Joshua wakes up.

  A bare white ceiling greets hum, the mechanical hum of his ceiling fan offers little white noise in his old room.

  Old? He's always lived here. A small room he grew up in, he remembers the shelves changing from holding toys to holding old college textbooks that never saw the light of day.

  “Joshua? You awake?” His mother calls him from the kitchen.

  Pushing himself up, he rubs his head. The bed isn't as good as his crafted one b- Joshua gets ready, getting dressed and habitually grabbing at his nightstand for a familiar length of chain that holds his cross.

  Only to be met with nothing.

  Confused, he looks over. And… yeah, the neckce isn't there, did he lose it?

  Meh, whatever, he'll find it ter.

  …

  Breakfast, pancakes with eggs. His mother always added an unnecessary amount of sugar, said it's something about her grandmother's recipe, he figures it just cause she likes the taste.

  What time is it? He pulls out his Poken- His phone is a standard Android model he got as a hand-me-down. It ain't great, but it works.

  Huh, that's not that early.

  “Make sure to leave early, heard it's supposed to rain”

  His mother goes to wash the dishes, only making time to wish him a good day.

  “Alright”

  His neck feels cold..

  …

  Work. Retail. Woe is to the wagie.

  Joshua finds his job boring.

  It's fine, but boring.

  Pay is okay, coworkers are there.

  Customers make him consider blowing his brains out, but such is the life of someone in this position.

  But it's boring.

  So he constantly finds himself looking for things to do.

  That's all the day consists of, reeling back the urge to kick the asses of dumbass customers and seeking out any stimution in his mundane job.

  Maybe he could fix that radi- Music bsts through the speakers of his car. He doesn't know the song, but it's fine.

  Looking out of the window, he looks at the unchanging city he's grown up in. He hates it here, the people are assholes, and homelessness makes the entire city look like some Hooversville mega-structure.

  But it's home.

  Stockholm Syndrome is a bitch, isn't it?

  He reaches to his chest, habitually seeking comfort in the silver piece of jewelry he doesn't even remember getting from.

  Oh, right, he lost it this morning.

  It feels colder. Joshua humors the thought that maybe the cross actually did work like a barrier between him and the cold uncaring universe.

  The thought lingers longer than he likes.

  …

  Dinner. Dad is home, nothing remarkable to say about the man, much like Joshua he takes everything in stride.

  His hair is thinning though, they don't talk about that, but it's noticeable. Perhaps it's due to age, but Joshua wouldn't discount the effects of stress had on him.

  He envies his mother for that, like dad he is always walking a subtle path of constant uncertainty, like the future isn't for him and he is just some inconceivably small speck in the greater everything.

  Perhaps on some of his weaker moments he let those thoughts lead him down that downward spiral, it's pathetic, but it happens.

  But his mother is always so sure.

  It's like everything she does she has absolute faith that what she's doing is enough, like she's living in a world of her own design.

  He never understood it, but he envies it.

  She's a good person.

  Why?

  How can she just… keep doing it? She doesn't get anything, is there some reward that he's missing?

  What drives her? He's met her parents, his grandparents, and they were the same way. How can they live in a world of cruelty and apathy and come out like… that?

  …

  Joshua lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  He snapped at a customer today, he doesn't know why. Maybe the weird teeth? The way they talked? He isn't sure. Normally Joshua is better than this, but it was just… wrong.

  But his mother understood, she always understood, even if she cked the details.

  Is he just… a bad person?

  Joshua sits up.

  Is that it?

  It feels right, but not entirely, like something is missing.

  His mind starts to drift back to those Bible sessions he (albeit unwillingly) had with his mother.

  Those weaker moments.

  What's the point of being a good person? Being good? Who does he have to prove to? Other people don't care, it just leaves him being taken advantage of and humiliated.

  But then it clicks.

  Everyone is bad. Everyone sins. Everyone is some shade of selfish, greedy, or whatever horrible word you can sp on it.

  It's the strive to be good that makes you a good person.

  To be better.

  To do better.

  But what guides that? What defines a good person?

  Who defines what's good and what's bad? People? The very same “evil” creatures?

  Who draws the line?

  Joshua feels a warmness in his chest.

  “Oh. Right”

  It almost makes him ugh, the absurdity of the question.

  Joshua recalls the vast, benevolent silence in the noisy Heavens.

  How could he forget?

  That's why his mother is so sure of herself.

  That's why she strives to be better.

  That's who she's proving to.

  This time, a ugh does escape him.

  A deep, bellowing ugh that hurts his stomach. Traces of tears line his eyes, but he's not sad at all.

  Man, he's dumb.

  Quite possibly the biggest idiot he knows.

  It was right there and he just pretended it wasn't, staring at his face, waiting for him to notice it.

  But his own hubris didn't let him.

  But that's just par for the course, right?

  His mother was so sure because she had no reason not to be!

  To be virtuous.

  To have each and every second of your life following the steps of the Shepherd. The one true path, the only path that has and will ever matter.

  He cannot believe he humored this for so long.

  A Dove is perched outside of his window.

  In its beak is a familiar neckce.

  “Sorry, lost myself for a moment”

  The Dove welcomes him home.

  …

  CRACK!

  Joshua wakes up.

  His hands are bloody, and he's outside.

  The cross on his neck slowly stops vibrating, but the glow remains, cutting through the darkness.

  In his hand is the diamond pickaxe, and in front of him is something he widens his eyes upon seeing.

  The ominous bck obelisk stands silently. But instead of its usual eeriness, it just seems… dead. The presence is gone, and it just seems… lifeless, as much as that could describe a sb of rock.

  And the massive square cut into it is probably the reason why, as well as the strange addition of obsidian being added to his inventory.

  Did he…

  What?

  He looks around, when did he leave the bunker? Why is he back at the obelisk?

  Did the obelisk cause… whatever the hell that was?

  The dream? Illusion?

  How? Why?

  The radio?

  Where's Jophiel?

  He hears the shuffle of grass beside him, a familiar sequence of steps he recognizes as horse-like.

  “Jophiel? What happened?”

  “Hello!”

  A voice responds.

  Turning, he sees… yellow.

  A horse… pony… thing? It's about the size of Jophiel, only about 2 or so feet tall, but it's wearing a hazard… hazmat (?) suit.

  Large pink… strangely human-isk eyes stare back at him. Through the gss dome shows a pink furred horse-thing with a yellow mane (hair?).

  “What”

  “So it is you!” The horse-thing bounces in pce. “Mr. Suit told me you were here, you don't have knife-hands so you won't stab me right?”

  “...Right” He says numbly.

  “Great!” The smile on its face widens “I'm… uh… I actually don't know! But nice to meet you!”

  What?

  “Do you know where Ace is?”

  What?

  Joshua meets an abomination.