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"Before we begin, I wanted to first thank you for reading this, I know it's kind of taking you out of the element of the story, but I wanted to keep you up to date on a few different projects that I'm currently working on, all of which are going to be just as fantastic, or fantastically horrifying as Waffles, because in truth, that was just a spur of the moment thing, and I think we can all agree that it was either a shit storm of inconsistancies, or osmething truly brilliant.
"These are the names of the projects I'm currently working on:
Waffles 2 (this thing will be continually updated)
OKCupid Thread Stories (Cursed things that should never EVER see the light of day.)
Infinite Web (200 characters, four different story lines, this will be fun.)
"And many others. I can't promise that all of these will be sprawling epics, filled with hundreds of choices, some of these are ging to be either short and sweet, short and bitter, short and crazy, or just plain long and insane.
It really all depends on my state of mind when creating these things.
"I wasn't ever really happy with Waffles, maybe I continued working on it as a spur of the moment Idea? And became so enruptured with the idea of constantly branching story paths that I never took the time to make the story ITSELF something special?
"I really love writing IF stories, but in my view, and in light of the nightmarish mess that was the first Waffles, this time around, I'm going to focus a bit more on the story, yes, there will still be awesome paths in which things become punched in the dick teeth so hard your fists grow beard staches of manliness, but I think part of being an Author, of any Genre, is finding interesting ways of pushing yourself for the better.
"Especially given the limits of Twine, but that's something for another time. For "Waffles 2" I'm going in a different direction, hopefully it will be a bit more of a fruitful choice I've made. After all, IF Authors are the creators of working models of Multiverse Theory.
"Sincerly,
Morgan James Gavin."
The tape ends, the cassette player breaks down in your hands.
[[Search around]] 'Hey... Hey! Wake up. The N'wolc are nearby.' Waffles voice echoes in your mind.
It's been 25 years since you escaped the Institute, your body and mind immediately freezing into a kind of stone statue, you remember nothing but bits and pieces, the one thing you do remember, quite clearly, is fusing with Waffles, a kind of sentient being from anotehr universe where Clown's aren't beer addicted angry people dressed in bright, colorful outfits.
No, The universe where Waffles came from, from what he's randomly muttered to you in your long slumber was Designated Universe Alphomegamma-12-Z/X.5, where the temr 'Clown' is used to describe a kind of sentient biomass capable of giving the host it's bonded to incredible abilities and strength.
'Hey, are you listening to me?' Waffles asks again, 'I SAID WAKE THE FUCK UP!' His voice, her voice... it seems like such a long time ago, you felt like something was the matter, something wrong... They ask you to wake up again, your mind trying to make sense of everything that's been going on.
You begin to feel your blood start flowing again, you don't know how you got into this state, but after fusing with Waffles, he said that your body would change into a chrysalis, your skin would harden, your heart beat would slow down, and you'd essentially turn into a living statue, asleep, but somehow aware of everything happening to you.
'You aren't there yet,' Waffles says, their voice neither feminine nor masculine, 'I still have to make one more adjustment, but for the most part, everything we talked about, the abilities, they should be there.' they explain.
'I told you my name, but... I don't know yours, though, after so many years of inactivity, your mind is still adapting to the new additions your physiology is recieving. No owrries, you'll remember your name in time. Right now though? The N'wolc are nearby. [[Questions?]]'
Words form in your head, your voice isn't quite there yet.
Your mind forms words, and shapes them into a series of lines of text, each line representing a inquery.
[["Who are you?"]]
[["What are the N'wolc?"]]
[["What did you do to me?"]]
[["How long have I been out?"]]
[["How did I relieve myself?"]]
[["None."]]Waffles is silent for a minute, you get a flood of cold, as if they don't feel like answering the question. You push back with a flood of warmth, a kind of reassurance, they concede.
'My full name isn't just the one word, in my kinds language, each letter in the word contains eight thousand libraries of information, each letter gained for every thousand years we are able to survive.
'My full name, based on your limited and primitive way of processing language is Wilfred Ablastience Frederick Flaggernight Lestrion Estebannep Scottsgard the fiftieth. Call me just Waffles, simpler.' they explain.
'I'm not from this Universe,my people, the Circi-Usiesium, are... were a mass of senitent liquid, our population is too great for even spoken numbers. If I were two say, imagine all the protons, positrons, nuetrons, and quarks in all of every one of twelve billion universes, and count them, you would need to multiply that resulting number by a factor of seven million, eight hundred forty five thousand, seven hundred and sixty five. We numbered even greater than that.
'We were one mass, many many minds, many voices,, many beings, all living as one. the strong consumed or protected the weak, the weak either protected or consumed the strong. those that consumed grew in strength, those that were consumed merged with their devourer.' Waffles is silent for a few minutes. you feel the warmth beginning to return to your arms and legs.
'I was ejected from the mass, for doing the only thing that was natural to our people. I consumed too many others, I consumed four billion unto my myself.' Waffles is quiet again, instead of speaking, he simply opens his memories to yours, asnd the wash of images almost overwhelmes you.
You see a counsel of ten, just their eyes, their words coming at you all at once. It's hard to understand, but you understand the fear, the anger, the sadness and mourning behind their words. You feel yourself being pulled towards a direction, the area around you getting colder and colder as you reach the surface of the almost colossal mass that is the totality of your people. When you reach the surface, the blob of liquid that is you is turned around, and for the first time in your long life span, you see and are witness to the beauty of the stars in the night sky. You feel inspired, blown away by the utter brilliance of the stars, twinkling little things in the far distance. You feel as though you are being pushed away from everything that you once knew, everything that you once were, torn away in a fraction of a second. you float away, turning slowly towards the mass that is your entire people, and see for the first time what you truly look like.
Bright, colorful, slithering, slug like, intertwining things.
You feel a spinning sensation, a grand increase in speed, a rush of potential and focused energy gather from behind you, and feel a great amount of force being shoved into what you could call your back. It sends you flying, hurtling, at an ever increasing rate of speed. So much so that the stars stretch, twist, and begin to bleed together, the place you were shrinking down to a spec, and the place your going becoming large and larger as the seconds fly by.
Seconds pass.
Then minutes.
Then hours.
Then days.
Then Weeks.
Then Months.
then Years.
Then Decades.
then centuries.
then thousands of years.
then millions.
Then billions.
then Trillions.
You travel so fast, so very fast, so very long, in a straight line, the very notion of time just dissapears as you begin to drift asleep, tired from the time spent travelling.
then you hit something hard, immediately slowing yourself to a crawl, but annihilating a natice dominant species by the force generated by the impact.
the flood of memoriesends. you understand Waffles mroe now then you ever thought possible.Waffles is silent, you press them further. Finally, they concede, 'The N'wolc are our brother species, they are more adept then we at killing. They hide among you, needing no host to fully survive, but at the same time, they recieve no gifts that bonding with a host can provide. Clowns, are by their very nature, a species of being that somewhat thrive on the very nature of fear.
'They show you the darker nature of theu niverse, that peice of you that dares not be let out into the light, for fear of something tremendously horrifying happening.
'I was ejected for showing my true nature the light, costing thel ives of four billion others in the process. The N'wolc have reason to believe, and rightly so, that I am the strongest of my people, for within my very cells lays the ability to call others to our aid at a moments notice. True, I can't send them back, but... That's just the way it is.'
'Do you have any more [[Questions?]]'Your thoughts are feirce, and the words sharp like daggers to the presence of Waffles in your mind.
'I didn't do anything to you. You drank the water, you called for help, you accepted my terms, and you bonded with me. I had nothing to do with that. I merely helped you survive, as you helped me survive. I bonded with you on a cellular level, a molecular one as well, we are now as one, two sides of the same coin.'
you think back to the water, to the Institute. To the pain and degredation you felt going through the insanity that you did.
'You could've very well walked out hte door, and yet, you chose to drink the water. And now? Here you are, twenty five years later, struggling to regain your memories. Well, I was awake for the entirety of that twenty five years, and so was that tatoo. That fucking scary as fuck tattoo.'
Waffles is quite for a while, contemplating your next move.
You had almost completely forgotten about the tattoo.
You look down at it, that weird little square with those two unblinking eyes staring back at you.
"Hi."
You feel like you want to rip that patch of skin off, and you remember not being able to finish the conversation that you were having with it back at the institute.
You hear Waffles voice in your mind once more, 'Do you have anymore [[Questions?]] Or do you want to [[Ask the tattoo something]]?'
