A/N: I guess I ought to lay out a few ground rules as to how exactly I'm carrying this story out. Nothing too significant, as far as changes go. Simply that I'll be adding Captchaloguing and Strife Specibi as a feature of Sburb rather than as a feature of life. Seems simpler, I guess. Also, this exists in a different universe from any of the canon characters, aside from the obvious (e.g. Jack Noir, Black King, White Queen). And for the record, I hope it's easily discernible that I am not Andrew Hussie. I stake no claim to MSPA or Homestuck, and doing so would be just downright silly. Finally, this here will be your only warning of the swearing and potentially rather vulgar dialogue of this story. Sometimes it will be frequent, other times it will be nigh nonexistent — it will really just depend on the character. If you're reading this, you've read Homestuck, I'm going to assume, and really ought to be warmed towards that kind of dialogue already anyway. Enjoy the story. I'm not gonna ask you to review if you really don't want to, but they really would be greatly appreciated so that I know my story isn't being totally ignored. Oh,and good luck.
-MA
Act I: Carnage
Chapter 1
"Sburb in Suburbia"
Ends are not bad things, they just mean that something else is about to begin.
– Author C. Joybell C.
Reader: Be Topher
Yep. That's who you are. Sitting in your room, as you usually do on a Saturday morning. And, of course, you're on your computer, chatting with your friends who you've never met in real life. Well, most of them you've never met, anyway.
There's a pause in the conversation, and seeing the opportunity you push your rolling chair away from the computer, stretching out your limbs. A look around your room seems to rather reveal your interests.
Your name is Topher Rain. Holy shit do you love Doctor Who. The thought of traveling through space and time makes you giddy without fail. Even your messaging text color is TARDIS blue. Various figurines of the Doctor and the creatures he's met throughout the history of show line shelves on your wall, next to posters of the like. It's basically your whole life.
Okay, that's not entirely true. It's not true at all. You're a big music nut, evident in your rows of CDs next to your computer desk. Though you tend to prefer punk and alternative, you've got a somewhat embarrassing love for female pop artists. Such as Britney Spears, several of whose albums sit between your Bon Jovi and Cartel. Katy Perry and Katzenjammer are tucked between Jimmy Eat World and Kris Allen.
You're a very neat person, so everything is always in order. Everything in large quantity is alphabetized if it's at all possible. All of your video games and movies, which you have quite a lot of, are in perfect alphabetical order.
Well, there's really not a whole lot more in your room than various furniture, such as your bed and dresser and desk. At many points in your room are pinned up newspaper articles and headlines that struck your fancy. Such as the one about the meteor that struck just a few hundred meters from your house on the day you were born. Or the headline from the opening day of the 2010 Winter Olympics. It's mainly because you very much want to be a newspaper journalist when you grow old. The idea of sitting awake, tirelessly writing away at stories about major events into the wee hours of the night so that it can get on the printing press in time for the next day just fascinates you to the core. Almost as much as time travel.
The walls that aren't covered in posters and news articles are a plain cloudy gray. Very similar to the sky outside at the moment.
Too lazy to stand up, you roll over to the window and look out. Drops of rain spatter the glass. It's another one of those November days here in the suburbs of the wonderful city of Seattle. The Pacific northwest doesn't seem to deviate from this pattern, and you hardly want it to. You love cloud cover and precipitation. Especially rain. How lucky you were to inherit such a name.
Due to the weather, the neighborhood isn't very active. A single car rolls down the street, kicking up mist behind it. A dreary day. Definitely your favorite.
You hear a subtle beeping, so you roll back over to your computer. Your friend Rachael is messaging you over Pesterchum. You're actually rather surprised she's up this early. Most of your other friends live out east, or even across the pond, so it's not even morning any more for most of them. But she always seems to sleep in without fail. What would she even be doing up now?
- architecturalGenius [AG] began pestering gallifreyanCirculator [GC] at 08:06 -
AG: hey. :)
GC: You're up early.
