Pieces of Sky
Saturday, May 31st, 2014 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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mindcrackloveAfter ten successful years, Mindcrack has reached its final dawn. The members of the community, once nearly inseparable, have drifted apart and moved on, leaving behind a crumbling society long past its prime. One of the last ‘Mindcrackers’ remaining, Guude waits for the end of an era - today, the sun will set for the last time.
Tomorrow, nothing will be the same.
Gen-fic - no shipping/pairing/etc. Well, except friendshipping. Expect heavy doses of friendship.
This was the end. The man’s lips were drawn into a frown, eyes narrowed and unhappy as he looked past the abandoned, half-crumbling buildings and into the sky behind them. The first rays of light were just peeking over the trees, casting a glow onto the rubble that made his frown deepen. If the scars had looked bad in the darkness, they were worse in the light.
To be fair, nothing was actually collapsing. It was more of the abandoned feeling of what had once been a thriving society that did him in – and, more than anything, he decided as he looked over the ghost town, it was the emptiness that was unsettling. Dust coated every surface the wind hadn’t scoured, weeds grew haphazardly across the once well-manicured lawns, and the fountain lay barren and dry. Even the river’s current seemed stagnant, filled with debris from a society that had long since begun to rust.
It’s over.
The thought was startling, even now: after all, this place had been almost a part of him for more than a decade. It had been he who had developed it, he who had led it until it was to a point where they could become something akin to a democracy, a place where each voice could be heard and be taken into account. It had been he who had watched as each new addition grew and thrived, until what had once been nothing but a simple, ordinary dream became a reality. But that didn’t matter now, did it?
Back then, it had seemed that this reality would last forever. But as all things are wont to do, the times began to change, and life started to set in. One after another, the most senior of them began their exodus, to be replaced with others who, while no less valuable, had less of an impact. People who were there one day were gone the next, with little recognition from the man who was supposed to be their ‘leader,’ though he hadn’t really called himself that in years. And though the decay had seemed so quick – so sudden, it had really taken place over months and years, until a time came when his recognition of this place was strung with nostalgia and a sort of sorrow, rather than the joy and pride that the mere act of being here had stirred within him not so long ago.
It was difficult, watching dreams die away. Many of the friends he had made over the course of years and years had long since gone their own way, and he would have been powerless to stop them, even if he had wanted to. But there was nothing he could have done to stop it – nothing he would have done. They had moved on – grown older and wiser with each passing day, and had summarily outgrown their need for the group as a whole. It had been time for them to step forward and out, even if it meant leaving this place… and, well, he wouldn’t begrudge them that. He had shaken most of their hands in a last goodbye, had diligently stayed in touch with many of them for as long as he could – but even after all of that, they had still slipped away, lost to time and memories.
They weren’t fully to blame, and neither was he: time changed people, after all. Distance separated them. It would have been selfish of him to try to hold them back from their goals, their dreams. And it would be naïve of him if he didn’t realize that he himself had moved on as well, at least in a sense, until the close-knit group of yesterday became merely broken strings, swaying in the winds of time. Still, despite his resolve to let them go, he had clung to those frayed ends, until one day he had looked back and wondered what he was holding onto – if it was merely the idea of being together again (another selfish notion he hadn’t been able to curb) – or if he really was trying to maintain the bridges between them for the benefit of them all, and not just himself.
Regardless, it was over, it was the end, and though it was painful, he had to let go… even if it meant tearing himself apart at the feeling that he was giving up much too quickly. So much time had passed, and it still felt that way – maybe it would always be too soon to let something as life changing as Mindcrack go? Not so long ago, he had thought the decay and subsequent death of this place had been sudden… but now, looking back…
With a jerking motion of his chin, the man shut down his thoughts, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge them. They had stayed a group, though loosely. They hadn’t fully segregated themselves away from each other. It had been fine for years. No one could say they hadn’t been a group long after this place was left to cobwebs and shadows, long before Mindcrack’s true and final death. Long before this day had dawned.
But still, even with all of his reassurances and denials, one nagging thought remained. It burned at the forefront of his mind, a pain like molten iron against skin. Perhaps, he reflected, staring up into the sun, it was over long ago.
Shuddering at the dismal thought, the man stood in absolute silence for a time, staring into the sun until its light burned his corneas enough to make him shift his gaze. Instead, he let his eyes rest on each and every building in the sprawling town built during Mindcrack’s heyday, listing names and times that many would no longer recognize. It was… an equally painful endeavor, he supposed, though in a different way. Each name tore from his memory like a knife through flesh, stinging as they flowed through the forefront of his mind. Fairy Fountain, he named one broken-down and dried-out structure. EthoCorp, he assigned to a mostly intact laboratory. He had to crane his neck for the Doc Shop, which was so unrecognizable that he had to blink once or twice to draw up a mental picture of the store in its prime.
There were so many memories here, desecrated by time and space – nearly unsalvageable, now. He had hoped, then, that something would change. That some miracle would come upon them, to restore what had once been and heal wounds that had never even been allowed to scab over. But for all his hopes, wishes, and attempts, nothing had ever changed – and, finally, he had been forced to acknowledge that bringing them back together had been a fool’s dream, and nothing more. Never anything more.
With a violent shudder, he refocused his gaze onto his bare toes. Regardless of what had happened then, with this place and its people – his people – now he was here alone, waiting for a final setting of the sun. Any reflections on this day should have been happy ones, he knew – after all, he would never see this place again, and there was no use dwelling in sadness. Huh. Dwelling in sadness. He had done so much of that lately that he was afraid any more would cause the memories to swallow him whole.
It wasn’t an unreasonable thought. He was, quite nearly, the last of them all, and he often found himself wondering if the others remembered anything good of their time here – or if it had all been washed away by bitterness and regret, dark stains on crumbling foundations. But even if they did remember the good, it was much too late now. Though it pained him to admit it, today was the final dawn of this place, of Mindcrack – and, right now, the memories of today belonged to him and him alone. In this moment, it was a terrible burden.
