Chapter Text
In the morning, Gordon wakes with an achy feeling in his bones, staring at the wall beside his bed with tired eyes. He barely managed to sleep with so much on his mind. Now, pulling himself out of bed, he goes through the motions of his daily routine—fielding texts, eating a breakfast of pancakes with a pear smoothie, getting dressed and checking his mail.
There's about thirty new letters and all but one is from Benrey—the letters are all empty save for the greeting and "love, benry", but they all have gifts attached—each one being a full stack of rotten turnips. It takes about ten minutes to transfer every single one to a garbage bin, as Gordon grows progressively more annoyed. Right, he forgot—Benrey is an obnoxious brat, not anyone deserving of his sympathy.
It still nags at him, though. In the evening, once every chore he can conceive of has been completed, Gordon sits at the garden table near his house enjoying the crisper, early autumn weather, and starts texting Tommy. It takes him about fifteen tries to figure out exactly what he wants to say, how much information to give, before he just sends, "Hey, does Benrey have a family?"
It takes barely a minute before he receives back, "I can't tell you that, sorry :(" Gordon frowns down at the message, unable to keep from wondering why. Is it a truth too complex and disturbing for Gordon to hear? Or is it simply a good, loyal man keeping his friend's secret?
"But you have a dad, right? Is he around in the game somewhere?" Gordon texts back after a few minutes of consideration.
"He isn't," Tommy responds. "My father is a real person, Mr. Freeman, like you."
Gordon frowns, puzzled. "Wait, how is that possible?"
"Mr. Freeman, have you ever felt paternal feelings for an inanimate object, like a plush toy? Maybe something you made yourself?"
As Gordon processes those words, it starts to click. He can think of a few things, like the dog plush his late grandfather gifted to him as a child that he treated with the kind of care imitating what he would go on to perform for his son. He's never made anything like that, but he's seen people get that way for plants grown from scratch or even baked goods, assigning labels like "son" to a loaf of bread or a drawing or even a rock with a face drawn onto it.
"I never thought of it like that," he admits. "So he, what, coded you? What about the others?"
"I can't tell you anymore than that, I'm sorry :("
Tapping his fingers on the table, Gordon does his best to parse all this new information. He trusts Tommy enough to believe he has good reasons to keep this all under wraps, and, the more Gordon thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Tommy's too nice to say it to his face, but… if the truth is too disturbing, Gordon's not bound to do anything terribly rational or sane with that information.
"But do you have, like, programmed backstories? I mean, with Dr. Coomer's ex-wife and you being an orphan and the tube and all that, is that real? Or is it like the five-minute hypothesis?"
"Mr. Freeman, I need you to know that I'm going to have to delete today's chatlogs in a few hours, so don't be alarmed, okay? It wouldn't be good if anyone found these messages." After a quick confirmation, Tommy continues. "I think it's funny that you bring that theory up, Mr. Freeman, because I don't believe there's any difference either way. The distinction between what's real and fake is arbitrary, when you think about it. If it feels real to you, does it matter if it isn't?"
Stunned, Gordon blinks down at his phone, reading Tommy's message several times over. Somewhere in all the bright colors, soft play areas, and referring to right angles as "triangles", Gordon forgot that Tommy's actually incredibly intelligent. Probably the smartest out of all of them, Gordon included.
Lifting his head, Gordon looks around at his environment, the 3D scenery rendered in a gentle and colorful cell-shading designed to appeal to children, even if most of the people Gordon sees playing are actually adults. He thinks about the AIs, about their at times indistinguishably realistic behavior paired up with their uncanny inconsistencies and glitches. Like Dr. Coomer's repetition and verbal ticks, or the way the AI will ignore him sometimes for seemingly no reason, like they aren't yet programmed to recognize his input.
