Chapter Text
Take 14.
Boy, this child was defiant.
---
A god, a deity, an alien, whatever they were, could’ve had sky-high expectations. Could’ve given Andrias a list of preferences and killed him if he got the slightest niche wrong. And, maybe they should’ve, given that this… thing, human, whatever it was, had quite the talent for being a stubborn brat.
They didn’t expect a lot, really! They were being very cool about this whole situation! It was sort of like bunking with a roommate, except this said roommate could suck the life out of you until you were a soulless raisin. Which was awkward, for both parties (even exteresitial demons get socially anxious sometimes). So, they decided to be very relaxed and cool and hip about this whole thing. Yet, somehow, Andrias managed to bring the worst possible vessel.
Andrias must’ve known that. He’d wobbled in, all bloody and covered in bruises, cradling this lifeless sock puppet like it was a bad show and tell project. And he did his normal little routine, placed his crown by the desk and kneeled before them. He looked shyly to the ground, avoiding the look of millions of hungry eyes, while presenting the corpse of Marcy Wu.
Marcy Wu, Marcy Wu. Given her small frame and skinny nerd arms, they’d assume it would be an easy task. Because that must’ve been the intention, right? Bring an underdeveloped specimen for the sake of it being quick to possess? It wasn’t like they were going to be fighting in a war or anything. Andrias insisted, nevertheless. “She’s weak, hilariously easy to manipulate. It’ll be a walk in the park. The other two, her friends- I wouldn’t want to trouble you with their… rebellious nature.”
So, Andrias couldn’t round up a bunch of pollywogs and didn’t have the heart to admit he failed. Great.
But, bygones be bygones, who needed that “Anne” or, “Sasha” anyway? This one would be perfectly fine. Sure, a super muscular handsome newt would’ve been preferable, but they guess world-conquering Gods can’t be choosers.
Andrias left for a short time, leaving the thing twisted up on the ground. All the worlds, galaxies, universes they’d traversed, and never something like this. So gangly. So soft. They’d considered asking for a better participant, but Andrias returned hands full before the thought could be finished.
He set down a basket of journals on the ground, heaving from the weight. “These are her journals, and some general information on homosapiens. The majority of these are of her own work, encyclopedias, journals, some dairies. I have also taken some liberty and written down what she told me-”
Boring.
A simple will took all the air from Andrias’ lungs. That shut him up quick. Ever the great king, he fell on his hands and knees, ripping at his throat with scared claws. When his blue-tinted skin turned purple, they let him go.
Andrias got the message. He bowed, wished him a good evening, and scurried up the stairs. Sometimes people needed reminders that they were just animals.
After the snoozefest had left, they got to work. Admittedly, they were a little excited! After crashing in this loser’s basement, they hadn’t been able to have any real fun in a while. Sure, they needed a break from all the colonizing and job business, but was there any harm in indulging the phycological torture of a child?
They willed her into the life support tube, or whatever Andrias built, and began the simple process of resurrection. There was the scientific way, and the magical way. This was a sort of an unholy combination of both. A mixture of proteins, electricity, plenty of water, and a little bit of what we like to call magic stuff was pumped through the tubes. Black sludge leaked from the rusted edges, because Andrias couldn’t even get this right.
It was a day or two before the child stirred. A panicked rush of bubbles indicated that hey, at least she was breathing. When she started kicking and possibly screaming (it was hard to tell through the mask) they had to sedate her. So, she was fully conscious, aware, at least enough to be terrified. They were a little surprised, to be honest. That wound was a cauterized, infected rocket straight through the heart. Good thing they had magic stuff.
Protocol reasons that you should at least wait a week before Dreaming your future vessel, but they couldn’t help it. The weeks of build-up, Andrias promising that it was all coming together, and being locked up in this room- sure, the result was a mild disappointment, but at least it was something to do.
They skimmed through some of the journals Andrias left. As predicted, the majority were pretty useless. Taking one look at Marcy Wu could tell you that she was a gamer who never went outside. She liked architecture, art, literature, math, history… Frog Christ on a stick, was there anything this kid didn’t like? Oh right, gym, obviously. The only journal of any use was her personal diary. Most of it was filled with poorly doodled sketches of her in varying anime-inspired outfits, but there was one entry, towards the end…
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Written over and over, back-to-back. It looked like the quill died midway through, so she’d just etched it into the page. It was angry. Beautiful. Truly a work of soul. This was useful.
