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⇒ Be the Doomed Dirk Strider.
you are now the Doomed Dirk Strider.
you’re wandering through the dreamscape, like you usually do when you get high as balls off of psychedelics before you sleep. it's a habit when you aren't going through the motions of talking to another Dirk. you’ve been doing this shit since you were 18. good times. greater sex.
it’s pretty cool, if you do say so yourself. for the record, other Dirks have said it was rad when they dropped the defensively cool act long enough to open up. you’ve cracked some of those stubborn bastards like walnuts. you might've also given them therapy in the process. you're not completely sure about that part, but it definitely did something for BROSPRITE when you had some fun with him.
who would’ve thought that fucking a sword hole could possibly be that hot. should be illegal for your brain to instantly start thinking about the noises he had made while you fucked him stupid. do you have it bad for the bird guy? you absolutely have it bad for the bird guy. yeah ok brain, stay on track.
no horny wandering before you get somewhere. then again, visiting a previous partner would be.. nope. stop that, you don't even think that’s possible. there will be time for that later. for now you’ve gotta walk down the corridors that make up the dreamscape like you’re hunting for a stupidly funny one liner.
you knew there were misconceptions -those were bound to happen with something this- but the dreamscape and the dream space were different. one was like a shitty hotel where you could choose what room you wanted to enter, the other was the room itself. it wasn't complicated to you, and that was important. you'd be stumbling everywhere like an idiot if you didn't get it. most of the doors were dark, so you were pretty sure it would take a while to find someone to visit at random.
your brain wandered again, goddamnit- when you reached the end of the hallway. shorter than usual, not many Dirks to hit up for the classic sex, strife or information choice, you guess. as you stood in place, something felt a little off. like static electricity making the hairs on your arms raise with alarm. the back of your neck prickled with uneasiness, a sign to be cautious.
okay, easy. what the hell’s causing it though? your guard doesn't rise like this for no reason. you briefly wondered if it was the puppet before your gaze was drawn to the left. a long corridor. was it there before?
you don't think it was. no, you’d recognize an eerily long hallway if it stared you in the face, which it was. the dreamscape didn't change much, not to the point of adding weird halls- not even when another you was sleeping. there was a door at the end, too. you didn't move for a while.
something about it was.. you didn't know what that feeling was. you weren't afraid, but you were reasonably put off by it. at the same time, though.. you felt drawn to it. something about this door was making you jumpy. or maybe you were just stalling.
…
yeah, you were totally stalling. it wasn't necessarily your fault. anyone with a brain and common sense would understand that it's a bad idea to approach the door. you have both of those things, including the balls to go through with it. why not? what could go wrong aside from everything?
you straighten up and stride down the hall the way someone with your namesake was made to until you were right in front of the door. now you could actually look at it to figure out why it's making you want to recoil 1000 miles away from it. deep breaths. in, hold, out.. yep. you're great to go.
you examined the door. it had a weird symbol on it. most dream doors -on the occasion that you actually used the damn things- have a Heart on them. of fucking course they would, because all Dirks are Heart players. funniest shit you’ve ever heard.
anyways, this door isn't the regular sort. the symbol is flickering so fast that it would give your rare flashstepping a run for its money. you squinted a little harder to realize that it was rapidly switching between what you’re pretty fucking sure are the Space and Time symbols. you’d wager with full confidence that the person inside wasn't a Dirk. even the handle of the door is weird, actively growing and shrinking enough to make you question how the hell you're supposed to open it.
it must have started changing while you weren't looking. yeah okay, you could tussle with a freaky door. you’d fuck with anything, considering the control you had over the dreamspaces. this would be fine, even though you couldn't see anything past the snow whipping past the small window in the door. you opened the door for an immediate blast of cold air to the face.
right. an entire blizzard. sure, you could work with that, even though you’d prefer a house of some sort. you focused, thinking about the wind calming. that should- wait, really? wow, alright.
the blizzard hadn't stopped, it hadn't even calmed. that made fuck all sense. maybe if you tried again-? which you did, of course. the winds didn't slow, and the freezing air didn't lessen in the slightest.
you did, however, feel something. it was so ungodly overwhelming that it nearly knocked you on your ass. okay wow those were emotions. you sure as hell know you didn't have that killer migraine before. this dreamspace was fucking with you.
