that was literally the prior chapter
you can solve that by rereading the entire thing
this is not how you solve it
2 Likes
y’know maybe I should have read the chapter before posting it…
2 Likes
Is Cordax’s chapter canon???
i
does the perspective of the cordax chapter really change every sentence
and why am I a woman
5 Likes
listen to cordax, read the chapter guys
yes
and who the heck is Jack
4 Likes
_
Chapter 12
_
I raised an eyebrow. “Did you just wake up on my ship?”
“No,” Jack replied, “I’ve been running the station.”
I frowned. “I thought we already decided to… oh. Oh right. You do that.”
“Yeah,” he said with a slight shrug, “take a break every now and then, huh?”
I laughed a little and nodded. “Yeah, okay,” I replied, “better you than me, I’m still getting used to being a commander.”
“Same here,” Jack grinned.
“Is the kid here?” I asked, turning back to Winger.
“The guy in the suit?” She asked, pointing at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s Jack. You wanna watch him for a little bit?”
“You’re kidding me?” She asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Nope,” I said, “he’s gonna help us.”
“Really?” She asked with a grin, “so do you think he’ll be able to handle a little democracy?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course he will,” I said. “He’s not really much of a ■■■■■.”
“He’s a ■■■■■,” Jack muttered.
“A cute ■■■■■,” I replied.
“Well, he’s not my type,” Jack said.
“Jack,” Winger said, “I have never seen him look at another woman before. Not once. He hasn’t even spoken to one of them.”
I frowned. “That’s not true,” I said, “I’ve seen him do it, believe me. I’ve never known a woman who has been immune to his charms.”
Jack groaned. “I don’t care,” he said. “What are you going to do? He needs to be watched.”
“Jack, I’ll be here.”
“Racie!” Jack shouted. “I need you!”
“Here, Jack,” I said, picking up my gun and making my way over to him, “see what you can do with it.”
Jack grinned at me. “I can make this shot three times in a row.”
“Two?” I asked.
“Three!” He said. “If I have to.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll meet you back here in a bit.”
“Perfect,” he replied with a wink.
Winger and I watched as Jack walked over to the weird group of men, waving at them excitedly.
“Oh my god,” Winger said, “what is going on here?”
“Not much I guess,” I said, “but he sure is cute.”
“Oh, he’s not,” Winger said, nudging me in the side.
“Oh, yeah?” I replied, “that doesn’t sound like the Jack I know.”
Winger rolled her eyes. “He’s such a dork.”
“Yeah,” I said with a grin, “I know.”
“Oh,” Winger said, “you’ve seen him? What is he, 10?”
“Fifteen, actually,” I said. “He’s actually a lot older than I am.”
“I’m glad I don’t have to deal with him,” Winger said, “it’s so much less trouble that way.”
I nodded. “Yeah, him or Nick.”
Winger laughed. “I feel like we’re forgetting someone,” she said.
I groaned.
“I know,” she replied, “you’re forgetting Julie.”
“Oops,” I replied.
“And how’s that for forgetting,” Winger said with a smile.
Julie walked up to Winger and me. She gave Winger a big hug. “Winger,” she said, “isn’t it great that you finally got a cell phone?”
Winger laughed. “Yes, it is.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure we’re already halfway done with all of my Christmas shopping,” Julie continued, “I just need a couple more things.”
Winger rolled her eyes. “Okay, Jules,” she said, “you’ve got plenty of time. Go get those last few gifts.”
“Okay,” Julie said. “But I’m warning you, if I don’t see some lovely new shoes under the tree tomorrow, I’m coming over there and picking something out myself.”
Winger groaned. “It’s only $17.99.”
“I don’t care,” Julie replied. “I’m your mother. You can’t let me pay full price.”
“Alright, alright,” Winger said, putting her hands up. “Have it your way.”
“And you won’t even get in trouble for being late, right, Mom?” Julie said with a smile.
Winger rolled her eyes. “Would you two please stop calling me that?” she asked, putting her hands up. “My name is Winger, not Mom.”
Julie started to laugh. “Oh, Mom.” She then went to hug me. “And I’m sorry about when I called you that, too.”
“You know, I’m actually really glad that you and Julie get along this well,” I said, leaning in to hug her. “It makes our lives a whole lot easier.”
“Me, too,” Julie said, resting her head against my chest. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” she asked.
I looked at Winger. “No way,” she said, “we have to get up early, or we’ll be way behind.”
“I know,” I replied, “but I thought…”
“We don’t need to think,” Julie interrupted. “I’m going to stay with Katie for a while. You guys go ahead.”
I groaned. “She didn’t seem very happy that you were going to be there,” I said.
“Well, she’s always like that,” Julie said with a shrug. “She gets mad when we try to mess with her little routine.”
“Not surprising,” Winger added. “Look, we’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
“Not before we get all of the gifts wrapped,” I said, pointing at Winger.
She rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that,” she said. “I don’t even know what half of those gifts are.”
“Comes with the territory,” Julie said, giving Winger a quick hug. “I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow. Have a Merry Christmas.”
I watched as Winger and Julie walked away. I felt a lump in my throat as I watched them leave, and for a moment, I let myself actually feel what I was feeling.
And that’s when it hit me.
Christmas Day was only two days away
_
5 Likes
that entire chapter was confusing
1 Like
why is winger both the mother and daughter of julie
2 Likes
there must be multiple wingers
1 Like
Same way Zaphod Beeblebrox is his own great-great grandfather and great-great grandson
1 Like
–
Chapter 11
–
You stood in place, exercising deep, methodical breaths as the Chronicler circled you, scratching his head and making sharp glances at his writing. Doubt began to form in your mind as to his true intentions; was he really the patron saint of honesty you had been lead to believe he was? Were not his machinations simply ones designed to pull you further in, to make you submit to his instruction, and defy even your very thoughts?
