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one tic , two tic , three tic .
was this the universe taunting him?
he walks forward. tic tic tic . it’s almost become as familiar as his heartbeat, except so much more loud . he doesn't know how his heart could even produce a trail of blood anymore, but every time that familiar tic enters his ears, a small drop of blood leaves itself on the ground below him.
there’s nothing to do but to walk forward. his biology confused and trying to keep itself together through the lines of error code—a warning from the universe: you’re not supposed to be here —where the only thing he can do is walk across the impossible landscape around him.
tic tic tic .
he’s not stupid. rat knows why he’s here and knows the dangers of the farlands. he knows , deep down in his bones: something wrong here. classic tales of modders playing god too well and finding themselves at the mercy of the universe’s code, like icarus to the sun, flying too close to that undeniable, sweltering heat.
once rat thinks about it, he wishes that were the case. where the last thing you’d see was the brightest and warmest thing you’d ever experience, to feel the world’s warmth just one last time.
it’s cold her e, rat thinks. so barren of any signs of life, that the entire world around him comes to a standstill. the air around him feels wrong , like it’s trying to suffocate him by its sheer weight, any movement being foreign and deciding to lay heavy in his lungs.
and yet, he’s still alive. still alive and breathing, no matter how much his lungs and body want to give into the surrounding cold. how he could just stop and let his heart rate slow down and let the snow blanket over him. he’d be free.
his movement doesn’t slow. he still goes forward. despite how every step he takes seems to shake the world around him, he still goes forward. his brain refuses to let him dwell on anything else.
it’s so still.
without any other stimuli, he’s aware of every muscle movement, every drop of blood falling to the ground, every soundwave that tics through the world. it feels so unlike the world around him that he feels like he’s trapped in his own skin. the vastness and how far everything is making him realize how tiny he is in comparison.
there’s still a trail of blood behind him. he’s not sure if he can take it anymore.
it feels like purgatory, maybe even worse than hell. at least there would be other stimuli besides the world punishing you for encroaching on its territory.
you’re not supposed to be here , he hears the universe tell him through tics .
but he’s not dead. he can’t die.
there , he feels a teardrop fall across his face, it’s warmth being so unlike the end of the world that he nearly stops in his tracks.
he keeps on walking. it’s the only thing he can do.