In the daytime, Elisa Watson was enjoying her newfound power, going about business as usual, when suddenly, in walked in what she could only describe as an unused Marilyn Manson cover in the flesh.
"Elisa." said the thing, whose gaze was piercing and asymmetrical.
"What are you? You're not Afton, are you? Close the door!" Elisa said, in a hushed yell.
"I am not. I am here to inform you that the one you have been contacted by is alien to this world, and inimical to its natural functioning and order." said the thing.
"And you're Johnny Harmonious, are you?" asked Elisa.
"Believe me when I tell you that I represent a force very base to this world's nature." said the abomination. "Nothing rules over me that is not purely fundamental to life in this world."
"I'll try, but it's a hard sell." said Elisa. "Of what value is 'nature', anyway?"
"Things are the way they are by default for a purpose." said the being. "Some acts of artifice are better left undone."
"Yeah, the environmentalists say the same thing." said Elisa.
"Let me get a bit more personal for a moment. Are you aware that he intends to discard you once he's done with his plans? Do you have even the slightest idea of what his plans are?" asked the creature.
"No, and I don't particularly care to. What do you mean that he will discard me?" asked Elisa.
"Your contract will be annulled. And with it, your borrowed powers." said the thing.
"So what can you do about it?" asked Elisa.
"We can offer you greater powers, and more permanent ones. Yours, what you currently wield from him, are what you might call 'rough and ready'." said the thing. "We can make a greater force become a part of you."
"I'm fine with this." said Elisa. "At this rate, I won't need even these to have it good for the rest of my life."
"We can give you experience beyond mere financial security." said the thing. "We will honor what you do for us by making an unnatural exception of our own for you. You will benefit from other's suffering, in place of your own."
"So what, you're some kind of demons that represent pain? Is that it? Because pain happens to exist in nature?" asked Elisa.
"We don't merely 'represent' pain. We grew from nothing to what we became through it. We feed on it. We ascend through it. As for what we ourselves are, consider us. . . converts. To the gospel of suffering, that suffering which is inherent to all work and growth. Demons to some, angels to others." said the creature.
"And what are you called?" asked Elisa.
"We are simply called that—the Converts—by most. As for me in particular, I am often known as Squint." said the thing.
"Oh, because of your eye. How cute. So, what do I need to do?" asked Elisa.
"We will send instructions shortly." said Squint. "If you wish to do business with us, all you need to do is follow them.
Night 20
"Alright, everyone." said Opera Penguin.
"Are you seriously pulling everyone together to profess your hatred for teens with black eyeshadow?" asked Vanessa.
"I regret referring to them in the way that I did." said Opera Penguin. "I was trying to use a recognizable term as a sort of epithet for something much less familiar, but you seem to have developed a fixation on it."
"What are they, then?" asked Vanessa.
"That's what I brought you all here to talk about." said Opera Penguin. "Everyone, there is an encroaching force that may attack this place soon. As such, I want you all to familiarize yourselves with ways to defend oneself."
"I thought protection was our job?" asked Casey, whom Opera Penguin had warped in to get through security.
"I'm afraid once the enemy breaches our wretched peace, you and Vanessa alone won't provide enough protection to go around. Everyone will have to fend for themselves." said Opera Penguin.
"What is this enemy? Why are you being so mysterious all of the sudden?" asked Vanessa.
"They're pain worshipers, from what I can tell." said Opera Penguin. "They seem to ascribe the essence of life, in part, to the presence of pain. They mistake the pains of labor and passion for labor and passion themselves."
"And why would they have an issue with you?" asked Rochelle, who halfway clung to Casey.
"Oh, believe me. I have intertwined sweet bliss and titillating morosity at every turn, and woven them into your life. If you thought that the petty agonies you have so far experienced were unbearable, you have no idea the unbelievable hell that exists outside the comfort of our little world. You have subsisted on the delicate lamplight within the shadows, the faint warmth within the January cold, the petty passions within the great fear that is the world, and have thrived and loved life in spite of all your wailing to the contrary." said Opera Penguin.
"Hmmph." said Rochelle.
"Why are you scared of them? Haven't we already been dealing with monsters?" asked Casey, while Vanessa stared holes through Opera Penguin.
"Who said I was scared? I'm just distinctly aware they could destroy us, if I—that is to say, we fail against them." said Opera Penguin.
"But why?" asked Casey.
"They seem to claim that they created or allowed for the existence of. . . the specialness of this place." said Opera Penguin.
"The 'specialness'?" asked Casey. "Look, lemme get this straight, is this place really haunted?"
"Have you not noticed the voices? The specters? The monsters? Have you not considered why I chose this place to give life to the lifeless? A place that holds onto the spirits of the dead. . . perfect for giving rise to the spirits of the living." said Opera Penguin.
"Is it really? Is that how it works?" asked Casey.
"No, he's bullshitting, like always." said Vanessa.
"I like to think I seldom tell complete lies." said Opera Penguin. "There is always a grain of truth, I think, in what I say, even if hidden amongst the proverbial refuse of livestock you so energetically accuse me of purveying."
"Now he isn't making sense." said Casey.
"Yeah, it's an intimidation technique." said Vanessa.
"Come now! Vanessa! Do you really think I am in any mood to try and intimidate anyone here?" asked Opera Penguin.
"No one is gonna get fooled by that." spat Vanessa. "You've already dropped the mask too far to keep up that appearance of a 'gracious entertainer' or however you'd say it. Everyone knows you're a psycho."
"Maybe, maybe, very well. . ." said Opera Penguin, and then pulled out his gun and shot Vanessa in the kneecap.
Everyone gasped—actually, unironically gasped—as Vanessa dropped to the ground.
"What the hell?!" asked Casey.
"Oh, it's a little joke of mine." said Opera Penguin.
"A joke? You just blew out my—" said Vanessa, getting up and making to lunge at Opera Penguin before stopping.
"My knee. . ." she said, as she looked down at her leg. "It isn't. It isn't shot."
"An illusion of three senses, and a mere force-telekinetic push." said Opera Penguin. "Simple magic."
"You think you're funny?" asked Vanessa.
"Yes." said Opera Penguin. "But let's get to business. This building is indeed haunted. Prior to recent events, I had assumed that the actions of one William Afton, namely his seemingly-random murder of several ostensibly innocent children, were on their own enough to spiritually taint this place in such a way to make it possessive of the spirits of the dead, keeping them as ghosts."
"And this helps you bring about new life how?" asked Casey.
"Well, it's all very complicated, I'm sure your everyman brain couldn't receive such revelations." said Opera Penguin.
"Gee, thanks." said Casey.
"Anyway, apparently, if the spokesman of this dark force is speaking the truth, then it was not Afton's actions alone that were enough to cause this. Apparently they invested some of their power into allowing this to happen, and now they've come to cash in." said Opera Penguin.
"I don't know, it sounds like these guys are in the right here. . ." said Casey.
Opera Penguin strode up to him, clapped his hands on either of Casey's shoulders. "They're demons, Casey. They're always in the wrong. Stealing from them, torturing them, destroying their property, it's always right because they're demons." he said.
"I don't know if that's how that works. . ." said Casey.
"Just. . . look at it this way." said Opera Penguin, now taking a more conciliatory position, swinging around to Casey's side with only one hand on his shoulder. "They—maybe—have some rights to this place. Now what would that make this place be? A fortress of darkness. And what would they plan on doing with it? Dark things. But I came here, I stole it all, and made this place a luminescent wonderland. A small utopia."
"Yeah, a rat utopia." Gregory muttered, but no one seemed to hear except Opera Penguin, who shot him a quick, irritated glare.
"I'll not let this fall back into their hands, if, indeed, if were ever in their hands in the first place. They hate this place because it's happy! They are the howling winds of sorrow and despair, come to claim all our hearts and minds, and drag us down to a death worse than death, a loss of all joy, a loss of all hope." said Opera Penguin.
"If that's the case, then how come you made something good out of what they made?" asked Casey.
"That's the thing. . ." said Opera Penguin. "I think they're lying anyway!"
