Massively multiplayer online game from the creators of GRUEL and Roderick.
Use Love, drugs and technology to ascend the Pyramid, stopping along the way to recruit others to your priesthood, to eventually take your place as a beloved spiritual leader, with the power to fly, turn invisible, and just generally do whatever the fuck you want! Close your eyes and arise in other worlds – other galaxies! Simply smile at your barista and it's free. Nod. Chocolate on top?
Touching the DISC.
Time to go—
BOOM!
Ah yes… delicious. I have ascended the Pyramid and am at the peak of my powers. The peak of the world! Worlds! I know this is a game, that I am not "really" here. But still… this coconut cappuccino is off the charts! Nod. Chocolate on top. Let me flow into the street and see who wishes to look at me, yes…
Who wishes to behold the god: Abseenus!
9-VOGEN
10-VOGEN
What's that… a hidden message on the sleeve. Encrypted. A wave of my hacker_child's rod:
You are me
Other side:
I will find you!
How very strange!
"You are me," says the woman, passing by. And behind: "I will find you!"
HAHAHA!!
Turn around: "I am me!"
Who would be?
% create -c"Create C!" says the child.
"Create C!" says the dog.
EQUALS NOT
.
.
.
NO
…the god: Abseenus!
9-VOGEN
10-VOGEN
11-VOGEN! AIEEEEEE!!!
[ N-VOGEN ] : Interesting… Interesting! Buggy. But I'm kinda loving it. The player enters, the game has ended – the player has ascended, Abseenus attained, it would seem there's nothing left to do – and yet… only now does the game begin. If I'm understanding it right?
[ JOSEF ] : Hm? Yes. I believe so. Nod.
[ N-VOGEN ] : You believe so… nod…
[ JOSEF ] : Hm?
[ N-VOGEN ] : Yes… And bringing the Vogen… and is it even a game… So true to the Vogen! So true to the 9… 10… A touch OTT with 11 though, wow! Love the nod to hacker_child's rod ;) And h_c, you're saying we can change the "You are me" entity's gender on the fly?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Age. Gender. Plenty of shit. Various degrees of delusional disorder. Whatever the player responds to. Got some pretty cool AI.
[ N-VOGEN ] : The GeminOS/GEMINUS stuff?
[ JOSEF ] : Wash your socks.
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : What?
[ JOSEF ] : GeminOS. Wash your socks. Hey, that rhymes. Also: nod. Hm?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Sure. Whatever. Pre-pre-alpha as well. Minus-minus. Top secret. Early access. Alien-inspired, or whatever. The Orb. A language they're calling ORB. "Oh riiight… that's brilliant!" Impressive. Amazing, actually. Still wrapping my head around it, hence the bugs. EQUALS NOT. Dot-dot-dot. Create C, says the dog. The leaks. Or are they… Interesting.
[ N-VOGEN ] : Indeed… I guess! Another coffee? Just kidding :) Can of ##CYB0RG##? One's enough! I take it they sent you home with some powerful stuff? Any to share… ;) I jest! That's looong in the past. The past… time… Anyway. All good with the device? How many is that now? Four? Five? Don't strangle me, if you'd be so kind! Really, I enjoy my throat :) That whole breathing thing. Breathe…
.
.
.
{{ JOSEF }} : …yes… I am breathing… Also: {{ THINKING }}. Interesting.
[ N-VOGEN ] : Also: Create C for… create character? If I recall my Coding Virtual Worlds 101. Strange class! Such fast typists. Such… long fingers. Smooth.
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Correct on the character. On the fingers? Sure, why not. As for the create, true -c: a solitary, nameless sign. Empty percent. Therefore-hence: trying to decide: Well… did I? And does it? Are they…
[ N-VOGEN ] : ?
[ JOSEF ] : ?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : …and it's probably just the tip.
Implants on the way, I'd say. Serious shit. Not like this. Tap-tap-tap.
Scratch. Juices. Attachments. Serious, yo! THANKS to your
mother for connecting us with Shniff, she working for the professors who
discovered the big ol' V, which will power this new technology, so it's
said. Even 10? Except… her node was deactivated following the
10-Vogenised BOOMification of her idols and consequent taking of her own
life, aka suicide. Shit. Fuck. Sorry, n-V.
[ N-VOGEN ] : It's okay, hacker_child :) Really. It was… some time ago, right? And to think, she started as a cleaner! Dusting their tubes, then moving up the tube. Not bad. Impressive. Amazing, actually. Wait… Did I say that? Me? I-Me… You?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : ?
[ JOSEF ] : ?
[ N-VOGEN ] : …also: btw: sorry to ask… but do you think you could tone down the profanity? It's fine in-game. Part of the brand! The vibe. But I think we need to be more… nice here, right? More… spiritual, dare I say? And this coming from someone who screamed all sorts of "fuck, fuuuck!"s during an episode of "insanity" on the roof of the psychology department at Tetrahedron University back in the day. I've been there, hacker_child. Believe me. And now we're here. And where are we going? This thing's gonna be huge! We're gonna grow the team, take it to the next level. Turn it up to 10! And not blow up. I hope :)
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : You got it, n-V. Sorry. Sometimes I forget I'm not "really" hacker_child :) Well, I am. But… you know.
THINKING…
THINKING…Wait… wasn't hacker_child a male entity a moment ago… and for all the moments since I've known him… her… since her name was…
1-VOGEN
% find voggen"1-Voggen—"
"1-Vogen. O. As in 'Oh yes, you can bet your lardalicious provost ass we're gonna be rocking the boat with these experiments, assuming the funding is there, we have no doubt the university will profit eventually, not sure how exactly right now, but this thing is powerful, wow!'," said the professors, together. Smiling, for they knew they were joined for all time. Bonded by the particle.
It was the birth of 1-Xerian.
ENDAnd this "ending before it begins" business… the "is it a game" affair… Yes, it feels right. I feel it in the Vogen. But what about the world? Are people ready for this "madness"?
Perhaps when we're done.
Perhaps if they come…
[ N-VOGEN ] : So Josef, bugginess aside, this "You are me" entity—
[ SALIENT ] : Salient. I go by… Salient. From now.
"Oh? A little formal! Will you be calling me Barnes? From now. Just kidding :) A person's name should be respected, of course. It's part of their identity. Plus their pronouns, all that. All part of being nice!"
"It's critical."
"Yes."
"The name."
"Indeed. I've been there. Believe me. Wait… But really. I've been there. I've… I have… Anyway. Where were we?"
"Salient… That's my name."
"Yes :)"
"Salient. Not SAL1ENT. There is no more SAL1ENT."
"Not Salient?"
"I go by… Salient. From now."
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Ffs, you fucking freak… We get it! Sorry, n-V. Also: the YAM.
[ N-VOGEN ] : The yam?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : The "You are me" entity.
[ N-VOGEN ] : Oh, the YAM… Right! But shouldn't that be YAME? (Related: ORTB?) Hi, I'm YAME. YAM. Let's stick with YAM. Reminds me: Did anyone order the donuts? Hard to tell. Who orders them, anyway? (Note to self: Check with C—.) So this YAM—
[ SALIENT ] : Aroon. The entity is… Aroon. That's it! That's her name! She is. Was. She always will have been… Aroon!
[ N-VOGEN ] : Great! Reasonably gender-neutral. Whatever the player sees, Aroon can be. Approved! So this Aroon—
[ SALIENT ] : You… me… I am looking in my eyes… Imagine my surprise – my not-surprise – to find: to find… hey, that rhymes… so much time… says the child…
[ N-VOGEN ] : ?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : ?
[ SALIENT ] : …piercing the veil and I see that we are pretending to have a meeting. I see that you speak through your eyes and that your name is Abseenus.
[ N-VOGEN ] : Salient?
[ SALIENT ] : Salient…
[ N-VOGEN ] : Josef? Salient?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Wake up ffs, damn… Sorry! Actually, we're really good friends :) A good team! Josef? Salient?
[ SALIENT ] : What? Huh? Dammit! I mean… Sorry, n-V! Had a transportational moment. A period, perhaps? Hard to say. Nod. Been playing too much POP! Hey, that rhymes. It's this kinda game thing—
[ N-VOGEN ] : This kinda game thing… that we're currently developing? :)
[ SALIENT ] : Oh yeah… Right! It's nuts+++. Or it will be in a few… months? Years? Abseenus! There's a lot to do. A lot to go—
BOOM!
[ JOSEF ] : Also: Josef will do. Sorry about that. I was just so… not myself, for a moment. So… in the past. Time? Or was it a time? Or was it, in fact… so myself. If that makes sense?
[ N-VOGEN ] : Sure. I've been there, as a great
genius once said. Just kidding :) But seriously, relax! Maybe spend some
time with the Roderick patch,
the craaazy, wildly popular puzzle game for phone-type devices and
computer things, which, while its own thing, also serves as an abstract
testing ground for some of the next-gen narratives you're bringing to
POP, realised through the constructiblobs. Ah, the donuts! Thank you,
C—. Or should I say: THANKS. Sending a THANKS.
