22 hours ago
I''m eating dinner at Denny''s.
The best part of waking up, in my cup. I take a sip, but I''m not a huge fan of the syrupy taste; too aggressively sweet compared to the food I''ve been eating. "Too much creamer," I think out loud. I look down at my plate of edible. "And why Denny''s?"
"It''s your dream, Mona," I respond, in the bench booth across from me. The shattered ceramic in my hand unexplodes, each piece clicking in, and as it finishes, I read the writing on the cup. "I''m dreaming," I read out loud. It takes time for the words to fully register. "I''m dreaming," I repeat, now truly cognizant. I look up at the thing that looks like me; a self same twin with eyes of void and darkness, pinpricks of light shining in their eyes. They''re wearing my security jacket, the one destroyed so long ago, while I''m still dressed in the TEPA I fell asleep in. "I''m the fingertip impressions pressing in on this world, why would I be dressed in anything else?" she murmurs. I can''t tell if it''s to me, or to themselves.
"Wally?" I ask, surprisingly less perturbed than I know I should be in this situation. A head loll; laziness and playfulness, corrupted whimsy in their grin. A chuckle on their lips, as though I''d said something funny. "Monaaa", they sing in reply, the voice a detuned chorus of itself. I furrow my brow. "What? Why are you calling me that?" I ask. I''m not really sure if I want her to call me anything, but the name she''s using isn''t one I recognize. My thoughts are molasses, pitch drop slow despite the lucidity. It takes me some time to remember why it feels so off. "Wally calls the operator ''kiddo'' specifically because it''s a nickname one of their parent''s called them," I think, with some amount of difficulty. My mouth keeps opening to voice every thought, and it takes nearly all my focus and attention to keep the thoughts inside. "No one''s ever called me ''Mona'' though, so I don''t really know what they''re referencing."
"Au contraire!" It giggles across from me. "Well, that was a waste of effort," I think. "She does, and she does! But you don''t know what you don''t know," they teases, their voice at odds with what is clearly Tame Impala over the diner speakers. "All this running around, I can''t fight it much longer," croons Kevin Parker, while I do my best to get a read on the entity in front of me. "A thirty minute process to pick that song, and it was all for you!" it says, forceful on the final word, an off kilter emphasis. "Why are you in my head? Why are you in my dream?" I ask. I don''t feel scared, or angry, or really much of anything at all, as though my emotional impulses are dulled by the dreamscape logic.
Mostly, I''m just confused, and a little annoyed at the nothing words my doppelganger keeps spewing at me. "Ah, ah, ah! No jumping ahead now, that''s spoilers!" they respond, with a cheeky grin. "Really? A Doctor Who reference?" I think, rolling my eyes. I pinch myself on the arm, to no avail. There''s the idea of pain, but none actually present, and more importantly, I don''t find myself waking up. She shakes her head despondently, tutting at me as though I''m a disobedient child. "Oh, if only it were so easy. You see, we all have our roles to play. You, the protagonist, obviously. Me, the trickster." They pause, and I open my mouth to cut them off, but they continues speaking before I have the chance.
"You know, Lewis Hyde describes the trickster as a ''boundary-crosser''?" it asks, shooting me a look. "I don''t know who Lewis Hyde is," I respond flatly. It shrugs. "Me neither." I stare at the entity, trying to impress upon them my frustration I know I have, but don''t feel. "You sure you''re not the antagonist?" I ask. "Not in this story," they respond, shooting me a impish grin as though we''re sharing in some sort of inside joke. "And as the protag-"
"No," I say, the words out of my mouth the moment I realize she''s about to offer me something. A laugh, a chuckle, a giggle, all three at the same time. A grin, a hair too wide, edging towards the uncanny valley. Character rigging stretched too far. "Hold yer horses there, cowgirl!" it says, in an aggressively bad midwestern accent. My attention is briefly pulled away by a tumbleweed rolling down the isle past our booth. "No thanks," I say, my words clipped, as I shift my attention back to the entity.
"I don''t need to hear anything. Why would I make a deal with you? I know that you know that that''s a shitty idea. I want to get home, but I''m not going to doom everyone here to get it." In some ways it''s harder to be, but in some, it''s easier. I have none of the messy wetness of a physical form, of fear hormones pushing me to make a bad choice. My decisions are closer to how I feel at my core; logical, but not unfeeling. "Oh I GET IT," they snap. A flash of rage, buried so quickly, I can''t help but wonder if I imagined it.
