It could always be tomorrow.

"It's gonna be a junkie. We're going to send them in with some purpure."

"They're not necessarily bad people: they've just been forced into a bad circumstance. Their death is certain anyways, and due to Purpure's similarities composition-wise to the selenium gas, people who have taken high amounts of purple phosphor are naturally resistant slightly. Both due to the natural healing properties of their bodies, and what they've been taking."

"Whichever one's available, and seems the most well-meaning. The trip will be long, annoying... maybe impossible, yeah. The other option if that fails is that we retrieve the sun again and keep trying: or we scale the outside, but given how impossibly high the tower is it would take much longer, and have far greater costs than... that." He puts down the notepad he's been grasping at this whole time.

"Despite the fact it's basically throwing away a life, they were going to go anyways. That's the most efficient and logical situation we could come to without sacrificing other people's lives in the wait. So our only worry, over the past few months has been just making it. And we've been... doing okay. No major progress, but we haven't halted to a standstill either."

"...well, if you're doing all you can, then that's what matters most, right?"

"We'll leave you to it - now that we've got the basic info from you, we might be able to look into specifics. I can't promise that we'll be able to find anything... but if we do, we'll be in touch."

[...I don't blame you for reacting the way you did. Considering that you'd never heard of worlds outside of your own before now, it's only natural that you'd react to what we had to say with a heavy dose of skepticism. But now that you DO know about other worlds... don't be surprised if you encounter others like us. Other World Machines. Other versions of you.]

"After all... truth is often stranger than fiction. Take care, Cedric... and good luck."

"Right... i guess that's fair enough. It's still difficult to wrap my head around. But I should be getting back to work... and I also need to confiscate this computer." He scratches the back of his head.

"One sec..." He reaches behind the camera. "Damn it, where's the swi-" The feed abruptly cuts to black, closed.

LOST SIGNAL

"Right... there is another issue. We've been gathering all the Yellow Phosphor we can: trying to find ways to cultivate it. It grows inside of the tower: we've been making expeditions inside. Obviously, we want to try and synthesize our own sun: it's our last chance at survival." The church thinks yellow signifies divinity, red signifies nature, and purple signifies man.

"For some unholy reason, though, the tower is filled fully by that gas. Our working theory is that there's some sort of orifice: a generator, if that makes sense, up high. But the gas slowly crept into our world: we have no idea how it would have gotten up there. The air is cold and arid, for sure: any especially hot molecules of the SeF6 would decompose into selenium and the said hydrofluoric acid. That's likely why it sinks through the tower so consistently."

TW // GORE, BODY HORROR

Jake closes his eyes. "The Tower... that's where the World Machine resides. And if the tower's completely filled with SeF6..."

"...there's a non-zero chance that the World Machine of your world is somehow connected to all of this in some way. I'm not saying that they're the cause of all of this, per se - please don't misconstrue me. However... they might know about what's going on within your world."

"And there's also the fact that your world is without a Sun... but here's the problem. Even if you were to synthesize your own Sun, the fact of the matter is that you'd still need to ascend the Tower to properly mount it. And if it's full of SeF6, well... I doubt anybody would even be able to make the trip."

"It's gonna be a junkie. We're going to send them in with some purpure."

"They're not necessarily bad people: they've just been forced into a bad circumstance. Their death is certain anyways, and due to Purpure's similarities composition-wise to the selenium gas, people who have taken high amounts of purple phosphor are naturally resistant slightly. Both due to the natural healing properties of their bodies, and what they've been taking."

"Whichever one's available, and seems the most well-meaning. The trip will be long, annoying... maybe impossible, yeah. The other option if that fails is that we retrieve the sun again and keep trying: or we scale the outside, but given how impossibly high the tower is it would take much longer, and have far greater costs than... that." He puts down the notepad he's been grasping at this whole time.

"Despite the fact it's basically throwing away a life, they were going to go anyways. That's the most efficient and logical situation we could come to without sacrificing other people's lives in the wait. So our only worry, over the past few months has been just making it. And we've been... doing okay. No major progress, but we haven't halted to a standstill either."

