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The Game is Life: An In-Progress-Kinda Novel

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The Game is Life: An In-Progress-Kinda Novel Empty The Game is Life: An In-Progress-Kinda Novel

Post by David Bowie Sat May 18, 2013 2:09 pm

Prologue


Life. Life is the game. The game is life. We play the life. We live the game. The game. Players. There are many players. Players play the life and live the game. Players are people. Well, sometimes. Not all players are people. I’m not a player or a people, but that’s fine, because I am what I am, and what I am, I’ll explain later. Now we have to talk about players and people. People do people things, you know? Like eating, or breathing, or dying. People things. Then there are other people. Well. Not people, per say. But other carbon-based life-masses. Or something like that. Moderators. They maintain the rules, like police. They demerit and deduct points and ban. I’ve seen their banhammers; if I was a people, and I was breaking rules, I would be fear of the banhammer. Moderators can’t do much more than people, though, or players, even though players are people and people are players. But moderators aren’t people or players. Well, kinda. They’re players, but they aren’t players, and they’re people, but they aren’t people. They still play the game, but sometimes, they don’t play very good. Sometimes, they
cheat. Moderators are people, but not people, but moderators aren’t gods. We are.

Well, kinda. But we aren’t. We’re a few people, but not people. Carbon-based life-masses. Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t like carbon. Iron-based, or plutonium-based are good too, sometimes. But not all the time. We three kings. But there aren’t three of us, there’s more. We have different names, but nobody remembers our second names. I don’t even remember my first name. Nobody does. That was in the before-time, nobody remembers anything about the before-time. We have third names now, but they are titles. My second name was Thames552, I think. Or x-X-x-13RedJohn-x-X-x. One of those two. My new name… We are administrators. We lead the masses. The carbon-based ones. We keep everything in check, like the moderators. The ones who try to god-mod. All they have is banhammers. We don’t have hammers. We don’t need hammers. We are sculptors.

We mold the universe. We take into our hands the porcelain-frail face of the life as we know it, and we French-kiss the fabric of space and time, as it is only our right and our responsibility to do so. We can do what we do because we are what we are. Times have changed though. Some of us aren’t some of us anymore. Some of us got greedy. Some of us got angry. And some of us got crazy, and I’ll admit it, that was me. Well, one was me. Or maybe I was all of them. I can’t remember. It’s been a long time. Too long. Oh, I almost forgot. On top of all of that people things, and the administrator things, and some of the moderator things, there are the stranger things. Strangers that come into the life and edit. Not meant to be here. We create. They destroy. Destroyers. Viru535, 7\-\33y br3@\< ev3ry7h1010010 010 0102j1nm1 dnch6563nd mmckjdjd

Dgfsgdhhs bhjbix76y7axh7a83bh3egdx8yg8a7dhgxuidchujcnkidhudndsgsc7sbds67B&^dsbnYt&*hg7^NuTyB8CXbhdgx jG78T87jhFUBDKTDEdldllddkdkdldkjhb cxnb yde3;;;;;dfbd tydbudjbdhbjmsm cnchsyd73enmdns9sj2w,m
[]C45tyhjk,567uikl4rtghnm34erfgvbn9iuhgv8ytgfcpokmn dadfsvWE’RECOMINGFORYOUnasnhd ncjucvujerdfygvbcxn iusx
dfghjkmebdgyuxMy name is Archeon. Archeon is my name. Name is Archeon my. Ame Heonm yarchn.uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuujmsnzbxud jc

Goodb.[syntax error]

The Life is Game

Author’s Note

Before we plunge headfirst into the land of insanity forged within the confines of my brain’s mushiest and squishiest of innards, I’d like to note some of the inspirations for this lovely, or not so lovely, or kind of lovely piece of work. First and foremeost, Vitaly S. Alexius, of Romantically Apocalyptic, and all of the other wonderful people there. In fact, it was while I read RA and got to the point where a freaking school bus was pulled from thin air, that I thought to myself, “Hey! I should write a book where people can do that!” And so it began. I got inspiration from others too; the good people at Reef Entertainment, who made the game, “Utopia City.” While the game hideously failed to play on my horrid excuse for a PC, I got to watch the intro cutscene, which was incredibly well-done, I thought, and the backstory idea was intriguing. Therefore, as I came up with ideas, I decided to use a similar backstory to Utopia City to explain all of the various lingo and terms used in the novel, and to make the whole thing make sense. The Matrix had a tiny hand in inspiring it as well, but not much. Another big help? A very, very, VERY good visual novel, called “Digital: A Love Story.” By Christine Love, it is set in the early days of the internet’s public use, and, without spoiling much, the conflict that emerges, and the way things unfold, was very much a part of my writing this; in fact, it inspired much of the plot and such, as far as the viruses and such go. And of course, my usual inspirations in general; David Bowie, Dean Koontz, Salvador Dali, whom are all awesome, and everyone reading this should look each of them up and enjoy what they do so well as to inspire someone as amazing and sexy as me. Oh, and conceited and vain. Forgot those two~

So, ¡Luces! ¡Cameras! ¡Acción!


