Chapter Text
(The Westmore Middle School gymnasium was a chaotic symphony of buzzing lights, echoing teenage voices, and the distinct smell of papier-mâché and anxiety. It was the annual Science Fair, a mandatory event that Greg Heffley viewed with his usual mix of cynicism and vague desire for recognition (without actually putting in too much effort). Armed with his smartphone, Greg was navigating the maze of tri-fold boards, determined to document the truly bizarre entries for posterity (and maybe to blackmail someone later). His first few photos were routine: Bryce Anderson's overly glossy model of Mount Vesuvius (definitely done by his mom), Abigail Brown's impressive yet intimidating solar panel array, Fregley's unsettling 'Anatomy of a Scab' diagram (which Greg photographed primarily for nightmare fuel), and a surprisingly intricate hamster obstacle course built by a kid named Patty Farrell, though he quickly moved past her intense gaze.)
Greg took his fourth picture of a surprisingly elaborate model of the Westmore Middle School itself, made entirely out of popsicle sticks by a sixth grader he didn't recognize. Finally, he snapped a quick photo of a disappointing potato battery that barely powered a tiny LED. "Five random, mildly interesting projects documented," Greg muttered to himself, checking the photos. "My work here is done... almost." He muttered.
He then spotted Holly Hills. Her project looked meticulous. It was an investigation into the psychological effects of color on mood. She had different colored stations with surveys, all neatly organized and backed by actual data (rare in this gym). Greg admired the effort. "Wow, Holly." he said, stepping closer. "This is actually... really impressive. Way beyond the usual moldy bread stuff." He said smiling.
Holly looked up, slightly surprised by the genuine compliment. She flashed a warm, bright smile. "Thanks, Greg. I actually spent a lot of time researching it." She said.
"It shows. It looks professional," Greg added, genuinely impressed by the depth. "I could probably take a picture that actually captures how awesome this is, instead of just... you know, garbage." Holly chuckled. "Maybe later." She said.
Feeling energized, Greg continued down the row and spotted Chirag Gupta. He was beaming over a surprisingly intricate presentation on hydroponics. The project featured a fully functional mini-system growing small, healthy-looking lettuce plants. "Nice, Chirag." Greg said, nodding. "You actually grew stuff. That's cool." Chirag beamed. "It uses 90% less water than traditional farming! I engineered the pumps!"
(As Greg continued to praise Chirag's setup, he started to take a step backwards, talking animatedly about the potential of Chirag's idea. His elbow accidentally clipped the handle of a previously unnoticed door set into the back wall of the gym, which led to a storage area or perhaps the old boiler room.)
"Whoops." Greg said, recovering his balance. The heavy metal door creaked inward slightly. "I thought this was a dead end. Maybe there's an 'advanced science' section back here?" Ignoring the dim lighting and the fact that it clearly looked like a forgotten utility closet, Greg pushed the door fully open and stepped into the pitch-black space.
(Squinting, he could just make out a strange, bulky shape in the far corner. It didn't look like any science project he'd ever seen. It was covered in wires, glowing tubes filled with pulsing neon liquid, and complex control panels that looked suspiciously professional—more like a prop from Star Wars than a middle school entry. A large, prominent red button was visible on the main console.)
(Intrigued, Greg approached the strange device. A large, handwritten sign taped to the front clearly read, in bold black marker: DO NOT TOUCH! POTENTIAL RISK OF EXTRADIMENSIONAL DISPLACEMENT.)
"Pfft, as if.." Greg scoffed. "Probably just some weird theatre tech project Patty Farrell forgot. They use big words to sound smart." He reached out, his curiosity overriding the warning, intending to maybe press the shiny red button and see if it made a cool sound or lit up differently. He wanted that fifth really weird photo.
Just as his finger was inches from the button, two urgent, panicky voices screamed in unison: "STOP! DON'T TOUCH IT, GREG!" Both voices shouted in unison.
Greg jolted violently, pulling his hand back as if he'd been shocked. He spun around, finding Rowley and Holly standing at the edge of the storage area, both looking at him with expressions of pure terror. "What?" Greg demanded, heart pounding. "You scared me to death! It's just some old junk, probably for a play." He explained.
Rowley's eyes were huge. "Greg, you didn't see the sign? It says don't touch!" He explained.
Holly stepped forward, her face serious. "That's not just 'junk', Greg. I saw this in an advanced science club pamphlet earlier. A high school team designed it. They claim it's an experimental warp device. If you press that button, it... it activates, and they say you could be warped out of existence. They might never see you again!" She explained as well.
Greg froze, the realization sinking in. "Warped? Like... teleported? Here?" He looked at the dangerous-looking machine again, then back at his friends, feeling incredibly foolish. "I... I just thought... sorry. I wasn't thinking. I apologize. Really." He said sheepishly.
Holly sighed, her tense shoulders relaxing slightly. "It's okay, Greg. Just be more careful. Science isn't always safe." She said, comforting him.
"Yeah," Rowley added, his voice still trembling slightly. "It says it could displace you! That sounds painful!" He said in fear.
