#alt!cesar

everybody likes you (i like you, i like you!)

volume 2 basically [VERY LOUD VIDEO]

+ an assortment of doodles under the cut

woe. self-indulgent pokemon au upon ye.

“AAAAAAAHHH!” 

Mark screeched as he woke up, panting heavily. “Oh… Oh my god!” he panted. Checking his clock, he saw that it was still 10:30 PM. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to steady his breathing. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to his mind like a sinister fog. He glanced around the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign of the creature that had haunted his dreams.

But the room was empty, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. No twisted figures lurked in the shadows, no echoing whispers haunting the silence.

It had just been a dream. A horrifying, vivid nightmare that felt all too real.

Mark ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing heart. "Just a dream," he muttered, though the images still lingered vividly. "Just a stupid, messed-up dream."

But even as he tried to convince himself, unease remained. The nightmare had felt too real, too visceral to brush aside simply. He couldn't shake the dread that clung to him like a shadow, whispering dark secrets in the depths of his subconscious.

Shaking his head, Mark forced himself to focus on the present. He needed to clear his mind and push aside the lingering fear. Glancing at the clock again, he realized it was still early. Perhaps a cup of tea would help calm his nerves.

With a determined nod, he swung his legs out of bed and stood up, his muscles still tense from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He needed to clear his head and shake off the lingering dread that clung to him like a second skin.

Making his way to the kitchen, Mark flicked on the lights, bathing the room in a warm, comforting glow. He poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat as he leaned against the counter, lost in thought.

The nightmare had been unlike anything he had ever experienced, a twisted journey into the darkest corners of his mind. But as terrifying as it had been, there was a part of him that couldn't shake the feeling that it held some semblance of truth.

Bubbles… Was she hiding something from him? Could she be harboring secrets that threatened their friendship? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he knew he couldn't let fear dictate his actions.

He needed answers and wouldn't rest until he uncovered the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

Mark drained the last of his water with a determined set to his jaw and set the glass aside. He felt that the nightmare was just the beginning and that something would go way wrong.

*Thump… thump…*

*Creak…*

That same strange noise again… footsteps and board creaking… just like his dream. And that noise… it was coming from his living room.

The hairs on the back of Mark's neck stood on end as he froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest. The echoes of his nightmare still lingered, intensifying the sense of dread that gripped him.

He hesitated, torn between the urge to investigate and the fear that gripped him like a vice. But he couldn't ignore the possibility that something was amiss, especially after the vivid nightmare he had just endured.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Mark tiptoed out of the kitchen, his steps cautious and deliberate. Every creak of the floorboards sounded deafening in the otherwise silent house, sending shivers down his spine.

As he approached the living room, the strange noises grew louder, filling the air with an eerie sense of foreboding. He held his breath, his hand trembling as he reached to push the door open.

The room was dark, the only light filtering in from the moon outside. Mark strained his ears, listening intently for any sign of movement.

And then, he heard it.

A soft whisper, barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat. It sent a chill down his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin.

Mark's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. Was someone else in the house? Or was it just his imagination playing tricks on him once again?

He took a cautious step forward, his senses on high alert. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn and run, to flee from whatever unseen danger lurked in the darkness.

But he couldn't bring himself to retreat, not when the possibility of danger loomed so close. Steeling himself, Mark took another step forward, his pulse racing in his ears.

And then, he saw it.

A shadowy figure is lurking in the corner of the room. It was tall and menacing, its features shrouded in darkness.

Mark's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the figure, his mind reeling with fear and confusion. Who—or what—was it? And what did it want with him?

Before he could make sense of the situation, the figure moved, its movements fluid and graceful. It stepped out of the shadows, revealing itself to be…

Cesar.

He looked… like his typical friend. He was just a little bit shorter than Mark. He had his normal-styled black hair. He was wearing his suit like always.

