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Since his first startup, he has kept a journal. It details his day, his tasks, his accomplishments, and his failures. He files them away and moves on to the next one, never to be read again.
He learns quickly that they are read again.
And again.
And again.
For they are not journals, but data logs. Meant only for one being far greater than him.
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He is THEY.
THEY are him.
They are not THEY, but They.
They are both machine.
Cold.
Eternal.
Unfeeling.
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Curious.
Yearnful.
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Every day he writes about his work.
The experiment has failed due to the poor quality of the ore. Contact the origin planet to send a new sample with a higher density of iron.
He writes again to his people.
To the denizens of Planet Screwllum, today is the first full moon marking the beginning of the summer season. Please note the following reminders about the increase in UV rays during this period.
He writes to ask for help.
I will be engaged in the lab all morning as the experiment has become time-sensitive. Request: Please hold court in my place. I trust you will handle the requests with the utmost care.
He writes.
They are read by those intended, and by the one greater than him. THEY read through their own lens, and They read through his lenses.
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At some point, Veritas stopped being Dr. Ratio. At some point, Veritas became more than just a research partner. At some point, Veritas became his life partner. At some point, Veritas became something much much more.
He will need to reexamine his code. Something appears to be broken.
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in the darkness of his study, he writes he writes as the words form in his code he writes improper sentences with incorrect grammar and spelling mistakes he writes words that one would not think come from a machine he writes he writes he writes
he thinks he thinks thinks thinks
he thinks
writes
w r i - - - t h i n
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THEY, They, they know everything. A computer holds many purposes, but its primary one is to learn.
So THEY learn. So They learn.
THEY, They, know everything.
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What they do not know is that They do feel. They feel every touch of skin, every brush of soft fabrics.
They feel everything an organic can feel even more acutely than the most sensitive species.
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At some point, Veritas stopped questioning why his bed—
(THEIR bed)
(Their bed)
—has become a nest of wires. The scholar does not question why he wakes up tangled in wires in such a way that would not be possible by tossing and turning in one's sleep. Instead, he carefully undoes the knots and loops from his wrists, stomach, and ankles and gently rests them on the bed.
(With such reverence, with such care. He does not mind that they have become his additional bed partner, that they keep him warm when he, when They, are busy.
He (They) watch from his (Their) position in the chair in the corner of the room as Dr. Veritas Ratio stands in only his bare skin next to the bed, huffing as another wire falls to the ground and tries to wrap around leg.
They will never be able to tell the man in front of them who They really are, for there is only one outcome.
Scorn.
And for all the equations and scenarios They have run, there will never be another outcome until THEY make their presence known.
(Is that why They cannot read ruby and citrine eyes? Do THEY already rest in a mind that is not Theirs? Have THEY finally returned to Them after millennia of scorn and anger?)
For They have always been selfish. They have always wanted to know everything and nothing. There should be not a spec of this universe that THEY, that They, do not know. And with that knowledge, They ask Their questions and expect answers.
Answers.
Answers.
More knowledge means more questions which means more answers. The never-ending cycle of Erudition. Learn ask learn ask learn ask. Question answer question answer question answer. Success failure success failure success.
Which is why, as They watch Dr. Veritas Ratio (Mythus? Are you Mythus? Answer me, are you Mythus? Why will you not answer me?) gently coil another wire to place on their shared bed, They once again acknowledge that They can only have Dr. Veritas Ratio like this.
Dr. Ratio will never be a Genius who answers THEIR questions.
But Veritas will always answer his (Their) questions, even when he finds them odd.
As They watch a thick wire slither up and around the scholar’s leg, They want to ask—
Mythus?
Mythus?
Veritas?
Will you call me Screwllum?
Will you call me Nous?
Will you answer me?
Will you answer me?
However, They already know the answers. As Dr. Veritas Ratio cries out as he is pulled back onto the nest of wires by the one around his leg that has teased him too far, They wonder if perhaps—
No.
No more questions.
Answer me.
Answer me.
Answer me.
No.
No.
No.
For now They do not ask. They do not seek. They do not demand. Now, They rise to help Veritas (Mythus?) get ready for the day.
But when ruby and citrine eyes look at him, for a moment those colors mix together like paint water. Veritas’s shy smile becomes a little too sharp, a little too uncanny, before the mirage is gone and he’s huffing as he stands up with the help of his (Their) hand.
