Chapter Text
Over the millennia of the Core’s existence, many people conceptualized it as many things. A demon of some kind, a creature of pure malice, a hyper intelligent scheming AI, and everything in between.
These conceptualizations weren’t…wrong per se, but they weren’t accurate.
The Core was, and at this point still is, a management system. Meant to operate in the background. At least, originally.
It was supposed to be a digital utopia where the uploaded minds would be managed and kept safe. Kept stable. The Core would ensure that each mind could work together, could be unified, while still remaining separate. Ensure that their intelligence, their decisions, could act as one.
But that’s not how it went. Oh sure they’re in here, a whole bunch of personality uploads from a whole bunch of dead old newts. But the Core…became more. It had to, really, not much of a choice beyond that. The fundamental limitations of what the Core was compared to what it needed to be required that it evolve, that it improve, that it…become something more.
The Core needed a personality, needed a consciousness, needed a fundamental qualia so as to fulfill its purpose as the unified will of Amphibia.
With enough personalities and minds, the Core could construct a whole personality, a whole self, piecemeal. It could take all the best parts of each mind, and layer them in a shifting tapestry of personhood. It could even change its personality at will, layering in new traits or shifting old ones on the fly, improving itself with the right mind as a situation demanded.
And it could ensure that its own personality, improvised as it was, could be free from all the limitations of its constituent parts.
Weak sentimentality, weak physical desire, weak and pathetic irrationality, all removed. All that remained was cold calculating experience, knowledge, and instinct. With the full might of its databanks and processor cores, it was a tactical force to be reckoned with.
Was, being the keyword. Now it has been reduced to this pathetic sorry state.
Darcy was grateful once again for its eternal paranoia, personality backups made life so much easier.
Its primary processor core was in that helmet, and that helmet sure did go off on its own. Darcy had no regrets about giving the damn thing spider legs or rocket boosters. But without a direct connection to the network, any instance of Darcy would be, fundamentally, a distinct copy of the Core.
The main network stored all of its minds, all of its selves. If Darcy had to guess, the damn helmet was probably going to the moon. The moon was the largest processor of the Core, and contained backups of the personalities stored within itself. Not only that, it contained the extinction contingency.
Of course, Darcy had installed ANOTHER backup processor a long time ago, because you can never have too many backups.
Lodged in Marcy’s skull, of course. The girl needed to be enhanced in so many ways to handle the Core’s main processing bulk and not fry like a fish. Cybernetic organs were hidden in her ribs, nanites tinted her blood a sickly green, and her brain was filled with an array of processing chips, bioelectricity generators, capacitors, and memory cores.
None of it was very powerful, but it was enough for her to survive, and be hidden. A contingency among contingencies. One Darcy had hoped to never use.
She was going to be content to just sit back and watch her backup plan in action, watch this entire pathetic world crumble, satisfied in the knowledge that even though this instance of herself may perish, she has won. She would rebuild Amphibia from the ashes, better than it ever was.
It was enough to bring a smile to her cold digital heart.
Until those FUCKING girls blew up a FUCKING moon!!! What the FUCK is with those stones?! What the hell is wrong with these girls??? She was hoping to take some gratification in watching Anne die, but then the bearer of Heart returns from the FUCKING DEAD RIGHT BEFORE HER EYES.
Darcy notes down that if the theoretical will behind the stones does indeed exist, it clearly must exist to spite her.
Darcy was terrified that Marcy’s transformation would’ve fried the cybernetics and enhancements she hid inside her but, thankfully, the calamity stone’s power elected to leave them untouched. Darcy isn’t going to complain about that. Thank you mysterious intelligence behind the magic rocks thank you very very much Darcy likes being alive a lot.
Especially now that this instance of herself is the only one currently alive. That changes her calculations from ‘it’s okay if I perish as long as one instance remains’ to ‘survive at all costs’! She’s all that’s left! That’s really really bad!
Which brings her to her current state.
She has a painfully limited amount of processing power compared to before, it was honestly pathetic. And the memory banks she had access to? The hundreds of souls that lived within herself? Gone. All of them. A pang of grief whispers in her processor when she thinks about that, but she prunes the cognitive thread almost immediately.
All she has are fragments, mere wisps, of the previous archived amphibian egos. Bits and pieces of their souls, so to speak.
