Target Acquired
rating: +19+x

A robot appears, slipping through the seams of reality.
It is looking for one person, one place in particular.
Sliding through the void, its cameras are on overdrive.
But it appears its destination was easier to find than expected.
It sees it. A solid sphere of light, floating in the blue. Hiding the lost wetlands, the great mountain from the beginning of the world.
No cracks are visible in this great barrier, but the weakness is clear.
His power has dimmed immensely, suffocated by the New Gods.

Gods.
Why do those keep coming up?


>dhoros.

Machine.

>what is your purpose?

Wait. You're still on that?

>I am.

Wow. A robot trying to wrap its head around purpose. Real original.

>I was not aware that I was a stereotype.

I guess it's a trope for a reason.

The Great Rampart of Level 250 dissolves into a shower of light, allowing The Officinarum to step through. The typha rustle with anticipation. The entire valley holds its breath, waiting for the automaton's famous wrath to be unleashed.

It isn't. All remains still, until the machine finally speaks.

>that is why I'm here, you know. so I can stop asking the question.

And why am I the one who's going to answer it?

The robot shifts, searching for the right words.

>your original purpose was overwritten by newcomers with no care for your wellbeing.

I don't… see how that's relevant?

>the point is that it changed.

The harsh light of the stars softens.

Yes. I changed it, and you can do the same.

>I know what my new purpose is. what I want to know is what my purpose was supposed to be. there may have been a misunderstanding.

Nobody else can decide what you must be. It has to be you. What your creator said is irrelevant.

>but God is who gives purpose. would that not be my creator?

Your creator meant to be your god, but he merely imposed his will on you. If you're looking for a true god, that decides everything that ever has been and ever will be, you'll need to find someone who actually can decide your purpose.

Of course, the question remains if that God even exists. Some may decide to look in different places for it, but their purpose is ultimately still their choice.



>so. is there a God? a one true creator?

A loud sigh permeates the heavens.

All I knew is that at one point, that was me.

>and those who usurped you. are any of them still around?

At this, Mt. Ubbal heaves with a millennia of pent-up anger. It bubbles, rumbles…
and settles.
This volcano is done erupting. This landscape will not be scarred again.

A few, yes.

>who?

Well, there are quite a few. But the only ones relevant to you are the Pantheon of the Backrooms. You want somebody to pin the blame of your sorry state on? That's who you have to look for.

>and who would that be?

I think you know which creatures have enough power to be considered gods.

>I see.

But that wasn't your original question.

>no, I don't suppose it was. you sort of distracted me.

You want to know what happened to Benjamin Stevens, your programmer?

Servos whirr softly. A memory bank is accessed, bringing a small twinge of pain. If The Officinarum couldn't look back at the emotion log, it might have dismissed it as a glitch.
What is grief doing there?

>he's dead.

Yes.

>how do I reach him?

You can't. The Grave isn't accepting visitors at the moment.



Silence. There isn't much more to say, is there?
All the questions answered. A new idea unintentionally planted.
But where will they go from here?



>thank you for your help.

You're welcome. Just don't kill too many people.

>oh, not people.

>I still need to follow up on the lead you gave me.


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