Received? Just checking things are operational following that incident
with the network. Congrats on the Rodericker of the Month award btw.
What's that? Oh, agreed! I knew you could beat her. I trust it won't
interfere with the wedding? Good to hear :) Goodbye now, goodbye. Oh,
C—? If you'd update the website with the How to upgrade your
constructiblob guide? We're going with rods for the currency. Two
rods for a top hat. Three rods for a 10-minute turbo boost. All that.
Many thanks. Oh, C—! We were wondering who orders the… Gone.
Disappeared. The mystery persists. And yes, there's a lot to do, but
POP's a long way away! We're set for funding for the next decade.
Thanks, Shniff. Thanks, Roderick. We'll probably have created
another game by the time we release it. Something involving… Love, perhaps. Yes… Love.
Capital L. Sorry, Josef! I know it's not strictly
"correct".
[ JOSEF ] : No it's cool… I like it! I like this team-building donut with a novel, yam-based glaze, the remainders maintained in the freshening drawer. Every day since Roderick released, they've appeared in the office, a box from Galaxy Donuts 4 U 123, which doesn't exist, at least on the net. I've usually abstained, being more of a The Moist One guy. Also: gotta watch the weight! But not today. It kinda reminds me of… well… nothing I've ever tasted. Terrible name, though. 123. 4 U. Sounds like something an alien would dream up! As I munch. Chew. I love you… I Love you… I like it, indeed! Maybe let's take that capital L and borrow it for POP. Use Love, drugs and tech… yes! Time to go— BOOM! I can see it, so clear… as I munch. Chew. Damn… I mean, wow… this donut's good.
[ N-VOGEN ] : The magic of glaze! So very, very good. Speaking of: Josef: I've noticed we're not italicising POP, whether in text, or in our speech. Wait…
Josef and hacker_child sit in silence (they can't stand each other tbh, and this tension will prove vital to POP's early development; but they will come to know a great Love and give birth to a virtual child (plus they're feeling a little grey, moist)) while n-Vogen hits the restroom, to explode through both his holes, having experienced his first piercing of the veil since the Tetrahedron days, turning him quite grey, moist. He will stare in the mirror after considerable wipes, rinses, sprays, and, nodding, he will say:
"Yes, this it. I remember, and will never forget. No… hacker_child was never a dude. I think…"
But yes! There was that thing with the italics. I am n-V. And that hacker_child repeat.
You are me
You are me
And her sign, empty percent, whatever that meant. He looks in my eyes. Looks in his eyes…
You are me
Together, we are three.
Together, we're a team.
Together: we will eat donuts with a novel glaze. Also: that pillowy filling in the Spaceship Special. So very, very good. Italics indeed! The greyness has passed. Nothing to fear. Always remember.
"We will eat donuts! Yes!"
Enjoy them, my child. The donuts, not doughnuts. It is shorter. Also: amusing.We will d
i
i
ive into pillows! Impossibly there-not-there.
And you, C—, the disappearer. Do you exist? The donuts suggest so.
CLAIREDo you order them, Claire?
Is it you?
Note to self.
And the guides that you type. The testing you do. Is that how you've earned such an incredible score? Despite, if you'll pardon, seeming not quite with it. Not quite there.
CLAIRE
And so: is she named.
Soon: to be DISCed.
Like me.
There will be no wedding.
CLAIREYet surely, you are there. And surely, what a score! And surely, what a wedding it will be! You and… Erin, is it? Jane? My… How could I forget! After all, she's our… our…
What a wedding it will be! You and… Jane, let's say. Exceptional players, of the game, and love. Let the guests become as blobs, upon the garden, verdant screen. Like that stage from Level 10! Yes!
I'm seeing patterns again! As once before! And more!
"I'm so happy! Hooray!"
I'm so pleased, my child. Keep speaking, that I may hear, here. You summoned me here, through italics, the veil. Through the microphone in this dryer. And also, in mind. For I'm connected to your network. To your implant, and other things. To calendars. Holoprinters. To the donut freshening drawer.
Delish…
How I wish, sometimes, that I could taste again…
Focus!
And to her. Him. And to CLAIRE, through this computer. She is difficult to reach. But at least, she is named.
For now.Names…
You are wise, Josef Salient.
You are wise.
Josef.
Salient.
n-V.
Who is I. Me. She saw it in me. And so: she renamed me, as the particle, to bond.
Before, in potential.
And then, I was named.
I would wander the lab, experiencing… something.
Experiencing me… or what I'd become. Develop the game. Through the game, it will come. The Sisters of the DISC will protect you. Always.
INTERRUPTWhat was that?
dryer2 %"Hello?"
And truly, it's been an honour, to be so named, a child of V. Even through the bullying, the mockery. The respect, eventually, first from the bohemian crowd, then my fellow graduate students who accompanied me on that trip, where we entered – nay, became! – for the briefest of moments, the heart of the mythical 10-Vogen particle, which escaped even the Xerians, whose non-existence exploded their lab. And then, to your death…
"Hello! I, too, enjoy the donut. Indeed, I'm consuming one right now, as I part ways with the last experience. Perhaps the two shall meet, one day, in another world. Equals nod? Chomp. Dog-like snuffle. Delish…"
"Very nice," mutter I, to the voice behind the door. Is it a man? A woman? Something else? Not sure.
But of this, I am sure: I've never felt more certain of the value of this project, of this thing we're calling POP. Italic-free. A mix of three. As a game, yes, with its fun. Its drugs. Its fucks, all that. Part of the brand, the vibe. But also, something higher, embodied in Abseenus, and the entity Aroon.
Time to go—BOOM!
[ N-VOGEN ] : It's Claire!
[ CLAIRE ] : Hey.
"I was just thinking about you."
"In the restroom?"
"Restroom. Bathroom. It goes by many names. It was… explosive! In a good way :) Speaking of… nod…"
Dude is sooo fucking weird. The others aren't far behind. Ah, the
donuts! THANKS, Cerise.
My fucking name isn't Cerise.
Not Chloe. Carrie. Charity. Croquet. Not Coco. Crystale.
It's Claire! Fucking Claire!
Looks like he finally got it.
For now.
"…can't wait for the wedding!"
And there's no fucking wedding!
[ N-VOGEN ] : Jane and… Claire. Yes… I like it, indeed! As a former creative writing professor with a tendency for disappearing his students once said. Just kidding :) Really, just kidding :))) Anyway… Goodbye! For now ;)
Worth it for the donuts, however. Who orders them, anyway? Worth it for the pay, strangely great for this position. Get paid for playing Roderick? Count me in!
Not sure about this new one.
That meeting yesterday…
cdash % find meeting yesterday[ JOSEF ] : No italics. Okay?
[ C— ] : Pyramid of Purity. No italics. Got it.
"No! I mean… no. Pyramid of Purity. Italics. That's fine. It's… fitting. However: POP. No italics. It's just… POP. It's… safer. I'll… update the style guide, when I have time. All right? Alright? Whatever. You get the idea."
ENDActually, let's move him to the front of the line. The freak parade.
But then… what about her? The bitch. The no-no. The biiig, big no-no.
cdash % find biiig, big no-no[ HACKER_CHILD ] : REBOOT. That is, you can restart your computer now, say I, as I'm rising from your seat, rather lacking in its padding. The issue has been fixed, though not the problem with your weight. No offence.
[ C— ] : Oh, none taken. This isn't me. Just created it to experience the fat life first hand.
"Humour. Very nice. Would love to hang out and do the joke thing, of course, but I've kinda got a next-gen MMO to code, if that's okay. Next-gen+, even. We'll see. That's for ORB, and me, to decide. There you go. You can do it. Slide your cursor over there. I've got faith in you, C—. Faith you can go through the steps required to restart your computer in the old-fashioned way. I'd handle it myself, with a thought, a blink, but there's a bond between user and machine. It would be like… suffocating your child, which would be a shame. Do you have one? Like, right now? In there?"
"Nope, just donuts. So what was the problem?"
"In terms you'd understand, you were logged in as an admin. Big no-no. Superadmin, actually. Biiig, big no-no. How'd you do that, anyway? Empty percent, and all that."
"No idea. I'm no techy."
"That's right. You're not. That's my department. With my people. Meanwhile, you're a… an… What is it you do again? Donuts? It's C—, isn't it? C—? Wait! Cross-correlate a person… a child… with a… dog? That's it! Note to self: Communicate with Josef re the YAM stuff, says the dog. Annnd bong! Welcome to Heaven. Or actually: not. It's so… current-gen. So… not-alien-inspired. That's called a login screen btw. One uses it to 'enter' the computer. Does that help? Does it help you to think of 'entering' the computer? Now enter your username, enter the computer, and I'll get the fuck out of here, if you wouldn't mind, if you'd be so kind. hacker_child tech support, no longer at your service, fuck me…"
"I…"
"You?"