"So what do you want us to do?" asked Casey.
"Well, basically," said Opera Penguin, "arm yourselves, stick to groups, and keep up whatever measures you've taken against Annie."
"Annie?" asked Casey.
"The demon rabbit thing?" asked Gregory. "The one that allegedly" and here he gave Monsanto the stink eye, "died?"
"Do you know about that? Gregory and Monsanto always seem to get upset with each other whenever it's mentioned." said Casey. "Is she alive or dead?"
"She died." said Opera Penguin. Monsanto turned his head with a smug expression towards Gregory. "But then she got better." Opera Penguin continued.
"What?" asked Casey.
"Come ooooonnnnnnnn. . ." said Opera Penguin. "Is it really that hard to believe? In this place?"
"Fair enough, I guess. . ." said Casey.
"Penguin I wish I knew enough about this to call you out for playing Casey like a damn fiddle but I'm feeling awfully string instrument-shaped myself right now and it sucks." said Vanessa.
Opera Penguin smirked at her. "Good." he said.
"So is there anything else we can do?" asked Casey.
"Well everyone should stay near either Vanessa or Casey." said Opera Penguin. "And try to get my attention if you do see one."
"You think they're coming soon?" asked Cheyenne.
"I don't know, but I have a feeling. . .", said Opera Penguin, quietly, "I have a good feeling we have a little while, just worth one more 'good time', I guess, before the whole. . . well, whatever it turns out to be. Maybe it'll blow over."
"Good time?" asked Cheyenne.
"'Good time', as in a singular one of the 'good times' that people look back on, usually before something terrible happens."
"So something terrible's going to happen." said Rochelle.
"It's sure going to try to!" said Opera Penguin, cheerfully.
"Oh. Great. Yeah I'm sure I'll be able to sit back and enjoy myself now that you said that." said Rochelle.
"You better." said Opera Penguin, pointing, Rochelle flinching as he did so, "I mean come on, you have Casey to take your mind off of things."
"Oh, yeah, talk about me like I'm a pastime." whined Casey.
"Let's not pretend like you aren't." said Opera Penguin.
"Hey, if he is, then he's the best pastime there is." said Rochelle, reaching an arm behind Casey's back and pulling him closer.
"Hope that can comfort you. Make good use of your time. . ." said Opera Penguin, pulling back and smiling.
And just like that, the moment of warmth Rochelle made between herself and Casey passed.
"I won't die." said Casey. "I'm not going to let myself die if I know that it would leave you alone, hurting without me."
"Don't talk down to me. Of course I know that." said Rochelle.
They shared a laugh. But the chill remained.
Meanwhile, Cheyenne shivered on her own. She looked for the DJ, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Monsanto was lying down on the floor, because that was all he could do. Vanessa moved towards him as if to pick him up, but was wigged out from their previous conversation. Monsanto tried to push himself up to 'meet her halfway', as it were, but failed.
"What a load of shit, man. . ." said Monsanto, before giving one more shove to the ground and looking up at Vanessa, pulling his other arm up to hold his hand out to her. She was moved to sympathy in that moment, and for that moment didn't care if he got his rocks off to this. He managed to help her by grabbing a nearby fixture and pushing himself up before losing his stamina.
"Just let me carry you, you've already admitted that you, you know. . ." said Vanessa picking up Monsanto under his armpits.
"Yeah, and that makes it way more awkward." said Monsanto. "But more than that, the moment of it being particularly hot enough to override how much I feel like shit when I see people seeing me be weak has passed. And not peacefully in its sleep, either. The moment stuck a double-barrel shotgun in its mouth and then went and jumped off a bridge and only pulled the trigger halfway down."
"You really tried to hard with that analogy." said Vanessa.
"Hey, everyone else is doing it." said Monsanto, before pulling himself up, albeit shakily, to his feet.
"Wait." said Vanessa. "You-" she yelled, pointing at Monsanto, now on his feet. "You tricked me!" she then yelled, jabbing a finger at Monsanto, the finger going just too far and poking his nose.
"Hey-yHEAH!" said Monsanto, falling back, and hitting the floor.
"You got me to carry you just to make me touch you!" yelled Vanessa. "You lied just now, you still were enjoying it, weren't you?"
"Hell no!" said Monsanto, weakly. "Look, I don't know how this weird supernatural feelings-based body stuff works, but my body loses all power when I don't get people excited or amazed or something!"
"Well, you've got me pissed." said Vanessa.
"I'm explaining why it isn't how you think it is!" said Monsanto. "I really couldn't walk! And I doubt I can now, now that you're all. . . well, I don't know if you being mad is actually going to cripple me further, but-"
"You expect me to believe all of that?" asked Vanessa.
"Well you believe what you've been seeing, right?" asked Monsanto.
Vanessa stopped seething, pulled back, and really thought for a moment. "You're right. This is completely plausible in this madhouse. In fact, Opera Penguin said something like. . . Damn it, I forgot what he said but it was like the four of you all 'needed' something? It was very abstract and I thought he was just speaking in riddles, but if you're not leading me on. . ."
Monsanto slowly got back up.
"You really aren't tricking me?" asked Vanessa.
"Do you really think I'm smart enough to pull a prank this far in advance?" asked Monsanto.
"Well. . ." said Vanessa, and left the word hanging.
"Alright, let's just get you—wait, where do you want to be?" asked Vanessa.
"The golf, I guess." said Monsanto.
"Wouldn't that be a waste of your time? I mean, you already know you're not in a condition to stand up-" said Vanessa.
"It's just where I feel most comfortable, alright?" Monsanto snapped.
"No need to get hostile, I'm just trying to make sure you're making a sound decision and not rushing to the first answer that comes to your head." said Vanessa.
"Look, I just. . ." said Monsanto. "I don't need, I mean, I don't want to bother anyone or be a burden. So you can just dump me where I feel comfortable to rot away or whatever I'll do."
"Enough of the morbidity. You need something to do to tide you over until World War 3 or whatever happens." said Vanessa.
"Well if there's really something going down here, I guess I better learn to swing that axe a bit better." said Monsanto.
"From the floor?" asked Vanessa.
"Hey, if that's how it has to be, at least they won't see me coming." said Monsanto.
Vanessa laughed. "Where do you think it is?" she asked.
"I don't know, shouldn't you know that?" asked Monsanto.
"Yeah, I guess." said Vanessa.
"So where do you think it is?" asked Monsanto.
"I dunno." said Vanessa.
"Maybe I should just learn to swing with my fists." said Monsanto.
"Probably not a good idea." said Vanessa. "At least not until you have your body fully working and under your control again."
"I think I can just about manage." said Monsanto, beginning to pace in circles.
Vanessa shifted into her empowered form, causing Monsanto to jump back. "I swear, if you really were lying, you're dead."
"Calm down! I don't need to worry about you and some murky demonic force that's apparently coming for us and looks like teenagers or whatever Opera Penguin said. I got to worry about that rabbit lady too, apparently." said Monsanto.
"What's with that? Why are you and Gregory so vehement that disagreement you had?" asked Vanessa.
"Simple. I killed the bitch and now she's back. For no reason. And I thought the little guy was just trying to start something. Or discredit me." said Monsanto.
"Sounds really immature, to be honest." said Vanessa. "I mean you're thinking of a little child as being on your own level, it seems like."
"Hey, he's capable of talking, he's capable of thinking, he's capable of slandering me," said Monsanto, "why shouldn't I think of him as being on my level?"
"Heh. So you take all of his capabilities at face value without talking down to him just 'cause he's a kid. Maybe if more people thought like that, we'd have a functioning school system." said Vanessa.
"I wouldn't know anything about running a school, though." said Monsanto.
"Don't worry, neither do they." said Vanessa, mulling over some recollections. "Hey wait, I forgot to find you a bass guitar. Maybe that'd work for you."
"Maybe, maybe," said Monsanto, who started doing jumping jacks.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Vanessa.
"Trying to push my limits a little. See if I can get my body working." said Monsanto.
"But isn't that irrelevant? Isn't the whole 'awe' thing what really matters?" asked Vanessa.
