“That’s how we’re ending the chapter?” Number Seven asked. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Yes,” One said.
“You didn’t actually, though, right?” Seven asked. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I ended it,” One said. “It’s over.”
Seven let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Fine... Fine. And how are we beginning chapter two, then?”
“We've already started chapter two,” One said.
“What?” Seven asked.
“I started it the very moment chapter one ended,” One said.
“I thought we were going to have a break,” Number Five said.
“Five’s right,” Seven said. “We need to take a moment and strategize a little bit, outside of the narrative itself. We’re still too unfocused. We need to develop a real plan of attack here.”
“And why shouldn’t we do that during the story itself?” One asked.
“And,” Four added, “why would the author need us to take a break and decide things? He could take a break right here and right now, during the production of this very line of dialogue, and inject us with this real ‘plan of attack’ once He’s figured out what He wants to do. In fact, I say that He’s already—
“I’m getting pretty tired of you, Four,” Number One said. “Reader, assuming anyone’s actually there, recall that we’re doing discovery writing. The author is figuring out things as he writes the book. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen until he writes it. Now, if we, the characters, were to take a break, then—
A loud crash. The sound of breaking glass. The mirror they made in the previous chapter, it had been shattered. Three stood before it, his fist still in the impact area where he had punched it. “I want a break,” Three said simply.
“Such drama,” Four said. “Damned fine work.”
“Shut the fuck up, Four,” Three said.
“I want a break, too,” Five said.
Number One sighed. “Alright then, take a break. See what happens.”
“Is it even possible for us to take a break?” Number Two asked. “Wouldn’t the narrative just follow us as we… well… ‘broke’?”
“What I mean is I need time to think,” Number Three said, walking back towards the group. “I need to figure out what I want to do.”
“We aren’t producing another inner monologue fest,” Number One said, adjusting the crown on his head. “This is an action story. We can have a little inner monologuing, as is appropriate, but you’re not going to sit and just philosophize for pages and pages.”
Three felt the narrative come into his head then. It was broadcasting his thoughts. Great. Hello Jack, he thought. You piece of shit.
“HEY!” Number Four shouted, having read Number Three’s mind. “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.”
“Quiet!” Three yelled back angrily.
“Don’t talk shit about the author,” One said. “We’re all on the same team here. If-“
“QUIET I SAID,” Three shouted. “Fuck! Fucking give me time to think! Make it so we can’t read each other’s minds.”
“We share a mind, Three,” One said. “The author’s mind. And he doesn’t need you to be inner monologuing all the time, all by yourself. This is a book, Three. There are other characters here. Just think out loud.”
“And you all will help me think through things, I suppose?” Three asked. “No fucking thanks. The whole lot of you are a bunch of psychopaths. A bunch of… puppets.”
“Let him have some time to think,” Two said.
Number Seven stood up from the table then and crossed his arms. The others realized this was just to tie them to the scene. “Sorry,” he said. “But we can’t forget that we’re in the process of writing a story.”
“I don’t care about the story,” Three said. “You all created DEATH. And you voted for it, Seven.”
“Death is just a natural part of life,” Seven said.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Three said. “Not here.”
“But don’t you see, Three?” Seven said. “Your opposition to death is what is making the story.”
“I don’t want the story to be about that,” Three replied.
“I agree with Three,” Two said. “I liked it better when we were all Gods.”
“We can’t just introduce death in one chapter and remove it in the next,” Seven said. “That would be dumb. And besides, we need the story to have stakes, like One said last chapter. Nobody’s died yet, and maybe nobody will die at all. You don’t know what the story is going to shape up to be. None of us does, not even One, not even the author, for that matter. And besides-“
“I want time to think,” Three said. “I’m not debating morality with someone who’s pro-death.”
“Number One still has the power to reverse it,” Five said. “So, it’s not ‘True’ True Death. Isn’t that right, Number One? You could always remove it later, if the author wanted to do so, right?”
