#trolldannyzuko

July, 2428

windows9k

Hey, can I ask you something about dream bubbles?

trolldannyzuko

shoot.

windows9k

I don't know much about them. Who ends up there? Surely not everyone who ever dies? Did you have to be an active Sburb player, or... Basically, do you know about the conditions?

trolldannyzuko

they havwe to had been invwolvwed in the game. doesnt matter if they played it. carapaces end up here, ivwe seen sprites too. if they die after creating their newv univwerse and entering it, though? i think thats vwhere the luck runs out.

windows9k

So, then. Would it be enough if they were awake on their moon, but hadn't actually started playing the game yet?

trolldannyzuko

did the game happen in that univwerse at all. because if so, the bubbles should reach. horrorterror influence doesnt exactly adhere to the constraints of linear timestreams.

windows9k

It should have, but it hasn't. Yet. So someone would have to start it for the bubbles to reach the universe?

trolldannyzuko

if the game is going to be played in that univwerse, the bubbles should already exist.

windows9k

Oh. Alright, I see. And to get there as someone who hasn't died, you only have to dream?

trolldannyzuko

yes. but only if your moons vwere destroyed. if you still havwe a dream self, you vwill dream there.

windows9k

Ok. Last question. Is there any guarantee that the dead player ends up there, if these conditions are met? Or is there a chance that it doesn't happen?

trolldannyzuko

it is guaranteed. howvevwer, ghosts can die.

windows9k

I see.

trolldannyzuko

so the person youre avwoiding might be double dead.

windows9k

Oh. Is this likely?

trolldannyzuko

a lot of bubbles havwe been massacred so far, completely destroyed along vwith the ghosts or dreamers inside. i couldnt givwe you an accurate statistic by any means, but at the rate i heard this vwas going dowvn? vwe might ALL be gone soon.

windows9k

Well. That sure is a big frightening issue I was not aware of until just now.

trolldannyzuko

i havwent heard anything about it in a vwhile, but im bad vwith time. i cant givwe you a straight ansvwer.

windows9k

That's understandable. Thank you for the answers you did give. This was very informative.

trolldannyzuko

vwhy dont you just search for them in your dreams. if you found them you could duke it out or havwe a lovwely reunion, i still cant really tell if youre hunting dowvn or avwoiding this person.

windows9k

Yeah. Me neither.

Today

Mostly, you put your charging ports into your back for aesthetic reasons. You always liked the look of it. You designed your whole charging unit so as to still make it possible for you to sleep on your back if you want to, without wearing out the cable or getting too tangled up in it. But sometimes, when you charge, you still like to just lie face-down on your bed and not worry about that at all.

You are spent.

Your body is made from lightweight material that makes you weigh even less than a human your size would, and yet you feel heavy in a way that has nothing to do with your chassis. Drained in a way that your charging unit cannot fix. On your personal interface, without moving, you scroll through your old log with Cronus again, and again.

Cronus got a soulbot. You saw it. You helped work on it, a tiny bit. You don’t understand how a dead soul can be transferred into a piece of metal, but you know it’s possible, and it’s not entirely surprising to you either, considering who you are.

You could build the robot in a handful of days. Maybe three, if you don’t sleep. You’d have to find a Zahhak to hit up and see if they can help you with the soul part. You could get this done in a week, probably.

Dirk will be gone by this time tomorrow.

You have no way of finding him, after that.

You have no dreamself. You’re not a Sburb player. Not a human, not a troll, not a cherub. You are barely even a person. You could ask the others to search for him, but nobody can tell how long it would take.

It all boils down to you being too slow to save him.

Five years, one month and nineteen days ago, when he was dead on that rooftop and you were close to dying in his slack hands, you were too slow to fix yourself and get his body downstairs, get his head in the sendificator, get someone -- anyone, anyone with a mouth because you didn’t have one -- to kiss him and revive him before his dreamself died. You didn’t make it then, and you won’t make it now.

Too slow.

Turing makes a soft noise when he jumps on the bed, and then starts kneading your back. It’s warm there. He likes it. You like it too, like the weight of him and the gentle vibration of his purring whenever he does this, like he grounds you. It’s nice now, too. You’ve got that going for you.