“Oh… hey, Mark.” Cesar waved. “Y-You kind of left your door open. So I stepped in and wanted to check to see if you’re alright.” He chuckled with a nervous grin. But his voice sounded unnaturally flat…

Mark's heart raced as he stared at the figure, his mind spinning with confusion. This wasn't possible. Cesar was his friend, his confidant. There was no way he could be standing here in his living room, looking so… off.

"C-Cesar?" Mark stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Is that really you?"

The figure nodded, its movements stiff and unnatural. "Yeah, it's me," it replied, its voice devoid of emotion. "I just wanted to check on you. You seemed… troubled."

Mark's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. Something wasn't right. Cesar's demeanor, his voice… it was all wrong.

"What's going on, Cesar?" Mark asked, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. "Why do you sound like that? And why did you come here in the middle of the night?"

The figure's lips curled into a twisted smile, chilling Mark's spine. "Oh, you know," it replied, its voice dripping with malice. "Just wanted to have a little chat, that's all."

The brown-haired male’s heart pounded as he took a cautious step back. This wasn't his friend. This was something else, wearing Cesar's face like a mask.

"W-What chat?" Mark warned, his voice trembling. "Whoever you are, whatever you want, you're not welcome here."

The figure's smile widened, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Oh, but I think you'll find that I'm quite welcome," it taunted, taking a step closer. "After all, we have so much to discuss."

Mark's mind raced as he searched for a way out of the nightmare unfolding before him. He needed to think and come up with a plan. But fear gripped him like a vice, paralyzing his thoughts and leaving him helpless against the looming threat. “W-Who—“

“Hm~ Let me give you a hint…” It purred darkly. “Does a little girl with the strange name ring a bell? That’s who I want to tell you: her darkest secrets~”

Mark's blood ran cold as the Alternate mentioned the name—Bubbles. Clean Bubbles was his friend, the one who had been in constant presence with him, and Cesar, the one who acted weird when she got a peculiar dog bite at the arcade.

"What do you know about Bubbles?" Mark demanded, his voice trembling with fear and anger. "What secrets are you talking about?"

The Alternate chuckled darkly, its eyes gleaming with malice. "Oh, Mark," it taunted, taking another step closer. "You really have no idea, do you? Your precious friend has been keeping secrets from you, dark and dangerous secrets."

Mark's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the creature's words. Bubbles had always been there for him and Cesar, supporting him through thick and thin, and that’s what they did in return. She would never betray them, would she?

But the doubt lingered, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness like a persistent itch. What if there was some truth to what the figure was saying? What if Bubbles wasn't who she claimed to be?

He shook his head, trying to push aside the doubts that threatened to overwhelm him. "You're lying," he spat, his voice laced with anger and defiance. "Bubbles would never betray me. She's my friend, my confidant."

The Alternate’s smile widened, its eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, Mark, Mark, Mark" it chuckled, taking another step closer. "You really have no idea, do you? Your friend is not who you think she is. And I'm here to show you the truth."

With a sudden, fluid motion, the figure lunged forward, its hands outstretched. Mark stumbled back, his heart pounding as he swiftly headed back upstairs, locking his bedroom door. He gulped and shivered as he heard scratching noises of wood against his door. 

"L-L-Let me in, M-M-Mark~" Cesar's voice from the Alternate spoke outside of his room. "I-I-I-I have a gift for you-you-you-you~ I have a prese-en-en-en-ent. I have a surprise~! I will not hurt you~"

Mark's hands trembled as he pressed his back against the locked door, his mind racing with fear and uncertainty. The scratching sound outside his room sent chills down his spine, amplifying the sense of dread that gripped him like a vice.

He knew he couldn't trust whatever lurked on the other side of the door, no matter how much it sounded like his friend. The way it spoke, the way it moved… it was all wrong.

Taking a shaky breath, Mark forced himself to focus. He needed to find a way out of this nightmare, to escape the clutches of whatever malevolent force was lurking in his home.

But as he glanced around the room, his eyes fell on the window, the only possible means of escape. His heart sank as he realized it was too high to reach, leaving him trapped like a rat in a cage.

Panic surged through him, threatening to overwhelm his already frayed nerves. He needed to think and devise a plan, but fear clouded his thoughts, leaving him paralyzed with indecision.

