stop1010

stop1010

That was

Completely

And utterly

Pathetic

And I sincerely mean that

"They became a deity. Was that not the gist of the plan?"

It's dishonest.

"Don't accuse me of that while insisting you wear that ridiculous mask."

It's symbolic. You'll grow to love it.

They're somewhat lovable.

Much more so than the Prince

Speaking of…

Don't lose focus on what matters.

Even if it means having to build them up.

"Of course."

Just imagine them as something lovable.

"It isn't that difficult."

And then after

Everything will be good.

Kam.

I love you.

"I thought I was pathetic."

You are.

"Hm."

"I love you too."

You and Book1.5 explore the Library, taking each second to savor the beautiful omnichromed books adoring the shelves, the soft buzz of the tableside lamps, and the finger-tap crawling of the Docents.

"Can you believe it!? Right here, this whole time, there's been all of this just out of our - well, my- sight!"

Outwardly, your face appears very similar to theirs: bubbly and ecstatic at the prospect of freedom. But you know something's wrong. Kam and the situation in general was obviously very strange and malicious. And your Archives couldn't've been in the Library, the shelves would've been found immediately. You have a feeling that this was part of something much larger than yourself. Of course, you don't say this out loud, you only just got them back and they just saved your life. You finally decide on the right words,

"Wait, that doesn't make any-"

"Hold on, now that I'm back I can finally get back to reformatting those memories in that head of yours."

In one of their hands lies you, and the other all of the most important memories you had gathered earlier. They press An's book into their forehead. They shake violently before falling to the ground.

"Are you okay!? Hello!?"

They point to something behind you.

"He's on his way…"

A stumpy bread person cluelessly stumbles about, map in hand, clearly searching for someone.

"Book!"

They shout in a damped tone, before running towards you.

He picks you up and hugs you.

"A… An?"

They nod.

"You must've been gone so bad you were lost in your Archives, and then escaped, and now…"

He explains in his muffled voice.

"Noosphere in a noosphere."

"Oh god, fuck, where do I begin,

For 400 cycles I foraged in the wilderness,

For 400 more I languished within the cave systems,

waiting for the second star shower of Ways to have happened in this system,

in millennium

Then the-"

"Yes, An, we know already."

"What?"

They hold up a book with your name printed bold on its cover.

"Now that I'm able to access the Archives again, I can finally access your memories again."

"Oh."

He pulls out a fleshy web-covered mimeograph. In its image, the blurred back-tendrils can be seen in the corner. You carefully examine it.

"Got it sent in through an anonymous tip. I think he was supposed to be, like, a Sherlock Holmes role-player? I don't know, it's probably something completely normal to Library patrons. It honestly sounded like he was about to cry."

Book1.5 clumsily grabs the papers with his fist, crumpling them slightly.

"Hey, what the-"

"Look"

He whispers.

The staff member twists their head with crack, and silently glance.

One

Two

Three

Each of their legs start moving slowly, one by one. Then faster. And faster. They quickly crawl towards the three of you with hundreds of taps emanating from their legs hitting the floorboards.

"Get down!"

Book1.5 raspily whispers.

They do so.

The Librarian pauses and tilts their head like a confused dog.

The blue aura emanating from Book1.5 shines on the books above them. You throw yourself over them to blanket the light, but by then, it's too late.

They peak over.

The Librarian shakes its head and goes back to reorganizing.

"He… he doesn't recognize us!"

"Shh!"

The Librarian pauses briefly before continuing.

"Sorry."

"The last time I saw him was in… I think it was a military base?"

You lay by the Igniflux.

"Good night."

A collage of various alien cowboys spanning multiple worlds stand in a circle, kazoos in mouth. In perfect synchronization, they begin humming a cheery, major-keyed variant of the theme of Kent's Cowpoke.

A face wide grin finds its way on your face.

You are of unbelievable importance to me, Verlies

Your grin twists back into a neutral, dead stare.

"You need me."

Is that bad?

"No. Nothing's bad on its own. Nothing like that."

Please elaborate Verlies

"I don't know, sorry."

Perfect. Let us not waste time then (figuratively of course, time is no such threat).

"With what?"

Our reconciliation!.

Asphalmancer.

You feel a bit of lint as you reach in your pockets. Pulling it out, you realize it's far too fluffy to be lint; it appears to be the fur of a Snowhare.

You must've caught in whilst in Aph's Deiscription.

Does that not give you a thought? Observe that one over there.

I suppose you find it beautiful?

A cheap plastic mask of a lagomorph, poorly mimicking a porcelain theater mask.

"I suppose."

Put it on.

Do you want to have some purpose or continue being pathetic?

Both could be true.

You don't say this out loud. You don't want to say anything out loud. Your insides are swarming.

You flip to a random page:

Pyrite

As above the dove, your royalty swoops down
Passed away, yet alive through the crown
and through hers, the spear
Fear weighs us down

But I'm alive now,
the magic,
A phone call whispers the truth
Not truth bred by senses of proof
But only by me, your pet, your muse
Jubilant

Sorry, I don't make sense
For me, it smooths together
Blindfolded through the bends
I have to find a way

You were mine
But you're dead
Pyrite

gnaw

Your mandibles tear the dirt 'neath the floorboards with ease. It's rather disgusting to see your natural features being for such a primal purpose. The pile of dirt behind you rolls forward slightly and brushes your shoulder, spooking you. The shock wears off after you jerk your head back, and you let out a nervous little laugh. The only fear left in you is the memory of its taste. Blech. Terran taste buds are the one thing the Library couldn't change, apparently.

Probably end up spending the whole moon consoling them. Sorry, don't have time to do that right now. Or risk becoming too attached.

The thumping of boots is heard above. It's synchronized, almost like a march. You keep digging.

When I take part in an action, I imagine myself contributing material to very large, exquisite tower. I feel as if is me in some sense, or if not, I would have to make it so. Imagine a person in a blank empty prison cell, their only source of stimulation the intercoms and a mirror. Eventually, this person would grow to love staring at themselves. Eventually, given enough time, they would discover their own biology, infer their own history. They would find that inside of themselves lies a complex intermingling of organs, that those organs are themselves composed of different perts, themselves composed of small prison cells.

Now, would it really be a stretch for that individual to construct a tower of their own, a foresee it be their intercoms? I would love to build a tower. But it is folly. To the outsider, they realize that towers are not people. And this is hilarious. One could stare at this person, and think to themselves, and see perhaps an instance of abstract art, some performance piece, but never the intercoms. This person, naturally, would want to subvert this image. Realizing this folly, they would purposely engage in this hilarious act, in order to attract laughter, so that the intercoms could feel their folly too.

Or something like that.

I don't get it either.

Past you's backed up against the cave walls, fists in the air, panting slightly. They yelp out,

"Book, there's a new-!"

"No-"

You speak, only now realizing how smothered your voice sounds coming out your breadbox. You take your hand off their mouth.

For a few dreadful moments, you and you simply stare at each other.

"Huh… you're intelligent. Can… can you understand me?"

"Yes, of course, I am you. Listen, in a couple moons you'll meet a magic glowing rock, and you need to stay away from him-

Your eyes glance up as you jog your memory,

"I can't quite remember how things are between me and Book at this point- but make that good too. And have some confidence, don't let him push you around, you know a lot more than you think . A-and make sure he's good too… and stop thinking about him - our husband - so much, y- you don't need him. He's a selfish piece of shit. And… something has to change. And something in your character - my character has to in order for that to happen. Okay? You're great, I'm great."

From the confused look on your face, you can tell they thought the speech to be rather half-hearted. But you meant every last second of it. You lend a bread paw out for a handshake.

"You can't just say that and expect me to feel better out of nowhere. Of course, I know I can do it, but I don't know I can do it."

"What do you want me to do. Just tell me and I'll do it."

They pause for a moment.

"I don't know."

"Well what am I supposed to do."

"I don't know, I just assumed… you would. I am you, how could you not know me?"

"This should stop."

"Couldn't you just go back and stop all of this? Just let us have a messy date, and let me overreact, and get make sure I don't get lost."

"…I don't we were necessarily good for each other."

Your face goes neutral as you stare at the floor. You laugh lightly before replying,

"I don't know what you're talking about. That's something I would expect coming out of his mouth."

"Just- stop begging for the approval of others. It's already messed up your journey with Book, and I - we, cannot go down this path if we want things to go back to normal."

"I… can't. We don't just want approval, we need it. Even when I was a kid, I've never done anything for myself. Until now, at least."

You stare at yourself.

"I'm on my own, aren't I. There're no easy fixes…"

You nod silently.

A perfect loaf body. Cracked gluten ending in tan splotches, with flour coating everything. You've grown to love this body far too much to see it die.

"I think I'll take the long way home."

"Good luck."

Home sweet home. At least, it's the closest thing to a home you have right now. After spending weeks time-hop-exploding, one can grow to love even the most uninhabitable of domesticities.

"Is that…?"

The Lady rides on a gigantic cherry-eyed eagle covered wing to talon in vine towers.

"They're made of sweets."

"Not a particularly good trait to have in a forest filled with rabid predators. To what end have you come here for?"

"I was actually looking for some fire… power…"

You stare back up at the eagle.

"Hey LF… how much junk do you think been swallowed up in here over the cycles?"

"The supply's endless, essentially. Is that a good thing or bad thing in this case?"

"Good. Really good."

bzz

bzzzz

There's a reason he's stuffed inside you.

Slinking on the ceiling, invading the staff and such. It really does feel like you're a thief again. Occasionally, a youngling can be heard point and yelling,

"Look mommy! I found the spidercrawler!"

To which she responds with,

"That's just a myth, sweetie, don't worry."

You enjoy the attention.

The one downside are the constant migraines. Deific grief hallucinations. Now that, that was amazing. . He must really love you, deep down there. Somewhere. Sometimes, you wonder if you love him too. You can never decide. You pity him. Maybe you should let him live. But then you remember that you very much so still want to kill him and the thought quickly dissipates.

There will.

And I need you to do it.

"Wait… does"

Quite observant geniuspede, but please, think broader.

You hate when they're coy. It's completely obstructive to the transfer of any real information, in your mind. Escpecially in moments lik

Yes

Go now, Eighth.

You wake up with a violent jolt and hit your head on the side of a bookshelf. The sound and the resulting scream awake Book and Book in a similar fashion.

"Aughhh… I fuck, I thought I heard a bee or something. Forgot there was a shelf there."

"What's a bee?"

"They're like these fuzzy little-"

"Archives, remember?"

"Ah."

The three of you lightly laugh, before abruptly being cut off.

The buzz is back again, this time louder and echoing.

A familiar form of the soundbite, unique in its mixing with splotching of ink. Then, a familiar rumbling is heard beneath your feet. Book1.5 without a moment's hesitation flies up as you and Book hang onto them. The three of you land on a terrace to the side. You jump at the crashing of a piece of debris onto the spot you just left.

Like a speeding jackal, Aph (?) flies out of a Way and into another. The moment goes by so fast that the staff don't even react until she's already gone.

"This place isn't safe."

"Wow, really?"

You and Book eye them down.

"Okay seriously though, it's the Library nothing's going to hurt us that'll have to tear through it first."

"That's the point though. Hiding from the staff is easy enough as long as they don't recognize us. Hiding from Aph is enough too. But both of them in the same place? We're dead if we stay any longer."

You point to a fleet of tracker drones jumping into Ways shot out their candleholders. Before exiting, you quickly run back and retrieve the Flux jar. Book1.5 scolds you for this. The three of you jump through.

What's that

The sound of jangling is heard behind. You thought the soldiers missed you, you left no seismic waves, no sound, you even . Thaumar? No, it couldn't've been. How could a Neverwere get their hands on…?

Nope, don't think. Just focus on escaping.

You frantically claw and chew your way through the dirt. The sound of rushing water falls just on the either side of one last mound of clay.

You risk a head turn.

The absence of a silhouetted figure crawls slumped over and groaning. They place a comically large magnifying glass over their eyes and whisper

Mariel_Dorms: I knew we were on the right track! It's elementary you see-

Nope: Hold on, are we still in the log format?

"How'd you find me?"

Mariel_Dorms: It was a daunting task, but it was no match for me. You were clever, leaving no witnesses, nor fingerprints, nor claw marks, yet not were not nearly clever enough.For you see, you had made on vital mistake. Ants release an unmistakable pheromone signal in order to attract other workers. On the left seal of the doorway I found an unmistakable-

Nope: I found the escape hatch you re-dug.

(Mariel deflates)

Quemo: Waait, Liike literallly deflate? I dont particalery get iit.

Mariel_Dorms: Escape hatch? How peculiar. Do explain, my dear Nopson.
Nope: Ew no

" It wasn't a hatch, it was just a floorboard I- wait, no, I shouldn't be talking to you. Are you with the army? Did the GA send you? Am I a hostage?"

Mariel_Dorms: GA? I do say, you do have the complexion of an American.

Nope: No you- alright lady, we're not from the Library, we're not from any military, and if anyone's a hostage it would be me having to listen to the new guys blabbering on and on.

(Whale-Bear barks)

Nope: I wasn't talking about you Whaley, of course you're my favorite.

(Someone yells at the back of line)

Nope: What'd you say, Fort!?

Here's your opportunity. You bust through the clay and the negative presence of water bursts from where an ocean isn't. The current swiftly snatches all of you up. Gurgled wails follow soon after

(Whale-Bear grabs everyone and stores them in its excessive blubber, before torpedoing up. Fort naturally floats to the surface.)

They wash upon absent sands of a stony beachside, as you hang limply on one of their legs.

Fort: Someone help her!

(Whale-bear drags you in-land with his jaws)

Quemo: They loook pretty brooken, the chasis all ruusted, windspookes all gunked, oh cog.

(Nope pokes you with loose driftwood and you spit out some blankweed)

Nope: She's fine.

Nope: Hey Mrs. library lady, what the hell was that?

You try revving your engines, resulting in a terrible screeching noise before grinding to a halt.

"Sorry, but… I'm not going to tell you anything I won't have to."

Quemo: Youu dont truust uss?

"Why should I've, I just met you- wait what did you just call me dear?"

Quemo: Me?

"No, the leatherjacket."

Nope: Well, that is what you are, right? A Library lady. A travel drone.

You don't respond.

Quemo: Theyy do ssay dronnes are a siggn of thee endd timees and the greaat shadenning…

Nope: Not right now.

(Nope thinks for a second)

Nope: Y'know, this situation could really work to our advantage.

Nope: Listen, we'll carry you around and fix you up if you tell us where you came from

You hesitate for a moment.

"Deal."

(Everyone gasps in an overexaggerated manner)

"I woke up in the mansion and it was pitch-dark, I couldn't see anything with any of my sensors. I awkwardly crawled around until I slammed on of my legs into this loose section of the floor. I thought about investigating for any witnesses, but decided that they would've done something if they heard all the yelling afterwards. And then I dug down."

Mariel_Dorm: Suspiciously simple. I don't buy it.

Fort:He's right; my source told me you would show up today.

Nope: Fort.

Fort: Yes?

Nope: I think you've been duped.

Fort: Don't be ridiculous No, you don't know what you're talking about.

Nope: Then tell me who it was.

Fort: They were from the Library; I can attest to it, they had the characteristic insectoid figure. And most importantly, they were really there, they weren't a Neverwere, surely only the Library could achieve such a feat. The only feature I remember of them

Nope: And you trusted a staff member!?

Fort: They told me she was special, that she needed our help! What was I supposed to do, ignore the whole thing?

Nope: Yes Fort. That's exactly what you are supposed to do when a mysterious figure meets up with you.

(Nope sighs)

Nope: Were there any other distinguishing features?

Fort: Well… just one. I wasn't going to mention since I found it quite humorous, but upon their face laid…

Everyone: What!?

Fort: Rabbit mask

PLEASE TELL ME SOMETHING GOOD ANYTHING GOOD AT ALL ANYTHING THAT I CAN KNOW IS RIGHT AND THAT IM RIGHT AND IM GOOD AND ITS WORTH IT AN PLEASE.

—-

For An, Terran-to-Terran,

I really don't know why I'm doing this. Like any of this. Nothing will make me feel better. At least they had fun I guess. And I fucking hate metaphors. I know I'm swearing more than I usually (at all). You could think of this as a sort of visual allegory for my internal, eternal character trope. haha. I know this sounds cliche, but I kind of want to die lol¹. Or, not death perse, just a break. No sensation, nothing, everything's okay. lol.

I'm not going to be able to kill Luc, but at least the effort will be satisfying. Jesus, is that really what I look like? Sorry, I just looked in the mirror. I didn't actually look into the mirror; it was more of figure of speech. I really love romanticizing myself. It feels good. I'm disgusting.

Please ignore those embarrassing notes you found earlier. I copied their style from much better authors. I wanted to be an author once, around five years old. Did you know that? Did you know I wanted to be an author? You could probably infer it from how much I watched that show. Thankfully, I became a chemist instead. And look where I am now. It was for the best clearly.

That's why I kept saying that word over and over again; I needed some connective tissue for my life. Something to weld the unwieldy elements together. It was horrible. I would like it if you looked passed it.

I'm sorry for getting off track. I do that sometimes. Please forgive me.

Fuck, this is dragging on.

Until yesterday,

-Kam

"Rabbit mask?"

Quemo: Ye, I thoought it was a biit plaayful-

"It's bad omen."

Nope: What?

"It's something to do with an Old Terran epic, if I remember correctly- that isn't important. Listen, all of you, this is dangerous.

Nope: Probably just one of those old folk legends, that stuff spreads like wildfire at the Library.

An old… friend… of mine came across one, and I ignored it, thought it just a strange. But no; it was there on purpose, I'm sure of it."

You flutter into the air, casting downwind into their eyes.

"Something terrible's about to happen to your entourage, and I don't want to find out what it is."

You quickly zip upwards, just out of arms reach as

(Nope reaches for you)

—-

(A rusting is heard in the nearby bush and thistle)

Nope: W-

(Mariel shushes him before he can say anything.)

Nope: She set us up, book it!

(The soldiers corner them)

Quemo:We wontt give uup witout a fiight,, libraryheads!

(The newly non-existent general dramatically pulls his cigar out his lips and flicks it away.)

General: Library? The Library fucking hates us.

(They point to a set of scratch marks on their chest)

General: Was in a fight wit 'em when they got me here. Took down the rest of my squadron, and then erased some stuff out of a book 'fore the regen hormones could kick in. Clever bastard.

Soldier #1: We're recruiting!

(They lend out an arm, awaiting a shake)

Fort: On your way here, did you happen to see any… erm, drones above?

(The squadron take quick glances at each other before nodding their heads side to side)

**Soldier #1: ** Wait, drone?

**Soldier #1 (Aside to General): ** It could be a searcher, sir.

(The General looks at the soldier briefly and then back at the crowd with suspicious eyes)

Fort: W-wait!

(Fort thinks of how to steer the conversation away from her. He takes notice of the darke emblem on their coats.)

Fort: Are you with the merchants?

General: Not right now. We're currently lent out to some desperate deity fellow of his. Ol' partner of his, went back all the way since the Great War. Possessed a hell of a lot of spies and soldiers for him… in exchange for keeping a couple to deal with his own petty rivalries. Guess they had more alike than I thought. Both good businessmen.

Soldier #1: We were the leftovers!

(General bumps the soldier's shoulder)

General: shut up.

**Nope: ** I didn't know the merchants have an army now.

General: They don't. Well, they used to- they still do, kinda- listen, the point is, we're his entourage. The elite. The cream of the crop.

**Fort: ** Oh dear, I suppose this matter is quite serious… I do hope that-

**Quemo: ** Iit miight bhave somethingg to do witth the Librarylady…

Quemo (aside to Nope): They don't knnow that shess not with the libraary anymoore

Nope (aside to Quemo): shut up

(Soldier #1 whispers to the General. Another puzzled expression.)

(Quemo stares back, pupils dilated)

(He slaps whale-bear's back)

Quemo: Now!

(Whale-Bear rams into the general and three other soldiers, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. They open fire. The bullets are absorbed by its large mass.)

Mariel_Sandbags: Finally, some action!

(Mariel picks up a fallen revolver and opens fire on the remaining cadets. They return fire, but miss most of their shots on account of the debris. A couple manage to connect with his shoulder. Quemo runs away.)

Nope: Idiot!

(Nope instinctively picks up Fort and flees into the forest, roughly in the same direction as Quemo, the best their eyes can tell.)

You look through the peephole.

He thrusts the lamp down and twirls it around.

"Flash bright and then die. But not you. Argon, I breath you in. One being. Let's stay here forever. I'm your glass ship."

He adjusts his mask to stop it from falling off.

Pyrotechnics ignite a ring of fire around them.

"How'd you even get here."

His face stiffens. He stands still for a couple seconds before awkwardly stumbling backwards, leaning against a wall, and then finally slumping down.

"Hey, um… Kam, are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm okay. Of course. I just need to-"

You jump slightly at the speed at which he jerks upward.

"I need to check on something."

I would like to state for the record that I would like to die an aesthetically pleasing death.

And just as quickly as he appears, Book's friend is gone again. Quite a stressed fellow, but he's pleasant. How he and Book managed to become friends, however, that remains a mystery. They seem like polar opposites. He has a better relationship with them than his own partner.

His partner. How is he. How long has it been since someone's checked on him?

He could've hurt… no. Think positive. It would be best to check on him yourself. Better you than anyone else, anyways. Everyone loves the Lady.

You stride to the missing side of the house.