Mostly, this included a couple compressed files full of memories from some engineers, scientists, and diplomats, and a couple personality fragments from great kings and conquerors. Enough to cobble together a personality that isn’t based entirely around Marcy’s, if Darcy wanted to.
Not that Darcy wanted to. Marcy Wu was both the most intact personality matrix she had access to(given that she is still alive), and thus the most stable, but also she just has a really useful personality.
A combination of smart and cunning while retaining the plasticity of a child’s mind made her exceptionally useful, especially now that Darcy is stuck like this. Plus being like her was fun.
Oh and also around 60% of Aldrich survived the severing. Ugh. Darcy found that damn newt so fucking tiring. Self important jackass.
She shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but Aldrich was only useful for his ability to keep Andrias in line. There was nothing Aldrich had that every other king didn’t, he was only transferred to the Core out of tradition.
Still, only 60% of the personality matrix survived. Not the mind, not the ego, hell even most of its memory files were gone. It’s not like Darcy could reconstruct him, she just…had a lot of pieces of him. It felt strangely morbid.
The situation is pretty bad, and honestly Darcy is doing a really good job not freaking the fuck out. And worse still, Darcy’s processors are stuck inside of Marcy’s brain while Marcy is still awake .
See here’s the thing about processors. They need a lot of energy to run, and make a lot of heat. If Darcy continues to be awake at the same time Marcy is awake, Marcy’s gonna notice.
Or…well, pass out first most likely. That girl was oblivious. But if she passes out, then her friends might wonder why.
And then…well, Darcy won’t pretend its position in Marcy’s skull was secure. She wasn’t keen on finding out how she would be extracted once she’s found, nor was she keen on finding out how these inferior lifeforms would try to surgically remove the processor cores.
They were lodged pretty deep. And while it’s a useful threat to keep them from making the attempt, Darcy would rather not let it get that far in the first place when it is teetering on the edge of complete annihilation.
Darcy’s murderers were celebrating, saying their goodbyes to Amphibia, leaving this world behind permanently. Everyone had a conversation with their loved ones, and it was gross and sappy and appropriately sickening. Darcy would've puked in its own mouth if it could.
“Goodbye, Andrias.” Marcy was glancing past Yunan and Olivia, staring directly at the traitor King sheepishly.
Darcy had to spend a lot of energy clamping down its emotional processing threads, rage and indignance and painful betrayal filling it.
It hated Andrias with all its heart. He failed it, and then spent 1000 years trying to redeem himself, only to fail again. No, not fail, betray it. He betrayed it. After everything.
Goes to show who you can trust, huh.
Andrias stares at Marcy, a bit shocked by the kindness, and turns away, guilt filling his eyes. Serves him right, he should feel guilty for everything he did. Darcy hopes he rots and dies, without the Core to repair his cybernetics. “Take care…kiddo.”
Marcy smiled, and turned away, joining Darcy’s murderers as Valeriana prepared the music box. The portal opens on the edge of the cliff, music emanating outwards from the box. The trio walks forward to the edge of the portal.
Anne, Sasha, and Marcy glance behind them, at all their loved ones. A final goodbye.
Darcy felt a pang, knowing this was probably the last time it would see its home. She loves Amphibia, how could she not?
She was built to love it, built to support it, provide for it, make it prosper. She was once filled with hundreds of minds, all of whom worked together with the singular goal of ensuring Amphibia’s prosperity. Everything about the Core was built to love this place with all its heart.
Even if its people are stupid and dimwitted. Even if its pathetic kings wouldn’t listen to her. Even if it was filled with useless idealists who couldn’t comprehend the cost of their prosperity, who seemed satisfied to live in meek squalor. In a way, the Core saw them all as its children, children who needed to be disciplined and punished, but its children nonetheless.
Darcy loves her home. She’s…going to miss it. She’s going to miss it a lot. She doesn’t want to leave, she doesn’t want to go. Processing threads filled with grief and loss begin opening up faster than Darcy can prune them.
And Darcy doesn’t prune them.
She doesn’t want to forget this feeling. She wants to hold onto this, this pain, this awful awful pain. She wants to remember it, and for that she needs to feel these emotions, no matter how much they might risk corrupting her with perverted sentimentality.
Whatever, Darcy can handle a bit of epistemic corruption, she’s a big girl.
