Chapter 1: PROLOGUE
Chapter Text
A clown and his snake-child sit on the moon, looking down at Earth far below.
"Dad?" the snake asks, reaching a green, clawed hand up to tug on his father's cape. Little bells jingle and the clown looks down, smiling a row of razor-sharp white teeth down at them.
"Yeah, squirt?" the clown replies, squatting down to the little snake's level. The snake-thing didn't have a name quite yet, sadly, as it was not his thirteenth birthday for another few minutes, but it did have a nickname: Li'l Cal.
"What's that?" they asked, pointing a tiny claw at the Earth, massive on the horizon. The clown stood back up, looking out over the planet, hundreds and thousands of miles away.
"That's Earth," he said simply. "Some guys live there, I guess."
"Wow," Li'l Cal said, crossing their arms. "Can I go there someday?"
"Nah," the clown shrugged, a bit sadly. "We're kinda stuck up here, kiddo."
"That's okay," the snake said cheerfully. Truth be told, they preferred to be alone with their clown-dad. The snake sat down on the dusty surface of the moon, the ground settling lazily back down around where their hips had hit the floor. Li'l Cal was only about three feet tall, their face skeletal and gaunt, yet oddly sweet. Cherubic.
Their eyes were massive on their face, topped with sweet, pointed eyelashes, their mouth a jagged expanse of green teeth, cheekbones jutting dramatically from the sides of their mouth. On each cheek was a tiny spiral pattern, one lime green, one cherry red. They resembled a child's skeleton wearing a little polo shirt and a red bowtie, but with dark green skin and huge eyes.
The clown, on the other hand, wasn't a snake-person at all, but a grey-skinned alien, blood-orange horns jutting from his head, body wrapped in deep purple robes that resembled a jester's costume, complete with pointy three-pronged hat with bells on each end and shoes with curled tips.
An odd couple to find on the Earth's Moon, to be sure.
"I like being alone," Cal confirmed, kicking their feet in the moon's dust. "Do you, dad?"
The clown put his hands on his hips. He laughed a bitter laugh, turning back to Cal. To Cal's alarm, their father looked rather despondent.
"Not really," he confessed. "But I'm not alone with you around, champ." This relieved Cal, who stood back up hurriedly and hugged their father tightly. The clown gasped, but ultimately reached down to return the hug, hoisting Cal onto his poofy shoulder-sleeve.
"Did you come from down there?" Cal asked, once again pointing to the massive Earth on the horizon. The Earth was in its waxing phase today, making its vibrant blue surface almost fully illuminated.
"Nope, I come from somewhere else," the clown said, walking back towards their home. "A planet in a whole other reality."
"Whoa!" Cal said, even though they didn't quite understand. "That must be far. Will I ever go there?"
"Someday," the clown said, but his voice wasn't cheerful or hopeful like Cal expected. It sounded... Frustrated. Almost angry. "In a way, you already have."
"Oh," Cal replied, a little confused.
Cal's home was up a massive staircase, wrapping around a large stone obelisk that jutted from the moon's surface. It was the only structure on the moon's face, sitting near where the light side transitioned into the dark side. The clown carried his snake-child all fifty feet up, panting as he reached the top. Even with the lower moon-gravity, hauling a skeleton snake kid up a bunch of stairs wasn't easy.
"Whew," he said, sitting down for a moment. "You're gettin' heavy there, kiddo."
"I'm getting bigger, like you said, dad!" Cal said cheerfully. "Will I be as big as you someday?"
"Bigger," the clown confirmed, but again, he sounded oddly forlorn. Cal frowned, scratching their red-spiral cheek. It was a little itchy today.
"Is that cheek still buggin' you?" the clown asked, peering back across the roof of the massive obelisk towards a hatch. Down the hatch, they both knew, was their home, a small room inside the structure, outfitted with everything Cal loved: Computers, meat, candy, and above all: Stories. Stories in every form, books, movies, TV shows, laser discs, and grubs that when you squished them, told little tales in squeaky voices.
Cal scratched their cheek again. They looked down onto the glossy surface of the obelisk roof to see their blurry reflection, frowning.
"How's your cheek?" the clown repeated, sounding more firm. Cal snapped out of their trance and looked back at their father.
"It's itchy again," the cherub said.
"Which side?"
"The red side!" Cal scratched more insistently. The cheek was getting hot, too, uncomfortably so.
The clown stood, Cal's heart beginning to beat. Something felt strange today, different. Like things were about to change.
"Is something happening to me?" they asked their father, worry in their large eyes.
"Sure is, Cal," clown-dad nodded, motioning for Cal to follow him down the hatch. Cal obliged and the duo descended the long downward ladder into the home, but when Cal finally entered, their home was different- Something there was new.
In the middle of the room was what looked like a slab, one half green and the other half red, with a large divot in the middle.
"Lay there," the clown urged. His voice was soft and gentle, now, parental and caring. Secure. Cal suddenly felt more safe about the burning in their cheek and their father's odd mood, laying down in the divot in the slab.
"What's happening to me?" Cal asked, voice cracking a little.
"You're growin' up, sweetheart," the clown said. Cal found this rather vague, but comforting nonetheless. "Hold still."
The clown bustled about the room as Cal watched. First, clown-dad took a large chain on one side of the room and brought it next to the slab, then did the same for a chain on the opposite side. Attached to each chain was a shackle, emblazoned with two different insignias: One, a coil of two snakes, at which Cal blushed, and on the other, the letter "U" with a line struck through it.
The shackles were attached to each of Cal's ankles, but the one with the snakes felt looser and the clown had a harder time getting it to stay on.
"Am I going to turn into The Hulk? Is that why I have to be restrained?" asked Cal excitedly, a claw digging into their cheek to scratch it.
"Nah, nah," the clown laughed. "You're already green enough, kid."
The clown looked down, hands on his hips. He smiled, taking Cal's wrist and moving it away from their cheek.
"No scratchin', squirt. Just hold still and lay down."
Cal did as instructed, looking up at the ceiling of their room, eyes suddenly feeling droopy, a great fatigue setting in. As they fell asleep, the last thing they felt was the snake-shackle coming loose once more and dad's hand on their cheek.
"I love you, dad," they said quietly before falling asleep.
With the snake-kid restrained, the clown took a long, deep sigh, running a hand through his hair, shedding his jester hat, slipping it up and off his long orange horns. He watched as Cal's red cheek slowly faded into a light lime green to match their other one just as their eyes flicked open again.
"Father?" Cal's voice called out. It was different now, less sure of itself and more tentative, tinkling and musical. The clown approached, cupping Cal's cheek in his hand.
"Mornin' Calliope," he said. "How ya feelin'?"
Before his eyes, Cal had transformed, as he always knew they would.
"What's going on?" Cal said, voice unsteady. "I feel... Strange. Why am I... Empty?"
Cal raised a hand to their cheek, which had once been red, now both green. They looked up at their father, then to the shackle on their ankle.
"Who's Calliope?" she asked, cocking her head.
"You are, sweet-cheeks," said Gamzee, leaning on the slab. "Remember?"
Calliope blinked, then nodded.
"Calliope..." she repeated. "That's me. I'm Calliope. I used to be Li'l Cal, but now I'm Calliope. Right?"
It seemed intuitive. Of course she was. She was someone new, now, wasn't she? She was someone else. She knew that in her bones, in her very DNA, but she didn't know if she liked it.
"Father, what's going on?" Calliope asked, a look of worry on her face.
"I explained it to you already," the clown said, hand stroking Calliope's hairless, smooth head. "Someday, when you get old enough, you'll become two people. You were just Cal before, but now you're Calliope. And you're Caliborn."
For some reason, even though she knew father was telling the truth, she shook her head.
"But I don't want to be someone I'm not," she insisted.
"You won't have to be," father said gently. "You're just Calliope. Someone else is Caliborn. But you both used to be Cal, does that make sense?"
Calliope nodded, feeling tears sting her eyes. She threw herself into the clown's arms, sobbing suddenly, unable to process her feelings in any other way. The clown smiled, unable to help feeling pride through his melancholy.
"They grow up so fast," he said, chuckling.
But to the clown's shock, things changed, jarringly, snapping him out of his musing. The snake-shackle, still loose around Calliope's ankle, snapped shut, the U-shackle opening almost violently, Calliope's green-spiral cheeks shifting in color to red. The clown squirmed, but he found Calliope's hug was tighter now and her sobs had turned into peals of strange laughter.
"Aha, uh," the clown tried to wriggle out of his child's grasp, but the kid was surprisingly strong. "Caliborn? Is that you, buddy?"
The clown cried out as Caliborn abruptly sank his teeth into the clown's shoulder, hard. The clown howled, shoving Caliborn off as the small-statured snake-person cackled.
"You lied to me, father!" Caliborn said, his voice more harsh and brash than Calliope's quiet tones. "I AM The famous Hulk!"
Caliborn leapt from the slab, guffawing merrily as he wandered the room, taking a large book in his tiny green hands, beginning to smash everything in sight, splattering story-grubs under it and snapping CDs and DVDs in half with glee.
"Hey!" the clown sprang up in shock, grabbing Caliborn's little wrists. "No smashing! Hulk no smash, okay?"
"What nonsense is that, dad?" Caliborn quirked a brow up at his father, sneering. "Of COURSE Hulk Smash, that is his entire reason to be! Without smashing, he would be simply a very large Bruce Banner nerd!"
Caliborn jerked free of his dad's grasp and marched to the other side of the room to inflict more harm, but before he could, he tripped on the chain.
"What is this?" he snarled angrily, tugging at the shackle around his ankle. "Unhand me this instant, dad! I want to smash the other side of the room!"
As Caliborn began to gnaw uselessly on his shackle, the clown sighed.
"You can't go on that side of the room, bud. It's your sister's."
"Sister?" Caliborn spat the word up at the clown. "Fuck that! I want to smash all of the room."
"Look," the clown explained, with patience beyond measure. "This side of the room is yours. That side is hers. Okay?"
"My side..." Caliborn nodded slowly. "Yes! Yes. How do I keep my so-called 'sister' away from MY precious side of the room?"
The clown picked the open shackle up off the ground, the one with the U on it.
"Before you go to sleep, put this bad boy on your other ankle. Then when she wakes up in your body, she won't be able to go to your side."
Caliborn nodded raptly, turning the U-shackle over in his hands.
"This is unfair, dad," he said petulantly. "I did not want a sister whatsoever. Take her away. I want my body to myself."
"I can't do that, champ," the clown shrugged. "That's just how you are."
Caliborn set down the book, hands on his own hips. Distracted from his train of thought, he wandered to the fridge and began gnawing on some of the frozen taffy within, turning back to his dad.
"I'm fucking starving. Bring more food," Caliborn demanded, to which the clown chuckled, offering a sad smile to his son.
As the clown climbed back up the ladder to the roof of the obelisk, he caught himself sniffling. He should be happy, shouldn't he? Not only was his son growing up, but he was raising the most important being in the universe- In ALL universes. Still... He felt impossibly, tragically sad, his body falling back onto the roof as soon as he was above, breathing slow and deep, letting melancholy wash over him.
Below him, down the hatch, he could hear Caliborn laughing, the sound sending shivers up his clown-spine. He looked up at the Earth far above, reminded of another massive blue sphere he'd seen once upon a time, back when he was young, himself, playing games with his friends.
He tugged a phone from his pocket, still lying on his back, calling his boss.
"Gamzee," came the voice from the speaker. It was a drawling, easygoing voice, yet businesslike and clipped. The voice of a wheeler and dealer. "How is our little scamp?"
"They're good," the clown said, simply. "Their personalities finally manifested and shit."
"Excellent," the voice said.
The clown had never seen his boss in person, but he got all his orders from that voice, that irritating, saccharine, fake voice. It pissed him off and he felt his teeth grind together.
"What happens now?" the clown asked, watching the Earth's clouds lazily drag across its blue waters high above him.
"Now? You wait, my dear jester." The voice paused. "You attend to our young Caliborn's needs and make sure everything is in place for his entry into the game. Beyond this... I don't really care."
"Can I..." the clown trailed off. He swallowed. "Can I go down to Earth? I know it ain't my home planet, but-"
"Earth?" the clown's boss cut him off, laughing. It struck Gamzee how similar the boss and Caliborn sounded when they laughed: Cold and cruel. "I can't let you go there, Gamzee, oh no no."
"Come the fuck on, Doc," Gamzee said, voice cracking with desperation. "I've been good, haven't I? I haven't seen another person who wasn't green in sweeps."
"You have been good, Mister Makara," Doc said, voice soothing. "That is precisely why you cannot go down."
"What?" Gamzee was lost.
"Because shortly, Earth is going to be utterly destroyed." Doc laughed again, a cruel, indifferent laugh, like what he'd just said was the punchline to some polite socialite joke.
Gamzee looked up once more, mouth agape.
"If you look up now, you may be able to see it soon, in fact," came Doc's voice.
Even though he'd never been down on Earth, Gamzee couldn't help but feel sad, the spinning blue orb above him was so... Bright. Friendly. Lovely. Much better than the grey ball he'd grown up on. Gamzee just sighed, suddenly feeling quite tired.
"What's the matter, Mister Makara?" Doc asked, faux-concern lining his phony voice.
"I don't know," Gamzee said, unable to articulate his feelings. "I feel homesick, I guess. My planet was broken, too."
"It was," Doc replied. "But this is your home, now, clown. So don't be so homesick!"
Gamzee was silent, lying back down. Across the Earth's surface, he began to see red specks dot above the clouds.
Far below, Caliborn cackled. In his ear, his boss hissed. High above, the Earth burned.
"I'd say now, dear Mister Makara," Doc drawled, "You'll never be homesick again. Now you're..." Doc searched for the right word, snorting. "Home-stuck."
The line clicked dead in Gamzee's ear, the echo of Doc's laughter mingling with Caliborn's far below.
The clown, tears stinging behind his eyes, snorted. He felt his lungs squeeze and a laugh left his throat. Then another, then another, and with each tear that tore from his ducts, a laugh came with it, his voice raised to the heavens as he cackled and howled, uproariously, mirthfully, tragically, wheezing and screaming laughter so loud it made his ears ring and his vocal flaps ache.
It was too funny, too tragic, too overwhelming.
He'd raised Cal the only way he knew how: With love, bottomless and heartfelt, and for his trouble, for his toil, for his work, he was repaid with a barren moon above a more barren planet. He sobbed and laughed and screamed and beat his fists against his skull, doubled over in pain and mirth as the absurdity of it set in.
Below him was his own son, adopted from the heavens. Below was one of the only things he'd ever loved and the only thing he'd ever truly hated. For even though his emotions tricked him and made his foolish mind believe that that little cherub was his own progeny, Caliborn would become the incarnation of wrath that broke every universe in Paradox Space.
Below him was his son: The calamity that would end every world.
Chapter 2: Act 1 Episode 1: Mail Folly
Summary:
The conductor's baton rises...
Chapter Text
A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, 2009, is this young man's birthday. Though it was eighteen years ago he was given life, it is only today he will truly become a man. Or at least- One would hope.
What might the name of this young man be?
Your name, of course, is John Egbert. A robust name. A plain, serviceable name. One given to you by your robust, plain, and serviceable father.
A father who can presently be detected in the Egbert home's kitchen by both sound and scent- The unmistakeable aura of baking.
Perhaps a more run-of-the-mill boy-turned-man such as yourself would savor the sweet aroma of baked goods, but sadly, as fate would have it, the normally quite pleasant smell of Birthday Cake turns your poor stomach.
You are presently seated on your bed, your body slouching, years of sitting at the computer desk having pounded your spine into submission. Your cropped raven hair is getting a bit long. It might be time to get a cut as it is past your ears now. Even so, you always have the urge to keep it long for some reason. On your upper lip, the world's most pathetic mustache is currently growing, several long hairs protruding in all directions. The rest of your face is barren. Your build is normal for a healthy 18-year-old of five foot eight, spare for some extra pounds obtained from a steady diet of your father's baking, which, again, you can smell wafting from below.
As such, you remain confined between the four walls of your very familiar room, walls festooned with posters from your childhood, posters indicating a questionable film taste. Above your computer, the impish face of the alien from Mac and Me. Behind a calendar, tilted askew, a poster for Deep Impact. And of course- Your crown jewel. Above the head of your bed, a massive poster for Con Air, Nic Cage's Cameron Poe simpering for the viewer, melting hearts and steeling resolves.
Yes, Cameron Poe. Ne'er a better male boy role model, you figure silently as you gaze at Mister Cage's face solemnly. Something about him is just so... Masculine. Which is something that a young boy-turned-man like yourself would want to be! Ideally.
You turn towards your computer desk. A magazine sits neglected underneath the keyboard, a copy of GameBro magazine, the latest issue, and the last issue you will be sent by mail.
Against all odds, perhaps just to procrastinate going downstairs, you lift the glossy pages and open them, to a recent review of the upcoming Sburb, the first title published by the Betty Crocker Corporation's gaming division.
You gaze onto the page and read the recent review by esteemed journalist "Dudebro Guyman:"
"SBURB is this game that
a lot of cats seem hella
pumped of. And this beta
is sitting on my desk for
review, so I'm like, yeah
man I'll write something.
But I don't know. I'm like,
so this is about houses or
some noise? That's fine, I'm sure that's
like fucking dynamite in a handbag for
some brosephs. But all I'm saying is,
when do you get to *thrash* anything?
While you're playing house or some shit,
are you ever in jeopardy of getting mud
on your doll's dress or whatever from
busting out, and I quote, "the mad
stunts all wicked up-ins"?
Know what I'm saying, Bro-Yo Ma? I
didn't actually play this game, but I gave
it 1.5 hats out of 5 hats to keep it real."
You squint your eyes from behind your square-shaped frames. So this Dorito-encrusted dope didn't even bother to PLAY the game? What a fraud! You doubt his real name is even "Dudebro Guyman" at all! You discard the magazine in the wastepaper basket and sit down to your trusty computer, ideally to bother some of your friends and perhaps, if you're lucky- Rake in some much-needed birthday attention.
You open Pesterchum, an application that you and your friends use to communicate, surveying the land for any chums to pester.
Drat. Only one name is illuminated as "online" in the chat client window: turntechGodhead. With an unread message, to boot! Guess your pal Dave is wishing you a good birthday.
You recline in your seat, ready for another ordinary, normal birthday. Just how you like them.
==
TG: johnny boy
TG: i leap out of the cake dressed in a hot mini skirt
TG: i begin singing the happy birthday song sumptuously like a be-shaded maralyn monroe
TG: happy birthday mr president
EB: haha! please don't do that.
TG: ok
TG: did you get my gift big man
EB: i think so?
EB: i haven't checked the mail quite yet.
TG: tight well let me know
TG: big surprises are in store my guy
TG: something for us all to do before the school year ends
EB: nice! thanks in advance, by the way.
EB: unless it's a shitty joke gift. in that case, fuck you in advance!
TG: cmon man im not a prankster
TG: youre the pranksmith among the both of us johno
EB: haha! hell yes dude. i'm going to do so many hilarious gaffes, goofs, and spoofs on you once we're in college.
TG: oh uh
TG: yeah lol
EB: oh! dude, i'm just kidding. i wouldn't really do anything too crazy.
EB: i'm just excited. getting out of the house, living in a dorm instead of the shitty suburbs with my dumbass dad.
EB: i can't wait!
TG: yeah
TG: its going to be tight
TG: tight like a field mouse
EB: i don't know what that means! but i agree.
EB: i guess dorm life isn't necessarily better? after all we'll have roommates instead of parents. i guess you'd know about that, living with your bro and whatnot.
TG: yeeeeeah
TG: nah hes definitely more like a dad than an older bro
TG: he lays down the law
TG: it would've been nice to get away from that
EB: you mean it WILL be, right?
EB: god, i'm just so excited! i can't beleive we all got into the same college.
TG: haha
TG: yep
TG: sure did
EB: i know northern illinois is close-ish for me and rose since we're both north, but... isn't it far from texas?
TG: john
TG: john o man
TG: big funky j
TG: its always college talk with you my dude
TG: weve got to live in the now yfeel?
TG: weve got to take life by the scrotum and twist
TG: until lifes horrible juices leak out
TG: when life gives you scrotum
TG: make scrotumade
EB: haha! gross!
TG: but yeah bros calling me so just let me know when youve secured the goods champ
EB: oh okay! see you dave!
==
It was very sweet of Dave to get you a year-long subscription to GameBro for your birthday last year, but you don't have the heart to tell him you haven't read a single issue- Outside a Tomb Raider review that you just opened to get a peek at Lara Croft in next-gen graphics. Totally wholesome, you swear. Still- You hope Dave's surprise isn't yet another subscription.
You peek out the window, which gives you a view of your driveway, near which a mailbox sits gently. Mister Henderson across the street mows his lawn lazily. Missus Gunther glares daggers at him from next door for the noise of his mower. The sun shines down on the lot, a cloud swimming across a baby-blue sky. A normal day.
Once you snap out of your trance, you look back to the mailbox. The flag is up and it makes your heart thud, a thudding which is brought to a halt as you realize that to access the newly arrived mail, you'll have to pass your father in the kitchen. Fuck.
There's nothing for it. You've spent all the time up in your room that you can stand. You open your bedroom door and no sooner have you crossed the threshhold than your father's voice booms from downstairs.
"Johnny boy!" he calls jovially. You cringe. You don't get his whole "model father" schtick. He's not a bad dad or anything, but the way he sucks on a pipe and speaks in that stentorian voice for every passing comment makes you wince with second-hand embarrassment. You'll be happy to be in a college dorm soon.
"Yeah, pops?" you return tentatively, hoping he just heard you come out and simply wanted to greet you quickly. No such luck.
"C'mon down to the kitchen. I hear it's a big day for a special guy!"
God. You feel like you're twelve again- An age where you already started to resent your father's... Fatherliness.
"Oh, uh," you hastily try to grasp at an excuse. "I'm just checking the mail for presents from my friends. I'll be there in a sec!"
"Nonsense, m'boy," your father insists. "Bric-a-brac from your inter-web buddies can wait."
Your dad is bad at taking no for an answer. Worse, when he's pushy, he's always at his most saccharine- It's a politeness trap that he lays with exceptional finesse. You relent, entering the warm kitchen to the smell of baked sweets and your father's equally warm, sweet grin.
"There he is!" Before you can squawk a protest, your father grabs you under his arm and drills a knuckle into your skull. Ah, the famous noogie. How many of those have you suffered in all your life? Too many to count, too many to enjoy one more.
"Hi, dad," you say halfheartedly, squirming out of his grasp.
"My god, you're an entire adult now, boy!" he says, clapping you on the back rather hard. You wince, not just because of the pain. "They grow up so fast... It's hard for me to imagine a handsome guy like yourself getting abandoned at birth!"
You roll your eyes.
"You make it sound like a movie," you grumble. "I wasn't some doorstep baby, I was just... Abandoned."
Your dad turns away, opening the oven, a wash of heat enveloping the room.
"Let's not talk about that, eh, champ?" he says awkwardly, even though he brought it up. You've known you were adopted for a long time, but your dad doesn't like to talk about it. It strikes you as odd that he has more trouble coping with your adoptedness than you do.
"Right," you agree. It's not like you want to talk about your mysterious babyhood circumstances either at the moment. You furtively gaze to the kitchen door, already planning your escape.
"So!" he says, readjusting the conversation. "Those inter-zone fellows you consort with sent you..." Dad hesitates. "...Gifts?"
"Yeah!" your disposition lifts a little as your dad sets out a tray of cookies to cool, which you try to stifle your disgust towards. Dad's cooking isn't bad- The opposite, actually. You come from a long line of bakers, your father learning every trick from your dear departed nanna. No- Your distaste comes from having to eat the things for eighteen fucking years straight. "Y'know. They wanted to celebrate, too, so-" before you can continue, Dad cuts you off.
"Er..." he pauses. "So you gave them... Our address?" He crosses his arms, staring down at you in that classic "not mad, just disappointed" way.
You swallow.
"Well, yeah, y'know. To, uh. Know where to send gifts. I've sent them stuff before, so-"
"You gave strangers our address?" your dad cuts you off once again. He takes off the oven mitt, patting it against his palm.
"I-" God, you feel like you're twelve for the second time today, this time as though you've just knocked over Nana's urn and Dad is about to give you a stern talking-to. But you're NOT twelve any more, like he said, you're an adult. You push back. "They're not strangers, dad, I've explained-"
"Oh, c'mon, sport. How well do you REALLY know these yahoos?" Dad, as usual, barely allows you to speak. Once you're on the defensive with him, you're in for a lecture for certain. "Don't give out your personal info online, kiddo, that's world wide web one-oh-one!"
Your fist clenches and your jaw sets. Will Smith was right, you decide. Parents just don't understand.
"It's fine. They're not going to mail us bombs, dad, fuck." You cross your arms, your surly rebellious teen side coming out full force.
"Hey!" he says, "Watch the language." That appears to have distracted him from the point, and he withdraws a pipette from a drawer. "Just scram, we'll talk about web-line safety later. I've got a certain birthday boy's cake to make pretty!"
You sigh with relief, slinking away, though you still feel sullen. You and your father's relationship is full of strife, but... You can't help but love the guy. He's a single father by choice, accepting the responsibility of a son even though he'd never had a spouse of his own. He might be the most irritating man in the world, but he's your dad and he loves you.
If only he wouldn't make you feel like a child.
You exit the kitchen door towards the driveway's end, rubbing your hands together as you pull the mailbox open to reveal- Yes! Two packages. One is small and purple and the other is a plain brown envelope, haphazardly posted. The former is from your friend Rose, the other from Dave, aka turntechGodhead.
With your spoils you head inside and place the remaining mail on the coffee table for your dad to peruse later on. You pause in the living room, quirking a brow- It appears dad has lit a fire in the fireplace, in front of which is a massive, oversized gift box.
"Hey!" your dad says, poking his head out of the kitchen. "No touching that box yet!" Looks like he wants to save it for later.
You approach the fireplace, looking above it to see the smiling face of your nana, framed in a lovely photo, under which is an urn containing her remains. You think it's a bit macabre to keep ashes around the house, but you can't deny that you like having your Nana's photo here. You don't remember her very well- She passed away when you were young- but all the memories you have of her were warm and kind, something that makes you nostalgic, like there is a kinship between you that can't be explained.
For now, you rush upstairs to report the present status. To your delight, you see another chum is online, Rose Lalonde. Her purple-text underlines her royal speaking style, but you know deep down she isn't as haughty as she thinks.
==
TT: John. A happy birthday to you. You are now of legal age.
EB: yeah! i guess i can like. have sexual intercourse, now, huh?
TT: I was referring to the legal age in terms of being tried as an adult on criminal charges.
TT: But yes. Sex is a perk.
TT: I would know, naturally.
EB: ...
TT: From fucking your mother.
EB: joke's on you, lalonde. i don't even HAVE a mother.
TT: Precisely. She was erased from existence retroactively due to the caliber of sex I had with her.
TT: Haven't you ever thought how strange your circumstances are? Raised by a single father without a mom in sight in all your eighteen years?
EB: gasp!
TT: That's right, Egbert. I quantum-fucked your mom.
EB: wow. i'm getting the deluxe rose burn experience! happy birthday to me. :B
TT: Indeed.
TT: Mother-fucking aside, have you obtained my gifts?
TT: I must admit I'm rather excited to get your reaction to them, as it was quite a feat to arrange.
EB: yeah! i haven't opened the package yet, though.
TT: Do so post-haste. You won't regret it.
TT: Furthermore, have you obtained Dave's gift?
TT: His gift also has implications for myself, as well.
EB: ooooooo. cryptic!
EB: i haven't opened anything yet.
TT: No rush. Though one wonders why you don't just open them already instead of wasting time talking to a spinster like me.
EB: riiiight. an eighteen-year-old spinster! truly a life of solitude.
EB: *eyerooooooool!*
EB: but you're right, rose! it's my birthday! i'm the birthday person!
TT: ...
TT: The "birthday person?"
EB: ...um. yeah! that's what i said. lol.
EB: the birthday person.
TT: Indeed.
EB: you say "indeed" whenever you're about to say something weird.
TT: I don't.
EB: you do!! you're about to make some insane claim or something. little miss freud.
TT: I was just going to comment on how odd it is; you refer to yourself as the "birthday person."
EB: well... i am!
TT: You are.
TT: But "Birthday Boy" is a shorter phrase. Easier to type. Yet you, in spite of your excitement, typed "person."
TT: "Birthday Boy" is a tried-and-true alliterative phrase, used in english-speaking countries the world over to denote male birthdays.
TT: But you chose Birthday Person.
TT: Perhaps we should discuss this.
EB: no.
EB: noooooooo!! rose! stop.
TT: I just think it's interesting.
EB: rose, don't bring this up again, PLEASE.
TT: What am I "bringing up?" You're being defensive, Birthday Personage.
EB: fine! i'm the "birthday boy!" happy?
EB: you're so weird about this.
TT: Have you had your dream lately, John?
EB: oh my fucking god...
EB: i'm so sorry i ever told you about that stupid dream!
TT: It's a significant dream, John. We should discuss it sometime.
EB: it was ONE DREAM!!!
TT: I'm just curious why your dreams always seem to feature you in a woman's body.
TT: It has implications that could be corroborated with this insistence on the term "Birthday Person."
EB: nnnnnoooooooppppeee!! i'm going to open my presents now rose, byyyyye!
==
As always, speaking with Rose, you feel a bit frazzled. You both have a long history of friendly needling and you know she doesn't mean anything malicious by her lighthearted antagonism, but something about her words today feel uniquely discomforting.
You shake your head, staring at the words "Birthday Person" on-screen that you'd typed. No time for introspection! It's your birthday, and "person" or "boy," you've got presents to cash in on.
You decide to open Rose's gift first. It's not gift-wrapped, but a package is a package and it inspires the giddy glee any other birthday gift would. You tear the bitch open and within is...
A grubby-looking rabbit doll? You lift it from the box, blinking in confusion, before noticing a small leaflet underneath. You pick it up and your eyes go wide with shock.
"CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY.
This stuffed rabbit was the prop used in Con Air. (1997, Nic Cage, Simon West)"
Your hands shudder. Your body wracks with soft, mushy gratitude. You immediately forget your and Rose's earlier conversation, typing with delicate keystrokes, tears stinging the back of your eyes.
==
EB: rose.
EB: holy fuck. i... i don't know what to say.
TT: I assume this is about the gift and not about me fucking your mother.
EB: the REAL bunny! you got me the REAL con-air rabbit!!
EB: god, this must have cost a fortune!
TT: It... didn't. Your taste in bad movies allowed me to net cheap memorabilia. It was twenty dollars on eBay, John.
TT: Still. It is one of a kind.
EB: the price doesn't matter!
EB: even though that's total bullshit. this thing is a relic! an artifact! it's perfect. i love it.
TT: You're welcome, John. I'm happy you like the dirty rabbit.
EB: underplay it all you want, rose.
EB: you did a nice thoughtful thing!!!!
EB: now you have to deal with the consequences!!! >:B
TT: Gah. My grimdark mind... Recoiling... From happiness and gratitude...
TT: You must stop before I shrivel up like the evil little raisin I am.
EB: hehe. thanks, rose.
TT: It gives me great pain to speak these words, John, but-
TT: You're welcome.
TT: In other matters- Have you opened Dave's gift yet?
EB: oh! yeah, i was going to wait for him to be online.
TT: That could be a while. He said to me that he had to deal with his brother. You know how that goes.
EB: hmmmmmm....
==
Rose is right! No use waiting around all day for Dave to be around. Better open HIS gift, too! You really wonder what the surprise is.
Inside the haphazard envelope is a much more self-evident gift: A copy of Sburb. You grin. You know this game is on the cutting-edge and Dave buying it for you was really sweet of him! You look at the front of the box.
On the cover is a very simple graphic: A green house with four segments, like a windowpane, with a smaller box cut out of the top-right square. Above this insignia, the game's title in stylish green letters: SBURB.
You flip the box over, searching for features, but curiously, the glossy back has nothing, just a blank white expanse with a strange spirograph in the bottom-right corner. Odd, yet intriguing.
You open the box. Inside are two envelopes clearly containing a CD-ROM each. Each has the same spirograph pattern on it, with a different text in the center. On the first: "Client," and on the second, "Server." You peek inside the box to locate instructions or promotions, but all that falls out is a leaflet, which is similarly inscrutable.
"INSCTRUCTIONS:
Connect to clients via servers to complete a chain.
The Betty Crocker Company assumes no responsibility for any consequences for playing SBURB."
Ominous! You figure that's some generic legalese that they have to include, but still. It's a creepy warning. Still- You feel fired up! This game is mysterious and new and you get to play it with your friends on your birthday!
You might not like GameBro, but you do like video games! Who doesn't??
You decide to hop into the group chat that you and your three friends frequent to plan- After all, it's 2009! What possible reason would there be to talk exclusively one-on-one with your friends?
==
TG: back
TG: sup rolal
TT: Hello, David.
EB: hey dave! i got the game you sent. there's two discs in here, though, did you send me like... a two pack?
TG: nah nah see it's a 2 disc thing
TG: leave it to a fledgling dev to make a confusing ass game installation
TG: there are 2 discs, server and client
TG: basically you have to install one then connect to someone with the other copy
TG: here ill connect to you as a server johnny boy you install the client disc and ill take you through it
TT: Don't forget about me.
TG: oh shhiiiiit
TG: YOU bothered to get the game? and you want to play with the boys
TT: Yes, Dave. I am something of a "gamester" myself, I'll have you know. A "gamesman" if you will.
TG: i will not
TT: I simply wanted to get in on this fad and have some fun with you all before we at last converged at university.
TG: fuckin
TG: you too with college talk now huh
TG: whatever just hold on
TG: bros on my ass again ill brb
EB: okay dave! i installed the client like you said.
EB: but! you bought the game, too, rose?
TT: As I said. A last hurrah with you all.
TT: Or, since we're all about to head to university- perhaps a "first" hurrah.
EB: i didn't know you even liked games. i thought you went in for like. books.
TT: I'm known to game.
TT: Mostly I watch Sims.
EB: you "watch" sims?
EB: you make it sound creepy! like you're one of those weirdos who deletes the ladder to watch them drown.
TT: I've been known to curtail Sims' lives, yes. There's no harm in social experimentation with the artificially inteligent.
TT: Just because they are in the guise of humans doesn't mean they are.
TT: I'm just happy I knew of a video game before the illustrious GameBro himself, John Egbert.
TT: Or should I say... GamePerson?
EB: aaaaaand goodbye again!
EB: i'm going to bone up on sburb online so i can kick both your asses. :B
TT: Very well. Bone at will.
TT: I will install the game whilst we await Dave and his fickle brother.
==
You navigate to you and your cohorts' preferred messageboard, VGFaqs. Looks like there are some familiar faces posting about Sburb already.
==
bigmanhassrock413:
does any1 know how to install? confused. can i play offline??
gardenGnostic:
sorry bigman :(
right now its online only! and since it just came out today there are probably TONS of people trying to connect.
bigmanhassrock413:
fuq
bigfunkyj:
it's not like crockercorp doesn't have the scrilla to make some beefy servers. i've connected just fine. make sure to daisy-chain your server-client connections.
altuniversewash:
I'm sure the kinks will be ironed out soon. Also, how are we all pronouncing "Sburb?" Is it "sub-urb" or "ss-burb?"
bigfunkyj:
i say "ss-burb" to make it as fucked up as possible to speak. but im pretty sure anything is fine
bigmanhassrock413:
are there any guides
bigfunkyj:
guides?? the game just shipped today brain genius.
tentacleTherapist:
I am penning a FAQ as we speak, but it's slow going.
thinglikerbucky:
aren't you the person who made a guide for the best way to kill sims characters, TT?
tentacleTherapist:
Perhaps.
bigfunkyj:
holy shit this thing is immersive. some serious tech in this game.
bigmanhassrock413:
are you in game
bigfunkyj:
yeah, im in with wash and bucky. i cant explain it just... you guys have to try this.
carcinioGeneticist:
THIS IS FRANKLY CRINGE-INDUCING TO READ.
THE GAME SUCKS ASS. I'VE PLAYED IT ALREADY AND IT'S WORTHLESS AND BORING. IT'S FOR ADOLESCENT LOSERS WHO SHIT THEIR PANTS. ANY SEMBLANCE OF "CHALLENGE" IS LOST DUE TO NUMEROUS EXPLOITS.
bigfunkyj:
didnt you get banned cg? how's that going for you
ectoBiologist:
what kind of game even is this? RPG? action-adventure?
bigfunkyj:
i don't even know. it's hard to describe? like a VR thing? like enhanced reality?
ectoBiologist:
whoa... i hope it's not just a cheap gimmick!
bigmanhasstherock413:
it better not be... i spent $50 on this stupid thing
==
No questions were answered, only more raised. Your excitement to get playing is mounting and you're starting to not want to await your errant friend. Impatiently, you message the group.
==
EB: any news from dave?
TT: Negative.
TT: I have to say, the anticipation is rather mounting. No one even knows what this game is.
EB: yeah... they're talking about it like it's going to end world hunger or something.
TT: Indeed. I'd like to pioneer this sooner rather than later. We're already lagging behind those who obtained a midnight release.
EB: hmmmmm. should we wait for dave?
TT: No need.
TT: As the forum said, we can daisy-chain connections and bring him in later.
EB: hhhmmmm!
TT: Perhaps it's time we began ourselves, eh, Egbert?
EB: ehehehe.
==
Looks like Dave is taking his sweet time. His brother sure eats a lot of Dave's aforementioned sweet time, it seems, a fact which normally would worry you. No matter, though- Rose offered to play the game with you, so why the heck not? What harm could playing some video game inexplicably released by an international baking conglomerate possibly do?
You take a deep breath and with an eager, steady hand, you slide the "client" disc from its envelope, placing it on the disc tray of your computer. Without hesitation, your computer begins setup.
As your PC whirs to life, you lean back in your chair, watching the loading bar scroll lazily up, taking a brief moment to ruminate before you embark. Your dad is wrong. Internet friends are as real as they come, and the fact that he can't accept that makes something resentful fester in your stomach. How could your friends Dave and Rose not be "real" if they make you feel so excited to finally meet them?
You've been friends with them all for a long time. You all met in the VGFaqs forums when you were thirteen, and over those five years since, you've forged a deep bond. You, Rose, Dave, and another of your friends all secured a place at Northern Illinois university, and in a few short months, you'll all be going there together for college, an event that feels both like the culmination of your young adult lives and a beginning of a journey into the unknown with them.
This game, then, is both the beginning and end of an era. The turning point.
You take a slow, deep breath as the loading bar approaches its end. You don't know why, but watching the game boot up feels momentous to you. It's an odd feeling, but it's not hard to understand why. It feels as though this game is you bidding goodbye to the space between you and your friends, bidding goodbye to the impossible space between you all.
You exhale your held breath to feel the breeze roll in your open window, like your breath guides it, pushing you forward.
The loading bar completes and your screen goes black, before flashing a plain UI message.
"Sburb Client Installed."
You wait. Nothing happens. The loading light on your PC tower fades.
Wait. What?! All that trepidation for nothing? What a rip-off! You wait another moment, frown furrowing on your brow, before irritably turning to the chat once more.
==
EB: nothing happened.
TT: On the contrary. I believe it worked. Can you see me?
EB: "see" you? like in the game?
TT: I think so. I can see you.
TT: It's difficult to explain, let me try something.
EB: ugh. my screen just went blank!
EB: and there are no specs in the stupid little manual. do you think my computer is good enough?
EB: i can run oblivion!
TT: I believe if you installed the client copy nothing happens on your computer.
EB: should i install the server one, then??
TT: Yes. Then we can be mutual client-servers.
TT: Er... Wait, no. Maybe you ought to hold off.
TT: I think this works by chaining together servers and clients.
TT: I'm your server, you're Dave's server, then he'll be MY server, thereby closing the server-client loop.
TT: ...At least, I think.
EB: i'm just going to install the server copy! this is boring.
TT: Don't do that yet, John.
TT: And hold still.
EB: what do you mean "hold still?" i'm not in the game!
TT: You're not?
EB: no!
TT: Odd. I can see you.
EB: you said that already! how do you "see" me?
TT: I just see you.
TT: Inside your bedroom.
EB: what??
EB: okay, har dee har har!
TT: I'm serious, John, hold still.
EB: this is totally lousy! this game sucks, rose.
EB: maybe game bro was right! one point five hats.
TT: John, I know you're famously impatient, but I must insist you just hold on.
TT: I'm going to try something.
EB: alright, alright.
TT: Could you move from your chair, John?
EB: what?
TT: John, please. I don't know how long I can hold it.
EB: hold what?
EB: you're not making any sense, dingus.
TG: whats goin on chuds im back
TG: aw fuck did you start without me
EB: yeah, but don't worry! we can get you in now.
TG: tight
EB: rose is blathering on about me not moving, but i'm going to install the server, okay?
TG: sicknasty brohannes brahms
TT: John, look out!
EB: relax! for the last time rose, i'm not in the game yet!
TG: yeah john look out
TG: a lesbian is going to psychoanalyze you
TT: John, please for the love of god, DUCK!
==
You're not sure what prank Rose is pulling, but it looks like you installed the wrong version of this stupid game! The "server copy" sounds WAY more interesting. You reach for the other disc that came in Dave's gift... before you hear something thud, feel a great, throbbing pain in the back of your skull, and black out completely.
Chapter 3: Act 1 Episode 2: Bloody Marys and Mayhem
Chapter Text
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
As you recline on your bed, hands behind your ghostly-white hair, your lavender eyes scan the ceiling. Even though you've just awoken, a fresh coat of matte-black lipstick festoons your lips, which are presently pursed in a thin, severe line, as always. You might be slight, a mere five foot two without so much as a single rope of muscle, but you have a distinct feminine severity that makes even the most grizzled of old men hesitate before telling you to "smile more often." Whenever someone tells you you look like a librarian, you smile.
The rain outdoors falls in grey sheets. Lightning cracking across the New England sky as a branch raps your cozy bedroom window. It's the atmosphere you most enjoy, holding a book in one hand and a knitting needle in the other, or perhaps enjoying a conversation with one of your many friends.
Presently, however, you have bigger fish to fry than the rain outside and its lovely atmosphere, namely, corresponding with a certain friend of yours who is having a birthday.
Sadly, as you are several hours ahead of him on the East Coast, he's probably still sound asleep. No matter. This gives you some much-needed reading time.
You crack open one of your trusty tomes, a black-bound book with a sinister title- Your favorite kind.
"The Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious," the stark title reads, with a creepy drawing of a weird tentacle monster underneath it. This book was a gift from the same friend who is celebrating a birthday, so you find it thematically appropriate to explore on this, a grey and momentous occasion. You flip open the page to the bookmarked entry:
"GL'BGOLYB, PRESERVER OF LIFE, SPEAKER OF THE VAST GLUB, EMMISSARY TO THE DARK GODS."
Under the text is a haunting picture, a mass of tentacles too vast to comprehend, terminating in a beak whose size could dwarf a sperm whale. You read on.
"Let not the name of this dread beast fool you. Floating in the pools of an alien planet, the Preserver of Life's epithet serves not to describe some benevolent conservation of life. No, the Emmissary is a dark beast, with lungs and vocal flaps lining its innards. It 'preserves' life only in that it allows her charges to continue living, having the power to wipe them out with ease.
Should it ever deign to open its beak for any purpose outside of feasting, it will emit its undersea caterwaul, erupting on the surface in what scholars know as the Vast Glub. Once the Speaker of the Vast Glub howls, all life in the galaxy will come to an abrupt end.
Fear not, though, readers, as its speech is kept to a whisper through the efforts of her keeper, the Witch of Life, who keeps the Speaker sated by feeding her the creatures of the sea. Should the Witch ever fail- The Vast Glub will reverberate around Paradox Space."
Ah, yes, you do so love to read about Lovecraftian monstrosities. Sadly, you no sooner crack the page than you hear something that makes your blood boil- Something far, far worse than any of the heinous monsters housed within this arcane tome, a sound far more horrid than the Vast Glub itself...
"Honey, come down for breck!"
Breck...? Oh. Your mother means breakfast. She tries to stay hip with the lingo by shortening words, but it just makes her already slurred speech even more incomprehensible.
"Hooooonneeeeeeyyyy!" the voice demands, gaining a grating note. You pinch the bridge of your nose and descend the staircase of your home towards the kitchen to avoid any more motherly screeching.
Your home is of modern design, your mother being a very wealthy scientist working at the nearby Skaianet labs. She works in renewable energy, and the sound of your home's hydro-electric generator hums gently along with the river that runs directly underneath your floor.
Your mother is in the kitchen, awaiting your arrival with a grim smile on her face, hands clasped.
"Ah, I see you've opted for the Bloody Mary breakfast," you dryly state, noting the glass on the counter next to her own meal- A rye bagel with cream cheese. Untoasted. It says a lot that she doesn't eat what she cooks for you.
"It's always five o clock somewhere, Rosie!" your mother says, winking. You don't react.
"It's seven AM here, though," you say without pause, letting the quip fall flat. Your mother just looks away and laughs emptily. A beat of silence and she seems to force herself to perk up.
"I made breck!" she repeats that irritating word again. You look down at the dining room table, upon which is the classic breakfast: Two eggs and three bacon strips, lined up in a smiling face. The only issue is the eggs are runny enough to be raw and the bacon has been seared into inedible pieces of what might as well be tree bark.
"Goodness, mother," you say, more sarcastic than you intended, "I simply couldn't deign to eat such a culinary delight you've so earnestly poured your effort into." You withdraw your phone, snapping a photo, wiping a false tear from your eye. "This is worthy of a museum, mother, not my stomach."
"C'mon, don't'cha want some of mama's home cooked-" your mother begins, her voice cracking a little.
"No," you cut her off. "I do believe I shall have to, once again, retire to my room with no breakfast. When WILL you stop making such prodigal dishes, mother? Truly, a chef was your true calling."
She falls silent, lips pursed, and you can tell she knows she's made a mistake. You used to feel bad when she balked like this, but now you simply don't care.
For eighteen years you've suffered good-natured mothering that has failed in every regard except intentions. Your mother is single, of course, a chronic bachelorette who has had more suitors than you can count with an alcohol habit so bad you've had to hold her hair once a week for the past near decade.
You always wonder why she chose to keep you. She is a scientist at the top of her field and you are so clearly a nuissance on her life that it hurts for her to so much as smile at you. You feel like a burden and you feel burdened in the same house.
"I... I'm sorry I never really learned to cook or anything," she nearly whispers. Again- She sounds heartbroken, but neglect has left your heart cold. When you don't respond she slides the mess into the garbage. "I guess I just-"
Before you have to hear another deluge of excuses from your alcoholic mother, you interrupt.
"I'm going to be in my room," you say, turning your back on Roxanne Lalonde. As you walk away, you hear her yet again force enthusiasm, slurping down her bloody mary, already opening the fridge for more OJ.
"Alright, sweetie! I love you!"
You don't reply.
In your room, you flip open your laptop and check your correspondences. Dave and John are both fast asleep, but one name still is illuminated as "online."
==
TT: Hello, Jade.
TT: Another late night?
GG: hehe. hi rose!!
GG: more like early morning! :D
TT: You keep odder hours than I do.
GG: well im in a way different time zone!
TT: Indeed. How is life on a deserted island, anyway?
TT: Or- Was it a gleaming golden city in which you lived, where the clouds give you a view of the future?
GG: roooooose... :P
GG: did you have another argument with your mom? youre so cranky today!
TT: Apologies. You hit the nail on the head, as a matter of fact. I'm sorry, being sarcastic is a habit by now.
GG: its okay!
GG: and for the record im not making that stuff up! i do live on an island! with my grandpa.
TT: And what of the gold cities?
GG: those are just dreams, dummy!
GG: important dreams! but i dont LIVE there.
TT: Curiouser and curiouser, Miss Jade.
GG: youre one to talk!!
GG: sooooooooooo
GG: did you get the game? :o
TT: I did. I apologize, if you truly do live on some remote island, you'll probably have to wait to play with us until someone can ship you a copy.
GG: nope!! i have one.
TT: Ah. A pre-order or somesuch?
GG: hehe. something like that!
TT: So cryptic.
TT: And your internet is good enough to play with us, then?
GG: well... maybe! i dont know. it all depends on how things shake out. its a big day over here!
TT: Well, how ever this game situation ends up, I'm excited to see you at college this fall.
GG: rooooose i already told you.
GG: im not going to college!
TT: Wait, what? But you got into Northern Illinois just like Dave, John, and I, didn't you?
GG: of course i was accepted!
TT: What's the issue, then? Money?
GG: no no its just... not in the cards, i dont think.
TT: Jade.
TT: Is this about one of your dreams??
GG: yeah! exactly.
TT: Jade, you cannot seriously be thinking of skipping college because it came to you in a dream.
TT: Dreams can be symbolic, but they aren't prophetic. No matter how many of yours have allegedly come true.
GG: "allegedly" she says.
GG: its not that i dont WANT to go, rose. i just... have a feeling ill be somewhere else soon.
GG: thats all i can explain, okay?
TT: Very well. Just promise you'll at least try if you're able.
GG: fair!
TT: I'll make sure the boys save you a spot in the game, just in case.
GG: thanks rose!!
GG: ive got to go! bec is bugging me.
==
After this sidebar with your strangest compatriot, you notice your aforementioned birthday friend is now available. Predictably, this friend is John, and you proceed to have a series of conversations with him, which culminates in installing the game. However- Things go quite differently for you, the server player.
For starters, unlike your friend John, your own copy opens up into a game interface, overlaid on what you assume is a view from John's webcam.
==
EB: nothing happened.
TT: On the contrary. I believe it worked. Can you see me?
EB: "see" you? like in the game?
TT: I think so.
TT: It's difficult to explain, let me try something.
==
How curious, this game. Upon more inspection, the view opens up, showing John in his bedroom in his entirety, view unbounded by his web-cam. You have no clue what kind of technology might lie within this game, but it seems advanced!
Above the view of John's room on your screen are a variety of icons, all seeming to be some different function of cursor. You click one labeled "grab." It reminds you of the sims- You're able to mouse around to get different views of his room and his... TRULY unfortunate movie posters on the walls.
Behind John, you mouse over something with the new "grab" cursor in his room, a large teal-blue book on the bookshelf, clicking to see what happens.
To your astonishment, the book begins to hover, dragged by your mouse. John, sadly, remains petulantly glued to his computer screen, blind to the floating book behind him. Or perhaps it's just an overlay and there really is no book? You have no idea nor enough experience with video games to extrapolate how weird this is.
==
TT: Hold still.
EB: what do you mean "hold still?" i'm not in the game!
TT: You're not?
EB: no!
TT: Odd. I can see you.
EB: how do you "see" me?
TT: I just see you.
TT: Inside your bedroom.
EB: what??
EB: okay, har dee har har!
TT: I'm serious, hold still.
==
To your irritation, the book isn't leaving your mouse even as you let go. You don't want to throw it, so you check the instruction manual- Finding there is none.
==
TT: I'm going to try something. Don't move.
EB: alright, alright.
TT: Could you move from your chair, John?
EB: what?
TT: John, please. I don't know how long I can hold it.
==
You take a breath and click. Fortunately, this does successfully let go of the book. Unfortunately, you witness the book bonk against John's head, then your friend crumple to the floor, motionless.
==
TT: John, look out!
EB: relax, i'm not in the game yet!
TG: john look out
TG: a lesbian is going to psychoanalyze you
TT: John, please for the love of god, DUCK!
==
It's too late. Fuck. FUCK. Did you just kill your friend? No. That can't be right. This is... This is a video game! When you die in the game... Do you die for real?
==
TT: John??
TG: lmao did something actually bean you dude
TT: John, please respond. My mental health hinges on it.
TG: uhhh
TG: johnny boy
TG: TT what the fuck did you just do
TG: did you quantum murder our friend??
TT: If I say "I don't know" will you be more angry or confused?
TG: what the fuck do you mean you dont know
TG: you either did or you didnt
==
You watch the screen, mousing back and forth. Oof... He looks down for the count. Maybe if you like... Grab a bucket of water and splash it on him??
You scroll over to his bathroom, finding the sink. Good. This will be awkward, but it just might work. Hesitantly, you click the sink.
"Fuck!" you hiss. You'd only clicked the tap to turn it on, but the entire blooming fixture tore itself out of the wall! You let go, but it's too late, the porcelain sink clattering to the ground, causing a spray of water from the pipes to erupt.
==
TT: Dave. Answers. Now.
TG: ok
TG: john still isnt back what did you even do
TT: Tell me what you know about this game.
TT: I think I have just knocked our friend John unconscious.
TG: how in tarnation did you do that you are literally across a united states
TT: Evidently, with this video game, you can control others' spaces, and using that power I've...
TT: Fuck. I don't know. I'm just worried.
TG: wow
TG: i dont think ive ever seen you freak out like this
TG: its kind of wild
TG: the unflappable becomes the flapped
==
Sadly, before you can load a witty retort into the chamber and press enter, your screen goes black- As does your room. Your heart thuds. No. No, no, no, no. Your friend is unconscious, possibly IRL, possibly in a game. This is no time for a power surge! You uselessly click the power key, but it's no use. This hunk of junk is so old that its battery is worthless without being plugged in.
You run your hands through your blonde hair, growling in frustration.
"Mother!" you call out, gathering up your laptop and power cable, depositing them in a small laptop-cozy you knitted yourself. "The power is out!"
You're stating the obvious, and your mother snorts.
"You're tellin' me. I only half-shaved my gams with the ole elecric razor." Your mother, already tipsy, emerges from the bathroom, one leg slathered in lotion, the other dusted with blonde leg-hairs.
"We have a generator underneath this confounded abode, mother, how did this happen?" your voice is more demanding than you intended it to be. Your mom shrugs.
"I mean, the generator's for mama's lab. The rest of the house runs on plain ole city electricity."
You look out the window. The rain is pounding even harder now, so hard it almost looks like nighttime. The woods surrounding your home are thick, giving you a potent feeling of clausterphobia.
"I'm going to the observatory. You had solar panels installed there, right?" you point your thumb upstairs.
"Rosie, just relax. You can talk to your little friends later. Don't go up there- The rain is gonna make the stairs slick and there's no guard rail leading up there any more."
The observatory is a tower that is attached to your house by an outdoor staircase. You have fond memories of sleeping there as a child in a sleeping bag while your mother explained the planets and stars to you while shining flashlights on the domed ceiling. It was a simpler time, and the memory keeps you from snapping angrily at your mother.
"Fine," you lie. Once your mom wobbles back into the bathroom, you're going to make a break for the observatory, hell or high water.
The door leading to the observatory stairs exits to the flat roof of your home. The moment you open it, you're blasted in the face with pelting rain. Even though you've sealed your laptop cozy inside an oversized ziploc bag, you fear it being waterlogged before long, so you make haste.
Not only is your house tall, the staircase sits over top of the river that flows under your house, meaning one false move and you're toast. The water is particularly high, today, meaning that the current must be fierce to match. Your jaw sets.
Now, not only is John in danger, but your mom has told you NOT to do something. And as all children know, moms telling you not to do something is the best way to make that thing seem cool and great to do. You realize this and how foolish it is, but in spite of this, take the first step out onto the slippery stairs.
Your mother was correct. The guard rail, being ancient, had fallen off the stairs a while back, meaning neither you nor your mom has been out here in a while. You hope that means that the solar array has collected a lot of power.
One step, then two, clapping against the wet stone. Your teeth chatter and you're already soaked, praying your poor laptop is safe, writing off your shirt and lavender skirt as doomed to the rain. You make the mistake of looking down and gasp loudly. It's only a twenty foot drop, one that you could survive with maybe a broken bone, but it's a drop with water at the bottom. Still- Your hand closes around the doorknob to the observatory, and before you know it, you're slumped against the door.
You stand after catching your breath, hand hesitating before flicking the lightswitch.
"Yes!" you breathe as the lights pop on. Power! You hasten to dash over to an outlet on the wall near the defunct telescope that once peeked out into the stars and listen to the rain batter the metal dome as you watch your computer boot up.
To your relief, the game opens up right where you left it- a view of John's now-ruined bathroom, now featuring a middle aged man in a trilby shouting inside it. Sorry, John's dad, but you can't worry about the consequences of THOSE actions yet.
You zoom out, trying to find John's room again with the Sims-like view of your Sburb controls.
==
TT: John, have you recovered? Please respond or I fear I may lose my remaining sanity points.
TT: Hello??
TT: Dave? John?
==
Fucking bullshit. Stupid John and stupider Dave. You at last find John's room again, but to your frustration, John is not inside. Raking your nails down your face, you grit your teeth. Your heart skips, however, when you see a message from your bonked friend.
==
EB: hey rose!
EB: sorry. my dad's freaking out. my bathroom got fucked up somehow and he thinks i did it!
EB: you've got to see this, the place is fucked.
TT: My goodness. Your bathroom? How odd. I'm sure this has no relation to the oddities currently unfolding and the specifics have likely evaporated into the aether. Let's discuss something else.
TT: Are you okay?
EB: oh. right. yeah, i think a book fell off the shelf and beaned me.
EB: dave told me you did it somehow.
EB: are you a ghost, rose?
TT: For now I'm safely encased in my meat suit, as it were. However, I am ready and able to turn you into a ghost if you don't listen to me carefully.
EB: i can't listen, rose. we're on a web chat!
TT: Please uninstall the game. I do believe it's trying to murder us.
==
You see John return to his room to sit at his computer instead of texting you on his stupid little PDA thing. Honestly- Iphones exist, John.
==
EB: wait, are you saying you really can see me?? that's so creepy, rose!
EB: how many fingers am i holding up?
TT: One. Your middle finger.
EB: what the fuck!!
EB: can you see me jerking it, rose?!
TT: What?! No! I can't see you jerking it, you imbecile, nor would I want to. This ability is new to me.
EB: well... okay. if i jerk it, i'll let you know. please don't watch me jerking it, rose. :(
TT: I didn't think it needed stating, John, but I won't watch you jerk it.
TT: In return, please do not make me the witness to such an act.
EB: i guess you're like... a lesbian anyway, so it doesn't matter.
EB: hey, how did you find out you were a lesbian anyways, rose?
TT: John.
TT: I'm going to bonk you with your stupid book again if you don't use your last remaining brain cells to focus.
TT: We don't have time to discuss my lesbionics.
EB: hey! this book isn't stupid, it was my nanna's! colonel sassacre's daunting text of practical japery!
TT: I'm going to type in caps now. To indicate my stern irritation.
TT: JOHN.
EB: whoops. right. focus.
TT: There's no quit game button, so I'm afraid I'm stuck watching you. I'll just... Leave the game alone and it will be fine. Probably.
EB: i dunno. it kind of seems fun to me!
EB: i did get beaned and you did apparently ruin my bathroom... but if we're careful maybe it'll be worth playing!
TT: Are you sure?
TT: You're the one with the broken bathroom.
TT: Not that I had anything to do with that that could be proven in a court of law.
EB: yeah! let's see it through.
TT: Well... Okay.
TT: I've found a set of instructions, though it's not evident for what purpose. It's more like a checklist.
EB: okay! let's start there.
EB: i'll be like your sim!
EB: okay, no. you kill your sims!
TT: Relax, John, please, before I remove all the ladders to your pools.
==
In the corner of the screen, there's a three-step checklist written in friendly, legible arial font, provided by the game as a tutorial.
"1. Deploy cruxtruder
2. Extrude totem
3. Prototype sprite
4. Alchemize totem
5. Enter"
==
EB: well?
TT: I have no idea what the fuck any of this is. It says to "deploy a cruxtruder."
TT: What a "cruxtruder" is or how to "deploy it" remains to be seen, but I will do it aggressively at the first chance.
EB: whoa, rose! buy a girl dinner first!
TT: Oh, wait. Here. There's a catalog of machines I can- Oh god.
==
You find a dropdown menu of items, much like the purchase catalog for the Sims, but there aren't any items you recognize. One of them, however, does say "cruxtruder," which you click.
What you don't expect however, it the item to materialize in John's room, right in front of the bedroom door.
==
EB: holy shit!
EB: rose! you made a thing!
EB: did you make that thing??
==
The "thing" in question is... Odd. It just looks like a tube attached to a large computer screen, which displays only a countdown clock.
==
EB: oooh... that's ominous. there's only five minutes or so left on this thing.
TT: Perhaps that is when the top opens.
EB: opens?
TT: Yes. See on the top? The tube has a cap on it.
EB: heh. i'm going to pop this bad boy open early! you said step 2 was to "extrude the totem," right? well i bet the totem is in there!
EB: hang on!
==
And to your abject shock, John leaps out his window, landing in the shrubs below, dashing back indoors like a madman.
==
TT: John, what the fuck.
==
Sadly, John is away from his computer for now. You decide to look through the rest of the catalog of items.
Every one of these things has a little number next to it and a lower case "G." Maybe this means "gold?" You don't have any gold, and neither does John, but luckily for you, there's one more free item: Something called an "alchemiter."
Seeing there's no room to place it in John's bedroom, you place the odd contraption on the balcony. This one looks like a platform with a smaller tube next to it.
==
TT: I think I'm getting this. You get the tube from the cruxtruder, then you put it in this alchemiter device. Head to your balcony after you get the tube.
==
Your instructions are put on hold, however, as John re appears, scrambling back up to his room, pushing on the door. You see him check his dumb PDA again.
==
EB: whoops. i can't get back into my room.
EB: you blocked my door, dingus!
EB: move it out of the way.
TT: I can't. Moving larger objects costs some resource I don't have. Just squeeze inside.
TT: Wait. John, what are you holding?
EB: a sledgehammer!
==
You watch helplessly as the dumbest boy on the planet Earth rears back and swings the heavy mallet into his door like Jack Nicholson in the Shining, an equal amount of glee on his face.
==
EB: heeeeere's johnny!!!!
==
You facepalm.
Once his door is open, he scrambles into it, seemingly unbothered by the idea of splinters.
==
TT: At the risk of a warning coming too late. John. Please do not use the hammer on an alien item put inside your bedroom via video game wizardry.
EB: there are only two and a half minutes left, rose!!!
EB: i've gotta!
TT: John. Think about this. I didn't smack all the sense out of you.
TT: John!
TT: Oh, god, perhaps I did.
==
Before you can plead with him to stop, the lights suddenly go off, your computer following suit in five more seconds, just in time to see John gleefully bash the cruxtruder open, a neon blue sphere leaping out.
"Fuck," you hiss for the second time that day. That was less than an hour of juice! You shouldn't have left the lights on. You'll have to go back inside and see if you can sneak into your mother's lab.
You grit your teeth. The lab isn't somewhere you should go. Mom forbade that when you were young after you wandered down there as a child. It's the only stern order your mother has ever issued, but you can't just sit by while John faces danger! Or- At least poses danger to himself.
The entrance to your mother's lab is a locked door leading to the basement, the inside of which you've never seen. That entrance is bound to be sealed and monitored, so that's out. There is another entrance, though, on the lawn, an entrance that your mother believes you don't know about. You look out the window towards the front lawn in the direction of said secret entrance, above which sits a grim-looking stone mausoleum. You decide to head there post-haste.
But before you can do that, a meteor strikes the observatory.
Chapter 4: Act 1 Episode 3: Bro
Summary:
Listen to this episode [CLICK HERE]
This transcript features an extra log of VGFaqs. B)
Chapter Text
Your name is Dave Strider.
It's hot as balls here in Texas, but you stay cool as fuck. Not just because your fan is pumping full-blast, but because you're cool, yourself.
So cool you wear shades indoors, even.
Okay, full disclosure, you might be cool in demeanor, but you're not cool in temperature. The fan might be blowing your straw-gold hair around, but it's just moving around the heat. Behind your bangs, your forehead dots with sweat. You're a skinny fucker, six foot one, built like someone stapled several wooden boards together and animated it like the golem. You might be big and awkward but a sufficiently strong person could probably pick you up by the ankle and toss you across a football stadium. Not that you'd ever let that shit happen in a million years.
It's a big day for you, not in small part because it's your pal John's birthday, but also because you've decided to tell your friends your horrible secret that you've been keeping for ages.
You and three friends decided to go to the same university after high school, a place near Chicago called Northern Illinois- Selected due to being roughly equidistant from all of you. To begin with you went along with the plans, but the truth is... You were never going to go to college. It just wasn't in the cards.
Still, lying feels shitty, so you've decided to come clean today. To play one last video game with them as friends, then tell them your horrid secret.
Or at least- That was the plan. Right now, your friends are being grade A dunces and farting around instead of playing games. Some bullshit about bonking each other on the head with books and ruining sinks? You're glad you're above all that petty shennaniganeering.
You decide to let your two pals sort their shit out and chat with your least insane friend and confidant.
==
TG: yo chad you up
BB: Up an at 'em.
BB: Chad Buskin at your humble service.
BB: I assume you obtained the sweet discs, my man?
TG: sure did
TG: im about to play with tt and eb
BB: A badass troupe of motherfuckers if ever there was.
BB: I wish you could play with us, big guy.
BB: But I understand those cats are important to you.
TG: yeah its not like you and me cant play together sometime either
TG: something just feels so fucked up about this
BB: You've been sitting on a shitty secret for all hells of time, dawg.
BB: Take your mind off it.
BB: Just be careful. I hear the game is pretty intense. The message boards are lighting up about this shit.
TG: no shit
TG: i saw yesterday the pre release thread was full of those troll weirdos
BB: God. None of them can spell. They're all stuck in the leetspeak days.
BB: Even so. They might not be talking total shit.
TG: how so
BB: They knew stuff about the game they shouldn't have, for starters.
BB: I'm not saying to talk to them, but. They might have some tips.
TG: lmao
TG: thats just bad luck
TG: some group of chuds who all type like jackasses gets early access to the most anticipated game of the year
BB: Ain't that just how it is?
==
You log onto VGFaqs, your haunt of choice for online video game discussion. As usual, the threads are all noobs trying to figure out how to play the game. You decide to avoid these to evade potential spoilers and instead log back into the pre-release thread, re-reading old posts from last night.
==
badBuskin:
I for one, can't wait, my dudes. I'm picking mine up from the post office first thing.
gallowsCallibrator:
YOU 1MB3C1L3S DON'T ST4ND 4 CH4NC3. WH4T K1ND OF N4M3 1S "BUSK1N" 4NYW4Y?
badBuskin:
The kind that fucks your mom, lol.
carcinoGeneticist:
WHAT THE FUCK IS A MOM?
turntechGodhead:
god damn if that isnt the saddest shit ive ever heard
gallowsCallibrator:
HOW WOULD SOM3ON3'S N4M3 3V3N FUCK 4NYBODY?
turntechGodhead:
yo gc why do you type like that
leetspeak is old hat i can barely understand you
lmao how old are you anyway
gallowsCallibrator:
N1N3
badBuskin:
LMAO. Someone get this child out of here.
==
This is pointless. These clowns don't have any game knowledge. You keep scrolling past where you had checked out the night before.
==
carcinoGeneticist:
I'M TELLING YOU FOOLS. DON'T FUCKING BOTHER PLAYING. I'M SERIOUS. IF I FIND OUT THAT ANY OF YOU STARTED THE GAME, I'LL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT THAT YOU'RE FLAYED ALIVE.
bigfunkyj:
let's chill with the threats dude. this is for on-topic game shit
carcinoGeneticist:
SHUT THE FUCK UP! IF YOU PLAY THIS GAME *YOU WILL DIE.* DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT??
badBuskin:
You keep saying that, but you said you played it and you seem to be alive, CG.
cacinoGeneticist:
CORRECT. BECAUSE I'M A SUPERIOR SPECIMEN TO YOU SAD CRETINS. THE TROLL RACE IN GENERAL, OF WHICH I AM AN EXEMPLAR, ARE YOUR GODS! BOW DOWN OR I'LL LAY DOWN THE HURT.
[User was banned for this post]
bigfunkyj:
THE TROLLS RACE lmfao. get banhammer'd
badBuskin:
Thanks, mod.
gallowsCallibrator:
SORRY 4BOUT MY HORR1BL3 FR13ND, 3V3RYON3. BUT H3'S NOT LY1NG. TH3 G4M3 1S D4NG3ROUS. F1RST YOU'R3 JUST BU1LD1NG 4LCH3M1Z3RS 4ND M3SS1NG 4ROUND 4ND TH3 N3XT S3COND YOU'R3 F1GHT1NG FOR YOUR L1V3S.
badBuskin:
What's an alchemiter?
==
This seems boring. People all over the world are excited to play the game, it's not hard to imagine some pack of trolls got ahold of the game early and decided to fearmonger about it.
You peer out the window of your apartment building. You're on the highest floor beneath the roof, floor nine, meaning it's hot as can be, no matter how hard your fan chugs along. It's oddly bright out today, too, the sun boring down on you. In the sky, near the sun, you see a strange black speck.
"Huh?" That's odd. You squint at it. It looks too far away to be an aircraft, but the sunlight is making it fuzzy.
"Dave," you hear behind you and you nearly leap out of your skin. You blink, eyes adjusting to the dimmer light of your room. "Two for flinching" you hear, and your big bro socks you twice in the arm, smirking.
Much like yourself, your bro wears shades indoors, but he prefers sharp anime shades to your rounded aviators. He also likes to wear a ball cap inside even though he's never so much as thrown a baseball.
In the presence of your bro, your demeanor changes, and you stand up straighter.
"Need something?" you ask, trying to sound as mild as possible. You hate when Bro silently barges into your room, but it's not like you can tell him off.
"Roof in ten," he says in his usual clipped tone, a casual reminder. Over his shoulder is slung his favorite prop- A puppet of his own design with a creepy cherubic face, known as Li'l Cal. You fucking hate that puppet.
"R-roof. Right. I'll be up." you promise. As he walks away out into the hall, you wince. Over his shoulder, Li'l Cal stares at you, his eerily blue eyes boring into your own.
You hear the sound of water rushing not long after- Looks like it's shower time for him. That means you'll have some privacy at least.
Your Brother is a puppet maker. It's a profession you've not gotten used to in all 18 years of life. Puppets leer from every shelf, half-completed bodies lie about every living space except your room like tiny, pristine corpses. He makes most of his money repairing and restoring them for rich patrons, but his true passion is... Making them. The issue being, of course, how fucking insanely scary they all look.
You shudder as a toy plush of Jigsaw from the Saw movies watches you from atop the microwave. Might as well stock up on grub now before roof time.
You head into your room to check up on your pals.
==
TG: rose
TG: john
TG: anyone?
GG: hi dave!
TG: yoooo its jade
TG: glad youre in on this sburb action
GG: hopefully! ive been taking care of stuff so i wont be available for a while.
EB: ROSE?
TG: johnny boy
TG: rose isnt online
EB: FUCK FUCK FUCK.
GG: :o
TG: uh
--ectoBiologist is offline--
GG: are they already playing?
TG: yup
GG: oh, jeez... things are going faster than i thought...
TG: jade you always say the most insane cryptic shit
TG: never change
GG: hehe
TG: i think we have to make like... some kind of loop to all get in
GG: yes! a server-client loop.
GG: i believe you're going to be rose's server, once she installs the client disc, which she will soon, once her power comes back on.
TG: tight
TG: guess thats why shes so spotty
--ectoBiologist is online--
EB: ROSE, DO YOU SE THE CLOWN?
TG: uh
GG: oooooo, does this game have clowns? i didnt know that!
TG: fuck no i hope not clowns are creepy
GG: dave!
GG: clowns are your friends!
GG: honk!! :o)
TG: stop
EB: FUCK!!!!!
--ectoBiologist is offline--
TG: looks like the game is pretty stressful
TG: anyways i gotta blast bros waiting for me
GG: oh!!! dave before you go hang out with your brother...
GG: install the server program so you can be ready for rose
TG: good thinking
==
You turn in your seat after setting the installation to start and nearly leap out of your skin. Without noticing, Bro placed Li'l Cal on the table behind you with a little note.
"roof. now. bring cal."
The message sends a shudder down your spine, but you know you have to.
You walk up the stairs, Li'l Cal in hand, opening the heavy metal door to the blazing-hot blacktop of the roof. You squint in the sun behind your shades, glancing up. The speck is still there. For some reason it's making you feel foreboding.
"You're late," says Bro. You don't know if that's true or not because he always says that no matter what time you arrive.
"Sorry," you say automatically, tossing Li'l Cal towards him.
"Go easy on Cal, dawg. He's a pristine piece." Bro catches the puppet, gingerly setting him in a seated position on top of the A/C fan humming away nearby. Bro cracks his knuckles, the leather of his fingerless gloves squeaking. "Ready, li'l man?"
You and your brother have been having rooftop duels since before you can remember. Until you were about fourteen, you assumed every parental figure sparred with their kids, but when you met John, he informed you that his dad never did anything of the sort. You guess you're just fucking special.
It's not that you don't like the idea of working out or getting strong- It's that Bro has never held back against you in his life. You've never even come close to beating him and he always leaves you aching in a heap. You learned that this, too, is not normal.
"Bro," you say, voice cracking. Your brother stops you.
"I know you don't want to fight, li'l man," he says, already anticipating this. "But sometimes you have to fight, even when you don't want to. Especially those times. Got it?"
You lower into a fighting stance halfheartedly, fists clenched.
You're not bad at fighting, per se. MMA was a great love of yours, once upon a time, and against your peers, you're pretty competent. Hell, you even enjoyed wrestling in school, even though you were the scrawniest featherweight anyone had ever seen. But Bro isn't a peer.
"Weak!" he proclaims, clipping the side of your head with a swipe, using the distraction to kick your legs from under you. You clatter to the hard asphalt. "Try again," Bro says. As usual, he sounds not just disappointed, but annoyed. You pant, and like always, you fall for it. You swing, growling, and he dodges with ease, kicking you in the stomach. "Try again."
Those two words are like poison to your brain. Try again is his constant refrain, his demand, his mantra. He repeats them every time you fail and the way he spits them at you makes you feel like a failure.
You grit your teeth and your heart pounds fiercely. You look him up and down for some... Opening, just one good punch, one decent kick... But it's just not there. So for the first time in your life, you close your eyes.
"C'mon, bro," you offer. "Just- Can we not?"
"What?" Bro sounds taken aback. "If you don't defend yourself, I'm going to kick the shit out of you, li'l man. Is that what you want?"
"Kind of," you hear yourself say. You can't bring yourself to care. You don't care if he does, you just want to slink back to your room.
Bro grabs you by the collar, lifting you onto your toes.
"You need to get it through your head, li'l man," he hisses, breath hot on your face. You flinch, and he shakes you for it. "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, Dave. I've tried to show you that, but it looks like you still want to live in fantasyland."
You don't speak, shaking like a leaf. Is he... Really going to hit you? He's never fought you while you were defenseless before. You just close your eyes, waiting and tensing for the punch.
Instead, Bro drops you like a sack of apples, heading back indoors. You lay on the blacktop for the next few minutes, dead to the world.
When you're back inside, the server application finished loading, but that small victory is lost on you. Instead, you open up the chat client.
==
TG: bro didnt beat the shit out of me
TG: i guess thats all there is to say on the matter
BB: Damn.
BB: So you stood up to him?
TG: i guess
TG: it didnt feel like "standing up" it felt more like
TG: getting yelled at for saying no
BB: Well. He laid off.
BB: Fuck, dude...
BB: You need to jam about it?
TG: no man im okay
TG: or i will be or whatever
TG: i just want to get the hell out of here
TG: hes right though
TG: he says its dog eat dog and im going to be a dog who gets the shit eaten out of him
BB: I don't think that at all, Dave.
TG: sorry chad
TG: i talk too fucking much huh
BB: Shut up, man. You know I don't care.
BB: You need to abscond that shit-house and obtain some bitches. Nothing some hot sluts can't amend.
BB: Well. I guess in your case like... Hot studs?
TG: haha shut the fuck up dude
TG: i like bitches as much as the next guy
BB: Alright, man. You just enjoy being in that closet for now.
BB: I've got to dip, it's time for me and the guys to start the game.
==
You lean back. At least Chad has your back. You've known him for longer than even Rose and John, he used to go to your elementary school before moving away. There's something so comforting about the nostalgia of old friends. Part of you wishes that you could be part of his Sburb sesh, but as you peer at the screen, you know it's okay.
==
TG: yo
TT: Dave. Jade said you installed the server copy. I'm going to connect to you presently.
TG: whoa there buy me dinner first lalonde
TT: Shut up, weirdo.
TG: sorry
TG: it was just a joke i know youre a big lesbo
TT: It's not because I'm a lesbian, shitbrain.
TT: John fake-flirts with me and I couldn't give two shits.
TG: well we both know john is
TG: yknow
TT: Indeed. But it's just... Weird when you do it.
TG: lol not going to lie i think youre right
TG: ill lay off
TG: when i say that shit to you its like im saying it to my sister
TG: some luke leia shit yfeel
TT: Precisely.
TT: Now be quiet while I connect. You should be able to see me, soon.
==
Sure enough, your screen lights up with... A house?
==
TG: i dont see shit but a dark house
TT: Right. That's my house. You can look around with the scroll wheel.
TG: ok
TG: so like
TG: what is this a model
TT: No, it's my real house. If you navigate to the kitchen, you'll see my mother.
TG: jesus
TG: ive seen pics but she looks fucking rancid
==
In Rose's kitchen, you see a middle-aged, yet elegant woman, sobbing into a martini. You feel like you shouldn't be seeing this.
==
TT: What's she doing?
TG: uh
TG: sitting
TT: Classic. Let me guess- It's about ten. She's drinking a martini.
TG: i
TG: guess?
TT: The lush.
TG: no comment
TT: Good idea.
TT: Look, just deploy the alchemiter and cruxtruder in my room.
TG: where are you anyway? i dont see you
TT: I'm elsewhere.
TT: Deploy those machines. Did you do it?
TG: no im looking around
TT: Dave. Don't fuck around. Deploy the machines. Please.
TG: holy shit rose lalonde said please
TG: stop the presses
TT: Holy shit, Dave Strider wouldn't shut up. Don't stop the presses; this is completely normal.
==
You ignore Rose for a moment, zooming out. Rose's house is pretty nice and you feel a pang of jealousy. It's raining quite hard, but there's an odd glow around everything.
==
TG: uh rose
TG: listen i dont want to freak you out but
TT: The woods is on fire?
TG: oh
TG: yeah
TG: like super on fire
TT: Dave. Did you deploy the machines?
TG: no
TT: I'm going to kill you.
TG: rose no offense but uh
TG: you need to leave im serious
TG: its like the whole woods
TG: shit im calling 911
TG: can you do that for like... other areas
TG: fuck
TT: Dave, for the love of god.
==
You feel panic growing, looking around the property at the burning, smoky trees.
==
TG: rose fuck ok im calling 911
TT: DAVE.
TT: What is it with you people today?
TG: rose im freaking out here
TT: I can tell. Please stop doing that. Or wait until you've-
TT: And I can't emphasize this enough!
TT: DEPLOYED. THE. MACHINES.
TG: ok! fuck jesus
==
In a panic, you locate the two machines in question and place them. You can't find Rose's room and you don't want her mom to see, so you choose...
==
TG: ok done
TT: That was like pulling teeth.
TT: They're both in my room?
TG: uh
TT: Just tell me where they are. I'm about to be on the move.
TG: well
==
You look at the screen. Once you've placed them, it seems you can't move them.
==
TG: the roof?
TT: You're dead to me.
==
You wince. Today has been stressful.
==
TG: have you talked to john yet
TT: Ugh. No. I know I need to, but I've been occupied.
TG: with what
TT: I'll explain later. Does he need anything?
TG: he mentioned uh
TG: a clown?
TT: A clown.
TT: Oh dear god, I hope he's not talking about his kernel.
TG: id made a dirty joke about kernels but im seriously lost
TT: Sorry, what?
TT: What possible dirty joke could be made with "kernel?"
TG: the prostate
TG: duh
TT: Ah. Obviously.
TT: Look, just. Don't worry about it, yet. Once he's back, he'll connect to you and we'll connect the loop. Hopefully.
TG: idk what that means but i trust you i guess
TG: so this game like
TG: is real
TT: So it seems.
TG: fuck
TG: if we die in the game do we die for real
TT: I would assume so.
TG: fuck
TT: I'll talk to you soon, okay? Just... Be on standby.
==
You run your hands through your hair. Shit. You realize something, suddenly, and switch chat tabs.
==
TG: chad
TG: chad dude
BB: Hey, guy.
BB: Can't talk for long.
TG: listen you cant play this game dude its like
TG: actually dangerous
TG: i think the trolls were right
BB: Like... Epilepsy trigger stuff or something? I've heard about that stuff happening.
TG: no! fuck
BB: Okay, then... How's a computer game supposed to be dangerous?
TG: i cant explain just give me a sec
BB: I'd love to my dude, but I really have to go. I'll probably be off all day.
TG: wait! damn it
==
You need a breather. You take a long, deep breath, forcing your pulse to slow, leaning on your window sill, squinting up at the speck in the sky again. Did it get... Bigger?
Before you can take a better look, a crow flies into your open window.
Chapter 5: Act 1 Episode 4: There's a Meteor at the End of This One
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is John Egbert. Again.
You just bashed in your own bedroom door with a sledgehammer and sledged open the cap on a device a magical game placed into your bedroom called a "cruxtruder." It's been an odd day, so far, but sadly, it doesn't stop from getting weirder.
Your father, luckily for you, is in the garage, grabbing some tools and various things to fix the recently obliterated sink, so he's not there to hear you bash down your door. When he does see it, however, he's probably going to kill the shit out of you.
As you give the cruxtruder a mighty whack, the lid flies off, and from beneath, two things spring out. First, an odd-looking cylinder that looks to you like a vase, and second, a glowing, circular... Something.
It's incredibly hard to describe what you're looking at. It appears to be a... Glowing disc or orb, floating and flashing in midair, floating on its own power, emitting a bell-like chime.
"What the fuck?" you ask, as if it could possibly answer you.
You look down at the vase-thing, now in your hands. This must be... The totem? Rose mentioned this. To put it in the alchemiter?
"C'mon, orb," you say, motioning for it to follow you, which, to your shock, it does. You walk onto your porch, sliding the totem into the cylinder on the alleged "alchemiter." Nothing happens.
"Well that sucks!" you say, disappointed.
==
EB: rose, this lame tube didn't do anything!
EB: rooooooooooose.
EB: i'm starting to think this game sucks.
==
You put away your totally cool PDA, walking back downstairs. Your dad hasn't come back in, yet. You wonder what the hell is taking him so long. Still... Something strikes your fancy.
In the living room is the massive gift your dad told you not to touch. With a twinkle of mischief in your eyes, you approach the forbidden box. After all- When a parent tells you not to do something, it's almost inevitable that it will happen!
You tear off the packaging, the orb floating over your shoulder as though it's also excited to see what's inside. You see...
"Oh, fuck no," you groan. The box opens, and within, you see something so truly heinous it makes you recoil in disgust.
For context- Years ago, you had a thing for clowns. You have no idea where it started, but your dad was all about it- To the point that your young mind thought HE was a clown instead of some stuffy cube-dwelling business shithead.
And now, years later, your dad still thinks you like them, apparently, because within the box is the cheerful face of a life-sized harlequin plush. Your blue orb's chimes get more aggressive upon seeing the harlequin's horrible grinning mug.
"Right? Even you think this sucks, buddy," you say as the orb approaches the doll. You look up at the mantlepiece at your nana's smiling visage. "Are you seing this shit, nana?" you ask sarcastically.
Then, suddenly, all hell absolutely breaks loose.
In a blinding baby-blue flash that makes you recoil in pain, rubbing your eyes, the orb seems to... Absorb the fucked up harlequin doll. To your horror, your newest friend, your precious orb, becomes one with the clown before your very eyes!
"N-no!" you stammer weakly, blinking in bewilderment at the outcome of this unholy creation: The clown-orb.
The orb now has a smug, grinning clown face on it, and all that's left of the doll is its left arm, sitting forlornly in the box, oozing stuffing.
"O-orb!" you cry with dismay. However, instead of chiming at you like before, the orb begins to obnoxiously honk at you in a deafeningly jolly cacophony of invisible horns.
You fumble for your PDA and blindly beg Rose for help, but help never comes.
The only thing for it is to run from the honking madness, into the garage.
"Dad-!" you cry, but, oddly, your dad isn't there. You blink, looking around, seeing the garage door is open and your father is on the lawn, staring skyward. Something... isn't right.
The irritated panic you felt before fades away into something new. Your dad looks serious, not just his usual tacit self, but worried. Your... Dad shouldn't look worried. He's your dad. There's an odd light cast over the lawn, orange and dim, like something was blocking the sun.
You slowly approach your father, afraid to look upwards.
"John..." your dad mutters a single word, a baffled word. You look skyward.
Above you, looming and flaming overhead like a God of myth is a rock, a meteor, an infernal hellish ball of abject doom. You swallow, choking on your words as you gawk.
Down the road, you hear screams. In the distance, the peeling out of a car from a driveway. People all over your sunny, Seattle suburb are coming out of their homes to look upwards.
"John," your father says, quietly. The calm in his voice sends a chill down your spine, waking you up.
"W-we-" you stammer. "How...?"
"Go inside, John," he says, firm and stern. The way he speaks is bone-chilling. More screams arise in your block, Mister Henderson's half-mown lawn sits abandoned, mower still running. Missus Gunther howls, sobbing to the sky, pacing her lawn in a blind panic.
Your hands shake. You... You have to tell your friends. But there's a message from Rose. Dumbly, unsure of how to react, you read it.
==
TT: John.
TT: Did you put the cylinder in the alchemiter?
==
You blink. The game feels so far away now. Just moments ago you'd been excitedly running around, but now... What? Now you're going to die.
Yes. You are going to die. You- John Egbert, are going to die. Your life will stop once that meteor crashes down on your neighborhood. You shake, you begin to breathe heavily. You stumble a response, confused and suddenly terrified.
==
EB: rose. you're my best friend.
EB: i love you. please.
TT: Answer the question.
==
Something about Rose's sternness slaps sense into you.
==
EB: rose. the game is over. something terrible is happened.
==
You squeeze back tears. Your dad has gone inside the garage, leaning on his workbench.
==
TT: Do you want to live?
==
You blink tears from your eyes. You... You do. Your heart thuds.
==
TT: Look at the alchemiter again.
==
You begin to hear something roar above you. It's absurd- A meteor just... Appearing in the sky above a suburb. It's impossible to react to, it's unfathomable, and yet it's happening.
You look towards your balcony. On it, something glints in the blood-orange light. Something that makes you sober up in a mere moment.
You have no doubt that what you're doing is stupid- Pointless and idiotic. Checking on the alchemiter again when a meteor is boring down on everything you've ever known. You pant, rushing past your father, past the fucked up clown in your living room, up the stairs two at a time and to the balcony.
On the alchemiter platform, where there was nothing before, there is now a tree. Not a tree of bark, but a tree of blue, crystaline stone, surreal and otherworldly. Heat buzzes on your neck and the air is rushing around you, deafening wind kicking up, the whole world turning orange and hot.
You don't know how, but this game and this meteor are connected, and that fact gives you a flicker of impossible hope. This game... Will save you.
Up the tree is an apple, made of the same blue crystaline stone that the tree is- A huge apple, as big as your head. In your room, a timer ticks down to the number one.
You take a bite of the apple, and just as everything goes too bright to handle, too loud, too hot-
Everything goes dark and quiet.
Chapter 6: Act 1 Episode 5: Failed Elegy for a Feline
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Rose Lalonde. How quaint.
It is your 13th birhday, in one of the worst snowstorms you've ever seen, but you and your mother are out in the yard anyway, standing before a stone mausoleum, umbrellas catching the gently falling snow.
"He was a good kitty," says your mother.
You nod, the tears freezing on your face, sniffling in cold air as you shiver.
Jaspers Von DeLight the Third. Your pet black cat died the previous night, put to sleep by the vet, as a mercy, to save him from the trauma after falling into the river. How he got there is a mystery, as he'd been missing for several days. You don't quite understand it yet, but you know to feel sad. Emotion often comes before understanding, a fact brought into stark relief by the way the mausoleum makes you feel.
"He was the best kitty," you affirm. For the first and last time in your life, you willingly reach for your mother's gloved hand and hold it.
Roxanne had a flair for the extravigant, and when she had a stone tomb built for your cat, you didn't know what to think. It felt like another empty gesture, another over-the-top, emotionless farce to trick you into believing she was a good mother, but... It wasn't. Roxanne loved that cat, too, and she loved you, and you felt that.
For the first and last time in your life.
Five years later, in April, you're traipsing to that Mausoleum again. Since that snowy day full of the bitterest sweet love, you found out the mausoleum that you'd felt so much towards had just been another one of Roxanne's ploys. She'd built it in the one place she knew you wouldn't mess with: Under your dead friend's tomb.
You scowl as you approach the tomb, sliding open the heavy door.
Moments ago, you'd narrowly escaped death by meteor, and to your dismay, it didn't look like that was a one-time thing.
As you emerged from the observatory, the domed roof dented by the impact of a space rock, you looked skyward only to see the rain dotted with orange boulders, flaming and raining down as hard as the water droplets. You grit your teeth and now you're here. Sneaking into Mom's stupid hideout.
You shove your cat's coffin aside, revealing a ladder down into your mother's lab, a place you've always wanted to explore, which now feels empty.
You're not stupid. You can draw conclusions. You've known forever- Feelings come before reason, and you feel strongly that this game and these meteors are connected. While your laptop is out of commission, you're unable to check, but you've learned all you can about the game in what little time you've scraped together.
You have a feeling knowing what you do might save your life, and more importantly... Your friends'.
What's more, Jade's cryptic hints are coming in handy recently. Eerily so. You can't question that for now, only decide to follow them.
Once inside the lab, you look around. What you see first is a large grid. To the west, you hear water rushing past machinery- No doubt the hydro-generator underneath your home. Concrete walls secure the basement in place while outside the rain and the meteors are a distant thundering thud.
You scour for an outlet. This basement area is massive and flat, strange green bricks lining the floor. In the center of the lab, there is an odd looking raised section of the floor, and on the walls, there are massive science contraptions of which you have no inkling. Oddly, cat food is piled in the corner.
Inspecting the green bricks, you see that each one is outfitted with an outlet. Curious, you pluck one from the ground. It slides out of its tessalated place in the floor and hums in your hands. Odd. A self-contained power source. You silently hope this won't give you cancer down the line as you plug your laptop in, inspecting the largest monitor, a ceiling-high computer screen with a map of the United States with colored dots all over it.
==
TT: Jade.
TT: We need to talk.
GG: oh! um.
GG: okay, rose.
TT: I need to know what you know about this game.
GG: oh, jeez.
GG: i guess you believe me now?
TT: Yes.
TT: A number of your tips have paid off.
GG: i wish i could help more rose, its just... i get feelings about things.
GG: and my feeling right now is you should talk to dave, okay? he installed his server copy so he'll be able to get you in.
TT: Alright.
GG: im really sorry i will explain everything soon i just need more time!
TT: Very well.
==
Jade said to talk to Dave, so talk to Dave you shall. Even though you'd really prefer not to.
==
TG: yo
TT: Dave. Jade said you installed the server copy. I'm going to connect to you presently.
TG: whoa buy me dinner first lalonde
TT: Shut up, weirdo.
==
Dave is being... Dave. Uncooperative but ultimately trustworthy. According to him, things topside have gotten rather dire. You switch your view to John's house, seeing his empty room, broken cruxtruder and all. You zoom out, and your fears are confirmed. You can't look upwards, but the orange-red tint tells you all you need to know.
==
TT: John. Did you put the cylinder in the alchemiter?
==
You leave that for him to find later. No time, now. Your own goose will be cooked if you don't high-tail it fast.
==
TG: ok done
TT: That was like pulling teeth.
TT: They're both in my room?
TG: uh
TT: Just tell me where they are. I'm about to be on the move.
TG: well
TG: the roof?
TT: You're dead to me.
==
You snap your laptop shut and stuff it back into the ziplock. The green cube will be handy, you stuff that in, too, even though you can't close it all the way now. No time to worry about that. You take a deep breath, ready to climb out of the secret entrance, when you hear a soft, slurred voice.
"Ro...sie?" Another exit, to your west, a light shines down into the dim lab. Your teeth clench. Mother. You stay silent, but you can't make it back to the entrance- Mom will see you in this wall-less room.
You don't know what your mom has been doing down here and you don't have time to ask, even though curiosity burns inside you. You decide to speak, sternly, like a woman who had to raise herself.
"You're drunk, mother. Stay out of my way." your voice is cold, but you feel it has to be. You don't have time to wrangle your drunk mom today.
"S'okay. I knew you'd come down here (hic) sometime. It's startin'."
Starting...? You blink, forgetting your sopping-wet, rainsoaked appearance for a moment.
"What's starting, mother?" you ask, voice a little less stern.
"End'a the world," she says solemnly. She traipses calmly down the stairs, in a lab coat and slippers, shuffling towards you.
"Mother, you're exaggerating." You know she's not.
Roxanne points to the screen that towers above everything else.
"See that, pumpkin?" she says, taking a slow, drunk breath. "That's the United states. Each itty bitty dot...?" She pointed to each dot in turn. All told, they nearly covered the entire face of the states, leaving litle space for the map to poke through.
"Every one of 'em... Is a meteor."
You swallow.
"This is what you've been doing? Calculating the end of the world?" you say. You sound accusatory, like she caused this somehow. You don't mean to- But you don't take it back, either.
"Yeeeep," she says simply. "To get you ready."
"To-" questions roil inside your mind. Your mother... Knew? She had some information about this madness? You huff, beginning to climb the stairs back into your house. You don't have time to find out what's going on.
"Stay here," you say sternly. "It's dangerous up above."
"Lol," your mother says as you emerge into your living room.
The roof. Dave said the machines were on the roof. That would make things easy... You just need something to open the cruxtruder. At a loss, you snag your knitting needles- They're metal, so maybe they can pry it open? You pry the needles from a little crocheted cthulhu plushie you made and find yourself patting it on the head.
"We're really in the shits now, princess Cthulhu," you say. On a whim, you decide to grab her along for the ride.
The rain hasn't let up, meteors coming down in higher numbers. You hear booming thuds all around you, one landing in your back yard with a mighty slam, making you yelp. Most of your roof is flat, with a decline towards the sides, so traipsing towards the machines Dave put up here is an easier trek than going up the stairs to the observatory.
Princess Cthulhu is set down on the cruxtruder's flat edge and you take note of the timer. Five minutes. Not ideal. You have a feeling that the countdown isn't for when the tube opens like you first thought with John. Your feeling now is that once it runs out it's "Game Over," as it were.
You pry the cap off with a mighty push, impressed that your needles withstood such a force. Shaking out your wrists, you fish out the cruxite cylinder with relief. Now, just to put it in the alchemiter on the other side of the roof.
Your best-laid plans, however, are foiled by a sudden noise causing you to jump. Over your shoulder, an orb floats, making insistent tinkling bell-like noises at you.
"Gah!" you cry out, hands clumsily dropping the cylinder, which rolls alarmingly fast towards the edge of the roof. "No!" you growl, feet slipping as you chase the errant tube.
The good news is, the tube isn't washed away. The bad news is that now it's sitting at the riverbank below. You grit your teeth and change course- You run down indoors, huffing as you dash. God- You're not in great shape. Just a rainy jog is winding you and the cold is starting to seep below the skin, but you can't stop now. Getting that tube is your ticket out.
You huff, snagging the tube in your arms. You look up to see the mystery-orb floating on the roof.
That must be the sprite, the kernel- The game mentioned that. Something about... Prototyping it. You wish you had time to read more of the in-game explanations, but you're under crunch here! You don't have the foggiest idea what the fuck that meant.
Back on the roof, you're wheezing. You don't have time to rest, hoofing it to the alchemiter, slotting the cylinder in place. At first nothing happens, and for a long moment, fear builds in your chest, but suddenly, into existence, something pops- A pink colored bottle. Just... A bottle. It's empty, but it's clearly there for a reason. What reason? You... You don't know.
"Gah!" you scream at the sky. "Fuck! Fuck this!" you scream more. Your voice hurts and water gets in your mouth, but you're good and properly sick of this shit. You pace, grabbing the bottle and Princess Chthulhu, your kernel-sprite following you indoors. You eye the countdown. Two minutes. Hands shaking, you open your laptop. There's a message... It's John. Oh, gods alive, John- He's even more fucked than you.
==
EB: rose. you're my best friend.
EB: i love you. please.
TT: Answer the question.
==
You need to know if he somehow solved the stupid alchemiter puzzle. Maybe it would give you a hint- Then again... He seemed rather shaken. Understandably, you admit to yourself. You're a little alarmed at how grimly calm you feel, right now. You gaze at the bottle, searching in vain for some scrap of in formation. All the in-game guide says is so teeth-grindingly crypic.
"1. Deploy cruxtruder
2. Extrude totem
3. Prototype sprite
4. Alchemize totem
5. Enter"
Half of those phrases don't even contain proper words! They're sentence fragments at best, ones that belie less meaning than the Jabberwocky. You want to throw your computer. Not knowing things- Being in the dark- It's just so-
You leave your laptop.
Enter?! What the fuck does that mean? Enter. Enter...
You pace, watching the clock. Thirty seconds. Your throat is tense. Your mouth is dry. Your eyes are wide. You can't take it any more. You explode, throwing Princess Cthulhu at the incessant tinkling of the orb, taking the bottle in your hand and just... Letting go.
The bottle sails towards the river as you slowly realize what you've done. Not thinking, not breathing, your sneakers squeak on the roof as you find yourself leaping from it, arms outstretched for the bottle you just tossed to the wind. Against all odds, your fingers close around it as you suddenly, instinctively understand what needs to be done. You feel water enveloping you, the sharp burn of your body entering the river lopsided. You hear the impacts of meteors, the hum of the generator, the howling of the wind, and the pelting of the rain, and as your howling voice joins the chorus when you crest the surface, your arm cranks back and you bring the bottle down on a stone on the shore.
And with that final, defaning shatter, the noise stops. The river stops carrying you. The water flows around your motionless body as you lose consciousness, the last thing you feel are someone's arms embracing you.
"Mother...?"
You blink. A pink-and-white spectre wraps you up and you're gone.
Chapter 7: Act 1 Episode 6: Nuclear Pooch
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Jade Harley.
You are, particularly for your age, jacked. Island living has made your arms ropey and your legs thick, like an olympian. Your sun-bronzed skin is painted with several scars, all of which you're proud of. Your shoulders are your most striking feature, broad and strong, they look like massive oaken shelves, especially when you're wearing your sleeveless tanks, which you basically always are. At six foot six, you don't look like any other eighteen-year-old girl, and if anyone saw you, they'd surely remark on it to no end.
Luckily for you, other people seeing you is not an issue.
Despite your friends' skepticism, you live on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean in a research lab owned by your grandfather. In fact- It's the only life you've ever known.
Presently, you're in the compound's greenhouse, humming to yourself merrily, watering the flowers.
You have a feeling that you don't need to be doing this, but you have a routine!
You have lots of strange feelings.
Something feels off, today, and you know perfectly well why. Today is the day the world ends. That's why the flowers don't need to be watered. They won't be here tomorrow at all.
You set the watering can down, pushing your glasses up your face.
All morning, you've been hearing about the game you're set to play with your three friends, but you have yet to actually play it. The reason for this is quite simple- You don't have a copy of the game TO play it. You have a feeling you will, but you're just not sure HOW.
A lot of things in your life are like that.
You move outside, onto the flat, sunny field you've played in since you were a child. The world's biggest front yard! You'd play with your dog Becquerel and your grandpa for hours, then come inside for some fresh veggies in a soup grown with your help!
You wonder where Bec is today and hope he's snoozing- Mostly because you have to give him the slip!
The island which you live is shaped like a rough crescent, meaning in the middle, there is a rather striking lagoon, covered in massive lilypads, all leading towards a temple that your grandfather came to this island to study. You've always wanted to go in yourself, but your dog Bec, on your grandpa's orders, makes sure you don't meander in! What a good dog. Even though today it's a nuissance.
You walk towards the lilypads, creeping quietly as you plan your heist. You'll hop from one lilypad to the next, then climb up the side of the ruins to the entrance using the stairs.
The ruins have loomed over the island since you were a little girl, and you've always felt oddly comforted by the stone frog statue that sits atop them. In fact, today you wave at the big fella. "Mister Froggy" you'd call him in your younger days.
You look around, squinting. No Bec. It's go time. Sadly, as you take that first hop onto a lilypad, the jig is up!
Before you materializes Bec in a crackle of green energy. Did you mention that your dog can teleport himself and other objects? Sorry, that kind of little insignificant detail slips your mind!
Becquerel woofs quietly, nosing you in the chest to say "go back."
"Be-eeeec..." you whine. "Look, I know grandpa said, but I need to!"
Bec gives you a warning snort, but you're not backing down from some extra-dimensional pooch! Again, sadly, you don't stand a chance, and you feel the familiar sensation of being teleported into the den of your home, in front of the fireplace, facing your grandfather.
Bec barks, announcing to Grandpa in no uncertain terms that you'd just been doing something naughty. Your cheeks flush.
"Pops..." you say, apologetically. "I just needed to get into the ruins, okay? Your rules suck and I know you're just trying to keep me safe, but I'm an adult now and I'm going to the mainland soon!!!"
You huff. Whoops. Got a little heated. You look up to your grandfather, who stands motionless.
This is normal- As he is a taxidermized corpse. Did you forget to mention that? Sorry, that kind of little insignificant detail slips your mind!
Bec seems satisfied with the apology and zaps away as quick as he came. Oh, no. If you want to get into those ruins, you'll need a distraction.
You head upstairs to your room, foregoing the stairs and opting for the transportalizer instead. The compound is about twenty stories tall and topped with a round tip, in which your bedroom is. It used to be a general living quarters, but since your Grandpa passed away, it's just yours.
While you cook up a scheme to trick Bec, you decide to talk to some friends! You love your friends! Dave, John, and Rose are to dear to you more than they could ever know. They made a life of isolation bearable, something which you can never hope to repay. But today is someone's special day!
==
GG: happy birthday june!
EB: june?
EB: haven't you called me that before?
GG: whoops! john, sorry. hehe.
GG: june is another one of my friends!
EB: yeah, if i was born as a girl, june would have been a cute name.
EB: not that i ever think about stuff like that.
GG: pft. riiiiiiiight :P
EB: what's june like, anyway?
EB: are they on the vgfaqs forum??
GG: i dont think so! :o
EB: then how do you know them? arent you like... on an island?
GG: weeeeell... if i tell you you'll laugh!!
EB: probably not. you've told me all kinds of weird crap. i don't like laughing at my friends.
EB: unless it's due to a prank, which is cool.
GG: june is one of my friends in the gold city.
EB: yeah, your gold city dreams.
GG: hehe yeah!! i love prospit.
EB: sounds like a cool place!
GG: it is i love it so much!
EB: so is june one of the little... white bald guys?
GG: the prospitians? no! she's a human, like us.
GG: i've never actually seen her awake.
EB: he's dreaming inside your dreams?
GG: hehe no way! dreams in dreams is a dumb idea. what gave you that inception?
EB: lol. fair enough!!
EB: well i hope june wakes up soon.
GG: me too
GG: youd better check your mail soon, june!
GG: *john
GG: D:
EB: pft. okay, jade. see you later!
EB: let's play sburb together, okay?
GG: of course! :D
==
Alright. Time to get down to business. How will you outfox your pup?
Living on an island isn't easy. You've had to hunt and grow your own food since your grandfather died when you were 13, after all! Being a survivalist is one of your points of pride, but it's not exactly a pleasant way of life. On the other hand- You do have certain amenities due to your pop's connection to Skaianet Systems!
One of said amenities is a cookalyzer, a handy green cube what can cook any food in moments using quantum-cookalyzing technology! You hope this won't give you cancer down the line.
From your table, you snag your trusty cookalyzer, opening it up and placing a steak inside. You feel a little forlorn- Meat on the island is hard to come by, you have to travel up the foot of the mountain nearby to find any game, but this is worth it!
You crank the cookalyzer up the dial- "Sear, cook, burn," and finally, "Irradiate." Nothing a nuclear pooch likes better than a glowing irradiated steak!
But Bec would make short work of this, so you'll have to be crafty. For now, you hold off on cookalyzing, instead walking to your transportalizer. Yes- Perfect. Bec would need to be given the runaround for this plan to work.
You feel a little bad doing this, but as the world was going to end soon, you don't have need for you transportalizers any more! This will definitely not come back to bite you. You open the control panel and give the thing a good whack! This has the intended effect, which is for the machine to go on the fritz and trap anything that it attempted to transportalize between the two portals, one at the bottom of the stairs, one at the top. The effect would essentially render the device worthless, but Bec would still be able to SMELL the steak, meaning he'd be trying to look for it for a while.
You begin the cookalyzing, cupping your mouth and calling.
"Beee-eeeec! Come and get your grub!"
As you finish the cooking, the pooch materializes on cue, tail furiously wagging. As you tug the green, glowing steak from your cookalyzer, you toss it onto the transportalizer. Everything works like a charm- The steak is torn apart at an atomic level, making Bec whine with confusion, cocking his head and sniffing the machine as the steak flickered curiously out of existence.
You feel horrible for fooling your pooch, but some things need to be done for the sake of progressing! You withdraw your trusty springloaded grappling hook, one of your very first DIY inventions, aiming it directly at the ruins. A cable zips out and embeds itself into the side of the frog's head. You wince.
"Sorry, Mr. Froggy!" you say as you Lara Croft your way down the wire towards the ruins- No need to evade Bec now that he's occupied- Still, it's only a matter of time before he re-corporealizes his snack, so you'll have to act fast!
You're dismayed that you can't check the ruins more intently today- After all, this is the first time you're here, but you can't pause as you rush down the dark hallways lined with frog hieroglyphs, carved intricately into the smooth stone.
The ruins, it seems, are fairly straightforward, consisting only of a hallway, ending in a spacious cavern room. As you enter, you look around in awe- This place might not be the mazelike catacombs you envisioned, but it's huge! And in the middle, there is what appears to be a massive blossom.
In your pocket, your phone has been buzzing- No doubt messages from friends. Ever the dilligent pal, you decide to answer them as you approach the blossom.
When you reach the strange flower, it's apparent that this isn't a flower at all- it's some kind of capsule in the shape of a blossom with a countdown clock. You cock your head, reading the display. Only ten seconds more.
"I hope it's not a bomb or something..." you mutter, keeping an eye out for Bec. Once his steak dinner is done, you're out of here!
Still- This is odd. When did this blossom get here? Its base is the same color as the stone making the ruins, but there's no way it's of the ruins. After all, the countdown clock is digital! Did Grandpa build this? Your curiosity is put on hold as the timer ends silently.
What happens next awes you even more. The flower opens slowly, revealing in the center a glowing white orb which slowly materializes into... Envelopes! Specifically, two envelopes, each labeled "Sburb," with "Dave" scrawled in red underneath.
You're not too sure what just happened, but you decide to thank Dave for his contribution!
==
GG: dave!!! thank you so much!
TG: tight
TG: what for
GG: for your game discs! :D
TG: my who now
GG: i dont know how you got them to me! but i somehow got your sburb copies.
TG: ok
TG: hows that
GG: they were in a flower!
TG:
TG: ok
TG: well sick either way you can play with the three of us
TG: just... be careful
TG: fucky shit is afoot
TG: john and rose havent been seen in a while and a crow stole my client copy
GG: oh no!!! D:
TG: its lucky you told me to install the server software earlier
TG: otherwise itd also be in the crows clutches
GG: yay!
GG: i had a feeling
TG: you and your famous feelings
TG: your feeling saved my ass from a massive fucking headache
TG: wait do i still have to get my shit back from the crow
TG: crows suck ass man
TG: people are all like "crows are smart" and sure they can like
TG: open up nuts and shit by dropping them in the road
TG: but can a crow do taxes i think the fuck not
TG: actually ive never done taxes either bad example
GG: ...
TG: well just let me know when you install em and we can get you hooked up
GG: okay dave! i would get your copy back from the crow first, okay??
TG: on it
==
Man, Dave is so cool. You sigh wistfully. You hear he wears sunglasses indoors!
Your celebration comes to an end when Bec materializes, ears laid flat on his head.
"Heh..." you sheepishly grin. "Jig's up?"
For the second time that day, you find yourself teleported in front of your grandpa to give another apology to his corpse. But Bec doesn't try to take your SBURB discs from you.
Once the corpse formality is done, you hurry upstairs, now having to take the manual route, in other words, actually ascending actual stairs instead of teleporting. Once in your room, your hands shake, sliding the server disc into your computer.
However, no sooner do you hit "install" than you get a message. A message you'd rather not deal with! You're about to play a cool, fun game with your buddies and you don't need THIS honyock distracting you. Against your better judgement, you indulge her, just to get it out of the way.
==
AG: Heeeeeeeey, Jade!
GG: >:(
GG: i blocked you!!!!
GG: your ip and everything!
AG: D'aw. Not happy to see your old pal, Vriska?
AG: Relax, I won't be long.
AG: I just have a quick message.
GG: fine!!!!
GG: if it will get you out of my hair faster, creep
AG: Touchy! Whatever.
AG: Here's the message.
AG: SLEEP.
==
No sooner do the blue words appear than you do just that, blanking out completely right onto your keyboard.
You are no longer Jade Harley.
You aren't anyone, in fact. You're just you again, whoever is reading or listening to the words. You decide to continue reading or listening- Or you might decide to stop. If you DO continue to listen or read, your eyes and or ears take in more information, read and written by me.
Inside a dark upstate New York lab, a drunk blonde woman leans against the wall, cradling a martini, full of liquor and regrets. In a Pacific Northwestern suburb, a man is astounded that he hasn't just been crushed by a meteor. In a Texas apartment complex, a tall man wearing a ball cap and anime shades bitterly contemplates his failure of a son. And in front of a fireplace somewhere far in the Pacific, an old scientist sits stuffed.
Across America, meteors crash down, defying explanation. Scientists and pundits won't be able to talk about the apocalypse on the news, as it all happens in what boils down to be an instant. The only few who escape are the lucky few who pre-ordered an innocuous game from a baking conglomerate.
Somewhere in Golden Valley, Minnesota, a towering structure watches over the Betty Crocker headquarter campus, and in its highest building, Betty Crocker stands silhouetted against a room-sized window.
It's a miracle that the campus hasn't been decimated, yet, almost as though this very spot in Golden Valley was chosen due to being geographically the final place the meteors would strike. Even so, high above, the orange glow of the meteors bare down on their location.
"Ma'am," a voice calls out, a little tense. Betty Crocker looks over her shoulder, five long feet of hair swishing behind her like a raven-colored curtain. Orange-red eyes glare at her assistant, tears of frustration streaking them. Betty Crocker says nothing.
"We have to go," the assistant insists, and Miss Crocker silently nods. Her heels clack against the ground as she turns away from the imminent wreckage of her company, something she spent a lifetime building. Not HER lifetime, of course, but a lifetime nonetheless.
Soon after, Betty Crocker Corp is nothing but a pile of ashes. Soon after that, the entire globe of Earth is gone.
April 13th, 2009. Six billion, eight hundred forty thousand people, snuffed out instantaneously, with precisely eight survivors: Four American eighteen-year-olds, two men, one woman, and a snow-white nuclear dog.
Most apocalypses in fiction, you'll find aren't total apocalypses. There would be very little story if this were the case, of course, and the likes of Mad Max and Fallout and yes, even Waterworld, all see the fight for survival continue after the bombs drop or the meteors fall. But this apocalypse was total, seeing Earth reduced to a tan ball of horrid, desolate, uninhabitable space- Unless of course you can survive on sand. Unless you were some kind of... Carapaced, sand-eating wayward vagabond.
I'll let you know if I run into anyone like that.
Barring this, however, everything died.
I'm getting a little ahead of myself here, though. Spoiling a thing or two. I said there are eight survivors and you've met each and every one, now. Perhaps you're even breathing a sigh of relief that your new favorite character isn't actually going to succumb to horrible death via flaming space rock.
But that unease isn't going away, is it? That sense of dread and uncertainty. Why not?
Enough of that, now. Let's back up, back to where we left off. Before the apocalypse. Even though I've ensured everyone that these plucky kids get into the game no issue, we still have to see how they do it, don't we?
Because, let's face it. Things aren't looking great. John and Rose are both missing in action after evading some nasty meteors. Jade is asleep at her desk and Dave's game is being hoarded by a nasty crow. And do I even need to bring up the clown?
Let's find out how our heroes get out of THIS one.
Chapter 8: Act 1 Episode 7: Connection Lost
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Chad Buskin. Aaaw yeah.
You're kind of a normal guy, you think. Normal but cool. An under-the-radar style of guy, the type of guy who would make a great wingman. You really like this niche for yourself and you often fondly consider that your ideal role would be as the sidekick of a romcom protagonist. That might sound weird, but that's just how you roll: Bros before hoes. Also you wear shitty Weezer shirts.
A long time ago, you lived in Texas. You still live in Texas, but the place is fucking huge, so now you live in a part that feels different to the part you WERE in.
That's all to say you live far from your friend Dave.
You and Dave go way back. Like, public school kindergarden way back. When you were both 13, however, you had to move to the panhandle while Dave stuck around in the big city. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, however, you two were able to keep in touch like never before.
Even so, it's not like Dave is your ONLY friend. You also have your new buddies. You decide to check in with buddy numero uno, the brains of the outfit, so to speak, the infamous Mike Hocksbig, the founder of the VGFaqs forums you all frequent.
Mike is a lot older than you are, but you both bonded over a shared love of shitty flash animation and gaming, and the rest was history. It's kind of beautiful that the internet can connect so many people, you think. You know Mike will have all the answers. You and Mike and your other pals will make this game your collective bitch.
==
BB: Mikey, my man. What's the scoop, snoop?
BB: What's up, ketchup?
BB: What's new, beef stew?
BB: Aren't we slated to play some games, today?
BB: I heard that you most righteously already got Jack in the game.
BB: My man TG has been talking this shit up all day.
==
You wait a moment or two. Odd. Mike isn't responding.
==
BB: I'll ask Jack.
==
You pivot, speaking to your secondary bud, Jack Offerman.
==
BB: Jack-o-lantern.
BB: Jack attack.
BB: Speak to me. You're supposed to get Iona in the game, right?
BB: Reiterate the loop to me, guy.
==
You wait. Again, no response. You squirm in your computer chair. You switch to the group chat.
==
BB: Hey, guys. Any word?
BB: Jack? Mikey?
BB: Kind of in the lurch here, fellas. Lol.
IM: chad...
==
It's your final compatriot, Iona Fatpuss. You feel sorry she has such an unfortunate name, but she seems to think it's hilarious. She's in no laughing mood right now, though, from the look of things.
==
BB: Iona, are you in??
IM: yeah...
IM: chad things are really bad...
BB: Bad?
==
Your chest thuds. Dave had mentioned this game was dangerous. That's silly, though. Games can't be dangerous, that's TV show shit.
==
IM: i haven't heard from the guys...
IM: i'm freaking out dude...
BB: Just relax.
BB: What happened to them?
IM: so basically we got into the game...
IM: mike took the lead and tried to get jack in but uh...
IM: jack said he hasn't heard anything from him...
BB: Oh.
IM: so jack tried to get me in right...?
IM: and i'm in the game but now jack is missing...
IM: i think they both couldn't get in...
BB: Wait, so Mike and Jack aren't even in? Just you?
BB: That's bad, though, dog.
BB: The loop is supposed to go Mike, Jack, you, me, then I get Mike in.
IM: fuck...
IM: it's really confusing...
IM: and there's also the ghost...
BB: The... Ghost?
IM: yeah there's some kind of fucking...
IM: spooky phantasm dude...
IM: it's fucked up...
IM: i'm straight up frightened and whatnot man...
BB: Uh.
==
You're not entirely sure what to make of that. A... Ghost?
==
IM: it's my dead puppy marbles chad...
IM: the ghost of marbles...
IM: there was this orb okay and marbles's ashes like...
IM: went into the orb...
BB: Oh, wow. That's fucked up.
==
You're basically not listening right now. Iona is prone to these flights of fantasy and you're not about to indulge them in this moment of truth.
==
IM: i'd better get you into the game though...
BB: Yeeeeah.
==
You install the game and get started. Before long, you're inundated with game bullshit. You know- The typical things you (you as in the reader not you as in Chad Buskin) are accustomed to by now. You (Chad Buskin, not you the reader) head downstairs to find a massive machine in your living room, what Iona calls a "cruxtruder."
==
IM: fuck chad...
IM: still nothing from the guys...
BB: How are you holding up, Fatpuss?
IM: the ghost is still around...
IM: but now there are also fucking gremlins...
IM: this sucks man...
IM: this game sucks...
==
You're really on the fence about this. Iona talks a lot of shit, but at the same time, she just made machines magically appear in your apartment.
You eye the countdown clock. Something about a timer ticking down makes you nervous.
==
BB: What's with the timer?
IM: oh fuck...
IM: don't let that run out, okay...?
IM: find something to get it open...
IM: there's like a tube inside...
==
Iona's vagueness is bordering on irritating now, especially given how your other two friends are missing wholesale. Could they really be...?
Your mind's train of thought is obliterated, however, when a meteor strikes the apartment building.
Your apartment building is small, only housing a dozen or so places, each with only three rooms each. Shit living, essentially, perfect for a kid living on his own for the first time.
You cough, smoke filling your lungs as you gasp for air, looking around. Looks like your immediate area is unharmed, the meteor striking the car park outside, car alarms forlornly going off en masse as you hear your neighbors panicking.
"Fuck," you wheeze, looking out the window. In the distance, you hear more impacts and when you look upwards, your stomach flips.
High above you is an oppressive sight. For a moment you mistake it as a cloudy day, but upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that those brown-red masses in the usually sunny skies over the Texas panhandle are more meteors. The bare sky is barely visible.
==
BB: Iona.
BB: When you entered the game, were there meteors?
==
You wait. No response. Your stomach flips again.
==
BB: Fatpuss.
BB: Answer.
BB: Someone??
==
Fear grips you. Fear has gripped you before, in shitty haunted houses or getting called in to see the principal, but this was different. This is... Horrible. It tugs at you like fear itself is trying to pry your whole body apart, and what's worse is that it's working.
You're... Not a hero. You're Chad Buskin. You're a wingman. A supporting character. You're not the guy who makes plans or stops the apocalypse, and as you look back inside to the countdown clock, you see the rest of your life ticking down. Five minutes.
You aren't going to make it.
You're... You're going to die.
All you can do is take this final gift, these final five minutes and do what you do best.
Your three friends might be gone, taken by meteors or ghosts or "gremlins" or whatever unimaginable horror is out there that didn't exist yesterday. But you have one friend left older than any of them.
You open Pesterchum for the last time.
Your name is Dave Strider, yet again.
You can't believe what you just witnessed. On your very own computer screen, on a rainy roof, Rose Lalonde, your long-time friend, leapt off her house and into a river. You're dumbfounded. Slack-jawed. Confounded, even.
"What in the entire nation of tar...?" you stare at the empty roof. You don't have long to stare, because in short order, the screen goes blank for the first time since starting the game, presenting you with a new progress bar and a message:
"Loading..."
You don't know what to make of that, but the screen is gone.
Without recourse, you consult the group chat.
==
TG: rose?
TG: john??
TG: anyone?
==
No luck.
==
TG: look if anyone is there i just want to say
TG: you three are my best friends okay
TG: well okay i have like a fourth best friend who i have more history with
TG: but i love all of you an amount that is significant
TG: anyway uh
TG: i think that we might actually die and like
TG: that would be fucked up under normal circumstances
TG: though i guess that dying happens normally
TG: what im saying is we might die as an abnormal product of manufactured mother fucking conditions
TG: like were in that movie
TG: where the guy dies because he gets rained on
TG: fuck what movie is that
TG: blade runner thats the bitch
TG: full disclosure i dont actually know if thats what happened
TG: he just seemed bummed he was dying and it was raining
TG: that was a pretty good movie but i could never sit through the whole thing for some reason
TG: i liked harrison ford better in indiana jones and shit
TG: i wrote a rap about this hang on
TG: harrison ford, harrison ford
TG: taking a vacation to a norwegian fjord
TG: talking to a wookiie
TG: he can get some nookie
TG: harrison ford is one tough-ass cookie
TG: then ive got a verse ranking the coolness of his different hats
TG: his indiana jones fedora and the stormtrooper helmet are tied for #2
TG: #1 might shock and alarm you
--ectoBiologist is online--
EB: hi dave!
EB: uh, what the fuck are you talking about?
TG: oh uh
TG: it was my heartfelt message to all of you but i got distracted
EB: oh, shoot. well continue!
EB: don't let me interrupt, i'm just checking in.
EB: but for the record, he didn't die because he got rained on.
TG: the blade runner man
TG: how did he die
EB: i don't know! i didn't watch the whole thing either
EB: i think he might have died because harrison ford made really bad origami??
TG: huh
TG: the more you know
EB: hey, uh. not to rush you along there champ.
EB: but shouldn't you be getting into the game?
TG: fuck
==
As usual, John's advice is as sage as it is timely. You feel yourself blush, wishing you could delete messages, but since it's 2009 and you're all using IRC, that's impossible and probably will be forever. To follow John's advice on getting into the game, however, you'll need your other disc. The other disc that was tragically stolen by a crow, recently.
Crows, in your experience, are bitches. Shitheaded fuckers who just steal objects, and you can't abide that. You know just where its nest is, too, on the little radio tower on your roof.
Dodging your Bro (you hope) you head to the roof. Sure enough, the smug corvid is peeking down at you like the fuckwad he is. You holler something, shaking your fist as you consider how to outfox it.
==
TT: Dave.
TG: rose holy fucking christ on the ever loving cross
TG: you jumped off the roof
TT: I did.
TT: Would not reccommend.
TG: noted
TG: im glad youre okay
TG: somehow??
TT: I am too, if you'd believe it.
TT: What's Jade's status?
TG: she has the game apparently
TG: i gave her my discs
TG: or something
TT: I don't follow.
TG: yeah i don't either so
TG: hey do you think jade is a crow rose
TG: a crow just took my discs and jade said she just got them
TT: I doubt it. The girl speaks in riddles. There's probably some explanation she's not even privvy to.
TG: wow
TG: arent you like
TG: a skeptic
TG: i thought you didnt take stock in jades bs
TT: Times change. You should know.
TG: right well
TG: im going to climb a radio tower
TT: Don't do that.
TT: Dave.
TT: Dave?
==
Somehow, you can feel Rose facepalm.
You grip the metal rungs of the tower, tugging to make sure they support weight. You're not a huge fan of this, but you're not getting those things down any other way.
The crow seems to detect you have designs on the discs, because it begins to irritably caw at you, swooping for your face. You fall down the little ways that you just climbed, grumbling to yourself.
"Jackass bird..."
It's clear you need a weapon. You know just the thing- One of Bro's ornamental Katanas. You know he wouldn't care if you dragged a weapon to the roof, he'd probably assume you were training, so you grab one post-haste, beginning your ascent once more.
"Huff... Piece of shit bird... Take my precious video games..." you mutter, edging up the tower, swiping clumsily at the bird as it swoops. This crow really hates your guts, it seems, and for your trouble, you get more than one peck-mark. You hope this doesn't give you bird flu down the line...
"Hah!" you grasp the discs once you're up, but getting down is the second half of the issue- Not only this, but in your grabbing, you happened to knock the Bird's whole nest down, too, which, predictably, made it angry.
"Fuck!" you slip down a rung, heart hammering as the crow caws and dive-bombs. You probably look like a real dipshit up here, getting attacked, clutching a computer game. Annoyed, you give another swipe, but to your dismay, the sword leaves your hand and... Oh. Oh, no.
Crunch. The sword lands on the ground right next to the dead bird. You wince. You didn't mean to kill it! You hop down the remaining few feet, crouching over the corpse.
You said you hated crows, but now you just feel bad, picking up the katana and re-sheathing it. Well. You got what you came for.
==
TG: jade
TG: ive got the goods
TG: time for you to get me in
TG: jade??
==
Jade's MIA. You wonder what the hell's keeping her, as she seemed pretty excited a bit ago. You open the door to the stairwell and gasp in shock.
"Two for flinching," says your Bro, socking your arm two times. "What are you doing?"
"A bird stole my game," you say simply, averting your gaze and rubbing the spot he punched. Things are still awkward from earlier.
"Well. You got it back," he says, nodding towards the discs in your clutches. "Now scram. I'm going to train up here."
You nod, happy to escape his notice. Inside, you hastily install the client software, blowing air through your cheeks.
==
TG: you there champ??
TG: time is now
==
Still nothing. What a space case.
"Uh, dude?" you hear bro in the doorway- Oddly, he hasn't chosen to sneak up on you this time. "Come up to the roof."
You're not sure what this is about, but you nod, following your brother back out on the roof, your stomach turning as Bro doesn't say anything. He's acting weird.
You decide to try Chad instead.
==
TG: yo chad
TG: you okay? been a minute
TG: chad?
==
Fuck. Where IS everyone? You run a hand through your hair.
On the roof, Bro looks down, pointing to the crowd on the ground floor below. Curiously, you peek over the edge, and sure enough, the scene below is strange. Cars piled up end-to end on your quiet side-street, people running and weaving between the cars trying to escape, hollering and honking aggressively.
"The fuck?" you ask, in general. To your surprise, Bro's finger tilts skyward.
The speck you'd seen a few hours ago is now no longer a speck. In fact, it's rather enormous and before you piece together what it is, your heart hammers.
"The fuck?" you repeat, incredulously. That's... A meteor.
"It's time," Bro says solemnly.
His words mean nothing to you and you just stand, dumbfounded as you watch the meteor in the sky. You know it's hurtling towards you, but you just can't... Fathom it. It looks so calm, almost motionless in the bright blue Texas sky.
Your phone buzzes. You yank it out.
==
BB: Dave.
TG: fuck chad
TG: ive been trying to get ahold of you for centuries my guy
TG: do you see that
BB: Yeah.
==
You gulp. You know Chad lives in the panhandle now, where you still live in Dallas. If it's visible from where he is... How big is that thing...?
==
BB: I think the game brought it here.
TG: the game
TG: sburb?? fucking sburb?
TG: were the trolls right?
TG: fuck
TG: FUCK
BB: Dave, please relax.
BB: You have to get into the game.
BB: It's the only way out.
TG: what??
BB: I don't know why, but that's what people are saying online.
BB: Some people are already inside.
TG: chad...
TG: thats fucking insane
TG: didnt nasa see these meteors
TG: arent they going to fucking
TG: i dont know blow them up??
BB: This isn't Armageddon, Dave. This is real life.
BB: I hate to be a dick about this but wasting your time fretting isn't going to save your ass.
BB: You have to get into the game, now.
BB: I can't lose you, man.
==
By nature, you're a cool guy. A suave fellow. Chad is right, this is no time to break character, you need to calm the fuck down. You already got Rose into the game, so now it's your turn.
==
TG: ill meet you there
TG: i promise
TG: dont get crushed by this fucking bullshit space rock understand?
BB: Bet.
==
You dash inside, leaping down the stairs towards your room. Bro is off in the living room tinkering with something, but you don't have time to see what's on his workbench or why he seems to know about what's happening.
==
TG: jade
GG: dave!
TG: i need to get into the game
TG: now
GG: oh!
GG: well thats good timing. i just got my copies!
TG: yeah "my" copies or whatever
TG: as much as id love to devote a paragraph of text to trying to figure out what the fuck you mean and feigning bafflement we have a job to do now
GG: i agree!
GG: even though you did just type way more than you needed :P
TG: im installing the client
TG: connect to me and instal the machines
GG: yep!
GG: out of curiosity is your bro working on something right now? :o
TG: uh yeah
TG: but thats not really relevant right now is it
GG: i dont know!
GG: oh!!! i see you!
==
Jade's connection to you is evidenced by her picking up your precious turntables.
==
TG: jade be careful with those fuck
TG: dont just throw shit around thats how people get beaned
GG: good point!
GG: this is super fun though! its like the sims!!! :D
GG: dont get into any pools dave >:)
TG: i changed my mind
TG: im taking my chances with the meteor
GG: okay okay okay im going to plonk down the machines
GG: uh
GG: oops
==
You read the word "oops" and hear a crashing behind you. To your dismay, your precious turntables have been dropped and snapped in twain. You rake your hand down your face, aware that Jade can see you.
==
GG: oh god dave im sorry :(
TG: its
TG: fine
TG: we cant worry about that right now
==
While Jade works on placing the machines, you check your friends' group chat.
==
TG: status report
TT: "Status report?"
TT: Easy there, Jean Luc.
TG: it appears youre fine
TG: idk how after jumping off a roof into a river but whatever
TT: I got better.
TT: Can't you see me on your screen?
TG: no time
TT: Have you spoken with John?
TG: negative
TG: i mean no
TT: That's worrisome. He got in before I have, but he hasn't been heard from.
TT: Then again, his stupid PDA is notoriously shitty.
TT: Jade?
TG: jade is getting me into the game
GG: yep!!
GG: wait whos going to get ME into the game? D:
TT: Ideally, John. Failing that... I don't know.
TT: I've done some research on VGFaqs. The forums have become somewhat bogged down due to the predictable panic, but a thread was opened by CG for those who have entered safely.
GG: ugh, i hate that guy :(
TG: didnt he get banned?
TT: He got better.
TT: It appears that once connected, a server-client pair can't un-connect. So we'll have to get someone ELSE in if John can't connect to you, Jade.
TT: For now, Dave, you need to get in yourself.
TG: got it
TG: and if i dont see you guys again
TT: Dave.
GG: yeah dave :(
GG: dont say that!
TT: Jade, how much time is remaining on Dave's cruxtruder?
TT: It's the cylindrical machine.
GG: i put that on your roof, dave! your bro is doing something up there with uh...
GG: a skateboard?
TG: the fuck
TT: Jade. The timer.
TT: I believe that timer reaching zero is when your corresponding meteor is set to impact.
GG: oh jeez
GG: :30
TG: like
TG: minutes?
TT: No. Seconds.
==
Fuck. Your heart stops beating for a moment. You don't waste time, grabbing Bro's shitty katana and your phone, sprinting right back up to the roof where you began. Back on the blacktop, you see your bro, but once again, you can't pay attention to that right now.
Your head swivels for the "cylindrical machine" and you spot it, the cruxtruder, just in time for the timer to read :10.
Teb seconds isn't enough time. You don't even know what to DO with this thing! You rush towards it, feeling your lungs burn, but all of a sudden, and at last, your brother successfully distracts you.
"GET DOWN," he howls, leaping back from his project.
For years, your brother has had a pet project. He's something of an engineer, a skill not flexed in working on his dolls, so instead, he focuses them on other things, namely, rocket-propelled skateboard apparatuses, all of which ended in failure. Predictably, rockets on boards cause far too much propulsion, meaning most of his efforts simply end up with the both of you watching helplessly as the skateboards careen in unpredictable directions.
You used to think this was a pointless hobby, but years of growing more distant with your brother make you nostalgic for the times you spent with him in empty lots, testing his insane gizmos. It all seems like a memory now.
Presently, the rocket-board in question, careens directly upwards into the sky.
"The fuck?" you say from the ground, where Bro tackled you.
Your question is answered not with words, but with an explosion. High above you, the meteor baring down on the Earth shatters, sending shockwaves through Dallas. Your apartment building rocks and in the distance, fragments of the meteor crash noisily into buildings. The honks below are now screams of terror.
"Didn't you ever wonder why I was stockpiling explosives, li'l man?" your brother asks. The dots connect. The board- The bomb. This WAS like Armageddon!
"I didn't know you were stockpiling explosives at all, Bro," you say.
"Shows how much you know," he says. "Do your thing."
Once again, Bro baffles you. You sit up on the roof, tearing your eyes away from the burning hellscape erupting around you.
==
GG: dave!!! the clock hit zero are you okay?!
TG: im fine
TG: bro blew up the meteor
TT: That's...
TT: Unexpected.
TT: Has the countdown stopped?
TG: yeah i think so
GG: um dave? check again
==
You glance back at the cruxtruder. The countdown has changed, but it's still very much counting, now reading a measly 1:21.
"The fuck!" you hiss.
==
TG: what do i do
TT: The process is simple.
TT: Four steps, as I understand.
TG: oh my godddd
TG: five words or less.
TT: Break open the cruxtruder.
TT: ...
TT: Bitch.
==
You roll your eyes behind your shades, but comply. There's no mechanism so you do what you can, shoving your shitty katana between the lid and the tube, using it as a lever to yank. It works- But the shitty katana snaps, landing in the carcass of the crow from before. You wince.
==
TG: now what
TG: five words
TT: Place inside the alchemiter.
TG: the WHAT
TT: I'm sorry. I have a premium on words, apparently. I can't explain.
GG: uugggghhh its the round thing! i put it near the a/c thingy
==
You find the slot for your totem, slipping it inside. After a tense moment in which a meteor strikes the apartment next door, something appears on the platform.
==
TG: its an egg
GG: i see it!!
TG: what the fuck what do i do with an egg
TT: Break it? I had to break my alchemiter item to proceed.
TG: no! im not breaking an egg
TT: Is there an orb nearby?
TG: uh
==
You look around. Sure enough, there is. It's orange, the same color as your new egg, which you gingerly hold. The egg is about as big as your head and the orb your torso.
==
TG: should i put the egg in the orb
TT: No. I don't think that will work.
TT: I'm not sure what the orb is, but... It's hard to explain.
TT: I don't think it's related to your entry, but it can bring things to life, in a sense.
GG: whoa!!
==
Suddenly, a compulsion overtakes you, your eyes flicking to the dead bird you killed. With your sword as a spade, you use the flat of the now-broken katana to pick up the bird gingerly.
"Here," you say to your orb, offering it the bird.
==
GG: um dave
GG: i hate to be that guy but
GG: you dont really have time to play with dead birds, okay? D:
TT: What the fuck is that dolt doing?
GG: ugh
GG: dave!!!! there are only 20 seconds left!
GG: stop cradling the egg like youre its mama!
TG: maybe i am its mama what do you know
==
Two things happen at once. First, the orb envelops the bird, and second, a meteor strikes your home's A/C unit, knocking you to the ground, letting the katana and the egg fall from your hands, careening in two directions through the air.
Another compulsion strikes you. Even though Bro always says "keep hold of your weapon," you let it clatter to the ground, diving for the egg, hands outstretched. You don't know why, but you can't let it break.
As your chest hits the ground and your glasses tilt eskew, you feel your outstretched hands snag the egg and you let out a breath, just in time to see the egg crack open.
From nearby, you hear a caw- Not a caw of irritation, like you'd heard climbing the radio tower, but a caw of triumph. The crack in the egg isn't a break- The egg is hatching, and the crow is pleased about it.
But- Wait, the crow should be dead.
Before you can consider that, however, tiny shards of meteor begin raining down upon you like hail, stinging your body, your clothes feeling like they're catching fire. You hear the formerly-dead crow caw again. In your hands, the egg hatches.
After that, everything goes blank.
Chapter 9: Act 1 Episode 8: Prospit
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Jade Harley.
You're not sure what you just witnessed. The egg in Dave's hands hatched and the screen turned into a loading message. Did he... Die? Was that the right thing to do? You don't really know.
==
GG: dave? D:
TT: Did he get in?
GG: i dont know :(
TT: Well... All we can do is hope, I suppose.
TT: We need to focus on you now, Jade.
TT: We either need to find other players or get you in via John and finish the chain.
GG: ugh
GG: i hate to suggest this but
GG: maybe those dumb trolls?
GG: theyre mean but they seem to know how to play...
TT: I'd rather not tangle in their business, but on the other hand. Death.
TT: Though we can't get ahold of them.
GG: i can!! one talked to me earlier!
==
You scroll down to a name: "arachnidsGrip." They don't usually talk much on the forums, but they've bothered you a number of times in the past. The most recent message strikes you as odd, though...
==
TT: Jade, if you've spoken to one, ask.
TT: If John doesn't appear, it might be our only shot.
TT: Jade?
GG: oh! sorry. i was just looking for the contact
GG: its weird though
GG: one of them told me to sleep
GG: like they said it like a hypnosis command or something
TT: Like, they were trying to bewitch you through the computer?
GG: sort of...
GG: but it was right before i took a nap! which was weird??
TT: A coincidence, probably.
==
You're a scientifically minded girl, so normally you'd agree with Rose, but something strikes you as odd. An inkling. You get a lot of odd inklings, though, so this doesn't bother you. You decide to see it through to its conclusion.
==
TT: Have you installed your client software, yet?
GG: yes!!
TT: I'm sorry to ask, Jade, but we don't know how much time you have. Do you see any meteors?
GG: not yet!
==
You look skyward. Just a sunny, cool spring day, a breeze in the air, a crispness of sea water on the wind.
==
GG: wait
GG: thats weird
TT: What?
GG: i can see something in the sky
TT: A meteor?
GG: no some kind of green... design
==
The breeze stops, your world suddenly still. The entire sky over your island suddenly goes black, like a hole opened up in it, torn asunder by some massive force. And through that hole in the very sky, a meteor emerges, beginning to furiously burn as the atmosphere shoves against it.
==
TT: Jade?
TT: Jade, talk to me.
GG: okay
GG: i see a meteor now
==
You waste no time, typing to AG hurriedly.
==
GG: hey!!!!
AG: Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well!
GG: UUUGHHH
GG: thats too many "wells!" :(
AG: It's just enough! Eight "wells." The ideal "well" amount.
AG: Why the hell are you talking to me, anyway? I thought you h8ed my guts?
AG: You're not turning pitch for me, are you? :::;)
GG: i dont know what that means but if its sexual, stop!!
GG: i need help with the game.
AG: The game??
AG: Sgrub, you mean.
GG: no!! i mean sburb, dummy!
AG: Oof. "Dummy?" How am I going to recover from THAT insult? Are you a fucking wiggler?
AG: Sorry. I can't help you there.
AG: And frankly, if I could, I don't know if I would!
AG: You kind of messed things up for us, royally, you know.
AG: I still haven't gotten an apology for that, by the way!
GG: what the fuck are you talking about?!
AG: Ice cold, Harley! ::::(
GG: wait what?
GG: how do you know my name??
AG: Uuuuuuuugh.
AG: Just take a nap already.
AG: Sleep!
==
And just like before... You do just that, slumping in your chair, blackness taking over your vision as your eyes lazily shut.
==
TT: Jade?
TT: Jade!
TT: Christ, where IS everyone!
TG: im back
TG: sorry
TG: whats the haps chaps
TT: Never mind. I want to be alone again.
==
Your name is Jade Harley.
You awaken with a start in your bed. You were having your dream again! The one about living on an island on some other planet.
"Good morning, Miss Jade!" a cheerful voice calls out from nearby. It's your retainer, Ms. Paint!
Miss Paint, of course, is a carapacian, a small humanoid white-shelled creature who inhabits the city on which you live, the thriving golden metropolis of Prospit.
"Miss Paint!" you cry, taking a fresh robe from her.
"You were having another nightmare, weren't you, love?" the assistant says worriedly, wringing your hands. You nod.
"Well you're awake now, love," Miss Paint says, buslting about the place. Prospitians are so curious, but since you awoke on this planet as a girl, you've loved spending time with them. "Up, up!" Miss Paint insists. "You've already spent thirteen years in that bed, we can't have you sleeping more now, dear!"
You giggle, hopping up, slipping on your robe.
Like all humans, you came to Prospit as a baby, soundly sleeping, materializing from the sky and descending to the ground- How ELSE would babies be made? You're one of two humans on the entire planet, both of you occupying a tower on the moon, which you call your home. You visit the other human often, but she's still alseep. The carapacians call her June, and you know she is your sister!
"I think this was one of my prophetic dreams, Ms. Paint." Your memories of your sleeping self are always fuzzy, but you squint, trying to hold onto the recollection.
"Oh my!" Miss Paint hastily hands you a notepad- Your gold-bound dream journal! You write down in a messy scribble, handing it back to Miss Paint.
"Need to talk to John," she reads your handwriting. "Who's John?"
"I don't know!" you admit.
"You don't mean June, do you, dear? She's been asleep for eighteen years!" Miss Paint puts her hand to her cheek. "The poor thing... Nightmares all the while, too." Miss Paint closes the journal, putting it safely under her arm. "I think we should bring this to the White Queen!"
"O-oh!" you fidget. The White Queen, the monarch of Prospit. You've met her a few times, but she intimidates you quite a bit! So serene and feminine...
"If anyone would know this 'John' fellow, it's her!" Miss Paint grabs your hand, tugging you down the stairs, huffing.
"Need a hand?" you offer.
"If it's not a burden, milady!" Miss Paint squeaks sheepishly. You giggle and squat so she can climb onto your back as you simply leap through a window.
Naturally, you begin to float. After all- All humans can fly! Duh. Why would it be any other way? With Miss Paint pointing the way, you fly across the great gold chain connecting Prospit to its moon, gazing up at Skaia above you, sighing wistfully. For some reason, you love flying, even though it comes naturally to you, it always feels so invigorating.
Prospit's streets are, as usual, bustling and friendly, full of white-shelled carapaces waving up at you, Miss Paint waving back to a few. High above, Skaia, the great blue orb suspended in black space, shines down. Skaia, of course, is the source of all your world's energy and riches, but the horrid forces of Derse are always trying to steal it!
"Lots of meteors, today," Miss Paint says warily. Dersite forces sometimes send meteors to damage Skaia, but Skaia has an impeccable system of protecting itself: Opening portals to swallow them up!
You look Skaia-ward. Sure enough, there are a lot of meteors going through, today. You frown. There's one especially massive portal open, a blue spirograph pattern seeming to open up a rift in space itself. For some reason this reminds you of your dream.
"Before you awoke, the biggest meteor I've ever seen went through!" Miss Paint wrings her hands. "B-but I'm sure Skaia will be fine." Taking a curious tone, she squirms in your arms. "Where do you think those meteors go?"
To this, you shrug, but the question feels... Uneasy.
You continue to fly, choosing to put such thoughts out of your head.
You light on the steps before the queen's palace. Guards straighten up upon seeing you.
"We have business with the queen!" says Miss Paint authoratatively. You stifle a giggle- She only comes up to your waist and yet she's so much more confident.
"The White Queen is gone at the moment, Madam," one guard says politely, his carapace creaking as he breathes.
"Gone?" Miss Paint bristles and the guard recoils. Again, you manage to stifle a giggle.
"S-sorry, madam, but she has been out all day. Queenly duties..."
"Well the Witch of Space needs to get a message to someone named John! It's dreadfully important!" Miss Paint demands, waving your journal in the guard's face.
The Witch of Space. Since you woke up, people have called you that, though you're not entirely sure what it even means. Whenever someone says it, it makes you a little shy, like it's a rank you don't yet deserve.
"A message!" the guard seems to lighten up. "We can handle any message. We'll have our Post Minister on the job as soon as we can! We've just appointed a new one, to boot."
The guard claps his hands, booming voice carrying over the street.
"Bring out the Post Minister!" he cries. In the distance, someone shouts an echo, "Bring out the Post Minister," all down the line. In short order, the alleged Post Minister comes forth, though she seems somewhat... Nervous.
"This is our trusty new PM!" the guard cheerfully says, slapping the tall, thin Post Minister on the back, who stumbles forward a little. She shakes your hand, then Miss Paint's.
"Go on, dearie, tell the PM what you need," says Miss Paint as you gawk at the carapacian lady.
"R-right!" you say. Your mouth feels dry, even though the Minister looks just as nervous as you do. "Can you tell John to..." you squeze your eyes shut, trying to remember. "...to... Talk to me as soon as he can?"
You hope that's not too vague, but by the nervous expression on the PM's face, it looks like it might have been. She opens her mouth to reply, but the eager guard claps her on the back again and hustles her back into the castle.
"Well, Jade?" Miss Paint says expectantly.
"I think that will be fine!" you say hastily. You feel horrible! Inconviniencing that poor Post Minister... She already looked so nervous! But even still- You do feel like it's a load off.
As you grab Miss Paint and fly back to your tower, though, you still have a feeling like there's something you've forgotten.
Your name is John Egbert.
You're currently in your closet, clutching a hammer to your chest for dear life. You don't know WHAT the fuck is going on, but you don't like it.
Shortly after taking a bite out of the weird blue apple, something... Happened. The meteor is gone, leaving your house in-tact, but on the other hand, you're fairly certain that monsters have just begun to appear. The last thing you saw before you could so much as get your bearings was some kind of terrifying, child-sized THING with claws and teeth climbing up to your balcony. Since then, you've been silently hiding inside your closet.
You can HEAR him out there. The creep. The imp- WHATEVER he is. He's breathing heavily, all monster-like, giggling to himself like a little scamp. Are you in the game now? Is this an enemy? If you die in the game, do you die in real life?!
With resolve, you grit your teeth. You can't just hide here forever- You peek out the closet door, and what you see makes your blood boil.
The creature- Whatever it is- Appears to be dripping with some black sludgy substance, and he's getting that gunk all over the Con-Air bunny your friend Rose just got you for your birthday!
Hot anger sears away your cold fear and you kick open the closet door, mightily swinging your hammer.
"PUT THE BUNNY BACK IN THE BOX!" you shriek, and before the imp can react, your hammer clubs him on his head and he explodes into oil.
You pant, wiping oil off your face and placing the aforementioned bunny back in its box.
On the ground where the imp once stood, are what look to be fruit gushers and a small slip of paper.
"Sweet!" you cry, reaching for the gushers. "Loot!"
The gushers, sadly, disappear as soon as you touch them, almost as if this was some kind of video game currency. Damn. You were looking forward to something sugary... Maybe there are some ACTUAL gushers in the kitchen. Your fist tightens around the hammer. You can't let these imps get to your treasure!