Tomorrow, all that would exist of Mindcrack would be memories and archives, as the flow of time continued. This place – this wonderful, terrible, stupidly important place… well, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. Their impact would be forever stifled, if all traces of them hadn’t already flaked and peeled away. Tomorrow, they would be but a mark on the page of a history book… if that. Tomorrow, they would be a group no longer, not even in name. Their influence would be felt for a time, sure, but they would be buried soon enough. He knew enough about life to know that.
Still, he couldn’t abandon this place to meet its final sunset alone. He would be here as well, watching and waiting for the end to come. Shaking his head sadly, the man leaned heavily against an old cobblestone pillar, one that had withstood the test of time and the storms within their community. The fading of this place had not been completely peaceful, though he liked to pretend to himself that it had been. Over time, arguments had become wars and disagreements had become voids, ones that could not and had not been filled. Friendships had been ended in anger, with biting words and bitterness. Interference had caused more strife, and fighting words turned to blows, until it had become clear that some differences would never be resolved. More bridges had been burned in those tumultuous weeks than he had allowed to fade away over time, and of those, many had been blackened and charred by the remains of those days of dissention.
Sighing, the man pressed the back of his head into the pillar, trying to escape those memories in particular. The stone was cool to the touch as it scraped against his back even through his cape, a steady reminder that not everything had changed – that not everything had ended in either fire or ice. Some things had been left peaceably – some friendships were still intact, albeit tattered. Some bridges still stood, and some of those that did not had supports that still remained, waiting for another bridge to be built in the old one’s place. Perhaps, someday, even if it was many years from now – perhaps, things could be rectified and they could be brought together once more. Not as a group, no – that ship had sailed long ago – but as friends. Not colleagues, not business partners, not coworkers. Friends, first and foremost. It was a nice thought.
And so even now, on this final day of what had once brought them together, hope remained… didn’t it? Lost in memories, the man played with the edge of his worn old cape, feeling in the fabric the weight of what had passed. It wasn’t just Mindcrack’s time, or the time of their near-reign over the surrounding communities. It was far worse and much better than that, both at the same instant.
What he didn’t want to admit – what he didn’t want to acknowledge, was that not only had their time passed, but that his own time had, as well. Some of the others had done well for themselves on their own, had months and years of prominence left in them. But, inevitably, he knew they would feel the same way he did now. Drained. Tired of fighting, of striving, of creating. They would realize, just as he had, that nothing lasts forever – no matter how much they wanted it to. It had been a harsh lesson, one that he was still learning. He had to face it someday – and it seemed that today was that day.
It was time to pass on the torch to the newest generation, which held its values in different things. He was stubborn enough to dislike the change, but he knew it was necessary, however painful it was. It was the way of things: the past stepped aside, and the future was always poised to take its place.
He was the past. Something else was the future. He didn’t know what it was yet, but it would rise up soon enough to take his place, and when it came, he would have to welcome it. If he did not, he would be left behind… if he hadn’t been left behind already.
If it hadn’t been he who had left himself behind in the first place.
After a time, his thoughts swirled and condensed, the troubled musings a heavy weight on his heart. Groaning, he closed his eyes against the midmorning sun, feeling as if it was burning through even his eyelids.
It was over, and yet… and yet, he felt it had only just begun.
…
“Ingot for your thoughts, Guude?”
The man – Guude – jumped from his slumped position as a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, his eyes snapping open and racing to focus on the blurry landscape in front of him. His jaw fell open and then closed in an instant, his brain instantly heading for defense as he ripped his shoulder out of the foreign grip. Adrenaline ran through his body as he clutched the hilt of a chipped iron sword – he was poised to strike, his muscles tense and ready. He raised the sword in a basic attack, going as far to begin to execute the swing, instinct overpowering surprise. Halfway through the swing, his eyes finally focused on the person in question, causing him to minutely relax his grip and quickly redirect the blow into the cobblestone pillar, clenching his teeth at the effort and cursing silently all the way.
It was his own fault, really, he decided even as the sword bit into unyielding stone. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the man approach – then again, he may not have anyway. His surprise guest had always been sneaky like that, as far as he had been able to tell. Guude swallowed a particularly nasty expletive and tried to calm his frayed nerves even as he spoke, knowing that anger or frustration wouldn’t benefit him with his would-be victim. “Don’t surprise me like that, Etho!”
In all reality, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see the other man. Though Etho came and went as he pleased, he still spent time here – “On the off chance that someone else will, too,” he had explained once with an infuriatingly unreadable expression. “Like now. See? I’m not crazy.” That’s debatable, Guude thought to the memory as he added on to his previous scold. “I could have killed you!” Maybe. Probably not. Dang guy. “Seriously, Etho – what were you thinking?”
Though he had meant for his tone to convey at least a bit of annoyance, he could hear the surprised happiness in his voice as the words left his mouth. Perhaps he hadn’t been so upset about being startled after all?
Oh, who was he trying to kid? He couldn’t help it – he was relieved by Etho’s presence, which eased some of the turbulence in his mind. The newcomer didn’t respond, instead standing in front of Guude with his head cocked slightly to the side like an eager puppy, ready and willing to listen. Maybe that was why Guude couldn’t help but blurt out the thought at the forefront of his mind.
“It’s over.”
Etho blinked, mismatched eyes narrowing in the mid-afternoon light. Guude started at the sun’s position – had he really been out here so long?
“Yes,” the masked man replied eventually, long after the appropriate amount of time for a response had passed. His eyes were still narrowed in contemplation, and Guude couldn’t help but feel that the other man was assessing him. “It is.”
The shorter man laughed bitterly, a grating sound that was nothing like the hearty chuckle he had once possessed. “Everyone’s gone. Except me. And you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Not after today,” the silver-haired man murmured blandly. “We’ll all be gone then. It is the end of the world, after all.”
“At least as we know it,” the first agreed, smiling a bit despite himself.
They stood in silence for a while, the newcomer moving to lean against the same column that he had staked out hours ago. Guude moved over subconsciously, glancing up at the taller man as he settled himself beside him. It seemed so long ago that they had met – he supposed it had been a long time, but for some reason, it seemed like centuries ago that they had raced for – of all things – wool. The man in question was turned slightly away and was fiddling idly with a diamond sword. This, Guude thought vaguely, was a bit odd – generally (if he recalled correctly), Etho’s affinity was toward the axe – at least when he wasn’t planning on heading into some sort of combat. Curious, he narrowed his eyes at the weapon, attempting to make out the words etched into the gem. Finally, as Etho turned it restlessly in his grip, the inscription caught the light.
