The IKEA wormhole

Keanu was in IKEA.

Not for furniture. Not for meatballs.

For vengeance.

He stood in front of a MALM dresser that had wronged him in 2012. The edges still bore blood from his shin. The trauma was generational.

"Time to finish what we started," he whispered.

He reached behind the showroom curtain and pulled out a Nerf gun modified to shoot existential dread.

Just as he was about to fire, a portal opened in the LACK table section.

Out stepped a 2003 version of Keanu—emo hair, Naruto headband, fingerless gloves.

"Don't do it," Emo Keanu said. "You still have time to become a SoundCloud rapper."

"I already tried," present Keanu said. "Turns out, mumblecore Gregorian chants weren't marketable."

From behind a pile of throw pillows, a Swedish man in a fox mask began summoning demons using IKEA hex keys and umlauts.

Suddenly, the entire lighting section exploded into sentient chandeliers that floated upward, chanting Latin backwards.

Keanu looked down.

He was wearing Crocs.

Not his Crocs.

Someone else's Crocs.

He turned.

A 7-foot-tall sentient meatball loomed over him.

"You should've stayed in the Kitchen section," it growled in Swedish.

Keanu pulled out a spork.

"This is the kitchen section."

"Vengeance tastes better with lingonberry sauce."