#nebula-starlight

I think you already know what this is

@pandapopplay @fear-is-nameless @lum1natrix @nebula-starlight @markiplitessepticeyes

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The video opened up on a dark room. You could just make out the blank wall in front of you, meeting flat floorboards at the base. There was no face cam, no intro. By now, everyone was expecting things to be different. A light flickered at the edge of the screen, and you reflexively moved your mouse, trying to see what was next to the first-person perspective you were watching. The camera moved where you directed it. A part of you knew that was weird, but that thought was not loud enough. You could feel that thousands of others were doing the same thing, but it was only you in that room.  

There was a small table next to you, an oddly shaped lamp, the source of the light, resting atop it. The light flickered. So did those in your room. You didn’t notice – all your attention was fixed on the whispers that echoed in response to the light. There were unintelligible, but your mind filled in the words that you expected to hear.  

Now you’re here.

The camera looked back to the wall in front. Clearer sounds filtered in from the edges of the door gaping open in front of you. Voices again – these ones were familiar. Pained screams; pitiful sobs of someone on the edge of breaking. Orders and instructions from someone used to being obeyed, desperately trying to keep someone alive. Panicked babbling, hopes slowly crushed under the weight of fear.  

There was nothing to do but move forward. The door slammed behind you as soon as you moved the camera from it. Your own door closed more gently, but locked just as firmly. A face cam flickered onto the screen, and in a rush, you remembered that you were just watching. Not there, not even playing. Just watching. You could no longer control the camera or character. A long corridor stretched out on the screen, the end disappearing into blackness. The walls flew past as the character started to run.  

It was Jack’s face that had appeared in that box at the top of the screen. He did not speak, only breathing hard as the screen slowed and stopped. The camera bobbed as if the character was panting, and Jack replicated the movements. He looked behind him, and the camera moved to look back the way the character had come. It was too smooth, too seamless. Too reactive.  

When Jack turned back to the camera, a shadowed figure had appeared. He screamed, and the screen changed, fuzzing and glitching in time with his shock. What little game sound there was faded for a moment, and underneath the static a voice was clearly heard.  

“No! His vital signs are goink crazy! Somezing is happening again! No, my friend, I vill NOT let you die!”

The camera went black. After a moment, Jack appeared again. Blood was smeared on his cheeks, as though tears that had been hastily brushed away. He was shaking, coughing, twitching. His lips were moving, but the words were too quiet to hear. You still knew what was being said.

“I’ve got to keep going, keep going for them. Can’t….can’t give up. PMA, PMA, PMA….”

He pressed on, softly chanting, walking down the hall in the game, entering doors at random, often starting to look behind him but stopping himself. Under all of it, the same whispers you had heard earlier. You could just make them out, though they were twisted and corrupted.

Why don’t you save him?

In the game, the hallway ended. One last door. Jack turned the game camera around, but the hallways had disappeared. Once again, he stuck in a room with only one option. The door swung open. The door in Jack’s recording room swung open.

The room in the game was a perfect replica of Jack’s recording room.  

A figure entered – fully black, except for its face. A familiar smile, a familiar glow. Jack turned to look at it and screamed, skidding off his chair and out of frame. The whole screen flashed to black and the whispers were everywhere, building upon each other is discordant chaos.  

The recording room was now full screen. You looked up from the floor where Jack fell, the camera pointing straight at Anti as he slowly approached, solid in the midst of red light and harsh static. His form was not stable, glitching and fizzing, but his smile was clear. This was no blood. Jack voice sounded, and it was clear that he was holding the camera.  

“God, please, no, I can’t keep doing this. You aren’t supposed to be here! Why are you doing this to them! I don’t care what you do to me, but you aren’t allowed to do this to them!” He screamed and dropped the camera. It shut off for a moment, before coming back on facing Jack, huddled on the floor, covering his ears as green oozed from his eyes to mix with the red and black on his face.  

