Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you’re trying your best to not slam dunk your poor, fragile laptop against the floor of this godforsaken meteor. 

Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be too difficult of a task for you. You’ve never been the type of edgy teen who punches holes in their drywall because their mom won’t give them enough chicken nuggies for their 3am gaming sessions, mostly because you don’t have a mom to yell at. And you generally try to be careful with the things you own. In your house, anything other than (shitty, breakable) swords generally wouldn't be replaced in a timely manner, so you've learned to be economical. But this thing was starting to get on your nerves. 

You glare at your computer, betrayed. You’ve been its owner for around 4 years now and you’ve always considered yourselves to have a pretty decent workplace relationship, but this was too much. It basically stole your sandwich from the community refrigerator even though you specifically wrote your name in Sharpie all across the top of the Tupperware container, as if to spite you in particular. This was a total breach of employer-employee trust, and pensions will be cut, you promise. 

You’re vaguely aware that you’re muttering under your breath, but you’re a bit too tired to care. You really needed this movie night, ok? It’s a few days away from the one-year anniversary of your Bro’s death, and you’ve spent the past half a week hiding in your room and trying not to have a total fucking meltdown.

You stare at your computer, fingers frozen on the keys. You just don’t know what to do, or how to feel. All you want is for one thing in your life to go right. Is that so much to ask for, universe? You can feel your face scrunch up in the way that suggests a total fucking meltdown is soon to occur, but you can’t do anything about it. You hate this.

The bundle of blankets that is Karkat shifts on the opposite side of the couch, startling you out of your spiral of thoughts. You’re grateful, for a moment. You could have sworn that he’d been fast asleep not a minute ago, but he looks fairly awake now. It’s probably a brorail thing to know when your friend is about to freak out, you decide. 

The troll in question glares over at you, though not without concern at your (more than usual) slightly crazed behavior. “What the fucknuggets did you do to the movie, Strider?” He asks, tone showing more emotion than he probably wanted.

You feel a dry smirk pull at your lips, levity coming more easily than expected. “It’s over, dude. Weren’t you awake enough to see the ending?” You retort back.

“Hardy har har, don’t try and pretend like we weren’t in the fourth-and-a-half act, two entire acts away from the finale,” he grumbles, untangling himself from his blanket cocoon to stretch his arms. “And-- besides--” he covers his mouth, yawning loudly behind his hand. You hold back a giggle at the look on his face. “-- I wasn’t fucking asleep!”

You turn your attention back to the piece of junk you call your computer, shaking it slightly. What the hell, computer? Is Troll Dane Cook’s face ugly enough to make it commit seppuku? Actually, that’s probably the reason why it chose today of all days to implode.

You try closing the lid and opening it again, to no avail. The cursor continues blinking at you over the half-buffered face of Troll Jessica Alba.

Karkat groans loudly. “And I thought I was a bad hacker. How in the name of Jegus are you so bad at this?” He leans over, and in one quick motion, pulls the laptop out of your hands.

You process all of this about a minute too late to stop him. “Wha-- hey, dude, what are you doing!” You yelp, struggling to untangle yourself from the pile of blankets and pillows and reach over to him.

Karkat ignores you, holding the laptop over his head. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you bust your shameglobes over a dumb fucking husktop, numbnuts.” Despite having claimed to be awake this entire time, his voice is raspy from sleep and his eyes are bleary. It makes you feel warm and squirmy inside, in a way that’s less uncomfortable than you expected. The power of friendship, or some shit like that.

It probably isn’t worth it to try and get the computer back. You sigh loudly, dramatically slumping back against Karkat’s side. “I see how it is.” You rest a hand against your forehead in a mock swoon. “You were just using me for my laptop, and now that you have it, you’re throwing me aside like a used tissue.”

He huffed, giving you a side-eye. “Like hell I don’t, you overdramatic douchejerk. I just don’t want you getting your grubby human prongs on this quality husktop.”

“That laptop is a piece of shit and you know it. It’s shittier than a shit taken by a shit-covered hobo in the New York City subway. The shit has shit on it. It’s pooping out more little shits, like some sort of fucked up asexual reproduction. That laptop’s basically created a brand new species of shit, is what I’m saying.”

“What is it with you and saying things that don’t make any modicum of sense! Is it some sort of messed up human pastime, to be as confusing as physically possible? Like a sort of defense mechanism against whatever dangers your squishy planet has to offer?” He griped, waving one arm at you in an attempt to slap you. It flaps in the air, an inch away from your face. You take pity on his feeble flapping, leaning forwards slightly and letting his hand hit your arm with a soft “whump”.

While you’ve been talking, Karkat has been doing something on your computer. You hope to god he isn’t trying to hack anything, since you don’t feel like alchemizing a new computer after he invariably blows it up. He presses a button, then sits back in relief.

And he called you overdramatic. “No need to hold back, dude, go give yourself a big round of applause. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to-- wait, what did you do again? Turned my computer on and off again? Incredible.” You shake your head, giving him a slow clap. “I just can’t believe it. Literal rocket science. Pchooooo to the max.”

“Ugh!” Karkat practically shoves the laptop back at you, burrowing down into the pile of blankets. “Why do I even bother talking with you, Strider? It's like talking to myself, but somehow worse!” He opens his mouth again to deliver another scathing diatribe, and you decide it's time to intervene before his insults get even lamer.

You shoosh him, putting a hand over his face (and hoping it’s his mouth that you’re covering). “That’s probably why. And shut the hell up, Snorekat. It’s nighttime, remember? Or daytime, whatever stupid system you go by. Don’t want to make spiderbitch even grumpier by making her lose her beauty sleep.” You smirk at that.

The nubby troll grumbles, pushing your hand away from him, but obligingly quiets down. “Whatever, asswad, just start the movie up again.” He yawns loudly immediately after saying that, making you snort. He’s definitely going to fall asleep again, but you’re not in the mood to get into another argument this late at night, so you start it up.

“Oh joy of all joys, it works again. Better stay awake this time.” You deadpan, before relaxing back into the couch.

You stare blankly at the screen, settling in for another hour of continuing to watch this stupid movie. To your dismay, you realize that you recognize this scene. It’s one that happened around half an hour ago, meaning Karkat had rewinded. At least you were right, he’d fallen asleep at some point, but at what cost? You exhale through your nose, content to let your mind wander until the movie caught up to where you last stopped watching.

The room you had chosen for your movie nights was dark and drafty, which didn’t make it exactly the ideal place to watch things, but what other choice did you have in this giant stone meteor? Not for the first time, you think about how alone you and Karkat are in here. Usually, the thought is accompanied by embarrassment or guilty delight, but right now, all you feel is a bit spooked. Even back in Texas, you always felt secure in the knowledge that if someone tried to break into your house and attack you, your bro would be there to protect you. But here, with everyone either asleep or far away enough that they’re functionally absent, you have no one.

