The door didn't glow this time.
It rustled.
Leaves brushed against each other as the dimensional shimmer resolved into walls of thick, manicured green. The fluorescent hum of the supermarket died behind them, replaced by night insects and the faint creak of branches shifting in a wind they couldn't feel.
Zeke stepped forward and his foot sank slightly into damp grass.
Hedges towered on either side, tall and dense, their surfaces trimmed into unnaturally clean planes. Narrow paths wound away in every direction, splitting and rejoining in ways that immediately made Zeke's stomach tighten.
Julie didn't move.
"This is…" she started, then stopped.
Zeke swallowed. "A maze."
His HUD flickered, recalibrating for outdoor darkness. The header appeared without flourish.
LEVEL FOUR: LUMBERJACK HEDGEMAZE MAYHEM
No ambient music.
No countdown.
Just a quiet click as the system armed itself.
Somewhere in the distance—
RRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNN—
The sound cut off abruptly.
Zeke's breath caught.
Julie whispered, "That was a chainsaw."
From his belt loop, the First Toy's keychain hummed softly. Not amused. Not impressed.
"Seven," it said. "That's how many there are."
Zeke glanced down. "Seven what?"
"Problems," the Toy replied.
The sound came again. Closer this time. Not running—idling. Like someone testing a motor, waiting for it to bite.
Zeke felt his pulse spike.
Then his HUD flared.
PICKUP DETECTED.
Monster Potion.
Julie followed his gaze. A glowing bottle pulsed faintly just ahead, sitting against the base of a hedge block like it had been placed there on purpose.
Zeke looked at her. "We're gonna need it."
Julie nodded. "Use it when it matters."
They moved northeast, careful, staying centered in the path. Almost immediately, the maze answered them.
A man stood ahead in a small clearing, framed by hedges on all sides. An explorer—hat, vest, backpack—turning in slow circles like he'd lost the map inside his own head.
Zeke opened his mouth—
The hedge to their left exploded.
Leaves and branches burst outward as a chainsaw tore through green like it was paper. A figure shouldered through the opening, boots heavy, posture wrong—too relaxed, too confident.
The Lumberjack.
Plaid shirt. Suspenders. Wild beard. Eyes glowing with comet-green madness. The chainsaw roared to life in his hands.
Zeke didn't think.
He grabbed the Monster Potion and smashed it back.
The world shifted.
His bones stretched. Muscles ballooned. His vision dropped lower, broader, heavier. The ground felt closer. Softer. Punchable.
Zeke roared—and it wasn't entirely him.
He charged.
The Lumberjack laughed—a wet, delighted sound—and swung.
Zeke's fist connected first.
The impact sounded like a tree trunk snapping.
The Lumberjack staggered, slammed into the hedge behind him, and Zeke kept hitting. Over and over. Each punch tore through cloth, flesh, sanity. The chainsaw clattered to the ground, still running, chewing uselessly at grass.
With a final blow, the Lumberjack exploded into a spray of green light.
Silence fell like a held breath.
Julie stared at Zeke—at the thing he'd become.
Then the potion's glow flickered.
"Don't stop," she said. "Use it."
Zeke nodded, chest heaving, and turned.
They punched their way forward.
Hedges collapsed under Zeke's fists, paths opening that shouldn't have existed. Another explorer was pulled from behind greenery just as Zeke's knuckles smashed through the hedge wall beside him.
SAVED.
They moved west. Then south. Then west again. The maze tried to lie to them, looping passages back into themselves—but Zeke punched through the lies.
Another Lumberjack burst from an ivy-choked corridor.
Zeke met him head-on.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
Explosion.
Leaves rained down.
Julie guided victims through the chaos—tourists clutching each other, a teacher frozen in terror, pulled free just before the sound of another chainsaw drew too close.
SAVED. SAVED.
The Monster Potion flickered again.
Zeke felt the strength leaking.
"Second bottle," Julie snapped.
He downed it just as another hedge collapsed ahead, revealing a Fire Extinguisher and a tiny ivy-covered cell beyond.
Inside: a baby.
Zeke punched the hedge open and Julie darted in, scooping the baby up as another chainsaw roared somewhere nearby.
SAVED.
The maze was changing now.
Hedges lay flattened. Paths opened and closed depending on where the Lumberjacks had torn through. Zeke's potion finally burned out, his body shrinking back into itself, strength draining away like a tide pulling out.
He staggered.
Julie caught his arm. "Okay. New rules."
Another Lumberjack emerged ahead, chainsaw screaming.
Zeke raised his Soaker—
The First Toy cut in. "Freeze him."
Julie already had the extinguisher up.
White frost blasted out, coating the Lumberjack in ice mid-swing. He froze solid, teeth bared in a grin that didn't fade.
Zeke fired.
The shots passed through the ice, through the body, seemingly harmless—
Until the frozen form shattered.
Explosion.
Zeke exhaled shakily. "That… felt worse than punching."
"It should," the Toy said. "You're learning."
They pressed on, slower now. Smarter.
They found a cheerleader trapped behind greenery. Tourists huddled near a bench. A trampoline girl crouched in the far southwest corner, isolated but miraculously untouched.
Each rescue required memory. Direction. Patience.
The maze wasn't fair—but it was consistent.
By the time they reached the northern clearing, only one Lumberjack remained.
Zeke heard him before he saw him—chainsaw revving, then crashing as another hedge fell.
Julie glanced at the flattened greenery around them. "We could let him do it."
Zeke understood immediately.
They baited him.
Every hedge the Lumberjack destroyed widened the maze, tore it open, made escape easier. Leaves piled up. Paths became open ground.
The Toy hummed approvingly.
"Massive destruction," it said. "Efficient."
When the maze finally lay broken and quiet, the Lumberjack stood alone—confused, snarling, chainsaw dripping sap and grass.
Julie froze him.
Zeke finished it.
Silence settled over the hedges at last.
No chainsaws.
No movement.
The final HUD chime was soft.
All victims saved.
Julie leaned against a fallen hedge, chest rising and falling. "I hate this place."
Zeke nodded. "Yeah. But… we beat it."
The First Toy's chuckle returned—thin, satisfied.
"You didn't beat it," it said. "You understood it."
Ahead, another door shimmered into existence—this one framed by trees, darkness pressing close.
Beyond it, Zeke could smell damp earth… and something old.
Julie straightened.
"What's next?"
The Toy didn't answer.
But somewhere far away, something howled.
And the hedges, finally, stopped moving.