5

Linda stood in line at the indoor ATM while Mason wandered off toward the water cooler, slipping in his wireless earphones and humming along to his music.

He didn’t notice the three men who burst through the doors wearing Christmas beanies pulled down like masks — bright red, green, and one with a giant pom pom bouncing on top. They looked ridiculous.

The firearms in their hands did not.

“Everyone on the ground!” one shouted. “We’re not kidding! We are The Christmas Season, and we are here to accept your gifts — money, jewellery, phones, everything you’ve got!”

People dropped instantly.

Linda hit the floor, heart pounding, eyes scanning desperately for her son.

“Boss!” one robber screeched. “This one’s not on the ground!”

He pointed at Mason — still filling his cup, completely oblivious.

“HEY! YOU! GET DOWN!”

No reaction.

The robber stomped over and tapped Mason’s shoulder.

Mason turned calmly. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“We’re robbing the place! Get on the ground if you don’t want trouble!”

Mason blinked, then stifled a laugh. “Sorry, it’s just… you guys look ridiculous. Are we being robbed by Rudolph and the boys?”

The robber bristled. “Hey! These are tactical—”

“No, they’re Christmas beanies,” Mason said gently. “And that’s actually your biggest problem.”

The robbers froze.

Mason’s mind flashed — a pattern forming instantly.

“You’re strong,” Mason added. “You’re organised. You have silly outfits that kids would love at birthday parties. You clearly work as a team. You could make real money — legally — and no one gets hurt.”

The leader frowned. “Doing what? We can’t get jobs. No one hires guys like us.”

Mason shrugged. “Then stop trying to get hired. Start something yourselves.”

The robbers exchanged confused looks.

Mason continued, voice calm and matter of fact:

“You already have a theme. Christmas beanies? Fine. Lean into it. Start a kids’ party entertainment crew. Mascots, games, balloon animals, silly dances — whatever. Parents pay heaps for that stuff.”

The men stared at him.

“You’d be perfect,” Mason said. “You’re funny without trying. You’ve got costumes. You’ve got energy. And you clearly know how to make an entrance.”

One robber whispered, “My niece loves those party entertainers… her mum paid like two hundred bucks for one hour…”

Another muttered, “I can juggle… kinda…”

The leader rubbed his chin. “So… we could… do kids’ parties?”

“Yep,” Mason said. “Call yourselves something like ‘The Christmas Crew.’ You’d be booked solid every December. And if you add birthday packages? You’d have work all year.”

The robbers looked at each other — really looked.

The leader finally exhaled. “…Boys, we’re done here.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. Kid’s right. We’ve been going about this all wrong.”

He turned to the room. “Sorry, everyone! We’re leaving now! All your belongings are on the front desk — nothing’s missing. Have a great day!”

And just like that, The Christmas Season shuffled out of the bank, pom poms bouncing as they went — already discussing business cards, balloon twisting tutorials, and whether they should buy a bubble machine.

“I like the kids idea We can make all sorts of silly character costumes and work all year round. Boo Yeah that’s the master plan” 

Linda stared at Mason, trembling with relief.

Mason just sipped his water.

“…What?” he said. 

…

Linda didn’t say a word until they were both safely inside the car with the doors locked. She sat there for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, breathing hard, shaking even after giving the police their statements. 

Then she turned to Mason and pulled him into the tightest hug he’d had since he was six.

“Oh my goodness, Mason Reid… you scared ten years off my life.”

“Mum— air— ribs—”

She released him just enough for him to breathe, but not enough to escape.

“I thought— I thought—” Her voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You didn’t,” Mason said softly. “I’m okay.”

She cupped his face, checking him over like he might suddenly fall apart. “No bullet holes? No bruises? No… emotional trauma?”

“Mum, I literally just got water.”

“That’s not the point!”

She finally let go, wiped her eyes, and started the car with trembling hands.

The drive home was slow, careful, and filled with the kind of motherly muttering that only comes out after a near death experience.

“I swear, if those idiots had hurt you— Christmas beanies, honestly— what kind of criminals— ridiculous— my poor boy—”

Mason sipped his water and stared out the window, trying not to think about how the logic bomb had just… appeared in his mind. Like someone else had whispered the solution into his ear.

