YOU ARE NOW READING THE OPENING OF THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE FINAL ACT OF THE TERMINAL

CHAPTER TITLE FORTHCOMING

LET IT BE KNOWN THEN, TO YOU, THAT THE SPECIFIC TITLE OF THE OPENING YOUR VERY EYES BEHOLD IS

I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER, I AM NOT YOUR LOVER, AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG

Your head doesn’t hurt. 

That’s strange, and remarkable, somehow. Because it should, it really should… Antimony did a number on your head. Cracked something too… You heal it quickly, without even meaning to. Calcium fibers stitch your skull back together and you hiss aloud. Who did that? You. Both of you.

You observe yourself blandly, with a practiced disinterest. You also feel a deep clawing hate, but that is normal. That’s a separate issue, a different part of you. You observe yourself physically. Initially you appear to be a giant red skeleton covered in spikes. Further examination proves that this isn’t entirely true. You’re not entirely a skeleton. There are thin layers of tendons and muscles over your bones, allowing you to move. So that isn’t supernatural, okay. The outside of the muscle isn’t raw or bare either. A thick shell of calcium has encased your muscle, like an insect’s shell has formed over the meat, protecting it. You’re not sure what organs you still possess. A brain, at least.

There are also huge spurs of bone growing out of your skull, shoulders, and arms. It appears to have burst through the thin layers of muscle, and thick pseudo-exoskeleton. Although this causes you no pain. The exoskeleton, it seems, is also incredibly hot to the touch. This does not hurt either, and you surmise that your nervous system must be underdeveloped.

The half of you that might have once been called Ryan Hartley is enraged at the situation. You were beaten like a common foe by people that dare to call you their friend, thrown in a cellar and left here. The part of you that Is Apophis glimmers with a divine and hateful mirth as It observes that all that blocks you from exit is a simple locked door. 

You are content then, in your observation of yourself. You run forward and smash the door to splinters, only to find a crumbled, smoking BMW wedged in the stairway, blocking your exit. Rainwater begins to flow into the cellar and you scream in rage. Tracy did this.

You despise Tracy. You despise all of them, all of them. The part of you that was Ryan Hartley and the part of you that Is Apophis harmonize on that particular fact. You despise Diana and Antimony, those cloying, chirpy, obnoxious girls with their buzzing, insect-like voices. The way their friends see their failings, their flaws, their inability to just act Normal… and love them anyway. And act like that’s part of what they love. Nobody ever loved you like that.

You despise Alex. Her rage, her coldness, her spineless cowardice. They let it fester. She apologizes and they forgive her. They forgive like it costs them nothing, like it doesn’t matter. Sam. Sam and the way he talks to you like you’re friends sharing a secret and looks at you behind those dark, reflective shades, and the few moments where he’s taken off his shades and looked, really looked at you, and his one eye has been like another glass lens, reflective, empty, patient like an insect is. He terrifies you. You hate him. 

Tracy. The way they sacrifice themself like they mean nothing, the way that not an ounce of that is even touched by anything like a martyr complex. The way it is simply honest, and quiet, and gentle. They disgust you. They make you seem disgusting.

And Wren. In all these other cases, the gripes once held by the part of you that was once Ryan are simply exacerbated and amplified by the part that Is Apophis. But Wren… Wren the two hate in unison, you hate, in unison, with the savage fierceness of an empty space that was once filled with a mindless adoration, but then hollowed out and filled with a souring hatred. The part of you that once was Ryan Hartley is this hole, and it knows it, but lacking the words to express this, you simply hate with a fiercer, blacker hatred. 

You hate her. Her anemic, pale skin, her thin, brittle, birdlike features. How she’s taller than you and stoops down to talk to you without meaning to. The way her spine is rigid as a pole or curved like a question mark with no point between the two. How she looks at you in your worst moments without hatred, but with pity, with soft, calm, unmitigated pity and quiet sadness. The way her lips quirk up and her face twitches without her input when she listens to someone intently. The part of you that used to be Ryan Hartley thinks “she will never forgive me,” and you know that that is not true, and that she has already forgiven you, most likely, and would do so again and again, over and over, however long the two of you should live. And then you hate her a little more. 

