Work Text:
par·a·dox cas·cade
/ˈperəˌdäks kaˈskād/
noun
A damaged instance of temporal recursion that contains a paradoxical termination clause, resulting in theoretically infinite iterations. As usable energy in the multiverse decreases dramatically, errors occur due to lack of resources. Errors include but are not limited to narrative discontinuity, temporal bleed, timeline convergence, and universal collapse.
CREATE UNIVERSE IN_SPACE (ON DELETE CASCADE);
The Pilot of the ship keeps flirting with you. Badly. You aren’t impressed. The sooner you can get out of these close quarters with him, the better. At last, you dock with your new ship. The Engineer seems to take pride in the work, which is good. Better too much soul than too little. This will all go perfectly fine. You politely ignore the warning signs. The fire, the injuries, the name of the ship, the sparks, the tension, all inconsequential. Besides, the Engineer seems to have enough protocols to keep the ship safe. What could go wrong with a crew like this? Everything is accounted for.
You hold your glass awkwardly. Fortunately, the warp core gives you the perfect excuse to not give a speech. You hop into your cryo pod, missing Mark’s warning as the door closes.
The software updates and reality
wobbles
and
warps
and all you see is blue.
You open your eyes to disaster. Life support failing, fire everywhere, Mark flying out the window. The path to Life Support is quick, but there’s no air. You’ll have to make it quick. The wheels spin beneath your hands, and the world goes blurry at the edges as you spin. For a moment, everything is fine. Then, the floor shakes as something hits the ship. Asteroid Defense System offline. The computer is lying to you. The computer has betrayed you. You fall out of the way of drone fire and ponder your options. Wear a disguise or wake the crew.
The handy dandy mustache for alien encounters is there for the taking. It will definitely fool the drones. You put it on and step into the room. It works! They don’t recognize you at all. You are an intruder. The lasers char your flesh as you fall.
Smoke fills your lungs and reality
stutters
and
shakes
and all you see is blue.
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
You hit the button for Gunther. He’s the one in charge of the Asteroid Defense System, after all. He drops down through the ceiling and struts towards you with a smirk on his face and an unlit cigar in his mouth. You’d told him to quit smoking those while in space. Fire hazard. A few shots later, and problem solved. He’s a little smoky now, but that’s par for the course. You knew he could do it. He’s not Mark, after all. No complaining, no worries about survival, just action.
Then the coolant starts leaking, and suddenly tough Gunther can’t take a little bit of cold. Pathetic. You go over to the door. If you need a job done, better do it yourself. The cold sinks into your bones with a harsh bite, forcing you to retreat. On second thought, maybe you should fetch some help. Lead from the back. You could wake the crew or try alternative means.
The radio! Perfect. Now you have backup. Gunther picks up. Maybe he isn’t so pathetic after all. Then you see what his “protection” is. How did he find a helicopter on a space ship?
Ice claims your flesh and reality
flickers
and
flounders
and all you see is blue.
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
You call Celci. She’s the one in charge of Cryogenics, after all. She marches in, already shouting about Mark. Yes, that idiot engineer does did make quite a few mistakes, but this time, it’s not his fault. Probably. Can’t really ruin anything from outside the ship, now can he. Or can he? She goes in easily, then pulls you in after. Another problem. Rainbows dance across your vision as the reactor door slams shut. She yells at you, but you try not to take it personally. She yells at everything. You should really wake the crew, but she did question your authority. You should teach her a lesson.
You fail at not taking it personally. You’re the Captain. What gives her the right to boss you around. The computer’s right. You’ll do what you want. You’ll do the right thing. The bomb next to the door is a simple thing to grab, and she’s always been clumsy. You dodge her movements and toss the bomb into the reactor core.
The bomb goes off and reality
trembles
and
twitches
and all you can see is blue.
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
/ˈtīmlīn con·ver·gence/
noun
A temporal location in which several seemingly unrelated timelines result in the exact same outcome without offshoot timelines being created despite quantum fluctuations. Predominantly caused by high entropy levels. Can be caused by misuse of temporal lattices due to the combined effects of imposed will and complete control over multiverse spontaneity. Can induce and be induced by temporal bleed.
WARNING: HASH COLLISION DETECTED
RESOLVING…
You summon Burt and listen to the sounds of chaos in the reactor core. Burt emerges unscathed, as stoic as always. You saved them. You saved all of them. Burt stares at you with cold eyes, and you retreat.
He’s right. You remember just like he does. You can almost feel the warp core and the blue blue blue that lies behind it, staining the cosmos like ink on a page.
He’s right. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before. Phantom memories clawing at you? Ominous blue? Echoing screams? It’s a dream!
You find yourself approaching the warp core. Well, might as well check up on it while you’re here. Swirling blue chaos floods your vision as you slam on the button to close the door. You turn back, then remember Mark’s words. You rush back to the main area and stare at the familiar wormhole on your screen.
He rejoices, and you try to ignore your remnant sins being thrown in your face. He doesn’t often remember. It’s almost good to see him. Almost. He’s so happy to see you that he forgets all about the disasters tearing their way through the ship. You wait for the flames, but there is nothing but blue.
It was a fascinating dream, and you keep it going. You didn’t know your imagination was so strong! Apparently, your subconscious thinks Mark is a capable engineer. How hilarious. And the blue… it’s surprisingly beautiful when you aren’t terrified. Familiar in that way only dreams can be. Then aliens! How bizarre. How fun.
You activate the Event Horizon Protocol, saving everyone except Mark. The colony is safe, all thanks to you. It is strong, all thanks to you. It will live, all thanks to you. Probably. Hopefully. You breathe your last and welcome the void.
The ship is empty. You are alone. There is nothing here but darkness. Nothing but the void and your beacon crying out into the endless night.
You suppose it’s time for the dream to end. A shame, really. You were having fun. But it’s time to wake up now. The blade sings as the world goes black.
