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11:36 A.M., 12/31/2024
There’s this thing that happens in prestige tv, sometimes, where an episode will end with a heart monitor flatlining. The credits play with the monitor’s one-note flatline noise going on in the background. Then. At the very last second of the episode. It starts beeping again.
Gets you every time.
So. Statistically, bombs have a very bad rate of success at killing people on the server. You look at November 16th- an entire country gets blown up, and who dies? Nobody! Even the guy who was at the center of the explosion had to get stabbed in order to kill him. And, yes, Ponk was exploded at one point, but they were also riddled with Egg so…comorbidities.
The only person who was successfully killed by TNT alone was Ranboo, and. Listen. A stiff breeze could kill Ranboo. A cup of water with a little cucumber could melt his jaw off. It’s not a high bar.
All this is to say, the bombs in the Las Nevadas throne room went off. The glass windows shattered. The marble cracked apart. Ashes fell like snow, and the country died.
Quackity didn’t. Probably.
INT. PRESIDENTIAL PODIUM, MANBURG - DAY.
So this is what it was like, whatever small part of Quackity that is still able to think in words says. He remembers so strongly that he sees the scorched wood of the Festival stage, the blasted concrete. Drifts into dreaming. Camera left, Schlatt calls out an execution order. Center frame, Tubbo tries to hide in the corner of his cell, and there’s nowhere to hide, but he can’t keep himself from trying.
It took two fireworks to kill him. The physical reality of that fact hadn’t really hit Quackity until after he pulled the explosives’ lever towards himself. Before, he could imagine what those two seconds between the first and second firework were like, but not with any kind of accuracy. Now, though, he knows. There are no words for it.
Camera right, Quackity sees his past self. He’s wearing that sky-blue tie and those stupid sunglasses, and he’s not stopping it. His eyes are wide. Like he thinks that maybe, maybe this is all a joke. Schlatt keeping them on their toes. He doesn’t really believe that, but he’s frozen to the spot. He just does what he’s been doing for the entire fucking presidency; Stand there, look pretty.
Quackity floats to the stage, grabs the firework launcher, and fires on his vice presidential self. The first shot hits him like— like a goddamn rocket to the face, obviously, but he’s still breathing.
He tries again, and again. He means to accuse him of his crimes. Call him weak, worthless, tell him that he still had a chance and he failed. Someone won’t stop screaming, though. Also, he feels the rocket burns on his skin too. Has it been two seconds yet?
You still had a fucking chance!, he doesn’t get to say, and he aims for the center of his forehead, and with another wave of pain everything he sees breaks apart into fragments.
It’s been more than
more than
more than two seconds. Oh, fuck.
Even after multiple deaths, it was possible to set aside how much dying hurts. He didn’t really remember it in great detail— he remembered the pickaxe swinging towards him, the pavement rushing up to catch him, and then he cut to black. But he doesn’t have that luxury when it’s actually happening. It’s not just flipping a switch, it’s visceral and it takes too long and it’s fucking agony. People don’t get to cut to black.
12:27 P.M., 01/01/2025
Let’s be for real: Should Tony Soprano have killed himself? It’s an honest question.
By the end of the final season of the Sopranos (1999-2007), Tony’s in a tight spot. The feds are on his tail, his daughter can’t parallel park for shit, and he could get whacked at any moment. In the last scene of the show, he is murdered…probably.
He’s sitting in an all-American sort of diner, with Don’t Stop Believing playing on the jukebox speakers. He makes idle conversation with his family— but, for some reason, he can’t stop watching this guy sitting at the counter. The guy’s staring right back with an intense kind of expression, before dipping into the men’s restroom for a quick second (an allusion to one of the most famous assassinations in the mafia movies that Tony has his own weird relationship with). Tony shakes it off, and the scene continues.
Suddenly, like you’ve accidentally sat on the TV remote, the screen goes black. That’s it. The end of the Sopranos.
People lost it. It has been eighteen years since that final episode, and there are still debates about what actually happened. The showrunners of the Sopranos have been accused many a time of just being too lazy to write a final scene, accompanied by laughing emojis. So— Cut out the ambiguity? Satisfy them all by saying that, yes, good stories do end with a wedding or a funeral, or at least the potential for one? Show the bullet, Tony facedown in his onion rings as blood runs down the side of his face.
Or, better yet. Everyone knows where this is going, and it’s not a damn wedding. Tony can take matters into his own hands, before some pezzo di merda does it for him. Characters aren’t finished until they’re finished, right? Why not!
INT. WEDDING CHAPEL, LAS NEVADAS - SUNSET.
He’s not getting a wedding, and he’s probably not getting a funeral either. But he thinks he sees the chapel.
Quackity curls into a ball, or at least twitches in the general direction of doing so, still burning floats down the aisle, past rows of folding chairs. Quality folding chairs. Polished steel, none of that plastic shit. Rows, and rows, and rows; it has to go on for miles. The chapel decorations are so tasteful.
Every single chair is empty.
He feels a rising dread with every vacant seat he passes. It’s a terror that’s too big for what he’s seeing, a palpable sense of something is wrong that he’s only felt twice.
(He read somewhere that one of the symptoms of a heart attack is a sense of impending doom, and, after Charlie burned, he felt enough of that that he started to worry that he might be next. Because it made sense. Foolish said that if he couldn’t tell if the feeling was You’re Dying brand doom, then it wasn’t. Quackity told Foolish it was none of his fucking business.)
(He can tell now.)
As he gets to the end of the aisle, he sees that the chapel platform doesn’t have a wedding arch anymore. Instead, there’s a casket.
It’s lit by a key light, placed far enough away that it almost seems like a last ray from the setting sun. There are no flowers. Despite the fact that he was incredibly fucking clear about a closed casket funeral in his will, the lid is open.
Quackity knows it’s for him. He knows, even though, at first, there isn’t a body inside.
Things change just as he processes the sight in front of him. There’s a blink, a shiver, and he finds himself lying inside the casket.
His casket is burning freezing it just hurts. Something about the fabric lining the walls sears his nerves when he touches it, so he doesn’t move. He just waits for someone to pay their respects. Nobody does.
He thinks, for a second, that he’s spilled a glass of wine on his dress shirt.
Then, he realizes he’s been cut open. From the collarbone to the end of the sternum. His organs shine in the chapel’s light like they’re in a display case.
Quackity doesn’t scream at the realization because, yeah, that makes sense. He’s not getting a funeral on account of somebody missing him, but maybe someone wants revenge.
Yet, still, nobody approaches the casket.
He remembers— he remembers that November day, when they held Schlatt’s funeral. It takes so much work to carve open a human ribcage. Also, it was mostly a snap decision, so he didn’t even have that great of a knife. But he ripped through skin, reached in to break the ribs with his hands, and eventually he was able to reach that sick heart. It tasted fucking awful. He didn’t stop tearing it apart until every single piece was gone.
Quackity didn’t really know how to explain why he did it, if either of his fiancés asked. Something about needing to know he was really dead. Something about justice- you like making people feel like meat? Take that, motherfucker. Really, though, the problem was that he still felt like he needed to fight Schlatt. He was scared of a corpse. It didn’t feel over, and it wouldn’t for a while.
In his casket, Quackity thinks he feels his organs get cold in the night air. He tries to pull his own heart out of its ribcage, to hold it up in the air for someone to take.
No. No one misses him enough to want it, and no one hates him enough to want it destroyed.
After everything’s said and done, he just didn’t get that kind of power.
The version of his past self that went to that November funeral flickers in his vision, hands soaked with blood but still wearing two engagement rings. Quackity lunges from his casket to strangle him, because he still had a fucking chance.
8:50 P.M., 01/01/2025
Did anyone cry when Walter White died? Not talking about in the universe of the show. Did anyone watching Felina (Season 5, Episode 16) cry, when Walter White collapsed to the floor of the meth lab?
Mister White himself sure as hell didn’t. He doesn’t smile as he bleeds out, but there’s something close to it in his eyes. He takes a victory lap of the lab (or as much of a victory lap as someone does with a bullet hole through the abdomen) before he falls as the lyrics Guess I got what I deserved / Kept you waiting there too long, my love play.
These are the opening lyrics of Baby Blue by Badfinger. It’s the kind of needle drop that’s so good it’s almost unfair. First off, there’s the whole joke about the song’s title getting recontextualized into being about their signature blue crystal meth. It’s more than just that, though.
There’s an…acceptance to Baby Blue. The lyrics are full of guess. Guess I got what I deserved, Guess that’s all I have to say; the sentiment is that, whatever their Baby Blue chooses, it’s out of the singer’s hands. They want their Baby Blue back, but what can you do? Meanwhile, the song’s instrumentals are upbeat. It’s about a relationship that’s on the rocks at best, but it’s not a ballad.
Breaking Bad (2008-2013) is a tragedy in the old sense. Walter White went from order to chaos because he was created to do that. He had the right hamartia (pride, what a classic) in the right series of events. It just satisfies when he dies. Not in a fuck-yes-that’s-what-you-get way like when Todd is strangled to death, but in a yeah, that’s who he is and what he was made for way. A Walter White who doesn’t bleed to death on a dirty concrete floor is like clipping a bird’s wings— come on, now.
Some tragedies can’t feel like that. Orpheus’ story doesn’t work if you aren’t swallowing a whisper not to look back. Still, whether it’s supposed to feel like a perfect Rube Goldberg machine or a kick in the teeth, the best tragic endings are about characters built to receive them. To cause them.
Other times, a tragic ending happens, and it leaves you staring at the ceiling at three in the morning thinking.
Was he built for this?
INTERLUDE: [Going To Save The Title For A Few Paragraphs].
When an onscreen death is unacceptable, the thing to do is to write a little fix-it. Maybe that’s the thing that brings goddamn peace back to one’s life. Instead of the aforementioned three a.m. ceiling staring. One can hope.
Except, when the time comes to figure out a solution to the problem (how to get a guy from dead to alive), the options are…let’s just say limited. Kind of takes any anger with the creators of the thing being fix-it-ed out at the knees, because yeah! It is near-impossible to create a satisfying end to a story set in an intrinsically lonely world. Fair enough!