'About twenty five years, give or take. Strangely enough, exposure to the open air caused a petrifying effect on your epidermis and muscular systems, I was able to push parts of myself out of some of your orifices to absorb oxygen and sunlight and convert them to nutrients.
'So in essence, you became a plant for quarter of a century. Want to know what happened in that time?' Waffles sounds a little bit concerned, but the warm wave of emotion tells you that there's plenty of time to talk.
[[What happened?]]
[[Not right now.]]
[[Questions?]] you feel Waffles and the Tattoo look at each other with a sense of deep concern.
'Which do you want... The long answer?' Waffles askes.
"Or of the short answer?" The tattoo askes more gleefully.
You're beginning to that the tattoo.
[[The Long answer.]]
[[The Short answer.]]'Good to know. First, we need to get as far away from the institute as we can. We don't want to be here in five minutes, as... well, you did some really fucked up shit while figuring out that you could've just wlaked out the door, I mean REALLY, what was the point of playing with t he stress shit-' you calmly interrupt Waffles by pointing out that you have no idea what you've done, why you ended up there, or why you are currently bonded to a goo Clown and a smart ass tattoo.
"Comedic purposes?" The tattoo blurts out.
You stare at it for a second before explaining the many reasons why the tattoo is a fucking idiot.
"Whatever."
You take five seconds to gather yourself before making your way down the street, the city itself, you could call it that, seems to be located somehow underground, as if the surrounding mountain sides were lifted up by a force greater than gravity itself. The moon seems split in to four parts, the space between the fourths seems ot be connected via a colossal sized magnetic storm, with arcs of electricity keeping everything somewhat together.
The buildings all around you show signs of a devastating war, with large chunks missing from the faces and sides of them. In the hotels where the most damage might've been aimed, you see people living inside the nearly blown apart rooms as if nothing had happened. sparks and psutters shoot out every once in a wHile, and instead of the expecting police siren, you hear the occasional organ grinder music and the random squeak of clown shoes run by, as if osmething or someone is following you.
As you progress further, you pass by an alleyway where a casualty of the war is seemingly pinned to several peices of jutting out Rebar, their head hung back, eyes blank, mouth agape, their jaw torn open, and their teeth randomly pulled out with great force.
"Your clothes, give them to me." the tattoo mocks in an attempt to lighten the mood.
'that was in rather poor taste.' Waffles berates, 'Unfortunately, this is how the N'wolc punish those that survive their invasion, this or... Worse, some of which I suspect you bore witness to while you were roaming around in the Institute. No matter, as the tattoo said, they've got clothes, and you need clothes.' Waffles and thattoo remain silent as you contemplate the morality of stealing off the dead, surely, there has to be a clothing store around here osmehwere that you can loot.
[[Steal from the dead]]
[[Search around]]You stare at the tattoo and try to think of something, anything to say, your minds still trying to put the peices together after so long, but nothing is coming to mind.
"Hey," It begins, the two blank eyes in the tiny square lighting up as it speaks, "I ain't osme demon, devil, ghost, or nothing like that. I'm just a regular guy..." After a brief pause, it concedes something, "You know what? I don't have a gender, to try and define my amount of boobs or lack there of is descriminatory of my right as a sentient human!"
Waffles chimes in, 'You're ON a human, you are not A human.'
"SHUT UP! YOU'RE NOT MY MOM!"
'And neither are you.'
"Right, right... So, you have any questions for me?" The tattoo askes oblivious to the somewhat clear and almost present danger you might be in, if Waffles information is correct.
[[What are you made of?]]
[[Are you alive?]]
[[Do you dream of Bendy and the Ink Machine?]]
[[Do you know everything that I know?]]
[[I don't have anything.]]Waffles forms a largish white plain in your mind, the outer edges look as if they simply fade away into emptiness, almost like the edges of a dream you can't quite remember.
'Wars, invasions, take overs, conspiracies turned true, learned truths that turned out ot be conspiracies, technological advances the likes you've never seen before. Everything happened that could possibly happen. It's not worth going into the details about. We need to keep moving before the N'wolc find us.'
[[Press for more information.]]
[[Leave it be for now.]]
[[Questions?]] 'Good,' Waffles replies, 'Because right now, we've got to get a move on, I'm sensing someone is following us, and they don't appear to be friendly.' Waffles shifts your focus ot the left and right, making sure the coast is clear.
In the distance you hear a kind of reverse chuckling, as if they're in the process of churning out some kind of lurid and decietful punishment for misinformation.
"We'd better [[Search around]]" The tattoo says out out. "I thought I saw some shops around, hopefully we can find some cupcakes.Waffles takes a deep breath, asi f preparing for some long winded grand tale of adventure. 'You pissed and shit yourself repeatedly. In fact, I think the Institute has literally been sending highly advanced, thoroughly trained, stealth epuipped combat and tactics troops JUST for that explicit reason. you cost them roughly thirty billion dollars just to clean up your leavings.'
[[Per year?]]
[[Per month?]]
[[Per week?]]
[[Per Day?]]The tattoo takes a breath, "You pissed and shit yourself so hard, on such a rapid basis, for so very long, that the Institute went bankrupt cleaning up after you. You went THAT hard. [[Questions?]]"'Per second.'
[[Questions?]] 'Per second.'
[[Questions?]] 'Per second. [[Questions?]]''Per second. [[Questions?]]'You press for more information, pressuring Wafles wit more andm ore incessant questions about the specifics, they don't seem to want to talk about it. finally, after what seems like forever, they relent. "It was the Institute, after you escaped, after all the carnage you created, the lives ended, the many... many ways you did it, surprisingly, all with clowns, they became more ruthless, ran for gavernment positions, in the hundreds of thousands, all of them got elected through various means, gradually, stripping away the freedoms of the world, unifying every bloodthirsty warlord under a single banner. A white background, black burning skull, a single red ring around its left eye.
"They slaughtered millions, hundreds of millions, all because you let loosei n such a way that they had no other choice. My people, the Barnumiusbales, that they had imprisoned for nearly thirty years, running all kinds of experiments on, eventually creating the N'wolc, we all escaped, slithering out out of our pipe like prisons, scared out of our minds... We could only watch as the greatest people in the universe, the Barnumiusbales waged civil war with itself, at the same time fighting off the various forces of the Institute, their hired guns, and their mercenary forces." Waffles remains quiet after this, you hear them slowly dissapear from your mind, as if they were walking off into the distance.
"well, that fucking sucks. Now that were all caught up on the reasons why the fuck we're here, can we just agree no one else ask about someones background?" The tatoo swears fitfully.
[[Search around]] You can tell that Waffles doesn't feel like talking about it. You decide to [[Search around]] ."Ink. I'm a tattoo, fuckhead." The tattoo replies, slightly irritated that you'd ask something so stupid. "Go on, ask me something else."
[[Ask the tattoo something]]
[[Not right now.]] "Finally, a fucking intelligent question. Yes." The tattoo replies, "Ask something else."
[[Ask the tattoo something]]
[[Not right now.]] "What the fuck kind of question is that!?" The tattoo responds, "don't you think that's a little racist of you to ask!? jeez, I may be ink, but that doesn't mean I know other Ink Demons..." the tattoo remains silent, despite your pleading with it to say anything else.
'What he means to say... Well, yeah, no lie. That is a very racist thing to say about someone.' Waffles explains. We don't really have time to talk about this, can we please move it along?'
[[Ask the tattoo something]]
[[Not right now.]] "I fucked your mom. I know that much."
You remain quiet for some time, thinking about the logistics of it all.
'Ew.' Waffles replies. 'Did... Did... Did you CONTROL their arm!?' Waffles asks.
the tattoo remains silent.
A warm feeling,holy unnatural washes over you.
"Yes."
[[Ask the tattoo something]]
[[Not right now.]] "It'd be best to [[Search around]] You sigh, agreeing with both of them that this was probably the best option, and since their are blood stains on it, you can always pretend that you were one of their victims. Strategically sound in the long run of things, As you strip the deceased being, a note falls from their balled up hand, it's nothing major, just a bit of brown paper with some hastilly scrawled words with a black pen.
You hear the squeaks of clown shoes get closer, and it could be a waste of time to read the note. On the other hand, you've become very curious about who the Author might be.
"we really don't have time for this nonsense." You hear the tattoo mutter under it's breath.
'It could contain some rather valuable information, so you never know?' Waffles debates.
Ultimately, you're the one in control here.
Read the note, or save it for later?