You realize that Karkat hasn’t made a noise in a while, and you subtly glance at him over the rims of your shades. He’s slumped over the armrest on the other side of the couch, and you can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep yet. You poke him in the ribs, and he jolts upright.

“Mm- hey!” His voice is slurred with sleep, and he seems to take your poke as a cue to lean against you instead. He drops his head on your shoulder, making your cheeks redden. He’s just so goddamn warm -- heat emanating off of the small area of skin that’s in contact with you. It serves to distract you from your growing unease for a bit, but before long, you begin to feel a familiar chill creep up your neck.

You’re feeling a strange sense of deja vu, one that’s not entirely related to rewatching the last 10 minutes of Troll Good Luck Chuck. You’ve spent too long on this damn meteor, you think. Too much time with not enough things to do, that’s what it is. Or maybe it was the residual angst from your 3-day long shitfest. You’re starting to think you might be going a bit crazy, stuck in your thoughts.

A loud bang sounds from behind you, snapping your attention back to the present. You don’t know how long it’s been (well, you do -- it’s been around 6 minutes, but you’re trying not to keep track of things so much), but Karkat is now soundly asleep once again. He’s making little chittering noises in the back of his throat that sound uncomfortably similar to purrs. Man, trolls are weird.

You might be legitimately getting nervous at the strange sounds coming from behind you. It’s probably just the random creaking of the meteor, providing a physical reminder that you’re hurtling through space at the speed of light, but it wouldn’t hurt to just check.

You twist around as much as you can without disturbing the sleeping troll on your shoulder, but the only thing you see behind you is darkness. Your hair raises on the back of your neck. Why did you choose to set up a couch in such an open space? Having the hallway open up directly to your back wasn’t doing anything for your nerves right now.

Your hand twitches for your strife specibus, but you hold back. After the last time you were startled by (and almost stabbed) the Mayor, you’d decided to chill a bit on the sword swinging.

You pause the movie, listening carefully. This is reminding you too much of your brother’s sneak attacks, and you don’t like it. There--! The soft thuds sharpen into something a bit more understandable: footsteps. You carefully push Karkat off of you -- he squirms slightly, but doesn’t wake up -- and flashstep into a standing position.

“Rose…?” You call out, leaning against the back of the sofa. Now you’re worried, but for a different reason. Rose wouldn’t seek you out during you and Karkat’s scheduled bonding night unless there was a good cause. Oh god, what if it’s the clown troll? You haven’t seen him at all since you’ve started on this journey, but you’ve heard things from Karkat that make you wary. You rescind your previous decision to keep your sword away, quickly pulling it out of your strife deck.

Nobody answers, all but proving your suspicion. It would probably help if it was less fucking dark in here -- the laptop is the only thing illuminating this large area, and is currently only shining on the other side of the couch. Unlike trolls, you can’t see in the dark, so you quickly move to flick the light switch on. Brightness floods the room, filling you with relief that you’re not about to be the guest star of a juggalo-themed horror movie, and spills out into the hallway. There’s nothing there.

You’re about to turn back to your laptop when, out of the corner of your eye, you see something step out of the edge of darkness.

The first thing you notice is the horns, long and slightly curved outwards at the end, and completely unfamiliar to you. Klaxons blare in your head, yelling “stranger, stranger, there’s a stranger on the meteor!” The second thing you notice is the rapier that the strange troll is dragging on the floor behind him. You take a second to wonder if he(??) purposefully chose a weapon that matched his horns, slight curve and all, before your brain snaps into action.

You do the thing a Knight is meant to do: you rush at him, your own sword raised high, and strike to protect your friend.

The unfamiliar troll reacts quickly, bringing his own weapon up to block the blow. It’s mostly a good thing, since your strike was coming in fast and you didn’t want to actually hurt him, but the strength in his blow stings. Your wrists are going to be aching after this, you can tell. 

“Who even are you?” You say in a low tone, “and how the hell did you get here?”

He blinks, opening his mouth to reply, but you spin around in a fast move, aiming for his hand in hopes of disarming him. He twists out of the way in the nick of time, letting Caledscratch slide off of his rapier. You don’t relent, immediately swinging to the other side.

“There appears to be some--” He yells, ducking to the side and narrowly missing your last blow. “Some misunderstanding! I must ask you to desist! I’m sure there’s some agreement we can come to.”

You pause, mid-swing. That wasn’t really an answer, and after learning about troll culture, you aren’t too sure if you could trust him, but you’d feel too bad if you just whaled on the guy nonstop.

“What misunderstanding?!” You flashstep back, far enough away that he won’t be able to attack you quickly, and appraise the situation. 

Your initial guesses might be off: despite being quite a bit stronger than you, the troll doesn’t seem like too much of a fighter. He’s breathing hard, and the sword he’s holding out in front of him is bobbing in the air. You can see his arms trembling slightly. More than anything, he looks thankful to be given a short reprieve from the strife, but you’re not fully convinced that it isn’t a trick of some sort. You remain on your guard.

He grimaces, having evidently failed to smile at you, and lowers his sword by an inch. “I’ll offer you a deal: if you stop attacking me, I won’t report you to the drones or demand any additional compensation. Convinced? If not, then I’ll throw in an extra bonus and I’ll do you a solid. How does that sound?” He holds a hand out to you, smiling nervously.

That was a flurry of words, thrown at you at high speeds. You can understand fast-talking pretty well, being something of a speedy speaker yourself, but even you were flabbergasted for a second. It doesn’t seem like he wants to fight, so you lower Caledscratch as well.

“Sure.” You shrug, not bothering to shake his hand. He looks confused for a second at your nonchalance, but recovers quickly, pulling his hand back to his side.

“Perhaps we can… introduce ourselves first? My name is Tagora Gorjek.” He pauses, as if planning to continue that statement, then rethinks that idea and remains silent.

Now that you’re not actively fighting him, you take the opportunity to look him over. You’re not actually certain if this troll is a guy -- he has an androgynous build and his long hair makes it a bit confusing, but his face and clothing makes him seem more like a dude. If you were into guys, you’d probably say he’s pretty good looking. He’s definitely a bit older than you, probably around 18 or 19, and is a lot skinnier than his strength would indicate. He also looks like a bit of a sleaze, to put it lightly. You definitely do not trust this guy. Judging by the color of his vest, he’s probably Terezi’s blood type (aquamarine or something?).

