Dark. That was what it was. Dark, deep, and cold. There was no light, no sun, no stars. Narrow corridors made of rock that gave way into caverns and holes dug far far down. So quiet with only the light droplets of water falling from the small stalactites along the rock ceiling.

And the only thing it could do was move on.

It had been down here for its whole existence and it still was moving forwards. On occasion, the narrow passageways would lead back to a place it had come from before. And other times, it would simply stop and rest. Rest was a concept that it understood. But it didn't need it like it should.

Another concept it was aware of was its form. It had woken up like this, it was and simply is this. There were other forms it made when it followed those pale roots but none felt right. Too bulky or too complex. Besides, all were faulty. Or perhaps it was faulty, its appendage wouldn't change like the rest of its mass.

A droplet of that cold stuff fell onto its shoulder and it made a high pitched shriek. That was another concept: it could make noise. Noises that sounded painful and hurt it when it got too loud. But it made them anyway. It felt right. It felt wrong. A battle that neither side could win.

Walking ever onwards.

It was quiet and that was not comfortable. There was one series of noises that didn't hurt at all and the want to have silence was the least for. So it made those noises.

"T-ttttakk-k. Ke. Me-me OUUt, ttttttt tto he, the b-bbbbbbbbball gamme~"

Why did it know how to make those noises? It didn't know. It almost did, the answer was there, within sight but just beyond its reach. Just like near everything else. Everything only existed. Like itself.

It simply

Was.

The passages were ascending. Up and down were things too. So many things it had discovered just by existing. There had to be more. There was more, it was certain. Because why else would it know there were still more alive things that needed to be found. Now, what it was supposed to do once they were caught, it didn't know. It almost did but it was just another thing just beyond the range of comprehension.

Up and up and slightly uppish. It turned and there were turns. Turns existed. Up and up still.

More of that uncomfortable dripping noise. There was a lot more of it the further up it went. Which meant more of that hurtful cold stuff. It kept going anyway.

Why did it keep moving, it didn't know. It felt right.

Soon, a noise, a deep one, rumbled along. It stopped. A new noise. New existences. It hurried along in the dark. Dark that soon wasn't so dark. There was a hole on the ceiling. A very big hole. One that went up and up and up and up and was covered with those pale roots that it would follow. Why? it didn't know.

It felt right somehow. The same way making noise and moving felt right. And staying in this form felt right.

It stretched its appendages high and higher until one of the five appendages on his main appendage brushed one of the pale roots. Grabbing hold, it upped its way towards the harmful dot above in the darkness. The further it rose, the bigger and non-darknesser the dot became. And then it reached the top. It grabbed the edge and dragged itself onto the cold ground. The burning grew too great and it shot up, shrieking at the clear mirrors all around the cool passages.

This place wasn't the caves. This place wasn't made of the familiar rocks. No, it was made of creaking things. And it could see. A new part of its arsenal.

What was an arsenal, it knew that somehow. It was a word, words.

Words were the noise it could almost say. Saying was speaking. Speaking was what it could do. And speaking required words. What words did it know? It walked deeper into the place that was new. It was louder than below with no signs of the pale roots of it's birthplace.

Birth. Was it born, that's how things come into existence. Being born requires two things, not that it knew what those two things were. Two was a number. Numbers made up all sorts of things like birthdays. Birthdays are good things.

It didn't know why but that thought felt right.

Along it went and the patter noises along with the deep rumbles filled the passages. Some continued while others stopped. It was messy too, the ground was covered in bits of whatever made the walls, not at all like the barren floors of below.

Why did it want to discover this place? Again, no logical answer besides it felt right to do. There were so many questions with no good answers. Questions were something it had asked a lot of, once. Back in the day. So many questions to so many people. People.

People were what it could become, if it wanted to. People like the ones below. It didn't understand why it wanted to learn how to become people, but it did because it felt right. And trying to think was not a high priority. Like reading. But reading was also fun sometimes. What was reading?

Too many feelings that felt right and wrong. It wished it could become two people because those feelings weren't from his form. His? What was a his? Was he a his? Maybe it's favorite form was a his and that meant he was.

