Here we are. Day five. As usual, you'll want to start at day one if you haven't read any of this yet.

It took longer than I'd planned, but that's Real Life's fault. Not mine.

It's another long one. I wanted to keep it short, but I was having too much fun (again).

Hope you like it. And, for kicks, head over to Russell's for a cool little post about the story. He isolated a few quotes that make me sound like a lunatic. It's amazing how, merely by quoting me out of context, he was able to portray me as a madman...

I was coming to. I felt something nudging me. Nudge, nudge, nudge... I brushed it away. I was having a bad week, and I wanted to sleep in. I didn't need a nudgeaholic disturbing me.

Nudge, nudge, nudge...

Ignore, ignore, ignore...

Nudge, nudge, nudge...

Ignore, ignore, ignore...

KICK!

I was up. The boot to the tum was much more persuasive than the nudging.

I opened my eyes. It was morning, but it was bright. This high above the city, there was nothing to obstruct the sunlight. The reflection from the bleach white tower alone was going to give me a cancerous melanoma if I didn't find some shade. I held my arm over my brow to shield my eyes. I was then able to see that the nudger-turned-kicker was an old friend.

"Good morning, Massif, The God of Security! Come to lecture me about Your stupid unicorn thing?"

"It's not My unicorn. He has a name."

"Yeah. I know. I'm a little grumpy this morning because Your boss is going to kill me today. But, what about You? Why are You up so early? I've got Glop in this papoose if You want to sit down for breakfast."

"I had ambrosia for breakfast. sandwich sent me to retrieve you. I'm going to put you in a sack, throw you on the back of Serge, and then... well, I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"Did You really have to wake me? Couldn't You have just bagged me and gotten on with it? I was having a dream that normally would have been a nightmare, but in this place was quite the trip down Happy Street. I was disemboweled by Serge, The Guardian Angel Flying Unicorn."

"Oh, sandwich didn't ask Me to wake you. That was My idea."

"Why would You go against the word of sandwich...? OH! Are You the person who's going to rescue me?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind. It's a joke. I'm joking. Ha ha."

"Good. Glad that's over. Now hold still..."

"What are we doing?"

"You wanted to know: I woke you up so I could knock you out again, but you do have to stay still. This is going to hurt tremendously, but only if I do it right."

I decided that a single punch to the noggin would be superior to a full beating, so I held as still as I could.

"I'm ready!"

Massif wound up, gathered His right hand in a loose fist, and let fly.

He did it right.

    --------

For what felt like the bajillionth time that week, I slowly dug myself out of induced unconsciousness.

This time, I was sitting. I was leaning against something, but I didn't know what, as the papoosed Glop was between the supporting structure and me. I reached over to see if I could feel it out. I waved my arm around and caught hold of what felt like an iron bar. I was quite sure of what it was, as I'd become passingly familiar with the things thanks to recent events.

Iron bars and passing out. I was almost getting used to it all. It was a theme.

 My legs and feet were in front of me, knees bent, and were resting against what felt like another set of iron bars. If I was in a cage, it was an exceptionally small one. I was used to something a little larger. My last one even had a view.

The functioning of my other senses intensified until I was out of the black and present in the world once more.

sandwich had a way with drama. First I was hung in a cage over the city. sandwich could have stuffed me in a dark room and locked the door from the outside instead, but it wouldn't have been so grandiose. To sandwich, a prison should be secure and humiliating.

Now I was set on a circular platform just large enough for me to stand, or, as I was doing, sit uncomfortably.

I stood slowly, and saw that I was right about the iron bars. I was not, however, in a cage.

The bars came up to just below my waist. A railing sat atop the bars. My new container looked a bit like a trash bin. I wondered if that, too, was intentional.

But, as I was saying, sandwich was as much about form as function. Not that I had any idea what the function of my little platform was.

It was positioned directly over the center of the lake sandwich and I had worked on just a couple days earlier. I looked down and over the railing. The platform was supported by a pole that disappeared into the lake below. I was about two- or three-hundred feet up. It was another one of these forget-about-escaping scenarios. sandwich was good at those.

Surrounding my platform and the lake was a stadium. Judging from what I had learned about sandwich's administration, the stadium was probably built expressly for my execution, though I imagined it might be rented out later on for weddings and such. Thrift, my friends! Thrift!