Read [[From the Author]]
[[Save it for later and find someplace to hide.]]You decide that it'd be better in the long run to find a store with a much better selection of clothing, maybe even a sports store with that has some padding in on its shelves. They don't agreee with your choice, but that's too fucking bad, you're the one with feet now, not Waffles. You pass the corpse by without so much as a thought, but Waffles takes control of your arm and reaches out and snatches the note in their hand and sticks it in your pocket. An odd thing to do, but you pay it no mind.
'It could be important later on.' They explain.
"Sure, REALLY important." The tattoo mocks.
You continue down the street, occasionally ducking through the alleyways that seperate some of the buildings, it's a virtual maze of buildings, but you know that it's for the best. You occasionally check the the doors in the back , sometimes their unlocked, other times, they aren't. It's a random game of chance.
by either crazy chance, or maybe because of some hidden knowlege that Waffles possesed, they stop you in front of a few stores, the first one is a gun shop, filled with things that go boom, bang, and pop in a hopefully rapid fashion, as well as filled with the little metal things that they need to be a bit dangerous.
"Bullets?" the tattoo suggests.
You nod in a ppreciation.
The second is a sports store, where there's padding, protection, bats, and other swingy things that make the little round things go far away.
"Balls?"
'No, that's where you kick guys to hurt them REALLY badly.' Waffles points out.'
"What is WRONG with you!?" The tattoo shoots back.
'Nothing... For the most part.
But it's the third shop which has Waffles the most excited, it's a pastry shop.
Of fucking course it would be the pastry shop.
'Everyone knows for a facts that the N'wolc, while alien in nature, are still a veriety and species of Clowns. And The best way to hurt clowns? Smashing food in their faces, or anywhere really, it's just a universal truth.' Waffles states proudly, 'During the great Clown x Mime Wars, Mimes, which are on a whole nother level of 'Fuck Nope' would often launch sneak attacks by force feeding random N'wolc for ten minutes until their heads exploded. don't ask me why, our physiology is fucking different then humans, but you know those carnival games where you shoot water into the little hole and the balloon clown head expands till it pops? replace water wth food, and there you go.
'I mean, yeah, bullets and gun, classic ways to go, but never as comedically effective and utterly devestating as a pie to the face.' There's a moment of silence where both you and the tattoo imagine a war between mimes and clowns.
the results are fucking terrifying.
On the one hand, you could easily go to all three stores and make sure you've got more than a few cupcakes and a helmet.
"Yeah, comedic effect, but come on!" The tattoo chimes in.
'I'm telling you, absolute victory if you go with the pastry shop.' Waffles give their two cents.
Either way, you've still got to get some padding.
[[Arm yourself to the teeth with bullets]]
[[Arm yourself to the teeth with cupcakes]]
[[Arm yourself to the teeth as if you're going to war against every living and dead thing ever]]
You crumple up the piece of paper and attempt to put it in your pocket before realizing that you're naked.
"Ha!" The tattoo laughs, "You're naked."
you explain to it that you're naked, then so is it.
The tattoo remains quiet.
'Quickly, we don't have much time to waste, the N'wolc are coming lcoser, I can sense it!' Waffles almost hisses, causing you to try and figure out just how you're hearing both of their voices. Along the way, you come across another dead body, this one with moderately wearable clothes, though, on closer inspection, they were dressed in a third reich costume, and you're pretty sure there are other places with freely accessable clothes for you to steal.
"Dude, just... no." the tattoo remarks, "We've really got better things to do then wonder about the option to put on a natzi uniform just to see what happens next. Trust me, you'll just end up dead.." The tattoo warns.
'I'm setting this thing on fire.' Waffles outright states, and in the first time in twenty five years, the goo Clown separates from you just long enough to breath a jet of black fire and fury onto the corpse of the Natzi sympathizer.
After ten minutes of watching a corpse burn to ash, you [[Search around]] for other places to hide.You decide to run into the gun shop and steal everything that isn't nailed down. Which helps out in the long run. With the added strength of Waffles, as well as their ability to create a pocket dimeion that is essentially a Clown Car with four trillion clowns stuffed inside it. You manage to walk out with several billion pounds of guns, shotguns, machine guns, submachine guns, light machine guns, sniper rifles of all caliburs, antitank rifles, miniguns of all flavors, grenades, mines, rockets, missiles, launchers, trebuchets, pistols, blackjacks, and essentially strip down every conceivable piece of material that made up the place, suck it into the pocket dimension and essentially make a giant fucking gun out of the Pocket Dimension.
"Ha! now we get to put bellets into Clowns at high speeds!" The tattoo shouts excitedly, leaving you utterly confused as to how its actually speaking. you point out that it said the world bullet wrong, and it points out that your mom is a dumb ass dumpster fire.
'Heh.' Waffles laughs.
The nextp lace you hit up is the armor shop next door, where apparently they sold entire suits of knights armor in alll flavors, from plate mail, steel, padded titanium, to pillows, because why not? Again, you simply have Waffles open up a portal to the Pocket dimension and suck everything out of it thats both bolted down and not. Leaving the place looking like a wrecked empty storefront that's in the middle of a war.
Which it is.
When you finally walk out, the peices of armor that slapped themselves to you have somehow melded to your body shape, giving you a pretty sweet molded armor straight out of the Guyver. God that movie fucking rocked.
"Damn it! They're here already! Both of them!?" The tattoo screams out as a near acidic pie slamws down near your left foot, while an unexploded grenade rolls towards your right foot.
[[Attack the Institute.]]
[[Attack the N'wolc.]]
[[Attack them both.]]
[[Back away, and leave them both alone.]]You decide that following Waffles advice is the best way to go, after all, exploiting the N'wolc's weakness should buy you the time to figure out what the hell to do next. You walk into the pastry shop, which is well lit, the displays are pretty, nicely lit, and filled with every kind of pastry you could ever imagine.
Donut.
Strudle.
Stroodle.
Cake.
Pie.
Cupcake.
Frosting.
Pudding.
Cookie Dough.
The list goes on and on, and somewhere, you feel Waffles shiver with dread.
'I swore that I'd never throw another pie ever again.' They whisper, to which the tattoo laughs.
"Well, you won't ever have to if you don't have a physical body!"
You point out that Waffles merged with you on a molecular level, so technicall, they do indeed have a physical body. But also that you'll be doing the throwing.
you feel as though Waffles, if they were right next to you, would raise a finger, open their mouth to speak, think for a moment, and then shut their mouth.
You, with the help of Waffles, open a pocket dimension filled to the breaking point with Clowns, and sucked everything in the pastry shop, every single fucking thing, into it. Around seven thousand, eight hundred, and forty three Clowns die from getting hit with the pastries, being impaled by pieces of speedy metal, concussed from everything else.
They will not be missed.
Because they are Clowns.
The nextp lace you hit up is the armor shop next door, where apparently they sold entire suits of knights armor in alll flavors, from plate mail, steel, padded titanium, to pillows, because why not? Again, you simply have Waffles open up a portal to the Pocket dimension and suck everything out of it thats both bolted down and not. Leaving the place looking like a wrecked empty storefront that's in the middle of a war.
Which it is.
When you finally walk out, the peices of armor that slapped themselves to you have somehow melded to your body shape, giving you a pretty sweet molded armor straight out of the Guyver. God that movie fucking rocked.
"Damn it! They're here already! Both of them!?" The tattoo screams out as a near acidic pie slamws down near your left foot, while an unexploded grenade rolls towards your right foot.
[[Attack the Institute.]]
[[Attack the N'wolc.]]
[[Attack them both.]]
[[Back away, and leave them both alone.]]You decide to run into the gun shop and steal everything that isn't nailed down. Which helps out in the long run. With the added strength of Waffles, as well as their ability to create a pocket dimeion that is essentially a Clown Car with four trillion clowns stuffed inside it. You manage to walk out with several billion pounds of guns, shotguns, machine guns, submachine guns, light machine guns, sniper rifles of all caliburs, antitank rifles, miniguns of all flavors, grenades, mines, rockets, missiles, launchers, trebuchets, pistols, blackjacks, and essentially strip down every conceivable piece of material that made up the place, suck it into the pocket dimension and essentially make a giant fucking gun out of the Pocket Dimension.
"Ha! now we get to put bellets into Clowns at high speeds!" The tattoo shouts excitedly, leaving you utterly confused as to how its actually speaking. you point out that it said the world bullet wrong, and it points out that your mom is a dumb ass dumpster fire.
'Heh.' Waffles laughs.