"Dr. Silverpoint and I came to that conclusion, but we couldn't get a compositional sample of the gas that emits from the vents in the Barrens. Either way, the symptoms don't seem similar enough for sure. Based on the word of other witnesses, the gas itself would react with metal wherever applicable if it was Selenium Hexafluoride: but if gas masks and stuff work against it, which is what they used to evacuate originally: it isn't anything like this gas."

"Copper still very much has a slower rate of decomposition compared to the other options though. We tried plastic, but there's just no way to salvage enough plastic. The bad part is we can do barely any testing on it. It eats its way out of any container we try to put it into, and given the nature of it it's almost impossible to try and salvage it. It's either incredibly acidic, past the point of regular hexafluoride: or it's..."

"We know there's something in the gas. Not, like, what's making it up: there's something in the gas. With a little bit of testing with the heaviest equipment we had, we wanted to throw away an attempt at trying to figure out what makes it tick. There's something in there. Moving, writhing. But we physically don't have the equipment to investigate, or understand it."

TW // LIGHT GORE

"So... the gas itself is alive, to a certain extent."

Another video feed appears - it seems the situation's serious enough to warrant Sunlight's direct involvement as well.

"That is extremely concerning. Is the gas - and the resulting acid - all that you've had to worry about? I would certainly hope so, because I couldn't imagine the immense stress you're already under trying to run damage control. Dealing with any other major situations on top of that..."

"If you don't have any equipment that could properly analyze that gas, I highly doubt that we would fare much better. However, what we can do is try and research this subject as much as we can - anything that our world learns might be able to benefit your world."

"I've never heard of a problem like yours before, but I meant what I said when I mentioned that we want to help. And rest assured that we'll try to do everything in our power - even if it might not be much in the grand scheme of things, any help is better than no help at all."

"Right... there is another issue. We've been gathering all the Yellow Phosphor we can: trying to find ways to cultivate it. It grows inside of the tower: we've been making expeditions inside. Obviously, we want to try and synthesize our own sun: it's our last chance at survival." The church thinks yellow signifies divinity, red signifies nature, and purple signifies man.

"For some unholy reason, though, the tower is filled fully by that gas. Our working theory is that there's some sort of orifice: a generator, if that makes sense, up high. But the gas slowly crept into our world: we have no idea how it would have gotten up there. The air is cold and arid, for sure: any especially hot molecules of the SeF6 would decompose into selenium and the said hydrofluoric acid. That's likely why it sinks through the tower so consistently."

TW // GORE, BODY HORROR

It's like looking into a mirror. An incredibly uncanny, eerie, jarring and talking mirror. A reflection of himself, from a time that was probably better. "W-wh..." It's moving. It's really, really, moving. It's not just an image or something. It'd creep him out more if they did have an image of him, considering he barely talked to anyone aside from Prototype and Rue back then.

Calm down.

Calm down, Cedric. Calm down. This might be odd, but it's explainable. So think about it. Really, really think. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. They're in a simulation made by his dad, and there obviously can't be more than one of himself walking around.

"...Father put down more than one. More than one, um, copy. Of the world, I have to guess." His perception breaks. And he doesn't want to bring him up, 'cause he's tired and he's sick of this. He's not the only him in existence. He's obviously more than hesitant enough to believe the full theories of what he thought was bullocks, but he can say that with certainty. "Or you're a fake. Or I'm the fake. But my d... my father, I think, wouldn't have created another copy of me in particular. Or... you-me. So I don't think that could be the case."

He's remembers the questions he's supposed to ask, but he forgets them all: because they're practically useless now. It's proven that there are other copies of the same simulation running elsewhere, and that these simulations are running differently than theirs, and that their own is running defectively in some way judging based on what they said.

Here comes the good part, though. This means that there's external help... not just past the border of their own home, but past the border of the world itself. So despite the existental crisis this would inflict on a usual person, he doesn't give himself a moment to rest, and keeps going.

