Only the weak must oppress. The powerful are apathetic to others.

* The Book of Wrecker

1 Hour Later (Wreckworld Time) - Copycat - Forbidden Library

I thank Marcus and exit the Forbidden Library. Despite it’s foreboding name, it’s actually a really nice place. A splendid marble building, close to the ziggurat temple that Wrecker calls home. Open and airy, with lots of gardens, and couches, and wine. It’s a favored place for wizards to meet and discuss the Book of Wrecker.

Vali, a utility mage who can sometimes see through illusions, describes the library differently. He says it’s a heavily fortified, claustrophobic, murderhole, defended by a hidden horde of paranoic battle magi. Apparently, there is one real garden where Marcus meets guests, but it’s derivative and uninspired.

Whatever. Seems nice to me.

As I leave the library, I see Presto standing with his nose to its outer wall. He’s staring intently, mumbling to himself, and drinking nervously.

“Hey Presto, how’s it going?”

Presto has a mini-spaz when I speak. He shoots me a panicky look, tries to cover with frantic nonchalance, gives up and runs away.

“Okay bud, good talk.”

Once again, I’m feeling better after a conversation with Marcus. I’ve been anxious - and lonely - without Vali. He’s been on a mission for the last week, and I worry that he’ll come back with his mind wiped.

Marcus reminded me that hard resets aren’t the end of the world. The wisdom in the Book of Wrecker sets people straight in a hurry. Also, as a utility mage for an investigation unit, Vali’s not even in a combat situation. It was a one-two jab of kind reassurance.

He’s right of course. Of all people, I should know hard resets aren’t the end of the world. I think I’ve set a dual record for most successful missions and most broken helmets. Starting over ain’t that bad. Also, I’m a disaster monkey. Just because I die everytime I leave the house, doesn’t mean Vali will.

I think - if I’m honest - I’m most worried about my ability to bring him back. Vali’s brought me back from nothing countless times. He’s my goofy, sexy, rock. Kind, and patient, and loving. I’m mostly good at stabbing people. I don’t think those skill sets are necessarily interchangeable.

That said, he’s gonna be okay. I have time to work on myself. Get better at loving patience. Maybe get a thicker helmet.

Reassured, I set off for home. I poke along, smoking and socializing. There’s no rush, empty home don’t need me. When I finally get there, there’s a pair of naiads drinking in our fountain. Oh no.

I run to our great hall, following large, wet, footprints. I find a massive, tattooed man cradling a broken helm. He’s staring at a crowded chalkboard of chaotic wisdom with sad eyes.

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“Vali?”

The sad eyes turn to me. “I’m so confused.”

Oh no.

2 Weeks Later

“None of this makes sense!”

There’s a crash as Vali throws the Book of Wrecker thru a chalkboard. I grit my teeth and think patient thoughts. His return is not going smoothly.

“Do you know why he calls himself Wrecker? Because he wrecks other philosophies. Which - admittedly - he’s kind of good at. Most philosophies obsess over suffering and meaninglessness, because most philosophers are suffering and don’t know what to do. That’s actually a pretty astute observation. Are philosophies just self-serving bullshit slapped together to justify the rest of our bullshit? There’s an eerie ring of truth to that.

“But he never turns the hammer on himself. Maybe he just praises strength because he’s strong. Or thinks people don’t change because he never has.

“The weak band together to tear down the strong. So, strong people are the victims? That doesn’t sound right. Pretty sure we’re kicking the shit out of everybody. Also, aren’t we banding together? Isn’t that the whole point of this operation? We’re not rugged individualists being dragged down by a degenerate society jealous of our success. We’re a well organized cabal of opportunists stealing from anyone with the misfortune of not being us.

“And it’s all justified with the idea that people get what they deserve. So, if we fuck you over, you must have deserved it. That’s convenient. We get to be selfish and morally superior. Wrecking philosophies, my ass.”

I wait. Is he done? Okay, I think he’s done. Vali’s upset. Things aren’t making sense, but that’s normal. I’ve experienced it myself, many times. Fortunately, I’ve always had Vali to help me. Unfortunately, Vali has me to help him, and that’s not working out great, because I don’t currently know the answers to his questions and probably never did. Fuck.

“So yeah, those are big questions, buddy. Have you thought of talking to Marcus?”

“Fuck Marcus.”

“Right. Okay. Wanna invite some naiads over and have a party?”

Vali shakes his head in frustration. “I don’t even know who you are.” He storms out of the house.

Sigh. I love my husband, but this is tough. Fuck, I could be called for a mission at anytime. Which would be a disaster. Because if I die and come back to this grumpy bitch, I may just shank him. Gotta fix him in a hurry, but I don’t know how.

Maybe a sandwich would help. I shrug. If it doesn’t, at least I won’t be hungry.

I walk to my kitchen and find Presto there. He’s wearing a fancy vest, smiling, and drinking confidently.

Huh. I grab a barley sandwich from the icebox. Pop the cap.

“Hey Presto. Nice vest.”

“Thanks. It’s the traditional garb of whoever’s the best at competitive patty-cake.”

“You won a patty-cake competition?”

“No, I came in second. But the winner was hit by lightning, so this is mine now.”

“Cool. Cheers.” We clink. “What brings you by? Should I call a naiad to bring more beer?”

“Nah.” He grins and pats an old worn sack. “I’ve got plenty. No, I was just reading a good book, and wanted your opinion on it.”

I snort, drink. “If you want opinions on the good book, you came to the wrong lady. I don’t get it for shit.”

“You misunderstand.” He slides a slim volume from his fancy vest. It has a soft leather cover and most of its pages are ripped out. “I was reading a different good book.”

A thunderous, discordant, horn blasts from downtown. It’s a call to arms, but not one I’m familiar with. I see Praetorians streaking overhead, descending on the Forbidden Library.

All very interesting. But not as interesting as the book on my kitchen counter. There’s something about it that’s sooo familiar. Maybe it’s the words ‘Sacred Text’ that are scrawled on the cover in my own sloppy handwriting.

I pick up the book. Look at Presto. He’s smiling, drinking, gently grooving to the beat of catastrophic sirens. Fuck it. I open the book.

...If you are reading this you have lost your memory...

…..We are looking for a god named Tiger...

…….Life is absurd...

……...Presto and Cyan are your best buds…

………..Wrecker’s looking to brainwash you...

Son of a bitch.