Is That A Light? Oh, I Can Barely See Anymore, But It Seems To Me That The Darkness Has Actually Receded.

Containment Breach.

A/N: WARNING FOR BLOOD AND GORE MENTIONS. Back on the Anti hype train! I was playing with a photo editor and it sparked a story idea, so I thought I’d try writing something a little different, a little more environment based. Pulled a little bit of inspiration from RE7 as well, that game’s amazing.

It had to be one of her least favorite noises in the world, the heavy, scraping squeal of an old metal door opening for the first time in months, its hinges screaming in protest against the sudden, unexpected use after so long being forgotten.

The hallway before her was dark, extending deep into the side of the hill, entirely industrial except for the occasional tree root creeping through the cracked concrete walls and floor. She flicked on her flashlight, sweeping it cautiously across from wall to wall before stepping inside, pushing the door to behind her, but being careful not to close it. She didn’t want to be trapped in here. Her footsteps were deafeningly loud in her ears, echoing in the small space as she walked, peeking into rooms with doors thrown open and hanging from their hinges, quickly making her way past one that had its door closed, and a menacing dark stain seeping out from under it. The hall ended abruptly in an elevator. The doors to it sent chills down her spine. They looked as if they were clipping through the walls beside them, as in a poorly crafted video game map. And they were splattered red, from rust...and from something much worse.

Swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat, she moved to look inside. There wasn’t much to see. The elevator itself wasn’t there, just the gaping maw of the shaft, a black hole reaching down like an abyss, bottomless. Shining her light on the walls, she could see what looked like burn marks, or skid marks, or both, and severe dents like impact sights. Something had fought its way out of this place. She made a slight noise of annoyance, crawling into the shaft and climbing down the cables as carefully as she could. One misstep and she would be joining the rest of the staff of this place, adding a new layer of paint to the bottom of the pit, she thought bitterly. It almost seemed like she was descending forever, passing floor after floor, her arms and legs beginning to ache horribly. She had to focus on her reason for being here, ignoring how tired she was becoming, occasionally looking down to remind herself of her reason to hang on. Finally, her flashlight’s beam bounced off of the metal paneling of the floor she’d been looking for. She swung in and...thud. Her landing echoed dully on the once-pristine tile. It was more of the same, down here. But so much more intense. Here, it seemed, was the origin point of the destruction. The floor was littered with broken bits of piping from the lines rusting away from the walls, and the fluorescent lights that’d once kept this place starkly lit were dangling by their wires so that she had to duck to move safely. And the further in she went, the more there seemed to be broken parts of reality, pixelated patches of wall that seemed to have been paused mid-glitch, holes as if there were textures missing. The thought of a broken game map came to her mind again. But worse than the bizarre, mind-bending physics...blood stained the hall, in splatters on the walls, in drips and puddles long dried on the floor, and, in a few places, in sprays on the ceiling. As she reached the end of the hall, she found a sign, half hanging on the wall.

<- SHORT TERM HOLDING <- BRIEFING ROOMS     TESTING ->     LONG TERM HOLDING ->

As she turned toward the hall, she thought she caught a glimpse of something in the hall behind her. Something that looked markedly like green eyes and a scruff of...green hair? She turned back quickly to look, but it was gone. Deciding she’d rather not see it, she hurried along to the right-hand hall.

She came to a set of stairs, descending even deeper into the belly of the beast, until she came to another hall, this one’s floor covered in the powdered remains of the glass that’d once made up the foot-thick walls of the facility’s testing rooms. She glanced into the first room. A broken table, half of it seeming to clip through the floor, shattered microphone pieces, something that looked like it might once have held test tubes and syringes, shredded leather strapping. More blood. It was much the same in the other rooms, twisted restraining chairs, equipment that looked purposefully, furiously dismantled, shredded paper that might once have held records. Glitches in reality. Everywhere, there was more blood. In the last room, she nearly screamed. A body, the first she’d seen here. It was face down on the ground, a pool of dried blood and something that was such a dark green it was nearly black spilling from its nearly severed-in-half neck, the gore and incredible stench of which was nearly enough to make her sick right then and there. Its limbs were twisted at impossible angles, so that it looked as if the poor bastard had been slammed around before finally skidding to a stop here. Regretfully, she pulled out her phone, the flash of it snapping a picture of the scene almost blinding her. They’d want to know about this, to arrange to have his remains retrieved. She hoped they would, anyway. Heartless as they were, he’d probably rot away down here with the rest of the facility. Forgotten, just like they want this place to be. Still...better to try.

