Nico and Queerious' Proposal

SCP-001 » Nico and Queerious' Proposal

What's one life to everyone else's?

To Do: Get your mind off this.

Those three words repeated in Jude's head all through the night, his room illuminated only by the dull glow of a digital alarm clock that blinked back '5:00am'. This was but another one of his failures. The Jannies got another member of Gamers Against Weed — yet another person mind-wiped, another host switch, and another round of pain for his friends. But he took it worse than the rest of them. He always did.

God, I need this, Jude thought as he inhaled the nugget deeply, allowing the pungent aroma of his chosen vice to fill his nostrils.

His body was on fire — figuratively, this time. Not only did every joint in his body ache, he was also plagued with a persistent migraine that refused to fade away. He was jittery, hurting and sluggish. To make matters worse, he could feel the power of his Stand fading within him with each passing moment. It sent tiny electric jolts of pain up his body every so often, reminding him of the power he possessed, one he was losing control of.

The fix to his problems, the evergreen balm to his pain? Weed, of course.

I just… I just need fucking relief. Anything, please. Jude began his ritual of filling, folding, and rolling. It was almost meditative, if not for the constant and overwhelming feeling that everything was going wrong and that there was nothing he could do. But still, Jude tried his best. Even if that meant smoking a nugget he had found under his bed, in a box he hadn't seen in years.

When we were just figuring things out. He remembered it — it was a small shoebox, dusty and barely holding itself together. Emblazoned across the top, he recognized his old handwriting and cringed.

Keefdust Crusaders.

It was mostly empty, save for some small trinkets — and a jar, containing the nugget he had just ground and rolled. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He leaned back, staring out into the inky darkness as he lit the end of his joint, the flickering flame of the BIC lighter dancing inches from his face. He could feel the heat — it was nice to feel something different for a change, even that.

3. 2. 1. He counted down mentally as he finally took a drag of the joint. The cinders smoldered, racing up the blunt as he inhaled, his mouth filling with a welcome sensation. Sometimes, all he needed was to feel like he was smoking, and that would be enough to calm him down. Today was not one of those days.

As he toked, the smoke filled the room like a creeping fog — his mind kept going back to the same thought that had woken him in the first place.

How much longer can I keep going like this?

It was a question with no clear answer, a puzzle without a solution; he would keep going as long as he could.

"Fuck." He muttered as he exhaled, the smoke billowing out of his nose. I can't stop now, though, they need me. Well, not me. They need the ideal Jude, the one that they can look up to, the one who knows exactly what to do. The perfect Jude, the best Jude, the Jude they all see — fuck. Fuck. I'm not that. I'm the fuck-up. The reject. The fucking loser stoner who has nothing else going for him.

He coughed as a drag went deeper into his lungs than intended. As he did, a foreign sensation began to settle over him. Jude was no stranger to dissociative states. In fact, he enjoyed those moments — being freed from his body, from the never-ending pain, frustration and the constant struggle to just stay alive. Food, water, exercise — everybody hounded him to be better about those.

It's not like I'm choosing not to eat for fun. But fuck, if I have to choose between rent and getting dinner, I'm going to chose rent. Jude knew that he could have asked for help, and his friends would have been right there. They would have jumped into action to come help him, but, that wasn't quite right, was it?

They weren't helping him.

They were helping the idea of him.

He stared at his arm, watching the hairs begin to stand on end. Like static in the air, something was slowly creeping around his body, encompassing him, pushing against his walls. He followed his arm to his hand, where he saw the joint he had been smoking. It was burned down to the filter; he had completely smoked it without noticing.

Fuck, that was the last of it. Maybe the come-up is slow with this one?

Wherever the come-up had been before, it was here now, and it had arrived with a vengeance.

Jude watched as his fingers began to twitch, contorting themselves into intertwined, gnarled roots, twisting the wrong way, the roach dropping into the ashtray. Pain surged up his fingers, as he could feel the bones within his body begin to grow painfully hot, like he had just grabbed a baking sheet from the oven and he couldn't tell his hands to let go.

He had lost all control of his body. He was trapped within its flesh walls. A prisoner in a bloody panopticon. An observer held hostage.

Through the pain, he was barely managing to maintain coherent thoughts. That wasn't just weed. What the fuck was that?

The pain had progressed now, as he began to lose sensation. First, starting in his toes. Slowly moving up his foot. Excruciatingly slow, creeping like a snail on a rotting log. With the loss of feeling came a brief respite from the pain — one that was quickly replaced by panic.

I can't feel my legs. I can't move them. I can't… fuck. I can't do anything. This is my fate. Waiting, a prisoner, trapped, watching as everything I loved and cared about comes crashing down around me. Maybe they're right. I am a fuckup. I'm an idiot, pretending to be trans for 'attention' and I deserve to die.

I get it.

An intrusive thought entered his mind; it wasn't his, but it felt right.

