Okay I’ve Just Watched The End Of The Video. I’m A Transcriptionist, So I Thought I’d Give A Try

Wandering (A Robbie the Zombie drabble). Feat. Post-Apocalypse Robin!

A/N: I’ve never written Robbie in his own story before, but he’s a sweetheart and I thought I’d give it a try, and also try to explain his name, maybe. Enjoy!

He doesn't know how he died. All he knows is that one day, he woke up, and he was staring at the open blue sky. He sat up, looked around at the lonely street he was on, stood slowly, and wandered off. That's what he does best; he wanders. He's not much for deep thought, and trying to plan out where you're going, trying to find things or do things that take a long time, they take too much of his energy. But wandering? It lets him enjoy the quiet. Sunshine in a forest. An empty highway at night. A beach in the off season. Well, he supposed every season was the off season now.

He doesn't remember who he was before he died. Doesn't even know if he had a name, not that there's anyone to call him by it anyway. He supposes he was young; the glances he's gotten of his reflection make him think twenties, but he could've been in his thirties. A little bit of facial hair is eternally stuck at the same length on his face, a short scruffy beard and mustache, and two bushy eyebrows that've all turned an ashy brown with death. Pale, grey skin sits tight over a smaller, fairly slim frame. Grey eyes stare at the grey-scale world through a thin white film (it doesn't affect his vision that much). A striped white and black shirt and black jeans cover him with relative modesty, though they’re ripped and dirtied with who knew what. No shoes. It’s not too bad, but he is easily pleased. Something he very much likes about the way he looks, however, is that he's got a mop of unruly, electric purple hair on the top of his head. It's the only bit of bright color in his appearance, and he feels like maybe Living-him would've liked that. He sometimes wonders who Living-him was. What did he do for a living? He isn't particularly muscular, or big, so nothing sporty or physical. His clothes are very casual. Had he worked from home? Been off-duty when he died? He doesn't know.

He discovers he's in Brighton, and that he can read still (though not very quickly), when he finds a yellowing newspaper on a bench by the pebbly beach. An old copy of the local news, warning about the deadly outbreak of something, and somewhere testing nuclear weapons, and other sad things. He puts it down again and walks away. He's glad he remembers where Brighton is, and that he has a vague impression of what the city would've looked like way back then: a woman's laugh and the pressure of her hand in his, the sound of cars driving by on his quiet street. He wonders if Living-him had lived here all his life, or if he'd come from somewhere far away. He turns slowly toward the sound of something moving, which wasn't his imagination.

A man is staring at him, standing, frozen, on the other side of the street. He is fairly tall, with short brown hair and wide-open eyes, the blue of which are overwhelmed by the black of his pupils. He has a gun slung over his shoulder, and seems to be considering reaching for it. Surely he's not afraid of him? One dead man against a living man isn't much of a match; guns have quite a reach, and rigor mortis tends to slow down your running speed significantly. He doesn’t see any other option for it. Might as well be polite. He waves. The man frowns, confused. Stares at him for a few moments longer.

Waves back.

He smiles, glad that his gesture has been returned, and turns to move on down an alley. "Wait!" He raises his eyebrows and turns back to look at the man, who is now crossing the street toward him cautiously. He stops a few feet away and considers him. "Can...can you understand me?" It amuses him that he remembers enough to know that this is not an English accent, but is disappointed that he can't remember what accent exactly that it is. "You don't have to talk," the man continues as he receives no response from the purple-haired stranger, "you can just...y'know, nod, or shake your head?" He thinks for a moment, then nods. The man smiles. "Really? Cool." They watch each other for a moment. "Do you have a name?" He shrugs, slowly. "Okay," the man nods, folding his arms with a smirk. "Well. You don't look like you're in a big rush to kill me, which is nice." He extends a hand. "I'm Robin." He stares at Robin's hand. "You're...supposed to shake it?" Oh. He shakes Robin's hand, and is surprised that he doesn't flinch away from the cold of his skin or the unnatural stiffness of his movements. He does note that Robin's easy-going smile quirks slightly at the contact. Their hands drop back to their sides, and he decides to try something new.

"R...R..." His voice is rusty and crackly from disuse, but apparently still functional, much to both of their surprise. Robin huffs out a laugh. "You can talk! Why didn't you tell me?" He frowns slightly and tilts his head. "I'm kidding, man, relax," Robin grins. "Were you trying to say my name?" "R..Ro...b..." He nods as he tries again. Robin puts a hand over his heart as if he's touched by the gesture, then chuckles again as he starts to walk. "You wanna come with me? I've never met a zom' that  can talk to me. Let's see if we can't get your voice to work." "Y...eah." Robin looks so proud of his first proper word that he can't help but smile back, the muscles in his face tight with the movement. "C'mon then, uh..." He falters slightly, and the purple-haired man shrugs. "Well...pick a new name then. I have to call you something." "Ro...b...?" "You want me to pick?" "Mm...hm..." "Hm..." He thinks for a minute, then smirks. "Well, the only thing you seem to be able to pronounce is the first half of my name. So let's call you Robbie!" "R...Ro...b...bie.." "See, you're getting better already!" Robin moves off down the street, still laughing and swinging his arms at his sides. Robbie (he likes the ring of it) stumbles after him, listening to him ramble. It's a nice change from the usual silence.