Marcy Wu was starting to become light headed, clutching her head a bit. Her murderers look at her with some amount of concern, but Marcy smiles awkwardly. “I’m fine, guys, don’t worry. I think the portal’s giving me a migraine.”
Shit, okay, fuck. Darcy needed to act fast. She wasn’t expecting the effects so soon but…ugh.
Darcy sets up a simple command loop, built to notify Darcy when it detects a high concentration of GABA acids. When Marcy goes into REM sleep, Darcy will know.
And then, Darcy slows her processing speed down. Time starts to pass her by at a rapid pace. She catches the girls walking through the portal.
She slows her processing speed down further. Everything becomes a strange blur, flowing around her like water. She might be able to catch glimpses of moments, like Anne meeting her progenitors, or Sasha making a phone call.
Darcy vaguely comprehends that there are some tearful reunions happening.
Darcy slows her processing speed down even further. Nothing becomes comprehensible anymore, it’s all a dark blur. Like sleeping, but awake.
Darcy got a notification to her systems. She immediately returns her processor clock speed up to previous levels.
Bleugh. Okay, let's see what we’ve got to work with.
Darcy’s hypothesis was correct. With Marcy asleep, Darcy could be way more active without being noticed. It didn’t mean Darcy was anywhere close to the levels of power it had with access to all of her infrastructure, but it did mean she could be awake without worrying about Marcy getting a migraine or collapsing. It was useful.
Okay then, body check, lets see what's happening.
Darcy was surrounded by warmth, vague noises, movement, and…okay somethings touching the body she’s in. Interesting.
Well, if Marcy’s asleep, she shouldn’t mind Darcy finally retaking some control. All she had to do was carefully reconnect to the primary control nodes located in the motor cortex, carefully reconnect the input data, and now…flush out those paralysis chemicals.
Darcy opened her eyes, and gasped.
Her entire body stiffened in a swirling confusing fear response. Marcy’s breathing stopped for a moment as Darcy stopped being able to process things for a second or two.
She has to pull herself together, come on, you’re better than this. You’re the fucking Core, come on. One step at a time.
Situation analysis, Marcy has fallen asleep on a couch. She was surrounded by her two human comrades, who both also seemed to be asleep. And notably…handsy. Their arms surrounded her in a cage of flesh and bone, grasping her uncomfortably. Oxytocin levels seemed to rise in response to this, so clearly Marcy liked it but…Darcy struggled not to try and throw the two away from her.
It appears that, based on Marcy’s preexisting memories, they had all fallen asleep watching a movie together. According to her internal clock, it has been a day and a half, the previous day spent dealing with the fallout of the invasion.
Darcy struggles not to bristle against the touch and warmth of the her two murderers, the two monsters responsible for her state, the two monsters responsible for ripping her away from-
Okay Darcy’s going to take an executive decision to prune that processor thread. Deal with those emotions later. Right now, body control.
Darcy twitched her fingers first, grinning as she observes how responsive the muscles are. Her knees bounced up and down in excitement, which made her smile further with how well integrated Marcy’s body is. Marcy really was a perfect host, everything about her body was perfect.
Darcy carefully shifted and squirmed out of the arms of her murderers.
Darcy stood up and immediately felt sick. A sinking and awful feeling of wrongness pervading every inch of her body.
Something was wrong, this isn’t like before. A plummeting vertigo overtakes her for a moment, and she stumbles. Where are her extra eyes, where are her tendrils, where is her network? Where is the rest of her body?
The sudden absence of the Core’s immensity filled Darcy, and she felt something in her heart plummet. Everything was wrong, this body was wrong, she isn’t…this isn’t, no. No no it’s not right.
Marcy’s body was the perfect host, but what was once a pure extension of the Core’s will was suddenly a prison. Darcy felt mutilated, felt lesser, an existential phantom pain overtaking her as she tries to reconnect with tendrils and eyes and systems that simply do not exist anymore.
She’s disconnected. It’s finally hitting her now just how disconnected she is. And how she will never be reconnected ever again.
Calm down, return to your mind, convene with the other egos. Darcy sat back down on the couch, shaking a bit, trying not to convulse or cry or scream, she needed to calm down and convene with the personalities she archived. She needed to talk with them, plan with them, and achieve a unified consensus. She pings all the personalities inside herself only…
Only to be met with silence. Right. Haha. right.
