He notices how views are lower, how people comment poorly, the lesser activity and mail. He begins feeling discouraged, his happiness starts to lessen, threats of depression appear, and most of all, his spirit has started to twitch and allude to faltering under the stress. After every recording, he was usually cheerful. But now, the joy just is not there all that much. He began to harbor feelings of hatred for himself for causing all this misfortune on his part; that it's his fault. The world collapses around him, and he thus falls into a deep, morose pit of loneliness and emptiness, not knowing what to do anymore and filled with thoughts of shame. "I'm worthless. I'm a failure. " All is dark.
But what's that?
He lay there with all feelings lost, mind and body numb.
There it is again.
His eyes remained closed as he remained shut to everything. White noise? In the dark, grayscale atmosphere in his mind, lumps called feelings started to… stir. The essence of sound returns to him very slowly. What seemed like "white noise" disappeared again as thoughts of denial and hurt cloud his mind once more. He lay there for many moments more, locked away in agonizing isolation shrouded in thick sorrow and regret. Then, out of the silence, as if waves of expanded sound gather into something intelligible, he heard a sound… "-uck it-"
His eyes fly open. There was meek light coming through from somewhere. He peered around. He was not in the dark place. He still on his back, but not on empty ground, The covers were on him. He quickly satup and suddenly remembered he had no contacts at present, so he instinctually zipped his arm to the side to reach for something. He grabbed an item and proceeded to equip them.
'My glasses'.
He can clearly see. Where was he? He was in bed, and he then quickly hopped out and opened the door out of the room and into the small corridor. Everything was there, the kitchen, the furniture, the studio. He pushed apart the blinds of a window and gave a sweeping look outside. Yes, the buildings, people, cars, trees. they were all there. He turned around and leans on the sill and runs a hand through his hair.
'I'm home'.
Nothing was amiss, as far as he can tell.
'What kind of hellish dream did I have?'
The memory was faded. He felt he knew what it was, but also cannot decipher the nebulousness of the dream. Dream? He straightens up and retrieves his phone from his bedside counter and sees that it's just the usual time he awakens each day. 5:30am.
'Guess I just ate something bad'.
He stretches and straightens the blankets on his bed and goes into the restroom where he brushes his teeth, washes his face and eats out his hair as he walks out of the restroom, not bothering to use the mirror because of his slightly pensive state. He prepared a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and waffles with a large glass of milk. As he sets the freshly cooked and very hot food to cool off a bit, he leaves to retrieve the mail to flip through as he eats. Returning with a bundle of mail, he settles at the kitchen table upon of the of the medium height chairs and starts sifting through the envelopes and other items whilst chowing down his breakfast. As is always the case with mail, he disposes of the spam and junk advertising that litter throughout his mail, munching his eggs through and through. When he starts on his last waffle, he flips to his last item of mail.
'Oh, fanmail!'
With the waffle hanging from his clamp on it, he opens the envelope and sees fanart.
'Oh my goodness, this is awesome!'
It was one of him in his gentlemanly attire from what he remembers dressing for in the "Gentlemen's Dispute" videos. He set it down and checked the envelope in case there was anything else. Nothing. So he flipped the sketch over and saw a post-it note on the back.
'Ah, here's the letter part.'
He read.
"Do you even remember?"
'Interesting letter. That was the shortest and equally strangest letter I've ever received'.
He finished up his meal and cleared the dishes, then, asif out of some habit, he tried to reach for the next piece of mail. His hands closed on nothing. There was no more for he had already seen through the last letter. He felt it. It was there. A shallow pang pressed on his mind ever so slightly. It was the only fan letter. He shook his head and took the fan art back into his room and set it on the counter, happy the effort that was put into it. He proceeded to begin his routine preparation for recording. He starts up the PC and its monitors, settles down upon his cushion survival settle, adjusts the camera, mid, and selects a game to try. As he was about ready, he rests the iconic Sennheisers over his ears and starts off~
'Hello, everybody. My name is Markiplier and welcome to let's play-"
"- thank you all so much for watching, and I will see you in the next video. Bye-Bye!"
He finishes up with recording and shifts a phone of his headset to the side to cool and for a balance and temperature, since LA is fairly hot, and begins to edit. Time passes, and at last he has it ready to upload. As he logs onto YouTube, he just scrolls through his Discussion tab, and arbitrarily looks through his twitter and gmail. He notices the lesser comments and feedback. A looming weight starts to press on his shoulders, and starts to feel a slight chill. He returns to YouTube to upload the latest addition to his sea of videos, and as he goes, he, out of meager curiosity, clicks his video tab and just scrolls through the vast collection. He saw the counts. Continually lesser counts, views. He felt himself suddenly break. The memories of his dream came flooding back as a swift river. The feelings of despair all return and inundate his mind. Leaving the video unuploaded, he sets down the Sennheisers and stands from his seat and staggers to the door. His head droops, as if it's heavy from all the troubled emotions he had. As he turned the knob and opened the door, he trudged out into the miniature hallway and struggled to stay standing. He stuck his arm out against the wall to support himself as his legs gave under him, causing him to collapse onto the floor, He was inches from the bathroom, and so he struggled his way into the room and slumped against the inner wall, head back in shame. He painstakingly got up and bolstered himself against the sink ledge with his arms. He then sharply shook his head in dismay,
'Oh, what am I doing?'
His face contorts to anguish. He's all alone. He had wronged them, that was why the views decreased, the feedback, comments, decreased. He couldn't help them. So they've left. He couldn't… help them...He keels over and holds his head in his arms.
"Yes. What are you doing?"
He froze. Who was that?
"Mmm, yes, who was that indeed?"
