Nex’s first problem was deciding when he was born. Of course, there were three options for him to choose from; 1987 for when the game featuring his design was first developed, some unspecified date several years later when the aftermarket arcade cabinet he spawned from was manufactured, or that fateful day nine weeks ago, when he…
The pine marten wasn’t even sure what had fully happened, apart from what little V̶̨̨̯̻͙̥̰̬͈͍͙̖̮̬̪͋à̷̧̡͕͈̹̠̱̖̰̞͔̳̜͓̻̺͔̜͐̍̇͗̏͗̐͌͗̀̚ͅr̶̛͈̦̖̘̫̠̖͂̓̑̽̏͛́̿̎͘͝r̵̨̛̤̬̬̰̹̖̝̓̾̓̏̄̇̈̅͋͂̑̊͒̓͂̇̿̈́̄̇̅̉̎͗̇̏̉͐̉̓͆̿̾̏̕͘ą̸̛͕̖̘̗̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚̅͗̐̂̀̅̎͒̌̍́̈́͒͒́̍̎̊͌̓͂̆͒̄̓͋̔̏̈̈́͛̇͋̆͗͋̌͗͗̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑̚̕͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅcould explain to him. Supposedly, they were playing a video game in which he was the main character, before they accidentally spilled soda on the machine, causing it to short-circuit. After which point, the soda mixed with both the internals of the cabinet as well as the arcade carpet below to somehow breathe actual life into him.
If he hadn’t experienced the events firsthand, Nex would have called the story bullshit, far too fantastical and impossible to believe, yet he existed. A video game character given life. One of the first things that V̴̡̢̧̨̨̧̨̛̛̛̼͖̝̩̺̳̤̗̝̞̦͔̺͓̗̙͎̮̬̙͖͙̭͚̤̦͎̘͔̥̱̪͔̣̹̬̦̩̩̟̱̠̫̜̦̦̤͇̳͉̞̖̹̻̘͓̥̣͍̗̄͗̍̀̔͊͆̎̒̓͗͊͌͑̈̈́̎̐̆̀̔̿̅͊̇̾̂̉̀̀̌̈́͗̈́̒̈́͂͂̃̉͆̽̐̎̀̈́͌͘̕̕͘̚̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅà̵̧̡̢̢̧͎̩̠̯͍̥̖̹̥̝̭̹̖͕͉̯͖͎̪̿̐̚r̸̡̢̡̢̛̛̛͕̝̬̩̪͍̠̟͍̫͉̞̭͚̯̟̤̮̟̝̮̤͓͕͕̗͎͕̤̹̘̱̮͕͈͚͙͖͎̪̰̲̃̀̎̾͛̇͂́̾̽̈́̎̾̄̅͆̓̀̍́̍̂͐̀͆͂͌͗̀̂̐̋̅̇̓͒͊̎̑͛̌̆̾̿͆̓͑́̓͑̌͑͛̇̀̒̅̽̐̄̆̍̈́͌͗̈͂͘̚͘͘̕͜͜͠͝͝ŗ̴̧̛̛͖͉̗̦͔̤̭̹͙̣͚̳͍̗̼̪͉̹͕̩̥̲͕̱͕̝̹̟̟͔̝̰̺̬̝͉͇͖̞̝̩̟̙̦̩̠͓͓̹͇̰̘̰̣̬̟̙̗͍͒̐̿̒́͆̊̇̐͑̾̈̈́́͌̈́͌͐͗̇̊͋̾̈̾̽̍̋͆͗̄͛͛͋͒̅̿̽̈́̑͑̄́̓̏̈́̾̅̀̂͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅą̸̛̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚̔̊̈́̈̈́͛̇͋̆͗͋̌͗͗̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ asked him once they both reached their apartment was what he could remember, if each loop of the game was felt by him. But Nex had no answer for himself, let alone the sabertooth whose actions allowed him to exist.
The whole thing felt fuzzy. If he wanted to remember his past life, it came to him almost instantly, with a frightening level of clarity. The home town he lived in, as well as its various inhabitants. He could also remember some of the various adventures he went on, now revealed to have been controlled by another.
But trying to remember further back, to his childhood or how exactly he came to be the adventurer he was, simply came up blank. Of course, this was because the programmers who created Nex neglected to give him any sort of backstory, but that didn’t make his past feel any less stolen.