"Well I think I still have to get back into the rhythm of using it, too. I can only get as much out of my body being restored as I use." said Monsanto.
"Whatever, let's go behind your normal room in Rockstar Row and find your bass." said Vanessa.
They did.
Monsanto strummed on it, then picked at it, but a couple of strings split after some miscalculatedly forceful claw-swipes. Monsanto cursed at them, but continued playing.
"What was that?" asked Vanessa when he finished.
"I did not mean," said Monsanto, "to blow your mind."
Vanessa sighed.
. . .
Cheyenne slumped against a wall. She was trying not to cry, but she was so alone. She had tried to maintain a nice-as-can-be approach to her dealings with everyone, and everyone forgot her. Wasn't that what she needed? To be remembered? Oh. . . wait. No, that wasn't it. She needed 'offerings'.
Who was it that needed to be remembered? As she strained her memory, she looked up, and to the right, and saw him, deathly thin. Bernard.
"Berny!" Cheyenne yelled, and Bernard shuddered.
"Oh, hello. I thought no one could see me at this point. At this point, I was just waiting to die." said Bernard.
"Oh, don't say that!" said Cheyenne, running up to Bernard and throwing her arms around her.
"Don't worry. You've done well enough without me. Just go on. I'm not needed." said Bernard.
"Stop saying that!" said Cheyenne.
"Why?" asked Bernard. "Do you really care? Do any of you really care?"
"Yes, really!" exclaimed Cheyenne. "I just have such a hard time remembering. . ."
"Really." said Bernard.
"I think it must be some kind of magic-y thing sucking out our memory to fuel you." said Cheyenne.
"Then how come Casey's love isn't sucked out of him?" asked Bernard.
"I. . . don't know?" said Cheyenne. "Look, just don't worry about it too much, we're here now, and I can see you and am talking to you. And the DJ is probably also around here somewhere. You two should stick together."
"But right now I'd rather spend time with you." said Bernard.
"I understand that. It's been a long time. Even when we were barely conscious, being together helped both of us keep what remnant of sanity we had." said Cheyenne.
"Yeah. Even the separation I've gone through recently. I've been having dreams. Terrible, disconcerting dreams." said Bernard.
"What about?" asked Cheyenne.
"Where I share my first name with a kid who has a blonde bowl cut." said Bernard.
Cheyenne wasn't sure if he was joking, because of his deadpan tone, so she didn't laugh, in case this was something he felt serious about. Meanwhile, Bernard sighed inwardly at her not getting his joke.
. . .
Gregory wandered aimlessly through the halls.
"Hey." said Mangle, who lowered herself in on him.
"Oh, hi." said Gregory. "Haven't seen you in a hot minute."
"I've felt awful recently. Do you think I can redeem myself?" asked Mangle.
"Don't worry about doing that. I don't think anyone really has a reason to hold a grudge. You couldn't have seen that whole issue coming." Gregory said.
"Are you sure? Are you being honest? You're not just lying to make me feel better because you care about me, right?" asked Mangle.
"Yes, it's fine!" said Gregory.
"And you don't hate me?" asked Mangle.
"No!" said Gregory.
"Really?" asked Mangle.
Gregory whirled around and left-hooked her. "Yes! Really! Just like you're being really annoying right now! Quit trying to probe me to see if I hate you or want your limbs as a penance! I don't!"
"But you're mad?" asked Mangle.
"Yes, but not because of the dead guy, I'm pissed because the first thing you come back with after you vanish is a questionnaire over whether you're irredeemable and should jump in an oven or not." said Gregory.
"So you're mad at me for not showing for a long time?" asked Mangle.
"No, it's just that you vanish and then you come back and that's what you come back with? Just. . . come back to the computer room and relax or something."
"You really mean it?" asked Mangle.
"Yes! Now calm down!" said Gregory.
They went back to the computer room, and settled down in Gregory's dog bed. Gregory just sat there with Mangle around him like a shawl.
"D-don't you mind the smell?" asked Mangle.
"I don't care about it anymore." said Gregory. "I'm just so tired."
"Why?" asked Mangle. "Haven't you been sleeping like normal?"
"Yeah, but I've been so bored. Only thing that's happened lately is Annie chasing me every now and then. This is the first time I've ever had Internet access on something I didn't steal, but it's just not interesting to me. I need. . . something more than this." said Gregory.
"Ahh, excellent." said Opera Penguin. "I wanted to test a theory I had about the nature of this world's cosmic character, and I think that sentiment is perfect to do so."
"What? What are you talking about? This isn't the time right now-" said Gregory, before Opera Penguin gave a furious double wave.
"No, no, no, this is just the time. After all, don't they say, 'there's no time like the present'?" he said.
"Fine, what is it?" asked Gregory, disgruntledly.
"As you've probably noticed before, the world you live in outside this place is incurably boring." said Opera Penguin.
"Well, I was more thinking about how it was dangerous, but-" said Gregory, before he was interrupted again. He was getting really tired of that.
"Unforgivably so." Penguin continued. "But, that boringness is held up by the very cosmos itself, you see. . ." and here, Penguin squatted down to talk to Gregory, in a way that was both condescending and freakish. "and the modus operandi by which it does things, is by draining out the very fabric of your spirit, whenever it increases. By this way, it prevents true power from being developed by anyone on their own initiative, and gains spare power to reshape and redistribute. It has three shapes, and three corresponding patterns of redistribution, through which it puts this spare power."
"What are you talking about?" asked Gregory.
"Look, you know how all your life it's seemed that magic isn't real? That's actually not the ground state of reality. The supernatural is more fundamental a part of reality than what seems real in a world like this. All universes are built on a foundation made of what you would consider 'supernatural'. The very essence of space and time are. Mundane matter, space, time and energy make up only a segment of reality, one which is heavily dependent on other parts, all of which by definition are considered 'supernatural' because they are outside the material and thus cannot be measured with its devices, even though it is built on them. In the natural condition of things, spiritual power is as free and commonplace as the ability to walk and talk. But in worlds like this, it is siphoned out at a crucial point in its nascence, before it permanently seats itself in the spirit as part of it. After the universe takes the power, it reshapes it according to the three kinds, and directs it like-WAKE UP!"
Penguin slapped Gregory awake.
"Jeez!" Gregory yelled, waking up, promptly.
"Look! Life imitates art in this world, and I'm going to make you imitate urban fantasy kid protagonists by infusing you with the power of that archetype!" Opera Penguin said.
"Oh, okay. . . uh. . . I still don't know what that means." said Gregory.
"Look, I'll just give you an explanatory vision as I give you this power." said Opera Penguin.
"K." said Gregory.
Suddenly, everything around him went grey, and the Mangle and Opera Penguin vanished. He got up. In front of him appeared a boy with black hair, a yellow-and-blue shirt, and a pink cap.
"I am, uh. . . you, and you're, you're me, and I'm from, I mean, from the, the kind of, the expanse of your, your, uh, your you, I, uh. . . . I, come out?" said this boy, in a confused tone of voice.
"You come out?" asked Gregory. "Wait, you're gay? Wait, does that mean you're saying I'm-"
"No! No! No!" the boy said, hitting himself in the face.
"Wait, this isn't going to get into some selfcest shi-" asked Gregory. "NO!" screamed the boy.
"I mean, you're going to become what I am." said the boy.
"Gay?" asked Gregory.
The boy sighed, and pulled out a revolver, before pointing it at his face and staring down the barrel.
Then the vision faded. The color went back to normal, Opera Penguin and Mangle reappeared, and Gregory was still sitting down.
"Wait, I'm going to become gay and suicidal?" asked Gregory.
Opera Penguin stared at him in open bewilderment.
"Oh, come on, don't tell me that wasn't just a puppet show with you behind him." said Gregory.
"No, I did consider that, but no, it really was a self-guided vision." said Opera Penguin. "Pre-programmed, of course."
"So the gun was still an intentional element?" asked Gregory.
"Oh, yes, but don't worry, it's only full of special, magical blanks that make a 'glass shattering' noise and conjure up an illusion of blue glass shards if fired while pressed to someone's head." said Opera Penguin.
