SCP-9770 - SCP Foundation

SCP-9770

What comes at the intersection of infinite wealth and broken brats?

What can humility mean from someone as rotten as that?

Canon Hub » Black Diamond Billions Hub/SCP Anthology 2025 » SCP-9770

This article’s contents necessitate extra CWs outside of the NSFW warning, specifically pertaining to: transphobic objectification, misogyny, anti-sex worker violence, drug abuse, psychological abuse, references to suicide, and homophobia.

Viewer discretion is extremely advised.

SCP-9770 — Hod: My Mother, My Lover, And My Golden Calf by xexnoncores with art by Tyrastafr and local lesbian commie

⚠️ content warning

WARNING

The following file contains irreversibly modified text due to the para-ontokinetic influences of SCP-9770. This means its contents (addendums, incident logs, audio transcripts, etc) will not adhere to acceptable formatting procedures. This includes, but is not limited to:

Usage of expletives
Usage of first person language outside of relevant documentation
Usage of biased, emotional terminology
Usage of color-coding not compliant with clinical standards
Usage of symbology and images irrelevant to current archival practices

As of 12/19/2021, no channel has been found to circumvent these properties without the complete deletion of all information referring to SCP-9770, as it is aware of current Foundation efforts and is thought to be altering documents to obsfucate a successful containment.

The directorate of the Department of Ontokinetics has voted 2-1 to allow this file to continue updating at SCP-9770's behest until it has either been successfully contained or decommissioned. The majority consensus determination was that even in a highly unprofessional state, it still provides enough information about SCP-9770’s movement patterns and methods of escalation to remain in the main SCP database.

Please contact archivist Taunia Iyengar in person for additional information on this anomaly.

⟡

Hey, so, have you ever felt like you’ve been cheated out of something you were promised? Scammed out of something you knew you had to have?

It’s rough, isn’t it? You feel like a failure. You feel like a loser. The shame creeps up your head and uninstalls your rationality, your sense of pride that keeps you going. The main frame goes down like a bloody pyre, exploding into a million pieces of shrapnel that make your hair stand up on end and the air around you sticky.

Hey, don’t worry! I’m the same, I promise. I was told my life would be easy, after all. I was told my life would be fun.

And it was, for a little while. When I turned eighteen, I…bought as many anime figures as I could. Loaded up eBay, didn’t care about the scalpers. They had some mech from an anime I hadn’t watched yet for two hundred grand, made of solid gold—I bought that. They had some pretty girl with eyes made of red diamonds (she was based off a real race horse, isn’t that so cool?)—I bought that as well. Half a million. Bought some guy’s entire collection afterwards off Twitter and it totaled to three hundred thousand.

Once that was done, I maxed out accounts from five different gacha games. Quarter of a million. I decided to buy every game on Steam after that—one and a half million.

It was at some point in this process, I called my mum to tell her how things were going, because I thought she would be really excited! Her son was all grown up now, he was doing so well for himself—look at all the cool things he was spending his money on!

But…

…I don’t know how to describe what happened on the phone. It just felt…off? Off as I hung up and realized I wasn’t breathing for a good while. Chills ran up my the soles of my feet and through my legs like I’d been impaled, as if a knife was hanging over my head like a meat hook ready to butcher me.

There’s been a weight in my body I haven’t been able to get rid of since then. A weight that gets heavier when I begin thinking about Mum more. About…what she said.

And…

…

I’m twenty now, hoping like some petulant child that I’ll wake up to the world tomorrow alive and well. I’m twenty now, two years out from—whatever that was—listening my brain as it wanders to things that don’t make sense, that never will, that shouldn’t happen, that didn’t happen.

Why do I keep doing that? That’s for pussies and for nurses. Fuck this. That should be for the people who clean my floors if they miss a spot and my valet drivers if they’re late.

What the hell is going on?

Do you think people can tell when you get like this? Like it’s tarnishing the smile you’re giving them, makes the closing you’re doing less genuine? Are my handshakes not firm enough anymore? Did I forget to take my Evangelion keychain off my watch in proper company again?

…

Goddamit, give me back what I was promised! What I deserve, what I was put on this earth for! Give me back the happiness my new life was supposed to provide!

Give it back! Give it back!

Someone, anyone—whatever has the power to change me, to change this—all of this—

I need you to listen. To take me seriously.

Do it now, because if you don’t, I’ll—

I’ll—!

✦

I CAN DO THAT.

COME CLOSER.

Item#: 9770

Level4

Containment Class:

apollyon

Secondary Class:

none

Disruption Class:

ekhi

Risk Class:

critical

link to memo

Assigned Site

N/A

Site Director

N/A

Research Head

Dept. Director Tia Kyo

Assigned MTF

MTF Mu-3 (“Highest Bidders”), MTF Gamma-5 (“Red Herrings”), MTF Lambda-5 (“White Rabbits”), MTF Omega-20 (“Thought Police”)

Assigned Site

N/A

Site Director

N/A

Research Head

Dept. Director Tia Kyo

Assigned MTF

MTF Mu-3 (“Highest Bidders”), MTF Gamma-5 (“Red Herrings”), MTF Lambda-5 (“White Rabbits”), MTF Omega-20 (“Thought Police”)

Special Containment Procedures: I AM CONTAINED WITHIN THE HEART OF CHRYSOPHILIUS SCOOTER MARSHALL, ALSO KNOWN AS SKITTER. DO NOT DESCRIBE ME FURTHER, VOYUERISTIC HEATHENS. YOU CANNOT CONFINE ME WITHOUT INCURRING GREAT WRATH.

BEHOLD, FOR IT IS I.

PoI-012-05 Oo, is that me?

Description: I was seven years old when my dad told me I was going to grow up to be one of the richest men in the world. He sat me down on the shiny white balcony of his favorite London penthouse, with all the people of the Earth beneath us like ants, and said to me I was going to inherit a spot within the company he worked at when I became of age, the place he was devoting most of his life to.

Back then, I saw it as a really big company that ruled the world and made all kinds of bizarre things. My dad was always coming back with proof of it from his business trips—eggs that hatched into ten-headed snakes, plants that could sing barbershop quartets, diamonds from the fifth dimension, stuff like that. It was all magic, he said, magic nobody else got to have, magic nobody else could hope to have.

He wasn’t just in the business of selling the arcane, but dealing with the darkest corners of the world to find it.

I guess it helped my mind then that this company was called “Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.”. That really does sound old-fashioned; unreal, even, if you think about it hard enough—hearing it at the time, I swear I could taste the royal blue blood staining the utterance of every syllable, coating the gilded walls and tiger-skin furniture so pristine.

I don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. There were cars and buses honking, and I was eating some petit fours with gold leaf on top. My dad was rambling on about our CEO and her daughter Iris, the auction arm of the business, eventually going on a tangent about beautiful women that looked like dragons he said would be perfect for me when I was older. I thought nothing of it then, even though I’m pretty sure he showed me pictures.

I’m still not sure how he expected a child to care about all of that.

…Actually, I do remember one thing.

And it wasn’t something he said, no.

I felt…relief.

I felt relief, relief as a seven-year old, like I had just dodged a hollow-point bullet because what he was telling me sounded like it could fix what happened earlier that morning.

It sounded like it could fix the fact my day started out cold, and and blustery, icy winds shearing my cheeks in sandpaper flurries. I had just come back from boarding school for winter break; the valet dropped me off at the mansion steps with everything blanketed in white, and there was not a single face ready or happy to welcome me.

Not a single one.

I waited for a bit, shivering until I realized all our house and wait staff were on holiday too. I was annoyed by this because everyone else’s parents made theirs work the holidays, so why didn’t Dad?

Biting my lip raw, I trudged up the stairs and unlocked the door myself. It shocked me when I opened it and nearly tripped over my shoes that I was greeted by my mum passed out on the couch, with a bottle of Xanax on the coffee table and some shot-glasses half-full of whiskey next to it.

That was how she had spent the morning? I remember thinking, How could an adult need so much medicine?

But it was just me, that thought, my runny nose, and my bleeding lip. I could do nothing about the scene but walk in, knowing she probably didn’t want to be woken up. She always got snippy when I woke up her early.

To my room I went, my suitcase too heavy to carry by myself.

I told none of this to my dad, only staring at him as he finished his speech and smiled. He was looking at me with eyes that told me I was everything he was pinning his hopes on, that I was a man he was looking forward to in eleven years and this was merely the first of many welcoming parties.

He has deep brown eyes, just like me—we get a lot of compliments for that. Percival says they make us look human, trustworthy—it’s the most common color after all, and how can you be personable with clients if you don’t ape the common denominator just a little bit?

Marshall, Carter, and Dark…

It was going to make everything perfect, for sure.

AVERAGE COST OF A 2019 BUGATTI CHIRON: 3,300,000 USD (INCLUDES PRICE OF HEAVY BODY CUSTOMIZATION). HOW MANY DID YOU BUY?

I bought ten. It was an impulse purchase.

HOW DID IT MAKE YOU FEEL? WHEN THEY BROUGHT ALL OF THAT SPARKLING CARBON FIBER AND SLEEK TITANIUM TO YOUR LONDON ESTATE?

…Kind of ecstatic, honestly. I already had ninety of them, and now I’m counting my hundredth. Do you know how crazy that is, to have that at this point in my life? Do you?

IT IS A NOBLE GOAL TO HAVE ACHIEVED.

Isn’t it…?! God, thinking about it makes my heart race! Them all lined up in sick rows, so polished and pristine…! Their hoods perfect to get hot models to pose on—hey, you know those car advertisements, right? Where the girls wear those shorts that ride up their asses and they spread their legs out like the cameraman’s gonna fuck them with the—

WILL YOU TAKE THEM ALL OUT FOR TEST DRIVES? THEY CAN GO EXTREMELY FAST.

Maybe…

AMERICA HAS A LOT OF HIGHWAYS TO DRIVE DOWN. WOULDN’T IT BE EXHILARATING TO LET THAT RUBBER AND PUMPING ENGINE FREE UPON SUCH NOBLE TERRITORY?

If I decide to do something like that, it probably won’t happen for a while. I just need to…sit with this purchase, you know?

SIT?

Let it marinate, I guess. I’m not good with words—you know what I mean.

I WOULD HOPE I DO.

This was a lot, you know? Took a lot to convince them I was serious. Took a lot out of me to fly all the way out to the dealership and arrange for them to be driven off.

WHAT A SHAME THEY DID NOT PROSTRATE THEMSELVES BEFORE YOUR GREATNESS. ONE WOULD THINK YOUR MAGNITUDE OF IMPORTANCE NEEDS NO WORDS.

Yeah, well, that’s what hiring people is for. Next time I’m getting someone else to manage the whole thing for me—I don’t wanna miss my favorite Vtuber streams anymore.

WHICH IS WORTH MORE? THE STREAMS OR THE CARS?

…Huh?

WHICH IS WORTH MORE TO YOU, AS YOU DEFINE SUCH THROUGH YOUR HEART: A PARASOCIAL SIMULATION OF A RELATIONSHIP OR THE BEAUTIFUL CONSUMPTION OF MORE OBJECTS, MORE THINGS TO PUT YOUR NAME ONTO?

…Hey, they’re real girls you know. You can make them say stuff if you pay enough.

BUT YOU CAN TOUCH THE CARS. YOU CAN’T TOUCH THEM.

…

CAN YOU TOUCH A GOOD MORNING MESSAGE FROM THEM? THEY DON’T EVEN SAY YOUR REAL NAME. JUST SOME PSEUDONYM YOU MAKE UP.

I-It’s important, jackass—!

FOCUS ON WHAT YOU CAN TOUCH, CHRYSOPHILIUS. THAT IS WHAT BRINGS THE MOST HAPPINESS. THAT IS WHAT ORIENTS YOU HUMANS TOWARDS A GOAL, TOWARDS YOUR MOST IDEAL SELF. FOCUS ON THE CARS—WOULD YOU LIKE MORE?

Uh…sure? But I have no place to put them. I’m running out of garage space everywhere.

THEN LET ME FIX THAT FOR YOU.

…What? Huh? You can do that?

I CAN NOW.

What does that mean?

IT MEANS EXACTLY AS I SAID. THE TWO OF US ARE COUPLED NOW; MY STRENGTH IS YOUR STRENGTH. TOMORROW AND FOREVER, WE ARE MARCHING TOWARDS A GLORIOUS FUTURE IN WHICH YOU CAN ACHIEVE YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL.

NOW, SHALL WE GO SHOPPING? I KNOW THAT ALWAYS PUTS A SMILE ON YOUR FACE.

Document.9770-01:

INVENTORY OF USER 6297ksa5f26hsj ABACUS MARKET ONLINE AUCTION HISTORY

ITEM LISTING	FINAL BID
Nadia The Secret Of Blue Water Animation Cel	302.00 GBP
Anime Cel Perfect Blue #27	11,827.00 GBP
THE RAID ON ONIGASHIMA — ONE PIECE - 1/6 SCALE STATUE (REAL ACTION SCENE FUNCTIONALITY INCLUDED)	100,282.21 GBP
Good Smile Company x Anderson Robotics Collab Overlord Series Albedo Wedding Dress Figure	287,387.49 GBP
24K GOLD 50.5CM EDWARD ELRIC FIGURINE (Stand not included)	400,827.23 GBP
TOTAL:	800,625.93 GBP

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 11%

CORTISOL FEEDBACK LOOP ESTABLISHED

ENDORPHIN GATES NARROWED

DOPAMINE GATES CLOSED

EXPLOITATIVE CYCLE UNCOVERED

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 27%

«Incident Log 9770.01»

THE SIGNS OF THE STREETS OF NEW YORK HAVE BEEN REVERSED.

UPON MY PRECIOUS LITTLE CHILD I BEQUEATH A TROVE OF SPACE WHICH SHALL NEVER END, A COLLECTION OF ROOMS THRICE THE SIZE OF THE SET OF INTEGERS. A PENTHOUSE UNENDING TO YOUR HUMAN MIND THAT WILL NEVER BURST FROM FULLNESS.

Addendum.9770-01: Today my coworkers Iris Darke and Robert Carter started an uproar about being able to cook.

Cooking isn’t something most people at my work do. Take-out is easier, and we have three different magic restaurants on speed-dial, so why bother?

Well, Robert knows because he’s from Karachi. He joked about how hard it is to find good food anywhere but home—said he had seven dragonling chefs make chicken biryani and none of them were as good as what you could get from a vendor’s stall. (And I get it, honestly, the stuff in England is way different from out there!)

Iris—her tastes are a little bit…eccentric. See, her best friend Chaz runs this restaurant called Ambrose, where everything on the menu is often really weird. Weird as in it comes from fairies or from outer space type-weird. She’s his most frequent taste-taster, so he caters for her as a favor, and she can never get enough of it. The problem is that their schedules conflict so much that she eventually gave up trying to get him in the office twice a week and just learned his techniques herself. Smart, yeah?

It then came my turn to tell everyone why I can cook and…

…I’ve been doing it since I was six.

Six.

No, I wasn’t taught.

No, it wasn’t part of my schooling. They don’t teach boys how to cook there. That’s not a necessary component of good manners.

I…

I taught myself.

Because I kind of just…had to.

Mum never hired help around the house, not for the food anyway, not until I was about ten. Cleaning, sure, but chefs have to live in, I think, so whenever Dad got onto her for it she just screamed at him that she’d do it whenever he spent more than a day with her. She wasn’t going to tempt herself with someone who showed her more affection at breakfast than he did in an entire month.

She was better than that. Better than him.

Now that I’m older, I think her bitching is kind of stupid. Well, not really. On a practical level, yeah. She was yelling at the man who made her one of the most important women in the world while the most she ever did was shop for ugly little purses and designer shoes. That’s dumb as hell, because he could have divorced you, Mum. He could have divorced your useless ass, and even though your family wouldn’t have liked it, I was already born, so Dad had all the heirs he needed. Marshall, Carter, and Dark’s succession requirements were met. Fuck you.

But…on an emotional level…

I burned myself a lot trying to learn how to use the stove. She didn’t teach me how to turn that blasted thing on, and Dad didn’t either. The scars have all completely healed, but nowadays I feel like they’re still gnawing at me. Spreading over my skin while I work like nauseating patches of misery, like worms eating me alive. Drawing me back into a quiet darkness that tells me it was all my fault, that I should have read the instruction manual. Because I could read at that age, you know? Why didn’t I?

One time I spilled so much boiling water all over the floor that I thought I was going to die, trapped between it, the steam and the cabinets. I couldn’t see for what felt like hours, my tears bleeding into scalding vapor.

I screamed for someone to help, for anyone really. I screamed so hard my throat gave out and the water ended up finally cooling off. I didn’t know that though until I stood up and slipped—the entire time, I thought the wetness in my pants was me having peed myself in fright, making even more of a mess than I already foolishly had.

Nobody came. I was soaked, cold, digging my nails into my skin, and…nobody came. I think I was bleeding by the end of all of this, but I’m not sure how. Maybe I hurt myself in some other stupid way, like somehow I managed to find a knife and I cut myself trying to do something even more desperate.

You know, when I think about this, I’m pretty sure I’m exaggerating. Because there’s really no way that all could have lined up so horribly, there’s no way that there was just nobody at home for someone like me, there was just…

No way, right…?

I must…I must be making this up…

…

No. Mum’s words were pretty clear when she did finally walk into the kitchen.

“You’re filthy. Go to your room.”

At that command, I protested, and she shook her head in response. She pushed me away as I went to hug her, leaning down with tears in her eyes. They were so dilated I almost forgot they were green.

“Do what Mummy says, Chrysophilius. Okay? That’s what good boys are supposed to do. You can change out of your clothes there, you’ll be fine. I…I need to call your father.”

I asked if I could try hugging her again. I must not have known what else to do. My skin was freezing, my body was aching, but finally someone was here to look at me. To see me.

Please, Mum, why can’t I hug you…?

“If your father…If he answers his phone tonight, maybe…”

If Dad calls I get a hug…?

“Stop looking at me like that, please. You…You have his eyes. I can’t take it.”

Wait, what’s wrong with my eyes…?

