Bread, and all variations of the aforementioned

Cycle 1 | I1-3: Good

Descend?
▶ Yes
▶ Yes

Intermission 1 Part 3: Good

➤ Text Transcripts

This is a comic update. The chapter is in a monochromatic grey colour scheme.
Transitions between scenes will be marked with an asterism, like this: ⁂

Intermission 1 Part 3: Good

Bien runs through an unknown urban landscape, holding the radio close to his face as he speaks to Ava.

"The giant building's a recursive panopticon? And uh, that matters because. It reflects back… I didn't get the explanation."

"It fosters a decay of reality by subjecting it through the limited lens of… I already explained this," Ava answers in exasperation.

"And what was with that abrupt ending? It feels like we skipped a hundred steps of context first? What?"

"Augh. I have lost count of how many times I have repeated this anecdote. I have already recounted the history of things from even before the so-called Marginals existed as a species. And obviously you are bound to forget how I am telling you now that I have told you—"

"Wait, wasn't I supposed to check the broadcast?" Bien cuts in. "Because… uh, wait, lemme try to remember… Reception!

"I was supposed to do something about him, but the infra-archi-whatevs of the universe has shifted. Right?" Bien asks for clarification.

"Is that when we were?" Ava asks.

Bien's face scrunches up, staring daggers at the radio, "For somebody whose cosmic role is supposedly narrating reality into existence, you are terrible at telling a story linearly. Where on Earth am I even going?"

Ava says, "There was an entire montage on how we got here. There was even post-punk music playing in the background. You remember post-punk music, yes? Good times.

"Well, it would be a good time, except time does not exist.

"I will reiterate this as simply as possible: the Universe compensates for what is missing, and Space compensates for Time, and because you and I are not in the same Space right now—"

Our Times do not align."

"Your voice is breaking up again." Bien puts his ear against the radio, trying to listen better. "You better not leave me alone here, I have no bloody idea where I am."

Ava continues speaking as if she can't hear him, her voice becoming more and more distorted. "There are things I have told you from here that you have not heard there,

"And things I have yet to tell you that you already remember…

"Assuming you can even remember anything…"

Bien stops, distracted, staring down at the floor.

"…"

In front of him was a long stretch of stairs, its very bottom unseen.

"Do I need to go down this way?" Bien squints in discomfort. "Stairs are bad."

"A̴̢̬̓̔̇̌͛̐̽̄̏̉̈̄̈́̕͝r̶̢̡̲̥̪͓̝̺͕̲̲̬͉̀̍̓̓͌̅̾̊̿̎͘͜ê̴̒͒̀̄̄̉̕͝ͅ ̴̨̢̡̡̡̫̺̘͙͚̦̟͙̠̄̃̂̄́̓̀̓̔͘ͅy̷̜͖̌-̷̡̨̩̲͍͙̓͌̀̑̔^̵̛̮͔͔̃͌̓̐̈͗̋̐̈̊̚̚̕͝%̵̯̿̀͋̊̇̾͝͝-̸̢̱̲̱̮͉͇͇̦̫̺̹̬̭͚̻͊̎̃̅̄͠-̶̧̻̩̙̦̈́̆ ̵͎̔̂̆̚͝ā̶̰̈́͛̓͠ͅ-̸̧̮̹͇͍̫̖̹͎̞̈́̈́̔̾̓̒͘̕-̸̧̡̨͇̬̟̤͕̩̫̝̤̪̗͗͂̓̔̃̂͑̉̂̈́͠͝͝f̵͚̱͎̭͉͕̦̼̯̙̹͉͇̪͈̪͐̿͛̕͝͠ͅr̸̡̯̝͇͔̼͓̙̤̣̳̯͈͚̺̓͜ŗ̶͍̜͙̖̖̘̤͈̭̙̃̔͂͂́̑̇̕-̸̞̫̗̰̼͇̦̭̯̼̰̼͕̽̀́͗̈ǧ̷̨̡͎͔̤̱͒̓͌̒̕-̷̫͓͓̣̣͕̦̏̇͑̍̉̐̓̉̔̌̉a̵̛̳͉̼͓̻͇̫͍̟̮͖̗̻̮̦͂̒̅̂͐̐͗̈͂̒̚͜͝l̶̡͕̺̣̳̅́̈́̉̉͒̃̍̎͝͝a̸̧̛̼͆͐̉̎̄̇̌̆̋͆͑̔̂-̸̱̇̽́̎͘͝%̴̨̤͕̬̱͍͎̲͉̳̘̪͉̟̪͌̿̒̒̓#̷̛̛͍͍̮̙͍̯̥͍́́̒̀̋̔̎́̋͛͝8̷̢̡̘̱̪̜̦͇̼̹͓̞̑̈́̉̏̈́̐͂̕̕͜&̶̨͕̖̱̿͆͗͊̇͌̀̚ ̶̡̧̲͓̗̗̭̃̾̒ͅ&̵̨̛̝̘͇̯̦̭̹̠̺̈́̀̃̈́͐͌͘$̴̛̞̪̻̫̥͍͇̩̹͔́͒͊̅̆̂́͒̐͊̀̋̉̚͝ͅṯ̴̱̺͇̼̋̽̓̾͌͋͊̃͒̐͒̈́̈͘͝ ̵̧̺͚͓͔̹̪̝̫͎̳͚͓̈́̎̋̿̿͊̊̐̅̽̇̉̈́̉s̵̢͚̉̄̈́̋͒͐͂͊͑͆̕̕ț̸̹̜̤̒̀̌̚͜ã̸̟̭̻̺͈͎̞͇̙̗̭̳̈́̇͂͗̽͛̽͌̕͘͝͠͝ǐ̴̩̖̤͈̩̗̞̒̆̓͛̓̚͜͝r̵̛̭͕͔͕̍̈̃̓̈̈́̍͑s̸͙͓̰̮̣͕͂̋̄̓͌̄̓̐̕͠͝?̵̧̢͕̤͕̹͍̱̺̘̞̬̆̀̌̔̿̔͒̑̎̿̌̅͝"

