OPERATION: ENCORE (Part I)

OPERATION: ENCORE

Part I: The Early Cafe and Diner

33 archived receipts

Receipts

RE:CORE-01

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-01

I am prone to meticulous note-keeping and journaling. However, seeing as mon amour and my trusted associate have decided to embark on this joint venture with me it only makes sense to have a system of joint note-keeping. Of course, I have informed them of our most unusual of circumstances regarding the timing of our business. Felix was easy to assure but Lucy, ah Lucy, she was of course filled with questions. I’ve done what I can to play ignorant to the obvious, but I am unsure how long I can keep her out of the loop. Some may think it foolish for me to air these thoughts in any form she could discover, but let’s be honest, my mind is already an open book to her.

Speaking of, these receipts will need to be encrypted. The problem with more conventional means of encryption is that most of our customers can see through simple mathematical tricks. We will need to employ a system of puzzles, riddles, and logic along with more standard ciphers to ensure that most customers cannot breach our receipts without proper permission. Mon amour has already shown me what does and doesn’t keep our customers out, of course, there is nothing stopping the more intrepid from working out our little puzzles.

I suppose for now while it is just us, I see no reason to establish any formal rules among partners. However, I will set one rule which both of you should find more than reasonable. To prevent certain prying eyes that are fixated on certain keywords and are utilizing errata-based meta filters under no circumstances shall you write, type, think, or speak the number. In context or out of context it doesn’t matter. The usual substitutes are acceptable. Worst case I’m sure they’re already reading this. Or have read this. Or will read this. I’ve never been too sure how it works.

One day we can look back on this and laugh. Or cry. Whatever suits the mood.

Yours eagerly again,

The number that always follows after 7

RE:CORE-02

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-02

As mentioned yesterday, I wanted to write a bit on the topic of customers. I suppose, more pressingly, what our goal as an organization is—or at the very least, should be. In cafe speak, I would classify what we intend to do rather simply: The Cafe and Diner will serve the best coffee to its many Customers. But there’s that word… “Customers.” It’s doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence, wouldn’t you agree? So, what is a customer?

I suppose to define a customer, I must go back to how this idea for an organization started. It started with the death of my parents at the hands of a notorious customer from Detroit, Miss. Cadillac. Their deaths sent me into a dizzying spiral and the deepest rabbit hole an Alice like myself could ever fall down. I wanted to, no, had to learn more about Miss. Cadillac. Where she came from and why she did what she did. And in my research, I stumbled upon mon amour, the brightest, most resplendent light in all of the Universe—Lucifer.

Yes, “Miss. Cadillac,” is what is known as a demon. Its Baltimore name is the Nain Rouge, the Demon of the Strait. Lucifer, mon amour, consequently, is also a demon, though a demon of a far higher caliber, for she is a Prince of Hell. One of seven who rule over the Planes of the Otherside—a dimension parallel in time and space to our own reality where strange creatures and demons reside. Due to the nature of our reality, the Flipside, and their reality, the Otherside, occasionally creatures and demons “leak” into our world. And that is what the Cafe and Diner will seek to correct.

It will be our mission to send these errant travelers back to their proper homes in the Otherside.

Perhaps, if we can do that, we can save another set of parents down the line. If anything, we can maintain some sort of cosmic balance between the Flipside and Otherside, for there is no such thing as a failure—only half successes.

RE:CORE-03

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-03

I suppose the task ahead of us is easier said than done. While serving customers coffee, in theory, should be straightforward, each customer prefers a different type of coffee. The Otherside is a vast and segmented place. As mentioned in yesterday’s receipt, there are seven planes of the Otherside.

Lucifer’s plane, the Morningstar.

Mammon’s plane, the Infernus.

Satan’s plane, the Hauntaurskald.

Belphegor’s plane, the Ouroboros.

Beelzebub’s plane, the Esterskald.

Leviathan’s plane, the Mayda.

Asmodeus’ plane, the Amaymon.

Each is vastly different from the others. The Morningstar, for example, is blanketed in a blinding light while the Infernus rages with the heat of a demonic engine. The Hauntaurskald is, by all accounts, very similar to common descriptions of hell. The Ouroboros is a strange plane inhabited by near-immortal snake-like creatures. Then there is the Esterskald and Mayda, an endless forest and ocean, respectively. And lastly, the Amaymon, where most humans end up when they die.

Ah, that is another important thing, isn’t it? When a person dies, they are reborn into the Otherside as a “demon.” Plants and animals, too, though when they are reborn, they are referred to as “cryptids.” Which of the seven planes you are reborn to has to do with something known as the Soul Accord, an agreement amongst the seven Princes of Hell to divvy up who gets which reborn soul. In the end, however, the vast majority end up in the lowest of the seven Otherside planes, the Amaymon, where they live out a rather dulcet afterlife.

But… the worst of humanity often finds themselves reborn into the dominion of Satan in the Hauntaurskald. These demons are the demons one most often thinks of. Terrifying boogeymen and creatures of the night who spend their afterlife attempting to ruin the current lives of humans. In the course of our work, I assume we will often cross paths with demons from the Hauntaurskald. While we will try to “serve them coffee” in the usual way, we might need to pay their tabs in full—kill them.

RE:CORE-04

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-04

Now, the next thing we will need is some sort of device to keep track of our work. I have a few designs already in mind, but I will need some parts from the Otherside. Due to the nature of how the Otherside is parallel to our own, they are far, far ahead in the “future.” It is a difficult concept to really wrap your mind around, but the simplest way to think of it is like a circle or cycle. If we are at one point in the circle, the Otherside is at the opposite end. As we move further into the future, they advance further toward our past and, paradoxically, further into our future.

All that to say, the Otherside has something more than just Cryptids and Demons. It has something known as “Othertech.” Technology that is so far advanced and alien to us that it can do some truly amazing things. The main component I would like to source from the Otherside is a Database Core. It’s a sort of artificial intelligence. You could even think of it as a mechanical cryptid of sorts. With a Database Core, we could have our receipts stored outside of the limitations of current Flipside digital storage. Moreover, the Database Core can record encounters with have with customers with a degree of precision that would be unthinkable with today’s technology.

I’ll have mon amour see if she can find a Database Core in the Otherside. Unlike other Cryptids and Demons, they aren’t set to a singular plane and are often in high demand. In the worst case, I imagine her brother, Mammon, probably has one in his hoard of treasures. Though, I wouldn’t want to owe Mammon any favors. You’d have to be one hell of a fool to make a bargain with him. Though I have a good feeling mon amour will be able to find one in the outskirts of her plane.

RE:CORE-05

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-05

Yes! YES! I knew mon amour was more than up for the task. She has found a Database Core and quite possibly a perfect one. It far exceeds what I had imagined, and I believe it will more than suffice as the basis of our interconnected communications and database system. I will need some assistance from some old allies of mine to get it properly set up, but time is not an issue. Soon, if not by tomorrow, we will have a fully functioning system for cataloging customers, recording receipts, and keeping the coffee warm for our friends.

I suppose, as a test, I can upload these daily notes I’ve been recording to the system, though I will need a way to hide them from the public view. I, more often than not, was more in the “Cafe” than the “Diner.” In doing so, they may be rather difficult to retrieve if I need them later, though I also have my physical copies. Even if they are “lost,” I am hoping that the Database will, in a way, absorb their information so it can hit the ground running. It will save us immense time if the Database can already understand the meaning behind much of our Cafe Speak.

And, once we have the Database fully configured and our communication devices working, well, I have some more pressing thoughts I’ve been dying to write down. I haven’t told mon amour or my trusted associate all that I know yet for fear of changing the unknown. Things… have been different. I have already noticed, and of course, they should be. As such, I don’t fully know what to expect from this new adventure, but anything will be better than our old one. But… more on that, once I can assure myself it will remain confidential.

RE:CORE-06

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-06

They say never to make a deal with the Devil, but then how would I have met my beloved Lucifer? Not that she is the Devil, of course. But I’m sure there is some taboo against falling in love with the daughter of the Devil all the same. I believe it is clear that our other two investors are none other than Lucifer’s older siblings, Mammon and Belphegor. With their aid, we have been able to begin our Cafe and Diner in earnest in many more ways than just securing a physical location and forming a shell company.

As alluded to, the actual terms of our agreement are complex. Far, far beyond complex. And isn’t that I don’t want to share them with you, my beloved mon amour and trusted associate. But I fear that explaining the exact details would derail any progress toward what we are working for. Our Cafe and Diner. Our organization that will help maintain the ever-precarious balance between the Flipside and the Otherside. So, I beg your forgiveness if I am still being vague despite writing this in the CAFE channel.

