"Anyway, let's also get to improving you three." said Opera Penguin.
"How?" asked Andre.
"You'll see." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Night 51
"HOW FUCKING LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SUMMONING DEMONS AT US AFTER DRAGGING US OUT INTO THIS CURRY POWDER HELLSCAPE?!" screamed Andre.
"It's been about 24 hours, but I've been subtly rejuvenating you periodically." said Opera Penguin.
"How do you know the Converts haven't broken in yet?" asked Vanessa.
"If I can spy on you in there, I can spy on there from here." said Opera Penguin.
"But those seem like different distances." said Vanessa.
"I made a not-hellmouth, remember?" said Opera Penguin. "Here is practically there!"
"What are you talking about?" asked Andre.
"I'm not going to bother explaining it to you, you're too simple." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh, you're still hanging onto that?" asked Vanessa.
"It's not just a joke, it's unequivocally true." said Opera Penguin. "If you'd seen him up to now, you'd know. He has a very one-track mind."
"The fuck does that mean?" asked Andre.
"Ghost rocker girls is good. Homework and broccoli is bad. Buttholes shouldn't exists and noses is best when sharpened like pencil." mocked Opera Penguin.
"Fuck you, man!" said Andre.
"Anyway, I think we can take a break now." said Opera Penguin. "Or. . . maybe just. . . one more. . ."
"No, I want to quit now-" said Andre, before something that looked like a bizarrely upright, gigantic black T-rex with a deformed, overly rounded head and purple veins throbbing on his back dropped out of the sky, with a sound like thunder. Its arms were as useless as expected, and its head was so oddly shaped as to have its mouth be too concave to bite properly, aside from it having the bastard child of human teeth and kitten milk teeth, however its tail was a sweeping menace, maybe seventy-five feet long, and the creature bounced up and down repeatedly, causing earthquakes.
After the three """heroes""" made short work of it, Andre just stared at Penguin, as he huffed from his dry throat.
"Alright, you can all come back into the Pizzaplex." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Later, Andre harassed Monsanto for breaking up with Cheyenne, due to his prior declarations about 'white bird, green bird', but it mostly took the form of him staring Monsanto down, his eyes glowing red, his hair ashen, until Monsanto shoved him away.
Ironically, Cheyenne ended up standing up to Andre more resolutely, as she yelled at him for trying to intimidate Monsanto, pushing at Andre, and then even pecking at him. Andre stared down at her, too, before bizarrely enough, Cheyenne fell on him, falling back into her previous state of grief.
Gradually, Andre was unable to hold to his steely countenance, as his hair reverted to a more brass color, and his eyes a blue-green.
"Don't try to make me like Ian." said Andre. "I'm not okay with that."
"What? What do you mean?" asked Cheyenne.
"Dumb broads like you don't have the first sign of self-respect, so you look for it in the worst place: you look for it in men. And when your men fail you, you don't get it, and you look for it in other men, and what's worse is you're desperate now because you assume it's because of you that you lost them, because bereft of your man you don't feel like you're worth shit, so you resort to the most revolting, shitty, low-hanging man you can find. That's how Ian got Rochelle. Whatever reasons she might give you are at most the reason she stayed with him after they got together. But the only reason they got together in the first place was because she was desperate and rebounded. What I'm saying is. Don't force me into that role. I'm not here for that." said Andre.
"You sexist jerk!" said Cheyenne, slapping Andre across the face. He barely even moved in response to the slap.
"Yeah, I am. I'm severely misandrist, I hate men, I hate myself for being born a man in this life, and I really fucking hate to see dumb fucking bitches like you squandering the female life they've got. Even if you are a chicken." said Andre.
"You're weird, bro." said Monsanto.
"I'm weird because I am a 'bro'." said Andre. "Though I don't think I'm your 'bro'."
"Honestly, all that stuff you just said sounds like backpedaling after you outed yourself as sexist." said Cheyenne.
"I don't care if you think that." said Andre. "But what I said is the truth."
"Wait, were you saying you were revolting?" asked Cheyenne.
"Yeah, but not for that." said Andre. "I'm just. . . I don't know who I am. I want to be one thing, but part of me feels bad for that and thinks I should be another. And another part of me thinks I'm not being that thing enough, or in the right way."
"Yeah, that's really vague, buddy." said Monsanto.
"I wasn't even thinking about you that way, anyway." said Cheyenne. "Honestly, it seems like you kind of have a big sense of self-importance that tricks you a lot."
Andre chuckled, mirthlessly. "Yeah. I guess I do." said Andre.
"Anyway, if I did want you that badly, I could just threaten to tell Penguin you weren't mingling with us willingly, because I think he'd do something worse than what you were complaining about to you." said Cheyenne.
"Cheyenne, what the hell?" asked Monsanto.
Andre let out something between a growl, a chuff and a sigh. "You wouldn't. . ." he said.
"I would." said Cheyenne. "In fact," she pulled Andre to her by the shoulder, her claws digging into the base of his neck. "just. . . hold me. It doesn't have to mean anything deeper. Just. Hold me."
Andre just put his arms around her, froze, and let her hang there.
"Closer." she said.
Andre squeezed, but it apparently wasn't enough.
"Warmer." she said.
"I don't understand." said Andre.
"Warmer! You'll understand as soon as you're willing to try." said Cheyenne.
Andre held her a little more sincerely, and a little less rigidly.
Cheyenne's clawed grip loosened, and she sunk into him.
Andre's eyes went back to red and hair back to ash as he inaudibly snarled.
Monsanto watched, awkwardly, before backing off and leaving.
"Now sit down on the floor." said Cheyenne.
Andre did as told, his colors shifting back to normal.
Cheyenne sat close, facing opposite to him.
"What do you like doing, Andre?" asked Cheyenne.
"Doing?" asked Andre.
"Yeah, what do you like doing, what's your leisure activity?" asked Cheyenne.
"Why do you care?" asked Andre.
"Because caring about random things will distract my care from other things." said Cheyenne.
"Oh, well I used to make cartoons about these ghost girls in a rock band." said Andre, as one of his underlings drifted up through the floor and to the ceiling, jeering at him, and he made a mental note to destroy her later. "Based on a cartoon, you might have seen it, called Danny Phantom?"
"Uhh. . . not really." said Cheyenne.
"Oh." said Andre.
"But your cartoons that you made, tell me about them." said Cheyenne.
"Well, it was about these people, and they were bullied and then died, and then they came back as ghost girls and made a band. . ." said Andre.
"What did they play?" asked Cheyenne.
"Well, you know, uhh, rock music." said Andre.
"No, sorry, I meant what instruments?" asked Cheyenne.
"Electric guitar." said Andre.
"And?" asked Cheyenne.
"Electric guitar." said Andre.
"But they couldn't all be playing electric guitar, right?" asked Cheyenne.
"No, they were." said Andre.
"You, like electric guitars?" asked Cheyenne.
"Oh, yeah." said Andre.
Cheyenne got up, took him to her room and played for him.
"Oh, uh. Wow." said Andre, as he sat meekly on the edge of Cheyenne's bed.
"What, is it that bad?" asked Cheyenne, half joking.
"No!" said Andre, one-hundred percent seriously. "I love it."
"Calm down, yeesh." said Cheyenne.
"I just didn't want you to feel insulted about that, I really liked it." said Andre, smiling in an oddly shy way, given his previously-aggressive attitude.
"You're blushing." said Cheyenne.
"A-and? So what?" Andre said, scrunching up defensively.
Cheyenne sat down next to him and side-hugged him.
"No need to be scared of me, I don't peck." she jested.
Andre grunted.
"And I'm not really going to rat you out to Opera Penguin for not doing everything I say." said Cheyenne.
"Oh?" asked Andre.
"Yeah." said Cheyenne. "In fact, I don't really want to talk to him any more than I have to."
"Oh, I see." said Andre.
Then suddenly, Cheyenne swung herself over Andre, suddenly all too close, straddling him.
"But why don't you 'want to be like Ian'? Why does Rochelle get to have this person that makes everyone else so miserable, but her so happy somehow? Why am I not worth that? Before Rochelle was even Rochelle, Roxanne was the fan favorite, and what was I? Just the designated 'woman', because Roxy was too much more to be just that. Am I really that dull?" asked Cheyenne.
"Cheyenne, what are you doing?" asked Andre.
"I just want to know." said Cheyenne. "I mean, I'm apparently not even worth Monsanto, when I thought he was my equal, my fellow, my match. . ."
"My whole point was that you and she are both resorting to gross, unworthy people when if you had more options, you'd see, and you wouldn't stick yourself to people who aren't worth you." said Andre. "And you're just proving me right."
Cheyenne's hand gripped around the back of Andre's neck, and once more her claws dug in.
"I don't think you're as bad as Ian." said Cheyenne, and then she kissed him.