They sit in the office chair across from me, spinning slowly without any force acting on them. "You want to Do so badly," she taunts, a childish bent to her tone. To my tone. My voice. "Oh, but poor Mona doesn''t have the power to win, does she? Thrown in the deep end and told to figure it out. Alllll those people in Sharip... Toasted. Roasted." I flinch at every hard syllable coming out of my mouth/her mouth/it''s mouth, but I do my best to avoid rising to the bait. "It''s a fucked up world," I respond coolly, "but you gave power to the operators, and is anything any better? I think I''ll take my chances."
"And what happens when you leave?" they asks, their head propped up on one hand. "What about the next person who slips through the cracks, hmm?" She bats my eyes at me, projecting innocence, confusion. The TV in the corner of the basement flicks on, showing the English writing on the engine I''d bought on the relay. I take in the notation once more, as though the words hadn''t already been burned into my mind.
42 - Jaksun - Earth - Protected from cityWatch: No Touchy!
"I''m supposed to believe you''ll give me enough power to stop you from pulling people through?" I scoff. I''m about to follow up, but I''m cut off by it''s chuckling. She shakes my head, the picture perfect representation of an adult amused with a child''s misunderstanding. "I''m not pulling people through!" they state, as the though the mere idea preposterous. "Why would I WANT you here?" it presses, and for once, I''m at a loss. "Wh-because! I don''t fuckin'' know! You''re the Man in the Wall! You just, like... do shit!" I exclaim, ignoring the irony of their current female form. There''s a touch of energy, a pushing against the current of the river, but it quickly fades as the emotions drain out of me.
The pair of us watch as the antigreen colored material drifts away from us. "Nice reference," they say. I just stare at her uncomprehendingly. There''s a tilt of the head, hair falling in front of my face, and even though it''s not attached to me, I feel the urge to brush it out of my eyes. "I have all the toys I need in my toybox," it explains patronizingly. "But someone is throwing things across the rooooom and I''m NOT having fun picking them UP." There''s genuine frustration there, and for a brief amount of time, I entertain the idea that they might be telling the truth. "So... what? Someone else pulled me in?" I ask. A nod, and then, in a surprising twist, a name.
"Sol," says the entity wearing my skin. "The... sun?" I respond, confused. I feel a flare of heat on the back of my neck, and she shoots me an unimpressed look. "Someone called Sol, then," I clarify, before continuing. "And... what, they''re in the void, reaching through dimensions, just... pulling random people through?" It nods my head, singling out a single grain of sand from the pile on the table. "And unfortunately, I can''t really stop them," they say, trying and failing to pick up the grain of sand by pinching at it.
I''m able to get a clear view of the missing finger as it does, and I glance over to my hand to find it intact. "Why? Why would they pull me through? Like, me, specifically?" I press. "Why does anyone do anything? Because they wanted to," the entity explains unhelpfully. I sigh, and my breath blows all of the sand off the table into Wally''s lap. They look inordinately pleased. "So, you want me to... like, clean up for you? Remove Sol from the void?"
"Would you kindly?" they quip, a clear reference to the trigger phrase from Bioshock. "You''re acting like I''ve said yes, but I haven''t yet. Maybe I want Sol in the void," I say. But I know it''s a weak justification. "Enemy of my enemy only works if they aren''t also fucking me over, which they''ve already done by dragging me into this universe," I think. I know Wally can hear it, but they''re pretending they can''t, so I continue musing.
"Me, and at least one other, if the engine is anything to go by. With a name like ''Sol'', they''re almost definitely Orokin. And pretty much every high ranking Orokin has been a fuckin'' piece of work. Nihil, Ballas, Entrati... on top of that, reaching across universes is fucked up on a whole new, and specifically personal, level. Still, this seems like it''s way above my paygrade. Plus, maybe it''s relevant to the 1999 update or something, and it ends up being dealt with anyways." I shoot myself a look. "You haven''t really explained why this is a ''me'' problem," I tell the entity.