The stadium was colossal. I estimate that it was about five-hundred feet high. From one end to the other, it looked to be as much as a mile in diameter; another reminder that creation was altogether out of my control. Had the stadium been my work, it would have been at least ten times bigger, and there would have been giraffes and tortoises everywhere.

I slowly rotated to take it all in. The stadium was packed. Every seat of every tier was filled.

I hadn't even noticed before, as it came to me as white noise in the background, but the place was alive with the din of sandwich's subjects. Hundreds of thousands of people all loudly anticipating my death. Another possibility for the excitement was that there might be an opening band. Didn't know. Hard to tell with these things.

The section of the stadium facing the mountain hosted a platform for what appeared to be sandwich and entourage. I couldn't make out any details, but given the structure, the organization of the crowd over that way, and the hundred foot tall back of what was unmistakably sandwich's throne, I assumed I was correct.

Something must have happened over at sandwich's platform; beginning on either side, the crowd hushed, and the hush fanned out, and this continued sequentially, silencing the crowd section by section until everyone was still.

I waited with the spectators for whatever was to happen next.

The sound of someone clearing his voice swept over the stadium. The acoustics were amazing.

"Um. Hello, everybody. Uh..."

I knew that voice.

"I'd like to thank you all for coming. I know it was compulsory, but your being here saves us having to dole out a bunch of extra punishment. So that's nice. Thanks."

Applause.

"If you don't know Me, I'm Rug, The God of PR. I've been serving in sandwich's pantheon since the very beginning of its creation, nearly one and a half days ago."

Thunderous applause.

"Thank you... Thank you. Boy. Sheesh. How time flies, huh? Amazing. Now, I don't want to stand up here and bore you with a big long speech, so I'll get right to it. Can you see the guy in the center of the lake? Can I get a show of hands? How many of you see the guy?"

Hundreds of thousands of hands went up.

"Ok. Good. That's really good. Thanks, everybody. The guy's name is Rory, and he was a God until he did some really bad things."

Boos. Hisses. A few shovels were thrown from the stands, though not very far, inconveniencing only the other attendees they fell on.

"Yeah. That's how we feel. Let Me tell you! Boy. We're here, then, because we arrested Rory yesterday, brought him in for an interrogation were he confessed to all sorts of stuff that I don't have time to go into right now, and then Onions, The God of Justice, found Rory guilty of crime, so we're gonna kill him."

Applause.

"It's pretty neat how we're going to do it. See, he's standing on that little platform there. What's so neat about that platform is that it has this thing that makes it so he'll fall out. Ok? You with me here?"

Hundreds of thousands of people nodding.

"So, he's gonna fall out, and that's pretty special, but it would be kind of boring if all he did was fall out, so what we did is we created this monster that's, like, this big aquatic stomach, but it's see-through, and when Rory falls in, the stomach monster is going to suck Rory up and, through the miracle of digestion, kill him to death while we watch. Hey, is that pretty good or what!"

Light applause.

"What, that's it? It's the best we could do on short notice. Just be happy for what you've got. I'm serious."

Reluctant applause.

"Oh, fine. Screw you people. I was going to draw this out a little to make some suspense for your entertainment, but you're not getting that now."

Hundreds of thousands of people saying, "We're sorry."

"That's not good enough. I'm The God of PR! I don't have to take this crap from you pissants."

I thought He should go back to the suspense idea. Draw it out, like He said. What was wrong with that plan? Let's make the people sweat for a few hours.

Rug stuck with the plan that involved killing me immediately.

"Hey, Onions! You gonna flip that switch or what?"

Well, that's that.

Time to accept my fate.

I closed my eyes and thanked whoever was God at the time for finally killing me instead of knocking me out and sticking me in another cage.

I waited for Onions to throw the switch. I wanted to wet my dress in front of everyone as a protest of the establishment. The direct connection between the act and the statement wasn't especially clear, but it was all I had. Unfortunately, I'm a shy-pee-er, and it's difficult for me to go while people are watching. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, but it was difficult with all the crowd noise and unjust pronouncements of my guilt distracting me.

I couldn't fail. This was the last thing I'd ever do, and it was the last chance I'd have to show sandwich that, though you can depose a God, destroy the guy's life, rob him of all he had, and then execute him before every sentient being in the universe, you can't stop him from pissing himself. I had to wet my dress.

I furrowed the brow, clamped my eyes shut, and yelled powerfully, filling the stadium with a sustained expression of my efforts.