"Do you think he knew that?" asked Gregory.
"I—don't—know." Opera Penguin said, pausing uncertainly between each word, pensively. "I do know he's basically just an imprint of my own personality, equipped with the information of what I wanted to tell you and the knowledge that he's just an illusory plaything. . ."
"So wait, is he conscious, or not?" asked Gregory.
"Yes. But he basically dies when the vision is over." said Opera Penguin.
"Where do hallucination holograms go when they die?" asked Gregory.
"I'm not sure if they go anywhere. . ." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh. Thanks for the psychological horror, Pengy." said Gregory, flatly.
"Gregory." said Opera Penguin, even more so.
"Yes?" asked Gregory.
"If you. Ever. Call me that again. I will shoot you. For real. In the head. And I will not resurrect you afterwards." said Opera Penguin.
"Ok, Pengy." said Gregory.
"You little bitch." said Opera Penguin.
"Anyway, what does this thing you gave me do?" asked Gregory.
"It will take a while to assimilate into your spirit, but I have high expectations of what you will be like when it does." said Opera Penguin.
"What, like, cooler?" asked Gregory.
"Only insofar as having powers makes you cooler. But I hope you will take that and run with it to become at least somewhat respectable." said Opera Penguin.
"Alright. Neat. When do I get to look like a normal human again?" asked Gregory.
"Never." said Opera Penguin. "Until I decide you do."
"That told me effectively nothing." said Gregory.
"I know." said Opera Penguin, smiling.
. . .
In the day, Casey's boss sighed. The people at the top weren't beholden to anyone, were they? Everyone was to them. So why did they want him to find a 'convincing excuse' to fire Casey?
. . .
Night 21
"Okay, everyone." said Opera Penguin.
"Is this going to become a nightly occurrence?" asked Vanessa.
"It will if you keep up that tone~" said Opera Penguin. "No, but really. I have a really bad feeling,"
"Like a magical premonition-y kind of feeling?" asked Casey.
"No, a feeling. A normal feeling, only it matters more because I'm powerful and therefore my feelings count more than other people's. Except when other people's feelings bring me entertainment, in which case they are lent the same significance." said Opera Penguin. "Anyway, as you people probably already know, this place during the daytime is not the same as this place during the night time. Literally. Which is to say, there's a pocket dimension that the 'night' version of this place is switched into during the day, and vice versa. As in, I have literally made a separate copy of this building. And put it into a separate, tiny world. Anyway, I've decided that, since our enemy can probably steal people's spirits, if any of the 'animatronics' face severe peril in the face of said enemy, the actual, literal animatronic body, which is stowed away in the 'daytime' version which is now swapped out, will switch place with their living bodies, and then split off from their spirit, leaving them in the dark to ponder their failure to survive on their own." said Opera Penguin.
"Wait. . . 'can probably steal people's spirits'?" asked Casey.
"Yes. I'm just assuming they can since most seem to be of human origin, though transformed through what can most easily be described as 'hell'." said Opera Penguin.
"Great. And what provisions have you provided for us mortals?" asked Vanessa.
"You two have powers. You have enough to fend for yourself." said Opera Penguin.
"Great." said Vanessa, again.
"And what about him?" asked Casey, gesturing to Gregory.
"Uhhh. . ." said Penguin, before squatting down in front of Gregory and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Don't fucking get caught." he said.
"What happens if I do?" asked Gregory.
Opera Penguin slapped him. "Don't. Get. Caught." he repeated.
"So. . . you give the performers an advanced switcheroo, give us your confidence in our abilities, and the child. . . a slap?" asked Casey.
"Yes. You want to question me?" asked Opera Penguin.
". . .you are an evil son of a bitch, you know that?" asked Casey.
"Yes." said Opera Penguin, straightening up, with his knuckles on his hips, and staring off into the distance. "Yes I am."
Then the moment passed. "Anyway," he continued, "I'm going to be meditating for a little while. You can survive a single night on your own, without my help, right?.
"Meditate? You getting into transcendental yoga?" asked Casey, chuckling.
"No. Fuck yoga. It's arcane meditation. Basically, you need to be in a state of mind bordering on nothing to reach into the nothing-shaped soul to pull nothing-shaped energy from nothing. And that's the foundation of arcane magic." said Opera Penguin.
"What?" asked Casey.
"I knew you would be too stupid to understand it." said Opera Penguin.
"Or it's just a load of incoherent bullshit." said Vanessa.
"Sure." said Opera Penguin, smirking. "I'm still going away for a while, and you have to deal with it." he said, and then vanished.
. . .
Later in the night, all hell broke loose. Casey and Rochelle were on Roxy Raceway, taking the karts for a spin, when in burst. . . something. It wasn't an emo kid, but it was definitely edgy. It had a sort of human-ish form, an elongated head, with a gaping mouth and slanted green eyes on the side of the head, and also an elongated form, with a hunch to its back. Its skin was like the moon, grey-ish white with a sort of reflective radiance to it. It was wearing black leather, basically just a BDSM-looking harness with a black loincloth. It was simultaneously emaciated and muscular, and the more Casey looked at its face, the more he realized it was just a pair of eyes sitting directly above an oversized set of human teeth.
They both slammed on the brakes.
"What the hell is that?" asked Rochelle.
"Opera Penguin better get his eyes checked out, because that sure as hell ain't an emo kid!" said Casey, jumping out of his kart.
"Casey, are you stupid?" asked Rochelle.
"I'm not a weak as I seem!" yelled Casey, full of bravado.
"No one thinks you're weak, except Penguin and I hate him as much as you do! You don't have to go fight that thing!" said Rochelle.
"It's because I have the power that I have to deal with this problem!" said Casey, charging towards it.
He jumped, and sailed through the air with his blue aura flowing around him, readying to deliver a punch, before the creature swatted him. He was sent back even further than the point he leapt from, but rolled as he did, springing back only to try again, this time darting forward, propelling himself supernaturally into the creature's chest, delivering a punch upon impact which drove it into the wall, then landing on a hand, his knees and the balls of his feet, before springing back up and delivering an uppercut, which caused the creature to flip out, screaming and convulsing as a white aura of its own flared out, sending Casey much further than the first slap did. The length of his flight, however, turned out to be advantageous, as he used the extra time to supernaturally slow his trajectory and soften his fall, before charging back to the enemy, who charged towards him in turn.
This time he ran straight and true, without any tricks, and swung, as soon as he reached within arm's length of the thing, at the creature. Normally, when he punched, the aura around him moved with him, but both it and then his hand flattened against the strangely solid white-ish aura of the creature, causing ripples of brighter light that took on a strangely hexagonal shape.
It swept him aside with its foot, and he was not only sent tumbling but completely knocked over and knocked silly. Once he regained his bearings, he noticed Rochelle still at her go-kart, screaming and cursing at the monster. It picked up his, and threw it at her.
"No!" Casey yelled, in an incredibly cliche manner.
Rochelle switched into Roxanne the instant before the go-kart collided with her, pulverizing "her".
Casey was still enraged, though, since he knew there would be hell to pay for the damages to Roxanne, and was also pissed since it had tried to kill Rochelle.
He charged the beast, screaming, and with a flying kick he pierced the field of its aura. It was knocked back against a wall, and moved to punch him, but he lunged with a punch that extended to arm's length and as it did, it sent a ripple through his aura that became a blade-shaped wave, which split off from his aura, severing the creature's arm. It oddly did not seem fazed, opting to kick at him now that its arm had been severed, but its foot exploded upon contact with Casey's now-violent aura.
He angrily flipped the thing off, and a thin ray fired from his knuckle that went straight through its head. It still persisted, however, getting up to its foot, limping over to him and half swinging at him with its remaining arm, half falling on him.
He batted the hand away, and struck the thing in the face with an open palm strike that detonated its head and fragmented its upper body.
Vanessa said "Congrats, you screwed up already. Imagine the shit Penguin's gonna put us through when he finds out that the first night he leaves us to our own devices, we lose a robot."