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"Sigh," they say. She literally says the word "sigh", drawing it out like a real sigh, before throwing their arms over the bench booth. "How''re the tunnels, Mona? How''s the rest of Space Trauma?" it says, resting my head back, gluing my eyes to the ceiling. I glance up, but don''t see anything other than the word "gullible" scribbled in pen. Even without looking at me, I can see the muscles of my face shift into a malicious grin. "Don''t fucking touch them!" I snap, a touch of that energy from before, returning.
This time, it doesn''t fade, and I use it to lean forward, in an attempt to intimidate the eldritch being. I''m so focused on posturing, that it takes me a fraction of a second to react to my face springing forwards straight towards mine, only to halt a few inches away, at a speed so quick that I can''t help but flinch. I take a step or two back, and try to brush it off. "You''re so confident you''ll make it out of those caves without my help? So confident that you''ll be able to deal with Sol without my help?" Their expression flattens. "And don''t act like you didn''t add that one to your to-do list," she exclaims, at a level just under shouting.
I bite down hard enough to make my jaw ache. I hadn''t actively thought about dealing with Sol, but on quick interrogation, I realize that my mind had made the choice for me, and I''m not happy with Wally knowing this information before I do. "I can help you," it exclaims, in a slick, oily tone. I feel something dripping from my ears, and raise my hand to find some sort of shimmering material, but quickly dry my hand with a towel before shifting my attention back towards Wally. "I can give you the power you need to save everyone. To make sure that no one like you ever suffers again. All you need to do is say
YES
Wally stares at me with my own face, and it''s unsettling, looking into the cosmic dark pits where my eyes are supposed to be. I had always considered the effect in game pretty, like the night sky, but looking at it now, it''s unsettling in a way I can''t exactly put my finger on. Like looking at the darkness between a cracked door, or at the bottom of an unlit staircase. "Listen, I know you''ve been unfairly maligned against me. So how''s this; you can have the powers WITHOUT any terms," they say, before splitting into a wide grin. "All you gotta do, is leave the caves without anyone dying." It''s eyes glance down at the lump between us, before glancing back at me. "Well, anyone else."
I squint my eyes at the guileless look on my face. "I thought you needed me to be tweezers for you. What do you get out of this?" I ask the entity. A shrug. "Entertainment. I can figure something else out, and I think your story will be fun to follow, regardless." They giggle, like they just told a joke. "BUT," they snap, suddenly shifting into a snarling grin. "If I WIN, then you have to KILL Sol. I want them DEAD." Then, another shift, a smash cut into a nonchalant lean. "Besides, they pulled you into this hellscape. So, win win for you, really."
I can''t help but grimace. I know it''s a monkey paw deep in my gut. It''s so clearly a "deal with the devil", and every single story I''ve ever consumed has shown me how stupid of an idea it''d be to even consider this. "How do I know you''re telling the truth?" I ask. "I never lie," it responds. It takes me a moment to consider those words. "Has Wally ever lied in game?" I think audibly. I''m unsure, but then again, this isn''t the game. "They don''t need to lie," continues my mind. The voice is different in some ephemeral way; mine, but not. Wally grins knowingly.
"This is a monkey''s paw. Somehow, someway, they''ll get what they want." Then, more thoughts, different from me, and the me of just now that isn''t. "The goal is already to leave without anyone dying. So really, we''re just getting free powers for doing what we are already planning to do." Then, the first voice, the one that''s the most me. "But what if taking the deal is what causes Wally to nudge something or someone in our path? Something we can''t plan for? Are we really willing to bet the other''s lives?" The screen flicks to life once more, showing the text on the engine. A lower third scrolls past.
"Others stuck here? English? Someone I know? Someone I don''t? How can we help? How can we track them down?" says the scrolling banner. Then, a vision, played out in full, immersive dreamscape fashion. Me, leaving one side of the warframe universe, only for another faceless person to slip in behind. Then another. Then another. "We don''t know that," says that first voice, but with less certainty, now. My eyes flick back up towards the entity wearing my skin. "To clarify. Take powers from you, but I have to deal with Sol. Or, get powers for free as long as we all escape Mars alive," I say slowly.
"And if you don''t, then you need to kill Sol," they finish, a feral grin on their lips. And I know, at that moment, what choice I''m making. Because really, there was no path before this. To work with the Tenno, and somehow end up in the void? And then, and then? There were huge, unpassable gaps in the plan; gaps I had been actively ignoring while driving towards them at breakneck speed.