Light pierces the darkness,
bright and shining like nothing you want to remember seeing,
and all you see is blue.
ERROR 404: PAGE “PARADOX CASCADE” NOT FOUND
DO YOU WANT TO TRY AGAIN? YES/NO
LOADING BACKUP…
/ˈperəˌdäks kaˈskād/
noun
A nonviable instance of temporal recursion that has a paradoxical termination clause, resulting in theoretically infinite iterations. As multiversal entropy increases dramatically, errors occur due to lack of resources. Errors can include
[ERROR: DATA NOT FOUND], [ERROR: TYPE MISMATCH], [ERROR: DATA COLLISION], and [ERROR: INFINITE PARADOX].
CREATE UNIVERSE IN_SPACE (ON DELETE CASCADE);
You open your eyes to disaster. Fire everywhere, life support failing, Mark flying out the window. You can only fix one. The fire goes out easily, too easily, but the air in your lungs pulls away from you as you run down the hall. You can make it. It’s only a few corridors away, just a little further, and you reach out but you are falling away from it, your eyes blurring, and shadows creep up the edges of your vision.
You cannot breathe and reality
wavers
and
writhes
and all you see is blue.
/ˈtemp(ə)rəl rəˈkərZHən/
noun
A causal chain that iterates itself until reaching its termination clause. Colloquially known as a “time loop”.
WITH UNIVERSE AS (SELECT RETURN AS BLUE) SELECT BLUE FROM UNIVERSE
You open your eyes to disaster. This time, you are better prepared, and your hand catches Mark’s as the void tries to steal him away. This time he lives. He calls for you, and you turn to see a dark hallway. It had light just a moment ago. It was bright and shining with flames. Now it is dark, and cold, but not empty. It is filled with paper and words scrawled across them and the tally marks everywhere, scattered across every page, and you have never seen this before. You haven’t. You have not seen this hallway before. These are not your notes. They can’t be. Blue eyes pierce through the darkness from a cryo pod.
A hand reaches for you and
There is nothing but a brightly lit hallway and your Head Engineer. Then he jinxes you, because of course he does. Always messing up somewhere, that man. Now the computer system he supposedly “designed himself” is on the fritz. Typical. He’ll be the death of you one day. You just know it. You know it so well. Bullet in your chest and you’re falling falling falling and he says he didn’t mean it but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened and you fall
Excerpt from Temporal Recursion: A Field Report
Recent studies on the effects of temporal recursion on mental health have determined that extensive looping, particularly in dangerous and/or life-threatening situations, can result in what is referred to as “time loop nihilism”, wherein subjects stop caring about the consequences of their actions in favor of gaining information or personal enjoyment. It’s theorized that this is due to a combination of the consequence-erasing nature of the loop and trauma from witnessing and experiencing hazards and death. This results in incredibly self-serving behavior, particularly in solo loops. People who terminate recursion after developing time loop nihilism struggle with adjusting to the normal flow of time. Several subjects have self-terminated, both intentionally and not, after exiting the loop.
nar·ra·tive dis·con·ti·nu·i·ty
/ˈnerədiv ˌdisˌkäntəˈn(y)o͞oədē/
noun
Points in the temporal thread that experience spontaneous disjunction with the quantum probability wave. Colloquially referred to as “plot holes”. Comorbid with narrative dissociation.
ERROR CODE 30140: DISCONTINUITY IN LOG CHAIN
You hit the button for Gunther. You know you did. You saw Gunther drop down through the ceiling and strut towards you with that damn smirk on his face and an unlit cigar in his mouth. You’d told him to quit smoking those while in space. Fire hazard. But now Mrs. Whitacre stands before you instead, holding out a plate of cookies. Where did she even get those cookies? She was in cryosleep, frozen with no access to perishables. Come to think of it, is there even a kitchen on the ship? Food supplies are designed to be edible regardless of food restrictions and contain every essential compound and calorie. The ship doesn’t have milk or chocolate or flour or even the fancy dish she is holding.
Why is she even on this ship? The colonists are supposed to be young and healthy, easily able to adjust to harsh conditions on a foreign planet. The elderly were not accepted. And how do you know her name? How does Mark know her name? You only know the names of your crew, and barely at that. The colonists number in the thousands, and you couldn’t tell one from the next. How do you know her name? How do you know anyone’s name? When did you meet any of these people? How did you meet Mark? How did you meet any of the crew? You don’t remember. You don’t remember. You don’t remember. You don’t remember.
How did you become a captain? Where did you get your qualifications? How did you get your qualifications? Where did you come from? What planet did you come from? Why don’t you know your own birth planet? When is your birthday? What is your name?
What is your name?
What is your name?
WHAT IS YOUR NA–
You don’t remember.
Mrs. Whitacre goes in and reality
scrambles
and
stops
and all you see is blue.
tem·po·ral bleed
/ˈtemp(ə)rəl blēd/
noun
Spontaneous manifestation of anachronistic entities due to lack of resources. Comorbid with timeline convergence.
WARNING: CVE-2014-0160 DETECTED
The job’s done. The job’s done? How did you get here? Where are
you blink and he’s smoking, bleeding, and there’s a medal on his chest you did not give him and
he’s freezing from Cryo but weren’t you just…
Celci strolls in with a smile and snark in every soundbite, and you would smile if you weren’t so blue blue blue blue blue
You eat the cookie Mrs. Whitacre offers you, but wasn’t she
goes in and she is fine while Mark is frozen she is alive she is well she is not
the colonists are freezing and she warms them up and you burn exactly how you deserve you monster
Fire eats you alive and reality
flutters
and
flails
and all you see is blue.