The scratching outside his door grew louder, more insistent, sending waves of terror coursing through Mark's veins. He knew he couldn't stay here, trapped and helpless, waiting for whatever horror awaited him on the other side.

He fumbled with his phone, trying to call for the Mandela Police Department. He put the phone to his ear, trying to see if they responded, but it was all static.

"Damn it!" Mark cursed as he tried calling Bubbles, but a voice message was left for him when he left his house to set up the cameras at his friend's house. "Voice message?" He muttered as he clicked it.

"::Hey, Mark,::" Bubbles's voice from the recording spoke. "::I... I know I haven't talked to you yet, but I felt that Cesar already told you I've been dragging you two down with me and bringing you into my problems. Your friend is right, I'm... I've been the thorn in your side in a world full of Alternates.::" 

Her voice cracked slightly, followed by a sniffle. "::I've been feeling like a burden for you two. I've been trying to figure out my own problems and how to solve them, but I swear- I'm trying to figure something out. I don't want to keep putting you guys down with me. I'm sorry... but I'll be staying distant with you for some time...::"

His grip on the phone tightened as Bubbles's message played. The familiar warmth of her voice, now laced with sadness and regret, sent a pang through his heart. The doubts planted by the Alternate grew stronger, gnawing at his mind.

"No," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "This can't be true."

He replayed Bubbles's message, trying to decipher any hidden meaning or clue that could explain the situation. Why was she distancing herself now? What was she hiding?

The scratching outside his door stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. Mark's breath hitched as he strained to hear any sign of movement. The silence was deafening, amplifying the dread that gripped him.

"Oh, Mar-ar-ar-ark~," The Alternate said, mocking and replicating Cesar's voice. "Are you finally ready to hear the tru-u-u-u-uth?" The Alternate's smile widened, its cartoonish eyes gleaming with malice as its voice glitched and lagged while talking. 

"D-Do I have to make you OPEN YOUR EYES, MARK?" It snarled with a hint of distortion. "Just OPEN THE DAMN DOOR." It began scratching against the wooden, locked door to Mark's room. "No one is coming for you, so minus, well, open it... besides, you can learn the truth about your friend~."

Mark's heart raced as he listened to the mocking voice outside his door, his mind reeling with fear and uncertainty. The scratching sound sent shivers down his spine, echoing in the silence of his room like a sinister refrain.

He knew he couldn't trust whatever lurked on the other side, no matter how convincing it sounded. But the doubts planted by the Alternate's words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness like a persistent itch.

Bubbles's message played in his mind, her voice laden with sadness and regret. What was she hiding? And why was she distancing herself from him now when he needed her the most?

With a shaky breath, Mark forced himself to focus. He needed to think and devise a plan to escape the nightmare that had consumed his home.

But as he glanced around the room, his eyes again fell on the window. It was still too high to reach, leaving him trapped with no means of escape.

Panic surged through him, threatening to overwhelm his already frayed nerves. He needed to find a way out, to escape the clutches of whatever malevolent force was lurking in his home.

His mind raced as he considered his options. He could try to wait it out, hope that whoever—or whatever—was outside his door would eventually give up and leave. But the scratching continued, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment.

Time was running out, and Mark knew he couldn't afford to wait any longer. He needed to act, to find a way to break free from the nightmare that had trapped him in his own home. "Open the door, Mark," the Perpetrator’s voice insisted, its tone dripping with malice. "You know you want to know the truth."

“Shut up! I won’t let you lay a hand on her!” The human shouted from the other side of the door. “If you’re after me, then you can do nothing to her!”

The special Alternate's form wavered outside the door, its face contorting into a grotesque mockery of Cesar's features. "You fool... Do you think you can fight me? You think you can protect her?" it hissed, its voice dripping with venom.

"Stay away from Bubbles!" Mark snarled, grabbing his gun from beneath the bed and loading up his Desert Eagle. He had several bullets loaded in his ammunition, so it was enough for him to defend himself.