He shifted his head very slightly, enough that he can see through the niche of his elbow while avoiding detectable movement. There was no one outside the door. Head still frothy with the heavy thoughts that just cannot leave, he shifted and cupped his hands over his face as he pounded himself with self derision for the idea that he was going crazy and turning into an insane fool. He put his hands down, back onto the sink ledge and stood there, intense in thought,
'Everything's wrong. I've failed so many.'
"So many? And I suppose I can attest to your assumption that you are devolving into an insane fool."
He stilled everything, freezing once more. The voice sounds like it was from behind him. A very familiar voice that he just couldn't place. He slowly looked up into the mirror and saw nothing. Just him. Alone. In the bathroom. He sighed and turned around and really froze. His eyes grew wide. A figure stood there in front of him, dressed in dark attire, donning what seems to be a tophat. The figure's face was masked by the very low angled hat, with only his mouth and chin visible, grinning a most sinister sneer. He wore a dark slate colored suit and stood there leaning back against the opposite wall, arms crossed.
He trembled.
"Who, who are you?! What do you want?!"
The dark figure chucked, to Mark's dread, and bounced his back off the wall and approached closer, all the while Mark uselessly backed up against the sink that was in his way.
"You're quite lost, my friend. Why… Why don't we take a tour, and see what becomes of it?"
"What- I".
Not making any sense of what is happening, Mark frantically searched for the best time of escape.
"Hahaha, I agree".
The dark figure uncrossed his arms and gripped Mark firmly on the shoulders just as he tried to run out the ajar door and pushed him into the mirror.
"NOOO!"
He braced himself for the deadly sharp mirror shards that will inevitably cut into him and mortally wound him.
…
Minutes passed.
No sound.
He shot up awake as if plunged in Arctic cold water. His heart was racing, his breath was quick. Everything was blurry, so, once again he instinctually swipes his hand over and puts on his glasses. He glanced around. He was in bed in his room.
"The hell?"
He sat in a daze.
'Wait!' He frantically got out of bed and retrieved his phone.
'The date, what's the date-"
5:30am on 7/12/15.
'The same… day?'
Had he had a crazy double-take dream? One of those looping ones? He, still in disbelief, made his way out to the corridor, again, and looked out the window, again. Utter deja vu was hitting him hard. Then a thought.
'The fanart. Do I have it? Did I get it?'
He quickly ran to the entrance, put on sandals and stumbled out the door, completely unkempt from bed, and hurried to the mailbox and retrieved the mail. He sprinted back to his apartment, with no one up to see his frantic, panicked state, luckily. He shut the door and didn't even make it to the kitchen table, but instead slumped against the door and sat down and flew through the mail. Nothing. There wasn't even a single piece of fan mail or anything of the sort. He leaned his head back, lightly hitting the door, and just sat there ridiculing himself. The dream he had the night before just felt too vivid, and he couldn't believe he was actually freaking out over it.
'Stop being stupid, Mark.'
He got up and recollected the scattered mail and placed them on the kitchen counter. He then slowly made his way to restroom, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair. He entered the restroom. And stopped. His hand dropped to his side. His mouth slightly fell, and his eyes grew wide.
"This isn't my… restroom…"
He was in a facility of sorts with unsaturated colors everywhere. The door behind him vanished.
'Where the hell am I...'
"Hahahahahahahaha"
He tensed and snapped his eyes over his shoulder in the direction of the laughter.
'The frick?' He asked tremblingly a few tens of paces and heard a skittering sound to his left. He glanced left, then right and a chill ran through him. There stood a shadowed silhouette near his vicinity. It held something sharp looking. Mark backed away, and the silhouette came closer, and as it approached, the light shone the other's face. Oh, its grueling face. Mark helplessly let out a shuddering "Ah". He felt utter shock and fright at what he saw.
'No, no, I'm dreaming. Just a nightmare. Too many horror games to the head. This can't be rea-eeeeeeeiiiiyaaAAHHH!"
He screamed when the horrifying menace lunged at him with the knife directly poised to run Mark through. Mark was too slow, he couldn't move away fast enough, and did what he could to shield himself with his arms placed in front of him. Just as Jeff's knife barely connected with Mark's arm, the Killer wisped away. Letting out a sharp yelp of pain from the knife's cut, Mark staggered as he cupped his arm on the nick. Red fell from his hand, despite the cover. He reached for the bottom lip of his shirt and tore a section off with his teeth and hurried to wrap his upper arm on the area of impact. He secured it tightly to quell the bleeding. Sweating and panting from the ordeal, he bent over and held his hand on the injury to catch his breath. He was just looking at the ground self-consciously when he realized the ground was different than what he remembered. He raised himself and looked around and was surprised. Mark saw that he was in a whole different area. There were tech devices strewn about the tiled floor, flickering overlights placed on the concave ceiling with an essence of desertion ever present. He started to walk down the lengthy corridor and stopped as it ended, with a single spiralling vent on the wall. Without a second thought, Mark felt a tingling apprehension as he well knew that vents only meant bad news. He didn't know why, but he slowly turned his head to peek behind him and felt his stomach drop. A hideous monstrosity, with 4 tapering scythe-like appendages jutting from out from its body, stood a stance. Without another moment, Mark dove into the vent and locked the vent's opening as the Necromorph barreled down the hall and crashed into it, its four scythe-arms stabbing right through the iron vent, the sharp, pointed singular talons just missing Mark and tearing his attire. Heavily gasping for air, he lay there, eyes as wide as can be, feeling like he just got dumped on with liquid Nitrogen. After recovering from the shock of almost being impaled to death, he flipped over and started crawling through the vents, away from the still wriggling stakes. He was shivering with fear and felt himself becoming queezy. With a mental push, Mark held it down and tried to blindly make his way through the ventilation labyrinth for a way out. When it seems all was at a lull, a ticking sound became increasingly audible throughout the vent-system halls. Mark's head flipped to the sides looking frantically as his heart beat quickened. It was no normal sound.