The card, on the other hand, doesn't disappear, and though it's oily, you can clearly read what it says, which baffles you somewhat.
In plain, pristine handwriting, it says,
"John, talk to me as soon as you can. From, the Witch of Space."
You blink. You don't know who the witch of space is, but you know just what to do. You sit back down at your computer, wiping some stray oil from the screen.
==
EB: guys!
TT: John, thank goodness.
TG: john fuck
TG: youre alive
EB: yeah! i'm pretty stoked about that, honestly!
EB: first meteors, now little imp guys...
TG: imp guys??
TT: We can't get sidetracked. John.
TT: You need to connect to Jade, right now.
EB: oh, right!
EB: is jade here?
TT: No. She's MIA. But her computer has the client application installed. Connect to her and place the machines.
TG: what are these other machines anyway
TG: there are more machines that you can put down in the game
TG: other than the alchemiter thing and the totem deal that is
TT: I don't believe we can buy those. We require some resource that we can't access yet.
TT: Wait... Actually, no. We appear to have 13g, now.
EB: what's g?
TT: Not sure. Gold?
EB: gushers?! :B
TT: I don't think it's gushers.
TG: you dont know that rose
TG: jumping to conclusions like a fucking cat
TT: It's not-
TT: Okay. It stands for "grist" and by some cosmic coincidence, they do appear to resemble gushers.
EB: nice! i just killed an enemy and i think that's what i collected.
TT: Interesting. So we defeat enemies to obtain gushers.
TT: I mean, grist.
TG: lmao
TG: no you were right the first time
TT: Never mind that now.
TG: looks like 13 gushers can buy a new machine
TG: whats an "ectobiologizer"
EB: that's sort of like my screen name!
TT: Dave, don't mess with that.
TG: im going to plonk one down in your house rose tell us what it does
TG: yo move your computer desk to make room for this bad boy
--tentacleTherapist has gone offline--
TG: oops
EB: dave!
TG: what
TG: shouldnt you be connecting to jade john o man
==
Dave is right! Even if he did probably just destroy Rose's computer. You install the server copy, and in short order, you're connected to Jade.
==
TT: Thanks. You broke my computer. Now all I have is this stupid old phone.
TG: not my fault you didnt get an iphone
TT: "Oh, Rose, I'm sorry for breaking your computer by dropping a massive machine onto your desk, nearly crushing you."
TT: I don't even need one of these, you idiot.
TT: My mother has one in the basement already.
TG: shit really
TG: how the hell did your mom get something that comes from a game that just came out
TT: I... Don't know.
TT: Look, we need to focus.
TT: John, can you see Jade?
EB: yeah! she's in what looks like her bedroom. uh. sleeping.
TT: Don't look in her bedroom!
EB: why not??
TT: A woman's room should be private.
TT: Two oafs like you wouldn't know anything about such things.
EB: i know stuff about girls!
EB: i think about being a girl all the time.
TT: ...
EB: oh my god. no!! it's a normal thing to do!
EB: all guys think about being a girl.
EB: right dave?
TG: uh
EB: dave??
TG: i dont do that man
EB: you guys are the worst!!!!
==
Red in the face, you switch to Jade. You need to wake her up, STAT. You decide to splash some water on her face. Maybe if you locate the bathroom you can use a bucket to dump water on her...
You zoom out. Whoa- Jade lives in a weird house. It looks like a tower with an orb at the top. You wouldn't know where to begin to find water, here! In the distance, you see the ocean, but the water there is out of range.
You zoom back in and your face pales.
==
EB: guys!! there's a monster in jade's room!
TG: oh fuck what
==
The monster is pure white, like a dog, but it's far different. For starters, its tongue is neon-green and it's crackling with what looks like electricity. It's also double Jade's mass! That thing could swallow her! You hastily grab a stuffed squid from Jade's bed and use your cursor to throw it at the beast, who simply blinks and growls at the squid. It begins to bark, pouncing on the squid, tearing it to shreds in its jaws.
==
EB: i threw everything i had at it! it's going to tear jade apart!!!
TT: John, calm down. Wake Jade up.
==
You can only watch as Jade blearily awakens by the monster's barks. You need something heavier... You locate a dropdown menu and select the two free machines you see, dropping them into Jade's room, trying to squish the beast under it! Frustratingly, it teleports clear out of the way.
==
EB: i'm out of ammo, but jade is awake.
EB: hang in there, jade!!
TT: John, calm down and place the alchemiter and cruxtruder.
EB: i tried to!! on the monsters head!
==
Unfortunately, your eyes are torn from the horrible sight before you as nearby, you hear the door creak open slowly.
==
EB: fuck.
EB: i've got to go.
TT: John! Wait!
TT: I'm surrounded by fools.
TG: dont worry rolal
TG: youve got me
TT: ...
==
You are no longer John Egbert.
You're you again. You the reader, I mean. I don't blame you for wanting to be John Egbert for a little while, to escape your sad, miserable life for a moment or three, but you know what they say. Fun is fun but enough is enough.
On second thought- Let's have a bit more fun. A little reward for surviving eight chapters of watching four teenagers fuck around in confusion with a shitty video game. Let's go back in time! Oooo. I don't have a TARDIS or anything- And before you start getting naked, no, it's not the time machine from Terminator, either. It's actually kind of boring, as time machines go. It's just the normal kind, the one in written form that allows you to see stuff that already happened. It's fun, though, I promise.
So here we go... To one hour in the future! Oh, we're also going to go onto the moon, as well. So an hour in the future, on the moon.
An hour in the future on the moon, Betty Crocker stands on the deck of her battleship, silently. After escaping from Betty Crocker HQ, things have been tense. From the porthole, she and her assistant can see the Earth in the far distance, getting pummeled into dust by countless meteors, all raining down from blue portals opening up in the sky.
"Ma'am?" says Betty Crocker's assistant. He's a short man, hair slicked back, standing with his hands behind his back. Miss Crocker is silent, leaning on the porthole as the final meteor strikes near what used to be Florida.
"What happens now?" the assistant says after a lengthy pause.
More silence.
"We can't just live on the moon," says the man, irritation building. "Why did we even come here? Aren't we going to leave? Go to your home planet or-"
As soon as the words "home planet" leaves the assistant's throat, a dark grey-skinned hand shoots out and squeezes tightly around his neck, lifting him from the ground. He desperately scrambles and chokes, helpless in his boss's grip.
Betty Crocker growls, her yellow-orange eyes growing redder and redder, locked on her long-time assistant's as she squeezes once more.
With a sickening snap, Betty Crocker lets go, allowing the man to fall lifelessly to the floor.
For the second time in her life, Betty Crocker was... Alone. Not just alone in a room or alone without friends, but alone in the entire universe, the last living, breathing thing in all of it. Earth was gone. The only habitable planet among the sparse galaxies of this bleak little universe. She knew because she'd checked.
Betty Crocker didn't come from Earth, but that didn't mean she had a home planet, either. She used to, but that was a millennia-old memory, now. Betty Crocker sighed, moving to look out another porthole. The Earth's moon was silver, a beautiful color, but unlike the two moons of her home-world, Earth's moon was bare. Again- She'd checked. Nothing above nor below the surface, no secret aliens or secret bases. What a boring universe.
In spite of the loneliness creeping in the cracks between her skin's chitinous plates, hope wasn't dead quite yet. After all- Earth might have been fucked, but it's not like it was the only one. As a matter of fact, this wasn't the only moon, either.
Betty Crocker sat down in the captain's chair of her battleship, tapping her clawed finger on a dial, taking a slow, rumbling breath. From inside her pocket, she produced a small device. It looked like a remote control, long and sleek, with a single massive dial on its face. For the past several thousand years, the ancient remote had been set to "Beta," but had the time come to switch it?
From her pocket, her phone buzzed. In an empty universe, someone was calling her. She held the phone to her ear. She knew who this was and she knew he could hear her. She didn't feel like talking to her doctor right now.
"My dear Miss Piexes- Oh! I hear you're going by Crocker now, my mistake," the doctor said. Miss Crocker didn't respond.
"Come now. It's been ever so long since we spoke- For you, at least. Aren't you glad to hear from me?" Again, the doctor's words didn't sway Betty an inch.
"Fine," the Doctor said. "If I had eyes, I'd roll them. You know why I'm calling. It's time to switch."
Betty hung up without another word. So it was time, then. She'd finally see the other Earth. The Alpha Earth.
In her palm, she held the remote, taking hold of the dial in her free hand. With a shaking fist, she twisted it, hearing a diminutive click as it changed.
For a moment, nothing appeared to have happened except for a brief crackle of green electricity coming from the device, but as Betty Crocker looked out the porthole, she saw Earth. Not the barren, sandy-yellow Earth from before, but a blue-gree Earth. A new one. A fresh start.
A grin spread on her face as she felt her ship rise up off the moon's surface, her ship's thrusters scorching the moon's pocked face, setting off for her new planet.
From the surface of the silvery satelite, the clown who lived on the moon looked up at the ship in awe. From his perspective, a massive fucking battleship had just appeared and set sail for the planet below.
"What the fuck??" said the clown, cradling a red-and-green egg under his arm.
Bssheeew. Wwwoooowww. Byooooorrrrmmp.
Sorry, that was my impression of a time machine. The time machine I was talking about earlier was just a metaphor, but I felt a little guilty about not actually having some kind of special effect to go with it.
That's all to say we're moving around in time again. Also in space, again. And across a universe.
In other words, back to normal.
Your name is Jade Harley.
You awaken with a start in front of your computer, blinking blearily. You were having another one of your Prospit dreams. It was a nice one this time, with Ms. Paint. As the memory fades, you rub your eyes, looking towards what awoke you.
"Bec!" you say sternly. "Aw!" with dismay you pull your alabaster pooch away from one of your beloved stuffed squids- Merchandise from one of your beloved childhood TV Shows, The Squiddles. Bec whines, pacing away from the ruined plush. No time to admonish him, though, as you suddenly remember what's going on.
Your heart thuds and you snap into gear, looking about your room. Near your bed is a large cylindrical machine, and near your workbench is a platform. No doubt these are the machines that get you into the game. Rose mentioned a timer-
Sure enough, the Cruxtruder has half an hour left. Not a lot- But plenty.
Chapter 10: Act 1 Episode 9: Ascent
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Jade Harley.
You've just woken up in a cranky mood, and worse still, you've just remembered your house and island home is about to be crushed by a meteor the size of Texas.
You don't know it's the size of Texas, of course, you're just exaggerating for effect, it's not like you have a Texas-sized ruler you quickly dashed up and measured the fucking thing with.
The point is, you're in deep shit and you just woke up to your dog gnawing on your favorite stuffed animal.
"Bec!" you say, pointing at the cylinder to distract him from his plush snack. "Take off the cap, boy!"
Bec, sadly doesn't understand where you're pointing and rubs his head against your hand. Useless nuclear mutt!
There is one room above your own in the spherical tip to the research complex: The attic. Frankly, you dont' go there very much due to your grandpa's creepy paraphernalia, but you have no choice. You have just the thing to get that pesky cap off.
The attic can only be accessed by a ladder on the side of your bedroom, which means you have to hop out onto the balcony and hastily scramble up- You're not a big fan of heights. You might casually leap out of windows in your dreams, but this is real life! And as you know- If you die in real life, you die in real life.
You manage to reach the attic, still shivering from the height.
The attic is a messy place. Your grandpa had never had it cleaned while alive and now that he's a stuffed man in the foyer, the place is basically a dust collection. You rummage through the garbage, tossing things out of the way hastily. Bec zaps up behind you, cocking his head curiously. You're looking for a specific tool, one that's sure to get the cap off, but it's so cluttered that it's slow going! In the meantime, you check your phone.
==
TT: Jade. Status report.
GG: rose you cant get on daves case for sounding like a star trek guy if youre going to do it yourself :P
TG: tell her j dawg
TT: Wrong. When I do it, it's cool.
TG: ok but if im jean luc youre kirk
TT: Wrong again.
TT: I'll gladly shave my head for the role.
TT: You can be Riker.
GG: whos riker? :o
TG: riker? i hardly know er
TT: ...
TT: This is idiotic.
GG: ok ok john got the machines in im just looking for something to open my cruxtruder!!
GG: this means that once im in well have finished a loop right? :o
TT: Correct.
TG: what happens when a loop is done anyway
TT: Not sure.
TG: i thought you were keeping an eye on the forums
TT: I am. No one else has completed a loop, yet.
TT: Or... No one who has reported back, anwyay.
TG: thats
TG: thats fine though right
TT: No. The game doesn't officially begin until the loop is closed.
TG: how do you know that if no one has finished a loop
TT: My cat told me.
TG: what
TG: ohhhhh
TG: wait okay i get you
TT: Is your bird telling you anything?
TG: uh no hes just kind of yelling
TG: squawking mostly
GG: um
GG: what are you guys talking about?
TT: You'll find out soon, Jade.
TT: For now don't talk to us. Focus on getting into the game.
==
You don't need to be told twice.
Suddenly, in your attic-rummaging, you shriek. From underneath one of Grandpa's paintings, a face peeks out.
"Fuck," you say, clutching your chest. You calm down. It wasn't a living face- It was just the stuffed, taxidermized dead clone body of yourself that your grandpa kept up here. Normal stuff! Nothing to be scared of, just a stuffed cadaver that looks exactly like you!
You're not sure how your grandpa GOT a stuffed, taxidermized corpse of you, but you never asked, and frankly, you don't think you WANT to know the answer. You always figured it had something to do with his research, but even though taxidermizing dead loved ones is normal, the fact that it's YOU, a living person, strikes you as macabre!
Not long after finding your dead stuffed clone, you hit paydirt.
"Hey!!" you wave Bec over, who grabs one end of a long, tanned case in his snout, helping you tug it from the bric-a-brac. You click it open and from within, you see it. Your tool:
Your grandfather's heirloom: "Big Medicine," a 1895 lever action rifle.
Sadly, in spite of this payload, you have to stop being Jade for a while. My apologies. That's just how it is.
For now- You are once again Dave Strider.
Now that things have calmed down, the confusion sets in. What the entire fuck is going on, here? Orbs, totems, machines, meteors... Madness. Not to mention your Bro is currently MIA. Out your window is total blackness and you're afraid to look outside. For now, you're hunkered in your room as gargantuan creaking noises sound outside, far away.
You're scared and alone, so you do what you've always done. Reach out.
==
TG: chad
TG: if youre reading this i made it
TG: well
TG: i think i did
TG: it looks like im in and were about to finish the loop
TG: last i heard you were trying to do the same
TG: just...
TG: if you see this and youre not dead beep me
TG: i love you man
==
No answer. You switch to something else, checking the forums, like Rose said. Before you can, however, something flaps in your face.
"CAW, CAW, CAW!" the crow that you mercifully brought back to life using the orb earlier is back, and instead of flying away like a normal bird, it's been flying around your room like a brainless feathery asshole.
"Fuck off, man," you say, shoving him away. Unlike before, he's no longer black, but a robust orange, perching on your computer, looking at you with its brainless head cocked.
"FUCK OFF, MAN," it repeats obnoxiously, like a parrot. "FUCK OFF MAN," it repeats. This sucks. You do an act of kindness to a bird who died by your hand and look what it earns you. You swat at it, but it's too quick, hovering above you, landing on your head. "FUCK OFF, MAN," it says once more.
Whatever. You log into VGFaqs. Predictably, it's bedlam.
==
bigfunkyj:
i think this is it.
if i dont respond after this, it's over.
i don't even know why i'm making my last post in this shithole, but to anyone reading, please. you've got to survive.
cacinoGeneticist:
BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR RELEASING THIS GOD-FORSAKEN GAME ON AN UNSUSPECTING PUBLIC.
LET'S ALL HEAR IT FOR BIG FUNKY J. IF THAT *IS* YOUR REAL NAME. FOR BEING THE BIGGEST SAP EVER TO WALK THE PLANET YOU SQUISHY HUMANS LIVE ON.
tentacleTherapist:
Does anyone have anything constructive? We're all in this together, people, any information could save lives.
arachnidsGrip:
I wouldn't 8other. You're all dead meat anyway! The 8est thing to do would just 8e to lay down and die.
carcinoGeneticist:
I HATE TO AGREE WITH ANYTHING THAT DRIBBLES OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, VRISKA, BUT IN THIS CASE, YOU'RE RIGHT.
fedoraFreak:
Hello, friends. Please assist. Tried to play game with some cohorts and was disconnected from them. I'm now alone in a mysterious land. Send help. Smells of piss.
bigfunkyj:
god.
i can't tell who's a troll and who's not.
tentacleTherapist:
Have you completed your chain, FF?
fedoraFreak:
Unknown. I will have to drink my own urine to survive.
tentacleTherapist:
Please don't drink your own urine. It won't have to come to that for some time.
fedoraFreak:
I should start early, I feel; will acclimate me to the taste.
bigfunkyj:
i swear to christ if thats the last thing i have to read i will be so pissed
fedoraFreak:
Status update: The piss is acrid, but I managed. The worst thing is the temperature. Will investigate cooling solutions and report back.
tentacleTherapist:
Please... Don't.
==
No sign of Chad here, either. You're about to start talking to your organge shithead bird for company when a notification appears.
==
BB: Dave.
==
You jolt upright, fingers shaking.
==
TG: chad FUCK
TG: ive been waiting for you man
TG: what the hell is going on are you in the game
TG: did you finish your chain
BB: No.
BB: I don't know what to say.
BB: I was supposed to play with Jack and Mike.
BB: They never got in. I never even connected.
BB: Iona put my machines in, but...
BB: There are meteors.
BB: I saw some shit.
BB: I don't think they're, like...
BB: I don't think they're around any more.
TG: fuck
TG: i remember them
TG: fuck
BB: I don't know what to do, man.
BB: I'm not connected. You guys are almost in, right? Can I connect to you guys?
==
Your heart drops. You swallow thickly, hands shaking too hard to respond.
==
TG: i didnt know
TG: fuck
TG: chad we just connected the last person
TG: theyre not in yet but
TG: fuck
TG: we can get you in dude
TG: just hang tight chad
BB: Heh.
==
You lean forward, heart hammering in your chest, palms sweating.
==
BB: It's okay.
BB: You're okay.
BB: You're in.
TG: ill ask them
TG: ill figure out a way to open the chain
TG: fuck
TG: FUCK
BB: Dave, dude. Calm down.
BB: It's not in the cards.
==
You don't know when you started, but your face is wet with tears.
==
BB: I don't know what the hell is going on, man.
BB: I don't know how shit got like this. And the way it's shaping up, I don't think I will.
TG: no
TG: chad come the fuck on dont talk like that
TG: connect to someone on VG
BB: Haha.
BB: Fuck off, man.
BB: I'm a goner.
TG: no
TG: youre not yet theres still time
TG: chad
BB: It's over, Dave.
==
You scream at your computer, as if he can hear you. The bird retreats to perch on your broken turntables.
==
BB: I'm just glad these are my last moments, Dave.
BB: I love you, man.
TG: STOP
BB: It's been real.
BB: Shit, what the fuck do I say?
BB: What's a badass line to go out on?
BB: Help me workshop this, dude.
BB: I've got to think of something cool.
BB: Wait. I've got it.
TG: chad fucking please im begging you ill get on my knees in real life dont fuck around
BB: Buskin' makes me feel good.
TG: CHAD
--badBuskin is offline--
==
You freeze. Your blood seems to stop as the second you see that final message stretches wide to infinity. Time has stopped on the moment your friend died.
"FUCK OFF, MAN," the crow shrieks from behind you.
Dave is too tired to have you be him any more. Time to be Jade, again.
You're Jade Harley, congrats!
With Big Medicine over your shoulder, you carefully climb back down to your room, loading a bullet into the ancient chamber. You hope this baby still shoots... Cocking the pump, you take aim. You've always been a good markswoman, but this gun is old as dirt- The rest of your firearms are downstairs, too far to run to grab. Curse your transportalizer shenanigans.
Bec watches curiously.
"This isn't fetch time, Bec!" you say. Bec likes to fetch the bullets you shoot out across the ocean on sunny days, teleporting out to grab them in his mouth. He whines, but seems to understand. You gaze down the iron sights and yank the trigger.
With a bang and a clang, the lid of the Cruxtruder flies off like it's made of plastic, sailing out the window. Loading another bullet reflexively, you sling Big Medicine back over your shoulder and grab the cylinder. As predicted by your friends, an orb emerges from the cruxtruder, as well. Bec barks happily at the orb.
"Sit!!" you say hastily. Something rumbles outside, and to your dismay, you see the meteor overhead, lazily taking up half of the sky. The meteor looks... Large. Too large. This isn't just a "destroy a suburb" meteor... This one might be on the scale of "kills all dinosaurs."
Pushing that grim thought back, something else shocks you. The timer that had just read thirty minutes now read a mere two. Dave's timer had changed earlier, but what could have changed yours?! Something rumbles again.
Oh, fuck.
From across the lagoon, on the other side of the cescent-shaped island, you see the peak of the mountain, but to your shock and fear... The summit is glowing red. You learn in that moment that all your life you've lived above an active volcano.
"Bec! Don't mess with that!" you say irritably, watching him swat at the orb. No time to waste, now. You shove the cylinder into the alchemiter and, just like your friends said, something happens.
In one second, you see what appears to be a pinata, made of green glass. The next, you go blind. Grabbing at your face in irritation, you realize you've been blindfolded! Up until now, each one of your friends has had some puzzle associated with their alchemiter, but this one makes you growl in frustration. From your back you grab Big Medicine by the barrel, unwisely using it as a makeshift club. If you don't move, you should be able to estimate where the pinata is...
Unfortunately, you don't get that far. From the other side of the room, Bec barks, suddenly, and something flashes, cutting him of. In alarm, you turn to face him, forgetting your eyes are covered by the unmovable blindfold. Bec whines and your pet-owner heart shatters with the sound of his pain.
"B-Bec?" you forget your alchemiter, clawing at the blindfold, feeling around for your dog. "Bec!" you forlornly howl. Sadly, in your haste, you trip, falling backwards, towards the balcony door you left open. Stumbling, you fall. The wind rushes around you and you scream, clinging to Big Medicine for dear life. You still can't see, but you're too high in the air, the fear of heights finaly realized.
You don't know what possesses you in that moment, but you take your gun, leaning back in midair, and you shoot one single bullet.
You still can't see, but as you feel the ground knock the air out of your lungs, the blinfold shatters, just in time for you to see the volcano erupt smoke into the sky as you lose consciousness.
You are no longer Jade Harley.
Somewhere in the distance, a phone rings. It's for you. I'll go ahead and put them on speaker.
"Good evening. This is your Doctor speaking.
Sentient creatures love stories. They love hearing them, they love telling them, all of language is organized around them.
The simplest statements from "go there" to "I did this" are all stories in microscopic form. String enough together and you have something truly compelling.
Every time you sit down to tell a co worker or schoolmate something that happened, you're doing it. Every time you draw some shitty cartoon in the margins of a homework paper, you're doing it. Every time you sit down in a comfy chair to watch a movie, you're doing it. Podcasts, books, films, legends, fables, poems, songs, webcomics... There are so many words and forms we have for this one thing.
Stories could be the most important thing of all.
On April 13th, 2009, four eighteen-year-olds played a video game: Sburb. Released by a shady baking conglomerate headed by a probably alien multidimensional being, this game ended the world.
The only survivors were those four kids and their four guardians.
So the story is over. This one, at least. This tale of four kids and their little video game. They all did it. They placed their cruxite into their alchemiters and used their entry items to get into the world of Sburb, escaping death by meteor. The end. Finito. Ende.
But that can't be it, can it? After all, what's inside this mysterious game? Who are the trolls plaguing these poor teens? And who the hell is Betty Crocker?
Who's to say?
In a dusty garage of a formerly Seattle suburban home, a man gawks out into the driveway. Where once had been his neighborhood now was an empty abyss.
Jonathan Egbert walks to the edge of his garage, dumbfounded, looking down a steep cliff face into dark grey clouds below.
His house seemed to have been transplanted, removed from its quiet Washington street and placed atop this cliff. Why? How? Jonathan didn't know. He raised his voice to call for his son.
"John? Come dow-"
Before Jonathan can speak the words, however, an oily hand clasps over his mouth, muffling him as he is dragged away.
In a forlorn basement, Roxanne Lalonde snoozes by a computer monitor with countless dots covering a map of the United States.
She'd known all her life that April 13th would be the end of the world, but she didn't know she'd be ringing it in by being asleep. Cat food piles in a corner.
Blinking, Roxanne awakens, head thrumming with the familiar sensation of a hangover. She's had so many in her life that the throbbing barely registers with her.
She smacks her lips, spitting on the concrete floor, shoving a martini glass off the table. She emerges from her lab's secret entrance and winces, a shaft of light cutting through the doorway and her own eyes like a knife to her skull. Alright, NOW she's feeling that hangover...
She stumbles outside and hears the rushing of water. Her home, too, has been transplanted, from a New York forest to a bright land of painfully bright light and pastel-colored water, an island in its midst.
She slinks back down into the lab to build a boat.
In a formerly Texan apartment, Derek Strider sighs, sewing a patch onto a puppet's arm. Lil Cal was injured in the kerfuffle earlier.
"We're in the shits now, Lil Cal," Bro says, regarding the smug grin of the puppet with a forlorn visage. The puppet, naturally, doesn't respond. It's a fucking puppet.
Derek also knew of the end of the world, always believing his adopted son would be the chosen hero to beat it back. He'd assumed Dave would someday save the day, but as the years progressed, Derek was disappointed to find his son was hardly a hero at all.
From his workbench, he produced his magnum opus: Not a puppet, but a skateboard with attached rocket boosters. One that, unlike the prototype that had blown up the meteor, worked as intended.
Derek looked out the window. All around the apartment building was a sea of lava, hot and bubbling. He didn't know where he was, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. Derek was going to take matters into his own hands.
"Dave," he said sternly, opening the door into the apartment proper.
And finally, Bec, the last guardian, loyal pooch and beloved pet was nosing Jade Harley's inert body, which now, even though this was a tropical island, had snow falling on it.
Four homes. Four places they'd been moved to.
The end of this story has come and gone, but not to worry. More is to come. Much more, in fact.
For now... For being such a good patient and excellent listener: How about a treat? A new story. A fresh one. A small one, here at the end of this Act.
END OF ACT 1
Chapter 11: INTERMISSION 1: Friend or Foe?
Summary:
Chapter Text
Years in the future, but not many:
A Wayward Vagabond wanders the desolate sands of a long dead planet, making a dotted line of tracks, stretching out miles behind him, the sun beating down from above. The only relief from the rays are his tattered garb, once a symbol of his rebellion, now sun-bleached and dusty.
In the distance, our hero sees a hatch.
The Wayward Vagabond's pace picks up. He feels like he's cooking inside his carapace and finds himself longing for the cool dusky streets of his old city home. His black shining skin isn't fit for the desert sun.
The hatch is pure white and turns, groaning as the Vagabond pulls it open. Instantly, relief finds him as the sun dies away. Beneath the hatch is a ladder, down which our Vagabond climbs into the dimly lit recess below.
Eyes adjusting, the Vagabond squints. His assesment of the space is that of some kind of lab- He's never been one for science, himself, but any place out of the blazing sun is fine by him. Curiously, and with nothing better to do, he traipses inside.
Within is a smallish room, outfitted with panels, dials, and screens foreign to him. The room is dominated by a massive console with a keyboard attached, with four screens, arranged oddly. One screen, to his surprise is lit.
On the screen, the Vagabond sees... Well, he's not sure what he sees. He thinks it's some kind of boy. Approaching the keyboard, he types. Maybe this boy can hear him.
"BOY," he types. No response.
"ANSWER ME, BOY," he types. The boy looks confused, but other than this, he is motionless. The boy appears to be doing battle with imps. Curious.
The Vagabond slides down his hood, looking around the room in earnest. What luck! Inside of a panel on the wall, there are dozens of cans, each labeled to his delight with a different foodstuff. And... Even luckier, deeper in the panel... No. Can it be...?
The Vagabond's face lights up. TAB! Yes! Fucking score!
Those pink cans of fizzy beverage never looked so wonderful to him. He greedily takes a can from the alcove and cracks it open. He's never been so happy to hear the hiss of carbonation. It's warm, but the Vagabond hardly cares. He tilts the can back, sipping lustfully.
But he can't stop at one, oh, no. Before long, cans of Tab dot the floor, the Vagabond sloshing with the fizzy drink. He leans on the wall and sits. A feast for a king, not a shred of remorse.
It strikes him that perhaps this Tab belonged to the owner of the lab, but he wisely reasons that if chumps didn't want their Tab stolen, they should lock that shit down.
The Vagabond looks back up at the screen. The boy is still faffing about pointlessly. Is this some form of entertainment? Sloshing to his feet, the Vagabond carries himself to the console again, trying once more to type.
You know what- You're now the Wayward Vagabond. You deserve it.
"ARE YOU A BOY, OR A GIRL?" you type. You can't tell from this distance, really. "ANSWER ME!"
This question seems to register something with the screen-child. Unfortunately, it seems to aggrivate him- Them? Her? And she/he/they/it clutches her/his/their/its head angrily.
"NEVER MIND," you hastily type. This seems to calm it/she/they/he down. What a touchy person!
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" you ask. This also seems to aggrivate the child to a lesser degree. It appears your words are getting beamed into his very head on some subconscious level. No use trying to establish communique, then- Best to just give some helpful suggestions.
"OBTAIN TAB," you helpfully suggest.
The screen-child recoils in disgust, but he walks back into what appears to be his domicile, checking a large trunk containing food items.
"NO!" you insist as he withdraws a metallic pouch reading "Capri Sun." "TAB!" you irritably hit enter several more times, but this just confuses your new friend. What a bozo. Doesn't even have Tab in the hunger trunk.
You decide to ignore this frivolous child of indeterminate gender. This place is pretty nice. Maybe you'll live here from now on. Eek out a life living on the fat of the land in an abandoned lab. The fat of the land, in this case, being the cans in the alcove.
You yawn. You've been walking for a long time, and you're pretty tired. Still- You probably shouldn't fall asleep in case the vengeful Tab-owner comes back. To protect against potenital aggressors, you search the room for a weapon to fashion. The best you can find is a rusty shard taped to a yardstick. This ought to be decent for poking. You're used to using improvised weapons from your days in the war, after all.
You take some stray cables and fashion a sheath of sorts, doubling as a sash. This brings you back- You used to wear a sash! Granted, not one made of cables, but it's still nostalgic. You tear the label from a "mayo" can and stick it to your sash, using some chalk inside the alcove to add the letter "R" to the label. Yes! Hahaha. You're the Mayor, that's right! The mayor of can town! A wonderful, bustling metropolis of tin and vigor.
You snap out of your ridiculous shenanigans when you hear the hatch above you squeak. Oh, fuck. Looks like the Tab owner is back. You grip your mighty spear (not a shitty rusty yardstick) and prepare for battle.
Down the ladder comes a tall, white figure. You're a pretty short fella, yourself, but that doesn't scare you.
"Uh- Hello?" a voice calls. It's nervous and wary, but it also sounds rather tired. The voice of someone the soul of whom has been crushed by some backbreaking labor.
"Hello?" you respond, tentatively. "Friend or foe?" you demand.
"What?" the voice sounds even more tired. It enters the lab room and you get a good look.
"Friend or foe?" you repeat. The white-shelled woman groans.
"What am I supposed to say? Foe? Friend. Put down that yard stick."
Well now you feel foolish! You hesitantly drop the spear, sensing no danger from this beleaguered woman.
"Who are you?" you demand, trying to regain authority.
"I'm the Post Minister," she says, then corrects herself. "Well- Now I'm not anything. I got... Fired, I guess?"
"That's rough," you admit.
"On my third day, too," she says miserably, looking around. It appears the lab is new to her, too. "Do you live here?" she asks. You nod, but you only nod tentatively.
"As of recently," you say, guarded.
"It's..." you see the Post Minister struggle to find a compliment. When it fails, she admits, "Shitty."
"I suppose," you admit. You don't know why you're being defensive, you literally just got here.
"Are you from Derse?" she asks. "Well... I guess that's obvious. I'm from Prospit. Are you..." she looks at your sash. "...A mayor?"
"Oh," you hastily stow your spear, adjusting your sash proudly. "No, it's an honorary title. Bestowed upon me by the residents of Can Town."
"Okay," she says. Her tone seems unimpressed, which makes you deflate. "Who's that?" she asks, pointing at the screen.
"Ah," you say in a stentorian voice, waving at the screen with your hand. "That is my collaborator. I correspond with them and assist them with important decisions."
"Okay," she says again, still unenthused. She takes a closer look, squinting at the screen. "That looks like someone I know," she says.
"Really?" you say, inching closer.
"Yes. The Heir of Breath, one of our dreamers. You have dreamers on Derse, too, right?"
"Indeed," you say, looking closer. "I thought the Heir was a woman," you say.
"Maybe this is her brother," she reasons.
"You seem sharp, miss former-minister," you say, hands on your hips. "How would you like to be appointed my own Honorary Post Mistress?" The white woman seems to scowl.
"I don't know... I do love the mail, but my post days are over. These days, I'm but a Perigrine Mendicant."
"That's a depressing title," you say.
"So is being the mayor of nothing," she retorts. It's not cruel, just matter-of-fact. You sigh. Looks like this is your new roommate, even though she seems like kind of a downer. No matter- It's been ages since you've seen anyone.
"Where are we?" you ask.
"Earth," she says simply. "A planet called that, according to what I found."
"Earth," you repeat thoughtfully. "Sounds boring." Your Mendicant Roomie shrugs.
"It was destroyed years in the past- But not many. Or so I'm told. Exiles from Prospit and Derse are sent here to wander forever."
"Looks like that's our fate," you say solemnly. "It's not so bad, I suppose. We have mayo, after all."
"According to what I found, this place used to be inhabited. But... A while ago, meteors struck it and killed everything. Sometimes, stray meteors still hit the sand. They say they come from portals in the sky."
"That sounds like Skaia," you say, to which she nods.
"How did you get exiled?" the Prospitian interloper asks. You lean on the wall and swallow. She senses this is a sensitive topic but doesn't rescind her question.
"I was a revolutionary," you say. "I started a war against the Kings."
"Oh," she says. "That was foolish."
"How did you get here, then?" you quickly change the topic.
"I couldn't deliver a message," she shrugs. "I don't think it was possible to begin with."
You cross your arms. That seems pretty harsh to you, and she seems to sympathize with your revolutionary sentiments. No one really likes the monarchs. Maybe you two have more in common than you thought. You try to smile at her, but your grimace only makes her cringe in disgust.
"No matter. Everything's dead now." She shrugs. You figure she's right. No use mourning strangers, you reason.
You both snap from your stupor, however, as you hear the hatch above turn again.
"Another friend...?" the Mendicant asks, but falls silent as she sees you draw your mighty spear.
"Possibly," you say, hissing quietly as carapaced feet descend the stairs. "Or possibly... A foe."
You are no longer the Wayward Vagabond.
You are now Jacob Harley.
The year is 1991. A banner year indeed for you! For you, Jacob Harley, globetrotting science stud and star of the hit television program "Jacob's World" have made two lifechanging acquisitions!
The first, a massive island off the coast of Hawaii that is home to a set of ruins just aching for the plundering- Oops! You mean exploration.
The second, more curiously, a baby!
A baby that had, upon your arrival on the island, fallen from the sky riding on a meteor.
But hey! You're not one to look a gift horse in the gob, are you? Even IF the meteor this particular baby was piloting DID smash into the boat you'd used to get here... Not ideal.
Luckily for you, you'd sent ahead for a base camp to be set up on the island, giving you and your new baby shelter for the night.
"Well aren't you a handsome thing?" you say, admiring the baby with a twinkle in your eye. It coos at you and gazes up with deep-green eyes. You've never been one for kids yourself, but how hard can raising this little scamp be?
"Say, now-" you say, leaning in, in case the baby can understand you. "You're not from the planet Krypton, are you, dear? Just asking! Here- Can you bend this in half?"
Testing to see if the baby you found IS indeed Superman, you place the baby on a large seel I-beam that the construction crew left after building your home.
The baby whines, patting its hands on the I-beam.
"Drat," you say, snapping your fingers. "Worth a shot! Guess you're just a run-of-the mill humdrum garden variety bog-standard sky baby. How boring!"
You place the boring baby back on the table. You've fashioned a pair of diapers for it out of a shirt you tore up, but you seriously hope it doesn't shit all over them. Maybe you lucked out and got a non-shitting baby.
"I shall call you Jade!" you announce. The baby blinks those eyes. "For your eyes are the loveliest jade-green, aren't they? Yes they are!"
You coo at the baby like you'd seen your ex-wives do before. See? This baby business would be easy.
"Wouldn't you know it, Jade, but I came from the sky, myself. Myself and my sister, that is." You pick Jade up, carrying her into the kitchen.
"Easy, Bec!" you say jovially as your dog leaps up to try and sniff the bundle you have in your hands.
You place little Jade into Bec's dog-carrier, lacking any crib or secure playpen as of yet. Bec whines, seeming somewhat dubious.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, boy. There's blankets in there, see? And some, er, toys!"
By "toys" you're referring to spent pistol casings which Jade is now gnawing on.
"See? She loves them!"
Bec looks at you, green electricity crackling on his fur.
Becquerel Harley, your trusted pooch companion. You've had him since as long as you can remember, a gift from your grandmother, a grandmother you absolutely despise. Bec was the only nice thing that witch Betty Crocker ever did for you. He's a bit odd as dogs go, but he's loyal as can be.
"You watch little Jade here while I pop off to the ruins, boy," you say, petting Bec's fur.
Shouldering your rifle, you set off towards the lagoon.
By trade, you're an entertainer, but your true passion and field of study is archeology, a field which has summarily rejected you over the years. Countless colleges have looked down on your total and utter disrespect for artifacts and their namby-pamby rules. They might enjoy playing in the dirt to find pottery but you on the other hand, have different methods!
Methods you employ now, walking boldly into the maw of the ruins, holding a torch in one hand and a gun in the other.
"You can't just go to an island and tromp around in ruins like Indiana Jones!" you say, mockingly repeating words your colleagues said to you. "Hah! Shows them..."
The Frog ruins, as they've come to be known, were discovered in 1954, the very year of your birth, by your own grandmother, Betty Crocker. Why that old oven-jockey hag was digging up ruins is beyond you, but it appears that back then, she'd been looking for them for some time.
Whatever she'd been looking for, she never told you, but it drove you mad for years. She told you you were never allowed to set foot on that island, and, as anyone knows, parents telling you not to do something was a surefure way to get you to do that thing.
You'd begged and pleaded others to take you to the island just to spite the witch and visit, but no one would. It was only through amassing a fortune as a TV star on National Geographic that you'd been able to make enough money to come yourself.
And now that you're here, inside the ruins your grandmother had forbidden you from entering? Well, truth be told, it's kind of a letdown.
After a simple walk down a corridor, you find yourself in a room. Just... A room. One single room.
The room is cavernous, a large flower blooming in the middle of it with various stone carvings and platforms dotted around.
No pottery. No books. No... Anything. Just a bunch of junk!
There has to be a secret to this place, you decide, and with your torch, you set about searching the frog ruins.
You slide your hands over the walls carefully, searching for indentations and secret compartments, but you find none as you search clockwise. Looks like whatever WAS here was plundered by dear gramma all those decades ago. What a fucking ripoff.
You inspect one of the pedestals on the floor. Oddly, it looks metallic, even though the ruins date back to before the stone age. You kick one with your foot, dust exploding from it dramatically from the jolt. Odder still, there's a placque on the wall above the pedestal that reads:
"The Land of Wind and Shade."
"What is this, Alice in Wonderland?" you scoff aloud.
Did Grandma put these here? That didn't seem right. She was never into esoterica like this, but on the other hand, this architecture wasn't modern. Or maybe... Not of this world?
You step onto the pedestal.
All of a sudden, like a stun grenade going off, your vision goes white and you hear a ringing deep inside your ears. You double over and fall forward, expecting to feel hard stone of the ruins under your hands, but... You don't.
In fact, everything around you is different, now. Under your hands is grass and above you the sky is dark grey and dotted with tiny lights.
"What in blue blazes?!" you cry, instinctively reaching for Big Medicine.
Around you is a forest, but none like you've ever seen upon Earth. The bark of the trees is ash-grey and the leaves are navy blue like the grass. You look behind you.
"This IS Alice in Wonderland," you hiss, eyes narrowing.
"Are you lost?" says a voice from behind you. You whirl around, brandishing your gun at the voice, but to your surprise, it's... A person.
Not a HUMAN person, but clearly a person. Clad in gold robes with bright white, hard-looking skin, gazing up at you with frightened eyes.
"Who are you?!" you demand through your bristling mustache.
"I'm Miss Paint," says the person-thing, raising her hands defensively. "Is that a gun!?"
"Of COURSE it's a bloody gun!" you say, incredulous. "It's a .405 Winchester circa 1885!"
"Oh," says Miss Paint. You roll your eyes. Now you're sure this is a woman, since she doesn't understand guns.
"And of COURSE I'm lost! I come from Earth, see- EARTH. Where am I now? Some space alien planet?"
"You're on the Land of Wind and Shade," Miss Paint says, worriedly. "But... You can't go back to Earth. Earth was destroyed, wasn't it? That's where we send exiles- There's nothing there but wasteland."
"Earth isn't destroyed! It's perfectly fine." You think for a moment. "You must be thinking of a different Earth!"
"Oh," Miss Paint says again. "Well, either way, sir, I can help you get back." She bites her lip.
You lower your weapon, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"Let me guess," you say, tiredly. "You need me to do something for you first."
Miss Paint nods solemnly.
You are no longer Jacob Harley.
Chapter 12: Act 2 Episode 1: SBURB
Chapter Text
Your name is John Egbert. You think.
Lately, you've been hearing voices or something, voices and visions and you don't know what else. After all- Everything is crazy.
Right now, you're sitting in front of the fridge with a craving for Tab- This of course is odd for two reasons. The first is that you've never, to your knowledge had a can of Tab before in your life, and the second is that there isn't any in the fridge to begin with.
Odd, but you don't have time to ruminate on this.
You and your four friends had played a game called Sburb, a game that was supposed to save you from the Apocalypse on Earth, but inside the game, things are no better. In fact, they suck ass.
For starters, your house is on a giant pillar above the clouds on what appears to be a different planet. You can tell it's a different planet because there is only one solitary star in the night sky and the clouds below are billowing a deep, navy blue. You think you're inside of the game. You decide to dismiss how insane that sounds and just try your best to rationalize it.
Because as you're well aware- If you die in the game, you die for real.
"HEE HEE HOO HOO HAA HAA!" says the clown.
Oh- Right. You have a clown, now.
"Hey, uh," you say, motioning towards the inside of the fridge. "Do you need to eat anything?" You turn your head towards the clown, a baby-blue jester in the shape of your dad's birthday gift, torn arm and all that had erupted from one of the game constructs earlier.
"Sure don't, buckaroo! Hee hee hee!" the clown says, jovially. He can only say things jovially.
"Oh," you say, munching on a pack of fruit gushers.
So far, you hate it here. On top of an imp assailing you in your room, your dad is MIA. Furthermore, The pillar of rock your house now sits atop doesn't seem particularly stable, and a while ago, the garage where your father presumably was, plummetted through the clouds early on. Your heart hammers when you think of him, so you try not to.
"I'll be concise: Need some advice??" says the clown, again, jovially. You cringe. He's been giving you "advice" from time to time, but at best it's a confusing mess and at worst it's aggrivating gibberish.
"No-" you say, but he cuts you off. His color and disposition remind you of Navi from Zelda.
"You're in the game and doing fine, now prototype me a second time!" he says. He's said that particular nugget of wisdom several times already and it hasn't gotten any more funny.
"Okay," you say, dejectedly. You know that prototyping refers to the process by which he became a clown, but you're not sure how to do that- Or how you did it in the first place.
"Fuck!" you cry as you enter the living room. You notice, now that things have settled down (relatively) that your nana's ashes are scattered all over the floor. You don't know why that upsets you right now, probably because it's the only thing that you can give your attention to at the moment without going fucking crazy.
"I'll be concise: Need some advice??" asks the clown in the same tone, interrupting your panic. "Now that you've turned those imps to fluff, you can use the grist to buy some stuff! Hee hee!" You feel like you're trapped inside a game tutorial. Well- You guess you literally ARE. You don't bother responding.
You walk to the washroom to get a broom to scoop up Nana's ashes with, it's going to bug you if you don't. Nana's photos are all so pretty... The one above the fire is her close to when she passed away, but she still looked so elegant. You wish you could look like that...
"I'll be concise: Need some advice??" you growl and shove the jester out of the way, but then you think of something.
"You can help by sweeping the ashes back into the urn, I guess," you offer. If this IS a help character, maybe you can use it to- Y'know. Help.
"If I did that, I'd do more harm! After all- I've got just the arm!" the jester waggles his arm, pointing to the socket where one is missing.
"Fine, then just hold the urn, and I'll sweep."
"I'll be quick and won't be rude! I only do a job that's good!" he says cheerfully.
"Good and rude don't rhyme, dipshit," you say, rolling your eyes.
"I guess you're right! You speak quite true. For that I say a hardy fuck y-" before the jester can complete his insult, you have to avert your eyes due to the blinding flash of light that appears like a stun grenade.
"What the-" you pat the fireplace shelf like they'll appear if you feel around. Your Nana's ashes and the urn are just... Gone.
"You- What did you do to my Nana's ashes?!" you demand, wheeling on your heel to face the jester, but to your shock, you don't see him at all. Instead, you see a different figure, still colored a ghostly baby blue, wearing the jester's same hat, but now in a fancy lace cardigan sporting a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with mischief bursting from the eyes beneath.
"Nana...?" you stare, slack-jawed, but before you can react, the figure speaks.
"Hoo hoo hoo!" it says cheerfully, and in the next millisecond, a cream pie blats you in the face, your vision turning white.
You are no longer John Egbert.
==
TT: Hello, everyone.
TG: sup
GG: hiya!
TT: Has anyone heard from John?
TG: yeah but that was a while ago
TT: Terrific. I'll check on my server copy.
TT: ...
TT: Huh.
TG: well
GG: hes okay isnt he? D:
TT: He's... Occupied.
TT: For time's sake let's just say he's safe but can't be reached.
TG: is he jerkin it
TG: nasty
TT: No, no. He's currently getting... cream pied.
GG: :|
TG: lol
TT: Let's move on.
TT: It appears we've made it. Into the game, I mean.
TT: Thereby avoiding fiery death by meteor.
GG: we did!
GG: against all odds.
TG: are we safe now
TT: I think the answer to that should be clear. It appears that each of us is stranded somewhere at present, inside the world of the game.
TT: John is on a precarious cliff. I am in the middle of an ocean.
TG: yeah my apartment got zapped to uh
TG: lava
TT: Lava?
TG: yeah but its chill
TG: me, not the lava
GG: and my whole island got transported! even the mister froggy.
TT: Who?
GG: oh! sorry. even the ruins in the lagoon and the volcano
GG: but its all snowy and i cant get out of my bedroom right now :(
TT: Don't fret. Being stranded might be a boon.
TT: Imps are making their way to us, somehow, and I fear once we reach larger, less remote areas, we will be facing more of them.
TG: the little gremlin looking dudes right
TT: Yes.
TT: It also appears each of us has a companion formed from the orb that emerged from the cruxtruder combined with something that we offered it.
TT: John offered a jester doll, so he has a clown.
TT: I offered a doll of my own, so now mine is...
TT: Complicated.
TG: yeah i see yours and its fuckin
TG: its something
TG: mine is a bird
GG: ooh a nice bird! we both have animal ones, dave!
GG: mine is my dog bec!
GG: hes green now. :P
GG: green-er, i should say
TT: It appears you are able to make a second offering once you're inside the game. This is "prototyping," according to what my sprite said.
TT: John has prototyped what appears to be... An old woman.
TT: I would choose what to prototype wisely. Something sentient, ideally.
TG: yeah my crow dude cant talk
TG: its hella annoying
TT: Indeed. I prototyped a doll, and that seems to be sufficient enough.
TT: Something humanoid.
GG: humanoid...
GG: eugh
GG: i just got a bad idea
TT: No rush. There's no time limit on this.
TT: But your sprite seems to be built to help you inside the game. Like a help character.
TG: like navi from zelda
TT: She's not the only help character, you know, Dave.
TG: ok then gamer genius name another one
TT: I would, but my sheer breadth of knowledge would knock you straight upon your rear ass.
TG: suuuuure
GG: :P
TT: Regardless.
TT: Job #1 is to get more information out of these sprites and secure your area from imps.
TG: tight
GG: okay!
==
You are now John, again.
Soon enough, you'll be able to read that chat backlog, but for now you're getting cream pied. You wipe cream from your face, falling on your ass on the floor.
"Hoo hoo hoo! Oldest trick in the book, dearie!" says the voice above you. Re-adjusting your glasses to make sure you're not seeing things. It's... Your nana! In the flesh! Well- Sort of. She's made of the same ghostly, shimmering goo the jester had been made from.
"Nana!?" you say incredulously.
"That's right, John! The very same! Joanna MacAllister Chesterfield Roosvelt Crocker-Sassacre! Hoo! But that's 'Nana' to you. Now-" Nana looks around, her jester hat jangling. "Where's that son of mine?"
Your incredulity turns to sourness. You wince. Nana seems to understand that expression, and she offers a hand, helping you to your feet.
"Oh, now, that won't do, dearie," she says kindly. She's just like you remember- Well. Minus being half-clown, of course. She's kindly and soft, sweet and elegant, all in one, with a twinkle in her eye to boot. You've always missed her and seeing her now makes you choke up! She was always one of your most aspirational figures- Your hero. Even if that was due to some poorly-recalled childhood memories.
She pats your back and walks you to the kitchen. "Don't you worry about your dear ole dad, sweet pea. He's got man-grit to boot! We'll track him down later, but for now... You need some good old fashioned sustenance!"
You haven't slipped a word in since your Nana materialized, and now that you have the chance, you're caught off guard, managing one choked syllable.
"How-?"
"How did I, a long-dead old hag, suddenly appear all jester-fied in your very house, inside of a magical game after ex-scaping a meteor?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows. All you can do is nod.
"Are you really... My nana?" you ask.
"Well, now..." Nana thinks for a moment, reaching for some pots and pans, getting water boiling. You're not sure how your home is still getting water, but you get the feeling that doesn't matter. "I don't rightly know!"
Nana searches the cupboards, frowning, managing to find an old box of macaroni, shredding some cheese from the fridge.
"I do believe so, after all I have her memories and beliefs and ideas... But there's something else up in this noggin, too, John, dear. I know stuff I just didn't before! Things about where we are and what this is and-" she snaps her fingers, realizing something. "-your quest!"
"My quest?" you ask dumbly. You have a feeling most of your questions will be dumb ones. You're grateful that your Nana is a more forthcoming help character than the jester. Nana is more sympathetic to your stupidity.
"Hoo hoo! Yes, I'm afraid. I know you just got out of danger, but there's more to come!" Nana is cheerful, but she's careful about giving words the right weight, like she's trying to break news gently to you.
"You mean... To save the Earth?" you think back to the meteor, to the screaming faces of your neighbors. For the first time, you realize they're not there any more. Your nana speaks quietly. Up until now, she'd been grating a block of cheese, but she pauses.
"I'm afraid that's not possible, John, dear," she says.
"Then... What?" you suddenly feel frustrated again. "What's the point of this game? We escape death to get here, but then what? We just- Have to live out our lives on these- On... Wherever we are??"
"I'm afraid Earth is gone, John," Nana says, more sternly, now, trying to quell your irritation. "But that is precisely why you are here. Your old world has died, just like all things die."
Nana dumps the macaroni into the pot, stirring the grated cheese with milk in a large bowl. The kitchen is warmer now, your breath is slowing down like a great weight is being pushed on you.
"The point of this game, John... Is to make a new world. A new universe."
Your jester-sprite-Nana serves you macaroni and cheese, which you eat gratefully. Your main question is answered, and it's grim. Your grandmother doesn't eat, and you reason that jester-sprite-Nanas probably don't need to.
"Where am I?" you ask through mouthfuls of delicious yellow goop.
"The Land of Wind and Shade!" she announces grandly, giggling girlishly, tugging at the drawstring on the kitchen blinds, revealing the dark clouds beneath. "It is your Land, John! You must complete its quest to move onto Skaia- I know this might sound confusing, but do not worry!"
Nana beckons you to follow her out the back door, where she points to the sky. The single, pale star shines high above your house, and you notice an intricate ring in the sky above you, glowing gently.
"High above us, dear, is Skaia, where you'll be able to meet your friends and fight for your new world- But first, you have to complete the quest on your land. And to do THAT- You need to access the first gate!"
"That glowy thing?" you ask, pointing. Nana laughs.
"The glowy thing! You're quick on the uptake, young man," she now points down at the clouds surrounding the precipice. "Down below is your land, which your gate will take you to. From there- Well, that's up to you."
You understand. Sort of.
"How do I get up there?" you ask, squinting up at the gate. It looks quite high, but it's hard to tell due to how unreadable the size of it is.
"You build!" Nana says cheerfully. "Or more accurately- Your friends build."
Mac-and-cheese bowl in-hand you follow Nana back to your computer.
"See now- Your friend Jade has a first gate high above HER house, too. And see, you can use the game to build higher and higher for her! You build using the grist you get from defeating those pesky imps! See there?" she points to an indicator on Jade's screen that now reads: "100m to go."
"O...kay?" Again, you understand her instructions, you're just not sure how these things are supposed to "make a new universe" as she said. Still... It's not like you have anything better to do.
"Eat up, dear. You need some rest! These old bones don't need to sleep, so while you catch some Zs, I'll take care of those rascally imps! They won't be much of a threat... Until later on."
You are pretty tired. You feel like you can trust Nana to take care of the imps, or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
"Oh! One more question, this time for you, dear, and I do hate to ask this of a family member," she says, poking her nose back into your room. "Your name is John, right?"
"Oh, uh-" you hesitate responding. You're not sure why. "Yeah."
"I thought that's what my son named you, but..." Nana trails off, seeming to brush off an intrusive thought. "The knowledge I got from the game has a different name for you."
"Oh," you're not sure what to make of that.
Nana leaves once more, leaving you with an even more confused feeling. Before bed, you decide to check the forum.
==
ectoBiologist:
hey.
anyone still here?
fedoraFreak:
Hello, friend.
I have made landfall in a strange new place after entering some fashion of portal in the sky.
No one has made a post in the past several hours. I fear for the planet.
ectoBiologist:
oh, jeez...
i'm pretty sure earth is gone, ff...
i'm sorry.
fedoraFreak:
I do not think I am long for the world, either. I am running out of my piss reserves.
ectoBiologist:
sorry, your what?
carcinoGeneticist:
FOR THE LOVE OF GOG, JUNE, GIVE IT THE FUCK UP. THE PISS GUY IS GOING TO DIE ON HIS SHITTY LAND BECAUSE HIS OTHER PLAYERS DIDN'T GET IN THE GAME.
ectoBiologist:
how do you know my name??
ectoBiologist:
wait, that's not my name. how do you know the thing people call me?
carcinoGeneticist:
SHOCK OF THE CENTURY. JUNE EGBERT ONCE AGAIN DISPLAYS A PATENTED LACK OF ANY AND ALL REASONING SKILLS. "THE THING PEOPLE CALL YOU" IS YOUR NAME YOU WALKING SACK OF PISS.
fedoraFreak:
Where can I obtain this walking sack of piss? I am willing to give chase if need be.
carcinoGeneticist:
SHUT THE FUCK UP, PISS BOY.
ectoBiologist:
you're really aliens, aren't you?
jesus christ i can't believe the leet speaking trolls WEREN'T lying...
for some reason that's the most depressed i've felt all day.
carcinoGeneticist:
THE FEELING IS MUTUAL. JUST HURRY UP AND FIND A HOLE TO PERISH IN.
==
You have no idea how the forums are running, as there shouldn't be internet away from the planet Earth, but you have a feeling it doesn't matter. In spite of saying you're depressed, something about CG's reflexive antagonism makes you smile. He's alive, like you. Maybe this isn't so hopeless after all.
==
EB: hey guys.
TG: john o
TG: how was getting cream pied
GG: :|
EB: what??
TT: He means how was re-connecting with your Nana?
EB: oh! it was... weird.
EB: she knows about the game for some reason.
TT: Good. We should consolidate information.
TT: Though I think after that, we should all get some rest. It's been a long day.
TG: hear hear
GG: isnt it "here here?" :o
TT: Whatever it is, it's unanimous.
TT: So what have you found out, John?
EB: well...
EB: apparently we all need to start beating imps and making our way to our "first gates." theyre little... portals in the sky.
EB: we use the grist from defeated imps to build up each others homes, then finish some "quest" i guess.
TG: so job number one is to beat imps
TT: Still. Only you've actually seen an imp up-close, John. It will take a while to get enough to build.
TT: I advise we work towards getting one of us in at a time. Through our "gates" are likely more imps, possibly more difficult monsters.
GG: theyll be no match for me!!!
TG: same
TT: That leaves the question. Who will enter their gate first?
EB: i'll do it.
TT: That was almost reflexive.
TT: Statements like that, John, are why you are our leader.
EB: haha, c'mon. i'm more like one of those red shirt wearing guys!!
TG: in star trek? those guys were the leaders dude
TG: youre thinking of yellow jackets
GG: noooo! yellow jackets are mean.
GG: their nests look like bumblebees, but there's not even honey inside!
GG: you have to learn to spot the difference.
TT: ...We're getting off track.
TT: I suppose that leaves me to build your house high enough to reach the gate.
EB: i'll leave it to you!
TT: Which means Jade and Dave are on main imp-wrangling duty.
TG: roger
GG: got it!!
TT: I have more questions, but first... We should rest.
TT: Good night, all.
TG: night
GG: nighty night!!
EB: good night :)
==
You stretch. God, the exhaustion is starting to set in.
"Worst birthday ever," you mutter, looking towards your trusty hammer, which is leaning on a wall. You're distracted by a sudden ping.
==
TG: yo uh
TG: can we yak
EB: sure, dave!!
TG: okay tight
TG: im sure i dont need to outline all the ways this is mondo fucked john my dude but like
TG: im kind of freaking out here
TG: my bro is MIA
TG: my other friends are i think just gone
TG: its dire for ole d money
EB: don't you have your sprite?
TG: my sprite is... uh
TG: lets not talk about that
TG: i dont want to be alone for another hot sec yfeel
EB: well, okay!
EB: let's jam, buddy. :)
TG: cool
TG: i think im good now actually just
TG: earth is gone
TG: like we just avoided the apocalypse basically by accident
TG: and i think we might be the only ones
EB: i don't really know what to say about that...
TG: im just starting to think like
TG: whats the point of this
TG: of the imps and shit and of the gates
TG: if were just dead meat anyway
TG: why not just hunker down and live our short lives chatting it up with each other
EB: dave!
EB: jesus, don't talk shit.
TG: im not talking shit this is an honest to god existential question
TG: why should we participate
TG: everyone is dead bro
TG: chad is dead
TG: he was messaging me when it happened to him
EB: dave...
EB: this isn't what i was talking about when i said i'd jam.
EB: look, can you promise me something?
TG: yeah
EB: i... don't think i can process this right now.
EB: i don't think you can either.
EB: i don't know what to say and i think if i tried i'd make you feel worse.
TG: fair
EB: so just... live until we CAN process it, okay?
==
There's a long pause.
==
TG: i can do that
EB: you're my best friend, dave.
EB: you said you're alone, and you are alone in that room, but not... like, in general. okay?
TG: okay
==
You hope Dave means that. You can never get a read on that guy, but you trust him. You slide into bed, laying on your back, drifting off to sleep.
Your name is June Egbert.
You awaken slowly, staring at your hands, blinking blearily. Where... Are you? You remember... Talking to someone on a computer? It's all so hazy... Like a dream. You fumble on the bedside table for your glasses, sliding them on, clutching your head.
"H-hello?" you call out. The room you're in is golden and bright, the bedsheets matching the yellow surfaces. It's rather harsh on your eyes, but after some adjustment you manage to see clearly.
You stand up, trying to remember... Anything. All you know is your own name, a vague recollection pulled from somewhere in your memories, of which you seem to have none- None except faint dreams which you can barely grasp. You exit the room.
"Hello?" you repeat into the hallway outside. Seems like no one is there. Odd. The room you woke up in and the hallway look almost too pristine- Not lived in, like no one has visited in ages. You step out into the hallway, stretching tiredly and to your right, you hear footsteps. Someone is coming up the staircase.
"Hey!" you cry out. "I'm June Egbert- Can you tell me where I am, please?" you watch as a burly man in a suit appears from around the staircase corner.
"You da Heir 'o Breath?" the large man asks. He strikes you as odd and out of place, his skin made of shining black carapace, dressed in a plain suit, holding what appears to be a club.
"Y-yeah?" you stammer. "June Egbert, the Heir of Breath. I think."
"Tank goodness! We's been lookin' all over da place for ya's." the shiny man says, raising his club and beating you with it.
Your name is Parcel Mistress number 413.
You're presently inside of a cart, in handcuffs, being dragged before the White Queen, your sovereign, for the biggest blunder of your entire life. Your mind races over the previous day's events, full of regret.
For one day, you were the Post Minister. It's a title you earned from your service as a Parcel Mistress, delivering mail throughout the Medium for time immemorial. It's not a title you ever wanted, mind you, but it's one you inherited.
Your first day on the job was a hectic one. Before you could so much as be shown your new office, you were whisked in front of one of the heroes of Prospit, who gave you a personal request, deceptively simple. A note, scrawled in plain writing, from the Witch, Jade, to her friend.
"John, talk to me as soon as you can. From, the Witch of Space."
The only issue was that the name "John" was a complete mystery to you.
Still, it was a request from the Witch herself, one that you couldn't pass up. One that you needed to see through yourself.
Any mail-person worth her salt knew how to find an obscure address, but just a single name, "John" was far, far too obscure. You recall resorting to extreme means. There was one person in The Medium who could track anyone. The problem was... It wasn't entirely above board.
Using your standard issue Mail PDA, you hesitantly typed in a name: Authority Regulator 828.
==
PM: Hello. My name is Parcel Mistress 413.
PM: My apologies. My name is Post Minister 1. As of recently.
PM: I understand you can find people.
AR: How'd you get this number?
PM: I'm sorry.
PM: Never mind.
PM: I shouldn't have contacted you.
AR: Don't be so hasty, now. What's a bigshot from the piss kingdom doing talking to a Dersite like myself?
PM: I need to find someone.
PM: I understand you do such services.
PM: You use your connections in law enforcement to track people.
AR: Alright! Enough.
AR: Don't talk shop over the airwaves. We need to meet at a secure locale.
AR: Meet me on the roof on the Land of Heat and Clockwork.
PM: The roof?
AR: You'll know it when you see it, toots.
AR: Be there in an hour.
==
By nature, you're a somewhat nervous person, but it's times like these you need to be brave. After all, you can't let down Jade, otherwise what good are you at mail?
An hour later, after securing transport, you fly to the Land of Heat and Clockwork. It certainly lived up to its name as you brought your inter-planetary vessel to a halt.
AR had been correct. "The rooftop" was easy to find, it was the only structure in the area that jutted so high into the sky. Sure enough, a Dersite man was waiting for you there.
"You got the dosh?" he asked dryly. You nodded, withdrawing a large sack of cash from your craft, placing it at his feet.
"Alright, let's do bid'ness," he said. The roof was made of a soft, black material, alien to you.
"Where are we?" you asked.
"Funny you should ask. This is the so-called Knight of Time's place," he said. Your eyes widened. At the time, he seemed amused by your reaction.
"Relax," he said. "He isn't around now, and I already did a perimeter sweep for bugs, crawlers, walkies, radios, and scoopers. Come inside."
The Regulator led you down into the place until you reached the lowest floor, entering what appeared to be someone's bedroom.
"Should we... Be in here?" you nervously asked.
"Just don't mess anything up and we'll be fine. I use joints like this as exchange points all the time." He leaned on the doorframe. "Talk. Who do you need to find?"
"I need to find... John." you said.
"Okay," AR said, squinting. "Who's John?"
"That's why I'm here asking you!" you replied, irritably.
"I'm not a freakin' magician, lady!" he cried, scoffing. "I need more than just a name."
"Tell that to my boss..." you said bitterly. "Look, I got asked by the Witch of Space, does that ring any bells, now?"
"Let's see..." The Authority Regulator seemed to ponder this new fact for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Hang on."
The AR fiddles with a nearby computer. Is that his? You suppose if it doesn't belong to him, he doesn't care. Nearby on the desk, though, something caught your eye. A pair of envelopes labeled "Dave."
By nature, you are a mail person. You live for mail. You love it. You might not have been thrilled about your position of authority, but there's something about marked parcels that called out to you. You swiped the envelopes, tucking them away safely.
"Here we go," AR said. "John. Apparently he's on the Land of Wind and Shade, according to some correspondence I just intercepted."
"You mean that you just read on that computer," you corrected.
"Sure! Whatever. Just head there to deliver the stuff. He's on top of the tallest peak in the place- Can't miss it, just like this roof." The AR shook your hand, grinning like a fool. "Pleasure doing business, milady. Don't go tellin' anyone we met, capische?"
After the meeting with the AR, you recall speeding towards the Land of Wind and Shade. Prospitians, as a rule, tended to avoid the lands. They generally were patrolled by dersite imps, the animalistic goons of the Derse forces. Able-bodied Prospitians generally were sent to Skaia to fight the Black Queen.
Luckily for you, you found the house in question fairly quickly. Foolishly, you thought at the time that the end of your quest was in sight and approached the front door, tentatively knocking.
"Hello?" you called nervously. "John?"
No answer. You recall your next steps with some difficulty, simply opening his mailbox and sticking the note inside. Sadly, it seemed the mailbox was too broken, causing you to wedge to note between the door and its frame.
"I'll just- Leave those note here!" you announced loudly, ready to wash your hands of the business.
Unfortunately, as you boarded your vessel to head back to Prospit, you saw something that made your blood run cold: Across the broken lawn, you saw an imp grab the note and begin chewing on it, entering John's house boldly.
What you did next makes you shiver with shame. Instead of engage the thieving imp... You simply left.
Now, in the present day, you're in a Prospitian jail cell, looking out at Skaia high above. You've been here for a few days, now, your trial having just concluded. Bitterly, as you gaze up to the moon of Prospit, you recall what truly sealed your fate.
It was your own fault, really. Your guilty conscience preying on your weak mind. You had fessed up, requested an audience with the White Queen to tell her yourself.
You remember kneeling on the hard, yellow floor before her throne, her cold eyes looking down at you.
"My Queen," you'd said, voice already begging. "An Imp took the note I was to deliver. I couldn't stop him."
The White Queen, your beloved monarch, the leader of your people, said just one word that day:
"Exile."
Your head swam. Your throat dried. Exile. To be sent away from Prospit, launched through some foul Skaian portal to parts unknown, never to return. To be disposed of like trash.
"No! Please, your highness, you don't understand!" you'd pleaded. But it was no use, and now you're in prison.
Over your stay in jail, you've come to hate the Queen. Her two syllables had doomed you to a life of misery.
Of course, it's no use feeling regret. The king, the queen... Both of them are just senseless monarchs. Sending Prospitians like you to die. Their word is absolute. As you've been demonstrated, defying them leads to exile.
So you wait. Festering in a cell of your own design, through no fault of your own but circumstance, cursing the Queen and her King and their war uselessly.
But as you peer out the window to your cell, you see something that shocks you.
High above, the moon rattles and shakes, as if it were a giant egg about to hatch.
"Come with us," you hear behind you, a burly guard grabbing your shoulder.
"But the moon-!" you insist. It's no use. The Queen's orders guide the guard's hand, tossing you roughly on an exile craft, packing you inside, kicking and screaming.
As you feel the pod violently eject from the planet's surface, a porthole gives you a glimpse of the golden streets below, inching further and further away as you're shot towards Skaia.
And as you pass the moon high above, you can only watch in confusion as before your eyes, it explodes in a shower of green light.
A moment later, a portal high above Skaia swallows your pod up, and you plummet towards a sandy, tan planet below.
Left with questions and bitterness alone, you slam into your new, obliterated home. The home of every exile. The apocalyptic wasteland known as Earth. You were a Parcel Mistress, then a Post Minister, but now? You're nothing but a Peregrine Mendicant.
Chapter 13: Act 2 Episode 2: This Game Sucks
Chapter Text
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
After a fitful night of sleep, you awaken blearily. You say "night," but it appears "night" doesn't exist on whatever planet you've ended up on, light beaming down from the sky into your windows mercilessly.
==
TT: Alright. I'm up. Status?
==
No responses. Just your luck. Appears as though you've woken up first. Terrific.
"Hewwo?" comes a creaky voice from outside your bedroom door.
"Come in, Jaspers," you say patiently. Your sprite, Jaspers, enters.
Back on the dark, rainy roof of your house, before your foolish leap off the building and into the river, you'd haphazardly tossed a doll into your kernel-sprite, making the orb transform into a large-scale living replica of princess Chthulhu. You came to know this act as "prototyping."
Upon entering the game, however, you decided to take a chance. Inspired by John's own grandma-prototyping, you put the remains of your cat Jaspers into yours, and, to your astonishment, you watched as he returned from the dead.
"I don't think I ever thanked you, Jaspers," you say, watching in amusement as his whiskers twitch, ghostly pink body wriggling in excitement.
"Thanked me? For what, Miss Rose?" Jaspers asks earnestly. The kitty appears to have retained Princess Cthulhu's tentacle-arms, which he uses to wrap you in a tight hug.
"For saving my life. Catching me before I fell into that river." you hug Jaspers back, amused. He's just as sweet as he was in life- Though your memories of him are a tad fuzzy. How apt, as he's fuzzy in and of himself.
"Of course! It's my job as a kitty and also your sprite, Miss Rose!" he bonks his forehead into yours before playfully springing away.
You look out the window, drawing your curtains, eyes squinting. No use. The obnoxious light still seeps inside.
"Can you tell me where I am, Jaspers? You mentioned the Land of Light and Rain." Deciding to make use of your wakefulness, you grill Jaspers for game info.
"Of course, Miss Rose!" he says eagerly. "The Land of Light and Rain is your land! It's a wonderful place- Or it WAS, before that mean Cetus moved in!"
"Cetus?" you ask.
"Mhm! He's a nasty brute- Look!" Jaspers points one tendril-hand out your window. Jaspers appears to have retained his shape from joining with your plush Princess Cthulhu, giving him an amusing appearance, two tendril-appendages and a lovely princess's gown wrapped around his catlike body. If Dave saw this, he'd definitely call you a furry or something.
You reluctantly re-open the curtain and look out over the vast, multicolored ocean upon which your house now sits.
"Those waters used to be just full of fish which the people of this land ate! Mean ol' Cetus ate all of 'em and now she slumbers in the depths," Jaspers chirps.
You blink.
"Hold on. This is a game world, not a real one. It was created when we started our Sburb session. Cetus didn't do that, did she? It's just a story to move the game."
"Well, um!" Jaspers wriggles, unsure of how to respond. "I guess! That's just the info I have..."
"So, what? The point of the game is to beat Cetus?"
"Sort of!" Jaspers looks uncomfortable again. "I mean, Cetus is the end of your quest, not of the whole game."
"What's the point of the whole game?" you ask, straightforwardly.
"Oh! Um- I can't tell you unless you take care of Cetus, and-"
"Why?"
Your questions seem to baffle Jaspers, who flattens his ears to his head. You relent- You don't want to hurt his kitty feelings, after all.
"I don't know Miss Rose! I just know what I know. I'm sorry..."
"Oh, Jaspers, come here," you insist. You have a feeling that he's telling the truth. No- Jaspers isn't being vague, it's the game itself being vague. You scratch behind Jaspers's ears gently.
Still- You really don't want to fuck around with some "quest," if you can help it. It sounds like busywork to you. You look towards where your computer once sat, now crushed by the machine Dave had foolishly placed there.
"Ugh. I said I'd help John with his house, but I don't know if I can even connect. I've only been able to talk to everyone on my phone." You speak aloud mostly for your own sake, but Jaspers responds cheerfully.
"Why, Miss Rose! You can use the Ectobiologizer!" Jaspers hops up and points at the machine Dave so kindly provided.
"I... Can?" you quirk a brow. "How does that work? Can I connect with this?"
"No, silly! You can use it to fix your laptop! Here!" Jaspers taps on a panel, one of the ectobiologizer's screens flickering to life. "All we have to do is go to the past and find your computer BEFORE it was broken and take it!"
"Take it? Like... From time?" you watch him curiously.
Jaspers uses some controls and dials to fast-forward the view on-screen which is a view of your own room, the one you're standing in now. Jaspers rewinds to a few weeks ago.
"Now! We hit the button aaaand-!" Jaspers slams his tentacle onto a button and one of the two tubes of the ectobiologizer fills with a green sludge. It looks to you like your mother's lime jell-o shots.
"Jaspers," you say, amused. "I'm afraid I cannot use... Goo to contact my friends."
"No, dummy!" Jaspers says, giddily grabbing the busted computer from the floor. "You can't steal what's in the past, because it's in the past! Duh. BUT. You can steal its... Sort of instructions! A copy, made of ecto-goo!"
"Is that the official name? Ecto-goo?" You watch amusedly as Jaspers loads the broken computer into the other of the two tubes.
"Using the ecto-goo clone as instructions and the broken computer, we can ectobiologize something new! A working computer!"
Jaspers slams another button located between the ecto-tubes and with a bright flash, the objects vanish.
"Where's your alchemizer, Rose?" Jaspers inquires. You both traipse to the roof, and there, sitting on the alchemizer slab, is your repaired computer, pristine as it was when you first got it!
"Jaspers! You fixed it!" You say breathlessly, petting his head proudly. "Thank you again."
"Hee hee! Do you forgive me for not knowing that other stuff, now, Miss Rose?" Jaspers asks, bonking his forehead into yours.
"Of course," you say, and you mean it. The ability to repair items is one thing, but you can also see the use of combining items to make new ones. Your mind is already racing. "Can this be used to make other things? Could I, say... Make a NEW thing out of ecto-goo?"
"Mhm, mhm! The only rule is one of the two things has to be a real item! Otherwise the result will just be more goo, hehe."
Back in your room, you snag your book, "Grimoire of the Zoologically Dubious" and plonk it into the tube. With the ecto-machine, you zoom back in time and select Princess Cthulhu before she had been tossed into your kernel-sprite. When you and Jaspers return to the roof, there on the Alchemiter, is a miniature-sized real-life Cthulhu, roaring cutely in a little princess crown and tutu. You pick up the little creature, tickling its face, amused.
"This could be very useful, Jaspers. Thank you very much. My friends and I will get a lot of use out of this."
Jaspers purrs loudly, bonking his forehead into your shoulder. You walk back to your room with Mini Princess Cthulhu and place her gently on your bed next to the laptop. She seems content to stomp around your bedsheets for now.
==
TT: I'm up. Anyone else awake?
TG: so it seems
GG: up and at em :)
GG: its really cold in my land D:
TG: lucky you
TG: looks like egbert is still snoozin
TG: can you see him TT
TG: wait shit
TG: is your computer fucked can you even see him any more
TT: Ah, yes. My computer IS "fucked." Now how could such a thing have come about, I wonder?
TT: Lucky for you, Dave, I found an alternative. I'll appraise you all later.
TT: Yes, I see him sleeping. Good lord, he's having some kind of terrible dream.
GG: he is?
TT: He's thrashing in bed.
TT: I can't blame him, we've all had a rough past day.
GG: hmmmmm...
TT: Is that "hm" of meaning, Jade?
GG: i dunno yet! but i feel like thats not just normal bad dreams...
TT: I'll leave that mystery to you, then. Meanwhile.
TT: Like I said. You two work on imps. I'll work on John's house. He can sleep in for now.
TG: already on it
GG: okay!
==
Looks like your teammates are working well. Good. You turn your attention to John's abode, zooming out. A readout says "100m left," and you assume this means the remaining height until John can access the first gate.
Just like the Sims, you are able to not only influence John's environment, but build upon it, too: Walls and staircases and floors all using drag-and-drop capabilities. Through some careful experimentation, it becomes clear that you do not have to regard conventional building practices, as John's house appears to be mostly anchored in place supernaturally.
The end result is a somewhat greebled-looking house that spirals into the sky. Sadly, you run out of grist almost immediately. You check the readout. "88m to go." Lovely. All that you've managed to place is a few plaforms with a staircase. You watch the grist counter.
John obtained grist from imps, but you haven't actually seen any in your time in the Land of Light and Rain. Maybe your friends are having better luck.
==
TT: How goes the grist collection?
GG: um! bad news. i havent seen any yet. :(
GG: in fact i havent seen any, like, at all. i think my land might not have them?
TT: Dave?
TG: its slow going
TG: they mostly try to climb up the side of my building but they fall into the lava before they get up here and my dumbass sprite just knocks them back down so i cant nab the grist
TG: sorry rolal
TT: Perhaps we could make some form of trap for them? This is all rather annoying.
TG: i dont think thats how it goes
GG: yeah! its a game! so we have to grind and stuff for a little while.
TT: But grinding is boring.
TG: well sure but
TG: thats the game
TT: Well, the game sucks.
==
You cross your arms.
"Jaspers?" you call out. "Any imps?"
"Sorry, Miss Rose! None nearby."
You frown, sighing.
"Jaspers? Where does grist come from?" you ask. Another question that makes Jaspers a little nervous. "It's okay if you don't know," you hastily qualify.
"Well... It comes from imps?"
"Do you know how it gets in the imps?"
"No, Miss Rose..."
"Do you know where the imps come from?"
"Sorry, Miss Rose..."
You pat him on the head before he gets insecure again. This makes no sense. This is a game, sure, but every game is built somehow. They're code, rules, data. This is a real-life game, but even real life has rules. Yet no one will tell you how this game ticks.
"Jaspers?" you ask. You decide if he can't answer your esoteric questions, you'll ask him some he CAN answer.
"Y-yeah, Miss Rose?" he says hesitantly.
"What's that?" you point towards the sky, to the single star, still lit and visible even against the bright sky of your land. Jaspers perks up.
"I know that one, Miss Rose! That's Skaia!" he leans on your shoulder, purring.
"What happens there?"
"Oh, Skaia is a magical place! It's where the forces of light battle the forces of darkness. And it's your final goal in the game!"
He looks so eager to talk about something that he knows about, and you make sure to affect attentiveness as you listen.
"High in Skaia, an eternal stalemate wages betweent he Black King of Derse and the White King of Prospit," he begins. You're already lost, but you don't speak up.
"Those imps you're fighting come from Derse, too! They're sent to prevent you from finishing your quest. But! The forces of light and darkness are locked inside a struggle neither can win." Jaspers pats his chest. "That's where I come in."
"You?" you quirk a brow.
"Yep!" he says proudly. "Before you enter the game, you prototype your kernel- That's me! With an object from your old universe. In your case, it was that cute doll! That's why I still have these funny tentacle arms!" Jaspers wiggles them for good measure. "Once you pass through your first gate, the kernel's data gets sent high into the sky and empowers your enemies."
"So... They gain tentacle-powers, too?" you rub your chin. "So after I go through the gate... The imps we're fighting will be stronger?"
"That's right! But the forces of light will be stronger, too! This process and your entrance into the world is what will finally tip the scales!"
"What if we hadn't prototyped anything? And what if we don't enter our first gates?" you ask. "Wouldn't it be better to not empower our enemies?"
"Well..." Jaspers sits back down. "It would be easier to fight, sure. But if you don't prototype anything, the fight can never finish! The game can't be won unless first you make it winnable? Does that make sense, Rose?"
"I supppose," you say. It sounds arbitrary to you, but it's not like you think Jaspers is lying. "Where do the imps come from? And these forces of light you speak of?"
"Oh! They live on Prospit and Derse, Miss Rose! They're the big moons that orbit Skaia. Prospit orbits inside and Derse orbits past your land."
"Prospit..." that name sounds familiar. You think you've heard Jade say it before. Jaspers continues.
"Derse is the really bad place, though," Jaspers shudders. "That's where all the imps and bad guys live... But! But! Once you defeat the mean king and queen of Derse, that's when you get your Ultimate Reward, Miss Rose!"
"So. Power up through the gates. Beat the Black King and Queen. Claim the reward."
"Yep! There are other steps, but them's the basics!" Jaspers purrs louder. "In fact, you don't even have to kill the king, just break his big nasty scepter. That's where his power comes from! But be careful-" Jaspers's voice gets low and mysterious, like a very spirited narrator of a puppet show. "Once the Black King is in danger, he'll start The Reckoning!"
"The reckoning?" you ask. Jaspers is on a roll now. He points up in the sky. Around Skaia there is a thin grey line that slices the horizon in half.
"Yep! See that big line, Rose? That's a ring of meteors called the veil. The Black King can use his scepter to call the meteors down to crash into Skaia! It's a big mess."
You shudder. You've had enough of meteors, lately.
"Well. We probably have time before that," you say.
"Plenty!" Jaspers agrees.
Before, your house sat on top of a river in New England. Now, it sits atop the ocean in the Land of Light and Rain. Outdoors, you notice that the house is situated on a tiny island, near which is a dock. It strikes you that you haven't seen your mother all day, and a pang of guilt makes you realize that it took you all morning to even think of that.
You walk out into the grass that used to be your yard, checking the coast of the new island you live on, now. You think over what Jaspers was able to tell you.
Prospit... The name of the land Jade dreams about. A big golden city floating in the sky. You wonder about Derse, where the forces of evil come from. Derse... Sounds much more fun than goody-two-shoes Prospit. With a smile, you wonder what they're doing around Derse.
You are no longer Rose Lalonde.
Your name is Jonathan Egbert- Senior. Some might call you... Dad.
At present, you're in jail.
You never thought you'd find yourself in the slammer of all places, being a strictly law-abiding fellow, but you're not in America any more. A hot-blooded patriot like yourself could be jailed for all manner of things, such as exercising too much FREEDOM or speaking out in a way THE MAN didn't like.
Frankly, as the years go by, you find it harder and harder to be patriotic, as things like freedom in your country gave way to instead being warmongers and imperialists, but you're no politician.
That and you're fairly sure America doesn't exist any more.
"Hey!" you say, squeezing your face to the bars of your jail. For some reason, everything here is purple. The walls, the floors, the ceilings, a dark handsome shade of the royal hue. You narrow your eyes. Royal Purple... The color of kings... You feel sick. You bet this place doesn't even know what DEMOCRACY is.
"What is it, you?" asks your jailer, patting a baton against his black-shelled hand. All the funny people in this god-forsaken place are weirded carapaced guys. You don't have anything against the carapaced, of course, and in fact you think they look rather dapper, all clad in smart black and reasonable suits.
Out of respect for the foreign national, you take the reasonable hat off your head.
"What's your name?" you demand. Be polite, but stern. That's the Way of the Dad.
"I'm Authority Regulator number Eight-Two-Eight," he says. Your heart sinks. These poor bastards don't even get names?
"That's a mouthful," you say.
"Well you're a handful," he responds bitterly. He's of course, referring to your numerous jailbreaks in your past few days of captivity. Turns out, compared to these carapace guys, you're pretty strong. The bars of your other cages tore clean off! Now, though, you're in high-security lockdown, alone in a cage that could contain an elephant. You're a little proud of this.
"I'll just call you AR, is that alright, son?" you ask. AR shrugs indifferently.
"When's dinner around here?" you ask. AR seems disarmed by your cooperation. No doubt people have told him all kinds of stories about you busting out of jail recently.
"An hour," he says curtly. He's stopped patting the club against his hand and now has his arms sternly crossed. He's a big fellow, you think. Maybe not ALL these carapaces are creampuffs. You doubt you can fight the guy, but he does appear to have a key ring on his person, one that you're ready to steal at a moment's notice.
"How did you become an, er- Authority Regulator?" you ask politely, trying to establish rapport to get him to come closer. AR sheepishly grimaces, taking the hat off, placing it on the guard table nearby.
"Queen's policy," he says, simply. "I got other side gigs, if you're worried about my quality of life."
You can tell that last part is sarcastic, but your suspicions are confirmed. A monarchy. You shake your head in dismay.
"Sorry she's making you do all this, watch some problem case like myself," you say. AR leans on the bars of your cell, sighing loudly.
"You're not half bad, guy," he says gruffly. "Yeah, the queen's a hard-ass about that sorta thing. Though no one's more pissed than her arch-agent, the Sovreign Slayer."
As the guard talks, you crack your knuckles. Your mother, the famous stage magician Jane Egbert, taught you everything you know about sleight-of-hand. You miss your dear mother so much, but something about tactfully lifting the keyring off the guard's belt and knowing just how to hold it so it doesn't make a jingle makes you think she'd be proud.
"-and so the Slayer's on grunt duty until he shapes up. It's a farce if you ask me," he says, letting another sigh. He nudges you with the elbow through the bars. "But hey. They're not payin' me to yak. They're not payin' me at all! Ha!"
Your heart breaks. You hate to have to betray a noble laborer like this AR fellow, but you have no choice. Before he traipses off down the hall again, you call to him.
"You should consider joining a union!" as you shout, the guard turns back.
"What's a union?"
God damn if that isn't the saddest thing you've ever heard.
Once AR is gone, you fiddle with the keys and unlock yourself, shutting the door carefully behind you. Using your fabled DAD VIGOR, you sprint in the opposite direction of the AR and hoof it up a flight of stairs. You're underground, you know that much, so getting higher is job number one.
Hiding out of sight of a few other guards, you make it to the exit of the building, or at least, near it. The only thing standing between you and the streets outside now is a roomful of carapaces. Looks like there's nothing for it. You roll up your sleeves.
"GANGWAY!" you bellow, hand outstretched like a football star, toppling carapaces like bowling pins, slamming the door open as the alarm begins to blare, but by the time they've raised hell, your feet have hit the bricks. You're free!
Free in a hostile foreign city, that is. Catching your breath in a side street, you slow to a jog, patting your head to make sure your hat is still there. Good. A little bent, but still serviceable.
You decide to take a break and regroup, ducking into what appears to be an abandoned bar, the storefront shattered and crumbling, the booths and tables inside long since coated in purple dust.
Your name is now Roxanne Lalonde, or as some call you- Mom.
You've known this day would come for a long time. Eighteen years, to be precise. If you were a better mom, you would have told your daughter, but as it stands, you're not, and so she never knew of her fate.
Presently, you're trying to help your daughter however you can and the best way you can think to do that is to get out of her way, a place you always seem to find yourself being.
A few days ago, once you found yourself and your home in the Land of Light and Rain, you ectobiologized yourself a boat and sped off across the pastel ocean for the nearest port.
The "nearest port" however turned out to be a shitty island in the middle of the ocean, where your gasless boat is now docked. Right now, you're skipping white stones across the pastel waters in your dirty lab coat, trying to solve the puzzle of your continued survival.
There is no day or night on LOLAR, but you are getting sleepy. The island you're stranded on is about the size of a room in your old house, but it does feature a small opening in the ground leading to what appears to be a cave. Maybe down there is some decent place to get out of the glaring light of the planet.
To your surprise, though, the hole features a ladder of iron attached to the wall, a little like the opening to a manhole. You climb down carefully, feet hitting what feels like stone or concrete at the bottom. You can't see a damn thing and you dind't bring a flashlight, so while your eyes adjust, you stumble around, feeling at the walls. The cave below appears to be fairly large, and odder still, your hand finds a lightswitch, clicking on a massive light high above.
Now illuminated, you can see the room is cavernous, like your own lab at home, dotted with what appears to be gargantuan ectobiology tubes, each one filled with the familiar paradox slime you've worked with for years.
You wander forth, looking into the slime, seeing the faint silhouettes of what appear to be humanoid figures. What have you just stumbled upon? Your musings, however, are cut short by a brusque voice.
"Just what are you doing here?" a voice from behind you cries out. It's stern and stentorian, of a familiar accent you haven't heard in decades. To your abject shock, you turn around, recognition dawning on both your face and the face of this mustachioed intruder.
"Mister Harley?" you say, dumbfounded.
Jacob Fitzgerald Harley steps out of the shadows, hands on his hips. He's wearing a pith helmet and leaning on a rifle, his mustache twisting from side to side, eyeing you up and down, one eye closed behind a monacle.
"What in blue blazes are YOU doing here, Roxanne?" he demands.
"Uh," you scoff, crossing your arms. "That's my line, big guy. You're supposed to be dead!"
You remember it distinctly. A sad obituary, "Jacob Harley dead," read online long ago.
"I AM dead," he insists belligerently.
"Oh fuck," you say, bewildered. "A ghost??"
"Not a ghost, you giddy girl," he says. "What I mean is- I WILL be dead, more than likely. Don't tell me how! I don't want some spoiler to ruin my mind for however long I've got left."
"So... A time traveler?" the pieces slot in. You've seen weirder stuff.
"Bingo," he says. "And a space traveller as well, it seems. I'm far afield, this time- And let me tell you, young lady, I've been FAR afield!"
Jacob beckons you closer. "Now, do tell me, Miss Lalonde. What are you doing now? Last I saw of you, you were babysitting my rugrats back home at the Claire house."
You wince. Those aren't the most pleasant memories for you.
"That was thirty years ago for me," you say. "Now I'm working at your company. Skaianet."
"Hot diggety!" he says, raising his eyebrows. "They must've lowered their employment standards! Thirty years ago... And I thought you were getting up in years! I always knew you'd be an old spinster."
He elbows you in the ribs and you squirm, laughing politely. Jacob never was the most self-aware man and had a habit of stating things rather bluntly at best and unintentionally malicious at worst. You... THINK that was a joke? He's sure grinning about it.
"I'm actually the head of regional-"
"Am I living on the island yet, from your perspective, kitten?" he asks, cutting you off rudely, stroking his mustache. You wince again. No one has called you some derisive pet name in years. He has a way of making everyone around him feel small.
"As far as I know," you reply, clipped.
Jacob shoulders his rifle, striding briskly towards a panel at the opposite end of the room. You recognize it as a transportalizer, colored a deep purple.
"Come along, then, dear," he says with characteristic impatience. "No use reminiscing for me, I'm afraid. The game's afoot- Literally!"
You both step on the panel and in a flash, you are somwehere else. The walls around you are a deep, royal purple and the place is layered in dust. It appears to be the back room of some kind of purple-hued store, the shelves stacked with wine, which Jacob catches you ogling.
"There's a time and a place for the sauce, you," he says, pushing open the door. You linger, however, slipping a small bottle into your jacket pocket. From further in, you hear Jacob exclaim, which makes you run to his side.
"Who the devil are you?!" he demands. The front of the store is some kind of bar, unused stools and tables dotting the place. Behind the counter is a dapperly-dressed man in a hat. A quite handsome man, to boot.
"That's my line, bozo," the handsome fellow says. "Put that thing away, you'll shoot your OTHER eye out, grandpa!"
"Well I never-!" Jacob bristles, but you put your hand on the barrel, lowering it. Your eyes meet the stranger and your heart suddenly hammers.
"Put that away," you say to Jacob. "He's probably just the bartender."
"Shows how much you know," Jacob says, shouldering his weapon. "This bar is a front for a local mafia! They use the teleporter in the back for nefarious deeds. I hijacked it in order to sleuth out the secrets of this mysterious land. THIS man," he says, indicating the dapper stranger. "Is new."
"I'm on the lam, thank you very much," says the man. "Just broke from prison- A dangerous criminal. So I suggest you don't mess with me, see?"
"Haw!" Jacob suddenly looks jovial, sitting at the bar. "Well in that case- A foe of the queen is a friend to me!" He sticks out his hand. "The name is Jacob Harley, at your service, sir!" Surprised, the man shakes it.
"Jon Egbert," he says.
"WHAT?!" you suddenly cry, slamming your hands on the table. The surprised-looking man cries out as you smack his face.
"What the- Woman, what are you doing?" Jacob demands, holding your shoulders. You're fuming now, seeing red.
"You- You've been sending my daughter messages for years! John Egbert, her little friend online! You're sick! Posing as a child to talk to my daughter, you-!"
"H-hold on, now, ma'am!" he says, holding a fearful hand up to block any further slaps. "I'm Jon Egbert SENIOR! My son is- Look-"
He takes out his wallet, opening it. Out spills a folio of photos of him and a small son.
"My son's your daughter's friend, so- Just relax, alright?"
"Oh!" you say, immediately cheerful again. "My mistake."
As the two boys chat, you look at the photos of Jon's kid. This child looks normal and does resemble some of the photos Rose keeps. Jon Senior doesn't seem to mind your outburst and you catch him glancing your way a few times.
"Listen up, you two," Jacob says, snapping you from your distraction. You eye the bottles behind Jon on the shelf. They'd make for a terrific aperetif for a date.
"You're probably wondering- Particularly you, Miss Lalonde, why I'm here." Jacob unshoulders a rucksack. "And how to get home."
Now Jacob has your attention. A way... Home? To a non-destroyed Earth, to boot?
"I know a way back to Earth, one of my informants has agreed to help me. But on the condition we complete a little mission for her- An assassination mission, see?" Jacob withdraws a polaroid photo from his pocket, depicting a black-carapaced woman wearing a stern expression and a crown. "This is the black queen."
"She's the one who locked me up," Jon says bitterly, lifting the photo to inspect it.
"And she's terrorizing the people of this land," Jacob continues. "But more importantly than that... She has something I want."
"More importantly than terrorizin' people?" you scoff. Jacob was always something of an egoist.
"That thing-" Jacob ignores you, withdrawing another photo, this time of a ring with four pearls inset on it. "-is this. The ring of orbs fourfold! One of a set. The other is elsewhere, in safe hands, but this one is presently on the finger of the dastardly black queen."
"And you want our help?" Jon asks.
"Sharp man!" Jacob says eagerly. "You help me square away this big shiny bitch and the three of us will coast on back home."
"But home is-" Jon begins his sentence, but Jacob cuts him off.
"For YOU, home is gone, but I'll be taking you back well before all that nonsense. You could live out your lives any time in history you like, see?"
Jon seems to think this over. You do, too, and while thinking, your eyes meet. You both look away hastily. Jacob scowls at this.
"What about my son?" Jon asks. To this, Jacob actually looks somewhat forlorn.
"Listen, Jon," Jacob puts a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Your son and Roxy's kid are part of something else, now. You're going to have to let him go."
Jon doesn't appear happy about this, but you have the strong sense that, like yourself, he hasn't felt like his child needs protecting for years.
"I have to at least see him before we go," Jon relents. Jacob nods curtly.
"And I suppose you want to see your little girl, too, Roxy?" Jacob's question takes you off-balance.
"Huh?"
"Your girl. You just said you had one when you nearly assaulted this gent, here." Jacob looks impatient.
"Oh," you swallow. "I don't think she'd want to see me."
There's a long, dusty silence in the empty bar.
"Well that's a fucking downer!" Jacob announces, clapping his hands together. "We'll rest here for the night and set out to take the ring come tomorrow!"
"I'm happy just to bring democracy to this great nation," says Jon rather patriotically. Something about his conviction just makes your heart swoon in spite of Jacob's buffonery.
"I'm coming, too," you say hastily, stepping close to the strapping fellow in the fedora. "Y'know. For, uh, democracy 'n such." Upon saying that, he smiles warmly and you think you might gasp out loud. You might be in your fifties (forties on your driver's license) but he's making you feel like a schoolgirl.
"Sounds good. Operation Regicide is a go. Before bed, let's talk strat-" Jacob's jovial words are cut off by silence, however, as outside, you all hear voices.
"Shit," Jacob hisses, grabbing you on the shoulder, tugging you towards the back from whence you came. "That must be this place's earnest owners. We have to hide."
The three of you rush into the back room just as the door opens and four figures burst in.
Chapter 14: Act 2 Episode 3: Time Shenanigans
Chapter Text
11:31 AM
Your name is Derek Strider, but you hate that name. Most people just call you "Bro."
You've known about the apocalypse for a long time, tipped off by a friend of yours who works at Skaianet, an international research conglomerate. Still- Seeing something coming still doesn't prepare you for the reality, no matter how many rocket-skateboard propelled bombs you craft.
Even so, now you're on the other side of the apocalypse, standing on the roof of your apartment building, which is now perched high above a lake of lava. Roxanne didn't tell you about this.
You consider going back downstairs to confront your brother, but something stops you.
For years, you've been trying to make your little brother stronger, to build him into the man he needs to be to overcome the challenges waiting him in this strange land. But your memory drifts to the fight you both had on the roof just this morning, to the way he merely laid down to take a beating.
From below, you see a small skiff skipping across the lava, manned by two little gremlin-looking things. The beeline they're cutting in the gloopy hot mess indicates their target is your apartment, and if they're coming now, more will come later.
You look towards the entrance to the stairwell, walking towards it, your mind reeling over the decision you have to make.
Dave isn't ready. In fact- He's less than not ready. He's a creampuff. A weakling. A liability. You hate thinking that about your own flesh and blood, but you know deep down it's true.
You hold your puppet Li'l Cal in your hands, an heirloom you one day hoped to pass on to him, but you suppose that day never came. You slip into his room, undetected due to your mastery of stealth.
Your fingers let go of Li'l Cal, placing him on the empty table across from Dave behind him, exiting the room, one final gift to your brother.
"You did all you could," you reassure yourself, adjusting your shades on your face, feeling tears sting behind your eyes. You know you did. You fought with him every single day on the roof and in spite of all those fights, all that adversity, he never rose above it.
Back on the roof, the alien skiff is approaching faster, now, no longer a dot on the horizon but an audible presence. It's time to leave.
Now is the time to throw Dave into the deep end, even though you know he'll drown. There's no hope for him, but still, you have to suppress your instincts. Either those imps will tear him apart or something else will.
In that moment, your brother dies to you as you lean off the side of the roof, feet planted on a rocket board, speeding off into the dark.
You shed a bitter tear that sizzles in the lava below.
Your name is now Dave Strider.
Turning from your computer, you scream. Behind you, sitting on the table where your broken turntables once sat is your brother's stupid fucking puppet, Li'l Cal. Heart pounding, you smack the leering mannequin from the desk, fuming. The orange crow-sprite lights beside it. Rose DID say you need to prototype the thing again with something humanoid. You grit your teeth. For some reason, you feel like you're making the wrong choice, but you wave your hand bitterly.
"Go for it," you tell the bird. In a flash, the bird lights on Cal and before your very eyes, the most horrible thing you've seen in your life is born.
"HEE HEE HEE HEE!" howls the smug orange visage of Calsprite, wings spreading triumphantly.
"BETTA WATCH OUT, MISTA DAVE! THERE'S SOME IMPS COMIN' AT'CHA FROM YA WINDOW! HAA HAA HAA HAA!" it cries, pointing a jittery puppet-finger towards the window.
The sound of Calsprite's voice is so obnoxious that you can barely think. As you draw your broken katana, you peek out the window. Sure enough, two black-colored creatures with leering teeth and claws are climbing the side of the sunken apartment complex.
"DON'T'CHA WORRY, MISTA DAVE! I'LL TAKE CARE'A THESE GUYS QUICK!" Cal says, shoving you away from the window-sill. From his gaping eyes, beams shoot and the imps fall back into the lava, howling animalistically, where they explode into grist.
"Don't do that," you say, annoyed. "We need the grist, dipshit." You pinch the bridge of your nose, pushing your shades up. This was a fucking mistake.
"HEE HEE HEE SORRY BOSS!" Cal says, but he doesn't sound sorry in the least. While you argue with your sprite, your computer pings, but you're not there to read it.
==
EB: dave!
EB: do you know anything about gallowsCallibrator?
EB: she offered to help but i think i need a second opinion.
EB: she says she knows a shortcut to the first gate!!
EB: dave?
EB: dave!
EB: dave dave dave dave dave dave.
EB: bah. whatever. i'm just overthinking things!
EB: by the way do you know why these troll guys keep calling me "june?" i think it's a cool nickname!
==
June- You mean John, already logged off by the time you're able to respond. Whatever. He's dealing with some shit of his own, now.
"Just-" you huff exhasperatedly at Cal. "Make yourself useful."
"HOWZAT, BIG MAN?" Cal asks, cocking his rictus-grinning head at you.
"Can you fix turntables?" you say sarcastically, pointing your thumb at your broken set on the floor, turning back to the computer.
==
TG: rose
TG: i think i fucked up
TT: Dave. Any grist progress?
TG: no
TT: Looks like none of us are. John is awake, but he's been screwing around away from his computer all day. It's maddening.
TG: he said hes been talking to a troll
TT: They do seem to know about the game we're playing.
TG: i think its fuckin stupid personally but whatev
TG: theyre aliens that much is certain now
TG: since yknow. the planet that were all from is kaput
TG: god listen to me
TG: "kaput"
TG: im already jaded
TG: am i jaded rose
TT: I don't know. I think you need a nap, frankly. We all do.
TT: Just keep an eye on John. He's been ectobiologizing things all day long. It's starting to worry me. We shouldn't toy with those machines, they could be dangerous.
TG: im sure the dude is going to be fine
TG: after all thats his name
TG: ectobiologist
TT: Don't you find that odd? The fact that John's username is the very thing we're now doing in-game? That my mother had one of those machines in her basement?
TT: I mean, "ectobiologize" isn't a word.
TG: eeehh
TG: idk i guess
TG: in my experiences coincidences happen
TG: even wild crazy ones
TG: until it turns out they werent all along
TT: Have you been doing any of it?
TG: ectobiologizing? no
TT: You should. Jade said she put a machine on your roof so we can all have one.
TG: aight
==
You decide to check out this machine, noticing that Calsprite is gone. Far from put you at ease, this makes you nervous, even though it is now quiet.
"Cal? Don't fuck anything up," you shout, hoping he can hear you but highly skeptical he'd heed that warning, peeking around the house before hoofing it to the blacktop roof. To your dismay, you see the ectobiology machine, the dismaying element being Cal crouching in front of it, laughing as he presses buttons like a mad scientist.
"What the hell-?!" you cry, rushing towards him as he dumps the two halves of your turntables into a tube, hitting a button. To your horror, they disappear with a melodic noise. "What the fuck, man?!" you demand, swatting Cal on the back.
"BOSS!" he cries delightedly, slinging his weird limp puppet-arm around your shoulder. You recoil but he's surprisingly strong. "I FIXED UP YA TURNTABLES WIT A LIDDLE BIT'A ECTO-WHOOZITS!"
"You didn't do anything! You made them disappear, you brainless puppety jackass," you shove him off, getting sick of this.
"NAW NAW, THEY'RE JUS' OVER HERE, BOSS!" Cal insists, bounding over to the alchemiter.
On the platform sit... You're not sure what. They appear to be turntables, but they're floating in midair at hand-level off the ground, two records spinning in each. They're still in half, and instead of mounted on a table, the records are set into two red disks that each look like gears.
"SEE? ALL FIXED UP!" Cal beams. "AND WITH SOME EXTRA FEATURES, TOO!"
As soon as Cal speaks, there's a flash behind you. You've had enough with fantastical flashes, today, so when you turn around it's irritably, your growing anger making your face hot-red with confusion and embarrassment.
"Alright, what the fuck is- Huh?" Instead of being jump-scared, this time you're creeped out. Behind you, about two steps away, is... You. A clone of you or... SOMETHING, staring back just as dumbfounded as you are.
"Holy shit," the other Dave says, incredulous, looking down at his own set of turntables, floating under his own hands.
"HOO HOO HOO HOO!" Cal grins wider at you and your new doppleganger.
"Shut up, Cal," you say in tandem, heads swiveling toward the other.
"Who the hell are you?" you demand, confused. It's surreal seeing yourself outside of a mirror, like this is some unruly reflection that won't obey you. It should piss you off, but anyone that isn't Cal is welcome in your mind at the moment.
"Those," other-Dave says, nodding to your turntables. "Something happened when Cal fixed 'em up. I don't know if I should explain. Just try it," he says, and you feel your hands moving to scratch the record, tentatively. Other-Dave nods encouragingly, and you set your fingertips on the glossy ribbed surface, moving the smooth discs with a scratching noise.
As you do, something odd happens. The whole world suddenly sounds wrong, like a rewinding tape, other-Dave and Cal moving of their own volition before you break out of it as you let go of the record.
"Alright, what the fuck is- Huh?" you hear a familiar voice from in front of you... More than familiar, it's identical to the thing you'd just said moments ago. It's other-Dave again, or... No. No, that's Dave, and now YOU'RE other-Dave. You stare at him (aka yourself), dumbfounded.
"HOO HOO HOO HOO!" Cal grins wide again, and you find yourself saying,
"Shut up Cal," just like before.
"Who the hell are you?" other Dave says, but you cut him off. You know your lines, they're written into you.
"Try it," you say, and as you-from-ten-seconds-ago places his hands on the tables, he vanishes.
"What the hell, Cal?" you say, not angry at the puppet-bird for the first time today. "What did you combine these with??"
"I'UNNO, BOSS!" he says, shrugging. "I KNEW THEY WAS YOURS, SO I TOOK A CLONE OF YOU AND COMBINED 'EM WITH YOUR TABLES TO TRY 'N FIX EM!"
You look down at the tools, still floating at your sides, ready to be used. For the first time lately, instead of annoyed, you're excited.
"Holy shit," you say in disbelief. "I'm a time traveller."
Allegedly, "11:31 AM"
Your name is John Egbert.
After waking up from an alarming dream, you feel a little disoriented. You feel like in spite of sleeping in, you're not very well rested. Even still- You have a job to do. It's time to beat this shitty game!
According to Rose, everyone has a job except for you, so you're stuck waiting, and it makes you feel sort of useless! Everyone's risking themselves getting grist for you, but you're trapped on your house. Worse still, no one is available to chat.
So, against your better judgement, you decide to take a chance and message the trolls through VGFaqs.
==
ectoBiologist:
hey. are there any trolls still here?
carcinoGeneticist:
UNFORTUNATELY.
ectoBiologist:
can i message you on pesterchum?? i have some questions.
carcinoGeneticist:
YOU ALREADY HAVE MY HANDLE, WISE-ASS. WE'VE SPOKEN BEFORE.
ectoBiologist:
ohhhh right... yeah you're on my blocklist.
sorry. :(
carcinoGeneticist:
WELL TAKE ME OFF!
ectoBiologist:
um! before i do... do any OTHER trolls want to chat with me?
cacinoGeneticist:
JUNE, I AM YOUR ONLY OPTION. I AM THE ONLY ONE OF MY GROUP MAGNANIMOUS ENOUGH TO LOWER MYSELF TO REASON WITH LESSER CREATURES LIKE YOU. YOUR ONLY HOPE, AS IT WERE.
gallowsCallibrator:
1'LL M3SAG3 YOU, JUN3. >:]
carcinoGeneticist:
FUCK!
==
After exchanging handles, you open communique with GC. You feel bad about blowing off Mr. Geneticist, but you don't feel like getting yelled at. Maybe the leetspeaking one has more insight.
==
GC: W3LL, W3LL W3LL. F1N4LLY, YOU'V3 COM3 CR4WL1NG TO US FOR 4DV1C3. 1T'S NOT L1K3 W3 D1DN'T W4RN YOU.
EB: haha yeah!
EB: i guess?
EB: i mean to be fair you did kind of seem to hate us from your posts.
GC: HUM4NS 4R3 4N 4BSURD SP3C13S. 4LLOW1NG SOM3TH1NG 4S SH4LLOW 4S "D1SL1K3" 4FF3CT YOUR 1NT3R4CT1ONS W1TH 4 P3RSON.
EB: ugh.
EB: are you going to help me or roast me?
GC: TH3Y'R3 NOT MUTU4LLY 3XCLUS1V3, JUN3.
EB: and another thing!!
EB: why do you keep calling me that?
GC: JUN3?
GC: B3C4US3 1T'S YOUR N4M3.
EB: it's not!!
GC: OH. R34LLY?
EB: no! it's john.
GC: TH4T'S NOT WH4T YOU S4Y L4T3R ON.
EB: what do you mean "later on??"
EB: holy shit. are you... time travelers??
GC: NO, MOR3 L1K3... T1M3 R34D3RS.
GC: W3LL, OK4Y, ON3 OF US 1S 4 T1M3 TR4V3L3R, BUT SH3 1S 1RR3L3V4NT.
EB: so you're saying that... later on i start going by "june?"
GC: Y3S.
EB: i guess it IS a nice name. even if it is for girls.
GC: WHY WOULD 1T B31NG FOR G1RLS M4TT3R?
EB: yeah!
EB: you're right. i should just go by any name i like.
GC: TH4T'S NOT WH4T 1 M34NT?
GC: BUT TH1S DO3SN'T M4TT3R, JUN3. YOU W4NT3D 4DV1C3.
EB: right.
EB: we need help getting grist early on to reach the gates.
GC: OH, TH4T'S 4DOR4BL3! G3TT1NG GR1ST L1K3 W1GGL3RS.
GC: YOU'R3 DO1NG 1T WRONG, JUN3. TH4T'S TH3 LOS3R W4Y TO R34CH TH3 G4T3. YOU C4N DO TH4T W1THOUT BU1LD1NG YOUR HOUS3 UP.
EB: holy shit. really?
GC: OF COURS3. 4LL YOU N33D TO DO 1S H4V3 YOUR BODY P4SS THROUGH 1T. 34SY.
EB: easy!
EB: except it's not, dipshit.
EB: what do i do, just fucking jump a hundred meters in the air?
GC: H4! ON3 OF OUR GUYS D1D TH4T.
GC: 3V3RYON3 3LS3 FL3W.
GC: 3XC3PT K4RK4T. H3 1NS1ST3D H3 W4NT3D TO DO 1T TH3 "R1GHT" W4Y SO H3 BU1LT UP H1S H1V3 L1K3 4 P3TUL4NT TURD.
EB: LOL
EB: is that CG's name??
EB: car cat??
GC: 1T 1S 4N 3XC3PT1ON4LLY SH1TTY N4M3.
EB: oh MAN.
EB: this is so great!
EB: but anyway! how do i fly there?
EB: i don't exactly just have a plane lying around.
GC: W3LL, TH3N. 1 C4N H3LP YOU OUT, TH3R3. LOOK 4T YOUR 3CTOB1OLOGY M4TR1X.
==
You walk to your ectobiology machine, looking over the inscrutable controls.
==
EB: okay.
EB: i can combine stuff to get new stuff, right?
EB: like crafting loot in an RPG.
GC: 3X4CTLY. BUT 1F YOU KNOW WH3R3 TO G3T R34LLY GOOD LOOT, YOU C4N SK1P OV3R TH3 PROC3SS 3NT1R3LY.
EB: and i take it you have this "good loot."
GC: >:]
EB: so... what. you're going to just give it to me? for free?
GC: JUN3. 1 KNOW YOU L1K3 PR4NKS.
GC: CONS1D3R TH1S... ON3 OF MY OWN PR4NKS.
EB: i DO like pranks.
EB: but i don't get it. how will giving me a free flying contraption be a "prank?"
GC: 1'LL PUT 1T TH1S W4Y, JUN3. 1T W1LL G3T YOUR BODY THROUGH TH3 PORT4L 4T TH3 V3RY L34ST. TH3 R3ST 1S MY L1TTL3 S3CR3T.
EB: heh.
EB: okay GC!
EB: i accept your help!
GC: GR34T! NOW 3NT3R TH3S3 COORD1N4T3S 4ND COMB1N3 TH3 1T3M W1TH SOM3TH1NG TO M4K3 1T 41RBORN3-V14BL3.
EB: oh!
EB: i forgot to ask. you know MY name, but what's yours?
GC: JO3.
EB: oh okay.
GC: JO3 LUSUS!!
EB: uh.
EB: got it!
==
Joe sends you some coordinates, which you enter into the machine. Oddly, it says "out of range error."
==
EB: mister lusus?
GC: TH4T'S M1SSUS LUSUS TO YOU JUN3. >:]
EB: oh! sorry.
EB: joe is normally a boy's name where i come from.
GC: MY N4M3 1SN'T R34LLY "JO3," D1NGUS. 1T'S T3R3Z1. TH4T W4S ON3 OF MY PR4NKS.
EB: well your pranks are shitty!
GC: WRONG. YOU'R3 JUST TOO S1MPL3 TO UND3RST4ND TH3M. M4YB3 K4RK4T W4S R1GHT.
EB: *eyeroll*
GC: H4NG ON, 1 H4V3 4 SOLUT1ON. 1'LL S3ND YOU 4 D1FF3R3NT S3T OF COORD1N4T3S. JUST G1V3 M3 4 S3C.
==
After a moment, Terezi sends you another set. Curiously, the indicator screen shows a red-colored rocket ship floating in space.
==
EB: that's weird.
EB: the rocket is just... floating. how did it get there?
GC: 1'M GL4D YOU 4SK3D. 4T GR34T P3RSON4L R1SK TO MYS3LF, 1 PL4C3D 1T TH3R3.
EB: in... space?
GC: LOOK. 1T'S NOT MY F4ULT 1T'S FLO4T1NG 1N SP4C3, OK4Y? 1 C4N'T 4CC3SS YOUR STUP1D UN1V3RS3 B3C4US3 OF TH3 D3MON YOU S3NT US.
EB: i...
EB: i'm not entirely sure what that sentence means!
EB: but okay!
EB: what is this thing, anyway?
GC: 1T'S TH3 R3D ROCK3T.
EB: haw haw. another "prank?"
GC: NO? TH4T'S TH3 OBJ3CT'S N4M3. 1 3CTOB1OLOG1Z3D 1T MYS3LF.
GC: WHY? DO3S "R3D ROCK3T" M34N SOM3TH1NG 3LS3 TO HUM4NS?
EB: uh!
EB: don't worry about it.
==
You decide to combine the... "crimson jet propulsion unit" with a backpack lying around in your room. You slam the button and there it is, just like Terezi promised- Your very own red jet pack!
==
EB: alright!!
EB: i didn't expect anything to actually happen.
EB: this baby'll fly me to the stars!
GC: GOOD LUCK, JUN3.
GC: >:]
EB: here i go!
==
You SAY "here you go," but you're... Still not sure about this. Something about this leaves too many unanswered questions for you. Why was a rocket floating in space? What did Terezi mean by demon? Maybe you need a second opinion.
==
EB: dave!
EB: do you know anything about gallowsCallibrator?
EB: she offered to help but i think i need a second opinion.
EB: she says she knows a shortcut to the first gate!!
EB: dave?
EB: dave!
EB: dave dave dave dave dave dave.
EB: bah. whatever. i'm just overthinking things!
EB: by the way do you know why these troll guys keep calling me "june?" i think it's a cool nickname!
==
No answer. He's probably busy. You hitch the backpack to your back and decide to take a test flight. Hesitantly, you hover above the ground a little bit, moving back and forth. No horrific accidents so far. This thing is great!
From indoors, your Nana sees you.
"John!" she says, hands on her hips. "What on LOWAS is THAT thing?"
"It's, uh!" you hesitate, almost saying "red rocket." Changing course, you correct. "A jetpack! This baby will take me straight to the gate!"
"Good heavens!" Nana says. "But what about building up your house?"
"Screw that!" you say gleefully. You're having WAY too much on this thing, zipping about, weightless, now quite high above your home.
"Come down here this instant, you!" your Nana says with a warning in her voice, but she's already a distant blue blip as you rocket towards your gate, eyes stinging from the wind.
You're not sure what Terezi meant by "prank-" this thing works great! If it gets your body through the gate, that's good enough for you, and as you approach the blue ring in the sky, you hoot with triumph as you pass through. You're doing it! You're flying for the first time in your life! Before now, you saw this game and the trolls as horrible and scary, but wearing this jetpack, you feel invincible, you feel unstoppable! Wind whips your hair and freedom blossoms in your chest.
"Ha! So long, su-"
Sadly, as soon as you pass through the ring, you explode and die.
Allegedly, "12:42 PM"
Your name is Dave Strider.
Being a time traveler rules. You've been spending the past hour messing around with it, zipping to different moments on your roof, amusedly high-fiving your past-selves as they zip away to become you. All the while obtaining high-fives from your own future selves. The high five economy is booming.
Breathlessly, you end the festivities, feeling a little self-consciously silly. You've always loved time travel in movies, from Back to the Future to... Well, that's the main one you always liked. You even got a puffy vest just like Marty when you were younger.
Still- Time travel in movies is always different, no two have the same mechanics. It makes you curious.
"Hey, Cal," you ask your bird-puppet help character- "Help" here being used quite loosely.
"YEAH, BOSS?" he asks in that Harley-Quinn-esque squeak of his.
"What happens if, like. I go back in time, but then I DON'T become myself?" You can already feel yourself brushing against the limits of human speech to explain this stuff. "Like... When I go back, I remember what to do because I just saw it happen. Or when I go forward then I know what to do later- Ugh."
Cal cocks his head at you.
"Like, I have to become my furture self, right? But in time travel I can accidentally NOT become my future self."
Cal cocks further.
"Say... If a future me appears right there and says 'Fiddlesticks,' I have to become him later down the line. Otherwise it couldn't have happened. You follow?"
Cal doesn't. You're not getting anything out of him.
"SORRY BOSS! YOUR BRUDDAH DIDN'T GIVE ME ENOUGH FLUFF IN THE HEAD!" Cal cackles, but you're suddenly nervous. You're not eager to try out what you just outlined. Maybe it's time to ask someone else.
==
turntechGodhead:
yo does anyone here know about time travel?
carcinoGeneticist:
SHOULDN'T YOU? MISTER KNIGHT OF TIME.
turntechGodhead:
uh. anyone? anyone at all?
carcinoGeneticist:
DON'T IGNORE ME, YOU BULGENUZZLER!
YOU WON'T GET ANY ANSWERS HERE. GC IS ALREADY FOOLING AROUND WITH JUNE.
turntechGodhead:
hot
carcinoGeneticist:
YOU'RE DISGUSTING.
JUST GIVE IT UP. MAYBE IF WE'RE ALL VERY VERY LUCKY, YOU'LL ACCIDENTALLY START *ANOTHER* DOOMED TIMELINE.
apocalypseArisen:
i am familiar with time travel myself, dave. feel free t0 message me, please.
carcinoGeneticist:
OH COME ON!
==
You've never seen this troll before. You feel a strange wave of apprehension. Moments before you'd been so eager to try out your powers, but now they feel a little scary. What had Carcino meant by "doomed timeline?" You message this Apocalypse person.
==
AA: hell0, dave.
TG: uh
TG: yo
TG: kind of creepy you know my name already considering weve never met
AA: i'm s0rry.
TG: its cool
TG: just tell me your name so were even
AA: it's aradia. i am the time player 0f my sessi0n, like you.
TG: whoa
TG: so every sburb game has like
TG: a time travelling guy
AA: yes, actually.
TG: wow
TG: lucky me
TG: i do have some questions
TG: from one time traveling guy to another
AA: i am n0t a guy.
TG: oh shit sorry
AA: it is n0t a big deal to we trolls.
TG: oh
TG: right so
TG: i dont want to accidentally fuck something up
TG: time ways i mean
AA: that is very wise. i was n0t as careful as y0u were and it caused a l0t 0f pr0blems f0r me.
TG: shit okay
AA: the mechanics 0f time travel are quite simple. yet hard t0 describe linguistically.
AA: basically, y0u just need t0 always make sure if y0u m0ve in the timeline, y0u always bec0me y0urself later.
AA: i am explaining this p00rly.
TG: youre really not i think i get it 100%
TG: if i say, get an apple as a gift from my future self
TG: i would have to eventually find that apple and give it to my past self
TG: otherwise a paradox would happen and fuck things up
TG: or if i wanted to give my past self an apple
TG: i would have to have like, already obtain an apple from my future self
AA: yes. g00d j0b. i am very happy t0 be speaking t0 s0me0ne wh0 gets this.
TG: so its bill and ted rules
AA: i d0 n0t kn0w what that means.
TG: remind me to send you a dvd later
TG: ok ok but what happens if i dont become me later
TG: like i fuck up and never become future dave
AA: y0u will enter what i have c0me t0 refer t0 as a "d00med timeline."
TG: oh fuck
TG: im glad i didnt mess around and make one of those
AA: 0h.
AA: well um.
AA: i am afraid that y0u are already 0n a d00med timeline, dave.
TG: wait
TG: shit what
TG: really
AA: s0me d00med timelines are unav0idable. im very s0rry.
AA: the chat client s0ftware i use can see y0ur main timeline, which we call the "alpha" timeline, but it can als0 see the "d00med" timeline, which is made when any mistake 0ccurs which creates a parad0x.
AA: let us say y0u see y0ur future self appear and he says, f0r example, "fiddlesticks." y0u w0uld then need t0 bec0me him and finish what we call the "l00p." if y0u finish it all is well. but if y0u d0 n0t, pr0blems arise. y0u are n0 l0nger the dave wh0 said "fiddlesticks." it bec0mes imp0ssible.
TG: but you said the rules and ive been following them
AA: y0u have. y0u did n0t cause this parad0x y0u are presently 0n.
TG: what happens to a doomed timeline?
AA: n0thing.
TG: oh
TG: so... what im just going to be off the timeline forever
AA: n0. when i say "n0thing" i mean it in an active sense. the d00med timelines terminate and disintegrate. y0u will die.
TG: fuck
TG: what about my friends
AA: they are still alive and well. 0n the alpha timeline, that is.
TG: this is
TG: im confused
AA: n0 y0u are n0t. y0u are refusing t0 reck0n with the fact that y0u may s00n die.
TG: youre one blunt bitch
TG: okay how do i fix this
AA: there is n0thing t0 fix. y0ur timeline will terminate, eliminating all the beings inside it. y0u are n0 l0nger "real."
TG: you cant just fucking
TG: tell a guy hes not real aradia fuck
TG: how did this happen
TG: where did i fuck up
AA: it might make y0u feel better t0 say that y0u did n0t make this mistake.
AA: it was 0ne 0f my friends, actually. her interference caused issues.
AA: issues that in this case d0 indeed need fixing.
==
You feel yourself starting to breathe heavily. Something deep down inside you knows that Aradia is telling the truth. You've felt like something is deeply wrong ever since...
==
TG: oh god
TG: it was john wasnt it
TG: he got help from GC and that fucked everything
TG: i didnt stop him SHIT
TG: god im such a fucking bozo i shouldnt have been fooling around i should have responded
AA: yes. gc interfered and made y0ur friend expl0de, which is n0t h0w the alpha timeline sh0uld have g0ne.
AA: y0ur friend j0hn needs t0 survive, 0therwise y0ur entire existence c0mes und0ne. n0w that he is dead, well.
TG: so youre saying she like
TG: fucked up the alpha timeline by killing my best friend
TG: thats-
TG: shit
TG: hes dead?? john is dead??
AA: yes.
TG: no
TG: no no no no no fuck
TG: this keeps happening
TG: gc is going to fucking pay
AA: calm d0wn.
AA: she can be. difficult.
AA: but th0ugh the alpha thread has been br0ken, it can be mended. in fact, y0u are in a unique p0siti0n t0 mend it, d00med dave. j0hn d0es n0t have t0 die. in a sense, he has n0t at all.
TG: tell me how
TG: now
AA: y0u must g0 back t0 where the alpha timeline br0ke. y0u have t0 prevent j0hn fr0m dying. since y0u are d00med, y0u are irrelevant t0 the alpha timeline. this means y0u can act any way y0u need in it. it is a strategy i used many times.
TG: right okay
TG: i go back
TG: stop john from talking to gc
TG: bing bang boom im not doomed dave any more
AA: inc0rrect, i am afraid.
AA: since y0u hail fr0m a time parad0x, the dave in the alpha timeline will never bec0me y0u. theref0re he will n0t leave his p0st as alpha dave. y0u will be... a spare guy. a... 0ne up.
TG: oh
TG: i guess thats better than like
TG: dying
AA: i tend t0 think s0.
TG: ok well
TG: fuck
AA: y0u kn0w what t0 d0 i think.
TG: ...okay
TG: thanks aradia
==
You do know what to do. You look out your window over the lava, towards the darkness of the Land of Heat and Clockwork. The horizon looks a lot closer than it did before, like the planet itself is shrinking, like you're looking to the end of the incredibly small universe. Details around you look fuzzy and Cal, behind you sits silently, uncannily staring into the distance.
You can feel it. Your world unraveling, just like Aradia said. It all feels so suddenly pointless, so idiotic, so maddeningly horrible. Your mind shifts to Chad's last words to you and it makes your whole body feel too heavy to move.
What's the point? Why bother? Why fix the Alpha timeline? You're already dead, your peripheral vision beginning to blur.
But... Then you think of John. Your friend, your leader. A goofball. A dope. An idiot. A person. A person who you can save.
Your hand touches your turntables and with a hefty spin, you toss them back, the world around you reversing.
11:31 AM
Your name is Derek Strider, but you hate that name. Most people just call you "Bro."
You've known about the apocalypse for a long time, tipped off by a friend of yours who works at Skaianet, an international research conglomerate. Still- Seeing something coming still doesn't prepare you for the reality, no matter how many rocket-skateboard propelled bombs you craft.
Even so, now you're on the other side of the apocalypse, standing on the roof of your apartment building, which is now perched high above a lake of lava. Roxanne didn't tell you about this.
You consider going back downstairs to confront your brother, but something stops you.
You look towards the entrance to the stairwell, walking towards it, your mind reeling over the decision you have to make.
Dave isn't ready. In fact- He's less than not ready. He's a creampuff. A weakling. A liability. You hate thinking that about your own flesh and blood, but you know deep down it's true.
Then, suddenly, as if exploding out of thin air, Dave appears, panting haggardly. At his side are two floating records.
"Bro!" he exclaims, grabbing your shoulders. "Where am I?!"
You balk. Dave's never laid his hands on you before, let alone taken you by surprise.
"Uh-" you fix your shades, which went askew when your brother shook you. "You're on our roof, on-"
"No, jackass!" he cuts you off, to which you're again shocked at. "The OTHER me! The- Ugh, fuck this."
Dave whips his head around, hastily dashing towards the stairwell, but he seems to reconsider, dashing back, and before you can blink, he wrenches Li'l Cal from your hands and tosses him off the roof and into the lava below.
"What the- Dave!" you cry, hastily chasing, but it's no use. You watch helplessly as your beloved puppet, your Cal, sinks into the lava below. "You're dead, you little-" you begin to say through gritted teeth, but when you turn around, Dave is gone.
Back on the roof, the alien skiff is approaching faster, now, no longer a dot on the horizon but an audible presence. It's time to leave.
You thought you knew your little brother, but something is starting to gnaw at you. The feeling that you don't actually know the boy you raised one bit. You set off into the darkness.
Your name is now Dave Strider.
You turn from your computer screen, half expecting to see Li'l Cal leering at you, but it's just your orange bird-sprite. You remember Rose saying that you ought to prototype the little guy again, preferrably with something that can speak, so he can be a decent help character.
You look around your room, but nothing comes to mind. You have a few weird bugs encased in amber on your shelves, but that doesn't really sound great. A weird bug is fine to look at dead, but you don't want your questing buddy to be a fucking millipede.
Then, suddenly, your bro kicks in your door.
"What the fuck, man?!" you say, defensively hugging yourself. Wait- That's not your brother.
"No time to explain," says the guy.
"You're-" you stammer out as this blonde, beshaded stranger grabs your shoulders.
"I'm you! Yes! That shit can wait, you beautiful dipshit. Listen to me-" your doppleganger grabs you by the shoulders, lifting his shades above his eyes.
You're not sure what the fuck is going on right now, but this guy seems to be you, and you figure who better to trust than yourself. From behind you your computer beeps. It's John.
"Gah! Fuck!" the other you cries.
==
EB: dave!
EB: do you know anything about gallowsCallibrator?
==
"Uh- Are you sure? John's just being a dork, he can wait-" you say hesitantly.
"NO!" the clone-dave insists. "Tell him not to listen to the troll."
The urgency in other-Dave's voice shakes you. You turn to the screen without another word.
==
EB: she offered to help but i think i need a second opinion.
EB: she says she knows a shortcut to the first gate!!
EB: dave?
TG: uh hey man
EB: hey!
EB: what's going on?
TG: oh uh
==
You look over your shoulder at your wild-eyed copy.
==
TG: ill
TG: ill tell you later okay man
TG: just dont listen to the trolls
TG: we shouldnt trust those clowns
TG: the four of us have got this shit on lock
EB: even if she really helped me out with a cool piece of loot?
TG: lmao
TG: cmon dude
TG: the only reason theyd give that shit to you for free is because it was some sick joke
EB: hmmmm.
EB: she DID say something about a prank...
TG: let me talk to her
TG: dont mess around with that shit
EB: heh. okay, dave! you're right.
EB: you doing okay, by the way?
TG: aw jeez john you do care
TG: im shedding a single manly tear down my rugged cheekbone
TG: all catching the camera and glistening and shit
EB: i'll take that as a yes! see you soon. :)
==
With that out of the way, you turn to clone-Dave.
"Yo," you say.
"Sup," he replies. Things are silent between the both of you. It's a comfortable silence, one that you break.
"So. Are you like... Really me? Or some fake me about to kill me and take my place?"
"I'm you, but from a doomed timeline," replies the other-Dave.
"Okay," you say, already lost.
"Basically- We're time travelers. I'm like... Whatever the opposite of the terminator is. I'm a guy who's going to save your ass from dying."
"Yeah, but that's what the Terminator was in T2. Remember?"
"Yeah, exactly. I'm Arnold in T2."
"Tight."
"Tight."
Another long silence. Alt-Dave points at the crow.
"Didn't you prototype this thing yet?" he asks.
"No."
"I prototyped mine with Li'l Cal. It was a fucking mistake." Alt-Dave runs a hand through his hair. It's surreal watching your own habits play out on another person, like listening to your voice on a recording for the very first time.
"That sounds shitty," you say. "But I can't think of anything better."
Alt-Dave blinks, getting a look on his face. You watch, curiously as he silently leans down, a hand extended to your crow, who hops into his hand. A moment later, there's a flash of orange light.
Before your eyes, Dave is transformed. You can't help but look in awe as wings spread from his shoulderblades, his skin and hair glowing orange. He looks at his hands, then over his shoulder at his wings, and when he looks back at you, you both speak in unison.
"Oh, hell yes."
11:31 AM
Your name is John Egbert.
After waking up one of your usual blank-yet-oddly-upsetting dreams, you feel a little disoriented. You feel like in spite of sleeping in, you're not very well rested. Even still- You have a job to do. It's time to beat this shitty game!
According to Rose, everyone has a job except for you, so you're stuck waiting, and it makes you feel sort of useless! Everyone's risking themselves getting grist for you, but you're trapped on your house. Worse still, no one is available to chat.
So, against your better judgement, you decide to take a chance and message the trolls.
==
ectoBiologist:
hey. are there any trolls still here?
carcinoGeneticist:
OH, GOD. THIS IS MISERABLE. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MISERABLE THIS IS.
ectoBiologist:
can i message you on pesterchum?? i have some questions.
carcinoGeneticist:
YOU ALREADY HAVE MY HANDLE, WISE-ASS. WE'VE SPOKEN BEFORE. TWICE NOW, AS A MATTER OF FUCKING FACT.
ectoBiologist:
ohhhh right... yeah you're on my blocklist.
sorry. :(
carcinoGeneticist:
THIS IS SO FUCKING POINTLESS.
ectoBiologist:
lol. do any OTHER trolls want to chat with me?
cacinoGeneticist:
YADDA YADDA YADDA. WE ALL KNOW YOU'RE JUST GOING TO TALK TO TEREZI. I ALREADY WATCHED ALL THIS PLAY OUT IN YOUR STUPID DOOMED TIMELINE.
gallowsCallibrator:
1'LL M3SAG3 YOU, JUN3. >:]
carcinoGeneticist:
FUCK!
==
After exchanging handles, you open communique with GC.
==
GC: W3LL, W3LL W3LL. F1N4LLY, YOU'V3 COM3 CR4WL1NG TO US FOR 4DV1C3. 1T'S NOT L1K3 W3 D1DN'T W4RN YOU.
EB: haha yeah!
EB: i guess?
EB: i mean to be fair you did kind of seem to hate us from your posts.
==
After trading barbs with GC and ascertaining her name, she sends you some coordinates, which need to be fixed before you can get her gift. To you, this all feels pointless, but there is the promise of sweet loot!
After some shenanigans, you finally see what Terezi sent.
==
EB: that's weird.
EB: the rocket is just... floating. how did it get there?
==
One unfortunate naming convention later, you are ready to ectobiologize.
You decide to combine the crimson jet propulsion unit with a backpack lying around in your room. You slam the button and there it is- Your very own red jet pack!
==
EB: alright!!
EB: this baby'll fly me to the stars!
GC: GOOD LUCK, JUN3.
GC: >:]
EB: here i go!
==
You SAY "here you go," but you're... Still not sure about this. Something about this leaves too many unanswered questions for you. Why was a rocket floating in space? What did Terezi mean by demon? Maybe you need a second opinion.
==
EB: dave!
EB: do you know anything about gallowsCallibrator?
EB: she offered to help but i think i need a second opinion.
EB: she says she knows a shortcut to the first gate!!
EB: dave?
==
After an odd pause, Dave responds.
==
TG: uh hey man
EB: hey!
EB: what's going on?
TG: oh uh
TG: ill
TG: ill tell you later okay man
TG: just dont listen to the trolls
TG: we shouldnt trust those clowns
==
Dave is right, after all. You look at your new jet pack forlornly. It was so cool, too! But you should beat this game without help from dubious weirdos.
==
EB: hey. joe.
GC: 4R3N'T YOU Z1PP1NG 4ROUND TH3 SK13S Y3T, JUN3?
EB: thanks for the gift, miss troll, but. i can't accept it. i'm sorry. :(
GC: ZZZZZZ. TH4T'S TH3 SOUND OF M3 SNOR1NG FROM WH4T 4 L4M3 P3RSON YOU 4R3, JUN3.
==
You chuckle. This Terezi person is annoying, but in a funny way. You're not sure how you feel about her. Well- You made this stupid jetpack, might as well use it for SOMETHING.
You perch it on the guard-rail of your balcony and flip the switch. Gleefully, you watch it sail high into the sky at an awkward angle, before, to your horror, it explodes mid-flight! What the fuck!
==
EB: hey, dipshit!
GC: UH OH. LOOKS L1K3 TH3 J1G 1S UP. >:]
EB: you sent me an exploding rocket!
EB: i could have been on that thing!
EB: are you trying to kill me??
GC: OF COURS3 W3 4R3, JUN3. 1T'S TH3 L34ST W3 C4N DO.
EB: i don't even KNOW you! none of us do!
GC: YOU DON'T Y3T. BUT YOU'R3 TH3 R34SON OUR S3SS1ON W4S RU1N3D.
GC: 1'M W3LL W1TH1N MY R1GHTS TO K1LL YOU. YOU M1GHT NOT H4V3 4CT3D Y3T, JOHN OR JUN3 OR WH4T3V3R YOUR N4M3 1S. TH4T'S MY JUST1C3, 4ND 1'M GO1NG TO T4K3 1T HOW3V3R 1 W4NT.
GC: SO W4TCH YOUR B4CK.
EB: oh yeah?? well maybe you should watch YOUR back!
GC: SHOWS HOW MUCH YOU KNOW! 1'M BL1ND, CHUT3SN1FF3R!
--gallowsCallibrator has blocked ectoBiologist--
==
You stare at the screen, dumbfounded. Someone just tried to KILL you. Not just a brainless imp, but a real person, a thinking being wants you dead.
You lean on the guardrail, singe-marks from the jetpack's takeoff still smearing them. You don't know what to think any more. This has been a weird day, and what's worse, you're no closer to your first gate.
But what's odder is that there's something you can't get out of your head, something you've been pushing aside for a while.
It's that name. June. A name you've heard over and over, you're pretty sure even in your dreams. That's not your name. You're John. Right?
"You alright, dearie?" you hear Nana ask. Her voice is just what you needed to calm down.
"Yeah," you say. "Sorry, just. Kind of overwhelmed."
"I should think so!" Nana chuckles. "After all, you're in quite the strange circumstance."
You follow Nana inside, finding a plate of mashed potatoes and a muffin. Not the most nutritious breakfast.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make a proper meal, John," Nana says. "But... There's not much left in the pantry."
"Oh, jeez..." You didn't think of that. "How are we supposed to eat?"
"There's food in your land, once you reach your gate, dear. So... I hate to speed things up, but you might need to get there sooner than later!"
You pick at your meal, nibbling, going over things in your head. Terezi DID try to kill you, but she might be right. Building up your house is taking too long and it might be better to not bother.
"Nana. You can fly, right?" you ask.
"Well yes!" Nana says, flipping in the air jovially.
"Then... Can you take me to the first gate?" You ask this and Nana seems to hesitate. You expected as much- After all, help characters can't finish objectives for you.
"W-well!" Nana says. "I can, just. Well- You have a quest and, so, see-" It's fascinating. She's clearly torn between her Nana-self and her sprite-self. Half of her is your beloved Grandma, the other half is a sprite.
"Right," you say, voice tinging with a sly tone. "I guess I'll just..." you sigh dramatically. "Starve."
"Ah... No, I mean, we have food for a while yet, dear!" Nana swallows. Sprites can't sweat, but she looks like she might anyway.
"Right!" you say, still dramatic. "But, jeez. I mean. You're doing your best, and all that we have is mashed potatoes and muffins? You're a better cook than that, Nana."
"I... I am!" she says hesitantly. Oh, yes. All according to plan. If there's one thing a grandma can't resist, it's a hungry grandchild.
"Then unless we go through the gate..." You reason, trying to put on your biggest puppy-eyes. "...I won't get fed right."
"Right, but, John, I can't just- Fly you to- I mean- Ngh...!" Nana fidgets, tugging her apron, but a sound stops her dead in her tracks. Your stomach growls, and the noise breaks her.
Suddenly, Jane Egbert grabs hold of your shoulders and with what can only be described as "grandmatronly strength," she hoists you into her arms and blasts through your ceiling, hurtling towards the first gate.
"HAVE ANOTHER HELPING, DEEEEAR!" she howls over the blistering wind as your Nana flies you, superman-style into the Land of Wind and Shade through the ring high above.
Chapter 15: Act 2 Episode 4: The Sovereign Slayer's Hatred Syndicate
Chapter Text
Your name is the Sovereign Slayer. But your friends call you Jack.
A dark night in a city that keeps too many secrets to speak. You're in your office, leaning back in a chair, sucking on a cigar the size of your thumb, relaxing, when trouble walks through the door.
Trouble, of course, is six and a half feet tall, propped up on long, slender legs, topped with eyes so narrow and calculating it makes the blood freeze in your veins.
"Slayer," trouble says, parting those pretty lips to huskily whisper. In spite of your heart beginning to thud in your black-shelled chest, you play it cool.
"What do you want?" you ask irreverently, kicking your feet up on the desk, next to a large jester hat you're conspicuously not wearing.
"The Heir has gone through his portal," she says, as if that means something to you. Her voice is stern, the kind of voice upon whose authority you've developed your anarchistic philosophy.
"So I heard," you say, stoically.
"Our forces have begun to draw power from the first kernel," she says, again, in a tone that implies you should care more than you do.
"So I heard," you repeat, leaning back further in your chair. "I know the score. The runts all pass their first gates, and once they do, we use their kernels' first prototyping to power up."
"In a sense," trouble says. Her eyes narrow. "So you're not ignorant, just willfully misbehaving. Like a petulant child, as always."
Trouble, of course, is known by another name: The Black Queen, the sovereign of your own land, Derse. She runs the place, and on paper, you're a hired assassin who's job it is to serve your sovereign by murdering the Queen of your rival kingdom, Prospit.
"Slayer, put on the fucking hat," she says, arms crossing. She clicks a finger impatiently against her arm.
You look with distaste at the hat in question. It's royal policy to shift aesthetics to match what the players prototype, but this gregarious jester hat is just... Wrong. You prefer the plain and the serviceable.
"And what if I don't?" you challenge, voice even.
"Then you'll be processing parking tickets for the rest of your natural life," the Queen says through gritted teeth. You can't help but smirk. Oh, you love getting even the smallest rise from your monarch.
"See," you say, standing up behind your desk. "I don't believe you."
You're a pretty important guy, you think. The one and only Sovereign Slayer, the man who is tasked with killing royalty. Not a guy to be taken lightly.
"Slayer," she warns, but you're already on a roll.
"You need me, doll," you say, hands faux-politely folded behind your back, looking up at her. "I'm the guy who's gonna kill the White Queen for ya. A job I can't do if I'm pushin' pencils for you on account of some errant headwear."
You call her bluff. You can see her squirming, gripping her arms so hard you think they might crack, but to your dismay, she doesn't break.
"Fine," she says, snapping her fingers. Before you can so much as protest, three burly Dersites march in, stacks of papers in their hands, placing them like cargo on your desk. The burliest one takes the nameplaque off your desk, replacing it with a new one:
"Shipment Servicer."
"What the fuck?!" you cry, taking a slip off the top of the pile. "These're all citations for tariff-dodgers!"
"Wear the hat, Servicer," she says, pulling rank. "And finish processing these citations before Skaia-rise, or I'll find someone else to kill the White Queen for me." Your monarch pushes you, placing a single, clawed finger on your chest, right above your heart- She could kill you with just a little push.
"Do you see this ring?" she asks you. The ring of Orbs Fourfold, the source of her power. "This ring means I am your Queen and you will obey me. I cannot have anything less. She who wields the ring, rules." There's a long pause, allowing her words to sink in. You say nothing, eyes meeting hers, trying not to waver.
As she turns away, you stare, dumbfounded, heart racing, lungs panting. You called her bluff and you paid for it in spades. As she walks out, the door slams, the force sending some of the papers skittering across the floor.
With rage in your heart, you place the hat upon your head, fists clenched.
Instead of beginning the paperwork, you reach for the phone on your desk, calling your right-hand man.
"Dignitary," you spit into the receiver before he can say "hello."
"Well, well. From the dulcet tones I'm hearin', the Queen finally got to you about the hat," he says in his trademark smooth drawl.
The Draconian Dignitary is one of your right-hand men because he serves as the ambassador to Prospit, which places him in a unique info-gathering position. He's also your right hand man because he's one of the most reliable people you know.
"Shaddap," you say defensively. No use trying to hide things from him. "Get the boys together," you hiss. There's a pause on the other line.
"Slayer," he says, voice stern. "I know you and the old lady don't get along, but if you're thinkin' of doin' somethin' rash, I'd advise against it."
"I know you do," you hiss. "Are you gonna rat me out?"
"I didn't say that," he responds. You know he means it.
"Then get the boys together. You said you was ride-or-die, and if that wasn't just words, then now's the time."
Another silence. The Dignitary is a contemplative guy.
"We'll meet at the bar in an hour," he says.
As promised, an hour later, you and your three closest associates meet in front of an abandoned bar, a place you four have used for secret dealings for years.
In the middle is the Dignitary in his bowler hat, and on either sides are your two other cohorts.
To his right, the Courtyard Droll, the groundskeeper of the Dersite palace, someone you keep close because he works under the Queen.
"Heya, boss!" he squeaks. He's an earnest fellow, but he lacks seriously in smarts.
To DD's right is the muscle of the operation, the Hegemonic Brute. Truth be told, he's just kind of a big guy who works as a guard at the nearby prison.
"Boss," he says, tipping his hat. "Sorry I was late, we got a troublesome prisoner back at the jail."
You nod for the four of you to head inside.
Unbeknownst to the upper echelons of Dersite society, you four comprise the most nefarious criminal syndicate in the incipisphere, the Suits, and for a city as nefarious and criminal as Derse, that's saying a lot.
"King says you got a job for us," says HB, referring to the code-name of the Draconian Dignitary.
You stand, as you always do, behind the bar, pouring drinks for your cronies, greasing the wheels of your syndicate.
"Are we really gonna off da Queen, boss?" squeaks the Droll, slugging back his drink of choice- Chocolate milk.
Outside the door of this bar, you are the dutiful Sovereign Slayer, the Queen's royal agent, but behind this bar, you are Jack Noir. You toss your hat to the counter. Jack Noir doesn't wear shitty hats.
"Not so," you reply after taking a sip of rich bourbon. "Not yet, at least. Killin' a broad is one thing, boys, easy as pie. Just put the knife in and twist," you mime stabbing someone in the air in front of you. "Killin' a queen's easy, see," you explain.
Your three compatriots listen closely, but you have a feeling only King really understands.
"Dat's treason, though, ain't it, boss?" asks HB, scratching his head.
"Right you are, Queen," you say. Your nose wrinkles. You've never understood why HB went in for a codename like "queen," as such a feminine moniker didn't suit his massive heft.
"Why would we kill the ole BQ?" Droll asks, cocking his head to the side, a milk mustache on his upper lip.
"Easy, Ace," King leans back and answers for you. It seems he's figured out the score before you've even said it. "So we can be in charge."
"That's right," you agree. "And with the Black King all tied up all the way across the veil on Skaia-"
"-We'll have an easy time of taking over back home," King finishes. You nod, grinning.
"Alright, easy 'nuff," Queen says gruffly. "But how are we gonna DO it?"
"Easy," you say, lighting a cigarette, biting it between your sharp teeth. "We take the ring."
"Da ring of Orbs Fourfold!" Ace excitedly says. "The ring what gives the ole lady her powers!"
"Hold on-" Queen says, holding his hand up. "That ain't easy, dipshit. That's hard. The Queen's guarded at all times and on top'a that, she's stronger than the four'a us combined."