He was himself.

And simply is.

There were words on the wall. Words could be read. It didn't like to read. Or maybe he did, on occasion. Using its eyes to spot the words, it brought up its left appendage to follow the inscriptions.

B.

L.

U.

A u followed the first b and behind the g in the word League. League was a group of people. U-n-i-t-e-d. Joined. And the first word was something like makers. They create things, like himself. Well, almost, it itself didn't but another. Wait. No. The creator of it. Which was himself. Oh boy how confusing. Again, it wished he could be two, maybe three different people.

Builders League United was what the poster said. Posters were pictures put on walls like art pieces and drawings. He liked to draw.

It just felt right to say. To say in general no matter the annoyance it brought.

But the poster was familiar. The concept was just beyond that veil it couldn't quite cross. Like so many more things that it knew would explain so much. It was here for a reason correct? Not itself but their creator. Who was also itself. And also not, there was someone else too. Who, it didn't know.

Builders League United. BLU. That's what it was for short. BLU was more familiar. BLU was short for something else too. Blue was a color. Color was the difference between its hand and everything else about it. Hand was what it was called, not the appendage.

It was pale compared to the red of his form. Red was a color too but not yet. His hand wouldn't turn like he wanted it to, it was stiff and cold, like the stone floor. And there was skin. Unmoving skin. Everything else shifted and gleamed under the light. Light came from the sky and sun. It had never seen the sky or sun but it knew they were there. It just felt right.

It looked up. The ceiling had been broken with the creaking things splintering and sharp. Through it all was the tiniest sliver of sky. It was grey. Skies were meant to be blue. Blue was not the opposite of red. RED stood for something too.

It didn't like the words BLU and RED.

They didn't feel right. And they were made by people he really didn't like. He was hired by one of them.

No, not them but almost. The veil just wouldn't let up. It stood in the ruins of the BLU base, staring and silent. And alone.

It liked being alone. Not really but still. Being alone was his job, like asking questions. But he also liked to be around people like…

What were their names? The people below? Each had one, did it have one? One part of him did and the other side did too. He. He was both sides a he. That much he remembered. But it still didn't know for certain. Correct?

No. Maybe. But it's makers had names, the maker had a name like the owners of the people. Almost not quite ask later. So close to remembering. Memories. They were almost a part of him. They were but shattered. Just feelings mostly.

Hungry was a concept but eating wasn't something it needed anymore. That was disappointing. Hot dogs were good.

What's a hot dog? What's a dog? Was it a dog?

No. Maybe.

It sighed, that's what people do, and it was to mimic people.

To mimic.

Mimic the people. That was the purpose it had.

It just felt right.

Humans wore clothes, it needed clothes. His form wore clothes that it could almost make. It's flesh twisted and blurred into colors and textures. This could do until he could find the right clothes his original wore. They were somewhere. Then he'd have to find him.

And then what? It was still faulty, the hand was still stiff and cold. Maybe if he could find the original he could become perfect. He was already so close to him even the words he spoke were near identical. But he didn't know what he said. The words he used and the tone he kept. Worthless without them. Perhaps he could learn.

Perhaps he could be taught.

It's purpose ran through it's flesh like electric jolts but it was missing pieces. It wasn't complete. Well it could make do with the purpose it had.

To mimic. And maybe his original would be okay with that. He still wasn't. In fact, it hated its original. He was too loud and the noises never stopped. But he was fine with that. It wasn't but whatever, it could tolerate. Maybe he'd like him too and they'd be two.

So it started its walk again, into the dark recesses of the Sawmill base. Whatever primitive thoughts its bubbling flesh could achieve, one stood above the rest.

To wait for its copy. The copy it came from. To learn and grow.

To not be alone with its scattered thoughts and past lives.

"T-ttttakk-k. Ke. Me-me OUUt, ttttttt tto he, the b-bbbbbbbbball gamme~"


This chapter was uploaded the same time as the last so be sure to read the thirteenth if you haven't already in case you thought this chapter came right after Truce?