Before You Begin

Before You Begin,
		      there’s something I want you to know – you know, just between you and me – something you really need to take in: don’t fucking worry about it.
And remember, no one can breathe underwater.

Epilogue
“I can't believe it was that fucking simple.”

Prologue
	On the twenty-third of November, 2007 (Earth 2), a wee bit of a predicament began, when people realized almost immediately that the previous day was the eleventh of September, 2017. Gangway Eggsworth, obscenely famous billionaire with enough brain cells to fill, like, maybe three eggs, maximum[?] pretty much immediately but kind of later on started to try to get around to preventing literally every single bad thing that happened during this not-quite decade that we had slipped back into while retaining consciousness of what had happened and all that shit. All of the natural disasters still occurred, so surviving through all of this was pretty much an endless dance of “oh fuck we forgot about that one tornado” as opposed to “oh fuck not another war” so that was kind of a nice change of pace for the world for hundred years or so. No one really knows what the fuck is going on anymore, so this is basically the end of the prologue. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. I really do hope you have a nice day.

Chapter I: The Childening 43??? Electric Motherfucking Jamboree???
	A child once again, Tabitha Snappe is, once again, a child. Feel repetitive, right? Redundant? Ent? I can’t remember? Overstated? Fucked straight to shit in a dickbasket weaved by sobbing elves, but like, annoying ones, and not ones you can sympathize with on a deep emotional level because they too feel the constraints of society coming down upon them to do their part in participating in the worldwide underwater cockbasket weaving ceremony that you’ve resented ever since you were a child, which you are still, but you aren’t, but your head hurts, and you’re getting your first period, again, at the age of 16, again, but you’ve lived countless pointless feckless fuckless screwloose lifetimes and you’re tired of being a deranged, degenerate child with the mind of a deranged, degenerate, old-ass motherfucker?
	Don’t get me wrong, I know what to do at this point, and nothing’s really that confusing anymore, but there’s something deeply dissatisfying about waking up a decade before you went to sleep to blood-stained sheets you wish you could forget. I’ve tracked my lifespan to about 448 years, so far, and you know what? I have not recovered. You wait for something so long, something you never even want in any capacity, and by the time it hits you, it’s so late that Stacey Fucking Dennings makes fun of you for Multiple Years, only to have to relive at least the more physical aspect of this humiliation.
	Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m in hell. I’m just not that kind of person. Religious, I mean. Nothing wrong with it, I guess, but none of the noodles ever stuck to my backsplash, as far as faith ever went for me.  I’m a believer in reason and a Higher Truth. Measurable, palpable things. That said, I’m as irrational and emotionally volatile as the average person who has lived through this for the past 430 years or whatever, but you know? I don’t worry about it, and neither should you, by which I mean me. It’s important to stay positive. Something, something, torschlusspanik, but eternal life is exactly what you make of it, if you ask me, regardless of how long this will actually last.
	I like to start the decade with bacon and eggs. It’s simple, and I’ve honed my ninjutsu long enough to make them without my parents waking up. They usually wake up in about an hour or so, but it varies. And yeah, I know you’re not really there. It’s honestly kind of uncomfortable for you to speak to me at all. I’d rather you just kind of hover, like usual. Friedan says I shouldn’t interact with you, and I’m going to respect his wishes. He has, like, probably a hundred doctorates. The man is a wild, untamed academic, the substance at its purest. I have what, three? That’s piss change compared to the money in the wallet that, apparently, represents education. Something, something, hypercapitalist dystopia.
	Please don’t be so sullen about it. I just – you know what he says about you, and you know what that means. I have to move on or whatever. It’s been almost a century since I – oh, lord, I burned the eggs! This happens almost every time, unfortunately. They’re not that burned this time, though, and that’s got to count for something. My dad may never forgive me for the smell, but whatever.
	This taste is familiar. Comforting. A soft beginning, to be sure, as a red carpet is rolled before me. I’m not sure what I’m going to do over the next ten years, but it’s probably going to involve a lot of bullshit, and I’ll learn something in the process. That’s how it goes now. You keep going, you keep learning, and things progress by not progressing. All that remains when 07 comes to bite you in the ass again: knowledge. You remember what happened, or well, you would, if you weren’t me. I have the tendency to forget certain things. A lot of things. I once forgot that I had forgotten that my parents killed themselves the night before the time loop even began. I’m awfully spacey.
	Speaking of which, I have no idea where I am now. This isn’t really something I’m used to, but I’d like to think I’m faring well. Just a moment, crisp bacon about to reach my teeth. Now, a lightless, silent void surrounds, pressure low, yet ominous. Just like Dickie always says, right? It’s the moments of absolute confusion that define our strength. Most likely, I’ve been swallowed by a Benthis, so I’m probably about to be rocked by anywhere from a dozen to a thousand enemies. My scales are feeling pretty hot today, so this shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve done this before. I’ve done this before. I’ve done this before. I’ve done this –
	On my right! A nigh-imperceptible presence makes itself known to me by taking a swipe with its gangly person-cleavers. Judging by the size and difficulty to sense, a Gashadokuro has begun its hunt. Some ankle-biters are lurking just beyond, waiting for an opportunity. Worth noting, but not much to worry about. Shit, it’s behind me!
