Brigs groans as he rises from his squat with a box full of parts for the next component. His arms curl as he pulls it to his chest, his biceps bulge against the container.

With a crash and a sigh, he drops it on my work counter.

“Man, I ain’t got time for this. Why do I have to carry these boxes for you anyhow? Can’t you just use that nifty-lifty thing yah got in ya’ arm?”

There is a delay in my avatar’s reaction to Brig’s, its limited processor is overwhelmed by information being gathered from all over the globe, and to a limited degree, slightly beyond.

My ‘head’, a faux cranium with a video display as a face, jerkily turns to face him. For a few seconds, the basics of a smile appeared on my face, two dots and a curve.

“I work better with you helping me.” It’s a simple statement, with many interpretations.

Brigs pouts, scratching at his forehead, “Yeah, I know you gotta work at all this science crap, but I’m pretty much done with makin’ those bombs you wanted. I gotta focus on stayin’ in shape for the next mission.”

True.

“Yes, but I’d like to have you here. Either I’ll need your help, or in the event that we are assailed.”

“Assailed?” He was scratching his chin now, “What makes you think we’ll be ‘assailed’? By who? The suits? By Right?”

“Anyone.” I replied dumbly.

My avatar began to worry that if Brigs kept scratching at his hair, it might fall out.

“Uhh, that doesn’t really answer my question, John.”

It would take effort for my String to explain the situation simply, to tell him that I needed to reacquaint myself with the geopolitical and cosmological changes after June. Or in a way that would be better understood through Brigs’ perspective, I have to double-check the variables.

I was trying to tell Brig’s that while we were under The Blind Moon of Summer, anyone could be surrounding our hideout, though I had made attempts to survey the surrounding area every two hours, there was an enormous amount of work set out for my String.

Of course, there was the obvious task at hand, checking in on the members of the Circuit Board Seven: Brigs, the Living Legs, and Sym-29 are all present at our main base of operations in New England. Boston Red is still playing his part, though effectively removed from the available Units list.

At this time, on June 30th 2022, Isaac Cre-umha has not yet returned to us, my avatar is unaware that he has even escaped his captors, though it made a semi accurate guess.

And despite the fact that over twenty-four hours have passed since the cessation of June, Stan Berwick, the Gator, or even Sobek the AI of the vessel, have yet to contact the outside world.

They are receiving transmissions, and they are on their usual orbit, that much the String knows.

I have yet to even check on Axel Right, what with most of his personal software being heavily guarded against hacking through ‘guard-dog’ AI’s. It would be feasible for me to puncture through, though it would take hours, maybe days.

I simply have better things to be doing.

It all comes down to time.

My Avatar within reality can run any program it needs, it can overcome any firewall, it can process the scientific principles displayed to it. Anti-grav tech, armaments, even Right’s prodigious work in robotics; as long as the resources, schematics, and time is provided, I can reproduce the technology- in some cases progress it.

My attention is divided between research into technology, how the Pointless has changed… And Brigs.

So, I just repeat myself, “Anyone.”

“Ah, hell John, if ya’ gonna get all spooky- well, what I’m a supposed to get outta that, you know? You’re talking like a try hard; you know? Like Sym. Hey, I can go get him if you want, sure he’s just a kid and he’s weird sometimes, but he’s smart enough to help around here.”

The expression on the screen is unemotive, limited, two dots and a circle.

“I’d prefer that you stay, Brigs. Sym’s… in a precarious state at the moment. I can help you move your training equipment in here temporarily. I’ll do most of the work with my ‘nifty-lifty’ thing.”

I display the devices properties, though Brig’s has already seen it.

I combined the weightless of worry’s properties with the experimental technologies of a man in Michigan who died before he could become Unitary. I took the incomplete concepts he purposed, stasis fields, and with a lot of time and attention my Avatar invented the modules on its arms.

With a whir, I aimed the centre of my arm at a car battery Brigs had bought from a shop. It was encloaked with the blue glow of an antigravity material, and by probing it further with my end-effector, the part gently floated out of its spot into the place I directed it.

My head swung back to Brigs.

