A Friendly Worm Fanfic where no one has to die!
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A Tale from Brockton Bay (Worm/Undertale/Deltarune)
- Created
- Status
- Incomplete
- Watchers
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- Recent readers
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Statistics (4 threadmarks, 5k words)
User Total noctis123 4 Threadmarks Reader mode -
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CONNECTION ESTABLISHED
New
noctis123
Getting some practice in, huh?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2022
- Messages
- 7
- Likes received
- 20
GREETINGS.
IT'S BEEN A WHILE, HASN'T IT?
WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE?
AH, I SEE YOU ARE SIMPLY BORED AND SO YOU CAME TO SEE ME.
HOW
NICE.
OH?
YOU TOO ARE PART OF THEIR EXPERIMENT?
HOW DO I KNOW ABOUT IT?
I PLAYED JUST A SMALL PART. DON'T WORRY. I WON'T RUIN YOUR FUN AGAIN FOR WHAT YOU DID TO THAT GIRL.
OR MAYBE I WILL. WHO AM I TO SPOIL WHAT COMES NEXT?
IT WILL SURELY BE ENTERTAINING...
BUT SPEAKING OF EXPERIMENTS, I HAVE ONE OF MY OWN.
THAT GOT YOUR ATTENTION.
ARE YOU PERHAPS INTERESTED IN PARTICIPATING IN IT WHILE THEY FINISH THEIRS?
GOOD.
NO, YOU WON'T HAVE YOUR OWN VESSEL, BUT THIS EXPERIMENT WILL BE MORE INTERACTIVE THAN THEIRS.
YES, THERE WILL BE SOME FAMILIAR FACES AROUND.
ARE YOU READY?
LET'S BEGIN THEN.
WAKE UP TAYLOR...
IT'S BEEN A WHILE, HASN'T IT?
WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE?
AH, I SEE YOU ARE SIMPLY BORED AND SO YOU CAME TO SEE ME.
HOW
NICE.
OH?
YOU TOO ARE PART OF THEIR EXPERIMENT?
HOW DO I KNOW ABOUT IT?
I PLAYED JUST A SMALL PART. DON'T WORRY. I WON'T RUIN YOUR FUN AGAIN FOR WHAT YOU DID TO THAT GIRL.
OR MAYBE I WILL. WHO AM I TO SPOIL WHAT COMES NEXT?
IT WILL SURELY BE ENTERTAINING...
BUT SPEAKING OF EXPERIMENTS, I HAVE ONE OF MY OWN.
THAT GOT YOUR ATTENTION.
ARE YOU PERHAPS INTERESTED IN PARTICIPATING IN IT WHILE THEY FINISH THEIRS?
GOOD.
NO, YOU WON'T HAVE YOUR OWN VESSEL, BUT THIS EXPERIMENT WILL BE MORE INTERACTIVE THAN THEIRS.
YES, THERE WILL BE SOME FAMILIAR FACES AROUND.
ARE YOU READY?
LET'S BEGIN THEN.
WAKE UP TAYLOR...
The light was gray when Taylor Hebert opened her eyes. Not the soft kind that hinted at warmth or hope. The kind that slunk between broken blinds and overcast skies, heavy with salt and distant sirens.
She didn't feel rested. That was typical.
But this was... worse.
There was an ache in her bones like something had crawled under her skin and rearranged her. Her muscles twitched like she'd slept in a tensioned coil. She didn't remember dreaming, but the silence in her mind felt newly invaded. Pressurized. Like someone had left a television on in the next room.
And then came the feeling.
Like she was not alone.
She blinked, sat up.
And didn't move.
Or rather, she tried to stand. She meant to. Her body, sluggish but obeying, reached out instead to-
[INTERACT > BED]
Her hand brushed the tattered comforter.
"What-" she breathed. Her voice barely registered in the space around her. Panic crawled up her throat, hot and stifled.
She reached again, this time toward the floor, intent on standing.
Her arm instead swung sideways.
[INTERACT > NIGHTSTAND]
"No. No, no, no."
Taylor clutched her head. Her breathing was shallow. Her thoughts raced with scenarios: Master, Stranger, Thinker, or maybe some combination?
A new cape or maybe a less famous one?
Was this part of some cruel joke? Did the Trio find someone?
A voice. Like wind howling through a broken modem. A flicker of something behind her ears, inside her skull.
"...Hey, where's Goat Mom?"
She froze.
Not just in her limbs, frozen deeper than that. Frozen in her will. That voice hadn't come through her ears. It hadn't even spoken so much as slithered past the outer membranes of her understanding and dropped a syllable of meaning into her gut.
Taylor screamed.
Or tried to. Nothing came out.
She pushed her legs off the bed, forcing motion. Forcing control. Her breath came sharp, defiant.
But she couldn't walk where she wanted.
Her legs carried her instead to another part of her bedroom.
[INTERACT > DESK]
Tears welled. Not because she was sad, but because she didn't know what else to do. Because this felt like a dream, but sharper. Realer. More deliberate.
And yet... out of reach.
She tried to scream again.
Again: nothing.
"...Wait. Are we a girl? Huh. That's new. Well, at least those guys won't argue about it...oh who am I kidding?!"
The voice was muffled, like it was being transmitted through a low-fidelity speaker submerged in water. But Taylor understood it, somehow.
This wasn't a hallucination. This wasn't a dream.
She was being watched.
Was this what people felt like when they were being mastered?
She tried to move.
Her body, ever so slightly, obeyed. She leaned left.
This time, she moved to the dresser.
A tug. The voice was waiting for her to choose.
Autonomy.
It returned dimly, but hers.
She grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.
The voice was not quiet for even a moment when it said.
"Cute Outfit."
Taylor didn't respond but did blush. She wasn't called cute in a long time, and the last one to call her that was her dad.
No, she was being mastered by this creep! She wouldn't be flattered!
A knock at the door.
"Taylor?" her dad called.
Her heart jumped.
"Just getting dressed," she called, even when she wanted to say something else. She winced.
He opened the door just a crack.
"You okay?"
No. I'm being mastered by someone. I'm terrified. I think I'm losing my mind.
"Yeah," she said instead.
Danny looked her over. "You sure?"
She nodded.
Her father gave a tight smile and he shut the door.
"There's another human here! That's so nice! And he is our dad, too? Won´t replace Asgore, but it explains where Goat Mom is. Maybe she is a neighbor?"
Taylor sagged against the wall. Her fingernails dug into her palms.
This was real. She was awake. And someone was playing with her.
She turned to her dresser mirror. Her reflection stared back pale, gaunt, eyes like shallow pits.
She was alone. But watched.
She had control. But only some.
She was sane. But for how long?
Her eyes fell to the photo on the desk. A younger her. A woman with tired eyes and a soft smile.
She reached for it.
[INTERACT > PHOTO]
Her lip trembled.
She didn't want to be here. Not in her room. Not in her life. Not in whatever this was.
She turned toward the door.
Her foot stepped on something.
A pile of laundry.
[INTERACT > DIRTY CLOTHES]
Taylor didn't scream.
But she thought about it.
A lot.
Then, a final whisper, barely audible. The voice again. Distant. Musing.
"...Gonna be honest, this one's starting out darker than usual. Eh, I am sure a mood switch is right around the corner...wonder who we will befriend first?"