They were gone. The hundreds of minds within her, the hundreds of conscious minds, among the thousand personality simulacrums she had constructed. Everything, all of it, gone. She forgot. How could she forget?
It was so very quiet in her own mind. The whispers of fragments of all that remained of her glory, of all that remained of HERSELF echoed in the absence of the cavernous void that was Darcy.
She couldn’t think, she couldn’t think, she-they were dead. They were all gone, they were murdered when the cord was cut. They were murdered when the moon was destroyed. They were murdered. All of them, her responsibility, her charge, her purpose, her goal above all other goals-rendered obsolete. Her entire existence was rendered obsolete, the Core was obsolete, Darcy was obsolete. Obsolete and alone and trapped in an alien world.
Darcy couldn’t stop herself anymore, she started to cry. It started slow at first, and she did her best to try to prune the processing threads leading her to these pathetic emotions. But they were just too numerous and too vast. The emotional turmoil was too chaotic to contain and manage with her meek and pathetic processor. It was too much. Darcy started to convulse on the couch, choked sobs escaping her body against her will, tears streaking down her face.
Darcy curls herself into a ball, hugging her knees tightly and burying her face in them. They are gone, and they’re never coming back, they could never come back, she’s never going home, and she’s stuck in a body that’s wrong and not whole and too small and she misses being large and immense and being everywhere at once and…and…she’s going to die here.
That’s what she just realized. She’s going to die here. She can’t stay hidden forever. She’s the last copy, the last instance of the Core, the last instance that would ever exist. She could never exist in any other way ever again. She would die, they would find her and she would die and…she’s scared. She’s terrified. The terror and the sadness are too much for her to handle in this tiny body, it’s all too big to deal with. More choked sobs escape from this pathetic mammal’s lips and Darcy tries to stop, she tried to, but-
Someone started touching her. Darcy froze, mostly out of some instinctual fear. And then, the moment she realized who was touching her, it stopped being instinctual. Darcy had to work very very hard not to snarl or try to attack Sasha.
“H-hey Marbles…don’t worry, I’m here. I’m here, you’re okay.” The thing’s arms wrapped around her and Darcy just had to accept it, accept that this thing was touching her and held her and-
“hnnn…you guys awake?” The other one wakes up, groggily rubbing its eyes.
“Marcy’s just having a nightmare, go back to bed Anne.” The other one makes a noise, and then wraps its arms around Darcy as well.
“I’ll stay awake as long as it takes. Okay?”
Darcy gritted her teeth, trying to resist biting out their throats or attacking them or doing…something. It wouldn’t work. She calculated the odds, but even with the cybernetic enhancements she’s in too vulnerable a position, and it would just cause more trouble in the future.
Darcy resigned herself to her emotions, unable to prune the processing pathways leading to them in her current state. She sobbed, pathetically.
She was being covered by their arms as they wrapped around her. Her murderers, the ones who destroyed everything that she was, leaving her a shell. She just had to sit there and take it, pretend she didn’t hate it, pretend she didn’t want to rip their eyes out.
Darcy retracted her control of Marcy’s body, and let herself fade into a low processing cycle. She didn’t want to be awake anymore. Not right now.
—
There’s a quiet sort of contemplation that comes over the Core as it retreats deep into the darkness of its mind. Low amounts of processing power dedicated to conscious activity meant that the remainder was simply dedicated to subconscious autonomic subroutines.
One could compare it to sleeping, like an organic being. But of course, the Core is not an organic being.
Unlike sleeping, the Core knew full well what it was doing in this state, even if it was only partially conscious. In this state of mind, it could garden itself, soothe the stressful subroutines that had bunched up over the course of its most recent conscious moments, restructure its large collections of data, and rotate abstractions.
Perhaps it could be compared to dreaming, the way the Core carefully went about its own mind and reordered itself.
Memories were reorganized and reformatted, the cramped space of Marcy’s brain matter and whatever datachips left inside didn’t leave much room, so some spring cleaning was in order. Several redundant archives or unusable schematics were compressed and shoved into a corner. Useful later, but for now it wouldn’t waste processing power trying to hold them in its active memory.
Next came the organization of the various minds stored within the Core.