When returning from his pondering to the real world, however, Nex’s memories of whatever his life in the game slowly faded, as though the means to access them were past a door in his mind that he continuously needed to keep propped open. It was as though his entire history before waking up in the arcade was nothing but a dream, which in a way it was.
It was easy for him to remain upbeat, being programmed to be a hero to never waver in the face of evil or confusion. But Nex was no longer a hero, no longer destined to save the world. Everything that made him who he was only existed as pixels on a screen. That’s what made it so easy for him to remain confident when first meeting V̴̡̢̧̨̨̧̨̛̛̛̼͖̝̩̺̳̤̗̝̞̦͔̺͓̗̙͎̮̬̙͖͙̭͚̤̦͎̘͔̥̱̪͔̣̹̬̦̩̩̟̱̠̫̜̦̦̤͇̳͉̞̖̹̻̘͓̥̣͍̗̄͗̍̀̔͊͆̎̒̓͗͊͌͑̈̈́̎̐̆̀̔̿̅͊̇̾̂̉̀̀̌̈́͗̈́̒̈́͂͂̃̉͆̽̐̎̀̈́͌͘̕̕͘̚̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅà̵̧̡̢̢̧͎̩̠̯͍̥̖̹̥̝̭̹̖͕͉̯͖͎̪̿̐̚r̸̡̢̡̢̛̛̛͕̝̬̩̪͍̠̟͍̫͉̞̭͚̯̟̤̮̟̝̮̤͓͕͕̗͎͕̤̹̘̱̮͕͈͚͙͖͎̪̰̲̃̀̎̾͛̇͂́̾̽̈́̎̾̄̅͆̓̀̍́̍̂͐̀͆͂͌͗̀̂̐̋̅̇̓͒͊̎̑͛̌̆̾̿͆̓͑́̓͑̌͑͛̇̀̒̅̽̐̄̆̍̈́͌͗̈͂͘̚͘͘̕͜͜͠͝͝ŗ̴̧̛̛͖͉̗̦͔̤̭̹͙̣͚̳͍̗̼̪͉̹͕̩̥̲͕̱͕̝̹̟̟͔̝̰̺̬̝͉͇͖̞̝̩̟̙̦̩̠͓͓̹͇̰̘̰̣̬̟̙̗͍͒̐̿̒́͆̊̇̐͑̾̈̈́́͌̈́͌͐͗̇̊͋̾̈̾̽̍̋͆͗̄͛͛͋͒̅̿̽̈́̑͑̄́̓̏̈́̾̅̀̂͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅą̸̛̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚̔̊̈́̈̈́͛̇͋̆͗͋̌͗͗̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ, bluffing his way into making them believe he knew exactly what was going on.
Nex never returned to his birthplace, at first not by choice. V̵͈̜̝͔̩̥̖͒̉͂̏͐̀͆̀͐̓̓̄͋͐̒͊̂͌̿̀̌͜͝ȧ̷̧̢̧̡̨̨̡̧̹̼͍̭͎̦͉͙̦̭̩̲̜͔̳̪̞̻̬͇̗͇͍̣̞͎̻̞̫̳̘̗̭̥̣̩͍͎͈̣̫̺̻̞͎̹͙͔̻̦̯͈̠͕̞̟̘̙̰̟̳͖̘͉̞̗̝̝̼̪̳͔̬͖͓̪̩̣͉̲̙̎̍̐̈́̿͋͑̾̈̿͊̂͊̀̋̌̽͆͂̈͂̊̂̏̂̔̈́̾͋̇̈́̊̈́̍̓͐̉̾͘͘̚̚͘̕͠͝͝ͅͅr̶̡̢̢̢̧̢̝̼̳̗̯̬̪͎̙̣͍̩͕͚̫̺̫̞̭̲̹͇̙͙̹̖̩̘̙̩͈̥̦͓̜͍̮̰̱̝̤͙̩̖̙͒́͘͜͜͜ͅr̴̢̢̨̧̧̡̢̨̛̛̛̺̹̭̼̩̪͓͉̳̲̗̭͓̗͖̺̮̥͔̗̘̪̱̰̣̭̠̖̲͉̬̭̟̯̩͖͕͚̦̥͓͖̠̜̤͓͈͔̲̞̲̬͈̤̤̲̘̼̜̯̠͙̤̥̬̦̬͓̺͚͎̣̟̣͉͖̳̜̯̱̝̱̙͈̫͕̻͓̼͙̻͕̮̀̓͊͛̄̃́͆̆̏̄̈́͛̎͂̈̇̿͌͐͊̔̏̈́̔͒̓́̀̓͒́̀̇͑̍̒̉͊̾̈́̊͌̈́̓͂̾̽͌̓̔̈́͆̑͛̆̌̅͗̌̄̌̈́̋̆̉͑̈́̆̇͊̇͒̇̈́͒͆̊̏̈́̒̎͂̎̕͘̚̕̕͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅā̴̧̨̛̛̛̹̲̺̥̝̺̙͍̟͚͇̦̫̻̞̟͍̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚͌͗̈́̾̆̉́̅̔̏͊̽̈́͋̅̔̅̎͂̉͂̃̀̈́̓̑̎̓́̐̄̽͒̂̋̂͋͒͊̄̌̃͗̒̅̈̅̑͛̋͌̀̓͑̑͛̅̊̑̽̔͛̉̌̀͐̉̅̈̒̃͑̋̈͂͐̈́͋̽̍̐̌̀̓̅̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑̕͘͘͘͘̕̚͘̚̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅwas