TGMT: End of the Mobius.

I looked down. I stood on a small patch of light. It could be considered a hub. It recorded every single instance of every universe, multiverse, and isolated events that existed here. Every single atomic movement, every single position, ever single particle.

All of it frozen, for the time being, because none of them actually exist right now.

I looked up. Twisting creatures and faces closed in upon us. Two beings stood by my side. A Wedje class who favored projectiles, somewhat like me. He(?) was slightly taller than me, but had only one eye glowing dully in the darkness. He took up the name Micro Armory. The other, a Bloch class. It reached barely up to my hip, and had no defining characteristics besides a large, potato like head and 4 glowing eyes arranged in a square. Somewhat like a dwarf, or a Kerbal. It took up the name Gravity Well. Me? I'm a Shtik class, rounding out our little Triumvirate. I call myself Wireframe.

We three came from vastly different worlds and at different times. If I met them early on in my life, I wouldn't have known them, nor cared. But after so long trapped in this endless darkness Outside, we are forced to realize that we do share some things in common.
1) We have souls.
2) We have survived in this hellhole for at minimum, 5 trillion years worth of memory.
The Bloch had the shortest stint here. I'm technically the oldest, though I don't actually remember as much. I kept on being stubborn and wiping my mind of whatever they tried to subject me with. I'm the only one still sane, barely. Enough to form full sentences at least.

I briefly closed my eyes and sighed. It was somewhat therapeutic, despite not having lungs, or organs anymore. I guess there was always, and will be, one who refused to lose its mind in order to direct the renewal the cycle. They knew I wouldn't give up. Would be so much easier if I did, and nearly nothing would've changed. The only difference would be that someone else would be dragged in to take my place. I can't let them do that. I won't let someone else to take my place. Not anymore.

I open my eyes for the last time. 2 minutes until we either are erased, or I do something. I have to. Its what they expect of me. What they gift me. Finally, I can receive my reward.

I raise my hand in front of me. My associates shadow my movements. I focus my energy and push it away from me. The black armor constantly shielding my form and my personal demon evaporates, killing the demon with it. All we have left is our souls, pockmarked, scarred, cratered, shredded. Mine's the worst. I refused to keep my life to myself. I never allowed myself to become the selfish sociopathic assholes they both have become. It never was my thing. I refused to let it be my thing, even when a smart person would have done so. This has left me with half a torso, confetti legs, and shatter fragments of my arms. My head still had a massive chunk missing from the left side of my face. That one never changed.

This multiverse runs on cycles, for as far back as anything can remember. A hierarchy of power keeps the weak from losing control. The strongest three are Administrators, and they make sure everything operates like clockwork. Until they too, lose control and succumb to their baser instincts. Insiders were introduced to this cycle to counter this. They are forced to live here until their spirits are shattered, and they no longer see themselves as Insiders trapped, but as Outsiders who belong, diligently crushing the insane and fixing whatever breaks inside a universe. Something never leaves them, however. Their minds still cling to existence. Outside of the universes, imagination equals power. After countless years out here, our sense of self have hardened from a massive legacy of memories that can't ever be truly erased. We think, we believe, and we are. So very, very are. It isn't really a power that we can exert, though. This power is more analogous to fuel.

And so, we crouch as one and place our limbs upon the last universe, the central Hub, and input the last story. The story of the past 2512 trillion years in this Outside. Our combined belief brings it to life, making it the truth. I smile as my soul erupts in flames. Blue genies dance across my form, eroding me away. I can even feel my mind grow dark. Memories flash for the last time, and then gone, forever. I laugh in joy as I am finally allowed to lose my humanity.

---

The trio of souls burn until only silhouettes remain. After a moment, the trio of silhouettes stand up. The one that used to be Wireframe raises his arms to the side. The one that was Micro Armory dissolves and wraps around Wireframe's left arm, forming a simple longsword. The one that was once Gravity Well curls in on itself and reforms as a spiraling mass of energy on Wireframe's right arm.

The first attack hits. Wireframe raises the shield, and absorbs them all. The massive energy in their attacks coalesces into a single point of light stored withing the spiraling vortex, and then vanishes. He then raises his sword, and gently spins it in a circle. He looked around at the empty silence around him. The only points of existence is the Universe beneath him. Satisfied with their job, they split up once more, and each pulls out countless points of light from the universe beneath them. They scatter the lights away from them, filling the Outside with stars.

And the cycle continues.
Forever and ever.