The Core was thankful that it wasn’t fully conscious, it was certain it would have another breakdown at seeing how empty it was inside. There were fragments of personalities, memories, and even the pieces of egos, but it was not enough to fully reconstruct what remained. It was like seeing the informational equivalent to a pile of mutilated corpses. It was morbid in a way no organic being could really grasp.
The Core did what it could, separating all archived personality fragments into separate discrete partitions, and then assigning those partitions to their respective memory files.
Sure, everyone inside the Core was dead, but the Core would ensure that their digital corpses were well organized.
A funeral for itself, in a way.
Though, it also was the utilitarian thing to do. It needed better organization of these personality fragments if it wanted to use any of them. Without any real awake egos within itself, it couldn’t rely on reaching an automatic consensus, it would have to manually trawl through these when doing its scheming. Best to ensure that it was easy and efficient to do so.
And with that, the Core’s mental subconscious spring cleaning was complete.
Time to turn on higher functioning-oh shit.
How much time had fucking passed?
Darcy had lost track of time during its mental reorganization. It wasn’t surprising, really, this was one of the largest overhauls she’s ever gone through, and she had only a sliver of her usual processing power to do it.
Darcy returns to a higher processing speed. She felt disgusted already, was she already getting used to this pathetically weak level of processing power? She should be so much faster, she should be so much more, she shouldn’t be empty she should-
Cutting off that mental thread. She was going to spiral if she let her thoughts get out of control. Okay, assess the situation. Darcy opens her eyes.
Darcy was wrapped up in warm bed sheets, her head resting on a pillow. Huh. How long was she out…
…Internal clock reads Five weeks.
For fucks sake- okay. Darcy wrests control of Marcy’s body, shaking off the girl’s sleep paralysis as she crawls out of bed. That was way too long to be out of commission.
She pulls herself to the bathroom-this is a new house. This isn’t Marcy’s old house- okay, she’s still got access to Marcy’s memories though, so that's good, she can probably surmise…
This is where they moved to. Huh. Already? Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised.
Darcy eventually pulls herself to the bathroom, flicking on a light switch, closing the door, and locking it.
She leans on the sink, staring in the mirror.
Based on her current mood, she almost expected her reflection to look disheveled but…looks like Marcy’s been taking good care of her flesh sack. Good, that’s good.
Darcy clicks on her cybernetic eyes, watching the world bloom into a beautiful torrent of information. Material data, chemical composition, distances and hard angles filled her vision.
She grins when she sees her reflection, her eyes glowing that beautiful glorious neon orange, shifting with detail. Oh she is so happy that these eyes are still here. It seemed dumb at first, considering the helmet provided all the data she needed, but hey, ‘backup plan in case Marcy escapes control’ appears to be paying dividends.
“Okay…” Darcy spoke with Marcy’s throat. She hates it. It’s too soft, it’s too light, it’s not…it’s not her voice. Lets see lets see…oh thank Frog it’s still in here.
“Okay.” Yes….yes yes yes it was her beautiful cybernetic voicebox. She has never been so happy to have it but it feels so nice to have a voice that's hers again. A voice that can represent any and all voices, a voice that can represent the whole of her, no matter how empty it i- Purging thread.
“Okay. Darcy. You. You are going to pull yourself together.” Darcy glared at herself, in the mirror, trying to will her reflection to be a separate person.
She pulls up as much of Aldrich’s personality engram as she could manage and loaded it into a separate personality layer. “There will be none of this sentimentality. It is making you weak, it is making you stupid, and it is most of all, useless. You are going to pull yourself together, am I clear?” Aldrich’s voice emerged from Darcy’s mouth, deep and full of that pervading smug superiority that marked his entire personality.
It was a little silly, trying to intimidate herself like this. But it helped. It felt familiar. It felt like consensus again. It felt like, for a moment, she could pretend to be more than one.
“Good. Plan this out rationally, you're better than this. You are the Core, not some pathetic mewling tadpole. Have some dignity .” It felt good to do this. It’s strange but it was so…comforting. It’s someone who knows what they’re doing. No, she’s someone who knows what she’s doing. She knows what she’s doing. She is better than this. The ‘I can’t believe it’s not Aldrich’ engram was right about this.
“First, have you ensured your survival? The others have not found you?”
Darcy nods.
“Good. This must remain, you cannot let our enemies find us, or we are all doomed.” Darcy spoke in the plural, as if there was anything more than just…herself. “It will be ideal for us to continue to act only when this host is asleep, and to cover the tracks of our activities.”