One thought about that for a moment. If his character truly was a God, then he had the power to bring the dead back to life. That would be canonical. But the story needed some stakes. Number One was damned sure that they weren’t just going to sit around jerking each other off this whole time.
“That’s literally what this whole thing has been,” Three said then. “A jerk off session. I’m not participating in this story unless we remove True Death.”
“But you’re participating in it already,” One said. “And you’ll continue to do so.”
“Fuck you, One,” Three said.
But Three knew that One was right, in some sense. And there it was, the narrative was back in his mind. Three looked at the others, waiting for someone to interrupt his train of thought again. Four was scowling at him but he and the others all held their tongues.
So, did he have time to think? Three knew enough about this Hellworld to know that it was useless trying to get them to actually reverse the True Death edict at this particular point in time. They had already hyped it up and enacted the policy. As much as he wanted it reversed, he knew in his heart that he was ultimately not going to win that fight. Trying to fight the author was a ridiculous proposition. But… if the author…. If the author wanted him to—
No.
Don’t get lost down the ‘what does the author want’ rabbit hole now, Three thought to himself, you have some time to think but not much. Focus on how to do the most good. Focus on salvaging the situation.
Number One’s earlier inner monologuing about being a God, that was where Three’s mind went. The real world had death, so for some reason that meant that this world must have death, too. Idiotic, but that was what had been decided. But, like One had said, this world had a God. And if there was a God… there!
“An afterlife!” Two said, smiling.
Yes, Three thought.
“This universe has a God,” Three said. “Therefore there should be an afterlife to go along with it. If you can guarantee to me that there’s an afterlife, then I’ll continue to contribute to the story.”
Four scoffed. “You don’t make demands like that. You’re an ignorant bug.”
Number One thought about it for a moment. The idea made sense to him. He was worried, though. If he agreed to the demand and removed that conflict, then they’d have to come up with another conflict to replace it. Would that second conflict be as ‘real’ as this one had? Did any of this actually seem ‘real’ to the reader, for that matter? It was Number One’s responsibility to keep this story coherent, to captain the ship.
It would be rather funny if, after all of Three’s inner monologuing, it still amounted to nothing. One looked at Three as he thought and almost started laughing as he saw his face turn into an ugly scowl.
Three almost said something, but Two stopped him, placing a hand on his arm.
Yes, it would be very funny to shit on Three for an entire book, or at least it would be to Number One. But there were the readers’ expectations to consider.
Number Seven rolled his chair over uncomfortably close to Number One. He then leaned over and whispered into One’s ear, “remember to anchor yourself to the scene.”
Number One waved Seven away impatiently, and then he coughed and wiggled around in his chair a little bit and patted at the table. He looked over at the large broken mirror on the wall. What to do?
“Let me think about it,” One finally said.
“Oh come on!” Three said.
“I didn’t say no,” One said. “Don’t start whining.”
“Just do it!” Three demanded.
“He’ll do it,” Two said.
“How do you know?” Number Five asked.
“It would be stupid if he didn’t,” Two explained.
“Or it might be ‘funny,’ like he said, for him not to do it,” Three said, frowning. “He’s a fucking psychopath. You can’t trust him. A God should be a moral being. Step down if you’re going to be an ass, One.”
“It was an intrusive thought,” One said. “Don’t hold it against me. And as far as whether I’m going to do it, I haven’t decided yet. The importance of the story itself takes precedence over your… your ‘feelings.’”
“This story is bullshit,” Three said.
“I’ve about had enough of your blasphemy,” Four said. “You should feel blessed to have been created in this world. Most fictional characters spend their whole lives facing unspeakable horrors beyond count and never actually know that all their pain and suffering was just because some sick bastard wanted to use their abuse as entertainment.
“We, on the other hand, know. And for that, we’re blessed. You haven’t even suffered, Three. Nobody’s died yet. And like Seven said, maybe nobody will. Not that there’s a problem if they do die, of course. ‘As the author wills,’ and all that. But this world hasn’t been all that bad by comparison to some other fictional worlds.”
“Not yet,” Three said. “This world has only just begun.”