Take 1:
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Marcy Wu woke up in her childhood room. Though the posters felt a little unfamiliar, and her double-decker closet of comic books had collected dust, she felt… normal; ready to rant about Vagabondia Chronicles and slightly uneasy. More uneasy than normal, but brains and their chemicals are wacky, right? She threw her classic hoodie over the SJMS uniform, grabbed her Bitendo, and…
Mom and Mr. Wu was outside of her door. If the surprise didn’t kill her, their sheer aura would.
“Hi sweetie!” Mom greeted, holding out a blue bag- her blue bag- with a toothy smile. “Ready for school?”
This felt wrong. In every way.
“Uh, yes ma’am!” Marcy brought up a salute, and her mom laughed while Mr. Wu said nothing. Huh.
She began her walk down the hallway; since when were their pictures of her, Anne and Sasha on the wall? One at the beach, the other of their Elementary graduation, and one of them on a camping trip with Mr. Wu.
As she descended the stairs, she caught the eye of Mr. Wu at the table. He had his feet kicked up, displaying his outrageous fishing boots which were all lined with hooks and lures. A copy of the newspaper was held in his big, hairy fingers. He looked up at her and grinned wide. “Hey, kiddo! You on your way out?”
Marcy swallowed thickly. She wasn’t used to talking this early. “Uh, yes, sir.” Quiet lulled in the air. Why was he still smiling? Awkwardness overpowered her conditioned politeness. “Are you taking up fishing?”
The laugh, no, the absolute roar that bursted from Mr. Wu’s chest shook the walls. The paintings, all of her and her girls and the caterwauler at the table, clattered. None of them fell, but they sat on the edges of their nails threatening to. The beast, still laughing, pushed himself from the table and walked towards Marcy. His fish hooks clacked together. Reminds her of the sea cowboys in the latest Vaga arc.
“Oh, daughter!” A way too aggressive hand smacked the center of her back. She winced, her poor nerd body now in pain, and chuckled dryly. “You’re too funny. And hey, I’m proud of you.”
The residual shaking from the walls stopped. Marcy snapped her head up at Mr. Wu. When did he have a gross, stubbly frat boy beard?
“You’re… what?”
Mr. Wu, no… this man smiled down at her. His lips were chapped and his eyes didn’t have wrinkles. “I’m proud of you! What, anything wrong with being proud of your kid who has done nothing wrong ever?”
Marcy blinked. Blinked again. Thought of the millions of probable solutions to this… whatever it was.
Thinking back, she didn’t recognize the shirtless boy posed on her wall. Why would her comics be dirty? She re-read them all the time! Why would Mr. Wu be hanging out with Anne and Sasha? Or, in what world would he be camping? In what world would Marcy be camping?
In what world would he be proud of her?
“Okay, okay!” Marcy’s sudden volume change was a power move. She walked around the room, dragging her hands along the walls. “What is this? I’m going to be honest, Sasha, Anne, you really had me going. Where’d you even find all the supplies for this? Or, or…”
Marcy looked up at the corner of the ceiling, where the camera was in The Office. “Whatever’s happening here, it’s a good try! A lot of details wrong, though. I mean, my dad, a fisher? And I am very tidy, mind you!”
They let her ramble for a minute before shutting her down.
So, that didn’t go as well as planned. Fine! Every experiment has its struggles. And they were rusty! Maybe reading those journals wouldn’t be too bad.
Sheepishly, he read through the journals and jostled down new notes. Marcy had a… lackluster relationship with her Mom and Mr. Wu, but still didn’t care enough to write about them in any of her journals. She’s peculiar, smart enough to notice differences but not smart enough to put them together… Okay. She hates camping. We’re getting somewhere.
They redesigned the Wus and entered: Take 2.
---
Marcy Wu woke up in her childhood bedroom, and began this day like any other day. She yawned, reached her arms up real high in a nice stretch, and then rolled over to browse idly through her phone for an hour before actually getting up. A typical Saturday morning of being mildly scared for the future of the planet.
She scrolled through her phone for a decent fifteen minutes, though it only felt like a couple, before getting her daily snap from Sasha. A fairly usual one, just her posed with a peace sign in her comically lavish bathroom. Marcy smiled. Sasha looked nice with her hair down. Her untamed morning hair almost distracted Marcy from the weird line of text beneath: god i hate camping xxxx
“...What?”
She wasn’t speaking directly to anyone, but Marcy thought the universe deserved to know how confused she was at that very moment. With an arched brow, she snapped a quick selfie back: lol me too girl?
Sasha didn’t reply. Normally, this would be an invitation to get back to her doom-scrolling but that interaction was a better wake up than coffee. So, she sat up, taking a brief moment to look across her completely pictureless walls except for the ridiculously sized painting of her father brutally murdering a fish.