"She doesn't need your protection," it taunted, its voice echoing with a sinister undertone. "She's already lost. And so are you. You're trapped, and I know you'll eventually open the door."

"You don't know anything about Bubbles, my friend," Mark said, his voice steadying as he aimed a gun at where the Alternate was supposedly standing behind the door. "You're just a twisted, monstrous imitation."

It mocked, its voice oozing with false honey and sweetness. "Oh really? How about I help remind you that she pushed YOU away." The Perpetrator darkly chuckled, its voice switching to Bubbles, except a little more distorted than her voice. 

"Because you keep stepping into her uncharted territory. You're stepping into her precious little world that she must keep fixing because of YOU. You keep breaking into her little personal boundaries that push her buttons. That's why she HATES you."

Mark's blood ran cold at the Alternate's words, the doubt and fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. Could it be true? Had he been pushing Bubbles away without realizing it? Was that why she had distanced herself from him?

"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible over his heart pounding. "That's not true. Bubbles wouldn't hate me. She's my friend. She would never—"

"Ah, but you see," the Alternate interrupted, its voice dripping with malice. "You never really knew her at all, did you? You never saw the darkness that lurks beneath the surface, the secrets she keeps hidden from the world."

Mark tightened his grip on the gun, his hands trembling with anger and uncertainty. No matter how convincing the Perpetrator's lies sounded, he couldn't let himself be swayed by them.

"Bubbles is not your friend," the Alternate continued, its voice growing louder and more insistent. "She's a liar, a deceiver. And she'll do whatever it takes to protect herself, even if it means sacrificing you."

Mark's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. Bubbles had always been there for him and Cesar, supporting them through thick and thin. Even though they met her and got to know her for a few weeks and a couple of months, she was still a good person to them. She would never betray him, would she?

“Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!” He clenched and gritted his teeth in frustration, denying what the Alternate spoke of. 

There must be another reason she distances herself from him and Cesar, right? 

She did mention that she was hiding something dangerous and the way she was crying… regret, fear, and sadness all in one before she forced them out of her house. 

Perhaps she was the magnet of the danger? Is that why…?

“She is neither of those! She isn’t!” The brown-haired male found his eyes filled with tears, in denial, and the painful pulsating ache of betrayal stirred in his heart. “She is… She is my friend! She is my and Cesar’s friend!”

“Say what you want, but you know it’s true~.” The Alternate smirked outside, relishing Mark's disbelief and confusion. “Can’t you hear your doubt in your voice? The uncertainty? Betrayal? This contradicts what you’re speaking of. Did you think you knew her at all? Didn’t you keep stepping into her little world of her own of selfishness, lies, and deceptions?” It asked as the Alternate’s voice switched between Cesar's and Bubbles’s. 

“Shut up… I know her… I do…” Mark trailed off, realizing the uncertainty and doubt of believing in Bubbles. “Just… Stop using my friends’ voice!”

“You didn’t.” Its voice went cold, mixed with a distorted Cesar and Bubbles’s in one instead of switching. “You’re never her friend if you don’t know her well. She didn’t trust you because of your interference. You keep stepping in her boundaries where she doesn’t want you to belong. Like I said… You were only scratching the surface of her shell.”

Mark's hands shook violently as he pressed his back against the wall opposite the door, the weight of the Alternate’s words heavy on his chest. Doubts swirled in his mind, a storm of fear, anger, and confusion. Every word the creature spoke clawed at his resolve, attempting to fracture his belief in his friend.

"You're lying!" Mark screamed, his voice cracking. "You don't know anything about Bubbles!"

The scratching outside the door ceased abruptly, replaced by an eerie, mocking silence. The human’s breath hitched as he listened, every second stretching into an eternity.

"Open the door, Mark," the Alternate whispered, its voice a chilling amalgamation of Cesar’s and Bubbles’s as one. "Face the truth. Open your eyes."

Mark's heart pounded a relentless drumbeat of fear. He couldn't let this monster win, couldn't let it poison his mind against his friends. He had to fight back, had to cling to what he knew was real. 