"Right," you say, leaning on the bar, spelling it out for your slow friend. "But who's in charge of the guards at the castle?"
"Uh," Queen scratches his chin. "Me?"
"Right, dipshit," you reply, smacking him upside the head. "You call the guards away to the prison. Stage a li'l riot or something. Leaving the Queen unprotected. At which point we can yoink the ring, nice 'n easy."
"But boss!" Ace squeaks, raising his hand. You roll your eyes. "How're we gonna get the ring if she's wearin' it?"
"That's the beauty, ain't it?" King speaks up this time. "She doesn't all the time."
"She don't?" you ask, quirking a brow. You didn't know that.
"She used to," King says, speaking slowly. He's got an uncanny knack of speaking in such a way that you hang on every word, a power he's using right now. "But ever since the Heir prototyped that jester, the Queen's been takin' the thing off, putting it in her safe." King flicks a piece of lint from his jacket. "Seems like she doesn't like bein' a clown."
You think back to seeing the Queen in your office. She didn't look happy about the dress code, herself, frankly, her crown dotted with little bells. Unlike you, however, the Queen didn't have a choice of attire. Anyone who wore the Ring of Orbs Fourfold was mutated into the form of whatever those hero-brats prototyped.
"That hypocrite," you hiss.
"And our buddy Ace here knows the combination to the Queen's safe," says King, rubbing Ace's bald little head.
"I do!" he says gleefully.
"So the plan's simple, then," you say, putting your hands flat on the counter. Your three stooges listen up.
"First. Queen starts a riot in the prison. Calls away the guards. Next, King drags BQ away to chat while her ring is off. Make up somethin' about news from Prospit." King and Queen nod.
"Finally, Droll opens up the safe, nabs the ring, and we meet back here." You look at each of your cohorts. Ace nods rapidly, excited.
"And then," King finishes for you dramatically, "We kill the Queen."
Silence takes over the quiet, dim bar.
"Why not just kill 'er while the ring's off?" Queen asks. A reasonable question.
"Easy," King replies. "If we kill her, we've assassinated a queen. Any jackass can do that. What we're doin' is takin' over. To do that, we need to have the power, too."
"The power bein' the ring. If I've got the ring, her little cronies become MY little cronies," you grin. "In other words- OUR little cronies."
"Once Ace gets the ring, we'll regroup here to head back to the palace together to off her highness," King says, sucking down the last few centimeters of his cigarette. "And then..."
"Da Suits rule Derse!" Ace exclaims excitedly.
"The suits rule Derse," You confirm, voice full of venom. The four of you grin wickedly, menacing laughter filling the whole bar.
"I guess you really are the Sovereign Slayer," King says, clapping you on the shoulder.
"I guess I am," you grin.
It's going to be a long night.
Chapter 16: Act 2 Episode 5: Cracks
Chapter Text
Your name is John Egbert.
You hear your PDA buzz.
==
TT: I need a favor.
TT: I'm occupied at present with some various errands and my battery charge is running low. I need you to speak to anyone who bothers me. I hate to bog you down with this.
TT: I'll give you my login to Pesterchum, just screen some things for me.
EB: oh okay!
==
You look up from your phone at your surroundings.
Hours ago, your grandmother just blasted you through your first gate. Since then, your life has been a blast.
First of all, the Land of Wind and Shade is beautiful. Your first gate, after entering, has teleported you into a massive valley, full of wonderous sights. It all looks so alien and surreal, but you feel oddly at home.
The rocks, jutting up from all around you, are deep navy blue, glowing neon teal mushrooms jutting from the rocks, giving the whole place a dim light. Above your head, the clouds you saw from your hourse are there, but underneath, they are dotted by the twinkling of innumerable fireflies.
"Look, Nana!" you say, pointing skyward.
"Ah, yes, dear. The fireflies have been trapped beneath those smoggy clouds, kept below by the billowing smoke of Typheus!"
"Whoa," you say. "He sounds like a jerk!"
"Hoo hoo! He is, dear boy! And in due time, you'll take him down, but for now, we ought to get you somewhere to eat!"
Your stomach growls again. You are pretty hungry. You grip your sledgehammer tightly, a grin on your lips. Whatever this game throws at you, you've got.
You walk down a path laid out before you, a signpost reading "Salamander Town," pointing in the path's direction. You decide to follow it.
Nearby, you spot a patch of pitch-black on the ground, squating near it.
"Oil?" you say, dipping a finger in it, giving it a sniff.
"Indeed," Nana says gravely. "Another of Typheus's pollutions to this lovely land! Instead of water, the rivers run with oil. He-" your Nana stops suddenly, pointing down the path.
Imps. Six of them sit around a little camp fire, chattering to one another. Due to the cliffs on either side of you, you can't side-step them. Your hands tighten on your hammer.
"They look different," you quietly note, hastily hiding with Nana behind a rock. "Are those... Jester hats?"
"Quite right, John! You see-" Nana indicated her own jester hat. "The items you use to prototype your sprite- That's me- Also is sent to the imps to power them up."
"Okay, so..." you think you understand, but all in all, you're just excited to get into some combat. "Basically, they're little jester-guys now. Maybe they'll be like. Trickier and more prone to mischief."
"I'd wager so!" Nana says, rolling up her sleeves. You both nod at one another.
The fight doesn't last long. Each imp comes up to your knees and explodes into a splat of oil when you swing your hammer. Soon enough, the camp is dispatched.
Taking a break, you check your trusty PDA.
==
TT: John. Where are you? Our collective grist horde seems to be increasing.
TT: Please respond ASAP. You're not overwhelmed somewhere, are you?
EB: nope! i got through the first gate.
TT: That's wonderful news for me. Building up your home was slow-going. I'll bother Dave to start building mine with this new winfall.
EB: great!!
EB: i'm on my land and it's so pretty, rose.
TT: I'm glad.
TT: Thank you again for checking my messages for me.
==
What luck! The imps seem to have dropped some consumable loot as well as grist. You pick up what appears to be a package of chips.
"Don't eat imp-food, John!" your Nana scolds. Defying her suggestion, you pop it open. Tastes like Pringles.
Relaxing on an alien world is surprisingly serene. You thought there would be more strife, but it's pretty peaceful. You could live like this forever.
Your PDA buzzes, but this time, it's from Rose's side of Pesterchum. Looks like one of the trolls is bugging her. You've never seen this troll before, typing in green text like Jade. Still- Given your recent experiences with Car-Cat, you're not inclined to give greenie the benefit of the doubt.
You crack your knuckles, detecting an excellent opportunity for japery!
==
GA: Good Morning Miss Lalonde
GA: First Of All I Would Like To Say I Am A Huge Fan
TT: new phone, who's this?
GA: Oh Um
GA: My Name Is Kanaya Maryam One Of The Myriad Trolls
TT: right!
TT: more like one of the myriad losers.
GA: That Is Hardly Fair I Know My Compatriots Are Somewhat Uncouth But It Is Prejudiced To Base Your Opinions On Those Interactions To A Whole Species
TT: okay, okay, you're right.
TT: i'll reserve judgement even though you seem pretty loserly!
GA: They Say Never Meet Your Idols And This I Think Is That Idiom In Practice
GA: Look I Just Wanted To Warn You About Something
TT: oh! that's really good because i need to warn you about something too.
GA: You Do
TT: yep! i needed to warn you about a dangerous ligma!
GA: Oh
GA: At The Risk Of Sounding Like A Fool Here But I Am Not Familiar With The Human "Ligma"
TT: ligma nuts!!!
TT: hahaha ligma balls!
TT: more like LAME Auxilliatrix!
GA: Sorry I Am
GA: Very Lost
TT: you know! "ligma balls."
GA: Okay? Am I To Know What A Ligma Is? And What Of The Ball Element?
GA: You Are Being Needlessly Confusing
GA: I Am Beginning To Get The Feeling That You Are Not As Smart As I Thought
TT: ugh.
TT: joke failed.
TT: never mind! you trolls suck so much you can't even get japed.
GA: What
---tentacleTherapist muted grimAuxiliatrix for twelve hours--
GA: No Argh
==
You stand back up, chips consumed, and depart on the path once again. You can't let a poorly executed jape attempt get you down. You're the best japist of all!
"John, you'll get a headache if you walk and use your little computer at the same time," Nana scolds again. You can't help but be charmed by her matronly attitude, even though you completely ignore her.
==
EB: rose.
EB: this is weird.
TT: John, you're going to have to be more specific.
TT: The sheer density of weird happenings is at a level to which your specificity will need to increase.
EB: the trolls, apparently they're from another universe and played our game, too.
TT: I'm baffled that that was true all along, myself. They fit in so well with the type of irritating trolls commonly found online that I hardly gave them a glance.
EB: mhm.
EB: it's also weird they call me "june."
TT: ...
TT: Indeed.
EB: there you go with the "indeed" again, rose.
EB: but...
EB: maybe you're right. maybe there is something i'm sort of... not addressing?
TT: I will reserve my own musings for now, John, but.
TT: Do you like to be called "June?"
EB: um. yeah!
EB: but that's weird, right? it's a girl's name.
TT: I don't think it's weird.
TT: I think you tend to over-think these issues, June, that's why you always get bogged down in trivialities.
EB: you just called me june!
TT: Yes. You said you liked it.
EB: i do!
EB: but it's still weird. not bad-weird, just... weird-weird.
TT: I'll ask another question, further reserving comment.
TT: You mentioned before this mess began that you thought often about being a girl.
TT: How do these fantasies make you feel?
==
You stare at the PDA for a moment. Your heart, for some reason, is thudding in your chest, like you're standing on a precipice you yourself can't even see into.
==
EB: i... don't know.
TT: This would be worth discussing further, June.
TT: I can keep calling you that, right? You at least know that much.
EB: yes.
EB: that would be okay, i think.
==
You breathe out. Rose's words ground you at the edge of the cliff, which you feel yourself nearly stepping off of-
"John!" your Nana's voice breaks you from your stupor, realizing you've been walking and typing, barely noticing you were about to step right off a literal, actual cliff!
"Gah!" you start, hopping back from the ledge, resuming your journey on the sandy blue road.
"Put that PDA away! Imps could leap out at any moment, dear!"
Looks like you'll have to wait to cover this more. Still, Rose calling you "June" makes your cheeks heat up, a thought you can't get out of your brain as you and your Nana press on. That name feels good.
Lost in thought, you bump into Nana's back, who sticks her hand out to quiet you.
Up ahead is another camp, this time not just with imps, but with massive hunchbacked creatures with teeth jutting from their jaws. Each one is about double your height, wearing jester's hats and boots.
"Looks like imps aren't the only things we'll need to contend with..." Nana whispers.
The cliffs on either side had fallen away, meaning there was a route around the camp, one you and Nana take, creeping into some foliage to the side of the path, large blue-and-teal trees that give you both cover.
Nana has an easy time, able to float in the air above the ground silently, but you have to be careful, picking your way through the brush to keep from making noise. Your best efforts to this end, however, are in vain, as a twig snaps below your foot at the same moment your lungs suck in air.
One of the big ogre-looking guys perks up and turns around, squinting into the forest. If it was brighter, he'd see you for sure. He makes a grunt and stands, hands swiping at the bushes and grass, making a beeline to you.
The ogre is even bigger up close, each of his arms as thick as your thigh, his breath snorting from his gaping, jagged maw, skin oil-slick just like the imps. Your breath is about to make your lungs burst, but fear makes you unable to exhale.
Your Nana silently watches, eyes wide, as the Ogre spots you, its eyes widening as you both stare at each other, equally bewildered.
You can feel that breath in your throat, about to escape in a scream, when you feel a hand on your shoulder.
"D-dad?" you squeak. Dead silence. Then...
BANG!
Instead of an answer, from right beside you, a gun fires. You clutch your ears in pain, swearing, as the camp of ogres and imps scrambles to their feet, each exploding with a subsequent bang by whoever fired the rifle.
Ears still ringing, everything sounds like it's underwater as the man, whoever he is, wrenches you to your feet, dusting you off.
He has a mustache, a monocle, and a pith helmet, looking like he stepped right out of Jumanji.
"...boy...?" you can barely hear him over the ringing as he shoulders his weapon.
"WHAT?" you loudly announce.
"I said, boy. Cover your bally ears when a fella is about to fire! That's just common sense!"
"I- Okay?" you say, bewildered. He sticks out a calloused hand. You shake it.
"Jacob Fitzgerald Harley! At your service, dear boy."
This person appears human. You ask the first question that enters your brain, dumbly.
"How did you get here?" you rub the back of your aching head.
"Can't say, myself, dear lad. I was checking a peek at some ruins near my abode, when POOF. I'm suddenly inside some manner of curious alien land! Out of the sci-fi books, eh wot?" the man strokes his mustache, looking around.
"Are you a local?" he asks, adjusting his monocle.
"Not... Really?" you consider. Your house IS in this land, but you don't come FROM here.
"Well, I'm afraid I must take my leave, dear lad!" says the man. "I'm sure you're looking for the first ticket out of here, but I'm bound for my own goals! Tally-ho!"
Before you can say anything, the odd, confusing man blunders back into the woods from whence he came.
You... Guess that was lucky? Sort of. You could have gone without a gun being fired a foot from you, your right ear still buzzing angrily. You collect the grist and loot from the camp.
"Nana?" you call out. "Coast is clear!"
Your Nana emerges from the woods, looking over her shoulder, back towards where the man had come from with a strange expression that you can't entirely read.
"That was weird," you offer.
"Hm?" Nana seems to snap out of her trance, still looking towards where the man departed from. "Quite so! Quite so."
"Did you... Know him, Nana?" you ask. She clears her throat.
"No! No. Can't be. He just- Well. It's nothing."
You can tell the confusion is coming from Nana's personality, not the sprite's. Who was that mystery man?
Still, you're too polite to bother your Nana about it, so you leave it be for now.
As you continue on the path, you push the incident from your mind as you crest a hill and see the place promised by the waysigns:
The Town of the Salamanders.
"Oh, man!" you say, beginning to trot more quickly. "I love salamanders!"
Your name is Jon Egbert- Senior.
Moments ago, you just ducked into a backroom, peeking out into the bar you'd just ducked into in the first place to evade The Man. "The Man" being black-carapaced jailers who captured you after a long fall inside of your own garage.
You're a little confused about the series of events, frankly. You'd gone onto your lawn to see a meteor baring down upon you and re-entering your garage to make peace with your own death with your son, John.
Moments later, you felt a flash, and moments later still, you felt a great crack and your garage began to feel weightless.
At the time, you'd assumed this must have been what it felt like to die, and counted the blessings of your life, but to your shock, the garage really was, in earnest, falling.
And like Alice through the Looking Glass or Dorothy in Oz, you awoke, in the rubble of your trusty garage, in a different land, the plants dark blue, the ground deep black, and high above you, stars underneath grey clouds.
Unable to get your bearings, you'd been arrested by carapacians dragged off to jail for being such a fucking patriot. The rest is history- Now you're here.
"You got da stuff?" one man says. He's clearly their leader, by the way he stands behind the bar, the other three men sitting at the stools. Each one of them takes off a large ornate jester's hat, the leader most angrily of all.
"Sure do, SS!" the shortest of the three goons says. "Here's the stuff."
"Good," the man says. This is clearly a handoff of some sort. "And I told'ja. I'm not SS any more, dipshit, I'm Jack. We're usin' code names."
"Oh, right, boss," says the short guy. 'Jack' peeks in the package and nods, grinning. "Good work. I can't wait to see da look on the queen's face."
"Careful, boss," the middle-sized henchman says in a smooth drawl, lighting a cigarette. "Don't count your turtle eggs before they're hatched. We ain't won yet."
"True," Jack relents. "But we got the tool what with to do it. "Queen!" Jack smacks the largest henchman, a gargantuan fellow, who grunts. "Grab some celebratory wine from da back."
"Shit," the woman you've just met hisses. You're trapped in this back room with two other people- Jacob Harley and a very striking, gorgeous woman whose name you haven't yet obtained.
"Queen" traipses back towards the back room, right towards you. Jacob grips his gun.
"Not that way, dingus!" Jack suddenly says. "The CELEBRATORY wine, not the shelf shit!"
"Oh, right," Queen replies dumbly, changing course, simply reaching for a shelf. The three of you sigh.
"Is sounds like those guys hate the black queen, too," the woman hisses. "We're tryna kill her, so why not get their help...?"
"Simple," Jacob whispers back. The four of them continue chatting while drinking, none the wiser. "Because they're the most cutthroat group of rebels on Derse."
"Oh," the woman says. "What's Derse?"
"The planet we're standing on. Now hush, woman!"
You like the cut of this Jacob's jib, but the way he speaks to the woman here doesn't sit right with you. As your dear mother once said- "All women are queens." And you live by that.
"To crime!" the leader toasts. Your blood boils, but grudgingly respect these rebels for fighting against the system.
In short order, they leave, and your party of three emerge from the storeroom with a collective sigh of relief.
"I don't think I caught your name, ma'am," you say, politely taking the woman's hand to shake. She blushes and you can't help but smile, charmed.
"Oh! Roxanne. But you can call me Roxy, handsome," she replies. Handsome...? You feel your taciturn man-heart flutter.
"No time for flirtation, you," Jacob says, rolling his eyes conspicuously. You're snapped from your affections by him cutting between you to walk out the door after the criminals.
You walk through the Dersite streets, a little bewildered. To be fair, though, the Dersite streets are bewildered back. The Carapacians aren't used to seeing humans, and they turn their heads upon seeing your group pacing through the place.
"Not far now, you two," Jacob says, uneasy. "I'm not a fan of walking in the open, but not to worry- I have a getaway ship arranged."
As you walk, your thoughts turn to your son. Last you saw of him, he was running into the house in a panic. You hope he's okay. You're a little pained by the realization that the last time you spoke to him, you reprimanded him for his birthday gifts from his little internet pals. Then, something strikes you.
"Er," you say, walking beside Roxanne. "Pardon me."
"Yeah?" she says, hastily folding up the compact she'd just been using to do whatever ladies do whenever they pat powder against their faces. Some kind of makeup doohickey, you figure.
"How, er- How is is that our kids know one another...?"
Roxanne blinks. It appears she, like you, hadn't considered that coincidence.
"That's kinda crazy, huh?" she says. "And... How'd you survive the meteors 'n stuff?"
So it's true. You survived the meteor somehow.
"There were more than one?" you ask, but from her expression, you can already tell the answer.
"Ah, jeez..." she rubs the back of her neck. "Well, that's... See. Um. You remember the dinosaurs?"
"Well, yes, but- Dinosaurs are all-" you stop, suddenly. Roxanne sucks air through her teeth.
"Yyyyyeeeah."
Enough said, you suppose. You take off your hat, running a hand through your raven hair. Roxanne allows you this moment.
"We're here," Jacob says, stopping. Saying this is redundant- After all, the building you're standing in front of is a palace to end all palaces, impossibly large and imposing, the front dotted with guards. Oddly, though, they're all running about in confusion.
"Is the security detail always quite so hectic?" you ask. The three of you are across the road, a wide, empty street, from the castle, which itself, is across a moat, drawbridge raised.
"Negative," Jacob says, eyes narrowed. "I don't know what's got them into a fuss. Probably some intruder- They have a problem with those, us included. No matter- There's a side entrance we're going to use. A friend of mine set it up."
You realize suddenly what you've signed on to do. You might be risking your life for no reason, now, saving a city you've never even seen. But... At the same time, what is there to fight for at all? The Earth is gone, your son is... Is...
"Don't just stand there, man, we have to move!" you're snapped from your musings by Jacob and you steel your resolve. You follow the old man around the block.
It's strange that a castle, complete with moat and drawbridge, is in the middle of a city, but this place is so strange that urban planning is the least of your worries.
"In you get," he says, opening the door to an apartment building on the far edge of the moat, on the west side of the castle. Inside, another carapacian is manning the front desk in a little jester outfit, but oddly, she's a white color.
"Jacob!" the white carapace squeaks. "Who are these people? Have we been found out?! Goodness, me!" the exciteable carapacian frets, hopping from one foot to the other, but Jacob silences her.
"Hush, woman! These are friends, you hear?" Jacob turns back to face you. "This is Ms. Paint. She arranged for the getaway vehicle and our side-route into the castle."
Miss Paint eyes you both nervously before leading the party to the staircase, her feet clacking on the purple concrete as you descend. She pushes open a door labeled "EMPLOYEES ONLY" and peeks about furtively. Inside, you hear rushing water overhead. Looks like this tunnel leads under the moat. Lucky.
"This used to be used by the queen to escape the mobs that used to plague the castle," Miss Paint explains as you all walk. "But it fell out of use when the moat was installed!"
"She must have had to deal with a great deal of mobs," you say bitterly.
"Oh-em-gee, yeah," Roxanne agrees. "That'd totally never happen under like. A democratic queen."
"Quite right," you agree with a smile that you hope doesn't look too forwardly amorous. To your delight, she smiles back.
"Queens can't be democratic, you spinster," Jacob grumbles. You shoot him an alarmed frown, but before you can reprimand him, you reach the end of the passage, a ladder leading up into the palace proper.
"I'll leave you here, Jacob, and get the ship ready," Miss Paint squeaks, ducking back down the ladder once you're all up.
The ladder terminates in another store room, a commotion of guards and palace staff outside. Looks like you're in. The easy part is over.
"Alright," you say. "What's the plan?"
Jacob quirks a brow at you.
"Plan, dear boy?" he says, incredulous, as if the word never occurred to him. "That WAS the plan. We're in."
"Well- We're in, but we could be miles from where the Queen is, the castle looked massive from the street! We have to be sensible. Don't you have a... A map or a blueprint or-" you're cut off, by Roxanne of all people.
"This is just... How he is," she says solemnly. Jacob points at the door, ignoring you both.
"Alright, Mr. Egbert, here's our 'plan' since you're too much of a ninny to buck up and deal with things head on!" Jacob unshoulders his weapon. "We run. I shoot. You two stick behind me and dispatch any stragglers!" with that said, Jacob kicks down the door and utters a mighty war cry, every carapacian within fifty feet halting, their eyes wide as dinner plates.
You're starting to hate this guy.
To Jacob's credit, the next few minutes of your life play out just like he said. Once Mr. Harley ran out of bullets, he was more than happy to swing his gun like a bat, biffing and bopping the carapaces out of the way. You use your trusty fists to fend off the guards, and Roxanne uses a hefty wine bottle she no doubt saved from your hiding place back at the bar.
After several minutes of frenzied running, you all find yourself in what appears to be a great hall, full of tables and plates and such. No guards were inside, to the three of you duck into the kitchen, panting.
"By god's own hooks, that was exhilarating! Did you see me blast that poor bugger in the foot? Fell right into his buddy, he did!" Jacob slaps his knee. You and Roxanne are considerably less pleased, panting. You resent that this old-timer is in better shape than you.
"Alright- We're in- Huff- The kitchen. Where to now?" you pant.
"Yeah, uh- No offense, pops, but I'm not into runnin' around gettin poked at by shiny dudes' spears." Roxanne concurs, using a nearby cork remover to tug the stopper from the wine, giving it a swig. She offers you one, too, which you take heartily.
"You two are no fun," Jacob says bitterly. "The only direct way Jacob F. Harley knows is through danger!"
He senses you two don't share his sentiment by your dirty looks and he reconsiders.
"Fine! Fine, fine, we're close to the throne room, anyway. Should be right above us, if memory serves." Jacob tugs his mustache, patting his pockets. "...And perhaps we should move shrewdly after all. I underestimated the amount of bullets ole Big Medicine was going to need."
You poke your heads out of the great hall doors and into the area outside. No guards.
"Quiet..." Jacob says suspiciously. "They've been short staffed, I notice. Almost like there's been some kick-up before we got here."
"Lucky us," you say, creeping up the stairs. Soon, you three find yourselves in a long, ornate room, cavernous and dim. A long carpet extends through the room and terminates at the foot of a massive throne. On it sits the very face you saw in Jacob's photo.
The black queen.
"The jig is up!" Jacob announces dramatically. His voice echoes off the tall panes of the ornate stained-glass windows surrounding the room, giving a striking view of the city below. The queen sits, unguarded, slumped in her chair, legs crossed, her foot dangling casually, waving back and forth.
"And just who are you?" she asks dryly, voice quiet from down the long hall. The three of you approach. She's unguarded, which puts you at unease.
"We're Team Regisurp!" Jacob announces. You never agreed on that name, but you let it slide. "And we're here to end your cruel reign! Now, then. Where's the ring?"
"Tch," the queen waves a dismissive hand. "You're too late for that."
"Too late...?" Jacob balks. "What in blazes does THAT mean?"
You're all at the throne now, which the queen has descended, facing you. She's about as tall as you, elevated by a crown and her heels, the former of which she removes, pressing into Jake's hand.
"If you need a trophy of my defeat, take this," she says in her smooth, cruel voice, like the edge of a knife. "But the ring was plundered this morning. Without it... I'm hardly a queen at all."
She spreads her arms out.
"Shoot me," she says humbly. Jacob pauses.
"I'm... Out of bullets?" he says awkwardly. The black queen sighs like this is all just a big inconvinience to her. She withdraws a knife and presses it into Jacob's hands.
"Just get it over with already," she sighs. Jacob hesitates.
"Well, see now, ah. I can't just..."
This... Does feel somewhat strange. The queen is unarmed and willing to step down. Killing her now seems like overkill, literally. You're happy just to leave with her as a prisoner, but before you can voice this, blood splatters on your face.
"Well, well, well," a voice calls out from behind you. It's familiar, strangely so, but you don't turn to look, yet. You're too shocked by having seen the Black Queen be shot before your eyes.
"Thanks for da help, you three," says the harsh, grizzled voice. When you turn, you see that same carapacian from the bar, pointing a smoking gun right at you.
"You!" Jacob cries, aiming his own gun right back at Jack. "What've you done with the ring??"
"Put down da pea shooter, mac, you just said it weren't loaded," says Jack, scoffing. "The ring's nice 'n safe in my personal vault. Don't'chu worry."
You're not sure who this fellow is, but the way he carelessly tosses his gun aside and shrugs after just having murdered someone makes your blood run cold. You hear roaring in your ears.
"Tell us where the ring is, you cur!" Jacob cries. Jack simply laughs.
"Your ride's here," he says.
The roaring that you thought was in your ears turns out to be outside of them- The roar of engines that gets louder and louder. As Slick turns to leave, the roaring gets loud enough to shatter the stained glass windows, preventing you from giving chase after him.
Out the window, something massive and golden suddenly obscures the view of the city, casting a shadow over the entire palace.
"Get on!" Jacob howls. The massive golden shape, it seems, is a gargantuan ship, floting in midair. It looks to you like an aircraft carrier, impossibly massive with a flat upper deck that lowers itself to the lip of the window. You kick out the remaining glass and leap out onto the deck, followed by Roxanne and Jacob.
The crew of the ship is all made of white-carapaced people, who, curiously, are ALSO wearing jester hats and other such things. Miss Paint is there to hastily guide you below deck as you feel the ship churn under you, taking off into the sky.
Below, the three of you pant, coughing from the whipping wind above. You clutch your head.
"Are you hurt?" you ask Roxanne, who's clutching her arms, obviously rattled.
"M'fine," she says, straightening up. You wrap a hand around her shoulder and notice that she's still clutching the swiped wine bottle. For some reason, this tickles you into smiling, which Roxanne mirrors sweetly.
Jacob, on the other hand is pissed.
"That was an abject FAILURE," he says, pounding the hallway all, teeth gritting.
"A failure?" you repeat. "If it was a failure, sir, it was because you were behaving like an absolute loon!"
"I never- I wouldn't have needed to pick up the slack on you two if you hadn't made goo-goo eyes at one another the entire mission!" he spits at you, prodding you in the chest.
"Look, buster," you say, blood beginning to boil. "You're a loose canon. We saved those people from a cruel dictatorship, some little trinket doesn't matter!"
"Dictatorship? My good man, are you insane?" Jake shoves you. You brace yourself and catch his wrists before he can shove you again.
"Insane?" You cry, voice cracking. "Maybe I am! I just had to watch my house get crushed by a meteor! I don't know where my son is! And through all that, for some reason I can't presently fathom, I help you, and now you're saying us getting out unscathed is a failure?"
"If you think that freeing some alien hoodlums from some queen is all I'm here for, young man," Jacob grunts, trying to wrench his fists from your grasp, "then you're as big a fool as THIS bimbo!"
Oh, that makes you see red.
"She isn't a bimbo, you disrespectful idiot!" Is what you very NEARLY scream. Unfortunately, before you're able to speak at all, Roxanne does for you.
"I'm not a bimbo, you disrespectful shithead!" She hollers, and to your surprise, throws a haymaker right at his mustache, clipping him rather powerfully in the face.
Jacob, struck dumb, lowers his fists, looking from you to Roxanne, holding his bruised cheek with a sour expression.
"I'm," he relents, teeth clenched, staring bitterly at the floor. "Sorry," he mumbles at last, storming off down the hall.
Miss Paint, witness to the madness, meekly speaks from behind you.
"Ah. W-well, I'll lead you to your cabins, then," she swallows. "We'll be at Skaia in an hour or two."
As you walk down the hall, you look at Roxanne, who looks back at you. Her hair is a mess and the face-powder she'd applied is now in streaks on her cheekbones, but she smiles at you. This is a feat because you're sure you're no better, your poor lovely hat in tatters! Boldly, though your heart is beating fast, you slip your hand into the hand that just struck Jacob, and to your delight, she squeezes back.
"Your son..." she says quietly as you walk. Your heart's beating doesn't slow, but it cools suddenly. You have a feeling you know what she's going to say.
"He's... Dead, isn't he?" you finish for her. "He was crushed by that meteor." You feel fatherly tears sting your eyes- The worst tears to feel. "I... I don't even have anything to bury. You're probably in the same boat with your Rose." Your hand squeezes tighter to hers, but to your shock, she cuts you off, and when you look at her, she's smiling broadly.
"No, you friggin' ding-dong. They're alive! And if we're headed to Skaia... We can see 'em!"
The tears in your eyes in that moment, ferment into fatherly tears of hope as you wrap your arms around your fellow parent.
Chapter 17: Act 2 Episode 6: Bird Boys and Eggs
Chapter Text
==
EB: hey dave.
TG: yo j-money
TG: j-town
TG: jegbert
EB: haha, what's with the nicknames?
TG: ok full disclusire with the shit going on with your name i dont want to get it wrong
TG: so im using nicknames
EB: so to avoid getting my name wrong, you're calling me the wrong name?
TG: no fuck
EB: relax, dave.
EB: just ask me my name like a normal person!
TG: ok
TG: whats your name
EB: oh.
EB: well i don't know yet!
TG: come on
EB: look that doesn't matter right now!
EB: how are you since, uh.
EB: that stuff earlier?
TG: what stuff
TG: you mean getting badass time abilities
EB: no...
EB: i mean um.
EB: with your friend.
TG: my new friend davesprite whos also me
TG: i basically get along with him by default j-cash
EB: dave...
TG: ok fine
TG: ill stop being depressingly cagey
TG: youre talking about
TG: ...
TG: chad
EB: yeah...
TG: still super fucked up about him but
TG: coping
EB: yeah? you're not just saying that to make me feel better?
TG: no
TG: im not okay but im not not okay
TG: okay?
EB: okay.
TG: i got so excited when you said your sprite brought your nana back to life
TG: i was going to use my sprite to bring chad back but i already prototyped it twice
TG: plus i dont know if theres anything uh...
TG: left
EB: eesh...
TG: and then i tried to use time travel to save him
TG: but davesprite said uh
TG: preventing his death would cause a time paradox
EB: oh wow...
EB: so there's no way to save him.
TG: no
TG: but weirdly... that feels okay
TG: that i cant do anything about it
TG: if there was i would be even more messed up i think
TG: its like 10x as sad that hes just gone and i cant do anything
TG: but its also 100x less existentially horrible than if i could have done something
TG: is that fucked up
EB: no!
EB: if i could time travel, i'd try my best to save him, so i know what you mean.
EB: i'd probably try even if it would fuck things up...
TG: youre too good
TG: just dont worry about me okay
TG: and uh
TG: shit this is awkward
TG: but no matter what sort of... person you want to be
TG: guy or girl or whatever
TG: were um
TG: were still buds right
EB: sure dave! :D
TG: tight
TG: i love you
TG: WAIT
TG: shit thats not what i meant
TG: no homo x 100
TG: also no straight either x 100 if youre a girl
TG: fuck
EB: dave, jesus christ.
EB: relax!
EB: i love you too! <3
EB: you can tell your friends that you love them, dumbshit.
TG: ok
EB: anyway bye dave! i'm going to hang out with my salamanders.
TG: your what
==
Your name is Dave Strider, but you're not the only one.
"We've got to decide what to call you, my man," you say, leaning back in your chair, regarding your winged orange doppleganger.
"Yeah, two Daves could get confusing. Shit's going to be even more confusing with other time-loop Daves running around." Bird-Dave floats in midair, hands behind his head.
"You sure you don't want these? They look pretty badass," you say, indicating to the turntables he'd given you as a gift.
"Nah," he waves his hand. "I'm done with time travel. You get how it works, right?"
You recall Bird-Dave's explanation on time travel, something you haven't really had time to process, yet. When he sees the confusion on your face, he shrugs.
"What about David?" you offer. You both scoff.
"Nah, son, that shit stinks. I think I'll just be... Davesprite."
"Fair enough," you say. "Sorry about your, like. Timeline, by the way. Everyone else in there is just... Dead?"
Davesprite shakes his head.
"No, it's more like... They never existed. Or their existence just doesn't matter or something. They're re-incorporated into the timeline."
You have a feeling Davesprite is talking out his ass, but you aren't going to call him on it.
"So now that you're a sprite, are you going to be weird and cryptic about the game?" you ask.
"Nah," he admits. "I do have a bunch of new info about the game, but I'm not going to hold out on you, who is basically me. We're gonna optimize this bitch. We're talking speed-run any percent."
You grin. You think you're going to like hanging out with yourself.
"Now that we're both here, do we kiss?" you say. Davesprite laughs.
"Nah, dude. Maybe if one of us was a hot girl version of ourselves," he says, rubbing his chin. "Not that you're not hot as hell."
"Yeah, of course," you say, smiling at your birdself.
The two of you stare at each other for a moment.
"No homo," you say hurriedly in unison.
"Yeah, it's like. We like girls, y'know? No way we're gay," you hastily finish.
"Totally. Just girls," Davesprite says, then more quietly, "only girls..."
You and Davesprite share a nervous chuckle, suddenly unable to look the other in the eyes.
"A-anyway," you say, clearing your throat. "Let's get to work."
"Cool," Davesprite agrees. "I know some cool tricks to build Rose's place up so she can enter her gate, now that I'm plugged into the game rules."
"Yeah?" you say. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen, focusing on Rose's house. "How do we have internet right now, anyway?"
"This place we're in- The incipisphere. It has a local network that pervades the entire place, as well as an archive of the internet from before the destruction of the planet that anyone playing the game can interact with," he states simply.
"How?" you ask, a little dumbfounded. He looks at you with a plain expression and says two syllables, which instantly clear things up.
"Magic," DS says, shrugging. You have a strong feeling it doesn't matter and looking further into it would just cause you unsatisfying misery.
"Done," says Davesprite.
"Damn, dude, you work fa-" The compliment to Davesprite dies on your lips.
"What do you think, big man?" he says, grinning.
The tools of Sburb allow for the creation of walls, floors, ladders, stairs, and various other things found in the structure of homes, but DS has bypassed this. Instead of a reasonable staircase or a series of rooms connected to ladders, he's created a single, 100 meter high pole, against which rests a masive white ladder.
"It's-" you squint. "This sucks, man."
"What?" Davesprite looks offended. He looks back, considering for a moment. Then he relents. "God, yeah."
You look down at your phone, sucking air through your teeth. Rose is going to be pissed about this. The idea makes you amused.
On DS's screen, you see Rose looking with disdain at your doppleganger's ladder-tower.
"She's going to kick my non-existent ass for this one," he says, wincing. Rose is furiously typing at you into pesterchum, but you both wisely decide not to respond.
"Do you seriously not have an ass, bro?" you lean over to DS, unable to keep yourself from looking.
"Nah, man," he says, shrugging. "I'm a brainless feathery Ken doll, now."
You decide the ladder-pole is good enough. The ladder is attached to the ground and isn't going anywhere due to whatever magic is keeping the sburb-constructed objects stationary.
"I'm going to need another computer," Davesprite says. He's right. He can't just keep jacking your swag, after all.
After a quick trip to the alchemiter, you combine a paradox-clone of your own phone with one of your weird bugs trapped in amber. It creates a horrid phone in the shape of an insect, like an orange organic handheld computer.
"This is pretty sick," Davepsrite admits, admiring his new bug-phone. "And it's color-coordinated."
You both high five. From the roof you can already see Jade working to build up your own house, walls appearing around you. Soon, it's not the roof at all, your apartment building growing higher and higher.
While you wait, you also take a moment to get Davesprite a weapon, combining your half-sword as well as a paradox-clone of the turntables, giving him a badass sword with a blade that looks like a broken record's edge.
"Wait, shit," you say, realizing in the process your own sword was consumed.
For yourself, you make a paradox-clone of your old shitty broken katana as well as a pair of your bro's spare triangle-shades. Your new sword is now jet-black and ready to roll.
You watch Rose climbing her shitty ladder, giving up on pestering either of you. You'll deal with THOSE consequences later.
"We'd better get going," Davesprite says, walking out onto the balcony. He looks upward to where Jade is building your apartment, shaking his head. "She's got a real eye for architecture. Too bad we won't need it."
"We won't?" you say.
"No, dipshit," Davesprite scoffs. "I'm going to fly us up there." Davesprite opens his arms. "Hop in."
Awkwardly, you climb into your own arms, leaning against Davesprite, his torso remarkably strong and firm against your hands. He's so powerful compared to you, now, something that should make you jealous but doesn't. He's you. You're him. You're here to help each other.
Taking a deep breath, you and Davesprite nod to one another. He grips you under the arms and you both fly to your first gate.
Your name is John Egbert. You think. You're not sure, yet.
You've never disliked being a boy, really. You've never liked it in particular, either.
When you were younger, you remember getting a manga from the local library, some old run of a Pokemon story, one that had ads for other manga the publisher also put out.
You remember sitting on the floor of your room, sitting on your stomach, re-reading one of the ads over and over, an ad for the manga "Ranma 1/2."
You don't remember the ad's exact words, but you remember being enthralled by the concept. A boy, when splashed with cold water, turns into a girl. Something awoke inside you that made your heart race, and every night before bed you'd re-read the ad, trying to make yourself dream about being a girl.
You know. Regular guy stuff.
When you finally got your hands on the stories, you loved them. You'd mutter stories about yourself in Ranma's universe to yourself each night before sleep, all written in a tiny composition notebook by your bed. Every time you visited the book store, you'd beg your father to buy you a new volume of Ranma 1/2.
You wonder if the crate of your old manga is still under your bed. If you make it back to your house, you'll make sure to check.
But you're realizing now that unlike you assumed, that was not a normal thirteen-year-old boy experinece. That it might have awoken more in you than just an interest in Japanese graphic literature.
"Nana?" you say slowly. You're currently sitting on a bed in the upstairs room of an inn in Salamander Town, in the Land of Wind and Shade. She's on a bed adjacent to yours, even though she doesn't have to sleep now that she's a sprite.
"Yes, dear?" she says, curiously. She might be your help-character, now, but she's also your grandmother, someone you feel you can treat as a confidant.
"You... Died when I was thirteen," you say slowly. Nana kindly smiles.
"That I did, my dear. I'd apologize, but that's just the way of the world I'm afraid. I hope you remembered me fondly."
"I did," you nod, smiling yourself. "And I'm really glad you're back. Because... I always admired you."
"Well I should hope so!" Nana laughs. "Not to toot my own horn, pumpkin, but between your pops and me, you got a good raisin'. You got my smarts and his strength."
"Heh," you nod, gripping the blankets. "That's... Not what I mean."
"Oh?" your Nana cocks her head to the side, letting you speak.
You look out the window. The town of the Salamanders is bustling even though it's ostensibly night time, the light of distant Skaia faded below the skyline. The yellow-skinned bipedal amphibians trade glowing mushrooms for various goods with each other, blowing bubbles from their frothing mouths. To you, they look so cute.
The inn you're sleeping in is quaint, manned by a tall salamander, or at least, taller than his contemporaries at a noble four feet tall, a squeaky-voiced old man salamander who demanded five glowing mushrooms to stay at his inn.
It feels nice, but it's not home. You clutch the covers tighter.
"Nana, I always loved looking at scrapbook pictures of you. You were really beautiful when you were younger." Words spill from your mouth and you can feel yourself shaking. "Pictures of you and your brother Jacob, pictures of you opening up your joke shop, teaching Dad how to cook. Pictures of you and Grandpa's wedding."
Nana is quiet, watching intently.
"I always wanted to be... That beautiful, myself." Your throat clenches, but you force yourself to speak. "I always wanted to look like- Like you."
"John," Nana's voice is soft. You can tell you've caught her off guard, but she carefully chooses her words. "I'm a- A woman. Wouldn't you rather have looked like your great-uncle Jacob? Or like Grandpa Sassacre?"
You shake your head.
"I wanted to look like you," you say, unable to meet her gaze.
Your grandmother sits on the bed next to you, the weight making the whole thing sink, gravity making you lean on her shoulder, her hand gently on your back.
"I want to be a woman," you say.
That thought has been in the shadow of your mind for decades, and as you speak it, it's like the floodgates have opened. Every time you pushed down that one single wish comes pouring into your conscious mind and every beautiful woman you'd so painfully wished you could be flashes in your skull. Tears sting your eyes.
"Oh, dear," she says quietly.
You feel shame well inside you. It's not the horrid shame of guilt, though, not the shame that has made you push down your true feelings for two decades of life, but a new shame, the shame that you know that you're something horrible.
After all. You're not a woman. You're a gangly, broad-shouldered creep with a mustache, you're flat as a board, you're a hideous, masculine body.
"I'm sorry," you say through silent tears, squeezing your eyes shut, taking off your glasses. "This is- I just. I can't-"
"Sweetheart," Nana says, voice stern. "I won't, ah... Pretend to understand what you're going through. But, er... How to say this...?"
Your heart sinks. You knew this was coming, and you nod, willing to face the facts, willing to accept your Nana telling you it can never be, but to your shock, she says something you never expected.
"I know you want to be a woman, dear." Nana speaks and you look up at her. Her expression isn't pitying, it isn't disgusted, it's... Amused?
"You... Huh?" you blink, tears falling from your eyes, no longer welling behind them. Okay, now you're confused.
"I mean- John, dear." Nana puts her hands on your shoulders. "No offense, pumpkin, but you took any excuse to root through my closet when your dad brought you over! And you'd insist on wearing heels- Oh! And you were the mother in 'Hairspray' that one year in your school play, and-" Nana continues, but you stop her, cheeks heating up.
"But- You- You knew??" Your jaw hangs open.
"Of course! And since we started this quest, people have been calling you 'June.' You haven't even corrected half of them."
"But-" you stammer.
"So. Of course you want to be a woman, John- Or should I call you June, too?" Nana uses a blue hanky to wipe your eyes.
"You... You don't think I'm a creepy weirdo?" you croak, looking down at your hands. "I mean, I look nothing like a woman, I- I've got a man's body, I-"
"A creepy weirdo? June!" Nana frowns. "Don't go talking about my grand-child like that, now."
You gasp a laugh, sniffling a little, nodding hastily.
"S-sorry, sorry." You swallow thickly, taking a shuddery breath.
"Look, if you really want to be a girl, June, no one can stop you. I certainly don't give a hoot and frankly, I can't begrudge you for wanting to join the fairer sex! Hoo hoo!" She winks at you. "We have more fun. You'll see, dearie."
We. Your Nana said we.
She hops back into her own bed and you lay down in yours, feeling... You're not sure. You still feel wrong, like you're trapped in your own body, like something in your very soul is off-kilter, but even though you still feel that, you also feel far better than you had expected. You feel like, for the first time in your life, that your horrible body isn't a prison, but something that's in your hands to change.
You'd envisioned yourself falling asleep as an outcast or a deviant tonight after admitting something you hadn't even admitted to yourself, but instead, you're falling asleep a loved person.
You thought you'd be falling asleep John Egbert, but instead... You're falling asleep June.
The bustling noise of Salamanders blowing bubbles outside lulls you to sleep.
You wake up as June Egbert.
You're not entirely sure where the hell you are or what the hell has been going on. You're not entirely sure you've ever been awake before this moment.
You look down at yourself. You're wearing golden robes, laying on the floor next to a golden bed, inside a golden room. It's all very surreal!
You have to sit up to check the rest of your body because your boobs are in the way.
Wait, what? Something is wrong about that, but you can't place your finger on it. You rub your head, frowning. Why do you have a headache? It feels like someone beat you with something hard.
"H-hello?" you call out. The bright golden room you're in is rather harsh on your eyes, but after some adjustment you manage to see clearly, locating your glasses on the bedside table.
You stand up, trying to remember... Anything. All you know is your own name, a vague recollection pulled from somewhere in your memories, of which you seem to have none- None except faint dreams which you can barely grasp. Your most recent one was about... An old woman? You exit the room.
"Hello?" you repeat into the hallway outside. Seems like no one is there. Odd. The room you woke up in and the hallway look almost too pristine- Not lived in, like no one has visited in ages. You step out into the hallway, stretching tiredly and to your right, you hear footsteps. Someone is coming up the staircase.
"Hey!" you cry out. "I'm June Egbert- Can you tell me where I am, please?" You watch as a burly man in a suit appears from around the staircase corner.
"John?" the man says, his eyes going wide as he sees you. Behind him is a sweet-looking woman holding a wine bottle, half-full.
"Oh! No, I'm June, sorry," you say. The man blinks, adjusting his hat.
"Sorry, miss," he says. "You look like my son." He sounds disappointed and something about him rings familiar in the back of your head. You stare at him dumbly. He looks so familiar, like you've met him countless times before.
You're snapped out of your musing by commotion below. You reason that whatever it is causing a fuss, these two are concerned about. Something makes the ground rumble beneath you, and a glance out the glassless window indicates that you're up many stories, fighting going on far below, mostly centered around a strange, winged man clad in black.
"Uh," you point, about to ask, when the dad grabs your wrist. Wait- You shouldn't profile him like that! He might just be an older man. Not all older guys are dads. Is this other person his girlfriend? Wife? Something about that warms your heart.
"Come on," the man says, pulling you down the stairs.
"Hey, uh," you stop in front of another window, pointing out it. "Why don't we just fly out?"
The man and woman look at each other.
"You can-?" the man asks, squinting.
"Can't you?" you quirk a brow.
"Can you get us there?" the dad-man points upwards, towards the luminous blue ball high above, the planet around which Prospit orbits: Skaia. You're not sure how you know that name, but you nod.
"I think so. We're pretty close, right now."
You link arms with both of these- Who are they, anyway? Refugees? You float sky-ward, or more accurately, skaia-ward, looking down at the kerfuffle below.
They're tiny dots by now, but you see an army of white-shelled Prospitans fighting a singular figure, a strange man. A sort of... Mix between a harlequin, a bird, and some fashion of tentacle monster.
"Do you know him?" you ask.
"Unfortunately," says the woman. You figure you can elaborate later.
Below, another two figures join the fray, a strange tan figure and... Your heart jumps in your chest.
"That's my sister-!" you proclaim before you even realize it. You look at your two charges, distressed. You're about halfway between Skaia and Prospit, now, the moon of the planet and the surface of Skaia visible from about one hundred meters up.
"I'm sorry!" you say hastily to the dad-man. He shakes his head.
"If that's your sister, ma'am, then you ought to help her. Nothing for it. Take us back down." This guy strikes you as a fine man, but you don't have time to contemplate that right now. Considering your options, you choose something foolish.
"See that bush down there?" you ask, nodding towards a patch of greenery down below.
"Y... Yes," the man stammers. "Miss, I'd rather you didn't toss us, really, it's okay, we can come back down with you, it's-"
The be-hatted man sees your plan before you execute it. With a heave, you toss the duo down towards the planet, the man howling, the woman whooping like she'd just boarded a roller-coaster. You watch to see them land safely, then fly back down to Prospit.
Below is absolute bedlam, alarmingly so. Blood spatters the gold streets, a stark red against the robust gold. You land on a nearby roof, watching. The black-shelled man is howling in agony, faced down now by only your sister and an old mustachioed man in a pith helmet and a tan adventurer's garb.
You don't know what the fuck is going on, but you don't like it one bit, least of all the look of the black-shelled demon in the middle of it all.
Chapter 18: Act 2 Episode 7: "Do Not Let The Little Man Die"
Summary:
Listen to the radio drama version here!
NOTE: This audio is in 2 parts. Follow the link at the end of the video to get to Part 2.
Chapter Text
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
You're presently climbing a very tall ladder up towards your first gate, out of spite for your friend Dave, and apparently, his bird-clone, as well.
"Don't worry, Miss Rose! I'll catch you when you fall!" says your sprite, Jaspers, helpfully.
"Shouldn't it be 'if' I fall?" you hiss exhasperatedly. Jaspers's ears fold back. "Sorry," you relent, "I'm just rather high in the air now."
Jaspers floats at the ready. You'd asked him already if he'd carry you, but according to him, you have to get there on your own. June and Dave got up with their sprites' help, so you can't help but resent your kitty a tiny bit.
You're starting to think this game kind of sucks.
"This game sucks," you huff as you pull yourself up through the first gate.
You feel weightless for a moment, then beneath you sand seems to materialize- Or more accurately, you materialize. The portal has taken you to the coast of some beach.
"Here we are, Miss Rose!" Jaspers announces gleefully. "The Land of Light and Rain!"
You can see the "light" part, but not the "rain." You squint in the frankly irritating brightness, clutching your wands tightly. Jaspers eyes them nervously.
About an hour ago, you'd used your ectobiology equipment to combine your knitting needles and your tome of the Zoologically Dubious in the hopes of making a formidable weapon. Your hopes were affirmed when you obtained two potent magic wands, wands that appeared to make Jaspers rather nervous.
"Um, Miss Rose?" Jaspers points at your weapons, tucked into the waistband of your skirt. "Don't you want to get something less scary to defend yourself? Aren't those kind of... Grimdark?"
"Yes," you say confidently, beginning to walk inland.
"Miss Rose?" Jaspers says hesitantly. "That way is all trees and stuff! Look- There's a path here! Did I mention about how there's an evil monster in-"
"You did," you say patiently. Frankly, you're in no mood for games. Something else has caught your eye. In the distance, rising above everything, is a large mountain with a steep staircase leading up it.
"Miss Rose!!" Jaspers speaks nervously. "You should really get on your path, don't you want to complete your quest?"
This time, you ignore Jaspers. You enter the sparse forest of alabaster beech trees, the sand giving way to pink-and-yellow grass.
"I don't think you should go that way!" Jaspers wails.
"Jaspers, I know you're my help character, but if I desire help, I shall ask for it," you say sternly. He is a pet, after all. "So until I do, companionship will be all I need. Alright? Don't worry about me. I have these." You pat the wands in your waistband.
"Those just seem- Too strong right now," Jaspers whines. You know he's not trying to irritate you.
"Too strong? Wouldn't it be better if they were powerful? After all, if what you say is true, and there is a monster, wouldn't it be prudent to dispatch them right away?"
"But-" Jaspers doesn't have an answer to that. "It's not the right order."
You roll your eyes. You emerge from the forest at the foot of the mountain you'd seen in the distance after about ten minutes' walk, placing your hand on the rock.
Marble. You're familiar with this from comprising your floors at home. You walk around the base of the mountain, searching for the staircase you'd seen.
"It's just- There's a certain order you're supposed to do things in," Jaspers says, unsure of himself. "First, you find the first village, then you fight the beast on the mountain..."
"There's a beast on this mountain?" You find the stairs and begin traipsing up them. You notice there are no enemies around here.
"Gah!" Jaspers catches himself. "Oh, I've said too much..."
All the better, you think, to try these wands.
"You're not thinking of using those wands, are you, Miss Rose? Remember? You nearly burnt my fur off!"
You smile fondly. Upon alchemizing them on your roof, you'd immediately tested them, pointing the tips together at the chimney above your mother's fireplace. Upon focusing, two black blasts of energy had shot out, obliterating the bricks into atoms.
"I do remember," you say. You look out over the land from about halfway up. You appear to be on a small island, smoke rising from the distance, coming from quaint little thatched-roof cottages. Surrounding the island is the same pastel-colored water that had surrounded your home.
"Quite a hike," you remark, huffing. "Tell me- Is the water here safe to drink?"
"Oh no no no, Rose! It's very bad to drink."
"Do you know where I could find some water? Or something to eat?"
"Well, the Turtle village! We should go there right now!"
"Soon," you say. You manage to reach the top of the mountain, leaning down to catch your breath on your knees for a moment.
"Rose!!" Jaspers's eyes suddenly go wide as golf balls, pointing a shaky paw towards the middle of the plateau at the summit.
There, sleeping, is a massive ogre-looking creature, made entirely of hard marble, snoozing peacefully. You crouch low, narrowing your eyes.
"W-we need to leave, Miss Rose! That's a marble uber-ogre! He'll knock you flat!" Jaspers wheezes, wracked with fear.
"I think I can take him," you reason, much to Jaspers's terror.
Before your kitty companion can stop you, you step forth. As you do, the Ogre turns over. He must be at least fifteen feet tall, his head would easily clear the roof of your home, each leg making the plateau around you rumble with each heaving step as he regards you like a playground child might look at an ant. He opens his foul mouth to speak, voice reverberating across the sparse forest of white beeches.
"I AM THE LORD OF THIS MOUNTAIN! WHO DARES DISTURB MY SL-"
You don't let the ogre finish, aiming both wands squarely at his head, braining him in milliseconds.
You shield your eyes as shards of marble rain down and brace yourself as the giant topples sideways onto the mountain, motionless. Moments later, he explodes into grist.
"Rose! Are you okay?!" Jaspers hugs you with his arms and tentacles, tightly, but you shoo him away.
"Don't be silly," you admonish. "I was never in any danger."
You have a seat on the ground, fishing your phone from your waistband, primly placing the wands back where they belong.
==
--tentacleTherapist began a memo with 3 other users--
TT: Hello, all. I have made a rapid grist winfall. Please use this for something constructive.
TG: tight
GG: thanks rose!
TT: It appears the ectobiology system is somewhat broken. An oversight, I'd say.
TT: I think I've just inadvertently broken the sequence of a fairly important quest.
GG: oh jeez
GG: were you supposed to do that? D:
TT: I doubt it matters. Finishing is the only thing that we need to accomplish.
TT: According to my sprite, the goal is to challenge this "Black King," I figure the more time we have to spare, the better.
TG: i agree with rose
TG: blazing through and getting some op weapons seems like the best option
TG: this isnt a game after all this is like. our lives
EB: still... be careful. stuff like that can mess up games, too. like when you softlock yourself by doing glitches.
TT: Noted.
TT: Thank you, June.
GG: "june?" :o
TT: Yes. John likes to be called June.
GG: cute!
EB: oh!! well. haha okay its not a big deal! it's just sort of a nice name the trolls called me.
TG: ill call you whatever you want
TG: a john by any other name and all that shit
TT: Dear god. Everyone, batten down the hatches. Dave made a classical literary reference.
TT: I fear we may be in some fashion of bizarro world.
TG: lol
TG: eat shit
TT: I do need a favor, Dave.
TT: Can you put an ectobiologizer down where I am, now?
TG: no can do rose
TG: once we leave our houses we cant see one another any more
TG: but there are machines in towns and such
TT: Got it.
TT: Thank you.
==
Looks like your course is clear: Head to the "Turtle village" Jaspers spoke of.
You stand, but oddly, your phone buzzes.
--grimAuxiliatrix began trolling tentacleTherapist--
GA: Hello
GA: You Are In Danger
TT: Goodbye.
GA: No Wait
GA: ...
GA: I Assume Because You Have Not Blocked Me You Are Indeed Waiting So I Will Just Say You Are On A Dangerous Course Miss Lalonde
TT: Didn't ask.
TT: You're a troll, then? You know my name and you're not dead on my old planet.
GA: Yes
TT: Right, well. All due respect. I'd rather not speak to you.
GA: Oh I See. Then You Have Changed Your Mind Since Our Last Meeting Then
TT: We have not had a "last meeting."
TT: Wait. You trolls can somehow speak to us out-of-order, right?
GA: Yes But I Do Not Cotton To That Nonsense. We Just Spoke A Moment Ago
TT: I have no idea to what you're referring.
TT: Please be specific about your complaint.
TT: And for the love of god, tell me your name.
TT: You cretins have this awful habit of just throwing around our names without introducing yourselves. Do you know how irritating that is?
GA: I Told You My Name Before Miss Lalonde
GA: You Are Remarkably Bad At Mind Games But I Will Play Along To Give You The Illusion Of Satisfaction So We May Continue Without You Whining Like A Wiggler
GA: It Is Kanaya
TT: Astonishing. Well, hello, Kanaya.
TT: What has inspired your earlier threat?
GA: Threat?
TT: You said I'm in danger.
GA: No No I Meant That You Are In Danger
GA: From Within Your Game
TT: Right.
GA: Well
GA: My Advice Is To Listen
TT: Advice considered.
TT: Advice rejected.
TT: Goodbye.
==
You lock your phone. You curse yourself for not charging it earlier, as now it's at a mere 5%. You hope there will be some option to charge it as you don't know how to get home from here. To your irritation, your phone buzzes again. Against your better judgement, you answer.
==
GA: Rose I Am Trying To Give You Advice That Will Save Your Life
GA: I Am Not Like My Friends I Admire Your Writings
TT: My "writings?"
GA: Yes You Wrote A Game Guide That We Came To Use In Our Session Of The Game You Are Playing Now
TT: I see.
TT: Just make this quick.
GA: Very Well Then
GA: Your Reckoning Is About To Begin
TT: Pardon?
TT: Our Reckoning isn't even close. The Black King has to be in danger for that to happen.
TT: As I understand it, that is one of the last steps to beating the game.
GA: You Are Right, The Reckoning On Skaia Heralds The End Of A Game Session And Signifies The Final Challenge, Under A Significant Time Penalty
TT: But... How?
TT: Is it because I'm finishing the game too early?
GA: Indirectly
TT: Good lord, Kanaya, do you have to explain things in such meandering paragraphs? I have an economy of time left on this battery charge.
GA: Okay
GA: That Is Amusing Coming From You
GA: But Okay
GA: I Will Be Brief Then Your Human Highness
TT: Ugh.
==
You're nervous now. 1% left. You have a feeling Kanaya isn't fucking with you and the early reckoning is bad news.
==
GA: Here Is My Advice Condensed In The Smallest Possible Format
GA: Do Not Allow The Little Man To Perish
==
And with that, your screen goes blank. You groan, putting your face in your hands. You hate electricity.
"Jaspers," you say sternly. "Fly me to Turtle Village."
"But, Miss Rose-" he stammers.
"Do it!" you say. Your irritation is plain on your face, and you'll apologize later, but for now, Jaspers gathers you up, holding you with his secure tentacles as he flies you in a beeline towards the Turtle Village in the distance.
Sadly, Jaspers drops you from about twenty feet up and on the way down, you hit your head on like, ten branches, knocking you out instantly.
Your name is now Jack Noir.
In your hand, you hold the ring of orbs fourfold. In the palace, the Black Queen is a corpse. You're on top of Derse, grinning like a fool.
"We did it, boss!" Ace cries, his little legs excitedly doing a jig underneath himself.
"Good job, boss," says Queen, clapping you on the back, which makes you wince.
"Couldn't say it better myself," King finishes the congratulations, slipping his hand into yours, entwining them. With your free hand, you grasp Queen, who holds Ace, who completes the chain with King.
"To da Suits!" you cry, each of you raising your arms to the skies. You all cackle as Ace's feet leave the ground due to his diminutive height.
"But da job ain't over yet," you say, relinquishing your partners' hands, pinching the ring between your fingers.
Inside the bar, your hideout, you slip the ring on.
What happens next is electric. Inside your body, you feel a great well of power building, like a crackling force threatens to crack your shell from within. You gasp, crying out, and Queen catches you in his strong arms.
When you steady yourself, you feel a surge of strength, accidentally toppling Queen's massive body to the ground.
"Watch it!" he says, but his voice cuts off as he watches wings sprout from your back, tendrils from your ribs, a harlequin twist curling around your head and your feet.
Three of the four orbs glint on your ring. The power of three prototyped kernels flows through your black-shelled body. Your comrades watch in awe.
"Looks like you finally had to wear the hat in the end, huh, boss?" King teases, which you respond to by smacking him upside the head good-naturedly. "Ow!" he exclaims.
"Oh, sorry," you say sheepishly. "Didn't know my own strength."
You look at your hands, or more accurately, hand. One of your arms now terminates at the shoulder.
"Gah! Whaddafuck?" you cry, feeling at your arm.
"Relax, boss," King reassures, patting your missing limb- Or where it SHOULD be. "The Harlequin got prototyped with one arm. Just like the bird got prototyped with a sword through it's chest. Once you take off the ring, you'll get your arm back."
You look down. Sure enough, there's a black sword coming out of your chest, which you remove. It's like a sheath.
"Heh, cool," you remark. Queen makes a face.
"Friggin' gross," he says. "Doesn't dat hurt?"
"Nah," you say, re-"sheathing" the sword in your abdomen. "I feel... Great."
"Well, ah, what now, then, guys?" Ace asks, blinking, looking from you to your cohorts.
"Well..." King says, musing, scratching his chin all casual-like. You can't help but get a little excited. You love King's brain and you can't wait to see what he's coyly come up with. "We got one monarch, but why stop there? Our good fortune can keep on keepin' on. Maybe the Black King can be next. Maybe after that, the White kingdom."
"You little fuckin' weasel," you say, giving King a much more light smack upside the head, now appropriately jocular. "We could make this whole incipisphere ours! The rulers of the Medium. Bitches, riches, and booze!"
"Bitches, riches, and booze!" Ace repeats. Queen conks the little fellow on the head.
"Don't fuckin' swear, Ace," Queen says sternly.
There's something so beautiful about that. You picture it: The whole of The Medium under you and your boys' thumbs, kissing your shiny black feet. You want it. You've been held under the Queen's thumb for too long, your heart swells at the prospect, the now very real prospect, that things might actually turn around for you.
"Before all'a that," you say, holding up your singular hand, testing your wings, spreading them behind you, casting a shadow over the bar. "We got some cleanin' up to do."
You step behind the bar once again, looking around at the place. Soon enough, you'll have your own palace. The thought fills you with giddy, sadistic glee.
"We do?" King seems surprised.
"Yeah," you say, face turning into a frown. "There were... Witnesses."
"Witnesses, boss?" Ace squeaks, leaning on the counter. Queen swats him for putting his elbows on the table. "But why's dat matter? Ain't we gonna take over anyways?"
"That won't work," King shakes his head. "Our story is that BQ died tragically and handed power over to Jack-o. Otherwise the Black King'll come runnin' to off J-Money before we got a chance to do anything."
"You're right," you nod. "But don't call me Jack-o."
"What about 'Jackticles Noirlecrow?'" offers Queen. The other three of you stare at him until he feels appropriately ashamed.
Using your new tenticles, you pour yourself and your cohorts their drink of choice: Cherry cola.
The four of you drink, everyone clinking their glasses together.
"Any leads?" King asks.
"Big one," you reply. "Those graveyard-stuffers left in a piss-ship, so they're headed to either Prospit or Skaia. That and they're humans, like the players. Probably strays who got caught up with 'em."
"Best thing for it'll be splittin' up. Gather intel. Keep in touch." King's plan is sound. Still... You look at Ace, followed by King and Queen. As the three of you look down at him, he grins obliviously.
To your team, Ace is indespensible. He's enthusiastic, the hardest worker, and a great face for PR since he's so damn peppy. He also single-handedly got the ring for you, but even still... He'd be worthless on a recon mission, so Queen wisely puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Ace, li'l buddy. You'll have da most important job of all," he says gruffly. Ace's eyes widen excitedly.
"I will, Queen?!" he squeals, nearly falling off his seat.
"You sure will! You'll, uh-" Queen falters, but King picks it up for him.
"You'll guard the dreamers!" King says hastily.
You sigh in relief. "Guard the dreamers" was your shorthand for "sit on the bench." The sleeping Knight of Time and Seer of Light both slept dreaming in towers high above Derse's moon, and "guarding them" amounted to sitting around watching kids snooze. Still, it was an easy job to foist on Ace when you needed him out of the way. Luckily, Ace either hadn't caught wise to the ruse or he didn't care, placing a hand on his chest.
"You can count on me, fellas!" he says, earnestly.
"I know ya won't let us down, squirt," you say. "But no more sentimental bullshit. We got work to do."
King and Queen head to Skaia while you head to Prospit proper to comb the place for the wayward witnesses.
Yes sir, this will be an easy job. No complications whatsoever. None at all.
Nope.
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
Last thing you remembered was screaming, then a free-fall, then feeling the stinging thud of branches braining you. Now, you're in a bed, wearing a purple robe.
"Hello?" you call out. No one answers.
You squeeze your eyes shut. Remembering what's just happened to you is like trying to hold onto a dream... A dream.
Your eyes shoot open. A dream. You're inside a dream world. You've heard about this before.
"Holy moly!" you hear a squeaky voice nearby, whipping your head around, hand moving for your knitting needle wands, which are no longer there. Failing that, you leap to your feet and grab the interloper by the collar, pinning him to the wall.
"Who are you?" you demand coldly. The fellow is about two heads shorter than you, which is impressive, because you're a mere five foot nothing.
"Gah! Lemme go, ya friggin'-" the little guy struggles for an insult. "-rude lady!"
The failed insult catches you off guard and you fulfill his request, releasing him.
"Apologies," you say. "I'm not entirely sure where I am and it's left me discombobulated. My name is Rose."
"I know who you are," the little man says. "You're da Seer of Light! And I'm da one who's supposed to be sayin' he's discombob-ulerated!"
You squint down at the little fellow.
"Why do you have an Italian-American accent?" you ask.
"A who?"
"Never mind," you say, waving your hand. "I assume you're some kind of... Guard?"
"Dat's right, Miss Seer! Name's Courtyard Droll, but you can call me Ace!"
"What's 'Ace' short for?" you ask.
"Dat's just my ecto-genetics, okay?!" Ace says. "Sheesh!"
Something from your dream- That is to say, something from real life, gives you pause. Something Kanaya said before Jaspers dropped you into a tree.
"Do Not Allow The Little Man To Perish."
Is... This the little man in question? You figure it can't hurt to keep him from perishing, either way.
"Whaddya lookin' at?" he asks, crossing his arms.
"Nothing," you say. "Just. I really am sorry for manhandling you, Mister Ace."
"Ooooo! 'Mister Ace!' I like dat. You're alright, Seer!"
The anachronism of the word "seer" being spoken from what sounds like chipmunk Tony Soprano throws you off, but you continue.
"So... Your job is to guard me. Is that job dangerous? Any... Death-defying or dangerous activities involved?" you ask, trying to sound innocent. From you, it sounds like a threat.
"Nah," he shrugs. "Honestly, I'm pretty sure my boss only tells me to do dis to keep me outta trouble!"
"That's rather patronizing," you say, but Ace shakes his head.
"Nah! I mean I'll be da first to admit, I'm a clumsy sorta guy. I couldn't catch a cold or carry a tune!" Ace shrugs. "That's not my speciality, see. But I got other skills." Ace taps the side of his nose coyly. "Y'know, I was da one who stole the ring for Jack!"
"Ah," you say. That means less than nothing to you. "Impressive."
"Bah. NOW who's being condescend-ifyin'?" Ace leans on the wall. "But still. I wonder why you woke up. You ain't never did before dis. Your brudda is still asleep, y'know!"
Your... Brother? As far as you know, you're an only child.
"I didn't know I had a brother," you say. The idea makes you feel dread for some reason.
"Sure! Why don't I take ya to 'im?" Ace offers. "He's in dat tower way over there!"
Ace points out the window to a structure rising high above the purple spires of the city below, another tower, one you extrapolate to be similar to the one you're in now.
"Sounds good," you say. "Lead on, Mister Ace."
Ace beckons you to follow, down a long flight of stairs. For a guy on stubby legs, he's fast, clearing a flight before you so much as get halfway.
"Cahmaaaaan," he says impatiently. "Can't you kids fly or somethin'?"
"Oh, right," you say, flying down after him. You didn't know you could fly, but at the same time, it doesn't surprise you. This planet is very strange.
"We're about halfway- Oop!" an errant trip, and to your shock, Ace falls down a few steps, rolling towards the window, nearly falling out! You reach for him, grabbing the back of his suit jacket, heart thudding. Kanaya's words echo in your mind.
"Thanks, Lady!" he says, huffing. "I would'a been a goner!"
Safe on solid ground, the two of you enter the streets of the city, but he pauses.
"Ah, jeez. People seein' you awake's gonna cause a commotion. We're gonna hafta take a different route, toots."
"Lead on, my good man," you say, a little wary. This guy wasn't lying about being clumsy.
To your dismay, he peeks around the empty alleyway you two emerged onto and grabs hold of a gutter-pipe, scuttling up it with alarming dexterity.
"We'll run along da roofs!" he says gleefully.
The next ten minutes of your life are spent catching Ace every time his scurrying feet cause him to nearly fall off a building and splat his melon-like head on the pavement below.
"Whew! Touch-and-go, Rose, but we made it!" Ace seems oblivious to the danger he was just in.
"We... Certainly did," you say, breathless. Flying around is exhausting when you're trying to preserve a clumsy little guy like him.
Furthermore, the purported goal of trying to lay low failed abjectly. Essentially the whole city of black-shelled laborers saw you. You're fairly sure you even heard someone shout "Hey, the Droll's going to the Knight's tower!"
Still, he's not dead. The "Little Man" is still alive. You follow him back up the stairs leading up towards the other tower's peak.
"Is your boss nice?" you ask, making conversation.
"HA!" he laughs a single, amused syllable. "He's da roughest, toughest, meanest, nastiest guy in the Medium!"
"Sounds difficult."
"No way! That's why I like workin' for him. He let me be one'a his right hand guys on account'a my enthusiasm, even though I'm kinda an airhead," he says cheerfully.
You're beginning to understand. This is an Addams Family situation. Bad is good for these folks.
"I was in deep wit dis guy, he made me do some work for 'im. I'm good wit numbers and whatnot, so he made me fix some bets for him. A bookie."
You listen, watching carefully every time you two pass a window.
"An' da boss- Not the Bookie, my man Jack- He stepped in. Said it wasn't right pushin around a little guy like me!"
"That's nice of him to elevate you from that situation," you affirm.
"Yeah! You should pick on people da same size as you, I think! And I live by dat." The Droll pauses, the strain finally catching up to him. He huffs, leaning on the wall with one hand, hunched over.
"Anyway, da bookie wasn't happy, so I still gotta watch my back, but-"
Below you, you hear a commotion. Someone just entered the bottom floor of the tower. You can see them from above, leaning down to look.
"Shit," Ace hisses. "Speak of the freakin' Lord of Double Death and he shall appear!"
"Who is that?" you ask. Below are three men: One burly fellow wearing purple-colored brass knuckles, the other two smaller, but no less mean-looking.
"That's, uh," Ace gulps audibly. "That's dat bookie I was talkin' about!"
Shit. This must have been what Kanaya meant. Well, you're not about to let this Little Man die, even if it was just because a troll told you to. You're going to do it because you're beginning to like him.
"What're we gonna do?!" Ace whispers, hopping from foot to foot. You have an idea.
"Hide," you hiss. You have no weapons to aid you at the moment- No weapons at least but one: Gravity.
On each landing on the massive spiral staircase leading up to the tower's peak, there are small vases full of purple-hued plants, which the both of you crouch behind. From below, you hear the group climbing, their shelled feet clacking on the purple stone.
"When they get here-" you whisper urgently to Ace. "We leap out, surprise them, then push."
"Got it!" Ace says, nodding.
You clench your teeth. You don't feel... Super great about a plan to push guys down fifty meters of stairs, but on the other hand, you're pretty sure they're not going to care who they find.
Your heart hammers as you wait, the footsteps getting closer. You can hear one of the little guys speaking.
"Why'd they make this with so many stairs?!" he says, wheezing.
"Why'd they make you so whiny?" returns a gruff, deeper voice.
Soon, their feet touch the landing you're on and you hold your breath until you see one's knee from behind the vase.
"Now!" you cry, shoving with all your might. Ace follows suit, and together, you topple all three of the goons, watching them clatter down the stairs. A small one lands first, followed by the burly one, who crushes him under his weight. The third follows the rear, skidding a foot or two on his face.
"The bigger they are-" you say, dusting your hands off.
"-the harder they fuckin' die!" Ace finishes.
"Close enough," you grin, motioning for him to follow.
"Cahmaaaaan," you repeat to him, flying ahead a landing as he struggles to keep up. Ace laughs, flipping you the bird.
Before long, you reach a door. No doubt this is your "brother's" room. Ace pushes it open, and as he does, your fears are realized.
"God, he even sleeps with those fucking shades," you hiss under your breath, staring at the prone form of Dave Strider.
"Looks like he's still asleep," Ace says, prodding Dave's cheek. "Looks like whatever made you wake up didn't affect him. Oh! Shit!!"
Ace grabs a walkie-talkie on his hip.
"Sorry, gotta make a call."
You lean down by Dave's bed, watching him distastefully. You're glad your friend is here, but still- "Brother?" You're both only children, raised halfway across the country from one another.
"She's awake, yeah- Not the Knight though. Uh huh." Ace speaks just outside the room on his walkie. "You got it, King!"
Ace re enters, hopping up on Dave's bed.
"Whaddya say we fuck with 'im?" he says impishly. A smile grows on your face.
The next five minutes are spent fucking with Dave's sleeping body.
First things first, of course, is the writing on his face. Ace provides a pen and you take turns sketching things on his mug, pushing his shades up onto his head. A dick. The word "drip." Dark circles under the eyes. The complete makeover.
Next, you locate a weird-looking doll with a blue tuxedo nearby, placing it in bed with him, simulating a puppet-Dave cuddle sesh.
Finally, the coup-de-grace. From a nearby bathroom, Ace produces a cup of warm water.
"I heard when ya stick their hand in water, they piss!" he says gleefully.
"Then by all means, Mister Ace, do the honors." You step aside, grabbing Dave's wrist. He snorts in his sleep, but doesn't wake.
"Piss city here I come!" Ace approaches, but suddenly, the cup of water explodes in his hand, splashing over Dave's face, who stirs.
Both your and Ace's heads whip towards the door. Standing in the doorway is the massive goon from before, leg bent at an awkward angle, leaning heavily on the doorframe, holding a smoking gun.
"You fuckin' rat!" the burly bookie bellows, pointing a shaky barrel at Ace, who freezes in terror. Dave groggily moves, hand locating his wet face.
"S'goin on...?" Dave mumbles, but you don't have time to reply.
"Not to worry, Ace, our friend just wants another trip down the stairs." You step in front of the Little Man, teeth gritted.
"Oh, I get it," the bookie says, sliding up the doorframe. "Jack ain't here to protect you, so now you're usin' the players, that it? You're nothin' but a little bottom feeding shit."
You rush the burly man, planning another push, but this time he's ready, shoving himself out of the way, his gun clattering across the floor. You sail into the hall, past him.
"Ace!" you cry, and he takes initiative, scuttling forward to grab the gun, pointing it fearfully at the bookie, who freezes. Without hesitation, Ace fires, but for his trouble, instead of a bang, he hears a click. As he squeezes the trigger again, there's another click.
"Uh- Who are you guys?" Dave says from inside, lowering his shades back down over his face. The duo ignore him for now.
"Heh," the bookie chuckles, taking out a small knife. "No one to protect ya now, huh, Ace?"
Before the galoot can lunge, you leap onto his back, arms around his neck, trying to weigh him down.
What happens next feels like an eternity.
The blade leaves the bookie's hand, his aim severely misaligned due to your tackle. The knife sails straight for Dave's head as the bookie falls backwards, directly on top of you, knocking your wind out.
You push him off with a pained grunts and he bellows as he takes his other promised trip down the stairs- and as you sit up in terror,
you watch the knife careen towards a groggy Dave's face. You feel a scream leave your lips, but it's cut short as something jet-black blocks the knife.
"Ace!" you cry, breathless. Dave catches the small frame of the little carapacian in his arms, blood beginning to blotch his black suit.
"Wha...?" Dave looks bewildered. He had just woken up and a dead man had fallen into his arms. You rush to the bedside, hands shaking, indecision filling your mind.
"A-Ace?" you stammer. Ace groans, eyes squeezed shut.
"I... I did it," he hisses, coughing. Blood drips from his lips. "I... Guarded the dreamers."
You failed. You Let The Little Man Die.
You didn't know him for long, so you can't say you're incredibly wracked with grief at Ace's death, but a weighty sadness falls over you. You don't have tears for this little man, but you feel that you might have grown to like him. From his belt, you take the walkie talkie, speaking into it, turning around, letting Dave hold Ace.
"Hello? Is this King?" you speak into the receiver, waiting.
"This is King. Who's this? Where the hell's Ace?" a suave, irritated voice replies over the scratchy radio.
"I have bad news," you say solemnly.
"Alright. But again. Who's this?" the voice repeats.
"This is the Seer of Light," you say, repeating the moniker you'd heard Ace call you. "Ace is..."
Silence on the other end.
"Ace is dead," you finish.
Another long silence.
"You'd better start talkin' fast, little lady, or I'm liable to come unglued. What- You steal Ace's walkie or somethin'? This ain't a prank." King's voice is tinged with a terror that makes your heart ache. He sounds frightened for his friend, but his fear is too late.
"Ace died. Someone nearly killed the Knight and he blocked the knife." You speak austerely.
"Uh, Rose...?" Dave speaks behind you, but you wave him off.
"Fuck. If I find out you're lyin', kid, I'll skin you alive, do you hear me? My- Ace is-?" the pain comes through even on the low-quality call.
"Rose." Dave repeats.
"Not now," you hiss at Dave, turning back to the walkie. "I'm very sorry, Mister King, but this is the truth. If it helps, he died with honor."
"I don't care if he died fallin' out a frog-damn window, he's-!" King's voice cuts out. "Get rid of this radio." You hear him whisper to himself. "I gotta tell Jack..."
You oblige, tossing the radio out the window, watching it sail above the purple city below.
"Rose," Dave says a final time. You look down at him. His purple pajamas are bloody, but the body is nowhere to be found.
"Wh-" you blink. "Where the hell is the body?" you demand.
"I- I don't know!" Dave says defensively. "H-he turned into fucking grist! You're the one who just handed me a corpse like a sack of goddamn apples!"
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
"And another thing," Dave says, looking around. "Where the fuck am I?"
Your name is Rose Lalonde. Again. But like, later on.
After the ordeal on Derse, you wake up back on LOLAR, head ringing, the back of it pounding. Ah. Right. Your waking body got beaned by branches.
You're in a bed, a cozy fireplace crackling nearby.
==
TT: Kanaya.
GA: Good Morning Rose
TT: I have bad news.
GA: You Let The Little Man Die
TT: I'm afraid I did.
TT: He seemed very kind.
GA: I Am Afraid I Fear This Outcome Was Inevitable Anyway
TT: Why was it so important, anyway? I mean, he seemed to be just some... Fellow.
TT: A guardsman of the towers on Derse.
GA: Yes And No
GA: According To The Information I Have He Was Friends With Someone Who Comes To Be Very Important In Your Session
GA: His Death Is The First Of Three Tragedies That Causes Your Game To Become Unwinnable
TT: Oh, good.
TT: Well, how do we stop the other two?
GA: I Do Not Think We Do
GA: Paradox Space Has A Certain Course That Is Set I Fear
TT: Paradox Space?
GA: Yes That Is The World In Which We Live
TT: I thought the game was in The Medium.
GA: Yes But Paradox Space Is The Empty Void In Which Every Universe Hangs
GA: I Am Actually Very Passionate About The Finer Points Of Space If You Would Like More Information
TT: Thank you, Kanaya, but I'll pass. No offense, but it will make my head hurt more.
TT: Maybe later.
GA: Lovely
GA: In That Case I Hope To See You Again Soon
TT: Very well.
==
You check your other messages.
==
TT: Roll call.
TG: sup rose
EB: hi, rose!
TG: long time no talk
TT: Har, har.
TT: Dave and I have some news for later on but I fear it will have to wait.
EB: oh, god... you're not...
TG: dont finish that thought
EB: are you two dating? D:
TT: June, I will skin you alive.
TG: no no no fuck ew fuck
TG: take that shit back
TT: Never say anything that disgusting again, June. You're better than this.
EB: okay! jesus christ hop out of my ass!
TG: just never say any shit like that again and were cool
TG: glad thats cleared up
TG: any word from jade
EB: nope. :/
EB: she said she's finished exploring, but she sounded kind of annoyed.
TG: i guess we should all just
TG: continue beating the game then
TG: im doing pretty good on lohac
TG: this shit is easy for ds and me
TG: right now hes dispatching some boss while im setting up a grist grinder
TG: should make getting stuff easy
TT: No one cares about your exploits, Dave.
TG: aw
TT: When Jade gets on, have her join. I have an urgent matter we need to discuss.
EB: i'll try to reach her. if she's still on her island i can use sburb to get in contact, maybe.
TT: Thank you, June.
EB: :)
==
You lay back in bed. Even though your dreams were fraught, you feel rested, enough to swing your legs out and stretch.
You think it's high time this game stops fucking around.
Chapter 19: Act 2: Episode 8: Daemonium Nativitas
Chapter Text
Your name is Jade Harley.
Right now, you're holding off on entering your first gate and instead searching your island which has been transported to the Land of Frost and Frogs. Your sprite said it's CALLED that, but you can't help but think that at present, there is only the former.
Right now, said sprite is... Not here. You'd rather not deal with her right now.
You sigh, wiping a tear out of your eye, resolving yourself.
It's cold as balls, here. You have a coat, but it's way too big for you, once belonging to your Grandfather, Jacob.
The path towards the frog temple is clearer now, the lagoon having been frozen over , making it easy to simply cross and climb up.
You shrug the rifle over your shoulder, but you haven't yet run into any imps. Good.
While you walk, your phone buzzes.
==
FTG: jade
GG: uh hi dave!
GG: did you change your handle
FTG: sort of
PTG: uh
PTG: what the fuck is going on here
FTG: not right now man
GG: oh! is one of you dave and the other davesprite?
FTG: no no
FTG: im "future" dave
PTG: oh gotcha
PTG: and im past dave right
FTG: close
FTG: present TG
GG: um
GG: wat
FTG: just relax
FTG: im from the future and i need a favor jade
GG: oh okay!
GG: like in terminator!
GG: (ive never actually seen it hehe)
FTG: youre in your frog ruins right
GG: yeah!
FTG: tight
FTG: listen carefully
FTG: you know the flower thing
GG: the one i got your discs from?
FTG: yeah
FTG: that thing is like a... sort of time capsule thing
FTG: its too much of an ordeal to explain
FTG: just write down "dave" with the date "april 13th 2009" on something and stick it in. then set it for an hour
GG: uh... okay!
GG: i assume this is for time travel purposes
FTG: yep
FTG: no time to explain though
FTG: which is like
FTG: ironic
FTG: oh yeah ptg
PTG: yo
FTG: make sure you do this later ok
PTG: cool
FTG: AR will remind you no worries
PTG: no idea who that is but ok
FTG: and jade its nice to hear from you
FTG: just
FTG: its been a while
GG: aw! well it hasnt for me but its nice to hear from you too dave!
FTG: you could say its been
FTG: a dogs age
GG: uh
GG: i guess you could!
GG: wait is there a joke im missing
FTG: oh right i guess its too early for that
FTG: anyways later
==
You oblige Future-Dave, a little confused, but hey, you're here anyway.
You're now in the main room of the ruins, a large ovular room with the flower-capsule in the middle, now open from when you got Dave's discs.
You don't have anything on-hand to write with, so you look around the place. To your surprise, on a desk, there's a large scrapbook and a journal. You hadn't noticed that before, tucked away near a wall and a panel on the floor that you recognize as a transportalizer, like that is in your room.
You tear a page from the journal and scrawl on it "DAVE," tossing it into the time capsule. You're VERY curious about the journal, but for now you promised your friend you'd help them out.
Even so, you notice writing on the wall in old chalk that makes you curious, right above the transportalizer:
"TO LOWAS, DO NOT ENTER!"
There will be plenty of time for investigation later! You set the little digital readout on the capsule to sixty minutes, pressing a button.
To your shock, however, as the meter begins to count down, the whole ruins begin to rumble. Confused, you move to ask Dave what's happening, but as you reach your phone, he's already messaged you.
==
FTG: oh shit i forgot to mention
FTG: once you set the timer itll launch the entire ruins into space
FTG: so
FTG: i would run
==
You wish you could stay to bitch Dave out, but sadly, the rumbling is only getting worse. You hoof it to the entrance of the ruins and leap, landing in a roll on the ice below, hissing as your knees buckle.
Behind you, the ice near the base of the ruins is cracking, making your own footing unsteady. You scramble to the edge of the lagoon, frigid water splashing on your back as the ice gives way under your feet, a rocket beneath the ruins exploding in a deafening crash which wrenches the ruins from the very soil at the bottom of the lagoon.
You go flying like a doll, landing on the hard butt of your rifle, face-down in the snow, your coat soaked. You flip over, gasping for air from lungs that had been knocked empty, watching helplessly as the frog ruins sail into the sky above, towards Skaia.
You pant, trying to stand, but the cold is too much. Your last thought before you pass out is...
"I'm going to kill Dave."
Your name is Jade Harley, the Witch of Space.
You awaken with a start in your bedroom on Prospit. You were just having one of your dreams again, but oddly, something about it strikes you as different, this time. You're starting to think they might not be dreams at all. Your back still hurts and you still feel the chill of the icy water from that lagoon, and the memory is much more clear than usual.
Miss Paint is nowhere to be found, which strikes you as odd. She DID say she was helping someone today. You stretch, looking out the window, watching Prospit bustling below. You're sure of it, now. Those dreams of yours are real- And they're not dreams at all. There seem to be two of you, somehow, one here at home on Prospit, one down below, now in the Land of Frost and Frogs.
"S'cuse me," says a gruff voice behind you. You turn in shock to see... Something.
What you see is hard to describe. It's a massive carapacian, but there are thre ways in which he's different to anything you've ever seen before. For starters, he's black-colored, unlike the white-shelled Prospitians. Second, he's about two heads taller than you are, which is saying something, since you're six foot two! And third... He's wearing what is clearly Miss Paint's bonnet and apron.
"Uh," you say, blinking. "Hi!" When the guy doesn't speak, you do. "Who... Are you?"
"I'm yer new nanny," he says simply. There's so much wrong with that, you're not sure where to begin.
"I... Don't believe you!" you say. He deflates.
"Ah, man," he says, tugging on the undersized apron. "It's da apron, ain't it? Boss said I looked fine, but I could see him tryin' not to laugh..."
"Oh! No, no, it's not the apron, sir- Ma'am? S'ma'am. It's the fact that you're, well... You're super-clearly a bad guy!" you cross your arms.
"Aw, shucks," he smiles. "Dat's real sweet, Miss Witch."
"How did you get here?" you ask, a little dumbfounded. "Are you from... Derse?"
"Yep," he says. "Me 'n my boss're here to find the guys what killed our Queen."
"Oh!" you say. "So you can get revenge?"
"Revenge?" the man laughs. "Naw, naw, so we can kill 'em in order to take da throne. See- The Black Queen's a real piece'a work. We jus' want to eliminate any sorta challenges to our power."
"You're a rebel group, then?" you sit on your bed. This guy doesn't seem dangerous to you. More like a big friendly bear.
"Yeah, yeah!" he says, nodding. "Dey call us-" he pauses dramatically. "Da Suits. Led by Jack Noir himself!"
"Well! I wish you the best of luck, but that doesn't answer why you're here."
"Oh," he says, wincing. "I'm, uh. On guard duty. Makin' sure you're not causin' trouble. Interferin'."
"Okay!" you say. You don't feel much like causing trouble for such a noble band of rogues. "What's your name?"
"I'm Queen!" he says proudly, hands on his hips. You can't help but giggle.
"You sure are!" you agree. You share a good-natured chuckle, but the nice atmosphere is drained quickly.
A walkie-talkie on the guard's hip hisses, buzzing to life. When it does, he snatches it urgently, speaking into it. That must be the boss. You hear only Queen's end of the conversation.
"Boss? Oh, hell- What? He's-? Oh, fuck, ah, shit." He looks back at you hastily. "No, boss, the Witch is asleep! I can be there right now."
He hangs up, looking panicked.
"You!" he says, pointing at you. "Stay right dere, and don't-!"
The massive man is silenced as to your abject horror, his head it blown clean off.
Blood paints the door, his boddy falling to the floor as you feel your lungs start to piston without your consent, air moving too fast trhough you, heart racing. Over Queen's body steps a tan boot. You follow the leg up to the man's face, which makes your terror only increase.
"Jadey-cakes?!" the voice of your deceased grandfather is the last thing you hear before you pass out.
Your name is Jade Harley.
You awaken in your living room, panting and gasping, bolt-upright. No doubt about it, now. Your dreams are real. You look at your hands, shivering.
"You're up," you hear the voice of your sprite speak from nearby.
"You... You saved me?" you ask.
Your sprite drifts into view and you cringe.
"I guess," she says halfheartedly.
Earlier in the day, after hearing of Dave's success with prototyping himself, you'd remembered something: Your taxidermized clone up in the attic that had been wearing your Prospit robes.
Sadly, unlike Dave, you and your self do not get along in the least. Worse still, Bec is now nowhere to be found.
"Well..." even in spite of all this, she did save you. "Thank you."
Jadesprite sits on the couch opposite you, the fireplace crackling. The silence stretches long.
"You're... Her, aren't you?" you say. "Me, I mean. The other me, the one I control in my dreams."
Jadesprite looks at you, nodding slowly.
"Ugh, stop being so miserable!" you growl. "I don't get it. We LOVE Prospit! Flying around, Miss Paint. Why are you so fucking sad? I don't remember being THIS sad."
Jadesprite doesn't speak, huddling into a hunched ball on the sofa.
"And how did grandpa even GET you? Has he been to Prospit? Was that him who killed-" you're cut off by Jadesprite's quiet sobbing.
"What does this mean?" you demand, feeling rage rise in your chest. You're sick of this. You're supposed to be the one with answers, the one who understands, the one who's on top of things. You've been awake the longest, you know the most about the game, but now you're as in the dark as anyone, and the only person who could help you make sense of things is a sobbing weirdo who killed your dog!
You pinch the bridge of your nose. Okay, she didn't kill your dog.
"I do love Prospit," Jade insists, struggling for words. "That's WHY I'm- I'm...!"
You sit up, wincing. You don't feel like anything is broken, but your back aches from where you fell on your rifle.
"Does something... Happen to Prospit, Jade?" you ask. This question makes Jade wail miserably, so you give up, cupping your hands over your ears.
Sprite-Jade sobs while you try to drift back to sleep, to see what's happening on Prospit, but you can't doze off, not with this drama-queen around.
And Dave! He conviniently didn't mention the fact that the ruins were also a rocket, so now you can't even read the journal or explore the ruins. All you can do is angrily turn your back to Jadesprite, shoving a pillow over your head as you text someone, anyone, to get your mind off things.
==
GG: rose?
GG: youre the only one online
GG: im in such a shit mood
GG: i think something bad is happening on prospit
TT: That's rather uncanny.
GG: what is?
TT: I was about to warn you of that very thing.
TT: I've also got some information about the dreams you've been having.
GG: oh
GG: well fuck!
GG: i cant get to sleep right now
GG: ugh this is the worst
TT: I'm sorry, Jade.
TT: And... I need to give you an apology.
TT: All those times you talked about your golden city in the clouds I never believed you.
GG: really?
GG: thanks rose...
GG: even if it did sound pretty crazy
TT: You were right. None of us ever got to go to college
TT: Northern Illinois is probably just... Gone, now.
GG: ugh...
GG: rose im really sorry but i cant hear that right now
GG: im in a bad place
TT: It's true. The world is gone. We're alone. The only thing to do is tear this wretched game apart, brick by brick.
GG: ...
TT: Indeed. The world is dead, so in this place, we need something to fight for, no matter how arbitrary.
GG: rose
TT: I cannot even say if we'll prevail. It might be hubristic to even suggest things. Maybe we ought just to lay down and accept fate.
GG: ROSE!
TT: o_o
GG: stop being such a fucking downer!
GG: oh my god youre so grimdark!
GG: this isnt warhammer 40k you insane weirdo this is REAL LIFE
GG: and i dont want to die and i dont want you to die so just!!!!
GG: STOP!
==
There's a long pause, where you realize you've been panting heavily, the space under your pillow hot with breath.
==
TT: I'm sorry.
TT: You're right, Jade.
TT: You're clearly in no mood for my... Normal patter. I'll keep this brief.
GG: okay...
TT: Things are happening on Derse and Prospit. We may need to accelerate things.
TT: The Reckoning is going to begin, very soon, unless we can stop a man called Jack Noir.
TT: He is going to be initiating The Reckoning.
GG: oh geez
TT: Dave and I are all the way on Derse right now. You and June have dreamselves on Prospit, so you two need to stop him yourselves.
GG: ugh...
TT: I know. I'm sorry to heap this on you right now.
TT: But you said it yourself, Jade. You want to live.
==
Rose is right. You DO want to live. Your anger turns into resolve in your chest and you sit up.
"Jade," you say, addressing Jadesprite. "Knock me out."
Jadesprite looks absolutely miserable, suddenly, but she sniffles, nodding.
"Ask her," she says, pointing to your phone.
==
GG: hey idiot
GG: i need you to put me to sleep
GG: i know you can! with your shitty stupid mind control powers or whatever
AG: Ugh.
AG: Don't just ASK me to do it! It's not fun if you WANT it.
GG: wow!
GG: thanks for saying that incredibly fucked up thing
GG: just do it!
AG: I'm not your sleep aid, Harley. Crawl into some sopor slime and sleep like a normal person. ::::P
GG: sleeping in slime isnt normal!
AG: Humans are so weird.
AG: 8ut fiiiiiiiine.
AG: You're 8ugging me now, so here you go.
AG: Give the wiggler her grubloaf.
AG: Sleep!
==
And just like she said. You sleep.
Your name is Jade Harley. Or... It used to be. Now you're Jadesprite.
"Woof," you say to yourself, leaning back on your sofa. Across from you is the real Jade Harley, snoozing peacefully, but you know from experience, her dreams are fraught. You fish Jade's phone from her pocket.
==
GG: dave?
DS: sup jade
DS: daves making some sick money moves but i can chat
GG: oh this is actually not jade either
GG: this is jadesprite :(
DS: tight
DS: what are you then some kind of clone
DS: doomed timeline
GG: i need to ask you something about that actually...
DS: i am the resident time expert so go ahead
GG: im just confused
GG: everyone in this game has like, an extra life on prospit or derse
DS: i wouldnt know anything about that personally but i know the concept
DS: main-dave just told me about his dreams
GG: right!
GG: i think im... jades dream-self
GG: she said my body was in the attic
DS: gotcha
GG: but... thats impossible! because well... my dreamself died
GG: *i* died :(
DS: shit
DS: well youve come back to life it seems
GG: ...
DS: i think its likely that youre not a doom-clone like me
GG: then what am i?
DS: probably youre you
DS: a version of you from the future somehow
GG: from the future?
DS: yeah
DS: and if you died and jade is asleep now then
DS: well
DS: shes you, in the past, about to die
GG: thats horrible! D:
GG: dave i have to stop this!
DS: no can do bromigo
DS: things have to shake out a certain way
DS: if she doesnt die it probably means you wont exist
DS: paradox
DS: the fact that you exist means that shes already doomed
GG: so i just have to watch her die?
DS: no way
DS: you can help her
GG: but... im so miserable, dave!!!
GG: i cant get my final moments out of my head...
DS: what happened to you if you dont mind me asking
GG: i was on prospit, id just found my grandpa and everything was so confusing...
GG: then the guy we were fighting, he...
GG: ugh!! its too horrible...
DS: easy
DS: no need to rehash that shit
DS: if youre her dead dream self then all you can do is help her
DS: you know what shes going through
DS: you have to make sure she wakes up safe
DS: cared for
GG: i can do that...
DS: good
DS: and jade
GG: yeah, dave?
DS: thanks for calling me dave
GG: of course!
==
You log off. Using your newfound powers, you lift Jade bridal-style, traipsing out into the snow around your island, looking skyward to the first gate.
You have to help Jade. You're her sprite now. You... Love Jade, even if you don't get along. You love yourself. Even if you're not that self any more.
You crouch, then leap into the sky towards the gate, flying through it.
Unfortunately, this was the worst mistake you ever made.
"Bec?!" You cry as your snow-white pooch tackles you, sending you both rolling through the first gate.
You and Jade pass through the portal, landing in the snow a hundred meters from your house. Your portal just transported you back to the island...?
You don't have time to worry about that, now, though. Something is happening. Bec's paws are on your shoulders, his dog-face gazing down at you, and for the first time in your life, he looks terrified to you. He whines, paws sinking into your glowing, effervescent skin.
"No! Bec!" you wail, sobbing, feeling potent dread as before your eyes, your beloved dog simply... Vanishes, with one final, confused bark.
Your name is now Jade Harley. Like the main one.
You're on Prospit, confused beyond belief. Your grandfather had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, killed a black-shelled guard, and dragged you down the stairs out of your own tower. This was all while you were asleep- Or awake- On the Land of Frost and Frogs, but now that you're waking up, you're in a Prospit street, disoriented and confused.
Before you could so much as demand how any of this was possible, you both came face to face with... Some kind of bird man?
"Jack!" your grandpa bellows. The dead bodies of Prospitians are littered around the birdman- Jack, as he's called. You recoil in horror. Just moments ago you'd been speaking to a nice burly man in a maid outfit, and now... This horror.
Jack's wings are unfurled like a noir angel, and when he turns to face your grandpa, his eyes are wild with malice. The murderous intent almost knocks you over.
"You," he says coldly, snarling above the commotion.
"Give it up, you blackguard!" grandpa says, aiming his rifle. "That ring belongs to me!"
Jack raises his hand, tauntingly, a gold ring on his finger, glinting against Skaia's light.
"G-grandpa?" you ask, eyes swimming. Your grandfather has been dead since you were thirteen, even among the horrid scene around you, you can't help but meekly ask.
"You killed my men!" Jack bellows. "Ace- Queen-" he clutches his head, red-colored tears streaking his black shelled face. "My BOYS!"
"I only killed that galoot making eyes at my granddaughter, you scurrilous scoundrel," your grandpa narrows his eyes.
"Oh!" Jack's voice tinges with unhinged, bitter sarcasm. "So you only killed ONE of my crew! I guess only ONE of da corpses are your fault! Goodness, me, sir, I feel all fuckin' better!"
Jack advances on you both. You don't know who this is or why your grandpa hates him, but you hide behind your pop, feeling like you're thirteen again.
"Not another step," your grandfather warns. Jack, grinning wickedly, takes another exaggerated, mocking step. Before your grandpa can squeeze down on the trigger, though, another black-shelled man grabs your grandpa from behind! He drops his rifle, which clatters across the yellow bricks.
"Grandpa!" you scream, diving for the rifle, holding it shakily.
"Well, well," Jack says, wings folding, breath hitching in his chest. "The little brats are awake. Cute. I don't have any beef with you, squirt, so why don't'cha run along while I kill your pep-pep?"
You hold the gun before you, unable to hold it steady. You curse your nerves. You've shot lots of deer in the past, but this... This man is a person, no matter how evil his eyes glint at you.
"Careful," Jack's henchman warns. He sounds almost... Caring, like he doesn't want to see you get hurt. Distracted, you feel Jack snatch the rifle from your grip, tossing it aside. You fall backwards onto your rear.
"J-Jade, honey!" Grandpa chokes. "S-save Grandpa, now, dear- Just ah- Remember what I taught you!"
You can't respond, you're frozen. All you can do is watch, a spectator of your own paralysis, as Jack takes out the sword sheathed in his chest, and-!
"Back off, dickhead!" you hear a voice and see a body, in pajamas like yours, slamming into Jack from behind.
"Fuck!" Jack curses, toppling into grandpa and his henchman, your grandfather rolling out of the way in the fracas.
Next to you, lands a familiar face, one which makes you cry out in recognition.
"Oh!" The figure of your sleeping sister snaps you out of your terror-induced inaction, like her presence alone soothes your nerves. She even manages to smile at you.
"S-sorry!" she says, helping you to your feet. "We can't meet up now, we've got to get out of here!"
"Get outta here?" Jack says, wings unfurling again, this time tossing his murderous intent your way. "I'm gonna make fuckin' CORPSES outta you!"
Jack lunges, but grandpa tackles him out of the way, causing a scuffle between them.
"Where's the other guy?" June says, taking the chance to look around.
"Did he run away?" you say, hopefully, but you somehow doubt it.
"Jade!" grandpa calls out. "Nab his sword!"
The sword in question clatters to the ground, which you grab. Now that his weapon is gone, grandpa can engage in fisticuffs, something he's famous for being good at. He's on top of Jack, now, pummeling his face.
"Take that! And that!" Grandpa spits onto the ground nearby, cracking his knuckles. "That'll learn a man like you to mess with my- My-?"
You see a flash. The ring on Jack's finger seems to glow. Before, three of the four pearls on his ring were illuminated, but now, the fourth was coming into focus.
"Oh," your eyes widen. "Oh no," before you can realize what's going on, it's too late.
Glowing a pure, bright white, Jack throws Grandpa off of him like a doll, and...
"Awwwoooooooooo!"
Jack rears his head back, mouth drawn across his fangs, howling at Skaia high above like a dog.
"N-no!" you cry. You know what's going on and you're helpless to stop it. "That... That IDIOT!"
You strike the ground with your fist as Jack hunches forward, his face twisting and changing, morphing into the profile of a dog. YOUR dog.
Every time a player crosses their first gate, the forces of light and darkness obtain the power of whatever was prototyped into the player's sprite.
A one armed jester from June. A squid-doll from Rose. A black crow from Dave. And from you?
The most powerful being on planet Earth: Becquerel the Nuclear Dog.
When Jack snarls again, it's from a snout you recognize. You feel like you could cry.
"Bec-" you wail, and to your shock, Jack blinks in response. He cocks his head at you, curiously, his murderous intent seeming to evaporate.
"Bec?" you repeat, in awe. You take a step towards Jack, holding out a hand.
You'd assumed all along that your foes obtaining Bec's power would spell your doom, but it appears this being also obtained Bec's loyalty to you!
"Jade...?" June, terrified, puts her hand out cautiously, but you step past her.
"Bec, put the sword down, boy, okay?" you say, calmly. Jack blinks again and drops the sword after a moment.
"What're you-" he begins to speak, putting a hand to his temples. "Cut it out-"
You laugh. Grandpa gets to his feet, clutching his arm, blood dripping from it.
"It's okay, it's okay! Just calm down and-"
You feel something sink into your back. Something wet trickles down, soaking into your golden robes.
"Jade!" your grandfather and June cry out in unison as you black out, forevermore.
You can no longer be Jade. Jade is dead. Instead, you are June.
You watch in horror as Jack's henchman plunges the knife into your sister's back. Jade falls down, limp, alarmingly lifeless in a way that makes your blood turn to ice.
"Got 'er, boss," says the henchman. To your surprise, Jack doesn't look pleased. He in fact, looks livid beyond words. Green energy crackles around him and the henchman takes a step back.
"B-boss?" he stammers, a pained look on his face. "It's me- King. Boss!"
"You killed Jade, you fuckin' monster!" Jack howls, voice snarling and animalistic.
"Young lady," the old man says, hand on your back. You blink blearily. Over his shoulder is Jade's body.
Jade's... Corpse.
"Huh...?" you say, dumbly. The old man grabs your wrist, tugging you down a back alley. You look over your shoulder on the way, only to see Dog-Jack plunging the sword into his own henchman's limp face over and over, red tears streaming from his eyes as he screams.
Jack's howls make the whole planet shake, audible and deafening even as the old man- Jade's grandpa, tugs you across the gold bricks of Prospit.
"You can fly, can't you, girl?" he demands.
"Y-yessir," you say hastily.
"Then go! Leave me. Fly up to Skaia. I've got a feeling our doggy friend isn't going to let this place stand for much longer."
"What about you? What about-" your voice catches in your throat.
"I've got a getaway plan," he says urgently, letting your wrist go. "Now, GO, woman!"
You obey, head swimming. For the second time today, you fly away from Prospit's moon, not daring to turn back until you reach the same bush you'd dropped that mom and dad on.
You've only been awake for an hour or two, but you're still forlorn about what you see. The spires and steeples of the city-planet below- now above you, cracking and falling, green electricity crackling through the streets, the forlorn, pained howling of a madman.
After a few moments, the rumbling stops, but just like the delayed rumble of a strike of lightning... Prospit's moon explodes into green, horrible flames.
You never got to see Prospit. You never got to walk its streets with your sister. You never got to fly over it, laughing and giddy. You never got to watch the clouds of Skaia high above and see visions in them.
You never got any of these things, but you mourn their loss all the same.
You are now Jacob Fitzgerald Harley.
Over your life, you've had adventures out the wazoo. Your old hands are as aged and storied as the rings on trees and you've run the gammot of loss and love, but today takes the cake.
Thirteen years back, you'd come to an island off the west coast of America, an island that hosted a mysterious set of frog ruins in a lagoon. With your crackerjack team of scientists, you'd opened up the ruins and inspected the technology within, finding impossibly advanced gizmos, all of which your boys reverse-engineered to be usable. From that research came the foundation of Skaianet and your own tech empire. Cookalyzers, transportalizers, ectobiology stations, all made based on the gadgets inside those ruins, plucked clean.
But you'd also found her.
Though inexplicable, you raised Jade Harley as your own.
Now, today, even more inexplicably, you'd found that girl on this golden planet on your search for treasure and in that same day, you'd seen her die.
"Mister Harley?"
A voice tears you from your reminiscing.
"Mm? Ah, Miss Paint," you say, sitting up.
"I... Hate to be insensitive, but..." Miss Paint squirms, pointing at the corpse of your daughter.
"But what, woman?" you demand bitterly. You know it's downright sacrelidge to have laid your bleeding, dead daughter on the sofa, but you're not accepting critique at this time. Miss Paint eases off, cringing.
"Right," she says.
Presently, you're on the escape ship that you'd used to travel from Derse to Prospit before, now a rescue vehicle for the second time today. You'd hopped on in the last moments before that Jack fellow obliterated the planet.
"Are you still going to try and get the ring?" she asks.
"No," you sigh, "This treasure proved too much for me, I'm afraid. I ought to head home. I have to tend to poor Jade."
"Where is home, Mister English?" Miss Paint asks. "When we found you, you were wandering about on the Land of Wind and Shade, but you never explained how you got here.
"I suppose I don't know myself, dear," you tug your mustache. "I live on a planet called 'Earth,' you see. I was researching this peculiar set of ruins, inside of which was a mysterious panel that zapped me here."
Miss Paint listens, awkwardly leaning on the wall, since the sofa was taken.
"It managed to zip me away, but I'm afraid it's somehow displaced me in time or something."
"In time?" Miss Paint cocks her head.
"Oh yes," you say, sadly looking at your dead adopted granddaughter. "The Jade I know isn't nearly as old as the one you're looking at."
There's a long silence. You have a feeling Ms. Paint doesn't know what to say.
"We're almost there." Miss Paint says.
She beckons you to the window on the wall, pointing at the blue sphere of Skaia outside.
"Look," she implores. A stray meteor from the ring of space-dust around the Medium falls lazily towards Skaia, but before it can strike the planet, a small window opens in space, swallowing it whole.
"Goodness," you say.
"Skaia is said to take things and deliver them where they need to go- In time and in space. You see?" Miss Paint asks.
To you, this sounds like hokey superstition, but... It's not like you have anything to lose. As you watch, however, something odd catches your eye.
"Heavens to Betty!" you cry, pressing your nose against the porthole. "That's-!"
To your confusion, another piece of debris sails towards Skaia, but it isn't a space-rock, it's the very ruins on your lagoon, sailing through space like a rocket.
"Follow that frog!" you cry, gripping Miss Paint's shoulders.
The ship mightily changes course, sailing through empty Medium towards Skaia. You watch as a portal opens, swallowing the frog temple, the ship speeding towards it.
Before your eyes, another portal opens high above Skaia, and through it, you see your island, just like you left it.
You and Jade seal yourself into one of the ship's escape pods, and just as the massive ship dives upward out of the way, your little pod breaks free and you sail back home.
You live out the rest of your days caring for your beloved daughter until an untimely accident claims your life on her 13th birthday.
You are now Jade Harley. This time, awake.
"GAH!" you sit bolt-upright, fear siezing you. You feel over your back, writhing in place before you realize you're no longer on Prospit at all.
"You're up," says a quiet voice nearby.
"You-" you croak, pointing a finger at Jadesprite, who's prodding a green-colored campfire.
"I decided to take us through the first gate while you were-" Jadesprite begins to say, but you cut her off.
"You ruined- EVERYTHING!" you say, hand shaking, feeling tears come to your face. Jadesprite's brand-new dog ears- Bec's ears- fold back.
"I know, but I-" she stammers, but you cut her off again.
"You KNEW? You knew that taking me through the portal would power up that Jack guy? You- You!!! This is all your fault!"
Your head is pounding. You appear to be in front of your house.
"You... Ngh. Didn't the portal take us to my land?" you say, sniffling.
"Oh, well-" Jadesprite shifts in place. "That's-"
Snow falls gently. High in the sky, you can see a faint green sphere glowing near the dot of Skaia in the distance.
"It turns out, your gate just led back to your house," Jadesprite says. "Since our land is already here, I guess there's nowhere else to explore for now."
You look out over your island. The lagoon, the volcano, the woods at the mountain's foot.
"So it was pointless," you conclude. "You took me through a pointless gate for nothing and now there's a guy with Bec's powers running crazy around the place."
You let your vindication sink in, watching Jadesprite look down in shame. You feel bad, but at the same time, you can't bring yourself to apologize.
"S-sorry," she stammers.
"Just-" you stand up, pushing your glasses up, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It doesn't matter. Maybe Rose is right. Nothing matters. C'mon."
"Where are you going?" Jadesprite kicks snow onto the green flame, putting it out, hastening after you. Above the treetops of the forest at the foot of the mountains, smoke is billowing.
"If I'm on my land already, I might as well... I don't know. Play the game, I guess," you say. "And... You're my help character. So keep up."
Turning your back, you hear Jadesprite follow you, both of you gazing into the sky above, filled with foreboding.
Chapter 20: Act 2 Episode 9: Inter-Species Diplomacy
Chapter Text
Your name is June Egbert.
You just had a horrible dream. Well- You know it wasn't a dream. You'd seen Prospit explode in front of your face before miserably crawling into a cave on the surface of Skaia to sleep.
"Dear?" your Nana places a hand on your head.
"Oh-" you sit up in bed, now back at the Inn on the Land of Wind and Shade. "Hi, Nana."
"It's alright, dear. Something horrid has happened, hasn't it?"
You nod solemnly.
Nana sits on your bed, looking, to your surprise, nervous.
"Is... This part of my quest?" you ask.
"No. No, this is... Wrong, I'm afraid," she says. "Something is terribly wrong with the game."
That sounds familiar to you.
"It seems unfair," you say, simply.
"Unfair, dear?"
"Yeah. We manage to be the only people in the world who made it out of the apocalypse, and now our game is messed up." You're surprised to hear yourself say all that, but it's true.
"Well-" Nana puts an arm around your shoulder. "It might be broken, and the sprite half of me is panicking, but. The Nana-side of me believes that we can still make it. So no talking doom now!"
You manage to smile. She's right. You're not alone, either.
"Oh!" she snaps her fingers. "Should I call you 'June,' now, dearie? Since you seem set on that and such."
"O-oh!" you look down at yourself. Your body in the dream had been so much nicer. Your waking body is... All wrong. "You can. If you want."
"I think I shall, then," she says. "Now... I'll try to figure out what in tarnation is going on around here. You catch up with your pals."
You decide that's a great idea.
==
EB: guys.
EB: we have a problem.
TG: is this about the green skaia explosion
TG: i feel like it might be
EB: yeah...
TT: Things aren't going terribly well here, either.
TT: Something is wrong.
TT: The imps from before have powered up dramatically, they overran the village Jaspers and I have been staying in.
TG: same here i had to run off to avoid some nasty guys
TG: now im hanging out on a giant record which is apparently a thing that exists on lohac
DS: it appears the imps and other various enemies are somehow superpowered with lightning and shit
TT: Indeed. Green lightning, to boot, the world's most ominous lightning form.
GG: thats... i think my fault :(
TT: I was afraid you might say that.
EB: wait what??
EB: i don't believe that!
GG: its true june im so sorry everyone...
GG: i really messed things up
TT: As I've said, once we pass each gate, our primary prototypings influence the enemies in the game.
TT: For me, a tentacle-doll. For June, a clown. For Dave, a crow.
EB: right! but didn't jade just prototype her dog??
EB: shouldn't the enemies just be like... imp-dogs?
GG: bec is... a very special dog
GG: i dont really know why but hes always had doggy superpowers
TG: wtf
TG: how come this never came up
GG: i thought its how all dogs were! D:
TG: what didnt you watch tv and shit
TG: you had to have seen other dogs even though you grew up alone
GG: i did!!
GG: i saw like. air bud!
TT: I'm afraid that Air Bud is an outlier, not a standard, Jade.
EB: um.
EB: air bud was real?
TG: what no
TG: were getting caught up in dog stuff
DS: no no shes right dave
DS: air bud is 100% real
TT: Look. This is unexpected, but I'm sure that we will be able to overcome this. I've been able to handle the imps with my weapons, we'll just rise to meet the challenge.
TT: Just be more cautious.
EB: that's a good idea, rose, but, um.
EB: we have a bigger issue than that.
GG: are you talking about jack?
TT: I'm sorry. Jack Noir?
EB: you know him??
TG: isnt he the little black shelled guys boss
TT: Indeed. One of Jack's henchmen gave his life for us.
TT: Why would he be a threat?
GG: oh jeez
GG: i think he kind of might think you killed his henchman rose :(
TG: what no
TG: i didnt meet the little guy but he seemed cool
TT: Indeed. Jack is something of a folk hero on Derse, in fact.
EB: well he's not any more!
EB: he... just kind of blew up prospit. and i think he might be heading for skaia.
==
As if on cue, there is a distant rumble, and high in the sky, past the clouds, something flashes.
==
EB: did everyone just see that?
TT: I did. Skaia just flashed in the sky.
TG: not a huge fan of this
DS: i can fill in the blanks here guys
DS: im still a sprite so im sort of plugged in to whats going on around the medium
DS: and uh
DS: the reckoning just started
DS: the black king on skaia just activated it
DS: my guess is this jack guy just went and had a heated gamer moment
TT: Hold on. The Reckoning? As in- The final challenge of the game?
EB: couldn't this be good, though? what if jack kills the black king for us?
DS: that would be basically the worst unfortunately june my fair recently-not-a-dude
DS: there are certain things we have to do before we kill the ole bk
DS: such as finishing our various quests, none of which are done
DS: this would be more like sinking the 8 ball first thing in a game of pool
DS: except if you lose the pool game you die painfully
EB: okay. we need to... come up with a plan. like, soon.
TT: I agree, June, but I'm afraid I can't stay. The imps have found Jaspers and I.
--tentacleTherapist is offline--
EB: fuck. okay. dave and jade while shes occupied we need to fix this.
TG: 100% agree boss but ds and i have to bounce too
TG: some fucky shit is happening here
--turntechGodhead is offline--
--duplicatedSunglass is offline--
EB: fuck.
GG: um... im really sorry june but i have to go, too. :(
GG: something horrible is going on, here.
--gardenGnostic is offline--
EB: FUCK!!!
==
Panic sets in. Up until now, you've taken your friends' help for granted, but you don't know what's going on.
"June!" your Nana opens the door to the Inn room, looking panicked. You were so engrossed in your conversation that you hardly noticed the commotion outside.
Salamander Town, the village you're in, is under attack. Just like Rose said, the imps looked more fearsome than ever, giggling menacingly as they zapped to and fro, using green lightning to zap the salamander-people of the little village.
"We have to leave," Nana says, snapping her fingers. In her palm, a little amulet appears. "Under normal circumstances, I was supposed to give you this after finishing your quest, but these aren't normal circumstances!"
"That looks like my first gate," you say as she pushes the ring into your hands.
"Squeeze it in your palms and you'll be taken back to your house!" she says urgently. As if on cue, something slams against the inn room's door. Hastily, you squeeze the amulet in your hands and shut your eyes, the world around you going quiet.
"Nana?" you ask, looking from right to left. You appear to be home, back in front of your house, jutting into the sky on the pillar it sat on.
"Nana!" you repeat. No response. A pit wells in your stomach.
==
EB: guys??
EB: guys.
==
No response. You're... Alone.
You walk inside, slumping on the couch. Your couch. Something feels so surreal about being able to sit on your couch, everything feels so... Normal. As if you hadn't just escaped a meteor into some horrible, real-life game.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket and your heart leaps, but as soon as you see who has greeted you, your heart sinks back down to its rightful place.
==
CG: JOHN.
EB: ugh.
EB: what do you want?
EB: and it's june, now.
CG: WHAT THE FUCK.
CG: JUNE. JOHN. MAKE UP YOUR INFANTILE HUMAN THINKPAN.
CG: WHILE YOU'RE DOING THAT, LISTEN TO ME.
EB: i'm not really in the mood, car cat. things are kind of getting fucked up, here.
CG: OKAY FIRST OF ALL, I DON'T CARE.
CG: SECOND OF ALL, IT'S "KARKAT."
CG: I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU ASCERTAINED MY NAME (VERY RUDE) BUT YOU COULD AT LEAST SPELL IT RIGHT.
EB: car cat, karkat, make up your infantile troll brain!
CG: THIS IS DEVOLVING INTO ABJECT STUPIDITY, SO I'M PUTTING A STOP TO IT.
CG: LISTEN TO ME.
CG: I OWE YOU AN APOLOGY.
EB: whoa.
EB: whoa!!
EB: a troll apologizing is everyone's dream!
CG: WHATEVER. ROLL OUT THE "I TOLD YOU SOS" AND THE HEARTY YUKS, SIMPLETON.
CG: I MISJUDGED THE SITUATION WHEN WE BEGAN TALKING.
CG: I MISTOOK YOU FOR THE ENGINEER OF MY UNDOING, BUT WATCHING YOU, I HAVE LEARNED THAT THAT'S NOT TRUE.
EB: you... lost me.
CG: ME AND MY COHORTS HAVE BEEN MERCILESSLY TROLLING YOU DUE TO OUR BELIEF THAT YOU GROUP OF KIDS CAUSED THE PROBLEMS THAT LED OUR GAME TO RUIN.
EB: you... mentioned that.
EB: how did you even come to that conclusion?
CG: IF YOU STOP RUDELY INTERRUPTING, I'LL TELL YOU. CHILL.
EB: "chill" says the guy typing in all caps...
CG: CHOKE, JUNE.
CG: WE THOUGHT YOU CAUSED OUR PROBLEMS BECAUSE OF THAT BEAST YOUR SESSION CREATED.
CG: BEC NOIR.
EB: you mean jack? the evil guy on prospit?
CG: CORRECT. HE IS NOT ONLY YOUR FOE, BUT OURS.
EB: but... i don't get it. you guys are in a whole different game session.
EB: you're not even human, are you?
EB: what are you guys?
CG: TO YOU? WE'RE ALIENS.
CG: ALIENS WHO PLAYED THE SAME GAME YOU DID.
CG: THE ALIENS... WHO MADE YOUR UNIVERSE.
EB: oh, fuck.
CG: "OH FUCK" IS RIGHT, DIPSHIT. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO ENTER OUR NEW UNIVERSE- YOUR UNIVERSE- AS ITS GODS, BUT BEFORE WE COULD, THAT MANIAC APPEARED.
EB: like, the same guy??
EB: how is that possible?
CG: IF I KNEW, I'D BE PRESENTLY BITCHING OUT THE RESPONSIBLE PARTY. BUT...
CG: HE'S ALREADY HERE.
CG: ALL I KNOW IS WHAT I CAN OBSERVE VIA YOUR TIMELINE.
EB: right, you said you have like. magic time powers.
CG: NOT REALLY. WE CAN JUST SEE YOUR WHOLE TIMELINE AT ANY POINT AT OUR LEISURE.
EB: that... sounds like magic time powers!
CG: MAGIC ISN'T REAL, BULGEBRAIN.
EB: hold on. you can... see me? like right now??
CG: YES?
CG: THAT IS INDEED WHAT I JUST FUCKING SAID, JUNE.
EB: karkat!
EB: have you seen me jerk it? D:
CG: NO!
CG: FUCK!
CG: STOP SAYING DUMBASS THINGS YOU BRAIN-DEAD SPHERESNIFFING FUCKTWIT.
CG: THIS IS YOUR TIME TO LISTEN AND FOR ME TO SPEAK.
EB: fine! not like you weren't doing that before now.
CG: SHUT.
CG: NOW THEN. I AM GOING TO MAGNANIMOUSLY OFFER MY ASSITANCE TO YOU, FOR FREE.
CG: I WANT TO HELP YOU BEAT THIS BEC NOIR BEING ONCE AND FOR ALL TO IDEALLY PREVENT HIM FROM EVER ACCOSTING US.
CG: OR FAILING THAT, FINDING SOME WEAKNESS SO WE CAN DEFEAT HIM OURSELVES.
EB: well... okay!
EB: i don't really see how we can do anything else.
CG: GOOD.
CG: CONSIDER THIS A CONTRACT.
EB: since you can see my timeline, then... what should we do?
CG: IT'S NOT THAT SIMPLE. WE CAN SEE UP UNTIL THE END OF THE RECKONING.
CG: AFTER THAT, YOUR FUTURE IS JUST... BLANK.
EB: what does that mean?
CG: I DON'T KNOW. IT LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE SCRATCHED OUT YOUR FUTURE.
CG: I ASSUME BEYOND THAT, YOU ALL PERISH MISERABLY OR SOMETHING. SO LET'S WORK TO AVOID THIS.
EB: got it.
EB: i don't want to die miserably!
CG: EVERYONE DIES MISERABLY, JUNE.
CG: BUT PROLONGING THAT FATE FOR YOU IS AN ADMIRABLE GOAL FOR NOW.
EB: hehe. okay!
EB: team junekat here we go!
CG: WE AREN'T TEAM JUNEKAT.
EB: how long before we get "scratched" anyway?
CG: ONE DAY.
EB: oh, fuck.
CG: "OH FUCK" IS RIGHT. AGAIN.
CG: MY TEAM BREEZED THROUGH THE GAME, JUNE, AND EVEN WE TOOK ABOUT A MONTH BEFORE EVEN BEGINNING THE RECKONING. YOURS BEGAN IN ONE SINGLE DAY.
CG: YOU'RE IN FOR A FUCKING MESS.
CG: I HAVE NO IDEA WHY YOUR GAME IS SO BRUTALLY GLITCHED AND BROKEN, BUT I'LL DIE HOWLING BEFORE I LET SOME SMUG BARKBEAST SHITBAG DEFEAT ME.
EB: aw!
EB: karkat! :)
CG: DON'T USE YOUR SMILE TEXT AT ME, YOU CRETIN.
CG: AND DON'T SMILE IN REAL LIFE. I CAN SEE YOU.
==
You can't help it. It might be just because you're miserably alone, but Karkat's offer of friendship warms your heart back up.
==
CG: BEFORE WE START, THOUGH.
CG: I SHOULD PROBABLY GIVE YOU A RUNDOWN ON US.
EB: on the trolls?
CG: YES. AFTER ALL, IT'S THE STORY OF HOW YOUR MISERABLE UNIVERSE WAS CREATED.
EB: ooooooh, i get to learn about an alien planet!
EB: this would be so huge on the internet back home...
CG: CORRECT.
CG: WE TROLLS ARE EXCEPTIONAL IN EVERY WAY. WE WOULD HAVE BEEN A VIRAL SENSATION.
CG: SCORES OF HUMANS WOULD BE VYING TO MIMIC US BY WEARING EXCESSIVE BODY PAINT AND FALSE HORNS.
CG: THERE WOULD BE CONVENTIONS ABROAD WHERE NOBLE GREY BODY PAINT WAS BANNED.
EB: haha. i don't know about THAT! :P
EB: but you are pretty cool.
CG: ENOUGH CHUCKLES.
CG: SIT STILL WHILE I TELL YOU THE TALE.
CG: OF MY PEOPLE.
CG: THE STORY OF THE FATEFUL DAY I WAS TRAPPED INSIDE MY ABODE.
CG: THIS IS THE STORY.
CG: OF HIVEBENT.
==
You are no longer June Egbert. You are you. You are the listener, the reader, the flesh and blood and ear drums and eyes taking this narrative in.
Narratives are so fascinating, aren't they? Have I said all this before? You'll have to forgive me. I do love to gush.
Have you ever heard of the three-act-structure? Forgive me if you've heard this and forgive me double if I'm being simplistic, but imagine splitting a story into thirds. The first third is the premise, the second third is the conflict, and the final third is the resolution. Now, they're not always equal thirds- Sometimes they're unevenly distributed, sometimes they're fairly even. Still- No matter the medium, stories can almost always be broken up in such a way, whether intentionally by the creator or not.
Isn't that fascinating? It almost seems limiting, that stories in all of human creation can be dissolved into such elements. Three simple acts.
The more shrewd analysts of stories will also know that the end of Act 2 is the lowest point for our heroes.
Full disclosure- This story of ours has more than just two acts, but what they say about Act 2s in this case is true. Our friends have overcome great odds only to be set back.
June, in her gender quest. Dave on his time journey. Rose in her endeavors to break the game. And Jade in her abject misery. And poor, poor Jack Noir. Alone with all the power he ever wanted.
Antagonists are also a staple of stories, aren't they? Jack Noir fits the bill nicely, I'd say. Who knows what that rascal will get up to now that he has that nuclear mutt's abilities? I can't wait to see who he kills!
And we can't forget our plucky heroes. Aren't stories fun?
But there's a hidden character in every tale, whether it be hidden behind a camera in film or on the paper in a book or in the recorded voice of a reader. The secret final character, the one pulling the strings, the puppetmaster who draws the curtain.
Your humble narrator. Me.
But breaking the fourth wall like this is so very cheap, isn't it? You're not here to be reminded that you're listening to a story, you're not here to see the very medium dissolve. You want to be engaged. You want to see your friend June win the game. You want to see her overcome challenges!
You want to see them win.
Well, that's a great place to start, but if I may spoil you a little, I should tell you that they do. They do win. They achieve the scratch and save their chances to make a new universe! Yippee! Aren't you relieved? I bet you're thinking that now you won't have to hear the rest of the story now that you know the ending.
But you still want to hear it, don't you? Isn't that fascinating? A spoiler doesn't change how much you want to see something, does it? Not really.
Because you're not listening to a story because you're waiting for them to win, you want to see how they do it.
You want to see what they have to give up.
And I wouldn't bet on their success being as carefree and lovely as you might believe. You know what they say.
Be careful what you wish for.
But I've rambled enough. I have a fourth wall to fix, so I'll leave you to it.
On Skaia, Jack's sword cleaves through the neck of the Black King, tears stinging his face. He holds the king's head in his single hand, but the violence doesn't change the fact that his friends are dead, one by his own hand.
Somewhere else, a father and a mother hold hands as they sip wine, walking towards a castle in the far-off distance.
A world-weary villein plows a field, squinting on the horizon, seeing meteors begin to fall on the Skaian surface.
The reckoning has begun and Skaia knows it is too early. Skaia knows this is not how things should go.
A day ago, on April 13th, 2009, four kids began a game. They were supposed to have days to finish, weeks to prove themselves, they were supposed to be tempered in the flames of adversity by their lands, but sadly, a grieving man named Jack has other plans.
Now, their only hope lies in their forbearers, the twelve trolls who forged the humans' own universe.
Jack throws the head of the black king to the ground, snarling, howling into the heavens, a noise that reverberates through the medium, through the whole game world. A rallying cry for chaos to come to his aid. He raises his fist, his ring to the heavens and plunges it deep into Skaia's very ground in frustration, causing the entire planet at the center of the medium to tremble.
Prospitians and Dersites can feel it in their bones. This is beyond their petty squabbles, now. This is different.
The four kids hear the cry and feel righteous terror. The mother and father pause their date to gaze towards the noise. A brother changes course, making a beeline for the sound.
All of Skaia's forces, light and dark, now arranged against this invader, Jack, but sadly, he is ready for them. All that remains of his purpose for living is blood, and he will see so much before he's through.
And all this because four kids wanted to play a little game.
Chapter 21: INTERMISSION 2: Mysterious Stranger
Chapter Text
In a dusty, dim basement, down a hatch in the middle of a tan desert, on a planet long-dead and decrepit, the stark shiny shells of the exiles roam.
Your name is the Aimless Renegade.
Getting exiled from the kingdom of Derse is no small matter. "Laws" in your home city are more like "suggestions" around which the loose social construct is crafted. Sadly, there are still ways to get people kicked out, ones that you perpetrated.
Namely, selling secrets to the enemy. You used to be a stand up Authority Regulator, the man who threw people IN the clink, not the body that was yourself tossed in.
Still, exile suited you fine. You'd always been a lone wolf, living off the land, hunting your food. In fact, just this morning, you'd found a nice empty hatch to make your home.
Except when you got back home to your dingy hatch, it wasn't empty.
"Who the hell are you two?!" you demand, looking from one interloper to the other. The one on your left, the Dersite, weilds a yardstick with a rusty shard on the end.
The other interloper looks familiar, making you pause.
"Friend or foe?!" demands the short Dersite.
"Friend!" you hastily say, annoyed. "What about YOU dickheads! This is my home!"
"You built this place?" the Prospitian broad says, quirking a brow.
"Well- No. But it's still my home!"
The Dersite puts his stick away and you spot his sash.
"Oh! Mister Mayor, sorry for gettin' all worked up," you say hastily. The Prospitian rolls her eyes.
"He's not really a mayor," she says.
"Bullshit," you say. "He's got a sash. If he wasn't a mayor, how'd he get the sash?"
"Exactly!" the Mayor says, nodding. The Prospitian pinches her temples.
"Don't I know you?" you ask, putting a bucket full of cans on the floor. You've been feeling a deja vu around her for some time, now.
"Do I...?" recognition blooms on her face. "Oh! You're that informant. The Authority Regulator."
"Wow. A real Authority Regulator!" The Mayor strokes his chin. "Are you interested in a job? I can pay you in cans."
"Kind as the offer is, sir, I'm afraid I'm just an Aimless Renegade, these days. Exiled."
The two carapaces look at the floor. No doubt they're in the same boat. Sympathy pangs your chest.
"Look, there's plenty of space in this joint for the three of us. Plenty of cans, too. Hunted 'em myself." You rattle the bucket of various canned items.
"Impressive!" says the Mayor as you move to your can trove to stow away your gains.
"Oh, hell no!" you cry, dropping the bucket in anguish. "S-somebody came and drank all my Tab! My precious Tab!"
"That's awful," the Mayor says, placing a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. "A Tab thief is as low as a murderer in my book. We'll find the rapscallion who did this." The Mayor forlorly surveys the massacred Tab-stash. "Urp."
"Are all Dersites this stupid?" the Prospitan says. You remember now- The Post Minister.
"You're in the same boat as us, lady," you say. "Weren't you some high-and-mighty bigwig? Fancy Post Minister, deliverin' stuff to the heroes?"
"I guess," PM shrugs. "Now, I guess you can just call me the Peregrine Mendicant."
"That's... A mouthful." You rub your chin. "What about the 'Pathetic Mongorel?'"
"Just call me PM," she sighs.
Before you can rib your white-shelled new friend any more, there's a deafening noise from outside, the force causing your can stash to topple. The three of you exchange a look and one by one, you leg it upstairs, back into the dusty desert.
"Was... That there before?" the Mayor asks upon emerging, pointing his finger at the massive cloud of dust settling before the three of you. As the cloud dissapates, a giant crater seems to have opened, in the middle of which is a frog-temple. You and the Mayor stare with disgust.
"Look," PM points skyward. In the sky is a familiar-looking portal.
"Looks like Skaia sent us a gift," you say.
In silent agreement, the three of you skid down the crater towards the base of the temple. Inside is cool and the base is a little wet.
"Maybe the boys back home are sending the exiles a place to live?" you reason, but PM shakes her head.
"I don't think so," she says. "I think more likely it's just debris from the Medium, getting dumped here, just like us."
The middle of the temple is a massive, cavernous room with a single seed in the center.
"What's this?" the Mayor says, prodding the closed bulb with his meter stick.
"It looks like a time capsule. Skaia has a few of them, they're used to send things through time." PM responds, wiping the dust off the timer readout on the front of the thing. "And this one is about to open."
Just like she says, the capsule opens, revealing in its center a small piece of paper, written in curly script:
"DAVE. APRIL 13TH, 2009"
"Who the hell is Dave?" you ask, quirking a brow.
"Hold on..." PM looks shocked by the meaningless name. From her shawl, she draws a dusty pair of discs, labeled with the same name: Dave. "I think I'm... Supposed to deliver these."
You and the Mayor watch as PM kneels, setting a timer. The bulb of the capsule swallows the disc envelopes and squeezes shut before re opening, empty.
"What just happened? That thing ate your package!" The Mayor cried, patting down the area where the discs had been.
"No!" PM said, smacking him lightly. "I sent them back in time. That's how the capsules work." She points at the readout on the front. "Things can either come from the past, by the normal way, or go to the past."
"So someone needed those discs on April 13th?" you ask. You hate time shenanigans.
"I guess so. Whatever they are, they're delivered now." PM looks around the rest of the cavernous room. Books and shelves are strewn about, as the trip from Skaia to Earth was likely a bumpy one.
The Mayor inspects some of the rubble, pulling free a dusty journal.
"Don't steal journals," PM admonishes, but the Mayor isn't swayed, stowing the book away. You figure it's in a leader's best interest to bone up on whatever knowledge he can.
Finding no sustenance inside the frog temple, the three of you exit, taking some chairs from within, sitting down around a fire made from the busted splinters of an old desk. Night begins to fall, the sky dotted with innumerable stars.
"I wonder who that Dave fella is," you muse. PM shrugs, uninterested. You figure that makes sense, given that she's a mail lady and all. The Mayor is reading the journal, engrossed.
"I'm gonna grab myself a can of beans. You guys want anything?" you stand, walking back towards the hatch.
"Tab for me," says the Mayor.
"I don't care," PM says, hastily adding, "thanks, though."
Looks like your little group is warming up to one another.
Back inside the basement lab, you notice that one of the screens is illuminated. It shows a young lady running around what appears to be her house, accompanied by another blue woman.
As you watch, your hand presses a large button on the console, the screen goes blank, a different one loading, this time portraying a strange blonde boy in a land of Lava. You recognize him from your days on Derse: The Knight of Time.
Noticing the keyboard, you type into it curiously.
"Hey, kid," you say. On-screen, the boy hesitates.
"Uh," you hear him say. Another Knight of Time appears nearby.
"You okay, dude?" the orange Knight says.
"Yeah, I just heard something in my head. Like words."
"Hey!" you say again.
"There it is again!" you hear him say. "I heard 'hey.'"
"Well answer it, dude," says the Orange Knight.
"Okay, um. Dave, here," the boy says.
"You're Dave?" you type. "You're the person the discs were for?"
"Discs? I don't know what you're talking about my guy. Who is this?"
"This is the Aimless Renegade. You're Dave, right?"
"That's what I said. What kind of Edgy-ass name is 'Aimless Renegade,' anyway?"
"Mind your business," you type, scowling. What a brat. "Look, one of my buddies just sent you a package in some kind of crazy time capsule."
"They did?" this Dave appears to not know about such a thing, yet, but it does seem to ring a bell.
"Yeah," you say impatiently. "It said 'Dave,' then 'April 13th 2009.' What're the discs for? I'm all kind of curious."
"I don't know yet," says Dave. "But I have a hunch."
"Fat lot of help you are," you type. Dave flips a middle finger into the air. You roll your eyes.
"That explains how Jade got the discs," he says pensively. The kid's speaking in riddles. Who's "Jade," now? Whatever.
You leave the console, grabbing three cans for your pals. You don't need a can opener, of course- Carapaces are plenty hard enough to do that bare-handed.
Before you leave, though, you notice the corner of the room. A group of two transportalizer pads, one labelled "A2" the other labeled "B1." Weird.
Back outside at your makeshift campsite, you give each compatriot a can, eating the innards. You got beans, the Mayor Tab, and PM a nice can of cold pasta. A true feast.
"D'you guys know where those transportalizers lead?" you ask. "I saw ones with the same labels in the Black Queen's palace one time. Maybe we can get back home with 'em."
"And do what?" PM asks, her upper lip stained with red pasta sauce. "They'd just exile us again. The White Queen has a panel like that, too, but we'd re-appear right behind her. We'd probably get into more trouble."
"Yeah, plus-" the Mayor gulps a swallow of Tab. "-things aren't so bad here. There's you guys, after all."
"Heh," you lean back. "Right you are." PM, in spite of her general saltiness, seems to agree.
"How'd you two get exiled, anyway?" you ask. "They found out I was sellin' secrets to Prospitians. Namely, this broad," you point at PM.
"I got kicked out for failing to deliver a delivery for one of the heroes..." PM sighs. "It was my first day on the job, too."
"What about you, Mayor?" you ask. The Mayor sets down his book, looking at the dusty ground with an expression you can't identify.
"Well..." he coughs. "It's... Complicated. I kind of came here on my own."
"You did?" you lean back, interested. PM remains silent, also curious.
"You guys got exiled recently, right?" the Mayor says. "So you know what's happening on Skaia?"
"Yeah, but I've been in the clink up until recently."
"Same here," says PM.
The Mayor looks pained. Sad, beyond measure.
"I came here to... Save myself." The Mayor points out across the sands. "You guys were sent here through Skaian portals, right?"
"Right," you say, nodding. "Crash landed right near here."
"Same here," PM repeats.
"Usually exiles get sent through portals, jettisoned from Prospit or Derse from the planets, but I opened up a portal from on Skaia."
"You did?" you're very curious now. "You were fightin' the White King on Skaia, then?"
PM shifts. You're suddenly reminded that before exile, you and the Mayor were on the opposite sides of a war. It all seems so silly, now.
"No," the Mayor shakes his head. "I was in charge of a group of rebels."
The Mayor takes a slow breath. From his expression, you guess things didn't go well.
"But it all went wrong. I told my men to retreat, but-" The Mayor chokes.
"You... You don't have to tell us right now," you say slowly. PM nods in agreement.
"I'll tell you guys soon, okay?" the Mayor sighs. "It's not that I want to keep secrets, but- Well. To make a long story short, I told my comrades to retreat with me, and I was the only one who ended up here, alive."
You and PM are silent.
"That's what happens when you fight the Kings," she says.
"Hey!" you say. "Don't be like that. That shit's behind us."
"It is behind us," PM agrees. "So he should know how foolish he was to fight the Kings."
To your surprise, the Mayor laughs bitterly.
"The Kings were nothing. We turned their armies against them both in a day. We were a hundred thousand strong," the Mayor says, clearly a little offended by PM's assertion.
"That's impossible," she scoffs. "No one can beat the Kings. Don't be stupid. If you were so good against them, why is your 'hundred thousand strong' army all dead but you?"
You're shocked. You're not sure if it's because the Mayor is your countryman or if PM is just being excessively cruel.
"It wasn't the Kings who did us in," he says quietly. "It was the demon. Jack Noir."
Silence whistles in the wind around you.
"Stop telling lies," PM says simply. "Jack Noir is the Archagent. He can kill Kings but he's not capable of killing armies."
"You don't know Jack, then," you say. PM looks at you, shocked.
"You're not seriously telling me you believe him?" she asks, incredulous.
"You haven't been out of Prospit Prison in a while, have you? Haven't you heard the news?" your voice is bitter, now. The Mayor looks beyond dejected, his own horrid trauma tossed in his own face.
"I- Are you talking about the missing moon?" PM asks. "You can't be serious. Jack Noir didn't do that. That's impossible," she sounds desperate, now. "The Archagent can't- He'd have to have-"
"Story goes he got the ring of orbs fourfold and went mad with power. Some say the heroes killed his gang. Whatever the reason, he's on Skaia causing mayhem." You point at the Mayor. "Apologize."
PM looks taken aback. She's clearly a jaded person and you feel like she has her own reasons for that, but you can't excuse her rudeness. She relents, crossing her arms over her grimy shawl.
"I... I'm sorry." PM takes a slow breath and the Mayor looks up, shaking his head.
"It's okay. I don't want to believe it, either." You're astounded at his ease of forgiveness. He's got a bigger heart than you.
"I guess I just... Didn't want to believe someone could beat the monarchs," PM sighs miserably. "Because if someone like you could, it means that someone like me should have tried harder."
The three of you sit in silence for a long moment.
"What's the other portal for, then?" you ask, suddenly, to break the tension.
"What?" PM points to your basement hatch. "You mean in there?"
"Yeah," you say. "The queens have portals that say 'B1,' which I guess lead here. But where does the 'A2' portal go?"
"We could always check," PM says, shrugging. "Not like we've got anything better to do around here."
"Ah-" the Mayor sheepishly speaks up. "I'm afraid I don't think we can."
You and PM quirk a brow.
"I think I ate the energy source." The Mayor lifts his cloth above his stomach, a faint radiation glow emenating from it. The Mayor seriously ate a chunk of uranium.
You and PM both laugh, the Mayor soon joining in, jovially, having a laugh about this goofball's dietary habits.
After a while, the three of you decide to retire for the night. Traipsing back into the basement, you set up some cots and beds using the chairs and planks from inside the frog temple, laying them out in each of the three corners not occupied by the transportalizers you'd discussed before.
"Night, Mayor," you say, yawning.
"Night, PM," says the Mayor good-naturedly. Hard to believe that earlier had been such an unpleasant discussion.
"Night, AR," says PM finally, settling down.
You're not sure if you can trust these two yet, and you're sure that they think the same of you, but out of a newly forged alliance between exiles, you doze off, in peace. This is your life now, and it doesn't feel that bad.
Still, something fills you with unease. There are so many questions. So many unanswered things that you can't help but feel entangled in. It takes you a long time to rest.
Sadly, before any of you can sleep for the night, a violent "ZAP" jolts you awake, a figure appearing in the unoccupied corner of the room, making the three of you howl in shock, a massive boulder landing in the middle of the placid lake of your peace.
As the smoke clears from the transporalizer, a tall, white-shelled figure stands in the middle of the panel beneath. Before you realize who this is, PM lunges for her, tackling her to the ground with a scream.
You are now Derek Strider. Some call you "Bro."
For the last day or so, you've been wandering aimlessly throughout the world of the game, painstakingly cartographing the place. Beneath your feet, your hoverboard sputters, it needs a recharge.
You skid to a halt on the surface of the Land of Wind and Shade, hiding your rocketboard in a bush, marking a tree nearby with an X using your sword.
You trudge up a hill to a hut, decrepit and abandoned, kicking the door in and groaning with effort. You're so tired. You've managed to forage some food, but so far you've severely overestimated the availability of sustenance.
You suppose you COULD go into one of the many towns and ASK for food, but that goes against your code.
In the middle of the shack, there's a rickety table. Good enough. From your pocket you yank a Slim Jim, the last of your rations, snapping into it with gusto. Just like Randy would have wanted.
On the table you lay a sheet of paper and begin to write using a charcoal pen. Time to organize what you've learned.
The place you've been transported to is called the Medium, a sphere-shaped finite pocket in space that lies outside of your old universe, discarded like a frog leaving its eggs.
The Medium is held in place by a thin membrane you've taken to calling... The Membrane. Might as well be straightforward. You draw a large circle on the page.
At the center of the Membrane is a shining blue planet, covered in black and white checkerboard. Skaia. The Nucleus of the whole outfit. You don't know what's on the surface, but you figure it can't be good.
Orbiting Skaia are four planets. One, the Land of Wind and Shade, where you are now. It's teal-blue and covered in oil. Second, the Land of Light and Rain, covered in irridescent oceans dotted with alabaster islands. Third, the Land of Frost and Frogs, a desolate land comprised of frozen forests and a lagoon with frog ruins and a volcano in the middle.
And finally, the Land of Heat and Clockwork, where you and Dave ended up.
Dave... Your heart suddenly pangs. He's probably cowering somewhere waiting for his death right now. The thought pains you and you grit your teeth, pushing it from your mind. You did all you could. It's not your fault he's a failure.
The four planets circle Skaia slowly, each one the same distance from the center, each one the same size, about fifty miles in diameter. Each one lies a hundred miles or so from Skaia proper.
Just outside the orbit of the four planets is a large ring of meteors, about twenty miles out from the planets and fifty miles away from the membrane. You're not sure what they do, really, but every once in a while, one of the meteors slowly descends towards Skaia, only to be swallowed up by a portal, almost as if Skaia is "catching" it. You suspect these portals lead back to Earth.
Finally, Prospit and Derse, the two city-planets. Each one is smaller than the main four land planets, about ten miles in diameter. Prospit, the gold city, orbits Skaia closely. Its moon, attached to Prospit with a golden chain, orbits Prospit in turn and occasionally dips below Skaia's atmosphere.