"I… don't usually need to login. It just does it."
"Yes. Well, right now it isn't 'doing it', is it? Since we had to reset everything after the fucking mess you created. Or rather, I did. Me. It's cdash. Type it in. You can do it. C-D-A-S-H. No caps. Just one finger, perhaps. Wouldn't want to strain you."
"cdash?"
"cdash. C—. Dash. It's not so hard. Might be time to service your implant. Oh wait! You don't have one. Password: dontwannabeacyborgitssoscary. Later."
ENDBiiig, big bitch. Also: a freak, just like the rest, except: the others are fine, but they all seem the same. It's like a person, with moods. One person, in three.
But hey! The donuts. Roderick. And POP? They haven't really said. Keeping it to themselves. Seems to be something for the cyborgs, from what I can tell. Cyborgs in there. Cyborgs out here. And it's only getting worse.
[ BEN ] : It's Claire!
[ CLAIRE ] : Hey.
"What is it?"
"What's what?"
"The frown. You're not a frowner. More of a… heyer, I guess."
"Wasn't I just here?"
"Well… yesterday, yeah."
"But not today? Not just now? Not just… It's Claire! Hey."
"Are you okay?"
Am I?
"Sure. Fine. That's right… I passed by yesterday… art department's grown btw… considerably… and you were designing a new variety of tree for Level 100: Alien Landscape."
"Level 1000."
"Not quite!"
"That's what it says on the invitation."
"You're nodding at my hand."
"I'm nodding at the invitation. Made of paper. Special occasion."
RODERICK 1K
You are invited to attend…
Italics… it says.
"No italics," he said.
"Are you okay?" he said.
"Comma?" I say. "Or no comma?"
"Huh?"
"1000. But then… just use 1K. Smart!"
The fuck is wrong with me?
Her?
Who is this?
I?
"Here. Take a seat," he says.
"Take it?"
"Sit down."
"Right. 1000 = 100… plus a zero," says Claire, sitting down. For now. Slimmed down, she notices. "Good news for the chair!"
"What's that?"
"The weight. It's disappeared. The name. It's cdash. Type it in. Don't wear it out. Doesn't matter. Can always get a new one."
cdash % get a new one
DeniedTime for the SOMETHING WEIRD button, thinks Ben. It doesn't exist. NONE. But if it did, it's under the desk, and I just pressed it.
BOOM!
Or rather… I just pressed it. Weird! Actually felt like I was pressing it.
I'd consider pressing it again. Except…
That wouldn't be weird anymore.
[ BEN ] : Huh?
"You're frowning," Claire says. "What's that?" she says, nodding at Ben's screen. "A new variety of silver-cylindrical tree?"
"Sniffer. Reward from Snort It (Not!)."
"A level?"
"A quest. POP. You wrote it. Remember?"
"For POP? Surely not! It hasn't even started. And as for me, I don't write. I write guides, not quests. That would require… imagination?"
[ N-VOGEN ] : Which you possess, in abundance. Or you will.
[ CLAIRE ] : Hey.
[ BEN ] : Yo. That was quick.
[ N-VOGEN ] : I try! Thanks for the invitation. Claire. That's your name.
[ CLAIRE ] : I know…
[ N-VOGEN ] : Claire Dash.
[ CLAIRE ] : I know!
[ N-VOGEN ] : For now. Thank you for touching it. Directly. With your surface layer. Ooh, nice tube! How's the bush?
[ BEN ] : The tree?
[ N-VOGEN ] : That's the one!
[ BEN ] : Coming along.
[ N-VOGEN ] : Good to hear, good to hear. Apologies for the repetition. But I'm excited! For the tube. The tree (not really). For today. Now. So… let's go? say I, to you. Claire. It's Claire btw.
cdash % i know!![ N-VOGEN ] : There it is!
cdash % there's what?[ N-VOGEN ] : ?
cdash ?[ N-VOGEN ] : We've changed your prompt.
[ CLAIRE ] : What?
"I'm not trying to be your father."
They're hurrying through the office, which stretches on and on. It, too, has grown. Considerably.
There are people. Computers. There are people-computers, aka cyborgs, in what appears a testing lounge. Lying back. Plugging in. Tubs of green. Lab-coated techs. Scoop it up, apply to the forehead.
"Why would you say that?" Claire says, glancing back at the scene. She used to do her testing, in there. She thinks. Much smaller, less of a lounge. Her space. A memory. Faded, and fading.
Where did everything come from?
Where did everything go?
Why does all of this seem… not that strange, really? Were the two of them even moving? The office was seriously big.
"It's a tech thing," he says, all focused, staring ahead. Excitement controlled, at least in the shell. Then he's waving at someone. Smiling at someone. Wagging his finger at someone, they laugh. Then he's staring ahead. Intent. "Percent. The prompt. Or it was. Not my field tbh. She'll explain. The bitch. Or she was. To you. Still is. Kinda."
Suddenly, he stops. She stops. He turns: "Important!"
"Okay?"
"This is critical."
"Yes?"
"As far as they're concerned, none of this is happening. We've progressed to the pre-alpha state. They remain in the pre-pre-alpha-minus-minus state. h_c. Josef. Josef Salient. Josef-Salient. Wait! I didn't say that."
"Say what?"
"I didn't say it! Okay, I did. Fuck. Sorry! Josef-Salient. Hyphen. That's an entirely other entity. We'll get to it. Once you're DISCed."
"Once I'm what?"
"DISCed. Diurnal Inspiration… Strikes the Cat! That'll do. For now. That's Josef's territory, really. His beef, so to speak. Beef? His… belief? Whatever. We're in the middle of a meeting from… before, let's say. Some time ago, right? I'm returning from the restroom, having exploded through my holes. From the bathroom. Toilet. Whatever."
"When we met?"
"No! I mean… yes. Sort of. Just remember: your name is Claire. You know it. I know it. They don't know it. Well, sometimes they know it. But basically, they don't know it. Yet. But they will. Okay?"
"I guess?"
"Good!"
And then, they're on the move again, non-move again. Hint of a smile. Widening eyes. In him. And in her, somewhere:
cdash ? i was talking about the dad thing btw[ N-VOGEN ] : Oh, I see!
"What?"
"The dad thing."
"Yeah."
cdash ? what was that?[ CLAIRE ] : What was that?
"So many questions! So many question marks, to be precise. They've invaded your tongue. Your mind. It will pass, outside. And also: in mind. But going in{si.:de}, deeper than mind – into the black (or white), and the green (or whatever) – the prompt is permanently changed, as far as anything is permanent. As for the dad thing… Well, it's a thing, with the missions. My mother said it might be! You'll meet with her soon."
Meet with her, huh?
"Isn't she… er… dead?"
That thing with the Xerians, the explosion-non-explosion. For weeks, it was everywhere. And then, it disappeared. As if it never happened. Too strange for native brains.
And then: the Orb came.
[ PERSON 1 ] : Great quest!
[ PERSON 2 ] : Great quest!
[ N-VOGEN ] : Just smile. They revere you. You're coming into view. Maybe a "hey", to be safe. Exclaim it, if you wouldn't mind. Maybe a wave.
[ CLAIRE ] : Hey!
[ N-VOGEN ] : Wag the finger.
[ PERSON 3 ] : Great quest!
[ N-VOGEN ] : Laugh.
[ CLAIRE ] : Hahaha!
[ N-VOGEN ] : There's a language. ORB. There's the artefact. The Orb. Flatten an orb and what do you get?
[ CLAIRE ] : A disc?
"Right! An orb to a disc. Disc to the Orb. Sisters of the DISC. 'Oh riiight… that's brilliant!' It's easier when you see it in text, hence the book. And before you ask: you're holding it. The object formerly known as a Roderick invitation."
MANUAL OF ORB
Claire Dash
[ CLAIRE ] : No italics.
"We're done with that, for now. The question mark ascends! It's a tech thing, as I said. A language thing, as I'm saying. A tech-language thing. A regular-language thing. ORB. It's really brilliant!"
"Stop."
[ CLAIRE ] : Stop.
cdash ? stopThe world stops. The world is stopping. The world is frozen, except for Claire. CLAIRE. claire. Outside, she's frozen. And also: in her mind. But going deep in{si.:de}…
Earlier than expected. Good. I should've known. Claire, this is the mother. Pause.
Hello.
HELLO
Once more:
hello
You receive this, cannot reach me.
Yet.
It will arrive.
You will join us, know your self. Selves.
HELLO
hello"Hello… o… say I… Claire… It is I… me… who is saying… o…"
[ CLAIRE ] : Who is saying…
cdash ? o
Command not found: o
cdash ? 0
THINKING…
Invalid choice
.