still far too embarrassed by their spillage to dare show their face back there, and wanted the digital marten to likewise lay low. Once Nex was allowed to explore the city on his own, however, he still decided to stay away. What would he even be looking for apart from further affirmation of his existential crisis?
But curiosity quickly got the better of him, and even though the rarity of the game he spawned from caused finding an actual copy of his game to be a fool’s endeavor, there was still a way for Nex to explore his origins. When first appearing in the real world, the pine marten had somehow allowed himself to conjure a USB featuring his own game’s code, a feat that he could not for the life of him replicate after successive attempts.
He knew from the sabertooth’s ramblings that the game he spawned from was rare, seemingly being just as pleased at Nex being able to retrieve the game as they were for him to exist in the first place. Initially not wanting to open Pandora’s Box, it took only two weeks before Nex sat down at V̴̡̢̧̨̨̧̨̛̛̛̼͖̝̩̺̳̤̗̝̞̦͔̺͓̗̙͎̮̬̙͖͙̭͚̤̦͎̘͔̥̱̪͔̣̹̬̦̩̩̟̱̠̫̜̦̦̤͇̳͉̞̖̹̻̘͓̥̣͍̗̄͗̍̀̔͊͆̎̒̓͗͊͌͑̈̈́̎̐̆̀̔̿̅͊̇̾̂̉̀̀̌̈́͗̈́̒̈́͂͂̃̉͆̽̐̎̀̈́͌͘̕̕͘̚̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅà̵̧̡̢̢̧͎̩̠̯͍̥̖̹̥̝̭̹̖͕͉̯͖͎̪̿̐̚r̸̡̢̡̢̛̛̛͕̝̬̩̪͍̠̟͍̫͉̞̭͚̯̟̤̮̟̝̮̤͓͕͕̗͎͕̤̹̘̱̮͕͈͚͙͖͎̪̰̲̃̀̎̾͛̇͂́̾̽̈́̎̾̄̅͆̓̀̍́̍̂͐̀͆͂͌͗̀̂̐̋̅̇̓͒͊̎̑͛̌̆̾̿͆̓͑́̓͑̌͑͛̇̀̒̅̽̐̄̆̍̈́͌͗̈͂͘̚͘͘̕͜͜͠͝͝ŗ̴̧̛̛͖͉̗̦͔̤̭̹͙̣͚̳͍̗̼̪͉̹͕̩̥̲͕̱͕̝̹̟̟͔̝̰̺̬̝͉͇͖̞̝̩̟̙̦̩̠͓͓̹͇̰̘̰̣̬̟̙̗͍͒̐̿̒́͆̊̇̐͑̾̈̈́́͌̈́͌͐͗̇̊͋̾̈̾̽̍̋͆͗̄͛͛͋͒̅̿̽̈́̑͑̄́̓̏̈́̾̅̀̂͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅą̸̛̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚̔̊̈́̈̈́͛̇͋̆͗͋̌͗͗̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ’s computer while they were at work, and booted up an emulator to see what ‘The Legend of Nex’ was all about.
