New Beginnings, the latest brainchild of Impulse Revisionism, offers more plotlines than a conspiracy theorist’s dream journal—and the same level of logic. At its core, it’s a tale of confusion, deceit, and the occasional supernatural miracle. The characters, meanwhile, are seemingly in a race to outdo each other in the “Worst Person You Know” competition.

Take Clay, for instance. His grip on reality is about as sturdy as his wheelchair, which—surprise!—crumples under him for no discernible reason. One minute he’s minding his own business, and the next, he’s in Henry’s room, presumably teleported by the plot’s sheer disregard for continuity. At this point, Clay could be living in a poorly-coded video game where entire rooms vanish the second he leaves them. Perhaps it’s better that way. After all, nothing says existential dread quite like realizing your entire world might just be a budget version of The Sims.

And then there’s Henry. Henry, who—after saving Clay’s life—gets zero thanks. Why? Because Clay’s heart is about as warm as a morgue freezer. He’s holding a grudge like it’s the last piece of cake at a family reunion. Meanwhile, Henry drops the bombshell that the Boone family name, once dripping with prestige, now holds all the weight of a soggy napkin. Oh, and as a fun side note, Bill Boone has been arrested for trafficking. It’s not clear what he was trafficking, but in a world like this, it could range from illegal fireworks to rogue kidneys. Clay’s credibility is now shot. He’s about as believable as P. Diddy claiming to have never heard of a remix.

Let’s not forget Jenna. Her crime? Nonfeasance—fancy legalese for standing by and watching the world burn. Jenna knew who caused Clay’s “accident” (though the word “accident” seems generous given how things tend to work in this universe), but decided to keep that little nugget of truth to herself. Now she’s facing possible legal trouble for doing nothing, which is somehow the most relatable thing anyone in this story has done so far.

But Jenna’s self-image takes a hit when Henry pulls back the curtain on her perfectionism. Turns out, Henry couldn’t care less about what people think of her. Why? Because she’s too busy moving from town to town like a supernatural grifter, leaving a trail of existential crises and emotional carnage in her wake.

Speaking of superpowers, apparently, they’re handed out in New Beginnings like participation trophies. Some folks can bring the dead back to life, others bend metal or control the weather. It’s a real X-Men meets Jerry Springer situation, except no one seems particularly interested in using their powers for good. Instead, it’s all angst and poorly-timed revelations, with a dash of casual demon-casting for flavor.

And just when you think things couldn’t get more absurd, enter the Mennonite leader, whose idea of leadership is lying to the Sheriff with a straight face. She denies any knowledge of the Boone fire, looking the Sheriff in the eye like a kid with chocolate smeared all over their face insisting they didn’t eat the last cookie. Sure, Sheriff, sure. Totally believable.

In conclusion, New Beginnings is the kind of narrative chaos you’d expect from a writer who might be playing a long-running prank on their audience. Every character is a delightful mess, every storyline a fever dream, and every moment another step toward glorious, inevitable disaster. And honestly? We wouldn’t have it any other way.