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“Wait, wait, how many did you say there were?“
“Four.”
Mark groaned, putting his head in his hands. Four more Egos, because of a two and a half minute video.
“Technically,” Dr. Iplier said, looking uncomfortable, “there are only three new ones. The blue Google has existed since 2014.”
“That sure does make me feel better, Doc.” Mark stood up, pushing in his desk chair and taking off his headphones. “I guess… I might as well meet them, right?”
Dr. Iplier held his clipboard defensively across his chest. “I-I mean, yes, but–”
“Then let’s go.” Mark set off briskly for Google’s– no, the Googles’– room, the Doctor stumbling behind.
“Mark, I h-have to warn you–”
They made it into the hallway before Mark stopped and turned. “What is it?”
“The other Googles, they’re… they’re exactly the same as the original. Th-that is to say,” he stuttered under Mark’s raised-eyebrow glare, “that their primary and secondary objectives are the same.”
“You’re telling me that we’re about to walk into a room with four killer robots?”
“…and Warfstache, Dark, and Bim.”
Mark shook his head. “May as well face the music.” He turned to walk towards the Googles’ room, but Dr. Iplier stopped him with a hand on his arm. “D-Doc?”
“Just… be careful, okay?”
Mark nodded wordlessly, watching the Doctor’s face carefully. Dr. Iplier dropped his hand and walked away, down the hall towards his office, fidgeting nervously with his clipboard. Mark could only run a hand through his hair, lost in thought. He turned walking towards the Googles’ door, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
From inside, he could hear the excited murmur of voices. His voice, technically speaking, but coming from seven different copies of himself. Turning the handle, he felt a familiar shiver pass over him. The Egos were such a strange, scary concept, and yet, here they were.
He opened the door, and each of his clones, standing in a circle, turned to face him.
Four Googles, each in a different colored shirt, stood in a row. When Mark entered, they looked him up and down in unison. “Hello, Markiplier.” Their voices were eerily synced, and Mark flinched a little.
“Look who decided to show,” Dark said, smiling, taking a step towards Mark. He bowed mockingly. “Welcome to our humble abode, O Creator. Why have you decided to grace us with your presence?”
“Cut it, Dark.” Mark scowled at Dark as he smiled, all teeth, never quite reaching his eyes. Dark was the worst, by far, of all the Egos, and Mark never felt quite safe around him. Wilford, on the other hand…
“Heya, Markimoo!” Wilford practically ran at him, brushing Dark aside. “Have you thought about that video yet?” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, Wilford slung an arm casually over Mark’s shoulders.
Mark recoiled, pushing him away. “Will, that’s not what I’m here for.” He brushed his hair out of his face and turned to Bim. “Hey, Bim, how’re you?”
Bim looked at Mark with wide eyes. “Uh, hey. We’re j-just getting to know the new Googles!” He practically beamed up at Mark, looking from him to the Googles.
“Well,” Mark said, heavily, “that’s what I’m here for too.” He looked around at them all: Dark still smiling poisonously from the corner; Wilford surveying him, flipping his usual butterfly knife between his fingers; Bim still looking at him hopefully; and the Googles, scrutinizing him impassively.
Mark swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Um, hey Goog- Googles.”
“Hello, Markiplier.” They spoke again, mouths moving at the same time. Mark suddenly felt as though he had to sit down.
“How are you… all?”
“We are fine.”
Again with the speaking-in-unison thing. Mark furrowed his brow for a moment. “Um, do you have different names? We can’t call you all ‘Google.’”
The Googles seemed confused, looking to each other. The blue-shirted Google, who Mark assumed was the leader because of his age, stepped forward with something approaching familiarity. “I know this must be a shock to you,” he said, resting a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “However, you did not give us names, nor is there any reason to differentiate between us at the moment. The Doctor has doubtless, mentioned that we are all identical, which is objectively true.”
Mark looked blankly back at the blue Google before glancing at the others. They, in red, green, and yellow shirts, seemed suddenly more awkward without their blue-shirted counterpart. Suddenly seeming more human, more real. Less like killer robots.
Mark relaxed his shoulders a bit. “I suppose we can differentiate by your shirt colors, if need be? Would that, uh, offend you?”
Google_B opened his mouth to respond, but Mark stopped him. “No, I’m asking them.”
All three of the other Googles stared at Mark, almost terrified. Finally, Google_R spoke up.
“I believe that would be satisfactory, Markiplier.” The others nodded in agreement.
“Wait, what?” Wilford spoke up, indignant. “You’re just gonna call them ‘Google Yellow’?!” He strode over to the the yellow-shirted Google, draping an arm across his back. The robot stood stock-still, staring straight ahead.
