On the list of "Things Karkat Needs to Remember To Pack for Surviving This Fucking Game, In Order of Priority," hair styling utensils fell somewhere between "rubble that crushed my lusus" and "last sweep's decomposable trash, recently unburied from the back lawnring, along with all those bodies of the undead I had to kill." In other words, somebody needs to give that boy a brush.

They managed to win the game somehow. He's not really sure of the details, but it's not all it's cracked up to be. He's stuck in an unfamiliar body with a thirteen year old little brother who's terrified of him. Somehow, he is sure this is his fault.