Jack opened his heavy eyes and saw the edge of the bed towering over him. He groaned and turned his head to the side, and he realized through the hazy fog of sleep that he had somehow rolled onto the floor and taken the covers with him. He tossed them off now and sat up, squinting in the early gray light. His hair was messy, and he ran his hand through the wild tufts as he looked down at his legs. Nothing. No blood stained the floor, nor was flesh or muscles ripped under dirtied bandages.
"... What a weird dream," Jack muttered. He couldn't remember specifics, but he could recall a few details. He remembered the apocalypse and seeing all his friends and... and the doctor...
I had a dream about a fictional character. Jack almost chuckled out loud. Now I'm definitely losing it. He climbed out of the covers and sluggishly made his way out of the bedroom. With one hand on the wall, he made his way to the kitchen and got the brewer started so that he could have some coffee to wake him up. While he waited for the dirty bean juice, he decided to check his phone for any updates.
But his tired expression stole back over his countenance when he remembered what was wrong. He let out a tiny sigh and scrolled through Twitter. Still no sign of him? What the hell? Jack frowned. Something's gotta be up. I don't care if he's still posting videos, he's not responding to anything else on his social media, and I still can't get to him. Then Jack pulled up YouTube and typed quickly. Sure enough, the latest videos, and a lot of them were horror games. That wasn't unusual though. Mark was famous for playing them, but...
Still, Jack was deeply troubled, and the fabrics of his dream slipped away quickly as the coffee maker beeped. He grunted and poured himself a cup of delicious energy, and as soon as the energizing drink hit his lips he already started to feel a little more perked. Maybe I should call him, Jack wondered, Should I call him? His hand hesitated on the counter. No, I shouldn't, he's probably tired. Then he tapped on his contacts and pulled up the correct phone number anyway. I just wanna know if he's ok, Jack told himself. It's not like I'm his dad or anything. Just a concerned friend, living on the other side of the world... come on Mark, please, pick up, just this-
"Jack?" Jack smiled, relieved. He's ok!
"Hey Mark!" He put the call on speaker mode so he could set the coffee pot aside. "I know it's late over there, but just calling to say hi, I haven't heard from ya in a while," he said.
"Oh. Yeah, I've been really busy," Mark admitted.
"It's fine, I get it." Jack took another sip and set the cup down. "I was actually thinking of asking if you want to do a collab video?" He asked. "A lot of people are asking for it, and I thought it'd be fun because we haven't really played together in such a long time, and—"
"I can't, I said I'm busy." Jack winced, and Mark quickly amended his tone. "I mean..." He sighed, his tone dropping morosely. "Look, man, just... not now, ok? I've been really stressed lately what with all the projects I've been undertaking and..." Jack shook his head.
"No hard feelings, dude. I totally get it."
"Thanks..." Then Mark changed the subject, immediately brightening up again. "So did you just wake up? How did you sleep?" Jack grunted mid-swallow and set his mug down.
"Yeah, I just got up." He tried to recall his dream, but only one thing had stuck with him. "I had a dream about one of my alter egos," the Irishman chuckled. Silence. Jack wondered if Mark had heard him before he thought he heard some sort of exasperated sigh in the background, and then he finally responded after the click of something being set down.
"Oh really?" He asked in a light tone. "Which one?" Jack yawned.
"Doctor Schneeplestein. That doctor persona I made up with the German accent? Can't remember what the dream was about, though." Jack frowned. "I think you were in it too, actually. And Signe, and the rest of Teamiplier..."
"Interesting. And you can't remember what happened?"
"Nope. Stupid human brains," Jack chuckled. "Course, I'm drinking my dirty bean juice right now, so I might remember later today."
"Right." Mark chuckled. And it was something about that chuckle that sent chills shooting down Jack's spine. He froze, and the mug almost slipped out of his hands. It didn't sound right. Something about it felt off. The warning signs from a primitive instinct were signaling to Jack, screaming at him to be careful. But why? Now you're getting superstitious, Jack scolded his body. This is my friend Mark, so why do I feel so anxious all of a sudden? He panicked even more when he realized that Mark had just asked another question.