"I'll keep it brief. We're fucked, to put it concisely." He's never had to explain... a situation like his to someone else, because everyone else has just gotten it, because they live here. "Okay... so, we're trapped in The Refuge. Caustic, extremely toxic gas: it melts skin off if you go into it without skin protection, I think, surrounds the whole barrier. We learnt this the hard way. It crept up from the Barrens after the initial hit, and then the first word we heard of it was a mysterious message with thin lines and extremely neat writing, most likely from the Glen but we can't be certain. That's when we could coordinate some sort of defense against it in the slightest."

"We got our internet back just recently, because the gas shorts out and rots all metal. We found out it was Selenium Hexafluoride when we were trying to reverse-engineer it, but different somehow. Regular variations of this gas don't do this in the slightest, so we have to assume there's something in the gas."

"We've been growing food and keeping patchwork up. The walls around the Refuge are tall enough to prevent gas from seeping through, sure, but when it reacts with water it makes hydrochloric acid, and that does melt through the barriers despite how thick they are. Especially in rainwater. We've been sending people out to go patch the outside, but nobody wants to go and a few people have gotten lost doing it. The entrances have also been cordoned off."

"That's... around the gist of it. As much as you need to know. I'm going to be honest, a stiff breeze would compromise our chance of survival. That might be an exaggeration, but you get my point." He has to be realistic: these are people outside of himself, so if he wants their help in any effective manner—what harm can they do that hasn't already been done— he really needs to be honest.

"...I see." Cedric closes his eyes for a moment. "Can you give me a little bit? I need to process all of this."

'Altered Selenium Hexafluoride... and it creates pure hydrochloric acid when it reacts with water... that's a particularly nasty combination. Of course, acids can be neutralized with a base... but hydrochloric acid is exceptionally strong, so the base needed to neutralize it would be just as strong - and just as caustic...'

"...all right. While hydrochloric acid is exceptionally strong, it's not a universal solvent. There are materials out there that it shouldn't react with - copper, for example. Since copper is below hydrogen in the electrochemical series, anything copper should be able to survive the gas and acid."

"Of course, if we could compare the gas that you're dealing with to the gas that emits from the vents in the Barrens, then we could see if there's any compositional difference. Having a point of reference is always a good thing, after all."

"Dr. Silverpoint and I came to that conclusion, but we couldn't get a compositional sample of the gas that emits from the vents in the Barrens. Either way, the symptoms don't seem similar enough for sure. Based on the word of other witnesses, the gas itself would react with metal wherever applicable if it was Selenium Hexafluoride: but if gas masks and stuff work against it, which is what they used to evacuate originally: it isn't anything like this gas."

"Copper still very much has a slower rate of decomposition compared to the other options though. We tried plastic, but there's just no way to salvage enough plastic. The bad part is we can do barely any testing on it. It eats its way out of any container we try to put it into, and given the nature of it it's almost impossible to try and salvage it. It's either incredibly acidic, past the point of regular hexafluoride: or it's..."

"We know there's something in the gas. Not, like, what's making it up: there's something in the gas. With a little bit of testing with the heaviest equipment we had, we wanted to throw away an attempt at trying to figure out what makes it tick. There's something in there. Moving, writhing. But we physically don't have the equipment to investigate, or understand it."

TW // LIGHT GORE

"Understand what? You should already get the gist of it. I don't know why you wanted to make a joke at our expense." Cedric shuffles in his seat, the tension in his shoulders not seeming as if it's got any plan to escape any time soon. His face goes blank: a bid not to show any hostile emotion. "We're aliens, and our world is sooo much better than yours." The bitterness in his tone doesn't overflow to hostility quite yet. "I get that it might be funny." He really tries to understand. "We just can't handle it right now."

"People are dying. A lot of people." His face contorts into a mixture of that said ire and fear. "This isn't a laughing matter, at the end of the day. Not for us, at least. Maybe it can be for you, but not for us." He cups his face in his hands, before taking another deep breath in or out. "Look, let's shelve this discussion for another time. There are way more important matters at hand here."