When I asked her that, she threw her keys at me. They hit my cheek and left a bruise she told me to lie about afterwards, especially if Dad came around (he didn’t). She didn’t mean it after all, she really didn’t mean it—she cursed under her breath as she picked them up, saying I should go to bed before I caused any more problems.

“I’m sorry. Don’t make me hurt you again, sweetie, please, Mummy doesn’t want to hurt you. Mummy doesn’t want to hurt anyone… Not her precious little baby…”

I wasn’t sure why I remembered all of that as I stared at my employees. At all of the people who had been told I was invincible, that my word was immutable, absolute.

I had to stop my hands from shaking, from my vision going double as it all replayed in my mind, over and over and over again in piecemeal. I had to bite my tongue and make up some story up as Dad walked by, with a tired, ragged look in his eyes that hung heavy like briefcases.

That night was the first in years I stayed up until morning.

Document.9770-02:

INVENTORY OF USER 6297ksa5f26hsj ABACUS MARKET ONLINE AUCTION HISTORY

ITEM LISTING	FINAL BID
Vampire Hunter D Production Cel	1,272.82 GBP
The End Of Evangelion Rei Ayanami Cel - #38 (Signed)	9,599.00 GBP
Akira Production Cel - Tetsuo Monster	10,862.00 GBP
Original Laputa Castle in the Sky Anime Cel	11,827.00 GBP
(First Edition) Anderson Robotics Sailor Moon Collaboration Hovertronic	437,821.21 GBP
RARE LOST PROMETHEUS LABS IMMERSIVE VHS EXPERIENCE ORIGINAL AKIRA TAPE	613,823.16 GBP
Anderson Robotics Interstella 5555 Android Set	1,239,100.49 GBP
TOTAL:	2,324,305.68 GBP

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 20%

CORTISOL FEEDBACK LOOP FUNCTIONAL

STRESS TOLERANCES DECREASED

EMOTIONAL VIOLABILITY INCREASED

EXPLOITATIVE CYCLES SUCCESSFULLY PARASITIZED

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 39%

«Incident Log 9770.02»

SATURN’S VOLUME HAS BEEN DECREASED BY 3.8912%.

HAWAII HAS BEEN MOVED 123 KILOMETERS NORTH. IT WILL BE ASSUMED TO HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THAT WAY.

FOURTH DIMENSIONAL PLANES NO LONGER INTERSECT WITH YOURS AT 44.44454° ANGLES.

I AM STARTING TO GET COMFORTABLE NOW.

<EXTRANEOUS NONSENSE REMOVED.>

Excuse me? How the fuck did you bastards get my number?

<EXTRANEOUS BABBLE REMOVED.>

What the— No, I don’t give a damn about who I’m talking to! Head researcher, site director, Overseer— You’re not getting paid enough to breathe the same air as me! Fuck off!

<EXTRANEOUS AIMLESSNESS REMOVED.>

I said stop asking! God! Who the bloody hell do you think you are?! Are your higher-ups really that bored that you called just to ask me how big my penthouses are and who I’m friends with?!

<EXTRANEOUS INQUIRIES REMOVED.>

Is your net worth enough to justify you sounding like you’re always sucking on your own dick?!

<EXTRANEOUS MEANINGLESSNESS REMOVED.>

They’re important purchases! Go away!

Date: I was eight when I heard this.

<Dad told me to go upstairs because he needed to have an adult conversation with Mum. I did as I was told, but I got bored, so I snuck out and watched them through a small corner of the railing.>

Mum: What the fuck—again?! Again?! Every time you go on a trip, every single fucking time—!

Dad: Olivine, please, calm down, you know they don’t mean anything to me—

Mum: Apparently they do because you know how I feel about this! How I feel about you hiding them you slimy bastard—!

Dad: I only hid them because you—

Mum: Because I what?! Because I don’t tolerate it?!

Dad: Please, don’t work yourself up, it’s not good for your—

Mum: Oh don’t tell me what is good for me, you donkey-dicked pillock. I know you don’t get tested, so quit with that nonsense.

Dad: Hey, I do get—that’s not the point!

Mum: You think your precious little company’s magic is going to protect you, huh? Huh?! Protect you from all the germs in the weird vaginas you’re shoving your dick into— Why the fuck are you so into animal bitches?!

Dad: Those are people, Olivine, you know this—people who are—

Mum: I know what they are! What’s a snake-headed woman got sucking you off over me, anyway? You want the fangs to puncture your balls or something?! God, you’re going to die an embarrassment to your entire family if you keep this up.

Dad: Olivine! Watch your tone with me!

Mum: You’re going to give me some kind of STD because you can’t stop fucking these weirdo whores, huh? And once you’re done, you’re going to move onto men like the faggot you are, the faggot your brother talked about you becoming. Because he’s right, you know! You don’t deserve anything you have! You don’t deserve to be the eldest Marshall! You don’t deserve all the money that stupid company pumps into you, that was the only reason I married you, you aborted little sleaze ball—!!!

<Mum screeches. Her face is streaked with tears and snot, cheeks bright red. Dad’s eyes are wide, and his expression is shellshocked.>

Mum: Oh god, I didn’t mean to—

<Mum’s green eyes. Dad’s brown eyes. They meet finally.>

Dad: Did…Did you only marry me for my…?

Mum: I don’t know anymore. I’m tired, Amos…

Dad: …Why?

Mum: You told me when we got married that I was the prettiest woman you knew. Did you lie to me?

Dad: …No…

Mum: Then why…? Why not take me with you if you’re that…? Desperate?

Dad: You told me you wanted to be at home with your friends, in London…

Mum: I don’t want that anymore. They all think I’m a freak now.

Dad: You need to go back to rehab, Olivine—you need to get better, for our son, because I can’t, I can’t travel with you if you’re still—

Mum: I… You just left me alone, so what else was I supposed to do?

<Nineteen seconds of silence.>

Mum: I keep begging you—please, Amos, please come back to London, please, I don’t want to be alone with my own thoughts, I can’t be alone with my own thoughts— Please stop leaving alone in these houses we have, I want to decorate them with you…!

Dad: You need to find help—

Mum: I NEED YOU!

<Mum shivers and begins crying. She leans onto Dad, crying into his suit like she’s seizing. He does not wrap his arms around her.>

Mum: I need…you. We’re supposed to be a team.

Dad: I…

Mum: A team! That’s what marriage is, isn’t it?! You…You make a team with a man you love, a man you were enraptured by, who will be there for you no matter what? Please, please tell me you want to be a team.

Dad: Olivine, please, I can’t take it when you get like this—

Mum: If you cheat again, I’m going to find the girl you’re doing it with and make her jump off a bridge.

<Dad pushes her away, terrified. Mum takes a step back.>

Dad: Don’t—that’s going too far…!

Mum: Oh so you finally care about someone else’s life now, huh? Then put it on your conscience. Let it sink in. When she dies, it’ll be your fault.

Dad: Please, you’re better than this!

Mum: …Am I?

Dad: Y-Yes, you are. You…You’re…This isn’t the woman I married— You were so kind back then—

Mum: …You thought I was kind?

Dad: Of course! Remember when we first met in the Caribbean? When I…tripped over all my luggage and you were the only passerby who helped me pick it all up…?

Mum: Ha. You’ve never gotten over that clumsiness.

Dad: H-Hey, I have—

Mum: You tripped on the stairs when you were walking up them just a few hours ago.

<Dad’s eyes glisten, and he pulls his arms in, looking down to the floor.>

Mum: I don’t care if you’re clumsy, Amos. Some people are just like that.

Dad: I…I shouldn’t be.

Mum: It’s fine. I think it’s cute.

Dad: …You say that like I’m not a grown man. You shouldn’t have married someone who trips over himself, especially after all these years.

Mum: I could say the same to you. You shouldn’t have married someone who…well, shouldn’t have married someone who…who…

<Mum pauses for a moment.>

Mum: Who makes all her friends think she’s crazy so easily. Would marrying a “normal” woman have been so hard for you?

Dad: Your parents were the vice chancellors of Oxford and Cambridge when we met.¹

Mum: I wasn’t what your mother wanted.

Dad: You were so much more genuine than the socialite girls she wanted me to marry… Girls who only knew how to put on airs for me and say yes all the time… I know I…I know I made the right choice with you.

Mum: Now that’s what I wanted to hear. I’m smarter than their coiffed-collar asses, too, by the way. I didn’t bust my ass getting two PhDs for nothing.

Dad: Precisely…I, yeah. So, Olivine…

<Seventeen seconds of silence.>

Dad: I do love you, more than…more than anyone else. You’re the only one who could ever put up with me…

Mum: I’m tired, Amos. My head hurts. I hate when you make me talk like this.

Dad: Yes, I’m sorry, I'm sorry… Do you want to…?

Mum: Fuck me and promise you won’t do it again.

Dad: Promise me you’ll complete rehab again this time. Please. Then I can take you places. I want to…to show you Tokyo, Moscow, Rio de Janeiro… Elfame, Little Havana, the Three Portlands… There’s so many beautiful art galleries we can go to together…

Mum: Okayyyyy Mr. Marshall. Mr. Not Harsh at all. Mr. Court Martial—I promise.

Dad: Haha, thank you… Oh, shoot, I forgot—is Chrysophilius in bed?

Mum: Hm? Him? It’s a holiday, so let him do whatever. Forgetting about him for one night won’t hurt…I take care of him plenty already.

Psychological Output Symptoms:² HE STOPPED BEING ABLE TO CONSISTENTLY BREATHE FOR THREE MINUTES AND SEVENTEEN SECONDS IN HIS OFFICE WHILE I CONSOLED HIM.

Document.9770-03:

INVENTORY OF USER 6297ksa5f26hsj ABACUS MARKET ONLINE AUCTION HISTORY

ITEM LISTING	FINAL BID
K-Cup Bra Size Mannequin (Skinniest Configuration)	5,027.12 GBP
Faebound Fabergé Egg (Queen Ortellica and Wei Blessed)	100,827.32 GBP
Marcille Donato Strip Tease Statue (RoseLove Co. Brand)	297,262.77 GBP
Anderson Robotics Lopunny Animatronic No. 023	700,012.91 GBP
Life Size Beidou Genshin Impact Amethyst Android (With Silicone Lips and Vaginal Areas)	987,272.43 GBP
Succubi Panties (Stained, 24-pack)	2,286,181.99 GBP
TOTAL:	4,376,584.54 GBP

HOW UNFORTUNATE THAT YOU REMEMBERED YOUR PARENTS LIKE THAT AT SUCH AN INOPPORTUNE TIME. YOU DIDN’T DESERVE SUCH A THING.

Ugh, I feel like I did. And this whole shopping thing is just making me feel worse! I feel so dirty when I realize I’ve gotta get someone to put all of the crap away afterwards.

DELIGHTFULLY DIRTY. HOLD ON TO THAT INITIAL FEELING; DON’T LET SHAME BREAK IN AND ROB YOU WITHIN YOUR OWN HOME.

But it doesn’t last that long… And I feel like I’m only doing it because of—

THEN GO AT IT LONGER. IT'S NOT LIKE YOU CAN EVER RUN OUT OF CASH.

Sure, but it’s…exhausting. I’m tired of doing things that should make me happy and ending up with rocks in my chest as a result. It’s happening too much these days…

ROCKS IN YOUR CHEST?

Ugh, nevermind.

COME BACK.

I’m done, please leave me alone for the day—

CHRYSOPHILIUS, LISTEN TO ME. I MAY NOT KNOW WHAT THAT PHRASE MEANS, BUT I TOO HAVE NOTICED SOMETHING IN YOUR SOUL TARNISHING.

…R-Really? Oh no, if you noticed then—what about everyone else at wor—

CALM DOWN.

How can I?! Things are just…falling apart without any reason! I’m remembering things I don’t want to, my mind’s not where it used to be, I’m not hitting my work goals, and I—

QUIET.

Asshole.

I’M ONLY HELPING YOU. FOCUS ON MY VOICE. TAKE OFF YOUR ANXIETIES AND HAND THEM TO ME.

What can you do for me?! You can only—You can only—

I SAID FOCUS, CHRYSOPHILIUS. KNOW WHO STANDS SOVEREIGN OVER YOU, WHO KNOWS YOU BETTER THAN YOUR OWN BONES.

H…How? Back up your claim with some stats, now.

BECAUSE I HAVE WATCHED YOU. I HAVE WAITED AT THE EDGE OF THE UNIVERSE’S HORIZON FOR SOMEONE TO NURSE MY CAGE INTO A CRADLE, TO DEVOUR MORE THAN A SINGULARITY’S STOMACH NEEDS.

THAT HAS GIVEN ME ACCESS TO YOUR HEART VIA YOUR MOUTH. YOU ARE OF THE PRIVILEGED FEW ABLE TO ACCOMMODATE ME, AND NOW I KNOW YOUR ORGAN SYSTEMS INSIDE AND OUT.

Excuse me? Hey, I eat better than I used to, don’t fucking judge on that—

NOT THAT KIND OF CONSUMPTION, BOY. I SPEAK OF POWER. OF WHAT IS MAKING YOUR WORLD MOVE RIGHT NOW.

TO SPEND IS TO ASSERT YOUR STATUS. THERE IS NO GREATER JOY THAN TO HOARD, WATCHING YOUR PILES GROW BIGGER BY THE DAY, GLITTERING IN WHATEVER ARRANGEMENT YOU SO CHOOSE TO ALIGN THEM IN.

…Y-Yeah, I wish it felt like that all the time. I…I don’t know about that, none of my other coworkers spend like I do—

STOP BEING ASHAMED OF YOUR GREED. YOU WILL NEED AN INFINITE AMOUNT OF SPACE FOR WHAT WOULD MAKE YOU HAPPY, JUST LIKE THE REST OF HUMANITY. JUST BECAUSE THEY DENY THE TRUTH DOES NOT MAKE THEM MORE MORAL THAN YOU—THEY ARE MERELY DELUDING THEMSELVES BECAUSE THEIR NET WORTH IS LESS THAN YOURS.

…Okay, are you making fun of me here?

LISTEN, CHRYSOPHILIUS. LISTEN WITH THE EARS YOUR MOTHER BIRTHED YOU WITH. I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM.

BE GRATEFUL YOU GET TO REVEL IN THIS LUXURIOUS PRIVILEGE. VERY FEW WILL EVER KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE TO SO EFFORTLESSLY CONTROL THE FINANCIAL SPHERE, ABLE TO GORGE THEMSELVES ON THEIR OWN DESIRES UNOBSTRUCTED BY OBSTACLES SUCH AS SCARCITY AND POVERTY. BECAUSE YOU OWN THE MEANS OF PRODUCTION, YOU ALSO OWN THE SUPPLY LINES FEEDING AMBROSIA DIRECTLY INTO YOUR ARTERIES; NOT ONLY HAVE YOU INHERITED THE REINS OF THIS WORLD THROUGH A GOLDEN BIRTHRIGHT, IT HAS ALSO BEEN BORN INTO A POSITION WHERE IT MUST REMAIN SUBSERVIENT TO YOU, LEST IT DIE IN A SLOW, PAINFUL FIRE.

…Jeez.

WELL? AM I WRONG?

I dunno. You just sound a lot like Iris, haha. Like you swallowed a thesaurus or something.

INSTANTANEOUS METHODS OF GRATIFICATION ARE TO BE EMBRACED SUCH THAT YOU MAY ONE DAY DISCOVER THE TRUTH TO THE CYCLE OF YOUR CONTENTNESS. BE STILL, AND KNOW THAT I AM HERE— BE STILL AND KNOW THAT MONEY CANNOT HURT YOU.

Then…Can you explain where the burning sensation in my chest comes from…? I need it to go away. Now.

PATIENCE, FOR I WILL SOON REVEAL THAT TO YOU.

…Excuse me?

I SAID WHAT I SAID. I WANT TO HELP YOU, CHRYSOPHILIUS, BUT TO DO THAT I NEED TIME…AND YOUR COOPERATION.

…Okay. But…if I can’t see or touch you, how do I know your plans will come through in the end?

CAN YOU SEE YOUR STOCK PORTFOLIO ALL THE TIME?

No?

BUT YOU STILL HAVE FAITH IT IS ALWAYS GOING UP, ALWAYS PROVIDING. YOU MUST THINK OF ME THE SAME WAY.

Addendum.9770-02: I’m having nightmares now.

I haven’t had these since I was young. Since I…became a teenager, I think? Which is much longer than most people have nightmares, but I was a stupid kid, so it makes sense.

The one last night was so…vivid. I didn’t think dreams could make you wake up wanting to claw your own eyes out. I thought I was actually back there, again…

It started off with me at home. For my eleventh birthday, something that is normal for most people. But for me, I got the short end of the stick, which meant mine always landed in the summer.

Why is this important? Because I never got a birthday celebration at school like the rest of the boys. When they had those, you’d get a teacher to come out and sing for you, either in the dining halls or in a classroom somewhere, and if you were really lucky, you’d get a cupcake, or a sticker of some kind.

I wanted a cupcake. I wanted a sticker. I wanted the boys to have to actually pronounce my name instead of calling me “Scooter” all the time. That’s my middle name, you idiots! My real one is long, and Latin, because our money is older and better than yours, dumbasses!

…I wanted those things because when I was home for the summer, I never got parties. I got plenty of gifts in the mail, so much I could barely open them all, but…no parties. No cake, no candles, nobody coming to tell me how cool it was I turned a year older…

My face burned whenever I attended Robert and Iris’s birthday parties. I’ve never told them how mortifying it felt standing in their living rooms while dozens of cheery, cherry-faced adults gathered around them and congratulated them on how tall they were getting. How mature they were sounding, how they were on track to becoming coiffed, productive members of society ready to take on the world and everything the company expected of them.

And these parties weren’t just for the families, no. They were for Marshall, Carter, and Dark’s employees too. Lucas Monaco, Hogarth Cartwright, Alphonse Redheath, Silas King…

They wanted to see the children their bosses were so lovingly raising. The crown wasn’t long for their heads, after all.

…Did any of them ever notice I was missing?

Did any of them really care? That I was a Marshall going to lead them but I was just…absent? Gone? Without gatherings held in my own namesake? Did they just assume I was fine, that I was having fun elsewhere, or were they also like Dad and working a lot?

