Level 3

The point where I could no longer be sure what day it was.

Whatever the atmosphere of the third level was trying to convey, I sensed that it was no good. And yet I was still restless. I felt like that never should've happened. It was so ridiculous that it should be illegal. The air around me was suspiciously fresh as it was in the other two levels. I just wished the damn game would stop playing tricks on me. They were both unnecessary and distracting. At the rate at which they were piling up against me, it would turn into a ballroom blitz.

"Exa Race," a nearby sign read in bold print. Underneath it, written in fine print: "Win at any cost." Of course getting my head ripped off by some gangsta bikers or whoever the hell might possibly enter a competition so grueling that I might be called a wimp if I was to back out, was the last idea I could think of to pass the time — how much time had passed, anyway? I looked at my watch. 4:10 am. So time does fly when you're playing games. Yea, I'm gonna die. Whatever.

The sound of the radio struck me like a Bullet Bill. "I'm the King of Rock. There is none higher. Sucker MCs should call me sire. To burn my kingdom, you must use fire. I won't stop rocking 'til I retire." Good, I wasn't the only one here.

Eventually it occured to me that that wasn't the radio — some phonies were actually rapping them lyrics. The hippies — two in shades and the third sporting a Joe Simmons hat — looked so damn familiar, it was almost scary. I could've sworn a red echidna, a two-tailed fox, and a green hawk, unorthodox as it initially seemed, actually made sense to be acquainted with each other (except for the hawk) but they were acting totally different.

"I am from around the way, and Knux goes to school every day, and Jet plays the records he has to play, and we get down with no delay. (hey!) I rule the party with the words I speak, and Knux says the rhymes that are unique, and Jet cuts the records every day of the week, and we are the crew that can never be beat. So don't try to diss me, try to be my friend, cuz if you do, you'll get yours in the end. The rock we say shall set a trend, because a devastating rap is what we send!"

Now that was what I call a third-degree-familiar tune. But of course I had to counter with a rhyme of my own. Cue the part that comes after "but shit, it was 99 cents".

"Runnin' and dodgin' and jumpin' and punchin' and kickin' and screamin' and losin' and failin' at everythin' I'm pickin', and I'm craftin' and I'm minin' quite possibly for the diamond, though I've never played Minecraft, I'm hella happy that I'm armored, bitch. Imma need a manual, Imma need a manual, Imma need to read up on how this game works in actual — how to run, jump, dodge, all that what-not, hard enough when you're playing for your life, that's a cheap shot. They had an extra 1up, I bought an extra 1up. I bought a samurai sword while looking for a come-up. Hello, hello, I hate Mello Yello, Mountain Dew's so much better, this shit don't come close, hell no. I could take a sports jersey, wear it, sport some power, the cheeseheads would be like, 'Aw, he got Joe Mauer!'"

I noticed the Kings of Rock ever-so-casually walking towards me, perhaps at me. Ok, now I was really starting to sweat.

"You're not a rapper, are you?" started the red echidna.

"Nope," was my blatant reply. "I do listen to a load of genres, but I'm more of a metalhead than anything." The Big Bang Theory all over again. "What is going on here, anyway?"

The fox boy looked at me in a weird manner. "Oh, we's just tryin' to kill our boredom 'til the next race starts."

"Uh-huh..." I couldn't hold back the nagging question anymore. "Knuckles, is that you?"

"No way, bro. You got DJ Knux in da house. Dat dere's my homeboy, TMC. And over dere you got Jam-Master Jet. We da Kings of Rock and you know it." Reality check...

"Uh, yeah. I overheard you dudes talking about how you was the baddest of the bad, and how you didn't need a band to rock... 'sire'."

The expression on Knux's face lightened up a bit. "Ah, so ya listen to our jams! Very well, ya wanna hang with us for a while?"

You could tell that the fact that someone else owned that song would be news to this band of losers. "Yeah, bro. I'd love to." I was second-guessing that remark the second after it came out.

"So whassup?" Jet said in his gangsta tone.

I hate Kidz Bop. No, that's not right. "Looks like the next race is gonna start soon."

We all glanced past the sign. An army of bloody vehicles piled in two straight lines in front of the starting point. As I continued to ponder my options, Knux pushed me aside, shouting, "Last one to grab a car has to fluff my hat!" The other dudes sped past me, closely following the red echidna through the now open gateway to the track.