Stepping back out into the hall, she pushed open the heavy door, whose keypad lock was hanging by one wire. Maximum security, huh. Much good it did them. She smiled bitterly. This hall looked nearly untouched, deathly still. The doors to all of the cells were closed, and she still had the sense that she needed to stay back from them, that dangerous creatures were lurking just behind them even though there was no noise to be heard. Nothing would’ve survived on this level, she knew. But still she felt unsafe.

The last cell was wide open, the door on the ground, a twisted lump that was barely recognizable. She felt as if she were walking into it in slow motion. It was so...standard. A bed, minimal as taxpayer money could buy. A steel toilet adhered to the wall, with a small steel sink beside it and a rack with two pristine, cheap white towels. On the bed, though, was a file folder. She walked over slowly, picking it up and putting the flashlight awkwardly into the crook of her neck so that she could open it. A picture fluttered out, and she shone her light where it lay on the floor.

The label was hard to read, faded and peeling.

Subject #4NT1 Name: Sean William McLoughlin AKA: Jack, Jacksepticeye DOB: Feb. 7, 1990 Originates From: Ireland Duration of stay: Indefinite

On the back of the picture were a few scribbled lines of writing.

Subject complains of headaches which coincide with nosebleeds shortly before each episode. Episodes most obvious features: eye pigmentation shift, vocal shift (practically “auto-tune”), atmospheric disturbances. Shaking her head, she flipped through the papers in the file were dated just as recently, some even as recent as this past October. Occasionally a few words jumped out. “Unstable.” “Condition worsening.” “Duality.” This was it, alright. This was...him. This file was all they needed, had everything they needed to stop him. Contain him. To not make the stupid, small mistakes that’d led to...this.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the file and turned to leave...but stopped.

A high pitched giggle echoed down the halls.

“No...” her voice was a hoarse whisper. And she ran, full pelt down the hall. She screamed in frustration as the heavy door slammed itself shut, the giggling escalating into laughter, high and cold and deranged. “No!” She slammed her fists into the door, pulling and shoving alternatively. “Dammit, let me out!” “I’m gonna find you!” His voice seemed to bounce and echo, sliding between pitches, sometimes sounding like several of him were speaking at once. “Jack, please! I know you’re in there!” She was starting to panic, now, voice cracking desperately. “He’s GONE!” Another maniacal laugh. She turned to face the room. Around her, the walls seemed to be...glitching. “YOU! You’re on THEIR side! You helped them CATCH ME! CHEATERS! It’s no fun if you CHEAT!” Sudden silence. Suddenly her throat burned, and she retched, hands clawing at it as she crumpled to the floor, the laughter echoing again with a vengeance, louder and louder around her, the walls glitching in and out of existence with more frequency and intensity.

The last thought she had was of the body in the testing room. At least he wouldn’t rot alone, she thought dimly as she faded into the darkness.

I mean when you’re a professional transcriptionist and also a massive nerd, you do your best. 😅 Glad I could help!

Today’s Teaser (Sept 7, 2020)

FRIENDS. THINGS ARE HAPPENING. I’M BACK ON MY THEORIST SHIT AGAIN.

So I watched the clip several times, at varying speeds, and tried to transcribe what I heard:

[loud screech, metal on metal]

[crash, again seems to be metal on metal]

[hiss, as of steam being released]

[car engine revving]

Unknown Voice: Everything is happy…

[sound of a train going over tracks, faint train whistle]

Unknown Voice: [unclear] living his life to come through…

So that second voice line is one I couldn’t quite make out. The top two interpretations I got were “He’s living his life to come through” and “He’s giving his life to come too.”