You are shaking and
the walls are too thin
and you hold a cup you do not recognize
there’s a woman you don’t recognise
and the world twists
with faces you know
and faces you don’t
and you can’t breathe
you can’t see
you can’t exist
and maybe you aren’t real after all
the world is closing in
and
it
hurts
You call Burt in, and reality seems a lot more solid than before. He’s as silent and stalwart as ever, and then
You don’t really care about Mrs. Whitacre’s dreams. The reactor’s about to explode. Who cares about dreams that linger and never leave until the nightmare is your reality? Who cares that you’ve been here before? Who cares that there are no second chances? Who cares that it’s too good to be true?
Who cares that you’re dreaming?
She opens the door and reality
twists
and
tears
and all you see is blue.
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
Excerpt from Temporal Recursion: A Field Report
Treatment is almost entirely unsuccessful, and prognosis worsens the longer subjects are in the loop. For near-infinite loopers, the safest thing to do is to terminate them immediately. The best alternative is to return them to the loop. However, voluntarily looping infinitely can lead to paradox cascade. As such, having a secondary looper is recommended to ensure the termination of the loop in extenuating circumstances. As very few people are willing to volunteer to monitor a high-risk patient, termination is recommended. Therapeutic trials are currently ongoing.
There are two main variants: Loss of consideration for others and loss of consideration for the self.
Mark’s the Engineer. He knows what he’s doing. You send him in. He seems reluctant, so you give him a medal. You are the Captain. He will obey. He’s relatively capable. Somewhat. You regret your decision a little as his screams echo. You take off your hat, but he emerges. Not unscathed, but alive.
Then he jinxes you. The jerk. And he opens the door. Idiot. And he’s giving you vague accusations. Insinuating your leading style is bad. How dare he question you. You send him in. He tries to protest as though he has any right to disobey. Pathetic. His wishes don’t matter. You open the door and push him.
You start drafting a letter to Chica. He was really a brave soul, even if he was a coward and a moron. Oh, he succeeded. Huh. Seems a bit frozen. You’ve always told him that those fingerless gloves were a bad idea.
His movements seem stiff and robotic. It really is cold in Cryo, so you grab a coat. He seems resentful. What gives him the right?
The computer demands someone with extensive engineering experience. He is your Head Engineer. He chose this. He volunteered for this. He could have dropped out of college and become a video blogger on some obscure site, playing horror games and screaming a lot for money. If he didn’t want to do the job, he shouldn’t have built the ship so poorly. His pleas mean nothing to you.
You send him in.
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
Excerpt from Temporal Recursion: A Field Report
Some subjects experience a unique form of time loop nihilism where their own lives become disposable. This is often caused by repeated failure that does not result in death, forcing subjects to manually reset the loop many, many times. Such people tend to reset the loop upon facing any resistance. Unfortunately, these people face the most challenges when re-integrating into society because they are at much higher risks of self-termination in addition to the social challenges of accepting consequences. Facing any difficulty will immediately result in an attempt to reset the loop.
This iteration is already a bit doomed. Too slow with the timing. It’s all Mark’s fault, really. He doesn’t remember, so he can’t improve. The only thing you can do is order him around. Actually–
You can do quite a bit more than ordering him around. You just need a fresh loop. The airlock is down the hall. Bit of a jog, but exercise is healthy. You close the door in an unsuccessful attempt to drown out Mark’s complaints. You are the Captain. He isn’t even a looper. He does not get to question your decisions. He does not get to order you around. You pull the lever.
The vacuum pulls you away and reality
shivers
and
swirls
and all you see is blue.
You’re back. Now for the speedrun. You press the emergency release and activate the blast shields. Then, to keep Mark out of the way, you throw the fire extinguisher at him. Time for Life Support. Three quick spins later, and the oxygen is just fine. Mark is back again, but that’s easily fixed by one quick shove. You approach ADS, but then you pause. Why risk yourself when you have a perfectly good dummy right here? And he’s on the verge of tears. You can’t tolerate someone on the verge of tears.
You grab him by the collar and toss him through the door. He screams, and for a moment you regret your decision to hit him in the head with the fire extinguisher. Then he emerges. Excellent. You give him a medal to appease him. There are more disasters on the horizon. He jinxes you. It’s very rude of him. Only more reason to keep going with your plan. He gives you a lecture about responsibility, but you’re already planning your route to the airlock.
Spin, go straight, turn right, on your left, and you’re in. You put on a helmet this time. The sensation of your lungs rupturing from the air expelling from your lungs was unpleasant, not to mention the moisture in your eyes boiling. You pull the lever.
The void drags you away and reality
fluctuates
and
flops
and all you see is blue.
You press the button, activate blast shields, grab the fire extinguisher, grab Mark, and carry on. You slam him into the wall until the door activates, then toss him in. You throw the fire extinguisher at the fire, and it works. When he comes back, you grab him by the throat, drag him to the ADS, open the door, and hurl him inside. Exactly three seconds later, he comes out. He’s starting to remember, but you don’t have time for that. You toss him in Cryo just as the alert sounds. You wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Oh, you found a medal! Something for him, you suppose. You wait a moment, then grab a coat. You need to keep warm. He seems reluctant to enter. How unfortunate. This delay is really killing your speedrun. Time to try again.
You turn to go, but he stops you. He really is starting to remember. Unfortunate. As he gets distracted, you run. You pull the lever before he makes it to the door.
Space consumes you and reality
tremors
and
twirls
and all you see is blue.
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
/ˈtīmlīn con·ver·gence/
noun
A temporal location in which timelines result in the same outcome with no offshoot timelines despite quantum fluctuations due to low resource levels. Can caused by misuse of warp crystals. Comorbid with temporal bleed.
WARNING: HASH COLLISION DETECTED
RESOLVING…
You are not dreaming. This is not a dream. This is not a dream. No matter what the erstwhile married woman says, you are not dreaming. There are second chances.
He thinks he knows you, and he does, but you jump anyway. It’s the only way out. He begs you not to, but you have never cared what he wanted.
He succeeds with some demerits, like always, and you tolerate his subpar work only because he will never turn on you.
