Level II
Two: Action
XXX
"You wake up believing this day will end by evening
It's taken for granted that seeds of life are planted
But nothing prepares you for nature's acts of virtue
It's Doomsday, ascending, the world you know is ending"
Doomsday by Globus
XXX
Alfred is a genius.
He is a freaking genius.
There is no other logical solution or understanding that he cannot be one! He has known for some time now that he is indeed intelligent, but he would have never figured such a thing would have leaded him to where he is now. Combined with his vast superior knowledge and his recent discoveries, the American can come now to the only logical solution that he is a fucking genius.
As he paces the tiled floor of his laboratory, surrounded by dead specimen and dead organs and dead things all around, he thinks his plan over and over again like a mantra in his mind. He has to do this, he must do this. He'll be the only to benefit from this. Maybe Canada will break his codes, find his notes, and follow in his steps in the event of his death or even his lack of returning, but for what reason? Canada doesn't have reason. Alfred can't say that his reason is valid either and it isn't like the human race certainly cared about an adventure into the very fucking universe itself, but Alfred does understand that this is something he's got to do and he's got to do now.
He's got one chance. One fucking chance. To make it through his portal fashioned from dreams and sleepless nights and into the centre of the universe before his actions are made known to the world. The taste of adventure that will lead him onto his journey for parallel worlds dances teasingly on his tongue. What a cock-tease.
Mankind might prosper from his peek, his sly glance at the very innards of the master of creation, but Alfred doesn't care about that. He has grown old. He has grown so old. He cares about what's on the other side. He cares of the different worlds his mistakes and his accomplishments might have fashioned without him. He cares because he can.
"Is there something wrong with caring? God."
Sometimes, he'll admit, that he gets way too far into his studies. Way too far into them.
Ever since that day when Canada and him had ended up having that heart-to-heart (in where Canada ended up cuddling his dead plants and bemoaning his promises of being a better person and Alfred had realised that he could so make it into a parallel universe and that after throwing himself off of his brother's couch that he definitely could not fly), Alfred himself ended up later diving head-first himself in the proverbial pool of knowledge; drowning himself in the knowledge of alternate realities and living off of nothing but the god foods of burritos and cheezits. For weeks after, the American ends up tracking down everything he can about the alternate realities of the universe – books, essays, old science fair projects of the children who live near him, models, and what-else-not to discover whatever he can.
It not his fault of course. He gets into things when they pique his interest – sometimes too deep, sometime not deep enough. It's not his fault that he'll go off and disappear for days, sometimes weeks, having lost track of time and forgetting the understanding of time itself and pour over everything he can about something until he knows and can know no more.
He's still a child. That need for curiosity must be quenched. He may be old, but the child within screams for more.
It is no surprise that the project had slowly become his life. As he fell deeper and deeper into the lure of different worlds, Alfred had slowly come to an understanding that no one else had ever really attempted something so stupid before. They have never tried. They fear the consequences.
Alfred does not.
There is an infinitive amount of knowledge to be learnt and Alfred wants to know it all. It stems from his love for knowledge, his love for both science and religion.
Alfred is old. He is so old. He is tired of being old. He yearns for the adventures of his younger days. He yearns for the bit of freedom that he can no longer call his own. He is old, so ancient and worn by time, that he can't help but feel pressured to make at least one more harrowing adventure into the very confines of the universe itself in search for the doors to other universes created at his own hand before something destroys them all.
And given the current situation – the impossible idea of death didn't seem so impossible after all.
Alfred soon collapses in his desk chair, his sudden action unsettling some of the items on his desk. He collects them in a neat little pile and leaves a note on the top of it for his brother. He knows his brother will be the first one to find his mess of a lab, not only because Matthew lives the closest to him seeing as how Matthew had spent the night last night when the other had realised that America had been losing touch with reality.
Last night had been an adventure alone with his brother, what with the stupid prank-calls, the destruction of his kitchen via the failed try at making upside-down cake, and the silly attempt to make England drunk as fuck and put him on call with Francis, but as soon as the Canadian had passed out after a Golden Girls marathon, Alfred had raced to his project for the last settling touches.
