Late one night, after my flagellator left and I was laying in my cot, I heard a voice.
“Strange, isn’t it?” it said.
I recognized the voice and jumped up.
“Where are you?” I asked the room.
“Down here.”
I looked down.
There was a bug on the ground.
I was astonished.
“Listen-” it began.
I ground it into a paste.
----------------------------------------
This happened again the next night, and the night after, and it continued for many nights beyond.
It was always the same scenario: a bug would find its way into my chambers, say the words,
“Strange, isn’t it?”
and be promptly ground into a paste under forces incomprehensible to the bug mind.
I began to relish the hunt, grinding them quicker and quicker, and once I even caught one in the middle of clearing its throat. It was good fun for quite some time.
But as I continued to grind and squish, I felt my hatred slowly begin to diminish.
With each bug I crushed, a small but not-insignificant amount of my Pain-Inflicto-Meter was released into the world, until I was grinding them out of tradition and habit only.
Then, one night, the bug spoke thusly:
“Strange, isn’t it?”
I’m not sure if it was the tone of its voice, or if it was merely divine intervention, but I kept my foot hovering inches above the bug instead of bringing it down.
“What’s strange?”
“Oh-”
The bug seemed startled, as if it was awaiting a different and already accepted response.
"...well, this, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Me, you, being here.”
“Are you the same bug from before?”
“Me?” it chuckled, “no, no, you ground him into a paste.”
“No, I mean, are you the bug from before? Outside the Chamber of Unending Flagellation?”
It chuckled again.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, if I were you…”
“Oh…”
“...what I would worry about, is what I have to say…”
“...well, what do you have to say?”
“...although I suppose it’d be what you have to say, seeing as how I’m you in this scenario…”
I thought about it.
“Well not necessarily…”
“...anyway, what I came to say is this-”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“...just because you’re me, doesn’t make me you, you know…
It thought about this.
“...could be a split consciousness thing…”
“Hm,” it said.
“...or perhaps I don’t even exist!"
"...I can see that, I suppose...."
"...except for you, of course…”
“...but then, if there’s no me, why should I care what I have to say?”
“Well, I suppose that’s the question, isn’t it?”
It pondered this.
“Anyway, if I were you, what would I have to say?”
“Hm? Oh- yes, I came here to tell you this: I’m going to help you escape.”
I looked around at the meager room around my cot.
It was pitch black.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The bug was silent for a moment.
Then, it said,
“I wouldn’t worry about that, if I were you.”
“Oh,” I thought about it, “is this going to be another one of those things where I run around for a couple weeks, meet someone, and then end up getting flagellated for eternity again?”
“No.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Listen-”
I ground it into a paste.
----------------------------------------
I was visited again the next night.
But instead of sneaking in as its previous counterparts had, it stomped in.
“I say, do you have any idea…” it began immediately.
“Hi, really, really sorry about that…”
“...I mean, just what do you think you’re doing…”
“...the timing was too good to pass up…”
“...it’s just disgraceful, really…”
“...just a little too much juice left in the meter…”
“...and you know you go to hell for that, right? Killing bugs…”
“...really, really sorry.”
It stopped ranting in a harrumph, and sighed.
“Listen, meatball…”
I listened.
“...I’m here to bust you out whether you like it or not.”
“Well, maybe I like it here,” I turned my nose up.
“I’m not talking about the chamber, you idiot!” it spluttered, “I’m talking about the Torture Labyrinth!”
I stopped and looked at the bug.
“I’m going to help you Escape the Torture Labyrinth!” it said, announcing the phrase operatically.
The words sounded strange to me.
It was as if they had long ago lost all meaning, and now existed only as pale vestiges of once-familiar symbols and sounds.
I straightened my back and lifted my chin.
“Yes…” I muttered to myself.
“So can we get going?” it asked hurriedly.
“Yes, sorry…”
I began to collect my belongings, and realizing I had none, contented myself with collecting my thoughts instead.
One in particular stood out to me.
“...wait...” I said, and hesitated.
“Listen,” it cut me off, “if I were you, I’d just worry about following me.”
I shut up and imagined what it would be like to be a bug in mind.
I followed the bug in front of me, but soon became aware of a solid object blocking my forward progress.
“Hm,” I said.
“Come on!” the bug shouted back, “we need to keep moving!”
“Sorry,” I whispered, “there’s something blocking my forward progress!”
“That’s the door!”
I stood up and took a step back.
“I can see that, I suppose.”
“Just open it!”
I tried the doorknob.
It was locked.
“It’s locked,” I said.
“Try again!”
The doorknob jerked and clicked, and I pushed open the door.
“Sorry,” I said to the bug, “the handle-”
“Come on.”
It started walking quickly down the hallway.
I followed.
----------------------------------------
The bug led me through hallways that I had never been in before, and up and down some staircases I had forgotten existed.
It marched along as quickly as it could, and I trudged behind it.
Soon, the same thought I had earlier began to stand out once again.
After mulling it over for a couple minutes, I was able to form it into a question.
“Why are you helping me escape?” I asked the bug.
“Hm? What’s that?”
“Why are you helping me..."
I paused.
"...Escape the Torture Labyrinth?” I said loudly.
It looked at me as if I had just asked it why it was so small.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well,” I thought about it, “aren’t you guys super anti-escaping, and all that?”
It made a face.
“What do you mean, ‘you guys’?” it said sourly.
“Oh-” I stuttered, “no, I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Why do you want to escape?” it scoffed, “Aren’t you guys pro-getting-tortured?”
“Sorry, I-”
Then it sighed.
“Listen, I get it…”
“You do?”
“...I mean, we are a hive mind…”
“You are?”
It looked more surprised than offended.
“Don’t worry about it, guy…”
“Oh…”
“...we just gotta keep moving forward.”
“...okay...”
I kept walking.
Eventually, another thought began to stand out to me.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
It scoffed again.
“To Escape the Torture Labyrinth!”
“Oh, right.”
It harrumphed.
“Why?”
It stopped marching.
“Listen, guy,” it exploded, “I don't know what your deal is! Do you want to escape or not?”
“No, no, I want to escape…”
“Then let’s go!”
“...I’m just a little confused as to why you’re helping me, that’s all…”
“Why wouldn’t I help you?” it was more offended than surprised, “I’m a bug, guy! That’s what we do!”
“You do?”
“I’m helping you right now, aren’t I?”
“You are?”
It sighed and pinched its brow.
As much as a bug can pinch its brow, of course.
It took a deep breath.
“Just listen-”
“Yes?”
“...I’m a bug. I’m helping you escape. What is so difficult for you to grasp about that concept?”
“Nothing,” I said, “I just thought bugs were anti-escaping, is all.”
It stared at me in amazement.
Then, as much as it could, a look of realization washed over the bug’s face.
“Ohhh,” it said in surprised amusement, “you’re talking about that guy!”
Surprised, I said nothing.
“Don’t get him started, y’know what I mean?” it nudged me and winked.
I laughed weakly.
“...and don’t even mention the word ‘system’…” it muttered as it walked away.
Many thoughts stood out to me then.
I tried to ignore them, but after I could no longer keep them contained, I chose what seemed to be the most trivial matter.
“Are we going straight there, then?” I asked.
“Straight where?”
“The Exit to the Torture Labyrinth,” I pronounced grandly.
“Oh,” it scoffed once more, “no, no, we would never go straight there…”
“Oh, I see…
“...Gandalf’s eagles, and all that…”
“Whose eagles?”
The bug opened its mouth to say something, and then closed it when it saw my face.
“Nothing,” it said, “I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you.”
“Oh,” I said, and continued moving forward.