There’s usually one key ingredient to a fix-it hurt/comfort situation. Just the one basic thing: A character in distress is saved by someone who matters to them. Is that so hard?
Well, when your options are [REDACTED], [REDACTED], not redacted but in dangerous proximity to Mr. Beast, characters who have probably gotten out of dodge already, and Slime (technically around but it would screw up his character arc). Yes. Yes, it is.
So, the next best thing. The duct tape over the leak in the boat. A guy who probably would have been in the area and one can hope wouldn’t just leave someone to die.
INTERLUDE: JACK MANIFOLD BETTER FUCKING KNOW CPR.
It’s a very lucky thing that Quackity is too delirious and on fire to argue against Jack Manifold saving his life, because he probably would’ve been able to convince him.
They’re not friends. Which is weird, because ever since the time god was killed and people started being able to leave the server’s lands, he’s basically been the only other person in Las Nevadas. He goes there on the weekends and loses at the slots. He perks up when he hears Frank Sinatra on the casino radios. If he’s had enough to drink, he’ll sing along when That’s Life comes on.
Quackity knows every lyric to the song too, but he never joined in. He could have. In a world as empty as his, any friendship would have helped. Instead, he decided to fail a test he didn’t acknowledge he was taking. Having people in his debt— that was the plan. That was what Las Nevadas was made for. A way of getting power. There was no point of Las Nevadas without customers, and if there was no point of Las Nevadas, there was no point of-
He didn’t engage with Jack Manifold beyond niceties and encouragements to try his luck some more. Chose knowing there was one person out there who thought of him as the casino boss with his shit together, who he could intimidate, over someone to go for drinks with.
Jack lost plenty of money. Quackity lost the promise that he made to himself after Charlie pushed him off that roof.
However, even though they’re not friends, Jack Manifold is generally a decent enough sort that he won’t just let someone die without seeing if he can do something about it. Sure, he tried to kill Tommy with a nuke twice, but a) He had his reasons, and b) Who really likes the person they were at nineteen?
So, after narrowly avoiding being crushed by a slot machine launched across the room by the explosion, he stumbles on Quackity. He panics. Kicks his shoulder to see if he’s dead, then winces at the resulting sound from his smoke-lined throat. Jack Manifold absolutely does not know CPR (god fucking dammit), but he cracks open a fire resistance potion. This doesn’t do much (fire res is a protection, not medicine) but it does something.
And if Quackity had the means to convince Jack Manifold not to save his life, there’s every chance he’d be able to do it. He could have said that he’s a loser, that he only chases jackpots on the slot machines because he’s never going to win at anything that takes real competition. That maybe people would’ve cared about his various deaths if he hadn’t been so goddamn annoying. That, on top of all that, he was a shit hotel manager too.
If he’d said all that, Jack Manifold would have decided well, fuck you too, and dropped him in the snow. Instead, he stays committed to not letting Quackity die. However, he also realizes he’s way in over his head.
He takes out his communicator, and dials for one of the other people still left in this empty little world.
INT. BURNING - BURNING
Quackity reaches out his hand, because Charlie has to be somewhere in the lava surrounding him. He just has to find him. Then, he can break the surface and the fire will be out of his skin— bones— nerves— and he can go home. Wherever that is.
He doesn’t understand, though. He’s burning, and burning, and burning, and he’s still so cold.
Blood in the snow. Cracking his head open on cool marble pavement. A king sized bed that will never be as warm as it should. Smoke dying down in the crater of L’Manberg. The chill getting in as the walls of the White House are pulled apart, seeping into him forever.
There are versions of Hell that get colder as you go deeper into them, and, in this moment, Quackity can’t help but see that. That must be what’s— no, he’s looking for Charlie, and Charlie wouldn’t be in Hell. Hell will have to wait for him.
Then, in the distance, Quackity sees Charlie’s shadow. It’s filtered through the lava but he knows it’s his. Something about the green is unmistakable. Not on fire, not freezing, just alive.
He grabs for his hand, desperate. Forgets who’s supposed to be saving who. Everything he’s made of screams at him for moving, but he’s just barely able to reach Charlie.
He could almost catch hold of his wrist. He finds himself holding onto the tips of his fingers instead, because, at the last second, Charlie had started to move away. If it weren’t for the lava slowing them down, it would have been a flinch.
With a blink and a shiver, Quackity then finds himself and Charlie on the sandy banks of the lava pit. He’s standing with his back to the pit, heels on the edge of the sand. Charlie’s a foot or so away from the pit. He’s partly melted but he’s alive, he’s safe, and Quackity’s about to crumple to the ground in relief.
Except. When he looks into his eyes, he sees a look of total, undiluted fury. It nearly startles him backwards, because he didn’t even look that angry when he was killing him. Charlie takes a deep breath, before spitting out-
You hoped I’d find your body? Quackity’s eye goes wide.
What? No, that’s—
You hoped that I would hear the explosion. And that I would go back to look. And that I would find you in pieces, and feel so awful about it. Quackity feels sick. He doesn’t pause to wonder how Charlie knows his worst impulses and imaginings. He just scrambles.
—That’s. Not. Why I did it. Charlie shrugs in that awkward, boneless way he always did, with his shoulders reaching his ears.
Sure, that’s not why you did it. You still hoped. And now, halfway down? You don’t even want to die anymore. What’s wrong with you? Before Quackity can get a word out, Charlie continues.
You did it twice. They gave you a second chance, you decided not to take it. But now you want it to stop? Now it hurts? Now you’re scared? Help me, Clarence, I want to live again-, and Quackity doesn’t think about how he wouldn’t know that reference either.
Stop, okay? I pulled it, it’s over. You don’t need to keep selling it to me.
Please, just let me remind you why I get to go and you had to stay. He jabs a finger into Quackity’s chest, slowly pushing him back.
Because I can change. You can’t. You said you’d be different after the fall, and then you went back to yourself. The same old you. Alone. Mean. Scared. Who were you trying to lie to, when you said you’d be better? Three inches from the edge.
Because there’s a reason why I didn’t want to take you with me. Nobody takes you with them. Two inches from the edge. All at once, there’s a shift in Charlie’s demeanor. The hatred completely drains out of him, replaced by an expression of gentle sympathy and fear.
Because I wouldn’t say this to you . I wouldn’t tell you to die, Quackity, I wouldn’t want to hurt you, and his expression returns, but who cares? You can mold me into anything, right? People, people will hurt you, but you can always count on little old me to be your reason! Be your shadow! Be your absolution! Except, no. No, you couldn’t. One inch from the edge.
Mostly, though, because I can find a new life. I’ll become Slime from the new town, Slime from the new city. But you? You’re Quackity from Las Nevadas. It’s enough to kill you, yeah. And. You know you’re not getting anything better. With that, Charlie pushes him back one more inch.
It’s not a forceful push. Quackity could rebalance himself, try to hold on.
As he lets himself fall, he pictures the version of himself wrapped in black layers, tired from breaking into his own restaurant, snowflakes melting in his hair. Meeting Charlie for the first time. Quackity grabs that version of himself and takes him apart with his Pandora’s Vault shears. Until he’s something unrecognizable, a pool of meat. Until he’s nothing. Because he wasted it, he had a chance, he had a chance, he had a fucking chance—
And he slips further into death.
12:06 A.M., 01/05/2025
The thing is, though, Jesse gets out. Walter White ends the show of Breaking Bad by dying on that floor, but it’s up to Jesse Pinkman to end the series’s story.
The question of does he deserve to survive isn’t even worth asking. Sure, Jesse’s done terrible things. He’s purposely ruined people’s recoveries. He’s been complicit. He’s killed. When he drives off in that El Camino, though, deserving doesn’t matter. It’s just a relief.
Is that because of how much he’s suffered at the hands of Todd? Is it because he tried to draw lines in the sand, put himself at risk for the sake of children’s safety? Or is it because he really could have a life outside of the world of organized crime— his hallucinations of a world where he’s a woodcarver are so soft and bright.
All of that is part of it. The main thing, though, is that he wasn’t supposed to die. He was built for it on paper (initially he was made to be killed off at the end of Season One), but he wasn’t built for it where it counted. Every time the idea was pitched, it just couldn’t be done. Not to Jesse.
The creative team behind Breaking Bad was so clear on Pinkman’s survival that they created a movie about it, six years after Felina. In El Camino (2019), Jesse is forced to steal and kill again for any chance of escape. He does just that. Still, he’s allowed to drive up that long highway to Alaska (between Jesse Pinkman and Rustin Cohle, prestige television men yearn for Alaska). He makes it.
When you know where the finale stream is going due to scrolling through every spoiler imaginable while stuck on the wrong airport’s runway, hearing Quackity tell Slime that he deserves to escape is immediately concerning.
Just a minute ago, he was stumbling out of the lever room and muttering that he had to leave, he had to get away. Then, he runs across Slime saying that he’s doing that plan, and. Suddenly, a person deserves escape. It’s not him. Oh.
Somebody gets to get out, and somebody dies on the floor, surrounded by their shell of a legacy. Tale as old as prestige TV.
Still. Deserving didn’t matter, in El Camino. It was just a highway, and a final fight, and the wide-open sky.
INTERLUDE: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.
There are crossbows duct-taped to all kinds of hiding places in the server. Just in case. So that, if their creator gets taken hostage without weapons, he can walk past the right place, pull the crossbow off the wall, and shoot whoever’s going to hurt all of them between the eyes.
These are the little things Tubbo needs to do to sleep at night.
He knows that he owes it to Michael to leave the zone of the server soon. Give him a life with other kids and less worry in it. He will. Still, whenever he thinks about being in the outside world— needing permits for weapons, and people shooting off fireworks on New Year’s, and too many factors to keep track of everything; what if they all die in a car crash? Surviving wars only to get killed by some Volkswagon is the kind of shit that feels like it’s supposed to fucking happen to him—
It’s a lot. Not yet.
