This is my very first fiction. I have read many incredible ones on this site and I have finally decided to make my own. I hope that someone will read it and hopefully enjoy it!

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It was midnight on the homepage of the Undernet. A red navi was impatiently waiting there.

"Where are you? I'm not standing around here all day!" There was a great crack of lightning, and a gray navi walked out from behind the statue.

"Silence, Burnerman. I am here." Burnerman recoiled as if struck, but quickly recomposed himself.

"Who are you? My instructions were to answer only to Bowlman or Mistman." The gray navi grinned.

"I might be Bowlman," he said as he morphed into a tall, white navi. "I might be Mistman." At this he morphed into a purple, smokelike navi coming out of a lamp. Finally, he morphed into the startled navi in front of him. "I might even be you!"

"Aah! Copyman! I should have known!" Copyman laughed, turning small and blue.

"Who did you think I was, Spoutman? Blub blub blub…" Burnerman growled, sending fire spewing out of his head and arms.

"I'm not taking this from you! I am only talking to Bowlman or Mistman, you freak!" Copyman became a tall, robotic looking navi.

"Shhh… Shhh…You musssssst not loosssse your temper sssso eassssssily if you wantsssss to become an UnderNetNavi. Take thisssss messsssage data and bring it to Under 3. Give it to a navi called Cepheussssss. Then, you ssssshall get what you desssserve." He spoke in a strange, breathy voice, and every "s" sounded like steam out of a pipe.

"That's it?" asked Burnerman suspiciously, "There must be some kind of catch, a trick!" The morphing navi became Circusman.

"Do I really look like the kind of navi who would trick you? Ahoo, Ahoo, Ahoo!" Burnerman grimaced as he took the Word file and then pointed one of his weapons directly at Copyman.

"I'm warning you, kid. Anything goes wrong, any little thing, and you will face my flames! I will make you wish that you were never programmed, you viral anomaly!" Completely unfazed, Copyman became Freezeman and caught the burner between two shards of ice.

"Now, now," reprimanded Copyman. "You don't want to tick off your future boss, do you?" Burnerman grumbled, and jacked out of the Homepage into the normal Undernet. Copyman reverted back to his normal form and chuckled. "So, so gullible."

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Burnerman reached Under 3. He felt a strange power, something he had never felt before. There was a huge throne floating in midair in the center of the area. And sitting on it was the strangest program he had ever seen. He seemed to be made up of a strange, green energy. He wore a cloak and a crown on his head. A sound rang out, but Burnerman wasn't exactly sure if the being was actually speaking.

I am Cepheus. I am the one you seek. Bring the data to me NOW.

"You aren't a navi, are you?" asked Burnerman, shaking.

Perceptive. But I do not care. I will give you five seconds to hand it over.

"I don't trust you," Burnerman snarled. "You can take it from my deleted data stream!" He turned to run off, but was struck by a blast of energy so powerful he could do nothing but stand there, screaming as the energy entrapped him and began to slowly tear apart his programming with shocks. At Cepheus' unspoken command, the text file rose up from the screaming navi. He opened it, and read the contents.

Ah, so I should send Horologium to… But not until the…And then he will… Heh heh heh. This is your best plan yet, my old friend…After deleting the text file, he turned to Burnerman. "Shakespeare said not to kill the messenger," Cepheus' voice rang out loud and clear. It occurred to Burnerman that his speaking before had merely been his thoughts, so powerful that they became audible. "However, I'm afraid I never had the patience to read Shakespeare." And with that, he shattered a huge hole under Burnerman's feet. Burnerman yelled as he fell through the virtual floor, into the deep abysses of the Void, the uncharted area where the internet had not expanded to yet. Any file that fell into the Void could never be recovered by any means. Cepheus laughed cruelly, and then a large ship, the Argo, came to take him back to his planet, where he would wait for two hundred years before implementing the scheme. A MettaurΩ who had been inocently watching chuckled as he transformed into Copyman, knowing his boss would reward him for both delivering the message and disposing of Burnerman. And, in the real world, a certain brown-haired boy woke up, yawned, and grinned as the prospect of his 16th birthday dawned on him.

If he had known what momentous events would befall him that day, he would not have smiled. That is certain.