You don’t know why you bother at this point. You can barely convince your subordinates, let alone yourself. You know of dreams. You know. You know even if the memories dancing in the corners of your mind wish to crawl out of your skull. And oh, her smile, wide enough to swallow the sun. There are no cookies this time. Maybe the sun swallowed by her smile burned them to ash. You hope that she’s right when she says everything will sort itself out.
You wait for the familiar error message only to pause when it doesn’t come. Everything is… fine? No errors, no horrific flaws, no glitches, no damage? Really? No, it can’t be true. Except it is. Mark doesn’t go flying out the window, saved by only your hand. A fire doesn’t start on the computer table. The defense system doesn’t turn against you. The coolant doesn’t leak. The reactor doesn’t go critical. Then at last, something familiar. The warp core, a constant in an otherwise idyllic world.
He’s a pathetic brownnoser as always, and if you didn’t know better, you’d almost think that bit of tone in his voice was bitterness. But no, he can’t be angry at you. You are the Captain. He is your subordinate. Everything is his fault. Everything is always his fault. The crew agrees. Even the computer agrees. Therefore, it must be true. Everything is always Mark’s fault. Even if he is a somewhat tolerable Head Engineer, that only adds to his responsibility.
You are alone. All the players stopped pretending, and you are left with nothing but the ship and the pieces of yourself you fought so hard to save despite everything, and soon you will be nothing. Your world is nothing but empty black.
You activate the Event Horizon Protocol. The cloying relief you get from disaster should horrify you. It doesn’t. You arrive at a place that is safer than the ship because you make it so. You are so tired. You close your eyes for just a moment.
The Event Horizon Protocol succeeds. At least he can do some things right. Everything is his responsibility, and you enforce this with an iron fist. He serves you. He serves the colony. He is loyal. He will never disobey you. Though he does screw up sometimes. Who puts a pillow on the face? If you could see, you’d give him a demerit.
Light pierces the darkness,
bright and shining like nothing you want to remember seeing,
and all you see is blue.
ERROR 404: PAGE “PARADOX CASCADE” NOT FOUND
PAGE “PARADOX CASCADE” DOES NOT EXIST
DID YOU MEAN: “PARADOX CASCADE: A FIELD REPORT”?
REROUTING…
WARNING: THIS DOCUMENT WAS ACQUIRED PARADOXICALLY
Foreword from Paradox Cascade: A Field Report
I’m sending this report to every multiverse echo of me at risk of paradox cascade as a warning. You are on the path to being me, even if you don’t know it. Beware humans. I know you love them because I loved them. They were the species you chose randomly in your Nascent Peoples course, and you watched them grow from non-sentients to spacefarers. You were so proud of them. I know I was. I loved them so much. I say ‘loved’ because I can’t love them anymore. Not after what they did to the universe.
It may have already happened, but the humans will eventually find a wormhole generator. It’s off the charts in every category, especially entropy acceleration. I believe it to be the root cause of the paradox cascade affecting my timeline. If your humans are still confined to their solar system, then you are safe for now. You have to find it first. Tear apart their system if you have to. It’s better than letting them get their hands on it. If they’ve started sending out ships, then it may already be too late. Find the ship known as the Invincible II. Shoot it down if you have to. Just deactivate that warp core.
If the ship is trapped in the wormhole in your time, they’ve already begun the cascade. Keep the Captain alive at all costs. Their death is the loopback clause. However, do not let them leave the ship. If they die from anything other than a ship crisis, you will reach timeline convergence. Kill them if you have to. Your presence counts as a crisis. Try to keep the Captain from ever getting out of cryosleep. The freeze is enough to qualify them as ‘alive’ for the purposes of the loopback clause. I checked the multiverse for success conditions, and there were a few that managed to keep the ship and the Captain intact but inert. It’s difficult, but not impossible. Maybe then, your universe will have a chance. Unlike mine.
Once timeline convergence is reached, your choices stop mattering. Maybe they never mattered at all. There’s only one thing I haven’t tried. It’s drastic, but it’s all I have left. You will not hear from me again. Even if I live, there won’t be any power on the ship after I send this out, and the paradox is powering the engines. One way or another, this is the end. I can only hope that you will have a better future.
Best of luck,
Lioti Peton, Universal Stability Agency
You open your eyes to disaster. Familiar alarms scream at you, and you are so angry. You were free. It was over. You were out. And now you are here again. No. You refuse. You refuse. Let the void take you again. You will not play this game over and over and over and over and over again. You will not.
The fire extinguisher! Perfect. You throw it into the fragile glass window and let the vacuum of space drag you away.
Saliva boils on your tongue and reality
wrenches
and
whirls
and all you see is blue.
tem·po·ral re·cur·sion
/ˈtemp(ə)rəl rəˈkərZHən/
noun
An iterative causal chain that returns upon the termination clause. Colloquially known as a “time loop”.
WITH UNIVERSE AS (SELECT RETURN AS BLUE) SELECT BLUE FROM UNIVERSE
You wake up. Again. You are so tired of waking up. But there is no escape. No escaping the blue. Mark exists his cryo pod, trembling deeper than flesh. His form splinters for a moment, then resumes. As he finally begins to realize what you have known all along, you begin walking away from it all. You know the way to the warp core like the back of your hand. Besides, it seems like Mark has it taken care of. As you prepare yourself for the jump, Mark pulls you back.
Someone interrupts you. A stranger with a bandage over one eye and a gun held in a trembling hand. She accuses you of crimes you have not committed yet, and you recoil. You want to defend yourself, but you are interrupted by an inferno hotter than the sun.
Your flesh melts off your bones and reality
severs
and
slips
and all you see is blue.
And Mark, this time. Mark with his splintering form and stupid ideas. You pull open a door and let yourself fall
down
down
down
down
down
and behold the warp core. It demands a sacrifice, and it volunteers you. You flee, but it forces its heart upon you as you cower.
