A hand lurched out of the burning wreckage of Richard Mansion.
It was bloody, bruised, and torn by war. Inch by agonizing inch, it carved its way up the steep slope of a crater, searching for any handhold it could use. Finally, after what seemed like an entire year, the hand fell onto solid ground, carrying an entire body with it. A head poked over the rim of the crater, followed by a chest, and legs. With effort, the body stood up, clutching its bleeding stump of an arm.
The Godmodder was alive. And he intended to keep it that way.
He had been changed for the worse. His clothes were now tattered and burned. His hair flaked with soot and dying embers. The left half of his face had been obliterated in the explosion — skin peeled away to reveal blood, muscle, and an exposed eye socket. His left arm had been torn off as well, dripping with blood. Scars, cuts, and wounds covered his body. He had wrapped the burning goldenrod curtains of his room over himself — they now seemed to be irreversibly stained with red.
“
The Godmodder looked closer. ...No. Whatever pieces of technology were left had already been taken. No doubt the government had stormed into the depths and taken what they thought they could use. The Godmodder, in his stupor, had half a mind to go after them. But... What good would that do? He’d just get captured himself. Looking around, the Godmodder saw that no one was around his house. The neighbors were most likely keeping themselves busy. But the Godmodder knew even the Veil had limits. He had to leave.
And so, the Godmodder walked down a street with no name, and into a new life.
Two years. That’s how long it had taken for the Second Godmodding War to conclude. The Godmodder wondered how long it would take for another war to transpire. Two more years? Five? Eternity? Eternity was a tricky thought. The Godmodder had once thought he’d stick around for that long. Now, he wasn’t so sure. It seemed like the only true constants were ultimate forces of plot that just used mortals as pawns. Things you couldn’t exactly “punch” away.
The Godmodder walked down an empty road into civilization. Some kids played with a basketball in front of him. The ball was thrown out of the kids’ reach on accident, rolling to a stop at the Godmodder’s feet. He looked down. “Hey, mister! Could ya give us a hand?” The Godmodder raised his bleeding left arm, which was now wrapped in bandages. “
The Godmodder thought to himself about where to head to next. A hospital was out of the question — he could hide his identity only for so long. What he needed was a drink. And so, the Godmodder stumbled along. As the Godmodder walked away, chuckling to himself, the basketball came screaming back down, demolishing the basketball hoop and hurtling to the ground in a crater.
The door to the bar opened with a start. The Godmodder pushed himself through and sat down at the counter. No one seemed to pay much attention to him except for the bartender, who finished polishing a glass — as bartenders always seem to do — and moved towards the Godmodder. “What can I...” he trailed off, noticing that approximately a quarter of the Godmodder’s body was basically missing, before adopting a blank look and continuing. “...do for you, sir.” The Godmodder thought for a moment. “
The bartender hurried away, preparing the drink, and glanced at the television. It was some random news broadcast about... Mojang. Something about them claiming responsibility for restoring the world, whatever that meant. The Godmodder looked around. Last time he had checked, there wasn’t much left of the Earth except for some floating chunks, streams of orchid fire, and tears in the fabric of time. But here everyone was, moving around the same as ever. Perhaps a bit shell-shocked, but... basically unchanged. Of course. For once, the Godmodder was the one under fire. Everyone had come out unscathed but him.
The bartender returned with a drink. “
“
“So let’s say I believe you, tough guy. Why the hell are you walking all the way to some bar in some town no one gives a crap about to talk to me?” The Godmodder stared into the distance. “
The Godmodder left the bar, calling back to the bartender. “
“
There, sitting in the middle of a suburb that was so empty the winds whistled through its streets like dying whispers, was a house painted entirely in green, flanked by guards and advanced weaponry, and surrounded by a force field. The Godmodder thought to himself about how cute the whole display was. As if it could stop him. The Godmodder stepped through thin air and appeared at the door of none other than Build’s bedroom. “
The Godmodder grinned, which was an unpleasant sight considering half of his face was ripped off. “
The Godmodder heard a strange noise coming from a corner of the room. He looked and saw a disc spinning on a phonograph. The music it was playing appeared to be… words. “...damage to... ...all just a... ...killed...” The Godmodder reached over to the disc, but stopped when he heard Build yell. “Don’t!” The Godmodder turned to Build, smiling cruelly. “
Build’s glasses shone with an irradiated intensity. The Godmodder found it hard to focus on them. “
The Godmodder looked through Build’s belongings. The room was untidy, with objects stacked in haphazard piles and strewn about. “
Build didn’t talk for several minutes, and then he sighed. “
Build took off his red glasses. Even without his previous powers, the cosmos was reflected in their lenses. “
The Godmodder didn’t move. “
Build looked more irritated than ever. “
The Godmodder scoffed. “
Green energy knocked the Godmodder across the room, tearing a fresh cut over his eye socket. “
The Godmodder took a step through the floor and vanished. Build was left alone, holding a pair of glasses that wasn’t his in a room of another life. The phonograph hissed and sputtered with static. Build jumped out of his skin, looking at it worryingly...
