood, brushed dirt from his clothes and walked toward the sunlight.

Karkit followed.

Cleaver followed Karkit.

“What are we doing here?” Cleaver asked. “Are there gnolls?”

“No.”

“Bandits?”

“No.”

“Necromancers?”

“I hope not.”

Cleaver considered this, “What do we kill?”

“Nothing.”

Karkit snorted. “He never had a plan when he controlled us either.”

Cleaver countered, “I had plans.”

“You walked us into a troll cave at level three.”

“I didn’t know the troll was home.”

“It was a troll cave.”

Shaun reached the edge of the road and turned on them, “You are not real.”

Neither disappeared.

“Go away.”

They remained where they were.

“I’m sending you back.”

Karkit folded his arms, “Do it.”

Shaun had no idea how.

A car passed over the bridge beside them.

Cleaver looked up sharply.

“What was that?”

“A car.”

“What does it do?”

“People sit inside it and it carries them places.”

Cleaver watched another car pass, “Like a metal horse?”

“Not really.”

“Does it eat?”

“No.”

“Then it is better than a horse.”

Shaun started toward the hospital.

It was roughly forty minutes away on foot. The sun struck him the moment he left the bridge’s shadow. Within seconds, sweat ran down his back.

He had no water.

He had no money.

He had a goblin and a half-orc walking beside him.

Another car approached. The elderly driver slowed as he passed, staring through the window with his mouth open.

Shaun stared straight ahead.

The old man might have been looking at something else.

Perhaps there was a bird.

A very interesting bird positioned at exactly the same height as Cleaver’s head.

Cleaver waved.

The driver accelerated.

Karkit looked at Shaun, “He saw us.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He stared directly at Cleaver.”

“People do that.”

“Why?”

“Because Cleaver is ugly.”

Cleaver nodded thoughtfully, “That makes sense.”

Karkit shook his head, “You know we’re real.”

“I know I need medical attention.”

“And then?”

“Someone gives me medication, you vanish, and my life goes back to being normally terrible.”

A car approached from behind them.

Cleaver watched it carefully, “Could we subdue one?”

Shaun stopped walking, “What?”

“The metal horse. We could capture it.”

“You don’t capture cars.”

“It carries people to places?”

“Yes.”

“And you need to go to a place?”

Shaun looked down the road toward the hospital.

Forty minutes in the heat.

No water.

No shade.

Then he looked at the approaching car.

An idea formed.

It wasn't a good idea, “Cleaver, stand on the road.”

Karkit frowned, “You said we were killing nothing.”

“We’re not killing anyone.”

“What are we doing?”

“Testing something.”

Cleaver stepped onto the road. The approaching driver slammed on the brakes. Tyres screamed against the road, and the car stopped metres from the half-orc.

The young man behind the wheel leaned on the horn.

Cleaver looked back at Shaun, “Now what?

“Hit the front.”

“With Clevage?”

“Yes.”

Cleaver grinned.

He raised the axe and brought it down on the bonnet. Metal crumpled beneath the blade. The entire car bounced on its suspension.

The driver screamed.

Karkit looked from the damaged car to Shaun, “Do you want me to remove him?”

Shaun hesitated.

This was still a hallucination.

It had to be, “Open the door and drag him out.”

Karkit’s expression hardened, “You don’t control me anymore.”

“Fine. Would you voluntarily drag him out?”

Karkit looked at the car, “Can I keep anything I find inside?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

“You can look in the glovebox.”

Karkit grinned and ran forward.

He yanked open the driver’s door, seized the young man by the shirt and pulled him onto the road.

The man stared at Karkit, then at Cleaver and finally at Shaun.

Shaun saw genuine terror in his face. For the first time, he considered that the driver could have been killed.

The thought arrived too late to be useful.

“Run,” Shaun said.

Karkit released him. The man scrambled upright and sprinted down the road.

Nobody imaginary should have been able to terrify somebody real. Nobody imaginary should have been able to damage a car.

Shaun looked at the crushed bonnet.

Then at Cleaver.

Then at Karkit, who was already searching the glovebox.

“This is one hell of a hallucination,” Shaun muttered.

“I found three coins and a packet of tissues,” Karkit announced.

“Put them back.”

Karkit stuffed the coins into his pocket, “No.”

Shaun watched the driver disappearing into the distance. The hospital was still forty minutes away.

The stolen car was directly in front of him.

The engine was still running.

“Fuck it,” Shaun said. “Get in.”

What should Shaun do next?

A. Get help: Drive to the hospital and risk taking Karkit and Cleaver inside.

B. Hide first: Find somewhere private before the police begin searching for the stolen car.

C. Find the source: Return to where he discovered the pills and search for whoever dropped them.