The End of the Dream

Chapter 9

Fresh morning, fresh start. That was what you resolved when you woke.

You were tired of everything being so stressful and overwhelmingly complicated. That was all you'd known, non-stop, since you had come to in this form; it was the only life you had any memory of at this point. And for that to be your entire experience of existence—it kind of sucked.

You needed a chance to just sit and be still, take the time to figure yourself out. Who you were, who you wanted to be. Maybe it would help you find some footing in this crazy world you'd been swept into. Maybe you'd try to figure out what you wanted to be called, in lieu of a real name—introductions were starting to get a little awkward.

Fresh clothes, too.

You'd forgotten to even make mention of it, what with everything else you'd had to discuss. But a thoughtful note had been slid beneath your door nonetheless, with bubbly writing proclaiming, "Thought you could use something new to wear! :)" Placed right in front of the door, so that you'd trip over them as soon as you opened it, was a pile of multiple different clothing options.

The back of the note read, "P.S. Come down to the wardrobe department later to pick out something more fun."

Wilford, no doubt. That was something else that had come up at dinner last night—you'd asked what anyone even did, existing only within a pocket dimension.

Your first assumption had been that they stayed here permanently, which Wilford gently corrected. Some egos lived mostly in their own universes still, the more powerful ones visited others. Some came, stayed, then went, and no one was quite sure when or how. Keeping track of who was in residence at any one time was something of an impossible task.

But, for those who remained on a more permanent basis—be it by choice, or that they were refugees from universes that no longer existed—there was Markiplier TV.

The television channel was Wilford's brainchild, and he served as the showrunner. Dark had been granted equal rights to it, but preferred to remain hands-off, primarily managing the finances and paperwork behind the scenes.

Truth be told, Dark had confessed to you, the show hadn't worked out for his original intention—to take back control from Mark. But it made Wilford happy, and gave many of the others a creative outlet and occupation. It made this existence of theirs more bearable. There would be no benefit to pulling the plug.

("Why would you name it after the very guy you hate and were trying to usurp with it?"

Dark had tilted his head, as though bemused you even had to ask. "It was a front," he said simply.)

The variety of content, from what you gathered, was quite impressive. They produced their own sitcoms and dramas, gameshows, documentaries, biopics, daytime talk shows, short films, advertising, and whatever else they could dream up. Jim News was, of course, the staple news program. That explained a lot.

Wilford had vigorously extended the invitation for you to come onto the show for an interview, but you declined on the grounds you only had two days' worth of memories to speak of. You wouldn't have a lot to say.

Even so, it sounded intriguing. Exciting. You'd gladly hang around behind the scenes and help where you could, even if you'd rather not be on camera at this point.

And, it now seemed, to take the opportunity to raid their wardrobe department and see if you could find a style that spoke to you more than plain dress shirts and trousers. Relatively plain. At least the options you'd received this time included a bit of colour, if you so desired.

Maybe you kept being given them because that was what you had often worn before, and those who had known you in some capacity still carried that image in their mind. But maybe there would be something else better suited for you now—you weren't that person anymore, that much had been made clear.