You give him a single nod, making sure your aloof composure is intact. “Strider. Dave Strider.” Perfectly monotone delivery, you think to yourself, with a 10/10 for the James Bond reference. That’s worth at least 20 irony points.

Tagora doesn’t seem to catch onto the joke, nodding to himself. “Strider Dave Strider. Not the strangest client I’ve ever had.”

Client? Now you’re confused. “Hold on a second. Rewind. Back it up.” You consider making car-backing-up noises, but that would be too embarrassing, even for you. “I still have some questions for you, before we start talking about clients or whatever.”

The troll blanches, but ducks his head in acquiescence. “Fair’s fair, I suppose. Ask away then.” He definitely looks nervous, which is a sign that you’re doing something right in this interrogation.

“How did you get on this meteor? Like, were you here the whole time?” You lean on your sword, looking at him. You’re genuinely curious about this. It isn’t often that a random troll gets teleported into your meteor -- at least, unless you’re in a dream bubble, which you’re fairly certain you’re not in.

That makes Tagora look even more confused, his polite composure completely falling apart. “I… I’m sorry? Meteor?” The one eye that’s visible through his swoop of hair widens.

“Uh, yeah.” You frown. “Where did you think you were?”

He looks around, doing a double-take that’s so exaggerated it seems like it should be comical, if not for the look of terror on his face.

“What…?” He manages to get out, before he’s interrupted by a shout from behind you. Shit, you’d completely forgotten about Karkat. He’s sitting straight up on the couch, eyes transfixed on Tagora. Tagora is staring back, mouth agape slightly.

“What in the name of nooksniffing fuck-assery is this?” Karkat yells, flailing his arms around. Oh god, he’s completely losing his shit. “Strider, is that a goddamn troll? Are my ganderbulbs working correctly or is that a bulgemunching tealblood standing in our fucking entertainment block?!”

Oh, that’s what that color of blood was: teal . You feel like you’ve learned something new today.

Karkat still hasn’t stopped yelling.

“--if this is another lusus-fucking dream bubble then I’m going to throw myself off of the side of this meteor! That’s it, I’m done! I’ll go jump on Lord English’s bulge myself and get it over with! The epitaph to my grave will read: ‘here lies Karkat Vantas, biggest fucking douche in Paradox Space apart from Paradox Space itself! Oh, and Dave Strider, since he didn’t even have the decency to wake me up from this living daymare!’”

Tagora is slowly inching towards the door, but you ignore him in favor of getting Karkat to calm the fuck down.

You flashstep over to Karkat, kneeling down in front of where he’s still laying on the couch. You reach forwards to tenderly grab one of his hands in yours, and-- you slap him in the face with one of the couch pillows. “Relax, dude.” You say, as comfortingly as possible. “Shit’s fine.” You can feel him getting ready to go off again, so you quickly hit him with the pillow again before he can respond.

With that finished, you stand up and turn to face the newcomer, but all that awaits you is the sight of an empty doorway. In the distance, you can vaguely see a figure booking it down the corridor.

“Shit,” you say, staring dumbfounded at the receding sillhouette of Tagora. That might be a problem.

Chapter Text

Your name is XEFROS TITROH and you are very alone and very afraid. 

Normally, you’d just accept this fact with a smile and move on. You’ve spent most of your life being one -- if not both -- of these things, but ever since your (ex) moirail disappeared into another universe, your life has changed drastically. You’re still pretty used to be constantly afraid, but you have no reason to be lonely with your new friend Joey Claire at your side!

Or at least… she should be by your side. Hence the “very alone” part. 

You look around the dark hallway, searching for any sign of life in here, but to no avail. You can see that the hall continues on much longer than your vision reaches, but you’re too nervous to leave this spot. What if you can’t find your way back? What if there are people up ahead who want to hurt you? What if Joey’s up ahead too?

You try to reach out with your psychic powers, but the low thrumming in your thinkpan sharpens to a sting whenever you try to reach for your abilities. The feeling is awfully similar to the pain you get when you overexert your psionics, and it hurts too much for you to concentrate on anything. Strange, but there’s nothing you can do about it; you’re completely useless here. You sigh, slumping against the wall.

You need to try and think of something to do. Curling up into a ball and crying or possibly hyperventilating on the ground are the first ideas that come to your mind. Running about in blind panic is a classic, and you contemplate it for a second, before pushing the thought away. It will probably distract you from your impending doom, but there’s just one problem: you need to find Joey first.

Oh, Joey. She makes you worry about her in a way that’s maybe a bit too pale for your own good. The alien girl has a bad habit of getting herself into difficult situations and is too stubborn to get herself out of these situations, to boot. You wonder if her planet is especially soft towards lowbloods, or if it’s a trait specific to her. Probably a little bit of both, if you had to guess.

It would probably help if you could remember more about how you got here, in this creepy place all by yourself. You try to think back, pushing past the raw, aching area of your pan reserved for your psionics, and reach into your memory. It’s a bit fuzzy, but the last thing you fully remember is being on a train with Joey and with a bunch of other trolls. You had just killed a purpleblood (and oh god is that something you’ll need to process at some point -- you killed a clown ), when the train… crashed, or something? This is the point where your memories get confused, but you’re pretty sure that’s what happened.

That might explain why your thinkpan hurts so much. You might have tried to protect yourself and Joey from the crash, and you both got thrown out of the train and/or kidnapped? Actually, now that you think about it, the chances of you being kidnapped by drones are pretty high.

Oh. Oh no. You stiffen, eyes darting back and forth as adrenaline begins filling your veins. You’ve come to a very unfortunate conclusion, and you’re pretty certain you know where you are. You’ve been taken to Her Imperious Condescension’s Royal Battleship and are about to be executed on the grounds of being a traitor.

You start to panic, breaths coming out harsh and fast. This is bad. This is really bad. You’re about to die, which is something you’ve come to terms with long ago, but not like this! You’re about to be executed far away from your home and your friends and the people who you cared (and still care) about, and you want to live so, so badly. You’ve never wanted to live more than you do at this moment.

And what about Joey? Is it your fault if she’s going to die? Is that where she is now? In some chamber somewhere, being tortured by the Imperial Drones? You hunch over yourself, blinking back rust-colored tears. The hallway echos with the sounds of your wheezing. Out of everyone that you know, Joey deserves this the least. She’s the kindest, best person you’ve ever met. She’s always believed in you, even before you believed in you, and you know that she cares about you with her whole beating, mammalian bloodpusher. She’s incredible and innocent and-- and--

You clench your hands into fists, trying to control yourself. Underneath all of the optimism and fear and panic, there’s rage festering in your stomach, warm and sickly. You close your eyes, concentrating on it instead of on the thread of hysteria running through your mind. Paradoxically, the rage has managed to calm you down from your frenzy, making you focused enough to have a single thought in your mind.