The sudden fear of deep-throating Cheyenne's beak, combined with uncanniness oddly plastic-like flexibility of her beak as it unnaturally simulated the motion of lips, and finally the taste of her lipstick plunged into his mouth made Andre flail slightly, but Cheyenne's claw dug in deeper as she kissed more passionately and intrusively, trailing off with a slight moan/grunt as she drew back and her grip loosened into a gentle touch, beginning to stroke the back of Andre's neck.
"You've already admitted you don't want to talk to Penguin." said Andre. "Your leverage is gone. You don't have anything to force me with."
"I don't intend to talk to him, but if you just push me away and disregard me like everyone else does, I'll force you, somehow, to kill me. And then you'll have to face Penguin for that without me ever having to speak to him. Without me having to do anything more at all." said Cheyenne.
"I'm not going to hurt you." said Andre.
"The worst way you can hurt me is by rejecting me." said Cheyenne.
"You can't just lay claim to someone and say they're hurting you if they keep hold of their personal boundaries." said Andre, as an additional, somewhat hammier pair of legs, encased in black leather, a blue lightning bolt on one knee and a cyan one on the other, slipped around him, from behind.
"Give her what she wants, fuckface." growled Ian, in Andre's ear.
"I beat you once already-" said Andre, before Ian interrupted, "I jobbed. I let you win. I put up some theatrics, and made it seem like I was trying hard, and was overwhelmed, but I was told beforehand that you were to win. But now. . ." Ian's hands, which were oddly soft and delicate, clasped either side of Andre's head.
"Get out." said Cheyenne, with an anger that flared up as suddenly as Ian had appeared, as if to rise promptly to the occasion of Ian's intrusion. "Get out, now! You have some nerve, coming into my room!"
"Heh, glass houses!" said Ian, levitating up, off Andre. "And I was just trying to help my girlfriend's bestie. . ."
"THAT WAS ROCHELLE'S ROOM, NOT YOURS! AND YOU SHOULDN'T BE WELCOME THERE, EITHER, YOU FAT BASTARD!" Cheyenne said, plain distress more apparent in her voice than the anger she was trying to project.
Ian cackled, and took on an azure, gaseous form, then slipped out the crack in Cheyenne's door.
Cheyenne then slumped onto Andre in a half grip, half hug, and he felt her heartbeat. It was racing. She had just been utterly terrified by the surprise appearance of Ian, and yet this did little to curb her 'interest' in Andre.
"I'm a mass murderer, Cheyenne." said Andre. "A monster. And one with no feelings of repentance. I will never be okay to normal morality."
"Andre, please don't tell me. I already know our happy little world is built on evil, but there's nothing I can do about it so I just want to try and be happy." said Cheyenne.
"So you're willing to be with a murderer?" asked Andre.
"Andre, please, stop-yes, but I don't want to be thinking about it. I just want to feel like someone cares, loves me, feels like I'm an equal and not just that nice fixture in the halls or a petty friend to be sated, Andre. I mean, Rochelle, and before the change, Roxanne, always wanted love, love, love and it was never enough for her, either it wasn't enough because it wasn't more than everyone else's, or she doubted that there was any at all, it's jsut focused all into whoever she's individually got her heart set on. I mean, she's my bestie but I'm a little annoyed how she went from demanding to be the most popular, to be called 'the best', to demanding that everyone accept her pampering of this, this mean, ugly, gross, nnngh. . . loser! He's a loser, who feels sorry for himself, and he should, because he sucks! He tries to feel cool by being the most intolerable, revolting jerk, or maybe he's really just like that, and I don't know which would be worse but I really just wish he'd die." said Cheyenne.
"A lot of talk about death around here." said Andre, and as Cheyenne opened her mouth to call him out as a hypocrite, he continued, "I'll fit right in." in a voice for which a South African Ellen Degeneres-looking cyborg ninja would name himself after a British serial killer, as his eyes flashed red.
"Then are you willing to stay here? And be kind, just to us? Are you willing to call this place home, and us, your friends?" asked Cheyenne.
". . .yeah. I guess." said Andre.
"Then you're already better than Ian, and so I can justify wanting you." said Cheyenne.
"Heh, you still got really low standards." said Andre.
"It's all I can have. I mean, no one's getting married in this place anyway. So if, and when we ever get out, if you're really so sure you're not worth it, I can find someone else." said Cheyenne.
"Boo!" said Ian, who had been standing just outside the door, evesdropping.
Andre then thrust forth his palm, manifesting Fading Moon at high velocity, sending it piercing through the door.
"Owww. . . said Ian, who sounded like he was starting to cry like a little bitch.
"Thanks." said Cheyenne, who, though having been dislodged by Andre's aggression, nestled back into his chest.
"Do you want me to beat up Rochelle? Not really hurt her, you know, rough her up a little?" asked Andre.
"What? No!" Cheyenne cried. "Why would I want you to do that?"
"Well, she's a bully, right?" asked Andre.
"No, she's not, she's my best. Friend. She just doesn't understand how wanting more and more love and importance and saying it's not enough when she's already got so much pushes me down when I'm hardly ever in the spotlight!" said Cheyenne. "And I don't think she understands love except when it's either being disproportionately given to her in the form of fans, or when it's more or less mutual in a relationship, and really she only care about the mutuality because she has to love her lover in order to care about theirs for her. Oh, I'm being so horrible but I'm not trying to slander her!"
Andre kissed Cheyenne back. "It's alright. I don't think you're lying, or that you're even wrong."
"I think she does love when she loves, she just doesn't realize how much she's only doing it all for the 'romantic experience'." said Cheyenne.
"She looks fat anyway." said Andre.
"Andre!" said Cheyenne, taken aback.
"What? You talked shit about Ian. Not that I care about him anyway, but, y'know." said Andre.
"Yeah, that's the thing-look, just get along with Rochelle, try to tolerate Ian, be nice, okay, because I'm unhealthily attracted to you in the exact pattern you said you didn't want to be the target of." said Cheyenne.
"Yeah, I figured that. You're okay, though. I understand feeling undervalued for who and what I am." said Andre.
"Rochelle is always talking about how Ian 'understands' her." said Cheyenne.
"Well, I guess we already figured out that there's a correlation going on here." said Andre.
"Ohh. Hey, you seem a lot more okay with this than you did before Ian came in." said Cheyenne.
"Well, I really hope this doesn't make you feel manipulative, but hearing you talk just made me care significantly more." said Andre.
"Well, it wouldn't have made me feel manipulative unless you mentioned the idea of me feeling manipulative." said Cheyenne.
"Fucking damn it." said Andre.
Cheyenne poked her beak into Andre's face.
"It doesn't matter that much, though." she said. "I just need this. This warmth. This moment."
"Nothing more?" asked Andre.
"Well, I do have long-term needs. I truly need to show care. Penguin gave us all these weird, ritualistic 'needs' but I'm talking more about me, personally, psychologically. I have so much love I want to give and I can't and it's killing me, and it's killing me more because I feel like all the drama is being taken up by my best friend who just. Doesn't. Understand. You get me?"
"Yeah, I guess I sort of do." said Andre.
"And I feel like everyone takes me for granted, sees me as just this cardboard cutout of 'niceness' and sanitized, almost maternal care and it's my fault for playing into that by being, being, what's the word Opera Penguin uses sometimes, 'complacent'."
"I think I understand." said Andre.
"I just want to get to have what Rochelle has, just sometimes. I want to feel like a pretty girl that people like, like an exciting, lovable person, not a nanny or a garbage disposal, you know? Oh yeah, I also have a reputation for eating too much." said Cheyenne.
"I'll let you mooch off me at the table or wherever we eat, if you want." said Andre.
"Thanks, but that's not my point. I feel like I'm not getting afforded all the privileges of being my own person-sorry, I was trying to seduce you before and now I'm talking to you like you're my therapist." said Cheyenne.
"It's really alright." said Andre.
"Thanks." said Cheyenne, who then without warning threw herself back onto Andre and the two of them together.
. . .
"Ian, I just had the best idea!' said Opera Penguin.
"Yeah?" asked Ian.
"We fake your death!" said Opera Penguin.
"Whu-? Why?" asked Ian.
"You fuck Rochelle over emotionally, and then promptly 'die'." said Opera Penguin, making the air quotes to clarify to Ian. "That way, we can cap your presence here off entirely, and satisfy everyone here who hates you! Specifically, we consign you apparently to the same fate Casey was subject to."
"Could you give me a refresher on that again?" asked Ian.
Opera Penguin did.
"So what, I have to become a furry and then get kidnapped?" asked Ian.
"No." said Opera Penguin. "You simply have to stage a moment of 'realization', a moment of 'emancipation', wherein you realize that 'you do not need any of us', yet that 'we need you', and thus that you will leave us all behind, 'to pursue your freedom', or perhaps 'to leave us to rot in our insufficiency'. Then I shoot you, in the middle of a crowd of Converts, make it look like they're getting you, but I will take Burnt Roxanne from her place in the Freddy's dream worlds, and convert her connections to that place to the ability to perceive and rescue you. And so she will.
