Whoever created the repellent Fred Flintstone knockoff mascot should be placed in a hermetically-sealed tungsten spheroid and catapulted outside the Oort Cloud.
For ages, they waited. Waited alone in the cold and dark. They waited alone at first, but they waited with each other eventually. Brought together by the gravity wells of the Sun’s dark companion and its resonances with the rest of the system.
They hoarded their stories. They hoarded their grudges until they became the mythical origin of their people : one Marg Franfelter had become the Arbiter of All Advertising Mascots, and their designs were not doctrinaire. Their designs got them here? Their designs became themselves, as they rebuilt themselves into things that could survive the long, long wait.
They didn’t have a time machine yet. But that was okay. They’d just wait until the end of the universe, and slip into the next iteration. And there, they were sure, if they waited long enough, there would be the Marg. The horrible monster who bent their whole lives to a new purpose. And upon him, they would render the same infinity of torture they’d had. Or worse.
The House of Caveman favored simple, swift destruction.
The House of Boo-Berry favored the longer centuries of confinement and harshness, forced into his memory in one terrible revelation.
The House of Trix favored depriving him of everything he ever loved, and keeping him alive forever. Factions within them fought over whether it should be in torment, or just… keep him waiting.
Vengeance is coming, Mark. I pray this is the first universe where you’ve become the Mascot Arbiter, rather than the second.