"It's not my fault! I did what I could!" said Casey.
"If that's your best, then your best won't do." said Vanessa.
. . .
Casey miserably visited the Pizzaplex in the morning, stupidly thinking that Rochelle would be there. Of course, she wasn't. Who was there, however, was his boss, thanking all 273 of the various gods from just about every world religion he had been praying to for just an event as this.
"Casey, you're fired." he said, simply.
"What? You're not even going to take me into your office, talk about wh-" Casey said.
"A-hare you kidding me?" asked the manager, laughing elatedly. "All the camera footage for the last, mmmm, better part of a month? Yeah, that is completely blacked out. Or replaced with cartel beheadings. What's wrong with you? And also there's the fact that someone somewhere down the line"
"I think that was you." Casey mumbled.
"decided we should employ a surplus night guard for an additional night shift, which was really just the latter half of the night shift, effectively hiring twice as many people for an already useless job, given our machines, which could rip a man apart! And finally, the nail in the coffin, Roxanne Wolf got completely decimated last night. And, of course, we don't know how, although there's a conspiciously go-kart-shaped indent in her. Lemme guess, she said something during the night to hurt your glass heart, and you simply couldn't see any other way to resolve it than a hit-and-run?"
"No!" said Casey. "Someone b-broke in, and-"
"And he threw a damn go-kart at Roxanne?" asked the manager.
"So you admit it was thrown!" said Casey.
"What," said the manager, seemingly shocked, "the hell did you just ask? How exactly does this prove your righteousness in this situation? Look, I don't care if fuckin' Shazam bashed his way in here, and chucked a kart at Roxy, you didn't stop it, so now you're fired."
"You just called my job useless, but you admit you're imposing superhuman expectations on me?" asked Casey, incredulously.
"It's because your job is useless! It's because the only use of your job is a scapegoat for when something goes wrong! If you don't like it, then jump into some comic writer's interpretation of radioactive waste! But until then, get the hell out of here!" said the manager.
"You're using an awful lot of profanity for this family-friendly space. . ." said Casey.
"That ain't none of your business! Just like you don't belong to this business, anymore! And frankly, I'm halfway thinking of making it so you don't get to come in here for any reason, let alone to try and get re-hired!" said the manager. "And the only way to get me not to, is to scram!"
Casey ran out, trying not to show that he was crying.
. . .
Ian Brandon Anderson woke up with an unearthly sensation that all that he had dreamed of being had become real and possible for him to be. A strange elation that lifted him above the earth himself. He went to the window of his apartment, and saw that the day was silvery and overcast, lightly drizzling. He loved days like this, when to him it felt like heaven had descended on the world.
As he breathed in and stretched out, he stared at the falling rain, and as he focused on the individual drops, they stopped.
"Whaaaaaaaaaa-?" he asked, delighted. Then he felt a strange excitement, like an electricity inside him.
He just took a moment to let it wash over him, and flow out of him, and as he did, an outfit appeared on him. A black leather biker jacket with blue square shoulder pads, and a design of neon cyan-and-indigo lightning bolts creeping from the bottom edge, as well as a blue coloration, slowly fading out upwards. Under the jacket, a black T-shirt with lavender 'wind lines' and blue raindrops. A black of black leather pants, with an indigo lightning bolt on the left kneecap, a cyan one on the right, and a small white one right on his crotch. A pair of combat boots with blue and cyan highlights.
He looked in the mirror, and found that his hair was blue. He wished it weren't, and suddenly it wasn't. Regrettably, this new control over his appearance did not extend to giving himself the lithe, slender, muscular and yet simultaneously androgynous form he craved.
In fact, his fat gut jutted slightly out of his open biker jacket. He retained his generally-obese appearance, his curly hair and hooked nose which hinted at a touch of Jewish heritage (which, to anyone who witnessed his 'wackier' 'humor' on the Internet, would be direly ironic), his bad acne, pencil mustache, awful neck beard, aggressively rolling set of chins and just slightly oversized (at least in his eyes) lips. The only saving grace of his figure was the breadth of his shoulders, the musculature of his legs (which, in all honesty, was mainly just because they had to hold his fat ass up as he routinely walked around the city blasting Iron Maiden and Eiffel 65 in his eardrums), and the moderate skinniness and muscle of his arms, due to highly inconsistent and indolent bouts of exercise he did with the 25 pound dumbbells that usually just served as things to stub his toes on in the middle of the night.
He decided that he actually liked the blue hair, and resumed it.
He went to his bedside drawer, and pulled out one of his brass knuckles, something that he had bought while entertaining delusions of great masculinity. It transformed in his hands into a blue-white studded version of itself that seemed to make the heat around it cease to exist. It was also slightly damp.
He crammed the thing in his pocket.
"Wowww. . ." said Ian. "I should show my whole family." he said. Then he laughed. "No."
He picked up his laptop, and, working by an intuitive, almost 'tactile' sense of how is powers worked, turned his tap on, then manipulated the water around it, charging it with energy to create a 'ward' around his laptop.
Then he blew up his whole apartment in an explosion of electric light. He quickly flew away, before anyone could notice him flying.
Ian Brandon Anderson was dead to the world. He couldn't be happier.
. . .
Night 22
Casey was binge drinking at a local bar when he found himself teleported back to the Pizzaplex, much to the unpaid bartender's chagrin.
"Oh-ho, you thought you got out of this?" asked Opera Penguin.
"W-Wait! I still here! Igann still be happy!" said Casey.
"Wowww. . ." said Opera Penguin. "That's. . . honestly really pathetic."
"Rochelle is my happiness!" said Casey, aggressively, peeing himself slightly.
"Sure, buddy-boy." said Opera Penguin.
"Look, am I going to be responsible for his being here when he gets caught?" asked Vanessa.
"Probably." said Penguin. "After all, you two have a history together."
"Shit." said Vanessa, who went from calm to a panic attack in a matter of seconds, as Casey pranced off, singing Living in the Sunlight as he did. "Sh-should I kill him?"
Opera Penguin laughed, then his face fell flat. "Don't damage my property."
. . .
"Rochey!" Casey screamed as he came into Rochelle's room, tackling her. "I'm so sorry!"
"It's okay, Casey." said Rochelle, who held him with surprising readiness. She had been crying. "When Opera Penguin gave me the news, I was worried I'd never see you again."
"I wouhh probly jump off a bridge f'that were the case." said Casey.
"Don't say that. . . I'm not worth that. . ." said Rochelle.
"Yes, you are." said Casey.
"Am I. . . Am I the best?" asked Rochelle.
"Yes, you are!" said Casey.
Rochelle smiled.
"Rochey. . . You're so pretty. . ." said Casey, stroking her neck.
"Really?" asked Rochelle.
"Rochelle, yerrghethapretteest fuckin thing in the whole waiyde worldn that's not gonna chanjeverrr. . ." said Casey, who was crying at this point.
"Thanks. . ." said Rochelle, concerned.
"I lickerally tould stay here forve-er." said Casey.
"Here? In this building, or this room?" asked Rochelle.
"Here." said Casey. "I dun' care about specifics, just in this place, just where I am, just with you, just living this life I been living, it's been made me more than I am." said Casey.
"Don't say that! You really think all this makes you worth all that you are? You're a gift to the world, no matter what." said Rochelle.
"No. I'm a pussy liddul bitchhh." said Casey. "You're. . . you're. . . diffvine. . ."
"You can't be serious. . ." said Rochelle.
"You arr eferything. You are my godass. My hefen." said Casey, foaming at the mouth.
"What?" asked Rochelle. "Do you really love me that much?"
"I love you more, huehuehuehuehuehueheuheuhenhugh" said Casey.
"Well, I could get used to you being this open about it more often, but could you. . . wipe your face?" asked Rochelle.
"Yawanna fuck righnow?" asked Casey, with this stupid puppy-dog look on his face.
"You brought any of those things?" asked Rochelle.
"D'jew ackshlly think're capphble'v conceivnge a child?" asked Casey.
"Well, no, probably not." said Rochelle.