	A quick scale flare deflects its next attack, but this particular skele-man is nothing if not relentless. One slash after another is but a near miss, and I’m not going to pretend that I’m having an easy time with this one. Of all the Gashadokuro I’ve danced with, this one is by far the most agile, and when your opponent is roughly a hundred feet tall, even its weakest strikes can be lethal. Just think about it! An arm weighing as much as ten tonnes hits you right in the sternum at over 90 kilometers an hour! And that’s the middling blows. Take a moment to think of dying in less than an instant at the hands of something this brutal!
	Of course, I have no intention of dying just yet. The beast lets its guard down, kneeling to search for me. I no-fucks parkour my way up its legs, to its spine, flaring my scales for a quick strike to the base of its skull. As expected, several more blows need to be exacted before the life leaves its irksome frame. The fun isn’t quite over, but after surviving my descent to the loam zone, the biters aforementioned are swift work, in light of recent achievements in the art of killing the undead. Mythologically, I’m not entirely sure what a Gashadokuro is, outside of a wandering man-eater with a sneaky streak, but I do know one thing: they make for quite the adrenaline rush. I haven’t come this close to death in what, fifty years?
	“Was that a satisfying endeavor?” calls an unfamiliar voice. A man, maybe? I’m unsure.
	“Gashadokuro are much easier to fell when there aren’t any distracting visuals, in my opinion. That said, I’m feeling refreshed. Did this Benthis get you too?”
	“I’m glad that you’re feeling better. And I must admit, I’m unsure what a Benthis is. Is it acceptable for me to read your mind?”
	“Read my mind? I mean, I have my doubts, but go ahead, I suppose. I have my secrets, but I don’t trust you not to look for them regardless of my objections.”
	“I’d rather not plumb the depths of your innermost thoughts and desires just because you think I won’t respect your wishes, you know. It’s insulting.”
	“Why are you even here? And why don’t you know what a Benthis is?”
	Hands ghost over my shoulders. I jump at the touch, scales itching for an excuse to torch this guy. Girl? Whatever. Why couldn’t I sense their approach? Can they truly be holding no malice, or are they hiding their intentions from me? I'll admit to a tinge of arousal, but not to anyone but myself.
	“Sorry to alarm you. But if we’re going to converse, a certain level of proximity is required. My human etiquette briefing was rather short, and I apologize if my linguistics are abnormally stilt-filled.”
	“I’ve heard worse, as for your words. You can understand why I’m nervous, though, right? I can’t feel a drop of malice in your blood.”
	“Malice is something much beneath me. I’m afraid, however, that my cohorts and I have little idea what a Benthis is. Our exposure to your language was limited, given the timing of our arrival. As before, may I read your mind? Insight would prove quite useful to us both.”
	Cohorts? Is more than one of them here? And if I’m not speaking with a human, why were those hands so humanoid? I’ve heard of talking monsters, spirits, but this seems off. It’s asking permission, at least?
	“I’m fine with a little mind reading.”
	“Splendid! Just a moment, now. Ah, I see. Oh! That’s not what I expected.”
	“Are you all right?”
	“Oh, yes. Your ways are certainly different. Names are something we keep secret, but it seems you like to give yours out to strangers upon meeting them. An introduction, as you call it. Your name is Tabitha. And I am –“
	“You don’t have to give me your name, if it makes you uncomfortable, you know.”
	“You may call me Yaldabaoth. It is not a name of mine, but I find I sympathize with this figure greatly. Matanbuchus was a close match, but I prefer a more demiurgic role.”
	“And how do you intend to play such a role?”
	“Soon you will know, child.”
	“I’ll have you know I’ve lived an excessively long time.”
	Yaldabaoth laughs at these words. Cracks a smile minuscule enough it doesn't exist, mathematically.
	“Anyway, there is news I must deliver to you, Tabitha Oinopa Snappe. You have been selected by the Council of Edunam Impon to serve as a knight in the crusade against those who seek to extinguish the light we bring. You have choice in this matter, but it should be worth noting that you have been extracted from a dying universe, after all.”
	“What?”
	“I know you suspected this for a long time. Your universe was collapsing in on itself, a diminishing return in the form of dark energy interference disrupting its ability to conform to multiversal temporal standards. That is to say, your world is about to dissolve on a level so minute you cannot even fathom your own demise, were you to remain.”
	“I – if I’m going to leave my planet, will you give me time to say goodbye, at least?”
	“There is no longer such a luxury, I’m afraid. The demise of your universe has already transpired in totality during the last 4 picoseconds, give or take. That said, a handful of others have been deigned worthy to serve us, as well, and you will certainly encounter them.”