I also snapped a picture of whatever flashed on screen in the darkness:

So you can’t see much here, but when I brighten it…

A door? When the image keeps moving, there are lights at regular intervals along the roof. Coupled with the sound, my guess is this is a train compartment, possibly in the style of Murder on the Orient Express.

Are we getting a new adventure? Possibly another murder mystery?

Such interesting developments, and with Halloween right around the corner…

Do You Trust Me? Epilogue.

“And I will see all you dudes...IN THE NEXT VIDEO!”

You laughed as the outro music started playing, dropping your arms and rubbing your throat. How does Jack do that every day? God, his vocal cords must hate him. Flicking through the comments, it made you grin to see so many people chatting about the game, a few people yelling the catchphrases. There were even a few good puns this time, that was nice. You were staying for the outro clip again, lately having gotten into the habit of staying just a little longer, out of some slightly silly hope. You commented on every video now, sliding subtle references to your adventures into every one, hoping that Jack would see it. Even if you knew you couldn’t reply, it was nice to think that Jack was in his room, seeing your words in the code and thinking of you fondly. “That was another good one, Jack. Though I must say, that shark’s getting the better of you. Your raft’s gonna need to step it up, man,” you rambled absently as you flicked to another tab to finish a fanfic you were writing. After all, that adventure was too good not to be told, wasn’t it? And you thought it might entertain Jack to see it written up. You wondered if he’d show Mark.

“Really now? Three stories of raft isn’t good enough for you?! It’s fantastic!”

You flicked back to the video so fast you almost closed it out by mistake. “Jack?” He grinned in surprise, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “Hey!” You couldn’t help but smile back.

Is your blog title a reference to a wrestling song?

No, unfortunately, that would’ve been a lot cooler than what it actually is. XD Is there a song called “Like Puppets on a String”? I have to look that up now.

But no, actually it was just a generic reference to villains using other people as pawns, treating them “like puppets on a string”. It just happened to get really relevant to youtube dark sides. lol

An Egos Masterlist

Because my most frequent writing topic as of late has been The Egos, be it for Jack or Mark, I thought I’d put together my list of the ones I consider canon and their relative power in their groups.

JACK:

MOST POWERFUL: Antisepticeye, Dr. Schneeplestein SECOND TIER: Jackieboy Man, Marvin the Magnificent, Chase Brody LEAST POWERFUL: Robbie the Zombie, Dapper Jack, Shawn Flynn, Jacques Septique UNSURE STATUS: The Announcer, Angus the Survival Hunter

MARK:

MOST POWERFUL: Darkiplier, Wilford Warfstache SECOND TIER:The Host (Formerly The Author), Googleplier LEAST POWERFUL: Bim Trimmer, Dr. Iplier The Silver Shephard, Ed Edgar, Yanderiplier, The Jims, The King of the Squirrels UNSURE STATUS: The King of FNAF

@ask-thewhiphand tagged me, thanks love!

Rules: tag 9 people who you would like know better.

Relationship status: Single as hell, but pretty much okay with it. :)

Last song I listened to: Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas, and before that, probably Break Your Little Heart In Two by All Time Low

Favorite color: RED. Very much red.

Top three shows: Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Yes, I know, typical, but I love them. I watch more YouTube than TV though, and on here I love Scare Pewds, Game Lab, and Crash Course.

Top three characters: Oh dear lord...ah, right this second...probably...Asriel/Flowey (Undertale), the Tenth Doctor (DW), and Antisepticeye (JSE). I don't know! I love so many characters!

Top three ships: Johnlock, Tenrose, and Undyne/Alphys.

Tagging: @bookwyrm00, @super-septic-pewdie-plier, @lyssadee, @quirkyfandomimagines, @turquoisemagpie, @stupidscreennames, @jacksepticide, @alto-viola, @victoria-saenz

Late.