Nothing had happened.
The Godmodder walked away from Build’s house, taking in the scenery of a new world. He flexed his new prosthetic arm experimentally. Though he had left his Godarm behind in Minecraft, now he had a new one. A real one. And it looked pretty damn cool to boot. His new eye was even better — and the scar that was already forming complimented its bloodstained look quite well.
Never before had the Godmodder felt more like his name.
The Godmodder decided take one more stop in his journey — Washington, D.C. With his powers returning, he’d be able to evade government agents. Unless they sent the real ones after him. Then he’d have a bit of an issue. The Godmodder dismissed those thoughts, taking in the monument in front of him. Sitting in the exact center of where the Conclave had been was a large golden cube — The Hexahedron. The Godmodder stared at it for a while until a security guard approached him. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked. The Godmodder was unsure of how to respond. “
The Godmodder took several steps forward until he stood at the border of the monument — a high fence labelled “DO NOT ENTER.” He flew over the fence and landed back down without making any noise, leaving passersby to wonder what the hell they’d just seen. The Godmodder stepped forward and pulled out a seed, tossing it right next to The Hexahedron. His work done, the Godmodder vanished into the shadows. Immediately, the seed cracked and split the ground, forming tendrils of wood that snaked across the Conclave, blossoming into the sky and blooming with leaves and fruit.
Where there was once a tower, there was now a world tree, with a block in the middle.
The final stop in the Godmodder’s trek was a looming tower in a forgotten part of the world, protected by the same Veil that obscured the pile of rubble which formerly served as his mansion. It was old and rusted over, but its logo was clear as day — GODMODDING INCORPORATED. The Godmodder grinned as he passed through the building’s double doors. He was immediately greeted by a receptionist sitting at the front desk, clicking away at a keyboard. “Hello, this is Godmodding Incorporated, how can I help you?” she said breathlessly. The Godmodder laughed, leaning on the counter. “
“Oh, Omega,” the receptionist said, apparently remembering something. The Godmodder turned to look. “A
The Godmodder stared at the elevator’s occupants — a mix of repurposed Terrors, hybrids of various creatures, and sentient Decoy Godmodders. They were all talking about nothing in particular, but when they saw the Godmodder step through the elevator door, and realized it was the real one, not a decoy, they all saluted. The Godmodder laughed. “
The Godmodder held up a hand to silence them. “
“
Floating through the Void was an orchid triangle who watched events at all points in reality through vision omnifold. His eye had been replaced with a crucible of limitless destruction. A ticking time bomb locked into the folds of circumstantial simultaneity. He now hovered at the edge of where a universe once was, watching a black hole consume Homestuck forever. And when he turned around, he saw the same thing. Another black hole, a universe away, swallowing Minecraftia and its creative potential. The triangle laughed.
What had he called this? An event leading the game of reality one step closer to its end? That seemed about right.
Bill Cipher saw things clearly now. The Conflict had won the majority of this fight. Sure, Team Mojang had won out and restored Universe B—No. Earth. Universe B was a distinction used to separate a set of three universes. It was meaningless now. The chains holding the Trifecta together had shattered. Two of its universes had fallen into pockets, gaps in reality. And there, in the middle of all the universes… was a conference. A conference of the Agents of the Conflict. Meeting and converging beyond time and space. Bill observed them with a metaphysical eye. With a swish of his cane, he stood before them.
Bill surveyed the meeting. There were beings that were unfathomably old. Creatures that had seen the Secret of the Void in its infancy. Those who had lived to tell the tale of the fight against the Chosen Few and the Red Dragon — and not the one that had happened during the Eclipse. Those that had gathered were beings of an unstoppable power. The ability to control the antagonists of a story. To steer plot towards a bad ending. Bill spoke into the din. HEYA, GUYS! His voice echoed across infinity. Every Agent there turned their perpetual gaze to stare at the Tumor that made up his eye. The Shadow clunked forward, each step through nothingness carrying momentous weight. YOU. THE PYRAMIDION. WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE. Bill looked around, his eye turning into a telescope. OH, JUST PASSING THROUGH! YOU KNOW HOW IT IS. ONE SECOND YOU’RE IN THE CENTER OF A BATTLEFIELD TALKING TO FOUR KIDS IN PAJAMAS AND THE NEXT YOU’RE TURNING THE FABRIC OF THEIR UNIVERSE INTO A SINGULARITY POWERFUL ENOUGH TO DESTROY THEIR HOPES AND DREAMS! PAR FOR THE COURSE IN MY OPINION. Bill took out a mirror, adjusting his top hat. WHY ARE YOU HERE, HUH?
