Part I: Master of Ceremonies
The future belongs to those who can manipulate entropy.
—Frederic Keffer
I
GARBAGE IN
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
". . . Ouch. Is this thing on? Hello?"
Tap, tap.
"You don't know me, but . . . you're probably wondering why we've hijacked all your radio broadcasting transmissions. Well, this is a deprogramming. Nobody move. Grab some FRESH WATER and get comfortable. You must listen to this.
That being said, I really don't mean to offend you, but . . . you are my property.
I'm dead serious. I own you. About a decade ago, I bought this video game for seven dollars plus tax. I was cheap and you were at the bottom of the secondhand video games barrel. It was meant to be, I guess. Maybe you belonged to a little kid. Or a really sad adult. Who knows?"
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
"Ouch. Hey, Marcus, can you c'mere and fix this thing?"
. . .
"Thanks. But all I can offer to Johto and Kanto is my story. How do I even begin?
I've got a bad history with video games. Destructive, really, but that's spoiling the whole damn story. See, I'm a bit of a postmodern Prometheus. I created a monster. But this— this wasn't just any monster. This thing ruined my life."
. . .
. . .
"Dammit."
. . .
"Sorry for all the rambling. I'm wasting your prime time, after all. But now I can't stop asking myself . . . what good was it anyway? Spoiler alert: we're all gonna die of heat death at the end of this painfully finite existence. I can't stop it; you can't stop it . . .
All we can do is sit here and deprogram ourselves. Let's get started."
A FEW MONTHS EARLIER
This story is completely true. It might have happened in the past or near future, and cannot be proven beyond a reasonable doubt, but it happened. And it began at midnight, since nothing good can happen at midnight.
". . . Dammit."
The protagonist of this strange tale woke up. Her neck lolled back, leaving her to stare at the tacky popcorn ceiling. She laid there on the sofa for a few seconds, blinking hard. That damned lab report had put her to sleep again. Grumbling to herself, she patted the air until her hand found the nearby lamp. She made it click and watched through the shade as the lightbulb flickered . . . and died a crackly death.
"Great," she sighed into the sofa cushion.
She buried her palms into her eye sockets. She grumbled some more, cursing all her poor life decisions for some reason, and yanked open the bottom drawer of the lamp's dresser. The contents slammed into the face of the drawer.
Crack.
She cringed at the unmistakable demise of a lightbulb. Her fingers started to roam the front corners of the drawer with the lightest pressure, searching for a surviving lightbulb. Glass shards were everywhere. Upon reaching the back of the drawer, they bumped into a foreign object.
To her surprise, she pulled out an obsolete toy: a Nintendo DS.
The cheap, glossy coating pooled all the weak moonlight into each corner. Surprised that the ancient hinges allowed it, she opened up the toy. Her reflections stared back from two dusty screens. Between its original owner, her secondhand usage, and an assassination attempt from her mother, it had survived a lot. It had lost its luster years ago.
But she was too old for video games. She was an adult.
The self-proclaimed adult felt a migraine beginning to develop and sighed. She leafed at an open book with the free hand, pretending to be productive, and shut it with yet another sigh. She stared around at the dark room. How was she supposed to get anything done in complete darkness?
Well, she thought, I guess I could use this thing as a light . . .
Her eyes wandered back to the Nintendo DS.
Click.
Nothing.
"Mmm," she mumbled. "Dead."
Of course, a Nintendo DS wasn't going to provide enough light. She grumbled even more, straining out of the sofa. She dropped the toy onto the hard cushion where she once sat. The wobbly hinges swung it shut with a loud clap. She tried to ignore her cringe.
Before she made it into the kitchen, she paused in the doorframe. Something felt off.
The protagonist turned back to the dead toy sitting there, all alone. It must have been in that drawer all this time. She hadn't played with it in countless years. Maybe a decade, even. She had beaten the entire game and even hacked— well, we aren't that far in the story yet.
Groaning to herself, she went back into the drawer and rummaged until she found the power adapter. She plugged it into a wall outlet, then punched it into the charging port on the back of the toy.