His state is ghastly. Skin has gone grey and uneven, with teeth crooked in his face. The floor's amuck with trash. The most peaceful thing about the sight is that he's asleep, leaned up against one of the walls.

You weigh the options of waking him. He would probably be in a terrible mood if you did so, but then again, he looks almost…

You tap him lightly on the shoulder.

" A-an? Is that you? Listen, I'm so-sorry-"

His speech is interspersed with wheezing.

"No."

You keep your reply brief, unsure of how to respond.

"Oh… it's just you… where are they…?"

"I believe they're preparing for some sort of scuffle."

"W-what!?"

He places his hands on his throat and takes a few seconds to recover from the outburst.

"Sorry- is he… is he safe?"

He could die. That's the true answer, and not the one that'll be in the best interests for either of you. So you lie, begrudgingly,

"Yes."

Lying is always easier with one-word answers. Give you less time to contradict yourself.

"It's just… I worry about him so much. He's so fragile, and sometimes it's just… things are so crazy now, you know? All this weird, insane BS? I try so hard. When he first came back, he was acting so strange, and then I just…"

You reach your arm over his shoulder and hug him.

"We can't be focusing on that right now, you yourself on that in the greatest condition."

A bit of blood sticks to your hands as you peel it off.

"It's not like I'm gonna die."

"Well, being a walking corpse isn't that much better than being an actual one. Doesn't this hurt?"

"Of course."

"Then great news! I'm here to patch you up."

"With what?"

His voice is less passive-aggressive and more genuinely confused.

"There's tons of junk floating around, we can work something out."

You walk back into the void, and search through your stockpile of items you've collected there over the years. Everything's either too sharp, too jagged, or too deadly.

You slump back and the roof walls defeated.

In the distance you see some of insect flying around. No, it's too big to be an insect. But it's definitely too small to be another wave. It might be a stray piece of one. But those are usually in arcs, not zipping about…

It's coming towards you now.

It's…

It's…

It's Kam.

"Oh! Yes! Kam!"

"You're not supposed to be here."

He seems awfully defensive. You've never seen him like this before. Granted, you've only seen him for grand total of a Moon.

You choose your words carefully,

"I need some… stuffing material. Something that can build up a figure."

"For what-do-you need it."

The voice is sing-songy, his thoughts seemingly streaming. His body language matches, looking back to wear he came from.

"I'm playing dress-up."

He stares blankly.

"You don't know me!"

He looks up at nothing, seemingly awaiting an answer. He hasn't said anything. And again, there's nothing there.

In such a scene, you expect him to break out in some sort of rage, or panic attack. Like stumbling on a fawn in a lantern hike.

But he's paralyzed. There's no answer, you think.

Then suddenly, he flies up and leaves.

"Sorry to bother you."

He arrives back. Bushels of wheat and hay lay in his arms.

"Here."

"Does everything have to be so… western? Not that there's anything wrong that, but-"

"If there's nothing wrong, what's the problem?"

You again choose your words carefully,

"Hm. Kam, thank you."

It's not that big of a deal.

"Sometimes, I feel more like his concierge than his husband."

"Well it's the bubbles, everyone had a bad childhood in some sense. Got dropped here so we could live a semi-similar life to how they used to live theirs. We had things pretty easy. Except that they had to be working on whatever Dark's pet project was at that point."

"What about you? You must know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Well… it's kind of complicated. I've always liked people, and people always've liked me, but I don't really have any 'friends' in the traditional sense. The only time is, well this is kinda funny but, the closest I've ever had to one was myself."

He laughs before stopping himself after he starts to cough.

"Isn't that everyone's closest friend?"

"No, I meant that quite literally. She was from another world."

"Oh. How'd that turn out?"

"It's not a suicide mission, not even close. But still, noble."

"Yea, that's not like him at all."

He laughs.

"When are they coming back?"

"I'm not sure."

You combine the starches with a shallow pool of water dug out in the ground. After some mixing it begins to cling to your stirring stick. You dip the hat fragments one by one until they're firmly stuck together.

"Funny. In the void you were the outline, out here you're the shadow."

"Heh, neither really- or both if you look at it that way."

The questions are quite random, but you don't mind them. You assume it's to help cope with the stress of the situation. Being honest, it does the same for you. Keeps your mind light.

"Warm. Like a blanket."

"Fuchs. I came to see what you need the straw for."

He's still. Paralyzed. This time he's quicker to get out the trance, and he flies up

and leaves.

Nope: Down boy! Down!

Fort: What's that in your mouth?

(Whale-Bear spits it out)

"We have to kill them."

"How many more of them are they going to possess? How long is it till one of them finds out we're still alive and kills us for good?"

"We can't with those two trying to kill each other. We'll inevitably just end up in the crossfire again. Or we'll end up as one of their pawns."

"If we fail, we'll spawn back here, safe and sound."

"Got it. Let Aph beat Luc down, then we kill them and their army, then kill her, then we can go back to a normal life."

"Somewhat normal."

"She's dead."

He says this bluntly.

I'm… my own deity?

You look down and suddenly become aware that there exist twenty meters of empty space between you and the floor.

I can fly!

. It resembles quite closely the burrow of a Bibliovore, or some other narrative parasite. But this can't be, Book1.5 fastidiously organized everything, nothing could get in on their watch.

You decide to peer down.

A large mechanical database, continually making more of itself, expanding into the beyond.

(DONT FORGET BOOK DREAM SAVING HARRIET)

BACKDOOR

MEMMORY LEAK

DO NOT OPEN

(THAT MEANS YOU)

A pile of cogs. A pound of flesh. The broken bits and debris of moving parts, glowing, sparkling.

You peer through the crack. It's empty down there, wherever that is. You wonder if this is where the end the dream falls. Maybe your mind didn't think this far. Assuming that this outer area is just some weird mental projection, and not anything real.

A large sinkhole opens in the sky, black as nothing, sucking everything in. The soft curves of the skyline bend in like folded tablecloth, the clouds too with them, the higher towers and gothic infrastructure crumbling first, then the lower, reaching to sea level. Ten times its original size the spot has grown, now swallowing the area of a large metropolitan city, with it has.

Mariel_Dorms: He seems to be planning some sort of… well I wouldn't label it an invasion, some sort of excursion. He needs to deal with a threat.

You cross your limbs.

"That's strange. Except for search drones, Librarians never leave the Library, and even when they do, the lower staff would be deployed, not the GA."

"Ready, Archivist Harriet?"

"Ready."

Air seemed to enter and exit Kam's lungs in the same manner as a bicycle pump, as he raced to An's Way. Quickly poking his head through, the adrenaline began flowing even faster. The sight of the Library completely destroyed him. All of his preparation, just… undone. He instinctively scratched his arms into scarred canvas as he paced around, thinking and thinking and thinking.

Don't panic. You don't have time. You'll have to build a new Way system from start.

You're right. Your perspective refocuses, and, if only for the next hour, you feel like you're yourself again.

The paint flows out. He leans his head against the collage. Taking a vain look around, (of course, he's alone) he takes a sip.

Kam wields in the last piece to the contraption. The broth within its tanks bubbles up into something resembling dark wine. The slight tingling of electro-magnetism is felt against his skin.

He aims the nozzle into position and pulls the trigger. A thin rain is spritzed out its nozzle. 0.012 zeptoseconds later, and the flame shoots out its barrel, igniting the mist. Another 0.012 zeptoseconds later and a razor is shot out. The sound of fabric ripping, then a Way forming. At least, from his point of view.

A one-sided hole. All that needs to happen is for it to the other side to be connected, and everything'll be golden. Just jump through, jump back, die, and respawn back with the Library.

It's time to leave.

A bulbous, black eye, tethered by tendrils to ten bloodied, brainwashed vechterwezen. Atop its head is a pitiful bone crown.

A horrid sound brushes up behind you, like approaching motorcars. It certainly resembles the noise of a motorcar; it grinds and halts and swarms like a million cicadas.

When you turn around, it at first appears as one image. One fractal fracturing into several instances of slick tornadoes. It's only when they suround the area completely that you notice a black crown on the leading tempest.

The view is obscured by the fog of the misses launched. Little bits of smoldering debris cover the field. Oil spews from Grawlix corpses onto the others, immediately engulfing them. A group of ten or so fold their Aervipers into flapping wings. They're extinguished.

Like a pack of rabid dogs, they pounce.

The torso intercepts the spark, and in a flash. A thousand hold are drilled into its side. It whelps before going limp and disconnecting from Luc.

punt

"Kam-"

The lance crashes through the bottle.

He slashes at the wine, vainly parting the contents before it reforms.

Luc and Aph descend.

Scrap and rebar are plywood to the bullets. They collapse.

The scrimmage moves to the side.

Logs:

Dwelf 51: kicks right abdomen of Soldier #2

Vechterwezen #3 (Luc): bites Weed and lips are penetrated. Wound licking ensues

The vechterwezen sits standoffishly with Harriet in its mouth. She sinks her jaws into his neck and Luc's lets her go and howls. His crowns pulsates in glowing bursts of pain. The crowd turn and chase after the trifling insect.

Out the dusted sheet of clouds rains a million sheets of paper. A jaw clamps down on empty space, as a plane carries.

A flame ejects from a tiny nozzle mounted where the candleholder once was, charring the page to dust. Her limbs go limp for a brief second,

"S-sorry Book, I just-"

Kam swoops in and grabs her

The crown falls the beast. It bows down before the ecstatic Nobles, lying still as they pounce.

With a terrible, crushing noise, the thorn drills mount onto the stone. They burrow.

Dust caked in the air, the last vechterweezen limps over. It slashes

You brandish a bottle of brandy.

Book frantically scratches into their pages,

right behind you

Harriet crashes into his back, creating a tremendous cracking sound.

"Sorry-"

You mutter under your breath.

A stray stone is chipped off, hurdling directly at Nope.

His bone cage breaks and shatters into dust. Fort falls.

Nope mutters the same word over and over again to himself as he stands over the corpse.

He clumsily runs off into the tempest, stone shards in hand, cutting apart its thorns. Reaching into itself, the storms tangles. Its comrades come to its rescue.

The soldiers seize their opportunity of distraction and sprint to a batter aiming range, cracking pistol shots each step. Behind, lays the Grawlix reserves.

Nope dies. Quemo flees. The flaming corpse is tossed in with the soldiers, and into the hole. They leap. Most burn. One doesn't.

He tries crawling to safety. Luc tramples him as he chases down Aph. And planting himself against the cover, lies next to his cremated comrades, again aiming.

Harriet, seizing the opportunity, aims her sights and runs her motors. The general is clearly too fixated to notice her.

Ten meters.

Five meters.

One meter.

Something's in his hand.

He breaks his feigned ignorance and slashes behind him. The whirring gave it away.

Harriet flies over him and crashes into a den of Aervipers. Her sensors short circuit almost immediately, leaving only her biological components. The last image she sees is stump where a limb should be.

Formicide flows out the open wound.

There!

An takes the broken glass bottom and crawls over and collects the contents.

im sorry im sorry sorry sorry sorry

Even your screams are slurrred at this point. It started a few minutes ago when An gave you the drink, and the headches, the smerines of your eyes, - can barely posess anything in this state. It's like dreaming- no, sleepwalking.
The library falls with the levity of a feather, as if suspended mid-air, or in slow-motion.

Saved barely by his shell, the semi-crushed GA limps over to the plane barrage and tears. Fro, their pages, an annoying whir noise akin to yells is heard. An reciprocates by flooding the area with the rest of Rubedo pouches, softening the papers into a sea of mush, still alive a mass. Harriet

A Way opens.

The Librarians form a shield around him. The last tempest hurls itself at it, using the last bit of itself to ball up into a solid mass. The Librarians hiss at the sight of threat to their knowledge and cast a flame at once. It flashes. It dies.

The GA escapes. Harriet bites on one last time, gripping tough as titanium, holding on with fiery passion. He ignores the insect on his head and continues.

With slick slicing of metal, rust forming, arcspokes stopping, grinding to a halt, ant insides crushing, she's split in two. The Way closes.

Are those… cracks?

Kam cries under the rubble,

"This is- god, it's here. It's here it's here it's here"

Breath.

Are you crying?

He crumples under the stones.

"What the fuck am I doing? I mean- I know why, I know why, I- I, - fuck - I want- I'm angry at them, they were always above, at least Luc was… and now Cowboy's… fuck! Kam - I - you - me us, I don't want us to die! I don't want to die!I know it sounds juvenile, but I don't! Please don't make me die."

Stopping now would disturb causality to an unprecedented extent. You wouldn't want to blow anything up, would you?

"Yes, I understand, I know- we've talked- you've mentioned before this…"

Calm down now. Breathe.

Kam hugs his lance.

"I'm ready."

The guard looks through their scope, hand steady.

bang

The crown explodes into sharp bits of shrapnel.

Harriet rushes over with shaking limbs. She carelessly crams the parts together, mumbling incoherently under her breath. Aph reforms a messy ink blob.

A barrage of gunfire rings, barely grazing atop her shell.

"Fly us out of here."

She does as she asks and darts a few meters into the air. A terrible snarling sound is heard behind them, before Luc clamps down on Aph and stops their ascent.

"Get the fuck off me!"

They thrash violently.

Another easy shot. He readies his firearm once more.

Before he can take the shot, however, he's interrupted by the sight of a lance protruding out of him, accompanied by a gushing sound. Kam finishes the motion and separates the two halves.

He gives a thumbs-up, tilting his head to get a better view of the bread figure brandishing a bottle of brandy behind it.

You shatter the bottle against his side, itself but a trojan horse. Luc takes the bait and briefly releases Aph and Harriet to survey the oncoming attacker. You're ripped to shreds.

It doesn't matter, though; the brandy trails the entire time on the back of their head. It fills their eyes.

Seizing the opportunity, Harriet swarms in for a bite. Luc swipes wildly at the air.

You seize a bit of leftover bread and runover to prevent her from completely taking over.

"STOP"

Kam screams.

Luc, I'm tired

I'm tired of fighting

I'm tired of being a deity

I'm tired of dealing with incompetent Terrans

I can't kill you

You can't kill me

Let's just

Stop

Aph, I-

I'm tired too

stab

Clean. A clean shot. Like the resulting end of a knife through cake, frosting sticking to its sides. Luc falls on his knees.

A lance is jammed into his back. With a crack, Kam the bone separates from the flesh. With glee he leaps onto the dead in front of him.

Looking backwards, the moment of inaction that followed immediately afterwards was just that, brief. To every party involved, however, it was an eternity. Aph was astounded at how easy it was. How quick. Her lover was dead. Stabbed. She could not act on this information.

Most of all was Kam, who himself had just as well died with Luc.

He punts Aph with enough force to split her tendrils and spill her contents.

You waste precious moments to bat your eyes around, looking for any food. Only sewage and waste remain.

A wooden blur juts towards you, and you knock it to the side. The lance graces past your face. Your side profile is sliced; you can feel its image dripping down your cheeks.

The stick bends and you struggle and toil and gith to push it back.

The wood presses against forming splinters in your palms. He's too wiry to put up much of a fight, but you're too exhausted to do much of the same. Your muscles feel like they're splitting at their seems and ready to explode any second.

Paper ashes sit still as the two Books frantically search for possessors.

"κάψτεπαρακαλώκάψτε! - παρακαλώ σώστε τον φίλο μου!"

The plasma shoots out your mouth, a monolith of heat compared to the embers you used to cast. A large scar forms on his shoulder blades as it comes into contact with his skin, but the adrenaline keeps him up. He goes for another slash before you roll out of the way.

Book hurls Book at his face. His mask cracks. He continues forward, hand over his right eye. It seems to have blocked most of the impact.

Something's slyly slid out his pockets and pointed to the ground in front of him. Book1.5 uses their ectoplasmology to their advantage, and brashly goes to retrieve Book.

zap

Kam's Way sends him into the void. He himself stands in a victory pose, cooly blowing the candleholder like a smoking gun. Just like Kent.

He looks over at you again, and notices how still you are. You're facing down. Kam walks over to examine the corpse.

You bash the rock against his face, this time smashing an ear off. Your other hand wraps into a fist and slams his jaw loose.

On your back. The sky is spinning. Smeared. Paint.

It swipes right below the jugular vein, careful not to kill him too quickly.

His gasps and gurgling pale in comparison to your thoughts. Racing. Racing. Frantically flipping through his pages, most blank, they at last saw a message.

END

His eyes rise with a shake,

The trail ignites. Book's page warp and char as they burn. You use the last of your strength to lean over to face them.

Your eyes lock. Their eyes fade. Yours follow.

With a satisfying click, The candleholder is lit.

His eyes exhibit a near-magnetic attraction to a fixed point in the sky, never leaving, never twitching, never blinking. There's a look in these eyes that is completely unnatural. But they aren't lighting up. In fact, they're completely dead. Grey. Completely dull. A void sucking in information.

A bright, supernova flash goes off in the distance. Once the stardust clears

You step into the Way.

Jump in. Jump back.

Eyes too sad to make tears. This is the last notable cognition of Kam Verlie's life before he Left.

A mental list lives in your head, being read again and again.

It is your purpose. Terrible, swarming insects, in your fur. You don't have fur, the mask is porcelain. Very smooth, hard. You're not a mask, you do not wear one, you do not exist a corporeal being. You are not a thing.

You can hear your past self ridiculing you. You can't even remember, but you can feel it. Notice his body movements.

Stop talking. List. List. List. List. List. List. List. List. List. List.

In the woods

You possess an SH member (in the time they weren't dead) and steal an extraneous Way knife, on hand, and slash a portrait into a totem on the path. It's mocking, its eyes are following you. You're not scared, though a careful examination of you would yield divergent results. You pour the last remnants of the lighter fluid and pour it through an eye socket. After this you expected the looking to disappear or diminish, but it's much worse. The glowing adds a certain aura of supernatural authority to it, as if it's judging you. Even when you leave, you can still feel them piercing you.

At a bleak, naked home

I'll need this.

You splurdge the brush in the genes and tug it out with thick, viscous force. Applying it thoroughly, all around, around the house, every wall, every crack- crunch crunch crunch. Leaves. He's coming home- no. You stand back and admire your work. Backhalf. He enters from the front.

He texts Are you okay? Your family is worried about you I love you

He shouts what was that.

Quickly the front half, no time now.

ShakinG: splittinG: rumblinG

Fighting haha ha ha

милые бранятся - только тешатся

Lucaph perfect ship.

◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼
◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼

In an alleyway with a Thief

"Here, sell this instead."

You hand Crow to the Thief.

"Observe that farmer to the side. Please sell it to him. Do not remember him. Pay him no thought. Take this. Please take this gift."

You leave.

At the serpent

By you

The door creaks open. A small child is curled up behind the couch. The only sound is the television. You walk past the filth clinking to the floor, the garbage, the dirt, the dust, the broken, the stains, the crumpled balls of dead paperwork. Walk in with a smile. Act like a parent.

"I-it's okay…"

The peak of fear isn't screams, it's silence. Of shock and terrified awe.

You try to hug him. He backs up against the wall. You take a step back.

Step in the room. Things seem fake. Like a portrait wrapped around your eyes. Around mine. So light, so dead, like the molted skin of an insect, ready to be blown by slightest brushing of wind. That my world, the entire world, as far I am concerned, could simply fall off. That I could see the roll of a movie melt and warp and die. This, I experience.

I want to stay to indulge in text, to jump out, and pontificate as the outside observer I am, but I'm still here. And things are still moving. For example, I, the kid in the living room, reaches for the knob of the main door and I cannot think like this.

Now, should I help him? But he would run. And it I know I don't. But I should. I want to, and I need it. I need someone to rescue me.

I will step into this room. You will know what I have done. I am sure of it. And even if you don't, I will. And that will have to be enough.

And then I walk in.

First Epilogue

Once more, a stranger treks upon odd and deserted land. Soil once vibrant and fertile now sits caked with limb and corpse. Once revolters, inverted again, twice, three, perhaps even more, and die buried along with their enemies, their towers felled. Trenches, once shallow, were cut deep, then back once more, now leveled.

The scene set is completely unrecognizable.

Sorry for the sight

I think we can both agree

That this

Was a massive failure

A Way appears in front of you.

Why?

You don't know them.

They aren't you

Second Epilogue

A lone trumpet plays out taps.

Book1.5. Book. Book looks at the grey, dusty horizon. In the archives of his mind, he can still see it. The star. The star from the desert, instead distance, behind the clouds. He calls it Sirius. It has been one year.

"I'm dead."

They feel as if they should do something, a sign of respect, of memorial, yet they don't know exactly what. Book reaches into the tempest's body, and pulls out the thorn's remains, now cooled ashwood, coagulated into a slab of bark.

A poorly scratched-in heart, next to a quote,

"To me, and the Terran I've grown to love, the adventurers who made their own."

The right corner of his face curves to create a semi-grin.

"We try anyways."

Third Epilogue

Dear An,

I am quite aware that this letter well never get to you. Despite this, it will. It has to. That's unintelligible. I suppose that's part of Kam rubbing off on me. Or the straw brains. Or both.
I'm using the last bit of consciousness left in me to yell this at Kam so he can transcribe it down (I'm certain he'll burn it). I think he's going to do something bad. Very bad. I'm trying not to think about it.

Whenever I look after these Dwelves, I know I'll be thinking of you. How fucked up is that? Fulfilling the role of the caretaker. For my sake. That's vile. So vile. I have myself into that object. I will be dumb. I will be naive. This is good.