And of course, now it's all finished.
As he puts the finishing touches on his note for his brother and for whoever else will probably read the note, Alfred caps his pen and sets it on the desk before stepping up. He dons on his jacket, ancient and still looking awesome, and walks calmly towards his machine. As he steps in front of them, he feels time being pulled away from him and his youth slowly returning with each passing moment.
"This is it," he mutters more to himself than anything. "This is the final shot."
His last speech should be more dramatic and should definitely include a lot more tears, but Alfred really cannot find the courage or strength to cry. All of his energy is concentrated on keeping himself from shaking and keeping his mantra stuck firm in his Swiss-cheese hole brain.
As he steps before his portal, fashioned from his own design and his own ideas, he thinks of what could come from it all. He thinks of what the others will think, how they'll react whether in shock or in anger, and what they'll do with his disappearance. He wonders what they'll do if he never returns – will they follow after him, perfecting his mistakes and partition his country off to the highest bidders?
Then he realises that he doesn't care what they think and that he's the genius for thinking of this first and hops through the swirling vortex for his newest adventure, caring very little for what dangers might lay ahead.
XXX
As Canada slowly drags himself from his bed, he immediately is struck with the terrible feeling that something horrible is going to go down.
Alfred had been acting odd the night prior. Even though the nation always is always a bit off, last night had been something that he hadn't seen in years. Alfred had been talking to himself – little bits and pieces here and there of information that he only seemed to understand, mumbles of alternate plains and immortal stars, strange plans that sounded foreign to Matthew's ears, and when asked what the hell he had been raging on about Matthew had been met with total paranoia and anger – followed afterwards by Alfred suddenly gathering up all his notes, his dinner and his things and holing himself away in his locked room on the third floor. Even though he did return a few hours later to watch the Golden Gals with Matthew, the Canadian still could not shake the act from his mind. An act of obscure childishness Matthew hasn't seen performed since the height of the Space Race. Coupled with the strange glint in his eyes and the absurd giddiness, Alfred had been...off last night. Worryingly so.
So Canada knows something bad is going to go down. Now, his own problem is find out why–
Then, it happens. That bad premonition comes true only a few minutes after his wakening. A wave of pure energy suddenly rips through the air – Matthew's ears popping painfully as the wave descends downward and bellows out at the end of its path, leaving total destruction in its path as it spreads outward.
Taken by complete surprise, Canada falls backward and back onto his bed. It collapses suddenly beneath his sudden weight in its weakened state. America's cat just skirts out from the underside of the bed before the bed smacks against the ground. He staggers upwards, feeling disoriented for only a moment as he feels the tremors affecting the rest of the home fade away as they grow farther and farther.
A shock-wave. A fucking shock-wave. Alfred better not be the cause of that or he'll–
Alfred.
The very thought of his brother strikes Matthew with a sudden fear. He stands up, ignoring the sudden aching pain in his skull as something hammers away at his skull, thinking it lives there. He moves out of the room without a second thought, ascending up the stairs and onto the third floor landing with the thought of his brother circulating on his mind.
Alfred had to have been the cause. It had to have been Alfred! Who else would have the ability to create such a force of energy that could have damaged the world surrounding them? Alfred has something to do with it and Canada can only hope that he's not dead.
The third floor hallway is full of smoke, all of it originating from the room stereotypically down the hallway. Smoke peeks out from under the door and floods the hallway with its reek. He hacks his way through the smog and to the door where the once forgotten room lies.
The Canadian's mind is barely processing what he is doing, but before he realises it the wood of Alfred's door is crumbling away the mere touch of Canada's hands. He ruthlessly kicks a hole into the door with the brute force that suddenly appears as his brain runs on overdrive and he squeezes into the smoke-laden private room of Alfred's; the dangers that may lay inside are ignored with the single thought running rampant: Alfred must find Alfred where is Alfred Alfred where are you–
He avoids one of the burning tables and the smoking rug with the blue flames (which he realises with a grimace later that rug had been a fucking birthday present and Alfred had split on it to make it burn blue) and attempts to find the fire extinguisher which is painfully hidden away in the several cabinets. He tries to listen for breathing as he rips through the cabinets (maybe accidentally flinging some of the doors off their hinges whoops) and searches for all sound of anything to indicate some mere, pathetic hope that Alfred could still be alive after that large, painful echo that had shaken the very foundation of the ancient home.