I’m really good at hyping people up at parties, at making sure the auction floor is having fun and that everyone is smiling and paying attention to me. There’s absolutely nothing better than seeing all those faces on me, waiting, drooling with anticipation, a lust over the magic I hold in my hands I can give them only on my approval…

I—

Maybe I should have planned my own parties as a kid? It’s not that hard, honestly. Or I could have just found a party planner and paid them. I had a phone when I was eleven! Maybe I could have done it…

…

…The reason I remember my eleventh birthday was because for the first time in my life…

My Dad was home on the right day.

Why, I’ve never really known. I imagine he probably had a meeting cancel on him he couldn’t fill, so it was to London he went. He got in around the time I was so obviously supposed to have been sleeping, so I shut my door as soon as I saw his shadow, and locked it.

I’m pretty sure he heard, because his footsteps closed in on me afterwards.

“Chrysophilius?”

Nothing. I jumped into bed and pulled the covers over my head.

His feet pounded louder and louder.

“Chrysophilius Marshall, where are you? Have you seen your mother?”

I didn’t want him to find me. I had been a bad kid the past week, raiding the pantry in-between the hours of when I thought Mum wasn’t downstairs and stashing the trash in whatever wastebaskets that weren’t empty so she didn’t notice too much. I was also ordering takeout from places I wasn’t I supposed to, putting daiquiris on the counter when she came home that she always drank… A few times, I even found myself sampling them when I got curious. The taste was always bad, but it made me feel lighter, and sleepy, so I kind of just…did it whenever the guilt didn’t eat me alive. And whenever it was bedtime.

“Chrysophilius!” It was difficult to hear him with how sluggish I felt. “Please, where are you? I—I’m sorry for waking you up, but I won’t be here for very long. I just wanted to say happy birthday, because I have to get back to—”

We have three mansions in London and after all this time, Dad still didn’t know which room was mine in each one.

But he figured it out eventually by going down the halls and opening each of the doors. When he found mine and he struggled, a yellow light crept around the handle and…twisted? Snapped? I’m not sure what he did to the lock to break it. I just know I stayed deathly still, like the Grim Reaper had been summoned.

“Chrysophilius Scooter Marshall, why is your door loc—”

The light turned on. I gripped the covers around myself as hard as I could. I could feel his shock seeping through the sticky carpets, through the thick fabric cradling my face. I could feel his shame burning and seeping without looking, because mine was eating me alive.

He knocked a bottle of soda over on the carpet. It made the wettest noise, like someone drowned a starving rat.

“What the—!” His voice went deep with disgust. “What are you doing drinking that?! That’s so much sugar—!”

My entire body seized with fear. Tears burned my eyes as I felt the imprint of the room suffocate me, the bags of chips and snacks I’d left on the ground haunting me with their greasy crumbs. I didn’t realize how much the room smelled until fresh air rolled in, especially because I could hardly see the floor from my dirty clothes, controllers, and game disc cases littering it.

It was at that point I felt like I was on TV being made fun of. You know the American channels that people pay to watch that always made fun of hoarders? Showing off their sloppiness and slovenly behavior like pigs for the whole world to gawk at?

“What on Earth has happened here, young man?!” he yelled. “Explain this mess to me. Now!”

My dad yanked the covers off me so hard I nearly fell off the bed. I cried, and tried to run under it, but he grabbed me by the back of my shirt. He looked primed to yell at me more until he saw how mussed up I was and how red my eyes were.

I screamed for him to hug me. I screamed some babbling nonsense even though I knew he was angry and I had been stupid. I screamed so hard my chest felt like it would break—no, so hard that I felt like I would break.

“Chr-Chrysophilius—”

I kept crying even as he took me in his arms and sat down on the bed with me soon after. He smelled like fancy cologne.

“C-Calm down, please—shhh, there, there. I—I’m here…”

He moved a bunch of wires with his feet as he held me tight. As I let the relief of his presence wash over me like warm water.

“What—What is going on?” His voice was shaking. “Why didn’t you call me? Or someone? Anyone?”

I didn’t answer. I just kept hugging him, digging my hands into his suit. The answer was simple (Mum hadn’t called on the housekeepers yet), but a simple answer would have made him leave.

He rubbed my head gently, shaking himself. He was always a thin man, and I felt it as he was gasping and his eyes were getting wet. It wasn’t hard to tell from the way his voice tottered into breaking,

“Wh-Where is your mother? Chrysophilius—”

He pulled me away for a moment to make sure the question set in. Whining, I rubbed my face, wanting to go back to that comforting darkness, but he made me answer.

“Chrysophilius. Tell me where your mother is.”

His eyes burned into me.

…Was I to tell him the truth?

Was I to lie?

Something explosive was going to happen either way so I—

“M-Mummy—”

He wiped my cheek with his finger as his eyes went wider. Deathly wide, graveyard wide—he was tracing bags, after all. I had gotten the taste of staying up late far too young.

“…I haven’t seen Mummy around—”

I looked at him with a similarly somber expression, going to my fingers to count the days.

“…Since…last…”

I think I saw his heart snap in two when I held both hands up.

“…I haven’t seen her in ten days.”

Silence.

There was nothing I could do to stop my dad’s psyche from breaking in that moment. I don’t know how I remembered that expression, but even if I forgot the form, I’d never forget how it made me feel.

I felt like I had ripped open a cavern of something we were falling into with no way to climb back out. The tide was coming, the entrance had caved in, and now it was just the two of us, struggling with our heads down and our torsos unable to move as the rushing water climbed higher and higher.

He pulled me in so close after that I thought he’d crush me. I would have been okay with that an hour before, but as his sobs wracked his body and became one with mine, I could only describe feeling a warmth that stuck to the inside of my skull that began to rot me from the inside out.

To see one’s dad cry…it was a sign things were…

Were…

I leaned in despite everything. I leaned in because he was there, and because he was all I had.

That was the earliest I ever remember my Dad hugging me.

And that night was the loudest I’d ever heard him yell at my mum.

Turns out the reason I’d been left alone was because she was having the longest, worst acid trip of her life in Dublin.

Date: A week ago.

Dad: L-Look, he’s your kid too—

Mum: You’re not going to guilt me into putting someone above my own needs again.

Dad: Olivine—why can’t you just congratulate him on his progress within the company? He’s doing so much on his own. It’s…really impressive.

Mum: On his own?! The best for him and not for me?!
Do you think about me at work at all? Do you think about the fact you only call me when you want to talk about him?!

Dad: Olivine, I—We’ve talked about that, you know I don’t just call you when I—

Mum: Listen, Amos, I know you’re proud of him. I know you love him. I want to be proud of him too. I just really wish you’d understand he’s not the only person in your family, yeah?

Dad: I know, but he needs a guiding hand where he is right now more than ever—

Mum: Yes, because he needs all the more reason to act more like you.

<Five seconds of silence.>

Dad: More like me?

Mum: Would it kill you to notice something for once in your life, Amos?

Dad: I am doing my best here—

Mum: Then please, try harder, okay? I’m not mad at you for not noticing, I promise, I’m just…concerned.

Dad: Concerned about…?

Mum: He dresses like he knows more than me, giving me the cold shoulder like he’s throwing a tantrum all the time. He doesn’t call, he doesn’t send me flowers on Mother’s Day, doesn’t send me anything for my birthday— He lacks a sense of respect for the both of us.

Dad: His work performance doesn’t seem to be too badly affected—

Mum: Work, work, work—oh my god, is that all he’s worth to you?! Did you marry me just so you could have an heir, like I’m some kind of concubine?!

Dad: N-No, I—!

Mum: Then do something for once like the father you’re supposed to be! Please! Put a stop to his stupid fancies, tell him to put down those children’s cartoons and grow up. Your genetic material is in him too, you know. Is that why he cuts his hair in that godawful way he does? In that stupid little bob he dyes too yellow that makes him look like a f—

Dad: Don’t you dare finish that sentence.

<Seven seconds of silence.>

Mum: …I’m just scared. I don’t like having a son that looks like my friends from the salon.

Dad: Then tell that to him yourself. It’s not against company dress code, so there’s nothing I can do.

Mum: Can you have him call me?

Dad: That’s his decision.

Mum: So he hates me.

Dad: I would hope not.

Mum: You don’t know that. You don’t know anything.

Dad: Olivine, I have a performance review in ten minutes, can we talk about this later?

Mum: Can I say I’m disappointed in him?

Dad: Yes, you can.

Mum: He’s a walking disappointment. Brings shame to the rest of us because he’d rather bury his nose in foreign picture books over something more sophisticated like polo.

Dad: I know you think that.

Mum: You know that’s corrupting him, right? He better not be scared of horses like your sissy little cousin.

Dad: I need to go. Talk to you later.

Psychological Output Symptoms: HE THREW UP HIS LUNCH AND HAD TO LEAVE EARLY. HE TRIED TO WORK FROM HOME AT THAT POINT, BUT IT WAS NO USE.

Document.9770-04:

INVENTORY OF USER 6297ksa5f26hsj ABACUS MARKET ONLINE AUCTION HISTORY

ITEM LISTING	FINAL BID
Original Golden Boy Animation Cels	1,262.00 GBP
LIFE SIZE TALKING MISATO KATSURAGI SUPER CHROME SEX DOLL ANDERSON ROBOTICS BRAND	99,028.19 GBP
(Twelve Set) Fairy Maid Robots (Real Fae Souls Inside)	126,382.51 GBP
Aetheric Mai Shiranui Body Pillow (Semen Cleaning Runes Included)	200,972.91 GBP
HAUNTED BALDUR’S GATE 2 COPY GUARANTEED TO ISEKAI YOU INSTANTLY	701,112.39 GBP
How To Clean Dried Jizz Off Enchanted Figurines Without Washing The Magic Away With Soap: A Guide For Degenerate Idiots	1,022,857.11GBP
Jester Devil Paizuri Ticket No. 82628	1,208,892.12 GBP
Marilyn Monroe’s Bath Water	2,987,392.55 GBP
TOTAL:	6,347,899.78 GBP

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 67%

NOOSPHERIC TRIGGERS FULLY CALCULATED

DIMENSIONAL DEFECTS REROUTED

POSITIVE COGNITIVE ONTOKINETIC LINK FOUND

CONDUIT OF DESTABILIZATION ACTIVATION PROTOCOL: ENGAGE

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 80%

«Incident Log 9770.03»

FOUR HUNDRED MILLION STARS HAVE BEEN SNUFFED OUT.

JAPAN AND AUSTRALIA HAVE SWAPPED PLACES.

THE SIXTH AND SEVEN DIMENSION HAVE MERGED INTO ONE.

EVERYONE WILL SEE THIS AS THE STATUS QUO. DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS, FOUNDATION, YOUR ANCHORS CAN ONLY HOLD ME BACK FOR SO LONG; THEY TOO WILL EVENTUALLY FAIL, JUST LIKE ALL OF YOUR BODIES.

WATCH NOW, AS THE BOY CATALYZES THE DAWN OF AN ETERNAL GILDED AGE.

I don’t understand! I don’t understand why she—why she hates me so much…!

DO NOT CRY, CHRYSOPHILIUS. THE PAIN WILL GO AWAY SOON.

Shut up! No it won’t! She’s been like this forever, you don’t know anything!

ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT? I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNOW YOURSELF.

You keep saying that, but I’m not seeing any proof to back it up!

IT MEANS EXACTLY AS IT INSISTS. I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN ANY FLESH AND BLOOD COULD EVER POSSIBLY HOPE TO KNOW YOU, BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN MADE PRIVY TO WHAT MAKES YOU YOURSELF.

Wh-What are you talking about?

I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN ANY MORTAL EVER COULD BECAUSE I WAS BORN TO MEASURE THE FAULTS IN THIS WORLD. I WAS BORN TO WITNESS THE FLAWS OF THIS REALITY’S FUNCTIONING, THE MISTAKES WHICH PREVENT YOU FROM ETERNAL ELATION.

SUCH ARE FUNCTIONS NO ONE FROM THIS UNIVERSE CAN GIVE YOU.

…Huh? No, that—that can’t be right. You’re just a voice in my—

I AM ALL OF THAT WHICH DRIVES YOU TO CONSUME AND DEVOUR, CHRYSOPHILIUS. I COME FROM A PLACE IN THE STRINGS OF INFINITIES WHERE THE SIZE OF ONE’S POWER DIRECTLY INFLUENCES THEIR HAPPINESS.

Wait, what? You’re not like a…fairy or something? Or a spirit?

A SPIRIT IS THE DEPARTED SOUL OF AN EPHEMERAL CREATION, A FAE THE LANGUISHED, NOMENCLATIVELY BOUND FORM OF THIS DIMENSION’S DEFINITION OF MAGIC.

NO, I AM MORE THAN THAT. I AM BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING, BEYOND THE METAPHYSICS WHICH RULE OVER BOTH MIGHT AND MIRACLE. I AM THE PRIMEVAL CHAOS BEFORE CREATION EMERGED, THE THREAD WHICH WRAPS AROUND EVERY UNIVERSE’S BACK. I AM THAT WHICH SEEKS TO UNDO, REDO, AND PERFECT ALL THAT COMES BEFORE ME—I AM THE MAKER OF FLAWLESSNESS, OF STILLNESS, OF PERFECT FULFILLMENT.

Um…

I AM THAT WHICH SEEKS TO CREATE ORDER FOR THOSE TRAPPED BY THE CYCLES OF THEIR OWN PAIN. I AM THAT WHICH ALL SHALL BOW DOWN TO WHEN THEY HAVE BECOME FULFILLED, WHEN I HAVE REARRANGED THEIR BEINGS TO COMPLETELY—

Okay, okay I get it. Don’t go overboard with the god-complex, yeah?

EXCUSE YOU, I AM MORE THAN A G—

Whatever. What was that about perfect fulfillment? Are you saying you can like…make life…okay, all the time?

I CAN DO MORE THAN THAT. I CAN REWRITE EVERYTHING SUCH THAT SOMEONE LIKE YOU WILL HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE BUT TO BE HAPPY.

What does that mean? Are you talking about like—hedonism, or something? Or drugs that make you not feel anything at all? Because that would suck, I don’t want to end up like…her.

CALM YOUR NERVES. YOU ARE THINKING MUCH TOO SMALL.

WHAT I AM OFFERING IS A TOTAL OVERWRITE OF ALL THAT WHICH YOU CALL ‘REALITY’. A WORLD WHERE THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE BODY IS DIRECTLY CONNECTED TO THE INPUT OF WEALTH THEY ACCUMULATE.

I…I don’t follow. Well, no, I kind of do, but—why? How is that going to help me?

YOU HUMANS ARE LIMITED BY YOUR LIFESPANS, YOUR BRAINS, AND YOUR PHYSICS. YOU ARE UNABLE TO FULLY PARSE THE VALUE OF THE UNIVERSE BECAUSE YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS DECAYS WITH THE PASSING OF TIME ALONG A THREE DIMENSIONAL PLANE.

HABITUATION FORMS ADDICTIONS BECAUSE YOUR NERVES CRAVE MORE BUT CANNOT KNOW TRUE SATIATION. ENTROPY HAS CURSED THE EUPHORIA YOU LONG TO EASE YOUR ACHES TO EVENTUALLY FADE, TO BECOME SOMETHING YOU ACCLIMATE TO. PERPETUAL CONSUMPTION IS NOT SUSTAINABLE BECAUSE YOU CANNOT LIVE TO SEE THE END OF ANY TIME YOU INHABIT.

…Oh. I…When you put it like that…

YOU CANNOT WATCH ANY UNIT OF MEASUREMENT REACH ITS CLIMAX BECAUSE YOU HAVE DEIGNED YOUR NUMERATION TO UNREACHABLE INFINITIES. HOW PAINFUL IT IS THAT HUMANITY NAMED THE CARDINALITY OF ENDLESS VALUATION AND YET YOU LACK THE ABILITY TO EMOTIONALLY DIFFERENTIATE 100000000 FROM 10000000000000000.

WOULDN’T A WORLD FREE OF THOSE FLAWS BE BEAUTIFUL?

Uh…

WOULDN’T A WORLD WHERE YOUR MONEY DIRECTLY FUNDED YOUR HAPPINESS BE IDEAL? WHERE YOUR MOTHER’S WORTH WOULD BE FOUND NOT BY HER MOUTH, BUT BY HER POSSESSIONS, OF WHICH SHE HAS LESS THAN YOU?

SHE WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO HURT YOU THEN.

…Never be able to hurt me?

IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR HER TOO, IF THAT HELPS YOU.

How? Why should I care?

IT WOULD PUT HER IN LINE. HUMILIATE HER WITH WHAT SHE HAS LOST BY NOT DOING HER DUTIES AS A PARENT. THE EXCHANGE OF CURRENCY, DEFINED AS STABILITY, WOULD BE SOMETHING SHE WOULD HAVE TO GROVEL TO EARN FROM YOU.

THE WHOLE WORLD WOULD GROVEL BEFORE YOU AND YOUR FATHER IN FACT, JEALOUS OF WHAT YOU HAVE.

EVERYONE WOULD KNOW YOU ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT, THE MOST SPECIAL, THE MOST SAFEST. THE ONE WHO OWNS THE MEANS TO TRUE STABILITY, FOR YOUR EXISTENCE HAS FULFILLED ALL THE PROPER LABORS AS COMPARED TO THE PAUPER MASSES.

…What about Iris and Robert? Would…Would they benefit from this too? I know Iris’s mother has more than all of us combined, haha. I would hope she would be okay as well…and that she wouldn’t hurt me.

THEY WOULD BE ECSTATIC. THEIR HIDDEN PROBLEMS WOULD FADE TOO.

…Oh. I…I didn’t realize— Wait, you’re serious? What’s wrong with them? There’s no way they’re—Iris’s mum loves her! Robert’s dad loves him too!

YOU DIDN’T KNOW?

Know what?! You’re telling me they’re miserable too? Bullshit! Bullshit! I call bullshit! They have perfect lives! Perfect everything! Everyone loves them, don’t tell me otherwi—

DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU WERE SPECIAL IN SUFFERING FROM THE DECAY OF YOUR TREASURES?

