Honestly, you don’t know what you were expecting.
You’ve been having a shit day for the past week and a half, and it’s only just now gotten even worse. Before, you thought nothing at all could make your days worse than they were; now, you’re wishing you could have those days over this one that you’re experiencing right now. You went back to binge playing SBURB, hoping, waiting, thinking that it would make your day better. Unfortunately for you, you’re far too keen to miss something as monumental as what you see on your CLIENTS list.
More than a few of the clients that you’ve got online, that are also friends with one that is STRANGELY not online with the rest of them, fill you in on what happened to the missing person. You can sum it up to ‘something akin to a motorbike accident’.
You’re not one for feeling heartbreak.
No.
But you’re all for feeling your heart shatter inside your chest.
You give no warning to your raiding partners as you unplug your computer, staring at the blank, black screen as it seems to stare back at you. Unwillingly, tears gather in your eyes as flashes of red text appear in front of your eyes, two different tones battling for dominance. One is playful, joking, beautiful to look at -- glitched and coded to be in the font ‘Comic Sans’ -- while the other is horrifically built into what seems to be the mainframe of your brain, cursing you and forcing you to think the same words over and over and over -- ‘OBEY. SUBMIT. CREATE. OBEY. SUBMIT. CONSUME.’ It burns. It burns. It burns it burns it burns IT BURNS IT BURNS IT BURNS MAKE IT STOP.
Maybe it would’ve been better if you just didn’t get on at all from now on. Maybe you should play every day so you don’t miss a thing. Maybe you should quit your job. Maybe you should work until you keel over. The voices in your head make you do things you don’t want to do, including standing and walking over to the collection of swords in the cabinet in something akin to a haze, opening the tempurglass doors, and grabbing one. Unfortunately, you grab it by the steel end, and far too harshly -- it cuts into your skin as you take it out.
The pain registers immediately and the sword drops from your hand, rattling onto the floor and you stagger back, tangerine eyes wide as your vision continue to blur, focus, then blur again, in a dangerous concoction of pain, fear and clarity you don’t quite understand. You know you should take care of the umpteenth wound to be inflicted upon you in the past few days, whether self inflicted or not. You just can’t bring yourself to stand up. You can’t fight the voices in your head. You can’t fight it. You can’t fight it. You can’t fight them. You can’t do it. You can’t fight. You can’t. You. You...
Your hand begins to glow, and you don’t register it. The floor begins to sway. The sprinklers turn on. There’s a scream, a hollow thud from the floor below. Then, everything goes back to normal. Or, well... everything goes pitch black. All you can see is the familiar glow of SKAIA’s words behind your eyelids, and the worried, yet playful script of the person you could easily call your adoptive brother. The brother that warned you about the Crocker. The brother that told you all you needed to know. The brother that broke you out of your stupor. The brother that saw through your ego and got to the deeper parts of you that you didn’t even know you had. The brother you’d die for.
All of a sudden, your eyelids snap apart and you sit straight up, pressing wounded hand on bloody carpet, grabbing once-pristine onyx handle and smearing semi-dark red fluid onto the rubbery-type covering, standing up and tearing off the gauze as your hands began to glow a dark, glitching, electrical type of glow, beating as if it had a mind -- a heart of its own. Nothing is going to stand in your way anymore.
You catch the familiar flash of a camera and you stop, turn, and look up towards it. You notice that your eyes are glowing, glitching as well, and your smile has the illusion of fangs. But then again, you think that it’s all the better. You can practically taste the fear in the air -- HOW DELICIOUS. Your fingers twitch, you gesture to mock a slice across the neck and the camera short circuits.
V̧͍̮̦͂͋̓ͥͫ͜͞I̸̱̬̮̽ͣ̎͑R͉̤͋͋̓ͭͩŤ̠̈́ͭ̐ͮ͋̄Ú̢̖̮ͤE̢ͧ̅̈́ͬͪ҉̯ ̷̮̯̜͋͋̇ͭ͊͝ S̛̼͚͍̼̠͒͌̊͆͆ͅT͓̟̼̯͈͈̞̘̘̂͗͠R̢̺͌̇ͭͅI̷̩̋̆ͥ͆̄̔́͜D̢͔̠̻̗͖̗̝̱ͦͩE͕̖̻̺͓̰ͪͪ̀R̛͉̺̳̟̝̺̒ͮ ͖̻͚͕̅͑C̛͓͔̘ͬ͊̍ͫ̊R̜͔͇̤̩͕̾̍̾̇ͧͨ͋̈Oͬ͑͘҉̬̻̤͍̠͇̳̖̮Cͥ͒̿̔̔̉ͨ͂͏̫K͙͍ͪ́̊̈E̷͚̥ͭͫ̆̕Ṙ͚̹͇͔͖̐ͪ͊̅͗̆ͦ ͧͧ͝͏̜̳̘̰̤H̴̗̔͠͡Aͮ̃̽̓̚҉͎̖̗̩͙S̷̸̢̩̮̫̮̝͉̮̥̑̑̌̇͐ ̳ͣ̿ͭ͋ͧG͇͈̀̈́̇̊ͮ̚͘ͅO̸̸̞̰̍̈́ͭ̿͊͆N̸̷͉̙̭ͣ͛ͤ̌ͪͬͭĘ̷̖̝̏̈́ͤ̿͆̒̔͜ ͇͋͢͢͝M̷̸̦̮̫͖̳̰̫̃̃̃I̢̢͍ͧ̄S͎̤͈̪͙͔̳̅ͫ̂͂̌ͤ͟S̵͔͎̫̙̘̐̐ͥ̒ͨͫ̐̍̕͞Į̪̩̜͉̘͈̯̖̫̅̑̅̐ͫ̇̽̀͟Ņ͕̗̌̋ͦ͗̏ͫ̑͠G̶̵̼̤͍ͫ̏̑̏̀̀͝.͇̗̙̱̿
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