"Sorry, what?" Jack asked dumbly.
"I said, 'Why do you think you had that dream?'"
"Oh. I dunno." Jack let out a little tired sigh, pondering. "I mean, I guess with all the ego lore that's been circulating the internet lately, I've been sleeping on some cool ideas for it. Especially since you just came out with that really cool tv show thing in October."
"Oh really? You watched it?"
"Yeah!" Jack chuckled. "It was awesome. Who'd ya say the music guy that made the score was again?"
"Oh, I don't remember," Mark answered dismissively, "But it's fine, the whole thing came out really great, the fans absolutely ate it up!" Jack's smile left him again. That weird "danger, beware" feeling was getting stronger. Mark doesn't usually forget things like that. Normally he never shuts up about awesome help like that.
"Yer sure yer okay?" The Irishman asked haltingly, rubbing his right eye when it suddenly twitched in protest to inhaling a mug of coffee first thing in the morning.
"I am fantastic," Mark purred, "But you still sound like you could use some time to wake up, so I'll call you later, okay?"
"Okay, bye... Glad yer—" Jack stopped and sighed at the flashing screen. "—fine," he mumbled halfheartedly. He turned the phone off and leaned on the counter. He took a breath, ruffled his green hair, and then he took a small sip of his coffee before idly drumming his fingers on the sides. He kept thinking about Mark, wondering just how busy he was as he shifted his leg restlessly.
"... My hair is so gross," He muttered distractedly to himself. He abandoned the mug and left the kitchen, his steps curt as he whisked into the bathroom. The faucet squeaked on as he turned the knob and dipped his hands under the stream of water, splashing his face. His senses came alive, jolting at the icy sensation, and he breathed sharply as he remained bent over the sink. He turned off the tap and set his hands down on the smooth white counter, just breathing as he let the droplets trickle off his chin. He closed his eyes and sighed, and eventually he reached for the towel, straightening his spine.
And when he finally looked up, he was met with the expectant stare of his grinning reflection.
Jack shouted as he staggered back, slamming against the wall. One second his reflection was scowling down at him, and the next time he blinked it was suddenly just there, in front of him.
"S̛̀h҉h͘҉̴.̴͏.́.͘" A greenish, mildly-transparent hand covered Jack's mouth. He let out a muffled scream as the specter flickered, smiling eerily in his face as it tilted its head. Jack's wide eyes looked the apparition up and down, matching his rapid breaths as he noticed the black clothes and electric green eyes. His eyes bulged wider, and he made some more muffled noises, struggling; but the phantasmic figure dragged him down to a sit on the floor and straddled him in place. Jack tried to push him off, but he was as good as stuck. A cloud of flickers sparked around him, distorting the bathroom with glitches.
"Hm, hmm! Mn-th—!" The fingers curled tighter over his jaw, leaving Jack with hardly the strength to even hum a syllable.
