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Tape deck plays and the reels will spin,
Suburb sound close down as boom-bap begins.
My red face hide in the shades of the trees
As buggered blue moonlight pass through the leaves.
-
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have seen the game through until the end.
There are six of you left over, half of the original team, no thanks to you.
After the conclusion of the session, you all wake up in your respective hives in your respective corners of the land.
You learn that the defeat of Her Imperious Condescension has caused differences in new Alternia.
You learn the integration of the Matriorb in the universe's rebirth has only served to repopulate the planet with violent trolls of all ages, and that the defeat of the Empress only meant the elders were never banished into space.
You learn your world has changed for the worse.
Kanaya and Rose keep in contact, and you're fairly certain Dave and Terezi haven't stopped sending each other shitty drawings for whatever reason.
John and Jade are the only ones who really keep in touch with you.
Jade's efforts you can understand, yet you get the feeling John is using you as a stand-in for Vriska, only talking to you because he's the only human who has no cool alien buddy to touch base with. You figure after Vriska's death and all the shit you've put him through before, indulging him was the least you could do.
Jade talks to you about the little occurrences that happen in her world.
She tells you about the differences between their old Earth and their new Earth, about how new Earth is filled with all kinds of flora and fauna and biology and physics she's never been exposed to before, but the humans living there seem to have been aware of for many, many years.
You tell her about how the hemospectral caste system is in even stronger effect on your planet, about how you couldn't stay anonymous for the rest of your life, about how you might have to go into hiding before you came of filial age and the Imperial Drones had a chance to come after you.
She tells you how sorry she is that everything about your new world is depressing. You tell her it's not her fault.
The perigees drift by, and you put up with John's onslaught of cinematic recommendations and actor discussions. You even begin watching movies with him in order to properly support your side of the arguments. Turns out his taste wasn't all that horrible. Turns out human Will Smith was actually a thing.
Eventually, Jade approaches you, not as a friend, but as someone who needs romantic consultation from a self-proclaimed master.
Turns out it's about Dave.
You tell her how much you care for her, how much you've always cared for her, how hard you'd fallen for her during the course of the game, how you knew it wouldn't change a thing but you thought it was only fair you said something.
She tells you it might be best if you two no longer spoke.
Aradia presents you with a journal the day you decide to run.
There are no markings on the dusty grey cover, but the book is filled from first page to last with yellowing, dirt-stained paper and messy handwriting in black ink. You read quietly through it. She sits down next to you through all the hours it takes.
You discover that your ancestor was a bolder shade of your ideal self, the epitome of all you never realized you were aiming for.
She rests a hand on your shoulder as your tears fall and stain the bottom of the page red.
He wouldn't have run from his problems this easily.
You knew what you had to do.
EB: from one leader to another, let me say that i am so proud of you, karkat!
You haven't told him very much about your situation or what it is you're planning, but here he is already congratulating you on your determination. You figure John got these weird sentiments from his "father", the adult human male in his hive who left index cards bearing typewritten notes of encouragement everywhere John would stumble upon them. It's an odd and unfamiliar thought, taking pride in someone else. You are uncertain how to react when he tells you.
You decide to thank him and move on.
John is the only one who will speak to you on his own accord anymore, and the last thing you wanted was to scare him away by telling him exactly what you were going through.
You keep it vague. Casual. You make your current plight sound like a bad day. A bad week. A bad perigee.
More time passes, and between the multiple movie marathons, you let him speak.
The screen drowns in blue text as John continues returning to tell you all about his travels. He goes into great detail about the excursions he and Rose go on, icy plateaus and frozen caves of snow-capped mountains, soggy, thick brush of rainforests, abandoned factories and warehouses in cities not listed on local maps, searching for signs of the paranormal, for mythical beasts of legend. Apparently, Jade's calculations suggested their new Earth should have logically contained such things, hidden in the shadows and the deep.