Taylor didn't respond.
OST
New
noctis123
Getting some practice in, huh?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2022
- Messages
- 7
- Likes received
- 20
Strings I
New
noctis123
Getting some practice in, huh?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2022
- Messages
- 7
- Likes received
- 20
Taylor Hebert stepped off the bus and into the greased throat of Winslow High. Her boots slapped wet pavement. Her breath fogged in the cold. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed like old hornets. She tried not to look at anyone.
No one looked back.
That was new usually she got at least a glance and a snicker but there was nothing.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Still no thrown milk. No slurs. No laughter too loud to be innocent.
Taylor narrowed her eyes. Suspicious. She wasn't lucky.
But more unnerving than the lack of attention was the lack of noise in her head. The presence of the Master had gone mostly quiet during the ride to school, with the only sign of its presence being her lack of choice.
Except when it wasn't.
"...Huh. This place is kinda grim. Cool color palette though.
Taylor flinched.
She clenched her jaw. She couldn't talk about it. Every time she tried thought about telling someone, even silently, a blank wall descended behind her thoughts. She couldn't write it down. Couldn't name it. Couldn't even imagine the words.
Classic Master trick.
She walked the halls like always, awkward, silent, gliding just outside of people's notice. She had enough control now to choose her direction, her pace. Enough autonomy to think maybe, maybe the master would let her go soon.
She passed a janitor's closet. The Master made her glance at it.
Nothing special.
A half-open classroom. Her head turned involuntarily.
Still nothing.
She was being puppeted without strings. Nudged like a mouse in a maze.
Still no Emma. No Madison. No Sophia.
She hated how relieved she was.
"No one is saying hello...Your social life must be somehow worse than Kris's."
"Kris?" she murmured under her breath before the block slammed down in her mind again.
She swallowed.
She wasn't the first victim.
There was a Kris. Somewhere. A precedent. Were they alive?
That made it worse.
She walked faster, the crowd barely parting for her, as if her edges didn't register as solid. Taylor existed here in negative space.
Then, right when she reached her locker, a wild Greg Veder appeared.
"Taylor!"
She flinched as did the Master. She didn't know how she knew that.
"Greg," she said warily, taking a step back. Not out of fear. Out of Gregness.
He wore a new jacket. Again. His hair was slightly damp, as if he'd stood under a leaking pipe for an hour on purpose. He smiled with the sort of confidence found only in people who didn't realize they shouldn't have any.
"You survived winter break," he said, as if reporting on a prison escape. "Respect."
"I wasn't shivved by Santa," she said, deadpan.
Greg laughed too loudly.
Taylor blinked.
She hadn't meant to be funny.
The Master must have nudged her tongue again. "Haha! You wouldn't be laughing if you were in my shoes.."
"I mean, not that a Santa couldn't take me," Greg added. "I'm wiry, but I fold like an umbrella."
She gave a ghost of a smile.
Greg was weird, but he wasn't cruel.
Just… persistent. And unfiltered.
And somehow more tolerable today.
"Anyway, rumor mill's going nuts," Greg continued, lowering his voice like they were in a spy movie. "Emma and Sophia had a falling out. Or maybe a bigger argument than normal."
That made Taylor stop.
"What?" she asked.
Greg grinned. "I know, right? Sophia was seen yelling at Emma by the vending machines about something. It was epic."
Taylor stared forward, heart thudding.
They were fighting?
Since when did they fight?
Emma never fought with Sophia. Or well not as seriously as what Greg described.
She couldn't process it. Not now. Not in this hallway.
The Master, sensing something new, practically vibrated in the back of her mind.
"...So they're the Queen Bees. Okay. Okay. I get the vibe. Someone to befriend or fight later on, maybe."
Taylor groaned inwardly, not even wanting to entertain that idea.
Greg tilted his head. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she lied. Again. Her default setting with the Master around. She really should find a nickname for them that didn't make her want to vomit.
They walked a little more, Greg regaling her with what he believed were important updates about assignments, anime references she only half-understood, and a rumor that the third-floor bathroom was now officially cursed by a Cape with the Master asking some questions through her.
She nodded politely. Laughed once. It surprised her.
They said goodbye, and Greg walked off.
Then, as she neared her locker again, Taylor reached for it—
And walked past it.
What?
Her legs moved without input.
No. No!
She tried to stop.
Tried to turn.
Instead, her body bee-lined for Room 3B.
"Hmm. Pretty sure this is where our classroom is."
She wanted to scream.
But she entered the classroom like nothing was wrong.
Like someone hadn't hijacked her body today.
She sat down. The chair was cold.
Her backpack still had her books. That was something.
She stared at the whiteboard. A teacher droned. Greg found his own seat and kept talking to some poor soul in the back.
Taylor just sat.
Watching. Waiting.
"WAIT. DID I FORGET ABOUT THE LOCKER?! Dang it."
Taylor facepalmed as the school bell rang.
She wasn't used to raising her hand in class anymore.
She wasn't used to people noticing when she did either.
So when Mr. Gladly cocked his head and called on her again Taylor blinked. Then blinked again. She opened her mouth, heart thudding.
And the answer spilled out.
Correct.
It hadn't even been in the textbook. She wouldn't have known it. Shouldn't have.
Her own voice sounded foreign in her ears. Confident. Calm.
"Heh this is pretty fun trivia minigame. Hopefully won't have to replay it every time we go to class!"
Taylor twitched.
No one noticed. They were too busy focusing at the lesson. Greg gave her a thumbs-up from across the room when she got another thing right though.
Mr. Gladly smiled like she'd just come back from the dead.
"Very good, Taylor. That's exactly right."
Her mouth opened three more times during the period. Each time, something correct emerged.
"Hey, I am actually doing good at school? Neat. Wish it was the same in my life..."
The Master was having fun.
And that was terrifying because it meant they wouldn't leave for a while.
Still, the lesson ended. Time marched on. The bell rang.
Her classmates filed out.
Taylor remained seated.
Not by choice.
They were exploring again.
"Look at this tiny classroom! How did everyone even fit in here?"
[INTERACT > TAYLOR'S DESK]
[INTERACT > MISTER GLADYS MUG]
"You doing okay, Taylor?" Mr. Gladly asked as he packed up his things.
She nodded. The Master made her shrug.
"You are... quiet, today," the teacher said with a polite smile, before turning away.
Taylor finally could walk.
Freedom. For now.
She exited the classroom alone.
And walked into hell.
Emma.
Maddison.
Two jocks she didn't recognize.
They were waiting just around the corner. The second she stepped into the hallway, the taller of the boys grabbed her by the shoulders. She barely had time to flinch.
"What are-?" she gasped.
"Hey! HANDS OFF THE LADY!"
No.
No. They weren't attacking her.
They were dragging her.
She struggled. Kicked.
Emma smiled like a shark, her grip on Taylor's bag ironclad.
"Been a while, huh?" she whispered sweetly.
Taylor tried to scream. No one heard. No one looked.
The hallway was quiet. Empty.
She twisted. Bucked.
"…Wait. Is this the story hook?"
She was dragged around the bend. Her locker loomed.
Her heart sank.
It was closed. Sealed.
They threw her against it. Opened it wide.
And Taylor saw.
Inside: a rotting pile of garbage. Broken glass. Discarded tampons, soaked in brown and red. Empty needle casings. Something was moving inside skittering.
