Code is a Tricky Thing
To call code the lifeblood of video game characters would be a gross understatement.
The code in a video game, from the humble arcade cabinet to the computer disc played across countless hours and bytes of data, does more than keep these characters alive and moving about. It decides their physical appearances; it decides their in-game roles; it decides their abilities, be they stamina or speed or fire breath. It even dictates the basics of their own inherent natures. During gameplay, code is the ultimate arbiter on what events will happen when and how.
Code, the vastly-important stuff that makes up the very fiber of the characters' beings, is a tricky thing. While it can be manipulated by those with the right know-how, few characters are brave – or perhaps foolish – enough to tamper with its mysterious workings. On the rare occasions that, for good or for evil, one of the characters dips their hand into the mysterious network of data blocks and interconnecting wires that make up a game-world, the results can be rather… unpredictable.
A scream boiled in the old man's chest and begged for release, but his mouth was not his own so he could not give it vent. His eyes felt like they were on fire. His head felt like it was being crushed while at the same time trying to explode. His whole body felt like it was losing a battle against itself, and the results would be nothing he wanted anything to do with.
"Please!" he cried out within his mind, hoping to appease the yammering fury of the voice in his head. "Please just stop it, stop it, stop it! Go back, please go back, I don't want to die..."
"Shut up!" hissed the voice. It sounded almost exactly like the old man's, but with a rough hoarseness and a bitter rage that just wasn't in the old man's pitiful pleas. "This is your fault anyway, you obnoxious, sickly-sweet freak!"
"I'm sorry!" wailed the old man, even though he wasn't sure what this agonizing heat and confusion had to do with him. He had no idea what was happening; only that every iota of his body was in full revolt against his mind and that he was probably about to die. "I'm so sorry, just, please, please, make the pain go away!"
There was something like a cruel laugh from the voice. "You think I can, huh? You think I can do anything to stop this wreck of a useless body from hurling itself into the nearest inferno? News flash: I can't! We're both going to die, candy-brain, and it's your fault! You're dragging me down with your stupid marshmallow-fluff softness!"
"But, I…" the old man hesitated as the voice berated him. "I…" How could this be his fault? He had been dreaming up until now. Granted, the dream had been horrible – a nightmare in which he'd watched himself doing terrible things to those close to him – but it was only a dream! Surely he wouldn't have brought this awful pain on himself!
"No," the voice hissed, urgency growing in its tone. "No!" the heat was almost unbearable; the old man fought to block it out.
This is going to hurt!
The voice was screaming with helpless rage now. "No. NO. NO! I haven't come this far just to die like this! I'm the greatest racer ever and I won't - AGH!" the ranting changed into a frenzied scream of pure pain as fire seethed through the old man's code, pulling every pixel apart so that the searing flames could fill in the cracks. The pain became his one thought, and making it end by any means necessary became his only desire.
Barely audible past the fizzing agony and the roaring in the old man's thoughts, he heard the voice in his mind forcing out words in a dark whisper. "Both of us or none of us," it snarled. "You dragged me down; maybe you can pull me up."
"No," whispered the old man, but then what felt like a blazing knife sliced into his frayed code. The impact made him shudder; his vision flashed and as blinding light filled his eyes he felt like he was looking on reality at last. There would be no more dreams. Not now.
Not ever, he told himself.
Then, suddenly, the light was gone and blackness replaced it. The pain vanished as well, replaced by soothing nothingness. There was no feeling in this void, save a light weightlessness. Somewhere, his mouth was smiling in relief. This felt familiar; this was where he had been before the dream began.
With a jolt, the old man felt his senses suddenly being thrust upon him again. Gravity pressed its firm hand against his body, which was sprawled out on soft ground. Delicate little blades of grass tickled his nose, and the sun showered warm light upon his back. He sniffed, and the cool aroma of mint greeted his nostrils. Spearmint Circuit, he thought.
Tentatively, he opened his eyes – only to squeeze them shut again as the kindly sun helpfully poured its healing rays into his sensitive corneas. No more light, please. Slowly, hesitant to try moving since seeing had been such a bad idea, the old man rolled onto his side so that his eyes would be turned away from the light. Once again he opened his eyes, and this time there was no dazzling sunlight. For a few minutes the old man lay in the pale, untrimmed grass and watched the cotton-candy clouds overhead drift by, his head empty of thoughts.
A sudden thought jerked him out of his daze. Oh, no! I forgot about her! My poor vanilla bean... He forced himself to stand; his movements were a little stiff, but it was nothing that a bit of stretching wouldn't cure. She was so afraid in the dream. Afraid of me! But it was just a dream, wasn't it? It had no bearing on real life.
She's probably fine, the old man told himself, but that didn't stop him from setting off briskly – albeit in no particular direction - with his thoughts bent on finding the girl whom in his dream he'd done his best to kill.