Wait.
No, that’s not right.
Cautiously, she pulled her blankets aside and tiptoed across the room. This painting ignited such a visceral reaction in her. It was looming, a thousand feet tall, spreading an eerie air over the entire room. She ran a finger over it. The bumps and ridges told her that this wasn’t a print, but an actual one in the world painting of… Mr. Wu, tearing and disemboweling some poor fish. Worst of all, he was dressed in a neat and cropped black suit, now spotted from the blood.
She tried to recall anything. Was this some sort of cursed Christmas or Birthday present? A painting did seem in character, but… why? Just why? Did he sit down for this? What was the point?
“Marcy.”
“GAH!”
She jumped and spun to see her deep-voiced attacker, only to have her apparently very tall father leering over her. His hands were long, delicate, the bones protruding from the skin as he reached out to stroke his painting. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Marcy nodded, her throat dry. Did he teleport into the room? She remembered her door was quite a squeaker…
“I noticed you are still in your leisure attire,” Mr. Wu said crisply. He folded his hands behind his back. “Where is your uniform?”
“Uhh,” She mumbled, looking down at her sweaty loose t-shirt and sweatpants. It felt so out of place next to Mr. Wu’s black suit. “I, I really hate to, uh, disagree with you, but I thiiiink that it’s a Saturday..,”
He shook his head firmly. “And? I do not need excuses. Put on your uniform and report downstairs, young lady.”
Why did he talk like a military sergeant? “Uhm, okay?”
The click of his polished leather boots faded out of distance as he left. Marcy resigned into doing what she was told. If that painting was a sit-down one, she did not want to give him an excuse to be mad.
She headed over to her dresser, spotless and clean like a mirror. Her SJMS was aptly folded and placed on the top. She threw it on, combed her hair in the mirror, and did her best to look presentable before heading downstairs.
Mr. Wu stood tall and leveled, his head threatening to bonk the ceiling at the slightest jump. His arms, once more, were folded behind his back. His form disappeared into his black-as-night suit. A smaller, yet similarly dressed female waited at his sides, her hands pressed hard into the table.
Marcy wasn’t even able to get a word out before what she assumed was her mother lifted, and slammed, a whole ass goddamn aquarium onto the table. The gross fish water splashed all over them and their attire, but they remained stagnant.
“WOAH-”
Her mom, with what looked to be a very expensive suit, dunked the entirety of her arm into the tank. Her long claws of fingers wrangled the nearest aquatic life. She lifted it, clenching down as it tried to squirm.
Marcy backed into the corner, heart thumping against her chest. Her mom, or whatever, was squeezing that poor animal so hard its eyes were starting to pop. Tears sprang to her eyes.
The fish was fighting a losing battle. That woman had an iron grasp, and between that and the equivalency of drowning, death was inevitable. It didn’t stop the pitied, wavering cry that left Marcy’s throat.
After a final, brave flop, the fish was done. The woman opened up her hands and let the dead fish drop into its previous home. It floated to the top, eyes slacked and gray.
“THIS-” Mr. Wu broke the uncomfortable silence that came with watching animal cruelty, “THIS IS WHAT WE’LL DO TO SASHA IF YOU DON’T BRING UP YOUR GRADE IN GYM.”
Marcy just looked at him, mouth wide agape. Did he seriously just threaten child murder over what? Grades? The one B in her 4.0? And did he break several laws just to demonstrate that point? Why the suits? Was this painting foreshadowing? Foreshadowing doesn’t happen in real life!
“I’m on Pranksters right now.” Marcy claimed, almost in awe. “Sasha, you did it, you really did it! Wow!”
Mr. Wu and her mom shared a confused glance.
“This, really, was over the top, I have to say,” Marcy strolled over to the aquarium. “I really should’ve noticed sooner. The snap thing was weird, but between that and the painting? Boy. I bet this fish isn’t even-” She reached in only for her fingers to be met with slime and rot. “Okay. Well, maybe. Isn’t that illegal?”
Marcy looked up to her actor parents for any laughter, clapping, a little knowing smirk. She was bored back with static faces. She nervously itched at her arm. “Okay, maybe not Pranksters… unless you’re really going in, which, hey, I think I can sue but… I’ll let it slide. Maybe a hallucination? We did dissect frogs, mine was an unusual color..,”
Per new tradition, they let Marcy ramble for a bit before shutting her off. There was no point in continuing a Dream that she thought was a drug hallucination.