But is it really that inhuman? Dr. Coomer's behavior could easily be explained away by other things, dementia or tourette's for example. And not everyone knows how to react to everything all the time. There's lots of things that could make regular humans behave differently, he's affected by one of them himself! Are the AIs really that unrealistic, or has he only tricked himself into believing they are because he knows they aren't human?
He thinks about Benrey. Self-proclaimed "not human", but none of them are except Gordon, right? Or do they mean something else by that? Is it as simple as being programmed as a different species, or does it go deeper than that?
"You've given me some things to think about," Gordon eventually texts back. "Thanks, Tommy."
"No problem :)"
The chat is gone by that night, and Gordon goes to bed with his mind racing. The following afternoon, once his chores are complete, he has his mind made up.
Texting Tommy for anymore advice would be too revealing—instead, Gordon bakes up a pear pie and some smoothies, grabbing up a basket of ten pears and putting on some warmer clothes before walking to the airport. Luckily the list shows everyone freely available, with the exception of what Gordon is pretty sure is Forzen's island. Heavenly has two occupants, which Gordon hopes won't be a problem as he selects it as his destination.
The gates move aside for him just like they did the first time. As he walks through town, he thinks to himself that something seems different than the last time he was here. For starters, he's seeing a lot more skeleton models, and as he gets to the wheat field outside Benrey's fortress, he starts finding blue and purple dollies arranged like they're reading, playing games, and watering the crops. There's two outside the house as well, on antique chairs having tea on a matching table.
Gordon does the traditional Animal Crossing greeting of knocking twice before letting himself in. The main room is different from what he remembers—Flick must have been by recently. Now, there's a mess of items all over the floor with a crafting table pushed into one corner.
Footsteps travel down from the attic, diverting Gordon's attention to the stairs. He sees both Benrey and Forzen, the latter trailing behind the former. Benrey's dressed down to black athletic shorts, a t-shirt, and blue vivid socks while Forzen looks similar, in red loungewear pants, plain white socks and a camo bomber-style jacket. While Forzen pauses halfway down the stairs, Benrey keeps going, ignoring Gordon's casual greeting in favor of getting as far into Gordon's personal space as possible without their bodies touching. A cold glare is leveled his way.
"What are you doing here?" Benrey demands.
Gulping, Gordon squares his shoulders, meeting Benrey's glare with as easygoing an expression as he can manage despite the fear prickling up the back of his neck. "I came to apologize," he says, internally celebrating when his voice comes out level. That celebration gets turned up as Benrey's eyes go wide, and they take a step back. Glancing over his face, their eyes begin to narrow, disbelieving.
Turning to look at Forzen over their shoulder, Benrey says, "Get out." The ex-solider doesn't look amused, sighing slowly before stepping the rest of the way downstairs. His eyes meet Gordon's for a moment before he heads out, at which point Gordon looks back to Benrey. Their head is angled towards the floor, but Gordon can see them staring towards the door from out of the corner of their eyes before looking up at Gordon. Crossing their arms over their chest, they step into the main room, kicking a star fragment into some iron nuggets on their way into the top-most room. Silent, Gordon follows.
It's a kitchen, Gordon quickly discovers, with a bubbling cauldron in one corner and full-black elegant chairs arranged around a matching antique table. One of the chairs has a green dolly in it, which Benrey picks up and moves over to a nearby table, carefully arranging it to sit next to a skull stereo. As Gordon watches, Benrey puts on the song Pondering, before turning to look at Gordon.
"What? Sit down or something, moron."
Frowning, Gordon holds his tongue, sitting down in the same seat the dolly was just in. The song puts Gordon a little on edge, and he wonders if that's the point, if Benrey was trying to elicit such a reaction. Benrey tilts his head, staring at Gordon for a prolonged moment before sitting down across from him, politely, just like he would in the previous game. Gordon had kind of expected he might be the type to manspread or something.
"Well?" Benrey prompts, as the silence just keeps going. Shaking his head, Gordon snaps himself back to attention, reaching into his pockets as Benrey watches closely, setting the pie and smoothies down on the table.