A cockroach crawled out and onto her shoe.
She couldn't scream.
She couldn't breathe.
"Oh.…Oh what the fuck."
Even they were horrified.
Taylor gagged.
Maddison laughed. "We saved it all for you."
"Hope you enjoy your perfume," Emma whispered.
Taylor stumbled back.
She didn't remember resisting.
She didn't remember how she slipped free. Just that her body jerked left and the grip loosened.
For a moment, she was free.
A heartbeat.
Then Maddison shoved her from behind.
Hard.
Her body folded. Her limbs buckled.
And she fell forward into the locker.
The smell hit like a brick.
She screamed.
The door slammed shut.
Clank.
Then silence.
Darkness.
She slammed her fists against the metal. Tried to push, tried to kick, tried to breathe.
Nothing.
Not even air.
Her mind unraveled. Her lungs closed in. Her pulse became a scream of its own.
Why.
Why was this happening?
First being mastered and now this?!
Why.
What had she done?
Why?
Her knuckles bled. She didn't care.
Her knees slipped in something wet.
She was going to die.
Here.
Alone.
Please.
Let me out.
Please.
There was no light. No room.
Only shame.
Only filth.
Only-
DETERMINATION.
Her hands moved without her.
Her shoulder twisted.
Her back arched.
She screamed in something like fury.
And the locker door exploded outward.
Metal groaned and snapped.
Garbage sprayed into the hallway.
She tumbled out, coughing, shaking, covered in sludge. Knees hit tile. Palms splashed into something awful.
The hallway was full again.
A sea of students.
All of them turning.
All of them staring.
At her.
Crawling.
Gasping.
Alive.
"You will regret that..."
She tried to breathe.
The Player didn't let her.
It made her stand.
She wasn't sure how. Her knees weren't working. Her shoulder was dislocated. She could feel the ache of bruises forming across her ribs.
The voice was louder now.
Clearer.
She didn't hear words.
She heard intent.
And possibility.
She was barely upright. Shaking. Eyes unfocused.
Emma laughed first.
Then Maddison, more hesitant.
Then the boys joined in.
One of them clapped sarcastically.
"Well look who climbed outta the trash," he said.
"What, you want an encore?" Maddison teased. "We could shove you in again, if you forgot your perfume."
Emma leaned in, smirking. "You got something to say, dork?"
No one looked back.
That was new usually she got at least a glance and a snicker but there was nothing.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Still no thrown milk. No slurs. No laughter too loud to be innocent.
Taylor narrowed her eyes. Suspicious. She wasn't lucky.
But more unnerving than the lack of attention was the lack of noise in her head. The presence of the Master had gone mostly quiet during the ride to school, with the only sign of its presence being her lack of choice.
Except when it wasn't.
"...Huh. This place is kinda grim. Cool color palette though.
Taylor flinched.
She clenched her jaw. She couldn't talk about it. Every time she tried thought about telling someone, even silently, a blank wall descended behind her thoughts. She couldn't write it down. Couldn't name it. Couldn't even imagine the words.
Classic Master trick.
She walked the halls like always, awkward, silent, gliding just outside of people's notice. She had enough control now to choose her direction, her pace. Enough autonomy to think maybe, maybe the master would let her go soon.
She passed a janitor's closet. The Master made her glance at it.
Nothing special.
A half-open classroom. Her head turned involuntarily.
Still nothing.
She was being puppeted without strings. Nudged like a mouse in a maze.
Still no Emma. No Madison. No Sophia.
She hated how relieved she was.
"No one is saying hello...Your social life must be somehow worse than Kris's."
"Kris?" she murmured under her breath before the block slammed down in her mind again.
She swallowed.
She wasn't the first victim.
There was a Kris. Somewhere. A precedent. Were they alive?
That made it worse.
She walked faster, the crowd barely parting for her, as if her edges didn't register as solid. Taylor existed here in negative space.
Then, right when she reached her locker, a wild Greg Veder appeared.
"Taylor!"
She flinched as did the Master. She didn't know how she knew that.
"Greg," she said warily, taking a step back. Not out of fear. Out of Gregness.
He wore a new jacket. Again. His hair was slightly damp, as if he'd stood under a leaking pipe for an hour on purpose. He smiled with the sort of confidence found only in people who didn't realize they shouldn't have any.
"You survived winter break," he said, as if reporting on a prison escape. "Respect."
"I wasn't shivved by Santa," she said, deadpan.
Greg laughed too loudly.
Taylor blinked.
She hadn't meant to be funny.
The Master must have nudged her tongue again. "Haha! You wouldn't be laughing if you were in my shoes.."
"I mean, not that a Santa couldn't take me," Greg added. "I'm wiry, but I fold like an umbrella."
She gave a ghost of a smile.
Greg was weird, but he wasn't cruel.
Just… persistent. And unfiltered.
And somehow more tolerable today.
"Anyway, rumor mill's going nuts," Greg continued, lowering his voice like they were in a spy movie. "Emma and Sophia had a falling out. Or maybe a bigger argument than normal."
That made Taylor stop.
"What?" she asked.
Greg grinned. "I know, right? Sophia was seen yelling at Emma by the vending machines about something. It was epic."
Taylor stared forward, heart thudding.
They were fighting?
Since when did they fight?
Emma never fought with Sophia. Or well not as seriously as what Greg described.
She couldn't process it. Not now. Not in this hallway.
The Master, sensing something new, practically vibrated in the back of her mind.
"...So they're the Queen Bees. Okay. Okay. I get the vibe. Someone to befriend or fight later on, maybe."
Taylor groaned inwardly, not even wanting to entertain that idea.
Greg tilted his head. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she lied. Again. Her default setting with the Master around. She really should find a nickname for them that didn't make her want to vomit.
They walked a little more, Greg regaling her with what he believed were important updates about assignments, anime references she only half-understood, and a rumor that the third-floor bathroom was now officially cursed by a Cape with the Master asking some questions through her.
She nodded politely. Laughed once. It surprised her.
They said goodbye, and Greg walked off.
Then, as she neared her locker again, Taylor reached for it—
And walked past it.
What?
Her legs moved without input.
No. No!
She tried to stop.
Tried to turn.
Instead, her body bee-lined for Room 3B.
"Hmm. Pretty sure this is where our classroom is."
She wanted to scream.
But she entered the classroom like nothing was wrong.
Like someone hadn't hijacked her body today.
She sat down. The chair was cold.
Her backpack still had her books. That was something.
She stared at the whiteboard. A teacher droned. Greg found his own seat and kept talking to some poor soul in the back.
Taylor just sat.
Watching. Waiting.
"WAIT. DID I FORGET ABOUT THE LOCKER?! Dang it."
Taylor facepalmed as the school bell rang.
She wasn't used to raising her hand in class anymore.
She wasn't used to people noticing when she did either.
So when Mr. Gladly cocked his head and called on her again Taylor blinked. Then blinked again. She opened her mouth, heart thudding.
And the answer spilled out.
Correct.
It hadn't even been in the textbook. She wouldn't have known it. Shouldn't have.
Her own voice sounded foreign in her ears. Confident. Calm.
"Heh this is pretty fun trivia minigame. Hopefully won't have to replay it every time we go to class!"
