Notes

<<ERROR FROM SYSTEM: Questions that would normally not be answered will be answered here. Take the answers with a grain of salt. They would not be normally answered.>>

The landscape around you is constantly shifting. A volcanic terrain filled with molten rock centipedes as large as a subway train, an everlasting snowstorm that would freeze you in minutes, a barren land filled with a poisonous purple faze; they flicker rapidly before your eyes, unable to decide what form to take. The one that appears the most often is a grassy plain, an open meadow with a bright blue sky overhead lined with fluffy white clouds and a mountain within running distance, but you hold doubt that it's as peaceful as it looks. 

There's a man in front of you, with crudely made white clothes that are ill-fitting, too loose and big for him, his shoes merely a piece of brown cloth tied to his ankles with a string. (Privately, you wonder how large the size of the clothes must be. XXXL? The man is already massive.) His posture is relaxed, almost bored, as if there isn't a million hellscapes flickering across his vision, hands resting against his sides lazily. His blue hair is unkempt and unruly, as if he couldn't be bothered to take care of it. (Something tells you he doesn't have the time to take care of his hair, even if he did care about his appearance.) His skin is pale, the same color that reminds you of sick patients in a hospital. (Why is it pale, you find yourself wondering with discontent. One of those landscapes had ten suns that scorched the land underneath it, he could very easily get some vitamin D there. Why doesn't he do that...?) He's smiling, an ever-present smile that makes you wonder if he ever learned how to frown. It's not much better with his eyes that look like blue stained glass, no soul or life inside. It brings a shiver down your spine to look at it, an almost serene dissonance that fits the grassy meadow. 

"Well, well, well, look who we have here," the man drawls. His smile looks like a cat who just caught a mouse.

>Where are we?

"Somewhere," the man says, looking nonchalant. He doesn't seem concerned about where he is. "Dunno! An excess dimension, home - We could be in any dimension!"

His arms are thrown in the air, his smile gleeful, which only makes you more unsettled at how dead his eyes are.

>Dimensions?

"Duh, you hit your head," the way he says it sounds like a statement. 

>Um, no. 

He huffs. It sounds like an annoyed huff, but you get the impression that it's a huff of "oh this again". 

"Huh," his eyes lazily look you over. "Well you don't remember much. We get rid of the Excess to other dimensions. One 'n done's good, but we usually got to do things a certain way or else the dimension will get suspicious." He rolls his eyes.

>Excess?

"Extra stuff from our dimension," he says, brushing the question away. 

>Why would the dimension suspect us?

"Because we're not from that dimension, duh," the male says, as if it's common knowledge. He rests his arms behind his head, even as a rabid crossbreed between a hippopotamus and a dragon makes a gesture to bite him in the current "dimension" before flickering out of existence. "Nothing about us is from that dimension, from Dimension Hopping to the Excess we're giving away."

>What happens when a dimension suspect us?

His eyes narrow at you, making you all too aware of how dead looking they are. His lips twitch. You're sure that if he could frown, he would be frowning right now. "You shouldn't be asking questions. Questions aren't good for us. One becomes two and then you're obsessed. You'll go around dimension hopping 'til you're not heard from again."

He walks towards you and leans over until your faces are mere inches apart. It only reminds you of how tall his is, with the way his body shielding you from all light (the current dimension only has sky. A sky that is filled with light. So bright. Too bright.) You didn't realize it before, but the creatures that were in the dimensions were all dead or dying (the current dimension, serpent creatures that swim through the air. They're all belly up - floating up and up and up like dead goldfish).

Something in your mind tells you that he killed all of them. Fought them all and won. 

"Let me tell you. They don't return." His eyes narrow at you, his smile twitching, like your his next prey. Fighter, you call him in your head, your lips quivering and not daring to even mouth the syllables, less you become his next practice dummy. "And if you wanna return, shut up. You don't ask questions, and if anybody asks you questions, they didn't say anything. We don't ask questions. If we say something that's not true, correct us. We command, we state, but we never ask questions."

He leans back, hands laying lazily on his hips, as if it never happened. That smile is still on his face. You're sure by now that he doesn't know how to frown. "Now shut up."