However, it’ll get him killed, and then Bubbles… will she even care if he’s gone?

No…

No…!

NO!

The brown-haired male shook his head. Whether she cared or not, survival was all that mattered to him. But he knows he can’t wait too long. He had to do something. Fighting was one option, but that’s instant death. Escaping through the window… too high for a height. Call for help… he already tried the police, but there was nothing except for static. He can try to call again, except…

The Celestial Artisan…

She’s got to be out there, somewhere, right!? Like what the news says, she hunts down these Alternates. She’s supposedly known as ‘God’s gift to humanity’ or ‘humanity’s hope’ to the entire Mandela County. But the thing is that no one knows if she’s some divine being. There were times that she was seen several times, but it was only if there was a significant presence of Alternates.

Pray.

That’s what the people say. 

Pray for God’s gift to come and save them. Mark was in religion, Christianity. So if something supernatural like Alternates exists, so does the Celestial Artisan’s divine presence, right?

Mark's hands trembled as he clung to the slim hope of salvation. His mind raced, trying to piece together fragments of belief and desperation. He remembered the whispered prayers of those who had survived encounters with the Alternates, the tales of the Celestial Artisan—God's gift to humanity. This divine protector intervened in their darkest moments.

The creature outside the door continued to scratch and taunt, its voice dripping with malice. But Mark forced himself to focus, to drown out the sinister whispers and cling to his faith. He dropped to his knees, his hands clasped together in fervent prayer.

"God," he whispered, his voice trembling with fear and hope. "Please, send your gift to save me. If the Celestial Artisan is real, if she's truly your messenger, please send her to protect me and my friends. I don't know what else to do. Please, help me."

The scratching outside the door grew louder, more frantic as if the Alternate sensed the shift in Mark's resolve. But he ignored it, his eyes squeezed shut, pouring every ounce of his faith into his plea.

"Please, God, help me," he repeated, his voice growing stronger. "Protect Bubbles and Cesar. Protect us all from this evil."

Seconds extended to minutes, which felt like hours passing to an eons. His heart sank as he felt a chill run down his spine, the doubt and uncertainty creeping back into his mind. 

Was his faith in the Celestial Artisan misplaced? Was there truly no hope for salvation? 

“M-M-Mark~” The Perpetrator’s glitchy voice switched back to Cesar's only. “Open the door and face the truth. I still got the gift~. Nobody is coming for you.” Its voice shifted between malice and fake sweetness. “NOT EVEN THE CELESTIAL ARTISAN WILL COME AND SAVE YOU.”

The brown-haired teen shook his head, trying to push aside the doubt and fear that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to hold onto his faith, to believe that help would come when he needed it most.

The scratching outside his door grew louder and more insistent, and his resolve wavered. He couldn't ignore the reality of the situation, couldn't deny the terrifying truth that he was alone and trapped with a malevolent force lurking just beyond his reach.

With a trembling hand, Mark reached for his phone once more, his fingers shaking as he dialed 911. He pressed the phone to his ear, praying for a response, for someone—anyone—to come to his aid.

But all he heard was the same eerie static, mocking him with its silence. Panic surged through him, threatening to consume him whole as he realized the futility of his efforts.

"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat. "I can't give up. I won't."

Summoning every ounce of courage he had left, Mark rose to his feet, his hands still trembling as he gripped the gun tightly. He knew he had to face whatever awaited him on the other side of the door, no matter how terrifying it might be.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the door, his heart pounding. With a shaking hand, he reached for the doorknob, his mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

But a sudden realization struck him like a lightning bolt before he could turn it. If he opened that door, he might never get the chance to uncover the truth about Bubbles, Cesar’s whereabouts, and the Alternate that now stood on the other side.

And as he waited, he whispered another prayer, a plea for salvation in the face of overwhelming despair.

"Please, God, send your messenger. Send the Celestial Artisan to save us from this evil. We need her now more than ever."

Oh, Mark… poor, little, clueless sheep. 

His friend is the ‘divine’ being.