Fate of Fedden Exa, The

The Fate of Fedden Exa was a tie-in story written by Jeb about his character Fedden Exa following the events of the Poor Gerold Campaign, the . Note that approximately the last two and half paragraphs are confirmed non-canon: Fedden stayed in the world outside the matrix until the end of his days. An alternate ending was never written.

## The Fate of Fedden Exa

He looked down, realising what shouldn’t have been there. Turned his gaze back to the patrons of the bar. They were all staring at him. The feeling in his left arm disappeared, and the glass fell through the air. His vision blurred, and when it cleared there was nothing left but the sound of the glass shattering and the eerie howl of wind through the dilapidated windows. Alone. Empty. Abandoned.

The bar hadn’t seen a soul for years. Decades. Fedden was devastated. He slumped down against the bar, soul crushed and hope lost. He had believed he had a good life. He had hope for his future, for his family. But that was gone now, a dream dispelled. Without the facade of light came the dark memories, memories of torture of pain of loss. But also of comradery, of alliances of adventure. He looked down at the stump of his left arm, and remembered his… friends. Gun-Chan, Duwang, Tardis, and that spirit. He looked up from where he was slumped, and a new hope began to kindle in him.

The glass crunched beneath his feet as he moved. What had been bustling only moments earlier was deserted now, and Fedden had to see for himself. Was he really alone? Wasn’t he off, defeating challenges only moments earlier? Why was this one so different? The floorboards creaked and groaned as Fedden approached the warped door. He wiped his hand along the one empty table still there, one he remembered sitting on… but that felt like years ago. A fine layer of dust came off, evidence that this decaying hole where he stood hadn’t been touched in years. The hinges crumbled as he pushed through the door, ages of rust cascading off of them. He stepped into the street, and shivered. It was a ghost town, once happy and cheery now decrepit and crumbling. The bar, the church, the library. All lost to the infinite authority of time. But no, this couldn’t be. This was impossible.

Fedden stumbled towards the graveyard, and stared at the graves. One name. Duwang. Not his, not Tardis, not Gun-Chan, and not Gerold. The faded words were difficult to read but still visible. Two blank gravestone remained, a grim reminder of what fate would soon befall Fedden should his condition not change. He ran back to the bar, remembering his sword.

Nothing. Nothing of use remained in the crumbling wreck. The coat rack upon which his sword had lay, gone. The glasses, the chairs, all gone. The bar counter, dark and foreboding and the one dusty table were all that remained. Fedden sat down, defeated. What could he do, trapped in this insurmountable challenge? He had thought it would be easy. Had Tardis lied? Where was Tardis?

Fedden began to look around, and began to notice things. Flaws. Glitches. The glass on the floor remained, proof that something had been here. Glimpses of the former cheery atmosphere could be caught, if one waited long enough. This town wasn’t just a test. It wasn’t isolated. And this bar… something was happening, Fedden could feel it. A rumble. And a clattering. The town was breaking apart, the illusion shattered once more. The bar collapsed around him, glimpses of desperate last attempts to survive presented themselves to him, and then the world tore itself apart. Once more, Fedden was thrown into a world of confusion.

He awoke to a world of smoke and fire. All around him, other people running, fleeing. Confusion, chaos. He tried to stand, but couldn’t. His muscles wouldn’t respond. The terror spread, and with a shout he thrust himself out of the pod he had been lying in, cables snapping from his head. No, something wasn’t right here. This wasn’t a dream, that much was obvious. But Fedden felt he didn’t belong. Like there was a… an inconsistency. He ran outside, and realised. This wasn’t his world. These people, strange pale beings not unlike the super smart asian sherlock people he remembered from his own world. He turned back to the large, foreign building behind him, unsure of what to do. Then, something happened. Fedden was ripped from this world, as things were set right, and he found himself floating in an infinite abyss.

Fedden reached out for his sword. He grasped it from his belt, and began to spin it slowly. It dawned on him that maybe he had never let it go. He let it’s momentum pull him along quickly, unsure of what he was looking for. As he ventured this abyss for an uncountable period of time, he lapsed into thought. Thoughts of his home, his job, and his family in the town. Were they real, or just all a dream? He felt like he had spent years there, tending that bar yet there were few moments he could remember precisely. But a dream that lasts years, a new identity, is not easily forgotten. And Fedden never would forget it.

Eventually, Fedden came across a small space that looked different from the rest. He steeled his nerves, not knowing what lay beyond. He feared what he might find yet was loathe to stay. He wished he could go but was afraid to leave. He took a breath. Then another. That final moment in the bar resonated through his mind, the realisation that it was all a dream. The dream was shattered now, and it was time to complete his task. A task Tardis had sent them on, then abandoned. But why? With this final thought, Fedden pushed himself onwards, once more into the breach.