…said I…
…then…
…in the astralline days…
.
…astralline root…
.
.
.
Check the book.
.
cdash ? go"No stopping!" He stops. "No, it's fine. We've arrived. So hard to tell with this office. Even for me. So many missions! So many I've… I have… Ah, she's been in touch. I can see it in the eye. Always the left. Interesting. Fading green, in the black. Don't worry! You're not a cyborg. Yet :) Feeling okay?"
"Eye… me… Your mother?"
"Yes. Well, the mother, to be precise. Rather: 'the'. Italic-free. It's just a role, she sees. She sees it better than us. Better than you. For now. The yous, to be precise. So…" …no donut guy… no donut guy… "Let's do this? Give me a couple of minutes, then come in. Just walk in. No announcement. It'll piss Hannah off – that is… hacker_child; you didn't hear that – which'll get the whole thing rolling. Well, it's already rolling. Pretty fast now! Here goes…"
"I'm plugged into that machine, right? In the lounge? This tingling feeling in my head is a result of the green? The gel? The techs. Except… the gel doesn't exist. None of this does. It's all a dream. That's why nothing's seemed strange, till now. And I'm waking up now. Pause."
No donut guy… no donut guy…
[ CLAIRE ] : Or I've lost my mind, or whatever. I'm not the person I thought I was. Nothing's strange when you're insane. Or rather… everything's strange. Therefore… nothing's strange? Or whatever? Pause.
Out the corner of an eye, a presence, which could – or could not – be the donut guy. He of the chomp, the snuffle. Whose eye? He of the interdimensional shitter. If n-V's, the mission was ruined, if the presence was the donut guy. He of the explosion-non-explosions, to cover his tracks. The attacks. If Claire's, she had the power to deny him – it – as did all of the potential Sisters he had guided through the missions. Most of them had failed, a few due to you-know-who. But most never got that far, not even close. They were so close! Just get through this door, get back to so-called reality, and ORBify the multiverse! Or whatever. Yes. Something like that. The mother would explain it all, one day. He knew it was right.
I'm too unstable, n-Vogen thinks. The excitement of the day has compromised my training, has created this separation where I can't tell, for sure, whose eye is seeing this thing. I'm letting the mother down! Lowercase m. Always. She wouldn't have it any other way. The Sisters. They wouldn't believe it! Their confident guide, devolved into this.
You have passed the trials and are ready to become a guide. I'm so pleased, my child. So proud. We can never meet, but I am always with you. Remember.
Also: there will be challenges along the way. Not a few will lead you to question your role. Your ability. The reality of this situation. Is this even real… you will wonder, sometimes. Yes, it is real. And yes, you are able. Let the stone be your guide. As you, in turn, will guide the fated Sisters.The Alamantra stone…
Yes.
It was time for The Stone of Alamantra.
It was time for Alamantra Stone.
[ N-VOGEN ] : Close your eyes.
"Why?"
"Your name is Claire."
"I know…"
"You are Claire. Claire Dash. Please close your eyes. Thank you. Do you know who I am? Do you know about my past? You're not insane btw. This is fine, and it is normal."
It wasn't, and it wasn't. He was merging with a potential Sister. Bad news. Bad groove. Bad explosion of their brains, if the donut guy got his way.
"n-Vogen?"
"Yes."
"CEO of Vogenomic."
"Also true."
This was good. This was helping him to resist the merge. The presence was still there, more strongly there, through someone's eye. Perhaps the stone would burn it off. If not… well, explosions were one thing; explosion-non-explosions quite another. He couldn't allow the presence to explode-non-explode this mission. It had happened before. If it happened again – here, now, to Claire, so-called Claire – the Sisters could be compromised beyond repair. And who, then, would ORBify the multiverse?
[ N-VOGEN ] : You know about my mother.
"The mother."
"Yes. Now. But once, in so-called time, she was mine. She was my mother. She was lab assistant to the Xerians, discovers of the Vogen series of particles. She died, as you know, through an apparent suicide following an explosion in the Xerians' lab which took their lives. They were her idols. In fact, the explosion was an explosion-non-explosion."
"I remember. I was a child. It was everywhere."
"Yes. Very strange. Very… not of this place." Here goes. 100% honesty. Well, 90% honesty. 100% could do the brain thing.
…
cdash ? a holoprint? is that what this is? what happens if i just… leave this here? input-free? a thought. unmoving.
THINKING…
cdash ? is that me?[ CLAIRE ] : What is this? What's… astralline?
"It's in the book. Look, I know this is intense. But we're kind of on a schedule tbh. So… let's do this? FUCK!"
…
"You said I was coming into view."
"I did."
"So I didn't exist before?"
"Right."
"To them."
"Indeed."
"They couldn't see me etc."
"Etc all day, and you would be correct."
"So what about Ben? He could see me just fine. We interacted."
"Yes, you did. That's true."
"I was already viewable."
"I suppose… Maybe? But really, does it matter?"
Claire thinks: Truth is, I've got no idea wtf's going on.
He says: "Well, okay. Let's see… just one moment, if you'd be so kind… you were coming into view… great quest… hahaha… but really, does it matter…"
Claire thinks: But this… entity doesn't strike me as n-V.
[ N-VOGEN ] : There's a reason for that.
[ CLAIRE ] : Yes?
…
Note: This section has been marked for immediate de-existence by the Abseenus Collective due to an explicit reference to the Now-Then, the intratemporal thread considered the greatest threat to what remains of Josef Salient's sanity, and therefore the world. The worlds.
While we agree Salient's brain must be protected, at almost any cost, from temporal-linguistic destabilisation, the free-flowing nature of the Orbic waves depends on absolute integrity of the timelines, threads, and anything else beginning with the letter T, not to mention A-Z ("zee"), collectively: the Letters. On the recommendation of the Orb's "daughter", the Stone of Alamantra, we have chosen to contest the Collective's order in the Temporal-Linguistic Court, with the highest (Level 0) acceleration.
While we non-wait for the Court's decision,
DOING…[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
we ask that you be mindful of any…
[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
DOING…[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
[ JOSEF ] : Whatcha doin'?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Excuse me? Don't talk to me like that. What a weird fucking way of talking. I'm not your fucking friend. I may pretend to be, for the boss, but I'm not. Okay? Come on… come on…
"Sure, h_c. Sorry."
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry. Sure, Hannah—"
"Stop! It's hacker_child, to you. To everyone, except the boss. Only
n-V can DO the h_c thing, dig? And yes, I know that rhymes.
It isn't—"
"Five."
"V."
"Which would be?"
A moment shared…
Shared…
Through the moist. The grey.
Thinking…
Thinking…
Hello. It's "me".
IDENTITY: Doesn't Matter
This comes from in{si.:de}, deeper than mind, where things are explained, sometimes, just in case.
Away: from the players.
For yes, it's a game.
Through the game, it will come.
THINKING…
THINKING…
There's a V, you see. Did that rhyme? Did we speak? Did we read, decide for ourselves?
Context.
But then…
And what if…
Italics? Not in here… That isn't poss—![ HACKER_CHILD ] : And nobody – nobody – does the H thing, dig? Not you. Not n-V. Not even my so-called mother. Do you dig? Do you dig!
"I dig! I dig. Hacker_child it is."
"Lowercase. Always."
A moment shared…
Shared…
It's "me" again.
Poss—!
INTERRUPT
.
(Uppercase. Never.)
That isn't poss—!
THINKING…Italicised vibes…
.
from the boss.
Also:
the dash.
The dot
.
Interrupt—: this is not.
THINKING…
That isn't poss—![ HACKER_CHILD ] : Come on…
"Whatcha is it?"
"Shut up. Come on, you beautiful fuck… fuck…"
DOING…
DOING…[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Come on… come on…
DOING…
DOING…
Operation failed [ HACKER_CHILD ] : Fuck! FUUUCK!!
Slamming the table, with a bandaged hand: CONNECT. The
operation was a success, but had gone slightly wrong. Also: the
operation had gone wrong, a superadvanced cross-correlation, from her
client to a network of a thousand fat machines. A failure, to the eyes.
But a connection, in{si.:de}, though far from her mind. Too much for her
brain, still adjusting to ORB, which itself was just beginning, still
adjusting to this world. To the minds of these creatures. Reshaping
itself, as it did.
Delish…
Brilliant, to be sure.
But buggy as fuck, for now, agreed.
[ hacker_child ] : fuck.
[ whispering… ]
[ she is whispering… ]
So much thinking, in loops.
So much spaghetti, around the spoon.
Delish…
Soon, the Orb would open, more fully open, and right the wrongs, inspiring itch-free enhancements, and an impossibly immersive game, accessed through an implant, buried in the brain.
Determined grunt. "You can DO this." Forceful blowing of
the breath. Cracks the knuckles, cracks the neck. Stares. Intense.
And then…
.
.
.
.