'What- what?'
He stopped his crawl as he saw slime slop down directly on the vent floor in front of him, feeling the small drops of wet splash his cheek. He raised his gaze at the thing before him. Its long, spiny, thin, sleek, reflective pitch body shone as the light that leaked from the vent lights hit it. Its long glossy translucent cranium tipped forward to look at the being in its way. Its neck vibrated as it let out a shrill shriek as it pushed forward with its arms, its mouth open revealing its terrible tongue and directly aimed straight for Mark.
"Ah ah ah AH AH AH-" He scrambled around to quickly evade the Alien, and just as the creature was about to clamp its jaws down and crush him, the environment shifted drastically, and the creature dematerialized. Mark, in his scramble to escape, started to fall from high above. Realizing that he was falling, he braced himself however he could for the rough landing that will surely ensue. Seconds later, he did land hard, but felt no pain. Eyes still shut for protection, he felt the surface on his face. It was soft. He tentatively opened his eyes and looked around his immediate position. When he saw what he was lying on, he sat up and felt his back hit against a wall.
'A bed?' But he knew he wasn't in his room. It was dim, with the only light coming from a miniscule opaque window on the upper wall. The room he was in was by far the smallest, most cramped space he's been in for the past period of insanity. Wary of anything that could go wrong in this strange place, he stood from the bed. As he gazed around, his eyes set onto a rather frightening painting that appeared to be a sort of messed-up Kool-Aid face on the wall in front of him. From the unsuspected scare, he jumped to the side and accidentally bumped his leg against a small, plain table on the bedside, rather hard.
"Ow!" He bent his knees as he rubbed the throbbing spot on the side of his leg. Mark lightly hobbled away from the table and felt his other foot slip, causing him to nearly trip smack onto the floor. To see what more was attempting to cause him hurt, he looked down.
'An envelope?' Perplexed, he bent down, wincing as his leg throbbed, and picked up the envelope. He looked at the envelope with suspicion. Nevertheless, he lifted the flap and opened the it. Expecting the worst, Mark pinched the paper inside by the corner and held the paper materials away from him as he slowly pulled the envelope's contents from it. He shut his eyes just in case, and pulled the paper out completely from its shell as if it were a motion detecting bomb where any sharp movement would elicit and explosion. Seconds went. Nothing. Mark opened one eye then opened the other when he realized it was just a paper with no real danger, probably, and held it closer to him so he could read it. Words were written on yellowing parchment paper. It was upside down, so he turned it around and read quietly aloud to himself,
"But no matter. What matters is that the lock on your cell door is powered by electricity. Which means that…". The missive ended. Mark pulled back with a questioning look on his face.
'The frick?' He looked from the letter to his left. The door was indeed iron plated, greatly contrasting with the rest of the room. He heard a swishing sound and saw another envelope slide under the door's gap. Setting down the previous letter tensely, wondering who is on the other side delivering these to him. He leaned over to pick up the envelope, but as his fingers closed around the paper, he spied a spider that quickly skittered over his hand. Feeling the tickling of the insect's feet, he snapped his hand back, letter in hand, in disgusted surprise. Waving the crawly sensation away, he proceeded to open the next letter. Another letter from the previous mysterious sender. He read,
"If I manage to destroy the prison's generator… You will be free to leave, friend."
His pulse quickened.
'Someone is coming to free me? Who-' His thought was cut short when yet another envelope shot from under the entrance. He cocked his brow. The envelope was different. It appeared classier with a waxen seal securing the flap closed. He picked it up gingerly and separated the seal to open the envelope. The paper of the letter, this time, was smoother with pink dainty vine patterns on it.
"Are you coming?" He looked over the paper, flipping over and back again. He was exasperated with sheer confusion. "What?" Thoughts spun in his mind regarding who in the world were even sending messages to him and who wants to meet him.
As he placed the papers onto the table with the others, he heard the now familiar swish. It had the same wax seal as the last one. He swiftly opened it.
"Please tell me that you'll come…" Not knowing what for, he felt as if a heavy rock was in his heart, sending tendrils of… of sadness throughout his being. He felt a longing, he felt intense concern. He knew he had to do something. For some reason.
'I need to get out of here'.
Putting the latest letter down with the others in a pile on the table beside him, he kept his gaze under the door anticipating the next delivery, mind still racing, heart ever heavy with a once foreign, now familiar pain. The next letter came in. It was the same fancy paper.
"I am so lonely..." A strong wave of frustration permeated his mind. "Gaaah! I want to get to you! I'm here! Don't be lonely! Arrrgh!" He spoke as if he knew what he was saying, without question. He indeed felt like he knew exactly. He impatiently waited for the surely upcoming deliverance of the next missive.
It arrived. He snatched it up and opened it.
"I'm sorry, friend…" His heart pounded and he flailed as his frustration bubbled.
"No, GAWD! Augh, augh- Fuck, ah frick I can't doing anything!"" He couldn't stand being sedentary, so he stood and paced in what cramped space there was. Minutes passed. Mark got ever more apprehensive and effervescing with anger. He was facing away from the door, head down in impatience, when he heard the satisfying sweep he was waiting for. He whipped around and grabbed the letter, wrinkling it, and tore the side of the envelope, no longer bothering to neatly detach the seal, and pulled the paper from its sleeve. But, before he could even fully it out, he stopped. A short message. Two words.
"I'm sorry."
His eyes drifted and caught onto the redness that soaked the rest of the paper. The splotchy redness. He staggered back, dropping the paper, and shot his arms up in absolute shock as sorrow set in. His hands were smudged with the red.
"AHHHH!" His face contorted in anguish at the loss of the friend he never met.
"...Charlotte…"
The name fell out as it came.
Then suddenly, there was a great shaking, the light turned red, and the room he was trapped in shook violently, tossing Mark to and fro.
