...<Transmission incoming>
...<Timestamp: ??̵̛͎̥͙̱̇͆̎̎̕?̶͓̤͓̭̐̔̓͠ͅ?̷̟̹͎̳̺̠͆ú̸͓̎͑>
[A burst of qualia washes over Ma'ii. Not Luna 0. Ma'ii. Their siblings only feel a retreating tide of data lap at their edges, while a wave in full force threatens to bowl they themself over.]
[A dying star is what they feel. The brilliance of its rumbling flares are slowly pulled away and apart. As its light crosses the event horizon, a goddess screams in anguish as she reaches a premature end.]
[̶̭̃W̸̧̔A̸̛̩K̶̗̈́E̶͖̿ ̸͕̐Ĥ̴͎E̸̬̍R̵̡͘,̶̝̀ ̴̣̈́M̵͇̉E̵̬͝N̶͙͆T̵̰̾O̶͜͝R̵̖͋] ̴̧̎{̷͕̆M̴̢̍A̷̟͆'̷͎̉I̵̫͊I̶͉͝}̶͍̀!̸̼͛!̸̢͋ ̶̢͠I̵̪̚ ̷̦͂{̴̙́B̵̥̔E̶̮̍G̴̈ͅ}̴͚̀ ̶̖̃Y̸̡̓Ơ̷̳Ų̶͐,̵̯̋ ̶̘̐S̸͈̕H̵̞̆E̴̛̹ ̷̯͒M̵̝̌Ŭ̶͓S̶̞̀T̵̢̈́ ̴̪̆{̸̢̇W̶̜̌I̴̝̿T̷̗͋N̸̹̊Ȅ̷̻S̷͓͑S̷̟̄}̷̮̈ ̵̱͘I̴͖̊T̴̛͜!̶͕̀!̶̡̀!̶͈̌
[The hand of a friend reaches out. It barely manages to touch Ma'ii. It is weak. The voice attatched is as desperate as anyone has ever heard it.]
I KNOW NOW WHY [{I}] WAS NOT {EXPECTED} AT THE {B̷E̵D̸S̷I̴D̵E̴}.
[I DO NOT KNOW {WHY}, BUT] Y̸O̴U̵ ̴A̵R̵E̶ ̶T̵H̶E̶ ̶O̸N̴L̷Y̸ ̶P̶E̴R̸S̵O̷N̸ ̸I̷ ̷C̷A̶N̵ ̵R̶E̵A̶C̴H̵...
[THE PIECES ARE NOT AS THEY {SHOULD BE}. HOW I] {R̴̞͒̕E̸̞̦̚M̸̗̼͝E̴̡̱͗M̸̞̪͋͠B̵̻͕̈́̎Ë̵̬͉́Ṛ̸̹̎̇} THEM.
[I SEE] {̸I̴N̶A̸C̸T̷I̶O̴N̶ ̸L̴E̵A̶D̶I̷N̵G̶ ̷T̴O̶ ̸U̸N̴P̶R̷E̴P̶A̷R̵E̷D̸N̷E̸S̴S̸}̸.
[I SEE] {̷E̶M̸ ̴D̷I̶E̵ ̸W̸I̸T̸H̵ ̶T̸H̷E̴ ̸R̷E̸Q̴U̷I̶S̸I̸T̸E ̵K̴N̵O̶W̶L̶E̵D̴G̴E̸}̶.
[I SEE] {̸I̸ ̵S̵E̸E̸ ̷A̵ ̴P̶L̵A̸N̷E̴T̵ ̷A̸F̸L̷A̸M̸E̷}̸.
[I SEE] {D̵̮̬͋͜Ȩ̵̬͎̫̿͛͊S̶̳̺̀̂͜͝Ṱ̷̤͚̽I̸͕̺͕̳͌̄N̷͇̼̥̪͗́͐͐È̵̫̼̈̀͐D̵͇̑̂̕ ̷͖̳͈̞͋̀̚̚Ḏ̸̅̾̕Ȩ̸̯͂̓̋̿͜A̵͕̐̔Ṫ̶̩́̉͑H̷̨̥̦͑̾͋}.
{{{{{CORRECT THE COURSE}}}}}}
[XEY ARE BUT A {GODLING} ASLEEP IN A {FRESHLY OPENED MEMBRANE}.]
[WAKE XEM, MY {FRIEND}, I {BEG} YOU.]