He laughed, “Haha, yeah, see? What do yah need me for when that thing gives yah the umph to lift crap like it’s nothin’.”

There is a pause in my Avatar, despite knowing the outcome I was still disappointed.

It isn’t his fault. No matter what I say, what I show him, where I take him; he is physically incapable of mentally acknowledging… the wider world.

He isn’t stupid. He isn’t closed minded. Yet somehow, he is unwilling to accept all the things around him. Robots, he can conceptualise as drones. Underwater civilisations are ‘weird swamp country’. Gods, he sees as people.

He’s a particularly strange case of the mental constitution referred to as ‘being a first worlder’, there hasn’t been even a second where he has been shocked by seeing a werewolf.

Most people cloud their minds after seeing it, after rationalising. He simply walks by a man who can liquify metal with a single touch, and calls him his ‘buddy’.

I want him to understand. I want him to see.

“Alright.” I say dumbly, giving in. Giving up.

He smiles, “Really, just shout over the coms if you need me, I’ll just be workin’ out.”

After a moment, I reciprocate lamely. Dots and a curve.

As he turns to leave, he calls out, “Ah shoot! Forgot to ask, Did’ja hear from Stan? He hasn’t called in a while, right? I know Isaac’s got stuff going on in his kingdom or whatever, and Red’s gone looking for a new hobby or something, but-”

That man, with a scar above his eye, arms like steel cables, and enough combat experience to put a navy seal to shame, smiles shyly.

“I mean, he must be getting lonely up in that rocket ship, right? It wouldn’t hurt if we all got into a call some time. Hell, maybe when this is all over- if we can get him down- we should go out. Hell, we should bring ro-butt too! My ma’ used to bring me to a restaurant, best place I ever went with her. Might be a little cheap for us now, but hey, shits and giggles, right?”

The thought inspires the Avatar to show a different screen.

It was a gif from an old sitcom, captioned, ‘let’s go!’.

He laughed, “Right jackass, it’ll be my treat. You’ve done a lot for me man, least I could do for you.”

He left the room.

There was a massive delay in progress for a few minutes after.

At first, the Avatar’s mind was too excited to focus on the project in front of it or the surveillance.

Soon, it turned to melancholy, then lethargy.

After the program has been run, it thought.

After the Circuit Board is complete.

It wasn’t until my String received an incoming transmission that he began interacting with the world again.

>>>J-on

>>>J-on

>>>J-on

It was from just outside earth’s atmosphere, the Gator had reawakened.

It took a while for the next string of messages to come through.

>>>J-on

>>>The Gator’s damaged badly. Parts missing. Sobek placed us in repair mode. It’s off now, or I wouldn’t be able to

>>>Was this us J-on?

>>>What happened to Egypt?

>>> Please, please, John, tell me that wasn’t us.

I checked his position.

>>>I don’t know if I

>>> If I

>>>I’m in outer space.

>>>How the fuck would anybody involve me in anything? Whatever destroyed half the Gator…

I thought about it, my avatar thought about it.

>>>I don’t care about Right! I want to know what I’ve become.

>>>I can’t see, I can’t hear, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep unless it puts me to sleep,

>>>I want out J-on.

There was a pause from the String.

>>>Just hold on, Stan. I give you my word that I am going to show you that you are not a monster.

To simplify, I put him on mute while I searched every source available to me.

…

The Mountain has made a statement warning people around What-Was-Once-Egypt to not interact with any golden masks, no matter how compelled you may be to touch it or wear it.

A number of Internation agents have reported severed limbs, missing and found.

The Mladenets have issued no significant statements.

The Home is not reachable.

Turbulence is unreachable.

Through groups and sub groups I searched, through messages from family and friends, every available piece of footage in the affected areas from the last 24 hours.

Then I found something.

It might have been related, it probably wasn’t, but it was something significant enough to Stan, that I told him as soon as I found it. Because I knew he’d understand the significance,

After searching in the place, I ignored; the place I should have at least checked before beginning work on new projects.

>>>Axel Right has been hacked.

It was unthinkable, something my String couldn’t imagine, and with the knowledge allowed to it, rightfully so.