After a few moments, all came to a stop. Jostled by the tremendous shaking, Mark tried to re-establish his center of balance. The feeling of grief still lingering, he saw that the cell door, the wretched door that confined him to the forsaken room and disabled him from helping his unknown friends, was ajar. He held the wall's frame that contoured the entrance and swung the creaky door fully open to make his leave. He stepped out and heard a stone cold "tak" as his foot made contact with the ground. It was a different ground to its equally different surroundings. The creaky door sung shut behind him and willowed away, opening up a long dark hallway. Fear crept its way back into his mind, for it was obscenely dark with light emitted only from the occasional fluorescent lights that were intermittently placed on the stony brick walls. He found his shoulders very tensed up as he carefully walked through the cold, dim hall. After walking in many random turns through the corridors, he felt a very sharp sense of lostness.
"Shhhhhhcccrrraahhh"
He jumped. 'The hell was that? A snake?" It was a very hissy noise that did not sound in the least bit of the norm. Whatever normal was anymore. He continued down the current hall and came to a stop.
"Huh?"
The hall ended with an iron-barred outlook to another hallway beyond it. He stepped closer and looked between the bars, and went rigid. His pupils shrunk. There was a lean, tall, lanky figure just standing there on the other side. Watching him. WIth its eyeless, narrow elongated face. Without a moment more, it dashed off to the right, hissing as it ran.
B-dmp. B-dmp.
'Oh no.' Adrenaline began to pump through his veins, and he whipped around and began to speed walk away from his current location. He knew that whatever he saw was racing to find him. And he couldn't just stay put for that thing to get him and do who knows what. He had a feeling it had to do with death. And mutilation maybe. But death, without question. He made random turns where there were intersections so he can get away. After what felt like much time flew by, he slowed his pace. It was very quiet. For a few minutes at least. He started to hear a repetitive chugging noise, like that of an engine of sorts. Uncertain, Mark kept on his path through the corridor. The hall abruptly opened into a larger cavern with types of large factory-esque machinery creating substantial ruckus. His foot bumped into something. He bent down and picked up the objects.
'...Glow Sticks?' At least he found what he thought to be useful in the ultra dark environment. Just when all seemed calm, there was a clang and a raspy moan with a skittering sound against the floor. He broke into a cold sweat as his eyes landed on what was before him.
"No no no, you have got to be kidding with me."
The sleek Mole-Man slank under an arching pipe and crept towards him, and behind it approached a grotesque manlike thing with a torn mouth and impossibly long claws on its right hand. From the side, an absolute abomination of a canine-like monstrosity prowled by, circling Mark's position, lowly growling. Mark reared slowly no to elicit any sudden movements and turned around, but was met with with a wall of flesh. He slid his gaze up to the things face, and oh, the many eyes that it had around its bald face. Speechless, Mark turned back, his expression looking like he's just seen death, and paces noiselessly to his right, towards one of the four openings leading away from the gear room. The creatures all focused on him and came closer. The dog-thing barked a horrendous bark. He broke out into a run. And they pursued. He dashed down the hall and sharply turned the corner as he saw yet another monster, one with a puffy, disgusting head that emitted a spine-crawling clicking sound. It squawked as he met eyes-to-fungal face with it.
'No no no no no no no no no no no no no n- WAAHAHAAAAAAAAA!" From a branching hallway on that converged with the current hall broke a pipe, and from it came swooping out a ghostly, gray apparitional object with a figure of a human and joined the rest. It caught Mark off guard and caused him to stumble a bit. He sprinted as fast as he could and turned corners here and there in an attempt to shake them off his trail. They all followed without fail. On his last leg of energy, gulping air like a fish from the lack of sufficient oxygen after the prolonged sprinting, his eyes spied a hole in the wall that had a look of a burrow down a hall on his right. The monsters were about 2 yards behind him, and he had a thought.
'I could just have enough leeway...' And without anymore time wasted he cracked ,while he veered, all but one glowstick, threw them in the opposite direction, and dove straight into the hole and crawled in as deep as he could so he was hidden by the curve of the tunnel. He cupped his hands over his mouth to muffle his fast breathing. He peeked over at the entrance. Their feet were visible, and one by one, he saw them split ways. The canine-beast, however, straggled by the entrance and looked into the entrance. Mark forgot about it, thinking all the creatures spread out to search for him, and so whipped back rigidly, hoping the beast didn't see. He could hear its panting, and as he saw its horrendous muzzle emerge from the curve, a pipe broke outside somewhere, and the dog instantly receded to run towards the sound. Surely it knew he was there, unless, it had an extraordinarily weak sense of smell. Nevertheless, it seemed the coast was clear. For now. Mark progressed through the tunnel and came upon an opening from which he crawled out. As he tried to stand, he winced at a sharp shooting pain that zipped through his leg. The same leg that hit that table hard.
'Aghh. Guess now that much of the adrenaline's gone, I can feel pain again.' An eye was closed from the immense pain. He put a hand to his leg to try and lessen the throbbing and proceeded to hobble down the next corridor. For the sake of his life, he consistently glanced about his position to ensure nothing was in close proximity. Another pipe burst. He bit down a reactional yelp so that nothing may locate him through the sound. So instead he took a deep breath.
'I'm paranoid now.' As anyone should be. While in his thoughts, he noticed that he had passed something with the hue conspicuously different in contrast to everything else around. He backed up and turned his head left. On the wall was a rather large varnished red wooden door that was completely out of place from the rest of the scenery. He stood staring at it a bit longer as a thought faded into his mind.
'Ooo lookie. A door,' he grasped the brass handle, 'Things can only get fricking good from here. Ha. Ha. ...' He pressed the handle and simultaneously pushed forward to enter, with thoughts laced with fed-up, syrupy sarcasm. He purposefully left the door slightly open in case he'd have to book-it for some reason, and paused at the doorway. He couldn't believe what his eyes told him.