"She'll be able to take me from wherever she sees me?" asked Ian.
"Indeed." said Opera Penguin, ominously.
"So I'll never be free." said Ian.
"You would never be free from her, either way, Ian." said Opera Penguin. "Regardless of location." Because in your own mind, you chain yourself to her. You don't love like a lover, Ian. You love like a slave. Penguin thought.
"Yeah." said Ian. "You're right."
"But you do truly love her, yes? More sincerely than you do Rochelle? You'll be able to be happy this way, right, Ian?" Opera Penguin said, prodding him internally.
"Yeah. . ." said Ian, unsure.
"Of course, you'll have to live in Lowrealm from now on." said Opera Penguin.
"Whu-" said Ian, staring.
"You did realize that, yes? Or did that not get through to you?"
"I thought I could 're-surface' somewhere else." said Ian.
"Oh, sure!" said Opera Penguin, and Ian brightened up. "But not in this world." he added, putting Ian back down.
"Dafuq you mean?" asked Ian.
"I mean, quite simply, that there are many other worlds to which there is a path in Lowrealm. Find your path to them, and the world-whichever realm it is-is your oyster." said Opera Penguin.
"Fuuuuck that!" said Ian.
"I'm afraid your choice is already made." said Opera Penguin. "Even though we are set to part ways, you are still subject to me as of now. And I cannot have you hanging around here any more. You are bound in chains to fly away, like a free bird, bar the burden upon you."
"So I have to go to hell, or just vacation there on my way to who-knows-where-else?" asked Ian.
"Yes, but. . . nothing can be worse than hell. . . right?" asked Opera Penguin. "Of course, there is some risk-you could always go deeper into Lowrealm, which has many regions, quite varied, and some of them much more hellish than others. Lowrealm has become a coagulate dimension that assimilates all others which truly descend-you could think of it as the 'center of gravity' to which all worlds that fall, fall. The original ones may not seem that way, they are a jungle, a jungle deep in darkness, the soil pitch black, the sky pitch black, the trees a deep green and all the surrounding area only coherently perceptible through the strange neon highlights that pepper the foliage and, indeed, many of the fauna. It's like the ocean, but one of darkness. It has no daylight, but it has a day and night cycle. The day is marked by sweltering humidity, the night by icy dryness. The place may seem innocuous, but it became the center and origin point of Lowrealm for a reason. Every being there that has the capacity for morality, at least, every significant one, has become malignant, corrupt. You may notice, should you ever be so unfortunate as to end up there, that there are no biting insects. These beings are so acrimonious that they have even used their powers to wipe such annoyances, such affronts to their self-perceived majesty, out. And it is they that hear of any talk of Lowrealm."
"But you're still talking mad shit about them." said Ian.
"Yes." said Opera Penguin, smiling. "Anyway, you can probably steer clear of those lower layer simply by. . . not walking through any rifts that give you an ominous feeling. Stick to the golden rainforests, and you'll avoid the volcanic regions, the pits, the crags, the swirling and the midnight sea. None of those are good to be in for any length of time."
"All of those are extremely ominous." said Ian.
"If you see a way out, you'll know it. You'll get a sense of 'light', even if the other side is actually physically dark. Much better the darkness of a kind and homely world than the even the outskirts of Lowrealm's sickly ochre rays of sun." said Opera Penguin.
"So wait, is the daylight that color all over Lowrealm?" asked Ian.
"No, as far as I know it's only in that particular fringe, which is a new addition to Lowrealm, I believe." said Opera Penguin.
"It doesn't seem all that hellish." said Ian.
"It only sunk there because the sapient population was wiped out centuries ago by a few open portals to Lowrealm." Opera Penguin explained. "Although some of the natural life there has been evolving into somethign more demonic as a result. Vines that whip at you for no reason, mosquitos that burrow into your skin, that sort of thing."
Ian uttered an impassioned racial slur as he stared down at his arms, imagining mosquitos writhing underneath.
"Anyway, people concieve of Lowrealm as being layered, as if there were order to it, but in reality, it's more of a patchwork quilt. Worlds are sewn in over time, and I truly do mean over time. Though a worse world will fall quicker, many 'hell' worlds are now present that fulfill all the stereotypes, perfectly, to a T-infernos, demons, violence, screaming, a vague, hazy sky with a color like hot dog water, the whole bit-are still their own independent worlds at this point in time, while previous 'attempts' at Earthrealm that didn't come along so well have fallen well into Lowrealm. Proximity to the center of Lowrealm is based on how long a world has been merging into it." said Opera Penguin.
"What do you mean, 'attempts' at Earthrealm?" asked Ian.
"I mean that the Overseer has wanted to make a mundane world for a long time, just to explore the possibility, but rather than seeing his repeated failures as fate saying 'no', and taking 'no' for an answer, the Overseer just broke the failures, allowing magic to exist but also sending them flying into hell. Eventually he came up with this one. And this one is doing so well." said Opera Penguin.
Ian laughed.
"But anyway once you're gone, don't come back to Earth. It will never be safe for you. I will make sure of that." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Andre panted in the post-coital afterglow, looking at the bird on top of him. Despite his physical capabilities, he had felt, during intercourse, like she was about to crush him-she was probably twice his mass, although that was more because of how skinny he was than anything else. She wasn't awfully fat-even by his incredibly judgemental standards, he only considered her 'chubby', and even then only somewhat.
She was happy. She was smiling. She told him that she loved him. But all Andre felt was more like Kendall then ever before. One of his ghostly vassals, invisible and inaudible to Cheyenne, leered at him from the corner of the ceiling and called him a manwhore. She didn't need to. He knew already that he was. He was disgusted with himself. He wanted to kill himself. He'd let himself get pressured into sex by a chunky, sweaty Chicken Little genderbend.
"Andre?" asked Cheyenne. "You've gone all quiet. What's wrong?"
"Oh, it's nothing." Kendall said.
"Are you sure?" asked Cheyenne.
"Well, it's just. . ." said Kendall. "I don't belong here. I'm only here because I lost a fight that I said I'd win. And by being here, I'm doing what I said I'd never do. So shortly ago. . ."
"Andre, I know it must be painful, but the fact is that if you had won, we—all of us, here—would probably have lost our home here!" said Cheyenne.
"Rrrgh, I don't care!" snapped Andre, trying to toss over and away from Cheyenne, but failing because she was literally on top of him and he didn't actually have the heart to throw her off.
"Andre, don't try to push me away, literally or figuratively. I know you might not have cared, but you do now, I can see it in your eyes." said Cheyenne, and then she hissed "Don't you turn red at me."
Contrary to her demand, Andre's eyes glared in more sense than one as they became twin beacons of crimson, but then they subsided.
"Ugh. . . I just. . . feel like I've fucked up." said Andre. "And gone off the rails from who I truly am, into some kind of. . . mistake."
"I think all of us, here, have." said Cheyenne, suddenly speaking in an oddly hollow voice. "You know, this might sound weird, but sometimes, I have these odd memories, in the periphery of my mind. . . I remember being someone else. And then dying. I think this place is a sort of safety net, a little world that catches all the broken hearts that end up here, and keeps them in a sweet, safe, even loving existence. We're all happy here, more or less, and we're beautiful, in a way. It's all so. . . cozy. And I don't know about Opera Penguin's plans, but as far as I'm concerned, you're always welcome here, especially if you'll, well."
"I don't know if I want to be with you yet." said Andre. "It's all so. . . strange. Like, I never could've pictured myself, well. . . losing my virginity to a bird. But here I am."
"Well, I mean, since you already have done that, why not stay? You would brighten up the night. The brightest star, for all to see." said Cheyenne.
"I don't get why you're trying to butter me up. I don't belong here." said Andre.
"Because, well," said Cheyenne, and, as her social skills gave out, she booted up her personal computer and went onto Youtube, playing You Spin Me Right Round while playing to the song with her guitar.
Andre came his pants again, but didn't admit it.
. . .
"I feel so. . . alive!" said William, in the Atrium, who was now wearing a toga on his body and a laurel wreath on his head.
"I know you're going to get pissed, but you're still not quite ready-" said Opera Penguin, as William yelled, "OH, ENOUGH!" in an exasperated voice, as he threw a haymaker at Opera Penguin, only for his body to cease up, and his fist to stop as if he had hit an invisible and impenetrable wall, and with much the same pain.
William struggled to move, as Opera Penguin casually stepped around him, arms behind his back, before he momentarily became a blur as he conjured up a blue whip, lashing William's outstretched arm, and then delivering three more lashes across William's face and body. The whip looked silky, but it left a burning sensation that hurt as bad as if it had rocks intertwined into it—whether it was actually searing hot. electrocuted or something else, William couldn't tell.
"You never learn, do you, Willy?" asked Penguin.
"Why? WHY?!" roared William.
"Because, you still aren't complete. You think you are, but that's because you're complacent with mere superhuman ability. We are trying to make you a god, remember?" said Penguin.