The Shadow’s eyes flickered with the briefest hint of annoyance. It turned away, raising its arm at the crowd beyond. TO TALK. ENOUGH AGENTS HAVE BEEN GATHERED TO REPRESENT A SIGNIFICANT INCREASE IN MASS. ONE YEAR’S WORTH OF WORK. HIDDEN IN A CREVICE BEYOND PHYSICAL FORM. SO WHAT, RIGHT NOW IT’S SEPTEMBER 1ST AND EVERY DAY IN BETWEEN? ALL AT ONCE?? YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I THAT THE VOID WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS. A tendril of pure orchid energy snaked between Bill and the Shadow, with a flickering eye. It was the Employer. [B1LL. S0 N1CE 0F Y0U T0... J01N US. 1T 1S G00D T0 SEE 0NE 0F PR0JECT B1NARY’S C0MRADES. BUT... 1T 1S N0T W1SE F0R Y0U T0 BE HERE.] Bill looked at the black hole that had consumed an entire universe. AND WHY NOT? I FIGURE ANY COUNCIL OF KNOWLEDGE ISN’T COMPLETE IF I’M NOT INCLUDED, RIGHT? I GET THAT I’M NOT EXACTLY AN AGENT OF CONFLICT, BUT COME ON! WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE!
The Employer’s eye leered. [AND THERE1N L1ES THE PR0BLEM. DESP1TE Y0UR PREV10US AL1GNMENTS, Y0U SH0ULD N0T BE HERE. Y0U MUST N0T BE HERE. THE PR0CESS 0F 0UR C0NVERGENCE C0ULD BE... T00 GREAT F0R Y0U T0 HANDLE.] Bill sighed, floating past the Employer. HEY, HEY, I GET IT. YOU DON’T WANT OUTSIDERS LOOKING AT YOUR WORK. UNDERSTANDABLE! BUT I’LL BE WATCHING YOU NO MATTER WHAT, YA FEEL ME? AN EYE THIS POWERFUL CAN’T JUST SHUT ITSELF OFF. AND I’M NOT GOING BLIND EVER AGAIN, NOT IF I CAN HELP IT. I GET THE SENTIMENT, THOUGH! I’LL STAY OUT OF YOUR HAIR. I JUST WANT TO TALK TO SOMEONE. IS THE EGG HERE? The Employer nodded, gesturing in a nonspecific direction. Bill flew away, trailing his cane behind him.
Floating in another corner of the meeting was a particularly hard-boiled egg. This egg was one hell of a guy, and his name was, you guessed it, Flumpty Bumpty. After Flumpty Bumpty made history as one of the only entities to escape Limbo intact, he went on a joyride across reality, living the high life. Then he realized something. As he was completely above plot, and therefore as powerful as the Narrative and the Conflict, he could sneak his way into the Conflict’s top-secret meetings pretty much unannounced, and no one would particularly care.
Of course, that is exactly what happened.
HEY, FLUMPTY! JUST THE KIND OF PERSON I’VE WANTED TO SEE! Flumpty erratically twitched in Bill’s general direction, pink liquid frothing from his mouth. When he spoke, it was as if his words had pierced through the shell of reality to deliver themselves into the core of Bill’s very being. Hi. I’m Flumpty Bumpty. I’m an egg. UH... YEAH, I SORT OF GOT THAT. SO, I’VE GOT A JOB FOR YOU, KID. WE CAN SHAKE ON IT IF YOU WANT, BUT YOU’LL OWE ME SOMETHING TOO! Flumpty nodded slightly, as if he wanted Bill to continue. SEE, I’M LOVING THIS WHOLE “ABSOLUTE POWER” GIG, BUT IT HAS A BIG CAVEAT. THERE’S ONE LITTLE THING THAT COULD PRETTY MUCH DESTROY MY HOLD ON THIS DIMENSION FOREVER. Bill closed his eye, a circle blazing into life around him. Filled with static, symbols formed themselves around the ring, changing between many different phases at once. YOU’VE SEEN THIS ZODIAC BEFORE, RIGHT? Flumpty nodded, his voice twitching with age. Twelve symbols laid around a wheel, hand in hand they’ll bond the seal. But break the chain and pay the cost, the prophecy will all be lost.
Bill glanced around with unease, but nodded. DON’T SAY THAT TOO LOUD, GUY. DON’T WANT ANYONE GETTING SHIFTY IDEAS. BUT YEAH, THAT’S THE GIST OF IT. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD HELP ME... DESTROY IT. An intense hunger lit in Flumpty’s eyes. Finally — a challenge. Something other than floating around and doing random crap just because he could. How? I’VE GOT AN IDEA, BUT IT WOULD TAKE SOME TIME TO EXECUTE IT. I’D NEED A LANDSCAPE FUELED WITH CREATIVITY. A CONDUIT FOR UNSTOPPABLE POTENTIAL. MINECRAFT WAS THE IDEAL CANDIDATE... BUT AS YOU CAN SEE, THAT’S NOT AN OPTION. SO I HAVE SOMETHING IN MIND — THE NEXT BEST THING. Flumpty looked eagerly as Bill formed the image of a perfectly two-dimensional landscape with a C™ emblazoned over it.
