Chapter Text
The manor is changing. It has been quite some time since the last ego appearance. Their latest one being Dave, nobody was really sure if he counted as an ego, but he’s in the manor, so. The manor was always considered an ‘anomaly’ (So are people sharing the same face!—argued Engineer). It seemed to know when exactly a new ego would arrive, by making them a room. Almost as if it had a conciseness of its own.
From the outside, it remained relatively the same, just some stereotypical manor you’d see in every film. Huge and painted black, with an outdoor look. But on the inside it was much bigger. Rooms on every corner, each being slightly different size depending on the ego (ha). Each space was decorated according to ego’s personality. Sometimes, they were bland and minimalistic, other times.. well, let’s just say someresidents were really specific. And extra.
No matter how specific some occupants may be, the manor made sure to accommodate those with disabilities. The Host’s room didn’t have any sharp edged-furniture or objects, while he could perfectly narrate everything that is happening, an extra level of safety hasn’t harmed anyone yet. Yet.
Another resident who found the manor’s over-protectiveness useful—was Eric Derekson. His and his father’s—Derek Derekson—rooms are on completely opposite sides of the building. If, there are anysides in this goddamn house. Engineer had to put signs on every wall after a suspicious Yancy-shaped hole. Yancy’s attempts at saving his dignity went right through Illinois’ ears (I’m telling yous, the damn house knows what it’s doing!).
Back to the changes. They certainly weren’t.. normal? Obviously, but not in the weird way Dark used to see. Or Wilford, at this matter. Wilford is one of the oldest egos, alongside with King of the squirrels, that Mark has created. Even he confirmed random blood droplets aren’t normal! Wilford Warfstache said they are not normal! The entity with pink mustache and a revolver!
Yeah, the man might not be the sanest, but who is? Nobody could judge him without being a hypocrite, yes Dave, even you. Especially you, actually.
When Dark heard Wilford’s opinion on the blood droplets, they grew a bit more concerned. If it was a new ego, then why hasn’t a room appeared yet? At first, they thought something might be wrong with the manor. Or maybe one of the residents got injured—Dr. Iplier was relived to know everybody was fine. Damn Mark(iplier) for making only one doctor character, he cannot keep asking Yandere for help with stupidity of the egos ("Stop punching walls because they offend you!"—cried the doctor).
Every day, the blood would drip more and more. Something a napkin could fix in a second, turned into rugs, which turned into buckets, which turned into egos making a chart on ‘who’s cleaning up the mysterious blood today’ (“Hey! Stop adding Host to the chart, man can’t see!”).
Dark still didn’t have an answer. They ruled out the possibilities of injuries—everybody was fine and semi-sane—but the manor problem was the only clue they had. Until, one cliche-dark night, a room was set.
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It wasn’t anything like other areas. It wasn’t really there at all. It constantly changed. At first it was a prison. Though, Yancy mentioned it was more like a cage rather than a prison cell. The metal bars were right inside the room, blocking anybody from entering. The rusty metal walls were stained with dried blood. The whole space by itself was small. Dark wasn’t even sure if a bed could fit inside it. Needless to say, the smell was awful.
It was some kind of mixture of blood and sweat and presumably vomit too. Maybe Yancy was right about a cage. Who was this new ego?
The room changed next week. This time, it seemed to get longer. Narrower, but stretched far enough to get at least five more steps. The metal bars disappeared, but the rusty walls stayed. If Dark was completely honest, it wasn’t even a room anymore. No, it looked more like a transport. There was still some resemblance to the room (cage?) the previous night, but otherwise it looked strange. At least that place looked live-able (“The Host does not agree with Darkiplier, so do the rest of standing in front of Dark”).
Just when everybody thought that was it, something (not) new happened. The manor changed, again. A radio(?) hung over the front door. Matter of fact, there are multiple radios—or some sort of communicators—hung on almost every wall! Googles researched and visited every site, trying to find out what the hell is happening. And one faithful day, they found it.
The film, they found the film. No big plot twist, apologies. Dark’s (and the rests) theory was correct. It is a new project, however, it wasn’t anything like Mark had filmed before. Yes, there is Dave and his universe, but it wasn’t written by Mark. This film was. “Iron Lung” was a movie set far in the future, on a space station.
Even though, space wasn’t something unique to most egos (Jim what does Jim think about space?—Jim), one detail caught Dark’s eyes. The Quiet Rapture.
