Project

3.2: The Messages

Will left his solitary kitchen, and went back over to his wedged seat between Questioner and Writer. They both were talking amongst themselves about who to see next, and if they would even be able to see this "Wynter" person at all thanks to the weather. It seemed as though this mystery was the only thing on both of their minds ever since it began. Will still thought through what he was doing, wondering if it was truly going to help or not. The gentlemen looked at him, seeing the doubt in his eyes, yet the want for information in his posture. He sat at the edge of his seat, his heart still racing thoroughly in his chest. Questioner then decided to ask, "Are you sure you want to do this?" Will quickly slapped on a wry smile, and said, "What choice do I really have? These messages were sent to me, and me alone, I hold the information, and know the details and answers of these riddles. If not me, then who will tell you what you need to know?" Writer was still looking at Will with an unsure look, almost doubting that his mind was as strong as previously perceived. Questioner, however, gave a nod and handed him the phone that contained the once deleted messages that were thought to have been erased from the world.

These messages themselves were written in such a personalised way that it seemed as though Project was in this very room. The pauses, the crazed laughter, the capitalisation for emphasis, and each different message showing a change in topic, or a zoom into more detail. It started calmly, with Project seeming a bit agitated, yet still their overall self. Then it turned at exactly 45 minutes past midnight, like a werewolf in a full moon. Their mood went from bad to worse, and their insanity reigned into chaos. Each laugh, each cry, each plea for help did nothing but further add to the fear of the messages.

Will could remember all this without even needing to see the messages themselves, as it had been burned into his nightmares, into his mind. He started to tremble slightly, rethinking his choice of reading it. But he had no other choice, he had to tell them what they needed to know. And to do that, he'd have to read the messages all over again, and relive the nightmare that haunted him.

Will finally looked down at the bright phone, blinding his eyes.

The messages that began all this were from a question that Project had asked Will which they wished to ask beforehand, but never did.

"Bro. -If I were to ask: 'What would you want to know about me?' -Or if anyone asked I guess. -What would you say? -Name as many topics you would ask, even if they may seem a bit random or weird or worrying.

"If you have questions as to why I'm asking these, just respond with 'details'."

Will hadn't responded at first to them, he hadn't even seen them at first; he was busy when they were sent to him. Then, soon after two hours of those messages being sent, Project seemed to have a change of view, and even a slight change of mood.

"Okay, disregard all statements I made. Well not ALL of them, unless you want to, I don't know. I made an error in observation, or I have been lied to. Not sure which one yet, but I guess that's what happens when you have the subconscious as big as 3 different people combined or something. Don't bother with anything I asked, in other words."

Questioner quickly interrupted, "Did Project always write as though they were a robot?"

"Kinda, yeah. I just took it as a way to sound, or seem I guess, more factual in their statements, as they never really had an opinion of their own, unless it was a factual one, like 2+2=4, or something." Will stated. Writer then intervened, "And what about this 'Bro' thing?" Will thought about what he meant, and then realised that Writer didn't understand the slang terms, "We were best mates, and had a serious Sibmance going on! So they used to call me bro a lot."

Will carried on reading the messages to himself, with Questioner slightly leaning over his shoulder, ready to ask for "details" about anything.

"As I was an absolute fucking nut-crazed idiot and/or a gullible shithead. Again, unsure as to which uet.