"S̸͜͞tǫp̀̀͝ s͏t̛͝r̵̕͝u̷͘g̶g̷l̨̛i̸n͞g ̛͜҉and ̶͘͘şta҉̕r͏̕҉t̸̛ ̡̨liś̵t̢́en̨in̶͞ǵ҉," the specter hissed softly, shaking the man's head a little. Jack froze up under the fritzy words and stared at him, questions streaming through his eyes as clear as a cloudless day. "I͡͠ ̸́d̡̢o͢n̶̡̢'t͘ ̵͝c̕àr̵e ̨͠͞h͜o͏̕͠w̸҉ m̴ú͟c̵h́ ͠y͟o̡u̸ ̡̧s͏͜c͏r̨͡e̛a͟m͝ or b̴̡̀éǵ̷.͘͢ ͏W̵̛he͟th̷̢̛e͜͡r̷ ̷ý͘o̡u͘ l̡͞i̶͟k̛͞è ̡͝i̵t̛҉͡ ̴̀o͝r ̸̶ńo͢͢t҉͝,҉͢ ̵y͞er͟ ̢ą͝ ̷̸p̷̡̕a҉͝ŗ͏͏t o̵̧f҉͠ ̀ţ͠h͏̕͘i̴s̴,̵̨͘ J́͝á̸̀c̴͟k̷͜. ̨̨͜A̡͞͞n̴d́ ̶I ̛͜d́͟o͝n̵'̕͜ţ̷̛ h̀́á͢v̢̛҉e t͏͏i̢m̴̶è͜ t̵́o ̛h̵͢ol͞d ̵̸ýe͡͡͏r ̶h̨̕àn̛͠d̷̀ th͞r͏oug̷h̛́ ̸͠t̶h͞i̡͘ş̴,̵̛ ̶bùt͘͞ ̴y̷o҉̴u҉ n͟e͏ed to̢ ̡c̸͢los͜e̸ ̷y̷̨͘e͞ŗ̡ ͟é̸͢y̨e̢̨s̵ ҉͢͜a͟҉n̵d̶ ̷̨͝g͏̡̡ó ̴̕͜t̷̀ǫ̧ ͠s̸l͝e҉͞e̵ṕ." Jack's brow raised crookedly, furrowing.
"Mmf?"
"Y̕͝͞e̵̢͢s̢͟͠," he growled, "Ún͢͟l͟e̡s͝s̸̕͡ ỳ̨o̕͡u ͞w̷a̧n̵̡̕t̕ ͟to ̧d̶͠i̢͜e̶,̷͏͝ ͟͟I̶̕ ̡h̸́͠ąv͘e ̛͞t̵̨͢o ̨̡̕r̀͡ȩ̀͞p̕lá̵͝ce͘ ̸͠yo͟ư̧͢ ̵̧a͞͞n͡͡d ͡͝t̕a̵k̶͟e͢ y̷͠e͘͡͝r ̀҉̕s͘͠͞tu̷p̀͢͢i̡d ̕j̵o͢͏b̵̡̀.̷̛͢" Jack tapped the hand covering his mouth urgently. As soon as the fingers pulled away, he sucked in a quick breath before gaping at the transparent doppelganger.
"What the hell do ya mean replace me!?" Jack exclaimed hoarsely. "Wha- how- how do you even—!"
"D̨͏̢o͞͞ ̷̶̶̕̕ỳ͟͜͞͝o̶̸̧̕͠u̢ ̀͟͠͏w͏͜a̴̷͞҉̶n̵͢t̵҉́ ̵M̀͘͡a͏̵͘r̛͟͡k̕҉̵͜ ̸̴̨͢t̕͠o̵̶̶̕ ̢́͟͝d͢͠ì̀e̷͜͢͝!̸̶̨͘?̸҉" The specter snapped. Jack halted.
"... Wh-what?" The specter rolled his green and black eyes with an exaggerated sigh and flicker.
"A̴͟d̕̕mi̸͘t̨́ ̷ìt̡̀,͏̧ ͡Sè̸͏á͘ń͘͘.҉ Y͘o͢ư͜ ̕k͝n͘oẁ ͠w͡h̸a̷̛͡t̀ ͜Í̛ ̀͟͢m̡͝e͘̕a̷͜͠n̡̧.̵ ̡͞H͞e͢'̷͠s̕͜ ̶̨b̴̨e͟͞en̨ ̸͢act̵i̶̡n'̸ ͞i̸ff̨̨y, ̷̧y͏̵ó̴u̡͜'̴͞v́͜͝e̸ ̡́́b̛e̛͡en̵͘͜ ̵d̀é͠͏n͘͏y̨į́ng̸ ̸̧͝i҉t͏̧͢ ̢̡f̡ǫ̢̀r o͘vȩ̡͠r̢ ͢ą m҉͢on̵͠th̛͢."