Chapter One

Blackmail. Mugging. Misuse of authority. Malpractice of moderation. Disregard for the warnings of the administrative faculty. Name? Jackahearts. Jackahearts, Moderator of Sector 1AL5, to be exact. First server, first map, twelfth area, class five location: player residence zone. Apparently, he was robbing players blind, with threats of reporting them for false crimes. An anonymous tipster had taken it to Archeon, but not long after he pinned the evidence, he took to missing. Still no leads on that, but I figured we could topple Jackahearts. His crimes were serious, and he was well known as a swift fighter with his little toy mallet- that’s all a banhammer really is to me, stings a little, but not too much trouble to deal with. Supposedly, though, he’d paid off one of those slinky little hackers to pimp his kiddie toy, uploaded a modslayer function. It’d be too risky to send in my recovery team; I got this.

Walking was for saps, by the way. Snap of the fingers, flip of the wrist, bam. Already there. Teleportation: one of the best perks of being in charge. Gotta walk some though, I guess. Finding Jackahearts and all. And yikes, this wasn’t going to be an easy task… The mod wasn’t a fool, he was probably already hiding out, maybe even gathering some defenses, other mods. Possibly having the hacker improve his weapon even more. Fun, fun, fun… For his sake, he better not have banned anyone…

Ah, the banhammer; the tool of the mods, and to be used seldom and with strict necessity. That is to say, you HAVE a banhammer, but you don’t USE the banhammer, unless someone TELLS YOU TO. Most of the mods are cool with that. Some aren’t, and they get banned themselves. Banishment is strictly governed business. To be banned is to, essentially, stop playing the game. Usually for a week. Not long. But, it was long. As part of my initiation and training, I had to be temp banned. A week. That week had lasted seven years. Felt like it, anyways. Seven years, in a void. Darkness for seven years. Unable to move. Felt like holding my breath for seven years, only heard a steady drip of water. Woke me up at the end of the week, and I nearly choked the mod in charge of the test to death. Still. Some mods… Some mods overuse the banhammer, and some even use them permanently. A permanent ban couldn’t be undone. Once delivered…

Well, I think I found my guy. Or at least a lead. A suspiciously obvious lead… At his residency, located in the residence zone, all of the lights were on, and the door was slightly open. Haha. Good one. Aaaaaaaaand I ducked, just as the hammer whooshed over my head. Without turning, I throw a hand up, facing palm-out behind me, and a massive blast of pressure fires Jackahearts backwards. I turn to confront him and… It’s not Jackahearts. Instead, it’s a man in a hood, wearing all dark clothing, who seemed to be spewing a dark green liquid from his hidden mouth and skin. Strangest yet, his body seemed to be leaking paler green ones and zeros… A binary code leakage? Unheard of. And instead of a hammer in his hand, his hand well… It was a hammer. Or at least, it was gargantuan, distorted, and strange.

“Stop, in the name of the code of terms and agreements. I am Krampus, of the Administrative Faculty. I hold authority as judge, juror, and executioner, and you stand accused of attempted assault on an administrator, impediment of an arrest, and possible fraternizing and conspiring with a felon. How do you plead?” And at that, it roared. It was a rather nasty roar at that, flinging that dark green bile. Shutting my eyes briefly, I opened them again, once the noise ceased. “Guilty.”

And the fun could begin. It charged forward, with surprising speed, but I was faster. I went into a deft backflip, bringing my left leg up sharply with a kick to its jaw. I could hear the bone crack; success. But it kept moving, and I narrowly rolled to the side. What is this thing…? As an administrator, I’m supposed to have nearly limitless power. No other being had that level of power. Impossible. Or rather, a fluke. I stood again, as the beast turned to me. A beast… It looked so… So much like a person. A player. No way it was a beast, and yet… It spewed sickening bile and freaking binary code, in physical form. Impossible! Not to mention the freakish arms, and the thing’s sheer power and speed in general. It was impossibility, in living form… I swept my hand in front of me, in an arc, stopping abruptly to the right, as the beast was flung through Jackahearts’ window. At least it wasn’t immune to that…

