Reichhörnchen and Fernañdo took a wrong turn outside of Delaware after picking up their e-glasses, resulting in them sitting in a mall parking lot as neither of their cellphones seemed to work.

      They had no other choice but to try the two sets of e-glasses that were charging in the powerport attached to the ancient cassette deck of the yugo, somehow as the cigarette lighter seemed crusted with ancient tobacco and smelled like Joe Camel’s singed fur when they tried.

   “Hey, do you see a bronze pig?” asked Fernañdo to Reichhörnchen,

       The upper deck of the parking garage was largely abandoned, yet when the glasses were turned on, a bronze pig statue could be seen presiding over the empty lot.

       Rob scrambled to turn on his glasses which looked fairly identical to the normie glasses he already owned, and exclaimed,

      “That statue hasn’t been here since the nineteen nineties; maybe Egregore only exists at Alaraf”

        “…Maybe I exist, period- and perhaps Alaraf doesn’t exist…”

         The voice was behind them,  in the custom Yugo, and sure enough, glitching in the backseat was the Egregore, this time wearing a patchwork tuxedo and matching tophat of questionable glitter.

       He was smoking a phat joint that improved the existing scent profile of the ancient Yugo, which smelled inexplicably of raw onions and chrysanthemums.

       “How do you even do that?” exclaimed Fernie

        “I do what I want, I suggest you get out of the car, gentlemen.”

          Wearing their e-glasses, they followed the digital Egregore through the doors of the abandoned department store, Rob reaching up from old habit to rub the bronze pig snout that wasn’t there- he felt nothing but thought he *might* have heard gunshots in the distance.

       The empty department store, devoid of all merchandise, seemed cavernous as E-Gregore stood like a Ringmaster in the center.  The glasses created a digital overlay, first an empty circus tent, then a forest, a glittering city, a scholars office in white marble, a treacherous mountain path, a killing field of dirt and asphalt and finally, a red hallway with walnut wainscoting filled with mirrors and odd doors.

      Reichhörnchen had read this before- this theme, this hallway, a suited man standing in the middle like a cosmic joker, the third time, the third person here, the hallway with each mirror showing a different aspect of themselves or each other as Egregore revealed a climbing grip full of strange keys the egegore shook a few times convincingly

      “…Nicht schon wieder, warum tun wir das immer wieder…?” Reichhörnchen muttered under his breath,

       “Pardon?” Replied Fernañdo.

        “Es tut mihr leid. Sorry.  I had a student who would write about a twin peaks hallway where each door opened into…well, horrible things”

          “Well, that’s a negative read if I ever heard one of our Alaraf online educational programs.” stated the Egregore

          “Well, what is behind the door, Egregore?”

            “Horrible things,” the Egregore replied, shaking the keys again as if he was offering a doggy a car ride instead of two fully adult operators an “education”

             “Knew it.  I called it, didn’t I?” stated Reichhörnchen with some concern, rubbing his temples

In the distance, they heard what sounded like more gunshots and a cheer that sounded slightly like “BACONATOR” chanted and repeated ad nauseum by children.

     The Egregore whistled the three note mockingjay whistle from “The Hunger Games”… and stepped back to show two doors: One painted Blue and stenciled in gold, the other painted reddish brown, as if stained in actual blood.

        “We pride ourselves in a fully custom education for each student based on their own lived experiences and files- I have taken the liberty to create two new modules, entirely for you gentleman, custom tailored for each with a particular dilemma each of you is uniquely suited to solve.”

       The Egegore was like 80s television static interfering with a man, like although the words were clear, his form shifted the way a program “shifts” while the antenna was moved on great grannies or abuela’s set. He seemed blueish to static white, and although many doors existed beyond him, he clearly would not allow them to pass until either the blood door or the blue circus door was chosen.

        “Fear not, you won’t miss anything. you cannot escape experiencing both” Egregore reassured with the least reassurance possible.

       The only choice that remained was whether to split up, which was unwise, or endure together why the gunshots and cheering kept increasing, so as Reichhörnchen attempted to cast Runes to decide which should be entered, Fernañdo simply pointed at the blood door decisively.

     …and it was opened for him.

     ◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

And they were returned to the parking lot- except now it was crowded.   A man wearing a pigs head mask was tied securely to a street lamp in the middle of the lot.