It was bizarre seeing this pixelated rendition of himself on the screen. Having spent the past few weeks patterned after an arcade cabinet, Nex almost forgot what he was ‘supposed’ to look like. Pitch black skin covered in multicolored stripes was instead a reddish brown color, the same general shape and design simplified to be able to be rendered on the primitive hardware the game was designed for.
Observing his digital form, Nex couldn’t help but think that he was intentionally created by someone else, an uncredited developer halfway across the world. Would his designer even recognize what Nex had become, if they were even still alive of course. What the hell would he even say to them if they were to meet?
Pressing each key, the digital avatar followed Nex’s every command. Is this really how he had lived for all of these years? Just being nothing but a puppet for someone else to control? His world that had felt so real to him was nothing more than somewhat detailed sprites, entirely static with whatever changes Nex had made while in the game reset after the one controlling him beat the game.
Still in the town square, it felt odd for Nex to see the alleys and paths he had traversed hundreds of times from a top-down perspective. Several people he had known for years were displayed here as well, from the old sage to the shopkeep. Perhaps the lack of names for any of the townsfolk should have clued Nex in on the fact that everyone he knew was an archetype rather than an actual person, but much like everything else, it felt so real in the moment.
Heading over to the shopkeep, the shattered illusion became even more apparent. There was no ability for Nex to interject with his own dialogue when speaking to the NPC, hearing the same recitation that had long since burned into the pine marten’s head through the countless unaware loops he had spent trapped. Nex wondered for a moment if any of the other NPCs were aware of what was happening, but as the existentialism of his thoughts grew, he quickly shut off the game to avoid thinking about it.
Nex’s existence was bizarre, impossible. But as he thought about it, very little about the world he lived in made sense either. V̴̡̢̧̨̨̧̨̛̛̛̼͖̝̩̺̳̤̗̝̞̦͔̺͓̗̙͎̮̬̙͖͙̭͚̤̦͎̘͔̥̱̪͔̣̹̬̦̩̩̟̱̠̫̜̦̦̤͇̳͉̞̖̹̻̘͓̥̣͍̗̄͗̍̀̔͊͆̎̒̓͗͊͌͑̈̈́̎̐̆̀̔̿̅͊̇̾̂̉̀̀̌̈́͗̈́̒̈́͂͂̃̉͆̽̐̎̀̈́͌͘̕̕͘̚̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅà̵̧̡̢̢̧͎̩̠̯͍̥̖̹̥̝̭̹̖͕͉̯͖͎̪̿̐̚r̸̡̢̡̢̛̛̛͕̝̬̩̪͍̠̟͍̫͉̞̭͚̯̟̤̮̟̝̮̤͓͕͕̗͎͕̤̹̘̱̮͕͈͚͙͖͎̪̰̲̃̀̎̾͛̇͂́̾̽̈́̎̾̄̅͆̓̀̍́̍̂͐̀͆͂͌͗̀̂̐̋̅̇̓͒͊̎̑͛̌̆̾̿͆̓͑́̓͑̌͑͛̇̀̒̅̽̐̄̆̍̈́͌͗̈͂͘̚͘͘̕͜͜͠͝͝ŗ̴̧̛̛͖͉̗̦͔̤̭̹͙̣͚̳͍̗̼̪͉̹͕̩̥̲͕̱͕̝̹̟̟͔̝̰̺̬̝͉͇͖̞̝̩̟̙̦̩̠͓͓̹͇̰̘̰̣̬̟̙̗͍͒̐̿̒́͆̊̇̐͑̾̈̈́́͌̈́͌͐͗̇̊͋̾̈̾̽̍̋͆͗̄͛͛͋͒̅̿̽̈́̑͑̄́̓̏̈́̾̅̀̂͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅą̸̛̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚̔̊̈́̈̈́͛̇͋̆͗͋̌͗͗̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ supposedly went to work each weekday, but once arriving back home they couldn’t recall a single thing that they did, either to themselves or to Nex. Time was instantaneous while simultaneously dragging on, the memories of the weeks Nex spent before opening his game again seemingly just as hazy as his own time in the game, not important enough to be brought up.
