--Ultron's Hypothetical Journal Across Time and Space--

It is clear something is unusual about this hotel, as I woke up this morning and saw everything in a whole new way. Everyone is sheep, fluffy and gulible. Ok, I never knew sheep could fling oranges and pillows at such an astounding rate, or that sheep could inspire an entirely pointless revolution. But still...sheep. If Emerald could see what I see, she would no doubt be entirely enthralled. On that note, I truely hope that no darek-rabbits show up. Emerald would have a ball...

*Sigh* Sheep, the lot of them. Only Nova understands...

I think all of the radioactivity in the air is not helping my athsma. The combination of Jarvis's rosin and the radium *coughing fit* may yet be the death of me. I think I'm developing allergies to this hotel. 

Emerald's Bright-Green Journal of Awesomeness!!!

It is time to end tyranny!!! All bunnies, killer or otherwise, must unite!!! We shall fight with oranges, we shall fight with oranges, and we shall fight with oranges!!! 

This story is very interesting and peculiar in a very good and mysterious way.

Oranges taking part in a revolution makes no sense. Unless they were served as food then . . .

It's not supposed to make sense. 

The best part about this is that nothing makes sense, but it always feels like everything does...

Y'know, after all that fighting and lighting things on fire and watching someone somehow  get killed by an orange, I'd love some (normal) donuts and tea.

Yeah, but I imagine no one else is awake yet because IT'S THREE IN THE MORNING FOR PETE'S SAKE!!

Hey, it's not my fault! Blame Scylla! She woke everybody up with her weird rambling about shadow demons.

Whoa... Oranges? Really? This is... really strange!

I'm scared of revolutions. You know, I really did think it would be all fun and happiness. But death? No one ever told be anything about it! And... Princess! 

I know, Bella, sad, sad, sad. But this is really crazy!

I don't wanna die!

Princess! But... you're dead!

This is my ghost. Floating around is harder than walking!

PRINCESS! You're back!

Actually, it's her ghost.

But... still!

I still don't wanna die!

Too bad, Princess.  

No day, today, terribly sorry my dear readers. Believe it or not, but l have silghtly more important things to do than write nonsense. 

