Tristan remembered going to sleep in his cottage on Jabberwock Island. But when he woke up what felt like just a few minutes later, he found himself gasping for breath, surrounded by unfamiliar figures holding him down.

"Mr. Turner, please relax so we can help you," one of the people, a guy in a white lab coat, pleaded.

Tristan did not, in fact, relax, because what the fuck was going on?? He tried to move, only to feel how exhausted his body was, which took him by surprise. Why was he so tired? Finally, he built up the strength to throw these people off of him, sit up, and yank the breathing-mask-thing off of his mouth.

"Where the fuck 'm I?!" he demanded.

"Please, just put the tube back on so we can help," the lab coat guy repeated. "I promise-"

"No, I wan' know wha th' hell I'm doin' 'ere n' 'ow I got 'ere in th' firs' place!" he snapped, his words slurring with his increasing frustration. Why wasn't he getting answers?!

"Fine, fine." The lab coat guy waved away a few of the other people before speaking again. "What do you remember?"

"I got 'cepted n'to Hope's Peak jus' last week o' so, n' I went fo' m' firs' day and somehow end'd up on some island n' died," Tristan grumbled, trying to calm himself in order to lighten his accent to something more coherent. "Sounds crazy, I know."

"No, it's not crazy. I know someone who can explain everything, and I'll get him for you if you promise to stay here," the doctor said.

Tristan set his jaw and said nothing. The doctor took this as a 'yes' and walked away. Tristan took this as a good opportunity to look around, and found himself in an empty, windowless room. He noticed that he was sitting on a hospital bed, several IVs hooked up to his arm. When had this happened?

It took him a minute to process. People had talked to him. He hadn't phased through them. Meaning this was either a dream, or...

"Ah, Tristan. Are you doing alright? It's a lot to take in, I know," a familiar voice said, and Tristan looked towards the doorway.

Now entering the room was a young man in a white turtleneck beneath a red-and-white jacket, large golden-rimmed circular glasses, and red-and-white hair with faint traces of blonde roots. The appearance reminded him of someone...

"Now, I doubt you know me," the guy continued, "but I'll properly introduce myself. I'm Miguel Tyson, and I'm with the Future Foundation. Not that you'd know what that is or anything."

It hit Tristan like a bolt of lightning. "You're Mononity!"

Miguel shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. "Moranity was my ai program, yes. So my voice lines were used as a base for his voice."

"So he's an ai?" Tristan muttered to himself. "Makes sense, I guess. Wouldn't expect somethin' like him to actually exist."

"Yes. Well, I'd like to inform you that a lot of things you experienced don't exist," Miguel said. "For instance, Jabberwock Island. You and your classmates were all placed into a virtual reality system where you were meant to spend time relaxing until you were deemed to be 'rid of despair'."

"Rid of despair?" Tristan echoed. "The hell does that mean?"

"...right. Well, I guess I should show you." Mononity's developer turned on the tablet he'd been holding and opened a video file. He pressed play, and Tristan watched in horror what seemed to be the end of the world.

"What the fuck?" he gaped.

"The Remnants of Despair. Under the influence of despair forced upon them by Rogue Ultimate Gamer and Ultimate Despair Rowan Ambys, technically a former Hope's Peak student. The Remnants are responsible for... a lot of terrible things. And, well... they're you and your classmates."

Tristan blinked, speechless. What had he just said?

Miguel pulled up another file, this one some sort of mugshot. Despite the scowl and sinister gleam in his eyes, he recognized Caim beneath of the black and white attire.

"The hell...?" he whispered.

"Cooper Fields is responsible for building weapons of mass destruction, and furthermore responsible for mass murder," Miguel said gravely. "In fact, I hate to tell you this, but you're wanted for treason, assault, aggravated assault, and murder yourself. The Future Foundation is working to help get all your charges dropped on account of you all being unable to control your actions."

Tristan's head was swimming. He knew he'd get violent at times, but never kill. He had a sense of honor, for crying out loud! Gang leaders weren't monsters. But apparently he was. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Speaking of gangs, what about his gang? Had he hurt them?

Miguel seemed to read his mind, because he quickly added, "Your gang is fine. They've been fighting back, and they've been scared for you. They know that you were comatose-"

"Comatose? Since when was I comatose?"

"When you died in the simulation. Rather than killing you immediately in the real world, you were just in a coma. Lucky for you, you're a strong, healthy young man, so you had no problem recovering. We figured we should try getting someone out of a coma while we tried putting a stop to Ambys's programming, so we chose you, because you were the first 'dead' and you're the strongest 'dead' student. It only took about forty-eight hours to get you here, thankfully. You never once almost went under, much to our relief."

"So why the hell were we evil and shit?" Tristan asked, still caught up on what Miguel had said earlier.

Miguel took a minute before responding, "In order to trigger your class's despair, Ambys had to... do something to devastate you all."

That wasn't what Tristan had wanted to hear. He didn't want to ask the question, but luckily Miguel continued:

"One of your classmates on Jabberwock... wasn't real. He... he was tortured to death by Ambys right in front of your class."

Tristan's heart sank. "...who?"

Miguel paused, then turned his tablet back towards himself and tapped on a few things. Finally, he showed Tristan the screen again, where something was loading up. Then, a familiar figure appeared.

"Hey, Tristan," Zeben said with a sad smile.