Something screeches as the flames reach it – screeching and painfully wailing as the flames slowly move over the form. It thrashes around wherever it is, making inhuman noises of pain and redundant screaming. As Canada bends down to reach the bottom cabinets, he attempts to block out the noise, hoping that it could not be Alfred.
He's never seen a nation burn before. He wouldn't know the sounds they make as the flames slowly begin to advance upon them and burn deep within their skin. He wouldn't know if they would scream like a man, their desperation heard on the edges of their smoke-covered voices or if they would scream with the voice of a thousands others all burning at the same time and screaming for a saviour who would never come.
Matthew wouldn't know. He doesn't want to know.
He pushes the thought of his burning brother to the back-burners; blocking out the noise of the dying creature out of his mind and he begins to frantically search for the fire extinguisher in the top sets of cabinets. As he does so, the heat of the flames prod at his back, reminding him always that they are still there. Flames crackle and something explodes, sending glass and fluids everywhere. The fire grows in reaction, reaching menacingly for the ceiling. It howls and begins its path towards Matthew.
Finally, he rips open the last cabinet and finds two fire extinguishers hidden within along with several past birthday presents and an ugly Christmas sweater that has been Alfred's probably since the beginning of time. He rips one of the extinguishers out and pulls the tab, figuring that if Alfred survived this he's not getting anything for his next birthday if all Matthew's presents turn out to be paper weights.
He sprays the fire down with the fire extinguisher and battles the fire for a few minutes, trying to fight its blue and red flames with the old extinguisher. It rages on for what seems forever, refusing to die until Matthew swipes out the old one for the newer one and smothers it to the ground with thick, white foam.
When the fire finally dies, disappearing beneath the thick white, Matthew collapses against a locked cabinet that's unmarked by fire. He rests his head in hands, sighing as he finally lets the situation sink in. He tries to collect his thoughts, spinning in endless circles as he reaches out for them endlessly in an attempt to gather them up.
Alfred.
Alfred might be dead. Might be burnt alive. Alfred might be gone.
And Matthew knows he's done something.
It's not a kidnapping. Not some dirty murder where Alfred's dead body has been cleverly buried in his backyard. No one would dare to step foot on Alfred's property or even dare to sneak their way inside considering the traps and alarms Alfred has set up for them. Paranoia is something Alfred never took particularly well.
Alfred had to have done something. Maybe that shock-wave could have been Alfred himself? Could he have somehow completely converted himself to sound waves and that had been him setting off?
No, that's a stupid idea. Not Alfred-stupid though.
Canada sighs and gets up, almost stumbling again as he gains his balance. Alfred had to have been doing something. Something.
He begins to look around the room, trying to find something that will tell him the reason of his brother's disappearance. He shifts through the ash on the floor, kicking and pushing it around with his socks that are destroyed in an attempt to find something that may be of use. He kicks the ash around and pushes over pieces of rubble. He finds his brother's work table, some of the papers still completely together and some of them completely burnt to dust, and looks under it for anything that may be of us.
The underside of the table is licked over with scorch marks and burnt indents, but Matthew can still read the inscription in the far left side. He smiles as he reads its inscription, but then gets on with work.
It doesn't take him long to discover what had screamed.
On the Mica counter-tops where countless things have been broken, beaten, reduced to microscopic dust, destroyed, and fucked sits a metal cage that has just begun to melt. Inside, Alfred's pet hamster Paul Blue-coat lays motionless. The flames left it completely unrecognisable.
At least it isn't Alfred.
He turns to Alfred's desk which seems to be completely untouched by the fire. The back of the chair is a bit burnt, but Canada quietly sits in it and hopes it doesn't collapse like his bed. He stares forward at the desk and looks at everything. A picture is overturned, a lamp has had its bulb exploded, the pens are scattered which way and that, and before him a pile of notes sits in disarray and slightly burnt at the edges.