"...let's move onto the topic of your settlement. Is everything okay over there? Evidently, if you're cheerful enough to have some quips left in you, you should be doing better than we are at least, and that's something to be happy about." He taps the back of his pen on the table. He's decided to fully forget about that past interaction. "We're also curious about the progression of your technology. How did you get your internet back so fast after the gas corroded the electronics in the area? If we didn't have time to prepare, it's more than likely you didn't either."

'If we try to explain that there wasn't an event like that in our New World, Cedric might just cut us off immediately. C'mon, Jake, think...!'

"...I might not be the best individual to answer that question. Hazel... get your brother."

[A-are you sure? What about-]

"...please."

[...all right...]

The video feed cuts out. And when it comes back...

"...Hazel explained to me what's been going on. If you don't believe anybody else on the matter... you should at least believe me. I wouldn't dare joke about anything in a situation like this one - I'm sure you feel much the same."

It's like looking into a mirror. An incredibly uncanny, eerie, jarring and talking mirror. A reflection of himself, from a time that was probably better. "W-wh..." It's moving. It's really, really, moving. It's not just an image or something. It'd creep him out more if they did have an image of him, considering he barely talked to anyone aside from Prototype and Rue back then.

Calm down.

Calm down, Cedric. Calm down. This might be odd, but it's explainable. So think about it. Really, really think. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. They're in a simulation made by his dad, and there obviously can't be more than one of himself walking around.

"...Father put down more than one. More than one, um, copy. Of the world, I have to guess." His perception breaks. And he doesn't want to bring him up, 'cause he's tired and he's sick of this. He's not the only him in existence. He's obviously more than hesitant enough to believe the full theories of what he thought was nonsense, but he can say that with certainty. "Or you're a fake. Or I'm the fake. But my d... my father, I think, wouldn't have created another copy of me in particular. Or... you-me. So I don't think that could be the case."

He's remembers the questions he's supposed to ask, but he forgets them all: because they're practically useless now. It's proven that there are other copies of the same simulation running elsewhere, and that these simulations are running differently than theirs, and that their own is running defectively in some way judging based on what they said.

Here comes the good part, though. This means that there's external help... not just past the border of their own home, but past the border of the world itself. So despite the existential crisis this would inflict on a usual person, he doesn't give himself a moment to rest, and keeps going.

"I'll keep it brief. We're fucked, to put it concisely." He's never had to explain... a situation like his to someone else, because everyone else has just gotten it, because they live here. "Okay... so, we're trapped in The Refuge. Caustic, extremely toxic gas: it melts skin off if you go into it without skin protection, I think, surrounds the whole barrier. We learnt this the hard way. It crept up from the Barrens after the initial hit, and then the first word we heard of it was a mysterious message with thin lines and extremely neat writing, most likely from the Glen but we can't be certain. That's when we could coordinate some sort of defense against it in the slightest."

"We got our internet back just recently, because the gas shorts out and rots all metal. We found out it was Selenium Hexafluoride when we were trying to reverse-engineer it, but different somehow. Regular variations of this gas don't do this in the slightest, so we have to assume there's something in the gas."

"We've been growing food and keeping patchwork up. The walls around the Refuge are tall enough to prevent gas from seeping through, sure, but when it reacts with water it makes hydrochloric acid, and that does melt through the barriers despite how thick they are. Especially in rainwater. We've been sending people out to go patch the outside, but nobody wants to go and a few people have gotten lost doing it. The entrances have also been cordoned off."

"That's... around the gist of it. As much as you need to know. I'm going to be honest, a stiff breeze would compromise our chance of survival. That might be an exaggeration, but you get my point." He has to be realistic: these are people outside of himself, so if he wants their help in any effective manner—what harm can they do that hasn't already been done— he really needs to be honest.

The appearance looks familiar. Like a less unstable version of their world machine, yes. Cedric doesn't recognise the figure from anywhere else, though: that much is evident in his face and what he's writing down. But an uncomfortable, distorting emotion contorts on his face.