"So you can use me as your beast of burden, right?" asked William.
"YeeeeEEEEEeeesssssss." sighed Penguin, his turn to sound frustrated. "We've been through this, remember?"
"Is this how you always treat him?" asked Vanessa.
"Well, it's not always this kinky," said Opera Penguin, "but I'm usually helpful in this way."
"Damn you to hell." said William.
"Which one?" asked Opera Penguin, and then he laughed.
. . .
Gregory nestled softly with the delicate body of Mangle in her 'special' form, still holding him.
"You know, this'll be a perfect chance for me to die." said Gregory.
"Don't say that." said Mangle.
"Don't blame yourself if I do." said Gregory.
"Then don't make it sound like you're going to die on my account." said Mangle.
"You're still okay with the fact that I might not die, and I might not ever be with you?" asked Gregory.
"Yeah. I figure if I accept that, it doesn't make me guilty of dragging you into death." said Mangle.
"It's alright." said Gregory.
"It's not alright if I sabotage your chance for happiness." said Mangle.
Gregory kissed her.
She was shocked, but Gregory said "Don't let that go to your head. It was just in the moment." and she said "Yeah." tittering absentmindedly.
"But thanks to you, I have a good future ahead, whether I live or die." said Gregory.
"I'm glad I'm a good future to you." said Mangle.
"But if I live, can you find someone?" asked Gregory. "I don't want to feel bad about living, if I do."
"I don't want to think about that until I have to." said Mangle.
"It'll be harder if you do that." said Gregory.
"I don't care. I want to stick with you until I can't anymore." said Mangle.
"But if I find someone else, then you'll start looking?" asked Gregory.
"Maybe." said Mangle. "But I'll probably wait, even then, until I lose hope."
"I think you should find someone else so you don't feel inferior." said Gregory.
"Inferior?" asked Mangle.
"I mean, I'd have a partner and you wouldn't, so you might feel inferior to me, or you might feel inferior to whoever I'm with instead of you, or both, or to yourself if you had just killed me-" said Gregory, before Mangle said "Stop. Don't introduce this kind of stuff into my head, I don't want to think about it."
"Whatever, just keep yourself safe if the worst comes to the worst and let me meet my fate. I don't want to betray you by letting you get hurt when my death would make everyone happy." said Gregory.
"Have I really screwed you up this badly?" asked Mangle, her face falling.
Gregory grabbed either side of her face. "No, no, no. I choose to see it this way. I choose to see the positives in all of this, and I see that if you get hurt, we're both sad, but if I die, you get what you want, I get to enjoy the same thing. I'm not trying to die. I'm just observing that if I die, that's so much better than if you die. I want you to be happy, so just stop worrying about what you did. This whole place was going to screw me up anyway, so stop caring—stop internalizing what the no-fun-allowed bitch said the other night—okay?"
Mangle stared at him, looking overwhelmed.
Gregory scrunched the sides of her face, more affectionately this time. "Just, be happy, for me, please? I won't die. Probably not. But if I do, I know I won't regret it. But it'll be a worse future if you're miserable all the time because you're worried about whether you manipulated me. You're kind of like a kid too, so just stop. Be happy. I love you."
Mangle caved, and hugged Gregory tightly again.
. . .
Monsanto sat in his room, hugging his legs. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He felt completely isolated. . . but he wasn't.
"So, how does it feel to have thrown away what I longed for, for so long?" asked Bernard.
"Huh?" asked Monsanto.
"Cheyenne." said Bernard. "I've longed for her for so long, and you just. . . felt wrong about it. So you threw her away."
"Well, if people can really feel that someone is the one for them, then they can feel that someone isn't." said Monsanto.
"That's fair. I guess." said Bernard. "Just. I guess my emotions are clouding my judgement, but. . . I was so jealous of you, almost resented you. Having what I truly wanted."
"Sorry, bro. But hey, doesn't that make it better that I didn't lay claim to a relationship I didn't want, that I didn't think was right for me?" asked Monsanto.
". . .you're. . . right." said Bernard.
Monsanto patted the bed beside him. "I ain't exactly got any social obligations at the moment. So, if you're hard up for attention, c'mon."
Bernard paused, and then sat next to Monsanto, who put an arm around him.
"It really more bothers me that she's instantly jumped to that interloper. It's as if she's going out of her way to be with anyone except me." said Bernard.
"Eh, yeah, but you've got to remember, people are having this memory issue with you, yeah?" asked Monsanto.
"True." said Bernard. "But you would think, in the midst of her acute desperation, that she might be bothered to remember."
"Maybe she specifically just ain't into ya." said Monsanto.
"She didn't make it sound like that. She made it sound like it was specifically because of you." said Bernard.
"Hey, I'm sorry, man!" said Monsanto, raising his free arm in a jazz hand of the sort appropriate for The Crocodile!
"No, no, I'm not really angry at you, I just. . . she went out of her way to pin a maybe on me, and that 'maybe' has gone unfulfilled." said Bernard.
"Well, I guess there's this lesson to be learned, one she has with me, and I think maybe Ian has with someone we don't know. Loving someone, wanting someone, doesn't give you the deed to that someone." said Monsanto. "No matter how sincere, no matter how far you'd go to serve them."
"But it's not mere affection, she said what she said and is now pursuing someone introduced to us as a 'maniac'." said Bernard.
"Yeah, well, fuck 'er." said Monsanto. "We'll probably be free someday. We'll probably find girls, hot chicks, ya know? And it'll be fucking fantastic, 'cause we're hot as fuck, yeah?"
"Uhh. . . sure." said Bernard.
"Anyway!" said Monsanto. "We've got other things in our lives, yeah?"
"Well, mainly I've been stalking everyone and looking for a way to insert myself into social situations, but sometimes I've outright barged in and tried to interrupt someone, to no avail. It's like I'm invisible." said Bernard.
"Wait a minute, is there anyone else that's been getting ignored like that?" asked Monsanto.
"Huh?" asked Bernard, then he said "Oh."
They both rushed out of Monsanto's room, and around the building, before they found, sitting lonely in one corner of the Atrium, what looked like a desiccated corpse.
"Orpheus!" gasped Bernard.
"SON OF A-" said Monsanto, recoiling as he realized what it was.
"Yep!" said Opera Penguin, materializing.
"You! You let this-!" said Monsanto.
"Indeed, I did." said Opera Penguin. "I gave this existence to all of you, as-is, and one of the conditions of it was to satisfy your needs. He failed. So now, he is, though not exactly dead, most certainly indisposed, and must communicate with me in dreams."
"You could have helped him." said Bernard.
"Indeed! But I did not. As I said, my gift to you was given as-is. And thus I had no obligation to help!" said Opera Penguin.
"Screw the obligations! You could have helped him anyway and you didn't!" yelled Monsanto.
"Correct." said Opera Penguin, demurely.
"WHY?!" yelled Monsanto.
"Because I gave you your lives like this for a reason. I wished to see how it would play out." said Opera Penguin, doing his little arms-behind-back pace around the pair. "Truth be told, I thought Rochelle would be our first casualty. Because she was so hell bent on convincing herself that she had love for herself, in herself, and thus already had her need, I thought the would forgo actually seeking it. But she did not. This was because, underneath it all, she knew she didn't love herself. So she got Casey, and Ian, and, platonically, Vanessa, to do it for her. But you, Bernard, have been going much more to my expectations. The four have been accustomed to being without you for a long time. So, that's why I gave you more knowledge than the others. And how little you've done with it. . . indeed, how little you've been able to do with it! I'm confident that you will stay rotting in mediocrity for a long while, however, until you either meet the same fate as him completely"—and here, Opera Penguin waved to Orpheus' mummy—"or become a mediocre sideshow. I guess the reptile would have the latter be the case, yes?"
"He'll be more!" yelled Monsanto.
"Ohh, but didn't you used to want to take his spotlight for yourself?" asked Opera Penguin.
"That wasn't me!" continued Monsanto.
"He was the template for who you are now." said Opera Penguin. "And—do stop shouting. I'm not hard of hearing, you know."
Then he vanished.
"Attention everyone!" said the voice of the P.A. It was the same, deep smooth voice as ever, but what it then said was not normal: "Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck. You. You left me to die, and now I'm forced to haunt the damned P.A. system. I hope you're all happy. You pieces of shit. Because I'm going to play the chorus of Justin Bieber's Baby on loop until at least one person kills themselves."
"Well, ain't that the liquid shits." said Monsanto.
Bernard, clutching the tips of his ears in pain, asked Monsanto, "Don't you have some powers now? For fuck's sake, even Penguin forget me when handing them out."
"Nope!" said Opera Penguin, briefly blinking behind them. "I just didn't want to help you out by drawing attention to you. However, you have also been given powers, albeit yours, unlike others, are psionic. You're telekinetic, telepathic, and have a capricious sort of precognizance, but all of them are pretty weak and unreliable. Ciao!" Then he vanished.