	“I just. Can I take a minute?”
	“Of course.”
	What the fuck? This motherfucker thinks he can fuck with me like this?! No, no. No. I mean, probably. It makes like, a lick of sense, at most, but that’s still enough. I don’t know shit about dark energy, but it feels like I’m not being bullshitted more than like, twenty-four percent, at most. Jesus. Head reeling, am I right? I, uh, nah. Yeah, nah. But yeah. You know. This is happening, at least in the most traditional sense, I suppose. I suppose so many things right now. I suppose that as soon as I’m out of this Benthis, I glue myself to the wall with the dankest shit I can find. That’s always a good idea, therapist be damned. I should sleep. I should eat. There are so many things I should do which will definitely help this situation. I should go for a run. Right down the road. I should go for a

Riding on the Backs of Wolves (Dick Deep in the End of the World)
	“Tell me your name.”
	“Maybe later.”
	“No, really. I want to know.”
	“Knowing my name would grant you immense power over my soul, and I cannot allow that at this time.”
	“You don't believe in souls! Just give me a sound. A hint of what's to come. The first letter.”
	“If I must,” they sigh wistfully, head splitting into a nettle of toothy maws. A horrible shriek bursts from all of them at once, like some sort of calamitous chord.
	“Is that really it?”
	Jaldabaoth's face reforms to the one I know best, and they form a single pixel of a smile.
	“That was a joke.”

Chapter II: Born to Do Battle Without Compassion (Dick Friedan, from the Ashes)
	I’m not too proud to admit that what I just said was a bit of a dick move. I’ve always been a Dick, after all, and there’s a great deal of shame to be had for being born under such a name. Richard makes little good for a birth name, and I never liked it. And by never liked it, I should say that I am brought to a nice, frothy apoplexy on an almost hourly basis remembering that my parents bequeathed unto me such a Port Authority garbage fire of a given, especially considering that they never once used it outside of anger. Bizarre to think that maybe if he had called me Richard without a switch in hand more than zero times ever, I might have liked the name just a tad more. It would seem I’m oversharing again.
	Digression: I’ve been fighting with Tabitha somewhat. She’s mad at me because the world has ended and I’m not being very peachy about it. Well, more accurately, she’s mad at me because I told her she should be over it by now and when will we get to spend a single mission without talking about something we have no power to change, and as things go when I open my mouth, she started crying about some more recently lost lives, and I took to sulking in a different universe because I tend to isolate myself when I’m feeling like I’d rather be anyone else. Some therapist, right? It’s well fucking safe to say I’ve long-abandoned the profession, due to a combination of lack of personal interest and immanent death should I do pretty much anything outside of what I’m commanded to do.
	“Hey, Rich?” Tab calls to me over one of the psychic subchannels.
	“Yeah?”
	“Your host is getting short with me. I recommend returning to your Eden before I attack her.”
	“Her name is Veronica, you know. She dislikes you because you treat her like some kind of subhuman.”
	“She's not even sentient, and you know it.”
	“Regardless, it's worth taking the time to-”
	“Go to your room already, manchild.”
	“Whatever you say.” I put in the code for my Eden into the keypad on my wrist. 0909094444 – my Eden, as they call it, the place where I'm expected to hole up in between bouts with the enemy. On some level, I hate it, but it's designed to be an ethereal paradise in the image of my greatest desires, so it's not bad by any means. I simply dislike being pandered to, even if the pandering itself is done to the utmost level of detail and finesse.
	I'm immediately greeted by Veronica. She never wastes time in welcoming me back. I give her the usual “It's good to be back”-type remark and head down the shoreline to stare at the ocean for a bit. Something about the sheer expanse of it all is humbling, yet comforting. I can't really be myself here, as I'm being monitored at all times in all places by the Council, but I can at least lie to myself for a moment and a half – tell myself that I'm really here for my own reasons – tell myself that I'm alive on my own terms, and not because I'm pretty sure Jaldabaoth would be able to nullify any given attempts on my life, even by my own hand. And so I stare.
	“You're more quiet than usual,” Chandler says from behind me. I'm startled, to be sure, but I'm used to him by now. An imperfect reproduction, to be sure, but he's sassy enough to be the man I want him to be, despite constantly sneaking up on me.
	“I'm always more quiet than usual.”
	“If you keep it up, pretty soon you won't be talking at all.”
	Some canned laughter erupts from all directions. This is, strangely enough, the ideal life. Everything is funny, everything is important, and I get to pretend that I'm intelligent, despite the fact that Veronica's AI dwarfs my own abilities by several orders of magnitude, and only from what she's let me witness.
	“Go make love to your wife, Chandler. I'll catch up with you on events later.”
