A/N: This story is based on an experiment of sorts. My objective was to take the first preposterous thought that popped into my head and build it up with canonical support until it could almost be counted as a theory, were it even remotely plausible. When I was told that it would make a good story, I thought, why not? So now I'm taking the summary I proposed as a crack theory and converting it into an AU fanfiction in its own right.
Wish me luck.
And yes, I know that MM cartridges were gold. However, the one in Jad's canon is gray, so I'm sticking with that. Maybe there was a production anomaly somewhere.
Disclaimer: Do I look like Jadusable to you? No? Good, because everything in this fic belongs to him, not me.
Don't talk to the neighbors.
That was the unspoken rule for the little street on the outskirts of the city. It was also the strictest. Nobody on that street spoke to anybody they did not already know. There were no block parties, no yard sales, and the words "trick or treat" had not been spoken there for decades. Not all of them knew why, but it was generally accepted that the neighbors were dangerous, and most people simply left it at that.
Of course, the air was thick with whispers. Some said there were crime families living in some of those modest little houses, calling their hits and plotting their heists from the inconspicuous comforts of suburbia. Some would maintain that there was a human trafficking ring in house number four, where three small children could occasionally be seen from the attic windows. Others were convinced of the torture chamber in the old lady's basement, and that the yowling cats were a ruse, a cover for the screams.
The truth was only as sinister as the rumors: the Father lived on that street.
The Father was the leader of the Moon Children, a shadowy cult of masks and scars and eerie chants. Nobody knew much about the old man or the strange religion he governed, save for one fact that nobody could ignore. At first glance, nothing separated a Moon Child from any ordinary member of society, but whenever there was a mysterious disappearance in that area, everybody knew immediately that the cult had had a hand in it. Nobody talked about the Moon Children, but they were always there, always in the corner of the collective mind of the populace.
Once in a while, there would be gatherings. Tens of people would scuttle to a house, any house, in the stillness of the evening; there was, in fact, a rhyme and a reason to which houses were chosen when, but that was of no concern to the outsiders. All they knew was that if they all kept quiet and said nothing to anybody, their lives would remain almost normal.
It was not so for the Children. Contrary to the title, the majority of the Moon Children were adults, although their own progeny were raised into the cult and inducted as soon as they came of age. That was the order of things, and the ritualistic nature of the cult ensured that the status quo was always intact. Every rule was followed; no decree was questioned. And everybody knew that defying the order of things would result in grave consequences.
But that did not mean that it never happened.
"This is the coolest game ever!"
A ten-year-old boy stood on a polished hardwood floor, his eight-year-old brother peering over his shoulder in awe at the small gray object he held in his hands. "And it just came out a week ago! Everyone's gonna be so jealous that I got it first!"
Looking at her sons' identical grins, the woman couldn't help but smile in return. "And you two are going to be good tonight and play quietly in your room while mommy and daddy have their important business meeting, right, boys?"
But before she had finished her sentence, they had already turned tail and darted up the stairs with the cartridge. She smiled wearily and shook her head. She knew she should be confident by now that they would stay out of the way; they always had. But every time their home was to become the meeting place for the night, she felt the dread rise up in her stomach, the fear of having her sons discovered. She had made her mistakes all those years ago; she was tangled forever with the Moon Children, but she refused to raise them into it. They would have their own lives, their own identities. They would never know.
They were the only thing left that was hers, and hers alone, and damned if she was going to let the cult snatch them away.