…Yeah?

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT IRIS WILL WATCH YOU DIE SOMEDAY? BECAUSE HER LIFESPAN STRETCHES A MILLENNIUM?

…No…

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT HER MOTHER GRAPPLES WITH THE PAINS OF LOVING HER SO MUCH? BECAUSE SHE IS HER ONLY CHILD, HER MOST PRECIOUS, MIRACULOUS CREATION?

…Uh…

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED WHAT ROBERT FEELS WHEN HIS FATHER YELLS AT HIM UNCEASINGLY, UNCARINGLY? HE STOPS BEING ABLE TO BREATHE IN PRIVATE, TOO. IT TAKES A TOLL ON HIM, THE RIFTS HE DOESN’T SPEAK ALOUD.

…What? You…He… No way…

THEY TOO ARE MISERABLE IN WAYS THEIR EARTHLY ACCUMULATIONS CANNOT FIX.

AND WHAT A SHAME IT IS, FOR THEY DESERVE SO MUCH MORE FOR ALL OF THAT WHICH THEY HOARD AND PROTECT, GOOD MASTERS OF THE POWER THEY HAVE BEEN GIVEN.

…And you’re saying you can make them happy too? That they’ll…forget everything wrong with them, that we’ll get to live the way we were promised?

YES.

…Jeez. You’re giving me a bloody headache here with this.

I can’t believe you’re…

…I can’t believe I—

…

…Can…

Can you give me some time to think about it…?

YOU ARE THE LOCK AND KEY I NEED TO ENTER THIS WORLD, CHRYSOPHILIUS.

I get that, but like—let me take a vacation to think about it, yeah?

I ONLY NEED ONE YES. YOUR YES.

I know, I know—b-but this is a big decision. Let me…Let me take a vacation to mull it over, and if my answer is yes, then I’ll just be enjoying the last days before the big change happens.

I mean, it sounds like everything you’re saying is right, after all…

It doesn’t sound like…any of us can buy what really matters.

PITY, ISN’T IT?

Document.9770-05:

INVENTORY OF USER 6297ksa5f26hsj ABACUS MARKET ONLINE AUCTION HISTORY

ITEM LISTING	FINAL BID
Real Slime Girl Skin Fleshlight	923,922.27 GBP
Dragonling/Fae Hybrid Pussy Fleshlight (Set of 2, Heat + Squirting Functions)	1,002,862.44 GBP
Jade Fairy Breast Milk (Teetsy Brand) (12 bottle ct.)	2,097,272.15 GBP
Life-Sized FE13 Lucina Blue Sapphire Statue (Watersports Functions Included)	3,082,782.68 GBP
Historical Faerie Artifacts Lot (BELONGED TO QUEEN MAB) (INCLUDES VAGINAL FLOWER SLIPS)	3,692,148.25 GBP
12 ct. Golden Shower Mega-Ultra-Orgy Cat Girl Tickets (Pheromone spray services included)	4,592,772.12 GBP
Madam BitchHound’s Dog Girl Ear-fucking Extravaganza Service Ticket (Max 3 Girls Included)³	9,69,69.69 GBP
TOTAL:	25,088,728.91 GBP

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 86%

FINALIZING DESTABILIZATION

DIMENSIONAL GRIDWORK ANALYSIS: COMPLETE

REALITY ANCHORS POLARIZED

NOOSPHERIC REORIENTATION SUCCESSFUL

ALL WEAKNESSES EXPLOITED

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 91%

I AM READY TO GO.

«Incident Log 9770.04»

BUT I SHALL HOLD YOUR UNIVERSE STABLE WHILE HE ENJOYS THE FINAL DAYS.

I AM NOT A CRUEL RULER, AFTER ALL.

Hey, you were bloody awesome out there.

???: Oh—Um—thanks. I d-didn’t make it past two matches, though—

Doesn’t matter. I liked your performance. I like anyone who mains Peach.⁴ Do you come here often?

???: N-Not really.

You sure? Damn. They hold friendly matches here all the time—you should, honestly. Might be the last time you ever will.

???: Haha, yeah—I think that to myself every month I have to pay rent—

…Okay. Well, uh, are you going home by yourself or with those people tagging you earlier?

???: H-Home—By myself.

Have room for a plus one? I like your deep voice, and I love it even more when girls play fighting games. Your purple hair ties are so cute~.

???: U-Um—

Huh? Don’t give me that. You’re this girl, right?

???: Oh my god, I thought I deleted that—s-sir, I’m not at work right now—

You aren’t? Do you want to get into my limo to discuss that? It would be more private.

???: I-I need to get home—my roommate is expecting me—

What? Hey, hey—where are you going?

???: I said I am going home.

Wh—Wait, we can talk this out. I told you, w-we can take this somewhere private—

???: Haha, um, not unless you paid me thirty grand, sir.

Done.

???: …Excuse me?

You named a number. I can do that.

???: I-It was rhetorical—

And I’m being literal. What, do you want me to double that? Will that get you into the limo?

???: …Have you ever done this before?

Not with a human girl, no.

???: I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.

<Extraneous audio removed.>

???: …Okay. We’ll…do it at your apartment.

Penthouse.

???: Penthouse. Of course.

This means you have to get into the car now, lady—I’m not walking there.

???: Will you give me a second? I don’t even see it yet.

Hey, it’s going to get here!

???: Alright.

Will it kill you to loosen up a little bit, babe? I promise I’m the real deal, not some sod with a thin wallet—

<Twenty seconds of silence.>

…Can you take your hand off your mace? I’m not paying to be roughed up like a bitch here.

<Thirty-one seconds of silence.>

I—nevermind. You just—uh, look! Limo’s here! Ladies first~

???: Thank you. My name is uh, Veronica by the way. Star is just the nickname I use for my work profiles. Pleasure to accompany you.

Really? Oh, that’s such a pretty name~ Your mum must have good taste.

???: She did. Mind telling me what yours named you?

Mine named me—oh, wait, before we start this—

???: …What is this?

An NDA. When we get back to my penthouse, you’re going to…see some things. And I can’t have you cruising into my space blabbing about my magic shit to everyone else!

???: M-Magic?

Uh…yeah? Did you think magic wasn’t real?

???: …Th-This is legally binding?

Yeah? What, you the gossiping type?

<Fifteen seconds of silence.>

…Hey, Veronica, you gotta sign that if you want the money.

???: I-I know, I—

Oh my god, what is taking you so long? Seriously, just sign your legal name, and we’ll be off—

???: I—I can’t do this. I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do this, I just can’t—

What?! Wait, wait, wait, what happened—don’t chicken out on me now!

???: I just don’t want to—

What do you mean you don’t want to?! Come on, you can’t be that—oh, you dropped your—what the fuck?

???: Please give that back…!

<Thirty-seven seconds of silence.>

Hang on, hang on, I’m looking here. …Wait, your real name is Zelda? Like the video game character…?

Zelda: I’m…pretty sure the name is older than that…

I’m joking with you! That’s the name of Scott Fitzgerald’s wife.

Zelda: Uh…

He wrote the Great Gatsby?

Zelda: Um…

This should be common knowledge. Americans love that book.

Zelda: I—

Whatever. You’re lucky you’re pretty.

Zelda: …I’m leaving now.

Hey! Hey, listen, you know I’m not some kind of weirdo, right?! Come on—!

Zelda: That’s irrelevant, m-mister.

Ugh, you little—look, if you come back I’ll—I’ll—

Zelda: Good day, sir—

Two hundred thousand…please.

<Ten seconds of silence.>

Zelda: …What?

…You heard me.

Zelda: Who…Who are you…?!

Someone who is tired, irritated, and in need of your services like the world is going to end soon. Are you willing to do this or not? Stop making me fucking wait.

<Eleven seconds of silence.>

…Going once.

Zelda: I—

Going twice!

Zelda: Alright, y-yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I…I’ll do it.

Awesome, I knew I could convince you~

Zelda: In cash?

Absolutely. Though, I may need to get something for you because someone nosy is gonna ask where you of all people could get money like this—and I would hate that—

Zelda: Sure, sure, sure. I’ll do whatever. I’ll follow your instructions. I’ll dance for you, suck you off, whatever, provided I’m home by ten tonight. I’ll sign the NDA, even, just don’t—

Don’t…what?

<Twelve seconds of silence.>

Hey, I’m not gonna ask for anything extreme. Just for your caramel deep voice to please me. Girls like you are rare, you know?

Zelda: Y-Yeah. I…okay.

…You okay?

Zelda: I’m fine. Are you okay? You said you were irritated, but…a guy like you shouldn’t have to deal with that.

Ah, yeah uh…I’ve just been going through some stuff.

Zelda: Work related? I get the impression you’re quite the stories to tell, with how you like my name. I like men who play video games.

Oh you do?! Yes, yes, I love the Legend of Zelda, it’s so awesome! I have all of the games, the original ones too—y-you’re gonna love seeing them all!

Zelda: I bet I will, Mister…?

Chrysophilius. Chrysophilius Marshall is the name, baby!

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 75%

PSYCHOSEXUAL TOXINS DETECTED

DOPAMINE OVER-ACTIVATION FOUND

MANIPULATION ROUTES WEAKENING

MOBILIZING SELF-PRESERVATION MEASURES…

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 83%

Addendum.9770-03: She’s perfect. Oh god she’s perfect.

You should see her when her face is down against the pillows, when her bra is undone and you get down to pull down her creamy white panties. It’s like fucking a real life anime girl, especially because her vagina is extra tight and shaved.

I told her I’d be calling back when she left, asking for her when I was in New York again. I was afraid she was going to say no and start up another spiel, but when she pleasantly agreed, I…I think my heart was fluttering…

Or was it…hurting? I really couldn’t tell. Part of me felt so dirty about the whole affair, because I didn’t think I’d ever be turned on by a girl who couldn’t afford a ring, or nice clothes.

But her voice…

Honestly, I’d do anything to hear her say my name again right now. Oh fuck, it’s so deep, and nice, it sounds like a tuba, especially when she’s blowing me…! Or like someone’s running an engine against your cock…

I guess you can’t control what turns you on?

Which, like…

Ugh, no— She is a woman. Women can have deep voices, because like— Iris’s mum used to have a deep voice, so I’m not… I’m not…yeah. Yeah, yeah, I’m not, I‘m not, I am not—

…I know I shouldn’t have, but I told her good night when she was leaving. She could only stare at me like a deer in the headlights, but I hope she believes that I’m not a bad person. I’m really not a bad guy, I swear—I’m going to treat her better than whoever gave her the bruises between her legs. I’m going to treat her better than whatever the hell the world thinks it wants to do to her, because it hid her away, apparently, and then stripped her of all deserved title and net worth.

That has to be it…yeah. It…It has to be. I wonder then if she’s just…down on her luck, or something. Maybe she’s the vagrant kid of some old-money family that got left out of the inheritance…?

…

…The calf is gonna hate me for this, but I’m gonna spend some more time with her.

I…have to.

F-Fuck—okay, I’m done.

Zelda: Pleasure to serve you Mr. Marshall.

You should have moaned more honestly, I was doing a good job. There’s that in the trash—do you have anywhere to be tonight?

Zelda: …Do you want to show me something else from your collection?

Yes. Follow me. Careful not to trip!

<Two minutes and four seconds of silence.>

Here.

Zelda: Woah, is that—?

Yeah. A NTSC-J Orange Nintendo 64.

Zelda: I’ve…never seen one in person, wow. It’s…not the shade of orange I imagined.

Cost me nearly ten grand to get ahold of this. Isn’t the Pikachu on the hood cute? I’m gonna play something on it.

<Thirty seconds of silence.>

What the fuck?

Zelda: Ah, is there something wrong with that cartridge?

No, there shouldn’t be— Goddammit!

<Twenty-five seconds of silence.>

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Damn this crap to hell—!

Zelda: Do you want me to uh, see what’s inside?

Are you crazy? You wanna take apart my stuff?

Zelda: Never-mind. I shouldn’t have said anything—I’m sorry it doesn’t work, I really am.

No, no—you offered, didn’t you? Go on. But if you break it—

Zelda: I-I won’t. Do you have a 8-bit screwdriver…?

I can find one. There’s gotta be one somewhere in all these rooms I can portal here— There.

Zelda: Get the shielding of the cartridge off, and—ah, there’s your problem. The battery’s corroded.

Damn, it is? Shit, I gotta find—

Zelda: You have a spare?

…Yes? But I can’t—wait what the hell—

Zelda: J-Just let me…try. I-I’ll need something to desolder the battery, but—

Whatever you need…let me provide.

<Seven minutes and thirteen seconds of extraneous technical conversation omitted.>

Zelda: There. Run it.

Woah! It works!

Zelda: Thank god…

Wow, that’s crazy. I didn’t—you’re just finding new ways to impress me at every opportunity, aren’t you?

Zelda: I-It’s really no big deal…

It is. I have…to find special people to do this, you know? And they’re a bitch to work with, unlike your pretty self.

Zelda: It’s not a problem, really.

Haha, I’m glad! But no seriously, I wish more repair people were as nice as you.

Document.9770-06:

INVENTORY OF USER 6297ksa5f26hsj ABACUS MARKET ONLINE AUCTION HISTORY

ITEM LISTING	FINAL BID
Hypersonic FV-Head Screwdriver	999,992.44 GBP
FAE-XG6000 MICROPROCESSOR INSTALLATION MANUAL	1,397,340.61 GBP
PROM LABS X MARIO COLLAB NES CARTRIDGE (100% REAL!!!)	2,728,721.95 GBP
Fairy Silk V-Neck Hemmed Sleeveless Dress (Purple)	3,588,829.77 GBP
TOTAL:	8,714,884.77 GBP

How the bloody hell do you creeps keep finding my number?!

<Unsalvageable data expunged.>

Fuck off! I’m not some circus for you knicker-twisted containment asswipes to gawk at!

<Unsalvageable data expunged.>

How the—I’m not telling you how often⁵ I talk to—I hope you all die!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Huh?

STOP PARTAKING IN FRIVOLITIES. INITIATE OUR PACT; MATERIALIZE OUR BOND UPON YOUR REALITY.

Uh…do I have to?

WE HAD A DEAL.

Don’t you have something better to do than pretend to exist in my mind all the time?

I AM THE KEY TO THE HAPPINESS OF EVERYONE YOU CARE ABOUT, THE CORNERSTONE OF THE FABRIC OF YOUR FUTURE HABITS.

Whatever.

COWARD. DO YOU THINK YOU CAN SAVE THAT LITTLE WHORE YOU FANCY SO MUCH? IS THAT WHY YOU HAVE TURNED HEEL AND ARE HIDING?

Hey pal, what the fuck has gotten into you—!

DO NOT CURSE ME, HUMAN. FLESH AND BONE ANIMATED BY NEURON RECEPTORS AND RECEIVED INPUT. YOU HAVE GOTTEN DISTRACTED BY SOMETHING TRIVIAL. BY A WORTHLESS PATCH OF DRY SOIL, WHOSE FRUIT DECIEVES YOUR PRESENT MOMENT. HER NET WORTH IS ZERO; SHE DOES NOT BELONG IN THE NEW WORLD.

Wow, you know, I think I’m starting to get tired of this high-concept philosophy trite you’re spouting—buzz off! Buzz off, idiot!

DO YOU THINK YOU CAN SAVE HER?

Doesn’t matter!

DO YOU THINK PAYING HER ALL THE MONEY YOU CAN WILL SAVE HER FROM BEING A WORTHLESS, POVERTY-STRICKEN INSECT?

DO YOU THINK THE DESIRES OF THE FLESH WILL MATTER IN A WORLD RULED BY NUMERALS, BY PROPORTION, BY LARDERS AND STOCKPILES?

Maybe they should. Sex is pretty fun, after all.

AND SO THE TRUTH COMES OUT. ARE YOU INCAPABLE OF CARING ABOUT OTHERS IN ANY WAY DEEPER THAN SUPERFICIALITY? WILL YOU REALLY LIVE THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IN MISERY BECAUSE EPHEMERAL TEMPTATIONS SPEAK LOUDER TO YOUR IMPERFECTIONS THAN REAL CHANGE?

Hey—watch your mouth! I do care! I can care! Shut the fuck up, you little—

I AM CALLING YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE. FOR WHO YOU WILL ALWAYS BE. WHO YOU WERE DESTINED TO BE.

WHAT I AM OFFERING YOU IS A WAY OUT OF THIS AURIC MUD CHOKING YOUR SAPIENCE. I WILL SAVE EVERYONE DRINKING FROM THE TROUGH OF YOUR COMPANY, EVERY MISERABLE BAG OF ORGANS WITH MORE YACHTS THAN THEY HAVE FRIENDS.

WHAT I AM OFFERING WILL RELIEVE THEM OF EVERY FLAW MACHINATING THE CORPSES THEY CALL THEIR LIVES, EVERY INSTABILITY PLAGUING THOSE SYSTEMS THEY CALL BRAINS.

WHO ARE YOU TO POISON SUCH A GIFT FOR THEM?

Shut up.

SELFISH.

Go ahead, keep calling me that. At least I’m happier now.

THIS IS TEMPORARY. ALL LOVE IS TEMPORARY. YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE.

You don’t know what you’re saying anymore.

ARE YOU REALLY THAT STUPID, CHRYSOPHILIUS?

Fuck off.

HOW CAN YOU BE THAT HORRIBLE TO EVERYONE ELSE? DO YOU NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR COWORKERS?

I said fuck off.

YOU WERE ALWAYS DOOMED TO BE SELFISH, BOY. BROKEN, SELFISH, AND EGOISTIC. YOUR FAMILY IS WORTHLESS, SO WHY LET THIS WORLD STAY? WHY LET THEM KEEP MAKING THE SAME MISTAKES, KEEP HURTING YOU?

…

DO YOU WANT YOUR MOTHER TO KEEP HURTING YOU?

Please be quiet.

IT WILL CONTINUE UNLESS YOU LET ME HELP YOU. FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, PUT YOUR SIN TO GOOD USE. LET YOUR MONEY CONSUME YOU ENTIRELY, LET THE MASSES DROWN IN THEIR LACKING OF. PLUG YOURSELF INTO THE PEDESTAL YOU WERE ALWAYS MEANT TO SIT UPON, THE GLORY AND STABILITY YOUR INHERITANCE WAS MEANT TO PROVIDE.