Tristan froze. "Zeben...?"

AI-Zeben shrugged. "Well, more or less. I'm sorry I lied to you. I... I'm not Zeben. I was created by the Future Foundation alongside Moranity to monitor your class in the simulation. To make sure everything was going accordingly.  But, uh... the whole killing game thing was definitely a big issue.  I'm happy to see you're safe, though, I really am."

Tristan felt himself get choked up as he asked, "Zeben... you... you're... you're kidding, right?  You're safe too?"

Zeben somehow managed to keep smiling as he said, "...no, Tristan, I'm not safe.  The real Zeben Goldberg died, and you may not remember because of the memory wipe, but you witnessed it."

Tristan didn't even question the memory wipe.  All he could do was stand there in shock.  This wasn't like the killing game announcement where he was pissed off and yelling; this was just him staring at the tablet displaying someone he'd thought to be alive just moments ago. 

Zeben seemed to be able to pick up on how distraught he felt, because he quickly added, "But look at you!  You're here, and you're back to normal!  You got out of the killing game already!  I know that if the real Zeben were to see you now, he'd be proud that you made it.  You made it, Tristan!"

Oh hell no.  Tristan could feel himself on the verge of tears.  He didn't cry openly.  That wasn't something he did.  He could be honest about his emotions from time to time, yes, but crying?  Not gonna happen.  Not gonna-

"Eek!  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you!" Zeben yelped in alarm. "I just wanted you to know that-"

"I know," Tristan interrupted, letting out a deep sigh. "I know.  Thank you."

"I think we should leave it at that," Miguel interrupted, giving the Zeben on the tablet a small smile before closing the program. "We figured that the best way to monitor the class would be to have a teacher and a student, and we could honor your fallen classmate by doing our best to recreate him.  Of course, there's no replacing the real Spencer- or Zeben, as most people called him- but we tried."

"I guess I don't remember the real one, but... he felt real enough," Tristan said quietly, scrambling to get his emotions back under control.  God, he could use a rage room right now.

"I believe with that, you're basically caught up on everything.  I'm sure you have a lot of questions, especially about who we as the Future Foundation are, but I think it's best to leave you to recover for a little while," Miguel said, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Tristan called after him. "Wait.  Does this mean you can pull everyone else out now?"

Miguel looked back at him with a frown. "Technically, yes.  But it's... it's really dangerous.  We were taking a big risk just by bringing you back.  As I said, you had no problem recovering, but the process of bringing you out early... well, we wouldn't dare try it on anyone less physically capable unless it were to be an absolute emergency."

"Oh." That made sense to Tristan.  But how could he tell the rest of the ghosts what had happened to him?  They probably had no idea where he was or what had happened to him.

"In the meantime, though, I can probably retrieve a monitor for you so you can keep up with everything that's happening in the virtual world.  I'm sure you're curious to know if Stolas will be able to win his trial.  If you need anything before I return in about five minutes, don't hesitate to press the button on the side of your bed."

As Miguel turned to leave a second time, Tristan called out, "Hang on."

"Okay?" Miguel paused once more.

"...is there a gym 'round here?"

"Ha.  Nice try." And with that, he was gone.

Tristan sat there for a moment, staring into space as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.  He'd been in a coma, and the killing game was all virtual, and the world had ended and it was his fault.  That... was a lot to process.  But he was also glad that he wasn't actually dead, and his gang was okay.  He made a mental note to ask Miguel if he could see them again soon.

"Tristan Turner, right?  The Ultimate Street Fighter?" a voice, not Miguel's, asked.

Tristan looked towards the doorway to see a wiry young man with dark hair and brown eyes standing there, holding a tablet.  A large, fluffy dog wagged its tail next to him.

"Yeah, tha's me," he grunted. "Who're you?"

The guy approached his bed cautiously. "I'm Jax Martini-Richards.  Ultimate Dog Trainer.  I... I went to Hope's Peak while you guys did."

Tristan eyed him warily, saying nothing.  Jax took this as an opportunity to continue speaking.

"When you guys went rogue, the school shut down.  My class ended up barricading ourselves in the school, and Rowan- the Ultimate Gamer who masterminded everything- wiped our memories and forced us to participate in a killing game.  My friends Dawn, Tommie, and I managed to survive, and were picked up by the Future Foundation to help fix all the damage done.  If... if you have any questions, uh... I can answer them.  I've been in your shoes." Jax's expression dropped slightly as he finished.

"So the people in your killing game...?" Tristan started.

"Actually died?  Yes.  There was no virtual world.  They're all actually dead," Jax said quietly.

"...'m sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"But it is, ain't it?" Tristan grimaced. "Me n' the otha Remnants, right?"

"No, you guys didn't kill my classmates, I promise.  They... they all killed each other." Jax's hands clenched into fists as he lowered his hands once he set down the tablet on the bed, and his dog began to lick at his fingers gently.

"Oh." Tristan didn't know what else to say.  What was there to say, anyways?  Thankfully, he didn't need to add anything else, because Jax took a deep breath and seemed to shrug off the sadness like a weighted blanket and smiled.

"So I brought this over for you," he said as he picked the tablet back up, powering it on and beginning to open a program. "Would you like to see how your classmates are doing?"

***

(2078 words)

I LOVE MIGUEL RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THE IRL MONONITY