AG: i have a feeling today's gonna be a good day.
AG: did you get sburb?
GC: I dunno. I haven't bothered to check the mail yet.
AG: oh come on christopher. don't be lazy today!
AG: we've got to start soon or charlie and demi won't be able to join us!
AG: it's already late afternoon over there you know.
GC: Yeah, okay, give me a few minutes.
AG: hurry! i wanna get started as soon as possible :D
GC: Well, aren't you full of liveliness this drizzly morning? Usually you can't type coherently until eleven.
AG: usually you're not even on until you've had two cups of coffee.
She's right. You know it. You glance down at your mug. She was spot on, too — it's your third of the morning, as a matter of fact. Granted, you've been up for four hours already, chatting mainly with the aforementioned Europeans.
GC: I'll be back in a couple minutes. Just let me check the mail.
AG: :D
AG: great!
You minimize the window. Pushing your chair out, you stand up, stretching your arms as far as they'll reach. You yawn. Widely. Shit, you are tired. Normally six hours is enough for you, but you didn't exactly get six hours of sleep last night. It was more like . . . three? If even. You're too tired to do the math now. You can only really concentrate on going down the stairs and slipping out the door into the rain.
Which you do.
The drops feel nice, pattering against your shoulders and hair. Trudging down the drive in your pajamas always was nice, though the shoes feel awkward and out of place. You look up, letting the globules of water splatter on your cheeks and nose, getting lost in the gray abyss of cloud cover, and . . . what were you even out here to do again?
Oh, right. Mail.
And there it is. Sitting right on top of everything else in the receptacle is a stiff envelope with the iconic green Sburb logo plastered on the front. You'd seen it everywhere in advertising for the game. Pulling the whole lot out of the mailbox, you discover another envelope beneath it, labeled with the secondary logo — a green circle made of a relay of arcs. A manifestation of a Spirograph tool. You'd needed to look it up, of course, but by now the geometric term had been engrained in your mind.
You head back inside, reluctant to leave the rain, but rather eager to get playing, now that you've started to think about it. This is the game you've been waiting months for. And as long as you've already got someone to start with, you might as well.
Slipping out of your shoes, you run up the stairs, past your parents, who are both in attire suitable for the day. You obviously aren't. They've been up for hours, like you, but they're up for a reason, at least.
They've got a luncheon and dinner to attend in Spokane, meaning they'll be staying the night there, meaning they'll not be back till around noon tomorrow. Meaning your little sisters are being shipped off to stay at friends houses for the night — they're just coming out of there room at your father's call. Meaning that you'll have the entire house to yourself until tomorrow afternoon, barring any visit from your older brother, who you seriously doubt will take the time to drive five hours through the rain just to see you. In other words, you've got a perfect gaming Saturday set up.
"See ya, Mom. Bye, Dad," you say quickly, hurrying down the hall to your room, shutting the door behind you. A minute or so later, you hear your dad's car start up. They're gone.
Finally.
Sitting down at your computer once more, you notice that a certain Rachael has been messaging you through the two minutes while you were away.
AG: i've already got the entire chain worked out.
AG: you-me-alex-demi-foster-noura-isaac-charlie-you
AG: just like that.
AG: i've already messaged everyone else.
AG: actually, i think isaac and charlie have already started.
AG: are you even still there or are you out rolling around in a puddle?
GC: I'm here.
GC: Got the game. Both discs.
AG: excellent!
AG: go ahead and install the server disc. the one with the green circle thingamabobber.
GC: Spirograph.
AG: right.
AG: just install it. i'll be your client.
GC: Okay, then.
You gracefully open the envelope. Well, not exactly. It was more along the lines of mangling the envelope, really. You always did suck at opening any sort of envelope. Luckily the disc wasn't injured in the horrific process, so you manage to get that into your computer's disc drive without a hitch.
As much hype as this game has been getting, the start-up screen appears rather primitive. Then again, this is just the copyright information. Seems standard enough. Under it, some text appears, telling you that you need a client.
