Chapter Text
Whole.
That's how it started, as all do.
One, singular, intact, complete, entire.
I, me, mine, myself, and any other definition of the word.
Singing little songs, with little themes, and little hints.
Digging up the corpses of his idol's voices, dusting off their lyric books, before tearing out the pages.
Squeaking markers on whiteboards, strumming guitars, snaring drums, pressing down keys, cutting voices and melodies apart with the clacking and clicking, and gift it to those who would take, to which they happily did.
Nothing extraordinary, it was just for passion, no fame nor fortune in mind.
Little.
All was alright, all was calm, waves dragging against the sand.
But the songs began to change…
He began to change.
New voices, different voices, bubbled from his throat into the microphone. It was him, it was Whole, still. But different.
Still little songs, still little themes, with little hints.
Before they began to grow...
It was slow, he could make it work, he thought, he had it under control, it was still him.
Plenty of songs had other voices in them, harmonies existed for a reason, wavelengths and crackles of noise perfectly timed and calculated to form emotion and melody.
No one would suspect, he just had to keep the mask in place, no one knew him, no one would, he would insure it.
{I have been trying.} (I'm going to win.) [I'm the ruler of everything.] They all separately declared.
He had it under control.
The eyes began to creep and haunt, as his heart seeped through the cracks, trickling from the screen like blood. The eyes did nothing but stare, as all eyes do.
It was hard, hard to fulfill expectations, to lift the pressure, it was fine, he had everything under control, just keep the mask up, keep up, keep creating, stay charming, pretend you're the best.
Like an old-fashioned puppet show, only show the surface, no need to pull back the curtain. It was just for passion, after all.
Squeaking markers on whiteboards, strumming guitars, snaring drums, pressing down keys, cutting voices and melodies apart with the clacking and clicking, mix, remaster, revise, reverb, and feed it to the stream of void as it washes away, satiating the hunger of the machine's masses, rinse and repeat, over and over again.
He had it under control.
Until he didn't.
The voices became louder, louder still, drowning his own. It became impossible to handle, his brain, his being, his emotions, they all slowly cracked under the pressure, like glass, liquifying and drying and solidifying and breaking over and over, again and again and again, like a labyrinth, he was trapped, circling around the imaginary maze of his own design, he had to get out.
He had to, he had to make it stop, it was too loud, too bright, too much. He had to get them away from him, he had to get away from them, he couldn't handle it, couldn't control it, his creation swirled and scattered about, trying to take his control away.
Their harmony was anything but, it was a chaotic cacophony of agony and strife, screams sobs and begs whirled like wind and his distant AC in his skull, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.
Tearing like flesh and organs cascaded about by feral beasts, shattering in pieces like glass and circuit boards and bolts, ripping apart like alight paper from holy books and scriptures.
His heart throbbed, head throbbed, everything throbbed, it hurt, it stung, it burned, it was all too much, too bright, too loud, emotion overflowed like water, waiting to drown him in his own tears, the pressure crushing him like he was in the deepest depths of the ocean, oxygen squeezing out of his lungs, like being trapped under rocks and boulders, flowers gasping under rubble.
He couldn't do it anymore. Not Whole. Not alone. At the edge of the universe. At the edge of the cliff. He needed help. No. No he didn't. He could do it himself. He didn't need anyone. No one but himself.
Maybe it would be best. Best to let someone else perform the show. Best to let the mask slip. Slip and split and shatter and splinter, again and again and again. No one but himself. Let the acoustic and electric buzz and hum like white noise. Let thoughts turn static, merely dreaming snow...
The Whole had finally ceased.
And the three took control.