The penstock cradled him like a newly birthed star, the ride brim with soft waves and shakes as energy buzzed through. The world around him shuddered when he passed by the centerpoint; a large black-hole, eating anything and everything in sight, otherwise known as the celestials' garbage disposal. Lights trickled out from the edges of its circle, rings glowed and coiled inside. The suspended, dim bodies of ancient stars nodded lazily along towards its center, waiting to be engulfed.
Jerry didn't often leave his office, and he entered the first sector of Cygnus A even less. Private investigators coincided with the minor departments, though their role was as important as any main one. Three Thousand and Thirty Three had requested his presence, however, and denying the head of the Deputation department was a surefire way to losing one's status. The last to do that had been marked untrustworthy, cast to a lower priority galaxy.
The end of the tube spat him out onto the pristine floors of the first sector. It was everything the second sector was and more – each face of the warping walls around glowed with radio energy. Transmissions crackled in through every hole, lost to Jerry's senses, but easily uncovered by a Delegate. He hovered a while, taking in the glory, then proceeded through the main entrance. Lower ranked stars busied themselves about, tending to galactic material straying away from the twisting walls.
He allowed a finely tuned matter platform to carry him up several stories, passing by each of the main departments.
The second station, the Time Upkeep department, was organised in its office work, each star allocated to a portal that it could look through. Ever since Bill had eradicated Time Baby their work had gone considerably smoother. Something to thank him for, Jerry thought, which was a rare commodity. The havoc he wrought would sometimes spring flowers, none near as bold as he was, but glowing just dimly enough that they could stand out among the black voids that would closely tail his path.
The third was Cross-Dimensional Upkeep, the border patrol of the celestials. The department had always left bitter gas in Jerry's core, and the stars it recruited did little to ease that fact. They were often brash, biased and always searching for one to pick on, to the extent that they ignored their jobs in favour of being bullies. Stanford Pines had hopped dimensions for three decades! All while they had wasted their time crowding around a citizen from one of the last remaining second dimensions.
The next, Research and Filing, was the only department he felt remained good and pure, and competent at that. The workers were quiet, even in supernova. It was rare to hear of a department member's death, almost as rare as it was to catch them in a good conversation. The lights were off as he flew by. He'd only visited a few times since his first arrival in Cygnus A, the last time being to retrieve Bill Cipher's collective files. The star he had spoken to was skittish, unnerved with the mention of Bill, and handed them off quick enough that he couldn't make time to for small talk.
Finally, he came to the last department: Deputation. The celestials to trump all celestials. A group of stars blessed with power beyond any of the ranks below them, communicating with deities and sending orders down the chain of command swifter than light could travel through the space around it. Jerry had arrived long after the original head, One Thousand, had gone into supernova, along with the remainders of the Delegates that had been in the area with it. In its place was Three Thousand and Thirty Three, an orange dwarf star with words brighter than the glow it emanated.
Particles unveiled like curtains to reveal the floor. It was darker than its other counterparts, a vacuum of jaded purple void with mimics of stars littering the area, reminiscing of the members that had passed. The modern Delegates insisted that transmitting with the deities was best done in a dark room, though the fountain they travelled to for physical meetings was a direct juxtaposition; grand, mighty, a regal white. Jerry had never had the pleasure of bearing witness to it himself, only ever catching a glimpse in holograms.
The room beamed orange as Three Thousand and Thirty Three descended from a dark platform. "Jerry," it greeted, voice thick with warmth, "I am gladdened that you chose to accept my invitation. I hope I did not seem too imposing – I only wish to discuss your case."
"Three Thousand and Thirty Three," Jerry returned, forming a nickname during the time it took for him to finish the name. Smiley, he decided, since that's the only way you know how to talk.
Smiley met him at the lull of the spangled void and reached out with a bright tendril. "Axolotl has not said much about you, but you do seem to keep them in hopeful spirits. Has your work with Cipher progressed?"