You next decide that following Waffles advice is the best way to go, after all, exploiting the N'wolc's weakness should buy you the time to figure out what the hell to do next. You walk into the pastry shop, which is well lit, the displays are pretty, nicely lit, and filled with every kind of pastry you could ever imagine.
Donut.
Strudle.
Stroodle.
Cake.
Pie.
Cupcake.
Frosting.
Pudding.
Cookie Dough.
The list goes on and on, and somewhere, you feel Waffles shiver with dread.
'I swore that I'd never throw another pie ever again.' They whisper, to which the tattoo laughs.
"Well, you won't ever have to if you don't have a physical body!"
You point out that Waffles merged with you on a molecular level, so technicall, they do indeed have a physical body. But also that you'll be doing the throwing.
you feel as though Waffles, if they were right next to you, would raise a finger, open their mouth to speak, think for a moment, and then shut their mouth.
You, with the help of Waffles, open a pocket dimension filled to the breaking point with Clowns, and sucked everything in the pastry shop, every single fucking thing, into it. Around seven thousand, eight hundred, and forty three Clowns die from getting hit with the pastries, being impaled by pieces of speedy metal, concussed from everything else.
They will not be missed.
Because they are Clowns.
The next place you hit up is the armor shop next door, where apparently they sold entire suits of knights armor in alll flavors, from plate mail, steel, padded titanium, to pillows, because why not? Again, you simply have Waffles open up a portal to the Pocket dimension and suck everything out of it thats both bolted down and not. Leaving the place looking like a wrecked empty storefront that's in the middle of a war.
Which it is.
When you finally walk out, the peices of armor that slapped themselves to you have somehow melded to your body shape, giving you a pretty sweet molded armor straight out of the Guyver. God that movie fucking rocked.
"Damn it! They're here already! Both of them!?" The tattoo screams out as a near acidic pie slamws down near your left foot, while an unexploded grenade rolls towards your right foot.
[[Attack the Institute.]]
[[Attack the N'wolc.]]
[[Attack them both.]]
[[Back away, and leave them both alone.]]You choose to go after the Institute with everything you have, and it's the first time you've ever seen anyone from the Institute itself. They've got armor on, plsteel, liquid titanium polymer, and the best weapons that they can ever develop for this particular time period. Meanwhile, the N'wolc are just a bunch of slug Clowns with a pretty varied set of bladed weapons and acid pies. Not to mention the suicicde clowns packed into SUVs.
"Geez, that kind ofp ower's got to be equal to a small hydrogen bomb!" The tattoo wonders. 'No time to worry about that, if we're going after the Institute make sure not to hit any of the N'wolc, they... they've got a thing for buttholes.' Waffles warns. You start to worry that maybe you've attacked the wrong side, though at the moment it's not the most pressing issue. The Institute has more troops than there were citizens in the city, more armored vehicles than every car dealership ever, and heavier fire power than a thousand nuke carrying subs.
"ATTACK SUBJECT #D33/56-aLPHA!" You hear one of the Commanders of the institue roar from underneath his surgical mask. His white lab coat floating through the the wind like a leaf blown away. Instinctivly, you open the Clown Pocket Dimension and a hail of fire erupts from it, as if it were one massivce fucking stream of ammunition, it tears a hole straight through the seemingly unlimited forces the Institute has at their disposal.
'Good work!' Waffles congratulates you, 'but now the hard parts beginning, I'msorry to have to do this to you so soon after you just woke up, but I'm going to need you to go to sleep, just for a little while.' they say, laughing just a little bit, 'It's been a long time, but I want to show these motherfuckers the true power of the Barnumiubales!' You start to wafte into an uneasy sleep, the music of a thousand Circus's playing you back out to the wings of your mental stage as you witness Waffles walk out of the opposite wing. They're more horrifying than you first thought, more grotesque. It's a strange sensastion. The weight of your eyelids increases the further out they come onto the stage and the brighter the spotlight shines on them. You feel pulled to the backstage of your mind.
[[Fall asleep.]]Your mind's made up, you're so fucking sick of goo clowns, nightmare clowns, spider clowns, super clowns, all telling you what to do, where to go, what to do, what to say, how to act and how to avoid everyone, that you scream in rage.
'What the fuck!?' Waffles shouts as you open the Pocket Clown Dimension and unleash a torrent of dead clowns and pastries on to the N'wolc, the Institue, though their only objective was to capture you and place you back into the white room, suddenly make a rather informed, and surprisingly wise, decision to aid you in your attack on the N'wolc, and the battle of furious, glorious, and bloody.
Oh.
So.
Fucking.
Bloody.
the N'wolc are no pushover slug clowns, each standing at a rather impressive nine feet, their bodies are warped, deformed, and utterly disturbing to stare at. You remember the last time you attempted to stare one of these fucking things down, it took you nearly seventy years of constant staring for the thing to just turn into a pile of dust. During which apparrently, Death itself had denied you any respite as you continued staring at the pile of dust until the world itself exploded, sending you carrening through the universe.
though it might've just been a dream.
At least... You hope it was just a dream.
It's fifty days later, and the bodies of N'wolc keep piling up, but you never rest, and the Institute seemingly never runs out of cannon fodder.
But at long last, the fighting ends, with the last of the N'wolc giving up peacefully, siting they just wanted freedom from the slavery that the Institute placed on them.
In reply, a savagly wounded Institute Scientist runs at it and screams in rage. The N'wolc is too wounded to defend itself, and you feel Waffles slow down your perception, a wave of cold emotion sweeps over you.
'Good work!' Waffles congratulates you, 'but now the hard parts beginning, I'm sorry to have to do this to you so soon after you just woke up, but I'm going to need you to go to sleep, just for a little while.' they say, laughing just a little bit, 'It's been a long time, but I want to show these motherfuckers the true power of the Barnumiubales!' You start to wafte into an uneasy sleep, the music of a thousand Circus's playing you back out to the wings of your mental stage as you witness Waffles walk out of the opposite wing. They're more horrifying than you first thought, more grotesque. It's a strange sensastion. The weight of your eyelids increases the further out they come onto the stage and the brighter the spotlight shines on them. You feel pulled to the backstage of your mind.
[[Fall asleep.]]The markings of the tattoo suddenly cover your entire body, taking complete and utter control of your every movement, and every word you say. "Ha! THESE MOTHERFUCKRS ARE ALL GONNA FUCKING DIE!" It screams out of your mouth, the question of what it was made of, if it was alive, what it's purpose truly was, are all answered in the blink of an eye, as it modifies your bod into a massive fleshy weaponized tank. Gun and missile ports rip from your body in the hundreds, your face contorts and grows into a cock pit of sorts, your organs are changed into the biological equivilant of engines, gears, drivers, and somesuch, and you are no longer yourself for the time being. Your eyes witness the complete and utter annihilation of both the Institute and the N'wolc at the same time, and the fighting does end for years, bodies pile up on both sides, and the chunks of your body that are blown off are quickly regenerated.
Eventually, the last of the Institute and the N'wolc are forced into an uneasy alliance to try and rip you apart from every single blind spot they can think of, but the tattoo completely modifies you every single time to counter them. Eventually, it goes on for so long, that you aren't even considered a human being anymore, but a gargantuan death god, millions of bone spikes, stomach acid bombs, and shit missiles are launched from every modified pore on your body that everything within a two thousand mile radius is turned into a veritable crater of blood, bile, gore, and death so obscene they have yet to come up with a word in any language to describe it.
hundreds of years later, and the complete destruction of the surface of the planet, the fighting is over as the very last Institute Scientist and the very last N'wolc warrior declare a ceasefire.
They are the very last living beings on the planet, they silently approach you, side by side.
'Good work!' Waffles congratulates you, 'but now the hard parts beginning, I'msorry to have to do this to you so soon after you just woke up, but I'm going to need you to go to sleep, just for a little while.' they say, laughing just a little bit, 'It's been a long time, but I want to show these motherfuckers the true power of the Barnumiubales!' You start to wafte into an uneasy sleep, the music of a thousand Circus's playing you back out to the wings of your mental stage as you witness Waffles walk out of the opposite wing. They're more horrifying than you first thought, more grotesque. It's a strange sensastion. The weight of your eyelids increases the further out they come onto the stage and the brighter the spotlight shines on them. You feel pulled to the backstage of your mind.
You find an urge to fight against the pull and take a step forward, Waffles agrilly turns towards you.
"What are you doing!?"
[[Fall asleep.]]