Attempting to change the subject and ease the tension, Rowley quickly stepped around Greg to show off his own presentation, which he had set up next to the weird storage door earlier (a prime location, in Rowley's estimation). "Look at my project, Greg!" he said brightly. He pulled a slightly worn, somewhat fluffy stuffed elephant from beneath the table. "It's 'The Comfort Quotient of Plush Companions!' I tested how different ages reacted to holding Herbert!" He said.
Holly looked at the fluffy elephant and smiled genuinely. "Aw, Rowley, that is actually really cute. And heartwarming!" She cooed.
"Yeah, that's... cool, Rowley," Greg agreed, a bit weakly, still feeling the adrenaline spike. "The comfort factor. Nice angle."
Rowley beamed. "He's been very effective! I'm taking data on smiles!" He said.
"Great," Greg said, feeling bad about almost getting warped. He raised his phone. "I was actually going to get that fifth awesome photo now. Rowley, and Herbert. Together, capturing the essence of comfort science."
(Greg needed a better angle, so he prepared to take a picture of Rowley posing happily with Herbert. He stepped back several paces toward the storage area, trying to frame the shot. Distracted by lining up Rowley and the plush, and focused on finding the right aesthetic for his Instagram (though he wouldn't admit that was the plan), Greg didn't check his position relative to the dangerous machine behind him. His behind bumped solidly against the large, sensitive red button on the control console. A massive, echoing CLACK filled the gym. The machine hummed to life instantly, far louder than any middle school project had any right to be. Green and purple energy began to spark and crackle across the glowing tubes. The three of them froze, all staring in utter, paralyzed shock.)
"Uh... that was an accident! I didn't mean to! I was just taking the picture!" Greg stammered, his eyes wide.
(The humming became a roaring whine. Bright electrical bolts, thick and brilliant, shot out from the central aperture of the device. They formed a localized vortex, wrapping around Greg, then Holly, and finally Rowley, enveloping them in blinding light. The energy surged, pulling the three of them inward with incredible force. They were lifted off the ground, their forms dissolving into shimmering particles of light as they were sucked into the warp field. In the blink of an eye, the vortex collapsed inward, and Greg, Holly, and Rowley were simply gone. The hum faded. The machine was silent and inert.)
Just then, the sound of determined footsteps approached. Patty Farrell rounded the corner, frowning deeply as she surveyed the empty area where Rowley's project and the storage room door were located. She heard the noise and came checking, suspicious. She looked left, she looked right, her eyes squinting. "What was that noise?" she huffed, looking around thoroughly. Seeing no one and nothing out of order (the dangerous machine having deactivated immediately), she shrugged and walked back to her hamster experiment.
(Greg, Holly, and Rowley were currently screaming for dear life as they fell through what felt like an infinite, shifting kaleidoscope of blinding energy, strange symbols, and a swirling void. There was no ground, no sky, only the terrifying sensation of falling through reality.)
"Greg! Why did you push it?!" Holly yelled over the roaring sound of the warp, her hair flying wildly.
"I didn't push it!" Greg screamed back. "I was backing up to take Rowley's photo! I didn't see it! It was an accident!" He yelled.
Rowley, eyes closed tight, was looking increasingly green. "I feel... sick... I think I'm gonna..." He said weakly.
(Before anyone could react, Rowley leaned forward and threw up. Because of the warp field, the vomit didn't fall; it sprayed out in a colorful arc, instantly dissolving into bright, sparkling data streams that zig-zagged through the void around them like digitized confetti. Greg and Holly watched the sparkling vomit-data with expressions of pure disgust and absolute horror.)
Rowley wiped his mouth. "Oops... sorry. I had a lot of corn dogs before coming..." He said muttered.
(Terrified and seeing no other option, the three of them instinctively clung to each other in a frantic embrace, squeezed together in the amidst of the chaotic light. They shut their eyes tight, bracing for impact, as the light intensified and the sensation of falling violently ended.)
(The abrupt stop jarred them. They lay in a tangled, dazed heap for a good ten seconds, eyes still squeezed shut, wondering if they were dead, warped to another galaxy, or just Patty Farrell's new test subjects. Finally, they squinted and opened their eyes. They weren't in the gym. They weren't dead. They had landed face-first in a massive, sprawling pile of surprisingly warm, soft sand. Coughing and dusting themselves off, they sat up and looked around in disbelief.)
"Well... this isn't heaven," Greg said, spitting out sand. He pushed himself upright, realizing they were on a beautiful, pristine beach, the sun bright overhead and the gentle sound of turquoise ocean waves nearby.
(Greg stood up and walked a few feet, squinting at a large, wooden sign stuck in the dunes. It was covered in words, but he couldn't read them. The letters looked familiar, but they were arranged completely differently than English.)
"I can't read this language," Greg muttered. "It's... weird. Like, all symbols and stuff. It says... 'Vadish Sool Sool Vallish?' That's the town's name?" He asked.
"We are totally lost," Rowley whimpered, hugging Herbert (who had surprisingly survived the warp in one piece).