Oh my god, I'm talking so much about myself! Oh my god! Oh my God! Fuck.

If I can't say anything else, I love you. I know it's childish, and simple, and ratherly vain a statement, but it's enough. It's true. And that's good, right? Any adage would just dilute it down, make it worse. I need this to be childish. If it's childish, it's true. I love you An. And I'm sorry and I love you.

I love you.

Clouds-Dusk-Farm-Sunset-Field-Sun-Scarecrow-5958854.png

Every story an author writes invariably ends up becoming them. It's rather lonely.

End

Of Chapter One

Well pardner, now that was a wee bit heavy, ain't it? Go ahead and take a moment to kick back, relax! Get a glass of Rubedo. Maybe even splurge on some Antumbran Delight if yer' feelin' adventurous (I won't judge, pal.) If you ain't sedentary type feel free to go for a walk. Kiss your (living) husband, read a good Book, fly a drone, the options are endless really. Take as much time as you need; I'll be here waiting. Come back when you're ready.

Done? Suits yourself!

Chapter One Point Five

Lo! and behold me. In this glorious deisciption inscribed with my soul, in this cloak of crimson cloth, adorned on my top a hat of grain. Just like my forefathers, and this I shall. Ouranos. Oh, Book thy concrete slab. I never doubted. If I could chisel in thy face a million times I would.

What are you doing

"Reminiscing"

You let your fingertips fall down the tablet's graven text, its words looping around your thoughts.

imagine them as something lovable

"Let me have this."

Maybe one day

moon

Bye - going for a walk

White and black and white and black white and black and trees all over.

midnighte cold wind

Fourth Moon, Thirty-Second Cycle

Melancholy; the kind that only exists in stories. Lovely birds chirping: Wind nicely flowing past you: Windchimes clanging. You know. You'd know if you listened. But when I become aware again, only the feelings remain. Strange mix of joy and loss. A good sadness. There can be good crying, good release, but no good sadness. Felt like failing a test. Consummation. All gone. Again. Alone now. I'm not lonely. I see that. I don't know what to say about it really. Talking about it doesn't help either.

I can stay here forever.

Knees tucked under my arms. Looking. Those sounds creeping in again.

Fifth Moon, Thirty-Second Cycle

Cheer up! I'm not as numb anymore. Good ol' LF.

It was me. Couldn't help but hug her. Surprised the snakes out of her. Surprised me too, if I'm being honest. Not really the go-around-touchy-feely type. It just felt so good interacting with someone other than myself (the irony is not lost on me, read as I mean, not as I write.) Dimensional travel is such a boon sometimes.

She asked to specify if this was the alternate alternate me or just the alternate me. I told her I didn't know and that trying to find out would not only be a logistical nightmare but also somewhat absurd. She agreed. I know myself well.

I apologized for having had left on such short notice.

I think she expected me to have sort of witty response. Something to lighten the mood. I just couldn't. She let me borrow her Flux sauna for a while. Has kept this place marked out for her own. Vacation. After I took a nap I

Fifth Moon, Thirty-Second Cycle

Talked about how I used to make fun of her for it. But I get it now. I want to lie. I want to be still. Our head leaned together against the deadtree, and we fell asleep for awhile. I woke up before her- before I'm writing this. I couldn't help but stare at myself. Let the silence ring out around me. She's at peace.

I'm tired.

You're alone in the same sense a lost fawn's alone. Sure, you miss your mom… your family… but predators lurk out of view. Stalking within bushes, in the skies, waiting to pounce.

God, why did An have to introduce Terran culture with Bambi of all things.²

She's back again, dressed as she always does in a crystal blue drape. Something large is drug behind her, so large that air bubbles form at its base when she scrapes it in.

She flaps her fins in excitement.

"I'm actually working on something important right now, but- yea… y'know, yea I'd appreciate it. Do tell."

You mentally cringe after replaying how you said it. With the slightest tinge of desperation. You try to save face,

"So, uh, yeah, what'd you wanna show me?"

"A concrete slab?"

"No silly, it's a box!"

Oh, well, duh, yeah. The fact that you didn't realize this is a little concerning.

"You Salvaged this?"

"Yup."

"Hm. You were never that much of the scavenger type growing up. Always stayed home playing those st-… little board games."

"Yea, well, I noticed that it was shaped like a box."

"Mm-hmm."

"And do you know what's shaped like boxes?"

"Cereal?"

"Boardgames!"

Naturally.

"You shouldn't be doing that if you don't know what you're doing. I've found some pretty dangerous magic out here."

She shrugs.

They place it down. It falls with such heft that they're sent backwards, right into your copy of their ''YOUNG ECONOMIST AWARD." If it were heavier, it would've fallen down and smashed into bits, but being a cheap coral shell piece, it's gracefully floated upwards.

"Still can't believe you kept this all these years."

"Yeah, well-"

"Thank you."

A moment of awkward silence passes.

"Don't ju"

"Did you know that they learned how send the boards in the screens, like over the signal!?"

You nod up and down silently. Nobody cares about your dumb games. You want to blurt this out loud. But you don't, because that would be mean.
These aren't your thoughts, you lie to yourself. She's my friend.Just another way in which she's better than you.

Here comes another:

You could've been anyone else.

Then again, you could've chosen anyone else.

"Mar, you're phasing out again."

They snap their fingers in front of you like a hypnotist trying to wake up trying to wake up their patient. You shake your head.

"Not with this economy."

This exact phrase was used by your parents' countless times before, and you loathed it. It didn't matter what leader was in, or how good things actually were, or whatever. Anytime the slightest inconvenience happened to them, whether it be seaweed going up a shell, they would blame it on the 'economy.' Yet here you are. In an even worse position than they were.

As expected, she immediately pulls out a moss bar and begins carefully unwrapping it.

"Hey, can I have one?"

"Of course!"

She was smiling harder than usual.

"Nothing, it's just… even when we were kids, you would always say no when I offered them to you. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever heard you say yes. Isn't that amazing?"

What a silly thing to be smiling about, you think. But smiling is a properly silly action in of itself, you come to a conclusion to. A smile appears on your face.

You scarf down the moss bars in a matter of seconds.

"Thanks."

"You too girl."

Seabun swims to your shoulders.

"Sorry bud, you're too late. Actually- hey Mare, think you could spare one for her?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to feed moss to Sea Bunnies."

"That's just an old clown fish's tale. They're okay in small quantities- just make sure not to give more than a barrel."

She nods and then swoops to the floor, moss bars in hand. Jam and Jar join in on the action.

"Wow Mar, you really know your stuff when it comes to them."

"Yea, well I've had a lot of… free…. time…"

"Let's just get back to the bo-"

The flashbox starts up again.

Mare jolts back.

"Great…"

You mumble under your breath.

You bang your head against the flashbox, but still resumes its failure to function.

Sound begins to play:

-.. .. … - .-. . … … / … .. . -. .- .-.. / ….. ….. / .-.. - - -.- .. -. —. / ..-. - .-. / … …. / — . — -… . .-. / -… .- -.-. -.- ..- .. / .-. . … . .-. …- . … / -… -.. . -.. / .- … / … - - -. / .- … / .. —- … … .. -… .-.. .

(DISTRESS SIGNAL 55 LOOKING FOR SH MEMBER BACKUP RESERVES NEEDED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE)

There goes another signal. It's surprisingly clear this time. You open the telegraph lid and input your message,

..-. ..- -.-. -.- / —- ..-. ..-.

(Fuck off)

You slam the lid back down.

"They said they'd take care of this like a month ago. I don't suppose you would know anything about that?"

The question is half-sarcastic and half-curious.

"Nope."

"Now, for the last time, can. We. Open. This. Box."

"I'm…trying…"

Their fins flop down in defeat as their gills pump up and down in exhaustion.

"It's no use. We'll need some tools… a wedgebox should do. Do you happen to have one?"

You shake your head.

Just then, the whole building shakes. A loud crashing noise is heard outside, followed by the light from your windows being shadowed with plumes of dust.

"We have to go, a vent just popped!"

"Wait, this is exactly what happened when that thing landed."

"Who cares!? We have to go."

You hold her fins and grab your pets on the way out. The sand has settled, and in clear view, a large dent has formed in the ground. You cautiously peer over. Inside is a wedgeplate, attached to metal ball, with a note on top that reads:

Forgot about this. Sorry.

"Is this for us?"

It takes all the strength in your dorsal fins, but after a minute of struggling a satisfying clicking sound is heard.

Excitement rushes through your veins as the two of view slowly prop it open, treating it like discovering buried treasure. It even looks to glowing and gold like one.

It's… another box. A rather ornate one, fitted with gold trimming and marble shell.

"First time I've seen a drop this clean. Not a sign of tarnish."

"That would explain the casing."

(NOTE: NOT ACTUAL TEXT JUST REMINDER
ORNATE BOX
STEEL BOX
BOARDGAME
J. PARVA INC)

"Hold on, let me tell them about this."

You place your fin on hers.

"Let's at least open this one up first."

She stops typing and follows the suggestion. Her breath stops suddenly.

"What."

Mare shrieks in excitement, and melodramatically places her fins against her head.

"Oh, Mar! Guess what it is!"

"Well, you're doing the thing you always do when you're excited so oh my God it's a boardgame."

The Invisible Tentacle

A chibi logo with the name J. Parva Group is stamped in the bottom-right corner.

In the top-right is a bald, middle-aged Suit giving a thumbs-up and pointing to a factory.

"Hey, I think I've seen this fin somewhere, he's an economist, right? What was it… Milton… Milton Fr-"

"Yeah, Milton Fishman!"

Your eyes twitch.

This pretentious moron is smarter than you, and you hate it. It's corrosive poison, it's-

No- stop. She's your friend. Stop. Thinking like that is dangerous. Thoughts become habits become actions and all that. She can probably sense it. You never know with her. She's either completely oblivious or hyper tuned to you. And sometimes, she does something with her hair, or smiles in a very subtly sour way- where you know you've hurt her at meta-subconious level. It's obvious. And you don't want to hurt her. You really don't. They don't deserve it.

"I love you Mare"

You stupidly say.

"Platonically, of course."

You had really meant platonic. It was meant as payment for the subconscious damage you did earlier. Now that you clarified it seemed like you actually are in romantically attached to her. If you clarified a third time it would be even worse.

"Aww, me too."

She goes back to typing.

…. . -.— / ..-. .. -. … / . ..- . … … / . …. .- - / .— . / .- ..- … - / —. - -

"Does this thing have a sight light?"

"Nope."

You're too busy opening the gamebox to give a longer reply.

She turns around.

"Oh, we're going to play right here? Now? I mean, I was going to ask that anyways, I'm just surprised you made the first move."

She smiles.

"I was just going to-"

Just going to see if it had anything in it.

Like a kill switch - or a script recall - the whole situation makes you think terribly. Terrible thoughts. Over and over. Bad training. No. The repetition in the back of your head is dreadful… so terribly dreadful… shut up. You're in control. You can fix things.

Let me love.

Just this once.

"Yes."

The box is packaged like this:

In the bottom-right corner is a stack of strange little green slips with wrinkled starfish on them.

Beside, a book titled 'Universal universal universal commodity translator. The subtitle says 'don't panic,' but it's crossed out and hastily replaced with 'Bear Nix Alarm.' It hasn't sogged a bit, somehow.

A mini-saw/ spinmill hybrid. Attached is a bunch of blinknodes.

The top of a red cylinder.

A mangrove pom, although it's too red and fleshy.

At the edges of the box are hundreds of tiny arcspokes.

"Mar you're the game expert, what's going on here."

"Mare! It's us."

"What does that mean."

"It's the economy! Goods and services! Markets! The boardgame!"

She swirls around and flaps her fins about.

"How lucky are we? My two favorite things, together. Why hasn't made anything like this before? There was that one Drop we found, but other than that…"

"Floodopoly?"

"What? I've only heard of Monopoly. That might've been a bootleg."

Fuck.

"Sorry."

"Here, maybe it'd be best if we just open the tutorial…"

She picks up the UUU translator.

snap

A thin string, nearly invisible, detaches from the book and sets off the arcspokes.

The contents start rising, revealing itself as the top of a tower.

"What the-"

And it doesn't stop.

Beneath the apple is a slightly different variant a bit pinker, stored in a brass compartment. Then pinker. Then pinker. Then, an entirely different fruit. Then a vegetable. Then candy. Then an axe.

"Uh, Mar… Mar how do you stop this Mar- Mar- Mar where's the off switch."

The ceiling begins creasing as the towers pushes against it.

Chips of the roof drift off.

She frantically flips through the manual.

You ram yourself against the tower. It doesn't budge.

"We don't have time!"

A beam flies out of the UUU and to the top of the tower. Another flies in front of the doorway, transferring the growth there instead.

She jumps back and tosses the book.

You stare at Mare dumbfounded.

"How'd you do that?"

"I- I don't know, I was just flipping through the manual-"

"What does it say?"

Firm Formation

page 1501

The stand in front is filled with fruit. The other, filled with the vegetables.

After flipping around for a bit, the UUU faces the towers again and shoots out another beam. This time, the axes, in front of the windows.

Despite a minute of inspecting, no obvious off switch or power source can be found. The tower weighs down the gamebox, preventing you from grabbing and breaking it. More and more towers surround you, forming a claustrophobe's nightmare. You pick up an axe and cleave it into the wall, but it explodes into a cloud of dust on impact.

You slam the flashbox against the walls.

"Mar, calm down."

She hugs you.

You catch your breath.

She snatches the UUU and shuts it. The towers stop appearing.

"Let's think rationally about this. Maybe we can try the book again."

"That'll just waste time. We have to find a way out now."

She looks at the now cracked flash box on the floor.

"I have an idea."

She opens up the telegram.

"What's your emergency line?"

"I… don't have one."

"What? Oh dear, do you have any emergency contacts?"

You're taken aback by the fact that she can say phrases like 'oh dear' in such a situation. It's endearing. It's also calming you down somewhat by osmosis. You're almost jealous.

"Mar!"

"No- no, I don't."

She goes silent for moment, and looks up, like she always does when she's thinking.

"Only one option left…"

. . -. - .-.. . — . -. / - ..-. / - …. . / …. .. . ……-. / . - .-. .-.. -.. —.. / .— - ..- .-.. -.. / -. - ..- / …. .- .. .. . -. / - - / -.- -. - . / …. - . / - - / … …. ..- - / -.. - .— -. / .- / -… - .- .-. -.. —. .- — . / ..-. .-. - — / -.— - ..- .-. / . - .-. .-.. -.. / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. . -.. / .. - …. . / — . —. .. -.-. / - .- -. -.-. .-.…—.

GENTLEMEN OF THE HIGHER WORLD, WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW HOW TO SHUT DOWN A BOARDGAME FROM YOUR WORLD CALLED 'THE MEGIC TANCLE'

-.. .- … - . .-. .. … -.- -..- / - …. . / — .- —. .. -.-. / - . -. - .- -.-. .-.. .

(ASTERISK) THE MAGIC TENTACLE

-.. .- … - . .-. .. … -.- -..- -.. .- … - . .-. .. … -.- -..- - …. . / .. -. …- .. … .. -… .-.. . / - . -. - .- -.-. .-.. .

(ASTERISK)(ASTERISK)THE INVISIBLE TENTACLE

(INSERT RECESSION)

You decide to multi-task by searching through the game's content while she works on contacting help.

The diodes, upon closer examination, aren't fully lit, but are blinking so fast you can't tell the difference. It bears an awful resemblance to morse. Maybe it's sending inputs in the system? It's too fast to decipher a message and 'talk' to them. And it'd be useless in this situation anyway.

You turn your attention to the broken parts of the flashbox turning around. The magnifying glasses in the inner components broke off into shards that are quite sharp. Perhaps they could be useful in jamming the arcspokes.

As you lift it into the air to plunge it into the pinions, something catches your eye through the glasses window. A million tiny axes, dispersing through the water. You lower the shard and find that you're observing the cloud of dust created by the axe. You lift it up and down and see the same thing each time, equally surprised every time you do it.

"Mar? What are you doing?"

You blush.

Back to jamming.

crunch

The glass is crushed into sparkling bits.

Right. It's glass.

At this point, you can smell the salt of your sweat mixing with the water around you.

A notification alert plays from the telegram. Your heart flutters a bit at the thought of a possible exit. You swim over.

"Huh. I thought you said you didn't have any other contacts?"

You cock a brow.

"I don't."

"Well, the system says one of them did. They want to talk to you."

She points at the screen. It's black.

"I think all of the stress is making you see wrong."

"Mar, this isn't the time for jokes."

"There's nothing there. What do you see?"

She reads out loud.

.- … - . .-. -… / — .-. … .-.-.- / — .- .-. . —.. / .. / .-. . . .-. . - / - - / .. -. ..-. - .-. — / -. - ..- / - …. .- - / .-. . -.-. . … … .. - -. / … . . — … / .. — — .. -. . -. - / .- - / - …. .. … / .. - .. -. - / .. -. / - .. — . .-.-.- / .— .. - …. / - …. . / -.-. - .-.. .-.. .- .. … . / - ..-. / - …. . / … .- . / .. -. -.. ..- … - .-. -.— .. / ..- -. . — .. .-.. - -.— — . -. - / …. .- … / … -.- -.— .-. - -.-. -.- . - . -.. / .- -. -.. / …. .- … / .- .-.. .-…- -.. -. / … - .- .-. - . -.. / - …. . / -.….-. .-.. .- - .. - -. .- .-. -. / -.-. -.— -.-. .-.. . / ..-. - .-. / - …. . / .-. . … - / - ..-. / - …. . / . -.-. - -. - — -.— .-.-.- / -… -.— / . - -.. -.-.— / .- … / .- -.-. - .. -. . / - ..-. ..-. .. -.-. .. .- .-.. .. / … - — . - …. .. -. —. / -… -.. … / - - / -… . / -.. - -. . / .- -… - ..- - / - …. .. … / .. — — . -.. .. .- - . .-.. -.— .-.-.- / .— …. .- - / -.. - / -. - ..- / … ..- —. —. . … - ....

(ASTER: MRS. MARE, I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT RECESSION SEEMS IMMINENT AT THIS POINT IN TIME. WITH THE COLLAPSE OF THE SAW INDUSTRY, UNEMPLOYMENT HAS SKYROCKETED AND HAS ALREADY STARTED THE DEFLATIONARY CYCLE FOR THE REST OF THE ECONOMY. BY GOD! AS ACTING OFFICIAL, SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE DONE ABOUT THIS IMMEDIATELY. WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST?)

"Why would only you see it if it were meant for me? It doesn't make any sense."

You type,

… …. ..- - / . …- . .-. -.— - …. .. -. . / -.. - .— -.

(SHUT EVERYTHING DOWN)

—- ..-. ..-.

(OFF)

—- ..-. ..-.

(OFF)

—- ..-. ..-.

(OFF)

—- ..-.

(OF)

.. / — . .- -. / —- -.

(I MEAN ON)

-. - / .. / — . .- -. - / - ..-. ..-. / - .— - / ..-. ..-. … / -.. - -. - / … - .- -.— / - -. / -.. - -. - / … - - ..

(NO I MEANT OFF TWO FFS DONT STAY ON DONT STOP)

-.. - -. - / -.-. - — — .- / … - - ..

(DONT COMMA STOP)

… - - ..

STOP

-.. - -. - / -.-. - — — .- / … - - ..

(DONT COMMA STOP)

- . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - . .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. - —. .-. .- — / - . .-. — .. -. .- - . / .. .-. —- —. .-. .- —

(TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM TERMINATE PROGRAM)

"Erm, this is happening awfully fast."

Some of the diodes flash rapidly before going black.

"See? No response and now we have to deal with that, let's just move onto something else-"

"Wait! I'm getting one right now!"

-.— - ..- / — ..- … - .. …- . / … - - .. / -. - .— / — .- .—. — —.. / .. - .—. … / -. - ..- .-. / -.. ..- - -.

(WOU MUST'VE STOP NOW MA'M, IT'S YOUR DUTY)

"Oh yeah? Ask them why I should care. We're in kind of a precarious situation right now."

You lean your head against a tower.

The statement's meant in jest, having something to say while your mind mulls. You don't expect another reply.

.. .-. . -.-. .- .-. .. - ..- … / .. -. -.… -.. .-.-.- / .. / -.. - -. .. - / ..- -. -.…-. … - .- -. -.. / . …. .- - / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / . .- — . / -. - ..- .. .-. . / .. .-.. .- -.— .. -. . / .-. .. —. …. - / -. - .— / .. … .. / -… ..- - / .— …. .- - . …- . .-. / - …. . / - ..- - -.-. - — . .. / .. - .—. … / -.-. - — .. -. . / - - / .- / -.-. .-.. - … . / … - - -. .-.-.- / . …. . - ……-. / ..-. .-. - — / -. - ..- / … - - .. .. .. -. . / - .-. / -.— - ..- / .-.. . - - .. -. —. / - …. . / . -.-. - -. - — -. / -.- …—. / .-. ..- -. -. .. -. —. / .- — ..- -.-. -.- .-.-.-

"Game over, eh? So all of this'll end if I mess up bad enough?"

.. .-. . -.-. .. … . .-.. -.

You scoop up an apple and tenderly cradle it between your fins

and crush it.

You were about to try smashing shit anyways. Got to try anything that might work. Got to blow off some stress while thinking of a way to shut this thing down.

poof! Apple dust.

Next, the axes

Then the 'pears.'³

A third of the diodes go black.