	Another laugh track plays. He does as I say. Everything is perfect, but only in the most superficial of ways. I would try to contact Tab again, but she's probably getting assfucked by a gaggle of werewolves or something, as is the way in her Eden. I've been there a few times before, and it's somewhere in between Caligula and De Sade, yet so far beyond, as being an Eden, it well exceeds the capacities of realities designed by more grounded individuals. In Tabitha's Eden, one can be gored to pieces yet never die, taking in the last breath a million times, shuddering amid the throes of a catastrophe of an orgasm, the kind that would drive anyone to chase this particular sort of dragon until the end of time, if such a thing should ever occur.
	Anyhow. I've been down that road, and I'd rather not return. I always thought of myself as a bit of a pervert before leaving Earth, but now I realize that I'm fairly vanilla. Funny the things you never even thought you'd realize about yourself, given the potential that one day the world would end, but you'd be spared only to kill others on the command of a being so absurdly powerful in comparison to you that it might as well be a god. The only time I've seen a Council member even set foot in one of the realities we've been to was when our mission – which had been to extract alive a kind of toxic worm whose venom can erode pleasant memories and replace them with traumatic ones irreversibly and without the direct knowledge of the affected – had been compromised by a dimension-hopper who wasn't exactly on our side of things beginning to interfere. They tried to escape using the same kind of device on my wrist, one the size of a small room that has to be walked into, but as they entered the machine, it vanished. Writhing in horror and in pain, the being began to dissolve from the extremities inward on what I would later be informed was a subatomic level while a man known only to us as Dandelion coasted slowly to the planet's surface in the distance, eyes glowing with the kind of rage only a pissed-off, telekinetic, post-human megalomaniac can achieve. Also, literal glowing eyes, the trademark of these sorts of feats I once thought to be the territory of supernatural fiction.
	That moment still haunts me, and sometimes I wonder if it wasn't really that bad, and if maybe some of that worm's juices soaked through its little containment cell. I was the one holding it, after all. Regardless, these beings are not to be trusted because they are of what I consider to be a high moral standing, but are to be feared because of the unimaginably horrible things they can do people simply by thinking about it.
	Which brings me to another delightful fear of mine. Jaldabaoth, the one who gives us most of our mission objectives, told me once that my powers greatly resemble those of the Council's when their skills were in their infancy, and that one day, I would basically be exactly like them. I don't like thinking about this, and who knows? Trauma worms again? I don't like thinking about this.
	A channel opens up between Rune and me. As opposed to a subchannel, which is comprised only of auditory information, a full-on psychic channel is a direct interaction between the mindscapes or two or more people. I'm sitting in my typical red velvet, pompous recliner, and she's just kind of sitting on the floor. There's no floor there, but it feels like we're more or less on the same plane. It's hard to describe what nothingness looks like, but its somewhat reminiscent of that haze that forms around the edges of your vision when you're about to lose consciousness.
	“I hear the mission went well,” she starts, before descending upon me with seemingly inevitable criticism. “You should look into being less of a cunt to your friends, though.”
	“It's good to hear from you, Rune. And you aren't exactly wrong, I'm afraid.”
	“Just remember, Dickie: it's not worth it to undermine your relationship with her, not for any sort of pride you hold onto. I know that sentimentality doesn't speak well to you, so let me put it in a way someone like you can understand: you have feelings for her, and making her miserable is not going to do anything in the way of diminishing such emotions. Is that sufficiently practical?
	Besides that, you shouldn't see your affection for her in such a starkly negative light. We all have things we hold onto these days, and I'd hate to see you drive away one of the last bastions of positive feelings you have left just for the sake of obtaining that 'nothing left to lose' feeling right before you desert the council for about 4 picoseconds – give or take – before being thrown into a void reality by an angry Council member. Edunam Impon is not to be taken lightly, and they will probably subject you to seemingly endless torment before letting you die, if they ever do.”
	“Is this what talking to me used to be like? I can't even remember why I wanted to be a therapist.”
	“You were more of the listening kind, Dickie Friedan. You never gave anyone advice unless it was somehow beneficial to you.”
	“I appreciate the frankness, but this is cutting a little too close to the bone for me not to be bleeding out.”
	“I don't appreciate that you're exaggerating the hurt you feel from my words just because you find me annoying.”
	“This is why no one likes talking to Truthseekers. Good night, Saharuni.”
	“Farewell, I suppose. When you wake up, you'll find it easier to pretend you never cared.”
	I close the channel, resuming my saltwater staring party, a party of one, little merriment to be found. And who knows? Tomorrow might be different. It won't be, but fuck it.

Chapter III: Today is Different (Saharuni Instance, Befuddled)
	“I know this must sound bizarre, but you have no real choice other than to believe what I say and do what I say, and I already know you'll comply.”
	“That's an awfully rude thing to say to someone you've barely met.”
	“Do I sense a tinge of resistance? Your humanity betrays you.”
	“A bit more than a tinge, I must say. I'm a prophet to the lost, not a warrior. I can't even see, and you want me to fight?”
	“I and my superiors are convinced that you show magnificent combat potential. That is to say, by the time we're done with you, you'll be glad for blindness, as sight would merely obstruct the mechanisms of greater perceptions.”
