I'll preface this by saying that I don't really have a preference for either MAPPA or WIT studio. I like both of them and I've seen what both studios are capable of. I'll also mention that I'm a former game development student (I'm currently moving back into 2D art) who's trained to become an animator (granted for Western studios that specialize in CGI). Before that, I was heavily involved in digital illustration and dabbled in 2D animation, as I'd previously thought I'd study 2D animation once I'd graduated formal schooling. I'm not an expert, but I am somewhat informed in both the 2D and 3D workflow as well as the studio workflow so this is my 2 cents.
I know that MAPPA had a tight schedule and I know that they had to work from scratch, but I don't think there's anything wrong with criticizing their CGI.
Criticizing work that's put out into the public eye is important. It gives studios and their employees feedback, letting them know what works and what doesn't (tho whether or not they actually listen is up in the air). I love what MAPPA has done with season 4, and I greatly enjoy their animation. Their 2D scenes are detailed and the amount of extra work and gestures put into normally static dialogues adds to it's charm. I also recognize that in Japan, animators are few and underpaid. Regardless, there's nothing wrong with criticizing and recognizing issues in art. In the end, anime is a product that's given to non-artists to enjoy. If non-artists don't enjoy it, then there's an issue.
But the CGI is worse than some students in their first semester of animation have done. I'll also note that these animations are not just finished by an animator and then thrown into the final product, they're checked frequently for quality, viewed many times to improve a scene. People who check these scenes, are not required to be experts in 3D in order to give feedback. Very often in these studio spaces, you'll have people who know very little if anything about your field looking at your animation and giving feedback. They do this because in the end, they're the kinds of people the animator is making art for, people who don't know anything about animation. Once the scene is finished, they're viewed multiple times by the entire studio to look for any errors. Sometimes this quality check is outsourced to people outside the studio. You don't have to be an artist to criticize art. In fact, it's more of a problem if non-artists without a trained eye notice issues. Not all will, but if enough do, that's a cause of concern. It's fine, and it's also fine to criticize the feedback of another person towards art. It's an endless dialogue, and that's okay.
Comparing WIT's 3D to MAPPA's 3D, I'm definitely more of a fan of WIT's CGI. Now I have no issues or complaints with CGI used in the background. Machines, crowd simulations, roof tiles, all of that is difficult and time-consuming to animate, even for effect animators. Very often, a viewer isn't even focusing on them and due to their fleeting nature, many viewers don't care for the quality of those elements. So stuff like horses, floors, and bells in Snk, I won't say anything about. They're small things that shouldn't require more than a couple hours to complete and render. Now things like the colossal titan are more subject to review. They're big characters, huge attractions that viewers expect a lot from. They're the focus of a scene. WIT's colossal in season 1 was done in 2D but I can understand why they'd take the 3D route with the amount of muscle and detail on its body in later seasons. Rather, a 3D model offered more than a 2D model. Where animation takes less time, they can focus their energy on camera angles, texturing, and rendering the 3D colossal. Since the camera was constantly moving, there wasn't a huge focus on the model itself, but rather the characters around the model.
Now contrasting that with the armoured and jaw titans in season 4, they're the centre of a scene. Viewers aren't focusing on the characters around the titans, but rather the titans themselves are the main attraction. It's already taking a risk to animate them in 3D by a studio that doesn't specialize in CGI. On top of that, the extra time they earned by animating them in 3D wasn't poured into improving those scenes into particular. Now where this extra time was allocated is up in the air. We may see excellent scenes in later episodes, as I am writing this shortly after the release of episode 4. As for the titan models themselves, they're not animated well. They lack any weight to their movements, a similar case to Pacific Rim's sequel. In WIT's adaptation, they focused on the sheer size and weight of the armoured. In MAPPA's CGI armoured, they threw away that weight factor, making it move too fast for something of its size. Additionally, the CGI armoured had its armoured textured on rather than treated like boney plates as done in MAPPA's adaptation. This gave the armour of the titan a less hard feel as it is soft looking and malleable. The beast titan, it definitely should have been done in 2D. For a creature of its size, it would have benefited from the fur shaking and reacting to its movements. The CGI hand was also oddly flat, with lines textured on rather than actual bumps and ridges in the model being used. WIT's 2D beast titan was excellent. It had the size and weight a beast titan should have, and fat around his stomach and lips were given the exact type of push and pull gravity would offer it. The Jaw titan is supposed to be fast and agile but it's still a heavy creature. It's skin weights aren't done well, leading to weirdly small joints with certain movements and static muscles. It's hair also looks less like hair rather than individual tubes. If the hair was the only issue on the Jaw titan, it could have been replaced with 2D animation, merging the 3D model with 2D elements as seen by works from Studio Orange and Mihoyo.
Now does this mean MAPPA's adaptation was bad? No, I still enjoyed it and after a few rewatches, I gradually got used to the titans (but they still stick out like a sore thumb). However, this shouldn't be necessary. Viewers shouldn't have to rewatch a scene multiple times to re-immerse themselves in the story and dialogue. If a viewer sees this kind of work and it immediately tears them out of a scene, that's a lot of extra work a studio has to do to compensate. It's also not as if MAPPA didn't have the time to animate 2D titans. In the trailer, we see these same scenes with 2D titans in the place of 3D titans, and they look fine. Rather, it was a choice of the studio to scrap all that time and energy and replace them with 3D models. MAPPA also managed to redraw every scene, making it look entirely different from the trailer.
Couple bullet points for other things I wanted to mention as I've seen them around youtube and Reddit:
• I've seen someone ask how it would be more difficult to animate a titan than any other humanoid character. The reply I saw detailed how with such a heavy creature, it would require more frames of movement with how slow it is.
I can agree with this. It does take more frames, however, it's not like the animator has to draw all of them. Many studios are taking the digital route, and have software that can compensate for this. Already, traditional animation uses a two-by-two method, where the animator only animated every other frame. Secondly, with such a slow creature, few frames will differentiate from each other, so many frames can be replaced by duplicating the previous frame and making minor edits. Also, just because it requires more attention to weight does not mean that it's harder to animate. The very core of everything an animator learns is related to weight and how it works. Weight is used everywhere, and the principles used to animate a lightweight subject aren't all that different from something much bigger. Especially with many scenes focusing on only parts of the titan, rather than the entire full body titan itself.
• A friend mentioned to me how it took an entire day for an animator to complete a 5 second scene. This is true, it can take a long time to animate a single scene. However, there isn't just one animator at a studio, there are many, and many who all work at the same time and can generate more scenes. Let's also not forget that anime is often done with limited animation. This includes scenes that are static, with no animation at all and the movement entirely given to the camera. Lip sync is often just two or three frames of the mouth moving. Hair is animated in loops and then cycled for a single 2-5 second scene. Anime already cuts multiple corners. Professional animators may even reference actual videos for rotoscoping to help quicken the process while maintaining quality. Things like backgrounds, sounds, music, even the models themselves are often outsourced to different studios beyond MAPPA, and even freelancers abroad.
I understand entirely if you have a different opinion. It's art after all. Some people like it and some people don't. However, there are gonna be those who notice the issues and can see where they can be improved and there's nothing wrong with pointing them out, especially when it comes to a professional studio.

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Book 3: Chapter 24 Book 3: Chapter 26
Are you new? You can start with the prologue of Book 1 here.
Do you want to start with Book 2? Here's Book 2's Prologue!
However, Book 1 and Book 2 are now Amazon exclusive, so only a short sample is on Reddit.
Do you want to start with Book 3? Here's Book 3's Prologue!
**************
Nagoya, Japan
Friday, August 5th, 2050
These confessions contain a number of moments that may seem prurient or besides the point. I include them intentionally. They all combine to paint a picture of my life as I progressed towards joining the side of so-called justice. I assure you, I am editing myself. There is much I have left out due to irrelevance or repetition. To this point, I have not regretted relating any of these incidents. The Fifth of August stands out in my memory as a marked exception. I wish I could respect the privacy of those involved, and I wish I could have done anything besides what I did. However, it is a necessary brush stroke in the painting, so I have included it.
The day started innocently enough. The last hour of each Friday was normally devoted to a study hall. Much of wizardry is rote memorization, so extra time to brush up on whatever spell you can’t wrap your head around is much appreciated. However, Headmaster Tachibana had dropped in unexpectedly for one of his periodical guest lectures. He had done so twice during my time at the school. His arrival or the topics discussed never seemed to follow any pattern, and I often suspected that he would spring the visits on the staff at the last moment. Mr. Maki certainly looked miffed as he stood to the side, watching us for signs of mischief. I think he appreciated the chance to catch up on his work before the weekend as much as we students did.
I couldn’t help but notice that the topic of the lecture was the transmission of energy to a target. It was an elementary version of what Kiyo and I were helping Tachibana on the Peace Bond. I absolutely believe that this impromptu visit was more to help him think through the problem than to educate the class.
Not that it was a bad lesson. It was surprisingly complicated to make the magical energy go from point A to point B in an ethereal form without being stopped by all of the solid objects in between.
“Magical Resonance,” he said, “is based on enchanting two objects to a particular magical frequency. We often refer to them as the transmitter and the receiver, but depending on the spell, both fabricata can change between the two roles. Once they are so enchanted, nothing between the two points can be affected, unless it just so happens to have the same resonance. It’s why the Peace Bond is such an impressive fabricata. Each one of the receivers is custom made, and the transmitter had to broadcast on a hundred frequencies without interference.”
“So it was, sir,” said Mr. Maki. Did I detect a little extra emphasis on was?
“Of course, we will not be making something so complex during our remaining time today.” He grinned cherubically. “I think you would enjoy something lighter. So, let me show you the shortest raw spell you will ever learn.” He tapped a button on a small remote, bringing up a chart of ten runes on the wall-sized screen behind him. “Who can tell me what that means? If you aren’t sure, talk it over with a classmate.”
We whispered among ourselves, and the confusion was absolutely palpable.
“That’s meaningless gibberish,” whispered Mariko from her seat next to me.
“Then tell him that,” I said back.
She shook her head. “It would be disrespectful.”
“Where’s the Mariko Yamada who was always sparring with Mr. Maki? Domestic life has taken your edge off.”
She looked at me disapprovingly, but I saw that smile she was fighting back. She raised her hand, and the Headmaster acknowledged her. “Sir, with all due respect, I do not think that spell will do anything.”
“Very good! Let me show you all the nothing it will do. First, I put my hands in Position Eleven, the left palm held perpendicular to the ground, and the thumb and pinkie of the right hand extended forward. Then, chant Tu Ra Ba An Ki Po We Ba Yi Mi.” The runes danced around his hand, only to vanish without apparent effect.
The side chatter intensified. I didn’t join in. I focused on Mr. Maki’s face. The Headmaster would want to hide his trick, but the other teacher wouldn’t feel obliged to play along. The Divine Blade was grinning like a madman. So, I knew there was some sort of trick to it, if only I could sus it out.
The lesson was magical resonance, and he had spoken of transmitters and receivers. I decided to take a chance. “Mariko, cast that at the same time I do.”
“Hm?” She cocked her head at me.
“I have a feeling. On three.” When we did, there was a brief, blinding flash of red around our right hands, followed by a not entirely unpleasant numbness.
“Oh my!” Mariko gripped her tingling fingers, rubbing the feeling back into them.
“You two seem to have gotten ahead of me! Perhaps you would like to teach the class instead?” There was pride in his eyes, and his voice lacked any hint of reproach. “Since I believe Mr. Marlowe was the ringleader, let’s ask Ms. Yamada. Would you like to guess what just happened there?”
Mariko folded her hands in her lap beneath the table and stuck out her tongue slightly, as was her habit when she concentrated. “It’s as though we cast two halves of a simple spell.”
“Precisely! That’s Magical Resonance in action. The spell is formally named Resonance Test Number One. I came up with it once when I was first starting out with Spellcrafting, and the fixed version eventually became Fireball. I never bothered improving it to a True Spell variant, since it is already short and is not terribly useful. Watch me cast it alone.” He put his hands in the proper poses, and when he cast it, has hands flashed with red lights, just as ours had, and he let out a pained grunt. I could see it better when I wasn’t busy casting the spell, but nothing passed between his now numb fingers. “Who can tell me what goes wrong with it? I see your hand, Ms. Sato. Go ahead.”
Yukiko looked delighted to have finally been called on. “The Ba An should be a Na An. The way it’s written, the spells feeds back on itself.”
“Very good, as expected. It isn’t a complete failure, though. This set of runes has the distinction of being the shortest spell that creates a noticeable effect, which makes it perfect for demonstrating Magical Resonance. Mr. Kowalski, would care to join me in reciting the spell as well?”
The blond boy once again seemed startled to have been noticed (an odd defect for somebody more than six feet tall), but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Wait a moment,” said the Headmaster. “Asahi, please step between us.”
“Won’t he get hit?” asked Kowalski, nervously. “I-I wouldn’t want to hurt anybody.”
“I think I can deal with a little numbness,” said Mr. Maki.
We all collectively rolled our eyes. Leave it to Rafal Kowalski to listen attentively and not have anything sink in.
Kowalski and the headmaster chanted in unison, and the Polish boy let out a startled yelp as his hand was wreathed in red energy. “That stings!”
“Yes, I think that will be the last time I cast that today,” replied the Headmaster, massaging his own hand. “Did you feel anything, Asahi?”
“I think that ache in my pectoral muscle was already there,” he quipped, rubbing his old arrow wound Haru had given him. After Mariko and Yukiko had healed him, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with him, but Asahi Maki wasn’t the type to let that get in the way of a good line.
Tachibana nodded. “I imagine so. Class, you can see what I was discussing before. The transmitter and receivers of a resonant spell can affect each other at any distance we have tested them at. Headmaster Einarsson at the Reykjavik academy and I have cast this spell from opposite ends of the earth, and it worked just as quickly and effectively.”
Leo raised his hand. “Can I ask when we would use this in a fight?”
“My, aren’t we bloodthirsty?” I said from my seat behind Leo. “You’re always looking to weaponize everything!”
“We’re here to learn how to fight,” he retorted. “I don’t like wasting time on something we won’t use.” He realized who was listening in. “N-no offense meant, Headmaster,” he added hastily.
Headmaster Tachibana put up a hand to stop Mr. Maki from objecting to the disrespectful comment. “I understand your perspective, Mr. Hernandez, but magic is more than a weapon, and we want you to be as well rounded as possible. Once you are out of the service, we need experienced wizards to help in research and development. Magical Resonance is typically used in fabricata design, such as the Peace Bond, as well as in the translation magic we use here at the school. How many of you students have used the translator earpieces off campus?” Kowalski, a few of the other foreigners and I raised our hands. “That is simply another benefit of Magical Resonance. The resonant fabricata offload the work back to the school’s main translation equipment without a noticeable delay.”
I wished I had paid more attention to demonic fabricata. I wasn’t sure if we had harnessed Magical Resonance to the same degree. Clearly we must have, I told myself. Fera’s long distance signaling to Australia must have been built on the same principle. Still, I made a note to myself that I’d have to grab a few technical manuals on my way out. The boys in Research and Development would have loved the lecture.
The headmaster walked over to his handbag and pulled out a sealed container, setting it on Mr. Maki’s desk without explanation. “Everyone, come up to the front of the room and line up. Let us see how quickly you all can cast the Resonance Test, going from person to person. We will run through it until we can get from end to end without a mistake. Mr. Kowalski, Mr. Marlowe, Ms. Yamada, you can go to the end of the line, since you have already demonstrated the spell.”
We dutifully marched up. Kiyo drifted my way, naturally, and I stood between her and Mariko, who was at the very end of the chain.
“Are you sure this is safe, sir?” asked Kiyo. “It sounded kinda painful before.”
“I assure you, the spell can’t cause lasting harm,” Headmaster Tachibana replied. “It feels like laying on your arm until it goes a little numb and then standing up, only all at once.”
“You’ll be fine, my dear,” I said.
She nodded. I’m sure my words meant more to her than Tachibana’s.
“Since I know this is not the most pleasant spell to practice, I brought a little bit of a reward.” Tachibana returned to the table and popped open the forgotten container. “Dr. Park has told me to cut refined sugar out of my diet and, wouldn’t you know it, the very next day a former student sent me some home baked chocolate chip cookies! I have enough for all of you.” He put a finger up to his lips and smirked at the line of students. “We should keep this one to ourselves. We would not want the other classes to think I play favorites.”
That got everyone’s attention. Chocolate was a rare commodity in the post-Horde earth. If you could lay hands on it, you were either on active military duty, or you had money to throw around. The going rate was something like five thousand yen for a single bar, and they were only available at specialty shops. As a result, chocolate was an easy bribe for the students when our enthusiasm flagged.
It was like a switch had been flipped. Where before, the other wizard cadets had slouched their way to the front of the room, they positively bustled with activity. Headmaster Tachibana gave us a few minutes to practice the hand gestures and commit the runes to memory. I saw a few flashes of light as my more zealous classmates practiced. Rose and Yukiko must have exchanged the spell ten times while we waited. They weren’t each other’s favorite person, but a shared goal is the best way to mend fences.
“It’s a shame you don’t like chocolate,” I commented to Mariko.
Kowalski’s eyes widened. “Wait, you don’t? How does that work?”
“Mariko’s a little odd,” said Kiyo without a hint of irony.
Mariko could only giggle at that. “I just find the taste bitter. You can have mine, Rafal. One for you, and one for Buddy.”
The large boy’s eyes widened, and his shadowy magical id popped out. Where it normally looked like a jagged beast of rage and nightmares, the rounded creature that sat on Kowalksi’s shoulder was almost cute. Almost. It soulless eyes still promised malice and revenge.
“Oh my, I see that somebody’s excited,” said Mariko. Showing more bravery than I had, she reached out and patted Buddy’s head.
“No, we both know you can’t eat it,” said Kowalski to an unheard question. Buddy looked at him with angry eyes, his form turning more angular. “Don’t blame me! You just smoosh it up and it drops on the floor. I’ll go slower for you, though.”
Buddy looked dejected and disappeared back into Kowalski’s shadow.
“I didn’t think I could feel sorry for an imaginary friend,” said Kiyo.
“He isn’t… He’s kinda…” Kowalski trailed off. “Buddy’s complicated. Thanks, Mariko, I appreciate it.”
Mariko waved him off. “No worries, Rafal. I don’t like people wasting things on me.”
The Headmaster announced that practice time was over and we all went to work. I swear, I’d never seen Class 3-B put so much heart into anything before. It took three times to near the end of the line. One time, one of the Russian expatriates flubbed the rune, causing the spell to sputter out. Yukiko’s fingers were in Position Four instead of Three on their second time around, likely a sign of too much practice. I couldn’t imagine how leaden her fingers were by then.
Kowalski passed the spell to Kiyo without incident, to his almost surprise. The man needed more confidence. Kiyo passed it to me, letting out a pained yelp.
That left Mariko and I to finish the race. I found myself aware of the flow of magic around her right hand, and something felt off about it. I couldn’t put it in words easily, but it seemed almost rough, where everyone else’s was smooth. It was like seeing sparks coming off of a frayed electrical wire.
We pressed on, and I didn’t mention anything. If she wasn’t concerned, I didn’t see any reason to be. “Ready?”
She nodded.
We began chanting in unison. “Tu Ra Ba An Ki Po We Ba Yi Mi.”
Her hand twitched towards the last syllables, but we didn’t notice in time to do anything. Hand gestures perform an important role in how a spell turns out, and as our energies resonated, what ought to have been a simple tingle released a yellow-tinged magical backlash that travelled up our forearms before discharging.
I stepped back and reflexively grabbed my smoking arm.
“Magpie!” Kiyo was at my side in a moment.
“I’m fine,” I said. “My poor uniform can’t say the same, though.” The cuff of my black jacket looked like I had taken a set of scissors to it, creating oddly uniform tassels that ran down to my wrist. “Mariko, are you…”
I trailed off as I caught sight of something red peeking between the strips of fabric. Her gaze followed mine, and she seemed to be in shock.
“She’s hurt!” I stepped forward, not quite sure what I was doing. My human healing magic wouldn’t be up to the task of healing more than a minor cut, which was hopefully all it was.
“No, I’m fine!” She hid her arm behind her. “D-don’t worry about it.”
All eyes were on us as she took a step away from me. Hiro, Yukiko and Rose all descended on us.
“What happened?” asked Rose.
“What did you do to her, Soren?” asked Yukiko accusatorily. She tried to circle around Mariko, but the taller girl rebuffed her.
“Nothing, he did nothing.” Mariko edged closer to the door, clearly looking to make a break for it. “Th-this is not Soren’s fault at all. I made a mistake, but everything is fine now.”
Hiro stood there silently, eyes downcast. Headmaster Tachibana and Mr. Maki looked equally grim. There was something going on that I wasn’t privy to.
“Don’t worry,” stammered Mariko. “Nobody needs to worry about me. Nothing is wrong. Nothing. I j-just need to go fix my shirt. M-may I be excused, Mr. Maki?” Without waiting for a reply, she darted out the door.
There was a long, tension filled moment of silence. Those who seemed to know something wouldn’t speak, and those who knew nothing didn’t know what to say, myself included.
“Do we have to do the spell again?” asked Kowalski, breaking the impasse.
“No, I do not think that will be necessary,” replied the headmaster.
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If you would like to read ahead, chapters are posted up to a month early at my patreon!
However you choose to read, thank you for reading! You're all awesome.

