you're stuck repeating this year of your session over and over until your Seer and Time player are both satisfied and you think on how it could be worse.
because this is SBURB, things could always be worse. at least you aren't a doomed session. none of you have bothered to find out what happens to those. the people that do know don't share their knowledge.
(you recall reading something about the last player standing from those sessions getting assimilated into the Horrorterrors. it's not a pleasant thing to even consider. you keep thinking about it and eventually decide that even though your current situation is shit, you at least don't have to stare at a fucking eldritch horror and slowly, maybe never, realize you are becoming part of them.)
(it's about as comforting as you would expect.)
you think about the people who're part of the Replay Value, who have to keep playing the Game over and over like they're just a bunch of fucking lab rats. like, hey, what if we put this adult into the body of this child, with these abilities, in these circumstances, and then let's watch them fucking dance.
you don't know if the Game can take joy in your suffering but if ever you find out, are one hundred fucking percent sure, told by a reliable source (which will be the day you win this damn game, ha, reliable sources haven't been a thing since you were goddamn b- made,), that this Game does not in fact care and is neither good nor bad or what-fucking-ever, then you'll eat your cape.
although the Page in your group would probably gladly give up their speedos, they refuse to wear their god pajamas because of it.
hey, at least they don't have a tight-as-shit hood to struggle with.
jesus, at least you ascended literally a month before this bullshit happened. your Mage looks three more Ascensions from snapping and succumbing to Aggrievance. or worse, becoming a Player Killer. that... well. the year would just be rewinded again, somehow, you're sure.
it would really fuck you all up, though. so far you've made it through this session with minimal mental scarring.
you stare at Skaia, the fireflies around you the only source of light other than the crystalanthemums scattered in the area. the blue of Skaia is as bright as it was when you entered, and the ground beneath you colder than it should be.
you don't think you have Clockwork Sorrow. you do think you can win, and you really fucking hope the Game won't fuck up and decide it hates your choice asses and plops you into a new Session once you win your own, but, just. it gets hard sometimes.
this is your seventh run through this year. it gets tiring.
you think about how easy it would be, to just- stop putting effort into anything. or hell, just not doing anything at all. there's no point. if it wasn't going to lead to anything good then the players in charge of this rewinding time plot would have stopped you.
but every time you came close you'd take a look at your team and think, fuck it. if they're still standing, then i won't fall into a maddening spiral of hopelessness.
at the very least, you'll make sure your very existence serves as a giant middle finger to the Game.