The Etho Slayer.
“You’re carrying that around?” Guude broke the silence, his voice incredulous. He had always thought Etho had hated that damn sword – but here he was, turning it fondly in his hands like it was an old friend.
Etho’s eyes squinted in a manner that Guude knew to be amusement. “Seems odd, doesn’t it?” he questioned, rubbing at the name on the sword with something that was almost affection. “But Pause has been gone for so long. I… well, I never thought I’d say this, but… I miss him.” He winced, then, as if the man in question could hear him speak.
Ignoring his friend’s uncharacteristic flinch, Guude blinked in understanding. Pause had been one of the first of the old guard to go his own way, his exit a precursor to many more. “So do I…”
Again, silence dominated the area, the only sounds of wind through leaves and crumbling structures. In his mind’s eye, Guude could see the buildings for what they had once been, whole and quite nearly alive with color and, above all, heart. A little more effort, and he could see BTC outside of his restaurant, Bdubs and Genny devising another plot, and, if he squinted and thought deeply enough, even Shreeyam, the youngest of them all, writing… interesting… books and leaving a monumental amount of impact on them all, even though he had been one of the first to leave this place behind. Move on, he corrected himself. Shree had found his success elsewhere, and, somehow, Guude was happier for him than any of the rest.
“What will you do now?” Guude questioned abruptly as his mind began to wander to what was long gone. Don’t focus on it, he chided himself. You’ve focused on it enough. Focus on the here and now. Here and now, damn it all!
If the other man had been surprised or even mildly startled by Guude’s question, he didn’t show it. “The same as I always do, I guess,” Etho mused after a moment. “Just without… this.”
The nostalgia in his voice echoed the bittersweet sorrow in Guude’s own chest. It was all coming to a close – everything he had worked for and everything they had achieved – but he wouldn’t trade it for all the world.
“It’s been good working with you.”
“It’s been good knowing you,” Etho corrected, a breathy laugh escaping him.
Guude’s own giggle followed him. “Who would have thought ten years ago that everything would all lead up to this?”
Etho snorted. “Ten years ago, I hadn’t even heard of you.”
A laugh, long and hard. It was probably what Etho had been angling for, though he’d never admit it. “Stop ruining the moment, guy,” Guude gasped between breaths. “This is supposed to be serious.”
Etho paused. “But was Mindcrack ever serious? Truly? Wasn’t our main goal to have fun with what we did, to have fun with each other, as friends more than anything? To not separate ourselves into our own niche here, but to work as one community?”
“It tried to be serious,” Guude mused. “I’m not sure how well that worked out.”
Etho looked sidelong at him, expression dubious, and Guude chuckled again. “Sometimes tried to be serious,” he amended.
This time, the quiet lasted only a few heartbeats before Etho threw Guude’s question back at him. “What will you do now?”
In return, Guude smiled. “Spend time with my family,” he said warmly, most traces of sadness pushed away. “Who knows? Maybe my daughter will start something like Mindcrack someday.”
“I can see that,” Etho agreed, a smile in his voice.
This time, the silence was content.
----
It was nearing sundown when the quiet was broken again, this time by Guude’s laugh. “You know what’s funny?”
Etho shook his head, one eyebrow raised. “What?”
“Ten years, and you still haven’t taken that mask off. You never trusted us enough to let your guard down, did you?”
“It wasn’t that,” Etho protested. “I trusted you. I do trust you.” He rubbed the offending material roughly, as if trying to claw it off of his face. “It’s just… a part of me, I guess. Like it made me who I am.”
“A mask doesn’t make you who you are,” Guude quite nearly snapped, more out of shock at his friend’s misconception than any anger on his part. “I wouldn’t care if you wore a hockey mask on your face and wielded a knife half the time. Who you are is defined by what’s inside, not out. And who you are is a wonderful friend.” Guude hesitated a moment, before sighing in resignation and continuing. It was the truth, after all. He might as well say it. “One of the best I’ve ever had.”
For a moment, Etho froze in place. His eyes went wide, and if Guude wasn’t mistaken, a single tear ran down into the ever-present mask. After a moment, he spoke, his words slow and deliberate. “Do you want to see what’s underneath?”
“What?” Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.
“What’s underneath the mask. Do you really want to know?”
It was Guude’s turn to freeze. He turned sideways to look up at the younger man, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “No,” he decided eventually, as Etho’s second brow shot into his hairline. “As I said before, mask or not – you’re Etho. Your face doesn’t make you who you are – that’s your experiences, your memories, your character. I don’t need to see what’s under that mask, because I already know who Etho is – who you are.”
Etho nodded stiffly, looking a little choked up. “Really?”
“Yes. And don’t you ever forget it.”
The taller man nodded again, the movement jerky. Still, he didn’t speak, and finally Guude broke the silence, uncomfortable with Etho’s uncharacteristic display of emotion. “You have to have the weirdest tan line you ever did see though, right? I mean, seriously, guy, it’s got to look like you have some sort of serious skin issue.”
A choked laugh escaped the masked man, one that turned into an outright series of giggles as Guude joined in. By the time they got control of themselves, tears were streaming down Guude’s cheeks and Etho was gasping for breath, holding his sides.
“I use SPF 100 sunscreen,” Etho whispered conspiratorially, and they dissolved into laughter again.
It wasn’t that funny, but he’d take it. Somehow, laughing with Etho had become the highlight of his day. I guess it’s true what they say, Guude thought with a snort of unsuppressed laughter. Laughter really is the best medicine.
Or maybe, he thought a moment later, as Etho cracked a joke more lame than the last (if that was something even remotely possible), Etho brings a medicine all his own.
---
“Etho?” Guude questioned after the giggles had long since died into companionable silence. When the man in questioned turned his head to face him, Guude continued. “Thanks for coming. I… I didn’t want to go out alone. I… didn’t know you cared so much. Thank you.”