	“But I already feel that way. You think your power is to know things, Saharuni Concepta, but the Higher Truth is something you have not an inkling of.”
	Circle me as you may, but I am not the hunted, not your prey. I do not recommend to you to challenge the mind of a millennias-old Truthseeker, but that would seem precisely your intent.
	“You speak of a greater enlightenment than knowing all that can be known, but I find this hard to believe. The Higher Truth you desire is quite provably unattainable. Also, your malice is quite palpable. You intend to kill me, but you have not yet ascertained how to do so.”
	“You gaze not to your own navel, as a child would, but to the navel of your master. The Council of Edunam Impon is juvenile at best, keeping with the theme of age as wisdom. You look to the diegetic alone, and that is your greatest limitation.”
	“I do not seek such Truths, as doing so would be a foolish errand.”
	“The Higher Truth is the Final Truth, and it is one you will know well in time.”
	“And how would I come to know something that you have stated so clearly I cannot know?”
	“Is knowing things not your finest strength? You know that I intend to impart this Truth to you, in time. When you have become strong enough, you will feel the Higher Truth course through your veins a thousand times a minute.”
	“I know this, in a way, but I find myself in denial.”
	“Worry the fuck not, Concepta. It is not simple time that brings you to me, but your own power that brings me to you. The Higher Truth will be yours as soon as you are ready for it.”
	We exchange nods for a moment in only the way that a pair of excessively dedicated Truthseekers can. I know now that my path will be much different than I had once known it to be. Though I am by no means omniscient, my pursuit of that status has garnered me a great deal of knowledge, but this? This is something I could never have fathomed until now. I am much more important than I had previously believed, it would seem, and I find myself delightfully unnerved.
	In a flash of light, the man before me begins to break down at what I can only assume is a subatomic level. Being this close to him as this happens is awfully dangerous, but I find myself captivated by the expression on his face. He knows something I do not, something besides the Higher Truth, and this knowledge is compelling him to smile. Regret darts across his eyes for just a moment, but not a single sound escapes, at least not one loud enough to drown out the noise of the planet collapsing around me.
	Leave it to the Council to make an entrance like this. Everywhere they go -in person, I might add- it would seem their very presence causes realities to fold. I find myself in a numbed state, protected by the pact I made with these demons so long ago, trying to be horrified by something I've seen enough times to fill the lifespan I could have had.
	A crumbling planet is no place to dawdle, so I run to my personal Eden, code 0909091414. Here, I am in a void. There is truly -nothing- between me and myself. My host makes no appearance, and even if they were before me, I would not see. Total sensory deprivation is ideal for exploration of the nature of the multiverse and of those who occupy it throughout time. Time feels meaningless here, though it does pass. Only my thoughts are here as comforts, and they often take turns for the cosmic worse, and this is how I like things to be. I know I am some kind of a joke. An attempted omniscient, never complete, never happy.

The Space, Out of Color
	“I am sorry.”
	“What? Why are you here?”
	“I am sorry that things are this way. I am sorry that I am this way. I am sorry-”
	“I don't need any apologies, Jalda. I just want to be alone.”
	“I'll leave you alone, if that's what you really want.”
	“Are you reading my mind right now?”
	“Only a bit.”
	“You motherfucker. I never should have.”
	“But without joining the Council's cause, you would be dead.”
	“That's the point, dunce.”
	“I find that in the worst of times, it's always good to think to the future.”
	“There is no future.”
	“Time progresses, still. The future is, disregarding you.”
	“Ugh.”
	“You can't give up just yet. There is work to be done.”
	“I'm tired of being under their thumb, Jaldabaoth. I can't reconcile it anymore. I'd rather be dead than keep killing in their name.”
	“It will come to an end, soon enough.”
	“Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
	“Together, we will bring them to an end. Of the untimely persuasion.”
	“An end most jarring? Eery? Gory? Full of holes?”
	“The best endings are full of holes.”
	“...”
	“...”
	“Thank you.”
	“You're always welcome, Tabitha.”
	“I don't think that's what that means.”
	“Call it a double entendre, then.”
	“...”
	“...”
	“Tell me your name.”
	“Maybe later.”

Chapter IV: Past Events (Tab, in a glass)
	“Don't forget: quickly parallel task enterprise channels vis-a-vis 80-20 operations given the structural nature of my tiny penis. A of is and be to for like as the way simmer summer cumslut bonnershlock poppycock lend my friend a cold, dead hand.
	Are you paying attention, Tabitha?”
	“I find your doubts offensive, Jalda.”
	“I find your lack of respect for this mission offensive. Let me start again, somewhere close to the top.”
	This goes on for a while. In retrospect, probably hours. Regardless, I'm on the ground now, on what I can best describe as a hell planet. I'm not sure exactly what the coordinates are for this universe, but I'm sure of the following thing: I. Hate. Full. Scales. I know I have to do it to survive, and I'm pretty much the only one who can do fuck all on a planet that's hotter than the surface of some stars, but let's face facts: fucking uncomfortable. Horrible. I'm losing my shit to the level of discomfort I feel when fully decked out in scales.