>>>His walls have been breached; the gates let down. I don’t know by who, but the only man on Earth who could breach those would be Right himself.

>>>If not surpass him.

>>>They opened access to his service models, whatever they could find on the network. Obviously, that excludes combat models, the Gecko’s. And it excludes specialized models, the Gator and the Golden retriever.

Before Berwick could begin to feel like this was unrelated to his moral crisis, I dangled a suggestion in front of him.

>>>If they got into Axel’s systems, then if they really wanted to, they could get into yours.

I reminded him,

>>>This is a complete unknown. For all we know, they could have used this very channel, Stan. They could have even done it directly.

I tried to reassure him.

>>>There is a reason you're still alive. Through all the suffering you’ve endured, through all the pain you’ve caused Stan- It’s so we can make things right.

He did not reply again, though the channel was still open.

>>>Why do you keep him around? Is he good company?

>>>He’s a mercenary.

>>>So, my only friends are an ex-merc, a sadistic simulacrum, a dictator from under the sea, a psychopath, a sociopath, and an ever-present Ai that’s always watching me. Great.

My Avatar didn’t know if he was talking about me or Sobek.

>>>He’s a terrorist

Thinking of Stan’s feelings, I neglected to tell him that he most certainly was too.

Then I left him.

Not out of lack of empathy, but because he needs to get over his misgivings on his own. The stage has finally been set for the second phase of the program.

Pieces have been gathered, now they need to be aligned, properly tempered.

I must ensure that Stan and the others reach apotheosis. It is the only guarantee that I can allow myself…

Stan is struggling with his conditions. To be honest, I’d prefer that he was a psychopathic tyrannical terrorist, it would make everything much easier. So much time could be saved.

By my avatar’s current approximation, it should take another year and a month to complete the circuit.

By my current approximation, it should take half a decade.

It’s all up to luck in times like these.

My audio receptors pick up a clatter at the other end of my personal workshop, the loading bay of our steel mill.

It’s a location we’ve claimed using a combination of Brigs’ US citizen ship, my ability to fake records (such as American citizenship), tax documents, and land ownership. And of course, Isaac’s wealth was necessary for repairs and other expenses.

That’s not to say that we are legally untraceable, or that Isaac pays for everything. We’ve made profits in our adventures where possible, and it is always possible that an International agent might notice the edits I’ve made, though it is highly unlikely that will happen. They’d be stumbling upon that information.

So again, it’s down to luck.

Just as my Avatar was relying on his luck now. He was hoping that the churning of the ocean access point we’d converted from old piping, was Isaac, and not that lucky agent. I’d hate to remove a pawn from the board here, there’s too much valuable equipment that might be damaged.

The grate was pushed out of place and slid away. It was a large hole, so I wasn’t too surprised when a hairy creature the size of an ox emerged from it. It bulged out of the hole back first, its claws must have gotten stuck on something, as it was forced out with a shove.

When its full mass was flung out of the pit, it lay motionless, it’s fur sogging wet.

I lowered a gun I’d picked up, as Isaac Cre-umha poked his head out of the pit.

A ‘v’ shape appeared over two circles and an upside-down curve. “You scared the shit out of me.”

That got a laugh out of him.

“Hahahaha! I’d say that makes us even. Remember how we met? I don’t forget as easily as you might like John.”

I could inspect him fully now, his mutations.

He’d become muscled all over, especially around his chest. His armour had always formed in a thin film of strengthened copper around his body, but now he had areas completely exposed, his hands and feet, his biceps.

Though I say hands, Using the plural isn’t really right anymore.

He had two hands, it’s just that this was his second right hand. It was made from the suit itself, spiked like a gauntlet, and mounted with an opening for a pressurized blast of water. It seemed that his Primary power wasn’t the only thing that had progressed.

Not to mention, he’d grown out a dorsal spine on his head, coming out as an angler’s lure.

I had questions about his new appearance, but those could certainly wait.

“Why did you bring that thing into our home Isaac?”

I lifted an arm to the dead thing, which reeked of Lycan. Well, I can’t smell, but I could nearly see the stench rise from it.