He didn’t want to worry her.

He didn’t want to worry himself.

When they got home, Linda practically marched him inside.

“Shoes off. Backpack down. Sit.”

“Yes, Mum.”

She bustled around the kitchen like a woman possessed, heating milk, stirring cocoa, adding exactly three marshmallows — the way he liked it when he was little.

She set the mug in front of him with a decisive thud.

“There. Warm cocoa. Good for shock. Good for nerves. Good for… everything.”

Mason took a sip. “It’s really good.”

“Of course it is. I made it.”

She sat across from him, watching him like he might evaporate.

“You’re going straight to bed after this,” she said. “School nurse’s orders. And mine.”

“But it’s only—”

“Nope. No arguing. You fainted at school, you walked through a bank robbery, and you’re sixteen. That’s three reasons too many.”

Mason sighed. “Alright…”

“That’s my boy.”

She ruffled his hair — gently, like he was made of glass — and stood up.

“Finish your cocoa. Then bed. I’ll tuck you in if I have to.”

“Mum!”

She laughed, the tension finally breaking.

“Oh relax, sweetheart. I’m just teasing. Mostly.”

Mason finished the cocoa, warm and sweet and comforting, and trudged toward his room. His head still throbbed faintly. His thoughts still buzzed with patterns he didn’t understand.

But for now?

Bed sounded perfect.

He collapsed onto his mattress, pulled the blanket over himself, and was fast asleep. 

…

Sleep came quickly — too quickly — and with it came another dream.

Not the warped nightmare from the night before.

This one was… calmer.

Still eerie, still wrong, but more structured, like the world was trying to rebuild itself properly this time.

Puzzle World stretched around him again, but the shapes were cleaner, the colours less corrupted. The thunderstorm was gone, replaced by a quiet, humming sky. Mr. Puzzles stood in the distance, his smile no longer dripping — just flickering, like a glitch being patched.

Professor Paradoxus repeated a new equation, slower this time, almost soothing:

“x → f(x) → f(f(x)) → convergence… convergence… convergence…”

Mason reached out.

The world folded.

And then—

Cold air.

Wind.

Concrete beneath his feet.

He jerked awake with a gasp.

He wasn’t in his bed.

He was standing on the rooftop of a building.

A real building.

In his hometown.

“What— what the heck…?”

He spun around, heart hammering. The rooftop was empty, quiet, lit only by a flickering security light. He rushed to the edge and peered over.

He recognised the landmarks instantly.

The old clock tower.

The Hanz bakery with the neon cupcake sign.

The bus depot.

He was on the other side of town.

“Jeez… how the heck did I get out here? It’s a school night! Mum’s gonna kill me…”

He stumbled toward the rooftop access door, trying to steady his breathing. His head felt foggy, like he’d been yanked out of sleep too fast.

He pushed through the door, hurried down the stairwell, and found an elevator closing. And bolted inside before the door fully closed.

There was a middle-aged man in a business shirt standing in the corner, holding a briefcase. He stared at Mason with a confused, slightly alarmed expression.

Mason frowned. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

The man didn’t answer — just kept staring.

The elevator doors slid shut, and Mason caught his reflection in the polished metal.

He froze.

The Pattern stared back at him.

Not a dream reflection.

Not a hallucination.

Not a glitch.

He was wearing the full superhero suit.

The pale blue gloves.

The matching boots.

The glowing Labyrinth insignia on his chest.

The mask covering his face.

“Ahh—!”

He stumbled back, slapping at the mask. “No no no no— come on, get off—”

He tugged at it, but it wouldn’t budge. It didn’t even feel like fabric. It felt like… part of him.

The man in the elevator blinked. “Uh… are you alright, kid?”

Mason froze.

Right.

To this guy, he looked like a teenager having a meltdown in a superhero costume at 2 a.m.

He forced a shaky laugh. “Yeah! Yeah, sorry. Just— uh— trying on a costume for a comic convention. It’s… uh… a little tight.”

The man nodded slowly. “Right. Of course. Comic con.”

The elevator dinged.

Mason bolted out before the doors were fully open.

By the time the man stepped out into the lobby, Mason was gone — vanished into the night, purple boots slapping against the pavement as he sprinted toward home.