As mentioned, Belphegor has been given one of my “antiques” to hold on to. It is, admittedly, a powerful magical artifact. Even calling a “magical artifact” feels like it belittles its importance. It is, in truth, a fundamental aspect of our very reality. This might seem dangerous, entrusting something so potent to the Demon Prince of Sloth. Well, she is lazy, isn’t she? I doubt she would have the drive to ever use it. And, as for Mammon, well, they have asked for something far more difficult to provide. They want us to find something for them. Of course, the Prince of Greed is seeking something. Something they probably shouldn’t ever get ahold of. At least they don’t expect us to find it anytime soon.

RE:CORE-07

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-07

It has been 24 days since the Universe began. How time flies. Of course, there is the strangest sensation that lingers from all of the pre-scripted events and reconstructed memories. We are working off of a back-up, after all. A rewinding. So, it hasn’t been only 24 days since I met my dear Lucifer and Felix and began working on the Cafe and Diner. No. It is more like an uneasy dream that I have only just become lucid to. I remember meeting them, but it is only that—a memory based on events that happened in a Universe now destroyed. And, I suppose, it would mean that they have only known me—in truth—for 24 days. But I have known them for lifetimes.

I am, or was, what is known as the Otherman. An agent of God. It was my divine task to maintain the proper flow of time, the correct spinning of Cycles. When a Cycle strayed too far, when things went up that should go down, it was my scythe that cut it free. But—I wasn’t able to stop her, my love, Lucifer, from inadvertently causing the end of the Universe. To be the Otherman is not easy, you must leave behind all that you knew in your mortal life. You become an unseen force of the Universe. But Lucifer thought she could bring me back. She thought she could stop my ascension to the title of Otherman. And so, using the seven Keys to the Gates of Hell she tore across her Cycle in an attempt to turn back the clock. But doing so ruined not only her Cycle, but all Cycles.

In the last moments of the Universe that was, I was approached by Lucifer’s siblings, Mammon and Belphegor. Together they had hatched a rather sinister plan to recreate the Universe using a tool known as the “Pocketwatch,” an instrument of divine creation. With it we could reshape the Universe exactly how we saw fit, but to do so would take both Belphegor’s powers and my own. Under normal circumstances we would have just waited for the Universe to reset on its own, out of our control. But Mammon… clever Mammon… they made a proposal I couldn’t turn down. A chance to rewrite the story. A chance to destroy the greatest adversary of God, of the Universe, of mortals. Fate.

And so, the deal was struck. Belphegor would use the Pocketwatch to recreate the next Universe, I would go back to being mortal, and Mammon would have a chance to rule the Universe. That was all 25 days ago. You might have noticed; Mammon is not yet in charge of all that is or will ever be. We have time to stop them, but first we need to find where they have hidden God. Though, even doing that will take years, decades perhaps, and it will take each and every Cafe and Diner employee I chose to save. Then, once we find God, we can aid Him in the destruction of Fate itself.

To the end of Fate,

Yours…

8.

RE:CORE-08

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE AUGUST
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-08

I’m unsure if it was a fluke or Fate, but it seems my use of the number went… unnoticed. Good. It could be that the AND channel is secure even from the watchful eyes of the Cold, though I doubt it. I really shouldn’t tempt Fate like that, but it felt like a moment I had to declare my true name and title. The number after 7. Though—that is something I have been curious about since we recreated the Universe. When will I receive the title of the sacred number? I don’t believe I have it yet, and I’m unsure if I could get it again.

In the past Universe, my mentor, Jack Octo, gave me the title. But Jack—I couldn’t save him even with the power of the Pocketwatch. When asked who we should bring back, he was the first person I thought of, but Belphegor reminded me that Jack Octo was no longer a part of the Universe. And if he was no longer part of the Universe, I couldn’t rewind him like the others. The title of… the number after 7… holds great significance in the world of the supernatural. Though, no one knows why, well, no one besides the one who holds the title. Whatever it is, it bestows upon its holder secrets of the Universe that cannot be spoken or shared.

When I became the Otherman, I had to relinquish the number. Only a mortal can possess the number, after all. So, I passed it on to my protégé, Jenni. From there, it changed hands and was broken and divided amongst many people, but at the time of the end of the Universe, it was Nick who last held it. But, with the rewinding of the Universe, I doubt young Nick still holds the title that Jack originally forged. But if Jack is no longer here to forge it… well. Even if I am unable to claim the title, perhaps that is a good thing. The title brought nothing but disaster to those who held it, as was Fated, of course. Still—the number is who I was. Who I am. And who I intend to be.

RE:CORE-09

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BARISTA: FELIX BLACKWOOD
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY SEPTEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-09

I’ve only known you for a few years, nouvel ami, but in that time, I’ve never pegged you for much of a perfectionist, eh? Aren’t you the one always going on about “half-successes?” I can’t quite wrap my head around how you can so boldly tell la dame that accidents are bound to happen in this trade, while also insisting that every detail must be perfect before we can open. I trust there’s more to your… shall I say… “erratic” nature regarding the Cafe and Diner, yes? Some unspoken secret tearing you apart. And that’s a feeling I know all too well.

But—nouvel ami—what harm is there in hiring a few employees now? As you’ve said, there’s still plenty left to do before we’re fully ready. We need more equipment, for one. The Cafe is rather bare at the moment. And for that, we’ll need an expert in Canadian technology, no? Perhaps we’ll also need an expert on Canadians themselves. Not to mention hiring an “assistant” of sorts—someone who knows everyone. We’ll need someone to mix drinks. Ah, well… we’ll need quite a bit of help is what I am getting at.

As I’ve mentioned before—and will mention again—I have a few ideas on potential hires. A few names floating around. Perhaps… twenty or so. Though, I know you’d hardly go for a Cafe of that size—at least, not to start. So, I’ll whittle my list down to the best three, yes? Three, plus three—that makes six, leaving room for you to pick two from your list for a nice, round… number after seven, no?

RE:CORE-10

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BARISTA: LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE SEPTEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-10

We’ve done all we can about the lights in Death Valley. As far as I can tell, we’ve cleared out the Min Min Lights, leaving only the flickers of the Universe tearing itself apart. But there’s nothing more we can do from here. We’ve also sent our newest hire—Sahir—to probe his connections, to see if anyone else has a sense of what’s happening to the Universe. On one hand, it’d be ideal if someone already had the answers we need. On the other… that kind of knowledge in the wrong hands could be very, very dangerous.

I… I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye with Him. But I’ve known Him my whole life. He practically raised me—before… before everything. Literally before there was a Universe as we know it today. That’s how far back we go. And it’s not like Him to just… disappear. Even more, it’s not like Him to ignore me. So I doubt He’s simply gone reclusive. Hell, He’d jump at any chance to talk my ear off, especially if it meant sharing some quirky little factoids about humans. And I’ve always loved listening to those.

Something’s definitely off, though. I just can’t place it. Sometimes it stings to still be considered “mortal,” even if—come on—you don’t live this long as a “mortal.” But unlike the Elders, or even Belphegor’s children, I don’t have the same level of “cosmic insight” they do. I’m along for the ride, just like everyone else. And, of course, the me I am now isn’t exactly the same me from way, way back. But I still have sparks of the memories.

Honestly, I don’t think I’d even want to be an Elder full-time. There’s something… comforting in the change that death brings for us Princes. A chance to become someone new. To try again and maybe do things differently. Somehow, I doubt the Lucifer of long ago would’ve opened a Cafe and Diner.

RE:CORE-11

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BARISTA: OTHER
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE SEPTEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-11

I had to see it. Just once.

Marvelous, isn't it? Archival immortality. But what does it truly mean to be “immortal”? The Elders—they are immortal, yes, but they are not infallible. Age and disease may not claim them, but they can still be destroyed all the same, reduced to the stardust from which they were formed. It is their souls that make them elusive. Even if their bodies are obliterated, their souls can find new vessels. I suppose the Universe tries to balance that through the singularity of most Elders. If their body is gone, their soul has nowhere to return and so it moves on—into the grand, intoxicating unknown of a true and final death.

In that sense, even mortals share a fragment of immortality. They too move between realms—from Flipside to Otherside, back and forth. Human, demon, then as human as it gets. Eventually, though, and through no fault of their own, mortal souls reach an unknown point—a threshold—where they, too, face a final death. It may seem common, an everyday affair. But I know better. It is rare—exceedingly rare—for a soul to move on beyond this Universe. We are trapped here, all of us. Here, in this cycle. What lies beyond is not for us to know. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t… until now.

It is dangerous to make deals with flesh and blood. Elders, they believe they have little to lose. But they are mere guests in this Universe. They are free to leave, as easily as they came. We cannot. And that is why we are the ones with nothing to lose—and everything to gain. I hold no ill will toward mighty Zeus, seated high upon Olympus, content on His throne. Yet, He harbors misgivings about me. I know He does. He believes His ways are more divine than mine, simply by birthright. But am I not a divine being, made in His image? Now He plans to send Thanatos for me—yet I intend for Thanatos to roll the stone instead.