So, he stays where he is. Crafting crossbows. Planning for disaster. Never missing it when his communicator buzzes.
On that late December day, he gets a message from Jack Manifold. He’s out the door in ten seconds.
If Quackity had the chance to argue against Tubbo saving his life, he wouldn’t be able to convince him. It’s not that they talk. They don’t anymore, not really. Ranboo’s small step off that platform still hangs over everything. It’s that they’ve survived for too long to let each other slip away like this.
INT. A COURTROOM - ?
A courtroom pulled out of a disintegrating mind’s memory of what a courtroom should look like. It’s missing things- detail in the wood paneling, random benches, a door.
There is only one person in the courtroom. For now.
QUACKITY FROM LAS NEVADAS, mid 20s, dressed in the outfit he’s dying in, sits in the judge’s chair. There is a lighter in his pocket. He holds his gavel loosely and looks around. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here.
Experimentally, he BANGS the gavel on the block. He startles back in surprise and fear as we cut to see two more people appear like they’ve been edited into the scene. Missing one frame, here the next.
Handcuffed inside the accused’s dock, we see OTHER QUACKITY FROM LAS NEVADAS. He is completely frozen in place. He’s wearing their old blue sweatshirt and pants, and he can’t or doesn’t hide the fear on his face. The first Quackity hates him immediately.
At the table for the prosecution, we see SCHLATT, mid ?s, looking exactly like he did when he was alive. He’s smiling.
Schlatt gets up from his table and begins walking towards the bench.
Quackity leans back in his seat out of reflex, arms folding across his stomach. Then, purposefully, he leans towards Schlatt instead, with a disdainful tilt of his head. He tries to project control.
QUACKITY
Take another fucking step, and I swear to God, I’ll—.
Schlatt laughs, showing teeth.
SCHLATT
What, you’ll kill me? Little too late for that, sweetcheeks.
QUACKITY
I can get creative.
SCHLATT
Keep saying stuff like that, and I bet you could do my opening statement for me.
Schlatt goes to unfold the paper that the prosecution’s statement is on, before remembering that he didn’t write one in full. He reads from smudged writing on his hand instead. It will not be a long statement.
SCHLATT
I’m here to tell the court that this man—
(He gestures to Other Quackity)
Eh, Charlie covered a lot of it already. Long story short: He sucks ass and we have to kill him. Thank you.
Quackity stares at him, unimpressed.
QUACKITY
You could put a little more effort into it.
SCHLATT
Hey, I’m putting in as much effort as we need. You know it, I know it, let’s just cut to the chase.
Quackity waits, gavel poised over the block. He considers. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to agree with Schlatt about anything. On the other hand, he doesn’t have it in him to argue against the charges. Reluctantly, he raises the gavel, guilty on the tip of his tongue.
Jack, can we move him?
Fuck, I should’ve thought about the smoke-
I’m fine . The smoke’s not a big deal, I just— this cannot be a sterile environment.
Okay. On three? One, two-
The lights flicker in the courtroom as the fluorescents swing, the room shaking with a miniature earthquake. The Other Quackity screams, a Laura Palmer kind of expression. Quackity hates him for it. He covers his ears, taking cover. In the process, he drops the gavel.
Then, calm again. The lights return. They seem to glow a warmer shade than before.
Missing one frame, here the next, TUBBO UNDERSCORE, early 20s, clip-on tie slightly eskew, appears. His arms are full of papers. Statements? Evidence print-outs? A little bit of everything. Half of them spill onto the defense attorney’s desk that he stands in front of.
TUBBO
Sorry I’m late, the door was gone.
Quackity finally gets the gavel back in his hands, and he shakes his head.
QUACKITY
Can I be honest? You don’t have to be here. This case is basically closed, just— go home or something.
TUBBO
That’s not a thing that lawyers do, man. I’ll get fired for sure. Would you let that happen? Rob a poor young widower of his only livelihood?
SCHLATT
I would.
QUACKITY
(with a glare to Schlatt)
Fine. Make it quick.
Tubbo rifles through his pile of papers, before finding the right one. Then, he turns to the empty jury box.
TUBBO
Honorable members of the jury— of which there are none, I guess—
(He turns to face Quackity instead)
I am here today to argue that this man—
(He also gestures to the Other Quackity)
Has committed no capital offenses. Is he perfect? Absolutely not. Nobody is. Still—
SCHLATT
That’s your defense? Hey, officer, I ruined everything I fucking touched, but. Listen. Nobody’s perfect.
TUBBO
Your honor, can we get some order in here?
QUACKITY
(half-hearted)
I’d like to remind the prosecution that he’ll get his turn, and to shut the hell up until then.
Schlatt bows, mockingly.
TUBBO
As I was saying: Even with my client’s flaws, these charges are outrageous. Outrageous!
(He begins to pace the courtroom floor)
To sentence a man to die when he’s done- what? How is he so much worse than any other person stuck in this living nightmare? Is he more evil, more worthless, more stuck in his ways, than everybody who got to survive? No. Therefore— I mean, I shouldn’t say it— but I’d even call this malicious prosecution. Yeah. And, today, I’ll be proving that. Thank you.
A pause-
QUACKITY
Neither of you have been to law school, have you.
TUBBO
Give us a break, it’s hard to remember jargon when you’re dying—
QUACKITY
(cutting him off)
Can we just not talk about that?
TUBBO
(a bit softer)
Sure.
Schlatt stands up from the prosecution’s desk.
SCHLATT
Objection!
QUACKITY
Yes?
SCHLATT
He’s done with his statement, and he’s still yammering. And we don’t have a lot of time, so—
That’s not what fire resistance does ! It doesn’t resist shit that’s already happened! How did you die in lava and not fucking know this?
Christ, Tubbo, I was trying my best!
…
…
Sorry. I’m just- nevermind. We need healing and regen. And we needed it ten minutes ago.
SCHLATT
(cont.)
So, we should wrap this up quick. And I have some fantastic evidence that’s going to do just that.
(He moves out from behind the prosecution desk)
Not any more evil, the kid said. He said a lot of shit, but we can run with that one.
Schlatt pulls Exhibits 1-3, three (3) documents of Las Nevadas citizenship belonging to Foolish Gamers, Purpled, and Slimecicle out of his suit jacket pocket. He then pulls out a stapler, and staples Exhibit 4, a cloning recipe to Slimecicle’s document of Las Nevadas citizenship . Also, he weighs down Purpled’s document of Las Nevadas citizenship with Exhibit 5, a jar of rubble as a paperweight.
Following this, Schlatt finally manages to wrestle Exhibit 6, a Manbergian-Era taxation notice for Niki Nihachu and Exhibit 7, a pair of shears that won’t stop bleeding out of his pocket as well. His smile grows wider.
SCHLATT
Let’s get this started.
(He scoops up Foolish Gamers’ document of Las Nevadas citizenship, and waves it around)
You want to know how the accused got this little piece of paper? By gambling with the entire world.
Let me set the scene: Bad’s death cult had been slowly growing something in a cave. They called it The Egg, it looked more like a blood clot.
And, one day, they decided to hold a party. A nice, innocent party— I mean, at least you weren’t stupid enough to believe that. So you showed up with guns blazing. Except, here’s the weird thing— you and your guys were there in time to stop the ritual before the cult was hacking off Foolish’s head with an axe.
Did you? No. No, you had plans. You wanted Foolish to know what being hurt is like, so he’d be willing to make deals to protect himself. Fear makes it so easy to sell people on bad decisions. Don’t-miss-this-sale advertising, coalition tickets. You know how it is.
Problem is, you know a little better now how The Egg worked. It grew off of sacrifice, and, when it got enough, the world was over. And you fed it a god. Congratulations.
Tubbo stands up at his desk.
TUBBO
Your honor, it’s a wild oversight to not consider that my client was in the presence of a full-on eldritch entity. An entity that already got into his head once before then! It’s totally possible that it was subtly involved!
SCHLATT
But does he know he wouldn’t have done it?
TUBBO
I’m just saying, there’s reasonable doubt.
SCHLATT
Okay— One, I’m not hearing an objection out of you before you’re interrupting me. Two, there’s no “reasonable doubt” for what he did next. You know what? I’d like to call my first witness to the stand.
Quackity waves his hand in a go-ahead gesture.
FOOLISH GAMERS, mid 3000s, shark limply biting at his head, appears at the witness stand.
FOOLISH
Hi?
SCHLATT
Mr. Gamers— jesus, that's a stupid name— would you like to tell us what you were doing before Las Nevadas came along?
FOOLISH
Taking it easy, I guess. Building my summer home, chilling in the sun. Got my head cut off too, but, like, that’s not what was happening most days.
SCHLATT
Then, one day, Quackity comes knocking. What did he say to you?
FOOLISH
He was terrible, man— He told me that my build was only worth a diamond. There were hundreds of diamond blocks in it! It wouldn’t cover a cent of the materials cost, and that’s without the cost of time! And this guy is supposed to be building a casino?
SCHLATT
Foolish, Foolish, no one cares about that. What else did he say?
FOOLISH
Oh, yeah, he also told me that he let me die.
SCHLATT
He bragged about letting you die!
TUBBO
Objection: The witness never said bragging.
FOOLISH
No, he was bragging.
QUACKITY
Overruled.
SCHLATT
He used your death to convince you to join his country. Saw an open wound, and what did he do? Dug his little fingers into it. And what did you ask him, after he told you this?
FOOLISH
I asked him what made him better than anyone else on the server.
SCHLATT
(saying your honor with less sincerity than anyone else who’s ever said the phrase)
Your honor, no further questions.
Quackity nods, and Tubbo walks over to the witness stand to cross-examine.
TUBBO
Mr. Gamers. First of all, your name is great, and saying otherwise is a bold claim from a guy named Schlatt.
FOOLISH
Wait, that was Schlatt?
SCHLATT
Guilty as charged.
TUBBO
(cont.)
Second, there’s something about that interaction with my client— a thread that I’d like to pull at. May I?
FOOLISH
I don’t think I can stop you? So, yeah.