The crowd shushed, and even Onions held off from sending me to the stomach monster.

Every peeper in the place was fixed on me. I took all the attention as a challenge to overcome my shy-peeing condition. I would protest all that was wrong and get a little self-improvement in.

Finally, after a minute of howling, I got a little drop out.

"ha HA!" I shouted, wearing the kind of smugness usually reserved for an idiot who thinks he's right.

"I RAISE A MIRROR UP TO YOUR CONSCIENCES, AND YOU SEE YOUR FAILURE STARING BACK!"

I was on a roll. I bent my knees, threw my head back, and continued to give it to them.

"I WIN! HA HAAAAA! I WET MY DRESS! YOU ARE BEATEN! YOU... ARE... BEA-"

A bang rang through the stadium, cutting a path under the noise, amplified by those great acoustics.

The crowd totally lost it, which was the reasonable thing to do. The cacophony of hundreds of thousands of confused spectators ricocheted around, though it wasn't enough to drown out the sound of a second bang.

While I couldn't see what was happening down at sandwich's platform, it was clear that something had hit the fan. sandwich's attendants were every bit as out of control as the crowd. The only semi-directed action I could make out was sandwich being swarmed by slaves and Gods, probably to shield sandwich from whatever danger existed at the originating end of those bangs.

I knew how bad things were when sandwich's throne, with its hundred foot tall back, was accidentally unbalanced by well meaning attendants, rocked off center, left to right to left to right, and then tipped over, falling in slow motion, hitting the ground, and breaking like a plate at a Greek wedding.

I smiled. I was saved. I had won. The new regime was coming down, and I had the best seat in the house to watch it happen.

Early on in my celebration, I overheard a brief exchange through the noise.

"THROW THAT DAMNED SWITCH, ONIONS!"

"OK!"

My platform began its slow descent. I made a mental note to withhold smugness in the future until I'm positive that I've defeated the forces of evil.

I tried to relax. It's amazingly hard it is to do when you know there's a transparent stomach somewhere below that would like very much to eat you.

I temporarily lifted my earlier ban on counting to ten in the face of danger, but stopped after reaching two when I realized I'd probably have hit the water before I was done counting. It only made me more aware of how few seconds I had left to live. Where in the past counting to ten had done nothing to solve my problems, it was now making my problems worse, meaning that it was more trouble than ever.

I reinstated my ban on counting to ten in times of stress and danger, and swore to observe that ban for the rest of my life.

Down... down... down... down...

Which wouldn't be an especially long time.

As chaos ensued, as attendees didn't know where to run but ran anyway, as a stomach monster smacked its lips or whatever it had, and as I tried to think of the best way to spend my last three seconds alive, something whipped around my chest. I looked down to see a long, thin, greasy looking pink thing tighten around my upper-body.

"What the...?"

I was yanked off of the platform and pulled away from the center of the stadium as though a very large man with an interest in throwing cannonballs at people had thrown a cannonball at my tummy, sending me flying with great momentum into the elsewhere. I was soaring backward, still facing sandwich's end of the stadium.

I tried to get a look around, but the force of acceleration encouraged me to remain still. I settled for hoping my eyes didn't pop out of my head, though the force of acceleration was making some distressing suggestions along those lines as well.

A second later, I stopped, as far as I could tell, atop the lip of the stadium. No deceleration. It felt as though I'd just run into a big, burly arm.

I turned around to see a big, burly arm, held out where it had stopped me. There was a body attached to it.

"... Massif?"

The pink thing wrapped around my body loosened and then recoiled, eventually disappearing into Massif's other hand. Or at least that's what it looked like.

"This morning, You knocked me out for fun. Now You're yanking me out of falling platforms, and You're doing it with a slimy little pink thing. Even though I ended that sentence with a period, I can assure You, Massif, that it's a question. Please treat it as such."

"You're curious, and right to be, but none of this was part of sandwich's agenda, so the rest of the team and I are going to go ahead and rescue you. As for the pink thing, it's a tongue, and it's sticky, and it belongs to this..."

Massif held His hand out. In His palm was a little reddish-orange tree frog. It chirped.

"Your tree frog just chirped at me."

"He's not My tree frog. He has a name, and you can learn it later. What you were asking about was his tongue. It's nine-thousand feet long, and he pops it out when I give his head a little squeeze. As The God of Security, I keep a collection of such tools."