What, just what, had Alfred been doing?
Matthew sifts through the papers, attempting to cipher Alfred's illegible words and whatnot and ignore the legal jargon that spews its nasty temper across the pages. He finds things stapled to pages – samples of different things, pictures of bloated up bacterium and small animals. It's full of different things and filled to the brim with nothing Matthew could have used.
And on it's front the words "Sup' Matt. This shit is yours." stares lovingly out at him.
Alfred has left him his journal, but what else? No note? No reason? No super, annoying video where Alfred cries himself goodbye and complains about how it's for the best?
"Fucking asshole." Matthew mutters. "Why am I always left with your stuff? You need to learn how to - "
Then out of the corner of his eye, he catches something. A shattered mirror is standing next to the desk, carved out of something he's never seen before and shattered to complete pieces even though little pieces of glass still remain attached. Smoke trails out from it, alerting him to be the source of the fire.
On the floor, in amidst the rubble and burnt ash, he discovers the almost incomprehensible written tongue of a scorched note that Matthew doesn't even realise is the start of their very existence beginning to split in half.
XXX
Alfred, Alfred has always loved the sciences. He has always loved how the solar system revolved entirely around the Sun – something so destructive and beautiful at the same time. He has always loved how the world is always changing, always evolving, always moving. He has loved how animals survive solely based on instincts alone.
Science gives him the answers religion cannot. Sure, it makes him feel bad sometimes that he's turning his back on the God he has given so much for. Sure, it makes him feel like he has betrayed that inner little half of him that is America.
However, like religion, Science has led him into too many holes that he can't get out of.
The holes in the universe is like one of those very many holes.
He is shot out into darkness, into some foreign hole in the universe he is lucky to have found. He spins through the lack of gravity, back-flipping through the nothing and slamming against the sides of the invisible walls that bar him from the rest of the universe.
His words of anger are lost by the sound of nothing, reverting him to swear in his head as he attempts to gain some sort of balance, flipping and spinning constantly in zero-gravity. He grows dizzy.
Shit, fuckfuckfuck -
Soon, the actions of his body seemed to have returned to him. As he begins to slow, his spins eventually begin to slow and stop at last and he lands on his back, laying almost lifelessly in the dead of space.
After a moment, he begins to float forward. Above him, Jupiter spins its outrageous rotation; its storm of poisonous gas raging endlessly on its surface. Below him, the Pillars of Creation – long dead but still breathtaking even in death – silently stretch on forever, reminding Alfred of what he can never be. A belt of Asteroids has been split in half, surrounding the dead Nebula in a graveyard of a broken planet. To his left, he watches fascinated as creatures begin to rise up slowly from the ocean and towards the distant shores. To his right, a star explodes at last from thousands of years of shining dutifully and being recognised by so little.
The place he floats on in has no concept of time, no concept of place or anything at all. In the minutes he has been floating, days could have past, years could have gone by, seas could have risen and volcanoes unleashed their havoc upon the world. Doomsday could have come and gone and Alfred heart could have beat once in the time.
Here, he is nothing. He is of no importance or high status. He is nothing.
He floats on, a mere body in the dead of space. His need to breathe is non-existent in the very confines of the universe.
Though, Alfred simply floats on. He floats on in the lack of gravity, his body totally weightless as he watches life be born and killed over and over again through the holes of the universe. He watches as their Doomsday descends upon them: the oceans rising and overtaking countries and great mountains collapsing under the pressure of the sky falling upon them as Atlas at last lets go of his aged burden. He watches as their creatures die, screaming and screaming silently as the end of the world falls upon them.
As Alfred floats on, he simply watches. No words, no expressions. Just. Watching. Even if he could speak in the deadness of space, there could be no words to be had.
And then, as he watches another star explode and fall from its heaven, he screams.
The sound is silent in that of dead space, but he screams nonetheless in the nothingness that surrounds him. Silence echoes in his ears.
The feeling of being torn apart is something unlike any other feeling in the world. A feeling he never expected to have ever felt, Alfred takes the situation with less grace. He twists in the nothingness, turning endlessly in the zero-gravity as he clawed away at his skin, feeling bugs under skin that could not exist.