'It's NORMAL?' He had walked into a decently lit, warm room. A room with wood-flooring, rugs, plush arm chairs centered by a fireplace, and a candle-lit chandelier hanging from the high ceiling above. It couldn't be any more different than what was just outside the door. He took a few steps forward taking in the good change of surroundings when, out of nowhere, disintegrating purple particles hovered by his head. Then he heard a slight creak and a soft click as the door closed behind him. Throughout this whole ordeal, he knew one thing for fact: To not turn around every single freaking time at everything strange, despite whether there be something actually there or not. So he didn't. Then the candles and fireplace blew out for no reason. Pitch darkness. He took from his pocket the final remaining glowstick, popped it, and shook it to mix the chemicals for a brighter glow. It didn't help much, but did at least allow him to see a few 6 inches around him. Barely. But, he soon had a chilling feeling that he shouldn't have done it at that instant, for as he raised the glowstick, it illuminated the snout that was in front of him. A steel snout. Registering the now confirmed fact that he was not, in the slightest bit, alone, he stood stoically, cold as ice. With his peripheral vision he saw long, thin black bar-like arms come forth to enclose him from behind. The snout grew into a face as it neared into the radius of the weak, green light. Then its head. Its sharp teeth shined as they reflected the light. Mark remained still, scared as heck and shivering from the frigid coldness of the undulating waves of fear that radiated throughout his entire being. Then, the accumulated sweat beads dripped onto the floor.
"Plip".
The mechanical fox animatronic let loose a cacophonous, ear-splitting shriek as it jumped forward with its mouth wide open, its powerful jaws hungry to crush his skull. He felt like it was the end for him and gasped to scream.
But just before he could even release the scream, a powerful gust of wind blew against him, shutting his eyes and washing the world into a night and blowing the murderous Fox's dust directly against him. It became considerably colder. He finally coughed, as the dust from the pursuer settled onto him. He patted away the dust, but in doing so felt something slightly hefty in his right hand. He felt a bump directly beneath his thumb, and he pressed. Click. A beam of light shot from the flashlight that he now held.
'Another change of scenery- cough.' The beam illuminated the tall green grass and the many trees around him. He looked up and saw the starry evening sky, and heard the crickets chirping. He turned in place and his light landed on something of a cerulean blue. A truck. Suspicious, he carefully circled it, the ground crunching relatively loudly below his shoes, and stopped when he saw something plastered to the back of it. A paper. He went closer and scanned the surface with his eyes.
"Snap?" He took the paper from the truck as if on instinct. Virtually clueless, Mark curved away and headed in a different direction, slightly limping from the leg-injury he had sustained. Somewhere along his stroll he came upon an outdoor bathroom. He paused, and then entered in. He wasn't surprised at the absence of toilets in the bathroom, for he'd just witnessed stranger things, but did retrieve another note. He kept onward, visiting the different locations and collecting the papers that were present, all in a perfunctory manner.
'Out...'
With 7 in hand, he continued to seek the final remaining page. Mark couldn't help but feel how insanely familiar all this was, and he also couldn't deny the creeping feeling that something was absent. The anxiety was building. After trudging along for some time, he finally saw it. The concrete tunnel. He didn't quite know why he was searching for such a thing, but he felt a strong sense of unbound certainty. Pushing the bushes out of the way, he neared the structure and shined the flashlight into it. There was something white on the wall. His eyes rested on the final page and stepped towards it. As approached, there was a peculiar noise.
"Ssssszzzssst-" His vision wavered strangely.
'What-'
"Ssssszzzsssszzsst" It was more violent now.
One word crossed his mind.
"...Static…"
His mind raced and his heart pound against his ribcage with much violence. Sweat broke out, and the shutters came in bursts.
'No-,' he quickened his pace, still struggling with his injured leg, towards the note. The static grew with intensity, and his vision was horribly wonky, nearly disorienting him. He dared and took a glance behind him and instantly regretted it.
Afar. He was there. Standing.
'No, no-,' he started running to the note in spite of the agonizing pain that spread from his thigh.
There was a loud thump.
He took a glance again.
The long, slender tentacles were visible now.
With a stretch, Mark reached out and grabbed the page from the cement wall. Relief washed over him as he stumbled onto the grassy earth. He tried calming himself as he knew, somehow, that it was all over once the last page was collected. He almost casually took one more look at the entrance.
Fear ripped through him like subzero lightning.
He loomed over him, tentacles posed like spires about to spear its prey.
'why, why, why, why, whY, WHY, WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WH-"
He scrambled up to try and escape the menace just as the deadly tentacles launched toward him. His head began to be riddled with the dreaded thought that this will be the true end of him, his efforts all ultimately futile and in vain. Right after he looked death in the face, Mark was suddenly hurled into the air by a massive explosion of force that blasts him into the trunk of the nearest tree. He hits the tree hard with his back, ripping out a cry of torment.
"OUFFF!"
He collapses onto the ground below. With his back and neck aching in pain, he takes what strength he has remaining and looks up from his curled position and sees something in the light of the flashlight that he dropped. There stood a shadow figure in front of the King of Horror. The lanky menace's tentacles, that were raised and pointed toward the figure, suddenly dropped like weights, and the bane dusted-away, dematerializing into the air. Mark put his arms forward to stabilize himself on his knees in hopes of seeing the scene before him a little better. But the figure was not there anymore. He snapped his gaze around to find where the mysterious shadow had gone.
"How's the spine?"
"AAAHHH!"
He twisted around and scrambled back onto his rear. The figure he just sought after was above, crouched on the branch of the tree relaxingly, a hand propped up his head against his knee. A demeanor of amusement was evident in his composure.