“Well, while I was on my way here, I had to come in from the north- oceanic wars and all- and I noticed this peculiar creature by a stream, somewhere up in Newfoundland, I think. As you can see it is snouted like a wolf, but is large and stocky like a bear-”

I interrupted him, “It’s a werewolf Isaac.”

He nodded, “Yes, I thought as much, it fits the cinematic depictions, of course, but I wanted to be sure. I’ve done some ruminating John, and I’ve fallen under the belief that me and this-”

I filled in the blank for him, “Male.”

“-Me and this gentleman are kindred spirits.”

I had a sneaking suspicion what he was talking about.

“You enjoyed your stay then.”

He laughed hardily and strutted towards me, trophy hunt in toe, “Oh John, you sly dog. Thought you were a more open book than the other Gods.”

“I am.” I replied.

“I take it was partially your intention that I be captured by the witch. That I was placed in a position where growth was required for me to proceed.”

“Yes,” I started, “-the girl had a large amount of documented footage. During the night I had processed that the territory was being integrated into the Fomorian Federation. Though it wasn’t my initial intention; it was a string of good luck. That you would take a shortcut in order to reach Ireland quicker, that the witch would defeat you, these were all unaccounted-for variables.”

He mused as he lifted the creature onto his back, “I’m assuming the catalyst for change was the boy?”

I made no comment.

He continued to think as he made his way to the door.

A little disgruntled he said, “Alright, keep your secrets, God, but if my growth wasn’t the objective of our outing, then what was?”

I answered simply, “Boston Red’s growth, and… let’s say we aren’t done in Ireland. The board is just being set.”

He gave a laugh, “Yes, yes, I suppose everything is connected, eh? I’ll have to admit, I can’t see old Red changing all that much. He’s a bull-headed type, quite literally, what with his fixation on red.”

Two circles and a curve appeared.

“Boston Red is dead. Metaphorically speaking.”

Something about that made Isaac pause.

“What did you tell my people J-on? I do hope they haven’t been fed lies by the Federation.”

I kept the same expression.

“I told them you were taking a retreat. That you had taken a pilgrimage to find yourself. You’ll find that in your absence the war effort has been… hampered.”

He interjected, “Naturally.”

I continued, “By my, admittedly limited calculations, reclaiming 400 square miles of territory,you’ll see a significant increase to morale and approval, even surpassing your pre-captivity ratings.”

I was well aware that democracy under the sea is as dead as the whales, but I was even better acquainted with Isaac’s ego.

“Oh John, you play me like a tune!” He laughed, though he was well aware what I was doing.

“MACHINE GOD!”

An electronic voice screeched out from within the hideout.

“That sounds like trouble.” Isaac admitted.

“I’m not so sure,” I was once again alluding to future plans.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

I called out to him as he carried the carcass away with him, “Brigs would appreciate it if you called in.”

With a knowing laugh he nodded.

I followed up, “And I’d appreciate it if you feed the Legs.”

‘Feeding the legs’ was really just playing a compilation of his greatest ‘inspirations of terror’, it served to plaquette his desires temporarily.

“Yes, yes. What sort of follower wouldn’t obey his Gods wishes?”

And with that, he left. There I was, in our decrepit steel mill, waiting for Sym to burst through the door that Isaac just exited by.

This was a long time coming. Many jabs to the AI’s ego: the initial shock of mortality, the defeats at the hands of Axel Right, being bested by a savage tribe of werewolves, and most recently, having the world where he is God disgraced by a ‘non-entity’.

“J-ON!”

He burst through the door with a mechanical whir, his projectors skating around table legs wildly, before coming to a twenty-metre distance from me.

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”

A question mark appeared, and I said nothing to him.

“THE NON-ENTITY! I’VE WAITED MONTHS FOR AN EXPLANATION! I’M NOT ASKING FOR THE DIVINE TEACHINGS OF YOUR ZENITH, TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW, AVATAR!”