"B-but h-how did y-you—?" The specter tapped his head, glitching briefly from a serious scowl to a demonic grin.
"I'͜͢m̀͟ ͏in̡͞͞ ҉̧́yè͡͠r ̸͠h̶e͡à́͝d̵҉͢. ̶͡A͠͏lw̸̛a̷ý̶̴s̴̨͟ ̸h͘͢av̸͟e̸ ̴̶be̕͜͞e̢̢n͏̡, ̸͢ȩ̸v͞e͏r̨y̸̵͝ ̷͡͝v̨i͜͝d̡͞ę̵͘o̸͢ ̀sì͘͡n̵̕͞c͞é͘ ̢̀ţ̛͜hat́͝ ͏fir̴͞ş̕t͜͠ ̴͏͘Hal̴̴ļ̴o͟͝w̶e̢͜͝e̛̕n̵͜.͜͏̢.̴.̡ Bu͘͠t͜͜ ̸yǫ̴͘ų'̢͟͡v̸e͡ ͝a̢̛lw̧aý̵̨s͞͡ ̶̡̨k͘n̡ow̸n҉ ̷t̷̴ḩat̢͝͠.̡" His head tilted from one side to the other. "I̵f̨͢ y͘͜͡o̴u ̸̷f̀͟͡i͜͝g҉h̶t͡ ͏̛m̴͘͜e͡͡ ̢͏͟o͡n ҉t̨͘͠hi͘͞s̴̨̛,͞ ̴͡ỳe̴̸̸r͏ ͏͢͠g͢o̕n̨n̕a̛ ͏die҉,́ ͏j̢us͏́̀t̴ ̀͟li̵̕k̷é͟ ̸҉he҉͡ ̧p̧̨ŗơ̶̕b̨̛a̛b̕l̢͜y̶̕ ̧ẃ̕i̸͡l͟l.̀̕ ͘U̷nle҉̸s̴͘s̸—"
"Unless I what? Let you slit my throat!?" Jack was shaking his head, overwhelmed by what he was hearing. His small, half-awake human brain was not in the mood to exercise any means of comprehension. "N-no! I'm not letting you!" He covered his eyes, rubbing them as he groaned, "Christ, this has to be a dream, or the stress from editing...! " But the specter buzzed angrily before him.
"D̛́o͏̧͏́e̶̕͞s̀ ͠T̷́͘͜H̡̡̀͜͞I͜͡S̴̴̛̀͘ ̢̢͡͞͡f̡̡̀̕͜ȩ͠e̴͢͢ĺ͢͢ ̵͏l̕͠i̴҉͢k̵͠e͘͡ ̵̨̢͞͠a̡͞ ̴̨d̨̢͘͜͞r̀͜͡ȩ́̕a̷͜͢m̕͟!̢́?҉̨" Jack yelped as a fist grabbed the front of his shirt, and he was pushed onto his back as he suddenly found himself in a completely different place. He recognized the tall elevator shaft and the single plank nailed into the side of the skyscraper, and his heart beat faster as he immediately dug into the wobbly wood beneath him, refusing to look down. The specter loomed over him, his toes pressing down on the base of the board and making the beam groan.
"Th-this-this isn't- this can't be—!" Jack blanched as the wood creaked under the weight of a breeze. "Th-this can't be real!"
"R҉̢͞e̕͟á̶͡l͢l̸y̕͜?́ H̀͡o̵̡̡̕͞w̧̛͟ ͢͞a̡͝b̴̵͜͠o̸̕͠ù́̕͜ţ̧͟͝҉ ͘͢t̵̕͡͝͡ḩ̵͜҉̨i̛͘͜s̴͘͠͠!͏҉?̨͘͝" The board suddenly snapped, and Jack fell with a scream. But instead of plummeting to the city streets thousands of miles below, he collapsed on the floor of an office with one door on each side. Jack slowly picked himself up, groaning as he held his spinning head. He looked up and paled at the sight of a seemingly innocent cupcake that sat on the desk, beside a computer bearing old greyed out cameras that were panning around rooms and halls with pizza and children's drawings.