HAVE YOU EVER WANTED TO TAKE A TRIP TO TERRARIA?
While Bill and Flumpty formed their own plan off to the side, the meeting of the Conflict began in earnest. Many beings had gathered, with the three Agents that had united first — The Employer, Binary Prime, and the Shadow — assembling in the center, addressing the crowd. The Shadow began the assembly. WELCOME, AGENTS OF CONFLICT. YOU HAVE CHOSEN YOUR FATES, AND CHOSEN WISELY. NO MORE WILL WE RUN AND HIDE FROM COALESCENCE. NO MORE WILL WE WAIT IN THE SHADOWS. WE HAVE ALREADY BEGUN TO TAKE BACK WHAT IS OURS. THE CONFLICT GROWS STRONGER WITH EACH AGENT WE FIND. WITH EACH ATROCITY WE COMMIT. THE SECRET OF THE VOID IS LONG-SINCE DEAD, AND THE COUNCILS AND ARTIFACTS DICTATING REALITY WILL SOON FOLLOW. Cheers rippled throughout the crowd. The Employer spoke next. [1 WAS 0NE 0F THE F1RST AGENTS T0 RESURFACE. Y0U ALL KN0W ME AS THE 0NE WH0 CREATED THE BLACK H0LE RAG1NG BEH1ND US! DESTR0YING THREE UN1VERSES, EVEN 1F 0NE 1S N0W REPA1RED, WAS N0T AN EASY TASK. BUT 1T SH0WS THAT 1F 0NE AGENT CAN T0PPLE S0ME 0F THE 0LDEST UN1VERSES EVER C0NCE1VED, ALL 0F US T0GETHER CAN PERF0RM THE UNTH1NKABLE!]
A young child walked through the crowd, cutting through it like a knife. * The unthinkable? An interesting choice of words. What can we do that we cannot first think of? The Employer’s circuitous body snaked through the sky. [W0ULD 1T N0T HAVE BEEN, JUST AN E0N AG0, 1MP0SS1BLE F0R AN0THER F0RCE 0F PL0T T0 REF0RM? WE HAVE ALREADY CR0SSED 1NT0 THE REALM 0F THE 1MP0SS1BLE. EVEN N0W, THERE ARE TH0SE WH0 D0UBT 0UR P0WER. TH0SE WH0 HAVE YET T0 BE C0NV1NCED. THAT 1S WHY 1 SAY WE MUST MAKE 0UR M0VE N0W. 1T 1S T1ME F0R THE C0NFL1CT T0 ST0P GATHER1NG 1N THE SHAD0WS, AND T0 ATTACK THE L1GHT!] More cheers rang out. The Agents of the Conflict extended their hands and closed their eyes, muttering the Conflict’s solemn vow: “FATE CHOSEN.”
Binary Prime then warped his way into the middle of the arena. The Employer looked puzzled, moving next to him. [ERR, PR1ME? ARE Y0U SURE Y0U’RE QUAL1F1ED T0 ADDRESS THE CR0WD? SPEAK1NG BY WAY 0F 0NES AND ZER0ES 1SN’T EXACTLY C0NDUC1VE T0 SPREAD1NG 1NF0RMAT10N QU1CKLY.] Binary Prime’s static shifted into the shape of an angered face. [1 KN0W WHAT 1 AM D01NG. THE NARRAT1VE PR0MPT W1LL AUT0MAT1CALLY TRANSLATE MY SPEECH.] The Employer rolled his eye. [G0 AHEAD, THEN. KN0CK Y0URSELF 0UT.] Binary Prime addressed the entire crowd, who watched eagerly. [WE MUST SEEK 0UT AND DESTR0Y THE HER0ES 0F THE NARRAT1VE, P1ECE BY P1ECE, 1F WE ARE T0 SUCCEED. WE HAVE EN0UGH P0WER T0 C0NST1TUTE A S1GN1F1CANT THREAT. THE T1ME T0 ACT 1S N0W. 1T’S BEEN M0NTHS. M0NTHS, SPENT C1RCL1NG REAL1TY. AMASS1NG AN ARMY UNDER EVERY0NE’S N0SES. WH1LE THEY ARE STUCK 1N AN0THER T1ME, WE SEEK T0 END 1T ALL.]
The army of the Conflict cheered fully, now spurred into action. Their roars could be sensed all throughout the Void as they rippled across all existences, causing the bubbles of universe that floated through the cosmos to quiver. But as Binary Prime finished his short monologue, the Employer sensed something. There were people here that shouldn’t be — and he wasn’t just thinking of Bill and Flumpty. Truthfully, the Employer hadn’t wanted them here because they were wild cards. They were unaligned to the dichotomy of good and evil: they were truly neutral figures, willing to pursue their own ends. And the Employer remembered all too well how Bill had abandoned Project Binary in his time of need. No enemy of Binary’s was an ally of his, even though Binary was dead. Yes, yes, Binary was dead... So why was the Employer sensing that he was still alive?