You let out a strangled cry of rage and tear through the shattered car, burning it, splintering it, tooth and claw and spike tearing into metal, melting it and passing through. You stagger up the stairs, and water pools at your ankles and pelts down on you, evaporating into steam. 

Sam-Clone: Dude, what is that?

You swivel your grim, faceless skull towards a pair of Sam-clones. Both are terribly scarred, not wearing sunglasses, because you suppose you cannot clone sunglasses, wearing strange, soiled, white robes. One is less injured than the other, and this one frightens you. There is often something different, the part of you that Is Apophis acknowledges grimly, about those who have awakened. Something bright and ancient and dreadful in their eyes. Both boys are about fifteen or sixteen years old, biologically, but there is something old and ancient and terrible in the eyes of the Awakened Knight.

The part of you that was once Ryan Hartley always found Sam strange, especially after his Awakening. Although, until now, you were not certain whether the aspect you feared was a result of his Awakening or a result of Tracy removing his grief in that strange way they did. He had an abnormal, monstrous, frightening patience. Every element of him was alive in this. His blank expressions, slow languid movements. The way he spoke or told jokes, thudding forward towards a punchline or conclusion with a calm, mechanical, rhythmic gate. He was vulnerable, yes. Prone to talking about his feelings, petulant, stupidly deadpan. But give him time, and you could see him forgetting, briefly, to be human, and then remembering. He was patient like a computer, like the earth, dry and bare of life an eternity of time ago. Waiting, forever if necessary.

And this clone of Sam Aberdeen looked at you, his eyes not hidden behind sunglasses but every bit as cool and glassy as a pair of sunglasses might have been, and said

Sam-Clone: Sam number one, I’ll be real with you. Never seen anything like this before.

Sam Number One: I guess we are essentially the same person, with the same memories, so that makes sense.

Sam Number Two(?): Yeah pretty much. Probably just another overgrown monster. Like those fish guys.

Sam Number One: I thought mermaids were supposed to be pretty, Two. 

Sam Number Two: Yeah dude my heart is breaking to be honest.

You can hear their blatant disregard for commas. The part of you that Apophis Is feels overcome by the desire to destroy them, as It is overcome by the desire to destroy any and all things. The part of you that was once Ryan Hartley isn’t hard to persuade. 

You rocket forward, propelled by a mad fury, and enjoy the look of utter terror on the Sam who hasn’t Awakened. Number One? Whatever. In a moment your claws, and spikes, and fire and hate will have had their way and that won’t mean anything. You would smile to yourself if the entirety of the expressions your skull-face was currently capable of conveying were not “closed mouth” and “open mouth.” 

The Awakened Sam barrels in front of Number One, shoving him away violently and yelling at him to run. Number One does and you end up slamming into Sam Number Two. The effect of this is similar to the effects on a knife if you had been expecting to cut a stick of butter, only for it to be abruptly replaced by a drumstick. Sam Number Two is still injured, you’re a giant burning skeleton made of spikes for pete’s sake, but nowhere near as much as Number One might have been, and you were expecting to cleave your opponent in half, only to hit something with resistance and far more strength, so you are diverted, falling foot-over-face and into a puddle on the road. You make a sound like a garbage disposal feeling a massive amount of rage and stagger to your feet.

Sam Number One: Man that seemed really personal honestly. We got beef?

You swing a long, spike-studded arm at him, and he ducks out of the way, his expression not even shifting. 

Sam Number One: Dude, I’m a clone. I’m already pissed off. Specifically at the tiny alien I’m fairly certain is responsible for this. You tried to hurt me. Two of me, actually, so it feels like you must really not like me, haha, wow. 