Is it joy? Relief? It's a lot more recognisable when his brows furrow and his index and thumb finger move to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry... do you think this is a joke? This is, this is really important to us, you know. I can appreciate a bit of humor every once in a while, but this is just cruel, I think." It is, of course, anger. His palm slowly drifts away from his face, and back down onto the table next to the tray of papers.

"That aside... please, let's have a serious conversation? i just... I just really need to finish talking to you, okay? This is the first attempt we've ever made at outside civilisation, and I really don't want this to go poorly." He grips the hem of his shirt tightly.

"Please." A hue of desperation paints his tone as it frays at the edges, clearly tired, annoyed, and stressed. "I can only have this chat if you're willing to engage with me on an equal level, and... let's at least do that, moving forward." This is obviously important to him, but he doesn't seem far from shutting off the feed entirely.

"...all right. All right, look."

This other voice... it must be Sunlight. Hazel just looks sullenly off to the side while Sunlight speaks his piece.

"You were the one who sent out the communication request, and I appreciate the fact that you're trying to make contact with other people in order to try and help your own. But... antagonizing us for trying to provide you with information isn't a good look at all. We want to help - we truly and sincerely do. But how can we do that if you're threatening to brush us off entirely just because we're telling you what we know? How were we supposed to know that you would take information like that poorly when this is the first time we've ever communicated with each other? Please, just..."

A sigh.

"...please help us understand."

"Understand what? You should already get the gist of it. I don't know why you wanted to make a joke at our expense." Cedric shuffles in his seat, the tension in his shoulders not seeming as if it's got any plan to escape any time soon. His face goes blank: a bid not to show any hostile emotion. "We're aliens, and our world is sooo much better than yours." The bitterness in his tone doesn't overflow to hostility quite yet. "I get that it might be funny." He really tries to understand. "We just can't handle it right now."

"People are dying. A lot of people." His face contorts into a mixture of that said ire and fear. "This isn't a laughing matter, at the end of the day. Not for us, at least. Maybe it can be for you, but not for us." He cups his face in his hands, before taking another deep breath in or out. "Look, let's shelve this discussion for another time. There are way more important matters at hand here."

"...let's move onto the topic of your settlement. Is everything okay over there? Evidently, if you're cheerful enough to have some quips left in you, you should be doing better than we are at least, and that's something to be happy about." He taps the back of his pen on the table. He's decided to fully forget about that past interaction. "We're also curious about the progression of your technology. How did you get your internet back so fast after the gas corroded the electronics in the area? If we didn't have time to prepare, it's more than likely you didn't either."

Worlds Apart

@ask-selenium (from x)

On Cedric's end, a video feed springs to life showing...

...wait. Something's not right...

That's a World Machine, sure, but... not the one that Cedric knows.

[...all right then. Before I answer any of your questions, I feel like some information will definitely help you here. You've... somehow gotten into contact with a completely different New World. I am Hazel, its World Machine. Events in my world happened much differently than they did in yours... as a matter of fact, my world is completely stable right now. The Sun has been restored, and I've fixed the corruption that I've caused.]

Hazel starts pacing a bit, concern clear to see on their face.

[For the Barrens and the Glen to succumb to the acidic gas... what on earth HAPPENED in your world...?]

The appearance looks familiar. Like a less unstable version of their world machine, yes. Cedric doesn't recognise the figure from anywhere else, though: that much is evident in his face and what he's writing down. But an uncomfortable, distorting emotion contorts on his face.

Is it joy? Relief? It's a lot more recognisable when his brows furrow and his index and thumb finger move to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry... do you think this is a joke? This is, this is really important to us, you know. I can appreciate a bit of humor every once in a while, but this is just cruel, I think." It is, of course, anger. His palm slowly drifts away from his face, and back down onto the table next to the tray of papers.

"That aside... please, let's have a serious conversation? i just... I just really need to finish talking to you, okay? This is the first attempt we've ever made at outside civilisation, and I really don't want this to go poorly." He grips the hem of his shirt tightly.