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Book 3: Chapter 23 Book 3: Chapter 25
Are you new? You can start with the prologue of Book 1 here.
Do you want to start with Book 2? Here's Book 2's Prologue!
However, Book 1 and Book 2 are now Amazon exclusive, so only a short sample is on Reddit.
Do you want to start with Book 3? Here's Book 3's Prologue!
**************
Nagoya, Japan
Wednesday, August 3rd, 2050
I stifled a yawn. I hadn’t gotten much sleep after my confab with Maggie the night prior. She hadn’t appreciated my evasiveness about the source of my intel, besides telling her that a demonkin has his ways. It had taken far too long for her to accept that we were best off keeping my source anonymous. At least she had believed the report was genuine. The matter was out of my hands, at least for the time being.
I was forced out of my reminiscing by the haggard breathing next to me. “Are you alright, Rose?” We were back at the sports field. As we always did before a field day, all of the students went for a warmup jog around the track. For once, dear Ms. Cooper hadn’t won the race, or even placed in the top ten.
“I’m-” What she had meant to say was cut off by a long yawn, which set me off too. She leaned against a metal bench near the finish line. Her legs trembled like a newborn fawn after what was, for her, a rather brief run.
“Did you sleep at all?” asked Kiyo, giving the blonde Brit a poke in the stomach. “You look like me when I get a new game.”
“No, and that was on purpose,” she managed.
“That can’t be healthy,” said Mariko. She tried to put a hand against Rose’s head, but she ducked around it. “You look awful! What got into you?”
Rose stood and managed to look cocky, despite everything. “My weather magic still activates when I cast spells. Magpie figured out that I have absurdly huge magical reserves. I want to see if I can bring them down if I tire myself out first. If I’m running on empty, I might be able to control things.”
“That isn’t how magic works!” I took a step closer, as much as to catch her if she collapsed as to strengthen my point. “Your magical energy has nothing to do with your physical stamina!”
“I’m glad that somebody was paying attention in class,” said Mr. Maki. He had drifted over when he noticed the commotion. “Ms. Cooper, what in the world were you thinking?”
“I had to try something,” she said. “I can’t burn off enough magic with spells to make a difference. At least, not without causing a fire or a storm. Besides, I’ll be-” She yawned again, slumping into her seat.
The hulking teacher sighed and rubbed his temples. “Ms. Cooper, you’re in no condition for affinity training today. Meet me here on Saturday and we’ll make up the time. Ms. Yamada, take her back to her room, please.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Come along, Rose.”
The British wizard lurched to her feet, ready to protest further. Thank the Dark Lord I was on hand to catch her. I’d spent enough nights carousing back in Pandemonium to recognize when somebody was on her last legs.
“So much for that idea,” she said.
“Amateur,” said Kiyo with a derisive snort as Mariko and Rose disappeared beneath the bleachers. “I only make the no-sleep lifestyle look easy. It’s not for the weak.”
Mr. Maki only grunted at that. Our fellow classmates had gathered around to see what all the ruckus was about. That was a bad move on their part, since it gave Mr. Maki a vent for his annoyance. “What are you all doing, standing around? You should be stretching. It seems to me that if you have time to dawdle, you have time for another three laps! Get going!”
A chorus of groans erupted, but nobody bothered arguing the point. He looked oddly pleased with himself as we went on our way.
When we finished, Kiyo looked down at herself, oddly confused. “Huh, weird. I’m not, like, breathing too hard after a second run.”
“I think all of that work with Rose finally paid off,” said Hiro. He was doing post-run stretches off to the side. I’ve never seen the point in them, but then, there are a lot of human rituals I don’t participate in.
“I guess you’re right. It feels kinda wrong, though. I actually… enjoyed that. Is that what an endorphin feels like?” She must have seen the sly grin on my face. “Rose doesn’t hear a word of that! She’s still torturing me every morning, and that’s the story I’m sticking to!”
“Oh, very well,” I said. “Ruin my fun. Speaking of which, let’s get going before Mr. Maki gets irritated again.”
Kiyo’s shoulders slumped. “Ugh, I was enjoying my Magpie time.”
I blew her a kiss, remembering I needed to keep her morale up. Mine too, to be frank. “I’ll count the moments.”
Yukiko walked up and gently patted Kiyo on the back. “Do you want to be on a team with me this week?”
“Team?” I asked. “They have you on teams? I feel like we’re still paddling around in the shallows, and you’re off crossing the English Channel.”
“We are in a higher echelon of affinity training,” said Yukiko, obvious pride in her voice. The smug grin vanished from her face as she collected herself. “Though I hear that you all are making wonderful progress.”
“This is weird,” replied Kiyo. “You’re being too nice lately.”
Yukiko’s eyes hardened, looking like the humorless taskmaster I’d met on my first day at the school. “Yes, Kiyo, I am being nicer lately. It’s intentional. You make it very difficult to want to keep trying.”
Kiyo pursed her lips. “I still have nightmares about the mountain. Especially without Magpie there when I…”
“Mixed company,” I hissed.
Yukiko took the taller girl’s hand between both of hers. Kiyo seemed taken aback by the gesture. “I know. I’m ashamed of my conduct back then, and I don’t know if I can move past it if you won’t.” She shot me a disapproving look. “I forgave you and Soren. Can’t you at least pretend to return the favor?”
Kiyo looked down at her trapped hand. “I… I don’t…”
Hiro had gone off to refill his water bottle, so I don’t know how much of it he overheard. He still saw the need to butt in, though. “My mom said something to me once. Resentment is like drinking poison and hoping that the other guy dies. It isn’t good for anyone. C’mon, let’s get back to the way it used to be.”
What drivel. I preferred Girdan the Fair’s saying, that resentment was coal to power the engine of accomplishment. If I read Kiyo’s face properly, she followed my school of thought. No wonder we got on so well.
Kiyo frowned and fidgeted nervously. I knew my Angel, and she would say whatever she needed to get the focus off of her. She pasted on a thin smile. “Alright. Let’s make a team. I’ll get over it.”
Yukiko released her, and I noticed that Kiyo brushed her hand off on her pants once the Sato heiress had turned away. Still, baby steps.
It seemed we had dawdled too long for Mr. Maki’s liking. He and the other teachers had gathered near the center of the field. “This isn’t a social function, you slackers! Get moving! Orera mou okureteru!”
That got my attention. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d heard unfiltered Japanese, thanks to the school’s translation fabricata.
Hiro jogged over and jerked his thumb towards our practice area at the forest’s edge. “Ja, ikou ne.”
“Come again?”
He cocked his head at me. “Doushita?” I seemed to be the most confused of the foreign students, but we all stopped look expectantly at Mr. Maki.
Maggie always employed a wireless microphone to be heard. “Hold on, class. It seems like the translator fabricata is down.” She rattled off some accented, but still enthusiastic and syrupy, Japanese, earning a more fluent response from Mr. Lahlou. “Oh dear, it seems that Mr. Lahlou forgot it was his turn to charge the battery. Mr. Marlowe, would you mind coming with me to fix it? This won’t take long.”
“Of course, ma’am.” I waved goodbye to my classmates and promised that I wouldn’t be long. I had been told that Hiro was rather useless with the language, but I think he got the intent. He gave me a cheerful nod before going on his way.
Maggie and I were soon making our way through the storage rooms beneath the stadium’s bleachers. I found myself reflexively glancing up.
“Haru’s little friends aren’t here to attack you this time,” she said, a sad tone in her voice.
“Can you blame me? The experience left quite the impression.” There’s nothing quite like spotting a student making out with his teacher in a storage room to etch itself in the memory.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said with a wink.
“Yes, you may as well,” I murmured.
We came to a room that looked like something out of a nineteenth century science fiction novel. I’d never seen the like. Imagine an archaic supercomputer from an old B-Movie made of wood, bone and bronze, with rune-covered wires running between the consoles that ran around the room. I noted that there were small video screens on every panel, almost all of which were completely blank.
She gave me a satisfied grin. “Do you like it?”
“Is this what translates all of the speech in the school?”
“Not by itself, no,” she replied. “There’s one for the main tower that’s connected to a network of projectors, and this broadcasts to cover the grounds and the forest. I’m glad you like it. It is my design, after all.”
“Really? Most impressive.” Not that we devils needed the like, since we all spoke either High or Low Demonic, but I could grudgingly admit it was a nice feat of engineering.
Maggie flicked my nose. “You’re either brownnosing or gullible. Stop it. This was Moulham’s baby.”
“Moulham?”
“Mr. Lahlou,” she said. “He’s an absolute wizard with fabricata, if you’ll excuse the pun.” She strolled over to the wall on our left and popped open a cabinet. She leaned in and rummaged about before letting out a triumphant grunt.
After a moment’s struggle, she pulled out a fabricata larger than her head. It looked like a wine barrel covered in almost illegibly tiny runes. A pale green strip of glass ran up the side, and I recognized it from my phone’s screen as a battery indicator. “There we go. This poor baby’s as dead as a doornail.” She held it out to me expectantly.
I accepted the load and was surprised by the weight. I grabbed a section on the top that looked like a handhold and willed magic into it, but it resisted the attempt. “Does it require a particular spell?”
“Yes, actually.” She held up a finger to her lips. “Keep it between us that I showed it to you, okay? It’s proprietary. Our school has the only one of these in the world.”
“Yes, because that’s the secret I’m going to let slip,” I replied.
“Smartass,” she said with a sniff. She clasped her hands together and intoned, “Charge.”
“A rather prosaic name,” I said. I followed suit and grabbed the handle on the top of the fabricata, and soon the green light on the side began to light up, bit by bit. I found that as long as I stayed focused on the flow of magic through my hands, I didn’t have to keep repeating the spell.
Maggie leaned back and sat on one of the consoles. “Relax, Marlowe. That’s going to take you a good ten minutes.”
“Oh sure, you brought Obe back here for a good time,” I said. “I’m just hard labor.”
“It could be fun. You’re the one who keeps turning me down,” she replied. The mention of Haru seemed to knock the wind out of her sails, though. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Did I tell you the latest on him?”
“No, I can’t say you did.”
“He’s recovering nicely,” she said.
“Glad to hear,” I murmured, not meaning a word of it. Not after he’d nearly killed Kiyo, much less me.
“That isn’t good news.” She played with her red hair. She normally kept it tied in a bun, but would let it down for field days. “Dr. Martin has been stalling as much as he can, but it’s only a matter of time before League Intelligence gets impatient and starts interrogating him for real.”
I thought back to the supposed Mr. Smith I’d met after the attack. He’d been imposing enough during a friendly interrogation, much less a hostile questioning. “Have you been back since?”
She nodded. “I like playing the nurse more than the doctor.” She chuckled at her joke, but the smile died shortly after. “I’ve been up there three times. It means a lot to my little Haru, but I can’t get away from my duties too often.” Her eyes turned hard as they studied me. “It’s a blessing, in a way. It’s hard seeing him after what you did to him.”
“My, aren’t you fickle? You strongarmed me into your little club and keep coming on to me. You even told me that nothing matters except the cause, and now act like you care about your old puppet.”
She rocked back and forth in her seat for a moment before standing. She gestured at the battery, and I could feel her magic pool in her hand. My Mimic had progressed enough that I could see the danger coming, but not enough that I could do anything about it. How positively useful.
Her affinity activated with the flick of a finger. I’d seen her ability to shape glass in action once before, when I’d caught her en flagrante delicto with Haru, and it was no slower that time. The battery indicator flowed like water and formed a spike that came just short of my throat.
“Let me make this clear. I wish it was you in that bed and Haru here with me. If I can’t have that, I might equalize things.”
I almost objected, but when I swallowed, I felt the sharpened glass against my Adam’s apple.
She gave me a self-satisfied little nod. Her point was made, quite literally. With another gesture, the glass flowed back into its original shape. “But, one takes the world as it is, not as you wish it could be.” She smirked sardonically. “Who told you to stop casting?”
“My mind wandered for some reason,” I grumbled. I went back to work, noting that the meter was around half filled. I decided it wasn’t healthy to talk about Haru. Really, with the sour look on her face, there wasn’t a healthy topic I could think of. Which was fine, since she seemed to be in an introspective mood.
**************
If you would like to read ahead, chapters are posted up to a month early at my patreon!
However you choose to read, thank you for reading! You're all awesome.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5
-
I think I've killed them.
That's all that is running through my head right now. I've killed them.
I've killed them.
I've fucking killed them.
No, I can't think like that. I have to stay positive.
It's so fucking hard to stay positive right now.
As much as I want to tell you what's going on right at this moment, I have to go back days from now, before everything exploded. Before I lost both myself and my friends. I have to write all of this down so I can register it fully, and accept it. I have to accept it. Because right now I can't. I've tried writing this so many times, but my head is so fucking foggy, and my thoughts feel like candy floss. The phone's screen is so bright and it hurts my eyes. I have to concentrate. That's what I keep telling myself. I have to breathe. Just keep breathing. It's not like I'm hiding anything anymore. They know I'm sober. They know I'm awake, and it's only a matter of time before they come for me too; do the same thing to me. Oh god, they're going to kill me. I'm going to die.
Maybe I deserve it, though. After all, I think I've killed their biggest stars.
I'm going to start from when I last updated you. Once again, I have no recollection of how many days I've lost. James took them from me. I want to check it myself, but part of me would rather stay ignorant. All I know is that it is sunny outside. The sky is blue, and the trees are golden brown. Fall. My favourite season. It feels weird to remember that. That I have a favourite season. Katie's favourite is Summer. She likes to go to the lake with her friends, and swim in the river. I know more about my character than I know myself, and every second that goes by I feel like I've been tipped upside down and emptied of everything I am. So, I'm going to remind myself before it's too late.
My name is Robin Harley.
At least, that's how you know me. I wrote my real name before this one, because it feels like it is fading, along with everything I am. But I know who I am. My favourite book is Kafka On the Shore. My favourite food is chicken alfredo. I have a dog called Julia, and I'm terrified of the dark. Such small things, like a kid making a list. This is easier for me, though. I must remember who I am, before it's taken away. For James I must be Katie, and for you, I'm Robin. I miss being called by my real name. My mother named me after her favourite flower. I grew up thinking it was a stupid name. I wanted to be called a pretty name like Holly or Charlotte. My friends often asked me why my name was spelled the way it was, and how to pronounce it. As a kid, I had been mortified. But as I grew up, I began to love my name, treasure what it meant to my mom to call me it.
I didn't think something as simple as a name, an identity, could be snatched so cruelly. But it has. I almost feel like I'm writing a story. Like we're just characters in someone's coerced reality. That's ironic, considering the plan our network has for us. I'm nothing but a puppet in James's sick game. I'm a shell for Katie Parker, and everything that is me, that is [REDACTED] he plans to eradicate, like it's that easy. Like taking away who I am, my consciousness is like child's play.
It's the blood stains that I can't stop thinking about. So much blood, so much life draining away like it was nothing. LIKE THEY WERE NOTHING. LIKE THEY WERE NOTHING.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm not making sense. I can't make sense right now, even as I read while I type, I might as well be reading hieroglyphics. The floor underneath my feet feels like liquid when I stand on it. There is blood on Rory's bed. It's only a little bit, a smear of crimson staining light pink pillow cases. But it's twisting my stomach. My chest is aching. Every time I look at his bed, I want to scream. I want to scream until my throat is fucking raw, until my lungs have collapsed. It's Noah all over again, but at that point, Noah survived. I didn't think he would, after seeing his body convulsing in front of me, flickering eyes still glued to Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck bleeding through ancient static. I'll never forget the way his head had dropped limply, bouncing on his chest like a puppet severed from their strings. His fingers, which had been frantically tapping out Morse code had gone still. Everything that was him, that was Noah, had gone still, and for one heart-stopping moment I thought I'd lost him.
I didn't lose him. You already know that.
Thanks to Derek Marley's confession, I know now that they weren't trying to kill Noah. Instead, they were using his body like a host, as if his character was a parasite. I've gone through the stages in my head so many times I know them off by heart. James's voice still crackling through static on each video clip still haunts my thoughts, as if the man himself was burrowing his way into my mind, forcing himself inside every piece of me.
Stage 1: Empty out.
Stage 2: Programming.
Stage 3: Insertion.
Stage 4:
Stage four...
Stage Four...
Stage Four...
I thought I could still save Noah. I could save Rory, and Izzie and Lana.
I thought I could save them.
I thought I could save them.
The blood on Rory's sheets makes me sick, and I can't stop thinking about them.
I can't stop THINKING ABOUT THEM.
I'll get to that. Because I'm here to tell our story, in what I hope is some kind of cohesive, even if it's a seemingly never-ending stream of consciousness which does not make sense. I'm sorry about that. I don't cut out what I write. I leave everything in, because I want to look back at this at some point, if I get out of this hell-hole. I want to re-read everything that took place. Every thought I had, even if it makes the least lick of sense. Every emotion I've felt, I want to feel it again. I want to torture myself again, but I know I'll never feel the way I'm feeling right now. Numb. Nothing. I feel nothing. Maybe I am Katie. Maybe James forced her into me during my daze where the days bled together, the pitch dark and sunlight colliding, but my thoughts weren't mine. And when they were, when clarity took over, I struggled to understand why I was so fucking numb. Why I couldn't cry. Why I'd stripped Rory's bed of his covers, and thrown them in the wardrobe. Why I sat against it for what felt like oblivion, with my back against cool, hard wood, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't open it again.
I couldn't look inside.
Because I would break apart all over again.
Now my head is clear, I know why. The sun is less of a confusing haze, and I can think a little clearer . So, I'm going to do what I always do; since I found you. Now that my mind is clear, I'm going to stop thinking about the wardrobe, and instead lose myself in you.
Inside this stupid phone which isn't even mine. It hasn't got my pastel blue phone case, and the lock-screen of me and my mother standing under a maple tree in Japan. It has none of that. Not my Apple playlist or my Instagram page. My endless collection of notes which is just shopping lists, or casting calls, or snippets of poems that come to me, and mom just a text or phone call away. My phone is gone. Except this phone feels like mine, even if there's none of my personality, a total blank. I've kept it hidden for so long, a secret under my mattress. The one thing stopping me from losing my mind.
I'm going to write to you, and leave nothing out. I'm going to tell you everything in as much detail as possible, despite my shaking hands and concaving stomach.
Writing to you is my outlet. I know not many are reading, and that most of you are sceptical, but I'm truly grateful for each and every comment you leave. Thank you for translating Noah's message. Thank you for telling me what was in the shot in Derek's office. Without you, I would have crumbled my now. So if you're reading, I beg of you, please keep going. If you have to, tear apart everything I say. Take notice of hints that I leave, like places that I have to blank out. Because you're my only hope right now. You're my only connection to the real world, to a reality I've been taken away from.
So please don't give up on me. Tell me you understand. Tell me you want some kind of update. Because you are all I have.
I say this, because once again, I need your help. Hopefully for the last time.
The last time I updated you, I'd made what I thought was the biggest mistake of my life. slamming Rory over the head with a table lamp. He had gone limp, falling back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. I took your advice and did not use the shot. I didn't know what it would do to him, especially if he had some kind of brain or head injury. Instead of doing what my heart was screaming at me to do, I slammed the door shut and removed the book. Guards, I thought hysterically. There were too many guards, and I would never leave the others. I felt selfish. Wrong. Like my heart had ben ripped out of my chest. But I held myself, and I stayed with Rory all night, waiting for him to wake up.
Except he didn't, and the more time progressed, the glaring red letters on my bedside clock flickering later and later, the sick feeling in my gut worsened.
"Rory." I felt like I was on fire, climbing onto his bed and lifting his head onto my lap. I felt for bumps and bruises, but mostly blood. I checked the pillow and sheets, but they were clean. He was breathing. I kept telling myself that, pressing my hand against his chest. He didn't move. His body stayed flaccid, draped against me. He was freezing cold, so I bundled him under the blankets. Laying next to him, my mind screamed at me to do something. Tell James. I was at war with myself. If Rory really was hurt and needed medical attention, I was killing him to save myself. So I didn't get caught.
Did I care more about my castmate, or being caught sober? Especially if Rory was just knocked out. That thought haunted me well into the midnight hours. I fell in and out of sleep, but I didn't dream. I was too panicked to relax and allow my mind some kind of peace. I couldn't. I was drifting off to sleep for what felt like the tenth time, when something...snapped. At least, that's what it sounded like. I shot up, disoriented, and quickly realised that the same buzzing, the same noise of a swarm of bees, was slicing into the silence I'd found myself wrapped in. My attention went straight to Rory, and sure enough, it was coming from him. But something was... different. The first time I'd heard it, the sound was like prickling electricity or the erratic wings of an insect.
But this time it sounded like popping. Like something was snapping, crackling inside my friend's head. Slowly, I slipped off of Rory's bed and checked him once more. Still no movement. His eyes were still shut. His breathing was still normal.
Knowing what was inside Rory, I knew the sound must have been the chip, what James had inserted into his eye. It was his character, the parasitic Mac Price. Briefly, I thought about attempting to get it out with the scalpel I'd hidden under my bed. But I could blind him. With one wrong move, I could blind him. So, I crawled back into my own bed and buried my head in pillows that smelled of lavender. It reminded me of home.
I don't know how long I slept for. All I remember is being woken by a flock of birds screeching outside. As soon as I brushed off slumber, reality hit me hard.
Rory.
The room was quiet, and my heart sank into my gut. I twisted around in bed, expecting to see my castmate still draped over sickly yellow covers, eyes shut.
The first thing I noticed was Rory's bed was empty. The covers and pillows were on the ground, and when I frantically searched for him, I found him.