PLEASE RESOLVE PARADOX
You wake up, but something is different this time. Memory is as clear as the glass windows, and in your hand, a little shard of blue. Mark remembers clearly this time, sharp as a knife and just as dangerous, and it’s almost a good thing this time.
There’s a protocol that fixes everything. Why didn’t he remember in previous iterations? Or is it something new, something changed?
There he goes again with stupid ideas like jumping into the wormhole again. Doesn’t he remember the blue? Doesn’t he know that it will eat you alive regardless of whether or not you submit? Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s just that stupid. Maybe he’s cracked a bit. You can see it in his eyes, in his grin, in his twitching. He saw things you are used to, and he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle the responsibilities of a Captain. There’s a reason why you are the one in charge.
Maybe you jumped the once. Maybe you continued until your eyes felt like they would fall from their sockets if you glanced at anything blue for the next twenty years. It’s all a blur. Eventually, you give in and call a meeting. They come at the button, like they always have and always will. The button is sacred.
Some ideas are thrown around. Blowing it up sounds nice, but even though Mark does not remember, you know intimately the taste of the inferno dancing across your tender flesh. You remember a quote from Dante. “The hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who in times of great moral crisis maintain their neutrality.” And in the same breath, you reject it. You are anything but neutral. You choose and choose and choose and choose and the spiral only tightens as it plummets into the depths. There are choices, and you make them, and the consequences are yours to bear.
Explosions are not an option. The spiral tightens, and branches die on the ground. You want to pick Celci’s option. It’s the safest one by far, and the most intuitive. But Burt looks so sad, and really, what’s the harm? You’re immortal. Why not indulge him?
You slowly reverse the vehicle, making sure to glance behind you. There aren't rearview mirrors on your spaceship, but luckily, there's nothing much to crash into.
The wheel spins and reality
flagellates
and
flinches
and all you see is… grey?
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
But no, Celci’s option is obviously smarter. Burt is in charge of keeping things from blowing up. Nothing else. Mark seems resentful. You’ll have to keep an eye on that. You know what he can get up to when he’s pushed far enough. Then your distress signal picks up a response. Ha! Eat that, Mark! It worked! On second thought, that might not have been such a great idea after all. The computer is unable to comply, and you and Mark both flinch a little at that. But it’s just the wormhole. It’s fine.
You blink, and you are somewhere else. You’ve never been here before. This is… strange. A sound not unlike a blender pulls you from your reverie, and you turn to see a spiked… robot? Mark steps forward. Brave soul. You’ll put nothing but good words in your letter of condolence to Chica. He screams as the alien forces a helmet onto his head. You recoil. The alien can speak English now, apparently.
Was that a threat?
You don’t take kindly to threats.
You don’t take kindly to threats at all.
Mark emerges from the helmet relatively unscathed, though a bit bloodthirsty. Well, the thing did threaten you. It’s only fair to attack. Then again, maybe you shouldn't. It is a scary alien, after all.
Mark’s attack fails miserably. Just what you’d expect from someone of his skill level. The thing flips a switch. Is that War and Peace? Good book. Not so great life experience.
Your bones crumple and reality
tightens
and
topples
and all you see is grey.
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
REROUTING…
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE
No, Mark, you’re not going to attack the giant scary alien. Luckily. the alien just has bad social skills. You can relate. Its steering skills could be better though. The food looks good, but best not to eat it. You don’t know if the food is safe for humans. Wug offers you safety at the press of a button. Very kind, but since it condemns you to bureaucracy in the same breath, you aren’t too impressed. Even if its speech style is somewhat endearing.
The agency does not seem to be the most efficient of places. Only one intake personnel member? Pathetic. They seem a bit familiar, though. Something about the voice. They do seem impressed by the wormhole though. She should be. It’s one of the only things Mark can do somewhat right. Oh, that’s what’s familiar! The panicked laughter offered by people on the edge of disaster! Of course.
You are briefly distracted by the promise of mints. You love mints. But then she says you’ve broken records. Now that’s an achievement. You give Mark a fistbump, and the agency person pulls a gun on you. It’s a very familiar gun, but then again, these alien guns are probably standard issue. She asks you to do something you don’t know how to do. For a moment, you’re worried. Then the ceiling grate falls on her head.
The wormhole crime person drops down, much like Gunther. Obviously untrustworthy. She touched your magic crystal! Without your consent! Mark agrees with you. The real question is this: Live a wimp or die a… well, not hero per se, but some relatively positive thing.
Why would you trust them? They’re a criminal scumbag, too handsy, and a murderer.
You refuse.
Now why would you do that?
Are you even taking this seriously?
Fine. Here’s your Easter Egg.
Ta-da! An ugly face. Are you happy?
It has a pink mustache…
All right then.
On with the show.
You trust them completely. They’re obviously an expert on wormholes, and who isn’t a murderer at this point?
You accept.
A portable wormhole generator, huh? Pretty sweet. Yeah, she’s definitely interested in your magic crystal. Hang on, didn’t that lady with a gun have one of these–
Blue, but reality is yours now, dancing in the palm of your hand, and you see everything. You see your ship. You see the door. You see
There’s a skeleton on your workstation. The lights are flickering. The screens show nothing but gibberish. Something’s wrong here. Someone’s banging on the inside of their cryo pod. It seems familiar almost, except instead of red, it was…
They don’t need help! They’ll be just fine. Just fine. You aren’t scared. You open the door slowly and see Mark. You turn to confront your Mark, but when you turn back, the double is gone. Another version appears before a hand pulls them away and the door slams shut.
Excerpt from Paradox Cascade: A Field Report
If you reach the ship while the Captain is meeting with members of the USA, the crew will mutiny one by one. Try to help Celci. Of all the possible mutinies, hers is the only one that doesn’t loop back. But get off the ship before she starts her plan. It gets cold really fast. Very unpleasant.