Does this guy ever stop talking? Wait, you know the answer to that one.

Sam Number One: But I’m just a downright splendid dude so I’m willing to talk this out.

You lunge at him and he jumps into the air, over you.

Sam Number One: I’m assuming, hopefully, that there’s a real version of me out there somewhere. And you look like a high-ranking Demon. Maybe you should find that guy and fight him. I’m just some nobody clone. 

You stagger to his feet just as he begins stroking his chin, which the part of you that used to be Ryan Hartley would cringe at if not currently preoccupied by fighting simply to continue to exist. It’s a clear sign that he’s about to launch into even more monotonous, snarky, “witty” jabbering.

Sam Number One: Maybe being a clone aint so bad. Less responsibility. And I saw clones of everyone, which means more clones of Peixoto exist, and man, the more of them there are, the better the universe is. Objectively. Because they’re cute.

You lash out to hit him again, and he absentmindedly whacks your first away, with busts his knuckle open, but he continues musing idiotically anyway, and you can only stand, dumbfounded. 

Sam Number One: Hey, there’s so many of them, I can shoot my shot like fifteen times and just keep asking until one of them wants to date me. Do you think that’s a good idea?

You look at him in a way that you hope communicates that you have no idea why he’s talking about this with you.

Sam Number One: Oh, we can fight again if you want. We’re just talking right now. Just being friends. 

He slams into you, knocking you into the ground. You’re burning him, just by touching him, and that honestly feels great, to both of the components that make up your form. His eyes shift slightly, fear briefly expressing itself inside of his blank expression, and you laugh. He leaps up. 

Sam Number One: Jeez, you’re tough. I’m probably mincemeat, huh?

You laugh, crawling forward.

Sam Number One: Except you’re not exactly aerodynamic, are you. Smell ya later, chump.

He turns heel and runs down the street at top speed, yelling something along the lines of “this is actually a strategic retreat I promise.” You hiss, chasing after him with all your might, but you’re not exactly aerodynamic, are you? You’re a giant, thickened skeleton, covered in a thin layer of meat, covered again by extra skeleton, with spurs of bone everywhere, and about as many functional joints as a posable action figure. You can’t even move that fast.

FAILURE

The voice is at once part of you and separate. It comes from within and without. It is alive in It’s voice, a god speaking to It’s servant and Avatar.

IDIOT. FOOL. THIS THING DOES NOT MATTER. YOU KNOW WHO YOU MUST SEEK. YOU KNOW WHO YOU MUST FIND FOR ME. 

Please, cries out some coward within you, Please. Some remnant of you closer in composition to the Idea that is Ryan Hartley, something you no longer are, says Please Master, I am afraid. I cannot see her again, I cannot. 

THEN YOU ARE WEAK. YOU WILL DO THIS. DID YOU THINK YOU HAD A CHOICE? RYAN HARTLEY. PUPPET. YOU WILL DO THIS.

You stagger into the town, clones flying and falling all around, vent-faced monsters staggering and attacking them blindly. You bleakly glimpse around the town. Rain. Clones. Grey buildings and….

And a tornado. Touching down like the finger of god. Buildings are turned into wooden shrapnel. Everything around you is picked up and hurled around immediately. Your nature as an Awakened being, as the Servant of Apophis gives you about sixty seconds of clinging to the ground before you are wicked up as well. And as you are sucked into the vortex you glimpse briefly at Wren, Diana, and Antimony’s Apartment and you see them.

You See Them and so does He.

YOU HAVE JUST COMPLETED THE PROLOGUE TO THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE FINAL ACT OF THE TERMINAL

WHICH WAS TITLED

I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER, I AM NOT YOUR LOVER, AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG

THANK YOU.

CHAPTER THREE WILL BEGIN SHORTLY.

YOU ARE NOW READING THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE FINAL ACT OF THE TERMINAL

WHICH IS TITLED

AHAB, OR THE WHALE

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR. 