"Come on now, I know that you can speak words, yelping prat."
The figure hopped down from the branch onto the ground in front of Mark. The being's
profile was still obscure from the mouth up by the hat, so Mark still could not determine who this man was. So familiar, but just not known…
"Well, it seems you aren't as scathed as I would think, considering all the things you've been through."
He found his voice.
"-D-Did you do this?"
The figure was suddenly elated.
"Ahh, there we are! Now you speak? Took long enough." The man tilted his head back in a taunting motion, as if from ridicule. The figure crouched down to Mark's level. Mark became more firm in tone.
"Did you cause all of this?"
The figure chuffed, seemingly ignoring him.
"Ha ha ha ha. You finally beat the game, ol' friend. After years of having been unable to finish it, you have at last won Slender! Congrats!" The figure offered his hand out to Mark. He hesitated, with irritation at the peeve for not answering his questions, but took the hand in the shake anyway, wary of the fact that the mysterious person did save him from the Slenderman. Then, unexpectedly, the man's grip fastened tight.
"Hey," warned the weirded out Mark.
The suited man was quiet, unusual from what Mark has come to know of him from recent events.
"Now, it's time for you to do what the pages say and snap out of it, for it was not me who caused this…"
B-dmp.
The shadowy figure slowly raised his characteristically-bowed head, exposing more of his identity, but just as the figure's face could be known, the man smiled a smile of solemnity, contrary to the usual snarkiness that danced on his lip, and the world washed away in a brilliant, iridescent white. Mark shut his eyes to shield his vision from the powerful, unprecedented whiteness.
"What-"
…
He slowly reopened his eyes and still squinted as he looked around; he was in a slight daze. As his head cleared, he realized that he was standing in a completely monochrome-white space. It was a huge almost infinite expanse, with nothing for sight to see. He just stood there in even more confusion and slight panic as he was felt the effects of being stuck in a strange environment with no sign of exit. Out of the blue-white-, Mark heard a sound. It was faint, but it was indeed there. Off to his right. He took a few steps in that direction. The noise sounded again, slightly louder this time. He couldn't decipher what the noise was, but he continued plodding towards the source. The sound went off again.
"Squeeeee~"
His face shifted to one of vague recognition.
'It sounds like something rusty.'
"Squeeeeeee~"
The squeaking grew louder. Time passed as he continued his way.
His eyes narrowed. There, he saw something. A sort of oval outline. He hobble-jogged closer to the object. He could now confirm that the source of the sounds were indeed from the object ahead.
'What the-?'
About 2 feet from the object, Mark could now clearly see its features. It was a pretty sizeable object, reaching above his height. It was an oval-shaped board suspended by a stand of which it seemed to be able to swivel on.
"Squeee~"
Sure enough, the sound was the creaking board on its stand. Out of curiosity, he held out his hand and placed it carefully onto the board's edge. He then swiped his arm slowly across, swiveling the board on its single leg-stand. What he saw on the other side, expecting the worst, was-
"Huh?" - his reflection.
'Why the hell is there a mirror in this great expanse of nowhere? Of all things?' He furrowed his brow in confusion and aggravation, for he wished to find a way of escape by some magical chance, not a mirror. Then, like shots of distant gunfire, hefty resounding knocks sounded radially around his vicinity. He snapped his gaze to the left and proceeded to look in a circle. Large mirrors, similar in size to the first one, appeared from the white nothingness, suspended midair by nothing. They just floated there, solidly, as if in protest against the mere notion of gravity. He turned back to the first mirror and saw that it was now farther away from him than it had been only moments before. It was as if he had moved away from it, when in fact he had not even lifted a foot. He turned in a circle and realized that the mirrors were in a perfect circle around him, and that they were focusing their surfaces on him in such a way that Mark was reflected square in the center of all of them. But as he circled, he froze. His eyes widened. His jaw fell lower. The reflections were changing right before his eyes. The reflections were still of him, but each began to shift curiously. He snapped his gaze sporadically at the mirrors, each showing a different version of himself through the years, doing different things that his hazy mind began to remember from days' past. Each mirror emitted sound, all of him, surrounding Mark is a cloud of sound. It was loud. So very loud. Nothing made sense. At all. To him.
He tensed his shoulders and mustered all of his power into his lungs and shouted above the raucous atmosphere.
"What the FUCK IS GOING ON!?"
All the noise halted abruptly. Dead silence. The scenes in the mirrors all reverted back to reflecting just him, each projecting its own perspective of the man in the center. He panted trying to catch his breath after letting out such a loud yell. A voice reverberated around him.
~"Whatever it is that you think is occurring"~
He grew indignant, not even surprised by the disembodied voice resonating throughout the nothingness, and was impatient with the riddle-like replies and nonsensical happenings.
"No. I need an answer that makes sense. Answer me. What IS all this?"
A lull.
Mark looked around as if seeking the nothingness for the reply.
~"You're denser than I thought. Need a reminder?"~
"Wh- a reminder of what?" He flailed his arms in exasperation.
"Erk-"
He suddenly arched over and fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself as a sharp, terrible, freezing feeling shot through him, rocking his entire being. He gasped for air, his gaze in utter shock and speechlessness. He trembled and shuddered as the feeling, now mostly gone, still lingered.
~"Know now?"~
He struggled back to his feet, trying to shake away what just pierced through his mind and soul.
"I… I just couldn't shake the thoughts that engulfed me… I want to help everyone, but… I can't…" He cringed in sorrow and disdain for himself.
"...I've failed them. They left as a result because I couldn't reach out to them. I'm dubbed as 8 Million strong… but how… I can't help them enough, I'm not…"
~"Shut it. Shut it, shut it, shu-, shizz…"~
BAM.