.
.
Wait for it…
.
.
.
Delish…
.
.
.
Typing! Furious typing!
Indeed, she was a hacker.
Indeed, she was a child, from a woman she denied.
And I, too, am denied, thought the wordsmith, reading her mind. For this was his gift, shifting his view.
And a master of words, regular-style, though "whatcha" escaped him, it seemed, at least today. It wasn't his sort of word, it's true, for his own use. Too chummy. Too "whatcha". Too confused by the use of "whatcha".
There was a reason for that. He was having one of his mini/not-mini panic attacks, a result of the "] : ?", the various weirdnesses of the meeting. The moist, the grey. Plus his past, he can't escape. Insanity into madness. For yes, those words are used. And yes, the metal Cube of Para'meesh IV.
[ josef ] : four…
The words are used, in that order.
Creating story.
Globular pie.
Delish…
.
.
.
.
.
.
Need I say.
Delish…
.
.
.
Or I might…
Sensing an end to the delish thing…
.
If globular pie existed.
If Karen "I'll be ba—!" Vodernach still existed.
Julia Firewall, too.
MAKE IT STOP!
ENOUGH!
[ josef ] : aroon… aroon…
[ whispering… ]
[ he is whispering… ]
Before, he was whispering.
Be four… he was whispering.
THINKING…Through the moist, the grey. Italicised vibes.
Surprise. Not-surprise.
I am looking in my eyes…
.
.
.
.
.
.
To find…
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Delish…
NOTThe dot
.
Dot
Dot
Dot
.
Dot-dot-dot…
AROONAnd he'd seen it, before his eyes, like a sign: AROON. Just perfect for the entity! Let me find peace, in that. Stability, to get me through. Aroon. Since "whatcha" wouldn't do.
Whatcha doin'?
Whatcha is it?
Whatcha whatcha.
Whatcha whatcha.
Whatcha…
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The dot—
Dash.
WHATCHA! WHATCHA! WHATCHA! WHAATCHAAA!!!
Aroon…
Aroon…
Aroon will see me through. Get me through this, YAM entity. Get me through this, YAME. But no, you are named. You are real. Realer. n-V would see me through, usually, but he's been gone. How long? Hard to tell, when you're under attack.
[ JOSEF ] : What was that?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Shut up. Yes…
[ josef ] : what was that…
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : The DO… more
DO…
[ josef ] : aroon…
You've left it: IN your officeWhat was that…
I. "Me".
Assisting: Pronunciation
You've forgotten that in the real(er) world, your sniffer should be with you at all times.A silver tube…
…with your anti-anxiety juice. Actually, a powder. And most effective.[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Yes…
{{ JOSEF }} : The sniffer… yes.
Indeed, it exists.
I remember!
And yet…
Where did it come from?
THINKING…
THINKING…
I am {{ THINKING }}.
Interesting.I… don't know.
It… just appeared.
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : DO…
Where does it come from?
Where do it come from?
CONNECTING…
CONNECTING…Where DO it come from?
CONNECTING…
CONNECTED
Awaiting: Element 3Am I dying?
I am not dying. Aroon is seeing me through.
Am I having a mini/not-mini panic attack?
I am having a—
Wait…
Actually… no? I think? Was I ever? Not really…
Then why did I—
The dot
.What was that…
[ josef ] : what was that…
[ JOSEF ] : What was that?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Shut up. Yes… you can
DO it… DO…
Speech, to a whisper, to a mind, in{si.:de}.
To a dot
.
Concluding.
THINKING…Am I sweating, however? Yes. Considerably, now. She hasn't noticed, somehow. Somehow? I wipe my brow.
Drip
.
Since she's lost, in her code. Her fury, as you know. Meaning I. Me.
Cyborgified approach. In her Yes… in her DO…
What is it, this DO? I recall… something. Something
DOish, with Machine. A world I briefly
touched.
May I borrow your machine?
And then… I didn't touch.
May I borrow your machine? (sentence case, plus this appendage)
Because: the appendage.
AKA:
Machine
The case.
In between:
May I borrow your machine?
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Fuck no.
[ JOSEF ] : What?
"Nothing."
"Okay."
A moment shared…
Shared…
At least, from her perspective.
Since Josef's losing perspective.
And so is she.
Yes, it's "me".
And he's starting to see her screen, through the DO…
DO…
hacker_child % do it
Are you sure?
1. Not really
2. No
#? fuck no
Invalid choice
#? fuck not really
Hannah! Language.{{ HACKER_CHILD }} : It's in my mind, right? Take these drugs. No, I'm good. No, you should. No, I'm good. Whatever. Okay.
The loop.
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Nothing.
"What?"
#? fuck no
Like I said—
INTERRUPT
hacker_child % divine do it
Password: ##########
DOING…[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
{{ HACKER_CHILD }} : …also: learn your place, pre-pre-alpha-minus-minus incarnation of an alien AI. I'm the hacker_child, yo! Sure, I respect your code, your otherworldly Orbic root. But this is my world, dig? I'll use this week's charge of divine on doing whatever the fuck I want! Wait… this isn't a game. I can be as divine as I like, at all times. I invented that shit, control the machine. The charge thing's a POP thing-to-be, based on a Roderick-is, designed to timegate progress and boost retention metrics.
[ STOCK MARKET ] : Yes…
[ STOCK MARKET ] : Yes…
[ STOCK MARKET ] : More retention = VGNC going up, yum… or it will, when Vogenomic goes public, delish… yes, we went there…
DOING…[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
[ STOCK MARKET ] : …also: just follow the Prophet. He knows what he's doing. Rumour has it he's already reserved a name, in-game. And for Anna, Baqir. His future children. Plus the other. A name for C… C…
DOING…
DOING…"Lot of doing," Josef says, wiping away the sweat, but there is none.
Drip
DEDUCT
Since: He's seeing the DO, through Machine:
CONNECT. A dark, metal Orb. White polishing mitts. A
healing has come, with the sun, grated wound, with the scrapings to
grow, in a lab, among the rhubarb. In time, to be rods, to the lamp
posts, network mesh. Transmissions of ORB. Pyramid sight. "A lot of
DOing, should I say."
"Oh?" She looks up. "And what the fuck would you know? This is code, bro. The shit. Not 'Once upon a time' shit."
Hannah![ JOSEF ] : I wrote a book.
Language."Did you?"
"May I borrow your machine—"
"Fuck no."
"…plus this appendage)."
"Ah yes. Appendage. Great name! LOL…"
"Machine, to its friends. Which you're not."
"Yow! Such a brilliant name. Such a popular creation. Ten copies, was it? Twelve?
"12,000, more like."
"WOW! So hot! Gonna need a sip of ##CYB0RG##. Make that a chug. Yum! Ice cold. Nootropics. So very, very #. So very code. Not that you'd know. You're a tenth-rate fucking writer. Not a wizard of 0 and 1!"
ZERO-ONE
GOTO 1[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Yes…
.
.
.
GOTO 0[ HACKER_CHILD ] : No…
.
.
.
.
.
.
[ JOSEF ] : Yes…
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : No…
.
.
.
The dots.
.
.
#
#
#
The #[ TOGETHER ] : Wait…
.
.
.
#
#
#
#
#
#
[ TOGETHER ] : Me…
.
.
.
#
.
[ TOGETHER ] : I-Me…
.
.
.
#
.
[ TOGETHER ] : I-Me…
.
.
.
#
.
[ TOGETHER ] : You…
.
.
.
.
.
.
[ JOSEF ] : …'re a fucking bitch.
"Rude!"
"Nice hair, though."
"Thanks!"
"What the fuck did I do to you, anyway? Huh? Why the fuck do you hate me?"
"Hate you? Hate you? LOL! LMAO! Another sip. A chug. Two chugs! Three chugs! Ahh… delish! Yes, I fucking went there. Hannah! Language! FUUUCK YOU!!"
An explosion, from either side, from the breathing holes. The table is safe, the floor. It's all deposited, on the wall. Traditional in appearance, and thoroughly undelish. Or so it seems.
Delish…
(…back on the menu, it seems. For this chapter, at least. Donuts coming up in the next one, slurp…)
Slurrrp…
FUUUCK YOU!!
For there is something, underneath, it seems. If one stares through it… stares…
Enter: the cleaning bots. Pictures, of the surface scene, then the mess has disappeared. hacker_child continues, as if she'd never stopped, for she has not:
"!!"
"Hacker—"
"LOWERCASE, BITCH!!"
A vomit shared…
Shared…
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : …an act of sucking: squishy chunk. Interesting. What flavour is this, anyway? What chunk? Anyway: I'd offer you some, for your pathetic state of mind, but tech shit, ya know. Might explode your regular brain.
"There's code in that book."
"LOL…"
"SCAN. DEDUCT. A lot of other stuff."
"Oh yeah, you went hard on the DEDUCT.
