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[ rescuer pov ]

Falling asleep at the wheel was a giant mistake. But then, Jack didn't remember dozing off. If anything, he had been hyper alert for most if not all of the ride. He had to be in order to watch out for obstructions, especially when three people were counting on him to keep a clear head. He should have known that was exactly when trouble would strike again.

"They did not tell you."

He fell to the ground. (Again? When had he hit it? Where was the car? Where was Chel, <********> "I know their secret weapon. I will find it. Even if you do not know, it is a matter of eventuality."

Not again, not again--

Jack clutched at his head in agony and grit his teeth as he tried to push back against the unwanted presence once again invading his head. He had promised he would do better, god ******** damn it, and even if it meant exactly jack s**t (hah, jack s**t indeed) in the face of a legacy, there was one thing he shared in common with Chel, and that was that he was a scrapper to the end. It had saved him in the Sahara. It could--

"My knowledge increases. This is my awakening."

--do absolutely nothing in the end. Darkness swallowed him whole again, and when he woke, Jack was no longer able to grab onto even a shred of his name. What he--what it--what they were--was something more. And had they the strength to fight, even the feeblest of attempts would have been made. But multiple intrusions into their head had forced a hole, and there was nothing in them left to stave off the vines as they consumed him. A large construct, a brain (how fitting), was home now. Theirs. Everyone's.

Their worst nightmare came to pass without even recognizing it: they were no longer an individual, but a collective without any agency to call their own. Once again, they were no longer in control. Once again, they were but a pawn. (And wasn't that just so ******** familiar.)

[ DREAM SCENARIO: VIOLET DOOR ]

Calab dreamed. The star-field that was his mind looked broken, black scars blotted the sky. He was again faced by three doors, this time of red, violet, or gold. He took the violet door.

He found himself watching over people, created to do so. He did so for a long time. He gave them kindness. He did not know if what they did was right or wrong, he saw only them as there were. So he helped all, even when it would end up hurting another. So many, many times.. it did.

The people became angry with him. He had only done as he thought he was suppose to... hadn't he? He gave them more, wanted to help them... but in the end they turned on him and in his last thoughts were he could not understand why.

The dream shatters.

[Victim POV]

[ DREAM SCENARIO: BLACK DOOR ]

"Sir, the fields are barren, there is no water left for the harvest."

That sounded about right.

"Burn them." King Rufus huffed out in a laugh, waving his hand away. The sound of gasping; a woman fainting in the court; they were music to his ears.

"But sir, if we burn the fields, our kingdom will starve, we'll have nothing-"

A sword slid through the counselor's stomach - the third one he'd gone through today, he idly wondered. His hand pressed against the dying man's shoulder, holding him up as he slowly bled out.

"Well, I suppose that's nothing you need to worry about any longer." He assured the man, before pulling the sword out of his body and kicking him away. The bloody sword was swung in every direction, threatening anyone close enough. "Burn it. BURN IT ALL. Do you hear me?" He slid his sword back into his sheath, and sat down on his gold, glistening throne.

"Burn my kingdom to the ground."

[ DREAM SCENARIO: VIOLET DOOR ]

There was a hole in his heart, and he pressed his hand against his chest to stop it from bleeding. When he pulled the hand away, there was nothing there, and yet he knew he was dying, despite the lack of blood.

"How COULD YOU!" A woman screamed, throwing a stone directly at his face. This was his home, his land. His body had been formed from the ground at their feet. His eyes had opened first to this sky. This air was the first he'd ever breathed, but it was not the only. Never the only.

And now they screamed and begged for this death, because he had saved their enemies, as well as themselves. They cried out for him to return to the soil, because he had not played favorites, as they expected him to.

He'd been created to save lives. He'd saved lives. It was not enough.

It would never be enough.

The giant slowly fell, crushing anything underneath him, and they took him apart piece by piece as he laid on the ground, and was returned to the earth. His land, his people were still locked in a war with those he'd saved, and his existence meant nothing to them.

But it meant something to him. He'd been alive, one. He was.

They would simply always want more.

They turned his body to fertilizer, and fed their soldiers until they died, and their blood became the fertilizer for the next year's crops. It was a cycle that never ended, and he had done nothing to stop it.

But he was. They could not take that away from him. He was.

[ RESCUER POV ]

Carlos woke up. He always hated the feeling of being pulled from a nap. he tried to nestle closer into his sleep. No dice.

Images of teacups and blue stripes faded replaced by claws and talking trees. softly he let out a small hiss of agitation. No let him sleep.



why would you want to be awake he wondered when sleep was so much better. blissful. though the quickening darkness was not his comfortable lull with purrs included.

He woke to a thump and then something bit him. he struggled letting out a high pitched whine. "Go away!" he hissed and tried to crawl away, to no avail.

His head became foggier than usual.

He drifted.... mind slowly becoming more and more something else. part of a larger mass. Carlos drifted... forgetting his name, forgetting his tea and stripes.

"When is a mind not a mind?" he wondered.

And then he was nothing at all.