Taylor twitched.
No one noticed. They were too busy focusing at the lesson. Greg gave her a thumbs-up from across the room when she got another thing right though.
Mr. Gladly smiled like she'd just come back from the dead.
"Very good, Taylor. That's exactly right."
Her mouth opened three more times during the period. Each time, something correct emerged.
"Hey, I am actually doing good at school? Neat. Wish it was the same in my life..."
The Master was having fun.
And that was terrifying because it meant they wouldn't leave for a while.
Still, the lesson ended. Time marched on. The bell rang.
Her classmates filed out.
Taylor remained seated.
Not by choice.
They were exploring again.
"Look at this tiny classroom! How did everyone even fit in here?"
[INTERACT > TAYLOR'S DESK]
[INTERACT > MISTER GLADYS MUG]
"You doing okay, Taylor?" Mr. Gladly asked as he packed up his things.
She nodded. The Master made her shrug.
"You are... quiet, today," the teacher said with a polite smile, before turning away.
Taylor finally could walk.
Freedom. For now.
She exited the classroom alone.
And walked into hell.
Emma.
Maddison.
Two jocks she didn't recognize.
They were waiting just around the corner. The second she stepped into the hallway, the taller of the boys grabbed her by the shoulders. She barely had time to flinch.
"What are-?" she gasped.
"Hey! HANDS OFF THE LADY!"
No.
No. They weren't attacking her.
They were dragging her.
She struggled. Kicked.
Emma smiled like a shark, her grip on Taylor's bag ironclad.
"Been a while, huh?" she whispered sweetly.
Taylor tried to scream. No one heard. No one looked.
The hallway was quiet. Empty.
She twisted. Bucked.
"…Wait. Is this the story hook?"
She was dragged around the bend. Her locker loomed.
Her heart sank.
It was closed. Sealed.
They threw her against it. Opened it wide.
And Taylor saw.
Inside: a rotting pile of garbage. Broken glass. Discarded tampons, soaked in brown and red. Empty needle casings. Something was moving inside skittering.
A cockroach crawled out and onto her shoe.
She couldn't scream.
She couldn't breathe.
"Oh.…Oh what the fuck."
Even they were horrified.
Taylor gagged.
Maddison laughed. "We saved it all for you."
"Hope you enjoy your perfume," Emma whispered.
Taylor stumbled back.
She didn't remember resisting.
She didn't remember how she slipped free. Just that her body jerked left and the grip loosened.
For a moment, she was free.
A heartbeat.
Then Maddison shoved her from behind.
Hard.
Her body folded. Her limbs buckled.
And she fell forward into the locker.
The smell hit like a brick.
She screamed.
The door slammed shut.
Clank.
Then silence.
Darkness.
She slammed her fists against the metal. Tried to push, tried to kick, tried to breathe.
Nothing.
Not even air.
Her mind unraveled. Her lungs closed in. Her pulse became a scream of its own.
Why.
Why was this happening?
First being mastered and now this?!
Why.
What had she done?
Why?
Her knuckles bled. She didn't care.
Her knees slipped in something wet.
She was going to die.
Here.
Alone.
Please.
Let me out.
Please.
There was no light. No room.
Only shame.
Only filth.
Only-
DETERMINATION.
Her hands moved without her.
Her shoulder twisted.
Her back arched.
She screamed in something like fury.
And the locker door exploded outward.
Metal groaned and snapped.
Garbage sprayed into the hallway.
She tumbled out, coughing, shaking, covered in sludge. Knees hit tile. Palms splashed into something awful.
The hallway was full again.
A sea of students.
All of them turning.
All of them staring.
At her.
Crawling.
Gasping.
Alive.
"You will regret that..."
She tried to breathe.
The Player didn't let her.
It made her stand.
She wasn't sure how. Her knees weren't working. Her shoulder was dislocated. She could feel the ache of bruises forming across her ribs.
The voice was louder now.
Clearer.
She didn't hear words.
She heard intent.
And possibility.
She was barely upright. Shaking. Eyes unfocused.
Emma laughed first.
Then Maddison, more hesitant.
Then the boys joined in.
One of them clapped sarcastically.
"Well look who climbed outta the trash," he said.
"What, you want an encore?" Maddison teased. "We could shove you in again, if you forgot your perfume."
Emma leaned in, smirking. "You got something to say, dork?"
[MERCY]
She ran.
Not even her choice.
Her legs just moved, carried by the command before she could scream no or yes.
She shoved past the crowd.
Some people tried to stop her.
She didn't.
She ran down the stairs. Slipped in the grime coating her arms. Nearly fell.
But she kept going.
"...They are lucky that I want a good ending."
When she finally stopped, she collapsed in the bathroom, chest heaving. Vomit splashed into the sink.
She didn't know what had just happened.
Only that it could have been worse.
She ran.
Not even her choice.
Her legs just moved, carried by the command before she could scream no or yes.
She shoved past the crowd.
Some people tried to stop her.
She didn't.
She ran down the stairs. Slipped in the grime coating her arms. Nearly fell.
But she kept going.
"...They are lucky that I want a good ending."
When she finally stopped, she collapsed in the bathroom, chest heaving. Vomit splashed into the sink.
She didn't know what had just happened.
Only that it could have been worse.
[FIGHT]
She turned.
Her head moved without her input.
Her hand clenched.
She looked at Emma.
And punched her.
Right across the jaw.
The crack echoed down the hallway.
Emma went down.
Hard.
The laughter stopped.
Maddison shrieked.
One of the jocks stepped forward uncertain on if he should attack her or help Emma.
Taylor stood there, eyes wide, heart slamming against her ribs like a caged animal.
She hadn't meant to.
But her fist still stung.
Her shoulder screamed from the motion.
And God, it felt good.
The Master didn't say anything but she could feel it smiling.
Everyone was staring.
Emma groaned on the floor, clutching her face.
Blood was running from her lip.
No teachers. No help.
Just her.
And the crowd.
The Master turned her away.
Walked her down the hall.
Taylor didn't fight it.
Didn't know how.
Didn't want to?
No.
She wasn't sure anymore.
She kept walking.
"It's fine, they are alive."
Her thoughts whirled.
She wasn't supposed to fight back.
She wasn't allowed to fight back.
But she had.
Because they had made her.
And it had worked.
And Emma had bled.
Taylor shivered.
Not from fear.
From happiness.
She turned.
Her head moved without her input.
Her hand clenched.
She looked at Emma.
And punched her.
Right across the jaw.
The crack echoed down the hallway.
Emma went down.
Hard.
The laughter stopped.
Maddison shrieked.
One of the jocks stepped forward uncertain on if he should attack her or help Emma.
Taylor stood there, eyes wide, heart slamming against her ribs like a caged animal.
She hadn't meant to.
But her fist still stung.
Her shoulder screamed from the motion.
And God, it felt good.
The Master didn't say anything but she could feel it smiling.
Everyone was staring.
Emma groaned on the floor, clutching her face.
Blood was running from her lip.
No teachers. No help.
Just her.
And the crowd.
The Master turned her away.
Walked her down the hall.
Taylor didn't fight it.
Didn't know how.
Didn't want to?
No.
She wasn't sure anymore.
She kept walking.
"It's fine, they are alive."
Her thoughts whirled.
She wasn't supposed to fight back.