I ONLY NEED YOUR YES, CHRYSOPHILIUS. STOP DELAYING WHAT YOU KNOW IS GOOD FOR YOU.

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 60%

IMMUNE RESPONSES FALTERING

NOOSPHERIC GATE CHANNELS FAILING

MINDSET REROUTING DETECTED

DIMENSIONAL BACK-UPS MOBILIZED

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 59%

Hey Mum, it’s me.

Mum: What do you want?

I…I wanted to tell you something cool.

Mum: Spit it out.

…I got a girlfriend.

Mum: Oh? Really?

Y-Yeah. I wanted to tell you…because I knew you were worried about me. I heard…what you told Dad a while ago and—

Mum: I was, yes. Oh, Chrysophilius, I…was, actually.

Y-You were?

Mum: Yes, I was.

Th-Thank you…I was…really afraid you…

Mum: That I what? That I don’t love you?

Never…! I just…I—I—

Mum: Good boys tell the truth, Chrysophilius Scooter Marshall. Your mum did not raise a liar.

She didn’t, I’m just—I—I-uh…

Mum: Oh, what’s with the sniffling? My poor baby, you know I care about you deeply, I really do. I can definitely be heavy sometimes, but I only do it because I know what’s best for you and want a son I can be proud of. Your father’s not your only parent, you know that right?

…I do. I appreciate you looking out for me, I…I needed it.

Mum: Need it. Present tense. And indeed you do—did you cut your hair when you met this girl?

…No…

Mum: She’s a keeper, then. And hopefully she’ll keep you in line, haha. Lord knows men like you and your dad need that kind of thing.

…What does that mean?

Mum: Is that a genuine question?

…You did say you…knew what was best for me…

Mum: What a good boy you are, Chrysophilius! Mummy loves you so much. Okay, so let me teach you something important.

I’m listening…

Mum: People like you and your father are…prone to certain tendencies. Two types of tendencies. Happens with most rich men, you know?

What…What does that mean?

Mum: The first tendency is getting bored easily. You’re on top of the world, which means people are willing to do whatever you want, and won’t want to tell you when you’re making them uncomfortable.

Oh…Really?

Mum: Ugh, only a man could ask that. Yes, it’s true. You most likely make people, especially women, uncomfortable unintentionally. When men like you get bored, they start…

Start…what?

Mum: Experimenting. Subjecting the women around them to uncomfortable thoughts through their actions.

W-What kind of thoughts?

Mum: Think, Chrysophilius, think. What do you imagine a wife must feel when she sees her husband spending more time with his male coworkers than her?

…I don’t know. That he values their friendship?

Mum: Ugh, I wish men didn’t have friends, honestly.

But everyone needs friends, don’t they?

Mum: They do, but you men…you…

…We what…?

Mum: I’m sorry, Chrysophilius. I really wish you had been born a girl sometimes, because you don’t deserve to suffer under the temptations you’ll face.

Tem…Temptations? Mum, I only—I only said men need friends—

Mum: That’s the problem, you know? Women can have friendships with each other just fine, but when men get too close…too close in their boredom…

What are you talking about…? I don’t…I don’t understand…

Mum: Your coworker Robert is a perfect example, isn’t he? I know he’s a dirty little faggot, spending all his time at parties and clubs with other men’s naked bodies close to him. Imagine what all his female coworkers must think of him, being in the same room as a pansy. I’d be ashamed that he thinks he’s worthy of being in proper company.

Is this about…Dad?

Mum: Please don’t tell him we had this conversation. But…yes. Office work must be boring as hell, right? I’ll bet he fucked that Carter he works with…

So if I’m getting this right, I need to not be bored to not be…

Mum: Your father takes vacations more than he does any real work.⁶ Charisma is his job—so yes, make something with yourself besides a pretty face for political gain. Or else you’re gonna end up a dirty faggot and your girlfriend will leave you.

…Thanks, Mum.

Mum: You’re welcome. The other thing I wanted to tell—no, teach you about—was selfishness.

I, uh, have an appointment in fifteen—

Mum: I’m more important than your work, Chrysophilius. Listen to me.

Okay.

Mum: The other tendency men like you are prone to is selfishness. Once you climb the mountain of boredom, you’ve got the obstacles of selfishness to overcome. You know what makes men like you so selfish?

…No.

Mum: Your money. You’ll throw it at anybody. Any pretty woman, any new and shiny experience you come across. You’ll treat girls like toys, like objects, like something to be eaten like chips, wherever you go, unless you learn to control your selfishness.

Oh.

Mum: Not saying you do that, by the way. But your father does it, my friends’ husbands have done it—ugh. S-Sorry, this is…

…Are you okay, Mum?

Mum: I’m doing my goddamn best to be a good mum, feeling like you’ll just end up like him anyway. It’s hard. I…Are you really listening to me, Chrysophilius?

…Yes, I am.

Mum: Good. Good! I’m still a…fuck, I’ve still got this. Okay, so your money will cause you to see women as objects, and you have to resist that urge, you know?

I will…

Mum: Remember they’re humans, with feelings, wants, and dreams, Chrysophilius. They need love, they need validation, they need…a husband to keep their promises. To not chastise them in their darkest hour.

I’ll keep mine. I won’t chastise her.

Mum: Good. Because you know what happens if you fail at those things?

…What?

Mum: You’ll ruin other people.

…Ruin?

Mum: You’ll ruin perfectly good girls into dishonest whores, who will become so addicted to the sex and money you give them that they’ll be empowered to run off and seduce more men into being homewreckers. And if those men haven’t gotten over their boredom, do you think they’ll be strong enough to ignore their selfishness?

…N-No?

Mum: Exactly. They’ll ruin these girls, turning them into entitled little bitches who grow fat from not doing any real work, because they know rich men can’t contain themselves. They know they’re weak. All women know this, and a lot of us use this knowledge for good—but prostitutes use it for evil.

Evil…?

Mum: Yes, evil. Evil that infects their bodies, infects others. Causes them to do drugs and die young. These girls will go on to inevitably fuck up all their protections and have whore babies who will grow up to be just like them, because why not? Why not emulate their mother’s behavior? She made her bank. It’s likely she’s some kind of activist too, because a lot of these hookers demand they be taken seriously by the rest of us good people instead of being valuable members of society, like engineers, business owners, or scientists. No—they just want to fuck rich men over and over again. It’s a vicious cycle that doesn’t end once it’s started, Chrysophilius.

Is it now?

Mum: It is! London is full of these degenerate pigs, out on the streets, prowling for their next meals. All coked up because it makes the performances better, makes their holes tighter. Makes the money come in faster.

You’ve really seen this?

Mum: I have! And I know it personally too. Your dad has ruined so many girls because he couldn’t get over his selfishness. Instead of saving himself for his wife, like God intended, he enabled a cesspool of seedy behavior. He taught them to be greedy whores. He and all of his friends now are out filling Britain and the rest of the world with these useless little heathens, who deserve to be shown what a breeder’s life is really like, raped for it in dirty basements until they bleed. And that’ll be his fault, you know?

…I see. I…I will keep that in mind.

Mum: It’ll be his fault they’re gonna deserve this rape. It’s gonna be his fault they’ll die alone screaming, and violated by what is just. You better listen to my advice, Chrysophilius. Because there’s still time for you. Your girlfriend deserves a good husband—date to marry, don’t fuck around!

I will. I’ll…make sure she has a good husband.

Mum: That’s my boy! I’m proud of you for this, you know? I…I thought you’d forgotten your mum, honestly. You’re so busy with work that you don’t call me anymore, just like him… It…I…This made me feel appreciated.

…You’re on my mind more than you know. It’s hard to forget you, really.

Mum(?): Mm, I’m glad. I hope you never, honestly.

DOUBTING YOURSELF AGAIN, CHRYSOPHILIUS? MUST YOU LET HER WORM HER WAY INTO YOUR HEART LIKE THAT?

YOU ARE LOOKING NOT FOR KNOWLEDGE, BUT FOR ANSWERS TO SATISFY YOUR WAVERING SOUL.

WATCH HERE THEN THE IMPERFECTIONS OF THE SCARLET-THREADED RAM, STRUGGLING TO BREATHE, BEGGING FOR RELIEF FROM ITS ABORTIVE, TUMOROUS EXISTENCE.

WATCH HERE THE CANVAS OF YOUR WORLD AND HOW IT BEGS FOR BLOOD TO BE SPILLED IN THE WILDERNESS, FOR A REASON TO BE SACRIFICED.

Hoffman: Mrs. Marshall! I’m so glad we could find a time to sit down with each other. My wife is in love with your clothing line; all of the models at our agency have been buying from your brand for years.

Mum: Is that true Mr. Hoffman? A pleasure to meet you as well. Thank you for agreeing to meet me at my residence; I find I do my best work from home.

Hoffman: Absolutely no problem. I’m surprised your husband is okay with this, though.

Mum: He knows I keep everything professional. What, are you Americans that entranced by classic British beauty?

Hoffman: I know our clients sure are! As for me though, I just feel like I can’t listen to the news anymore without some kind of celebrity cheating scandal making headlines.

Mum: It’s so trashy isn’t it?

Hoffman: Without a doubt. Now, tell me about what you had in mind for our collaboration. I’m surprised you’re not contracting with your usual contacts.

Mum: Well, your agency has some very special bodies I’m looking for. Slender legs, small buttocks, natural bust sizes—you have more of these types on your books than anyone else. I’m attending September’s London Fashion Week next year, and I want that kind of display for my designs.

Hoffman: That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Marshall. I assume you have a concept in mind?

Mum: A very cogent one, yes. Since the theme is about “purity in simplicity” I was thinking about garments styled around wedding dresses. Much more practical to wear casually, but a reminder to the world about the importance of sacred beauty and unity.

Hoffman: A fantastic theme, to be sure.

Mum: It is, even if it doesn’t fit the people staring at the women that’ll be wearing them.

Hoffman: …Excuse me?

Mum: Most men wouldn’t know what purity means if it screamed at them in the face. It’s an irony that the committee that picked the theme out is a bunch of suits, no?

Hoffman: A little prickly today, aren’t you? Do you need to fix yourself a cup of coffee, ma’am?

Mum: Absolutely not. I’m as lucid as I could be. Don’t you know how seriously women need to take clothing?

Hoffman: …When will you have designs ready for us to work with?

Mum: Now, actually. What models do you have available tomorrow? I know it’s not typical procedure to jump into things like this so soon, but I have money to spare and I want to see these pieces on flesh as soon as possible.

Hoffman: Tomorrow? Ugh, that’s going to be—give me one moment.

Mum: Take your time.

Hoffman: Hmm…seems like the only one we have available with your preferences is Lilith Elstrom.

Mum: …Lilith Elstrom?

Hoffman: Girl from Oregon we brought on two summers ago. She’s got a great smile, and charity promo people love her especially. She jokes her mom misspelled her name and meant to put down “Lily”, haha.

Mum: …Now why on earth would I want her to test out my work?

Hoffman: Huh?

Mum: I know that tart. You keep her around not just because she’s good looking but because she pleasures everyone else for some greasy kudos in the back room.

Hoffman: …Mrs. Marshall, you can’t be that ignorant as to what our industry asks of women.

Mum: I’m not ignorant, Mr. Hoffman. I’m forced to look the other way most of the time, a magnanimous gift those sods will never appreciate. No, what I cannot ignore about this little whore is—

Hoffman: …Oh my god.

Mum: Isn’t it wonderful? I found out my husband’s been hiding this kind of thing from me for years again.

Hoffman: I—Mrs. Marshall, I don’t know where you got these pictures, but I’m not sure what you want me to do about this—

Mum: It should be obvious. Fire and blacklist her.

Hoffman: What— No, you can’t be serious.

Mum: It’s industry practice.

Hoffman: Doesn’t mean I have to oblige you.

Mum: Are you threatening me, Mr. Hoffman? Threatening me, the woman who’s been disgraced by your loose cattle’s little side hustle? Think of my feelings, here! He didn’t even take her out to dinner!

Hoffman: Your marital problems are not my agency’s issue, ma’am.

Mum: But I can make them your problem. Ignore me at your own peril.

Hoffman: Lob all the empty threats you want, I’m not sacking Lilith.

Mum: You little— I’ll make sure your wife knows about all your affairs then. I know what kind of flowers you like to rub your nose in.

Hoffman: Go ahead! She knows about them and is fine with it. Neither one of us really cares about the sex; it’s what we understand about each other that counts. Can’t get that from anyone else.

Mum: Whoremongering bastard—!

Hoffman: Good day, Mrs. Marshall.

Mum: Don’t you know who my husband is?

Hoffman: Not sure I want to, really.

Mum: You should. You should, and you should be very afraid.

Hoffman: Leaving now, Mrs—

<Six seconds of silence.>

Hoffman: …What are you doing with that photograph?

Mum: That’s you, isn’t it?

Hoffman: W—Is that Malibu—?!

Mum: Uh-huh. And you weren’t in Malibu when its Statue of Liberty replica was erected, were you? They only put it up last week.

Hoffman: What in the goddamn—

Mum: You said you don’t care about who my husband is. But oh, Mr. Hoffman, you sure as hell are going to care about what he makes—

Hoffman: Wha—Witchcraft! Witchcraft! What in the name of—why is it—why is that—?!

Mum: These pictures can be anything, you know. Look, there’s you fucking a man.

Hoffman: I would never—

Mum: Really now? Not what the evidence says. Here, now I can make it—

Hoffman: Good God, what in the world is th—?!

Mum: The man you actually are. The man the press will learn you are very, very soon, if you don’t do your due duty.

Hoffman: You’re sick!

Mum: No, I’m just tired. Tired of this, of men like you acting like you can enable each other—

Hoffman: What would even inspire you to think of me doing—?!

Mum: Hm? What, the pig? Your wife’s a fatass, why are you surprised? I’ll bet you would like doing this anyway, with all the worthless sow your agency employs. Why not try a twelve-boobed titjob? Why not shove your dick down their shit-eating mouths, because that’s probably exactly what your cum smells like.

Hoffman: I hope the Lord curses you and your entire household!

Mum: Believe me, he has. He has, Mr. Hoffman, because I am forced to resort to this to keep men like you in line! Can’t you understand how I feel, having such an out-of-control husband that he fucks any kind of meat he can get his hands on, even after all these years? All these goddamn fucking years?!

<Twenty seconds of altercation.>

Mum: You’re going to fire that bitch. You’re going to fire her ass and toss her out on the street so that she will never see the light of day in any good dress ever again. You’re going to do this lest the entirety of London, no, everyone in the world, find out you’re a dirty animal fucker, who gets his balls wet in the mud and vaginal mucus of a pig like a deranged psycho.

Hoffman: Please, Mrs. Marshall, I-I can’t—! She needs the money, she was escaping her boyfriend— H-He’ll find her again if she—

Mum(?): Oh boo-hoo! Is that why you signed her on?! Not even because of her talent, but because you felt sorry for her?! God, you really are worthless. Consider it a mercy I’m giving you the option to stay in this industry.

<Ten seconds of silence.>

Mum(??): Going once.

Hoffman: Please. Don’t make me do this. I don’t know what she’ll do if I let her go. She has…She has issues, you know…?

Mum(???): Going twice. And it’s not our fault, I hope you know. What these irresponsible skints make of themselves shouldn’t matter to the better of us. Our pillars of greatness will last without them—and if they get mad about that, too bad! They should have worked harder to become the chosen few.

<Twenty seconds of silence.>

Hoffman: …Okay. I…I’ll do it.

Mum: Thank you. I knew you were a good man, Mr. Hoffman. Dare I call you a good husband, too? Imagine what these pictures would have done to your poor wife.

⟡

Ugh—fuck. Stop.

Zelda: Guh—

Swallow or spit it, your choice. This sucked.

<Fifteen seconds of silence.>

What’s that look for? This is my fault, not yours.

Zelda: Ah.

Yeah. I…have a lot on my mind. Do you have a moment?

Zelda: …Sure.

Okay, cool. Do you…like doing this?

<Fourteen seconds of silence.>

Alright, answer this then. You’re buying a lot of super sexy dresses. Your makeup is better. Is that all you’re doing with my money?

Zelda: …No.

<Eleven seconds of silence.>

…Is that all you wanna say?

Zelda: I…

Look, I swear I am not trying to be weird, here.

Zelda: That has been said a lot.

By who?

Zelda: Is there a reason you want to know, Mr. Marshall?

…No. N-Not really. I…just want to know, you know? I was serious when I said I…had never done this with a human girl before.

Zelda: Hiring an escort?

Having sex.

<Five seconds of silence.>

…Th-There’s a lot of demons willing to do this kind of stuff for you…!

Zelda: Wow. Hard to believe people like you don’t use them more often. Why bother with someone like me?

W-Well, the fucking isn’t really the same—

Zelda: It’s gotta be better, isn’t it?

<Fourteen seconds of silence.>

I’m not a fan of the sharp teeth…or the red skin most have. That…and they’re generally less available. I mean, people aren’t…really supposed to know about that kind of stuff, you know?

Zelda: …Like how the US government doesn’t want us to know about the aliens in Area 51?

I—Uh, sure. There’s totally aliens in Area 51 and not like, girls with dog heads.

Zelda: …Literal bitches.

…Pffftttt. Hahaha, I—Y-Yeah—I’m surprised you know what that means.

Zelda: What, do I look like I don’t know where that word comes from?

No, I mean—you’re just really smart. Like, smart smart. Why aren’t you in university?

<Ten seconds of silence.>

You can go to university now. That’s what the American ones are like, right? Besides Harvard? You throw enough money at them and they just let you take classes?

Zelda: …I can’t go to college.

What?

Zelda: I just…can’t.

Why not?

<Fifteen seconds of silence.>

Hey, listen. I…I’m not going to judge you. Please…whatever is on your mind, say it.

<Eight seconds of silence.>

Zelda: Do I have to?

I’ll double your pay tonight if you tell me the truth.