[DREAM SCENARIO: BLUE DOOR]

He hadn't meant to make them. He really hadn't. He'd just been goofing off, doodling on a bar napkin when the drawings jumped off of it. They'd taken a good long look at his face, and then scrambled away. He hadn't done anything, figured he'd had one too many pints of Pabst. And for awhile after he didn't see them.

But they started building.

It just started with strange paper houses, tucked into the dark recesses of the bar. The Bartender talking about how he'd had to clean up an entire fort made from paper towels out of the bathroom. Bing would come in to see a small town neatly squeezed between the bottles on the wall. Furtive movements at the edges of his vision. Glimpses of tiny scribbled figures disappearing around corners.

And then they figured out how to fight back. He walked in one day to find the Bartender tied down, Lilliputian-style to the pool table. An entire city had sprung up, swallowing two booths. Stick-men manned the walls, paper shields and toothpick bow and arrows at the ready. More of them climbed all over the Bartender. When they noticed Bing, they froze, and then prostrated themselves to him. One tiny one with a folded paper hat announced that they wished to present the Destroyer to him, having successfully defended their city from the demon. Al was a good guy, always knew when to talk, and when to keep his mouth shut. Bing couldn't leave him like that.

He made a big show of 'banishing the Destroyer from their realm'. Once he had Al outside, he told Al to close the bar for a few weeks. Take a vacation. Bing would take care of it. He went back inside, to be greeted with cheers, and a bottle of Al's best vintage.

He'd clear them out tomorrow.

But tomorrow there was a rival city behind the bar, and tricky negotiations were required to secure the supply of Jack Daniels. Peace and libations were eventually reached. When he started to clear the cities the day after, the stick people wailed and pleaded, offered up scores of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and sacrificed virgins to him, wanting to know how they had offended him. He eventually accepted the Pabst, and they made sure to keep him satiated with immediate offerings of booze every day after that.

But the booze started to run out, the cities quickly grew to encompass nearly every flat surface in the bar, and Al's vacation wouldn't last forever. They'd starting fighting each other again, over what was left of the drinks, over bar space, over whether there had ever been a Destroyer. Bing came in one day to find the smoldering remains of a city and the booth it had rested on.

He tried opening negotiations between the warring factions, but there were too many. Only a handful seemed to understand their impending doom, tried to work with him to preserve some element of their civilization. If they would just agree to get along, he could move them into the attic and clean the place up.

Negotiations dragged on. The booze was gone. Al came back tomorrow. But there were a few hours left. Bing watched and waited.

He really hadn't meant to make them.

[DREAM SCENARIO: RED DOOR]

He was but one sheep among a small flock on a grassy plateau, surrounded on every side by a deep, dark chasm. For awhile, there was peace, for there was grass aplenty among so small a number. But the sheep could not die, and each Spring brought new lambs, less room, and less grass for everyone. After a time, they grew thinner and thinner. Their ribs poked through their fleece, but they could not die, and more lambs kept coming.

They turned to him. Begged him to do something. He did not want to. He was a sheep, and only wanted to live in peace. But he mingled among them, he could see a strange darkness taking hold of some of the thinnest ones. If he didn't do something, the darkness would spread, and he couldn't allow that.

So, he became a wolf. And he tore through the flock like a sharp scythe through wheat. He killed and ate, and none could stop him him for they were too weak. But the grass began to grow again, and the remaining number could eat. There was plenty again, but he couldn't become a sheep again. He couldn't stop. Some of the sheep learned to grow horns, and fight back. He took the weak, sick, lambs, and the rams that he could defeat. The remaining ones grew strong and healthy.

A balance was reached.

But he was alone.

[ rescuer pov ]

Brenley had been tired, but not tired enough to inexplicably fall unconscious. He was angry when he awoke, and not only at this strange lapse. He was angry at everything. Something was inside of him, taking his memories, his knowledge, and it wasn't welcome. The things he knew were the core of who he was, more important than his physical form or any outside influence in his life. Whatever this was, it could not have them. He tried to struggle, but found he couldn't move.

"They did not tell you," It said into his mind, each word thrumming painfully against his skull. "I know their secret weapon. I will find it. Even if you do not know, it is a matter of eventuality. My knowledge increases. This is my awakening."

The pain wasn't a surprise. It woke him from wherever he had slipped off to this second time, hooking into him and pulling him close. It was waking up. He was. They were one and the same. How had he doubted that? Why had he fought?

All the bits and pieces of a boil called Brenley seeped through the vines and became something better. He didn't doubt. He didn't struggle. It was a new beginning.

[ dream scenario: violet door ]

Eventually someone... something helped him. It was warm and regal and he was no longer alone. It taught him to help, but it didn't say how.

He helped them all. Murderers. Children. His friends were not true because they did not believe as he did. They had sides to stand on. They fought amongst themselves. So he lied.

He told so many lies that they couldn't help but catch up with him. When they did, his friends deserted him. Rumors spread and he was no longer believed. But he didn't know why. They felt betrayed. They betrayed him.

His former friends had chosen sides. They still fought each other, but he was their common enemy and when they turned on him, they did it en masse. Killing him was the only thing they all agreed on.