An anonymous transmission received off the coast of Creamland:
Am I alive? I am. Then. . . where am I? It is unlike what has happened before. Well thanks for clearing that up. Be glad I'm not dead. Well, I'll be glad I'm not dead. Guess I better look for someone else. Agreed. But how will I remember where I've started? I think the impact left some blood on the floor, that will help. . .right? I'll find out. Go.
((OOC: This is rather unlike me, with my randomness, but I'm actually starting a sub-plot! Very exciting, yes, yes. This post will serve as an enigmatic mini-story that will be revealed as the in-story sub-plot goes on. For now, wonder who this mysterious white and grey text person is, and stay tuned!))
The wanderer continues for days on end, but even so, it seems all the same. In the infinite white space that surrounded them, days blended into one, and with no sunrise or sunset attempting to even count time for more than a few minutes becomes pointless. With nothing better to do, the wanderer was beginning to peel apart, arguing with himself and become increasingly embittered.
This is your fault! What? This was your decision. Elsewhere I cannot even begin to put words to my thoughts, and you're saying I influenced you to do this? Are you an idiot? Shut up! If you hadn't given me those hallucinations I wouldn't have been so confused! You're blaming that on me? You knew the risk when you accepted me so many years ago. If your mind is failing then that's not my problem. It's not the duty of the virus to care for its host!? Without me you're nothing!
The wanderer threw the mask that adorned half of his face. It shattered as it hit the ground. A perfect shadow of the wanderer grew, it's source being the broken mask.
Want to see?
The original and its copy rushed towards each other, putting in motion a conflict that would last for a century, or at least the closest approximation to it in the strange white void.
And although the battle would last one hundred years, it was done in a moment. The truth had defeated the shadow, a swift flick of the blade piercing the thing in the chest, and it was dead. It slumped over, and faded away, as it was just a shadow.
Then something happened. In fighting the shadow, the original being had become something dark. With a gasp he realized what had happened. As he fought the shadow, he himself became a shadow of the real thing. He realized then that he couldn't win. He himself was the greatest enemy. As he realized this, he realized that the blade he had thrust through his opponent was now through his own chest. He realized this was the end, and fell to the ground.
As he lay dying, the data pumping from his body flowed in two directions. Occasionally the streams would meet, and then separate again.
And then reality set in. Finale was alive, but something was... different. A dark aura enveloped him, and as he left the void, his appearance changed. The virus inside had finally taken over, and now, it was out for blood.