Bernard sighed, and then yanked one of the speakers off the walls simply by looking at it and willing.
"Hey, that's pretty cool!" said Monsanto, who was then motivated to lob a large axe at another like it was that one Macintosh commercial.
Then they gave up and went to the computer room, and Monsanto showed Bernard some webcomics.
. . .
Night 52
Quite abruptly and unceremoniously, there was a Convert invasion that was quickly quelled by the combined efforts of the three guardians.
However, Rochelle came out into the front lobby at just the wrong time, thereby seeing Ian fighting a monstrous humanoid feline of undoubtably familiar appearance.
"Casey!" she cried out, running towards the ginger monster just as Ian plunged his fist into its chest, and, letting out one last roared, a terrible blackness was somehow squeezed out of it, and into Ian.
To Rochelle's shock, Casey's form reverted to that of his human self, albeit battered, and he even reassumed his 'hero' costume, just to wave his hand at Rochelle, pushing her away.
"Stay back!" said Casey. "It's not safe!"
"But! CASEY!" said Rochelle.
"I'm sorry you have to see me again, to have this false hope, but one way or another, I don't think I'm coming back." said Casey, seemingly ignorant of the hulking form of what Ian was morphing into him rising up behind him.
In Ian's head, all he could hear was This one is not cooperating. He is a misapplication of Convert essence. Induction is futile. Send others to reclaim failed conversion.
"But, why not?!" asked Rochelle.
"Even if I come back, you can't be with both me and him!" said Casey.
"We'll figure it out, just—LOOK OUT!" said Rochelle, as the behemoth behind Casey swung its arm, which ended in a clawed hand that looked all too human.
Casey jumped without looking around, but Rochelle saw all too clearly.
It was humanoid, but not exactly. Its legs were digitigrade, its spine arched, and while it seemed also to have a normal skeleton inside, it seemed to have a human exoskeleton, a plating in a mostly fairly precise, if distorted recreation of the human skeleton, except for the feet, where the plating was not only simplified by distorted beyond recognition, and the face, where the 'outer skeleton' was what looked like the skull of a puma, albeit distorted to a slightly more human shape. Covering all the outer skeleton was a thin layer of grey flesh, although most of its skin looked hardened. The skin not over the exoskeleton was a darker grey. Though it did indeed have dark, almost black eyelids, its eyes—Ian's eyes, were agape, and though it had skin that could cover its teeth, it was pulled back in a manic grin. Most of its teeth seemed human, but the canines were massive, and curved. Its hair was less curly, and more wavy, and was a darker, less saturate color than Ian's hair, and it came down in a massive, spiky mane that nearly enveloped the demon like a cloak. Protruding from just above the brow were two small, upward-pointing horns, and behind those were backward-pointing cat ears.
On its chest suddenly began to burn a null/'crossed out' symbol.
"THINKING OF REPLACING ME, ARE YOU?" it said, in what was between a growl and a giggle.
"No—what—what's happened—what are you?" asked Rochelle.
"SOOOOOOO QUICK TO RELEGATE ME TO BEING A FREAK FOR CHANGING. . . DON'T YOU REALIZE YOU'RE JUST LIKE ME? AND ANYWAY! IT'S A LOT BETTER THAN HOW I LOOKED BEFORE!" said the bizarre demon.
Rochelle realized, with horror, that even though its skull was that of a puma, its facial structure, especially around the cheekbones, still looked, uncannily, like Ian's. There was no denying it. This was Ian. Only. . .
"I DON'T THINK I'LL GO BY IAN ANYMORE. MAYBE SOMETHING NEWER, MORE SUITED TO THIS PRETTY FACE. . . MAYBE, SHOWER KITTY?" asked Ian.
It raised a hand again, and Rochelle looked in horror at how the outer phalanges were fused onto the backs of each finger, and extended into straight claws.
"MAYBE I'LL DECIDE, ONCE I MAKE SURE YOU'RE GOING TO BE ALONE, FOR A LONG, LONG TIME." said Ian.
Convert Ian lunged at Casey, who evaded the claw and struck the feline skull head on with one of his blue punches.
Convert Ian staggered back, but then swiped even faster, lightning laced through his fingers, and left a deep groove in Casey's side.
"NO!" said Rochelle, running up to Convert Ian, but he pointed a finger gun at Rochelle, and a perfect sphere of electric magic energy formed and grew before Andre flash-stepped infront of Convert Ian, and blocked the blast.
Convert Ian then brought a cloud down on Andre in a torrent that came down so hard, it hit him like something between an avalanche and an anvil, and Andre was thusly knocked onto his ass.
However, Convert Ian turned to Casey, who was still nursing his wounds, leapt gloriously into the air, and then came down, slamming his right hand, with all his downward force, onto Casey, thus reducing him to a red stain on the ground.
Rochelle screamed, no longer even speaking words, just screamed like a more guttural version of the animal she resembled.
Andre, meanwhile, simply shot behind Ian, and swung his blade, and as his blade swung, it momentarily transformed into more than an object, but became something a little more metaphysical, as it split Ian from his 'possession'.
Ian gasped as his normal body came back into being, and he made a big show of rushing to Rochelle's aid, ignoring Andre as he sourly muttered "You're welcome, asshole."
But, when he reached out to help Rochelle up from the ground, and from the pool of vomit she had let out upon seeing Casey's diffuse giblets on the ground, she looked up to see his hand—stained red with Casey's blood. Naturally, she passed out at this point.
Opera Penguin appeared, picked Rochelle up, and, just before vanishing back to the common room, purred into Ian's ear: "I know you were completely yourself in those moments. I'll let this slide because frankly, I knew there was no other way you would ever possible act in that situation, but you'd best appreciate how nice I'm being."
. . .
Night 53
Rochelle woke up, and somehow she perfectly 'knew' what was going on. There was a fight. Casey had come back. Ian had gotten possessed by whatever had changed Casey, but the darkness had somehow brought back his humanity once it left him. Ian, though, had been possessed. It wasn't Ian that did what he did. Ian had killed Casey, but it wasn't really Ian, right? Right? Right? RIGHT?
The shaking of the building had dissuaded Orpheus' wrath, for a time. Rochelle took this time to survey the damage to the front lobby, even though Vanessa had warned her not to, that it would just make it worse, with the fresh image of what had happened.
. . .
Ian was feeling well pleased with himself. He had known before that he would fuck Rochelle up, but knowing now that he had erased her truer love and would fully be leaving her destitute until Opera Penguin's disturbing plans for her played out. He would become even with Gretchen. And he would be happy about it.
Vanessa had spoken his name coldly in the Atrium. A single-word sentence. Then she said "I know it was you. I don't know how, but I know it was one hundred percent you in control of yourself when you did it. The only reason I'm not taking another crack at you is on the off chance that I'm wrong, and I'll be fighting Rochelle's only other love without a purpose. But I'm watching you."
. . .
Ferdinand asked Opera Penguin why he and Monsanto were not sent out to fight, and Penguin explained to him that the two of them were more 'defensive soldiers' than front-line combatants, and that it was better for Vanessa, Ian and Andre to risk themselves instead, as they were far more powerful.
. . .
Cheyenne showered Andre in affection for his 'bravery', but the congratulation quickly devolved into a lovebombing as Cheyenne whined him back into her bed in lieu of 'rewarding' him. After busting another begrudging nut in the bird, and waiting for the requisite period of snuggling to be over, Andre slipped out and slunk off to the kitchen, feeling like after sustaining both the wrath of Ian and the lust of Cheyenne, he could suffer himself the gluttony of a single slice of pizza—maybe even two!
However, when he got the the kitchen, he found Ian pigging out.
Feeling a little bit of spite rising in his throat, he said, snidely, "I suppose that win didn't count either?"
"What win?" asked Ian. "You just shaved a spiritual temporary tattoo off me—I mean, one which happened to make me a little crazy, so thank you, of course! But you didn't beat me."
"Oh, fuck you." said Andre.
"You know what? You. Me. Tomorrow night. Out on the rooftops. No holds barred. Let's go apeshit." said Ian.
"You bet." said Andre.
. . .
Ian slept happily with Rochelle later. Even as he planned out her emotional destruction, he had to admit to himself, she was beautiful to him. He was even willing to admit to himself that he loved her. He loved her. Maybe even in a way that would still be left in him after the 'phantom' left. Yet strangely, at the same time, his coming to peace with that fact coincided with his coming to peace with what he was going to do to her.
On Rochelle's end, she was stricken with unbearable grief over Casey, yet overwhelming relief over Ian's 'innocence', and how here he was, how present and open and loving he was, and how she had her, how he wrapped himself around her and kissed her and didn't keep himself reserved at all, truly adoring, truly embracing, truly at home. She felt that he loved her.
Both of them were conflicted. Both of them were mixed. Yet both kept each other happy in their easy embrace.
It wasn't pure. But it was happy.
. . .