Rory was standing in the same stance, straight shoulders, arms by his side. He was staring forward, that familiar vacant look splayed across his expression. He was already dressed in Mac attire; a short sleeved shirt and jeans. The early morning sun was streaming through the blinds, setting strands of his brown hair alight. His eyes were wide, earthy brown, a wrinkle between his brows. At that moment, I took a snapshot in my mind. If James was going to turn me into Katie, then I was going to remember him.
I was going to remember myself. When I happened to look into the reflection of James's glasses when he was leaning close, I glimpsed a girl who was far too thin, malnutrition transforming once healthy cheeks to ashen white. I saw tired eyes staring back, vacant and foggy with the phantom drug I was swallowing every day. I saw mousy blonde hair which used to be plastered across magazine stands, beauty magazines and teen Vogue. It seemed crazy that that girl was me. The girl who played Katie Parker. Because underneath the preppy blonde ponytail and face of makeup, there was me. It made me wonder. Did people see it? Did the public know, or did they look past all of that, to see their favourite character? Is that all I was to them?
Katie.
Fucking Katie Parker.
I didn't know what to think, whether to be relieved that I hadn't seriously hurt Rory, or frustrated that he was still under James's control. I was speechless, my mouth opening and closing, words choking my throat. I wanted to say so much, but all I really wanted to do was bury my head in his shoulders and sob until my chest was aching. Before I could open my mouth, or move, there was the sound of familiar footsteps approaching our room, and I dived up, practically throwing myself beside Rory, slipping back into my façade. Standing shoulder to shoulder as usual, we waited for James. But when the door opened, and the writer walked in with his usual wide smile and twinkling eyes, I could have sworn Rory had flinched ever so slightly. It wasn't noticeable, at least not to James.
But to me, I felt it. I felt the tremor that ran through him, his shoulder bouncing against mine. Something inside me ignited, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I had hope; hope that braining Rory with the lamp had knocked out the chip connected to his iris. Except at that moment I refused to get properly hopeful. No way. I had to keep my façade. Even if all I wanted to do was turn to Rory, and demand if he was himself. If he was like me, awake and aware, struggling to hide behind a character.
Instead, I played along as usual. We were given the pill, which I had mastered the art of hiding behind my bottom teeth. I swallowed with emphasis and opened my mouth so James could lean in. He did, the glint in his eyes sending ice sliding down my spine.
"Kids." He addressed us, spreading his arms in a greeting. "How did you like last night? Did you enjoy your late night entertainment?"
Something struck me, like a knife stabbing into my back. The TV, I thought, struggling to stay completely immobile. But at the corner of my eye, it was back to where James had originally placed it, the ancient screen facing forwards, instead of towards the wall where I had shoved it. James seemed none the wiser, and I allowed myself to let out a breath. As usual, Rory and I didn't reply. James carried the usual, a brown paper bag full of breakfast sandwiches and two plastic white cups of water.
"Robin." James nodded at me. "You look like you're making progress!" He winked. "Perhaps I should take you for a consultation after today's shoot. How does that sound, hmm?"
I didn't move, keeping my gaze glued to him, waiting for him to look away, mentally begging the bastard to get distracted. Derek's confession was still on my mind, and what the network and James had collectively done to my castmates. And that I was next.
TBD. To be determined. I had to fight back a shiver.
Struck with the sudden overwhelming urge to scratch at my right eye, beads of sweat slipped down the back of my neck. James cocked his head and chuckled when I only stared back, just like he wanted. He was used to this, used to my body working the way he wanted, twisting and turning the way he wanted, my submissive eyes drinking him in, and nothing coming out of my mouth. I could practically see the glee lighting up his eyes every time I was forced to stand like a soldier, awaiting orders from his smug mouth.
"Huh." The writer hummed, pinching my chin. "I'll take that as a yes, sweetheart."
Staying still, I forced myself not to breathe. James moved onto Rory, and handed the pill to my castmate. "Mr Gallagher!" He beamed. "I'm pleased to tell you that you will be entering stage four today. Along with Mr Keaton, as well as Miss Faraday and Bright."
Bile slithered up my throat, but I still didn't move, my gaze falling to the carpet, burning into each fibre. I wanted to scream, but the words wouldn't come out. James's words felt like lightning bolts. They were going ahead with stage four with Rory, Noah, Lana and Izzie, and I couldn't stop it. The Writer's words had not left my head, still alive in my skull, prodding and poking until I couldn't bear it. The complete removal of consciousness, James had said. Which was them. Whatever was left of my friends, what hadn't already been purged from them, tearing them from themselves, those last flickers of what I loved. He was going to take it away. James was going to take it away forever.
And what would be left: nothing. Just a shell, a pretty face for their character.
I'd heard James loud and clear. "Give him a few weeks to settle in, and then we can move onto the final stage. Complete removal of lingering consciousness. Of course, we can replicate the young man's personality easily for press days and of course the fans. That will be easy. There will be no need for the boy. He will be disposed of, do you understand me?"
Disposed of. My ears were roaring. How was James planning on disposing on them? What did that even mean? His words were cutting deep. I felt sick. No, I was going to be sick. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and my legs were ready to give-way.
"Why?"
Mac's all-too-familiar American twang sliced cleanly through my thoughts.
My head snapped up. For a disorienting moment I forgot I was supposed to be keeping behind a façade, and a hysterical bubble of laughter climbed its way up my throat. I hadn't laughed in so long, and it almost felt alien to me, but I managed to swallow it down. Rory's expression was still blank, still vacant, but the crease between his brows had grown. His lip was slightly curled into what might have been a frown.
He looked... confused. Which at that point, it was better than nothing.
James's expression had twisted in a flash, his eyes slitting, lips twisting into a scowl. He was still holding the pill out to the boy, who wasn't taking it, his arms staying by his sides. The writer cleared his throat, composing himself despite being rattled.
"I'm sorry, what was that, Mr Gallagher?"
I risked keeping my gaze on Rory, and everything inside me was begging, screaming at him to lash out, teeth gritted, eyes blazing. Rory didn't do that, however. He seemed to flinch again, but this time it was noticeable. His whole body shuddered, his eyes flickering, before his right arm jolted, and he reached out and took the pill.
Maybe I was imagining it, but it was like Rory was glitching.
"Mr Gallagher?" Stepping forward, James watched Rory pop the pill into his mouth. My castmate's expression had gone blank once more, but his arm was still trembling, pressed against mine. Rory swallowed the pill and opened his mouth on order, before the writer pulled out a small hand-held torch. He clicked it on, motioning Rory towards him.
Rory complied, and let James shine the light in his eyes. He didn't even wince. James checked both eyes, leaning in close. "Huh." James clucked his tongue. "Perhaps you had some kind of momentary malfunction," He grabbed my castmate's bare arms and squeezed them, beaming. "Don't you worry, young man. Once the final stage is complete, there will be nothing to interfere with the programming. The original consciousness will be completely removed, which will of course be a relief for the two of us."
James's words didn't sink in. I didn't let them. If I did, I'd shatter there and then, and James would catch me out. So I didn't move. I didn't breathe, and blinked back the sting in my eyes.
"Understand?" James motioned for Rory to nod, and my castmate did, his arms falling limply back to his sides.
"Wonderful!" The writer started to go through the same old routine, briefing us on our schedules, as well as lecturing us on being on our best behaviour, despite knowing the two of us were under the influence of a mind altering pill, as well as a microchip forcing our characters inside our heads. I mostly tuned out, trying to think of a way to save the others from what I was sure was a fate worse than death. Derek Marley had said that participating in the project would haunt him forever. His last message to Noah was sincere, but he was right. Noah would never forgive him. None of us would.
I had to get them out.
James's voice faded into white noise, until he reached the door, and turned to the two of us. "Eat and get ready for the day, please. I want things to go smoothly, so make sure to be good kids." He chuckled and then winked. "Mr Gallagher, I'll see you after the shoot."
The writer gave me a dismissive wave. "Miss Harley, a guard will pick you up as usual and take you home, since I will be quite busy."
Nodding, as if he was reassuring himself everything was going to be just fine, James hurried out, whistling some old Disney song that I vaguely recognised.
When the door slammed shut, I let my breath go, dropping to my knees. Spitting the pill out, I swallowed hot bile in my throat, willing myself not to hurl. Hot tears were spilling down my cheeks and I couldn't stop them, no matter what I did. The severity of the situation came over me like waves of ice cold water, and I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear into the floor. I wanted to be anywhere else than that room with my brainwashed castmate. Who I knew I was about to lose in favour for a fictional character.
Bunching my fists into my eyes, I struggled to my feet and forced myself to the wardrobe we share, where my Katie attire was packed inside. I felt disgusting, still wearing the sweats I'd slept in. When I twisted to Rory, I was meant to ask him if his head was hurting, or he felt sick. Despite knowing my castmate was a submissive doll, I still wanted to know. But when I turned to my castmate, Rory was still standing in the same spot. He was staring at something, and when I edged closer, holding my breath, I realised the pill was pinched between his thumb and index finger. The colour was darker, dyed to an almost purple shade with his saliva. Looking closer, his expression was no longer blank. Instead, there was the slightest glimmer of awareness in his eyes.
I held onto that with everything I had.
"Rory?" I choked on his name, and he flinched again, turning to face me. I knew then, when my castmate's gaze landed on me, that something was wrong.
His eyes were twitching, which seemed to affect his whole face, his cheeks wet with tears. A million emotions flashed across his expression, and he pressed two fingers to his right eye. When I said his name again with the gutter of my throat, his gaze found mine again, but Rory didn't look at me, not really. His lip curled and his eyes slitted with pain and frustration, but there was no glint of recognition igniting in warm browns. At least, it wasn't the teasing smirk and warm glint which was Rory. Instead, it was all Mac. Still twitching, as if he was fighting his character for his own mind, Rory dropped the pill onto the carpet, and crushed it with his foot, before turning to me.
And then something stabilised. My castmate, or whatever was left of him, the parts of him still fighting back, trashing the pill, was shoved deep into the crevices of his own mind, and his character was bleeding through. Exactly who James wanted him to be. There was the recognition coming to life in another's boy's eyes. Sixteen-year-old Mac who had been crushing on Katie Parker since middle school. Not twenty-year-old Rory, who swung the other way and would in fact rather eat his own tongue than look at me like that.
"Hey, what are you waiting for?" Rory cocked his head. I could see so much put-on emotions in that one stare. Longing for the girl he crushed on, as well as the pain of looking at her, knowing she was with another guy. I saw his obsession to keep his youth alive, and live every day as his last. It was Mac's character. As well as being a lovable idiot, he was determined to make every day count. I half wondered if all of that had been programmed into the chip, which was currently forcing my friend's brain into compliance.
"Get dressed, we have school."
Staring back at him, I had the sudden urge to punch him square in the face. Maybe that might bring Rory back.
But it was too risky. Instead of replying to him, I showered and dressed as normal. That morning, the breakfast was different. Instead of the usual breakfast sandwich, there was a chocolate croissant each, individually wrapped in expensive looking paper, and what looked like two Starbucks coffee's to go. My mouth watered. I hadn't had anything sweet in what felt like weeks, unless that meant mindlessly chewing on a cupcake during my mediocre break on set.
I ate the croissant so fast I barely tasted the explosion of chocolate in my mouth. Combined with the coffee, it was like heaven. When Rory grabbed his and ate it in two bites before gulping down the coffee, the taste went sour in my mouth, and I had to swallow several times to avoid the croissant shooting back up my throat.
The unexpected sugary treat for breakfast wasn't an accident. Each breakfast item had been perfectly wrapped, like a gift. It was like a last supper, at least for Rory.
The sickly feeling followed me to set. It was the same routine. We drove to set, and I sat with my side pressed to Noah, as if being in close proximity to him would somehow change his fate. I was rushed to hair and make up, and two girls who gossiped about a new Netflix show they had been watching, buzzed around me, transforming me into Katie.
My hair was curled into effortless blonde rings, since we were in the midst of a homecoming dance episode, and glitter speckled my cheeks. All the glitter in the world could not hide the dark shadows under my eyes, so they gave up and remodelled my face so I barely recognised myself. We were filming outside that day, and the fall breeze was warm, tickling my bare shoulders. I wore a dress most of the morning, and stuck mostly with Noah. I spoke Katie's lines, acting as best as I could, even when I felt like I was shattering apart inside. We had a five minute break, and I stumbled around the set, trying to find everyone, keeping them in my line of sight, my heart speeding up when James appeared with a crumpled script and his phone. "Robin, Noah and Rory." He spoke up, his voice like a beacon to my castmates. Their heads snapped up from where they had been awkwardly circling craft services, grabbing finger foods and vanilla puddings stacked on plates.
Noah joined me quickly, sliding to my side. I tried not to think about the times I'd been freaking out about shooting, and him grabbing and squeezing my hand. Part of me wanted to reach for his, search for some kind of inclination that he was still there. Doing that, though, would cause suspicion. Following Noah's lead, I copied his nonchalant expression, while secretly painting a picture of him in my head. I can write this because I remember him. I want to remember him. I can see him so vividly it hurts; hair so black against skin so white. Izzie, standing off to the side, standing in a light blue skater dress perfectly hugging her figure, strawberry curls flaying in blank eyes I missed.
Lana. Coffee skin and brown hair in two pigtails. Her character Jules was a drama-queen.
We started the scene normally. Katie was walking to school with Will, already in her homecoming dress, and Mac was supposed to run up to us, and ask Katie to the dance.
I said my lines as instructed, wondering if they were going to be programmed directly into my head when I finally went through stage 4.
My wandering thoughts were interrupted when James and Simon, our director let out a collective sigh. "Mr Gallagher!" The writer's expression was stony. He twisted around, glaring at Noah and I, as if we had personally wronged him. "Where the hell is Rory?!"
"Here."
Turning my head in my castmate's direction, I failed to notice two things. Maybe it was because Noah, for the first time, had followed my gaze, instead of looking into oblivion.
The first thing I noticed was like a punch to the gut.
Rory's accent was back. It was broken, splintered in his tone like it didn't belong, but it was back.
The second thing I noticed was that once again, he was twitching, this time his whole face spasming, while his shuddering hand grazed his left eye.
My castmate was stumbling, staggering, but himself. I could tell from the look in his eyes. Terror. That's all I was seeing. Pure, unadulterated terror.
"What the fuck." Rory spat out. His fingers formed pincers, and he stabbed at his swollen looking eye, whimpering. "What the fuck did you do to me?!"
The crew went silent, and James, for the first time in weeks, looked speechless.
"You." Managing to find his feet, Rory marched over to the writer, until they were face to face. "You're a sick bastard, you know that, right?"
James blinked slowly. "Mr...Mr Gallagher," He spoke calmly. "You appear to be off your medication."
Rory looked taken aback. "You think I'm sick?!" He hissed. "You're the sick one for shoving a razor blade in my fucking eye! What the hell is your problem?" Twisting around, Rory seemed to notice the rest of us, and he went pale, the fight going from his face.
His fingers went back to his right eye. "You... you did something to us," he moaned softly, picking at his eyeball. "What did you... what did you do to us?"
"Delusions." James spoke up with a sad shake of his head. "It appears Rory is very sick. He must not have been taking his medication. Oh, son. We shouldn't have brought you to set. You should have said something."
Rory stared, blinking rapidly. "No." He said sharply, his head turning, gaze snapping to each crew member. "No, we're not...we're not sick..." he backed away, before grabbing Noah and shaking the boy, but Noah was like a doll, limp and expressionless.
"Noah?" Getting increasingly frustrated, Rory slapped the boy across the face, and I felt the sting. But Noah didn't even blink. "Hey." My castmate's voice grew hysterical, "Don't just stand there! Hey! Hey, you're with me, man. Right? Noah. Fucking hell, Noah!"
Noah didn't move, and the pain on Rory's face was enough to kick my brain into gear.
"What did you do to them?" Rory demanded. "Fuck, there's something...there's something in my eye!"
"Rory, please calm down," James spoke calmly. "Can someone please get a hold of him so he does not hurt himself. Thank you."
"No!" My cast mate grabbed me, his fingernails stabbing into the bare flesh of my arms. I had to fight back a cry. "Robin." He spoke softly. "Robs, you're... you're in there, right?"
I didn't speak. Couldn't speak. I could only watch as Rory was grabbed by a guard. He struggled violently, until a needle was thrust into his neck, and he went limp.
"My goodness." James shook his head when the guard scooped up the boy bridal style. "Connor, take Mr Gallagher home please. I think it's time for the next phase of his treatment."
No. My stomach slithered into my toes.
"All of them, in fact," James continued. "Keaton, Bright and Faraday too. Harley isn't quite ready."
I could only watch as the others were herded away, and a familiar hand grasped onto my arm. I turned to see the same guard who called me "Little Bird". He was grinning from ear to ear. His grip tightened. "Let's get you home, Little Robin," he hummed.
The ride back to the hotel was blurry. I think I was crying, uncaring about keeping character and staying hidden behind foggy eyes. When we arrived back to the hotel, my mind started whirring. The car ride had been half an hour, including a gas station stop, where the guard had grabbed a coffee for himself, and filled the car's tank. My legs were shaking when we entered the hotel lobby, but the guard didn't start heading upstairs.
"Come along, Little Bird." He hummed, gesturing for me to follow. He made a face, tapping his pockets. "Huh. I've lost my key-card again."
I followed him down to the cellar, keeping distance. I had to get away. I had to find the others, and get them the hell out of this place.
"Stay." the guard grunted, before slipping inside 305, where the key-cards were kept. His expression confused me, the waggling of eyebrows and quirking of lips.
Thankful for the distraction, I forced my legs down the same clinical white hallway. 309 was lit up this time, not illuminated in TV static, actual bright yellow light. From my angle, I saw nobody in the room. My whole body was rattling, and I couldn't breathe, but I forced myself to slip through the door. I was right. The room was empty. At least of James and his minions. This...this is where I'm going to struggle with writing. I'll try my best to tell you, but this is my third time writing this part.
Every time I try, I can't.
Because even if I block out the worst, I still see it.
Inside 309 were my castmates. The four of them were in the same state as the videos on Derek's laptop. Plastic masks covered their mouth and nose, but this time their eyes were wide open and unseeing. A monitor told me their vitals, and after struggling to free Noah's wrists from the armrest, I found myself at a futuristic looking control panel.
That's what the room was, I thought, my fingers grazing each button.
James and Derek’s secret project.
The big, red lever was hard to not notice. It was staring at me, and my hand was twitching. Seeing my friends like this, vulnerable, strapped down and controlled. It willed me to wrap my fingers around cool metal, and wrench the lever downwards.
When the sirens started, I knew what I'd done was wrong.
My castmate's vitals were screeching, and all four of them had gone into shock, gasping for breath, eyelids flickering, bodies convulsing.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't fucking know what to do, so I went to work undoing their restraints. But they weren't looking at me. Their eyes were skyward, and I tried not to notice a cerulean glitter around each iris.
A parasite, I thought, my hands going still.
When the blood started to run, crimson against pristine white, the alarms stopped.
James ran in, out of breath. But I didn't stop wrenching at Noah's restraints until I was grabbed and dragged back. "Robin?!" the writer let out a hissed breath. "I should have known!" Around him, men and women in white were dashing around, attempting to stabilize the others. "I should have known!" He cackled again “You are a brilliant actress, after all."
His teeth clamped down on my ear, and I let myself cry out. At the corner of my eye, there was so much blood. It ran in tiny rivers, startling claret painting them.
James turned my head forcefully. He was out of breath, and I realise the writer was as scared as me. "You better hope and pray you haven't just killed my best stars," he spat, before thundering orders at the crowd of white. "Get them cleaned up and initiate a second procedure."
"But sir," A young male doctor twisted around, and his expression was panicked. "They have just haemorrhaged. If we try again, we could-"
"I don't CARE!" The writer yelled. "Do it! You saw them, right? They were on 50% when that little brat shut it down. I'm confident it was just a flux due to the abrupt stop."
"Marley." The Doctor cleared his throat. "I wouldn't recommend-"
The Doctor didn't finish his sentence. All around me, vitals were crying out again, and all I was seeing was vacant eyes and blood.
Blood.
So much blood.
Oh God, I killed them.
Before I could understand the alarms and panicked yelling, James took me upstairs and shoved me in my room.
His last words were for me to pray.
But that was days ago. All of those blank days that I can't fully remember. All I do remember is James bringing in sheets covered in blood. Part of me recognised them from the ones the others had been laying on in 309.
I screamed. I screamed until he slapped me and told me to get a hold of myself.
"A reminder." James had said, throwing the sheets onto Rory's bed. I asked if the others were okay, and he gave me a long, hard look.
He brought me food, and I ate it.
And I stopped thinking.
But maybe that was a good thing.
I shoved the sheets in the wardrobe. I couldn't look at them.
My days became one big confusing blur.
At one point, my phone disappeared. I found it though.
It's been charged.
Funny. I don't remember charging it.
I've spent most of my day screaming, banging on the door. It feels good to scream again. But nobody is listening to me. Nobody will tell me if my castmates are okay.
Earlier, something was shoved through my door. A clear plastic baggie with an epi-pen and a yellow sticky note.
Robin.
I can get you out of here.
Take this early tomorrow morning, and I will do the rest. I know trust is not on the cards right now, but I'm your best bet.
- A friend, if you'd like.
This brings me to the end of my post. I need your help. Why would someone give me insulin? Why the specific time? Should I take it, or is this another trick?
I'm not thinking straight right now, but do you think I really killed them? Am I the only one left?
If so, why is James still keeping me here? Am I going to die?
If this is my last post, and I'm taken and turned into Katie, or killed, I want you to know who I really am.
My name is [REDACTED]
The show is [REDACTED]
My castmates are: [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]
Finally, the bastard who did this to us is: [REDACTED]