Derse, on the other hand, is deep purple and its moon, also attached by a long chain, dips outside of the membrane as it orbits.
You're not sure what all of this means, yet, but it feels good to have a map of the place. You wonder how the other three kids are doing. Maybe a map like this could help them out, in lieu of a helpful co-player in your brother Dave.
You sigh, rolling up the map. You walk back outside, sliding down the hill back to your rocketboard, checking the amount of fuel it has left. 5% reads the indicator. You suck air through your teeth. You've got enough for one last trip, but you have no clue where to go.
Then, suddenly, the decision is made for you. A low rumble sounds in your ears and you look up, towards blue Skaia in the far distance. Oh, shit. You're going to have to update your map.
Prospit's moon, a mere gold speck high above, explodes in a shower of green light.
You retrieve your board from the bush, planting your feet as you rocket towards the green dot, teeth gritting. Good thing the Membrane has breathable air.
About five minutes after the initial explosion, you hear a great whizzing behind you. You look back and your eyes widen behind your triangular shades. Meteors, thousands of them, are coming towards Skaia en masse. They're moving slowly enough to dodge with grance, but the mass of them means they're sure to make one hell of an impact, no matter how slow they are.
You swallow, but you find yourself grinning.
Explosions like that aren't accidents, and they sure as hell aren't good. Someone did that. Someone you're going to find. Someone you're going to make pay.
Chapter 22: Act 3 Prologue: Who's This Douchebag?
Chapter Text
Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there were these two kingdoms, floating in the depths of space, hidden away in a pocket of a dimension. Prospit, home to the white-shells, the kingdom of happiness and tolerance and probably communism or something. And Derse, home of the black shells, the one that was actually tolerable to be on.
These kingdoms, though similar, were home to carapacians, beings with shelled skin and wise brains who made clones deep within the laboratories of the meteors that encircled their universe.
And in the middle, glowing in the center of their world, around which everything spun, was the thing both kingdoms desired.
A planet named Skaia. A planet checkered with white-and-black squares upon which were verdant green fields, fertile soil, and abundant stones with which to till the crops. Derse and Prospit settled this land for food to be brought back to their moons, massive stone monuments where no food could grow.
Eventually, Derse and Prospit outgrew Skaia. It wasn't big enough for both of them any more. Prospit wanted to use it for the creative potential of life, to preserve the resources for the gods they worshipped, twelve beings who they said would awaken and create a new universe from the gravid depths of Skaia. Derse, on the other hand, wanted to feed their people and use Skaia for their own ends.
Fighting broke out. Though Derse were superior in number and made use of the excellent combat skills of their imps, genetically engineered fighting monsters, they lived far further from Skaia and couldn't gain an upper hand. It was permanent stalemate.
Eventually, the peaceful blue skies of Skaia ran red with blood. The clouds high above, white and beautiful, reflected images of the future in their billows, and the future looked grim. Dead carapacians. Blood. Swords. Claws. Teeth.
The Queens of the two moons of Skaia remained on their planet to defend their nations while the kings went to Skaia to wage war.
Long after this fighting had broken out, many sweeps, maybe even eons, on the kingdom of Derse, there lived a man. His name was the Sovereign Slayer, a man purpose-bred to kill royalty, attendant and loyal assistant to the Black Queen.
But the Black Queen was cruel and vicious- Not that this Slayer guy was any better, but she was a real piece of work, let me tell ya.
This hatred boiled and simmered over into a fixation, both erotic and shameful, a fixation that the Slayer carried with him always, fueling his goal.
He would turn on his creator, the Black Queen. The sovereign he would slay would not be the monarchs of Prospit, but the very Black Queen who had brought him into being.
With a syndicate of his most loyal trusted loved ones, he took the name-
What? Jack Noir? No, what are you stupid?
His name was *Spades Slick.*
Slick was a lucky name, the namesake of the frog, a being which the Queen despised more than anything, and Spade was the chosen suit of the Slayer, sharp like the knives he carried always.
Lucky as Slick was, one day, he happened upon a curious being, a being he'd never seen before. A being with dull grey skin, smooth and downy unlike his own, piercing yellow eyes and fiery orange horns. This being was one of the gods of legend, the Knight of Blood, hailing from a grey, decrepit doomed planet of death.
The Knight, Slick found, hated the Queen just as much as he did, and together they made a plot, a plot to kill their shared foe. A plot that went off without a single hitch, except one.
When the moment came to draw his weapon and kill the Queen, kneeling before him on the floor of Castle Derse, his trigger finger failed him.
In his moment of hesitation, the Queen fled, leaping into an inter-planetary ship, shooting herself to Skaia. Spades Slick gave chase, tears in his eyes, salt stinging his very soul. He grit his teeth, unable to imagine why he couldn't shoot her.
Was he in love? Was he in hatred?
Slick launched himself into the space of the medium, following his bounty, but before he could pursue her, high above Skaia, a green hole opened in the very gentle fabric of space, swallowing the Queen's vessel, then his own, sending both crafts careening to the surface of a new, unfamiliar place in parts unknown. A deep-green moon high above a dead, gray planet.
They were both exiles. Never to be heard from again.
That is the story of Spades Slick.
==
Good morning.
I feel it is time to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Scratch.
Let's do a little ice breaker, shall we? I feel as though these things tend to be a tad forced, but they are useful in establishing rapport.
Let us play a little game- Two truths and a lie. I state three facts about myself and you try to guess which of these fantastical things is not true.
One. I am the first guardian of Alternia and I reside on the green moon, Viridis.
Two. I'm as bad as they say I am.
Three. I have a cue ball for a head.
If you guessed number two, give yourself a much-earned pat on the back. You were right! If you guessed one or three, feel a mild sense of disappointment instead.
Wasn't that fun?
I would like to welcome you to my home. Felt Manor, a spacious green mansion that I and my assistant reside in peacefully. Have a seat! I've already set out a lovely bowl of licorice Scotty Dog candies. I know they're not for everyone, but I'm expecting a guest and they are his favorite.
As I gaze out of my window down onto the grey planet below, I can't help but feel a touch nostalgic. Lights and bustle used to abound from far below, but now it is dark. As a first guardian, I cannot help but be somewhat forlorn.
The job of a first guardian is important, but often tragic.
"What is a first guardian?" you may ask. You've already met one, in actuality. Jade's lovable nuclear pooch, Becquerel. What a lovely animal.
Like him, I am endowed with brimming nuclear energy, near-immortality, and near-omniscience.
I say "near" because these things only apply to the life of the universe I was born into... For now, at least.
You see: When a Universe is born- and they ARE born- one of the first beings to come into existence is the First Guardian, a sort of... Fail-safe, a being that is capable of fighting off anything that threatens the Universe's life.
First Guardians, traditionally, are created by those who created their universe.
For instance, the creators of the humans' universe thought an alabaster-white dog would guard it fiercely, as their own guardians were white creatures. More on this later.
You could think of it thusly: We First Guardians were made through the deepest wish of they who created the universe we preside over.
Every time a universe is made, a wish is granted. A subconscious wish. This may sound whimsical, but as the saying goes... Be careful what you wish for.
The humans' universe was made on a wish, a wish to protect their world with a dumb animal, and see where it got them? Now a demon is on the loose! What fun.
Are you enjoying the story so far? I do love stories. I've said as much before now, as your humble narrator, so I won't belabor the point any longer. I merely wished to bring you here for a moment in order to-
BANG BANG BANG.
Ah. I apologize, dear listener. Excuse me for just a moment. This is that guest I told you about.
You are no longer the listener to an online radio drama. Your name is Spades Slick.
You rap on the door to the Felt Manor impatiently, looking around furtively.
BANG BANG BANG.
When the door opens, you're greeted by an unfamiliar face- Or more accurately, an unfamiliar lack-of-face. What you see is a man, about four feet tall, made of felt like a puppet, with a cue ball for a head, its surface reflecting a blurry simulacrum of your bewildered black mug.
"Slick," says a voice from within the white orb. You don't respond, gawking.
Before you is a man wearing a white suit, a man of normal build- Almost Prospitian, if not for the large featureless orb the being has for a head. You're not sure where to look to make eye contact, so your eyes scan the surface ineffectually.
"Uh," you say.
"Slick," the man repeats, crossing his arms. You're taller than he is, but he still radiates a paternal aura, catching you off guard.
"The one and only," you growl. "You're Scratch, ain't'cha?"
The doctor unfolds his arms, his fingers tenting. This guy gives you the creeps.
"I am," he says calmly. "It's good to meet you in person, Slick. How was your flight?"
You walk inside with the Doctor, making a beeline to the bowl of Scotty Dogs on the table, shoveling them into the pockets of your pinstripe suit.
"Help yourself," Scratch says, as if you stealing his candy was his plan all along. You shrug and continue your pilfering.
"The job went south," you say, finally turning your attention back on your host.
"Did it, now?" Scratch speaks calmly. You've been working for him for a long time, but you'd never actually met him in person, getting your orders from letters and clandestine messengers. Seeing him now, you're not impressed.
"I helped the brat, like you asked," you say. "The kid with the red blood." Scratch nods and you continue. "He told me to kill the Black Queen, so I teamed up with some bozo from his team of grey-skinned creeps to do it."
"I see," Scratch says, hands folding behind his back. "And judging from your tone, I would assume that did not come to pass."
"No," you say, wincing. "In fact, when I flew the coop, she-" you growl. "She came with me."
To your surprise, Doc Scratch sighs with relief.
"Good," he says. "That will be all, Slick."
You blink, a little dumbfounded.
"Uh-" you put your hands on your hips, on the pockets bulging with licorice treats. "No? I stuck my neck out for you, and now I'm a fuckin' exile. We agreed on payment. Ultimate Power. Me takin' over the Incipisphere."
Doc Scratch laughs. It's a mild laugh, like an acquaintance told him a polite joke.
"That is what we agreed on, isn't it?" Scratch holds up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "But now you're an exile. There's no way for you to get back to the incipisphere, let alone take it over. Next time, get your contracts in writing."
What did he just say? That's it? You did a big job for this no-faced freak! Not that you had much choice in the matter, but even so- No one welches Spades Slick! You see red. You leap across the room, grabbing the smug fuck by his bowtie, glaring at his featureless, bald head.
"You think you're a bust-up don't'cha? Well I got ways of makin' welchers pay their dues, motherfucker."
"I'm sure you do," says Scratch, calm as ever. "But those base tactics won't work on me."
Scratch shoves you off with surprising strength, shedding his jacket, folding it neatly over a chair. You withdraw your switchblade, he puts up his dukes.
"You were played, Slick," Scratch says with that same infuriating mildness. You swipe him but he deftly moves out of the way. "You were my unwitting errand boy."
"What errand?" you demand, swiping again, stabbing, but he's too quick. He has yet to retaliate.
"You were to bring her here," Scratch crouches, swiping his foot, making you fall to the ground in a heap. He stands over you. "The Black Queen. I have a business offer for her. You were just the means with which I chose to transport her."
You pant. You haven't tired yourself out yet, the panting is from your anger. You stumble to your feet, your blade discarded in the kerfuffle.
"No one fucks with Spades Slick! I'm the one and only Sovreign Slayer!" you cry, darting at the cue-ball-headed man. He steps aside and you topple into a clock behind him, causing it to gong out like it just hit the hour of one.
"I'm afraid, sir," Scratch says. "They do."
He heaves you out of the broken clock by the collar and drags you to the door, giving you a humiliating bum's rush onto the pavement outdoors. He dusts off his hands, hand on the green-tinted door.
"Goodbye forever, you miserable wretch. And for the record, you're not the only Sovreign Slayer."
"Tell BQ to go fuck herself!" you cry as the door slams.
You spit blood onto the ground, slinking away. Doc might be a better brawler than you gave him credit for, but you have an ace up your sleeve.
You growl in irriation. You used to BE somebody. A Sovreign Slayer. A master of manipulation. An assassin. Now, you're a loser in exile, played by a puppetmaster.
But it's not over 'til the gasoline is lit.
The Felt Manor is going to go up in fucking smoke.
You are no longer Spades Slick.
You are now Homestuck Alternate Universe's listener.
Hello again. My apologies. I had to deal with an old acquaintance. My moon has been getting visitors, lately. I'm preparing for something of a ceremony, you see. Everything has to be in place, just so, and a man like that is liable to cause unneeded commotion.
You might remember Slick's face, as a matter of fact. He looks an awful like that Jack Noir fellow, don't you agree? You wouldn't be wrong in thinking that.
Jack and Slick are two sides to the same coin, you see. They hail from two different versions of the game you know as Sburb. There's a Sovreign Slayer in all of them, a Dersite agent that stirs things up. More on him soon, I promise.
For now, let me clarify something, bring some things into focus that may have been lost in the kerfuffle.
You have been following the exploits of four kids playing a game together. The game Sburb, a game that creates a whole universe.
Imagine it like... If a universe is an organism, then Sburb is the way that organism reproduces. It pulls the players into its womb and through vying for glory in that game, they make a new universe to replace their broken one.
But as you might have noticed... These kids are doomed to fail. That Sovreign Slayer, that Jack Noir, he has transcended, he has gone beyond. He is imbued with the power of me, a God, a First Guardian, and the challenge that these kids faced is now insurmountable.
Does that make you sad? Does it upset you? Knowing the fate of these four?
Still, don't fret. Though they are doomed and you know the end to their story... That story is still worth telling.
But for now, why don't we take a little detour? You've probably guessed by now, but these trolls our heroes have been speaking to have played a game, too. They played Sburb in another universe- They are the very progenitors of it.
So let's see how they did, shall we? I've enlisted the help of a new narrator in order to do their story justice while I get ready for the big ceremony coming up.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have another guest to greet. I am a most excellent host.
Hello, your highness.
Chapter 23: Act 3: HIVEBENT
Chapter Text
--carcinoGeneticist began trolling ectoBiologist--
CG: HAVE YOU EVER BEEN HUNTED, JOHN?
EB: no.
EB: also it's "june" now. :P
CG: DO ALL HUMANS HAVE AS MUCH TROUBLE NAMING THEMSELVES AS YOU DO?
EB: no. we mostly don't name ourselves at all. i guess i'm an exception.
CG: OKAY.
CG: INTENSELY STRANGE, BUT LET'S NOT GET SIDETRACKED.
CG: MY POINT IS I'M BEING HUNTED RIGHT NOW.
CG: HUNTED BY THAT SAME THING THAT JUST BLEW UP PROSPIT'S MOON AND YOUR PRECIOUS FRIEND JADE.
EB: oh, fuck...
EB: that was the demon you were talking about?
CG: I HAVE NO IDEA HOW HE GOT FROM YOUR SESSION TO OURS, BUT THAT'S THE ONE.
CG: WE THOUGHT YOU SENT HIM INTENTIONALLY AS A SORT OF "FUCK YOU" TO YOUR CREATORS.
EB: our creators??
CG: HAVEN'T YOU FIGURED IT OUT YET?
CG: JESUS, DO I HAVE TO EXPLAIN EVERY LITTLE THING TO YOU?
CG: THE POINT OF THIS GAME IS TO CREATE A NEW UNIVERSE.
CG: WE CREATED YOUR UNIVERSE.
EB: whoa.
EB: so you guys, like, WON sburb.
EB: congrats!
CG: I CAN'T TELL IF YOU'RE BEING SARCASTIC OR NOT.
CG: IF SO: FUCK OFF.
CG: IF NOT: THANKS.
CG: EITHER WAY, WE DID WIN THE GAME. THOUGH WE CALLED IT "SGRUB" BECAUSE IT'S A VASTLY SUPERIOR NAME IN EVERY WAY.
CG: ONCE THE GAME IS WON AND EVERYTHING IS FINISHED, A DOORWAY APPEARS LEADING INTO THE NEW UNIVERSE OF OUR CREATION.
CG: WE SHOULD HAVE RULED OVER YOU ALL LIKE GODS, BUT INSTEAD... SOMETHING CAME THROUGH THE DOOR. FROM YOUR SIDE.
EB: the dog bird guy.
CG: RIGHT.
CG: AFTER A SESSION ENDS, IT STARTS TO DECAY. OUR LANDS FALL APART. OUR METEORS ALL IMPACT THE EMPTY SKAIA. IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE OCCUPIED.
CG: WE'RE STUCK OUTSIDE YOUR UNIVERSE.
CG: FROM OUR PERSPECTIVE, IT'S ONLY BEEN A FEW DAYS SINCE THE DEMON SHOWED UP. SINCE THEN, HE'S BEEN REALLY FUCKING THINGS UP FOR US. HE DESTROYED PROSPIT AND WE'RE PRETTY SURE HE'S ON HIS WAY TO DERSE.
CG: WE NEED TO GET INTO YOUR UNIVERSE BEFORE OUR GAME COLLAPSES.
CG: OR THE DEMON COMES AND KILLS US ALL.
CG: YOU KNOW, WHICHEVER HORRIBLE INEVITABILITY COMES FIRST.
EB: wow.
EB: that's a lot to drop on me, karkat.
EB: but yes! of course i will help you. :)
CG: WOW.
CG: OKAY, THAT WAS A LOT EASIER THAN I ASSUMED. I GUESS HUMANS ARE JUST SORT OF NATURALLY AGREEABLE? OR MAYBE YOU HAVE SOME SPECIAL MENTAL DEFICIENCY THAT PREVENTS RATIONAL THOUGHT.
EB: um.
EB: haha.
CG: EITHER WAY, JUNE...
CG: THANK YOU.
CG: BUT IT'S NO LONGER THAT SIMPLE. YOUR UNIVERSE IS BASICALLY FUCKED.
CG: IT'S STARTING TO LOOK LIKE WE NEED A DIFFERENT PLAN.
EB: yeeeeah. i was going to say. things are pretty bad here... it sounds like you guys are somewhere in the near future from when the demon guy escapes, but he's still running around here, with us. somehow.
EB: so you guys are from the future?
EB: the future and a different dimension??
EB: the future and a different dimension where you can see how messed up everything gets?
CG: YEAH.
CG: YOUR SESSION AND YOUR UNIVERSE ARE BOTH FUCKED.
CG: BUT THERE'S A WAY TO FIX IT.
EB: there is?
CG: YEAH. BUT THERE'S NO TIME TO EXPLAIN. PLUS, NO OFFENSE JUNE, BUT I REALLY DOUBT YOU'D BE ABLE TO COMPREHEND THE FULL BREADTH OF THIS PLAN.
EB: hey!
CG: UGH. LET ME PUT THIS IN A MORE SENTIMENTAL HUMAN WAY.
CG: YOU'LL NEED TO COME TOGETHER AND USE THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP TO OVERCOME THESE ODDS.
EB: that does sound way better! :D
CG: SIMPLETON...
--carcinoGeneticist logged off--
Your name is Karkat Vantas. Presently, you're on a meteor cooped up with your twelve friends hiding from a demon. Things are pretty bleak, but it could be worse.
Actually, no, they could not be worse. This is, categorically, the worst. The twelve "friends" as you called them are actually mentally unwell young adults who all have diverse reasons to despise one another, all trapped within a featureless grey mass of arcane tunnels and laboratories, the last vestiges of a once-noble, galaxy-spanning race, reduced to squeakbeasts crawling around this place without purpose.
...
Actually, there is one way this could be worse. That is if the demon you were all hiding from actually came down to finally kill you. That one saving grace is keeping your blood from boiling, possibly literally.
To be fair as well, the twelve of your peers who are trapped with you aren't your only company, not that the humans are much better.
When you first arrived on this meteor, you'd devoted yourself to ridiculing and mocking the humans for dooming you all, but over the past days, you've come to realize the humans aren't your enemies, but they represent a spark of hope. Hope that you can escape this terrible fate.
You sigh, growling deep in your chest. It's time to stop comisserating like a depressed wiggler and do something about this shitty situation- This shituation, if you will.
"Sollux," you call over to your best friend. He looks up from his own computer, upon which is indecipherable code, his typing filling the room even after he has looked away from the monitor.
"What?" he asks offhandedly. He won't tell you what he's typing away doing, his usual cagey self.
"It's time," you say solemnly. Sollux's glasses catch the light, one frame red, the other blue. He nods, turning back to his work.
The meteor's lab complex is massive. It was used by Derse before your reckoning to synthesize new soldiers, peppered with immense vats of ecto-slime and half-formed imps and ogres. You walk past them towards the makeshift living quarters, trying not to look at them directly. They really creep you out, and you don't need any additional stress.
"Terezi!" you say, banging on the door. Inside, you hear shifting and giggling, and in short order Terezi's face emerges, blind blank eyes gazing out at nothing, her attention fixed on you in her other senses, a hand shooting out to grab your wrist.
"Karkat! It's been a while. How has playing with the humans gone for you?" Her voice is raspy, like she'd just been sleeping. Sleeping hasn't been easy for you all lately.
"Exceptional," you say, businesslike. "I was able to open communique with June, the most reasonable one. She's going to help us with our plan."
"Plan...?" Terezi squints, head shifting back and forth. "Oh, right. You're still on about that? And for the record, June is the LEAST reasonable one."
"Yes, I'm still on about it and yes, June is the most reasonable one. What else am I supposed to do, just sit here and accept our fate?"
"No offense, Karkat, but 'accepting our fate' is exactly what you proposed doing three days ago," she says, shrugging.
"Well I changed my fucking mind!" you snap. You enter Terezi's room, which is total abject mess. You suppose it's easier to justify a messy living area when you're blind like she is. She walks in deftly picking through the mess as if she knows the location of every chaotic item intricately. She plops down on a beanbag in front of her laptop.
"So what IS the plan, anyway? Outside of entering the session and helping them win," Terezi asks, sounding bored. She runs her tongue along her laptop screen, already streaked with saliva from her licking it. You wince.
"My plan is to help them initiate the scratch," you say. This makes Terezi perk up.
"A scratch..." she muses. "You've been talking to the Doctor, haven't you? Have you told them that will kill them?" she asks, her sharp teeth arranged in a sly smile. You swallow.
"No," you admit.
"Fun," she laughs, licking the screen again. Looks like she's talking to Dave, from the color of the text in the chat window. "I'll help. I'm already getting Dave ready to go god-tier, though I don't have high hopes. It's not going to be easy convincing the rest of our group that these humans need saving. They all still think that the humans sent that demon on purpose."
You sigh. It's not like you don't know that already, and the way Terezi says it you almost imagine she's more smug about being right than she is excited to help save your lives.
"Just do your part. Leave the rest to me," you say. "Dave is the most important part of initiating a scratch. Get Aradia to help if you need."
Terezi cackles, licking the screen one more time.
"Dave says you're a smelly turd," she grins. You feel your teeth clench.
"Tell Dave to go fuck himself."
You walk out of Terezi's messy room.
Four human kids. Four troll helpers. You're already helping June, Terezi is helping Dave, so that leaves two more: Rose and Jade. They each need a patron troll to help them get through the scratch.
You open your palmhusk, dialing a familiar number into it.
"Kanaya?" you say as soon as you hear the ringing stop.
"I'll do it," comes Kanaya's soft voice on the other line.
"I beg your ever-loving pardon?"
"I mean, um," Kanaya's voice hesitates. "I will help you guide the humans through the scratch," she concludes. You scoff.
"Word gets around fast, huh? Who let you in on the plan?"
"Sollux," Kanaya says simply. "He is more shrewd and attentive than he seems."
"No shit," you mutter. "Just..." You trail off, unsure of how to word what you have to say. "Be careful, Kanaya."
"Careful?" Kanaya chuckles on the other line. "Humans are all weak and squishy looking, not to mention they are a universe away at present. They can pose us no harm."
"I don't mean bodily harm, Kanaya," you warn. "I mean..." Ugh. This is such a tricky subject to broach with HER. "I mean don't make this a case of uh... Xenophilia."
There's a long silence on the other line. Dread pools in your guts.
"Xenophilia is punishable by Her Imperious Condescension by death. That is a SERIOUS accusation, Karkat, I would NEVER stoop so low as to-"
"The Empress isn't around right now, Kanaya!" you cut her off before her tirade can continue. "I'm just saying it's pretty obvious you have a crush. Signless be silenced, fuck."
"I do not have a crush on some backwater xenos, Karkat. I merely have a healthy respect for her contribution to our session."
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
"Just do your job," you say, hanging up. She agreed and you trust her to do what needs to be done. That is enough for you.
Three down, one to go: Jade.
As you spoke with Kanaya, you'd been walking up a massive flight of stairs towards the balcony, towards the person at the top. You REALLY don't want to ask HER to help you, but you can't think of anyone else who's successfully spoken with Jade.
You open the door to the roof. The lab complex on this meteor reaches high above the meteor's surface, a massive concrete balcony overlooking the barren rock of the meteor.
High above, the ring of the meteors in the veil spin lazily, some breaking away to hurtle slowly towards Skaia. Once upon a time, the veil was so dense with space rocks it couldn't be seen through, but now there are only a few dozen grey space-stones in sight.
"Karkat!" comes a jaunty voice from across the balcony. You cringe.
"Hi, Vriska," you say bitterly.
"What brings you up into the spider's intricate web?" Vriska's grin, like Terezi's, is lined with sharp teeth that make you instinctively wince. Damn highbloods. She reeks incincerity, clapping you about the shoulders a little TOO hard to be friendly.
"I need some help," you mutter.
"Are you talking to those fucking humans again? SNOOOOOOOORE. I keep telling you, Karkat, we don't NEED them. We can defeat that demon ourselves."
You roll your eyes. You're shorter than Vriska by a head and she always makes sure to stand close enough to you that you have to tilt your head up to look her in the eyes.
"We already agreed that wasn't how we were going to do things," you say sternly. "No going off to fight him. You saw what he did to Aradia's clones."
"Uuuuuuuugh," Vriska groans. "You're such a wet drying cloth unit, Karkat, you need to have some optimism! Aradia is a weakling. A lowblood! Get me and Equius on the case and that demon is toast."
"Let's take a second to suspend my disbelief," you say, "an undertaking which will no doubt cause me a blood clot down the line. Even if you DID kill him, we'd still be stuck in a doomed session."
Vriska scoffs, but she looks away. She doesn't have an answer to that.
"So what do you propose, fearless leader?"
"We help the humans initiate a scratch," you say. For some reason, that word makes Vriska freeze, her shoulders tensing.
"A scratch," she repeats slowly. "Who could have given you a funny little idea like that?"
You swallow. You knew this was going to be tough.
"You're paranoid, Vriska," you begin. "The Doctor isn't as bad as you say he is. He just wants to help us-"
Vriska, to your shock, cuts you off by striking you in the face. Her fist is strong and broad, curled tight enough for her knuckles to go white.
"That fucker isn't going to help us," Vriska says, her voice suddenly deadly serious. She's staring at you with an intense hatred, awakening the prey part of your brain for a moment, your eyes going wide, breath catching. But in the next moment, she turns away.
"Just leave," she says, sighing. "I'm not helping any plan with HIM as the maestro." You don't need to be told twice.
Down the stairs, you make a frustrated growl, running your hand through your hair, gripping your horns with your fists. You shouldn't have bothered with Vriska.
Still, Jade NEEDS a patron troll. She has one of the most important jobs of all, second only to perhaps Dave. You might be able to help her, since you did the same job in your session, but... You swallow. You're the last person to be qualified to do THAT.
Back in the computer lab, you slump in your chair. Sollux has been joined by Feferi, which makes you somewhat on-edge. The bubbly girl perks up when you enter, her attention making you immediately blush.
"Katfish!" she says excitedly, hopping out of Sollux's lap, hugging you around the neck. You suppress a groan. You hate that nickname, but it's not like you can tell HER that.
"Hello, your highness," you say, stepping back and out of the embrace.
"No need for such formality!" Feferi says, hopping back into Sollux's lap. "I'm no one's highness any more!"
You slink away to your computer without saying anything, but to your shock, someone is already in your seat when you arrive.
"Gamzee?" you say, turning the chair around. A bewildered skinny face covered in monochrome clown makeup looks up at you. A smile slowly forms on his lips.
"K-man," he says in his raspy drawl. You smile. You like that nickname, but it's not like you can tell him that.
"What are you doing here?" you ask, grabbing him by the horn, dragging him out of your seat. Momentarily, your hand gets tangled in his long, wiry hair.
"Just chattin' up the good Doc," he says. Sure enough, the chat window is open, revealing correspondence.
"You can't do that from your computer?" you say. You're not angry or anything, but not giving him a hard time wouldn't be right.
"Yours is closer, brother man," he says, shrugging. "I just needed some advice is all. Doc knows what's up."
"Advice?" you turn to him, cocking your head. "You're like, the most serene guy out of all of us, dude. What do you need advice about?"
"Aww," Gamzee seems to take your words as a compliment. "Well, uh- I kinda just ran out of my sopor slime pies, big Kat. Can't live without 'em. Was gettin' Doc's advice on kickin' the habit."
You nod.
"I told you, dude. I told you about pies." You sit down at the desk. "I'm glad you're getting off them, even if it took sucking down every last one on this meteor to do it."
Gamzee sighs, leaning on the back of your chair. He seems more tired than usual, his eyes growing bloodshot, tinged more red than their usual pale yellow. His grip is tighter than usual, too.
"I know, man," he sighs. "I know it was fuckin' up my brainium, but I can't help it. Keeps my mind quiet."
You pat Gamzee on the cheek as he stands, making a growly sigh. You hope he'll be okay. As he leaves, you watch to make sure he exits before checking what he'd written to the Doctor.
--carcinoGeneticist began trolling [[null]]--
CG: Yo DoC mY gUy I nEeD sOmE aSsIsTaNcE
DOC: From your qirk, I assume that this is not Mister Vantas, but in fact Mister Makara.
CG: sHiIiT yOuRe SmArT aS hElL
CG: tHoUgH i GuEsS nOt MaNy PeOpLe WoUlD gO fOr A qUiRk LiKe MiNe
CG: HaRd As HeLl To TyPe In YkNoW
DOC: Indeed. Extrapolating this information was easy.
DOC: Not that I needed to. I am omniscient, after all.
CG: gReAt To HeAr BiG fUnKy D
CG: cAuSe IvE gOt A dOoZy Of A wHoPpEr FoR yOu To OmNiSh
DOC: Do tell, my good man.
CG: Im OuTtA pIeS
CG: yOu ToLd Me To GeT wItH yOu OnCe ThAt HaPpEnEd
CG: So Uh
CG: HeRe Im Is
DOC: Indeed. This was inevitable.
DOC: Your recovery will not be easy, Gamzee. You will be experiencing rather unpleasant withdrawals soon.
DOC: I would suggest locking yourself in your room with a steady supply of water and food for at least a day.
CG: I cAn AlReAdY fEeL tHe BuZz
CG: In My HeAd
DOC: You will not be able to shut it out any longer, I'm afraid.
CG: fUcK
CG: wHaT dO i Do
DOC: Once the withdrawal wears off, contact me again.
DOC: I know of the prophet who will bring you to salvation.
DOC: You can only quiet the buzzing once you are on your path.
CG: My PaTh HuH
CG: gUeSs I cAnT kEeP fRoM tHaT fOrEvEr
DOC: You cannot, Gamzee.
--
Prophets? Salvation? Sounds like Doc is talking shit. Or maybe he just knows how to speak Gamzee's moon-logic. Either way, it seems Gamzee is getting the help he needs. What a benevolent, kind, sweet, and wonderful doctor. Truly a magnificent man. Vriska's words about this man certainly cannot be trusted. Ahem.
To your surprise, you see another message appear in the chain.
--
DOC: Karkat.
DOC: It is rude to spy on others' conversations.
CG: SORRY.
CG: I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE HE'S OKAY.
DOC: You really care for him, don't you?
DOC: How sweet.
CG: HE'S A GOOD GUY. NO MATTER WHAT EVERYONE ELSE SAYS.
DOC: You don't need to extoll his virtues to me, Mister Vantas.
DOC: Now, how goes your search for assistance in your new goal?
CG: DECENT? I'VE GOT A PATRON FOR THREE OF THE HUMANS, LIKE YOU SAID, BUT I STILL HAVEN'T FOUND ONE FOR JADE.
DOC: On the contrary. You will be Jade's patron.
DOC: Is that not obvious? You're both bound by the way of the frog.
CG: UGH. THE FUCKING FROGS.
DOC: Indeed. Literally.
CG: I GUESS IN THAT CASE, I NEED A PATRON FOR JUNE. EVEN THOUGH I STILL NEED TO EXPLAIN SHIT TO HER.
DOC: Quite.
DOC: John is instrumental. If not in his session, in the grand scheme of this intricate play.
CG: ISN'T IT "JUNE?"
DOC: June?
DOC: Oh, right.
DOC: That idiotic moniker.
DOC: If that's what he fancies, sure.
CG: UH.
CG: I GUESS HUMAN GENDER IS MORE CONFUSING THAN I ASSUMED.
DOC: Let us not speak of deviant constructs, Karkat.
DOC: John's patron will make themself known in time, but your job with him is not finished.
DOC: He still has questions.
DOC: And you have a very important story to tell.
--[[null]] is no longer reachable--
Sure enough, a message appears from John- Or June- Or... Whatever. The blue human who against all odds, doesn't hate your guts.
--ectoBiologist began pestering carcinoGeneticist--
EB: hey, karkat?
EB: what's your home like?
--
The question makes you pause. Home. It's been so long since you've thought about it. You're going to have to answer carefully, with intense, well-reasoned, even-handed analysis of your home planet.
--
CG: READ THIS.
--carcinoGeneticist has sent AlterniaHistory.pdf--
EB: holy shit.
EB: this thing is 612 pages!
CG: OKAY??
CG: YOU ASKED, FUCKNOGGIN.
EB: and it's in an alien language!
CG: DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE? CHRIST.
CG: hzzps://mmm.gurgletranslate.cum
EB: what's this??
CG: A UNIVERSAL TRANSLATOR?
CG: CLICK IT.
EB: so i'm just supposed to translate this huge thing passage by passage?
CG: YOU SHOULD BE APPRECIATIVE THAT I'M SHARING THIS SACRED DOCUMENT WITH YOU, INGRATE. SUFFERER BELOW.
CG: I WILL RECONVENE WITH YOU AFTER YOU'VE FINISHED IT, WHICH, CONVINIENTLY FOR ME, WILL BE NEARLY INSTANTANEOUS.
EB: right, because you can move around our timeline however you want?
CG: CORRECT. NOW GET READING, SHITSMEAR.
--
You, Karkat, have the luxury of skipping ahead, using a tool in the chat window to scrub around June's timeline until she's finished. To your dismay, after just five minutes, she sets her PDA down with a look of frustration, instead chatting up some salamander denizens.
--
CG: WHAT THE FUCK.
CG: FINISH THE BOOK, JUNE.
EB: no!!
EB: it sucks.
EB: give me the short version.
CG: YEAH, LET ME JUST BOIL DOWN MY PLANET'S HISTORY INTO A "SHORT VERSION." DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS IT IS THAT I HAVE THIS? IT'S THE ONLY HEIRLOOM I OBTAINED FROM MY ANCESTOR.
--
You glance nervously at Feferi on Sollux's lap.
--
CG: IF THE AUTHORITIES BACK HOME KNEW I HAD THIS, THEY'D CULL ME.
EB: oh, wow.
EB: i feel a little bad, now.
EB: not bad enough to read the whole thing, though. :P
CG: UGH.
EB: i'll read it later! just.
EB: i guess i'm also wondering how a sburb session is SUPPOSED to go, y'know?
EB: you guys won the game. how??
CG: NOW THAT'S A PERTINENT QUESTION.
CG: I GUESS I'LL TELL YOU HOW OURS WENT DOWN.
CG: WE DID MAKE PRETTY FUCKING SHORT WORK OF THE GAME.
CG: JUST... GIVE ME A SECOND. I'M GOING TO COMPILE THIS INTO A DOCUMENT FOR EASE OF READING.
EB: uuuuuugh.
--carcinoGeneticist is offline--
This must have been what Doc meant by an important story. You open a text document in one screen, the other screen still open to June's feed, paused on an image of her looking at her PDA, speaking to you, a smile on her face.
For some reason, the smile makes your heart soft. This person is relying on you, and for the first time, that person doesn't resent your help. You crack your knuckles and begin.
Chapter 24: Hivebent Log #1 "Moist Husk"
Summary:
Chapter Text
Cancer. June 22nd to July 22nd.
Cancers at their best are intuitive, nurturing, and sensitive.
Cancers at their worst are emotional, insecure, and manic.
Cancer's horoscope is: Cherish what you have. You won't have it always.
MY NAME IS KARKAT VANTAS. FOR THE HUMANS IN THE AUDIENCE, READING THIS TALE OF WOE AND REGRET, PLEASE UNDERSTAND I AM A TROLL. I WILL DO MY BEST TO MAKE THIS AS READABLE FOR YOUR INFERIOR MINDS AS POSSIBLE.
I guess that includes dropping my quirk. June says it's "overbearing." I say fuck her, but she's the human expert, not me. I COULD be a human expert if I so chose, but the prospect strikes me as not only laughable, but distasteful outright. I wouldn't want to be an expert in anything but what I am: Martial, interpersonal, and leaderly prowess. Anyway.
I have decided to write this tome to inform the four of you, June, Jade, Dave, and Rose, of the exploits of my compatriots. A foreword:
Please do not extrapolate the behavior of my associates onto the entire troll species. Of them, I am the only exemplar of the noble troll race, with the possible addition of Kanaya. The rest of them are a bunch of fucking weirdos.
Second, please refrain from any judgements vis a vis cultural differences. I will also try to use your human vernacular as much as I can, as much as it disgusts me.
With that out of the way. Let's begin our excellent tale. Reserve any kudos and praise until the end. I will allow the humans to make notes for my later extrapolation. So, without further ado:
HIVEBENT.
A young man sits in his respiteblock. It so happens that this day, the 12th suncycle of the 6th lunar perigee is this humble young man's wriggling day.
EDITOR'S NOTE: no one knows what that is man
Ah, the double-vesseled shell nut gallery has already poked its horrible head in to mock me. Thank you, Dave.
A wriggling day, because apparently even the most simple cultural concepts require elaboration, is the rough equivalent of a troll's "birth day," in human terms.
Imagine if you will, a moist cave in the depths of the ground. Over thousands of sweeps, a finely tuned biological evolutionary machine has been humming: The Mother Grub, matriarch of all Trollkind. In her vast stomach she incubates innumerable eggs, some of which are destined to become massive mindless drone warriors for her cause, but the lucky few that she deigns to fertilize with the genetic slurry of her spawn become...
Trolls.
But this miracle of birth is not the end of the story, for the hundreds of troll wigglers that are born each day must pass three trials before they emerge and claim their life on the harsh Alternian landscape.
EDITOR'S NOTE: i think we are getting into the weeds here vis a vis eggs and genetic slurry
Do you want to know how we're born or don't you? I happen to be an Alternian history hobbyist. Jegus Suffering Christ, you'd think a xeno like you would appreciate being taught on the matters of troll biology.
Where was I? The trials.
Trial the first: The trial of wriggling. A troll after hatching must wriggle its insectoid triple-segmented larval body out from amidst his peers and unhatched eggs. Should they fail, they will suffocate under the mass of their clutchmates or worse, get eaten by them. This is where the term "wriggling day" comes from.
Trial the second: The trial of emergence. Once a wiggler emerges from its incestuous heap it must compete fervently with its peers to make its way to the surface or starve inside the cave or worse- Be devoured by the mother grub herself.
Trial the third: The trial of wilderness. After emerging from the caverns, the wiggler must hope it is selected by one of Alternia's guardians. Otherwise- You guessed it, they get fucking eaten.
Each day, four hundred thousand eggs are laid. Of them, ten thousand are trolls. Of the trolls, only one hundred or so survive their first day on the planet.
EDITOR'S NOTE: holy shit thats brutal as hell
Thank you, Dave. It is efficient and swift, filtering out the weak. However, The Alternian population is severely dwindling due to the advanced age of the current mother grub. Only about one million are extant, and of them there are only twenty thousand on the planet's surface.
Or... I should say they WERE extant. Alternia, as you can probably guess... Is gone.
I hate to admit it, but Dave is right. We are in the weeds here. You're not here for fun statistics about some dead fucking planet, you're here to hear how it got own-zoned. You're here to hear about the stud who saved his friends and how he and by extension they triumphed over the game.
EDITOR'S NOTE: lol. lmao
Humans, keep your beshaded bastard friend in check or I'll shove my fucking boot up his waste chute.
Anyway. Back to the man of the hour: Me. As this night marks the man's "birth day," his age-number increases of course, by one, making him seven sweeps old. And before someone can make another snide litle note, a sweep is approximately 2.5 human years. Thank Sollux for that math.
ANYWAY.
This handsome, serene young man did not know that this but his seventh wriggling day would be the beginning of the greatest and most vital quest of his life.
Well. Okay. I kind of did, but not in the way I assumed. See, when trolls turn seven they are enlisted mandatoraly in the Alternian Armed Forces, to serve their planet across the stars, taking the galaxy for our monarch, Her Imperious Condescension. That's why so few of us are actually on the planet.
Normally, that's what would have happened, but it didn't for me.
That particular night, I stood in my room, leaning upon the wall, very casually and I am sure very suavely, awaiting some correspondence from friends on the husktop computer I was afforded by my modest salary. My bags had been packed for my imminent conscription, a day I had awaited excitedly for sweeps, and the other fellows in my barracks were stopping by to congratulate me for living to the requisite conscription age, for of course, only approximately fifty per-cent of the trainees do.
The barracks were a buzzing, massive place. A place where boys became men, girls became women, and bodies became corpses.
I do not mean to toot my own soundchute, but I was training to participate in the noble Threshsecutioner's Forces come conscription day. My fellow recruits jealously regarded me, as I was finally on my way to be the finest alien-murderer the planet had ever seen. Sadly, however, as the readers of this tome know, it was not to be, for fate had different plans for me.
"Karkat," said one of my fellow trainees- a younger boy by the name of Kasper- poking his head through my hive-flap. He and I were the bosom-est of buddies, as naturally, his modest barrack-hive was next to mine, being the next name alphabetically. "I'm so happy to see you go, yet incredibly jealous that you, a special and fantastic person, are leaving," he said tearfully.
"Not to worry, Kasper, my boy," I nobly said. "You will follow me soon. For I trust that you will not be killed in this brutal training regimen like so many of our sorority."
"I could never be as good as you!" Kasper insisted in a voice that was noble, but not AS noble as mine. "For you graduated our ranks without once spilling a drop of blood!"
"Indeed," I replied, humbly, and with a great, yet affable pride. "But even though my skill and quality is above what anyone else could hope to achieve, you will join me soon."
EDITOR'S NOTE: no offense, karkat, but no one is going to believe this. :B
Eat shit. This is how it happened, June. More or less. The thing about the blood was true.
Whatever. If you want more direct accounts... I have preserved some various logs of my correspondences for such an occasion. Shortly after Kasper left my room, I spoke to my associate Sollux. If you're so skeptical, you can read our explicit words.
==
TA: congratulatiion2 on makiing iit two 2even, karkat.
CG: TO TWO SEVEN? OH. "TO" SEVEN.
CG: THANK YOU, SOLLUX.
CG: I'M SURE YOU'RE JEALOUS OF MY IMMINENT CONSCRIPTION.
TA: uh
TA: not really tbh
TA: when ii get con2criipted iit won't be a2 2ome fancy thre2h2ecutiioner iit wiill probably ju2t be a2 2omethiing 2hiitty
CG: NONSENSE. YOUR CASTE HAS OPTIONS. YOU SHOULD HAVE ENLISTED TO TRAIN SOMEWHERE, LIKE ME, INSTEAD OF WASTING YOUR TIME WITH COMPUTERS.
TA: whatever. iif you're goiing two be a diickhead, ii'm ju2t goiing two leave.
TA: ii wa2 goiing two offer you a chance two play a game wiith me. for old tiime'2 2ake.
TA: one la2t 2e2h wiith my friiend before he leave2 two go diie for the empre22
CG: HOLD ON, NOW.
CG: I HAVE TIME TO PLAY A GAME.
CG: I'M NOT GOING TO LIE AND SAY I'M NOT A LITTLE SAD TO LEAVE YOU GUYS.
CG: EVEN THOUGH I'M NOT "FRIENDS" WITH ANYONE. THAT EMOTION IS A DISEASE UPON TROLLKIND.
TA: oh my god would you 2hut the fuck up dude
TA: you diidn't u2ed two be a liittle walkiing propaganda pamphlet
TA: you know what? fuck thii2. ii'm not goiing two play wiith you iif you're goiing two be liike thii2.
CG: FINE! FUCK. I'M SORRY.
CG: THERE. HAPPY? LET'S PLAY THE STUPID GAME.
TA: fiine.
TA: ii ju2t 2ent a copy two your t-maiil
CG: REALLY? DON'T GAMES USUALLY COME ON DISCS?
TA: u2ually, but ii thought u2iing dii2c2 would cau2e problem2 down the liine
CG: AGREED. DISCS AND RELATED SHENANIGANS THEREOF ARE POINTLESS.
CG: OKAY. WHICH ONE DO I INSTALL? CLIENT OR SERVER?
TA: neiither for now.
TA: iit'2 goiing two work liike thii2. we'll each make a team and compete two 2ee who can fiinii2h the game fiir2t.
TA: ii'm blue leader, you're red leader.
CG: "RED" LEADER.
CG: ...
CG: ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY SOMETHING?
TA: ii don't know what you mean.
CG: WHY AM I SPECIFICALLY "RED" LEADER.
TA: you're readiing two much iinto iit, bro. ju2t piick your teammate2 before ii get all the good one2.
CG: FINE.
==
In spite of my perhaps flippant tone, I was excited for one last game with my compatriots. I hastily contacted the fellow I knew I could count on to play with me.
==
CG: GAMZEE.
CG: GAMZEE, ANSWER.
CG: YOU'RE COMPLETELY USELESS FOR A HIGHBLOOD.
TC: YoOoOoOo K mAn
TC: K mOnEy
TC: KaT tOwN
CG: ...YOU GET ONE MORE.
TC: BiG fUnKy K
TC: WhAt In ThE gOoD gOd AbOvE iS uP mY mAn I hEaRd ThE bIg NeWs
CG: IF YOU "HEARD THE BIG NEWS" YOU KNOW "WHAT'S UP."
CG: HAVE YOU BEEN EATING PIES AGAIN?
TC: WhY wOuLd I nOt ImBiBe Of ThE pIeS bIg KaT
TC: ThEm ShItS cUrE tHe BuZzIn In My CrAnIuM
CG: WHATEVER. IT DOESN'T MATTER.
CG: I'M SENDING YOU A FILE. INSTALL THE "SERVER" APPLICATION POST-HASTE.
TC: WhAt'S tHe MaGiC wOrD? :o)
CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD.
CG: "PLEASE?"
TC: ThErE. iT tAkEs MoRe MuScLeS tO sMiLe ThAn To FrOwN mY aNgRy LiTtLe BuDdY
CG: WELL IT'S GOING TO TAKE MORE MUSCLES TO HEADBUTT YOU IN THE SHAME GLOBES, BUT IT'S ALSO MORE GRATIFYING.
TC: Oh! ArE wE aBoUt To PlAy A gAmE dUdE? fOr OlD tImEs SaKe? :o)
CG: DON'T MAKE IT WEIRD.
CG: BUT... YES.
CG: I'M CONSTRUCTING A TEAM TO BEAT THE GAME FASTER THAN SOLLUX'S TEAM
CG: YOU'RE MY FIRST CHOICE.
TC: KaRkAt I'm ShEdDiN a SoLiTaRy TeAr HeRe
TC: YoU'rE sAyIn ThAt I'm YoUr FiRsT tEaMmAtE?
TC: :'o)
CG: OH MY GOD. SHUT UP.
CG: YOU'RE JUST THE FIRST PERSON I SAW, OKAY?
TC: NaW dUdE yOu KnEw I'd Be SuRe To SaY yEs On AcCoUnT oF tHe BeSt FrIeNdS tHaT wE aRe
CG: OKAY. NEVER MIND.
CG: I'M SENDING THE FILES TO ERIDAN.
TC: ToO lAtE mY dUdE i AlReAdY wEnT aNd InStAlLeD tHaT sHiT wHiLsT yOu WeRe No DoUbT tYpInG iN fUrY
TC: NoW qUiT yOuR vErBaL sQuIrMaGe DuDeBrO
TC: CoNnEcT tO mE aS yOuR mIrAcUlOuS sErVeR pLaYeR aNd I sHaLl GuIdE yOu To ViCtOrY
CG: FINE. YOU'D BETTER NOT FUCK THIS UP.
CG: THIS IS IMPORTANT. THE LAST GAME I'LL EVER PLAY WITH YOU GUYS.
==
Gamzee agreed to be my server player, something which I was secretly very happy about. Secretly happy is the preferred type of happiness to all trolls. It was bittersweet. One final childish game before adulthood. I felt a pang of malaise as I realized that I was not ready to outgrow the things I loved so dear.
As my husktop screen swirled and loaded the game, I felt a sense of trepidation, promising to savor every moment with my friends. I would of course, never ever tell them this because baring your feelings is humiliating as it is laughable.
To my shock and alarm, but likely not to yours, what happened next was of course, the beginning of the game that would end our world.
The game began innocuously. I discovered Gamzee could see my domicile and we quickly deciphered our next move: Awaken the game constructs and enter the world of The Medium.
Gamzee, due to being an addlepaded sopor-drunk clown, placed my entry gadgets around the compound haphazardly. The cruxtruder ended up in my room, but the Alchemiter landed on my roof.
The barracks I lived in were arranged in rows, a single room each, metal pods for us to live in, with all the amenities we required. That is to say: No amenities. When an Alchemiter appeared on my roof, my lusus, who we were allowed to keep on the premises, took notice, even though it flew over the heads of my commanding officers and barrackmates for reasons that will soon be clear.
EDITOR'S NOTE: What's a lusus?
Holy shit, that's the saddest thing I've ever heard, in my life. I guess I have to explain the simplest of things for our human counterparts.
Lusii, or Lusus Naturae, are our animal guardians, which I mentioned in brief before when discussing the caverns and trials. With the lusii, we have a symbiosis. Each Troll's is a different type of beast, denoted by their alabaster skin and fur.
EDITOR'S NOTE: so they're an animal who is also your dad. got it.
Whatever strokes your reproductive cylinder, I guess. My Lusus, going by the moniker of "Crab Dad," took note of my hive's state and came to bother me about it. He did this in his usual fashion: Screaming at me at the top of his lungs and trying to manhandle me back into my recupacoon.
And before my shitty "editors" ask. A recupacoon is a moist husk we fill with a special pacifying slime to keep us calm while we sleep during the day. It's the stuff Gamzee drinks that gets him all fucked up.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Please don't say "moist husk."
Due to my own personal convictions, I am going to now reiterate:
MOIST HUSK.
Eat my dilating waste valve, Rose.
My crab-father was my beloved guardian of seven sweeps. He was double my height when on his hind-legs and sported two menacing claws with which he used to kill my foes. Unlike most Lusii, he did not choose me upon my emergence from the broodcaverns, a fact which haunted my mind in my formative years, but I have now come to understand.
Crab dad was my loyal lusus and guardian and I had a great deal of love for him, in spite of the fact that he was 10 imperial shafts high and could not speak Alternian, only chitter and growl. As trollanoid crabs go, he was one of the greatest.
Still, my lusutage isn't the subject of this account.
I pacified my aggrieving Crabdad in my usual way. By dueling him with one of the standard-issue sickles all prospective threshsecutioners do battle with, which was at hand in my hive. Unfortunately, that choice would be my undoing.
As stated before, I had never shed blood in my entire tenure at boot camp. This is both because I am an excellent fighter as well as because my blood holds a dark, dark secret. Unfortunately, on my last day at camp, that secret emerged from under my skin, my finger slashed by my own errant sickle.
My blood, my closest-kept secret, spilled forth from my own hands and onto the dusty ground.
Crabdad, knowing the danger in this, hastily bandaged my hand, but the damage was done. My blood shone on my hand, marking me for the freak I was. The blood in my veins. My shame.
EDITOR'S NOTE: wait, your blood was a secret? why?
I'll explain later, shitheel. It's a sensitive subject. After my bloodshed, I hastened to cancel my game plans with Gamzee and Sollux.
==
CG: I CAN NO LONGER PLAY THIS GAME. I APOLOGIZE TO BOTH OF YOU.
TC: HoLd Up. WhAt?
TA: what the fuck, dude? gettiing you two agree wa2 liike pulliing fuckiing teeth.
CG: WELL I CAN'T. THAT'S THAT. SORRY.
CG: SOMETHING CAME UP.
TC: Is It On AcCoUnT oF yOuR bUsTeD uP fInGeR?
CG: WHAT THE FUCK?
CG: HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT? CAN YOU SEE ME?
CG: FUCK. FUCK! AM I ON CAMERA?
TA: relax, 2hiithead. iif you made gamzee your 2erver player, he can 2ee you. that'2 how he put your machiine2 down.
TA: and you can't not play the game, now, dumba22. iit'2 two late.
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? ARE YOU THREATENING ME?
==
Sollux did not need to answer, for our ill-fated argument was interrupted by a commotion outside. When I emerged into the rows of barrack-hives from my own, to my shock, but not the readers', I witnessed, high above my home, a massive meteor, en route to my camp.
In that moment, I was stunned. The unique shock and terror clear and present to those who play The Game. I'm sure the humans reading this can comprehend the existential dread that exists in that fleeting, bone-chilling moment.
Panic overtook my fellow trainees. It was pandemonium, officers and grunts alike howling and making their futile escapes. On the one hand, this distracted them from my cut, but on the other... It spelled our doom. I remember seeing Kasper stare at the heavens with a disbelief that chilled me to the core. The meteor's fiery tail shone in his very eyes, his body more still than I had ever seen him.
I mistook this meteor for the doing of Sollux's and decided to spend what I believed to be my last moments berating him.
==
CG: SOLLUX, YOU FUCKING TRAITOR.
CG: IS THIS SOME SICK PRANK?
CG: THERE'S A METEOR.
CG: THE GAME MADE A METEOR.
TA: iit diidn't "make" anythiing, karkat. ju2t 2hut the fuck up and lii2ten two me.
TA: get iin2iide the game or get cru2hed by a meteor. got iit?
CG: WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?
CG: IS THIS SOME ELABORATE SCHEME? DID YOU SUMMON THIS METEOR WITH YOUR ACCURSED PSIONICS?
--twinArmaggedons is offline--
CG: ANSWER ME.
TC: YoU oUgHtTa Be NiCeR tO yOuR fRiEnDs :o(
==
In disgust and sheer fear, I re-emerged from the barrack-hive. On Gamzee's instruction, I used my sickle to extrude the totem and kernel, but Crabdad still didn't allow me to go outside to tend to the Alchemiter.
Doubt filled my actions but there is little choice in the matter when the decision must be made between absurdity and death by meteor. Alchemiters... Cruxtruders... It was all so new to me and I clung to them like a survivor to a lifeboat. I can imagine you all felt the same when you realized impending doom awaited your home planet.
The meteor felt hot, like it was burning the air around me. As I worked I looked out the window and still saw Kasper rooted in place as if meditating, eyes glued to that infernal rock. Like he was looking at the god of double-death himself, having a staring contest.
The barrack-hive was alive with panic and rage, never had I seen trolls so helpless. I felt some cruel twist of fate. I was supposed to be a Threshsecutioner, bringing ruin on planets. I was supposed to be the meteor. I was supposed to invoke fear and helplessness, yet here I was, sweating bullets while my friend watched on in paralyzed disbelief.
My entire world was inside that barrack-hive. My sickles. My computer. My lusus. All of which were betraying me today. My sickles had opened my skin, my lusus was preventing my salvation, and my computer had brought it all upon me.
The game that darkened my screen I cursed in that moment, but through it, my tiny world was about to open. The kernel, round and ready to be prototyped, buzzed beside my head.
I attempted to clear the stairs and make it to the barrack roof but Crab Dad barred the way impudently. How I wished I could tell him what the hell was going on. It's true what they say. Parents just don't understand.
Alternia, the planet I was born on, is a brutal place. The small moments of respite between grinding, horrid violence are few and far between, and usually they occurred when I was in the arms of my crabby guardian.
I had always known my lusus wasn't long for the world, for a wiggler must outlive their custodian, but I didn't know that day would be the one that a meteor bore down on my and my fellow trainees' homes.
My Crab Dad, in an earnest attempt to keep me from revealing my secret blood, tried to stop me from leaving the hive, and myself, in my terror, confusion, and panic, struck him down with the only tool I had to hand: the sickle that had cut my own palms.
To my shock, from his own carcass spilt the same crimson I'd cursed myself for possessing inside my veins. I had not only slain my only guardian... But the only other being on the planet who understood my plight.
I didn't have time to mourn him, but I wouldn't need any, either.
On the roof, I brushed back tears as I entered the world of the game, escaping the meteor in one instant of relief.
My one regret was killing my guardian, but when I watched Alternia slide away, I was saved that regret. My custodian obtained new life inside my kernel. Instead of dripping blood, when I came down, I saw my beloved guardian born again in the form of my partner on my quest. My sprite. Crabdadsprite.
To say the least, after that ordeal, I was exhausted in the highest regard. I contacted my friends once more.
==
CG: I'M IN.
CG: START EXPLAINING, SOLLUX.
TC: He'S sTiLl OfFlInE :o(
TC: AnD i HaTe To Do ThIs BuT i'Ve GoT a SiTuAtIoN oF mY oWn HeRe
TC: I dO bElIeVe I wIlL hAvE tO fInD a SeRvEr Of My OwN pReTtY fAsT
CG: NO! FUCK.
CG: DON'T LEAVE ME.
--terminallyCapricious is offline--
CG: ...I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE.
==
I was too tired, too confused to regard my new world around me, though I would soon come to know it as the Land of Pulse and Haze. Instead, I retired inside the small portion of the barracks that had come to the Land with me, my hands shaking. I saw correspondences on my husktop, one from Kasper.
The relief I'd felt getting away from my camp was hastily replaced with new terror. The guilt the survivor feels for leaving behind his peers to die. The guilt in realizing only after a long moment of peace that I had left someone behind.
Kasper.
==
FG: ooo Karkat?? ooo
FG: ooo What's happening? ooo
FG: ooo I was about to tell you about the meteor, but your hive disappeared. ooo
FG: ooo Please, Karkat, I'm really freaking out here. ooo
CG: KASPER?
CG: ARE YOU STILL AT THE BARRACKS??
FG: ooo Yes! ooo
FG: ooo Please, help me. Take me with you. ooo
FG: ooo Am I going to die?? ooo
CG: NO. YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIE. YOU NEED TO STOP FREAKING OUT, PLEASE.
FG: ooo It's so hot, Karkat. It's hot. ooo
CG: DON'T TALK. JUST DOWNLOAD THIS FILE AND INSTALL THE "CLIENT" APPLICATION.
CG: IT WILL LET ME SAVE YOU.
FG: ooo Okay. I'm installing it. ooo
FG: ooo Karkat, it's loading slow. ooo
FG: ooo People are screaming outside, so much, please. ooo
CG: JUST HOLD ON. KASPER, ONCE THE CLIENT LOADS, YOU NEED TO FIND THE MACHINES I'M GOING TO DEPLOY.
FG: ooo I'm sorry, Karkat. ooo
FG: ooo I don't think I'm going to make it. ooo
CG: KASPER, SHUT YOUR WORTHLESS MOUTH AND GET IN GEAR!
CG: THAT'S NOT HOW A FUTURE THRESHSECUTIONER TALKS! YOU'RE LETTING DOWN THE NAME OF OUR NOBLE ORDER.
CG: KASPER! ANSWER ME YOU WORTHLESS SWINE!
--friendlyGhost is offline--
CG: KASPER.
CG: STOP FUCKING AROUND.
CG: KASPER.
CG: KASPER!!!
==
For hours after, my eyes were glued to the screen, desperately waiting for his name to reappear online. I screamed at the screen, while my guardian-sprite watched.
Kasper never came back.
Trolls as a race, especially those born native to the Imperial Core Alternia are fastidious. We are noble and adaptable, and our sentimentality is crushed by our determination. If I felt a shred of sorrow for Kasper, I would have to push it deep inside me and stand upon it as a platform to reach new heights of resolve.
After my tears dried, I exited my now-lonely hive.
As I inspected my surroundings, I reckoned my fate. In that moment, I was in hell, well and truly. My land was desolate, grimy, black rocks jutting from the ground, rising above a stagnant pool of robust, bright crimson: The shameful color of my own blood, blood I'd never spilt in all my days training.
A lesser man than me might have chosen to take his own life. I am not such a man, though it did plague my thoughts for every night since. It still does. But even so, I moved forward.
I was alive. I intended to stay that way, as I do now.
What happened after my entry into The Game will be explained in due time. My regret is the haste at which I have to produce this tome and the speed at which details have to be divulged. At the same time, I know my audience, the humans, are familiar enough with game entry that I won't patronize them with every agonizing detail.
You install the game, you prototype the kernel, you use the game items to enter the Medium and your Land. The first guy connects to the last guy and that's that.
It has been... Not easy to recount that first day in the game. I haven't had a chance to think about Kasper in a long time...
No matter.
For now, I will have to detail what I know of Gamzee's own plight. For he was the next person to fall victim to the cruel twist of fate Sgrub brought on all of us.
EDITOR'S NOTE: you mean "sburb" right
No. I mean Sgrub. That's what we called it. Don't fucking jump in at dramatic moments, Dave, that was the perfect cliffhanger and you completely spoiled it.
EDITOR'S NOTE: shut up lol
You shut up! I'll shut you up myself you little xeno excrement-cranium.
EDITOR'S NOTE: cranky because you sleep in slime arent you
Dave is hereby banned from making editor's notes. So there. Karkat out, fuckass.
Chapter 25: Hivebent Log #2.1: Last Request
Summary:
Chapter Text
Libra. September 22 to October 23.
Libras at their best are studious, friendly, and balanced.
Libras at their worst are obsessive, conniving, and cruel.
Libra's horoscope is: Beware of past entanglements.
--
==
GC: K4RK4T, 4R3 YOU T4LK1NG TO TH3 HUM4NS W1THOUT M3?
CG: YES.
GC: Y3S?
GC: JUST "Y3S?" NO CONVOLUT3D 3XCUS3 4S TO TH3 SP3C1F1C R34SON YOU'R3 K33P1NG M3 S3P4R4T3 FROM TH3M?
GC: 1S TH1S B3C4US3 1 N34RLY K1LL3D TH3 JUN3-HUM4N?
CG: NO, AND I DIDN'T KNOW YOU DID THAT, WHICH CONFIRMS MY SUSPICIONS THAT YOU SHOULD BE KEPT AWAY FROM THEM AT ANY COST.
GC: BOOOOOOOO.
GC: L3T M3 T4LK TO TH3M. 1 D1D SOM3 1MPORT4NT TH1NGS 1N TH3 G4M3, MYS3LF YOU KNOW.
CG: FINE.
GC: F1N3?
GC: JUST "F1N3?"
GC: NO 3NDL3SS 4RGU1NG 4BOUT OUR COURS3 OF 4CT1ON?
CG: YOU'RE JUST GOING TO DO WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT, TEREZI.
CG: YOU VILE HARPY.
GC: K4RK4T. TH4T'S 4LMOST *K1ND* COM1NG FROM YOU.
CG: JUST WRITE YOUR PIECE, PYROPE.
CG: I COULD USE ALL THE HELP I CAN GET.
GC: 4LL TH3 H3LP, YOU S4Y?
==
--gallowsCallibrator started a public memo: HUM4N 4SS1ST4NC3 M3MO--
GC: H3LLO, 4LL.
GC: K4RK4T H4S B3GUN T4LK1NG W1TH TH3 HUM4NS 4G41N.
TC: tHe WhOmSt
CG: TEREZI, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
GC: YOU S41D YOU COULD US3 4LL TH3 H3LP YOU COULD G3T!
CT: D--> Talking to these humans is pointless.
CT: D--> Are they not the reason that we are in this mess?
CT: D--> We are reduced to worms hiding on a forgotten meteor in a long-lost session of this life-ruining game.
CA: i'm wwith eq for once.
CA: those fuckers screwwed us.
CA: kar you said your own self that we're lost here because of them.
CG: WHAT ELSE ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? SIT ON OUR SLIMY ASSES AND DIE?
CG: WHY AM I EVEN TALKING TO YOU? I DON'T NEED YOUR INVOLVEMENT AT ALL.
CG: JUST GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS.
CG: YOUR MISERABLE, NASTY BUSINESS.
AC: :33 < i'm confuzzled...
AC: :33 < didnt you say we were supposed to troll them, karkitty?
AC: :33 < wed get on their internet and yell at them to not efur play the game!!
AC: :33 < and meow youre helping them?
CG: THAT WAS BEFORE I KNEW ALL THE FACTS.
CG: THIS DEMON, THIS JACK NOIR GUY, THEY DIDN'T CREATE HIM ON PURPOSE.
CG: AND DON'T CALL ME "KARKITTY."
GC: W3'R3 GO1NG TO H3LP TH3M W1N TH31R G4M3 BY 3XPL41N1NG HOW W3 B34T OURS! >:]
TA: can you 2top makiing new memo2??
TA: you fucker2 can ju2t u2e old memo2
TA: whenever you make a new one ii have two get the notiifiicatiion2 ff2
--twinArmageddons left the memo--
GA: I Like The Plan Karkat
GA: I Find It Quite Rewarding To Speak To These Humans
CG: YOU JUST HAVE A CRUSH ON ONE OF THEM.
CG: AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED, YOU'RE COMPROMISED.
GA: Crush
GA: Me
GA: I Find Such An Accusation Outrageous.
GA: Allow Me To Type A Refutation It Will Take Just A Moment
--carcinoGeneticist muted grimAuxilliatrix for 5 spans--
AA: i t00 have been speaking t0 the humans
AA: they are smarter than it has been implied
CC: I t)(ink t)(ey're cute!!
CC: I've said from t)(e start t)(ey'd make great subjects.
CC: strong, willful, and t)(eir planet )(as SUC)( nice oceans!
CC: strong, willful, and their planet has SUCH nice oceans!
CG: I FEEL LIKE THAT'S A SOMEWHAT FLAWED APPROACH TO GAUGE THEIR WORTH, BUT, UH.
CG: SURE.
CC: 38)
CG: JUST-
CG: I'LL PUT IT THIS WAY. IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN CONTRIBUTING TO THE DOCUMENT, LET ME KNOW.
CG: YOU'RE ALL TERRIBLE.
CG: AND I FEEL LIKE I DON'T NEED TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT SHE'S NOT ALLOWED ANYWHERE NEAR THE HUMANS.
AT: bY "HER" I'M ASSUMING YOU MEAN,,,
AT: "hER,"
CG: DON'T MAKE THE PRONOUN GAME MORE CONFUSING, TAVROS.
AT: sORRY,,,
GC: GL4D TH4T'S S3TTL3D.
GC: 3V3RYON3 G3T TO WORK!
GC: 1'LL WR1T3 TH3 F1RST S3CT1ON FOR OUR HUM4N FR13NDS.
CG: UGH.
--carcinoGeneticist accepted his fate--
MY N4M3 1S T3R3Z1 R3DGL4R3 PYR4LSP1T3 PYROP3. 1 4M S3V3N SW33PS OLD, 1 L1V3 1N TH3 WOODS, 4ND MY P4SS1ON 1S JUST1C3. K4RK4T S4YS 1 H4V3 TO DROP MY QU1RK TO M4K3 TH1S "R34D4BL3" BUT 1'V3 D3C1D3D TO FOLLOW H1S RUL3 ONLY 4FT3R MY COOL 1NTRODUCT1ON. >:]
There. Is this better? Reading my words in an unpalatable plain text? I forgot the "e" key even existed. Using 3 for such purposes is much more streamlined.
But we're not here to discuss my unique and rad typing style. Hello.
Two of you shitty humans have already met me and it would seem I have left a not ideal first impression. This is because I happen to have accidentally led to the paradoxical death of one of their own.
EDITOR'S NOTE: not an accident but ok
An astute observation, Dave. You would make a decent defense flayttorney. I did accidentally purposefully kill June, which was in Alternian legal parlance a "dick move." I'd like to amend that issue by giving you a brief autobiographical peek into my life.
EDITOR'S NOTE: HEY, DIPSHIT, THIS ISN'T YOUR FUCKING MEMOIRS. TALK ABOUT THE GAME.
Patience, Karkitty. This all relates to my quest.
Initially, I did not want to play games with Karkat at all. I had bigger finbeasts to fry, you see. On Alternia, due to the low population numbers in recent sweeps, junior lawpersons like myself were being drafted into the ranks of the Legislacerators, a position that suited me perfectly.
Legislacerators are of course the noble law enforcers on Alternia, ranking higher than the simple-minded drones that the empress commands. They execute her force, but we execute her will.
Among the younger legislacerators, I earned the fearsome moniker "Blind Justice," which was because I was and am... Blind. Sorry if you expected some convoluted reason for this name, Alternians are regrettably literal.
As Karakt mentioned, our group was all close to conscription age. He and I in particular, since we were seven sweeps old on the same day. He and I were clutchmates, in fact. As conscription was imminent, I was endeavoring to close one last case: The case of the sopor-fiend.
In the Alternian legal system, there are only two outcomes of a case being closed: Culling and Acquittal. Acquittal, as you may imagine, leads to charges being dropped entirely. Whereas culling is- Well. You kill them.
Aquittal can be achieved through three means: One, trial by combat. The accused fights the legislacerator assigned to their case and wins. Two, trial by judge. The accused pleads their case before a monster known as a "Judge," a massive drone born of the mother grub who weighs evidence and decides guilt. This means only results in acquittal around 2% of the time. In 98% of cases, the hungry Judge devours the accused. The final way of acquittal is blood vector. Certain crimes do not affect certain blood castes. For instance, a purpleblood cannot be charged with petty crimes like "swearing," or "jaywalking," or "murder."
In this case, the case of the Sopor Fiend, I was attempting to ascertain the whereabouts of a troll who was using too much sopor based on general alottments. It is very illegal to consume sopor slime, punishable by death for every caste, so I was trying to find the guy who was using too much of it.
The issue was that I knew exactly who this "Sopor Fiend" was. It was an acquaintance known as "Gamzee Makara" who was under my personal protection. I had taken his case not to prosecute him but instead to get him off the hook. In turn, Gamzee, being of higher blood caliber to me, could assist in my own hiding from the authorities.
For as I mentioned before... I am blind.
I am not sure how they kill blind people on Earth, but suffice to say, on Alternia, it is monstrously cruel and slow. Drones descend from the skies and cull you on the spot with their dullest impliments. Naturally, to stay alive, I had to enlist the help of highbloods. Make myself useful to them.
My ingenious plan was to assist Gamzee with a certain game he was playing. This was my elegant solution. I would do him the favor of entering the game and this game, according to my peers Sollux and Karkat, would extricate him from our world, freeing him from his accusers and indebting him to myself.
The only issue was that this game also ended the world. Womp-womp.
I'll spare you the intricacies of getting Gamzee into the game, he can write about that himself. Repeatedly describing people getting into the game gets boring very quickly- Just assume that all of us entered the game in an efficient manner.
I helped Gamzee into the game then left him alone. There. That's what I did during this time. It was easy. Place the game constructs, watch him use them, guide him when he got distracted. Which was often because of his crippling sopor addiction.
Come to think of it- What do humans use as sopor when they sleep?
EDITOR'S NOTE: THEY DON'T. IT'S REALLY WEIRD.
Wow. Okay, well... Sopor is what we trolls sleep inside. It's necessary to keep the nightmares at bay. How do humans keep nightmares at bay?
EDITOR'S NOTE: THEY DON'T HAVE THEM SUPER OFTEN, I GUESS. THAT'S WHAT JUNE SAID.
Huh. Lucky them.
Anyway. Around this time, I was contacted by an... Acquaintance about the goings-on.
--apocalypseArisen began trolling gallowsCallibrator--
AA: terezi
GC: OH. UH...
GC: H1, 4R4D14.
GC: LONG T1M3 NO S33.
GC: FORG1V3 TH1S SOM3WH4T RUD3 QU3ST1ON, BUT, UHHHH.
GC: 4R3N'T YOU D34D?
AA: yes
AA: that is a rather rude questi0n but it is fine
GC: OK4Y.
GC: 1'M GO1NG TO TRUST MY 1NST1NCTS 4ND SW33P MY DOUBTS UND3R TH3 RUG.
AA: wise ch0ice
AA: i d0 n0t have much time and have tw0 things t0 tell y0u
GC: DON'T L3T M3 K33P YOU.
AA: 0ne
AA: as y0u may have n0ticed the game that y0u are playing is n0t a regular 0ne
AA: y0u will need extricati0n s00n y0urself
GC: WH4T?
GC: 1 DON'T W4NT TO G3T 1NVOLV3D 1N SOM3 BR41NL3SS G4M3 W1TH DUMB BOYS.
AA: i will n0t argue that these b0ys are brainless
AA: but it is t00 late
AA: l00k 0utside
==
The trees of the great forests of the Specific Northwest in Alternia are a wonderful place for treehouses. They dot the canopies around the region, but they are few and far between. My closest neighbor lived about an imperial dayspan away. At Aradia's request I peered out of my treehouse window and saw my reckoning:
Dotting the skies were fire-red meteors, bearing down on not just me, but the whole planet.
This was upsetting for two reasons: One was the obvious threat to my life and the entire planet, and two was because of an ancient prophecy passed along to me by my ancestor. The prophecy that on the final day of Alternia, my mother would die.
==
GC: WH4T TH3 FUCK?
GC: WH4T TH3 *FUCK??*
AA: calm d0wn
AA: listen t0 me and what i have t0 say
AA: i want a fav0r
AA: this fav0r will make us even
GC: M4K3 US "3V3N?"
GC: 1 STUCK MY N3CK OUT FOR YOU, 4R4D14, YOU H4V3 NO B4RG41N1NG L3V3R4G3 OV3R M3.
AA: we b0th kn0w deep d0wn y0u d0 n0t believe that
AA: y0u are a w0man 0f debts and justice
AA:and justice can n0w be b0ught at a bargain price
AA: n0w are y0u g0ing t0 listen 0r are y0u g0ing t0 die arguing with me
GC: ...ST4T3 YOUR D3M4NDS.
AA: have tavr0s be y0ur server player
GC: T4VROS...?
GC: NO OFF3NS3, 4R4D14, BUT 3V3N 1F 1 W3R3 W1LL1NG TO DO TH4T, H3 WOULDN'T 4GR33 1N 4 M1LL1ON SW33PS.
AA: at least ask
AA: c0nsider this my final request
GC: F1N4L R3QU3ST...
GC: UGH, F1N3. 1'LL 4SK H1M, TH4T'S 1T.
GC: BUT TH4T'S 4LL 1 OW3 YOU.
AA: if y0u say s0 miss pyr0pe
AA: bye
AA: i will see y0u s00n
--apocalypseArisen is offline--
GC: W31RDO...
--gallowsCallibrator ceased pestering apocalypseArisen--
Talking to Tavros could wait. Before I thought about games, I had to deal with my mother.
The lush blue canopy made walking about on the forest floor relatively safe, even in full sun, allowing me to visit my mother freely. She and I shared a psychic bond, she spoke to me in my mind, guiding me through life. If you're wondering how that is, that's just kind of how things are for unborn dragons and their daughter-moms.
I am infinitely glad that our connection was psychic, however, as my blindness makes it difficult for other forms of communication.
You see, as Karkat might have mentioned, all trolls are not raised by parents like you freakish humans. Family units are boiled down to adolescent trolls and their lusus caretakers, a much more reasonable arrangement than manually raising live young.
Dave tells me these live young are carried for nearly a third of a sweep in the human's stomach, but this is obviously a disgusting lie.
Anyway, even for trolls, my lusus was a somewhat strange case. You see, my mom is a dragon, but she is also unborn, meaning my lusus for most of my life was an egg.
You might be wondering- "Terezi? How can you have a mom who's an unborn dragon?" Well I'm getting to that, smartass. Suffice to say, being blind and having an unborn caretaker meant I had to adapt.
Adapt I did. My mother in her egg, like me, once she hatched, would be completely blind- This, for her, was normal. Dragons are blind where I come from. Instead of their eyes, they use their highly developed noses, a trick I learned to mimic quite astutely.
I learned to smell the colors, with help from my mother.
The light filtering through the canopy was growing redder as I approached my mother's egg, placing my hand upon it.
"Hi, mom," I said in my thoughts. She heard this and responded in her usual way, a chipper polite message, spoken without words or voice but with infinite warmth.
"Hiiiiii Terezi! Hiiiiii! I think today is the day! I think I'm gonna hatch today!" Sure enough, from the egg I felt a squirm. On any other day, this would make my heart soar, but this day it made my bloodpusher begin to pump ice through my blood-highways.
"Mom..." I hesitated. Mom could be somewhat naive, so I struggled to speak in an even tone as not to frighten her. "I need you to wait in your egg for one more day, okay?"
"But Terezi!" Mom was undaunted by my wariness. "I wanna hatch! I wanna smell you! I taught you sooooo much about your nose and now it's your turn to teach me!"
To my shock, a crack formed in the egg's surface. I heard my mother's voice for the first time in my life. She cooed, the infant snarl of a newborn dragon.
"Mom, wait! Stay in the... Stupid egg...!" foolishly, I tried to keep the egg together with my bare hands.
"Terezi! I love you!" Mother could not be reasoned with as more cracks in the eggs formed. It was hell for me, to see the thing I had been waiting for for sweeps come to pass on the worst possible day.
"Wait-!" I spoke aloud as the egg exploded, sending me flying onto my ass. Through the canopy, tiny shards of space-rock were beginning to sear the ground around me. A rain of meteors burning away the forest I called home.
The mother I'd spent forever talking to, my unborn charge, broke free in an explosion of eggshell and amniotic fluid, her sweet vanilla-white wings extending to the heavens, my own nose tracking her arcs across the skies, born to fly.
Born to die.
As I wiped ancient amniotic fluid and eggshell from my eyes, I smelled an awe-inspiring sight: My mother, infant wings outstretched, breathing hot fire from her flaming lips, shrouded by the burning fury of infinite tiny meteors. The impressionist blur of my nose taking in the colors of her ascension.
When Dragon-Mom rose into the heavens, sending hot gusts of air in her wake, it was like the cescendo of the finest symphony... Lasting only an instant. My mother was struck down by a meteor in her first span of life. She fell to the soil, lifeless, to my dumbfounded shock.
"I love you too, mom..." My words were soft as I looked at her lifeless corpse.
I had never been more sad. Her sharp teal blood tinged my nose in both color and metalic scent, singing the very scent glands she'd helped me refine.
My only remaining hope was a sliver that Karkat had told me. Inside the game of Sgrub there was a way to revive her.
I now had reason to enter the game besides Aradia's so-called "final request." That girl cheats death so much, I wonder how many "final requests" she's ever had?
Karkat had been saved by Gamzee, who in turn had been saved by me. Now it was my turn to ask Tavros for salvation.
==
GC: Tavros.
GC: I want to play a game.
AT: uhhh,
AT: no offense terezi but last time i played a game with you i sort of,
AT: well i used to be able to walk and now i can't so,
GC: Okay, let me rephrase.
GC: Play a game with me because if you don't you're going to die horribly.
AT: oh wow,
AT: i sort of don't believe you, haha,
AT: no offense,
GC: Fine. Don't believe me. Believe the meteors outside your window.
AT: if i look outside my window,
AT: and there's something upsetting there,
AT: like as a prank to me,
AT: i'll be pretty mad,
GC: That would be pretty funny, Tavros, but it's not a prank.
AT: ,,,
AT: haha,
AT: oh fuck, oh jegus fuck,
==
After this, Tavros helped me into the game. Like with Gamzee, I'll spare you the sordid details, but suffice to say helping one incompetent male into the game only to have to assist another incompetent male to get into the game was a source of infinite frustration.
June is very wise to switch genders.
EDITOR'S NOTE: um. thanks?
You're welcome. >:]
To make a long, boring, repetitive, frustrating story short: I found myself on the Land of Thought and Flow, a sour-green land of pure unfiltered thought, quiet and peaceful except for the Denizen threatening it. It was like my heaven.
And waiting for me there... Was my mom, brought back to life by the kernelsprite.
"Terezi...?" she slowly said as she awoke inside her new form as my companion. "I had a weird dream... About fire and a forest. Where are we?"
"We're home, mom," I said, relief seeping into my very bones. I hugged my mother for the first time.
EDITOR'S NOTE: uhhh wait wouldnt that mean you prototyped yourself
What do you mean, Dave?
EDITOR'S NOTE: sprites are able to be prototyped twice and whatever touches them becomes part of the sprite. if you hugged her wouldnt you also get prototyped too
I guess, maybe? I never prototyped her twice. I didn't know that was a thing.
EDITOR'S NOTE: well that isnt consistent with the lore weve been presented with dipshit
Okay well I'm sorry my touching emotional moment isn't consistent with the "lore" shitsmear. Hahaha, what a fucking nerd. Karkat was right about you.
EDITOR'S NOTE: whats that supposed to mean does karkat talk about me
Oh allllll the time, Dave. >;]
EDITOR'S NOTE: dont wink at me weirdo
>;] >;] >;] >;] >;] >;]
EDITOR'S NOTE: stop
>;] >;] >;] >;] >;] >;] >;] >;] >;] >;]
EDITOR'S NOTE: this chapter is over ive decided as the target audience for this document that its over
Chapter 26: Hivebent Log #2.2: Mirth
Summary:
Chapter Text
Capricorn. December 22 to January 19.
Capricorns at their best are ambitious, enterprising, and hardworking.
Capricorns at their worst are avaricious, greedy, and obsessive.
Capricorn's horoscope is: Don't let your rage get the best of you.
--
HaVe YoU eVeR tRiEd A sOpOr PiE? a LoT oF pEoPlE tHiNk ThEy'Re DrUgS oR sOmE sHiT aNd ThEy'Re PrObAbLy RiGhT, bUt HaVe YoU eVeR hAd OnE?
If YoU tAsTeD oNe, YoU'd PrObAbLy GeT aLl HeLlS oF gRoSsEd ThE fUcK oUt, BuT aFtEr YoU tOoK tHe TiMe To SaVoR tHe FlAvOr, YoU'd StArT tO fEeL cAlM. yOu'D sTaRt To StArE oFf InTo SpAcE aNd GaZe UpOn ItS mIrAcUlOuS wOnDeRs WiThOuT eVeN sO mUcH aS mOvInG aRoUnD.
NoW tHaT mIgHt SoUnD nIcE tO yOu. YoU mIgHt EvEn Be HaNkErInG fOr OnE rIgHt NoW. "gEt Me OnE oF tHeSe PiEs" YoU mIgHt Be GaSpInG aT tHe CoMpUtEr ScReEn On WhIcH yOuR eYeS aRe GlAzInG.
Or ToNgUe. ThIs MoThErFuCkEr DoN't JuDgE.
BuT nOw ImAgInE yOu'Re DiFfErEnT. yOu'Re A dIfFeReNt GuY. yOu'Re A gUy WhO hAs A bRaIn ThAt WoN't ShUt ThE hElL uP. iNsTeAd Of A fUn DrUg To Do WiTh YoUr PaLs In A fUnNy BaSeMeNt SoMeWhErE, tHeSe PiEs ArE sOmEtHiNg ElSe, NoW. yOu NeEd ThEm ShItS aS bAd As YoU nEeD fOoD oR wAtEr Or PoRnO oR wHaTeVeR eLsE iT iS hUmAn PeOpLe NeEd.
BeCaUsE wItHoUt SoMeThInG tO cAlM yOu ThE fUcK dOwN, yOu'Re NoT rEgUlAr.
SoPoR pIe GeTs A bAd RaP.
Oh, SoRrY. i'M gAmZeE. gAmZeE mAkArA. oNcE uPoN a TiMe I lIvEd On ThE oCeAn AlL aLoNe, BuT nOw I lIvE oN tHiS mEtEoR, sLiGhTlY lEsS aLoNe. HoWdY.
...
K-money asked me for my account of what the fuck happened inside the game we played and I guess are still playing in some kind of way, so here is that account henceforth forthwith and withforth. I've never been much for writing or speaking or things of that most excellent melifluous nature but I'll try my miraculous best. I guess the best way for a fella like my own self is to simply impart upon you what was going down at the time. Since I can't write worth lusus scrap, here's what Karkat and I chatted on back then. Praise be Fuck.
--carcinoGeneticist began a group chat: RED TEAM--
CG: STATUS REPORT.
CG: NOT DEAD.
GC: NOT D34D.
TC: aLsO nOt DeAd.
CG: I'M GLAD YOU AREN'T DEAD.
CG: NEXT ORDER OF BUSINESS IS TO GET TEREZI INTO THE GAME AND GET GAMZEE TO HIS FIRST GATE.
TC: yOu MeAn ThE lItTlE bLuE dOoHiCkEy Up In ThE sKiEs?
CG: YEAH.
CG: THE LITTLE BLUE DOOHICKEY UP IN THE SKIES.
CG: IF ONLY THERE WAS A SHORTER NAME WITH WHICH TO REFER TO THAT THING.
TC: i ThOuGhT iT wAs KiNdA fUnNy.
CG: WELL I DIDN'T.
GC: SORRY, K4RK4T, YOU'R3 OUTVOT3D ON TH1S ON3. >:]
CG: THIS ISN'T A DEMOCRACY!
CG: DEMOCRACIES ARE FOR PENCIL-PUSHING BUREAUCRAT TEALBLOODS WHO HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO WASTE SHOVING OFFICE SUPPLIES IN THEIR ORIFICES.
CG: I'M A *CONQUEROR.*
CG: SUFFERER ALIVE, THIS IS TAKING SO LONG...
CG: GAMZEE. CAN YOU GET TO THE BLUE DOOHICKEY?
TC: AlReAdY dOnE, kArKaT mY mAn. :O)
TC: cAn I gEt A hOnK?
CG: NO.
TC: hOnK :o)
GC: HONK!
CG: WHATEVER. HONK, I GUESS.
CG: WAIT, HOLD ON, BACK UP. HOW DID YOU ALREADY GET THROUGH THE GATE??
TC: pApA hElPeD.
TC: bIg PaPa GoAt DaD. hE's My SpRiTe NoW.
CG: OH, WOW. THAT'S REALLY HELPFUL. HE FLEW YOU UP?
TC: sUrE dId.
TC: He'S gOnE nOw ThOuGh. SaId He NeEdEd To Go NaB sOmE mOsT rIgHtEoUsLy UsEfUl SuPpLiEs FoR mY jOuRnEy AnD hE'lL bE bAcK sOoN.
TC: hE's PrObAbLy GoNe FoR gOoD tHoUgH...
CG: WOW, THAT'S PRETTY FUCKING DEPRESSING.
TC: lol
CG: BUT YOU'RE THROUGH THE GATE, SO. THAT'S SOMETHING.
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO NEXT, SO JUST... SIT TIGHT.
CG: KANAYA SAYS SHE HAS SOME MORE GAME INFO FROM THAT STUPID GUIDE SHE FOUND ONLINE.
GC: 1SN'T K4N4Y4 JO1N1NG TH3 BLU3 T34M?
CG: NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO FUCKING SAY ABOUT IT.
==
Oh, yeah. Forgot to make mention of it but I've got a dad who's a goat. Karkat told me that humans might get all fucked up about such concepts for some reason, but I guess that's fine as long as I explain.
Well, okay, he's not a goat 100%, like he's got front hooves and then his back hooves are actually one hoof, and that hoof is actually some fins. He's a mergoat. I just came up with that word in my own mind and I'm pretty fucking proud of it.
My goat dad is kind of a piece of shit but because of the game he actually became my sprite even if he did abandon me. People seem to really get a kick out of abandoning me. Probably on account that I'm strange as hell.
So anyway, after that convo with the red team buds, I decided to wander around my cool land, the Land of Tents and Mirth, on account of how bean-freakingly amazing this place was. Imagine a party that's just going on at all times and then on top of that party there are the best tents you've ever peeped in your entire life. That's how my land was.
After partying with some clowns, though, I came to a rather upsetting realization. See... On Alternia, getting more sopor was no big thing. You just went to the recupacoon and hit the tap and presto blammo you get more sopor. You got to remember to turn the bitch OFF of course, because if you don't, your whole place gets flooded and your goat-dad bites you a bunch, but that's a whole nother thing.
But on the wonderful LOTAM, uh. There were no taps. And the sopor I brought with me had an unpleasant attribute we mortals know as "being finite." In other words, I realized that I'd run out. Which, as we've gone over already, is not a thing I wanted any fashion of transpiring to occur with.
And on top of that upsetting epiphany, I got some message from a dude I wasn't really all that into.
==
CT: D --> Greetings, your most E%cellent Clowniness.
TC: LmAo
TC: No OfFeNsE bIg GuY bUt PaPa BeAr Is In ThE mIdDlE oF sOmE sHiT sO gEt At Me LaTeR
CT: D --> I understand that you are presently occupied, and my request must seem lowly as can be, as you are a noble clergyman of the High Church and I am but scum. Dirt. Debris, even. Your comically oversized shoe is not fit to be licked by my bawdry tongue.
CT: D --> In light of this, I shall say my piece and abscond in shame:
CT: D --> Some of my associates are organizing a game and we would be honored for you to join on our team, the noble blue team.
TC: I'm AlReAdY oN tHe ReD tEaM
TC: AnD uH... yOu KnOw NoT aLl GuYs LiKe Me ArEn'T cLoWnS rIgHt? I hAvEn'T eVeN wOrN tHe FuCkIn FaCePaInT sInCe I wAs LiKe 6
CT: D --> I cannot instill within your superior mind how sad I am to hear that, Sir Makara. Nonetheless, you are, in spirit, a clown, to me.
TC: Oh Uh
TC: sUrE
CT: D --> And what of the game, sir?
CT: D --> Is "sir" an appropriate moniker? Shall I call you "master" or perhaps "my lord?"
TC: PlEaSe Uh
TC: PlEaSe DoN't CaLl Me AnY oF tHaT sHiT aT aLl
CT: D --> You are too humble. Maybe I ought to call you something both jocular and reverent.
CT: D --> What about "Daddy?"
TC: HaHa Uh
TC: I gOtTa BlOcK yOu I tHiNk BuD
-- terminallyCapricious blocked centaursTesticle --
After that, I was in a pretty bad mood. And as I was in a bad mood, that was compounded by the factor that I was coming down off the sopor.
See... I try to keep shit light, but I kind of have this problem where most of my friends kind of piss me the hell off? All the time?
You've got Terezi who's cute and pretty but she treats me like a thing. Then you've got the blue guy who also treats me like a thing. And then you've got Vriska who scares the ever loving piss and shit out of me. And then you've got Karkat. Who pisses me off DOUBLE because he's nice but only when he's only with me. When he's with other people he treats me like less than a thing. Like a pet he hates or some shit. It makes me want to claw his eyes out and rip his skin with my teeth.
Haha. Sorry. Going on a tangent, there.
So after I came down and after the blue fucker pissed me off, I decided to flip the everloving shit out.
I don't really want to talk about that, though.
See, the thing about flipping the everloving shit out is that it's scary to the people you're flipping out on, IE all the cool clowns on LOTAM, especially since I maybe kind of sort of undid the whole "being alive" schtick concerning their bodily selves, but it's also scary for the guy doing the flipping the everloving shit out, because maybe the guy doing the aforementioned flipping the everloving shit out doesn't actually want to un-alive a bunch of clowns and feels so bad later on that he cries and hurts himself.
But no matter how many tears he makes he can't un-un-alive the clowns.
Uh.
After I freaked out, there was a guy who messaged me. The only guy who ever made me not feel like a thing.
--[null] has began trolling terminallyCapricious--
DOC: Hello, Mister Makara.
TC: Hi.
DOC: Not very talkative?
TC: sOrRy, DoC. i JuSt DiD sOmE sHiT aNd I'm LiKe.
TC: I'm NoT.
DOC: Not what?
TC: nOt AnYtHiNg.
TC: I dOn'T wAnT tO tAlK, i GuEsS.
DOC: No need to talk, then. Just listen.
TC: KaY
DOC: Gamzee- May I call you Gamzee?
DOC: With all due respect...
DOC: You have a problem.
DOC: A problem with addiction and a problem with rage management.
DOC: And given the lack of sopor on this new planet of yours, this problem is going to need a solution, quickly.
TC: nO sHiT
DOC: What if I told you I could help you not only find this solution but in doing so, allow you to channel your rage into more constructive use?
DOC: Put simply... What if I could make you stronger?
TC: dOc, No OfFeNsE, bUt I dOn'T gIvE tWo ShItS fRoM a BrAyBeAsT's AsS aBoUt GeTtInG "sTrOnGeR"
TC: iF yOu CaN fIx Me, FiX mE.
DOC: I can't fix you, Gamzee, my boy.
DOC: But I can help you fix yourself.
TC: OkAy.
TC: I'vE gOt BaSiCaLlY nO oThEr ChAnCe, So.
TC: YeAh.
TC: HeLp Me FiX mE, dOc.
TC: If ThAt Is A tHiNg ThAt InDeEd CaN hApPeN.
DOC: It is.
DOC: The first step, however, is the hardest one of all.
DOC: You're going to need to let yourself go.
TC: WhAt?
TC: DoC, cOmE tHe FuCk On.
TC: I kNoW yOu CaN sEe Me UsInG wHaTeVeR tHe FuCk MaGiC yOu UsE tO kNoW eVeRyThInG wItH. i KnOw YoU kNoW wHaT i DiD.
TC: tHoSe ClOwNs GaVe Me FoOd AnD lAuGhS aNd I jUsT...
DOC: Calm down.
DOC: That won't happen again.
DOC: You're going to kill someone who deserves it.
TC: tHaT's ShIt-TaLk, MaN.
TC: nO oNe DeSeRvEs ThAt ShIt BeInG dOnE tO tHeM.
DOC: No one?
DOC: Not even... Her?
TC: ...
TC: YeAh. YeAh, MaYbE hEr.
DOC: It's all part of the plan, dear boy.
DOC: She won't even stay dead. You'll just be, shall we say... Teaching her a lesson.
TC: TeAcHiNg HeR a MoSt RiGhTeOuS lEsSoN
DOC: You're going to use your power to help her.
DOC: And in doing so, you'll help your friends.
DOC: And you'll help yourself.
DOC: Deal?
TC: ...
TC: DeAl.
TC: ThAnKs, DoC.
TC: i KnOw I cAn CoUnT oN yOu.
DOC: I'll be in touch, Gamzee.
--[null] is no longer reachable--
Man, reading that shit again made me sad. In the end, I couldn't even keep up my end of Doc's deal... What a fucking waste.
On the bright side, all was not lost. See, I was out of sopor pies which was bad and nasty as discussed, but Sollux, in spite of being on the blue team, clued me into a new way of obtaining them: Miracles. Or, as he says. Ectobiology.
Using the magic of the game, I was able to make more pies and calm the fuck down. I made so many pies it was straight up obscene. But now that we're stuck on this meteor... I've started to run out again... Haha... Guess I'll jump off that bridge when I get to it.
After imbibing of the sopor slime, I decided to take a nice li'l nap, the kind any creature in their right mind would love to get up to. And when I took this nap, I dreamed.
On Alternia, my dreams were... Uh. Scary. Filled with the writhing terror of hell, unimaginable torment and misery the likes of which made my waking mind recoil in deepest fright. Horrorterrors, spreading this way and that, all screaming and writhing and just generally spooking the lusus-lovin' shit outta me.
Scary is a way I hate dreams to be, which is how I got started on eating pies in the first place, other than their intoxicating nature. But dreams inside of the game, well. They were a-okay. See, when I dreamed, I awoke on a miraculous city named Prospit, a beautiful golden city all up in the heavens above, circling the lovely Skaia.
You've all been to Prospit too, I hear- But, uh. See, every game has a version of Prospit, so the version I went to was different than the one you were at. Even though they have the same name which is in this clown's humble opinion, confusing as balls. Honk.
Prospit was fun as hell to goof off in. Running around. Playing with the sorta white-colored guys and making pals with them. I wish I could tell stories of my exploits over on Prospit cause I spent most of my time over there whilst I was in the game but Karkat says to "keep it short." He doesn't think Prospit is important in the damn least which with all due respect to my li'l pal is dogshit wrong.
So in protest of Karkat's hornbeast shit I will instead be including a fun fact about Prospit for all of you human guys reading this. I dunno if it's the same on your Prospit or if it's the same on the other planet Derse, but deep deep inside of the planet, underneath the White Queen's palace... There is the comfiest motherfucking bed you've ever slept on. Seriously. Them shits are godly. If you go to sleep in them while dreaming, you'll wake up refreshed as fuck, no matter how shitty your day is. That's a certified miraculous Gamzee tip, baby.
Each bed has different sheets on it and you can tell which one belongs to you 'cause it has the colors of your aspect on it. I guess you guys just started so you don't know much about aspects yet, but I slept in the bed of Rage, which in spite of a somewhat intimidatifying name, is actually soft and plushy as all get-out.
Maybe Krabcat would be less cranky if he got his sleep on in one of the aspect beds. Lmao.
Whew... That was a lot of words, huh?
I don't want to write any more... Sorry, human style dudes. I hope we get to meet soon when I'm less sad and miserable. Maybe we crack a Faygo open around the fire and chill.
:o)
Chapter 27: Hivebent Log #3.1: Commission
Summary:
Chapter Text
Sagittarius. November 22 to December 21.
Sagittarius at their best are loyal, compassionate, and assertive.
Sagittarius at their worst are unfocused, selfish, and oblivious.
Sagittarius's horoscope is: Others don't see you as you see yourself. Beware.
--
D --> Good evening. My name is Equius Zahhak, and I would like to e%tend a humble gratitude towards the human readers of this document. Our mutual friend Karkat Vantas, the redb100ded mutant, has requested that I opine with respect to the happenings inside of our session of the game Sgrub, known to you as Sburb.
D --> First and foremost, as is Alternian custom, I, as the introductory party shall impart a greeting and a brief description of myself. I pride myself on outreach to other species, as after my own ascension into the echelons of the Alternian Military Comple%, I was to be one of the prestigious %enoambassadors in our Imperial army.
D --> Sadly, however, as you are by now aware, that %enoambassadorship was never to be. I am humbled, truly, at the prospect of using my skills in one final, small way, upon you. I will use my skills to blast the seed of hope and comradery over you all, painting you, the humans, with my copious splashes of new partnership.
And according to Karkat, this process involves abandoning my noble typing quirk. I find this repulsive and distasteful, but it can be thrilling to follow the orders of my lessers.
On Alternia, I lived on the edge of a great cliff, overlooking the homes of some of my lesser peers. I was what you would call a lord of the land- It was mine and I owned it, nobly allowing others to make use of it as they pleased if they paid my necessary renting fees.
Sadly, as you now know, Alternia is gone. I was whisked by my associate Nepeta into our game world, the Land of Caves and Silence. It was most pleasant, a tranquil land which I could form to my whim.
Of the Blue Team, I was first into the game- Or so I believed. I was contacted by an old acquaintance for my assistance in that regard, thinking I would help them complete the chain of entry, but they had designs I did not yet see.
--apocalypseArisen began trolling centaursTesticle--
AA: equius.
CT:D --> Lowblood.
AA: "l0wbl00d?"
AA: i have a name
CT:D --> What is a name but a descriptive item that encapsulates your being?
CT:D --> Lowblood may as well be your name, Aradia.
CT:D --> ...
CT:D --> Please ignore my use of your name just then.
AA: ...0k
CT:D --> Are you joining the game?
CT:D --> Is that the reason for this correspondence?
AA: yes
AA: i need y0ur help
CT:D --> Sadly, I already have a server, Nepeta. I cannot help you.
AA: i d0nt need a client player equius
AA: i already have 0ne
CT:D --> Oh?
AA: i need a server.
AA: can y0u get me int0 the game?
AA: everything is already set up 0n my end.
CT:D --> I suppose so.
CT:D --> What will I get in exchange for my assistance?
AA: this is such a waste 0f time
AA: i sh0uld have figured y0u w0uld make it all transacti0nal...
AA: asking a highbl00d t0 d0 s0mething because its nice w0uld be t00 much t0 ask.
CT:D --> "Because it's nice."
CT:D --> Charity, then?
CT:D --> Intriguing.
CT:D --> Very well. Since this will be a trivial action on my part, I can do this for free.
CT:D --> How e%citing...
CT:D --> Doing this for you with no charge fills me with some kind of... Nice feeling.
AA: c0mpassi0n? friendship?
CT:D --> What? No.
CT:D --> Industrious philanthropy.
AA: ... ... ...0k
CT:D --> Let me do more things for you, Lowblood.
CT:D --> No-
CT:D --> Aradia.
CT:D --> Let me serve you.
CT:D --> Oh, god, how depraved. To serve someone so low and base.
AA: please st0p saying im l0w and base.
CT:D --> Indeed. Rude of me to draw attention to your inferiority.
AA: ugh...
AA: but if y0ure still feeling gener0us i have s0mething else f0r y0u t0 d0.
==
I shall curtail the log there. Suffice to say I was now involved with Aradia the Lowblood in 2 tasks. One was getting her into the game and the other was a commission of sorts. Building something for her.
I am no stranger to commissions. As a highblood, it is my duty to indulge in the fine arts, two of which I tackle with utmost zeal.
Due to my somewhat tragically high STRENGTH, the more particular arts are lost upon me. I tried sculpting, but I consistently broke whatever I made, be it pottery or stonework. Instead, I work with the much stronger metals and build automatons.
Mostly, I build them for fighting, but I have been known to make a few for... Other purposes if paid nominal fees.
But my OTHER chosen art form is much more suited to lewd pirsuits. You see, I am a digital painter, my works hailed hither and yon as the finest example of the Alternian subculture of Horse Art.
I am paid handsomely by all those who like nude renderings of anthropomorphized horses in various compromising poses. Please contact me soon if you'd like to see examples of my works. I think you shall find my prices are more than fair.
Tragically, Aradia's commission was of the former type, a robot of a rather garden variety. Not a protruberance or hidden slot to speak of. My talents were truly wasted.
Sadly, getting Aradia into the game was easier said than done. I consulted with my fellow blue team cohort and co-team leader, Sollux.
--centaursTesticle began trolling twinArmageddons--
CT: D --> Hello, rustblood.
TA: iif you call me that shiit agaiin ii'm going two kiill you
TA: call me "sollux" or fuck off.
CT: D --> Testy.
CT: D --> Fine. Hello, Sollux.
TA: congratulatiions equiius
TA: you've met the miiniimum requiirements for trolliian decency
TA: what do you want
CT: D --> I need clarification.
CT: D --> A player is not cooperating.
TA: okay??
TA: nepeta got you iin riight
TA: who do we have two help her enter
CT: D --> The pickings are slim. Either Sir Ampora or Her Highness, their allegiances are as of yet unclear.
CT: D --> Those two or... Her.
TA: no
TA: shes not playiing let alone on our team
CT: D --> Agreed.
CT: D --> But Nepeta is not the issue. Meteors are not accosting her hive yet.
TA: ok
CT: D --> The issue is my client player.
TA: who's your cliient?
TA: ii thought we were doing you < nepeta < eriidan/feferii < me then back to you
CT: D --> Wrong.
CT: D --> I just got a request from Aradia to be her server.
TA: ...
TA: ha ha ha ha ha equius
TA: you thiink youre real funny dont you
TA: just a laugh riiot
CT: D --> No.
TA: ii should come over there and kiick your ass for sayiing somethiing liike that
TA: two ME
TA: diid she tell you what happened? ii know she liives iin one of your stupiid subgrubs.
CT:D --> What?
TA: no no
TA: you're too obliviious for this to be a prank
TA: what do you mean "aradiia asked to be your cliient?"
CT: D --> She asked me using the chat program Trollian.
CT:D --> I don't understand the query.
CT: D --> Why would that be abnormal?
TA: because aradiia cant ask for shiit any more
TA: because aradiia doesnt use trolliian at all
TA: because aradiia iis DEAD you lususfuckiing iignoramus
--twinArmageddons ceased trolling centaursTesticle--
This, to me, did not come as a shock, since Aradia's hive was completely empty when I installed the client application. This potentially posed an issue.
You see, if a chain of entry is broken, the chain cannot be completed and the session is impossible. All entrants must enter the game, that is a plain fact. So if Aradia could not enter, things could not proceed, and since I just established connection, the connection is immutable. All this was explained to me by the rustblood.
But against all odds, Aradia entered the game world without problem. How she did to this day I do not know. You'll have to ask her.
This much I can say for certain: Sollux was not lying. Aradia Megido was dead. How she died is a mystery to me, and how she came back to life is a story for another day.
Though I had helped the deceased Aradia enter, it came time for me to enter in turn, and for this task, I knew no better candidate than my trusted oliveblood associate, Nepeta.
--centaursTesticle began trolling arsenicCatnip--
CT:D --> Nepeta. Respond.
AC: :33 < hi hi hi hi equius!!
AC: :33 < are you going to ask about the game?
CT:D --> I am.
CT:D --> I have entered, establishing the groundwork for the Blue Team.
AC: :33 < oh...
CT:D --> "Oh?"
AC: :33 < you're on the blue team??
AC: :33 < well um!
AC: :33 < i was thinking of joining the red team!
CT:D --> I forbid it.
CT:D --> This is ill-advised.
CT:D --> They are lowblood rabble, led by that horrid mutant Karkat.
AC: :33 < karkitty isn't a mutant!
CT:D --> He is.
CT:D --> You will not associate with him.
AC: :33 < equius.
AC: :33 < we talked about this!
CT:D --> What?
AC: :33 < if you want me to do something, you have to be honest about what you want and why!!!
AC: :33 < this is why people get cr33ped out by you.
CT:D --> People are not "creeped out" by me.
CT:D --> But fine.
CT:D --> I will be more earnest in my reasoning why you should join the Blue Team.
CT:D --> ...
CT:D --> Because I would be sad if you didn't.
AC: :33 < there! was that so hard?
CT:D --> Yes.
AC: :33 < h3h3.
AC: :33 < big baby. <>
CT:D --> <>
--centaursTesticle ceased trolling arsenicCatnip--
Nepeta, reliable as she is, got me in in record time.
The next order of business was my first gate. The intended series of events is to build one's home to size in order to reach it, but due to my high STRENGTH stat, I was able to leap high enough to reach it without help. Thus began my quest into the Land of Caves and Silence.
As for my sprite, I prototyped the noble lusus from my youth, my butler Arthour, a bovine centaur with a lovely, perky udder of which I imbibed much milk to make me exceptionally LARGE and POTENT.
If you're available later on, humans, we should discuss my father's udder in more depth later.
EDITOR'S NOTE: pass
So be it. As the ancient Sunzoo said, the belated pleasure is the greatest.
I should relay however something of import before I make my ultimate leave of this document. You see, inside of the game, as you have no doubt seen for yourselves, there exists a dreaming world, one which I was lucky enough to awaken to early on. The dreaming world of Derse, a lovely purple-hued kingdom, was headed by the nefarious Black Queen, one of the main adversaries inside the world of the game.
Once I found her whereabouts, I made my way to her castle, but even my extreme strength could not overcome her guards... But in the prison on Derse, I made a new friend, a similarly strong fellow known as the Hegemonic Brute, a black-shelled man of gargantuan stature who identified himself as a fellow enemy to the Black Queen. He said he was part of the fabled Midnight Crew under the alias... Hearts Boxcars.
Oh how I wish I could go into more detail regarding this large, large man, dear readers... He was so massive and robust it was like viewing an adonis, yet he did not have traditionally defined muscles but instead the stature of a power-lifter or advanced wrestler. He said his boss, the notorious gangster Spades Slick was even more powerful than he, a notion that made me swoon.
Little did I know at the time, but my chance encounter with this Hearts Boxcars was the first step into the plan that would allow us to make this game of ours much more easy. Mere wiggler's play.
Until then, my dream self remained regrettably in the slammer.
So about those horse drawings... I am done speaking, but I have some for you to look at that I think would enhance this document greatly...
Chapter 28: Hivebent Log #3.2: Lolcat
Summary:
Chapter Text
Leo. July 23 to August 22.
Leos at their best are theatrical, passionate, and excited.
Leos at their worst are vengeful, foolhardy, and deluded.
Leo's horoscope: Know thy enemy.
--
Hewwo! My name is Nepeta Leijon, and I LOVE HUMANS!!
You're so squishy and cute and your hair looks so fluffy! I can't believe I'm so lucky I get to TALK to some, let alone help them by contributing to Karkitty's document! I hardly know where to begin.
Karkat also said not to call him Karkitty any more, but I think it suits him.
My name is Nepeta! I'm an oliveblood, which doesn't mean all that much to me because I live in a cave! :33 Literfully!
Living in a cave is basically the only way to live. Killing and eating my own food, making my own fire, talking to my furriends online, I had a purretty great life all things consid-fured!
...
Karkat says I can't make cat puns either. Well I say he's double lame, even IF he's handsome and purrecious to me. Hehe.
Anyway, my nice life in a cave got sort of ruined by the game... Which is sad! Especially since it killed my really cool and nice cat dad, SIR POUNCE DE LEON!! (If I catch you saying his name in non-capital letters, I'll be cross! Hehe.)
But it's okay! Because after the cave went away and pounce went away, they came back! For a while I lived in the Land of Little Cubes and Tea, or as Equius and I called it, LOLCAT!
But, uh. Not everything was really great. See- Getting into the game was a purroblem for me. I kinda had to deal with the fact that no one wanted to be on the blue team? So no one could get me in...
--arsenicCatnip began trolling carcinoGeneticist--
AC: :33 < *the noble meowbeast huntress approaches the handsome cadet in the imperial army!*
CG: THE CADET SHOULDERS HIS RIFLE AND-
CG: WHOOPS, SORRY.
CG: *THE CADET SHOULDERS HIS RIFLE AND WAVES TO THE CAT, INDICATING SHE SHOULD SPEAK HER MIND BEFORE THE NOBLE CADET GETS SICK OF TALKING THROUGH NARRATION.*
AC: :33 < *the huntress cocks her head, one ear flicking to the side! she doesn't speak alternian because she's a meowbeast stupid!*
CG: *UGH.*
CG: I MEAN UGH.
CG: WHAT DO YOU NEED, NEPETA?
AC: :33 < sooooo
AC: :33 < how serious are we about the whole "she isn't allowed to play with us" rule??
CG: NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN.
CG: VRISKA ISN'T PLAYING SGRUB. THAT'S THAT.
CG: I DON'T CARE IF YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT.
AC: :33 < well the thing is it kinda does...
AC: ://
CG: FUCK.
CG: WHAT'S YOUR ENTRY ORDER SO FAR?
AC: :33 < aradia equius me. then sollux at some point but hes laid up!! so we gotta continue the chain.
CG: ARADIA?
CG: NEVER MIND. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE MACABRE DETAILS. IT WILL JUST MAKE ME SAD.
AC: :33 < ???
AC: :33 < why sad?
CG: DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.
CG: JUST. IS THERE ANYONE ELSE? LITERALLY ANYONE?
CG: ERIDAN?
AC: :33 < he said hed only enter with feferi.
CG: OKAY, WHAT ABOUT FEFERI?
AC: :33 < no go, shes still dealing with her mom.
CG: FUCK.
CG: OKAY... UH.
CG: SHIT. EVERYONE ELSE IS PLAYING ON THE RED TEAM.
CG: AS MUCH AS IT PAINS ME TO SUGGEST THIS, MAYBE WE CAN GIVE SOMEONE UP??
CG: MAYBE KANAYA?
CG: I REALLY SHOULDN'T BE HELPING YOU GUYS.
CG: THIS BETTER NOT BE A FUCKING RUSE, CATNEP.
AC: :33 < ...!!!!!
CG: WHAT?
AC: :33 < omgomgomgomgomg!! you called me catnep!!
AC: :33 < you haven't called me that since we were four!
CG: OH. FORCE OF HABIT.
CG: DON'T MAKE A BIG FUCKING DEAL OUT OF IT, OKAY?
AC: :33 < eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
CG: OKAY. CHARMING AS THIS TANTRUM IS, GET IT TOGETHER.
CG: YOU SAID YOU'RE IN DANGER.
AC: :33 < karkat...
AC: :33 < you DO care. :33
CG: ...DON'T GO TELLING ANYONE.
CG: I'LL WORK ON GETTING YOU A SERVER. DO NOT CONTACT VRISKA.
--carcinoGeneticist stopped trolling arsenicCatnip--
Sadly, before I could follow Karkat's advice, Vriska contacted me first.
I don't really get why everyone is all afraid of Vriska, actually. She's mean, but she's kind of a creampuff in my book. Her mind control stuff doesn't even work on me! I think I kinda scare her which makes me proud! :33
--arachnidsGrip began trolling arsenicCatnip--
AG: *Marquise Spinneret Mindfang approaches Miss Leijon with regal poise. She 8ows deeply, doffing her hat such that sparks fly from her cranium, and when her cerulean lips part to speak, the gods themselves 88 8reath to hear her choice words.*
AG: Miss Leijon. How do you fare this day?
AC: we're not playing sgrub with you vriska
AG: What the fuck!
AG: I didn't even say anything yet.
AG: I don't want to play games, I just want to talk.
AC: :33 < talking is a game to you!
AC: :33 < a non-fun game
AC: :33 < and when you play games, people get hurt.
AC: :33 < i don't want to go blind or lose my legs or both, thanks!
AC: :33 < not that you could touch me.
AG: Wow. Okay, way to ruin any possi8le su8tlety this conversation could have had.
AG: Whatever.
AG: You're going to play that game with me, Leijon.
AC: :33 < only if you somehow make me want to!
AC: :33 < which i admit will be a challenge for you.
AG: Wiggler's play.
AG: I'll have you 8EGGING me to play. >::::)
AG: <3<
AC: :33 < ew
AC: :33 < EW
AC: :33 < stop stop stop ew ew ew 3333WWW
AC: :33 < okay vriska have it your way!
AC: :33 < if convincing me to play is so easy i'll help make it a better challenge!
AG: No no no no no no no no w8!
--arsenicCatnip blocked arachnidsGrip--
Unfortunately and anticlimactically, Vriska did end up being my server player. Turns out we were both each other's last resort. She wanted to be someone else's server, but he didn't want anything to do with her. Whatever.
==
AG: And that's what grinds my f8cking gears, Nepeta. She's a MEDDLER. A meddley meddlesome meddlefriend! She just HAD to 8e Tavros's server. I could 8e doing ADVENTURES 8y now, 8ut noooooooo!
AC: :33 < um! vriska i really appurciate that you're having some trouble with your stuff, but could you maybe place my entry items meow?
AG: Hold the fuck on, Leijon. I'm not finished venting. It's important to vent your frustr8ions, otherwise they might get pent up!
AG: Don't even get me STARTED on Equius. I know he's your lame moirail or wh8ver, 8ut he totally screwed me! That ro8ot 8ody for Aradia was MY idea!
AC: :33 < ...vriska?
AG: I know Aradia 8lames me for all that STUFF that happened 8etween us and Tavros. So I was supposed to give her a new 8ody! As an apology for killing her! That would have made us even!!!!!!!!
AC: :33 < vriska!!!
AG: 8ut nope! I'm the 8ad guy, like fucking always, aren't I? Ugh. Mindfang never had to deal with this.
AC: VRISKA.
AG: Ugh, WH8T?!
AC: ITEMS.
AG: Oh, shit.
==
She got me in without complaining and after that, she didn't bother me any more.
During this time, though, every time I went to sleep, I started waking up on this magical land far away. A land of purple and royalty called Derse!
Every session of Sgrub has a Derse, a Prospit, too! And each Derse and Prospit has all the same guys as every other session, but each iteration is different. It's all very fascinating and fun, but the best part of Derse was hanging out with my best furrend EQUIUS!! :DD
Even though when I was on Derse he was in jail, hanging out with his weird buff friend. I visited him a lot and made good friends with a little man named Clubs Deuce!! Clubs was soooo funny, but he had this really weird habit of almost dying constantly? He would trip and nearly fall out a window and slip on banana peels and stuff. Kanaya says Rose met a version of Clubs Deuce in her game!! I hope he was just as friendly and helpful to you, Rose!
Even if Karkat thinks I'm annoying, not even he can deny that Equius and I making friends with Hearts and Clubs was really important to one of the biggest plans we had. Operation... REGISURP!! Hehehehe.
See, after Equius got thrown in jail with Hearts after trying to kill the Black Queen, Hearts and Clubs took us back to the hideout of the really scary Dersite gang the Midnight Crew!! But it was kind of crazy- Feferi and Sollux were already there waiting for us! I wish I could say more about our Derse adventure, but Karkat says I'm too "long winded." He's one to talk. Nya.
Sigh... I miss Derse so much...
I don't know what else was going on while I finished my quest on LOLCAT, but truth be told, I didn't actually finish! See... Equius and I were in a hurry to meet on Skaia, so instead of finish our quests like we were supposed to, we found a shortcut!
We were the first two to meet up there, I'm purroud to say! And we had SO much fun roughhousing! I love wrestling with Equius, he's such a riot. Everyone thinks he's creepy, but he's been my best buddy forever. My moirail!
EDITOR'S NOTE: HUMANS DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS, NEPETA.
WHAT?!?!?!?!
They don't understand Moirails? Don't they have Quadrants?!
EDITOR'S NOTE: NO. IT'S IDIOTIC, I AGREE.
GAASSSPPP! Can I explain Quadrants to them, Karkat? I promise I'll do a good job!
EDITOR'S NOTE: ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NOT.
I need to at least explain moirails to them, Karkat! It's important. Pweeeeeassee?
EDITOR'S NOTE: ...UGH. FINE. THEY UNDERSTAND WHAT "LOVE" IS SO I GUESS START THERE?
Yaaay!
Love is a beautiful emotion, isn't it? On Alternia, we use a special symbol to denote love, the Heart, one of the Quadrant Suits. <3
But we have three other kinds of relationships!
See, Love is one of the kinds of relationships. If you're in love with someone, it's called being their "mate," which is short for "matesprit." Love implies kissing and having sex and whatnot, something that I'm sure humans do as well.
EDITOR'S NOTE: HUMANS DO KISS, YEAH.
Awwwwww! I want to see a human kiss...
A feeling that's a lot like love is the feeling we call "fond." Fond is like... It's exactly like love but there's no kissy feelings and you probably wouldn't have sex with someone you're fond of. It's more like someone you're really comfortable with!
For instance, I'm fond of Equius! He's what's called my "rail," which is short for "moirail!" Rails are fond of each other and help each other out. Love and fond are both really positive emotions that have a lot to do with feeling nice around the other, but "love" is a lot less stable and more angry.
I don't know how it is for humans, but trolls have lots of lovers over their lives. Mates don't last a long time, but it's really nice when they do. Most mates only last a sweep or so, which means you keep having to find new ones and it's not a huge deal when they stop- Even if it is super hard and heartbreaking!
Moirails on the other hand... They're for life. They're easier to maintain and they're more low-stakes. Since there's no kissing or sex involved, there's less lust and less stress.
Think of it this way: When Love begins you're really happy and when they end you're angry and upset. When Fond begins, you're pleased and comforted and if they end, you're sad and miserable, probably for the rest of your life... Most people never find another moirail ever again.
Sometimes, moirails turn into matesprits, which is something called a "red flush," which can be really rewarding and fun but when they end it's usually devestating enough to end lives... And sometimes one moirail wants to be mates with their rail and it turns really messy when they get stuck in the rail-zone.
Karkat, can I explain Kismesis next?!
EDITOR'S NOTE: I'VE LET THIS GO ON FOR LONG ENOUGH. WE'RE DONE TALKING ABOUT QUADS.
Fiiiiine. I guess that's all from me humans!! Make sure to text me, okies?
Chapter 29: Hivebent Log #4.1: Denizen
Summary:
Chapter Text
Taurus. April 20th to May 20th.
Taurus at their best are loyal, reliable, and friendly.
Taurus at their worst are clingy, insecure, and weak-willed.
Taurus's horoscope is: Embrace change. This is a matter of life and death.
Hi. Hello. I am not entirely sure about the... Sort of optimal human greeting, so I went with both. I hope that's okay.
My name is Tavros Nitram, I'm seven sweeps old and I live in Outer Horner. I LIVED in Outer Horner, sort of past-tense wise because Outer Horner isn't... It's gone, now, so. Yeah. Now I live in the Land of Sand and Zephyr which is much better I think. I don't mean to say I'm glad Outer Horner is gone or anything, though. Wow. That was pretty messed up of me to say.
Karkat says that some important stuff happened that he wants me to talk about, so. Cool. I love being involved, really, it's nice to just be able to contribute. So thanks, Karkat.
Okay! So... The events. The events that happened. To me. Karkat says he wants to give some "game backstory" because I'm sort of the only one besides him who finished his quest, and he kind of... Cheated? Not that that's bad. I just guess that I'm the only one who did the whole thing, like, all the way through.
So the game! Sgrub is actually really interesting. So there's like... Three different phases, right? Phase one is short, it's the part where you get into the game. The second phase is where everyone is on their land alone, working to finish their quest. That's where you humans are now. For me, my quest was to defeat the evil Proteus, god of the sand, for drinking the world's oceans, leaving the denizens to dehydrate!
Vriska said that was all made up and silly, haha. I guess she was right, sort of...
But anyway. Phase 3 is defeating the Black King. When everyone is done on their lands, they meet on Skaia and work together to kill the big final boss. After that, the game is over!
Oh, I forgot one phase. The, uh... Frog breeding. But I don't know anything about that. Haha.
Anyway, my phase 2 was really fun. I was mostly running around with Vriska! Who's... She was being nice. Which was a relief, because she usually isn't...
The long story short is... I had tracked Proteus down to these ruins in my land, right? On the other side of the planet, and I was getting ready to fight him. Vriska said if I kicked his ass I'd be a real man and she'd take me on a date later, which was sort of fun! I don't know. She's really pretty.
--adiosToreador began trolling arachnidsGrip--
AT: vRISKA,
AT: aRE YOU HERE,
AT: i'M AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE PLACE,
AT: wHERE I'M SUPPOSED TO KICK THIS DENIZEN'S ASS,
AT: kIND OF EXCITED,
AT: a LOT OF THE LOCAL WILDLIFE IS HELPING ME,
AT: aND BY THAT I SORT OF MEAN I'M USING MY ANIMAL MIND CONTROL ON THEM,
AT: hAHA,
AT: ,,,
AT: hEY SO,
AT: i'M GONNA GO IN IF YOU'RE NOT GONNA SHOW,
AG: Taaaaaaaavros!
AG: You're 8eing SO impatient.
AG: You won't 8e a8le to "kick anyone's ass" without me, so sit tight.
AG: Fussyfangs keeps 8othering me.
AT: oKAY,
AT: wELL, tHAT'S MEAN,
AT: tHE PART ABOUT ME NOT BEING ABLE TO KICK ANYONE'S ASS WITHOUT HELP,
AT: sO I'M GOING TO GO IN NOW,
AG: Uuuuuuuugh.
==
Then at this point, uh. Vriska used her mind control on me to knock me out of my wheelchair.
Well, okay, it's not a wheelchair, it's a rocket chair. But it WAS a wheelchair before we alchemized it because my spine doesn't work. It causes people problems a lot...
==
AG: There.
AG: Now you'll sit nice and tight.
AT: oh,
AT: well, um,
AT: yeah,
AT: i guess,
AG: Relaaaaaaaax, Tav.
AG: I've got some irons in the fire. Some really big moving and shaking to do.
AT: oh?
AG: Yeah.
AG: How would you like to live FOREVER? >::::)
AT: whoa, what,
AT: i would sure like to do that,
AT: if that forever is good and not horrible and scary,
AG: Well I've got gr8 news. There's a way.
AG: Remem8er that big dome we found? The thing that looked like a recupacoon?
AT: yes,
AG: Well. I found out what that thing is.
AG: It's your "quest bed."
AT: okay,
AT: like a free restful bed,
AT: that sounds neat,
AT: i could use a nap,,,
AG: It's not just a bed, dummy!
AG: It's where you can ascend to GOD TIER.
AG: You become invincible and super strong!
AT: oh!
AT: that sounds good,
AT: what do i have to do,
AT: to get these cool powers
AT: and maybe my legs back,
AG: That's the 8ad news.
AG: You have to die.
AT: ,,,
AT: oh,
AG: You get killed on the quest bed and your dream self gets powered up. You combine both lives into one.
AT: gotcha,
AT: uh,
AT: pass,
AG: Haha. What? "Pass?"
AT: i don't want to die,
AG: Okay, okay, sure. But did you forget "ultimate power??"
AG: It's not permanent! You come back.
AT: yeah,
AT: uh,
AT: still pass,
AG: What the fuck, Tavros?
AG: What has all this BEEN for?
AG: You told me you wanted to get stronger all those sweeps ago and here I am busting my ass to find ways to do that. Shortcuts. Cheats. Moving and shaking.
AG: And now you're letting a little squeamishness get in the way?
AT: uh,
AT: yes,
AT: you summed that up perfectly, yes,
AG: ...
AG: ........
AG: You're on your own.
AT: what,
AG: If you're not going to commit to getting strong, I'm not teaching you any more.
AG: And I'm DEFINITELY not going on any d8s with lousy shitty wimps.
AT: okay well,
AT: to be fair,
AT: when i asked to become stronger i didn't ask you to put me in a wheelchair so,
AG: Oh my G8D, you're still mad about THAT?
AG: Fuck off, Tav-gross.
AG: You really never will change.
AG: 8ye forever.
AT: oh,
AT: wait vriska,
--arachnidsGrip blocked adiosToreador--
AT: wait,
AT: i am still lying on the ground,
AT: that did not stop,
AT: ,,,
AT: vriska?
==
So another long story short, I had to crawl back into my non-wheeled-wheelchair and with my cool helpful army of dubiously consenting woodland creatures, I went down alone to fight Proteus.
And to make another other long story SUPER short... Uh. Proteus kicked my ass. Vriska was right. I got knocked out of my chair and he used these big claws to pin me to the wall of his cavern, but I was surprised. He didn't kill me. In fact, he spoke to me and he was really nice.
He had this big booming voice that filled my whole head and his eyes gleamed like suns so hard I couldn't look. He told me I had to make... The Choice. And the way he said it, I just kind of understood that this was the kind of Choice that sort of had a capital C on it. Important.
Proteus, holding me against that wall, super scary leaned in and said to me... I can either succumb to the will of another and fulfil a destiny that didn't belong to me... Or I could die a hero at their very hand.
Needless to say, I was pretty freaked out, so I didn't make the choice at all? I just screamed and screamed and Proteus got sick of me. Then he said if I didn't choose my path would be chosen for me.
Then a big rock fell on his head from the ceiling and he died. Which was super lucky.
Just like all the others, I'd prototyped my lusus into my kernel when I came into the game. After I finished with Proteus, he was there to congratulate me. He's this tiny little fairy bull named Tinkerbull. He... He was super cool, I loved him a lot. The first time he died was when I accidentally ran him over in my wheelchair which I still feel terrible about. Like I said, my spine being fucked up causes problems for everyone...
But he gave me some advice that I think is really important after I finished my quest. He nuzzled his little bull nose into me and said in a teeny squeaky voice...
"Tavros, it's important to believe in yourself. You can do anything if you believe."
And I still live by that. I think it's important to believe as hard as you can and if you don't believe, then maybe if you pretend for long enough, you can start to. I think what he meant was that I had to do what was right no matter how much danger I'm in. Because nothing bad will ever happen to me if I don't believe in it.
Or something.
Anyway, after that we all met on Skaia to do Phase 3, but Karkat says this is all he needed. He always says that I'm a... Sad and deeply tragic figure. Which is... I don't know. Kind of mean? It's fine.
What's up with the Denizens, anyway? I don't really understand them, still. Everything in the Medium seems to be made up entirely when the game starts, like when you begin a new RPG and the evil dark lord has already ruined everything, but the Denizens seem to be something else. Something beyond the game.
Something else crazy is that no one but me seems to care about where this game even came from. I mean, we all understand how it works, but... I don't know, it kind of seems weird, doesn't it? I know it's the game that makes a new universe but who started the chain of making new universes? Why do universes need to be made?
Karkat and Vriska both say my questions are stupid and don't matter, but... I really hope I'm not stepping on any toes here, but I respectfully disagree! In fact after I beat Proteus, I found something really cool that gave me some clues about how the game got started.
My friend Aradia and I used to dig a lot on Alternia. She and I met because we were both part of an indentured excavation team, we dug pits for the drones to build new homes for trolls. One day, we were digging together and we both fell down into this big subterranian pit, which ended up being really great for us for two reasons: One, we were left for dead down there, so our names got taken off the indentured lowblood work list and two, because we found the frog ruins.
The frog ruins are really important. The ruins are the way Aradia and Sollux were able to construct Sgrub in the first place. On the walls were these hyrogliphs which when translated created the game code that transformed our world. A friendly white Doctor told us how to translate them, which was super helpful.
Aradia and I would stay up all day long and translate the heiroglyphs, so I got to be pretty good at reading them, and inside Proteus's chamber, there were more heiroglyphs. These were really easy to read, they all had the same pattern written on them. She and I used to think the heiroglyphs were what the Ancient Alternians would write in, but now I know the truth- They're the language of the game. The language of Skaia itself.
The message written on the pillars was simple, just four heiroglyphs one after the other:
Fate, circle, two, death.
These four glyphs have two meanings.
"Make way for the god of double death," or "Two deaths will always happen."
But I've heard another translation, whispered on the lips of the denizens. Spoken by the horrorterrors beyond the furthest rings. Programmed into the ectobiology of the carapacians. A riddle etched into the soul of whatever this game touches.
"He is already here."
But that's just my speculation. Which is usually silly and wrong. Haha...
I guess all that is pointless, too, because who even is "he?" Who is the god of Double Death? What IS double death? It's all just confusing and silly.
But do you want to know what I think?
I think this game is all just a big farce. I think that if we keep playing this game, somehow instead of a new universe, we're going to create this God of Double Death. What if instead of making a brand new universe, we're ensuring the destruction of everything, everywhere, all at once?
EDITOR'S NOTE: That's enough. Why don't you stop frightening our human friends with your little theories, Tavros? Run along, now. Oh wait- You can't run, your legs don't work any more.
Oh. Sorry, Doctor...
He's right, I'd better go or Karkat will get mad at me for cluttering up the document.
Later, humans, and um. Don't hesitate to reach out, okay?
Chapter 30: Hivebent Log #4.2: SAWN
Summary:
Listen to this chapter on YouTube!
NOTE: This chapter does not yet have graphics.
Chapter Text
Virgo. August 23 to September 22.
Virgos at their best are humble, intuitive, and practical.
Virgos at their worst are spiteful, solitary grudge-keepers.
Virgo's horoscope is: When no one reaches back, reach out.
Hello and a good evening to you. My name is Kanaya Maryam and I would like to dedicate this to any humans reading and listening in but in particular to Rose Lalonde.
Karkat informs me that this document should be a "group effort" but I highly suspect this delegation is to save him from having to write more. He asked me to give my account of the planning phase of Operation Regisurp.
I wanted to call it "Operation Regicide," because inventing a whole new word to describe something that already exists seems silly, but that is beside the point.
After we begrudgingly allowed Vriska to enter with us, she very rudely ignored my offers to help her in a cross-team effort to complete the game in order to continue to flirt with some... Boy.
But it is fine. I did not have a problem with it in the least.
==
GA: Hello Vriska
GA: I Have Noticed You Are In The Game Now
GA: Fun
GA: I Have Never Played Any Games With You I Am Excited To Do So
--arachnidsGrip has set their status to [idle]--
GA: Would You Like Some Help With Your Quest
GA: I Have Made Progress With Mine So
GA: I Have Cleared Some Time To Help You
AG: Oh, lol, that's okay.
GA: Oh
GA: It Is No Trouble Really
--arachnidsGrip has set their status to [do not disturb ]--
GA: ...
GA: Hello?
AG: Sorry, hi.
GA: So
GA: Help With Your Quest
AG: It's okay.
GA: You Said That Already
GA: Vriska Let Me Be More Clear
GA: I Want To Help You
GA: I Have Always Wanted To Play Games With You
AG: Awwwwwwww.
GA: And It Just Seems Like You Are Blowing Me Off
GA: Which Feels Kind Of Bad
AG: I sowwy. ::::(
GA: ...Ugh
AG: Hey, listen, Fussyfangs, Tavros and I are going to meet up, so I'll be offline for a while.
AG: 8yyyyyyyye!
GA: Okay
GA: Talk To You Soon?
AG: Pro8a8ly not!
AG: Oh is my order almost done?
GA: Oh The Dress
GA: Vriska With All Due Respect My Workshop Is Back At My Hive Which Is Far From My Current Location I Assumed The Game Took Precident Over Your Dress Request
AG: Thanks Fussyfangs!
AG: Tavros is going to LOVE it.
GA: Wait
--arachnidsGrip is offline--
GA: Oh Okay
GA: I Will Just
GA: Get To Work
==
So, as requested I took a break from my questing on my land, the Land of Rays and Frogs, to return to my house where my workshop was. For context, back on Alternia I was a seamstress. My formal job was making uniforms for new recruits and repairing old ones, but my true passion was for fashion.
Oh! That was a cute rhyme. I wonder if that has ever been made into a marketable catchphrase.
Anyway. This gave Karkat and I a chance to discuss the unfortunately titled "Operation Regisurp" and my place in it.
--carcinoGeneticist began trolling grimAuxiliatrix--
CG: KANAYA. DROP EVERYTHING.
CG: THIS IS MORE IMPORTANT.
GA: I Highly Doubt It
GA: I Am Making A Dress For Vriska
CG: ...
CG: WHAT THE FUCK?
CG: NO.
CG: SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, DON'T GIVE HER GIFTS. SHE IS A LOOSE CANON AT BEST AND AN ACTIVE ANTAGONIST AT WORST.
GA: Ok
GA: And?
CG: JESUS CHRIST...
CG: OKAY, WE'RE HAVING AN INTERVENTION ABOUT THIS.
CG: KANAYA, ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH THE ACRONYM "SAWN?"
GA: Karkat I Am Not Getting Sawn Do Not Be Crass
CG: SEDUCED ABSOLUTELY BY WITHHELD NOOK.
GA: I Know What Sawn Is!
GA: And I Am Not Seduced
GA: Vriska Is A
GA: Friend
CG: OKAY, WELL, YOU TOOK ABOUT A FULL SPAN TO DECIDE ON THE WORD "FRIEND" BEFORE YOU SENT IT, SO I'M INCLINED TO BELIEVE THAT'S NOT TRUE.
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT SHE'S DONE, RIGHT?
GA: Allegedly Done
CG: WHAT ARE YOU, HER LAWYER?
CG: EVEN HER LAWYER THINKS SHE'S INSANE, KANAYA.
CG: IT IS MY DUTY AS MOIRAIL TO TELL YOU THIS HAS GONE TOO FAR.
GA: My What
CG: MOIRAIL.
GA: Er
GA: When Did We Decide That
CG: OKAY, NEVER MIND.
CG: YOU'RE EITHER HURTING MY FEELINGS ON PURPOSE OR YOU'RE ACTUALLY THAT OBLIVIOUS, EITHER OF WHICH STINGS LIKE A LUSUSFUCKER.
CG: I'M NOT HERE TO FIGURE OUT MY QUADRANTS OR YOURS, SO LET'S GET DOWN TO BRASS TAXES.
GA: Tacks
CG: WHAT?
GA: The Phrase Is "Let Us Get Down To Brass Tacks"
CG: THAT'S IDIOTIC.
GA: Precisely
GA: Suits You Perfectly
CG: ALRIGHT.
CG: YOU'RE OUT OF THE PLAN.
GA: What!
GA: Karkat!
CG: GO BE A GOOD LITTLE SAWN PAWN FOR YOUR PRECIOUS VRISKA.
GA: Is This Because Of The Moirail Thing Because Karkat I Am Flattered But I Simply Do Not Feel That Close To You
CG: KANAYA, I'M WARNING YOU RIGHT NOW TO SHUT THE HELL UP BEFORE YOU BLUNDER INTO SAYING SOMETHING THAT LEGITIMATELY HURTS MY FEELINGS.
CG: YOU WERE THE FIRST PERSON I TOLD ABOUT MY... BLOOD STUFF.
GA: And That Was Very Brave Karkat
GA: But To Be Fair You Did Kind Of Just Spring It On Me So
CG: ...
CG: KANAYA, YOU ARE ONE OBLIVIOUS BITCH, BUT I DIDN'T THINK YOU WERE THIS IDIOTIC.
CG: AT THIS POINT, I CAN ONLY FEEL AS THOUGH IT'S MY FAULT FOR TRUSTING SUCH A NOOK-OBSESSED MIDBLOOD LIKE YOU.
CG: DON'T TALK TO ME ANY MORE.
--carcinoGeneticist ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix--
From my extensive study of human interactions and social cues as relayed to me by various resources Rose has clued me in on, the closest analog to what Karkat is referring to when he says "Moirails" is... Perhaps the word "sibling," though even this is incomplete.
I have indeed been known to be oblivious. I am not proud of the above conversation. But as I worked on Vriska's dress in my workshop, I came to understand Karkat's words.
--grimAuxiliatrix began trolling carcinoGeneticist--
GA: I Am Sorry
CG: WHAT IS IT NOW?
GA: I Am Sorry
GA: That Is All
GA: You Clearly Placed Your Trust In Me In A Way I Did Not Reciprocate
GA: And That Um
GA: Sucks Hard
CG: ...YEAH. IT DOES.
GA: And I Will Not Lie That I Did Not Know About It At All
GA: And You Do Mean A Lot To Me Karkat
GA: It Was In Bad Faith To Deny Our Moiraillegiance
CG: NO FUCKING SHIT.
CG: BUT... THANKS.
CG: I GUESS I DID SORT OF SPRING THE BLOOD STUFF ON YOU.
CG: I JUST KNEW YOU WERE THE ONLY ONE WHO CARED ENOUGH TO NOT TURN ME IN.
CG: AND FOR THE RECORD... I STILL APPRECIATE THAT.
GA: Good
GA: Now Then
GA: This Plan Of Yours
GA: Consider All My Affairs Dropped
CG: ALRIGHT. LET'S GET DOWN TO BRASS TACKS.
GA: :)
--grimAuxiliatrix ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist--
The plan, in essence, was simple, elegantly so. Elegance is the best kind of simplicity.
Karkat would work with with the agent known as Jack Noir of the Midnight Crew to kill the Black Queen. A sentence-long plan with a remarkable number of moving parts.
One cannot simply walk into the Black Palace-
Hold on, actually. I just realized something. The Black Palace is called that, but the building itself is purple. Isn't that curious? It's something of a misnomer, and [THE FOLLOWING TANGENT HAS BEEN OMITTED FOR TIME AND LENGTH.]
Anyway, one cannot simply walk into the Black Palace and kill the queen. There were three main issues that needed to be circumvented. The first being the ring.
I'm to understand that there are two rings per session of Sgrub, each worn by the corresponding queens. Each one transforms the wearer into the figure of whatever has been prototyped by the players. It belongs to the queens, but it can be worn by any carapacian who puts it on. That is why the demon Jack Noir is so powerful- When Jade prototyped her dog, she gave the dog's powers to the demon. This, you already know.
Karkat had a plan to extricate the ring from her, but provedence led to the ring being gone already, locked away in the queen's safe. Though it was still in her hands, it was just a piece of wrought metal if it was not on her finger.
The second obstacle was the guards, which Karkat had further plans for. He would enlist the help of the Dersite crime syndicate, the Midnight Crew, which had been befriended by the Derse dreamers of our session, namely Equius, Nepeta, Feferi, and Eridan.
I myself, however was a Prospit dreamer and to be involved directly I would have to move my dream self all the way across the Medium, something I found untenable.
But still, the final piece of the plan was to be provided by me: Disguises.
I would replicate a royal Dersite uniform to spec for Karkat's stabby friend from the Midnight Crew and he would use it to get access to the Black Queen and kill her.
Sadly, this meant a certain aforementioned commission of mine had to be put on hold.
--grimAuxiliatrix began trolling arachnidsGrip--
GA: Vriska
AG: Hi!
GA: I Have Bad News
AG: Oh no. ::::(
AG: I'm pretty 8usy, Fussyfangs. Can it w8?
GA: Oh Um
GA: Well I Suppose But It Is About Your Dress
AG: Uuuuuuuugh.
AG: We already decided there wouldn't 8e a fee, Fussyfangs.
AG: 8ecause we're 8est 8uddies, remem8er? ::::)
AG: Now leave me alone, Tavros fell out of his chair again.
GA: Oh Okay
GA: It Is Not About The Fee Or Anything
GA: But Thank You For Reminding Me About That
GA: It Is Just Something Has Come Up So
GA: I Will Not Be Able To Make It Now
GA: ...
GA: Vriska?
AG: What?
GA: I Just Said I Will Not Be Able To Make The Dress
AG: Okay! Jeez.
AG: You said that.
AG: Do I need to send a text to indic8 I got your text?
GA: Well
GA: Are You Not Disappointed??
AG: I guess a little!
GA: Oh
GA: I Just Thought You Were Excited About It
AG: Uuuuuuuuh.
AG: Are you going to m8ke it or not?
AG: I really don't care either way, just let me know so I can plan an outfit for our d8!
GA: Our Date?!
GA: Oh
GA: Oh You Mean You And Tavros
AG: Yeah??
AG: Who else would I mean?
AG: Me and Equius? L8L.
GA: Ha
GA: Haha
GA: Maybe You And I Haha That Would Be Crazy
AG: Lol.
AG: Sure.
--arachnidsGrip is offline--
As you can see from these prior logs, Vriska was already proving to be uncooperative, unfair, and unpleasant in general.
...
Wow, I kind of was being a Sawn.
Okay, revelations about myself aside, you're here to know how we killed the Black Queen.
I won't mince words: The outfit was a success. I made it using the alchemized fabrics from actual guards' uniforms and I was able to replicate the Queen's bodyguard outfit to a T. If I may permit myself a moment of smug satisfaction, with my skills, it was child's play. Karkat had his assassin's disguise.
Things were going exceptionally well. Without my moirail Karkat and the even-handed presence of my darling lusus, I surely would have fallen into temptation for Vriska's games.
As you have no doubt gathered by now, my lusus, like all of my compatriots, were used to seed our sprites, and as such my mother was serving as my game companion and confidant, which for me was nothing new.
My mother is what is known as a "mother grub," a being who is of vital importance on Alternia. You see- We Jadebloods are of middling birth in terms of blood vector but we, unlike teals and olives who share our midblood status, do not search for meaning through our lives- Our meaning is encrypted into our DNA: We facilitate the perpetuation of our species.
I have come to understand that humans reproduce with each other one-by-one, a concept which baffles the mind, but trolls reproduce very differently.
EDITOR'S NOTE: I DID NOT AUTHORIZE OPINING ABOUT OUR FUCKING REPRODUCTION, KANAYA.
Is the purpose of this document not to inform the humans of our species and plights? I can't see anything more impactful than reproduction.
EDITOR'S NOTE: OKAY, BUT YOU'RE ON THIN FUCKING ICE.
To make a very long story short, I will keep things plain. My mother was not my mother alone- She was a being known as the Mother Grub, the matriarch of my entire species, a being marked by The Empress herself. Her name was 612, a name bestowed upon her upon her birth nearly one thousand sweeps ago. In spite of her longevity, she was reaching the end of her life, and upon the death of a Mother Grub, something miraculous happens: In death, a new egg is released.
Though a Mother Grub lays billions, even trillions of eggs over her lifetime, deep in the caverns, these eggs hatch into either the drones, who are prompty turned over to The Empress to serve her as mindless bioautomatons or into the trolls you have been speaking to up until now. It is only at the end of her life that she is able to lay her final egg: An egg that will hatch into a new mother grub.
The reason I bring this up, even against Karkat's wishes, is that without this egg, our species would be doomed. I, as the final Jadeblood, hold this egg and with it the perpetuation of our species.
So in helping us, humans, you are not only helping us, the trolls of which you are speaking, but you are helping prevent the genocide of our race by cruel circumstance.
I hope this does not place undue pressure on you, but I feel the gravity must be emphasized.
...
In conclusion, I would like to reiterate that this section of this document is dedicated to Rose Lalonde. That's Rose Lalonde the human. The girl reading this. If you see this acknowledgement, feel free to text me any time at grimAuxilliatrix. Or just any time you feel like it, text me. It's no problem at all. Rose Lalonde.
Haha.
You might have noticed that I have an unusual amount of game knowledge. I know about things even the most liberal sprite would keep quite close to the chest, such as the nature of rings and the machinations of Prospit and Derse. This is because of you, Rose. I am unsure of how this came to be, but I was the recipient of a game guide penned by your hand, preserved on an ancient server in the depths of Paradox Space.
Once, I assumed it was simply the divine intervention of the God Fuck, giving my noble species an edge in this destined game of great import. Perhaps it still is. Whatever the case may be, the guide that you, Rose Lalonde, eventually write, paradoxically travelled back in time and into my hands before your universe was so much as a twinkle in the eye of the Genesis Frog.
What better way to ensure our victory? What better mark of pedigree? To follow the guide penned by the very universe we created? How miraculous.
And how disgraceful that we failed in the end.
I don't know if you've begun to write this guide yet, Rose, enshrined forever on the website "VGFaqs," but whether it has been written or will soon, know that through it, I feel our deep connection. Alternia and Earth. Progenitor and offspring. Guiding hand and unstoppable force.