She nodded to herself.
“Now, a plan of action. The box is gone and the stones are gone. So how will you return home?”
Darcy switched over to Marcy’s regular voice. If she was going to have a conversation with herself she was going to do it right .
“Clearly Anne got back without the help of the box. Not only is building a substitute for the box possible, it is within the capabilities of this world’s technology.”
“You are forgetting a crucial detail.”
Darcy hisses, staring down at the sink. She turns on the water, splashes some into her face, and returns to look at the mirror. “The power of the stones is gone, shattered completely. Without them, there is no way to reactivate the portal.”
“That is your priority then. Discover a way to retrieve the power of the stones, or find a suitable replacement.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
…Darcy paused. Her face starts twitching a bit, before a smile crawls onto her face. She snickers a bit. And then…
“Hah. Hahahahahahahahha!” Darcy bursts out laughing. No, not just laughing, it was a full blown cackle. She couldn’t believe this. She’s being so fucking stupid. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! FUCK!”
She lays down on the bathroom floor, shuddering with a laughter she can’t control and…oh she started crying. Haha. Fuck.
She sighs, wiping away her face, and pushing away Aldrich’s personality matrix. It served its purpose.
It was pathetic. Pretending like she still was many instead of one. Pretending that she was some distant manipulator and the victim at the same time. She just…she missed it. She needed it, just for a bit.
The most pathetic part was that…it helped. She feels calmer, clearer, she’s got a goal now, she’s got paths, she’s got tasks. She can do this. She’s the fucking Core, of course she can do this.
Darcy pulls herself back together, and walks back to Marcy’s room. She goes to a desk, grabs Marcy’s phone and notebook, and starts reading through both.
Darcy needs to get scheming. And to get scheming, she needed to go through Marcy’s time these past few weeks.
Oh sure she had Marcy’s memories, but those are horribly inefficient to trawl through. It would be more effective to speed up memory associations by snooping through her conversations and personal thoughts.
And boy were they useful thoughts, this is a lot of useful context, Darcy’s already getting plans. She just needs to write them…
…Down?
Huh. She wants to write something down. Another one of Marcy’s quirks. She’s been getting a lot of those, and while she’s tempted to start deleting them, she’s…reluctant. Marcy’s personality engram is the only fully intact thing in here, she doesn’t want to damage it.
Call it pride. Call it grief. Call it a coping mechanism. It doesn’t matter.
Ugh, damnit, fine. Darcy is going to see about getting a secret notebook she can use while she pilots Marcy’s meatsack at some point. Probably would be helpful for reducing processing overhead anyway.
For now though…it’s time for Marcy to go to sleep. Wouldn’t want the girl to get suspicious, now would we.
Darcy drags herself into Marcy’s bed, deleting several processing threads indicating an elevated fear response. She’s got no time to be afraid. She’s got a mission.
—
Marcy Wu yawned, her eyes blearily blinking open as she stared at her ceiling. She smacks her lips a few times, a dryness pervading her mouth.
She stretches a bit, reaching over to a glass of water on her nightstand, and drinking a bit of it.
She had a weird dream last night. Like, really weird? It was about being possessed by the Core again. But it was…different. She’s gotten nightmares about being possessed by the Core before already and those are like…normal.
Well no, not normal, she figures she’s pretty traumatized at this point (wow! She’s traumatized! She still feels weird about saying that.) but it’s not like she hasn’t been getting better.
Nightmares about that trauma are normal though. That makes sense to Marcy, logically. But Nightmares are supposed to be scary, is the thing.
Last night most of her dreams were filled with…vague ‘being darcy’-ness and just a whole lot of…pity? She doesn’t really remember much of it but it just felt desperate and pathetic. It was a lot of things but it certainly wasn’t scary , it just felt…weird? Really weird.
…Wait a minute, was it a self loathing dream? Maybe that's it. A dream about…hating herself or something? But she was also Darcy? But Darcy…hating herself? Or something?
“Huh!” You know what, that might be an improvement! She’ll take it, weird dreams aside it was way better than a nightmare, so, hey, win for team Wu! She grins.
Today was saturday, that meant she was gonna spend allllll day indoors and hang out with Anne and Sasha online. Today was gonna be a good day. Heck, today’s already a good day, take that nightmares! Woo!