Do You Trust Me? Pt. 4

A/N: Here we are! Second to last part!

Link to Pt. 3: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155699231442/do-you-trust-me-pt-3

Link to Pt. 2: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155686403892/do-you-trust-me-pt-2

Link to Pt. 1: http://skinnyscottishblokeaddict.tumblr.com/post/155650933267/pizsospa-cmon-little-dude-you-can-trust-me

Mark finished waving and took off his headphones as he stood and turned. "Jack! What's up, dude? You didn't tell me you were coming over today." "Howya, Mark? I haven't seen you in ages," Jack said, walking over and giving him a quick half-hug. "Oh, fine, fine, lots of Subnautica recently, it's driving me nuts," he laughed, turning to smile at you. "Who's your friend?" You managed to stutter out a "hello". Mark raised an eyebrow at Jack. Jack put his hands in his pockets. "They're actually the reason I'm here." His smile faded and he sighed. "He's stronger than we thought. And he almost got out, so...I pulled them in here." Mark's smile dropped immediately. "Oh...Oh, so you're...?" He turned to look at you, and you nodded awkwardly. "Uh, from...'out there'. Yeah."

Everyone was silent for a moment before you added, stupidly, "I love your videos." Mark shook himself a bit and smiled again. "Well. It's nice to meet a fan, doesn't happen very often." He glanced over at Jack, still addressing you. "Did he explain about Personas?" "Yeah. I did. Let's not start that again." Jack put an arm around you. "Can you help me get them home safely?" "Well," Mark considered, going over to his computer and starting to look for something, "I mean,  I've done it before. I don't see why not." "What happened before?" You asked, walking up behind Mark to see what he was doing. There was a lot of code on the screen, much like outside. Mark seemed to be looking for a specific line of it. Mark and Jack seemed to shift awkwardly. "Well...you weren't the first target of a Hyde Glitch." "Hyde Glitch?" "It's what we're calling Anti and all them," Jack explained. "Like Jekyll and Hyde. They're...broken versions, of us. Bugs in the system." "There's more of them?" "Lots more." Mark didn't look back at you, but he frowned. "One for almost everyone." "Oh..." You thought back to all the drawings and edits you'd seen on tumblr. "Oh. So...there's Anti, and there's-" "Dark. Yeah. He exists." Mark nodded solemnly. "But he's not as strong as Anti. Glitches like Dark, and Natemare, MadPat, Virus Cry, all of them...they're weak because they've not got a single form." "Sean's a good guy, and October was fun, but..." Jack crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head slightly. "Well, putting Anti on the channel, pulling him into the limelight..." "We knew it was gonna be dangerous." "Because he exists online..." The realization was hitting you like a ton of bricks. Jack nodded. "Sean doesn't know about this. So he didn't think he was doing anything wrong. But the more Anti actually appeared in videos, the more he got a voice-" "The stronger he got here," you finished for him, leaning back against the foam padding on the wall. "This is our fault. We egged him on. I...I wrote stories, I've got friends that made art..." "It's not your fault." Mark seemed to have found what he was looking for, and turned to smile at you reassuringly. "You didn't know about this place either. You didn't think any of it was real." "But it is, and..." you looked over at Jack, "A-and you got hurt because of it. He-he slit your throat, but how-?" "The vlog that went up after," Jack interrupted, seeing how upset you were, "It cancelled out 'Say Goodbye'." He didn't say it, but you could guess that that didn't mean it hadn't hurt. It felt like your stomach was falling into your shoes. Mark coughed, and you and Jack gathered by the computer. "Alright," he said, pointing at some white text, "so, when Ethan was here-" "Ethan came here? Like, my world Ethan?" Mark nodded. "Yeah. When he first came out to LA, he was watching one of my videos, making sure his edits were good. He heard me say something to him after the outro. And then...I mean, I assume it was basically the same thing you did. Dark started trying to get at him, I pulled Ethan in." You shook your head. You could practically picture it, Ethan confused as hell, staring at Mark in shock. "But you got him home alright. I mean, he's putting out videos now. And Dark's not out there, so...How'd you do it?" "Well, like I said, Dark isn't as strong as Anti, so it was just a matter of putting him behind a firewall. After than, we...well, I spent hours trying to figure it out, digging through code and trying to find out if it'd happened before. Ethan was a little shocked, so...but he wouldn't have known what to do either. Eventually, I found this," he tapped the white text again. "Ethan's access code. It's what let him get in." "We still don't know why he could," Jack added, "We don't know why he's the only one, until now, that could hear us. Maybe it's something to do with you guys on that end, some power you have." "But how does that help me get out?" "Well," Mark pulled open a drawer and pulled out a flashdrive, plugging it in. He tapped a few keys and a loading box popped up. "I found his code by accident. Noticed it was different, pulled it up. And my camera was still plugged into my computer, and when it popped up, a box came up with the option to 'return message to original sender?'. Ethan was the one who figured it out. He was the message, and the sender. So, we figured, what's the worst that could happen? I'm pretty good at recovering lost data..." Jack shifted and you glanced at him. Mark continued, eyeing Jack. "Um, so we figured, what was there to lose? I hit send, and then...flash, bang, he was home." "And that was it?" "And that was it." "So I could go home right now?" "Well, no," Mark rubbed his neck awkwardly. "You've gotta go from your home port. Meaning..." "Meaning we walked all this way to be told we have to go back to Jack's place," you said, scrubbing a hand across your face. "We traveled all this way to have someone who's a hell of a lot better at code than I am get the right code," Jack corrected, then, shuffling his feet awkwardly, "And...I wanted to give you a chance to meet him. I figured...You probably like his stuff too, and it'd be nice..." You smiled slightly at him. "Thanks, Jack." "It's my fault Anti got to us, though." Mark's voice was suddenly sharp. "Anti followed you?" "We ran into him halfway here, but...I think I slowed him down," you said. Mark blinked, confused. "How?" "I don't know, I just...pushed him. And he turned a little red." Mark shot a glance at Jack, who shrugged. "Well that's...interesting. You, uh, seem to be able to manipulate code. Which I suppose is good." You could see why that would make him uncomfortable, so you stood away from the wall again and made your way toward the door. Jack took the hint. "Well, we should be going." Mark nodded, pulling the flashdrive, which'd just finished downloading the code, out and handing it to you. "Be careful out there." "You too," you said. Mark smiled. "All things considered, it was nice to meet you." You returned it. "It's good to meet you too, Mark. I've watched you for such a long time." You laughed a little. "This feels surreal." Mark opened his arms and raised his eyebrows, and you took the invitation and hugged him tightly, muttering a thank you. "It's my absolute pleasure," he chuckled, hugging you tightly before patting your back. "Now go on. Have a safe trip-" The lights dimmed. Everyone froze. "We should go. Now." Jack grabbed your arm. Mark let go of you quickly and went to open the door. It wouldn't open. And then there was giggling.