TUBBO
What did Quackity tell you that you were allowed to do, if you didn’t join Las Nevadas?
FOOLISH
Kill him. Just, like, stab him with a trident, right there.
TUBBO
Why didn’t you?
FOOLISH
I was done with that. I’d been doing the village burning and limb chopping thing for a while, and I didn’t want to be that kind of guy anymore.
TUBBO
Great. I want to put a pin in both those responses. No further questions.
Foolish flickers out of view, but before he can fully disappear, he says one last thing.
FOOLISH
You know, I might have stayed if you hadn’t tried to scare me into it. If anyone was going to love Las Nevadas, it was me. Giant buildings, gold coins— sign me up. But you couldn’t make yourself believe enough to sell it that way. And I’m honestly sorry for that, and I hope you can—
With that, Foolish disappears completely.
SCHLATT
Well, that went great.
TUBBO
(cryptic)
I think so too.
QUACKITY
Hope I can what?
SCHLATT
Die quicker, I bet. Let’s keep this moving.
(He yanks Purpled’s document of Las Nevadas citizenship out from underneath the jar of rubble)
You’d think that bragging about someone’s murder would be the worst team building exercise this guy ever tried. And boy, would you be wrong.
TUBBO
Like you can talk.
SCHLATT
Objection.
QUACKITY
Just keep going.
SCHLATT
To get this document signed, he did a few things. First, he built something that looked a lot like actual trust. Like a sap. Then, he took out a baseball bat and bashed that trust into thousands of tiny, smoking pieces. I’d say how he did that, but I’ll leave that to the next witness.
With a snap, PURPLED, late teens (early 20s? he flickers between them), pissed off about being here, appears at the witness stand.
SCHLATT
Purpled. What do you think about Quackity?
PURPLED
…Are you kidding?
SCHLATT
Yeah. But can you tell us about how you joined the country?
PURPLED
He blew up my fucking house for no reason.
SCHLATT
Oh, he had reasons, they just make it worse. When was this?
PURPLED
Right after we stopped the Egg from doing whatever it was going to do. He said he was going to pay me back for helping, which, yeah, you better.
SCHLATT
(to Tubbo)
See, why couldn’t we ever get this kind of business spirit out of you?
TUBBO
(falsely cheerful)
You had my best friend chased out of the country at gunpoint.
SCHLATT
(back to Purpled)
So, how did he repay you?
PURPLED
He gave me a chest of money. Then, he said he had a surprise, and walked away.
SCHLATT
Did you believe him?
There is a pause far longer than what that question merits. Purpled shrugs aggressively.
PURPLED
Obviously enough not to stop him.
SCHLATT
What was the surprise?
PURPLED
I told you already. He blew up my UFO. Jesus, with these questions we’ll be here all day.
SCHLATT
You got somewhere to be?
PURPLED
Yeah, on the grind. I’m not dead yet.
SCHLATT
On the grind. God, I miss the grind.
But anyway, what a hero’s welcome. You help a guy stop the apocalypse; he makes you homeless. And what did he tell you he did all that for?
PURPLED
He said he’d destroyed my only legacy on the server. I was keeping to myself back then— which was fine! I wasn’t getting my skin burned off, or crying over a hole in the ground. I was just racking up cash. But he said that the UFO was all anyone knew me for, and, when it was gone, they’d forget me. So, I’d have to join his country to make a name for myself again.
(He smiles coldly)
‘Course, that’s not why I joined up.
SCHLATT
Right. One last thing: Would you say you trust easily?
PURPLED
Hmm. Let me think about— Fuck off?
SCHLATT
Yeah! The accused tried to tell himself he was teaching the kid a lesson, to sleep a little easier.
But you weren’t teaching him shit, were you? Not everyone shows up to this server with their heart waving around on their fucking sleeve. Purpled already knew not to trust people. This? This betrayal wasn’t new information. This was letting him think that it might not be true, that the world could be a little better than he thought it was, maybe he could have someone in his corner— then, pull the rug. Personally, I’m kind of impressed. No further questions.
Purpled grows steadily more uncomfortable as the prosecution’s comments go on, the attempt at pitying characterization seeming to make his skin crawl. He grabs the witness stand mic again.
PURPLED
I fucking got him, though. Let the— let the record show that I got him back.
TUBBO
Actually, that’s my cue. Your honor, I think this is double jeopardy. If pain is the only way to pay for what we’ve done, we’ve paid! We blew up his house and encouraged his issues, he sent us plummeting into lava and killed someone we loved. By those standards, the blame should be over. Does it feel over?
QUACKITY
No.
TUBBO
So, getting what we deserve doesn’t fix—
SCHLATT
Cross your damn examinations.
TUBBO
Sure.
Tubbo walks over to the witness stand.
TUBBO
I asked a similar question to Foolish, but I’ll ask it of you as well: What did Quackity say you could do, if you didn’t join Las Nevadas?
PURPLED
Kill him. Wouldn’t have been hard.
TUBBO
How close were you to taking up the offer, if at all?
PURPLED
I almost did. It just seemed too easy— like, if he was offering, then it was a win for him. I wanted to find a better way to hurt him. Something he wasn’t expecting. An eye for an eye.
TUBBO
More like an innocent man for a building, but yeah. No further questions.
PURPLED
Great. See you never.
Purpled disappears with no hesitation. Schlatt walks out to the courtroom floor, waving around the final Las Nevadas document— the Slimecicle document of Las Nevadas citizenship and cloning recipe.
SCHLATT
Last but not least.
Appearing at the witness stand, SLIME, roughly copying the face of a human in his mid 20s, bright green sludge melting in his hair, and…smiling? Smiling brighter than Quackity deserves— oh.
A CLONE OF SLIME, roughly copying a copied face, smiling placidly, appears at the witness stand.
SCHLATT
See, we’ve heard enough from Charlie already. He makes one hell of a case against you. However, he’s made it out by now. The way he deserved to. But hey, we can talk to this guy! Close enough!
SLIME’S CLONE
(eerily reminiscent of a pull-string doll)
My sole life purpose is to serve Las Nevadas!
There’s a crack in Quackity’s composure.
QUACKITY
Stop.
SCHLATT
I said you ruined everything you touched. This is what I mean.
QUACKITY
I know. I know, just—
SCHLATT
You lost Charlie. He was the only person you trusted, and you lost him, and it was your own damn fault.
SLIME’S CLONE
I am born thanks to Las Nevadas!
SCHLATT
But, even though you couldn’t get that revive book, you figured something out. Slimes divide when they die, don’t they?
SLIME’S CLONE
I will die for Las Nevadas!
SCHLATT
You cloned him in every test tube you could find. Then, you made a few changes.
SLIME’S CLONE
My life belongs to Las Nevadas!
QUACKITY
I didn’t make them to replace him.
There’s a shift, in Schlatt’s voice. For the next few lines, it barely sounds like Schlatt at all, and sounds a lot more like the accused himself, saying the same things he’s been thinking at himself for the last two years.
SCHLATT
Yeah, you made them to be henchmen. And that’s why something’s wrong with you down to your bones. Because you looked into Charlie’s face, and thought about how to mold it into the best little worker drone.
QUACKITY
Stop.
SCHLATT
No wonder he killed you when he got back. Face it: You’re guilty—
QUACKITY
I know.
SCHLATT
Fucking guilty—
QUACKITY
I know, and we don’t need this trial.
SCHLATT
I mean, at least you knew that when I said the Rosemary Kennedy stuff, I was kidding—
QUACKITY
We don’t fucking need this trial, just let me die—
TUBBO
(interrupting)
ENOUGH!
A tense pause, as Tubbo catches a breath after yelling. Slime’s Clone vanishes.
TUBBO
I don’t have cross-examination questions. This was just fucking wrong, you disrespected his memory and tried to take away the free will of dozens of people you made to exist in the first place. But don’t— don’t—
He walks over to the evidence table, and picks up the shears that won’t stop bleeding.
TUBBO
Why does this bother us?
SCHLATT
You forget what he did with them? God, the things he could do with a sharp edge and some healing potions—
Can you watch him?
Where are you going?
Digging up my stashes, I know I have healing pots buried somewhere near here.
…
…
At what point does your sheer amount of secret stashes become a problem?
Not today. We needed them today.
Fair enough.
Take this slowness. Use it as late as you can, though— it’ll buy time, but it’ll fuck with the blood thickness. And please, please don’t be dead before I’m back.
The lights of the courtroom get colder, somehow. Quackity starts to feel very alone.
SCHLATT
(cont.)
It’s creative!
TUBBO
But didn’t the man on the other side of the knife deserve what he did to him? Think about how long his court case would be.
QUACKITY
What’s the point? Everyone looks better in comparison to the guy that beat a kid to death?
TUBBO
No. The point is, he crossed lines. When someone crosses enough lines, they have to pay. Those are the rules, it seems like. But if that’s true, then why is this—
(he holds up the shears)
evidence for the prosecution?
Tubbo pulls Exhibit A, a collage of hazy, blood-soaked photographs, out of his pile of case material. They’re of scenes that are close to, but not quite what actually happened. People don’t really bleed that much. Neither of them were there.
TUBBO
Why did you have nightmares about doing it, if it was right?
QUACKITY
I don’t know.
TUBBO
Wouldn’t it follow that there’s some stuff you can’t do to a person, even if they “deserve it”?
SCHLATT
What is this shit, jury nullification?
TUBBO
Maybe it is. Is that something that this court would be willing to accept?
A long pause, before Quackity shakes his head.
QUACKITY
No. Do your job and prove whether the accused is innocent or guilty.
Tubbo begrudgingly nods.
TUBBO
Fine. I have some evidence, then.
Tubbo goes over to his papers and picks out Exhibits B-F, a collection of photos.
The first photo is of a Manburgian-era Quackity helping Niki escape prison.
The second photo is of another Manburgian-era Quackity staying in the button room with Tommy, the two of them trying to stop the country from getting blown to smithereens with whatever they could say.
The third photo is of a New L’Manberg-era Quackity, wrapped in a dark cloak, refusing to abandon the country during Doomsday.