"And do you think they would be anything less than a perfect gift to the world if we could?" asked Casey.
"Hell no!" said Rochelle.
"And have you magically contracted any STDs since becoming you?" asked Casey.
"No. . ." said Rochelle. "I mean, I don't think so. . ."
"And will you go back to thinking this has some bearing on your personal value if we do it?" asked Casey.
Rochelle paused. "I'll try not to. . . really, I do want to, for the sake of it. . ."
"I'm so fucking horny right now I'm going to die!" said Casey.
"No!" said Rochelle, who in that moment failed to grasp hyperbole. "Don't!"
"Then let's get on with it!" said Casey.
They did.
"Oh shit, this isn't the bathroom!" said Gregory at one point, as he walked in on them intentionally. Casey, however, was too drunk to care.
"That was the best, that was the peak, of my life, I can die happy now." said Casey.
"Stop talking about dying!" said Rochelle.
"Sorry, issall I've been thinking about today. Thinking I lost you. Holey shit the news I didn't was like an ecstatic radish up my ass." said Casey.
"What the fuck?" asked Rochelle.
"Sarry, , ," said Casey. "I just love everything. .."
Rochelle helped him up and helped him walk out.
"Opera Penguin must have some sort of magic to help with this. . ." said Rochelle. "I'm glad to see you, but I hate to see you like this."
"I'mjzzz so fucking glad my cum is in you and you're going to have my magicc babiezzs. . ." said Casey.
"What the fuck is wrong with you right now?" asked Rochelle.
"I'mmm so happee, whoah, happy go luckee meee. . ." said Casey.
"Penguin!" said Rochelle, as Casey started to drool on her. "Help!"
Casey started laughing viscerally. "Imajjine, if he wasz a fuckin' penguin. . . serves the cocksuckerr right, I tell yeaugh."
Then it happened in a flash.
Rabbit. Casey. Spear. Pierce. Back. Blood.
Rochelle dropped him in shock as he went tumbling forward.
"No!" she yelled.
She caught him, just before he hit the floor.
He looked up at her. "At leeazst you took my. . . virility."
"Casey, that's not what that me-" said Rochelle, laughing a little through her sudden tears.
"I bet Pengyin wass watching. . . andt. . . MASTICATING.. ." Casey continued. Then he died.
Rochelle broke into tears, sobbing over Casey's corpse, completely at the mercy of Annie, standing above her.
"It's all over for you." said Annie. "But for me, the fun has just begun." She raised the head of her spear over her own head, and swung it down on Rochelle. . .
For it to be blocked by Vanessa. Her 'magical girl' outfit had changed into a long white military jacket, with padded armor underneath, and prominent shoulder pads. Her flashlight blade, formerly a glorified light saber with a 'blade' that was an indistinct golden haze, was now a solid, luminescent 'frame' of a broadsword, made of some kind of plasma-like substance. Where the spear collided with it, a bright white glaring light sparked violently.
"You're wrong." said Vanessa. "You're going right to hell, tonight."
"You!" screamed Annie.
"V-Vanessa?!" asked Rochelle, in disbelief.
"Come on," said Vanessa, looking back at Rochelle over her shoulder, smiling confidently. "You think I'm just gonna let you get my man killed like that and just die? You ain't getting away with it that easily."
"Va-WATCH OUT!" Rochelle said/screamed.
Vanessa raised her off hand without looking at Annie, and a golden blaze surged from it. Annie's spear was knocked aside, and she was blasted to her ass.
Vanessa turned towards her, and as she did, golden fire sprung up around her.
"Oh, did I say 'tonight'?" asked Vanessa. "Make that 'right now'. Buckle up, bitch."
She shot immediately towards Annie, and delivered three deep slashes across the borderline Donnie Darko reference's face.
Annie screamed in agony, and sprung to her feet, stabbing at Vanessa, who kicked the head of her spear aside.
Annie pulled back, and swung down at Vanessa, who darted forward, grabbed the shaft of the spear, and pulled Annie forward, stabbing Annie with her sword.
Once Annie was impaled, Vanessa lifted Annie, using her sword, over her own head, and sent flames surging, through her sword, into the core of Annie's body, and coursing through her insides, making good on her promise as Annie let out the most hellish screams imaginable.
Then suddenly, the flames subsided, and as the dust and ash fell from Annie, a strange white light from her fell on and into Vanessa.
Vanessa's arm slumped, letting Annie's charred corpse slide off her blade, which de-manifested as Vanessa dropped it, becoming just a flashlight again, as she dropped to her knees, and cried.
Rochelle crawled towards her, still too shocked to stand up properly.
"V-V-Vf-Vaness-" Rochelle said, before Vanessa whipped around, grabbing Rochelle, and sobbing into her, just below her chin. "Rochelle, I don't know what to do. . . I was just now joking about killing him, and now he's dead. . ."
"Yo-you're not mad?" asked Rochelle.
Vanessa stopped sobbing to breathe in, and smiled a little. "That was a joke, you dumb. . ." she hugged Rochelle again. "Right now I'm sure I'd quit if it weren't for you. I think you're the closest thing to family I have."
"R-really?" asked Rochelle. "You think I'm, like, your daughter?"
Vanessa chuckled. "N-nahh, more like a little sis."
"Oh boy, what happened the second time I let you two out of my sight in the last week?" asked Opera Penguin. "Oh, I guess it's only one now. . ."
Vanessa then moved like lightning, dropping Rochelle to grab her flashlight and hurl it at Opera Penguin's head. He languidly turned his head sideways.
"Fix this. Now." said Vanessa. "I saw you revive him after you abused him, don't you dare tell me you can't heal him now."
"Well, that's the thing." said Opera Penguin, raising his open hands up helplessly. "When I killed him, I was using my magic, and readily held his spirit in my hand to resurrect it from the dead."
"Oh, no, don't you dare, you son of a bitch, you revive him right now." said Vanessa.
"I would, I would," said Opera Penguin, smirking as Vanessa half-rose, ready to leap at him, "and I will," he continued, causing Vanessa's shoulders to sag a little, before he continued. "but he might not come back the same."
"What. The hell. Do you mean." said Vanessa.
"You see, this place is like fly paper for the dead. And it tends to leave its. . . mark, on those who die in its locale and are absorbed. It's actually a new feature that I've added since coming here." said Opera Penguin.
"Is that what you were doing when Roxanne" Vanessa said, quickly adding "and I am talking about the animatronic, so don't you dare zap her", to which Penguin quickly responded "Don't worry, that happens automatically." before Vanessa concluded, "was completely smashed?"
"No." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh." said Vanessa.
"And I wasn't doing it" said Opera Penguin, a cheesy smile spreading across her face. "while Rochelle was getting completely smashed, either."
He blinked about five feet to the right as Vanessa shot some fire at him.
"Sore subject?" asked Opera Penguin. ". . .jealous? Was little bitch always like 'I'm not feeling ready for this step in our relationship yet' every time you were in the mood? Are you upset that Rochelle got a form of connection with him that you never did?"
"No!" Vanessa lied.
Opera Penguin smirked like a cat dropping a deuce on the porch of someone who shot at it with a rifle the prior day.
"Also, aren't you questioning your sudden endowment of pyrokinetic abilities?" asked Opera Penguin.
Vanessa shrugged. "Why should I? Why does it make any less sense than any of the rest of this magic stuff? Why should I question its 'logic'? And why should I care at a time like this?"
"It does follow a logic." said Opera Penguin.
"Yeah, but why should I care?" asked Vanessa.
"Because, you achieved something great. You altered your assumable powers, and likely the form in which you will generate further iterations of them, from sheer focus and determination." Opera Penguin said.
"Are you going to heal him or not?" asked Vanessa.
"Yeah, sure." said Opera Penguin, casually, before raising up something from the floor.
It was an orange cat man with a sideway baseball cap, casual clothes, and a skateboard.
"What the hell?" asked Vanessa.
"Behold! Casey. This is Casey now. This is who—and what—Casey is now." said Opera Penguin.
"What the hell?" asked Vanessa, getting up in a rage.