"Oh. That's quite neat, actually."

"Glad you like it."

Massif grabbed me by the back of my dress, ran for the edge of the stadium lip we were standing on, and then, when I thought it would be smart to stop, jumped off, dragging me with Him. Having just been taken against my will into a five-hundred foot deep free-fall, I wasn't sure if I believed His story about rescuing me. This was even worse than counting to ten.

We burrowed down through the air like a naked mole rat on crack.

"Sorry. We're in a hurry. Rescue op and all."

"Yes. That's good. I like Your thinking; it makes perfect sense to me. We're in a hurry, so let's commit suicide. Let's ju-"

We were most of the way down, and I thought I'd gotten my point across, so I just stopped talking. Nothing mattered. It was the second time in several minutes that I was about to die. I was going to count to ten, but remembered the lifelong ban on that avenue of relief. A better course of action, now that someone was in earshot, was to fashion my last words. It would have been a waste of time back in the stadium, as the only thing that would hear them, provided it could hear, was the stomach monster. I had an audience this time, and I was going to take advantage of it.

"This dress is actually very comfortable," I told Massif, fulfilling my obligations in this world.

Massif looked at me, squinted, and shook His head. At the same time, He raised His arm, gave a little squeeze, and a tongue from a very small frog shot up to the lip of the stadium, instantly slowing our fall.

I made a mental note to withhold last words in the future until I'm positive that I'm dead.

We were coming down slowly, maybe twenty feet from the ground.

"What I said about the dress back there... I was just nervous. I didn't mean it. I was only trying to put a positive spin on our dying. Seriously. I don't like wearing women's clothing despite what my outfit might say to the contrary."

Massif didn't say anything. He was a professional and had no interest in why the guy He was rescuing was, intentionally or not, a transvestite.

We were only five feet from the ground. I was amazed at how useful that little frog was. We were going to touch down like a moon lander.

Then Massif dropped me. I watched, from where my face landed, His feet come down so softly you'd think the Earth was giving them a massage.

"You were getting heavy," he said.

I was aware of a crowd gathering around us. Then I was aware of the crowd moving in closer than appropriate gawking distance. Then I was aware of the crowd lifting me, scrubbing the blood, vomit, and makeup off my face with a wet, fumy sponge. Then I was aware of the crowd removing from my person all elements of female attire.

"Boy! I'm glad to finally be out of that stuff!" I said, looking as many people in the eyes as I could to show that I was being totally honest.

Then I was aware of the crowd dressing me in the coveralls of the migrant workers/slaves.

"You'll need this," said Massif, handing me a shovel.

Incognito. I would move through the shadows of the night as I bravely ran away from a sandwich.

"There," said Massif, "nobody's going to recognize you dressed as a clean male. The slave outfit should help you blend in, too."

Something was missing. The lionhearted fugitive felt very light.

"Where's my papoose? Where's Glop?"

I was frantic. Glop had been such a good friend. We had shared all kinds of... my back. Not much else. But I don't leave friends behind, even if a certain lunatic sandwich does.

"Has anybody seen my papoose?!"

There was some murmuring through the crowd, a lot of shrugging of shoulders, and, in that slave language I don't understand, a lot of talk that I expect was about how best to effect a quick recovery of my papoose.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around.

A slave had my papoose. He looked at it, and then at me, and then at it, and then at me, grimacing all the while, gesturing at the Glop, gesturing at me, shrugging his shoulders, and passionately addressing either me or the Glop. I don't know.

"THANK... YOU..." I said, maintaining eye contact with him because I somehow thought he'd be able to understand me if I really, really wanted him to.

I took hold of the papoose, and slowly, in a non-threatening manner, brought it back into my possession, after which I slipped it on. The slaves around me waved dismissively and walked off, murmuring.

I looked at Massif.

"What did I do?"

He squinted and shook His head again.

"We have to go. Try to keep your whining outbursts about having lost stupid things to a minimum."

Massif grabbed me and propelled me into a quick walk. A few slaves gathered around us, keeping us hidden.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Massif pointed up.

"To the mountain."

    --------

We had been hiking up the mountain for several hours when Massif announced our arrival.

He told the slaves and me to follow him in. Where in was, I had no idea. I didn't see anything that warranted the attribute "in".

Massif approached a snowdrift and walked right through it, right into the mountain. The slaves followed.