Now that is interesting! Fascinating! The Quiet Rapture is a literal apocalypse. The solar system and its inhabitants dying and vanishing, leaving only a few space colonies and moons filled with blood oceans. While this does not give the full picture on what happened to their newest ego, it is now clear that the new resident will definitely freak out. Shit.
There is truly no way of explaining to someone how their existence is merely just a form of entertainment to the actual people. Dark has seen many of the residents try to find the ‘logical’ meaning of, well everything. Eventually they’d give up, accepting this as a weird afterlife (Am I dead?—asked literally everyone in the manor at least once). Although, many accepted their fate, the others couldn’t just. Be. No, they just had to go and do their own stuff and be all independent. Alright, that sounds bad.
It’s not like Dark could just hold them forever in the manor. That’s a lie, they definitely could, but would they? No. At the end of the day, if they are different people, why not let them have their own life? It is nice to see everybody once in a while, chatting with each other and not actively trying to burn something—or someone. Those who left the manor occasionally visit, you know just, “Me and my 100 technically twins but it’d be okay if we were dating”—quoting Silver Shepherd. Sometimes even bringing people from their circle—and if they freak out, Wilford will just do his magic! Not the revolver one, the actual magic stuff.
Maybe Engineer can help with explaining to their newest addition, that the stars are in fact alive. And we do not have moons with blood oceans. Dark wishes he could just watch the film (“You can. You just have to go on YouTube’s website and Mark Fishbach’s channel, otherwise known as ‘Markiplier’-“, “You know what they meant, Google” interrupted Bing). They will still gather the basic information they can. The Convict, was how their new ego referred to. So, extra problems, got it. Apparently they were sent on some under blood mission to find out what caused The Quiet Rapture. The mission didn’t go well.
Nothing can ever just go right with any of them, can it? Maybe one day Mark will create an ego that is perfectly sane, and is not dyi-
BloodeverywherethereissomuchohmygodsomebodygetDarkDARK!
Ḭ̵̡̢̨̛̱̱̪͔̮̰̺̬̜͙̝̦̗͈͎̩̥̲͎̣͎̙̳͉̞̘̫̻͕̝̳͍͈̰̖͕̤̺͙̇̍̎́̔́̓̓͆̉̆͐̔̾͂̇̚͜͜͝T̷̢̡̨̡̧̢̛̛̛̛͍͎̘̞̦̳͈͖̩̪̗̙͕͚͙͇̹̰̯̩̺̝̯̜̼͉̣̓͌̌͗͌̇̄̃͌͛̔̐͑͆̊̅̾͗̂̍̋̎́͛͒̂̎͂͗̅̇̀̚͝ͅ ̴̢̛̫͙̹̰̭̘̞̻̣̖̰͉̬̗̮̞͈̰̙̘̙̬̲̣͎̻̻̠̰͙͍̬̹̓́͂̍͋͌̓̈́́̀̓͑̄͐͑̒̕̕Į̴̡̢͎͙̙̣̟̭͒̾͆͐̎͛̅͋͂̔͐̽̾̇̂̾̔̋̌͑̇̈͑̆́̅͑̾̏͂̂̈́͌̆̕̕̚̕͘̕͝͝ͅS̶̢̧̧̡̢͎͔̗̣̲͕̙̞̘͚̣̩̖̭͚̳̝͔̺̟̠̪̰̤̟̠̜͕͓͍̰̩̋̓̿͂͗͐̔̑̋́̈͌̇̒͆͜͝ ̴̧̨̠̦̰̤̳̯̩̠̯͍̯̜̘̯̣̰̳̬̹̹͕̪̻̘̹̲͍̠̱̭̗̙̬̻̒̏́͂͌̈͒̇̉̄̽͆́̆́̈́̓͛̅̆́̎̅̈̆̈́̈̕̕͜͠͝͠͝Y̶̢̛̛̛̜̖̘͉͔͕̤̳̠̽͆̀̉̈́̈́͐͑͂͒̓͐̃́͗̏̇̔̈́̅͌̃̎́̇͑͒̎̈́͛̀̈́̇͆́̎͌̒͌̽͆̓͋̀͐̏͘̕̚̚͝Ơ̵̢̡̟̩͔͚͓͎̺͉̹̦̪̫̥͇͙͔̤͈̮̻̦̭͉̘͕͖̪͖̱̪̩̫͊̑̔̍͛͛̐͌̍̊͋̽̇̌̆̆̉̚͜͜ͅƯ̴̡̡̧͖͖͉̥̪̗̬͔̥̦̜̺̳̻̫̖̗̼̯̘̩̫̭̪̜͚̼̘͈͔̣͖̙͚̗͕͕̙̳̭̹͉̰͍̮̼̺̠̥̫̈̆̀̄̈́̈́̔́̿͗̇̕͜͜ͅR̵̡͇͈͖̳͉͓̟͎̗̟̙̠̤̗͚̹̣̭͉̥̱̦̰̖͈̣̩̩͈̻̥̤̙̉̋͌̉͠͝ͅͅͅ ̸̨̛͓̰̦̫͔̗͕̂̓̾̈̕F̴̢̢̧̡̛̛̳̼̮̱̺̱̭̹͍̗̲̯̪͓̣̺͈͇̼͙͖̮̹͔̙̠̖̜̞͉͍̙̬̙̳͎̖̹͙̲͉̈̈́̀̀̇̃̈̽͋̿̋́̏͑̒̔̓̒̀̋͛̒̐̉́͑̏́̔̎̏̈́̍̌̌̌͛̚͜A̶̧̰̳̻͚̫̪̬͓̺͓͓͉̱̼͖̣̠̘̻͔̝̒̈́͂̈͂́͑̃̄͂̀͘Ư̸̢̨̨̢̡̨̢͉̻̺͔̠̱͎͔͈̖̻͎͇͈̗͎̲͈̬̮̙̬͔̰̩̰̜̝̰̣͎̹͙̟̮͓̪̰͕͇̜̲͂͑̈͑͛̀̉̈́͌͗̎̓̊̈́̅̿̈͜͝͠ͅͅͅL̴̤̜̳̞̈́̏̉̅̃͌̓̍̋̔͑͗͂̈́̒̎̀̿̿̇̈̀̆̚̚͠͝͝͝Ţ̸̡̰̠͇̀͒͗͗̋̈́̈́̉̅̈́̎̀͌̈́͐͗̔̎͆́̓̑͗͑̚̕͘͠͠ ̴̹̗̭̍̾̈́̄̓̀̈́̈́̑̌͛̆̒͌͒͂̾͌͂̇͆̆̈́̇̿͊̅̏̀̾́̽͗͗̇̈͌̈́̎̌́͘̚̚̚̕͠͝͠B̴̝̗̺͖̜̯͈̌͑̈́͆͌͊̇͋̂͗̄̏̅̈́̇̄̔̌͑̒́͌̽́̀̈́͂͑̚̚̚͝͝͝͠͠͝Ų̴̡̡̧̧͎̰̪͍̠̤̪̹͍̦̟͎̲̙̹͓̰̫̼̩̮̯̯͔̝͓͈͕̻̲̥̜̑͛͗̓͌͂͊̽͋̓͂̎̎̂͂̑̄̂̅̈́̊̉̈́̈͒̀̐̆́͛̃̓̀̇̃̍̏͛̽̅͊̓̒́̇͐̕̚͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅT̷̢̛̻̙͔̲̥̤̹͍̙̭̖̱̟͈̙̞͖̺̤̜̺͚͎͚͔͎͎̣̰̼͇̞̱̺̫̜̜̹̼̖̹̈͌͆̒̈́͑͊̓̆̄̎̕̚͘͜ͅC̶̡̡̨̨̡̮̰̹͖̭͓͖̦̲̲̮͙̪̼̣̠̙͖̲̟͕̥̝̬͇͇̜̲̳̗̯̤̥͖̘̖̼̗̬̞̝͍͈͚̪̹̼͉̒̅̓̒͑̒̊̆͌̋̉̄͌̈́̀̀͆̈́̈́̎̍̃̍̒̚͜͠͝ͅͅH̷̬̪͓̰̮̞͇͙̙̣̹͍͕͖̰̙͎̔̉͛̀͜Ę̵̡̗͍̼͍̙̥̟̠͚̗͈̯̰͉͓̿̎̈̈́͂͆͊͊̔͐̏͂̂͂̍͆̚͝͝R̶̨̢̡͓͎̣̘̖̪̭͙̭͇̜͍̠̲̺̖̺̥̱̞̦̼̻̻͕̩̝̗̲̄͂̍̃ͅ
Ǩ̴̘͓͎͐ę̷̝͍͎͖̼͓̍̄̏̽̈́ę̷̱͎̟̻̠̮̥̈́̉͝p̷̥͕͍̼̦̀͋̚̚ͅ ̶̧̰͗͆͘t̶̬̯̫̎͆̊̎̾̓͋h̶̰̗̳͉̱͖͉̅̈́͌̿͠i̷̡̦̤͖͙̾͗͒̚̕͘s̷̨͈̥̄ ̵͓̪̻̑̐̋͛s̴̟͆̃̒̌̎̑͗̕å̴̡̫͙͐̏͒͆̚f̵͙͎̱̗̫̮͙̺͐̒̇e̴͍͉̾̀͆͘͠ ̷̪̻̦̪͔̭̤̲͛̔́͑́̕ṃ̶̈̒͒̉͋͒́̄ͅo̷͉̗͉͈̫̓́͐̋̀͒m̶̩̪̹̬̅̄͂̄͑̾͘
̵͇̫̞͇̽͒̈͜͠ͅĮ̴͓̬̳͖͖̝̈́̄̆͆ͅt̸̹̘̳̅̃̋̍̚͝’̵̮̲͖͇͙̙͝š̵̺̬̳́̅̈́̐̓́̉ ̶̼̙̀͛͒́b̶̧͉̀̊i̶̺̦̣͖͗̓̍̽͆͂̑̐g̴̨̱͙̤̲̣̍̿̈̽̋͠͠g̷̛̮̿̊e̴̡̢̘̣̮̓̏̔͝ͅř̴͕̠̑̐͛͒̊͠ ̶̦̝̞̾̾̂t̴̡̤̬̝̥͗͜ȟ̷̗̈a̸̻̿͌̒͌̌n̵̛̛͖̯͙̻͉͚͈͊̿͆̏̃͆ ̷̢̘͈̐̌m̵͚͋̉̈́̾̇̈́͆͝ề̸̱̗̘̯͖̦̯̐̑͂͛̓̉.̷̧̛̤͈͕͆͆͛̊͛̒͜͝ͅ ̶̢͉̪̽
Ỷ̸̢̡̢̢̻̫̗̥̝̭̼͓̹̹̠̊̇̈́̀͛̀͆͂̉̈́͂̌͒̕͜Ọ̴͍̏̓͆͋̓̓̕͘͜͝U̸͉̥̤͌̀ ̸̡̧̛̛̠̠̥̹̞̮̦͓̫̲̩̥̏́̈́͛̿̈́̏̂̅̃͘͝͠͝ͅM̶̨̼̠̮̞̯̱͕̗̲̦͗͂̽̆̾͠ͅA̸̛̯̠͓͎̠̼͖͖͖̞̐̾̆͊́͑͂̽͗̌̊̀̇̕͝͠͝͝Ḑ̴̰͕̣̫̭̪̻̗̇͊́̆̐̂͌̄̽̓̍̾̎͂́̅̋ͅE̴͉̿̈́̇͠ ̸̡͔͕͖̘̦͉͔̐̈͂͐̌͒͊̓̍̒͋͋͋͗͑̕̕͝Ũ̵̧̨͖̖̲̯̺̦͔̫͓̝͗̓̂̀̓͊̋̾̎͗̿͋̀̄̚͜ͅṠ̶̞͚̩͍͔̪̳̣͖̟̟͗̀̋͑͂́͗̇͑̽͋̐ ̵̡̡̢̢̬̮̻̟̗̮̹͗͂̆̋̈́̐̓͒͆̂̈̊̚͠L̸̢̧̧̖͓̟̯̤͚̩̣̯͑͒͗I̴̢̗͕̳̙̫͙̠̻̜̗̟̬̿̍̐́̐ͅK̵̼̺̲̳̪͉̦̥͓̬͙̝̘͇̼̭̀̎͛̓͗̄̀͆͘͘͜͜͜͠ͅȨ̵̧͓̱͖̤̤̱̱̜̹͚͈̋̊̄̈́̈́̔̐̔́̾̄̾̿͋̈́̔̚͘̚͝͝ ̵̦͎̱͈̫͕͔̺̝͊T̶̨̧͔̗̟̘̼̰̽̆̊͂̈̑͛͊͊̿̽̋̍̔̀͂̒̇͜͝͝͠H̵̘̃͑͂̌̈́̽̓̀̌̊̓̅I̴̢̡̧̡̛̗̣̭̥͓̔̾͂͐͝ͅS̶̢̰̬̗͖̪̟̙͒̀̂̌͋̓̑̒͌̿̀͂̍̽͆̾͠͝͝
I just want to live. Is that so wrong?