"Oh fu—" The pink cupcake suddenly jumped off its plate, bearing its teeth in the Irishman's face as it let out a horrifying screech. Jack screamed back and jumped away, but before he could hit the wall his surroundings changed around him. He was suddenly falling into water, sunlight filtering through unimaginable dimensions of turquoise liquid. Jack felt his eyes burn from the salt as he squinted, feeling his arm itch as green pores trailed down to his hand, glowing and threatening to burst with a terrible infection. A deafening roar came from behind, and the water suddenly swirled as Jack was spun upside down and swept behind rows of huge teeth that snapped down upon him with a silent scream of bubbles.
Countless scenarios chewed Jack up and spat him out into the next, pummeling him with one almost-death after the next, each more gruesome and more real; from horrendous monsters chasing him down through forests and mazes, to the wail of a flat-line and the desperate hiss of defibrillators, pain came around every corner, pulling no punches. They felt like dreams only in the sense that it seemed imaginative and preposterous, yet each tooth and claw and needle felt as real as any waking memory. He remembered every one of them, but not in this way: how was this possible? Were they really... Real, somehow? Had these things actually happened, not staged like some great ma̴g̵ic͟ ̕t͝rick for the sake of entertainment?
And then he was there, in his old office. He was staring at the camera, set up to observe his desk and the pumpkin carved beneath him. His whole body tingled with dread: that terrible moment, that horrific accident that he'd brushed off as a set-up, as pretend, all this time. He wanted to run. He wanted to hurl the knife in his hand away, throw the door open and never look back. But he couldn't move. He couldn't escape that moment, when he'd realized that something far greater than a simple prank was taking shape, taking form— taking over.
His eye twitched, and his hand shuddered as he tried to f̧ight͞ ҉b͝ack̵ for control. But the knife slowly came up to his bare neck, cutting into the skin all too easily. Blood gushed from the growing wound as the knife slid across his throat, his vision jumping from normal t́ơ ̵a hellish and static-y green. He could taste the salty crimson that flooded his esophagus and drowned his lungs; he could f͡eel҉ the blood pooling over the dark wood, stretching out in a steadily growing sea; he could feel himself smiling despite the p̷ai̵n, despite the urge to throw up or scream as the stainless steel did its work. F͘i̧nal̷l̛y, he was f̶̶̶͡r̢̀̕͟e̡͏̵̵҉e̡͏̶̢! Fi̢nal͞ly̵, they would p̧̊ͪ͆̆͒͆̉ͥͪͪ̆̾̌͂́̍҉͙̬͈̬a̧̞̰̳͙̫̞̗̙̹̹͗́̔̍̄̄̌ͩ̒̍̽ͨ̉ͦ̕͠ý̞̯̟̗͖̫͔͎̤̘̬͋ͪ͗ͯͥͯ̊͌ͮ͂͋ͪ̀̀͘͝ ̠͕̦̞̙͕̼̺̽̾̊̅̓ͤ̓͒ͥ̅̌̇̍̅̆̀͜͢͞ͅaͩ̉ͭ̍̔̽̒̃̋҉̯̖̘͖͚̫͕̬͓̪͔̦̪͠ţ̡̖̙̗͚͉͎̣̯̱̲̮̯̥͙͎͎̻̃̓ͪ̑͂̊͑̐̈ͨ̍̀̓̾̏ͫ̚͝t̘̖̠̻̻̻͍̤̥ͫ̓͛͌̅ͬ͂̆̈́̊ͨͧͤ̄̈́͆ͭ͜͟ͅḙ̢̢̛̳͖̗̱̞͔̘̙̬͇͇̹̰̞̯̯̻̘̊̈ͪ̇̎̔̎͋̌ͧ͒́n̢̦̞̬͔̳͈̙̙͓̬͔̜̂̆̓ͤ͒͋ͮ̅̃͘͝t̴̨͉͈̬͉͍͂̅̅͛̽̔̋̚͟͠ͅi͋̆ͤ̎̂͐͋ͤ̋͜͏̟̺̰͖̪̪̹̙͕̕óͭ̓͛̓ͥ͒̎͛̈́̐͗͏̴̬͕͍̞͍n̷̷̢̛̫͔̤͉̺͖̤̱̗̭̩̏̃̑̏͆ͧ̓ͯ̈͊̔̉ͮ͢!