The fourth photo is of a Las Nevadas-era Quackity giving Tommy netherite armor in the aftermath of the prison break.
Finally, the fifth photo is of a present-day Quackity having his last conversation with Slime, and peacefully letting him go.
TUBBO
Are these the actions of an evil man?
SCHLATT
Is this how trials work now? We let murderers loose if they volunteered at the cat shelter on weekends?
TUBBO
He’s not charged with murder. He’s charged with deserving to die, and it’s a false charge. Funnily enough, there’s actual legal precedent working against it.
Tubbo reaches into his pile of papers and picks out Exhibit G, a transcript of another court case.
TUBBO
This is the transcript of Overworld vs. Former Denizens of the XD Anomaly Zone . Overworld vs. Zone is the case that decided if people from the server should be tried for the crimes they committed during their imprisonment within it. In the end, the verdict was a no- one judge described the prospect of bringing charges as being “like suing the Lord of the Flies kids”. Everyone who made it out was given amnesty, but my client can’t even live?
(he points to the list of defendents)
Foolish, as discussed today, drove villages to madness! Niki tried to have Tommy killed! Eret— I mean, wow. That was a whole massacre. But they got a second chance, and they took it. Can you really disagree with that? What makes you so different from them?
Tubbo pulls Exhibit H, sixteen (16) postcards from the Beehive State out of the pile. He slaps them down on the judge’s bench, and they scatter.
TUBBO
You think this fucker gets a second chance, and you don’t? You think that’s right?
QUACKITY
Fuck that.
TUBBO
(hopping up to stand on his chair)
Fuck! That! You’re a person, yeah? Just like any of them.
(after getting no response)
…Right?
And there’s a silence that drags on. Because Quackity almost nods. But he doesn’t. Eventually, Schlatt coughs.
SCHLATT
Someone, get the defense down from his chair.
The lights have fully shifted from being slightly warm to being the chilly, harsh tones of a morgue. The Other Quackity shivers. Quackity hates him for it.
There are people around him, but he can’t shake the feeling of having been left alone. Somehow, it’s all getting colder.
Tubbo gets down from his chair, disappointed.
QUACKITY
Could the prosecution bring out our next batch of evidence against the accused?
SCHLATT
Before you lose your nerve?
QUACKITY
None of your business.
SCHLATT
Touchy.
Schlatt gets up from the prosecution’s table and walks out of frame. A little later, he returns, wheeling in a small plastic table.
The table is covered with a red cloth. There’s lots of lumps under the cloth. Sure seems like there would be a lot of things on the table.
However, when Schlatt pulls the cloth off with a flourish, there’s nothing on the table at all. After a pause—
QUACKITY
Do you not have evidence?
SCHLATT
I have evidence of nothing.
QUACKITY
That’s the same thing.
SCHLATT
No. It’s not. Stop bitching.
(he begins to circle the table)
After “evil”, the kid tried to defend against “worthless”. So, I brought a table where some things could go.
(he points to the left end of the table)
Here’s where I’d put Exhibit 8, your wedding photos. If you had any.
TUBBO
You have to be kidding.
SCHLATT
(pointing closer to the center of the table)
Or Exhibit 9, your presidential portrait from L’Manberg. Or Exhibits 10-11, those portraits from New L’Manberg and El Rapids.
(pointing slightly towards the right)
Exhibit 12, Charlie’s portrait from Las Nevadas.
(pointing further towards the right)
Exhibit 13, that great footage of you stopping Tubbo from getting a firework to the face. Exhibit 14, same thing, from when you stopped them from taking Tommy into exile.
(pointing at the direct center)
And Exhibit 15, the invitations to the grand opening of your own damn country.
(he steps away from the table)
Let’s face it: The accused has completely failed to leave a good mark on the world, and failed to make a name for himself. What kind of legacy is this?
TUBBO
Objection: This isn’t how court works.
SCHLATT
Counter-objection: Court hasn’t been working how court works this whole time, Mr.
(assuming a horrible mock RP British accent)
“please, sir, may we have some jury nullification?”
TUBBO
Fine. New objection—
QUACKITY
(quietly, to himself)
What the fuck is that song?
Tubbo and Schlatt stop arguing and look around, realizing that they, too, can hear the faint sound of MUSIC. It’s garbled, but definitely there.
Eventually, Schlatt shrugs it off.
SCHLATT
Remember when he first showed up on the server? He thought he was going to change the whole country. Change people, too. Make everything so much better.
So. When that TNT grid was set up above New L’Manberg, when Tommy was being dragged away on bullshit charges, when Tommy was being killed. Where was he?
TUBBO
Trying.
SCHLATT
(contemptuous)
Trying. Fuck it, let’s focus on an even worse moment. One where he barely tried at all.
Hey, Tubbo, you oughta get along with this witness.
Schlatt walks over to the witness stand. With a wave, another witness appears.
It’s ANOTHER TUBBO UNDERSCORE, age 16, dressed in a nice suit for the festival, eyes full of terror. He’s been plucked out of the moment before his second death.
Current-day Tubbo quietly curses, and turns his head away.
SCHLATT
Tubbo.
OTHER TUBBO
(panicked)
Please, I didn’t— you don’t have to—
SCHLATT
Calm down. Calm the fuck down.
OTHER TUBBO
Please.
SCHLATT
Come on, don’t come crying to me. You’re about to die, and it’s going to be a fucking mess. No changing that. I just want to ask you some questions about it.
After a long while, the Other Tubbo nods unsteadily.
SCHLATT
What was up with the spying?
OTHER TUBBO
I didn’t, I promise—
SCHLATT
I can’t— I cannot stress enough how you aren’t getting out of the consequences for that one. Why?
OTHER TUBBO
…Because you exiled my friends, and you made life hell for anyone who disagreed with you. Like Niki. I— I didn’t even hate Manburg, but it wasn’t good. You weren’t good.
SCHLATT
(deadpan)
I’ll never recover. Next question: Do you want to die?
The Other Tubbo shakes his head, frantic. He casts his eyes about the room, looking for someone to save him.
He spots Quackity. Shaking, he mouths help me at him. Quackity leans towards him.
QUACKITY
What can I do?
SCHLATT
Cut. Not your line. Tubbo, did Quackity help you?
TUBBO
(stubborn)
Yes. He was an invaluable ally to my administration.
SCHLATT
Not talking to you. Junior, is he helping you right now?
OTHER TUBBO
No. He’s arguing a little, but that’s all.
SCHLATT
That’s all. Well, here’s the deal. In two seconds, a firework is going to be fired at the right side of your face. It’s going to tear, and break, and burn everything it touches. Won’t kill you right away, though. It’ll take a second firework to do that.
Knowing all this, does it give you any comfort to know that Quackity’s feeling really conflicted about the whole thing?
OTHER TUBBO
Please, please don’t kill me, stop it—
SCHLATT
I’ll take that as a no. No further questions.
The Other Tubbo vanishes— but not as neatly as the rest of the witnesses. Instead of disappearing right away, he catches on fire. He SCREAMS for longer than two seconds before he’s gone.
Quackity recoils in horror, staring. Tubbo fumes.
TUBBO
How the fuck am I meant to cross-examine him?
SCHLATT
Whoops.
Tubbo grits his teeth.
TUBBO
No. No, I can work with this.
Tubbo gets up from the defense attorney’s desk, and walks over to the witness stand.
TUBBO
Mr. Underscore, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?
He runs around to the other side of the stand, stepping onto the platform.
TUBBO
I do.
He runs back to the lawyer’s position.
TUBBO
Great. Dying was shit, to be sure, but what can you think of that the accused could have actually done to stop it?
He runs back to the witness’ position.
TUBBO
Not much. Sure, he could have physically jumped in front of the firework, but it probably would have just gotten us both killed.
Lawyer’s position.
TUBBO
Why did you make Quackity vice president of New L’Manberg after Tommy?
Witness’ position.
TUBBO
Because I trusted him. Not totally, not unconditionally, but enough.
Lawyer’s position.
TUBBO
And how many people were in that audience, when you lost your second life?
Witness’ position.
TUBBO
Over a dozen.
Lawyer’s position.
TUBBO
How many of them do you want to die?
Witness’ position.
TUBBO
None of them. Well, Sam was there, but that’s a different problem.
Lawyer’s position.
TUBBO
He doesn’t want any of the bystanders dead. It’s his murder, so really, it ought to be up to him. Mr. Underscore, do you have any additional thoughts on the accused?
Witness’ position.
TUBBO
Quackity, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t be trying to save your life, man. I won’t lie: There’s shit I haven’t moved on from. I used to trust you more than I do now. But— No. Not like this, not after everything we've had to survive.
For a final time, he runs back to the lawyer’s position.
TUBBO
(out of breath)
No further questions, your honor.
QUACKITY
Goddamn.
Schlatt applauds, sarcastically.
SCHLATT
Cute. Really pulls on the heartstrings, with that bit about trying to save his life.
TUBBO
I meant it.
SCHLATT
Maybe that’s even true. But you know the other reason that he hoped Charlie would find his body? So you and Tommy wouldn’t have to deal with it. Looks like that wish didn’t pan out so well. Can’t even die right.
Quackity BANGS the gavel.
QUACKITY
Order.
Schlatt shrugs, and continues. The song, whatever it is, has gotten louder.
SCHLATT
That is, if he can even trust what he thinks he’s hearing. Maybe he’s alone. It wouldn’t be a surprise. An empty man, dying in an empty city.
Our next witness knows a thing or two about empty cities too. Believe me, I’m not fucking thrilled about her, but she’s good for the legacy question. You did so much to be remembered— how will people talk about you, when they only knew you from a distance? Let’s find out.
By this point, Schlatt has walked back to the witness stand. He gestures at it.
NIKI NIHACHU, early 20s, tense against a cold temperature only she can feel, appears at the witness stand. She looks around herself, startled, before her eyes lock onto Schlatt in front of her.
NIKI
No.
SCHLATT
Yeah. Niki, you’re probably, like, a prison atheist or whatever, but you’re going to have to answer the questions anyway.