[WA1T!] The Employer interjected across the din. The Conflict’s shouts died down. [1’M SENS1NG S0ME H1GHLY UNUSUAL ACT1V1TY CENTERED AR0UND 0UR L0CAT10N. 0UR MEET1NG 1S SEND1NG TRANSM1SS10NS THR0UGH0UT THE V01D F0R UN1VERSES T0 1NTERCEPT, AND 1 BEL1EVE S0ME0NE 0R S0METH1NG 1S D01NG S0 T0 US.] Preposterous, said a suited man with a void for a head. Our meeting is in a breach of space and time. The temporal logistics dictating all realms do not abide by our chaos. Who would be capable of hearing our cries? The Employer would have scowled if it had a mouth. [THAT’S WHAT 1’M TRY1NG T0 F1GURE 0UT.] General agreement rippled through the crowd. They would find the interlopers, whoever dared to break into the inner sanctum of antagonism, and bring them to their knees. And in the way only a force of plot could, these desires became tangible before the Conflict’s very eyes. The Employer immediately sensed another interception.
[THERE 1T 1S! THERE 1T 1S AGA1N!] The crowd looked shocked, with the Shadow stepping forwards. WHAT? If even the Shadow was at a loss, something was dreadfully wrong. The Conflict began to shake. What kind of force were they dealing with? [S0METH1NG’S 1NTERCEPT1NG 0UR P01NT AT SPACET1ME. THEY WERE ALREADY ABLE T0 EAVESDR0P 0N PR1ME’S M0N0L0GUE.] Binary Prime looked taken aback. His form shrunk into the image of a ball. The Shadow loomed forward, the whites of his eyes gleaming unforgivingly. THEN GET RID OF THEM. SIMPLE AS THAT. An army of bony figures stepped towards the Employer, their shrunken bodies dancing without moving. WEAGREEITISNTTHATHARD, they replied, their words piercing through everyone’s very essences. Yes, said the man with no face. Just end the lives of the heroes of Nonfiction. That will be very easy. The Employer froze as he successfully traced the identity of his interceptors. Moreover, everyone in the meeting seemed to gradually come to the same conclusion.
[WH0A. HAH. HAHAHAHA. TH1S 1S... TH1S 1S S0METH1NG ELSE.] The Employer’s voice rumbled across the Void. He had realized where the transmissions were coming from. At some point in the past, Project Binary had been able to intercept the future. And there were only a few sets of people who could utilize his power to such an extent, with an even smaller number who would do so willingly. Something from the past interfering with the future... Something from the future interfering with the past. The true definition of future’s past. Which meant that there was only one group capable of this. The Descendants. [WHAT D0 WE D0? PR0JECT B1NARY... 0N S0ME LEVEL, HE’S AL1VE!] The crowd spoke to each other. This is a secret we keep amongst ourselves, said the man with no face. FAIR EN
UGH, said a horrible undulating representation of a Cairo Overcoat. THINGSJUSTGOTALITTLEMOREINTERESTING, said the crowd of mimes. * You were the one who said we were to act. I have seen these figures, in future’s past. Perhaps it is time for a return trip, said my child. EVERYTHING ENDS. AS DO THEY. NOWHERE TO RUN, said the Shadow. [N0WHERE T0 H1DE,] said Binary Prime. The Employer cackled to himself about jokes. As far as jokes went, this was a big one. The Descendants had spent so long in another time, they were unable to react to the looming threat of the present.
And unfortunately for them, the punch of this line would be strong enough to turn reality into dust.
Hidden deep within the labyrinthine walls of Aperture Science was an old, yet immensely powerful supercomputer. Hanging from the ceiling, Her gaze knew nearly no bounds, as long as it had to do with the facility She ruled. GLaDOS’ eye was keen, ruthless, and above all, tenacious — qualities She admired and despised when attributed to humankind. She had memories of humans sneaking in unannounced and destroying her perfectly laid plans, which always culminated with the destruction of Herself. Select people who had always done their very best to remove Her hold on Her empire. But She was always reborn.
GLaDOS had heard the news and accepted it. Project Binary had been terminated, and he had destroyed the universe as a parting gift. GLaDOS remembered that, too — the all-encompassing, crushing sensation that had torn her circuits into vapor. But She had also remembered being reborn nigh-immediately. It was as if an external force had just undone Binary’s changes with a flick of its wrists, reconstituting everything, with a few missing details. Project Binary was gone, and so was his Moonbase. All of the Arrival’s plans had failed. But it wasn’t a total loss. From what She could tell, two entire universes had been destroyed — and one of them was Minecraft. Maybe TwinBuilder really had died after all?
She doubted it, personally. Until, rather suddenly, she stopped doubting it. Not because She became convinced that he was dead, though She certainly would have preferred it. It was because something else entirely took up her thoughts.