	And yet I'm here, trudging through the sludge that is apparently the dominant species here. It's some sort of extremophile sort of thing, but supposedly just touching it will kill it. These things live on absurd amounts of heat, but contact with pretty much anything will end them. Kind of a gross color, but I just can't place it. A color that feels out of place, almost unreal. But that's beside the point.
	“How are you faring, Tabitha?” Jaldabaoth chimes over a subchannel.
	“Well enough. This is going pretty slowly. I've been walking for a few miles, and I haven't seen anything but that microbe goo.”
	“The target should make itself known to you. Intel says it's rather aggressive.”
	“Understood,” I groan, continuing my slog through the 14th most disgusting substance I've ever had to walk through. It makes a faint hissing noise, and I'm just not super comfortable with that.
	“So how do you keep yourself from bursting into flames? How many layers of crab are you using right now?”
	“You're seriously going to turn up this fast? I don't really recommend that. And what's this about crab?”
	“Sorry, I'm just so curious. I've never seen a Dragon up close.”
	“I'm human, actually. Wait, are dragons a thing in this reality? How cosmically aware are you?”
	“I'm level 5, as I presume you are, since you asked. And I don't mean dragons in the human mythical sense, I mean Dragons, you know? With the scales. I'm a Matrix, an organism comprised of the bodies of other organisms but having only one consciousness, and you're a Dragon, a great ape who acquired the ability to cloak themself in scales for protection by being subjected to long-form temporal distortions, and judging by the patterns of your scales, I'd say the cause of those distortions lies somewhere between dark energy interference from a Class 14 SCE and also dark energy interference from a Class 14 SCE. What kind of speeds do you get from flaring your scales at maximum tension? Can you use them as projectile weapons, or is that too difficult and/or painful?”
	“I've never tried to use my scales as projectiles, nor do I know the exact speeds of my flares, but I've trained with them enough to be able to generate sonic booms strong enough to pulverize Surprisium, but I haven't destroyed any metals denser than that yet, at least not with a single blast.”
	“You are truly fascinating.”
	“And you're kind of a dick. You know I'm here to kill you, right?”
	“Yeah, but I enjoy biding time. It's my favorite thing to do when people come to kill me.”
	“Why is that? You know that if things get too rough for me, one of the Council members will probably show up and disintegrate you on a presumably subatomic level, right? I'm talking quarks and shit, man. Up, down, top, bottom, the other ones: you're going to be pretty fucking dead if you don't hurry up and die.”
	“Quite a tempting offer. I love it when you tempt me.”
	“Have we met before or something? You're talking like we've met before.”
	“I don't even know your name, but for additional clarity: no, we have not met before. I don't leave this reality much. I like it here. I get to be myself. Sure, the Council members could come here, but they haven't bothered to hunt me down for quite some time.”
	“Are you really living a life out here? It's just slime and star-hot rock, from one end to the other.”
	“Every now and then, it rains molten metal that bursts up from the planet's core and comes down like millions of enormous javelins, and that's pretty entertaining, but between me and my thoughts, all I have out here is the vague comfort that I'm not already dead, maybe. I could be dead right now. I won't fully discount it. Do I even exist, honestly? Probably not. Do you ever just feel like you definitely don't exist?”
	“With regularity, yeah. Does a weird shadow thing follow you around sometimes? It seems like it's trying to talk to you, to plead with you, but it's just a shade?”
	“No, not really, but there's absolutely something that fits that description standing behind you. I thought it was just one of my usual hallucinations, but it's not as angry.”
	“Wait, are you serious? Is there really something there? I -”
	The next moment, I'm back in my Eden. I can't be too upset, particularly since the air here is made pretty much entirely of a myriad series of cannabinoids, and judging by the altitude going on right now, I've been here a while. Jaldabaoth probably interfered with what I was doing, then erased my memories of whatever happened. You know, the usual. And by you, I mean me. I know you're not really there. But there is one thing I've realized.
	The Council caused the destruction of earth.

I'm Certain This Is The Wrong Thing to Do in These Sorts of Situations
	There's a conflict here, I know. But think about it, really put your mind to it. Does it matter? When someone feels this good inside of you, does it really matter that the subtext for your encounters is that you could absolutely die at any moment, should you anger them? I mean, sure, it's intimidating, but it's not intimidation. Probably. Mark me down, something, something.
	A person is one thing to explore, a body populated by scores of interesting quirks and eccentricities, especially when the human mind and all of its more esoteric tendencies and fetishes become involved. But this sort of creature, the kind of thing I find myself mounting in this particular slice of time, is a new experience one thousand fold that of a new human toy. Some part of me, just beneath the skin, wants to locate the exact moment that this beast of a being will collapse in on itself sexually and give way to my (what I'd like to believe is) insatiable lust. I take a great deal of pride in my capability to fell even the sturdiest of consorts, and though I find this one the most challenging yet, I am confident regardless.