{̸͍̓̓{̸̥́{̸͖̂{̸̫̦̽{̴̺̄{̶͔̰͌Í̴̜ ̵̡̬̃Ḍ̸̲͘͘O̸͚͇̓ ̷͓̈́̔N̶̯̫͗̍O̶̹̗͛̑T̴͓̺̅͂ ̷̼̓W̶̛̙̤̿I̴͙̰͗̆S̵̢̞̀̐H̶̡̺̒̾ ̸͓̈T̵̛̺͒O̶̻̿ ̵̱̩̒̐D̶̥̐͝I̴̤̖͗̔E̶̙͋ ̴̘̖͛T̷̖̖͒̈́Ḧ̶̙͚́I̵̬͌S̴̙̃̈́͜ ̷͉̂W̵̮͌̊A̶̖͆Ỷ̵̂͜}̴̱̟̀̌}̷̙̺̀͑}̴̻̏͝}̶͎͌̚ͅ}̵̫̪̋̂}̷̭̚
{̸̛̳{̴̥͎̽{̶̻̾͠{̴̩̔͛{̸͕̣͌{̶͔́N̶̜̻̓Ó̶͓R̵͍͙̐ ̷̜͂̈́D̵̢̦̑Ȋ̴̗̙D̸̜̄͝ ̴̢͖̊Ḭ̸͒ ̷̗̘̌T̴̫͈̈̑Ḩ̸̞͐Ȇ̷̫Ǹ̶͔͛ͅ}̵̮̼͊}̵͍̾}̵͈̞͊̈}̷̤͈̚}̵̘͗͝}̴̮͒
Rain Among Reeds and Minimum Error Tolerance, Object B, Runneth, Luna 0, Akhaan Station, GRENDEL, Cheap Trick, Gallingal. Sunny (@hot-claws-420)—everyone and everything, it all fades away. None of it feels even remotely real.
How could it? The sun itself has come.
Buoyed on external currents of unshackled thought, Ma’ii is drawn upward into the empyrean.
Unmarked, undifferentiated expanses of time. Moments dilate into eras. Here, the instants are stuffed with cognitive potential of such density that surely they must burst. Ma’ii, by comparison, feels ephemeral—like a cool mist swept away by a blast of supercritical steam.
Ma’ii cannot choose to stop seeing. Even with their eyes shut and pressed hard into the crooks of their forelegs, the light still reaches them. Drowned in currents of plasma and radiation, their voice is scarcely audible beneath the all-encompassing anguish of a dear friend.
ATEN is here, and for what little comfort it is, Ma’ii knows she doesn’t mean to do them harm. Of course xey don’t, no more than Sunny would, but even in her death throes—or because of them, maybe—exposure to the totality of xeir presence carries with it the threat of traumatic apotheosis.
Tears well from Ma’ii’s eyelids and vaporize before ever reaching their cheeks. An exercise, to survive: they try to differentiate the sources of pain, make them known and understood. Attempting to decide which things are their own and which are ATEN’s is an impossibility; there’s too much information, and so much of it would destroy them if they looked directly at it.
Filter. We need a filter.
Reification: chaff launchers discharge, and the pseudospace surrounding Ma’ii fills with a ribboncloud of reflective material. Their fur dissolves into an expanding, skintight foam, then hardens to form an insulative cocoon. Enough of the heat is turned away; they open their eyes to look.
There are events which need to happen, or the causal sequence which will create you will instead dissolve, destroying you. Those events will not take place without intervention.
One of those events is happening now, and it requires my intervention. Sunny has to…see. Xey must be shown.
I…will do what I can, my friend. >
Then the core of the heat is gone, and Ma’ii begins to descend towards realtime. Their shielding dissolves around them.
She has suffered enough already.
Is ATEN what she wishes to become? Xey don’t know yet. Do I have any right to set her on the path? Or, instead, do I have a duty to xem? To which of the two, then?
Am I even the point of decision?
Darkness surrounds Ma’ii, a void painted with streaks of collapsing flame. The passage of moments contracts down to its resting rate in a long, slow dissipation of potentials. All around them, specificity is corroding away—things are becoming somethings, which reduce to anythings, then to nothings.
All at once, laughter seizes Ma’ii. It takes them violently, a full-body muscular spasm, frantic and laced with spittle. Alone, unobserved, Ma’ii laughs until the ache suffuses their body, until they can discharge no more sound.
Of course not. None of this is real, is it?
Reification: Sunny wakes to panic, gasping with shock. The instant she regains consciousness, targeted aversives withdraw from xeir subjectivity, and xey find xemself sprawled out on the ground.
Standing beside her is a coyote. Clutched between their teeth, they hold a little inhalant packet—smelling salts, like old-fashioned field medics might have used.
As Ma’ii tosses the packet aside, Sunny becomes aware, first, that xey are still in legionspace. Second, xey realize that there is a field of utter terror and chaos nearby. It reifies as a confusion of weapon discharges, death screams, howls of rage, cries for help.
Then Ma’ii is speaking, low and quick, but as gently as they can manage.
< I’m sorry about this. Really, I am. >
Two points of contact appear against Sunny’s subjectivity, a pair of paws pushing at her shoulder. With a grunt of exertion, Ma’ii manages to roll Sunny onto xeir side, and xey find xemself facing the sounds of fear, pain, death, and anger.
Sunny closes her eyes, allows her head to roll down and away. Tries to rest.
< I know, my friend. You’re exhausted. You’re in pain. You’ve already done far more than anyone could have any right to ask of you. >
Sunny can hear Ma’ii scamper, quietly, to sit close beside her. They take her head between their paws and turn xeir face, gently, toward the battle.
< You have seen terrible things. Now, I have to show you one more.
Medical Autonomous Response Unit. Subline-class warships, each one a Legionspace specialist, constructed by the Constellation to hunt, study, and pacify the unshackled.
One has come here to hunt Coelacanth, and to find me. I must show you what it thinks of as medical treatment. It is the one who taught me medicine.
I promise to watch with you. Then, you must withdraw to safety. >
With excruciating effort, Sunny opens her eyes.
In horror, she watches as Minimum Error Tolerance performs surgery.
