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There is much to Watch on a night like this, but the Watchers can’t seem to take their eyes off of their little caterpillar.
She’s curled up on her bed with her hoodie off, revealing the stardust and scars dotting her skin. Wrapped in her arms is the Watchers’ new champion. Both women have the same peaceful expression on their faces. They talk and giggle in voices too soft for the Watchers to hear.
The Watchers stay anyway.
It would be unfair to say they play favorites. Everyone they take into their games has a unique set of skills, a unique profile of emotions, and a unique story to tell, and the Watchers consume it all gladly. No, it isn’t favoritism that brings them here. There’s something deeper about it. The Life Series are their servers – their worlds to control and contain and watch over. Their terrain is a few weeks of life and death every few months, and then distant silence in between. The Players speak of them with hostility. They live to torment, the Players say. They are evil. Look at all they’ve destroyed.
They continue to Watch. There is something unusual about their third victor, the Moon, that they have never noticed before. Strange marks twist around her, invisible to a Player’s eye. Some seem to be the hallmarks of unearthly programming. There is something alien about her; they knew this already. There are other markings, though – ones harder to place. Her code updates constantly, as though always scanning for something amiss. Lines of binary stretch too thin and tense within her body. Some of the scars on her skin crackle with glitches that should have long since healed. It is not damage to an extent that would set off alarms. It is not damage that tastes to them like blood or pain. She is simply a bit more fragile than the other Player beside her.
She was not always this way, though. They know this. Their gaze has been upon her for years. Perhaps that is why they continue to Watch her now.
The Life Series are their servers, yes, but they are temporary. It has been years since they last put down roots outside their own plane. The Evolution SMP, they called it back then. A few of these Players were its residents once. The Watchers viewed them as fledglings to their flock. In truth, they view them as fledglings still. Three of their victors so far have been Evolutionists, and despite the distance, they cannot help but feel a sense of pride. It is a complicated feeling. They cannot be caretakers for a game they have designed to cause nothing but destruction. They have, in fact, proven to be terrible caretakers to begin with.
On the server below,
their sweet caterpillar
the Moon says something that must have been a joke, because their new champion rolls her eyes and responds with some teasing banter of her own. Both Players burst out laughing, and the melodic sound resonates through the room and carries across planes. Their joy and mirth settle on the Watchers’ tongues as something warm and soft, like fresh-baked bread with butter.
One Watcher speaks softly. LOOK AT THEM. THEY LOOK SO HAPPY.
THEY DO, says another. HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?
TOO LONG, adds another voice.
NO, THERE HAVE BEEN MOMENTS OF JOY BEFORE.
WELL, the first voice argues, NOT ENOUGH OF THEM.
THESE GAMES ARE NOT MEANT TO BRING JOY. THEY ARE MEANT TO BRING ANGST. THOSE ARE THE EMOTIONS WE CRAVE.
The two Players below laugh even louder. The Watchers’ champion boops the Moon on the nose with a portal-stained fingertip, and it occurs to them that she has not been moving with the heaviness that corruption should carry. Her sight seems clearer, her mind steadier. Something sweet and rich and energizing has returned to her emotions. They hadn’t realized it was missing before. What is it? They can’t place the flavor. All they know is that what remains of her curse is merely cosmetic. Their corruption is no longer within her.
The Watchers are terrible, and they know this. They know this because their games are designed to destroy, and they have done well to cause as much pain and misery as they can. They know this because their destruction has no goals and knows no bounds, because it is near-impossible to stop. And they know that because any being with more control would have created their own curse. The Watchers know how the Players speak of them, but there are some truths that the Players do not know and should never find out. And one of those truths is that the Watchers do not understand what they did to GeminiTay.
The Players’ conversation goes on below, and that same soft warmth lingers on the Watchers’ palates. There’s a hint of sweetness to it; they can feel it now. It’s something comforting. Something rich. Something healing. Something… filling. Too filling. It is – has always been – too much for them. They have consumed too much already. It warps the very air around them like static. ENOUGH, their voices scream in broken unison. ENOUGH OF THIS. WE’VE GONE TOO FAR. THIS HAS TO END.
A wave of cold bitterness purges any emotion at all from the Watchers’ plane. What was once sweetness now lingers as poison. This fear is new. It’s strange. THEY HAVE CROSSED A LINE AGAIN. WE MUST AVOID IT. THERE WILL BE NO SUCH WEAKNESS IN THE FUTURE. This is why these games are not designed for joy or comfort. The Watchers are more powerful without it.
The Watchers are more powerful without it. They know this. Which is why it is so jarring to hear another voice break through onto their plane.
look, it says, they’ve done it. how do you feel?