He sprawled out onto the ground, putting a hand to his jaw. He was completely caught off guard, his eyes wide in shock of the impact. He shifted his gaze slowly to identify what hit him. His sight locked-onto something. Someone. Looming over him.
~"Even after years of being this, you still can't understand. Fine. Still don't recognize me, huh." The voice became more focused, no longer reverberating.
The dark figure stood over him where Mark had stood seconds ago. The figure unbuttoned his jumper, threw it behind him, showing the black t-shirt he had beneath the jacket, and gripped the front-dip of the hat, lifted it up, exposing his hair and so on, and tossed it away.
His expression changed to one of utter disbelief.
The man wore jeans, a black t-shirt, had glasses resting upon his nose, and a tuft of hair sticking up. The man's, which were closed, now opened and looked directly at Mark. Mark helplessly stuttered.
"You... you-y-I-"
'"Yeah."'
'"Dan straight you know me since I'm YOU."
He gawked at the man before him. Himself.
He was looking at himself. His younger self. His 3 years ago self.
"I... how-"
'"Shut up."'
The other him sizzles.
'"All those feelings and thoughts you had
that caused you to keel over before in spirit and actuality? *sigh*. '"
Other Mark closed his eyes once more and put a hand on his hip and temple in frustration.
'"Look. Don't ever say or think you've failed, that your fans left you.'"
Mark gathered himself and stood up.
"But I did. So many are gone because I failed to help them when they needed me most-"
"'No, they didn't. You didn't-"'
Mark was ticked by the denial of his own failures and for the truth he thought he knew.
"I've failed them! I did not help enough as I should have. There's so many who I disappointed-"
The other was shook in his head steadily through this.
"'You did not-"'
Mark barked,
"I failed. I am Markiplier and I failed to support others as I should-"
That was the last straw. The other him grabbed Mark's collar hard, his demeanor and voice were stern with eyes glaring, abruptly cutting Mark off.
'"NO. You're not Markiplier, you're just MARK."'
He couldn't speak.
"'You're Mark, not Markiplier. You've made yourself such, but you are still just... just Mark. Who has done so much. For so many."'
The other him loosed his grip a bit.
"'Listen. It can be tough when you're known for a reputation. I know that from the inside out."'
He continued to listen.
"'I know all too well how I could be with the counts, likes, stats... but I'm not that way with them for I know they're just numbers. Just numbers. Numbers that only signify a tiny fraction of the world of change you've brought it. Something that should never be taken lightly."'
The other him retightened his hold.
"'But. What I cannot know, let alone acknowledge quietly, is that mentality you've been having. Quit it."'
Mark furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to deny him. The other him pulled on his collar.
"'What's gotten you this way? I've never had thoughts to such a degree-"'
Mark looked as if he'd heard something of absolute nonsense.
"But you are me!"
"-but you're not me."
Mark was caught off guard, his mouth twitched. The other him looked intensely into Mark's eyes as if he were trying to burn something into his thick head.
"'How can you forget yourself? You claim to be utterly grateful, but then you have even inkling of such thoughts? Of shame and distraught at your supposed failures? Man, did you get yourself lost. Let me ask:"'
The other shook his head in distaste.
"'Do you even remember?"'
At this question, Mark felt like he got dumped through an ocean current as memories of his promises to his fans and himself, all the experiences he had through his youtube adventure and life came soaring back into his mind. He remembered everything. That haze that filled his head with convoluting cotton vanished.
He felt light. His mind emptied. All the accursed thoughts and feelings that stupidly plagued him dissipated. The other him let go of the shirt. Mark blinked.
A droplet fell.
"How could I forget." His voice was low. He cupped his face and shuddered as more drops came.
"I'm such an idiot; the fact that I even had thoughts like that and believed them... oh my goodness..."
The other him went to his side and pat his shoulder.
"Ah, well, Markiplier is only human after all.
The other him stopped the reassuring gesture and got an expression of concern, for he sensed something.
"'What, you still feel like you've failed many?'" He balled his hand into a fist and thudded against Mark's back. "Aghh!"
"'Tsk, you sad, older-moron. Whatever happened to me to become like you. *sigh*, Hey, ding-dong-dang-dingus. Don't know? Here, let me bash a clue into that fat head of mine-er, yours"'
The mirrors moved away, and the other him backed up, a smug expression replacing the sterner one.
Mark lifted his head, the tear-trails still present on his cheeks.
There was a noise, steadily growing louder and louder.
He started looking about.
He mumbled, "What is that?"
The other him began to lift his arms up from his sides, raising them as the peculiar thundering sound elevated. The other's expression lightened. Mark could not help but keep thinking just how familiar the sound was. He could swear that he'd heard it somewhere before.
He perked his head.
'I did hear this sound before. I've heard it many times, as well as in that one pitch black dream… This white noise...'
The ground shook. The noise rose high. A cool shift of air pat against his back. He turned around. And just stood.
Gazing.
Gazing at the millions who stood before him.
"My fans."
"'Huh, got it now, you blubbering idiot? You say you've failed many, when in reality, you didn't. Me, a regular ol' nobody from Cincinnati became the worldchanger in front of me. Though, I must say, I don't think my brains became anything better, seeing how long it took you to realize how much you've done; how much you DIDN'T fail. "'
The fans laughed.
Mark laughed,
"Eh, well, I am an idiot."
"' But one who did some real smart things with himself. One who helped the lives of millions globally. Who stuck to his morals, but most of all,"' A broad smile spread from ear to ear, "-left a smile on the world that will never fade."'
The millions of fans all nodded in agreement, hooting and hollering yesses everywhere. The other him walked up to Mark, looking over at the fans. When he spoke, he turned to look at Mark.
"'You haven't failed anyone. You being here on this earth was all that many needed for their times of struggle. It took so much for me to realize that, and I still can't even fully grasp the idea."' He shook his head as he looked up, the sheer idea filling him with awe.
