TYPEWRITER: Spontaneously generate the complete works of WILLIAM SHAKESPEAR

The battered typewriter rattles like a jar of dice on a marble floor. Keys hammer in impossible patterns. Papers flutter up from the bin, twist mid-air, and slot themselves neatly into place. In seconds, the desk is stacked with thick, leather-bound tomes stamped with a gold sigil:

“THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAR (PARADOX EDITION)”

You flip one open — the words are all there, but slightly wrong, sentences bending around themselves, characters appearing in scenes they shouldn’t. Hamlet monologues in binary. Juliet speaks in hexadecimal. The stage directions hum with static and misplaced references to Skaia and Grist caches.

Mewlinda Nepeta tilts her head at the stack, sniffing the air. “Smells like Elizabethan paradox.” Ultimate Zen adjusts his glasses, watching the lines rearrange. Uncle Sweetbro pokes a page and it squeals. Gamzee H chuckles under his breath, scrolling something on one of his monitors.

The Office falls quiet for a beat, the weight of a million misquoted iambs filling the room.

What Will You Do?