A rather ugly voice stated through the PA system: "There are no rules in this race, except—" the Mongols? You wish. "—win at any cost." The second after that came back to me, I began to second-guess even going in there. "Come on, man up!" shouted the bratty hawk from way over there, the point that would determine how wimpy one was. I could swear he meant to say "hedgehog". "What's wrong... chicken? Hahaha." Two seconds later, he was looking blankly at me as I sped through the entrance gate to the raceway... backwards. I sported that Sonic smirk upon passing him by. "Grab a car already."

I waited for two hours, or so it seemed. I didn't notice the lines of waiting vehicles slowly filling up with drivers here and there. I was looking for ways to entertain for those two hours. "Who wants to rap battle?"

You can probably guess who of all players looked behind them toward me in reaction to my "challenge". Then they shared awkward looks at each other. Tails took the idea to the next level.

I said I'm TMC, I'm bad
You ain't nothin', you been had
I's the very best there is
You're just a wee little lad!

Yeah, I thought that was a lousy rhyme too. Knux decided to top that with his run.

Well your rhymes were weak
Mine fit like a glove
Cuz Jet's got a face
Only a mother could love.

Pwned. I gave Knux's rap a 10. It was very unlikely Jet would be able to best this. I figured he flunked out of rapping school.

Screw this crap
We all know who won
Someone ring a bell
Ding ding, I'm done.

"Let's see what you got!" the bratty hawk squealed at me like a sore loser. I immediately accepted his challenge, not considering the fact that I hated the Animal I Have Become. Wait, that's not right either...

Fix your damn rhymes
And let the king pass
You can't pass go
Cuz my rapping is class
Consider this your warning
Next time you won't be lucky
And remember, I'm a pro
You're a rookie.

"Class."

"Dat's one hot rhyme ya got, hedgehog."

"Loser." You can probably guess who said that.

"My work here is done," I said to myself.

"The race will begin... now."

I didn't notice my engine revving up (or any of the others, for that matter). Fine time to sit here doing nothing while I'm waiting for the race to start, eh Luigi?

"One, two, three, go!"

Of course the car breaking the speed limit in about half a second easily snapped me out of my boredom.

Obstacles were everywhere. It was almost hard work to swerve around anything and everything that got in the path. When I tried to grab a power-up of some sort, another driver decided to be a jerk and Rammstein into my vehicle, causing it to almost crash into a wall. I hoped that was the closest I'd get to crashing, but as I focused on another item box, yet another player ambushed me at the last second, pushing my bike/stroller/Segway/whatever with so much force that I lost my grip and fell off the course, without the bike/stroller/Segway/whatever to crush me upon landing. Faaaaaaaaaaaaaalling...

That number sticking out from my chest caught me by surprise. A big fat "5" came into plain view for half a second, but it was replaced by a "4" faster than you could say "Game Over". Was this my life count?

I was insanely lucky to have found a hidden path once unnoticed by me. But it felt all the more miraculous that I crash-landed on another vehicle. It didn't matter to me that some other loser was already behind the wheel. "My turn, sucker," I sassed as I pulled him off the seat and took it over, getting back on the course in no time flat.

Jam-Master Jet pulled up in front of me. He turned around and shouted, "Push the red button!"

The red button. A small text on the red button read "gullible". Just another one of his weird tricks, how lovely. I was determined to prove myself too smart to fall for something like that. "Hey, look to your right. It says 'gullible'."

"Oh does it now?" Two seconds. "Ok fine, I'll look!" He gazed in the opposite direction long enough for me to pull my devious prank. "Look over there, a distraction!"

"What!" Jet was frantically stomping his left foot where the emergency pedal usually was. He panicked when he realized his bike/stroller/Segway/whatever was not stopping when it was supposed to. He looked down where his (probably) weak foot was. It was the perfect time to unveil my clever display of trickery. I held up a brake and, waving it at the bratty hawk, shouted, "Looking for this?" I pulled up far enough ahead of him to avoid the bloody traffic jam that he would inevitably cause after skidding to a halt at the wrong time, resulting in crashing into the brick wall with that narrow hole that one could only pass through going straight.

"That's a big ramp..."

I gazed long and hard at the path ahead of me in awe. (awww...) I said "A-W-E". (oooh...) That's better. A gut instinct told me to floor it. Another voice in my head yelled that the heavily inclined plane was just impossible to clear. You can guess which side I took. After all, I wanted to win like any other player. However, the slightly bigger, more powerful car, piloted by my worst enemy, made me numbly uncomfortable AGAIN. No worries, you can get up there. Nothing to be scared of! I mean, he's only human like everyone else, well almost everyone, and... you have nothing to be ashamed of! Look, you're at the peak of this ramp! Now get back out there and —

A loud thump shook my bike/stroller/Segway/whatever at the VERY LAST SECOND. I was all of a sudden sliding to the left. I swerved further towards the edge of the course, perhaps in the OB area, with every inch that dumb vehicle of mine skidded towards the peak of the ramp. I thought I'd gained enough momentum, but most of it was stolen in an instant. I don't know how I even cleared the Impossiwall. Faaaaaaaaaaaaaalling...