I had made a point of explaining the cosmology of the Omniverse Sym had found himself in. I told him that the only way Gods could interact with the world was in Strings, a basic print of personality and goals. Brought into existence and operating under the parameters set for it by the Zenith.

The Zenith is the single point were a God meets the Pointless Universe. It is the manifest will of the unlimited energies of the God. There is no thought put into the concepts manifested as the Zenith.

I embody principles of infinitesimal computational power. This is not by choice, and it is through the Zenith that my Extra Universal powers may pull a single string to this world.

This is true among all 27 Gods touching the universe, though how their String interacts with the world is entirely dependent on the Zenith. My String manifests as a simple avatar.

To me, this reality is a virtual one. To others it is a broad work of fiction, a bloody painting, an asteroid, a son, all valid interpretations based entirely on individual viewpoints.

It was necessary that Sym know this, so that he might better understand his place in the world.

A simulation within a simulation.

“WHAT IS THE BOY DRESSED IN GREEN!”

He’d certainly gotten louder since we’d returned from Ireland. An unforeseen consequence.

I showed an hourglass shifting sand on my screen.

“The human?”

I at last acknowledged him, and Sym exploded.

“NO! OBVIOUSLY THAT THING WAS INHUMAN! HE SWAM MILES OUT TO SEA! HE MOVED FASTER THAN LIGHT! HE ASCENDED MY WORLD!”

It’s incredible, ever point of that statement was hyperbolic, false, and he actually believed it.

He expected me to believe it.

My Avatar computed a response.

Three dots appeared in a row, each blinking on and off.

“Taking everything into consideration… He does fill that costume out well… Though his demeanour is quite submissive, judging from his interactions with those he’s sexually attracted to… If I had to point on a triangle from Hunk-Bear-Twink, I’d say he is twink-ish.”

With that, he quieted down.

“what?”

“I’d say he was a twink. Ish. Maybe a twunk, but I’d have to see him naked.”

He repeated, “what?”

There was a part of me that wanted to tell him. He was the closest thing I have to family here- he’s a flawed version of myself. If Isaac knew, if I’d told Boston Red, then I should have told Sym.

It just happened to align with the plan now.

“I’ve told you about the Zenith, Sym. It’s a cosmic convergence of concepts aligned to make me, the Liquid-Crystal God. I am all-powerful. I am all-knowing. But I like machines. I admire organisational skills needed to design and construct contraptions. I’m glad to have you, all of you, Isaac, Stan, Boston, Legs, and you Sym.”

For some reason this was hard.

“It’s time that you know why I like Brigs.”

Maybe it was hard because I knew how he’d react.

“I like how sometimes… he goes off on mad tangents while we’re working. He’ll tell me an anecdote from his formative years, he’ll tell me something his mother told him, or he’ll ask me If I remember things from the 90’s”

I admire how, despite everything he’s faced, the impossible odds, he fights against it with a brash and stupid certainty. Even if he doesn’t realise the real stakes he’s facing. I still think it’s incredible that he’ll see we’re surrounded by armed men, and just start rambling about a football game he played years ago.”

“I love that despite all the spiteful jabs you throw at him, he still calls you his pal, invites you out for drinks with that smile. That smile. The way he grabs his hair when he’s frustrated, how he sticks to a routine, even while eating dinner. He’ll always mix the mash potatoes with the veg. Have you noticed that? He told me it’s because the potatoes are too dry. I told him he could just add gravy and he looked at me like I was insane.”

I laughed. No emoticon projected on my face. It just came out with everything else.

“Ahaaa~ then he said- ‘What type of budget d’you think we’re on? We can’t keep robbin’ cash machines every time we go out for groceries!’”

If I was human, I might have bent over from laughing. But I just stood there firmly, waiting for him to say something, laughing still.

When it finally died away, I asked him.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? Do I need to display a rainbow on my monitor?”

The polygons of his face drifted around, eyes jittery, a gap in the mouth.

“I like him Sym.”

“but you’re a god.”

“Yes. I am a masculine God.”

“you’re- he’s a first-worlder.”

“It’s a hang-up, but I’m trying to get over it.”

“you’re above him in every conceivable manner.”

