What's on my mind:
😷
TheAntonyDude
I watched them die. And I did nothing but feel myself acknowledge my own pathetic cowardice.
It didn't have to be like this. In fact, it very nearly wasn't like this. We did everything right, as best as we could understand. We followed the Steps. Everyone we came across, everyone we talked to knew that what we were doing was for everyone's good. You do things in war that stay with you, but — not once did I question our mission. Not once did I question if what we were doing was justified. It was justified, because it was the only mission we had ever known.
And then you had to go and fuck it up. You and your ego.
I don't blame you, really. We should have said something sooner. But how could we have trusted you? All you had ever done was try to make yourself more important than you really were. Your concerns began and ended with how many things you could put behind lock and key, how many countries you could get to bend to your will as you expanded like a tick engorged with blood. Sure, we put a damper in things for a while. Blew a couple places up. Gave you some headaches. But you always recovered. Every single time. That should have been our first indication that things were already past the bend — that there was nothing we could do but hope another version of us somewhere out there got it right. I had long accepted that things were going to end like this, much earlier than the others did.
And so, as anticipated, the Cascade arrived. The Machine powered down, its words and its songs growing silent like it had never even been there. We all sort of…just grew quiet. I remember going back to my family in the last few days, not really concerned with whatever half-assed plan Delta came up with. None of it mattered. It was delaying the inevitable. Why fight against the storm if it's going to arrive nonetheless? Better to resign yourself to the reaper and spend what time you can with people who actually give a fuck about you. Not these…these "protectors." All they did was act like they knew best, even when signs told them otherwise. And it cost us everything.
You know what's really funny about this whole thing? I managed to get one of the higher-ups to cough some juicy tidbits that are usually classified. I guess he figured it didn't matter either; like me, he knew what was coming. He didn't buy into the whole "Final Spear" shit that Delta was spinning. So, he brought me to his office, logged in, and showed me what he had been reading. Stuff that he knew about for a while but had to keep secret. The bad stuff — the stuff that makes you really just think about why you even took this fucking job in the first place. And when I say bad stuff, I mean bad stuff. I remember reading it and almost being sick. There was this weird…I don't know, dread? I was sweating. It all made sense right then, at the end, but I wish it hadn't.
There was this blanket — like a tapestry. It was beautiful, really. Glittering stars and swirling gases, like something you'd see out of a fantastic science fiction movie, one with the really expensive visual effects. He scrolled around, looking at stuff that seemed almost too realistic. Said something about it being The Machine's work; something it generated in the last few days before the Cascade was projected. I asked him what was rendering the effects since I was into simulations, games — stuff like that. He said it wasn't a simulation, and it wasn't being rendered. It was a snapshot, like a moment frozen in time, and what I was looking at was the multiverse. Each orb was a separate reality. A parallel dimension. Like ours, filled with people, but different in subtle ways.
Eighteen of those orbs were crossed out with big, red X's.
I left and didn't say anything else. I don't remember what I was feeling. It might have been anger. Maybe it was sadness. Or maybe I was just finally at peace with myself. I went home and, since I figured everything was ending anyway, told them every last detail. The Insurgency. The Cascade. The Machine. All of it. They were stunned. They didn't believe me at first, said the whole thing was a prank — and then I showed them a video of The Machine I took on my phone the day we received word of the Cascade. They didn't think it was a prank after that. A couple of them cried. And then my wife, God bless her, came over to me and held me. I remember stroking her hair, smelling her shampoo…feeling her skin. I asked them what they wanted to do about everything.
My wife said she wanted to go out on her own terms. She wanted to take the family with her. A part of me wanted to stop her, but honestly — I didn't blame her.
I'm alone now. They're still with me, but they're quiet. There's one bullet left in the gun. I think I'll join them soon. I'm leaving this as a record of what happened to us — as a note to anyone else out there, anyone in another orb, about why what we do is important. Why our mission is worth pursuing.
Maybe you'll avoid our mistakes. Maybe you'll control them.