To his surprise, Etho chuckled. “Oh, Guude,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’ve always cared.” There was a short pause, in which Guude got the impression that Etho was grinning madly at him. “And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not alone – even discounting me. In fact… you’ve never been alone.”
“What do you mea– “ Guude started, only to cut himself off. A heavy, lightly sunburned arm was slung rather violently around his shoulders, an arm belonging to Jsano. Guude gaped as his old friend grinned, tilting his head after a moment in a nod to something on his other side. Half-shocked, Guude turned numbly to follow Jsano’s nod, only for his body to quite nearly shut itself down.
They were here. So many of them were here. Guude’s breath caught in his throat. Pause, who had exited the server with heated words, emerged with his hand ruffling Beef’s hair – while said man, who had broken his ties with Pause long ago, smiled and laughed… as if nothing had ever occurred between them. Paul Soares tipped his hat, giving him a small salute, while Vechs grinned maniacally beside Zisteau, who seemed to be taking Vech’s antics good-naturedly. Even Shree emerged, the lines on his face older and matured. Appearing from behind the remains of the Death Games building, BTC gave a skeleton grin, Mhykol pointed cheekily to a nametag on his chest, and Nebris smirked at his shock. Typical Cheaty Nebris, Guude thought dazedly, focusing in on the glowstone held within Nebris’s palms for some reason beyond him. It was all too overwhelming. Questions swirled within his mind, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. Instead, he stood stiffly in bewilderment, seeing his old friends around him but not really taking them in.
Soon, they were quite nearly upon him. The familiar faces swarmed around him, their greetings mere buzzings in his ears. He hadn’t seen many of them in years – they looked so different, but so absolutely the same. For a moment, Guude’s mind travelled back to years ago, when everything was fresh and new and alive, his brain making comparisons he didn’t want to make. Violently, he shook it off. This here and now was better than any memory he could recall, more alive than any recollection. A feeling of warmth grew in his chest, and he basked in the glow of it for a moment, sweeping his gaze across all of them. They were here. They had come!
All in all, he counted twenty-two of the seventy-six, each smiling at him in their own distinct ways. Had they had come for the end? Afternoon was setting in, the sun dipping enough to cast shadows – they were nearly too late. They had hours yet, though. Hours to recollect and reconnect, hours to reminisce and remember, to recall old memories and make new ones. Suddenly, the wounds didn’t bleed quite so badly anymore. They were scars, now. Only scars. They had come back to say good-bye. The bridges he feared were burnt for good were, perhaps, not so far gone.
“What… how?” Guude finally forced out, his heart constricting.
“Etho called us,” Pakratt explained, his deep baritone a welcome addition.
“Indeed,” Kurt chimed from off to the side, adjusting a pair of beaten-looking 3D glasses as he spoke.
“This place was a huge part of who we are and what we became,” Arkas explained in depth. “When we heard that Mindcrack had reached its end, well…”
“…we had to be there for it,” Aureylian broke in, tilting her head to the side.
“More than that,” Seth spoke up, “we had to be there for you.”
“And for each other,” Avidya interjected, gaining smiles from the others.
“And so when Etho called,” Baj began, rubbing his moustache thoughtfully.
With a grin, Doc finished. “What was there to do but to come?”
For a moment, Guude was silent. Shock ran through his system and rendered his tongue useless once more as they gazed at each other and around at what this place had become, murmuring apologies and recounting old tales amongst themselves. Finally, regaining some sense of control, Guude turned back to Etho, his mouth gaping. The sneaky ninja (for what else could he possibly be?) chuckled, his mask stretched with a grin Guude knew was there, even if he couldn’t see it. “You did all this?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“No,” Etho replied seriously. “It wasn’t just me. We did this. You did this, by bringing us together in the first place. We tore ourselves apart, and it was time that we knit ourselves back together.” Etho winced as Pause stuck his elbow into Etho’s ribs, grinning ruefully. “At least a little bit,” he amended sheepishly, rubbing at his side.
“Thank you,” Guude choked out. “Thank you.”
“No,” Etho whispered as Guude turned to mingle with the others, his voice so low that Guude barely caught the younger man’s words. “Thank you.”
--
For a time, the Town Hall was once again filled with laughter and voices that Guude thought he might never hear again. Some of the conversation was awkward, yes, but the simple pleasure of seeing each other again outweighed once-broken bonds and turned what could have been an awful reunion into one filled with nostalgia, laughter, and shared experiences.
Too soon, conversation began to trickle down as each member, current and former, turned their attention to the sky. It had grown late, and the ruins of Spawn Town were caught in dusk’s golden light. The golden years, Guude thought ruefully, here once more.... to see us off fully into the next chapters of our lives. Fitting.
The silence stretched out into the realm of what was uncomfortable. Gazes dropped to the floor, laughter died out, and the quiet became suffocating. Each seemed to be lost in their own memories or hopes, and, for a time, it seemed that the silence would remain until the day was finally done.
“This is the end, then?” BTC spoke up at last. His voice was tempered by the weight of the loss, his usual fire snuffed out.
The question hung in silence as each person regarded each other, expressions heavy and sorrowful. Eventually, each familiar face turned to Guude, looking to him for leadership and guidance, something that felt foreign after years apart.
For a moment, he didn’t know what to tell them. They weren’t asking for anything but encouragement, Guude knew – they all knew that their time here was done. That wasn’t the question at hand – each had moved on, didn’t need Mindcrack any longer. No, the question was for their friendships, for the bridges once again being built. And, unlike when they were falling apart, this time… this time, Guude knew the answer.
With the weight of his full confidence, the man who had started it all smiled.
”No. Not the end. Merely another beginning.”
And, accepting his words, the members of Mindcrack turned to watch as the sun dipped past the ruined buildings, casting its dying light on a long-dead world. Somehow, though, this death didn’t seem quite as difficult as it had during the sunrise. Things changed, things went away – but memories remained. Once a Mindcracker, always a Mindcracker, he had once said. This end didn’t mean the end of them – just the end of this era.