it had to be from whoever was in here. this wasn't a problem before, even with the infuriatingly dense versions of yourself. you knew there was someone unusual in here because freaky ass hallways don't appear for no reason. this was a special case, and you had to be careful. just your luck, apparently.
thanks, dreamscape. you couldn't tell this person wasn't some fucked up off-shoot of you, as if every other sign hadn't been obvious enough. it was only when you remembered that you were standing in tornado force winds that you kept moving forward. you had no idea where the source of this was, but you also couldn't see the door anymore. brilliant thinking on your part.
the blizzard had the audacity to try blowing both your hat and shades off as you navigated what you were affectionately calling the Blizzado. save for the roaring wind, it was weirdly silent. you were used to hearing the thoughts of the other person by now. it left you in your own head. at least this allowed you to make the observation that you couldn't feel the puppet’s influence in this space.
the residually metaphorical puppet jizz on your soul lets you sense whether or not that fuzzy piece of sugar fueled terror was involved in.. anything, really. it was a breath of- freezing cold air, straight into your lungs. yep, you sure are still walking through at least two feet of snow. it's been getting slicker because you've barely avoided slipping and falling on your ass several times. you’d rather not fuck up your hip anymore, thank you very much. at least you could make something out now.
it vaguely resembled a person, maybe someone crouched and hunched? that shrimp position couldn't be good for their back, depending on how long they've held the stance. you trudged through the snow that was making your legs number than a night of hot sex to exit the worst of the Blizzado. the wind was still making your exposed arms sting, but at least it was manageable now. you now had a decent visual on the inhabitant of this dreamspace.
long hair, pink and blowing around in the wind. it was tangled and messy, making you silently cringe at the thought of trying to wrestle it into order. running mascara, a near vacant expression in what you're pretty sure are purple eyes. you know because they’re- yep, they're glowing alright. stress, probably.. you’d gauge her age to be around yours.
it doesn't take much to connect the dots that the blizzard was a reflection of this lady's state of mind. you couldn't hear her thoughts because they were the storm. it made sense to you. why else would foreign emotions make you feel overwhelmed when you tried to stop the wind? of course you couldn't control this fuckery.
this was your first time seeing thoughts and emotions physically manifesting in the dreamspace, though. the only way to figure out why this was happening would be to talk to her. shooting the shit is easier when it's literally you, but you can work with this chick anyway. this is just a new situation and improvising is right up your alley. you won't even mind if she's in the mood to strife.
you walked closer, maintaining what you learned to be a non-threatening distance. she looked over at you, even if she barely seemed to recognize you were there. that was fine, too. all you needed to do was ground her, get her brain back on earth. you know what it looks like when you zone out hard enough to stop understanding what you were seeing.
DIRK: sup
dead silence met your statement, but she did blink. you could tell she wasn't back to herself, despite this slight acknowledgement. you wondered if a joke would help. people could be snapped into focus when they heard a shitty joke, you know from experience. you knew how to insufferably ramble, to make strings of words so unbelievably dumb that no other human could fathom it.
DIRK: kinda cold for that outfit, isn't it
DIRK: baby it's cold outside
DIRK: or inside for this case.
DIRK: do you have a thermostat in here or what
DIRK: freezin’ my ass off over here
DIRK: my bangin’ rad hot ass
DIRK: frozen into submission by the cold
DIRK: this is such a tragedy.
DIRK: how am i s’posed to bring the hot men to my yard now
DIRK: hello
DIRK: earth to pac-man ghost
DIRK: houston we have a problem
DIRK: red rover red rover pull the fuck over
DIRK:
DIRK: damn
DIRK: tough crowd
nothing, huh. you have the capability to bring out a horrible southern accent. you ain't a Texan for nothin. it might be worth your time to break out some of the sayings you’ve heard around the state. those usually made people raise an eyebrow.
DIRK: it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here bro
DIRK: wind’s louder than skeletons fuckin’ on a tin roof
DIRK: louder than a whore after sundown
DIRK: uh
DIRK: cold’s got me sicker than a dj’s rad beats.