Your name is Alex Hawthorne, and your cousin almost broke her key, unlocking that door. Totally fair. Very important to get in currently.

There is a tornado. You have never seen a tornado, never been under a tornado watch or warning, or anything like that. You don’t even know the difference, to be frank. Wren is yelling something at your group, and you’re not listening. The door is open, and you’re rushing in. Hm. Is she actually your cousin? You’re not sure, but she’s practically your sister, love her.

Jeez, you’re tired. You had absolutely no idea how tired you were. Your little party rushes up the stairs, Diana carrying Antimony, Wren holding Albatross’s hand tightly. 

Wren: Apartment is just up here, buddy! We’re almost there, and then we can make you food and rest. It looked like the tornado was going the opposite direction?

Antimony: There is a closet we can hunker down in if it heads towards us!

Diana: If we can fit with all of Wren’s clothes!

Sam: Women be shopping.

Wren: >:O

Antimony: Apologize, Sam. Apologize to women.

Sam: I’m sorry, women.

You sigh loudly. 

YOU: I’m probably gonna rest on the couch. Although I’m hungry too.

Sam: Nah, you’re making me scrambled eggs, remember? Because we’re best friends. I’d do the same for you.

YOU: Why not just make your own eggs then, moron?

Sam: I’m bad at cooking :( 

Tracy: Understatement. Burns himself.

Sam: Look Alex I just don’t want a boo-boo, okay.

YOU: Okay, FINE, I’ll-

Tracy: Don’t encourage him. You’ll imprint on him. 

Sam: Woof woof.

The Stairwell is open to the air, which is crazy, especially given that a key is necessary to get in. You’re completely exposed to the elements. You glance towards the town, where the dark vortex is uprooting trees and powerlines. You grimace as your eyes focus in on a bright red light burning in the tornado, seemingly being lifted up, up, higher into it. You gaze also at the slowly expanding dark dome over the marsh. 

YOU: To be clear… Do we have a plan, I now the answer is no, but I’d feel wrong if I didn’t at least ask. 

Wren: Totally fair, Alex. No, no plan, not yet. We’re going to eat, rest, and then… Get to work, I guess. 

She shrugs sheepishly with the last comment. You nod. Fair enough. You reach the door, and Wren unlocks that second door with less fumbling and panic, which is pretty nice at least. You step in, and your little group crowds around.

Antimony: Deen, you will set me down now!

Diana: Ask nicely >:3

Antimony: *actual growling and roaring(!)*

Wren: Deen, set Antimony down, please.

Diana: Throwing you on the couch

Antimony: NOOOOOOOOO!!! >:O

Diana roses Antimony onto the couch gently, and then Antimony hisses, scratching her. Diana ounces on top of her, and soon the two are rolling around on the couch like two cartoon characters in a cloud of dust, fists and feet emerging from the opaque air occasionally.

Wren: Don’t worry, this… This is like enrichment for them, seriously. It’s how they decompress.

Sam: Uh they appear to be biting each other

Wren: Seriously, it’s gonna turn into hugging and giggling in about one minute

Antimony: NO IT WILL NOT I WILL BE ANGRY FOREVER >:O

Albatross: Uh-

Wren: Albie, would you like an omelet?

Albatross: S-sure.

Wren: Sit down and rest, little dude. All of you, go ahead and take a load off, okay?