NIKI
No! Whatever is happening, I’m not helping you.
SCHLATT
Fine. That’s contempt of court, and you can just go to jail again.
QUACKITY
Point of order: That’s not fucking happening.
NIKI
What lawyer even are you?
SCHLATT
Prosecution-
NIKI
They’re innocent.
SCHLATT
Niki, I swear to God.
Tubbo cuts in.
TUBBO
If you answer his questions, I can ask you questions too, and they might help our side of the courtroom.
Niki considers, and agrees.
NIKI
Okay. Who are we talking about?
SCHLATT
Quackity.
Niki makes a face at that information. Schlatt grins, triumphant.
SCHLATT
See? You don’t make a great impression.
NIKI
I didn’t even say anything. He can’t use that as evidence.
SCHLATT
How long did you know the accused?
NIKI
I met him during the elections. Pretty much the whole time I was in the Zone?
SCHLATT
And how well did you know him?
NIKI
Not well. I saw a lot of what he did, but we weren’t friends.
SCHLATT
Great. See, legacy is about the mark you leave on the world, not just the few people you tried to stick to your side. So, Niki, take it away: The history of Quackity from Las Nevadas.
NIKI
Judge, that’s not a question. You should de-lawyer him.
SCHLATT
Like, if you had to give a eulogy for him. What would it be?
NIKI
God, I don’t know. Um.
I ran against him in the elections. Not against him more than anyone else, but he was one of the others there. I knew I was going to lose— I guess he knew he was going to lose too. Because he made a deal with Schlatt. That deal ruined everything.
The really awful thing is that Quackity got more votes than Schlatt, but he didn’t become president. He let Schlatt have it. If he’d done any of it different—
(She stops, shaking her head and staring at the ground.)
It’s too much to think about. But in Manburg, he listened when I told him that Schlatt was being wrong. He wasn’t ready to do anything about it, though. So he kept standing with him. He broke me out of jail, but he had to be quiet about it.
That’s how it went. I think he thought the right things, but he only did the right thing when nobody would know. Everyone in the cabinet was like that— I was the only one fighting. It hurt, it really hurt.
But I guess everyone in the cabinet had a reason not to fight that I didn’t. Tubbo was a spy, Fundy was a spy too, and Quackity— He was living with Schlatt. I don’t know what that was like.
We left Manburg on the same day. After Tubbo was executed. I was chased out first, so I didn’t see what happened, but I heard he shot Schlatt. I hope it’s true. Good riddance.
SCHLATT
I’d like the court to remember that bit.
NIKI
(cont.)
So, we both went from the frying pan to the fire. Pogtopia— It was supposed to make things better.
Quackity did a lot to keep L’Manberg from blowing up. That’s something, too. I thought that mattered back then. So I didn’t think he was that bad.
But then he helped make New L’Manberg wrong. It wasn’t just him, it was everyone, but— but it wasn’t what it was supposed to be. Techno said he had to kill him to escape execution from a Butcher Army. That couldn’t be a good thing to have.
And he argued with me on Doomsday, because I wasn’t fighting. Like— the world turned upside-down. Now he was ready to pick a losing battle. I’d picked too many. I was sick, I was empty, but now everybody’s ready to fight. Nowhere during Manburg’s tax season, but here you are now.
(Niki shrugs)
There isn’t as much to say after that. Everybody scattered after L’Manberg was gone. He started his new thing in the desert, I— I stayed inside a lot. He and Techno worked together to stop the Eggpire, but he put him in jail too, so they weren’t friends either. I always thought that the Syndicate would have to fight Las Nevadas one day. But we never did.
I may have seen Las Nevadas. Once I knew I wouldn’t meet old faces there. Jack would go drink at the bars, and I was friends with Jack, so I could have visited. And, if I had been, I think it would have reminded me of my own city.
It looked a lot nicer, electric lights when I had torches, but it was all the same thing. Hallways that echoed. Nothing else.
I wouldn’t give a eulogy for Quackity, I don’t think. I didn’t know him that well.
SCHLATT
No, you knew enough. Quackity, all those nights staring at the ceiling, thinking “how are they gonna remember me”? This is your answer. You failed, you didn’t know when to fight, and you built hallways.
NIKI
None of that is a crime. What is he accused of?
SCHLATT
Don’t worry about it. No further questions.
Tubbo takes Schlatt’s place in front of the witness stand.
TUBBO
To answer your question, Niki, he’s accused of deserving to die.
NIKI
What?!
TUBBO
I know! I’m fighting for our fucking life out here! Would really appreciate it if you could help with that.
NIKI
Yes? Of course.
TUBBO
Thanks. My client had high expectations of himself, and a legacy of mixed results is disappointing. However. Not to be rude. How would your legacy compare?
NIKI
I mean, my cities never worked either.
TUBBO
Niki Nihachu, I’m going to execute you for that. Thoughts?
NIKI
Don’t?
TUBBO
Okay. Yeah, you don’t deserve to die for living a life of mixed results. What was I thinking? Anyway, what makes my client any different?
NIKI
He’s not.
TUBBO
He’s not. And— this is a personal question, but… you isolated a great deal, for the later half of your stay in the Zone. Jack said something once, at the bar, about how “everyone on this fucking server wants to die”. Do you have anything to say on that subject?
A long pause.
NIKI
Could you please be more specific?
TUBBO
Yes. You were going through something, though I don’t know the specifics— but you lived to see the end of the Zone. How did you do that?
Niki opens her mouth. She appears to speak, lips making the shapes of words, but Quackity can’t hear her. If he was capable of imagining such advice, he wouldn’t be in this courtroom to begin with.
He can hear that music, though. That goddamn music.
NIKI
…and that’s why I’m glad I survived.
TUBBO
Thank you. No further questions.
Niki glances at Quackity.
NIKI
It’s hard to forgive yourself, when you have good reasons not to forgive other people.
QUACKITY
You don’t get to forgive yourself, that’s not a thing. That’s like someone being on their own jury.
NIKI
I wouldn’t have made it, if I kept believing that.
Niki vanishes like a candle going out. Quackity stares at the judge’s bench, mind elsewhere.
Tubbo walks to his evidence table with a skip in his step.
TUBBO
I have more evidence against the worthlessness charge, too.
He lays Exhibits I-M, a second collection of photographs, out on the judge’s bench.
The first photograph is of a pre-Manburg Quackity, holding his own on the debate floor.
The second photograph is of a Manburgian-era Quackity, running through the woods during the night of Niki’s birthday party, and finding the argument to yell into a communicator that would buy L’Manberg a little more time.
The third photograph is of a New L’Manberg-era Quackity, holding down the lever that sent an anvil plummeting onto Technoblade. Tubbo taps that photo.
TUBBO
I wouldn’t call this a good thing necessarily, but it is an example of getting shit done.
SCHLATT
Not pictured: Technoblade surviving that and immediately killing him with a pickaxe.
TUBBO
It’s Techno, man, nobody else did any better.
He moves onto the next photo. The fourth photograph is of a New L’Manberg-era Quackity celebrating as El Rapids got their sovereignty.
Schlatt grabs that one.
SCHLATT
Sure would be a shame if this photograph also had evidence of your failed engagement in it. Karl used this day as his excuse to leave you, remember?
TUBBO
Actually, that’s a good thing to think about.
Tubbo pulls Exhibit N, an additional, tear-stained picture, out of the pile. The picture is of Karl in Kinoko Kingdom, frightened, and shouting at Quackity.
TUBBO
Listen. Years later, can we— can we just admit—
(He points at Karl’s eyes, which are the bright yellow of a fucking hawk)
—That there was probably some shit going on here? Like, in hindsight. Knowing what we know now, about the whole time god situation. This one might not totally have been on us.
SCHLATT
Details. Either way, everybody you’ve ever loved is gone.
TUBBO
Wow, he’s twenty-four and he’s not married yet. What a unique circumstance. Surely nobody else has ever not been married by twenty-four. Seriously, man, is there like— inheritance? That you don’t get if you’re unwed? What’s with the ticking clock?
SCHLATT
If you were married, it would have been harder for them to cut you out. You need that chain. Most people wouldn’t, but you do, babe. You’re— what’s the opposite of an acquired taste? That’s what you are. You taste great, and then you taste boring, and then you make people sick.
TUBBO
I would like to make it known to the court that the prosecution isn’t stating facts, but rather the kinds of opinions that led to us shooting him in the head.
QUACKITY
(with an assurance that surprises himself)
Sustained.
TUBBO
Anyway, back to our main batch of evidence.
The fifth photograph is of a Las Nevadas-era Quackity tossing an axe to Puffy at the Eggpire’s banquet, freeing the guests from their sacrifice to an eldritch entity.
TUBBO
Speaking of getting shit done. Stopping the apocalypse, anyone?
SCHLATT
Postponing the apocalypse, and we already talked about the Foolish thing.
TUBBO
Still! We can’t pretend that’s nothing! You’ve done things, you’ve been loved— and you’ve failed, and you’ve lost. But you know what? A lot of people on this server have similar stories.
(he struggles, slightly, before he can say his next piece)
New L’Manberg died on my watch. And— and then I tried to downscale, just focus on keeping my family safe, but I couldn’t do that either. Me and Michael live in a little house, now, because Ranboo’s gone, and our mansion is just empty fucking hallways.
I failed. But are you going to call me a failure?
QUACKITY
No!
TUBBO
Thank you, I’d hope not. Additionally—
Tubbo reaches into his pile of papers, and manages to pull out Exhibit O, a shiny hardcover memoir.
TUBBO
(cont.)
This is Me and My Shadow: Life and Times in the Zone, by Fundy. It came out last summer. It’s—
QUACKITY
Mostly lying? Cheaply made? Trashy as fuck?
TUBBO
(cont.)
Not great, yeah. It’s good for our case, though, because it goes to show how much company you have in this “failing” business. Because, combined with how much he throws everyone else under the bus, and how badly he tries to twist the story around his own mistakes, nobody comes out of this thing looking good.