After all the things I had done and seen, walking through a snowdrift into the side of a mountain shouldn't have been a big deal, but it was.

Massif's head poked out from the snowdrift.

"Hurry up."

I did just that.

I walked through the snowdrift. On the other side was a cave. A tunnel led to a small cavern in the center of which a fire was burning. I could only see part of the room, but it looked packed. The slaves had already mixed into the crowd. It was only Massif and I in the tunnel. He walked on, and I followed.

We got to the cavern. It was larger than it appeared from back at the entrance. There were perhaps a hundred people in the room; a mix of slaves and, surprisingly, what looked like Gods. Even Serge, Massif's guardian angel flying unicorn was in the room.

"Hi, Serge. I guess we're friends now."

Serge nodded at me.

"Rory," said Massif, "You must be very confused. If I were in your place, and I'm glad I'm not, I'd want to know what was going on. At least where this concerns me."

"That's perceptive. I have been wondering why You arrested me, beat the crap out of me, did sandwich's bidding, and then rescued me. Please; if You have a way to make sense of this, then let it rip."

"The torture and abuse... I had to keep up the appearance of being one of sandwich's loyal subjects. Doing My job was how I maintained that impression until I could rescue you."

"So then... when You mistreated me, dragged me around as though I was an STD, and then knocked me out, You were actually helping me?"

"All except for knocking you out last night. You really can be annoying."

"Splendid. So who left the note?"

"I did. I was the only one who could get close enough. We hoped it would prompt you to remain vigilant so that, when we attempted the rescue, you'd be ready, but it turned out not to matter. For your part, you might as well have been a bowl of Glop."

I put my hand up.

"Say no more. I understand, and I forgive You for the sacrifices You had to make to get me out of there, noble Massif."

"No... you don't get it. I enjoyed most of it. The reason you're alive isn't that we like you; it's that we need you. You're here to put things right."

"Put what right? Did I do something? Is something the matter? Did I screw up World when I was having my jaw dislocated?"

"You probably did screw up, but I'm referring to sandwich and the threat sandwich poses to all of creation."

"Oh. That."

"But I'm not the one you need to talk to about what's to come..."

Every God, slave, and flying unicorn in the room sat down - except for one.

"Rory," he said.

There was a pause. For dramatic effect, I think. Just like this God's black cloak. Who wears a black cloak?

"I am Felix, The God of Evil."

I blinked. The black cloak made perfect sense.

"Does anybody else," I asked, looking around at the others, "think it's unwise to have invited The God of Evil? Anybody? Yes? No? Am I at the wrong secret hideout? Is there another one where there isn't an evil God holding court?"

"It's complicated, but I'm not as bad as I sound."

"Aright. Since I'm here and it's cold outside and there's a sandwich in town waiting to kill me, I'll listen. Tell me about complicated."

"I'm The God of Evil."

"Yep. Got that. Saw the cloak."

"And for Whom am I The God of Evil?"

"sandwich."

"Yes. And that makes me part of sandwich's regime, and sandwich's regime is...?"

"Well... evil."

"Right. So what kind of behavior is rewarded in sandwich-land?"

"Evil behavior... I guess."

"And, to sandwich, what is evil behavior?"

"Behavior that people like me would think is good?"

"Right again. Now tell me what, to sandwich, would good behavior be?"

"Probably what I'd think was evil."

"So, if I'm The God of Evil in an evil regime where good is evil and evil is good, then who am I really?"

Light bulb.

"You're the God of Virtue."

"Precisely."

    --------

An hour later, I was settling in. We had gone around the room and introduced ourselves, talked a little about what we do, and, for a bonding exercise, shared one thing about ourselves that nobody else knew. I was going to say that I once woke up dressed like a woman, but that was one thing about myself that everybody else knew. I just wished they didn't.

Recess ended when Felix, The God of Evil, sat down next to me by the fire. Everybody else in the room sat down as well.

"As all of you know, we rescued Rory today."

Nods of agreement all around. One guy said, "Good point." The remark garnered more nodding and sounds of approval.

"What you don't know is why we rescued him."

Nods of agreement and a whispered "He speaks the truth..."

"Rory... we need you."

"You need me?"

"We need you."

"Me... a cross-dressing, papoose making, deposed drunkard god with a car made out of several animals, some of which are dead. You need that. May I ask why?"