He could additionally spot what he referred to as ‘inconsistencies’ in several of V̴̡̢̧̨̨̧̨̛̛̛̼͖̝̩̺̳̤̗̝̞̦͔̺͓̗̙͎̮̬̙͖͙̭͚̤̦͎̘͔̥̱̪͔̣̹̬̦̩̩̟̱̠̫̜̦̦̤͇̳͉̞̖̹̻̘͓̥̣͍̗̄͗̍̀̔͊͆̎̒̓͗͊͌͑̈̈́̎̐̆̀̔̿̅͊̇̾̂̉̀̀̌̈́͗̈́̒̈́͂͂̃̉͆̽̐̎̀̈́͌͘̕̕͘̚̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅà̵̧̡̢̢̧͎̩̠̯͍̥̖̹̥̝̭̹̖͕͉̯͖͎̪̿̐̚r̸̡̢̡̢̛̛̛͕̝̬̩̪͍̠̟͍̫͉̞̭͚̯̟̤̮̟̝̮̤͓͕͕̗͎͕̤̹̘̱̮͕͈͚͙͖͎̪̰̲̃̀̎̾͛̇͂́̾̽̈́̎̾̄̅͆̓̀̍́̍̂͐̀͆͂͌͗̀̂̐̋̅̇̓͒͊̎̑͛̌̆̾̿͆̓͑́̓͑̌͑͛̇̀̒̅̽̐̄̆̍̈́͌͗̈͂͘̚͘͘̕͜͜͠͝͝ŗ̴̧̛̛͖͉̗̦͔̤̭̹͙̣͚̳͍̗̼̪͉̹͕̩̥̲͕̱͕̝̹̟̟͔̝̰̺̬̝͉͇͖̞̝̩̟̙̦̩̠͓͓̹͇̰̘̰̣̬̟̙̗͍͒̐̿̒́͆̊̇̐͑̾̈̈́́͌̈́͌͐͗̇̊͋̾̈̾̽̍̋͆͗̄͛͛͋͒̅̿̽̈́̑͑̄́̓̏̈́̾̅̀̂͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅą̸̛̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚̔̊̈́̈̈́͛̇͋̆͗͋̌͗͗̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ’s friends. Kylie, a giraffe friend of the sabertooth, somehow appeared at a different size depending on the day, from only a few feet taller than the pine marten to easily overshadowing cities. The giraffe’s panda roommate never changed size, but always managed to find himself in the worst situations while coming out of them entirely unharmed.
Nex didn’t want to admit it, but something seemed off about these characters. It was as though there was something there that he should not get involved in. At times, even V̷̧̢̢̡̢̧̡̡̡̢̡̨̧̤̣̺͓̰͙͚͔̹̙̫͕̟̪̻̬̲̲̜͍̪̼̖̞̣̯̙̣̱͉̦̺̲̹̠͔̹̟̟͙̝̮̥̫͚̘̣͚͕̱̖̻̘̣͎̲̬̮̼̤̹̝̳̳̻͓͕̦̝̱͍̬̥͖̟̱̪̩̜̲͕͕̪̘͚̜͇̯̮͖̣̤͈̺͖̫͉̮͕̼͇͉̮̫̜̮̻̝̖̪̝͈̫̣̟̯̞͕̗͎̤͓͖̫̥͈̈́͐̒͛̿̓͛̌̑̎͒̽̈͒̅̎̈́͐̾́̇͒͛̈̍͋̌̅̔̆͛͂̔̎͋͗̒͋̑̓̍̈́̀̉̉̋̀̌̋̑͑̅̏̊͋́̔͋̋̔̀͒͋͗̃́͛̆̐̌̐̈́̄͆̅̒̿̈́̓͂́̓̾́̀̔̃̌̈́̐̍̈́̔̐̅̎̎̉̿̓̊̀̀͒͋̏͒͐̈͋̑͂̋̽̀̐̄͒̾̔̉͊̓͛̿̆̓̾̅̿͗̆̑̋͐́͆́͋̐̄́͐̀͂̿̋̀̄̄͛̈́́̏̈̊̚̚̚̕͘͘̕̕͘͘͘͘̚̚̚͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅą̵̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