[[Take another step forward.]]You wisely decide that fighting anyone is not the answer, and silently back away into the shadows of a nearby back alley. No sooner than you lose sight of them, you hear the fighting erupt into an all out war, and the very buildings burst into piles of rubble, merely from the opening volleys, You thank the stars you hadn't engaged either side in battle, fearing that you might've died in the process, or something much worse. Cold emotions wash over you from Waffles, and words of degredation from the tattoo rain down on your ears, but you silence them both, seeing as how it's your body, and at the moment, they're just along for the ride.
'You have a point.' Waffles coldly agrees, 'Though I seriously think you've underestimated your strength...'
"You fucking coward!" Is all that the tattoo says in reply.
You pay them both no mind, and run as fast as you possibly can, which is a lot faster than you might've in the past,, through alley ways, emptistreets, open parks, through suburban neighborhoods, and many other places till you reach a vast and wide open forest that's heavilly wooded, you manage to find peace and solace.
though, somthing doesn't feel right.
You feel a warm emotion flood over you as Waffles giggles just a little bit.
'Good work!' Waffles congratulates you, 'But now the hard parts beginning, I'm sorry to have to do this to you so soon after you just woke up, but I'm going to need you to go to sleep, just for a little while.' they say, laughing just a little bit, 'It's been a long time, but I want to show these motherfuckers the true power of the Barnumiubales!'
You start to wafte into an uneasy sleep, the music of a thousand Circus's playing you back out to the wings of your mental stage as you witness Waffles walk out of the opposite wing. They're more horrifying than you first thought, more grotesque. It's a strange sensastion. The weight of your eyelids increases the further out they come onto the stage and the brighter the spotlight shines on them. You feel pulled to the backstage of your mind.
[[Fall asleep.]]You drift backstage.
Your eyes heavy.
your mind sluggish.
Every movemnt you make seems to get slower, and slower, and slower.
In the far distance up on the stage, you can hear Waffles cackling like a mad person as they end the lives of the last two survivors of a great and costly war.
"You're no hero. you're just easily pushed around like everyone else I've taken control of! Go to sleep, never wake up, and die alone in this mental prison you've created for yourself!"
You fall asleep, never to wake again, as far as you're aware. You feel a strange pulling sensation, as if the entirety of your mind and soul are being pulled back in time.
'Hey... you need help [[Waking Up.]]?'
You take another step forward, Waffles clealy having a problem with it, "What are you doing!? You're ruining everything you little shit!" They scream at you, commanding you to keep hidden, keep away, but not this time. You simply point to the sight of both the N'wolc and the Institute at their most vulnerable, at their weakest, willing, to finally make peace with eachother and you, you stare silently at Waffles for a long time, the clown not giving an inch.
"No! Not when I'm so fucking close! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND JUST WHAT THE FUCK WILL HAPPEN IF WE DON'T KILL THEM!" They scream at you full force, shockwaves slamming against you with every word spoken.
You simply stand there, daring yourself to take another step forward, though there's a part of you that wishes simply to just fall asleep.
"You realize that if they're allowed to continue breathing as they are, right now, eventually, EVENTUALLY they'll grow to be beyond our ability to control them! The N'wolc, nay, all Barnumiubales reproduce very rapidly, very quickly, with no effort at all! And the N'wolc are just dirty tortured versions of Clowns! You don't under-"
You make your decision.
[[Fall asleep.]]
[[Take yet another step forward.]]You step forward again, the power of the movement increasing with each and every breath you take. It's a moment that might forever divide the seemingly innoculous friendship between yourself and Waffles, but at the same time, there comes a momenti n every persons life when they have to face off against a force that completely outmatches their own personal strength. Today is that day, Waffles becomes increasingly frustrated with this next forward movement.
"Are you sure!? What if my worst fears come to light!? What if, for all your bravado, right here and now, that they betray us!? The tattoo is only ink! INK!" Waffles continues to rant, "That THING will only lead you to a form that you'll never recover from! do you know how long I've been witness to the destructive power of both the Institute and the N'wolc!? Do you!? For 25 years I've watched with a sickening feeling as those two had torn each other apart! And YOU would choose peace over their ultimate defeat!?"
You think on this for a second, wanting to simply take anotehr step forward, to peek out from the wings back onto the stage and reclaim your part in the spot light.
Though, you think to yourself, Waffles might have a point, the extinguishing of two lives to save millions more in the long run might be just the thing that needs to be done.
"If you take another step forward to save these last two evil fuckbags, I'll fight you everystep of the way, don't forget, We're bonded now at the molecular level thanks in part to the institute, and there wil be a time where I'll simply fall out of you, and I'll remember this moment, so which would you rather do?" They shout, the stage now becoming a blustering storm, with lightning crackling, howling maelstroms, thunder crashing and rain pelting the stage like B52's making bombing runs.
"Step forward one last time and break a potential alliance!?" They shout, walking towards you with meaning as the rain waters drip down their face, "Or step back, fall asleep, and let me take my vengeance on this fuckbags!?"
[[Step forward one last time.]]
[[Fall asleep.]] "Are you sure you want to do this?" Waffles ask's, their voice and tone far harsher than before. You nod, and step forward one last time, the action ceasing the rampaging storm within the mental theater, Waffles looks around the place, noting that the mental landscape that you've created has begun changing into a white hilly plain with yellow flowers going for as far as the eye can see. The ceiling changes into a greyish blue sky, only a few shades darker than the white hills. They turn to you, their features still stern.
Wafflesp laces a hand on your shoulder, and for just a split second, you want ot react defensively, but relax when a smile breaks on their face.
"Stepping forward to broker peace is no small thing. Especially when the two factions are the very two that have caused so much devestation for so very long.
"It will not be easy, there will be moments of distrust, moments where you will question the very nature of what you have gotten yourself into. The Institute will try to control your actions, and the N'wolc will try to invoke war.
"You've made the right choice." Waffles speaks with a calm, cool, demeanor, but at the same time, still one filled with fear.
There's an uncomfortable tension in the air, and suddenly, you're snapped out of the mental theater back to the reality of the situation.
You command the tattoo to change you back to your original human form, to which the Tattoo reluctantly does so, the process is quick and painful, but at least you're back to the same prowess you were when you first woke up.
The last Scientist from the Institute is raggid, his clothes torn, bandages cover his left eye, a forcefield like cast covers his left arm, a pair of exoskeleton legs cover his own.
The N'wolc breathes heavilly, with many wounds on its body, it bleeds a rainbow colored blod that seeps out likea thick syrup.
"So this is your true form!? A weak human flesh bag!?" The N'wolc roars weakly, trying to put up a ferocious front, but already nearing the end of its own strength."
"How droll... The Institute lost to... this barely capable idiot, but I suppose it may be better that we broker peace for the survivability of our causes. So much data to collect." The Scientist quips.
The Tattoo simply swears under its breath about the massive effort it took to get you to that form. You ignore it.
you've got questions for each, and now that you've got all the time in the world, they have no choice but to answer them.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]]
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]]You turn to the Scientist and think for a minute on what you want to ask them, there are plenty of questions, the primary being why they chose you, where you came from, and the other things as well, more importantly, what the initial purpose of the Institute itself, or why they suddenly decided to steal a bunch of Barnumiumbales for experimentation, or a number of other topics.
You take a breath and just say the first thing that comes tyo mind.
[["What the fuck is with this tattoo!?"]]
[[Why did you pick me out of everyone else?"]]
[["I can't remember a single thing from before the White Room."]]
[["What's the purpose of the Institute?"]]
[["How come you're experimenting on the Barnumiumbales?"]]
[["Tell me about yourself."]]You and the N'wolc look at eachother, and even though you're very interested about the creature, Waffles constant flow of cold emotion is enough to put you back a few steps. you remind Waffles about what it said, that building a lasting peace between the two factions wouldn't be easy, and that you'd have to go through some uneasy situations ot achieve it.
'Look, I know what I said,' Waffles begins, 'I have my own reasons to not like those Slifgras bliffgans!' The thoughts come out as something offensive, but you aren't quite sure what the hell a Sliffgras bliffgan is, or what it refers to.
Probably something very unpleasnat involving a number of things going into a number of places.
The N'wolc steps forward.
"Trevnash ye'narlye, mekruyiut?" They say cautiously as they extend a hand, looking into your eyes. Waffles send a shivering ocld emotion down your spine, as if it's a warning. You return it with a hot emotion flowing right back toward them.
