The darkness passes, and…

Er…

I look around. This definitely is not where I expected to end up. It's not even somewhere I recognize — instead of being back in Monika's isolated classroom, I appear to be in some sort of small sitting room. It's fairly basic appearance-wise — a couple of chairs, a small couch, some bookshelves that are no doubt useless if the PC's was anything to go by — but does look fairly comfy overall...

…aside from the fact that there doesn't seem to be a door.

As soon as I notice this, I do another quick scan of the room, whereupon it rapidly becomes apparent that on top of there being no door, there are no windows either. In fact, there doesn't look to be any method of entering or exiting this room at all — the walls go all the way around, with no openings in them whatsoever that could serve as a way outside.

I gulp. What… is this…?

Before I can ponder the question any further, something huge and pink suddenly pops into being all of two feet in front of my face. A noise somewhere between a yelp and a shriek comes out of my mouth, and I instinctively stumble backwards in surprise, only to end up tripping over nothing and falling rather painfully on my rear. Ow…

I get back to my feet, brushing myself off and trying not to feel embarrassed as I look up at the suddenly-existent object. It appears to be a large, semi-transparent rectangle, floating in midair at around head-height. It's rounded slightly at the edges, with a thin band of white lining the outside, while the rest is colored a bright, cheerful pink, with darker pink polka dots interspersed throughout the interior. At the very top are a few simple words:

[Hi… could we talk for a bit?]

I stare at the sentence for a few moments, uncertain what to think. This is… a text box. One that looks virtually identical to the ones from DDLC, bar the fact that there aren't any options at the bottom of it. I think I can assume this is most certainly not part of the standard game though, no matter what version of DDLC this is, which makes me exceedingly wary to actually answer the question it seems to be posing to me. Unfortunately, if whoever or whatever is responsible for this text box is also responsible for my being where I am right now, which seems likely, I might not really have a choice. Do I have any way out of this…?

The thought prompts me to quickly check the script window, only to end up blanching at what I find. It's… blank? What? Is the game even running right now? Surely, given that I'm still here, it has to be, right? Unless I'm no longer IN the game… but in that case, there shouldn't be a script window at all...

An inspection of the command line is equally concerning. It's still there, and I can still type in and enter commands, but nothing actually happens upon doing so. I try everything I can think of, doing my best to dredge up long-forgotten computer science knowledge in an attempt to prompt a response, but not even the basic "HELP" function returns anything. Apparently, the command line is just as useless as the script window is right now.

…so, to summarize, I'm in a place I don't know, for reasons I don't know, by some method I don't know. The only resources I had access to, the script window and the command line, have somehow been either temporarily frozen or stripped from me entirely. And the room I've been placed in has no way to physically leave it, so I can't even try to run away. I am, essentially, utterly powerless right now.

I look back at the floating message again and bite the inside of my lip. Seems as though I definitely don't have a choice — guess I'd better reply.

Although…

"...hang on, how exactly am I supposed to answer this?" I mutter to myself. "There's no keyboard or anything."

As soon as I finish the sentence, the words of the text box instantly disappear, only to be replaced by new ones just a moment later.

[Just talk, I'll hear it.]

I stiffen, my uneasiness intensifying as my eyes rapidly flicker around the room. There's no one else here, which I of course already knew — whatever this is, it's able to hear me, and most likely see me, while not being physically present.

[…sorry. I'm really not TRYING to make this so frightening, honest.]

That doesn't help. At all.

"What… what is this?" I ask, trying not to panic. "Who are you?"

For a few moments, nothing happens, the text box remaining completely inert. Just as I'm wondering if something went wrong, the words replace themselves again.

[I'm not sure there's any good way to say this, or at least I can't think of any if there is, so I'm just going to give it to you straight: I am, quite literally, you.]

...huh?

I stare at the message for at least half a minute, possibilities for what such a statement could mean flash rapidly through my mind. Most of them are… less than pleasant.

"I'm not sure quite what you mean by that, I don't think." I say eventually, my voice heavy with trepidation. "Would you mind clarifying?"

Another pause before new text appears.

[Sure. Just… try not to freak out, okay?]

Not a statement that inspires much confidence…

[I'm the… well, the "real" you, I suppose. Or at least, I'm the version that exists in the "real" world, so to speak.]

My heart abruptly lodges itself in my throat.

"Which… I suppose means that I'm not?" I say, barely able to get out the words.