Greg looked down at his phone. Incredibly, it was still working. He opened his online translation app. "Okay, let's see what the sign actually says." He held the camera up to the Simlish text.
The screen analyzed the alien alphabet and displayed the result. "It says... Sunset Valley." He readed.
"Sunset Valley?" Holly repeated, sitting up quickly. "I know that name!" She gasped.
Greg and Rowley both looked at her. "You do?" They both asked.
Holly nodded. "My older sister Heather... she's always on her computer playing that simulation game. The Sims 3. Sunset Valley is one of the main towns in that game! We... we're in The Sims?" She said.
(Greg and Rowley stared at her, then around at the vibrant, oddly stylized environment with a mixture of shock and utter disbelief.)
(They began walking cautiously along a dirt path leading away from the beach, trying to make sense of this new reality. They heard a voice and saw a man with a friendly expression and extremely distinct purple sunglasses approaching them.)
"Hello!" Greg called out.
The man waved cheerfully and stopped, speaking. "Sul sul! Oh, Feebee lay! Ooo be-dah!" He sounded extremely friendly, but the words were pure gibberish.
Greg and Rowley stared at each other. "What did he say?" Rowley whispered.
Holly smiled at the man. "He's speaking Simlish. I think he said hello and asked how we are." She replied.
"Simlish?" Greg repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That is the weirdest language I have ever heard. It sounds like someone is trying to talk while gargling. That's how they talk here?" He asked.
"Everything about this is weird," Rowley added.
"It's okay," Holly assured them. "They're usually friendly, if you can figure out what they want." She said.
As they continued walking, a female Sim arrived from the opposite direction. She had a severe expression and her interaction bubble showed a thought-cloud of a very disorganized desk. She stopped and looked at the three confused middle schoolers. She spoke rapidly. "Hooba Noobie? Aw, dag dag! Coma nala? Depay, Depay, DEPAY!" She was asking if they were new and seemed increasingly impatient.
Greg and Rowley exchanged another look of confusion. "We're really lost," Rowley told the woman, speaking English clearly and brightly. "Could you tell us where we are? In, you know, normal language?" He asked.
The female Sim's mood immediately tanked. An actual, visible 'dislike' icon (a red circle with a line through a stylized smile) appeared over her head in the interface bubble. She looked at Rowley with obvious annoyance. "Nooboo! Jaba! Nooboo-jaba-boo!" she huffed, making a dramatic 'shooing' gesture with her hands before walking away stiffly.
Greg winced. "Wow. I don't think she liked you. Say it in a nicer way next time, Rowley." He said.
"But I was nice!" Rowley protested, looking hurt.
They continued walking into the town, finding themselves near a charming, open-air art gallery. "Well, that's beautiful," Holly noted. The building had large arched windows and several paintings clearly visible inside, including one that looked like a very blocky version of the Mona Lisa. "I guess they appreciate art here."
"Yeah, that looks cool," Greg agreed, stepping toward the entrance, his mind still slightly reeling. He needed to find a distraction or he was going to lose it completely. He was suddenly aware of another very pressing need. "Hey, guys... I really need to use the bathroom. This sand and warp travel is not helping. I saw the signs for a restroom back there." He said.
Rowley and Holly nodded. "Go ahead," Holly said. "We'll wait here. Just make it quick, please? We don't want to get separated."
Greg nodded, already heading toward the restroom. "I'll be right back."
5 minutes later..
Greg arrived back at the art museum entrance, having quickly cleaned the sand off. He looked up, expecting to see Rowley and Holly waiting, but the area was completely empty. "Guys?" Greg called out, his voice echoing slightly. He stepped further into the museum, looking through the various displays of abstract and landscape paintings. "Rowley? Holly? It's been five minutes! This isn't funny!" He shouted.
(Panic started to set in. He walked through the main gallery, checking every corner, calling their names repeatedly, his voice getting louder and more anxious. He checked the street outside. They were gone. Completely. Then His phone vibrled intensely. He quickly grabbed it. It was a text message. From Holly. He opened it frantically. The message read, with several typos and a very worried-looking emoji: GRRG! HELP! PARK! WE RR IN THY PAKR! PLAEZ COM FAST!)
Greg stared at the message. The park.. That was miles away! He said to himself.
"The park!" Greg yelled, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He spun around and bolted out of the art museum entrance, ready to run full-speed to find them. He was so focused on getting to the park that he didn't check his surroundings and immediately and forcefully collided with a muscular male Sim who was intently painting a miniature easel outside.
The Sim gasped, his painting palette flying. A 'fuming' expression bubble instantly appeared above his head with actual small steam clouds. "BAH! DAG DAG! OOMBA NOOBIE!" he yelled, furious about the disruption and the ruined progress, throwing his hands in the air.
"Sorry! Sorry! Huge emergency!" Greg yelled over his shoulder, already continuing to run off down the street, bumping into another female Sim walking a dog (which also barked Simlish, sounding something like "Wuf Wuf Sool Sool!") as he desperately navigated the strange streets of Sunset Valley, intent on reaching the park and finding his friends before anything happened in this unpredictable, weird game world.
To be continued..