A/N: Quick little drabble based on a sketch by @piligy

It was quiet, but that wasn't unusual. Most people preferred to work with some sort of soft background noise, music or a podcast, just something to drown out the rest of the world. He didn't need that. For him, the world was as quiet or as loud as he chose. He sighed, shuffling through the papers in front of him again. He'd been at it for hours now, trying to go over every detail of their latest plan, keeping track of subscriber counts, of tour schedules and show dates, of time since their last...encounters. It was infuriatingly scattered and unorganized. The egotisical bastard had always been hard to predict, but now that he wasn't...him, anymore, it was almost impossible to know definitively if his predictions were going to be accurate. He stood, rubbing his eternally stiff neck as he cracked it again with a grunt. Something else cracked behind him, and his lips quirked into a small smile. He strode slowly to the end of the room, taking his suit jacket off the hook and shrugging it back over his shoulders as the walked. Walking back to the desk and toward the fireplace behind it, he found himself studying the large mirror over the mantle. It was ornately framed, once silver but now tarnished with age, and bore several large cracks across the surface of the glass. No one dared to ask him why he had kept such an old, broken decoration instead of replacing it. He would never explain if they did. Right now, though, the cracks in the glass weren't the most interesting part of the old mirror. A silohette was staring back at him, and it wasn't his reflection. It was indistinct, blurred like an out-of-focus camera picture, but more fluid, like standing smoke. The fuzzy apendage that might have been it's hand was lying flat against the glass.

"You're up late, old friend." His voice echoed more than it should have in the small room. He took another step, adjusting his jacket as he leaned forward on the desk. "I'm not surprised, really. You never did like to see me working late, did you?" He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and with it pulled back, he almost looked like a different person. The shadow-y figure made a gesture that he seemed to understand. "Not yet. Not just yet. There is still much to do. But I'm taking care of it, aren't I?" He rounded the desk again, and put his hand on the glass, touching it with just his fingertips. The glass creaked as if it were under great pressure, as if, had he put his hand flat against it, it would shatter completely. The figure drew back slightly from the touch, and he raised an eyebrow at them. "Oh, but what's the matter? Don't you trust me anymore? I told you..." The monochrome room seemed to suddenly glow blue and red, the colors shaking unsteadily. His voice seemed to have too many layers, as if several people were talking at once. "We would do this together."

He did an amazing job, I hope he does more kinda backstories like that but maybe with less heart ache

Bruh yes.

OH FUCK

I don’t think Darkiplier was trying to trick us in ADWM.

“Shoot him. Shoot him now, please. You do not have time. He needs to die. He is dark. He’s a bad influence. He takes over everything you’ve ever loved. Please shoot him RIGHT NOW. Don’t listen to him. He’s a liar. Please shoot him. He’s a bad man and does bad things to good people. You have to trust me.”

This is the exact text of what Darkiplier says to us at the end of “FREEDOM!” in ADWM.

You know what I noticed about this?

Not once does he claim to be Mark.

Also, there’s a reason the word “dark” isn’t capitalized. This is not Dark trying to trick us into thinking Mark is really Dark– this is him telling us what Mark’s really done.

And now we know what Mark has done, thanks to WKM.

“He needs to die” = Dark recognizing that he CAN die now that he’s out of the house.

“He takes over everything you’ve ever loved” = Mark taking over Damien’s body and life.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a liar” = Dark warning us about Mark calling us ‘a close and trusted friend’.

“He’s a bad man and does bad things to good people” = the fact that Celine and Damien were torn apart, (Y/N) was pushed out and left behind, and the Colonel was subjected to madness, all because of Mark’s sinister plot.

This was not Dark trying to trick us.

This was Dark trying to stop Mark from making things worse.

This was Dark actually needing our help.

And you know what kills me the most about this?

The fact that Mark totally discredits any potential for goodness left inside of Dark… and we believe every word of it.

The Good Doctor.

((A/N: TRIGGER WARNING FOR GORE AND NEEDLES!! Well, Anti made a reappearance, and now we have more lore. Specifically, about Schneeplestein! I was excited, so I thought I’d write a quick fic about the aftermath of Say Goodbye. Enjoy!))