As if on cue, Rachael sends you her IP address. The game confirms that the connection has effectively been established, and tells you to hit enter. You do, initiating the actual installation process, implementing the various features of the game. You're not sure why it needed an IP address first, but you figure you'll learn in due time.
AG: it's gonna take a while to install, so you probably have time to eat or something before it's done.
AG: i'm gonna go shower. talk to you soon. :)
GC: Right. Later.
- architecturalGenius [AG] ceased pestering gallifreyanCirculator [GC] at 08:19 -
Just before you can get up, you receive a new message.
- adeptlyConstructive [AC] began pestering gallifreyanCirculator [GC] at 08:19 -
AC: Hey r u playing this game yet
GC: It's installing now. Why?
AC: Just
AC: Oh never mind you'll see
GC: Is there something wrong with it?
AC: No no
AC: Oh crap
AC: Yeah I'll talk to you later
AC: I gotta go
AC: Good luck
- adeptlyConstructive [AC] ceased pestering gallifreyanCirculator [GC] at 08:20 -
You get up before anyone else can message you. The Sburb installation hits seven percent as you do so. You do pride yourself on the fact that you have a rather efficient computer, but the time this is taking and will take is just absurd.
Heeding Rachael's advice, you opt to take a shower before playing. Otherwise you'll feel grimy all day. You could do with a bit of refreshing. Maybe you'll even grab a bite to eat while you're at it. You've gotten into games before and spent several hours rooted to the spot, forgetting all other needs. This time you probably should prepare a bit.
Nevertheless, your friends recent message left you a bit perturbed, and wondering what exactly you're about to get into . . .
o-o O o-o
Reader: Be Rachael
You are now none other than Rachael O'Kelly. Sitting in the living room of your family's suburban residence. And just back from a nice hot shower. A pretty normal morning from the look of it. Except your father is out of town on business, leaving you to your own devices for the weekend. And no reason not to. You are sixteen, after all. Perfectly capable of managing a household by yourself for a few days, or even more. Still, though, your father won't leave you home alone for more than a few days, and if it weren't just a quick weekend trip down to Salt Lake City, your grandmother would be there griping up a storm about you. You much prefer being on your own.
You try to message your friend Topher on your laptop, but he doesn't appear to be back yet. It's no big deal, though. The game is finished loading, but you're not ready to start yet.
Eager, you run upstairs to get dressed. A quick glance about your room divulges your interests. Posters upon posters of your favourite movies litter your bedroom's interior. Nathan FIllion takes up a sizeable chunk of them: Serenity, a few from his TV series Castle, and Saving Private Ryan (even if he had a ridiculously minor role and isn't at all on the poster). Your favourites hang right above your bed — particularly prominent are your three posters from the Problem Sleuth movie, based on your very favourite web comic drawn and written by Andrew Hussie, who is basically your idol. There is a poster for each of the three main characters — Nathan Fillion as Problem Sleuth, Kyle Gass as Ace Dick, and Adrien Brody as Pickle Inspector. To this day, it is the highest grossing movie ever made. And quite easily your favourite film ever.
Various DVDs and CDs strung about your floor indicate your general messiness, not to mention the stains on the carpet from all the times you spilled Mountain Dew and Red Bull and other various beverages you frequently consume to keep you up late at night.
Then there's your computer desk, strewn with balled-up paper, half-covering your keyboard. The monitor's off, but not the computer itself. Although you don't use it nearly as much as your laptop, you prefer to have it ready at a moment's notice for those inspirational ideas you get sometimes at two-thirty in the morning when you're hyped up on energy drinks.
Finally, in the corner there's your drawing board. You do doodle when you're bored or stuck, but you're not really an artist in the usual sense of the word. Your tools are concrete and steel! Well, as you've never had a building commissioned due to the fact that they're either totally impractical or utterly fantastical or both, your tool is paper, technically. And your computer counts too, you suppose. But you don't know why the big banks and corporations don't fancy your ideas. Though you like to think that they only discriminate against you because you're just sixteen.