“If your thoughts are your own, that means The One To Trust cannot control them, but only interject.” The Chronicler mused, his words stinging like quicksilver in your veins, as he tapped his paper with what could only be interpreted as a malicious warning. “Therefore, since you have free will, The One To Trust cannot be reached there.”
“And…?” You interjected, seeing right through your Chronicler’s lies. as he continued to hover about you ominously with no visible truth to his actions.
“Only your mind is inaccessible to him - your actions, your feelings, he can influence them but not ultimately control them.” He fiddled with his pages, no doubt trying to draw sympathy from you by striking at your vulnerability. “You likely do remember whatever your name and identity is, but it’s buried beneath thousands of lies. We need to go there if we’re ever going to break free of his control.”
This was an utter fabrication, a falsification, a feeble attempt to mislead you. His lies were thinner than the paper he wrote on, and you knew it. Could he really mislead you this easily?
“Go where?” You inquired, laying your trap to ensnare him in.
“Inside of your mind.”
The silence that followed was as awkward as it was profound. Such an utter impossibility was beyond comprehension, and surely you felt some satisfaction in knowing the meticulous little game he had been playing with your mind had finally come crumbling down around him.
“…What.” You confronted his agenda, catching him in his own fib. “You mean like, some kind of mental power thing or like-”
“Just,” The Chronicler massaged what would be his browline, clearly frustrated with having failed in his endeavor to entrap you. “Just make a door. Think up a door that goes inside your head. It’s not hard.”
Foolishly, you closed your eyes and pictured a metal door, complete with frame, sitting in front of you. Maybe this Chronicler creature had succeeded after all; were you truly so gullible as to believe his outrageous claims about reality?
When your eyes opened, the illogical construct lay before you; a door, exactly as you had pictured, leading to an impossible paradox. Would you be yet such a fool and go inside? “We have to hurry; surely he knows what we attempt to do now, and we can’t wait around for him to-”
There was a brilliant, blinding glow off to your side, which dimmed the natural light of the world, and it indicated The One To Trust himself had come to rescue you from the iron grip of this fantastical traitor. But no sooner had the light begun to shine than did your Chronicler scoop you up in his gaunt, monstrous limbs and make a maddening dash for the door, the steel contraption flying open as he smashed through it. The door disappeared the moment it was out of your view, and then there was such a wonderful silence that you could not describe with terms identifiable by human minds.
Silence. The absence of The One To Trust in your mind, shouting manipulative concepts into your conscience. No source of influence other than what you took in from your surroundings. No other voices, no other minds clashing and dominating yours.
Noticing your surroundings for the first time, you could see the infinite void in every direction, with lines of light occasionally traveling in horizontal loops across the infinite darkness. This was what it was like, then; the inside of an intellect, so vast and endless, the possibility for thought beyond comprehension. Incalculable, unrestrained, unlimited.
“I think he w̵͖̾as righ̷͚̊t.” The̶̪̍ Chron̸̲̽icler coughed ou̸͔̔t̴̯̆, h̵̯̿is chȩ̵̉st heavȋ̴̠ng. “The One To Trust did m̴͕͂ention how this was a p̷̦̂arado̸̻̐x, and I think that… I think we have to act very fas̵̻̀t̵̢̑ bĕ̸͍for̴͖̾e somethi̷͕͂ng - or everything - ș̴̈́uddenly falls̵͍̓ apart on u̵̪͊ṣ̵̎.”
Yơ̶ͅú̸̼ ̸̼̄c̵͖̓ould feel it, too̶̫̳̤̻͔͑. The̶̮͚͒͝ ̶͎̌͘g̶̤͙̐̄r̶̛̻̘ȏ̵̝̹̕ẅ̶͙̬̽ing sẹ̴̠͌̈́n̸̞̋s̴̼̃e of impe̵̳͊͗ͅn̸̪̥̎̍ḑ̶̙̑̔ing collä̸̜́͝p̸͔̘̔̕s̴̺͒e, and t̸̠̉͠h̵͚͌e decay of e̶̛̙̩̋v̴̧̊́e̴͔̓͝r̷͖̐̋ý̸̟ͅt̸̠̉͠h̵͚͌i̷̺͛̑n̷̻͒̓g̷̯͌̔; who you wer̸̖͗e̴͍͋̿ ̴̺͌͝ and all you k̴̢̞͍̣̪̉̓̒̑́͝͝new ẃ̴̤̈́á̴̼̗͗s at risk of b̵̛͍͕͎̮͓̣̖̹̉̎̃͐̄̋́é̴̢̛̈́̑̓̏ỉ̷͎̼̄̾͝͝n̸̲̋̉̾̾̾g̷̢̤̹̻̜̒̿ ̷̭̙̓̍͑̿͒̕͝l̴̈́͒͌̃͝o̸̬̝̠̝̪̝͒͊͑ͅs̴͕̟̬͂̒͑̚͠t̶̥͔̑̒͆̽͐͜ ̴͚̈͊̽̐͘eternal̴̥̽͋̌̌̓͝ļ̵͕̟̥͓̭́̒̉̿y̶̜͂͛. B̴͉̬̰̦̬͌̉͝ut wh̸̡̛͙a̴̘͚͒͊̿̾̉̌̒͠t̸̢̘̞̞̻̟̂ co̷̠̰͕̲̗̥̰̲̍̎͗͑ͅu̵̼̾l̸͈͕͖͖̦̝̐̍́͛͑͝d yo̷̠̰͕̍̎͗͑ͅu̵̼̾ do about it?