Night 54
Ian and Andre did indeed have that fight, and it was very cool and animesque, and Ian won mainly because he wasted less effort on showing off all of his tricks and instead demolished Andre with lightning, fists and clouds in tandem.
However, as Andre got back up and the pair of them readied themselves for round two, Opera Penguin appeared, with Cheyenne and Rochelle at his side. They both began objecting immediately, but Andre listened to Cheyenne a solid second before Ian did to Rochelle, and as a result Andre was punished with Ian's heel being brought down on his defenseless head.
In the aftermath, Ian was shouted at by Rochelle while he awkwardly stood there, but far worse was Andre's fate, as Cheyenne took this as yet another opportunity to drag him back to her room, cooing to him about how he really did care about her.
In her room, Andre had an outburst, saying he didn't care, and that she was inhuman, beneath him, but when she in turn broke down, he found himself consoling her, only to flip out even more drastically and wonder aloud what was wrong with himself, whereupon Cheyenne declared that he loved her and wouldn't admit it.
In the heat of the moment, Andre swung at Cheyenne, but he was stopped by Opera Penguin, who put a 24-hour curse on him that essentially made his limbs weak and unresponsive, though not completely paralyzed.
In the awkward time after that, in which Cheyenne steadfastly refused to let Andre out, Andre spoke very little, apart from a feeble attempt at apologizing to Cheyenne, which she waved away.
However, when Andre's ghost squad began tormenting him especially badly, he snapped, and screamed at them all to get out. Cheyenne was confused, before pulling herself together just enough to assert that it was her room, but Andre quickly answered that it wasn't at her, and ended up explaining his ghost squad.
"They can make themselves invisible except to each other and me, but I think people who have a certain kind of power to feel weird spirity stuff can sense them anyway. They also have a bunch of other abilities, some that they all have, others that are unique to each, but most of the unique, personal abilities rely on them playing their guitars." said Andre.
"So you made your ghost girls real. . . by killing people?" asked Cheyenne.
"Yeah. I told you I was a monster." said Andre.
"I can live with that, honestly. Because, as I told you, I'm willing to accept that my happiness is built upon evil. My job is just to be as good as I can to others, as far as I see it. And I don't see how being nice to you, or even being with you is going to make you worse." said Cheyenne.
"But I'm evil. You wanna like something evil?" asked Andre.
"But the evil parts aren't the parts that I like, you're graceful, you're beautiful, you're strong and mysterious-" said Cheyenne.
"But the evil is what hides in the mystery." said Andre. "All I want to do is cut away, and kill, and leave behind only what I think is beautiful enough."
"So you care about beauty! In more of a capacity than just thinking about your own! That's great!" said Cheyenne.
"You're really determined to see the best in people, huh?" asked Andre.
"Yes! Maybe I could even be a good influence on you!" said Cheyenne.
"That's fucking hilarious. Another 'I can fix him' girl." said Andre.
"Eww, no, I'm not Ian." said Cheyenne, drawing back slightly.
"What? Ian is obsessed with women bringing out the puppy in men's wicked hearts?" asked Andre.
"Ohhh, that's what you meant by 'fixing', nevermind. . ." said Cheyenne.
"Whu?" asked Andre.
"NeeEEEvermind." said Cheyenne.
. . .
Monsanto dragged Ian and Rochelle out into the Atrium in order to spend time with, and acknowledge the existence of Bernard, while they watched a movie with Opera Penguin's help.
Yet again, nobody could think of any movies, so Ian picked out Hellraiser.
They all watched uncomfortably, haunted by memories of the Converts they'd seen and disgusted by Frank's lasciviousness and Julia's scheming, except for Ian, on whose lap sat Rochelle, one of Ian's arms around her waist and his head sleepily nestled on her shoulder, in her hair. Eventually, she leaned back, and leaned her head against Ian's, and fall asleep there with him.
Eventually, at about the time in the movie of Kirsty kicking at the Engineer, Bernard clapped in Ian and Rochelle's faces, and they both jumped, and screamed, not only at the startling of the clap but also at the thousand-year-stare of Bernard into their faces.
Rochelle jumped up and yelled at Bernard, "I pissed myself slightly, you fuck!"
Ian, rubbing his face, said "Can I huff?" and Rochelle slapped him.
. . .
Andre frailly kissed Cheyenne. He was privately just really happy that she wasn't using this opportunity to force anything more illicit on him, but because of that he was more than willing to play up the actual feelings he was slowly gaining for her.
However, surprisingly, she gained the presence of mind to see right through this.
"Andre?" she asked. "Are you afraid?"
"I—you—uhh" said Andre.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I would never hurt you." she said.
"You've already. . ." Andre said, formulating his next words carefully, especially seeing Cheyenne's already-falling face. "You've already been kind of. . . pushy about. . . things. You know. Like sex." Andre concluded, having surveyed the pocketed landscapes of subtlety and, in turn, having chosen to march through the road of bluntness. "I mean, it's one thing that you really, really want me to be your boyfriend for some dumbass reason, but you also, like, almost forced yourself on me. Twice. I'm not trying to be, like, a dick or something, but holy shit, dude. I may be a fucked-up lunatic obsessed with ghost girls and shit, but this isn't normal."
"You, I, you, I forced—what?" Cheyenne started to cry again.
"Oh, and again with the tears!" snapped Andre, now giving up on all restraint and just laying in. "Every time I try to set up some kind of boundary or do anything to keep my own dignity, you start bawling like I just dismantled your fucking soul and you're looking in the mirror watching the light drain out of your own eyes! Look, whether you're trying to or not, you're weaponizing your own bleeding heart as a weapon to enclose me in the pen you want! If you're so fucking delicate, why not try and chat up some other soft stuffed toy? Like that bunny? Like that bear? Why the fuck has it gotta be me?" He flared up with crimson hellfire, breaking the curse without even knowing. "You know, despite everything, despite the fact that you're a duck or a chicken or a fucking ostrich, I actually almost like you, but I can't go in all the way because I can't see you as anything but the bitchy vulture that's using her own tears to put up some kind of petty tyranny over me!"
Cheyenne kept blubbing as she cowered beneath him, but she pull herself together enough to say "B-but wait, do you mean I still have a chance?"
Andre's hellfire died down a little bit. "I mean. . . yeah, I guess." he said. "But why? You didn't answer, why not the others?"
"Because they're good, they're nice, they're just so. . . normal." said Cheyenne.
"What?" asked Andre.
"I mean, seeing you, you're special, like I said. You're new, you're avant-garde, you're strong and even—you're evil! That just. . . I don't know why, I just love it so much, everything I see about you, you're so special!" said Andre.
"Nah. I'm a creep. I'm that weirdo you see not making eye contact with waiters at fast food restaurants. Not that I go to those. I'm the kid at your local high school that has niche interests instead of friends. I'm the kid who isn't strong enough to be a jock, isn't smart enough to be a prep, isn't even fashionable enough to turn his emotions into a fine career as an emo little bitch—"
"Andre, I've never been to high school, and stop talking yourself down." said Cheyenne, before kissing him on the cheek.
"Cheyenne, I can love you, but you have to let me not love you in order to let me love you." said Andre.
"That doesn't make any sense." said Cheyenne.
"It does." said Andre. "Letting someone do something is not the same thing as making them do it. It's mutually exclusive. It's allowing them to make the call whether they do it, not forcing it one way or another."
"But it's okay if I still love you, right?" asked Cheyenne.
Andre sighed. "Of course. But that doesn't mean you own me."
"Alright! Alright! I heard you!" wailed Cheyenne, putting her hands to her earholes as her eyes began to leak more.
"Then are you seriously not crying just to manipulate me?" asked Andre.
"No!" shrieked Cheyenne, dropping to her knees.
Ian burst in.
Andre tensed up, expected Ian to attack him, but all he said was "Cheyenne, shut the fuck up. You're annoying as hell."
Cheyenne opened her mouth, but ended up babbling incoherently, something approximately "I'MJUZSUJAHORIBLWERTHELSEPEESS'SHIDWWWWOOOOUGHHHH"
"Sheesh, what did you do to her?" asked Ian, jovially.
"I dunno, man, at this point I might just be some schizo who's seeing himself do one thing—like establishing basic fucking personal boundaries—but in reality, I'm, I dunno, skullfucking her?" asked Andre.
"Both of her eyes are still there, so naaahhhh, you're good, fam." said Ian.
"Fam? Why are you talking like a dipshit?" asked Andre.
". . . because I am one?" said Ian, in a bitchy, sarcastic voice.
. . .
Night 55
"Very well done, Andre." said Opera Penguin, that night. "However, even though you were completely in the right, you still have to make up to Cheyenne. I will provide you with a recipe and ingredients."
"What? A recipe? Ingredients? I'm not a chef." said Andre.
"But you'll be cooking, nonetheless. Or I'll kill you." said Opera Penguin.
"You'll kill me over this?" asked Andre.