Hm. What do you do next?

hey, im out as a girl to all my friends, and my partner (who is enby apparently!). i have genuinely never been happier in my life, i think! i’m kinda learning what it’s like to be mostly happy instead of periodically feeling tiny bits of joy and feeling blah the rest of the time. i go to sleep smiling and wake up and actually feel okay with being awake. so thanks, all of you, for helping me make this. i think it helped me feel supported and ready to be a girl. this story means so much to me, and so do all of you! i hope you continue to enjoy it as it reaches it’s end! thanks for helping Wren, and Tracy, and Alex all realize who they are. and. y’know. thanks for helping me :D 

~~

PLAN ==>

You sit on a couch in the living area. There’s a seriously old, kind of small tv to the front of the area, and two couches angled around a sitting chair. Shag carpeting on the ground. You’ve been around here before… This apartment was last refurbished in… What, the seventies? Eighties? Diana’s parents didn't have the money to redo it. Fair enough. You consider taking a nap… There are two bedrooms, but you know how messy Diana is, so at least one of them probably smells like dirty socks being (poorly) covered up by incense. Maybe you’ll nap on the couch…

Except, no, that’s not a good idea right now. Priorities. Planning. This is a thing that has to happen, so it’s something you need to prepare for.

Albatross: Hey, so… Are we gonna make a plan?

Diana: Yes, while “winging” it has been sufficient thus far, I think we might need to do a bit more preparation this time around!

YOU: That’s unusually coherent of you, Diana.

Diana: Yes, well, I am a brain genius.

Wren: :| 

Diana: I am VERY smart!

Sam: Dude I’ve seen you get your head stuck in a chair

Diana: You are a LIAR, Sam!

Sam: lol

Wren: You’re very, very intelligent, sweetie… It’s just not typical of you to have… Common sense, so much? Or pragmatism? 

Antimony: Get owned >:3

Diana: Nothing they say about ME reflects well on YOU, clone!

Antimony: We are owned together then <3

Sam: Joint ownership. Wait. That gives me an idea. Tracy. Lay down a beat.

Tracy: No.

Sam: Okay :) 

You sigh heavily, into a throw pillow. It’s so hard to work with these people. As much as you love them, you really wish you could have just had fun, silly misadventures instead of having to fight monsters and a giant thing that thinks It’s a god. You do perk up a little as Wren starts cracking eggs into a pan. Jeez, you’re a hungry girl. Apparently fighting fishmen and saving people from drowning does that, who would have thought? Antimony sits next to you and smiles at you brightly.

Antimony: Are you hungry, Alex?

YOU: Yes. I definitely am. A lot more than I thought, wow.

Antimony: Wren’s eggs taste good!

Sam: Wren lays eggs?!

Antimony: No, the ones she cooks- Wait. You are messing with me, Sam Aberdeen.

Sam: Yeah :D 

Tracy: I apologize. It’s what he does. He can’t help himself.

Sam: No, I definitely could if I wanted to

Sam playfully punches Antimony on the side, and she leaps up and slaps him across the face, cackling maniacally. And then Diana jumps on him and starts beating the crap out of him as well. Huh. That’s not something you feel comfortable bearing witness to. They’re… Really laying into him. Wow. He’s just letting this happen. 

Tracy: Oh, it’s fine, Alex. He can take far worse.

YOU: Okay… Stop grinning. 

Wren: It’s actually nice to see you smile, Tracy. We don’t see that very often.

Tracy: Oh, it’s not because I’m unhappy. I forget to make expressions. I apologize.

Wren: All good. I have experience dealing with neurodivergent folks, no judgement at all!

Tracy: What?

Wren: Are you not...?

Tracy: …

Tracy: Hm.

They scratch their chin and shrug.

Tracy: Noting that as a possibility. It would simplify things, I think.

Wren: Well, even if you’re not, we accept every part of you.

Albatross clears his throat awkwardly. 

Albatross: Food?

Wren: Coming up, lil’ guy! Jeez, I’m an awesome chef :3

Albatross: You don’t have to be, I’d eat a potato skin right now.

Sam: Oh potato skin isn’t that bad.

Your friends are genuinely anathema to whatever topic is at hand. They don’t… They just don’t have any sense of priority at all, do they? 

YOU: Guys, this is some… truly groundbreaking conversational prowess going on right now-

Sam: Miss Sassy-britches.