Jerry didn't return the gesture. Blue didn't pair well with orange. "It's going smoothly enough," he said. "He's a little bellicose sometimes, but I think I've found a way to simmer him down. Has anyone…?"
"No. The others are content to allow you and Axolotl some independence on the case." The specious tone in its words led Jerry to believe the others were not content, but he knew better than to pry. Smiley went on, "I must confess that I am surprised with your… How shall I put this? Efficiency. Forgive me if that sounds condescending, but you must understand the hesitance I have in allowing such a new star work on a project as long-running as Cipher."
Long-running didn't begin to cut it. Jerry had read the files – Bill had been causing problems since the celestials were first forming. "I do," he said. "In fact, I'm honoured."
"You should be," Smiley said. "The Axolotl is unpredictable and discordant. For them to take a liking to you is something truly noteworthy." It then turned to the side and cast a projection; a large square scrolling through text in a language he'd only ever seen in Bill's files. "Now, I called you here for a request. Does this language look familiar to you?"
"Yeah," Jerry said. He could make out sparse words with the rate the pages moved. "A lot of Bill's quotes are written like that."
The projection zoomed back to amalgamate with Smiley's flaring surface. "That is good. I have been in contact with a source that provided this to me. Should it be transcribed, it may help you with your case."
"A source?"
"Anonymous." Smiley reached out again. "I will transfer it to you now, if you do not mind."
Jerry tentatively connected with it. The text washed over him, running like wasps. He veered back, giving himself space to absorb it fully. The light around him shimmered with grey and blue.
"I trust that you will make good use of it," Smiley continued. "Oh, and I must offer you a reminder. I believe Six Million Seven Hundred And Forty Three Thousand Two Hundred and Sixty Four has mentioned it to you."
Jerry tried not to show his distaste with the name. "Yeah, it has. I'll contact Bill as soon as I go back to my sector."
Smiley bobbed once. "That is pleasing to hear. Please do try to be subtle. I do not wish to have Axolotl cross with me." For once, it didn't sound so pleasant. "Well, I am afraid I cannot stay for idle chat, then, as I must speak with someone important. You understand."
Settled, Jerry hummed once.
"I believe a member of the Research and Filing department wished to speak with you also. Go there when you can; ask for Twenty Million Three Thousand and Thirty Two."
"Thank you." Politely lowering himself below Smiley's level, Jerry bid a cordial farewell and travelled back through the particle door. He'd make a pit stop at the aforementioned department, then travel through the penstock back to his office – hopefully the last trip he would have to make for a while.
The year had been one known long before the passing of a clock.
Upon the fountain, the Delegates had gathered; all bright stars, with the brightest of them all, a vibrant yellow, hovering on the highest pedestal. At its side had lingered a familiar. A small, purple galaxy that warped quietly by its side, the peak of its form dipped low to the opalescent stone. Water had run cool beneath it, pooling at the well of the fountain, a transparent liquid that had reflected their company well.
"I understand that certain rumors have come to light recently," its celestial had boomed out to its peers, "But I must assure you that they are not true. I would never betray the Deputation department, nor would I engage with any unsavory deities."
"The words are damning, One Thousand," a smaller star had said, seated to the right. It had been a faint green. "As is the evidence. The deities we trust have turned against you themselves – do you have an explanation for that? For the fact that those who have only ever held our best interest at their cores would claim you to be evil?"
One Thousand visibly shuddered. "...No. I do not."
"We cannot tolerate manipulation," another star had piped up, smaller but stronger in colour. "We are barely functional as it is. We must remain pure of core. It is the only hope we have."
"You must believe me," One Thousand had pleaded. Its had voiced wavered, its core had shaken. "When have I ever put a dimension in danger? A galaxy? I would do no such thing. These are rumors; nothing more."
The familiar had raised its head. Then, it had disappeared, slick so that none could see. The star beside it had paused. The rays of light it exuded had retracted back to its surface, the air pierced by a low hiss and a thunderous crack. None had had time to react – One Thousand had went into supernova. The fountain's glory had been blanketed by a burst of white light. Sound had been vacant, for nothing could justify the terrifying beauty of such an explosion.