She wasn't allowed to fight back.
But she had.
Because they had made her.
And it had worked.
And Emma had bled.
Taylor shivered.
Not from fear.
From happiness.
noctis123
Getting some practice in, huh?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2022
- Messages
- 7
- Likes received
- 20
Its Chara and neither. They are possessed by YOU the player
Strings II
New
noctis123
Getting some practice in, huh?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2022
- Messages
- 7
- Likes received
- 20
She didn't remember getting to the nurse's office.
One moment, she was in the hallway.
Her legs were moving on their own again, a step too steady for how much pain she was in. The Master had resumed control. She knew it from the way her arms hung limp but somehow still pushed the door open.
Then came the quiet gasp from the school nurse.
A woman in her thirties with the early-onset gray of someone who worked at Winslow too long. She moved fast, pulled Taylor onto the table without asking, and started checking her vitals.
The Master didn't resist.
Neither did Taylor.
Everything hurt. Her joints felt dislocated. Her skin burned. Her stomach cramped violently from whatever filth she'd swallowed in the locker. She wasn't even sure her left eye was working.
The nurse had said something. Something like: "Jesus Christ. What happened to you?"
But Taylor couldn't answer.
The Master let her body go slack, limbs heavy with blood and bruises.
The nurse was on the phone. Whispering something urgently. Her voice was distant.
Flickering.
The room dimmed. The fluorescent lights stretched, bent around her peripheral vision like reality had water damage.
Taylor exhaled.
And didn't inhale again.
She drifted off.
There was no warmth. No cold either.
No pain.
Just—
A red glow.
Floating.
Pulsing like it was breathing.
Like it was alive.
She stared at it for a long time.
A red, heart-shaped thing.
She knew it. Somehow.
Biology class.
The second week before last year's summer break. Mutagenic variations in early-stage trigger expressions. The way human souls persist longer than monster ones post-death, the theories on spiritual mass, the ancient diagrams and if Endbringers have them.
Was that what this was?
Her soul?
It hovered in the void, unanchored. Alone.
Until she noticed the strings.
Thin with the same shade of red.
Five of them.
Wrapped around her neck and limbs.
Something was buzzing now.
A swarm of bugs.
So many bugs.
The same ones from the locker.
Moving in formation, not chaotic, but spiraling like they knew exactly what they were doing.
They gathered around the soul.
She tried to scream.
Tried to move.
She couldn't.
She was tethered too.
To what?
To the soul?
To the swarm?
She didn't know.
And then the voices.
Faint.
Distant.
They weren't speaking in the dream-space. They were speaking over it, as if through thick walls or long cables.
One voice was low, measured, calm.
The other higher, clipped. Feminine. Angry.
She only caught pieces.
"... --- ..- .-.. / -.-. --- -. -. . -.-. - .. --- -. / ..- -. ... - .- -... .-.. . -.-.--"
✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ 🕈︎⚐︎☼︎☼︎✡︎ ❄︎⚐︎⚐︎
︎🕆︎
︎☟︎
︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ ☜︎✠︎🏱︎☜︎☼︎
︎︎☜︎☠︎❄︎ 🕈︎⚐︎☠︎❄︎ ︎☠︎❄︎☜︎☼︎☞︎☜︎☼︎☜︎ 🕈︎︎❄︎☟︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎☼︎ 🏱︎☹︎✌︎☠︎
︎︎ ☠︎⚐︎ ︎✌︎❄︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ 🕈︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ ︎☟︎⚐︎⚐︎︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 
︎⚐︎︎
"- .... .. ... / . -..- .--. . .-. .. -- . -. - / -- .- -.-- / .-. ..- .. -. / . ...- . .-. -.-- - .... .. -. --."
The words fell apart like wet paper.
She couldn't understand.
The bugs circled her soul like they were waiting for a cue. Her fingers twitched. Her body, or whatever was left of it in this place, reached out.
Toward the soul.
Toward herself.
She touched it.
The strings snapped.
And the SOUL slammed into her chest.
Taylor gasped awake.
"You okay?"
A nurse was over her.
Older. Pale blue scrubs. Not the school nurse.
There was a soft beeping behind her ears. Her mouth tasted like antiseptic and cotton. Her arms had IVs in them. Her ribs were bandaged. Her face was clean. Everything else was sore in ways that didn't make anatomical sense.
She blinked.
She was in a hospital bed.
The window showed early evening light. Pale gold. Like the sky was deciding whether to set or not.
A book sat on her lap.
The Basics of Parahuman Theory: A Public School Primer.
Its pages had been marked, though she didn't remember reading it.
"Oh HELL yes."
Strings (Because she had a feeling that they were connected to it) voice, though faint, vibrated.
Excitement, giddy and unfiltered, poured into her like some kind of drug.
"This is a superhero story?? I THOUGHT it felt weird. Wait, wait, so this is our origin story? Is that what's happening? Hope ❄︎□︎
︎⍓︎ will let me name our superhero persona."
Taylor didn't respond.
Couldn't respond.
She just groaned.
The nurse, mistaking it for pain, gave her a sympathetic smile.
"You're okay now," she said gently. "You were lucky. You had signs of infection, and your blood pressure dropped while you were unconscious. You were very dehydrated, and the bruising well, we're looking into that."
Looking into that.
Taylor didn't laugh.
But something in her chest twitched.
Strings was still murmuring somewhere in the back of her head. She couldn't make out the words anymore.
But it sounded like awe.
She really didn't care all that much. She just wanted to do was rest.
The first twenty-four hours had been terrifying. Not because of her injuries—though those had been bad—but because of the silence. The absence.
She'd expected Strings to immediately start directing her like it had before. To puppet her arms again. Force her to stand up, maybe. Or comment excitedly about the white walls and fluorescent lights or for the other voice to narate.
But there was nothing.
Like it was gone.
Or watching silently.
She wasn't sure which possibility unnerved her more.
Two days later, it spoke again.
She was brushing her teeth with one hand, the other balancing against the sink.
She was alone.
There was a fly buzzing near the mirror.
She flinched.
Nearly jabbed herself in the throat.
"…That's good. Gotta keep hygiene up. Maybe it will be weapon later."
Taylor stared into her own reflection, heart pounding.
Still couldn't answer.
Still couldn't say: Who are you? What are you? What do you want from me?
Even if she tried, her mouth froze. Her jaw locked.
She spent most of her recovery thinking.
Wondering.
Was this her power?
Had she triggered?
It made sense. Sort of. The locker had been awful. Traumatic enough to fit what little she knew about trigger events. People only gained powers under the worst possible conditions. Near-death. Terror. Stress beyond human limits.
That had been her.
It checked every box.
But that happened after Strings showed up. Did she preemptively trigger? Was that possible?
If so then what was her power?
Something like from that Anime Greg was talking about that one time? ´Sword Something Online´ was its name?
Strings didn't help clarify.
It had stopped giving orders. It had stopped controlling her body entirely, in fact. Which she appreciated. But every now and then, it still said something.Little snips of sound like when a nurse was badly trying to find a vein.
"Bet Goat Mom would've handled this better…"
Who was Goat Mom?
She read a lot to pass the time.
Books from the hospital library, old paperbacks from a cart with one wheel that squealed, even that beginner's Parahuman primer she'd been "caught" holding when she woke up. She reread the section on Triggers five times.