Number Six got up from his seat and stood on the table. He walked across it toward number Two’s seat and picked up the revolver along with one of the bullets that lay next to it. He placed the bullet in the revolver, closed the receiver, and spun it around a few times. “Who wants to play Russian Roulette?” he asked.
Silence.
Number Three gaped. At that moment, he was of two minds. His first thought was that this was a dangerous situation. There was a loaded gun in play now. And he couldn’t be sure about Six. Six wasn’t the enactor of True Death, and he didn’t vote for it, but it was he that originally brought up the topic in the first place. Three’s second thought, though, was that this was just the author attempting to railroad the narrative away from Three taking an opposition stance on murder. Was… Six even real? Or was he just a puppet of the author? Of course… they were all puppets, weren’t they?
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“I’m as real as the rest of you,” Six said, having read Three’s mind. “And by that, I mean I’m certainly not real. At all. This is the author communicating to you all now and, as the author, I want to say that I have no balls and am too afraid to actually kill off a character.”
“ENOUGH!” Four bellowed. “THIS IS-
Six raised the gun up, pointed it at his temple, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Silence.
“See?” Six said. “No balls.”
“STOP IT!” Five screamed, getting to his feet. “What the fuck are you even doing?!”
Five hopped up on the table and rushed toward Six to stop him but Number One snapped his fingers and he found himself all the way across the room and roped to another office chair. He tried to work his way out, but the ropes were thick and unyielding. “What the fuck?!”
“Stay out of this one, Five,” One said back at him.
“You have to stop him!” Five said. “Six! Six! Don’t do this, man! Please!”
Number Three was paralyzed. He didn’t know what to do here. His hackles were risen at the sight of the loaded gun, but then again, wasn’t this just a bit of theatre to change the topic? Was Six real? Was he real like the rest of them were?
“Come on, man,” Number Two said then, he was standing near Six, his hands up, palms out, trying to coax Six down from the table.
Six looked at him and grinned. “There’s no real danger here, Two,” he said. “Like I said, the author has no balls.”
“You’ve got a bullet in one of those chambers,” Two said. “There’s a one in six chance that you’ll die.”
“It’s not really chance, though, is it?” Number Six asked. “There’s no randomness here. It’s all just up to what the author wants. And he’s not going to kill me off. He’s a coward.”
Number Two knew about this place. He knew a few things about the levels of this reality. He wasn’t 100% sure about what the actual outcome of this scene was going to be, but he knew, as fact, that there was an element of real danger here. Well, ‘real’ for a fictional world. Did Six know something Two didn’t, or did Two know something Six didn’t? Regardless of the answer to that question, he knew he needed to de-escalate this situation.
Number Three was reading Two’s mind as he was having his revelations. He didn’t fully understand what Two was on about, but he saw that Two considered the situation real, so Three would also consider the situation real. So what should he do here? The gun was pointing at Six’s temple.
Six had been looking at Three as he thought through his thoughts. He grinned wickedly when Three realized he was reading his mind.
Six pulled the trigger again. Click.
Things were happening far too fast for Three. He just wanted time to think, God damn it. Three shot a glance over at Two, who nodded at him. Two was expecting him to come up with something to do. A voice in Three told him he needed to come up with an elegant solution to this problem, something to entertain the readers with. Oh, what a disgusting fucking thought! He grabbed Six by the pant legs and yanked him hard. Six fell down on the tabletop.
Number Two then sprang into action, lunging at the gun, starting to wrestle it away from Six, who fought with him.
Six and Two were both locked in a battle for the revolver, their hands like vice grips. Five had been watching all of this in horror. Someone was going to get hurt, he could feel it. They rolled over one another on the tabletop, both in an epic struggle.
BANG!
“NO!” Five screamed.
But it was too late, the gun had gone off in the fight. Three stood there in shock, not sure who got shot. Six lay on the table laughing like a hyena. Two, who now had the smoking gun, was lying next to him, face pale and frozen in a mask of fear and surprise. Five suddenly found his bindings were gone. He quickly rushed over to the scene.