The chain reaction had been instantaneous. One burst after another, so great and so grand that not even the deities themselves could have hoped to match such a display. It had been the end of the Deputation department – all but one, an orange star that had stayed behind, quiet as could be. The last of the original department. With it, the familiar, a stubborn galaxy that soon sought out no other celestial to take its master's place.
Things ran smoother without Time Baby, he noticed. Smoother in a way of nobody knowing exactly what to do, so simply choosing doing nothing at all. The previously busy platforms of the Time Police headquarters came a complete still as agents sheltered in their respective departments and awaited orders from the stars in the sky. Orders that were either sluggish or delayed; no one could tell which.
Lolph and Dundgren were among the few that escaped Bill Cipher's wrath during Weirdmageddon. Most of them visiting through holograms caused the death count to be null and void, but the fact Time Baby had been wiped out before their eyes raised some serious concerns. Lolph wasn't one to shy away from danger, not normally, but he also wasn't complaining about the lack of work. He and his partner had their feet kicked up on the table in one of the cafeterias, taking bites out of their respective Time-Certified tacos.
"You ever wonder what happened to Blandin?" Dundgren said around a mouthful.
Lolph paused for a laugh. "He's creeping around here somewhere. I heard none of the dimensions will accept him, so he's stuck. Not like we have much to do with him now that Time Baby's gone."
"Yeah. That's too bad."
"Too bad? We haven't been this relaxed in… I don't know how long! Time isn't really a problem here."
They shared a laughed that was cut short when the pearlescent door ahead of them flickered once with a loud pop. Lolph stuffed the rest of his taco down his gullet and pulled himself from his seat, walking over to the static screen on the side wall. He tapped it once. It crackled in agony.
"Weird," he said. "Do you think they're doing maintenance?"
Dundgren raised an eyebrow. "On what? Everything's fu –"
The screen burst. The kind of explosion that was far larger, far more impressive than it needed to be for such a small device. Lolph was thrown back, skidding across the floor and bumping the back of his head against the table's leg. Dundgren leaned forward, looking down at him with an anodyne expression. Lolph responded with chagrin, propping himself up on his elbows. The door continued to gutter and flash, then stopped.
The interior's lights shut off.
Lolph clicked on the light of his eyeglass and searched around the room. Between the cracks of the walls, a thin line of substance caught his eye, making a soft burbling noise and flowing around the room. "Hey," he called to Dundgren, "Come check this out."
The room's silence emphasised the heavy thumps of his partner's boots. "Huh. Maybe we should tell someone?" Dundgren said, sidling up to the wall and poking at the substance. It bounced back at him.
Lolph held up a finger. "It's already too late, actually." On his partner's questioning look, he cracked a sheepish grin. "So what? I watch a lot of horror movies."
Black continued to creep, slinking up across the ceiling. Small spikes shot out from between the folds of each line, shooting through the blue tiles and forming a grid pattern. Lolph kicked at the material only to have it latch to his boot, the skin beneath his uniform chilling down to the bone. He was rooted firmly in place as the black ooze seeped into his pores. He caught a glimpse of Dundgren – sharing a similar fate, only on the tiles – before the world around him yielded to a blur and words cycled through his brain.
Hello. We're going to be good friends, I think.
Outside the cafeteria, alarms droned on, as the rest of the timeless dimension shared the menace. Gates thumped to the floors, weapons were ripped from their lockers, but each action was taken a moment too late before the ooze would slip in and show its dominance. Unlike Lolph and Dundgren, all that lied behind the doors of most buildings were stone statues, devoid of any life.
"We have been breached," a voice announced over the speakers, "I repeat: We have been –" Pop! The alarm cut before it could finish.
