Prologue

Certain things are universally constant. Things like SBURB, and Jack. Other things aren't, such as who plays the game. A boy awakes, April 13th, 2009. He is thirteen, for the next two months at least. He slept with his blanket pulled over his face. Oh, the mystery! What is his name again?

Enter Name

CYNICAL McDOUCHE

A pair of grey-blue eyes appear from beneath the covers. They glare toward the screen, or from his perspective into space.

Try again, moron.

KEITH TRAVIS

Your name is KEITH. You're oddly protective about people seeing your FACE, for some reason or other. You have a strange jumble of INTERESTS. You love CORNY GIANT ROBOT ANIMES, MEDIEVAL EUROPEAN WARFARE, SHITTY FANFICTIONS, and HIKING, though you rarely get the chance to do it. What will you do? Besides getting out of bed, you lazy slob.

"Oh for gods sake, this format is painful, can we stick with a narrative, please?" Keith grumbled, reaching for the blank mask hanging from his bed post. He pulled it under the covers and emerged, his scrawny body clad in mask and boxers. He stumbled to his closet, grabbed a towel, and headed to the shower. Fifteen minutes later he was cleaned and dressed. His head had a short covering of brown hair, like it had been shaved and let to grow for a couple weeks. Actually, that is what he did with it. His family was out for the weekend, he opted not to go so he could play the beta he was going to receive today. He grabbed a bagel for breakfast and headed downstairs. The mail was sitting in front of the door, the beta plainly visible. He crouched to pick it up, sliding the bagel under his mask for a bite. The impact of the envelope against the floor crumpled one of the corners. The recroom where he kept his computer was immediately behind him. He practically skipped through the door, putting the disk in and beginning installation.

XxXxX

Keith sat for a minute, watching as the beta installed. A flashing icon notified he was being pestered by one of his chums.

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering crazyMask [CM]

EB: hey Keith
EB: you get the beta?
CM: Yeah, I'm installing it now
EB: cool.
EB: hey, you run the client application and i'll be your server player
CM: Don't know what that means but sure, why not.

Shortly, Keith found himself experimenting with the objects John deployed around his house. John put them in the garage, they wouldn't fit anywhere else. Keith returned to his computer to read John's instructions

EB: ok, so i opened the cruxtruder for you and released your kernelsprite
CM: My what?
EB: you have to prototype it twice
CM: What?
EB: put stuff in it
EB: you need to so it can help you
CM: OK
EB: when you're done with that take the cruxite to the totem lathe and put it and the prepunched card in the places they fit
EB: that will make a totem for you to take to the alchemiter
EB: it will give you an item you need to not get obliterated by meteors
CM: Wait, what?
CM: Meteors?
EB: me and rose already got me away, now i get you.
CM: Well, shit.
EB: youve got an advantage
EB: you know what youre doing and aren't low on time

Keith was still unnerved. He quickly dashed off to complete his tasks. He grabbed the potted venus flytrap from his room as well as a toy soldier. He scurried down the stair and into the garage to see a floating greyish blue orb. He stuck the plant in first, causing it to shift into a comical representation of the flytrap. Next he tossed in the soldier. "A comical flytrap with a gun. Sweet." He quickly returned to the task at hand "Cruxite goes here, card goes here..." he mumbled, finger sweaty and twitching. "Twenty minutes until impact according to the cruxtruder..." The cruxite began whirling, and the lathe lowered it's spikes. Keith grabbed the totem and heaved it on to the Alchemiter A lazer scanned the totem and presented Keith with a dull grey-blue log. Carrying the log with him, he returned to his computer.

CM: OK, so the thing made a log.
EB: i can see that
CM: What now?
EB: do something with it.
CM: Like what?
EB: i got an apple so i ate it
CM: Well, I suppose I should split this then.

Keith returned to the garage and grabbed the axe hanging from the rack of tools, and assigned it to his strife specibus. Upon returning to the recroom he looked at the log, and gave a practice swing to make sure he'd hit the thing right. He brought the axe up over his head, and swung down with all of his might. He struck the log slightly to the left of the center, as Keith had a tendency to do, splitting it unevenly. And with that, he left this world.