Steve had tentatively tried the stove again, and managed to wrangle a meal together, though he kept glancing nervously at the numbers in the vague blue mist. He set the plates on the counter, grabbed one & sat down, as the others followed.

"Light taste, less filling," Smitty said, and grinned when Steve glared at him.

"Pipe down," Neal said. He'd switched on the computer, and clicking on random icons, found the Simternet. "We can't eat pixels forever. We gotta find out how to make those numbers go up or get out of here, or we're history."

Another day passed. They were all nervous, itchy, and scared, but not wanting to admit it to each other. Neal prowled from room to room, looking for something, anything, that might help.

"Valory, what the !@#$ are you doin'?" Neal said.

"Juggling finances," Ross said, deadpan.

"Look, Smitty, it's our new guitarist, Neal Sock..."

"Cut it out," Neal growled. "We're stuck. Don't you get it? Stuck and lost and trying to learn someone else's !@#$-up rules. We're gonna die here!"

"Neal," Ross said patiently, "it's a cartoon. Or a video game."

"Yeah," Neal shot back, "but are we the players or the targets?"

Just then Steve let out a yell from outside. "Hey -- the paper -- it says they've got jobs for musicians!" He came inside, and everyone crowded around. The words glowed on the page. "See? Subway musicians!"

"This place has a subway?" Smitty said in disbelief.

"A way out," Steve breathed. He touched the word 'accept' before anyone could stop him.

The paper glowed blue for a second. Then the words changed, scrawling out a quick message that they would be picked up that afternoon.

"Picked up?" Steve said, suddenly unsure. His hand dropped slowly away from the paper. "By what?"

"By who?" Ross said grimly. "That's the question."