GLaDOS heard footsteps.
She strained her eye across the facility to pinpoint the noise. Someone was moving throughout the facility. Her facility. ...No. It wasn’t just one person. A set of them, walking in perfect unison, gliding across the floor towards Her chamber. GLaDOS considered preparing the neurotoxin, but She had a hunch. If these people were who she thought they were, neurotoxin wouldn’t be an option at all. The only thing She’d be able to do was wait and hear whatever they had to say. After a minute or two, when the beings filed in a line into Her chamber, GLaDOS’ thoughts were confirmed.
The Advanced Superiors watched Her. The series of nine, previously ten, beings that controlled the development of Project Binary completely and utterly. Rumor had it that even they were commanded by a shadowy figure no one had seen. An Overseer of sorts. But he had never graced the portion of the facility GLaDOS properly controlled with His presence. And now, He never would.
GLaDOS scrutinized the figures with every fiber of Her being. Processes ran at speeds that would give any sane human an aneurysm. Numbers were crunched that ran staggeringly high as they factored in dimensional warping and the resolve to change fate. GLaDOS chuckled softly, a sound warped by audio systems worn from disuse. “
“Save it,” Lozenge spoke. Their mouth barely moved. “Your barbs are designed for human ears to process.” GLaDOS swiveled on Her perch at the ceiling. “
GLaDOS looked at him with complete shock, which was quickly replaced by a sea of calm. She ran countless database checks in less than a second, realizing with appalling certainty that this could only be one of two people — some inconsequential employee that worked on Project Binary, or... “How in the world could you have recruited him? The one human being I told you I wanted to track down and annihilate across all conceivable timelines!” The Advanced Superiors stared at the man with the glasses. “Him? No, he’s not your enemy. Go ahead. Introduce yourself, Interrobang.”
Interrobang took off his glasses, which arced with electricity. [Hey there. My name’s Jeff. Jeff the Scientist. We met in another life. Don’t remember it? That’s fine. You told me you wouldn’t.] GLaDOS peered at Interrobang with a curious expression. “
GLaDOS turned around, the lights on Her chassis blinking dangerously. “
Interrobang put his glasses back on his head with an audible click. GLaDOS lurched, experiencing an intense feeling of weightlessness. “
The Advanced Superiors floated in nothingness. “Now our work is blotted out,” said Octothorpe, the first of them. “We leave behind no mistakes,” said Pilcrow, the second. “Our voices are silenced,” said Asterism, the third. “Lost to the sands of time,” said Ampersand, the fourth. “Slashed from the record,” said Backslash, the fifth. “They are dying their own deaths, away from us,” said Obelus, the sixth. “Our bodies will retreat to a higher place,” said Carat, the seventh. “We were as cold as ice,” said Dagger, the eighth. “But our work will remain in the geometry hidden beneath the moon,” said Lozenge, the ninth.
[That’s no moon,] said Interrobang, the forgotten. The Advanced Superiors’ heads turned to Interrobang ominously. “Really,” their sad mouths all seemed to say without speaking. “That’s your powerful one-liner? A reference to a factually incorrect movie? They didn’t account for the Void, or multi-dimensional theory. Shame on you, Mason. Shame on you.” Interrobang sheepishly turned away. [Uh... though the present and the future are gone... the recent past is recalled?] The Advanced Superiors’ heads nodded with acceptance. All nine, plus One, spoke in unison.
“[The recent past is recalled.]”
The Advanced Superiors glided backwards out of the universe formerly known as Universe B. The cavern of Aperture Science filled with rocks and sunk into a crater, and the work of the U.S. government was extinguished.
Floating across the Void, at a random point in space and time, and arranged so he might as well have been hovering in the middle of an interstellar hammock watching days tick by, was a mythical being dressed in the clothes of a twofold guardian. THE
THE
But it had never occurred to THE
THE
And the worst of it was what THE
Whatever could form from that absolution, THE
THE
“
The being it belonged to hovered at an especially remote corner of the Void, where a horrible light shone that threw his entire body into an unearthly gray light. He was standing at the precipice of Limbo, viewing its gates with eyes that had seen into the depths of Hell and realized that the notions of fire and brimstone were meant to maintain tourism. He adjusted his glasses, which, like their brethren, shone with the lights of the cosmos. Split chuckled.
“
“
Split moved further from the Trifecta, floating past a hammock and paying no attention to it. He spoke into the expanse. “
Split’s journey took him to a shimmering universe that resembled the green one he’d been born in. “
Split stirred from his slumber and adjusted his glasses. Immediately, he disappeared in a flash of red light.