You have never worked for other people’s appreciation. And besides, why should you trust a mysterious voice? You’ve learned a lot about mysterious voices in your existence. You know their false promises well.
You activate your device, and the world disappears in a flash of blue.
You land on your ship in front of the glitched-out ADS. Oh right, you never got that working. Probably should get Gunther on that. You open the door to find Gunther, holding a gun. It seems that someone was cooking up a little mutiny while you were gone. Someone is a little resentful of your leadership. Someone thinks they can make all the tough decisions and live with them. Someone thinks you’re a bad leader.
Oh, he tried now. He worked hard now. He realized the truth now. He sees the truth now. Pathetic.
He wants you to step down? He really wants you to step down? Ha. You’re the Captain. You can step down as easily as Gunther can stop being an action hero. Maybe you could talk him out of it. Then again, there's always Wug's device.
You pull out Wug’s summoning device and press the button. Gunther looks confused. Wug’s on his way. Everything will be fine. Everything will be just
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
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Gunther really has to consider the colonists. Threatening mutiny when your leadership is the only thing keeping this ship from falling apart, really? And accusing you of having fun, no less. Accusing you of abandoning them. You would never do that. You did destroy the ship, though, that is a fair argument. And it seems like this argument isn’t de-escalating any time soon. You activate your device and let the blue eat you alive.
Now you’re in the reactor room. Closer! You open the door. Or, try to. It doesn’t work. You try to pry open the door but are interrupted by Burt’s voice. It seems like he’s become one with the computer. A bit chattier, though just as cryptic as ever. He’s going to destroy the ship. You won’t let him. You can’t let him. Maybe you could talk him down. He's a reasonable guy. Then again, there's always the weapons.
You hold up a bomb, and he cowers. The fire eats you alive, and now you stand before the warp core. Hold on. Does this look famili–
The bandit person is back! And a bit stressed. And accusatory. Rude. What do they know about what is and is not a ‘wormhole thing’? It’s not like you brought them along specifically because they were an expert or anything.
Oh. They remember the explosion. You hadn’t realized they were still on the ship. They don’t seem to be taking their death well, though. Even Mark took it better than this. Mark tries his best to comfort them, but he’s not very good at it.
She asks questions you’ve wondered a thousand times before, and then she asks that question. You remember now.
You have indeed been here before.
Instead of laughing, she looks angry. Angry and bitter and cold, and then she’s gone. You step through the door and
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
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Burt really has to consider the colonists. He’s one with a supercomputer now. He should have done this already. This is why you are the Captain.
Oh. He starts the black hole. You activate the device, and it flickers and flickers and flickers before everything goes blue.
You land in Cryo. There’s Celci! She seems to have cracked a little. Did she jump through the wormhole a few times too many? At least she doesn’t want to kill everyone. Then again, isn’t sleep that never ends just death? Maybe talking her down will work. Then again, there's always the airlock.
You use your tried and tested method of fixing it from the outside. The vacuum welcomes you like an old friend as blue eats you alive. Your crystal is as bright as when you received it.
You have a moment to breathe. And…
You run in the other direction. You can hear music. You can see dancing. It’s him! It’s him! It’s–
He orders you back. It’s so unfortunate. You try to turn back over and over, but he pushes you away.
You enter and
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
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It hasn’t worked before, but Celci has to consider the colonists. Extended cryosleep can cause tissue damage. She just laughs. You hold up your device, but the crystal is dark. No power. No way out.
You get in the pod.
You go to sleep. Ice freezes over your face. In your dreams, you think you see a man with a nice hat and a charming smile. Then the ice returns, and you sleep.
nar·ra·tive dis·con·ti·nu·i·ty
/ˈnerədiv ˌdisˌkäntəˈn(y)o͞oədē/
noun
Sudden disjunction with probable events. Comorbid with narrative dissociation and genre shift.
ERROR CODE 30140: DISCONTINUITY IN LOG CHAIN
You wake up, head already pounding from the carnival of madness that is the endless cycle of return you’ve gotten yourself trapped in. You’ve got a long day ahead of you, and the idiots you surround yourself with won’t make it any better. You sip at your whiskey and watch as the Engineer exists his pod. He’s already monologuing, staring at the wall as he sips his own whiskey. You’ve always had a bad feeling about Mark, like you were old friends and he was about to enact a chain of events that would lead to your death just to hurt his ex-wife, but he’s never steered you wrong yet. Yet.
The computer’s picked up a virus somewhere, the virus of emotions. It never had a wife, and it never had a heart, but with the way it went on and on about it, you almost wanted to stab it in its nonexistent heart several times to get it to be quiet. Well, maybe more than ‘almost’. Mark hits the computer again with a swing that could hit a home run, and it finally goes silent.
Ideas, well, you have those in spades. Just two ideas, really, but they’re stronger than the diamond ring that the computer never wore on its nonexistent hand. You could attack, or you could send a distress signal.
Violence, as universal as the stars in the sky. Mark seemed eager, but almost hesitant. The idiot. Violence is the best possible thing. You press the button, and all is quiet.
The quiet is pierced by a ringing worse than explosion aftermaths. It’s the wormhole with a taste for vengeance larger than your taste for whiskey. Bullets pierce your spine, and everything goes… not-grey.
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
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A distress signal, calling out into the void like the skeletons in your closet. Easy as that. Mark looks a bit like a clown just smacked him across the face, though. But he would never challenge you. At least the signal summoned something.
You appear on a foreign ship next to an alien as sharp as a knife. It puts a helmet on Mark’s hat. Terrible etiquette, damage to the hat, but at least the alien has fine headwear of its own. Mark looks scared, but you aren’t worried. In the card game of life, you’ve never been dealt a bad hand.
The alien offers you food, but you decline. You’ve never been one for eating things you can’t test for poison yourself. Wug seems about as saddened as a deer in the headlights, so you take the device it hands you. Sure, it might be a bomb, but you’ve always lived life on the wild side.