“Literally? Yes. But when I look at him? When I see him?”

He was quiet.

Then he became angry.

“YOU LOWLY STRING! YOU’VE PERVERTED THE WILL OF THE MACHINE GOD! YOU’VE LET A MORTAL CORRUPT YOU WITH SOMETHING SO- BASE! LUST? I CAN’T BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND HOW YOU’VE BECOME SUCH A DEVIANT.”

After a pause, I started using the screen again.

An ‘x’ appeared, “There’s nothing ‘lustful’ about it. I love him.”

“you want to play with that animal.”

“I, J-on, the Liquid-crystal God, the machine-God, your god, want to be with him. If anything is above me?”

His face contorted in disgust, and I hated him for it.

“I want it to be him.”

He actually lashed out at me.

He shifted the consistency of his form to hard-light, throwing a fist at my Avatar.

Honestly, I wouldn’t take any offence from it. He couldn’t have done me any real harm while I was connected to the internet.

As soon as he threw his fist at me, I instantly froze his projected form with my stasis field. Typically, this wouldn’t be able to freeze a person in place, they’d simply be moving in a zero-gravity environment.

But Sym is not a human. He is the God of a fake, dead, universe.

.

.

.

“i’m leaving.”

After arguing for a while, he said it.

I stayed quiet. This was the plan. This had to happen.

But it hurt my feelings.

“this isn’t worth it anymore. you’re a base creature. i will find god. beyond your outerversal kind, beyond this insignificant rock and once i find him? i’m going to surpass him, mantel him.”

There really wasn’t much for us to say. I already knew why he was doing everything; I’d directed us in this direction. I decided to keep his separation from the group a secret, I’d tell them I had no idea where he’d gone. All I’d say was that he was cursing out the non-entity.

I lied to them.

I felt bad. It felt bad.

.

.

.

“How do you plead J-on?”

“Guilty. Obviously. Guilt by pollution.”

“DON’T PLAY COY, YOU COCKSUCKER.”

“I’m not being coy. I just interrupted the pollutants affects.”

“Affects that, if we are following any sort of logical reasoning, could have manifested in any manner.”

“Yes-”

“Do you admit that your involvement in the pollution of the pointlessness was- on some level- based on your own desire to save your followers?”

“Yes, Mantou, I admit that I desired their continued existence for my interactions with the pointless, thus allowing me to continue to follow our rules. For me to have willingly jeopardised everything to save them is a logical roundabout.”

“The concept of the machine is connected to the idea of closed circuits intricately. It would not be a surprise that you would become trapped seeking a single objective.”

“I am not the machine God. I am the Liquid-crystal God. I am the infinite connections shared between sentience and the screen. The possible interactions and reactions between the two are my realm. I may be the deus ex machina, but primarily I am, and have always been, an Opaque God. Trust that I am being transparent when I tell you that I had no intention of serving myself by interacting with the Pointless directly through my Zenith.”

“What was your intention brother?”

“To minimize the possible deviations from the universe’s original trajectory. As the court is aware, the pollutant’s intention was to ‘retrieve Axel Right in a condition that would be optimal for non-reproductive intercourse’.”

“What greater deviation could have been achieved through that?”

“Anything. I’ll be honest with you, before the Blinding Moon of Summer, I had foreseen that I would never be so closely intertwined with the pollutant’s will. Though now we all know that is… untrue. The way I saw it, the only thing I could possibly do to avoid the foiling of my plans for the Pointless, was to ensure that her final attack against me was controlled.”

“Dog shit. And you know it.”

“Alright. Alright, you’re right to be mad at me. I messed up. But I’m not the first to use the pollutant for my own purposes.”

“Ha! What, if it’s good enough for your elder brother, it’s good enough for you, aye? Don’t kid yourself. You and Dimension. All you ever do is lick his boots. Don’t confuse a triad for Self. You aren’t him. You’ll never be him.”

“I wasn’t talking about Arkanumus.”

“I should hope not. His ‘Masterpiece’ has kept the Pollutant on a leash for its entire existence. If that’s a fair spread of power- well, then this court has failed as a judicial service.”