“Re̵͚͙͈͓̮͉̝͋́̂̉̍̒͊̅ͅm̴̗̟̖͓̘͗̾͑̈́̉͜ȩ̴͉͎͇͓̞̐̓̈́̎̑m̶͓̰͕̓ber̸̖͗ who y̴̻͌́o̷͚̺̭̥̫͊͝ū̶͙̝̝̃̿̈́͊̔ ̴̱͖̠̻̠̺̭̈́̽̑̇̎̈́̏͜͠ͅa̵̳͙̗̰̩̕̕r̸̜̙̱͐́̀̊̑̓̍́͠ȩ̷̙̲͚̳̅!” The Ċ̶͕̘̘̆͆͌̿̈́̀̋͂ͅhr̷͖̐̋o̸̻̼͕̐͋́̈͠n̸̻̈́̈́̅ī̸̢̛͓̠̈c̷͍̰̔͆̃͗͑́l̴̺̭̬̘̮̯̏͜er crỉ̷͎̼̄̾͝͝ed out, hi̵̛͍̬̫̠͍͇͆̓͜ş̸̛̠̯̝̼͛̈̾͌̎̍̕͠ͅ ̴̹̞̥͈͔͋́̈́͝f̸̙͈̭̩̚͜͜ŏ̸̦̪ŕ̵̲m lost iñ̵̟̲̹̗͚̥̼͔̺̅̑̃̓͑̈̊̀̏ tha̶̢̭̜͔̝̤͈͇͑̋̄t̸̡̧̞͉̪̗͌̈́̑ ̶̯̳̫̉́̆̒̚͝Ĝ̷̡̜̘͇̝̈́r̸̠͕̮̔͂́͋̂͋͝ẽ̶̠̲͙̣͇̩͉̦͙̯̍͐̃̍ḁ̷̢̺̬̗̟̜̖͑̐̔̇͂͂̒̕͜ț̸̡̼̗͖̌͒̔̀́ ̷̢̧̥͖̩̱̫͒̽̔̌͗̇̔̈́̈́͝ȩ̶̞͎͈͚̯̜͇͓̫̇̐̈́̔ expanṣ̶̡̻͉̙̭̞̌̈́̀͒̇͑̍ͅe̵͎̮̫̲͉͍̙̒̄̈́̆̇͠, with the w̶͉̪̭͇̪̑͌̀͐o̴̪̫̫̿̾͋͝r̴̛̛̝̰̜̤̞̅͐̈́̒̉̈́̑l̷͖̪͎̗̯̝̤̱̓̃d̴̨̛̰̘̱̜͐̿͋͛̉́̈́world caving in.
It was finally time.
Who are you?
W̶͚͚̜̣͉͎̼̩͙̩̉h̶̺͆̉͋̏ǫ̸̖͕̣̹̹̜͓̋̒̇ ̷̧̢̢̛̱͕̪̥̙͉̠̼̱̫̲́͊̈́̃̎̓̀͛͆̒͆̉̄͘͠ͅA̴̡̧͇͉̳̖͈̟͈̬͈̣͙͋̆͌̇̓̐̓̇̂͒̓͑͜͜͝r̷̟̺͖̫̼͓̪̬̗͙͖̦͖̗̟̯̲͎̾̔̀̋͌e̷̘̺̖̝̼̜͙̼͌ͅͅ ̵͈͇̟͙̗̼͎̖̯̑̏́̓̎̽͂̅͂̐͐̎͘͘͘̕͝͝Y̷̨̢̨̛͉͔̪̖̳̠̘̱̲͉̤̬̋̀͛́̎̈́̆͐̅̂̓̌̓̓͆͜͝ờ̵̧̗̭̪̘̻̙̘̲͕̤̟̥̿̅̒͗̀̀͊̾͠͠͝ṵ̵̡̓̌̇̀̔͐̎͗̊̈́̏̓͗̚̕͠͝?