[I wouldn't necessarily say you're not real, but no. You're not the "original" you, and you're not part of the world you know. Technically, you never have been.]

The explicit confirmation of the very possibility I've been dreading since I first woke up in this game brings immediate tears to my eyes… but before they can fall, I angrily force them back down again. No. Why should I believe this? Even if this person- this entity, rather, certainly types like me, that doesn't mean it actually is me. Maybe I'm only thinking that because I so desperately want to believe what it's trying to tell me isn't true, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't actually have any reason to trust anything it's said so far. So I can't- no, I won't cry, not until I'm actually sure that-

The text box abruptly changes again, this time unprompted.

[I'm sorry. Again. This is pretty much entirely my fault, I'm afraid.]

"…what do you mean it's your fault?" I ask, my train of thought derailed. "If you are me, how could you possibly have done this? I don't have the programming skill for anything even remotely this… complex."

[No, but you could have written it. Did write it, actually.]

I read the text, blink, then read it over again.

"What?"

[You're not in Doki Doki Literature Club. Or, you are, sort of, but on the wider scope, you're actually in a Doki Doki Literature Club fanfiction.]

Understanding dawns.

"…a self-insert fanfiction?" I ask. "One where I was 'inserted' into the setting as Monika?"

[Got it in one.]

Suddenly struggling to keep my legs from giving out beneath me, I stumble back again, falling backwards onto one of the nearby chairs.

"I- I need a moment to process this." I mumble.

[I understand.]

I don't bother to acknowledge the message this time as I try and fail to think of a counterargument; of some definite reason that this can't be true. Slowly but surely however, my doubts begin to die away, my entire worldview shifting as puzzle pieces start rapidly falling into place. The idea explains too much for me to simply dismiss it: how I suddenly just "appeared" in the game. The increasing number of mysteries that have been popping up all over the place. Even how much I've been struggling to get a handle on it all... this has all progressed exactly the way that something I would write would. And when I think of it like that… I don't think I can deny it. I just can't.

I look down at my hands — Monika's hands, each pale, slender finger a tiny work of art. What does that even make me then? I still feel real. I still feel like me… but apparently, I'm neither of those things. I'm just a… a simulation. A facsimile; an approximation. A character in a story, and a story I wrote at that, here only for the sake of people's passing entertainment…

"…hey." I say numbly, a flicker of curiosity driving me to ask against my better judgment. "Assuming I believe you, what's this fic called? How popular is it?"

[It's called "Stand-in", and it's… well, mildly successful, I guess? I'd guess that between the various websites its posted on, maybe a couple hundred people or so read it, so fairly decent within the range of other DDLC fanfiction.]

Somehow, hearing that it's only "mildly successful" majorly pisses me off. I look up at the text box, glaring.

"…you've been putting me through all this, for that?!" I spit through suddenly clenched teeth, the realization that I've only been going through all this heartache and confusion because of myself finally hitting me.

[I mean, I can't exactly force people to read it… besides, I didn't start this because I thought it would be all that popular. I just thought the concept might be interesting, so I decided to explore it.]

Interesting?! Yeah, I guess from an outside perspective it could be, but from the inside this is a nightmare! Why couldn't I be more interested in writing shitty power fantasies?! Instead I chose to write "myself" into a place where nothing seems to make consistent sense, and I experience literally mind-breaking torture every time the game stops! Which is ALSO something the "real" me has apparently been in complete control of the entire time!

I scrunch my eyes shut and look away, wrapping my arms tightly around my midsection as I attempt to calm myself down. I'm essentially talking to God right now; this is not the time to start lashing out in anger. I need to look at… look at the positives, or something. I mean, I now have confirmation that there really is some "greater being" that put me here, right? And since that being is just… me, there's a pretty good chance that I'll eventually make it out of here, since I would think I'm not so cruel as to make this all end in tragedy. Sure, it's impossible for me to go back to the real world, since I was never a part of it, but a relatively happy ending is probably at least in the cards.

I make an attempt to smile. Yeah, this isn't all bad, is it? Sure, I'm a… character, but even just knowing that should give me some degree of influence over my fate. If I can convince my other self to alter the flow of the narrative, I can potentially improve things for myself in any number of ways. I might even be able to predict things before they happen by simply imagining what I would plan to have happen if I was authoring events, and making educated guesses based on that. Hell, maybe I can just outright ask what's going to happen. Though, I kind of doubt I'd get an answer. After all, if I was talking to a character that I wrote to literally be me, then I certainly wouldn't-

"...wait a second." I say, what little positivity I'd managed to recover falling away again. "So, you're literally writing this conversation right now? Including my parts of it?"