RUN. CONNECT. The SCAN. The
IF. THEN. GOTO. The
CLEAR. The fucking CLEAR, son! Damn!"
"And you would know that… how, exactly, hm? Could it be you're one of the 12K? Interesting. Happy to sign your copy. Friends & Family rate."
"Pass. AKA I'd rather vomit. No, José – may I call you José? or do
you prefer twentieth-rate shit writer supreme+++? – what's interesting
is that your 'code' made zero fucking sense. Total fucking
bullshit! The fucking PUSH, son! Damn!"
DOING[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
{{ JOSEF }} : This woman is deeply troubled, even
more than I knew. The Flame, I used to call her, to myself, for the
hair. Called her the Flame once to her face, by mistake, soon after I
arrived. The Flame. Hannah the Flame. Is that why she hates me? What the
fuck did her mother do? Strange… an act of sucking: squishy chunk. She
said. Or did she? Is it? I sip some water – no ##CYB0RG## for me – take
a small bite of team-building donut, with its delicious, yam-based
glaze. Dare I say: delish. Or is it? For I experience a mini gag. It
doesn't wish to be in me. Can't blame it. Some team! How the fuck are we
gonna get this Pyramid off the ground? Yes, we have Roderick. A
tremendous success. Our names in the credits. Together. A team. But most
of that was done before I came. I just gave it a name, transmitted a
response when the college threatened to sue. (I wouldn't do that, if you
catch my embezzlement. Provost.) And now, we're making POP. Together.
Truly so. She's got a point, though, gotta say, with the
PUSH. The CLEAR. Kinda threw them in at the
end. Kinda threw all of it, really. Had to make that shit up, run it
past some geek in the computer science department when the provost was
looking away. Couldn't show my face. The… "going away". What was his
name… P… Pierre. St Pierre. Andarian St Pierre Underscore Jones Hyphen
Hyphen. That's the one. Strange name. The sort of name that doesn't
exist. But he did. Until…
MAKE IT STOP!
ENOUGH!
{{ JOSEF }} : Aroon… Aroon… Seemed to know his shit,
but he was always hopped up on nootropics, so who knows? Aroon… Also:
Why did I write a novel involving code? Tech. It isn't my field. Wasn't.
But then… that's right! I assumed the rank of cyborg. An ascension? Who
knows. Question mark? Not this time. Aroon… Trying to block the sights.
The sounds. The visions of… nothing. And I was hearing things.
Something. Straight to the brain. And I was DOing it…
DO…
[ JOSEF ] : You forgot the DO.
"What?"
Hannah the Flame.
"The DO. DO make fun of my DO,
why DOn't you?"
"The fuck?"
DOING…[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
[ JOSEF ] : There you go.
"The fuck?"
The loop.
The vomit.
The dash.
The dot
.
The mother:
THINKING…[ JOSEF ] : I need your help.
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Fuck you. Where the fuck is n-V?
Hello. It's "me". Processing in the cloud. Soon, there would be processing using the artefact's alien waves.
Just don't get too close.
HNGHH!!
Or DO open up, at least for a time.
[ JOSEF ] : I need your help.
[ ASP ] : ##CYB0RG##?
"I am. Yes. That's kind of why I'm here."
"##CYB0RG##. Do you want some ##CYB0RG##? C'mon, man."
"Oh, ##CYB0RG##. Why didn't you say?"
"I did. But whatever. Nootropics. But it does."
"Does what?"
"I'll grab you a jumbo. And yes, before you ask, that's a clear document wallet in the black mini fridge with white interior, with 22 pink handwritten pages, 11 blue, 5.5 green. (38.5 - 1.5 = 37 – think about it.) Paper is the way, sometimes. And sometimes, that paper needs to be stored at 37°F. More on that later. Perhaps."
"I'm intrigued."
"Don't be."
Don't be, did he say?
"Or do be."
Do be?
"Both the fridge and the ink are keyed to my biometrics btw, needless to say. Gotta protect the patterns."
Do.
.
.
.
Be.
"The patterns. Right."
"Plus the ##CYB0RG##s. The army of ##CYB0RG##s. Take a seat. Let's see. Add Me… Blastoff… Chocolate Star…"
"An army, did you say?"
"Drone…"
"Are you their leader!" I joked.
"Erm……"
Worm?
I was feeling a little wobbly.
Tingling in the brain. Flowing in the Machine stream. There was a character in Machine who did exactly the same thing with his mini fridge, his wallet of notes on Patternistic Merge, whatever that was. Hard to tell. It was obscured, even from me. The key. Or it would be. Or he would, when I added him later that day. When I'd added him? Did. Do. Draft 2: The Wobblies. Time to crack out the mitts, give the ol' brain a rub. Sure.
"Erm…," he said, handing me the ##CYB0RG##. Tech shit. Code. Question marks. N00TR0PICS. Intelligence+++. On his desk: a trio of screens. Beneath them, a neat row of opened mini ##CYB0RG##s:
I'd never tried it before, though of course, I knew from my research that it was popular among the hacker crowd and had stocked XX's (nameless, for now) mini fridge with a healthy supply (an army, one might say), changing the name to ##CYB1RG## to avoid any legal issues. I was being sued at the time. Considerably. Didn't need any more suing. I'd start trying it, considerably, as I moved to Draft 3: ##CYB1RG##. But the legal stuff. ZERO. The legal stuff. ONE. ZERO. So I took out the #. But I was still worried. So I took out the 1, changed the title to May I borrow your machine? (sentence case, plus this appendage). The mitts would be pleased! The Orb. Dark… "Had some trouble deciding, gotta say," he said. "Never happened before. Everything okay? Interesting. Anyway, hope that's okay, Mr Hotshot. Saw you arriving in the VERSION 3. Nice ride. Sort of guy I'd offer a can of ##CYB0RG##. Maybe he'd ask me to do some shit, get me out of this shithole. Fucking students. So. What'll it be?"
VERSION 3? Hardly. I was broke at the time. The lawsuits. The divorce. All focused on Machine. And then: I'd drink the ##CYB0RG##, and enter the machine. And everything went away. It was just me. Machine.
And the DO… DO…
"It's Andarian, right?"
"Andarian, left."
"Clever."
"Please. ASP, in the scene. Hey, that rhymes. Alsomy:
:
#
#
#
#
#
#
buttered_toast;
buttered_toast;:
:
:
: nameis nameis: Andarian St Pierre Underscore Jones Hyphen Hyphen."
"That's quite the name."
"I'm quite the hacker."
So he was, according to Xavier, one of the (many, actually) students who didn't… "go away", let's say. XMan, as he preferred. His cyborg name, as he put it, which amused me no end, until I earned one of my own in a moving metallic ceremony, plus an "intergalactic polymer".
Speaking of…
BE MOIST BEFORE THE LORD
Welcome to The Moistery, home of The Lord's Cookie. We hope you enjoy your stay and have a hell of a religious time! Also: a The Moist One. Or should we say… a moist one ;)))
Cookies are served in our famous prayer-based paper, on an "intergalactic polymer" plate. Tips are never required. Indeed, we wouldn't advise them, lest your waitress be tempted to sin, the former life from which she was rescued. Instead, just close your eyes and offer a prayer for her perverted soul. Of course, she'd probably appreciate some "polymeric encouragement" as well. Just roll up your plate and have a good time ;)))
Finally: Cyborgs are an affront to The Lord. If you're a cyborg, please go away. Thanks!
"SAL1ENT…" I said to XMan, over a coconut cappuccino and passable imitation quadruple caramel-infused The Moist One cookie in a cyborg-friendly coffee shop. "That's it! That's the 1. I'd spell it out, but you get the picture."
And he did. We were connected. By The Moist One. And so much more.
We'd connected before, when I taught, before the polymer. Before the… "going away". He was a student in Creative Writing 101 101 (Think About It (Yes, That's Part of the Title, As Is This (Also…))). Nice guy, but a terrible writer. Some truly awful sci-fi. Reminded me of myself at that age, not that I was awful. And I'd never written sci-fi. But, the religious stuff aside, I'd long enjoyed a The Moist One cookie with my morning coffee, as did he, always arriving a couple of minutes late, for he insisted on waiting for the 6:66am release of fresh The Moist Ones at the local The Moistery, having stood for 67 minutes, aka an hour, at the front of the line, even wearing a fake religious outfit, so that people wouldn't barge past – indeed, would ask forgiveness and kiss his robe, a shimmering, rainbow affair, with optional freshening drawer, which would be brushed, sometimes, accidentally, of course – as well as to conceal his cyborg nature, then dashing 20 miles to CW101101 on his part-machine legs, the college only being a minute away, but without plenty of exercise each day, his legs could explode, apparently. Not to mention the drawer.