"First of all, I brought these, as a… an olive branch?" Gordon explains, glancing anxiously from the gifts to Benrey's deer-in-headlights expression. "I, they're—I mean pears, they're my native fruit and it didn't seem like you had any so," he adds the basket of pears as well, off to the side for later. "That's like Animal Crossing friendship 101 I think, trading fruit?"
Benrey's eyes snap over towards Gordon in an instant. "Friendship?" he echoes.
"Yeah? Uh… listen," Gordon starts, leaning an elbow on the table—Benrey stares at that, too—and dragging his prosthetic through his hair. "I was a huge jerk to you the other night. It didn't really occur to me at the time that you… well, that things like family and your past might be kind of a sore spot since you're, you know."
"What?"
Gordon blinks, meeting Benrey's eyes directly, though they stare towards his nose instead. "Huh?"
"I'm what?" they clarify.
Shit. That might be insensitive to point out—Gordon curses inwardly, of course he's already fucking this up. Not that Benrey's making it particularly easy for him, but still. "You know what I mean, man. An AI."
Benrey clicks his tongue. "Thought Tommy told you not to talk about that."
"Oh fuck off, you're obviously not included in that. You already know!"
Their eyes drop towards the pie, expression inscrutably blank. "Pears?" they ask, throwing Gordon off by the sudden change in topic. Blue eyes slide over towards the basket. "Already have these. Forzen gave me one."
"Oh. Well, you can just sell them if you don't need them…" The flippant attitude Benrey has towards his gift is activating the rejection dysphoria in his brain, even though he knows he shouldn't give a shit what Benrey thinks or feels. Though, if that were true, he wouldn't have even bothered coming here. Damn that southern hospitality.
"What else are you sorry for?" Benrey asks suddenly, giving Gordon some serious whiplash. When he looks up to face them, their expression has taken on a harsher quality, eyes boring into him like they can see right through to his soul. Paired with the music, it's extra unnnerving. As for their actual question, Gordon can't see anything else he has to apologize for. He's never done anything to them that they didn't deserve.
"That's it, man."
Wrong answer, clearly. Benrey scoffs like some kind of edgy anime villain, eyes narrowing until Gordon can barely see the slivers of yellow. He shoves to his feet, saying nothing as he walks over to the gas range stove on the other end of the room. Gordon squints, wondering what they're doing, when suddenly they grab one of the kitchen knives off the magnetic rack on the wall and Gordon's anxiety skyrockets.
"What are you doing with that?"
No response. The look on Benrey's face as he turns back around unsettles Gordon, indifferent with his eyes narrowed into a cold stare. Sweat beads on Gordon's face, and he risks a glance towards the pie—that's it, right, they're just going to cut some slices, nothing nefarious, right? Tommy said it himself, Benrey doesn't want to hurt him.
Walking back over to the table with the knife held at their side, Benrey slams their free hand down on the table, startling Gordon into nearly jumping out of his skin.
"What's wrong, friend? You scared?" Benrey taunts, in this low, threatening voice Gordon's never heard before. It occurs to him, then, with all the subtlety of a crashing freight train, that they've never truly threatened him before now. Not if this is what their voice sounds like when they're trying to be intimidating. But what does that mean? That they're genuinely trying to frighten him, or that they're actually going to do something?
As he's thinking that, Benrey rounds the table, bracketing Gordon in with one hand on the wall behind him and the other slamming the knife down dangerously close to his elbow. The plates and glasses on the table rattle precariously, but nothing falls or breaks. Looming over him, Benrey leans in towards his face, glowing eyes boring into him.
"Big deal," they breathe, hot puffs of air fanning out over Gordon's face and making him shudder. "Try having all your friends murder you and leave you behind. Talk to me then."
Gordon bristles, a flash of irritation coursing through his system. They think they're the victim? Glowering, Gordon jumps to his feet, no longer concerned with the knife, and Benrey's shoulders bunch up.