DIRK:
DIRK: i've been runnin’ all over hell’s half acre
DIRK: reception’s colder ‘n santa’s ass
DIRK: christ almighty lady
DIRK: do ya have a soul in there or are ya just a statue.
you’re not sure which part of your patented Texan bullshit brought her around to look at you like you were an idiot, but she was squinting pretty hard in your general direction. she looked confused, and you caught her checking what she was wearing. a shirt with zero consideration for her shoulders wasn't great for inner turmoil weather like this. you kind of doubted she could feel it because you’ve been suppressing shivers for however long it's been. your perception of time was usually pretty good, but it felt like it had been hours already.
you weren't stupid enough to miss the blatant answer. you know it’s because of the Time symbol that had been on the door. watching the way her eyebrows furrowed, you could practically see the gears turning in her head. then you felt something in your head. oh.
you didn't like that. a prodding sensation- scratch that, you hate this. reminds you too much of that fucking puppet. maybe she could tell by the way you cringed, because she backed off. you didn't stop yourself from commenting on it.
DIRK: kinda rude to look into someone's head like that don’tcha think
DIRK: at least take me out to dinner first.
no response again, but she was tense. the line of her shoulders was drawn in a line straighter than your taste in men. Pinky- you didn't make that pac-man side comment for nothing- was standing now, even if she was unsteady on the way up. caution was the most obvious emotion you could see on her face. you noted a few minor details about her; like the general sturdiness of her form.
she didn't look heavy, but you wouldn't call her a lightweight. with the way she shifted herself, you’d wager a guess that she was gearing up for a fight, and you’d also say that it was entirely out of defense. this was definitely a new situation for her, involving someone she didn't know, likely in a place she wasn't used to. of course she would be defensive. you didn't mind the extra exercise.
Strife!
…
for someone who clearly had a skull splitting migraine, the woman that you were temporarily calling Pinky was keeping up with you well enough. not like you had anything better to call her, as she hadn't bothered introducing herself before engaging you in a strife. the snow hadn't slowed you too much, but the wind that was obviously influenced by her thoughts sure did. you’d like to reiterate that tornado force winds make it very difficult to keep your balance long enough to land a calculated strike. in between expertly moving away from the waves of- space you think- she was throwing at you, she did something specific.
she was putting her arm out behind her, like she was guarding something. or more accurately, some one. it was only you and her in this dreamspace, but you could tell clear as fucking day that she was used to defending somebody smaller than her. you waited for a lull in the freezing wind before you darted forward to attack behind her. Pinky was fast, instinctively moving to take a hit for someone that wasn't there.
bingo. a sweep of your better leg and a firmer than necessary kick to the stomach knocked her down into the snow. she laid there for a few minutes, squinting in your general direction again. you wondered if she had problems with her sight. out of courtesy, you offered to help her up.
she let it happen, and the blizzard finally calmed down. you noticed immediately that she was openly showing her pain by gripping the side of her head. you thought about how nice it would be if there were chairs in the space, and to your surprise- they appeared. so you could actually manipulate the dreamspace now. you assumed it was because you made her realize you weren't actually a threat, and also because she was now wearing glasses.
you made yourself comfortable, watching Pinky do the same. the horribly bright space around you was dimmed into something manageable. you rightfully assumed it was Pinky trying to manage her migraine. the copious amount of pillows behind her head got the message across too. you even convinced her to talk after a while.
DIRK: so
DIRK: you got a name?
NEVEIRA: …Neveira. I don't mind if you just call me Nene.
DIRK: sweet
DIRK: thought i’d have to mentally call you Pinky forever.
NENE: …Your placeholder name for me was Pinky.
DIRK: what else was I supposed to call you
NENE: …Fair point.
you learned several things about her. she had two younger siblings, she was in the middle of a sburb session, and she couldn't see jack shit without her glasses. you had asked what you looked like to her beforehand, and she described you as a vague blob of color. it took a lot of self control to not question how the hell she had been dodging your advances during the strife. you eventually managed to lead the conversation in a direction you liked, such as why she was in the weird blizzard dreamspace.
NENE: Oh, yes. I reached God Tier, and it is… substantially overwhelming.
DIRK: yeah? on a solid one to ten scale, how would you rate your pain
NENE: I gained my powers and then I woke up here.
DIRK: so the instantly passing out variety of pain, gotcha
NENE: Quite so.
NENE: I really should try to wake up soon.
DIRK: you in a rush?
NENE: A little bit, yes. My sibling was given an… unusual Class and Aspect.
DIRK: like what
you could see the worry written all over her face and lip where she had been biting at it. she came off as stoic, but you were pretty sure that it was more like a natural state for her.
NENE: The Rage of Rage.