The matter that makes him, down to the atoms, the quarks, and even the theorised God-matter of which men have murdered for the secrets to, have begun to disappear from him. They break-down, disappear forever. Finally done with him and the human life to return to the nothing whence they appeared.
Something he loves, something he cherishes had finally begun to rip him apart. The universe has finally betrayed him.
Suddenly, he loses control of himself. He gains speed in his path and as Alfred zips through the confine – flying in-between the holes of the Continuum, past the blurred edges of galaxies that fade in and out of existence with each dying breath, through the God-matter and Dark energy, and under the fade of dying stars whose lights still shine on even in the existence of nothing – Alfred realises that his body is slowly breaking down. His impossible body, his immortal body, has begun to break down.
His systems shut down – first his nerves, then his endocrines, slowly to his immune system and somehow onto his circulatory tract. The organs within him break down and away, tingling and paining with hurt as they return back to from how they came. The organs break away and the tissues reveal themselves – weak and dying and a mere nothing. They fall apart to the microscopic cells that multiply and multiply until their death rate overpowers even that. They break down as well, falling victim to the nothingness that surrounded him. The atoms survive, but not for long. They leave to the quarks, the tiny things that no one knows of. They spread to the unknown objects, the tiny bits of matter that have yet to be discovered, and finally spread to the very core of his existence. The God-matter collapses at the touch of the universe and begins to return to its beginning to start anew. Alfred can do nothing but scream.
He is dying; breaking down in a painful, beautiful way. His body is breaking down, betraying him, showing him that it is no one but the nothing that has the control of the body.
He loses control of his flight. He swerves out of balance, bouncing against the invisible barriers of the far-off galaxies with their dying nebulas and terrifyingly beautiful explosions of stars and comets. His path curves, and he slams hard against the top barrier and falls to the floor. He floats along the floor, spinning like a disk as his body slowly begins to break away from itself. He claws at the floor uselessly, trying to regain the balance and control that has been suddenly ripped from his existence.
And then, he hears it.
In the dead of space, where sound is merely a myth, he hears the howling and screaming of a terrifying monster whose existence is a mere theorised myth. When he slows and attempts to gain his flight, he sees it. At the end of his path, surrounded by constellations that have long been dead, the black hole swirls menacingly before him, but the centre is pure white and it bleeds into the black, creating a mass of opposites that growls in the nothingness. He's not even sure what it is.
The vortex begins to pull him back, straightening him and sucking him towards the swirling hole. Alfred attempts to hold onto the nothing, attempts to grip at the anything that wouldn't be made for thousands of years. The force sucks him back, growling and howling in the dead silence, reeling him back towards the glowing knot of unknown and desolate things.
Alfred knows not to fear the unknown. Fearing the unknown would bring the end, and he knew that. He knows that deep within the bones that are betraying that fearing the unknown would bring nothing but trouble.
But he can't help but feel afraid. He can't help but feel human.
As he breaks down particle by particle, his cells dying, his brain malfunctioning, and the bits and pieces of his body begin to break off in chunks, he can't help but realise that he's not invincible as he thought himself to be. As immortal as he is, as backed up by the thousands of people he is, he is nothing compared to that of the power of space.
Then the mass seems to feel his pain and what seems in an act of pity finally slips out its white tendrils of mass and matter and impels him backwards into the destructivee knot. Alfred falls into the whiteness, his hands reaching for the nothing that would do so as such, and screams silently into the darkness of space.
When he disappears at last, the mass ripples like water. It twists and swirls inward, spinning and turning until it closed up upon itself at last. The carved doors that suddenly appear at its side, fashioned from blood-stained deep wood and the bones of men who gave their lives in the name of Science, begin to move. The massive doors shut close over the nothing, locking shut without sound. As the nothing begins to form and settle, dying and living again and again, the number two carves itself deep into the dark wood of the universal doors of misery and mistake; their sizzle reverberating like the strum of a violin throughout the cosmos, warning of the destruction that is about to come.
XXX
"Seas will rise and the mountains will stir
With the power of creation
We will end in a fiery rage."
Doomsday by Globus