[[Ask Waffles to translate the N'wolc langauge for you.]]
[[Do your best to mentally translate it based on its body language and demeanor.]]"Well, THAT I can answer." She begins, "That's not really a Tattoo," She explains, "What that is is a Type 3 of the Barnumiumbales, we haven't given it a name, because apparently, it just loves being called Tattoo."
at this, the Tattoo agrees, "She's not wrong, I do love the name!" You look down at your arm with a questioning look, as if you can't tell if you want to tear the skin that this thing's on in an attempt to escape it or not.
"The point being, it's a Symbiotic organism, so what it takes from you, it gives you back three fold."
[["What does it take away?"]]
[["Wait... What?"]]
[["What does it give back?"]]You get straight to the number one concern you've had for the past 300 years, and it is a very pressing one.
The Scientist looks at you as if they know nothing about you. They take a moment to pull out a small smartphone like device, press a few buttons which cause the device to expand many times over, till it's almost as tall as they are, and takes on an almost humanoid form.
The contruct looks as though it could break at any point with the slightest breeze, but knowing the toughness of the Institute itself, you suppose it could take a few hits if programmed with that kind of capability.
"This... will answer all of the questions you have related to the Institute." she coughs, at which point you repeat the question in a slightly loud tone of voice.
It sparks to life, its various bits and pieces jumbling to life, as though the start up sequence is a rather rough one. It's voice is like a synthetic speak and spell, but apparrently, it's rather large vocabulary and smooth speech pattern is enough to sway you.
It is also kind of an ass.
"What the FUCK do you want, human!?" It barks at you with little provocation.
You repeat the question, to which it simply replies, "Fucking processing." After a few minutes, it belches out an answer. "Ah, you. Experience haver 12." You seem a little insulted by the simplistic filing system it seems to have developed.
"You were picked, simply because it was random, convient, and no one really loves you much to really come looking after you. Actually, to be honest here? You a clone of that person, the four millionth clone. You don't even have a soul!"
You seem a little bit more than pissed at the assumption by this broken pile of cellphones that you don't have a soul.
"Now's not the time... Yet." The thattoo reminds you. "Ask it something else."
You try asking a different question, but the scientist corrects you, "Please," She begins, "Relay all questions through me."
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] you state it plainly enough for the Scientist to relay it clearly into the insulting pile of cell phones currently blankly glaring at you.
"No shit." It begins, "You're a Clone, not really the first. The first was actually a rebellious son of a bitch, really, they kept escaping, over and over and over and over again, making different choices then we anticipated for and eventually, we just had enough of it. So, really, one day, we simply fought it to a stand still, and we got what we wanted from it, granted, it was a fucking mess to deal with, but at the same time, we got their DNA. And really, that's all you need.
"So, we cloned it, put the needed changes in the DNA to make the Clones a bit more obedient, and plopped them, naked, into the White Room, and watched with near endless fascination as they died, and died again, and continued dying for a very long time." At this, the angry pile of broken cell phones, takes a breaking, "Processing, accessing further databases."
A moment of two passes before it starts talking again, during which, Waffles and the Tattoo have a pretty deep conversation about paradox theorem, alternate realities, and the infinitely distant possobility that this might all be a series of words on a screen. To which they pause for a moment, begin to worry just a little, and stare in the direction of the theoretical back of the screen that this might be percieved from.
They stare, mental goo clown, and unblinking eye in a little black square on some clones arm. They look directly into the core of the theoretical readers mind, and see whatever theoretical horrors and secrets they might be percieved to have. they then discusss the types of theortectical porn the afore mentioned reader might have witnessed. Clowns come up in discussion, and after a breif bit of screaming, they realize that it's simply a ridiculous line of thought, laugh it off and continue waiting for the angry pile of cell phones to continue it's explanation.
"Data aquisition complete. I have a series of files that will be downloaded to the Tattoo on your arm. You are free to examine them at anytime." the angry pile of cell phones dictates to you.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] The question is simple in execution, but to the angry pile of cell phones, it might as well been an invasion of privacy from how it reacted, it stares at you with all the vehemance of a particular useless pile of technology.
"fuck and you!" It screams, "YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT THE INSTITUTE IF IT FUCKED YOUR MOTHER WITH A RUSTY DATA PORT AND FLIPPED HER ON SWITCH!" There's a moment of silence as it considers the question again, and silently coughs. "Well, as for the question, the purpose of the Institute is to do things that no other scientist would even consider doing, let alone theorizing about the legalities of it."
The Scientist seems just a bit unnerved by the answer, her eyes grow wide with sepculation about the less legal things, to which the angry pile of cellphones turns to her and nods what might've appeared to be it's head.
"Yes, we've experimented with children, orphans really, that SpiderClown though... It just keeps biting their heads clean in half. I guess that's what you get for combining the worlds most effed up thing in nature with the one thing that represents death and sadness." The angry pile of cell phones continues.
"Anyways, The Institute was originally designed to contain things thaat would normally just be rather strange for other people to look at. Then some idiot in Finance started mucking about, threw a cup of koolaid on the gas bladder of a floating cow, and wrote the results down. Then... He got a bit more... Adventurous." The N'wolc, at this point, seems a bit more horrified.
"She fucked the cow. That's what I'm saying, unfortunately, floating cows tended to have giant serrated dick blades, and that went about as well as you could think it did." The angry pile of cell phones shrugs what amounts to be its shoulders and sighs, "After that, things got weird. People were trying to find new and inventive ways to jam their junk into, and or jam into their junk whatever it was they were supposed to be studying."
The Scientist nodded in approval. It's right then you finally know what they were trying to do to you in that White Room.
[["You were trying to get the Clowns to fuck me?"]]
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] The question comes out as more of a grunt than anything else, but she answers it just the same.
"The Barnumiumbales? those slug like things that inflate into clowns and god knows what else!?" She speaks and asks the question as though she's offended by the very notion.
"Yeah, us Barnumiumbales!" the tattoo practically screams at her.
"Oh, the Types 1, 2, and 3!" She begins, "Well, when the first Type 1 arrived here seventy five years ago, the people who worked for the Institute back then had no idea what exactly it was. So they contained it, experimented on it, discovering its many shape shifting abilities as well as the ability to adapt foreign DNA it comes across to numerous environments as well as develope a Symbiotic relationship with the host." She's silent for a moment.
'Our hive World Brain!?' Waffles exclaims inside the Mental Theater with rage, causing the makeshift seating toquake just a little bit.
[['Hive World... Brain?']]
[['Something or someone important?']]She seems off gaurd, as if not expecting the near obliterator of the entirety of the Institute to actually take an interest in a lone person.
"Myself? Well, what's there to know? I was born in Kansas, before the Vietnam War, studied abroad for colledge, with a special interest in genetics, metaphysiology, and a doctorate in abnormal forms of Symbiology. I have over thirty degrees in fields of biology, physiology, and a few minors in the fields of Biotechnology, nanomolecular bonding of organic and inorganic matter, as well as the founder of several book clubs!" she finishes, satisfied that finally, someone asked her about her rather than just about hte latest update to this project of that paper.
You thank the Scientist for the pleasant conversation, and turn your attention to the N'wolc standing to her left.
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]]
The angry pile of cell phones looks at you, and blinks twice.
"Yes. Those previous clones were fucked to death. sometimes... very violently, and even after the point of death, those damned things would still keep going. I mean, with how-"
"OKAY! That's enough of that, reset sequence Theta." The Scientist interrupts the angry pile of cellphones. "Sorry about that! Anything else you wanted to know about?"
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] She steps forward to take a look at the Type 3 currently on your arm, "Hmm... This one's quite young, so the effects might be a bit stronger. The previous version of you flipped out within the first ten minutes and tried ripping their arm off in panic. Anyways, the Type 3-"
"Tattoo." The tattoo interjects.
"Shut up. Grown ups are talking. The Type 3 usually just filters out any broken or dangerous looking DNA or RNA from your blood cells and reprograms the new versions to replace the older ones, from their, within its own complex biology, it changes the dangerous DNa and RNA into nutrients for itself." The Tattoo seems a bit happy with itself on that note. "Basically, I eat potentially cancerous, viral strands, bacterial infections, or otherwise horrifying crap in your blood stream, make you stronger, and the perfect host."
'They're a reverse vampire.' Waffles explains.