DIRK:
DIRK: the fucking what
you may not have started your own session of sburb, but even you knew that wasn't a normal classpect to have. the expression on your face probably made that obvious. if you had to guess, she probably didn't need to explain this often.
NENE: …You heard me correctly.
NENE: My youngest brother didn't escape the abnormality of our session, either.
DIRK: what
NENE: Navy entered the Medium with the rest of us and was called the Page of Despair.
DIRK:
what kind of commentary were you supposed to make about that, exactly. an aspect called Despair ? that didn't exist last you checked, thank you very much. should you be writing this down? you feel like you may wanna write some of that shit down.
it wasn't really your job to learn about the wonders of sburb, but that didn't stop you from being interested in how fucked up it could be. you were quiet for a hot minute, so you were distracted from your totally contemplative in depth thinking by a stack of papers being placed on your lap. the title caught your eye. “The Sburb Alpha Experience.” you immediately understood that this couldn't be right, since all the other Dirks you've talked to played the beta of the game.
christ, was this how those other versions of you felt when you showed up in their dreams at random? no wonder they were so thrown off. one look up at Nene showed a resigned expression on her face. it basically confirmed what you were thinking.
NENE: Yes, my siblings and I played the Alpha version of Sburb.
NENE: I’m unsure of how it exists, or if it’s exclusive to my offshoot.
NENE: …Though I suppose I have the means to check.
you watched her stand from the pillow covered chair, warily staring at the space in front of her. Nene reached out, twisting it until she could show what looked like the opening credits of Star Wars . the way she gripped her head implied that the simple action wasn't so simple. you assumed that she wasn't used to her powers yet. she skimmed the text- you couldn't read it for shit, to be honest- then dismissed it.
NENE: The overview claims that my session simply… happened before the Beta existed.
NENE: If I must be straightforward, that sounds like complete bullshit.
NENE: Though… all of it is bullshit, really.
she returned to the pillows with a side of chair, grabbing a mug from nowhere like you would if you had proper control over this place. she’s looking at you weirdly, so you can only assume she’s hearing your mega rad inner monologue. the smile cracked on her face implies she can.
NENE: Quite so, apparently…
NENE: I believe I could hear you earlier, but that was all.
NENE: That is to say that I couldn't understand the words.
NENE: It is only now that I have begun properly focusing on your… “mega rad inner monologue.”
should you be relieved? maybe. she’ll get the hang of it eventually. reading people’s poorly projected thoughts can be really fun. it’s rare that you’re in the same position as the Dirks you usually visit.
you wonder if you’re supposed to help this lady with something like BROSPRITE did with you.
NENE: …Perhaps it could relate to my God Tiered abilities?
NENE: I don't exactly… have control of them yet.
you can work with that. try focusing on the space around you. see if you can change it at all.
NENE: Focus…
NENE: Hm…
Like this? Oh dear. What in the- this feels… strange. I… don't think I quite like this, but- it doesn't feel… bad, so to say. I believe I can control this… narrative.
…I will hand it back over to you. My head is hurting quite considerably.
just like that, you’re back to your inner monologue. that was pretty fucking weird. you aren't used to the visceral feeling of having someone else rip the narrative away from you. at least it answers the question of what you’re supposed to help her with. you can't say you’ve ever known anyone who was supposed to become a Narrator before, but that’s basically the purpose of your dream hopping, isn't it.
alright, let's try that again. ready?
NENE: Ready.
…
⇒ NENE: Be the Narrator.
I am now the Narrator.
It took us quite some time to get me to the point of establishing a consistent narrative. For all of my prowess in storytelling, this was not simple to accomplish. Overextending myself will still result in wretched migraines, but I have reason to believe they will become more manageable over time. This new power should allow me to rid Novi of their incorrect Classpect. To become a Narrator… it is most intriguing.
I must admit that it gives me a thrill. While I doubt Sburb would allow me to change whatever I wish, I can definitely alter some minor inconveniences. Further training should result in better control over what I can and cannot do. My session is rather broken, as we never prototyped anything with the Kernelsprites. There is no Black King for us to slay, so I will be looking into methods of exiting the session entirely.
It will be necessary for us to continue forth. In other news, Dirk Strider was quite helpful. I had not expected anyone to appear within my mind space, though I suppose anything is possible. He woke up shortly after the lesson. I would like to thank him, but I am unsure of how to contact him again. At the very least, I should be able to… sense his off-shoot.