I had never really known what to do, or how I was going to get home prior to this. Making a deal might be one of the few... possibly the only option I ever really had. "I told you you''d accept the job," it says with my lips, and I''m once again stood in front of that door. A memory, playing out anew. "If I say yes, will I be able to get home?" I ask. No words, just a nod of it''s head. I sigh, and allow myself to feel the weight of fate, just for a moment. Then, I look back up, determination in my eyes. "No one is going to die," I tell myself. "Let''s shake on it," I tell myself.
<hr>
now
It comes to me in a flash. The dreams, the deal, the laughter laughing LAUGHING. Wally knew, he knew they knew it knew and now
Ella
I scream, and the air around me shatters. I wail, and waves of energy buffet the ground, tossing sand on my comrades in arms. I cry, and my alarms flash in my headset; energies that a regular Tenno shouldn''t have, that I have, at dangerous levels. My health in the red, my shields depleted but from the force of my anger and rage and despair. I force my gaze away from
Ella
towards the cliffside behind us. It''s an arduous movement, like I''m fighting the resistance of the universe to do it; the muscles in my neck straining as I lock my gaze onto the KILLER KILLER KILLER <strong style="text-shadow: -1px 2px 1px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.4), 1px -3px 1px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.4), 3px -4px 1px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), -4px -3px 1px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.2), -6px 7px 1px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 7px -5px 1px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.2), -19px -13px 1px rgba(0, 8, 50, 0.18), 21px 14px 1px rgba(205, 213, 255, 0.18), 14px -11px 1px rgba(0, 13, 80, 0.13), -15px 10px 1px rgba(175, 176, 255, 0.13), -10px 12px 1px rgba(0, 20, 130, 0.1), 11px -8px 1px rgba(141, 125, 255, 0.1)">KILLER
and then I''m there, inches from the masked face, the cold yellow emotionless eyes slowly pulling away from me. A rifle in hand, a Vectis, some distant quiet part of my mind recognizes, is in the hands of the Grineer. The soldier is trying to pull it up, but they''re slow, so slow. My eyes are burning, my limbs are on fire, my throat raw. I reach forward, grab the arm, and execute a perfect toss, landing the Grineer on their front. I''m on top of them now, reaching for their head, their helmet. There''s so much fucking ARMOR in the way, but I manage to pull it off, to a pained scream from the KILLLERRRRRRRR
I don''t think it''s supposed to come off that way. I don''t care. I grab their face, and slam it in the red cliff, and add more red. Harder, and HARDER AND HARDER, the cursed knocker on death''s door. Every full powered slam is met by a scream, hard constants, curses in a language no one knows but me. The body is twitching, but there''s so much blood, and more and more and shards of white and things of gray on my hands and the ground but
Ella
is still dead. She''s still dead. She''s still dead. Dead like this Grineer. Like Sanza. And it''s not helping, and it hurts it hurts oh god it hurts so so so much, on some ephemeral inside. I can barely see through the flood of tears, barely breathe through the choked sobs, desperate for air.
"Ella..." I moan.
"Elllaaaaa..." I cry.
"EllllaaAAAAAAAAAAAA!" I scream, in refusal, in anger, in so so much pain. I don''t know if I''m up there for a minute or an hour or a second before I feel the hand on my shoulder. Banshee, offering a pittance of comfort. Banshee, who''s job it was to get us out alive.
BANSHEE, WHO WAS SO BUSY TALKING THAT THEY FAILED TO SPOT AN ENEMY DIRECTLY ABOVE THEIR HEADS.
"BANSHEE!" I snarl, my voice ripped and torn in a way that I''ve never heard it before. My limbs feel awkward, janky, and I stand to face them, blood on my hands, rage in my heart. "I''m sorry," says the Lotus, or maybe the operator, or maybe the Irish myth herself.
Platitudes.
"FUCK YOU," I say, throwing a haymaker straight at their center. I see a wave of energy, compressed void stuff gathering around my fist as it screams through the air, until it makes contact with the warframe''s stomach. Their shields flash, and go down, and so do they, right off the cliff, clearly caught off guard by what I''d be able to throw at them.
Then, barely audible, a cry from Ko-lee down on the burnt umber sand below.
And then I black out.