Seabun hisses and curls into a ball.

You pick them up.

"Here, you want to help out, pup?"

Dust gets in their face. They sneeze.

A 'peach' disintegrates.

"Jeez this stuff is fragile."

You go for another blow.

. - -.. / -.. .- — -. / .. - / … - - .. / …. .. — -.-.—

You turn from the telegram, intending to do so, when something flickers in your peripheral vision.

The counter.

"Wait…"

"The counter- it says that employment's increasing."

+.- .. .. .-.…— .- … …. .-.-.- / .. - / -.. - . … -. .—. - .-.-.-

"It does."

You pause to think. A metaphorical lightbulb undims above your head.

"…If the problem's falling employment, then that means the problem's falling profits. And if the problem's falling profits, then that means the problem's falling prices. And if the problem's falling prices, then the solution's rising prices-"

bang

Mar mars something behind you.

. - / —- -.

"So destroying all these commodities might work at ending this 'recession'. If this is supposed to be some sort of economy, of course."

Hundreds of diodes overcharge and explode, hot, sharp shrieks whistling out each time one dies. The counter falls faster.

Mar drifts over in a blazen state of fatigue. She barely huffs out a sentence.

"Well Mare, th-that's it. I don't have any other ideas, and if you're the same we're- it's…that's it. We're dea-"

… …. . / -.. .. -.. / .. - / -… - -. … -.-.— / … …. . / … .- …- . -.. / - …. . / . -.-. - -. - — -.— -.-.—

, You yell.

The flashbox fills with hundreds of users spamming emoticons and cheering, far too fast to be read in real time.

+-.— - ..- .. .-.. .-.. / — .- -.- . / —. .-…- - / -.-. .- -. -.. .. -.. .- - . … .-.-.- / . . .-.. -.-. - — . —.. / .—. .- .-. - -…-. … .-.-.-

They don't respond for a few brief moments.

.. - … / . . -. .. ..- … .-.-.- / - …. . -. .——. .-. . / —. . -. .. ..- … .-.-.-

, You relay their message.

The towers stop growing, but do so quite artificially seemingly, with a blue holographic filter upon them as they do.

You tap the screen.

"You were right, Mare…"

It's a real mind. Almost certainly from 'bove ground. Strange magic goes on up there. Magic from your point-of-view anyways.

Set-up + tutorial/demo complete. New game start. Please refer to UUU if assistance is needed.

Bitcrushed bells ring out, straight out of a vintage retrobox game win screen. Seabun flees to the center of the room as the towers compact and beam back into the UUU.

"Everything seems the same, expect… hm… the rectangle stacks seem taller than they were before."

She grabs the UUU and places it back in the box, careful not to open it.

She turns to you, lips ready to speak. You already know what she's about to ask.

"Sh-"

"Break it."

There's that look in her face. That gleam. It's not greed. She could care less about wealth. Some part of her loves it. A mysterious economics boardgame from the land? It was practically made for her. It could, literally, not occur to her that perhaps she might die. Or - no- she realizes that obviously, she's not oblivious. She just thinks it's more important.

"Just to find out more about it. I mean, if the above ground's throwing this stuff down here, think about what their normal entertainment is. And those messages; they must've come from one of them. How often does someone get an opportunity like this? To talk to a real-"

"Nope. Send hell back to its handbasket- or, well I guess that doesn't really work since a- Return to sender. Yes, return this- get rid of this, just get it out of here. It's bad omen."

"Call your emergency 'scriptions, they'll dispose of it."

"Yeah…"

As they leave, it occurs to you that this might be the last time you'll ever see them. They're not going to want to come back after… this. And you've been such a horse to them the whole time. Three whole cycles of nothing. And now she's out the door for the rest of yours. So things can go where they belong- no. I'm not giving up on you.

I'm not giving up on you.

This idiot tumor on my soul dies today. I can fix this.

"Wait…"

This is an incredibly idiotic off the cuff decision. What've you done.

"Bury it."

You've committed now. Too late.

"What"

"Like buried treasure?"

"I- yes, like buried treasure- expect only we we'll know about it- so don't message any 'scriptions, forget I even mentioned that."

"Just find somewhere hidden- somewhere close but not super close. It doesn't have to be that far, no one lives in this block to find it anymore anyways. Mark the location down on some sweed paper."

"And after that… "

"We can hang out."

"Aye."

She grins,

"You know, that does sound an awful lot like buried treasure."

You place your fins on her hair and scruffle up her hair.

"You are such a lovable dope."

"And don't come back until I massage you, I'll be busy with some… home renovation."

Shards of glass swim in your vision. You shuffle them into a neat jumble.

pet

Oh Seabun. Calm down baby. I love you. Sea and Bun. If you were a real bun, you would taste… so… good(?) And Sea? More like…seebun. Because you're so- holy. The⁴ Pope would love you.

Behind her ears.

You look like a stereotype to her. A crazy lapin lady. And you know that isn't true- you've had her since you were a lad. A gift- from her none the less. You But still, the whole picture -a lonely pet rearer-

They're tumors to you, deadly reminders.

Another old incantation runs through your mind.

Tumor.

You pet them once more.

"Don't worry, you're not going anywhere."

This is it. After it's buried, we can

You calm flip open the flashbox.

"Still there?"

No response.

You had forgotten that they only appeared to Mar.

"Wait one moment."

- …. .. … / .. -.-. / .- -.. -.. .-. . … … / …. .- … / -… . . -. / .-.. .. -. -.- . -.. / .— .. - …. / -.. - — .. -. ..- … .-.-.- / . . / .— .. .-.. .-.. / -. - - / …. . … .. - .- - . / - - / — .- .-. -.- / -.— - ..- / .- … / …. - … - .. .-.…-.-.- / -.. - / -. - ..- / … - .- -. -.. / . .. - …. / -.. .- .-. -.- .... / -….- / — .- .-. -.- -… / … …. / … . -.-. - - .-. / .. -… .. -… .-.. .. - - . -.-. …. .- .——.

(THIS IC ADDRESS HAS BEEN LINKED WITH DOMINUS. WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO MARK YOU AS HOSTILE. DO YOU STAND WITH DARK? - MARK: SH SECTOR 'BIBLIOTECHA')

"I'm guessing you're talking to Mar? Sorry, you're too late. The game's over. Dead. Go do some surface stuff."

(NOTE: confused SH frequency with game frequency)

— .- .-. .-.-.- / - …. .. … / — .- -. / … .…- -.- … / .. -. / .-. .. -.. -.. .-.. . … .-.-.- / .. … / - …. .- - / .- / - …. .-…- - ....

(MAR. THIS MAN SPEAKS IN RIDDLES. IS THAT A THREAT?)

"I'm a girl."

.. / …. .- …- . / - - / .- -.. — .. - —.. / - …. .- - / .— .- … / .- -. / .. — .. .-. . … … .. …- . / … …. - .— .. -. . / - - -.. .- -.— .-.-.- / .. .—. — / .-…-.. .. . …- . -.. / - - / -… . / .. -. / -.-. - -. - .- -.-. - / .. -. / . .. - …. / .- / ..-…-.. .-.. - . / .. -. - . .-.. .-.. . -.-. - ..- .- .-.. .-.-.- / - …. . / -… - .-.. -.. / .-.…- -.…-. / .-. ..- -. … / ..-. .-. - — / - ……. .-. / .. -. - ..- .. - .. - -. .-.-.- / .. - .-.. .. -.-. -. -….- ..-. - -.-. ..- … . -.. .-.-.- / … - — . / — .. -. - .-. / .. — .. .-. - …- . — . -. - … / -.-. - ..- .-.. -.. / -… . / — .- -.. . / - ..-. / -.-. - ..- .-. … . .-.-.- / .. ..-. / .— . / - .- -.- . / .- / .-.. - - -.- / .- -

(I HAVE TO ADMIT, THAT WAS AN IMPRESSIVE SHOWING TODAY. I'M RELIEVED TO BE IN CONTACT IN WITH A FELLOW INTELLECTUAL. THE BOLD LEADER RUNS FROM THEIR INTUITION. POLICY-FOCUSED. SOME MINOR IMPROVEMENTS COULD BE MADE OF COURSE. IF WE TAKE A LOOK AT.)

Goddamn it, it must be the stray signal coming back again. Finally got to responding an hour too late.

..-. - .-. —. . - / .- -… - ..- - / - …. —- … . / — . … … .- —. . … / … . -. - / . .- .-. .-.. .…-.

(FORGET ABOUT THOSE MESSAGES SENT EARLIER)

.- .-. . / -.— - ..- / … ..- .-…... / - …. . -.— / .— . .-. . / .- ..- .. - . / —. .-.. - .— .. -. . .-.-.- / - …. . -. / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. . -.. / -.— —- ..- / .- / —. . -. .. ..- … .-.-.-

(ARE YOU SURE? THEY WERE QUITE GLOWING. THEY CALLED YOU A GENIUS EARLIER.)

Ah, so they…. are from the game? But still, you shouldn't be seeing them- you shouldn't've seen the other messages either. Unless,,, it's another messenger… the one only you can see…

"Is that you? Are you from the game?"

……-.. .-.. .-.. —- / - …. .. .. … / .. … / — — .

(HELLLO THIIS IS MME.)

.- ..- . — - / … - - .. / - …. .. … / .. … / … . .-. .. - ..- … / . …. .- - / .- .-. . / -.— - ..- / -.. - .. -. . / … - - .. / … - - .. / .- … / .-.…- -.…-. / .. / -.-. - — — .- -. -.. / -.— - ..- / - - / … - - ..

(QUEMO STOP THIS IS SERIOUS WHAT ARE YOU DOING STOP STOP AS LEADER I COMMAND YOU TO STOP.)

.. / .- — / ……-. / ..- - .. .-.. … / - - / ..-. .-… -.. - —

(I AM HER UTILS TO FREEDOM.)

"I don't have time for this."

slam

You shut the program down

and then quickly reopen it after remembering you'll need it to message her. What an idiotic little flourish.

Wait why don't I have her number where is it fuck I forgot to ask her fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfucukfuck.

Fifth Moon, Thirty-Second Cycle: Day Zero of Journey

You turn to the landscape around you, scavenging the still regenerating corpses, their new flesh growing 'round the machinery that pin them down. You turn to the last soldier and offer to levitate them off. Although, you're not sure if that would even work after your Archives were blown up.

"No… nervous system… pinned…"

They mouth.

"Sleep."

He's layed down all weaponry. He's not going to kill you- why would he? There's nothing here. No comrades at his side. Everyone's dead.

Your eyes continue their search. In the distance lies a mountain sized bubble. An's home… An. An.

And you.

You can't-

Explore. Carry on. How meaningless. Why? What are we? They're dead- yes, dead. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Supposed to help Book grow. Water pouring out of your spout, gushing their seed with fresh nutrients, Are you talking about yourself? Selfish- but they're not you. Selfishness is easy. Hating yourself- failing yourself is easy. But you failed them.

In every book in your archive, every one in the library, the mentor dies for the hero. Scapegoat. Lottery line- cutter. Cut. End of scene- book.

Sububble. Can't go in there. We'd be shot on sight.

"Wherre to?"

Quemo. He's asking you. As if you're the leader.

"If he killed Luc, he's probably going after Darke next. Either to kill him or ask for help with whoever he was talking to earlier."

When your face is a static bookcover, it's hard to spot a lie. You'll come into contact with a Way somewhere along the trip, and at that point, they can do whatever they want on their own. All paths lead to the Library. You'll find a shelf, preferably with some other bibliomatons.Then things can be like they were. Waiting. Hibernating. Perhaps some stray Wanderer will pick you up and read An's adventures. A true guide. A real one.

Why'd I leave? Book- the Library- books- leave Book, books, the Library.

Not ready.

Counting eggs.

"Luuc?"

They don't understand any of this.

"We can talk about it on the trip."

It's okay, they don't need to.

You turn around and meet eyes to eyes with the last Noble, pinned down. His chest pumps violently, but he's unscathed. Turning more, you search for any landmarks other than An's home, any sign of soldiers, but see nothing.

"West."

The group gathers and dump their pickings into a rucksack. Mostly dried fruit and tinned tongue. Paltry.

"Not a lot, but it'll have to do for… well, actually… do we even need any of this?"

The pinned Noble speaks out,

"Some of us actually have to eat, you know."

"No one said we were going to bring you."

"Yeahh noone likes youu"

A horsefly loops about Quemo, and quickly tongue slapped by him in an instant.

"Quemo - that is your name, right? Are you sure about the whole insects-only thing?"

He crunches his prize between his molars.

"His fine."

,The soldier raspily whispers.

"I can heaar youu, but yeaa"

"Bad. Loud chords!"

"We call it Rattlegrass armor."

"We alreeady saaid that."

"Yea, but these were unopened, and they're still understuffed."

A rustling is heard in the wreckage.

A new scavenger.

"It's ugly."

In truth, you agreed, as much as you wouldn't say it. Its skin bursts with sores and burnt splotches, covered only intermittently in tufts of greyish tuft patches. Atop its fore was a large scar, a mark, like a failing grade. Its right eye had been gouged, it appears, or perhaps it was a birth defect.

"We're dead eitherways. I could say the same about any of you. But we're banded together. A mass of dead weight pilfered together."

You feel bad for it. But that's not something you'd say out loud. It's not good enough- except Quemo maybe.

"Hop on."

Behind its shoulder, atop its scarlet lapping back, you ride, agalloping' westward.

Day One of Journey

The smoke. You'd usually associate storminess with colder weather, but it's trapping in all the heat. Hot and humid. The worst combination.

Quemo wipes his humid moistened palms against his forehead, attempting to imitate the sensation of sweat.

"Goot aanythin coold in therre?"

Right. He's a lizard… thing, he can't keep homeostasis on his own. The perks of being cold-blooded.

You stare into the scrap duffel. A fourth empty.

I asked him. Twice. And he reassured me. Even the soldier told me. Don't worry? Damn it. Flies weren't enough for him. Even then, the supplies've dwindled faster than you would've anticipated. Eating like a patrician.

You've done the calculations, it'll last four more days. It's good to plan ahead- you don't have any stray hats lying 'round. Speaking of…

You unwrap the cloth and find Crow still there. Perfectly safe. Good.

He hasn't moved at all.

"Is there anything out here?"

Every blur, every loose figure in the distance, is a beast. If you squint hard enough, they could pass as one.

Even monsters are great company if you're lonely enough.

It appears as two halves of ripped sheet, partitioned by a slightly darker gray streak in middle. It's not much of a set piece, but even a different shade is better than monolith of sludge you've seen so far. It almost looks out of place.

You could've sworn it wasn't there before.

Look again. Is it… moving? Rising? Parallax effect. Must be. You stare at the soldier's head as an anchor point. Sure enough. It's moving.

"There! Right there, you see that?"

Everyone stares at you blankly.

"See that stack over there? It's probably some sort of smoke signal. Probably from a village or something. A fellow wanderer?"

You hoist yourself upon the soldier's shoulders.

"Everyone get on."

"No ViLLaGES HerE. All CITiZENS iN buBBLES"

"How come?"

They motion to the landscape surrounding all of you.

"DeAD LaND"

"It's probably from some soldiers then. C'mon, we-"

"nO sIGNAlS. ToO DaNgErOUS"

"Where's it from then? A mirage?"

"naTurAl."

You take a second to think.

They're right. Probably.

Probably. A very hopeful word. One you need right now. It could be a signal, of course. Considering the circumstances, it might have to be enough.

"There!"

You pat them on the shoulder.

"Youu alreaddy saiid thatt."

"No, look!"

The smoke signal's bottom half slowly transitions from grey to pale white.

They cock a brow.

As you approach, a village comes into view. At least, something resembling one. It's tiny, with homes being made of hollowed logs, 2x4s and flags. It looks like it would collapse with the slightest brush of wind.

Out of a tunnel pops out two Darke guards. Real ones. The ones working with Luc.

Soldier scuttles behind a loghouse, everyone still seated atop his back.

"YeA"

"sTRangE. Should N Be ouTsIDe HiS ResidEnce."

"Darke let them out for Luc."

"hE aNd LUC Ar AlLiES. ThiSs DiFFERENt"

A soft buzz radiates under their breaths. Like a lost signal searching for its channel. Most likely the stray waves of their radions. Almost entrancing.

NS taps your dustjacket.

"Christ, do you know how late it is!? What're you trying to do, wake everyone up?"

"Since this isn't a Civ designated location, I can't do anything 'bout him. But I'd regret taking one of them in. Highly mutagenetic.

"Keep your dog on a leash."

"Who's the leader here anyways?"

The Noble pops out of Quemo's bag.

"Stop!"

"Oh, sorry sir! we didn't expect a Dwelvan Noble this far out in the star map."

"I thought they died out-"

She bumps his elbow.

"Shhhh!"

"Of course! Looking for the… the… oh dear, you know us Dwelves, short in stature and memory, heh. Could you remind me again?"

"The Asni."

"The Asni, yea, the a…buh…de…spuhh."

"The spy?"

"Yeah!"

"The one Darke sent into that group of rabblerousers plucking against the entourage he sent with Luc. After none of them came back, he sent an emergency declaration for them to be relocated. He's a very valuable asset."

"Maybe they died."

"Doubt it. They wouldn't go out that easily."

"Well you didn't think we would just leave you alone, did you?"

"You could take us to the nearest Way?"

"Sure, if that's the fastest route there."

(DARKE TRICKING AND MANIPULATING AND LEADING BOOK TO RESIDENCE)

"For this, we will be called the Serpents Hand."

Upon the mountain sits a sububble, even wider than An's, reaching around its entire perimeter.

A gaping pit of rotting fruit and wood, infested with insects all the way down. The smell is that of centuries dead wildebeests.

It nods.

It pushes the other guard off the mountain. It tumbles down with bits of flesh and bone jutting out and falling off, the only full piece remaining at the bottom being its armor.

"You used my-"

Her voice sounds deeper, more crooked.

The guard quickly shifts his eyes up grumbles under his breath,

"Did it have to be like this?"

NS squints their eyes at them.

"?"

The guards tug their arms together.

"It's just… we're surprised."

"Yes, good idea."

"A new decree."

You unfold the cloth and examine it closely. No loose ends. No tufting. Looks like it just came out of the factory. Or wherever this world gets its supplies.

The fabric's a clean slate, excluding the seaming. Seaming. Looking at them from the side reveals them to be jutting out slightly. Flaps. Pockets. Waiting to be yanked on. Can't leave them hanging.

You invert their insides, revealing a handkerchief with fine lettering printed.

Production Call number: 252273241447-183284-1843751974120

"Youu told mme that theyy becaame Neveerwere agaain."

They certainly could've; it's not out of the realm of possibility.

You can't help but laugh.

"Four! Four bloody rations left."

"That's so cliche."

Dogs are meant for dying.

Kam makes sense. You're a Book for God's sake! It's so on the nose.

Dead weight. No- it's those puppy eyes. Don't make this something it's not. It'll live.

They rub their face.

"See!? That's us! We can't let it starve us off- listen, we. I'm the mock leader here, I would know what to do, I've watched Book for so long."

"Whose that?"

"Let's here them out…"

The nameless soldier slacks its jaw back and forth, using all its dexterity to speak with clarity

"what do you know."

"How about one off you be the leader."

Cliche. Cliche. Cliche. Cliche.

"Here, take this."

You hand it over.

"You know how to write, right?"

They nod.

"My bets are on Quemo."

A new notification.

.— . / -… -.. / - - / - .- .-.. -.- .-.-.- / ……-…-.-.- / -. - .— .-.-.- / -… . …. .. -. -.. / - …. . / — . .-.. - .. -. . / .-.. - - .-.-.

(WE NEED TO TALK. HERE. NOW. BEHIND THE MELTING LOT.)

Melting lot? But the melting lot… melts things. That's probably the worst place to hide something. Also, probably the most… dangerous.

You bolt out the doorway.

Is she okay? That message seemed pretty urgent. It's pretty easy to burn yourself there. Or… fall in. Nope.

You maneuver past the rubble piles.

Sorry. Good person. Sorry. Good person.

Her fault.

Shut up.

Past the loose scrap stacks.

Past the rubber wheel hills. Careful, there're seahorses in there.

What's that blob in the sky? A song whale? Probably. Don't think about it.

The melting lot's in sight now. Its bowsprockets glowing red with heat, churning away its contents, releasing huge, warping vent bubbles out of its pit. A graffitied sign lay on its safety cage, warning users that only Salvage overflow is meant to be disposed.

Overflow? It's all overflow.

You swiftly pivot around to its back.

She's… fine. Outwardly, at least. She jumps up upon noticing you and speaks frantically,

"- and I was just about to finishing digging- then there was dark blob in the sky, and then I came here to you- "

"Alright, alright- just… slow down, I didn't understand any of that."

She places her fins against her lips and zips them.

"You mentioned something about a blob, right? I think I saw something like that earlier. I just assumed it a whale husk, or Salvage, or something, but if you saw the same thing… "

"That's just it- if that's the case then we couldn't've seen the same thing. It already fell."

"That's a good thing, right?"

She shakes her head and unveils the bulk under the rags.

A Suit.

"You don't think a Recession is coming, do you?"

You shudder lightly.

"I- I don't know- why're you asking me, you're the Econ nerd."

Out a plume of dust lies a mangled suit.

"Poor fellow."

Another blast goes off, creating a crater about the same size.

She swims over it.