[Previous] [First] [Next]
...and thanks to their valiant efforts, fire damage to the museum was minimized, however- what’s that? Right now? Ladies and Gentlemen I’m just now receiving word of a breaking news story. Humanity’s first faster than light capable ship, the Sacagawea, has splashed down in the Pacific Ocean weeks before it was scheduled to return. Details are scarce, but a nearby cruise ship was able to render aid to the ship and recover the astronauts on board. Photographs from witnesses aboard the cruise ship show the Sacagawea crew, consisting of Commander Glenn Thompson, Pilot Ron Parker, and Engineer Jack Takeuchi, alive and well after removal from the ship. Mysteriously, witness photographs also seem to show one other person being recovered from the ship, with rumors of a second extra person still on board. Neither NASA nor JAXA have yet to release an official statement on the events currently unfolding.
I laid in bed, listening to the birds sing outside of my window as I tried to push back the anxiety and panic from the previous night’s dreams. The days and nights were longer here, and even after more than a month I still found myself rising before the sun. Across the hall, I could hear the sound of snoring. Ron wasn’t awake yet, but the sun was beginning to rise and he’d be up shortly.
I stood up and stretched, sighing contentedly as my back cracked, then pulled on a t-shirt and some sweatpants. I wandered groggily to the kitchen. Feeling particularly lazy, I pulled a box of frozen pancakes from the freezer and turned on the oven. Sure, the microwave would have been faster, but I still didn’t trust something that emitted radiation with so little shielding. I opened the box and noted with dismay that it was almost empty. We’d definitely need to go out to get more. I sat down at the kitchen table and contemplated my situation.
The human government had allowed me a surprising amount of freedom, going so far as to allow me to go out in public, so long as I was under constant supervision. Not that I went out much. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the attention I drew. I almost think I would have preferred staying hidden from the general public altogether, but that wasn’t exactly feasible. Apparently we had splashed down near a human “cruise ship”. With the Sacagawea’s mission being such a high profile endeavor, the humans on board immediately recognized it and knew something had gone immensely wrong. The Sac’s mission profile had been highly publicized, and it was never meant to land back on Earth, let alone crash into the ocean, weeks ahead of schedule. Crew members from the cruise ship had already evacuated us from the bridge onto a lifeboat and were trying to figure out a way to move Jax by the time a US navy carrier showed up to retrieve us. Pictures of me slumped over on a lifeboat, disheveled and battered, had already spread around the world before we ever made landfall. Without any way to cover up my unexpected arrival, the existence of myself and my planet was formally announced to the general public, along with a general summary of everything that had transpired. I did a few interviews, both televised and behind closed doors, but I felt woefully under qualified to be speaking on behalf of my people. Especially when speaking to government officials. I mostly wanted to stay out of the spotlight.
When it came time to address my living arrangements, Ron volunteered to “babysit” me, as he put it. He had a three bedroom house on a decent amount of land, and lived alone, so moving me in caused minimal disruption, and he was adamant that I not be left in some “prison dressed up like an apartment with a prison warden parading around as a bodyguard.” Especially since I would have been confined to said apartment for years as the humans painstakingly created more of the exotic matter required to fuel their FTL drives. After they made a new one. And if they even decided to send me home. Technically, that still wasn’t decided. Glenn was a regular visitor, but Jack had returned to his home country of Japan. He would still message us regularly though, which was nice.
I heard a yawn and shuffling come from the hallway to the bedrooms.
“Man, why are you always up so early?” Ron asked, heading straight to the coffee machine.
I opened my mouth to answer but stopped. I had left my tablet in my room. Eyes closed in thought, I tried to remember the words in English.
“Your nights are longer. I told you this. Many times.”
Ron smiled at me. “Hey, that was pretty good! But it’s been over a month, learn to sleep in a little! We ain’t all morning people.”
“Neither am I.” I said, pulling a baking sheet from the cabinet. “But your nights are long. And there are no more pancakes left.”
Ron grabbed the box of pancakes from the table. “Dude, there’s like 4 left.”
“And they are mine.” I said, grabbing the box back. I put the pancakes on the baking sheet and threw them in the oven.
“You eat a lot of pancakes man.” Ron said, pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee.
“They remind me of a…” I struggled to remember the word. “A food item you eat after a meal?”
“A dessert?”
“Yes, a dessert we had back home. A light… bread thing? With a sweet… covering?” Even though I had been awake for a while, I still wasn’t awake enough to really tackle English. It was, at times, an incomprehensibly convoluted language.
“Oh, we have that too. It’s called cake.”
“Is a pancake not a cake?”
“No, well yes, but not really.”
English. I rolled my eyes.
“Cakes are generally lighter, sweeter, and covered with frosting, not syrup. They come in all kinds of flavors, and we usually eat them during special occasions and celebrations.” He took a sip of coffee. “And sometimes for dessert.”
Ron stretched and looked out the window. “Whew, it looks like it's gonna be a beautiful day.” He was right, the sun was out and shining, and there were few clouds in the sky. The weather had been getting warmer as well. Ron had said we were in the season of Spring, where the cold receded and the plant life of Earth seemed to come back to life. I had noticed the fields outside begin to turn a rich green, with vibrant patches of color sprouting here and there.
“Tell ya what Ren, how about we do something special today, huh?” Ron said, grinning as he set his cup down. “Get a little fresh air, enjoy the weather.”
“As long as I don’t have to go in a grocery store.” I said, pulling my pancakes from the oven and promptly drenching them in syrup. “You know I don’t like going out in public.”
Ron frowned. “You know, the more regularly you go out, the quicker people get used to you. I mean, I doubt people’ll ever get completely used to seeing you. You are the first alien to come to Earth, and your arrival wasn’t exactly what everyone expected, but…” he trailed off. “Well, worst case scenario, you get used to the publicity. Anyway, once you’re done eating, get dressed and meet me at the car. No grocery stores, public parks, or anything like that, promise.”
I nodded, shoving pancakes in my mouth. I had no idea what Ron had planned, but I wasn’t sure I’d like it. He had admitted to me before that he was a bit of a thrill seeker. That was why he had become a test pilot, then an astronaut. He hadn’t tried to get me to try anything crazy yet, but I figured it was only a matter of time. And from what I had learned about humans so far, thrilling was synonymous with dangerous. But I was beginning to feel cramped from spending my days in Ron’s house with nothing to do but learn English and browse the “internet”. There was an astounding amount of information on the internet, and I had learned a lot about humanity from it, but sitting in front of a computer screen all day was growing stale. Eventually, I finished my meal, placed my dishes in the sink, and went to my room to get dressed. By the time I made my way to Ron’s car, he was already sitting inside, ready to go.
“So where exactly are we going?” I asked, buckling myself into the chair next to Ron.
“It’s a surprise!” He said cheerfully, typing a destination into the car’s nav system.
The vehicle backed itself down Ron’s driveway and took off down the road with a quiet hum. At least the humans had the good sense to automate their ground transports, though Ron had taken manual control of the vehicle once before while I was riding along. It was a terrifying ordeal at the speeds we were going. Human ground transports, or cars, as they usually called them, generally travelled at much lower speeds than Tevucian grav transports, but relied on wheels and friction for directional control and lacked any gravity based inertia dampening. You felt every bit of the speed you were going, and the first few times I rode in one I suffered from severe motion sickness. That wasn’t an issue anymore, but driving at 80 mph in such close proximity to other vehicles while under manual control made my fur stand on end. Luckily, Ron seemed content to let the car drive itself this time and after only a few minutes, we rolled up to a gated lot in front of a squat, nondescript building on the edge of town.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a storage facility.” He said simply, rolling the window down to type a code into a pin pad in front of the gate. There was a beep and the gate began to slide open. The car pulled into the facility and I could make out several doors along one side of the building. We stopped in front of one and Ron climbed out of the car. He typed in a code on another keypad on the wall and the storage facility door rattled open. I climbed out of the car and followed him in. He flipped a switch on the wall and the storage unit was illuminated.
“Is this….another car?” I asked, looking at the machine in front of me. It was obviously a car, but it was radically different from any other I had seen on the road. Whereas the ‘Tesla’ Ron normally drove was rounded and sleek, with flowing lines and a shape that emphasized cabin space and aerodynamic efficiency, this thing was angular, aggressive, and had almost comical proportions by comparison. The front section was long, flat, and came to a shallow point. The cabin section was short, with seating for four, though the vehicle only had two doors and the back seats looked almost vestigial. And the rear section was shorter still, tapering down slightly, with few lines and fewer curves to be found. Four round headlights were set into a grill that ran the width of the car's front end, flanking two smaller vertical grilles at the center. They made the car look angry somehow. Predatory. Dangerous.
“This, my friend,” Ron said, throwing his arm around my shoulders, “is not just another car. This is a 1985 BMW M635CSI. She is a classic. Straight six engine, rear wheel drive, manual transmission, just like the Driving Gods intended.”
I blinked in confusion. “I understood none of that.”
“Alright, let me walk you through it.” He said, ushering me closer to the machine. “This car is a BMW, like the one outside is a Tesla. Different manufacturer. M635CSI is just the model name. It was made in 1985.”
“Wait, 1985? Isn’t that over 100 years ago?” I looked at the car again. It definitely looked old. It’s maroon paint was faded, and most of it on the hood was flaking off. Small dents and scratches covered the sides of it.
“Yes, she’s just a touch over 100, and still going. Mostly.” Ron smiled. “I bought her a couple years ago and just about coaxed her back to life right before the mission. I’ve been looking forward to taking her out on the road once I got back.” He opened the driver’s door and reached inside. There was a creak as a panel covering the front section popped open slightly. Ron came around and grabbed the panel near the base of the windshield. He lifted and the panel hinged open. We were greeted by a rectangular block of metal nestled amidst a tangle of hoses and wires and zip ties.
“Yeah, it ain’t too pretty under here yet, still got some tidying up to do, but she runs.” Ron smiled proudly at the ungainly mechanism.
“And this powers the car?”
“Yeah, let me show you!” Ron said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
I was staring at a particularly concerning looking bundle of taped together wires when the metal lump began heaving to life. A rhythmic whir emanated from the machine, interrupted by occasional sputtering coughs that shook the engine. The coughs and sputters increased in frequency until the car suddenly barked to life, snarling like a beast angry at being disturbed from its slumber, before settling into a low rumble that reverberated through the small storage unit and thrummed in my chest.
I recoiled with a yelp at the sudden cacophony of sound.
“Whoops, sorry bud. Forgot how loud this thing is.” Ron said casually, as if his eardrums weren’t currently being damaged.
“Why is it so loud?” I yelled, pressing my ears firmly against my skull in an attempt to dampen the assault on my sense of hearing.
“Why’s it so what-oh, the exhaust rusted out, and it’s impossible to find replacement parts. So I just welded up some pipe and ran it to the back of the car, so it’s got no muffler, resonator, or anything to quiet it down.
“Okay, but why does it produce that much noise at all? What could that engine possibly be doing to create so much noise?” I paused briefly as a pungent smell began to fill the small space. “Is-is something burning?”
Ron coughed. “Whew, yeah, that’s why we don’t use these any more. Step outta the garage, I’ll pull this thing out.” He pulled the door shut and it bounced back open. Shaking his head, he slammed the door shut and it stayed. I walked out into the fresh air and looked back at the strange, rumbling machine. It let out a sharp snarl and began to inch forward. I felt my fur stand on end as it rolled out into the daylight, growling and crackling. Ron reached for something near the instrument panel in front of him and the machine fell silent. “So what were you asking?”
“Why is that thing so damn loud?!”
“Oh! It runs on gasoline. It combusts gas and air and uses the resulting expanding gas to drive pistons to move the car.”
“Explosions. You used explosions to propel your cars.”
“I mean, that’s kind of simplifying it but, yes.”
“And this is what humans used before electricity. As in, all cars used these engines?”
“Yes?”
“Is your entire species insane?!” I practically yelled. “I can understand you using explosives for your space ships since those are piloted by trained professionals, but putting explosives in the hands of civilians?! At least you eventually realized how dangerous that was and had the sense to switch to electricity.” I sighed. “I don’t know how you guys have made it this far without blowing yourselves up yet.”
Ron scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, we came close a few times, and we didn’t really switch to electric cars for safety. It was more about reducing pollution, and the fact that gasoline was a finite resource. In fact, early electric cars used lithium ion batteries that, if they ever caught on fire, were extremely hard to put out. They were pretty safe otherwise.”
I stared at Ron, dumbfounded as he sat back down in the driver's seat.
“Come on, hop in! Let’s take her for a spin.”
“No. No no no no no. That thing is a death trap.” I said pointedly. “Is there even any kind of safety equipment in it. Any fire suppression systems?”
“Uh, it has seat belts?” He grinned sheepishly.
“No, not gonna happen.”
“C’mon, you’ll love it!” He said, patting the empty passenger seat.
“No.”
“C’moooon!”
“No.”
“You’ll love it!”
“No.”
“It’ll be fun!”
“NO!”
Ron recoiled at the sudden shift in my demeanor.
I took a breath. “I’m- I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help, to find something for us to do besides sit around in your house, and I know I can’t just hide away in there for years while NASA decides if they want to build another ship to get me home, but I…” I started twisting one of my ears in anxiety.
“It’s okay buddy.” Ron said gently, leaning out of the car. “Is something wrong? Or has something been bothering you? you can tell me. You keep that shit to yourself and it’s just gonna keep chewing away at you.”
I leaned back against the front fender of the car, running my hands over my head.
“I’m scared. Everything scares me now. Your planet scares me.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. “The first time I leave my home system, my ship explodes. You guys rescue me from near certain death, and your ship almost explodes. We get going again only to damn near plaster ourselves across the ocean. And Jax…” My words caught in my throat. I stayed silent for a moment, regaining my composure.
“And now I’m here on a planet full of insane aliens that seem hell bent on risking life and limb at every available opportunity and I’m at my wits end. I’m bored out of my mind cowering away in your house, but I don’t think my nerves can take going out into your world.” A silence hung heavy in the air, and I briefly wondered if I had inadvertently alienated the person who had risked so much for me, who had invited me to live in his own home.
“Let me ask you something.” Ron said, standing up out of the car. “Why did you become an astronaut, specifically a pilot?”
“I- well…”
“Even in your society, that has to carry risk, right? There’s more danger associated with space travel than say, an accountant, or whatever equivalent you have for an office job, right? And yet, you chose to go to space. Hell, you chose to leave your system. Why is that?”
“Because I- uh…” I faltered.
“Because a normal life is boring? Because you seek thrill, adventure?” He continued. “And why a pilot? Is it because you can control a machine that lets you do so much more than what’s otherwise possible? That having control of something that can take you anywhere you want is the ultimate freedom?”
“Maybe, I guess? I don’t…” I thought back to my youth, looking up in wonder to watch star-like specks of light flit across the night sky. I remembered the hours spent in simulations learning the controls of a spaceship, and the overwhelming thrill and sense of wonderment the first time I strapped myself into the pilot's seat and left the atmosphere. I remembered all those times I got yelled at for not using autopilot…
“You know what I think your problem is?” Ron said, scratching his chin. “You’ve been on this crazy roller coaster of an adventure, but you haven’t been in control for a long time. You were at our mercy once you set foot on our ship, and you're at the mercy of my government if you ever get to go home. You haven’t been able to enjoy the ride, because you didn’t even get to choose to get on it.”
I reflected on that. How different would my stay on Earth be if I chose to come here. If I had time to prepare. If I had my partner with me. Would I be cowering away inside, waiting for my departure? Or would I be dragging Jax all across this planet every time something caught my eye?
“Look, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, but I really think that this,” he patted the old car’s roof affectionately, “might be able to help you break out of this funk you’ve been in. If you’re willing to learn, willing to master it, it will reward you with an experience you just can’t get from anything else today. There’s no traction control, no anti-lock brakes, no speed limiter, no electronic nannies to interfere. Just you, the car, and wherever you want to go, however you want to get there.” He turned to regard me while he closed the engine compartment panel. “Maybe it can give you some semblance of control back in your life.”
He climbed back into the old BMW and reached up near the instrument panel again. This time I saw him turn a small, black key behind the wheel in front of him. The car whirred and barked to life immediately this time, crackling as it settled into that low, unnerving growl once again.
“You can take the Tesla home if you want, I won’t make you ride in the death trap!” He shouted over the din.
I slowly walked around the front of the car. Apprehensively, I placed a hand on the faded maroon fender, feeling it vibrate and shudder with the explosions of gasoline and air. I looked at the sleek, white Tesla, silent, safe, waiting to take me back to Ron’s house where I could hide away from the madness that was this world.
No.
I was done being scared. Done hiding away, and done wasting the time I'd be spending here. I walked to the passenger side and opened the door. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I lowered myself into the passenger seat.
“Atta boy.” Ron said, smiling. “Alright, before we set off, lemme run you through all the controls.
We rolled up to Ron’s house as the sun was sinking to the horizon. The sleek white Tesla was already there, sitting atop its inductive charging pad, having driven itself home shortly after our departure. As soon as Ron brought the BMW to a halt, I shoved open the door and practically spilled out onto the ground.
“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.” Ron said, silencing the clattering machine as he climbed out.
I simply glared at him from my spot on the ground, ears ringing, willing my heart rate to drop to a safe level before I suffered a heart attack. I mentally reflected on the events of the day, and how Ron could possibly come to the conclusion that it hadn’t been that bad.
Our little road trip had started innocently enough, with Ron showing me all the archaic controls and their various functions. Then he insisted I try it myself in the storage unit parking lot. How any species could decide that a vehicle should be controlled with three pedals when they only had two legs was utterly beyond me. But Ron’s explanation made it seem a relatively simple affair, and being licensed to fly the most advanced piece of machinery my people had ever created, I felt I could handle the crude, century old transport I now occupied.
I was wrong.
It had struck me as predatory and beast like before, with all its growling and shuddering, and it’s shape, all hard edges and straight lines, gave it the appearance of a foul-tempered demeanor. Now I was almost certain it was alive, and extremely pissed off I was at its helm. No matter how gentle I tried to release the ”clutch”, (which was absurdly heavy, seriously, how was this ever considered normal?) the car would buck and protest, either spinning its tires with a piercing shriek or defiantly shutting down while doing its best to send my snout crashing into the steering wheel. Ron did his best to offer clearer instructions, but was struggling to do so through his laughter. Eventually, I was able to get the ornery thing to move reliably, but not without making it bellow and groan, the engine RPMs racing skyward as I slowly slipped the clutch. Once moving, the car became more compliant, but was still a handful. Go too slow, the car bucks and shudders or stalls out. Come to a stop without pressing the clutch or shifting to neutral, the car stalls out. Come to a stop facing uphill? Congratulations, you are now rolling backwards as soon as your foot comes off the brake. Ron had hoped this machine would help me feel like I had some aspect of control over something, anything, in my life. Instead, I felt it was a fight just to get the damn thing to move one foot forward. I was physically and mentally exhausted by the time Ron offered to take the driver’s seat back.
With Ron at the wheel, the machine’s demeanor seemed to shift immediately. With minimal drama, he coaxed the car forward, and we glided effortlessly onto the road. He slotted the shifter through the gears and soon, we were cruising along the empty rural road, windows down, the BMW rumbling contentedly.
Just as I was beginning to relax, to feel as though maybe, this mechanized insanity wasn’t as threatening or dangerous as I thought, Ron said some words that I hope to never hear again.
“Alright, lemme show what this thing can really do.”
What followed was a blur of deafening noise, the terrifying sensation of speed, and the feeling that my life would end at the hands of the cackling maniacal human piloting his death trap along nonsensically winding roads. I didn’t even realize when we had slowed down to a more sensible speed. My last clear memory was seeing Ron’s house as we pulled into the driveway.
Shakily, I picked myself up off the ground.
“Seriously though, are you okay? I didn’t think I'd scare you that bad, I thought you were getting comfortable with the car.”
“I was.” I said curtly, brushing off dust from the gravel driveway.
“Again, I’m sorry. But I’m my defense, we only got up to like sixty. We’ve gone way faster than that in the Tesla.” He said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards it.
My eyes narrowed at that. “There’s no way we weren’t going faster.”
Ron shrugged. “It’s a raw car. It doesn’t insulate you from the road. It’s meant to make driving fun.”
“Your definition of fun is very different from mine.”
I followed Ron into the house, falling unceremoniously onto a couch. Ron sat in the recliner along the wall, a thoughtful look on his face as he stared off out of the living room window.
“You know, the first time we took the Sacagawea out on an FTL test run, I don’t think I could honestly tell you how it felt.”
My ears perked as I looked towards the contemplative human.
“Me, Jack, Glenn, we were all so busy watching the data, checking parameters, looking for anything that might indicate the ship was gonna tear itself apart or explode or something, that I don’t think anyone actually experienced the whole thing.” Ron paused for a moment.
“I could probably recite exactly what the drive core temperatures were, our location, relative velocity, all that. But I don’t think I could tell you what the sensations of that first flight were, outside of anxiety, trepidation, and most of all, fear.” He shook his head, smiling. “It wasn’t until our fourth or fifth test flight that I realized the literal tons of FTL shit we bolted to what was originally an oversized cargo shuttle made it about as responsive as an apartment building in a mudslide, and that the most sensational part of FTL flight was the utter lack of sensation at all.”
Ron turned his gaze towards me. “The point I’m getting at is that the first time you try something, it can be overwhelming. You’re so bombarded with everything that’s happening, you don’t actually get the chance to process what’s going on. So if you want, and when you’re ready, we can go out and try again.” He shrugged. “If not, that’s fine, but I’m getting you out of this house. You’re stuck here on Earth for a while, and I’ll be damned if you leave without ever actually experiencing your time here.”
He stood and stretched. “Anyway, it’s late, and I don’t feel like making dinner. Pizza alright with you?”
“Yeah…” I nodded absently, staring out the window at the rolling fields bathed in the golden glow of dusk. At the predatory shape of that car silhouetted against the setting sun.
That night my thoughts swirled around me as I laid in bed. Eight to ten years. That was the estimate the scientists at NASA had given me for how long it would take them to synthesize enough exotic matter for a trip to Cygaria. That was how long it would be before I could go home, if they even decided to let me leave. That was still not officially decided. Just one more thing up in the air. Beyond my control.
I sighed and rolled on to my side. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Ron was right. I’d just been along for the ride in everything that happened since my ship exploded, and I had just shut down. I locked myself away in his house where nothing crazy happened and life couldn’t throw anymore surprises my way. I didn’t want to hide away anymore, I was tired of being afraid, tired of the feeling of helplessness in my current situation. However, the thought of going out doing anything on this insanity-inducing planet brought forth feelings of anxiety and apprehension. Something had to change, but change was hard. My troubled thoughts followed me as I finally drifted off to sleep.
Heavy. Everything was heavy. I tried to lift my head. A sharp pain lanced down my back and shoulders. I sucked in a breath of air and tried again. Slowly, I was able to look up and take in my surroundings. The bridge was dim, and all the consoles were dead. The three humans were slumped in their seats. I began to feel light headed and let my head drop again. More pain. I could feel the Sac swaying gently below me, hear the sounds of water lapping against the ship and boiling away. We had made it. We survived. Glenn groaned, then called out across the bridge.
“Is everyone alive?”
“I am in one piece.”
“Ugh, gravity’s a mean bitch.”
“I’m alive. My neck feels like someone tried to rip it from my body.” I said through gritted teeth, struggling to lift my head once again.
“Try not to move. You probably only have whiplash, but it could be something worse. Moving too much could cause more damage.” I could hear Glenn straining as he reached for the radio controls. He pushed a couple of buttons, but nothing happened. “Shit, powers completely dead. Looks like we’re waiting in the dark. No way to check on our pick up.”
I looked over at the display that showed the medbay camera feed. My heart dropped. It was blank. I began fumbling with my restraints.
“Woah, Ren! What are you doing.” Ron called out, pulling at his own harness buckle.
“I need to check on Jax!” I gasped. I could only imagine what damage the violent landing had done to him in his fragile state. The sudden reintroduction to gravity was wreaking havoc on my body. My arms felt stiff and unresponsive. I managed to unclasp my harness and throw it off.
“Ren wait! Help will be here soon!” Ron shouted. “There’s nothing you can do right now, you’re only going to hurt yourself!”
I didn’t care. I needed to make sure he was okay. I wrenched myself out of the chair and collapsed onto the floor. Searing hot pain shot up my back and into my head. I tried to raise an arm, to drag myself forwards. I couldn’t. Everything hurt. My limbs felt like they were made of lead. I dropped my head against the hard metal floor and yelled in frustration. In anger. My yelling faded into pitiful sobs. I was helpless. If Jax was dying in that medbay, there wasn’t a damned thing I could do. I couldn’t even be there for him. So I lay on the floor instead, sniffling like some lost child. I felt a familiar weight on my back and turned my head. Ron was on all fours, breathing heavily, one hand on my back. That strange human gesture of comfort. It helped.
“Ren, easy,” he said between gasps. “We’ve made it...this far man. Jax...has made it this far. He’s sick...but he’s tough. He’ll get through this. We’ll...get through this. Help is coming...soon. We’ll be alright.”
I took a shaky breath. “Okay. You’re- you’re right.” Jax would be fine. He had to be fine. Ron eased himself down and joined me on the floor.
“No way in hell I'm gonna be able to stand back up. Hope you don’t mind if I join you.”
I slowly, painfully, rolled over into my back, hissing in pain. “I don’t mind.” I gasped.
“Bet you don’t have to deal with reacclimating to gravity, huh?”
“No, having onboard gravity prevents that.”
“Hmm, must be nice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
All four of us remained silent, listening to the gentle lapping of waves as the Sac bobbed gently on the ocean.
I awoke with a start, the feelings of panic and helplessness still seared in my mind. It was still pitch black in my room, and the stars shone clearly through the bedroom window. A quick glance at the clock told me it was early. Real early. 1:32am.
I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes.
Every night.
Every single night I dreamt of my arrival here. Everytime I closed my eyes I would relive the trauma, the vulnerability I’d felt immediately after splash down. It was draining. Sleep thoroughly out of the equation for the next few hours, I grabbed a light cloth “hoodie” and made my way downstairs as I had many times when my nightmares woke me. As I grabbed the handle to the front door, I noticed the keys to the BMW hanging from the wall next to the Tesla fob. Hesitantly, I picked up the small, metal keys and stepped outside. The night was crisp and clear, without a cloud in the sky to impede my view of the alien nightscape.
Unfamiliar stars and a ludicrously large moon were a stark reminder of my current situation, but there was a comforting beauty to them. I sat down on the porch steps, letting the cool night breeze wash over me as I stared out into the stellar sea above me. The stars had always held a certain power over me. I could feel that familiar tug, that longing for something more that pushed me to be a pilot in the first place. That drive that steeled my nerves and pushed me towards adventure. My gaze shifted down to the moonlit hills and trees that surrounded me, then to the angular shape of the BMW sitting in the driveway before me.
Maybe it was sleep deprivation, or maybe it was desperation to begin feeling like myself again, but I found myself walking to the driver‘s door of the car. I slid the small, fragile feeling key into the slot next to the handle. The door unlocked with a thunk and I pulled it open. Sliding into the seat, I shut the door and gripped the wheel, apprehension welling up inside me. Slotting the key in the ignition, I held my breath and turned it. The car barked to life, settling into that deep growling idle. I closed my eyes, feeling the car rumble around me. For a moment, I was back on the Sacagawea, strapped in a chair, feeling the ship rumble through the atmosphere, gripped in panic and helplessness. I wrenched my eyes open and reached for a switch on the ceiling. The car’s ancient sunroof squealed in protest as it opened, revealing the night sky. I stared up at them again, steeling my nerves and strengthening my resolve. Like it or not, this planet was now my mission, my adventure, and this crummy, ancient, rolling health hazard of a car was gonna be my ship. I was a pilot damnit, if I could hop into a spacecraft and fly out to another star system, then I could absolutely conquer driving a vehicle humans used to get groceries a century ago.
continued in comments