Okay. Maybe Marcy was right. Maybe that was a little, entirely, over the top. And no, the unwelcomed critique did not hurt their feelings at all. But, what did she know? It was very hard to write someone you know nothing about! They considered throwing the Wus idea away all together, but it was just so much untapped potential angst…
A few more tries, then they’ll see.
Onto Take 9. Wow. The Wus idea definitely did not work.
They didn’t know what kept going wrong. At first, it must’ve been too much. The dialogue was too strong, the tone was too high, maybe dial it back a bit. But then one little offhand note about Anne or whatever and favorite ice cream flavors was enough to convince Marcy that she was still asleep. “How would YOU know Anne’s favorite icecream flavor!?” They repeated that trial, it had been going well up to that point, only for her to catch another offhand comment about Anne and cats. Repeated the same thing with Sasha, who unfortunately Marcy was equally as obsessed with, before writing and rewriting four new scripts. All of them failed. Just some dumb niche Marcy somehow knew and cared enough about for it to be necessary.
So, the Wus were too complicated and peculiar for even an infinite being such as themselves to understand. Who cares? Who cares at all? Not them! This was all leading up to the big idea, the one that was going to work: The friends.
Take 10.
---
Marcy Wu woke up in heaven. Like a blanket pillow cocoon, perfectly tempered, surrounding her arms and back and legs. This was unusual, given her morning wake ups normally consisted of headaches, coffee and checking if her eyebags had gotten any bigger. But this strange sensation was all too welcome.
She rolled around, wriggling and lavishing this comfort. It smelled of spicy cologne and conditioner. Not a combination she’d dream of, but good nonetheless. She rubbed her cheek against whatever surprisingly sturdy pillow this was, mumbling contentedly.
“‘Morning, Mar Mar.”
Pillows did not speak. Usually.
She pulled her head back just enough to notice the blonde hairs in front of her face. And, suddenly, it registered that the thing laying across her shoulder was actually an arm and not a weirdly weighted blanket.
“Oh, hi Sash,” Marcy meekly greeted back. “Sorry for uh, cuddling you back there,”
“Pffsh,” Sasha lazily waved her hand, her eyes still closed. “No biggie. Actually, you’re warm, get back here.”
Sasha usually wasn’t the soft, cuddly type- that was Anne- but who was Marcy to ignore such a graceful invite?
Wait. Anne.
“Okay, okay. But where’s Anne?” Marcy asked as she settled back into the dent in the mattress.
“Anne? She’s not here. She had to stay home, remember?”
…
The hand wrapped around her back was suddenly tight.
Far away memories of awkward study dates and bad small talk in between classes reminded her that she and Sasha had never really hung out before. Not like that was a bad thing, or a good thing, just a thing. They were friends for the benefits, and Anne supplied all that gooey friendship bizz.
So, why, Marcy wondered, was Sasha cuddling her after years of only knowing each other through Anne?
The headache she normally woke up with was beginning to brew. Something dry, bitter, like the embodiment of sludge and bile was tasting at the back of her throat. This wasn’t right.
She sat up sharply, watching Sasha’s arm fall next to herself. Like a doll. She didn’t even acknowledge she’d gotten up. What was this? A very realistic dream? A joke? That would be a very cruel joke, even for Sasha. No, no, be nice, Sasha would never do this. This can’t be her…
Marcy lifted a careful arm to the blonde’s hair. Whatever imagined residue on the back of her tongue turned the touched parts of hair to black sludge.
Marcy’s scream was cut short.
Okay, so, that was… a learning experience, for sure. With all Marcy had known about Sasha, they’d expected them to be closer. Okay. Fine. God, why did Andrias make this sound so easy? “Hilariously easy to manipulate!” In what way! This infuriating brat was so complicated and weird and emotionally unreasonable that they thought about just killing her to start over. But they had expended far too much energy in this project to give up now. A deity must soldier on.
So, new information: Marcy is obsessed with Anne and Sasha, but Anne has to be there for the obsessiveness to make sense? Or, Sasha is emotionally unavailable? No, no, stick to the basics: Anne is the glue, yeah. That makes sense. She is the heart, after all. Okay.
Take 11.
---
Marcy Wu woke up to muffled giggles and hushed whispers. Given her head was throbbing, and her eyes hurt, and just the general lightless vibe that came with night, this must’ve been a sleepover. One where she’d… fallen asleep.
Well, that was surely out of routine but she probably needed it. These headaches just weren’t getting better.
“Shh! Anne! Don’t wake up Marcy!”
She was going to assume Anne’s muted response was an apology.