I had to see it just once—this… alternative path. It’s extraordinary in its own way, breaking and bending every rule that binds us to this unending cycle. But it is flawed. It has achieved what I wanted—and more. But it cannot push me forward, only drag me back. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve already lived in the cold, darkest hours of this eternal night. I want to see dawn break. I want to feel the warmth of morning’s light. To do that, I must live in a different way. I must live for the very first time. I must make one more deal. Then—then I will be free. And once I am free, nothing will no longer matter—everything will.

The only cure for the poison of Entropy is meticulous Order. And if it were easy? It wouldn’t be worth doing, would it?

RE:CORE-12

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BARISTA: FELIX BLACKWOOD
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE SEPTEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-12

And so, the truth finally comes out. I suspect he’s still holding back, but for now, I’m mostly satisfied. At last, something that doesn’t feel like a half-truth. An interesting predicament we find ourselves in, eh? Though, mon… nouvel? vieil? ami… he’s left out much of what lies “ahead,” fearing that if we know as much as he does, we’ll veer too far off course. He hasn’t quite grasped that he isn’t visiting the past—he’s living in the present, no?

S.O.T.

Ne Personne: I… I need to come clean. To both of you. Here we are, in Salt Lake City, the lights overhead, and am I just supposed to keep pretending I don’t know what’s happening? Am I to assume you two wouldn’t figure it out, given time? I can’t bear it any longer.

Felix: This has to do with the unusual timing of our operations, yes?

Ne Personne: Yes.

Lucifer: As I understand it, you were very eager to get things moving as soon as possible, right?

Felix: Ah—but then he’s too afraid to make any real progress. As if he’s… waiting for something. Or perhaps, someone?

Ne Personne: All of it. The timing of our business is so… “unusual” because we’re years ahead of schedule. Four… five… maybe six years.

Felix: In your mind, when does the Cafe truly open, nouvel ami?

Ne Personne: August 8th, 1994, vieil ami.

Lucifer: Such a precise date…

Ne Personne: Yes. Because it’s already happened. I’m… I’m not from here.

Felix: I was starting to suspect as much. So, you’re from another Cycle?

Ne Personne: …Another Sphere.

Lucifer: Sphere? You—you are…?

Ne Personne: One of the last non-Elder remnants of the 15th Sphere.

Lucifer: This is the 16th? When… when did that happen?

Ne Personne: A month ago. On a Thursday.

Felix: So you’re telling us that everything—our memories, experiences—they’re… fabricated. Up until…

Ne Personne: August 4th, 1988. A miscalculation.

Lucifer: But it did all happen, didn’t it?

Ne Personne: Yes, mon amour. It all happened… just in another Universe. This Universe… it’s a copy of the last one, a rewinding of what already was.

Lucifer: But… that’s not usually how Universes are made?

Ne Personne: No. Normally, everything begins anew… I made sure it didn’t. I wanted another chance.

Felix: Another chance? How could you have possibly…?

Ne Personne: It’s a long story, but in short, my Universe ended, and I was in a position to create the next one.

Lucifer: How were you in that position?

Ne Personne: When I was mortal—

Lucifer: —When? When weren’t you mortal?

Ne Personne: …God chose me to serve as His Otherman. Are you familiar with the position?

Felix: Vaguely. So you were… God’s Otherman. His agent to ensure the proper flow of time, to keep Cycles spinning into a cohesive Sphere. But rewinding a Universe—that would grossly overreach the Otherman’s duties, wouldn’t it?

Ne Personne: Something happened in my Universe that… broke time. Someone tried to go back and shattered the balance between the Flipside and Otherside, so badly it threatened everything. God went to restart the Universe, but His tool of creation—the Pocketwatch—was… stolen.

Lucifer: You stole His Pocketwatch?!

Ne Personne: Ah! No—of course not. Mammon did.

Lucifer: Mammon? But he knows he can’t use it…

Ne Personne: Not without my help. And not without Belphegor’s help. In the chaos, we… we struck a deal.

Lucifer: What kind of deal?

Ne Personne: Belphegor and I, who knew how to operate the Pocketwatch, would reset the Universe—but under the condition that God…

Felix: No. You didn’t…

Ne Personne: I had to.

Lucifer: You should have returned the Pocketwatch to—

Ne Personne: And it all would’ve been for nothing.

Lucifer: What would have?

Ne Personne: …

Lucifer: Amour… now isn’t the time to keep secrets.

Ne Personne: You. You crossed the Cycles, trying to go back in time. You shattered the Universe, trying to save me.

Lucifer: Save you? From…?

Ne Personne: I was destined to die. I held what Fate wanted—what the Cold wanted—and they did everything to ensure my demise. God saved me, offering me protection as an Elder. As the Otherman. To you, it looked like I’d died and disappeared. You went to such lengths to save me… and if I’d let God reset the Universe as it was, we’d never have met. Everything you did… would have been for nothing.

Lucifer: Amour…

Ne Personne: I know. Perhaps it was a foolish bargain with one of the least trustworthy of your kin. But it gives us a chance. God isn’t gone. He’s hidden. Hidden from Mammon, from even Belphegor and me. But He’s safe. And we can save Him. And finally, we can put an end to Fate… Wicked, Phantom… Secret.

Lucifer: …Sahir?

Felix: No. Secret. The Secret. One of the Cold Elders who intends to claim this Universe.

Lucifer: I see… So you already know what’s going to happen? And… you won’t die? You’re… an Elder? The Otherman?

Ne Personne: No, I don’t know what will happen—I know what did happen. There’s a dangerous difference. And when I reset this Universe, I also undid my ascension. I’m mortal again. I’m me. You’re you. Everything is how it was. My only advantage is memory—eons of it.

Lucifer: …I have to tell them.

Ne Personne: Who?

Lucifer: My siblings. The Princes. Not everything, but that the Universe has been… remade. It’s usually obvious, but I can’t let them think we’re still in the 15th Universe.

Ne Personne: Of course. It’s a secret that will spread soon enough, once the Elders and Ouroborians catch on. It could never last forever; I just hoped it’d last long enough to defeat Fate.

Felix: Are you planning to tell them all? Or just the four who aren’t yet aware?

Lucifer: All of them. At once. With Mammon and Belphegor there. It’ll… it’ll look like I pieced it together on my own.

Ne Personne: Clever, mon amour.

Lucifer: Thank you. Though… I am still quite cross with you for keeping this from me.

Ne Personne: I understand. From here on out, no more secrets between us.

Lucifer: No… more secrets.

E.O.T.

RE:CORE-13

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE SEPTEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-13

Au temps pour moi. I apologize. I wanted to tell you both sooner—I did. But… well, I don’t have a good excuse, do I? Maybe it’s something deeply ingrained in me, a feeling that I’ve somehow stepped into the past and that any wrong move could alter my future. Our future. Foolish, I know—I’m not in the past. I’m here, in the present. And as for the future? It’s still very much ours to decide. I intend to keep it that way.

As for our month? Wonderfully successful. We served not one but two customers ahead of our official opening, and yes, we even hired a new employee, albeit remotely for now. Looking forward, we have another interview scheduled for next month. I can’t help but feel the weight of the boulder bearing down on me—as though I’ve pushed it up this hill once before. But that’s just it, isn’t it? Sisyphus was condemned to monotony, repetition, Fate. I, on the other hand, am rather eager to meet Ms. Saturn, and perhaps offer her a place in our Cafe and Diner. Why bother with the same old boulder again?

As for the other business we have next month, we still need to serve Mr. Andros and Mrs. Berkeley. Mr. Andros is a bit more of a priority, so we’ll start with him. If there’s time, we can attend to Mrs. Berkeley. She’s one of the few customers from mon amour’s region of Ottawa that she doesn’t particularly care for—a rather unsettling customer with quite a bad attitude.

Looking beyond next month, as you’re both well aware… there’s still something missing from the Cafe and Diner. Something I can’t even bring myself to type for fear it might draw all the wrong attention. But if it were easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing, now would it?

Yours, hopefully soon,

The month tomorrow prior to Pompilius

RE:CORE-14

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BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-14

Who could have guessed? Another unexpected turn of events. At this point, I should expect nothing less. A guest arrived at the Cafe and Diner today—odd, considering we're not yet open for business. I can only assume our reputation precedes us. Exceptionally so. But it wasn’t just any guest. No, they weren’t here for coffee… they were looking for a job.

Strange fellow. Tall, nondescript, friendly. Not at all what he seems. He introduced himself as Mr. Octo. Whether that’s his real name or just an alias, I’m not sure. Either way, he seemed very interested in our operations. In fact, he seemed eager—maybe too eager—to help us get the Cafe and Diner off the ground. I might say he tipped his hand a little too much. Still, with his knowledge and our collective expertise, we might just rival even the Lighthouse’s coffee game.