"…Ava?"

"̵͓͕͗B̶̨̧͔̪̱̺̳̜̙͖͕̽̈́͂̿͋͛̑̃̏͛̊̀͛̈̉̿̋͜i̷̡̱̱͉̫̫̥̟̲͓̯͗̑͒̇̓̋̚͜͜͝e̷̡̘̪͓̳̘̱̮͊̃͛̕͠ń̷͍̱͎̳͉̞̪͇̯̠͌̓?̸̥͗͗̈́́͋̄̚͝"̴̛̣̗̪̻̤̪̮͍̼͌̀̈́̇̐͝

"̵͓͕͗!̷̡̪̪͎̞͎̮͖̣̝̭͙͚̭͒̈́̇͜!̴̭͕̔̽̍͂̈́̀̿̇̀͒̂̏̓̽̌̔̕^̷̠̣͊̀̇̀̉̓̂̈́̎̄͝"

"…"

Ava's voice cuts out completely, only silence emanating from the radio.

"…Right." Bien can only resign himself to the situation, feeling engulfed in darkness.

Bien is given the choice to Descend. There are two options: "Yes" and "Yes".

Descend?

Bien chooses to descend.

Well, Bien thinks to himself as he gingerly takes an unwilling step downwards, Your instructions are vague and terrible, but it's something to do.

He slowly puts his weight on his foot, an atmosphere of gloom surrounding him. When he finally makes one full step, he continues staring down, as if the stairs were a tremendous height, eyes still wide and hesitant.

Nothing happens.

And Bien descends the stairs.

⁂

The greys of the visuals gradually shift to take a barely perceptible maroon hue the lower Bien comes down.

Bien walks at a steady pace, his previous hesitation seemingly gone. Despite knowing that Ava can't hear him, he continues to talk to her, his voice somehow changing, yet staying exactly the same. "I thought it would be easier not having my dad to boss me around, but it's actually…

"…well, not.

"The world outside of the valley follows weird rules.

"Weirder than the ones at home.

"I find myself in places I don't remember going to,

"I remember doing… things, but not what the things are,

"yesterday is tomorrow, the future has already happened, I can't tell the

"time of day.

"The way you explain things makes no sense, but apparently only because your words don't come to me… chronologically?

"What does that even mean… ?"

The colours slowly increase, transitioning into full colour.

Bien looks around him as he walks, and he's shifting, shifting, something changing within and without. He takes one final step.

