Episode Twenty-Two: Guilt

    Troy fetched another bag of chips from the kitchen cupboard, plopped down into the large couch, and devoured it. Four empty cereal boxes leaned against each other on top of the fireplace, a fifth had fallen sometime earlier under the weight of the others. A pile of both chip bags and crumbs slumped next to the couch. Fifty-eight glasses—Troy had counted them—covered the small coffee table, most were empty, but some he hadn't bothered to finish before getting another one. An abandoned roast that was still mostly raw waited on the spigot to be cooked, but after the fire died, Troy hadn't bothered to get it going again.
    After finishing the chips and adding the bag to the pile, he stood and paced the room. After a few minutes he returned to the kitchen and opened the cupboard again. A new bag of chips waited next to a box of raisins where he had already removed so many. Its appearance infuriated him. The billionaire took the bag and threw it out the window. He knew it was irrational, but he didn't care. As soon as he looked back there was another one in the cupboard. He tossed that one too. And the next.
    Suddenly remembering he was being watched by cameras, he froze. Then began a hunt that lasted a few hours. He searched the rooms of the cabin one by one gathering all the cameras he could find and tossing them in the lake. Every camera time he pulled a camera off the wall and every time he threw one in the lake, his anger increased. By the time he couldn't find another camera he was storming through the lodge, ripping paintings off the walls and lights off the ceiling, wanting to spite Dean just one more time by destroying another camera.
    Eventually his anger burnt itself out and he took an impromptu nap on a pile of furs. Waking up he just felt miserable. Whatever chance they had of getting out, he had ruined it. Over and over he wished he would have promised to tell Dean after he was out, but deep inside he knew it wouldn't have even mattered then. Dean wasn't going to let any of them out ever again. They were evidence that needed to be destroyed.
    Seized by hunger he returned to the cupboard where he found yet another bag of chips waiting for him. Maddened by the sight of it, he flung open the cupboard door, breaking off one of its hinges, and hurled it out the window. The wooden door hung oddly on the remaining upper hinge, behind it was a bag of chips. The fire burning inside of him was suddenly doused by an idea. Here in the lodge's kitchen, the computer did more than just calculate physics: food appeared out of no where and the garbage can made anything thrown into it disappear. Perhaps, he thought, there was a way to mess things up and make the program crash.
    Grabbing the perpetually empty trash can, he ran out to the lake and dipped it under the water. Immediately it began sucking up water like a pipe.  Hoping it was at least forcing the computer to use some extra processing power he left underwater a few feet from shore. He knew it couldn't drain the lake, not with how much water came down the waterfall.
    In the kitchen he attacked with the replenishing cupboards with an ax. After a time he grew a little more sensible and fetched a crowbar from the shed. Even after the wood had been removed, food appeared in midair where the shelves had been and began heaping up in great piles of boxes, bags, and haphazard piles, as new items appeared and immediately fell.
    He fetched the trash can from the lake, pushed the top of the pile of chips, and place the trash can under the first new bag that appeared. Watching hundreds of bags of chips appear from nowhere and vanish into the oblivion, entertained him only a short while. His idea wasn't working.
    The kitchen was now totally full of food and very difficult to move around in, so he took the trash can back to the lake where he thought it was probably doing more good. Then he went to each room on the second floor of the lodge and turned on every faucet in every bathroom and bathtub, plugging all the drains so they filled up and ran over. He took out a few light bulbs, stripped and crossed the electric wires, then turned the switches back on. All he got were a few sparks and the power died. Outside he found a fusebox. While looking for extra fuses in the shed he came across a box of signal flares and had a wonderful idea.
    Three hours later, he  dumped one last box of flares inside the lodge, splashed another bottle of kerosene around for good measure, and ate one last bag of chips. One the porch, where a trail of kerosene ended, he had placed a wax candle. Lighting the candle, he ran for the hill. Laying on top of the hill he watched as the candle slowly burnt down.
    Whatever made the food appear in the kitchen, water appear in the pipes, electricity in the wires, and supplies in the shed had held up to Troy's manipulations so far, but this would far outdo anything William could have anticipated. Troy wondered what the program crashing would be like. Would a sort of black hole appear where the lodge had been and suck him up? Or would the whole program stop and everyone would wake up at the portal? What if it didn't end the program, just messed it up? Images of a strange convoluted world where he couldn't move and bags of chips appeared everywhere choking him suddenly filled his imagination, and Troy watched the last bit of candle burn away wondering if he would live to see the result.
    The candle's flame reached the fuel, dashed into the house, and exploded into all directions in a deafening roar. Of the hundreds of flares Troy had tossed around earlier, only a small portion happened to be pointed at a window, but they the frequency of trails of smoke and flame that escaped the inferno trapped behind the wooden walls was enough to rival independence day fireworks.  A huge pillar of smoke reared above the lodge. Flame poured from the windows.
    Perhaps a flare burst through one of its windows, perhaps a flaming bit of wood landed on the roof, or the temperature might have just been raised high enough. The shed exploded into a ball of fire, sending a shock wave that would have thrown Troy off his feet if he had been standing. Only a moment passed before an equally loud and strong explosion rocked the ground again, and again, and again. Before his eyes, the lodge crumpled away from the blasts. Troy couldn't help but wonder if the bags of chips were still appearing in the inferno.
    The anticipated crash in the program never came, but the blasts continued unmercifully destroying the peace of the valley. Troy guessed there was dynamite in the shed that, like the chips, flares, and other supplies, kept reappearing. Frustrated that the program ran on smoothly and unable to think of anything else that might possible add to the strain, Troy wandered into the woods looking for shelter.