AAAA aa aA a (featuring Bee)

I was at a building with a large yard, across the street and around 25 meters away from the road was a large fenced in area with scrap metal and such. I knew thhat area was radioactive. I looked overhead, There was a dark plane flying around. I tryed to stay out of its sight so I didn't get killed. It left after a large search. I started scavenging the yard for resources. I found a few matches. The plane started flying above me and everyone else in the yard, this time a bit lower. I hid behind a large bin. It left again after another search. I kept searching for things to help me survive. I found a few more matches, nothing else. The plane flew around the metal scraps across the street, picking up and taking a machine of some kind. "Damnit! We were gonna take that!" The person behind me yelled. The plane started flying around the yard again. I ran to the hole me and my friend Bee created. I slide down and closed the hole behind me. Me and Bee set up some walls and started hoping we don't get found. We now had a very small space to hide. I striked a match against the stone wall. It sparked a pink flame. Bee held it for me while I rummaged through the pockets of my black hoodie. Bee's match went out. I pulled out another match and lit it. It sparked blue. Bee has long blonde hair. It looked pretty in the light of the match. "Lets hope we survive.." she whispers to me. "Shut up!" I whispered back. Her match went out again. I sparked another one, it glows normally. I looked to my right, behind Bee and away from the entrance we covered. There is a bird-human ghost thing, famous for their screeching. I drew my golden sword and try to strike it down before it could scream. Too late. Right before my sword was brought down on its shoulder, it let out a loud scream. "We're dead." Bee whispered, a look of terror on her face. I nodded in agreement. We put out the match. Seconds later, A bunch of people in black suits broke into our hole. The second-in-command, with sunglasses, started commanding his army to attack us. Bee bolted for the exit and escaped. I got disarmed and thrown against the wall. I started pleading for mercy as two of the men brought out dark cans. They started pouring the liquid on my arms. I screamed in pain as it burned through my skin. Something filled the air. It got harder to breathe. I screamed like a pterodactyl as more of the liquid was poured on my sides. I started begging for mercy again. "Ah.. y'know.. she could be of use.." the leader said quietly. More of the liquid was poured on my leg. I screamed again, before screaming for mercy. The leader slapped his hand over my mouth, picked me up and said "If you will shut the fuck up, I'll take you." I nodded. He brought me to the plane. Dream ends.

