Jayce Klein

The day Jayce Klein was born was just your standard, average, regular day. People woke up, ate breakfast, brushed their teeth, went to work, ate lunch, left work, watched some TV, and fell asleep. This experience is quite a common one for most people, and this included Jayce. The moment he entered this beautiful world he was already wearing a pair of khakis, an incredibly utilitarian utility vest, and some hiking boots built to climb the steepest and tallest mountains. In his hands were a hammer, a geologist’s compass, and a trail book.

While there was some uproar in the hospital, the world continued to run as it had. People still went to work, ate fancy dinners, fought, exercised, and generally lived their lives as usual. In fact, the world became boring. Most days were just about the same as each other (besides The Great Tomato Disaster in the outskirts of Williams, Arizona), and people were pretty happy. The stock market went up at a regular rate of exactly 10% annually. Local governments around the country had moderately balanced budgets to ensure a decent quality of life for their citizens. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary…

Every night while this was happening, baby Jayce would not go to bed, nor would he even stay in his crib. He would patiently wait until he knew his parents were asleep, sneakily jump out of his crib, and tip-toe to the basement. Inside said basement was a small, baby-sized door. This led to an elevator with fluorescent lights; a bright, almost sterile cart that would bring him down to the deepest parts of the Earth’s crust.

Deep down beneath human society, the underground lizards would shout “Wassup, Jayce?” each night. Massive computer servers lined the walls of this huge warehouse with ocean water from above being pumped through their cooling systems. “Another day, another dollar, am I right Gflefgoxybol? Anyway, gotta get to work. World doesn’t run itself!” Jayce sat himself down in his cubicle, stuck a piece of spearmint gum in his mouth, and got busy.