"Please." A hue of desperation paints his tone as it frays at the edges, clearly tired, annoyed, and stressed. "I can only have this chat if you're willing to engage with me on an equal level, and... let's at least do that, moving forward." This is obviously important to him, but he doesn't seem far from shutting off the feed entirely.

> You are now receiving a connection request from > @ask-selenium. > Included is the following message. > "Hey. It's kind of awkward to be talking through text like this, and I would rather not if I could... but we need to consult someone and find out exactly what is going on. I'm sorry that this is a really abrupt and unprompted message, but not doing anything is worse than trying to do something, I think." > "I just have a few questions for you and your settlement, if that's okay. I've been trying to figure out how to read your blog using the terminal but all it reads is '403 // FORBIDDEN'. Actually, I don't even know if this will reach you. It might sound stupid if it doesn't." > "We've been holed up in the refuge for a long time now and we're looking for any signs of outside life still, but we haven't really gotten answers in a long time. So if you'd be willing to sit down and have a chat, that'd be really... I mean, extremely, helpful? I guess? I don't want to guilt you into doing it but it's pretty important." > "Thanks for your reading, and thanks for your time, regardless of if you choose to accept or not.

Connection request approved. Now establishing communication with 'Hazel'...

...

[Ah, my apologies. It seems that there are still access protocols that Sunlight hasn't covered yet... I'll be sure to let him know about that. Regardless... your situation certainly seems dire if you're trying to make contact with any world that you can. I'd be more than willing to have a conversation - I hope you don't mind if Sunlight sits in on this too.]

The camera feed flickers on, the buzzing fluorescent lights noticeably dimmer. It must be at least somewhat late, given the starless outskirts visible through the stained transparent pane in the window socket, closed to prevent any more chilly air from entering.

"Hey, yeah. No worries here. Feel free to invite anyone you'd like. Actually, that's more ideal considering a larger sample size would come in a lot handier. Besides, I think I haven't had a normal long conversation with a group of people in a long time." The person in front of the camera feed looks scuffled and disoriented, holding the paper notebook by his side: barely visible by the border of the lens. "I don't know what you mean by any world…" The skeptical expression on his face does imply he would interrogate them about it, but… there are more pressing questions. "…but…"

"First of all, good evening, I'm really sorry to pester you like I mentioned, but I have a few questions for you and your settlement, just to recap the person who's listening in. We established online contact a while ago, but it's been so busy for such a long time that I never really got around to actually directly talking with anyone." He takes a short pause, taking a deep breath in to calm his nerves. "My name's Cedric. I'm one of the two lead scientists alongside Dr. Silverpoint, who unfortunately isn't… uh, free enough to make it to this meeting."

"…sorry for rambling. To cut right to the brunt of it: I'm sorry if this feels like an interrogation, but me and the rest of the people who've been made aware of civilisation outside of our, uh, site genuinely can't wrap your head around it. How did you physically survive the first hit?" His eyes slowly shut as a long, drawn breath narrowly escapes the cavern between his lips. Thinking about it is a sensitive topic: it's easy to tell that much, at the very least.

"You know. Of the gas, I mean. Anyone who should've been living near the Barrens or the Glen should've gotten hit before they could react. We have a few eyewitness reports here that state just that for the Glen, and… while that isn't the case for the Barrens, more or less nobody really lived in the Barrens in the first place." He brings his index finger up to the side of his head, fiddling with a pen in his offhand. He needs to write some of this down. It could very well contain another hint at some actual, viable information related to their survival, despite how unlikely it may be. "That's… about it for the first thing I have to ask."

@ask-selenium

Hello, this is Cedric speaking on behalf of the people holed up in The Refuge. We're new to this whole 'Tumblr' thing, but me and Kip—that's our lead scientist here—were curious why it said our blog was a 'subsidiary' of yours, and we didn't really understand why. We had a lengthy discussion, and we're still relatively confused so I pitched the idea to just... ask you. Sorry to inconvenience you and or take up your time, but thanks in advance!