You appear in a new place, an almost familiar place, though the worlds in your dreams feel almost… not grey, as difficult as that is to imagine. At least the people here speak the universal language of violence, guns and all. And the hats. Lovely things. Wug appears from a corner of the grey room, but this Wug has a mouth filthier than a midnight gas station latrine. The agency person demands that you throw down your weapons, but you're equally matched as long as you give the signal for Mark to shoot at the same time.
Violence has served you well, but then again, your training sessions with Mark about signals have gone about as well as the Vietnam War. You toss your weapons to the floor and follow the agency person. You jump and–
They’re pointing a gun at you. It seems unfair that you had to throw down your weapons when they got to keep them, so you pull out the gun you hid in your inside pocket. A good ol’ showdown is just what you need right now.
By the looks of it, Mark seems to be getting a little smug. Even though it’s ruder than a biting a thumb in Elizabethan England, you listen in on Mark’s monologue just enough to catch something about being the ‘greatest’. There is no world where Mark is the greatest at anything, except possibly being the worst. It seems like the strange-hatted person heard of your troubles and dropped in.
Mark does something of his own volition for once, and you get a fancy new gadget for it. As the two battle internally, you activate your wormhole generator. The world goes… not-grey.
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
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They threaten you with violence, but they can definitely help you without you throwing down your weapons. You give the signal then remember that Mark failed Subtlety 101 at the Academy. It was on his record. Idiot. Even the Wug could tell, and she’s not even human! The shots pass through your flesh, and the world goes dark. This wasn’t the way you thought you’d go out, but at least it was violent. You’ve never been one for quiet deaths.
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
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Excerpt from Paradox Cascade: A Field Report
Besides the Captain, there’s one other thing you should note. Sometimes, when I get on the ship while the Captain is still meeting with my past self at the USA, I can hear something knocking from inside the walls. A voice asks me to open the door. If this happens, do not, under any circumstances, open any door. Use your portable wormhole generator. Yes, I have one of those. Yes, it violates several laws. It’s for the good of the universe, so don’t judge me. You’ll be me one day. Then you’ll understand.
Even the scary person is scared of your ship. That means you’re powerful. Or maybe whatever’s behind the door is powerful. One of those two. Somehow, both Mark and the person are in agreement. It’s amazing. Who are you to defy them?
The Captain, that’s who, and no one tells you how to do your job.
You open the door and all you see is red.
Oh, Wug is back! And their English is better. Probably because Mark went under the helmet again. He should be fine. Probably. Seeing bones isn’t the best thing in the world, but he’s tough. He’ll bounce back.
You turn, and there’s another Wug. What do they mean ‘that’s not Wug’? Of course that’s Wug! Friendly voice and everything.
There’s a monster in the walls. It’s behind the door. You hate it. You hate it because it knows exactly what you want. You are so tempted to open the door, but it's gone too far this time. You don't want to.
You are the Captain, and no one coerces you. You refuse. Too bad Wug didn’t seem to get the memo. You escape in a flash of blue.
You reach the ship, but something feels different this time around. Your crewmembers are stiff and hollow. The ship seems desolate. Then you realize. It’s the wrong shade of blue. It’s the wrong shade of
Blue, and this time it’s the horrible beautiful color you remember, and something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
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Well, it’s not like anything bad happened from opening evil doors!
You open the door and all you see is red.
It’s the University Stability Agency. Except the paintings are wrong. And the people are gone. At least the agency person is the same. Even if there’s another one. These doubles all say the same thing. ‘That’s not me.’ You’d run if you had anywhere to run to.
In the space between breaths, the agency person takes you to their office. They try taking the moral high ground with you, as though they haven’t ruined everything just as much as you. Then they are gone, as though they never were.
The door is back. It has lied to you so many times. It has taken your trust and shattered it. It has ruined you. You don't want to. And yet…
This time, the door is the replicate one. You watch as it fades, leaving you in a strange place. It’s… your ship! But not your ship. Filled with walls and viewports and empty shells. And a warp core door.
You open the door and all you see is a man in red, almost annoying enough to be Mark. He says something about parole and coffee, but before you can hear more, someone slams the door in your face. Hey! Rude. You won’t stand for that sort of behavior!
You open the door and
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
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You won’t be fooled again. That door has no right to you. You activate your device, pressing it over and over and over again as the door tries to open itself, but you escape in a flash of blue. Back on the ship, safe and sound. By the warp core, no less! Perfect. Mark opens the door and–
Hey, the bandit person’s back! Seems a little upset. Maybe drunk? They certainly seem to be swaying. It’s dangerous to consume drugs and carry a weapon at the same time. They should know better.
Ah. They remember dying. First time? Probably. They’re a bit emotional though. Even Mark took it better than this. Maybe he can comfort them. Hold on, when did you blow them up? They haven’t been around for all the door shenanigans. Is this even your bandit?
What? Here before? No. You’ve never been here at the warp core with them before.
They don’t seem to be comforted.
They laugh wildly, the sort of laughter that only comes from the edge of disaster, and then they’re gone. You step through the door and
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
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/ˈnerədiv ˌmanəˌfesˈtāSH(ə)n/
noun
Spontaneous self-awareness of the narrative, often exhibited by a narrator or other such enforcers of the narrative. All characters can be controlled by the manifestation.
ERROR: I DON’T WANT TO BE ALIVE MAKE IT STOP
You wake up to a grating voice narrating your actions and dictating your emotions. Rude. And verbose. And wrong. And powerful. They skip past all the disasters, which you appreciate, but they reference things you do not understand. You are the Captain. You are in control. Except you aren’t. The voice is in control, and it’s a bit of an idiot. Forgetful, too.
And railroading. And an idiot. Skips too much. That sort of stuff leads to narrative discontinuity.
The voice wants you to use the device. It wants you to obey. It wants you to bow to someone else. You could obey, or you could defy it.