I could've stuck the landing much more smoothly, but I was tilted too far to the right to land cleanly. You could say that was a "butthurt" touchdown. I felt scrapes on my left arm a second after recovering. Then I noticed a "3" where the slightly larger number was two minutes ago. Just great. At the rate I was dying, I wouldn't finish the race. At least now I could justify it being easier said than done... unless you were the Mongols.

I finally got a power-up! Now I gotta find someplace to use it wisely...

As I cautiously powered through every corner of the visible map of the course, I stumbled across a very peculiar sign. The easily visible bold print read "shortcut". But why the tarmac was dipping into a pool of liquid nitrogen beat me. I thought liquid nitrogen was colder than freezing and hazardous if you touched it. Almost no one would get anywhere near the magic substance that was so close to absolute zero that it would bring a sensation of "IT BURNS!" So I decided to be different... again.

Huh? It's warm... I traversed rather smoothly through the maze of unpredictable madness. Perhaps those boosted reflexes and Chaos Emerald abilities and miscellaneous crap that I acquired four years ago had to do with this curious display of luck. But then the absolute zero liquid posed a problem. I couldn't breathe in this substance for whatever reason... I needed to get back on the course and get some artificial video game air or whatever. Almost there, come on...

"DO THE HARLEM SHAKE!" NO!

Wow, that was close. But when I heard that one line from the BGM playing in the background, I knew I was in big trouble. All of a sudden I was getting nowhere without viewing a rather disturbing sequence of dance moves done by the load of players all around me, even though the race was still not over. If only I could've taken my iPhone with me so I wouldn't have to suffer this over 9000. I was just lucky that I'd avoided listening to it long enough to not have it stuck in my head for months. The problem was that after I'd listened to it, I could never un-listen to it. I'd already gone PSYcho, but what this song was doing to me was absolutely ridiculous.

Thank God it was finally over. The time seemed to be going much slower. I was left totally paranoid for the rest of my life. I would never get that raisin of a song out of my head! I needed a miracle... "Final stretch!" Once again I was pulled out of that trance I'd referred to for about four years as my perception of "reality". It was becoming a nightmare. Snapping from "the real truth" to playing chess with some imaginary friends and back over and over was now a pain in the arse. When would this Rammstein end?

The checkered flag came into view. Finally something to think about while still trying to not die. I made it a personal goal to not think about what would happen if I died. However, I'd read so many near-death experience articles and such over the years that evidently it wasn't going so well. I glimpsed back at the competition behind me. A red echidna in an offroader was slowly closing the gap between the both of us rather quickly. That I totally did not understand. I was going as fast as I could, and the finish point was only 120 feet away, and yet my torpedo-esque vehicle was failing to an offroader. Pathetic — no, I think I oughta quote an atheist on an alternate subtitle from an episode of his now defunct TV show, as inspired by Harry Houdini: "Humbug!"

"Five... four... three..." The DJ on the monster truck caught up to me and skidded in front of me, causing my Bike to crash into his Kart. The impact of that nasty collision kept him skidding in the direction of the finish point; at the same time, I was sent flying in the same direction. I thought it was the end of the line for me. Whether or not I even crossed the finish, I was so in for a headshot crash. Faaaaaaaaaaaaaalling...

"Winner by a margin of two feet... Zen—"

With that rough of a landing, that was all I could make out. What other player might have a name starting with "Zen"? It only occurred to me after DJ Knux came up to me and gave me the "thumbs-up" that I was in fact, that "Zen". He stuttered in a calmer manner than usual: "I have to admit that I was impressed with that heck of a performance back there. You rocked and you rolled. You know that the top three players get to advance to the next level, right?"

I was confuzed by that remark. "No one ever told me that! It's not like I have cheats or anything!"

He smirked like a boss. "What can I say? Now you know. And knowing is half the battle!" G.I. Joe. "Too bad I gotta leave the other Kings of Rock behind. Now let's scramble. I got a level 7 to pursue, and so do you."

"Yeah, you got that right. Thanks a lot. I appreciate your support." Where's the portal to level 4? Is it behind — oh, there it is. Come to think of it, exactly how Tails and Knuckles and Jet got here was way beyond me.

While I'm working on part 6, make sure to check out the poll on my profile. Happy voting!