(he begins pacing around the courtroom)
This is what I mean! It’s not fucking fair, to kill you for living a life with disappointment in it. Almost everyone else made it out! And you don’t even think that’s a bad thing, look—
(he flips to the back of the memoir and points at Fundy’s author photo)
You think he should have died instead? Jumped off of two bridges? No! He’s a person, and people deserve to live. Right?
Again, Quackity doesn’t say anything. Tubbo looks at him, pleading, but he stays quiet.
The music gets louder, and Schlatt’s eyes widen in recognition.
SCHLATT
I know that one! Call me crazy, but I think it’s supposed to be—
Is he still alive?
Barely, but yeah.
Three-quarters healing, one-quarter regen. It’s our best bet.
Okay.
…
…
It still might not work. It’s been too long.
If it doesn’t work, don’t beat yourself up over it, okay?
I can’t— I really can’t promise that.
…
…
…
We've done what we can. It’s up to him.
SCHLATT
(cont.)
—My Way!
The lights lose their unnatural coolness. Unfortunately, they also start flickering out. Slowly, one at a time. It’ll take a while until they’re in total darkness, but that’s where it’s headed.
Quackity tilts his head to the side, trying to figure out if the distorted music really did start out as Sinatra’s My Way. Now that Schlatt’s said that, he hears it.
QUACKITY
Okay. I think— I think we’re running out of time. Whatever else you want to say, get it over with.
SCHLATT
There’s just one more point. One last nail for the coffin.
Schlatt pauses for dramatic effect. As he does, another light blows out. Quackity’s hands curl into nervous fists.
SCHLATT
(cont.)
Not any more “stuck in his ways”, he said. That’s a goddamn lie, and we all know it. You want to know why I’m saying that? Because the accused literally got ripped out of death today, and decided to die again. That was HALF AN HOUR AGO! And now he’s having second thoughts? Fuck off! You get another miracle, and you’ll just kill yourself again anyway!
TUBBO
Your honor, it’s worth noting that this afternoon’s miracle was rather poor, as near-death miracles go. Sure, it wound back time, but it didn’t really do anything else for him. He just got put in a room with two unpleasant strangers. Also, he had to stab himself to get out, which, if it was trying to convince him not to die in the real world, seems a bit counter-intuitive.
SCHLATT
Would it be so hard to say objection before you start yapping? Would it?
TUBBO
We’re running on a tight schedule!
SCHLATT
Anyway. I’m going textbook with this last piece of evidence.
Schlatt, somehow, pulls an entire film projector out of his jacket pocket. He sets it up, aiming it at the side of the courtroom where enough lights have blown out that the wall can serve as a screen.
Then, he pops Exhibit 16, a roll of film, into the projector, and starts it.
SCHLATT
What’s more classic than your life flashing before your eyes?
And, with that, the episode starts.
First, a teenage Quackity signs up for Minecraft Monday. Loses, terribly. Washes the blood out from under his nails. Signs up again. Loses. Tries to get the blood out. Signs up. Loses. Tries. Signs up. Loses. Tries. Signs up. Loses. Doesn’t try, anymore, and doesn’t sign up again either.
Then, he’s walking through a new server, sun on his face, and, hey, this is his second chance. He’s going to be a politician. Create a world where there’s no walls and there’ll never be juvie. He stares into the mirror as he practices everything, from speeches to straightening out his tie, dying to be taken seriously.
Then. Manburg’s going worse than he thought. He doesn’t think he’s in love anymore, and he doesn’t think he’s going to be president. But there has to be a system here, even if he hasn’t figured out what it is. Direct confrontation is a bad idea, but if he hints, flatters, begs, and makes him laugh, he can get some control. He can right their course. This is all going to make such a great biography someday.
Then. He’s in Pogtopia, trying to warm his hands by the fire. He made a mistake, he bet on the wrong president. He can admit that. Now, though, he’s making it right. He’s a part of the rebellion. This is his second chance.
SCHLATT
When you woke up in that lever room, that wasn’t your second chance at life. You’d already gotten that. What chance was it, Quackity? Third? Fourth? Fifth?
Then, he’s exchanging engagement rings, and, yes, this is a chance too. As long as they’re with him, he can chase off Schlatt’s voice in his head. A ghost in his heart says nobody can love him? That can't be true, because they love him, they love him, they love him. What would he do without them?
Then. He’s in New L’Manberg, tying on a Butcher Army apron. For the first time, he looks like an actual killer. At least, he hopes he does. They don’t solve their problems by begging and scraping anymore, they solve it by drawing blood. That way, everybody knows it’s not worth it to hurt them. They’re going to be safe. L’Manberg 2.0, Quackity 2.0, un-fucking-touchable.
Then. New L’Manberg’s gone, too. No time to mourn that— there’s a gap to be filled, and, like any good businessman, he has to rise to the occasion. A businessman is a politician who doesn’t have to show his heart. He’s standing on a mountain, and imagining it as a desert. He’s going to make something beautiful.
Then. Fast-forward, and Charlie’s burning. Fast-forward, and Quackity’s falling from a gorgeous marble balcony. Fast-forward, and he’s talking about how he’s got one life left, and he’s going to make it count. He’s not going to waste his chance.
Then. Nothing. He’s devoted himself to the same things that failed him before— Making Las Nevadas last for centuries, getting a legacy. It would make one hell of a biography, but who’s going to read it? Especially because things don’t get to happen. The Egg erupts, the time god is killed, people leave the server, and Quackity can’t move. He stays in his beautiful, quiet, stillborn country. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in its petty pace.
Then. Quackity goes into a room full of explosives, and pulls the lever. A miracle happens. He doesn’t die. He gets a second chance.
He doesn’t take it.
The episode ends with a scene of Schlatt sitting at a table, playing a poker game with no one. He gets an impossibly bad hand. Looking directly into the camera, he folds. Cut to black.
Schlatt walks over to the witness stand, where the Other Quackity now stands.
SCHLATT
Just one question for you. Aren’t you tired?
Tears gather in the Other Quackity’s eye.
OTHER QUACKITY
Yeah.
The Other Quackity begins to cry, shoulders shaking. Quackity hates him for it. The lights are still going out.
SCHLATT
No further questions. We don’t need them.
Tubbo takes Schlatt’s place, standing in front of the witness stand. It takes him a while to say anything. The only sounds in the courtroom are crying and a song that used to be My Way, once.
TUBBO
This— this isn’t really one I can take down with arguments. I could try, there’s reasons to argue, but it wouldn’t feel right. Fuck, of course you’re tired.
Another pause.
SCHLATT
(gloating)
No questions?
TUBBO
No, I have one. Can I just?—
He vaguely motions in the direction of taking the Other Quackity’s hand, but stops just short of it. The Other Quackity accepts, holds onto his hand. He starts sobbing in earnest.
They stay like that for a while, until his tears start to dry and there’s only a few lights left on in the courtroom.
The Other Quackity lets go of his hand, and Tubbo steps back.
TUBBO
No further questions.
The Other Quackity vanishes from the witness stand, appearing back in the accused’s dock. Tubbo walks back to the defense attorney’s table.
He struggles to pull a heavy cooler out from under the defense table. He pops off the cooler’s lid to reveal Exhibits P-R, three corpses that look like Quackity. The first corpse is dressed in a vice presidential suit, the second corpse has Schlatt’s blood and two engagement rings on his hands, and the third corpse has snowflakes melting in his hair.
TUBBO
Earlier today, at the start of our dying visions, we imagined that we killed these guys. Out of a sense of revenge. Because, as we put it, “they had a chance”. According to that, a chance was a thing that we used to have, but don’t anymore.
(He walks over to the court typewriter, which has been writing up the proceedings, despite no one being there to press the keys)
The problem is, we’re really bad at calling when we don’t have a chance anymore. If you’ll look at Exhibit R—
(He gestures in the direction of the third corpse)
You’ll remember that you were the most angry at him. He was the one who had a chance to hang onto Charlie, the wasted chance that hurts most of all. So, I think it’s worth keeping in mind that you already wanted to die by then.
(He manages to pull up the part of the court transcript where Foolish and Purpled were giving their testimonies)
Sure, you weren’t setting up a room of explosives and pulling the lever. But what did you offer Foolish and Purpled, after you hurt them? The chance to make it even by killing you. And your jump to needing Charlie to be your legacy— Why did you need a successor so badly? Where were you going, in such a hurry?
QUACKITY
I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on doing it myself, back then.
TUBBO
No. You were just gambling. And, eventually, you were going to lose. But, in hindsight, this isn’t a version of you that was out of chances. You were at the start of something new.
So, why would you be wrong about dying then, and right about dying now?
Another one of the courtroom’s lights goes out. Quackity smiles at Tubbo, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
QUACKITY
You’ve gotten good at this debate shit. I hope you keep it up, when you get out of this town.
TUBBO
I hate that phrasing. No, when we get out of this town.
QUACKITY
I—
(he takes a deep breath)
I don’t think so. I’m sorry.
Before Tubbo can argue further, Schlatt speaks.
SCHLATT
I think it’s time for my closing statement.
QUACKITY
(determinedly not looking at Tubbo)
Take it away.
Another light goes out- this one, with a small explosion. Sparks rain down in the darkening room.
The music is deafening, and Quackity can almost hear what the lyrics should be. And more, much more than this, I did it my way my way my way my way my way my way—
The camera is spinning. With a blink, he finds Schlatt standing inside the judge’s bench, a few inches away from him. He grabs him by the shoulders, like they’re about to start dancing. Quackity cringes away, but doesn’t move.
SCHLATT
The kid doesn’t get it.
QUACKITY
He doesn’t.
SCHLATT
All that talk about how people deserve to live. People shouldn’t have to die, people should get a chance. You know that’s not true, though.
You know, because I died, and I fucking deserved it.
QUACKITY
Niki was right, earlier. Good riddance.
SCHLATT
Good riddance. You’re never going to stop believing that.
TUBBO
(cutting in)
And you have every good reason to believe that, it makes perfect sense.
SCHLATT
(cont.)