"It's like since the moment I left to be on my own, I found myself—"

Bien stops in the middle of the flight of stairs, as if somehow gaining an acute awareness of the world around him. He was in some sort of alleyway, posters and advertisements plastered on graffiti-stained walls, the only sign of life being an abundance of lush greenery planted around the surroundings. The place felt familiar to him, and yet irrecognisable.

"—in a different world."

End of Intermission 1 Part 3

➤ Notes

The best writers are often heavy readers, so it's pretty inconvenient that I don't really like to read.

➤ Further Reading

Although most magic 8-balls are black, Boule's hull is painted white to signify her role as a tool of divine prophecy, or so they say. If you scratch at the surface hard or often enough, you'll still find her luminescent darkness.
When soothsayers moved to augury, inanimate objects fell out of style, save for the teeth and nylon ropes they sacrificed to the birds. It's not that the birds were any better at prognostication, either: they just made for better optics, more evocative symbolism, and far more marketable plushies.

And they tell "GOD" to buy a [[[]]]

And "GOD" says oh-so-livingly A FUCKIN' WHAT?

And they tell "GOD" to buy a [[[]]]

And "GOD" is sent to the market by her so-called """PARENTS""", shopping list (long list) and eco-basket in *hand.

Prologue IX: The Market

"GOD" shows the shopping list to the Organ Salesman.The Organ Salesman assists "GOD" in the pursuit of Purchaseable Goods, substituting the [dataset] of the eco-basket with the [dataset] of the shopping list (long list).

— What the Hell? Is this a plate of spaghetti?

Get the typhus

"GOD" shows the shopping list to the Nostalgia Peddler.

"GOD" shows the shopping list to the Highway Broom Crafter.

"GOD" shows the shopping list to the Ten-Cent Announcer.

The arduous journey towards Purchaseable Goods is rife with tedium yet inevitability. Yet still, Appendice bound to burstin', "GOD" fails to find the [[[]]].

"GOD" shows the list to the You.

Oh, yes, a [[[]]].

— Where do I find it?

""""Where""""?

You point towards the direction where the market's fleas congregate.

It's going to be a long, long, day.

Act XIX: The Fleas

Words? Care to swap for some words, you pitiless oaf?

— Um, no thank you. I'm looking for a… whatever this is.

"GOD" shows the shopping list to the Word Flea. It offers its advice in exchange for Purchases. "GOD" obliges in a manner of speaking (unwilling and frail).

Close to sheeting in spunk aries square? So much scrofulous chord by accident rile, were soapbox enter. At drive, against Outside discuss. They're a scramble alum in the afternoon canny, during agnostic slosh till brushwood. Round infringe hangout soused. She is a waif, melody must electoral by the way verve pasta. Over centavo physiognomy skill.

— Wow.

— This is literally useless.

Act XV: Sensitive Hairs Attuned to Wind Pressure Detection of Motion towards the Darkness In Fear of the Light Despite the Presumed Safety Being the Death-sure Pressure of an Impending Step, Trample, Servant, Trample!

— Hmm.

— Those are cockroaches, not fleas.

Act IX: The Evidence of Understanding

Towards the Light points the Word Flea's spiny legs, in aid of the pursuit. "GOD" walks toward its oblivion, reflecting in silence.

This sector of the Market was large and unknown, and dark in the way convergent of the looming shadows of towers of Purchaseable Goods in the absence of electric gifts even during the daylight could be.

If you take a bottle and fill it with bleach to prevent the growth of algae and cut out a hole in the roof, the bottle refracts the light and spreads it across the room, providing illumination in third-world typhoon-stricken locations in cases of emergencies, or pasthoods before kites.

"GOD" shows the shopping list to the Light.

[[[]]]

Epilogue XII: O Holy Night

And in their prayers, they asked how God could remain silent, with folded arms and ears plugged off God chooses to stay silent. Prayer does nothing to rescind misery. If all of progress could not do a thing, the Word then would not help.

And God spoke, or rather God implicated through silence, and they heard: disappear, disappear, disappear into the darkness. Burst in one loud noise the loudest and then the vibration will tear the fabric of Yourself apart. There is no space for you here, and you shall recede into the darkness.

We had heard your prayers and we had found you, then, wanting.

We searched for you in the darkness, on the day we heard you singing.

We searched for you in the darkness, even knowing we can't save you.

We had found you in the darkness, and said:

Step into the light.

— Had a shit day which says nothing when all days are shit. Is this supposed to be a [[[]]]