You have to go find Joey, and if you find someone hurting her, you’ll replay them in blood.

You slowly open your eyes, feeling the anger burn away the fear and exhaustion. You stand up, feeling rejuvenated, and begin walking in a random direction, ready for whatever may cross your way.

. . .

Your resolve only lasts for about 10 minutes before you start to feel terror and embarrassment seep back into your bones. What were you thinking, storming off like that on your own? And what was with that determination? Of course, your first priority is still going to be finding Joey and making sure she’s safe, but you’d rather not kill anyone for that.

Honestly, you scared yourself a bit with your thought process back there. You’re grateful for the fact that you don’t get angry often, since you lose some of your self-control after a certain point. Like with the purpleblood… 

You take another quick check around the hallway you’re in, making sure nobody’s here, before continuing on. (You don’t actually think that the Condesce can read people’s minds, but what if she can? It’s better to think of treasonous thoughts -- or memories of killing someone in a much higher caste than yours -- when you’re alone).

You’re not sure what to think of that whole encounter. Because on one hand, you really do regret killing him. He was young and the way he died was just horrific. Sure, it felt good to protect Joey, but you never wanted it like that. And the look of fear on Joey’s face when she saw you was just… You shudder, trying not to think of it. You can already tell that her expression and the shrieks of the purpleblood’s hatchmate will haunt your dreams for sweeps to come.

But -- and you don’t want to justify it -- but, if you hadn’t acted, then Joey would have been the one dead. It would have been her body, lying on the spiked region below the bridge. It would have been her head, rolling off of the train. Because you know that Joey could never have killed the clown, and if you had to take on that responsibility to protect her innocence for a little longer, then you’d bear that burden will all of your strength. What are a few daymares compared to the hope still present in Joey’s smile?

You can practically feel your face grow dark red at the thought (how pale could you get? You hadn’t even broken up with Dammek yet!), and you quickly try to change the subject. 

You look around, searching for something to distract yourself. To your surprise, as you’ve walked, the area around you has changed. Well, partially. The style of the walls and the floor remains the same, but there’s definitely more clutter littering the ground around here than you’d expect. The place actually looks lived in!

Something shines at you from a few feet down of the hallway, and you slow down to a stop. Uh oh. You can feel your bloodpusher run cold. It’s a half-opened door, with light seeping out of the edges. You hover one hand over your strife specibus card, ready to pull out your bat at a moment’s notice.

You take a step closer, and slowly lean in--

“You can come in, you know. I won’t bite.” A sharp, female voice calls out, amusement curling up the edges of it. 

You flinch back violently, almost banging your horns against the side of the hall. How did she know you were there…? You shake your head, trying to figure out what you should do. Obviously, mysterious female voices are a bad sign that you’re about to get murdered, but there’s something about her voice that sounds familiar.

“Shy?” She calls out again, the syllables of the word sounding strange in her mouth. With a start, you realize that her accent is similar to Joey’s, down to the rounded words and all! The mysterious person has a bit of a highblood tinge to her voice, but the way she pronounces things would be impossible for a troll to recreate, even the Condesce.

You summon up all of the bravado you can muster (which isn’t much) and reply decisively. “No, I-- I’m coming in.” You stutter, slowly prying the door open.

You step through, as hesitantly as ever, into a nutrition block. To your delight, sitting on the counter is a human girl, just like you expected. Or, at least you assume she’s one. She looks very different from Joey, with her strange pale hair, differing skin/eye colors, and bright orange clothing, but the two of them look similar enough that you can reasonably presume they’re the same species (mostly due to the lack of horns and the more mammalian skin).

You can feel yourself start to relax. It helps that this girl doesn’t seem intimidating at all. In fact, the aura of wisdom and confidence she exudes reminds you of a much less terrifying schoolfeed instructerrorizer.

“Um, hi!” You return her smile, lifting a hand up in a wave.

If possible, she looks even more amused, waving back at you as if you were a silly little wiggler. You honestly don’t mind the patronization, much preferring it over hostility.

“Hello there. You must be one of the new trolls that have found their way onto our meteor?” The way she talks, all slow and sure of herself, makes you feel like she knows exactly what she’s talking about. She definitely seems like she has the ability to help you figure out what’s going on here!

“Haha, yeah.” You duck your head slightly, rubbing a hand against the back of your neck. “Wait, meteor? Does that mean that I wasn’t, uh, kidnapped and imprisoned by Her Imperial Condescension?” Your mouth forms a perfect little ‘o’ in shock. Sure, she might totally be lying to you, but why would an alien do that?

She chuckles -- it’s a nice laugh, almost musical in the way it bubbles up from the back of her throat -- and rests her elbows against the table. “No, but that’s an interesting guess. You must have been quite the little troublemaker back on Alternia.” She gives you a conspiratorial look, wiggling her eyebrows slightly, but the accurate accusation drains the levity from your face.

“No!” You quickly backtrack. “Why would I-- I’m the perfect citizen to the Empire, haha!” Very convincing, you’re sure. Even if this girl isn’t a spy for the Condesce (which seems more unlikely after that pointed comment, straight out of Dammek’s pamphlets on “narcs”, there’s no way you’ll admit to being disloyal!

Her lips dip into a half-frown and she looks almost embarrassed as her purple eyes skim over your face. “I apologize if I caused you any distress,” she said. She certainly sounds genuine, but the easy air between the two of you has evaporated. “I just meant to-- well, suffice to say that I made a joke in rather poor taste. Let me start again.”

She hops off of the counter in one swift motion, approaching you carefully with an outstretched hand. “My name is Rose Lalonde, and I’m a human.”

You reach out with a similar amount of caution, grasping her hand gently and shaking it once. “Oh, cool! I’m Xefros, and I’m a troll.”

Rose pulls her hand back, settling back into a more relaxed stance and looking you up and down. “You don’t seem too surprised that I’m a human.” She falters, searching for a way to ask you this subtly, then appears to throw caution to the wind. “Why?”

This makes you pause. You tilt your head to the side, frowning. “Well… I’ve met another human before! A girl, actually, like you.” You nod your head vigorously, trying to assure Rose that you’re being honest. They’re aliens of the same species trapped in a foreign world (or… meteor, apparently? Whatever, you’ll just deal with that realization later), so there’s probably no harm in telling her that Joey exists. 

Rose looks surprised, an expression that doesn’t sit right on her face. “Really? On Alternia? A girl just like me?”

“Mmhm! Her name was Joey, though. And her hair wasn’t dyed like yours is.”