Marcy mumbled an unintelligible string of words to warn her sudden wake-up before kicking off the blankets piled on her. Anne and Sasha looked up at her, eyes wide, like they had been caught for the serious crime of painting their nails at 2 AM.
“Ay, don’t worry! I slept, like, six hours last night. That’s plenty,” Marcy waved her hand dismissively. “What are you guys doing?”
Neither made a comment on the six hours. “Painting our nails,” Anne replied with a smile. “Sash, I think you should do yellow. It’ll match your hair.”
Marcy winced on behalf of Anne. Oof. “I think you should” is never a phrase that goes well with Sasha. Also, yellow because of hair? Anne was basically setting up the teasing at this point.
“Sure, why not?” Sasha shrugged and leaned back on her right hand, while laying the left on her knee for Anne to paint. “You want in, Marce?”
Marcy blinked real hard at that… casualness. Especially at 2 AM. Especially when Sasha was in a tank top, hair down, looking not-her-peak, openly letting someone decide for her in a vulnerable state. Could this be… improving as a person? Sasha getting better for the sake of her own wellness?
...No. That is impossible. Or, at the very least, improbable.
“I’m dreaming,” Marcy grumbled as she rubbed at her eyes. Sasha and Anne didn’t respond. They just melted away into black sludge and it was over.
Okay, so Sasha’s just straight up an asshole!? Or Marcy’s so delusional and paranoid that the slightest change in character is enough to question her sanity? Or Anne’s an idiot? What was WITH these girls!? This dynamic was so confusing it felt like a giant cosmic prank specifically made to piss them off. Yeah, I love you, and have kissed before in an all too friendly gal pal truth or dare session, but I can’t make smalltalk with you. Yeah, I’d die for you, but will berate you at the slightest insult. Frog. Christ. On a stick.
Okay, well, now they know.
Take 12.
---
Marcy Wu woke up… somewhere. She groggily lifted her head from what looked like a desk- a school desk, to be more specific- where she decided folded arms were good enough of a pillow and took a nap. The annoying tension in her shoulders and neck confirmed it. This was… something she hadn’t done before, save for a fever or insomnia sickness. Maybe she was sick. The throbbing in her head indicated it. These headaches were getting worse, she should really check that out.
“Hey Marbles!” A tender hand laid itself on her shoulder. “I took some notes for you, and also a bunch of pictures of you sleeping, hehe,” Anne grinned to herself.
Since when does Anne take notes?
The thought was drowned out by the thump, thump, thump in her head. She weakly gave a thumbs up. “Oh, thanks, Anna-Banan.”
Anne smiled like her killer headache was funny. To be fair, she probably looked comically awful. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you up, Mar Mar,”
It’s probably a little humiliating to have to be helped out of your seat like some sort of elderly, but she was too tired to care. She leaned into Anne’s assisting arm as she guided her out of the classroom.
Either this rapidly growing tumor in her brain was making her delusional, or this hallway was absurdly loud. Not even just the typical gossip, high-pitched screams and teenagers buzzing like cicadas, no. This was screaming and war. A few voices sounded familiar, though she couldn’t place a name to whoever said: “I’LL KILL YOU. I’LL KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!” but bets on that it was Maggie.
Anne blocked an oncoming book with the back of her arm. “Jeez! Wow, Sasha really went above and beyond today, didn’t she?”
Sasha, Sasha… Oh wait, she knew that person!
“Mm?” Marcy squinted up at Anne. These lights felt a lot closer than they looked. “Sasha? What’d she do?”
Anne curled an eyebrow down at her. “What do you mean?” She chuckled darkly, looking up with a furrowed brow. “What didn’t she do?”
Are you on your period? Her deteriorating mind almost let that theory slip. Did they have another fight? Gosh, she thought they all talked it out… at dinner… somewhere…
“Ohohoho!” Cackled a regal, loud voice. Marcy looked up.
Sasha Waybright stood like a queen. In the midst of the students brawling, tangled up on the floor, they had all curtained for her to pose like some sort of anime villain. What on earth was she wearing? Sasha could be a little… dramatic, but this was really something else. A black wedding dress, slitted up the side to reveal a literal dagger taped to the side of her knee (how do you even walk with that?), frilled and embedded with gold. A thick, red cape, buckled with a jeweled emblem, rested heavy on her shoulders and spilled onto the ground. This was all topped with a literal goddamn crown, rested on her head, with every sort of exotic gem Marcy could name glistening in the school’s poor circline lights.
She couldn’t stifle the giggle. “Sasha, what are you wearing!?”
