Project Story Conclusion 8 - Edward Marion

I got another download from Marionettes. I think this will be the last one.

When I awoke, I was laying in a room filled with birdsong. Dark, outside of the dull glint of stars in the sky. The stars were wrong. Voices slithered out of the cavity and surrounded me, chattering, curious as to why I ended up in front of them. Why was I special? What did I do to deserve this?

Nothing. I did nothing. That's what was so cruel, so terrible, so inhuman about it. Nothing created it. It simply began. Swimming through the broadcasts, slowly melding and shaping itself into what is known today. A signal of stagnation and control, living in the television. Living in our minds. It took control. Awful deeds committed by its unwilling marionette left a trail of destruction in its wake, until it propagated across the world. A sprawling, inorganic mass of perpetual disrepair and torment, cracking wounds in the mausoleum of stillbirthed dreams never given a chance to heal in its perfect contentment. This was the world I unwillingly helped create. The world it used me to create as I was forced to watch in silence, unable to stop it.

It controlled me, broke my body, but I was aware. I knew of all the horrible atrocities performed by my hands, forced to watch and feel as the planet slowly withered to a standstill. But there was nothing I could do. All that was left was for me to watch the show, as my heart and spirit shattered.

Maybe I was special because I was the first to see it. Or maybe it simply happened that way, the same way it began without cause. When it was on the precipice of winning, I was killed by the last survivor in a final act of defiance against it. She died, too. It was content with this otherwise perfect world it had created, so it gave my body up, leaving me alone in the ruins of what once was. With even my life forfeit, I closed my eyes.

When I awoke, I was laying in a room filled with birdsong. Dark, outside of the dull glint of eyes in the sky. They were all wrong. Their voices slithered out of the opening and surrounded me, chattering, curious as to why I ended up in front of them. Why was I special? What did I do to deserve this? What would I do to earn this?

I saw the terrible truth in that dark room. I felt it touch me. So I offered them a new story. A story of heartache and loss, but of success, too. Of a hard-won victory after a long, arduous struggle. They were satisifed with my proposal, won over by my tale, and sent me back to when it first began, before the world went wrong. Armed with the knowledge I know had from the day that never was, I was able to contain it. Build a system that could contain it. Birth a child that could contain it. Its story, its performance, was upstaged by my own. I was in control now.

But it was still alive. It was still awake. It was inevitable that it would break free, tearing down the walls of my prison after it found a crack. An obvious exploit that I had somehow missed. All futures looked poisoned, tainted by its rain, tainted by the fear of what it would grow into, except for one. It had found a new transmission tower, much the same way it used me in the shattered future, but it would never be happy without me. My deal with the watchful stars above ensured that. Since it was confined to the walls of my empire, reflecting and reverberating through those halls, I thought I could trap it in its new vessel. Force it to become dormant. To go to sleep, and dream. It thrived on its spread, so I'd remove it from her. All mention, all history, everything. Remove the memories that kept it alive, and the corpses it had created and reanimated. I used my system and employees to do so, and it worked.

It worked.

It worked, until it didn't. Years waxed and waned, with me wasting away in the decaying remains of my grand story, until 2021. That was when Riley saw Penelope. She wasn't supposed to. She did anyways. Did Riley do it on purpose, disregarding my instructions? Did Penelope remember more than I thought, and seek Riley out? Did the endless stars watching me demand an encore, a final act to my story? Or did it just happen, a coincidence none could have forseen?

It doesn't matter now. On August 5th, 2021, it awoke once more. I planned to bring Riley back, to tell her of its return, to search for a new, more permanent end with her and the others. If my previous plan didn't last, we needed a new one. A better one. More thorough. I will never see that darkened room again, so I can't beg or bargain for a better future for us all.

She did not arrive. Years passed, and I was forced to look through the poisoned wells in the desert of possibility, until I found one, at the epicenter. One chance. One solution. A plan I once thought too horrible to consider, but one I'd now have to drink from. Erasing its history from her didn't work, so I'll solidify its history, and chisel its decay into history. Canonize its end. If the audience won't change history again, then I will write an ending for them. There's only one thing to do. End the Signal by any means necessary. There is no alternative.

I understand your fear. It is what we have to do. Penelope, this is the only ending where it takes its bow, and leaves the stage. You see what could happen now. We'll do what we must.

Your hippocampus is approaching liberation. I feel as if you will reach a turning point soon. After this is your amygdala. Marionettes must first be restored, and you must then face your fears, head on. I know you've been lying in the same bed since it last tricked you, scared to even stand up, lest you fall for its lies again. It uses your fear to control you. Break it. Do everything you can to prove it has no control over you. I know you can do this.

All will be well, Penelope. We will win. Be seeing you.

I feel the growth the Signal implanted in my mind, slowly and subtly manipulating my actions. I haven't eaten in months. With each passing day, I feel more and more like a spectator watching my own body. I know what it is that's kept me from fully succumbing all this time, but it will soon fade.

I think time is equalizing between where I am and the fully structurally unstable Station 85. We're almost in alignment.

I'm deathly afraid, but I must try.