"Oh god..." Henrik jerked into motion, nearly barreling over the table as he fell into place beside Jack, dropping his medical bag open on the floor beside him. The blood, oh god, the blood, there was so much of it. Snapping himself out of his shock, he scrambled through the bag with one hand as the other desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from the deep gash in his old friend's neck. "Where is it? Where is it?! Dammit...hold in there, Jack, just hold on...you don't get to die on me, no, no, no, not on the watch of Dr. Schneeplestein!" He glanced over at Jack, with half a weak smile as he nearly anticipated the usual laugh and eye-roll he'd get whenever he was as grandiose as that. But there was nothing, no flicker of life from the cold form. He jerked the needle, thread, and towel free of the bag and began desperately trying to stitch Jack's neck together and stop the blood at the same time. Where were his medicines to thicken blood? Where were his gauze and bandaging? Where was his antiseptic spray?

"DON'T YOU DIE ON ME!" Henrik's panic was getting the best of him now. He was working quickly, sloppily. There were moments where he thought he missed time passing, his sight seeming to skip from one second to the next. He almost thought he was...twitching. Nerves, it must be nerves. Jack was dying, right there in front of him, and he wasn't doing enough, he couldn't do enough, it ͞ẃa͡s̢ ͝n̡evèr͏ eno̕ug͢h.͠ He doubled over, twitching once, violently. He thought he heard a high-pitched ringing. Looking at his shaking hands, he thought for a second he saw them go around Jack's neck, as if to choke him. No, no that couldn't be right. He blinked, gasping, and saw his hands, jerked up beside him, nowhere near Jack at all. No. No, he couldn't lose it now. He couldn't lose control now, Jack needed him. Get it together, Doctor! The ringing got louder, and under it, some noise. Some...pattern. High, cold, uneven...almost like a laugh. Henrik shook his head.

Ĝ͈ͥͥͨ́ͮ͒õ̳̰̣͕͔̼ͦ̄̓̾ȭ͎̩̦͓̱̣̟d̬̪̝͕͔̤̣͌̎ͪͩ ͙̞̜̜̱̜̽̿͛́ḍ̞̣͉̞̯͋͛ö͕̤̬͕͕͈ͬc̹̘͙͚̗̥͍̕t̶̰̯ͯ̓̊̇̋̓͌o̧͉̘͚̻͌̌̄̎͋͐r͍͕̗̼̤̯̹͋.̇͛̓͘.̺̖͖͈́ͧ͒ͣ.͔̩̼͓̗͙͙ͤ̇͐̚y̵̗͖̱̘̝̻ͣo̩̯̼̫̠͕̖ͣ̇ͩ́̔̇ͫú͔̳͇̥̪̞̦̾͊̇ ͖̹͎̆̂̑̇̏̍̕c̗̞͈̻ͭ͐̐̎̋̽̚oͨu͔͠l̊͛̾̉̌҉̥͈͎͎͓̩d̻͗̇̈ ͙̝̫͇͂̏ͪ̚b̸͐̿ͪe ̦͓̳̥̮͛͑͘f̻͇͔̱̘͕̊ͩ̑̅̓͆̓u̩n͓̚.̔̓̈́ͮͩͤ̚.̖͉ͭͩ́.̪͇̖̗̀ͮ̒̉̆͛ͣͅ

"No. No, no, no," he muttered, covering his ears with his hands. How could he be losing control at a time like this? He had never been prone to panic attacks, why now, of all times? Perhaps it was insanity? People had always said he was on the verge of it. He shook his head. No. He needed his mind clear to help Jack, he needed to stop the bleeding...the bleeding...

The bleeding had stopped. Henrik stared, uncomprehending. He checked for a pulse. There was no way... He felt one. Very, very faint, but present. Jack was alive.

Jack woke up, only hours later, and seemed to feel no ill effects, other than being a bit weak. He didn't seem to even remember what had happened. When he asked the doctor, he couldn't bring himself to tell, so instead, he made up some cock-and-bull story about pumpkin fumes knocking him out. It was a very weak reason, and clearly, Jack didn't believe him, but he didn't question it. Even when later, he looked in the mirror and saw the red stains on his neck. Even when he saw the blood on the carpet, and in the carved pumpkin he didn't remember finishing.

Dr. Schneeplestein never mentioned the "panic attack". He never talked about what had really happened. He never talked about the voice.

Neither of them wanted to think about what had done it...and how that thing was still out there. Neither wanted to think about when he might come back.