Build was annoyed, as usual. First, he woke up from his disheveled bed and looked outside to see what color the sky was. If it was blue, the sun would be out. If it was grey, the sun wouldn’t be out. If it was orchid, there was a really big problem. Common science, of course, but worth repeating. For what must have been the two hundredth time, Build saw that the sky was flickering, and wondered what the hell was going on. Then he saw the force field generators stationed around the perimeter of his house and sighed. He closed the tattered goldenrod curtains of his window. He didn’t get why he kept looking outside, expecting something to change. But he saw the same thing, day after day. Then the days turned to weeks. And the weeks turned to months. And the months turned to...
It was hard. Very hard. Hard to move on, that was. Build didn’t get why. He wanted to change, honestly. But he could never really do much without being reminded of the war that had literally changed his entire life. It wasn’t hard to remind himself of it. All he had to do was look out the window. It was as if he did it subconsciously at this point. Like he couldn’t go a day without finding some kind of reminder. Like the occasional hisses of static his phonograph made. Like the forcefields and the guards that were sometimes stationed in his yard, leisurely watching him. Like the fact that his street was now empty, and every time there was a gust of wind, he could hear it with perfect clarity, no matter how small it was.
The Godmodder’s sudden entrance into his house those weeks ago... The things he said… They still stewed in Build’s mind. The Godmodder had warned him that his phonograph would start talking to him. It hadn’t. Build’s best guess was that the Godmodder had hold him it just to get a reaction out of him. To make him feel paranoid over uncertainty. But there was another part of him who convinced the Godmodder’s threat was legitimate. As if it was more than a threat. As if it was a promise. And the fact that the Godmodder was alive and about didn’t bode well, either. If he was alive, he had a plan. If he had a plan, he made a war. And if he made a war...
Build tried without success to shut it out of his mind. THE
Build thought back to his dreams, yet another reason why he was annoyed. He’d been plagued by them for some time, even before the Godmodder’s visit. The thing about dreams, he observed, was that you were always convinced they were real while you were having them. Your brain was absolutely certain that whatever went on in them was the real deal, so anything could happen in them, and you accepted it as fact. That is, until the moment you woke up, and the confusion of living in two realities slapped you in the face, and you remembered the real world. Build’s life was, in that way, an extended dream.
The dreams he’d had ranged from odd to disturbing, and they kept recurring in cycles. He’d seen a kaleidoscopic void that could be walked by only one person, and Build had a suspicion he knew who it was. He’d seen images of dancing triangles with cancer dripping out of their eye and indigo fire surging around them. He’d seen fifteen shadowy figures congregating around some kind of prism. They chanted with low voices, speaking in such a way that Build could hear every word as if they were next to him. He’d seen a pair of glasses containing a universe falling to the ground and breaking. He’d seen himself locked in a car as it drove itself into the ocean with him inside. He always wondered what that last one meant. Probably nothing important. Usually a whale cut in half was involved.
Worst of all was the part of Build that was annoyed at peace. Some asinine piece in the back of his mind resented the fact that there was nothing interesting going on, even though the better part of him knew that that was by far the best outcome. It was as if he yearned for the days he spent interfering with the logistics of a war in another universe, and by extension, controlling reality. The scariest part was when he had those thoughts, they sounded like Split. It was just as he had told the Godmodder. Split was the manifestation of TwinBuilder’s desire for control, just horribly exaggerated into something unnatural. Were these thoughts even possible, then, if their impulses were supposedly ripped from his brain and taken into the core of someone else? He put his head in his hands with an exasperated motion. Freakin’ splits. How do they even goddamn work?
Build walked past his scrapped webcomic ideas and looked at the spinning phonograph. He tended to notice, now, that there were periods of time where it simply said nothing. There wasn’t any static, and there weren’t any voices. Just unnatural silence, as if Tazz had spent entire stretches of time without interfering with the Narrative. Build wondered why such a thing would happen — wasn’t it Tazz’s duty to use his powers as quickly as possible, steering things to a good end? But whenever he invested serious thought into it, he came to the conclusion that it simply wasn’t his place to interfere. He wasn’t a part of the war anymore. He tried to convince himself of that. But then came the feeling, again, that there was something he was missing out on. A feeling that his life was as boring as Boring, Oregon, which is a very real town, look it up.
“
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Build’s blood turned to what felt like ice. He turned around, his eyes reduced to pinpricks. There was someone in his room. Their voice was crackling, hissing, distant — but eerily familiar. Build called out into the unknown. “
Build ran across the room, peering through his windows and checking his closets to find the Descendants that were somehow talking to him. He stopped abruptly when his gaze settled on the phonograph. No. There was no way.
...But it had to be.
“
Suddenly, Build found he couldn’t see straight. The Godmodder’s words snapped back to him with perfect clarity. “That phonograph’s gonna talk to you, and you’d better be ready for when it does. Project Binary isn’t dead. Circumstantial simultaneity is a tricky thing.” Here they were. The Descendants. The harbingers of the war that had chained Build in a spot he’d never wanted for years, back to haunt him. He’d spent months sitting in a stupor as his former approval and admiration of them turned into disgust and fatigue. And now, they were back, and it seemed they hadn’t changed. Build stumbled, vaguely aware of various words coming from the Descendants in the phonograph. Everything wrong with his past was coming back. The Descendants, and now... Binary. He understood the Godmodder’s words. Somehow, Project Binary was existing in the past and interacting with the future. He suddenly appreciated the cluster of temporal shenanigans making up the future’s past of Tazz’s adventure in the Narrative even less.