Click.
Its bright orange light came on in thanks. It wasn't dead, after all.
"Hope you're happy," she mumbled.
But she still needed to do something about the migraine splitting her brain in two. And, speaking of brains, it was ironic that hers put her in so much agony. She was going to become a neuro-oncologist someday.
She entered the kitchen. Rather than ruin her night vision, she kept the lights off and went to the medicine drawer. She pulled out a sheet of partially opened painkillers, then got an empty glass off the counter and filled it with sink water. The protagonist stared at the gigantic red pills in a sleepy haze. Even after swallowing one, she wouldn't be in good enough condition to continue those dreaded oncology studies. Cancer was not her friend. But they had a complicated relationship. It was a matter of life itself, and frankly, she didn't—
"Goo-ood morning, Miss Kotone!"
. . . Was that a voice?
Of course not. Kotone, still staring at the glass of water, figured that the migraine was messing with her auditory system. She popped out a pill, put it on her tongue, and swallowed it with a splash of water.
"Miss Kotone?" the voice said again, loud and clear.
Her eyes doubled in size. The pill occluded her trachea in an instant. Kotone put a hand to her throat with an airless gasp. Her brain, fuzzy with panic, raked itself for a solution.
Dislodge object via Heimlich maneuver: start with a fist, press between navel and sternum, place other hand over fist, ram into abdomen—
Kotone repeatedly jammed her fist into her gut to no avail. Her lungs spasmed. There she was, with a bright and beautiful future ahead of her . . . and she was choking to death on a painkiller. Pathetic.
"Is it really morning? Should I be saying good night? That is what you humanoids say, right?"
The little voice coming from the living room made her realize something: the sofa's blunt edge might help her dislodge the pill. Kotone staggered across the cracked linoleum and back into the den, reeling with oxygen deprivation, and lowered her shoulder. She sprinted at the sofa with all her might, aiming her abdomen right for the corner. She crashed into it and dragged the sofa a few feet over.
The pill, propelled by a rush of air, popped out of her windpipe and back into her mouth. She spat the gritty pill onto the cushions beside the Nintendo DS. Kotone stood there with both hands on the backrest, hyperventilating. That was going to leave a nasty bruise.
"Uh, Miss Kotone? What was that?"
"Oh shit," she breathed, remembering she wasn't alone. Kotone scanned every possible inch of the room, meeting empty air. She looked at the black window nearby and saw nothing but a terrified reflection. "Who are you?" she shouted, digging her nails into the fabric. "What're you doing in here?"
"I live in here," the voice said matter-of-factly.
Kotone looked down, realizing the voice was coming from inside the Nintendo DS. She blinked and made no effort to move. This entire situation was completely mindboggling. Was this some sudden manifestation of exhaustion? Encroaching schizophrenia? Was the universe telling her to give up and succumb to its inevitable heat death, albeit trillions of years in advance?
"I know you are there," it snapped. "Please open this thing up. I have to talk to you."
She sighed at the ceiling with shut eyes. And then, only then, did she resolve to pick up the console. She put her thumbs between the plastic halves and hesitated. Would this thing try to electrocute her? There was only one way to find out. Kotone tilted back the top screen at an agonizing speed. As she peered around the edge, two tiny eyes stared out from the bottom screen.
"Miss Kotone?"
They looked nearly as shocked as Kotone did, and her eyeballs were nearly popping from their sockets. Neither of them seemed sure of what to say. With agonizing slowness, Kotone brought a pointer finger to her chest and cocked her head.
"Are you . . . talking? To me?"
Kotone never expected a response as the words travelled into the microphone.
"Of course!"
She squinted and leaned in, focusing on the pupils. They eased forward in interest. Two white irises held a black pinpoint in their centers. She tapped the screen right between the eyes. They blinked and reared back.
"Miss Kotone?"
"Huh?"
"You probably should not do that to your toy."
Kotone recoiled her finger from the screen. It had a reasonable point, but this thing was so . . . warmly. It waited on her words with a strange reverence. But how exactly does one carry on a conversation with an inanimate object?