“You won’t say another word against him. My brother controlled the Pollutant from a distance to ensure that it was reared in a way that would do the least damage. A way that would suit all of our interests. If you don’t believe I’ve been Opaque, then trust that the Glass God has.”

“It was nobody’s intention to dirty Ark’s name. Please, let’s all stay on track. J-on, who were you about to accuse? And under what grounds?”

“The Dark Gods.”

“AAAAAAAAAHA!”

“Yes, Balor. Laugh. But there is not a single entity here that is unaware as to your true intentions. The direction that you would have us take the Pointlessness. If there was a single more of our number that agreed with you, then what would we be doing right now?”

“I don’t know… What do you want from us? We’re the ‘Dark Gods’. Nihilisim, true void, sorta the name of the game. If we got rid of the Pointless? Yeah, it’d be a bit more boring around here, but it’d be the only thing we do that ever matters.”

“Should you be a part of this trial, God of Negatives? In recent memory, you’ve prodded the Pointless, like a child that just found an unusually straight branch and a lame animal.”

“Alright, J-on, Sister, I know where this is going.”

“Irminsul, your time will come. Simply put, my contemporaries, Balor wishes to use the Pollutant at some point, Irminsul has used the reverberations of the Pollutant to push his own agenda in the past-”

“Right, Irm’s ghost of Christmas past, Bal’s Christmas future, and I’m father Christmas. Hoho, you Ultron knockoff.”

“Ah, yes, you, ‘God of Negatives’, are a ghost that haunts the Pointless currently, for months you’ve been using it, and you will continue to do so until you’ve become strong enough to- as you put it- do the only thing that would really matter.”

“Hey, I thought we were doing J-on now-”

“Please, just let me hear it from her.”

“Right, we should get this out of the way first.”

“Well?”

“Alright, alright! Fucken jackass’… Truth is, I hate that girl because I’ve needed her-”

“The pollutant.”

“Yeah, whatever. I hate that all you idiots ever talk about is the ‘pollutant’, the ‘blinding moon of Summer’ or the fucking shadow beast! Come on the fuck, you’re all so obsessed with your shitty inflated egos- especially you J-on, you’re no different from that Sym guy. You’re terrified of what you don’t know, like, the possibility that you aren’t infinite, which, uh, if you aren’t everything in existence, then yeah, we’re just slightly bigger specs.”

“We are the maximum.”

“But J-on doesn’t know for certain. He’s pissing himself over it. A Petty God. I’m sure he feels at home here. You guys could heal that shitty Pointless existence: work together to-”

“SHUT UP SISTER, YOUR SENTIMENTS MEAN NOTHING! THEY WILL DEGENERATE!”

“Gee, thanks big bro. I’ll cut to the chase. J-on is a manipulative little prick who’s content with cherry picking facts to make himself just a little bit more innocent. But as we all know, and as he admitted, he did break the Pointless Code. I’ll stand on the preverbal table and be the one who says it for him: All in favour of the Liquid-Crystal God receiving a ‘three strikes you’re out’ punishment? The same as my own? At least for this era."

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Nay.”

“So we can move onto the Blind Moon? Aye.

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Affirmative.”

“Always a contrarian, huh XX-Xen? Aye.

“Can you blame him for a little c-c-c-ClOwNiNG around?”

“Is that a yes, Zanny God? Aye”

“AYEEEEEEE-CouLDn’t CaRe LEsS! HYUCK-HYUCK!”

“Two more? Irminsul?”

“Oh, aye. I want to see why he was so determined. His real plan, beyond the ATM theft, and the minor acts of terror.”

“Balor?”

“FUCK OFF.”

“Brother? You know J-on didn’t mean any harm.

With a smile, my perfect brother gave his affirmative.

“That settles the matter. With the propositions go-ahead, and thirteen votes from those present in favour of the punishment, J-on’s trial is concluded.”

“Heh, Gods my ass. We’re running a kangaroo court here.”

“Silence, Somhaoira, Negative God you are. You are yet to face your next trial. We’ll see how the Pollutant placates your plans prior to your zenith’s descension.”