The girl laughs. "My hair isn't dyed, but I see."

You sit in an awkward silence after this, and it takes you a minute to notice that Rose is looking at you expectantly. What does she want you to do? “Umm, am I supposed to be asking you things too?”

“I don't know, are you?” She says, raising an eyebrow. Oops.

You nervously chuckle, rubbing the back of your head as you try to think of questions. “Ah, um, I guess I do have a question or two. Like, why aren’t you surprised that I’m a troll? Joey was pretty freaked out at first.”

“Good question. You might say that I’ve been acquainted with your species recently.” She smiles, pleased to be shrouded in mystery once more. Despite her mind games, you kind of like her! She seems pretty nice and she hasn’t tried to murder you yet, so things are going pretty well.

A harsh chime rings out from the pocket of her dress, and she pulls out a palmhusk. It’s strange looking, less hexagonal and buglike than you expected, but she’s an alien so it makes sense that her technology is different too. 

Rose begins texting furiously while you twiddle your thumbs and look around the nutrition block. She’s not looking, so you decide to subtly snoop through the cabinets. 

There are plenty of things you don’t recognize, but you catch a glimpse of some Alternian snacks in the cabinets. This dampens your mood slightly, since it’s pretty definitely proof that there are other trolls on this meteor, but you try not to let your worry get to you too much. Rose is here to help you now, so you’ll probably be fine! And the sight of Alternian snacks means…

You begin searching more cabinets, finally having an idea in mind. You open the thermal hull and-- aha! You grab a few cans of grub juice hydration cylinder, quickly stashing them in your sylladex.

“Looking for something?” You flinch, almost slamming the door on your prongs. You turn to smile innocently up at Rose, who has evidently finished her conversation and has moved on to interrogating you.

“I was just interested! You have a lot of Alternian snacks here.” You take a few steps away, trying to put as much distance between you and the fridge as possible. Absolutely nothing to see here, no siree!

Rose raises an eyebrow but changes the subject anyways, which makes you relieved. “You said that you were looking for someone, right?”

You’re fairly certain that you hadn’t said that in those exact words, but you’re used to strange people saying ominous things at you. You nod, hopeful. “Yes! Joey!”

She purses her lips, tapping her neatly manicured nails against the counter. “That was the other human girl, right? Not a tealblood boy.”

Oh. That wasn’t what you expected to hear. A tealblood boy? If you somehow ended up here because of the train crash, it might be the teal from there. What was his name again, Gorjor? You shudder. You don’t want to run into him. Aside from the intimidation of his blood status, he was just too excited by that shitshow of a trial.

Rose is watching you expectantly. She tilts her head to the side, lurid orange clothing somehow managing to increase in luminescence as she does so.

You think it’d be best if you answered her truthfully this time. “I… might know who you’re talking about. But I don’t really want to see him. It’d really be best if I find Joey soon.” You smile nervously, a bit embarrassed by this declaration.

“Hm.” the girl says, a perfectly bland tone that has untold hidden layers. You don’t even want to bother trying to figure out what she means by that. “Well, my brother just saw him, so you might want to watch out.” She pauses, smirking in a way that makes you think she’s doing it for dramatic effect this time. Definitely a highblood (actually, you don’t remember if Joey told you about how human blood colors work, but you assume it’s similar). 

Strangely, Rose looks a bit wistful. “But, to answer your question, yes, I’ll help you find your friend. It would be good to talk to another human again.” 

You stare at her, shocked. She’s going to help? Surprise quickly turns into joy, until you feel like you’re floating on a cloud of relief and accomplishment. “Thank you!” You stammer out, feeling the dopamine rush through your veins. You’re alive and you’re going to be with Joey soon, and that’s all that matters. All you had to do was panic then get really angry then lie a bit!

Rose just smirks back at you. “It’s no problem, really. Just give me a moment to compose myself, and I’ll tell you where she is.”

She closes her eyes, settling into a sort of seated position on the table with her legs criss-crossed and her hands on her knees. You watch her, intrigued despite yourself. You have no clue what she’s doing, but you have faith in her! And by faith, you mean a strange certainty that she has the ability to know everything on this planet (meteor? You’re still not too sure about that. How did you even get here?).

Her clothing seems to glow even brighter in the darkness of the room, and you marvel at the strange sight. The neon orange and yellow in particular are fascinating to you. You can’t imagine having the ability to dress in whatever colors you wanted to, like how humans can (at least according to Joey). 

Strangely enough, it’s getting harder and harder to look at Rose. Maybe it’s because you’ve been staring at her for a few minutes, but she seems so much brighter than the rest of the room. It isn’t just her clothing, now, it’s her skin and hair too. You have to squint to see her features under the light.

And then she starts floating about an inch off the table. Woah. You take a step back, eyes wide. Whatever she was doing, it felt much more powerful than any psionics you’ve faced. If she turns that power on you, you won’t last five minutes. You keep stumbling backwards, until you’re plastered against the wall on the opposite side of the room as her.

All of your senses are screaming at you to avoid the sunlight, to go hide in the shadows where you’ll be safe, but your feet are bolted to the ground out of fear. You couldn’t move if you tried.

“Rose!” You call out, cupping two prongs around your mouth. “C-calm down, please! Less light would be good!”

Surprisingly, Rose turns her head to you.

" Ọ̷̉ h̸͔̏   ,̴̮̒ ̴̺͐a̸̘̔ m̷̚͜    I    ̶̥̂g̵̲̿ l̷̤̎ o̴̭̓ w̵̦͑ i̴͙̾ n̵̻͛ g̵͙͒ ̴̼͝    a̵͎͑ g̸͕̿ ả̵̢ i̶̭͐ ñ̶̥   ?̴̡̄  ”, she says, in a voice that is barely recognizable. “

If you understand that correctly (which is a big if), it seems like she isn’t aware of the effects of using her power. Or that she overestimated her ability to tone down on her glow? Either way, she dims down an appropriate amount, from “completely blinding” to “still slightly hurts to look at”.

“ A̴̙͝h̸̟̑,̵͉͝ ̶̲̓    ĥ̷̟ e̷͐͜ r̶̤͛ e̷̬̾    ̵͚̽w̸͈̿ e̵͙̚    ̴̣̚g̴̤͝ o̶̭͆.̶̯̋  ”, she smiles, teeth lighting up like glowgrubs. All of a sudden, her light goes dark, and you’re left reeling.

“I… What…?” You can hear yourself say, as if from far away. You curl in on yourself, thinkpan throbbing. Your vision is a bit blurry, and you can’t stop seeing a bright flash when you close your eyes. You rub your ganderbulbs, hard.