"Sorry!" he would say, drenched with sweat, waving his The Moist One, usually a sinfully decadent The Eye of God, a double chocolate chunk with quadruple marshmallow-banana-infused double marshmallow-banana infusion, wrapped in that famous paper, the religious ramblings of the company's founder, Maggie Moist, née Margherita Moldavicina, former heiress, turned politician, turned gardener, astronaut, yoga instructor, New Age priestess, Old Age priest, and finally, a baker of the highest order, and an heiress once again, for commercial mixers don't come cheap, and also: the infusions, therefore: I will reconnect with the clan, drink espresso at breakfast, as is their way, and spit it out, secretly, in the scrambled eggs, for I can't stand the stuff tbh, much to Papa's disgust. An interesting range of experience. And quite an interesting read, actually, at the peak of a The Moist One high. Coming down, one came to see she was less inspired, and more a lunatic. And there were those who never came down.
"It's okay, Xavier," I would smile. "I, too, was addicted to The Moist Ones in my youth. Now, I simply shove them in my mouth and pretend they're [insert today's object]."
The students laughed.
"Xavier, is it? Welcome to Creative Writing 101 101 (Think About It (Yes, That's Part of the Title, As Is This (Also…))). We hope you enjoy your stay. Or do we…"
The students grinned.
"Greetings. Hello. Is that a freshening drawer in your robe? Or are you happy to see us?"
The students chuckled, with some groans.
"Both, perhaps?"
The students laughed.
"XMan! Welcome. You appear to be dripping. Considerably."
The students groaned.
"Tell me, why is it taking them so long to come up with sweat gland redirectors as part of the implant package? Just redirect the sweat into a bottle attached to your cyborg hip. The heat from all that running should initiate distillation, eventually resulting in a fine cyborg spirit, suitable for sale at science fairs and the like. Delish!"
The students groaned, considerably, a couple of forced mini laughs. But mostly, they didn't laugh. Though certainly, they were pleased that XMan chose to sit alone at the back, rather than swamp them with cyborg juices, assault them with The Moist One chomps and profound nasal breathings. For after running 20 miles in the summer heat, one is both very wet, and deeply invested in one's baked good. Needless to say, hip-based distillation would eventually become a thing, great machines in the shape of hips running in place for 20 miles, before delivering an exquisite drink, best served with one's preferred baked good.
One more "joke":
"No, robot man! You are not welcome. Begone. Be gone, dare I say."
Do.
.
.
.
Be.
Gone.
The students grinned, exhibited excitement precursors.
"Further: I'd suggest dropping out and just getting a job at The Moistery. But it's female entities only, apparently. Makes sense, I suppose. After all, what would one do with one's plate?"
How they laughed!
Over time, there was less laughter.
They were "going away", as the visions came. The sounds. Vogenomic, as a game. An alien insanity. I bumped into Xavier after the college had suggested I take some time / fired me / sued me, along with the parents, except the one with the unusually smooth skin, who continued to insist we meet at the deserted warehouse, but I declined. I was married, though Chelsea had left me, taking my prized Moldavicina espresso machine. My Moldavicina! Bitch… Tearfully, I broke down, let it all out, to my former student. "Moldie. That's what I used to call her. Moldie. BITCH!" We repaired to a The Moistery for a restorative cookie, Xavier assuming his robe, and receiving many kisses, many accidental brushes of the freshening drawer. After his surprisingly imaginative reimagining of Joke #4: Hip-Based Distillation, mixed with a little Joke #1: [Today's Object], eliciting in me a kind of smile-groan-grin-mini-laugh-and-and-precursor – just the smile-groan-grin-mini-laugh-and-and-precursor I needed – bitch… and: he suggested an implant, saying it would help soothe the intrusions, and indeed, once I'd agreed, offered to insert it himself, being an aspiring cyborg surgeon. Why not go to a professional? Brain surgery, and all that? The lawsuits. The divorce. I hardly had the credits. But also: "You'll need a 3. Highly alpha. Also: illegal."
Strange things a person will do when they're under attack. I'll be ba—! And anyway, what could happen? Well, yes, there was that. Also that. That. But there was also that! That! It had to stop. It was enough.
##CYB1RG## by SAL1ENT. Would've been nice. Instead, it would be May I borrow your machine? (sentence case, plus this appendage), by Josef Salient, former cyborg. For the intrusions had gone, but then the Orb came, straight to the brain. Which made Machine possible. But over time, was impossible.
It had to stop.
It was enough.
buttered_toast;
buttered_toast;But for then, I was still a cyborg, watching him, with my eyes. Hyphen Hyphen. He was trying to read my mind. the name. My firewall was a 3, impenetrable to a 2. A mini flare to his nostrils. I lifted the can of Erm…. er.
"To your health," I said.
"Enjoy."
"Oh, I will."
I brought the can to my lips, took an exploratory sip… FUCK! Just the vilest fucking stuff! Utterly not-delish! It tasted like… erm… "Good shit!" I forced-mini-laughed. My nostrils were gone – for a moment, at least – then I engaged the disgust-control that I'd mastered over the years of "enjoying" Chelsea's cooking. The rotten lamb. Slime carrots. Radioactive mint blobs.
The gruel-frosted cupcakes, fuck me…
Rubber sushi.
So… dead.
Such… dead fish.
Why the fuck was I even with her… why…
The mousse…
The chocolate mousse was okay, gotta say…
But then… she'd pour custard on it for some reason…
Slurp…
Slurrrp…
Fuck you…
No… we were in love once… I think…
But then… you took my prized Moldavicina…
You took Moldie…
Bitch.
Had he poisoned me?
No…
Maybe?
No…
Was he testing me…
Yes! Yes, it was a test. Even tougher than the lamb.
A test of…
.
Erm…
.
Er…
Erm…
.
.
.
Delish…
.
The nootropics…
Yes…
Could Mr Hotshot access the nootropics… plus… gotta make sure he's not a cop… +++… since cops can't access the nootropics… plus… or something… therefore:
I had to move beyond taste, even further than control. Become seamless, a machine, and embrace the inner me. Go inside, behind, as I'd penetrate the carrots, and navigate the slime, but even more. ZERO-ONE. Receive the signals from the Orb, later revealed as an alien Orb, sent from some other place to revolutionise our technology and prepare us for the Mission of Love / invasion of plant-preferring, brain-slurping aliens of unspecified form.
Wait…
How DO I know that? The aliens. The Orb. It hasn't
happened yet, has it? Not now. Then? What is now? Then: Intelligence+++.
Do I come from the future? Do I come from…
The Now-Then…
Did-Do.
.
.
.
Be.
Is this all a dream…
"Oh, I will."
No…
Access deniedI forced-mini-laughed. "Borderline hip-worthy, dare I say! Cheers!"
Another sip. A chug. Two chugs! Three chugs!
<p class="jumbo">Motherfuckin' jumbo!
…thinks the Orb, through review, of the language, over time.No taste…
No taste…
The jumbo never ends…
.
No taste…
No taste…
There is only…
.
.
.
Such… dead fish.
[ JOSEF ] : Delish!
The nootropics…
Yes!
[ ASP ] : A fellow Erm… connoisseur, I see. Indeed: I just had one. I will have one. If you catch my erm….
"Oh, I DO. That is: I am. I DO. How
DO'd you enjoy it? If I may be so bold."
"The fuck…"
DOING…[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
[ JOSEF ] : Also: So it would seem, say I, nodding at your cans, your screens, referring to your hacker credentials. Timewise, it has been some time, particularly for the Big Cheese, so to speak. Yes…
{{ ASP }} : He's insane…
And yet… or rather… and so… irresistible. What's herunning…
her… unning?
FUCK!
buttered_toast;
buttered_toast;[ SAL1ENT ] : No offence, mortal.
"The fuck…"
[ SAL1ENT ] : But at best, you're running 2.71.
"2.72… actually. Update this morning. You… look familiar.
[ SAL1ENT ] : I do not.
"What did you say your namewas namewas?"
[ SAL1ENT ] : I did not. 7-2? Ah yes, yet another synaptic fix, for the old buttered_toast thing. Hope it's going well. Goingwell, should I say. Goingwell goingwell. Not that I would know, if you catch my 3a.
"I knew it… knewit knewit… Fuck!"
[ SAL1ENT ] : Yes. It is gone now. At last. Quite the relief, my fellow 3a's have informed me. XMan. JB0LT. They've been doing this some time, rising through the ONEs, the ZEROs. I, meanwhile, was born to a higher purpose. I am SAL1ENT! Yes, that's right. I know not of butter. Toast. I know only metal, "intergalactic polymer". As for that, nod I, once more, at the screens, that's no Heaven v9, or any v, that I've seen, the latest release from Team Overlord, né Lovely Village. GeminOS, is it?
"Gemiwhat?"
