A/N: (mostly from AO3)
Okay, okay.
So, first off, I normally don't read or write anything to do with real people. It's their lives, and I don't like to assume or mess with that.
I am making an exception for a few YouTube fandoms, though I have a good reason.
I have read Dan and Phil friendship fics, and have considered a test thing of their first video of Undertale, where they're actually in the game.
The other, is Jacksepticeye. Specifically, his egos, since they're technically fictional characters. (I mean, I'm absolutely sure they all relate to aspects of his actual personality - like Jackieboy man, the superhero, relating to Jack/Sean when he's wanting to save people and be the good guy, 'cause we all know how much of a Cinnamon roll he can be, and Anti, like in the Party Hard series where we see some maniacal glee. I mean, there's a lot more to it than that but I'm not in the mood for writing an essay.)
So, the only one I really know right now fairly well is Anti, which everyone has their own thoughts and theories on. I personally don't like the base demon/virus one, and rather that he's literally a part of Jack's personality but a strain of the more. . . negative aspects of it. It's hard to explain what I mean, but I have an OC who takes different 'forms' of herself, that are based around concentrations of specific emotions (like one is Anger and Passion of Feirce protectiveness - "red emotions", if you will). That. . . still may not have cleared things up.)
Anyways, I've always wanted to try my hand at a darker piece, and I've been loving the three "trapped in game" YT fics I've been reading (Devil's Deal and Sudden Reality on AO3 that should be in my bookmarks, as well as one on FF that's really good called Mirror, Mirror by Skye Willows (this one has a really nice concept of Anti that I adore).) So, with that said, this takes place as though Jack and some friends are actually in a game of some sort and Anti takes over/comes out.
So, uh, I guess here it is. A practice piece using Anti. This won't be a full basis of his personality or powers if I ever write something else like this. Just a practice.
Also, if you think I should change the rating to M, please let me know.
DISCLAIMER: Youtubers are their own people, so they have ownership over themselves, and Anti belongs to the community and Sean.
Glitching
They've been in here too long.
His friends are worn down, he is too, but they're nowhere near the end of this damn game - they're barely three levels in.
Three out of ten - but it's the hardest game they've ever played.
And those stupid Designers stopped them. Again.
Jack's pretty effing pissed (has been on and off for a while, actually, in between the fear and mind-numbing focus on run run run run-)
It's but a moment as they're attacked - low on health already, and they haven't had time to up their stats or anything - and they're pulled into the fray, desperation permeating the air as they all remember that this isn't just a video game-
They've been in here too long.
Always close to death, but never the end.
He can hear his friends' shouting wordless battle cries, entering the fray; picks out Mark's voice from the commotion as he's close by, wielding one of the few weapons they have.
He doesn't know how long the bat will last.
And all Jack has are his fists; not that he's shoddy in a fist-fight, but the dude before him is wielding a knife, wicked curiousity on his face as he forgoes the additional gun.
' "I wonder how you lot will survive; uploaded and dropped in a world where the cards are stacked against you?
Guess we won't have to wonder long, eh?" '
Jack grits his teeth, imagining the smug bastard's face as he swings for his opponent's nose.
But in his moment of remembrance, he forgets the knife.
And then the world slows as the knife enters his side-
fire flaring and spreading out-
Everything tilts and shutters uncomprehensively as he falls, hitting onto the asphalt.
There's nothing but pain for a moment.
Nothing.
Then that feeling of wrong he'd been experiencing on and off throughout this whole thing comes back stronger, obscuring thought and vision and mind-
Then.
Then.
Everything
glitches.
It's not Jack.
He's not Jack.
But he's pretty effing angry.
He can't see it but he knows he's a corrupted file; his form blurrs and emits static, he moves too fast.
And if the other guy's expression is any indication, he's scary as hell.
Good.
Becuase he's going to p a y.
The knife is in his hand (and it feels right), fingers clawing into the handle as he snarls, because who the effing hell did this guy think he is? Stabbing his body like he has any right.
What did they think they were doing, any of them? What right did they have, keeping him here? Messing with what is his?
The knife is lodged in the other man's throat within seconds, jutting straight through to the back, grinding against the spine. He rips it out and the other man makes a choking sound, falling.
He knows what this world is, even if he doesn't know who or what he is.
He knows these people are real.
He knows he just killed someone.
. . .
He doesn't care.
In fact.
A grin splits across his face.
He's suddenly on another opponent (not his friends, not what's his; he wouldn't hurt what belongs to him) stabbing the knife into the soft flesh of his stomach, ripping through the flesh as he works his way up and re-adjusting his grip as the blood makes it slick. Hot, reeking innards spill out and the man screams as he dies, the man killing him glitching in and out, laughing maniacally.
(In his minds it echoes, it's not wrong not wrong he deserves it, they deserve it, hurt me, hurt them, mustmustmust and wantwantw a nt-)
He knows, vaguely, in the fog of his mind, that he'll feel sick and shock and regret once it's over, but the part here - the part in the now - takes twisted vengeance and enjoys it.
There's sudden shouts of 'oh god!' and 'Jack?!' and 'there's something wrong! Tell the director to check their files!' 'Run!', but he ignores them, hand grasping to grab the collar of another, knife tearing through flesh and nerve roughly, scraping as it hits bone and he throws the body down, springing to get another-
He trips over the corpse, not making it that far.
(Later - later, there's hands grasping around him as he screams, blood soaking his frame as he thrashes and glitches, fighting to race back to the carnage even though the men have long run off - but he can't fight the voices surrounding him because they belong to what is his, and he growls, then whines, and he stabilizes slowly, so slowly, the glitching calming and beginning to fade as he rushed back into himself.
And the hands release him as he falls to the ground, sobbing wretchedly and brokenly because oh god, he just killed people and, and -
and-
the darker part of his mind, like broken strings of code, laughing statically, maniacally, continues to try and surge forth, waiting, angry, eager to tear into flesh and to slaughter again.
and he's sure that he'll let it.)