Irregular Pulse

Your name is Mid.

Your life has been the worst it could have ever been. A serial of misery, an endless stream of failures-- more imaginative than real. But today, to some degree, it will perhaps pay off. It's tough to say if it was ever all worth the effort, but you are glad you are here, now, in this singular moment.

Today, after working twelve growths without a single instance of rest, as you were born with all the energy you would ever have, you are going to go to the nickel-writer in his terrifying tower, and you are going to ask him to create your friends.

Your... only friends. The ones you held with you even as the fickle objects which portrayed their forms disappeared. A floor tile, a doll, a piece of plant-- these blossomed into the friends you held so dear when they could not hold you back. Tess, Dovʇƶic, and Pal. Fictional, maybe. Imaginative. You always liked imagining. But they were always better friends in their concepts than your real family ever were.

A flood came and destroyed it all. This was your only option.

The only option you could see.

...Something feels strange, today. Like you've been here before. But it's nothing. Really-- no regards to what it might be. You're here for a purpose, and you're going to navigate this hellish blue tower on your own volition, distractions set aside.

As you enter, you actually don't enter. The door is locked. One pull on the bars and nothing happens.

Shit.

What do you do?