       Beside the tied pigman was a mummer with his face painted gold, a metallic silver coat and tails, bronze colored pants that shifted to black and steel at the knee to the clearly steel toed golden slippers below.  He had an iridescent parasol &  In his hand he held a sack and it seemed he was attempting to feed the captive a baconator who ignored him, the pigs head limp against his chest as he was seemingly taunted by a jester as “Oh Dem Golden Slippers” was played on repeat by a string band on the roof of the mall.

       There were children wearing white cheering screaming “Eat it!” “GO TO HELL!” or simply chanting “BACONATOR”

      And there, at the Atrium, was the bronze piggy. restored, his snout polished gold by hands otherwise occupied by holding weaponry. Looking up, you see a motley sign of the S from Spencer Gifts, The H of Hot Topic. the A from Aeropostal and H of an H&M followed by “of Prussia.”

…and there on Santa’s own throne, he sat.  A smart white button down under blue argyle,  a black tie, glasses.  What must be the Shah of Prussia; his roots were bright. his hair dyed war dark.  Eyes bright and brilliant intelligent like a strange raptor, cheekbones painfully high, perfect and sharp as he sat casually with one leg over the side like L from Deathnote, his nails, exquisite…and like a strange portrait, Dr. Jingles shimmied up to him submissively-laid his head adoringly upon the knee of the seated and aesthetic foreign Lord, as they both oversaw the halal slaughter of a true pig.

     The band started playing a compilation of “Piggie Pie” & “This is Halloween” as the children screamed delighted screams.

      Dr. Jingles shook the slaybells in his hand a few times encouragingly as a young woman with perfect 1940s hair approached Santa’s throne. Her clothes, from Kohl’s but her make-up was on fleek regardless.

      “Sister Minx,” he drawled elegantly, “Do you prefer the Smith & Wesson or the Baretta?”

       Minx simply shrugged, Dr. Jingles said nothing at all. 

Minx narrated under spotlight and a sudden dim of the rest of the field of vision, zoom in:  Once upon a time Dr. Jingles was a famous radio DJ of great trust and renowned, but fell mute after “seeing some shit”

      Philadelphia may have stopped Listening to Dr. Jingles in The Am, but Dr. Jingles never stopped listening to You.

     He started visiting hospitals, he still strutted as Captain of the St. Lawrence String Band, and he collected years of evidence against every pedophile that ever spoke or raped next to a radio, entered into hospital rooms more wired than a Persian in an Israeli expresso shop as children poured their hearts out to the gentle murder clown who never spoke so they trusted he never could share what they said to him.

They were wrong; but by the cheers in the parking lot, it seems they forgive him.

       Dr. Jingles became a radical.   He knew it.  He tried therapy. EMDR. float tanks, singing bowls, yoga, and ayahuasca.

      So then he sought an ethics professor.  An Islamic ethics professor, some guy with a chip on his shoulder from Europe

      “My brother created pornography of me,” stated the Shah, “All such pigs must die.”

      taking advantage of the militarized US government and the under utilized hatred of pedophiles, those that expressed a deep desire to murder their abusers only so much as had to whisper “I wanna kill them” and Dr. Jingles would offer the family a free, guided tour of Jingle’s Petting Zoo and Carnivore rescue.

        Only once did a little girl notice a heart tattoo on a munched flank, but a wink and a sush made that their cherished and non-sexual secret that warmed instead of haunted her.  That good people exist in the world, they are weird, and they will totally kill a man for you.  Now there were too many ‘pigs’ for the tigers, gila monsters, gators, other pigs & wolves to eat.

        “Gregory. You can’t pretend to be an AI Egregore with a pet jester. Aren’t you taking this a little too far, I mean, I know you’re clearly a bit upset…” rationalized Ferñie

         “There is only Egregore” replied Dr. Jingles in sign language.

          “I can see the Author page” Fernañdo sighed

           “The Author isn’t named Gregory either but for OPSEC, now he is inside this discourse” replied the guy on the throne

           “I’m not calling you Gregory, Gregory… wait, why am I calling you Gregory?” Fernañdo queried.

           “Because you are powerless to me, clearly,  while I sit on the throne of mall Santa” stated the Shah of Prussia

        “Petting a clown” Fernie replied.