The tales he weaves for you provide an escape from the shitty conditions you've thrust yourself into for survival. You read along with every word he liveblogs and for a brief moment, you forget that you're struggling, that you're tired, hungry, scared of being killed. For a brief moment, you're right there with him.
It feels safe, being there with him.
He confides in you that sometimes the adventures are too exhausting, sometimes he wishes he can run back home and throw in the towel and try something completely different. Maybe acting. Maybe stand-up comedy. Maybe that job where you sit in the back of the theater to change the film reels and get to watch movies all day for free.
It's just a passing thought, he assures you. He makes you pinky swear not to tell Rose.
Crouching within the depths of a cramped underground hive recently carved out by a maroonblood's mole lusus, you pinky swear.
The Sufferer's Journal speaks of a love that transcends quadrants, crafted by fate, written in the stars, an invisible string that tied them long before they met and will tie them long after they separate. It's the single most romantic fucking thing you've ever heard in your life, even if you didn't really understand it.
Your ancestor was a pretty passionate guy. It's what made him awesome.
Over the next couple of sweeps, you try to seek such love right out from under your nose, as he once did.
Unfortunately, you and Terezi hadn't been the same since the end of Sgrub. She left too much to chance, to manipulation, to consequence, to the endgame of a coin toss, and the volatility didn't sit right with you. Terezi's initial perseverance and sacrifice for your endeavour was left to the decision a coin flip. You guessed you were lucky enough to have it land on the good side.
It is her talent and foresight that allows you to gain followers at massive speeds. She could sniff out the liars from the loyal instantly, taste the sticky film of deceit blanketing spies, impale traitors on the end of her cane before they could muster the breath to deny the allegation. She was strong. Determined. Confident.
You admired her, but you were no longer red for her.
She was fiercely dedicated, but she did not love you.
This underground revolution was just a game she took part in, a game that her side was winning.
Even after weeding out the untruthfuls, the underclass outpopulated the higherbloods by much more than you could have imagined. Sollux's expertise of technology covertly spread your words through code on a near-daily basis, and your words--the words eloquently telling everyone how fucking stupid they were for letting themselves be governed by idiots--became powerful. You had allies in space, allies halfway across the planet. Your legion grew to outrageous numbers.
Having Gamzee as a moirail most of the work protecting you from suspicion. Neither of you could ever definitively portray himself as being on the other's side, lest you be forced to pass judgement on lowbloods, lest Gamzee be persecuted and killed by his fellow subjugglators.
Indigo infiltration is necessary, Terezi once told you, dragging her tongue along the jagged edges of her teeth as she grinned.
Oh, how you adored her.
Conversations with John get shorter and shorter. As you each become busier with the tangle your own lives, the frequency of your mutual movie viewing trickles to a halt. You are grateful for the fact he's kept up with you for the long six, seven human years he already has. What little conversation you do exchange nowadays is riddled with mentions of Rose, and it doesn't take a genius to see how dearly he loves her.
Jealousy wrenches your heart, but regret is what makes it hurt.
You regret because you had no right to want this.
He will never speak of you with the fondness he speaks of her. He will never see you in the light you've grown to cast upon him, and if you were honest with yourself, you never wanted him to. He deserves better than you can provide. He deserves closeness, affection, someone who isn't a universe away, someone whom he can hold and touch and see and taste and speak to, and that someone isn't you, it has never been you, it is her. Took him long enough to realize it, really. You'd shown him your pairing chart ages ago.
He has become your lifeline outside of this world. He has become your escape.
You refuse to put him through the pain you were a big enough idiot to let Jade suffer through all those sweeps ago. You refuse to hurt him by making him choose between you and the one he loves.
You want him to continue contacting you until he decides to sever you off, the last rotten reminder of his old life, in order to start something new.
You want the blue text to drown your outdated husktop screen until he drifts away for good.
Terezi foresees a fork in the road ahead, and presents you with a choice, an option to take a path that would save both time and bloodshed.
A shortcut to success.
A cheat.
You discuss it between the most trusted members of your army.
There are six of you left over, half of your original team, and the five others are here to face the end of the world alongside you.