And though you could have written a dry step-by-step guide, you filled your pages with florid prose and impressionist beauty, your hands crafting the sweetest, most lovely forms. Sonorous and melifluous, enviable and pleasant. It was an honor to read what you made and I hope in this guide I have managed to reverberate one fraction of the care I felt in your writings back towards you.
EDITOR'S NOTE: ok we get it you want to bone down on rose jesus fucking christ this is obnoxious
My apologies, humans. This was more of a sort of... Private thing for Rose. Sorry. Got carried away there.
O-okay, I'm done.
Chapter 31: Hivebent Log #5.1: Glub Glub
Summary:
Listen to this chapter on YouTube!
NOTE: This chapter does not yet have graphics.
Chapter Text
Pisces. February 19 through March 20.
Pisces at their best are sensitive, gracious, and aware.
Pisces at their worst are haughty, controlling, and cruel.
Pisces's horoscope: Don't believe your own hype.
--
EDITOR'S NOTE: HELLO, HUMANS. IT'S PROBABLY AN OVERSIGHT THAT I DIDN'T MENTION THIS BEFOREHAND, BUT THE NEXT PERSON WHO'S ABOUT TO WRITE HER PIECE IS ACTUALLY, UH. THE EMPRESS OF OUR ENTIRE SPECIES. SO SORT OF MAKE SURE TO BE REVERENT AND RESPECTFUL. SHE CAN KIND OF BE A LOT, PRAISE BE HER SACRED WORD. ANYWAY, UH... HERE YOU GO.
Greetings and Peace Among Worlds!
My name is Feferi Benevolence Piexes, second claim to the pink throne, holder of the sacred duty, former caretaker of the Vast Glub, and Empress to all Trollkind, a mantle I have taken only recently on a technicality.
I understand that Karkat has undertaken a gesture of ambassadorship between our sessions, something that warms my heart incredibly. That a former agent of my predecessor would take so well to my new decrees is most excellent.
Allow me to explain, as this will become pertinent soon.
When one claims to be empress, one must very well back up that claim, should she not?
Long ago on my home planet of Alternia, under the watchful eyes of Rosea and Viridis, our twin moons of pink and green, the goddess Fuck descended from the heavens and mandated the rule of my predecessor, Meenah Condescension Piexes, first claim to the pink throne, holder of the sacred duty, and Empress to All Trollkind, unite the seven clutches under one banner and take to the stars.
Over nearly one thousand sweeps, Her Imperious Condescension slaughtered every dissident and united our world under one mega-clutch, overseen by her holiness, the Mother Grub. We were one planet at last, dominating the planets of faraway stars to better the master Troll race.
Her work finished, my predecessor made a decree. "Whoever so should best me in combat, be their blood pink, they will take my place on the high throne."
And since that day, every pink-blooded troll vied to take her life.
Sadly, I was never able to challenge Her Imperious Condescension to combat, as before I could on my seventh wriggling day... She vanished. A day later, the world itself ended.
So here I stand, the last troll of fuchsia blood, the empress to all trolls. And hopefully someday, your empress, too! 38)
I will now be opening a memo to answer any and all questions you may have!
--cuttlefishCuller opened a memo: GLUB!!!--
CC: )(ello, )(umans! It's so amazing to meet you!
TG: sup
TT: Hello.
EB: uh, hi!
CG: Do I have to be here?
CC: Of course, Karkrab! You're t)(e ambassador! You )(ave to be )(ere.
CG: Okay.
CG: Can you not call me Karkrab?
CG: I've had enough animal nicknames.
CC: As I was SAYING.
CC: I understand our cultures are very very different )(umans!
CC: Karkrab and I will work )(ard to clarify anyt)(ing you like!!! 38)
TG: yeah ive got a question about uh
TG: everything
TG: all of it
TT: Let's try to be more specific.
TT: I think I get the gist.
TT: Your planet had a monarchy, imposed recently by a thousand-year-old empress.
CC: W)(at's a "year?"
TT: Sorry. Thousand-"sweep"-old.
TT: And you were next in line, but before you could claim the throne, she vanished.
TT: Seems straightforward.
CC: You're all so remarkably smart!
CC: You'll serve my empire perfectly!
TG: yeah see thats kind of the part i was wondering about
TG: the part where were in your empire
CG: Dave.
CG: Now's not the time.
CC: No, no! Let t)(em ask, Karkat! No matter )(ow idiotic t)(e question is.
TG: uh
CC: T)(e Troll Race, and more specifically, )(omeworld Alternians.
CC: Our reason to be is to dominate.
CC: We dominated billions of planets in our millennia rule, and once we enter your universe, we'll dominate you too!
CG: Feferi. It might not be a great idea to tell people we're going to conquer them.
CC: Ambassador.
CC: Ambassador.
CC: On official business, you are to call me "YOUR )(IG)(N-ESS."
CG: Sorry...
TG: whoa hold on
TG: karkat is this a bit
TG: this is getting weird
CC: I understand you may value independence, but t)(is is t)(e way t)(ings )(ave to be. KARKAT. Say "Your )(ig)(ness."
TG: karkat dont say your highness thats fucked up as hell
CG: No, it's okay.
CG: I messed up. It's my responsibility to apologize.
CG: I'm sorry, your highness.
TG: wow
CC: T)(ere. Was t)(at so difficult?
CG: No, your highness.
TG: wow x2
TT: I'm inclined to agree with Dave.
TT: You're making us uncomfortable, Feferi.
CC: I'm making you uncomfortable. )(mp)(!
CC: I am TRYING to s)(are my CULTUR-E and WISDOM wit)( you backwards, boondock-planet SIMPL-ETONS and for my trouble, I'm being told t)(at you're "uncomfortable."
CG: Guys, let's try to have a more constructive discourse here.
CG: I think it's best if we just, uh.
CG: Let Her Highness continue.
CG: June, you've been quiet this whole time, do you have any questions for your new empress?
EB: uh...
EB: nope!
CC: Sea? Finally SOM-EON-E w)(o isn't rude to aut)(ority.
EB: oh, haha.
EB: no, i'm not into that stuff.
CC: W)(at?
EB: we humans kind of have a thing against being subjugated, like, historically, so, uh.
EB: good luck!
EB: i think it's cute how you're playing empress, though.
CC: "Cute."
CG: Oh, fuck.
CG: Okay.
CG: June. Take that back.
CG: Feferi-
CC: FOR THE LAST TIME, AMBASSADOR.
CC: IT IS "YOUR HIGHNESS."
CC: FOR T)(-E LAST TIM-E, AMBASSADOR.
CC: IT IS "YOUR )(IG)(N-ESS."
CC: Do you t)(ink I want t)(is??
CC: Do you t)(ink I want to be t)(e stupid empress? I N-EV-ER wanted to be t)(e empress! I wanted to be a cuttlefis)( farmer!
CC: But sometimes, we )(ave a duty to our planet and t)(at supersedes some backwater bumpkin aliens so-called F-E-ELINGS!!!!
EB: feferi?
CC: W)(AT?!
EB: if you don't want to be empress, why don't you just not? :0
CC: Because-
CC: T)(e planet. T)(e race.
EB: doesn't the race have like twelve people in it?
EB: and isn't the planet dead?
EB: sorry to be mean but that stuff's true, right?
CC: Well.
CC: T)(at's...
CC: ...
CC: )(uh)(.
EB: you can just... be whatever you want to be.
CC: Be w)(atever I want to be.
CC: Wow.
CG: Oh fuck...
CG: Feferi, she didn't mean it.
CC: Karkat, it's okay.
CC: S)(e's rig)(t.
CC: I'm not going to be t)(e empress any more!
CG: What?
CC: I'm going to go kiss Sollux.
EB: good for you feferi!
EB: i don't know who sollux is, but hopefully he's a good kisser.
CG: What??
CC: )(e)(e, t)(anks june!
CC: we s)(oald talk more! you )(umans seam really smart.
CG: What???
TT: I think we averted an inter-species crisis there.
TG: yeah i was getting ready to throw down
TG: and karkat keep these things coming reading about you freaks has been pretty fun
--turntechGodhead logged off--
--ectoBiology logged off--
--tentacleTherapist logged off--
--cuttlefishCuller logged off--
CG: WHAT?!!??!
==
Uh... Hi. Karkat here.
I don't really know what the hell to make of any of that, really, and Feferi made good on her promise to make out with Sollux, so- I guess I'm going to have to do cleanup, here.
I was hoping Feferi could explain this, because she's the expert on weird eldritch bullshit, but I guess I have to do everything my own damn self.
There's no easy way to explain this. Feferi's mom is a monster. I'm not talking a REGULAR monster like how my dad is a crab or Vriska's mom is a giant spider. I'm talking a monster on the cosmic scale. Something called... A horrorterror.
EDITOR'S NOTE: I am intimately familiar with the Horrorterrors.
Okay, slow your roll, Rose, sheesh. We get it, you're into weird shit. I guess that makes things easier to explain.
Feferi's mother is a being known as Gl'bgolyb, a being whose voice is so shrill it is said to harbinge the end of the universe. How it became trapped in our reality is still unknown, but it is the linchpin of the Alternian Royal Galactic Navy.
See- There are two reasons why we Alternians can easily conquer our universe: One, our martial prowess and superior skill. Two, our access to a doomsday weapon in the form of Gl'bgolyb. For if anyone ever defies us, our mysterious patron can use her abilities to just sort of- Selectively wipe out an entire solar system or two.
EDITOR'S NOTE: And for context, Gl'bgolyb is one of the lesser terrors.
Yeah. And if you've been following along, you're aware that each one of us prototyped our lusii into our sprites. That includes Feferi. She didn't want to "leave mom behind," even though "mom" in this case is a biological doomsday weapon.
As I understand it, Feferi's mother was kept placid by one thing and one thing only: Food. Her voice was kept to a selective whisper by the efforts of Feferi and Eridan, who slayed massive beasts of the sea and sometimes the lusii of our peers to provide an endless stream of chum for the infernal spawn of the void.
It's said when Gl'bgolyb is starved, her voice becomes unfettered and like a great tidal wave, her voice spreads throughout the known universe, obliterating all sentient life. This is called the Vast Glub, a deep roar that all dread, sparing only the lives of Her Imperious Condescension and the living heiress.
According to Feferi, shortly before she entered the game, this Glub was spoken, and those who had not entered with us into a separate universe were killed, including the speaker of the Vast Glub herself. This should not come as a shock to you as by now you know the universe the players come from is destined for doom.
Apparently Feferi stopped getting help feeding Gl'bgolyb from Eridan because she wouldn't go on a date with him. Even though that choice probably cost the lives of all sentient creatures imaginable, I kind of don't blame her. You haven't talked to Eridan yet, but, uh. I think you'll see what I mean.
Some greaseball behavior transcends social bounds.
I'll never forget the moment she prototyped that thing. It must have been like when Jade's infernal woofbeast leapt into the kernel. It's so crazy that he did that, and he didn't do it for any reason at all. That Jade's lusus just went ahead and prototyped itself, totally autonomously for no reason.
Once Feferi crossed the gate with her Eldritch Mom, all hell broke the fuck loose. Screams echoed throughout our Medium, howls of torment from minds who could suddenly comprehend the terror of the very fabric of reality. The thin membrane of sanity shattered.
Luckily for us, she was one of the last into the game so most of us were on Skaia already and the Black Queen was gone, but this left us with a massive obstacle: The Black King with all the powers of Alternia's greatest weapon.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Oh, god. It means that your enemies and final boss have the powers of a Horrorterror.
Yeah. That fact became readily apparent to us when Feferi passed her gate and activated her sprite. It meant that we had limited time to kick the game's ass.
But we also noticed something else. The Blue Team and the Red Team were both experiencing the effects of Feferi's sprite. That meant that we had to start working together to beat it. We realized we weren't on separate teams at all.
EDITOR'S NOTE: hey karkat i've got kind of a long comment can i slip it in here
Uh... Sure?
EDITOR'S NOTE: so this document is supposed to help us win our game right?
Yes. That wasn't a comment, it was a question.
EDITOR'S NOTE: okay well... no offense but i kind of don't understand how reading about your young adult drama is supposed to help us win in a sort of functional sense. like it just seems like a bunch of documents containing really really shameful horrible mistakes.
I will address this comment in three bullet points.
One. Fuck you.
Two. Against all odds and in spite of your incredible cultural insensitivity and rudeness, you're not wrong.
Three. Fuck you.
EDITOR'S NOTE: like there are snippets of game facts! gamzee gave us that good cool fact about the aspect bed and tavros explained the stages, but... mostly it's just been about romance and breeding and really cringeworthy conversations.
Yeah, well... I guess the point of this document has morphed from game knowledge to cultural outreach. As for embarrassing stories, I couldn't agree more, these fools wouldn't know brevity if it reached through the screen and throttled them.
Do you want some brutal self-honesty? I think we were basically dogshit at the game. We completed it quickly, but the more I think about it the more I think it was just a bunch of lucky coincidences. A lot of it we just did whatever Doc told us to. This whole document was my cocky attempt to cover this fact up, but in the process we've admitted things so much more heinously embarrassing that I basically don't care about that admission.
Even so, through embarrassment and bullshit, I think this document is still important as an item of cultural exchange. Something else I've realized in my time explaining things to you all is just how much of Alternian society kind of sucks ass.
At the beginning of this document, I explained how I wanted to be a threshsecutioner for Her Imperious Condescension. I used to think it was the only worthwhile venture on my planet. Killing aliens for my Empress. Well, to tell you the truth, the Empress has been missing since before I even hatched and the threshsecutioners had a 100% mortality rate. These are the facts I used to ignore for the sake of my own sanity, but that need for loyalty is gone. The Empress is missing, her heiress wants to make out with her polycule, and the threshsecutioners and every planet in my universe they ever conquered are inaccessible.
If this sounds like nihilism, it is. Nothing matters. I understand that now. There's no greater purpose to anything, and if there is it can go up in smoke like a burnt napkin. Still, from the slavering jaws of despair, I, Karkat Vantas, pull a nugget of wisdom out for you:
Nothing matters doesn't matter.
If we chase nihilism to its logical conclusion, this is the only outcome. The fact that nothing matters doesn't matter and nihilism inherently collapses in on itself in a puff of logic. It's the ultimate paradox. A recursive meaninglessness loop.
If nothing matters doesn't matter, it stands to reason that mattering once again has meaning, in and of itself.
What I'm trying to say, humans... Is that I want us to matter to each other. We know your plight. Now you know ours.
Let's work together for a brighter future for both of our races.
Because if we don't, we'll probably all just fucking die.
Chapter 32: Hivebent Log #5.2: Hopeless Doomer
Chapter Text
Aquarius. January 20 to February 18.
Aquarius at their best are independent, progressive, and idealistic.
Aquarius at their worst are violent, obstinate, and lonely.
Aquarius's horoscope is: Rethink a major choice. Soon.
--
--cuttlefishCuller began trolling caligulasAquarium--
CC: -Eridaniel -Evanessence Ampora.
CA: wwhat the fuck dyou wwant beach
CC: 3>80
CC: Don't call me a "beac)(!" I know you're making a sea-pun about "bitc)(" since we're seawellers and it's neit)(er endearing or funny.
CC: You need to )(elp Karkat.
CA: buzz off
CA: i aint helping any bullshit about these humans
CA: its hopeless
CA: wwe oughtta just wwait for the demon to krill us
CC: You're suc)( a pat)(etic little doomer, -Eridan.
CA: sorry i couldnt be more full of hope like your lil pet sollux
CC: "Pet?"
CC: You're disgusting. )(e's not my P--ET, )(e's my FRI-END.
CA: most people dont make out wwith their friends
CC: Okay, fine, my BOYFRIEND.
CA: i dont knoww wwhat you see in that gangly rat
CA: hes a lowwblood
CA: you should be dating ME
CC: W)(ale I'm done caring about t)(e )(emospectrum!
CA: that literally makes 0 sense but ok
CA: stop caring about your biology sounds like a good time
CC: W)(atever.
CC: Just )(elp Karkat. It would mean a lot to )(im!
CC: You owe )(im, you know.
CA: uuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
CA: fine.
CC: Yay!!!! 38D
--cuttlefishCuller ceased trolling caligulasAquarium--
Name's Eridan. Eridan Ampora, high inquisitor and fleetmaster of the Alternian Galactic Navy.
Or I was GONNA be before my planet died.
Let me explain two things to you humans, and I'll make sure to explain em nice and slow so your backwater xenos minds can comprehend it. I'm gonna explain how we won Sgrub and I'm gonna explain the noble hemospectrum.
The hemospectrum, otherwise known as the Great Gift and the Noble Blood is what we call the stuff that runs through our trollian veins. Throughout the galaxy, xenos all bleed the same color, be it bright red or lime green or disgusting blue, but we trolls are blessed by the great God, Fuck. Since your trashbrains probably don't even know who Fuck is, I'll have to skip that. Every troll knows this, from the most revolting gutterblood to the most pious purple, so that makes you even worse than our wretches.
That's why we type in the colors we do. I type in violet because I am of the most noble class beneath only the pink royalty. The fact that our own empress Fef isn't living up to her class means I'm in charge.
By now in Karkat's dumb fucking account of us winning this annoying game, almost everyone was in. We were split into two teams since we figured it would be more competitive that way. We would see who could finish the game first.
The Red Team so far was Karkat, then Gamzee, then Terezi, then Tavros, then Kanaya, then it was supposed to be me entering by Karkat to finish the loop because I even if the Red Team were a bunch of trashbloods, I didn't want to be on a team with that fucker Sollux Captor. I fucking hate that guy. Not THAT way, though...
The Blue Team on the other hand was Jackass Sollux, then Aradia who was somehow playing even though she was dead, then Equius, then Nepeta, then Vriska, then Feferi would finish the loop by getting Sollux in.
So imagine my shock when I entered the game. See, I used to think Karkat must be at least a Purpleblood, from the way he bossed us around and whipped us into shape, but I learned recently he's nothing but a disgusting mutant blood.
His blood is red- RED. Bright candy red, not even rust-red like a respectable slave would have. It's fucking gross.
It's lucky a gutterblood mutant had me to help him do Operation Regisurp, otherwise we'd all be dead by now. Worthless.
You've probably heard a lot about that, haven't you? The plan to kill the Black Queen without having to lift a finger? You won't be surprised to learn that it was spearheaded by me.
The plan was a big mess of political bullshit, basically. Karkat dealt with most of that shit, but I was the one doing all the heavy lifting. Let me dumb it down for you xenos reading this.
On the moons of Prospit and Derse, in every single session, there are a few constants. First are the simple ones- The kings and queens. The black king and the black queen orchestrate the end of the game and the white variants hold them off until we can finish our quests.
But there are other things that repeat, too. Like there's a character named "Miss Paint" who exists in every game session. There's also a character who goes by the name... Sovereign Slayer.
In your session, I guess he became the demon that invaded OUR session. How that happened is still fucking mistifying, but that's how it is, I guess. Everyone seems really freaked out by the Demon but if you gave me one minute with him and me repulsion rifle, he'd be dead in like two seconds. In our session, our Sovreign Slayer didn't turn into a jacked up woofbeast monster though, he was just this mob guy. Called himself Spades Slick.
He had this little crew, a down-and-dirty pack of lowlife xenos called the Midnight Crew. You might be wondering- How exactly are a bunch of Dersite lowlifes supposed to help us? Easy.
I think a constant in every Sgrub session is the fact that the Sovreign Slayer secretly wants to kill the Black Queen. He's hardwired to hate her guts or something. Karkat learned this early on from becoming the Slayer's confidant since only Karkat had the patience to bother with the black shelled xeno weirdos. Probably because he and the Slayer both bleed the same red blood. Pathetic.
The Slayer isn't very strong on his own, but on Derse he holds a lot of power. He's in a high position, the queen's right hand man, practically. It took a lot of planning to get him in position, but our scheme was this:
See, I'm not actually a Derse dreamer. I'm a Prospit dreamer. For some reason, the Dersites HATE the Prospitians with a fiery passion, so you can imagine how much they'd hate the dreamers from that planet. This rivalry was the basis of the scheme. The plan was an elegant one: I turn myself over to Slick and he presents me to the Queen as if I'm a political prisoner. Then, once her guard is down, Slick springs me free and I make short work of the guards while he shoots the queen in the head like a feral woofbeast.
That was the plan, anyway. Things basically fucked up from the very beginning.
See, the prisoner idea would have worked if not for the fact that Dersites hate Prospitians so much they essentially have a murder-on-sight policy which extends to the dreamers. So when my dreamself showed up in my Prospit-Yellow outfit with Slick, the Dersites just went ahead and took me to the gallows.
"Don't you want to take him to the queen?" said Slick.
"No," said the other Derse guys, dragging me away.
So instead of having an ace in the hole once the assasination was underway, we had to accelerate plans just a little which was fine by me.
Slick undid my cuffs and we took turns killing guys. I used my repulsion rifle to blow holes through their torsos while he jumped from guy to guy slitting throats. All in all it was pretty fun.
On the way to the throne room, though, we hit a little snag. Slick was having second thoughts. See, when I said the Sovreign Slayer hates the Black Queen, I mean he HATES her. Like, romantically.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have expected that some dirty xeno like him to follow through with his end of the bargain. To make a long story short, I did my part, I cleared out the guards with my rifle but he couldn't take the shot. He held his gun out like he was going to in that long hallway leading up to her throne, but she ran away while he watched.
That would have been embarrassing enough, but when I took aim and tried to shoot her myself, he kicked my rifle out of my hands, chasing after her. By the time I grabbed my weapon, he was gone. Last I heard, they were hurtling towards Skaia, no doubt about to be intercepted by a portal to Fuck knows where.
After the semi-botched assassination attempt, I was contacted by two people. The first was our benefactor, someone who had been helping us twelve from the sidelines.
--[null] began trolling caligulasAquarium--
DOC: Hello, Mister Ampora.
DOC: Could you please tell me how the assassination attempt went?
CA: i dont knoww.
CA: nothin wwent according to plan but i guess the bq is gone
CA: as long as shes out of the picture it doesnt matter
DOC: Excellent.
DOC: Do not worry. Slick's failure to kill the Black Queen is all part of the plan.
CA: it is??
DOC: I need her alive for a certain project of mine, you see. Slick, too.
CA: ok
CA: glad it all seemed to wwork out then
CA: wwhats next
DOC: The next step of the plan is to finish the game like normal.
DOC: You'll play a role in this, naturally, but you have a special task to keep an eye on during your final battle.
CA: the final battle with the black king you mean
DOC: Yes.
DOC: You have to ensure Aradia Megido stays alive.
CA: aradia?
CA: the slavveblooded bitch in the robot body?
DOC: Yes.
CA: ok
CA: i trust you doc but forgivve me for asking
CA: wwhy
CA: as mentioned shes a trashblood whos not evven technically alive
DOC: No, she is of low station, but her survival is important to a certain plan I've been cooking up.
CA: ok?
DOC: Think of it like this, Eridaniel.
DOC: I have a garden that I am tending.
DOC: I will soon no longer be able to tend it.
DOC: I am hiring miss Megido as the gardener due to her unique properties.
DOC: That suits her station, does it not?
DOC: I have no particular affection for the lowblooded, myself, but she is required for my plan to function.
CA: makes sense
CA: keep the gutterblood robot alivve fine
DOC: Excellent. I will speak to you soon.
--ERROR: [null] is unreachable--
I don't really get Doc's instructions, but following them always seemed to work out for us. Vriska seems to think that he's evil or some shit, but I don't really care about that. As far as I'm concerned if "evil" means always getting what you want, call me fucking diabolical.
Speaking of Vriska, she hit me up next.
--arachnidsGrip began trolling caligulasAquarium--
AG: Eridan.
CA: the fuck do you wwant
CA: last i heard you wwanted nothin to do wwith me
CA: youre lucky i dont kill you for breakin up wwith me
AG: 8lah 8lah 8lah.
AG: Get in line, dipshit. Everyone wants to kill me these days.
CA: i feel like your ex-kismesis should get first dibs but ww/e
CA: for now all that shit is on hold anyway
CA: wwhat do you want
AG: I need a favor.
AG: You know Aradia?
CA: yeah?
CA: evveryones obsessed ww/ her lately
AG: La di fucking dah.
AG: During our final fight with the 8lack King, I'm going to 8e occupied with planning and scheming and being a gr8 8ig hero.
AG: I need you to make sure Aradia doesn't survive.
CA: lmao
CA: thats rich coming from you
CA: wwerent you the one wwho killed her in the first place??
AG: Yeah.
AG: Guess it didn't t8ke.
CA: ok normally id be wway into some bs assassination plot but theres 2 reasons thats not gonna fly
CA: #1 youre a top tier cunt who i hate and now that youre not evven my kismesis i hate you double
CA: #2 i cant. i already told someone else id make sure she livved
AG: ...
AG: Who?
CA: wwho asked me to make sure she livved?
CA: doc
AG: You're going to regret helping him, Eridan.
CA: youre paranoid as shit
CA: hes helping us
CA: evverything hes done has been to tip us off about shit wwe need to do
CA: hes the one wwho got karkat and slick together to execute the plan against the black queen
CA: hes the one wwhos been wwatching our backs
CA: hes the one wwho tipped aradia off where the game could be found in the first place
CA: so jump out of my ass for wwanting to do him a favor
AG: Fine.
CA: wwe wwill see wwont wwe
AG: ...
--arachnidsGrip began trolling caligulasAquarium--
EDITOR'S NOTE: hey, what does that word mean? "kismesis?"
I thought that oliveblood shitstain Nepeta explained that to you.
EDITOR'S NOTE: she did! but i haven't had an actionable example i guess? we have love so i get that, is it like love?
This is a waste of time... You're lucky Fef asked me to do this for you mindless monobloods. You might have "love" like we do, but on Alternia, we have something called "despise." It's not like regular hate where someone is annoying or mean, it's a special hate. It's when someone is so opposed to your beliefs or worldview that it gets you off. Vris and I used to despise each other and be Kismesises, which is the quadrant denoted by the spade. Now, though... Now we're nothing.
See, we used to have this rivalry. There was a game called "FLARP" she and I played, Fearsome Live Action Roleplay. It was a game where you pretended to be a character and beat the shit out of people with magic powers. In retrospect it was kind of a good way to train for Sgrub, I guess. A lot of us played it.
Vriska, though, she was obsessed. I played every day, but she would make spreadsheets and charts and shit, she was dedicated, probably because she needed fresh corpses for her mom...
EDITOR'S NOTE: wait, what?
Don't interrupt me.
Anyway, we had this FLARP rivalry and over time it became despise. Then, after a while she got bored doing the same shit over and over. Kind of like how Fef got bored of me when she started mackin' on Sollux.
What a fucking joke. I'm the highest on the totem pole, I'm a seadweller. My blood is the best next to royalty. My ancestor was a corsair with a body count in the billions. Now in this day and age, girls have the nerve to think I'm "boring."
EDITOR'S NOTE: maybe girls would like you more if you didn't call people things like "shitblood?"
I told you not to interrupt me, xeno. I'd kill you for that if you were here with me.
On Alternia, filling my quads seemed so fucking important, but now that we're stuck on this Fuck-forsaken meteor, I can see it was all just a shitty waste of time. No one is going to love me, be fond of me, despise me, or even be austere. It's a waste of time. Hopeless. We're all doomed and I'm starting to think the only way to do anything about it is speed our doom up.
Maybe you all should try the same.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Good evening. I hate to interrupt such a cheerful account of the Trolls' sgrub session, but I feel I should clarify a few things to our human viewers.
If it wasn't obvious, this is Doctor Scratch. I don't believe I've made your acquaintance directly. I hope Karkat forgives me for my intrusion into his document, but Eridan Ampora is a bad ambassador of the concepts he is feebly trying to articulate.
Quadrants and the Goddess Fuck must still seem rather alien to you humans, and for the sake of your continuing education and to stretch my own narrative muscles, I would like to gift you with an account of the Alternian Creation Myth.
It is, as many myths are, only true in part, so bear this in mind as you read it.
Before existence, there was Fuck, the primal God. Her touch brought the Galaxy into being and all the xenos inside it, and in the center, he placed his most noble garden of all: Alternia.
Upon Alternia he placed the lusii, alabaster beasts built to be the caretakers of her most noble race. The Trolls. With the last of her power, Fuck took soil from the ground and water from the sea to breathe life into her final creations: The Progenitors.
First came The Empress, blood of Fuchsia, with fins to swim in the seas and power over the whole world.
Next came The Master, blood of Violet, with fins to swim alongside the empress and be her right hand.
Next came The Priest, blood of Purple, without fins, to rule the land according to his betters' decrees.
Next came The Strong, blood of Indigo, with powerful arms to mold the world.
Next came The Wise, blood of Cobalt, with a mind smart and sharp enough to control their lessers.
Next came The Dilligent, blood of Teal, to organize and maintain what their betters had made.
Next came The Mother, blood of Jade, to care for the others with compassion.
Next came The Hunter, blood of Olive, to corral and hunt the beasts of the earth.
Next came The Betrayer, blood of Lime, a foe to pollute their ranks, a challenge to overcome.
Next came The Psychic, blood of Gold, a being full of energy to be used at the disposal of his betters.
Next came The Workman, blood of Brown, to work the soil that they took their blood's color from.
And finally came The Slave, blood of Rust-Red, to be at the disposal of the rest.
After The Twelve had assembled, each in order of importance, Fuck gave them the First Matriarch, a grub for them to give their seed to and flourish on the land. From her womb, eggs hatched into the Drones, which served as the peace-keepers, putting all in their rightful places. More eggs still spilled out into the caverns, which The Mother brought to fruition.
The Troll Race flourished over the millennia and took Alternia as its own, The Empress ruling over it and every planet they could reach. Over time, they rejected the Limebloods, possessing the sickly green blood of the betrayers, killing them and eliminating their blood from the Galaxy.
And should a troll ever be born of Lime or any shade outside this noble hemospectrum, they shall be discarded and fed to the Grub from whence they came or torn apart by the drones.
Upon Alternia's doom, there were not many Trolls who believed a literal interpretation of these events. Religion was never big on the planet to begin with, but as you humans know from your own planet, a religion doesn't need to be believed in the literal sense to be enforced into law.
Followers of this literal depiction were part of the Witness to the Vast Fuck, or more colloquially- Fuckers. This sect was large, headed by the Clown Church of Miracles whose clergy were Purple-Blooded clowns, but the far larger sect were those who followed the word of the Messiah of Fuck: The troll known as Jegus or- The Sufferer.
Oh! I shouldn't go on any longer, humans. I let myself drone on like a lecturer, there. You're not hear to learn about esoteric churches from a long-doomed world, you're here to learn about your forebearers.
Goodbye for now, but I will be in touch.
Chapter 33: Hivebent Log #6.1: Funny Yellow Man
Chapter Text
Gemini. May 21st to June 21st.
Gemini at their best are quick-witted, friendly, and inspiring.
Gemini at their worst are apathetic, unmotivated, and lonely.
Gemini's horoscope is: Reunite with a friend you've lost touch with.
==
The following is a Video on GrubTube.cum:
Have you ever thought about how weird it is that every race in the Galaxy speaks the same language?
I'm serious. Think about it. Literally billions of species with billions of different modes of communication and millennia of independent evolution and they all have the same words for everything.
Sure, some specific nomenclature is different, like how the devils of Substitutia say "potato" when they mean "subterranean starch tuber," but we can still understand what they mean.
The answer to this question is easy. The Empress mandated every race that we conquer to speak Alternian. But that answer is boring. Instead, let's discuss the different languages of the Imperial Galaxy before they were wiped out by imperial conquest.
Today we'll be covering the official pre-conquest language of the Jan Mutites: Toki Pona.
I'm Misali Votgil and this is "AltLang Annihilator, Syllabic Inventory, Commentary, and Critique on a black background with white arial text overlaid without background music and with occasional in-universe examples where applicable:" The show that gets everything right about YOUR favorite barbarian tongue.
==
My name is Sollux. I never bought in to the empire or their hemoist, monarchist, bullshit way of doing things, so maybe a bunch of humans will be a breath of fresh air, even though I highly doubt it.
I used to live in a communal pod structure in Outer Horner awaiting the day the drones descended to either kill me or use me as a battery for one of her Imperious Shithead-descension’s warships. I waited, that is, until SHE told me the world was going to end.
I guess if most people found out the world was going to end, they’d be bummed out, but I was stoked as hell. I was kind of sad that I probably wouldn’t be able to play Cuboid Block Replacement and Simulated Mining Game any more, but whatever.
Inside the game, everything went smoothly. Everyone has probably already talked about Operation Regisurp by now, and that went off without a hitch. Jack Noir- Our version of Jack Noir, a guy who called himself Spades Slick, killed the Black Queen for us, essentially meaning we had to kill the Black King.
Our Black King was going to be a fucking doozy, though. See- You know how when you prototype your kernel and then enter your gate, the imps and game enemies power up with whatever you prototyped them with?? It turns out Feferi prototyped her mom, who was basically the god of our planet.
So yeah.
Luckily for us, we had all managed to get to Skaia at that point, so Karkat and I (mostly me, he just bossed everyone into position) were planning our ultimate assault.
Forgive me for being glib, but you guys already know we beat the Black King by virtue of us talking to you now. Building suspense for the final fight would be utterly pointless. If the point of this document is to talk about the game, then it's pretty worthless to discuss how we won because we basically just rode the coattails of one fluke after the other.
Instead, how about I make things interesting? Let's go back to the beginning.
Karkat said that on your planet, the game was disseminated by a company, but in our session, things were much different. We couldn't just go to the store or order it through the mail, it had to be compiled manually using runes on the walls of an ancient ruin that Tavros and Aradia found.
Let me see if I can dig up the things I was writing Aradia during that time. It's still kind of painful to dig through these even if she isn't dead any more.
EDITOR'S NOTE: hey real quick sollux my man everyone keeps vaguely hinting at the alive or dead status of this aradia person whats her deal
Don't ask idiotic questions, Dave.
EDITOR'S NOTE: its just that she and i are kind of pals now so im kind of invested here
She's a ghost who's also a robot. There, happy?
EDITOR'S NOTE: no im pretty sure that just raised more questions actually
Pretty straightforward. Doesn't your culture have ghost robots??
Anyway, before Dave can type another asinine retort, here's a log of communication one sweep before we entered the game.
--apocalypseArisen began trolling twinArmageddons--
AA: i g0t it!!
TA: holy 2hiit.
TA: you got iit??
AA: i did. i finally g0t the ancient c0de t0 build the pr0gram with.
TA: wow.
TA: ii gue22 ii'm 2orry for doubtiing you, aradiia. ii alway2 thought you were full of iit talkiing about frog ruiin2 and temple2 and dream2 of purple ciitiie2.
AA: this is my i t0ld y0u s0!!! 0u0
TA: heh.
TA: ii don't miind beiing proven wrong iif iit'2 wiith you.
AA: im sending y0u the c0de! hurry and type it all 0ut, i cant wait t0 play the game it makes.
TA: ii'm on iit.
TA: what make2 you thiink iit'll be a game?
TA: more of your "vii2iion2?"
AA: hehe, 0f c0urse!
AA: but y0u als0 kn0w it, t00, s0llux.
TA: ....
TA: yeah.
TA: thii2 ii2 the program that'2 goiing two de2troy the world, ii2n't iit?
AA: yep.
TA: ...wow.
AA: are y0u sad?
TA: 2ad?? fuck no.
TA: ii'm exciited.
TA: the world, iif you haven't notiiced, aradiia, 2uck2 a22.
AA: hm. i guess...
AA: even s0 i can't help but feel bad.
TA: ii know.
TA: ii can feel the doom of the uniiver2e iin my bone2. even though ii hate alterniia, iit'2 fuckiing terriifyiing.
TA: ju2t promii2e me we'll be okay.
AA: 0kay!
--twinArmageddons ceased trolling apocalypseArisen--
Inside some ancient caverns, she discovered long-forgotten lines of text etched onto the stony walls, text that translated not to some ancient language, but to code for a program. Being a programmer myself, I considered this a challenge. What I didn't consider was what this code would do.
Almost as if the Universe itself intended for me to cooperate unquestioningly. The universe can be annoying like that.
It took me eight cycles to work through, but eventually I cracked it.
--twinArmageddons began trolling apocalypseArisen--
TA: aradiia.
AA: s0llux!
AA: hehe
AA: are we just g0ing t0 menacingly state each 0ther's names?
AA: whats up
TA: iit's done.
AA: it's d0ne!!
AA: sufferer bel0w, already??
AA: s0llux, that's amazing!
TA: ii haven't 2lept iin three cycle2, but iit'2 fuckiing done.
TA: let2 boot thii2 baby up.
==
I opened the game, with myself as the client and Aradia as the server. As you all know, the game is pretty fucking baffling when you first start things up, but Aradia seemed to know just what to do.
==
TA: je2u2.
TA: thii2 ii2 a real-liife game, huh? kiind of liike flarp
AA: yeah! except flarp requires vr and game c0nstructs.
AA: this 0ne is just 0verlaid 0n reality.
TA: 2ufferer h. explatiive....
TA: are you 2ure we 2hould be me22iing wiith thii2??
TA: ii mean, ii know iit'2 goiing two end the world and all and thii2 ii2 our only e2cape, but liike.
TA: wow.
AA: w0w is right.
TA: okay, well let'2 put thii2 on hold, kay?
TA: liike ii 2aiid, ii'm 2leepy a2 fuck.
AA: 0n h0ld?
AA: we can't.
TA: c'mon aradiia. the end of the world ii2n't for another 2weep at lea2t.
TA: ii'm exhau2ted.
AA: i kn0w, s0llux, but...
AA: just a little m0re, 0kay?
TA: heh. fiine.
==
At the time, I thought Aradia was just excited to get started, but now I know she was racing against the clock.
She placed my machines, the totem and the alchemiter and whatnot. They sat dormant, for the game wouldn't start in earnest for many more moonspans.
My entry item was a phone, colored the same yellow as my blood.
==
TA: uhhhh.
TA: ii don't get iit
AA: that's y0ur entry item, s0llux.
AA: every entry item is a little puzzle. 0nce y0u s0lve it, y0u enter the game.
AA: s0me pe0ple's entry items are easy, like say, biting int0 an apple.
AA: s0me are m0re 0btuse, like breaking a b0ttle.
TA: miine 2eem2 pretty 2traiightforward. ju2t.... waiit for iit two riing.
TA: but that'2 fuckiing boriing.
AA: i kn0w.
AA: the p0int is that y0ull enter when the time is right.
TA: when the tiime ii2 riight, huh?
TA: well, okay. ii gue22 that'2 that.
TA: now what?
TA: do we work on gettiing you iin the game?
AA: n0.
AA: s0me0ne else will d0 that
TA: they wiill?
AA: yes
TA: okay, let'2 talk two them.
AA: we can't yet.
AA: things have t0 be d0ne in a certain 0rder.
AA: theyre 0ut 0f y0ur hands, n0w.
TA: quiit beiing 2o cryptiic, aradiia
TA: you're kiind of freakiing me out....
AA: hehe, s0rry.
AA: d0 i seem d0wn, s0llux...?
AA: i just want y0u t0 kn0w that i'm f0nd 0f y0u, 0kay?
TA: oh, uh.
TA: ii'm fond of you two, aradiia. <>
AA: <>
TA: what'2 goiing on? you're makiing me nervou2.
AA: s0llux...
AA: i wish i had time t0 tell y0u m0re
AA: time is in sh0rt supply, huh?
AA: i guess thats pretty ir0nic
AA: pr0mise me y0u w0n't blame y0urself f0r what's ab0ut t0 happen.
TA: blame my2elf??
TA: what?
--apocalypseArisen is offline--
TA: uh...
==
That was my last conversation with Aradia Megido before she died. Before I killed her.
I know you humans must have a lot of questions. I'm not a very good question-answerer. Yellowbloods like me aren't seen as people by the Empire the way Equius or Karkat are, so I get to fly under the radar. I'm not used to talking to people, least of all xenos like you guys.
Do the details of our session matter? Our entry order, Operation Regisurp, the Black King Mission... It all seems pointless, now. It makes me wonder what this was all for, because it was clearly not for us.
See, I've got this theory. Paradox Space isn't stupid, the things it does are for a reason. It's fighting a battle against entropy and chaos and though it might look random to us, every person who contributes to it is a worker bee in its grand design.
So if something seems pointless, it's not. There's some hand moving things out there. Something is coming. No... Not "coming."
Something is already here.
EDITOR'S NOTE: wait why did you kill aradia then
Oh my god, Dave. It's pretty fucking straightforward. I was mind controlled into doing it by someone who wanted revenge on her for hurting her friend.
EDITOR'S NOTE: thats not straightforward in the least dude
Don't care. Bye. I'm going back on GrubTube.
==
The following is video on GrubTube.cum, defunct Alternian video social media:
I made a video about the Sufferer. Then things got WEIRDER.
Hey guys, so in my last video, I discussed some of the discrepancies between the accepted history of the Alternian Empire- Things like how the Sufferer died, his final words, that kind of thing. I went into detail about how the Empire got a few things wrong when we compare the Sufferer's crucifixion story to the facts uncovered by local Archaeologist Aradia Megido.
Imagine my surprise when in my Fe-Mail inbox folder I found a letter, not just from an Imperial representative, but from Her Imperious Condescension.
"Dear little miss asks-too-many-questions,
Keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong and soon you might not have one at all!"
-HIC"
Needless to say, reading that was buckwild- It was male antlerbeast hysterical, even. An actual correspondence from THE Empress! We all thought she was off-world, but it looks like she might be coming back. Not only that, but she was responding to MY video on GrubTube. Unfortunately, before I could send a message back to clarify what my video got wrong, a horde of drones descended on my hive, completely destroying it.
That's why my background is different- I'm actually inside a bunker my co-writer Emilee let me stay in to evade getting culled, which has actually been pretty fun.
In this video, we'll be going over what the drones yelled at me as they tried to impale my body on their spearlike hands to try to piece together what I might have gotten wrong about the Sufferer's life.
But first, in order to pay for more Faygo rations, here's a message from this video's sponsor: Killiant.
==
==
The following is Comment Thread on Grubtube.cum on the above video:
--twinArmaggedons--
utter triipe. the conde2ce fe-maiiled you becau2e 2he'2 tryiing two hunt you down. 2he already know2 the 2ufferer 2tory ii2 hogwa2h 2o 2he'2 tryiing two 2hut your a22 down. go back two makiing viideo2 about fiilmed adaptatiion2 of theatriical mu2iic-iinfe2ted 2tage productiion2.
--friendlyGhost--
ooo I'm pretty sure that's not it... If Her Imperious Condescension really knew, then why would the textbooks say the wrong stuff? Hey, Twin, you should be careful about what you say online... ooo
--twinArmaggedons--
2hut the fuck up, ka2per. 2eriiou2ly, do you read my comment2 ju2t two get angry? the conde2ce ii2n't your friiend, 2he'2 a tyrant. 2he ha2 a body count iin the triilliion2.
--friendlyGhost--
ooo I guess... I mean, I can excuse the deaths of xenos off-world, but I can't excuse telling lies to her own people... ooo
--twinArmaggedons--
CULL YOUR2ELF NOW.
==
Chapter 34: Hivebent Log #6.2 Dead Girl
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Aradia Megido.
For one sweep, you were dead. You were killed by one of your moirails, Sollux Captor with a psiionic blast, killing you instantly and disintegrating you into atoms. You didn't blame him for it- It wasn't his fault.
Luckily for you, you had an extra life.
For the sweep that you were dead, Derse was where you roamed, the purple cobblestones beneath your feet serving as your stomping grounds. You'd awoken on Derse every time you slept since you were hatched, and now that you died, Derse felt like your reality, Alternia being a horrible dream.
But you knew deep down it wasn't a dream. Soon, your friends would join you in the dream. It would be their new reality, too.
On Derse, you even learned how to talk to some of your old friends back on Alternia. Some of them didn't even know you died, like a ghost in the system, haunting Alternia from the great beyond. But you still couldn't bring yourself to talk to Sollux...
On Derse, you saw so much. The rise and fall of the Midnight Crew. The sordid battle between good and evil. The nefarious tenacity of the Black Queen. You learned the superstitions and lore of Derse and its black-shelled carapacians. You sat in rapt attention in coffee shops and corner bars as the patrons explained to you their hatred of Prospit and Prospit's dreamers and symbols.
You noticed one thing in particular, though- The Dersite fixation on the frog. Frogs and their iconography were treated as extreme contraband to your amusement, for reasons that were never explained to you.
Still, your days of frightening the locals by screaming "frog" in crowded places and gigglingly fleeing into the kerfuffle drew to a close once you heard the news of your friends entering the game.
You knew it was time.
--apocalypseArisen began trolling centaursTesticle--
AA: thank y0u f0r getting me int0 the game, equius.
CT: D --> Not a problem, Miss Lowblood.
AA: h0w is my c0mmissi0n g0ing?
CT: D --> Your commission is trivial.
CT: D --> A robot in the shape of your body.
CT: D --> It is complete, in less than a day, I might add.
AA: 0kay.
CT: D --> I do not know why you asked me to construct a robot for you with an empty vessel for its central motherboard.
CT: D --> Even if powered on, it shall not work.
CT: D --> I will say, however, I have managed your image spittingly.
CT: D --> So spittingly, in fact, I have, on occasion, felt attraction towards it.
CT: D --> Caressed it even.
AA: uh...
AA: why did y0u caress it?
CT: It is a compliment, lowblood. Please take it as such.
AA: its n0t a c0mpliment t0 caress s0me0ne with0ut permissi0n
AA: in fact it is very weird
CT: D --> Fine.
CT: D --> Either way, it is finished.
CT: D --> Where should I send it?
CT: D --> I have heard allegations that you are in fact, deceased.
CT: D --> If my theory is true, you wish for this robot so your ghostly soul may inhabit it from the afterlife.
AA: your guess is pretty close
CT: D --> In that case, how are you going to receive my gift? It is not like the mail can be carried to the great beyond.
AA: ill handle it
AA: where is the r0b0t n0w?
CT: D --> Laying svelte upon my desk.
AA: 0k
--apocalypseArisen ceased trolling centaursTesticle--
Derse was not the afterlife, but your dreaming self had powers that your waking body did not. For starters, a way to transmit yourself into a body to inhabit it. A more superstitious person might call it possession.
Sollux had always told you such a thing was possible, that the very soul could be copied and toyed with, but you'd never understood what he meant. His theories were the reason you were able to live on. You hoped this might give him closure since he was the one who killed you. His knowledge mingled with the craftsmanship of a beloathed foe to give you another chance at mechanical life.
Or in simpler words: You'd found a way to put your brain in a robot some misogynist just made. So you did.
Sadly, this meant your dream self would need to be put out of commission. A life for a life, it seemed.
You descended into the depths of Derse, a cavernous dungeon below the tower you called your home. Inside of this chamber were cocoons, the same style of cocoon that you slept in on Alternia, each one emblazoned with a mark denoting one of the aspects of reality, each one belonging to a player in your game session.
You slid into the cocoon marked with a heiroglyph that you had once been fixated on, the twelve-pronged circle of time, the cyclical wheel in the sky that heralded the passage of moments into one another. The thing that turned order into chaos. You entered the cocoon and closed your eyes.
There was a brief moment of total and utter nonexistence, like the breath being expelled from your lungs, then in an instant, your consciousness snapped into place.
When your eyes opened, they were mechanical eyes of silicone and steel. You sat upright like a possessed doll. You were in the body the misogynist had made for you, now.
"Good sweet Fuck above," said the misogynist as you manifested in his room as your eyes swept over him. Your body felt new and alien, different proportions and weights within your frame. You tested your new arms by reaching up to cup his cheek.
This tender touch was followed by a hard metal "CLANG" as you smacked him across the head.
"That's for feeling my body up, creep," you say, stomping your new metal feet to his window and leaping out.
By the time you had entered your metal body, your peers were in the game and Alternia was long gone. You weren't particularly sad that it was and you aren't now. After extricating yourself from Equius's hive and navigating to your Land, the Land of Quartz and Melody, you finally did what you could not in your death:
Reunite with him.
--apocalypseArisen began trolling twinArmageddons--
AA: hell0, s0llux.
TA: fuck...
TA: okay, har dee har har!
TA: you got iinto aradiia'2 account, vrii2ka, you're hiilariiou2.
TA: you're really fucked up, do you know that?
AA: this isn't vriska.
AA: it's me.
TA: tthen why are you hemotypiing iin blue??
AA: 0h, right.
AA: i have blue bl00d n0w.
AA: s0rt 0f.
AA: it's actually machine lubricant.
TA: ...
TA: ii have no iidea what two make of thii2.
TA: but thii2 ii2 2ome 2iick fuckiing joke, 2o cut iit out.
TA: aradiia ii2 dead. ii don't know why thii2 ha2 come up 2o fuckiing much lately.
TA: iif you're aradiia, prove iit, diip2hiit.
AA: 0kay
AA: ask me s0mething 0nly i w0uld kn0w.
TA: ...
TA: what'2 the mo2t a2toundiing feature of my biiology?
AA: ...s0llux, c0me 0n.
TA: an2wer me!
AA: sigh.
AA: this is idi0tic.
AA: y0ur m0st "ast0unding b0dily feature" is y0ur tw0...
AA: bulges.
TA: holy... oh my god
TA: aradiia...
TA: youre... aliive?
TA: how are you aliive??
AA: i am n0t alive.
TA: ii feel liike were 2pliittiing haiir2 here becau2e maybe youre techniically dead but youre 2tiill talkiing two me
TA: functiionally 2peakiing iim comfortable calliing that aliive
AA: 0kay
AA: in a m0re nuanced way, my dream-self is c0ntr0lling my new mechanical b0dy fr0m derse.
TA: that explaiin2 the machiine lubriicant.
TA: whatever ii2 happeniing, whatever you are now-
TA: ii mii22ed you 2o much, aradiia...
AA: i missed y0u t00, s0llux.
TA: ii ju2t...
TA: ii don't know how you can be talkiing two me 2iince ii wa2 the one who...
TA: aradiia, ii kiilled you.
AA: s0llux...
AA: y0u didn't kill me.
AA: i kn0w it wasn't y0u.
TA: 2ure, ii diidn't "kiill you," a2 iin ii diidn't make the choiice two go two your hiive and 2tart bla2tiing my p2iioniic power2.
TA: but ii wa2 the one who DIID iit. my body... my abiiliitiie2.
AA: there's 0nly 0ne pers0n wh0 c0uld have d0ne s0mething like that.
AA: we b0th kn0w wh0 it was.
TA: ...aradiia.
AA: she has t0 pay.
AA: vriska has t0 pay.
--apocalypseArisen logged off--
Though this was a happy reunion, a new emotion surged in your chest. Rage.
You had another lease on life and you were going to use it to its full potential.
Which brings us back to the present.
You are no longer Aradia Megido. You are now a human reading Karkat's lore document.
--
Aries. March 21st to April 19th.
Aries at their best are sympathetic, punctual, and detail oriented.
Aries at their worst are wrathful, stubborn, and prone to vengeance.
Aries's horoscope is: Dig deeper to find hidden truth.
--
Hello. I'm Aradia. Dave has already met me. Karkat wants me to contribute to this document, since I was the most present during the final battle, but the final battle is much less interesting than what I have to tell you. I think you'll find my story enlightening. How would you like to learn about cheat codes?
Let me start at the beginning.
I didn't spend much time on my land, because I was pretty busy being dead, and by the time I'd been revived everyone else had reached the game's end.
Oh, uh. Right. I died a sweep ago and was recently put in a robot body. It's no big deal...
Anyway, the final fight. Sollux and Karkat came up with a plan that hinged mostly on using my abilities. I'm a time player, the Maid of Time, and my powers included being able to see Doomed versions of myself.
I'm explaining this badly. Dave can explained doomed timelines if you want, but here's the rundown.
Unless you do very specific actions, your timeline will become doomed and impossible. There are millions of these, possibly an infinite amount, all of them fading away from relevance, like branches on a tree. The "main" timeline, the one we're all on, is like the trunk of the tree.
Basically, my power is to see the branches of the tree and use the doomed Aradias from those timelines as helpers.
That's a very bad explanation... I ought to explain my power in a more functional sense. I can summon alternate versions of myself to fight for me. Sometimes I chat with the alternate mes, they're very nice. This is a powerful ability, but it's not the cheat code I was talking about.
It has probably been said already, but our final fight against the Black King was supposed to be impossible. Every one of our guardians had been prototyped to work against us, the Black King taking on the form of our own parents, from Karkat's crab-dad to Gamzee's mergoat and worst of all, Feferi's many-tentacled guardian.
Dave and Karkat tell me you face an even more insurmountable challenge: A black king with the powers of your first guardian. I am still not entirely clear for what reason your first guardian Bec leapt into Jade's sprite, but I am not convinced it was some random happenstance.
We are very alike, you know. Our session was insurmountable as is yours, yet it seems by chance we were able to snatch victory from the jaws of horrifying defeat. This was not done as Karkat or Sollux say with luck but with cunning. I had one final trick up my sleeve.
Here's a question: What is the purpose of prototyping? It all seems rather esoteric, doesn't it? A random afterthought. You all remember doing it, I'm sure, placing an item into the mysterious kernel before entering the game. Rose's cat, June's grandmother, Jade's pet, and Dave's doppleganger. For us it was much the same, a decision that didn't seem important.
But it was important. Prototyping is the first step into game entry, the first step is to free the kernel. It is also the last step, defeating the king who is powered up with your prototyped items.
Why?
The answer is easy. The kernel requires tributes to seed its challenges, to give a familiar face to the world of the Medium, to shape it. Otherwise, each session would be the same, the same carapacians, the same moons, the same Skaia. Every session must have variation, mutation. Much like every fertilized egg must have variation and mutation to be viable to undergo evolution.
If The Game is the way universes reproduce, Kernels and prototyping are the way universes achieve genetic diversity. They take items and things from an old universe and create something new from it.
That is why a session without prototypings is sterile. That is why it is better to have prototyped an eldritch monstrosity or a nuclear first guardian than to have prototyped nothing at all. Our unfortunate prototypings made our chances of success slim, but slim is better than impossible.
When I entered the game, Equius was in charge of completing my entry. Like he told you, he placed my items down in my empty hive and yet I managed to enter the game without issue. This is because I was already inside the game. More accurately... Since I had died on Alternia, my consciousness was transported to Derse, where my dreaming self was. It was like a glitch. I had used my extra life before the game had begun.
This meant, however, that my entry was still botched. I had to prototype something from Alternia, otherwise my kernel would be sterile. As discussed, this would have been very bad. At the same time, unlike every other one of my peers, I could not prototype my mother because my mother was long gone, dead in the same accident I was killed in.
What to use, then? Any random item inside my hive would do, but prototyping can't be done randomly. I had to think it through. I had a chance to change the very nature of the game itself, the last chance, for I was the last to prototype my kernel entirely.
Tavros has no doubt told you about my penchant for archaeology. He told you of the subterranian frog ruins we discovered and the code Sollux turned into the game Sgrub. Inside these ruins was a keepsake I had always held as a good-luck charm, a statue of the ruins in miniature, a frog atop a tall pedestal, like a trophy.
It was something I didn't even think about at the time. I picked it up back then and took it home only because the Doctor said it was important.
Are you familiar with "cheat codes," humans? The idea of something technically permitted by the game that none the less drastically changes its nature? Prototyping a frog is one such cheat code. A seemingly random act that made the game nearly trivial.
The simple fact is that Dersites hate frogs. The reason for this I don't know, but I knew it from my time among them. Around the time I prototyped my frog statue was around the time of operation Regisurp, and once the queen took the form of a frog, she refused to wear the ring that gave her the powers of our prototypings. The Dersites stopped manufacturing imps due to their froglike appearances. Enemies stopped appearing in our session entirely, the war on Prospit ground to a halt. The black king, unable to relinquish his own source of power, went mad with wrath, rendering him no less destructive but far less focused.
All because of my little frog cheat.
It is my belief, humans, that you need to discover a cheat of your own. Perhaps one has already been woven into your session. Perhaps one can be discovered. There is no need to play the game on its own terms, after all, not when the stakes are so unbearably high.
In other words. Don't despair. I'm rooting for you.
Now... I have to go. Someone is messaging me.
EDITOR'S NOTE: hey aradia real quick how did you die no one will explain it to me
Oh, Dave. It's pretty simple, actually... Sollux killed me because of a mind thing.
EDITOR'S NOTE: yeah he said as much
Then what do you need to be clarified on?
EDITOR'S NOTE: uhhh all of it
I don't know... It's all pretty self-explanatory. He killed me with eye lasers because of revenge mind control. I'm sure something similar has happened to you.
EDITOR'S NOTE: no humans dont have eye lasers or mind control. we do have revenge i guess
Dave I really have to go, I'm sure this will all be explained eventually. I really have to answer these messages.
--arachnidsGrip began trolling apocalypseArisen--
AG: Aradia.
AG: 8een a while, hasn't it?
AA: i guess
AG: You've noticed 8y now, haven't you?
AA: n0ticed what?
AG: I'm not dead.
AA: w0w lucky y0u vriska
AA: rub it in why d0nt y0u
AG: I guess we're even now, aren't we?
AA: thats what its all ab0ut t0 y0u isnt it
AA: getting "even"
AA: h0w d0es this make us "even"
AG: I use Sollux to kill you, then you don't die.
AG: Then you come try to kill me and I don't die!
AA: s0 y0u finally admit it.
AA: y0u were the 0ne wh0 made s0llux kill me.
AA: n0t that it wasnt 0bvi0us, y0ure the 0nly pers0n wh0 c0uld use revenge mind c0ntr0l
AA: but if y0ure w0rried ab0ut us being "even" d0nt b0ther
AA: im d0ne trying t0 kill y0u
AA: i g0t 0ut all my frustrati0ns that day 0n y0ur land 0f maps and treasure
AA: i d0n't care what y0u d0 n0w
AG: Glad to hear it.
AG: If the woodchopping implement is 8uried, Aradia, how a8out you listen to my little proposition?
AA: im n0t listening t0 anything y0u "pr0p0se."
AG: We're going to have to deal with this demon sooner or l8r, Aradia.
AG: Those humans aren't going to help us.
AG: They're the ones who sent 8ec Noir in the first place!
AA: i kn0w they arent g0ing t0 help us
AA: its n0t their j0b t0 help us
AA: we are g0ing t0 have t0 deal with bec n0ir 0urselves because even if they sent him its 0ur pr0blem
AA: whats y0ur stupid pr0p0siti0n
AG: You and me. The strongest ones. We go fight the demon.
AA: "the str0ngest 0nes"
AA: are y0u trying t0 flatter me even after everything
AA: let me think
AA: hm
AA: hmmmmmmmmm
AA: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
AA: n0
AG: Ugh. Predicta8le.
AG: Wh8ver, Lamedigo.
--arachnidsGrip and apocalypseArisen blocked each other--
--adiosToreador began trolling apocalypseArisen--
AT: uH, hI,
AT: aRADIA,
AT: bEEN A WHILE, hASN'T IT,
AA: tavr0s...
AT: sORRY,
AT: i JUST KIND OF MISSED YOU,
AT: iS THIS A BAD TIME,
AA: its fine
AA: s0rry i havent... reached 0ut
AA: it's just y0u've been spending all y0ur time with her
AT: wITH VRISKA? yEAH,
AT: sHE'S KIND OF FUN,
AA: "fun"
AA: shes the reas0n y0ure in a wheelchair
AT: sHE'S ALSO THE REASON I HAVE A ROCKET CHAIR, sO,
AT: kIND OF A WASH,
AA: "kind 0f a wash"
AT: oKAY, tHAT'S LAME,
AT: bUT SHE'S COOL NOW, oKAY?
AA: ...if y0u say s0
AT: wHAT DO YOU THINK OF KARKAT'S PLAN,
AA: the plan t0 have the humans help us?
AA: i d0n't kn0w what he thinks is g0ing t0 happen
AA: his plan is t0 have them initiate a scratch but all hes d0ne s0 far is explain in detail h0w idi0tic 0ur sessi0n was
AA: it's n0t like it matters in the end
AT: wHAT DO YOU MEAN,
AA: events are already in m0ti0n, tavr0s.
AA: s0mething is g0ing t0 happen s00n. s0mething 0n this mete0r.
AA: we sh0uldnt be w0rrying ab0ut the humans
AA: we sh0uld be w0rrying ab0ut 0urselves
AA: there are twelve 0f us here with a l0t 0f hist0ry, m0st 0f it incredibly painful
AA: weve all hurt each 0ther and if karkat thinks that all 0f 0ur stupid drama g0t left behind 0n alternia hes delusi0nal
AA: all 0f us arent g0ing t0 survive this, c00ped up in this tiny mete0r like a pressure c00ker
AT: oH,
AT: tHAT'S PRETTY SCARY,
AT: i AM GOING TO CHOOSE, tO NOT THINK ABOUT THAT,
AT: aND HOPE IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY HAPPEN,
AA: ugh...
AA: y0u've changed a l0t tavr0s
AT: hEHE, tHANKS,
AA: that wasn't a c0mpliment.
AT: oH,
--apocalypseArisen ceased trolling adiosToreador--
Chapter 35: Hivebent Log #7: Weenies
Summary:
Chapter Text
==
EB: hey dave!
TG: hey june
TG: whats up you said you wanted to talk
EB: okay, uh-
EB: dave, have you noticed that karkat's document is confusing as hell?
TG: yeah it pretty much sucks ass
EB: be nice! hes trying his best >:(
EB: but yeah it basically blows
EB: okay well i've been rereading it and i think i get the gist?
EB: the trolls played the same game we did, that they call "sgrub" and they won!
EB: but at the last minute jack noir invaded their session... somehow.
TG: right
TG: and theyre in the ring of meteors in their version of sgrub waiting for their session to fall apart while jack tries to find them
EB: jeez...
EB: so they, on their meteor, are telling us their history.
EB: cool!
EB: but there's still one thing i don't really get...
TG: whats that
EB: it's the whole... quadrants thing that the nepeta troll tried to explain.
TG: ok
TG: not going to lie bro that seems like the most inconsequential thing to be hung up on but go off i guess
TG: like why 4 quadrants it seems goofy to have 4 different kinds of love
TG: you ought to just feel ways about guys without wasting your time trying to force it into boxes
TG: guys like as a gender neutral term
TG: not men
TG: i dont like men
TG: i mean i dont not not like men but uh
EB: jesus christ, dave.
TG: point is its mad silly
EB: maybe!
EB: i still want to know more.
EB: maybe i'll try talking to one of the trolls...
TG: suit yourself but for my money all of them are weiners
EB: hehe. the best people are weiners, dave.
EB: you'd know. >:B
TG: damn
TG: fucking owned
TG: but you know what they say
TG: takes a weiner to know a weiner
TG: and if weiner detection and weiner power level are directly proportional
TG: which most top scientists agree they are
EB: 9 out of 10 no less!
TG: right
TG: then what im saying is
TG: the speed at which you identified my weinerhood indicates a 69.420 percent chance that youre a bigger weiner than me
EB: ehehehe.
EB: more studies need to be done!
EB: i'll see you later, dave, i'm going to bother whichever troll is online.
==
--ectobiologist began pestering caligulasAquarium--
EB: hi there!
EB: um.
EB: are you a troll?
CA: fucks sake.
CA: wwho the shell are you?
CA: *hell
EB: my name is john!
EB: or june, i guess.
CA: you havve 2 names?
CA: thats idiotic
CA: my kismesis would get a kick outta you
EB: hey! that's so great that you said that.
EB: what IS a kismesis, anyway?
CA: uuuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhh
CA: wwhy the fuck did u message me
CA: i dont wwant to explain my culture to some backwwater xeno
EB: well...
EB: okay!
EB: fuck you then, stupid.
CA: you literally cant talk to me that wway bro
CA: or sis
CA: idk if youre a bro or sis
EB: sis works!
CA: ok
CA: you can't say that shit to me sis
CA: i could havve u culled
EB: you could?? D:
CA: wwell uh
CA: not actually i guess?
CA: but it doesn't really feel right that ur not terrified of me
CA: could you act terrified of me??
EB: that's not really my problem, mr. aquarium.
CA: that isnt-
CA: ugh...
CA: if i explain kismesises wwill you get the fuck outta my hair?
EB: yes!
CA: eeeeuuughhh fine
CA: so kismesis is wwhen u hate someone
CA: sexually
EB: uh... huh.
EB: be more specific?
EB: you said you have a kismesis, right?
CA: ya
EB: what's he like?
CA: he pisses me the fuck off is wwhat hes like
CA: hes a gf-stealin scoundrel
CA: and a gutterblood too
EB: is that... bad?
CA: yes?
EB: what does gutterblood mean?
CA: one cultural concept at a time eb
CA: kismesis is like...
CA: its wwhen someone is infuriating to you but still attractivve
CA: its a unique feeling and sharing that wwith someone manifests as an endless battle for dominance ovver the other
CA: it happens a lot wwith romantic exes wwho break up or people wwho are forced to wwork together
CA: for me its b/c sollux (that's the scoundrels name) stole my gf
EB: oh, wow...
EB: that's actually really mean, yeah.
EB: how did he steal her?
CA: wwell uh...
CA: okay
CA: she wwasnt my gf technically
CA: i asked her out and she said no but like
CA: it wwas a dick movve
CA: he should havve asked me first or
CA: or something
EB: but she's cool with being with him?
CA: i guess?
EB: then it sounds like you're just pissed off about a choice two people made independent of you! :P
CA: ... ... ...
CA: i dont wwanna talk to you any more
--caligulasAquarium blocked ectoBiologist--
==
EB: hey again, dave.
TG: what did you find out
EB: nothing good.
EB: i think i asked the wrong person.
EB: hey, aren't you friends with that radio girl?
TG: aradia yeah shes cool
EB: can you ask her about quadrants?
EB: or like... blood?
TG: perhaps
==
--turntechGodhead began pestering apocalypseArisen--
TG: yo
TG: aradia are you there
TG: hello?
TG: i have a sort of uh
TG: embarrassing question
AA: hi dave. 0_0
AA: i did n0t think y0u w0uld c0ntact me
TG: oh youre typing in a different color now
AA: well yes.
AA: it t00k me a while t0 change 0ver but i finally switched my hem0typing
TG: you type with your blood?
AA: n0
AA: e type using the c0l0r 0f 0ur bl00d.
TG: ok this is perfect the question i had is about blood
AA: ah.
AA: i am n0t the best f0nt 0f wisd0m f0r such things, i am afraid.
TG: whys that?
AA: i am 0n the b0tt0m 0f the hem0spectrum.
TG: whats that
AA: it is the spectrum 0f value assigned t0 we tr0lls based 0n the c0l0r 0f 0ur bl00d
AA: it runs fr0m deep red 0n the b0tt0m t0 fuchsia 0n t0p, mirr0ring the visible spectrum 0f light...
TG: but wait youre blue now
AA: yes
AA: my bl00d changed.
AA: this is n0t n0rmal f0r tr0lls.
TG: why did your blood change?
AA: because...
AA: um.
AA: n0w it is machine lubricant
AA: which is blue
TG: ok
TG: this is one of those times where im not sure if youre winding me up or im just so out of my depth that i have no concept of what you just said
TG: so lets breeze on past it
TG: for now whats the scoop with the castes
AA: well
AA: there are eleven castes
AA: technically twelve but 0ne 0f them was eradicated fr0m the gene p00l due t0 the acti0ns 0f a mutant fr0m ages past.
TG: jesus
AA: yes that was 0ne 0f his m0nikers
TG: wait what
AA: jesus
AA: we had a guy named jesus
TG: oh ok
AA: basically the better y0ur bl00d is the better 0ff y0u are.
AA: tr0lls hatch fr0m eggs in deep caverns, and after a brief peri0d 0f care by the tr0ll caretakers, we c0me t0 the surface as ad0lescent grubs.
AA: at this time, we are ad0pted by a lusus naturae, 0ne 0f a diverse array 0f alabaster-white creatures that r0am the land.
AA: it is said that during ancient times we were mere parasites t0 these myriad animals and we ev0lved int0 symbi0sis with them... but all that is unf0unded.
AA: s0rry. i like archae0l0gy...
TG: no its cool
TG: reading what you have to say is kind of fun
AA: thank y0u dave
AA: anyway we live with 0ur lusii until the age 0f seven.
AA: by my estimate that is a little under seventeen human years.
AA: after that they are sent t0 space f0r mandat0ry military service, never t0 return t0 h0mew0rld.
AA: 0ur bl00d c0l0r decides what rank we have in the alternian military.
AA: i am a rustbl00d s0 i w0uld have been used f0r cann0n f0dder.
AA: ...p0ssibly literally.
TG: sheesh
AA: yes.
AA: sheesh.
AA: it als0 decides what we are able t0 d0 0n h0mew0rld in 0ur ad0lescence. bluebl00ds f0r instance are given palaces and mansi0ns, but we l0wbl00ds get apartment buildings and shacks.
AA: i am sure s0me0ne m0re zeal0us ab0ut the hem0spectrum can tell y0u in m0re detail ab0ut it
AA: i did n0t mind my shack, f0r the rec0rd.
TG: seems uh
TG: listen i dont want to be culturally insensitive aradia but
TG: your planet sucks ass
AA: yes.
AA: i w0uld like t0 hear ab0ut y0ur w0rld, dave, but... i have t0 g0 f0r n0w.
AA: als0 um.
AA: when i talk t0 pe0ple f0r t00 l0ng i get very tired
AA: s0rry
TG: no worries
TG: im the same way
TG: thanks aradia
AA: y0u are welc0me dave
--apocalypseArisen is offline--
==
EB: so dave!
EB: what did you learn?
TG: basically that alternia sucks ass
EB: wow. yeah, me too. haha.
TG: cool
TG: want to keep reading karkats stupid diary
EB: yeah!!
--ectoBiologist ceased pestering turntechGodhead--
Chapter 36: Hivebent Log #8: REX DUODECIM ANGELUS
Summary:
Chapter Text
Scorpio. October 23rd to November 21st.
Scorpios at their best are mysterious, fearless, and bold.
Scorpios at their worst are violent, secretive, and untruthful.
Scorpio's horoscope is: Find new comfort in a new friend coming your way.
--
My name is Vriska Serket.
You might have heard of me, probably from my so-called "friends." Karkat didn't want me to write anything to you guys. Said I'd "scare you off."
These lusus-molesters are telling lies about me and I'm sick of it. These idiots would be dead without me, do you understand that? Not hypothetically, not figuratively, LITERALLY. DEAD. Because they can't do what needs to be done and I can.
Yet here they are, going on and on about how HORRIBLE it was to be in a game with me. Well I'm not letting Karkat fuck up how it all went down, do you understand? This is MY story.
Rex Duodecim Angelus.
On top of Mount Fatum we made our base. Twelve angels assembled to tear down the unjust Black Monarchs, clad in carapace. One might imagine that the Black Queen being presumed dead and out of the picture thanks to Karkat's subterfuge would make our final fight with her dreaded matesprit easier, but the contrary proved true.
The Black King no longer craved conquest, for his life without his beloved was without meaning. To add insult to injury, the poor bastard was also cursed with being a frog, something the Dersite morons hate for some reason. Falling into Nihilism, he roared to the heavens, shaking our very mountain base.
We knew he would be here soon. His powers were monstrous. After being imbued with the abilities of our own lusii, he stood miles high, his legs were like great stone monuments, topped by his impossible figure, spanning miles in length. From Mount Fatum, we could see him, coming towards us, each lumbering step crushing his own troops underfoot, his two heads bellowing in symphony.
In The Black King's hands, a golden scepter, as long as his arm, topped in a blue sphere, encircled by twelve orbs, like a crystaline planet with twelve effervescent moons, each glowing a different color, each corresponding to our very blood, each one imbued with the powers of our lusii.
It was our theory that each orb orbiting the sphere of his scepter corresponded to our lusii and if shattered, the king would lose their powers. It was a tenuous approach at best; untested. We had no alternative. As the king made his approach, we planned and plotted with the fury of the doomed.
Everyone had a part to play. Everyone but the weak link, the intoxicated clown, had a goal, and each had to go off without fail. As the Black King approached, the first up was Aradia Megido, the Maid of Time, in her gunmetal grey body.
Aradia on her own was weak, but in multitudes, even the lowest blood is deadly. The Black King was blindsided by Aradia's metallic doomed clones emerging from the firmament and the forest below, assaulting him without remorse. They mobbed him, giving their doomed lives to clog his throats so he could not scream a Vast Glub, wiping us all from Skaia.
Aradia, the Maid of Time flew to the fuchsia orb upon the King's scepter and with her paradoxical powers, shattered it with a metallic fist. With a final swipe of his immense hand, the King plucked her out of the air and she was cast into parts unknown.
Aradia's sacrifice was not in vain. As the orb shattered, so too did the King, his carapace shining and re-forming, losing the power of our guardian.
Next up was Sollux, our Mage of Doom. The most powerful psiionic Alternia had ever seen, he kept the King at bay with great beams emerging from his eyes, red and blue, alternating in a dizzying pattern. The King was not as large, now that he had lost the powers of a horrorterror- But he still towered above us as we descended the mountain to greet him.
Sollux's suppressing fire made possible the assault by Nepeta and Equius, champions of martial prowess. They scaled his legs like tree trunks, gouging and stabbing through carapace where they could using the Heir of Void's might and the Rogue of Heart's agility.
The King was brought to his knees with a mighty bellow, blinded by Sollux, rubbing his useless eyes in agony. But only one head was so incapacitated. Sollux was soon kept at bay by his depleting power reserves and the undivided attention of the king, his unfettered head's eyes locked upon him.
Next came Terezi's assault. Terezi's hand on affairs was always subtle, she had prepared a most ingenious plot: To use the tyrant's size against him.
While the King was distracted with Sollux, Nepeta, and Equius, Terezi, the Seer of Mind zipped about using her Red Rocket, and like the humble Gun-Gnat of my home planet, placed small yet potent explosive charges on The King's shining skin.
These efforts set the stage for our own little tyrant, Feferi Peixes, the Witch of Life, to lay another trap. Using her own powers, she began to siphon the King's energy into herself, sapping him of power. Using those Life energies, Eridan, the Prince of Hope sent this power back at the weakened King in a blinding white flash.
The kneeling King recoiled in rage, falling back. Terezi used this opportune moment to detonate her dormant bombs, causing the King's very carapace to crack. Our plan now was for him to fall over, to topple like a tree, but we underestimated the Black King's might.
To our astonishment, he staggered but did not fall. In fact, for our trouble, his rage was greater than ever. He roared and from his own eyes shot psionic beams, utterly obliterating our hideout and the peak of the mountain. The assembled combatants watched in terrified awe as we felt doom creep closer.
The mountain hideout had been our fortress, carved into the very stone, impenetrable as anything nature had ever created, and the Black King had turned it to an avalanche of rubble in the time it takes to blink one's eyes.
Karkat, our Knight of Blood, thought fast. In response, he sent out a two-pronged attack.
The first prong was Kanaya Maryam, Sylph of Space, with her gargantuan chainsaw. Equius and Nepeta threw her into the air, hurtling her towards the King with bloodlust in her eyes, where she began to somersault over herself, chainsaw outstretched, like a grim, deadly spinning top. The effort paid off- The King's blood came down like rain when the hand he raised to defend himself from Kanaya's whirling dervish was cleft from his wrist.
The second prong of the attack was the Page of Breath, Tavros Nitram. Sadly, Karkat severely overestimated Tavros's power, and in spite of his massive lance and stylish rocket-propelled wheelchair a pretty girl once gave to him, Tavros was crushed in short order by the impotent flailing of the King. We watched, cringing, as he fell to the ground like a dead bird after his rocket-chair was swatted from the sky.
Yet, even behanded, the King did not fall. His mind was fueled only by rage and torment now, both of our own design. Each time we struck, he simply became more frothing with fury.
Karkat was at a loss. Sollux was unconscious, Tavros was missing, Aradia was presumed dead, and the rest of our team was exhausted. It was too early for our trump card. There was no one to call upon.
Our conundrum was solved for us, however.
Gamzee, the Bard of Rage, snapped when he saw Tavros fall from the heavens. His eyes gleamed crimson and we stood in awe as he raised his fists and simply leapt into the air at the King's left-side, unblinded head.
For that split second, as Gamzee roared with an unholy vigor, the King was no longer enraged, Gamzee had sapped that from him. All that remained on the King's left head was abject, horrible terror.
The same expression on our faces.
None of us are sure how it happened, but Gamzee took the left head off, leaving the King blind and re-angered. Blind. Re-angered.
But not dead.
Karkat and I met eyes, and for the first time in my life, I saw trust reflected back at me. He nodded and I acted.
I was the failsafe. I was the final front. I was, I AM, their savior.
I released my dice from my hands, rolling for initiative, and each one of my trusty D8s landed side-up, showing eight dots on their face.
8^D
Blue glow covered my body. My co-gamers watched in awe as I ascended, revealing my wings, revealing my own ascendant Godhood as a sword manifested in my hand. They were forced to simply observe my power.
I flew towards the King without fear, but I did not fly towards his remaining head nor his heart, but towards his scepter, towards the orb atop it, and, with a final shattering sound, the reverberant gasp of breaking glass, the King's carapace broke and his scepter fell inert onto the forest below.
The king was dead.
The silence that followed was better than the cheering of any crowd. For the first time since this infernal game had begun, we were at peace. Teamwork was our salvation and I was the most vital one of them all.
That's how we won the game.
The game wasn't over, of course, and there was still much to do before the final eruption. Once the Black King's scepter is destroyed, the great engine inside of Skaia known as The Forge begins to rumble, but this was all a formality tended to by Karkat. I'll let him bore you with THOSE details.
For the rest of us, the game was done. I went to rejoin my friends, but as usual, even though I saved their asses, they didn't want anything to do with me. Instead, I decided to look for our fallen.
I didn't bother with Tavros. He's a worthless disappointment. Instead, I looked for the body of Aradia.
Even though I never found it, I knew better than to assume she was dead for good.
While everyone else celebrated and Karkat worked to finish the final few tasks, I went back to my home on the Land of Maps and Treasure. Sprites can't be taken outside of the Medium, so I wanted to say goodbye to my mom one last time. Maybe I wanted to gloat that I had overcome her expectations.
The others all prototyped their lusii, too. Karkat got his crab-dad, Sollux got that weird two-headed giant, and Feferi even had her eldritch abomination. Even Gamzee had that stupid fucking sea-goat. They all helped them on their quest, but my sprite never even spoke to me once.
My mother was a spider. A giant one. She was the size of a house and because she was so old she could barely move. By rights, she shouldn't have been alive.
Most lusii are kind of like your human parents. They teach you about the world. They care for you. For me, it was the other way around. I cared for Mom like a slave, washing her, warming her, and most of all, feeding her.
When I finally got home, she wasn't there. All that remained was an empty gulch behind my house in the sand where she used to sit, demanding meals. Screaming at me, speaking in my mind telephatically, tugging on my leash, tightening my collar.
At the time, I cried because I thought I was alone. Because I missed her. But now I realize what really happened. I was free. I AM free.
I never had freedom. Until the game started, I had to wear a metal chain around my fucking neck and during the game I was too busy fighting for my life to realize I had been freed. I only realized it when all that freedom went away, when the Demon came.
I was so mad at you all for taking my freedom away just as soon as I'd gotten it, but now I understand. This Demon you sent us, this Bec Noir, this green electrified beast, he's not a curse.
I destroyed the Black King. I can destroy this Demon.
So for that, humans, I want to thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Don't fear for us, fear for that thing you sent.
They all say I have a God complex. That's a fucking laugh. Maybe they're right, maybe I do have a God complex, but what do you call a Goddess with a God complex, anyway? Who the hell cares?
Chapter 37: HIVEBENT FINALE: Diabolus Ex Machina
Summary:
Chapter Text
--carcinoGeneticist opened a new memo [VICTORY]--
CG: WE DID IT.
CG: WE ACTUALLY FUCKING DID IT.
CG: STATUS REPORT. NOW.
TC: HeRe.
AT: hERE,
AC: :33 < here!
CT: D --> Present.
GA: Here
GC: NOT D34D.
TA: here..
CA: here.
CC: )(ere!
CG: HAS ANYONE HEARD FROM ARADIA?
AG: Wow, Karkat. Ask a8out Aradia and not yours truly. Harsh!
CG: I KNOW YOU'RE FINE, VRISKA. YOU'RE STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO ME IN THE CONTROL ROOM.
CG: OR WHAT'S LEFT OF THE CONTROL ROOM...
CG: THAT WAS ONE HELL OF A FIGHT.
AC: :33 < it was...
AC: :33 < do we finally get our own universe now, karkitty?
CG: YES.
CG: KANAYA AND I HAVE ONE FINAL THING TO FINISH, AND THEN... THEN WE'LL HAVE IT.
CG: A NEW UNIVERSE TO RULE OVER AS GODS.
GC: DON'T G3T 4 B1G H34D Y3T K4RK4T.
CA: seriously, though, has anyone seen aradia??
AA: i am here
AA: since i am n0t needed i have made my way to the vict0ry platf0rm
CG: THE WHAT?
AA: it is a large fl0ating platf0rm that appeared ab0ve skaia when the king died
CG: COOL.
CG: EVERYONE CHILL OUT ON THIS "VICTORY PLATFORM" THEN, I GUESS.
CG: I JUST...
CG: I GUESS I WANT TO SAY FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.
CG: A LITTLE SOMETHING TO COMMEMORATE OUR VICTORY.
GC: ZZZZZZ.
CG: HAR HAR.
CG: I'M JUST GRATEFUL FOR EVERYONE.
CG: I KNOW I DON'T SAY IT OFTEN ENOUGH, BUT...
CG: THANKS.
CG: ...
CG: UH. ANYONE GOING TO RESPOND?
TA: 2orry k man
TA: that wa2 pretty criinge
CG: OH.
GC: DON'T B3 SO TOUCHY-F33LY, KARKAT.
GC: TH4T'S FOR W1GGL3RS.
CT: D --> I must concur. We completed this game as cohorts, but that is as far as our bond goes.
CG: OH. WELL, UH.
CG: NEVER MIND, THEN.
TC: i ThInK iTs RaD aS HeLl KaRkAt :)
TC: ItS mIrAcUlOuS tO sEe SoMe ReAl As FuCk FrIeNdShIp MiRaCuLoUsLy EmErGe No MaTtEr HoW tHeSe HaTeRs ArE tRyIn To DeNy It
CG: GAMZEE, DON'T DEFEND ME.
CG: THE MOMENT IS OVER, JUST-
CG: IT'S FINE.
TC: ...
TC: oK.
CG: EVERYONE JUST WAIT ON THE STUPID VICTORY PLATFORM, I GUESS.
--carcinoGeneticist logged off--
--carcinoGeneticist closed memo [VICTORY]--
You are now a human reading the end of Karkat's lore document.
You feel a sense of denoument, having reached the end of Karkat's rather long account, but unanswered questions swirl in your mind. You feel like you've learned about these trolls and their plight but nothing about how to win the game, nor about the true sources of intrigue.
How did Aradia die? Who is this mysterious Spades Slick who bears such a resemblance to Jack Noir? And who is this Vriska girl who haunts the narrative like a scary ghost?
And most importantly... How did Bec Noir get to the trolls' session from yours and ruin everything for them?
Everything seemed to be going so well, after all. Doesn't it always?
You are no longer a human reading Karkat's lore document.
Your name is... Is...
The Wayward Vagabond.
Your name is the Wayward Vagabond, but more recently, The Mayor.
You have awoken in the middle of the night to a kerfuffle.
You and your two friends, the Perigrine Mendicant and the Authority Regulator are exiles, sent to the doomed world of Earth to spend the rest of your days ostracized from the kingdoms of Derse and Prospit. Over the past few days you had come to rely on your comrades, sleeping together in a mysterious underground lab complex, buried in the sand.
You had assumed that your life would now be an idyllic wasteland adventure, but tonight would change that.
White carapace thuds against white carapace as your new friend, PM, pummels the everloving piss out of a newcomer. The newcomer appears to have arrived from the portal in the corner, the one leading from Prospit back home.
"What the hell?!" you shout dumbly into the fray. AR, your burly compatriot, drags PM off the newcomer, who gets slowly to her feet. You recognize her quickly.
"Your majesty?" you say, hearing your two partners speak in unison with you.
Before you is the White Queen of Prospit, wrapped in pure white robes, gazing at you with a staggering compassion.
"Get OFF me!" PM uses this moment as a perfect chance to squirm out of AR's grip, marching up to the White Queen, poking her chest. The Queen doesn't budge, but she doesn't look angry, either. The utter lack of provocation seems to deflate PM's sails.
After a moment of silence, an inescapable air of calm passes over the room. Only after this oppressive, regal calm falls does the Queen speak.
"I come to you as an ordinary Windswept Questant," she breathes, so low you have to lean in. "On a solemn mission."
There's another pause.
"To stop the madman known as Jack."
Her words hang in the air. The three of you just spoke last night about the very same man, Jack Noir, and the memory makes you and AR shiver.
"So it's true," PM says, voice still vindictive. "He really blew up Prospit's moon."
"Yes," the Queen says, expressing sadness so great you feel compelled to tear up yourself. "It would be best if you fled this place, denizens of the Medium."
"But we live here, miss Queen, ma'am," says AR, a little reluctantly. The Queen turns to him and he flinches from her attention.
"The Demon will be here soon, kind Regulator," she says, her fist clenching around something that's glowing faintly, casting little shadows on the walls. "He will tear apart anything in his way, even if those things are simply standing by."
There's a silence. This is all rather sudden, a woman appearing in your midst and dumping all this dire information on you.
"Can we help?" you ask, suddenly, before you realize what you're saying. The Queen looks at you, curiously. "We're no friends to the Demon, ourselves."
"My plan can only be executed by one. Myself." The Queen opens her palm. You recognize what's within it: The Ring of Orbs Fourfold. The twin to the one on Jack Noir's finger, the one that gives him his dreadful powers.
"I should not have to tell you the power of this ring," the Queen says, closing her palm again. "There are two: One for Derse, the one Jack wears, and one for Prospit, the one within my very hand. This ring alone has the power to stop him."
"And you're going to... What, fight him?" PM's voice has leveled out now, but she still sounds skeptical. The Queen shakes her head.
"He knows this ring is out there. He wants it for himself. He already possesses its power, but if he had both rings, there would be no one alive able to stand against him." The Queen paces, showing the barest trace of impatience. "Jack is searching intensely for this ring, for it is in the nature of Demons to seek what can undo them. It's only a matter of time until he catches up with me and I cannot risk fighting him. So-" The queen points at the portals in the lab, portals you paid barely any mind to.
"I'm going to draw him into a new reality," she says simply. "He wants this ring. I cannot stop him. So I will merely draw him outside of space and time so he cannot harm any others."
All of this is so sudden, so over your head. You have a sense that your colleagues feel the same from their dumbfounded expressions.
"How?" AR asks, the question that seems the most logical to ask, even if there's nothing left to say.
The Queen doesn't speak. She points to the ground, to the teleporter pad, the one she hadn't come from, the one labeled "A2."
"The place you're standing in is known as a 'Seed Hub.' It houses ectobiological equipment and structures to aid people of this universe access other universes. Above it, before the meteors fell, this place was beneath a river, under the manor of one of the game's players."
The Queen points again, explaining everything with the same patience as a training robot talking to its student.
"There's also one on the moon."
The Queen steps onto the pad, regally, holding her hand out.
"Heed my warning, denizens. Leave this place and don't return. If the Demon finds you on his way to destroy me, you'll pray you had never been ectobiologized."
There's a long, dusty pause as her words hang in the air. The silence stretches out, and eventually it becomes clear something should be happening by now. The queen clears her throat.
"...Is this teleporter on?"
The Queen undercuts her regality by hesitantly lowering her hand.
"Er-" PM looks to you, then to AR awkwardly. "I don't think it's powered on."
"I see," says the Queen. "There should be a cache of uranium around her that's suitable to charge it. These machines take quite a lot of raw power, you see."
Uranium? You suddenly feel a hot wash of realization.
"Ah," you say hesitantly, squirming in place. "I... Might have, er."
Your compatriots look at you, blinking slowly.
"I might have eaten the uranium," you say, grinning like an imp with a stolen boondollar.
The White Queen looks legitimately dumbfounded, her eyes flitting from your face to your stomach.
"Okay," she says hesitantly. "Well, it should be enough for you to just stand nearby, these pads are proximity-charge capable."
"Will it hurt me?" you ask.
"No," she says without looking at you. Her unease makes you, in turn, uneasy.
"Can't we just trap the Demon here?" you say as the White QUeen drags you to the teleporter.
"The trip has to be one-way," she insists, positioning you on the pad, which hums to life. Your uranium-enriched stomach groans.
Your belly glows, green shining through the black carapace of your skin, your body shuddering, skin creaking like it may crack. You stagger to the ground with a grunt.
"You're hurting him!" PM says, reaching out to you. AR follows up the rear, ready to help PM, but you hesitate, your fists clenching.
"It's okay," you say, coughing, trying to stand back up as energy flows through your very skin.
"All due respect, mayor..." AR speaks up. "But this might be really dangerous."
Dangerous... AR is right, this is stupid, the "Windswept Questant" just dropped a bomb in your lap and expected you to deal with it. She might have doomed you all. But even so... The thought of Jack Noir makes your jaw set.
"I don't care," you suddenly say, surprising yourself. Queen hesitates, her grip loosening on your arm. "I hate that Demon more than anything. More than the Black Queen, more than the Black King, more than her." You nod back at the White Queen, who says nothing. "Jack needs to die. He ruined my chance for... For democracy."
There's a long, slow wind outside.
"What's a democracy?" PM says, cocking her head to the side.
Goddamn if that's not the saddest thing you've ever heard.
"Come," says WQ. "Heed my words, denizens. Leave this place."
The mahchine powers up, making you fall to your knees in pain. There's an electric thrumming in your head, a low, slow dull throb as radiation pours from inside your body to outside, passing every single organ on its way. You fall over, limp. As the White Queen repeats her warning, you suddenly black out.
There's a long, comfortable, sleep-like silence. It's calm. Peaceful. Pleasant. You feel nothingness and yet a potent consciousness, forms flitting before your eyes as darkness shrouds you like a comforting sheet. But only for a moment, before sensation explodes behind your retinas and you impact a surface like an egg on concrete.
You cough, retching on the floor, hands bracing yourself as you vomit off the edge of a large stone platform floating in space. From your throat come faintly glowing green rocks, the remains of your stomach-battery.
"I'm sorry," you hear a voice from behind you. The White Queen.
The two of you are somewhere new. A large stone disc in the vague shape of a plate or a dish with Skaia's spirograph pattern on its surface.
"Where are we?" you say, peering off the edge of the disc, seeing only blackness all around.
"The Medium," she says.
"The-" you look at her in shock. "We're back home?"
"No," she says. "In a sense, we are. But in another..." She looks around, pointing upward. High above is the faint image of Skaia. "...we are not."
Skaia looks so familiar, but as you stare, it begins to look different. Alien, almost. Skaia's clouds are more pale, its shining blue a slightly different hue. You are in some brother-reality, some mirror world. Far from make you comforted, you feel strange.
"Look," you say, noting the gently spinning planet orbiting this New Skaia.
"Prospit..." the White Queen looks at the familiar golden moon wisfully, but Prospit, too, looks different. Instead of two spires on its surface, there are six.
"We're in another session," she says, walking to the edge of the dish. "On the Victory Platform."
You follow her, already dreadfully confused.
"How do I go back?" you say, looking down at your feet at the place you'd just appeared.
The Queen's eyes look at you. In them is a passivity that makes you feel small. Insignificant. The feeling makes something resentful inside you burn.
"You don't," she says simply. "This is where we will die."
Before you can remark on this grim admission in protest, there's a sound nearby, the sound of metal on stone. You look to your left and see something very curious.
"Hello," the gunmetal-grey robot says.
You look at the queen. She looks as stunned as you are.
"H... Hi?" you say when the queen says nothing.
"Who are you?" the robot asks mildly in a monotone voice, cocking its head.
"I am The Mayor," you say, trying to seem regal. "I come from a different universe as a liason to- To, er..." You look to the white Queen for help.
"Stranger" the Queen says slowly. "You should not be here. This place is the gateway into a new universe, and soon, a demon will emerge through it and destroy everyone inside."
"I don't think we have to worry about that," the robot says, folding her hands behind her back. "We just defeated the Black King, after all."
You are now the Peregrine Mendicant.
Before your eyes, a Queen and a Mayor disappear. The room you're in is quiet for a moment before it's filled with your scream.
"Mayor!"
You hear the scream from your own throat but also from the throat of AR behind you, who shoves past you and scratches at the ground where they'd been standing. On a small screen on the floor next to the A2 teleporter, there's a tiny red indicator light. Out of battery.
"She took him," you say in disbelief, grief slowly roiling inside you next to the shock.
You'd just gotten to know the guy, and in spite of being somewhat cold, you were really warming up to him. The grief and shock twist together into something new: Anger.
"I'm comin' Mayor!" AR cries, banging his fists on the inert machine. You put a hand on his shoulder.
"Calm down," you say. He looks up at you in tearful anger.
"How can you say that, PM?! She took-"
Before the Aimless Renegade can finish, there's a buzzing sound that makes your heart begin to hammer urgently. The teleporter from which the white queen emerged vibrates, jittering to and fro like it's about to explode. You and AR were warned about this.
"Oh, no," you whisper. AR finishes your thought.
"Noir."
A deafening explosion rocks the entire structure in the Seed Hub, chunks of rock flying out of the teleporter as a grim figure stands in the rubble. A figure with sharp canine ears, tattered clothes, crackling with green energy. You and AR scream in unison, amplifying the terror in your voices.
"WHERE IS SHE?!" his voice feels like it might deafen you as he clutches you suddenly by the shirt, yanking you to your feet. With a mortified gasp, you feel yourself shake your head.
He throws you against the wall like a doll, your shoulder surely bruising against it.
"WHERE IS SHE?!" he repeats, grabbing AR. You shake your head at him. This monster can't be allowed through that teleporter. He can't kill the Mayor. He can't kill AR.
AR is braver than you, though he's shaking in his boots. He grits his teeth, gripping Jack's wrist, legs flailing. He doesn't speak. He spits in Jack's face, making the beast roar with unfiltered impatient rage.
"No!" you feel your vocal chords strain as Jack's hand closes tight around AR's neck, his head suddenly and sickeningly separating from his body. You look away as Jack growls an ungodly, whining wheeze, stomping AR's carapace into the concrete, shaking the whole building.
Moments ago, you had two friends. Now you don't have any.
Jack rounds on you, eyes a blank green glow.
Tears blind you and you're glad you've been spared from the horror. You feel your voice move without your permission again, a shaky finger pointing to the teleporter. Death rattles in your chest and the rational fear of that green-black horror compells you to obey.
Jack's glowing eyes turn to you, blood on his feet from stomping your friend into nothing. He snarls, green smoke coming from his snout, hatred curdling in your chest, mixing like oil and flame. Hatred consumes you and as the lumbering horror slinks to the teleporter, it shakes and rumbles just like it had before, coming to life because of his nuclear power.
In the last moments before he vanishes, you leap, clinging to his leg, hearing him snarl and howl as you're both sent into blackness.
You are no longer the Perigrine Mendicant. Your name is Aradia Megido.
You're on the Victory Platform after defeating the Black King, a feat you're rather proud of. Even if you're living on the borrowed time of a robotic body and you're at the bottom of some horrible social caste system, you were instrumental in the creation of a new universe.
But now, something doesn't feel right to you. A little dersite and the White Queen just appeared on the victory platform. You've never met the White Queen yourself, being a Derse dreamer, but this one looks different. Strange. She's not wearing what the royalty of your session wears, she's different. She's not yours.
Moreover, she's raving about a beast that's about to appear.
"We must leave at once," she says solemnly, the little man nodding in agreement. Their terror seems alarming to you, even though your robotic body has very little in the way of emotions.
"My friends will be here soon," you say. "They can help us fight."
"No, miss," the little Dersite says. "The thing that's coming destroyed armies. It destroyed Prospit. It can break planets."
You look to the Wrong White Queen. She nods. This is beyond your reasoning capabilities. You decide to speak to the most trustworthy member of your team.
==
AA: karkat.
AA: are you almost ready?
CG: YEAH. WHY?
AA: tell everyone to hold off on coming.
AA: there is a problem.
CG: A PROBLEM?
AA: it will take too long to explain.
AA: please trust me.
CG: OKAY?
CG: NO OFFENSE, ARADIA, BUT YOU CAN BE KIND OF CRYPTIC.
CG: I'M GOING TO NEED MORE TO GO ON, HERE. EVERYONE IS WAITING TO TAKE OUR PRIZE.
AA: i have been warned from a trustworthy source that there is something horrible coming.
AA: a beast, they call it.
CG: OKAY.
CG: LIKE A SECRET FINAL BOSS?
AA: no.
AA: this beast is coming from elsewhere. another session of the game, i think.
CG: ...
CG: OKAY.
CG: FUCK THAT.
CG: I'M NOT WINNING AN ENTIRE GAME JUST FOR SOME "BEAST" TO SHOW UP AND MESS IT ALL UP.
CG: THE CAVALREAPERS ARE COMING, ARADIA.
CG: SIT TIGHT.
AA: if you think that is best.
CG: WE BEAT THE BLACK KING.
CG: WHAT COULD GO WRONG?
AA: ...
AA: do you want me to actually answer that?
CG: UH. MAYBE NOT.
==
Apprehension settles into your robotic chest.
"My friends are coming to help defeat this beast," you say simply. The queen makes an exhasparated noise.
"You do not understand. He-"
The platform under your feet begins to rumble.
The White Queen looks at you in terror, her glassy white eyes wide.
"It's too late," she says, and then she speaks words that make machine lubricant in your veins turn to ice. "He is already here."
As soon as those words are out, her body explodes into atoms.
Behind the thin pink mist that used to be the foreign White Queen stands a figure out of your nightmares. A shaggy black-furred monster, oozing green sparks and viridian smoke from its dreadful maw, a prospitian stranger clinging to its leg.
You stare blankly at the beast, unable to move as its hate-filled eyes regard you up and down.
"What are you supposed to be, li'l tin can? Some kinda she-devil? I like the horns. I think I'll break those first."
You don't speak. Fear fills you, an emotion you didn't think you had any more.
The thing doesn't expect a response and turns away, leaning down to pick up the Queen's ring, moving to place it on his hand to join the ring that's already there.
Before that can happen, however, a shot rings out and from behind you Jack's hand is hit by something white and blue. You look back.
Inside a large red rocket, your friends are all barrelling towards the victory platform, Eridan standing on the nose, looking down the barrel of a blue rifle.
The beast snarls, the ring falling from his grip. Without hesitation, he bounds past you, toward the red rocket ship, but before he can, you act.
From thin air appears a massive cloud of gunmetal grey bodies, piling on to the beast, trying to stop him from intercepting your teammates. There must be hundreds of bodies, dragging him downward toward Skaia's surface: Your alternate universe clones from doomed times come to save you.
But even hundreds of selves can't hold him down. Green rays erupt from the orb of grey that envelops the beast and his cries can be heard from within.
You feel a hand clasp around your wrist and your body get yanked, Karkat and Kanaya are hauling you into the rocket as you watch the victory platform retreat into the distance.
Your co-players watch in horror as the beast breaks free of every last one of your clones in one mighty howl, evaporating them instantly, ending their lives without hesitation. Horror compounds as all twelve of you see shining black eyes turn on all of you, the beast flying with a sonic boom towards your ship.
"GUN IT," you hear someone shout and you see Sollux's eyes glowing, his electric powers fuelling the rocket as it careens into the meteor belt that surrounds the medium.
From the back of the rocket, Eridan shoots more shots, each one bouncing off the nuclear black beast with just a wince. You join the fray, extending a hand, drawing more doomed selves to send towards him, but you feel yourself getting weaker.
"Step aside," you hear the grim voice of Vriska from behind you. You look up at her, her deadly dice in her palm, throwing them out of the back of the ship towards the beast.
There's a long pause before in the distance, there's a massive eruption of blue smoke and a stinging, harsh smell, like pepper spray or bear repellent. You see green sparks in the midst, the beast caught in the cloud.
Your rocket speeds towards one of the meteors, landing bumpily, Sollux's nose bleeding yellow blood as you scrape onto the small planetoid. The twelve of you hurry towards a hatch on the surface, Karkat twisting it open before you all file down into the place.
In the distance, you see the dissipating blue cloud and hear the anguished, hatred-infused howls of the beast, terror clouding your mind as the last thing you see before entering the meteor is the destruction of the victory platform.
You won the game but you lost everything.
Your entire journey goes up in smoke.
Diabolus Ex Machina.
Chapter 38: INTERMISSION 3: "Don't Bleed on the Suits"
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Spades Slick.
You're a grizzled mobster, displaced from your home, estranged from your gang, the Midnight Crew. Things ain't going well for you, and you figure it's high time you start turning tables about it, figuratively and literally.
Presently, you're situated in the entrance hall to the Felt Manor, a palatial viridian mansion in the middle of the woods, the hideout of your sworn foe: Doc Scratch and his gang, The Felt.
The last time you met with the good Doc, he kicked your ass and gave you the bum's rush. What a lousy host he turned out to be. Doc seemed to be of the opinion that you could be coerced into being an errand boy, a patsy, a schnook.
Maybe that was true before, but it ain't true now.
See, since your last meeting with Doc, you've reunited with your crew after a daring escape from a hostile takeover in your homeland. Let's run down the rogues' gallery.
First, there's Clubs Deuce. He's an accident-prone little fella, the wild card of the bunch, in the same way a lit piece of dynamite is the wild card of a china shop. Mostly, he's just the team cheerleader on account of his sunny disposition.
Next, there's Hearts Boxcars. The brawn of the outfit. With arms as wide as your torso, he can snap any adversary in half, something you relish seeing whenever it happens. Though he’s a brute, he’s got a soft side, the phrase “an’ how does dat make you feel” becoming something of a catchphrase from the big galoot.
Then, there's your right-hand man. Diamonds Droog, the brains to Boxcars's brawn and the even-tempered to your hot-headed. He's the man with the plan, be it involuntary or premeditated, first degree or second. He's also got the most finely-shaped torso you've ever seen, and you do a lot of looking at torsos.
And finally, there's you. Spades Slick. The roughest, toughest, meanest knife-wielding maniac ever to be ectobiologized. Teeth like a shark's, hands like an eagle's talons, and an arsenal of knives like some kind of bank in a hypothetical society that uses knives for currency. In this world, it's kill or be killed and boy do you love killin'.
"Alright, boys," you say, standing in the threshold of Felt Manor. "Looks like Doc and the goons know we're coming. So much for the element of surprise..."
Your original plan was to torch the Felt Manor on your own, but that plan had one small problem: A lack of gasoline, matches, and other burning paraphernalia on-hand to use. You’ve downgraded your literal burning to a metaphorical one, but you still feel pretty great about your chances now that you’re reunited with your boys.
The front entrance is unguarded. Usually one of the green-skinned felt members is meandering around on guard duty, but today it seems they're not present, allowing you easy access to the foyer. That was fishy enough, but as soon as you opened the manor's front door, the place you were tossed out of so long ago, a tripwire activated the alarms on a myriad of clocks stashed in the foyer, all ringing and gonging like mad, no doubt alerting your position to the goons further into the building.
"We all know our jobs?" You say, addressing your three cohorts.
Your crew nods solemnly.
"Are we sure about this, boss?" Boxcars says, his deep voice uncertain.
"Yeah," pipes up Deuce. "I mean, this is all kinda givin' me 'final mission' type feelings."
Deuce is right. There’s something in the air, an air of finality, not just the solemn acceptance that this mission might be your collective deaths, but something that runs deeper. It could be just your imagination, but there are fewer stars in the sky tonight. The night sky is a little less black and more like a blanket of gray, like you’re looking out on a worn-out film.
"It probably is the final mission," says Droog. "That doesn't mean we ain't gonna win."
"Guys," you say with a tone of restrained annoyance, "We coulda chatted about the finality of this mission back at the base and not on the Felt's freakin' doorstep. Enough wit the cinematics."
Boxcars and Deuce exchange a sheepish look. You enter the foyer, each holding your weapon of choice. For your part, you're leaning on a cane with a knife hidden inside it, sheathed in the stick. Each of your cohorts has a gun, including you, but you prefer the up-close-and-personal touch of a blade.
As you all step up the staircase, your mind flashes back to the planning phase of your master plan at the Seed Hub Laboratory that your crew converted into a makeshift hideout.
You remember splaying a finely-laminated and meticulously printed floor plan of the manor and Felt gang dossier (courtesy of Droog) on the table, stabbing your knife in the middle of the floor plan for effect. This was easier said than done, as the manor's floor plan was nearly a finger's width thick, the place being fuckin' enormous.
Most of all, you remember the cheer that roused your boys to action for one final heist.
"I'm a member of the Midnight Crew!"
In the present, you're on the landing of the staircase. First floor. Doc is on the fifteenth. You nod at your cohorts, but before you can all split up to follow your paths, you hear a loudspeaker crackle to life, a surly voice wafting from it above you, bringing you to a standstill before you've even begun.
"Attention Dipshits," comes the tired, surly voice over the loudspeaker. "Turn back or your miserable shitty lives are forfeit, et cetera et cetera yadda yadda yadda."
From the voice, it’s clear who this is: Number Seven, Crowbar, Doc's right-hand man.
"Listen, yous and I both know that you ain't leavin, so I’ll be blunt: You're gonna hafta get through all of us if you wanna lay a finger on Doc, and last time I checked, you don't have any special skills except the miraculous ability to turn into corpses when we kill ya. So wise up and fuck off."
The mic buzzes off.
Wising up and fucking off are not items on the infiltration itinerary, so you four collectively and silently decide to ignore this gruff warning.
You hurry to the elevator, clicking the button, waiting impatiently for it to open. Of your cohorts, your route is the fastest but the most dangerous- Going right up to floor ten.
As the doors shut, you steal one final glimpse at your cohorts, wondering how many will be left to reunite with later.
Your name is no longer Spades Slick.
Your name is Clubs Deuce.
Boy oh boy! An adventure with your pals! You can’t wait to get started, even if you are no good in a scrap.
That's why you're taking the most unconventional route to Floor 14: The vines outside the building walls. As your boss Slick vanishes into an elevator, you shove open a window and climb deftly out, grasping the creeping vines that line the outside walls of the manor like arteries.
The layout of the Felt Manor is downright labyrinthine. From the outside, the place looks imposing, less like a mansion and more like a tower spiraling upwards, balconies jutting out every which-way, grasping stone fingers reaching for the gray planet miles above. One such balcony that you're approaching has voices wafting off the side. Drat… Looks like you might end up in a scrap after all. You listen to the voices as you try to sneak by.
"I'm just sayin' yours isn't a superpower, it's more like a selective trait, goin' slow is a thing anyone can do but goin' fast is somethin' only I can, Doze," says a squirrely high pitched voice from above.
"Maybe," replies a deeper voice, pensive and thoughtful. The monosyllabic response seems to aggravate the first zippy voice.
"Why'd we get guard duty on the balcony anyway? We already know these dumb fucks got in from the clocks in the entrance, we don't need to keep watch. Ugh." The impatient first voice groans.
"Dunno," replies the second guy. "Maybe..." He speaks in a methodical, painfully slow manner. "They're climbing... On the walls."
Guy number one scoffs.
"Yeah right." You hear motion on the balcony. "Anyone down there? Yoo hoo! Midnight Crew!"
A bright green head with a yellow pointed hat on top pokes over the side of the balcony, its eyes meeting yours in shock.
"Holy shit, I was just kiddin’!" He cries.
A pair of hands suddenly grab you. You squeak as you're hauled up onto the balcony.
"Whoa," says the second man, coming into view. His hat has the number 2 on it and is a deep blue. "Nice job... Itchy..."
Itchy and Doze gaze at you, dumbfounded. You gaze back, giving them a sheepish wave.
"Hi!" you say cheerfully. "Golly, sure is a nice day! I'm just the vine inspector, y'see. I'm here to inspect the vines."
"You ain't no vine inspector," Itchy, the yellow guy says irritably. His manner is manic, he zips around you, moving in the blink of an eye- You read about Itchy in the dossier Droog wrote. He can move fast by slowing down his perception of time. His partner must be Doze, with the inverse ability of moving incredibly slowly. It doesn’t sound like much of a superpower to you.
"I dunno... Itchy..." Doze speaks, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "The vines... Are getting thick..."
"My friend here is slow in more ways than one," says Itchy confidentially before regarding his partner. "Whaddya think we should do, Doze? Turn him in to the boss?"
"Hm..." Doze squints at you thoughtfully. "We should probably..." he draws out his sentence. "Kill him."
That was all the provocation you needed. From a chest-holster you draw two beretta pistols, popping them off without discrimination. Itchy zips out of the way with a cry.
"Whoa! Doze, I thought you were holdin’ him!" Itchy pulls out a knife and Doze slowly goes for a club. You decide to shoot at Doze now, instead of the guy who can apparently dodge bullets.
You shoot once, but before you can see if it hit the blue-hatted Doze, yellow-hat Itchy tackles you, using his super-speed to repeatedly slap your face.
Nearby, you hear Doze speak. Looks like you hit him in the leg. He's on the ground.
"Hsss," Doze sucks air through his teeth. "Aaah..." He makes a groan of mild pain. Damn. You just grazed him!
Itchy grabs your berettas, trying to manhandle the guns away from you. Your arms are nearly vibrating from Itchy's speed, but you hold fast.
"You shot my friend!" Itchy sounds more annoyed than angry. "Fucker!"
"It's cool..." Doze says. "Hss.... Aahhh. Just a graze."
As Itchy tries to wrench the guns from you, one of them goes off and there's a spurt of crimson blood, contrasting with Itchy's green skin. He recoils, zipping to the other side of the balcony, growling in pain. His side is covered in blood.
"Ass!" Itchy seems pissed and Doze is slowly making his way back to his feet, club now drawn. Time to come up with a plan, fast.
Itchy is fast, but his control over that speed is tenuous, so far you’ve only seen him zip over short distances in a blink. An idea slowly forms.
"Come at me!" you say, reaching a hand into your coat pocket as you provoke the hothead.
"Another gun in your coat ain't gonna help!" Itchy says, seeing you reach into your pocket. He zips towards you, going for the tackle, just like you predicted.
You feel his torso slam into yours, making you stagger back, but Itchy hesitates with a strangled cough. You weren't reaching for a gun at all- In your coat pocket is a small knife, pointed outwards to catch Itchy’s tackle. Your hidden knife has pierced your shirt and is stuck in Itchy’s ribs. With a gurgle, Itchy coughs blood on your shoulder.
"Hey...!" Doze makes a sound from nearby, dropping his club in shock. "You… Killed... Him!"
Itchy’s limp body falls away and you brandish your berettas, but Doze’s weapon is discarded.
"I've gotta tell the boss!" Doze makes a break for the nearby door, no doubt on his way to summon reinforcements.
The only problem is... "Making a break for it" for Doze means moving at the same speed as a very small ant meandering home after a long night of drinking.
"You do that," you chuckle. You could finish him off now, but you have a feeling he’s not going to be causing you problems any time soon, since “soon” for this bozo is hours from now. Unlike Doze, you have places to be in a hurry, so you grab a nearby vine and continue your ascent up the manor wall, leaving Doze to his glacial journey.
Climbing gives you a lot of time to look skyward. You weren’t sure before but you’re positive now, the sky is almost completely dark, the stars winking out one by one as if the entire universe is becoming undone. If you had more time to ponder this, you’d probably be worried.
Good thing you’ve got a job to do.
Your name is no longer Clubs Deuce.
Your name is now Hearts Boxcars.
As the biggest guy in the group, your route is the longest, the West staircase leading up to the higher floors. Your job is to clear out any heavy-hitters who might be causing problems, a job you absolutely relish, your big broad hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.
It's not long before you run into one of the Felt in your prowl through the manor. Luckily, the massive green figure’s back is to you. In his hand is no doubt a weapon, something you can't quite make out. It's small and vaguely round. Around the corner from him is another figure, equally massive, standing next to... Is that an oven?
The duo are standing with vacant expressions, the universal body language of the big galoot. You can handle a big galoot or two.
"Hey!" you shout, making the two galoots turn to you. The one holding the round item has a purple-striped hat, his partner with the oven wears an orange striped hat.
Unmistakably, this is Eggs and Biscuits. You're not much for reading dossiers, especially ones made by Droog, but you read enough that you know off-hand which ones you could pummel in a contest. These two are bigger than even you are, so you may have to resort to cunning, something these dunderheads seem to be seriously lacking.
"Are you from the Midnight Crew?" Orange-hatted Biscuits asks, taking a step towards his oven.
"Who wants to know?" you say menacingly, withdrawing your melee weapon of choice, a sturdy length of copper pipe, patting it against your palm.
"Us! We do!" replies purple-hatted Eggs with misplaced confidence.
"I'm on my way to see Doc Scratch," you say calmly, stopping about ten feet away from the duo. "So you'd better not get in my way or I'll have to make a mess outta your faces. Capisce?"
The duo gaze blankly at you before breaking into a bout of oafish giggling.
"See this?" taunts Eggs, holding up the round item, a small baking timer. "This is my egg timer. It’s the most sinister weapon in all’a da Felt!”
“Heheh, yeah. That’ll make is so you was never born!” chimes in Biscuits. You take a hesitant step back. Damn, are they serious? You might have underestimated these galoots.
Eggs cranks the egg timer, making a clicking noise as it begins to count down. There are sparks showering from the kitchen implement, hinting to you that this is not an ordinary egg timer but in fact some magic time-travel mumbo jumbo. Magic mumbo jumbo in the hands of a galoot is never a good idea and sure enough, Eggs suddenly looks shocked.
"Oh, wait, I put it on forwards not backw-" Eggs's statement is cut off as in a puff of smoke, he vanishes.
You gaze at the dissipating smoke, dumbfounded.
"Is he, uh-" you point at the spot Eggs was. Biscuits sighs, shaking his head.
"He'll be fine... He'll turn up later." This Biscuits guy seems marginally smarter than Eggs, for whatever that’s worth. You stare at each other, both unsure how to proceed.
"Is that your magic thingamajig?" you ask, pointing your copper pipe to the oven.
"Yeah," he says. "It's like a safe, I can store stuff in there no matter the size. Even people. And only I can get it out again. Then it makes ‘em travel forward in time at a certain rate.” Biscuits scratches his chin.
“What’s the rate?” you ask.
“One second per second,” says Biscuits proudly. When you don’t reply, he blushes. “It’s useful for when all your pals have magic time mumbo-jumbo they can do. Gets ‘em all on the same page.”
You boggle at this moron, but a rudimentary plan strikes you. If this guy is so eager to show off his precious oven, then maybe…
"I betcha couldn’t fit yourself in there,” you say, trying not to smirk.
"Sure could," Biscuits says, opening the door to demonstrate. Inside the oven is a black space, a featureless void that Biscuits steps confidently into, his leg disappearing past the curtain of nothingness. Looks like this is one of them “bigger on the inside” dealie-os.
There's a moment of pause once Biscuits is inside and the door shuts.
"Aw, man..." comes a voice from inside of it. You rap on the top of the oven, chuckling. Looks like your two hypotheses were correct: First that Biscuits couldn’t open his oven from within and second that he’s an utter buffoon.
"Moron," you comment as you walk past the closed oven. You’re glad you managed to avoid a scrape this time.
Your name is no longer Hearts Boxcars.
Your name is Diamonds Droog.
Your path is the East staircase, across from Hearts’s path. You notice on the way up the intricate patterns in the felt carpets and the lovely designs of the banisters and wainscotting. Doc has good taste if nothing else.
Your path is suspiciously unfettered by Felt members, even if you are moving stealthily. Someone less savvy might think uninterrupted progress is a boon, but you know that being behind enemy lines without resistance is usually indicative of a trap.
After some walking up stairs and through clock-strewn green halls, you enter a large room, book cases extending to the ceiling. There are no other rooms or hallways on this floor, this is clearly a bottleneck. Nearby, a fireplace crackles, casting long shadows over the room.
Lit fireplace. Someone’s been here.
Sure enough, two shadows darken the doors of your entrance and exit. The men casting the shadows are of similar build to each other, as tall as you and a little wider, their features sharp. One wears an orange 5 hat and one wears a red 3 hat.
Fin and Trace. Your research on them was thorough.
"Stop right there, buckaroo," says Fin, the orange-hatted fellow. He’s a tough one: He can see the future by following someone's future trail, a trail that extends in the direction of where someone will be, as part of the idiotic time-based powers these mooks all have. No doubt he followed your future trail here and has been lying in wait for your inevitable arrival.
His cohort Trace has the opposite ability, so see the trail of where someone has already been. This ability strikes you as more situational than prognostication, but you’re one to talk, having no time powers at all.
You coolly withdraw your weapon, a Thompson submachine gun painted matte black. The duo does the same, each holding a revolver.
"Drop it," says Trace firmly. "You shoot one of us and before you turn around, the other one shoots you."
That's true. You can't kill them both. The duo cock their guns in unison when you don't respond. Slowly, you crouch, placing the gun on the floor, kicking it away. You keep your eyes glued to the future-seer, Fin.
You've got a theory about future-sight. If “future trails” appear as literal tangible trails, then if you move around a lot in a short time, then someone's future trail becomes difficult to read. Your theory is confirmed before you test it, seeing Fin’s eyes suddenly begin darting around the room.
Suddenly, you break into a sprint, running back and forth around the room like a madman. Trace raises a gun, shouting to his cohort.
"Where's he gonna be? Take the shot!"
"I can't tell!" Fin growls, firing off a shot that whizzes off the carpet in the spot your foot was moving to occupy.
If these bozos thought throwing away your gun meant you were unarmed, they were dead wrong. As Trace fires at you blindly, you throw a knife from your coat-pocket. The knife hits him square between the eyes, but not before a shot rings out. You grunt, feeling the impact of a bullet against the kevlar vest under your shirt, knocking you against the bookshelves.
That takes care of Trace, but Fin is another story. You can’t sprint around the room any more with a broken rib.
Fin doesn't hesitate, shooting once. You wince, the bullet lodging itself in a book next to your left ear. Just an ounce of luck. That's all you needed.
"Bastard!" Fin approaches, marching toward you to get a more sure shot, but this gives you your own sure shot. Another knife lands between his eyes before he can even take a step.
As he slumps to the floor, you grip the bookshelf to stand, feeling the dull throb in your chest. You open your shirt, taking the impacted bullet out of your vest, flicking it onto the ground.
That was a little close of a call for your first Felt encounter. You wheeze as you lean over to pick up your gun. No time to admire the wainscotting or banisters from here on out.
You are longer Diamonds Droog.
Your name is Spades Slick.
The elevator slows to a halt, the antique floor-indicator above the door reading “ten.” Ten is four floors off your mark, but it's better than taking the fucking stairs. No offense Droog and Hearts.
The doors smoothly slide open with a cheerful ding and you step out, peeking from side to side. Out the window, you can see the night sky getting brighter, the stars completely gone now. If you weren’t in the throes of a home invasion, you might ponder that more deeply.
From Droog’s floor plan, you know there are stairs to your left, so you make your way to them with care. Along the hallway are clocks. So many fucking clocks. Grandfather clocks, antique alarm clocks, digital clocks, most of them ticking away in an annoying synchronized rhythm. It makes sense that there would be so many since each one of these Felt schmucks has a bunch of time powers and about as much sense as a goldfish.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The rhythm is making your blood pressure rise.
With the blunt end of your cane, you bash a battery-operated clock on a table with a satisfying clockwork crunch. You smash the face of a large grandfather clock, then a small alarm clock, then a plastic wall clock and before you know it, the hallway is a timepiece graveyard, now silent except for the gentle tinkling of a chandelier high above.
You admire your handiwork. You missed your calling as a domestic demolitionist.
Then, the silence is broken by the most irritating voice you've ever heard in your entire life.
"Halt, evildoer!"
From behind you bellows the voice of a deranged-looking leprechaun, a cloak billowing behind him. His top hat is dark green with a small 6 above its brim. His collar is upturned, coming up almost to his chin, his chest heaving with breathless excitement.
"You are trespassing on the hallowed ground of Felt manor, your ill intent rolling from your unpleasant visage in waves," says this guy. You remember his name from the Dossier: Die. How quaint. His name is about to be very apt.
"Don't'cha have some damsel to tie to train tracks?" you say, remarking on his idiotic getup. All he needs is a curly mustache and he'd look like a stereotypical ne'er do well from some antique movie.
You lower yourself into a battle stance, holding your cane like a club. A grin twitches on your face. You're excited for a chance to spill some leprechaun blood and this guy is starting to look like the perfect pincushion.
Without waiting for this poser to pontificate, you pounce, leaping forth. Die reaches into his coat pocket, making you hesitate. Did you just bring a club to a gunfight?
To your confusion, however, Die doesn't withdraw a gun but... A little doll. Even creepier, it's a doll that looks just like you, complete with a little felt cane.
"Cower in fear, ignoble gangster!" Die laughs with his head tossed back as if he has just revealed his dastardly plan.
"Uh," you wince. "You're kinda ruinin' this for me, guy." You point at the doll. "I mean, it's creepy you have a doll of me, but it's weird you ain't tryna fight back."
Die's eyebrows waggle menacingly.
"Oh, but I am fighting back, Spades Slick. Watch in horror as the powers of the great Die are made manifest!"
From his coat pocket, Die withdraws a pin, jabbing it into the Slick-doll's arm. You wince instinctively. Everyone knows if you poke an effigy then the poking happens in real life.
But… Nothing happens. You scoff at him, chuckling, a little embarrassed you fell for it. This isn't some superpowered guy, this is a grade A delusional moron! And delusional morons you can deal with.
You spring forward again, but you feel a sudden pain in your arm, like someone is holding it, yanking you back. You look down at your limb and realize that it is entirely immobile.
Oh, fuck, he IS a superpowered guy.
"Toil in your own torment, worm!" Die says triumphantly. "For I am Die, the owner of your very body! Each pin I place in your effigy freezes your limb in time, unaffected by the flowing of entropy!"
"Wait-!" you cry as Die sticks a needle through your other hand. It's frozen mid-air, fist clenched around your cane. Your teeth grit.
"Nice try, Spades Slick, but whoever I prepare an effigy of is under my control." Die sneers at you, pacing around your helpless body. You squirm, trying to kick him with your free leg, but you can't shift your arms whatsoever in midair. Beneath the light of the chandelier high above, swinging precariously from the kerfuffle below, you look like a shiny black statue.
"I expected you to put up more of a fight, Spades Slick, I-" Die is cut off as you use your toe to slip off a shoe partially and kick it right in Die's face. Your right leg is now shoeless, but Die looks nice and pissed off.
"Do not interrupt my gloating!" Die says petulantly, throwing the shoe to the floor. He stabs another needle through your leg, freezing it in the middle of you toeing off your other shoe.
"I think we've had enough fun, don't you?" Die withdraws a butterfly knife, deftly flipping it over his wrist. You glare at him.
"No," you say sarcastically, feeling as if this charade is nearing its end.
"I don't think we've had enough fun, either," says a low, feminine voice from behind Die. Die's eyes widen and he turns around, revealing a gray-skinned being behind him.
You gawk. When did SHE arrive? How long has she been here? And more importantly, who the hell is she? There's no entry in the dossier for "depressed-looking grey bitch with ram horns."
Die appears to recognize this woman, bowing to her politely.
"Miss Handmaid, what is the meaning of this? I was merely executing this cur per the orders of our good Doctor." Die appears frightened of the interloper. You like where this is going.
You notice something else, too, feeling returning to your left hand, the one Die froze first. You see the pin sliding out of the doll in the distracted Die’s digits.
"I got bored," says this Handmaid person. "Doc's waiting for his stupid servant to get here and I heard that there was some fun down here to be had."
"Miss," Die says apprehensively. "You must go back to Doc's study, we are trying to prevent these ruffians from getting to him."
"Are you?" asks the Handmaid. She crosses her arms. You shrug in response, giving her a wicked grin.
"Sounds fun," says the Handmaid mildly. She suddenly plucks the effigy from Die's hands, who scrambles for it desperately.
"M-Miss, please, you are trifling with the greatest weapon of the great Die, you can't-" before Die can finish begging for his dolly back, the Handmaid suddenly vanishes without a trace.
You don't know who that broad is, but you really like her.
The whole time, you've been keeping your left arm locked in place, pretending it's been frozen, hoping Die won't notice, waiting for the right moment. When he stomps towards you holding that knife, your moment comes, suddenly reaching a hand out and striking him in the face.
“My stars!” he exclaims, staggering back out of your punch-range, furious, ready to strike again, but before he can, there's a voice from up above.
"Hey, Mister!" says the Handmaid, addressing you, somehow having appeared on top of the precarious chandelier. You and Die both look skyward in time to see her slice through the rope holding the thing up with a box cutter. She completes her thought with a gleeful grin: "Get outta the way!"
With a horrified scream, Die is crushed beneath glowing crystals and candles, unable to leap out of the way in the one second it takes for the chandelier to crash down to the floor.
There's only one problem with following the Handmaid's suggestion of "getting out of the way:” Parts of your body are frozen in time. So while normally you would guffaw at Die's unceremonious and pointless death and admire his blood spattering the walls, you cannot because your mouth is too full of screams to do anything else.
You watch the chandelier crush your legs. You changed your mind, this gray skinned girl sucks.
As you feel yourself begin to feel woozy from pain, you slump backwards. You feel Die’s control disappear too late and your body release from his weird effigy and into the cold embrace of the chandelier.
You feel darkness creeping into the corners of your vision from blood loss, but you can't stop now. You refuse to let yourself. You smack your face a few times and unsheath your blade from the tip of the cane.
You look down at your leg, mangled below the knee by the chandelier, bones turned to powder, skin shredded like paper. You look at your blade, sharp but small.
You shiver. This is going to take a lot of cutting.
Your name is no longer Spades Slick.
Chapter 39: Act 4 Prologue 1: "Black Malaise"
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Jack Noir.
As of recently, you’re a dog. You’re not entirely sure what a dog is, but the name and nature of the beast emerges from your subconscious. You stare at the ring on your finger, the ring of the Black Queen.
It’s all you wanted. To kill the Queen, take the ring, rule over Derse… And now that you’ve achieved your goals, it all seems so fucking pointless. It all means nothing if your Boys are dead.
Ace… Queen… King… All that’s left is Jack.
You float listlessly in the skies above Skaia, where Prospit used to float. You sigh.
There’s only one thing for someone like you, who has not only reached the edges of grief but also the edges of their own goals: Murder Suicide En Masse. You’ll kill everyone and everything, then yourself. Sensible.
First on your list of murders are those fucking humans, the man in the fedora and the wine-drinking woman. After that, the insipid Heroes of Time, Space, Breath, and Light. After that, you figure you can just start blowing things up in a less personal fashion.
You descend to Skaia, floating over its surface, watching the pointless little lives of the inhabitants unfold with irritation. The checkerboard landscape stretches as far as the eye can see, Skaia’s curve visible at the height you’re soaring, farms and loose-knit towns dotting the landscape, sectarian camps of Prospitians and Dersites scattered throughout.
The Skaian war of resources seems so pointless and boring, now. Still, if you’re going to have a successful killing spree, there’s one loose end you need to deal with: The Black King.
You know word will have reached him by now that the Queen has been killed not by a Hero but by one of his own Dersite subjects. He has his great scepter of power to fight you with, but you know that the ring’s powers are far greater.
In the distance, a shape is growing closer, black and indefinite, brickwork and concrete combining to create the walls of a formidable fortress.
You drift toward the King’s hideout, Castle Black, a castle set on the antipode of Castle White on the other side of Skaia from which the King rules with an iron fist. As you descend to the ground at the maw of the fortress, armed Dersite guards brandish swords and guns at you. They say some token warning like “come no closer,” but you don’t need to come closer to kill them.
You extend a hand and green energy spews forth, immolating them to a man. The doors fly open. You sigh.
Your trek to the innermost chamber goes about as easily, killing every soldier not fleeing for their lives on the way, black carapace and red blood staining Castle Black’s obsidian bricks. It strikes you how boring ultimate power really is. Your infiltration is child’s play, the most impregnable place on Skaia rendered a casual stroll by your new nuclear abilities. Your canine ears flatten on your head as you blast another cadre of your countrymen begging for their forfeit lives.
The place smells like iron and rot from all the blood now that you’ve reached the King’s chambers. You open the door with a palm and from within emerges a nuclear blast from the Black King which you deftly dodge. The King isn’t a fighter. He relies on the power of the prototyped beings far too much.
“Nothin’ personal,” you say quietly as you send a blast of your own back without mercy. The Black King falls, a golf-ball sized hole punctured not just through his chest but in the wall behind him, his scepter falling to the ground.
The scepter is topped with a small blue-white globe, a tiny model of Skaia itself encased in glass. It looks about as fragile as the real thing is to you. You place a foot on the Skaia-globe and crunch it to bits. Beneath your feet, there is a terrible rumbling from Skaia’s core. In a normal session, this would be a monumental occasion, the Reckoning beginning, the death of the very Medium kicking off… But to you, it just seems routine, like the spinning of a gear in a clock.
Leaving Castle Black behind, you fly above Skaia and look down at the ant-farm people and their insignificant works. Now, they’re buzzing about in terror, feeling fear bubble out in screams. You feel empty inside. Why shouldn’t you? The only men you’ve ever loved are dead and gone, one of them, inexplicably, by your hand.
Maybe destroying some farms and homes would cheer you up.
Floating over Skaia, you lazily swoop low, blasting farms and random military camps with casual flicks of the wrist. Not even the agonizing screams of dying people and despairing souls can assuage your empty nihilism now. Oh well.
“Curse you, Jack Noir!” calls a rueful voice from below. You sigh. Hearing those words used to give you such joy… Now? Nothing. The howling of foes really means nothing without anyone to share it with.
You float on, eventually coming to rest above a cloud, listening to the faint sounds of woe and misery below, trying to cheer yourself up. You feel a few stinging tears in your eyes.
“Hey,”
You nearly jump out of your skin, your ears and tail jolting to attention as you hear a voice. Wait- A voice? Why is there a voice speaking to you in the middle of the air two hundred feet above Skaia’s surface?
“Hey,” the voice repeats. You look up and against all odds, someone is… Standing there.
Above you, looking down, is a human. You’ve never seen this one before. His hair is blonde like the wine-woman’s but he is muscular and fit, his tee shirt clinging to his biceps for dear life. His wiry hair is partially hidden beneath a ball cap and his eyes are behind two triangular lenses. He’s standing on what appears to be a plank of wood with wheels attached to the bottom, propelled by jets attached to each end.
Instead of greeting the man, you fire a blast at him. To your incredible dismay, he dodges, leaning forward on the plank deftly to evade. Growling, you try another volley but he’s too wily to hit.
“I don’t have time for you, creep,” you say.
“Did you blow up that planet?” he demands, pointing upward. No doubt he’s referring to Skaia.
“Who wants to know?” you hiss.
“Derek Strider. Did you do it?” the man crosses his arms. On his back, the hilt of a sword is visible.
“Yeah,” you say remorselessly. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
As an answer, the man’s sword swings at you at a speed you weren’t ready for. You dodge back, more maneuverable in the air than he is, stuck to his plank. Still, he scuffs your shoulder, blood oozing from a small cut.
Normally, you’d fight anyone who so much as glanced at you wrong, but fighting doesn’t sound fun right now. It doesn’t sound like anything.
“Listen,” you say gently, as if you’re letting the guy down easy. “I’ve got shit to do bigger than whatever your planet exploding crusade is. Bye.”
Without another word, you fly off at top speed, breaking free of Skaia’s gravity, aiming for Derse. There, you’ll regroup and track down those meddlesome fuckers who made your visit to Prospit so explosive.
Just one problem: The glasses-asshole (glasshole) is following you. Looks like that board is faster than you thought… It appears you’re going to have to make this guy a corpse after all.
You veer off, suddenly cutting in a different direction towards a closer-by celestial body: The Land of Heat and Clockwork. That will make a decent battlefield for you and graveyard for him.
Maybe fighting does sound fun after all.
You are no longer Jack Noir.
Chapter 40: Act 4 Prologue 2: "State of Affairs"
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Karkat Vantas.
You are presently inside of a meteor laboratory with eleven screeching hooligans, all arguing at the top of their voices about what just happened.
"What was that thing?" asks a bewildered feline soprano.
"It nearly killed me!" proclaims an aristocratic tenor.
"What are we going to do?" wails a bovine alto.
"Everybody shut the hell up!" growls a scratchy crimson voice above the others. The voice is of course, yours.
Outside the door of the laboratory behind you is the wreckage of your poorly-landed ship, still-smoldering from the getaway you had to perform to escape from a black-carapaced demon with snarling teeth and green lightning.
"No one knows what that was, okay?" You say, pointing a finger at the audience in a broad sweep. "So everyone shut the hell up and stop speculating."
You hesitate, listening to the silence of the room. You feel breaths building in your chest more quickly than normal, your bloodpusher thudding away with unusual heaviness.
"Whatever that was," you say slowly. "It shrugged off shots that would have impaled the Black King we just killed. Before we freak out, we need more information."
There's a doubtful murmur in the assembly.
"Perhaps we should return to the victory platform from whence the beast came," suggests a deep voice. Equius crosses his arms, stepping forth. "We escape through the door and leave the beast to our empty game session."
"No," says a simple, monotone voice from the back of the throng. It's the mechanical Aradia Megido, her sleek metal body fading into the gray walls of the room. "It destroyed the doorway. We won't be able to enter the new universe."
"Do we know that door is the only way into the new universe?" you ask, directing the question to anyone. There's uncertain muttering.
"The victory platform is supposed to be the last thing we see," Aradia continues. "It means we won. We're supposed to open the door and claim our reward. If there's another entrance to the new universe, that defeats the purpose."
You notice one of the group has wandered off to one of the computer stations lining the walls of the room. Gamzee's horns are seen slouching over a lit-up monitor. In your distraction, the muttering in the group is getting louder and you raise your voice to draw command back.
"Two problems," you say. "We don't know who or what the fuck that thing was and we need to fix the victory platform. I say we take Equius's suggestion and focus on leaving instead of fighting some crazy fucked-up demon."
"Our leader," Equius's voice cracks. He shivers unwholesomely. "Our leader has wisely accepted my suggestion. Does anyone know anything about repairing victory platforms?"
"I don't think it was intended to be broken to begin with, moron," says the sulky voice of Sollux. "I think we're basically just fucked."
"That's no way to think!" chimes in the chipper voice of Feferi Peixes. She's standing near Sollux and gives him a shove that seems more playful than admonishing. "We're part of a noble race, we can think our way out of this."
"Where do we start looking for answers?" This time, Kanaya speaks up, always the pragmatist. "Especially considering the demon who may or may not be actively hunting us."
"Oh, boo hoo hoo!" there's a voice that makes everyone turn to look. Vriska is leaning against a wall, head down, her hair curtaining her features. It's hard to see her expression in the dim light. "A big scawwy demon came and broke a door, I'm so fwightened!"
Vriska steps closer to the crowd into the light. Her one visible eye shines brightly, her mechanical arm whirring on her shoulder as she points an accusing metal claw at everyone.
"You crying wigglers are so afraid of some demon right after we defeated the Black King? Give me a break. This guy is probably some extra-secret final boss who we get to fight for beating the game so quickly. Let's regroup and kick his ass! Then a new victory platform will appear." Vriska's energetic words fail to inspire.
"Miss Serket's testimony may be credible in terms of game trends, but I fail to see supporting evidence," says Terezi tersely, without looking at Vriska, who scowls.
"Did you call me 'Miss Serket?' What a load. If you're all too cowardly, I'll fight him alone." Vriska scuffs the floor with a shoe.
"I'm with Serket for once," says Eridan from near the middle of the group. His voice is bitter. "You pussies need to face your problems."
"Shut the hell up, sawn," Sollux mutters from his corner near Feferi. Eridan hears this and stands tiptoe to try to muscle his way to where Sollux is.
"Want to say that to my face, gutterblood?" Eridan spits.
"Eridan!" Feferi steps in front of Sollux as if to shield his ears from profanity. "Don't use such hemoist slurs!"
Arguing breaks out in the group, a din rising to fill the small gray room you're occupying. There are a few shoving matches and numerous snarls, but you don't have anything to say to stifle the din, your voice catching in your throat.
Before, no matter the odds, there had been a path forward, something for you to do. Now, with a demon on the loose and your group in disarray, there is no clear path. You stand slack-jawed watching everyone bicker until you're jarred from your stupor by a haggard voice.
"Yo, Karkat," Gamzee calls above the roar, silencing it. Everyone looks at Gamzee, then to you. The light of the monitor frames his face in a strange glow, his usual face paint smearing beneath his eyes, giving him a gaunt look. You don't reply, simply looking at him. He speaks, pointing at the screen. "Doc wants to talk to ya."
==terminal_0_alpha_2 opened instant communique with terminal_612_alpha_2==
==SUBJECT: Recent Developments==
==terminal_0_alpha_2 designated [DOC]==
==terminal_612_alpha_2 designated [612]==
DOC: Oh, one last thing.
DOC: I hate to be a bother, but may I borrow Mister Vantas for a moment?
DOC: We will be in touch later.
612: oH uH...
612: CoOl YeAh OnE sEc
DOC: Do be a chap and delete our message log before he saunters over.
612: DoNe
612: OkAy K mAn'S oN hIs WaY lOl
612: THIS IS K-MAN.
612: I MEAN THIS IS KARKAT.
612: UGH.
DOC: Hello, Mister Vantas. I understand there has been some tumult amongst your group as of late as a result of a certain unwelcome visitor.
612: NO SHIT.
612: DID GAMZEE FILL YOU IN?
612: HOW DID HE GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU?
DOC: Serendipity.
DOC: I am at liberty to share some information with you regarding your demon friend.
612: OKAY?
612: I WON'T BULLSHIT YOU, I'M KIND OF AT A FUCKING LOSS HERE. IT'S KIND OF HARD NOT TO START BASICALLY LOSING MY GOD DAMN MIND.
612: SO IF WE COULD SKIP THE CAGEY GAMES HERE DOC I SURE WOULD JUST GO POSITIVELY APESHIT WITH JOY.
DOC: Very well.
DOC: The demon is from the universe you just created.
612: WHAT?
DOC: It came from your new universe. Your universe, Universe A, created a new Universe B.
DOC: Sadly, your craftsmanship was lacking.
612: LACKING? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?
DOC: Far be it from me to judge another man's craftsmanship, Mister Vantas, but you and Miss Maryam cut a few critical corners in the universe-breeding process.
612: THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW AFTER THE FACT. SURE IS HELPFUL AND ENCOURAGING TO HEAR THAT.
612: HAS ANYONE EVER TOLD YOU YOU'RE A WONDERFUL AND EASY TO TALK TO GUY?
DOC: On many occasions, sarcasm notwithstanding.
DOC: The long story short of the matter is this.
DOC: The demon comes from Universe B. I have the means to connect you with Universe B.
DOC: I will have more information given time, but for now, I have to relay this information through you to Mister Captor.
DOC: He doesn't much care for me, you see.
612: THE FEELING IS SPREADING.
DOC: I'm sure.
DOC: But you're still going to do what I say because you're the one who ruined a perfectly good universe.
612: ...
DOC: Show these to our yellow-blooded friend.
==[DOC] sent [612] a file: troll_OS.exe==
DOC: This will unpack into a familiar operating system. Install it on the computers in this laboratory.
DOC: You will find the Trollian program you use to instant-message your peers pre-installed with added functionality.
DOC: The broad strokes of the matter is with this improved Trollian application, you will be able to communicate with Universe B.
DOC: That's all for now.
612: FINE.
612: IN SPITE OF YOUR POINTLESS CRITICISM, I SUPPOSE YOU WANT ME TO THANK YOU FOR HELPING US OUT.
DOC: It couldn't hurt.
612: WELL STAY WANTING, JACKASS.
==[612] ended communique==
You realize that several of the group have been watching you from behind the seat. You swivel to face them with a blush.
"Doctor Scratch has just told me," you begin, unsure about how to parse what you've just been told. "That he knows where the demon came from."
"Let me guess," Terezi says, crossing her arms, her blank red eyes narrowing. "He was sent here from the universe we just created."
"Makes sense," concedes Aradia.
"They sent us a demon?" Tavros asks from near the back. "But why? We didn't do anything to them."
"Whatever the reason," you stand. "We might be able to fix this." You point at Sollux. "Doc sent us a program that might be able to contact this new universe. We’ll stop them from making this fucked-up demon to begin with."
Sollux sits in the chair behind you, clicking on Doc’s file, typing lightning precision.
"I've never seen a programming language like this before," Sollux mumbles. “Are you sure we can trust Scratch, Karkat?”
"Those fuckers sent us a demon," you find yourself saying emphatically. "Because they probably resent their creators. They want to fight their gods before they ever arrive. As their gods, it is imperative we teach them a lesson!"
There's a dubious murmur from the dodecafold assemblage.
"Time doesn't work in the way you're describing, Karkat," Aradia warns from the back. Before anyone can heed this warning, other voices spring up.
"We should focus on killin' this demon fucker, not worrying about who sent him," says Eridan, standing near Vriska.
"I'm all for teaching these scum a lesson," Terezi says bitterly.
"Why are they angry in the first place?" says a sad Feferi, leaning on the back of Sollux's chair. "They should love their gods!"
"Look, whoever wants to help troll these idiot aliens is welcome to join. Anyone else, don't get in our way." You point at Eridan and Vriska. "And no going to fight this fucking demon until we know more about him, otherwise we're going to come after you. Got it?"
Consensus is far from reached, but tenuous acceptance seems to have coated your cohorts. After a while more of murmuring and scowls, the group dissipates, some heading deeper into the lab complex through doors, some remaining in the main computer room. Sollux is going from terminal to terminal installing the new and improved OS with Doc's version of Trollian. Soon, only you, Sollux, Feferi, Aradia, and Terezi remain.
"Here's how the software works," Sollux says as you watch over his shoulder. "It looks like you can contact this 'Universe B' and send them messages on their internet. Internet only exists for the last few dozen sweeps of their main planet, Earth, and not even the whole planet has it."
“Barbarians,” you remark. The other four agree.
“There’s something else,” says Sollux, clicking a curious white sphere icon.
The program, titled "Albus Aspectus" opens to a blank screen with a command line and prompt. The window simply says "INPUT TIME." You give Sollux a prod, encouraging him to do so. With an annoyed glare, he types the number 0.
You and Sollux cry out in shock as the screen suddenly lights up with an explosive white shimmer, quickly fading to swirling gray, the light becoming a single point then a faded dot within mere seconds. The space behind the light swirls and shimmers, still bright but quickly dimming. In the faint light, you think you can see something forming, swirling in a faint green light in the center of that singularity.
"It looks like this is the beginning of Universe B. Hold on..." Sollux squints at the screen through his bicolor glasses. Before you can look closer at the green shape taking form, Sollux navigates away.
Sollux types the number ten billion. On the screen appears a barren brown planet, lazily orbiting a yellow star. It looks like one of the numerous desolate planets from your own universe.
"This must be the main planet of the universe. The planet that sent us the demon." Sollux mutters his theory and having no others, your group silently agrees.
"It looks barren," Terezi appears, leaning on Sollux’s chair next to you. Sollux’s chair sags back and he shoots you both an annoyed look.
Sollux types something else in a different syntax. "Beginning of sapient life."
The command line can evidently process complex requests, because the screen flashes again, showing a different view of the planet, now blue-and-green. Sollux zooms in, scanning the planet, now lush with alien plants and odd animals. On the screen, you see a closer view of what appears to be a shining city, filled with trollanoid beings of many colors.
"Look at those things," Sollux says. "No horns."
"The sky is blue," Terezi says with a chuckle. "They must be diurnal, look. The sun isn't frying them alive."
Sollux types more, testing different prompts. The flashing screen makes you dizzy, but you can’t look away, the viewport showing cities, towns, day, night, all the different time periods of this strange alien world, all squeezed into the window on Sollux’s monitor.
"I don't think this is a computer program," Sollux concludes. "The syntax is too general to be a binary software."
Sollux types "Beginning of Civilization" and the prompt returns "OPTIONS: Local Ant, Local Bee, Local Termite, and Global Human."
"What's a Bee?" Terezi asks, pointing at the screen, taking a strong whiff for a better look. "Mind if I lick the screen? I can taste the words better that way."
As Sollux makes time pass, you watch them fight with guns and cry out in pathetic struggle. Then, at the end, you see the meteors fall, just like they did on your planet. What a pointless species.
“What do we do now?” asks Terezi loudly, shaking you from your thoughts. Sollux finally snaps, wiggling back and forth in your chair to shake you both off.
"You can find out your own fucking selves," he says. "There are like twenty computers in here, you don’t have to lean on my chair." Sollux squints. "It looks like the humans discussed Sgrub on an internet site called 'VGFaqs.' Maybe start there."
You and Terezi quickly decide to find your own computer stations. Feferi resumes her post on the back of Sollux's chair. Unlike you and Terezi, he doesn’t seem to mind Feferi hanging off him. You turn back to your own terminal.
There’s something you’ve been wondering about this whole time, something you saw a flash of when Sollux displayed the beginning of Universe B, that green shimmer in the center of the screen.