Still. It opened the door for you, didn't it? If I deserved to die, maybe Techno deserves an anvil, maybe child abuse warrants torture. And maybe, maybe, a man who ruins everything deserves to fucking burn for it. Even if that man is you.
QUACKITY
It’s only fair.
SCHLATT
Forgiveness isn’t something you get to give yourself, not in a way that counts. Because what if you’re wrong? What if I forgave myself what I did to you, because I didn’t get to trust anyone, because my body was breaking down, because I used to be the guy Connor wanted a real funeral for? How fucking disgusting would that be?
QUACKITY
Right. What’s your point?
SCHLATT
People aren’t worth shit just for being people. That’s not enough, not for you. You’re a person— and you’re bad at it. So, step out of the game. Fold.
You can’t stay still, and keep being Quackity from Las Nevadas. You can’t move, and start being nothing. There’s a third option. Just say “guilty”. Say “guilty”, and die.
QUACKITY
Can I be honest? If you weren’t the prosecution, I would’ve done it by now.
SCHLATT
I’ll step out, then. Just remember— you’re not here for fun. You wouldn’t be here if there was anything else to do. End of the goddamn line.
With that, Schlatt disappears. The music goes with him. So do the last of the lights, save one. It flickers, plunging the courtroom into almost total darkness.
Tubbo digs through his pockets, comes up empty, and rushes over to Quackity.
TUBBO
Do you have any way to make a light?
Quackity feels the cigarette lighter in his pocket, but doesn’t take it out.
QUACKITY
Why?
Tubbo looks to be on the verge of screaming.
TUBBO
Because I don’t want you to die, man, I’ve made that pretty clear. Where was I wrong? What did I say? Okay, being a person isn’t enough, but I’ve made other points. You can be a good person! You can be a worthy person! Just because you can’t see anything else to do, that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything else to do— again, you’ve been wrong about when it’s time to stop trying in the past!
QUACKITY
You can go. You probably should, I don’t want you to— I’m still really sorry that you’ll have to deal with the body. Add that to the charges, huh?
TUBBO
No! No, I’m staying right here.
Quackity picks up the gavel, holding it over the block. The light flickers more and more.
The irritation drains out of Tubbo.
TUBBO
I guess this isn’t something that you fix with one really airtight argument, is it.
QUACKITY
Like Jack said, don’t beat yourself up about it.
Quackity keeps his voice steady. His hands, however, are shaking. He swings the gavel— but freezes at the last second.
He closes his eye and tries again. Again, he can’t quite make himself do it.
He glares at the gavel block, breathing too fast.
QUACKITY
Fuck.
TUBBO
You can’t do it?
QUACKITY
I should, I believe in it, I just—
TUBBO
You’re scared.
QUACKITY
That can’t be enough.
TUBBO
It can, it always can.
QUACKITY
But I meant what I said.
TUBBO
Whatever works— You can find a better reason later, while you’re still alive. When you still can. If being scared will stall you for now, that’s what we have.
Quackity twirls the gavel around in his hand, shaking his head.
QUACKITY
God fucking dammit.
TUBBO
Whatever you have.
QUACKITY
I— I think I have a sentence without a verdict.
TUBBO
Okay, let’s hear it.
QUACKITY
I can’t fucking say innocent. I want to rule guilty, but I can’t make myself do it. So, I just have a sentence.
I sentence myself to— to do something terrifying, which is to keep moving. To get something I don’t know if I deserve. To not die like this, as this. Not as Quackity from Las Nevadas. That’s my choice.
The final light goes out, plunging the courtroom into that last darkness. It’s cold, and heavy, and drags everything down.
Quackity grabs the lighter in his pocket, and presses its button. A spark bursts out of it.
He gasps to life.
1:05 P.M., 01/20/2024
After playing so fast and loose with the fourth wall, it might be silly to shy away from the idea of 1st-person perspective now. Still, 3rd-person is where this will stay.
So: These words were written by a person. They haven’t put so many words out for a while. It’s been years of half-ideas, quarter-ideas, just-in-their-head-ideas. The thing that changed that was that they watched the end of the story of Quackity from Las Nevadas, and it absolutely wrecked their shit.
When they were younger, they wanted to— okay, wait. Hang on.
The end of season one of True Detective (airing in 2014) is more beautiful than you’d expect.
True Detective is not a perfect show, politically or plot-wise, but damn, its character writing of Rustin Cohle is something . Rust is a genius detective, much in the mold of his contemporary genius detectives— Abrasive, disconnected, arrogant, and one could tack “edgy” on that list too. However, he has something else to him. It’s not just the addiction, the passive suicidality, or the grief— that, too, is a common lot for his type of fictional Guy. It’s partly the specificity behind him having a cross in his apartment despite being insistently not Christian, because he likes to meditate while picturing himself as Jesus deciding to die in the garden of Gethsemane. Mainly, though, it’s that his story is about rejecting nihilism.
Throughout the season, Rustin Cohle has been making these little quips about how the world is meaningless, religion is a lie, nobody should have kids, it’s good that his baby died because she doesn’t have to live in this awful world anymore. The quips made him beloved to a certain subsection of Reddit fanboys— which is wild, because he changes his mind by the end of the show. That’s the fucking point.
In the end of True Detective s1, Rustin Cohle is limping across the hospital parking lot, arm wrapped around someone for support. For a second, it looked like he was going to die in Carcosa while taking out the killer. It would have been a heroic sacrifice, the martyrdom he’d been imagining. It would have been wrong. So, in the end, he’s beat to hell, but he’s alive.
Out in that parking lot, Rust talks with his companion about the stars he used to tell stories about as a kid in Alaska. Using the metaphor of the night sky, the conversation turns to the old battle of light versus darkness. His companion says that there’s a lot more dark out there than light. Rust, though, contends that there used to be nothing but darkness in the sky. Now, though, there’s stars. He says that the light’s winning.
Coming from another character, it wouldn’t mean much. Coming from Rust, that’s everything.
The True Detective s1 finale is going to stick with the writer of these words for a while, because they, too, thought about dying in a similar way to Rust. They weren’t as nihilistic when it came to other people, but they thought that they, specifically, should die, and wished that they had just a little less fear of how much it would hurt. They’ve always interpreted Rust’s Gethsemane meditations as him trying to coach himself into taking what he intellectually believed to be true (he should be dead) and actually taking steps to make it happen. True Detective doesn’t confirm that reading, but that’s how they see it, because it feels familiar.
One time, in 10th grade, they were sitting in their high school cafeteria with the Notes app open. It was February, and February used to make them more suicidal than usual. On a whim, they’d decided to try and fight it. The plan was to come up with ten reasons to stay alive. So, whenever they needed it, they could look at the list, and maybe it would help.
They couldn’t do it.
They came up with one reason. That reason was “spite against February”. Couldn’t think of a second one.
In hindsight, they had plenty of reasons. It was just that, like Kay from the Snow Queen whose eye and heart was struck by shards of the devil’s mirror, everything had been distorted. That small comfort can’t be a reason, that’s pathetic. That show can’t be a reason, it’s probably going to get canceled. That person can’t be a reason, he didn’t sign up for that.
They weren’t saved by a good enough argument. They saw plenty of them, brilliant testimonies from people who survived attempts and were grateful they hadn’t died. But that’s not what actually stopped it. They just knew it would hurt, and that scared them enough to stall. And, they were lucky enough that stalling worked.
Last February, they didn’t want to kill themselves. With how things are going for them, it looks like this February will be okay too. Things got better.
Still, due to these past experiences, Rust deciding to live really moved them. Similarly, when they were in 9th grade, they watched Tom Simons’ Minecraft character decide to jump into a pool of water instead of fall to his death, and that got to them too. You take what you can get.
However, when cTommy later turned around and killed himself with a nuke anyway, it didn’t wreck their shit. Partly because they’d boycotted the whole stream due to a certain cast member’s presence, partly because it was so poorly conceived as to be easily rejected, but also partly because…the reasons they wanted to die were very different from the reasons c exclamation mark Tommy wanted to die.
They weren’t abused. They weren’t grieving. The world had shown them a lot of kindness.
They just felt like a machine made with planned obsolescence in mind— Little by little, their functionality was going to shut down, until they reached a point of unforgivable failure. Doom rushing up at them, the perfectionist kid’s appointment in Samarra. And, at the end of the day, the problem was this: They couldn’t stay as they were, scrambling on the hamster wheel, feeling scared and miserable; and they couldn’t leave, either. So, a third, worse option— fucking…die? Because of terrible portents of dread like “getting an 86 on a math test”— yes that is an actual thing that sent them into a spiral once.
Fast-forward to brighter days, to days long after when they figured out that the people they were dying to impress were, like, actually way worse at the whole being a person thing than them, so they really ought to chill the fuck out. Fast-forward to December 30th, 2024.
The camera pans up to the Las Nevadas sign, in the moment that cQuackity re-commits to killing himself. It’s not an explicitly stated thing that that’s the moment he knows, but that’s what it feels like. He got another chance at life. He was trying to get out. Then, Charlie calls him Quackity from Las Nevadas, and his chance is done. That’s who he is, he’s Quackity from Las Nevadas, it’s the biggest thing he’s ever built. He’s not going to do better, if he walks into the unknown. But he also can’t keep being Quackity from Las Nevadas. It means nothing. He failed. He’s tired. There is a third, worse option.
This writer could say all kinds of quality assessments of the Las Nevadas finale. There’s things to praise, things to criticize. Acknowledgements of extenuating circumstances. Questions of what a finale’s supposed to do. But, at the end of the day, that doesn’t matter as much as one simple fact: The moment that this character became most personal to them is the moment he died.
It was always going to fuck them up.
EXT. A SUNLIT ROAD, SOMEWHERE ELSE - DAY.
He makes it, goddammit.
He fills his lungs with burning air, heals, and finds a way out of town.
Maybe he’ll make something new. Maybe he’ll fall in love again. Maybe he’ll come to peace with himself. Someday, maybe.
For now, the sun falls on his face.
He lives.