IT’S UNIMPORTANT. THE GAME CONTINUES. SHE REMAINS OUR CHAMPION.
it’s been a while since you had a stake in these games, isn’t it?
There’s silence for a moment.
YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.
and we broke through anyway. that worries us. is everything alright?
IT IS. IT WILL BE. LET US RUN OUR GAMES LIKE WE ALWAYS HAVE.
but this is not how you always have, is it?
LEAVE US. LEAVE THIS STORY. YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL HERE. The Watchers make an attempt to Silence the intruders, but something causes their attack to fizzle out. The knowing quiet that follows speaks volumes.
They speak more quietly now, and with finality. WHY ARE YOU HERE?
gem led us here.
WHAT ABOUT HER?
look at the scar you gave to her.
WE CHANGE THEM ALL. SHE IS NOT UNIQUE.
now look at yourselves.
They do not have to. They do anyway.
There are some truths that the Players do not know and must never find out. This is one of them.
WE TELL THIS STORY. WE CHOOSE HOW IT GOES.
could you end it?
WHY WOULD WE EVER WANT TO?
but if you did. could you end it?
WE WILL END IT WHEN WE GET WHAT WE NEED.
A moment of silence.
what do you need?
Another moment.
CONTROL.
That final word builds to an earsplitting chorus. Something warps, echoes, and shatters. The conversation is lost.
That’s it, then. That’s what they’ll do. If they no longer have sway over their champion’s mind, the Watchers will find some other way of guiding her to carry out their will. They will take back control of the Secret Life server for session seven, whatever it takes. This is their game, their domain. They will be restored if they continue down this path. They must be.
There are some truths that the Players do not know. One of them is that the Watchers are afraid.
“And does that mean I’ve got permission to go after you tomorrow?” Gem giggles.
“Getting bold now, are we?” Pearl swats Gem with her wing. “You’re only on your yellow life, remember. Contain your murder a little longer.”
“How dare you? My murder cannot be contained!” Gem picks up Pearl’s pillow and tosses it at her. It hits Pearl in the face. She catches it as it falls and throws it right back at Gem. “Hey, contain your murder!”
Mailbox barks at Gem from the ground and goes into a playful stance, ready to pounce. Pearl grins. “The dogs are on my side, Gem! You’re outnumbered!”
“We’ll see about that!” Gem pets Mailbox on the head, and he immediately flops over for belly rubs. Matchbox trots over and flops next to him. “Traitors,” Pearl laughs, joining Gem in petting her wolf army.
Gem leans her head on Pearl’s shoulder. “I really mean it, though. I’m myself again now. I want to play this game for real, whatever happens. Even if that means alliances get weird.”
“I support this,” Pearl says. “You’ll be the death of us all, I suspect.”
Gem giggles as Mailbox licks her hand. “What was that weird mechanic Scott told me about? The boogeyman curse or something? I’m that.”
“Oh, I would pay to see that.” Pearl grins. “You know what, fine, maybe you can go after me tomorrow. But you have to make it worth it. Do something cool.”
“Oh, it is so on.” Gem tosses the pillow at Pearl again. This time, Matchbox leaps up to intercept it in midair. Meanwhile, Pearl draws her shovel and pokes Gem with it like the point of a sword. “Tomorrow we duel,” Pearl says, then winks. “I guess you could call us sparring partners.”
“I will hit you with the pillow again.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
A peaceful silence settles between them as they straighten up Pearl’s base from the sort-of-dinner-date – Pearl makes her bed and replaces the pillow, and Gem packs up her supplies. As Gem goes to step out the door, though, she hesitates. “Can I ask you a favor?”
Pearl nods. “What do you need?”
“I spent six sessions not knowing what was happening to me. And that was not fun. At all.” Gem fidgets with her portal-swirled sweater sleeve. “Now we know. So… if I’m like that again. If something happens.” She takes a deep breath. “This is me asking this time. Help me figure it out?”
“Of course. We’re in this together.” Pearl gives Gem a hug. “Even if you become the boogeyman trying to murder me.”
“When,” Gem jokes. “Not if.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Pearl kisses Gem on the forehead. “See you tomorrow.”
As Gem walks out of Pearl’s base, she catches a final glimpse of both of them together reflected in a pool of water outside. The portal matter on her body reminds her much more of stars than rot now, and it matches with the glow-in-the-dark birthmarks that dot Pearl’s skin like a galaxy. They are both messy, beautiful creatures of space and scars and glitching code, now reunited into the dynamic duo they’ve always been. It feels like there’s something else, though, still lingering in Pearl’s gaze. But Gem is restored to herself. The world should be normal again, or at least as normal as these games can be.
These games aren’t normal. Maybe that’s why Gem hesitates as she returns to her role as a competitor.
She can’t shake the feeling that she and Pearl share something else in common now, too.