And, as the last vestiges of light vanished on the horizon, taking ten years of unprecedented success and happiness with them… well, he smiled. For everything he had lost… and everything he had gained.
Time was fleeting, that was true – but the friendships he had made? Those would last forever.
Tomorrow, nothing will be the same.
Gen-fic - no shipping/pairing/etc. Well, except friendshipping. Expect heavy doses of friendship.
This was the end. The man’s lips were drawn into a frown, eyes narrowed and unhappy as he looked past the abandoned, half-crumbling buildings and into the sky behind them. The first rays of light were just peeking over the trees, casting a glow onto the rubble that made his frown deepen. If the scars had looked bad in the darkness, they were worse in the light.
To be fair, nothing was actually collapsing. It was more of the abandoned feeling of what had once been a thriving society that did him in – and, more than anything, he decided as he looked over the ghost town, it was the emptiness that was unsettling. Dust coated every surface the wind hadn’t scoured, weeds grew haphazardly across the once well-manicured lawns, and the fountain lay barren and dry. Even the river’s current seemed stagnant, filled with debris from a society that had long since begun to rust.
It’s over.
The thought was startling, even now: after all, this place had been almost a part of him for more than a decade. It had been he who had developed it, he who had led it until it was to a point where they could become something akin to a democracy, a place where each voice could be heard and be taken into account. It had been he who had watched as each new addition grew and thrived, until what had once been nothing but a simple, ordinary dream became a reality. But that didn’t matter now, did it?
Back then, it had seemed that this reality would last forever. But as all things are wont to do, the times began to change, and life started to set in. One after another, the most senior of them began their exodus, to be replaced with others who, while no less valuable, had less of an impact. People who were there one day were gone the next, with little recognition from the man who was supposed to be their ‘leader,’ though he hadn’t really called himself that in years. And though the decay had seemed so quick – so sudden, it had really taken place over months and years, until a time came when his recognition of this place was strung with nostalgia and a sort of sorrow, rather than the joy and pride that the mere act of being here had stirred within him not so long ago.
It was difficult, watching dreams die away. Many of the friends he had made over the course of years and years had long since gone their own way, and he would have been powerless to stop them, even if he had wanted to. But there was nothing he could have done to stop it – nothing he would have done. They had moved on – grown older and wiser with each passing day, and had summarily outgrown their need for the group as a whole. It had been time for them to step forward and out, even if it meant leaving this place… and, well, he wouldn’t begrudge them that. He had shaken most of their hands in a last goodbye, had diligently stayed in touch with many of them for as long as he could – but even after all of that, they had still slipped away, lost to time and memories.
They weren’t fully to blame, and neither was he: time changed people, after all. Distance separated them. It would have been selfish of him to try to hold them back from their goals, their dreams. And it would be naïve of him if he didn’t realize that he himself had moved on as well, at least in a sense, until the close-knit group of yesterday became merely broken strings, swaying in the winds of time. Still, despite his resolve to let them go, he had clung to those frayed ends, until one day he had looked back and wondered what he was holding onto – if it was merely the idea of being together again (another selfish notion he hadn’t been able to curb) – or if he really was trying to maintain the bridges between them for the benefit of them all, and not just himself.
Regardless, it was over, it was the end, and though it was painful, he had to let go… even if it meant tearing himself apart at the feeling that he was giving up much too quickly. So much time had passed, and it still felt that way – maybe it would always be too soon to let something as life changing as Mindcrack go? Not so long ago, he had thought the decay and subsequent death of this place had been sudden… but now, looking back…
With a jerking motion of his chin, the man shut down his thoughts, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge them. They had stayed a group, though loosely. They hadn’t fully segregated themselves away from each other. It had been fine for years. No one could say they hadn’t been a group long after this place was left to cobwebs and shadows, long before Mindcrack’s true and final death. Long before this day had dawned.
But still, even with all of his reassurances and denials, one nagging thought remained. It burned at the forefront of his mind, a pain like molten iron against skin. Perhaps, he reflected, staring up into the sun, it was over long ago.
Shuddering at the dismal thought, the man stood in absolute silence for a time, staring into the sun until its light burned his corneas enough to make him shift his gaze. Instead, he let his eyes rest on each and every building in the sprawling town built during Mindcrack’s heyday, listing names and times that many would no longer recognize. It was… an equally painful endeavor, he supposed, though in a different way. Each name tore from his memory like a knife through flesh, stinging as they flowed through the forefront of his mind. Fairy Fountain, he named one broken-down and dried-out structure. EthoCorp, he assigned to a mostly intact laboratory. He had to crane his neck for the Doc Shop, which was so unrecognizable that he had to blink once or twice to draw up a mental picture of the store in its prime.
There were so many memories here, desecrated by time and space – nearly unsalvageable, now. He had hoped, then, that something would change. That some miracle would come upon them, to restore what had once been and heal wounds that had never even been allowed to scab over. But for all his hopes, wishes, and attempts, nothing had ever changed – and, finally, he had been forced to acknowledge that bringing them back together had been a fool’s dream, and nothing more. Never anything more.
With a violent shudder, he refocused his gaze onto his bare toes. Regardless of what had happened then, with this place and its people – his people – now he was here alone, waiting for a final setting of the sun. Any reflections on this day should have been happy ones, he knew – after all, he would never see this place again, and there was no use dwelling in sadness. Huh. Dwelling in sadness. He had done so much of that lately that he was afraid any more would cause the memories to swallow him whole.
It wasn’t an unreasonable thought. He was, quite nearly, the last of them all, and he often found himself wondering if the others remembered anything good of their time here – or if it had all been washed away by bitterness and regret, dark stains on crumbling foundations. But even if they did remember the good, it was much too late now. Though it pained him to admit it, today was the final dawn of this place, of Mindcrack – and, right now, the memories of today belonged to him and him alone. In this moment, it was a terrible burden.
Tomorrow, all that would exist of Mindcrack would be memories and archives, as the flow of time continued. This place – this wonderful, terrible, stupidly important place… well, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. Their impact would be forever stifled, if all traces of them hadn’t already flaked and peeled away. Tomorrow, they would be but a mark on the page of a history book… if that. Tomorrow, they would be a group no longer, not even in name. Their influence would be felt for a time, sure, but they would be buried soon enough. He knew enough about life to know that.