BMC but something is wrong with Michael (featuring Bee) (Two River SQUIPs perspective)

I chased after the red hoodied idiot. Bee was at my side, Ready to take him down. This wasn't even because he was trying to deactivate me.. Michael was going to do something much worse. I don't know what. But something. We slid behind a large post and he started creating a ball of fire. Bee looked at the pile of shoes behind her and started throwing them. I on the other hand, don't really have any limits. Michael shot. Me and Bee dodged to the side. I started creating a ball of electricity as Michael charged his attack. I fired. It hit. He fired. It nailed my side. I couldn't really feel it. This process of Michael throwing fire at us, Bee throwing shoes at Michael and me throwing electricity at Michael repeated until I started to feel pain. I ran off to recover and think of a smarter plan. I took a step outside of the school and sighed. 6 minutes passed and I walked back inside. Jake and Rich were standing in front of a bunch of tired students on the ground. "He's made us do push-ups.." Brooke groaned. "I'm so tired.." Chloe whined. More tired groans came from the other students. "Come on, Keep going! Michael isn't going kick his own ass! Go! Go! 1, 2, 3, 4, Keep going!" I snapped as I walked by. They followed my orders. I threw my coat on the ground as I got ready to fight the flame-holding beast. I walked through the blue hallway into the gym. Michael had a huge ball of fire. He turned to face me and smirked. I flipped him off and walked right back out. A flash of white ran past me. Ah, My dumbass of a brother responded to my call! I ignored the fact that the others hadn't arrived yet. I chased after him. "JASON! BROTHER! JASON FUCKING TAM, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!" I yelled. He had dove into a box and sealed himself in there somehow. I shredded open the box. He launched up onto me and started biting my arm. I muttered some insults at him as we headed to the gymnasium again. The students being ordered by Rich and Jake gave us confused looks as we passed. We got into the hallway and he started biting harder. Something told me that this wasn't the guy I was trying to find. I punched him in the face and kept walking. Dream ends.

Michael, but his life sucks

I (Michael) was just walking around the school to get to my locker, but someone had other plans. I was walking out on the roof because the last class was held up here. I started heading towards the door to go downstairs to the rest of the school, But found myself falling down the side of the school. I just stayed on the sidewalk for a bit before getting up and going inside again. I climbed up the stairs, walked to my locker, punched in the combination and took my bag. I still hadn't erased the "riends" written on it. I threw it on, slammed my locker shut and decided to head to the elevator. My bag was heavy and welp. I was the only person in the elevator, so that was nice. Something didn't feel right after a minute. The moving metal box was stuck. My bag shifted on my back and I got a huge jolt of pain in my back, right arm and legs. I slid down a bit, not acknowledging the tears running down my face. I looked forward to getting to Jeremy's place. Would he have painkillers? Hopefully. The elevator started moving again. I scrambled to my feet. It seemed to be moving oddly fast. I started panicking. Everything went numb as I closed my eyes. More pain shot through my everything. I groaned and forced myself up. I decided to pretend nothing happened and walked out of the school. Nobody seemed to acknowledge me, even though I was still in tears of pain (and fear) and bleeding. I started heading down the street. 6 girls in dresses (and crowns) were heading somewhere. I decided to head up to them. "We're heading to the Humane Society, Want to join?" Someone asked me. I nodded. Seeing some cute cats and dogs would feel good after everything that had just happened. We continued for awhile and I started falling behind a bit. Someone grabbed me. Next moment, I was flying through the air. I felt myself hit water, which just added even more pain to my situation. I squirmed around in fear and confusion. I was falling slowly through the water. I looked around at the coral and rocks. Some fish flew by me. Some mer-people were chilling. Some guy noticed me and brought me to the nearby dock at the surface. I thanked him and struggled to my feet.

Hermitcraft I guess

"And this would be my mob farm. Its a little small at the moment.." Scar showed me the tower of platforms. "Blocks can come down to cover the lights, Like this." He flicked a lever and I watched black and yellow concrete appear in the place of the glowstone and sea lanterns. I walked closer to the edge to watch it work. Then a arrow pierced my back and knocked me in. Gr8. I flew onto one of the platforms and screamed "SCAAAR! GET! ME!OUT OF HERE!" Which was followed by a explosion. "Slight problem. My on/off switch just uh... blew up." He nervously looked over the edge at me. "wAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT-" I screamed as I was knocked down again. I landed on the last platform and looked at the drop beneath me. "SCAR, DO SOMETHING!" No response.

Green_Leader_Edd fell from a high place trying to escape skeleton. Wonderful. I respawned in one of Scars beds and ran back over to him. "Scar, You are more useless than me. And that's saying something. Ugh, Just help me get my stuff back." "Don't worry, It'll all be in a chest." He started leading me down the stairs. Then something happened. Green_Leader_Edd was squished. Your home bed was missing "Alright.. I'll just go back to my base, get some stuff then annoy Scar for my stuff later." I sighed as I walked back. Eventually, The giant magical tree came into veiw (Think Season 7 Scars starter base and Iskalls megabase combined). I hopped over the berry bushes, Walked inside and eventually got some iron armor, a spare elytra, Some potatoes and some other things and began walking/flying back to Scars temporary cave base. Xisuma: Meetup at the mega plains in 20, Going to be hosted by Grian. Grian: Oh god Green_Leader_Edd: I'll be there! Mumbo: K More confirmations came through the chat. So, I just had to get there. Meetups are basically just someone streaming while another hosts. We just discuss stuff about the server- I launched myself in the air and started trying to fly the large distance. Random thoughts went through my head until.. I was falling. The elytra broke. I closed my eyes aaaaand- I landed in some water. I looked at the box I landed in. Hardly lit except for the hole in the roof above my puddle. I got up and started wandering until.. A bed! I set my spawn point and continued walking around. Why is there a Grian face here? I guess it's Grians base. Maybe. I don't question Cod-Boy. I felt something scratch against my back and a arrow pierce my arm then.. Green_Leader_Edd was blown up by creeper I groaned. Tango: I think someone should start selling totems of undying. Green_Leader_Edd: I'm too broke to buy them. Iskall85: F I started walking again, Then got chased by a whole bunch of mobs. I groaned loudly and started running. Through rooms, across bridges over rivers apparently.. By bridges, I mean fences. A string of fences. They were getting closer. I jumped off a balcony type-ledge into a deep lake. I swam down fairly far so the skeletons wouldn't see me anymore. So many arrows in my body.. one heart and a half. I gotta be smart. Another arrow in the leg. I dragged myself to the surface and onto the shore. I groaned loudly. "GeT IN THE BOAT!" A certain someone named Etho yelled at me. I follower my order. Before I knew it, Two Canadians were yeeting across the server in a boat somehow. I guess if Wels can clone himself or eat a diamond shovel, Etho can make boats the fastest thing in existence. Then we were there. Everyone started showing up. "Grian, Do you own anything that ISN'T red?" X yelled. "Nope." Grian said, His voice more high pitched and quicker than usual. I looked at him carefully and realized he taped a black, paper mustache to his face. I decided not to question it. "Uhsoguys, Thestreamisn'tworking" Grian nervously laughed. "Are you okay dude?" I asked. "No." And then the dream ended.

I don't fuckign know

Chloe, Brooke and Jeremy look at the long line to see ??? to get him to sign something or make a diversion. Idk.
Chloe: This.. is going to be a long wait.
They finally reach the huge man dressed in black and white with black hair.
Jeremy: Can I.. Have your autograph? ???: THEY ALWAYS WANT IT.. OUT!
The three are blown back by a sudden wind, despite the fact that they're indoors and land at the door
Jeremy: This is going to be harder than I thought.. They repeat a few more times but get blown away before they can ask Brooke: Oh fuck this.. You guys can keep trying but I'm going to our "hotel room", Which is just the grass under a random cliff. I'll probably kill 14 ant colonies just to sleep for 8 hours!
The next day arrives
Chloe: We tried.. all night.. Brooke: Brooke: I have an idea.
They walk up to him again
???: Oh, What do you want now? Brooke: I have an offer.
Brooke whispers something in his ears
The scene changes
Chloe, hissing at Brooke before walking into a room: Brooke, You're never making any decisions ever again
Jeremy is crying loudly in the corner.
....Brookes plan was to have her companions pull a Do You Wanna Hang

The thrilling adventure of me with a SQUIP

I looked at the grey pill in my hand and mountain dew in the other then smirked. My pal Bre had walked up to me and pointed to the pill in my hand "The fuck is that?" Enter Hannah and Paige. "Language, Breanna!" Hannah yelped. "Is a pill" I laughed. "No duh. What does it even do?" Bre facepalmed. "It's from Japan.." I started singing. "Of course it's from Japan" Hannah shrugged. Then silence. "Huh?" Paige broke the silence. "..It's a grey, Oblong pill. Quantum nano-technology CPU.." I continued. "What.. Is she doing?" Bre backed away slightly. "This sounds familiar" Hannah said. "The quantum computer in the pill will travel through my blood until it implants in my brain and it tells me what to do." I finished that part. "The squip song?" Hannah asked. I nodded. "Don't. Take. That. Pill." Bre ordered. "How 'bout I do anyway" I joked. "No! You aren't allowed to take that!" She yelped. Paige ran off. "Ima do it anyways" I said. "You could die!" She screamed. "And?" I looked at my SQUIP again. "What is wrong with you!?" Bre dropped to her knees. I opened the can of mountain dew "Eat ass."