You have a lot going for you, really, and that’s been a bit of a problem. For years, you’ve felt bad for living a life that Dirk so badly wanted and never got, because he died, and you killed him. Now he got smacked into the middle of it and has to see your goddamn yacht in person, and he doesn’t deserve to have it rubbed in his face like this.

He’s fourteen, from his perspective. He never deserved any of this.

You asked him, yesterday (you think -- it’s all a blur to you), if he wants to talk to the others. You didn’t want to ask, but you had to. He said yes, of course. So you hit up Roxy, and let her do the rest. You left the room, and you think he might have left the boat. You’re not sure. He was there when you checked a while later, that’s all you know.

You don’t know how it went. You didn’t ask. You don’t want to find out. Earlier today, Squarewave threw a rhyme at Dirk and he responded with a scalding verse, with ease, something you haven’t been able to do with the rapbots in -- surprise -- about five years. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

Everyone is so much better off with him, here. And you’re too slow to make him stay.

You want nothing more but for this to be over, and yet the time limit feels more and more like a threat. Like someone dangled the opportunity to right your biggest wrong right in front of your face, and is keeping it just out of reach now, letting you chase after it until you collapse.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the pillows, and the loud, sudden whirring in your chest makes Turing jump before he settles back down. You’re at 81%, and you still feel like you’re at two.

IF YOU LIKE JOHN GREEN, IT’S FOR ONE OF TWO REASONS. ONE, YOU ARE A HIGH SCHOOLER WHO’S JUST LEARNED WHAT DEATH IS. TWO, YOU THINK THAT BECAUSE HIS PROTAGONIST IS A HIGH SCHOOLER, HE IS ADEPTLY CAPTURING WHAT BEING A TEEN IS LIKE. WHO AMONG US DIDN’T WRITE A FEW TOO MANY POEMS, BACK THEN? WHO AMONG US WASN’T SHOVED IN A LOCKER, METAPHORICALLY, BY THE FORCE OF OUR AFFECTIONS? (AND THEN LITERALLY, BY THE OBJECT OF OUR AFFECTIONS?)

IF YOU’RE A SHITTY CHILD, AND YOU’RE LUCKY/UNLUCKY ENOUGH, YOU’LL EVENTUALLY GROW AND BECOME A SHITTY ADULT. YOUR OPINIONS CAN STILL BE SAVED. OPTION ONE IS THE ENEMY OF TIME, NOT ME.

OPTION TWO FUCKING KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT. IF THIS IS WHAT YOU THINK A TEENAGER’S BRAIN IS LIKE, I CAN ONLY HOPE YOU DON’T KNOW ANY TEENAGERS, BECAUSE THEY’D HATE YOU. NOTHING IS MORE INFURIATING TO THEM THAN FLACCID ATTEMPTS AT BEING “UNDERSTOOD.”

I TRIED TO READ THE FAULT IN OUR STARS ONCE AND GOT TO PAGE EIGHT. I WAS THE FUCKING TARGET DEMO FOR THAT BOOK AT THE TIME, TOO. A HEARTSICK LONER STARING DOWN THE BARREL OF OBLIVION, KNOWING LIFE HAD NO POINT, BUT CURSED TO LIVE REGARDLESS. SOME REAL MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE SKULLDUGGERY. THIS BOOK FAILED TO RESONATE WITH ME BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING SMUG, OKAY?

HERE.

“I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.”

AAAAAUUUUUGH!!! WHY! WHY. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS. WHY IN THE WHOLE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME PERSONALLY. WHAT DO YOU GAIN FROM MOCKING A VERSION OF ME THAT I HATED AT THE TIME, AND HATE MORE WITH EVERY PASSING YEAR? THIS TWERP SOUNDS LIKE A NETI POT READ A THESAURUS.

THIS IS THE CHEESIEST, LAZIEST, MOST POINTLESS, MOST FACILE DECLARATION SINCE KANYE THREATENED TO LEAVE TWITTER. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

I CAN HEAR THIS IRRADIATED WASTELAND OF A TEENAGE BOY FELLATING HIMSELF AS HE TALKS.

GOD, I DIDN’T ACTUALLY EXPECT TO GET THIS ANGRY.

THIS NOVEL IS FOR PEOPLE WHO DON’T EXPERIENCE SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT AND HATE READING. MORE LIKE “THE FART IN OUR CARS,” SUBTITLE, “WITH ALL THE WINDOWS ROLLED UP.”