If you die, what will happen to GAW? Who will keep it alive?

As the sensation continued to drain from his body, reaching his chest, the pain returned — different this time. A mental pain. An overwhelming, oppressive, unbearable pain as he felt each of the organs inside of him screaming. His heart refused to pump, straining like a dam about to burst. His lungs shriveled like raisins in the sun, the loss of oxygen slowly suffocating him. Every part of his body hurt. And there was nothing he could do.

'What else is new?' he thought, resigned to his fate for the next few hours. Maybe I'll die, he thought hopefully.

To Do: Find Better Weed

bluntfiend's adults only chatroom

bluntfiend has joined bluntfiend's adults only chatroom!

bluntfiend: Holy crap.
bluntfiend: I just had the worst trip ever.

lesbian_gengar: i would say good morning to you but it's already almost 3 so

bones: I am sorry to hear this, Jude. I hope you are well.

acuterobot: oh no!!!!
acuterobot: owo;

bluntfiend: I'm serious, you guys. I haven't felt this shitty in years.
bluntfiend: I don't know what was in that weed, but I felt like I was dying.
bluntfiend: I also feel like I'm losing control of my Stand.

juliachildenthusiast: Maybe your body is having an averse reaction to smoking so damn much
juliachildenthusiast: Maybe its a sign to lay off for a bit

bluntfiend: The day I stop smoking is the day I die.
bluntfiend: Which, given the situation, I fear may be soon. But anyway.

jockjamsvol6: ????
jockjamsvol6: What?

bluntfiend: Let me explain. I had like a vision.
bluntfiend: I remembered back when I desperately needed friends, Esther and JJ were there for me.
bluntfiend: Most people aren't anywhere near as lucky as I was.
bluntfiend: I know a lot of people could use a place like this, and they don't have it because the fucking jannies keep trying to lock us up.
bluntfiend: I just
bluntfiend: I wish there were something I could do.
bluntfiend: Maybe there is.
bluntfiend: I don't know.
bluntfiend: Fuck me.
bluntfiend: Whatever.

bluntfiend left. (Disconnected.)

juliachildenthusiast: Anyone else worried about him

bones: I believe he is contemplating his own mortality; something most find troubling.

jockjamsvol6: I know what will cheer him up.
jockjamsvol6: ;)

lesbian_gengar: you better not do what i think you're about to do.

To Do: Make a Plan

To Do: Figure it Out As I Go

GAW mod chatzone

jockjamsvol6: 🔗my_ass.png
jockjamsvol6: bluntfiend

lesbian_gengar: jj i swear i am going to kill you for posting ur bare ass in this channel.
lesbian_gengar: i am not interested in softcore gay erotica!

jockjamsvol6: Would you rather I posted softcore lesbian erotica?

lesbian_gengar: u know what?
lesbian_gengar: yes.

bluntfiend: I'm not in the mood.

bluntfiend left. (Disconnected.)

jockjamsvol6: Wow I'm at a loss here.
jockjamsvol6: That usually works.

lesbian_gengar: way to go, jj.

bones: This is concerning. Do either of you know of alternate ways of contacting Jude?

lesbian_gengar: i know fae has his phone number, so maybe try with her?

Private Room — bluntfiend, bones

bluntfiend: bones, I need a favor.
bluntfiend: You can't tell the others though.

bones: Jude, your friends are worried about you. Why are you coming to me, and not them?

bluntfiend: They would try and stop me.
bluntfiend: But I have to do this.
bluntfiend: It's important.

bones: Very well. How can I be of assistance?

bluntfiend: From what I know about you and Lyris, you're strong as hell, right?

bones: This is correct.

bluntfiend: How do you live with yourself knowing that?

bones: I barely do. But I try my best anyway. For the good of everyone else.

bluntfiend: What if you were coming apart at the seams because of your power?

bones: I suppose I would convince her we needed to self destruct to protect everyone else.

bluntfiend: I see.
bluntfiend: Thank you, bones.

Subject: Esther Kogan (POI-6878)
Known Affiliations: Gamers Against Weed, Founder
Topic: SCP-001

BEGIN RECORDING

POI-6878: Look around you. None of us want to be here.

Pause.

POI-6878: I don't want to be here, and yet—

POI-6878 sighs.

POI-6878: You want to know about Gamers Against Weed? You need to know it wouldn't exist without Jude. He… he pulled all of us together, gave us a cause, something to fight for and believe in.

POI-6878 laughs lightly.

POI-6878: He didn't want to. You think Jude wanted to be a leader? JJ and I had to drag him inch by inch, reminding him again and again of all the good that he's done. G-d knows he didn't have the head for it, but everything that Gamers Against Weed is wouldn't exist without him.

POI-6878: Do you know why we're called "Gamers Against Weed?" Because "Keefdust Crusaders" sounded like something a weeb would think of.

SCP Foundation

Secure, Contain, Protect