Moments later, an elite commando squad from Doc’s Champions Club took control of the area, arresting members of the Brotherhood, destroying what remained of the advanced AI Lord Hannn robot after the mysterious lightning bolt from the sky fried his circuits. Carl the Hunchback plummeted to his doom—again—and I am completely, absolutely, and sincerely convinced that this one will take and we will never ever see him again.

Thanks to Doc’s more or less timely intervention, I was able to escape with nothing more injurious than permanent PTSD, fourth-degree burns over 70 percent of my body, a scar in the shape of someone “flipping the bird” that covers the entire right side of my face, a limp that permits me only to walk in rectangles, and my higher-hanging testicle of the two still completely intact.

As soon as I could leave my hospital bed, which only took three years, seven months, and twenty-two days, I took Doc’s finished manuscript straight to Simon Schuster, the head of Simon & Schuster (the “&” is his middle initial). I slammed it on his desk and demanded that we publish immediately.

Yes, the book had already cost us millions in damages, and yes, the tallest building in the world had been razed to the ground, and yes, the democratically elected governments of several small nations and principalities had been overthrown. But in the process, hadn’t we borne witness to the greatest feats of gaming and athleticism mankind has ever known? Hadn’t we gained valuable tips on how to jump vertically, how to illegally drive a Lamborghini for a day, and how to comb a mullet with a switchblade comb safely? Hadn’t we been a part of history itself when we observed in real time an actual flesh-and-blood man evaporate into the cosmic ether without a trace, never to be seen again?

Indeed, to quote the Doc himself, it was worth it.

Well, my friends, the book that’s in front of you right now is evidence enough that Mr. Schuster agreed enthusiastically.

Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that, thanks to Doc’s mysterious disappearance, we didn’t have to pay him a penny of the millions we contractually owed him. And that 2021 Lamborghini Aventador SVJ we bought for him? Needless to say, we certainly didn’t have it repainted from red to black. I think we can all agree that cherry red is a far more festive color than dreary old black. Bleh!

In fact, as a small bonus for my troubles I even managed to convince Mr. Schuster to let me have Doc’s Aventador all for myself. It looks so perfect in my garage right next to my Hummel collection—

Wait. Did you hear that?

A strange sound from outside my window. I’m sure it’s nothing.

But wait—there it is again.