Nothing about Souls.
Nothing about strings.
Nothing about being puppeted.
But there were cases rare ones of mental-type powers manifesting through altered perception. Hallucinations. Voices. Dreams that turned real. Stranger effects.
Maybe this was that.
She still wasn't sure.
And no one was asking or noticing.
Not the doctors.
Not the nurses.
It was almost like nothing happened.
Five days in, they cleared her for discharge.
One moment, she was in the hallway.
Her legs were moving on their own again, a step too steady for how much pain she was in. The Master had resumed control. She knew it from the way her arms hung limp but somehow still pushed the door open.
Then came the quiet gasp from the school nurse.
A woman in her thirties with the early-onset gray of someone who worked at Winslow too long. She moved fast, pulled Taylor onto the table without asking, and started checking her vitals.
The Master didn't resist.
Neither did Taylor.
Everything hurt. Her joints felt dislocated. Her skin burned. Her stomach cramped violently from whatever filth she'd swallowed in the locker. She wasn't even sure her left eye was working.
The nurse had said something. Something like: "Jesus Christ. What happened to you?"
But Taylor couldn't answer.
The Master let her body go slack, limbs heavy with blood and bruises.
The nurse was on the phone. Whispering something urgently. Her voice was distant.
Flickering.
The room dimmed. The fluorescent lights stretched, bent around her peripheral vision like reality had water damage.
Taylor exhaled.
And didn't inhale again.
She drifted off.
There was no warmth. No cold either.
No pain.
Just—
A red glow.
Floating.
Pulsing like it was breathing.
Like it was alive.
She stared at it for a long time.
A red, heart-shaped thing.
She knew it. Somehow.
Biology class.
The second week before last year's summer break. Mutagenic variations in early-stage trigger expressions. The way human souls persist longer than monster ones post-death, the theories on spiritual mass, the ancient diagrams and if Endbringers have them.
Was that what this was?
Her soul?
It hovered in the void, unanchored. Alone.
Until she noticed the strings.
Thin with the same shade of red.
Five of them.
Wrapped around her neck and limbs.
Something was buzzing now.
A swarm of bugs.
So many bugs.
The same ones from the locker.
Moving in formation, not chaotic, but spiraling like they knew exactly what they were doing.
They gathered around the soul.
She tried to scream.
Tried to move.
She couldn't.
She was tethered too.
To what?
To the soul?
To the swarm?
She didn't know.
And then the voices.
Faint.
Distant.
They weren't speaking in the dream-space. They were speaking over it, as if through thick walls or long cables.
One voice was low, measured, calm.
The other higher, clipped. Feminine. Angry.
She only caught pieces.
"... --- ..- .-.. / -.-. --- -. -. . -.-. - .. --- -. / ..- -. ... - .- -... .-.. . -.-.--"
✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ 🕈︎⚐︎☼︎☼︎✡︎ ❄︎⚐︎⚐︎
︎🕆︎︎☟︎︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ ☜︎✠︎🏱︎☜︎☼︎︎︎☜︎☠︎❄︎ 🕈︎⚐︎☠︎❄︎ ︎☠︎❄︎☜︎☼︎☞︎☜︎☼︎☜︎ 🕈︎︎❄︎☟︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎☼︎ 🏱︎☹︎✌︎☠︎︎︎ ☠︎⚐︎ ︎✌︎❄︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ 🕈︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎✡︎ ︎☟︎⚐︎⚐︎︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ︎⚐︎︎"- .... .. ... / . -..- .--. . .-. .. -- . -. - / -- .- -.-- / .-. ..- .. -. / . ...- . .-. -.-- - .... .. -. --."
The words fell apart like wet paper.
She couldn't understand.
The bugs circled her soul like they were waiting for a cue. Her fingers twitched. Her body, or whatever was left of it in this place, reached out.
Toward the soul.
Toward herself.
She touched it.
The strings snapped.
And the SOUL slammed into her chest.
Taylor gasped awake.
"You okay?"
A nurse was over her.
Older. Pale blue scrubs. Not the school nurse.
There was a soft beeping behind her ears. Her mouth tasted like antiseptic and cotton. Her arms had IVs in them. Her ribs were bandaged. Her face was clean. Everything else was sore in ways that didn't make anatomical sense.
She blinked.
She was in a hospital bed.
The window showed early evening light. Pale gold. Like the sky was deciding whether to set or not.
A book sat on her lap.
The Basics of Parahuman Theory: A Public School Primer.
Its pages had been marked, though she didn't remember reading it.
"Oh HELL yes."
Strings (Because she had a feeling that they were connected to it) voice, though faint, vibrated.
Excitement, giddy and unfiltered, poured into her like some kind of drug.
"This is a superhero story?? I THOUGHT it felt weird. Wait, wait, so this is our origin story? Is that what's happening? Hope ❄︎□︎
︎⍓︎ will let me name our superhero persona."Taylor didn't respond.
Couldn't respond.
She just groaned.
The nurse, mistaking it for pain, gave her a sympathetic smile.
"You're okay now," she said gently. "You were lucky. You had signs of infection, and your blood pressure dropped while you were unconscious. You were very dehydrated, and the bruising well, we're looking into that."
Looking into that.
Taylor didn't laugh.
But something in her chest twitched.
Strings was still murmuring somewhere in the back of her head. She couldn't make out the words anymore.
But it sounded like awe.
She really didn't care all that much. She just wanted to do was rest.
The first twenty-four hours had been terrifying. Not because of her injuries—though those had been bad—but because of the silence. The absence.
She'd expected Strings to immediately start directing her like it had before. To puppet her arms again. Force her to stand up, maybe. Or comment excitedly about the white walls and fluorescent lights or for the other voice to narate.
But there was nothing.
Like it was gone.
Or watching silently.
She wasn't sure which possibility unnerved her more.
Two days later, it spoke again.
She was brushing her teeth with one hand, the other balancing against the sink.
She was alone.
There was a fly buzzing near the mirror.
She flinched.
Nearly jabbed herself in the throat.
"…That's good. Gotta keep hygiene up. Maybe it will be weapon later."
Taylor stared into her own reflection, heart pounding.
Still couldn't answer.
Still couldn't say: Who are you? What are you? What do you want from me?
Even if she tried, her mouth froze. Her jaw locked.
She spent most of her recovery thinking.
Wondering.
Was this her power?
Had she triggered?
It made sense. Sort of. The locker had been awful. Traumatic enough to fit what little she knew about trigger events. People only gained powers under the worst possible conditions. Near-death. Terror. Stress beyond human limits.
That had been her.
It checked every box.
But that happened after Strings showed up. Did she preemptively trigger? Was that possible?
If so then what was her power?
Something like from that Anime Greg was talking about that one time? ´Sword Something Online´ was its name?
Strings didn't help clarify.
It had stopped giving orders. It had stopped controlling her body entirely, in fact. Which she appreciated. But every now and then, it still said something.Little snips of sound like when a nurse was badly trying to find a vein.
"Bet Goat Mom would've handled this better…"
Who was Goat Mom?
She read a lot to pass the time.
Books from the hospital library, old paperbacks from a cart with one wheel that squealed, even that beginner's Parahuman primer she'd been "caught" holding when she woke up. She reread the section on Triggers five times.
Nothing about Souls.