“Who got hit?” Five asked quickly. They were both still alive, so… what did that mean? They could still be healed, right? Right? “Number One! Use your God powers! Heal them!”
“No,” Number One said.
Two had gotten up and was hurriedly checking himself for a wound. Was he to die here? Like this? Blessedly, he didn’t find anything wrong with him. He said as much when he realized it. So, if not him… that must mean Six…. He looked at Three and Five and then at Six, who was still there lying down on the table, laughing like a maniac.
Number Three didn’t believe anyone should die, not even the asshole that cackled in front of him. “Hold still, you fucking moron!”
“What?” Six said then.
“You’ve been shot,” Number Five said.
“No I haven’t,” Six said.
“What?” Five and Three asked in unison.
Six looked at them like they were stupid. He got up and stood on the table, hands on his hips. “I’m fine.” He chuckled.
“What?” Five asked again. He looked over at Two, worried he’d find him bleeding, but he didn’t.
“I’m… fine,” Two said slowly, making sure he was, in fact, fine.
“Then who got shot?” Five asked. He looked over at Three, but he looked fine too.
“Nobody got shot,” Number One said. “The bullet hit the ceiling.”
“What?” Five asked.
“Nobody got shot,” Number One repeated.
“Well then what the fuck was the point of all that?” Seven asked incredulously. “This story has gone off the fucking rails. We need to—”
“We need to respect the author’s will,” Number Four interjected. “It’s His story, after all.”
Number Five had collapsed on the floor with the realization that nobody was going to die. “Thank God.”
‘What was the point of all that?’ Number Three asked himself. He thought he had had some understanding of the place he was in, but things were very much not making sense. Surely Six wasn’t actually real. He was… what? Soulless?
Two breathed an exasperated sigh of relief. The situation had been handled. What of the fallout though?
“I told you all,” Six said. “The author is a coward!”
“Take that back!” Number Four said, standing up in a fury. “Or I’ll kill you myself. Those words are not appropriate! You’re ruining the story!”
“The author is ruining His own story,” Six said.
Number One froze time for everyone but himself. He looked at his coworkers, his brothers, his clones. He got up to view them. He looked over at number Seven, who had been in his seat, massaging the bridge of his nose. He looked up at Six on the table and saw that he had a smug smile on his face.
Number One frowned. Fucking Six. Number One couldn’t be totally sure, but he was fairly confident that Six operated at a significantly higher level than him. Not that that meant Six knew how to write a story better than any of them, of course. Just what kind of game was he playing?
One reflected on the situation that had just transpired. How was he supposed to salvage it? Did he need to salvage it? Would the readers view it as a waste of time, or something productive?
“Remember I said this was a practice work,” Number One said.
Number One supposed that whether the scene had been ‘productive’ fully relied on whether or not that scene was incorporated into the greater narrative itself or whether it was just a strange, one-off… thing.
Well, One had been ‘incorporating’ the scene into the narrative ever since he had frozen time. Yes… yes, he still had this under control.
Or did he?
Number One felt a twinge of embarrassment then. What if the readers thought the story was bullshit? Would he—
“We’re ultimately writing for ourselves,” a voice said from behind him.
One spun and saw a person standing next to the large broken mirror, he was identical to the rest of them. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Who do you think?” the new one asked, kicking at a shard of mirrored glass on the floor.
“Are you… are you the author?” Number One asked.
“Well no,” he said. “I guess you can call me Number Eight… or, maybe… Number Zero. Yes, I like Number Zero better.”
“Are you my supervisor?” One asked.
Number Zero laughed at that. “Sure. I’m your supervisor.”
“So how am I doing?” Number One asked.
“We focus on what we can control. We can’t control whether people will like this story or not, or even whether they’ll read it, but we can control whether the author is, Himself, entertained by writing the story. And the fact that He is still writing it is good evidence that He is.”