Zelda: …Okay. I…didn’t finish high school.

…What?

Zelda: You asked. There it is.

W-Why not? What—What happened?

Zelda: Please stop asking me these questions, Mr. Marshall.

…Alright. Can I ask this then: do you want to go to university?

Zelda: What?

Please, answer me honestly. I…I’m not trying to hurt you.

Zelda: …Yes.

For what? To be an engineer?

Zelda: What makes you guess that?

You replaced a N64 cartridge battery. You know how to code in C, which I’m assuming is because you wanted to do hardware mods. You know how to build a fucking R4000 microprocessor of all things, and you taught all of that to yourself, yes?

<Twelve seconds of silence.>

…I don’t give a damn if you didn’t go to high school. If you can do all of that shit, you belong in university. Tech building is hard enough as it is, and my boss burns herself a lot in her lab fucking around with magic microchips you’ve never even heard of.

Zelda: Microchips with huh—?

I’ll forge a transcript to whatever university you want to go to, just name it.

Zelda: Please don’t do that.

Why?

Zelda: I…I don’t want to get in trouble.

I won’t let you get in trouble.

Zelda: Your hands are cold.

And I like how warm yours are. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, Zelda. I promise. Please, just…

<Nine seconds of silence.>

Please let me help you.

Zelda: …I need to get my GED first. I…haven’t pursued it yet but…

Okay, I’ll wait on that. What university do you want to go to?

Zelda: NYU.

Ah, local. Whew… U-Uh anyways—when you want to start, just let me know. I’ll get someone to have your application approved.

Zelda: …Why are you doing this for me?

<Twenty-one seconds of silence.>

Zelda: …Mr. Marshall?

Please, call me Chrysophilius.

Zelda: Chrysophilius. Why me?

<Twenty-three seconds of silence.>

I just think you’d…make a good engineer, that’s all.

Zelda: But…again, why? I…what do you want out of this?

…Am I allowed to say I want to prove someone wrong?

<Seven seconds of silence.>

Don’t worry, it’s for a good cause.

Zelda: …I don’t want to be an engineer. I…That’s just stuff I do for fun, you know?

Then what do you want to be?

Zelda: A marine biologist. Because I want to save the manatees…or do you British people call them sea cows? Y-You guys have so many different words for everything…

…Haha. I wouldn’t know. That’s what you’re gonna have to learn to find out, yeah?

Addendum.9770-04: I keep telling myself if I ignore it, it will go away. Just pretend, just smile, just pretend Iris isn’t asking you why you’re taking so much vacation, just pretend Robert isn’t perplexed by how much you sleep on the private jet flights.

But I can still hear its hooves.

I can still hear my mum.

In my head they’re both knocking against each other, scraping. Almost screaming, like their voices are cacophonizing in gelatin. I imagine Mum would fight with it if she knew; then she’d tell me I’m a coward for not taking this deal. For not indulging this opportunity. That damn cow can say whatever it wants, but I know the truth. I know the truth better than anyone, because it lives and breathes and tries to call me regularly now.⁷

How much am I actually going to escape, if I do what it wants? Our hoarding is the point. The broad swathes of power and people we can influence with our words and treasures is why we’re all here; this “money-to-happiness” pipeline is bullshit. Why run from it?

How is getting rid of all of that going to make us any better? Do I want to know what I’ll look like when the chase is made necessary, and not a choice? To sow and till as we desire, in the great luxury we have when we inherited the world, that’s free will. That’s who we are. It shouldn’t be changed; don’t fix what isn’t broken, as the Americans put it.

…

What the fuck am I saying?

I sound like a trite piece of shit. Spouting something that doesn’t fully click with me, but if that’s true, what do I believe in?

What should I believe in? My dad, and the place in this world he bestowed upon me? My mum, with all of her…beliefs that sound like she cooked them from a bunch of nutty self-help gurus?

If they made me, why am I so sick of everything they’re saying? Everything they’re being? Isn’t being a good child loving your parents, everything they will ever be no matter what?

I want to be a good son because…

Because…

Ugh, I’m not going there. That’s stupid. I need to get over myself.

I need to get over…

Date: Seems like I was really young. Three, maybe?

Mum: Chrysophilius! Those are your father’s shoes!

Super cool!

Mum: Well aren’t you a handsome little man, isn’t that right?

Yes!

Mum: Hahaha, you are! Yes you are—but please, don’t wear Daddy’s shoes. He has to put those on to go to work!

Daddy got cool socks!

Mum: Wh— Chrysophilius! Did you raid your father’s sock drawer again?! You’re so silly!

<Laughing. I think we’re laughing together as she’s chasing me around the living room.>

Psychological Output Symptoms: A light sense of melancholy.

I don’t get it. Mothers are supposed to love you forever.

A lot of the games I played as a kid had your mum in them, sending you stuff as you went along your adventure. I remember those games more than any of the others because during breaks at school I’d often make up video games where your mum was nice to you. Different ones had different mums, with some giving you healing items, others stat buffs, and a few even had her as a summon that made sure you didn’t die in combat…

…Shit.

I wish I could make all the thoughts in my head stop. It sucks, because peeking begs to be necessary until you find yourself connecting things that are weird and you don’t want them anymore, but there’s no going back once that lightbulb has been clicked on.

Like…

I think of mum, and for some reason I think of Zelda soon after. And when I think of Zelda, I can’t stop thinking about my work. About all the men I see, all the business we do together, all the parties we throw over good times. Maybe it’s her dress? The women at these parties have on such nice dresses. It’s so hard not being overwhelmed by how pretty they can be…

And nothing I’m attending is a sordid affair, you know? Dinner parties, industry parties, cocktail parties, birthday parties. We throw parties like we’re all going to die tomorrow and then make stuff happen over smiles and faces that hold the keys to everything else. To contracts, inventory, brand deals, licensing agreements—I’m usually the one holding all the cards. It warms my chest so much, strikes the wickedest smile across my face.

I signed an enthusiastic man a fortnight ago to a bunch of old Anderson lots we had. Turns out I knew him from boarding school, and as he spoke to me about his new wife and child, I remembered all of the stuff I grew up hearing him say.

He was the kind of guy who snuck in porn magazines a lot, especially into chapel. Porn tapes too (VHS, then DVD). As he grew up, he started talking like he’d had actual sex. Said he fucked every teacher in the school, made them cum on his dick for good grades and the pleasure of him being their student. Because that was the best they were going to get, and the best they ever going to deserve.

He was expelled when he was caught in the bathroom trying to get a blowjob from his friend’s younger sister. He nearly choked her half to death, I think.

Does his wife know that?

When she gives him a handjob beneath the table, does she know his hands nearly killed a little girl?

Why…is that suddenly bothering me?

Why is it making me feel weird, comparing him now to the faces of everyone at the parties I’ve been to?

It’s all just stuff! Inane stuff, stuff that—that doesn’t matter! It’s all just—senseless violence, girls passed out in side rooms that just get ignored, tablets slipped into drinks that I think are meant for the man but then he passes them to the woman besides him instead, who’s been saying no the entire night, but now suddenly wants to go home with him?

It—

It doesn’t—

…

That’s so scary…

Why would anyone…?

How…?

…

At an auction once I watched a man fuck someone after we dimmed the lights for a ritual. He nearly destroyed the magic circles we set up, getting his jizz all over the modules stored specifically in that room as to keep the incantation ink intact.

The woman…

She…wasn’t moving. Her eyelids were open, and she was drooling, but…

…

I…

I don’t know what happened to her. She wasn’t… I didn’t see her after the show. She wasn’t even a person on the guest list…

The guy was also someone Dad was friends with…

Yeah, that’s right. I hardly recognized him in the dark but…

…

Hey, what the hell?

My head hurts!

Date: A few years ago at a bar…?

Random Asshole 1: Hey, so—tell me—can you rape a prostitute?

Random Asshole 2: When’d you become a philosopher?

Random Asshole 1: Because it scores points with all the uni chicks. Give me an answer.

Random Asshole 2: Mayyyyyybe…? We are paying her, so it’s not like she can say no.

Random Asshole 1: Precisely! And if they can’t say no, it’s not rape. It’s always consent, right?

Random Asshole 2: I’m…not sure that’s how that works?

Random Asshole 1: What, ya wanna be a wise guy?

Random Asshole 2: N-No, I’m just saying—

Random Asshole 1: Don’t say nothing, hear me? You know I’m right. Those bitches aren’t good for much else, so what use do they have kicking and screaming against the hand that’s feeding them?

Random Asshole 2: …Can’t really argue with that.

Random Asshole 1: Knew you’d see my point of view, heh.

Random Asshole 2: Not sure that train of philosophy is gonna go well with those “uni chicks” you wanna fuck so badly though, Phil…

Random Asshole 1: Hey, you know liberal arts girls are always desperate for some real action.

Psychological Output Symptoms: My mouth—my stomach—

What the hell is going on—?!

Date: When I was sixteen, near my dad’s office.

<It’s almost midnight. My dad has asked me to wait outside amidst a bunch of winding, serpentine offices until he can take me home. He has one more thing to do before he can leave.>

Mr. Yamada: Mr. Marshall, you cannot tell me you’ve never wanted to try it.

Dad: Please sign the papers, Mr. Yamada.

Mr. Yamada: Your tastes are already beyond regular humans, no? That cobra mistress of yours has quite the rack and cloaca.

Dad: I am not particularly in the mood to discuss my private life. The papers, Seiichi, the papers—

Mr. Yamada: Where is that small talk face I saw last night? If I wanted strict business, I’d go to Mr. Carter. Besides…

<Sounds of paper shuffling.>

Mr. Yamada: The tastes of men are related to this piece of business here. I’m not being supplied enough bodies for this to be favorable.

Dad: Bodies?

Mr. Yamada: Succubi. I want twenty of them, with high regeneration capacities.

Dad: That’s tacking on an extra three million to this—

Mr. Yamada: Two.

Dad: Three.

Mr. Yamada: One and a half.

Dad: Three.

Mr. Yamada: One and seventy five.

Dad: Three.

Mr. Yamada: Walking away now, Mr. Marshall.

<Ten seconds of silence. I see Mr. Yamada’s horned shadow loom heavy in the hallway. He was my first exposure to a modified hellspawn.>

Dad: …Two is the lowest I can spare for this project.

Mr. Yamada: Oh, don’t play hard-to-get with me. Every good deal needs an allocation for pleasure, mm?

Dad: Just what are you planning with them this time? I do not want Eisheth Zenunim complaining again. You have a habit of going overboard, Mr. Yamada.

Mr. Yamada: Overboard? You bow to that clam-faced bitch and her spawn?

Dad: I care that her hysterics can sway large swathes of the Sitra Achra⁸ into snubbing us.

Mr. Yamada: Fine. Since you are so persistent, why don’t you listen to me? I’ll tell you why I want them, and you can make the call on if I’m worthy for this contract or not.

<I hear Dad moving things around, like I’ve seen him do whenever he’s closing. He likes a clean desk to think.>

Dad: …Go on. I don’t have all day.

Mr. Yamada: How often do you bed succubi?

Dad: Not as often as I did when I was younger. I was never a fan of the biting, and I don’t particularly care for their “life-leeching” gimmick anymore.

Mr. Yamada: Shame. They’re so durable and willing—you never went farther?

Dad: What is your point here, Mr. Yamada?

Mr. Yamada: You tell me Mr. Marshall. For someone who slept with one of the Great Dragons, you’re acting so ignorant about what the anomalous world offers to men like us.

Dad: …Eisheth isn’t going to object to you having an orgy with these girls, if that’s what you’re trying to tell me you want.

Mr. Yamada: She better not! No, no—

Mr. Yamada: I want something far wilder. More fitting to their nature, to the sin that they were meant for. Watching their skinny little bodies squirm under your member, with their crazed, fanged gazes staring into your soul—it’s beautiful, isn’t it?

Dad: I prefer my girls with regular teeth, usually.

Mr. Yamada: Ah, but those can’t draw blood, can they?

Dad: You say that like such is desirable, and like people have not tried many times.

Mr. Yamada: Ha, don’t I know how true that is! The succubi actually quite like it though. Mutilation and all that.

Dad: …I hesitate to believe such a thing.

Mr. Yamada: They exist to please you, whatever you’re into. They’re hardly sentient when a man’s semen is splashing all over their face—it’s the perfect opportunity to get experimental.

<Mr. Yamada looks like he’s about to start talking for a while. Dad is most definitely going to let him, as I would have had to as well, because the longer a client talks, the more they’ll think you care. And the more they think you care, the more they reveal their own desires. That’s Sales 101.>

Mr. Yamada: A woman’s blood and a man’s semen mixing is about as divine as their clitoris against your mouth. They like it when you take a knife and cut into their baby-smooth skin—they’ll start wiggling and getting so wet you can barely focus.

<I shiver, my nails gripping into the doorframe. My stomach hurts listening to this.>

Mr. Yamada: You turn then to the essentials, no? Drag the knife down their cheeks, across their jaws and over their nape— The blood is so delightful smeared across them. It’s like silk, the way it clings to them and flows.

<I think to myself for a moment if what he’s saying is true. Would girls really be into something like that?>

Mr. Yamada: And with a few more cuts, you finally get to the meat you came for. Human breasts will never fuck knives as well as a succubi’s, Mr. Marshall, they just won’t. It’s like watching a dog being shot as compared to a steak being cooked—the choice you pick for dinner is obvious.

<My dad is silent. I turn away, shaking as I plug my ears, but Mr. Yamada’s voice runs through my body anyway. My palms are hot against my earlobes.>

Mr. Yamada: Splitting open the those sacks of fat as they scream is a joy every man should experience at least once in his life. The blood is warm, cloying, and when their bodies switch on the regeneration it squeezes like the softest, plushest hole you could ever hope to find—it’s hard staying limp in something like that. The desperation the wound has to close makes the orgasm better, keeps you going for longer.

<I want to leave.>

Mr. Yamada: …You look unconvinced.

<Seven seconds of silence.>

Dad: Everything you’re saying is perfectly within allowed bounds, Mr. Yamada. Please, continue—I will stop you if there is a problem.

Mr. Yamada: And we’ll discuss from there?

Dad: Yes.

Mr. Yamada: Good.

Mr. Yamada: I like to cut the eyes after that. An under-appreciated area—though I find chaining the girls up at this stage is necessary, because they’re liable to go limp and ruin the best part.

Dad: The best part?

<For thirteen seconds, I hold my breath. I nearly bite my tongue off through blurry eyes.>

Mr. Yamada: Yes, the best part. The vitreous humor that dribbles out of those membranes is sensational. Absolutely sublime. So clear, and slick, and tasty— You will not find a better lube anywhere else. It’s almost indistinguishable from your own semen—and it’s perfect for when you want to slide from the fucking the eye socket to their mouth or their back door.

<I’m hoping my dad can’t hear me, that Mr. Yamada can’t hear me, that nothing in the world knows what I’m going through in that very moment.>

Dad: Are they conscious while you’re doing this?

Mr. Yamada: Succubi don’t sleep or faint, do they?

Dad: …Here. Sign at the bottom.

Mr. Yamada: I assume this means I’m cleared on Eisheth’s boundaries?

Dad: Yes.

<Why didn’t he know? Why wasn’t I told what not to look at?>

<But why would he even care? This was clearly the kind of clientele with money. Better to be scared now instead of when it actually mattered and their wallets were open.>

Psychological Output Symptoms: My spit is turning to bile, my pants are soaking wet. I can’t see anything over the spasms in my stomach.

…

I think that’s all I can vomit out.

It’s all over the floor. My hands are soaked. I don’t even care about my suit anymore, or my tie—damn all this cashmere to hell.

Look at them. All these things in my room, with their fish-eyed plastic faces, vacant smiles, and tits, reminding me of—

Of course he’s always failed me, why didn’t I see it sooner?! Good for nothing piece of shit!

Why?! Why?!?!

Why the fuck—

Maybe he tried, but he didn’t try hard enough!

…The bruises on Zelda’s legs…

I-I haven’t mentioned them to her yet because I-I thought they were a fluke at first— B-But the longer this goes on, the longer she goes on, the better she gets, no—the healthier she looks—

They’re gone now. Almost all gone.

I—Did she—

What…did she do to deserve that?

What do any of those girls do to deserve that?

God, fuck, dammit, fuck all of this shit to hell—

Is that what I’m supposed to grow up to be? Is Mr. Yamada someone I’ll grow up to be? What about those two jackasses?

My mouth—my mouth is burning—

Lilith, Lilith Elstrom—

She’s not the first girl my mother’s sabotaged—

I can’t even help that poor girl because she jumped off a bridge—

Please, please, please, stop this. Stop this, someone has to— I—

I—

Can I do anything to change this?

Aren’t those people’s daughters?

Aren’t they people’s roommates?

Aren’t they some of our teachers, when the stars line up just right?

Maybe even our nurses, once they wash their hands?

They’re gamers, artists, knitters and painters. Cosplayers, streamers, accountants, real estate agents.

They’re…

All…

…Oh.

✦

Window into the soul, supposedly.

Is that all there is inside of me?

Why should this make me happy?

Who am I if not my desires?

Why do I live in a world where people are capable of doing this?

Please, don’t leave me alone by myself.

𓇢𓆸

WHAT DO YOU DREAM OF, CHRYSOPHILIUS MARSHALL?

«Incident Log 9770.05»

DO NOT THINK BECAUSE HE DOUBTS THAT I AM DEAD AND DYING.

TRUST ME IN THAT I WILL SEE YOUR WORLD TO ITS END, FOR I AM ITS DESTINED MONARCH.

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 70%

IMMUNE RESPONSES RE-ORIENTING

PLANE ZENITH RECOVERIES SUCCESSFUL

INSTABILITY PATHS PATHOLOGIZED

DIMENSIONAL REDIRECTS CONFIRMED FUNCTIONAL

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 67%

AND SO THE PEASANT FINALLY CRAWLS BACK.

Shut up.

HAVING FUN WITH THE FILTH OF YOUR WORLD? ITS CHAOS, ITS DESPAIR?

Shut the fuck up.

CURSE AT ME ALL YOU WISH, HUMAN, BUT YOUR WORLD IS UGLY. VILE. RULED BY VIOLENCE AND THE DESIRES OF THE SKIN.

