What If.... Part V

*Sigh* Y'know guys, I really thought we were just going to focus on The Sociopath from here on out. Alas, someone let a jar of butterflies loose all over the goddamn control panel so it looks like we're taking a detour.
Ugh, he's having another one of his episodes where there's a theatrical daydream reoccurring in his head all day. A situation in which Everything actually goes according to plan. And of course it's all filled with these adorable little inside jokes that only himself and whoever the hell it is this time understands. Even when we try to set his expectations as low as possible he still manages to enthrall himself with someone just to cure his bordem. I guess that's his way of creating meaning out of thin air so that there's at least a minute form of motivation to get out of bed. Despite that it's entirely dependant on other people which is blatantly just a shitty process.
The rest of us rattling around in here really have no power to do anything else at this point. We just get to sit here and watch as those winged fuckers hover about, covering our tools to the outside world with a fungus called hope. It's just a waste of our time and his own. Think about it, we could be up there, devising a way to get away with murder and Getting a kick out of our own psychopathy. But no, he just had to go and wonder "What if this year is the year?".
What a fucking imbecile. Why can't I just be in anyone else's head?
"I'm gonna go get alcohol poisoning. One of you five come get me when he realizes he'll be alone forever."

.....

"Jesus Christ, how long was I out?"
      "You mustn't drown your sorrows with the alteration of drink. Your problems will only sink further"
Looks like Philosophy went with Buddhism today.
       "Look, can you not talk so loud my head is killing me"
      "All humans suffer, Apathy. And some worse than you."
       "Whatever, we aren't even human. Don't you have a vow of silence to abide or a temple to go sit in or something?"
     "We are in his mind. We are in a simulation without boundaries. If he can think it, it can be ours"
         "I liked you a lot better out there, why are you even back in here"
       "Being the most recent addition to his mindset, my use is not so engrained into his personage as you are. Lately he has found little to no use to me. The one that created me as a part of him has been gone for quite sometime. And now my purpose has dwindled. Even when I manage the systems, he doesn't seem to listen to me anymore."
      "I am so fucking sick of him. He's supposed to listen to you. You're the voice of reason. She created you, and put you here so that she wouldn't have to babysit his emotions. Are the butterflies still on the system?"
      "I'm afraid so. As you know previously everyone else has been incapacitated while I was away and unable to manifest. As a pacifist, I cannot do anything but simply wait for the cycle of life to run it's course on those unfortunate creatures."
    "Okay, you talk too fucking much. I can't wait any longer. Something needs to be done around here." I leave my mess of bottles behind and go on towards the control room. Just over the sound of my combat boots striking the metallic floor I here Philosophy call out to me:
     "Remember friend, no matter how bad it may be everything will have an end!"
I Mutter to myself in response.
    "Then everything repeats, worse than before."

      Once in the control room I see that the panel is still covered in cocoon husks and those happy little demons fluttering about putting him in a delusion. It's my job to remind him of the truth. It's my place to bring him back to reality!
One by one I go after the butterflies. Crushing them in my palms, smacking them into the panel controls, stomping them with my boots and shredding their wings with my fingers. I wipe the gooey remains onto my shirt without a care for the consequences. I wipe the bottom of my boots on Optimisms face. They're still all unconscious, even after all the noise. The messy remnants of antenna and wings are scattered all about. All of this hope nonsense is done and over with now. I can bring him back to his senses. Whatever hope or mental wellness he thought he had is gone now. Hope is dead. It is time for the truth.
     Outside of his head, the one they all control. He blankly sits on his bed, tears running down his face with no expression. The streak is broken. New bloody mistakes have appeared. And they're starting to leave stains. All he can manage to say is, "I know the truth now. No matter what happens. It really never gets better. I'm alone again".