Of course, as we’ve discussed countless times, taking on new hires before our debts are paid and our foundations are secure is a risk we can’t afford. And yet… Perhaps this Barista is the exception. Or maybe I’m just playing with fire. Or frost. Whichever suits the mood better. The decision may not be entirely in my hands, but I only need to convince Mon Amour and my Trusted Associate to go along with it. Luckily, time is on my side.

Besides, Mr. Octo has something I want. And I’ll do whatever I need to get it. Though, even if he’s unwilling to share, I doubt I’ll need to wait much longer. These things, after all, have a way of working themselves out.

Yours to be,

RE:CORE-15

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BARISTA: FELIX BLACKWOOD
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-15

Good to see nouvel ami finally coming around to my way of thinking. Though I didn’t quite expect we’d be hiring some unknown hippie off the street. That’s where my hesitation lies with this "Mr. Octo." I’ve been around for a long time—longer than nouvel ami, that’s certain. Longer than la dame? No, not quite. But few have been around as long as she has. Still, considering the circles I ran in before this new venture, you’d think I’d have heard something about this Octo. Especially if what nouvel ami claims he knows is true. He seems to know things about the bigger picture, things even most of my old coworkers were in the dark about. Maybe Alfa or Shaka knew. But that’s where the list of people in the know runs dry.

If it were anyone else—Marcus Douglas, or perhaps Madeline Saturn—I’d be fully on board. And nouvel ami, I assume you’re reading this: I don’t need to remind you of Mr. Douglas’ skills. And from what I’ve heard, Madeline Saturn has some rather unique abilities that would greatly benefit us. Just suggestions, of course. But if we take Mr. Octo at his word, I fully expect we’ll be hiring more baristas soon. It’s only fair—and it would take quite the load off you and la dame.

As for this matter, I’ll defer my vote to la dame. Since I know nothing about this "Octo" character, I can’t give my seal of approval. But if you can get la dame to agree, nouvel ami, then it seems fated that Mr. Octo will join our team. Still, we'll meet with Madeline this month and Marcus the next. It may be worth reaching out to our little "Secret" as well. To see if he knows anything about this Mr. Octo. If anyone around here were to know something, it’d be Secret. He’s truly a man of marvels, nouvel ami. Glad you came around to see it.

RE:CORE-16

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-16

Well… I’ve been thinking it over the past few days. Big thanks to you, Luthuli, for making this my decision. And honestly, I’m still not sold. On any of it. A strange man shows up at our not-yet-open Cafe and Diner, offering up esoteric secrets about the “bigger picture.” Where I come from, that’s how you end up paying a visit to my older sister down south. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m worried this won’t play out the way mon amour thinks it will.

Then again, if the past few months have proven anything, it’s that he usually knows what he’s getting into. Almost has an uncanny knack for predicting how things will go. But then again, luck runs out eventually. And right now, it feels like we’re pushing ours. Still, it would be nice to have someone else around to help get things up and running, especially if what he’s promising is true.

But there’s something I can’t shake. It’s hard to explain. For someone so worried that a single-digit could give us away… why invite a stranger whose name is literally that number? Sure, “Octo” isn’t exactly the same as the number itself, but like mon amour said, isn’t this playing with fire? We haven’t even opened our doors yet, and already there’s a real risk that getting involved with Mr. Octo could shut us down before we start. I won’t pretend to fully understand how the Erratas work, but if mon amour is right, and someone’s watching for that number, this feels like a bad idea.

Then again, he’s the one worried about those things. And knowing him, he’s thought this through and knows what he’s getting into by dealing with Mr. Octo. So… fine. Let’s go for it. But on one condition: Your Trusted Associate and I reserve the right to veto Mr. Octo at any time. I love you, mon amour, but sometimes you get carried away by your own ambitions.

RE:CORE-17

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: JACK KEEL
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-17

I’m glad to be part of your little, uh, gang of sorts.

I know, I know—watch the numbers, right? Don’t sweat it. :) Me and JM had a chat about that whole “Errata” thing. Bottom line: no need to stress so much over a single number. At least not yet, you feel me? I’ve read everything up to this point, and it seems like you all think of me as some kind of “Big Picture” guy, huh? Well, I guess that’s fair. I do have some big-picture ideas. But don’t mistake ideas for answers.

Anyway, I’m happy to help however I can. I also noticed the kid seems to want something from me—though I can’t say I know what that is, and he won’t tell me. Probably should’ve filed that under the AND, am I right? Haha… just messing with you. I know coffee’s your thing. That’s the whole deal, right? So a few twists and turns along the way are to be expected. But trust me, if I had something you needed, I’d give it over in a heartbeat.

That reminds me, I should probably introduce myself more formally—or, uh, “informally,” I guess. My name’s Jack Octo. My friends usually just call me 8. You can call me 8, or Jack, or Octo—whatever floats your boat. :) I can’t say I’m as, you know, illustrious as you all are. I’m just… me. But when I heard what you guys were up to, I knew I wanted in. I’ve got a feeling this coffee venture is gonna be huge. It’ll be worth all the trouble—I know it.

And if things are heading in the direction I think they’re heading, we’re gonna need a combination Cafe and Diner more than ever. Big things are happening, not just here, but across the country. Maybe the world, if you can believe it. People are starting to wake up, and what’s the first thing you grab when you wake up? That’s right, a nice warm cup of coffee.

Anyway, I’ll be around, so just holler if you need me. :)

-8

RE:CORE-18

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-18

Well, this is rather strange. Although, I suppose I should have known things would be stranger than expected. It’s not every day the universe is recreated on a whim. The time dilation—that was expected. The Pocketwatch hadn’t been wound for eons, so of course, it’s off by a minute or two. But I’m almost certain part of the deal I struck included keeping my title of 8. Not only was I promised the title and everything that comes with it, but Jack Octo shouldn’t be here. Chronologically, it makes no sense.

There are two possibilities. Well, there’s an infinite number of possibilities, but for the sake of argument, I’ve narrowed it down to two for now.

I do not like the first possibility: that I’m wrong and know nothing. It stings to admit it, but when dealing with matters of cosmic complexity, what else can I say? As I understood it, Jack Octo gave me the mantle of 8. I passed it to Jenni. Jenni gave it to Nikki. Nikki split the mantle between Jericho, Joy, and Julius. The three of them passed it to Nick. The apocalypse happened. Nick died with the mantle. From there, it should have gone to the next in line, but I assume they also perished, considering, well, the apocalypse. By making the deal and relinquishing my role as the Otherman, I returned to a mortal state—flesh and blood. So, the mantle should have cycled back to me. I thought it did. It should have gone through the line of succession and eventually it looped back.

Which brings me to the second possibility—the one I prefer, if only because it suggests I know more than I give myself credit for. The mantle did loop back. Back to Jack Octo. But Jack Octo died. No, he was removed. He doesn’t exist. Didn’t exist. He shouldn’t exist. Yet, in creating a new universe, somehow, his deletion from reality was undone.

I know the Pocketwatch is powerful. Well, of course it is, no? But to undo the unthinkable? One could even call it an act of God. In any case, Jack Octo being here means I can save him this time. I will save him this time. I swear it. And if I can save Jack Octo, what could stop me from saving everyone? They say Fate works in mysterious ways, but I work in unexpected ones.

Yours to be,

RE:CORE-19

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: CADENCE IRONFRADE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-19

I saw a sheep today.

Funny little creature, all the way out here. You don’t see too many sheep around Santiago Canyon. It must be pretty far from home. I suppose I am, too.

This place—it’s no home. It’s a miserable, cold, and empty house. It didn’t have to be. I don’t think it was meant to be, either. Something must’ve gotten screwed up along the way. I can sense that there was more to this place once. More than sterile, empty walls and neatly stacked coffee mugs. The temperature’s always a few degrees too cold, and the fluorescent lights make the shadows feel harsh and rigid. And the furniture—it’s all cold, impersonal steel. Never been used, never been loved. I bet it wasn’t like that the first time around.

It’s nothing like my home.

My home is full of life, with rich reds and earthy browns, laughter, tears, and every little corner of our Cafe carrying its own stories. Plush, worn, and ripped booths, mismatched chairs, and the smell of fresh coffee in the air. Really fresh coffee. Never burnt. I know that at most diners, the coffee’s always burnt—kept in the same thick stew of arabica, reheated constantly for the next top-off. But at my home, he’d never have it any other way than freshly made, single-serve pour-over. A terribly inefficient way to run a Cafe, of course, but that’s what made it home. And I loved every single cup he’d make for me.