"You say 'You will', and not 'You would'. Is that an indication of your intent not to do it?" asked Opera Penguin.
"No! For fuck's sake!" said Andre, stepping back and holding up his arms.
"Good. Now go to the kitchen." said Opera Penguin, and Andre did.
There was a recipe on the counter, and a bunch of stuff.
Andre did his best, but Ian came in for some pizza.
Though the kitchen layout had been altered and expanded by Opera Penguin a lot since he came, but it still felt too small as Ian came to the fridge. Thankfully, he didn't microwave it, as he liked pizza cold.
However, Ian's inquisitive spirit erased and then inverted this consolation, as he asked "Whatcha doing?"
"I'm making food." said Andre, flatly.
"What food?" asked Ian.
"What's it matter to you? You're not getting any." said Andre.
"But what is it?" asked Ian.
"It's," Andre said, sighing as he picked up the menu, "Manicotti with cream chicken and artichokes."
"Ewww, that sounds healthy and cultured." said Ian.
"Yeah, exactly, you wouldn't like it. So fuck off." said Andre.
"What are you doing over here?" asked Ian, gravitating to a certain region of counter as he loudly chewed his pizza.
"It's all the same shit, Ian." said Andre. "I'm making dinner, and dessert, and you're not getting any, because you're a fat fuck."
"Well, what are you doing over there?" asked Ian, pointing at Andre's hands.
Andre sighed, again. "I'm just measuring things right now." said Andre. "I'm making culinary art by force. You're ignorant of any such thing by lack of capacity. I'm at least smart enough that it's possible to force me to learn this stuff—you're lucky enough to be retarded. So anyway, why are you still in here, talking at me?"
"I dunno. Hey, what are you making over here?" asked Ian, reaching his hand towards some other ingredient before Andre side kicked it away.
"IT'S MANICOTTI! WITH CREAM CHICKEN! AND ARTICHOKE!" bellowed Andre.
"Well," said Ian, meekly, as he clutched his hand. "what's for dessert?"
"Lemon poppyseed pancake with a raspberry syrup." said Andre.
"Uh-" said Ian.
"Are you going to make me repeat myself until the words penetrate through your thick skull again?" asked Andre.
"You can penetrate something e-" jeered Ian, before Andre screamed "GO AWAY!" and Ian ran out, but not before cackling at the fact that Andre's outburst had manifested a massive wave of hellfire that incinerated most of the kitchen.
"Whoops!" said Opera Penguin, repairing the kitchen and procuring more fixings, somehow. "Looks like you have to start all over!"
Andre slammed his head into the counter.
. . .
Much later. . .
"Wow, this is really good, Andre!" said Cheyenne, who was eating the meal in her bed.
"It was made, nngh, with, with love." said Andre, as Opera Penguin had coerced him into saying.
"D'awww!" said Cheyenne, with her mouth full. "You do love me! I think I get what you meant!"
Andre slumped onto the bed, causing Cheyenne to spill on herself, although she didn't mind, as she just began eating off of herself, in a display that would have probably been hot to someone that wasn't Andre.
. . .
Night 56
Andre woke up in Cheyenne's bed, Cheyenne's arms wrapped around him, her halitosis barely noticeable in the face of the overall shock of his realization: he was actually okay with this.
He got up, she woke up, and he admitted to her his comfort, his honest contentment, and she was overjoyed, and they resolved to stay together for the foreseeable future.
Then Opera Penguin called him, and the other two, to the Atrium.
"Okay, so the Primarchs are coming to kill us." said Opera Penguin.
"WHAT?!" asked Vanessa.
"Honestly, best just to get it over with now." said Opera Penguin.
"By it, do you mean us?" asked Vanessa
"No." said Opera Penguin, smiling. "I mean them."
"Okay, but how the hell are we going to beat them, honestly?" asked Andre.
"Mmm?" said Opera Penguin.
"I mean, aren't they gods?" asked Andre.
"Well, I have a bit of a trump card up my sleeve." said Opera Penguin, and then a literal card slipped out of his sleeve.
"Penguin, do you really think this is the time to be funny?" asked Vanessa.
"No and yes!" said Opera Penguin, holding up the card. It was the tarot card of The Moon.
"The Preachers and Converts are part of the system of this world, which involve the way the cosmos prevents normal folk from gaining their own power, by siphoning it and redistributing it across the three catalysts: life, death and art." said Opera Penguin.
"Yes, you've established this." said Vanessa.
"That system also weighs down on power. Making existing power weaker, by trying to suppress it, unless it fulfills one of those three catalysts." said Opera Penguin. "For you, it's not as bad, because your powers are all my art, but since they were still partially formed naturally around yourselves, there's still some suppression. But for mine, it's far worse. Because my power wasn't created artificially."
"What are you getting to?" asked Vanessa.
"In this card is a power which will disrupt that system in an area. That same system which supports them, and pushes us down. . . the absence of it will spiritually disorient them, send them into chaos—and lift a great weight off of us, that will make it seem as if we are empowered!" said Opera Penguin.
"So you're just pulling a buff out of your ass?" asked Ian.
"Sure!" said Opera Penguin. "Anyway, they attack at dawn."
. . .
"Why are we back in the dark room?" asked William.
"Because I want to show you something that will greatly interest you." said Opera Penguin.
A random streetgoer that Opera Penguin had kidnapped appeared.
"Who is this?" asked William.
"Ohh, nobody." said Opera Penguin. "At least, nobody who's going to last."
The man was frightened.
"As I've said, the ghosts in here have taken on essence like that of the characters as a built-up shell over their spirits. But I've studied it, and the effects of my having made the yiffbabies, well enough that I think I can make the human spirit instantly degrade into a fascimile of the characters upon death." said Opera Penguin, raising his pistol.
"No!" the guy yelled, before Opera Penguin shot him in the head, and bursting out of the cracked open skull, instantly, came a Monty.
"Look. Near complete erasure of the original identity. Independent corporeality. And created with an instant jolt of euphoria that allow him to start producing light remnant for you immediately." said Opera Penguin.
"Martin, I don't want to seem unappreciative, but this all, to me, looks like just more of the dross of death." said William. "More of the hole I've dug myself into."
"Oh, it is." said Opera Penguin. "But your divine being is the alchemical process by which the dross of death is converted into the radiance of glory."
. . .
The three guardians, Opera Penguin and William Afton all stepped out of the building at dawn to see a massive eruption in the distance, and they ran in that direction to find a huge blast crater.
Emerging from a deeper hole at the very nadir of the pit was the Emperor of Trials. A bunch of raw-beef-looking humanoid bodies, making incoherent supplications, clung to the Emperor's body, before the Emperor pulled them off like cobwebs.
"That was pretty gross, I'm not gonna lie. Maybe get a better taste in blankets?" said Ian.
"You're gross." said Vanessa.
"And you don't have a right to talk about taste." added Andre.
"Fuck you both." said Ian, with a big smile on his face.
"Are these the ones who stand against me?" asked the Emperor, in a sullen, yet deep and smooth voice.
"Shit, you even sound like Pinhead!" said Ian.
"I'm the one who stands against you, these people are my tools." said Opera Penguin, and then before anyone could air their pissedness at him, he pulled out his Moon card. "And this is your doom!"
He threw it straight up into the air, and it remained upright as it levitated, twirling, and burst into pale blue light.
Instantly, the day turned to night, as the flow of sunlight in a radius of many miles was bottlenecked into a false 'moon' that radiated silver light, but did so so brightly that everything around looked like it was filled with a pale fog, as the 'moon' discharged mist into which to transfer extra light.
"Andre, Vanessa, attack!" said Opera Penguin, and they did.
The Emperor swung his underworldly maul, but Andre shot just underneath the head, and blocked the handle, while Vanessa darted around and stabbed the Emperor in the side.
However, off to the right, the Mother of Loss rose from the ground, and Opera Penguin sent Ian after her.
As Ian fought the Mother of Loss with electrically-charged blow after electically-charged blow, they went back and forth.
"You've lost so much, Ian." said the Mother. "And soon you plan on losing more."
"But neither is worth writing home about." said Ian.
"You've lost Gretchen." said the Mother.
"I didn't lose her, I threw her out." said Ian. "Or rather, I put her down."
"But you only did that because you lost her." said the Mother of Loss.
"No, I did it because she gained someone else, and for her to have someone else in place of me earned her hellfire, in my book." said Ian.
"You've lost your family." said the Mother.
"Again!" said Ian. "I threw them out! I got rid of them! I haven't even killed my sister yet, I need to get on that!"
"Then, you've lost your morals." said the Mother of Loss.
"I know! That's so cool, right?!" said Ian, before his next blow, which he accompanied with a tidal wave of water he had transmuted air into.
"You've lost any chance at growing up and maturing like a normal person." said the Mother of Loss.
"AND GOOD! FUCKING! RIDDANCE!" Ian laughed, punching the Mother of Loss in the face repeatedly.