"Have you noticed anything strange about creation?"

"Do all Gods answer questions with questions?"

"Creation, Rory, should not have turned out as it did. sandwich was never meant to be in charge. I've been working with sandwich since the pantheon was created. I've watched it all. We have this giant, shiny city, but we've got nothing good to fill it with. sandwich is corrupt and will never give up the position of God of Gods. We need to take it back by force and set things right or World will fall into darkness and everybody will be dressed like Me."

"Can You be more specific about what You mean when you say that I have to 'set things right'?"

"I'm coming to that. We have a lot to cover. There is so much you don't know. I'm sure you've wondered how sandwich acquired the power of a God, how sandwich created the pantheon, and how sandwich continues to control creation."

"A bit, yeah. I had some time between beatings to wonder, but my thoughts were usually interrupted by pain. Very distracting."

"Well, I'll explain. We have to start with the second day of creation."

"That was the day we were working on the lake. sandwich had the idea to hire the migrant workers that seem to have been turned into slaves in this fancy city of Yours."

"That's right, and you've already touched on something tremendously important. As I've heard the story told, and many times over at that, sandwich took over, was appointed head of the migrant workers' union, and was lauded for the accomplishment of negotiating against you in their favor."

"Uh-huh. It was a fantastic day. Please; let's talk about it some more."

"At the end of the day, sandwich was carried off into the sunset while you were left alone. That night, sandwich didn't come home, and the next thing you knew, you were waking up in women's clothing with vomit stuck to the side of your head. These events were seminal in your deposition. Though you may have come to enjoy dressing in womens' clothing, you were actually framed. Let's begin with sandwich."

"Oh, let's do."

"Love sandwich or hate sandwich, sandwich is a clever sandwich. As you've already mentioned, it was sandwich's idea to hire migrant workers."

"Yep. Don't see where this is going."

"Fine, then tell me what migrant workers do."

"Well... if you're a sandwich, they'll shovel and build for you. If you aren't a sandwich, then they'll demand a radio, pay, and then they'll protest your existence with mean signs."

"What you just said: they'll shovel and build for you. There's another way of putting it: the migrant workers had the power to create."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I started to put the pieces together. But, the pieces didn't fit right, and then I looked and they were from different puzzles, and I couldn't figure out why anybody would make a puzzle as defective as that. So, somewhere in the back of my mind, I returned the puzzle to the store and got my money back.

 "I'm picking up what You're putting down here, Felix, God of Evil, but I'm fuzzy on the relevance of the migrant workers."

"As I said, sandwich is a clever sandwich. What sandwich figured out was that migrant workers give off traces of hard work and creation. They build, they implement; they mold things. One migrant worker isn't enough to do much of anything, but a few, such as the union you were powerless to stop, unite, consolidate their power, and become greater than the whole of the parts."

"You're telling me that migrant workers have god powers."

"No. Not exactly. Together they produce an ability to create that is proportional to their numbers. If you have a couple migrant workers, you don't have much to work with. But, get fifty or a hundred together, and you have the beginnings of a God."

Felix, The God of Evil, continued.

"sandwich figured out the frequency of the creative field emanating from the workers. sandwich's first job for the workers was to mine for various metals from which an antenna was constructed; one tuned to the frequency of the workers' field. You've seen this antenna - it's sandwich's scepter."

"The scepter of sandwich! I understand now!"

"No you don't. There's more, so listen. From the small amount of god power sandwich was receiving through the antenna scepter, sandwich built an empire. sandwich's first act of creation was to create more migrant workers. Staff was doubled, and so was sandwich's power. It went on like this until sandwich had an army of migrant workers, all giving off that same signal. sandwich absorbed more and more of the workers' power until, eventually, sandwich had all the powers of a god. sandwich had, in effect, become the God of Gods. At the time, you were passed out, and unable to create. I'll get to that in a minute."

"Good. I wanted to talk about the dress. I didn't really like wearing it. I only said that to Massif because I wanted to entertain Him before we splattered on the ground."

"Whatever. You're weird enough that hardly anyone questioned how warped it was."

"All right. Carry on."

"When sandwich had attained the status of God of Gods, the next order of business was to create a pantheon of Gods, though it's more like a pantheon of henchmen. For them to have any power, sandwich had to somehow distribute the god powers being channeled from the workers. So, sandwich built a transmitter to resend the powers, though the powers sandwich was broadcasting were sent over a different frequency than the original. The frequency that sandwich uses to tune in to the workers' god powers is only known to sandwich. If sandwich shared this information, then anybody could have been The God of Gods. You see the predicament."