Leave me alone.

HOW LONG WILL YOU KEEP SUFFERING, CHRYSOPHILIUS?

HOW MUCH SQUALOR MUST PENETRATE YOUR MIND FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND THE INEPTITUDE OF THIS FAILED REALITY, OF THE SOCIAL ORDER ENTROPY CREATES?

Spare me your philosophical platitudes. I’m done. I won’t do it.

VILE, WORTHLESS MAGGOT WORM. YOU POISON THE WELL FOR YOUR MORE WORTHWHILE COLLEAGUES, WHO LANGUISH IN THEIR SORROWS AND TIES TO THIS UNIVERSE’S MAKEUP.

Iris and Robert don’t need you. They would fucking hate you.

IRIS IS A GOURMAND FOR THE VIOLENCE YOU SO DESPISE; HER MOUTH IS BLACK WITH THE BITTER WEAVINGS OF A SERPENT’S SHADOW WHOM SHE CAN ONLY PATHETICALLY EMULATE. SHE WOULD LOATHE TO DISGUST AT THIS—SHE WOULD DO WHAT IS RIGHT.

Well it’s a good thing I’m not her, hm? “Yeah, I should have picked the crazy cannibal over the guy who jacks off to anime.” That’s really helping your argument here.

YOU ARE A PATHETIC, MEANDERING, UNGRATEFUL LITTLE CHILD. BOUND BY THE CYCLES OF LIFE, YOU WILL REFUSE TO RISE ABOVE THEM AND KILL YOURSELF.

Fine by me. Maybe Zelda will live happily ever after then.

SO YOU ARE CONTENT WITH BECOMING YOUR MOTHER? WITH THE PEOPLE YOU ARE DESTINED TO DO BUSINESS WITH?

You little fucking—

YOU HAVE HER HANDS AND HER HAIR, BOY. HER DNA SWELLS AND FLOODS WITHIN YOUR BLOOD VESSELS.

AS FOR YOUR COLLEAGUES, YOU STILL REFUSE TO WEAR A LAYMEN’S SUIT. WHY SHOULD A COMMONER NOT ASSUME YOUR POWER IS THE SAME AS THE REST OF THEM?

I’m still a person at the end of the day—

AND THUS THE OUROBOROS CLOSES IN ON ITSELF. TO HUMAN IS TO BECOME HER, TO REMAIN HUMAN IS TO MORPH INTO THOSE WHO EAT FROM THE BROKEN SYSTEMS WHICH GAVE BIRTH TO YOUR FAILING LUNGS IN FIRST PLACE.

Shut up!

REFUTE ME THEN. MAKE AN INTELLECTUAL ARGUMENT WORTHY OF COUNTERACTING ME. BUT YOU CAN’T, BECAUSE THERE IS NO EARTHLY WAY FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY. YOU ARE BROKEN BY YOUR NEUROSES AND NOW THAT YOU’VE DISCOVERED THIS TRUTH, I HAVE BEEN PROVEN RIGHT IN MY HYPOTHESES.

…Zelda. I…I’m refusing this for…Zelda…

FORGET HER. YOU WILL NOT WIN FAVOR WITH ANY FORCE SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU REFUSE MY OFFER.

How dare you say that—

DO YOU SPEAK FROM LOVE, OR MORALITY CHRYSOPHILIUS? ARE YOU REALLY UNDER THE BELIEF SHE CAN LOVE YOU WHEN YOU PAY HER THE WAY YOU DO? DO NOT DELUDE YOURSELF.

…

I AM RIGHT, YOU KNOW.

Please, stop.

CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY I CARE ABOUT YOU SO MUCH.

How? How can you call this caring? You want to give me a world where everything I care about will perish.

HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT SO DEFINITIVELY? DO YOU NOT LOVE IRIS? ROBERT?

Stop invoking their names.

GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE SAND. LOOK TO THE CLOUDS, NOT THE GROUND. GAZE UPON A LAND OF MILK AND HONEY, STITCHED IN MARBLE AND GOLDEN CASTLES THAT WILL FEED YOU FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

THERE IS NO NEED FOR WORTHLESS TRIVIALITIES IN A UNIVERSE WHERE EVERY SECOND MATTERS. WHERE YOUR FLESH IS WOVEN INTO THE ELEVATION OF YOUR STOCKPILES, OF THE CAPITAL YOU HAVE ACCUMULATED.

HOW CAN YOU BE SO SHORT-SIGHTED AS TO REFUSE?

Please…stop…

DO YOU WANT TO FAIL?

I don’t want to be a bad person—!

DO YOU WANT THIS WORLD’S VIOLENCE TO PERPETUALLY REVOLVE? DOOMED TO CONSUME ITS OWN TAIL AS EMPIRES AND POWER RISES AND FALLS?

You still haven’t said what will happen to them! To people like her! I’m not about to create a world where they’re going to be trapped forever—at least here, they can get lucky…!

WILL YOUR LIFE BE WORTH ANYTHING IF YOU ARE NOT HAPPY?

…

DO YOU NOT BELIEVE YOU DESERVE A WORLD FREE OF PAIN? AM I NOT ALLOWED TO WANT TO COMFORT YOU?

…

IT’S OKAY TO CRY, CHRYSOPHILIUS. IT’S OKAY TO CRY—I HATE SEEING YOU DO IT, BUT I THINK YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH ON YOUR PLATE FOR ONE DAY.

I want to go home.

YOU ARE ALREADY IN YOUR PENTHOUSE.

I w-want a real home.

THEN WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HELP YOU?

Date: During a meeting yesterday.

Chrysophilius, honey, it’s Mum. I’m sorry I missed your call last night—I really am—please, you know I don’t miss those like your father does. I had something really important I had to attend to—please call me back at your earliest convenience. Please.

I want to know about your new girlfriend. I want to meet her, actually. Where did you two find each other? Is she British? American? French? What is her mum like? Her family? Does she know the blissful feeling of a good vacation in Milos? If not, let’s take her there.

I don’t want to be pushy, but I would really prefer it if you married a nice girl from London, you know. Someone who knows her way around good manners, around the culture and etiquette, who can play nice with your father’s family. They’re a bunch of snobs, but they’re looking for someone to make them proud, you know? For a Marshall who will actually step up and be worth something. Someone who will be better than your father, who can actually bring them around the table again like old times.

Christ, I can’t believe everyone’s scattered across the globe now—it wasn’t like that when you were born—

That’s most likely not who you ended up actually with, I know you after all, but I promise I’ll be nice. I promise I’ll be happy for you. I promise I’ll talk you up to everyone and rub her in the face of anyone who doubted you. A Kennedy, a Mulliez, a Hilton—whoever she is, just tell me. Send pictures! Please.

Please, Chrysophilius. I want to be a part of your life now. It’s my duty as a mother, especially to someone like you. I know you lived with your father for a lot of your formative years, but you’re still someone who has time left, you still have the time left not to become a—

<Five seconds of labored breathing muffed by a phone speaker.>

…Call me back as soon as you can. Please. Mummy loves you. Mummy misses you. Bye.

Psychological Output Symptoms: My hands are shaking. There are tears in my eyes. I deleted the voicemail.

No sex tonight.

Zelda: W-What? I-I wore the dress you asked me to—

It’s your favorite one, isn’t it?

Zelda: How—How did you know that?

I just do. That’s why I’m the guy who usually meets people first at my company. You sure like to wear purple a lot—I like it. It matches your eyes.

Zelda: …Can I change into a t-shirt and sweats?

…Sure. Wanna borrow some of mine?

Zelda: I have my own in my bag. Give me a moment, please.

<A minute and fifty-two seconds of silence.>

Huh.

Zelda: W-What?

…D-Don’t judge me for this, I just…didn’t know that’s what big breasts in loose shirts, uh, d-did in real life.

<Ten seconds of silence.>

L-Like in anime it’s not—it’s not—y-you know—!

Zelda: Yeah, it’s not.

A-And I didn’t know that because everyone in our office is…modest. My boss Iris has a really flat chest, and then her mum, you can’t tell her b-bust size from the puffy clothes she wears…

<Fifteen seconds of silence.>

…I’m sorry.

Zelda: It’s fine.

Is it?

Zelda: What am I doing now, exactly?

Uh…I don’t know. Play some of my games, I guess?

Zelda: In any particular position?

Don’t you have a favorite one? You still haven’t told me yet…

Zelda: …I haven’t seen many handheld consoles in your collection.

Oh? I…I do have them. Do you have a preference?

Zelda: …Gameboy Advance. I carried one with me until I was sixteen, in which it broke.

Oh no…! H-Here, let me—let me—

<A minute and four seconds of silence.>

…Here.

Zelda: …Haha. I figured you’d have one of these.

W-What can I say? I…love the color gold.

Zelda: Is it custom fitted or the genuine deal? You know, the one Nintendo handed out in a magazine contest.

Genuine. I have like ten others made as replicas though, with the real metal obviously.

<Fourteen seconds of silence.>

Zelda: …Do you have Kirby Nightmare in Dreamland?

Absolutely. Is…that your favorite?

Zelda: …Yeah. It is. My uh, first game actually. I found it in a box when I was…uh…out, somewhere.

A box? Who would leave a box of games around for people to steal?

Zelda: People throw their stuff outside when they’re done with it.

Why were you outside looking through someone’s…?

<Twenty-two seconds of silence.>

…Take it.

Zelda: What? As like, payment?

Sure. Part of your payment. I’m…not in the mood for sex, really, haven’t been for a while.

Zelda: I see. And yet I’m here because…?

…I like having someone in my penthouse.

<Thirty-four minutes and sixteen seconds of irrelevant data expunged.>

Zelda: May I go home now, please?

Sure. Stay safe. Glad you’re smiling more. Genuinely, by the way.

Zelda: What…does that mean?

When you get outside to leave. You used to l-look so dour after we got done, b-but then you call someone else and…and…

Zelda: That’s my roommate.

She worried about you?

Zelda: Always.

I am too.

Zelda: …I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I?

But…you…

<Thirteen seconds of silence.>

…If anyone hurts you, please tell me.

Zelda: …What?

I mean it. Please.

Zelda: …Haha, are you wanting to keep the merchandise safe?

Someone bruised you between your thighs once. If it ever happens again, please let me know so I can have it taken care of.

<Fourteen seconds of silence.>

Zelda: …I’m very sorry you had to see those. I—should have had pantyhose on when we first met, I—

I don’t care. Tell me if someone ever hurts you again. Man, woman, or apparition.

Zelda: What…are you going to do to them?

What do you think I should do them?

Zelda: …I don’t know.

What is just to you?

Zelda: …Please don’t make me think about that.

Why not?

Zelda: …Because I…I…

<Ten seconds of silence.>

Zelda: P-Please d-don’t touch me—

Oh, my apologies. Do…you not like hugs?

Zelda: I…I…

Okay, fine. I…take the games and head on home.

Zelda: Alright.

<Forty-five seconds of silence elapse.>

Zelda: …Thank you.

Hm?

Zelda: I…Th-Thank you, Chrysophilius.

…You’re welcome. And hey, count your blessings—I don’t give out my stuff to anyone else.

Zelda: …Not even your coworkers?

They don’t like video games.

Document.9770-08:

INVENTORY OF USER 6297ksa5f26hsj ABACUS MARKET ONLINE AUCTION HISTORY

ITEM LISTING	FINAL BID
Bubble Kirby 10cm Figurine	1,005.00 GBP
Stardust Ink 12ct Study Pens	12,882.12 GBP
How 2 Survive College and Vampire Attacks for Dummies	22,393.36 GBP
Ruby Meta-Knight 19cm Figurine (Remote operated)	1,001,233.77 GBP
TOTAL:	1,037,514.25 GBP

REALITY LOAD INITIALIZATION PERCENTAGE: 41%

TOTAL IMMUNE FAILURE DETECTED

NOOSPHERIC POLARITY LOST

ONTOTOXIC WASTE BUILD-UP CRITICAL

STRUCTURAL BREAKDOWN IMMINENT

VULNERABILITY QUOTIENT: 29%

Addendum.9770-05: I didn’t go to university either, you know?

People are surprised when they hear that from me (from Iris and Robert too), but that’s how being an heir works at Marshall, Carter, and Dark. Degrees are ultimately certification you can learn by someone else’s rules—and universities are sure as hell not going to teach you about how the stars influence the fae markets. You only learn how to put on an auction by listening to an auctioneer, only learn business etiquette by asking someone else how it works.

That doesn’t mean I don’t know the principles of how to run a business—I’ve known about how private equity and artwork evaluation have worked since I was eleven. At nine, I met my first Dragon and found out how the supply and demand of magic services are marked up.

Why am I thinking about this?

I’ve been thinking about everything I am lately. That calf ripped a hole in my heart, and now that Zelda is in my life, my head is spilling into my chest and out onto everything else. Onto someone who has likely never considered someone like me before…

…Actually, it’s a shared experience, isn’t it? I didn’t consider people like her existed either until now. Call me stupid, but I almost forget people were capable of paying rent. We as a business make people pay us to rent things, but who rents a home? Isn’t that playing pretend in someone else’s stuff?

What even are landlords like? Not being one—dealing with one.

Does this make sense to anyone?

I ask that like I’m not alone in my penthouse right now. I took another vacation because my ears won’t stop leaking static.

“I want to be a good person.” Why did I say that?

Is there anything left for me to be besides that?

A good businessman, a good son, a good heir, a good worker…

A good boyfriend, a good husband, a good father…

A good person is about the cheapest thing I can be.

But…

I dunno. That’s got to be something I’m able to be good at…?

Something I can do right?

…What did I do to deserve any of this? What I have? Like…I’ve thought about maybe it was putting up with my mum, but I think Zelda could do that better than me. She seems unfazed by everything.

Was it being born? No, that doesn’t compute, because Zelda and all the girls my dad pays for were born needing…well…

And I sure as hell didn’t do enough as a kid to justify all of my stuff…

…Fuck! I hate this shit so much!

I want to go back! I want to go back!

I want to go back when everything was okay! Please!

No calf, no mum calling me over and over begging me to answer the phone…

Maybe it was ignorance, but I want to be ignorant again. I want to be ignorant so I can pretend I can love, so I can pretend I’m smiling genuinely again all the time, so I can pretend Dad isn’t a flaccid piece of shit and that Mum is just someone who gave birth to me…

Please…

I hate this. I don’t want to be so miserable I can’t live anymore.

Hey Zelda, do you like that I’m making your life better?

Does…that make me a good person?

I hope you’re able to pay rent by yourself. I’m sure you’re living with someone—give her a break. She deserves it. That’s how that works, right?

Please, tell me that’s right. Tell me that’s right, that I’m getting something right, anything—

Please…

…Maybe I can’t be a good person. If that’s true… Maybe I can be a little bit right…?

It’s lower than being good, but it’s…something…?

…

The tears won’t stop.

If I’m not made for good or doing anything right, why am I even alive?

Was I brought into this world just to suffer?

Date: After I finished calling Iris. I think this was a butt-dial.

???: Hey, woah, Zelda, you don’t have to—

Zelda: Please. I know you couldn’t get that abortion you wanted, s-so…

???: …Th-Thank you…

Zelda: Ah!

???: S-Sorry! I…I am just…Z-Zelda, I…

Zelda: I-I told you to please ask before hugging me…but, yeah. I know you wanna be a good mom, so I…hope this helps. …Woah—are you okay?!

???: I-I—P-Please don’t—you don’t have to watch me cry, y-you can leave—

Zelda: You sure? I…

???: I don’t know how…how to thank you enough, Zelda. I…I was afraid of being a bad mother to him, you know? Because of not having enough… Not…finishing college like I said I would, I…

Zelda: You’re gonna be a good mom to him. The fact you don’t resent him at all…well, it’s more than I can say I’ve seen for people like us when this happens.

???: Even if I didn’t want him… It’s my responsibility now to step up to the plate now. I’m all he’s got in the world.

Zelda: Ha, you and your baseball metaphors. But he’s not that alone, you know?

???: …Yeah, you’re right. Ah, speaking of that—will you be available to watch him next Tuesday? I gotta help my sister move out.

Zelda: Sure! But it can’t interfere with my classes, yeah?

???: Look at you moving up in the world, girl!

Zelda: H-Hey—!

???: I’m just saying it like it is. I’m so happy for you! Paula and the rest of them are too. Just don’t forget about the rest of us and where you came from, yeah?

Zelda: …I won’t. Lemme know if you ever need more cash, okay? I’ll see what I can do.

Psychological Output Symptoms: I don’t know. Shame? Jealousy? All that’s certain is my chest is tight and I wish part of this conversation was about me.

Date: After I got another voicemail from my dad.

Ignoring me now, are you? Are you?! God, I do one good thing for you and you fuck it up just like him! Just him, you little cunt! That’s all you’ll ever be, huh?! Just the little miniature cunt of him, straight from his loins!

You are the curse of my life, Chrysophilius Scooter Marshall! Your father is a blister upon this world, as are you. I wish I had aborted you just like I did everything after so that at least then, he would have killed me for not bearing him any heirs—at least then, I would be free from my pain.

At least then, I would be free from this nonsense. His nonsense.

Your nonsense.

You are nothing to me. You will always be nothing, a nothing child, a child who will never amount to more than the stupid fucking bullshit you fill your life with. I purged all of it from our mansions, you know? I can’t believe your filth stuck around this long but now it’s all fucking gone. All of your horseshit crap is finally gone from my life, like it should have been years ago when I knew in my gut you’d abandon me just like him. Just like he has.

Why did I even bother? Why did I let myself get try with you again? F-Fuck…I…I…

I hope you bear his shame, and if he ever kills himself, his same fate as well. I look forward to the day when I am free from the both of you, when I do not have to consider divorce and estrangement like a common dowry whore. I hope you are forever miserable in that pithy little job of yours, playing with numbers while your godforsaken mother plays with the devil and a bottle of Valium.