"You think that's what happened? That's fucking hilarious," Gordon rants. "Newsflash, none of us were ever your friends." As Benrey's expression hardens, their sharklike teeth grit, Gordon gestures harshly, poking them in the chest a few times for added emphasis. "You only think that because none of them remember that it was YOU who fucked everything up for us. Did you even tell them that, or did you make up some shit about how my arm blew off in the resonance cascade?" Gordon waves his right hand around for emphasis.
"You're overreacting," Benrey says.
Grabbing them by the front of the shirt, Gordon backs them up into the nearest wall, where some of the paintings and spice racks rattle dangerously from the force. "Don't you fucking tell me I'm overreacting, you sociopathic fuck!" Gordon snaps. "If it wasn't for you and your military friends I'd have never lost my arm!"
Benrey shoves him, hard, taking him by surprise as he's forced back several steps, reaching out to catch himself on one of the dining chairs. "I didn't even tell them to do that!" Benrey exclaims. "It was just a prank, a funny, Freeman gets ragdolled and turns into funny physics man. It's not like anyone told me your arm wasn't gonna come back, or I'd have stopped them! Now I can't see my friends 'cuz you're hogging them, throw fit if I come near you now no one come near me. All because of one mistake—"
"ONE mistake?" Gordon snaps. "Oh, buddy, if you think you only did one thing wrong you're delusional."
"Fine! Cool! I'm the big bad and I did everything wrong, are you happy?!" Benrey throws the knife aside, and it clatters loudly against the nearest wall, causing Gordon to flinch. "This apology SUCKS, by the way. I fucking hate pears and I hate you too! Get out of my LIFE!"
That's exactly what Gordon should do, leave and never come back. Ignore Benrey's existence and forget about them the instant he finds a way out of here. Instead, he exclaims, "You're such a fucking child! I'm TRYING to be the bigger person here and you won't even bother extending me the same courtesy!" While he's yelling, Benrey walks over to where he left the dolly, carefully lifting it and gathering it against his chest, like its his real, living, breathing child or something. "Are you even listening to me?!"
"Can you fucking believe this," Benrey grumbles to the doll, and Gordon throws up his hands, groaning loudly.
"UGHHH you're completely impossible. I don't know why I even bother."
Annoyed, Gordon storms out of the room. But, amidst the harsh sound of his footsteps, he hears the song on Benrey's radio switch to Stale Cupcakes. The gentle, bittersweet lullaby has Gordon slowing to a halt. This song has always had a calming effect on his psyche, like a bucket of water dousing the flames blazing inside him. All the times he'd felt heartbroken or stressed to the breaking point, he would listen to this song—among other songs, of course, but that doesn't stop this one's strong association with the feeling of peace that washes over him now.
Turning, he looks back through the dark hallway leading into Benrey's kitchen. Why do things always turn out this way between them? He'd tried so hard to make amends, to have some empathy, but Benrey just wouldn't do the same in return. How could someone so obstinate be such close friends with Tommy? Is there something Gordon's missing, something he's overlooked? Or is Benrey just as much of a brat as he thinks they are?
As the lullaby sinks deeper into his mind, Gordon thinks back on the Xen fight. Don't shoot me, or I'll have to shoot back. The whining, the talk about how they used to be friends, were they programmed to believe that? Is that what they thought that whole time, that they were just friends fucking around, engaging in some playful bullying, trying to make each other laugh? His anger wouldn't phase them if they thought that, underneath it all, he actually cared about them, that it wouldn't form a grudge. He can see how learning the opposite might have shaken them. He's not sure how he'd react if he found out his closest friend actually hated him, to such a passionate degree as to desire his death.
Why get him jumped, then? "Funny physics man"—does Benrey… understand what he's doing? He knows he's an AI, knows none of this is real, but for how long? All of the last game? If that's true, and if he thought they were friends… then getting him ambushed is about as serious as friendly fire in a Call of Duty match, as pushing your friend into the lava in Minecraft. It was a game, afterall. Did they know? Did they believe it wouldn't harm him? Did they not understand he was trapped in there, feeling all that pain for real, or did they see it as inconsequential, an… overreaction.
