The next thing I knew, I was standing in a weird dojo-kind-of room with a straw floor and silk screens for doors. The birds were chirping outside, and I was inside, wondering why the fuck I wasn't outside like I was before I was inside.
I turned and looked back. The city was still there, but still just as far away, like the Emerald City on some alien crack.
"You seek the Dark Master," a voice that was mine said from behind me.
I turned again. There was someone there who hadn't been there before. A tall, skinny kid in a leather jacket. His hair was spiked. He wore jeans and a pair of tall combat boots for kicking mailboxes in.
Who are you, I asked him.
The kid said, "I am Jack's Wasted Youth. You left me here a long time ago, when you didn't want to make out with that girl behind the garage. I've been waiting a long time for someone like you, pal. We're going to start a lot of fires together."
I asked him where Tyler was.
"In your mind, stupid."
No, which part of my mind was he in.
"Well, I'll tell you, but I need you to do something for me, first."
I already knew what he wanted.
"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."
And this was it. I was back in the parking lot at the bar I wound up in after my condo exploded before I met him, Patron Saint of Destruction: Tyler Durden. Part of him was in my youth. Was I that good-looking, once? The thought made me happy.
Of course, not as happy as I was when my left fist connected solidly with the Kid's ear.
He screamed. And it was fight Club all over again.
We ripped off our shirts and shoes, and somewhere I could hear him saying the rules.
The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. I kicked the kid hard in his right knee.
The second rule of fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. He responded by driving his fist into the bridge of my nose, breaking it explosively.
The third rule is, some guy yells stop, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. I picked him up and slammed him into the floor, once...twice...three times.
Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight. The Kid's shin landed right in my groin and I screamed.
Fifth rule, one fight at a time. I kneed him in the ribs. Hard enough to break a few.
Sixth rule, no shirts, no shoes. Kidney punch. Hurt like hell. I fell to my knees.
Seventh rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. The Kid thought he was winning. He put his hands around my throat.
And the eighth and final rule is, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.
I whipped my head up, slamming it right into his face.
He fell down. I won.
I helped him back up and we put the shirts back on.
"Not bad for an old guy," the Kid said.
We left the dojo together to find the ice cave.