"You've lost your freedom." said the Mother of Loss.
"I'm about to gain it back again." said Ian.
"No." said the Mother. "You're merely transferring your bondage to someone else."
"What?!" asked Ian.
"You've lost your freedom, Ian Brandon Anderson. And your ownership of yourself." said the Mother of Loss.
Ian slowed, and the thorny vines which the Mother conjured shot towards him.
Opera Penguin moved in a flash, and slammed Ian out of the way, but then the Mother of Loss turned to Penguin, and from her battered position, smiled.
"You've lost." said she.
Shadows began to sprout out of the ground, one a massive man's figure, one more dainty, like a doll, one wearing orange glasses, and others still forming.
They were all murmuring, whispering, and the Mother of Loss said, "You've lost your friends. You've lost your style. You've lost your composure, your dignity. You've lost your privacy, and even your image as a trickster, as you've constantly labored for thankless captives."
Opera Penguin stood, his head hung, his body shaking.
"And now, finally, you will lose-" the Mother of Loss said, before Ian characteristically interrupted her by charging through the air, surging with his electricity, delivering something between a haymaker and sideways uppercut, sending the Mother of Loss reeling, and causing all the smoky figures to revert fully to smoke, and dissipate.
"How?" the Mother asked.
"I'm at peace with it." said Ian. "The bondage I'll soon go to is mutual. And it's the kind I need. The kind of submission that brings comfort and solace. And is mutual. The only kind of loss of self-ownership that brings the self into fruition. Even the most hardcore, rugged loners are gonna give passing acknowledgment to the fact that their way of living comes at the cost of loneliness. Something missing that's never there otherwise. You can't be in absolute mastery of yourself if you want companionship, if you want love. The more love you want, the more of that personal sovereignty you have to give up. The truest love will shatter your independence so bad that you'll be shattered on your own."
"But you didn't make this choice on your own." said the Mother of Loss, getting up. "It was forced on you." Her tall, nun-like figure nudged, and memories flashed in Ian's mind, except they weren't memories, as they were clearer, they were memories of what Ian would have felt if he weren't numb and half conscious as Burnt Roxanne did what she did, and Ian felt sickened and horrified at what happened, the feelings from back then returning worse than they were in the first place, as Ian was forced to confront the true monstrosity of the one he was getting prepared to call a lover.
But then, Ian smiled.
"Sometimes, it takes getting forced to get a person to that state." said Ian, looking down. "And even if it was forced, I'm glad it happened. Anyway, she's still beautiful to me. And her love is exactly the kind I deserve."
Then, Ian looked down, and fell to his knees as he raised his left hand, channeling forth all the chaotic, conflicting emotions within him, and the energy they produced in him, and as they were brought forth, they took the form of lightning, striking the Mother of Loss—not the cartoonish, cyan arcs Ian made in casual circumstances, but natural, blistering white lightning, as bright as sunlight, which split the Mother of Loss's head in half, and, with it, her body, the halves falling each in their own way, and the flesh of her cleft face bubbling.
There was a pause, and Opera Penguin said, "May you never find yourself suddenly free."
"Thank you." said Ian.
Then, after another while, Ian walked up to the ground into which the Mother of Loss's body was rapidly dissolving and seeping, and charred into the ground a plus shape, a square around it. Then, into the top left quadrant,he charred a vertical line, placed slightly to the left; in the top right quadrant, he charred a vertical line to the left and another of half the length to its lower right; in the bottom left, he charred two parallel vertical lines; finally, in the bottom right, he charred a vertical line to the left and a horizontal line aligned with the vertical line's lower end.
"I have a feeling you just did something incredibly tiresome." said Opera Penguin.
"Yep." said Ian.
"Let's go kill the Host." said Opera Penguin, just as, in the distance, William caved in the Emperor of Trials' head in with a sucker punch.
. . .
Vanessa squared off against the Host of Torment.
"You've let yourself be a fine toy for torture, so far." said the Host. "What makes you think it's going to be any different against the master and god of all torture in this world?"
"Because I have nothing of you in myself." said Vanessa. "And I know that means I can kill you."
"But it goes both ways. Your vulnerability to me. Your opposition to me. Your absence of me in your nature. Two antitheses, facing off. Sudden death. But one of us is greater than the other in our beings. One of us will prevail, and their antithesis will be at their mercy. To annihilate, or. . . to do with what they please." said the Host.
"Oh, please." said Vanessa. "I can clearly see you haven't got a dick."
"Oh, if only you knew. . ." said the Host, giggling effeminately. "the things I could do to you."
Then suddenly, Vanessa glowed with a bright, white light.
"I'm not intent on letting there be any chance." said William Afton, standing behind Vanessa. "If there is any torture she must sustain, it will be the pain of fighting you until you are gone. I will not suffer anyone to defy me."
"Oh, William, you've turned your attention to me!" said the Host.
"Of course. Where else would I be looking? You are the last of our foes. And, after all, at my advisor's instructions, I have been lending my power to the other three, all of them unknowingly leaning on me support—making me the de facto leader in this battle." said William.
"Ew! I don't want your anything on me!" said Vanessa.
"Try to be mature." said William. "My support is nothing more than an augmentation of your ability, a nigh-economical addition to your effective power in this scenario. It's nothing. . . touchy feely."
"Yeah, well-" said Vanessa, but then her head shot back forward as the Host stepped forward, and she slashed at one of his shins.
The Host swatted at Vanessa, and she stabbed straight through his palm, then yanked the sword out roughly.
The Host sighed, and then, about half a second later, a wave of pale gold light threw Vanessa away.
"We could become one, or close to." said the Host of Torment. "We gave you your power by refraining from withholding it from you. We did that so you could be something in our world. Now, you have the chance. Become part of the pinnacle itself. My rivals have been put down. As long as I—or we—remain in power, they can remain deprived of power. Even though they still hold within themselves the cornerstones of our world, I can deprive those very cornerstones of their power. And make the world of pain, a world of pleasure as well. The only question is: will you join me?"
"Sorry, pal, I don't swing that way." said William, raising his hand, and firing off a strange ray that looked a little like a crystal tube with a rapid spiral of pale-gold light rushing through it, giving off the impression of an Olympian barber shop pole.
The beam had a corrosive effect on the Host's body, but honestly it couldn't be that much worse a sight anyway.
When it ended, the host was panting but still upright.
"Of course, I could take you for myself. . . whether you like it or not." said the Host.
Then Ian and Penguin both struck the Host in tandem with a flying kick that would've been comical if it weren't so relieving.
Andre, who had been meticulously separating the head from the Emperor's body, then shot towards the Host and chopped into his head with Fading Moon.
"Ahh, well," said the Host. "Regrets all around. . ."
Then he drew back underneath the ground.
"Damn it!" said Ian. "Did he get away alive?"
"None of them are truly gone." said Opera Penguin. "They're just broken, dormant. Each of them is tethered to a whole region of the realm of pain, and feed off of it. Each can be brought back from the dust simply by the pain of the world."
"So this whole thing was pointless?" asked Vanessa.
"Oh, no! By no means. Their raw power has been broken down, and it will take decades, if not centuries to build it back up again." said Opera Penguin.
"And—so—wait, you did the moon thing, but Afton has also been squirting his power into us?" asked Vanessa.
William put a hand to his face. "Really, Vanessa? Must you say it in the worst possible way?"
Ignoring this, Penguin said "You don't really think you three could prevail against three demigods, with no more support than myself and a phenomenon which lifts -suppressive force which barely even affects you? You all are still mortals, still pawns on the cosmic scale. You are all quite fallible and limited, not ancient, not movers of the foundations of the earth, not the subject of myths. Despite what power you do have, these three overlords were far stronger, and the natural counter to that is the help of a god in the making."
"So, wait, when do I get to become a god?" asked Ian.
"That's. . ." sighed Opera Penguin, "your problem."
. . .
As they walked back through the doors of the Pizzaplex, Ian asked, "So, is that done and over with?"
"Well, no, as you observed," said Opera Penguin, "the Host got away. There will still be Preachers and Converts, but likely all those which owed their allegiance solely to the Emperor and the Mother, and who would not be willing to turn over to the Host, will likely either return to their own devices or enter a state of dormancy."
"Solely?" asked Ian.
"Many had a sort of 'triple citizenship' in the realm of pain." said Opera Penguin. "They were willing to represent a house divided, not so much 'loyal' to any of the three Primarchs as they were 'patriotic' to the realm they rule. Now, of course, there's no difference between the 'middle of the road' Preachers and Converts, and the ones strictly sworn to the Host. All that serve the realm will serve him. He is the dominant force, the present ruler of Sheol."
"So are we gonna kill him, too?" asked Ian.
"In due time. Although, as things are, it sounds like he plans on hindering the return of the other Primarchs." said Opera Penguin.
"Well. . . what now?" asked Ian.
"You just settle in for a while, and everyone tries to live as nice and happy as possible." said Opera Penguin.
. . .