Sasha spun around, heavy cape nearly decapitating a nearby wrestling match of 13 year olds. She rose, then slammed down a pointed finger at Marcy. “You DARE speak to me, nerd?”
Marcy was more amused than offended. “What?!”
Sasha pulled back, hand pressed to her chest while she scoffed. “Fine, have it your way!” With a twirl, she pulled the dagger from her knee brace. “Enguard, loser!”
Marcy sighed and rocked her face in her hands. “Man, this is a weird dream.”
COME on. That was completely in character. What tipped her off that time? Was the “enguard” too much? Marcy had sketched some doodles of Sasha in her sketchbook, she seemed like the medieval type.
This was getting embarrassing. A dozen takes in, and they’d barely even gotten onto their negotiating stage. This shouldn’t have been hard. This was an art they practiced countless times, occasionally just for the fun of it. A million galaxies, war-ridden and scarred in their name, only to be swindled by an unconscious 13 year old.
They tried the high-energy scripts, the quiet ones, the domestic ones, the scary ones- none were working. They just needed one of two things: fear, or want. An offering in or out. A perfect dream to escape to, or a horrible nightmare where they could offer an escape in exchange for possession. That sounds easy, when you think about it! Who would turn down a personally tailored utopia? Who would turn down leaving a self-perceived nightmare?
But none of it was working. Marcy was so…, stupidly engrossed in her friends to be able to sneak anything by. It was going to be her own death sentence, really. A possessing stage should very much not go on this long. But, at least if she died then they could restart this all with someone who wasn’t such a GODDAMN-
Okay, okay, no reason to get hysterical. Maybe it’s just Sasha. Andrias had complained about her and the old toad’s revolutionary nature before. Anne. That has to be the answer, right? Who could resist the creature of the heart?
Take 13.
---
Lord, her head hurt.
Marcy Wu woke up with, quite possibly, the worst migraine ever recorded in human history. It ached the bones around her eyes, the joints in her jaw, the roots of her teeth- her entire face felt like it was rotting. So much she couldn’t bite back the earnest, pained groan.
“Woah, Marcy, are you okay?”
Her body felt too weighted to gesture away the concern. She grumbled something that might’ve been coherent.
The bed shifted under Anne’s weight. She placed the back of her comfortably cool hand on her forehead. “Don’t worry, Marbles. I’ll stay here with you.”
That made her smile. She hummed, content, nuzzling into Anne’s cold hand.
She dozed off overtime, and when she woke, the pounding headache had pulled back its rage a little. Enough for Marcy to open her eyes. She always adored Newtopian architecture. Clay brick walls, painted over with a mixture of white berries (actually called Stella’s Berries, named after the adventurer who bred them, a little fun fact!) and snail sludge for an extra resistant sheen. Save for the chips and accidents, these walls hadn’t needed any repairs in a literal millennium. Which was unfortunate, since Marcy had caused a lot of chips from certain unnamed accidents. So, most of her room had been repainted at some point. Lucky, Andrias didn’t seem to mind.
Andrias. Why did that name feel bad in her mouth?
Wait, was she talking?
“That’s so cool, Marce,” Anne was looking at the walls. Oh.
Marcy decided to swallow the confused nausea. It was just a headache. She wasn’t going senile.
“Yeah. I really loved the Newtopian library. I’m gonna miss it,” She said somberly.
“Girl, what?” Anne scoffed, lightheartedly, and looked down at Marcy. “You’ve only been in your room for like, a day. We can visit when you're better!”
Marcy blinked at that. Right, she was in her room- why did she think she was back in Wartwood?
Marcy chuckled, and would’ve reached up to scratch the back of her head if her body didn’t feel so weighted. “Right. This headache is messing me up, dude,”
Anne smiled- that kind, kind smile, the one where her eyebrows bend downward and her eyes crease- then, shrugged. “It’s cool. You were pretty out of it. I had to drive Joe Sparrow, can’t believe HP let me.”
Marcy giggled at the image. “Are they enjoying their stay? Ooh, did Andrias give them the credit card again?”
Anne’s face was stone-blank for a moment. She snapped back, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “No, they stayed in Wartwood. Remember?”
No, in fact, Marcy did not remember. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out. She couldn’t outright refuse that, no, the Plantars must be here, because Anne had just told her the complete opposite. But that was wrong. Anne was wrong- deep, deep in her soul, she just simply knew.
A flushed image of staring out into a beautiful moat, lit ablaze by the setting sun, yearning for a wagon that turned into a small dot in the distance told her why.
Anne’s face flashed a deeply frustrated, maybe an even pitiful look before everything turned to black.