̟͇̼̘͈̯̟̜̮̠̟̲̥̮̑̃̉̽̒́̌͛́̅̒͂̏́̀͌͌͒́́̌̐̌̈́͒͗͆́́̄̈̐͐͐̾́̅̓́̾̒̄̌͊͊̈́̏͌̈́́͒̓̿͒͂͗̅̄̊̈́́͋̽̐̽̆̾͆͌̆̅̊̑̒̈̔̓̌̍͊͒̿̈́̑̀̅͂̓̍̌̒͗̋̑̂̀͂̓̀͊̀͑̇̽̈̄̅̅̿͑͗͛̃̓́́͆̎͗̓̿̈̉͂̋̿̏͑̐̈́͐̓̐̓́̈́̓̾̈̎͌̒̇̇̈́̍̉͊̿̐̂͊̎̊͐̃̈́̉̆́̆͛͐̍́́̓̍̾̀̃̂͌̊̈͋̂̑̂̊͌̈́̈́̉́͂͘̕̕̕͘͘̚͘̚̚͘̕͘͘͘͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͠͝͝r̷̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̜̗̯͓͙̺͕̹̰͕̙̜̩̰̮̹̱̗͖̣̈̈̌͒͒̿͆̉͐͂̂̓̊͗̀̆́̀̓̈́̾̊͋̒̈́̇̓͐̿͐͗́̍̄̋̓̍̄̓̅̿͂̾͗̉̾̿͛̒̈́̇̉̑̊͗̎̔͒̂͑͒̊̄̑͋̑̎́̾͊̐̍͗̿͊̎̿͌̋͑̍͂̉̿̉̍̒͛͒̊̒̾̔͋̾̀̃̍͂̈́̐̓͗̑͐͂̈́͛̂̔̅̃̇̇͗̓͒̄̾̈̾̎͌͊̌̋͑͒̾̀͊̓̉́̇̈́̾͗̈́͐̍̈́̔̎̉̃̆͐́̿̌͆̈́̑̂̏̚͘̚͘̕͘̕͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅȓ̴̨̨̢̧̢̨̨̧̨̢̧̧̢̛̛̛̟͍̺̖̥̪͇̜̥̲̪̥̫̣̯͙̙̱̘̬̣̖̦̝̪̫̝͉͕̳̻̜͚͈͎̗̙̟̯̰̦̪̥͕̩̼̤̯̻͓̲̟̙͉͉̰͇̝͈͖̜͔̣͈̫̳̗̥͙̺̺̪̞͕̲̥̗̯̗̱̱͙͓͓͍͔̦͙̩̰̲͈͕̼̱̭̪͎͇͙̟̹͈̻̜̹̥͚̣̩̗͇͖̺͙̪̙̦̰̲̮̲̦̱̱̘̼̝̭̻̝͉͇͚͉͍̺̠͚͚̬͇̫̘̼̳̞̬͚̦͚̞̦̦̺̥̝̣̻͚̺̱̦͖̜̦̞͎̩̻͇̫̲͈̗̬̥̺̲͇̰͓̘̹͍̯͉̦̞̗̭͎͎̮͓̰͓̬̭̲̹̺͙̠̗͗́̌̔̈́́͗͒̈́͂̀͆̓͒̾̒́͗͌͂́̈́̽̅̋̅͂͊͒͗̄̒̂̏̈́͂̊͆̾͒̌̃̋͐̆͑̐̓̇͆̍͑̅̃̂̾͂̍͒͂̄̿͐̈́̋̃͂̀̓͛̓̿̏̍̀͛̉͐͐͆̍̐̎̉̉̄̋̈́͂̆͊̓̌̄̋͆͆̄̋̌̈́̌̔́̊̓̍̑͗̉̈́̋̈̉̆̈́̈́̐̾́̐̽͊͌̋̋͑̏́̓̒͋̉͋̕̚͘̚̕̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅẫ̶̧̧̨̧̛̛̛̛͇̱͉̠̞̼̺͙̗̫̺̯̱̮͎̤͉̖͈͈̹̰̰̟̼͉̫̗̤̣͕̣̋̂̍͒͆̂̓͌̀́͑̐͗̋̃̄̿͛̓͋́́̄̇͆́͂̒̎͑̿̈́̇̈̒̆́͂̊͂̌͒̈̐̈̄̊̄̂̆̄̍́̂͋̽̏͛̿̃̆̈́̑̂͌̉́̔͌̋̃̑͒͒̓̽̈́̌̆̄̒͛͂̐̄̇̈́̽̿̈̈́͛̓̽͌̋̃̓̓̄́̍̐̿̋̃̊̌̏̿͌̓̄͂̓͗̔͑̈́̊̇̃̄͑̌͂͑̌̓̍̓̒̋̈̽͗̽̑͒̌̄̾̀͑̐̈̈́̌͆̂͘̚̚͘̕̕̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠ͅgave him that gut feeling. Seemingly fantastical events had happened to both V̴̡̢̧̨̨̧̨̛̛̛̼͖̝̩̺̳̤̗̝̞̦͔̺͓̗̙͎̮̬̙͖͙̭͚̤̦͎̘͔̥̱̪͔̣̹̬̦̩̩̟̱̠̫̜̦̦̤͇̳͉̞̖̹̻̘͓̥̣͍̗̄͗̍̀̔͊͆̎̒̓͗͊͌͑̈̈́̎̐̆̀̔̿̅͊̇̾̂̉̀̀̌̈́͗̈́̒̈́͂͂̃̉͆̽̐̎̀̈́͌͘̕̕͘̚̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͠ͅͅà̵̧̡̢̢̧͎̩̠̯͍̥̖̹̥̝̭̹̖͕͉̯͖͎̪̿̐̚r̸̡̢̡̢̛̛̛͕̝̬̩̪͍̠̟͍̫͉̞̭͚̯̟̤̮̟̝̮̤͓͕͕̗͎͕̤̹̘̱̮͕͈͚͙͖͎̪̰̲