“Wilford–”
“Nuh-uh-uh.” Tongue-in-cheek, he waggled his knife at Mark and Dark, looking equally annoyed. “Nah, we gotta name them!”
“Wilford,” Dark began before Mark could speak up, folding his arms heavily. “This is not a game, and you would do well to remember that the Googles are not pets.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in chagrin, and Mark felt a surge of revulsion at such a familiar gesture.
Google_G scowled as Google_R folded his arms disapprovingly. “I do not believe that being named is in any way productive.”
“‘Yellow’, what d’you think?” Bim was eyeing Wilford with far too much interest for Mark’s liking.
“I-I do not feel strongly about names,” the droid stuttered, looking between the two in surprise.
“How cute,” Wilford smirked, folding his knife and finally stowing it. “I think,” he continued, jabbing a finger at the Google’s yellow shirt, “that he looks like a Dorian.”
The room erupted in protest from Mark, Dark, and Bim. Dark spoke over the rest, his voice magnified, echoing, until they quieted.
“You’re waxing very Oscar Wilde there, aren’t you, Will?” Dark smoothed his suit and smirked at Wilford, suddenly staring daggers at him.
“Do you have a better idea, Darky?”
Mark flinched at the pet name, sure that heads were about to roll. Two serial killers, glaring at each other in a room full of killer robots, could not be good.
“In fact,” Dark said smoothly, stepping close to the yellow Google, “I do.”
The room suddenly tensed as Dark leaned towards the android, cupping his chin, staring into his eyes. Even Wilford went still, fingers reaching for his waistband–
“I’m in a very Dickens mood,” laughed Dark, moving away. “Oliver.”
“Oliver.” Wilford repeated, staring at Dark with an unreadable expression. “Oliver!” He clapped his hands, and Bim jumped. “It’s perfect!”
Dark stood back, looking amused, and Mark shook his head, bewildered. Darkiplier had just named a robot, a robot that looked exactly like him, after Oliver Twist.
Bim, behind Mark, laughed a little nervously. “Is– is that okay with you, Google Oliver?”
Yellow Google– now Oliver, blinked at them all, processing. The other Googles watched him carefully, awkwardly. “I am indifferent– however,” he said, suddenly forcing his face into a smile, “I will agree that ‘Oliver’ is an excellent name.”
Google_R scowled at Oliver. “I, on the other hand, would prefer not to be made into a pet. You may call me and, doubtless, the other Googles, by our, ah, colors.” Google_G and _B nodded in agreement, and Oliver looked a little put out.
Wilford, still uncomfortably close to Oliver, smiled proudly. “The Googles and Oliver, then.”
Mark could only shake his head and smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Googles and O-Oliver.”
“We feel the same, Markiplier.”
“Call me ‘Mark’, goddammit.” His tone was teasing, but the Googles looked confused.
“Would ‘Markimoo’ suffice?”
Mark glared between Wilford and Dark, each feigning innocence. He could hear Bim struggling not to laugh besides him. “Just, ‘Mark.’”
“What about–”
Mark shut the door in mock anger, stalking out into the hallway amid a gale of laughter.
The Egos… were a little much. Between Dark trying to take over the channel and Wilford being, well, Wilford, Mark had a lot on his plate. Google had never been and issue, until now. Now… they were like kids, in a way. Knife-wielding, robotic, murderous kids. Bim, the Doctor, and the Host were never such handful.
Thinking of the Host, Mark smiled and crossed the hallway to the Host’s closed door. The Host had made it quite clear in the beginning that he wanted little to do with the others. Now, with a little coaxing, he’d take a break from writing every so often to come check up on the others.
Mark had barely lifted his hand to knock on the door when a voice sounded clearly from within.
“The Host encourages Mark to enter, if he would only close the door behind him.”
With a smile, Mark entered the Host’s room. It was a room like all the others at the office, but the Host had covered the walls in bookshelves, slouching under the weight of hundreds of novels. The Host himself sat at his desk with his back to the door, his microphone pushed to the side. As Mark drew closer, he saw that the Host was typing hurriedly at his typewriter.
“What’re you up to, Host? You didn’t want to meet the Googles?”
“The Host would prefer to introduce himself at a later time.” The Host nodded to himself, knowing that Mark was standing over his shoulder, looking at the Braille typewriter in curiosity. “There are far too many Egos in the Googles room at the moment.”
“I agree, Host.” Mark sighed a little, looking around.
“The Host invites Mark to shift the stack of papers on the nearby chair if he would like to sit down.”