Should something fall ill of him… then I would be glad to assist. In a case where there is nothing I can do… then one of my, hm, teammates should be able to make up for it. I suppose the only thing I can do in the meantime is resume the session. I do hope that I didn't worry my siblings too much. Knowing them… I believe they will be glad to hear of my newfound power.
It will help us greatly.
⇒ NENE: Exit the dreamspace.
…
Some years later, a Doomed off-shoot was ravaged by the Red Miles . This was a frequent occurrence. The victim in particular- a well known Dirk-Bro Strider who had banished the puppet early on- was considered significant. Enough so that a Muse and her traveling session mates stopped by the torn up remains of a smoldering house. She stood, staring down at the bodies.
Neveira was… conflicted.
NEVEIRA: …Is it right to raise the dead?
KIIK0: Is it right t0 d0 anything at all?
NEVEIRA: …I never repaid him for assisting me.
KIIK0: He reached cl0sure, didn’t he?
NEVEIRA: …It does not feel fair.
KIIK0: Then what about the other D00med 0ff-sh00ts that were eradicated by The Miles?
NEVEIRA: Is it so wrong to want to save someone?
KIIK0: Is his life w0rth m0re than 0thers?
NEVEIRA: I want to do this.
KIIK0: He c0uld be angry.
NEVEIRA: He may not be.
KIIK0: Is it truly in your right t0 revive s0me0ne?
NEVEIRA: …
NEVEIRA: No.
NEVEIRA: But I will do it.
NEVEIRA: Blue, if you wouldn't mind.
BLUE: Mhm.
⇒ Be the Page of Life.
You are now the Page of Life.
After you offered a non committal shrug and nod to the head of your team, you strode over to the corpses you were about to reanimate. Two blondes, both having been skewered by the Red Miles. It was sickening to anyone who hadn't been doing this as long as you had. You often thought of yourself as a janitor. You don't need the details as to why or how something happened, you’re just here to clean up the mess.
As you began your work on the smaller guy wearing a red shirt, your brain wandered. You remembered that stupid introduction you gave yourself when you started this game of Sburb. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to revisit the damn thing, rework a few details. You’ve changed, after all. You knew it was Neveira subtly prompting you with her freaky narration powers, but it was easier to be compliant and run with what she wanted.
Your name is Blue Neptune. You're the team’s Page of Life because someone has to revive your teammates when one of them gets killed in an accident. You were 20 and in a deep depression before the game forced you to play, so now you’re just a slightly older apathetic bastard. You’ve accomplished some feats such as: murdering Neveira on her Quest Bed so she’d ascend to God Tier, and being the only sane person on your team. Where the fuck do you even start with them?
Navy Norris, the youngest of the siblings? Sure. He talks to ghosts, channels them, and kept Novi’s head on straight while they were being an enraged dickbag. Him being the Page of Despair at least made him useful. You won't deny that his ghost companion gives you bad vibes, but you can't bring yourself to give a shit.
If Kiiko tries anything stupid, Neveira’s going to write up a Script for the sole purpose of keeping him in line. Speaking of a Script , you can hear her murmuring to herself, and you already know she’s going to irreversibly change the way this Doomed off-shoot played out. The consequences would be equally heavy, of course. Whenever she pulls shit like this, you know that the game gives her a bitching migraine that lasts for however long Sburb feels is appropriate. That also means she’s going to be insufferable for at least a week.
You finished closing the wounds on the non scarred man, then moved into the other, significantly scarred man. Apparently he did Neveira a favor, so now she wants to cash that in or some shit. You wonder if this guy was aware of the way your group's leader had been power tripping. You could honestly understand it, even if you didn't like her for it. Having the power to completely change the flow of a story just by talking and going into Narrator mode?
That’s overpowered as hell. You tolerate Kiiko’s malicious ghost ass because he keeps her in line. Speaking of Kiiko, he used to be a Player too. Supposedly, he had been a Lord of Despair . That was the only thing he cared to tell you or anyone else, the vague bastard.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes behind your epic shades. Seriously, these were the raddest things you owned. You’re getting off topic, though. Your next inner bitch fit revolves around Novi Norris, the middle child. While their siblings can swear up and down that they were actually very relaxed before the game, you thought it was biased bullshit.