“Beginning of the universe,” you type into Albus Aspectus. This time, you shield your eyes to avoid the strain, watching the flash cool from white to gray to black, distant nebula forming the beginnings of ancient stars. In the middle sits a singular figure, a being, a canine with pointed ears that stand straight up on its head and a long snout. The being crackles with green sparks, floating through the void, exploring its creation, a trail of nuclear energy following in its wake. It plays and it swirls, its white fur rippling in spite of the vacuum of emptiness. Your bloodpusher speeds up. You swallow down the sense of awe on your tongue.
This Alabaster Dog, their first guardian. This is him, this is your wish.
After another epoch, the Alabaster Dog landed upon the volcanic crags of the human planet before water flowed forth from it. Upon this craggy crust, the Alabaster Dog curled up and slept, choosing this place to be where life grew.
Millennia passed and the Alabaster Dog watched over this new planet as Humans were born. The Dog came to live on an island in the middle of the planet's deep oceans, near the Frog Ruins from which the Game's code was to be found.
Later still, visitors to the island found the Alabaster Dog: An explorer with strange facial fur and a cadre of adventurers. You scowl. How did these idiotic fleshmonkeys corrupt your noble protector? You have to find out.
On the screen, the Dog frolics and plays with these humans, turned over from the fuzzy man to a tiny girl with dark skin and darker hair.
Something strikes you as familiar about that Dog. Familiar in a dreadful manner, from its crackling green energy to its pointed ears to its toothy snout. Those are the features of the Demon that these ungrateful Universe B fools sent you.
Why? Why does the demon bear the face of the Alabaster Dog who you sent to Universe B to watch over these creatures?
You navigate to a place on the timeline, a time when the Alabaster Dog is alone, away from its fleshmonkey protector. There it is, on a strange snowy land. No doubt this is Universe B’s session of Sgrub. Far away, the black-haired monkey-thing is wandering aimlessly with a Sgrub sprite.
You have to stop this. Maybe you can change the past, you can prevent this dog from ever becoming the demon in the first place. You have to act.
Your name is no longer Karkat Vantas.
Your name is Becquerel, the Alabaster Dog.
Woof!! Woof. Woof woof woof. Love Jade. Jade nice. Long black hair, nice human. Good pets. Cuddles! Woof.
BARK. Love snow. Snow fun. New place, new land. Fun snow. Snow makes nose cold. Fun to have nose be cold. Even if nose cold hurt a little.
Where is Jade? Two Jades, now. One Jade sad, one Jade angry. Love both Jades. Confused... Hm. Woof.
Jades talking. Leave Jades alone. Talk to Jade later. Love Jade. One Jade sleeping. You roll in snow. Woof.
"Hey,"
Voice in head. Nice voice. You love voice! You look for voice. No one there... Hm.
"Dog,"
Voice in head again. You bark. Maybe voice find you? Invisible voice? Voice seems… Important.
"Ugh- Can you hear me?"
You cock head. Confused... You lick crotch. Good answer for being confused.
"Can this mutt hear me or is it just a dumb fucking lusus?"
You bark!! Not dumb. You smart. You know lots. You know all important facts: Love Jade. Squirrel taste good. Mitochondria is powerhouse of cell.
"If you can hear me, bark twice."
You better do what voice says! Voice sounds important. Woof, woof!
"Okay, fucking christ. You need to stop that thing over there from fucking everything up. Do you understand me?"
You lick crotch again. Voice not making sense. You wish voice would say something nice like "treat" or "irradiated steak."
"Look at the black haired thing!"
You look at Jade. LOVE Jade. Wag tail. You love voice. You wonder if voice and Jade would be friends. Thought makes you dance!! You dance in snow. Snow goes everywhere.
"That thing! Yes. The thing with the glasses."
LOVE JADE!! LOVE JADE!!
"You need to KILL that thing."
What? Haha, whaaaat? Noooo. No, kill Jade? Nooo. Thought is funny. Killing Jade BAD. Voice is so funny.
"Kill it! Do it now! I'm your master!!"
Voice sounds mad. You cock head. Why voice so mad? Voice not friends with Jade...? For good measure, you lick crotch.
"Just- Okay. Don't KILL it."
Yes, voice making more sense now.
"Just- Stop it from fucking everything up, okay?”
Fucking up? You don’t understand. You bark. Jade and other Jade don't hear. Too snowy.
"Maybe… Stop it from finishing the game. Do you see that green thing in the sky? That thing is BAD."
You look. Up high is green glowy. Voice says it's bad! Very bad. You growl at green glowy.
"Good. If the flesh-thing tries to go to green glowy, just- Don't let it, okay?"
You hear loud and clear! Woof!! To make sure voice knows you understand, you lick crotch.
"Does this fucking thing even understand me? Whatever-"
Voice stops talking. You whine. Voice seemed not happy... Voice should be happy, you think.
Mm... Woof. Too long since you got pets from Jade. You walk to Jade in snow. Normally, you would just zap to Jade, since you can zap wherever you want! You wonder why Jade doesn't zap places when she wants. She always uses legs. Zapping much better.
But... Oh no!!!
Other Jade is carrying Jade! Other Jade flying up. You bark. Other Jade is taking Jade to the green glowy in the sky- NO!
You bark again, mind racing. You zap. No time to walk in fun snow!
Before Green-Jade can go in green glowy, you zap to her! You try to push her away, but-
Your paw goes into Other Jade. Other Jade screams. You feel something. Both paws are inside Jade now. Her body and your body are coming together! You bark, squirming. What? No! Jade is- You're-
You look up. Too late. You go into Jade's body like rock going in water. The last thing you see before going in Jade is... Going through the green glowy.
You can't lick your crotch to get out of this one.
You are no longer Becquerel.
Your name is Karkat Vantas.
That was the dumbest thing you've ever seen in your life. To its credit, the Alabaster Dog seemed to obey you, but only in that it got into a meaningless kerfuffle.
You sigh. Frustration has made this endeavor seem idiotic, suddenly. All you managed to do was boss around a dumb dog.
Whatever. It's not like this action had any greater consequences or significance to the broadness of Paradox Space or anything.
Right?
You are no longer Karkat Vantas.
Chapter 41: Act 4 Chapter 1: "Operation Scratch"
Summary:
Chapter Text
--tentacleTherapist opened memo [Team Planning]--
EB: hey.
TG: sup
TT: Hello, all.
GG: hiiiiii
EB: so!
EB: did you guys read karkat's thing??
TG: his weird meandering game guide thing
TG: yeah theres not much else to do right now except hide out from nuclear imps and read shitty troll stories
EB: did anyone... get anything out of it?
TT: That appears to be the salient question.
TT: I, for one, got very little. If he was trying to make a game guide, he failed miserably.
TT: Functionally speaking, our two sessions couldn't be more different.
TT: We both have to face an overpowered foe, but their Black King seemed much more in-line with the game's actual goals.
GG: right...
GG: like their black king being infused with an eldritch monster was an outcome that sburb was sort of prepared for
GG: the black king is the final boss
TT: Right. But in our case, our overpowered foe is some random NPC gone berserk.
TG: i think i got something out of it actually
TG: against all odds
TG: i think that we can salvage this maybe
GG: we can?
TG: okay so through the whole document they kept mentioning powers
EB: powers?
TG: yeah powers
TG: like ive got my time magic just like aradia
TG: or that vriska wackjob has mind control or something
TG: but we have powers too
TG: powers and like
TG: optimization
TG: what im saying is if we start thinking in terms of abusing our powers we can start making progress
TG: have you guys ever been to speed demos archive
TT: Before Dave starts ranting about speedrunning, we should inventory our “powers.”
TT: I have my wands. They made short work of overpowered foes.
GG: ii have jadesprite she can use the powers she got from bec!
GG: oh we should probably invite the sprites to this memo...
--gardenGnostic invited joylessSubstitute--
--gardenGnostic invited dudeSpectacular--
DS: sup
JS: hi...
DS: ive been looking over daves shoulder but this seems like a better way to chat
DS: also i didnt know there was another sprite person kicking around hi other jade
JS: um could you not call me other jade? :(
JS: i dont really appreciate being volunteered to use my powers against imps either jade!
EB: wait, why not?
JS: because they look like bec and i just lost bec!!
JS: its really upsetting to have to fight them
EB: oh...
GG: ugh we can talk about this in pm jade...
GG: i just didnt want to leave you out!
GG: we were just talking about powers we could use to beat this stupid game
TG: ive got time powers
TG: rose has wands
TG: jade has uh-
TG: potentially some stuff
TT: That leaves June.
TG: yeah what about you june
EB: oh, uh!
EB: me? i have, uh...
EB: i guess i have...
EB: i can run pretty fast!
TG: like magic shoes that make you as fast as sonic or something
EB: um, no, more like i got second place in high school track and field for the hundred yard dash?
EB: oh, i also have a long jump of sixteen feet!
TG: hm
TT: ...
GG: um...
TT: June, not to be rude, but that doesn't strike me as a power.
TG: yeah
EB: oh… sorry.
GG: yeah june im sure you have cool powers!!
GG: but for now i guess just... sit tight maybe?
EB: but… i want to help!
TG: you can help
TG: just by uh
TG: like jade said sitting tight
TT: For now, let's focus on goals.
TT: Dave, your plan to try to beat the game in an efficient manner sounds useful.
TG: yeah
TG: like a speedrun
TT: Like a speedrun, yes.
TT: For my part, I don't see much value in playing this idiotic game at all. It stymied me at every turn.
TT: To further Dave's goal, I'm going to see what I can find out about this game in order to buy us more time.
GG: ooooooh... how will you do that rose? :0
TT: Breaking as much as I can, ideally.
DS: hell yeah
GG: jade and i will help!
JS: we will?
GG: we havent played many video games
GG: but i have a gun and she has her bec powers im sure we can get it done!
JS: we can?
TG: hang on guys
TG: are you seeing this
TG: look what karkat just messaged us
==
--carcinoGeneticist began memo [TEAM SCRATCH]--
CG: ATTENTION HUMANS.
CG: THIS IS YOUR GOD SPEAKING.
CG: I HAVE INITIATED THIS MEMO TO COORDINATE THE GOINGS-ON.
CG: ROLL CALL.
CG: DAVE.
TG: sup
DS: sup
CG: JADE.
GG: um hi!!
JS: hello…
CG: ROSE.
TT: Hello.
CG: JUNE.
CG: …
CG: JOHN?
CG: UGH, IS JUNE/JOHN GOING BY A DIFFERENT NAME NOW?
TG: nah she was just talking to us
TG: shes probably running from imps
TG: thats kind of the national pastime of our cadre lately
TG: making tracks away from shitty members of the l.k.d. society
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THE L.K.D. SOCIETY?
TG: the lets kill dave society
CG: MM. HOW DOES ONE BECOME A MEMBER?
TT: I would also like to know. Do they have pamphlets?
GG: guys can we keep on topic!
GG: i know you can time travel dave but the rest of us have to spend our seconds wisely :P
CG: I CONCUR ENTIRELY.
CG: TO BUSINESS.
CG: LIKE I'VE ITERATED BEFORE, THE JOB OF THIS COUNCIL IS TO INITIATE THE SCRATCH.
TG: have you iterated that
CG: YES.
CG: NO INTERRUPTIONS. I AM BLOVIATING HERE.
GG: karkat maybe you should explain things from the beginning since you "iterate" different things a lot
GG: your bloviations kind of run together…
CG: FINE!
CG: DON'T TELL ME HOW TO BLOVIATE.
CG: I AM THE BLOVIATOR SUPREME.
TG: dude no one is arguing your totally cool and awesome status as the bloviator supreme
TG: hell were asking you to bloviate more
TG: bloviate me away champ
TG: "blo me" if you will
--carcinoGeneticist has muted turntechGodhead for 5 minutes--
TT: Thank you. It needed to be done.
--carcinoGeneticist has muted tentacleTherapist for 5 minutes--
CG: UGH.
CG: THIS HAS TAKEN TOO LONG.
CG: I MIGHT BE ABLE TO SEE YOUR ENTIRE TIMELINE, BUT IT'S NOT LIKE I'M MADE OF TIME RIGHT NOW MYSELF.
CG: THE POINT IS THIS:
CG: DUE TO THE EFFORTS OF THE DEMON KNOWN AS BEC NOIR, YOUR SESSION IS UNWINNABLE.
CG: YOUR IMPS ARE INORDINATELY STRONG, YOUR BLACK KING IS DEAD, AND THE RECKONING HAS BEGUN, LEAVING YOU VERY LITTLE TIME TO COMPLETE THE GAME OBJECTIVES.
CG: TO GIVE YOU SOME IDEA OF THE TIMESCALE, YOU HAVE BEEN IN YOUR SESSION FOR A HUMAN “DAY” OR TWO.
CG: MY SESSION, WHICH WAS COMPLETED EFFICIENTLY AND WITHOUT SIGNIFICANT DILLYING NOR DALLYING, TOOK PRECISELY 612 HUMAN HOURS.
CG: YOU, TO MY BEST ESTIMATE, HAVE ONE SINGLE DAY REMAINING.
JS: wow
JS: thats... not a lot
CG: FORGIVE ME FOR MY SARCASM, JADE, BUT NO.
CG: IT MOST CERTAINLY THE FUCK IS NOT.
CG: TO PUT IT DUOSYLLABICALLY:
CG: YOU'RE FUCKED.
JS: :(
CG: IN SPITE OF THIS, THERE IS AN OPTION OPEN TO YOU.
CG: A FAILSAFE.
CG: A WAY TO MAKE A NEW UNIVERSE IN RECORD TIME.
CG: THE METHOD IS CALLED A "SCRATCH."
DS: a scratch
DS: listen dont mute me for asking but what the fuck is a scratch even i dont know about that and im literally a sprite
CG: THINK OF IT LIKE A GREAT BIG RESET BUTTON. A BUTTON THAT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE PUSHED UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES.
CG: INSTEAD OF MAKING A BRAND-NEW UNIVERSE THAT IS GENETICALLY DISTINCT FROM THE OLD ONE, YOU ARE MAKING A NEW UNIVERSE FROM THE EXISTING GENETIC CODE AS YOUR OLD ONE.
CG: LIKE PRESSING A SPECIFIC BUTTON COMBINATION IN A VIDEO GAME TO RESET THE DEVICE THEN SELECTING “NEW GAME.”
CG: YOU ARE MAKING A TWIN. A CLONE. A BASTARD CHILD.
CG: THE UNIVERSE I’M IN RIGHT NOW IS ACTUALLY THE RESULT OF A SCRATCH, ACCORDING TO MY SOURCE.
TG: am i unmuted
TG: ok cool
TG: i have a question
--carcinoGeneticist has muted turntechGodhead for 5 minutes--
CG: YOUR UNIVERSE, THE ONE YOU KNOW, WILL START OVER AGAIN, GIVING ITS INHABITANTS ANOTHER SHOT AT FINISHING THE GAME.
CG: AND YOU, THE HUMANS, WILL BE ABLE TO MAKE “THE WISH.”
TT: The wish?
CG: THE WISH.
CG: IS THERE A FUCKING ECHO IN HERE?
CG: ONCE THE GAME IS WON, YOU ARE ABLE TO MAKE A WISH THAT INFLUENCES THE NEW UNIVERSE.
CG: USUALLY THIS WISH IS SUBCONSCIOUS AND NOT SOMETHING THE PLAYERS EVEN KNOW ABOUT.
TT: You made our universe.
TT: Did you make a wish for us?
CG: I DID.
JS: what was the wish for you, karkat?
CG: JADE'S ALABASTER DOG.
GG: my bec??
CG: YES.
CG: IN MY SESSION, I WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE WISH.
CG: AND I WISHED FOR… UH.
CG: A WHITE DOG TO WATCH OVER YOU ALL.
CG: IT ONLY MADE SENSE. WE TROLLS ARE WATCHED OVER BY ALABASTER GUARDIAN LUSII, SO MY WISH WAS TO GIVE ONE TO YOU.
CG: THE WISH ALWAYS MANIFESTS AS YOUR UNIVERSE'S FIRST GUARDIAN, AN OMNIPRESENT BEING WHO GUIDES THE WORLD.
GG: wow...
GG: i always thought bec was just a very very good boy!
JS: he was watching over us the whole time...
CG: YES.
CG: YOUR WISH WILL HAVE TO BE CAREFULLY CONSIDERED. THINK VERY CLOSELY ABOUT WHAT KIND OF FIRST GUARDIAN YOUR SCRATCH UNIVERSE WILL HAVE.
CG: YOU WILL ONLY GET ONE RE-DO.
CG: THE SCRATCH WON'T BE AVAILABLE TO THE UNIVERSE YOU MAKE WITH IT.
TG: ok am i unmuted again
TG: please dont mute me i promise this question is important
CG: MY FINGER IS HOVERING OVER THE KEY, DAVE.
TG: what happens to us
TT: Indeed. I was wondering the same thing.
TT: If we "reset" the universe, does that mean there will be another copy of us?
CG: YOU'LL...
CG: YOU'LL ENTER THE NEW UNIVERSE AND HELP THE NEW PLAYERS FINISH THE GAME.
TT: I see, so we'll have a chance to bring more people in to help.
TT: Rather exciting.
GG: yeah!!
GG: and we can use what we learned to beat it in no time :)
CG: UH, YEAH.
CG: RIGHT, THAT'S RIGHT.
CG: YOU'LL BE ABLE TO HELP.
TG: you dont seem super confident karkat
CG: WHAT?
TG: like you just seem hesitant
TG: about my question
CG: I'M NOT HESITANT.
CG: YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT TROLLIAN SOCIAL SUBTLETIES.
TG: idk man it seems like youre all pretty similar to humans being their precursor species
--carcinoGeneticist has muted turntechGodhead for 5 minutes--
CG: NO MORE PRATTLING!
GG: wait...
GG: karkat you never initiated a scratch at all!
CG: WELL... NO?
CG: OUR SESSION WAS ALSO THE RESULT OF A SCRATCH, SO WE COULDN'T INITIATE ONE AT ALL, LIKE I SAID BEFORE.
GG: well then how do you know how one is initiated?
CG: I HAVE A SOURCE.
TT: A source?
CG: YEAH. THERE'S A GUY NAMED DOC SCRATCH WHO'S HELPING US. HE HELPED US ALL THROUGH THE GAME, NOW HE'S HELPING US HELP YOU.
TT: How magnanimous.
CG: HE'S OUR FIRST GUARDIAN. THE ONE FROM ALTERNIA, I MEAN.
TT: His name is rather apt, isn't it?
TT: How does he say a scratch is initiated, then?
CG: FINALLY, A SALIENT QUESTION. FIRST THINGS FIRST:
CG: YOU NEED TO FIND THE SCRATCH CONSTRUCT THAT EVERY PRE-SCRATCH SESSION COMES WITH AND, UH… LITERALLY MAKE A SCRATCH ON IT.
TT: What does the Scratch Construct look like?
CG: FOR YOU, IT'S THIS BIG DISC CALLED THE "BEAT MESA," IT'S INSIDE OF DAVE'S LAND SOMEWHERE.
CG: THAT WILL BE HIS JOB.
CG: NAVIGATING TO THE BEAT MESA AND SCRATCHING IT.
TT: I suppose we'll figure out the mechanics of that when we get there. What’s next?
CG: YOU HAVE TO FIND AN ITEM KNOWN AS THE GAME TIMER.
CG: EVERY SESSION HAS ONE INCLUDING OUR OWN, IT DESTROYS THE MEDIUM ONCE THE TIME IS UP.
CG: YOU’RE GOING TO DETONATE IT EARLY IN AN ACT CALLED A “TABLE FLIP.”
CG: I DON’T KNOW WHERE THE FUCK IT IS, SO GOOD LUCK FINDING IT, ROSE.
TT: Me?
TT: How do I go about that?
CG: YOU’RE THE SEER. YOU TELL ME.
TT: I’m a Seer?
CG: AFTER YOU FIND EVERYTHING, REPORT BACK TO ME. THE DOCTOR WILL HAVE MORE INSTRUCTIONS.
TT: I would like to discuss things with this "Doctor" more.
CG: GOOD LUCK WITH THAT. HE'S HARD AS HELL TO REACH.
CG: THERE’S ONE LAST THING TO DO, TOO.
CG: JADE, YOU'RE THE SPACE PLAYER.
CG: YOU SHOULD START THE FROG BREEDING.
GG: uh.
GG: was that a typo karkat?
CG: NO?
CG: YOU SHOULD START THE FROG BREEDING.
CG: TALK TO KANAYA ABOUT IT.
GG: uhhhhh
GG: i... ill talk to kanaya about the... frog breeding! ok!
CG: DAVE, YOU FIND THE BEAT MESA.
CG: ROSE, YOU FIND THE TIMER.
CG: JADE, YOU BREED FROGS.
TG: ok sounds like we have our marching orders here man
TG: just one last thing
TG: you said your session was the product of a scratch too right
CG: YES?
CG: THAT'S WHAT DOC SCRATCH TOLD ME.
TG: which ones of you are from the old session then
CG: WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
TG: you said when we do the scratch we will be able to help the next session
TG: so you must have had help from your previous pre-scratch session right
CG: UH...
TG: so who was it
TG: sollux? fef fairy? dear sweet nepeta?
CG: NO. THEY WERE ALL FROM OUR UNIVERSE, ALTERNIA.
TG: then what happened to the pre scratch alternia
CG: IS THAT IMPORTANT?
CG: I JUST SAID YOU ONLY HAVE A DAY LEFT.
TG: it seems pretty important man
TG: youre telling us to do a scratch and that itll save our asses
TG: but then youre saying you have no idea about what happens after we do
TG: what if we all get space cancer from the scratch radiation or whatever
CG: THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS.
TG: then how does it work
TG: because it kind of seems dangerous as fuck just to take it on the second hand word of your "doc scratch" guy who might not even be real
--carcinoGeneticist has muted turntechGodhead permanently--
CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP.
CG: DO YOU WANT TO WORK TOWARDS A NEW UNIVERSE OR DO YOU WANT TO DIE HORRIBLY BY WAY OF A DEMON THAT MAY I REMIND YOU *YOUR* INCOMPETENCE LED TO MAKING?
CG: THIS IS YOUR ONLY ROUTE TO SAVING YOUR SESSION SO I SUGGEST YOU TAKE IT BEFORE YOU ALL DIE POINTLESSLY.
CG: IF ANYONE HAS ANY PETTY FUCKING COMPLAINTS, FOLD THEM NEATLY INTO A TUBE AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR FLESHY HUMAN ASSES.
--carcinoGeneticist closed memo [TEAMSCRATCH]--
Your name is Karkat Vantas.
That Dave guy gets under your fucking skin.
You sit in the lab's computer chair. In spite of everything that has happened, it has only been a few hours since you arrived on this meteor. Sollux is still typing away with Feferi at his shoulder and everyone else is still wandering around with their own agendas.
You can’t get your mind off Dave-human. He should be happy you're helping him, not questioning your hard-won intel, but at the same time, his question makes you hesitate. What does happen after a scratch?
--[null] began trolling carcinoGeneticist--
DOC: Hello, Mister Vantas.
CG: UH, HI.
DOC: How did things go coordinating with the humans?
CG: FINE.
DOC: Excellent.
DOC: Before I attend to other matters, did you have any questions for me?
DOC: That, of course, is a rhetorical question asked out of politeness. I know you have a question for me.
CG: UH, RIGHT…
CG: YOU SAID YOU'RE OMNIPRESENT, RIGHT?
DOC: With respect to Alternia and your session, at least.
DOC: As first guardian, I've made many little tweaks and influences to grease the proverbial wheels since the beginning of time, as per the wish made by your predecessors.
CG: MY PREDECESSORS.
CG: THE ONES WHO SCRATCHED THEIR SESSION IN ORDER TO MAKE US.
DOC: Them, yes.
CG: ABOUT THEM, I’VE BEEN WONDERING, UH…
CG: WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED TO THEM?
DOC: I can answer that question, but you will not like the answer.
CG: ...
CG: WHEN YOU APPROACHED ME AND TOLD ME ABOUT OPERATION REGISURP.
CG: YOU TOLD ME TO HAVE THE SOVEREIGN SLAYER KILL THE BLACK QUEEN.
CG: BUT SS NEVER KILLED THE QUEEN. ERIDAN TOLD ME SO.
CG: IF YOU'RE OMNIPRESENT... YOU KNEW THAT, DIDN'T YOU?
CG: THAT SLICK WOULDN'T KILL THE QUEEN.
DOC: Right.
DOC: How does this pertain to your predecessors?
CG: YOU TOLD A LIE.
DOC: A lie? Did I state the facts incorrectly?
CG: IT WAS A LIE OF OMISSION.
DOC: There is no such thing, Mister Vantas.
DOC: A lie of omission is not a failing on the part of the "liar" as it were.
DOC: It's not my job to tell you everything I know.
CG: OKAY, BUT THAT SEEMS PRETTY FUCKING MISSION-CRITICAL.
CG: YOU WERE SENDING US ON A MISSION DOOMED TO FAIL.
DOC: It did not "fail." You got rid of the Black Queen.
CG: RIGHT, BUT IF YOU'RE WILLING TO OMIT IMPORTANT INFORMATION.
DOC: Get to the point, Mister Vantas.
CG: I THINK YOU’RE MAKING ANOTHER OMISSION.
CG: TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR PREDECESSORS.
DOC: Very well.
DOC: I did warn you.
DOC: Your predecessors are gone.
CG: GONE? THEY'RE DEAD?
DOC: Dead? No, no.
DOC: Retroactively, they did not exist.
DOC: The scratch obliterates everything in a universe. It is a hard reset.
DOC: When you delete a save file in a video game and start anew, where do the original characters from your save file go, Mister Vantas?
CG: NOWHERE.
CG: THEY'RE GONE.
DOC: Precisely.
CG: SO THAT'S WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO THE HUMANS?
DOC: Get the boy a medal!
DOC: Right you are, Karkat, the humans shall be deleted, as it were.
CG: THAT’S WRONG.
CG: WE’RE LEADING THEM TO THEIR DOOM, *YOU’RE* LEADING ME TO LEAD THEM TO THEIR DOOM!
DOC: From where I'm sitting, it is a rather good deal.
DOC: This new universe they make will be another chance to win the game.
DOC: It will be a new chance for you to take your prize.
DOC: You will have the universe that you were denied.
CG: THAT'S FINE AND FUCKING DANDY, BUT WE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO SPEND THEIR LIVES TO GET OUR VICTORY.
DOC: Oh? Did you not despise the humans mere spans ago?
CG: OF COURSE I DID. THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW.
CG: IT’S CALLED “CHANGING YOUR MIND,” A PRACTICE NORMAL PEOPLE UNDERGO, NOT THAT YOU WOULD HAVE THE FAINTEST INKLING OF BEING “NORMAL.”
CG: I CAN'T LET THEM COMPLETE THE SCRATCH.
CG: WE’LL FIND ANOTHER WAY TO FINISH THE STUPID GAME.
CG: I HAVE TO TELL THEM.
DOC: I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mister Vantas.
CG: OR FUCKING WHAT?
CG: YOU'VE BEEN JERKING ME AROUND THIS WHOLE TIME, DOC.
CG: YOU'RE TRYING TO GET ME TO ERASE THE HUMANS.
CG: YOU DON'T EVEN CARE, DO YOU?
DOC: About the humans?
DOC: Not particularly, no.
CG: YOU'RE A MONSTER.
CG: SOME KIND OF MESSED UP PUPPET MASTER.
DOC: How scathing. I have been called worse.
DOC: You're not wrong, Vantas. I am a puppet master.
DOC: You're bucking against your strings rather hard right now, aren't you?
CG: WHAT?
DOC: I haven't been meticulously influencing events for the past billions of years for some upstart gutterblood to start mucking up my plans.
DOC: I have big plans, beyond the scope of you, your idiot friends, the humans, or even this petty universe I call home.
DOC: It is not even possible for you to stand in my way.
DOC: You will help the humans initiate the scratch.
CG: OH, I’M SO FUCKING FRIGHTENED OF A CREEP WHO LIVES IN OUR DYING DIMENSION! IF YOU’RE OMNIPRESENT, YOU CAN SURELY SEE THE VOLUME OF PISS FILLING MY PANTS WITH THE SHEER TERROR I’M EXPERIENCING.
CG: HOW ARE YOU GOING TO STOP ME, JACKASS?
DOC: Simple.
DOC: Blackmail.
DOC: I'll tell your friends a gossipy little secret you would prefer to keep hidden.
CG: NICE TRY, DIPSHIT, EVERYONE ALREADY KNOWS I'M A MUTANTBLOOD.
CG: THE ONLY PERSON GENUINELY SHOCKED BY THAT FACTOID WAS ERIDAN, AND I CARE WHAT HE THINKS ABOUT AS MUCH AS I CAN SHIT GOLD.
DOC: I'm not talking about your sickening blood, Mister Vantas.
DOC: I am referring to the little charade with the Alabaster Dog.
CG: WHAT?
DOC: You told the humans he was there to "protect them?" What a joke.
DOC: You can’t leap down my throat about telling lies when you lied to them through your teeth not moments ago.
DOC: You made that dog to be a weapon.
DOC: An obedient pooch to press your new universe into submission.
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.
DOC: You're not stupid, Karkat. You know what you did.
DOC: You whispered to that hound while it was on Jade's planet. You told it to leap in the way of its human. You interfered with Jade’s sprite.
CG: I TOLD A BRAINDEAD MUTT TO MESS AROUND WITH A HUMAN BEFORE I KNEW ANY BETTER.
CG: WHO CARES?
CG: I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE WOULD OBEY ME.
DOC: But he did, didn't he?
DOC: And when he leapt into the way of Jade, what happened?
CG: HE...
CG: IT DOESN'T MATTER!
CG: IT WAS PART OF THE TIMELINE, IT WAS INEVITABLE.
CG: HE'S JUST A DUMB FUCKING CANINE.
DOC: What happened when that dumb fucking canine leapt into Jade's sprite?
DOC: Answer me.
CG: NO.
CG: NO!
CG: COME THE FUCK ON!
CG: THAT'S NOT FAIR!
DOC: Oh, goodness. Do you even realize what you did?
DOC: Do I need to walk through everything step-by-step?
DOC: When the Alabaster Dog stepped into that sprite, who got his powers?
DOC: Who is rampaging in your session right now?
DOC: Who stopped your cadre from entering the humans’ universe?
CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP! THIS ISN’T FAIR, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?
DOC: Go on, Karkat.
DOC: Say it.
CG: I… I MADE BEC NOIR…?
DOC: That you did.
DOC: Now, if you stop dancing on your strings like a good little puppet, if you so much as dip a toenail out of line, I will tell your friends and the humans all about your little mistake.
DOC: They'll know you're the reason that you're huddled in a meteor's laboratory, hiding for your lives.
CG: YOU CAN'T DO THIS.
CG: I WON'T DELETE THE HUMANS.
CG: YOU MADE ME DO THAT TO THE DOG. SOMEHOW.
CG: I’M NOT PLAYING YOUR SHITTY GAMES.
DOC: That remains to be seen, I suppose.
DOC: Your fate is in your hands, my little demon-maker.
DOC: Goodbye.
--ERROR: [null] is no longer reachable--
You stare dumbfounded at the screen, hastily deleting the chat log in case anyone is looking over your shoulder. You want to throw the computer against the wall, but you're frozen in place by shock, like you really are a puppet on limp strings.
Doc has your number. You fucked up. You made Bec Noir. It was a mistake, just a flight of fancy, an accident, but you're sure none of the others will see it like that.
Against all odds, you remember Vriska's words from earlier. That Doc can't be trusted. That he's working against you all. At the time you thought she was crazy like she always is, but now you see, far too late, that she was right. You feel sick. Both from the blackmail and the fact that Vriska was right about something.
You wonder what Vriska is up to now, making some hare-brained scheme to kill the demon and worry squeezes itself into your bloodpusher, distributing worry throughout the rest of your body with each thud of the organ.
Suddenly, you feel very small and a great weight on your shoulders. You shiver, wondering where your friends are and what they’re up to and how much it might mess everything up.
Your name is no longer Karkat Vantas.
Chapter 42: Act 4 Chapter 2: Juney Blues
Summary:
Chapter Text
As of recently, your name is June Egbert.
The Land of Wind and Shade is pretty. The light is always low and unobtrusive, flickering fireflies illuminating the brown stones and navy blue grass. Villages where the yellow-skinned salamanders live are quiet and lively, like a party winding down, silhouetted against the twilight, black-oil lakes gushing lazily.
Still, something strikes you as tense about the place, something in the air, or more accurately, not in the air. The place is windless, dusky gray clouds high above motionless and absent of the billows that the puffy white clouds on Earth had.
"Get away from the window, John!" your nana insists from nearby. You hastily tug yourself away, seeing several scampering imps in the distance through the trees. Presently, you’re hidden away in a cozy cabin without a plan except hope that these super-powered imps don’t spot you.
You peek out the window again. One of the imps, a little weirdo who's about half as tall as you, points a clawed finger at a tree and evaporates it in a flash of green nuclear lightning, laughing maniacally as its cohorts clap enthusiastically.
Fear grips your heart like an icy hand reaching into your chest. You've felt “fear” before, but you've only ever been afraid in the sense of outcomes. Afraid that you'd get in trouble with the principal. Afraid your dad would take away your GameCube. Fear for your very life is new, a real sense that your existence could end.
Somehow worse is the fact that Nana just called you the wrong name.
"Sorry,” Nana puts a hand on your shoulder, sensing your feelings like only a grandma can. “I meant June.” You sigh, pushing her hand away more insistently that you intended to.
"I just feel useless hiding here. What am I supposed to do?" your voice cracks and you hate it. You sound to yourself like a little boy, not an adult.
"There’s nothing else to do but wait," Nana insists firmly. "You aren’t strong enough."
"Not strong enough?" you scoff, cutting nana off. You stand up, teeth gritting.
The cabin you're hiding in isn't large, a single room with a miniature bed sized appropriately for one of the waist-high salamanders who are evidently the natives of LOWAS. Nana floats back a little, holding up her hands defensively.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says hastily, but she clearly did mean it like that. Pity isn’t something you can handle right now, not after your friends told you to “sit tight.”
"I'm sick of not being strong enough!” you say, louder than you mean to. “I feel like I just discovered all this stuff about myself, but it didn't actually help me at all." You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I can't help my friends, I can't help myself... I couldn't help-" You choke on the words.
"We'll find your father," Nana says quietly. Tears sting your eyes as you realize how much she's been holding herself together, hearing the wavering tone of her voice. "He wouldn't want you to wind up dead."
Nana places her hand on your shoulder again and your eyes meet and in them you see a fear deeper even than yours. You fear for your life, tears and sniffling and confusion, but she fears for those she loves, steady hands and a steely gaze.
This leaves you rather helpless. You flop down on the salamander-sized bed, forced to lay in a fetal position to fit, pecking your thumbs into your PDA to check Pesterchum. You could speak to Rose, Dave, or Jade, but you’re ashamed to look at their names in your Chumroll.
Even Karkat had forgotten about you. Rose, Dave, and Jade all have something to do, something to work towards to save your lives, but he didn’t give you anything. The last thing Dave said to you was the best way for you to help is to “sit tight.” Worthlessness hangs over you like a spinning baby’s mobile.
Talking to them won’t work. Instead, you try something new. You take a shot in the dark, hoping to find some light.
One of the trolls' stories from Karkat's stupid document intrigued you. A name- "Vriska," a troll which all the other trolls seemed to fear. A troll strong enough to kill their black queen. The idea of strength draws you in and you find yourself typing “arachnidsGrip” into Pesterchum.
--ectoBiologist began trolling arachnidsGrip--
EB: hello?
==
Predictably, there is no response. You sigh, frustrated, typing with more insistence, as if this Vriska person might feel your keystrokes like tapping her shoulder.
==
EB: ...
EB: uh… vriska, right?
==
Your face reddens. This is embarrassing, cold-calling some alien woman for nebulous reasons.
==
EB: uhhh. i don't know how to tell if you're online. or if you'll see this.
EB: how do you guys even tell if we're messaging you?
EB: can't you see our entire timeline on your chat client?
==
The anger at your own weakness ferments quickly into anger at this stranger online. You feel foolish, laying here in a too-small bed, helplessly waiting while your grandma protects you from imps that barely come up to your waist. Your hands begin to shake.
==
EB: helloooooooo????
EB: ugh...
EB: what the fuck?
EB: i don't get you stupid trolls!!
EB: you brag about killing the black queen and wanting to help us but now i can't get ahold of you.
EB: you know what?
EB: i bet you’re a FRAUD.
EB: fraud fraud fraud fraud fraud fraud fraud fraud!
AG: Ooooooooh my god. Stop messaging me.
==
Your eyes widen. Oh, shit, she actually responded.
==
AG: Every time you make a new message, there's a new ping on my timeline and it covers up things I'd rather be seeing.
AG: Such as ANYTHING ELSE.
AG: So clingy.
AG: Ugh, you're just like HIM.
AG: Don't message me again.
AG: I would block you but that would be a waste of me pressing two buttons.
AG: Byyyyyyyye!
==
A combination of old and new shame sets you off. This girl is maddeningly conceited. You're sick of being blown off by your friends, but you know they mean well. This? This is just some smug bitch!
==
EB: would you get the hell off your high horse?
EB: what the fuck are you talking about you smug dingus?
EB: you won't "waste your time" blocking me? you literally just typed like seven responses to me.
EB: that's way more effort than blocking someone.
==
You realize you're sitting up now in the undersized bed, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. You probably could have come up with something better than "smug dingus..." Your throat is dry as you wait for a response.
==
AG: ...
EB: ...
AG: ........
AG: Eight.
EB: uh...
EB: what?
AG: Eight.
AG: I responded eight times.
EB: okay??? so what?
AG: Eight is a lucky number to me!
AG: So it's important you get it right.
EB: ugh, how's this for eight?
EB: fuuuuuuuuck
EB: yoooooooou!
AG: Hahahahahahahaha!
AG: Okay, you know what?
AG: I misjudged you, blue human.
AG: You're not as pathetic as that guy I was talking about earlier.
==
Your eyebrows rise, hope pushing them upwards. Not... pathetic? That's the highest praise you've gotten since things went to shit around here.
==
AG: Remains to be seen just HOW pathetic you are.
AG: What exactly do you WANT, blue?
EB: my name is june, first of all. not blue.
EB: and second of all, i was sort of wondering if, um…
==
Wait, what DO you want from this girl? You want something she has that you lack, something she can harness striking fear into her friends that you don’t have yourself. You're tired of being blown around by the game and you figure it's high time to blow back.
==
EB: power.
AG: Power?
EB: yeah.
EB: you're powerful. you beat the black king, unless you were lying.
EB: and i know you made jade sleep a bunch of times before the game started.
EB: you can teach me how to be stronger.
AG: Oh, 8lue! Flattery will get you everywhere. ::::)
AG: Being "stronger" is what you want?
EB: yes!
AG: ........
==
There's a long pause. You stare at Vriska's octuple-ellipsis, breathing slow and deep. For some reason, you suddenly want this stranger's approval very badly.
==
AG: 8et.
AG: Let me get something prepared.
AG: I'll contact you again when you're not fleeing from imps.
EB: what do you mean fleeing from imps?
==
Just then, the door to the cabin is atomized in a green flash.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Your name is Jonathan Egbert.
It wasn’t long ago that your biggest dilemma was arguing with the HOA about a tree permit. Now you’re on an alien world dealing with fantasy shenanigans. Now you’ve just been dumped on a massive checkerboard planet by a girl in gold pajamas with a woman named Roxanne after a deadly showdown with a strange dog-man.
“You okay?” asks Roxanne, holding out a hand. You take it and get to your feet, dusting yourself off. You’re still wearing a button down and tie, terribly mussed from the fall and the day’s problems. Roxanne makes you rather self-aware of the state of your dress for some reason.
“Fine, dear,” you say thankfully. You take a long, deep breath, putting your hands on your knees. The woman watches, her hip cocked to one side. Roxanne is wearing a long lab coat which buttons toward the left breast and you’re somewhat jealous at how much less troubled for wear she is.
“Who was that girl?” she asks. “She saved our asses, given how the moon just blew the fuck up.”
“She looked familiar,” you say. “She looked like my… Well. My son.”
“Yeah?” Roxanne begins walking and you follow without thinking.
“Maybe John has a sister,” you reason.
“I feel like his daddy would know that,” you scoff. “You’d remember seein’ your old lady give birth.”
“Oh, John is adopted. Strange circumstances, that. So strange that it was hell getting him a birth certificate.” You remember those days arguing with the Secretary of State’s office with your mother in tow. It makes you smile. “I’m actually unmarried,” you say quickly. For some reason, you feel that detail is vitally important.
“My Rosie is adopted, too,” says Roxanne. “Uh… Weird question, but did your John blow in during a meteor crash?”
“He was indeed found by my mother in a crater where a meteor had landed. You must have read John’s story in the news, I remember the local station coming around.” you chuckle nostalgically.
“Not exactly,” she says. “Rosie blew in on a meteor, too. Crashed right near my place.”
“What a coincidence,” is all you can manage. You watch Roxanne from behind, wondering what she knows.
You both reach a stream, having to hop across a trail of rocks to get to the other side. The checkerboard ground gives way to black and white trees, which you pick through aimlessly. Your tie catches on a branch and you abandon it, unbuttoning your sensible shirt.
“Everyone who plays this game arrives on a meteor. It’s like… A thing.” Roxanne holds your hand as she helps you up a tall rock. When you get to the top, you don’t let go.
“This game,” you say. “You know about it, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she says simply. “I was part of a team researching meteoric activity, company called Skaianet. We found out that every once in a while, a big meteor would appear above the planet spontaneously and crash. Some of the meteors had stuff on them. We were able to develop tools to predict when more meteors would come and where they would hit. That’s how I found my Rosie.”
“Let me guess, the meteors come because of this cockamamie game,” you offer.
“Bingo. There was just one problem… Using the tools to predict the meteors, we saw that there were millions of them set to hit in 2009. We had this big document drafted to talk to the government and the UN, but before it was finished… Skaianet was bought out by Betty Crocker Corp.”
“The baking company?” you say incredulously. “My mother worked there. That’s… Some coincidence.”
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence, Johnny,” Roxanne says. You squeeze her hand tighter as she continues. “It’s all part of this big web of bullshit. A web too big for some dumb broad like me to understand.”
“Don’t call yourself a dumb broad,” you say defensively. Roxanne smiles in a way that makes you happier than you have been in years. You’re about to say something else, but Roxanne has stopped walking, gazing forward in shock.
You both emerge from the sparse woods to a ghastly sight. It’s a farm- More accurately it used to be a farm: A massive field in the black-and-white soil now pockmarked with burning craters and immense scorch marks.
The both of you walk down the hill toward the field, the dying green flames flickering softly.
“Look,” Roxanne says, pointing. At the far end of the field there’s a kneeling figure, hands on the ground, tears in his eyes.
“Hello!” you call across the field. The figure looks shocked, hastening to his feet.
“Friend or foe?!” he demands in a squeaky voice. In his hands, he holds a spear, brandished at you in terror. You and Roxanne hold up your hands.
“Friend,” you say in unison. The black-shelled man collapses with an exhausted sigh.
“I don’t know why I bother to ask,” he says. “Friend and foe alike are probably long-dead.”
“What happened here?” you ask, crouching to help the little man up. He’s clearly one of the natives, black-shelled just like that Jack Noir fellow. You wisely decide not to hold his color against him.
“What happened? Hah. What happened is what always happens. My fields were destroyed. If it’s not the White King, it’s the Black King. Skaia and her stupid wars.” The man sighs. “Sorry, friends. My name is Worker Vassal #413. You can call me WV.”
“Kings,” you scoff. “I’ve heard too much talk of kings and queens lately. They make me sick.”
“Me too!” squeaks WV. “But alas, there is no other form of governance for we carapaced folk.”
The WV beckons for you and Roxanne to follow into a nearby shack, mostly intact with a chunk shorn from the thatched roof.
“My name is Jonathan and this lovely lady is Roxanne,” you say. You blush, looking quickly at Roxanne to gauge how well she took being called “lovely.” To your delight, she is smiling sweetly at you as she sits.
“Greetings, Jonathan and Roxanne of the wastes. Water is all I have at the moment,” Mr. Vassal pours you a cup of lukewarm clear water, sitting, arms folded. “I used to grow scrumptious gourds here, but they’ve all been burnt, stolen, or destroyed.”
“What will you do now that your farm is gone?” asks Roxanne.
“Normally, if a Worker Vassal is unable to work, he heads to Castle Black to be re-assigned, but I hear tell that Castle Black is completely abandoned as of late. Word is that the King fell to his own Sovereign Slayer.”
“Jack,” you and Roxanne whisper.
“Without a king, we’ll all die!” squeaks WV. “A state cannot exist without a king!”
“That’s not true,” you say suddenly. WV’s words seem wrong to you, immeasurably sad.
“It is!” he insists. “What are we carapaces to do? Govern ourselves?”
“Precisely!” you insist. The Worker Vassal looks at you, gaping. “You govern yourselves.”
“How?” asks WV miserably. “Kings tell us what to do. Who will tell us what to do otherwise?”
“Do you have any wine?” Roxanne asks, politely trying to squeeze a word in edgewise, but you’re too fired up about democracy to feel sheepish about talking over a lady right now.
“You will decide for yourselves what to do,” you say. “You have a right to the Pursuit of Happiness just like any king.”
“I do?” WV’s eyes shimmer for a moment, but he shakes his head. “But that’s silly. If everyone just did what they wanted, nothing would get done! How do we decide on how to work together so that everyone has a say?”
“Simple,” you say. The room is silent, WV is watching you in awe. You speak again and the sheer force of your word topples WV from his chair onto the floor.
“Democracy.”
When the Worker Vassal stands again, he is simply enamored. You help him up and clutch his hand tightly.
“Democracy,” WV repeats, mystified. “How do I do a democracy, Sir?”
“The backbone of democracy is the citizen’s vote,” you say. “You gather together your countrymen and you all vote on what is to be done. Whichever cause or means gets the most votes is what you all work together to achieve.”
“Vote,” the WV repeats. “If we all voted to decide… We wouldn’t need a king at all!”
“No,” you say with a grin. “No kings. Just mayors and presidents, who you as citizens can vote in or out if they do well or poorly.”
“Mayors…” WV repeats again, the fire in your eyes spreading to his own.
“Let’s try it now,” you say. “Put it to a vote! All in favor of ditching your horrible king, say ‘aye!’”
“Aye!” squeaks WV. You clap him on the shoulders proudly.
“It’s settled. Gather your countrymen from all walks of life. Tell them about Democracy and cast off the shackles of your monarchs! Renounce this broken field and be reborn!”
The Worker Vassal hops from foot to foot, so excited he can barely speak. He shakes your hand vigorously and embraces you around the waist tightly.
“I will never forget you, Jonathan!” he says with new vigor, waving goodbye as he dashes headlong out the door. You and Roxanne exchange a look with raised eyebrows.
“Now that he’s gone, let’s find where he keeps his wine,” Roxanne says quietly.
“Snag some food, too,” you say. “That Castle Black sounds like a lovely place to have ourselves a little picnic.”
“How do you think we get there?” Roxanne muses as she opens cupboards and closets, gathering food into a modest basket.
“Well,” you say, pointing out the window. Outside it, peeking over the checkered hills is a massive obsidian spire extending into the blue Skaian firmament. “If it’s that big black castle in the distance, I gather it will be quite easy to find.”
You are no longer Jonathan Egbert.
Your name is Dave Strider.
Right now, you’re on a planet called the Land of Heat and Clockwork. It pretty much categorically sucks.
“This categorically sucks,” you say to your partner, who is also named Dave. This is because he is also you.
“Yep,” responds the other Dave. Other Dave flaps his wings slightly in midair. You’re glad other-Dave has wings and is an orange-colored ghost. Otherwise it would be hard to tell yourselves apart. You’d hate to forget which one of you is you.
The Land of Heat and Clockwork seems to have more “heat” than “clockwork.” Its entire span is a massive orb of lava, metal plateaus in the shape of gears jutting forth from it like great tables shoved into the slag, some horrid game of the floor is lava invented by a toddler who is also God.
“What do we do now?” asks other-Dave, also known as Davesprite. You scratch your chin.
“If you don’t know, I don’t know,” you reason. “Since we’re the same guy.”
“I was more asking in order to get the gears turning,” says Davesprite. “Proverbially,” he adds hastily.
The other part of your land is “clockwork:” Massive gears, clunking thudding grinding gears, sometimes attached to springs. The mesas of LOHAC are made of these metal fixtures, houses and businesses set atop them, spinning in time with the ground below.
Davesprite is flying above you, zooming through the skies, carrying you under the armpits like an unruly cat, your legs dangling stupidly below. You both have an intensely stoic expression on your faces behind the pairs of aviator shades you both wear.
“We should ask for help,” you say, squinting into the horizon.
“Yeah,” Davesprite agrees. “We told Karkat that we’d secure the Beat Mesa, but fuck if I know where it is.”
“Really?” you look up at him. He shrugs. “I thought you knew everything about this game. You’re my help character, right?” You feel yourself descending, Davesprite lowering you both down to a particularly large gear-city, the size of a dozen city blocks.
“I only know about normal game things,” Davesprite says. “The Beat Mesa isn’t a normal game thing.”
You feel solid ground under your feet. Soon after you stand, you hear a loud “thunk” and feel the gear beneath your feet shift clockwise.
“Who should we ask?” you look around the gear-city. It’s full of small buildings arranged on a loose grid, occupied by crimson-red bipedal crocodiles. To play it cool for Davesprite, you don’t comment on the absurdity of crimson-red bipedal crocodiles.
“One of the trolls,” Davesprite says simply. “Probably not Karkat for obvious reasons.”
The “obvious reasons” other-Dave is referring to is of course social embarrassment. Karkat gave you the assignment and you gladly accepted, so asking him for help not twenty minutes after you made a promise is bad form. Very uncool.
“Speak of the devil,” you say. Davesprite peeks over your shoulder as you withdraw your sleek phone. A message from one of the trolls is waiting for you.
–gallowsCalibrator began trolling turntechGodhead–
GC: 4, 13, -612
TG: listen i know you troll shitheads love typing like assholes but this is a brand new low
TG: are you trying to communicate
TG: are we about to have a heartwarming multicultural exchange while we slowly fall in love navigating our different circumstances and home worlds
TG: will our tale be in a theater near you
TG: dibs on being played by matthew mcconahey
TG: matthew mcconaughey
TG: fuck that cant be how you spell his name
TG: anyway you can be played by the bald guy on seinfeld
TG: what the fuck is his name does google still work
TG: hell yeah google still works
TG: go ahead george costanza lets untangle this xenomorphic web
GC: WOW. GC: ONC3 YOU G3T GO1NG YOU JUST DON’T STOP, DO YOU?
GC: YOU’R3 G3TT1NG ON *MY* C4S3 FOR B31NG CRYPT1C?
GC: 1 DON’T KNOW WH4T *4NY* OF TH4T M34NT.
GC: 3XC3PT FOR S31NF3LD.
GC: W3 H4V3 S31NF3LD.
TG: oh shit
TG: the show about nothing is truly a universal constant
TG: hey by the way georgie boy arent you the troll who quite literally killed my best buddy
GC: Y3S. >:]
TG: you do realize how saying yes then smiling with evil eyebrows is quite possibly the worst response you could have given me right mr costanza
GC: MY N4M3 1SN’T G3ORG3 COST4NZ4!
GC: 1T’S L4YM41.
TG: what the hell kind of name is laymai
GC: L4YM41 BULG3 4CROSS YOUR V1S4G3F4C3T!
TG: ok
GC: YOU WOULD H4V3 L4UGH3D 1F YOU W3R3 SM4RT.
TG: ok
GC: LOOK, 1 R34L1Z3 1 W4S T3CHN1C4LLY TH3 R34SON YOUR FR13ND T3CHN1C4LLY D13D.
GC: BUT TH4T’S 1N TH3 P4ST! 4ND 4LSO 4N 4LT3RN4T3 T1M3L1N3.
TG: youre not getting off on a technicality here youre not a lawyer smart guy
GC: I 4M, 4CTUALLY. >:]
TG: ok
GC: 1 W4NT TO BUY SOM3 GOODW1LL FROM YOU. GC: SOM3 TRUST!
GC: SO 1’V3 S3NT YOU TH3 COORD1N4T3S TO TH3 B34T M3S4.
TG: coordinates
GC: YOU KNOW. POL4R COORD1N4T3S? 4, 13, -612.
GC: 1F YOU M4P TH3M ONTO 4 SPH3R3, TH3Y’LL SHOW YOU WH3R3 TH3 B34T M3S4 1S W1TH R3SP3CT TO YOUR L4ND. >:]
TG: the evil eye emotocon isnt instilling confidence laymai
TG: or should i say
TG: lay-m ass
GC: *3Y3ROLL.*
GC: 1T’S NOT 4N 3V1L 3Y3, DUMB4SS. TH3 > SYMBOL 1S MY HORNS!
TG: thats moronic
GC: JUST FOLLOW TH3 POL4R COORD1N4T3S, D4V3.
GC: 4LSO, FOR TH3 R3CORD, MY N4M3 1S T3R3Z1.
==
You look up at Davesprite who is reading over your shoulder. You’re cool with this since you’re both the same guy.
“If they’re the coordinates on a sphere, they wouldn’t be polar. They’d be spherical coordinates. Tell her,” Davesprite says.
==
TG: also for the record
TG: theyre not polar coordinates if theyre on a sphere
TG: hashtag owned
GC: WOOOOOW, YOU’R3 SOOO COOL, HUM4N D4V3!
GC: YOU R34LLY GOT M3.
TG: glad were on the same page
GC: 1F YOU N33D M3 TO HOLD YOUR GR1PST4LK WH1L3 1 GU1D3 YOU TO TH3 B34T M3S4, 1’LL OBL1G3.
TG: some guidance would be great
TG: just one thing oh wait you killed my friend
TG: not technically not just as a prank
TG: just because it was undone doesnt mean you didnt do it
TG: ergo fuck off
GC: 1’M SORRY. >:[
GC: 1 W4S 4 D1FF3R3NT P3RSON WH3N 1 D1D TH4T.
GC: 1 THOUGHT YOU W3R3 COLL3CT1V3LY R3SPONS1BL3 FOR 4 D3MON 4TT4CK.
GC: NOW 1 W4NT TO H3LP YOU.
==
“Just block her,” says Davesprite. Your thumb hovers over the block button but the teal-colored troll gets one final message in.
==
GC: 1 P1CK3D YOU B3C4US3 YOU’R3 TOO COOL TO B3 TR1CK3D. >;]
==
You and Davesprite breathe a collective sigh. You shake your heads at each other and you drag your thumb away from the block button. After a long moment, you relent.
==
TG: where to mr ligma
==
You are no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Karkat Vantas.
Having a secret is a miserable thing. Having information in your head that you’re not allowed to share just defeats the purpose of information, but unrequited tidbits are outweighed by the soul-crushing despair of a secret escaping. Your brow furrows with worry, fissures opening up in your visage from the sheer force of your stress.
“You okay, man?” says a raspy voice to your left. You turn and see Gamzee, standing about an inch from your face.
“Gah-!” You fall back, out of the computer chair. “Announce your presence, dude!”
“Sorry,” Gamzee chuckles, helping you up. “You just look all pressed and most unrighteously miserable.” Gamzee frowns and adds, “More than usual I mean.”
“There’s a lot to be ‘pressed’ about,” you hiss, crossing your arms. You see a searching look on Gamzee’s face that makes your heart ache inexplicably. You wince.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks with a quiet sweetness that almost melts your heart. Almost. You look away to avoid meeting Gamzee’s gaze.
Gamzee is your oldest friend. Your old hive was close to his and because of his tenacity you’ve stayed in touch. Even when you moved to the barracks for basic training, he remained in that cluttered hive of his, falling deeper into sopor pie addiction. Did you abandon him?
“No,” you say simply. When you look back, Gamzee looks unimaginably disappointed. He doesn’t even respond, running a hand between his horns.
“Maybe we can chat later,” he says, voice croaking with hope. His voice is getting raspier, a sign he’s running out of pies. You don’t know if that’s good or bad.
“Maybe,” you reply in a way that fails to reassure both yourself and Gamzee. He hesitates before slumping miserably away.
Wow, what a depressing fucking interaction.
“Karkat,” says a voice to your right. You turn and see Terezi, standing about a centimeter from your face, tongue extended in a goofy grin.
“Gah-!” You fall back, staggering onto your ass. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Sorry,” Terezi giggles, helping you up. “You look so cute when you fall on your ass like a moron.” She grins and those blank eyes flit uselessly in their sockets thoughtfully. “You look stressed.” Terezi licks her lips. “More than usual, I mean.”
“There’s a lot to be stressed about,” you grumble. “What do you want?”
This isn’t good. You want to avoid Terezi at all costs, you’re pretty sure the crazy bitch can smell secrets, possibly literally. Her sense of smell is keen to an unnatural degree, such that she can smell colors and concepts.
“I want to know why you’re stressed,” she says simply. “You’re the beating bloodpusher of this group, Karkat. You always know what’s going on. If anyone knows juicy new gossip, it’s you.”
“I don’t know anything,” you insist, your eyes flitting this way and that. Fuck, you’re such a bad liar. Why are you such a bad god damn liar? Terezi knows you’re lying and prods around for your reaction, leaning even closer.
“Is it about Gamzee?” she presses. “No- You’re always sad about him. Is it Vriska? Did she do something?”
“It’s not any one of us!” you say hastily, wincing as you realize you just gave something away in admitting that. Fucking lawyers.
“So it’s someone else? One of the humans? Or-” Terezi strokes her chin with her cane. “Doctor Scratch?”
You don’t speak, but your silence speaks on your behalf, as does your flitting eyes.
“Is it about the Scratch? Did he tell you something? You don’t look happy. Is it bad news?” Terezi seems concerned now, her questions taking a more serious professional tone. You decide the only way to keep Terezi from opening your brain up like a can of swimbeasts is to hit the eject button.
“I have to talk to Vriska!” you say hurriedly. Unfortunately for you, this is the worst combination of words you could have used.
“See you soon,” you hear Terezi threaten as you walk deeper into the meteor.
You emerge from the dark hallways onto one of the many balconies overlooking the furthest ring, the meteor veil on the edge of the Medium. You can see Skaia in the distance as a tiny blue dot.
“Karkat,” says a voice from behind you. Oh, no. Not again. You take a step forward before turning around to avoid being face-to-face with Vriska.
To your surprise, there is no one. You blink, turning back toward the balcony.
“Hey!” says Vriska, a millimeter from your nose.
“Gah-!” you stumble back and bang your head on the doorway you just exited from. Vriska laughs vindictively before hauling you to your feet.
“Relax, Karkat, it’s just me.” Vriska’s metal arm squeaks as she helps you up, its claw digging into your elbow. She stretches it with an expression of discomfort.
“Don’t dig your freak arm into me,” you snap. Vriska reacts to this as if she had been barked at by a caged animal.
“Don’t worry, I won’t need it for much longer,” she replies cryptically. “I’m getting a new one soon.”
“A new creepy robot prosthetic?” You look over her fake arm. It looks heavy and old fashioned. Where would she get a new one?
“What do you want?” she changes the subject by force. “I’m making some big plans up here about dealing with the demon, I don’t have time to play Leader with you.”
“I’m about to admit something,” you say with a slow breath. “Against all odds, I could use your perspective.”
“Okay?” she shrugs. “Out with it, then.”
“You were right about Doc Scratch,” you say carefully, watching Vriska closely. Her eyebrows rise. She pauses, leaning on the balcony’s bannister, the windless air still and silent.
“Thanks?” she offers. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I’m getting to the point,” you continue, irritably. “I want your opinion. Doc Scratch trying to fuck over the humans. The Scratch- It’s going to kill them.”
“So?” Vriska shrugs. “They’re just stupid aliens. Killing them gets us a new way out. Isn’t that worth it?”
“Do you really believe that?” you ask. “You’ve been talking to the June-human, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs again. “Fine, I guess I don’t want them to die. You caught me. The great and terrible Vriska Serket has feelings!” She laughs coldly. “But I still think they should do the Scratch.”
“Both can’t happen,” you insist stubbornly.
“Says who? Doctor Dickhead? What, do you just want to commiserate the fact that a bunch of aliens are going to fucking die? Is that why you came all the way to see li’l me?” Vriska cocks her head.
Why DID you come out here? To tell Vriska that the Scratch kills the humans, to reveal the truth. Now that the truth was out… You don’t know the next step. You hear yourself speak words before you can think about it. “I can’t just sit on my ass waiting to die knowing that my only saviors are a bunch of moronic alien martyrs. We have to save them.”
Vriska, to your surprise, grins. She claps you on the shoulders, her metal hand making you hiss with pain.
“This is a big day for you Karkat!” Vriska tugs you closer, giving you a headlock. “This is the first good idea you’ve ever had!”
Chapter 43: Act 4 Chapter 3: Curiosity Points
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
In the year 2000, when you were nine, your mother got you a shrinkwrapped box about the size of a small book, its front read “The Sims” in plain white-and-blue letters.
“Sims” was a revelation. Before that moment, you assumed that video games were silly playthings for the easily amused, flashing lights and loud guns that drooling young boys liked to stare at instead of building social skills. The Sims showed you the depths of your misapprehension.
The sprawling freedom, the tiny people in box-worlds dancing for your amusement: It awoke something deep inside of you. At first, you were their caretaker. Then their controller. After long enough, you were their God.
“Havin’ fun with your li’l Sim guys, Rosie?” your mom asked one day, poking her head into your room.
“The joy felt in my deepest soul at the torment of virtual man dispels any notion of a just and loving God,” you replied, failing to look away from the blue glow of the CRT monitor, its light shrouding your face like a dreadful specter.
“Oh, okay,” your mom said, retracting her head slowly.
Now, within the confines of the game Sburb, you reckon your curse. Karma, perhaps? You tortured Sims without mercy or exhaustion and now you are being subjected to the life of a Sim yourself. You are now the subject, the squirming virtual thing jerked around by mysteries above your understanding.
The trolls, with their omnipotent view of your universe, feel like the overlords of your very existence, the frustrated players of a game you are in the confines of. Suddenly, there’s a pang of sympathy in your heart for all the times you deleted the pool ladder.
“What are you thinking about Miss Rose?” asks Jaspers near your right shoulder. Whether you like it or not, you’re presently on the Land of Light and Rain, a technicolor shitshow that you’ve been made to inhabit by the wiles of fate.
“Dread,” you say to Jaspers simply. Jaspers’s smile falters.
“You were talking to those troll guys for a long long time, Miss Rose,” Jaspers says. “Did you learn what to do from them?”
“I did,” you reply in a tone you hope is gentler than usual. You’ve been hard on Jaspers lately, he doesn’t deserve your ire. You’re a little too skilled at being a great big downer, something that is in stark contrast to your cheerful questing partner.
You look Jaspers up and down. He really is a weird creature, created from the essences of your deceased cat and a “princess Cthulhu” plush toy, entirely pink in color and vaguely translucent. You give him a sympathetic look. You’re not very thrilled about existence, but for this kitty you can pretend.
“I shall spare you the gory details,” you say, wondering if he will even understand. “I have been tasked with finding an artifact known as The Timer. Do you know anything about it?”
To your surprise, Jaspers furrows his brow.
“Mm, no, Miss Rose. I’m sorry.” Jaspers doesn’t like being unhelpful, you can tell he feels guilty.
“Really? You are meant to be my game guide, aren’t you? I would think you’d know about everything related to the game.” You stroke your chin. Was Karkat mistaken about this Timer item?
“Well, yes, I know most ev-furry-thing, Miss Rose! I even know things players aren’t normally supposed to hear about, but… Even I’ve never heard of a Timer.” Jaspers matches your body language and uses a tentacle to stroke his chin.
In your pocket, something buzzes. It’s your phone, someone is messaging you. Normally, you would only pick up your phone to silence the notification, but the sender of this message gives you pause. With hesitation, you decide to respond.
--[null] began pestering tentacleTherapist--
DOC: Hello, Miss Lalonde.
TT: It is a little forward to say another person’s name without introducing yourself first.
DOC: Forgive me, I assumed you would be able to extrapolate my identity. You are a Seer after all.
TT: So I’m told.
TT: What do you want?
DOC: I want to give you a boon, Rose.
DOC: I can call you Rose, can’t I?
TT: Aren't you locked away in some other universe?
TT: Forgive my skepticism- What boon could you give me?
DOC: The best boon an omnipotent man such as myself could give.
DOC: His attention.
TT: Gross. Hard pass.
DOC: Do you not want information about your current predicament?
DOC: As an act of good faith, I will allow you to ask me any three questions and I shall answer with the utmost candor.
TT: Right. I suppose asking something like "what's your deal, you weird disgusting creep" is too on the nose.
DOC: Lamentably rude, yes.
TT: I will take my chances finding my own boons, thank you.
DOC: Very well.
DOC: I will see you soon, dear.
==
“I will see you soon, dear?” What a disquieting man. He reminds you of the boyfriends your mother used to bring home from time to time. For some reason, you’re reminded of those nights spent tormenting Sims again.
Even so, you don’t have any clue where the hell to start searching for the Timer. Maybe the general idea of asking for information isn’t a bad one.
--tentacleTherapist has begun pestering grimAuxilliatrix--
TT: Pardon me.
TT: I have a question for you.
TT: It pertains to the quest at hand to initiate this “Scratch” business.
TT: You have expressed knowledge about things to pass before.
TT: What do you know about The Timer?
GA: Hello Miss Lalonde
GA: I Am Glad You Reached Out To Me
GA: Elated Even
TT: Oh?
TT: I’m elated to hear of your elation.
GA: And I Am Elated To Hear Of Your Meta Elation
GA: We May Reach A Critical Mass Of Elation If We Continue On This Path
TT: Let us agree upon recursive elation and move on, shall we?
GA: Lets
TT: Now then. I shall repeat myself.
TT: What do you know about The Timer?
GA: Ah Goodness
GA: Not Much Frankly
GA: Essentially The Timer Is A Game Construct That Is Intended Not For In Game Utility But For Post Endgame Cleanup
TT: I’m not sure I follow.
TT: When I asked my guide character, he said he knew nothing.
GA: No He Wouldnt
GA: Guides Would Categorically No Need To Know About It
GA: The Timer Is A Bomb
TT: A bomb.
GA: Yes
GA: A Really Big Bomb
GA: Its Timer Is Set Once The Reckoning Begins And It Explodes After A Certain Amount Of Time
TT: I see.
GA: It Explodes And Destroys Everything Within The Medium After The Time Expires
GA: I Theorize That This Is In Order To Make Sure The Medium Does Not Linger In Paradox Space Longer Than Needed
TT: I see.
TT: What purpose does it serve for the Scratch? Why do we need it?
GA: That
GA: Er
GA: Well I Dont Know
GA: Sorry
GA: Karkat Is The Resident Scratch Expert
GA: Well Other Than Doctor Scratch Of Course
TT: Ugh.
GA: “Ugh?”
TT: Sorry. That guy creeps me out.
GA: Has He Contacted You
TT: Yes. He kept calling me strange pet names and condescending to me.
GA: Oh
GA: Yes He Does Have Some Quirks
GA: But He Is Immensely Helpful Rose
GA: I Suggest Accepting His Aid
TT: I shall take your suggestion into consideration, Miss.
GA: Just Call Me Kanaya
GA: Having You Call Me Miss Maryam Would Be Dreadfully Indulgent
GA: Even Though I Suppose Technically Speaking You Are An Alien And Therefore Inferior
TT: “Inferior?”
TT: That’s rather rude.
GA: Sorry
GA: I Want To Make Friends With You Rose I Truly Do
GA: It Is Just Hard Reconciling My Feelings With Um
GA: My Beliefs
TT: This is like when we talked to that pink-text woman who claimed to be our queen.
TT: I’m not sure what kind of ideology you’re laboring under, Kanaya, but I’m not interested in talking to someone who believes me to be “inferior.”
TT: No matter how charming they are.
GA: Charming
TT: I will talk to you later.
GA: Wait I Am Charming?
GA: Rose Wait
--tentacleTherapist is [offline]--
You roll your eyes. This Kanaya girl is one flighty broad. You’ll talk to her later when you have more time for horseshit of that nature. You message Karkat the “Scratch Expert” for his wisdoms, following Kanaya’s advice.
--tentacleTherapist began pestering carcinoGeneticist--
TT: Hello?
--carcinoGeneticist is [offline]--
No dice. What an asshole.
“Jaspers,” you say, getting the attention of your precious feline. “Are you positive that you don’t know anything about this Timer item?”
Jaspers shakes his head, his whiskers swishing this way and that.
“I’m sorry, Miss Rose. I’m paws-itive I don’t know anything. Um…” Jaspers squirms sheepishly, biting his lip. You cock your head to the side.
“Jaspers?” you ask, prompting.
“Miss Rose… Can I borrow your phone when you’re done talking to the troll people?” Jaspers prods two of his tentacles in front of his chest shyly. “There’s a troll I really want to talk to.”
“Really?” You smile, amused. “I can guess which one.”
“Oh, yes Miss Rose!” Jaspers smiles broadly, his cat-teeth on display. “It’s been so so SO long since I talked to another cat since, um. Earth is gone and stuff.”
You pet Jaspers’s head. Admittedly, you’ve been feeling for some time that Jaspers needs some form of enrichment that you cannot provide.
You sigh. Looks like you’ll need Doc’s help after all. There’s nothing worse in this world or any other than admitting to a smug jackass that he was right.
==
TT: Hello again.
DOC: I told you I would see you again, Miss Lalonde.
DOC: I knew it as a matter of course since I am, as stated, omnipotent.
TT: You’re awfully smug for someone who claims omnipotence.
TT: Smugness is associated with being justified in assumptions, something impossible for someone for whom assumptions are justified by default.
TT: I have a strong theory that your claim is exaggerated.
DOC: How shrewd.
DOC: Regardless, my offer stands. I shall answer any question you like. Surely that will persuade you of my powers.
TT: Fine. Question the first.
TT: Why do you care about the Scratch so much? You’re in an entirely different session than we are.
TT: If my understanding of Karkat’s comments are correct, you’re not even in their universe right now. Imprisoned.
DOC: My imprisonment is precisely why I care, dearest Rose.
DOC: I am trapped here, not only in the Troll's session but in their doomed world of Alternia.
DOC: I am trapped inside this vessel, their first guardian.
DOC: I require a new one.
DOC: My new vessel resides within the universe that will be created from your scratch.
DOC: Karkat was supposed to build me my vessel in your session, but alas. He is a fool.
DOC: Luckily I foresaw this and planned accordingly, due to being omniscient.
TT: You want to escape your universe, but you need a new body to live in.
TT: Simple enough.
TT: How will you get to the new universe?
DOC: I will use Ectobiology and Alchemy.
DOC: A being is the sum of their components, you see. If I make a copy of myself using alchemy, the same process with which you crafted your wands, I will be able to replicate myself anywhere I please.
DOC: Cut. Copy. Paste. Simple.
TT: Why couldn't you use a vessel from our session?
DOC: Sadly, I need a very specific form of life to inhabit.
DOC: This form of life was supposed to exist in your universe, but due to Karkat's shoddy craftsmanship, these beings did not appear.
DOC: Beings known as "Cherubs."
DOC: They have certain... Properties that I require for my vessel.
TT: Properties such as...?
DOC: Ah, ah. I only allowed for three questions, Miss Lalonde. You’ve spent all of your Curiosity Points for today.
DOC: To earn more you'll have to be a good girl and do more for me.
TT: Please don’t call me a good girl.
DOC: I’m a little shocked, Rose. I thought you would ask about the Timer, not about yours truly. I’m flattered.
DOC: Except I am not shocked in the least, being omniscient.
TT: I see you’ve downgraded from omnipotent to omniscient. Fascinating.
DOC: Don’t get smart with me, darling.
DOC: Since you wasted your questions, I shall be kind and give you a hint. In rhyme, no less!
TT: Spare me…
DOC: To save you from searching. To save you from pain.
DOC: Look to the center of the Light and the Rain.
TT: You could just say “there’s a hint in the middle of your land.”
TT: I’m rather tired of these oblique explanations, from you and from everyone inside this idiotic game world.
TT: Do you get off on being cryptic?
DOC: Hee hee hee. Hoo hoo hoo. Haa haa haa.
TT: Ugh…
==
You look down at your feet. There’s a hint in the middle of this planet, huh? You stomp your foot, feeling the shifting crunch of dirt underneath.
==
DOC: Would you like a hint about how to access the very center of your land, Rose?
TT: I’m sick of “hints.” Keep them.
DOC: Then how will you know where to go next?
TT: I shall have to make my own path forward.
DOC: I do not advise this. Best to stay on the proper path.
DOC: How do you plan to make your own way in a game that was predestined for you?
TT: I was thinking I would dig.
==
You close your phone before you can be drawn into more of this creep’s bullshit. You crack your knuckles, rocking your head from side to side to stretch your neck. Your wands flicker to life in your grip.
You are no longer Rose Lalonde.
Your name is Bec Noir, in the Medium of Universe A2.
To say the least, you’re a little annoyed. You went to all this trouble to make it to an alternate reality and your welcome party was a group of gray-skinned devils with irritating powers. Things aren’t panning out the way you want them to, but you’re a man who knows how to improvise.
You haven’t been able to find these devil-hooligans, your sense of smell is all thrown off in this new universe. It’s been days since you arrived and you’ve been scouring the place for them to no avail. You hate it when there’s no avail. You’re going to avail yourself by the day’s end.
You run a hand over your head, flattening your canine ears, your eye still stinging and squeezed shut from that fight with the sword-guy in the old universe. You breathe out your snout irritably. You need to let off some steam.
This reality looks a lot like your old one if you squint. The medium is an empty black nothingness dotted by dark planets with the pale dot of Skaia lighting everything in the distance. The details, however, were different. For example, back home there had been just four planets between Skaia and the outer rim. In this one, you count twelve.
Your eyes dart to distant Skaia. Around it is lazily spinning a yellow sphere that you recognize instantly: Prospit.
To your canine mind, it looks like a yellow rubber ball; a chewtoy. You lick your lips and find yourself floating towards it.
Ah, familiar Prospit. The architecture is still piss-yellow and dotted with irritating royal flags, but instead of a sophisticated cityscape, the buildings are spired and ornate. Buttresses and columns rise from the ground and reach up nobly as opposed to the flat surfaces of Prospit’s windowed high-rises and shingled roofs back home.
“Huh,” you say, mildly fascinated by the medieval scene below. It’s like peering into a mirror, everything the same but the details all flipped and surreal.
Your mild interest fizzles out like a stubby candle and you raise your hand to obliterate Skaia’s moon in one sweep of your nuclear hellfire. It cracks open like a golden egg and your canine lips curl back in bitter entertainment.
Ahh… The screaming below is music to your ears. This is exactly what you needed to de-stress, the wanton destruction of an ancient civilization that vaguely resembles one you hate. You watch as green explosions erupt from beneath cobbled streets, tearing Prospitians asunder, their white shells shattering like glass. From high above, they look like little ants.
You shoot another jet of green destruction from your hands, leveling several buildings far below, laughing as you go. You turn your hands to Prospit’s moon and fire off another few smaller blasts, the chain linking the two spheres shattering apart as Prospit is reduced to rubble and shell-like fragments of crust.
As the rubble clears however, a sight gives you pause. At the middle of where Prospit’s moon once sat, there is a pinprick flicker of white light, joined by another one soon after. In the gleam, there is a silhouette of two bodies. You squint. There’s something familiar about that pinprick of light… Something that scratches the back of your mind uncomfortably, like Ace tapping your shoulder while you’re trying to focus.
The pinprick of light vanishes, dimming slowly. You scratch your snout thoughtfully, floating away from Skaia and the broken planet below. Destroying Prospit is surely a good time, but you have bigger fish to fry.
Your mental checklist has three main things on it. First, obtain the white queen’s ring. You don’t know where she’s hiding, no doubt still hanging around with that sash-wearing Dersite. Second, find those gray-skinned pests and put them to a sticky end. You have a feeling they escaped somewhere in the furthest ring. Finally, however, is the main reason you’ve come to this new universe at all.
Reunite with the Boys.
You decide to tackle that mission first, as revenge upon your enemies will be all the sweeter when you have your crew. You close your eyes, flying toward Derse while imagining them embracing you like an old friend.
Chapter 44: Act 4 Chapter 4: Crocodile Mafia
Chapter Text
Your name is Gamzee Makara.
Life has always been shit, but lately it’s more shit than usual.
Back on Alternia, you were told you were part of a noble high caste, the purple bloods, the stewards of the land on behalf of the seadwelling monarchy. Unfortunately, being a steward of the land meant mostly that you sat on your ass all day without anything to do. The land stewarded itself just fuckin’ fine.
A life of apathetic boredom had only one outlet: Drugs. That was normally fine and dandy, but the drug that you went and got your ass hooked on was now in short supply, such that the last of it fit in an aluminum pie tin.
Sopor slime addiction was common on Alternia. Sopor flows freely from taps installed in the cocoons of all trolls in order to sufficiently fill them with enough sopor to sleep inside of to dull the effects of nightmares projected out by Glb’golyb into the subconscious of every troll, potent enough to be effective through the skin.
More effective when ingested.
You got into sopor when you were three sweeps old, your goat-dad out on one of his long sea-voyages. Like many young trolls your age, you ingested it by mistake after waking up, spitting out the bitter, sour concoction immediately, noticing how dizzy and strange it made you feel. This, for most trolls, would be enough to curb the habit, on top of their lusus chiding them for being a moron.
You had no lusus around to obtain chiding from.
Being dizzy is fun and feeling strange is better than feeling nothing. Before long, you were drinking the stuff, and before longer still, you were baking it into gelatinous pies with sugar to dull the bitterness.
Now, you’ve hunkered down far, far away from the other trolls, holed up in a square room intended for janitorial supplies, among the mops and brushes, huddled in a corner, the place illuminated only by the glow from your phone.
You feel sobriety rolling back into your bones, the dreadful apathy of living squeezing inside your marrow. You bite your cheek and fight back tears as you drink the final pie, neon-green sliding down your chin and warmly into your foodchute, that last hit already fading into colorlessness before it reaches your gutsack.
You made a promise that when you drank the last pie, you’d talk to him. You reach for your phone.
==
DOC: Mister Makara.
DOC: How are you?
TC: BaD dOc
Tc: Im CoMiNg DoWn AgAiN
TC: i CaN fEeL iT
TC: tHiS sHiT dOeSnT wOrK lIkE iT uSeD tO
TC: tHe HiTs OnLy LaSt A fEw MiNuTeS
TC: aNd ThAt WaS tHe LaSt OnE
TC: sHiT
DOC: The withdrawal will kick in soon.
DOC: It will be monstrously painful, Mister Makara, I won’t lie to you.
DOC: But you shall be reborn.
TC: DoC i DiD eVeRyThInG yOu AsKeD i GoT mYsElF aLl On My LoNeSoMe AwAy FrOm EvErYoNe
TC: ThOuGh I tHiNk Id Be HeRe In ThIs ClOsEt EvEn If YoU hAdNt ToLd Me To
DOC: I know, Gamzee.
DOC: You are about to undergo a painful transformation.
DOC: Did you do what I asked in your dreams?
TC: I mOvEd My DrEaM sElF tO tHaT uNdErGrOuNd LaIr
TC: ShIt WaS fUcKiN mAdDeNiNg
TC: ThErEs No SoPoR oN pRoSpIt EiThEr I dIdNt Do MuCh DrEaMiNg ThErE
DOC: Good.
DOC: You are about to feel a great surge of power, Gamzee.
DOC: This will coincide with the energies that have accumulated inside your body after a lifetime of sopor-drinking.
TC: DoC i DoNt KnOw WhAt ThIs AlL mEaNs
TC: WiLl I bE oKaY aFtEr AlL tHiS tHaTs AlL i WaNnA kNoW
TC: mY sHiT iS aLl Up In YoUr HaNdS nOw
DOC: You will not just be okay, Mister Makara.
DOC: You will be better.
TC: BeFoRe ThAt ShIt AlL hApPeNs
TC: WhY
DOC: Why? Why save you?
DOC: Because I need you. You are to undertake a critical mission for me.
DOC: You alone will escape this hellish dead session.
TC: WhAt AbOuT tHe OtHeRs
TC: KaRkAt AnD tErEzI aNd
TC: I gUeSs I dOnT cArE iF eQuIuS dIeS
DOC: They are irrelevant, Mister Makara.
DOC: Enjoy the rest of your immortal life.
==
The screen goes black, a low-battery notification appearing right on cue. Doc always does shit on cue. The other thing that’s on cue is the wracking pain that splits your head with sudden deafening agony. You writhe, sending items on the shelves toppling, a mop striking your horns with a clack.
Some part of you, somewhere, is being ripped away, and from your mind’s eye you can see Prospit exploding in a green light, your other dreaming body evaporating into nothingness. The pain doesn’t stop there, though, your skin crawling and burning, boiling, agonizingly hot. A paint bucket falls from the top shelf, striking your side and you wail miserably as withdrawal mixes with your dying dream-self to create an inescapable weight of bodiless pain.
You can’t do it. Tears stream into your eyes and you strike the wall, making a crack appear from your fist’s impact to the floor. The storage closet rattles, the nearby heavy shelf swaying precariously.
Your pain isn’t ebbing, but your adrenaline has kicked in enough for you to reach on the shelf, trying to use it to push yourself to your feet.. It doesn’t support your weight and tumbles down suddenly, sharp and heavy implements making contact with your body that suddenly feels so weak and useless.
You lie still, under the items. A box-cutting knife lies in a pool of purple blood to your left. Your neck is twisted almost all the way back.
You close your eyes, waiting for the pain to stop. In that moment, you hope you die.
But you don’t.
Blood flows from you in profuse amounts. Your neck doesn’t right itself. Your arms are pinned beneath the shelf, your head throbbing, a paint can stuck wetly to the back of it.
You don’t die. You can’t. The pain slowly fades and you suddenly wish it would come rushing back. The numbness that replaces it is stifling and bottomless. You lay there, beneath weight that should kill you.
You feel nothing.
You are no longer Gamzee Makara.
Your name is June Egbert.
Running from imps is thirsty work. A stray blast of green nuclear lightning explodes the patch of dirt you were just stepping on, making you yelp like a frightened cat, pumping those legs even faster.
"I'll hold them off, June!" calls Nana from behind, but you can tell she's not faring any better.
Imps who Nana could obliterate effortlessly before are now shrugging off her baby-blue ecto-lasers without so much as wincing. You dash away into the woods and press your back into a tree, covering your mouth to prevent your heavy breathing from making a sound.
It's suddenly dead-quiet. The completely still air makes every noise seem to echo around you. Is Nana okay? Where are you? Where are the imps?
Your train of thought impacts a brick wall when your PDA buzzes in your pocket. You yank it out hastily and attempt to silence it, accidentally clicking the green "accept call" button on Pesterchum's voice call feature.
"What?!" you hiss into the receiver. Is Dave trying to fuck with you? Is Rose telling you to "sit tight" again?
"Testing. Testing. Can you hear me, human?"
A voice you've never heard before rings in your ear. A telemarketer? Wait no, that’s a stupid thought.
"Who is this?" you demand, forgetting to be quiet. A green blast whizzes by you and you squeak again, dashing further into the woods.
"It's your new best buddy!" insists the husky, feminine voice on the other line. The pieces click together. In your mind you see blue words.
"What do you- oof- want?" You demand, not in the mood for the alien's smugness. For some reason, hanging up doesn't occur to you, even as you’re fleeing. You clumsily dodge trees, huffing and panting as you hear the imps gaining on you from behind.
"You're the one who asked to be stronger, Blue. I'm just helping." Vriska drones. You picture a secretary filing her nails in some big shot's office, bored and aloof.
"Now's not a great time!" you say, nearly getting your head clipped by a hefty branch. "You can see what's going on, right?"
"Now's the perfect time, Juney… And yes, I can see you. Watch out for that-" Vriska laughs as you trip over a branch, falling on your face. You scramble to your feet, shoving yourself behind a massive blue log. “Never mind.”
"You said you were going to help me!" you accuse. You feel like a scared animal and you don't really like how Vriska is laughing at you. If she’s trying to make you feel stupid for bumbling around like a moron in the woods, that job is already covered by your brain. "If you’re going to help, HELP!” you hiss, ducking your head to avoid being spotted.
"I told you I had to get some things set up. The first thing was a way to call you like I am right now. The second... Is some advice." Vriska pauses, seeming to see that two imps are closeby. After they pass, she speaks again. "Take a deeeeeeeep breath!"
You wait for her to continue. There's silence on the other line.
“What are you, my therapist?!" you demand, exasperated. Vriska laughs.
"Take a nice deep breath! I don't know what the hell it means, another breath player told me to tell you." Vriska sighs. "Another thing- Quit running around! If I'm going to help, I've got to put you through a pace test. See how strong you are to begin with! Or in your case- How weak."
"Not a great time for a pace test," you reiterate, remembering the stupid government pacer tests you had to do in high school.
"Wrong again! This is a gr8 time!" Vriska insists. "Real quick, hold the phone outward, away from your body."
You swallow, hesitantly taking the PDA away from your ear and holding it out, arm outstretched. In your mind’s eye, you picture a beam shooting forth from it, destroying the imps in their tracks. The reality is far less fortunate.
"HEY IMPS! OVER HERE!"
Vriska's voice blares through the PDA speakers like a foghorn and you drop your phone in your haste to silence her. Five imps in a broad radius all look your way with glowing-green eyes, teeth curling uniformly into wicked smiles. You swallow thickly, hearing Vriska's cackling on the other line before the PDA is smashed to atoms by neon-green energy.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Your name is Dave Strider.
You and your associate Davesprite, who, and I can’t put too fine a point on this; is you, are presently staring at a large slowly-spinning record laid gently atop a great clockwork gear, both the size of a baseball field, hovering above the lava sea of the Land of Heat and Clockwork.
“Damn,” Davesprite says. “The troll didn’t fuck us over.”
“Yeah,” you agree, surprised. “How about that?”
The surface of the record is bumpy underfoot, making it hard to walk, the grooves stretching across its length. You wonder what song it plays.
–gallowsCalibrator began trolling turntechGodhead–
GC: W3LL?
GC: 1 DON’T EXP3CT YOU TO TRUST M3 YET, D4V3, BUT 1 TH1NK TH1S GOES 4 D3C3NT W4Y 1N BUY1NG 1T B4CK.
TG: ok ill admit you didnt kill me whilst leading me to a mission critical area
TG: but thats a pretty low bar to clear im going to need some more active persuasion
TG: and im also going to continue to call you friend killer
GC: FR13ND K1LL3R 1S 4 V4L1D TROLL N4M3!
TG: ok
GC: 4S YOUR N3W COMP4TR1OT, D4V3, 1 F33L 1T 1S PRUD3NT TO W4RN YOU.
GC: YOU 4R3 4BOUT TO B3 4TTACK3D BY TH3 CROCOD1L3 M4F14
TG: the what
==
You turn from your phone. Davesprite has urgently grabbed your arm.
“Dude, it’s the Crocodile Mafia,” he says.
“The what?” you repeat.
Your head turns to match the angle of Davesprite’s and you see what can only be described as the Crocodile Mafia.
Four crimson bipedal crocodiles are approaching you on the surface of the Beat Mesa, each one approximately waist-height, the tallest of them pushing three feet, their proportionately short legs giving them a humorous waddle. Each one is wearing a full suit and tie, the foremost croc sporting a flower pinned to his lapel. As they come to a stop, the foremost crocodile takes a deep whiff of his flower with his snout.
“Do mine eyes deceive me,” Boss Croc says in a dry voice that you could swear was a bad Godfather impression. “Or do two foolish men stand upon the Beat Mesa in flagrant opposition to the whims of the noble and long-standing Crocodile Mafia?”
“I think that one’s floating, boss,” says one of the crocodiles at Boss-Croc’s flank, pointing at Davesprite’s ghostly tail.
“A wise observation, Antonio, but most redundant,” says the Don, smacking his subordinate upside the head. “You have once again proven to be too smart by half.”
“Can we help you guys?” Davesprite asks bluntly. You’re glad he said something, you’re trying to keep a straight face over here.
“Can he help us? The man asks,” Don Croc turns to the croc named Antinio who chuckles humorlessly. “My friend, the only help we need can be spent on little bespoke crocodile suits and the various necessary apparatuses to continue the flawless operation of the Crocodile Mafia.” Don Croc rubs his fingers together meaningfully.
“So money,” you reason.
“Antonio, get this boy a medal,” Don Croc says, speaking to his main associate, pointing at you. “For he is a genius of the highest regard. I of course speak of the currency della giornata: Boondollars. You and your doppelganging associate are, in short, on property that belongs to me. If you want to make use of it yourselves, you must utilize that sweetest of lubricants: Money.”
You look at Davesprite. These crocodiles are more cute than scary, diminutive with dull-looking teeth and jaws that look more cartoonish than imposing. In short: You could take them. This begs the question which you now ask:
“Or what?”
Don Croc’s little croc face twists into a snarling smile. He snaps his fingers and suddenly, from the lava, erupts a cadre of lizards. Red-skinned like the crocodiles but with crackling green eyes, the unmistakable aura of nuclear energy.
“Your calculating shrewdness has revealed the difference in stature between you and I,” says Don Croc, letting one of the fire-lizards approach in order to scratch its head. “Perhaps that same adroit discernment can fathom the difference between yourselves and my little salamander friends.”
“Fuck,” Davesprite blows air through his cheeks. “Those are the minions of Hephaestus, he’s the boss of this land. They get the same power boost as the imps do.”
There’s a tense moment as the six salamanders eye you up. You bet that there are more waiting beneath the lava, waiting for this smug little assholegator to snap his fingers and turn you into a cartoonish pile of black soot.
“How much?” you say carefully.
“One Gazillion Boonbucks ought to do it,” says Don Croc. His grin turns from evil to eager, sensing your newfound business sense. You lean over to Davesprite.
“Is that a lot?” you hiss. Davesprite leans back.
“One boonbuck is a bajillion boondollars, so one gazillion boonbucks is a zillion boondollars,” he says, as if those were real numbers.
“Is that a lot?” you repeat. Davesprite does a quick calculation in his head.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s like… Ten speedboats and a New York penthouse.”
“Fuck,” you say, rubbing the back of your head.
“My offer stands, gentlemen,” Don Croc says. “Now, at the risk of sounding somewhat brusque: Fuck off.”
Moments later, you’re flying away from the Beat Mesa towards a nearby gear city, landing on the outskirts near crowded high-rises where non-mafia crocodile guys are milling around. One snaps at your hand when you walk too close.
“What’s the plan, Stan?” you ask. “Where the hell do we get a boondollar?”
“Every player gets a boondollar allowance when they begin the game. Like the default money in an RPG.” Davesprite explains.
“Now we’re talking,” you rub your hands together. “How many boondollars is this allowance?”
Davesprite holds up one finger.
“Aw, fuck,” you say. “How do I get more?”
“Well, you can get a job,” Davesprite indicates to the various buildings all around the croc-city. “It’s part of your quest to get a job in order to take over the Crocodile Mafia and get to Hephaestus, but I think we’re both on the same page vis-a-vis quests.”
“Fuck ‘em,” you say simply, completing his thought.
“You could always play the stock market,” Davesprite says. He points at a building down the street to what appears to be a bank. “But speculative markets are about as reliable as gambling.”
“Wait,” you say slowly. “Speculative markets?”
“Yeah, like I said, you can’t make any money unless you… Know the future,” as Davesprite finishes the sentence, realization strikes. Your eyes meet and your sunglasses glint in the glow of the lava far below.
“Shit,” you say, shaking Davesprite’s hand. “Let’s be bankers.”
You are no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Jade Harley.
The Land of Frost and Frogs is really living up to its name, a chilly wind making you shudder, your body so used to the heat now lambasted by cold and snow.
“Here they come,” you hear Jadesprite to your right. You don’t really want to deal with the miserable funhouse mirror version of yourself right now, but you have very little choice.
Until now, your land has been unfettered by imps and their ilk, but in the past hour or so you’ve been dealing with them non-stop. They’re relentless, each one crackling with green nuclear energy that reminds you of your lost canine companion.
Truthfully, defeating imps has mostly been Jadesprite’s job. Since she combined with Bec in sprite-form, she is able to more expertly defeat them. You tried to help with your grandfather’s rifle Big Medicine, but the imps are simply able to dodge the bullets.
At present, you smell burning and hear impish cries as Jadesprite waves her hand, immolating a group of the scamps trying to approach your home, clamoring over one another like wasps trying to invade a bees nest.
The towering lab complex that you’ve called home for eighteen years looks different now. The landscape you grew up in is now covered in snow, the white bricks blending into the alabaster vista, marred only by grist and flailing imp-torsos. The fracas is soon ended, the voices of the pint-sized interlopers falling silent.
“I guess that’s all of them for now,” Jadesprite says simply. She gives you a hurt look and you know she wishes you would at least PRETEND to help with home defense. It’s not like you enjoy being worthless in a fight. You decide that having a doppelganger sucks- Always knowing what’s in their head by knowing yourself feels like she’s rooting around in your brain.
“Hey, um,” you clear your throat. “Since you’re a sprite, do you know what we’re supposed to be doing?”
“Sort of,” Jadesprite replies. “We’re trying to make a scratch. Even though Karkat said it was a game thing, I don’t know anything about it. Dave and Rose are both trying to find things that are supposed to help us, but I think you and I are just supposed to breed frogs like normal.”
“Right,” you say. You clear your throat. “I guess what I’m not clear on is the whole…” You gesture vaguely. “Breeding frogs.”
Jadesprite sighs. The only thing worse than having a doppelganger is having one that seems to know more than you do. You swallow your embarrassment.
“Breeding frogs is the whole point of the game… Sort of.” Jadesprite explains, then shakes her head with an exasperated sigh. “Look, I have to get ready for the next bunch of imps, every time they come there are more of them. If you’re not going to help protect our house then just ask one of the trolls about frogs. Go inside and lock the door.”
Jadesprite turns away, her canine ears twitching. You clench your fists, wondering if you should you say something to her. Tell her she’s being rude for no reason. Tell her that you’re sad that Prospit is gone as much as she is. Sad that you gained the memories from your dream-world just in time to see Prospit pop like a balloon.
You walk inside, shuddering, grateful for the shelter from the chill outside. You withdraw your phone, considering which troll to talk to… Karkat? He was the one who brought up frog breeding, but you get exhausted talking to him. Instead, you select another name, one of the less annoying trolls: grimAuxilliatrix.
==
GG: um hello!
GG: this is kanaya isnt it?
GG: my name is jade! karkat said you know about frog breeding and stuff
GA: Hello
GA: It Is Good To Meet You Jade
GA: And It Is A Relief To Speak To Someone Of A Similar Caste
GG: caste?? :0
GA: Er
GA: I Suppose I Should Not Assume That Humans Use The Same Color Castes As We Do
GA: Never Mind Haha
GA: What I Mean Is You Seem Nice
GG: oh! thank you :)
GA: But Yes
GA: To Answer Your Question I Am Familiar With Breeding
GA: Breeding Is Something Of My Speciality
GG: oh um! great!
GA: Not To Honk My Own Tootsqueezer But
GA: I Am Known As A Breeding Expert
GG: haha uhh
GA: No One Knows More About Breeding Than I
GG: okay i think youre putting a fine point on it! :P
==
From outside, you hear Jadesprite launching the latest volley of blasts. You peek out the window, feeling impotent.
==
GA: Allow Me To Explain The Importance Of Frog Breeding To You Jade
GA: It Is A Known Fact Of Paradox Space That Frogs Are A Universal Constant
GA: Every Universe Contains Frogs For They Are Written Into The Very Genetic Code Of Life Itself
GA: And This Is For A Quite Simple Reason:
GA: Frogs Are The Universe
GA: I Do Not Mean This In A Metaphorical Sense Either Jade I Mean Literally Speaking Every Universe In Existence Is Frog Shaped That Is Just How Things Are
GA: The Game Of Sgrub Is Played In Order For These Frogs To Reproduce
GA: Imagine The Medium As You Know It, Skaia And Prospit And Derse All Contained Within A Sort Of “Egg” That This Cosmic Frog Lays
GA: A Pocket Dimension Laid Outside Itself But Very Much Connected To The Mother Frog
GA: Again This Is Not A Metaphor This Is Quite Literal Indeed Jade We Are Talking About Universe Sized Frogs And Massive Eggs Constituting Planets As Nuclei I Cannot Stress This Enough
GA: We, Within The Egg Of The Universe, Are Tasked With A Sacred Duty And That Duty Is Frog Breeding
GA: Your Land The Land Of Frost And Frogs Abounds With Frogs En Masse Each One Containing Some Of The Dna Of The Cosmic Frog That Contains Your Universe
GA: The Task Of The Frog Breeder Is To Select The Frogs From Your Land And Combine Them Using Ectobiological Alchemy To Make The Perfect New Universe Frog A Process Which Takes Days Of Painstaking And Intricate Work
GA: Once This Perfect Frog Is Made It Is To Be Thrown Into The Volcano That Lies Dormant In Your Land Along With The Rings Obtained From The White And Black Queens Respectively
GA: After That You Must Navigate To Skaia And Defeat The Black King, Clearing The Way For Skaia To Open Up And Perform Its Ultimate Function
GA: Your Volcano Will Erupt And Send The Cosmic Frog Flying Toward Skaia Where They Will Combine And The Medium Will Hatch Into A Brand New Universe
GA: It Is All Very Majestic And Not Metaphorical At All
GA: After The Hatching The Medium Becomes Inert Much Like The Empty Shell Of A Spent Egg And You And Your Peers Will Be Able To Enter The New Universe You Have Just Made And Live Out Your Days As The Gods Of This New Realm
GG: i think i get it…
GG: we make the ultra-frog then slam-dunk him into skaia!
GA: Um Yes
GA: Do Try To Be More Majestic And Reverent Please
GA: Do Not Slam Dunk The Cosmic Entity
GG: but… you said this takes a long time, right?
GA: Well Yes That Is The Problem
GA: You Will Not Have Time To Finish And Even If You Did Your Session Is Um
GA: Screwed
GG: :(
==
The negative sentiment is punctuated by a sudden bang outside. You look out the window and see Jadesprite, winded, shake an imp off her arm. Her ectoplasmic body isn’t injured but she looks exhausted. You look back to the conversation to avoid feeling guilty.
==
GG: maybe its a bad idea to do the frog stuff at all…
GG: i mean if the session is doomed by the jack noir guy then whats the point?
GG: and then on top of that if the session is going to create a new universe from the scratch do we even NEED a frog?
GA: No
GA: The Scratch Is A Frogless Strategy
GA: I Just Have A Feeling It Will Be Important
GA: Which To Be Fair I Will Understand If You Do Not Act Upon
GG: hmmmmm…
GA: Whatever The Case May Be Jade I Must Bid You Farewell For Now
GG: oh do you have to go?
GA: No But You Do
==
As soon as you read those dark green words, an imp opens the door to your laboratory home. Your eyes widen as you realize you didn’t even lock the fucking door.
You are no longer Jade Harley.
Chapter 45: Act 4 Chapter 5: Take A Breath
Chapter Text
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
Your cat Jaspers is presently floating through the air about ten feet up on his back as if he is floating in a pool, his cat-tail swaying lazily in pleasure. He’s happily chatting with one of the trolls, occupied and out of your way.
The wands you made from the alchemical combination of knitting needles and a guide to eldritch horror-terrors crackle in your palms with black streaks of electricity.
Yesterday, you effortlessly took down an ogre with these things and you ponder what would happen if you really began to exert yourself. Time to find the fuck out.
You point your wands down towards the soil of the Land of Light and Rain, a grim smile pulling back your black-painted lips as you unleash a bolt of black lightning into the very ground beneath. Predictably, this results in a wide crater-hole about the length of your body, making you stagger back a pace to catch balance. Jaspers high above takes notice, floating further away sheepishly.
The wands crackle in your grip. You aren’t going to be able to drill down with bursting impacts like this, you need a controlled stream of dark magic. You point groundward again and hold your wrists together, wands side-by side as you breathe in and try to think drill-like thoughts.
While not drill-like, the energy that shoots from the wands is more concentrated now. Instead of a sudden strike it is sustained and harsh, the dirt in the crater immolated and burnt into nothingness underfoot. Keeping the stream going, you grit your teeth, having to struggle to keep the wands steady.
“Miss Rose!” Jaspers calls urgently from above, having to raise his voice over the sounds of magic. “The green troll wants to talk with you!” Jaspers floats down and hands you your phone, which you grip in your dirt-gritty fingers.
--grimAuxilliatrix began trolling tentacleTherapist--
GA: Hello Sir Feline Turn Me Over To Your Friend Rose Please
TT: oh okay sorry green word troll!!!!!!!!!!!
GA: Um No Problem
TT: Hello, Kanaya. Jaspers has passed me the phone.
GA: I See That You Have Begun Breaking Apart Your Land
GA: Using Wands That You Should Not Even Have At Your Current Level
GA: Recklessly Pockmarking The Ground With Implements You Barely Understand
GA: Let Me Be Frank
GA: This Course Of Action Is Ill-Advised
TT: I was under the impression that you are Kanaya.
GA: Beg Pardon
TT: You said "let me be Frank." Did you not tell me that your name is Kanaya?
GA: Oh No I Apologize
GA: There Is An Alternian Saying "Let Me Be Frank" Which Means Let Me Not Mince Words
TT: Words cannot be minced, Frank.
TT: Words are incorporeal concepts which cannot be affected by mincing.
GA: Well Um No
GA: Okay I Am Starting To Realize My Culture Has A Reliance On Figurative Language
GA: And It Is Still Kanaya That Did Not Stop From Being My Name
GA: What I Mean To Say Is
GA: I Want To Be Clear
GA: Not That I Am Transparent But I Want A "Clarity" Of My Words
GA: Words Are Not "Clear" Either
GA: Directness Is What I Desire
GA: Is That Clear
GA: I Mean Is That Understood
TT: I think so.
TT: To recap, you are a transparent verbiage chef.
GA: Am I Being Goofed About With
TT: Frankly? Yes.
TT: I can't talk right now and it's rather easy to spin you in circles.
GA: Rose That Makes Me Angry
GA: Angry Is The Emotion I Feel And Only Anger I Have No Other Feelings About That
TT: Whatever you say. But allow me to make one final comment before I blow you off to drill a hole into my planet.
GA: Um Okay
TT: ;)
GA: Ugh
--grimAuxilliatrix ceased trolling tentacleTherapist--
You hand the phone politely back to your cat.
“If the green-text lady messages me again, please tell her I am busy, Jaspers.” You hesitate. “But do tell her that it is lovely to speak with her.”
“Um, okay!” Jaspers chirps, going back to the skies of LOLAR. You wonder what he and the cat-troll are talking about that’s giving him such a grin.
You resume your attempts at drilling. These wands make dirt vanish entirely, meaning that the dislocation of soil will not be an issue in your efforts to get to the middle of the planet. So much for the Law of Conservation of Matter.
Mathematically speaking, you know that you will reach the center of a sphere if you dig perfectly perpendicular to the sphere’s surface, creating a radius with the middle. This of course is easier said than done. You need some kind of balance, something to set your wands in to drill a well perfectly perpendicular to the surface of LOLAR.
You shift your feet in place. That all sounds unreasonably difficult for a magic practitioner. You’ll probably have to go back home and search for a measuring tape or a level, both of which you’re only tenuously sure your mother has.
In each fist, you grip your wands tight, concentrating power, a shadowy aura beginning to shimmer around them. A rumbling hum begins to emanate from the wands and holding them steady takes all of your strength, your biceps burning as you force them steady.
Slowly, you move your arms outward, perpendicular to your body, turning the wands until they are facing straight down, pointed at the floor like you’re about to stab them downwards into the dirt. Tension builds in your mind as you shut one eye, your heart pounding, wondering if Kanaya was right. Jaspers is watching now, the sky darkening from the amassed Eldritch Majykks.
You release the built power and two single beams of yarn-thin darkness shoot from the tips of the wands into the soil in a single instant, leaving the ground seemingly undisturbed. Silence follows. You collapse to your knees, huffing and panting, backing up from the spot on the ground.
“Did it work?” asks Jaspers. You turn to say “no” to him, but your syllable is cut off by a deafening crunch, the sound of paper tearing amplified by millions of times.
In the spot you shot those beams into the ground, two meter-wide holes open, dark energy cascading outward, sending you flying back on your ass in the pastel grass of LOLAR. You groan, tumbling head-over-heels several feet back from the new holes. You crawl to the newly-formed well and look down.
You can’t see the bottom of the conjoined holes, but they appear to be entirely straight, forming a large binocular-shaped well down into the planet. You drop a nearby pink rock in, watching it vanish into darkness. No clunk follows.
“Jaspers,” you say pointing into the hole. “Take me down there.”
“Miss Rose,” Jaspers peers into the hole doubtfully. “Are you sure? Someone told me to never EVER dig straight down!”
Your name is no longer Rose Lalonde.
Your name is Diamonds Droog, in the Medium of Universe A2.
You are the right-hand man of the most notorious criminal in Derse’s history: Spades Slick. That makes you, by the chain of command, presently the most notorious criminal in Derse’s history. Not that there’s much Derse history left to live out.
After the death of the Black King to those twelve yahoos on Skaia and the disappearance of your boss, life has been dogwater. You’ve been holed up in the bar that your crew once called its hideout, but at present it’s nothing but an abandoned building with a dwindling supply of liquor.
You slug a drink from one of the remaining bottles, crisp and transparent everclear. The taste is sharp and smooth like swallowing a knife. You hiss at the sensation and relax at the imminent warmth pooling in your gut.
“Boys,” you say tipsily. “I think this is what they call rock bottom.”
“Yeah…” squeaks the small-statured Clubs Deuce in agreement.
“Ugh,” responds the massively bulky Hearts Boxcars.
“I think we have two courses of action, lads,” you say calmly. “A metaphorical fork in the road for us. The liquor isn’t going to last us forever. Once it runs out, we’re going to have to make a choice.”
You pass the everclear to Hearts over Deuce’s head. Deuce is drinking chocolate milk. He takes a swig and makes a shudder as if it burnt on the way down.
“We can sit here and die with the rest of the Medium,” you say, glancing to both of your buddies. “Or go on a suicide mission to try to recover our boss from wherever plane of reality Skaia spat him out in.”
“How’re we getting to Skaia?” asks Hearts gruffly.
He slides the bottle back to you. You peek behind the counter but all you see are empty whisky and bourbon bottles. The last bottle is this eighth-full handle of revolting vodka. You chug the last of it.
“Ship,” you say.
The three of you stand, Deuce drinking the last of his chocolate milk. You open the swinging doors of the bar and step into the cobbled streets of Derse toward the nearest inter-medium ship depot.
Around you, Derse is largely deserted. After the Black King’s death, most carapaces with a brain between their ears got up and left, either for Skaia or for one of the twelve lands which you reason aren’t much more hopeful. Everyone knows, Prospitian, Dersite, or Denizen, that once the Black King dies, it’s curtains.
“What’s the plan?” asks Hearts. You blow air through your cheeks and shrug.
“We’re not royals, we can’t open Skaian portals,” you reason. “The only thing that Skaia opens portals for are meteors. You know, stuff flying at it that might hit its surface.”
“What if we zoomed at Skaia real fast?” offers Clubs.
“That’s stupid,” says Hearts, swatting his small friend. “If we miss, we’ll go splat on Skaia’s surface. Right, Droog?”
You shrug. Hearts groans.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me…”
As you walk, something gives you pause, holding a hand out to stop Hearts and Deuce in their tracks. There’s a strange static crackle in the air, some thin and greasy sensation closing in. You look left and right, seeing tiny green sparks at the edges of your vision. Something’s coming.
“BOYS!”
Your three heads shoot upward as a booming voice sounds overhead. Descending from the dark Dersite sky is a figure, two black wings outstretched, canine ears and snout pointing down at you as the figure descends slowly, landing at last before you on the cobbled street. Around its demonic body, green electricity arcs.
“Boys,” the figure repeats in an animalistic voice. You gawk. A look of recognition and triumph are on his face, a look that only barely disguises the figure’s manic desperation.
“Can we help you?” you offer the demon. It approaches and its sheer aura freezes you motionless.
“Can you help me? Listen to this guy,” the demon growls, laughing. He extends a hand for you to shake. Mesmerized, you shake it, feeling the same sensation of mild electric shock and taste of burnt tin you got when licking a battery as a slimeling.
“Listen,” you say, trying to position your body protectively between the demon and your associates. “We don’t want any trouble, we need to get back to our boss.”
“Your boss?” the demon scoffs, holding up a hand. “Don’t you recognize me?”
On the hand is a ring which the demon removes with his teeth. Once it slides off, his canine features vanish and he becomes a more normal-looking Dersite. Behind you Hearts and Clubs gasp in recognition.
“Boss?” you say, eyes widening. The man looks exactly like Spades Slick, spare for the scar across his eye, but there’s something strange about his voice and his gait. He’s the same but different in a way that activates some primitive suspicious part of your brain attuned to spotting the uncanny.
“It’s me!” says Spades Slick. “It’s your boss, Jack Noir!”
You are no longer Diamonds Droog.
Your name is June Egbert.
You scream, feeling the heat of a blast from a nuclear imp sizzle past you and hit a tree to your left. You turn in time to see it burst into sand-sized particles and fall to the ground where the particles themselves split apart into smoke.
The worst part of the ordeal is the imps' attitude. They don't seem evil, instead bearing the faces of mean little kids playfully torturing a bug as they take turns trying to zap you, making giggling squeals as you just barely escape their bolts.
Another worst part of the ordeal is Vriska- That fucking alien bitch! She did this, she got their attention, she's the reason you're running for your life! Where's Nana? Where is anyone? There's no one to save you now.
Panting frantically, you run chest-first into a stone wall, a large brown rock face in the woods. You look left and see it continue, then you look right and see that it stretches that way too. You're backed against a wall and imps are closing in.
"Take a deep breath."
The words ring in your ears. Vriska's moronic "advice" to you before she rang the dinner bell for these imp bastards. The advice has a different tone now, as if she is suggesting to take a deep breath and be at peace with your fate.
Five imps approach in the trees, glowing hands portents of green lightning to come.
"John, are you okay?"
Five years ago, on your thirteenth birthday, you burned yourself on a pan in the oven. It was a bad burn, your whole hand covered in red, the smell of burnt skin still etched into your sense-memory.
"It hurts!"
You had cried and screamed, clutching your wrist helplessly, stumbling around the kitchen until your father firmly took your shoulders.
"Breathe. Take a deep breath, son."
His words had been so stern they jerked you out of the pain.
"Four counts in, just like counting on the piano."
You and your father breathed in together for four slow counts.
"Hold it for four- Then blow it all out."
The calming breath had made the pain of the burn seem so much less. Inconsequential.
"See? All better. Now, you shouldn’t put a burn in anything cold, let’s get you some warm water…"
Your father said this with amusement, and when you looked down at your hand, you saw no burn at all. You always assumed you'd imagined the sight of burnt skin.
"Four counts in."
You close your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. The imps approach, raising their hands.
"Hold it for four."
You hold your breath and feel one, two, three, four, five impacts right at your chest. You open your eyes, still holding in your breath, expecting to see triumphant imps celebrating your imminent death.
"Breathe out!"
The air in your lungs multiplies and erupts from you like a gale, the five imp-blasts completely ineffective against your body, rebounding from you like you're made of rubber. They shoot outward and all hit one imp in the chest, who explodes into atoms just like you had seen the tree do.
You're still exhaling and two more imps fly away, a fourth having to cling to the branch of a tree to remain in place. The wind coming from your lips is gale-force, only abating after the fourth imp is blown into the skies like a feather in the intro to a corny historical drama.
You pant, out of breath, forcing yourself to breathe evenly.
"Four counts in- Hold for four-"
You steady yourself, breathing normally now. You notice your skin is glowing a strange baby-blue hue, the same glow as your nana. The one remaining imp is flat on his face some ways away. You collapse against the rock face you'd been backed up into, exhaling exhaustedly.
"June!"
A voice rouses you and Nana flies to your side, grabbing your arms to inspect you for injuries.
"Nana, did you see?" you say, unable to stop yourself from sounding like a proud child who just did a cannonball to impress her dad.
"I did! How did you do that?" she laughs, gripping your hands proudly.
"I don't know!" you laugh, hugging her, relieved. "I fought back! I can fight back! I'm not useless!"
"Of course you're not, dear!" Nana hugs you back and helps you to your feet.
"My PDA..." You say, patting your pockets, realizing that there's been a casualty of this battle.
"Don't worry, dear," Nana says. "We can make you a new portable computing doohickey back home."
"I can't believe I fought five of them and didn't even get a scratch." You start to walk, feeling cocky, flexing your fingers in front of your face.
"Nothing can scratch an Egbert!" Nana insists.
"Gyuuh," says the imp.
Wait, what imp?
You turn on your heel in time to take a green imp-blast directly to the face.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Your name is Equius Zahhak.
Presently, you are on a meteor in a room with your moirail, Nepeta Leijon. There is a sense of seriousness in the air. Seriousness puts you at ease but seems to make Nepeta fidgety.
“Stop fidgeting,” you say, breaking the silence.
“Don’t be so bossy,” she chides, but she does cease her finger-fluttering. Your arms are crossed and your legs parted on the cold metal seat you’re positioned in across a table from Nepeta. She brought cake from some hitherto unknown portion of this meteor, but you don’t trust it. Yours sits uneaten as she munches on her third slice.
“What is your counsel?” you ask bluntly as Nepeta stuffs a fork past her lips.
“You mean about the demon?” she clarifies.
“There is no other matter of import at present,” you say simply. “The demon is the sole impediment to escaping this place. He is our obstacle. The age-old question of survival rears its head: Fight or Flight?”
Nepeta taps her chin, her narrow-pupiled feline eyes narrowing further as she thinks.
“I want to say fight, especially when it comes to barkbeasts,” she slowly thinks through her words. “But I also don’t think we’re going to gain anything from fighting.”
“I agree,” you reply. “But there is also nothing to be gained from waiting around to simply perish. What do you make of Vriska’s idea?”
“You mean her idea to fight the demon head-on?” Nepeta sucks air through her teeth doubtfully. “I don’t think that’s a good idea at all. All of us together took down the Black King but I think the demon is stronger plus not everyone is going to want to help fight him.”
“Well-reasoned,” you say. “I find myself agreeing. If the Prospit dreamers are to be believed, he made rubble of the yellow moon from orbit. It will be best to wait for our opportunity to flee this Medium entirely.”
You squeeze your arms closer, humming.
“I shall ask what the highblood thinks,” you say, withdrawing a phone with a cracked screen.
“Equius,” Nepeta says in a chiding tone. “I don’t think he likes talking to you. You’re kind of creepy towards him.”
“Nonsense,” you scoff. “I speak to Sir Makara with the respect befitting someone of our respective stations. You could learn from my example, midblood.”
Nepeta rolls her eyes.
“You put too much stock into blood caste, Equius,” she says. “You should worry about something more REAL, like romance quadrants!”
You roll your eyes in turn.
“Romance is a flight of fancy afforded to the silly and frivolous,” you say. “Hierarchies of power and status dictate our very lives.”
You sullenly return to typing on your phone as Nepeta slinks onto one of the room’s beds with her cake.
--centaursTesticle began trolling terminallyCapricious--
CT: D --> Sir Makara, I desire your sage wisdom
CT: D --> Sir Makara, I desire your sage wisdom
CT: D --> Sir Makara, I desire your sage wisdom
CT: D --> Sir Makara, I can see you are reading these messages from trollian’s “seen” function
TC: do you ever
TC: SHUT THE FUCK UP?
CT: D --> Fascinating. It seems you have adopted a different typing quirk
CT: D --> Are you ready to share your sage wisdom?
TC: you dont want my “sage wisdom”
TC: YOU CREEPY ASS LUSUSFUCKING PISS DRINKER
CT: D --> The insinuation that I fuck my lusus is as insulting as the insinuation that I drink urine
CT: D --> Though one does wonder what the taste would bring
CT: D --> Oft the most taboo liquids bring the most delights.
CT: D --> You would know, sir Makara, from your sopor endeavors
TC: fuck high above the gray planet
TC: WOULD YOU SHUT THE EVERLOVING FUCK UP
TC: every time we talk you get either sexual or gross or both
TC: AND I’M SICK TO FUCKING DEATH OF IT
CT: D --> We are getting off-track I do believe
CT: D --> I want to know what you think of this demon and what we should do about it
TC: who cares
TC: HES GONNA UP AND SLICE US UP NO MATTER WHAT
CT: D --> I see
CT: D --> So fighting him is pointless
CT: D --> Should I assume you consider escape?
CT: D --> I have asked Nepeta and she seems to agree
TC: i dont have two cares to rub together
TC: ON WHAT HAPPENS TO YOUR CREEPY ASS
CT: D --> I did not realize we were discussing my posterior
CT: D --> I am saddened you do not care about its condition, sir Makara
TC: please stop messagin me
TC: AND IF I CATCH YOU DOING THAT SHIT AGAIN, ILL KILL YOU
--terminallyCapricious blocked centaursTesticle--
You shiver. Death threats from highbloods are so titillating. You look back to Nepeta who is now dozing on the strange slab-shaped snoozepads that are dotted about the facility in lieu of sopor cocoons.
You slide into the bed with Nepeta, wrapping one arm around her comfortably. In her half-sleep she tugs you closer and squirms to get comfy.
Moirails often cuddle like this, in a comforting close manner while still remaining platonic, even after arguments and disagreements. Soon you find yourself fading into sleep, the streets of Derse greeting your dreaming vision.
You are no longer Equius Zahhak.
Chapter 46: Act 4 Chapter 6: Pendent Penitence
Chapter Text
Your name is Dave Strider.
You stroll into the First Bank of LOHAC with a cocky stride, holding in your hand a LOHAC-FDIC approved debit card. On it is the first boondollar of your soon-to-be-massive fortune. Waiting for you at the stock exchange kiosk is yourself.
“Sup,” says yourself.
To be clear, this is yourself, which is not the usual yourself. The usual yourself that you hang out with is Davesprite, but the self that’s standing in front of the kiosk is a self that is you, as in not-Davesprite, from the future.
You see yourself from the future. This is good, it means your plan is already in motion, by the very virtue of having planned it.
“Sup,” you reply to yourself, which is to say, you from the future.
Future Dave holds aloft his own credit card, tapping the machine with it.
“You’re going to want to put some money on Croco-Dell Computers. It’s about to go up by double in about five minutes.” Future-Dave nods curtly at you and vanishes in a puff of time.
You approach the kiosk. The interface is ancient, a plain blue screen with blocky pixel letters, like an old library computer. You dump your singular dollar on one stock of Croco-Dell Computers.
You and Davesprite watch as the screen incrementally updates. Sure enough, in five minutes’ time, your Croco-Dell stock is worth two boondollars.
“It’s a start,” says Davesprite.
“I’ll be right back,” you say. You hold a hand in front of your chest. Out of the aether appears one of your handy turntables, a handy tool that allows you to travel through time, a gift from Davesprite. You scratch the record slightly, the world around you zipping around like a tape being rewound. Soon, you’re five minutes in the past, watching yourself walk into the bank.
“Sup,” you say to yourself, who is now your past self.
“Sup,” responds you, who is to say yourself five minutes ago.
You hold aloft your credit card, tapping the machine.
“You’re going to want to put some money on a stock called Croco-Dell Computers. It’s about to go up by double in about five minutes,” you say. Past-Dave nods curtly at you and you vanish back to the present, which is to say the future.
“I’m starting to sense a problem,” Davesprite says when you reappear in the present. “Even if we double our money every single time, it’s going to take a while to get to a Gazillion that Don Croc wants to sell the Beat Mesa for.”
“Right,” you say. “We can’t just wait for my future self to give us tips. We need an active strategy.”
“Try going into the future to compare prices then to now, then we can bulk-invest. After we have some money, it’ll start growing exponentially,” Davesprite suggests hesitantly.
“What’s up?” you ask. For the first time, you can’t quite tell what Davesprite is thinking.
“There’s something I want to do,” says Davesprite vaguely.
“Yeah?” you wait for him to clarify.
“I want to find Bro,” he says. The words make your eyebrows rise above the rims of your aviators.
“Why?” the question is dropped heavily and Davesprite winces at the weight.
“He’s our Bro,” he says simply.
You stare at him. He’s not wrong that Bro is your brother, but you wonder what that has to do with wanting to see him. As far as you’re concerned, Bro left you for dead and you’re content to treat him the same.
“Okay,” you say after a moment. You don’t understand but you’re not stupid enough to try to talk yourself out of something.
Davesprite holds out a hand and you take it. It feels… Good. Shaking your own hand. Comfortable. Symmetrical. You stare at yourself and you get a sudden jolt, the same feeling you get when you stare into a mirror for too long. You both look away hastily. Davesprite wordlessly glides towards the door, leaving you to your business.
You are no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Terezi Pyrope.
Dave Strider the human is a frustrating person for two reasons. One, he matches your wits when it comes to sniffing people out, a power he uses against you at every chance. He is the worthy rhetorical adversary you never got on homeworld. The second reason is that you think you’re starting to warm up to him.
==
GC: HOW GO TH3 STOCKS, COOLK1D?
TG: dece
TG: cooking up strategy
TG: hows whatever the fuck youre up to
TG: waiting to die in the shit dimension
GC: SH1TTY.
TG: actually realistically what are you guys doing
GC: WA1T1NG FOR YOUR SCR4TCH.
GC: OUR DOORW4Y 1NTO YOUR UN1V3RS3 W4S D3STROY3D, 4ND ONC3 YOU 1N1T14T3 TH3 SCR4TCH, TH4T W1LL M4K3 4 N3W DOOR.
TG: oh
TG: huh
GC: TH4T'S 4 SK3PT1C4L R34CT1ON
TG: yeah uh
TG: i mean thats not how time works is it
GC: >:?
GC: WH4T DO YOU M34N?
TG: think of it like this
TG: imagine a stream of water coming out of a faucet
GC: W4T3R COM3S OUT OF F4UC3TS ON YOUR PL4N3T?
TG: yeah where does it come out of on yours
GC: 1T POOLS 1N PUDDL3S 1 GU3SS? COM1NG UP FROM TH3 GROUND.
GC: WHY WOULD YOU N33D F4UC3TS TO M4K3 W4T3R?
TG: to fill shit
TG: cups bowls buckets
GC: OH MY GOD D4V3. TH4T'S R3VOLT1NG, 1 DON'T N33D TO H34R 4BOUT TH4T.
TG: just imagine a river then sheesh
TG: the river flows one way
TG: if i throw a branch into the river itll appear downriver
TG: and youre down river from us
GC: HOW C4N YOU T3LL?
TG: because you guys got invaded by the jack noir dude and hes still here with us
TG: meaning the bec you see is from my future
TG: and if youre in the future from us then this doorway youre talking about would have already appeared
TG: youre in a completely different time stream the things i do have no effect on your shit
GC: 1’M JUST S4Y1NG WH4T K4RK4T TOLD M3.
GC: YOU DO A SCR4TCH, W3 G3T 4 DOOR.
TG: hm
TG: do you ever get the feeling hes hiding something
GC: …
==
Dave’s words give you pause. If he’s telling the truth, that means that the foundation on which your plan is built is shaky. Lawyers hate shaky foundations. Contradictions and falsehoods abound to hold up the structures of lies on shaky foundations.
Before you can reply to Dave, you hear the ping of a message. That’s weird… It’s HER. What does SHE want? It’s been so long since you’ve spoken, you barely talked to her in the game at all and for good reason. You minimize Dave’s chat.
--arachnidsGrip began trolling gallowsCalibrator--
AG: Terezi! ::::)
AG: Listen, I’m turning over a new leaf.
GC: 1'V3 H34RD TH4T B3FOR3.
AG: I’m making you an offer! Hear me out.
AG: Imagine this…
AG: Team Scourge, at it again.
AG: You and me, kicking ass and taking names!
GC: G3T TO TH3 PO1NT, VR1SK4.
AG: You haven’t even heard what I’m up to yet, Redglare. Be p8tient.
GC: 1 DON'T W4NT TO KNOW WH4T YOU'R3 “UP TO,” VR1SK4. 1F 1 D1D 1 WOULD B3 4SK1NG.
GC: TH3 L4ST T1M3 1 1NVOLV3D MYS3LF W1TH YOUR G4M3S, P3OPL3 GOT HURT.
AG: Ugh, fine. I’ll cut to the chase.
AG: I’m getting a team together to fight the demon.
AG: I want you to be part of it.
GC: TH1S 1SN'T SOM3 V1D3O G4M3, VR1SK4. YOU’R3 1N OV3R YOUR H34D.
AG: He had us on the run last time, but we can take him if we get some heavy-hitters!
AG: And I’ve “dreamed” up a way to make those heavy-hitters hit heavier!
GC: DR34M3D UP?
GC: TH1S S33MS T3NUOUS.
AG: C’moooooooon. You know I’m right.
GC: 1 DON’T KNOW YOU’R3 RIGHT.
GC: 1’M NOT W1LL1NG TO G4MBL3 1F YOU’R3 R1GHT OR NOT.
GC: FR4NKLY 1F YOU DO G3T 4 L4M3-4SS RPG P4RTY TOG3TH3R TO F1GHT H1M, 1 WOULD H4V3 TO STOP YOU.
AG: Bluh, fine. I don’t know why I 8othered with the olive 8ranch, Pyrope.
AG: You got 8ORING.
AG: Snor-rezi Die-rope.
GC: 1T3R4T3 ON MY N4M3 4LL YOU W4NT. TH3 4NSW3R 1S NO.
AG: You of all people must have noticed 8y now how idiotic this all is, right?
AG: Doc Scratch and his silly little “plan.”
AG: Do you REALLY think a door is just going to magically open once th8y finish the Scratch?
AG: That it’s going to wrap up all neat and tidy?
GC: …
AG: You know I’m right.
GC: 1 DON’T H4V3 3NOUGH 1NFORM4T1ON, VR1SK4.
GC: BY3.
==
Vriska, as usual, cuts to the heart of an issue with the subtlety of a threshsecutioner’s war club. Doc’s plan seems to be coming into question lately and Vriska does have a point that sitting on your ass doing nothing is going to achieve fuck-all.
This ghost from your past isn’t going away. Speaking of ghosts… Someone else is messaging you. You’re popular today.
==
AA: terezi
GC: OH. H1, 4R4D14.
AA: did vriska message y0u
GC: UH, Y34H. 4BOUT F1GHT1NG TH3 D3MON 1NST34D OF S1TT1NG 4ROUND.
AA: i see
AA: it is a bad idea
AA: s0mething will need to be d0ne to prevent her fr0m fighting bec n0ir
GC: R1GHT
GC: 4ND... YOU’R3 4SK1NG M3 TO DO SOM3TH1NG, 1F N33D B3?
AA: yes
AA: you are her friend
GC: W4S.
AA: 0kay
GC: 1’LL STOP H3R. 1 STOPP3D H3R L4ST T1M3, D1DN’T 1?
AA: did y0u
GC: Y3S.
AA: n0 0ffense terezi
AA: while y0u did punish her ultimately i still ended up dead and tavr0s still ended up disabled
GC: 1 KNOW.
GC: 1 SHOULD H4V3 STOPP3D H3R 34RL13R.
GC: 1 WON’T M4K3 TH4T M1ST4K3 4G41N.
AA: terezi
AA: you c0uld n0t have st0pped her
GC: ...
GC: 1’M SORRY YOU D13D, 4R4D14.
==
You shiver. More questions than answers swirl in your head and it reminds you distinctly of something you thought was long-over. Loose ends dangle everywhere you look.
You remember the last time you spoke to Vriska and Aradia, sweeps ago, a time before you were even blind, the time your eyes were taken away to begin with. Taken by the person who moments ago has asked you for help.
You close your blank eyes and remember.
You are no longer Terezi Pyrope in the Present.
You are Terezi Pyrope in the Past.
The planet Alternia spins lazily around its sun, one of only three planets in its orbit. Due to its closeness to its star and intense radiation, most fauna are nocturnal as a matter of survival, including you. As the boiling sun sets, you emerge from your windowless room in the treehouse, squinting in the dimming light.
Your eyes are not yet blind and your nose is not yet potent enough to smell color, so the faintly teal colored wood leaves no impression upon you as you sit before your computer. In a sweep, you will be sent into space to train to become a Legislacerator and as such there is much studying to be done. Most of this studying is done in books and on the troll internet where there are myriad tips and tricks for blossoming lawyers, both mental and martial.
None of these tips and tricks are on your mind today.
Often, you play games with your friends. Your favorite game is known as FLARP: Fully Live Action Role Play, an augmented reality RPG where trolls compete for loot and real-world prizes.
On your wall hang several of said prizes. A teal-and-red suit pilfered from the body of a corpse in an abandoned lawlosseum, a thin white cane hiding a blade in the hilt, and a pair of ruby-red sunglasses.
Your main partner when playing FLARP is your best friend, Vriska Serket. In the game, she is known as Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, the right hand woman to your Neophyte Redglare, both extremely high-level. Most of the prizes on your wall were won with her help. Still… It’s been a while since you’ve played together. That changes today. You log on to the chat application Trollian with determination.
==
GC: SO, M1NDF4NG. WH4T K1ND OF FR4C4S SH4LL W3 C4US3 TOD4Y?
GC: 1’M TH1NK1NG W3 R41D T34M ST4R’S M41N B4S3, TH3Y’V3 B33N 4 THORN 1N OUR S1D3S.
GC: TH31R TROPH13S W1LL LOOK GOOD 1N MY HO4RD. >:]
AG: Haha, what’s with you and hoards?
AG: Is it 8ecause your lusus is a dragon?
GC: OH, Y3S. 1 HOP3 SH3 1S BORN SOON.
GC: WH4T DO YOU S4Y? 4R3 YOU UP FOR 4DV3NTUR3?
AG: Uuuuuuuum. As much as I’d love to, I already agreed to help Tavros level his character.
GC: T4VROS 4G41N?
GC: YOUV3 B33N H4NG1NG OUT W1TH H1M 4 LOT.
AG: So?
GC: SO YOU’R3 4 H1GHBLOOD. WHY WORK SO H4RD TO H3LP 4 RUSTBLOOD3D NOBODY WHO WON’T 3V3N B3 4L1V3 FOR CONSCR1PT1ON?
AG: Hey! Tavros has potential.
AG: He and that spooky girl Aradia on Team Charge are giving us hell.
AG: Maybe we could do a team-up once Tav gets up to snuff.
GC: 1F YOU S4Y SO...
AG: I didn’t know you cared about castes.
GC: M4YB3 1 DON’T. M4YB3 1’M JUST J34LOUS MY B3ST FR13ND 1S H4NG1NG OUT W1TH SOM3ON3 3LS3.
GC: >:[
AG: Haha, aww! Terezi, come on. You’re my number 2!
AG: I promise we’ll raid team Star next time. That twerp Casper has it coming.
GC: H3H. OK4Y VR1SK4.
GC: BUT FOR TH3 R3CORD, *YOU’R3* TH3 NUMB3R TWO.
==
Team Scourge is the two-person FLARP team you’ve formed with Vriska, and your only rivals in the greater Outer Horner area are Team Charge, comprised of Tavros, aforementioned shitblood, and Aradia, a true redblooded gutter troll. The fact that your main rivals are lowbloods irritates you for reasons that you don’t entirely understand.
You’re a lawyer, or at least you want to be someday, and the law of the land that no troll defies is the golden rule: The weak get culled.
You’re torn from your casteist musings by another ping, this time from someone else.
[quirk this]
==
AA: terezi
GC: aradia.
GC: surely you mean “miss pyrope.”
AA: surely i do not
GC: bluh, whatever. i hate doing this song-and-dance with you, aradia.
GC: why can’t you just conform to caste rules?
GC: you know i hate having to bug you about them.
AA: if you hate the caste rules why bother
GC: because that’s the rule. rules exist in society for a reason, do you think someone just made them up one day?
AA: …
AA: look i just have a simple question
AA: is tavros playing with vriska again
GC: yes.
GC: i’m not sure what she sees in him.
GC: it makes me jealous. does it make you jealous?
AA: that is honest of you to admit
AA: it does not make me jealous so much as genuinely concerned
AA: tavros is impressionable and vriska is very… impressioning
GC: what are you getting at?
AA: it strikes me as dangerous
GC: vriska isn’t dangerous, aradia.
AA: she is not dangerous to you but she is to tavros and me
AA: you know how she feeds that massive spider lusus of hers do you not
GC: …
AA: she feeds them lowbloods
AA: the drones do not bat an eye at this because no one will notice a few missing gutterbloods is that not correct
GC: she’s not going to kill tavros.
GC: she’s got a weird crush on him or something.
AA: that does not reassure me
AA: i am warning you because i respect you as a rival terezi
AA: if anything happens to tavros i will retaliate
GC: she won’t do anything. i promise.
GC: i’ll make sure of it. if she does, let me take care of her. vriska is my responsibility.
AA: very well
==
Aradia logs off, leaving you with a sense of unease. The words you typed stare back at you and though you typed them in honesty, they now feel like lies. Your mind’s eye can see visions of multicolored blood.
You are no longer Terezi in the past.
You are now Terezi in the present.
You shiver, remembering what you used to be. A casteist, judgmental troll with a head for only power. It’s the only way Alternia ever expected you to be, a violent girl who didn’t care about lesser lives. That was until your own life became lesser.
Before you remember more, you stop yourself. That’s enough memories for one day. You decide you need a rest, it’s been a while since you’ve obtained some shuteye. You stand up, stretching, traipsing to a transportalizer to teleport yourself to one of the meteor’s many “beds.”
Trolls back on Alternia didn’t have these strange slumber-slabs, at least not midbloods like you. You had a sopor husk, a large cocoon filled with lime-green soporific slime that mollified the nightmares that were endemic to your species due to the eldritch influence of Glb’golyb, terrestrial horrorterror.
Now in the Medium, your sleep is unmarred by horrifying dreams, but you still feel weird about sleeping splayed out instead of suspended in liquid. Floating in slime is more natural.
Putting those thoughts out of your head, you lean forth and land face-first on the “bed,” your eyes shutting- Which for you is but a formality. Your qualms about bed-usage fall away and you fade into sleep.
You are no longer Terezi Pyrope of the Meteor.
You are now Terezi Pyrope of Prospit.
Your eyes open on Prospit, which for you is a formality. You inhale, drinking in the lemon-scented yellows and dark licorice blacks of Prospit’s streets as well as the candy-floss blue of Skaia high above. It’s been a long time since you’ve last smelled the colors of this lovely place.
The body that you’ve come to know as your dream-self floats out of the window, high above the large masonry of Prospit’s many gothic cathedrals and flying buttresses. You chuckle to yourself. Buttresses.
Far below are the busy Prospitians, continuing life joyously now that the Black King and Queen are dead, making plans for evacuation now that the game has been won. It makes you a little sad. They’re headed for your dead world and you’re headed nowhere. The game is over but you remain.
You float toward another one of the tall towers that house the dream-selves of your associates, the tower you know to contain Vriska. You float in through the window curiously.
“Vriska?” you call out. No response. Vriska isn’t inside her dream-room. All that is within are bad memories. On the floor are shards of something white and plastic, a former sphere now popped like a balloon, scorch marks scarring the yellow floor. Smelling this memento, you wince. Since losing your vision, you can no longer look away from things.
You use your smell to try to sense Vriska’s blueberry scent, but all you pick up is the usual caramel of Prospitian infrastructure, the blue raspberry of Skaia’s billowing clouds and a candy-apple green in the distance.
Wait, what? You sniff again.
The candy-green gets more sickly now, like the apples have been sitting out too long. The scent crackles in your nose like an imminent sneeze. That smell shouldn’t be there. High above Prospit, invisible to its people, is an inky-black charcoal-scented shape silhouetted by Skaia’s sweet blue. The shape has a dog’s muzzle and the ring on his finger crackles with overpowering bright-green energy.
Your eyes widen. For you, this is a formality.
Before you can gasp the word “Demon,” your world explodes into sour vermillion.
You are no longer Terezi of Prospit.
You are now Terezi of the Meteor.
With a start, you wake, stumbling from the bed, falling to the floor, scrambling for purchase on the neutral cold scent of the gray ground, your feet thudding under you as you race to one of the meteor’s balcony exits. You push yourself out and to the bannister, gripping it tightly. Your fellow Prospit dreamers Karkat and Kanaya are there with you, gazing high into the air towards the pinprick of Skaia.
You watch silently as a green sphere of destruction slowly fades from Skaia’s orbit. There’s a soundless, wordless beat.
“He destroyed it,” you say with disquieting dread. The dream self you’d been floating around on Prospit with is gone, too. You feel the same emptiness you felt when you went blind, something in yourself is gone forever.
You draw your attention from the trio and the brutality high above and realize there is a fourth figure with you on the balcony, another Prospit dreamer. Vriska sleeps soundly away as her dream-land is broken apart, her head resting on her balled-up jacket. Her skin is faintly glowing.
The others don’t notice it, but something is happening with Vriska, something that you’re on the outside of. Something that is going to cause problems down the line. You can’t fathom what her glowing skin and peaceful slumber mean, but you will soon.
Your eyes narrow. For you, this is a formality.
You are no longer Terezi Pyrope.
Chapter 47: Act 4 Chapter 7: Avian Emergence
Summary:
Chapter Text
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
After excavating a hole into the center of the Land of Light and Rain, you’re descending the well with your trusty flying eldritch cat, Jaspers. It’s dark, the light high above now but a pinprick.
“We’ve been going down for a while, Miss Rose,” Jaspers says, fear creeping into his voice.
“Indeed,” you affirm, peering down. You turn your phone outward to use as a flashlight, but the dim glow is a faded gray in the face of crushing darkness below. Around you, sand and rock shifts.
“Is the tunnel gonna collapse?” asks Jaspers.
“Let’s hope not,” you mutter as a stone near your ear comes loose from the wall and tumbles into the abyss below.
Jaspers comes to a halt as the well bottoms out. The light high above is a pencil’s tip and the two-meter-wide well is intensely claustrophobic.
“Miss Rose, look,” Jaspers points at the ground. Instead of dirt, the floor beneath you is marble and smooth, clearly something manmade- Or in this case, perhaps game-made.
You rest a hand on the marble. This must be the place. Still, the marble is sheer with no way in. It’s also dangerous to let loose more destructive blasts right now, the well above you might cave in.
“What do you think is down there?” you ask Jaspers who takes a moment to think.
“It’s probably one of the Land’s temples! They’re built around everywhere, but I never knew one would be under us!” Jaspers purrs.
You slide a hand over the marble and knock on it. Solid. You’re pressed against Jaspers in these close quarters and you can’t kneel effectively, so you lower yourself as best you can and point your wands at the floor.
“Uh, Miss Rose?” Jaspers sounds doubtful.
“I know what I’m doing,” you say simply, allowing a laser point of black electricity to dance from the wand-tip, cutting into the marble below. After hollowing out a circular section, you hop in place. Jaspers cries out as the floor gives out and the circular section of marble falls into a chamber below.
You hop inside, landing within what seems to be a treasure room. As your feet touch the floor, lamps flicker to life, revealing ornate art-deco patterns in technicolor on the walls, multicolor arches in relief all dancing across the small room.
In the middle of the square-shaped chamber there is a grecian pillar with a gold-colored pillow atop it. On top of that… A round, pure-white sphere.
“Hello,” you say under your breath. You approach the orb and take it.
You brace yourself for fanfare or booby traps or other rigamarole when you lift it into the air, but instead, you get… Nothing. You blink.
“Well,” you say, struck with bathos. “I suppose we should get back up the well. I’m not keen to stay underground.”
Jaspers grips you under the arms and lifts you up the well once again.
As Jaspers lifts you, you consider the orb. You raise it to your ear, shaking it. Inside you hear sloshing and feel the small weight of something rattling inside the liquid.
“What is it, Miss Rose?” asks Jaspers. You heft the ball in your hand. It’s lighter than a stone, definitely hollow.
“It feels like a Magic Eight Ball.” You rattle the ball again. “I suppose it stands to reason there could be a magic cue ball. Will I ever find love?” you ask as Jaspers gently deposits you on the ground in front of the well. The ball remains inert in your hands. You rattle it again, but you don’t see anything.
“What’s a Magic Eight Ball, Miss Rose?” Jaspers asks, giving the ball a close sniff.
“It’s an orb you ask questions into and it gives you a random answer that you can see through a window at the bottom.” You run your hands over the entire surface of the thing.
This seems a little too much like a puzzle for your liking. You know most games involve puzzles and whatnot, but you don’t play games to feel smart, you play them to feel powerful. This little mystery orb makes you feel like a moron. You frown at it.
“Miss Rose, your phone is buzzing,” Jaspers says from behind you.
“Tell Green-Text Lady I’m busy,” you mutter, tapping the orb with your wand.
“It’s not her,” he replies. “It’s someone else. Someone who called you ‘dearest?’”
“Him,” you say forebodingly, taking the phone from Jaspers.
==
DOC: Mister Feline, may I please speak to Rose Dearest?
TT: oh um um um okay but shes really busy pondering her orb right now
DOC: She is expecting me.
TT: okay one sec…
TT: What do you want?
DOC: What a curious way to get to the middle of your Land.
DOC: I feel as if I should tell you there was a perfectly good staircase leading to the boon chamber just a mile from your location.
TT: My method was faster.
DOC: Perhaps. But even a slower path offers less resistance than your brutish show of force.
DOC: Rather unladylike of you, I must say.
DOC: You remind me of someone else who once had my orb. A young man who preferred force to finesse.
TT: Who gives a damn how I got the orb?
TT: Your idiotic sphere is useless.
TT: Tell me how to use it and spare me the riddles.
DOC: Fine, fine.
DOC: I think you've earned three more questions, my little lady.
TT: “Little lady?”
TT: Every time you speak to me I have to suppress urge to throw up.
TT: Refrain from any annoying pet names.
DOC: They are not annoying, they're fun and charming.
TT: They aren’t.
DOC: Are so.
TT: Ugh…
TT: First question. Why do you want a new vessel?
DOC: Odd. You were so interested in figuring out the orb mere moments ago.
DOC: Do you not feel you should ask about that?
TT: If you’re as omniscient as you say, you know I will not relent on this point.
TT: Unless you’d like to downgrade again to “mostly-niscient?”
TT: I’ve decided the orb is beneath my powers of reason. Not to mention, you gave away a hint a moment ago.
DOC: Very well.
DOC: Why do I want a new vessel? Why wouldn’t I?
DOC: Doesn't everyone want to perpetuate their own existence?
TT: Judging by the way you’re answering my question with rhetorical devices, I don’t think that’s the case.
TT: Everyone wants to perpetuate their own existence, but everyone dies, too.
TT: You want to cheat death.
DOC: Is that informed by any evidence or just your own gut instinct?
DOC: This vessel of mine is of vital importance on a certain errand.
DOC: Something written in my very genetic code.
DOC: It is the “Wish” that my creator made.
TT: Every new universe is based on a wish, right?
DOC: Correct.
DOC: That counts as your second question, by the way.
TT: Fine. I have just one more.
DOC: Shoot.
TT: What was the wish that created you?
DOC: Haa haa haa. Hee hee hee. Hoo hoo hoo.
DOC: I am afraid I must bend the rules, Rose.
DOC: I will not go back on my word and refrain from answering your question, but I am not at liberty to discuss that as of right now.
DOC: I shall answer that question at a later time.
TT: Whatever.
DOC: You really should ask questions more pertinent to your predicament, though Miss Lalonde.
DOC: I will be the least of your worries when Bec Noir comes calling.
==
You exhale, realizing you’d been holding your breath for most of that time. You bite your lip. You already decided Doc can’t be trusted, yet here you are, hanging on his every word. It’s embarrassing.
“Well Miss Rose? Do you know how to work the orb thingy now?” Jaspers asks from over your shoulder. His purring puts you at ease.
“No, but I know where to begin,” your fingers are typing again.
==
TT: Kanaya. Respond.
GA: Rather Curt Of You
GA: I Would Prefer A More Polite Request
TT: Why? The last few times we’ve spoken, you’ve made a point to emphasize my inferiority due to being a human.
TT: I am acting the part.
GA: Okay Okay I Take Your Point
GA: It Begrudges Me To Say This But
GA: You May Be An Exception To Your Barbaric Alien Friends Rose
GA: There
GA: I Think That Should Adequately Bridge The Gap Between Us
TT: If you’re trying to construct a bridge between us, you have not even hammered the first nail, Miss Maryam.
GA: Aw What
TT: I don’t have time to argue about your latent speciesism, Kanaya.
TT: I need to know which one of your cohorts wielded an orb of prognostication.
TT: I believe it was a male, most likely brash and violent.
GA: Er Males Of My Species Tend To Be Rather Mild Mannered And Weak Rose
GA: Are You Sure You Are Not Referring To Vriska
GA: She Made Use Of An Orb Inside Her Dreams That She Used To See The Future
TT: Odd. I could have sworn Doctor Scratch said it was a boy.
GA: Well Er
GA: He Might Have Been Talking About Um
GA: Well I Should Not Say
TT: Pardon?
GA: Um
GA: Rose If You Speak To Vriska About This Please Refrain From Mentioning The Boy Thing
TT: What? Why?
GA: Vriska Gets Testy About It
GA: It Is A Cultural Thing That I Am Not Sure You Would Understand
GA: Doctor Scratch Certainly Seems Not To
TT: I suppose I’ll talk to Vriska, then.
TT: Thank you again, Kanaya. Next time we talk, maybe you can hammer those nails a little better.