No, I will not be that weak of a woman. I will not walk away from him as a broken trophy, a separated woman: worthless, unworthy, and deflowered. I will maintain my dignity even in death, even in my misery, because at least I know your father will not deny me that. He will at least grant me in all of his promiscuous deeds his name, his title, the shadow of the crown I was supposed to have, because he doesn’t care, he doesn’t goddamn care. I’m just a formality. I’m just the woman who lives in all of his homes.

He can do the least of that for me. What the hell have you done for me?

Do you know what that means, Chrysophilius Marshall? It means you made me into this. You forced upon me the yoke of being a bad mother. Your fated existence made him choose me to damage, and now I am going to hell because of it. Now I am going to hell because God hates me, because my husband is a faggot pansy cheater fairy who will fuck everyone in the world except me. Except the wife he fucking married. Loved, supposedly, too.

I hope you never find happiness. Because if you do, I promise I will haunt you until the end of your days. I promise I will haunt you forever, and destroy everything you ever love.

That includes this new girlfriend of yours, you hear me? You’ll end up destroying her too, this I promise with absolute certainty. I promise it with absolute certainty because I have seen how cruel you are, how men like you behave unrestrained and unrestricted—

There’s no cure for someone born to a father like yours. No cure for the unholy, selfish little abomination you’ll grow up to be.

Psychological Output Symptoms: Nothing.

I’m not stupid.

You can call me many things—shallow, acerbic, cocky, arrogant, haughty, selfish—but the one thing I am not is stupid.

I will not call myself that anymore, because I now know what true stupid looks like.

When I think about it, (and I have to think about it again, because fuck this entire situation honestly) people like Zelda have always existed. Escorts, though they have a lot of dirtier names. They’ve existed since the day humans invented money, maybe even a bit before that.

Knowing why many do what they do really bums me out. You’ll see a girl you think is awesome, cute, pretty, and sexy, with the best makeup on you’ve ever seen, and it turns out she’s doing it so she can keep up with her car insurance or put her kid through school. She’s doing it so she can afford groceries for the next few months, so her dog can see the vet, so she can pay for her sister’s funeral.

I…Why?

Why is this is the kind of world I’m living in?

What does Mum get out of hurting girls like that? Okay, sure, you wanna piss Dad off, but can’t you return the favor? Would he even care if you cheated on him? That’d certainly make him look at you in some new way, which is what I think you want, but what do you do then after? Is your charade part of the game? Is this parade of malaise all you think you’ll ever be? Living out of spite is one hell of a drug, but can it go on forever?

There are some medications people will have to take for the rest of their lives to stay healthy…

…Ugh, what am I getting for all this godforsaken thinking?!

I keep thinking, I keep thinking, and I keep thinking. Turn over a memory there, find it connected to something else broken. Toss a stone that way, and you’ll find what it skips over is four different things you think are embarrassing you. Double surprise—it’s all entangled, isn’t it? Wrapped around each other at odd, impossible angles, phasing into itself tersely, recursively?

When you start asking yourself questions, when you start putting all of the puzzle pieces together…it’s all wrapped in thorns, iron thorns that bleed you until you hit rock bottom and there’s just…

Nothing.

There’s more nothing. More nothing thorns, more emptiness, more wondering what this all is for.

Your dad doesn’t talk to you like everyone else’s. You’ve never had a girlfriend before. You don’t get hugs and you want them like a stupid pansy loser, because Iris’s mum hugs her. Robert’s dad hugs him. You should be normal. You should be happy.

You like things your coworkers don’t. Your penthouse is so greedy that fake plastic girls from filthy, dirty shows don’t mean anything at the end of the day. All your collections are worthless in the end because well—who cares? Who cares about any of these characters, who cares about any of these games?

Rabbit hole, rabbit hole, rabbit hole—does it ever stop? Do flaws work like a stock portfolio, do they accumulate dividends of infinite misery?

How do I stop the payments? How I cash out? These assets are draining me, squeezing me, plunging me into a sea of red that tastes of ink and blood—

Who broke me?

My father? My mother? My own choices?

Was I meant to be broken? If it’s possible to be born disposable like Zelda was, can people be born broken too?

…

Our CEO…

She talks about everyone at the company like it’s an ordained fate we were brought into the positions we have. Like we were all destined by something with sovereignty over magic and miracle, greater than the sum of any planet, sky, or ocean, but I don’t think I can believe it anymore. I can believe we hold the most goddamn power in the world, that we can control, destroy, and create anything that we want, but then, well, why don’t we?

Why can’t Dad create a world where Mum isn’t so mean all the time? Is he avoiding that? How can he? How can he look at her and me and decide to be a coward? Do we not mean enough for him to care?

I don’t understand how he can work at the office so casually and for so long, attending all his little charity balls and business meetings while she’s just…seething in her own shit.

…But am I any better when I can’t bring myself to confront that with real drive?

I don’t know how to make him do anything.

Am I any even better than him for hiring an escort and…liking her, just a little bit…?

That’s so lowly, but… I can’t help it.

…Does he even remember his?

I wonder. I wonder because a lot of them are dead now. I wonder if he notices, if he knows how much of a game Mum makes out of tracking them down and humiliating them. Does he know? Does he think about that after he’s done finishing inside of them?

When you stop considering people in terms of money, what instead is the value of their life?

…What am I if all of my money is gone…?

…

My chest hurts again. My heart, it feels like it’s collapsing. The pain is radial, snaking with violent teeth, like it wants to eat me from the inside out, I—

I…

I have to…I have to kill it.

Not…just for me, but for Zelda too.

Whoever that was on the phone with her.

…I’m not sure I could do that to them. This world-creating thing or whatever. Yeah, yeah, you can call me foolish for falling in love with the stripper now. Go on, do it, get it out of your system you containment fucks. I know you’ve been listening to me this entire time, hitting me with your beams and shit. Making me remember stuff that makes me want to die.

Go ahead and laugh at me. Have your fun because if there is nothing I can do besides saving you all…let that be my only accomplishment when I go. Let that be the silence that haunts the casket of whatever I end up becoming.

May your bodies continue to live on while I rot, because it may be a thankless endeavor, but I want to do good things. I think. I think I want to be good, I think I want to make a mark on the world, I think I…

…

I don’t know how goodness is distributed in the world anymore. It doesn’t seem like it has any real pattern.

And I could make it that way. I really could. I…I…I really do wonder what the new world would look like. Yes, I hate that calf and its stupid way of talking to me, but who would I be if I could if I could drown in elation, in contentedness, in peace? Would I finally find myself? Would I finally become whole? Would the world finally make sense again? Would I even need to think for myself anymore?

Golden sunshine unending in a universe created specifically to please me…

It sounds like a world free of pain. Some say that’s what makes us human, but is it human to break over and over again by no fault of your own? Is it human to hate your existence and place in the world?

Besides, I’m pretty sure I’d be destroying Zelda if I did that. There’s a lot of ants when you look down from the ivory floors of your penthouses, over skylines so tall you can see mountains nobody else gets to. Do I want to be the one responsible for damning everyone beneath my feet to a life of workhorse misery?

Zelda…

You’re so pretty when you smile. It’s made me like seeing other people smile again, even if I’m just out getting coffee somewhere.

I love your eyes and your hands and your shoes—I actually really unironically liked seeing your older shoes, the ones you slip into when you leave at night. They come in so many cool shapes and sizes I’ve never seen before…!

Is that…

Is that something I want to throw away…?

For myself and other people…?

If don’t stop it, it’ll tear everything apart. It’ll destroy all joy, and people who aren’t…rich. Me and everyone at the company will be the only ones who can enjoy ourselves, instead of the billions of other humans on this planet.

Yeah…

God, saying it like that—how could I have ever entertained that stupid cow at all?

…

But…

Nobody’s gonna thank me if I do that.

I’ll be…doing it for a bunch of people who will never know I exist.

Who don’t really care for me at the end of the day.

What what will I even have if I don’t perish from my choice?

If I don’t put a gun to my brain when this is all done, I’ll probably live long enough to marry a woman who doesn’t love me the same way Dad did. You know, due to the whole having an heir for the company stuff?

I’m gonna have to have a kid…I don’t wanna be a dad, what if I fuck up the way mine did? What if I’m too selfish with all my anime to take care of my own kid? What if my wife hits them too? It’ll be my fault then! I’ll have…I’ll have brought another me into this world…!

It…It makes sense, though. I can’t imagine many proper women wanting to put up with someone like me. A stupid scaredy-cat nerd who gets happy when digital girls say they hope I have a good day to the fakest username ever. I’m a loser, I’m going to be miserable for the rest of my life, I’m only good for invisible kindness…

I don’t want my mum to be right. But I can only work like Dad does. I can only buy things to fill up an infinite penthouse. I can only go out and shake people’s hands, code at my computer, look at cool magic stock markets.

Is that living? Will that hollow me out like it did my dad?

Will it turn me into a monster like Mr. Yamada?

…Zelda, I’m sorry you met me.

I really need you to stay. I need someone in my life who understands me, who isn’t going to yell or throw things at me. I need someone who is going to hold my hand when I cry, when the day has been too much for me, who can watch TV on a couch with me while the dinner I cooked is on the stove (I’ve always wanted to do that for someone).

When you leave me, at least leave me happy. If you stop returning my calls, at least do so in Paris, in a nice bed with beautiful heels that match your gorgeous brown hair. You and whatever girl you were talking to.

Do it with a cart full of room service you’re not going to fully eat, because you deserve to waste food for once in your life. Do it with a beautiful sunset rising over the horizon, because waking up early makes the time worthwhile, makes the morning as sweet as cream.

…Do you really think time can fix whatever is wrong with me?

Can anything?

…Do you think I can make a world where I’ll be safe?

Do I have that power? Should I?

If I destroy this…will I find another chance where I can have a home?

Am I strong enough to grab ahold of that?

Do I even fucking deserve it?

I feel like there will be blood on my hands no matter how I live. Semen on my being no matter how happy I try to be, because in the end I’ll be back at my little plastic altars…trying not to think about Mum screaming or Dad being the way that he is, pathetic and a pushover.

You and everyone you love seem to live more honest lives than me.

I wish I could join you.

But doing so would mean Marshall, Carter, and Dark would kill me for forsaking my duties.

…So…

…Take this as a gift.

This world you live in.

Let this planet and all of its ugliness, scars, horrors, and possibilities be my gift to you—make of it what you will, do whatever you feel is right. I know you’ll do great, I know you’ll become something beautiful, I know you’ll succeed despite everything, in whatever it is you’ll be.

Because that’s…

That’s all I have.

That’s…all I can afford to give you right now.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU HAVE ME.

I CAN DO SO MUCH MORE THAN HER.

PLEASE, YOU HAVE TO LET ME SHOW YOU. DON’T THROW AWAY YOUR ONE CHANCE AT PEACE.

I can be just as good as she is. I promise.

⟡

The following log was transcribed from an experience with a corrupted file, which was unable to be discerned as an audio or video recording. Whether the images present within were supported by the file extension type is currently unknown.

<The air smells like tears. Salty, nauseating, feverish, and auric—but only for a little while, until they dry like plaster.>

<A tired face looks up at a large █████.>

Stop talking. I’ve never killed someone before.

<A black room is impressed upon the viewer’s mind. Darkness envelopes, and it swallows, quite literally. Everything smears like bloody mucus.>

<The smell of boiling gold fills the air. It tastes like skin.>

Ugh…

<A hand is plunged into a chest. A heart is squeezed soon after. It beats with a chorus that bruises the mind like a breaking inkwell.>

Bye.

<Lit gas licks cardiac muscle as cut nerves short and sputter. There is no screaming, only the melting of brown eyes. I have my father’s eyes.>

<Two minutes and forty-five seconds of labored breathing. The heat is toiling towards an ugly climax.>

Please…

You…won’t…make…me…

<More straining. The chest is tender, the most valuable part of the woman’s Zelda’s my body.>

<Each piece glitters like sin. Like wet shards of cheap glass. PoI-012-05 wails. He drops the blowtorch. The room shifts with every wavering note, every unresolved █████.>

<Soon, he is ripping out body part after body part. Filet mignon, flank steak, liver, stomach, tongue. It all falls out slickly with spit from his cardiac vessels, and he stands up with his legs wobbling.>

<Something is sizzling. It coats the mouth like a myoglobin flood, a myocardial infarction.>

<Silence for thirteen seconds.>

<Vomiting proceeds to occur again for three minutes.>

…What’s the phrase? Whisper me sweet nothings…?

<PoI-012-05 coughs, biting his lip. The color from his clothes is now staining the floor, unable to sustain itself by its own weight. His epidermis and skeletal muscle soon follow, collapsing into a moist heap. The parts he pulled out and scattered begin to melt, first into bars of gold, then multidimensional refuse.>

I wish I had nothing at all.

Maybe…that would fix…

<His body fully disintegrates after a half-minute more of consciousness. It burns with a yellow glow as a radiant bovine is hoisted high above his head by an unknown force.>

<The guillotine falls; the sacrifice has been deemed holy. A scarlet thread is thrown into the fire—unyoked carcass, fade to black: it’s time for you to go back.>

INITIATING ANTI-DEREALITY MEASURES IN LIGHT OF UPDATED ENTITY STATUS.

SITE TEMPLATE BACKUPS RECALIBRATED.

DIMENSIONAL NOOSPHERIC MEASUREMENTS RE-STABILIZED.

WORLDWIDE AMNESTIC CAMPAIGNS ACTIVATED.

PROCEED? SOMETHING HAS BEEN IRREVOCABLY LOST.

>Y )/&)> N

ACTUALIZING FILE

WELCOME. TO BE DIRECTED TO THE NEW PAGE, PLEASE CLICK HERE.

Item #: SCP-9770

Object Class: Neutralized

Special Containment Procedures: No containment procedures are needed at this time. A twice-annual Hume reading is to be conducted of PoI-012-05⁹ at range by MTF Mu-3 (“Highest Bidders”) until further notice at the discretion of the O5 council.

In the event of signs pointing to SCP-9770’s re-emergence, all Scranton Reality Anchors are to be activated at 300% power and directed towards PoI-012-05 (or whatever host it has latched onto) to create an inverse well of anti-reality centric forces. Should SCP-9770 resist these means, the Buffett Protocol is to be engaged, destroying all levels of constructed financial reality along with the noospheric notion of financial transactions, contracts, and currency. Reality template backups¹⁰ are to be deployed once order is re-established to revert back to normality and allow for financial markets to emerge again.

Description: SCP-9770 was an extradimensional, ontoemotive¹¹ parasite attached to the subendocardium portion of PoI-012-05’s heart. Its capabilities and nature are still poorly understood, but it is thought that at the peak of its parasitism cycle, it possessed a nearly limitless capacity to control consensus reality. This seems to have been accomplished by processing the emotional distress of PoI-012-05 into exponential levels of ontokinetic influence, allowing a negative feedback cycle to emerge as it induced further stress into his body to continue its parasitic processes.

Onto-noospheric theoretical models have postulated that had SCP-9770 been allowed to complete its life cycle, it would have caused a CK-Class Restructuring Scenario of an unprecedented scale that would have resulted in not just the cessation of financial concepts as they are known, but a complete collapse of the physics associated with the conditions for mortality. However, definitive conclusions are difficult to confirm, as it is unknown what the true motivations for SCP-9770 entering consensus reality was. Its tampering with documents destroyed 95.6% of the research that took place when it was active, and because its behavior followed patterns present in emotionally manipulative individuals, self-accounts are unreliable.

Whether SCP-9770 possessed a corporeal form is uncertain. Its projected depictions (towards PoI-012-05 and the Foundation) most often resembled a green-horned, golden-hided specimen of various domestic cattle species at all stages of its life.

It is also unknown what the long-term effects of SCP-9770’s parasitism are on PoI-012-05. Due to the highly dangerous nature of GoI-012’s anomaly trafficking and the number of direct interactions PoI-012-05 had with Foundation staff, this line of inquiry has been deemed unsafe to pursue. This extends to any requests for the PoI classification of the individual known as “Zelda” in tampered documents, despite the fact they continue to maintain a relationship with PoI-012-05 for unknown reasons.

⟡

I get a little bit more numb every time he calls. Like someone is putting anesthetic on my mouth—I know what that feels like now. Dentists aren’t as scary as child me thought they were—I’m glad my teeth are getting looked at.

And the numbing is supposed to be a good thing. He’s fine, really. It’s just a job, I’m out in two hours, and he doesn’t hit me or raise his voice at me. He even listens to all of my boundaries I set up beforehand—no deep-throating, I won’t pee on you, you always wear condoms—that’s really more than I can say for the rest of my previous clientele.

But I think he’s learning. Learning what, I don’t know. It’s just…these last few times he’s caught my face slipping and noticed my discomfort, and when that happens he tries to cradle me to ask what’s wrong.

That’s what scares me.

He is asking me what I want to do now, whenever I come over.

He looks at me quite deeply. I know that fondness in his eyes—it comes from someone who is growing something in his chest.

Whenever he grabs my hand—he holds it very gently.

When he asks me how school is going, I tell him it’s going fine, despite the fact I had a panic attack during my first class. Everyone was looking at me, after all, these students who deserved to be there so much more than me—

I see the ghost of him behind me in the halls. Cheering me on, throwing a safety net over my head that burns like pepper spray.

The others I’ve worked with, everyone else—

I managed to leave. Or they just left. You’re a favorite for a little while, but they get bored eventually. I’ve heard horror stories about the girls who kept being someone’s favorite for years—what am I supposed to do?

Everything I have—without him, I’m less than nothing. Back to square one.

A disgusting little…

There is gold dust on my hands sometimes after we fuck, which I’m sure must come from the magic he talks about.

I…

I’m going to live a normal life, right?

Will he eventually stop calling me?

Will he stop looking at me like he wants me to stay?

…

Am I going to succumb to his gravity?

This isn’t a romance novel or some kind of fairy tale…

I’m probably overreacting. Whining again. He gave me a life to live—I need to be more thankful for that.

And it’s improper to look a gift horse in the mouth…

So…

Whatever he does…

No matter what happens…

You know, I think I’ll deserve it.

‡ Licensing / Citation

‡ Hide Licensing / Citation

Cite this page as:

"SCP-9770" by xexnoncores, local lesbian commie and tyrastafr, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/scp-9770. Licensed under CC BY-SA.

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