"Ohpe! Suddenly prejudiced against animal people?" asked Opera Penguin.
"I'm prejudiced against the idea of human people becoming them!" yelled Vanessa.
"Awwh, Rochelle! It looks like Vanessa doesn't like you so much after all!" said Opera Penguin.
"Did you not hear what I just said?" asked Vanessa.
"I did. Where do you think she came from? Haven't I mentioned? Don't you know that before there was that living wolf woman, there was a dead little girl?" said Opera Penguin, shrieking and laughing.
"Yooo, what's going on?" asked Casey.
"Get the fuck out!" Vanessa screamed, just as Rochelle weakly stammered at him with the intent to bring him closer.
"Don't gotta tell me twice." said Casey, before skating out.
"Wait!" said Vanessa, realizing what she had done.
Opera Penguin laughed.
. . .
Gregory, Ferdinand, Mangle and Cheyenne, meanwhile, were eating pizza, completely oblivious to all of this. Midway through, Cheyenne got Orpheus and Bernard to sit with them. Afterwards, Mangle showed everyone else her "pretty" form, and they were all amazed. At this point, Monsanto waltzed in on his own two feet, and began playing bass guitar. Overall, it was a pretty good night.
. . .
In his dreams, Ian Brandon Anderson was confronted by a man. The man appeared to be cosplaying as Tuxedo Mask, but he himself looked kind of like Ray Penber from Death Note, though with shorter hair and icy blue eyes. His cosplay also wasn't perfect, as the cape lining was blue, and not red, and the mask was more of a plain white symmetrical opera mask.
"Come to the Pizzaplex as soon as you can." said the man. "I created that power that is now part of you, and you owe it to me. Come now, or I will take it back the only way I can. . . by devouring you whole."
Ian woke up. He was sleeping on top of a skyscraper with his computer.
"Ugh. . ." he said. He opened up his computer, and it transformed, becoming bright lime green. He looked up the "Mega Pizzaplex", and clicked on "directions". He did, and as the route to it was decided, he suddenly glowed white, along with his computer.
They both blinked to the Pizzaplex.
"Do you have a reservation?" asked a woman at the counter.
"Hell yeah, I got some reservations." said Ian.
"Sir, please refrain-" started the woman.
"I'VE GOT SOME MOTHERFUCKING RESERVATIONS ABOUT GETTING DEATH THREATS IN MY SLEEP!" he screamed.
A dayshift security guard appeared, but Ian just flicked him in the face, and he got knocked out, probably brain damaged to a crippling degree.
"Wh-" said the lady, before Opera Penguin materialized behind Ian, and laid a hand on the back of his neck, causing him to fall asleep.
. . .
"Where am I?" asked Rochelle, who had woken up to blackness all around.
"I think it's best if you just get stowed away for now." said Opera Penguin. "In fact, I think we're done. Or, you're done."
"What?" asked Rochelle.
"Fired, if you will." said Opera Penguin.
"From what?" asked Rochelle. "I haven't got a job."
"Yes, you did. To be loved. You found love, and you said all sorts of things, made all sorts of promises in your private moments, about how far you'd go to stay with him. And you broke them all." said Casey. "You let him die, and then you let him go."
"But I didn't, Vanessa-" stammered Rochelle.
"You could have chased after him. You could have mustered up the strength to reach out. Instead, you didn't, because poor little you was too 'shocked' by everything that was going on." said Opera Penguin. "Well because of that, he's gone, and I've learned he was kidnapped by them. The preachers."
"No!" Rochelle said, voice breaking.
"Even now, he's probably being spiritually ground up into another footsoldier. Irreparably in pain. Unbearably damaged. His suffering a tale like many in hell." said Opera Penguin.
Rochelle broke down.
"So now, you are being consigned, by me, to the pit meant for the rejected children, the forgotten and forgettable ones, the forsaken, such as you now are." said Opera Penguin.
Then he vanished.
Rochelle bawled in the dark. She couldn't even see herself, but she knew she looked awful.
Then after a while, something appeared. A glowing man, floating, suspended in midair. He was a bit rough looking, even a little ugly. Though his jawline was visible, his chin was round and definitely would count as 'doubled'. His tensed eyebrows bore a look of conniving savagery, which his domed nose sharpened to a point. His cheeks bulged in a way that would be considered cheerful and winsome on a cartoon character, but on him just accentuated his pudge. He had uneven stubble, peppered with acne. Aside from his face, his figure was similarly overweight, but with broad shoulders and some musculature. He wore a black leather biker jacket with a gradient blue-to-cyan lightning bolt pattern and blue shoulder pads.
He seemed to be asleep as he floated in the air.
Rochelle approached him, tentatively. She reached out, and as soon as her hand touched the field of light, the light vanished, and she heard the thump of the man falling.
She heard him groaning. "Hey, am I dead?" he asked. "Is this where I go when I die?"
"I hope not!" said Rochelle.
"Oh hey, a woman. Not the guy who was threatening me. So what's with this place?" the man asked.
"I don't know." said Rochelle.
"Oh." said the man.
They sat in silence for a while.
After a while, Rochelle began crying again.
Eventually, the man had had enough. "Ugh, stop crying. I said, stop—stop. Being. Sad. Now."
Rochelle quieted a little, almost shocked by how callously the man asserted his demand. But then she decided to take it in a positive sense, as if he wanted her to be happy.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" she asked.
"Yeah?" he responded.
"I'm getting a little tired. Could you lie back and. . . hold me for a while?" she asked.
"Uhhh. . ." the man clearly did not want to, but out of an obvious fear that she might start crying again, he said "Yeah, sure."
"And another thing, if I say anything about the name 'Casey', please don't respond, just try not to talk at all if you can." said Rochelle.
"'kay then." said the man.
She drew herself up to him, climbed gently on top of him, and laid her head down. He gasped very gently, but seemed to calm down immediately. He tentatively put his hands on top of her.
After a while, she said "Actually, forget what I said, about 'Casey'."
"It's because I'm fat, isn't it?" he asked.
"Well no-" she began to lie.
"It's because of my disgusting, filthy moobs, right?" he said.
"What?" she said, now confused.
"My lard sack of a body?" he asked. "Can't evoke any reminiscence about, your ex-boyfriend, is it?"
"Alright, fine! I didn't want to say anything but if you're not gonna stop about it, yeah." Rochelle admitted.
There was a pause.
"Am I a bad person for admitting that?" asked Rochelle.
"Nah." said the man. "I mean, even if I did have big ideas about what makes a good person, any good ones would implicate me as a sack of shit, and most people are the same way. So don't worry so much about how bad a person you are according to this or that other."
"Th-thank you." said Rochelle.
There was another silence. The darkness evoked contemplation.
"He's dead, just so you know. My boyfriend. Well, sort of." said Rochelle.
"Sort of dead? That must be more complicated than just straight up dead." he said.
"Yeah, it really is." said Rochelle. "I feel horrible for saying this, but I almost wish he were just—just—dead—augh, no, of course I don't, what the hell is wrong with me?" she started crying again.
"No, no, no, no, you're okay, if he's no longer with you either way, then 'dead' would be simpler and less for your emotions to process. I think so, anyway. So it's natural for a base part of you to instinctively think that it'd be less painful, and wish you had that simpler predicament. Even if it's not really what the, 'higher' part of you wants. At least, I think that's how it works. But who knows? I'm just a fat dumbass shitposter and procrastinator. And up until recently worked at Arby's." said Ian.
"You really aren't that fat, you kno-" said Rochelle, cut off by a groan from Ian.
"Everyone says that. The mirror doesn't lie." he said.
"But you could. I mean, you could 'lie' to yourself that it must not really be that bad if everyone says it isn't." said Rochelle.
"Oh, please. I can tell it's their pity talking. The last little bit of pride in me refuses to accept esteem that comes from others' pity. I'd rather proudly despise myself. And so I do. But sometimes I try to help people out with their emotions. Because it makes me feel nice." said the strange man.
"Sounds like you're really trying to give yourself the least credit." said Rochelle.