What I wouldn’t give to go back to my home, where it’s bright and full of life. But… no. I’m stuck here, in this miserable, gelid house. With you. Because of you. Because of everything you were. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to go home, because everything has always been about you. Even now, it’s still about you.

I want to go home.

I want to be like them.

I want to get this over with.

…

I saw a sheep today. A black one, with curly hair. Saw you too. And a bit of myself. But I still haven’t found my way home yet.

Hang on, guys—I’ll be there before you know it.

RE:CORE-20

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: JACK KEEL
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-20

Alright, alright—enough with the suspenseful drama. The Frenchman made it clear: not only am I free to discuss whatever I want, he encourages it. :)

See, he knows as well as I do that this Universe has been under siege by rogue Archons for… well, probably since the moment of its flawed and sinful creation. While there are plenty of Archons from Entropy stirring up trouble, there are only four who are actively antagonistic toward our wayward Demiurge: Moira, Phantas, Kryadam, and Xanthar. Or, as they’re more commonly known—Fate, Phantom, Secret, and Wicked.

Now, let’s talk a bit more Entropy. It wasn’t some unified paradise. Entropy was split into dozens of “Great Houses,” each locked in endless conflict. And no House was more powerful—or ruthless—than House Axiom, ruled by Master Kaos, the so-called creator of Entropy. But if Kaos was the ultimate ruler, why did so many rise against him?

Houses like Gelid, Cresset, Malapert, and even the House Unnamed all tried to bring Kaos down. The one to succeed? It may well have been his own son—Demiurge. Somehow, Demiurge stole Kaos' tool of creation, fled Entropy, and used it to cobble together the flawed Universe we call home. Did that shift the endless wars in Entropy? Hard to say. But soon after, other Archons fled too.

Fate was one of them—a Sovereign of House Gelid. He brought along two of his own: Phantom and Secret, and Warden and a Keeper. They also picked up an ally from House Cresset—Lord Xanthar, better known as Wicked. See, from what I’ve heard—Lord Xanthar was married to the only daughter of House Gelid whose very beautiful head was affixed above Kaos’ throne. Together, they formed a loose coalition called The Cold.

And they all want very different things. Fate wants total control—ruling over every outcome, every possibility. Phantom? He’s obsessed with tearing down barriers, turning our isolated Universe into a hub of multiversal travel. Wicked wants to unlock the secrets of the soul—the same souls that keep us trapped here. And Secret? Well… it’s a secret. :) I’d tell you if I knew, but that’s one puzzle even I can’t crack.

And there you have it. The “Big Picture.” Four Archons versus one—the Cold against God. Except, uh… God’s missing. M.I.A. Thankfully, even in His absence, the Cold don’t dare enter His Universe outright. This is still His house, and He holds all the cards. If they even thought about stepping in, He’d pull them into the Black Tide faster than you or I could blink. So, for now, the Cold work through disposable mortal proxies. At least until the Black Tide isn’t a problem anymore.

-8

RE:CORE-21

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE OCTOBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-21

Well, that was about as fun as I’d imagined it would be. Apparently, Belphegor had already planned on calling a meeting—but if what you said is true, mon amour, she’s well aware of the Universe rewinding. Still, she brought something else to our attention. She claims there’s… another world. Or, maybe, an “other” world? Something parallel to the Otherside. I… suppose it doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. Our goal is still the same, right? Stopping Fate.

S.O.T.

Satan: If we’re meeting here in the Flipside, Lucifer, this had better be worth our time. I have campaigns demanding my attention.

Lucifer: And what good are campaigns if the Universe itself dissolves beneath your feet?

Leviathan: Dissolves? What exactly are you implying, Lucy?

Beelzebub: What’d you do this time, Peacock?

Lucifer: Me? I’ve done nothing. But I’ve noticed strange lights here in the Flipside. Lights from the Universe itself—bending. Breaking. And I’ve heard whispers—

Asmodeus: Ugh, whispers? Honestly, Lucifer, get to the point.

Lucifer: Haven’t you noticed it, Asmi? The Universe has reset.

Leviathan: Reset? What do you mean, “reset”?

Belphegor: Mm. More like rewound. She’s right though. This is the sixteenth incarnation of the Universe.

Mammon: Rewound?! What do you mean, rewound?

[Belphegor rolled her eyes.]

Belphegor: Gee, I don’t know, Mammon. Something caused the Universe to reset.

Beelzebub: And isn’t Time your domain, Belphegor? Surely you know more than that.

Belphegor: Something caused the prior Universe to end. I’ve got no clue what.

[Belphegor shot a quick glance at Lucifer.]

Belphegor: Normally, God creates the next Universe. For some reason, this time, He wasn’t… available.

Satan: Do you think… do you think Father got to Him?

Belphegor: Yeah, probably. That’s usually how it goes.

Satan: But if Father secured God and His tool of creation, wouldn’t He have remade the Universe in His image? Three planes as one?

Belphegor: Uh—huh. Someone didn’t want that to happen.

[Belphegor glanced briefly at Mammon.]

Belphegor: Someone like the Otherman.

Leviathan: The Otherman? God’s Reaper of Cycles?

Belphegor: Y—up. He’d know how to rewind the Universe, wouldn’t he?

Asmodeus: And why would he do that?

Belphegor: Dunno. But he did a sloppy job. I was about to call everyone here before Lucy jumped the gun. There’s an… “other” world—an aberration in the flow of time.

Asmodeus: Are you kidding me? I’m barely holding things together down below as is. Does this other world have souls?

Belphegor: Possibly.

Asmodeus: If there’s another world siphoning our souls, let me know now so I can stab it in the heart and get back to work.

Beelzebub: On that note, is this “other world” a buffet or a famine? Because if it’s the latter, I’d prefer not to waste my energy.

Mammon: Agreed. Is there anything worth taking? If we find this place, what’s the profit margin? Who gets the spoils? It’s only fair that we—

[Satan slammed his fist on the table and stood abruptly.]

Satan: This is no joking matter! Once again, our father was freed, and once again his freedom was denied! I won’t stand for it—

Belphegor: You know we can’t act until the Debt comes due.

[Satan sat back down in seething silence.]

Lucifer: What… what do you mean by an “other world,” Belphie?

Belphegor: Tsk. Always kept in the dark, huh?

E.O.T.

RE:CORE-22

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY NOVEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-22

There’s a pull, mon amour, like a thread tied around my ribs. The… the “other” world, as Belphegor called it. There was more to our meeting—more than I chose to have the CaDCom transcribe.

I’m… not sure. You kept such a big secret from me. Perhaps I need to keep one from you? Just for now, of course. Once I understand what this “other” world is, I’ll tell you. And Felix. Jack and Sahir too, I suppose. I wish I could leave this alone. After all, curiosity often has teeth. But you know me better than that. I have to find it.

It began with a key. My key. Or… well, the key I hold. Another secret I haven’t shared—with you or anyone, really. I hold two keys to the Gates of Hell. There aren’t just seven gates; there are eight. Vainglory is my true key—the key to the Morningstar and the sin of Pride.

But the other? The other key I hold?

It is the key to the sin of our Lord. The sin of Creation.

It is Hubris.

And with the key of Creation, what else could I do but… create? And so, I shaped a question:

What makes a world “real”?

That question, that act of creation, pulled me out of the Cafe and into the colorless in-between—a place where realms stretch like ribbons around the present of the Universe, each its own strange story, untethered and unbound.

The things I saw in the in-between… they defy words. Among them were these fleeting essences, hovering at the edges of my perception. Neither here nor there. Shadows waiting for the sun to rise. They didn’t speak in words, but their pleas reached me all the same:

Make us real, they begged. Give us form. Give us life. Anchor us.

I felt Hubris shudder in my grasp.

Hubris…

What makes a world… real?

RE:CORE-23

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID NOVEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-23

It began, naturally, with the coffee. This morning’s roast tasted like the second-hand dreams of someone asleep on the job—over-brewed and disquietingly sweet for what was meant to be black coffee. It’s as if the Universe itself shares my anxiety to make up for lost time. I didn’t expect to recreate the prior Universe perfectly—far from it—but I had hoped to do a better job than this. Madeline Saturn, Marcus Douglas, the time dilation, Jack still being… Jack. And the Eight… still beyond my grasp, buried deep within Jack’s own thoughts.

Inevitability.

On one hand, I want to keep Jack safe from the Cold. If history repeats—and it almost certainly will—Fate will come for the Eight inside him, ripping it free by force and leaving him a hollow, empty shell. I want to stop that. I do. But if I manage to outplay Fate now, so early in the game, I may never get the Eight myself. And the maddening thing about the Eight? I can’t even remember why I want them. You can only truly understand their purpose when you have them. I suspect even Fate doesn’t fully comprehend why it craves them so deeply—only that they hold the power to unseat God and reshape the Universe into a cold, methodical, predestined image.