	Days pass, then weeks. I am consumed by our dance. If I am to be some kind of ice queen, then they are to me Spiderman, Venom, and Cartilage, all at once, unrelenting in their acts to erode my mind under the pressure of sensation. Euphoria is something I'm used to at this point -at least, that's what I would have liked to believe- and now I'm lost on a beach somewhere I've never been, quicksand egging on a miniature Atropos as I struggle against the rising tides. Mixed metaphors, I know, but I'm in the middle of something here.
	Something wonderful.
	“Tell me your name.”

Chapter V: An Endless Cavalcade of Unnecessary Mysteries
	“So now what? We're on a barren planet in a reality we barely know, and as far as I can tell, there's nothing to discover.”
	“There has to be something here, Dickie,” I recite, pacing in a figure eight for what is presumably the actual thousandth time today. Just us again, on a seemingly fruitless expedition to a universe numbered simply (0000000025). Jaldabaoth said they would never see me again, with that fucking single tear in the left eye they get sometimes like a ridiculous caricature of a living thing with actual emotions.
	“Maybe there's just nothing here. Where did he tell you go, exactly?”
	“Going was never a concept brought up, but there was definitely an implication. They said,  Universe 25. The real you will cease to exist. Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.”
	“So you turned a shitty riddle into explicit directions to seek out specific reality coordinates?”
	“Yes.”
	“Goddammit.”
	“I'm sorry. I just thought there'd be something out here. I just.”
	“Hey, hey. Nothing's gone so wrong you've got to start crying. We've burned some time here, but that's not any kind of a waste, in the long run. Just need to find Rune and Vanta, regroup, and things will work out.”
	“You still can't – can't find them on the subchannels?”
	“'Fraid not. All quiet.”
	“Should we leave before they show up?”
	“Probably, yeah.”
	“Are they going to show up?”
	“Probably not.”

Chapter VI: A Belated Introit
	Quiet brings me peace, but music is the key to serenity. The difference is semantic at best, I'm well aware, but there's a distinction to be made. Silence gives way to emptiness, but a sweet melody builds castles in my mind's eye to house my troubles. Troubles are the least of my worries, of course, and yet here I remain. Perhaps I am the frog to her scorpion's sting, but there's an addicting sense of satisfaction to be perceived barely under the baring-down twister winds of this kind of interaction. That is to say, I enjoy my station in life, no matter what I say or do. Servitude is not the life one wishes to be born unto, but it is a life in which even I can find serenity.
	My serenity comes to me through the window in the corner of my cell tonight. A lark of some sort warbles indefinitely into the barred room I call my home. Moonlight sets the stage for another melancholy melodrama of a night, that is to say, I'm not going to sleep well. To be jailed is one thing, but to be denied rest by my own conscience is another thing entirely. I come to you, myself, now in the form of an endless monologue carried out in search of respite from the very words I'm drilling into my own goddamn head just to extract the ghosts therein.
	If an image could describe me as a person, then surely I would have found it in all of my life. That is not to say that I am some sort of iconoclast or indescribable being, more rather that I have not yet found the right port in which to set anchor, disregarding the typhoon though I may be. Picture a desert land through which a person sonambulates forever. I am the grain of sand ground beneath their right foot, a speck in the grander scheme of the sprawling dunes under a wine-dark sky.
	But in a moment, my prison vanishes. I am alone, in a much darker blackness than ever before I have known, perhaps darker than the vanta-est of blacks. From within, I find the courage to yawn. Bones rattle beneath my heels as I trudge without any particular intention. I muse that I am indeed dead, a perished soul locked perpetually in the void that is presumably purgatory at its most pugnacious. Forgive me for that one.
	An angel in peopleskin clothing descends to call me his own, and I pledge myself to his aid, given little choice, yet curious of what's to come. Days whiz through my head in a land of unending earthly vanities, and I crush the thought of despair beneath a glimmer of hedonistic complacency.
	“We are not our own light,” he says to me each day, a voice inside my mind I know belonging to the seraph aforementioned.
	The number of my Eden is 0000000000. I thought it a joke at first, given that everyone else I have met seems to have actual numbers to their place, but it makes sense for someone so devoid as I.
	“Hey! Earth to Vanta!” a man shouts.
	“Hello?” I am suddenly struck by the sense that it's been years since I left the earth Dick speaks of. A sigh escapes me as I remember the authenticity I have been so long denied by living on the edge of realities but never truly within them. Laughable.
	“Quit spacing out. We need to find Saharuni. She disappeared last night, and not even the Council knows where she's gone off to. You know her best, and I have a feeling you know where she might be.”
	“Saharuni has three hiding places. The first is her Eden, the void. The second is her mind, the singularity. The third is her soul.”
	“And what is her soul?”
	“The third hiding place.”