"This way!" Mark dove toward a door on the other side of the room, you and Jack hot on his heels as the lights flickered and his computer screen began to glitch, dark green code starting to scroll by. He shoved the door open and you ran into his VR recording room. He shut the door behind you and ran up to the headsets. "Lucky I've got two of these," he said, tossing you the Vive and giving the Oculous to Jack. "Put 'em on." "What?" Something pounded on the door. Mark shot a glance at it, then ran over to the computer in this room and started typing furiously. "Mark, we can't just leave you with him," Jack said angrily. "Just put on the damn headsets, I'll be fine." "A firewall won't stop him." "But it'll slow him down." Mark waved him off. But you were still lost. "Wait, how is this supposed to-?" "Virtual Reality," Mark said, stepping back toward the door and, to your surprise, pushing aside a panel on the wall to reveal its coding. He started pulling and moving it like Jack had back on the mountain. "In your world, it's only a metaphorical escape. But here, everything's virtual, so..." "So it'll really get us out of here." You grinned. "That's brilliant." You nodded to Jack and the two of you got ready to put the headsets on. "He should follow us," Jack said, and Mark nodded again. "I can keep him out until then. I'll be alright." "Thank you, Mark." He gave you a short wave over his shoulder before going back to keeping Anti out. "See you in the comments." "See you there." There was a scream of frustration from the next room, and you and Jack put the headsets on.