The sudden realization hits you like a ton of bricks, as does the ton of bricks falling from the crumbling rooftops. The damage is quickly absorbed, but at the same time, it still hurts like a bitch.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] "Basically, I make you stronger, and you feed me the shitty peices of of blood." the Tattoo explains in a rather simplistic and crude way.
you breathe a sigh of relief, but are still rather confused at the conotations that might imply.
'Trust me. You'd be better off not knowing.' Waffles Reassures.
[[Ask what a Type 1 is.]]
[[Ask what a Type 2 is.]]
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] "Why don't you ask me instead?" The tattoo asks directly. "Look, I get it, this stupid Institute bitch-"
"Hey! I'm not a bitch!" she protests.
"You work for the Institute?" the Tattoo replies in turn.
"Yes." She answers.
"Then, in my eyes, you're a fucking Institute bitch. Shut up and accept it." the Tattoo replies, returning their attention back on you. "As I was saying, the bitch has a lot of knowlege, but instead of rpelying on second hand knowledge, why don't you try asking the sources, and for your information, no- We are not any companies property... you asked me what I give back?"
you look at the tattoo on your arm and nod, still a bit unnerved by this whole thing.
"Well, I clean off the shitty parts of your blood, feed off of them, and shoot the little fuckers back into you with some special commands to give to every little cell they bop into, mainly the growth of specialized organs, nuerological pathways constructed a certain way to allow easier access to those organs,and a few otehr surprises. basically, it's fucking Christmas everyday, and while you're getting the new mansion, I'm getting the discounted pair of socks that smell of dead person feet." The explanation, both the complex version and the simplified, seem to satisfy the Scientist enough.
"Anyother questions?" She asks.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] She looks at you with a bit of bemusement before realizing that you have no idea what the fuck she's talking abvout. "Right, right, I keep forgetting that you don't know and are pretty new to this whole thing!"
'Rather, you are pretty adept to it, it's just that you're unfamiliar with the terminology.' Waffles comments from within the mental theater you've constructed to deal with the extra consciousnesses you're now carrying.
"A Type 1 is what's currently bonded to you, better known as a Clown, all three offshoot Types are related to the Barnumiumbales Kingdom, with the distinction between them-" Waffles momentarily takes control of your body, your skin paling just a little with a clown like red ring appearing around your lips. "I'll explain it to them later. I think we have more pressing matter to deal with." control is returned to you, and the feeling is akin to that of sliding into an old costume.
"Right..." She replies, not sure how else to answer, "May I just finish my thought? It relates to our new friends."
Waffles shares a wave of cold emotion, and you reassure them with a wave of warm emotion.
[[Accept.]]
[[Decline.]]
[[Ask what a Type 2 is.]]
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] You ask what a Type 2 is, pointing at the N'wolc, who seem to take it a warm greeting, so they point right back at you and the Scientist. The two of you look at each other in confusion.
"Right, Type 2's are what your Type 1 might refer to as... a... Little help here?" She asks the Tattoo.
"Gladly. The N'wolc." they reply, going back to sleep.
"Type 2's, better known as the N'wolc, are... a very interesting addition to the Institutes various personel... Though, as of late, they seem to have merely broken away from their rightful owner-" the N'wolc rapidly extends a long blade like finger which rests gently across the Scientists throat, as if daring they continue with that line of thought.
She looks insulted, as if a pet has just tried to bite her.
You get the feeling that letting this woman get her just deserts would be the greatest thing ever, and the N'wolc looking at you, just begging for any sign of acceptance seems to lead in that direction.
However, you remember Waffles words in the mental theater, that peace isn't easy to negotiate.
[[Let the N'wolc finish her.]]
[[Demand the N'wolc calm down.]]
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]] You nod, wondering why you suddenly can't speak for yourself.
'It's just a sideeffect of the bonding process between me, the tattoo and yourself. Unfortunately, the Human brain only has so much space on it. And while you DO have the ability to talk, I'm usually the one vocalizing the words.' Waffles finishes, leaving you to wonder what else was forgotten in the process.
"Go on," you urge the Scientist.
She takes a breath, "As I was saying, your friends, they're not even from this Universe, they're from a species so ancient, that the light from the heat death of their universe has long since reached out own.
"The Institute has a variety of ongoing projects, and we've done some decent work into the fields of Alternate, Pocket, and traverse the different dimensions, which is pretty cool.
"My personal favorite is the Rainbow Unicorn Dimension, they have the biggest-"
"Dear fucking god woman! Save it for your Tumblr!" The Tattoo shouts out. The N'wolc backs away, unsure of why she would ever say the word Unicorn in its presence.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]]
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]] You start to speak, but Waffles stop you mid answer.
"I'm taking over for this one." they say in your voice. You feel a pulling sensation as your mind is forced to take a back seat with the Clown does its thing.
"No. I have plenty of experience with Type 1 of the Barnumiumbales." They say, making it pretty clear to her that whatever information she could've provided would been far inferior that first hand experience.
"O...kay." The Scientist mutters under her breath.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]]
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]] To be continued in Chapter 3: Three Ring circusYou step in front of the N'wolc and stare it in its freaky as hell eyes.
"Skrun." Is the only thing it mubles underneath its breath as the Scientist looks at the twisted creature with a smile. "Humans for humans." She snidely grunts at the creature.
'What a bitch.' Waffles mutters under their breath.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] the Clown stares at you, now sitting in the third row of seats from the front of the stage.
'Yeah, think of it like our internet, only instead of being disconnected and self absorbed, we're literally mentally connected to each other. We regard it as a holy relic, a vital piece of our innate Symbiology with each other. And the Institute just screws around with it like it's an ordinary garden variety insect!?' Waffles stomps around the stage, the spotlight following them around for a while as they continue explaining the historical importance to all sects of the Barnumiumbales.
It's a several mental hour process, though in real time, the information is transferred in seconds.
The Scientists looks at you with some confusion, the N'wolc knows excatly what's going on, and does nothing to alleviateher concern.
"Are... Are they going to be alright?" she asks the N'wold, who simply gives her the N'wolc equivilant of the middle finger. She shakes its hand mistaking it for a greeting. "It's nice to meet you as well!"
You come to and explain the importance of that first Type 1 to her, as the explanation continues, her normally bored expression seemingly becomes more and more concerned, as if she had suddenly realized what hte Institute had been inadvertently doing all this time.
"I'm so sorry!" She apologizes to the N'wolc, who gives her the Human equiviliant of the middle finger. This she understands, returning the gesture. The N'wolc shakes her hand, thinking it as a N'wolcian greeting.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] Waffles simply gives you a flood of warmish feeling down your spine.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]] 'Do I have to!?' They complain.
[[Enforce your will.]]you try for several minutes to try and translate what the N'wolc is saying, but your mind isn't fully equipped to handle the strange alien sounds.
Wafflesis currently laughing their ass off at the folly of you trying to under stand what is being said, and has a little fun of their own.
"Naheabi ma'lolipot."
You've had enough of this.
You command Waffles ot help you translate what the N'wolc is saying, and after some initial resistance, there's more resistance ot be had beneath that.
[[Enforce your will.]] Waffles resists the command to translate what the N'wolc is saying, but you enforce your will and make it happen. Slowly, very slowly, the strange dialect of the N'wolc becomes as english, and you are finally able to ask it any questions that you've had about them for a while.
[["What is your name?"]]
[["How did you come to be this angry?"]]
[["Are you the last member of the N'wolc?"]]
[["You really just want to kill this person, don't you?"]]
[[Give the N'wolc a hug.]]
[[move the meeting to a safer location.]]"my... Name?" The N'wolc replies, holding a hand up to its chin.
'Yes, your name, the title you were given by the All-Ringmaster when you first slithered out of the ground and basked in the triumphant lights of the Spotlife.' Waffles says through you.
"My title is Niurngoir O'Iwat. As far as I am aware, I am alone on this world... Though I sense a few remnants of my people nearby." At this the N'wolc remains silent, prompting you to consult Waffles.
'what? We're a fairly blunt species. Ask them something else.' The Clown replies, indifferent to the matters at hand.
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]] The N'wolc looks at you like you're stupid.
"They think you're stupid." The tattoo mutters under its breath.
'It thinks you're stupid.' Waffles whispers in your mind, continuing to practice its juggling routine.
though, none of them really take the time to actually explain why it is they think you're stupid, it becomes readily apparrent when the N'wolc glares at the Scientist, presumably wanting to rip her face off and shove it up the exit ports of every Institute staffers imagineable.