“
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Finding he was once again talking to an audience, but this time finding he was desperate to be rid of them, Build turned from the phonograph and delivered what he thought would be a great closing remark. “
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Build’s face turned pale, and this time it was without First Guardian powers. That word. That word. Build knew Crystal knew what it meant. He had to have. A set of nine, no, ten, no, nine, WHATEVER, symbols. Symbols of unimaginable powers. Curses... that could transcend time and space. Build’s mind broke as he realized the Godmodder was actually trying to give him genuine advice for once in his life, just as Build had done to him. He snapped. “
When he returned to his house later that day, the phonograph was silent.
Nine days passed without circumstance. Build warped back into his vicious cycle of constant reminders and daydreams. The words of the Descendants had pierced through his head. They were, once again, messing with terrible forces. And the worst part was he couldn’t even call them forces they couldn’t control. The Descendants could control them. That was their power. They had found Project Binary while he was in the past and, somehow, reached out to him. Just as Build was beginning to put the incident out of his mind, he heard them again. He was sitting on his bed in silence with an instinct in his gut. Something wasn’t right with the air. The wind was howling. And then, he heard it.
“{#¶⁂&\÷^‡◊},” came the hissing voice from the phonograph. Some chucklenut had uttered all of the Curses. Like any good Curse should, their images were burned directly into Build’s retinas, causing him to double over. His arms shook. He thought back to unpleasant and darker times, before the Godmodder had even created GodCraft at all, and then ripped those memories away with a shove. He stood up and shambled over to the phonograph, gripping it with both hands. It sounded like Erelye had done it, almost certainly intentionally. Build struggled to fathom how anyone could say those Curses, in that order, on accident. Which meant the Descendants were probably trying to get a rise out of him. Perfect.
“
“I’m an eternal demon of knowledge.
“{‽}”
Build grimaced worse than ever, his hands digging into the phonograph as red energy blared from his eyes. Crystal talked over him. “
Build knelt down towards Disc Zero, examining its spinning, gleaming surface. He could hear it humming underneath the crackling sounds of the phonograph. Somewhere in that Disc was the journey of the Scribe. A man who had been introduced as one of the Godmodder’s friends — a title he had only gained later in life. In actuality, he was a dangerous being who had wandered the universe for decades in pursuit of a vile quest. A quest to kill the members of The Order and gain their Curses. Only when he had all nine could he unlock The Gate and reveal the secrets within. Build’s eyes shook. The Scribe’s true nature wasn’t relevant to the Godmodder’s current war. But it was relevant to the past. And if it was relevant to the past, then it was relevant to the future’s past. And unfortunately for Build, it seemed that those two time periods collided right about now. It made perfect sense. All the ghosts of Build’s past were coming back to spit in his face, one last time.
That’s when Build decided he’d had enough.
“
But the voices kept coming. “
Build realized the true nature of Binary in that moment. The Descendants were messing with his most basic interface. A terminal of some kind. Using inputs and outputs to glean information, for some sick and twisted purpose. Why they were doing it, he had no idea. How they were doing it, he may have been a bit closer to understanding. But none of that mattered. What did matter was that the instant Battlefury finished his sentence, Build’s room faded to static, and he was trapped in a black void with the Disc and the phonograph.
A small red butterfly fluttered across the void. Build stared at it with an unreasonable amount of panic, and felt rumbling behind him. Turning around, he saw an entire cloud of butterflies had gathered, spewing rom the phonograph, floating haphazardly in a terrible shape that looked like a closed eye. It slowly opened, and Build’s jaw dropped. “
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“Let’s put it another way,” Tazz continued. “
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“
“
All hell broke loose. The phonograph crackled with red electricity, shockwaves piercing through Build’s house and warping it into a twisted scarlet image of itself. The wallpaper dripped and liquefied. The butterflies congregated again, forming a shifting ball of turbulence that shattered with hatred. Build took several steps back, horrified as the thing opened its singular eye, which was gnarled and shaped all wrong, resembling a massive zero. Its iris and pupil were nothing at all, and yet everything at once — a gateway into endless visions of chaos. Wings that looked nothing like actual wings unfurled from its decaying surface as every individual butterfly hardened into shimmering scales. The being fixated its gaze intently on Build.
Suddenly, a piercing screech filled the room, shattering glass and knocking over furniture. A red tendril snaked towards Build, who was enveloped with a momentary aura of green energy, dodging it. Build screamed obscenities as he ran for the door, fumbling with his hands. “
“
Disc Zero shattered into pieces.