Still, he couldn’t abandon this place to meet its final sunset alone. He would be here as well, watching and waiting for the end to come. Shaking his head sadly, the man leaned heavily against an old cobblestone pillar, one that had withstood the test of time and the storms within their community. The fading of this place had not been completely peaceful, though he liked to pretend to himself that it had been. Over time, arguments had become wars and disagreements had become voids, ones that could not and had not been filled. Friendships had been ended in anger, with biting words and bitterness. Interference had caused more strife, and fighting words turned to blows, until it had become clear that some differences would never be resolved. More bridges had been burned in those tumultuous weeks than he had allowed to fade away over time, and of those, many had been blackened and charred by the remains of those days of dissention.
Sighing, the man pressed the back of his head into the pillar, trying to escape those memories in particular. The stone was cool to the touch as it scraped against his back even through his cape, a steady reminder that not everything had changed – that not everything had ended in either fire or ice. Some things had been left peaceably – some friendships were still intact, albeit tattered. Some bridges still stood, and some of those that did not had supports that still remained, waiting for another bridge to be built in the old one’s place. Perhaps, someday, even if it was many years from now – perhaps, things could be rectified and they could be brought together once more. Not as a group, no – that ship had sailed long ago – but as friends. Not colleagues, not business partners, not coworkers. Friends, first and foremost. It was a nice thought.
And so even now, on this final day of what had once brought them together, hope remained… didn’t it? Lost in memories, the man played with the edge of his worn old cape, feeling in the fabric the weight of what had passed. It wasn’t just Mindcrack’s time, or the time of their near-reign over the surrounding communities. It was far worse and much better than that, both at the same instant.
What he didn’t want to admit – what he didn’t want to acknowledge, was that not only had their time passed, but that his own time had, as well. Some of the others had done well for themselves on their own, had months and years of prominence left in them. But, inevitably, he knew they would feel the same way he did now. Drained. Tired of fighting, of striving, of creating. They would realize, just as he had, that nothing lasts forever – no matter how much they wanted it to. It had been a harsh lesson, one that he was still learning. He had to face it someday – and it seemed that today was that day.
It was time to pass on the torch to the newest generation, which held its values in different things. He was stubborn enough to dislike the change, but he knew it was necessary, however painful it was. It was the way of things: the past stepped aside, and the future was always poised to take its place.
He was the past. Something else was the future. He didn’t know what it was yet, but it would rise up soon enough to take his place, and when it came, he would have to welcome it. If he did not, he would be left behind… if he hadn’t been left behind already.
If it hadn’t been he who had left himself behind in the first place.
After a time, his thoughts swirled and condensed, the troubled musings a heavy weight on his heart. Groaning, he closed his eyes against the midmorning sun, feeling as if it was burning through even his eyelids.
It was over, and yet… and yet, he felt it had only just begun.
…
“Ingot for your thoughts, Guude?”
The man – Guude – jumped from his slumped position as a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, his eyes snapping open and racing to focus on the blurry landscape in front of him. His jaw fell open and then closed in an instant, his brain instantly heading for defense as he ripped his shoulder out of the foreign grip. Adrenaline ran through his body as he clutched the hilt of a chipped iron sword – he was poised to strike, his muscles tense and ready. He raised the sword in a basic attack, going as far to begin to execute the swing, instinct overpowering surprise. Halfway through the swing, his eyes finally focused on the person in question, causing him to minutely relax his grip and quickly redirect the blow into the cobblestone pillar, clenching his teeth at the effort and cursing silently all the way.
It was his own fault, really, he decided even as the sword bit into unyielding stone. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the man approach – then again, he may not have anyway. His surprise guest had always been sneaky like that, as far as he had been able to tell. Guude swallowed a particularly nasty expletive and tried to calm his frayed nerves even as he spoke, knowing that anger or frustration wouldn’t benefit him with his would-be victim. “Don’t surprise me like that, Etho!”
In all reality, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see the other man. Though Etho came and went as he pleased, he still spent time here – “On the off chance that someone else will, too,” he had explained once with an infuriatingly unreadable expression. “Like now. See? I’m not crazy.” That’s debatable, Guude thought to the memory as he added on to his previous scold. “I could have killed you!” Maybe. Probably not. Dang guy. “Seriously, Etho – what were you thinking?”
Though he had meant for his tone to convey at least a bit of annoyance, he could hear the surprised happiness in his voice as the words left his mouth. Perhaps he hadn’t been so upset about being startled after all?
Oh, who was he trying to kid? He couldn’t help it – he was relieved by Etho’s presence, which eased some of the turbulence in his mind. The newcomer didn’t respond, instead standing in front of Guude with his head cocked slightly to the side like an eager puppy, ready and willing to listen. Maybe that was why Guude couldn’t help but blurt out the thought at the forefront of his mind.
“It’s over.”
Etho blinked, mismatched eyes narrowing in the mid-afternoon light. Guude started at the sun’s position – had he really been out here so long?
“Yes,” the masked man replied eventually, long after the appropriate amount of time for a response had passed. His eyes were still narrowed in contemplation, and Guude couldn’t help but feel that the other man was assessing him. “It is.”
The shorter man laughed bitterly, a grating sound that was nothing like the hearty chuckle he had once possessed. “Everyone’s gone. Except me. And you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Not after today,” the silver-haired man murmured blandly. “We’ll all be gone then. It is the end of the world, after all.”
“At least as we know it,” the first agreed, smiling a bit despite himself.
They stood in silence for a while, the newcomer moving to lean against the same column that he had staked out hours ago. Guude moved over subconsciously, glancing up at the taller man as he settled himself beside him. It seemed so long ago that they had met – he supposed it had been a long time, but for some reason, it seemed like centuries ago that they had raced for – of all things – wool. The man in question was turned slightly away and was fiddling idly with a diamond sword. This, Guude thought vaguely, was a bit odd – generally (if he recalled correctly), Etho’s affinity was toward the axe – at least when he wasn’t planning on heading into some sort of combat. Curious, he narrowed his eyes at the weapon, attempting to make out the words etched into the gem. Finally, as Etho turned it restlessly in his grip, the inscription caught the light.
