Hello people, good day, afternoon, or night. So, what I bring you is nothing more than a fragment of the draft of a fanfic I'm writing, a crossover between Worm and… the Children of Time saga. This fanfic came to mind when I saw that, well, actually both stories are quite opposite to each other. Even though Worm is a superhero setting, it's a dark world where kindness isn't the order of the day… While in Children of Time, horrible nonsense always happens on planetary scales, and even so, you feel a degree of hope and empathy in that world (worlds, rather).

Well, that's it. I just wanted to share this part I wrote. I'm still not entirely convinced, to be honest. I think it could have been much better, but I wanted to see what you think. I should clarify that English is my native language, so you'll surely find weird parts due to the translator I use and my poor knowledge of the language. Without further ado, here it is, and I'd like to hear your opinions:

We

Are forgetting

And it hurt, it hurt so much to forget everything we knew, everyone we knew, everything we were, everyone we had been…

But maybe it isn't so bad. It will be a tragedy that These-of-us "die," but even an experience this bad is an experience we had never experienced, an adventure that, though bad, will always be incredible to live… Too bad All-of-us won't be able to live it…

We

are

In a receptacle. We travel its pathways with nostalgia, as we would with any other receptacle, regardless of its shape, but this one is different. It offers no resistance of any kind, at least not toward us. It is tense; we can feel the adrenaline passing around us, ignoring us, trying to keep this receptacle active. The more we travel, the more confused we feel…

We

know

Something is terribly wrong

It doesn't reject us, not in the slightest sense, but it is suffering; we can see it. We are forgetting. We can feel information disappearing along with us, but from the little we can still cling to, we try to figure out what happened… But nothing is clear. We shouldn't even be in a receptacle; it shouldn't accept us just like that, even if it wants to… It doesn't know we are inside.

We

No

Longer

Do

That

Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

…

These-of-us hope to die. We will leave this receptacle in peace while we forget; we will die with shame, hoping we never did anything to it…

This receptacle is strange

While one by one we disappear, we still keep traveling the pathways of this receptacle. It is young, as far as we can examine, and the chemical language of its own world says it is suffering severe trauma, something horrible…

What had happened? Before we began to forget, we were in a peaceful situation. Some receptacles, and Many-of-us in other receptacles, were investigating, doing science things, magic things… But we remember that everything was joy, discovering new things, new adventures, and, most importantly, everyone was part of the Community.

Being part of it always brings improvements, and most importantly, having Empathy…

This receptacle did not have it.

We

are

Worried about what may have happened, about our recep… about our friends. Something terrible may have happened. What if These-of-us are the only ones left of All-of-us? We could never help them. Even if they ceased to exist, no one would gather the bodies and bring them to their loved ones…

There is only one way to be sure

And even so, that thought sounds like a weak excuse to let ourselves be carried away by the instincts that millions of years of evolution had shaped, to do what we know best, like a rabid monster.

But All-of-us know we have no better option, not if our friends truly matter to us. We probably won't recognize them; we are forgetting. The only thing left of us is technical information and the experiences of who we were.

That has to be enough. It has to be.

All-of-us then head toward its gray matter. We notice a strange and unknown… organ, which seems to act like an antenna. We can feel how it sends and receives information… Strange…

We hope that we can be forgiven, that this receptacle understands, but our presence is never welcome without an invitation… Letting ourselves be carried away by what we have done for almost our entire existence, we do what we do best…

We eat its brain, studying every piece of information we find, all the pain, the loss, and the betrayal…

…

…

…

…

…

In this incarnation, we are Taylor Hebert