̃̀̎̾͛̇͂́̾̽̈́̎̾̄̅͆̓̀̍́̍̂͐̀͆͂͌͗̀̂̐̋̅̇̓͒͊̎̑͛̌̆̾̿͆̓͑́̓͑̌͑͛̇̀̒̅̽̐̄̆̍̈́͌͗̈͂͘̚͘͘̕͜͜͠͝͝ŗ̴̧̛̛͖͉̗̦͔̤̭̹͙̣͚̳͍̗̼̪͉̹͕̩̥̲͕̱͕̝̹̟̟͔̝̰̺̬̝͉͇͖̞̝̩̟̙̦̩̠͓͓̹͇̰̘̰̣̬̟̙̗͍͒̐̿̒́͆̊̇̐͑̾̈̈́́͌̈́͌͐͗̇̊͋̾̈̾̽̍̋͆͗̄͛͛͋͒̅̿̽̈́̑͑̄́̓̏̈́̾̅̀̂͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅą̸̛̞̜͍͖̰͔̥̫͇̤̭̞̺͉̘̺̲̪̦̳̬̖͇̘͕̟̣̰̯̪̻̣͎̱̰̱͕̱̖͓̘͇͚̙͚̔̊̈́̈̈́͛̇͋̆͗͋̌͗͗̌͛̐̍͂̿̊̉́̒̆͊͌̑̑̍͒͌̽̄̈̏͂̑̈̎̓̈́̑̐̓̎̿͛͑͂̽̍̒͒̑͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ and their friends, with minimal weight or fanfare given to them. Even Nex’s own impossible birth was accepted with little hesitation. But despite the oddities surrounding them, the events and people were seemingly just as real as he was.
The pine marten worried that, just like his prior life was manufactured, whatever inconsistencies in this world could reveal it to also be a fantasy, trapped behind layers of fictionality. Whether there was a way to properly test his theory was beside the point, as even the possibility was horrifying enough.
After weighing his options, Nex opted not to share his findings with any of his friends. He worried that if he mentioned it to Vander, the Vaporeon would only prove them to be correct. He couldn’t exactly make these feelings go away, as the idea of him not being real even now continued to eat up at him.
But did it matter? Even though Pandora’s box had been opened, that was no reason not to just continue living. At the very least in this life, he had agency, options to perform instead of portraying a single-note hero. He now had friends who he could talk to, share jokes with, and just enjoy life to the fullest with, no matter what life it was.
And so he chose to simply believe.