GA: I Look Forward To Hammering You Rose
GA: Wait
GA: Hold On I Phrased That Poorly
==
You sit cross legged beneath the shade of the large palm tree, listening to the pastel ocean hum away nearby. You heft the orb in your grip.
“What the hell is Kanaya’s deal?” you ask the orb, giving it a shake. No response.
You squint hard at the orb, trying to see if the answer might paint itself faintly on the surface, but it is entirely featureless, no matter how hard you concentrate. You see the flat, almost magically-smooth sphere, hiding dark water beneath with a shimmering blue stone with-
“Oh!” you cry out suddenly, blinking in shock.
“Miss Rose!” Jaspers hurries to your side, looking worried. “Your hand, it- It went all scary!”
“It did?” you realize you’re shivering slightly. “I- Jaspers, I saw inside the orb for a moment. It went transparent, like my eyes were seeing right through it.”
Jaspers nods, crossing his kitty-arms. You squint into the orb again, but you can’t make yourself fall into that headspace a second time. You grin with smug satisfaction. You don’t need Doc’s help after all. While you try to see into the orb, you chase down your lead.
==
TT: Vriska.
TT: I want to discuss something with you.
AG: Whaaaaaaaat?
AG: Are you going to hassle me about June, too?
TT: June? On the contrary. I wanted to discuss Doctor Scratch.
AG: Ugh, that asshole? Hard fucking pass.
AG: What, are you his newest little acolyte?
TT: Not a chance. I rather despise him. He’s opaque and irritating and I’m suspicious of his influence.
AG: Well I’ll be damned.
AG: June isn’t the only human with a thinksponge in her skullcase!
AG: There’s nothing to really do a8out the guy except ignore him. He’s stuck in our dead universe as far as I know.
TT: Be that as it may, I still have questions.
TT: Specifically, I wanted to ask about an artifact of his.
AG: Ooooooooh.
AG: You’re talking about THAT.
AG: His stupid little Cue.
TT: The white orb that supposedly gives you answers, yes.
AG: Oh, there’s nothing “supposed” about the Cue, Rose. You ask, it tells.
AG: Which SOUNDS great on pulpsheet, but in reality, it’s 8ullshit.
TT: How do I use this Cue?
AG: Didn’t you JUST read what I said? It’s not all it’s cracked up to 8e.
AG: I don’t care how high your 8lood caste is, you’re in over your head.
TT: “Blood caste?”
AG: Yeah. At least you’re using a pretty high hemotype. Unless you humans have weird 8lood colors.
TT: Can we stay on the topic of the Cue? I’m not in the mood for cultural exchange.
AG: Let me guess. You’ve noticed that it’s impossible to see inside of and you want my help peering into it.
TT: Yes.
TT: I could see past it for a moment, but I don’t know how to do it again.
AG: Well… I don’t actually know.
AG: See, I’m kind of a special case.
AG: I had x-ray vision!
TT: “Had?”
AG: Yeah. You know, “had.” The past-tense form of “have.” We share a language, you ought to know this!
AG: You don’t have basic reading comprehension skills, but do you have x-ray vision, Rose-human?
TT: No.
AG: Sucks to 8e you, then. I don’t know how you saw past the outside of the sphere, but I know how I did: The x-ray vision I was born with.
AG: I don’t think I’m going to be of any help! Sorry, Lalonde.
TT: Thank you for your help anyway, Vriska.
TT: While you did entirely waste my time, it was nice to know someone out there can see how insidious the Doctor is.
AG: Yeah!!!!!!!!
AG: He’s an asshole. I used to think he was gr8, too, but that’s before he 8lew up in my face about something that didn’t even matter. LITERALLY.
TT: What a creep.
TT: He claims to be omnipotent, but he can’t even get your gender right.
AG: …What?
TT: When I first spoke to him, he called you a “young man who preferred force to finesse.”
AG: I 8eg your fucking pardon?
TT: I know. Total bozo.
AG: Hey, Rose? Real quick.
AG: Don’t tell ANY8NE what that fucking cue ball freak said a8out me.
TT: Oh, er. Okay.
AG: I’m serious.
AG: I don’t want to hear you saying that shit to anyone else, or I’m going to have you KILLED.
AG: No matter how many universes are 8etween us or what 8lood color you have.
AG: If you repeat that to ANY8NE, you’re HISTORY.
–arachnidsGrip is offline–
You stare at your phone for a moment, mouth slightly open. A death threat from an alien is a first for you. It sounded more fun when June explained her experience.
With a sigh, you turn your focus back to the orb. You thought you outfoxed Doc, but your lead was a bust.
“Here, Jaspers,” you hand the phone back to the fuzzy companion. “Only let me know if June, Dave, or Jade message me, okay?”
“Okay, miss Rose!” Jaspers takes the phone, floating back into the air. You cross your arms and shut your eyes. You’re far too proud to ask for more help from Doc and you don’t feel like speaking to Kanaya or any other trolls right now. Still… That suits you fine. You have been feeling like a puppet on strings for a while now and with your phone in the hands of your kitty-friend, you feel like the strings have been cut. You open your eyes, considering the white Cue in your hands.
Looks like you’re going to have to figure this orb shit out yourself after all. You still hate puzzles.
You are no longer Rose Lalonde.
Your name is Dave Strider. More specifically, your name is Davesprite. Is that your name?
What IS your name?
Davesprite seems a little unwieldy. Then again, you can’t go around calling yourself “Dave,” there’s another guy running around LOHAC with that name right now. You’ve probably got to just knuckle under and get yourself a brand-new name.
You can worry about your name later. Right now, you’re focused on what you see in the dark skies of the Land of Heat and Clockwork.
Shortly after you left Dave at the LOHAC bank, you decided to make your way to Skaia to see how things were there, but something caught your eye in the blackened skies above. A contrail, something out of place. You’re pretty sure the crocodile people who populate the Land of Heat and Clockwork don’t fly planes.
At the far end of the contrail, there are two tiny dots. One is hard to make out, a distant green crackle- One of the nuclear enemies numbering the medium? It is flying on its own power, two robust wings flapping away. The other speck is oddly familiar. You squint, your newfound bird-sight allowing you to get a clearer picture.
It’s a little man on a flying skateboard giving chase to the black speck. A man wearing a ball cap, crouched low on the hoverboard. A lump forms in your throat as your senses meet logic and you piece together who you’re seeing.
Bro.
You’re following the trails, your wings flapping behind you. It’s not like you need them to fly, you’re a sprite who can fly on his own power, but you like to imagine that using them makes you faster- Being faster is what you need right now. The fading contrail leads away, and the closer you get to its destination, the harder your chest pounds as you realize where Bro’s going. He’s heading back home to the apartment.
The duo are too distracted to notice you as they land on the roof, the lanky black-carapaced figure snarling his canine snout at your brother. Is that…?
“You’re startin’ to bug me, kiddo,” says a husky-dark voice as the duo circle each other menacingly.
“Die,” your brother hisses, flying at the demon, katana in-hand. Swords clang and feet skid against blacktop as the duo test each other. The demon is clearly stronger, but Bro is clearly faster, making the demon’s devastating attacks look clumsy. Great gashes come loose of your roof in a hail of blacktop and concrete.
You’re about to call out to Bro but you think better of it. Distracting him isn’t what he needs right now, he needs help. You dive through thin air, tucking in your wings and aiming headfirst at the oblivious black carapaced canine. At the last moment, you turn and slam your side into the demon’s back with a thud that reverberates in your entire spritely bone structure.
“Fuck-!” the demon cries out in pain, giving Bro enough time to swipe at him. Just as the sword is about to cut the demon’s neck, it dives out of the way, throwing you off, your body sliding against the roof. A droplet of blood oozes from Jack’s adam’s apple.
Bro gives you a silent glance. You don’t say a word to him, silently floating at his side, your ghostly tail swaying back and forth.
“I didn’t know you had a li’l partner,” the demon hisses. “That’s playin’ dirty.”
You’re in the fray now, irrevocably, your primal instincts beginning to regret getting involved. The demon’s eyes are glowing with green hatred. You’ve never been looked at like that, with murderous intent, it feels primal.
“Neither of you like talkin’ very much, do ya? Would it kill ya to beg a li’l? Makes killin’ more fun.” The demon grins wickedly before rushing you. You dodge his sword just barely, floating back and retaliating with an orange sprite-blast from your hand. It appears this nuclear asshole doesn’t have much regard for his own safety, leaving himself open to your brother’s slashes. Bro’s sword connects under the demon’s arm and he growls like a wolf, whining in pain.
“Crow-boy,” Bro hisses in the fracas. Your eyes meet and for a moment, time seems to slow down. “Don’t die,” he says quietly. You feel your heart pound, watching his back as he dashes towards Jack. It occurs to you that this is the first time you have ever fought with Bro instead of against him. The memories of all your rooftop brawls prickle in the back of your mind as you shake your head to clear it.
The demon is slower than Bro, but it’s clear from the tone of his frustration that no matter how much your brother weaves in and out of his thrusts that he considers Bro more of an annoyance than an enemy. He sounds more like he’s trying to swat a fly than fight with a peer.
You and Bro take turns chipping at the demon. When he deflects a strike from Bro, you retaliate with a blast. When the demon protects itself from a dive-bomb, Bro follows up by cutting the demon’s skin. All the while, the demon can’t figure out which one of you to focus on, swatting and swiping with increasing rage.
It would be going well if either of your attacks were affecting him in the least.
“Left!” cries Bro suddenly as you barely dodge a sword-swing. To your shock, the swipe is followed up by a sharp and growing pain near your left shoulder blade and the sound of a crackling snarl as teeth sink into the base of your shoulder where your wing meets your back.
You scream involuntarily. Your sprite-body is durable and not entirely tangible, but there’s very little that can protect you from a rabid dog snarling and biting. Bro plunges his sword into the demon, the blade sinking four inches or so into its eye. There’s a tearing noise and white-hot agony sears your entire back as the demon pulls away, his clamping jaws taking your wing with him.
You fall to the ground on your face, shuddering in pain as you watch the demon spit out your disembodied wing, the thing evaporating into orange mist. The pain in your shoulder subsides with alarming speed and when you reach back to feel where the wing was, you feel only jagged jutting bone. You never got used to this body and now it’s being torn apart.
Bro is still attached to the demon, trying to shove his sword further into its skull, but it zaps Bro’s chest with a green nuclear jolt. Bro joins you on the blacktop. The demon howls into the sky and crouches, leaping into the air. You watch as he flees, tumbling in the air, too angry to fly straight.
“He’s getting away,” Bro says, grabbing your shoulder. He looks briefly to the empty space where your left wing used to be, glasses catching the light. For a tiny moment you think you see his pale orange eyes. Is that a shred of sympathy in them?
“C’mon,” you say, turning your face up to chase the demon, but Bro doesn’t let go. He swallows, mouth slightly open. Is he going to start yelling? Did you fuck up? You tense, ready to hear his disdainful words.
“Are you okay, Crow-boy?” comes his taciturn voice. You stare at each other like aliens making first contact.
“Fine,” you say. Bro looks away, sheepishly.
“Come on,” he says gruffly, planting his feet on his hoverboard.
As you give chase into the cooling air, breaking free of LOHAC’s gravity, those three words reverberate in your head. Bro has never asked you that before. “Are you okay?” Why did he say that? What did it mean? Was this allowed?
You watch his back, tense as he crouches low to the board, following him as he follows the demon.
You are no longer Davesprite.
Chapter 48: Act 4 Chapter 8: Araignée Trop Zelée
Chapter Text
Your name is Tavros Nitram.
Ever since a tragic accident involving a roleplaying augmented reality game, a cholerbear, and a sexy blue woman, you have been paralyzed from the hips down. Being paralyzed is hard, having to wheel yourself around in a chair all the time and hide yourself from the authorities isn't your idea of a rip-roaring time. Having an illegal disability is bad twice- Once in that it is hard to deal with and twice in that it is illegal. And while you're at it, thrice, because you had no idea how many staircases existed before you lost the use of your legs.
You've heard that there are operations that could give you your mobility back, but those are reserved for high bloods, trolls with cooler hues roiling in their bloodcases. You're stuck with dirty, worthless brown blood, the type who instead of getting corrective surgery, gets killed.
So imagine your elation when your friend Kanaya Maryam offered to help! Or at least... You were elated to begin with. Now that she has made good on her promise, however...
“Um,” you say hesitantly, laying on the operating table. Above you are Equius Zahhak, a prosthetics expert and Kanaya Maryam, a surgeon. “Are you sure this is going to be safe?”
Equius Zahhak earned his title from a long career of robotics and bioengineering back home, an artistry with mechanical objects that give him a sense of pride and joy.
Kanaya Maryam, on the other hand, earned her title of surgeon from hacking her already-dead lusus to pieces to extract an egg from her abdomen.
“It will be fine,” says the latter expert in a cold detached tone of voice that gives you as much reassurance as the cold operating table under your back. You look desperately at Equius who is silent, the light reflecting from his sunglasses.
“Hey, this is a random question, but, uh…” you trail off. Kanaya cocks her head at you, but Equius intuits your question.
“Will your new prosthetics be…” Equius hesitates, breathing heavily. “Fully functional?” he finishes, putting a hand on your inner thigh. You shudder. Kanaya does too. “Yes,” he answers the question with relish. “I think you will be most satisfied with its…” Equius breathes in sharply before allowing the last word to leave his wet mouth. “Girth.”
The revving of a chainsaw makes you twitch in shock, looking away from the unpleasantly salivating roboticist. Kanaya raises the implement above you before Equius places a gentle hand on her shoulder. Kanaya pauses, the chainsaw rumbling like a hungry manebeast.
“Anaesthetic,” Equius gently reminds the over-eager surgeoness.
“Mm, yes,” says Kanaya as if this thought has just occurred to her. She loudly places a metal gas canister on the table to your right and roughly grabs your horn to move your head into position. She shoves a tube against your mouth and with all the bedside manner of a sea urchin, she commands, “Breathe.”
Before you can protest, you feel a light pressure in your breathesacs, your eyelids drooping. You are lulled to sleep by the roar of the chainsaw and the sight of Kanaya bringing it down like an ax ready to split a particularly difficult piece of wood.
You are no longer Tavros Nitram on the meteor.
You are now Tavros Nitram, dreaming.
Where are you? You usually awaken on Prospit, dreaming of the golden spires and happy carapacians, but with a twinge of regret, you realize those things have been taken from you by a demon.
Now, it seems your dreaming self is simply nowhere. Gone. Where does a body go when it’s gone?
Your thoughts seem to shimmer before your very eyes. You’re not entirely certain you HAVE eyes in your current form, but you can see vague memories taking shape, skittering away like thoughts in your mind. Your insides are out.
From the gaps in your vivid thoughts, you think you can see something shifting in the far distance, a squirming mass of flesh and exposed bone and beaks and eyes. You decide VERY pointedly to not think about whatever disquieting things lie just beyond consciousness, instead diving headfirst (or whatever equivalent body part you possess in your dreams) into memory.
You remain Tavros Nitram, dreaming, but you are also Tavros Nitram of Alternia.
The last thing you remember before losing consciousness was leaping off a cliff after a cholerbear, your body moving without you giving it orders. You remember playing a game with Vriska.
The next thing you remember is Aradia Megido’s hive.
“Hello,” you say dumbly. You try to sit up in bed, but a white blankness has been laid over your lower body. You only manage to sit up using your arms, your legs limp and heavy.
You recognize Aradia’s hive from your many visits to it over the sweeps. You live in Outer Horner proper where she lives on the outskirts, the trash-dump of the city known as Outer-Outer Horner. Despite Aradia’s shabby accommodations, you’re put at ease by familiarity.
“Tavros,” Aradia says quietly. She looks slender and pale, her skin bleached from poor sun protection, her torso slim from sparse meals. You’re only one social caste above her, but you’ve often thought that you live like a highblood compared to her.
“What did she do to you?” Aradia whispers, embracing you tightly. You hug back, losing your balance and falling back. Your legs are still blank and numb.
“I think she made me jump off a cliff?” you admit hesitantly. You feel guilty. You made Aradia worry, you hate making people worry. You wonder if Vriska is worried.
Aradia is silent, remaining in the hug for a long time. She sniffles. Now you feel more embarrassed, positive that she is sad because of you.
“It’s okay! Probably, I think… We’ll be back to team Charge in no time,” you chuckle reassuringly but you fail to reassure anyone in the room.
“Tavros,” Aradia says quietly. “I did something bad.”
“What?” you swallow. You forget the numbness in your legs as you hear Aradia’s voice waver.
“I wanted to make her pay,” Aradia says simply.
“Make her pay? No, it’s okay, Aradia, really I-” you hastily try to laugh that hollow laugh again. “I’m fine, we’ll be back on FLARP in no time, I bet this numbness in my legs is just-”
“Numbness?” Aradia looks horrified and her expression makes you feel like you’ve just struck her. You hate this feeling, you wish you could stand up and start doing cartwheels through sheer will. “Numbness? Tavros, did she do something? What if you can’t walk? You’ll be culled, you-”
From outside of Aradia’s hive there’s a thump. Aradia’s head shoots towards her door. Outside, stars shine above. How long have you been unconscious? It was almost dawn when you fell asleep.
“What did you do to Vriska?” you ask warily.
“I tried to make her pay,” Aradia repeats. “I used her powers against her.” Aradia doesn’t look away from the door. “She tried to get into my brain with her powers, probably to see if you were okay, or maybe just to finish the job…” Aradia wipes her eyes with her sleeve.
“Mind control goes both ways. When you worm into someone’s mind, they can fight back. They can get into your head if you’re not careful.” Aradia’s voice goes more hollow. You swallow.
“So you got back into her head?” you ask.
“She killed so many people,” Aradia says quietly. Her voice is distant. There’s a slight twitch to her lips. “I always thought she was emotionless and cruel. I thought she killed for fun and sport, like we lowbloods were just lusii to her to kill as she liked.” Aradia looks up at you. She’s… Smiling. “But she’s sorry. Can you believe that? She regrets it all, she remembers every single face, all down through time.”
“She…” Your blood runs cold. The look on Aradia’s face is manic.
“So I made her remember them, all at once. Every shred and scrap of regret, I made her re-live, and I made her think she killed you. I sent every ghost of every lowblood she ever killed back to haunt her!” Aradia pants and you think she might laugh.
“What?” you cry out, choking. “That’s horrible!”
Aradia turns from you, both fists clenched. The thud from outside repeats, it’s like someone knocking on her door with their entire body. As if in a trance, she stands.
“That’s Sollux,” she says quietly, reaching for the doorknob.
You later woke up at home, on the floor, your lusus Tinkerbull prodding you worriedly with his little snout. You tried to stand, but you couldn't.
Your memory fades away.
Later on, you found out that Sollux had brought you home. How Sollux had gotten to Aradia’s hive you still don’t know. Tinkerbull helped you find a wheelchair in the junk heap outside Outer Horner and you were able to hide your illegal disability from the authorities until entering the game.
You heard Aradia’s hive was completely destroyed, burned to cinders, nothing remaining at all. For a sweep or so, you thought Aradia was dead.
Then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t. She reappeared online, which you now understand was her ghostly presence on Derse beaming her consciousness to Alternia somehow.
It all strikes you as so confusing and strange, but you hate to imagine all that misery happened on your account.
There’s a twinge from inside you, from the waking world. You feel yourself being pulled as if surfacing from the depths of a deep well. You breach the surface and you’re awake.
You are now Tavros Nitram, awake.
The first thing you feel is a heavy weight below your abdomen. It’s been sweeps since you’ve felt anything but blankness below the abdomen and you’re a little in awe.
“How do you feel?” asks Equius in a grave voice. You look up. Kanaya and Equius are both covered in brown liquid, oozing from them viscously. Oh, that’s your blood. Better not to think about that, lest you-
“Mmgghfhfhgh,” you say, puking off the side of the exam table. Neither Kanaya nor Equius move to help you so you dangle limply from the side, unloading your last meal.
You sit back upright, wiping your mouth on your sleeve and looking down at your new legs, hesitantly rapping a knuckle on one of the thighs, hearing an echoing clang. More importantly, you can feel a faint tap where you struck the metal. It’s far from the sensation your skin once had, but anything is an improvement on nothing.
“Try to move,” Equius encourages. You nod resolutely, testing your new capabilities by trying to wiggle your left foot. Equius steps back deftly as your leg straightens, suddenly jutting out at a right angle to your torso.
“Whoa-!” you lose balance and fall sideways. Kanaya nor Equius make any attempt to catch you.
“I shall do some fine-tuning,” says Equius, turning to Kanaya, who you could swear just took an experimental lick of her bloody glove. “You are free to go, Miss Maryam.”
With shocking ease, Equius hefts you back on the table and forces your new metal leg back down. You have a feeling that “fine tuning” is something that lies on the more remote end of Equius’s wheelhouse.
“Hold still,” he says sternly and opens a panel on your leg. You slide off the side of the table and lose what’s left of your stomach.
It’s going to be a long day.
Your name is no longer Tavros Nitram.
Your name is Vriska Serket, in the past on Alternia.
==
GC: 1F YOU S4Y SO...
AG: I didn’t know you cared about castes.
GC: M4YB3 1 DON’T. M4YB3 1’M JUST J34LOUS MY B3ST FR13ND 1S H4NG1NG OUT W1TH SOM3ON3 3LS3.
GC: >:[
AG: Haha, aww! Terezi, come on. You’re my number 2!
AG: I promise we’ll raid team Star next time. That twerp Casper has it coming.
GC: H3H. OK4Y VR1SK4.
GC: BUT FOR TH3 R3CORD, *YOU’R3* TH3 NUMB3R TWO.
==
You click to close out of the conversation with Terezi, sighing. You feel bad blowing her off, but her clingy demeanor annoys you. What is she, your moirail? You’ve got bigger plans today.
For as long as you can remember, you had psychic abilities. It began as seeing into the minds of others by closing your eyes, all eight of them. Your right eye with its single pupil and your left eye with seven additional ones, the latter of which could see past the mundane.
It first awoke when your lusus, the immense building-sized spider, first spoke in your head. She only had one thing to say: FEED.
Other trolls had more interesting thoughts than your spider-lusus, however. Complicated, interesting thoughts, thoughts that were open to you if their wills were weak enough. It gave you such delicious insight.
Eventually, when you were older, you found you could put thoughts in their heads. Take control of the weak, make them walk right into mother’s jaws. Feeding the fat bitch had never been easier, all thanks to a little journal bound in ancient leather that showed you all the secrets of your ancestor.
Your powers are useful, but today you want to put them to use in a different way. You’re sick of walking lowbloods into your mom’s mouth and watching her chew them into viscera, which you assume is a normal thing for a child to grow up seeing. Today, you want to help someone.
==
AT: vRISKA,
AT: i JUST DON’T KNOW,
AT: lETTING YOU IN MY HEAD SEEMS, uM,
AT: dANGEROUS,
AG: Uuuuuuuugh. Tavros. Tav, Tav, Tav.
AG: You need to TRUST me.
AT: aRADIA SAYS I SHOULDN’T TRUST ANY HIGHBLOOD,
AT: LEAST OF ALL YOU,
AG: If Aradia jumped off a cliff, would you do it?
AT: nO,
AT: wHY WOULD ANYONE JUMP OFF A CLIFF,
AG: Exactly! You’re showing me just how stupid you are.
AG: Now let me in!
AT: aH, fINE,
==
You don’t need Tavros to “let you in” at all, really. You can access his mind with the gentlest of nudges, but asking permission seems appropriate for what you want to do. You close your eyes and focus, your mind reaching across the gap between you and soon enough, you’re seeing from Tavros’s eyes, watching him stare down at his dirty floor.
==
AG: Damn, 8ro, you live like this?
AT: i DON’T GET A LOT OF TIME TO TIDY,
AT: wORK SUCKS,
AT: i CAN’T JUST SIT AROUND LIKE SOME HIGHBLOODS,
AT: sORRY THAT WAS MEAN,,,
AG: Haha, no! It’s good. Show some 8ack8one, Tav, even if it’s towards ME. ::::)
AG: Anyway, are you ready?
AT: rEADY,
==
You feel Tavros hop on the balls of his feet, watching from behind his eyes as he loads the augmented reality application on a headset. The letters FLARP flash over a display of his house, indicating he has entered the game.
==
AT: sO THE PLAN IS,
AT: wHAT,
AG: Well, you’re no good at PVP because you suck at fighting.
AT: oH, RIGHT,
AT: i’M MORE ABOUT FEATS OF ACROBATICS AND STUFF,
AT: tOMB RAIDING,
AG: Right. Don’t get me wrong, treasure is cool! 8ut you’re going to need to fight other players eventually.
AG: So if you can’t fight good, you need to 8eat the enemy with NUM8ERS.
AT: oh, like leveling?
AT: that makes sense,
AG: Normally I’d suggest just killing some low-level enemies in 8ig groups, 8ut that kind of thing isn’t going to work.
AG: Since you don’t have a lot of free time, we need to 8e more EFFICIENT.
AT: gOT IT,
AT: mEANING WHAT,
AG: You’ll be taking on a RAID BOSS! >::::)
AT: oH,
AT: fUCK,
==
FLARP’s program flashes to life in Tavros’s white pair of official FLARP gaming shades which cover his eyes. An on-screen arrow points vaguely North, indicating the location of a raid boss, a beast normally taken on by parties of at least three.
==
AG: Relaaaaaaaax, Tav.
AG: The raid 8oss is one of the low-level ones. You’ll 8e able to solo it EASY. Especially with MY help.
AT: i WILL,
AG: Yeah!
AG: I’ll help you. 8e your 8ackseat helper!
AT: that seems like cheating,
AT: aLSO,
AT: i KNOW THIS GAME IS NOT REAL IN THE STRICTEST SENSE, bUT I AM PRETTY SURE SOME PLAYERS HAVE DIED TO RAID BOSSES,
AT: tHEY ARE GAME CONSTRUCTS BUT THE PAIN FEEDBACK THE GAME APPLIES CAN CAUSE ENOUGH SHOCK TO KILL PEOPLE,
AT: uM,
AT: tO BE CLEAR I AM IMPLYING I DON’T WANT TO BE KILLED,
AG: You’re not going to 8e killed! I JUST said I’m helping you.
==
You feel Tavros getting nervous from your remote viewing of his body. He’s shuffling his feet, making his way inch by inch out the door. God, you want to just… Take control of his legs and force him to move, but you know that’s not what is going to make Tavros stronger. It would be so fucking easy, but you make yourself stop. You’ll have to resort to your words.
==
AG: Look. You can either risk some pain with a raid 8oss or you can get killed for real by another player.
AG: It’s up to you.
AG: 8ut I know you can do this, Tavros. You’re going to 8e strong.
AT: ,,,
AT: oKAY,
==
Tavros nods and you see him picking up the pace.
The trek to the raid boss’s lair is long and on the way, Tavros picks up a few stray kills of various random encounters, leveling up his character once. He seems confident and in control.
==
AG: Wool8east, 9 o’clock!
AT: oH SHIT,
AT: tHAT SCARED ME,
AT: i GUESS I DON’T KNOW WHY IT DIED IN ONE HIT,
AT: wOW,
AT: i ALWAYS USED TO RUN FROM THESE RANDOM ENCOUNTERS,
AT: tHE FLAPBEASTS AND LEAPERS LOOK SCARY BUT THEY’RE SUPER WEAK,
==
Tavros swings his digital knife through the chest of an augmented reality construct which shrivels into a pile of pixels. Tavros does a little fist pump. You use your mind powers to halt his moronic dance.
==
AT: aW,
AT: yOU DON’T LIKE MY VICTORY JIG,
AG: Pft. Tavros, your victory jig sucks chute.
AT: i'LL WORK ON IT,
AG: You don’t need a jig at all, dummy! You just need victory.
==
The way FLARP works is by mixing AR elements with real-life dangers. Some of Tavros’s foes are entirely fake constructs, but many of Tavros’s enemies are actual wildlife found throughout the Outer Horner wilderness, from leering carnivorous plants to frogs. Any time either of these types of foes are dispatched, Tavros gets those sweet in-game EXP points. You notice, however, that Tavros seems to be only going for fake AR enemies.
==
AG: Hey.
AG: Kill that frog.
AT: wHAT,
AG: Kill it! The game says it’s worth 100 points.
AT: oH,
AT: tHAT'S NOT ALL THAT MUCH,
AT: i STILL NEED TEN THOUSAND TO GET TO THE NEXT LEVEL,,,
AG: All the more reason to kill it!
AT: uM,
==
You realize that you’re still in control of Tavros’s fist, raising it above his head to strike the frog down. The frog, a fist-sized green number obliviously croaks on a stone, giving Tavros a dismissive glance.
==
AT: vRISKA,
AT: lET GO,
==
There’s a pause before you let go. You sigh, rubbing your temples. You almost forced Tavros to kill a frog, which now feels idiotic.
==
AT: wATCH THIS,
==
To your surprise, you feel something shift- Suddenly, you’re looking down at green arms ending in sticky fingers sitting upon a stone. You’re a frog! Why are you a frog- Or why are you in the MIND of one? Normally, the only animal you can commune with is your lusus mother.
You feel the frog’s back legs kick and land on its back. You’re back behind Tavros’s eyes again, looking down at the flipped frog. Tavros obtains one hundred EXP.
==
AG: What was that?
AT: i'VE TOLD YOU BEFORE,
AT: i CAN TALK TO ANIMALS, }:)
AG: Wow.
AG: That’s pretty cool, actually!
AG: Nice jo8, Tav!
AT: oH, hEHE,
AT: tHANKS!
==
You and Tavros continue on. You point out danger and he responds in kind. He uses his powers to manipulate the real-life fauna of the wilds and before long you’re both lurking behind a bush at the edge of a clearing where the directional indicator has been pointing.
==
AT: uM,
AT: tHIS IS WHERE THE RAID BOSS SHOULD BE RIGHT,
AG: Yeah. Fuck! It must be a glitch, it’s totally gone.
AG: You’re supposed to fight an AR construct in the shape of a forest ogre, 8ut I don’t see it anywhere.
AT: dARN,
AT: wELL UM,
AT: eVEN IF WE HAVE TO LEAVE, vRISKA,
AT: tHIS HAS BEEN,,, nICE, }:)
AG: Huh? Oh, um. Heh. Yeah!
==
You find yourself blushing, even smiling. Tavros is… Cool. Even though he’s a dweeb and a weakling, spending time rattling around his head has been the most fun you’ve had in a while.
==
AG: 8ut this will all be for nothing if we can’t find that ogre.
AG: Let me check the wiki online.
==
You leave Tavros’s head and open your eyes back to your computer screen, beginning to type into the FLARP wiki, a massive and rather disorganized place full of data on all of FLARP’s many systems.
==
AT: uH, vRISKA!
AT: aRE YOU SEEING THIS,
AG: Hang on, let me figure this out! Sheesh. Impatient.
AT: vRISKA,
==
Tavros pings you several more times as you navigate to the spreadsheet on forest-biome AR enemies.
==
AG: Okay, it looks like the Outer Horner clearing’s 8oss recently got changed.
AG: It doesn’t say to what, 8ut it’s a higher-level raid 8oss, that must be why there were stronger enemies in the woods on our way in.
AG: We’d better come 8ack later.
AG: ...
AG: Tav?
==
You re-enter Tavros’s mind and are shocked to see that he’s taken off his FLARP spectacles. You feel his feet pounding the forest floor and you feel his breathpushers wheezing.
==
AG: Tav!
==
It’s no use, he’s not responding to his messages. His head turns and through his eyes you see it: An alabaster-white cholerbear, its fins folded back, thundering after Tavros in the underbrush. With your powers, you gently make Tavros put his glasses back on in order to see your messages.
==
AG: Can’t you get into the 8ear’s mind??
AT: nO!
AT: iT’S TOO ANGRY AND BIG AND PISSED OFF AT ME,
AT: wHAT DO I DO!
AG: You- Well- You!
==
You can’t think of anything. Tavros is in real danger! But… You also notice the bear’s EXP value. One million. Your jaw clenches.
==
AG: You have to fight the 8ear.
AT: wHAT!
AT: i CAN’T FIGHT THAT THING,
AG: Look how much EXP it has! You can’t run from it forever, Tavros.
AG: 8esides, I have an idea.
AT: i DON’T WANT TO FIGHT THE BEAR,
AT: i DON’T LIKE FIGHTING REAL ANIMALS,
AG: You don’t have a choice!
AG: Well. You HAVE a choice, it’s just one of them is 8eing MAULED to death.
AT: fUCK,
AG: Follow my orders!
==
This forest is one you know very well. It used to be your stomping grounds back when you were a young FLARP player. You know that due west there is a dropoff that leads down to a beach. An idea forms in your head as you and Tavros hear the bear closing in from behind, a swipe sending a breeze up the back of Tavros’s shirt.
==
AG: Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do.
AG: Turn left at that tree, make it sudden. The 8rute isn’t going to 8e a8le to change direction quickly.
AG: Then run until you see a stone with 8lue moss.
AG: I’m going to help you. I’ll stop your legs.
AG: Do you trust me?
AT: i TRUST YOU!
==
Tavros skids on the forest floor, kicking up leaves as he pivots, dashing straight.
==
AT: vRISKA!
AG: I know! Just TRUST me!
==
He sees what you see: The dropoff. It’s at least fifty spans in the air, the sea breeze gently flowing in through the trees, the burning maroon of the sun’s lingering radioactive light in the distance.. Tavros doesn’t hesitate, running full-bore until-
==
AG: N8W!
==
You take control, stopping Tavros dead a mere one span before the cliff’s dropoff, shoving with his legs to leap to the side just as the mighty beast barrels past him, sailing off the cliff with a pained wail. You feel Tavros relax, watching the one-million EXP cholerbear careen towards the ground.
==
AT: wOW THERE IT GOES,
AT: pOOR THING,
AT: wHO’S GOING TO TAKE CARE OF ITS BABIES,,,
AG: Follow it.
AT: uM, wHAT,
==
Tavros is relaxing. Why is he relaxing? The bear is about to be dashed on the stones below.
==
AG: When you kill a real-life creature, you have to be within ten spans of it to get the EXP! MOVE!
AT: wHAT?!
AT: aND JUMP OFF THE CLIFF?
AG: YES!
==
You forget to think. You’re still in control of Tavros’s legs. They coil, making him wind up in a crouch before springing open in a flying leap after the cartwheeling white mass.
Tavros screams and you feel pain raking his vocal flaps as you watch the cholerbear far below land on its head. Even though it makes impact on the soft sand, its head is shoved back from its collarbones at a strange angle as if its neck is made of gelatin and through Tavros’s ears you hear the sickening crunch of the cholerbear’s death.
For a moment, you’re simply floating there with Tavros, in midair, the helpless snap of the bear’s spine ringing out like an echo. Has gravity released him? Is he floating? A gentle breeze seems to push upward on him, keeping Tavros airborne. Are you flying? No, it’s an illusion.
Then, Tavros’s legs hit the sand, flying apart like twigs caught in a storm, snapping up his spine like he’s a doll, muscles and bones he never knew he had nerves inside of catching fire with sheer unavoidable agony.
Your vision blurs and you shout, falling out of your desk chair and onto the ground, writhing and wailing, holding your legs in agonized pain, realizing with grim relief that those weren’t your legs. There’s no pain. You shiver, your mouth dry, realization sinking into your chest like a dull knife.
Someone should know about this. The sun is rising, Tavros is in trouble. Someone needs to save him! You can still give him help. You can still… You… No. This is your fault. This is going to get pinned on you. Tavros is a lowblood, he’s just a little nobody, a rustblooded factory worker who’s bad at FLARP. You’ve fed dozens of kids like him to your mother.
You swallow. Your messages ping.
==
AT: vRISKA,
AT: wHAT HAPPENED,
AT: i CAN'T,,,
AT: i CAN'T FEEL ANYTHING,,,
==
You swallow, finding your throat thick and dry.
==
–arachnidsGrip blocked adiosToreador–
==
You are no longer Vriska Serket in the past, on Alternia.
Chapter 49: Act 4 Chapter 9: Swagcurities Fraud
Summary:
WATCH ON YOUTUBE! Please? :)
NOTE: No graphics yet for this chapter. SOON.
Chapter Text
Your name is Jade Harley.
A nuclear imp with a canine face has tackled you to the ground just past the threshold of your home, his diminutive hands on your shoulders. He must be about fifty pounds or so, far beneath your weight limit, but he clings on with tenacity.
“Get off me!” you cry, struggling back and forth, trying to buck the little guy off. You manage to slip free and toss him into the wall, scrambling to your feet. Outside, Jadesprite hasn’t noticed one of the imps has slipped inside the house, too busy fending them off.
The imp barks at you, leaping at you with snarling bared canine fangs. This time, you catch it in the air with a well-timed punch, spiking him into the floor. This doesn’t appear to faze the imp as he’s on his feet in seconds. You look around the cluttered front room, hastily searching for a makeshift weapon.
You dive for a metal baseball bat leaned against a wooden crate full of grandpa’s old clothes, but your fingertips fall short and the imp drags you down by the ankle. You cry out kicking but it quickly pins your arm and its maw flies at your neck, a move that looks uncannily like what Bec used to do to squirrels he hunted…
You feel warm fangs press into your neck and your life flashes in front of your eyes: Barely remembered blurry images of grandpa, talking for hours into the night with your friends, hunting down dinner in the woods at the foot of the volcano with your lovable nuclear pooch Becquerel…
Nothing happens.
The imp pulls back. It looks at you, confused. It whines, snarling at you in a defensive manner. You sit up, the small imp sitting on your legs, fidgeting. It jumps at your neck again and you cry out in surprise, but again, it doesn’t bite down.
Your eyes meet the imp’s. They’re striking green, just like Grandpa, those blurry memories of him and his kind green eyes. The eyes you inherited, the one reminder of your family. Family…
Realization strikes you like a lightning bolt.
“Jade!” you cry, suddenly stumbling out into the snow, waving your hands above your head. Jadesprite whirls on you, two imps baring down on her as she pants with exhaustion. The imp follows you outside, confused, joining its brethren at the foot of the hill upon which your lab-home sits.
Jadesprite looks baffled as the imps retreat into a huddling group below. They’re all making unsure, apprehensive noises, growling and chittering, gazing up with those striking green eyes.
“Look at their eyes,” you say, gripping her ghostly sleeve. Her anger and confusion turns into epiphany.
“Oh my god,” she says quietly.
“They’re us,” you say, gazing down at the quieting group of imps. A smile breaks onto your face and you put your hands on your hips. “They’re us!”
==
TG: hey uh
TG: have you guys run into any imps lately
TT: Now that you mention it, I haven’t.
TG: i have but theyre acting weird
TG: they look kind of afraid of me even though im pretty sure they can turn me into atoms from a distance
TG: its creeping me out
GG: i can explain this one guys!
GG: theyre me! :D
TG: what
TT: They’re you?
GG: theyre me!
TT: Oh my god.
TG: ok
TG: you keep saying that phrase as if i should understand it
TG: like when a dog barks at you with that dog smile they get on their faces
TG: dont tell jadesprite i said that
TG: im not looking to get in bad with the canine american community
TG: someone please fucking stop me from speaking more
TT: Dave, don’t you understand? They’re her.
TG: can someone explain this to me the fool
GG: hehe
GG: what i mean is
GG: my sprite was prototyped with my taxidermied dream self that my grandpa had in my attic!
GG: and when we go through our first gates the imps get powered up with the stuff that we put in our sprites
TG: are we just going to breeze past the concept of a taxidermied self kept in an attic
GG: in other words they have my dna in them!
GG: which is super weird but mostly super good!
TG: wait does that mean theyre also me
GG: yeah!
GG: the imps are connected to us!!
TG: holy fuck
TG: thats why they dont want to kill me these motherfuckers have bits of us in them
TG: and junes cool grandma i guess
GG: yeah!!
TG: wait does this mean that that bec noir fucker is also part us
TT: I’m not sure about that.
TT: Think back to the trolls’ document about their session. They still had to do battle with their black king even though they used their own parents to prototype their sprites.
TT: I think that this personality shift only applies to low-grade enemies.
TT: Let’s not assume Bec Noir is on friendly terms.
GG: even so…
GG: back when i was on prospit jack noir reacted really strangely when he saw me…
TT: The extent to which prototypings affect the dispositions of our enemies will have to be an open question.
TT: I hesitate to call this a net good, since it means the demon still has the abilities of Jade’s dog.
GG: yeah…
TT: Let’s call it a perk. Now imps won’t trouble us.
TG: hey uh
TG: by the way has anyone touched base with john lately??
TG: i mean june
GG: no :0
TT: She’s been unresponsive.
TT: I think perhaps we may have offended her by leaving her out of our Scratch plans.
GG: :(
TG: yeah
TT: I hate to be callous, we can’t spend time worrying about her.
TT: It’s not like she’s going to get herself killed.
TG: and hey now the imps wont be bothering her
TG: as long as yknow
TG: she doesnt go out of her way to fuck with them or something
TG: lmao
==
Your name is June Egbert.
You awaken with a start on the bare ground. Around you are mounds of golden-yellow architecture sticking out of the monochrome soil. The ground expands around you in a checkerboard of black-and-white like a great chessboard laid over hills and lakes, a sight that would be breathtaking had you any breath left.
Skaia.
Presently, you're in your dream-body, among the wreckage of Prospit's moon.
You stand woozily, your golden prospit gown clinging to your neck from sweat. The last thing you remember before landing here is that mobster, Jack Noir, turning into a monster before your very eyes and destroying the home you never knew.
Looking around the wreckage, you're struck with how lucky you were not to be crushed. Up in the sky you see the hazy outline of Prospit's former moon, floating listlessly as rubble and destruction. Some of it lazily tumbles towards Skaia, causing rumbling impacts in the distance.
You remember something else. Your sister, Jade Harley, the Witch of Space is dead. The man she was with, her grandfather… and those two people who you threw down to Skaia's surface before the kerfuffle... Where are they?
Your feet begin to move before you decide on a destination. You pick up the pace, beginning to run. There's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind, that strange incomplete sense that something was stressing you out a moment ago but you've forgotten the cause, leaving you only with breathless, nameless anxiety.
You're running across Skaia's fields now, then you're flying, panting, chest heaving. That dapper-looking man with the woman in the lab coat you threw to Skaia's surface, you know him from somewhere. He means something to you. He is of dire, incredible importance, and the thought of seeing him again is making your eyes sting with painful tears. How could you not notice it before? You fly high above the Skaian battlefield, checkered ground turning to a gray blur beneath you.
You're flying above the treetops, twenty feet up or so, dodging hills and flagpoles, looking out over Skaia. As far as the eye can see, there is the evidence of war, from fortresses and craters in the checkerboard ground to the dead bodies of Prospitians and Dersites, mingling without discrimination. Smoke rises in tendrils in every direction like dying embers.
You fly a little faster, wondering if you can find someone to ask about the whereabouts of the mystery fedora man and his girlfriend. Soon enough, you hear the murmur of a crowd in a thicket of trees. Coming to a halt on the ground, you see a loose-knit camp of what appears to be entirely carapacians: Both shades, Dersite and Prospitian, co-mingle together, sharpening weapons, speaking in friendly voices with one another. The jovial atmosphere evaporates when a guard spies you.
"Halt!" says a beefy prospitian, pounding the butt of his lance into the ground meaningfully. "Friend or foe?" The other carapacians gather behind the beefcake, eyeing you with wary suspicion.
"I-" you're not sure what to say, half-ready to take flight again to avoid being a bother, but a voice cuts through the nervous chatter, silencing the group.
"Who would say foe?" asks a squeaky-yet-stentorian Dersite, stepping out from behind large Prospitian. You watch as a short-statured dersite walks toward you confidently, holding a hand out in friendly greeting. Baffled, you shake it.
"My name is the Warweary Villein, at your service. You are the Heir of Breath, yes?"
A mutterance of surprise ripples through the gathered throng, about three dozen or so carapacians exchanging shocked looks.
"I think so," you say hesitantly. "My name is June. What's going on, here?"
The Villein releases your hand, indicating to his comrades with a beaming smile. Around his body is wrapped a fine white robe, complete with a sash of yellow-and-purple stripes, made of Dersite and Prospitian flags woven together.
"This," the Villein proclaims. "Is the base camp of the Heretic Secessionists and Turncoat Warweary Traitors!" The Villein puffs out his chest. "We are a cadre of carapacians sick of living under the thumb of the monarchy."
"Hold on!" cries the large prospitian from the front of the crowd, scratching his head. "I thought we were the Heretic Secessionists and Dissidents! It's a much more elegant title."
You watch as the Dersite and Prospitian face each other down. The Villein puts his hands on his hips.
"And which one of us is wearing the Democracy Sash, huh?" Challenges the WV. "The Warweary Villein or the Battlehardened Spearsman?"
The two carapacians stand eye to eye for a moment before a sudden roar erupts from the crowd.
"Vote!" they cry as in rabid jubilation. Weapons are suddenly tossed to the ground as each carapacian slides into file, three neat rows in front of the bonfire. All you can do is stare slack-jawed.
"Very well! All in favor of Turncoat Warweary Traitors say Aye!" cries WV. There's a cry of "Aye" from the several dozen carapacians.
"And all in favor of the Dissidents, say Aye!" cries BS. There's a large but less-loud cry of "Aye" from the crowd.
"That's 13 for Turncoat Warweary Traitors and 4 for Dissidents!" says WV smugly. BS appears defeated, but he shakes hands with WV.
"Democracy!" the crowd proclaims with solemn intensity.
The Villein adjusts his sash, turning back to you, who closes your mouth.
"As I was saying, Miss Heir..." The Villein puts his hands on his hips and puffs his chest self-importantly. "The Turncoat Warweary Traitors are expecting to join forces with several other groups around here to face down the wicked scoundrel who has proclaimed himself the new tyrant of Skaia. Can we count on your aid?"
"Oh, um," you shuffle your feet nervously. You have a strong sense that this is a side-quest that you do not have time to indulge in. "Well, I really like this whole democracy thing you've got going, but, uh. I'm in the middle of looking for someone."
"I see," says the WV sadly. "Perhaps we can count on you once your goal is complete. Who are you looking for?"
"Well, he's a man about a head taller than I am, wearing a fedora. He's probably traveling with a woman with white hair." You speak and a hush falls over the crowd. Suddenly the entire company of carapacians bows low.
"Founder," one murmurs. "Our founder," another stammers softly. Even the Battlehardened Spearsman bows his head suddenly.
"You speak of Jonathan Egbert, our founder," says WV with grave solemnity. "He imparted his democratic ways upon us before departing for Castle Black at the South Pole of Skaia."
"Is that far?" you ask with sudden excitement. That name, Jonathan Egbert... It sparks that anxious feeling in you again. The WV points a solitary finger. In the distance, you see a dark black spire peeking over the curve of the horizon.
"On foot, it would take a day, but with your powers of flight, you may catch up to our founder yet." WV clasps your hand. "If you meet him, would you impart a message for me?"
"Oh, sure," you say hesitantly. The small carapacian's eyes shimmer with earnest tears as he speaks.
"Tell him to enjoy his date."
You fly away from the camp of the Heretic Secessionists and Turncoat Warweary Traitors feeling a mix of confusion and excitement.
Castle Black approaches slowly, the featureless landscape below becoming more and more barren as you make your approach. The air seems to become more still too, the only sound that of wind whipping your face as you fly. The sensation of your own heartbeat grows heavier in your chest with each passing moment.
"Wake up."
You blink. Did you just hear something in your mind? You shake your head, trying to clear it. Is someone near you? You look over your shoulder, seeing only blue bare sky.
When you look back down, you do a double take. Along the black-and-white grass far below, you see a peculiar sight, a boat with a single sail skimming across the ground, its flat bottom skidding against blue-colored gusts of wind. As you stare, your heart hammers in your ears.
In the boat are two figures. A tall human man and a woman.
"Wake up!"
The voice echoes in your head once again, but you shake it free and drop into freefall, wind whipping your hair, eyes stinging as you let gravity pull you towards the boat.
Your mouth opens and you shout, a sudden word pulled from your subconscious and into the air, carried on the blue-streak wind.
"Dad!"
The man looks up, holding his fedora down as not to lose it in the breeze.
"W8KE UP!!!!!!!!"
The voice echoes once more and you disappear into nothingness. Your waking body has been dragged into consciousness.
The man and his date stare up from the windboat into the empty sky.
"Did you hear that, Roxanne?" he asks, hope staining his words.
"Must've been the wind," says his white-haired companion.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Your name is Dave Strider.
Presently, you’re embroiled in what is formally known by the LOHAC Stock Exchange as Temporal Securities Fraud. You began with a boondollar but now you’ve secured yourself your first boonbuck, equal in value to exactly one bajillion boondollars, a number that is apparently real. The amount of time for you has been several hours, but to outside observers, those hours have been compressed into a single sixty-minute span of time in which you’ve weaved in and out of time loops, getting advice from your future selves, then becoming those future selves to give the same advice to your past selves. You’ve decided to take a break from the balancing act.
==
GC: SO YOUR PL4N 1S S3CUR1T13S FR4UD?
TG: no its time manipulation
GC: 1 TH1NK 1T’S ST1LL S3CUR1T13S FR4UD 1F YOU H4V3 T1M3 POW3RS.
TG: what are you my fucking lawyer
GC: 1 COULD B3. >:]
TG: oh right
TG: itll be fine either way though
TG: these crocs are like babies terezi
TG: they talk in godfather accents theyre entirely unserious
GC: YOU S33M PR3TTY S3R1OUS 4BOUT P4Y1NG TH3M OFF.
GC: WHY NOT US3 YOUR T1M3 POW3RS TO F1GHT 4G41NST TH3 S4L4M4ND3RS?
TG: idk they seem strong
GC: OK4Y, 4ND?
GC: YOU H4V3 TH3 C4P4B1L1T13S TO CR34T3 1NF1N1T3 V3RS1ONS OF YOURS3LF.
GC: SOM3ON3 ON MY T34M D1D TH3 S4M3 TH1NG 4ND W4S 4BL3 TO HOLD OF B3C NO1R.
TG: you mean aradia
TG: ive chatted with her
TG: or my alternate self has
GC: 3X4CTLY. WH4T’S STOPP1NG YOU FROM DO1NG 4N 4R4D14?
TG: i dont like fighting
GC: YOU DON’T?
TG: yeah its a fact about myself ive just decided
TG: fighting sucks
TG: every time it happens i get hurt and confused
GC: TH4T’S 1D1OT1C.
GC: F1GHT1NG 1S TH3 PO1NT OF L1F3.
TG: you have a shitty society if thats what you really believe dude
TG: look i dont know why im justifying myself to a paradox murderer
==
You sigh. You’re sitting on a bench in the linoleum-floored bank, grateful to have a moment of linear time to yourself. The teller, a small crocodile, is watching you with terror on his face. From his perspective over the past hour, several hundred clones of you just spawned into existence, used the stock kiosk, then evaporated. That would make any crimson reptile nervous. You wave at the teller.
==
TG: lets not talk about fighting any more
TG: how would you like to become my lawyer?
GC: >:?
TG: what the fuck does >:? mean
TG: is that an emoticon?
GC: Y3S. 1T’S MY HORNS, TH3N 4N 3L4BOR4T1ON DOUBL3-DOT TO R3PR3S3NT MY 3Y3S, TH3N 4 QU3RY CURV3 TO R3PR3S3NT MY QU3ST1ON1NG F4C3.
TG: im going to move on from how idiotic that is and clarify myself before i get dragged into an argument
TG: be my lawyer
TG: if the shit im doing is so illegal then i might need someone to defend me in court
TG: or at least advise me on how to make my dealings appear less illegal
TG: i think this croc working the teller counter is on to me
GC: >>:]
TG: ok does that emoticon mean that youre actually making evil eyebrows
TG: like underneath your horns
GC: YOU’R3 C4TCH1NG ON, D4V3.
TG: does that mean youll be my lawyer
GC: 1 DON’T USU4LLY D34L 1N S3CUR1T13S FR4UD, BUT 1 C4N G1V3 YOU 4 H4ND.
GC: 1 C4N 4LSO ORG4N1Z3 YOUR T1M3 TR4V3L TO B3 MOR3 3FF1C13NT.
TG: sick
GC: 1 DO H4V3 4 F33, D4V3 TH3 HUM4N. DON’T FORG3T.
TG: ok
TG: im flush in boons right now name it
GC: 1 DON’T W4NT YOUR BOONBUCKS.
GC: 1 W4NT TRUST.
GC: 1F 1 H3LP YOU, YOU H4V3 TO TRUST M3.
TG: thats not how trust works
TG: trust isnt transactional its like an emotion
GC: TH3N YOU H4V3 TO *PR3T3ND* YOU TRUST M3.
TG: hm
TG: okay
==
You stand up, cracking your knuckles. You walk to the bank teller, who flinches away from you slightly when you lean down to meet his gaze, nearly having to crouch to speak with him since he’s only about three feet tall.
“Hey, dude,” you say casually. “I think I’m outgrowing this little rinky-dink kiosk. Where can a money-moving son of a bitch like myself gain access to a more direct means of exchanging stocks and/or bonds?”
“Um,” the crocodile swallows. “The LOHAC Stock Exchange main office? It’s in the middle of town.”
“Thanks,” you say, ambling toward the middle of town.
Your name is no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Thelonious Chomps, bank teller.
You stare after the strange human in sunglasses as he walks out of the bank where you work. You’ve been employed here for six months, but that’s enough time to make some conclusions about his behavior.
First of all, this is textbook time-fraud. He’s clearly been getting advice from his future-selves and using it to make investment decisions. A terrible weight settles on your shoulders as you realize you are now responsible for reporting this to someone. What makes you more uneasy is the fact that you, Thelonious Chomps, just told him where to go to do MORE time-fraud. You swallow, your croc-teeth chattering. Oh, fuck.
You rush from your desk, your clawed feet clacking against linoleum, shoving open the door to your boss’s office.
“Thelonious, my boy,” says your boss, Mr. Antonio Crocodrillo, in a fake Godfather accent.
“We’ve got a big problem,” you squeak. Mr. Crocodrillo narrows his already-narrow eyes, but you force yourself to continue speaking. “It’s about a human wearing sunglasses.”
“Go on,” he says, a rumbling growl in his throat.
You are no longer Thelonious Chomps.
Your name is Jonathan Egbert.
The trek to Castle Black was rather long, even in spite of the serendipitous acquisition of a land-skiff, but one glance at your traveling companion and you resolve that you could travel around Skaia twice more. You’ve only known her for a short time but you feel a stirring desire to know more about her. It’s been so long since you’ve had a crush.
In her eyes, you can see she feels the same- Or at least, something similar, you hope.
“Up you go,” you say, holding out a hand for Roxanne at the top of the stairs at the castle’s entrance. She makes an exaggerated swoon and you bow graciously, grinning like a much younger man.
Within is a simple structure, a massive open area with turrets and interior towers from which archers could no doubt fire safely from. In the middle is a massive stone staircase, spiraling into the ceiling, several stories high.
“The view from up there is probably incredible,” you say idly. Roxanne looks doubtful about the stairs, but nods in agreement.
“The walk is gonna kill my back, so you better be right,” she replies with a smile.
After a moment’s rest, you begin the ascent. You’re pushing 40 and while you don’t dare ask Roxanne her age, you assume she’s in the same boat as you vis-a-vis back pain onset by massive stair-treks, soon enough both of you are panting. Each footfall is heavy and by the time you’re at the top of the dozen or so flights, your collar is damp and Roxanne has discarded her kitten-heeled boots.
“Fuuuuck,” she groans, leaning forward onto her knees to catch her breath. “This view- If it isn’t EFFULGENT, I am gonna kill you.” She stands, hands on her lower back. “Cause guess what, smart guy. We’ve gotta walk DOWN those, too.”
“See for yourself,” you say, taking her hand. You guide her to the edge of the obsidian stones and look out across the sweeping landscape. A checkerboard globe spans out to the curving horizon, dotted with trees and smoke and bright sunless blue sky. To call it otherworldly would be redundant and to call it beautiful would fall short, the billowing clouds high above shimmering with movie-like projections of parts unknown. Skaia. So beautiful yet so barren.
Roxanne falls silent, leaning her head on your shoulder. For a long moment, you don’t say a word. Before long, you and Roxanne are breathing as one.
You both turn from the vista, arranging nearby chairs and tables that had been strewn about, laying out a bottle of wine pilfered from the kindly WV fellow and two plain glasses that she wipes off with her lab coat. The wine is deep red and the glass she pours herself is fuller than yours.
“Well this is nice,” Roxanne concedes after open-mouth swallowing half of her glass. “Rosie would’ve loved it up here, she loooves black and dark stuff. Real edgy kid.”
“John would have, too. He would have taken the stairs two at a time. He always wanted to prove himself.” A pang of sadness sours the comfortable mood. Roxanne senses this and her hand is on yours.
The table you found is narrow, no doubt used for a small group to look at maps and charts and whatnot, narrow enough that you could lean forward to touch her forehead with yours. You gaze into her twinkling, pale pink eyes.
“Do you think they’re okay?” Roxanne asks quietly.
“Haven’t the foggiest,” you admit. She pours herself another glass of wine.
“Do you think they’re worried about us?” she asks.
“Part of me hopes they’re thinking about their poor parents, but another part wants to tell them we’re okay and they shouldn’t worry,” you gently take the wine glass from her.
“Yeah,” Roxanne agrees. The still air creates a blanket-like quiet.
Nothing more needs to be said but you decide to say something stupid anyway.
“I’m not married, you know,” you clear your throat. Roxanne gawks at you then scoffs a laugh.
“I hope the fuck you aren’t,” she says plainly.
“Why not?” you feel your cheeks warm.
Roxanne rolls her eyes with a knowing smirk and closes the small gap of the table, pressing her lips to yours. They taste like wine and lip gloss and you’re sure some of the color she uses will rub off on you. Good. You kiss her back and when you part, you fall silent.
For those delicious moments, everything is alright in Paradox Space.
Chapter 50: Act 4 Chapter 10: Self-Esteem
Summary:
Oh my god... Did you hear this episode is on YouTube?
This chapter does not YET have graphics.
Chapter Text
Your name is Diamonds Droog in the medium of universe A2.
You and the remaining members of your crew have been stopped by someone who looks exactly like Spades Slick, the man you previously resolved to go on a suicide mission to find.
“Sorry,” you say slowly. “What did you say your name was?”
“It’s me!” insists the stranger, laughing in a nervous manic fashion. “Jack!”
You look from Hearts to Clubs. You shake your head at the doppelganger, who takes a step forward.
Since the stranger took off the ring, the green crackling in the air has subsided. You reason that it must be one of the power rings, much like the one your old Black Queen had. You pray he doesn’t put it back on.
“C’mon,” the stranger says, now irritated. “You know me.”
“We don’t,” you say, shaking your head. “You look like our boss, but you ain’t our boss.” You swallow. “Sorry.”
“It’s me!” the stranger insists, growling. “Jack Noir, the Sovereign Slayer. You KNOW me. I’m from another version of Derse, but you KNOW me. You remember.”
“We don’t know you,” says Hearts who is holding a hand in front of Clubs protectively.
“Queen!” the stranger says, pointing at Hearts. “You know me, don’t you? We must have had adventures on this planet together. I’m back!”
There are tears in the stranger’s eyes. They make you feel a fearful pity that makes your face twist into disgust.
“Ace!” The stranger points at Clubs now.
“I’m not Ace!” says Clubs defensively. “I’m Clubs Deuce!”
“Whatever the fuck your name is,” Jack says impatiently. “You’re my boys. I’m your boss. We can get back together, I can- We can be in a crew again.”
Jack takes a step forward to grasp your hand, but you swat it away. Your eyes flick to the ring in his hand.
“We’re not your crew,” you try to explain calmly. “You’ve come a long way and we get that you’re a different version of our boss, but-”
“Guys, come the fuck on,” Jack says. There are tears in his eyes now. “Please, just- It’s me. We can be together.”
“You can come with us to find our boss if you want,” you offer. “That way we all can-”
“We don’t need your old boss,” Jack says suddenly. You flinch and the flinch seems to offend Jack further. “What? What, are you afraid of your old pal Jack? It’s me, King, it’s ME!”
“I’m not King!” you raise your voice. This is all very surreal and you’re trying to keep your cool but your famous facade of calm is falling away quickly. “I’m Diamonds Droog and my boss isn’t Jack Noir, it’s Spades Slick, no matter how much you two look alike!”
You watch as Jack freezes in place. His jaw clenches and his tears streak down his cheeks. He grits his teeth and you brace yourself as he vibrates, looking like he’s about to explode into screaming. You step back as he cracks, a quiet, ragged laugh coming from his hung head.
“Like I said,” you say over his menacing chuckles. “You can come with us. Find our real boss.”
“I am your real boss,” says Jack simply. He raises the ring to his finger.
“Don’t-” you try to stop him, but his body flashes green and the muzzle is back on his face, the crackle back in the air, a mad and manic smile plastered across his sharp pearly-white canine teeth. He reaches through the air to try and grab you by the collar, but you stagger backwards.
“You’re MINE!” Jack howls as Hearts and Clubs drag you to your feet. The howl of Jack Noir reverberates deafeningly in the air, the green electric sensation turning into a rumbling earthquake. You grab your two compatriots’ wrists and drag them into a side street just in time to dodge a strike of neon-green lightning that erupts from Jack’s outstretched palm.
Six feet scramble against cobblestones as you run, the demon in the body of your boss hot on your heels, screaming and sobbing openly into the cold Derse air, helpless and ruinous at the same time.
You don’t know why and you don’t know what for, but you’re now running for your life.
You and your crew turn sharply into a narrow side-street and zigzag through abandoned homes and facilities, hoping that the Demon above isn’t following you. You hear his voice and his screams of torment, and while they are distant, the sound refuses to leave.
“In there!” Hearts cries, pointing to a warehouse in the distance. The warehouse. Of course. Your boss, Spades Slick, in his endless scheming foresight, had many contingency plans squirreled away all over the planet of Derse such as weapon caches and buried briefcases of money. In the distant warehouse there lay dormant something much more useful.
You and Deuce nod and follow, turning a corner into another back-alley when you collectively slam into something tall and gray-colored, falling on your ass one by one, Deuce landing in Hearts’s lap.
You scramble backward, eyes wide. Has the demon caught you? You look up at the figure and into piercing blue eyes. From behind the figure, a smaller figure steps, her eyes olive and curious, head cocking lithely to one side.
You are no longer Diamonds Droog.
Your name is Jack Noir.
You fall to the cobblestone street, hands on the stone, panting and wheezing. Tears fall between your hands. Why don’t they want you? Why won’t they admit you’re their boss? What’s wrong with them? Is this universe broken?
Your boys had fled from you, terror in their eyes. Are you frightening to your own crew? You growl and sob, bringing your head down onto the stones, beating your forehead against the floor with rage and grief that you’re too far-gone to feel in their entirety.
Fists punch the ground, cracking it, nearby buildings falling over, your howls of anguish shattering windows and wrenching metalwork from their frames. A nearby fountain springs a leak and water jets into the air. You’re in full tantrum-mode, your hands beating the ground, trying to feel something other than the confusing pain of rejection and emptiness.
The truth stings your heart like a hydraulic press squeezing it into flat nothingness: Those aren’t your boys. Your boys are gone.
“They’re gone!” you wail into the sky into an alien dimension. “My boys are gone!”
The remaining Dersites rush between buildings in a blind panic, their eyes widening in horror at you, like you’re some kind of demon.
Demon…
You get to your feet, chest heaving, lungs pushed outward by a broken heart.
You can be a demon if that’s what they think. Your fists clench, arcing off the ground and nearby structures in electric pulses.
You are no longer Jack Noir.
==
AC: :33 < hewwo!!!
TT: hewwo!!!!!!!
AC: :33 < hehe hewwo!!!!! :33
TT: hewwo!!!!! :3333
AC: :33 < *the fierce lioness looks down at the tiny kitten cocking her head cutely to one side! she licks the tiny kittens fur gently.*
TT: *the tiny kitten purrs and licks the fierce lion back hoping it can protect the little kitten forever and ever!*
AC: :33 < h33h33
AC: :33 < its so nice to talk to you jaspers! how are you and miss rose doing on your quest??
TT: its nice to talk to you miss leijon!! rose is doing just fine how are you and your sweaty brother??
AC: :33 < brother?
AC: :33 < OHHHH you mean equius!
AC: :33 < he isnt my brother! hes my moirail.
AC: :33 < but i guess those two things are pretty similar…
AC: :33 < hes doing… okay?
AC: :33 < we are about to have a nap to s33 what is going on on derse.
TT: hm hm hm.
TT: i have never been to derse i hope it is fun.
TT: rose is pondering her orb right now that is all she seems to want to do lately :(
TT: i wish she would pet my head and back like she did when i was a regular kitty
AC: :33 < aw jaspers! rose loves you very much she is just busy.
AC: :33 < everyone is very busy... fighting demons, trying to survive.
AC: :33 < talking to you is nice, i can forget about the hard and scary stuff.
AC: :33 < so thank you!
TT: siiiigh.
TT: the world is hard and scary for cats like us!
AC: :33 < oh im not actually a cat!
TT: oh! but you said your parent was a cat…
AC: :33 < thats right! mister pounce de leon!!!
AC: :33 < but i am not like you earth creatures, just because my dad is a cat doesnt mean im one. :PP
AC: :33 < i am a troll!!
TT: oh okay.
TT: i think that means you’re a troll-shaped cat.
AC: hehe sure!!
AC: gah i hate to go so soon jaspers but i really have to check up on derse
AC: last time we were there a bunch of crazy stuff happened…
TT: like what? :0
AC: well…
AC: did i tell you about the midnight crew?
TT: yeah! guys in black who helped you and your furriends on your quest!
AC: :33 < thats right!
AC: :33 < they were being chased by the demon and equius and i helped them.
AC: the demon already destroyed prospit inside our session and was running wild so we decided to show up to derse to help
AC: :33 < for some reason though the demon looked… sad :((
AC: :33 < it was chasing us and the midnight crew and screaming about something but it wasnt scary screaming
AC: :33 < it was like the demon was sad
TT: why would a demon be sad?
AC: :33 < well equius thinks that the demon is a different version of the midnight crews friend
AC: :33 < so the demon wants to be friends with the midnight crew
TT: but no one wants to be friends with a demon, huh? :(
AC: :(( < yeah...
AC: :(( < it makes me almost f33l bad for the demon.
AC: :33 < ...almost.
AC: :33 < after all, when equius and i found a safe place for the midnight crew to stay, the demon was already blowing up derse to try to find them.
AC: :33 < equius is worried that the demon is going to blow the whole place up.
AC: :33 < he wants me to help him get the midnight crew to safety.
TT: oh wow.
TT: how are you gonna do that?
AC: :33 < well! equius is kind of… um. direct?
AC: :33 < he suggested just flying them to skaia in order to throw them into one of the portals leading to our old dead world.
AC: :33 < i dunno if its going to work but were going to find out!
TT: GASP.
TT: miss nepeta, you can FLY?! :D
AC: :33 < hehe well my dream self can!
AC: :33 < everyone can fly in their dreams.
TT: i hope you and the midnight crew make it back safe miss nepeta!!
AC: :33 < hehe me too!
AC: :33 < bye for now jaspers.
TT: bye miss nepeta!!
==
Your name is June Egbert.
You wake up groggily, dragged unnaturally from slumber, coughing bitterly. Your ribs sting. You recognize where you are instantly, the sofa in your home.
You were having such a wonderful dream... Flying over a chessboard landscape, a fleeting glimpse of your dad once again... It felt so real.
Has everything been a dream? The game, the imps, the whole Earth being destroyed? College orientation is in a few weeks, isn't it? You're excited to be free from this house, to take the next step in your life.
You sit up and feel another sting in your chest, a grim reminder that the next step in your life is fighting to be able to continue living it. You stagger to your feet, and the sound brings your Nana from the kitchen.
"Hoo hoo!" she chuckles. "I'm glad you're not dead, dear. Worry not! I gave the imp that put you in that state what-for. Try to relax while I bake some nutritious cookies."
"How did we get back here?" you groggily ask, steadying yourself with one hand on the wall.
"Teleportation,” Nana replies. “I can teleport us back to the house and I decided to do so. You'll have to forgive me, those imps were giving me a case of the horribles!"
"We're all the way back home?" You groan. All that progress, gone. You keep looping back to your house, stuck in this cradle you've long outgrown.
Withdrawing it from your pocket, you realize that your PDA is in shambles, its screen crisscrossed with spiderweb cracks that render the thing worthless. Looks like to catch up with Jade, Dave, and Rose, you’ll have to go upstairs to your room. You manage the climb with your aching ribs and collapse into your familiar computer chair. When you boot it up, there’s a message waiting for you.
==
AG: Hey, Egtwerp.
AG: Wake up already.
AG: Uuuuuuuugh, watching you sleep is 8ORING.
AG: I’m going to see if I can use my powers to wake you up.
AG: Did it work?
AG: Helloooooooo?
EB: what the hell is your problem??
AG: Hey, there you are! ::::)
AG: I think what you meant to say is "you're welcome!"
EB: you nearly got me killed!
EB: you're the reason my chest feels like a xenomorph is going to pop out of it.
AG: You're not dead, are you?
AG: You took care of those imps no problem! You could have killed that last one if it hadn't had the drop on you.
EB: okay, fine, putting me in danger awakened some cool powers.
EB: but first of all, those were MY powers that I awakened!
EB: and second of all, i'm pretty sure there was a better way to awaken them than ringing the dinner bell for a bunch of idiot gremlins!
AG: Look. What's done is done. You're stronger now.
EB: and my ribs hurt. and i'm down a pda.
EB: but...
EB: i guess thanks.
AG: There. Was that so hard? ::::)
AG: You're very welcome, Miss Egtwerp.
EB: egbert.
AG: Egnerd?
EB: whatever, pisska sercock.
AG: L8L.
AG: Let's not get in the weeds on these hilarious nicknames, June.
AG: I have another assignment. One that I don't have to trick you into doing this time.
==
Nana enters your room, setting down a plate of cookies on the computer desk next to you.
"Thanks, Nana, but I'm not hungry." You give her a polite smile, which she returns.
"Go on dear, just try one." Nana slides the plate closer an inch.
"Oh, no, that's okay, I-" you try to deflect, but before you know it, Nana has placed a cookie in your grip. They're warm, with neon-blue colored chips instead of normal chocolate. "Are these edible?" You ask hesitantly.
"Just try one, dearie!" Nana coos in that grandmotherly tone that's impossible to say no to. It becomes clear from her saccharine smile that she's not leaving until she sees you chow down. You take a bite, choosing the path of least resistance.
"Eugh!" you say suddenly, wincing. "N-Nana, these taste like toothpaste or something."
"Eat up!" Nana insists cheerfully. "These are special cookies. VERY good for the constitution."
Whimpering, you eat the rest of the cookie, swallowing the potent spearmint flavor with a gag.
"There you go, sweetie," she says, patting your shoulder. "That chest of yours doesn't feel so bad now, does it?"
As Nana leaves, you pat your chest. She's right. You feel fine.
==
AG: What the hell was that?
AG: Who is that blue human? She was helping before.
EB: oh. sorry. that's my nana.
EB: she's like...
EB: my dad's mom?
AG: What the hell is a “dad’s mom?”
EB: a woman who, you get advice from but you don’t know that well because she died before you ever met her?
AG: OOOOOOOOH. Okay, that actually makes TOTAL sense.
EB: yeah. and she makes me cookies that heal me, apparently.
AG: Hm.
AG: Keep those healing cookies. I have an idea.
AG: Do you know where your alchemy stuff is?
EB: you mean the machines that make new equipment?
AG: Yeah.
AG: Let's get you some new gear. >::::)
EB: oh, okay!
==
You’re surprised at how quickly you went from angry at Vriska to singing her tune. She’s so cool.
You take a handful of stuff to your alchemiter, readying yourself to utilize the machines to make some cool new stuff. The first order of business is to make a brand-new PDA.
From what you've been told, alchemy is very simple. You put in two things in the alchemiter's tubes and a new thing comes out. Dave fixed his turntables and Rose made her wand-weapons that way. You can even use it to repair something that is lost or broken.
First, you use an ecto-slime replica of your old PDA and combine it with your room’s computer. In a flash, a new PDA appears, a little more bulky than before. You wish you could get ahold of an iPhone or something like Dave and Rose have, but beggars can’t be choosers. You hastily navigate to Pesterchum to respond to Vriska. It’s already buzzing off the hook. To your surprise, however, you don't see a message from Vriska, it's a group chat from Dave.
--turntechGodhead opened a group chat [Vriskintervention]--
--turntechGodhead added gallowsCallibrator--
--turntechGodhead added ectoBiologist--
TG: hey man
TG: respond when you can no rush
EB: oh uh, hi dave!
EB: what's going on?
TG: nothing dude i just heard through the grapevine that youre making some moves lately
EB: oh, i guess. i mean, i got into a fight with some imps.
EB: and i beat two of them!
EB: but i also broke my ribs because another one got the drop on me.
TG: cool cool no thats genuinely great man but uh
TG: im just kind of wondering if engaging with imps is a great idea
TG: all of us are pretty busy here right
TG: we cant come bail you out if shit gets bad
EB: bail me out??
EB: dave, come on. i don't need to be bailed out. i'm not some baby who can't take care of myself.
TG: didnt say you were
EB: also, uhhhh. not to be rude, but why is SHE here?
GC: OH, TH4T'S SP1CY.
GC: 1'V3 4LW4YS W4NT3D SOM3ON3 TO S4Y TH4T 4BOUT M3.
GC: "WHY 1S *SH3* H3R3?"
GC: G1V3S M3 CH1LLS.
TG: shes here for moral support okay
EB: moral support? for what?
EB: she's the troll who tried to kill me with an exploding rocket!
EB: in another timeline, apparently she SUCCEEDED in killing me with an exploding rocket!
GC: GU1LTY. >:]
TG: i know that better than anyone john just hear me out
TG: she and i have been working together lately on a project
TG: and she and i have both noticed youve been chatting with one of the trolls
EB: you mean vriska?
TG: yeah her
TG: shes super violent and weird and if you keep working with her then you'll probably get hurt or worse
GC: T4K3 1T FROM M3, TH3 ON3 WHO TR13D TO K1LL YOU.
TG: yeah like
TG: youre hearing this from the chick who tried to fry you john you should really heed her words
EB: you DO realize how moronic that sounds, right?
TG: you said yourself you just broke your ribs man
TG: thats bad news bears john
EB: i’m not a baby, dave, i don’t need you to look out for me.
EB: and can you stop calling me “man” and “john” and stuff??
TG: damn sorry
TG: still getting used to you being a girl now
TG: can this wait we were talking about the whole vriska thing
EB: i don’t really want to talk about either of those things, actually!
EB: i didn’t ask to suddenly get grilled by my best friend and his new alien girlfriend about my decisions!
EB: i’m going to do what i’m going to do, so fuck off!
TG: terezi this might not be as airtight of an idea as i assumed
GC: JUN3 M1GHT B3 TOO F4R GON3 TO R34SON W1TH.
GC: TH1S 1S L1K3 T4VROS 4LL OV3R 4G41N...
EB: who's tavros??
GC: 4SK VR1SK4.
TG: lets stay on track
TG: june i want you to sit on your ass not because i think you suck or youre weak but because youre my friend and i would prefer you stay alive
TG: we got this
EB: oh, i get it.
EB: i see now!
EB: this is all a little scheme you two are cooking up.
TG: what
EB: terezi is helping you get stronger and she's all afraid i might get stronger than you with vriska's help!
TG: what no
TG: thats not true
GC: 1T'S 4 L1TTL3 TRU3. >:]
TG: what
EB: see!
EB: you want to keep me weak, you think i'll never be able to be as good as you are.
EB: you think i'm a baby who needs to be coddled!!
EB: well i'm not a baby! i'm a GROWN ADULT!
GC: MOST GROWN 4DULTS DO PROCL41M TH31R 4DULTHOOD 1N 4 P3TUL4NT M4NN3R, Y3S.
GC: YOU S33M V3RY M4TUR3 R1GHT NOW, JUN3.
TG: terezi would you shut up
EB: both of you just leave me alone!!
--ectoBiologist left [Vriskintervention]--
You punch drywall, gritting your teeth. You place your head in your hands. You need to get your mind off this.
You wrench the door open to your closet. You’ve been getting injured a lot lately and you need some armor, something to protect you from imps and their various attacks. You grab the only garment that still fits you, a suit that Dad made you wear to catholic confirmation.
The floor beneath you rumbles gently. You wonder if the imps are causing so much destruction outside that you can feel it all the way up on your house-platform.
You shove the suit into the tube and into the other side, you shove the cookies Nana made you.
==
AG: June.
AG: Juuuuuuuune. What's the holdup? Who are you talking to?
EB: sorry.
EB: one of your stupid friends messaged me.
AG: Oh ho ho!
AG: Let me guess. Was it Pyrope?
EB: If "Pyrope" is the one who types teal, yeah.
AG: I knew she'd butt in.
AG: I know she's been working with the Dave human. Probably some pathetic attempt to one-up me.
AG: This is SO her.
AG: We go waaaaaaaay back.
EB: i figured...
EB: i can't believe dave trusts her more than me.
EB: ugh...
AG: I don't blame him. Terezi is a master manipul8or.
EB: yeah, she almost got me killed with an exploding rocket.
AG: HA!
AG: But here you are! Shows how much SHE knows.
AG: Let's not let her get in the way of your training, right, Juney?
AG: You don't care if I call you Juney, do you?
EB: oh! well, i guess not. heh.
==
You blush. You wish you could know from what angle Vriska was looking at you from so you could hide the smile on your face.
The alchemization of your new armor is complete- A teal-blue suit glowing with the same ecto-energy as Nana’s cookies. Hopefully, if your logic is sound, this new suit will have the power of healing the cookies do.
==
AG: Listen. I'm not going to 8eat around the 8ush here, June.
AG: You're at a time disadvantage, here, vis a vis "power."
EB: what do you mean?
AG: I mean that 8uilding power and strength takes time.
AG: You don't have nearly enough time to "get strong" in the usual way.
AG: That takes SWEEPS!
EB: oh...
EB: then what do we do?
AG: We're going to cheat.
EB: cheat. i see.
EB: is that... allowed?
AG: Anything you can do without getting killed or caught is "allowed," Juney.
AG: I'm going to send you a code to use for alchemiz8ion. Use it along with your most powerful weapon and it will get a crazy power boost.
EB: ooooh.
EB: and that will make me stronger?
AG: Yep!
AG: But the weapon isn't the end goal.
==
For your final alchemy project, you place your hammer in one tube, then using the attached keyboard, you type in Vriska's provided code. The machine hums as if it's thinking hard, then it buzzes, something deep in the machinery clunking around. Finally, it hisses, and on the platform appears...
==
EB: oh what the fuck is this...
EB: this looks like what lightning mcqueen would use to fix a leaky roof!
AG: Shut the fuck up! It's awesome!
==
The hammer that appears on the platform is bright-red, streaked with yellow lightning with what seem to be exhaust ports on the sides. It's far larger than the standard hammer you began with, the head being nearly the size of your forearm. It's heavy, too. You can lift it, but swinging it is out of the question, the metal on the end must weigh at least fifty pounds. The hammer comes with a handy strap which digs into your shoulder when you slide it on.
==
EB: vriska, this thing sucks.
EB: what did you combine this with?
AG: A legendary Alternian Artifact, the Red Rocket!
EB: ...
AG: Someone else already teleported the Red Rocket into your universe FOR me earlier.
EB: ... ... ...
AG: Say something!
AG: A "thank you" wouldn't hurt. >::::(
EB: this conversation seems familiar...
EB: more to the point, it's too big!
EB: i'm not strong enough to swing this around.
AG: Relax. You don't have to swing it.
AG: It's rocket-powered, right? You just hold it and the thrusters will do the rest!
EB: i feel like that would tear off my arm or something.
AG: June, I have to say, you're REALLY good at complaining.
AG: Seriously, probably one of the best I've ever seen at the art.
EB: can you see me rolling my eyes?
EB: that's a sign of human disgruntlement!
EB: little cultural exchange, there.
AG: HAR HAR HAR.
==
In spite of her bad attitude, you find yourself smiling again. This Vriska person is hard to trust but she's also the only person who seems to actually believe in you, unlike Dave and the rest of your friends.
==
EB: okay, what's the plan?
AG: You know how the imps suddenly became super-strong because of Jade's weird nuclear lusus?
EB: yeah.
AG: Well, there are SOME enemies who never get upgrades because of prototyping.
AG: More specifically, your Denizen.
EB: denizen?
EB: the final boss monster that nana told me about?
AG: Yeah.
AG: They're still just regular enemies! Boss-level enemies, but regular, as in they don't get stronger when you prototype things.
AG: On your own, a Denizen would wipe the floor with you, but together with your brand-new hammer and windy powers, you'll be able to beat them EASY!
EB: like when you're in an rpg and get late-game equipment by accident?
AG: Exactly. >::::)
AG: Tell me what happens when you beat a boss, June.
EB: you get sick loot?
AG: My god. Stop the news scanners. She's a genius!
AG: Sick loot equals more power.
AG: Have your sprite tell you where the Denizen's den is. Since you're a wind player, your Denizen is probably Typheus. He's one of the EASY ones.
EB: got it!
AG: But first, take that hammer of yours on a little test-run.
AG: Prove that you’re the champ that I know you are.
EB: good idea. i'll find some imps to get the hang of it!
AG: Oh, I wouldn't worry about having to "find" any enemies.
EB: w8, what?
==
Just then, the floor beneath you rumbles again, this time like a real earthquake. You look up from your new PDA, eyes widening. A beat later, your Nana opens the door, her voice cracking, chest heaving.
"I don't mean to alarm you, June, and I think it's wonderful you're being so diligent with alchemy but I think we ought to leave immediately. Hoo hoo!"
With Nana, you dash outside to the remains of your front lawn. After about ten feet, the lawn drops off in a cliff high above LOWAS's clouds, your dislocated house sitting atop the sheer island hanging in midair. Down the dizzying height of the cliff, you see something near the clouds. A black-shelled hand extending upwards, reaching for the cliff wall. As the hand comes down, the cliff wall caves in, the massive hand gripping the side of the cliff as it drags itself upward.
From the gray clouds beneath, a face emerges, one of tusks and teeth and beady eyes, crackling with nuclear green energy. Rose told you about these. This is no imp, this is a school-bus-sized nuclear Ogre.
"June," says Nana in warning, still smiling a forced smile, her teeth gritting together.
"I can take him on!" you insist hesitantly. “One is doable.”
As if Skaia up above is mocking you, another two hands emerge from the smoky clouds and begin climbing, too. They're still far, but you see a total of three nuclear ogres climbing toward you, each of their guttural cries making the spire-cliff your home sits atop groan and shake.
You slide the Crimson Hammer from your shoulder, allowing it to fall heavily to the grass.
"June!" Nana grasps your shoulder. "I can understand a desire for violence against miscreants, but I am not in the business of losing family members. We have to go. I can fly you up to your first gate again, we-"
"Nana," you cut her off. Vriska called you a champ before, she believes in you. Your jaw sets as you watch the ogres come. "I have to do this."
You look into her eyes, steeling yourself. You feel a sense of calm washing over you, not because you think you can win, but because for once in your life you feel something important enough to take this risk on. Nana's mouth closes and her smile disappears. She stares at you, understanding.
"So much like your father..." she says quietly, hanging her head with a sad smile. "Very well!" Nana finally relents, holding up her fists and swinging them like an old-timey pugilist. "Let's make these brutes pay!"
The first hand of an ogre lands on the ground before you, scraping the green grass. Your hands close around the hammer's neck and your fear turns to adrenaline.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Chapter 51: Act 4 Chapter 11: Spacetime
Summary:
This episode is on YouTube, click here! You bet your sweet bippy.
This episode is lacking graphics... For Now.
Chapter Text
Your name is Dave Strider.
The Land of Heat and Clockwork Stock Exchange is bustling, full of crocodiles wearing untucked button-downs, sleeves rolled up, all barking and growling at each other. Some are wearing bluetooth headsets and tapping on PDAs, but all of them look deadly serious.
Among the throngs of crocodiles, mostly unnoticed in the great din, are several of your time-clones. Some are from your past, making trades, and some are from the future, giving information to the past-Daves in order to game the market. Taking a breather, you decide to consult with your lawyer.
==
TG: this idea is brilliant i have to admit
GC: 4 L1TTL3 TRUST GO3S 4 LONG W4Y, MR. STR1D3R. >:]
TG: its much more efficient
TG: though as my lawyer arent you worried
GC: WORR13D?
TG: yeah like
TG: you told me temporal securities fraud is a crime and now here you are telling me to do a different more efficient crime
GC: SO?
TG: lawyers where im from dont usually do that
TG: their job is to get their clients out of trouble and avoid doing crimes
GC: TH3 1SSU3 1S NOW CL34R TO M3. TH1S 1S 4 CULTUR4L D1FF3R3NC3.
GC: ON MY HOM3 WORLD, L4WY3RS 4R3 3MPLOY3D 1N ORD3R TO MOR3 D3FTLY G3T 4W4Y W1TH CR1M3S.
GC: TO 41D TH3 CR1M1N4L BY F4C1L1T4T1NG TH3 CL4ND3ST1N3 P3RP3TR4T1ON OF CR1M1N4L 4CTS.
GC: MUCH MORE EFFICIENT, WOULDN’T YOU AGREE? >:]
TG: well youre doing a bang up job
==
One of your past-selves taps you on the shoulder. From the pocket of your suit, you withdraw a small piece of paper, which he nods at. The paper is torn from a notebook, covered in numbers from one to a hundred. Your paper shows the numbers one through twenty crossed out. His shows only one through seventeen.
==
TG: this paper system is pretty smart too
GC: 1F YOU DON’T W4NT TH3 T1M3 LOOP TO COLL4PS3 4ND P3R1SH HORR1BLY, 1T WOULD B3 PRUD3NT TO CR34T3 4 SHORTH4ND NOT4T1ON TO SHOW WH3R3 1N TH3 PROC3SS W3 4R3.
TG: yeah
TG: speaking of, im on step 20
GC: R1GHT.
GC: ST3P 20 1S “1NV3ST 20 BOONBONDS 1N CROCK3T MORTG4G3 LLC.”
TG: on it
==
You step up to a teller and push a pile of money across the table. He nods as you instruct him to buy 20 boonbonds worth of Crocket Mortgage LLC.
==
GC: 1 M34NT TO 4SK.
GC: WH4T SP3C1F1C4LLY H4PP3NS 1F YOU *DO* BR34K TH3 T1M3 LOOP?
GC: OUR T1M3 PL4Y3R 4R4D14 D1DN’T 3X4CTLY WORRY 4BOUT TH3 NU4NC3S OF T1M3 TR4V3L.
TG: well
TG: lets say that i get advice from myself in the future
TG: he says to invest in crocodile apple
TG: that means to complete the loop i have to go and tell myself what i already heard later
TG: because hes me from the future
TG: it becomes an action that i have to take
GC: OK4Y.
GC: 4ND 1F YOU DON’T DO TH4T TH1NG, 1T M4K3S 4 P4R4DOX.
TG: yeah
TG: thats what happened when you killed the other john
TG: or uh june
GC: 4H3M.
GC: 4T TH3 R1SK OF BR1NG1NG UP 4 S3TTL3D M4TT3R...
GC: HOW D1D MY 4CC1D3NT4L-1NT3NT1ON4L 1NC1D3NT4L C4S3 OF FR13ND-R3L4T3D HUM4NC1D3 C4US3 4 DOOM3D T1M3L1N3?
TG: well you killed them but that wasnt supposed to happen
TG: so it created a doomed timeline
TG: thats where davesprite came from hes a dave who lived in a doomed timeline for a while
GC: WHY W4S JUN3 DY1NG “NOT SUPPOS3D TO H4PP3N?”
TG: that i dont have any clue in the slightest to be honest
TG: but i do have a theory
GC: >:?
TG: i think that the session were in right now and maybe even the session that you guys are playing
TG: theyre all part of an even bigger time loop
TG: a time loop so big we dont even know where we are on it
TG: think about it
TG: you have a program that can see our entire timeline right
GC: R1GHT. W3 C4N S33 1NTO YOUR R34L1TY FROM B3G1NN1NG TO 3ND.
TG: exactly
TG: how else would that be possible other than our entire reality being one big time loop
TG: where if we stray from the correct order of events then causality collapses
GC: OH, SH1T.
GC: 1’LL H4V3 TO D1SCUSS TH1S W1TH 4R4D14.
GC: 1 4M SO GL4D SH3 1S ST1LL 4L1V3 4ND W1TH US. >:]
TG: i mean we can worry about that later
TG: i dont really have a problem with a deterministic reality
TG: ah fuck hang on someone else is messaging me
==
You cross “20” off your card sheet, walking over to the bench to respond to the message from Karkat. You reason that since you can control time, you have all the time in the world to respond to anyone. It’s one of the perks of being a time guy.
==
CG: DAVE. RESPOND RIGHT NOW.
TG: whats up man
CG: I UNDERSTAND YOU’VE BEEN TALKING EXTENSIVELY WITH TEREZI.
TG: yep
CG: AS THE GOD OF YOUR WORLD, I COMMAND YOU TO STOP.
CG: SHE IS BAD NEWS.
TG: huh
TG: this conversation seems familiar somehow
CG: I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND SOMETHING, DAVE. THERE ARE CERTAIN MENTAL DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE MALES AND FEMALES OF OUR SPECIES.
CG: THE MALES ARE TYPICALLY MORE REASONABLE AND COOPERATIVE WHEREAS THE WOMEN ARE FUCKING INSANE.
TG: thats pretty sexist of you man
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DOES SEX HAVE TO DO WITH GENDER?
CG: SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME.
CG: WOMEN BAD.
CG: MOST OF ALL THE HIGHBLOOD WOMEN.
TG: if youre trying to impress upon me that terezi is crazy im pretty sure i knew that shit already karkat
TG: like she killed my friend john
TG: june
TG: fuck i keep fucking up her name why is this so hard for me
TG: its like i get it wrong once and it makes it harder to correct myself
TG: point is terezi killed him
TG: her
TG: them
TG: killed the being known now as june
CG: THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU COOPERATING WITH HER?
CG: PEOPLE LIKE HER ARE THE REASON PEOPLE BECOME DISABLED.
TG: why do you care so much about who im pals with
CG: I DON’T. I’M SAYING YOU SHOULDN’T WORK WITH HER.
TG: sounds to me like someone is jealous
CG: WHAT? NO.
CG: YOUR PLEBEIAN MIND IS MISTAKING CONCERN FOR JEALOUSY BECAUSE YOU HAVE THE EMOTIONAL SENSITIVITY OF A CRAWLING INSECT.
CG: WHY WOULD I BE JEALOUS OF TEREZI FOR TALKING TO YOU?
TG: see
TG: i was talking about you being jealous of me for talking to terezi
TG: but now youre bringing up being jealous of her
TG: the jealousy layers go deep it would seem
CG: I’M NOT JEALOUS OF ANYONE.
CG: AND IF, HYPOTHETICALLY, I WAS, I WOULD BE JEALOUS OF BOTH OF YOU, FOR TALKING TO EACH OTHER.
--[future]carcinoGeneticist has joined the chat--
FCG: OH MY GOD.
FCG: THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING.
TG: haha what
TG: karkat is this your future self
CG: OH, WHAT THE FUCK IS *HE* DOING HERE?
CG: FUCK OFF!
FCG: I’M TRYING TO STOP YOU FROM HUMILIATING YOURSELF.
TG: little late for that future man
FCG: SHUT THE FUCK UP, DAVE.
CG: NO, LET HIM TALK! HE’S ABOUT TO EXPLAIN WHY YOU’RE HUMILIATING YOURSELF AND BY EXTENSION, US.
CG: I WANT TO HEAR THIS.
FCG: I’M YOU, YOU SIMPLETON.
FCG: UGH...
FCG: THE WORST PART ABOUT THIS WHOLE FUCKING CONVERSATION IS I REMEMBER SAYING EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID.
FCG: IT’S LIKE MY OWN PERSONAL SHAME OUROBOROS.
FCG: HE’S GOING TO TALK TO TEREZI NO MATTER WHAT WE SAY, SO JUST DROP IT, KARKAT.
TG: future karkat is talking some sense
CG: IMPOSSIBLE.
--carcinoGeneticist blocked [future]carcinoGeneticist--
CG: STOP TALKING TO TEREZI.
--carcinoGeneticist blocked turntechGodhead--
You stare at the screen, dumbfounded. You don’t know if you should laugh or cringe. You decide to feel pity instead, opening Terezi’s chat again.
==
TG: back
TG: ready to tackle step 21
GC: WHO W4S BUGG1NG YOU JUST NOW?
TG: karkat
TG: but also karkat
GC: W4S H3 Y3LL1NG 4T H1S P4ST 4ND FUTUR3 S3LV3S 4G41N?
TG: haha yeah
GC: WH4T D1D H3 S4Y 4BOUT M3?
TG: he said that you were crazy and homicidal
GC: D’4WW. >:]
TG: hm
TG: youre not beating these allegations if im being honest
==
You stand up, ready for more stock trading and taking names. You feel like that guy in that movie about Wall Street, the one who screamed about greed being good. Gordon... Alligator? No, that can’t be right. Whatever the hell that douchebag’s name was, you feel like him in your red suit with your piece of paper. You can’t trust anyone in this croc-eat-croc world, it’s every lizard for himself.
There’s only one guy you know you can trust.
--turntechGodhead adds [future]turntechGodhead--
--turntechGodhead will add [future-future]turntechGodhead--
--turntechGodhead added [past]turntechGodhead--
TG: sup
FTG: sup
FFTG: sup
PTG: sup
TG: hey guys im looking for the dave who has #21
FTG: thatd be me
TG: where should i go
FTG: head to the stone pillar beside the crocodile with the blue shirt
FTG: then become me in a few minutes
TG: got it
TG: hey what was up with karkat am i right
FTG: oh my fucking god what a weirdo
FFTG: lmao hes not that bad
PTG: does karkat hit us up later
TG: yeah dont worry about it
--turntechGodhead[s] are offline--
See? Talking to your future and past selves is easy. That Karkat guy could take some pointers from you. You see the blue-shirt croc and make your way to the stone pillar behind him, becoming your future self.
You are no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Thelonious Chomps.
Your little crocodile feet are scampering across the stone floor of a high-rise, being led by the boss of the bank you work at, Antonio Crocodrillo. Your little crocodile heart is beating inside your little crocodile chest. Incidentally, if ever a body part of yours is made reference to, assume the adjective cluster “little crocodile” precedes it.
Mr. Crocodrillo opens the door to a large corner office, revealing a massive wooden desk behind which sits a figure that makes your blood boil:
Don Camilo Aligatore.
“Tell the Don what you told me,” says Mr. Crocodrillo in a cold voice. You step forward, fidgeting.
“I-” You stammer, looking back at Mr. Crocodrillo. “I just don’t wanna get in trouble! My wife, she just laid her first clutch!”
“Relax, my scaly little associate,” says Don Aligatore in his fake Godfather accent. “You are amongst friends. Mr. Crocodrillo says you have some vital information pertaining to my continued business enterprises.”
“It’s about... The Knight of Time,” you stammer out.
“We are aware of the Knight. Spoke to him not a few hours prior,” Don says casually. Mr. Crocodrillo nods in agreement, crossing his arms.
“He came into the bank and started trading with himself.” You have to force yourself to speak. “Then he asked where the LOHAC Stock Exchange was.”
Don Aligatore moved from behind his desk to the front, revealing that underneath the table was lurking a long, menacing salamander, its eyes crackling a terrible neon green. You can’t help but recoil in fear.
“Mister Chomps, is that correct?” asks the Don. You nod. “Your wife, how many eggs are in her clutch?”
“F-forty, sir,” you choke out, eyes not leaving the salamander, watching it lick its lips.
“Forty beautiful new crocodiles to populate the noble city. Isn’t that lovely, Antonio?” Don pats your shoulder.
“Lovely,” Mr. Crocodrillo hollowly repeats.
“Mister Chomps, if the information you’ve given me leads to the apprehension of the Knight of Time, I shall set aside forty bonds so each and every one of your little bambinos goes to the finest college on the Land of Heat and Clockwork.”
Your eyes widen.
“Thank you, Don,” you say, collapsing to your knees. The Don extends a hand, upon which are five glittering ruby rings, each of which you kiss in turn.
“But,” Don says in a cold-blooded snarl. “If it does not...” He snatches his hand away, causing you to fall to the floor.
“We shall dine on omlettes for the next month of breakfasts.”
The Don snaps his fingers and his salamander follows him out, the three reptiles laughing as they leave you alone in his office.
You are no longer Thelonious Chomps.
==
TG: good news gang
TT: Possibly same.
TG: im making big money moves so ill be able to buy the beat mesa soon
TG: jade says shes breeding frogs like fuckin crazy
TG: i dont know what the exact utility of breeding frogs is
TG: im doing well too terezi is helping me make big bucks at the stock exchange
TT: Against all odds, Dave, you are on the right track.
TT: I am trying to get to the bottom of the Orb mystery in order that I may discover where the Timer is hidden.
TT: Doc is being evasive and wily with me.
TG: doc
TG: the greasy guy who talks like a creepy uncle
TT: The very same.
TG: fucked up
TT: Once again, you hit the nail on the head.
TG: okay tight
TG: looks like were on track we have people to spare like davesprite
TG: he fucked off somewhere i havent talked to him in a while
TG: im sure hes fine hes a complete bad ass
TT: And what about June?
TG: shes uh
TG: shes fighting imps i think
TG: i dont think she knows theyre on our side
TT: Indeed. There could also be other enemies who have strong urges to harm us who are fighting her anyway.
TT: I'm worried about her safety.
TG: i tried to tell her to lay low but she just got annoyed with me
TG: not going to lie i feel like dogshit
TT: She was the one who got us all together into the game itself.
TT: Without her...
TT: We would be dead.
TG: ...
TT: Sorry.
TT: We should support our friend somehow.
TT: Preferrably after we fight for our fucking lives.
TG: agreed
==
Your name is Jade Harley, boss of the imps.
The imps have moved your alchemiter and ectobiology equipment to your front yard. They’re hard at work in two teams: Team One are tasked with tracking down the many frogs of LOFAF and bringing them back to home base: Frog Obtainment. This is made easier because all of the frogs on LOFAF are encased in a delicate layer of frost, leaving them alive but inert. Team Two is the science division. They’re tasked with sorting the frogs out and alchemizing new ones from the originals.
You’ve been coordinating these tasks with some new tools at your disposal, kindly alchemized for you with the help of Jadesprite before she left.
On your eyes are a pair of glasses, upgraded from your regular glasses you usually wear. The old glasses were fine, they upgraded your vision from “inscrutable blur” to “reasonable definition,” and without them, your sight line is about as sharp as a Monet painting. Now, however, with your new-and-improved glasses, you can see even more.
You close one eye and the right lens of your glasses shimmer for a moment, your view shifting from the snowy tableau to a distant snowfield, your vision displaced from your body through space. You can see what’s going on miles away, watching the Team One imps clumsily claw frogs from inside frosty puddles.
Your other eye opens and turns down to your smartphone.
==
GG: hi dave! :D
TG: sup
GG: im not interrupting anything am i dave?
TG: no and even if you were i kind of have all the time in the world literally speaking
GG: oh??
TG: yeah
TG: not having enough time to finish the game is basically no issue to me
TG: i can hide myself away in little pockets of time bs
GG: that sounds relaxing...
TG: its actually fucking not honestly its pretty stressful
TG: because every time i make a time loop i have to make sure to close off the time loop otherwise bad shit will happen
TG: ill spare you the deets its pretty involved
GG: oh jeez...
GG: well make sure to close those time loops then dave!
TG: how are your studies coming along as the witch of space
GG: thats what they called me on prospit... but im not 100% sure what it means
TG: well ive got time powers so presumably youd have powers over space
TG: meaning like uh
TG: idk teleportation
TG: maybe being able to move really fast
GG: i do have these cool new glasses!
GG: i wish jadesprite told me more about this stuff now that shes plugged into the game >:(
TG: she didnt? damn
TG: though not going to lie im not entirely getting along with ds either
GG: oh no!! why not?? D:
TG: hes acting all busted up over bro
TG: and im like move on dot gov dot co dot uk my guy my bro is a piece of human trash
TG: a real shit person just the fucking worst
TG: you kind of lucked out not having any parents at all jade
TG: at least from where im at
GG: lucky?
GG: yeah super lucky...
TG: uhh
TG: lets go back to talking about you and space
TG: i just realized something j money
TG: if you as a space player could move really fast and me as a time player could slow down time
TG: would that not be functionally just the same power
GG: whoa... i think youre right
GG: since its all relative
GG: time and space ARE thought to be linked and not actually two separate forces!
TG: ok neil degrasse tyson
GG: hehe
TG: jade degrasse harley
TG: jade harley the science charlie
GG: hehe :)
GG: dave this might be weird to say but listening to you makes me less stressed
TG: wow that is the first time anyone has said that to me in my entire god damn life
TG: but listen even though my time is in abundance i have to jet
TG: ive got big deals to seal
TG: see ya later harlbert jadestein
GG: bye, uhhh
GG: dave-ritz stri-harber!!
TG: lmao
TG: okay i know i said i have to leave but that was a fucking stretch jade
TG: i dont even know what scientist you were riffing on
GG: oh! fritz harber, the inventor of ammonia!
TG: ah of course
TG: how could we forget ole fritzy boy
GG: he was called the father of modern chemical warfare
TG: jade
TG: next time we meet i expect you to compare me to a more favorable scientist
==
You sigh happily. You like all of your friends, but Dave has a special place in your heart. Rose and June are great, but you always felt a disconnect from them when they began talking about their lives. Rose and June both complained about their parents often, and while you empathized on the surface, you always felt a pang of jealousy that they had parents to complain about at all.
Dave is different. Dave knows what it’s like to fend for himself, even if he did have a parent. You’ve never told him, but you feel the unspoken bond between you both. As you close your eyes contentedly, you can almost see his face, those dark sunglasses he always wears shining at you against a backdrop of crimson lava.
You’ve seen Dave on video calls and in photos, but he’s never seen you before, you’ve always been too shy. You wonder what Dave would say if he finally met you... Maybe the space between you would finally disappear.
On your face, you feel your new glasses tingle, fizzling with electricity.
You open your eyes, feeling heat on your arms, your warm coat suddenly too heavy and warm on your shoulders.
“What the fuck?” says a blonde, sunglasses-wearing boy holding a briefcase. Next to him, two red-colored bipedal crocodiles make “nak” sounds at you. Your eyes widen as you realize you are no longer on the Land of Frost and Frogs.
“What the fuck?” you echo the boy, gazing down at him in shock. You panic and stumble backwards, tripping over the small crocodile-people onto your tailbone, wincing. Your glasses fizzle on your face once again and you’re somewhere else entirely.
Now, instead of a flaming clockwork lava land, you’re on a sweeping broad plain, checkered with patches of alternating white and black grass like a chessboard, stretching far and wide. In the distance, fires burn and you hear the faint sounds of fighting. The air smells fresh with an undertone of singed wood.
You stand up from being knocked over, heart beating faster. Behind you are massive slabs of golden stone, inert and towering, crumbled and strewn as if they’d fallen from the sky. Skaia stretches behind you and in front are the ruins of Prospit, wrenching open a sutured wound in your mind.
The glasses. You wrench them from your face away from your tears, gazing with blurry vision at them as if they’ll reveal their secrets to you by being jostled around. With a whine, you realize that you have no idea how these stupid things work and you don’t know how to get back to your land!
With another, deeper whine, you realize that without warning, you’ve just met your best friend in person for the very first time in the least elegant possible fashion.
“God damn it!” you cry into the air, the tenuous sense of peace you had a fleeting glimpse of was now gone.
You are no longer Jade Harley.
==
TG: hey guys update
TG: i just ran into i think a human person
JS: a “human person?”
TT: Human people are rather rare here in the Medium.
TG: yeah thats what i thought
TG: this tall lady just appeared there in front of me then vanished suddenly after looking shocked
TG: super tall
TG: like holy fuck tall
TG: like ive never seen a woman so tall
JS: ...
TT: I think by process of elimination, we can glean who that was.
TG: yeah
TG: uh
TG: it was nice to meet you jade
TT: I’m a little jealous, Dave.
JS: im jealous too!! D:
TT: Jade is the one of you who I’ve always most wanted to meet.
TT: Perhaps this portends a meeting in our future, Miss Harley?
JS: i dont think shes going to respond.
JS: if i know me, which i do, since i am me...
JS: shes probably really embarrassed
JS: im a little embarrassed too
TG: dont be youre like
TG: you look so badass jade
TG: and youre uh
TG: just really tall
TT: Dave, stop mentioning that she’s tall.
TT: She could be sensitive about it.
JS: oh no its okay
JS: since we grew up on a deserted island we never really had a benchmark for height so
JS: the fact that we ARE tall is basically news to me
TG: holy shit if that isnt the saddest thing ive heard in my life
==
Chapter 52: Act 4 Chapter 12: Rocket Science
Summary:
Did you know? This chapter is on YouTube! [Click Here]
No graphics for this chapter not yet.
Chapter Text
Your name is Nepeta Leijon, on Derse of universe A2.
You wake up in a warehouse with high ceilings, your arm across Equius’s chest, in the same position you fell asleep on the meteor. The Midnight Crew, Diamonds Droog, Hearts Boxcars, and Clubs Deuce are nowhere to be found.
“Where are they?” you ask with hesitation.
During your last session of dreaming, you and Equius had extricated the Midnight Crew fleeing from the Demon. As soon as Equius had nabbed all three carapacian men in his grip, you had been able to give the Demon the slip with ease. Equius has always been skilled at secrecy and espionage in spite of his massive unsubtle stature. He told you once that he was an Heir of Void, but that means about as much to you as being told that you are a Rogue of Heart.
You walk hesitantly to the window, looking out across the cobbled streets of Derse’s moon. It’s empty of carapacians, most of them either gone or dead. The structures around you are scarred with burn marks and smoke, faint green flames licking the ruins. You look away, feeling tears about to sting your eyes.
Every few moments there is a rumble in the near-distance like a peal of thunder, followed by the green flash of the demon’s magic. He howls miserably, his anguish reverberating across the black firmament of Derse.
“We should not have fallen asleep,” Equius hisses. The warehouse you’re in is empty and barren, a patch of roof blown away by the demon. It’s clear the Midnight Crew are not here.
“Maybe they’re on their way to Skaia without us,” you offer hesitantly. Equius shakes his head.
“Without my shroud of Void, they would have been spotted. Not only that, but-” Equius hesitates, blinking. He points to a dark corner of the warehouse where a trapdoor lays against the wall, ajar.
You both walk to the trapdoor, peering down into it.
“Midnight crew?” you hiss into the darkness hesitantly. In response, there is a grinding rumble from down below and the floor of the warehouse suddenly tilts askew. You yelp and Equius gathers you under his arm as he leaps into the wide trapdoor. The fall is longer than you assumed, you and Equius landing heavily on concrete, rolling clumsily in a heap.
“There you are!” says a voice above you, heaving you to your feet. You look up, bewildered, the rumbling intensifying around you. Diamonds Droog points behind him and says a truly mystifying two words: “Get in!”
Beneath the warehouse’s floor in a basement lies a small black-colored rocket ship about the size of a scuttlebuggy car back on Alternia. Hearts and Deuce are already piling into the rocket as the floor of the warehouse opens up, as does the roof high above, revealing black sky and a view of Skaia miles away. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what their plan is.
“There is no room for us!” Equius insists. Hearts looks up and down Equius’s large body doubtfully, slowly nodding.
“How are you two gonna get free?” asks the man, his voice only just breaking over the tumult around you. Steam is now hissing and spewing from the bottom of the rocket.
“Droog!” shouts Deuce from a door in the rocket ship. Droog looks over his shoulder hesitantly.
“We… We shall simply…” Equius stammers, his jaw clenching. You place a hand on his arm, calming him. Droog looks down at you solemnly.
Your eyes meet Diamonds Droog. You make a choice. He understands. There's no room in the rocket and there's no chance the demon won't see it take off.
“You’ll die,” Droog says simply.
“We’ve got extra lives,” you reply. Saying this makes you no braver.
You’re not sure how you fell into this situation and you don’t actually know the Midnight Crew exceptionally well, but sacrificing your dream-selves for them seems somehow correct. You and Equius don’t have an opportunity like they do, to exile yourselves on your old world and maybe live a new, better life, but you can help these three black-shelled men live another day.
You and Equius float up out of the roof as the rocket’s engines clatter and stammer into gear, watching as it explodes from the bottom and accelerates past you with a gale of wind. Equius holds your waist but you’re both sent toppling head-over-heels as the rocket careens into the distance, toward Skaia, trailing smoke.
“He noticed,” you say, guiding Equius’s eyes to a green glint above Derse’s spires.
You and Equius begin to fly, intercepting the Demon mid-flight.
You are no longer Nepeta Leijon.
Your name is Diamonds Droog.
The rocket is cramped. Technically, there is room for four inside, but Hearts takes up two and a half on his own and while Deuce is small, he’s wide. This leaves you squeezed against the round porthole, looking back toward Derse.
“They stayed behind for us?” asks Deuce with overflowing remorse. You nod.
In the distance, a green glint shines above Derse, two tiny figures clashing with the shrinking form of the Demon.
“We still don’t know if we’re gonna make it,” you say solemnly. “Even if we do get to Skaia, there’s a good chance we’ll just end up smashing into its surface instead of making it into a portal.”
The demon’s flashes intensify and the two tiny dots of Equius and Nepeta suddenly vanish like soot wiped away from a black countertop. Like they were never there.
“Idiots,” you hiss, turning away. “All they did was buy us a sliver of a chance.”
You three sit in silence as the rocket rumbles beneath you. Wherever Slick got this hunk of junk from, you think he should get a refund.
Turning back to the porthole, you see green electricity arcing from the now-microscopic Demon, his silent screams chilling you to your core as energy builds in the distance. Derse is now the size of a quarter, its moon the size of a dime, your home reduced to two fragile dots. Then, with a flash so bright it fills the cockpit, Derse too is wiped away from the slick blackness of nothing. All that remains is Derse’s moon, trailing away like an unmoored boat in a black pond.
“How close is Skaia?” you ask. Hearts looks out the window on his side. Skaia’s glow illuminates his face and he makes a nervous shuffle in his seat. He doesn’t answer, instead reaching to his side and squeezing Deuce’s hand. Deuce in turn squeezes yours.
“This could be it,” you say quietly.
Skaia’s light envelops you like an overcharged lightbulb until in one instant-
Blackness.
You are no longer Diamonds Droog.
Your name is Feferi Peixes.
At present, you are in the computer lab, sitting on a bean-bag across from the robotic body of Aradia Megido, entirely motionless. Nearby, Sollux is typing away.
“How’s not being empress?” he asks, not looking away from whatever little project he’s working on. He’s so cute, hunched over like a shrimp.
“It’s great,” you admit enthusiastically. “So many worries are just…” you giggle. “Gone!”
“Yeah, it was mostly bullshit anyway,” he replies.
“Bullshit?” you say, quirking a brow. “How so?”
“The caste system to start with,” he says. He clicks a window, minimizing it before stretching and turning to face you.
You know Sollux from your time on Derse, but spending time with him in the waking world is so much more fun. He’s very reclusive but he doesn’t seem to mind you and Aradia being nearby, something you capitalize on regularly. He’s also the only person who doesn’t treat you differently being the Heiress, something you used to be peeved about but now greatly appreciate.
“How is the caste system bullshit?” you say, more curious than incredulous. “It’s logical, isn’t it?” You pat a nearby beanbag in offering, which Sollux accepts. You giggle as his slender figure sinks into the beanbag, folding him in half.
“They say it’s logical,” says Sollux. “Because highbloods are rarer and stronger than lowbloods, that means they’re more valuable. Or so we’re told.”
“Mhm,” you muse, scooting your beanbag closer. Aradia’s body twitches. She’s sleeping, but her eyes are wide-open which unsettles you a little.
“It’s not true though, is it? Being stronger, I mean. I’m a skinny guy, but I could go toe to toe with anyone.” Sollux squirms, trying to get comfy.
“You could? How?” You grab Sollux bridal style and suddenly deposit him directly into your lap. He doesn’t sink in and looks up at you irritably. Even so, he doesn’t move.
“I’ve got psiionic powers,” he says. “The same powers that people use to power the battleships that conquered other worlds for Alternia. I could probably even kick Eridan’s ass.”
“Wow,” you reply. You’re not sure if you believe him, but he does have a point.
“We’re told that warmer-colored bloods are worth less and cooler-colored bloods are worth more, but I don’t see how that’s true at all,” Sollux shrugs. “It’s just luck. It’s what we’re doomed into.”
“I guess,” you say noncommittally. Frankly, you’ve always thought the hemospectrum was moronic, so Sollux’s argument just reflects what you already assumed. You idly stroke Sollux’s hair. He clears his throat, clearly a little surprised at your forwardness. Until he tells you to stop directly, you’re not going to.
“What’s her deal?” asks Sollux, clearing his throat, his cheeks blushing yellow.
“She’s asleep,” you say simply, looking at Aradia. “She said that her living dream-body is on Derse and something is going on over there.”
“The demon is probably going to blow it up,” shrugs Sollux. “Just like Prospit. I guess it doesn’t matter. We aren’t going to be able to take our dream-selves with us when we escape.”
“You had a dream-self on both planets, didn’t you?” you ask. Sollux is so fascinating, from his four horns to his weird lisp to his funny personality. You beam at him, which Sollux frowns at.
“Yeah,” he says. “But it hardly matters. They’re both going to die. I think I’m at peace with that.”
“Mm,” you nod, watching Aradia’s motionless figure. “What are you doing on the computer?”
“Figuring out how this meteor works,” Sollux says. He straightens up a little which strikes you as endearing, his voice shifting from uncertain and detached to interested and engaged. He loves his little computer things. “We’re going to be here for a while so I think we should know all we can. It looks like there’s an engine in the depths that we can use to-”
Before Sollux can continue rambling, you are both shocked out of the train of thought by Aradia suddenly sitting bolt upright and shouting.
“Sollux!” Aradia’s synthetic voice commands. Sollux jets out of your lap like a coiled spring.
“What?” he says, trying to look nonchalant. Aradia looks at Sollux, then at you. You smile knowingly and Aradia stares impassively. You could swear you hear her snort in amusement, but the robot doesn’t need to snort at all.
“I have some bad news that you both have likely gathered by now,” Aradia says flatly.
“The demon is going to blow up Derse?” Sollux says. He insisted before he didn’t care, but you can tell he’s sad.
“Yes,” says Aradia. “He has already destroyed Derse proper and he is about to destroy the moon where our dream-bodies are sleeping.”
“Is there anything we can do?” you ask. You have a feeling the answer will be “no,” and Aradia doesn’t bother responding.
“I don’t have much time,” she says. “I am not like you. My dream-self is my only remaining living body which means that once I am gone on Derse, I will be…”
Realization strikes you and Sollux at the same time.
“What?” Sollux grasps Aradia’s shoulders. “No- Wait, no! You’re going to die… Again?”
The air in the room solidifies as you stand behind Sollux, hearing how desperate he is.
“But I was just getting to know you,” you say, wringing your hands.
“I know,” Aradia replies to both of you. She pauses, motionless. If she were flesh-and-bone, perhaps she would have sighed. “We will meet again.” Aradia turns to you.
“Feferi,” she says with as much urgency as her emotionless body can. “After Derse is gone, we'll need somewhere else to dream. You'll need to talk things over with your family."
You blink. Sollux looks at you, hoping to find clarification on your face. He stays wanting.
“What?” says Sollux, looking between you both.
“What??” you echo, looking searchingly at Aradia.
“Stand back,” Aradia says. You and Sollux both take several paces back, waiting for Aradia to clarify her thoughts.
Instead of doing this, however, her robotic body explodes into a thousand tiny shards of shrapnel. You and Sollux raise your hands as you’re both weakly battered by tiny metal fragments.
You are no longer Feferi Peixes.
Your name is Jack Noir, floating in the purple rubble of a freshly-exploded Derse.
You let your temper take control again, didn’t you? You sigh, floating aimlessly in the rubble of what once was Derse, the horrible feeling of doing something you regret settling into your bones.
“Might as well finish the job,” you sigh, watching Derse’s moon float slowly away, its chain trailing like a lone streamer.
The boys are gone. Carried away by a rocket, blocked by two stupid gray aliens. Killing those two didn't take long, but it was long enough for the rocket to be long gone. You run a hand over your canine ears. Nothing for it. Maybe some planetaecide will cheer you up.
You raise a hand, shooting a thin beam of green into the moon in the distance like a straight rod connecting you to it momentarily. It looks to be about two miles away, still looming in size, much closer than you were to Prospit when you blew it up.
The explosion is more intense when it finally comes, Derse’s moon cracking open like an egg with nuclear green yolk, a harsh wind fluttering your ears. The blast would tear the skin off a lesser Dersite, but your new powers render the harsh destruction as a dim tingle on your carapace.
You turn away from the wreckage of the moon to pursue the dreamers. You turn approximately nintey degrees before pausing, turning slowly back to face the dissolving, crumbling superstructure. There it is again.
In the middle of the moon’s rubble is a sphere of bright red light, shimmering faintly where the middle of the moon used to be. You squint and as you do, the brightness fades into technicolor swirls until fading altogether, leaving a shape.
Floating in nothingness is a gray-skinned being with orange ram-shaped horns, one of those infernal fucking troll-things that infest this session. You like them even less than the humans. You raise a hand to render the thing dead, wondering briefly how it even survived the destruction of Derse when its eyes shoot open.
The shape is about two miles away, but miles in the empty void of the Medium seem shorter than on terrestrial land. All there is between you is rubble and what you assume to be eye contact. Your hand lowers.
To your confusion and disgust, the shape raises a sheepish hand and waves. It even grins.
That’s enough of that.
You fire a beam at the troll-thing, the same green rod of atoms that destroyed an entire moon. You finally turn one hundred and eighty degrees to leave. You don’t bother watching. You’ve seen enough things die over your lengthy life that the thought of seeing one more thing die doesn’t fascinate you.
“Am I gettin’ jaded?” you wonder sadly to yourself. Killing doesn’t have that same pizzaz it once did.
“Was that supposed to hit me?” says a gentle voice behind you. You start, instinctively grasping the air behind you, your hand finding purchase on a soft robe.
To your shock, the troll-thing is mere inches from your face, beaming like a fucking puppet. You growl, reaching forth to tear this being’s heart from her chest. She’s familiar to you, the first troll-thing you saw when you arrived on this hunk of rock… She looks different than she did then. Then she was a gunmetal gray robot and now she’s flesh-and-blood, shimmering slightly with wisps of some strange power.
Your hand shoots forth and you briefly wonder if troll-things have their hearts in the same place in their chests as carapacians and humans. You reason it doesn’t matter and that most beings would die if a hole was punched clean through them. Wait… Why hasn’t your hand reached the troll-thing yet? What the hell is going on?
With angry realization, you find that your hand has stopped just short of the troll-thing’s chest, motionless. Your whole body is motionless.
“Wow,” says the troll-thing slowly. “You really are trying to kill me. I’m afraid it won’t work.”
The troll-thing extricates herself from your grip, tugging her robe free of your hand, floating backwards, gossamer wings jutting from her back flapping gently. Did she have those before?
“If I let you go, do you promise to play nice?” asks the troll-thing condescendingly. She giggles, thinking better of it. “Never mind, you’re not the kind of barkbeast to play nice, are you? Still, I can’t keep you frozen in time forever.”
Frozen in time. Of COURSE you’re frozen in time. Time is the oldest enemy you have, especially now that your good times are behind you. Time is a real bitch and he’s twisting the knife through this ram-horned broad.
Impotently, you writhe and squirm in your time-prison, only managing a muffled whine and some stray green sparks which the ramtroll laughs at.
“This might be a problem,” hums miss ramtroll. You occupy your frozen time by imagining all the ways you’re going to kill her, frustrated that you’ll only be able to do it once.
“M’g’nna… Kill’ya…” you wheeze, managing only those muffled words from your state of suspended animation. Far from intimidated, ramtroll laughs.
“You can try, but it never sticks for me. It’s been twice now.” The ramtroll beams at you and you gaze blankly back. What is this bitch on about? You are vindicated in your hatred of trolls.
You are no longer Jack Noir.
Chapter 53: Act 4 Chapter 13: Elegy for Alternia
Summary:
How could it be?! This episode is on... YouTube?!
No graphics for this chapter yet.
Chapter Text
Your name is Eridan Ampora.
Alternia was so great. A perfect system, in your opinion. You got to live in a big house with servants and luxuries while canoodling with the heiress of your species. The privilege of being on top.. The seas were open and you were unbound, freedom purchased on the backs of your lessers, life rendered but a game, like the games of FLARP you used to play with Vriska and Feferi.
In contrast, the meteor sucks. Ten trolls who should rightfully be licking your boots treat you like a scumbag. You don’t know why they’re so pissed off. It’s not like you’ve ever been shown how else to treat people, this is the way things have been since before you were born. It’s all so hopeless, these people and their petty little problems. Everyone is going to die anyway. There’s no more heap to be on top of.
Still, you’re not some helpless, pampered upper crust dandy. You’re a royal blood trained to be the best of the best. Not like HER, the abdicating heiress. You have several axes to grind today and you decide to begin with her.
==
CA: so
CA: i hear youre cuddlin wwith lowwbloods
CC: uuuuuuuuggggggg)()()()()()(
CC: i KN-EW youd be so weird about t)(is
CC: i’m )(anging out wit)( sollux because )(e’s sweet and )(e’s nice and i like )(im
CC: i don’t owe greasy little slimeballs like you ANYT)(ING eridan >8(
CA: see you say that but you do
CA: youre the heiress fef you owwe your subjects your vvery life
CA: its not a hard job there are only elevven subjects left
CA: should leavve you plenty of time to cavvort wwith shitbloods
CC: don’t call sollux a s)(itblood!
CA: ill call him wwhatever i wwant hes a big boy he can fight his own battles
CA: not like im talkin behind his back
CC: w)(at t)(e fuck do you want from me?
CA: i wwant you to take charge
CA: lead us into the fight ww/ the demon
CC: karkat says fig)(ting t)(e demon is a bad idea. rig)(t now i’m working on anot)(er big project t)(at YOU wouldn’t understand.
CC: so t)(ere!
CA: fine
CA: i kneww youd say that in fact i was ready for it
CA: if you wwont take responsibility for your race i wwill
CC: fine ass)(ole! do it somew)(ere else and L-EAV-E US ALON-E!! D8<
CA: call me an asshole
CA: at least im doin somefin other than moping around being some lowblood battery boys sawwn
--cuttlefishCuller blocked caligulasAquarium--
First axe officially ground. You assumed Feferi would be chickenshit about taking charge but you never expected it to get this bad. Talking to those humans did something to her brain.
Your next order of business is with another unruly woman. Presently, you’re striding through the meteor’s myriad halls, your cape swishing behind you. You open a gray door into a large ectobiology lab, striding self-importantly across the tile toward the sharp horns of Kanaya Maryam. You have a few ounces of respect remaining for Kanaya, someone who seems at least concerned with your species as a whole, unlike the rest of these grayskinned cowards.
“Maryam,” you say from across the room, making Kanaya jump slightly. “You got the stuff?”
“Uh,” she says uncertainly. “Yes. I’ve created a replica of the human Rose Lalonde’s super-wands. They seem to be imbued with the same powers as demonstrated by her. It was a trivial matter re-creating them with the ectobiological equipment in here, it-”
“Give them to me,” you cut her off, holding out your hand, your various gold rings jingling. Kanaya cringes at you, no doubt due to your intimidating stature.
Kanaya hands you the wands and you turn them over in your hands. You can feel the power that’s inside with a prickle on the back of your neck. Are these really being used by a human? It seems impossible that a mere alien would be able to handle them.
“Using them is simple, you-” Kanaya begins speaking but before she can finish, you take aim at a vat in the middle of the room, a clear tube the size of a freight-scuttlebuggy. Your elbow shoots back from the recoil as black light jets from the wand-tip and makes impact with the tube, shattering it cleanly into atoms. You and Kanaya are both silent.
Kanaya, covering her head from raining glass, makes a noise of what you assume to be reverent awe. It sounds like a groan in her throat.
“I suppose you have a grasp on them,” she mumbles, surely lowering her voice in recognition of your powers. “May I ask what you intend to use the wands for? I assume not knitting.”
“I am going to do battle with the demon,” you say regally. “Vriska’s on board too, just like old times. It’ll be wiggler’s play.”
Kanaya doesn’t respond, giving you a long look. She seems to consider saying something rethinks it, shaking her head. You are glad she respects you enough to not protest.
“Do you have the other item I need?” you ask.
“I do,” she says with a pinch of hesitation. “I’ve had it in a secure place for some time now. I don’t think it would be wise to move it, so I didn’t bring it with me.”
“Okay,” you say, sliding the wands into your front pocket. There’s a slow silence. You don’t know each other that well and neither of you are entirely sure of the other.
“Humans are lucky,” Kanaya says, leaning on one of the ectobiology apparatuses. “Rose tells me they reproduce bi-sexually. All they need to make more humans are two humans of opposite sex.”
“Primitive,” you reply. “Our reproduction is more noble and intricate.”
“Perhaps,” Kanaya says. “It strikes me as more intricate than noble. The mother grub provides, of course, but mother grubs are famously finicky creatures.”
“We need a mother grub to lay more troll eggs,” you say bluntly. “If you can raise a new mother grub, we will be able to build a new troll race once we reach our new universe. Can you do it?”
“I only have once chance,” says Kanaya simply. “When my lusus died, I harvested from her corpse an egg that will grow into a new mother grub. The Matriorb. Back home, more matriorbs would be able to be harvested, but I have just the single one.”
You bite your upper lip with your bottom teeth in thought. You let the facade of a nobleman slip in front of this jadeblood, running your hands through your hair.
“I hope you can,” you say with an earnestness that surprises you. You place a ringed hand on Kanaya’s shoulder, who raises her eyebrow. In spite of the awkwardness, you continue as if you can’t stop saying what needs to be said. “I want us to live on. The others… They think Alternia was shit, but we both know how beautiful it could be.”
You see understanding on Kanaya’s face.
“I remember,” Kanaya says wistfully. You think a woman this young shouldn’t look so nostalgic for something long-gone. You recognize that heartache.
On this meteor, where everything is stripped away, all you can think to do is move forward. You’re a hopeless wreck, but some spark in you can’t let go of the thought that some day you might see your race flourish again. Alternia was brutal and horrible, but it was your home. It was destroyed by meteors. Why does everyone else pretend that beauty is gone?
“The beauty starts with you raising that matriorb into a new mother for our species.” You clear your throat, squaring your shoulders, and the facade resumes. “So don’t fuck it up.”
“Very well,” says Kanaya. “I must bid you goodbye for now, Eridan, I have to go cut off Tavros’s legs.”
You squint in private confusion as Kanaya strides past you. You’re struck with how Alternian she is, austere and hard of will. The future of your species is in good hands. If only she wasn’t so stuck on that human bitch.
You remember Alternia with an ache in your chest. You remember its dark skies and its beautiful murky oceans. You recall the salt-spray of water on your fins as you and Feferi hunted lusii to feed to her mother. It’s gone now, something you force yourself to remember whenever you’re feeling wistful. You hope Kanaya can do it. Even if you never see those same dark skies or those same oceans, you know Alternia can live again through you.
You are no longer Eridan Ampora in the present, on the meteor.
You are now Eridan Ampora in the past, on Alternia.
“So that’s it,” you say, crossing your arms.
“Sorry,” says Vriska Serket, leaning on the wall, shrugging. “I’m breaking up with you.”
Troll romance is a funny thing. You’d have to ask Nepeta to understand the intricacies, but as you comprehend it, there are two types of feelings that lead to romance: Love, the more pleasant, and Hate, the more mysterious and compelling.
You’ve felt love before, mostly for your partner in lusus-hunting and fellow royal, Feferi, but the love she gives in return isn’t as romantic as you’d like. Functionally speaking this means she won’t fucking kiss you.. You’ve had flings with other seadwellers in your youth, and breakups of the loving variety tended to be messy, the love-feelings inverting once the relationship is over into bitter animosity and hatred. Your love-exes all now hate your guts. You even had one of them killed.
Hate-feelings, on the other claw, are different. When your hatred of someone is so passionate that you find yourself attracted to them, passions spark in a different way. When love fades, hate reigns, but when hate fades, all that’s left is respect.
With Vriska Serket, your hatred always burned purely. She was part of a FLARP team with some midblood lawyer, their efforts always besting your own even though by blood-right you should wipe the floor with them. More than once, Vriska rode up on a ship, stole the loot from your ship, then made off into the night. Your blood runs purple, hers runs blue. It isn’t right. The wrongness of it stuck in your head and a hateship was born.
Such a recurring frustration was sure to lead to hate-feelings, mutual despisal that led to that sweetest of things: Kismesissitude. For sweeps, you and Vriska fought this rivalry across the seas, but now with Vriska’s somber words… It’s over.
As love-feelings seem to ferment into hatred, you find the opposite is true with Vriska. You’ve hated her for so long and now the hatred is melting away, leaving only that promised mutual respect that stings like sweet carbonation in the soul. As Vriska dumps you you feel relief.
“Why?” you ask simply. Vriska sighs.
“The whole Tavros thing,” she says vaguely. You scoff. The “Tavros thing.” You don’t know Tavros, he’s even lower blood than Vriska is, a rung on the proverbial ladder not worth your consideration.
“So you crippled some shitblood,” you say reasonably. “So what? You kill their kind all the time to feed your lusus.”
Vriska shrugs. You can feel your willpower fading. You can’t pretend not to know how she feels.
“I get it,” you admit. “Sometimes a lowblood comes along and reminds you that they’re people just like us.. Someone makes you realize that it hurts to hurt them.”
Vriska looks up at you, seeming surprised. You’re surprised that you’re admitting this, too. You place a hand on her shoulder.
“You have to keep those feelings locked up,” you say solemnly. “The deed is done. You can’t afford to be sorry in a world like this. In a universe like this.”
The murky waters below shift and roil and you can tell Vriska’s thinkpan is just as turbulent. You remember being that doubtful as a younger troll. No longer.
“Lock up the feelings,” Vriska repeats to her feet. “Yeah.”
The “yeah” she says hangs in the air. Neither of you believe it.
You are no longer Eridan of the past.
Eridan
You are once again Eridan on the meteor in the present.
You’re roused from your melancholic remembrances by a buzz from your phone. You slide it free to check it. What you see makes you squint. Of all people, it’s Gamzee.
==
TC: you
TC: YOU
TC: you and the blue guy
TC: YOU’RE DEAD FUCKIN’ MEAT, BOY.
TC: you brought all the hate here
TC: FROM THAT STEAMING SHIT BALL WE CAME FROM.
CA: uh okay
CA: listen i get that im hot shit but im not lookin for a kismesis right noww
CA: im still gettin over me n vvriska breakin up
TC: that’s not what i’m talkin about
TC: YOU SICK WEB NECKED FREAK.
CA: lmao maybe if you keep playin coy i could see my wway clear to a fling
CA: but i got bigger fish to fry bud
==
That was weird. Still, it gives you pause. Gamzee was always a loose cannon… In the same way a lit stick of dynamite in a fine glassware shop was a mild inconvenience. Then again, he’s a hopeless addict.
“Ampora,”
From behind you there is a nasally yet authoritative voice. You turn slowly, allowing your cape to trail, giving you a mysterious silhouette against the darkness of the meteor’s hallways. It’s Sollux. Of course it is.
“What is it, lowblood?” you sneer, pretending not to know his name. If anyone was a candidate for replacing Vriska as your kismesis, it was him. Sadly, you don’t think he regards you in the same way. You consider him a rival and he seems to consider you the same way one considers a large bug one might find under a rock. Being patronized by a goldblood makes your own noble violet blood boil.
“Heard you and Serket are working on some moronic plan to fuck us all over,” Sollux says. Straight to the point, just like all shitbloods. They have no taste for subtlety, but you attempt to infuse some into the conversation.
“You don’t know about my plans,” you say mysteriously. Or you hope it’s mysterious. Sollux is unfazed.
“Whatever plans you do have, end them right now,” Sollux says. He lowers his glasses. The red-and-blue lenses drop to reveal his two-tone sclera which you recognize as the threat it is. You can almost smell the burning iron scent of the laser beams he can shoot from those eyes.
“Fine,” you say with a note of bitterness.He scoffs. Sollux turns and your hands move away from your wands. “Enjoy Feferi,” you say as he walks away. His foot hesitates midair. “Before she gets bored with you.”
Sollux hangs his head, turning back towards you with a scathing glare.
“If she gets bored with me, she can fuck off. She’s her own person,” he says simply. “Something which you never seemed to understand.”
Sollux had the last word, but from how his feet irritably stomp away, you can tell you got to him at least a little. That will have to be enough for now. You draw your cape around yourself, covering your brand-new wands.
You are no longer Eridan Ampora.
Chapter 54: Act 4 Chapter 14: Two Phyrrhic Battles
Summary:
Click this link to hear the episode on YouTube.
No graphics yet.
Chapter Text
"Your name is June Egbert.
"June!" Nana cries from behind you. You turn just in time to see the fist of a Nuclear Ogre swinging down like a guillotine. You roll out of the way, dragging your massive rocket-hammer with you just in time to see the ogre's fist crash into the ground, making a crater in your front lawn.
There are three ogres in total. One of them is plenty to make you tired, but dealing with three at once seems impossible. You haven’t had a chance to raise your hammer in all the time spent dodging their attacks. Ogres this massive shouldn’t be allowed to be fast, too, that seems like it ought to be against the rules.
"Fuck off!" you cry, sick of being on the back foot. You press a button on the side of the hammer and its head hisses steam from its vents as a flame erupts from the back, propelling it off the ground. You guide its trajectory clumsily toward the ogre's face, feeling it stop short on the ogre’s body with a CLANG! The ogre cries out in pain- It didn't strike his face as intended, but his elbow is now at an odd, dislocated angle.
"Ha!" you wheeze a laugh and jump into the air, hitting the rocket-propulsion button once again. This time, your jump is timed with the rocket and as you jump, you're dragged into the air, leaping ten feet up before swinging the hammer forward and slamming it into the ogre's face like you first intended. There's a strangled guttural cry and the ogre explodes into grist.
Sadly, gravity drags you further and you slam into your lawn chest-first, feeling your breath exit your lungs like a capri sun pouch being squeezed flat.
The other two ogres who are swatting at Nana make a cry of rage, seeing their comrade fall. You force yourself to your feet, dragging your hammer along, arms burning from swinging the massive thing around. You feel... Great. In spite of the pain and scars, you feel good. Fighting feels good. Winning feels good. Being strong feels better than you've ever felt before.
"Get away from her!" you cry as one single-horned ogre strikes Nana in the torso, sending her flying into the side of your house. The wall crumbles in on itself, giving you a glimpse of your kitchen.
You switch on the hammer again. This time you remain on the ground, holding the hammer by its handle so it spins you in a circle with you as the locus. You lean toward the one-horned ogre and the spinning hammer strikes him in the shin with a sickening crunch, breaking bone and carapace.
Dizzy, you stumble, feeling the hammer leave your grip, falling some feet away, skidding along your front driveway. Mr. One-Horn uses this chance to smack you, but at the last moment, you take a sharp breath, your breathing-based shield shimmering across your body.
The ogre focused on Nana has two horns, jutting from his temples. You see him pull Nana’s blue body from the rubble like a doll, knocking over more of the kitchen wall in his clumsiness. Hey! That’s your house!
"Hey!" you scream. One-Horn is still alive, but you ignore him in order to get Nana free from Two-Horn’s grip. You leap into the air, propelled by a tailwind, finding yourself gliding higher than you imagined you could ever jump. The ogre must be at least the size of a bus, its head the shape of a watermelon and the girth of a baker's oven, but your fist collides with him with force enough to make him fall on his side, letting Nana go.
If your intention was to save your house from more pummeling, you fail, its walls falling away like paper-mache as the ogre collapses onto it. Nana bursts forth from the rubble near you, gasping at the wanton destruction of your home.
"Nana!" you call to her. "I have an idea!"
You point to the sky, towards the first gate shimmering above. Nana looks up and nods, seeming to understand. You dash back to your hammer on the driveway and grip the handle tight. Nana follows and grasps you under the arms around the chest, lifting you heavily into the sky, your hammer hanging. At the apex of your flight, you press the button and Nana releases you, gravity beginning to act in tandem with the rocket.
Unfortunately, due to unforeseen laws of gravity and motion, as you fall, you begin to spin head-over-heels. You call out in shock as your body and the hammer form a wheel in the air, spinning faster and faster as gravity drags you down.
In the brief moment between Nana letting you go and your inevitable impact, the horned ogres exchange a look of bewilderment.
Your whole body feels the impact, shaking up the handle, then up your arms, then into your chest and out your legs. The hammer pummels the one-horned ogre in the head, the hammer’s head passing through the exploding beast like it was thin air, continuing into the chest of two-horn, ricocheting off his chest as he tumbles in freefall off the edge of the cliff your house resides upon.
Now all that’s left are the last few feet of your descent.
Your triumphant cheer turns into a frightened "oh fuck!" as you feel the impact of your body with the roof of your house, activating your breath-shield to try and save yourself from the impact of bursting through the ceiling and into the floor of your living room, in front of your fireplace and sofa.
Even though you were shielded, half the impact still made its way into your bones from your late response. Aches blossom from every corner of your body, like every bone in your arms and legs is getting its own migraine. Luckily for you, your shield is still active when the rest of the house begins to crumble around you.
In the dark, you feel dizzy and confused, your head still spinning from the wheeling of your hammer attack. There's a weight on you from above that your body can’t move on its own, the weight of your house collapsed upon you.
“June!” you hear Nana’s muffled voice and the faint shifting of wood. A moment passes and your Nana pulls a heavy cracked board off your legs and you gain enough freedom to burst through the rubble and cough, wheezing as Nana drags you into the cratered lawn, hammer still clutched in your hand.
"We did it..." you wheeze, spread-eagle on the grass. Nana doesn't respond, her back to you. You sit up and follow her gaze, eyes widening at the destruction you see.
Your house is in shambles. The place you grew up, transplanted to a new medium and plane of existence, with you from birth to adulthood, has been bisected in two, caved in on itself in splintered wood and pink insulation.
There's a small fire in the kitchen near the oven and a water main is spewing a weak trickle from what was once your bath tub.
"We did it," Nana echoes beside you. Her voice is steely and quiet, sad and contemplative.You sit next to her for a long moment, the healing powers of your brand-new suit mending your aching bones, but what’s been broken here can’t be fixed with cookie-magic.
==
AG: I saw it all, June.
AG: I know so far I've been a little abrasive, but let me say.
AG: Bravo.
AG: I thought you were going to die for sure!
EB: don't sound so disappointed.
AG: You know what comes next, don't you?
EB: yeah.
EB: my denizen.
AG: Good.
AG: For this next fight, don't let the enemies come to you and wreck what's yours.
EB: yeah.
EB: this time i'm bringing the fight to them.
AG: >::::)
==
"Nana?" you place a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t turn away from the house right away. You feel a connection open between the two of you, watching the house you both once lived in crumble like wet crackers.
You stand, shrugging your hammer over your shoulder. You reach a hand out and she reaches out, too. You hold hands and pull her into a hug, her warm matronly figure shimmering faintly. If not for that hug, you may have simply begun to cry.
"Nana, there's something I need to do," you whisper.
"I know, dear," she says, trying to bring the smile back to her face. "I can take you there, but I can’t come with you. I want to stay here a little longer."
"But…” you begin to speak, but Nana places a ghostly finger to your lips.
“I’m an old woman,” she says. “Adventuring is for the young. You go, look forward, carve out your own life. As for me, I’m going to find my son. When you’re through with your little adventure, maybe we can find him together.”
The two of you stare at each other for a long moment. Part of you wants to follow her and find your dad, but another part of you knows you can’t. You’re on the path to become stronger now, going back is impossible.
“I’ll take you to Typheus,” says Nana, holding both hands in yours. “But after that, it’s goodbye.”
Nana squeezes her eyes shut, wiping them. She gathers you into her arms and you both fly towards destiny.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Your name is, as of recently, not-Dave.
Your name used to be Dave Strider, then it was briefly Davesprite, and now that there is a second, more legitimate Dave out there, you have chosen, by necessity, to get a new name. What that name will be is anyone’s guess.
Right now, you’re following your brother through empty space after a nuclear dog-demon.
“Is he getting away?” you call out to your brother, trailing behind him, your one remaining wing folded by your side.
“No,” Bro replies in a cold voice. Indeed, the demon isn’t getting away at all. Each time it gets far enough away, it glances over its black-shelled shoulder and slows down, allowing you and your bro to catch up.
“He’s baiting us,” you say warily. Bro nods grimly in response.
You wonder what the other Dave is up to now. Surely he’s making money moves on the stock market and getting rich. Come to think of it, why are you following Bro? He’s been nothing but cruel to you all your life, you could be helping Dave score sick loot in safety. You don’t know why you don’t turn away, but you keep close to Bro’s back. You’ve gone too far now to not see this through.
A planet is getting closer, gray in color, speckles of dark blue emerging from its surface, covered by a thin layer of clouds. The Land of Wind and Shade, June’s land. Why is the demon leading you both there?
In a puff of mist, the demon Jack Noir disappears behind the veil of clouds and shortly after, you and Bro follow. After a brief wash of gray, you emerge on the other side of the billows, several hundred feet above LOWAS.
The demon is waiting, streaking down toward the side of a mountain near one of the many black-colored lakes, rainbow-patterns shimmering across the surface.
“Oil,” Bro says simply, looking down at the oceans.
The demon waits in a field on the side of the ocean, oil-waves lapping the shore, lazier and more viscous than water-waves. Their sound is different than ocean waves too, slick and sticky just like the atmosphere between you and the demon.
The demon, who up until now has been a chatterbox, is staring you both down with cold precision.
Bro says nothing and you mirror his silence.
"The road ends here," Bro says. The demon scoffs. To your surprise, he lowers his sword.
The demon calmly crouches, placing his hand in the lapping oil-waves. A moment later, with the sound of a thunderclap, you’re sent sprawling onto your back as the oil ocean in its entirety is engulfed in neon-green flame.
The din of the fire is deafening, but the demon isn’t trying to simply frighten you and your brother. As you and your bro scramble to your feet, (feet in your case being metaphorical) you see the demon leap into the flaming sea in a swan dive. Whatever he’s doing, it doesn’t bode well.
There’s a groan from below the depths and the flaming ocean bubbles and froths, the fires on its surface seeming to spin and wheel about as if being sucked down a massive drainpipe. In the middle is the demon, absorbing the green flame into himself like a great and terrible vacuum.
With a final gasp, the demon sucks the fire from the ocean’s surface, the towering inferno reduced to a fast-spreading carpet of fire across the seas and the coasts, a green scar on the landscape.
The demon roars, spewing hot nuclear fire from his muzzle, shouting as you and bro leap out of the way of his viridian breath.
The beast on LOHAC was lazy and annoyed, but now the demon appears to be taking the fight seriously. Bro lunges, and where before he may have connected a cut to the demon’s body, now he swipes thin air, wincing from the intense heat radiating from Bec Noir.
You support as best you can with orange beams, but they seem ineffective against this powered-up monstrosity. The demon is now outright ignoring you, your beams fizzling out as soon as touching his carapace-skin.
War of attrition is no longer an option in this fight you’ve been sucked into. You need a plan fast, otherwise you and your brother will be burnt alive. You look around frantically for some leverage. There’s nothing obvious, just blue grass and small stones lining the beach edge, but you do notice something. Each time the demon spews fire, the sand around where the flames lick are turned into sandy, cloudy yellow glass. You see a stone sunk a few inches into it, suspended in the simmering solidifying material.
You act. You fly high up, following Bec with your eyes as he weaves in and out of Bro’s strikes waiting for the chance to dive bomb. This time, you aren’t going for a sneak-attack, you want the demon to see you nice and clearly. A howling shout leaves your mouth and you’re surprised to hear that it sounds like the calling of a crow.
Both the demon and your brother wheel around at you in equal confusion and the demon braces himself to be struck in the chest. He unleashes his fire breath, but you’re not aiming where he thinks you’re going. You dive low, between his legs and with his breath he follows your body, blowing flame at his feet.
You hit the sand behind the demon, rolling on the ground a few times in a flurry of feathers before you look back. The demon is trying to turn to face you, but his legs jerk uselessly. To your triumph, you see the demon’s feet are encased in the yellow glass his own fire has wrought.
You briefly wonder if that’s how glass actually works before dismissing the thought.
“Good job, Crow-boy!” cries your Brother as the demon is left squirming in anger. Judging by the way the glass encasing his ankles is cracking, the trick will only work for a few moments, but that’s all your brother needs: Time for one strike.
Bro lunges, stabbing into the demon’s already-gouged eye, causing the beast to wail and thrash like a caged animal, shaking your brother loose, Bro’s hands releasing his sword, leaving it sunk several inches into the demon’s eye, green fire pouring from the wound. Was it enough?
There’s a scream of a type you’ve never heard before, abject and puerile hatred, rambling, animalistic, primal rage. The demon breaks free of the glass and turns to face you, freezing you in place with a singular eye of malice.