“I’ve found--” Rose announces, pleased, then pauses when she sees you. “Are you alright?” 

When your pan finally stops spinning and you look up, she’s moved in front of you. Her hand is on your shoulder and her (nonglowing) lips are twisted in a frown.

“Um, I will be. That was… bright.”

Rose tilts her head to the side. “Really? Kanaya’s never told me that I glowed.” She sounds more intrigued than confused.

Her palmhusk beeps again, and she takes a second to step away and check her pocket.

She frowns at it, absent-mindedly patting you on the arm in a gesture that makes you blush and squirm away.

“Hold on, there’s another problem, more urgent this time.” She looks at you, about to say something, then hesitates when she takes in your sorry state. “Ah, I might have to leave you to recover here for a few minutes. Do you have a Pesterchum account-- or Trollian perhaps?”

You shake your head, world still spinning every time you move. You’ll be fine if you just stay here for a bit. “No, Chittr.” You say. “Did you find Joey?”

She looks to the side. “It’s a bit complicated. But yes, technically she should be somewhere here.” Her palmhusk pings again, and she glances between you and the door. “I really have to go, but I promise, I’ll come back and help you.”

Gingerly, she hooks her pinky prong in yours, before pulling away. With a hop and a swish of her bright dress, Rose leaves the room.

You sit there, staring at the wall, vision finally starting to return to normal, with only one thought in your mind. Who the hell did you just meet?

Chapter Text

Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR and you don’t know how you could have expected anything else out of your twisted, shitty life. It’s a good thing that your psionics aren’t as strong as they were before you half-died, since you’re glaring at the familiar-looking meteor in the distance with enough vitriol to fry it.

What the fuck. After all of these perigees, all this time wandering with Aradia in the darkest reaches of the universe through memories and dreams, you’ve somehow ended up back here? You have no clue how this happened, having just left your latest dream bubble with Aradia.

Whatever. Despite the undercurrents of annoyance flickering through your thoughts, you can’t really bring yourself to care all that much. Paradox Space seems to enjoy messing with you, and you guess that this isn’t any more unbelievable than your session getting fucked over by an insane teenage juggalo.

Maybe Aradia would be able to give you a better answer. You turn to her, the corners of your lips already pulling into a half-quirked smirk, but you find nothing more than an empty space by your side where she should be. Your smile drops immediately. Shit. Getting lost in yet another dream bubble wasn’t anything new, but being on your own was.

You whip your head around, searching for your missing friend, but the only thing around you is darkness (and the meteor, which has been steadily heading towards you). Great. Just great. You try to tamp down on the rising panic, and only somewhat succeed. 

You can’t even see the edge of the dream bubble, so you have no clue how long it’ll take to get out of this dream. If you wanted to spend long periods of time floating in the eternity of space by yourself, you would have offered yourself up as a Helmsman much sooner. As it stands, you want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

Your gaze swings back to the meteor, which is now much closer to you than it was a few minutes ago. It’s a tempting option compared to floating in darkness for days. For a second, you almost consider going back. All you’d need is to exert the smallest bit of power, and you’d be back with your friends again. You’d finally be able to talk to Karkat in person instead of through stilted Trollian conversations. You could see how Kanaya was doing, and try FLARPing with Terezi. You’d even be able to bitch about Vriska to her face.

But then, you become hyperaware of the hollowness in your left eye and the blankness in your right, and your hope starts to fade away. Your place isn’t with them, you know that. You’re doomed and they aren’t. And although you’re a selfish bastard, you can’t just risk the fate of the multiverse because you got a bit lonely.

Your palmhusk vibrates in your sylladex, startling you out of your monologue. That’s strange, who could be contacting you right now?

You check your messages, quickly flipping open Trollian, but you don’t see any new notifications from there. If this was a prank, it was a bad one. You scroll through your screens again, trying to find the source of the buzzing. It only takes a few swipes before you’re back at your home screen. To your surprise, there’s a new app installed -- something called Grype, which you’ve never heard of (and for good reason, since it looks much older and much lamer than Trollian). You frown. 

If you had a smaller ego, you’d just ignore the message and go on with searching for Aradia. But whoever this mysterious messager was, they managed to bypass your phone’s defense system to install this app. You’re curious despite yourself.

-- snakeBytes [SB] began chatting with you --

SB: hey;

SB: u there?;

That… was not what you were expecting. The unusual typing style and shade of blue makes you pause. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that a cerulean was typing this. But you do know better -- you know that all the ceruleans on Alternia other than Vriska are dead, because you and your friends indirectly killed them.

The meteor still hasn’t come close enough for you to need to worry about it hitting you, so you decide that there’s no harm in replying. You make sure to add your name and settings into Grype before responding to this poser.

-- user0129612 changed their name to twinArmageddons [TA] --

TA: what the fuck is this.

TA: who the fuck are y0u.

TA: and what’s with the shitty c0ding references.

SB: rude; but that = fair i guess;

SB: should have expected a goldie to be behind this tech;

TA: ok vk st0p pretending you don’t kn0w who i am. it’s n0t funny.

SB: vk?; i think you = confused;

TA: god i fucking hate talking t0 you, and to all the dumb fucking members 0f our “friend” gr0up. as if we could even be called that.

SB: ok seriously dude chill;

SB: i != vriska && i != vk;

SB: if you want to know, my names mallek;

TA: 0k “mallek”. i d0nt give a shit. why are you talking to me?

They take a while to respond, so you take the time to check on the meteor’s progress. It’s finally gotten close enough for you to notice the details on its surface. If you focus, you can see the building where you half-died. You wonder what happened to your body. Knowing Gamzee’s previous track record with dead bodies, nothing good.

SB: this = gonna sound weird;

SB: but im in this room full of husktops;

SB: i dont know how i got here;

SB: but i looked around for a bit;

SB: and found one connected to an account on “trollian”;

SB: and, more importantly, to a palmhusk;

SB: yours;

You snort. Did snakeBytes really think that you’d believe that? This was definitely one of your friends trying to fuck with you.

TA: ...

TA: that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard.

TA: if y0u want to get me, you have to try harder.

TA: is this gamzee? terezi? kanaya w0uldn’t pull this shit on me.

SB: for the fucking handmaids sake;

SB: im not any of those people;

SB: see ill quit the quirk for once

SB: ugh this feels weird

SB: my names <i>mallek adalov</i> and im in this room and i dont know how or why

SB: and im kind of lost and very confused

SB: and youre the first person ive been able to contact -- irl or otherwise

SB: so id really appreciate some help

Their honest plea puts a dent in your suspicion, but you don’t believe them just yet. If what they’re saying is true, then that means “Mallek” managed to escape the Vast Glub, which would be impossible. But, the more you read their messages, the more unsure you feel. Someone impersonating this cerulean, just to bug you, almost seems more impossible than a lone troll getting stuck in Sgrub.