"Ah." you say, "I remember now, the whole... Enslavement, torture, experimentation, and a few years of pent up agression will do that to any person.
there's an awkward silence between the three of you as the length and brutality of the battle between you, the N'wolcians, and the Institute have caused a serious amount of damage to nearly every building on the planet. Skyscrapers begin to topple over, creating a serious, yet debateable, need to get to safer ground.
Before you can act, the N'wolc lunges at the poor woman, and again, time slows down.
'Come on, you idiot, save her or we're all screwed in the long run!' Waffles encourages, but from what you remember of the institure and of the White Room, is she really worth saving?
'Also, you know, decimated the human population, and a need to reproduce, so there's THAT aspect. Also, just what the flying fuck are you? Male, female? leftover tin foil hat!? So many damned hormones, it's hard to tell what's what!'
[[Save the Scientist.]]
[[Let the N'wolc kill her.]]
[[move the meeting to a safer location.]]
[[Look around for a tempory shelter.]] You ask the question with calm and understanding. The N'wolc glares at the Scientist who merely shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head nervously, asif not wanting to talk about it.
with a little pressure, she cracks. "We basically created the Holocaust 5.0 in testing the various levels of regnerative and survival abilities of the N'wolc. We became the Hitler of Science." when she finishes giving the short explanation, you begin to see why the Barniumbales want her dead. The n'wolc, seizing the moment, begins to leap towards her, rainbow colored rapper fangs bared, ready to rip her throat out.
Waffles pulls you back inside the Mental theater, 'Stop this right now. Or if that thing kills her, our chance at restoring a normal functioning society will be lost, and yeajh, while I agree that any variation of hitler is a horrible thing, that woman holds the mental key code to get us into the Institute.' Waffles shunts you back into the present, time seems to be frozen while you ponder your choice.
[[Save the Scientist.]]
[[Let the N'wolc kill her.]]
[[Call an Uber.]]"Dear Ringmaster yes. Let me end this idiots life!?" The N'wolc shouts and in its own way, celebrates the madness.
you consult Waffles, but the Tattoo intertupts. "It's your choice, but need I remind you that the Institute, what's... left of it, has all the technology and research data you need to get this place back on track. Still, I guess we'll be able to just swipe her key card, or something." The Tattoo responds, "Plus, there's also a chance I might be able to possess her corpse, so... There's no risk at all, except the legions... upon legions... upon legions of Automated Institute Robot Forces. The Airf, for short."
The prospect of getting rid of the tattoo is too good to pass up.
But, at the same time, another human to talk to wouldn't be so bad.
You ask if its possible to transfer the tattoo to another person.
"Yes. Just punch me, as hard as you can." She states outright.
[[Punch her in the face.]]
[[Punch her in the throat.]]
[[Punch her in the boob.]]You attempt to give the N'wolc a hug, but find out that through the power of both video game logic and unsensored tribalism, the N'wolc see the act of hugging as an act of cultural genocide. Waffles explains this much, and commands your body to give it a hug anyways, enraging the N'wolc beyond all comprehension.
You step back unable to do much as the creature swells to an enlarge proportion and enacts every kind of dark net based horror you both can and can't imagine.
After two weeks of this, the N'wolc, in an act of mercy and understanding, hugs you back, to which you proceed to scream in terror for at least four hours. During which, the last starbucks still open anywhere within ten feet declares it pumpkin spice season, and you begin screaming for another ten hours, albeit, for an entirely different reason.
By the time your done screaming, Waffles, the Scientist, and the N'wolc have all decided to spring for some duct tape to shut you the hell up.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]]
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]] Double-click this passage to edit it.You rear back, with the combined force of Waffles, the Tattoo, and your own strength, you impact your fist right in her forehead. The Scientists head snaps backward, she screams in pain, because you just fucking punched her in the head. At the same time, from the point of contact the tattoo slides from your fist, to her face, down her neck and spreads across her entire body. From there, the tattoo breaks every bone in her body, then fixes it, and finally reinforces it. She screams in pain, in glorious, glorious pain, and at some points it seems like she's outright orgasming from the experience of bonding with the Tattoo.
"It- it feels so FUCKING GOOD!" She moans outright, making you wonder just what hte hell you missed out on when they first brought you to the White Room.
"Yeah, fuck me silly and call me a bar napkin shetch!" the Tattoo says outright as it snaps her neck, twisting her head 1280 degrees untill the skin, muscle, tendons, and sinew ripp straight off. The lines connecting the tattoo act as stitching, expanding, tying and holding together the hundreds of thousands of cellular connections that were keeping the scientist alive.
you stand there, mouth agape, trying to make sense of just what the hell just happened.
"Relax!" the Scientist states, waving you to come closer. "The Institute studied the effects, benefits, and problem areas of the Tattoo before applying it to you. Well, it liked you. the others had their distended anuses shoved down their throats and forced into a constant cycle of shitting in their own mouths, choking to death, and shitting into their own throats after the fact. Poor... Poor Bob from accounting."
The tattoo confirmed this. "It's all good!"
'that's all very well and good, but we really need to find a shelter to make sure this peace continues onwards.' Waffles states plainly while juggling a couple of live chickens on the mental stage you've prepared.
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]]
[[Look around for a tempory shelter.]]
[[Call an Uber.]]
You hesitate, you'd rather not punch her, but Waffles doesn't give you much choice in the matter, taking over your body once again, you feel and enormous amount of tension build up in your right arm, and a massive increase in agression, as if you wish to do as much harm to the Scientist as possible.
The arm releases, screaming forth, as if trying to break the sound barrier itself. You can see the slight amount of horror in the scientists eyes as she realizes you're not aiming for her face, in which her skull can take the brunt of the force.
You're aiming for her throat.
But it's far too late, the fist connects, the force of the blow launching the almost insanely complex looking tattoo off your arm, like an arror towards the sun, and you watch with a mixture of exciting and a strangfe snese of arousel as the symbiotic Barniumumbales Clown slams black square first into her throat. Collapsing the esophagus, piercing the skin with a great amount of ease, and ripping out theother side of her neck, as if you just launched a spear at her from a pressure wassure with five hundred thousand pounds of pressure per square inch.
Her body flops to the floor, her hands desperately grasping and scratching at the enormous gash that now bleeds as if it were a fire hydrant.
Slowly, but surely, you witness the tattoo bond with her, healing her wounds, although taking enourmous pleasure in exacting a horrifying about of bodily harm all over every square milimeter of her form.
you witness millions of tears in the skin begin to bleed little lines of red underneath herbra and blouse.
those soon heal up, and she's as right as rain, giving you some exotic and hilarious ideas at repeatedly dispatching her, should the Scientist ever try and betray the trust you've put into her.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]]
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]] You squint your eyes at her, trying to wonder if she said what she said as a joke, or if she actually and genuinely wanted you to punch her in the breast. you pause for a second, focusing inwards for half a second before realizing that whatever damage you inflict on her, the tattoo might as well heal up as a form of survival after the bonding process. With a shrug, you wind up, and let loose the most awkward punch you've ever thrown at someone. The fist connects with a bit of a bloop sound to it as the breasts fatty tissue absorbs the blow. The tattoo shooting off your arm and enters her blood stream straight through the milk ducts in the nipple and areola, she moans, either in pain or pleasure, and at this point, your mind's on simply hoping this doesn't cause any lasting damage to her body.
You watch with a grand fascination as the tattoo spreads from her right nipple outwards, covering almost every portion in a display of magnificent violence and almost beautiful, if nauseating bewilderment.
Five minutes later, she calms herselve, the power of the tatoo completely under her control.
[[Ask the Scientist about the Institute.]]
[[Ask the N'wolc about the Barnumiubales]] To be continued in Chapter 3: Three Ring circusFor some reason, Uber still exists. But instead of calling for one, you just whistle, because of the "Good Doggy" laws enforced by the ruling classes of 5692, after the great Pringles Chip wars, and just before the Ham Bone spoon fight of 5699, all humans were banned from Ubering, and all dogs had to be trained to drive. Chihuahua's kept getting distracted, so their premiums went straight to hell, also, Squirrel deaths in every country went WAY up as a result.
A golden retriever, the bestest drivers Uber had, pulls up in a prius, which made you question the effectfullness of Uber, or their choice of car.
At any rate, you call and Uber, get in, and drive away, knowing there could never be peace between a N'wolc and a Scientist, as proven by the sight of a massive gyser of blood spewing from the now headless corpse of the Scientist. Waffles makes you [[Fall asleep.]] To be continued in Chapter 3: Three Ring circusTo be continued in Chapter 3: Three Ring circus