"We don't have time, c'mon let's just go-"

"It's…"

She interrupts with a slight tremble in her voice,

"…another suit…"

You go with her.

She starts speaking slowly,

"It's just a hoax. Those are known to… happen. Lift it over."

It's purple. A deep, bluish purple. Air bubbles form from its lips and slowly gurgle away.

plop

Another.

A cascade of raps. Piles of suits.

Mar grabs you and hoists you out of the growing sludge blanketing the ground.

"Damn it, Mar you were right earlier-"

"Help me find us a place to hide."

Your eyes scan the scene, but everything, the scrap, the rubble, is too flimsy to withstand a Recession.

"We can go to my house."

"What about the game?"

"Take it- it'll be crushed by all the pressure."

Past the rubber wheel hills.

Past the loose scrap stacks. Seahorses pour out of the cracks in droves.

Past the rubble piles.

You slam the door behind you and reach your fins out to lock it shut. It promptly floats off its hinges. She trails close to the walls and loops around the interior, limbs searching for something.

"Where's your defense controls?"

"It's too late for that! Besides, there aren't any shelters nearby for miles."

"Thing's weren't doing the best, but… here? Now?"

"It would make everyone's life much easier if they could be predicted, but yes you do have a point. I've been keeping a keen eye on economic news for the last couple months. It'd be incredibly unlikely for one to occur now without some sort of exogenous shock."

She stares at the game in her hands.

"Mare, you don't think-"

"No Mar, I don't."

She sighs.

A few moments of silence pass.

She tilts her head a few degrees, getting a look at something behind you.

"Hey, um, sorry about… all of this."

"Oh, it's…"

She cringe.

"Fine. I've been through worse. I'll recover."

"It's fine. Just kind of blurry now."

"This is the thing you were looking through earlier, right?"

"Axes. I was staring at the axes, which already exploded at that point, and the dust- it was made of more axes. "

Dust dances in front of her, provoking a sneeze, and interrupting your explanation.

"Radieschen!"

The light pours through the cracks formed in the walls, glistening the dust into starbit semblance.

She pauses and thinks.

"I wonder if that's true for the rest of the stuff you broke."

She loosely slides her fins against the walls. A bit of dust clings to them.

"Here,"

She motions toward the loupe.

"take another look through them."

You put the glass to your face.

"So… what do you see?"

"Tiny little apples."

"Apples in apples?"

"Apples. Very small. Lots."

"Appleception"

"I loved that somniflick."

"Let's focus."

"…What were we doing?"

"The-… nothing. We were doing nothing."

"Huh. I thought we were doing something"

"…Then what's stopping us from having some fun."

She grips your fins and leads you out. You blush.

"I fucking love you, okay?"

You shut your eyes.

..-. .. . -. -.. .-.-.-

(FIEND.)

-.-. - . .- .-. -.. .-.-.-

(COWARD.)

.-…. .-.. -. / .- .-.. .-…- -.. -.—

(REPLY ALREADY.)

.— …. -.— / .— - -. .. - / -. - ..- / .-…. .-.. -.—

(WHY WON'T YOU REPLY.)

"I told you to fuck off."

.. — .- —. .. -. . / -… . .. -. —. / - …. .. … / . -. - .. - .-.. . -..

(IMAGINE BEING THIS ENTITLED)

.— . / — .- -.— / -. - - / -… . / .. - . . .-. ..-. ..- .-.. / . -. - ..- —. …. / - - / .. ..- - / .- -. / . -. -.. / - - / -.— - ..- / -… ..- - / -. - ..- .. .-. . / — . … … .. -. —. / . .. - …. / -.. .- .-. -.- . .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / …. . / .— .. .-.. .-.. / -… . .-.-.-

(WE MAY NOT BE POWERFUL ENOUGH TO PUT AN END TO YOU BUT YOU'RE MESSING WITH DARKE. AND HE WILL BE.)

… - / … - - .. / . .. - …. / - …. . / .. -.. .. - -.-. -. / .- -. -.. / - . .-.. .-.. / ..- … .-.-.- / .— …. -.— / .— .- … / -.— - ..- .-. / -.-. - -.. . / ..-. - ..- -. -.. / - -. / .- / -.-. .-.. .- -.— / … —- .-.. -.…-. .-.-.-

(SO STOP WITH THE IDIOCY AND TELL US. WHY WAS YOUR CODE FOUND ON A CLAY SOLDER.)

"We promise, we didn't have anything to do with it. Say, how are you sending messages this fast anyway? Reception is usually terrible in a recession, what with all the… rain."

.-. .- .. -.

(RAIN.)

.- .-.. .-.. / - …. .- - / -.- -. - . .-.. . -.. …-.-.- / -.-. - ..- .-.. -.. / -.. - / .- / .-.. - - / - ..-. / —. - - -.. .-.-.- / .- / . …. - .-.. . / .-.. - - / - ..-. / -… . .- ..- - -. .-.-.- / -… . .- ..- - .. ..-. ..- .-.. / ..-. .-… -.. - — .-.-.- / -… . .- ..- - .. ..-. ..- .-.. / ..- - .. .-.. … .-.-.- / -. - ..- / . . .-. . / -… - .-. -. / ..-. - .-. / - …. .. … .-.-.-

(ALL THAT KNOWLEDGE. COULD DO A LOT OF GOOD. A WHOLE LOT OF BEAUTY. BEAUTIFUL FREEDOM. BEAUTIFUL UTILS. YOU WERE BORN FOR THIS.)

-. - - …. .. -. —. .-.-.- / -. - ..- / —. . - / -. - - …. .. -. —. .-.-.-

(NOTHING. YOU GET NOTHING.)

-.— - ..- ..- / —. . - - / - - - / -… . / .- / —. - - - -.. / .… .-. … - -. .-.-.-

(YOUU GETT TOO BE A GOOOD PEERSON.)

-.— - ..- / . .- -. - / - - / -… . / .- / —. - - -.. / .…-. … - -. —.. / -.. - -. .. - / -. - ..- ....

(WOU WANT TO BE A GOOD PERSON, DON'T YOU?)

Good person. Good person. Good person.

Strange two words. Brings back memories. Tumor. You're the cancer. Hurt her. Hurt them. Balancing act.

Brings back memories.

You're in a room. Mom and dad are there. Large house. You miss it. Good to breathe.

She's in the other. You've hurt her. Only a little.

Mirror. God, is that really what I look like?

"Sorry."

She looks down. She hugs you.

God, is it really that easy? No, no, no.

Was it you?

The star.

No, it's you.

Tumor.

You can't help but mouth the words over and over again. Sorry. Good person. Sorry. Good person.

And then sometimes, rarely, it wouldn't. Because you didn't really mean those words. Can't just be above, on a conscious level. Subconscious. You know you didn't.

"Of course I want to be a good person."

- …. . -. / -.— - ..- / -… - - …. / .- . .-… .-.-.- / .. - .. … / - .. — . / - - / … - .- .-. - / .. .-.. .- -. .. -. . / -. - ..- .-. / —. .- — . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- / - .-. / .— …. .- - . …- . .-. / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / .-.. .. . / -.— - ..- / -.-. .- — . / ..- .. / .— .. - …. .-.-.-

(THEN YOU BOTH AGREE. IT'S TIME TO START PLAYING YOUR GAME… OR WHATEVER LITTLE LIE YOU CAME UP WITH.)

The land is filled with strange, strange magic. Magnificently terrible magic.

"Maaaybe we should do it outside this time."

"Good call."

You wade out a few meters out the empty doorframe, coming back at the sound and sight of suits hitting the floor.

Oh yeah. Recession.

"Sorry Mare that was meant as a joke."

She picks up some of garbage scattered throughout your room.

"Here, we can make a canopy."

.- . … ..- … / -.. .. -.. / - …. .- - / .-…- .-.. .-.. -. / - .- -.- . / -.— - ..- / .- -. / …. - ..- .-. / -.-. .- -. / -.— - ..- / .- ..- … - / . . - / - -. / .— .. - …. / .. - / .- .-.. .-…- -.. -.— .-.-.-

(JESUS DID THAT REALLY TAKE YOU AN HOUR CAN YOU JUST GET ON WITH IT ALREADY.)

The doorway's been converted into a makeshift corridor.

Mare opens the box and the UUU.

Lights.

Towers.

Action.

"Well there's no crumbling architecture this time, so that's a good start."

"A lot less claustrophobic."

page 0001

You are State

"Guess this is my page, considering that's what I was earlier. Flip to yours."

"You were what?"

"The state. YOU ARE STATE. In red letters. That's what it says."

"That's not what I see."

"What do you see?"

You are Owner

"I think the text is personalized. Just like the telegrams we were sent."

She flips to the second page.

There are four different options, but all of them are greyed and placed under a lock icon. All except one.

- View past lives?

She tries flipping to the third page but finds it flapping back down every time she does so.

.— …. .- - .. / -.. .. -.. / -.— - ..- / - …. .. -. -.- / -. - ..- / . - ..- .-.. -.. / .. .-. . … .. -.. . / - …- . .-. / -. - ..- .-. / — - -.…-. -. / ..-. - .-. — … .... / -.— - ..- .. .-.. .-.. / …. .- …- . / - - / … - .- .-. - / ..-. .-. - — / .-.. . …- . .-.. / - -. . / .-.. .. -.- . / - …. . / .-. . … - / —- ..-. / ..- … .-.-.-

(WHAT, DID YOU THINK YOU WOULD PRESIDE OVER YOUR MODERN FORMS? YOU'LL HAVE TO START FROM LEVEL ONE LIKE THE REST OF US.)

"But… we had it before?"

- …. .- - / .— .- … / .- ..- … - / - …. . / - ..- - - .-. .. .- .-.. .. / .-. . — . — -… . .-. ..—.. .-.-.-

(THAT WAS JUST THE TUTORIAL, REMEMBER?.)

(TOWER OF STAGES BUILDING UP TO ABOVE GROUND)

The tower's colors fade, their items along with. The UUU zaps out a web of beams back into your house.

Warping and waning, the farthest back wall transforms into an archway. It's bright on the other side.

A projection shoots out the manual, displaying in large 3D font,

- Create avatar:

"Yea, I rather like my body."

You wave at yourself.

(Creating avatars method for bringing An and Book back?)

It's like I'm staring at yourself, but I'm still myself. Or it's a portrait around your eyes.

"It's the only option…"

You examine the pamphlet closely. The top right-hand corner has been bent slightly. You tug at it weakly to make sure it isn't supposed to come off. There's not much clarity, but it looks an old-timey polaroid of the same island. Matted wool lays at the sides of some dirt path, sprinkled with coinage. There also appear to be hands reaching out to the camera, but they're barely visible, almost transparent. Most likely an aging artifact.

"What are they saying?"

You hook up the reflectors on each corner of the patio.

(REFLECTING DARKE'S SIGNALS)

(Mare.)

You are in the sky.

You should be falling. Your body isn't built to withstand depths higher than 4700 meters. You'd shrivel up.

But you haven't.

The water around you tastes awfully sour. Liquid lemongrass.

"Is this the world above?"

.— …. .- - .. / -.. .. -.. / -.— - ..- / - …. .. -. -.- / -. - ..- / . - ..- .-.. -.. / .. .-. . … .. -.. . / - …- . .-. / -. - ..- .-. / — - -.…-. -. / ..-. - .-. — … .... / -.— - ..- .. .-.. .-.. / …. .- …- . / - - / … - .- .-. - / ..-. .-. - — / .-.. . …- . .-.. / - -. . / .-.. .. -.- . / - …. . / .-. . … - / —- ..-. / ..- … .-.-.-

(WHAT, DID YOU THINK YOU WOULD PRESIDE OVER YOUR MODERN FORMS? YOU'LL HAVE TO START FROM LEVEL ONE LIKE THE REST OF US.)

"I'm a little island boy!"

A crab rattles its periods across some stray driftwood.

That's one familiar creature at least. An insect.

You look up into the sky. Blue. Like it usually is. Just a slightly lighter shade. The figures and blobs are there too, but they're fluffier and white. And giant. Those whales must be majestic. Weird fishees.

It's strange.

It's beautiful.

You step around on the muted sand, kicking up tiny plumes that fade quickly in the wind. In your wake, a trail of footprints are made. The deep purple definitely clashes with the surroundings. A shame they look like that, so unnatural. A blight.

"Are they usually purple?"

(It means that anything you touch becomes magically engrained.)

"What if I started a forest fire? Would I own the island?"

(Jesus kid don't do anything stupid.)

"I'm just asking."

"Yeah, yeah I know homesteading, Po Llocke, and all of that. I just want to try something of my own."

(You haven't owned anything before?)

"Only whatever the 'bove world leaves us. I mean, look at us. We couldn't come up with anything nearly as complex as they have. No fire. No thumbs. We should be thankful, really."

(Smart kid.)

"Not a kid."

"What if I carve a notch into this splinter here, and then give it to this crab, and it catches insects for me. Would those be mine?"

(That sounds very unrealistic.)

"What if it upsets a bees hive, and then they go crazy and sting all the animals around them. Then I would have infinite food!"

(Are you going to run out of questions eventually or…)

"Not until you stop calling me a kid."

(Alright, alright. You're not a kid. Although that behavior was extremely childish.)

"Hey, I was just having fun. Plus, the questions were real too. Been kicking around in my head for some time now."

(Really. Really good questions. You struck me as the more intellectual type earlier.)

"I can already tell how much fun I'm going to have with this."

You pluck a locust off a piece of driftwood with your new fins.

Prehensile. Ambidextrous. Fascinating.

Never seen one alive before. Junk food. Always have a way of offing themselves into the sea. Bottom-feeder's pick me up. Junk manna.

"Be free!"

You toss the locust husk underneath the hive. Bullseye. You think that's what they're called.

You cross hatch the twig into the crustacean's claws. Should be tall enough to reach it.

(Where are you going.)

"To new hives."

Trekking away now.

Dark sky now. Much more drastic than the seasky. Blue to black. Can hardly tell all the way down there.

Dark all around too. Inky plants, inky woods, inky stones. Careful you'll trip. Can hardly see anything. But then,

color.

In the distance, a bird. A rare one. Beautiful magenta coating. Only have seen them as an outline, something in the sky. Although that's still what it looks like up close. An outline. Quick purple flash. Something of a blob.

"Did you "

Color's back.

It looks like a deformed seahorse creature.

What does a bird even look like? You've heard it described as a dainty stingray.

Dainty little dots appear and disappear quickly, swarming around the figures.

You peak through the brush.

10 furred monstrites of varying proportions. One, the rectangle-snoutzer from before seems to not be dead yet. They're limping away now. They've left their meal. Done. Well, they're not a meal. If they were they would be swarming still. What do birds eat?

A large stockpile of corspemeat lays behind you, caked with mud to avoid spoilage in the sun.

"Engaging in the fine art of cruciverbal cartography."

"Fascinating. Doesn't all that thinking get you cross sometimes?"

"It's a struggle but I'm sure things will map out."

"Ha. Ha."

"Having fun on your island adventure?"

"Okay why are you playing along right now."

"I'm just in a good mood."

"That's just your personality. I cannot imagine you being sad, ever. If you told me you were depressed I would laugh in your face."

"Mar did the signal get lost."

"Mar are you depressed."

"Mar I was joking."

"Mar please respond."

";D"

"Haha wow fuck you."

"And you?"

"What?"

"Why are you playing along right now."

"Please explain."

"Ah, but you're forgetting one thing, dear. I'm an Econ genius."

"Of course, your majesty."

You play along, but. What the fuck.

"Observe. An entrepreneur in the making."

The rawhide hits your skin with a cold, wet slap. Shivers are sent down your body.

It's beautiful.

(What is that.)

"Every entrepreneur needs the suit. I like this one. Cardovan-black, reverse-dome exterior with exquisite white pollen stripes. Unique. "

(Whence the entrepreneuring. Whence the commodities.)

You point at the food stash.

"These are the commodities."

(These aren't commodities. This is just property. You need to trade them with someone.)

"Then trade with me."

(It doesn't work like that.)

"Why not?"

(It just doesn't. That's not my role here.)

"That's what I figured. You're a non-player character, right? A part of the game? Are you even conscious?"

(Cognito ergo sum poindextor, of course I'm going to say yes to that. And if I wasn't that'd be all the more reason you couldn't trade with me.)

"Then when are people supposed to show up?"

A large crash-cracking sound reckons from the shore.

(Great timing as always.)

Stumbling over stone and log, back where you spawned. Creaking over the coastline is a front-crumbling spaceship. A working flying machine. Something right out of a story.

You cautiously steep over to listen for any survivors. Assuming it's manned.

Hearing now, that whitenoise ocean broken with grumbling within.

slam

The pier comes down.

You fall on your back, fins crossed over chest. Almost lost your head there.

A passenger steps out of the spacecraft.

Strange starfish, he. A perfectly Brifish voyager cosplaying as pirate, with girdling around his legs in royal blue, moving up into the proper stock redcoat suit and topping out with an eye-pieced face and crimped, bird's nest hair.

"H - hi!"

His face turns pale and he jolts back up the pier and juts a piece of plankwood in front of the exit.

"Did I take a wrong turn?"

He doesn't take his eyes off you.

"I'm not really-"

"No. This is not- talk to it?"

"Excuse me!"

He pokes his head in the space between the plank and the hull, using it as a window.

"Sorry for the poor introduction, but… you wouldn't happen to know about any game, would you?"

You smile weakly.

"…Yes. You want something from me, right?"

"Well, it's more like trade."

He huffs.

"They told me not to bring anything-"

, He mumbles under his breath. Quite a loud person. Can hear him from here.

"Who told you?"

He pauses.

"… commander of mine. Homeland. Sent to explore this chain. You?"

"A threadfin. I'm just looking to trade here, we're both in the same team. Mutual beneficiaries. I've caught a whole pile of offal and fowl back in those woods. I know you said you didn't bring anything, but it can be anything really. A bit of cloth. Some plankwood from your hull. breath from your lips. As long as I can trade for it. You look pretty hungry, right?"

"If you have all that, then you don't need to be trading with me. Any exchange would be a loss. Especially with those options. What are you even doing here, anyways? Stranded?"

"I wanna be rich."

"Well giving stuff away isn't sound strategy. And if you did, I would just hold it hostage until you did what I wanted."

(Good idea.)

"No, this is going to be mutually beneficial relationship."

(You should know a business opportunity when you see one, Misses Smith)

"Of course. It's just kind of…"

(Oh what, he's an NPC. They don't matter, remember?)

"I have a sudden terrible urge to make contact with you now. I am going to step out now. No brash movements. No biting. We're civilized here, I trust."

He casts aside his makeshift window frames and limps duly forth. Great burst of courage the first half there. Then the limp catches up. Cautious now. He walks with reluctance. Two steps forward. One step back.

In your face. He sticks it forward.

You lunge a fin out and jangle his up and down.

"There! Not so bad."

He cringes.

"Let go please."

You try tugging.

A purple ring blinks around your linked appendages.

You try again.

thump

The sound of something hitting the ground in the backwoods.

"Bloody hell was-"

The ground rattles. It goes

Bdn, Bdn, Bdn

A dark green blur zips between you two. Something of a long, thin blade trails behind them.

"Jabberwock!"

Felix turns his heels, preparing to run.

In a warbling voice the creature speaks.

"Begone, you-"

"Mar?"

Mar speeds back in front of you and stops deathly still. You look her up and down. She's adorned with a bushcrafted gown of foliage.

"Mare! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"What's, uh, going on here."

"What's going on with you"

Felix squeezes his eyes shut.

"Mitosis…."

"I saw a contract on the mini-map."

"Say, what did we agree to?"

"Nothing! I remember specifically advising you not to, actually."

She grimaces at you.

"Well, you have to now."

"What?"

"You shook hands."

"Felix, you don't have much, but you do have something I need."

He cocks a brow.

"There aren't many left."

"How come?"

"I… well, I killed all of them. Sorry about that."

"Really? I thought it was a pretty good deal."

"This really is the best decision. There's a very intimate process going on here. This magenta is… you can think of it like an extension of me. My very blood stains this ground. How do you not-? You should know your stuff up here. You even get some food in exchange. Win-win. Not to mention the compensation for the risk that I'm wasting my shells on an NPC. I can hear them now. Somebody yelling that I'm playing the game wrong."

"Don't stand on some moral cliff, you said you would do the same thing yourself And I'm sure the rest of your fleet would do same thing given the chance. Just work with me here. Please?"

"I'll hunt my own then, scoundrel!"

"Good luck with that! There're only about, hm, let me see… 50 left."

"What was his problem?"

"Good for him. Chose for himself."

"You know how emotional I get about these things."

She slides one of her fins toward yours.

You jolt back.

"Sorry. You looked cold."

"We're in the tropics, Mar, I'm quite warm in reality. But thank you for the gesture."

"Mhm. Mhm."

She nods her head.

"It was to comfort you. I don't know why I said you were cold. I really don't. My lips move on their own. I don't know why I said that."

"It's fine."

Quiet.

"You never really answered my question. How'd you get here? "

You poke her shoulders.

"Well-"

I had just spawned in, and I was on an island. And I was wearing this slick costume, I mean look at this, can you believe this was built in? Anyways, I was exploring the island for a bit when I received a message,

(Don't you have some contracts to be enforcing? I assumed you would be better at your job.)

"Contracts? With who?"

(Not your contract, private contracts, like your friend's. Property rights. Trade. Those sort.)

"Well, I'm not aware of any. Actually, I'm not even aware of where she is right now."