Suddenly, you were back at the base of the mountain, back on Jack's side. You could almost see his ravine from there. "We haven't got a lot of time. C'mon." Jack led the way, and the two of you ran. You made it about half way before the dark green text was everywhere, forcing you to skid to a stop. "No, no, no," Jack muttered, "He's boxing us in." And the giggling started up again. You watched in horror as Anti pulled himself out of the ground again. He looked even glitchier than before, the only solid thing about him his face, grinning disturbingly. The rest was switching alarmingly quickly between green code and sickly green skin. It looked like he couldn't keep a solid form. "YOU!" His voice was high and sharp, layered as if there were four of him speaking at once, tone shifting all over the place. "You're mine!" "Get bent, Anti," Jack growled, and he turned to you. "Get around him. Go. I'll keep him here." Before you could protest, he dove toward Anti, knocking him flat on the ground and shouting in pain as he started to glitch out as well. You were frozen to the spot, couldn't do anything but watch as they struggled. Jack had Anti pinned for a moment, but then his legs were swept out from under him and Anti was on top, holding him down with one arm and using the other fist to swing at his face. You screamed as it crunched against his cheek and Jack let out a yell that was half pain and half defiance. He face was glitching where he'd been hit, going between code and bruising. But he took advantage of Anti reering back for another hit to shove him away, so hard that he slammed into the wall of the mountain base, hissing angrily. You ran toward Jack. "No! No, you've got to go!" Jack stood, swaying slightly, and shoved you back toward the ravine. "I won't leave you here!" "I'll be okay!" "You're lying!" Jack grunted in annoyance and shoved you again. "So what if I am? Don't you want to go home? Please, just-" Anti cackled, making you and Jack whip around to look at him, just in time for him to dive toward Jack, who pushed you roughly backward. "Idiot, IDIOT!" Anti crowed. And he seemed to dissolve, nothing but code, and Jack struggled as it started to seep into his skin. He screamed in pain, just managing to keep standing. "GO! JUST GO! RUN!" You couldn't if you'd wanted to. But you couldn't move to help him either. He screamed again, clutching at his head, doubling over on his knees, his whole body glitching out. "No...NO!" And he collapsed. "JACK!" You ran toward him, all fear and panic, all thought for your own safety gone. You just needed to know he was okay. Your knees thudded sharply against the ground and you cupped his face with your hands. "Jack, please. Please wake up. Please. You can't leave me. You can't leave them. They need you, Jackaboy, c'mon." He grunted weakly and you let out a short sob. "Knew you could...do...it..." He was laughing. And when his eyes opened, they were black.

The end of the world didn’t look anything like we thought it would. There were no fires. There was no screaming in the streets. No gunshots aimed at brick facades teeming with armies of the unruly dead, or extraplanetary life that had for some reason decided that humanity was to be systematically eliminated. There were no world leaders corrupted by their position into beginning nuclear Armageddon. No, it was nothing like that.

The end of the world was…quiet.

I think we can assume that Wilford and Dark work more or less together to control the Iplier Multiverse, with Wilford being the more in-control or powerful of the two.

…. Dark WAS sitting at the head of the table.

Because he’s the most powerful out of everyone there? Or the most intimidating?

Either way I LOVE that detail.

Chained together, running through an underground (most likely) tunnel

...prison break?

OH MY GO D

OH MY GOD

OH MY FUCKING GOD

Guys...I just thought of a way to make this hurt more.

These guys aren’t from our dimension. These guys didn’t know how to use the power they were given, and while Dark, the combination of Damien, Celene, and our unnamed character, took his time learning to control it, Wilf just wandered. And I think Dark went looking for him, on the pretext of “He could be useful.”

They both ended up here, in our dimension, and found our Mark. And both of them were so broken from the tragedy that they couldn’t see that this Mark was everything that theirs wasn’t, or maybe isn’t. He’s a good guy, a hero, a friend, well loved and respected. They don’t understand that they never existed here. They don’t understand that he never hurt them here, and that he never would, should they tell him who they were and what happened.

They’re trying to get revenge on our Mark because they can’t find a way back to theirs.

What’s devastating is that these are two people who loved each other, who were best friends, who had a history together. And after losing everyone, his killer turned out to be Damien. And that’s why, even now, as heads of the Ego Table, both Dark and Wilford respect one another. They were both driven into madness and vengeance – and the only thing that remains is them and a primary objective.

I was listening to this again, with all the new info...and I just...

Dark, all alone at Ego Inc, hours after everyone else has dispersed. It’s been a long day, they’ve been hard at work. And he’s having an internal conversation, as you do when you’ve got three or more minds to listen to at once, when suddenly he sees or thinks of something from the old days. Something completely benign and silly, and he just...loses it, for a few minutes. For a little bit, he just...remembers. For a moment, he can feel that happiness again, and he’s Damien, and Celine, and the District Attorney, and they’re sat around that poker table and Benjamin is betting that Damien can’t do a keg stand and Damien is just drunk enough to try it. And suddenly all three of them are laughing so hard their shared shell is cracking, and they let themselves splinter into parts for a minute just because though it hurts horribly, they feel more real and alive than they have in ages.

The pain from that is what brings them back to reality, though, and the laughter dies off...only for them to look up and see Wilford standing in the doorway looking utterly dumbstruck. He smiles, and for a second, Damien and Celine pull through a little more strongly, because that smile is the Colonel’s, it’s William’s knowing smirk, not Wilford’s manic grin. But then he’s confused again, and shakes his head, the smirk morphing horribly into the grin. He makes some off color joke about Dark falling apart, and wanders off, shooting the wall as he goes.