YOU: Perish in a hole, Sam. Anyway. I really think we should be planning right now, don’t you? Resting is good and all but… I think we have a time limit. So we should probably be.. thinking of a plan.

Diana: Oh, Antimony and I have one.

Sam: Huh. I have one too. I guess you need to decide who gets to go first. Pitching wise. Ya know.

Okay, you’re scared to hear the plan of… either one of these whackos. But.. Okay. Sam or Diana first?

uhh... how many people are still reading this, im a lil nervous 

This is a late post to say that I'm still slowly working my way through the holiday special and the summary (which are both wonderful btw---and yes, I am reading the summary, even though I've been here since the beginning. That's how good it is :P but seriously. :DDD also I'm like aww I remember when this happened and I remember how hilarious this part was and I remember when everyone was so much younger and the story was just like this and it's like nostalgia~), and I haven't been on here for a while because of a culmination of sever problems and other problems (and also non-problems!), but I intend to try to catch up in time for the final parts because NOO this is the big finale and then... it'll be over!!! DD: but thank you for doing this I love this so much haha :DD

oki!!! kinda short part today but that's okay :P

~~ 

DIANA’S PLAN ==>

You’re scared to even allow Diana to make any sort of suggestions. She’s a little bit… Goblin-ish? Whatever this is, it’s gonna be a bit violent, you think. But that’s fine, it shouldn't be hard to listen to it and outright dismiss it. You cross your legs. 

Wren: Uhh… We haven’t discussed this at all, Deen. Have you talked about this with anyone?

Antimony: Even I do not know what this is about!

Wren buries her face in her hands.

Wren: Okay…

Diana: Your utter lack of faith in me is noted! It will be brought up in mocking tones once you are all praising my intelligence and skill!

YOU: Look, let’s just hear your plan, Diana.

Sam: Yeah we gotta save the best for last

Diana pokes her tongue out at Sam, and he giggles, tilting his head. Tracy rolls their eyes at him. Diana stands up heavily, with an expression of utter seriousness on her face. She has a thing where any face she makes amasses any other emotion. Any expression she makes is That Expression, full stop. Which is interesting. She walks to the window and gazes impassively at the storm. 

Diana: This city…

She says that in the most gravelly growl imaginable. Wren and Antimony giggle. She is pretty silly :P 

Diana: Here is my plan! In simple terms. I say that we should recruit as many of the clones being thrown out of the dome! Many of them will be Awakened! They will be strong as a result, and very angry at Apophis! Like our buddy Albatross! He’s enraged!

She ruffles his head maternally, and he frowns awkwardly.

Albatross: I dunno about all that… I’m sixteen… Technically I’m one day old.

Wren: Hey! Guys! Eggs are done!

Albatross, Sam, and yourself rush over to the counter, and Wren giggles, pushing plates towards you and the others. Food. Food food food. These eggs taste like eggs, which isn’t great, honestly, but it is food that goes into your stomach. So that’s really good. Man, it’s almost gone!

Diana: I will keep yapping! We gather an army of clones! That shouldn’t be too hard. Then we rush the dome, surround it, and attack Apophis from all sides. We would be towards the back, since we’re the “real six.” Or, Wren should be at least, I think. Since she has no copies, and she is not expendable.

Wren: … None of us are expendable. I don’t want any of us to be expen-

Tracy: None of us want anyone to be expendable, but… Unfortunately it’s the way things are. We have an army, and we should utilize it.

Diana: I am not enthused about the idea, I promise you. But I think it’s our best bet? Wear Apophis down as much as possible before we face Him head on. 

YOU: Uh. There’s the question of crossing the marsh, especially with the number of people you’re planning to get to do this…

Diana pauses and nods, shrugging slightly.

Diana: Yes! That is definitely something we would need to consider… I do not know.

Antimony: Swimming in it isn’t too hard, actually. I practiced moving in it after I started physical therapy.

Hm

So that’s Diana’s plan, you guess. Do you want to hear Sam’s?