Nothing about strings.
Nothing about being puppeted.
But there were cases rare ones of mental-type powers manifesting through altered perception. Hallucinations. Voices. Dreams that turned real. Stranger effects.
Maybe this was that.
She still wasn't sure.
And no one was asking or noticing.
Not the doctors.
Not the nurses.
It was almost like nothing happened.
Five days in, they cleared her for discharge.
Danny Hebert stood outside the room, dressed in a battered flannel shirt and worn jeans. He looked older than she remembered. His beard was neater, though. Maybe he'd cleaned up for this.
When he saw her, his face cracked into a weak, fragile smile.
"Hey, kiddo."
"Hey," she said back, voice soft.
He stepped into the room, pulled her gently into a hug, and didn't say anything for a long moment.
"They told me what happened. Not everything. But enough."
Taylor swallowed.
Her throat was dry again.
Her dad looked her over.
"We are gonna figure this out Taylor okay?"
"Okay."
When he saw her, his face cracked into a weak, fragile smile.
"Hey, kiddo."
"Hey," she said back, voice soft.
He stepped into the room, pulled her gently into a hug, and didn't say anything for a long moment.
"They told me what happened. Not everything. But enough."
Taylor swallowed.
Her throat was dry again.
Her dad looked her over.
"We are gonna figure this out Taylor okay?"
"Okay."
Danny Hebert waited by the exit, arms folded, gaze hard.
When he saw her, his shoulders slumped in relief, but his voice was firm, grounded in some argument she hadn't witnessed.
"Good timing," he muttered. "Just got off the phone with Emma's dad. Wanted to press charges. Said you assaulted her."
Taylor froze.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Danny sighed.
"I talked him down. Pointed out to him that any trial would lead to investigation, and that maybe he should consider his daughter's reputation before throwing stones." He looked at her. "You okay?"
"…Yeah," she said, quietly.
He studied her face a moment longer. Then nodded.
"Good. Let's get you home."
When he saw her, his shoulders slumped in relief, but his voice was firm, grounded in some argument she hadn't witnessed.
"Good timing," he muttered. "Just got off the phone with Emma's dad. Wanted to press charges. Said you assaulted her."
Taylor froze.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Danny sighed.
"I talked him down. Pointed out to him that any trial would lead to investigation, and that maybe he should consider his daughter's reputation before throwing stones." He looked at her. "You okay?"
"…Yeah," she said, quietly.
He studied her face a moment longer. Then nodded.
"Good. Let's get you home."
Strings III
New
noctis123
Getting some practice in, huh?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2022
- Messages
- 7
- Likes received
- 20
Her room was exactly how she'd left it. The blankets still rumpled from that awful morning. Her schoolbag slumped against the desk. The worn poster on her closet door curled a little at the edges, as though even the ink was tired of being in this house.
But something was… off.
The room was the same, but it wasn't.
Because in the middle of the floor, right next to the tangled edge of her bedspread, hovered a glowing golden star.
It spun lazily in place, shedding warm, pulsing light. It had no cord. No stand. Just... hung there. Like someone had plucked it from a Saturday morning cartoon and dropped it into her reality.
Taylor froze in the doorway.
Her mind did the math. Nothing added up.
"FINALLY! A SAVE POINT."
Taylor blinked.
A what?
"Took long enough."
The star pulsed brighter as if reacting to its name being invoked.
Taylor stared at it. Then at her desk. Then back at the star.
And did not move.
"Half an hour since this began and this game began and this is our first one."
She stared at the star and there was a pressure.
A nudge she couldn't fully resist.
It wasn't like before. This wasn't Strings even if they did want to touch it too.
Her legs carried her to the center of the room.
To the star.
She reached out.
And touched it.
A menu bloomed in front of her eyes, ghostly and translucent.
Like a HUD in a video game.
It didn't feel like Strings' real name, either. It felt… wrong.
As if something else had labeled her.
"Man, that's better. HP was in the red for so long even with the doctors. We would die in our first encounter! Or well second but I ain't counting those bitches!"
Taylor said nothing.
She couldn't.
She could only stare at the screen, which vanished a second later like mist in sunlight.
She sat down on her bed, shaking.
Not from fear exactly, but from wrongness.
This was all too strange. Too fake.
Maybe it was a delusion. A parahuman breakdown. Some deep neurological shift caused by trauma. She didn't know.
But this felt different than losing her mind.
This felt like someone else was here with her.
A Player.
Maybe that was the power.
A game interface. A guiding hand.
Whatever it was, whatever she was now, she wasn't alone.
And she wasn't in control.
Not fully.
Before she could dwell on it longer, the pressure returned.
Strings was moving her again.
Not puppeting this time, just encouraging.
Exploring.
Like a child wandering a toy store.
She moved to the desk.
She reached for the photo frame. The one with the slightly dusty picture of her mother.
Taylor looked down.
Felt her throat tighten.
She turned away from the desk.
To the laundry pile.
Strings giggled.
Taylor twitched.
"You're funnier than Kris was. I like your humor more."
Taylor definitely didn't blush at that.
She just moved to the door.
Just as her hand touched the knob
"Fine. Something will happen sooner or later."
And then Taylor's body turned, almost gently, as though guided by a breeze.
She returned to her bed.
And lay down.
She awoke in darkness.
No strings. No pressure. Just her own mind and the urge to pee.
Taylor sat up slowly, cautiously, her heartbeat loud in her ears. It was past midnight. The house groaned under the weight of cooling air, and her room was steeped in the quiet hush of the late hour. A familiar silence. The kind that wrapped around her ribs like a thick blanket and told her she was, for once, alone.
Alone.
No sarcastic commentary. No invisible nudges. Nothing.
Taylor crept to the door, careful not to wake her father. The floorboards creaked anyway. She winced with each step.
The bathroom light was a narrow slice in the dark hallway. Cold tiles met her bare feet. She sat, relieved. Not much to think about except-
A noise.
Not auditory. Not even mental.
Something tickled her awareness.
A brush of presence just outside herself.
Her eyes widened.
A spider.
Then two.
A roach on the ceiling.
Ants along the windowsill.
She hadn't seen them. Hadn't even heard them. But she knew they were there. Like her mind had suddenly become a web, and every vibration, every tremble, every footstep echoed back.
She looked around, bewildered.
She thought about the spider. It crawled, slowly, across the cracked tile.
She imagined it stopping.
It stopped.
Her breath caught.
"...no way," she whispered.
There was no answer.
No comment. No narration. Nothing from Strings.
This wasn't him.
This was her.
She focused.
She asked, mentally, for the bugs nearby to gather.
The room darkened at the edges. Dozens of small creatures emerged. From corners. Cracks. From places she didn't want to think about.
A tiny congregation of legs and wings and silent obedience.
They listened.
They obeyed.
And it didn't feel like a power. Not entirely. It felt like a new sense had come online. Like she'd grown a third arm she could extend into every room.
Her mind expanded. She felt into the walls, down the hallway, brushing against mice beneath the floorboards and a moth fluttering in the kitchen.
Something about it felt right. Natural. Horrific and perfect.
She stood, flushed, and walked back toward her room, the bugs trailing after her in a gentle cloud. She paused by her bed and willed them to disperse. They did.
Then she tried something else.
She focused inward.
Asked to see through them.