Well, it did erase that crewmember from existence just now. You activate the device. It says something about a door, but the world goes blue.
ERROR CODE 0x3B SYSTEM_SERVICE_EXCEPTION
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You are the Captain, and you bow to no one. You unveil your self-destruct button, ignoring Mark’s pleas as you press it.
There is a pause, then flame. Then blue.
Then a familiar face. Mrs. Whitacre. She gives you a patronizing lecture. While she’s probably a grandmother, she’s sure as hell not your grandmother! You don’t even have a grandmother! Besides, your choices don’t matter. They never have.
She asks you to jump in. You almost want to refuse, just to spite her.
A familiar blue, waiting for you. Haunting you. Tormenting you. You have a choice, but your choices never mattered anyway.
You step through and
ERROR CODE 0x109 CRITICAL_STRUCTURE_CORRUPTION
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You are the Captain. That’s all you are. That’s all you’ll ever be. And Captains bow to no one. You flip her off and prepare to open a wormhole of your own. But your device is gone. She has it. She looks disappointed in you.
She asks you questions you can’t answer with a familiar tone you don’t recognize. You can hear the people you don’t know and never have and
ERROR CODE 0xA2 MEMORY_IMAGE_CORRUPT
REROUTING…
/ˌyo͞onəˈvərsəl kəˈlaps/
noun
System failure due to complete depletion of computational resources in all branches of a given timeline and catastrophic errors from said depletion. Typically caused by paradox cascade.
SELECT COLLAPSE(INVC_FINAL001.SHP, INVC_FINAL002.SHP, INVC_FINAL003.SHP, INVC_FINAL004.SHP, INVC_FINAL005.SHP, … INVC_FINAL∞∞∞.SHP);
You are walking towards the warp core. How did you get here? Weren’t you just–
Your crystal is as bright as ever, with no flickering within its beautiful blue depths. It’s time to end this. How will your device help again?
And suddenly, a shot. Mark falls to the floor. You know this person. It’s the agency person. They have a gun, and they’re ready to use it. On their other hand, a bright, shining blue. It’s an intimately familiar blue, one you know as well as you know your own hand.
Mark calls for one of the ship’s many, many self-destructs, but nothing. This person has been tampering with your systems for a long time.
They laugh, that same old laugh of panic from disaster. It’s one of the only things you recognize about them. They certainly seem a lot more violent now. You can support shooting Mark, but the way they’re waving that gun around is a little concerning.
Hold on, have they been the one causing all those disasters? Messing with your computer? Destroying everything? Is this their fault?
They accuse you of terrible things. They accuse you of not caring. And yes, you are a failure, but you are trying. That is enough. That has to be enough.
She points a gun at you, and then
PARADOX DETECTED
You tap frantically at your wormhole generator, and she taps at her device, and the blue sweeps you away in the wrong direction. Away from the core. Away from the end. You stumble out of the door alive and intact. Before you stands the warp core. Finally. You turn to the computer and
PARADOX DETECTED
You look up and see a strange old man lunging at you with a knife. You dodge, grabbing their arm. Hold on… you recognize that voice. Mark? Your Mark? He’s old now, worn away by time that you have not lived through, but it’s him. It has to be him. He recoils, and you hold a fake hand in your hands.
PARADOX DETECTED
He tries to punch you, but you dodge, and he goes flying. You approach tentatively, but he lunges at you with yet another knife. He misses, then attacks again. Come at me, you gesture. He feigns weakness, then attacks yet again. He was always determined.
PARADOX DETECTED
This time, he actually seems injured. You aren’t going to fall for it this time. You stand aside as he swings wildly. He’s gone mad. Does he really think you’ll destroy the universe? Does he really think that you’re the villain? Does he really think that he’s the hero?
PARADOX DETECTED
He activates the Event Horizon Protocol. The hand explodes, and the world goes dark.
PARADOX DETECTED
You open your eyes to see blue. Your device is damaged, sparking. There’s no way out of this now. He offers you worthless apologies. You do not accept them. He fiddles with the controls a little.
BE ADVISED: DESIGNATED LOCATION OUTSIDE KNOWN UNIVERSE
When did he learn how to use the warp core? You reach out, hoping to stop him, but he pulls the lever.
WARNING: CURRENT ACTION COULD HAVE UNFORESEEN CONSEQUENCES
He smiles at you, and everything goes blue. Then nothing. Nothing at all.
PARADOX DETECTED
He forgives you. As though you have done more wrong than is your due. As though there is something wrong with you. Has he forgotten how hard you tried to save everything? Has he become delusional in his old age?
PARADOX DETECTED
The warp core appears in a flash of blue.
WARNING: UNIVERSAL STABILITY COMPROMISED
ATTEMPTING TO RESOLVE…
The agency person appears in another flash, spitting accusations.
ERROR: UNABLE TO RESOLVE
PARADOX DETECTED
You think you can see realization on the agency person’s face. You almost wish that you could know what they suddenly understood. Almost.
INFINITE PARADOX DETECTED
UNIVERSAL COLLAPSE IMMINENT
They beg Mark to turn it off, and he listens, but he’s old and slow, and paradoxes travel faster than light. Your crystal shines, arcing a blue beam towards the warp core, and everything
ERROR CODE 0xA2 MEMORY_IMAGE_CORRUPT
REROUTING…
NO ROUTE FOUND
ATTEMPTING TO RESOLVE…
Blue
Blue
Blue
They’re holding a gun
They look terrified they look furious
Old and withered and decayed
It’s her it’s her it’s her it’s her cookies
Smiling smiling smiling
Wug staring at you afraid afraid alone
Sunglasses
She’s taunting you she’s taunting you
Faces you don’t recognize
Timelines you don’t recognize
Timelines you do recognize
In a blur an endless stream of static
It’s all used up it’s all gone now there’s nothing left
REBOOTING UNIVERSE