Mark dropped into the chair with a puff of dust, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
“If Mark would like to talk about what is bothering him, the Host will gladly pause his work,” the Host said quietly, reaching the end of the line he was typing with a small ding.
“Ah, it’s okay…”
The Host had already set aside the paper, clipping it to a stack of other papers, all covered in raised dots. “The Host…” he paused, brow suddenly furrowing. “The Host is not sure how to help, but he is willing to listen.”
“It means a lot, Host,” Mark said. He wondered where to start, but took a breath to begin. “It’s just… with the Googles appearing, and all of you living in the office… It’s a lot.”
“The Host understands.”
“It’s a little scary, to see like–” he paused, counting, “–a hundred and fifty seconds or so, an idea, become a person that lives here.”
“The Host is aware of the power of ideas. It is a power that much lesser men than Mark have feared.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess, Host.” Mark rubbed his neck, looking at the floor. He wanted to bring up Dark, but he knew the Host wasn’t the most appreciative of–”
“If Mark wished to talk about D-Darkiplier,” the Host said, voice hinting at a tremor, “the Host w-would gladly listen, especially if it would relieve some of Mark’s stress.”
“I don’t want to–”
“Please.”
Mark fell silent, looking at the Host’s pained face. The bandages did little to conceal the Host’s concern, and he leaned forward. The single lamp on his desk sent a low light over the room, glinting off the blond locks in his hair, and for a moment, Mark could imagine that it was just the two of them in the world.
“I’m scared of him.” Mark’s voice was suddenly small, like a child seeking comfort. “He’s growing more powerful, and I’m just– I’m just–”
“You are just a man.”
Mark fell silent again, worries beginning to swirl around his head again. Dark was a real-life villain whose only purpose for existing was destroying him. He lived in fear, slept in cold sweats. This wasn’t the fun of his fans anymore, but a living nightmare.
“Perhaps it is best that you are only a man,” the Host said, breaking through Mark’s thoughts.
“Wh-what d’you mean?”
“The Host–” he cleared his throat, a little shyly. “I would think that it is your greatest strength.”
Mark sat, dumbfounded by the Host’s use of first person.
The Host continued, voice growing stronger. “D-Darkiplier is conjured by hate, and is fixated solely on M– on your channel. You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional, capable of love, enjoyment… even forgiveness.”
The Host fell silent, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat. He turned quietly back to his desk, putting a new piece of paper into the typewriter.
The clack-clack of buttons filled the silence as Mark sat, confused, lost in thought.
He was only a man. He was, at least, a man. And that, he assured himself, was more than Dark or any other Ego could ever be.
The Host looked at him a little sadly as he stood to leave. “The Host hopes you will visit again.”
“Thank you, Host.” Mark’s voice was full of emotion, and the Host felt the warmth of it.
“Thank you, Mark,” he whispered, as Mark walked away.
Mark was nervous enough around the rest of the Egos, but the Host’s words had soothed him. They were all copies of him, after all, and were respectable enough. Mark made for the main office, where he could hear the murmur of conversation.
Poking his head in, he found Ethan and Tyler face to face with the four Googles.
“I can explain.”
“This was… the upgrade video?” Tyler raised an eyebrow, looking doubtful.
“Um…”
“Do they have names?” Ethan’s eyes were alight with ideas, and Mark, vividly, imagined him with a pink mustache.
“I have been named Oliver,” Oliver said, raising a hand, and Tyler locked eyes with Mark. Ethan bounced over to shake his hand.
“Ow!”
“My apologies,” Oliver mumbled, withdrawing his hand, staring at Ethan clutching at his groin.
“The rest of them,” Mark said, ignoring Tyler’s snort of laughter, “are Googles Read, Green, and Blue.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tyler said, inclining his head. He made no move to shake their hands, and the droids stood awkwardly, staring from one man to the other.
“Uh, why are you out here, Googles?” Mark stepped farther into the room, joining Tyler and Ethan, who was still gasping from Oliver’s attack.
“Dark mentioned that we should attempt to make introductions with the remainder of the building,” Google_R spoke up. “Have we committed a faux pas?”
“Mark,” Tyler whispered, tightly. “I think–”
Mark was already gone, sprinting down the hallway towards the Googles’ room. He passed Bim on the stairs, turning to him for a fraction of a second. “Where are Dark and Will?”
“T-they said they wanted to talk, they should still be in the Googles’ lab…”
Before Bim could finish, Mark was running again, as fast as he could. He’d barely reached the door before the sound of the building powering down filled the suddenly dark corridor. The only light came from inside the room, a steady magenta glow.
Swallowing his fear, Mark turned the handle and stepped inside.