         “My Clown, his name is Dr. Jingles.  He’s a hospital chaplain, and I really like his hair”

         Rob Reichhörnchen was facepalming in a corner as Minx showed a video of her stepfather raping women on his “work trips” to Latin America before asking by a show of hands which firearm she should use to finish him.

       The red Luger won because it matched her dress under her white fur half jacket and Spanish heels.  She asked the band to play Green Jelly “Three little pigs” and took her shot at “Not by the hair of my Chinny chin chin”  The pig mask suddenly more red over pink as it was placed on the next contestant, as a small boy was shown how a rocket launcher works by a smiling mercenary who clearly loves to make a child’s dreams come true with small rockets.

       You notice no one is eating baconators but the accused whose videos play on the mall wall as montages of shame. 

        “If you like, I can show you how to perfect Wudu in the blood of the slain, however that would be quite haram,” stated the Shah.

     “I think you expect some sort of commentary on this scenerio?” asked Fernie,

      “The scenario is the commentary; let’s call it my hymn to Che Guevera” Dr. Jingles purred like a cat and stretched to caress the Shah’s face sensuously.

      “MUST YOU?!” Exclaimed Reichhörnchen, “Geez, create a room for yourselves”

       “It’s just me” replied Egregor, “Have you never loved yourself?”

      In the background the sounds of machine guns and maybe a chainsaw were met with effusive applause and delight.

       “ITS SO BLOODY I LOOK LIKE I’M COVERED IN CHERRIES THAT DONT TASTE LIKE CHERRIES!” Explained a blood soaked child who ran up to Dr. Jingles and embraced him, rubbing crimson blood on his biblical murder clown mummer costume.

      “Anyway, the actual question sir, is if written violence indicates violent tendencies or is fiction simply fiction.  Is death in fiction truly death or merely metaphor?  Do we not all wish to romance the inner jester?

        “I’m pretty sure i passed you so I would never ever have to read one of your essays again.”

         “And yet…here you are.  The power of Egregore compelled you”

        “You are not an egregore”

         “You have no idea how much or little of this is written by Ai.”

           “Absolutely none of it, this is just how you write.”

            “Ah-Ha!! but what if AI was trained off of the writing of your Gregory to create me?”

       “You aren’t my Gregory”

        “You are correct.  I am only truly down with this clown.”  

      The murder clown made a kissy face.

…As Rob Reichhörnchen had enough and marched indignantly to the door to the sounds of circus music.

…..and opened it to a literal circus.

      “Three point circus.  Three Rings, the Ring of flowers,  the Petting zoo, cider, candy floss and funnel cakes.  The Ring of Ice, the trained dancing wolves, the weapons demonstrations, the archers and the ice dancers.  Feats of strength and legends enacted in the shadows on ice by folks in leathers.  Then late at night, the Ring of fire, the freaks of the cirque, fire eaters and silk artists, the humans that appear like creatures and move boneless like extraterrestrials, the drums from the ice Ring now accompanied by strange instruments that were vaguely disconcerting.

      There was no sound, Rob Reichhörnchen noticed.  As the Masters of each Ring announced and pontificate, gesturing wildly at the superiority of their acts,  with Egregore wearing a Santa Beard spray painted brown in a poor representation of Reichhörnchen himself in his proper Ring.

     Suddenly. a man stepped into the center of all three rings and promptly died. Just fell, collapsed like marat dramatically at the junction.  The Ring of Ice became too cold, the Ring of fire went corporate then burnt out, and what remained was the Ring of flowers.  just one Ring

        The sound was still not working, Rob shook his glasses in frustration as the remaining cast looked at him with incredulity.   Then continued their pantomime of the Ring of flowers.

      Pulling weeds then staying exactly the same.  The ring of ice thawed and disintegrated, and the ring of fire charcoal and ash.

       “Having an Egregore is like having an apprentice  who already knows too much,”  stated egregore dryly

       Rob said nothing but winced in anticipation…

        “Why are you the only educator at a Muslim university claiming polytheism while your journeyman being a Shaykh implies the opposite?”

         The glasses went dark before he could answer with a cheerful “End of Lesson One of Egregore’s Tutorial”

Neither of them enjoyed it.