"Yeah, But still, Thanks for driving me this far to get to this party." Breanna laughed. "Anytime girl." I said as I unlocked the car. "Alright, Time to re-stock the snacks for the last leg of the trip. While I do that, You fill up this chunk of metal" I slammed the car door shut and made a hand gesture. She nodded and did her thing while I walked off.
Startup
Hello.
Hi.
Go get the cookies and muffins, Breanna will enjoy those.
I walked through the isles and did as it said. Alright. Think that's it?
Yes.
Aight bro.
Stop saying "Bro" so much.
Whatever
(Bre's POV)
I stood by a post, Waiting for her to get out of the store with some food, god I was hungry. I watched as someone tugged a pallet of ice twords the ice machine. I wondered if I should hell him, then decided to. "Here, Let me help." I said as I bent down to lift up the other end. We took the pallet beside the machine, He thanked me and I walked back to my post. She's taking awhile. Looks like the line is long though. Ah, There she is, Dancing like a dumbass. She had her full Michael cosplay on, including the headphones. I imagined she was listening to the Be More Chill soundtrack again. "Nerd." I laughed quietly to myself.
Shutdown
I was tapping my foot in the corner of the line and decided to slide on my headphones. They weren't just there for the cosplay. I pulled out my phone and opened YouTube music then selected Two Player Game. I turned my back to the gum, chocolate and candy and watched the people walking by. I started dancing like a dork, Plainly because I could. Gotta get in character if I'm gonna cosplay, Right? Ahahah, I'm still a loser. I thought I heard a faint beeping sound. Probably just the song. But I saw a flashing red light behind me, Getting more and more apparent with every flash. Suddenly, Something clasped itself around my neck. I couldn't breathe at all. I felt my eyes watering with warm tears of pain as I dropped onto my hands and knees. "ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS PRESS THE BUTTON" a robot voice said. I saw a small, target looking thing appear from the corner of my eye. I made a small choking noise as I felt a hand on my back. "What ha-" is all I heard before everything went black and I lost my senses. .
.
.
...Startup..?
Good work.
I didn't know what was happening. What even was that?
It's a small security robot. It's triggered by a lot of movement from the same collection of colours. It's designed so if someone was near it at the time, It would locate a certain nerve in the victims neck and wrap itself around their neck to cut off all oxygen. Or, If it was in the trunk of a car with the merchandise, It would deploy a shield around the item then explode. Your dancing set it off and you didn't notice the warning. If you had noticed it, You would have to press your thumb on the target and it would shut off for one minute.
Jeez I'm dumb. That's a pretty stupid design for a security bot, Actually. About the car scenario, what if there was a hostage? Would it aim for them?
No. The human body sends out a certain chemical when in fear. It also releases a scent, unnoticeable to other humans. If someone is sending out that chemical, it will shut off until the person is far enough away from it, Then it would self-destruct
Smart but pretty dumb.
There aren't many of them, Luckily. They stopped getting made after a similar thing happened to what's going on with you.

"Man that party was great" Hannah wispered to herself. "Well, Thanks for taking me back to the hotel. Bre's passed out drunk." She stretched as she did her seatbelt. "No problem." I said.
Got the directions?
I was never told which hotel chain she's staying at.
"Hannah, What was the hotel name? Just asking out of curiosity." I turned to her. "It's the London Pride." She straightened out her long brown hair.
Alright. Put the car into reverse, Put your foot on the gas and get out.
I followed it's instructions and turned around to watch what I was doing. I backed out of the small parking lot and onto the highway.
Good. Keep driving straight until I say otherwise
Got it. I'm glad I didn't listen to Bre when she said not to activate you
It didn't respond. Me and Hannah occasionally chatted while I drove, with the voice of Keanu Reeves giving me the occasional "Change lanes"
Go into the turn lane, Slow down.
I followed the instructions, again.
Now go.
I pressed the gas pedal and drove off.
Turn onto the next highway.
After doing this for awhile, I pulled up to the hotel and Hannah got out.
It's 16:36. You need to get your family at 16:50 at the latest.
Crap. Forgot about them
I know. Get us out of here.
I did as told. After more directions, I pulled up at the house. I got out of the car and approached the house.
It's 16:49. Nice work. You could have sped up at multiple times.
I'm following your directions, stupid
Oh leave me alone.
I knocked on the door and was greeted by the fact that the door wasn't even closed right. "Alright, Get in the fuckin car." I called out. I watched as everyone walked past me outside. Katie did a count to make sure everyone was here then got in the drivers seat. "I thought I was driving..?" I shrugged. Everyone else piled in. Noah had the middle seat in the back while I had the left. We started driving off as I closed my eyes and stretched out my legs with my hands on my lap.
Shut me off before I make you do something dumb. Remember, They don't know about me yet.
and I'm not planning on letting then know. Shutdown
Noah put something hard on my hands. I moved and opened my eyes to see it falling off and probably breaking. "Shit." Noah sighed. "I barely moved my hands-" I pointed out. "Eh whatever, Leave me alone" I said as I slid my headphones over my head. I was still doing a Michael cosplay lol