Day Four

In an attempt to enlighten the dear reader about the exact nature of this mysterious person known only as “The Teller of Tales”, we shall provide here in completion, an account of the happenings of Day Four, from the perspective of your mysterious guide. Enjoy.

~~~~~

Starlight. No, not starlight. Something else light. Why do they call light after its source, anyways? Isn’t light just light? They don’t call darkness shadowdark or nightdark or dardark. What’s the point of calling it moonlight or sunlight or spacelight?

Because, perhaps, darkness is one and the same, but light comes in many different forms. But never mind. This feels like starlight. l do miss starlight so. Starlight is the best kind of light. It’s not the sort you can ever see from this wretched planet. No, they have never known starlight. But oh why oh why, do i even try? They never understand, you idiot.

Ah. l'm missing something, am l not? Oh yes. Frontal lobe or something? Must’ve put is around here somewhere…..why is this place so disorganized, anyways? Just waiting for people to misplace random part of their brains.

Ah, starlight. Why does this remind me of starlight so?

Where’s that cook, anyways? l hope he hasn’t put my misplaced lobe in brain soup or something. l don’t even think he can cook…..”Cook! Cook! Where oh where is my frontal lobe?”

Hrm. not answering. Now where is he? This is dreadfully--

Oh, hello who is this. A guest, l know that, but which one. Oh darn, l've forget their name. I'm not supposed to do this, ack, l need to remember it quick. Smile. No, don’t smile. It doesn’t matter. Think, think. Which one looks like they do volcano exploring every day...no not helpful. Just a name. Think of a name.

“Oh, good morning Sir Richard. l hope you are enjoying your stay.”

Oh, oh no. They’re looking confused. This cannot be good. What did l say wrong?

Esthelle tries not to look too confused. “Excuse me…..l'm not Richard.”

“Oh, haha, how silly of me. l can’t ever remember names you know.” Waves hands around like that means something. Good. now make your escape. Okay. that meant pretty badly. Now where is that stupid frontal lobe……?

Oh come on. Yet another one. What is with these people? Erm okay. Which one acts like a sheep? All of them do, that’s not helpful. Just pick a name. It can’t possibly go wrong.

“Good morning, Bella!”

The purple dragon gives me a few seconds of staring. I think that really was Bella. Huh. never knew she was a purple dragon. Could've sworn that was--oh never mind.

Whew. okay. So far so good. Why do people have so many names? Just call them all Bob or something. lt would work.

Oh. No, no. there’s a whole crowd of them. Why are there so many? Oh and i know what a crowd of CBers should be called. Confusing. Oh and now one’s approaching me. Maybe they saw my frontal lobe somewhere. You can never know.

“Erm, excuse me, l did have a question.”

Of course. Now act friendly like you actually like them. Which one is this one? Let’s seee….mild, sweet and innocent. Pretty sure it’s MP. what does she want?

“Oh, well, you see, there’s a slight problem about the clocks. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all lovely and pretty, ‘n all, but i'm pretty sure they’re slowly killing people.” MP turns her sweet, trusting eyes on me.

“The clocks? Nonsense. Sorry, there’s just clocks. They tell time. Tick tock. They don’t kill people. Now run along and get such silly idea out of your head.”

Thankfully, most of them don’t ask any questions. One of them, l think it was Sprankje, turns to glare at me.

“Ashlee and Zeon. dead. And don’t you--”

l convintaly snap my fingers, teleporting in a cloud of smoke to the other. Stuff and nonsense. She need not know such things.

Stupid frontal lobe oh where are you…..

Also, l know once they had been feed, these guests would want entertainment, or they’d start ripping each other apart of something. l don’t know. It's happened before.

Hm...something Colosseum-style? Crowds always loved those heads starting to roll…...No, that would end badly, as their were several dragons among their numbers…...Nova or something. They were all called Nova, l think. Strange. Dragons liked blood. Something more tame is needed. Let's see…..what’s tame? Pudding. Chainsaws, taxidermy, spaceships, pencils, time machines. (Frontal lobe! Where could’ve it gone?) Hmm. that doesn't leave much. Maybe exploring? People always like that. They could poke around some old rooms or something. Yes, that's’ it.
Snap of fingers, and part of the wall between two doors slides away to reveal a hidden passageway. I debate showing them it, or letting them find it out for themselves. The latter is better, plus this place had not been properly explored since the last party died from acid rain in here.

The passageway before me is duty, old, and somewhat creepy. l don’t remember what was in here, l can't remember everything for heaven’s sakes! Something where put away for a reason, through.

Ah, what the heck. Did the explorers of space thing that? Of course not. All they thought was “Mine, mine mine eeeee. All of this is meeeeeeee.”

There is a door at the end of it all, heavily locked and chain.

Snap of fingers, puff of smoke, no doors, no chains can hold me. The room before me is echoey, huge and duty. Also seeming to have a broken ceiling, light filters in at odd angles. And it contains, what first appears to be a train wreck of some sort but then as l look closer, i can see the name on one peice of metal.

Apollo 73--

There were two other numbers, but they had been torn off.

Oh. l remember this. Apollo 7342. Last human endeavor into space before the dark times of the Information Age fell on them. The number on it was the number of people that had put it together, as a last hope for humanity. And then, who knows how many hundreds of years later, all their hopes and all of their dreams lie dusting away in the forgotten corner of a cabinet of curiosities. Truly, oh how the mighty have fallen.

It seems almost sacrilegious to have such a noble ship just sitting here. She had crashed before even reaching space, true, but she had been the last hope. And the last hope had died. Perhaps humanity along with it. Perhaps the last sparks of the universe along with it. Because, unbeknownst to humans who had been wondering for their entries existence “Are we alone”? They hadn’t known that most of the universe’ intelligent life had died out thousands of years ago. And as the fledgling species stepped into space, the only thing they would find there was graveyards and dusty battlefields.

Perhaps it is only the immortal who will remembers everything in the end. Perhaps--

Oh my starlight! Frontal lobe, is that you? Because l'm pretty sure--

No.

Oh come on.

You’re an idiot.

That’s not frontal lobe…..It’s…...Bookworm? Alexandra? No, there’s two of them now.

Erm…..Jarvis? Sylla? Who could they be…..? Is that one a dragon? I’m pretty sure they’re all called Nova except for maybe that robotic one…..

Oh, no. Don’t do that. What are you doing? That person shouldn’t go in there, l'm pretty sure that’s bad...What?! Don’t push them in, you!

Zip.

Zap.

Deceased.

Dead.

Still don’t know who that other person was…..

I carefully go over to the second person, now very dead, having been pushed inside the Apollo 7342 wreck, where other various bones are scattered. She is now bones, very nice looking bones, mind you, but bones ever the less.

Oh.

Wait.

That’s who she is.

September was her name.

What a pretty name….l think absentmindedly. Almost as pretty as those bones.

Now where are you, frontal lobe?

~~~~~~~~

End Day Four. Death Toll: September. Rest in pieces.