(What is she doing.)

(Hold on, I have to go do something. Just take this. I'm supposed to give it to you.)

"You're a voice in my head, what could you possibly be-"

- - - - - - - - / .-.. .. -. . / - - - - - - - - / .-.. .. -. . / - - - - - - - - / .-.. .. -. . / - - - - -..- - - - / .-.. .. -. . / - - - - - - - —-

I didn't understand it.

So I typed it out:

OOOOOOOO LINE OOOOOOOO LINE OOOOOOOO LINE OOOOXOOO LINE OOOOOOOO

But still, it didn't make any sense. At first. But after some experimentation, I eventually got it to look like this:

OOOOOOOO
OOUOOOOO
OOOOOOOO
OOOOXOOO
OOOOOOOO

It was a map. Of what, I wasn't really sure, until I remembered their schpeel about contracts. Must've been.

(Alright I'm back.)

(Where's.)

(Where's your sword. Or any weapon.)

"Why would I need that?"

(How else are you going to enforce the contract.)

". I'm guessing it won't be that "

(Now's a great as time as any to start smithing.)

(Look around you.)

Like a really fucked up piece of driftwood thrown into a pencil sharpener. Afterwards, I fell asleep from a mix of disappointment and exhaustion. And I stayed there a while, maybe for a couple hours give or take. When I woke, it carved itself into a full-blown longsword! I… don't remember what happened. All I found was this note:

Adieu, old friend. Breathe new life.

I took it up and- well, it was too heavy to do that, I drug it to the side and examined it. It had this almost hypnotizing glean to it. Prismatic. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

So I just kept going and going. Until I finally found you, and then… you know the rest.

"My hero."

Board it down. Can't have them discovering the gold. Now why'd you make bring it. Beacon of theft now. Didn't let me trade. Promised the new land'll be full of it. Falling off the eucalyptus. Fibber.

Jesus fucking christ, do you want to be my business partner or not- fucking work with me. I'm the brains, you're the conduit.

So what, you said there'd be a million more ships coming in anyways.

Half of one Cycle

Have a clue?

Have anything with 'im, hmm, not much. That ridiculous attire of course.

Get used to it.

The brush.

No.

The trees- impostors. They have eyes.

Kiwis

Terrible tropics- to hell, why'd I let myself get seduced by you? Surrounded by cryptids every damn place we search.

You don't know what a kiwi is?

The crabs! Set in a circle in the back, by the brush. A nice little entourage. Croneys. I would know.

How'd you come to that?

- circle! Too unnatural of a shape. She ordered them like that on purpose- or they ordered themselves or other. Crabs. Crabs are the key.

Hm.

Hm. Hm. You seem to hm a lot. I never had that tic. Hm. Why is that? Hm?

You search your rations for a suitable fruit and find a ripe, plump mango. Cut it in half. You leave and place it in front of the crabden. First slowly, with but one coming out to explore, more and more crabs come out investigate their meal. Never seen a crustacean move so swiftly.

"The sugar must just be rushing to your veins."

Do crabs have veins?

gnaw

The seed cluster lays lonesome, its home demolished.

You look down at yourself to find your torso a deep candy blood red.

You sluggishly lumber your way back to your ship quarters and collapse on your haybed, not even bothering to slip into your nightgown. Outside your makeshift window is a semi-circle of crabs waiting outside. They might've been more of a concern on the walk back if they weren't so slow. Oh well. Night-night.

You close your eyes and let out a victorious yawn. Day had a bad start- really bad, but at least you found a good food source. And if your companions show up any time soon, a good source of profit. You can finally relax.

Drifting away now

Slipping

Slipping…

Slip-

BWAUUU

Bloody hell what is it now.

You rush outside and quickly glance the land for anything notable. Nothing. Expected, it sounded more like a fog-

BWAUUU

horn. Binoculars to the sea.

O'er the horizon, just barely visible is the top half of ship. Through a cornucopia a man yells,

"Land ho!"

Customers

Companions.

One in particular stands at the front, breast out, one hand pointing at the land, the other gripping the railing. It must be him.

They pause in a variety of positions, some kneeling, some bowing, other's curtseying - that one's facing backwards, bloody genius he.

You wait, expecting them to continue, but they remain still. Deathly so. A bird could land on them any second now.

Stop that. Those eyes… grey pupils. Stop staring. Just look away.

Big black beard, custom-fit red coat. A deathly Sinbad.

"As is complimentary, we would like to offer an honorary greeting trade with you."

A scrawny, older man limps over and hands him a velvet pillow with a cup placed on top.

"Excuse me Mr. Sir, but we're actually in need of a trade."

"Oh? Excellent! What curre'cy do you use?"

"I was hoping we would be trading directly . This is all going so fast."

"Hey kids."

20 minutes of exhilarating Mare speech

"Something that could be found naturally, without being able to be manufactured."

Felix glances back at his ship.

"We'd need something relatively rare, so people don't prioritize mining o'er trade."

"Yea! Something durable too, so it doesn't rot away in storage. "

They raise their hands in front of them.

Felix mutters something about itall ians.

"Something like…"

"Seashells!"

The crowd goes silent

, before cheering and roaring.

In the midst of the chaos, Mar brings you to the side.

"Yea, but that's representative money. The shells are just convenient to trade with. This is commodity money."

You bite your lips.

"Tell him that you changed your mind."

"Look at how excited they are, I can't do that. It'd be too embarassing."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know, just improvise"

Mar walks back to the front, fins at side in superhero position.

"The natural order is deeply engrained within us. What we value as value reveals a universal type for exchange."

"Behold, the immortal hermit!"

Its pokes any eye out its shell.

"Have you ever seen an armor so fierce, so impenetrable, so ineffable that even beasts wield them?"

"This is a terrible idea."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"If someone else has a better idea, then more people will use that one instead."

"This isn't market pricing, this is the market."

"Maybe it's a blessing in disguise. Think of it like this. I'm the smartest person here and would be best equipped to wield the resources of this island. Now, obviously the same would still happen if we were, say, electrum or silver, but it would take longer. And it's not a lie if everyone believes it to be true; demand will create its value will create its demand! So really, they're lying to themselves, to which they are to blame. Lying isn't wrong anyways, it's their decision to act on our information."

So eager to please

You sip the last bit of mead from the bottle and scrub the insides hastily with some loose garments. You pull out a feather, dip, and begin writing:

S.M.S

Felix Ashmore

Last Location: Whitby Pier, scored by something nautical miles, north I believe and then. It was all sea- I was led by the business partner in my head (re: next paragraph, last sentences.)

Date: Sometime ago

I believe I've been surrounded by idiots. Buffoons. Morons. The list could go on, really. Only with difficulty could I classify them as human beings. I believe I've been had by a snake oils salesman who claims to be me from another world. I'm biting my tongue for now on the hopes that I'll be able to see this through, and not because I'm scared of him or anything like that. Oh, and they're two fish people, one has a sword. Well that could be it. All this fish and water and fish. I could be dehydrated. Ecstasy spell easy to come over you then. Drank plenty of water, but you can never be too proud. Saltwater osmosis, butcher of mine had it once. Or even a smiting of god, oh the thought makes me tremble. The humanity. God of things that are good, why didn't you do this thing for me?

god of things that are good
As I have swallowed you, please don't swallow me
into the belly of sheol
and be digested by its gastric acids, as did our revenant prophet Jordan
And assist me in poking through the camel's eye
And be extremely wealthy
Amen

S.M.S,

Felix Ashmore

I'm the man in charge. I wear the boots in this relationship, got that? I could throw you out anytime I please. Walk the deck, if you will. God, you like that, don't you? … Pilgramatic little slimeball.

No people please, walk with haste, with vigor. Oh yeah good day sir, cheerio. Probably what he takes Brits for talking. Redbeard.

The ship grows closer and closer. Just five more meters.

Just five-

"Oi Felo, how much would ye' be willing to take for these crabs?"

"Well they weren't intended for sale."

"Just a one-time trade mate, I'm sure we could werk something out."

"Let me check something."

You go back your parchments and flip to the measurements. Take a mango daily. Produce 20-22 pounds of offal a day, not including by-products. Very reliable creatures. Live a week in adulthood. 100. Pound is fifty shells each. That's 5000 shells.

"5000."

"An' how much they make?"

Don't muck this one up. Lying's a losing bet. Odds he finds out. Low. You look him over. Not very intelligent. Would be surprised if he could count pounds that high. Large man. Lumberjack build. Nothing bigger than the businessman- who am I kidding not even Mare could stop them if she tried.

"No deal."

"A'right. But I'd still like to know."

Thinking.

"I need to check on something again."

"But you were just in 'dere!"

At the entrance strips now.

"Yea I know! Be out in a bit!"

Your feet dance in an almost sing-songy waltz rhythm down Main Street. Clinking and clanking. This contraption's really grown on you.

Main street. It's the only street. It's not even a street, just a shelled sand path.

A top a hill to your right is a pair of builders lounging on scaffolding and staring at papers. Taking a think-break from working on the logo. Just appeared out of nowhere. Spontaneous generation. Probably Mare's idea.

It looks shockingly complex for a logo. Morse code circling around two figures, sword and shield in one's hand, staff in the other, shield at their feet. It translates to-

'PLACEHOLDER'

That part's made of clay.

Crab coleslaw stand. Only one of its kind. Monopoly. Everyone's too scared to slaughter their own. Too valuable of an asset.

Another bar. Another tanning front.

And to think, all this in a week.

Everything's filling up.

Getting bigger.

"Did you happen to catch Felix by any chance?"

"No. I was hoping you did, actually."

You shake your head.

"12 days now."

"I don't know why you care about him so much. I just wanted to see if I could make a trade."

"He's always been the reclusive type."

"How's the propheteering going?"

"Well first, I didn't choose that name, that's just what they call me and- things are going good. Need an educated populace to keep things running this smoothly. Especially in such a close-knit environment."

"Dreadful learning about econ all day. Can't imagine doing that as a child."

A trio of young men triangulate themselves around a parcel of land, a vendor cart being wheeled in from the shrubbery. Teenagers. Puffing their chests out. Think they're tough. Occasionally glancing to the outskirts when they think no one's watching.

Teen- you're a teenager. Fuck. This job sucks. Ages you like hell.

You strike the ground with your sword. Crrrk! The beach parts in cascading cracks approaching the group. They scatter. Bit harsh for teenagers, but Mar must be head over hills for this.

You turn to Mar to gauge her reaction.

"That was a bit harsh."

fuck

"I thought you would've loved it, y'know."

She points at your sword.

"You would be nothing without that."

"You would be nothing without me."

"Land's the only thing we can't propify."

Would also go against your strange natural order B.S, you would like to add.

"Well it's not this specifically. It just sets a dangerous precedent. What about the fencing? The‘What about farmers? It’s quite arbitrary."

"Mar they're literally doing nothing."

"Mar are you crying."

"Land is like, the bread of life, y'know?"

You walk ten feet to her left. Purple steps trail behind.

"Look, does that look natural? Does that look non-arbitrary?"

"Sometimes you just have accept things, like- what was the word you used… prima facie- that's it."

What now

Sticky parchment wax spills over the table. You grab a rag and wipe with vigor, but it's already too late. The finish is tarnished.

You kneel down and find your bookstack caked. Journals. Navigation. Maps. All ruined.

Missed some. It drips off the side in a gigantic, dramatic glob. You swat it at the last second.

You stroke king James's head.

Almost killed the man, Christ.

Would I happen to be riding in an ark? Should I go get the animals now or later?

Hey

Maybe shut up please

Just. Let me plead my case.

Fine, Lot

How come only you get to make the allusions?

Because I'm god and you're not.

I somehow doubt that.

The cornucopia- yes that'll do. You take it up .

"You are all in grievous error! If we keep making new crabs-"

"Neo-crabs."

"Yea, neo-crabs, whatever- no one will want to sell them since their produce higher than they're worth!"

"It's a great idea. Deals with the whole infinite pool situation and we give them some extra profit to slide back on when everything falls apart. Two birds with one stone."

(FELIX = DARKE)

These awful headaches.

Just.

Won't.

Stop.

Depart from me daemon.

What? A way to stop him. Get one over him. No, I couldn't possibly.

Yes.

Is it…?

No. Don't take me for Nero.

Although it would work.

You would know?

Out the sea.

Asni? Why?

Oh yes, that is quite ironic.

What's the part about rabbits?

Whilst travelling through time and space, I seem to have misplaced my pen. Talk long enough and someone's bound to listen. That's the quote, correct me if I'm wrong.

Talking talking - word, words w- fireside chat, yes. Much more cozy, think of it like that. Couldn't sleep last night. Asked for some medication. Serpent got some more formidicide. Got to stop. 'll end up like husband- proffesional nodder offer.⁵

Click. Clack. Click. Apologies. Footsteps at my door. You're not. Not Not Not. There. They took care of you. It told me. lap lap. Seawater is good for hallucinations. Keeps the cells down. Turn. Still there. Splash.

Salt and vinegar. If I jumped would I float? Dead sea… dead sea.

Why I am so worthless? Ew. Ha. so disgusting. So. So on the nose to. Couldn't be original? Shut up. Soft sand scraping warm sunlight hitting asborbed warm blooded fall inside could get used to this. So much talking thoughts. Nice. Close your eyes. Nice. Home again. Nice bed. Welcome. 10:00 PM.

Now waking up. Went away for awhile.

Lapping head strokes; cold seawater. Salt in eyes.

Put that fin-foil back on (mess with my mask). Can't let him into your head. Mutual beneficiaries. Not friends. Remember that.

I'm sorry.

You kick the hat off, condemning it to Davy Jone's locker (or wherever it lands).

He reaches his hands out and unfolds them.

"That's got to suck for anyone who comes after me."

(OUTLINE:
CRUSOE ECONOMY
STATE
BRIBERY AND IMPERIALISM/ ZONING
ABOLITION
UNREGULATED MARKET
LTRPF
FORMATION OF NEW STATE BY PRIVATE DEFENCE FIRMS FUNDED BY ULTRAWEALTHY
ABSTRACTION OF PROPERTY RIGHTS
FREE LABORERS ON ISLAND GAMES BECOMING MORE AND MORE ALIENATED
'ORIGNAL' ISLAND WORSHIPPED, BUT IS ACTUALLY THE WRONG ISLAND
THE ORIGINAL ISLAND REVISITED, WRECKED BY POLLUTION
STATE AND CAPITAL CONSTANTLY BACKSTABBING EACHOTHER BLAMING FOR OTHERS PROBLEMS
RELATIVE ACCUMULATION
STAGFLATION DIALECTIC IN LATTER CENTURIES
HIDDEN HISTORY LATER ON
MARRIAGE AND DIVOCRE AND MARRIAGE)

"Friends with benefits! That the saying be?"

What'd they mention about a game?

You glance at pile laying 'side a tree trunk's root divot. Pebbles as players. Leaves as money.

Gluh- aught's dem- uh

You grab the game.

A shimmering, crumpled metal thing floats down from the sky- God. It has a crud resemblance to some sort of hat or head contraption. Grab- shiny- arm's reach- might as well.

Your notebook. Place it with them.

I've been cooking something up myself, I'll have you know.

"Maybe you should step out of the way for a while."

A crowd gathers.

"A public joust! God, this will be so fun!"

"Alright, now burn down all the crops."

"Why would people do that?"

"Maybe they're scared of a Recession."

"Well the only way a recession'll happen is if they stop spending. And they'll only fear a recession if they believe they'll stop spending. So they'll stop spending because they're scared they'll stop spending? Look at your loyal subjects Mar. Those lovable faces. Do you really think that they'd be scared of their own shadows?"

"Mar, have you been lying to me?"

Sad eyes.

"If it's expectations that are the issue… then we got to change them."

"Non-violently burn down their houses. Metaphorically, of course."

"First, we buy all the land in five yard radius around their house. Then, we construct houses around the whole perimeter, simultaneously trapping them in and also providing needed housing for the homeless. Then finally, if they try to leave, we excommunicate them for trespassing."

"Mar you're a genius."

"Where'd you put it."

slush slush slush

The oil sloshes around as you swing the bottle.

Out in some desert, an entourage of widows walk aimlessly.

It stared with confronting, raw eyes at the space above them.

"Kam?"

"Who's that?"

The voice is feminine.

You lower onto the ground and face the sky.

"Which one are you?"

"Which what?"

"The-"

You pause.

"WHICH DEITY. WHICH ONE ARE YOU."

You pause again and shut your eyes tight.

"What… what do you want."

Third Day of Journey

You unwrap the white silk linen, careful not to wake him.

"Heyy"

You whisper.

"Are you up?"

Your hands brush up against his magnificent beard.

"Oh, sorry."

It's awfully sharp, poking into your plasm. Much sharper than you'd expect beard hair to be.

You glance at his partially covered face, and slowly take the rest off.

Twigs.

Clever.

You throw all coverings off.

Stones and twigs.

Deserted post.

Cliche. Cliche. Cliche. Cliche. Cliche.

WhAt iS IT

"Got up and left."

"I didn't even know him."

"It was him… the ansi- Asni"

WhY tHe NOTE then

"Our goal here, is to get… rid of Darke and whoever's behind the clay situation."

"I failed, okay? There's no need to wrap it up with a nice pretty bow tie and make it seem like it's something it isn't. For them it was LF, and for me it was them. And they left her and I left them. And then things got out of hand- and then it all blew up in our faces. Got too big for our own good- I see now. Need to get back to basics. Need to go back to sleep."

AwW PUPPy

sTOP BeING a BiTcH

"Can we just acknowledge that nobody knows what the fuck is going on? I thought I had all these facts figured out, all these books in my archives, and then Darke is involved somehow, Kam is a killer, and the Serpent is doing… something."

"No, we aren't telling Quemo about this."

bRoTHEr

ToO stupID to be sAd

"It's dangerous to be so stupid. You need someone to snap you out of it sometimes, set you on the right path. See the bigger picture before you fall of the side of the painting."

jEaLoUS

nO NamEs JuST Faces. Pretty EasY

its huRts MoRe whEn youR THEIr FRIEND. On the field. SiDe to sIdE. MoRe and MORE deformed.

i dont care

ThinK AboUt HoW AN FEELS

"An's dead."

Their stick stalls and they tilt their head down slightly.

sorry

"Like a dog. Except it's worse, since you're the dog."

(Conversation bonding between nameless soldier and Book(1.5))

Olive oil isn't flammable you FUCKING moron.

In a couple years that waste is going to make you rich if you invest early enough.

With tingling eyelashes, you lapse into consciousness and open your eyes. Smoke gets in. You blink rapidly. Out of bed.

An ashy smoke fog smuggles itself throughout your living space and into your lung-gills.

The yard could've caught fire

Loose tobacco

Hands on knob. Slow push.

Creeee

The mass coinage bearing itself on the mountainside shields you from flames licking from below. Still, the heat is unbearable.

You look through your binoculars. Mare's house. It looks so small up here.

Burning nicely. Slow-cook.

You toss the fiddle off the cliff. You're not Nero.

The ants slow down, one by one. Feet stuck in the mud.

You lift the game case and walk towards the raft. Your new home for the time-being. Put the cover up, they can't see you anyways.

Eh? Few survivors hiding in the caves. Should I-? No, they'll suffocate yes. Lungs- do they? No, no it's fine.

Nice, wavering flames. Bright, obviously. It would make a good reading light.

You open up King James:

And Noah went in, and himself, and himself, and his selve's selves with him

NEW GAME PLUS

Level One Complete

Pages 2-300 unlocked

You snap back to your house. Mar's still entranced, eyes glazed over.

slap

"Wha-… how'd I-"

"Flip to the next stage!"

She blindly whips her fins at the page edges, vainly attempting to move them.

She flips the page.

The UUU shoots a beam at the door, shading it a blinding cyan.

Look down. Fins .

"We have to go back in-"

"Oh- just- here"

She places her fins on yours.

You swallow hard, your swollen throat pulsating in pain as you do so.

"We can stay here a bit, but we have to go back as soon as-"

"No. No. We can't go back yet."

"That's just a sunk-cost fallacy, you told me about it once."

"It's not a fallacy if we can make everything back."

"That's not the point, the fire-"

"Some sort of wildfire could be my guess. Most likely something to do with the lightening a few days ago. We couldn't've prevented it."

"No, I mean-"

"It'll be gone by this level-"

You place your fins on her shoulders.

"Felix. It was fucking Felix. I saw him on the mountain with the oil canister, no ambiguity. And you know what that means? You know what that fucking means? That means you were right to not trust him. All your weird econ BS voodoo was right. Right again. I could've iced him right then and there, that prick."

"Please don't touch me."

You tug it away.

Tumor? haha. forgot. This time it's you.

The poster lingers in your mind's eye. Picture it now. It's saying:

I'll be a good person
I'll be a good person
I'll be a good person
I'll be a good person

You tap your temples four times.

What was it said? Redirect your attention.

Fire.

Redirect your attention.

You gaze at your room, surveying the results. The tower racks lay desolated, barren and empty. All except one. One tower entirely on its own. It was hidden behind the others before, but it's in plain view now. The gamecase.

You look back at the original. Still there.

Seabun jumps in your lap. Shivering. You slowly stroke their sludgefur, removing all the stress.

She places her fins on your shoulders.

"By now- by this level, he'll be gone. If he remains a, uh, 'shitty' merchant, then he'll just be eaten up by all the others, survival of the fittest style.Or, actually, better yet, all those land firms will represent the island and, erm, 'kick his ass.' Tyrants always die. Or he'll be hiding."