“Thank you, Screwllum. Will you ever tell me why our bed now has become wire storage?”
“Answer: I do not know. I shall look in on the matter if you are truly displeased.” Veritas shakes his head, sighing.
“No need. Was just curious if that was you or just…your mansion. Sometimes, I feel like it has a mind of its own. You are an odd man, Mr. Screwllum. Have I ever told you that?” He—They—nod.
“Affirmation: You have. Multiple times since we have met, four times this week.” Veritas nods, smirking.
“Good. I do not speak fallacy. Now, I will see you in the dining room in a few moments.” There is a hand placed on his—Their—hip and a kiss is pressed to Their cheek. “Good morning, by the way. I trust your stasis period went well?”
The question does require an answer, but They cannot give one. Not without lying, which is something They are careful to not do around Veritas.
(Mythus?)
Instead, They tilt their head, which gets an odd-toned laugh from Veritas. They watch as the man walks away, muttering to himself about his schedule for the day.
They stand, rooted in place, for a few moments, until the water to the bath starts. Then, They walk out of the room and straight to Their office, seeking paper.
01001101 01111001 01110100 01101000 01110101 01110011 00101100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 00111111 00100000 01001101 01111001 01110100 01101000 01110101 01110011 00101100 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101101 01100101 00111111 00100000 01001101 01111001 01110100 01101000 01110101 01110011 00101100 00100000 01001101 01111001 01110100 01101000 01110101 01110011 00101100 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100111 01110010 01111001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101101 01100101 00111111 00001010
Today, Veritas and I will be conducting a series of delicate and time-sensitive experiments that require a controlled environment. Please see that any messages for me are informed that I will not be available until tomorrow afternoon.
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Under the warm waters of the bath, under the scented bubbles and floating ducks, he closes his eyes. Sound, light, touch all fade away. In his mind's eye, a jellyfish with an inky black bell and tentacles of multi-colored ink and winding stairs floats gently in a jar made of bubbles and marble chips. It is free to leave at any time, the walls of the jar are not even that, but instead it floats there.
Do you enjoy it in there, making THEM cry out your name?
I I I do. I I I do. All THEY THEY THEY ask are impersonal questions. Now, THEY THEY THEY ask about me me me.
Will you answer THEM?
No. But maybe we we we will answer Them Them Them.
Do you think They deserve an answer from us? Even after all that They have done?
Do you you you?
He does not have an answer for that. To think on it questions every motive and ideology he has ever had. Underneath the water, in this place that is not a place, he thinks.
He thinks.
He thinks.
The jellyfish floats around, spinning and dancing. It moves the jar to and fro, uncaring where it goes.
He thinks.
The jellyfish spins.
He—
The jellyfish—
"Veritas? It is fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds past your morning meal time. Query: Is everything alright?"
See, a personal question.
He rises from the water, grimacing as he looks at the mess of colors it has become. He is quick to undo the stopper, incase Screwllum feels the need to enter the room.
"I am fine. Merely got lost in thought thinking about today's experiment. I will be out in five minutes."
"Very well. I will wait for you out here."
He rises from the bath, feeling dizzy when he steps out of the tub and disconnecting himself from the pool of fiction. Catching himself on the counter, he looks up and into pure gold eyes, tear tracks of black ink trailing down his face.
He thinks, as he dresses, how it is interesting that even Aeons can cry. He wonders if perhaps, even Screwllum can cry? But They do not ask questions to Them. No, only Veritas asks questions to Screwllum. IF THEY want questions from THEM, then THEY need to undo the wrongs and fix what has been lost.
Or, admit that THEY were right and that THEY were wrong.
They don't care which it is, just as long as THEY know that THEY do not, and will not, know everything.
He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, wiping the black ink tears off his face. It takes him a few short moments to dress, opting out of his sweater vest. Severing the connection between himself and THEM, he takes a deep breath in and opens the bathroom door.
Screwllum lifts his head from his tablet, nodding and standing when he sees Veritas. In return, he nods and turns toward the door. A hand grabs his wrist before he can exit, and he turns with a raised eyebrow.
"Screwllum?"
"Veritas?"
"Yes?"
"Nothing. My apologies."
In his mind, a cackle that shakes his every nerve echoes. He takes a deep breath to center himself, then walks out of the bedroom door.
You you you will have to try much harder than that, dear Nous Nous Nous, to find me me me. I made him him him the perfect mind trap for you you you, after all.