The Etho Slayer.
“You’re carrying that around?” Guude broke the silence, his voice incredulous. He had always thought Etho had hated that damn sword – but here he was, turning it fondly in his hands like it was an old friend.
Etho’s eyes squinted in a manner that Guude knew to be amusement. “Seems odd, doesn’t it?” he questioned, rubbing at the name on the sword with something that was almost affection. “But Pause has been gone for so long. I… well, I never thought I’d say this, but… I miss him.” He winced, then, as if the man in question could hear him speak.
Ignoring his friend’s uncharacteristic flinch, Guude blinked in understanding. Pause had been one of the first of the old guard to go his own way, his exit a precursor to many more. “So do I…”
Again, silence dominated the area, the only sounds of wind through leaves and crumbling structures. In his mind’s eye, Guude could see the buildings for what they had once been, whole and quite nearly alive with color and, above all, heart. A little more effort, and he could see BTC outside of his restaurant, Bdubs and Genny devising another plot, and, if he squinted and thought deeply enough, even Shreeyam, the youngest of them all, writing… interesting… books and leaving a monumental amount of impact on them all, even though he had been one of the first to leave this place behind. Move on, he corrected himself. Shree had found his success elsewhere, and, somehow, Guude was happier for him than any of the rest.
“What will you do now?” Guude questioned abruptly as his mind began to wander to what was long gone. Don’t focus on it, he chided himself. You’ve focused on it enough. Focus on the here and now. Here and now, damn it all!
If the other man had been surprised or even mildly startled by Guude’s question, he didn’t show it. “The same as I always do, I guess,” Etho mused after a moment. “Just without… this.”
The nostalgia in his voice echoed the bittersweet sorrow in Guude’s own chest. It was all coming to a close – everything he had worked for and everything they had achieved – but he wouldn’t trade it for all the world.
“It’s been good working with you.”
“It’s been good knowing you,” Etho corrected, a breathy laugh escaping him.
Guude’s own giggle followed him. “Who would have thought ten years ago that everything would all lead up to this?”
Etho snorted. “Ten years ago, I hadn’t even heard of you.”
A laugh, long and hard. It was probably what Etho had been angling for, though he’d never admit it. “Stop ruining the moment, guy,” Guude gasped between breaths. “This is supposed to be serious.”
Etho paused. “But was Mindcrack ever serious? Truly? Wasn’t our main goal to have fun with what we did, to have fun with each other, as friends more than anything? To not separate ourselves into our own niche here, but to work as one community?”
“It tried to be serious,” Guude mused. “I’m not sure how well that worked out.”
Etho looked sidelong at him, expression dubious, and Guude chuckled again. “Sometimes tried to be serious,” he amended.
This time, the quiet lasted only a few heartbeats before Etho threw Guude’s question back at him. “What will you do now?”
In return, Guude smiled. “Spend time with my family,” he said warmly, most traces of sadness pushed away. “Who knows? Maybe my daughter will start something like Mindcrack someday.”
“I can see that,” Etho agreed, a smile in his voice.
This time, the silence was content.
----
It was nearing sundown when the quiet was broken again, this time by Guude’s laugh. “You know what’s funny?”
Etho shook his head, one eyebrow raised. “What?”
“Ten years, and you still haven’t taken that mask off. You never trusted us enough to let your guard down, did you?”
“It wasn’t that,” Etho protested. “I trusted you. I do trust you.” He rubbed the offending material roughly, as if trying to claw it off of his face. “It’s just… a part of me, I guess. Like it made me who I am.”
“A mask doesn’t make you who you are,” Guude quite nearly snapped, more out of shock at his friend’s misconception than any anger on his part. “I wouldn’t care if you wore a hockey mask on your face and wielded a knife half the time. Who you are is defined by what’s inside, not out. And who you are is a wonderful friend.” Guude hesitated a moment, before sighing in resignation and continuing. It was the truth, after all. He might as well say it. “One of the best I’ve ever had.”
For a moment, Etho froze in place. His eyes went wide, and if Guude wasn’t mistaken, a single tear ran down into the ever-present mask. After a moment, he spoke, his words slow and deliberate. “Do you want to see what’s underneath?”
“What?” Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.
“What’s underneath the mask. Do you really want to know?”
It was Guude’s turn to freeze. He turned sideways to look up at the younger man, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “No,” he decided eventually, as Etho’s second brow shot into his hairline. “As I said before, mask or not – you’re Etho. Your face doesn’t make you who you are – that’s your experiences, your memories, your character. I don’t need to see what’s under that mask, because I already know who Etho is – who you are.”
Etho nodded stiffly, looking a little choked up. “Really?”
“Yes. And don’t you ever forget it.”
The taller man nodded again, the movement jerky. Still, he didn’t speak, and finally Guude broke the silence, uncomfortable with Etho’s uncharacteristic display of emotion. “You have to have the weirdest tan line you ever did see though, right? I mean, seriously, guy, it’s got to look like you have some sort of serious skin issue.”
A choked laugh escaped the masked man, one that turned into an outright series of giggles as Guude joined in. By the time they got control of themselves, tears were streaming down Guude’s cheeks and Etho was gasping for breath, holding his sides.
“I use SPF 100 sunscreen,” Etho whispered conspiratorially, and they dissolved into laughter again.
It wasn’t that funny, but he’d take it. Somehow, laughing with Etho had become the highlight of his day. I guess it’s true what they say, Guude thought with a snort of unsuppressed laughter. Laughter really is the best medicine.
Or maybe, he thought a moment later, as Etho cracked a joke more lame than the last (if that was something even remotely possible), Etho brings a medicine all his own.
---
“Etho?” Guude questioned after the giggles had long since died into companionable silence. When the man in questioned turned his head to face him, Guude continued. “Thanks for coming. I… I didn’t want to go out alone. I… didn’t know you cared so much. Thank you.”
To his surprise, Etho chuckled. “Oh, Guude,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’ve always cared.” There was a short pause, in which Guude got the impression that Etho was grinning madly at him. “And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not alone – even discounting me. In fact… you’ve never been alone.”