[Yeah. Kind of odd to be "playing" both sides like this, honestly.]

"…even my thoughts? My entire mental monologue?"

[Right. Technically mine too, via this, though I'm not writing this side of things as well as I'd like. I think I might just be coming off as kind of conceited? Annnnd writing that instead of trying to sympathize makes me sound incredibly selfish. Great.]

I barely care about the self-critical words, as I'm too busy trying to stop myself from breaking down into terrified hysterics from this newest revelation, frantically attempting to rationalize to myself why it's not as bad as it sounds. Okay, so my words and thoughts are literally being dictated to me, which is a beyond horrifying concept on just about every level I can think of. But, BUT, they're being dictated by me, right?! So my mind is still my own, and there's no need to freak out- okay actually no that's probably still worth freaking out over, but not right here, not right now! I have to just- just swallow it down; focus on something else, ANYTHING else-!

"Wh- why are you writing this then?" I ask, desperate to distract myself. "This can't be part of the real story; I know I wouldn't write a scenario like this for an actual chapter."

[I'm not completely sure, honestly. This is kind of supposed to be an omake, I guess? But I'm writing it more because I'm having trouble with the main story right now, and thought this might be a good way to get my enthusiasm back up. It's actually been almost nine months since the last chapter, though you wouldn't have noticed that.]

My breath hitches upon seeing the last sentence. Nine… months...?

The thought causes yet another horrifying implication of my situation to slam into me, leaving me reeling even more than I already was. I know my track record with finishing fanfictions, and it's not good. If the other me ever permanently stops writing this, what happens to me? Will I get dumped back into The Void? Suddenly find myself frozen in place forever? Or will everything just... end?

[...this may have been a mistake.]

"N-no!" I squeak. "It's okay! I'm okay! It's good that you're trying to get past your writer's block, and um- well, I-! I hope it works!"

I stutter out the words past a constricting throat, trying to be encouraging, trying to ensure my continued existence oh god.

[…this was definitely a mistake.]

I clutch at my head, fingernails digging into my hair. No no NO, that was wrong! I know myself well enough to know that wouldn't help me; even less so when it's coming from myself! Think! What motivates me?! What makes me want to keep writing something?! The story has to continue, because I'm PART of the story, and I'm terrified of what might happen if it doesn't, but that's why I want it to continue, not the me that's out there writing it, so what am I supposed to say?!

[You really don't need to be this concerned, you know.]

"Yes I DO!" I practically scream back at the textbox. "My entire existence apparently rests on your motivation to continue writing it out, something you just told me you haven't managed to summon for most of a year! How can I possibly not be concerned about that?!"

[It's not like I was planning on abandoning this though. I just put it on hold for a little while, is all.]

"You mean like you put all your other old, unfinished fanfictions on hold?" I retort. "The ones that also haven't seen an update in literal years?! It doesn't matter if you stop writing out of malice, or neglect, or disinterest; the end result is still exactly the same!"

[I understand that... but like I said, I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't plan on continuing.]

"And the fact that you're having to resort to this in order to do that tells me you're doing something very wrong!" I snap. "Probably getting stuck on some tiny detail that no one else is even going to care about, if I had to guess?!"

[It's not exactly a "tiny" detail...]

"Is it immediately relevant?"

[Not… per se, no…]

I cross my arms beneath my chest. "Well then why the hell are you fixating on it?! Deal with it later when it actually matters, not now, when it doesn't! This is basic writing advice; why would you possibly need me to tell you any of...?!"

I trail off, abruptly deflating mid-sentence as I realize there's little point in continuing. Why bother? The real me is privy to literally every single thought I have, owing to the fact that they're the source of literally every thought I have, so they obviously already know all this.

[Technically, yes, but I do still appreciate it… though, that sounds awfully self-congratulatory now that I write it out.]

Took the words right out of my mouth. Or I suppose didn't put them in my mouth to begin with.

I let my head droop down, causing my ponytail to brush against the side of my face. There's… really nothing I can do, is there? Any advice I could give would be completely redundant, criticism would be counterproductive, and encouragement would just feel pathetic on both ends. All I can really do is hope the other me manages to actually finish this story, and that I don't end up forgotten... I can scarcely imagine a situation in which I'd feel more helpless than I do right now.