The first thing that was obvious was that the darkness in the room was unnatural. Smoke stung at his eyes, and Mark blinked furiously. Wilford was standing at Google’s computer, tapping idly at the buttons.
“Wilford, where’s–”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Wilford turned from the computer, the glowing screen the only light in the room. Mark felt a chill go down his spine as Wilford smiled, a silhouette with a knife.
“Why so afraid, Markimoo?”
The voice that spoke was Wilford’s, but another, closer voice chuckled. Mark whipped around to find Dark between him and the door. He backed into the room. Away from Dark, closer to Wilford. He stopped. There was nowhere to go.
The darkness was swirling around him, vague shapes in the smoke, faces, screams– his ears were ringing, whispers cutting through the white noise, distant shouts–
There was a banging at the door, and Mark dimly registered Tyler shouting for him before the darkness seemed to snuff out all sound, even the glow of the computer. They were left in blackness.
Dark’s eyes were pinpoints of light glaring down at him, and he felt Wilford’s hand dig into his shoulder. There was nowhere to go.
Mark tensed, daring Dark to come any closer, daring Will to make a move behind him, ready to fight for his life.
With a crash, the door caved in. A blinding light filled the room, and Mark could hear screaming. He didn’t know if it was him or Dark or even Wilford, but ear-splitting shouts filled the air. The darkness was dissipating, and Mark sank to his knees, stumbling.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Mark swung his fist blindly in its direction. He made contact with something, but barely had time to register it before something hit his skull and everything went black.
Mark woke with a start, someplace unfamiliar. For a heart-stopping moment, the sheets thrown over him were constricting, the darkness once again alive. He sat up straight, gasping, and felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.
“Mark, it’s me. Breathe.”
A light flicked on, and Tyler was looking down at him, looking concerned.
Mark groaned, putting a hand to the dull ache in his head. “Wh-what happened?”
“Dark.”
“…shit.”
“Everyone’s okay. The Googles got you out, and they’re keeping Dark and Will in their rooms, for now.”
“What,” Mark said, rubbing his eyes, “the fuck am I supposed to do about them?”
“You should really rest–”
“No. Fuck it, no.” Mark whipped the sheets off of him and stood up. His knees wobbled, the whole room spinning for a moment before Tyler’s arm steadied him. Mark looked up to see Tyler, disapproving but resigned, supporting him.
“If you want to go talk to them, I won’t stop you,” he said gruffly. “but I sure as hell am coming with you.”
One step at a time, they staggered to the hallway, where Google_G stood watch.
“Hey, Google,” Mark said, pausing by him. “Th- thank you.”
Google_G only nodded, but Mark could have sworn that he seemed to blush.
They reached Wilford’s door first, Google_B standing outside, arms folded.
“Is it safe to go in?” Tyler said, concerned.
Google_B nodded, stepping aside. He looked carefully over Mark, still leaning into Tyler.
“‘M okay, Google,” Mark mumbled, a little embarrassed. “I just… I just have to do this.” With a grateful look, Mark and Tyler shuffled in.
The room was dim, the light from the hallway outlining recording equipment and a makeshift green screen propped against one wall. On the other wall, in the shadows, came the unmistakable sound of Wilford flipping his butterfly knife.
“W-Will?” Mark let go of Tyler’s arm, pulling himself up. He shook with the strain, moving farther into the room.
The flipping paused. Mark, eyes growing accustomed to the dark, could see Wilford sitting against the wall, knife clenched in this hand, head down.
He mumbled something, quiet, guilty.
Mark stepped closer. “What did you say, Wilford?” He was forcing himself forward now, trying to be brave, trying to be assertive.
“I said ‘I’m sorry.’“ Wilford said again, lifting his head. His face was impassive, and Mark almost felt pity.
There was something broken there, something unfeeling, and he never wanted to see an expression like that on his own face again. Mark grasped at straws, trying to find a response. Of all things, he hadn’t expected an outright apology.
The Host’s voice echoed through his head. “You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional.”
Mark swallowed, hard. “I-I just want to know– why?”
“Ask Dark,” Wilford growled. He looked Mark in the eye, bloodshot, hiding tremors. Mark stumbled backwards, only stopped from falling by Tyler’s hands.
Google_B appeared in the doorway, chest light glowing. Together, they helped Mark out of the room, Mark glancing back at Will apologetically.
“We don’t have to go talk to Dark,” Tyler said, frowning.
Google_B nodded in agreement. “I would strongly suggest that you rest."
Mark sat against the wall, catching his breath, shaking his head. “I-I have to.”
Tyler and Google_b made eye contact above him, knowing.
“I’m still coming with you.”