"Who . . . are you?" Kotone asked at length.
"I am an old friend."
She twisted up her face, then frowned and looked off; she didn't really believe that. She found it hard to believe this was all the work of a migraine, either. ". . . Uh, okay then. But how d'you know my name?"
It must have been smiling. "Everyone knows your name."
"No," she said, turning back to face it, "not everybody. You're scaring me. This shouldn't be happening."
"Oh. I am sorry. I do not like being scary," it said sheepishly.
Up close, the little shadow behind the eyes seemed . . . vaguely serpentine. Something more complex floated behind the primitive pixels. And its voice was unlike any other: perfectly genderless, yet it carried an essence of masculinity.
I should document this, she thought. Maybe I'd get a Nobel Peace Prize for a talking machine . . . I can see it now: Sentient, Secondhand Nintendo Product Beats Turing Test . . .
A renegade thought hit Kotone, in between the throbbing migraine and the insistent little voice. She surveyed the depressing little living room with a morose expression.
Maybe Nintendo would make me their spokesperson . . . then I'd get rich and famous and never have to work again. Yeah. Perfection. I'd buy a private island in the middle of nowhere, and . . .
"Miss Kotone? Hello-o?"
"Huh?"
"Okay. This is not getting us anywhere. Let us try small talk. You humanoids like that, right? What are you reading?" it asked politely, stealing a look at the wilted textbook nearby. That tattered thing was far older than them.
"A book."
"Of course."
Kotone and the houseguest stared at each other in the silence.
"A book," it noted. "How interesting."
". . . Yeah. That one's, uh, real hard. It puts me to sleep a lot."
"Really? Without directly using HYPNOSIS or SLEEP POWDER? Fascinating! Why would you do that to yourself?"
"I'm . . . gonna be a neuro-oncologist someday."
"A . . . er, what?"
"It's a type of doctor. I'm gonna cure brain cancer. I guess."
"Oh! Why?"
Kotone raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you understand my interpersonal family dynamics." She sighed, questioning her sanity, but let her curiosity do the talking. "Uh, why don't you . . . have a seat?" she said, then walked toward the front of the sofa, guiding the power adapter cable around it.
"I will attempt to do that."
She set the Nintendo DS down onto the coffee table, then sat down facing the toy. She put her chin in her palms and balanced her elbows on the tabletop, staring down at the screens. "Call me crazy for talking back to a machine, but can I tell you a secret?"
"I am not a— er, absolutely."
"My parents are making me do this. All this brain cancer stuff. I mean, sure, that's nothing new; parents do that all the time to their kids. I'm just . . . just so fucking miserable. And then—"
"Say no more!" the houseguest exclaimed.
"Huh?"
"I can help you with that. Really, I can." It swam up to the top screen for a better vantage point, looking Kotone right in the eyes. "Please let me help you," it said in a rush. It was almost breathless. " Come in here. With me. All of your problems will go away."
Kotone, annoyed that her guest had interrupted her tragic backstory, stared at the Nintendo DS in confusion. "I'm not sure if I understand what you mean."
"You. Me. In here."
"Like," she said, unable to suppress the disbelieving tone, and pointed at the Nintendo DS, "in there? Inside a video game?"
"Exactly! What do you think?"
Silence.
She removed her glasses, leaning back into the sofa cushions, and rubbed the lenses on the edge of her shirt. She held them under her thumb for a few seconds, trying to come up with something to say. "I don't really want that," she said tentatively.
The eyes widened, but continued to watch her.
She slipped the thick frames back on. Kotone's incredulous expression stared back from the top screen, superimposed over the tiny eyes. "I mean, that's real nice," she said as enthusiastically as she could. "But, y'know, impossible. Uh . . . like, I'm real sorry and I hate to tell you this, but basic physics renders that entirely—"
"No-no-no! You are so wrong!"
It dawned upon Kotone that she had just been dissed by an inanimate object. It wouldn't be the last time, either. She blew off an exasperated laugh. "You can't defy the laws of physics, pal. What's your name?"
"Defy? I have all that taken care of. What are you talking about?"