It feels like all the puzzle pieces have slotted together in his mind, suddenly. Gordon swiftly turns on his heel, walking right back inside the kitchen. "Benrey, listen, we gotta talk, man—"
At first, the room appears devoid of occupants, and it gives Gordon pause. Did that fucker teleport out of the room, right before Gordon's big revelation? But, no. It doesn't take long for him to spot Benrey, eyes trailing from the missing pear pie over to the skull radio, where he only has to look down to find Benrey curled up under the table. The dolly is cradled against his chest, legs pulled close to keep it propped up. The pie is partially eaten, set out on the floor by their thigh as Benrey lifts another spoonful of it up to their mouth, breaths shallow and wavering whenever their mouth isn't full. Big, fat tears are flowing down their face and the air is filled with red sweet voice.
"Shit, Benrey," Gordon exhales, rushing over to kneel beside them as they turn to face away, dragging the pie along with them.
"Go away," Benrey warbles, sniffling loudly. "I hate you. Ruin my life, take everything. Never enough for you."
Reaching out to put a hand on their back, Gordon stops just short, quickly deciding better of it and lowering his arm. "Listen, man, I didn't mean to make you upset."
"Well you DID. So go away maybe," Benrey snaps, shoving more of the pie in their face and chewing slowly, occasionally stopping to breathe as the force of their cries makes it more difficult. As sad as the sight is, it's also a little silly, watching them gorge themself on pie while sobbing their eyes out.
"I thought you didn't even like pears." Benrey doesn't respond to that, aside from a loud sniffle and shoving more pie in their mouth. "Hey, come on, man. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't stop to think about your perspective, b—" he stops himself before saying "but", that's not how a good apology works. "—I can't even imagine what this must be like for you."
"You're right, you CAN'T," Benrey snaps, raising a hand to shove at their cheek, harshly wiping their tears away. "It's scary! Almost got, shredded, if not for Tommy. His dad really hates me and it's because of you that he started trying to erase me. Broke my fucking firewall."
Blinking, Gordon stares down at them, slowly processing what they're trying to say. "Mr. Coolatta tried to delete your code? Is that what you're saying? Whuh—Does this have to do with us destroying all the fucking passports? That was a firewall? Are you a virus?"
"Don't call me that!" Benrey snaps. "This apology fucking sucksssssss bro. I'm stressed, stressed out, gonna mess up my… complexion, oh my god. No fucking cucumbers in this game."
"I mean there are—nevermind," Gordon says, shaking his head. "Sorry, I'll stop talking about that. Let's just… I don't want us to fight all the time, man. Can we just talk about this? Seriously. Without throwing insults around."
"Why should I do that?" Benrey continues, tucking themself in against the wall with the dolly tucked under their chin. "You get to yell mean things, why do I gotta stop? For you? Because you said? Can't handle, tasting own medicine, huh?"
Sighing heavily, Gordon sits down fully, propping his chin up on his left hand. "Fine. Yell mean things at me then! I'm waiting."
Benrey's mouth opens and promptly closes, flapping uselessly before he turns away entirely. "I hate you," Benrey grumbles.
"Feeling's mutual, buddy," Gordon snarks.
Saying this causes Benrey to curl tighter around the doll, their face becoming obscured by the doll's head resting on their shoulder. "Whyyy, though?" they ask, their tone swapping from petulant to despairing so fast that Gordon can't help but be taken aback, blinking over at them with wide eyes. "Why can't you like me? We used to be friends, why don't you like me anymore?"
Gordon's lips open and close. Why does it feel like they're both kids on the playground and Gordon stopped talking to Benrey for some dumb childish reason? It's so far at odds with reality that Gordon doesn't know what to do with it. He might as well be talking to a dementia patient. Like he has to lead Benrey back to his bed by the hand, going, okay, grandpa, take your meds.