“I know. Now shut up and help me downstairs.”
Google_B watched them go, Tyler holding most of Mark’s weight. He was admirable, no doubt, but perhaps stubborn to a fault… Even now, he was still going. Google_B could only sigh to himself.
Google_R and Oliver stood outside Dark’s door, looking grim. When Mark and Tyler hobbled up, they looked at each other in surprise.
“You cannot possibly mean to enter Darkiplier’s room,” Oliver protested.
Mark glared at them both, blocking the entrance. “I appreciate the concern, Googles, but you don’t understand that this is something I have to do.”
“We are perfectly capable of understanding–”
“Please.” Mark cut Google_R’s protest off with a pleading look. “Let us in.”
Oliver began to protest again, but Google_R stopped him with a look. Turning back to Mark and Tyler, he nodded and unlocked the door.
Ignoring Oliver’s indignant gasps, Tyler and Mark moved into the room.
If Wilford’s room had been dim, Dark’s room was pitch black. There were no moving shadows here– the darkness was flat, like pools of undisturbed water in the recesses of the room. Mark again withdrew himself from Tyler’s shoulder. This was something he had to face, alone. The outlines of a desk, a chair, a figure looking out the window, began to take shape.
“Dark.”
“Mark.” Dark’s voice was cloying, frustrated, detesting, and Mark could feel the contained power in his name.
Mark stepped closer, pulling himself upright. This was no time for fear, or pain. “Dark, why are you doing this?”
“You’re stupider than I thought.” Dark snapped, emerging fully from the blackness, eyes glowing in anger. “Why am I doing this, genius?”
“You want my channel. My influence.”
“If you know the answer, then why do you ask?”
Tyler stepped closer to Mark, protective. The gesture wasn’t lost on Dark, who sneered, folding his hands behind his back.
“I’m not self-destructive, boys. Even I know that those two robots standing outside would run in to rip me to pieces before I could touch a hair on your pretty head. I’m not going to do anything.” His words dripped contempt.
“Why Will?”
Dark smiled. “Warfstache is one of your finer creations, Mark. A performer, a narcissist with an affinity for murder. I must congratulate you. His need for the spotlight has proved quite…” he licked his lips, “…useful.”
“Don’t act as though you hold any power over him,” Tyler glowered from behind Mark. “Wilford is his own person, just as powerful as you. If not more.”
Dark’s expression soured for a moment before returning to an impassive facade. “Be that as it may, I am the threat you fear.” He shot a smile, poisonous, at Mark. “Aren’t I?”
“I’m not afraid of you, Dark.”
“Ah, but you should be. The Host has doubtlessly told you that you hold some kind of power over me. That you’re safe because–” he bared fangs, “–you’re human.”
Mark straightened up, more angry than afraid. “You’re right. I am human.”
“You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional, capable of love, enjoyment… even forgiveness.”
He stuck his hand out, and Dark eyed it, shock barely showing on his face.
“I’m human, and you’re tied to my goddamn mortality. Whether you like it or not, Dark, I’m not afraid of you, I won’t be afraid of you, and you’re stuck with me. Stop trying to kill me, and I’ll sneak you in a video every so often.” Mark stopped, voice breaking with the strain, but still standing. He locked eyes with Dark and raised an eyebrow. “Deal?”
Tyler shook his head. He was witnessing a deal with the devil. But, as Mark and Dark shook hands, the darkness seemed to recede. Suddenly, the light from the hallway cast shadows farther into the room.
Dark looked at Mark with a glimmer of respect, before folding his face into a sneer. “I’ll settle for that, for now.” He turned his back and stalked back into the office, a clear dismissal.
Tyler moved to take Mark’s arm and lead him out of the office, their steps shuffling in silence.
“I’d watch your back if I were you,” Oliver scolded, locking the door behind them. Google_R was silent, observing.
“I-I know,” Mark said, leaning heavily on Tyler’s arm. He waved off further questions, looking down. “I’m exhausted,” he admitted.
With a barely contained smug look, Tyler excused them and swept Mark down the hallway, upstairs, back to the spare room to rest.
Oliver, once they were alone, looked at Google_R, who was avoiding his eye. “Why? That was categorically dangerous and against our directive. Why did you stop me and allow him in?”
Google_R glanced over to meet his eyes, then glanced down, guiltily. “It was something that had to be done.”
“That statement is subjective and illogical,” Olive snapped.
Google_R glared at him, folding his arms. “And being named Oliver, of all things, is illogical.”
Oliver fell silent, confused.
From the other side of the door came a sneering, mocking voice. “Aww, are the ‘killer robots’ developing feelings?”