The world came back to a sharp point for Lolph. He clicked off his eyeglass, for he had no need for it now, and holstered his gun, sharing a nod with Dundgren, who'd gotten back to his feet. They were released from the floors and the doors around them snapped open. There was a simple directive in Lolph's mind; Search. They passed through the entrance and down the main path, towards the elevation zone. Buildings around them were locked down completely. The haze that hovered over the area was tinted a pale pink. Agents around them called out to them, only to be shot down. Some wiped from the dimension, others left to stew with their wounds. Lolph couldn't find it within himself to mind; to recognise their faces. All that mattered was the red glow in the sky.
Globnar.
An impressive stadium, placing itself high above the rest of the timeless dimension and presenting itself with a red sign that often flicked off when electricity was cut short. Lolph and Dundgren turned on their watches as they reached the elevation platform, engaging with the seeking particles and allowing themselves to be transported into the belly of the arena.
Empty, as it had always been since Time Baby's death. Snakes of the ooze followed the two soliders on their journey. There was no glowing bubble in sight, and a quick sweep of the arena's interiors turned up empty as well. Lolph had ducked into one of the cells when he heard shoes squeaking across the freshly-cleaned floors, along with laboured breaths. He turned his head, dark eyes stripping down the room.
Round figure, round glasses – worried eyes. Blendin Blandin scrambled, a moment too late, for the ooze stuck to his boots and travelled upwards to loop around his waist. "H-hey, you don't need me, I-I'm just a rogue! An exile! A miscreant! Wh-whatever title makes you leave me alone!"
The thick mass keeping him in its grasp jolted outwards, building and building and building, forming a rotund torso and a bulbous head. Two thick fingers and claws morphed to trap him in their hold. Two wide jaws with needle-like teeth gnashed together. At the rear, a long tail slid out with the grace of a ribbon in the air, end topped with a deadly pincer. The large face settled in front of him; he was looked down upon by a single, small eye, circular pupil grazing him up and down. Though his body resembled a salamander in likeness, the constant movement of thin, black threads that curled and spun and twirled to make up his body shattered any illusion of a stable form.
"Hello," the creature said. "I'm Moordeer."
Beads of sweat bubbled on Blendin's forehead.
"I don't care what your name is. Or the status you hold. You will explain why the Time Wish is not here." Moordeer's voice was heavier than the thump his rear legs made against the platform.
Blendin spluttered. "I-I don't know what you're – I, um, I –"
"I, um, I," Moordeer drawled. "Spit it out. If you're going to speak of something profound and heroic, I suggest that you do so quickly."
Blendin shook in his hold. "Sorry, I, uh –" A hard squeeze caused him to yelp. "T-Time wishes are only created by the Time Baby himself! You can't just… You can't just stea- I mean, grab one."
"Then I will grab you," Moordeer said.
"What?"
"What." The eye blinked. Moordeer sighed. "That sounded more ominous in my head. I suppose I will have to kill you now to save myself the embarrassment."
He released Blendin and let him dash across the platform for a couple meters. Then, his tail shot forwards, piercing the flesh between his shoulders and bringing him to his knees. His arms tensed, his bones seemed as if they had become stone, head faced forward in a thousand mile stare. His eyes welled with a flow of thin, black liquid that dribbled down his clothing, expanded over his body, and hardened to stone.
"Minds are weak," Moordeer said, lulling his shifting form forwards to hover over Blendin's petrified head. "Easy to play with. You'd think security would be tighter in a place so important."
Chittering, vibrating the atoms around him, he then craned his short neck to look at Lolph. "This will complicate things, but it's not a tall obstacle." As he landed on all four limbs, chest caving in on itself as it avoided touching the statue below him, the arena rattled. His tail swung dangerously behind him. "You will remain the only survivors. My treat. I must confer with someone. Entertain yourselves until I return."
Silence. They were but puppets; his toys. Stationary and without thought until he took them by the reins. Moordeer traced a claw along the crown of Blendin's head, then flooded the ground in a wave of tar and disappeared from sight.