At least until it raised its hand, firing me backwards. Luckily, I caught myself just short of smashing through a residency. “Command Prompt, slash Run, dash E-S1AL5.” Still calm, keeping my cool, despite this strange fight, I spoke those words, as alarms blared. Players within their residencies scrambled, avoiding both myself and the fiendish beast-man, except for one… Jackahearts clamored out his window, throwing ahead of him another being, whom seemed to be a teenager. His son, maybe? He had a son? Huh. Didn’t know. As he barely made it out the window, swinging a rather heavily modified banhammer behind him, the beast-thing flung itself through the wall, not even bothering to make it out the window, obviously too small for him, right on their necks. Striding swiftly forward, I raised my hand, palm facing the teenager, blasting a gust of wind at him, shoving him harshly away from the thing, into the mass of fleeing people, before turning to help Jackahearts. But in that brief period of time, it seemed the two had gotten closer; Jackahearts was flailing his banhammer uselessly, until finally it snapped in two, with a thunderous boom and a crack of white-hot flame. The beast had a firm grip on him, and brought its hooded face around his shoulder, almost like some fantastic combination of a vampire and a giant zombie. I raised a hand to push Jackahearts away, but the beast raised its hand. The clash of pressure blasts made a pop, rather loud, and cancelled out, as Jackahearts screamed for help.

Damnit. He might be a crooked mod, but he was a mod nonetheless. I ran forward, and with every good intent, rose my hand again, blasting wind, but also held my index finger on my other hand in front of my palm. Flamethrower. Oldest trick in the book. Fire jetted out from my hands, and slammed into both of them, neither of whom having expected it. While Jackahearts writhed on the ground in flames, however, (which I soon soothed with another wave of the hand, covering him in sand to null the flames) the beast-man stood deathly still, burning alive, before turning to me, enraged. But it didn’t attack me; by the time it went to do so, Jackahearts had stood and jumped on its back, attempting to take it down, unarmed. Cocky idiot. The beast grabbed him from behind in a single meaty hand, by the throat, I heard a sickening crunch, as he gasped for air, and it flung the body across the street. I almost moved to help him, but I knew it was pointless. He was already gone, and it made me glad I’d cleared the streets.

This world we live in… It has its corruption, yeah, but doesn’t everything? Most of the population had never heard of anything like this; to them combat and death were game words, not real things. Nobody died. Nobody killed. That was how it worked. The administrators were around to see to it that this illusion stayed in place, for as long as everyone played the game. And the game is life, which means they would never know. There were limitless resources, we could always make more room, more things. The illusion would never have to end. Still, sometimes people died here. Like now. This shouldn’t have happened though…

I wasn’t paying attention, it tackled me. And it brought its face down towards my throat again. As it did so, however, I grinned. “You know why I chose the name Krampus? I punish the naughty.” That, and as I spoke, I brought my palm up under its chest, as chains and thorny briars sprung from my hand, launching it violently into the air, at least fifty feet, before I stood, grasping the end of the chain, before jerking it down, slamming it to the ground accordingly. Then a pull to the right, and he flew through Jackahearts’ house. He wouldn’t miss it. And with a final, slightly pompously overdramatic tug, he hurdled back out, and landed in front of me. He didn’t move to stand, and I approached cautiously.

I reached my hand out to pull the hood off, curious as to what this thing could look like, but it spoke, in a harsh, metallic, utterly painful sounding voice, as I went to do so. “Destroyers. Viruses. They destroy. Viruses. Virus. My name. Name is. Is name. I am. He is. You are. We is. My name is. Viruses. They destroy, destroyers. Ame Heonm.” Okay… That was weird. And deeply, deeply disturbing. Viruses? Destroyers? What was this thing even talking about…? My name is… What? Its name is Virus? There wouldn’t be enough time in the world to think about all of this. It was confusing. Very much so… I pulled the hood off.

I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Said eyes widened immensely, and I dropped the shred of cloth in my hand as I saw that face on the monstrous and mangled beastly body. For one thing, it was hideous. The face was, in the lower left quarter, the same disgusting proportions as the arms and body, and covered in sickly bile, still gushing from the mouth, even in death. What had caused this? What could have caused it…? Mysteries, riddles, and enigmas… But what shocked me the most… The strangest part of it all… I knew the man under the hood.

“Archeon…”
David Bowie
David Bowie
DANCE, MAGIC PANTS

Posts : 48
Join date : 2013-05-17

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