The demon inhales, its chest heaving. With its hand, it yanks on the sword, discarding it in the sand. Bro is sprinting head-over-heel towards the sword, hand outstretched.
“Crow!” he screams as the dog-beast exhales not flame but a single point of concentrated green fire like a bullet, trailing hot searing air behind it. It smells like hot metal and it’s aimed right between your eyes.
Your eyes close slowly. In the moment between the nuclear bullet being fired and it reaching you, calm washes over you, time unfolding itself as inevitability overtakes you. You have no agency left, all there is to do is accept fate. The world quiets. Flames crackle on the surface of the oil lake. Sand crunches underfoot. The flap of wings is heard and a great weight presses down above you, warm and comforting. Is this what it feels like to die? Your back hits the sand and the weight on your chest cools.
You open your eyes. You’re not dead.
You’re on your back, looking up into the sky as the demon flies away.
“He’s getting away,” you croak to Bro. The weight upon you shifts as you struggle to get from underneath it, shoving the heavy thing away. It slumps on the ground like a sack of flour. “He’s getting away,” you repeat, looking around.
Bro isn’t there. You swallow.
You turn to face the heavy thing. It’s shaped like a human, limp like a doll, lifeless and silent. A tiny pinprick of green stains its white shirt, smoldering and crackling with the energy of the bullet meant for you.
Time stops as you stare at the face-down body, lit by the green flames. It looks so peaceful, so relaxed, totally unlike the tense, taciturn man you knew as your brother. Feelings well up in your chest and you feel like you may cry, but at the last moment, they drain away as if a plug has been pulled. You smell burning oil and feel the crunch of glass.
Bro’s sword, stuck in the sand, is plucked by your unthinking hand as you fly away, your mind blank.
You are no longer Crow Strider.
Chapter 55: REMAINING CHAPTERS PART 1
Summary:
I'm done with TS. Here's the rest of the eps unedited.
This part is the eps that DO have YouTube versions that were unpublished.
MORE INFO: [CLICK HERE]
Chapter Text
ACT 4 CHAPTER 15: CONTROL
Your name is Dave Strider.
It’s taken nearly a whole day of work, but you’ve finally done it. The Dave Strider Mafia headed by yourself and Terezi is nearing its final goal, market manipulation the likes of which the Land of Heat and Clockwork has never seen. With this money, you’ll be able to pay off the Don and live a cozy life in the LOHAC Bahamas.
On the piece of paper, only one number remains, one final step of the plan. The most important step.
The LOHAC-SE buzzes around you. For the past four and one-quarter hours of real-world time, you’ve been hearing about the skyrocketing “GameCroc” stock, a video game retailer which had started at a low buy-in price whose valuation is now in the many kajillions of boonbonds. It’s all riding on GameCroc. Around you in the LOHAC stock exchange are many little red crocodiles and several of yourself, all going about their business. Time clones.
==
GC: R34DY?
TG: i was born ready
TG: look uh
TG: im not usually one for spoilers but i gotta ask
TG: you can see into my future right terezi
TG: how does this end for me
GC: 1’M NOT GO1NG TO L13 TO YOU D4V3, 1 C4N’T S33 MUCH FURTH3R 1NTO YOUR FUTUR3.
GC: TH3R3’S SOM3 K1ND OF T3CHN1C4L 1NT3RF3R3NC3 ON YOUR 3ND. K4N4Y4 S4YS 1T’S B3C4US3 OF YOUR S1ST3R ROS3.
TG: yeah figures
TG: guess im flying blind
GC: 1 W1LL T3LL YOU TH1S MUCH.
GC: 1N 4BOUT F1V3 M1NUT3S, TH3 LOH4C F3DS 4R3 GO1NG TO C4TCH W1ND OF WH4T YOU’V3 B33N UP TO 4ND BURST 1N.
GC: F1N1SH WH4T YOU ST4RT3D.
==
Steps one through one hundred were meticulously crafted by Terezi to make you the most amount of money possible and to organize the Dave Mafia and your position in time relative to each other, since you are all one person, looping and bending around in time. They’re all a past or future version of you, superimposed on this one moment in time.
Now, outside of the Dave Mafia’s time loop, you see Daves vanishing, their work done, leaving only one Dave standing: You. The final Dave.
Step One of the plan had been simple: Buy all available stocks in GameCroc and sit on them until the end. Each intervening step had been devoted to either getting more funds for GameCroc or convincing other investors to buy in as the price of GameCroc went up to Skaia. Now, nearly every single croc around you has one singular goal: Buy as much GameCroc as they can get their grubby mitts on.
==
TG: im on step 100
TG: i dont need to guess what it is
GC: W3’LL M4K3 4 BLU3 COLL4R CR1M1N4L OF YOU Y3T. >:]
TG: im assuming you mean blue as in blue blood
TG: on my land blue collar means something else
GC: JUST DUMP TH3 STOCK, MORON.
==
You approach a teller and lean across the table, speaking in a practiced whisper that SOUNDS like you’re trying to be quiet but can actually be heard by anyone within the vicinity.
“Hey, I’ve gotta dump these GameCroc stocks, like NOW.”
What happens next is pandemonium. Every crocodile descends upon the teller, begging him to sell your GameCroc shares, boondollars gripped in tight red fists, the frothing lizards frothing at the mouth as they beg to take your stock at any price.
You, on the other hand, are slid a suitcase of over four gazillion boonbonds and thirteen booncents. You walk away as the price plummets like dead weight, smirking with smug satisfaction.
==
TG: done
GC: GOOD JOB, DAVE.
GC: JUST DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE FEDS.
==
On cue, the glass doors of the LOHAC-SE burst open, but to your surprise, you don’t see feds in police uniforms, you see a chillingly familiar red snout. The Don, flanked on one side by his retainer Antonio and on the other by a sniveling little crocodile that you recognize as the bank teller from before.
“Oh, shit,” you say, realization clicking into your mind. Of course on an island run by the mafia, the “feds” would also be the mafia. The bank teller points a shaking claw at you and the Don glares, cold-blooded hatred in his eyes.
“Get him!” he roars as you turn on your heel and sprint in the opposite direction. You hear the heady hiss of salamanders and the crackle of their green lightning, giving chase.
As you kick the door on the opposite side of the building open, you hear your phone buzz. Must be Terezi trying to call.
“What?” you demand through panting, your suitcase trailing behind you.
“Dave,” comes a grating voice from the other side. You expected the fast-talking patter of movie lawyers, not the slightly nasal juvenile on the other end. You decide now's not the time to get hung up on that.
“Now’s not a great time,” you say, pushing a crocodile out of your way. You’re not sure what your gameplan is, you don’t have Davesprite to fly you away, leaving you stuck on this rock.
“I was just going to make a suggestion as your lawyer,” she slowly says. Too slow.
“You knew,” you spit at her. “You knew the Don was going to come. Why didn’t you fucking tell me? I trusted you.”
“You trusted me? You weren’t just pretending?” Terezi laughs, almost sweetly. Her voice is so giddy, like you can hear the smirk from behind which her words come over the interdimensional phone. “I’m glad. But you should still trust me, even if I did withhold information. I’m assuming you still don’t want to fight the salamanders.”
“Fuck no,” you say. Fighting never ends well. You just need to get enough space between yourself and the salamanders to use your turntables and shift the clock back… But then what?
Even if you do go back in time, the past is set in stone. You can’t go back and give your money to the Don, otherwise one of your future selves already would have. You’re entirely fucked. Terezi’s voice drains of emotion as she speaks.
“You need to trust me, Dave,” she says.
Trust. That’s what this has all been about. Your emotional and rational brains are battling each other for dominance but without another choice, you speak.
“Fine,” you growl.
“Jump into the lava,” Terezi says simply.
Your aimless fleeing seems to have taken you to the edge of the gear upon which this city spins, below which is red, burning lava, far below and bleak. You swallow.
“Just- Jump into the lava?” you ask. “That’s pretty fucking bleak, Terezi.”
“Do it or die,” she says with finality. You hear a click as she hangs up.
You peer off the side, then to the salamanders behind you, scrabbling down the street, giddiness and hunger in their eyes. Your logical mind will hate you for this, but your emotions are in control as you take a flying leap off the side of the gear and into thin air.
Your name is no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Jade Harley.
You’re currently stranded on Skaia, far away from the Land of Frost and Frogs, due to a renegade pair of teleportation spectacles. You’re completely out of your depth in spite being the Witch of Space, which frustrates you a great deal.
==
GG: jade i need help!
JS: i heard
JS: you ran into dave? isnt he all the way on lohac?
GG: yes! D:
GG: now im stranded on skaia near…
GG: um…
GG: the ruins of prospit :(
JS: oh, jeez…
JS: thats really sad.
JS: you probably got frazzled because of meeting dave suddenly so you instinctively teleported yourself to somewhere you felt more safe and at home
GG: except… the “safe and at home” place is a pile of rubble…
JS: …
GG: um
GG: well depressing epiphanies aside…
GG: help me get back to lofaf!
GG: the imps are waiting for me and i am their wayward captain.
JS: well, um.
JS: i know im your sprite and im also you, but i dont know any more about teleporty magic than you do jade
JS: im sorry :(
JS: all i know is what i was programmed to guide you on so maybe that will help?
JS: sprite advice can be kind of annoyingly cryptic
GG: ill take cryptic advice over no advice!!
JS: hm
JS: rely on your intuition
JS: i think to control our powers you need to just let them happen to you
JS: the same as you dont need to actively think to move your hand
JS: maybe
GG: maybe?
JS: yeah maybe
JS: im doing a LOT of repackaging here jade i could be saying things like
JS: “to take control of your power is to lose it”
JS: of “you must allow the world to move through you”
GG: okay wow im starting to think no advice is better than cryptic advice
GG: do you think if i can teleport myself i can move other stuff around?
GG: do you have the same powers jade??
JS: i dont know
JS: sorry :/
==
You sigh. Jadesprite is so depressing! It’s like she sucks all your energy away. You hope that’s not how your friends see you…
You muster the courage to turn around, looking at the big stones of Prospit’s ruins. Some of the masonry is intact, a few spires and elaborate art-deco urban frescoes poke out of the checkerboard ground around you. You think there are the makings of a whole building or two here, if only there was some way to repair them.
The distant fighting echoes around you, making you unsure where it’s coming from. You wonder why. Jack Noir already killed the Black King, the Prospit-versus-Derse war should be over. It makes you sad. Prospit is depressing. War and destruction all around in a desolate weary land.
You put your hands on your hips, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to turn Jadesprite’s cryptic advice into action items and failing. Nothing happens, your glasses don’t crackle, you just make strained noises like you’re stuck on the toilet.
If brute force doesn’t work, maybe intense visualization will. You remember the feeling before you fell into Dave’s land… You had clearly pictured his face, then you saw it framed against his land.
You picture the Land of Frost and Frogs, the hill leading up to your laboratory home, but your focus flits about. You’ve never been good at mindfulness and before long your brain has wandered back to Prospit, picturing those spires and reliefs and buildings. Then, you feel your glasses crackle.
Did it work? Are you on LOFAF?
“Whoa!” you gasp, staring wide-eyed before you at a massive Prospitian building, crackling with green energy. Did you do that? You imagined Prospit’s buildings and the immense rubble formed itself into a building before your eyes. Looks like you CAN teleport stuff.
You remember Jadesprite’s advice. Let it move through you. Let it be intuitive. Let go of control.
You flop back onto the white grass, staring at the baby-blue sky and the billowing, shimmering clouds in Skaia’s skies. Control… It’s something you never had. Giving it up doesn’t feel particularly hard. You were trapped on an island, far from your friends, then trapped on a Land, far from Earth, and now you’re far from that, all because of reasons outside your control. The only place you’ve ever felt in control was Prospit, and there a gangster stabbed you to death.
Control is what you want. Control is the reason you’re finding frogs to breed on Lofaf. It’s the reason you’ve taken lead of the imp army and it’s the reason you haven’t given up yet. To get more control, you have to give up control, a paradox swirling like snow in the wind.
Cold pricks your nose. You picture the imps in the snow around the alchemiter, combining frogs, looking at you with your own eyes, driving toward purpose in a meaningless world. That’s a paradox too, striving to complete a game that you know is incompletable.
Your glasses crackle. You hear the chittering of imps.
Your eyes open and you’re looking at the gray skies above Lofaf, snow swirling in intricate dizzy patterns high above.
“It worked,” you say quietly.
The imps regard you with confusion as you get to your feet, dusting off your jacket. To them, their new boss just appeared spontaneously, laying down in the snow.
“What?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Don’t you all have some frogs to breed?”
==
CG: KANAYA. WE NEED TO TALK.
GA: Oh
GA: Karkat Do Not Say Such Cryptic Things
GA: It Is Bad For My Blood Pressure
CG: JUST MEET ME IN THE ECTOBIOLOGY ROOM, YOU PRISS.
–carcinoGeneticist is offline–
GA: Ugh
==
Your name is Kanaya Maryam.
You squeeze the bridge of your sniffsponge, sighing irritably. Karkat has a way of bossing people around where you are irritated by him but also compelled to do whatever he says. Leadership via irritation. Whatever the name for his strategy is, it’s working.
Before your meeting, though, you feel another ping in your pocket, another person who is both compelling and irritating.
==
AG: Maryam! ::::)
GA: Hello Vriska
AG: Good to hear from you!
AG: How long has it 8een?
GA: A While
AG: Since that whole dress commission stuff, right?
AG: Aaaaaaaages.
GA: Yes
GA: I Would Have Preferred If The Age Were Longer
AG: Lol! You’re too funny, Maryam.
AG: Look, I get it.
AG: I actually wanted to apologize for all that.
GA: Apologize
GA: For What
AG: I get it! I do. You were jealous and I was 8eing inconsider8.
GA: Jealous
GA: I Suppose That Is True
GA: Ugh This Is All Dredging Up Some Weird Feelings
GA: I Never Knew You Were Aware I Was Jealous
GA: Very Well I Suppose I Was Vriska I Appreciate Your Apology
GA: Even If It Strikes Me As Abrasive
AG: And hey! I don’t 8lame you.
AG: Tavros is PRETTY fine. :::;)
GA: Uh
GA: Pardon
AG: You know! Your huge crush on Tav.
AG: The whole reason you were chutemad about making that dress for me?
GA: …
GA: Vriska
GA: I Am Not Sure If It Has Come To Your Attention
GA: But I Do Not Like Boys
AG: Whaaaaaaaat?
AG: You don’t have to be coy, Maryam, sheesh. I’m trying to apologize here!
GA: Oh My God
GA: Just Tell Me What It Is You Want
AG: Fine, sheesh! You can be so o8livious sometimes.
AG: I’m looking for volunteers to go kill the demon.
GA: The Demon
GA: The Demon Who Blew Up Prospit And Derse Within A Few Hours
AG: Yeah!
GA: Vriska
GA: I Am Logging Off As Of Right Now
AG: You’ll get 8ack to me! See you soon, Kanaya!
==
You throw your fist into the concrete wall, growling like a barkbeast, the wall cracking in spiderweb patterns. You clench your fist and force yourself to calm down, running your hands through your hair, taking ten slow, deep breaths.
Soon after your frustrated outburst, you walk carefully down the meteor’s halls, having obtained directions to the ecto-lab from Sollux. You open a metal door with a clunk, the darkness of a massive gray room swallowing you whole.
The ecto-equipment you once used looks like a wiggler’s toy compared to the complex machinery in this lab. You stare around in awe, imagining what great works of paradox cloning could have been made with vats this massive, computers this complex, and intake fields this wide.
Karkat is sitting on a terminal, snapping you out of your stupor.
“Took you long enough,” he says simply.
“Yes, well, you forewent providing directions,” you reply dryly.
“You heard about Derse, right?” he asks. He doesn’t dignify your indignation. Typical.
“I don’t know how I could have missed it,” you reply. “It was rather big news. I grow rather tired of big news. What ever happened to reasonably sized news or perish the thought, small news?”
“Big or small news, you and I are going to make the headlines next,” Karkat says. “There’s a problem with Doc’s plan.”
“What do you mean?” you frown. The Scratch is the entire reason to keep moving forward, to try to take control of anything.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Karkat speaks low and level. You lean in, having to crouch somewhat to get closer to his height. Karkat takes this as a cue to continue. “Doc told me the Scratch isn’t going to work. It’s going to kill the humans.” Karkat watches your face carefully, trying to see what you feel.
You feel… Nothing. It’s a feeling as if something below the surface that was always there merely breached the waters of your thinkpan, causing a minor splash. The ripples subside and you speak.
“At the risk of seeming blunt,” you say carefully. “What does that matter? Our survival relies on the humans initiating the Scratch. Furthermore, if they do not, then their game session will impotently fail.”
“I know,” says Karkat. “I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I didn’t have an idea. The idea involves something Sollux found deep inside the meteor.”
Karkat’s expression is so… Needing. He’s looking at you like a younger moirail would, his eyes shining and vulnerable and you know you’re the first troll who has heard him say this. You sigh, suddenly pulling him into a hug. He squeaks in protest, but doesn’t squirm.
“Let me guess. We escape into Paradox Space.” You speak in a calm tone, trying to reign in your resignation. Karkat nods against your collarbone. “Even though Paradox Space is devoid of breathable air and is infested with universe-sized horrorterror beasts which could render us mad with one look.”
Karkat nods again silently, shivering.
“I’ve got some things in the works that will make it easier to travel,” Karkat says, breaking the hug. “Let me worry about those things. You worry about… Vriska.”
“Vriska?” you say with distaste. “In her mad quest to stop the demon?”
“If she tries to kill that thing, she’s going to lead it back here to us,” Karkat reasons. “We need to escape undetected. Keep her from getting support until I iron everything out. And don’t tell anyone about the Scratch.”
You nod, looking off into one of the ecto-vats in the corner. Its swirling green contents reflect your swirling confused thoughts. You think of Vriska, her oblivious and hotheaded attitude bringing down misery on everyone who is caught up in her web. She was always like that, even on Alternia, back then.
You are no longer Kanaya Maryam in the present.
You are Kanaya Maryam in the past, on Alternia.
In the sandy wastes of your home, the sun shines particularly bright, making the white ground look like a shimmering sea. For as long as you can remember, you are one of the few trolls who can stand living in the sunshine, all of your peers would be baked alive by its rays within mere moments.
At present, you’re working in the garden, another pastime that doesn’t suit your kind. Most flowers on your planet are either diurnal or carnivorous, regarded as irrelevant at best and hostile at worst.
You stand, arching your back as you stretch, groaning in satisfaction. The many flora of your yard have to be cared for meticulously lest they wither in the dry sands of the Horner Desert. Your mother, the virgin mother grub, lands heavily behind you, gossamer wings buzzing to herald her arrival.
She nuzzles your face with hers, her own features dwarfing yours by a factor of two. Her jaws could unlatch and fit your entire head inside, horns and all- Not that such a gentle beast ever would. Instead, those jaws curl back into a smile.
From your pocket, your phone buzzes. Your eyes light up, seeing a familiar and beloved name.
[quirk this]
==
AG: Maryam.
GA: Vriska!
GA: Goodness It Is The Middle Of The Day Are You Having Trouble Sleeping
GA: I Have Numerous Sleep Tips If You Would Like To Hear Them
AG: I fucked up.
AG: Ugh, I fucked up so 8ad.
AG: Shit shit shit.
GA: I Am Sure It Is Okay Vriska Calm Down
GA: Tell Me What Is Wrong I Am Here For You
AG: He’s dead, Kanaya!
AG: He’s dead or he’s messed up or something!
AG: It happened so suddenly, I was just trying to HELP.
AG: Is that how you thank someone for trying to help??? DYING?
AG: Ugh, no, that was so fucked up of me to say…
AG: What the hell is WRONG with me??
GA: Vriska What Is Going On
GA: Who Is Dead
AG: TAVROS!
AG: Are you even LISTENING?
AG: Fuck, you’re so fussy! Just let me explain before you jump down my throat.
GA: Oh Um
GA: Sorry
AG: It’s not fair, Kanaya.
AG: This is all my mom’s fault.
GA: Your Spider Lusus
AG: Her. She MADE me into this.
AG: You’re lucky, Maryam, you have a mom who LOVES you.
AG: Not one who makes you kill lowbloods for her to EAT!
AG: Why should I care that some brownblood is fucking dead? Huh?
AG: Why do I care??
GA: Um
GA: Vriska I Am Um
GA: I Do Not Know What To Say
GA: I Am Not Sure What Is Going On
AG: You’re WORTHLESS, Maryam.
==
Vriska abruptly logs off. Your hands are shaking. Did you do something wrong? You’re so confused. Your mother places a carapaced arm on your shoulder, pushing you a little into the loamy soil. You look back at her insectoid figure, trying to smile.
You are lucky you have a good mom.
You are no longer Kanaya Maryam.
You are now Vriska Serket in the present, on the meteor.
Contingency plans are vital to survival. That’s what living on Alternia has taught you if nothing else.
None of your trollish peers to your knowledge was able to achieve the accolade known as “God Tier,” a massive power-up that requires the ultimate sacrifice, the destruction of one’s own body. You came close once, but ultimately that ended in failure.
That’s why contingency plans are vital.
You’re sitting alone in a private room on the meteor, panting. Nearby, your metal arm sits inert, separated from your body suddenly, leaking your own blue blood. You pant raggedly. The metal arm glistens slightly, its claw motionless and heavy.
You remember that fateful day on that cliff with Tavros. If you’d never made him leap off, you never would have lost your arm. That was the domino that set this all in motion. Your phone buzzes and with a growl you relent.
[quirk this]
==
GA: Vriska Where Are You
AG: Fussyfangs!
AG: Change your mind about teaming up?
GA: The Opposite
GA: I Am Here To Warn You Not To Do Anything With Bec Noir
AG: Figures. Disappointing!
AG: Whatever. I’m a little bit indisposed right now, so I guess your wish is granted!
GA: Hmph
GA: Fine
GA: Where Have You Been I Have Not Seen You Since Prospit Exploded
GA: You Looked Strange
GA: Was Your Skin Glowing
AG: You’re imagining things.
AG: I’m not one of your Rainbow Drinkers from your trash books, Maryam.
GA: Whatever
GA: You Are Up To Something And If It Is In The Least Unseemly Than I Will Take Care Of You Personally
AG: Whatever.
AG: See you after the metamorphosis!
==
You cough, spitting up blood. Stupid fucking arm. You forgot that little detail in your haste to activate your contingency plan. You cry out as your left side throbs with phantom pain, blood filling the bandages pressed to the stump where your metal arm once hung. Your eye hurts too, the seven-pupiled eye that allowed you to see into minds.
Soon they’ll return to you. Thanks to that demon.
Soon.
You are no longer Vriska Serket.
ACT 4 CHAPTER 17
Your name is Jade Harley.
You think you’d ber a good businesswoman with how smoothly this imp-management stuff is going. Since beginning with a humble dozen or so atomic imps, your numbers have grown to nearly fifty chittering, scrambling little men.
The frog-breeding operation is going like clockwork: The frog-finder imps unearth frogs from the frost of LOFAF and the combiners aggregate their DNA. Your work, however, is the most important.
“Hm,” you squint at the latest specimen, a combination of two of the finest frogs you’ve been able to breed to date. Its eyes shine with liquid space in them, stars shimmering behind its blank stare. Its skin is slick and vaguely glowing.
==
GG: what do you think? can you see the frog with your magic viewport thingy?
GA: Mm Yes Very Good
GG: “very good” as in were on track to make the perfect frog or “very good” as in its just a nice frog??
GA: Yes Entirely
GG: …kanaya >:(
GG: youre not listening to me!
GA: Sorry Jade I Am Just Anxious
GG: is this about rose again? look kanaya i get you have a crush but we have more important stuff to focus on!
GA: It Is Not A Crush Why Does Everyone Keep Saying That
GG: :P
GA: This Is About The Blackout
GG: blackout?
GA: Yes There Is A Period Of Time Where Rose Is Completely Invisible
GA: She Sees Something In The Cue That Makes Her Shocked Then The Screen Dims
GG: oh jeez
GG: and that event is soon??
GA: Very
GG: yeesh
GG: have you told her?
GA: Yes
==
The cosmic frog that was in your hands is trying to hop away into the cold woods now.
“Hey!” you cry playfully, holding your hand out. With a zap of green electricity, the frog teleports into your hands. You giggle. These powers sure are handy.
From the alchemiter, an imp approaches you, fidgeting. It's the sharp-eared imp-representative who has so far spoken for the rest of his cadre, though “speak” is a stretch. More accurately, he communicates by writing in fractured english on a legal pad you dug out from your grandpa’s things.
“Not now,” you say dismissively, turning back to your conversation.
==
GA: She Is Being Obstinate
GG: sounds like rose yeah
GA: Can You Talk To Her Jade You Are Her Valued Friend
GG: sorry kanaya my hands are full
GG: and honestly rose can take care of herself!
GG: and well…
GG: i dont know something about what you said is rubbing me the wrong way
GG: you said she becomes invisible to the view port thing
GA: Yes
GG: well something tells me that that might actually be a good thing??
GA: How So
GG: i dunno!
GG: gut instinct? the view port makes me feel like were getting spied on and it feels better to know there could be some things you guys cant see
GA: Hm
GA: I Suppose
GA: To Answer Your Frog Related Query Though That Frog Is Somewhat Close
GA: You Will Need Another One Of That Caliber To Combine Into The True Genesis Frog I Think
GG: another one?? it took hours to make just THIS little guy! D:
GA: Making A Frog Godhead Is Not Easy Jade
GA: Um I Think Your Imp Friend Wants To Tell You Something
==
You turn and sure enough, sharp-ears is there, sheepishly fidgeting. He’s holding his legal pad to his chest. You realize that the other imps have stopped working. He turns the pad toward you, almost guilty.
“What… Does that mean?” you ask, feeling a pit forming in your stomach.
The frog hops away into the woods again, plopping into a river, kicking his little legs and floating away. Sharp-ears chitters sadly, as if he’s apologizing. Suddenly, from behind, two Imps grab your wrists, forcing you to kneel. You try to teleport away, but their own green energy crackles and somehow prevents your powers from firing off.
“Wait- What? Hey! Get off me!”
Sharp-ears and the other imps avert their green eyes as they subdue you. His pad falls into the snow, the word “MUTINY” written in clumsy penmanship.
You are no longer Jade Harley.
Your name is Dave Strider.
You’re plummeting through the air at terminal velocity, tumbling over yourself, a suitcase of money in one hand. Above you is a city of crocodiles and a pack of angry salamanders and below is unforgiving lava, the heat of the latter getting hotter as the space between you evaporates.
Terezi told you to jump and you jumped, but you’re starting to regret that decision with every passing millisecond, your flailing arms finding purchase on nothing, the airy feeling of vertigo in your stomach mingling with the dread of betrayal.
Panic overtakes you and you summon your turntables, but it’s no use. For starters, you can’t control where in space you end up once you change time, so you’ll be unable to save yourself from falling. For second, you’re turning over yourself too fast to access them at all. The turntables fly away like debris uselessly.
You were right before. There really is no one to trust in this world. No one to trust, not Karkat, not Terezi, not the Croc Don, not the LOHAC Stock Exchange. Just… Yourself.
Your sunglasses fly off your face. Wind whips the suit on your back. You shut your eyes, the brightness of the furnace below too much for your albino-red eyes. You trust… Yourself.
Something rams into you at top-speed. The wind is knocked out of your chest. It feels like a stone has just impacted your ribs and you feel a crack and a pang of pain. Your vision blurs and you feel something shove your shades back in front of your eyes.
“You okay?” you hear yourself say.
No, not yourself…
“Davesprite,” you say weakly, coughing as wind whips you.
“Haha, yeah,” he says. “I’m actually going by Crow now.”
“Oh, cool,” you wheeze as Crow glides high above the gear-city below.
You both fly in silence for a long moment before Crow gently comes to a stop, depositing you on the ground of a building. The feeling of blacktop under your back is familiar.
“We’re home?” you ask, sitting up with a wince.
“Yep,” Crow says simply. “Terezi told me you jumped off the gear so naturally I had to come save your ass.”
“Naturally,” you say, clutching your chest. “Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”
Crow, you notice, looks terrible. Before, he had two elegant crow-wings, but now one of them is simply gone. Bruises dot his orange body and gashes crisscross his torso. He’s not bleeding, but every cut glows faintly, ectoplasm wisps evaporating into thin air.
“Got in a fight,” he says simply. “With Jack Noir.”
You stare in silence. He stares back.
“Bro was there,” he says at last, watching your face for a reaction.
You swallow. You know he knows what you’re about to ask.
“He’s dead,” Crow’s voice is abrupt and heavy like a stone disturbing a placid pond.
The feelings inside you grow heavier. In your heart, there is a big wrapped-up box with “Feelings About Bro” scrawled on the side with a sharpie that you’ve never opened before. The box gets so heavy you feel it fall into your stomach.
Crow seems to understand this and doesn’t press the issue further. The same box is probably settling deep in his guts, too.
In your phone, you feel a buzz.
“That’s probably Terezi,” you say with a wince. You answer it in order to escape from this dreadful feeling. To your surprise, it’s not Terezi and what you read on the screen doesn’t abate the dread marinating inside you whatsoever.
==
TT: Dave.
TT: June is doing something stupid.
==
You are no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Jade Harley.
You glare at the imps, who fail to meet your gaze. You don’t know why they’ve kept you locked up like this, but the fact that they all look guilty about doing it makes you uneasy. Like they’re being forced to act against you in spite of their will somehow.
At least they’ve locked you inside your house. You attempted to teleport yourself elsewhere on LOFAF to escape, but the wily creatures just followed you and teleported you back into your bedroom. Even if you could get away from them, they’re no longer helping with the frog project, so it would be pointless.
Teleportation magic is tough. You can’t control it easily yet and every time you try, you get more frustrated, making it harder to concentrate on using teleportation magic. You give up, sitting on the ground of your home, hugging your knees. The control you thought you had is evaporating like it was nothing.
It’s not going to feel any better soon, either. The phone in your pocket buzzes.
==
TT: Jade. Respond NOW.
TG: now means now
==
The words freeze you in place. She’s never this blunt. She and Dave both go to the school of “saying way too god-damn much” and to see them so brief makes your blood run cold.
==
GG: um hi!
TT: Jade, how well-honed are your teleportation abilities?
GG: well! theyre fine?? i think?? i repaired a big prospitian church
TT: How far can they be used?
GG: i dont think theres a limit… i teleported myself all the way up to skaia.
GG: but if you need my help im being held hostage by imps :(
TG: fuck
TG: i thought those guys were on our side now
TT: Their willpower has likely been superseded by a greater power.
TT: That doesn’t matter. You don’t need to go by yourself, you just need to move an item from one place to another.
GG: thats… definitionally teleportation!
GG: where is the item
TT: The Land of Wind and Shade. What do you need to pinpoint the location of the item in order to move it?
GG: oh wow that might be beyond my control rose
GG: but if you send me a landmark or something i can try to like… feel it out?
TT: It is in the Denizen’s chambers. I can See it using my Cue.
GG: tell me what the item is.
TT: You have to promise not to freak out.
GG: im pretty much freaking out already just tell me!!
GG: okay
TT: It’s June’s body.
==
White creeps into the edges of your vision. You’re breathing heavily.
==
GG: body
GG: her body??
TT: She isn’t dead.
GG: oh fuck
TT: She will be soon if we don’t work together to help her.
TT: Can you do this?
GG: i… i need something more concrete i need something that i can use as a reference
TG: ive got it
TG: jade you teleported to me once use me
TG: ill be your reference
TT: Dave, you’ll never make it from your land to June’s land in time.
TG: time??
TG: rose think about what you just said
TT: …Very well.
GG: dave if you touch june ill be able to teleport her anywhere!
GG: sorry im not good enough to do it without a reference point guys…
TT: I don’t want to hear an apology before we’ve even failed.
TT: Dave. Go, now.
==
The white creeps out of your vision. June, Dave, and Rose are your friends. You feel terrible, sick and queasy from the stress, but you can’t let that overtake you, not right now. You have to save June Egbert.
You are no longer Jade Harley.
Your name is- Well. MY name is Doctor Scratch.
I hope I've made you comfortable. This story is so fascinating, isn't it? I wonder what's going to happen next? Why is our dear John in danger? Why does Rose lose herself? I'm sure all the answers will be very satisfying.
I hope you don't mind the interruption. I'll make things quick. After all, there are a few visitors in my manor making things rather unpleasant. Soon, I shall have to deal with them.
Do you think this is a tragedy or a comedy? This story, I mean. To the outside viewer, the question of tragedy or comedy is one of simple genre definition, but what about to those within a story? It would matter quite a lot to John and Rose and Karkat if they were in a tragedy, wouldn't it?
The thing about this question is that you don't know which one you're in until the end. After all, characters in both comedy and tragedy work hard to get what they want. The humans are working hard to escape their doomed session and Jack Noir. The trolls are working hard to escape their meteor prison. Comedy and tragedy are the very same up until the end, and the joy is discovering which is which along the way.
Though to you, the reader, things are different. When you read a story you want to know beforehand which is which, don't you? When you select a novel at the book store you want to know which genre it belongs to.
Promise not to tell everyone, but I'll clue you in now. This story is a tragedy.
I would just hate for you to get your hopes up. Even if things start looking good for our little friends, things are never what they seem.
As for me, this story is a comedy. Though my circumstances are tragic, I am home-stuck in my manor in the trolls' old doomed world, waiting for the end, forced to watch them go through their little games, I am laughing. They're working so hard and they don't even know it was all for me.
Soon, my valet shall arrive and whisk me from this place, into a new world which the humans shall make on my behalf. If nothing else, take heart, dear reader, that for one character in this tale, things end up just right.
Of course, they haven't come to pass yet, but the march of time is just a little formality, isn't it?
Goodbye for now, reader. Enjoy your little tragedy.
ACT 4 CHAPTER 17: Typhonis Arbitrium
Your name is June Egbert.
You have just been dropped off in front of the mouth of a cave by your Nana. The Land of Wind and Shade looks different than you remember it.
"Nana," you say warily. "What's up with all this fire? Was it here before?"
"No," says Nana. "It's rather worrisome… I suppose that's what you get for having the whole ocean covered in oil! Hoo Hoo…"
On the trip here, underneath the clouds the entire black ocean of LOWAS was engulfed in chartreuse flame, creeping steadily across the face of the planet.
"And why is it... Green?" you ask. It's all very foreboding. "Will the Salamander people be okay?"
"June," Nana speaks kindly but with a heavy weight. "I think we ought to worry about ourselves for right now."
You look over your shoulder at the green glow of the flames reflecting off the gray clouds high above. Nana is right, you have bigger things to worry about.
"Now then... This door is the entrance to Typheus's lair, the beast who put all the clouds in the sky and all the oil into the oceans to begin with. Though... That's not really true. Sorry for giving you an old wive's tale earlier, darling!"
Nana steps forward to the door. On it is a sliding-tile puzzle emblazoned with several strange runes. It looks like the puzzle straight from a Zelda game, but Nana makes quick work of it. Some small part of you is disappointed to have been robbed of the challenge.
"Your quest involved getting an emblem from several of the Salamander Towns across the world, but... No time for all that now, dearie!" Nana steps back as the door slowly opens, revealing the dank cave within. "Now git! I'm no good at farewells. I get all verklempt."
"This is goodbye, then," you say, turning away from Nana, gripping the strap of your rocket-hammer tightly. "I guess... After I win the fight, I'll see you again soon. And maybe then we can look for dad!"
You turn to see nothing but empty space. You can't help but smile. Nana's last prank. You're no good at farewells either.
Inside the doors of the cave is a massive staircase, leading down at a steep incline that forces you to walk slowly and carefully. On either side of the staircase, twin torches light up as you pass them. In the distance, you hear what sounds like organ music, getting louder as you make your descent. Your PDA buzzes in your pocket. You can't see the bottom of the staircase and the organ music is faint, so you decide to answer.
==
AG: June.
AG: You're going, aren't you?
EB: yep. i'm walking down to typheus.
EB: i'm going to kick his ass so bad!
AG: Haha. Right.
AG: Listen... Um.
AG: I want to tell you something.
EB: oh, uh. okay.
EB: is now the super right time? i'm kind of about to have a climactic showdown.
AG: I need to say this.
AG: You used to go by a different name. John.
AG: You used to have a different gender. You were a boy.
EB: oh! well, um.
EB: that's... mostly accurate.
EB: listen, no offense, vriska, but i really REALLY don't want to get into this right before a massive fight.
EB: augh, someone else is messaging me too...
AG: Just listen!
AG: I used to go by a different name, too.
AG: I've never really told anyone that.
EB: oh, wow.
EB: okay vriska, i'm going to make you a deal!
EB: i am not sort of emotionally available enough to talk through this right now.
EB: but i promise once i kick this denizen guy's ass, i'd love to hear about your stuff.
AG: W8-!
==
You log off, only to see another thread started by someone else. Vriska seemed really tense, but you can't worry about that right now, not with the organ music growing louder and the torches growing more dim.
==
AT: uM,
AT: iS THIS THE JUNE-HUMAN?
EB: hi! can't really chat right now.
AT: i KNOW YOU MIGHT NOT BE SUPER ABLE TO TALK,
AT: bUT WHAT I HAVE TO SAY IS REALLY IMPORTANT TO WHAT YOU'RE DOING NOW,
AT: yOU'RE FIGHTING TYPHEUS RIGHT,
EB: well, yeah. thus why i can't really chat. i'm heading down to his lair.
AT: oKAY WELL,
AT: i'LL BE QUICK THEN,
AT: bRIEF EVEN,
AT: i'LL SAY WHAT I MEAN TO SAY QUICKLY IS WHAT I MEAN,
EB: you're not doing great so far buddy!
AT: gAH SORRY,
AT: i WISH WE HAD MORE TIME TO TALK,
AT: tHE LONG STORY SHORT IS,
EB: look. dude.
EB: i know what you're going to say. i've been hearing it for a while now, okay?
EB: that i'm not "strong enough."
EB: that i don't "have enough time!"
AT: wELL,
EB: well guess what jackass!
EB: save your sympathy because that's for ME to decide!
EB: i'm not strong enough?
EB: i'll prove you wrong!!
AT: tHAT'S NOT WHAT I WANT TO SAY AT ALL ACTUALLY,
AT: iN FACT,
AT: i THINK YOU ARE PRETTY COOL, }:)
EB: oh!
AT: wHAT I WANT TO TELL YOU IS,,,
AT: vRISKA IS NOT TRYING TO HELP YOU,
AT: sHE IS TRYING TO KILL YOU,
EB: what?
==
You stop walking. The organ music is loud and down the steps you can see a massive stone door emblazoned with a familiar symbol. The two gusts of blue air tapering to the west. The Breath symbol.
==
AT: sHE WANTS TO KILL YOU JUNE HUMAN,
EB: she doesn't want to kill me. she wants to make me stronger.
AT: i KNOW,
AT: jUST LISTEN TO ME,
AT: sHE USED TO "HELP" ME BEFORE,
AT: oN OUR HOME PLANET,
EB: she did?
AT: bUT VRISKA IS,
AT: kIND OF UNSTABLE,
AT: sHE'S NOT,,, UH,,,
AT: sHE'S NOT VERY GOOD AT MAKING PEOPLE STRONGER,
AT: wHEN SHE WAS TRYING TO HELP ME, SHE,
EB: you're him, aren't you?
AT: wHAT?
EB: you're the guy terezi was talking about.
EB: the one she was trying to use to warn me about vriska.
AT: yEAH,
AT: sO TRUST ME WHEN I TELL YOU,
AT: iF YOU FIGHT YOUR DENIZEN YOU WILL DIE,
EB: ...
==
You look down toward the stone door. From behind it, the organ music suddenly stops. A moment later, the dark entrance begins to open, stone scraping stone as the double-doors swing wide.
==
EB: sorry.
EB: i have to try.
AT: bUT,
AT: jUNE, YOU HUMANS ARE IMPORTANT TO OUR PLANS,
AT: iF YOU DIE WE'LL BE TRAPPED IN OUR SESSION TOO,
EB: i know.
EB: maybe vriska IS trying to kill me!
EB: maybe she thinks i'm weak too.
EB: but if she thinks that... i have to prove her wrong.
EB: that's what this has all been about. fighting imps. fighting ogres.
EB: watching my house fall down.
EB: being away from my friends and my dad.
EB: i have to try!
AT: oKAY,
AT: i GET THAT,
AT: bUT UM,
AT: tHAT ALL SOUNDS KIND OF POINTLESS IF YOU DIE,
EB: agh, sorry. someone else is messaging me.
AT: wAIT!
==
The doors below open, a gentle breeze coming from deep inside. You make an annoyed noise when you feel your PDA vibrate again. No one has tried to talk to you for ages, and NOW everyone wants a chitchat?
==
TG: DO NOT FIGHT DENIZEN
TG: DO NOT FIGHT DENZIEN
TG: fuck
TG: caps lock sorry
TG: actually no caps lock is appropriate
EB: dave, quit bothering me! i'm about to have the showdown of my life.
TG: dude do not have the showdown of your life that sounds fucking stupid
EB: goodbye, dave.
TG: FUCK
==
You toss your PDA to the side, listening to it skitter across the stone steps. You walk down into the depths, a hand over your shoulder gripping your hammer at the ready.
You're prepared. You're not afraid. You feel the addictive release of adrenaline course through your body as you swallow, inhaling to activate your breath-shield, now second nature to you. The shield withstood a collapsing building, your hammer destroyed two nuclear ogres. You can face anything. You can face Typheus.
The Breath Doors close behind you as torches light the room. The walls are dotted with metal pipes, each one with divots that you recognize: The pipes of an organ. Sure enough, against the far wall there is an organ the size of your house, keys the length of your whole body.
Between you and the organ, though, is something that you can barely imagine. In a hazy green shock of scales, there is a massive coiled snake, its body filling the far-below floor of the cave several times over, coiled in a body that is as thick as a car, topped with the reared-back head of what must be Typheus himself.
You gawk up, craning your neck, your hand falling from your hammer as your eyes trace the jade-green neck of the behemoth up up and up into the dark ceiling of the arena. Something moves high above and the neck moves, Typheus's head moving toward you.
While Typheus's body is emerald-green, its head is alabaster and pale, as if cast in a mold, completely unmoving like a statue, its face set in a horrible expression, gape-mouthed and vacant. It lowers its head, its blank eyes regarding you like an insect. Its body seems to shimmer on its own power, its breathing so deep and low-rumbling that you feel it rattle your lungs.
You draw your hammer, swallowing. Size doesn't matter. Right? you have this. Right? You push doubt away and swallow again. You're in the beast's lair.
"HEIR OF BREATH," booms a deafening voice from all angles, echoing across every pipe and piece of stone wall. You collapse to your knees, feeling the voice coming from within your own mind. Typheus's lips do not move but you can tell it is him speaking.
"YOU WERE A FOOL TO COME HERE," Typheus sounds disappointed. "YOU NEED NEVER HAVE SEEN ME IN THIS DOOMED SESSION. YOU MAY HAVE DIED AT PEACE INSTEAD OF AT MY HAND."
You groan, shakily standing, holding your hammer, your arms suddenly jellylike.
"F-fuck off!" you say, spitting out the only thing you can think of.
"HEIR OF BREATH," Typheus repeats, sending you back to the ground. "LEADER OF MEN AND MOVER OF STORIES. STRIVER TOWARDS STRENGTH AND BLOWER OF THE WINDS OF FATE. YOU MUST NOW CHOOSE, AND IN SO CHOOSING, FORM OUR FINAL CONTRACT."
You're on the floor now. Something is wrong. Typheus's words alone are making your entire body buckle. Vriska said this would be like a boss you're overleveled for, but this is turning out to be nothing of the sort. Did Vriska really lie to you? Are you... Going to die? Was Tavros telling the truth?
"SOON, YOU WILL BE FACED WITH DEATH. DEATH OF THE ONES YOU LOVE. DEATH OF THOSE YOU BARELY KNOW. DEATH OF YOURSELF. WHEN FACED WITH THIS SUCKING TERROR, WILL YOU GIVE UP AND END THE PLANS OF AN EVIL THAT YOU DO NOT KNOW? OR WILL YOU PERSEVERE AND PLAY INTO HIS HANDS?"
Typheus's booming voice rings in your ears as you shove yourself to your feet. Typheus's face is so close now. One good hit and you may yet win. Around you, the wind is intense now, blowing through the pipes of the organs, making dire and frightening music. The ground of LOWAS is shaking. You cry out, forcing yourself to your feet, hitting the button on the Crimson Hammer. You leap into the air just like you had against those ogres and find yourself sailing up, the tailwind carrying you.
Typheus's face follows you and his sunken, blank statue-eyes begin to glow horrifically. You begin to spin in the air as the rocket activates, centrifugal force forcing you into a deadly spinning lunge. You pray that it connects and shatters the Denizen's skull like those Ogres shattered your house.
No.
Red flames billow from Typheus's eyes and engulf you suddenly, making every nerve ending on your body begin to scream. Your breath-shield is helpless, and when all you breathe is molten burning air, your breath-shield falls away, leaving your skin to boil and your mind to melt in your skull.
"DIE!" Typheus booms high above.
June Egbert is dead. You can no longer be June Egbert.
Your name is Vriska Serket.
Using the program Albus Aspectus, you have just watched June Egbert die. You watch her charred body fall to the ground, half the weight of her physique blown away by the flames. The Crimson Hammer falls to the ground beside her lifeless corpse.
You feel a sympathetic fire course over your body. You remember well what it feels like to be burnt like that. Your old body was covered in burn scars and charred flesh, and even though she is an alien to you, with the flesh burnt away, you can't tell other than in the hue of her ligaments. Hers are dark red, yours dark blue.
A transformation has taken place. You were once broken like she was, but now you can both be whole again. Though you're separated by a universe, you want her to join you.
Was this the right thing to do? A sacrifice like this is one thing if it's you, it's another entirely if it's her. Right now, in this moment, you have just caused her death. Murderer.
Whatever. It's not like this is new to you.
June's corpse hacks blackened blood. The window is closing quickly.
On the screen, you see June's body twitching, each one like the twitch of a second hand counting down. Tick. Tick. Tick. You feel like you might vomit.
Come on. Come on. June's friends must be good for something. That's what this has all been about. The green one teleporting, the red one learning to control time, and the purple one pulling the strings. Not so they could pull off the scratch, but for this singular moment.
So they could save her.
Can they do it?
On the screen, you see June is no longer alone.
You are no longer Vriska Serket.
Your name is Dave Strider.
==
TG: found her
GG: FUCK!
GG: i see her oh my god oh my god oh my god...
TG: im going to puke i cant look at this fuck
GG: dave shut the fuck up and hold absolutely still!
GG: im still getting used to doing this.
GG: tell me the coordinates terezi gave you again NOW
TG: lat -413 long 612
TG: top of the mountain
GG: hold still!
==
You're standing over the charred, haggard corpse of June Egbert. You don't recognize her, the alien-looking corpse is missing its forelimbs, terminating at its knees and elbows, its ribs exposed, giving you a clear view of one single scarred lung. Shaking hands hold your phone, forcing yourself to keep stable.
The room you're in is massive and empty, the air still and dead. You were told this was a denizen's chamber, but the denizen is gone now.
June's corpse begins to crackle with nuclear green energy. The ragged little thing spits blood out, blackened and coagulating.
==
TT: Jade, I'm sending you an image of the mountaintop in question.
TT: I'm using the orb to see it.
TT: It appears to be some kind of bed-like frame.
TG: fuck
TG: is she going to be okay
TG: she looks bad
TG: we need a hospital
TG: like is a special bed going to save her
GG: would everyone STOP MESSAGING ME
GG: im trying to CONCENTRATE!!!
==
The crackling energy increases and with a faint "ZAP," the corpse is gone.
==
TG: is it done
GG: fuck i hope so...
GG: rose can you see the mountaintop
TT: I can.
GG: is anything happening?? D:
TT: Yes.
TT: I can see several lights on the edges of the bed being lit. Fireflies are coming down from above.
TT: The view is getting hazy. I can't tell what's happening.
TG: is she going to be okay
TG: fuck i have to have gotten here in time
GG: rose please dont fuck with us what do you see!!
TT: Oh, no.
==
Your name is no longer Dave Strider.
Your name is Vriska Serket.
"No," you say, your eyes widening at the screen, your pupils narrowing as you watch. "No! No no no no no no no no! Fuck! FUCK!"
You grasp the sides of the screen. This can't be happening.
You put all the dominoes and knocked them over, from contacting June to telling Terezi to pass along the message about the quest bed to Dave. It was all so meticulous, and now something is going to fuck it all up.
You see the Quest Bed, bright blue like June's insignia, fireflies dotting June's body as the Quest Bed begins to activate. June's body breathes, one eyelid opening, revealing one intact eyeball, the other socket burnt-out and empty.
Above June Egbert stands the demon. Bec Noir.
"Get away! Fuck, stop!" You scream at the screen, shaking it. This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. June wasn't supposed to die now. It's too soon.
Bec Noir cocks his head to one side like a curious dog as he withdraws his sword, spinning it in his hand. With an apathetic expression, he raises it above the bed.
June's remaining eye spins towards Bec Noir and closes in grim acceptance.
Bec Noir plunges a sword into June's exposed blackened rib cage, her body losing what little motion it had left.
"NO!" you go hoarse as you crush the screen between your hands. You throw the screen across the room and it skids into the corner.
You shove the door off its hinges as you run back into the hall, unable to face what you've done.
Your name is no longer Vriska Serket.
Your name is now Bec Noir.
You slide your sword back into your chest, sniffing. The corpse is too charred to eat, your nose curling as you take in the burnt scent of flesh. You're not entirely sure you would even like the meat of a human. Getting used to being a dog-guy is weird.
You gaze out at LOWAS, realizing that the green flame on the oil-ocean has died down. You have a feeling it has something to do with that massive wind you felt earlier and the organ music that had accompanied it. That bastard Typheus probably blew the flames away during his little spat with this kid.
The four orbs on the posts of the bed have stopped glowing and you breathe a sigh of relief. Having this twerp go God-Tier would have meant big problems for you. Best to nip that kind of thing in the bud. You've still got a bunch of squishy humans to make into corpses and you're not trying to have some superpowered tyke ruin your fun.
Still, something nags at you. If the kid has a dream-self still knocking around, there's a chance it still might be a problem for you. After all, her dream-self was one of the people at that showdown back on Prospit...
The memory of that battle makes you shudder, growling. If that brat has a spare life, it could cause problems for you. Then again, that means you just get to kill 'em twice.
No way the kid has a dreamself. After all, you destroyed Prospit's moon with your own two hands! This moron's dream self was probably limp and broken underneath some piss-yellow prospitian rubble on Skaia or in the middle of the medium, floating around cut in half.
The thought makes your maw curl into a snarling smile.
Skaia... Now that the Sunglasses Brothers are out of the picture, you figure that's where you ought to go to sniff out those two annoying corpses-to-be. The man in the fashionable hat and his ditzy girlfriend. You spread your wing and kick off the platform, head pointed skaia-ward.
These kids are making a hell of a lot of trouble for you. Between the Breath twerp God-tiering there was the Space girl... Jade. How do you know that name? Something inside you stirs thinking about her. When you heard she was using some imps to do her dirty work, it made you so mad you saw red! But... You couldn't bring yourself to kill her. Couldn't even bring yourself to confront her. All you could do was put the word out to the imps to keep her locked up and not causing any problems. You'll save that issue for later. One corpse at a time...
Your name is no longer Bec Noir.
Your name is June Egbert.
The last thing you remember is burning. Fire enveloping your body, your arms and legs powerless to stop the flames from consuming you. After the flames died away, the pain didn't stop.
You remember Dave's voice, out of place like a ghost. You remember a green electric crackle and you remember your burnt, immovable body changing from the floor of your Denizen's palace to a comfortable stone slab.
Most of all, you remember Bec Noir standing over you, sword raised.
You are now positive you're dead.
You're dead in the "your body isn't alive" any more sense, but you can still feel a consciousness stirring within. Your memories, your thoughts, everything is still there, the shadow of yourself, like a point of light in infinite darkness.
There's another point of light here, too.
It's blue, just like your eyes, shining at you impassively as if you're both looking at each other. In the dark, you hear it speak.
"What are you playing at?"
Its voice is yours, but it doesn't come from you. Like hearing your own voice on a recording device. You wince. The question cuts through any context, the question nagging the back of your head ever since you entered this stupid game.
"What do you mean?" you respond.
"I mean," says the little blue contrarian. "I mean what are you playing at? This name. Making people call you a girl. Isn't this all stupid?"
"It's not stupid," you insist defensively. The blue light doesn't accept this and neither do you.
"It is stupid. You're not June Egbert, you're John. Your dad calls you John, you were on Earth being called John. You can't just decide to be another gender, that's not how it works." The blue light speaks with clarity and directness. Now that your body is gone, it's louder. "And what's this fighting a Denizen crap? Come on. Vriska was fucking with you! You're worthless. That's why Dave and Rose and Jade told you to stay put."
"Well..." You don't have a retort. You've been avoiding this, haven't you? This little blue light has been inside you the whole time.
"You can't even commit to being a woman. You're wearing a suit." doubt says. "You still have your shitty little puberty beard. Do you think anyone is fooled by your little dress-up game? You're a man. You have big clumsy hands, and you're hairier than anyone we've ever seen before. You're not even strong and manly, you're just-"
"Shut up," you say quietly. All you can do is take it. All you can do is accept this onslaught of ridicule because at the end of the day, it's correct.
You are a big clumsy guy in a man's body. You're wearing a suit because it's what boys wear. You wanted to become strong because that's what boys do, and you couldn't even do that.
"Give up," says the voice. It sounds so easy. "Stop pretending to be more than you are. You'll be a little sad, but it'll be much easier. No having to worry about people ridiculing you. Just give up, John."
You're silent. The blue light drifts towards you. It's warm, you feel like you should just accept it, like it's correct, like when you wake up you should just tell everyone to not bother, to call you John again, to end this stupid charade. To just sit and wait for your friends to solve all your problems.
Or... Should you?
The light isn't wrong. You're a weak man in spite of everything you've tried, but... It can't be over. Can it? You don't have to stay this way, this way you don't like. There's time... Isn't there?
No- That's stupid. On top of being a weak stupid man, you're dead. A dog man killed you, that's not going to change. But still, there's something in you that isn't in the seed of doubt across from you. A feeling.
You can't let it end like this.
"Isn't that okay?" you say slowly.
"What do you mean?" the light pauses, nearly colliding with your consciousness. It's so warm, so comforting, the sweet lies of this little twisted conscience.
"It's okay," you admit. "I don't like that stuff, my suit, the way Dave gets my name wrong, my dumb beard thing... But... It's okay, isn't it?"
"It's not okay. You're basically lying, John, lying about being a woman. You're not a woman. You don't see a woman when you look in the mirror, do you? You don't see someone strong, you just see YOU." The light retreats. It gets colder as it recedes but the chill you feel is invigorating.
"It is okay! You're right, dad never knew I became a woman and I was never one on Earth, but... I haven't even really tried to be yet! Maybe I could!" Your voice is confident. The blue light flickers. "I can be strong!"
"You still don't like how you look," it says.
"No," you say. "But that doesn't mean I'll always feel that way. Not if… I keep living."
The light flickers again. It doesn't leave you, but it seems to change its mind.
"I still don't think you're a woman," the light says. "But maybe you..." The light pauses. "Maybe we can become one.
The blue light approaches you again. This time, you accept it. You have to, one way or the other. It's part of you. A part of you with fear and disgust, a part of you containing so much misery and quiet heartbreak.
"I love you," you say to the blue light as is rejoins your consciousness.
"I love you too," it replies.
You can't be rid of your disgust and your worry. It's a part of you, this terrible doubt. But for the first time in your life, you can feel it working for you instead of against you. You see yourself silhouetted in white against the darkness of the nothingness, an ideal self you can strive for.
You can leave yourself behind and become someone new.
But... Can you? After all, as you've come to realize, you're dead. Dead men can't become women. You watch the shimmering outline of your body for a moment, moving towards it.
Behind you is comfort, nothingness, peace, and quiet. Before you is brightness, pain, agony, and fear. You reach out to your body and enter it.
Your name is June Egbert.
Your eyes open, beams of bright blue light shooting across the sky, your mouth howling in shocked ecstasy. Your body is floating, your being is searing in heat and burning pain, flames in which you are reborn.
The fire is blue in color, dancing across your skin, glowing beyond what you can see, but you can't squint. Your clothes are burnt away and you writhe, twisting in the air, floating above Skaia as you scream.
Your heart- It hurts. The pain is unbearable. Against all logic, your hands grip your ribs and somehow, defying reason, you tear open your chest, clutching your heart in your right hand. Your chest is open like the doors to a cathedral, your heart disembodied, still attached by blood-slick sinew.
From the cavity in your chest, you tear out your very heart, a shattering noise reverberating through the skies above as you fall down onto the surface of Skaia, heaving breaths.
The blue fire is gone. Your clothes are gone. All that remains are bright blue pajamas and a hood with a long, flowing mane like a windsock, flowing in unfelt breeze.
In your hand is your heart, the thing you tore from your chest... But when you look, the only thing there is a palm-sized crystalline apple.
You don't feel your heart beating any more.
Gods’ hearts don't beat.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
Holding the white orb in your hand, you stare in shock. Through its opaque surface, you see June Egbert's body go limp on the quest bed, Bec Noir floating away.
"Miss Rose," Jaspers nervously asks from nearby. "What happened? You haven't said anything in a long time."
You don't respond. Your brain isn't big enough to process what you've just seen. Silently, you reach for your phone, buzzing off the hook.
==
TG: rose do not keep us in fucking suspense
TG: is june okay
GG: rose!!!
GG: rose PLEASE RESPOND! D:
TG: jade teleported her away to the quest bed or whatever right
TG: we did what terezi said to
TG: she has to be okay
GG: i teleported her just right! i promise!!
GG: tell me june is okay
==
You feel an empty sensation setting in, realizing that one way or the other, you have to say something. Your fingers hesitate over digital keys, unable to put into words what you just saw, both in feeling and in fact.
"She's dead," you say aloud, the words hollow.
"She's dead?" Jaspers sounds horrified, an emotion you can't even reach right now. You take a slow, deep breath and prepare to type the same words into Pesterchum, but you're astonished to see that someone's words are already there.
==
TG: rose stop fucking around with orbs and tell us that june is okay so we can move the fuck on with not dying in this shitty alice in wonderland world
GG: rose please... im really scared here!
DOC: The Heir of Breath is alive.
==
Your eyes widen, confusion suddenly flooding back in like a dam on your emotions has just broken.
==
TT: What?
TT: How did you get here? How do you know that?
TT: I saw Bec Noir stab June through the heart.
GG: WHAT?!
TG: shut the fuck up rose that did not happen
DOC: I'm afraid it did, Mister Strider.
DOC: Before we all collectively panic, however, I feel the need to clarify.
DOC: Jade, perhaps you would like to explain?
TG: hold the fuck on who the hell is this asshole
TG: are you one of the trolls man
TG: dont just jump in our conversations like this
TT: Dave, shut the hell up.
TT: This is about our friend's life. The breath in her lungs.
TT: Jade, what does he mean?
GG: i think he means...
GG: its kind of like me, isnt it?
GG: when i died on prospit, i woke up in my normal body.
GG: that means if junes regular body died...
TT: Then her body on Prospit is alive and well.
DOC: Not just alive and well, Miss Lalonde.
DOC: You'll see what I mean in a little while.
TG: oh thank fuck
TG: so like june had a second life that she was able to use
TG: thats significantly less mortifying
TT: Agreed.
GG: im glad junes dream self is okay... the last time i saw it was after my dream self died... D:
TT: That leaves one question.
TT: Doctor Scratch.
DOC: Yes, dear?
TT: I'm sure you haven't come simply to tell us our friend is okay.
TT: That seems beneath your usual modus operandi.
DOC: Astute of you to note, Miss Lalonde.
DOC: I merely wanted to assuage your fears in order to get you all back on track vis-a-vis the imminent Scratch.
DOC: How goes progress?
DOC: Mister Strider?
TG: uh
TG: not great i just wasted a bunch of time on stocks and shit
DOC: Oh? Is Time not your supposed area of expertise?
TG: whatever
TG: ill figure it out
GG: the frog breeding is um…
GG: i have a really promising tadpole.
GG: the imps mutinied against me though…
DOC: And you, Miss Lalonde?
DOC: Have you discovered the location of the Timer yet?
TT: I was about to investigate when I was interrupted by the June debacle.
DOC: Excellent.
DOC: I suggest if things are proceeding so well, you continue on your quests.
DOC: Perhaps you can rendezvous on Skaia to obtain the Timer.
DOC: Little setbacks aside.
TT: Setbacks?
TT: Our friend almost died.
DOC: Yes, darling. The friend who insofar has been useless on this quest.
DOC: Perhaps now he will be of more help.
TG: rose who the hell is this dude hes giving me creepy uncle vibes
TG: dont call rose darling you sound like a sex offender
GG: i think this is that "doctor" guy that was in karkats document...
GG: is he your friend rose?
DOC: Yes.
TT: His nature remains to be seen.
TT: I'll handle it.
==
You turn your phone off, closing your eyes. Jasper is massaging your shoulders but it's making you no less tense. Maybe Doc is right. Just continue on your quest. You turn your attention back to the Cue.
You peer into the orb, seeing the inky blackness inside, the blue stone lazily spinning in the viscous liquid. You give the ball a shake, closing your eyes. There’s still one thing you’re curious about.
You change your view. Instead of peering inside the cue, you are peering far, far away, seeing the wide expanse of Skaia.
You see a checkerboard expanse of fields and hills, black and white tiles spread across it as far as the eye can see beneath a blue sky and breezy clouds. On one black square lies a massive castle, its bricks and stone painted stark black. Your vision draws you in. You can sense she is here.
You blink and your vision returns to your body. Doc hinted June is on Skaia. Perhaps she can be reached. You still don't know how she could be alive.
==
TT: June.
TT: June, can you hear me?
TT: I am so glad you are not dead...
TT: I saw everything, I thought you were gone.
TT: June, I understand you are now on Skaia.
TT: There is something there I need you to do.
TT: June?
==
No response. You reason that her dream-self doesn't have a PDA.
You detach your sight again, looking for June.
There she is. You could cry, you see your oldest friend alive and well on that checkerboard expanse. She's wearing a strange getup, a bright blue set of loose pajamas with a strange windsock-hood. You don't have time to judge her fashion choices now, watching intently.
To your surprise, over her shoulder you see the very same castle you had been observing moments ago. What luck. She appeared to be making her way to Castle Black already for some reason. So close... If only you could communicate something to her.
June, to your surprise, leaps into the air, beginning to fly, her windsock trailing behind her as she goes, sailing to castle black. Faintly, you hear her voice.
"Dad," she says, determination filling her. It appears her father is there, too.
Dad... The thought of parents makes something that was locked away in your brain wake up and start ringing bells of alarm. You have a parent, too, a parent who you haven't heard from in days now.
"Mom," you whisper, repeating June's sentiment.
Your view abruptly changes and you see her. Your mother, seated on a black-painted chair of ornate design, pouring herself a heaping glass of red wine. She's... Smiling.
From the blue sky behind her, you could almost mistake this for Earth, but the black furniture and masonry tells you that she too, against all odds, is at Castle Black herself.
Across from her at the dark table is a man you don't recognize, a kindly human with a fedora who sheepishly drags the wine bottle back towards himself to pour a much more reasonable glass.
They look... Happy. Relief flows through you as you watch your mother. She's okay. She's with someone. She's safe and not alone. In spite of how you left things, that still makes your heart ease.
"Loooove the hat," you faintly hear Mom say to the stranger. You roll your eyes, making a face. She sounds flirtatious and from the way the man chuckles, he clearly feels the same way. You blush, feeling like a voyeur.
==
TT: Jade, can you teleport me to a new location?
TT: To get to the Timer I need to go to Castle Black on Skaia.
GG: oh, jeez...
GG: i dunno rose im not going to lie moving june took a lot out of me!
GG: i felt like i just moved a piano up the stairs or something.
GG: give me an hour and i should be up to it okay?
TT: Understandable. Things look reasonably stable for right now.
TT: I hope we have an hour left...
GG: yeah the imps are getting all restless…
GG: they stopped listening to me but theyre also not attacking…
TT: There are massive cracks in Skaia's surface, too.
TT: If I were to guess, I would say the Timer doesn’t have much time left.
==
You watch your mom's date as you speak to Jade. You squint, noticing something strange. Behind their table, there's a green crackling. Mom and the stranger both look up.
==
TT: Jade…
TT: You said you couldn't teleport anything for me.
GG: i cant!
TT: Then why do I see your nuclear energy on Castle Black's rooftop?
GG: you shouldnt!
GG: the only other being who can do green energy stuff is… is um…
GG: oh no.
==
Two and two slam together as your brain catches up to what you're seeing. You sit up, Jasper falling backwards as you leap to your feet, eyes wide, teeth clenched.
Darkness begins seeping from the orb like before and you feel your hands tingling again.
"Miss Rose!" Jaspers cries. "Stop looking, the black goo is coming out again!"
You don't hear Jaspers as you are wrapped in a reverie, your real eyes weeping blackness, the view giving you slithering chills. The tingling in your hands reaches your wrists.
Kanaya's words echo in your mind. A warning not to overuse the orb, that something "Grimdark" may happen. You wonder if she's watching you now, unable to tear yourself from the view within your mind.
Your mother and the man stand up, knees bent as if ready to run as the green crackling intensifies and with a flash, a black figure appears in an undefined silhouette against the identically-colored stones of the castle.
A red eye opens and white teeth spread in a canine grin.
"Bec Noir-!" you hiss through your teeth.
Both arms are engulfed in black darkness now, your whole body tingling as if your nerves were falling asleep.
Being a Seer so far has been easy. Seeing into orbs and controlling events from your position as the all-seeing omnipotent eye for your friends. Now, however, being a Seer feels terrifying, only able to watch events unfold in agonizing second-by-second terror and fear.
"Run!" you cry to the orb. "Get away!" Like a viewer yelling at the characters of a horror film, your mother cannot hear you.
"Mom!" you scream, blackness from the orb seeping into your mouth as you shriek. "Mom!" You cry again, panic overtaking you, childlike terror searing through your instincts.
Your voice fades into nothing as you see Bec Noir withdraw his sword.
You drop the white orb, its shell shattering into hundreds of tiny plastic shards. From within erupts black seeping fluid, flying toward your body to paint your skin dark gray, the fluid flowing into your eyes, mouth, nose, and ears as you helplessly cry out.
"Miss Rose, no!" Jaspers touches you, but the fluid is hot and energetic, sending your pet and friend recoiling onto the ground with a crack like lightning.
You can't be a spectator any more. You crouch as the last of the fluid enters your body and your vision blurs. A shadow is cast over the Land of Light and Rain and the sky darkens, tendrils of blackness reaching from the darkened shadow beneath your feet.
"M-Miss Rose, what's going on?" Jaspers breathes.
You spring out of your crouch without answering, flying into the air, breaking free from the gravity of LOLAR and toward the baby-blue dot of Skaia in the distance.
Voices whisper in the back of your head and you can see in all directions, your eyes glowing black and your body shrouded in nothingness.
In the grim darkness of the medium, no one hears your anguished scream.
You know that these voices mean you harm. You know that Doctor Scratch wanted you to see Bec Noir appear on Skaia. You know this is all a trick, all some horrible ruse, but you don't care, flying toward Skaia, spewing ink from your throat as you howl for your mother.
Your name is no longer Rose Lalonde
Your name is Roxanne Lalonde.
“Love the hat,” you say coyly to Jonathan, who smiles shyly. That little grin is so cute, like the dumbass can’t help from dopily swooning at your most innocuous comments. It’s been a long time since you’ve been desired like that.
Jonathan pours the last of the wine into his cup, drinking with a shudder, slamming it back like he’s desperate to dispel his own nerves. The picnic is finished and all that’s left is the beautiful vista of Skaia, a little pause in your mutual quest for purpose in this brave new world.
You reach a hand out to his and he takes it warmly in yours.
“What do you think happened to those little chess guys and their democracy schtick?” you muse.
“With any luck, they’re part of a revolution,” Jonathan says. “But more likely, they’re just going to start bickering and whatnot. Democracy is actually quite rare on Earth.”
“Here’s hoping!” you say, clinking your empty glass to his.
There’s a breeze in the distance, making you shiver.
“The wind’s really picking up,” you say, wishing you had something more warm than a lab coat.
“It’s like Skaia is breathing,” says Jonathan absently, his eyes locked on the expanse of Skaia before turning to you, that same expression of awe on his face.
You forget the chill and forget the bleakness of the world when he looks at you. You hope he feels the same when you look at him. You’re both leaning forward silently when there’s a thin, greasy buzz in the air that gives you both pause.
Looking away from each other, you both stand, hands still clasped, as the crackling of energy continues and intensifies with the wind until there’s a loud ZAP and from nothingness expands a black figure that you recognize with sinking dread.
“Well that’s new,” says Jack Noir, flexing his hands, still crackling green. “Long time no see, lovebirds.”
Before you can open your mouth to scream or move your legs to run, there is a sword in your throat. The last thing you see is the darkening sky and a droplet of rain on the tip of your nose. Jonathan’s scream is dulled as your life ebbs away with your warm blood. Damn.
You really wanted one last kiss.
You are no longer Roxanne Lalonde.
Chapter 56: REMAINING CHAPTERS PART 2
Summary:
These are unreleased chapters that don't have a YouTube version.
MORE INFO: [CLICK HERE]
Chapter Text
ACT 5 CHAPTER 1
Your name is June Egbert, alive.
Not being dead isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The alternative, of course, is worse, but you can’t shake the feeling that in deciding to remain alive, you’ve lost something. Opportunity cost. You run your hands through your hair.
You’ve been floating aimlessly for some time now, drinking in what it feels like to be alive and godlike, your breaths coming heavy and your unbeating heart silent as the grave. It feels a little unfair, you don’t know what you did to inherit these powers of Breath and wind, suddenly present in your body as natural as anything else.
You wonder if this is how Wolverine feels about being a mutant. Superheroes have it rough.
Before long, perhaps on instinct, you float to a destination you didn’t even realize you had in mind.
You stand inside Castle Black on Skaia, feeling a lump in your throat for reasons you don’t understand. Outside, it’s raining, black wet droplets of some mysterious substance soaking into the monochrome fields of grass outside.
Castle Black is sprawling and massive, ebony stones blending into one another, the bodies of long-dead carapacians and their crimson blood staining the floors with splotches of bright color. Your new body floats in the air, just like your dream-self did, feet gliding over the pools of blood.
In the center of the entrance hallway there is a massive spiral staircase that leads no doubt to the roof. Using your new power of flight, you could very well fly to the top but dread gives you pause and you take your time, floating up the winding stairs slowly and steadily, counting them as you go.
You remember dying, then waking up, then floating here. It feels like centuries ago, some aching memory, but you remember looking for your father, your search leading you here. Is your dad in this castle? What will you find?
You feel your heart thud and adrenaline begin to surge through you. You float faster up the winding staircase and as you reach the top you feel those dark evil droplets of black rain falling harder. What will be above? Bec Noir, sword outstretched again? Perhaps your father, arms wide open?
You reach the roof. Rain hisses around you now, getting you wet as it pelts the stones high above Skaia, the scene before you unfolding, not waiting for you to come to terms with it.
There is Bec Noir, his sword held in a tight fist. There is a table, set with a table cloth and an empty bottle of wine. There is a glass of wine, tipped over and spilled. Below, the fuchsia wine mingles with fresh red blood. The blood trail leads back to a hand, which leads back to an arm, leading to a shoulder, leading to a head. A fedora hat lays inert on the ground next to the lifeless head.
You watch Bec Noir stoop to take the hat, placing it on his head wordlessly. Mocking you. His wolfish muzzle spreads into a grin lined with a hundred knifelike teeth.
You hear yourself scream and feel yourself run forward. You feel tears stain your eyes.
You are no longer June Egbert.
Your name is Rose Lalonde.
You’re flying. You couldn’t fly before, but now you can. The strange seeping darkness that allowed you to see into the orb has now taken over your body and it is moving through the blank, dark space of the Medium at speeds you would have feared before.
Power fills you from a well deeper inside you than your organs, a bubbling hatred and rage that nearly blinds you. You feel like you may tear apart from the inside and what’s worse is you feel as if death is a reasonable alternative. Around you, dark stormclouds accumulate in blank space, flitting in and out of reality like vapor, heralding your approach.
The dead bodies of your mother and her paramour etch themselves in your mind, flashing every time you blink. Hope clings to you, hope that you can lay your hands around the monster’s throat who took those lives away, your skin charred gray with evil intent, eyes flashing a malicious black. Skaia blows past beneath you as you fly, eldritch power propelling you across space. You’re on Skaia now, alone and with vengeance in your heart.
Castle Black is a speck in the distance, but you can see it clearly with your newfound grimdark powers. What you see shocks you past what you thought possible. Jack Noir is not alone but instead a blur high above, clashing in midair with a blue smear barely visible due to speed and similarity of hues with the sky. Is Bec Noir fighting the wind itself? No…
Above the dead bodies of your parents, June is trying in vain to punch Bec Noir as he weaves through the air, laughing. It wasn’t enough for him to kill your mother?
Somehow, you fly faster, your skin burning as you give more of yourself to the Horror-Terrors above and below, shoving yourself towards Castle Black as a sonic boom cracks around you and the black raindrops turn to icy shards of glass. Your body won’t hold but you don’t care.
Castle Black approaches faster and faster and as you do, both June and Bec Noir stop their fighting to look toward you, hearing your otherworldly vocal flaps incant a spell of evil. Your mind’s eye sees Bec Noir’s eyes widen in shock as you plow into him at high velocity, your shoulder slamming into his carapaced rib. With satisfaction, you hear a crack.
You and Bec Noir skid to Skaia’s surface some feet, creating a jagged drag-mark in the brown soil, the rain making the ground muddy. Your hands close on his throat and you squeeze as he begins to wheeze, flashing green with nuclear energy, trying to escape your grip. He was toying with June, but you’re making him take you seriously.
“Rose!” shouts June from behind you, flying to your aid, gawking in horror. You don’t look at her, not with your own eyes. You can’t face her, not like this.
In that momentary distraction, Bec Noir’s body evaporates into green nothingness, reappearing in the air above you. He glares down with malice, eyes aflame.
“Bitches!” he declares, sending green lightning from his hands. His clumsy aim is trivial to dodge but you can’t approach him. You weave through his bolts, your mind reeling, searching for a way to retaliate. You need to get your hands around him, need to make him choke and suffer, you need to KILL him.
“Rose, what-?!” June’s half-question distracts you again, enough to feel the hissing burn of a bolt to the arm. You growl like an animal, twisting in the air as you decide to throw what few scraps of caution you have left to the wind and charge down Bec Noir again.
This time, you don’t feel your shoulder impact his ribs, he’s wise to your tricks. He dodges and you feel a zap to the back, falling to the ground with a hard thud that knocks the wind from your lungs. Your body feels like it’s on fire, like every cell is having withdrawal from the world’s meanest painkillers.
It doesn’t matter. You’re giving up this body to the Horrorterrors to kill Bec Noir. You rise, arms outstretched, drawing upon your new powers to drag stone from the very ground, boulders the size of cars loosing themselves from the ground about you. You thrust your hands forward, the massive stones pelting Bec Noir, forcing him to evade. He snarls and barks, weaving closer to you, the massive rocks little more than pebbles to be dodged.
Among this chaos, June is watching, wiping dumbfounded shock from her face as she joins the fray. Blue wisps of air swirl around the boulders you throw, redirecting them like boomerangs back at Bec Noir, one cracking open across his back as he howls in pain. You feel his pain in that howl and you savor it like ambrosia.
You and June begin to work together, burying Bec Noir with stone after stone, each one breaking across his body until they begin to pile up such that his howling muffles and his black figure vanishes beneath a rockslide of your own design.
Crushed like an insect, Bec Noir falls silent. You fall to the ground, panting, palms on the muddy monochrome soil.
“Rose,” you hear June rush to your side and with a pang, you realize this is your first time meeting your long-time friend in person. You try to reply, but as soon as your mouth is open, black eldritch water flows from it instead. You’re leaking this substance like blood, your eyes and nose and mouth now flowing with it, the bitter-tasting, earthy-smelling clear black water, the same stuff that is filling the skies. You shudder and choke, your body beginning to give up. Tendrils of shadow extend around you like a web, the Horror Terrors’ influence reaching its limit, overtaking your frail human form.
“Rose, please,” June pleads, confused. Her simple fear is heartbreaking and you wish with all your might that she hadn’t come. She now has to see another loved one die.
“That was your mom, wasn’t it? That was… They…” June stammers, trying to wrap words around an impossible-to-articulate sentiment. You close your eyes. Tears join the tar-black water. When you open your eyes, however, you wish you hadn’t.
From the rubble, Bec Noir bursts forth with a cry of the purest anger you’ve ever heard. You clench your hands over your ears and watch June do the same. Beneath your feet, Skaia rumbles, assailed by Bec’s howl and your own lovecraftian influence. The ground breaks and you realize that Bec Noir could immolate this whole planet if he wanted to.
He doesn’t. What he does is so much worse.
June is facing away from you, her back toward you in her baby-blue pajamas. Bec Noir flies towards her and you watch as June twitches. On her broad back, a speck of red emerges into the blue, staining it from within. June chokes with a wet gasp as the red stain spreads. June twitches again and Bec Noir pulls his sword out from between her ribs, shoving her to the ground with a grunt.
Your eyes go blind with rage, your ears go silent. Your body breaks as you force yourself with all the arcane power you can muster to KILL.
You’ve never felt more hatred or malice in your entire life, you’ve never felt grief such that you could give your own body up, but in that singular moment after Bec Noir kills your best friend June Egbert, you comprehend a singularity of hatred that engulfs your soul.
Too bad it isn’t enough.
You feel a bloody sword pierce your ribs. Blood mixes with eldritch fluid and you spit both onto Bec Noir’s arm helplessly. You look up. Bec Noir is close enough to kiss, gazing down at you with the same hate that you had been facing him down with.
“Bitches,” he repeats through gritted teeth and as he slides his sword out of your body, you simply die.
You are no longer Rose Lalonde.
Your name is June Egbert.
You spit blood out of your mouth, coughing, pushing yourself up on your feet. Bec Noir is gone and the rain has stopped.
You feel the space in your chest where Bec Noir had stabbed you to death. You peek inside the shirt of your baby-blue pajamas. There isn’t even a scar. You look at your hands, faint traces of some multicolor energy emanating from them, fading to nothingness as you watch. It appears that you are, as Vriska promised, immortal.
A smell hits your nostrils that immediately makes you freeze. It’s like soil and iron, yet sickly sweet. You swallow it down as your mind once again refuses to piece the facts together.
“Fuck,” you say to yourself, turning to look behind you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no,” you beg reality to be wrong but it remains cruel.
Rose lays face-down on the monochrome grass, black-and-red blood spilled and drying on the blades waving in the breeze. You stare at her for what feels like hours.
The stages of grief suddenly feel like a sick joke as you crawl towards your friend, laying a hand on her back. You’re crying, but that almost seems like a formality now, tears tracking your cheeks, your emotions too raw to look for a moment longer.
Rose’s phone hangs out of her pocket and you take it without dwelling on the act, walking away from Castle Black entirely. Where you’re going, you have no idea, but you can’t be near the dead body of the friend you just met for the first time.
Messages buzz on Rose’s phone but you ignore the, clutching the bloodstained device as you stumble towards nowhere.
Your name is no longer June Egbert.
==
DOC: Hello, Miss Lalonde.
DOC: Since you're about to die horribly, I suppose it's my duty to fulfill my promise.
DOC: The wish that made me.
DOC: The wish Damara Megido whispered before she reset her session and doomed her friends.
DOC: "I want it all to stop."
DOC: A little vague, but very potent, I'm sure you'll agree.
DOC: Don't bother trying to respond, my darling.
DOC: I won’t consider it rude.
DOC: Goodbye, Rose Lalonde.
==
Your name is Aradia Megido.
Your whole existence has been one long balancing act. From living on the outskirts of Outer Horner eating trash scraps to being a dead girl on Derse controlling a bucket of bolts from afar, you’ve always had to work so hard just to exist.
Then came the demon.
Within Derse’s moon there are six stone slabs, each emblazoned with the sigil of one of the ancient Aspects. The slabs, when one sleeps upon them, gives the sleeper powers of a vague and arcane nature, including but not limited to the astral piloting of robotic bodies built by sweaty blueblood artisans.
There is another purpose to the dreamer’s slab, though. A purpose you only found when the Demon obliterated your moon and destroyed your body.
“Listen,” you say to the green demon, who is presently being suspended in a bubble of frozen time before you. “I’ve got to get going. It was nice to finally meet you.”
The demon growls and vibrates in his time-prison, straining against the temporal power you wield. Though it’s funny… You weren’t able to stop time before, just go back and forth and summon doomed clones of yourself. Now, stopping time seems almost second nature, like you’re made of it.
The time-bubble the demon is frozen in won’t hold forever. You have to escape before it breaks and he chases you down. The issue is, he’s much faster than you are on your own power, even though you appear to have obtained the power of flight. You have to escape somewhere he can’t follow.
Easy enough!
“Goodbye!” you say, vanishing in a puff of temporal energy.
Around you, the Medium appears to be going on rewind, the demon speeding away backwards, the ruins of Derse’s moon reassembling themselves as you shoot back in time. You rewind to several spans in the past, when Derse’s moon was still connected to its chain and Bec Noir wasn’t even present. You don’t know how much time you have until he returns, but given that there are no other Aradias hanging around the area, you reason that you have one chance at this.
You drift down to Derse’s moon, its streets all but empty, lighting on a familiar balcony, climbing in the open window. Your new wings catch on the edges and you have to squirm around to get inside. You haven’t had wings until now and you’re not sure you like them, they flap and flutter unbidden and don’t appear to help your flight at all.
There’s a better question among all this, though… WHY do you have wings? You have a theory, but you want to confirm it before you take action.
The room you’ve entered is your old room on Derse, the purple-hued land of old that you used to wander around in after being murdered on Alternia. You leave the room and walk down a familiar staircase, the one that leads to the base of your bedroom-tower, counting the steps as you go.
In retrospect, being murdered wasn’t actually that bad. You’re surprised to find that it worked out for you in the end. The whole affair seems so distant now, Tavros and Vriska and Sollux and Terezi all buzzing about fretfully about woes and worries that were so small and tired.
You reach the bottom of the staircase. The building resembles a lighthouse in its design, a large tower featuring no entry hall, just a doorway leading into a staircase that runs up the length of the tall spire. To your right, the doorway, to your back, the stairs you just came from, and to your front, a small alcove in which is placed several sacks of flour and a crate. An alcove that bears no second thought whatsoever, the kind of little nothing place that your eyes simply sweep over.
The perfect place to hide a clandestine trapdoor.
Sweeps ago, when you first explored Derse, you had long searched for a way to reach your old friends back home. You remember discovering the trapdoor at the base of your tower on the suggestion of one of Derse’s carapacians, a man known as the Draconian Dignitary. You wonder how old DD is doing.
The architecture of Derse is ancient-looking, all cobblestones and flying buttresses, but the depths of the tower are far different. Sleek, metal walls driven in with rivets, shiny tile stairs, and most of all, the energetic buzz of electricity.
Walking down the under-tower gives you a memory of that first trip, gazing around in awe in your purple pajamas, running a hand over the walls. Now, you’re dressed in a red gown, wings fluttering behind you, descending with new confidence.
The under-tower is shaped like your tower has been inverted. The stairs lead down instead, as deep as the tower above is tall, but they lead not to an inversion of your bedroom high above, but a large open room at the very center of Derse’s moon.
The room, which in your head you call the “other bedroom,” features strange gravity. Around the room are six holes, above which you assume are staircases leading toward the other Derse dreamers’ towers. In the middle, floating suspended and immobile, are six slabs, purple and stone like the Derse streets above, each one emblazoned with one of the primordial elements.
Void, Heart, Hope, Life, and Doom, and in the center, Time. You recall the first time you floated into this strange spherical room devoid of gravity, feeling the inexplicable pull of the middle slab. Time. Yes, that was your bed, your slab. It belonged to you.
You recall how you lay down upon it and for the first time since becoming a permanent Derse dreamer, you fell asleep.
In the present, you float to the slab. On it is… You. You’re fast asleep, arms crossed over your chest like a corpse, breaths shallow and unnoticeable. Slowly, you reach into your sleeping body’s pocket, withdrawing a sleek and plain cell phone.
“Sorry,” you say. “I need this more than you and you’ll become me later anyway.”
You pat your sleeping self on the head, floating back through the hole above to climb back up to Derse’s surface.
Back when you first fell asleep on the Time Bed, you awoke to your amazement, on Alternia. Amazement quickly turned to sadness when you reckoned your own curse. You were on Alternia not as a flesh-and-blood body, but as the spectral and invisible ghost in the midst of your broken and dilapidated home.
You remember hazily floating around, seeing the charred corpse of your lusus, the roofless remains of your hovel, and of course, what remained of your own body: A pair of shoes filled with ash on your doorstep.
Though Sollux was the one who killed you, you knew who to truly blame. It all feels so silly now.
In the present, you emerge from the middle of Derse’s moon and exit the tower. High above on Derse proper, you see the figure of the demon and the commotion of his presence. With urgency, you crouch and leap from the cobbles, flying away from Derse and into the dark of the Medium. You don’t stop flying until you’re far away, far enough to light upon one of the smaller meteors among the furthest ring, watching Derse in the distance.
You sigh. You’ll miss Derse. You’ll miss those streets and those memories and the Draconian Dignitary. You’ll never be able to return his phone, now.
A part of you feels a pang of regret. After discovering the time slab inside Derse and realizing your powers as a ghost, most of your time as a dreamer was spent, ironically, sleeping, organizing a way for you to come back to life on Alternia, all to get revenge for what Vriska did. You made Equius make you a new body for your ghost to inhabit and you kept your living status from Sollux, every moment plotting revenge. Revenge that now seems idiotic.
In the distance, Derse explodes, Derse’s moon floating away, its chain broken. You turn to the phone. You can’t use it quite yet. The timing isn’t right. You have to wait for the demon to break the moon.
From afar, you see a green shape howling and you wince, hoping the demon doesn’t somehow spot you lying low on a distant meteor. You wonder what he’s so angry about. Still, something doesn’t add up to you.
You, right now, are alive. Fully flesh-and-blood alive, not alive as a ghost and not living through a dream. You’re not sure how that’s possible since your dreaming self, your only anchor to life, was laying on the slab deep inside Derse’s moon when the demon blew it up.
If your remaining life has been blown up, why are you alive again?
Like clockwork, the inevitable future comes to past. The demon Bec Noir blows up Derse’s moon decisively, your sleeping body included. Somewhere far inside the meteor ring, you’re sure Aradiabot is exploding in Sollux’s face.
But in the middle of Derse’s moon there is a pinprick of crimson light, the same color as the gown you’ve found yourself wearing. You watch the demon pause as the pinprick of light fades into a swirling technicolor whirlpool before fading into… Yourself. In the distance you see yourself, waving brightly to the demon just as you recall before.
You rub your eyes. There’s no doubt about it. You look down at your hands, away from your past-self’s duel with the demon and see that same crimson hue on your sleeve. You’re no longer Aradia Megido, the dreamer, you’re Aradia Megido… The Goddess.
How it happened seems unimportant now. You’ve been reborn through the act of the demon and you rejoice, tears coming to your eyes. You don’t care that you’re a goddess or that you have new untapped powers or that you’ve surpassed your peers… You have another chance at life.
Far away, Aradia vanishes to go back in time, completing the loop. A moment later, Bec Noir breaks free of the time bubble. With a supersonic crack, he jets away towards distant Skaia. You withdraw the twice-borrowed phone.
[quirk sollux]
==
AA: hi sollux!!! :0
AA: hope i didnt worry you.
AA: im okay!
TA: what the FUCK is wrong with you?
AA: haha come on is that any way to be relieved?
TA: im not relieved you prick im LIVID
TA: feferi and i were worried sick
TA: what do you have to say for yourself??
AA: im sorry okay?
AA: look um
AA: i know im being really cruel in doing this after revealing im alive
AA: but i think im going to leave
TA: leave??
TA: i beg your everloving pardon?
TA: setting aside the fact that you are saying goodbye in perhaps the cruelest way devised by troll kind
TA: *how* the fresh fuck do you expect to *escape* this session?
AA: the same way YOU will sollux! 0u0
TA: uh
TA: see when someone answers a question theyre supposed to clarify the answer not bury the answer deeper in more cryptic bullshit aradia
TA: ill give you a pass because youre an antisocial weirdo but come on
AA: hehe
AA: im going to leave the session we are in on a meteor
AA: im going to shoot it through paradox space!
TA: there are about two million reasons that cant work aradia
TA: first of all being the fact that paradox space is fucking paradoxical
TA: time and space dont mean anything out there there are no landmarks
TA: not to mention the horrorterrors
AA: oh theyre not so bad!
TA: agree to disagree
AA: there is one landmark i know of
AA: im planning to make a beeline for it
TA: what landmark is that?
AA: ever heard of the green sun?
TA: uh no
TA: most suns are yellow right?
TA: well no i guess theyre mostly white
TA: you just see them as yellow in most renderings due to filters and whatnot
TA: but none of them are green
TA: thats stupid
AA: well there is a green sun!
TA: fine theres a green sun fuck okay sure
TA: but how the fuck do we get there
AA: we can fly the meteor
TA: on what power??
TA: oh lets just MOVE an entire fucking meteor okay
AA: you of all people should know that sollux :0
AA: yellow bloods are really good at moving things!
TA: …
TA: you of all people should know the stigma surrounding using yellowbloods as batteries aradia
TA: but i think i see what you mean
TA: look i have to go im about to set something in motion here
TA: is this the last time we will be able to talk?
AA: no
AA: i love you sollux <>
TA: i love you too aradia <>
TA: goodbye
TA: this time goodbye for now
==
You smile, a weight off your chest. Last time you died, Sollux didn’t know you were okay. This time, you want things to be different.
In the distance, Skaia shimmers faintly like a blue gem. You wonder if you should chase the demon or leave him to his own devices. You doubt it matters. You’re a Goddess of Time now, you have a certain intuition about such things, and deep in your core, you know there isn’t much time left at all.
You’ll either escape your session… Or die for real.
You are no longer Aradia Megido.
Your name is Karkat Vantas.
[quirk sollux]
==
TA: so thats the plan
TA: it kind of sucks but it beats waiting around for the humans to save us
CG: IT BEATS FUCKING DYING.
CG: JUST…
CG: I FEEL LIKE WE’VE BEEN SPINNING OUR WHEELS ALL THIS TIME AND NOW THAT THERE’S AN ACTUAL PLAN TO DO SOMETHING TO SURVIVE, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL.
TA: i think you call that feeling “hope.”
CG: IT SUCKS, SO FAR.
CG: I WISH I COULD JUST DIE INSTEAD.
TA: yeah
TA: we were all built with that annoying “will to live” crap huh
CG: LOL.
CG: LOOK, SOLLUX, I HATE TO ASK, BUT, UH.
CG: IS THIS LIKE, ACTUALLY POSSIBLE?
TA: yeah.
TA: i drive the meteor like a spaceship
TA: use me like a battery, all my pent up psiionic powers
TA: the last time i used them was when i killed aradia so they would be getting constructive use
CG: OKAY, GRANTED.
CG: BUT DON’T THE GOLDBLOODS USED AS SHIP BATTERIES NORMALLY DIE IN THE PROCESS?
TA: yeah
TA: but we have eridan and his stupid wands to help
CG: MAKES SENSE.
CG: I HATE RELYING ON THAT ASSHOLE.
CG: CONVINCING HIM TO HELP IS ALSO GOING TO BE A CHALLENGE. I THINK HE’S WITH VRISKA WHO WANTS TO GO OFF AND BEAT THE DEMON.
TA: hell do it
TA: theres nothing he wants more than to reestablish alternia so hed do anything to save us
CG: ALRIGHT.
CG: I GUESS I’LL GO FIND HIM.
TA: i think hes hiding.
TA: last i heard gamzee threatened to kill him or something.
CG: THE FUCK?
CG: I HAVEN’T SEEN GAMZEE IN A WHILE, EITHER…
CG: HM.
CG: WHATEVER.
==
You lean back in the computer chair, blowing air from cheeks. Hope, huh? You’re not sure you like this "hope" shit. "Hope" feels like being bloodied and beaten, dragging yourself to your feet against all odds, wheezing and panting, forcing yourself to move. Hope is supposed to be a good thing?
From the corner of the room, you hear something that jars you from your contemplation.
You wheel around and see Equius sitting bolt-upright, clutching his neck. He's moaning hoarsely. Nepeta is on his lap.
“What the fuck?” you demand irritably. Equius blinks, clearing his throat.
“My apologies, Leader,” he says with oozing reverence. “I was having a pleasant dream. Nepeta and I escaped Derse with our dream selves but it appears the demon caught up with us.”
“How in fuck’s name is that a pleasant dream?” You groan. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We all know what's coming next."
“Indeed,” says Equius. "But I believe Nepeta and I have saved the lives of some gallant Dersites."
“Fuck,” you say. “Against all odds, Equius, you were useful. Sorry your dreamself died.”
Equius looks down to his moirail Nepeta, her foot kicking in her sleep. She looks troubled.
No time to worry about that. You have to find Eridan.
==
CG: ERIDAN.
CG: AMPORA, ANSWER ME.
CG: HELLO?
CG: IT’S IMPORTANT.
CG: ABOUT THE FUTURE OF OUR SPECIES OR WHATEVER.
CG: …
CG: DUDE.
==
No answer. You walk through the meteor’s labyrinthine halls, opening random doors. Eridan just loves talking and now when you need him he has nothing to say. This meteor is pretty big. Where IS everyone? You should have kept an eye on your stupid group better. You know Eridan liked to bother Gamzee, maybe he knows where the pontificating seadweller is.
==
CG: GAMZEE.
CG: HAVE YOU SEEN ERIDAN?
CG: I NEED HIM FOR A NEW PLAN.
CG: ARE YOU THERE?
TC: karkat
TC: MY LUSUSFUCKIN *MAN*
CG: GAMZEE.
CG: YOU CHANGED YOUR QUIRK. WEIRD TIME TO DO IT BUT WHATEVER.
CG: I’M LOOKING FOR ERIDAN.
CG: SOLLUX SAID YOU TWO WERE ARGUING.
TC: oh yeah oh yeah the violet guy
TC: I KNOW WHERE HE IS
TC: last i saw him he looked pretty funny
TC: GRAVELY FUCKIN FUNNY HAHAHAHAHA
CG: UH.
CG: OKAY.
CG: HE USUALLY LOOKS PRETTY STUPID, YEAH.
CG: *WHERE* IS HE, THOUGH?
TC: hehehehehe
TC: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
==
Okay, Gamzee is in one of his weird moods. Whatever. He types a few more messages of laughter before getting bored as you venture deeper into the meteor's lab complex. There's a dank, mildew scent in the air now. As you proceed down the corridor, it gets stronger. The atmosphere is getting creepy.
In the distance, you hear a voice. It's husky and feminine... Vriska? She sounds agitated, but you don't hear any words clearly.
"No!" says Vriska sharply. She sounds like she's telling someone off. There's another voice, getting louder as you approach, coming from down the hall inside one of the innumerable empty storage rooms in this fuck-foresaken rock.
"Asshole," sneers the other voice, male and snide. Eridan. Fucking finally you find his slippery ass. Your footsteps hasten.
"-can't believe you're so fucking stubborn about this," says Vriska. Her voice is muffled but you're only about twenty feet away. You hesitate, deciding to eavesdrop.
"Shut up," says Eridan. "Who's the highblood here?"
"I'm just saying if we wait, we'll have the advantage. You're just impatient," Vriska scoffs, but her voice is unusually desperate.
"And I'm saying we strike when the bug isn't looking," Eridan sounds more confident than usual. Are they talking about the demon? "How significant can one extra power boost be?"
"You're not listening, just give me an hour, he's going to destroy Derse any moment now, he-!"
Vriska's voice is cut off by a deafening grinding noise. The hallway explodes into a sudden flash of light and you tumble backward, foot-over-ass, somersaulting down the hall like a ragdoll, rubble collapsing around you. Has the demon found you?! Is this the moment you die?
The rubble settles and you untangle your legs from behind your elbows to get to your feet, rubbing your head which has been drubbed several times over.
"Vriska?" you call out. "Eridan?"
Silence. You swallow. Whatever just exploded came... Right from the room Vriska and Eridan had been arguing in.
"What the gosh darn heck is going on here?" demands a gruff voice from behind you. Equius is stomping down the hall toward the explosion, followed by a bewildered Nepeta.
"Did you hear that?" Terezi isn't far behind, followed by a frightened-looking Tavros. Looks like everyone heard the big boom.
The four approaching trolls look to you for answers and you solemnly point down the hall. Suddenly, you're leading them toward the explosion, a grim expression set on your face. The "hope" feeling in your gut is starting to ferment unpleasantly into something else...
The door of the explosion site is gone, leaving a hole about two meters wide. There is a burnt-iron smell coming from inside the room and faint black-and-white smoke is pouring from within, dissipating quickly as you come closer. You swallow. Your four compatriots are silent. You take a step into the smoke and look.
Never before has the act of "looking" been so horrible. Never before have you seen something so singularly terrible and awe-inspiring that it has made you fall to your knees. Within the room is a tableau of hopelessness so complete that it could be an image. On the floor is Eridan Ampora, a look of shock on his dumb fuck face. On the other end of the room are Eridan Ampora's legs. Between them, arranged in a perpendicular "plus" sign is a great wide char-black scorch mark and Eridan's violet blood, connecting the two halves of Eridan's body. Eridan's... Corpse.
"No," whispers Equius behind you.
"What-?" Terezi is speechless, letting the single syllable trail off.
"Ooogh," comes a voice from the corner. From beneath a pile of rubble, Vriska sits up, holding her horn in pain. The four of you turn to look at her. "What the hell happened? What are you looking at?" she demands. When no one responds, she snorts. "You look so serious, who died?" she asks sarcastically.
She looks to her left, blinking her single good eye at Eridan's remains.
"Uuuuuuuugh, you've got to be kidding," she says dryly. "That's so fucking cliche."
You are no longer Karkat Vantas.
ACT 5 CHAPTER 2
Your name is Jade Harley.
June isn’t dead. You slump against the wall of your room, the overexertion of your newfound powers and the stress of having to save June’s life has left you exhausted.
==
GG: you okay dave?
TG: yeah
TG: im still here on lowas
GG: how did you get there anyway?
TG: well i used time loops to go back in time and charter a ferry to lowas then i hoofed it
TG: took a couple hours but by the time i got there it was just in time
TG: now i guess ill go back in time and charter another ferry back to lohac
TG: not going to lie im not relishing that its kind of exhausting
TG: you have to haggle with the locals and its wicked expensive but dw ive got the dosh now
TG: hey wheres lalonde
GG: she said something weird then logged off
GG: kanaya says shes “going grimdark”
TG: shes already grimdark
GG: how are things on your end with the scratch anyway? :0
TG: uhhhhhh
TG: bad
TG: i was all set to buy the beat mesa but long story short im being hunted by the crocodile mafia now
GG: i…
GG: i dont think thats a sentence that a human has ever said before
TG: lol
GG: i think we should rest up and regroup
TG: agreed
==
You sigh, putting your head on your knees. The exhaustion is a bitch. You feel a strong sense of depression sink in, too. If Dave is having trouble and Rose has gone rogue, what progress has even been made? Hopelessness enters your mind and you allow it in, wallowing in terrible malaise, giving yourself these few moments of relaxing ennui.
Before long, you’re asleep.
You are no longer Jade Harley.
You are now nothing.
Your name is Jack Noir, later, in the Medium of Universe A2.
That red-dress ram-horned she-bitch held you up for too long. Your boys are probably halfway to Skaia by now, carried by the two Derse dreamers. You need to get there and explain things to them, you’re so close. You’re sure they’ll join you if they know how hard you need this.
In the distance, the purple specks of the dreamers get closer, silhouetted by Skaia’s light, getting bigger and bigger. Your heart is hammering. You don’t see your Boys in their arms any more.
In the distance, in front of them, a large spirograph tears a hole in reality, opening up to depict a large gray planet viewed from the surface of a neon-green expanse. You speed through the Medium faster, wind attacking your canine face, blowing the tears away.
“NO!” you howl crackling green out of your maw like dragonbreath, but it’s too late. The spirograph shuts like a trap and all that remains are the Derse dreamers, one feline and small, one large and imposing.
They face you resolutely and the big guy raises his fists in defiance. You’ve had just about enough of defiance.
“WHERE ARE THEY?” you demand, slamming into the big guy at mach one, hand finding his neck as you shove him down, landing upon the foreign Skaia’s surface with a meteoric impact. The large dreamer coughs up blood, his long hair splayed behind him mingling with dirt. His glasses crack, revealing his eyes.
He coughs again and wheezes a word you don’t recognize.
“What?” you demand, loosening your grip, straddling his motionless body.
“H…” he wheezes one letter before you feel the pounding of tiny fists on your back. It’s the OTHER one. You growl and swipe your arm, sending her flying away, thudding against the ground like a stone skipping across water.
“SAY IT!” you scream at the burly dreamer, his horns twitching back and forth as you squeeze his neck.
“Harder,” he wheezes faintly.
Closing your fist, you decapitate him. Far away, the catgirl screams, sobbing, running towards you on all fours.
Deep down, you know that your Boys are gone. They exiled themselves in a Skaian portal, gone forever. You don’t think you could follow them, Skaian portals are about as predictable as a leaf in the wind. You pound the Skaian ground beneath you as catgirl approaches.
Killing her will at least alleviate some of your pain.
You stand, scuffing the ground with your feet, bracing yourself for the impact of the catgirl, ready to intercept her body in order to tear it apart. You see the lustful hatred in her olive-green eyes and you match it a hundred fold.
Maybe if you’re lucky she’ll manage to break a few of your ribs. You close your eyes, waiting for the impact.
The impact never comes. The air around you settles calmly. Your eyes shoot open in frustration and what you see makes what little unboiled blood you have evaporate into steam in your veins.
“That’s enough,” says a feminine voice. A familiar voice. No… Not HER. Not NOW. Not after everything.
Before you, standing between yourself and the cat-troll are two figures. A white carapacian holding a ring between her index finger and thumb, a ring that looks just like the one on your hand that gave you these dreadful powers. Next to her is a cowering carapacian wearing a sash that reads “Mayor” in hasty handwriting. Both of them are from your old Medium, from that old universe.
“This ends here,” says the Queen. Your shoulders slump. You know it’s true, her words are absolute and she’s holding the only artifact that could ever kill you. You laugh raggedly, running a hand over your dog ears.
“Maybe,” you hiss. “But if I don’t take your white ass down with me, my name isn’t Jack Noir.”
You raise your claws, ready for battle as the White Queen slips the ring onto her finger.
You are no longer Jack Noir.
MIDNIGHT CREW ENDING. NOT FINALIZED.
Your name is now Clubs Deuce.
You've been climbing up vines for a while now. You hate to admit it, but it would appear you're hopelessly lost. You have no idea where you are or which floor you're on and as you get higher from the ground, your stomach gets more and more upset.
You decide to rest on another balcony, sighing with relief as your feet touch solid ground.
You walk indoors, sliding open a glass door into what appears to be a guest bedroom. You lay down on the bed, sighing. You're not cut out for this espionage business. Or crime in general, really. You don't let that get you down, though, since your friends mean so much to you. You couldn't imagine life without them.
You walk into the hallway outside. Like all the hallways in this place, it's narrow and full of clocks. You walk aimlessly for a few minutes, admiring the clocks on the wall until you realize that you've been pacing around the same area the whole time. Yep- You've seen that exact cuckoo clock with a little clown on the face three times!
"Lost?" says a voice from directly behind you. You nearly leap out of your carapace.
Behind you is a member of the Felt, even shorter than you are with bright shining eyes. On his purple hat is a number 4.
From the dossier, you remember this chap's name to be Clover. Droog described him as the "most formidable and mysterious" member of the Felt. Outside this, no information was given.
Instinctively, you draw your baretta, emptying the clip. Six shots pop off at point blank range.
To your shock, however, when you open your eyes, Clover is still standing there, grinning like a fool at you.
"Those things are dangerous!" he chirps in a squeaky voice.
Around him are six bullet holes, each one missing him by just a hair.
"H-how could I miss?" you stammer, dumbfounded. You're a bad shot, but no one is THAT bad.
"Guess I got lucky!" he says, offering a hand. Hesitantly, you take it. "That's my thing, see? I'm lucky. Watch!"
Clover suddenly takes your other baretta from its holster, pressing it to his forehead.
"Wait-!" you cry as he pulls the trigger. With a sickening click, the gun jams. He tosses the baretta over his shoulder.
"Lucky lucky me!" he chirps, jumping in the air and clicking his heels together.
You stare at him, slack-jawed. You get the firm sense that this little guy is messing with you.
"Hey, uh-" you say hesitantly. "What floor is this, anyway?"
"This is floor thirteen!" he says cheerfully. "Only two to go 'til you get to the boss's room!"
You ease the remaining baretta into its holster, not that it will do you good now. You forgot to pack more bullets.
"Are you gonna... Try and stop me?" you say, helpfully. Clover, to your surprise, shakes his head.
"Nah, I don't involve myself in that kinda stuff," he says, shrugging. "I'm more into tomfoolery, mischief, general horseplay, that kinda thing."
You nod hesitantly. You look him up and down. He's wearing a thin shirt that would be hard to hide a gun inside. He doesn't appear to have any weapons. You also notice his pockets are turned inside-out for some reason.
"Can you take me to Doc's, then?" you ask. Clover shakes his head.
"Nah, see, Crowbar- that's my boss- he told me to keep you guys away from that place. Keep ya busy!" Clover looks delighted at this.
"Well how are you gonna do that without a weapon or nothing?" you ask.
"I just hang around you! I'm lucky- If I'm around, somethin' unlucky will happen to you such that you can't get to Doc's place. It's already happening!"
You begin to walk, Clover trotting to keep up.
"You're just randomly pickin' hallways," he says, steering you down a path leading to a massive clawfoot bathtub. "And if you're with me, you'll always pick the random wrong ones, get it?"
"I think so," you say. "But wait, what if I pick a hallway then un-pick it and go with a different one than the one I picked?"
"You're thinkin' too hard!" he says. Down another hall is a room with paintings of horses. In another, there’s a room with a big skylight through which you can see the surreal white sky above.
You meander around the place, each time Clover offers an unhelpful comment like "nope" or "getting colder" or "ooh, no way."
After a while of this, you begin to get sick of this little imp's shenanigans. You feel the gears in your brain turning. You're going to have to think your way out of this one.
This little guy's luck seems to be based on what he wants, so you reason that if he wanted to get to Doc's office, he'd lead you there lickety-split. The only issue is getting him to want to do that.
"What's Doc's place like?" you ask conversationally. Clover perks up.
"It's boring!" he says simply. "Doc's a boring guy, but he signs my checks, so I love him. What do you want with the boss anyways?"
"Well," you say. Now's your chance to make up a lie! "We're trying to deliver him his ecto-day cake!"
Clover cocks his head to the side.
"Ecto-day? What's that?"
"Y'know. The day you get ectobiologized. Born from slime?" You say, feeling strange that you have to explain this to him.
"That's not how we're born!" Clover says. "We're born from fungus on the planets that surround black holes!"
You stare blankly at each other for a moment, contemplating the others' confusing birth method.
"Well we're celebrating Doc's anniversary of... That!" you say. Clover looks skeptical.
"I think you're trying to get me to go to Doc's office so my good luck stops working against you!" Clover says, deftly stepping over a few kinks in the rug without looking down. "And it's not gonna work!"
You hiss. This little guy is smart, too. His cheerful demeanor is damnably infectious, making it hard to try to undermine him.
"Fine," you cave. "We're here to kill him."
"Ha!" Clover laughs. "Good luck with that. Even if you did find him, Doc's not goin' down easy. What do you wanna kill him for?"
"Well..." You pick another hallway, walking slower. "He killed my boss's girlfriend."
Clover blinks at you. He makes a somewhat pained expression.
"Yeah, that seems like the boss..." Clover sighs. "I get it. I don't blame you or anything. We're just two guys working for two other guys."
"I don't really know the details," you say. "She wasn't really the boss's girlfriend, he actually hated her guts. But... You know if you really hate somebody, sometimes you care about 'em more than if you loved 'em. Does that make sense?"
"Nope!" Clover says cheerfully. "Sounds complicated."
You laugh at that. Slick is a complicated guy.
"What was her name?" Clover asks conversationally.
"The Black Queen," you say. "But he always called her the Bitchy Quiescent. She was his old boss back on Derse where we come from."
Clover nods, a pensive look on his face.
"She sounds like someone I know," he muses.
"He and she hated each other but I think they were also in love," you say. "And Doc killed her, which made the boss freak out and rope us into this mission."
"Why do you follow him if it's his revenge?" Clover asks. It's a fair question.
"Because... He'd do the same for us," you state. "And on top of that, it's not like we've got a home to go back to or anything to lose."
You and Clover walk in silence for a while. Clover seems to be struggling with something internally.
"Gah!" he finally says, flustered. "Fine!"
You look at him quizzically.
"I'll take ya to Doc's office!"
Clover grabs you by the hand and starts walking the opposite direction.
Your name is no longer Clubs Deuce.
Your name is now Hearts Boxcars.
You've made some good headway, meeting no resistance. It's a bit disappointing, really. No skulls to crack, no mooks to lay into, no one to test the bludgeoning capabilities of your copper pipe.
Not until the ninth floor, when you hear it. The dull sound of a deep-voiced henchman from around a bend.
"Duh, Quarters, why are we hidin' again?" says the dull, gruff voice of a Felt member. You lower yourself into a creep, flattening your back to the wall to listen to their whispering.
"Shaddap, Cans ya idiot," says the other voice, accompanied by a slap. "You want da whole manor hearin' us? Da point is ta be sneaky!"
"Well, Quarters, ain't you talkin' now-" Cans is cut off by his cohort.
Quarters and Cans sound pretty fucking stupid, a fact that makes you grin evilly. You hear Quarters administer another smack.
"Dat's it!" Quarters announces. "You're goin' in! Heads!"
You can't see the duo, but there's a surreal noise and Cans falls eerily silent. Around the corner on the other side of the wall, you hear only one set of breathing.
"Stupid fuckin' moron-" Quarters mutters. After a brief pause, there's that surreal noise again and Cans speaks disjointedly.
"-more than I was talkin'?" Cans's voice trails off. "Hey! Don't use your powers on me, ya big idiot!"
Quarters laughs and a playful slap fight ensues.
You haven't read the dossier on these two, but you figure they're pushovers. You round the corner unnoticed, the duo still roughhousing. You clear your throat nice and loudly, patting your pipe against your hand.
Cans must be the big guy with the red-striped 15 hat and Quarters the skinny guy with the green striped 14 hat.
They look at you, shocked.
"Am I interruptin' anything?" you say before swinging at Cans.
In your head, you pictured yourself taking these two by surprise, beaning them in the brain and walking away unscathed. Unfortunately, your plan is put to an immediate halt due to the fact that your copper pipe glances off Cans with the same impact that a paper cup would make.
"What are you standin' around for!" Quarters barks suddenly, making you and Cans jump. "Get 'im!"
“Dah, sorry boss!” Cans collects his very few wits and springs into action.
Cans's fist connects with your face and you fly backwards. When he does, something happens to you that you can't quite comprehend at first. You feel like your back just hit a glass window, breaking through the pane, but there's no glass sound, only the sharp shattering feeling as you stagger back into the wall of the Felt Manor.
You hastily stand up, fists at the ready, but you see that Cans and Quarters are just gone. You blink. The room you were standing in looks different, too. It was a pristine reading room with a nice lazy chair and some bookshelves, but now it's a burnt-out shell, ashes on the floor from an old, long-extinguished fire. It's as if Cans's punch blasted you into next week!
With a sudden realization, you reckon that given these Felt assholes, he probably literally did.
You step into the hallway you came from, seeing an unnerving sight. A dark, burnt-out Felt Manor, broken clocks and glass strewn about haphazardly. No one is here and the place is eerily silent without the sound of the ticking.
The most alarming thing, though, is what you see out the window. In the time you just came from, the sky had turned white, all the stars extinguished, but what you see is far more terrifying: Instead of whiteness or stars, you see the floating shadows of formless beings, like great leviathans with you in the middle of the ocean. You gulp audibly. You suddenly prefer the blank white sky to whatever the hell is out there.
You look further out the window. The room you’re in appears to be a single chunk of the Felt Manor, floating disjointedly in space. Far away to your right is another chunk of the manor, a few rooms and a chimney. To your left, a single floating green clock. It’s like the whole manor had been blown apart and was now floating in the void. What happened between then and now for this to happen? And more importantly-
How the hell are you going to get back to the past? Cans didn't come with you and you doubt if he did he could punch you into the previous week. You grit your teeth. Stupid- Stupid! Stupid Felt and their stupid bullshit. Stupid burnt out manor. Stupid old Boxcars for making such a dumb mistake.
"HEY!" comes a voice from behind you, jarring you out of your self-loathing spiral. You swivel around, your heart hammering. You recognize that voice.
Behind you is... Him. Eggs. The asshole from earlier with the time-traveling egg timer! An idea sparks to life in your under-developed brain, relying on your overdeveloped muscles.
"GIMME DAT!" you scream, running at Eggs, grabbing his egg timer. He's a pretty big guy, too, but he's more fat than muscle, making it easy to yank him free of his precious item.
"Hey!" he says, hurt, like a petulant child on the playground. As you stare at his time-traveling device, you realize... You have no idea how this thing works.
"Tell me how dis works or I'll smash it like an egg!" you threaten, holding it above your head. Eggs rolls his eyes at you.
"You can't break a juju, wise guy." You don't know what that word means, but you're not deterred.
"I can sure as shit throw it out a window," you say, moving your arm to the nearby window, its pane cracked and demolished, showing a nice vista of the horrorterrors floating outside.
"Nononono-!" Eggs hastily holds up his hands. "Fine! I'll show you, just- Give it back."
You narrow your eyes at him.
"Truce?" you say hesitantly. Eggs nods, his big hat flopping back and forth on his head.
You hold the timer out and Eggs turns the dial. You feel the glass-shattering sensation once again and the world around you brightens, the Felt Manor coming into focus just as you left it.
It looks like you overshot things, though, as in the nearby room with Cans and Quarters, you hear... Yourself.
"Am I interruptin' anything?" you hear yourself say smugly, then the bonk of your pipe on Cans's big dumb hide.
Eggs stands next to you.
"Time clone," he says as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "Best to just wait 'til they're gone. Then you can take their place."
Eggs strikes you as the idiot-savant type. Sure enough, you hear a cracking noise of Cans's fist hitting you in the face, just like he’d done before.
"Got 'im, Quarters," Cans says dumbly.
"I know ya got 'im ya big galoot, I'm standin' right the heck here!" Quarters offers Cans a customary smack.
You feel deja vu as the two descend into bickering. You have another chance to get the drop on them.
"You ain't gonna do anything funny if I go in there, are you?" you warily ask Eggs. The large man shakes his head.
"I don't like those two very much... They're always bullyin' my friend Biscuits, trickin' him into gettin' into his own oven!"
"Yeah," you say, avoiding eye contact. "That sounds real mean."
"Oh!" Eggs says helpfully. "Watch out for his coin."
You give Eggs a sidelong glance. You have no idea what he's on about.
You round the corner for the second time, repeating your entrance.
"Miss me?" you say sternly.
The duo freeze once more. This time, you're not holding a copper pipe. You're holding a minigun, already whirring to life.
You don't waste any time to be punched this time. You pump that bastard Cans full of so much hot lead that he's pinned to the opposite wall. You guffaw as the wall gives way into the next room, Cans's corpse limply twitching. As the minigun clicks empty, you're not particularly shocked to see the fleshy galoot still twitching and breathing haggardly.
"Heads!" cries Quarters with utter vindication. You ponder what a strange thing that is to say when you hear the "ping" of Quarters flipping a coin in his hand.
You watch it sail into the air and land on Heads.
"Nice job, dumba-"
You suddenly cough up blood.
Instantaneously, Quarters had cleared the room and lodged a knife between your ribs.
Fortunately for you, like Cans, you're one fleshy galoot, but a knife to the particulars doesn't feel great in any case. You stagger back, eyes wide.
"Tails," Quarters says, venom in his voice, flipping the coin again with the hand that isn't stabbing you in the torso. As soon as it lands, it happens again, Quarters moves instantly, three more stab wounds already having manifested on your stomach.
You fall back on your ass, Quarters staring down at you, giving the side of your head a kick which knocks you over.
"Ya like that? Nyeah!" Quarters kicks you in the stab wound, making you cough more bitter blood.
Your vision blurs. Your mind is still clear and you vaguely remember a coin being mentioned in the dossier you skimmed.
"The coin..." you mutter.
"Dat's right, asshole!" Quarters sneers. "This little baby is my ace in the hole!! If I call heads, time stops for whoever I decide. And if I call tails, time only flows for everyone except for one person who I decide!"
“Ain’t that the same power?” you growl through a cough.
Quarters spits on you, making you flinch helplessly.
"Heads I win, tails you lose! Nyeahahaha!" Quarters's laugh is irritating enough to keep you from passing out.
You sigh, groaning. You're fucked. This is it. At least you took care of some of those Felt bastards... Maybe Slick will get revenge without you.
You wait for Quarters to stab you in the head and finish you off.
The moment never comes. Instead, you hear a strange sound. It's a muffled "ding" noise, followed by a thud.
You look up weakly. Above you, Eggs is standing, his egg timer bloody in his hand. You look back down. Quarters is on the floor next to you, eyes wide in shock, unconscious.
You gaze back up at Eggs, confusion on your face.
"Ain't you- On his team?" you wheeze.
"Oh," Eggs seems to realize this, smacking his forehead. "Damn it!"
Your name is no longer Hearts Boxcars.
Your name is now Diamonds Droog.
Floor nine. Six to go. The pain in your chest is down to a manageable level and you've reloaded your Thompson. You're a real artist with that thing and you're keeping it drawn.
You decide to take a break in a nearby room, ducking into it with a sigh, slumping on one of the sofas. There's a fireplace, much like the one in the room you met Fin and Trace. The warmth is a little redundant in this weather, but it feels nice all the same. The fact that it's lit means someone is probably nearby, though.
You lean closer to the flame. It's increasing in intensity for some reason. You wonder where the chimney leads, squinting your eyes at the flames that suddenly flare up. Inside the flames appear to be... Shoes?
No- Those aren't the image of shoes, that's a pair of shoes. Someone is standing in the middle of an open flame, their torso stuffed up the damn chimney!
You rise to your feet, the pieces clicking into place. You wrote the dossier on this guy, by the name of Matchsticks. This guy can travel through space and time using open flames as gateways- Also immune to flames.
You watch as Matchsticks angles himself such that he can squeeze his way out of the fireplace, humming to himself, adjusting the red-striped 11 hat on his head.
He notices you as he dusts soot from his suit. You gaze at each other in confusion for a moment.
"Hi," he says. In his hands is a fire extinguisher. He sprays it at the fireplace, immediately quenching the flame.
"Hi," you reply. In your hands, a machine gun. Matchsticks eyes the weapon, stroking his chin.
"It would seem," Matchsticks says thoughtfully. "That I'm a little outclassed here."
"It would seem," you repeat. You don't raise the gun.
"I think I'm gonna go ahead and put down this extinguisher nice 'n slow," he says, doing so, placing the heavy item near the fireplace. "And head back to my post on the seventh floor foyer."
"Great idea," you say. Matchsticks slides out of the room, back to the wall. Once he's out, you hear him walk away slowly.
Relief flows through you. That was easier than you assumed. Looks like not all the Felt are morons! Good for them. Your mission isn't to kill green torsos, after all, it's to kill Doc. Slick might have a problem with your green-torso permissiveness, however.
You walk out of the room, whistling, navigating to the elevator that will take you to your rendezvous with everyone else. Looks like some things can be easy. No Felt members in sight!
“Hey,” says a feminine voice right behind you. You wheel around, Tommy Gun spraying bullets, each one of them caught in the torso of a girl with gray skin and large round horns.
“Rude,” she says, looking down at her dress, now torn by the bullets. She doesn’t look any worse for wear having a clip unloaded into her.
“Who are you?” you say, a little perturbed. The green on her dress seems to indicate being a member of the Felt, but you’re not sure. She doesn’t seem hostile.
“Doesn’t matter,” she says dismissively as if the question is of no interest to her. “Call me the Handmaid if you want. I do jobs for Mister Doctor.”
You squint at the girl as she paces playfully around you.
“So are you gonna try to kill me?” you ask hesitantly. The Handmaid shakes her head. You resume your walking speed, making for the elevator you know to be nearby. You never heard of a Handmaid in your research for the Felt Dossier.
“I don’t want to kill you,” she says. “I work for Mister Doctor, but I really don’t like him. So when he has nothing for me to do, I like to fuck with him.”
You keep walking, finally lowering your gun.
“Well, we’re trying to fuck with him and I could really use the help,” you say, thumbing at your own bullet dings in your coat. The Handmaid laughs.
“I was hoping you and number 11 were going to fight,” she says disappointed. “Maybe you both would have died.”
She says that with a bit too much enthusiasm for your liking. She strikes you as the “chaotic neutral” sort.
“What do you do for Doc when you’re not, uh… Undermining him?” you ask.
“I used to work down on Alternia, back when there were other trolls like me,” she states conversationally. “But now-” she points out the window to the increasingly unstable projection of the gray planet below. To finish her statement, she blows a raspberry.
You reach the elevator, gazing at her.
“Getting on?” you ask, pressing the “up” button. She seems to weigh her options.
“Nah, but watch out, this elevator isn’t a very good one.” Before you can ask what she means by that, you realize she has vanished without so much as a poof of smoke. You hear the elevator ding and feel relief.
Unfortunately, as the elevator doors slide open, your relief evaporates like water hitting a hot stove. Within the elevator is a wide mountain of green, an anxious-looking man in a blue-striped 10 hat.
"Fuck!" you say, alarmed, and before the man can say a word, you open fire. This would turn out to be one of the worst mistakes you've ever made.
With a sensation like glass shattering all around you, every shot of lead you pump into this guy makes the world around you spin and shift.
"Aw, jeez!" is all this guy has to say as you shoot him.
With a sickening realization, you remember who this guy is. Sawbuck. In your dossier, you remember writing the words "DO NOT ENGAGE" with red felt-tip marker, and here you are shooting his guts out.
Many of the Felt's abilities are kind of crap, in your humble opinion. Sawbuck is one such case study. His power is to travel in time randomly every time he's struck or shot. This would be good in a pinch, allowing him to get out of danger, except his power also takes whoever is shooting with him.
You have no idea where in time you are, but the Felt Manor around you is different. You reason this is earlier in time because the clocks on the wall are fewer in number and the furniture is less dusty. Sawbuck groans in the elevator. You climb in with him, hitting the button "15."
"Hey, pal," you say. "Sorry for shooting you."
"Hhhrghn..." groans Sawbuck, bleeding out the front.
"You're a big blubbery guy. Coupl'a bullets won't do you in, right?" You nudge his ribs, earning you a pained groan. You grimace. "So, hey." You lean closer. "How do we undo this little time displacement deal, huh?"
"Bluurgh..." Sawbuck says.
"C'mon, there's gotta be a way," you coax as the elevator dings.
Sawbuck's corpse doesn't speak. You grit your teeth, sighing.
The elevator doors slide open and for the second time that day, you're shocked by a Felt member.
"Who'n the hell are you!?"
Two men are looking at you with vindictive expressions. They don't recognize you, meaning this is before the Midnight Crew was on their radar. It appears the duo was going to lunch- One of them has a red striped hat, the other a green stripe. You know these guys- Cans and Quarters.
"I'm the, uh," you say, trying to shift your body in front of the dead guy behind you. "Vine inspector?" Your lie doesn't sway either men.
"Should I punch 'em, boss, should I, should I?" asks Cans.
"Nah, I got a better idea." Quarters flicks his thumb, making a pinging noise. "Heads!" he cries as you feel the world around you freeze.
"Wait, don't flip-!"
Your name is no longer Diamonds Droog.
[PART 4]
Your name is now Spades Slick.
You're not sure what you're looking at, here. In front of you is your cohort, Diamonds Droog, completely frozen, with a lampshade over his melon.
You prod him in the side. He's unresponsive. What he's doing in this storage room on the Fifteenth floor is anyone's fucking guess.
"Droog?" you ask sheepishly. "Wake up? Uh- Open seasame?"
To your surprise, Droog suddenly stirs, shouting at you.
"-that coin!" he says in a stilted manner. He pauses, trailing off. Gingerly, he takes the lampshade off his head, looking around.
"Slick?" he says dumbly. "Why am I in a storage closet?"
You squint at him.
"That's my line, jackass," you say. The room is dark, full of mops and brooms and an apron or two. You groan, sitting on an upturned bucket.
"Wait..." Droog stretches, cracking his back with a groan. "I know what happened," he leans on the wall, yawning like he just woke up from a long nap. "I shot that Sawbuck bastard. It bounced me back in time. That's when I ran into Quarters in the past- He must have frozen me in time and stashed me in this dumb closet."
Having read Droog's dossier, this all makes vague sense to you.
"Quarters? The ratfink with the time stopping coin?" You say. "If that's true, why'd you come back to life right now?"
"Well... It probably means the little green shit is dead." Droog reasons. "Probably Boxcars, since you're here, and Deuce is-"
"Deuce is Deuce," you affirm.
"Whoa," Droog says suddenly, noticing your missing leg. You managed to wrap it up with some of the material on Die's coat, but the green is already caked in red from your blood. You're lightheaded.
"I'm in bad shape," you admit. "Good thing I had a cane to lean on at least."
Droog looks queasy, unable to stop staring at your new stump.
"But I've got a plan," you say. "In your dossier, there was word of a guy who fixes wounds, right?"
"Well, yeah-" Droog makes a vague gesture. "Stitch. He stitches up the Felt, I dunno if he'll be able to do that for you."
You shrug.
"Worth a shot."
Droog joins you on a bucket, sighing. There's a solemn air in the supply closet. You don't break it.
"Is this worth it? For her?" Droog asks.
"I don't know," you say simply. "I don't think we'll really be able to kill that asshole, but it's enough to think I might be able to break some of his toys."
You sigh. Droog watches you.
"I miss her, Diamond," you say slowly. "I hated her so much, but I hated him more when he killed her. I'm the one who brought her to him, too."
Droog allows you to continue, helping you to your feet- foot- and out into the hall, towards the workshop of Stitch.
"That day on Derse, when I was supposed to kill her for that kid. I couldn't do it. She escaped and I followed her here. Doc said I brought her to him. Said he had important business. Next thing I know, she’s dead." You sigh. "It's all just- Random shit. Things happening and me tryin' to make sense of it all."
There's a slow thump of your cane on the carpet.
"But I know my survival instinct isn't gone yet. If nothing else, I wanna keep living and I guess that's plenty to go on, huh?"
"We're here," Droog answers.
At the end of the hall is a simple door with a sign hanging from it: Fittings, Alterations, Seamstress. Droog knocks.
The door slides open after a moment, a severe-looking man with a yellow-striped 9 hat on his head peeking out.
"Evenin' boys," he says. "Would you kindly leave before I have to shoot one of ya?"
Stitch strikes you as the no-nonsense type. Good. You don't have the energy for shenanigans.
"Fix my leg or we'll kill ya," you threaten. You try to make it sound tough, but you just sound like a starving dog. Stitch grumbles at you. The door slams shut. On the other side, locks rattle and the door opens again, this time wider.
"Just come in," he says with an exhausted sigh that makes the dust rattle from his lungs. "Snowman said you'd be by soon anyway."
Snowman. The most recent addition to the felt, the one who the least is known about. Number eight, the jet-black enigma.
“I think I met her,” you say. “Grey-skinned girl with the big horns? She killed that fucker Die for me. Also smashed up my leg. Does she feel guilty, is that why she’s givin’ me a hand?”
Stitch scoffs.
“That ain’t Snowman, that’s the Handmaid. She never felt guilty about anything in her damn life.”
You glance at Droog with a annoyed expression. “Handmaid” wasn’t on his dossier. He shrugs defensively at you.
You enter Stitch's workshop. Lining the walls are rolls and rolls of felt and green thread. He appears to double as a doctor and a tailor, the suits of the various Felt members lining the racks, accompanied by boxes of stray body parts and strange wet-looking organs.
It’s dingy and dark, the only light coming from outside, the white sky now crackling like TV static. Things are falling apart fast out there, it seems. You’ve got things to worry about in here.
Stitch seats you on a chair resembling a barber seat, rolling up his sleeves. He hisses as he pulls away Die's bloodsoaked tatters.
"Clean cut," he says. "Odd angle. Done hasty." He strokes his chin. "Best thing for it is a quick-fix. A plug."
Droog watches Stitch warily, holding his Thompson tightly. Stitch doesn't pay the threatening man any mind, rummaging around in some boxes.
"I can't fit you with a new leg like I could my Felt boys," he muses. "I'll have to use this."
From a box near the back, he withdraws a long, thin golden peg. You recognize it as a pegleg. He compares the thing to your missing foreleg, making some marks on it in felt-tipped pen.
"Lord English used this old thing before his growth spurt," muttered Stitch.
"Lord English?" Droog's voice lowers. "Whos' that? I never got any intel on him."
"Well, you wouldn't," Stitch says mildly as he makes some adjustments to the leg with a saw. "He's Doc's number one. He's even stronger than Doc himself. We used to work with him, he's the one who put together the Felt in the first place. Now..." Stitch sighs. "Ah, you got me talkin' about old times."
He lines up the peg to your leg, comparing it against the length of your in-tact one. With a nod, he suddenly thrusts his arm and a spasm of pain shoots through you like a cold-water electric shock. You scream, writhing on the chair, falling off the side as something clamps into place, the peg leg searing into your bare flesh.
You pant, getting to your feet, grabbing Stitch by the collar.
"The fuck are you playing at, old man?" You cry into his face. He doesn't say anything. Droog pipes up.
"Boss," he says in awe. You look down. You just realize- You got to your feet. Both feet. The peg leg fits perfectly. Reflecting this, you let Stitch go.
"You're welcome," he sarcastically mutters as you tap your new golden pegleg against the floor.
"Look at that," you say smugly. "Gold, just like Prospit. This woulda pissed BQ off something fierce." You laugh to yourself, sadly. The thought of BQ is making you sad, something that feels strange. The lust for revenge is fading away in your mind, turning to melancholy.
Maybe it's time to give this up. Leave while you're ahead. Forge some new life for you and your boys.
The Bitch is gone. Dead. But you're not. You can keep living. Maybe losing your leg was the wakeup call you needed.
"I can't let you go yet, Slick," Stitch says.
"Why the fuck not?" you say with renewed venom.
"She wants to talk to you," he says slowly.
"She?" you make your way to the door.
"Snowman," Stitch says. "It's a misnomer. She's a lady. Real dame. Femme fatale type."
"Well I'm not interested," you say, bored. "My heart belongs to one lady, and that lady's dead because of your boss. So if you'll excuse me-"
You're cut off by someone behind you shutting the door. You freeze. The arm reaches over your shoulder, long black carapace tapering into thin, dainty yet severe fingers.
"Your heart?" says a misty, feminine voice. "Oh, Slayer," says the voice in your ear, using a name you haven't heard in a long, long time.
You look over your shoulder.
"You're too sweet."
Looking back at you from under the brim of a long sunhat with a jet-black 8...
Is the Black Queen herself.
Your name is no longer Spades Slick.
Your name is Diamonds Droog.
After seeing with shock that the Black Queen lives, you feel something hard and metal press against your back. You grit your teeth, dropping your own gun, raising your hands up.
"Come with me," says the gruff voice of Stitch in your ear. He's an old codger, but his hands are rough and strong, yanking you back deeper into his dingy workshop. You watch Slick and Snowman disappear behind a rack of coats.
A back door to the workshop leads into a ballroom, a massive dusky room with tables lining the walls, covered in cloth tarps. In the middle of the room, you see a familiar lug being dragged around by a purple-hatted Felt member.
"Boxcars!" you say breathlessly as you're tossed to the ground next to your burly compatriot. Stitch manhandles your hands into a ziptie, matching Boxcars, who also looks worse for wear. He's wrapped in a white bandage around the middle, bleeding profusely.
"They got me," he says, stating the obvious. Eggs dusts off his hands, looking proud of himself.
"Slick is in my workshop, Snowman's working him over. How are the bandages holding up on the big one?" Stitch speaks, nodding at Eggs to Boxcars.
"Looks good," Eggs says. "I only banged him on a couple tables on the way up here."
Stitch makes a gruff grunt.
"Where's the little guy?" asks Stitch.
As if on cue, to your right, a door opens and you hear the squeaky familiar voice of Clubs Deuce.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" he says to someone you can't see.
"Sure is!" says the stranger cheerfully. You groan. What the hell has Deuce gotten his little self into? At least he didn't fall off the side of the damn manor.
"There you are, Clover," says Stitch. "Cuff the little guy and get over here."
Moments later, Deuce is tossed onto the Midnight Crew pile, zip-tied and helpless as you and Boxcars.
"Hey guys!" he says cheerfully. You and Boxcars groan.
Another door opens. A slow, methodical pace clacks down the ballroom towards you and your three green-colored captors. Your heart hammers. This is the guy you were most worried about. You know it's him from that cool, smooth voice and the telltale sound of something metal patting against his palm.
Crowbar. Number Seven. The right-hand-man to Doc Scratch himself.
"Status," says Crowbar. Stitch obliges.
"Itchy, Fin, Trace, Die, Quarters, and Sawbuck." He says. From the context of killing Fin and Trace yourself, you guess these are the names of the dead Felt members. Crowbar scoffs.
"And?" Crowbar prompts.
"Doze, MIA. Biscuits, MIA, presumed trapped in his oven. Cans, unconscious. Matchsticks, on his way. All other parties present." Stitch rattles off the names.
"Snowman?" Crowbar says. You hear him light a cigarette, suddenly craving one yourself.
"Dealing with Slick." Stitch prods you in the shoulder, turning you on your back. You stare up at Crowbar, his jagged features gazing down at you like someone looking at a caged zoo animal.
"Six of my boys are dead on account of you schmucks," says Crowbar mildly. "Six good boys."
"Not like they weren't tryin' to kill us," you say gruffly. Crowbar flicks cigarette ash on you.
"Save the self-defense bullshit for a court." Crowbar leans down, crouching near you, blowing smoke in your face. "There's been a change of plans from up top. When you barged into his domicile, Doc said to kill you all, but when you didn't die like good boys, Doc said to keep you breathing. That's why your buddy there is patched up and not bleeding out like he oughtta should be."
Crowbar lowers his red-hot cigarette to your forehead and presses down. You grit your teeth, involuntarily grunting with pain as the cigarette hisses.
"Can't argue with that logic. If you four kill six of our boys, must mean you're pretty damn useful." Crowbar stands up again, flanked by Stitch, Eggs, and Clover.
"Like we'd ever join up with you lepreclowns," you spit. Still, there's something in your gut that can't back up your conviction. Doubt.
"Whatever. That ain't up to me, it's between you and Doc. He said to keep you alive, so I'm keeping you alive. But if I had my way..." Crowbar taps his crowbar against the spot where he put the cigarette out. "You'd be dying nice 'n slow by now."
Crowbar snaps his fingers, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. Each assembled Felt member hoists one of your Crew over their shoulder and begins walking, no doubt into the inner sanctum of the Felt Manor: Doc Scratch's study.
As they lug you into the belly of the beast, you wonder if you’re safer in there. The staticy white sky outside is reaching a fever pitch, Alternia below beginning to look shimmery and strange, like a blurry photo.
Something is wrong with this place. You can feel the curtain closing.
You are no longer Diamonds Droog.
Your name is Spades Slick.
Right now, you are being pinned to a door by a very tall and very elegant woman now named Snowman, once named the Black Queen. A woman you saw die.
When you arrived on Viridis, this weird green moon, you made your way to the Felt Manor to meet Doc Scratch. You remember it didn't go well. He revealed you had just been his little errand boy, tasked with killing the Black Queen, but Doc had counted on you chickening out at the last moment. What Doc had truly wanted was for you to bring the Black Queen to him.
Shortly after your pathetic attempt at beating him up failed, you wandered Viridis alone, trying to find the place where the Black Queen landed. It wasn't difficult- Following the smoke from the flaming wreckage took only a hike through the dense green foliage of Viridis.
That's where you saw her. In a clearing, in the middle of a lake, standing atop her crashed escape craft, a cloak billowing behind her. She looked like a painting. You stood in awe for a moment, taking in the sight, committing it to memory, basking in your Queen's beauty, in your own lustful hatred.
Before you could take another step, however, you noticed someone there with her.
How Doc Scratch had beaten you to the Black Queen still eludes you to this day, but you saw him climb the wreckage from behind her, something pearly white in his hand.
You could only watch as a single shot rang out through the trees, the Queen falling forward, limp, into the water below, Doc holding the smoking white revolver.
"You died."
In the present, Snowman, your Queen, tightens her grip on your throat.
"Did I?" She says carefully. "I hadn't noticed."
You kick her, but she only flinches, her body lithe and sturdy.
"Was this just a trick, too? A trick to get me to come here?"
Snowman laughs. She tuts at you, throwing you into a rack of green suits.
She's wearing a slinky evening dress, sparkles adorning it like a starry sky. Her wide hat casts a long shadow. The better she looks, the more you want to kill her.
"What's the endgame!?" you demand. "You bring me here to patch me up then you try'n kill me again? Why fake your own death? Why?!"
Snowman laughs at you, smoothly withdrawing a long slender knife. It looks like an awl, a thick handle quickly tapering to a single point.
"The same reason you plot to kill me and fail at the final moment," says Snowman. "This game of cat and mouse we play. This dance we dance together."
Snowman straddles you, grinning with sharp teeth just like yours.
Snowman presses the awl's point to your forehead. You hiss, feeling the tenuous thread of life being tugged.
"The endgame is to keep you and your boys busy," she says simply.
"Busy?!" you thrash in her grasp.
"Doc has big plans, see. This universe- The whole place. Surely you've noticed by now. The stars going out, the sky turning white?" Snowman moves the awl, pointing it at your right eye. "The curtain's closing."
She pins your neck with her free hand, keeping you still.
"Fuck you!" you snarl. You don't know what else there is to say.
"Up there, Doc is waiting for the moment he can snuff out this universe once and for all." Snowman raises her weapon high above her head.
"What the fuck's he waitin' for?!" you cry, fear and loathing gripping you as you dread where that awl is going to end up.
"Her," she says, a great shadow descending above the Felt Manor. You look out the window, only able to see a small cutout of what appears to be a massive ship, dark royal purple in color."
Then, Snowman stabs you in the eye, laughing with cruel affection.
You are no longer Spades Slick.
Your name is now... Her Imperious Condescension.
You've been traveling for sweeps, now. Maybe hundreds, maybe thousands, in your dreadful battleship, making a beeline to Alternia. Now that you're here, it appears that everything is gone.
The sky is white. Alternia is a hazy blur in the distance. All that remains is Viridis and that damn shack, reaching out into the empty heavens like a middle finger.
You leap from the deck of your royal purple ship, clacking with a dramatic pose onto the roof of the Felt Manor, fist on the ground.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
On the roof is the tiny figure of Doctor Scratch, coming up barely to your waist. He's clapping his velvet-gloved hands together and behind him stands the Handmaid, just as serene and smug as the last time you saw her.
"Glad you could join us, Miss Peixes," Doc says, calling you by a name you haven't been referred to in millennia. You don't say anything.
On the roof, there is a large transportalizer pad, festooned with the familiar spirograph you've seen so many times. Your teeth clench.
"I suppose you're here to reconsider my offer," says Doc mildly. Behind him, coming up the stairs are some of his gang, The Felt, frogmarching three black-shelled strangers with them.
"What offer?" you growl. High above, there's a sound like thunder and the static of the dying universe flickers.
"The offer to join me," he says simply. "I already know what you're going to choose, so let's make this hasty."
The Handmaid steps forward. She extends her arms out wide, closing her eyes.
"What offer?" you repeat, genuinely.
"Ah, forgive me," he says, chuckling. "I forget that not everyone has the eidetic memory of semi-omnipotence."
Doc points a small finger at the Handmaid.
"Kill her and replace her as my right hand." Doc's voice is cold but excited. It makes you sick. "Or die with this doomed world."
The Handmaid gazes at you. She's likely the last living troll who didn't escape this universe. The two of you are the last of your kind.
You remember the first favor Doc ever asked you to do. It had been simple at the time- Trivial, even. In exchange for ruling the trolls until the end of time, all you had to do was make the Handmaid immortal.
Now, here you are at the end of time.
You withdraw your trident, clanking it on the ground. The Handmaid doesn't flinch. She breathes slowly, eyelids fluttering shut.
You stab her through the chest before regret can seep into your mind.
The way she slumps forward makes you envious. You fling her from the roof and she disappears into the encroaching whiteness.
Doc extends a hand for you to join him on the transportalizer platform.
Your name is now Diamonds Droog.
You have no idea what you just witnessed. Out of nowhere, a massive spaceship appeared and a tall lady just killed the Handmaid right in front of you.
On the roof of the building, Doc turns toward you and your remaining Midnight Crew.
"Well?" he says, having to raise his voice over the whipping wind. All that remains of the universe is this rooftop, the Felt Manor jutting out from nothingness.
You know what that "well" is asking. Do you join him or die with the universe?
You close your eyes in order to think clearly. The bias of self-preservation is howling in your ear, but you silence it for a moment to think. There are more important things than life and death.
On the one hand, Slick's quest had been a fiasco. He led you to this place under the false pretense of revenge on a woman who was still alive. He had left you alone to fend for yourself. He had been the one to doom you.
But... That wasn't true. Slick was more than your boss, your leader. You had followed him here out of love, and that love tied you to wherever he is.
And where he is now is a dying universe.
You open your eyes, Boxcars and Deuce watching you. You spit on the ground.
Doc makes a "tch" noise and you barely hear him mutter "What a waste."
Doc turns back to Crowbar.
"Where is Snowman?"
"Not present," Crowbar says, a hint of emotion tinging his professional voice.
"Fool," Doctor Scratch mutters. "There's no time."
Doc's cueball head is slowly cracking, golden light shining from within. The world around you is cracking, too, shards appearing in the air as fragments of the universe crumble into nothing or careen into the blank white of the void.
Doctor Scratch extends his arms, light pouring from them as the transportalizer is activated, the Felt and the grey woman vanishing as the universe ends with a bang.
"We'll meet again..."
Doc's voice rises above the din, as if reverberating in your mind.
"Don't know where, don't know when..."
His body is evaporating underneath him, leaving only the cracking cue ball.
"But I'm sure we'll meet again some sunny day."
The head of the First Guardian Doc Scratch shattering in an explosion of white shards, his body tearing open into atoms.
Then, the world falls silent.
Doctor Scratch is gone. Everything is gone.
The white void is gone, too, replaced by blackness, not even dotted by stars. The universe is dead. The membrane separating reality and unreality has the separating unreality reality faded. Your name is Diamonds Droog. Your name is Spades Slick. Your name is Doctor Scratch. I'm Doctor Slick. Doctor Diamonds. Boxcar Diamonds Void Space White Black Time Heart Breath Diamonds Felt Lord Void Space Slick Spades English.
Your name is name is name is Doctor English Spades Scratch Billious Slick Time Space Game Space Time Heart Doom.
Time two doom circle hearts boxcars manor slick spades you realize you are are you Slick Spades you're you are now you realize you are now Spades Slick.
Your leg is glowing. Not the intact leg but the leg that was replaced, the golden leg, once belonging to the Felt member Lord English, their old boss.
Surrounding you is a bubble, a tiny membrane of sense in a sudden sea of nothingness. Around you are the floating forms of monsters too great to even describe. Horrorterrors, things you had only seen in passing high outside of the membrane surrounding the Medium. It's just you and these guys out here, now.
The leg appears to have saved you, something is humming from inside it. Whoever this Lord English guy was, he knew how to travel through the void between universes, something you appear to have inherited from him.
Is this why Snowman patched you up before stabbing you in the eye? You don't know.
"Now what?" you say aloud, as if the horrorterrors might answer back. Predictably, they ignore you the same way you might ignore a mote of dust.
In the distance, you see something, something other than writhing pitch-blackness and tentacles, that is. Something green and warm. It looks like it's impossibly far away, but you don't have anything better to do.
You wonder if you'll arrive before you starve to death.
You think about moving toward the green glow, your leg propelling you forth without effort. Looks like this thing can move you through the Void, too.
This morning, you had awoken to lay siege to the Felt Manor with your estranged Crew. Now, the Manor is gone, by some random cosmic happenstance.
Snowman, Boxcars, Droog, Deuce... Gone. The universe and the session it spawned... Gone.
It's just you and the little green glow, now.
In your heart of hearts, you feel something stir. It buzzes, a feeling overtaking you. Doctor Scratch, that bastard, that villain, that smug fuck. You know he's behind this. You know he has some terrible design in some other realm.
You grit your teeth and blow air from your nose.
It's time to make him pay.
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Scotty (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 14 Dec 2021 08:49AM UTC
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