And Dark is back. And he is alone again.

best quality: his giggles

quick question why tf did i make this

please give me audio edit requests or something i can’t live like this

Containment Breach.

A/N: WARNING FOR BLOOD AND GORE MENTIONS. Back on the Anti hype train! I was playing with a photo editor and it sparked a story idea, so I thought I’d try writing something a little different, a little more environment based. Pulled a little bit of inspiration from RE7 as well, that game’s amazing.

It had to be one of her least favorite noises in the world, the heavy, scraping squeal of an old metal door opening for the first time in months, its hinges screaming in protest against the sudden, unexpected use after so long being forgotten.

The hallway before her was dark, extending deep into the side of the hill, entirely industrial except for the occasional tree root creeping through the cracked concrete walls and floor. She flicked on her flashlight, sweeping it cautiously across from wall to wall before stepping inside, pushing the door to behind her, but being careful not to close it. She didn’t want to be trapped in here. Her footsteps were deafeningly loud in her ears, echoing in the small space as she walked, peeking into rooms with doors thrown open and hanging from their hinges, quickly making her way past one that had its door closed, and a menacing dark stain seeping out from under it. The hall ended abruptly in an elevator. The doors to it sent chills down her spine. They looked as if they were clipping through the walls beside them, as in a poorly crafted video game map. And they were splattered red, from rust...and from something much worse.

Swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat, she moved to look inside. There wasn’t much to see. The elevator itself wasn’t there, just the gaping maw of the shaft, a black hole reaching down like an abyss, bottomless. Shining her light on the walls, she could see what looked like burn marks, or skid marks, or both, and severe dents like impact sights. Something had fought its way out of this place. She made a slight noise of annoyance, crawling into the shaft and climbing down the cables as carefully as she could. One misstep and she would be joining the rest of the staff of this place, adding a new layer of paint to the bottom of the pit, she thought bitterly. It almost seemed like she was descending forever, passing floor after floor, her arms and legs beginning to ache horribly. She had to focus on her reason for being here, ignoring how tired she was becoming, occasionally looking down to remind herself of her reason to hang on. Finally, her flashlight’s beam bounced off of the metal paneling of the floor she’d been looking for. She swung in and...thud. Her landing echoed dully on the once-pristine tile. It was more of the same, down here. But so much more intense. Here, it seemed, was the origin point of the destruction. The floor was littered with broken bits of piping from the lines rusting away from the walls, and the fluorescent lights that’d once kept this place starkly lit were dangling by their wires so that she had to duck to move safely. And the further in she went, the more there seemed to be broken parts of reality, pixelated patches of wall that seemed to have been paused mid-glitch, holes as if there were textures missing. The thought of a broken game map came to her mind again. But worse than the bizarre, mind-bending physics...blood stained the hall, in splatters on the walls, in drips and puddles long dried on the floor, and, in a few places, in sprays on the ceiling. As she reached the end of the hall, she found a sign, half hanging on the wall.

<- SHORT TERM HOLDING <- BRIEFING ROOMS     TESTING ->     LONG TERM HOLDING ->

As she turned toward the hall, she thought she caught a glimpse of something in the hall behind her. Something that looked markedly like green eyes and a scruff of...green hair? She turned back quickly to look, but it was gone. Deciding she’d rather not see it, she hurried along to the right-hand hall.

She came to a set of stairs, descending even deeper into the belly of the beast, until she came to another hall, this one’s floor covered in the powdered remains of the glass that’d once made up the foot-thick walls of the facility’s testing rooms. She glanced into the first room. A broken table, half of it seeming to clip through the floor, shattered microphone pieces, something that looked like it might once have held test tubes and syringes, shredded leather strapping. More blood. It was much the same in the other rooms, twisted restraining chairs, equipment that looked purposefully, furiously dismantled, shredded paper that might once have held records. Glitches in reality. Everywhere, there was more blood. In the last room, she nearly screamed. A body, the first she’d seen here. It was face down on the ground, a pool of dried blood and something that was such a dark green it was nearly black spilling from its nearly severed-in-half neck, the gore and incredible stench of which was nearly enough to make her sick right then and there. Its limbs were twisted at impossible angles, so that it looked as if the poor bastard had been slammed around before finally skidding to a stop here. Regretfully, she pulled out her phone, the flash of it snapping a picture of the scene almost blinding her. They’d want to know about this, to arrange to have his remains retrieved. She hoped they would, anyway. Heartless as they were, he’d probably rot away down here with the rest of the facility. Forgotten, just like they want this place to be. Still...better to try.

Stepping back out into the hall, she pushed open the heavy door, whose keypad lock was hanging by one wire. Maximum security, huh. Much good it did them. She smiled bitterly. This hall looked nearly untouched, deathly still. The doors to all of the cells were closed, and she still had the sense that she needed to stay back from them, that dangerous creatures were lurking just behind them even though there was no noise to be heard. Nothing would’ve survived on this level, she knew. But still she felt unsafe.