There’s a large enough margin of error that you don’t want to let this go unanswered. You have an idea about how you could solve this, but it’s a bit of a long shot. If you got to the husktop they mentioned, maybe you’d be able to figure some things out.

You look up at the meteor, judging its distance from you. To your dismay, it’s reached its closest distance to you, and is now on the process of moving away from your location. Fuck! You don’t have time to hesitate, you have to make a decision. Feeling weary beyond your sweeps, you float up, and begin rushing after the stupid hunk of rock.

You can feel your psionics burn at the edge of your mind. It’s a nostalgic feeling, in the way it makes you freak the fuck out. You swear to gog, if you actually die from trying to reach this meteor to help a stupid cerulean hacker who might just be Vriska fucking with you, your ghost is going to wreak vengeance on reality, Lord English style.

It takes a lot of effort, but you manage to catch up with the meteor without combusting into a puddle of mustard. You make a beeline to the roof of the closest building that looks familiar and crumple to your knees, immediately relieving the contents of your stomach on the ground.

You feel pretty disgusting. Your head is throbbing slightly, and your mouth tastes acrid. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, but you’re not the same troll you were when you left Alternia. Your powers are much weaker now -- your current condition is proof of that.

Near you, a few feet away from the puddle of vomit and blood, you can see some ominous-looking stains. Your aim was right; this was the same place you left, almost a sweep ago. 

You straighten up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you pull your phone out. SnakeByte had sent you a few messages while you were flying over here, it seems. You scroll through them.

SB: hello...?

SB: are you there?;

-- twinArmageddons [TA] is idle --

SB: ok that = cool too;

SB: im fine with chilling in this room;

SB: by myself in a strange place;

SB: i dont know what i expected;

Wow, this person really was desperate. It’s kind of pathetic, honestly. This manages to boost your ego a small amount. Considering how difficult it is to get a cerulean to be polite to a mustardblood like yourself, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

-- twinArmageddons [TA] is online --

TA: jegus lo0k at you.

TA: literally jumping 0n my bulge for a chance to get t0 talk to me.

SB: oh sweet you responded;

SB: also what = a jegus?;

TA: it was 5 g0gdamned minutes.

TA: in the words 0f an idiot:

TA: “ok seri0usly dude chill”.

SB: i didnt expert you to come back;

SB: sorry i guess;

TA: ... 

TA: give me 10.

SB: ?;

-- twinArmageddons [TA] is idle --

SB: literally every time;

You turn to the door in front of you, resting your hand on the doorknob. The door opens smoothly, in a single motion. There’s no sound. It feels too easy, and you look over your shoulder back into the expanses of space just in case you were missing something, but to no avail.

With no other options left, you descend into the bowels of the meteor, closing the door behind you. The path to the computer lab is simple, if a bit tedious to walk. All you have to do is make sure nobody notices you’re down here. 

And for most the journey, that’s easy. It’s pretty boring when you’re walking by yourself, the monotonous scenery only being broken up by the occasional carapacian corpses or echoing noises. You don’t know why you thought you liked this place; you feel sick at the thought of leaving again. But, at least you haven’t run into anyone you know, for better or for worse.

Lost in your thoughts, you turn the corner in front of the computer room and almost walk straight into a clown.

“Holy-- fuck!” You yelp, stumbling backwards until there’s a few feet of good distance between the two of you. It takes a second for you to notice who you ran into, but once you do, you immediately go into fight or flight mode. “Gamzee…?” you say, cautiously.

Gamzee Makara is just standing there, looking at you with that same, old, dopy grin on his face. It’s eerie. As you look at him, you can’t help but notice how much he’s changed. He’s grown even taller, somehow, and his body has started to fill out its lanky form. The gashes across his face have healed into an ugly scar, going straight across his nose and warping as he smiles. His hair brushes against his shoulders as he tilts his head slowly, still staring at you with those red eyes.

He remains there as the two of you stare at each other, silent and unmoving. After a few minutes, your gaze begins to slide over to the door of the computer room. You can’t forget -- you have a mission.

“Not that this wasn’t a great reunion after an entire fucking sweep, but I’ve gotta jet.” You say, trying to hide your nervousness as you quickly sidestep Gamzee. He’s as still as a statue, but you still give him a wide berth.

It’s only once you pass him that he explodes into swift motion, and grabs your arm. Oh fuck. You feel a wave of dizziness and confusion hit you like a freight train, making you flinch back. You try to reach for your psionics to help but they don’t respond. Gamzee must be doing something -- his chucklevoodoos, or whatever they’re called. 

Fear has frozen you to the ground. You can’t move or speak or do anything while Gamzee is holding you like this. You need to find a weapon, you think distantly. You... probably have something in your sylladex. It’s difficult, but you manage to reach into your sylladex and uncaptchalogue your throwing stars. You can’t really focus right now, so most of them go wild, striking the ground and floor all around you. However, one goes straight of Gamzee’s arm, cutting a harsh purple gash down it. His smile grows and his hand tightens on your shoulder.

“I should cull you right now for the motherfucking DISRESPECT,” he whispers then yells, directly into your face. His breath is acrid, somehow smelling both sweet and bloody. It reminds you of a raw grubburger, only mixed with some candy. “But I won’t. Because I’m the motherfucking NICEST to my friends.” His free hand comes up, dripping with purple blood from the cut on his hand, and you close your eyes, waiting for a blow. But the only thing you can feel is a soft patting on your head.

Gamzee lets go of you, stepping just enough for you to stop smelling his breath. “There’s a motherfucking heretic in that room, buddy. Someone who isn’t supposed to BE HERE right now -- a lot of those fuckers, actually. Don’t know why reality ever thought they were important.” He curls his lip up in a sneer. “Keep an eye on them for me. Can you do that, BUDDY?”

“O…kay.” You say, shaking with adrenaline (and not fear, of course). “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Another smile cuts across Gamzee’s face, looking more unnatural than the scarring. “Good. I knew I could trust you, MOTHERFUCKER. ” His expression goes placid once again.

You nod, taking another step back. “Alright… but if I do that, you better not tell anyone I was here.” Your voice is more scared than you’d like it to sound, but you can deal.

Gamzee just nods, slowly, still smiling creepily as you walk backwards away from him. 

Where the hell is-- You stumble across something which could only be the transportalizer. The relief that floods through your body makes you feel like you want to collapse (again).