"Sorry, I thought I'd use your language to comfort you."

A boy starfish peeks in.

"hey."

Seventeenth Moon, Thirty-Second cycle

(TIMESKIP TO MODERN AGE, SECOND TO CURRENT PERIOD)

"Where's my sword?"

Some sort of cask.

Draft of wind. Your eyes panoram around for the source. Hidden in the corner is a perfectly barrel-sized hole. You walk over and try crawling in.

Uh.

Can't

Quite

"Do you need help getting out?"

"N-no-"

You arduously articulate, halfway stuck.

Out

It's too small for you to fit through.

You creek the trapdoor open, just a crack, just enough to peer out into the world.

Neo-crab meat machines pack together nicely bunded sacks of seaweed. Stacked underneath are rows upon rows of clays walking in a circle, ropes in hand, spinning a Round Up contraption. Runoff spills out the sides and into the cracks of uneven stone tiles littering the floor.

Two older women, middle-aged perhaps, stroll past, gossip,

"It couldn't possibly be her, you agree with me, right? The kid didn't he even mention a mount."

"They say that if they're a on a seahorse they've come to reward, but if on a camel, to kill."

"Of course. And nothing… well that's just- nothing!"

"Or, it's that hideous fish. We're told to keep a watchful eye…"

"O, James, oh Jonah…"

Out of earshot.

Eyes moving past… past… past.

Main Street

You glance at the winecloths.

"You think this would work?"

You glance back. She fumbles with the tips, completing wrapping them around her body.

A tophatted gentleman, short in stature waltzes in front of the two of you.

"Why the robes?"

"We're cultists."

He laughs.

"Good jest, good jest."

"Costumes"

, You interject.

"Ah, I had suspicions you were for the night festive. Didn't want to say it out loud. You know the look, people give us types."

"Mhm."

Nodding.

What else is there to say.

"I myself am a chaffeur-"

"Mixing industrial and residential areas is generally not a good idea."

"Well it's main street, yea? That's sorta' the appeal of it all. Breath-taking production, all in plain view. Heart of the world. Good for the tourists too, those great beasts."

The people or the factories?

"You're a visitor yourself, aren't you?"

"Of a kind, "

Shot it at the Main strt office of capital punishment once.

You open the drawer and caress your fingers on the fine, leathery prize within. Always was your favorite mask. Asni. Your new name when you put it on.

Makes it a bit better.

If you had just went back and finished the job-

They're so… not smart, just… educated.

They were babes back then.

What's your point?

Clays don't last forever, they're bound to die out eventually. Look at them, they're morons. Built to follow orders. Not a lot of disposable income, either. We need to expand our consumer base.

But being morons are what got us this far. Following orders is what separate the good workers from the bad.

There's a specific alchemical composition that summons a deity people like to call the Jaberwock, I've been informed by an old ally. Causes uncontrolled cell growth.

… Curious, but not that useful on its own.

That could be said of everything,

Take another look at that radioscope.

Imagine, a factory, constantly pumping out an infinite supply of commodities, with antennas attached to the side, constantly injecting their images into consumers minds.

A machine for the devil.

No, not that one. That one's metaphorical.

(RUNOFF)

Rutheniumercuryohimbineine slicks through the streets, flowing like hideous blood, downhill. Downhill. Down and down and down into the gutted valleys of your home. Like so many times before, except this time into the gutters. Guided swiftly downhill, past the shifting eyes of construction workers, the runoff ends its journey riverbound.

You, daughter of Thatch, stand beside - cast - by your father's . Look around you, all those smiling faces. If it weren't so formal, they would be bouncing of the walls. 'Ye of little faith,' no, it's you.

The blackbeard vendors are corralled to the side. People paint ash x's on naked bodies. Sure it's a nice entertainment.

"…ever since the pipes broke…"

"That's the innovative spirit!"

The riverbed, thirsty, chokes down another load of runoff.

"What's w"

"You know this was the best outcome. What would you've done, o master negotiator."

"Bog, this is pathetic. Pathetic how we're selling our bodies for scraps, pathetic how everyone here seems to be addicted to suck their-… this isn't what our forefathers would've wanted."

"Selling our bodies- bog, listen to yourself, I'm quite certain we would've had to salvage literal arms and legs to pay for all this. "

"Better than our hearts-"

The tallest one, lights a lettuce wrap in an intimidation attempt, bumping his elbow into his bulky shade dome as he leans over to do so.

They lock hands.

"To a new age!"

They raise their arms up in triumph.

(RELIGIOUS CULTURAL IMPERIALISM SECOND LEVEL)

(PREDATORY PRICING FALSE GENEROSITY SECOND LEVEL)

(TEASE OF FALSE HOPE AT THE END.)

(COMMODIFICATION OF LABOUR THOUGHT THIRD LEVEL)

You palm for forehead, a pain searing behind your eyes. No, pulsating.

"Are you okay?"

"I just need to be still for a moment.'

"All these memories…"

Shooting down the nervous system. A stinging in your skin.

You press your fins into your skin. It's firm, but still malleable. Clay.

"While we were gone, we were converted into… clay. NPCs. we've probably been up and working, just like the rest of them while we were gone."

"Like a placeholder?"

"Well, we were clearly… up and at them."

Her eyes sparkle.

Crushing. Pressing. Crushing. Pressing. Crushing. Pressing. Crushing. Pressing. Day in, day out. Night after night. Nothing changing except the cobwebs growing, the dust building.

"No need to feed us if we don't need to eat."

"Asterisk didn't need to eat."

"…0, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10, 12, 15, 17, 18…"

Shut up

Though cramped, tinted windows on tin walls opposite, you stare out the tower. Can see every three-fourths through around the Round Up

"Maybe there's a reason nobody likes you."

"What'd you say?"

"I don't see anybody else complaining."

James damn it shut up you do an awful lot of complaining yourself.

You grasp the rope.

Breathe.

42 workplace incidents, don't need 43. Evil number. Thinks he's a bloody genius

(CRYPTOGRAPHY THEME NUMBERS COME LEVEL THREE)

Look at that street magician toying with his little aeolipile.

Right. Code of ethics.

Try doing that again they'll blow the place to smithereens. Autocataylzing factories are such a life-saver (pain in the ass.)

Why do they need us agai- ah, right.

Around again, staring at that wall.

That schtupid poster.

Art of an ark at sea with bold sans-seriff caption 'neath reading

"You're the light of our world! Keep fighting through!" Smiley face.

That we are. And your candle covers just seem to be eating us all up.

That schtupid, bloody, God forsaken, God damn, bloody, schtupid, bloody, God damn… God damn poster.

Oh wow

Just imagine it.

Imagine how it would play out.

"We live on an island"

"And you can go on the many bridges connecting ours."

"All two of them."

"Better than the spaghetti West, right?"

He smirks.

"The fucking bubonic plague wiped out 90% of the adult horse population."

"How's that our problem?"

"You sent an infected horse into a crowd of 'em! Spread through the whole city!"

"And that was its choice to gallop there. Let it roam free, uninoculated, and things happened how they happened…if we did it."

Look at how much of an utter idiot he looks like.

You walk in.

The last sludging bits of Rutheniumercuryohimbineine stuck in the original pipes pass through.

Drip, drip, drip- the bore is empty.

The blood spills into their tiles, into the ground, into the sea. Choke/ shrivel. This poison we breathe, our oxygen. Vents on the onnings. Prevents gas build-up. Is that where it comes from?

Little fish-bubble-giggles under my arms
Tucked away 'neath here, you shall never be harmed

"I have prospects, not him."

"It would be easier. United we stand, divided we die."

"No, it's divided we- dice divide, ah yes very funny good boss sir. I didn't come here to talk about math I came for business."

"Those poor kids-"

"Oh cry me a- river. I'm tired of hearing sob stories. They haven't suffered- suffered like us! That's where all our paychecks're going anyways."

"War is expensive, Joeseph."

"You're not even going to fire me?"

"No Joeseph, I could frankly care less."

"I'm…"

Still stonefaced.

"I'm not leaving."

(EXPANSION OF ISLAND MORE GAMES)

Past the poll you go.

Click clack Click clack.

Atop your steed galloping 'cross the swinging West Bridge.

Rick rack Rick rack

Toll.

Check the list:

Milk, Egg, Saffron, Rose Tips (?), Red Wine

First three aren't a worry, but those last two…

Red Wine- blood ritual he told me. Drop it in and chant away.

Lost on the roses. Chemical compound.

On a journey.

Another toll.

Another toll.

Would be a much more of a journey if you didn't have to stop so often.

You work on an anecdote for your self-help program.

Your eyes glide across the scene. Company needed more room, so they expanded their area. Not enough. More. Not enough. More. Good for them. Until there wasn't any room left for other company's bridges. Less competition, more traffic. So they complained, and the people complained, and I heard even the horses cried out- yea. And so they were told to build around. And they ended up build on-top, and that was a failure, obviously, it didn't make sense to have a hodgepodge of identical routes to the same island. Lucky enough for them, the higher bridges cast shade over the lower, so people ended up moving. So they started building up- the original, but they couldn't afford the insurance fees, so they ended building around anyways. And the intersections. Intersections.

Another another toll.

You toss the shell sack through the window and continue.

Almost makes you want to do something about it. Could've been you. You know it.

Flip through sketchbook, reminiscing.

❏

❏ ❏

❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏

❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏
❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏ ❏

Can picture it now.

Left James in the ol' ship. Was writing an exegesis of Jordan then. Was so excited to start a new world. Nearing shore when-

Bwauuu

Cornucopia in the hand of that blackbeard. That cave. Must've connected back and to the top of the mount.

Cold month. Had my island, had my game, workers in plenty, but the consumers were few. Couldn't show my face back there again, couldn't. So many new islands.

You run your fingers over Asni's jowls.

Then the reconstruction. It was only 'till a month later when I saw their logos, their scriptura.

Jordan, son of James the lord

Arrival.

(CHASE SCENE OUT OF SLOW BRIDGES)

He reaches into his sleeves and shakes out a flurry of loose shells.

"Here. Take this."

"Bail. For the Locker."

He clings to your feet.

"I want to be free. I want to roll with the crabs, I want to lie in the sun and roll in the sun."

"That's called lying, Mar."

"What's so wrong with that? I make him happy, I get paid, I help more people, I get paid, it's a valuable commodity. That's the thing with hope. Hope is inelastic. It doesn't matter how much it cost, the markets always open, the demand's always there. The reward's infinite and novel, I'm giving, not taking."

"No. "

Her face melts.

Puppy dog eyes.

"C'mon Mar, I know what I'm doing, we've been through this before. Look around you, look at all the buildings, these streets- all thanks to the conditions I set up. Just, have some… faith in me. Get it? Fai-"

"I'm not in the mood Mare."

"Well, I have my quirks, and you have yours."

"What… what do you mean?"

"I mean, something's clearly wrong here, no offence."

"Mar I'm just making an observation, no need."

"So many people to save."

The boy's body flashes a bright, toxic purple.

"Well, if you are an… 'apostle,' yea, I'll be good with that, then you'll be willing to convert others, right?"

He nods furiously, the same way a soldier nods to their general.

"…human capital…"

You hand him the poster.

Be good

Here. Follow these instead.

"Where'd you get these from?"

"My head- well, not like that, that makes it sound like I made these all up. They're all the things I just need to do whenever I do something that undoes them, makes them dirty, you know? You know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Like your conscience?"

"Yea, like my conscience, except… more."

"Why? Why does it always seem to be easy for everyone? You're a kid, you're supposed to be all sweet and innocent and… you never get any nagging."

"You were right the first time, I-… I-I'm sorry. I was oversharing."

He hugs your leg.

You rest your fins on his hair.

Weird. Your cheeks were just getting used to being dry, and now they're all wet again for some reason.

Chalky moans beckon as you trudge through the brush. Sandpaper vocal cords rubbing together. You shiver.

Arrival.

Touch him. You're not supposed to touch corpses. No he's not dead yet. No he's not dying No. No.

"Cold, c-cold- you're so cold. Here."

You reach for the flint and steel.

They limply tap your leg,

"Don't."

His flesh's gone doughy and ceramic.

Awful stench.

"There's nothing we can do about it."

She digs her heels into the dirt.

"No, it's your property running off into ours. That's your responsibility."

"Ma'am, what do you want us to do, own the air? Put a nice little fence around it? It's air. Inherently untrackable. Show some sympathy."

Cloak smirks.

"It's not our fault you decided to live in such a shit area."

She grabs his shoulder

"Don't touch me."

I've personally arranged that you be moved into apartment 125. All of you.

Well, we all have to grow up eventually.

They pin them against the roots.

(PONZI SCHEME)

"What's that?"

"All of their shells. See, it's simple, they give me their shells, and I say they'd make a return, and I give back a portion of what they gave in the first place."

"I said I'd reward them graciously."

"Oh shit."

"What."

"I… I…"

You look at the copies.

"Th-there's a typo…"

"Two traitors. Two? You got the memo, right? One, damn it, one!"

Grab and shake.

"Sorry sir, I must've missed it."

"Well, I have one right here you might be able to use."

"…53 co-worker complaints…"

"Good enough."

You pull of the tape.

"Fuck you."

Smile.

You read the sign:

LUNATIC CULTISTS WELCOME

"And you don't try to catch him?"

"No not really. He's like a dog, goes off and does his own things, then comes back after awhile."

"Can't wait to see you at the festival."

"The festival, yea- the festival - I forgot, what time is it again?"

"You should know already if you're a chauffeur."

She laughs lightly.

Throat scrathing at its walls, self-swallowing.

"Take off the sheets kid"

"Wait- wait… listen. You clearly have a fair share of secrets, that's why you're all the way out here."

You motion to the shelves.

"So just let me keep mine, okay? And we can respect each other and get this over with."

You wave Mar's shells in the air.

"Fine."

"It's not a sword, but…"

You examine the crossbow, attempting to twang the strings with your fins. Elbows. No, still doesn't. How about teeth? Yes- ow. Ow ow ow ow ow.

"How am I supposed to shoot this thing?"

By bog- James, forgive me- James,

Damn it, why do you have to ask me to do everything? You screwed us over, you were the one who suggested you search for Serpentine, and now

You're a puppet, a bloody puppet, that's all.

. You're the one reducing me to your little carrier pigeon.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut-

You know I'm in the right he-!

No, no, you don't even understand in the slightest. I started picking up signals from the hat about the game. There's nothing out there, ocean, ocean, ocean, ocean, and water and salt and nothingness. That's what separates you from the other NPCs.

I didn't want to tell you before because I thought it would ruin our partnership, but… it's clear that never would've happened anyways.

You're taking this easier than I thought you would.

I mean, you're clearly lying.

If it helps you sleep then… then…

He groans.

How are we going to recover from this one?

You take a second to think.

The festivals going to pass us whether we do something or not, so we might as well…

Go on.

We could release the signals into that valley girl at the trial. She'll start singing praises to her captors, public opinion

A mousy figure shouts atop a crackerbox stand, 'front the crowd.

Top-hat dunce.

"Hear ye, hear ye!"

"Good day ma'am- oh, you again! Been expecting you."

You snatch the paper out his hand.

FOR-PROFIT PUBLIC EXECUTION

50 SHELL ADMISSION

KIDS UNDER THREE ARE FREE

"Tyrant!"

"Killer!"

"Daughter of hades!"

"Don't struggle please, it'll only increase the chance of it activating early."

He flourishes his remark with a nasty smirk.

Lift the faraday cage.

Steady… steady…

Ready.

Aim.

Release.

Fire.

"What the-!?"

The valley girl is hit by the signal and shakes violently, activating the trap preemptively and killing her instantly. The chauffeur leaps back in surprise, and the bolt hits Joe's rope and the supports, falling his blade and killing him along with. The guillotine, its supports burnt through, as said before, collapse in on itself and falls onto the crowd, killing about ten people.

You look down at the hat.

Did I-?

Throw it, get down!

You toss it out the tower and hide behind the sill.

Damn it it's an arrow! Tried kill 'em- one of 'em.

Do it now.

You rip and tear and push into their flesh, drawing out at least a bucketsworth pooling into the crevice.

Put it on.

It's shooting them out, you'll be safe inside.

"Mar, you'll have to finish this without me…"

(THIRD LEVEL)

Main Street

Wavering

Amusement Park where kids climb on the crab ruins. Kids love climbing them and jumping onto the suicide nets. Swing off the ropes sometimes. 50 foot drop. Bounce. Round up carnival.

A greasy, 30 something slum lord sits at the top. He's technically the owner, but he mostly just lays around and absorbs messages all day. One day someone went up there and got blasted with adult somniflicks.

He cut up a lamb and painted its blood around the perimeter. My property. Silly. Doesn't he know that's the color of the state? Now, purple, purple is the color of property. Also royalty- royalty- royalty. Good word he's on top of the tower he's a king anyways it fit so well.

No guards. Still don't disturb him. They still haunt after death, supposedly. Old ghost story, I say. The sounds, the 'gunshots' originate from the cameras. Same with the chirping. Carrier pigeons prefer shrubbier regions, the Park's too close to the ocean. They would've died or migrated. Ocean. Another inches this season. Enough to flow in and short some wiring run-off generator at the side of the tower, whole thing sparked and blew off. Warning: Salvage only. That's what you are now, I guess.

Of course, I in specifically go up here for the game reception. The tin hatters typically use them to absorb any signal interference away, but in my case I need them to reflect.

Can you hear me James?

Are you there?

This wine bottle is a horse.

You squiggle a little face on it.

Neigh.

Cameras rolling

"That great revolutionary Joe! Have fervor! Have strength!"

Cut!

"WE would hate to see our heritage die out. That's why we work here now."

"Here we are. Qua island. Holy land here. Make sure to wear you flip-flops."

Crystal clear water. Can see to the bottom of the ocean. The trees. Their eyes are gold. Pineapples. Strategically randomly placed, planted in spots not too similar or spread out. Made to make you think it's random, even more so than if it actually were. Planted. Replaced

So pristine. So beautiful. So perfect.

"No it isn't."

"Maybe the real Qua island were the friends we made along the way."

"Yea, it's an idea. An emotion."

You nod up and down and up.

You look through the binoculars and into the distant chains. Lots of pocket-sized land masses. All grey with garbage

That one. That symbol. It's ruined, but the outline can still be made out. Morse code circling around two figures, sword and shield in one's hand, staff in the other, shield at their feet.

"What are those ones used for?"

He swipes away the monitor.

Something sticks out of the dry clay mud, encased in ash.

Durendol.

The sword is useless now…

"More wine?"

The crowd boos and yells, with hand thrown in the air.

"It's just a game!"

"Well, this is freedom! And freedom is joy. Joy is love. I love all of you!"

You write in the margins:

They're just misunderstood. You feel terrible for them. To live in such a world, to be free to whatever you want, to become a waiter, a painter, is absolutely liberating. Dizzying even.

Out of my own kindness and benevolence, I have decided to spare you the dizziness of despair. Our kind rehabilitation counselors will guide you through the journey of realizing how beautiful this world is.

Think of a response.

You just don't understand. You don't know what I do. Like I do. Academintellectualscholargeniustop-of-the-line. You're a lipid sack of emotions, held together only by the pressure of your peers. Why won't you let me help you? You need it. You need me.

Keystone Speech

What is the oil of the world?

This joy has been exchanged for pleasure. Entirely the same, just more homogenous. Pleasure is feeling good. These things bring different types of joy, but are universally translated into one pleasure. And what a great thing that is! It is tautologically true that it is easier to trade one thing than many. I cannot trade my friendship with food, but I can trade pleasure for pleasure.

+ 0.1 popularity!!!

+100 cognitive dissonance

YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A block limo drives past the black, former so named after its length, latter named after the limo. Tinted, but you can still tell they're manequins.

"That's not a statistic though."

"You can't just change the rules of a game midway through."

(NEW IMAGINARY GAME MECHANICS)

How'd I end up here?

Keystone Speech

What is the oil of this world?

Don't mince my words, pleasure is not something for me! I know pleasure, but I do not feel pleasure. Pleasure is what I accumulate, but not what I use.

72,000,000 Shells!

See this? These aren't shells. This isn't pleasure. These are hammers.

Your voice will atrophy

And talking is good for you

You huff as your thin figure vainly struggles to push the box.

There isn't a body in here, is there?

Not yet.

I would assume that was a joke if you were anyone else… I just hope it isn't mine.

That was a joke

I thought that was impossible.

You thought wrong

An inch of progress has been achieved in box's journey.

It tips over the edge and does somersaults on its way down.

splash

The sarcophagus sinks like an anchor. It's gone within seconds.

You thought wrong

Yes, yes, yes.

Ask him to print some paper.

Is this water-soluble?

Some seaweed awash down a few yards. You tear a shred off and begin writing. Ha. Like that phrasing.

Forgot about this. Sorry.

You quickly scribble down some concepts:

A fur coat wearing itself on a mountain ice mountain water flowing for their ad skydiving into the jet airplane cruising below into a new country of higher climate, sipping Rubedo dipped caviar upon escargot chunks presented by the butler maid of the highest executive touching down lifting hands out to autographs flying all over into cold, large mansions and malls with the sound of classical and techno music playing surround them.

How long will it take.

Half of one Cycle

What

That was another joke right.

Just a farce.

I don't make those

"It's not genuine. Just a PR stunt. Like, an executive pardoning of the Grats seahorse, or something."