“What do you mea– “ Guude started, only to cut himself off. A heavy, lightly sunburned arm was slung rather violently around his shoulders, an arm belonging to Jsano. Guude gaped as his old friend grinned, tilting his head after a moment in a nod to something on his other side. Half-shocked, Guude turned numbly to follow Jsano’s nod, only for his body to quite nearly shut itself down.
They were here. So many of them were here. Guude’s breath caught in his throat. Pause, who had exited the server with heated words, emerged with his hand ruffling Beef’s hair – while said man, who had broken his ties with Pause long ago, smiled and laughed… as if nothing had ever occurred between them. Paul Soares tipped his hat, giving him a small salute, while Vechs grinned maniacally beside Zisteau, who seemed to be taking Vech’s antics good-naturedly. Even Shree emerged, the lines on his face older and matured. Appearing from behind the remains of the Death Games building, BTC gave a skeleton grin, Mhykol pointed cheekily to a nametag on his chest, and Nebris smirked at his shock. Typical Cheaty Nebris, Guude thought dazedly, focusing in on the glowstone held within Nebris’s palms for some reason beyond him. It was all too overwhelming. Questions swirled within his mind, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. Instead, he stood stiffly in bewilderment, seeing his old friends around him but not really taking them in.
Soon, they were quite nearly upon him. The familiar faces swarmed around him, their greetings mere buzzings in his ears. He hadn’t seen many of them in years – they looked so different, but so absolutely the same. For a moment, Guude’s mind travelled back to years ago, when everything was fresh and new and alive, his brain making comparisons he didn’t want to make. Violently, he shook it off. This here and now was better than any memory he could recall, more alive than any recollection. A feeling of warmth grew in his chest, and he basked in the glow of it for a moment, sweeping his gaze across all of them. They were here. They had come!
All in all, he counted twenty-two of the seventy-six, each smiling at him in their own distinct ways. Had they had come for the end? Afternoon was setting in, the sun dipping enough to cast shadows – they were nearly too late. They had hours yet, though. Hours to recollect and reconnect, hours to reminisce and remember, to recall old memories and make new ones. Suddenly, the wounds didn’t bleed quite so badly anymore. They were scars, now. Only scars. They had come back to say good-bye. The bridges he feared were burnt for good were, perhaps, not so far gone.
“What… how?” Guude finally forced out, his heart constricting.
“Etho called us,” Pakratt explained, his deep baritone a welcome addition.
“Indeed,” Kurt chimed from off to the side, adjusting a pair of beaten-looking 3D glasses as he spoke.
“This place was a huge part of who we are and what we became,” Arkas explained in depth. “When we heard that Mindcrack had reached its end, well…”
“…we had to be there for it,” Aureylian broke in, tilting her head to the side.
“More than that,” Seth spoke up, “we had to be there for you.”
“And for each other,” Avidya interjected, gaining smiles from the others.
“And so when Etho called,” Baj began, rubbing his moustache thoughtfully.
With a grin, Doc finished. “What was there to do but to come?”
For a moment, Guude was silent. Shock ran through his system and rendered his tongue useless once more as they gazed at each other and around at what this place had become, murmuring apologies and recounting old tales amongst themselves. Finally, regaining some sense of control, Guude turned back to Etho, his mouth gaping. The sneaky ninja (for what else could he possibly be?) chuckled, his mask stretched with a grin Guude knew was there, even if he couldn’t see it. “You did all this?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“No,” Etho replied seriously. “It wasn’t just me. We did this. You did this, by bringing us together in the first place. We tore ourselves apart, and it was time that we knit ourselves back together.” Etho winced as Pause stuck his elbow into Etho’s ribs, grinning ruefully. “At least a little bit,” he amended sheepishly, rubbing at his side.
“Thank you,” Guude choked out. “Thank you.”
“No,” Etho whispered as Guude turned to mingle with the others, his voice so low that Guude barely caught the younger man’s words. “Thank you.”
--
For a time, the Town Hall was once again filled with laughter and voices that Guude thought he might never hear again. Some of the conversation was awkward, yes, but the simple pleasure of seeing each other again outweighed once-broken bonds and turned what could have been an awful reunion into one filled with nostalgia, laughter, and shared experiences.
Too soon, conversation began to trickle down as each member, current and former, turned their attention to the sky. It had grown late, and the ruins of Spawn Town were caught in dusk’s golden light. The golden years, Guude thought ruefully, here once more.... to see us off fully into the next chapters of our lives. Fitting.
The silence stretched out into the realm of what was uncomfortable. Gazes dropped to the floor, laughter died out, and the quiet became suffocating. Each seemed to be lost in their own memories or hopes, and, for a time, it seemed that the silence would remain until the day was finally done.
“This is the end, then?” BTC spoke up at last. His voice was tempered by the weight of the loss, his usual fire snuffed out.
The question hung in silence as each person regarded each other, expressions heavy and sorrowful. Eventually, each familiar face turned to Guude, looking to him for leadership and guidance, something that felt foreign after years apart.
For a moment, he didn’t know what to tell them. They weren’t asking for anything but encouragement, Guude knew – they all knew that their time here was done. That wasn’t the question at hand – each had moved on, didn’t need Mindcrack any longer. No, the question was for their friendships, for the bridges once again being built. And, unlike when they were falling apart, this time… this time, Guude knew the answer.
With the weight of his full confidence, the man who had started it all smiled.
”No. Not the end. Merely another beginning.”
And, accepting his words, the members of Mindcrack turned to watch as the sun dipped past the ruined buildings, casting its dying light on a long-dead world. Somehow, though, this death didn’t seem quite as difficult as it had during the sunrise. Things changed, things went away – but memories remained. Once a Mindcracker, always a Mindcracker, he had once said. This end didn’t mean the end of them – just the end of this era.
And, as the last vestiges of light vanished on the horizon, taking ten years of unprecedented success and happiness with them… well, he smiled. For everything he had lost… and everything he had gained.
Time was fleeting, that was true – but the friendships he had made? Those would last forever.