"Of course."

"Relaying the god powers on another frequency was the only way to ensure exclusive control over the distribution of power. The broadcaster sandwich used is, like the scepter, something already known to you. You thought you were simply looking at a crown. What you didn't know was that the crown was relaying god powers to every other God in the room."

"But the other Gods didn't have scepters..."

"No, they didn't. What they have instead - what I have - is a subcutaneous antenna implanted at the base of the skull. It receives the transmission from the crown and then bestows its host with the powers of a god."

"There's still the God of Gods problem. Isn't there? Any God in the pantheon should have been able to take the position."

"Remember that this is sandwich we're dealing with here. Think back to what I said about the crown broadcasting on a different frequency from what the workers were emitting. By using this other frequency to transmit, sandwich had total control over the waves and was able to throttle the flow of god powers radiating out from the crown. This is why we have Gods of Security, Justice, Evil, and so on. Each one of us was given only enough god power for one niche. It's how sandwich keeps any one of us from taking over. Next to sandwich, we're babes playing in the mud. But despite the huge gap in power, the ecosystem is highly complex and fragile. It has its weaknesses. It can be destroyed, and this is why we need you."

"This 'me' thing is still not computing. I won't go into another speech about being a cross-dressing former God. I wasn't even able to not die properly today. I'm useless."

"Yes. That's absolutely right."

"Thanks. That gave my confidence the boost it needed. I was really feeling down until You agreed that I'm useless. Now I'm walking on air. Thank You. Fantastic..."

"Relax. Try counting to ten; it helps. You won't always be useless. Did you notice how quickly sandwich wanted to have you executed?"

"I thought that was normal. I don't know how long those things are supposed to take."

"It wasn't normal. sandwich rushed the process because your brandy was laced with a powerful sedative."

"You still aren't making much sense to me."

"The sedative shut off part of your brain."

"Is that why I was dressed in drag?"

"No; that was all you. The part sandwich shut off is what gives you the ability to harness god powers. You can do naturally what sandwich can only accomplish with technology."

"So, you're saying that..."

"The sedative is going to wear off. sandwich needed to have you killed before that happened because you're the only one who can defeat sandwich. If the pantheon rebelled, sandwich could simply stop broadcasting god powers, rendering us ordinary men. Then sandwich would wipe us out. As it is, those of us in this cave probably won't have god powers by morning. sandwich will likely calibrate the crown for another frequency and then replace the subcutaneous antennas of the other Gods. Those close to sandwich will remain in power. The rest of us will have to manage without. We're prepared for this outcome, and we've planned accordingly, but everything depends on you. Tomorrow, we're going to get you in close to sandwich, take sandwich's god powers away, and that's when you'll strike."

"It sounds like, if I'm going to do this, I'm obviously going to need my god powers. Do we even know when they'll come back? What if it doesn't happen in time?"

"We're confident that the sedative will wear off soon. sandwich's timing for the execution tells us that it was only a matter of hours before you were restored."

"How will I know when they've come back?"

"You'll know. First little things, but eventually You'll start seeing... wait. Did you notice that?"

"Notice what?"

"One of your pronouns was capitalized. Your powers are coming back."

"Really? What should I do? Should I test them? Try to create something? Practice for the big day?"

"I would advise against it. Until your powers are fully returned, your control over what You create - hey, it happened again - will be quite loose. To begin creating again too early could be dangerous rather than helpful."

"Understood. So, what can I do to prepare?"

"The best thing to do would be to sleep. This is going to be difficult for all of us. The least we can do is not enter battle yawning and hitting the snooze button."

"All right, then. Sleep."

"Sleep."

Felix wandered off to find one of the less uncomfortable spots in the cave to sleep.

I sat up for a little while. Around the dying embers of the fire, I went over the conversation in my head, thought about how these people and Gods were relying on me to overthrow sandwich with my god abilities, and then wondered if any of them truly grasped what it meant that the bear/cage/dead tortoise/giraffe car was one of my more successful creations.

I wasn't feeling optimistic about the future. It wasn't someplace I wanted to go. But I didn't have a choice. It didn't matter what I wanted because, whether I liked it or not, it was coming for Me.