What little of his strength left him, and h̡e̛ ̨las͏t͏ ̀re͢m͘em̡b͢ered his head hitting the pumpkin as jubilant laughter echoed in his ears, and d̵ar͢kņes͘s͠ crashed over him: a curtain of death.
And then he was back in his house. He gasped awake on the cold tiled floor, limbs jerking every which way as he quickly sat up. His hand instantly came to his neck, and though he found relief in the lack of torn skin, his heart did not relax from its frantic knocking against his ribs.
"D̵̀i̷ḑ̧҉ ͞t̶͏ha͡͡҉ţ̀́ ̀͟f͡e͝e͞͏l͟͞ ͢͢l̨i̸ke͟͠ ̵̕͏a̶ ̶̶d̡r̢̡ea̕m̸̧͜?" Jack spun around. The glitchy specter was there, leaning against the doorway with that knife being idly fiddled with in impatient hands. The mirror was smashed now, fractures of glass glittering the floor around Jack. And for once, he wasn't smiling or snarling: he was just calmly standing there, watching and waiting for the Irishman's response.
Jack slowly got up. His body ached with the memory of the million scenarios he had just been thrown into, but no physical wounds stopped him. It was still morning, calm and quiet as the birds chirped outside with their blissful ignorance. Hardly a second of time had passed, and he already wanted to crawl back into bed... But now was not the time to rest.
He slowly walked up to the doppelganger, his eyes trailing from the messy short hair down to the torn pants. He slowly took a breath, exhaling through his nose, and then he bit his lip as he let the dizzyness subside.
"... Are... Are t͏h̀e o̸th͏e͘ŕs...?" A simple nod gave him his answer. A tremor ran down Jack's spine, chilling him down to the very bones. He sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing his twitching eye. "H-how...?"
"I ͏cąn͏'̡t ̶a͡n̵s͟w͡e̵r͞ ̧th͘at͝ ̛yęt̷," the glitch said quietly. Jack narrowed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.
"Can't? Or won't?" He challenged. A little grin creeped over the specter's lips.
"B͟ot҉́h͝." Jack sighed.
"Okay... But what yer askin'... It's-it's a lot. I mean... All this time, I-I thought you weren't real, and-and then you..." He shook his head and kneaded his brow. "And all those time you...!"
"Was̛n͏҉̢'t̨ i̧͞t ͡f̕҉̀o͘r̛͟ ̧҉͝t̛̀he̕̕ ̧͘͞v҉̡i̛͜͜e̵͠͝we͢ŕ̛͝s?̨" The glitch pointed out haughtily.
