The next challenge room in Queceilitrex’s palace of challenges or whatever did not immediately seem as difficult. There was a bench on a ski lift type apparatus.

“So we just have to sit on it I assume?” Chumbler asked. Her longtime companion Z.O.K. shrugged. Her newfound companion Typo stared with kind of a stupid look on his face that made Chumbler mad. She vowed to herself that if this was some kind of challenge where they had to pick one person of the group to be thrown from the bench, that she’d easily pick Typo for that. A poof of smoke interrupted her very detailed imagining of that, and Queceilitrex appeared, now wearing a sailor’s hat for some reason and holding a classroom wall sized chalkboard that looked small in her hands.

“This next challenge is one that may be difficult for you to complete.” Queceilitrex said.

“We gotta pick which one of us gets thrown off the bench, don’t we?” Chumbler asked.

“I was just thinking that!” Typo said.

“No way!” Chumbler said.

“I was honestly deciding in my head which of you two I’d betray.” Typo said.

“Me too!” Chumbler said.

“You weren’t thinking of betraying me, were you?” Z.O.K. asked.

“If you can believe it, I actually wasn’t.” Chumbler said.

“Wow…” Z.O.K. said. Her attention turned back to Queceilitrex. “Wow!”

“Would you like me to explain the challenge?” Queceilitrex asked.

“I uh, in a second,” Z.O.K. said. “First, can I get your autograph?” She looked around for a pen or paper. “Chumbler, give me that pen and paper you use for gambling purposes.”

“No! I already wasted too many pages testing Typo’s misspelling power.” Chumbler said.

“That’s a thing?” Z.O.K. asked.

Typo meekly nodded.

“Huh.” Z.O.K. said. “Well, anyways. I have…could you sign my bra? That would really be swell?”

“Sorry, she’s at least lowkey horny all the time.” Chumbler said.

After Z.O.K. got Queceilitrex’s autograph, the giant woman explained Level 2.

“The bench deal is actually not something you’ll have to sit on.” Queceilitrex said. She gestured to the station on the other side of the ski lift type deal. “You three will be handling one of the most difficult tasks. Customer service. Once you’ve cleared a hundred customers total, you win the level and move onto the next one.”

“That doesn’t sound too hard,” Chumbler said, proudly huffing to herself and putzing about. “Good practice for Chumblerosa!”

“Don’t underestimate the hell that is customer service.” Queceilitrex said. “This will be significantly more challenging than Level 1.”

“We believe you and find you incredibly hot, Queceilitrex!” Z.O.K. said.

After Queceilitrex left in another burst of disco smoke, Z.O.K. sprinted into the station. Inside were three booths that had a bunch of stickers and stuff on them. A lanky guy that looked like someone copy pasted Principal Penteldtam but pasted him wrong was there. He looked kind of like Penteldtam mixed with a stock clipart drawing of a troll.

“Hey so I’m the manager.” He said. He didn’t sound like Penteldtam, his voice was much squeakier and much more nails on chalkboard. “Everyone called in sick so it’s just you three today. Make sure you sell purple tickets for people taking an up bench, blue-green tickets for those taking a middle bench, and red tickets for those taking a downward facing hell bench. Three stamps from the light blue stamp for the up bench, yellow stamps for the hell bench, and the other light blue stamp for the blue-green tickets. If you miss a stamp, you’re penalized. Three penalties and you’re fired.”

“Are the ones on the hell bench going to hell? Is some form of hell a thing in this void node?” Z.O.K. asked.

“I don’t have time for questions!” The manager said. He started weeping. “My wife, she…she wants a divorce. And she’s my supervisor so this is really awkward.”

“What is exactly going on right now?” Chumbler asked.

“The kids are also in a calamity of their own,” The manager said. “I really shouldn’t have hired them. They called in sick but I don’t believe them. So it’s just you three here for this shift.”

“Stop giving us personal life details, you.” Chumbler said.

“I’ve seen this before,” Typo said. “He’s the kind of manager that puts too much burden on you and tells you workplace gossip that they shouldn’t.”

“Anyways, get to work, there’s already a line outside and we’re behind.” The manager said.

Chumbler, Z.O.K., and Typo each took one of the booths. Customers came asking for tickets, and the trio did their best to keep up with the orders. Most of the customers looked to be the same troll-type beings the manager were, and most were very old and very rude. Chumbler had never had her own personal appearance insulted so much.

“You know, Typo,” Chumbler said during a brief lull in the customer action. “As a third, you’re OK. You’re no Sweetheart Blue, AKA Rain. But you’ll do.”

“I don’t feel the immediate jealousy I felt for Blue.” Z.O.K. said. “So that counts for something.”

“Thanks?” Typo asked.

“You think we’ll ever get Blue back in the mix here?” Chumbler asked. “We’ve never had a fourth before. Even in the bronze age of the Chumbler and Z.O.K. partnership, oh how we tried to get a fourth but alas.”

“That’s assuming Typo sticks around and isn’t just like a guest party member here.” Z.O.K. said.

“Do you want me to join your party?” Typo asked. “I would mainly be interested if it helps my chances in the popularity polls to be involved with such girls as yourselves.”

“Chumbler is very popularity increasing, yes.” Chumbler said. “I don’t care either way. We’re stuck together for now, so why don’t we see where this goes?”

After another rush, Chumbler decided to interrogate their potential new friend some more. First test: to see if she could make him jealous.

“I miss Zeta. I hope to one day get five thousand dollars from her.” Chumbler said. She raised her eyebrows at Typo, who didn’t react. Either he wasn’t jealous about Chumbler wishing a different friend were there or he didn’t know who Zeta was so that meant nothing to him.

The next test was to learn more about this dude.

“Is there anything interesting about you?” Chumbler asked. “Barring the inability to spell.”

“Well, no.” Typo said.

“Someone so bland might be good in a sense,” Z.O.K. said. “I think I could make fun of this guy more than I could with Sweetheart Blue, which would be good for my self-esteem.”

“True, and then we could have all sorts of new material.” Chumbler said. She forgot what she was saying. “Brain, uh, go zooming.”

“What was that last part?” Typo asked. “Not the brain go zoom thing the make fun of me thing, are you going to make fun of me?”

“Who, us? We’re kindhearted girls from Rising Shards, come on.” Chumbler said. “We wouldn’t make goofs.”

“I mean, you could.” Typo said. “Nobody ever says anything about me outside of those guys that said I have villain leanings, so making fun of me could be attention I need.”

“I think this guy’s kind of a downer.” Z.O.K. said. "Maybe we need a fourth, even more generic and boring dude for Typo to make fun of for his self-esteem."

“Ehh, enough tests,” Chumbler said. “Let’s maybe, focus on the level or challenge or whatnots and such.”

Just as Chumbler said that, a very large and very loud crowd of old people stormed in. They were all angry and each were demanding different things for their tickets.

“I wonder if this might like, uh, be the big difficult final part challenge of this level or something.” Typo said.

“Eloquently put.” Z.O.K. said.