You take a step backwards, onto the transportalizer, and--! Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You look at Gamzee, cautiously. He’s far enough away from you that you chance looking at your palmhusk, quickly reading through the messages. It looks like while you were away, Mallek had been facing a few problems. Juggalo-related problems. 

SB: i hear something in the pipes;

SB: that u?;

SB: oh holy hell;

SB: i heard a fucking honk;

SB: ok i boarded up the vents, i think we = good;

SB: wait no;

SB: there might be a clown in the hallway;

SB: dragged something in front of the transporting tech, should block it;

-- twinArmageddons [TA] is online --

TA: 0pen the fucking do0r

TA: im here

You hear a soft noise from in front of you, and you snap your head up to where Gamzee was supposed to be. You can feel your stomach sink. There’s absolutely nobody there. You curse, hurriedly typing out another text to snakeBytes as you look around you. There’s no sign of him, almost like Gamzee was never there -- only the goosebumps on your arms and the throwing stars littering the ground remain as proof of his existence.

Just as you resign yourself to a goofy, clown related death, you feel the transportalizer whir around you. You’ve finally ( finally) make it to the computer lab. 

Standing right in front of you, holding a rolling chair in front of him like a shield, is a tall, cerulean troll with a mohawk -- snakeBytes. 

You stare at him for a minute, taking everything in. He has asymmetrical horns with what look like piercings in them and is wearing a hoodie with a jagged sign on it. He’s a few sweeps older than you, probably around 8 or 9. Huh. How the hell did a random troll get here? It looks like Gamzee was telling the truth after all.

“Hey man,” the troll says, waving the chair around as if to call your attention back to his existence. “Are you TA? Because if so, my arms are getting kind of tired holding this up.” He says, giving you a tired smile.

You sigh, barely restraining from rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I fucking am. Now put that thing down.” With a wave of your hand, your psionics pull the chair out of snakeByte’s grasp and drop it on the other side of the room. You’re pleased to note that your psionics have regained their full strength now that you’re away from Gamzee. Stupid clowns and their chucklevoodoos.

The cerulean (what did he say his name was? Magnok? Malsnake?) doesn’t resist as you take the chair from him. Instead, he just slumps over slightly, tucking his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Cool, cool. Thanks for coming here. I feel really reassured now that there’s a 6-sweep old here to help me out.”

“6 and a half,” you snap back, nerves too frayed from your journey to care about the potential dangers of confronting a cerulean. “And if you don’t need help, I can just leave.”

His eyes widen. “No! No… sorry.” He glances to the side, looking ashamed for having to apologize. This proves to you what you always knew -- even the most unconventional highbloods were still shitty, old highbloods. “Let’s start over again. My name’s Mallek Adalov, and I have no clue where I am. Last time I checked, I was in my hive. Near Thrashthrust, if you want to know.”

Thrashthrust, huh? You recognize the name of the stemcluster. It was on your continent, but on the opposite side. Last you saw, Thrashthrust was in the process of being buried under a storm of meteors.

“Well, that’s great to hear. It helps me so fucking much, to know that you have no clue what’s going on. I’m Sollux Captor, I guess. Not that it matters anyways.” You gripe, dropping yourself into a chair. It lets out a loud squeak as it accommodates your weight. Mallek follows suit, sitting into a chair backwards.

“I live to serve.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Mallek didn’t care at all about what was happening. What a chill dude, you think, with only a small amount of sarcasm. “Now, I was promised some answers. So to put it politely.” He puts his elbows on his knees, leaning forwards. “What the hell is going on, Sollux?”

Where should you begin? You take a minute to think about it, before opening your mouth to respond. 

. . .

Mallek leans back, eyes wide. At some point during the conversation, he had pulled his hood over his head. He’s now turtling slightly inside it. “Are you serious?” He said, voice small.

He was really shaken by the news, you realize. It does make you feel a bit proud of yourself to see a highblood so unnerved, even if you feel a bit shitty for thinking that. In a fucked up way, you feel powerful. But on the other hand, being around someone who’s having a normal reaction to the bullshit that’s been going on makes you feel the loss of Alternia all over again. Like wow, it just hit you that your home planet was gone. You can never go back there. 

“Yeah.” You say, feeling more and more somber. “Alternia’s gone, we’re in space, everything is fucked. Life has gone to shit.”

Mallek is silent for a bit, thinking. “I guess…” he finally speaks up. “There was never any hope for us anyways. It’s a shame it had to happen like this, though…” It doesn’t look like this train of thought is helping him get over the loss of his planet any better.

You snort. “Yeah, you’re telling me. Our way of life was pretty much hell. At least you would have gotten a cushy job in space. I would have become a living battery in a few sweeps.” You feel hopeless just thinking about it.

He looks at you, surprised, before his face melts into a more understanding expression. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I have it pretty well. Er- had it.” His voice catches, and Mallek drops his head down into his palms. You really hope he doesn’t start crying -- you’re not emotionally equipped to handle that. “But if everyone died… what am I doing here?

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Are you sure you weren’t doing anything important before you showed up here?”

Mallek looks up at you, and thankfully, you don’t see any tears in his eyes. But the torn, hopeless look on his face makes you feel even worse. “No, no. I was just sitting in my hive, with my lusus--” He breaks off again, crumpling in on himself slightly.

You sigh, trying to get him to continue his story. “You were sitting in your hive?” You say dryly. Yeah, you feel bad for the guy, but you came here for answers, not for a spontaneous pile session.

“Right, right.” Mallek closes his eyes tightly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I was coding, for the cause.” His eyes snap open, and he looks at you surprised. “Do you think that could be relevant?”

You have absolutely no clue what he’s talking about. “What cause? I may be psychic but I’m not a goddamn mind reader.” You snap.

He doesn’t react to the aggression, speaking quickly and sharply, as if he’s reciting something long memorized. “I don’t know who you are. How do you keep a furnace hot? Do any of those sound familiar?”

“No. Can you speak normally?”

The light in Mallek’s eyes goes dim for a second and he sighs. “Shit, I really thought that was it. Nevermind.”

He was saying passwords, trying to receive a coded answer. Either he was a diehard supporter of the Condesce, or…

“Were you a revolutionary or something?”

The cerulean freezes. “What? No.” He smiles at you, but the stress of learning that his planet has been destroyed puts an obvious dent in his easygoing facade. He’s definitely lying.

A revolutionary, probably following the ideals of the Signless. You really wanted to stay hidden, but it seems you have no choice. Maybe seeing him would help loosen Mallek’s tongue and get you some more answers for once. 

You stand in one swift motion, pushing up Feferi’s goggles as you do so. “Come with me, dipshit. I have someone to show you.”