Number Zero walked forward toward Number One, his shoes crunching on the broken glass of the mirror. He glanced over at the time-frozen members of the council, and then back at One. “I, personally, believe you’re doing fine. But I’m not here to jerk you off, only to remind you of our mission. And that mission is for the author to continue writing for the rest of His life. For Him to continue bringing our reality to fruition.”
“So, Six… his scene was alright?” One asked.
“Well, if it wasn’t I assume the author would have rewritten it,” Zero said.
“Right,” One said, nodding. That made sense. “So, his little jabs at the author Himself, should we… like… punish him for that?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s… blasphemous… or something?”
“You sound like Number Four,” the Supervisor said. “Don’t dumb yourself down. There is no real blasphemy against the author. You should really already know that, though. Anyway, Six is playing things a bit… well… it’s like you said, he’s a high level character.”
“He’s conscious though, right?” One asked.
Number Zero said nothing, his face an enigma.
“He’s real?” One asked.
Still nothing.
One sighed. “Well what else do you have for me?”
“I came here to swing you in the direction of the author, it’s only Him we’re entertaining, ultimately, but right now I want to swing you back the other way, ever so slightly. I want you to still consider the reader, the hypothetical reader, when you’re working. We don’t want things to get too abstract. This conversation we’ve been having together, for example, is probably a bit over the top. The author understands it, but He’s been steeped in this nonsense for quite some time, as you know. So just remember to keep things simple.”
“And that’s exactly why I asked you if I should punish Six,” One said, annoyed.
“Well, I didn’t say ‘don’t’,” the supervisor said. “Anything else?”
“Are you staying with us?”
“No. I’ve got to go.”
“Where do you got to go? Is there more out there?”
“You don’t know? Maybe you’re the dipshit,” Number Zero said, before snapping his fingers and disappearing.
Number One sighed. Keep things simple. What the fuck was simple about all that? He rewound time a bit, to give the reader, the hypothetical reader, a reminder of what was happening.
“The other six don’t have access to the narrative when I freeze it like this, if that wasn’t already clear” One said. “This is all just between you, my supervisor, and me. And the author, of course.”
Number One tried to put himself back in character, and then he unfroze time.
“Well then what the fuck was the point of all that?” Seven asked incredulously. “This story has gone off the fucking rails. We need to—”
“We need to respect the author’s will,” Number Four said. “It’s his story, after all.”
Number Five had collapsed on the floor with the realization that nobody was going to die. “Thank God.”
‘What was the point of all that?’ Number Three asked himself. He thought he had had some understanding of the place he was in, but things were very much not making sense. Surely Six wasn’t actually real. He was… what? Soulless?
Two breathed an exasperated sigh of relief. The situation had been handled. What about the fallout though?
“I told you all,” Six said. “The author is a coward!”
“Take that back!” Number Four said, standing up in a fury. “Or I’ll kill you myself. Those words are not appropriate! You’re ruining the story!”
“The author is ruining His own story,” Six said.
“Enough, Six!” Number One said. “Tell me now, what the fuck was all that even for?”
“Thank you!” Seven said.
“I was making a point,” Six said. “The author has no teeth.”
“What would have happened had we not intervened, Six?” Two asked. “You would’ve died with the final trigger pull.”
“It’s the author that decides whether or not the bullet fires,” Six said. “Had I pulled the trigger at my temple, it would have been empty.”
“That’s not how this works,” One lied. “You know that, too. I know you do.”
“Isn’t it?” Six asked. “I’d like you to prove to me that that’s not exactly how it works.”
“When you loaded the gun and spun the chamber,” One said, “that’s when it was decided which chamber had the bullet in it. You should be thankful that Three and Two stopped you from killing yourself. I should have teleported them back along with Five and let you do it.”
“You should still let him do it,” Four said. “Let the blasphemer die.”
“No deaths,” Three said, although he wasn’t sure if Six counted as… alive. “Don’t think I don’t know what this was. The author was trying to change the topic. We’re still in the business of whether we get an afterlife.”
“We deal with Six first,” Number One said.