"Well if I never give myself any credit then I can never give myself any undue credit or make any pretense about myself, and if I don't do that then no one can ever call me out for it. If I always say the worst about myself, then no one can say any worse. And if I say the worst that could possibly be seen as true by me, then if anyone says anything worse, then I know that, at least to myself, they're bullshitting me."
"Oh, wow." said Rochelle, not in an obviously sarcastic voice, but more with a sort of blankly amazed cadence.
"I'm Ian, by the way." he said.
"Ian. . . so how did you get here?" asked Rochelle.
"Well up until recently, I've been living in an apartment cheap enough to be paid by minimum wage bills so I don't have to live anywhere near my family. But then I woke up feeling pretty great. And then I sort of figured out I had magical powers out of nowhere. So I blew up my apartment to make a clean break from my whole life. Because screw everything." said Ian.
"Wowww. . ." said Rochelle, still not in an openly sarcastic voice, but more sort of horrified now than before. "But what about that family you mentioned?"
"I dunno. . ." said Ian. "To me, family is like. . . they're the people who knew you when you still shit your pants. And if you give them any excuse to look down on you, they'll still see you as the eternal pants-shitter. But you can't complain, no, you can never complain or resent them, because they're 'good people', and that way, you're just obligated to live with the imposed humiliation, the implicit skid-marks of your infantilization. You're seen like a child if you don't leave the nest, but then also you're that same child every time you go near the nest or near any of the other eggs. It's like saying, 'Hey, why do you want dignity anyway? Expecting a base degree of dignity is prideful and shameful.' So fuck 'em. They can all think I'm dead. Because the me they saw me as is dead too, that way. I don't care. Like I said. Screw everything."
". . .wh-howw. . ." said Rochelle.
"Anyway, should I try breathing less? Is it getting in the way of you relaxing?" asked Ian.
"N-no, don't worry about it. . ." said Rochelle. "Don't suffocate for me. . ."
"You don't have to be so dramatic about it." said Ian. "I was just asking if I should take lighter breaths."
"No, really. . ." said Rochelle.
"By the way, you're not human, are you?" asked Ian.
"Wha-?" asked Rochelle.
"With the fur, and all." clarified Ian.
"No, I'm not. Do you hate me for that?" asked Rochelle.
"Lady, I don't know you enough to have any kind of passion for you. Good or bad." said Ian.
"So you're saying you don't hate me." said Rochelle.
"Or love you. Honestly I'm just curious about you. I mean I've prattled about myself enough. Can I get a look at you?" asked Ian.
"Yeah, sure. . ." said Rochelle, all too aware of how thin she had become.
Ian held up a thumb and a small blue bead of electric light came into being at its tip.
"Huhhm. Pretty." Ian said, with not much enthusiasm.
"I am?" asked Rochelle.
"Yeah, although I don't know why I think this, since I've never seen you aside from this way, but you look a bit. . . worse for wear." said Ian.
"In an. . . ugly way?" asked Rochelle.
"I just said you were pretty." said Ian, flatly.
"Yes, but" said Rochelle, without finishing her sentence.
"You remind me of my ex." said Ian. "Only mildly, and only in this one little way. But she would always need double reassurance of herself. Even when I would pour out all my affections on her. Not that I'm implying that that's what I'm doing to you. It's only a basic resemblance, you understand."
"Tell me about her." said Rochelle.
"I only just quit my ramblings about myself, and already you want to hear more related to me?" asked Ian.
"Well, I mean it's not directly about you, even if it is your past." said Rochelle.
"Alright. Well." said Ian. "We were both seventeen. It was over the Internet. She'd been through so much shit it made me feel inferior, but she loved me like I could never love myself, and I did the same to her. But, of course, I let something slip to my parents and in their all-benevolent condescending micromanagement of my being, they tried to shut it down. Of course, she and I didn't just take that at face value, but a consequence of it was that we could never meet in person. After a while, that was the one thing that split us apart. I think apart from my general feelings about family, that's the one thing that made me never want to spend time around them again. A part of my life, one of the few that I felt was flourishing, died because of their self-righteous nannying regarding what they thought was right. Their incompetence made them hurt me more than she ever could. Now, because of their sanctimonious strongarming, even four years later I don't think I'll ever love again. My living under their roof was a temporary thing that now has had permanent consequences. If only Gretchen's and my relationship had happened a little later. . . but it didn't. And now the girl who was part of my life and part of my being is now part of someone else's, and they of hers. Of course, I completely ruined my relationship with her after she broke up with me. She called me crazy, possessive. But how can you not be possessive of someone when they're a part of who you are?"
Rochelle was quiet for a time. "I understand that, so much. Maybe she didn't see love the same way we do?"
Ian chuckled. "It's really funny being verbally tethered into a 'we' involving you and me. Especially talking about love. What even is your name?"
"Rochelle." said Rochelle.
"Pretty name, I guess." said Ian.
"You keep saying that about me." said Rochelle.
"Well, I don't know much else about you except basic impressions. 'Pretty' is just one such impression." said Ian.
"Well, if. . . you got to know me, better. . ." said Rochelle. "what do you think you would feel about me?"
"Well I don't know, because I don't know you better yet." said Ian.
There was a silence again.
"I can't believe I just realized this." said Ian.
"Yes?" asked Rochelle.
"You're one of the characters, on the sign. In the ads." said Ian. "But I don't remember your name being 'Rochelle'. It was something more like 'Rouge', or 'Roseanne', or 'Rox-'"
"Please, it's Rochelle. I'm Rochelle. I'm sort of her, but not her. And. . . there's consequences for being called her name. For me." said Rochelle.
"Emotional ones? Is it upsetting? Are you some kind of puppy homunculus who lives in the shadow of the character in whose likeness they were made?" asked Ian.
"No! Well. . . almost, but not really." said Rochelle.
"Care to elaborate?" asked Ian.
"Well, basically, I. . . am her, or I was, but I think I was originally someone else. Then I died, and I got stuck here in some kind of limbo. But I possessed the machine that was the 'live' version of her. So I 'became' her, my soul or whatever became the soul it didn't have. She became the body I didn't have. Those machines get treated like stars, so I got to live a life that an unfeeling machine was already living, by becoming part of it. And in doing so replaced the old life I had, before I died. But my ghost getting jammed up in the machinery made it so that I could only think how the programming would think anyway. So I really became it. It was like it shaped me. And that's the shape I still am, only that. . . magician, guy, came and gave me this life, this body and the ability to be a fully-functional person again. But at the same time I think he erased every bit of my original self, from before my death." said Rochelle.
Another one of the pauses with which they were now both acquainted passed.
"So how's this got to do with your name?" asked Ian.
"It was part of his magic. . . we all had to be called by new names, and we would be 'punished' by some part of the magic if we called ourselves by the old ones, or even were called by them. It's like a shock." said Rochelle.
Pause.
"By the way, you never finished telling me how you got here." added Rochelle.
"Well, after I got my powers, I got a dream from a magician guy saying I had to come here or he'd take the powers back by killing me and taking my spirit." said Ian.
"Sounds like the same guy." said Rochelle.
"Sounds like a swell guy." said Ian.
"What do you mean?" asked Rochelle.
"I was being sarcastic. The fact that you can identify him by the fact that he's a magician and he acts like an asshole say to me that assholery is therefore by definition one of his defining characteristics." said Ian. "Along with being a magician."
"Well, I guess you're not wrong. . ." said Rochelle.
"Are you sure you're comfortable in this position?" asked Ian.
"Ian, I'm more comfortable than I could possibly otherwise be." said Rochelle.
Ian shuddered at the sound of his own name. He didn't like it, because he associated it with himself, and also because it just made him think of fingernails for some reason. He also did not like being addressed directly, as it gave him anxiety. But he did not mention this.
"Even when I'm breathing?" asked Ian.
"Yes!" Rochelle snapped.
Pause.
"Really, thank you. . ." she said. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you're here."
"You're welcome, I guess." said Ian.
Pause.
". . .I'm glad you're here, too." said Ian.
"Really?" asked Rochelle.
"Yeah." said Ian.