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
-
I think I've killed them.
That's all that is running through my head right now. I've killed them.
I've killed them.
I've fucking killed them.
No, I can't think like that. I have to stay positive.
It's so fucking hard to stay positive right now.
As much as I want to tell you what's going on right at this moment, I have to go back days from now, before everything exploded. Before I lost both myself and my friends. I have to write all of this down so I can register it fully, and accept it. I have to accept it. Because right now I can't. I've tried writing this so many times, but my head is so fucking foggy, and my thoughts feel like candy floss. The phone's screen is so bright and it hurts my eyes. I have to concentrate. That's what I keep telling myself. I have to breathe. Just keep breathing. It's not like I'm hiding anything anymore. They know I'm sober. They know I'm awake, and it's only a matter of time before they come for me too; do the same thing to me. Oh god, they're going to kill me. I'm going to die.
Maybe I deserve it, though. After all, I think I've killed their biggest stars.
I'm going to start from when I last updated you. Once again, I have no recollection of how many days I've lost. James took them from me. I want to check it myself, but part of me would rather stay ignorant. All I know is that it is sunny outside. The sky is blue, and the trees are golden brown. Fall. My favourite season. It feels weird to remember that. That I have a favourite season. Katie's favourite is Summer. She likes to go to the lake with her friends, and swim in the river. I know more about my character than I know myself, and every second that goes by I feel like I've been tipped upside down and emptied of everything I am. So, I'm going to remind myself before it's too late.
My name is Robin Harley.
At least, that's how you know me. I wrote my real name before this one, because it feels like it is fading, along with everything I am. But I know who I am. My favourite book is Kafka On the Shore. My favourite food is chicken alfredo. I have a dog called Julia, and I'm terrified of the dark. Such small things, like a kid making a list. This is easier for me, though. I must remember who I am, before it's taken away. For James I must be Katie, and for you, I'm Robin. I miss being called by my real name. My mother named me after her favourite flower. I grew up thinking it was a stupid name. I wanted to be called a pretty name like Holly or Charlotte. My friends often asked me why my name was spelled the way it was, and how to pronounce it. As a kid, I had been mortified. But as I grew up, I began to love my name, treasure what it meant to my mom to call me it.
I didn't think something as simple as a name, an identity, could be snatched so cruelly. But it has. I almost feel like I'm writing a story. Like we're just characters in someone's coerced reality. That's ironic, considering the plan our network has for us. I'm nothing but a puppet in James's sick game. I'm a shell for Katie Parker, and everything that is me, that is [REDACTED] he plans to eradicate, like it's that easy. Like taking away who I am, my consciousness is like child's play.
It's the blood stains that I can't stop thinking about. So much blood, so much life draining away like it was nothing. LIKE THEY WERE NOTHING. LIKE THEY WERE NOTHING.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm not making sense. I can't make sense right now, even as I read while I type, I might as well be reading hieroglyphics. The floor underneath my feet feels like liquid when I stand on it. There is blood on Rory's bed. It's only a little bit, a smear of crimson staining light pink pillow cases. But it's twisting my stomach. My chest is aching. Every time I look at his bed, I want to scream. I want to scream until my throat is fucking raw, until my lungs have collapsed. It's Noah all over again, but at that point, Noah survived. I didn't think he would, after seeing his body convulsing in front of me, flickering eyes still glued to Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck bleeding through ancient static. I'll never forget the way his head had dropped limply, bouncing on his chest like a puppet severed from their strings. His fingers, which had been frantically tapping out Morse code had gone still. Everything that was him, that was Noah, had gone still, and for one heart-stopping moment I thought I'd lost him.
I didn't lose him. You already know that.
Thanks to Derek Marley's confession, I know now that they weren't trying to kill Noah. Instead, they were using his body like a host, as if his character was a parasite. I've gone through the stages in my head so many times I know them off by heart. James's voice still crackling through static on each video clip still haunts my thoughts, as if the man himself was burrowing his way into my mind, forcing himself inside every piece of me.
Stage 1: Empty out.
Stage 2: Programming.
Stage 3: Insertion.
Stage 4:
Stage four...
Stage Four...
Stage Four...
I thought I could still save Noah. I could save Rory, and Izzie and Lana.
I thought I could save them.
I thought I could save them.
The blood on Rory's sheets makes me sick, and I can't stop thinking about them.
I can't stop THINKING ABOUT THEM.
I'll get to that. Because I'm here to tell our story, in what I hope is some kind of cohesive, even if it's a seemingly never-ending stream of consciousness which does not make sense. I'm sorry about that. I don't cut out what I write. I leave everything in, because I want to look back at this at some point, if I get out of this hell-hole. I want to re-read everything that took place. Every thought I had, even if it makes the least lick of sense. Every emotion I've felt, I want to feel it again. I want to torture myself again, but I know I'll never feel the way I'm feeling right now. Numb. Nothing. I feel nothing. Maybe I am Katie. Maybe James forced her into me during my daze where the days bled together, the pitch dark and sunlight colliding, but my thoughts weren't mine. And when they were, when clarity took over, I struggled to understand why I was so fucking numb. Why I couldn't cry. Why I'd stripped Rory's bed of his covers, and thrown them in the wardrobe. Why I sat against it for what felt like oblivion, with my back against cool, hard wood, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't open it again.
I couldn't look inside.
Because I would break apart all over again.
Now my head is clear, I know why. The sun is less of a confusing haze, and I can think a little clearer . So, I'm going to do what I always do; since I found you. Now that my mind is clear, I'm going to stop thinking about the wardrobe, and instead lose myself in you.
Inside this stupid phone which isn't even mine. It hasn't got my pastel blue phone case, and the lock-screen of me and my mother standing under a maple tree in Japan. It has none of that. Not my Apple playlist or my Instagram page. My endless collection of notes which is just shopping lists, or casting calls, or snippets of poems that come to me, and mom just a text or phone call away. My phone is gone. Except this phone feels like mine, even if there's none of my personality, a total blank. I've kept it hidden for so long, a secret under my mattress. The one thing stopping me from losing my mind.
I'm going to write to you, and leave nothing out. I'm going to tell you everything in as much detail as possible, despite my shaking hands and concaving stomach.
Writing to you is my outlet. I know not many are reading, and that most of you are sceptical, but I'm truly grateful for each and every comment you leave. Thank you for translating Noah's message. Thank you for telling me what was in the shot in Derek's office. Without you, I would have crumbled my now. So if you're reading, I beg of you, please keep going. If you have to, tear apart everything I say. Take notice of hints that I leave, like places that I have to blank out. Because you're my only hope right now. You're my only connection to the real world, to a reality I've been taken away from.
So please don't give up on me. Tell me you understand. Tell me you want some kind of update. Because you are all I have.
I say this, because once again, I need your help. Hopefully for the last time.
The last time I updated you, I'd made what I thought was the biggest mistake of my life. slamming Rory over the head with a table lamp. He had gone limp, falling back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. I took your advice and did not use the shot. I didn't know what it would do to him, especially if he had some kind of brain or head injury. Instead of doing what my heart was screaming at me to do, I slammed the door shut and removed the book. Guards, I thought hysterically. There were too many guards, and I would never leave the others. I felt selfish. Wrong. Like my heart had ben ripped out of my chest. But I held myself, and I stayed with Rory all night, waiting for him to wake up.
Except he didn't, and the more time progressed, the glaring red letters on my bedside clock flickering later and later, the sick feeling in my gut worsened.
"Rory." I felt like I was on fire, climbing onto his bed and lifting his head onto my lap. I felt for bumps and bruises, but mostly blood. I checked the pillow and sheets, but they were clean. He was breathing. I kept telling myself that, pressing my hand against his chest. He didn't move. His body stayed flaccid, draped against me. He was freezing cold, so I bundled him under the blankets. Laying next to him, my mind screamed at me to do something. Tell James. I was at war with myself. If Rory really was hurt and needed medical attention, I was killing him to save myself. So I didn't get caught.
Did I care more about my castmate, or being caught sober? Especially if Rory was just knocked out. That thought haunted me well into the midnight hours. I fell in and out of sleep, but I didn't dream. I was too panicked to relax and allow my mind some kind of peace. I couldn't. I was drifting off to sleep for what felt like the tenth time, when something...snapped. At least, that's what it sounded like. I shot up, disoriented, and quickly realised that the same buzzing, the same noise of a swarm of bees, was slicing into the silence I'd found myself wrapped in. My attention went straight to Rory, and sure enough, it was coming from him. But something was... different. The first time I'd heard it, the sound was like prickling electricity or the erratic wings of an insect.
But this time it sounded like popping. Like something was snapping, crackling inside my friend's head. Slowly, I slipped off of Rory's bed and checked him once more. Still no movement. His eyes were still shut. His breathing was still normal.
Knowing what was inside Rory, I knew the sound must have been the chip, what James had inserted into his eye. It was his character, the parasitic Mac Price. Briefly, I thought about attempting to get it out with the scalpel I'd hidden under my bed. But I could blind him. With one wrong move, I could blind him. So, I crawled back into my own bed and buried my head in pillows that smelled of lavender. It reminded me of home.
I don't know how long I slept for. All I remember is being woken by a flock of birds screeching outside. As soon as I brushed off slumber, reality hit me hard.
Rory.
The room was quiet, and my heart sank into my gut. I twisted around in bed, expecting to see my castmate still draped over sickly yellow covers, eyes shut.
The first thing I noticed was Rory's bed was empty. The covers and pillows were on the ground, and when I frantically searched for him, I found him.
Rory was standing in the same stance, straight shoulders, arms by his side. He was staring forward, that familiar vacant look splayed across his expression. He was already dressed in Mac attire; a short sleeved shirt and jeans. The early morning sun was streaming through the blinds, setting strands of his brown hair alight. His eyes were wide, earthy brown, a wrinkle between his brows. At that moment, I took a snapshot in my mind. If James was going to turn me into Katie, then I was going to remember him.
I was going to remember myself. When I happened to look into the reflection of James's glasses when he was leaning close, I glimpsed a girl who was far too thin, malnutrition transforming once healthy cheeks to ashen white. I saw tired eyes staring back, vacant and foggy with the phantom drug I was swallowing every day. I saw mousy blonde hair which used to be plastered across magazine stands, beauty magazines and teen Vogue. It seemed crazy that that girl was me. The girl who played Katie Parker. Because underneath the preppy blonde ponytail and face of makeup, there was me. It made me wonder. Did people see it? Did the public know, or did they look past all of that, to see their favourite character? Is that all I was to them?
Katie.
Fucking Katie Parker.
I didn't know what to think, whether to be relieved that I hadn't seriously hurt Rory, or frustrated that he was still under James's control. I was speechless, my mouth opening and closing, words choking my throat. I wanted to say so much, but all I really wanted to do was bury my head in his shoulders and sob until my chest was aching. Before I could open my mouth, or move, there was the sound of familiar footsteps approaching our room, and I dived up, practically throwing myself beside Rory, slipping back into my façade. Standing shoulder to shoulder as usual, we waited for James. But when the door opened, and the writer walked in with his usual wide smile and twinkling eyes, I could have sworn Rory had flinched ever so slightly. It wasn't noticeable, at least not to James.
But to me, I felt it. I felt the tremor that ran through him, his shoulder bouncing against mine. Something inside me ignited, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I had hope; hope that braining Rory with the lamp had knocked out the chip connected to his iris. Except at that moment I refused to get properly hopeful. No way. I had to keep my façade. Even if all I wanted to do was turn to Rory, and demand if he was himself. If he was like me, awake and aware, struggling to hide behind a character.
Instead, I played along as usual. We were given the pill, which I had mastered the art of hiding behind my bottom teeth. I swallowed with emphasis and opened my mouth so James could lean in. He did, the glint in his eyes sending ice sliding down my spine.
"Kids." He addressed us, spreading his arms in a greeting. "How did you like last night? Did you enjoy your late night entertainment?"
Something struck me, like a knife stabbing into my back. The TV, I thought, struggling to stay completely immobile. But at the corner of my eye, it was back to where James had originally placed it, the ancient screen facing forwards, instead of towards the wall where I had shoved it. James seemed none the wiser, and I allowed myself to let out a breath. As usual, Rory and I didn't reply. James carried the usual, a brown paper bag full of breakfast sandwiches and two plastic white cups of water.
"Robin." James nodded at me. "You look like you're making progress!" He winked. "Perhaps I should take you for a consultation after today's shoot. How does that sound, hmm?"
I didn't move, keeping my gaze glued to him, waiting for him to look away, mentally begging the bastard to get distracted. Derek's confession was still on my mind, and what the network and James had collectively done to my castmates. And that I was next.
TBD. To be determined. I had to fight back a shiver.
Struck with the sudden overwhelming urge to scratch at my right eye, beads of sweat slipped down the back of my neck. James cocked his head and chuckled when I only stared back, just like he wanted. He was used to this, used to my body working the way he wanted, twisting and turning the way he wanted, my submissive eyes drinking him in, and nothing coming out of my mouth. I could practically see the glee lighting up his eyes every time I was forced to stand like a soldier, awaiting orders from his smug mouth.
"Huh." The writer hummed, pinching my chin. "I'll take that as a yes, sweetheart."
Staying still, I forced myself not to breathe. James moved onto Rory, and handed the pill to my castmate. "Mr Gallagher!" He beamed. "I'm pleased to tell you that you will be entering stage four today. Along with Mr Keaton, as well as Miss Faraday and Bright."
Bile slithered up my throat, but I still didn't move, my gaze falling to the carpet, burning into each fibre. I wanted to scream, but the words wouldn't come out. James's words felt like lightning bolts. They were going ahead with stage four with Rory, Noah, Lana and Izzie, and I couldn't stop it. The Writer's words had not left my head, still alive in my skull, prodding and poking until I couldn't bear it. The complete removal of consciousness, James had said. Which was them. Whatever was left of my friends, what hadn't already been purged from them, tearing them from themselves, those last flickers of what I loved. He was going to take it away. James was going to take it away forever.
And what would be left: nothing. Just a shell, a pretty face for their character.
I'd heard James loud and clear. "Give him a few weeks to settle in, and then we can move onto the final stage. Complete removal of lingering consciousness. Of course, we can replicate the young man's personality easily for press days and of course the fans. That will be easy. There will be no need for the boy. He will be disposed of, do you understand me?"
Disposed of. My ears were roaring. How was James planning on disposing on them? What did that even mean? His words were cutting deep. I felt sick. No, I was going to be sick. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and my legs were ready to give-way.
"Why?"
Mac's all-too-familiar American twang sliced cleanly through my thoughts.
My head snapped up. For a disorienting moment I forgot I was supposed to be keeping behind a façade, and a hysterical bubble of laughter climbed its way up my throat. I hadn't laughed in so long, and it almost felt alien to me, but I managed to swallow it down. Rory's expression was still blank, still vacant, but the crease between his brows had grown. His lip was slightly curled into what might have been a frown.
He looked... confused. Which at that point, it was better than nothing.
James's expression had twisted in a flash, his eyes slitting, lips twisting into a scowl. He was still holding the pill out to the boy, who wasn't taking it, his arms staying by his sides. The writer cleared his throat, composing himself despite being rattled.
"I'm sorry, what was that, Mr Gallagher?"
I risked keeping my gaze on Rory, and everything inside me was begging, screaming at him to lash out, teeth gritted, eyes blazing. Rory didn't do that, however. He seemed to flinch again, but this time it was noticeable. His whole body shuddered, his eyes flickering, before his right arm jolted, and he reached out and took the pill.
Maybe I was imagining it, but it was like Rory was glitching.
"Mr Gallagher?" Stepping forward, James watched Rory pop the pill into his mouth. My castmate's expression had gone blank once more, but his arm was still trembling, pressed against mine. Rory swallowed the pill and opened his mouth on order, before the writer pulled out a small hand-held torch. He clicked it on, motioning Rory towards him.
Rory complied, and let James shine the light in his eyes. He didn't even wince. James checked both eyes, leaning in close. "Huh." James clucked his tongue. "Perhaps you had some kind of momentary malfunction," He grabbed my castmate's bare arms and squeezed them, beaming. "Don't you worry, young man. Once the final stage is complete, there will be nothing to interfere with the programming. The original consciousness will be completely removed, which will of course be a relief for the two of us."
James's words didn't sink in. I didn't let them. If I did, I'd shatter there and then, and James would catch me out. So I didn't move. I didn't breathe, and blinked back the sting in my eyes.
"Understand?" James motioned for Rory to nod, and my castmate did, his arms falling limply back to his sides.
"Wonderful!" The writer started to go through the same old routine, briefing us on our schedules, as well as lecturing us on being on our best behaviour, despite knowing the two of us were under the influence of a mind altering pill, as well as a microchip forcing our characters inside our heads. I mostly tuned out, trying to think of a way to save the others from what I was sure was a fate worse than death. Derek Marley had said that participating in the project would haunt him forever. His last message to Noah was sincere, but he was right. Noah would never forgive him. None of us would.
I had to get them out.
James's voice faded into white noise, until he reached the door, and turned to the two of us. "Eat and get ready for the day, please. I want things to go smoothly, so make sure to be good kids." He chuckled and then winked. "Mr Gallagher, I'll see you after the shoot."
The writer gave me a dismissive wave. "Miss Harley, a guard will pick you up as usual and take you home, since I will be quite busy."
Nodding, as if he was reassuring himself everything was going to be just fine, James hurried out, whistling some old Disney song that I vaguely recognised.
When the door slammed shut, I let my breath go, dropping to my knees. Spitting the pill out, I swallowed hot bile in my throat, willing myself not to hurl. Hot tears were spilling down my cheeks and I couldn't stop them, no matter what I did. The severity of the situation came over me like waves of ice cold water, and I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear into the floor. I wanted to be anywhere else than that room with my brainwashed castmate. Who I knew I was about to lose in favour for a fictional character.
Bunching my fists into my eyes, I struggled to my feet and forced myself to the wardrobe we share, where my Katie attire was packed inside. I felt disgusting, still wearing the sweats I'd slept in. When I twisted to Rory, I was meant to ask him if his head was hurting, or he felt sick. Despite knowing my castmate was a submissive doll, I still wanted to know. But when I turned to my castmate, Rory was still standing in the same spot. He was staring at something, and when I edged closer, holding my breath, I realised the pill was pinched between his thumb and index finger. The colour was darker, dyed to an almost purple shade with his saliva. Looking closer, his expression was no longer blank. Instead, there was the slightest glimmer of awareness in his eyes.
I held onto that with everything I had.
"Rory?" I choked on his name, and he flinched again, turning to face me. I knew then, when my castmate's gaze landed on me, that something was wrong.
His eyes were twitching, which seemed to affect his whole face, his cheeks wet with tears. A million emotions flashed across his expression, and he pressed two fingers to his right eye. When I said his name again with the gutter of my throat, his gaze found mine again, but Rory didn't look at me, not really. His lip curled and his eyes slitted with pain and frustration, but there was no glint of recognition igniting in warm browns. At least, it wasn't the teasing smirk and warm glint which was Rory. Instead, it was all Mac. Still twitching, as if he was fighting his character for his own mind, Rory dropped the pill onto the carpet, and crushed it with his foot, before turning to me.
And then something stabilised. My castmate, or whatever was left of him, the parts of him still fighting back, trashing the pill, was shoved deep into the crevices of his own mind, and his character was bleeding through. Exactly who James wanted him to be. There was the recognition coming to life in another's boy's eyes. Sixteen-year-old Mac who had been crushing on Katie Parker since middle school. Not twenty-year-old Rory, who swung the other way and would in fact rather eat his own tongue than look at me like that.
"Hey, what are you waiting for?" Rory cocked his head. I could see so much put-on emotions in that one stare. Longing for the girl he crushed on, as well as the pain of looking at her, knowing she was with another guy. I saw his obsession to keep his youth alive, and live every day as his last. It was Mac's character. As well as being a lovable idiot, he was determined to make every day count. I half wondered if all of that had been programmed into the chip, which was currently forcing my friend's brain into compliance.
"Get dressed, we have school."
Staring back at him, I had the sudden urge to punch him square in the face. Maybe that might bring Rory back.
But it was too risky. Instead of replying to him, I showered and dressed as normal. That morning, the breakfast was different. Instead of the usual breakfast sandwich, there was a chocolate croissant each, individually wrapped in expensive looking paper, and what looked like two Starbucks coffee's to go. My mouth watered. I hadn't had anything sweet in what felt like weeks, unless that meant mindlessly chewing on a cupcake during my mediocre break on set.
I ate the croissant so fast I barely tasted the explosion of chocolate in my mouth. Combined with the coffee, it was like heaven. When Rory grabbed his and ate it in two bites before gulping down the coffee, the taste went sour in my mouth, and I had to swallow several times to avoid the croissant shooting back up my throat.
The unexpected sugary treat for breakfast wasn't an accident. Each breakfast item had been perfectly wrapped, like a gift. It was like a last supper, at least for Rory.
The sickly feeling followed me to set. It was the same routine. We drove to set, and I sat with my side pressed to Noah, as if being in close proximity to him would somehow change his fate. I was rushed to hair and make up, and two girls who gossiped about a new Netflix show they had been watching, buzzed around me, transforming me into Katie.
My hair was curled into effortless blonde rings, since we were in the midst of a homecoming dance episode, and glitter speckled my cheeks. All the glitter in the world could not hide the dark shadows under my eyes, so they gave up and remodelled my face so I barely recognised myself. We were filming outside that day, and the fall breeze was warm, tickling my bare shoulders. I wore a dress most of the morning, and stuck mostly with Noah. I spoke Katie's lines, acting as best as I could, even when I felt like I was shattering apart inside. We had a five minute break, and I stumbled around the set, trying to find everyone, keeping them in my line of sight, my heart speeding up when James appeared with a crumpled script and his phone. "Robin, Noah and Rory." He spoke up, his voice like a beacon to my castmates. Their heads snapped up from where they had been awkwardly circling craft services, grabbing finger foods and vanilla puddings stacked on plates.
Noah joined me quickly, sliding to my side. I tried not to think about the times I'd been freaking out about shooting, and him grabbing and squeezing my hand. Part of me wanted to reach for his, search for some kind of inclination that he was still there. Doing that, though, would cause suspicion. Following Noah's lead, I copied his nonchalant expression, while secretly painting a picture of him in my head. I can write this because I remember him. I want to remember him. I can see him so vividly it hurts; hair so black against skin so white. Izzie, standing off to the side, standing in a light blue skater dress perfectly hugging her figure, strawberry curls flaying in blank eyes I missed.
Lana. Coffee skin and brown hair in two pigtails. Her character Jules was a drama-queen.
We started the scene normally. Katie was walking to school with Will, already in her homecoming dress, and Mac was supposed to run up to us, and ask Katie to the dance.
I said my lines as instructed, wondering if they were going to be programmed directly into my head when I finally went through stage 4.
My wandering thoughts were interrupted when James and Simon, our director let out a collective sigh. "Mr Gallagher!" The writer's expression was stony. He twisted around, glaring at Noah and I, as if we had personally wronged him. "Where the hell is Rory?!"
"Here."
Turning my head in my castmate's direction, I failed to notice two things. Maybe it was because Noah, for the first time, had followed my gaze, instead of looking into oblivion.
The first thing I noticed was like a punch to the gut.
Rory's accent was back. It was broken, splintered in his tone like it didn't belong, but it was back.
The second thing I noticed was that once again, he was twitching, this time his whole face spasming, while his shuddering hand grazed his left eye.
My castmate was stumbling, staggering, but himself. I could tell from the look in his eyes. Terror. That's all I was seeing. Pure, unadulterated terror.
"What the fuck." Rory spat out. His fingers formed pincers, and he stabbed at his swollen looking eye, whimpering. "What the fuck did you do to me?!"
The crew went silent, and James, for the first time in weeks, looked speechless.
"You." Managing to find his feet, Rory marched over to the writer, until they were face to face. "You're a sick bastard, you know that, right?"
James blinked slowly. "Mr...Mr Gallagher," He spoke calmly. "You appear to be off your medication."
Rory looked taken aback. "You think I'm sick?!" He hissed. "You're the sick one for shoving a razor blade in my fucking eye! What the hell is your problem?" Twisting around, Rory seemed to notice the rest of us, and he went pale, the fight going from his face.
His fingers went back to his right eye. "You... you did something to us," he moaned softly, picking at his eyeball. "What did you... what did you do to us?"
"Delusions." James spoke up with a sad shake of his head. "It appears Rory is very sick. He must not have been taking his medication. Oh, son. We shouldn't have brought you to set. You should have said something."
Rory stared, blinking rapidly. "No." He said sharply, his head turning, gaze snapping to each crew member. "No, we're not...we're not sick..." he backed away, before grabbing Noah and shaking the boy, but Noah was like a doll, limp and expressionless.
"Noah?" Getting increasingly frustrated, Rory slapped the boy across the face, and I felt the sting. But Noah didn't even blink. "Hey." My castmate's voice grew hysterical, "Don't just stand there! Hey! Hey, you're with me, man. Right? Noah. Fucking hell, Noah!"
Noah didn't move, and the pain on Rory's face was enough to kick my brain into gear.
"What did you do to them?" Rory demanded. "Fuck, there's something...there's something in my eye!"
"Rory, please calm down," James spoke calmly. "Can someone please get a hold of him so he does not hurt himself. Thank you."
"No!" My cast mate grabbed me, his fingernails stabbing into the bare flesh of my arms. I had to fight back a cry. "Robin." He spoke softly. "Robs, you're... you're in there, right?"
I didn't speak. Couldn't speak. I could only watch as Rory was grabbed by a guard. He struggled violently, until a needle was thrust into his neck, and he went limp.
"My goodness." James shook his head when the guard scooped up the boy bridal style. "Connor, take Mr Gallagher home please. I think it's time for the next phase of his treatment."
No. My stomach slithered into my toes.
"All of them, in fact," James continued. "Keaton, Bright and Faraday too. Harley isn't quite ready."
I could only watch as the others were herded away, and a familiar hand grasped onto my arm. I turned to see the same guard who called me "Little Bird". He was grinning from ear to ear. His grip tightened. "Let's get you home, Little Robin," he hummed.
The ride back to the hotel was blurry. I think I was crying, uncaring about keeping character and staying hidden behind foggy eyes. When we arrived back to the hotel, my mind started whirring. The car ride had been half an hour, including a gas station stop, where the guard had grabbed a coffee for himself, and filled the car's tank. My legs were shaking when we entered the hotel lobby, but the guard didn't start heading upstairs.
"Come along, Little Bird." He hummed, gesturing for me to follow. He made a face, tapping his pockets. "Huh. I've lost my key-card again."
I followed him down to the cellar, keeping distance. I had to get away. I had to find the others, and get them the hell out of this place.
"Stay." the guard grunted, before slipping inside 305, where the key-cards were kept. His expression confused me, the waggling of eyebrows and quirking of lips.
Thankful for the distraction, I forced my legs down the same clinical white hallway. 309 was lit up this time, not illuminated in TV static, actual bright yellow light. From my angle, I saw nobody in the room. My whole body was rattling, and I couldn't breathe, but I forced myself to slip through the door. I was right. The room was empty. At least of James and his minions. This...this is where I'm going to struggle with writing. I'll try my best to tell you, but this is my third time writing this part.
Every time I try, I can't.
Because even if I block out the worst, I still see it.
Inside 309 were my castmates. The four of them were in the same state as the videos on Derek's laptop. Plastic masks covered their mouth and nose, but this time their eyes were wide open and unseeing. A monitor told me their vitals, and after struggling to free Noah's wrists from the armrest, I found myself at a futuristic looking control panel.
That's what the room was, I thought, my fingers grazing each button.
James and Derek’s secret project.
The big, red lever was hard to not notice. It was staring at me, and my hand was twitching. Seeing my friends like this, vulnerable, strapped down and controlled. It willed me to wrap my fingers around cool metal, and wrench the lever downwards.
When the sirens started, I knew what I'd done was wrong.
My castmate's vitals were screeching, and all four of them had gone into shock, gasping for breath, eyelids flickering, bodies convulsing.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't fucking know what to do, so I went to work undoing their restraints. But they weren't looking at me. Their eyes were skyward, and I tried not to notice a cerulean glitter around each iris.
A parasite, I thought, my hands going still.
When the blood started to run, crimson against pristine white, the alarms stopped.
James ran in, out of breath. But I didn't stop wrenching at Noah's restraints until I was grabbed and dragged back. "Robin?!" the writer let out a hissed breath. "I should have known!" Around him, men and women in white were dashing around, attempting to stabilize the others. "I should have known!" He cackled again “You are a brilliant actress, after all."
His teeth clamped down on my ear, and I let myself cry out. At the corner of my eye, there was so much blood. It ran in tiny rivers, startling claret painting them.
James turned my head forcefully. He was out of breath, and I realise the writer was as scared as me. "You better hope and pray you haven't just killed my best stars," he spat, before thundering orders at the crowd of white. "Get them cleaned up and initiate a second procedure."
"But sir," A young male doctor twisted around, and his expression was panicked. "They have just haemorrhaged. If we try again, we could-"
"I don't CARE!" The writer yelled. "Do it! You saw them, right? They were on 50% when that little brat shut it down. I'm confident it was just a flux due to the abrupt stop."
"Marley." The Doctor cleared his throat. "I wouldn't recommend-"
The Doctor didn't finish his sentence. All around me, vitals were crying out again, and all I was seeing was vacant eyes and blood.
Blood.
So much blood.
Oh God, I killed them.
Before I could understand the alarms and panicked yelling, James took me upstairs and shoved me in my room.
His last words were for me to pray.
But that was days ago. All of those blank days that I can't fully remember. All I do remember is James bringing in sheets covered in blood. Part of me recognised them from the ones the others had been laying on in 309.
I screamed. I screamed until he slapped me and told me to get a hold of myself.
"A reminder." James had said, throwing the sheets onto Rory's bed. I asked if the others were okay, and he gave me a long, hard look.
He brought me food, and I ate it.
And I stopped thinking.
But maybe that was a good thing.
I shoved the sheets in the wardrobe. I couldn't look at them.
My days became one big confusing blur.
At one point, my phone disappeared. I found it though.
It's been charged.
Funny. I don't remember charging it.
I've spent most of my day screaming, banging on the door. It feels good to scream again. But nobody is listening to me. Nobody will tell me if my castmates are okay.
Earlier, something was shoved through my door. A clear plastic baggie with an epi-pen and a yellow sticky note.
Robin.
I can get you out of here.
Take this early tomorrow morning, and I will do the rest. I know trust is not on the cards right now, but I'm your best bet.
- A friend, if you'd like.
This brings me to the end of my post. I need your help. Why would someone give me insulin? Why the specific time? Should I take it, or is this another trick?
I'm not thinking straight right now, but do you think I really killed them? Am I the only one left?
If so, why is James still keeping me here? Am I going to die?
If this is my last post, and I'm taken and turned into Katie, or killed, I want you to know who I really am.
My name is [REDACTED]
The show is [REDACTED]
My castmates are: [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]
Finally, the bastard who did this to us is: [REDACTED]