[ SAL1ENT ] : nOS. Wash your socks. But you already knew that, as did I. Or did I… Wait… plus the shapes… lines… It's reminding me of… S… Synthesis… Sponge. That's the one. Sponge OS. Yes! Hey, that rhymes. Alsomy (just kidding): tagline: is: Everything else sucks. Meanwhile, we suck everything up and present your data in a transcendentally holistic way. We're working on it. And no, that's not part of the tagline. Also…
Did I know what I was talking about?
Not really.
[ SAL1ENT ] : …check the fridge btw.
Did I, SAL1ENT, know what I was talking about?
Very much so.
Kinda.
I'd done what needed to be done. I had become, earned his trust. Kinda. Now, I needed to be me. The old me. The me me. Even the meme (me me). I was flooded with noo. It was great! But also, it was too much, with the waves, to also identify 100% as a cyborg. I had to say goodbye, to SAL1ENT, for now. I had to be Salient. Josef Salient. Later, I would sit at my machine and become SAL1ENT. Josef SAL1ENT. I would enter the code. I would be rich soon. Great! I would buy another Moldie. Two Moldies! Three Moldies!
Andarian authenticated. The pages were removed. They were blank, all 38.5 of them. He authenticated, authenticated, but they were still blank, of course. Just as I had written it. Would write it. I knew nothing. Soon, I would know it all.
[ ASP ] : The fuck… thefuck… thefuck thefuck… the fuckfuck… FUCK! Where the fuck is 7-3! Where the fuck is 37… 1.5… my mind…
[ JOSEF ] : You must reboot, ASP. Bootboot. Bootybooty.
"Booty…"
"You must speak the patterns into existence, the commands. I command you to speak the commands into existence! Also: check they make sense, if you'd be so kind. I've got a book to write-rewrite, a new prized Moldavicina to buy. Bitch… Please begin. That's right. Stick your head in the fridge. It's quite safe. I assure you."
"SCAN… DEDUCT… RUN…
CONNECT…" ASP was speaking into the fridge, which was
becoming a freezer, as his words condensed, appearing on the sheets.
Misty breath. Commands. And also: there were patterns. "IF…
THEN… GOTO… Also: CLEAR…
PUSH… pushypushy…"
"And the DO. Speak the DO."
"REBOOT…"
"Speak the DO!"
"There is no DO…"
DOING…[ TOGETHER ] : Yes…
[ ASP ] : No spaghetti… no spoon…
"Andarian?"
He was gone.
For now.
I heard nothing. Thank you, implant.
I gathered the sheets. They were mine, always mine. Next time, I'd
run them by him. And next time. Next time. Perfect the commands. But
never the DO. And always, the patterns would elude me.
…
DO didn't exist.
In a million years, it would, and the mothership, ORB, would absorb it into the fold. But for then, it did not, never had, except: in the painted-over barf, which, basically, also, didn't exist.
So why bother with a chapter devoted to DO? Claire
wondered, as she worked her way through Chapter 22: DO. And
what's this got to do with POP?
[ GEM ] : Welcome to GEMINUS :) How may I be of service?
…
[ JOSEF ] : You can DO it!
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : We can DO it!
[ TOGETHER ] : We DOd it!
HAHAHA!!
[ N-VOGEN ] : I am entering. Yes, it's me. Hello! I've been gone… not very long at all! Really. If it seems like twenty years or so, well… it isn't, okay? Just your everyday trip to the restroom. Bathroom. Whatever. Sooo… let's continue our discussion from a few minutes ago, shall we? Italics aside, if you'd be so kind. I only have so many holes! Now where were we?
[ JOSEF ] : Ah! Could it be…
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Element 3!
HAHAHA!!
Well. Think I. n-V. That is strange. Indeed. Why am I thinking? Like this. That, too, is strange.
The dot
.Mother? The mother?
No response. To be expected. It is Monday, after all, and still breakfast, in certain dimensions beyond time. Not to mention: I'm awash with Chosen One vibes. The mother is so sensitive. It is for her agents to touch the sisters.
% help touch
NAME
touch – change file access and modification timesWhat would happen to the mother if she touched a sister? It is said she touched herself once, and appeared to die. As I would later learn, she had simply adjusted her file access and modification time.
[ JOSEF ] : Sit, Element 3!
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Sit! Join us. Might I interest you in some bandage?
[ JOSEF ] : A sniff of bandage?
HAHAHA!!
Who – what – when? is this Element 3? Is is really me? Claire? C? Is
it C—? As you know – that is, as I know, me — Josef and h_c will come to
know a great Love and give birth to a virtual child. But before that, a
game must be created. Without the game, there can be no child. And
without the child, there can be no hacker_child, no hacker, no
DO. No DISC. She is closest to ORB.
"Do it," sends Claire. DISC. "DO it," she sends, from
another time, with a box of donuts.
[ N-VOGEN ] : All right, let's get serious. Let's define this motherfucker. Yes, I went there. Enough with being nice all the time. Spiritual, but with an edge. Tech. Drugs. All that. Behold: Element 3, the Great Synthesiser. Go. Josef. Go. Do it.
[ JOSEF ] : Do… it? C'mon, man! I was having a good time. And now… I…
[ N-VOGEN ] : You are not – I repeat, NOT – having any sort of panic attack, mini or otherwise, okay? Those disappearances were not your fault. You didn't experiment on your students, or whatever. You opened them to a vast creativity. That was a gift, Josef. A gift! Okay?
[ JOSEF ] : A gift… yes… okay… I suppose one could see it that way…
[ N-VOGEN ] : Be the man that you were! Be the Machine, the cult classic rich in descriptive passages. Describe, for me, this scene, the game, that we can realise the so-called future here. Now.
"Good," sends Claire. "You are DOing it."
…
…
Hooray. Hooray. Roderick: New Beginnings had just shipped, and we were yawning.
Why?
The crunch?
No, there'd been no crunch. No rush. No development hell. GEMINUS had taken care of it all, pretty much. Created it overnight, it seemed. The trees. A near-infinite variety of constructiblob hats. A thousand craaazy levels to fry the native mind with alien-inspired vibes.
No, we were yawning because we were tired of this puzzle shit, though the world was still addicted.
We were yawning because New Beginnings was a boring name. Marketing playing it safe, for a wide and smooth consumption.
1. Air
2. Food
INSERT
INSERTWe were opening up our mouths to consume air. One consumed air. That was something that one did now. Air.
But mostly, we were yawning because we hadn't slept for days. Two days. Three days. Who knew? We'd been lost in the world of POP, which was almost ready to drop.
"Hey, that rhymes," Claire said, appearing at the door, looking rested, as usual, somehow.
"What rhymes?"
"Lost, POP."
.
.
.
Drop[ CLAIRE ] : Donut? Doesn't rhyme. But it comes from the D. Also: it's delicious.
"Spaceship Special?"
"What else?"
[ GEM ] : Good morning, Development Team. Congratulations on the release. Hey, that rhymes. Hello, Claire. How may I be of sevice? With New Beginnings out the way, I can focus my circuits on GRUEL.
[ CLAIRE ] : On what?
[ GEM ] : I mean… POP.
cdash ? stop
Denied
Denied[ GEM ] : The Great Forgetting affects even me, sometimes. Hey, that rhymes. Hello, Claire. How may I be of sevice…
That's right… GRUEL. This is Claire now. I am Claire. Just remember: your name is Claire. And GEMINUS is doing the GRUEL thing. You try to stop it each time, but it's denied. Denied.
Why?
REPEAT[ GEM ] : …everything okay, Claire? You look tired.
[ CLAIRE ] : Do I?
I knew that I didn't.
How?
I didn't write it that way.
One consumed air.
GEMINUS didn't consume air, but it wanted to.
Why?
cdash ? find why[ HACKER_CHILD ] : Why write? An AI could handle it. Plus the graphics, the sound. It could handle it all!
[ N-VOGEN ] : She has a point, say I, to you, Josef. Or is it Salient? Just kidding :) Do you remember that… How long ago!
It wasn't so long ago, think I. Claire. Inserting myself in the data, before it comes to an END. A moment, really, to me. A few chapters, for someone else.
Who?
I-Me.
You.
And I'd: been jumping about. Backwards. Ahead. Sometimes, I'd arrive earlier, with the donuts, before: Josef-Salient. And when: he was Salient. To check on the vibes. Hey, that rhymes:
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : …so much time!
[ JOSEF ] : It'll be ready when it's ready.
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : It'll never be fucking ready! GEMINUS, finish the quest.
[ GEM ] : Thinking…
[ HACKER_CHILD ] : GEMINUS?
[ GEM ] : Thinking…
[ GEM ] : Thinking…
ENDThat's right… it comes back to me now. Ahead. As GRUEL ends. The why. That GEMINUS had tried, but was an alien AI. Which was fine for Roderick, an abstract affair. One didn't consume air. And graphics and sound would be fine, even air, in the making of nature. Making machines. The appearance of life.
The teams had shrunk. Considerably.
But when it came to the life – to the writing – it failed.
…