The last cell was wide open, the door on the ground, a twisted lump that was barely recognizable. She felt as if she were walking into it in slow motion. It was so...standard. A bed, minimal as taxpayer money could buy. A steel toilet adhered to the wall, with a small steel sink beside it and a rack with two pristine, cheap white towels. On the bed, though, was a file folder. She walked over slowly, picking it up and putting the flashlight awkwardly into the crook of her neck so that she could open it. A picture fluttered out, and she shone her light where it lay on the floor.

The label was hard to read, faded and peeling.

Subject #4NT1 Name: Sean William McLoughlin AKA: Jack, Jacksepticeye DOB: Feb. 7, 1990 Originates From: Ireland Duration of stay: Indefinite

On the back of the picture were a few scribbled lines of writing.

Subject complains of headaches which coincide with nosebleeds shortly before each episode. Episodes most obvious features: eye pigmentation shift, vocal shift (practically “auto-tune”), atmospheric disturbances. Shaking her head, she flipped through the papers in the file were dated just as recently, some even as recent as this past October. Occasionally a few words jumped out. “Unstable.” “Condition worsening.” “Duality.” This was it, alright. This was...him. This file was all they needed, had everything they needed to stop him. Contain him. To not make the stupid, small mistakes that’d led to...this.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the file and turned to leave...but stopped.

A high pitched giggle echoed down the halls.

“No...” her voice was a hoarse whisper. And she ran, full pelt down the hall. She screamed in frustration as the heavy door slammed itself shut, the giggling escalating into laughter, high and cold and deranged. “No!” She slammed her fists into the door, pulling and shoving alternatively. “Dammit, let me out!” “I’m gonna find you!” His voice seemed to bounce and echo, sliding between pitches, sometimes sounding like several of him were speaking at once. “Jack, please! I know you’re in there!” She was starting to panic, now, voice cracking desperately. “He’s GONE!” Another maniacal laugh. She turned to face the room. Around her, the walls seemed to be...glitching. “YOU! You’re on THEIR side! You helped them CATCH ME! CHEATERS! It’s no fun if you CHEAT!” Sudden silence. Suddenly her throat burned, and she retched, hands clawing at it as she crumpled to the floor, the laughter echoing again with a vengeance, louder and louder around her, the walls glitching in and out of existence with more frequency and intensity.

The last thought she had was of the body in the testing room. At least he wouldn’t rot alone, she thought dimly as she faded into the darkness.

Visitor Pt. 3

A/N: I’m having fun with this story, more fun than I originally thought I would have, and a couple of you still seem to like it ( @alix-the-skeleton I’m looking at you, pal. ;) ). So I wrote another bit! Enjoy! Part 1 and Part 2.

The air was cold, tonight, and filled with gentle music from the party still going on inside. William laughed as Celine pulled him along by the sleeves of his uncharacteristically dapper suit, running with him in tow to the edge of the balcony and only letting him go so that she could jump gracefully to sit on the stone railings. She looked beautiful, a bright red ballgown that hugged her in all the right places and flowed, light as a butterfly's wings, away from her at the hips, her short hair swept neatly underneath a scarlet hairclip. She kicked off her heels and swung her feet, patting the railing beside her. "Really, now, Cel, you want me to try that in this getup? I'll rip something in this bloody monkey suit." "Oh, live a little, Wil," she laughed as he hopped up anyway. "You're reckless any other time, why care about some cloth now?" "Well, it's a loan, first of all, if Mark knew I was running about in his suit-" "Oh please, as if he doesn't run around in it enough." He laughed, shaking his head. They went quiet for a moment, listening to the music swell inside, and Wil watched the smile slide off of her face. "It's hard to believe you're leaving tomorrow. How long will you be gone?" "Well," he sighed, taking her hand and staring up at the stars. They were so bright tonight. "It's only basic training, so only a few weeks." A few too many weeks, anyway. "I'll be home again before you know it." He chanced a glace. "And you've got Dames and Mark to keep you company." "Yes..." She bobbed along to the start of the new song, smoothing her dress with one hand. "Wil?" "Yes?" "What do you think is out there?" "Out there? As in, in space?" "Yes." He studied the sky for a moment. "Well...stars and planets and all that, of course...some ice, so Mark tells me..." "Other life?" "You're asking if I believe in aliens?" He chuckled, and she swatted him playfully. "Don't make it sound silly. It's totally plausible." He rubbed his arm, feigning offence, but she brushed him off. "But, no, that's not what I was asking. I was thinking more...I don't know. Spirits, or...or powers, or something." "So...God?" "Maybe not capital-G God. But yes, something along that line." William took a long time to answer, getting back to his feet as he finally spoke. "I...don't know, honestly. But I like to think that perhaps there's more to this universe than we know." Celine smiled, and stood as well. As the music swelled again, she suddenly took his hands, putting one around her waist, pulling him to her as she started to dance. He gaped at her for a second before settling into it as she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss you, Wil." He pulled her a little closer. "I'm...I'm going to miss you too, Celine. So much." If Wil could've frozen a moment in time, he would have lived right there, with her in his arms, dancing under the stars, forever.