"I am talking," she enunciated ever so slowly, "about real life. Like . . . common sense. Don't be stupid."
They stared at each other in a sudden silence.
Kotone glared at the creature, then the Nintendo DS itself. The situation's absurdity finally kicked in. "Oh, what on Earth am I doing?" she cried, digging both hands through her hair. "I'm talking to a machine!"
"You are not talking to a machine," it said in annoyance. "You are talking to me."
"Then who the hell are you?"
A nasty little hiss came from the tiny speakers. "That requires a very delicate explanation," it declared. "And a couple of hours. But I can assure you that it makes a fascinating story—"
"Stop." She held up a hand and cupped her forehead with the other, as if that could prevent her brain from splitting open. "I'm sorry, but I don't care who you are anymore. You and this migraine are absolutely killing me. And I'm ninety-nine percent sure that you're a hallucination." She sighed. "I'm not a kid, y'know. Do I look like a kid to you?"
Silence.
"Do I?"
"I cannot answer that question."
"Well, you're in luck. Here's the answer: I don't. And y'know why? Because I don't have the time to sit on my ass all night and talk to imaginary friends. I don't care about stupid video games, either."
"Then why not just throw me away?" it pondered aloud.
Kotone crossed her arms and leered, glancing at the trash can. "That's actually a good idea."
"Wait, no-no-no—"
Kotone snapped up the Nintendo DS, clapped it shut, ripped the power adapter out, and tossed it back into the drawer. She kicked the drawer shut, rattling the cheap lamp in the process. It wobbled dangerously, then dove for the floor. Kotone lunged and barely caught it in time. She swore at the Nintendo DS around the lampshade, cursing it for ruining her night, and set the lamp back in its place.
Muffled complaints came from the bottom drawer, then silenced after a moment.
Good.
As you can see, things were not going as planned for either of the protagonists.
Kotone, mildly convinced she was developing schizophrenia, decided to schedule an appointment with her physician in the morning. She spent five minutes in the kitchen psyching herself up to swallow another painkiller. She glanced suspiciously around the doorframe at the dresser, and swallowed the monstrous pill with a full glass of water.
She survived, believe it or not. But her curiosity overrode her desire to lie down and forget about everything. If she was developing some disorder, there was nothing she could do right then.
There was nothing barring her from antagonizing her 'hallucination,' however.
So, Kotone pulled the bottom drawer back open and removed the toy. She held it shut and let herself savor the power trip. This was the most interesting thing to happen to her in years, but she wasn't going to admit that. Feeling unusually kind, she plugged the power adapter back into the Nintendo DS. Kotone opened it up and discovered two eyes glaring up at her from the bottom screen.
"Two can play at this game, you know."
"Okay."
"Go ahead. Turn on this toy."
Kotone raised her eyebrows. "And, what," she simpered, "you're gonna suck me inside a video game or something?"
The oily glint of a long, inhuman smile with lots of teeth flashed below the eyes. "More or less."
"Isn't that a little too cliché for your taste?"
"I have no sensation of taste," it droned.
Thrilled at the opportunity to make a fool out of an inanimate object, Kotone loomed over the Nintendo DS, staring down the eyes. "Then do you want me to click something? Look, I haven't played with this damn thing in years. I've probably forgotten how to—"
"No, just turn it on. On."
She scrutinized the tiny set of eyes. "That's all you want?"
"Yes, of cour— wait. Did . . . er, you read the HEALTH AND SAFETY PRECAUTIONS BOOKLET?"
She wanted to laugh at the ridiculous question, but found herself staring blankly instead. "Uh, nobody reads those things, pal. What's wrong with your voice?"
"Hmm. Maybe it does not matter?"
There were plenty of things that mattered to Kotone, and they all were more important than playing with a kiddie toy. She glanced at the clock and gaped at how much time she'd already wasted with this thing. She shut her eyes, feeling the migraine throbbing behind them. She took a deep, meditative breath.
"Just a click?" Kotone asked with limp shoulders, turning back to the toy.
"Just a click. A tiny click."
". . . Whatever."
Click.