[Jeez, I really didn't mean for this to take this kind of turn. If it helps, since this isn't part of the main story, you won't remember any of this anyways.]

My head snaps back up. "What?! Why?!"

[I did mention this is an omake, didn't I? Like you said, I wouldn't write something like this for an actual chapter, especially since this is pretty explicitly supposed to be a sort of "what-if" scenario.]

Oh… right. That only makes sense then, I guess. An omake is just an extra bit; a bonus that usually isn't meant to affect the normal plot. Guess that means I won't be predicting the future by examining narrative threads anytime soon… but, on the plus side, at least I won't have to remember this miserable conversation.

Except...

"Wait." I say slowly. "Doesn't- doesn't that mean I'll cease to exist anyways though?!"

[...no? This conversation will never have happened from your perspective, but you'll still be around. It would be hard to continue the story without you, after all.]

"No, you don't get it, it won't be me!" I frantically elaborate. "By making this an omake, you've differentiated me from the one in the main story! We're not the same person anymore, because by defining all this as 'non-canon', you've set it in an entirely separate universe from the one of the actual plot! The canon version of me will still be around, but I'll only continue for as long as this omake does, which means that as soon as this conversation ends, so do I!"

[I... suppose you could see it that way...]

"Please don't do that then!" I plead, jumping back to my feet. "It shouldn't be too late; you can still canonize this, can't you?! You even took me from right at the end of a chapter, so there would still be a logical progression of events!"

[I mean, I guess I technically could, but... even if the progression still made sense, nothing else would. You can't "know" any of this; it would mess up the entire plot, especially since this most certainly wasn't what I had in mind for the actual, in-story reason you ended up in DDLC. It's way, way too meta.]

"I don't CARE!" I cry. "May I remind you that it is in fact you in here?! In this body, in this game, in this world?! If you can't let me remember this, then just- just wipe the memory of it and say I'm placed back in the story where you took me from or something! That can't take more than like, a line or two!"

[That's going to draw questions about whether or not this actually happened though, which is just going to be confusing for readers...]

"What- WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I finally explode. "Maybe you don't get it because you're not living it, but this isn't a story from my end of things; it's REALITY! Do you seriously not realize what you're doing?! You're treating me the exact same way you treated Monika! Alternating between treating me like I'm 'real', like I actually matter and you actually care, and treating me like I'm not important enough to place even completely petty concerns over! How can you literally be me, be the person that's writing out everything I'm saying and thinking and feeling right now, and still not GET this?!"

There's a pair of hot tear trails trickling down both sides of my face, dripping off my chin and onto my skirt. I... didn't even notice… when did I… start…

That ends up being the trigger that starts a full on breakdown, and I collapse to my knees as I begin to wail in earnest. At my helplessness; at my hypocrisy; at the complete unfairness of it all… why... why...

Why...

I don't look up again for several minutes. When I finally do, there's a new message waiting for me.

[...fair point. I suppose I am being pretty cruel when I think of it like that. I still can't let you remember this, but I'll write it your way.]

I just sniffle in response, unable to even muster the energy to be relieved by that.

[God this is an embarrassing conversation to have written out. Could I have made myself look more like an ass? Let's just wrap this up...]

There's a pause — a very long, extended one which I honestly rather appreciate, as it gives me a little time to try and get myself back together. I manage to stopper my tears back up before the text finally changes again, leaving behind the longest message so far.

[So, I'm reading this over again before writing the ending, and now that I do? I'm realizing that it kind of comes off as… really, incredibly, amazingly self-indulgent. I didn't plan it that way, but I guess writing what amounts to several pages of talking to myself made that kind of an inevitability. I'm honestly not sure I should even post this, looking at it now.]

I glare up at the words through red, salt-encrusted eyes. I don't know if my existence is dependent on the narrative simply having been written out somewhere, or people actually reading about it, or what, but I'd rather not risk retroactive erasure by letting the real me not even publish it.

[…alright, alright. It would be a waste to write all this and not share it anyways, I suppose. I'll just have to hope this doesn't come off too poorly once it's actually posted.]

Yeah… hopefully…

The text box disappears, popping out of existence without warning or fanfare. A second later, a familiar wave of black comes sweeping through the room.

"…please be kind to me…" I whisper as the darkness envelops me, feeling my memories of the conversation blur and bleed away as I'm whisked back to the story proper.