"I think I'm going to ask her to marry me." William was slow to respond. "You're...you mean...Celine?" "Yes, of course I do," Mark laughed, "who else?" He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head as he looked over at Damien. "What do you think, Dames? Have I got your approval?" Damien smiled brightly. "Mark...of course you have my blessing. God, of course you do." He stood and embraced him, clapping him on the back as both men laughed. Wil smiled tightly as Mark turned back to him. "C'mon then, gents, let's celebrate." "She hasn't even said yes yet," Wil said quietly, but followed the other two to the bar, which Mark leapt over, grabbing three tumblers and a bottle of Fireball and setting them down on the bar. That made him smile a bit as he slapped Damien's back. "Think you can handle a shot or two of this, this time?" "Of course I can, don't be ridiculous," Damien muttered, smiling slightly as Mark laughed loudly, pouring them each a generous shot. They each grabbed a glass and raised it. "To a yes," Mark said. "To a new brother in law," Damien added. "To...us," Wil said, and the other two grinned at him, Mark nodding and throwing an arm around his would-be brother, agreeing, "to us." They downed their shots and immediately started giggling as Damien choked.

"Wil?" "Go away." "Wil, please, talk to me." "No." "William, be sensible. You can't lock yourself away forever." He shoved the door open roughly, swaying slightly as he glared through his blackened eye at a disheveled Damien, cane twisting in his hands. He huffed and turned away, stumbling back to the quickly emptying liquor cabinet in the corner of his hotel room. "And what do you want?" "To talk to you, to work things out! Dammit, man, you left so quickly-" "OF COURSE I DID!" he roared, and Damien flinched. "THAT BASTARD WAS TRYING TO KILL ME! HE WOULD HAVE, IF HE'D BEEN GIVEN THE CHANCE!" "You slept with his wife! My sister!" Damien yelled desperately, and Wil grabbed him by the lapels. "You've seen what he's become! What a selfish, pompous son of a bitch he is now! He's not the man she married! He's not the same Mark that I grew up with! And she loves me, Dames, she loves me! Not him!" "Then let her get-!" "Get what, Dames, a divorce? Make her wait, and wait, trapped with him in that godforsaken house-?" "BETTER THAN RUINING HER LIFE!" Crack. Wil stumbled back with a grunt, clutching his face as Damien stared at him, wide eyed. "Wil...Wil, no, I didn't mean..." "What the bloody hell was that for?" He ran forward, grabbing Damien's lapel again with one hand, raising the other as if to hit him. "What the actual hell, Damien?" "I-It was an accident, Wil, I didn't mean to hurt you-" "Get. Out." Wil shoved Damien into the door with a dull thud. Damien looked as if he wanted to say more, but decided against it. He sighed heavily, resignedly, and pulled it open, stepping out. "I don't blame you Wil. And...and I'm sorry." "Go!" A bottle smashed against the closing door, and Wil finally broke down, sobbing silently as he curled up on the floor of the vacant, anonymous hotel room, far away from home.

Wilford gasped, bolting upright. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, apparently, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He breathed heavily for a moment, shoving aside some empty bottles as he tried to remember where he was, who he was, what he was doing. The usual checklist. His dreams, tonight, they'd felt so...real. So vivid. He tried desperately to remember what they were about, but...no. They were already gone. Still, he was shaken. All he could recall was the name Damien. Damien. That name again, the one he'd called Dark. Who was Damien, to him? Had he ever even known a Damien? He couldn't recall one. All the name brought to his mind was a vague sadness, a vague nostalgia. As if he should know who is was, but didn't. He shook his head, standing and grunting as he stretched, old bones clicking. How old was he, he wondered? He wasn't sure anymore. Frowning, he tried to think of a time when he had known his age, or even his birthday. Further from that...where had he come from? He was sure he'd been born somewhere, he'd had a family, but, much to his mounting alarm, he found he couldn't remember them at all. He started to panic. Wilford Warfstache, he was Wilford Warfstache, world famous ace reporter, right? Wasn't that right? That's what everyone called him, that's how the others here knew him. So of course, he came from the Warfstache family, didn't he? But the more he said it in his head, the worse it sounded, the more...fake. Who had the last name of Warfstache, honestly? And even his first name, his perfectly normal first name, Wilford, the one he'd known for so long, felt...wrong, now. Felt rushed. The more he thought, the more it sounded like two different words. Wilford. Wil Ford. He jumped sharply as someone knocked loudly on his door. "Wilford? Hey, Wilford, dude, you up yet?" "Jesus, Bing, let a man have his beauty sleep!" Wil snapped angrily. "Go away! Tell the studio we're on hiatus!" There was a pause. "...seriously? Hiatus? Like, since when do you ever wanna go on-?" "GO!" Wil shouted, and he heard scuffling as Bing stumbled down the hall, probably wearing his Heeleys and tripping over them. On any other day, that would've made him laugh. Today, he scowled at his desk and pulled a flask out from under it, spinning the cap off in a smooth, practiced motion, but he paused before taking a sip. If he drank...would he forget again? Forget more than he already had? Why hadn't it occured to him sooner that he couldn't remember...anything? Wil put the flask back down, without taking a sip, and instead pulled out a legal pad and a pencil, beginning to write furiously.