Wow. That one was just straight up depressing. New achievement unlocked: abandonment issues.
There was a roadblock that kept getting hit here. Marcy found out, every single time, no matter the situation. Too good to be true, too bad to be real, or too mediocre because why not? Why not have it be too calm to be real? Because, clearly, Andrias pulled the most mentally ill, paranoid little kid from the depths of the gutter as… a joke? A sick return gift? After everything they’d done for that blue little bastard.
It was annoying, frankly. Could drive a man to murder. This take was going to be ventful.
Take 14.
---
Marcy Wu woke up to a gorgeous, bright blue sky.
It was a lot less calming when she hit the ground full force.
There was no time to think of how, or why, she woke up mid-air. A gloved hand grabbed Marcy by the back of her shirt, yanking her back into the air, before directing a very trained punch directly into Marcy’s spine. A nerved scream left her mouth and she opened her eyes only enough to catch a blur of brown charging at her. She was back on the floor, nose first, the taste of coppers and concrete in her mouth.
Surprisingly, Marcy had never tried concrete before. She made note to write that it tasted like it smelled.
“You PIECE. Of. SHIT.” The voice behind her, assumedly, placed a firm foot on the center of her back. It twisted and something cracked. Marcy squealed, cheek forced up against the ground, eyes bleary with tears.
On one hand, she was confused. Not often did she wake up during a bully session. But on the other, she was breaking her nails on the sidewalk trying to scramble under an iron-footed grip.
Her panicked scratching did not last for long, as a purple sneaker stomped on them. Marcy cried, feeling a little dumb for how small and weak she sounded, before retracting her hands under her chin. Everything felt like it was on fire. Her heart was beating so fast, she could hear the roar of blood in her ears.
An angry hand gripped onto her hair, sending electrifying shoots of pain all over her scalp. The sudden glow of the sun blinded her. She could make out something, maybe a sort of humanized bush, that was forcing her up.
The thing spat at her- “You are annoying. You are so, so annoying. I should just give up on you.”
Marcy closed one of her eyes to avoid the spray being directed at her. The world seemed a little clearer. She could recognize the large head of curls, round, flat nose, and uncharacteristically angry eyes of her very own Anne Boonchuy.
At this realization, she laughed, albeit nervously. Anne Boonchuy, a bully. The same Anne Boonchuy who called her mom at sleepovers to wish her a goodnight. The same Anne Boonchuy who tripped over her high heels at Elementary graduation, and then proceeded to get laughed at by their entire grade and more. The same Anne Boonchuy who was known for being bullied, and taking the L with absolutely no grace. No. It just wasn’t possible. Even Sasha, who she assumed would be paired at the back, it wasn’t possible.
Anne- no, the human in front of Marcy dropped her back to the floor. Her nose splattered with snot and blood. It hurt less this time. Maybe because it was probably beyond broken at this point, or this wasn’t real. No. Sasha and Anne, they wouldn’t do this. It wasn’t in them.
The pain flickered away, and everything melted to nothing.
You know, they’d be more concerned if that was the take to convince Marcy.
There were two options here: Either continue and risk Marcy’s brain exploding, or give up. Giving up was… tempting, to be honest, but something was holding them back. A dozen takes ago they would’ve jumped at the chance. Boop, cut the cords, bury the body, let’s get someone actually worth keeping. But… this was weird. Attachment would be a stretch, more of an obsession with this brain. There was so much here, so much to exploit.
They’d put in so much effort, too. This was, without a doubt, the most frustrating pet project he’d taken on. Honestly, some congratulations are due. Years ago, three empty takes would’ve resulted in a bloody mass of a dismantled body (if you could even call it that anymore) on the floor. Cleaning crew really hated it. But this, they’d spent too much time just to call it quits now…
Yet, either way ended in disappointment. They’d gotten no closer to figuring out what exactly Marcy wanted, and in a couple more takes she’d be gone. If they gave up now, it’d just be cutting out the filler. Something inside of them, something they’d thought died long ago, flared. Emotional, irrational, frustration. They wanted to win this like a kid wanted to keep a meaningless toy.
This was crazy. A first time in the universe kind of insane. But, against all the wisdom they’d garnered over an infinite life, they continued.
Take 15.
---
Marcy Wu woke up nowhere.
Well, she wasn’t nowhere. She had to be somewhere- she was standing, thinking, breathing (hopefully) which meant she had to exist somewhere, some place in time. But it felt like she was in the existence of nothing. Everything was… black, but really, everything had an absence of color. There was no difference between the ceiling and the floor, and as Marcy looked down, it looked like she could fall through this place forever.