"'But hey, me, Mark, just know this. Listen to what all the fans have put into what I'm about to say."' Mark focused hard on the important words he was going to tell him.
"'Even if you might have already known inside or wouldn't do the contrary, the fans and I all wanted to tell you this regardless."'
"'When times are rough, when you feel under from tremendous responsibility and any other struggles, take a breather. But."'
The other Mark looked over at the millions who were all listening with unparalleled attention, feeling the great value they've all put into each word. He set is sight back to Mark.
''- Don't you ever quit.'"
A wave rung through the massive congregation, a gigantic reaction roared from the people.
"We love you, Mark!"
"Don't give up, Mark!"
"You've helped so many of us beyond words!"
Mark put his hands to his head. His heart hurt for his fans, an ocean of tears threatening to flood everything.
"You are not a failure, bro, not at all."
Mark turned and looked in surprise.
"Tom?"
His brother stood in the front of the crowd and nodded, smiling.
"Must be kinda weird seeing two versions of his brother, huh," Mark smiled awkwardly.
Then he heard a resounding, airy whistle flow from behind him. He turned and saw the mirrors overhead, all showed the different versions of Mark all smiling and content, happy to know Mark is finally good to go. The mirrors began to fade, and as did everything else. Things began to whiten-out once more all around him, as well as the exuberant fans, to the point where only him and his other remained.
Mark was registering everything that had happened to him.
"So, this is it then? This is the conclusion?"
The other shrugged jokingly,
"'Naahhhh, I made myself come all the way here just for you to stay in this nothingness forever"'.
"Hahah." Mark paused. They've dematerialized to where only the other Mark's torso remained and to where Mark's knees were present.
"Weird question but, will we ever meet again sometime?"
The other shook his head and laughed heartily.
"'Ha ha ha"'~
Mark instinctively reached out as his hand as his other persona wisped completely away. Slight sadness glinted in Mark's eyes. He pulled his arm back.
~"'We are one and the same,"'~
He looked on and smiled warmly as he himself disappeared as well.
The whiteness shined and washed everything once again, radiating its absolute brilliance.
And all faded to black emptiness.
~"'Mark."
He shot open his eyes, looking straight up at the ceiling.
'Did I just sleep talk?'
He lazily sat upright and stretched with a massive yawn, spreading his arms out to the sides, loosening muscles that sat stagnant for hours overnight. He reached for his glasses and put them on, finally seeing clearly. He lounged out of bed, tidied the bed-sheets, and stretched some more. He checked his phone and saw the day's summary: 5:42am, 7/12/15. Afterwards, he opened the blinds and left the room and stepped out into the hallway to enter the restroom. There, he proceeded to do his duties, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and fixed his hair. As he took one final glance into the mirror, he was startled by the reflection. His younger self. He shook his head and blinked back at the mirror. Nothing was different, it was just a reflection of normal-him looking utterly confused.
"*Sigh*, Get it together."
Flipping off the lights, he exits the restroom and strolls into the kitchen to fix himself breakfast. This time, pancakes, sausage, and milk were on the menu. Gotta have that calcium. As he leaves the food to cool, he quickly goes to retrieve the mail. He returned with the mail and sat down onto the kitchen seat. He ate his breakfast as he cycled through the mail, sorting what's important to keep, to dispose, and fanmail. To his surprise, he ended up with a rather large stack of fan mail, so he proceeded to go through all of the parcels and letters. After much great reading, he was at last down to the final 9 letters. He opened the 1st of the last and stopped. A look of perplexity crossed his face. The envelope contained a single sheet with only one thing on it and nothing anywhere else.
'Be? Ok then….?'
He checked the envelope in case there was something he had missed. Came up negative. He tilted his head from the strange mail and went on to the next one. Before opening it, he had finished his meal, so he quickly rinsed the dishes and put them into the dishwasher to clean before he forgot. Resettling onto the chair, he continued to open the next letter. His brows rose in a questioning expression.
'Another one?'
The 2nd letter was exactly like the one previous, except it said:
"Who." With rising curiosity, he opened the next few.
"I" "Have…Mark," He had opened 8 of the 9 letters. The message pieced itself together.
"Be who I have always aspired to be, Mark…" What caught his eye, of all things, was that the final letter, the one with his name on it, ended in a comma. He had no idea why he thought it be so significant, but commas generally have more after it. He didn't check the other side of this letter since he was already under the assumption that this letter was all blank except for a single blurb, just like the rest before it. However, he flipped the paper over and saw why there was no period on the front.
"-Predecessor of the idiot"
This sparked something in his mind. Disbelief clouded his eyes.
"Chuh. The 8 pages… I can't believe…" He was in awe and picked up the final envelope. It was a large sleeve, one of those big yellow bubble-mailers. When he unveiled its contents, his awe was only amplified. He'd seen this before. It was the portrait of him in his gentlemanly attire. It was the sketch he saw in another time. In his dream.
"Dream." The word unknowingly slipped out.
He felt through the envelope to ensure nothing was missed. Sure enough, he felt something in the envelope. He took it out and read it.
…
He gathered the fan mail and set it on the counter in his room, shutting the door as he entered. He stood at his little studio and rubbed his hands together, then started everything up: the PC, monitors, mic, and camera. He settled comfortably into the cushioned swivel chair and selected the game he had left off on. He then picked up his iconic Sennheisers and propped them upon his head and rested them properly over his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He saw, in his mindscape, the people who were behind him, and the one who started all of this (himself), from the dream. One heck of a dream. He opened his eyes and couldn't help but smile broadly as his mood was absolutely great, radiating with awesomeness. And there was nothing that could change that. Ever. He pressed Record and clicked Start.
"Hello, everybody. My name is Markiplier, and welcome back to let's play-"
-End
-7/13/15