The room warped.
She was both in her body and outside of it. Thousands of eyes. Insect eyes. Multispectral. Strange.
And then, centered in her, glowing red.
The Soul.
A heart-shaped object. Burning red. Floating in her chest.
Connected by strings.
Dozens. Hundreds.
They ran through her limbs. Through her brain. Some stretched outward, toward places she couldn't name.
Strings.
Taylor swallowed, hard.
This felt very, very wrong.
If this was her soul… and Strings wasn't controlling it right now…
Then what was it?
Not her power.
Not just a hallucination.
Something else.
She needed help.
Not the PRT. Not the Protectorate. Not yet.
She needed someone who knew about souls.
And luckily, she remembered him.
The local monster. Lived three blocks down.
Normally, she'd never talk to him.
But now?
Now she had needed answers on what Strings was and maybe a way to talk to him.
If Strings thought this was a game, and she needed to go there, all she had to do was make it look like a quest.
Side objective: "Talk to local Soul Expert."
She grinned despite herself.
All she had to do was get back to bed before Strings returned.
But something was… off.
The room was the same, but it wasn't.
Because in the middle of the floor, right next to the tangled edge of her bedspread, hovered a glowing golden star.
It spun lazily in place, shedding warm, pulsing light. It had no cord. No stand. Just... hung there. Like someone had plucked it from a Saturday morning cartoon and dropped it into her reality.
Taylor froze in the doorway.
Her mind did the math. Nothing added up.
"FINALLY! A SAVE POINT."
Taylor blinked.
A what?
"Took long enough."
The star pulsed brighter as if reacting to its name being invoked.
Taylor stared at it. Then at her desk. Then back at the star.
And did not move.
"Half an hour since this began and this game began and this is our first one."
She stared at the star and there was a pressure.
A nudge she couldn't fully resist.
It wasn't like before. This wasn't Strings even if they did want to touch it too.
Her legs carried her to the center of the room.
To the star.
She reached out.
And touched it.
Taylor flinched as her vision went white.
A menu bloomed in front of her eyes, ghostly and translucent.
Like a HUD in a video game.
It didn't feel like Strings' real name, either. It felt… wrong.
As if something else had labeled her.
"Man, that's better. HP was in the red for so long even with the doctors. We would die in our first encounter! Or well second but I ain't counting those bitches!"
Taylor said nothing.
She couldn't.
She could only stare at the screen, which vanished a second later like mist in sunlight.
She sat down on her bed, shaking.
Not from fear exactly, but from wrongness.
This was all too strange. Too fake.
Maybe it was a delusion. A parahuman breakdown. Some deep neurological shift caused by trauma. She didn't know.
But this felt different than losing her mind.
This felt like someone else was here with her.
A Player.
Maybe that was the power.
A game interface. A guiding hand.
Whatever it was, whatever she was now, she wasn't alone.
And she wasn't in control.
Not fully.
Before she could dwell on it longer, the pressure returned.
Strings was moving her again.
Not puppeting this time, just encouraging.
Exploring.
Like a child wandering a toy store.
Taylor sighed, then turned.
She moved to the desk.
She reached for the photo frame. The one with the slightly dusty picture of her mother.
Taylor looked down.
Felt her throat tighten.
She turned away from the desk.
To the laundry pile.
Strings giggled.
Taylor twitched.
"You're funnier than Kris was. I like your humor more."
Taylor definitely didn't blush at that.
She just moved to the door.
Just as her hand touched the knob
"Fine. Something will happen sooner or later."
And then Taylor's body turned, almost gently, as though guided by a breeze.
She returned to her bed.
And lay down.
She awoke in darkness.
No strings. No pressure. Just her own mind and the urge to pee.
Taylor sat up slowly, cautiously, her heartbeat loud in her ears. It was past midnight. The house groaned under the weight of cooling air, and her room was steeped in the quiet hush of the late hour. A familiar silence. The kind that wrapped around her ribs like a thick blanket and told her she was, for once, alone.
Alone.
No sarcastic commentary. No invisible nudges. Nothing.
Taylor crept to the door, careful not to wake her father. The floorboards creaked anyway. She winced with each step.
The bathroom light was a narrow slice in the dark hallway. Cold tiles met her bare feet. She sat, relieved. Not much to think about except-
A noise.
Not auditory. Not even mental.
Something tickled her awareness.
A brush of presence just outside herself.
Her eyes widened.
A spider.
Then two.
A roach on the ceiling.
Ants along the windowsill.
She hadn't seen them. Hadn't even heard them. But she knew they were there. Like her mind had suddenly become a web, and every vibration, every tremble, every footstep echoed back.
She looked around, bewildered.
She thought about the spider. It crawled, slowly, across the cracked tile.
She imagined it stopping.
It stopped.
Her breath caught.
"...no way," she whispered.
There was no answer.
No comment. No narration. Nothing from Strings.
This wasn't him.
This was her.
She focused.
She asked, mentally, for the bugs nearby to gather.
The room darkened at the edges. Dozens of small creatures emerged. From corners. Cracks. From places she didn't want to think about.
A tiny congregation of legs and wings and silent obedience.
They listened.
They obeyed.
And it didn't feel like a power. Not entirely. It felt like a new sense had come online. Like she'd grown a third arm she could extend into every room.
Her mind expanded. She felt into the walls, down the hallway, brushing against mice beneath the floorboards and a moth fluttering in the kitchen.
Something about it felt right. Natural. Horrific and perfect.
She stood, flushed, and walked back toward her room, the bugs trailing after her in a gentle cloud. She paused by her bed and willed them to disperse. They did.
Then she tried something else.
She focused inward.
Asked to see through them.
The room warped.
She was both in her body and outside of it. Thousands of eyes. Insect eyes. Multispectral. Strange.
And then, centered in her, glowing red.
The Soul.
A heart-shaped object. Burning red. Floating in her chest.
Connected by strings.
Dozens. Hundreds.
They ran through her limbs. Through her brain. Some stretched outward, toward places she couldn't name.
Strings.
Taylor swallowed, hard.
This felt very, very wrong.
If this was her soul… and Strings wasn't controlling it right now…
Then what was it?
Not her power.
Not just a hallucination.
Something else.
She needed help.
Not the PRT. Not the Protectorate. Not yet.
She needed someone who knew about souls.
And luckily, she remembered him.
The local monster. Lived three blocks down.
Normally, she'd never talk to him.
But now?
Now she had needed answers on what Strings was and maybe a way to talk to him.
If Strings thought this was a game, and she needed to go there, all she had to do was make it look like a quest.
Side objective: "Talk to local Soul Expert."
She grinned despite herself.
All she had to do was get back to bed before Strings returned.
She paused by her window before crawling into bed.
Just a glance. Just curiosity.
The curtains fluttered.
She looked out.
And froze.
A figure.
Across the street.
Standing perfectly still beneath the broken streetlamp.
Staring straight at her.
She blinked.
It was gone.
She stared into the dark for long minutes.
Then, slowly, carefully, got into bed.
Just a glance. Just curiosity.
The curtains fluttered.
She looked out.
And froze.
A figure.
Across the street.
Standing perfectly still beneath the broken streetlamp.
Staring straight at her.
She blinked.
It was gone.
She stared into the dark for long minutes.
Then, slowly, carefully, got into bed.