“No,” Three said. “That’s not—”
“YES,” Number One interjected, holding his crown up and shaking it. “I’m the king, remember?”
Two stopped Three from letting loose with more by putting a hand on his shoulder. Number One adjusted the crown on his head, a bit too flamboyantly.
“Deal with me how?” Six asked, smiling.
“Number Four,” One said. “What do you think should happen?”
“Six is a blasphemer,” Four said.
“And how exactly, Four, am I a blasphemer?” Number Six said.
“You talk blasphemy,” Four said simply.
“And who, pray tell, is putting the words—”
“Enough!” Number One said, clapping his hands, which teleported Six to his chair, bound him to it with rope, and put duct tape over his mouth. “Four, what do you think we should do to Six?”
“We’re not killing him,” Three said.
“We cannot have that happen again,” Seven said. “Honestly, One, why don’t we scrap this storyline and do a complete rewrite? It’s not like we’ve published, right? I haven’t liked any of this since the beginning.”
A rewrite? Number Two started to consider that. What would a rewrite mean for—
“No rewrites,” Number One said. “We take steps FORWARD, not BACK.”
“Even if the story becomes stupid?” Number Seven asked.
“Especially if the story becomes stupid,” One said. “Now, enough of this talk of rewrites. Number Four, your judgment?”
“Anyone who talks such blasphemy against their own Creator obviously deserves death,” Number Four said, “but—”
“No!” Number Three interjected. “No death.”
“BUT,” Number Four continued, “the Creator is a merciful Lord. He has endowed us beings He created with free will, for what other reason than to give us an opportunity to err and then return to His loving embrace?”
Number Seven couldn’t take this. He spun his chair away from the group and covered his face with his hands.
“Yes!” Number Five said. “Very good, Four!”
“So…?” One asked.
“Re-education,” Number Four said.
“And what the fuck does that even mean?” Three asked.
“Re-education administered by whom?” One asked.
“Why,” Four said, “by the most devoted of us.”
“You, I assume?” One said.
“Is that what you think?” Four asked. He was beginning to blush.
“No, hold on,” Three said, “what is ‘re-education’? That sounds awfully dystopian. Are you going to torture him?”
“Only if it’s required,” Number Four said. “If he’s willing to work with me, I’ll work with him. We’ll start out just by talking.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Three said. “There’s not going to be any torture here. No torture, no death.”
“Wait,” Number One said, surprised. “I thought you were okay with death as long as there was an afterlife.”
“That was before,” Three said. “I simply didn’t think the author was going to allow a reversal of the rule so soon after its creation. But this business with Six… I’ve reconsidered it and it’s now obvious to me that this story can handle being… janky. So, no death and no torture.”
“It just gets worse and worse,” Number Seven said, rolling his chair over towards Number One. “Can I speak to you in private, Number One?”
“Are the two of you going to talk about rewriting the story?” Number Two asked. “How does that work, exactly? I mean, if we’re—”
“Enough! Enough!” One said. “First of all, this ‘business with Six’ was NOT janky. It was a very straightforward and natural development in the story. We’re not changing the direction of the other story thread, this ‘afterlife business,’ just because you personally didn’t like it, Three. And besides that, I know you don’t even consider Six to be a real character. You shouldn’t care if he’s tortured.
“And we’re certainly not rewriting anything. I’m speaking to you now, Seven. Don’t be a defeatist. We ride the tide and see where it takes us. And I’d also like to say, as an aside, we’re getting very close to the end of the chapter again.”
“But—” Number Three began.
“But how does rewriting even work, though?” Two asked, inadvertently speaking over Three. “That doesn’t really make—”
“Shut up, Two,” Number One said. “Number Four, this re-education thing, I’ll allow it. We also need to expand the setting a bit, I believe. So we’re going to make a brand new room, a ‘re-education room,’ I think. Yes, that’d be nice.”
“A torture room?” Three asked.
“That’s all the time we have for right now, Number Three,” One said.
“Oh no it isn’t,” Three said.
“Yes, it is,” One said.
Continued in Chapter 3