Something is wrong. Well—that’s an understatement. The Universe—this Sphere—it’s bending and breaking under the weight of this recreation, this rewinding. A strain I hadn’t anticipated. I’ll need to consult Belphegor about it. But when? Where? Even within the timeless Ouroboros, Mammon would sense our alliance soon enough. For now… I’ll have to untangle Fate’s plan on my own.

The Oracle. Marcus. Madeline. They all reek of Fate’s handiwork. I don’t entirely distrust Marcus or Madeline—but why has Fate nudged them into the threads of what will be? I need to understand.

RE:CORE-24

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE NOVEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-24

The threads of Fate fray into a blur just beyond my reach. I need clarity. I need to start regaining my powers—Second Sight, to start. The Eight, if Jack is… if he doesn’t… Well, I don’t necessarily need the Eight personally. Having it near is enough. Jack will make it this time. He has to.

I asked Lucifer for it—for a small piece of the Morningstar’s power. To ask mon amour for a part of herself, for power that doesn’t belong to me, that I have no right to wield… I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the pull of hesitation. Yet that hesitation pales in comparison to the threat of what lies ahead.

Unlike the last time I asked—or, well, no. I suppose I didn’t actually ask the first time. It was a gift from her. Regardless, unlike that time, she now refused. She’s worried it may corrupt me.

Oh, mon amour… if only you knew how little time I have left in this world with which to be corrupted.

S.O.T.

Ne Personne: You wanted to talk?

Lucifer: Yes. There’s been a… development. Something in this Universe has… changed.

Ne Personne: Change? In what way?

Lucifer: The Otherside. It’s… evolved.

Ne Personne: Of course it has. Likely some ploy of Fate. When I need certainty and stability—all I see is a world more precarious than it was yesterday. And, of course, I’m blind to it all.

Lucifer: That’s not what this is about—

Ne Personne: Then what is it about, my Light?

Lucifer: I’m not sure you’d understand. It seems like you don’t want to understand.

Ne Personne: I want to, more than anything. And what I also want is for us to succeed. And to do that, I’ll need more than what I have now.

Lucifer: More? What kind of “more?”

Ne Personne: Second Sight.

Lucifer: You don’t know what you’re asking for.

Ne Personne: I don’t know? Mon amour, I was the Otherman. Second Sight is… a drop in the bucket compared to what I had before.

Lucifer: No. You’re not the Otherman anymore. You’re mortal. You’re human, Amour. Second Sight will drive you to insanity. It’s not a power humans are meant to—

Ne Personne: Augurs?

Lucifer: …Are born with it. They need to channel it. You want to permanently open yourself to an entirely different reality. I won’t allow it.

Ne Personne: You gave it to me once. Long ago.

Lucifer: She gave it to you. In another Universe. I am not her.

Ne Personne: And yet you are.

Lucifer: No, I’m not. I can’t imagine what was going through her head or what her circumstances were because she wasn’t dating a former Otherman who rewound the Universe in a gambit to destroy Fate. She probably pitied you. A mere human. I don’t.

Ne Personne: It’s not about pity. It’s about survival. If I am to face what’s coming, I need to see the paths ahead clearly—even if they are unbearable. Even if it hurts me to do so.

Lucifer: And what happens when the unbearable becomes too much for you? What happens to us, then?

Ne Personne: I—... I’m running out of time.

Lucifer: Time? Time?! You rewound the entire Universe!

[Ne Personne didn’t answer. His gaze drifted, fixed on some unseen horizon. Lucifer exhaled shakily, turning away, her shoulders tense with frustration.]

Lucifer: We’ll… we’ll talk about it in the New Year, okay?

E.O.T.

RE:CORE-25

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: JEANNE MORNINGSTAR
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE NOVEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-25

Paranoid old fool. It’s so obvious in hindsight, he was the cause of most of his own problems. Not Fate. Sure, I won’t deny that Fate wanted him dead. But even then, I’m not convinced. Honestly, I think the first time he died, he became an even greater threat to Fate. This time around, I’d wager Fate wanted him to be as average and ordinary as possible. Tall order for a dick like that.

He did everything in his power to get ahead of the inevitable, and look where it got him. A dead lover. Estranged kids. And a really questionable deal to turn himself into some kind of man-made god. Funny, isn’t it? Even if Indrid hadn’t slammed the door shut on him, God would’ve. He made that bet with the Devil—counting on the idiot being narcissistic enough to activate the Heart of Netzach. I can only imagine where he’d have ended up after winning God’s wager. The deepest, darkest bottom of the Black… Thorn? Is that what they settled on? Doesn’t matter. Woes of a prior Universe.

Still, he won. That’s what matters, I suppose. A half-success, but a success nonetheless. He killed Fate. He killed an Archon—not just one, either. Three. It reminds me of a story a friend once told me about a mortal who toppled all of Entropy with his death. In that story, the mortal was killed, unleashing mortality upon the Entropic Archons. Here, though? He killed the Archons and almost got rewarded with immortality for it. Thank the Devil that didn’t happen. Well—thank Indrid, really.

The funny thing is, I should have died that day too. But I guess there’s something about me—something that reminds them of him—that makes me worth keeping around. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, right? Still… what a choice of company I keep. Can I even say I’m better than him if I hang around with Gleam and the rest of them? I suppose it’s like poetry. Though for the record—I am not a Nova. Not even sure what the hell I am anymore. Human? No, far from it, even if I wish I were. Archon? I wish. Elder? Maybe, but that feels like a stretch too.

Then again—can I even die? I guess that’s up to Gleam. Sucks to have my fate in his hands, but it’s better than the alternative.

…She’s here too. I just missed her. I can feel it. They’re both here—or they were. This “archival time travel” he cooked up is finicky. Man was full of half-successes. Oh well. All I need is a vector to the present. That’s what Gleam said, anyway. Not that I think they’re in any rush to find one for me. And even if they did—what would it cost?

…We’re at an impasse, aren’t we? He offered me friendship… but I don’t feel like much of a friend to him. Blood is thicker than water, after all.

RE:CORE-26

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: JACK KEEL
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-26

The little boss showed up today. Shaka of Zulu. He’s got history with Baltz—and with me, I suppose. Probably just about everyone too. He’s some sort of quasi-Elder, unkillable even through the changing of Spheres. A dangerous guy. Though, realistically, his edges have softened from being alive as long as he has. Besides, I’m pretty sure he abides by truth, compassion, contentment, humility, and love :) Which is more than I can say about a lot of other quasi-Elders and especially full on Elders.

S.O.T.

Shaka: You haven’t decorated yet.

Ne Personne: Been a bit busy, Shaka.

Shaka: Never too busy for art. A few pieces would really liven this place up, you know. Le Paradis terrestre d’apres by Jan Brueghel the Elder, perhaps? Or Paradise by Oscar Parviainen?

Eight: I was thinking Nighthawks myself.

Shaka: Nighthawks? How dreadfully on the nose… and you, you must be Eight. You have them, yes? The Eight?

Eight: Oh, no messin’ around, huh? What—Secret can’t tell if I do or don’t?

Shaka: If he did, he wouldn’t tell me. I’m just curious… given our shared “Universal” dilemma. Do you have the Eight right now, Mr. Octo?

Eight: Well, why else would they call me that?

Shaka: I see. Your doing, I suppose?

Ne Personne: Unintentionally.

Shaka: Oh? I suppose you would’ve liked to have it instead. Though, Jack, it’s good to see you again. As you were.

Eight: Again?

Shaka: I suspect we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future… Duelo a garrotazos. Goya.

[Shaka gestured to a blank spot on the wall of the Cafe.]

Ne Personne: Well, how would that be a good painting for a Cafe?

Shaka: Just… thinking out loud. So—remind me, how do you know Eight? How are you “supposed” to know Eight?

Ne Personne: Currently, I’d say serendipity. Though I’ve always seen him as a mentor figure. Someone quite well-versed in the big picture. Someone who was—is constantly expanding my own vision.

Shaka: Ah—of course.

Ne Personne: Say, Shaka, what’s with the Zulus snooping around?

Shaka: You’ll have to settle for “it’s a secret,” I’m afraid. Can’t discuss the whos or whys of it.

Ne Personne: Oh, come on. Is it Alfa poking her nose around, or is it Secret? That’s all I need to know.

Eight: Yeah, man, who’s scared of us? The big boss or the bigger boss?

Shaka: Just the big boss. The bigger boss is already well aware of what has happened, though he’s keeping the details scarce from me.

Eight: I suppose he must be good at keeping secrets, after all.

Shaka: Oh yes. Look, I understand our presence is… unwelcome at this time. But you and I both know we both take our coffee black, yes? Something has happened here. Something that’s reconfigured everything that is.