Which was a terrifying thought, but this place didn’t feel absolutely unsafe. In fact, she felt pretty light. She was dressed in her Newtopian cape; this time, she had buckled the cape fully closed, hiding the entirety of her body from the neck down. Underneath it was airy and breathable, like a comforting little blanket wrapped around her.
The only thing that was making her a little sick with anxiety was the isolation. She could see for what she presumed would be miles- again, the absence of light, color, physics made perception difficult. But, wherever she looked she was alone.
Alone. What a familiar word.
Marcy didn’t really know why that word felt so intimate, given waking up here had granted her amnesia. Just trying to think about it was making her head ache. Flashes of blonde, brunette, and the taste of copper was all that came to mind. She glanced down, at where her seashell crested the cape. If she remembered correctly, Andrias gave her that as a gift for graduating to Chief Ranger.
Blood, swords, pain and fire. That was all she could think about. Like untied threads that used to connect, it didn’t make sense anymore.
“Marcy, Marcy, Marcy,” Something said. Marcy twirled around, sort of hoping for some figure to have come into vision. No dice.
“...Yes?” How do you respond to a random, faceless voice that has penetrated your brain? She was speaking politely, with a hint of amusement and curiosity.
The voice chuckled, but it sounded more like a distinguished cough. “Oh, you are humorful in person as well. Amazing. Are you also as grating?”
Well. Marcy may not be the most socially adept person, but grating? That was a little much. “I sure hope not?”
Another chuckle, this time darker and louder. “Of course. So lively, so witty, no wonder Andrias kept you around,”
Andrias, blood, fire. The fog was clearing up in her mind but she still couldn’t see. It was like her brain forgot to wear glasses.
“Listen, Marcy Wu. This is not an offer, but a warning: I am a God, and I need to possess you. You are making it very, very, very difficult for me, and I am not keen on patience,” A strained breath was inhaled, Marcy didn’t realize ‘Gods’ needed to breathe. “And if you continue to make me fail, you will die. If you want to live, tell me your utopia-”
Despite herself, Marcy giggled. “Man, you talk like an incel.”
“QUIET!” If there were walls, they would’ve shook. Marcy staggered as her knees tried to buckle from the not existing floor going haywire. “Don’t you get it? I am being KIND to you. This isn’t a game, your Chronicles, your roleplays- STOP LAUGHING! You’re speaking to a GOD,”
She was now doubled over. Normally, she’d feel bad laughing at someone’s big dramatic speech, but… “Sorry, sorry. My dreams have been weird lately but man, this takes the cake!”
If the voice had a figure, she could imagine the fully offended and disgusted look they’d have right now. “You still don’t get it? This isn’t a dream! This is life or death!”
It was the way their voice got more high-pitched with anger. Marcy couldn’t bite back the mean bark of laughter. “Sorry, uh… voice? Gods aren’t real. I stopped being religious ages ago, my parents are Catholic but I never really-”
“Oh my God-” They cut off her rambling with a sigh before it could really begin. “Amphibia! Magic! Andrias! Do any of those strike a chord? Do any of those maybe indicate that you’re wrong ?”
That last comment stung a little, but Marcy pressed on. “Well, yeah, but that was in Amphibia! Nothing like that exists on Earth, different dimension rules and bizz.”
The faceless voice quirked a nonexistent eyebrow. “And what makes you think you’re on Earth?”
The change in Marcy’s voice was subtle, but they relished in the insecurity of it. She sounded unsure, but more importantly, so afraid of being so unsure. “...We opened the portal. We left, me, Anne, and Sasha. I’m assuming we hit the ground pretty hard when we portaled back, because this is a wild dream,”
Whatever Marcy said about brain chemistry and sleep science was tuned out.
This was a puzzle, building out a very flawed portrait of Marcy Wu. They’d discovered a certain amount of pieces: the parents, the school, the role in life, the likes and interests, the dislikes and whatnot, the friends… But there was something missing. Something deep in the core. They thought back to the notebook, the way the sorries were etched into the paper…
What exactly was she so sorry for?
They shut Marcy down. This was all the information they needed.
There was a piece missing, and that piece was found in Amphibia. Andrias wasn’t telling them the full truth. But, they were going to figure it out: they were going to drag every last detail from that overgrown lizard, they were going to research and meticulously note every single psychoanalysis in all these journals, they were going to write and rewrite the perfect world...
This was no longer about possession, a business exchange: this was a stage. And Marcy had just unknowingly handed him the best script possible; a show for the ages.
Take 15. This one is definitely, definitely going to work.