( . . . )

'Ask.' Strange word. Tied to contact, learning, so that they could fix. People 'asked' things, helped them, kept them alive in a few cases. It gave a benefit to the world—tended to.

Is there a benefit to them for answering this? They'd be better off if this Cedric were dead. They can't just zap them from existence, not without risking their life.

But there's always a chance, isn't there?

[ because your blog is located in the World. ]

"...err... do you mean, the world as in what a normal person would constitute as the world? That seems pretty obvious.." He has this feeling that no — that's not precisely what the response means. However, it's not like he could ever mention it properly given that Ms. Silverpoint has access to the computer at all times. His face takes on a hesitant shade, casted shadows upon it. He's scared to think of what that implication might... what those words might mean. How would this person know about something like that? Does it even mean what he thinks it means? "You're going to need to be more specific."

Why? He knew already, didn't he? He's the only one to.

[ i was specific enough, Cedric. ] As specific as they can get, with their vocabulary. It's taxing enough for him to reach past them—with a camera, no less. But doing so to talk to them, in this roundabout way?

[ the World. my World. ] They went past persuasion tactics a while ago, instead opting to rid of their residents entirely. Pointless, pointless. At least their people will likely know they exist by the time this talk is over.

"That's really not... something you should be talking about."

He'd be concerned about how exactly this blog owner knew this, or how exactly this was the case. If this was someone from the real world, how would they know it was a simulation? And if it wasn't, why would they speak like this? That is, unless...

"If it's your world, that would mean you're The World Machine. So... you're the one who's been doing all of this? You're the one who... that... that, that caused...?" No, that can't be right. He already assumed The World Machine was defunct in some way, given there's no possible way that this could be intentional or desired. Working with Kip and watching some people first-hand capture some junkies that never wanted to be in that position has forced him to become more understanding, despite everything.

"It... it must have been because of scenarios beyond your control, I'm guessing. That all of this happened. The gas, the phosphor, and all the deaths that came after... I don't know what could have possibly caused it. However, I'll guess it's not your fault." A glimmer of hope shines in his eyes: the kind of candle that burns not knowing how much wax is left.

Always look on the bright side. His face lights up like a christmas tree. Despite all the past losses... this could be it. The end. "But now that we've been put into contact with you, we can... we can work something out. You can help us out, can't you? We've been trying really hard to manufacture a new sun, if that'd help your efforts! And, everyone here, despite how rough things have been, are really willing to put in the effort!"

"I'll assume you've been taking care of all of the things that have brought trouble to us to the best extent you could. But we can help with the burden now." He stares at the computer screen, kind of blankly. Like he can't fully register what lies before his eyes. Little does he know.

No. No, it'd never be. This is no fairytale, is it? Not one possible way that this could be intentional or desired. How wrong they are, haha!

It's never been on their side. Never will be. So there's one last thing to do.

They stare into their world,

as the connection starts to cut.

#os game rp #ask selenium #ask testbuild

"Hey-! HEY!"

"What's- hang on!"

"You're cutting out! Wait, wait, no, no, no, no-!" He desperately fiddles with his terminal, desperation flickering across his features. He's not even sure what he could do. Handling the terminal is more Kip's or Proto's forte. "Just wait a second! Hold on!"

The last of the wax burns away on his expression, as he watches the brief connection splinter to black across his screen. Just like that, their one hope? Dashed.

"No!"

His fingers work across the keyboard, scrambling whilst each digit wrings every last drop of energy from his muscles he can muster. "Come on, please, just work! Just work, just work... It's fine, it's fine, we can just reconnect. It'll all be okay." The last embers of flame leave his expression as he tries to regain his composure.

>curl "https://tumblr.com/ask-os-testbuild" -X 'POST' -F "I don't know what cut out our connection before, but please, let us know if anything happens and what we can do to help! Our survival really hinges on this."

\\ 403 FORBIDDEN \\

"P-Proto... I need to get Proto. He'll know what to do!" Thousands of hushed pleadings to whatever divine force lay above whistle under his breath, each hammering more and more nails into the pool of dread surrounding his heart. The camera feed shuts off.