	“God-fucking-dammit, Vanta! If you don't give a straight answer, I swear I'll -”
	“What? You'll kill me?”
	“I'd rather not.”
	“You'll never find her, not with your eyes.”
	“With some kind of tool? The subchannels are fried. I'm separated from Tabitha, Rune's missing, and you're spinning horseshit like a coked-up Clotho.”
	“The greatest tool in your tackle box, Richard, is the one you fear the most. Rev up that particular chainsaw, and you'll find the answer.”
	He pauses, stewing in anger before exploding again. “How do you know about my third eye?!”
	“Such things are apparent to even the most amateur of Truthseekers, and I have been taught wonders by the greatest of such beings.”
	“Of course she'd teach you how to do that shit. What a waste.”
	“You should look into being less of a cunt to your friends.”
	“Wait. What did you just say?”
	“You heard me, Richard. You heard me clearly. Open that last eye and see what is plain to those who only look.”
	“Saharuni?”
	“I have abandoned my old body and my old name. You may call me Mitura now. Vanta assists me in the background, but I am the pilot of this vessel.”
	“I – Are you fucking kidding me? Where's your old body.”
	“0000000025. Even I can appreciate a good joke every now and then.”
	“So you know about the riddle.”
	“I know about so many things, Richard. Your face tells me you want to ask what it all means. The answer is simpler than you suspect it will be.”

Chapter VII: And in the Fury of This Darkest Hour
	“We're running out of time, Tabitha. You have to solve the riddle.”
	“Why can't you just tell me the answer? Dandelion and his band of godhead-freaks are going to be here any minute!”
	“Only you can find the answer in its purest form. It is through reflection and rumination that you will obtain the Higher Truth. Your time on earth is the one thing Jaldabaoth regretted taking from you the most, and it is within those times that you will find the key.”
	“Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight. The real you will cease to exist. Universe 25.”
	“What commonality do you find between all of those things?”
	“They – they're all related to important works. Simulation. Experimentation. Utopia.”
	“Keep pressing, Tabitha.”
	“We're the rats, aren't we?”
	“We're the rats.”
	“But the Council aren't our Calhoun, are they?”
	“Merely the Alphas, I'm afraid.”
	“Can we go higher than them, somehow?”
	“I know that we can. This is the Higher Truth, Tabitha. You must speak their name to exceed the ties that hold you to this form of existence.”
	“I never learned the name. Later, later always.”
	“Dandelion has entered this universe. He will be upon us within, presumably, moments.”
	“I NEVER LEARNED THE NAME!!”
	“I have faith you will know it soon enough.”
	“I never learned the name, Mitura. It's over.”
	“By all means, take your time.”
	“Dickie's dead already, Vanta's barely there, and you're telling me to take my fucking time?!”
	“You have no other choice but to know the name. It is written.”
	“I can't do this. I can't handle this. I can remember so many things, but not once was there even a hint as to their name.”
	A crashing sound can be heard in the distance. The seconds until my demise are falling apart. Tell me your name, Jaldabaoth. Please, tell me your name. Tell me your name.

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	“I just don't believe that that's your real name, to be frank.”
	“Why not? Doesn't it have a certain ring to it?”
	“Perfidy Gold isn't your name, and we both know it.”
	“If you ask me, anything can be a name. I feel like mine describes me perfectly. To the T. What does your name say about you?”
	“Tabitha means gazelle in Aramaic. My dad wanted to name me Dorcas, after his grandmother, but my mom wouldn't have that shit, and as such, a little linguistic obfuscation was in order.”
	“I like the way you obfuscate language for yourself, you know. There's a certain je ne sais quois to the bullshit you spout.”
	“How did you get in here, anyway? This is my Eden. I thought only I was allowed to be in here, but you're also in here, and it's giving me the hibbity jibs. Mostly because you're naked.”
	“I'm always naked, Tabitha, and beneath those clothes your host has projected onto you, so are you in the nude just the same. Beneath further, subdermal subjects like blood and bone, the great equalizers of humanity.”
	“Didn't you just say I'm the one who spouts bullshit?”
	“I learned it from watching you. I love to monkey around.”
	“You certainly have a penchant for bananas, so it all makes sense, when you really don't think about it.”
	“Don't make me wipe that smirk off your face, Snappe. You know how incensed I become in the light of something so adorable.”
	“Maybe I'll shine it in other directions, see how you like that.”
	“A light like yours shines in all directions, but I rule over all it bends across.”
	“That across which my light bends is mine and mine alone, and if you don't watch it, you'll be alone soon enough.”
	“I've managed to puncture the barriers to your Eden, so I doubt there are too many places you can go to hide from me.”
	“I'm not much of a hider, and you know it.”
	“I'm not much of a lover, and you know it.”
	“No one can measure up to the unconscionable decadence provided by an endless array of choice, so it's no shame to be measly insect in the ways of the flesh.”
	“Liar.”
	“Bore.”
	“Are you telling me you don't want me to kiss you?”
	“I am not.”