𝓦̴̶̷̵̶̶̴̸̸̴̵̷̶̵̷̷̵̵̵̵̸̷̵̶̶̵̸̸̡̧̢̧̡̡̡̨̨̡̧̢̨̨̡̡̢̨̡̨̧̨̨̧̨̨̢̡̡̛̛̛̛̛͈̲͍̠̤̤̪̤͉̹̺̖̥̖̼̰͍̫͚͍̮̮̰̞̫̙͎͕͍̩͕̞̺̖̹̝̘̫̲͕͓̠̳̼͔͍̳̣̘̪͙̗̤͙͉̙̱̗͍̩̣͔͍͖͚͎͖̭̰̫͈̰͚̱͖̳̮̱̭̳̮̻͎͖̩̩̦͇̳͙̘͎̝̬̺̠͖͇͉̻̮̣̯͍̻͍̩̩̱̺̻̘̜̱̖̙̮͕̭̠͚͖̙͓͎̗̖̫͈̣̥̜̗̠̟̹̖̱̞͔̙̖̭̤̣͍̱͔̫͙̩̞̘̬͍̠͈͈̖̼̹͚̱̭̦͎̯̲̺͕͚̯̥̻̞̮̰͇̦͕͙̘̬͖̫̣̖̟̘̠͈̫̱͈̤͖̙͎̼͍̼͖͇̭̗̱̹̤̮͙̜͉̫̖̫͍̻͇͎̪̖̪̫̮̼͈͉̿̂̃̐̂̐̊͋̾̀̎̅͐̅̀́͒͛̔͑̑̌͂̑̓͂͂͌̆́͂̂̏̇̌͗̀͋͐͆̿̍͐͆́̌̇̍͐̏̈́̑͗̈́̔̏̊͑́͌̈́̔̄̈́̐͆̓̑̋̐͒́͆͂̀̏͐͋̐̊̉̓̋͛̓͑̂̽͌͑̑̆͛̋̓̆͗̈̓͋̄́̄̂̋̊̀̋̊̀͂̑͑̿͋̒͌̓̽̄̅̋̿̽̋̂̄̈̉̐̎̓́̈͆̑̆̆͐́̓͊̒̈́́̇̇̑̇̄͌̎̈́͆́̐̀͊̈̃̂̾̓̆̌́̎̄͂͊̍̀̈́̂́̀̿͂̽̅̾̀͛̈́͊̀͐̆̓͌̊̏̀̕̕͘̚̕̕̚͘̚̕͘̕̚̚͘̚̚̕̚̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅ𝓗̴̶̴̶̵̷̵̸̸̷̶̶̧̢̡̨̧̧̢̢̛̛̛̯̤̟̹̳̬̲̼̗͔̺̭͔̩͈͔̩̪̮̜̪̜̳̘̖̠͔͇̣͍͓͉̗͉̯̲̳̲̬̠̮̞̰̖̩͈̪̬͇̟͎̞̤̩̻̣̥̙̬͈̟̪͉͕̭̺̓̃̌̋́̎̌͑̋̾̊̈́̉͆̇͂̋̌̌͂̿͊͐́́̃͊̈́̀̈̑͗̈́̔̒̑̃̇͂͒̆̄̀͒́͆͆̅̉̓̔͌̅͌͗̓͑̊͌͗̓̍̏̇͂̾̔͆̔̑́̋̀͛̿̓̂̄̐͌̓̉̈̀͐̚͘̚̕̕̚̕̕͘̕̚̚͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝𝓞̶̶̸̶̵̶̷̢̢̡̢̢̢̛̛̛̛̛͈͖̣͍̖̦̼̹̜̥̫͎̳̰̗͇̹̳̯͙̜̗̫̻̘̳̙̘̖̺̭̖͕̹̦̙͖̜͕̘̫͚̩͕̯̲̙͎̬͔̪̇͑́̔́̇̓̑̾̌͋̊͐̈́͐̑͑̄̑̒̄̈́̅͊̐͐̾̓̂͊̊̿̎̉̇͋̀̋̀̈́̃̑͆͐̽̔̈̐͌̀͊̓́́͆̈́̌̚̕͘͝͠͝͠ͅͅ ̶̵̵̵̴̴̶̴̴̴̵̸̵̴̶̴̶̵̸̵̶̷̷̶̴̵̷̵̴̵̶̡̢̧̧̡̢̢̨̧̧̢̡̡̢̧̢̧̨̧̡̨̡̨̡̧̧̨̛̛̛̛̝̝̩͍̞̤̖̖̼̦͔͚̲͔͓̦̣̠̠͚͚̼̟̟̗̭̤̣͙̲̙͚̪͔͖̯̯̰̫̤̺̥̥̪̮͖͉̦̳͈̱͈̣̝̮͎̝̼̗̹̟͎̜͎̳̬͖̮̰͖̜̹̯̹̞͉̣͔̩̠̰̠͈̙͈͉̲̼̯͚͔̗̥͖̼̟̪͓͚͍̬͙̜̤̪̼̹̟̜̻̳̩͈̘̣̹̣̗̞̯̰̟̞̫͈̘̖͖͙̗͕͕͎̠͇̩̺̬̗͍̺͉̩̣̫̦̦͙̭̙̻͓̻̝͈̦̣͖̰͕̼͎̻̯̯̭̖̣͔̤̟̳̯̜͈̠̫̘͎̩͇̺̼͔̩̮͖̙̮̼̦͙͈̹͉͈̺̩̱͚̳̘͔̜͔͙̼͉̲̠͚̱͇̱̼̣̙̬͈̦̗͓͈̙͙̦͈̝͍͎̰̹̙̯̭̪̪̟̮͙͑͛́͐͂̔͂̾͂͐̿̿͗̈͋̓̀͋̐͂͌̈͗͒̉͆̈̾͂̒͒̄͑́̊̓́̌̍̓̍̌͂̎́̍̑̓̓́̽͒̋͊͗̅̇͑̽͑̉̌̇̃̄́̀͆̀̓̉̽̽͆͐̄̿͊́̿̏̾͌̆̃̈́̈́̀͂̿̊̂̓̇̿̊͑͂̉͗̐̾̽̾͑͛̋̑̉̈́̈̅̈́̈̎̈͂̋̀̆̏͊̏͆̈͑̐̓̎̈́̃͛͂͆̆͋͋͒̈́͗͆͆͛͗͐͋̈́̎̔̊̉͛̈́̄͊̃̔̒̄͂̈̏̍̌̋̓́̋̾̾̀̐̿͊̓̑̑̓̓̕̚͘̚͘͘̕͘̕͘̕̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ𝓐̸̶̴̶̶̴̸̵̶̸̴̷̶̷̶̶̶̴̧