In another universe, the Imperial Fleet came to Earth without warning, in the early years of the Cold War. Just as suddenly, nuclear warfare served as the ultimate warning to stay away, and the Earth was safe. The crashed ships full of abandoned officers and slaves, not so much. Fast forward to present day, and the Earthbound troll population has been forced to survive in a human-dominated society that doesn't take kindly to their decades-long presence. Between having to resort to archaic and undignified methods of reproduction, legally-mandated drugs to suppress their more trollish attributes, and clashes between Alternian and Earth-hatched generations, survival looks to be a difficult task, indeed.

GC: 1F YOU GUYS FORC3 M3 TO FL1P 4SH3N 4ND TH3R3FOR3 D3PR1V3 M3 OF 4LL TH4T 4CROB4T1C S3XU4L CONGR3SS W3 S1GN3D ON FOR *TH3 PUN1SHM3NT SH4LL F1T TH3 CR1M3 3X4CTLY* GC: BY WH1CH 1 M34N MY C4N3 H1D3S TWO R3C3NTLY-SH4RP3N3D BL4D3S 4ND 1T S3R3ND1P1TOUSLY H4PP3NS TH4T B3TW33N TH3 TWO OF YOU YOU GUYS H4V3 TWO BON3BULG3S GC: WH1CH M1GHT NOT ST4Y TH3 C4S3 LONG -- Okay, good! Terezi, Dave and Karkat have finally figured out this quadrant dating thing. Now to figure out which twosome gets to hook up first.

Maybe you’re keyed up from blackflirting with Equius, maybe you’re horny because TZ has been so wrapped up in her new kismesissitude lately, but you find yourself admiring the way Roxy's short skirt rides high up the backs of those thighs. Steady on, Captor, you can’t have everybody, you tell yourself. A traitorous little voice in your head says, why not? Jegus fuck, you need to get laid.

Why the Beforan equivalent of yourself didn't appear here, you're not sure, though you suspect it has something to do with direct and indirect transference and the extent to which each of you had contact with game code prior to this remix of the universe; the Ancestors from Alternia had vague memories of being their Beforan selves, so both versions re-instanced, but as far as you know you're the only version of Sollux Captor the game was aware of. Poor Sollux, you jeer internally, all alone in the world. If you were to quadrant yourself, you're not sure whether self-hate or self-pity would be the dominant emotion, but either way, you're getting off on it. God, you make yourself sick. You hold your bulge like you're trying to restrain it, but who the fuck are you kidding. It wraps around your fingers, both tendrils snaking and coiling harder the more you try to will them to stop, like don't-think-of-a-trunkbeast, and you rub at them distractedly because you can't stand not to. Sollux Captor, system architect of the new universe, reduced to thinking with his bulge by two copies of his ancestor being obnoxious at each other. Fuck your hot life.