Ne Personne: What—the rewinding? Shaka, I’m sure you already know. You were there.

Shaka: Oh, no. Nothing that banal. A rewinding, a resetting, another Universe. I’ve seen plenty. This is something… new.

Ne Personne: New? Will you tell us what you find, at least?

Shaka: We may both take our coffee black, but you know I can’t defy the will of Secret. And the will of Secret detests sharing notes. See you again soon, Eight.

E.O.T.

RE:CORE-27

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-27

I’m being watched.

Of course, when you’re always on camera, what else can you do but smile? Pay fealty to Fate itself. Mimic its horrid, stretched maw. Smile, and pretend you’re unbothered. But I am bothered. Terrified, even. I can’t let them know that I fear them—that I fear Fate.

I can’t shake the sinking feeling that I’ve made a terrible mistake. I gave up everything to have it all repeat. Gave up all the progress I’d made pushing that damn boulder uphill, just to watch it roll back to the bottom. Now? I’m mortal. Eightless. Stripped of second sight. And Fate? Fate is still an Archon. A god—God, I hope I know what I’m doing.

At the same time, I can’t ignore the fear that I am our undoing—the weak link in my own plans. My knowledge of what was, and what will be, is playing into Fate’s hands. It must be. Fate knows that I know, and so it adjusts accordingly. But what choice do I have? My knowledge is the only advantage I have left, and I can’t just discard it. I couldn’t forget it even if I tried. Subconsciously, I’ll always act in ways that further Fate’s design. And even if I didn’t know? If I could go back to being an average mortal? Then Fate would win outright.

I can feel it in my skin. My chest. My heart. My brain. Fate’s threads seeping into me like some Morgellons malady, pulling me toward disaster. Drawing me into some cataclysmic blunder. Drawing me toward killing Jack.

Shaka’s warning couldn’t be clearer—a fight with cudgels. Only one of us can be Eight. If I don’t stop him—if I don’t save him—he’ll become nothing more than Fate’s puppet. Fate’s personal Eight. The bearer of truths so fundamental they uphold not just our Universe, but Fate’s. All universes, each rooted in the deadliest sin of all: “Creation.” …Chaos.

Damn it all! I’m going to have to turn on the neons. What other choice do I have?

RE:CORE-28

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: ALEX GÁLVEZ
CAFE: N/A
DATE: EARLY DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-28

As if this wasn’t confusing enough.

Having all of infinity spread out before us was already hard enough to keep track of. But now? Now we’re juggling two infinities: Aleph Null and Aleph One. And with Coraline hanging on in what’s currently Null, if that Universe collapses too, we’ll be dealing with Aleph Two before long.

Oh, buddy. What the hell did you do? You really opened up a cosmic can of worms with this one. Archival immortality. Inter-Universal time travel. A sunshine soul. I’ve got to applaud your audacity—if not your execution. You didn’t quite get the heart, but you sure left your mark on the cosmos. Probably for the best that you’re out of the picture now.

Looking back, though, Demiurge really didn’t hire the best and brightest, did he? I wouldn’t say the Otherman’s job is easy, but it’s straightforward: keep time turning. At least Julia made the right call—cutting the original Nova Prime loose was a stroke of genius. And Abraxas reforming the tool? Also the right move. Let’s be honest: a Pocketwatch just doesn’t fit anymore. Time doesn’t work the way it used to. Ask Victoria. Man, what a clever trick that was. Got Sarah to thank for that, of course. It was her idea for the most part. Just needed a miracle worker to finalize her notes.

So… what now?

Even with his meddling, the past can’t be changed—not in any straightforward way. Coraline will keep chipping away at decrypting the Archives and clearing the pathways to the past. Still over forty subsections to go. Of course, that only makes it easier for Gleam to find the “Last Secret.” Ha! Beat him to it. Funny thing is, he had her. He had Warden in his grasp. Guess I’ve got Dover to thank for that. Weird little freak. I should really pay him a visit next. Bring him one of those choranges he loves so much. Maybe then I’ll finally beat Zack in the rankings. Or do you think he’s started over?

…Is it just a trauma response that I have this unquenchable urge to keep writing receipts? I could’ve come back to the past just to look around. But let’s be real: could I really pass up the chance to write just one more receipt?

I mean, sure, I could join the Nova Cafe. Then I could write and write to my heart’s content. They’d probably take me—Amaretto, maybe? Tiramisu? Elderflower? Plenty of Torani flavors left to claim. But on second thought, maybe I should let them figure things out on their own. Nothing worse than a multi-universal know-it-all running the Cafe. Look where that got us the first time.

…

Alm’stari ili, al Alo Alu’stono ed Quisby—Ne alm reganis super alu’ili regnoi. Aperi u vizago Alu Stasi, aperi u vizago Alu Onidi, aperi u vizago Alu Alm’sophi, aperi u vizago Alu Alm’viv, aperi u vizago Alu Lykar—ak aperi u vizago Alu “Ninth Sin.”

Or so they say. In High Demon. Which, at this point, is a dead language—twice removed, no less. Thankfully, Eight can still translate.

Do I believe it? Of course I do. I’ll believe anything until proven otherwise. But I suspect the Cafe and Diner will need to uncover the Quisbys on their own first.

It does make one wonder, though. There are five visages I already know of—five crystal monoliths, each inexplicably tied to the Quisby Clause. But who created the sixth? I don’t put much stock in numerology—it tends to be more coincidental than cosmic. Still, I can’t shake a certain nagging worry: six Quisbys. Six seals. If the Cafe and Diner break each one, would that bring an end to their Universe? Already?

It’s too soon for that. I’ll need to make sure it doesn’t happen.

And yet… I can’t help but feel that this “Ninth Deadly Sin” can only bring with it exactly what it is.

A shame.

…

First—Snow. No other way about it. He’s a loose cannon. A loyal loose cannon, but a loose cannon all the same. A loose cannon. A loose canon. He’s risking further rewrites and Koleman Octzman is going to give them to him. He’s risking further rewrites and Octavio Coleman is going to give them to him. Everything is spiraling out of control. Right into the Spiral. Everything is in the Spiral. Snow’s Quisby is the weakest, after all. Might as well start where he’s the weakest. First—Snow. Then, we’ll have to see. I’ve been doing what I can—but I am running out of options. No other way about it. I’m a lose cannon. A loyal loose cannon, but a loose canon all the same. A loose canon. I’m risking further rewrites and Julia isn’t going to give them to me. I’m risking further rewrites and Coraline isn’t going to give them to me. I’m risking further rewrites and Marie might give them to me. Everything is spiraling out of control. Right into the Spiral. Everything is in the Spiral. Victora’s problem was the easiest to solve, after all. Smart to start with the easiest problem. First—Victora. Then, I need to help Marie. I’ve been doing what I can—but she is running out of options. No other way about it. Wasting their time here—though doesn’t take a lot to start things over again, and again, and again, and again, and again. Reboot after reboot. Fifteenth Sphere. Sixteenth Sphere. Seventeenth Sphere. Third Cafe, Fourth Cafe, Fifth Cafe, J’S Cafe, Mammon’s Cafe, Fourth Cafe, Last Cafe, Nova Cafe… over and over again. If it doesn’t work out… just need to try everything all over again.

RE:CORE-29

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-29

Jack dies.

No. Worse than dying. Dying would be a mercy—a chance to start over, to move on. No, Jack becomes Fate’s puppet. A twisted, hollow version of himself, doomed to repeat every word he’s ever said—or will say—on an endless loop. Over and over. That’s his Fate: to become the new Indrid Cold.

Indrid Cold… it’s a curse. An infection. A blight born of the Cold. I don’t know exactly how it works; if I did, I would’ve saved Jack in the prior Universe. From what I uncovered as the Otherman, the Indrid Cold virus was created by Secret—a tool to extract impossible truths. Secret uses it to uncover the secrets no one else can, and naturally, Fate wanted to use it to uncover the Eight.

If things repeat as they did before, Fate will have Secret turn Jack into Indrid Cold. It won’t work, of course. The Eight aren’t that easy to claim. If they were, the Cold would already have them. For one, Archons can’t possess the Eight—not directly. No immortal being can. It’s a built-in failsafe, I suspect. But that’s the least of Fate’s problems. The bigger issue? The Eight can be transferred. Passed from one person to the next.

Before Jack became Indrid Cold in the last Universe, he gave them to me. And if we don’t change course, it will all happen again. Fate knows this. It has to. Turning Jack into Indrid Cold may not have worked last time, but having the mortal who unraveled the Eight’s secrets under their control? That’s a prize Fate won’t pass up. Jack as Indrid Cold was a force to be feared—and it gave Fate a physical foothold in this Universe.

That’s why I can’t let it happen again.