"We were never friends, man," Gordon sighs. "I keep telling you this. Whatever that game programmed you to think has nothing to do with me. You might've been friends with that guy in the suit, in whatever backstory that glitched out install gave you, but that guy wasn't me."
"Noooooo-uh, it was you," Benrey insistents. "In—On the farm, don't you remember? With all the cows, there were so many cows."
"Huh?" Gordon blurts, squinting down at them. None of that rings a bell. As far as he can remember, he has never been on a farm in his life, he's just passed by them while driving. "What are you talking about?"
"Come on, you hafta 'member! I did so much for you, got milk everyday while you did the sheeps, and we were always, playing, digging holes and makin' mud and we went everywhere together, every day. You were so nice to me and no one else would talk to me, just you."
Squinting at them, Gordon struggles to figure out what they're on about, unable to see their face to tell if this is a joke, if he's supposed to… what, laugh? "I'm telling you, man, that's not me. That's just what the code wanted you to believe, to, assimilate you into the story or something. I get that it's hard and fucked up but none of that ever happened. Doesn't mean it doesn't matter but I wasn't there, okay? Can you try and just, separate out your childhood friend from me, get to know me as I really am, right now?"
There's a lull in conversation, as Benrey begins breathing strangely, like an aggressive dog or an angry bull or something—sort, harsh breaths, gutteral and nasally, their body shaking like it's about to explode. The sound only lasts maybe ten seconds before Benrey hisses, "Get out."
"What? Benrey, are you okay—"
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Benrey yells. Black claws tighten around the dolly as it's squeezed far too hard against his chest. In the real world, that poor thing's head would have popped by now, the fabric tearing beneath a set of knife-like claws, but here, nothing happens.
At this point, Gordon realizes there's no getting through to him. If he tries anymore he'll probably actually get stabbed, and he just knows Benrey will find a way to make it real, just like in the last game. With a resigned sigh, Gordon gets back to his feet, leaving without a word.
But as his fingers graze the knob of the front door, the gutwrenching sounds of Benrey's agonized sobs carry out through the landing, pinning Gordon in place. He peeks back over his shoulder, seeing nothing, of course, nothing but the mess of items discarded all over the floor of the main room. But he can hear it, hear Benrey wailing like his entire family was just murdered in front of him. It's like that commercial, with the boiling water—it's so real, so gutteral. Nothing at all like he expects from the guy who spends all his time whining and talking about fucking, PS4. The sound makes Gordon's skin crawl, goosebumps raising along his arms. The urge to go back, again, rises, but he stamps it down, shaking his head and forcing himself to leave the house.
Using the map on his Nook Phone—which he only discovered recently—he makes his way back to the airport. Once he's inside, he takes a seat, texting Tommy immediately. Hey, he starts, I think you should come check on Benrey, like, now. We had a chat and it went horribly, I don't think he should be alone right now. And he definitely shouldn't be with me, either, Gordon thinks.
What happened? comes Tommy's reply less than a minute later, followed quickly by, I'm on my way.
Tried to talk about some stuff. He kept bringing up how we supposedly used to be best friends and I tried explaining to him how that never happened, and he freaked out and yelled at me to leave.
Oh, Tommy responds. Yeah, that would do it.
Do you know what this is about? Why he's so insistent about this?
I do. But that's not for me to say. I'm sorry, Mr. Freeman :(
With a sigh, Gordon runs his hand through his hair. It would be pretty fucked up for Tommy to share his friend's personal information, wouldn't it? But even putting it as logically as that doesn't make Gordon feel better. He wants answers, and he's tired of getting jerked around all the time. It's like the AI are all talking in riddles, keeping everything obfuscated until he's finally smart enough to crack the code on his own.
Pushing to his feet, Gordon starts the return trip home.