Or maybe you won't.
See you in the funny papers.
Previously known as: Antony
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It didn't have to be like this. In fact, it very nearly wasn't like this. We did everything right, as best as we could understand. We followed the Steps. Everyone we came across, everyone we talked to knew that what we were doing was for everyone's good. You do things in war that stay with you, but — not once did I question our mission. Not once did I question if what we were doing was justified. It was justified, because it was the only mission we had ever known.
And then you had to go and fuck it up. You and your ego.
I don't blame you, really. We should have said something sooner. But how could we have trusted you? All you had ever done was try to make yourself more important than you really were. Your concerns began and ended with how many things you could put behind lock and key, how many countries you could get to bend to your will as you expanded like a tick engorged with blood. Sure, we put a damper in things for a while. Blew a couple places up. Gave you some headaches. But you always recovered. Every single time. That should have been our first indication that things were already past the bend — that there was nothing we could do but hope another version of us somewhere out there got it right. I had long accepted that things were going to end like this, much earlier than the others did.
And so, as anticipated, the Cascade arrived. The Machine powered down, its words and its songs growing silent like it had never even been there. We all sort of…just grew quiet. I remember going back to my family in the last few days, not really concerned with whatever half-assed plan Delta came up with. None of it mattered. It was delaying the inevitable. Why fight against the storm if it's going to arrive nonetheless? Better to resign yourself to the reaper and spend what time you can with people who actually give a fuck about you. Not these…these "protectors." All they did was act like they knew best, even when signs told them otherwise. And it cost us everything.
You know what's really funny about this whole thing? I managed to get one of the higher-ups to cough some juicy tidbits that are usually classified. I guess he figured it didn't matter either; like me, he knew what was coming. He didn't buy into the whole "Final Spear" shit that Delta was spinning. So, he brought me to his office, logged in, and showed me what he had been reading. Stuff that he knew about for a while but had to keep secret. The bad stuff — the stuff that makes you really just think about why you even took this fucking job in the first place. And when I say bad stuff, I mean bad stuff. I remember reading it and almost being sick. There was this weird…I don't know, dread? I was sweating. It all made sense right then, at the end, but I wish it hadn't.
There was this blanket — like a tapestry. It was beautiful, really. Glittering stars and swirling gases, like something you'd see out of a fantastic science fiction movie, one with the really expensive visual effects. He scrolled around, looking at stuff that seemed almost too realistic. Said something about it being The Machine's work; something it generated in the last few days before the Cascade was projected. I asked him what was rendering the effects since I was into simulations, games — stuff like that. He said it wasn't a simulation, and it wasn't being rendered. It was a snapshot, like a moment frozen in time, and what I was looking at was the multiverse. Each orb was a separate reality. A parallel dimension. Like ours, filled with people, but different in subtle ways.
Eighteen of those orbs were crossed out with big, red X's.
I left and didn't say anything else. I don't remember what I was feeling. It might have been anger. Maybe it was sadness. Or maybe I was just finally at peace with myself. I went home and, since I figured everything was ending anyway, told them every last detail. The Insurgency. The Cascade. The Machine. All of it. They were stunned. They didn't believe me at first, said the whole thing was a prank — and then I showed them a video of The Machine I took on my phone the day we received word of the Cascade. They didn't think it was a prank after that. A couple of them cried. And then my wife, God bless her, came over to me and held me. I remember stroking her hair, smelling her shampoo…feeling her skin. I asked them what they wanted to do about everything.
My wife said she wanted to go out on her own terms. She wanted to take the family with her. A part of me wanted to stop her, but honestly — I didn't blame her.
I'm alone now. They're still with me, but they're quiet. There's one bullet left in the gun. I think I'll join them soon. I'm leaving this as a record of what happened to us — as a note to anyone else out there, anyone in another orb, about why what we do is important. Why our mission is worth pursuing.
Maybe you'll avoid our mistakes. Maybe you'll control them.
Or maybe you won't.
See you in the funny papers.
Previously known as: Antony
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