wonder how old is mewtwo? does mewtwo know how old it is? with all the medical records and etc surely at least the staff can tell, if not know... does it feel anything once feb 6th (we named it mewtwo day) rolls around? would the medical staff do anything for it or not (considering mewtwos complex relationship with existence and life)? celebrate? acknowledge? neither, like all the birthdays between?
idk had a lonely birthday awhile ago and been thinking thoughts
(or maybe feb 6 mewtwo was only the first viable mewtwo-like lifeform from mew and not cerulean cave mewtwo, eh)
Mewtwo knows it's at least 30 years old (the constant sedation and medications made the first few...years(?) very fuzzy), and it knows its actual year of birth is written down somewhere, and it made the decision not to look
Kaleido knows, and therefore both Ela and Vanilla know too, but it's not relevant to its current state so they don't bring it up. It hasn't been here long enough for its birthday to roll around, but Ela at least plan on a gift of some sort. Vanilla is not sure she’s close enough to broach the subject with it, and Kaleido can't keep track of days well enough to consider birthdays important
As for Mewtwo itself, when the day does come...
I think the staff at the lab would have celebrated its birthday. They're only human after all. This doesn't make the crimes any better
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Here's the analysis of the end poem bc I have Much Thoughts
Starting with the green speaker bc their personality is more pronounced and easier to read.
They take the role of the asker although both of them seem to have the same level of knowledge, so this is probably just for the sake of having a conversation.
PLAYERNAME?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
[...] What did this player dream?
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees.
[...] Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.
They want you to be happy, recklessly so...
[...] Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
It reads our thoughts.
Sometimes I do not care.
...They can be a little thoughtless...
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player...
Use its name.
PLAYERNAME. Player of games.
Good.
...But ultimately an oversharing disaster.
[...]the player, who inhabits a universe created by...
Shush.
Blue text is a little harder to pin down, there's not a lot to go off of, but they act as the minder for the other one
PLAYERNAME?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
[...]
I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
It reads our thoughts.
They're also a little more...considerate? They actually talk about you specifically and not players in general.
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
The player is growing restless.
And not a subtle person. During green text's story, they keep pointing out that this is in fact about you.
Once upon a time, there was a player.
The player was you, PLAYERNAME.
[...] Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
You are the player.
But ultimately they are also an oversharing disaster.
Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words...
Shush...
Now onto the weird and confusing “what does this all mean” part. If you’re just here for alex and steve inspiration you can stop here.
They actually tell you who they are.
Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known.
They aren't minecraft entities, they actually represent The Real World You Are Living and you're reading the thoughts of the universe, in the form of minecraft text at the moment.
Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive
You. You. You are alive.
This part is complicated. The poem so far assumes that to the player, the real world and the minecraft world (and any other ones you've dreamed up) are just dreams, equally unreal, just with different rules (they also mentioned this a bit at the start, "That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game."). A death is a death, the fact that you respawn in one world and not the other doesn't matter. And that now you realized you are truly alive and the world you're living in isn't unreal.
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees
They imply, through the disguise of a story they're telling you, that the universe is always talking to you, light bouncing off pavements and ones and zeros and a thousand experiences. The universe is always talking to you, and what does it say?
and the universe said I love you because you are love.
The "you are love" part has two meaning: you the person is assembled as an act of love by other people.
And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
The other meaning is that you, the path through which the universe is experiencing itself, happened because the universe loves itself. It's like loving a drawing, therefore you love the act of drawing it. Except in this case you also are the drawing. Like I said, confusing.
uhhh I don't know how to end this nicely so I'll just leave you with the ending of the End Poem itself. Hope you had fun.
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
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