@ask-selenium

Hello, this is Cedric speaking on behalf of the people holed up in The Refuge. We're new to this whole 'Tumblr' thing, but me and Kip—that's our lead scientist here—were curious why it said our blog was a 'subsidiary' of yours, and we didn't really understand why. We had a lengthy discussion, and we're still relatively confused so I pitched the idea to just... ask you. Sorry to inconvenience you and or take up your time, but thanks in advance!

( . . . )

'Ask.' Strange word. Tied to contact, learning, so that they could fix. People 'asked' things, helped them, kept them alive in a few cases. It gave a benefit to the world—tended to.

Is there a benefit to them for answering this? They'd be better off if this Cedric were dead. They can't just zap them from existence, not without risking their life.

But there's always a chance, isn't there?

[ because your blog is located in the World. ]

"...err... do you mean, the world as in what a normal person would constitute as the world? That seems pretty obvious.." He has this feeling that no — that's not precisely what the response means. However, it's not like he could ever mention it properly given that Ms. Silverpoint has access to the computer at all times. His face takes on a hesitant shade, casted shadows upon it. He's scared to think of what that implication might... what those words might mean. How would this person know about something like that? Does it even mean what he thinks it means? "You're going to need to be more specific."

Why? He knew already, didn't he? He's the only one to.

[ i was specific enough, Cedric. ] As specific as they can get, with their vocabulary. It's taxing enough for him to reach past them—with a camera, no less. But doing so to talk to them, in this roundabout way?

[ the World. my World. ] They went past persuasion tactics a while ago, instead opting to rid of their residents entirely. Pointless, pointless. At least their people will likely know they exist by the time this talk is over.

#ask selenium #ask os testbuild #os game rp

"That's really not... something you should be talking about."

He'd be concerned about how exactly this blog owner knew this, or how exactly this was the case. If this was someone from the real world, how would they know it was a simulation? And if it wasn't, why would they speak like this? That is, unless...

"If it's your world, that would mean you're The World Machine. So... you're the one who's been doing all of this? You're the one who... that... that, that caused...?" No, that can't be right. He already assumed The World Machine was defunct in some way, given there's no possible way that this could be intentional or desired. Working with Kip and watching some people first-hand capture some junkies that never wanted to be in that position has forced him to become more understanding, despite everything.

"It... it must have been because of scenarios beyond your control, I'm guessing. That all of this happened. The gas, the phosphor, and all the deaths that came after... I don't know what could have possibly caused it. However, I'll guess it's not your fault." A glimmer of hope shines in his eyes: the kind of candle that burns not knowing how much wax is left.

Always look on the bright side. His face lights up like a christmas tree. Despite all the past losses... this could be it. The end. "But now that we've been put into contact with you, we can... we can work something out. You can help us out, can't you? We've been trying really hard to manufacture a new sun, if that'd help your efforts! And, everyone here, despite how rough things have been, are really willing to put in the effort!"

"I'll assume you've been taking care of all of the things that have brought trouble to us to the best extent you could. But we can help with the burden now." He stares at the computer screen, kind of blankly. Like he can't fully register what lies before his eyes. Little does he know.

@ask-selenium

Hello, this is Cedric speaking on behalf of the people holed up in The Refuge. We're new to this whole 'Tumblr' thing, but me and Kip—that's our lead scientist here—were curious why it said our blog was a 'subsidiary' of yours, and we didn't really understand why. We had a lengthy discussion, and we're still relatively confused so I pitched the idea to just... ask you. Sorry to inconvenience you and or take up your time, but thanks in advance!

( . . . )

'Ask.' Strange word. Tied to contact, learning, so that they could fix. People 'asked' things, helped them, kept them alive in a few cases. It gave a benefit to the world—tended to.

Is there a benefit to them for answering this? They'd be better off if this Cedric were dead. They can't just zap them from existence, not without risking their life.

But there's always a chance, isn't there?

[ because your blog is located in the World. ]