Chase.

So! I had no idea this was happening until like 20 minutes ago!

Before I dive in: I absolutely love this video, and I’m so happy that Jack has decided to take his egos’ stories further like this. It’s beautifully shot, cleverly edited, wonderfully acted, and the premiere was just amazing. I’m so excited to see where this goes, even though I’d be perfectly happy to have this be all we get! Well done, Jack and team! I am astounded and impressed.

Now let’s talk lore:

Based on a first watch through, the story that I’m gathering so far is that Chase has been evicted from his home. This is the last straw for him, and to process, he goes to visit a place that is special to him. Now, this place is a cairn in the middle of the woods, a memorial to someone. While he’s there, grieving, suddenly he appears on a parking garage roof. He’s just as confused as we are...and afraid.

Let’s dig a bit deeper.

- The eviction notice

Served by the LA Sheriff’s department, this is an official notice to vacate the premisis, meaning that he’s been evicted from his home. It’s dated August 11th (or 14th, I’m not sure), and gives him until the end of the month to get out. Is he being evicted by his ex? Possibly, but also possible is that he’s been evicted for violating his tenant agreement, maybe with excessive drunken episodes or not taking care of the apartment well enough in his depressed state. I can’t make out the signature, but as it’s probably meant to be a judge’s, I’m not particularly bothered by that.

When Chase gets into his car, we see that it’s littered with fast food debris. It looks like he’s been living out of this thing. I don’t have much to say about that other than it’s a very good way of showing us his mental state before getting even more explicit about it. He’s not taking care of himself, or his car, because he can’t.

- In the car.

I want to talk about Chase’s costume change. 

Previously, he looked like this:

Childish and happy-go-lucky on the surface, covering his issues. This is him in his videos on Bro Average. It’s not a very serious look, because he’s not a very serious person.

Now he looks like this:

Much more toned down and adult, realistic. Serious. This is Chase off-camera, when he’s the real human being behind the screen, dealing with his life falling apart. I think it’s a fascinating character development, and I love it.

My favorite part of the video is this next bit.

Right before he breaks down, briefly, we see...

Someone else in the back seat. Someone in all black. Someone with Jack’s face.

Am I going to jump to the conclusion that this is Anti? Definitely. Is it possible that this is a manifestation of Chase’s concerns about that universe’s Jack who’s currently in a coma? Yep! Either interpretation is going to be interesting to play out.

- In the woods.

At the cairn, we see him put down this photo. Now, this could be two things: either, this is young Chase with his mother (probable, given the age of the photo) or this is Chase’s son with his ex, Stacey. Either way, this cairn marks the loss of the photo’s occupants. Now, I’m inclined to believe that this is Chase’s son’s memorial, because that would explain Chase’s depression and his ex’s leaving. This could also mean that Stacey is dead, but that wouldn’t make much sense lore-wise unless Jack is starting the story over completely. That would be interesting to watch, but would scrap all previous Chase appearances, so I doubt that’s what’s happening.

- The scene shift.

Before:

Alone and stripped of everything he had left, Chase is trying to decide what to do. He can’t go home, and he has nowhere else to go. This is a man who’s given up hope.

After:

Utter and complete shock. Confusion. Fear. He taps his chest and looks at his hands as if he’s questioning reality, wondering if he’s dreaming, but clearly he’s not.

I want to talk about the music cues for a second. The sentimental music of the forest scene fades away, and there’s tight, minor key strings through the entire finale, which is excellent for building hype and setting the scene. That, coupled with the sudden cut, brings the audience into Chase’s head without him having to say a word. We can clearly see and feel the confusion and panic, which quickly becomes fear, and even if we’re not sure what we’re afraid of, we know it’s something serious, and dangerous. We’re on the edge of our seats.

What happened here? We don’t really have enough info to go on, and I’m hoping there’s more to come, but my guess? Something followed him to the cairn. And something wanted something from him, and took him to the place where that can happen.

What brought him there? Whose memorial what that? Where are Chase’s friends? Where are his kids and ex? And most importantly...

What’s going on?