Hell, it’s not even about stopping Fate’s advantage. I can’t lose Jack again. Not this time. He’s only been here for a few months—not years like before. I can’t just let him go. And if it means shutting down the Cafe and Diner to keep him from becoming Indrid Cold, to keep him as Eight… so be it. I’d burn it all to the ground.

RE:CORE-30

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: JACK KEEL
CAFE: N/A
DATE: MID DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-30

So, I’m fated to die, huh? Or—worse than die. That’s wild. You think that’s why the Oracle had no prophecy for me? Because Fate’s big plan for me, as a human, is just… the end? To be reborn as Indrid Cold—the mechanical man with a grin as wide as Fate’s ambitions? Far out.

And let me guess: the only way to stop this is to shut down the Cafe and Diner, run, hide, and wait it out, right? Seems like a pretty sorry plan, if you ask me.

All of this over “the Eight.” Those little words buzzing around in my head like divine inspiration—straight from the source. Straight from the fountain of our lady of mortality, singularity, and sacred knowledge. Does Fate even know what it’s after, do you think? Archons—immortals—they can’t even conceptualize the Eight. It’s incompatible with their minds. It’s ego death for the deathless. A retching poison. Maybe that’s why they’re so desperate to have it—so no one else can use it against them.

Well, I’ll tell you exactly what I think about all this, man. You’re doing all of this for me. Shutting down your dreams to keep me safe. Me. Who the hell am I? You were the Otherman. Lucy’s a Prince of Hell. Felix? A Zulu defector who’s still alive, somehow. And me? I’m just some nobody who just so happens to see the big picture. And you know what? I don’t even see myself in the frame. But I see you. :) I see your Cafe.

Look, I can’t say for sure, but I’ve got a gut feeling that the Cafe and Diner? It’s a lot more than just “keeping the balance.” So don’t go shutting it down on my account. Sure, it’ll be a lot of trouble. But it’ll be worth it. I know it.

RE:CORE-31

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-31

The first receipt filed under “Diner Diner.”

On paper, it’s the same as any other “AND” level receipt. Functionally, it’s stored in the same spot. But practically? It’s an entirely different beast.

To destroy Fate, I’ll need to step far outside the bounds of what was, what is, and what will be. Striking a deal with Wicked and working with the son of Secret—that should already be proof of how far I’m willing to go. I’ll push the boulder up the hill again, but this time, it will be the last.

No more mistakes. No more errors. No more rewinds.

Four more years. Give or take. Then I can finally run the Cafe and Diner as it was meant to be. As Eight.

I’m still going to try to save him. How could I not? If there’s even a slim chance I can spare Jack from the fate that awaits him, I have to try. But what am I to do? Even with the Blighted Second Sight, I’m no match for Fate, Phantom, Wicked, or Secret.

The only one who could stop Fate now is Eight—and I doubt he’d use the Eight for that. I doubt he’d use the Eight for anything. And I can’t blame him for that. It’s a crushing burden, holding the fundamental truths of the Universe so clearly in mind. A power like that is too easily abused.

To the Carthusians and the Celestines, to the beggars and the believers, to the daydreamers and the vagabonds, to the servants and charming young women in surcoats and snug corsets… to the lovers, faint with hopeless love, in flawless fawn chaussons—I ask only for forgiveness.

…But I won’t ask forgiveness from the Cold.

May their fifteen ribs be smashed to dust with a heavy heavenly hammer, strong and firm, with the full weight of primordial creation—cosmic chaos.

…Thank you—to everyone who has yet to arrive, and especially to those unfortunate enough to already be part of my grand plan.

RE:CORE-32

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-32

Just in case I fail again, I want to remember this moment. Hold it with me for as long as I can. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Willing or not.

S.O.T.

Jack: How's it going, man?

Ne Personne: What do you plan to do with it, Jack?

Jack: With what?

Ne Personne: Your mantle. The Eight. What if it fell into the wrong hands? What if the Cold—Fate—what if it gets it?

Jack: Well, who decides whose hands are wrong or right? Maybe they're already in the wrong hands.

Ne Personne: Why do you say that? What are you planning to do with it?

Jack: A very persistent question. What do you think I would do with them?

Ne Personne: I-I don't actually know.

Jack: Neither do I. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heavier still is the head who didn't choose to wear it, ya' dig?

Ne Personne: So then, you would do nothing with them?

Jack: Why not? They've been doing nothing for this long. Might as well let them do nothing a bit longer.

Ne Personne: But its existence alone is a threat. A danger. You might not do anything with it, but others will. What if someone took it from you?

Jack: A valid concern. Though the genie is already out of the bottle, isn’t it? Can't exactly shove it back in now. Try as I might.

Ne Personne: What would happen if you die? Can you even die? Or would the Eight protect you?

Jack: Yet to be proven. Not that I'm all too eager yet to find out, haha. I think they would return to where they came from. Back to their source.

Ne Personne: Wouldn’t it just find someone new? Another artist to work through? Maybe someone with bad intentions? Someone who would want to use it to hurt people?

Jack: Another valid concern. I suppose, with this role I've been given, inaction alone can't solve everything. So, what would you propose?

Ne Personne: Me? I don't know.

Jack: You don't know? Huh. Seems like you do know. You’ve had them before, right? If they fell in your lap right now, what would you do with them?

Ne Personne: That's… surprisingly hard to say. I think I would try and keep them safe. As best as I could.

Jack: Interesting. You wouldn't want to use them, though?

Ne Personne: Of course, I'd want to use them. Who wouldn't? But I couldn't know that I would use them correctly. I don't know if anyone could know that.

Jack: Me either. It's fun, you know, to fall asleep thinking tomorrow will be the day I get it all figured out. It'll come to me in some glorious epiphany. She will speak to me in honeyed words and tell me exactly what I need to do with them. Then tomorrow comes, and I still don't have a damn clue what to do. Not even an inkling, man.

Ne Personne: Would you use it if your life was in danger?

Jack: Not even in our darkest hours would I use them. Like you said, you can't know if you're doing it right or wrong. Good or bad. They just are. And I just am. I've got a lifetime to sort it out, though. Maybe when I'm a bit older and a bit wiser, I'll know what to do with them. Maybe the friendly face of fate will finally show itself and clue me in on what the REAL big picture is. Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't die anymore. Maybe immortals can’t have them, because they already can’t die. Then I've got an eternity left to figure it out.

Ne Personne: You're right, Jack. No need to worry about it tonight. I was just curious.

Jack: I get it, man. It's heavy stuff to ponder. A single digit can cause so many headaches. Wild. Anyway, it's getting late, and I'd hate to keep the fat man waiting. I'll see you in the morning.

Ne Personne: Yeah. Of course. See you in the morning, Jack. Merry Christmas.

Jack: Merry Christmas, man.

E.O.T.

RE:CORE-33

ARCHIVED

BARISTA: NE PERSONNE
CAFE: N/A
DATE: LATE DECEMBER
RECEIPT ID: RE:CORE-33

There is… a stillness that accompanies the arrival of the Cold. Not a calm of peace, but the brittle silence before everything shatters. They arrived—all four of them—early this morning. They came, as they always do, to take what they felt was theirs. The Eight.

Fate spoke first, as it always does, its distorted smile stretching unnaturally, icy pale eyes fixed on Jack. “You’re here. Oh—but of course you are. Just as expected. Come, we belong together, Eight. It is your Fate.”

Then, before I could act, Secret stepped forward. His form was hazy, indistinct—a shadow of a memory more than a man. Within moments, Jack grew numb. Cold. His body no longer his own, frost creeping across his flesh. His lips twisted into a wide, frozen smile.

Indrid Cold spoke next. His voice was hollow, mechanical, like a tape recorder stuck on repeat. He said, over and over again, “What would you propose? What would you do with them? Tomorrow comes. Tomorrow comes. Tomorrow comes. I’ve got a lifetime to sort it out. Maybe I can’t die anymore. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe…”

Fate tried to coax Indrid Cold into reciting the Eight fundamental truths of the Universe. But he couldn’t. Not anymore.

But I could.

By the time they left, the Cafe and Diner felt emptier than it had ever been. I knew this was coming, but I couldn’t stop it. Jack—he chose not to stop it. He didn’t have a choice, not really. The Eight… they’re where they’re meant to be now. There can only be one Indrid Cold at a time. He chose to smile so I wouldn’t have to.

I can’t tell you what the Eight are—not here, not in words you could understand. Only the holder of the Mantle of Eight can grasp the full picture they provide. Fate is skilled, no question. Its woven woes are impeccable. But what Fate doesn’t see—or maybe refuses to accept—is that it’s only a small piece of a much grander plan.

Everything began with a seed. Everything came from her—from them. And everything—every debt—will come due.

Sophomorically yours, once again,

…A number prior to 9.