He doesn't need to know.
It's almost been a full perigee since he last contacted you. Telling him what's going to happen to you now would benefit no one.
You stare at the open chatbox for a while before sending him an offline message.
CG: THANK YOU, JOHN.
You close the window for the last time, and you hope he can forget you.
It is the night of your trial, and you are overwhelmed for all the wrong reasons.
Kanaya listens to you speak before she takes her turn.
You find out she loved a human, too. You find her pain interlocks with yours.
You were naive of the true extent of her sympathy, but now there is solace in her arms.
The noose is snug around your neck.
Your hands are bound behind you, and the ties chafe at your bare wrists, digging into your skin. The rope around your throat is lifting you enough to force you on the edges of your feet; you tip-toe inches across the wood of the gallows, back and forth, trying to maintain your balance, eyes watering from the effort. Your entire body is bruised and broken from the injuries the public beating had given you moments earlier; you've become numb to the pain setting your nerves on fire. Fractured ribs and a punctured lung are making you cough up blood--red, bright red--and the collective disgusted breath of a hundred highbloods pollutes the air you're choking to breathe.
Before you left, you appointed Terezi as the head of the legion. She has the will to lead your army, and the ruthlessness needed to lead them well. She knew the decision would lead to the best outcome.
You haven't seen her cry like that since she was six sweeps old.
You told Aradia not to save you. Your death was the spectacle needed to push lowbloods across Alternia into action, and they would need her powers for the war.
Somewhere out there, Sollux is in hiding, ready to transmit the news. Somehow, you hope he isn't watching. Somehow, you know he already is.
Your moirail is to the side of the audience, the only face you recognize in a field of strangers, and your worry burns for him. He wouldn't fucking listen when you told him to stay behind, and now you don't know what they'll do with him once this spectacle is over. You watch his massive form struggle violently, muscles straining against his chains, and he's screaming, screaming, screaming, ripping growls from the bottom of his throat, mashing his fangs together like a rabid beast, slicing the inside of his mouth and making him drool indigo.
The Legislacerator paces in front you, lecturing your crimes to the audience, punctuating his words with dramatic enunciation, but you're staring at your moirail, at Gamzee, at your best friend.
Blood slips down the corners of your mouth as you smile.
Shhhhhhh. Shhhhhhhhhhhh.
He calms down enough to look you in the face, and you can tell he's crying, too.
But it's okay. It's all okay.
Your death will not be in vain. It is one of the many things you will accomplish that your ancestor could not.
The Legislacerator makes a show of sweeping back around to rest a hand on the lever, the movement smooth, rehearsed, choreographed.
Within your last moments, your mind steals you away to your familiar escape. To the icy chill of snow-capped mountains. To the thick scent of vegetation of rainforest depths. To the sold-out show at a comedy club. You imagine what it would feel like to hold his hand. You imagine the sight of his smile, the sound of his laughter.
You knew, now, the true ascension of a love that transcended quadrants, the one thing your ancestor accomplished that you never could.
It meant neither pity nor hatred. It meant to care for someone else's happiness more than you cared for your own.
i am so proud of you, karkat!
You squeeze your eyes shut as the floor slides out from beneath your feet.
You hope wherever he is, he is happy.
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and something went wrong.
Somehow, you and your friends ended up stuck hiding away on a meteor like a pack of rats, waiting for a prototyped canine demon from hell to swing by and slaughter you any minute now, and all you could do in the meantime was sit on your ass in front of a viewport and wait for death while watching one of the humans who has taken your place in the new universe, your new universe.
He's made up of thick glasses and blunt teeth and you call him ZOOSMELL POOPLORD at first chance and it's not your best work but fuck him.
His life flashes before your eyes and you are blindsided by the sensation of an instant connection. Almost like the ones in your movies, the unbreakable bonds forged by the delicate hands of fate herself, an indescribable link written in the constellations. You are drawn to this stupid alien in the absolute, and you can't fucking explain why.
It must be hate.
You're sure of it.