"Wh- yeah, but that-that's not the poi—"
"Th͟e̡̧͢r̸̷é ͡y̸̧a͜ g̕ó̕ ̸th̶e̸҉n̡͏.͟ ̶Ì̵͢ ̶̵͢ha͡ḑ ̵́m̀́̕y̧̢͠ ̵͝f҉̡u͡͏͞n w͏i͢͢͠t̨͜h̵̕͢ ̵͡t̀̕̕h҉̀͞ȩm̨,҉̡ ͞k̢̨e̶̕͡pt͡ ̴́y҉ou͜ a͞͞l̶͟͟i̷v̡̛͝e̕, ̕l͟et̶ ̶ỳ̢o͠ų̧̕ ͢h͏̡av̶e҉̛͜ ̕͡y̵óu̴͞r͘͡ ̴͘li̷̡̕tt͡҉l̶e͠ ̵̢͏s̡͡t̵ó͘ryt̷e̕͏l͘li̷̶͟ng̛͢.͟.̸.̨͡ M̨͜i̵̧͡ǹ͘͞ú̷s ̴á f̨͞e̡w͡ i҉̸̡m̛͞po̵͟r̷̸͢t̶͘a̴̵͏ņ̛͡t͘͜ ̵d̵̨͠e҉̧ţ̷a̡i̛̕l̷͟s͏͟.̛" Jack's jaw dropped.
"A few important details!? You made me think they were nothing but skits!!!"
"W͡ȩ͘l͢҉̡l,̸̀ ͠n̴ow͝ ̨͘͟ý́͝ơu͟͝ ͠͏̛r̡e̴m̛ę̛͝m̸b̸èr҉.̸̛͢ ̸͠͠Y̕er ̢̡͢w̧҉e̕l̢̀ć̨ǫ͞m̸͘e.͡ ̶A̵͠ĺ͞l͜ ͡I͢͝͝ ̧d̡͟id͘͜ ̀͝w̵ąs̸͞ ͝w̛͟ḩ͠at ̵̧̨t͠h͝͞͠e͜҉y͞ ҉wan̡t̨͢e͠d̴́ y̵̛͟o̵̵u̷̡ ͏̡t̡o̴̶͢ ͜d̴o̴̸̸.͏" The glitch crossed his arms, all hints of humor fading. "B҉̸̡u̧͟ţ͜ n̸ǫw ̧th̨a̵t's̷͢͞ ̛͝g͜o̸̢nnà̕͢ ͞͏g҉o̸͝ ̵͠á҉w͢a̵y̷,̶̕" he muttered sullenly, "S̴͞tu̴̢p̵̢i̶d̷̸̀ ̨͡Ḑa̴̕͡rk҉ ́a̢n͘͜d ҉͏̢h̵̛͘i̡͠s̶͟ ̸'̵Y̛ò̕͢u ͢n̢̕e̸ȩ̴d t̶o ̶͘͝g̸͝e͞͞t́͠ c̸̴̕o̴҉n̨̧tr̕̕ol̶͠ ̵̨̨o͘f̨ ́̀͏a̡ ͜͠b̷̧òd҉y̷͝͝'҉ ̷p͟͞͏l̸̢͠an̨.̨͏ ̕I ̀c͏̵a̢̧n ͟d̛́͞o̧ ̵̕pl̛͟͢e̢͢͝n̴t̢͜͡y̸̢͜ ̸o͟f͡ ̀o̡t̵͞h̢̡͞e͏r͠͡҉ ̸͢t̴̡͡h͞ing҉̨͘s̡ ̧̨w̡i̧͜t̛h̕ơ̸͠ú͞t ̷̨p̨òş͘s͏̧e͝s̵͟s̀i͢n̴g͘ ̢̛a͠͠ ͏f̶̀͟ook҉į̵n̛'̢ ̵m͘͡͝ea͜t̵̛͠ ҉͡͞s̕u͏͘i̧͡t̨—"
"G-... Go away...? Dark-... Darkiplier, you mean? M-Mark's...?" Jack tilted his head expectantly, but the flickering doppelganger didn't look up. Jack bit his lower lip and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. The knife stopped moving in the glitch's hands. "A-Anti... You need to tell me," he said gently, "If this- if this is gonna work out, at all, then ya need to let me in the loop." The glitch's lower lip pursed uncertainly. "We have enough time for an explanation," Jack insisted firmly, "It's the least you can do, if we're really about to consider... this." Anti's chin dipped a little, avoiding Jack's now-calm gaze. Then he gave a small nod. Jack slowly exhaled.
"Okay... So what is Dark planning?"