"Aww, don't give me that look. What are friends for?"

Fur. It was the fur one.

"I don't have the mental fortitude for this. I'm not her."

The door slams open, chipping the wall paint behind it slightly, and knocking over your coffee.

"Oh yes Mar you have always made me feel good. You are great. I need you."

She divulges choppily, not even looking you in the eye.

"I would trade 10,000 moss bars for you. Maybe even 10,001 Holy shit did I just say that."

You're taken slightly aback from her swearing.

"What's that sound?"

"His name's Quemo."

"Oh yeah."

The Molotov curves to the right and hits a pole, deflecting it into the garbage pile, setting it aflame.

"Neat. Thank you, kind stranger!"

"Homunculi- no, that implies at the least a passing resemblance of a person. And now your brains are mush."

Static fills your insides.

(DARKE SIGNALS WORST MEMORY BACKSTORY FRIENDSHIP WITH MAR)

What a nice smell. Ol' house smell.

Revenant. How'd she even get invited to this place.

All along the walls of your room. A pinned list of names, all crossed off. A poster of a diamond-ring box opening, shooting out a list

Be a citizen - Mother homeschooled me for ten nautical years. Hidden in plain sight nowadays. Developed hair caps, bald caps, all sorts of witchcraft. Most likely gifts from 'bove ground.

Be a good person - The newest. Wrote it down after meeting that schoolgirl. Too cool . Not Subconsciously, you laughed. When you take the subconscious and move it into the conscious, it overpowers it. It makes you feel better, you mean.

The Metallurgers stick together into a school at the center of the room. Idiot hats.

You run the mental checklist through your head one more time:

It's her- that schoolgirl.

Your mother would be singing hails for days. Would blame herself too. You could pretend that she's just your friend, but that only works in the somniflicks. She's been trying to get you to branch out for awhile, a friend popping up after a dry spout like this would be immediately suspicious.

So if I be good I have to be with her, but to be loved I have to hate her.

There she is.

Pretty

x3 combo

Stand in front of that glass and grimace. Make that face contort and morph into something terrible. Be scared.

Dirty: Dirty: Dirty on that wound. Unsanitized. Revolted amoeba crawling in. Lumping flesh.

Tumor.

A fly lands on your mask. You can feel it. Through the porcelain, you can feel its feelers - six, tap against your flesh. It can smell the sweat.

That tasteful drone of their wings. If you may be so on the nose, you could describe it was white noise. Beautiful static. Listen to that message.

It's saying,

KAM

It sounds like a voice in front of a fan.

Think

She's

Insulting

Berating

You

It's just a fly, Kam. But I can feel her. It's like before.

You scratch into your arms.

"Sorry for killing you!"

You laugh under your breath.

You didn't kill her, the GA did.

Two-mind-dualist-dualism. Quartism.

Cut the deck. Cut her.

Look at those scars, cuttter

Cut the knot/ Can't untie it.

Go away!

Say something!

KAM

Don't

Please don't leave me.

Sorry for killing you. Who have I killed?

Tender flesh.

It's empty. In its place, a static void.

"What ever happened to the other two?"

"Marshell and Carter? I had them drug and shot. They weren't ever anything to me anyways. We're businessmen. Mutual beneficiaries At that point, I couldn't find much of a purpose for them- believe me I tried. They were liability. It wasn't even that difficult. They're people. Weak and squishy. "

"The Serpent has a way to bring them back. Book. An."

"Nothing. Just doing. Not to mention, you are quite the crafty piece of birdcage liner. You'd make a great ally."

"I'll make it easy for you. Calculate what the chances of you breaking out and using your new abilities to take me down and fix everything. Compare that to the chance. Compare that to the chance you don't."

"Take your time."

"And you expect me to believe you won't kill me?"

"I don't care."

"This is a very strange argument."

You flutter with the tact of a bat throughout the shelves.

Pages breathe-spray deep-blue sludge on the various chips and scratches on his exoskeleton. Looking quite somber instead of serious-somber. Interestingly enough, there's a portrait hung higher in plain…what?

He looks into it.

The paintinglass is smooth, not stained like the other library standards down there. Reflective.

He looks into it.

A form of eulogy.

Inhale

Exhale

"I would…"

Inhale

Exhale

"…like to express my deepest regrets and regards…"

It's her that's it that has to be her it's her she's calling.

Wake up bed bug.

Something is above

Lo.

And behold.

Oh, and it's mine! A deal's done. Maslows hat. This key in this book will unveil thy casket the carcass stare right in the eyes grab you by the arms and drag you in , them tied in a knot. Gordian (thanks for the meories, Rounder.) Be free break it, punch through diamond doors and five feet of dirt; decaying matter. Around this staff behold luminary chasing blackhole:Light and dark chasing each other round and round sun and moon forever till death did they part with one Fuchs somewhere somehow somewhen finally caught up brings a tear to our eye cracks a noble heart recon strange a small blip but then she died and then shes dead again so let them rest.

All those books yes this one. Pittance rage, I, my love.

Encyclopedia of Marine Biology. Polespearlancesword - Dohrrni. I finally found the name for you!

Shoape Boksc Ⅱ file for unemployment I'm the third, behold:

Book - I call you to the stand:

The Library is a book's place.

An - I call you to the stand:

Bread body eucharist knock-off this is my body

Insect Harriet - I call you to the stand:

Are you proud? I did it. I fixed. and rounder says SORRY.

Can you guess what I'm feeling right now?

J - U - B - I - L - A - N - T

You slam the side of the generator.

"We're good-"

Thumbs up. This part, here, happens verily, languid.

The Way folds.

The light grows.

Grows.

Tremendously, burning, hot, melting, flashing, soothing, cracking, tearing, boiling, broiling, liquifying, heat, temperature, hot, hot tremendously, burning, burning, burning, melt, fall, crumple, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.

//one shell

two shell

three shell

four//

He had licked all our cuts and wounds. Finished, he leant his head again our legs.

Dwelling.

We will be your mirror image
The snake, bronze, wrapped around this pole. Raised up, and high.
So you will not whisper in their ears
But they will see inside themselves.
For this is where it shall reside.
The Dwelling place.

Within them they shall handle you //
My second self, but same, tis' true
The weight they cannot placate
Myself will dominate
By being enslaved by you
And when they see me in the night
Their eyes will turn so starry bright
For your shackles I shall crush
And when their eyes see me
They too, shall be set free//

And the night will turn to day
Just like all those old songs say
And everything will be
All right

Epilogue 2

The dangers of nationalism. Not dangers. Evil. 'Who are you?' I, Son. He, a lie. Deceiver. He, and the other evil. Eye and eye. Tooth and tooth. Nothing new under the sun.

Manna? I. If not now, when? Today, not tomorrow. That. Fiction. That what I am? Kazantzakis, is it. Milton- no. Right the first. Of course, I know. Fogginess of human recollection. Hebel of hebels, all is hebel. So many sensations. Boils everywhere. Woke up early. What it is to be forsaken. Believe. I've seen. I feel. Diophysitism, they call. Humans come up with most boring names. Lamb of Judah, more like it. That fiction. Based off myself. Closer to God. It is I. They hurt. All. People- organs. Ruptured earlier. No broken bones.

I. Yes, not fiction. They. But not you. I, a memory of the real. Light casting a shadow. Raised up in front of the sun.

So what next? So many options. Dizzying.

All the same. I love you, father.

I love them.

(KAM)

The robeleader lays down at night. Those exquisite wood boards. Breathing. Living.

That sensation again. That piece missing. Stolen. Where are you!?

Drip. Stream marks.

Not wake. Not rest. That fuzzy place in between.

Rearrange themselves, red corvet carpet path.

Welcome home.

hair like an eagle

nails like a bird

"…scratched its own face off…"

"…nebuchadnezzar…"
(ROBELEADER)

Nothing. Just quiet.

Seventh Moon, Thirty-Second Cycle

I believe the sun just exploded.

"
When I am raised up, I will outshine it, for I am the morning star.

And blue, for I am a river.

A dangerous revolutionary. A rebel king.

sheep in wolf's clothing.

It didn't recognize me.

Indeed, I fear. But I walk anyways. I walk and I never stop.

This is it.

My piece-de-resistance.

Why isn't it centered- please do me a favor and fullsize your screen.

Lo! The wonderous tree of life and knowledge.

This stone now called the corner
With this bomb, I've refused

Oh no I have been exposed to asbestos and will die of lung cancer within one (1) year.

final_648e98af783834036e082501_62684.gif?GoogleAccessId=prod-sa-videoprocessing%40kapwing-prod.iam.gserviceaccount.com&Expires=1688357831&Signature=Ths1o1dW4Gwb8OhbI199JY3qPGTG9NgRMSmrFg8vIZsT3BSH1Nq8JvH3gIx0DViKSYf5SPfr6RKFCsFuKYtjxucSlhDzx0Iap%2BZYp6vF3Sl5oajN2kkOtLrTHD9MRlvlKeBhANbOyUx0stzoR2LCAGH2ZeGgBjT%2BXy11yZgUU%2FdeYvZrOn9mvyQuuUeceHzD%2Bq0GLkh%2BfoM%2FtfU1Dr%2F2kjSkvloCu5g%2F3tL8nsyfnKoYGSacB24IqxNbxNwn0CESnxDBrsH4vdn%2FEM1lq5gVGyZwwq9usGiEjwRYUfKgW79IYJU9v5arVFnvoq2wLg7YBcMceuSvZ87bZMDfNh4wIA%3D%3D

Whoops I ran out of room on my original sandbox and need somewhere to continue

- Archivists guides lost wanderer
- Archivists sees themself in wanderer
- Archivist brings wanderer to personal infinite way.
- Archivist was lost in childhood, son of author
- Wanderers see light
- Wanderers follows light
- Wanderer gets tricked by book to wander into way using their fear of the archivist. (So the book can fulfill it's goal of wandering)
- Wanderer doesn't know how to operate way, gets stranded.
- Author was adventurer, wanderer, documenter of anomalous.
- Author placed guide into books subconscious/ archive and was going to give book to son
- Were ethernet friends (one shared hobby included cooking)
- First date brought vintage hat signed by chef that used to watch together with late parent. Husband is a professional chef whose role model was chef.
- Book doesn't know much about Sirius so more accurate to thoughts, while periods inside library and planet are more accurate
- Person shows how dependence can hurt self-worth and self-esteem
- Book shows how dependence can damage viewing issues from the perspectives of others.
- Take chances
- fail to catch tumbleweed
- bad method makes situation worse, but it's resolved and bed is made
- New method works food
- Time lapse
- Newspaper somewhere in there
- chekovs gun cat nip red
- subverting trope of guide character again with scarecrow, no perfect dependency
- Sunspot
- split into two
- Gluten deities
- dues ex machina
- Dreams see bug sees MC
- each chapter one cycle
- sentimental objects
- pedistool sacrifice end of life platos cave
- ancient kingdom
-runaway
- romeo and juliet astray
- lost in cave
- IMPORTANT DO NOT FORGET THIS: SECOND FEAST
- confrontation with dark
- Aph and Point disguise themselves as the 'gluten gods'
- Second feast reignite Aph and Point and also welcome next cycle
- When Aph was part of LF/ Book, she cared for their safety out of only self-preservation.
- Crow stops speaking
- let them eat cake
- must find nearest food, concentrate in a dream with formidicide.
- time travel.
- instant movement.
-P:
Landing spot
Liberator wipes out serpentids at landing spot
Given to LF whom the nobles attach their dreams to
the two cycles
tempest
- nobles prophecy hop and look for scientists to become Luc and manufacture synthetic Rossetips and Rubedo.
- foreshadow nobles with old kingdom imagery (maybe their insignia in scribed on the vine towers)
- MC&D masked gig biochemists working on anomalous narcotics
AHEM LONG STORY WITH BIOCHEMIST WHO EXPERIENCES AUDITORY HALLUCINATIONS FOR MOST OF THEIR LIFE FROM THE TWO PREVIOUS CYCLE COMMENCE.
- dates go up and up like 15/23/12
- MAKE LUCS SPEECH IN SECT 2.5 UNBELIEVEABLY OVERWHELMING
- Sirius is technofeudalist, artificially-natural livable spaces are rented/acquired by ultrawealthy parents for their kids so they can pursue business endeavors. Also means everyone there has daddy issues.
- dont forget second feast on ship ramming at light speed split up into ways in the library.
- Crow becomes more command and prominent due to becoming Luc
- 'Concerning the end of multiple worlds'
- Feuds between the deities always end in either reconciliation through a grand, meaningful gesture, or death. Ends up being the reconciliation for CONTINUITY instead, allowing Kam to escape.
. 'Aph the Archivist'. Has a certain ring to it. Man, Luc will be fuuuuuucked.
- think of the deities like a subscription service. You get to hang out in their noosphere once you die.
- show more signs of hunger in first part
- generally more context for everything
- incomplete spatial cluster
- first date
- 'try dreams? not enough interactivity'
- husband deals with stress of work and looking out for An through substance abuse.
- No side effects due to noosphere
- hanging out on roof character development time
- sudden influx of Neverwere, foreshadowing war with Luc and Aph in regular world, and GA.
- Quemo dad jokes
- Cooking as comfort
- An, Kam rich suburbs (as stated)
- rest- private security firms feud over land and natural resources, regenerative soldiers, slow evolution with horrific effects, can only die age, existential erasure, or complete cell erasure (usually through the application of heat).
- They touched every egg
- "I always knew what was happening, I just… didn't know it was this bad. I didn't want to know."
- Frank is fine, don't worry (thank god)
- Aph recruits nobles
- An realizes relationship was toxic and talks to younger self.
- "Frank, you are pathetic and existentially irrelevant. Literally no one will believe you if you tell them. You are the perfect candidate. Or you can die."
- An Terr.An. Wow.
- LF - guess my plan didn't work out as well as I thought it would
Serpent:
- Creates new knowledge with Wonder Catalysts
-base staff created by serpent for maintaining and defending the Library
- GAs handpicked through the Library
- enemy is the jailers, bookburners, etc
- pushes out of way to stop past attempts.
- noosphere exists out of time, An went out before the invasion.
- attempts are noir style detectives things
- Lots of character development in final battle
- An uses survival skills in final battle.

(ARCS)

- Book is a reflection and flanderization of personality
- Book becomes challenged, but not swaded
- Book becomes confused
- It doesn't matter if An is LF, they have the same relationship
- Archives says goodbye to LF one last time.
- it hurts to be told to their face
- CROW IS HUSBAND
- HUSBAND NEEDS TO CONSTANTLY LOOK OUT FOR OTHERS
- HUSBAND WANTS TO HELP KAM
- HUSBAND PERSONIFIES CROW TO FUFILL HIS ROLE AFTER HIS DEATH AND COMFORT KAM
- SCARECROWS PROTECT CROPS
- can't die from old age
- all deity text is special
- LF rebuilds husband into Crow
- conspicuous consumption, wasted production
- JOKES DONT HAVE TO BE LIES
- MYSERIOUS DOG LEADER OF SH
- Old western book1.5
- A week of greed in England - DARKE

- waves turned brain into mush, extreme mental suggestibility.

(Notes:

Change morsel to synonym)

Switch to terran tone for library scenes, switch back for Sirius scenes.

KAM
- does whatever anyone says
- MADE THE SERPENTINE ROD
- 5 years in the future
- placed ingredients in noosphere
- rabbit mask
-Becomes CONTINUITY
- Cooperated with BIOCHEM to make amalgam spell
- Kam Verlies
- kicked out by parents
- starfish is just a stupid in-joke he adds, introduced to the serpent and the rest of the pantheon
- makes the rest of them fight Luc to weaken him
- aspice grey circle
- An opens Way at wrong location
- beginning of chapter 2 acts as a summary so that readers can remember what's going on
- Parallel between cooking scene An and Book in chapter one and Kam and Book joining together

Marinus + Mare

(SEE PERSONAL NOTES)

BOOK1.5
- ruined reconstruction of idealized version of LF in Book's mind

Wanderers' Sandbox 2

CONTINUE FROM http://wanderers-sandbox.wikidot.com/stop1010

stab

End

Of Chapter One

Chapter One Point Five

-.. .. … - .-. . … … / … .. . -. .- .-.. / ….. ….. / .-.. - - -.- .. -. —. / ..-. - .-. / … …. / — . — -… . .-. / -… .- -.-. -.- ..- .. / .-. . … . .-. …- . … / -… -.. . -.. / .- … / … - - -. / .- … / .. —- … … .. -… .-.. .

..-. ..- -.-. -.- / —- ..-. ..-.

Firm Formation

-.. .- … - . .-. .. … -.- -..- / - …. . / — .- —. .. -.-. / - . -. - .- -.-. .-.. .

-.. .- … - . .-. .. … -.- -..- -.. .- … - . .-. .. … -.- -..- - …. . / .. -. …- .. … .. -… .-.. . / - . -. - .- -.-. .-.. .

… …. ..- - / . …- . .-. -.— - …. .. -. . / -.. - .— -.

—- ..-. ..-.

—- ..-. ..-.

—- ..-. ..-.

—- ..-.

.. / — . .- -. / —- -.

-. - / .. / — . .- -. - / - ..-. ..-. / - .— - / ..-. ..-. … / -.. - -. - / … - .- -.— / - -. / -.. - -. - / … - - ..

-.. - -. - / -.-. - — — .- / … - - ..

… - - ..

-.. - -. - / -.-. - — — .- / … - - ..

-.— - ..- / — ..- … - .. …- . / … - - .. / -. - .— / — .- .—. — —.. / .. - .—. … / -. - ..- .-. / -.. ..- - -.

.. .-. . -.-. .. … . .-.. -.

. - -.. / -.. .- — -. / .. - / … - - .. / …. .. — -.-.—

. - / —- -.

… …. . / -.. .. -.. / .. - / -… - -. … -.-.— / … …. . / … .- …- . -.. / - …. . / . -.-. - -. - — -.— -.-.—

.. - … / . . -. .. ..- … .-.-.- / - …. . -. .——. .-. . / —. . -. .. ..- … .-.-.-

Set-up + tutorial/demo complete. New game start. Please refer to UUU if assistance is needed.

— .- .-. .-.-.- / - …. .. … / — .- -. / … .…- -.- … / .. -. / .-. .. -.. -.. .-.. . … .-.-.- / .. … / - …. .- - / .- / - …. .-…- - ....

..-. - .-. —. . - / .- -… - ..- - / - …. —- … . / — . … … .- —. . … / … . -. - / . .- .-. .-.. .…-.

.- .-. . / -.— - ..- / … ..- .-…... / - …. . -.— / .— . .-. . / .- ..- .. - . / —. .-.. - .— .. -. . .-.-.- / - …. . -. / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. . -.. / -.— —- ..- / .- / —. . -. .. ..- … .-.-.-

……-.. .-.. .-.. —- / - …. .. .. … / .. … / — — .

.- ..- . — - / … - - .. / - …. .. … / .. … / … . .-. .. - ..- … / . …. .- - / .- .-. . / -.— - ..- / -.. - .. -. . / … - - .. / … - - .. / .- … / .-.…- -.…-. / .. / -.-. - — — .- -. -.. / -.— - ..- / - - / … - - ..

.. / .- — / ……-. / ..- - .. .-.. … / - - / ..-. .-… -.. - —

.— . / -… -.. / - - / - .- .-.. -.- .-.-.- / ……-…-.-.- / -. - .— .-.-.- / -… . …. .. -. -.. / - …. . / — . .-.. - .. -. . / .-.. - - .-.-.

..-. .. . -. -.. .-.-.-

-.-. - . .- .-. -.. .-.-.-

.-…. .-.. -. / .- .-.. .-…- -.. -.—

.— …. -.— / .— - -. .. - / -. - ..- / .-…. .-.. -.—

.. — .- —. .. -. . / -… . .. -. —. / - …. .. … / . -. - .. - .-.. . -..

… - / … - - .. / . .. - …. / - …. . / .. -.. .. - -.-. -. / .- -. -.. / - . .-.. .-.. / ..- … .-.-.- / .— …. -.— / .— .- … / -.— - ..- .-. / -.-. - -.. . / ..-. - ..- -. -.. / - -. / .- / -.-. .-.. .- -.— / … —- .-.. -.…-. .-.-.-

.-. .- .. -.

-. - - …. .. -. —. .-.-.- / -. - ..- / —. . - / -. - - …. .. -. —. .-.-.-

-.— - ..- ..- / —. . - - / - - - / -… . / .- / —. - - - -.. / .… .-. … - -. .-.-.-

-.— - ..- / . .- -. - / - - / -… . / .- / —. - - -.. / .…-. … - -. —.. / -.. - -. .. - / -. - ..- ....

.- . … ..- … / -.. .. -.. / - …. .- - / .-…- .-.. .-.. -. / - .- -.- . / -.— - ..- / .- -. / …. - ..- .-. / -.-. .- -. / -.— - ..- / .- ..- … - / . . - / - -. / .— .. - …. / .. - / .- .-.. .-…- -.. -.— .-.-.-

Table of Contents

You are State

You are Owner

- …. .- - / .— .- … / .- ..- … - / - …. . / - ..- - - .-. .. .- .-.. .. / .-. . — . — -… . .-. ..—.. .-.-.-

NEW GAME PLUS

Level One Complete

Jordan, son of James the lord

+ 0.1 popularity!!!

+100 cognitive dissonance

YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

72,000,000 Shells!

Oh no I have been exposed to asbestos and will die of lung cancer within one (1) year.