They were siblings, so that obviously meant that their opinions were skewed, because the Novi you met was a dense headed, rage filled moron. You understood very well that it was due to the fucked up Classpect they were given. That doesn't mean you like them. The Rage of Rage ? The game assigns those based on the person, so if Novi was labeled as the Rage of fucking Rage, then it sounds a lot like the game was just acting according to them.
You knew that if Neveira wasn't so busy writing her new Script , she’d be glaring holes into your back. Fuck if you cared, she’s next on your mental tirade anyway. Where should you start with her? Maybe with how she acted before she reached God Tier, because this dead guy’s wounds aren't healing as quick as you thought they would. Stupid fucking Red Miles .
Neveira Norris, the Muse of Space and Time. You remember how overwhelmed she used to get by trying to use even one of the Aspects. Navy had to use his Despair so that she could actually ground herself and be productive. The reason you were instantly God Tiered was for the sole purpose of reviving the others when she accidentally murdered them. You find that stupid, even to this day.
Why give someone an Aspect if they’re going to get their teammates killed while practicing? You decided it would be more efficient to focus your frustration into your healing. You thought you would’ve been done by now, but it seems like even the universe has it out for you, because the fucking wound keeps reopening. So then you have to go back and mend it again, even though you just did that. It’s more than a little annoying.
Since you’re going to be doing this for a while, you decide to take a closer look at this man. You won't lie- he’s actually pretty hot. That scar across his face makes him look like a badass, not to mention that you’d totally let him dom you if you weren't busy reviving him. You’d like to think that a session with him would make you loosen up real quick. The calluses on his non gloved hand imply that he’s got the strength to throw you around a little.
What would it be like? Would he ease you into it, or touch on some foreplay before turning you on your back and fucking you until your stress is an afterthought? Maybe he'd call you a good slut while railing you in a mating press? A hot shiver ran up your spine. Maybe he’d finger your prostate and keep you on the edge until you’re begging an- focus, Neptune.
An interruption from Neveira reminded you that you do in fact, have a job to be doing. You were doing it, your brain just.. wandered. Is it wrong to get horny over the dead guy while you’re closing his horrific fatal wounds? …Yeah, it definitely is. That was a stupid question.
God, how fucked up are your morals? You’ve only been doing this shit for two years. Is that enough to derail a moral compass? Apparently it is. You silently consider the people you’ve been socializing with and conclude that it's probably because of them.
Normalcy is overrated anyway. Besides, the soon-to-be-not-dead guy’s wounds are finally fixed up. Maybe your horny thoughts helped the process or something like that. That would be weird, huh. Doesn't matter too much, just as long as you do the job.
With a bit of Life power fuckery, these two guys are now alive, and Neveira’s probably finished with her world altering Script . You’ll give her credit to the fact that she works fast. You stepped back from the two blondes, assuming a nonchalant stance. The unsettling glow in the room let you know that Neveira was about to go Narrator mode on this off-shoot. Fun stuff.
Very good, Neptune. I will take it from here.
⇒ NEVEIRA: Enact the Script.
…
⇒ Be the Dream-Walking Strider.
you are the Dream-Walking Strider and you have no idea why or how the actual fuck you’re alive.
you recognize the ceiling of your apartment, and you just don't fucking get it. you’re alive. you really shouldn't be. you had a damn good run- 46 years before The Miles came in and wrecked your shit, but here you were laying pristinely clean in your bed with a beating heart. checking your stomach reveals no trace of your fatal injury.
looking anywhere else revealed a note sitting plainly on your nightstand. you decide to humor yourself by reading it.
“Hi.
Neveira’s supremely busy at all times, so that means I get to answer your potential questions in an inconvenient letter. You’re alive because she had a favor to cash in or whatever. Don’t like that you’re breathing again? Too bad. You now get to live whatever boring, idealistic life you want in an off-shoot of an off-shoot.
To you and the other nerd I revived, dying was just a really fucked up nightmare. He’s probably going to wake up soon. Anyways. I can't take even the slightest guess as to what’s going on in your head, so just take my phone number. Text if you have a question, I’m basically the only sane person willing to answer anything on the team.
(###) ###-####
Bye.
-Neptune.”
well. that… was a little helpful. cool. you'll look into that number after you’re done having a crisis and calming down Dave. you should totally make breakfast, he would like that.
you may not understand what the hell happened, but you’ll take a provided chance.
⇒ BRO: Go live your life.
You are now living your life.