̨̢̡̧̡̡̡̢̡̢̡̡̧̡̛̛̛̛̩͍̻͕͎̮̺͎̹̝͇͉͕͙̗̹̝̺̥̠̹̜̼̪͔̟͈̼̰͔̗̖̹̰͓̯̙̫̪͙̺͎̜͍͎̭̮̠͔̹͓͚̲͈͓̤͎̳̺̪̩̱͈̼͉̹͕̳̮͚̱̯̺͓̻̺̰̫̮̲͈̖̣͙̟͍̘̜͓̘̤͕̩̲̗͍̱̯̙̭̞̲̱̱̪̦̠̰̮͙̼͍̻͎̯̺̫̠̖̬̰̞̯͎̟̱̳̭͖̼̼͎͚̝͔̃͊̐̎̊̾̋̌̇͑͋̈̌̀́́́͒̐̃͊̇͐̍́͒̈͒͋́̀̎̃͌̈́̒̊̑͋̄̑̀͊̒̾̄́̓͐̂͛̋̾͊̊̇̈͂̋̇͊͂͂̽̑̽̓̿̓̾͒̍̈́̔̎͌͛͒̎̊̏̈̾̆̽̂͂͛͂̃̉̌̉̆͒͛̒͐̈́̈́̏͆̎͛͗̒̂̄̄̇̏̓̾͆̋̍͊̊͆̈͑̐͛̄̈́̕̚̚̕͘͘͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅ𝓡̴̵̸̴̶̵̵̸̷̷̸̶̴̴̷̶̴̶̸̸̵̴̶̧̡̨̧̡̧̡̢̨̧̡̡̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̜̠̯̼̪͇͉͉̞̯͙͇͉̯̠͎̻͓̥͇͕̯͙̗̪̩̥̟̜̬̼̫̮̤̥̮̣̻̬͔̙̹̺̩̦̰̮̳͖̬̫̱̰̠͚̖̖̦̖͙̦͕̫͕̤͕̗̖̬̩̟̺͇͕͓̰̰̫̦̤̻̼̞̝̩͔͙̪̪͓̯̣͙͖̭̺̣̹͔̖̱̬͇̼̦͙̰̜͙͙̺̰̗̬̤͓͎̬̯̬̰̬̲͙̞̺͔̬̳̖̪̮̠̫͔͚̘̫̯͔̠͇͖̳͎̻̰̝̦̭̩̺̙̝̬͚̠̗̹̙̻͙̺̟̯̉̽̆̋̋̈́̽̉͋̾̍͐̊̀́̐̌̀̅͗́͒͊́͒̎̍͊́̂̇͗̔̈̊̾͐̎̉̀̒͊̓̄́̐̈́̿̅̍̏̽͊̊̉̈́̃̿͂͗̃̅̀̓̒́͒́̂̒̓͛̆̂̎̐̋̓͑̑̓͂̃̈͌̽̍͋͋̆̅̒͂̒̅́́̐̽͊̇͒̓͊̓̿̄̉̔̎͒͛̃͋͗̐̓̎̐̌͛̒̏̈́̿̋̆̇̒̈́̈́̀͐̔̓͊̉̑̈́͂͒̾̏̂̈̆̊͆͆͊͗̆́̾̈́̓̍̑̊̈̑̔̀́̈̅̄̀̎͘̕͘̕̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ𝓔̵̷̶̷̵̴̴̴̶̷̷̸̢̧̢̨̧̧̧̢̨̢̢̢̢̛̛̛̩͙̻̯̦̰̬͍̫̻̗͈͚͙̹͎̼͙̦̮͉͉̤͕̦̤̮̺̬͍̥̼͙̦̘͈͕̲̦̩̟̱̗̮̩̯͍̯̮͇̠͍̫̦̯͍̙̮̠̖̼̜̱͕̂̂͋̍̃͗͌̀̎̋̉̐̀̔̔̀̇̔́͒̊̎̐̇̃̓͛͗̌̋̆͋͗̐͂͗̒͆̇̊̍̽͗̍͆̃̃̍̉̈̈́̈́̑͆͂͛͂̾̌̽̎͒͊̃̓̾̓̍̆̇̆̅̆̅͌̾̒̎̽͌̀͒̉̃̏͆̍͂̾̽̀̂́͌̓̏͒̀̽́͘͘̕͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅ ̷̵̸̷̵̵̶̵̶̶̷̷̴̶̸̵̸̴̸̡̨̡̡̢̡̨̧̡̨̡̨̢̡̡̨̧̡̢̧̢̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̜̩͎͓̺̟̝̗̘̩̬͉͕̥̞̳̯̲͇̪̱̳̰̻͍̟̖̙̝̘̩͇͓̣̳͎̲̫͚̞̘̦̜͙͓͇͈̫̭̹͓̺̙̲͚̬̮̖͇͈͉̼̗͓͙̭͉͍̱͔̞͔̦̺̪͖̘̩̪̖̬͇̖͙̘̮̳͕̫̩̘̫̳͖̳͖̩͇̟̤̯̰̖͚͓͓̠̠̹͇͉̯̯̳̲̯̝̗͖̪͍̖̫̮̳͚̬̤͉̯̰̤̟̤̪̹̣̩͙̲͇̬̦̭̰̣͙͓̭̙̫͎͚̙̤͔̹͓̹͔̜̱̿͗͊̂́̎̂̆̀͑̏̃̇̀̿̂̓̆̂̐̈͊̏̒̽̓͗̉̃̊́͌̆̇̈́͐̆̑̈̉͛̏̃̆͊͒̀̃̿́͆́̾́͒̃̇̎̈́̊͛́̄̃̈͛̓̃̌͐̓̄̄̈́̈͂́͆̏͌̎̉̈́̒́̌̀̂̅̇́̋̓͗̋̅̆̎́̈́̆̇̒̈́̍͆̍̀̔̔̓͒̎̉̏̏̔̿̓̒̈́͒̏̅̅̂̌̊͛͐̊̃̕̚̕̕͘̕͘͘̕̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝ͅͅ𝓨̶̷̸̸̸̵̴̸̷̵̵̶̷̴̴̶̶̴̸̷̸̴̶̴̴̷̨̨̨̡̡̡̨̨̢̡̧̧̨̡̧̨̧̛̛͇̲͙͖̻͚͉̘̹͉͓̱̰̱͉̗̗̳̺̬̞͙͈̝̩̳̳̺̙̬̣̣̻̤̻̦̤̤̥̩̻̤͍͉̣͕̖̻̤͍͉͙̤͎͔̣͇̩̠̗͕̟̦̱̹̮̥̰͈͉̖̱͖͚̝͎̫͓̭͉͇͇͍̩̦͍̤̰̼̭̯͚͉͖͕͕̞̪͚̥̲̩̰̟͚̮͉͙͚͖͎̼̮̯̩̱̺̥͙̖̘̱͎̻̪̩̪̲̟̤̤̝̺̺̙͖̪̫̩̥͖̪̖͓̮͕̦̭̬̣̮̝̯͇̺͕̲̟̩̯͚̫͉̼̗̤̫̙̮͙̩̻̲͖̜͚̗̱͔͈̩̠̼̳̖̯͈̠͕̞̼̙̺̍͊͊̈́͒͊̎̀̆̀͐̈́͆̏́̈̒̑́̍̉̀̀͑͊̂̈͗͌͊̌̓̈͛͂̇̏̽͒̽̅̽̔̃̽̒̽̃́͌͌͆̂͗̐́͋̈͆̀̓̃̍̎̌͛̋̀͑͑̿̉͆̈́͆̒͛̋̃̈̉̏͂̈́̃̇̈́̌̌͋̌̀̒̿͗͌͑̈̿̀̉͗̇́̍̈́̀̈́̈́̏͑̅̈́̓̃̄̈͑̿̀̎̐̈́̀̿͆͂̀̊͆̒͐̌͊̓͆̋͋̅̔̄͊̀̓̓̿̆̍̉̽̊͛̍̍̆́̈̈́̓̏͑̉͂͗̉̽̍͋̄̄̊̊͑̆̀̒̆̈̋̋̾̄̏̅͗̾̎̎̆̓̀̐͋͐̓́́͗͐̏̂͊́̀̚͘̚͘̕͘̕͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͠͠͠͝͠͠͝𝓞̷̵̸̶̵̶̴̵̴̵̴̸̵̸̶̵̴̷̴̵̷̸̢̧̧̨̨̧̡̢̧̢̧̢̡̧̨̧̢̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̬͔͉̱̫̝̞̙̙͍̰͙̟̳͚̝͔͈̯̟̹͓̺̟͇̪̬̦̖͓̬̣̻͈̠͖͓̣̥̠̻͖̞̪͎͈̪͕͈̱̮̟̜̞͓̠͔̖͈̟͇̼͚͇̳͎̬̜̝̣͇̖̻͇̤̦͇̦̘̻̝͍̳͙͖͖͙̫̥̰͙̬̟͓̤̝͎̰̙̰̼̳̖͓̤͕͚̙̦͕̮̣͙̠̱̻͔͖̳̪̺͈̞̻͕͔͍̺͎͙͓͔̪̥̯̥͔̖͚̺̜̥̜̹̭̼̟͖̥̟̜͙̲̪̠̯̲͙̟̲̱̻͚̳͇̣̦̦̙̙͚̪̣̰͒̂̊̀̒͌̇̐̄̀̍̇͗̿̿̔̾̐͌̋̒̾̇͊̇̑͐̂̑͛͗̐͌͛̓̓͋̾̒͛̃̃̓͌͗̐̔̊̇́̏̓̅̈́̽̓̈́̑͂̽̆̀̔̐͂̀̍̃́̾̽͂͛̊̈͐̈̓͂̍̇́̅̂́̋̇̉́͐̒̄͗͆̄͂̍͌͆̉͊̏̽̀̎̏͛̆̾̒̈́͐̀̋̔́̂̆͊̿̂̈́̐̉̌͋̓̅͋͛̈́̂̆̎̃̈́͆̇̂̍͋̌̇͊̉̎͑́̈́̀͌͑̍͐̿̓͆͐̎̑͗̒̀͋̍̍̏̚̚͘̕͘͘͘͘̕̚̚͘̚̚̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ𝓤̵̷̸̵̷̵̷̴̴̷̡̢̧̢̡̢̧̛͙̳͉̤̭̙̮͉̟̩̝̫̬̘̠͍̦̯̹͓̗̭͍͚̞̲̦͙͇̺͉͚̫͇̰̲̻̣̙̮̹̰̯̥̫̖̫͈̮̮̪̦̫̳̬̼̮̗̘̤̮̘͉̺̝̹̘̫̫̣̣͎̥̫̣͕̜͈̰̬͉͙̜̣̾̒͋̌̏͒̑̀͒̊̈͑́̈́̊́͗͊͆̈́̀͑̇̍̿̉̎̈́͂̔̃̊̌͗̽͗̅̎̾̽͆̏͋̈́̃͛͊̆́̏̌̇̒̆̈́́͛̿̄̍̈́̽̋́̂̎̑̅̀̆̄͑̾͘͘͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝ͅ?̷̵̴̸̸̷̵̶̷̸̵̸̸̸̷̵̷̡̡̢̡̨̨̨̧̡̢̢̧̛̛̛̛̛̯͉̺̬̘̙͇͉̠̜̹̫͚̠̪̟͖͓̠̬̰̭̱̫̳̜̮̪̪̯̙̰͈͉͍̺̩̥̬̩̮̲̙̮̘̳̼̖̹̣̭͇̖̪̺̻̗̤͇̜̣͚͇̞͎̥͍͙̫̰̫̟̤̳͈͍̬̬͎͓͉̱̲̩͓̣̗̯̻͖͈̖̘̪͓̼̻̜͓͕͎̺͇̭̪̮͓͖͉͙̱̻̰̫͙̖͉̿̈̾̀̑́̆̅̑̆́͋̈́̔̔̍́́͒̆͒̈́͑̆͛͐̓͛̿͆́́͐͒̀̎̅̆͐́̈͊̐̈́́̂́̏̊̀͌́̉̈́̌̏̈́̋͒̓̇̽̏̑̋̌̔̑̒́̂͆̇̔̋̑̌̏̃͑̽̔͋̈́̀͗́̈́̎̈́̏̆̔̍̄̂̿̒̃͂̾͗͒̒́̐̂͊̎̔̅̎̎͊̈́͒͂͋́̒̄͋̉̆̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅ
-̶͉̫̦̬̓̍̀̋̈́̇͆̽̃͛̽̈̑̌͘-̵̨̨̛̛̱͓̥̙̦̖̫͖̩̘̝̱̤̜̖̹̮͖͙̗̞͕̬̭̝̟̰̠̻̤̎̿̈́͆̈́̓̾̏̐̏̾͒̎̕͜͠ͅͅ-̷̨̡̛̲͇̪̙͉̩̮̥͓̩̩̹͔͇̤̥͓̲̲̱͇̜̞͖̝͕̰̞̼͙̺̫͎̹̫͔̑͂͒̑͐͛̒̈́͒̄͊̐̇̒̕̚͠-̴̛̘̹͈̳͚͋͛̍̋̈́̈́̈́̈́̊͐́͂̍́̃͐̐̈́̌̐̍́̌̓́́͒͘̚͘͘͘͝͠ͅ-̸̛͎̣̦͉̯͎͈̯̪̮̎̋̒͛̍͐͑̒̑̏̀͌̓̏̽͒͗̿̽͑̑͒̓͊̀̂̀̔͑̎̅̈́̑͂͂̒̂̌̈́͛͋̒͘͘̚̚̚̚͘͜͠͝͝-̶̡̨̙̜͈̟̜͙̙̩̩͎̖͓̫̖͍͙͈̼͙͎̪͆̒̏̒́́̃̑͋̾̈̈́͒͋̽͗͌͌͛̂͗̎̅̃́́̄̀͑̕̚͠ͅ-̴̧̡̢̧̨̡̛̛̛̼͙̲̘̖̼͇͈̝̥̬̜͉̲͓͍̲̦͎̭̼̦͖͉̹̻̰̱͓̜̥̜̹̯̯͇̦͚̾͌͆̅͒͛̆̑̍́̈́̈́͗̔̿̆̈́̈́̿̓͑̿̀̄̂̓̀̅͛̚͜͠͝-̷̨̢̧̛̬̩̞̝̻͈̣̺̝̮̪̭̗͈͕̻̥͓̮-̷̡̢̢̬̱̱̝̬͇̯̰̺̗̙̺͔̩̫̘̯̞̟̮͔̥̟̥̳̣̹̗͚̯̲͓̽̅͋̎̂͋̅̋̽͌̊̂̓̉̓͊́̆̈̊́͛̈́͐̋̾̋͘͜͜͝-̶̧̢̢͇̫͕͙̠̳̼̬̩̰̑̅̏͘̕
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̶̵̶̴̴̶̴̴̷̷̷̸̶̸̸̶̴̴̷̴̵̸̷̵̴̵̶̶̶̴̵̴̴̶̴̷̵̴̵̴̵̴̷̷̷̸̸̷̷̶̸̷̸̷̵̷̸̵̸̴̵̸̵̶̷̶̸̵̸̷̵̴̷̶̵̶̶̷̷̴̸̶̷̸̸̴̴̵̵̷̴̸̸̴̶̵̴̷̷̵̸̶̷̶̵̵̵̸̴̸̵̴̸̷̴̵̴̸̴̵̵̴̷̷̴̶̷̵̷̴̸̴̶̴̷̶̵̵̷̷̴̵̷̸̷̸̶̶̸̷̢̡̧̧̨̧̨̡̡̢̡̢̨̢̢̨̧̡̧̧̢̨̨̡̡̧̨̡̨̡̨̢̨̢̡̡̧̨̛̛̛̛̛̛̮͇͚̯̜̬̬͈͔̝̞̙̪̼̥̗̘͎̭͎̯̣̦̳̼̣̠͓̦̪͚̺̮̼̘̫̫̹̼̮̲̞̩̞̤̪̮̟͕̼̥̠͕̟̳̬̙̻͚̱̟̘̰̳̠͓̪̹̞̥̯̫͙͓͍̫͎̰̘͉̦͇̤͈̤̬͉̲̤̪̝̖͙̫̝͈̹̤̭̜͈̺̳̭͇̠̳͍̭͎̼̠̺̰̲̗̤̹̤͙̠̠̱͔͈͔̙͖̲͔̮̹͎̱̥̯͔͇̤͚̜̹̝̥͖̜̫͔͓̬̦̣̫͇͇͍̯͔̳͇̯̻͔̪̤̗̭͉̯͚̠̻̞̜̹͙̳̻̪͚̩̯̲̤̭̭͈̘̻̯̰̣͚͙̭͇̦̻̫͖͎͎̪̪̦̱̲̝͙̞̯̭̥͔̝̻̦͍̟̜̠̦̠̜̼̲̖̺̼̥͕͙̥͉̞͕̙͈̪͕͓͙͉̰̥̯̜̘̻̦͇͚̩͍͇̹̯̮̖̖͎̰͇̀̈̓̃̔͂̏́̊͗͋̿͊̈̀́̐̓͛̄͐̿̀͗̀̆̒̊́̿̅̒̂̅̈́͌̿͐͊͂͂̈́̽̑͊̈́̄̃̾̾̀̊̅͑̐̉̽͆̏̀͆̑̍̿̒̎̎̇͛̈́͒̇͗́͑̆̍̔͊̃̓̔̇̈̈͋̍̊̔̈́͊̀́̀̒̈́̽̈̇̀̌̏̏͆̅̄̏̓͌̆̔̉̅̌͊̔̽͗̀̇̈́̅̑̇̅̄̾̄̔̐̈̂̉̽̃̍̾͗̔̇͒͐̉͛͐̎̅͌̈́̇̆͐̍͒͂́͆̿̑̇̅̂̄̎̊͊̅̊̎͌́͊̈́̂̽̈́̈́̋̃̒̽̄̀̈́͑̀͂̎̉͋̃̅͋̌̾̌͂̍͛͌͑̌͛̎͂̾̓̄̄̔͆́̑̊͑͛̀̉̈̈͒̒͒̇̈́̉̋̿͛̑̓̀͛̇̍͋̏̈́̂͆̅̆́͗͑̔̓͌̎͗͛̀̏̂́̊̒̇́͗̈́̈́̓̄͛̂̚̚͘̚̕̕̕̚͘̕̚̚̚͘͘͘̚͘̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ
-̷̡̨̡̧̡̮͙͍̫̳̤̦̙̦̗̝̙͎͙͇̟̟̺̟͈̩͕͔͐̐̓͋̀̏̈̆̍̃́̈́̿̇̐̈́̑̇̏̏͠͠͝-̶̢̛̥̤̩̥͓̻̥̖̟͚͚̥̟̤̲͈̘̦͌͂̄̔͆̒͂͋̏̈̅́̉̃́͛̂̆̒̊̄̌̑̿̒̋̈́̚͜͜ͅͅ-̵̨͍͔͕̩̗̙̣̞͇̻͍̰̳̤̱̹̺̙̺̼̘͉̱͖͕̺͇̹̳͌̑́̽̄̐̆́̂̅̋̿̾̐̊͛̏͜͝͠-̸̧̡̧̡̤̦̩̜̜̟̮͓̮̬̙͙̘͉̲̪͓̬͙͈͙̼̳̗̈́̿̐̇̈́͐̄͛͂͋̉̑̾̀̆͂̄̿̕̚͘͜͜ͅ-̸̢̡̨̛̛̥̟̦͍̟̬̦͍̳̮̈́̈́͗͛̃̇̎͐̂̔̓̑̍͆̋̄̎̐̍̈́͑̊̓̋́̚͝͝͝-̷̧̡̢̨̧̲̣̺̩̩͕̩̝̬̥̠̟̘̑̂̓̎͐̊̋̎̽̋̌͗͐̐̐͛̇̇͗̈͂̊͌̈́͘͘͝͠-̷̡̨̡̧̡̮͙͍̫̳̤̦̙̦̗̝̙͎͙͇̟̟̺̟͈̩͕͔͐̐̓͋̀̏̈̆̍̃́̈́̿̇̐̈́̑̇̏̏͠͠͝-̶̢̛̥̤̩̥͓̻̥̖̟͚͚̥̟̤̲͈̘̦͌͂̄̔͆̒͂͋̏̈̅́̉̃́͛̂̆̒̊̄̌̑̿̒̋̈́̚͜͜ͅͅ-̵̨͍͔͕̩̗̙̣̞͇̻͍̰̳̤̱̹̺̙̺̼̘͉̱͖͕̺͇̹̳͌̑́̽̄̐̆́̂̅̋̿̾̐̊͛̏͜͝͠-̸̧̡̧̡̤̦̩̜̜̟̮͓̮̬̙͙̘͉̲̪͓̬͙͈͙̼̳̗̈́̿̐̇̈́͐̄͛͂͋̉̑̾̀̆͂̄̿̕̚͘͜͜ͅ-̸̛̈́̈́͗͛̃̇̎͐̂̔̓̚–
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5 Likes
Not as long of a chapter, but I hope the reveal was worth it. For the sake of everyone still catching up, please don’t blurt out the big twist for a couple of days. Does my credibility as a writer go into the toilet because I used the cr*inge edgy text characters? Should I feel bad that I could think of no other way to mask things and keep it sussy? Let me know!
I can neither confirm or deny allegations of multiple wingers existing
there better not be, because how could I handle being so disappointed with two different people?
3 Likes
can someone explain it to me i’m having trouble catching up
@Cordax made up some Stuff. Look at the chapter numbers and you’ll be able to see what I mean.
2 Likes
that’s all literature though
how the heck am I supposed to read this
4 Likes
I can read it
1 Like
where did you leave off
would someone tell me what rukah said I can’t read his text
1 Like
chapter 1, Book Of Ramblings
2 Likes
get reading, zork