“I can’t keep facing him. I can’t deal with this anymore. Just make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make him stop. Please.”

The camera lifts up, showing the floor around Jack covered in blood. The recording set up is gone – the room is empty, expect for a small table with an oddly shaped lamp. Anti appears in the door, neck clean and whole, smile wide, eyes perfect.  

“Ha̡ve ̀y͡o͝u e̵n̵j͟o͏y̸e͜d̶ ̶the ́l͠i̸t͞tl͞e ̕sh͞oẁ I’v͢e ̢b̛ęen͘ p͞utti͝ng͞ on͞ f҉or̴ you͟? Ha̛ve͢ y͟ou ̢finall͢y̡ ̶re̴a҉li͘se͘d wha̢t̶’s͞ ̸be̛e҉n h́ap̸p̸e̸ni͡n͡g? ”

He moves around as he talks, and flashes of the others appear around him. Up close to the camera, and you can see Schneep to his side, bent over and hands busy. Jackieboyman reaching. Chase taking another drink, stowing it underneath the camera he’s staring into.  

“You thought you had him b̧ack. Knew it, for so long, ͡didn̛'͘t̶ ̷you? Anyone could be him, because you d̀on̶'ţ really care.  

“Such good little puppets they all are. You all are. I can do whatever I want, and you’ll always dance for me. A bit of blood in his eyes, even for just a second and you all scream, flailing and trying your best to stem the tide.”

Jack’s face on the screen now, eyes closed and peaceful. His eyelids fly open, blood pouring from them, mouth agape, all sound gone. You feel wetness on your cheek but can’t move your hands to check. Anti’s voice is the only sound now – your room, your surroundings have faded. Just like Jack.

“He can’t take the pa̢i̴n̵ much longer – t͡h͏e͞y̧ can’t take his pain much longer either. But you p̢͟ȩ̸o͘҉ṕ͘͢l͜͏͢e̶͞ ̴̢͡ . You’ll always endure it, wơn̴'t̀ yo͘u ? Anything to see me again. ANY͝THI̢NG to catch a glimpse at the one in C͢O͘̕NT̴RO͝L̛͟ .”

For a moment, Jack’s hysterical, panicked breathing was allowed to sound. He gulped down air, whimpering, all strength faded, the famous energy consumed by pain and fear. You knew he wasn’t afraid for himself. There were more important people to worry about.  

“Can’t you h҉ear̡ him? Can’t you hear y̸ơu̡r̀̕s͘el҉f͡҉ .”

You’d been crying for some time. The tear drops on your hand weren’t colourless.

“He ń̵̷̛̛e̷͘̕e̢d͏̷́s͡͏̵ you – but he always has, and you’ve always just ẀA̢TC҉H̀ED͝ . It’s time to for you to pretend again, just like they’ve all had to.”

Everything is gone – there is only Anti now.  

“ H́͢e̷̡̨͘'̸͟͞ś͟ mine. They’re ALL mine. You’re m̸͜͏͏̡į̶̷͟n̢e̶̢ . Soon you’ll be bĺe̢e͜d͞í̷n̶̨g too.

“I… I suppose I could try… I hope you know what you are doing, Nether.”

Sorry…I’m just a little freaked out right now. Last night was not fun.

OHOHOHO

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

Nevena's worst possible future is definitely one where she gets scared and runs away from something big, like a massive confrontation or a battle, and she'd have to live with the guilt and consequences of her cowardice for the rest of her life. She doesn't really realize it yet considering how young she is, but she has a very stable support network to help her work through her anxiety problems, so this future will probably never happen.

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

Creek's biggest desire is just to be healed. No more scars, no more physical marks, no weird supernatural bullshit, no PTSD, just normalcy again. She doesn't say it in so many words, but it's clear in how uncomfortable she is with herself and her physical appearance, which is now massively altered due to her missing eye, her scars, and the marks left by the various possessions she's experienced.