Thunder rang out through the skies. The winds were abhorrent and terrible, causing the top of the Ivory Tower to slightly sway.

  It should be called more of a pyramid in truth. Such a large object could not withstand its own weight being perpendicular. A spike piercing the sky from the nuclear cityscape. Yet still too short to pierce the clouds.

  Proteus crept into the throne room in reverence of his master lord. The hallowed room basked in light for a change; the balcony door, wide open.

  He observed his master placed upon the throne; an orange, black and white creature on his lap which he pet gently. Proteus got closer to his master, who stood as a colossus over him. “Gauth Van Hulsieg… my lord, is that a Tiger on your lap?”

  His master picked it up and cradled it next to his shoulder. He walked to the doorway opposite the balcony and lays it down upon the steel floor gently. He turns to Proteus, putting his greatcoat on.

  “You have keen eyes, Proteus. Her name is Cringer. I got her not soon after you were put into stasis. Now… What is the progress on the texts?”

  Proteus takes a knee, his curiosity satiated and his master's raw presence.

  “I have been… unable to find anything more. I became occupied with my acquaintances, particularly Cerberus and Basilisk. I tire of their antics.”

  “I would not blame you.” His master replies, stepping towards the balcony door. He seems to… reserve something. Perhaps an opinion, before simply admiring the view outside.

  “What about the others?” Proteus asks, standing once more. “What about Halcyon? Manticore? Septimus?”

  “Silence.” His master orders, staring into the distance. Proteus approaches closer to take in the view.

  The two stand together for a little while, his master resolute where Proteus struggles against the rain. The lightning is particularly terrible, the great spires and pylons of the skyline absorbing the thunder of the quaking skies.

  The door begins slowly closing, until it closes fully. The thunderous winds turned to a gustily suggestion.

  “Relinquish your concern for your colleagues, Proteus. The texts are your number one priority from now on, as per my decree.” Orders his master, pacing back to his throne to reach behind. What he reveals is yet another piece of paper. It looks like a spec between his fingers. And yet, he graces them so gently as he hands the second of the series of parchment down to Proteus.

  He grasps it with both his leather-clad hands. Its aged appearance is either a testament to the ravages of time, or a life through Hell and back.

  “Read it, Proteus.” His master orders as he returns to the throne. His subject complies.

  “Void Death in Another World - VI

  Existence is measured by your capacity to suffer, your will to live measured by how willing you are to suffer.

  And yet, why do we suffer? Why do we want to live?

  Because it’s all we can ever know, and all we can ever hope to be.

  And, as is seen in the modern day— with how meaningless, empty, unfulfilling and bleak our lives have come. The modern day, which is the most convenient, easy, and manageable in history.

  Our pursuit of modern happiness is the pursuit of death.

  Therefore, there is no escape from this, but death itself.

  To live is to suffer; there is nothing else. Nothing else matters.”

  Proteus looks up with concern on his face.

  “Gauth Van Hulsieg, my master. Why do you feed these to me in reverse order? This is the sixth where the last was the seventh?”

  His master frowns. It is never good when he frowns. “That is the wrong question, Proteus.”

  He stands there, now unsafe in the presence of his master. “I apologize. That should not have incurred my query. I merely feel I would better execute your task if I received the texts chronologically.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  His master gets up from his throne. The sight is jarring as something so large should not move so quickly. It causes the air to suck towards him, as if there is a vacuum where he is not present. “Your feelings are a means for control. You speak with doubt of my judgment.”

  His volume raised like a beast. He steps towards Proteus, taking a knee in front of him. Overlooking the average man like a stone golem of ancient noir.

  “There is something you are not telling me, Proteus.”

  Proteus remains composed and retreats slightly, trying both to deescalate and control himself.

  “I… Gauth Van Hulsieg, my master. My allegiances lie only with you. My loyalty is as absolute as my belief in our cause.”

  “Then state. Your. Grievances.” The God-Man barks down upon him.

  Proteus frantically combs through his memories since he has awoken.

  “I've… I— I thought myself dead before being put into stasis. Less than seventy two hours ago, I found myself alive in a world made of seeds I helped sew. My purpose for so long was to help create this, and I was to die happy. And yet, I find myself still alive. There is no grand message here, I merely explain that the world has been jarring to experience.”

  “There is more to your statement that you infer.”

  His master decides, unconvinced.

  Proteus straightens his back out, and looks to his master with a conviction that has been sorely lacking since his time. A nerve was hit, and he mobilizes his opinions.

  “In that case, I do have a grievance to air.” He points his finger at his master, accusing him of something which risks his destruction.

  “You are a husk of your former self, Gauth Van Hulsieg. Skittish and schizophrenic and unconvinced of your own rule.”

  He puts his finger down and confronts him closer.

  “You have me chasing fairy tales as opposed to helping my colleagues. You feel panicked to convince everyone you see of your grandeurs.”

  He gets even closer, their faces mere feet away as he finishes.

  “You are weak, because you feel the need to be convinced you are strong.” Proteus backs up slowly, unable to tell the expression on his master's face.

  “It is interesting to hear the truth.” His master replies, rather normal.

  He stands back up to his full height at the pace Proteus has become accustomed to. “You are right Proteus, all except for two aspects.”

  He turns around and returns to the throne, whistling for Cringer to come join him. Proteus awaited a follow-up, but received none. And so he asks. “What aspects?”

  The God-Man turns to him as Cringer jumps on his lap and yawns. His reply is short and blunt as he puts a finger to the air.

  “One. I am aware of the weaknesses you speak of. Two. I acknowledge them because they are real. You must pay more attention when I tell you, Proteus…”

  He leans forward, against the side of the throne, looking down at Proteus as he does everyone else. “...there is a change coming. And we do not yet control it.”

  Proteus looks down to the parchment, the true extent of the situation dawning on him. “What was the date of their publishing?” Proteus asks him.

  “December the fourteenth, 2024.” His master oozes.

  Proteus looks at the scribe longer, reading one line over and over.

  “To live is to suffer; there is nothing else. Nothing else matters.”

  The resonance hits him. He was not awakened to reap the fruits, but to fertilize the soils which he planted. He looks up to his master, feeling both vindicated yet proven wrong.

  “Are these ideas of your power even my own?”

  His master looks at him with a toothy, uncanny smile. “I believe it is best for you to figure out for yourself.”

  His master lifts the hand which pats his cat, and signals Proteus towards the grand staircase which leads to the exit. Proteus gives his master a subtle nod before power walking into the elevator. He presses the button for the ground floor. He marches hurriedly to the basement archives. His first lead is finding more about texts from the year 2024.

  He finds nothing. His next act is to try to view the interrogation of Clyde by Basilisk. He sees that he mentioned someone called Abbey who was his neighbor. Unreliable, but a lead none-the-less.

  The last thing he scoured with urgency was the statuses of the psi-op rebellions. While many still received funding and instruction, it seemed that large amounts would be facing termination in the coming days.

  Worse yet, within the deep contentsphere, he saw something he dedicated his life to crushing; independent thought. Proteus leaves the archives with this information, along with realization of how much history and information has been purged or rewritten. It simply wasn't enough.

  He enters the vehicle bay, choosing the station-wagon he had prior. And, as he leaves for Briggs Plaza once again, he contemplates the two worst revelations of them all. Even with all of the contradictions, all the fabrications and all the lies created to make noise; the truth is still out there.

  And not everyone is complacent.