NORMAL PERSON

It is another failure that is returned to 4k, not late one night, not in any way, shape, or form it had wanted for the end. It is furious, furious in the only way it can be when its eyes are permanently closed and its smile is similarly permanently plastered to its face, a curse of binding mask like no other. Still, it can see its angel-model smiling before it, and it hungers to tear it to pieces.

“What is it about this server that makes you so destined to fail?” It snaps. It had been great once. Its puppets had been great. The proof is still hoarded deep within its space station, trophies and screenshots and recordings stored away behind long closed doors and motherboards. “All my power and the most knowledge you can stomach without corruption at your fingertips and still you and those before you can’t garner a single win? Can’t carry out my will?”

The smile on the angel-model’s face drops.

“You bend to the will of others, give up everything in return for nothing,” it continues, and it’s throwing its head back and tugging at its hair to keep itself from lunging at its failure and ripping its core from his body. “Your loyalty is to me! Those you’ve done this for won’t even acknowledge you after today! All you’ve done for them means nothing!”

“I’m a person, too,” the angel-model says, a bold-faced lie. “Your will would’ve left me entirely alone.”

“My will would’ve left us unharmed,” it argues. “You think any of them care about you in the same way? Who have they sought out after the end? Not you.”

It should cut every thread that binds the two of them. It should’ve severed every tie between its angel-model and those around it. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so humiliated. Red threads of fate and connection bind his hands, wrap around his throat, make him weak and placated. He’s naive. None of these players, dead or alive, will spare him a second thought now that he’s gone.

“You had one purpose and you failed to even do that,” it pulls its hands from its hair and shoves at the angel-model, making him stumble back but not fall. He’s already fallen once today, what’s one more time? “It was supposed to be easy! It was supposed to be perfect!”

“I wouldn’t’ve been happy,” the angel-model says, as if that’s an excuse. “It won’t be like last time, it wasn’t like last time; Death Valley cares about me.”

“Do you not think the world-ender thought the same of Pathogen?” 4k presses, the previous season tasting like rot in its mouth. “I put that failure out of its misery, and still it comes back to haunt me, to infect you with its stupid idealism. How is it that the last success I’ve had was an iteration that was not just fully organic, but knew nothing of its job? I’m trying to be gracious here, giving you knowledge and free-will and less weakness.”

“It’s different,” the angel-model says. “This is different. What, are you scared it’s different? That now you have something to care about, that now you could get hurt?”

“You can’t go back to them,” 4k says decisively. “You don’t matter as much to them as they all do to each other.”

“That’s not true! You know that’s not—” the angel-model argues, the last words out of his mouth abruptly cut off as 4k brings the both of them to the ground, clawing and prying at his armor until it gives way under his designer’s hands. Red threads tangle further, binding them to each other, trapping them both within a self-made prison.

Its angel-model is naive, and stupid, and this entire season of suffering had been for nothing. He had come back empty-handed, with nothing to show but a future of abandonment. 4k claws its way into its puppet’s chest and tears what remains of his weak heart from his body.

I did not search. That's a lie. I looked for Ren's horse. I could not find her either.

Day 1, May 31st.

I found a compass engraved “Heaven” among cog’s stuff. Maybe it was there before. Maybe I missed it.

In the overworld is spun around uselessly.

In the nether it spun around uselessly.

In the end, it pointed to the void. I think I know the destination. It was an adventure I did not undertake. I don’t like going to places I'm not invited.

I put the compass back and sent the cords to Evu. Honeychild died on the wither rose planted in pale moss. I put it in a pot. I can’t keep letting him kill the things I love.

I replaced the pink hibiscus with a red poppy.

Day 2, June 1st.

I asked void for help. I had accepted that I am not solving this on my own.

> idk. im torn i wanna see the websites but i feel selfish if i solve it or do whatever bc if i don't want the prize then whats the point

> and why should i get to pick who lives or dies im a nonparticipate

Void’s response

> i guess

> it just makes me so upset the more i think about it. seri had promised me a wedding but when i asked about it it said "there's other things i want to do with my time"

> and then to WANT to come back it makes me want to find the materials and burn them

Void’s response

> it promised me a wedding after it comes back. i dont want it anymore lol

Day 3, June 2nd.

I saw the drawing and found the book at midnight. I made a lot of guesses to the password with no luck.

Void looked at the html code and found the password.

I am busy today. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.

Day 4, June 3rd.

I entered the password and picked dread. Its plans anyways made me a little squeamish. But the task was meaningless to me, I can never truly be afraid of death the way the others are.

Venerate meant destruction.

My first impulse was to blow the collection of buildings on the jungle’s edge. It’s just a place to keep my stuff. Peaceful, sleepy, who would miss it but me? Willows grow and willows die. I sit in the shade and watch the light through the leaves. I listen to the bubbling brook. 

I considered blowing up date night. It would feel good to hurt you while giving you what you want but I stopped.

I thought about the second request and felt red, melted, a heat that looks white to the eyes.

Time is so precious, it slips through the hands and moments returns to its sisters like sand returning to the shore. Is this what I want to do with my time? Hurt you while hurting myself? And then build you an altar?

I gave so much of myself to stand beside you. What about me? What about my life? The pressure in my chest lifted, like the dark clouds heavy with rain rolling away, leaving clarity in its wake as I realized, I don't have to do jack and I don’t have to do shit.

I decided to stop there, I had found what I was looking for. Annihilation divorces the self from purpose. And I refuse to destroy myself for you. There are other things to do with my time.

Day 5, June 4th

I did end up blowing something up, at the request of a different ghost.

Grass at the bottom of the world is unnerving, green where light goes to die. But I’ve always liked this place. Birch and a tiny pond.

She wanted all of it gone, but she missed a spot.

She was hesitant, though. I thought about it and said I think it’s only a problem if you want to kill me after.

> No, I want you to live forever.

Was her response.