You kick a few balled up blueprints under your bed and make your way to your dresser, pulling on a set of clean clothes. You're in such a hurry to get back down to your laptop that you hardly are looking where you're going.
A terrible pain — arguably the very worst pain in the whole fucking world — shoots up your leg.
"Fuck fuck, owww, fuck!" You fall to the ground, clutching your foot in sheer agony. "Shit, fucking dammit . . ." You curse up a storm as you look around for the culprit. Your eyes narrow as they fall upon a simple white LEGO, blending in nigh perfectly on your white carpet. You swipe it to some desolate corner of the room as you stand up, as if it was the LEGO's fault you weren't wearing shoes or even socks or that you left it there.
As childish as LEGOs seem to other people, you love them to pieces. Nothing could be better to inspire an amateur architect or simply pass the time than a plethora of colored bricks that let you build to your heart's desire. There were limitations, yes, but so many less than with genuine building materials. The last noticeable feature about your room is the multitude of models throughout your room. Scale models of the Coliseum, Big Ben, and the Space Needle are most prominent, encased in glass along one wall. But as angry as you are at the throbbing in your foot at the moment, you hardly want to stand around and admire them much longer.
You (rather cautiously) hurry back downstairs to see if Topher is back online yet.
Situated at your computer, you find that the Sburb game has long since finished loading, and that the screen has simply faded to black, leaving the name SBURB in green letters sprawled across it. It doesn't appear you can do much more as the client, however, so you now rely on Topher to get back and get started. You glance at the previous messages you sent him.
- architecturalGenius [AG] began pestering gallifreyanCirculator [GC] at 08:31 -
AG: topherrrr.
AG: :/
AG: message me when you're on.
- architecturalGenius [AG] ceased pestering gallifreyanCirculator [GC] at 08:32 -
You frown, trying to message him again.
- architecturalGenius [AG] began pestering gallifreyanCirculator [GC] at 08:35 -
AG: fucking legos
GC: What?
AG: never mind. you're back! :)
GC: Well, yeah. Just sat down actually. Made a delicious looking couple of sausage biscuits.
AG: microwaved?
GC: ...
GC: Yeah, microwaved.
AG: it's adorable how afraid you are of the oven. :p
GC: I'm not afraid of the oven! Or the stove, for that matter! I just think that toaster ovens and microwave ovens do an admirable job of making food the way I like it.
AG: sure. :)
AG: so we should definitely get started. no time to lose!
GC: Rach, I think the game won't have a problem waiting for us.
AG: oh, you never know... :p
GC: Do we really have to include Noura? She really freaks me out sometimes. Plus she's kind of a total bitch.
AG: oh, noura's not that bad, topher. but seriously, it's probably best that we include her, to be honest
AG: from what i understand, this game is meant to harbor any number of players we could possibly want, so long as we have at least two. but having an even number kind of makes sense. seven would just be... weird. eight players. a nice, even, normal number. does that make sense?
GC: Yeah, I guess so.
GC: You really seem to know a lot about this game.
AG: oh no, no more than the walkthroughs i've read online over the last few days.
AG: i could send you the links if you want.
GC: No, that won't be necessary. I'm not a huge fan of walkthroughs.
AG: you never know. you might need some for this game. at least at the beginning, anyway. just to get going. none of them are really that extensive yet, though. not very good, either. :/
AG: except for one by a tentacleTherapist. what a weird name. i couldn't read very far into it, though. it got really kinda unnerving.
GC: Hmm. Well, how do I get started, then?
GC: I'm opening up the window to see what I can actually do.
AG: great! :D
AG: so where do you think we should start?
You wait for a minute, which quickly turns into two minutes. Still no reply.
AG: toooopher?
AG: come on.
AG: seriously.
AG: CHRISTOPHER FUCKING RAIN!
GC: Oh, uh...
GC: Hey.
GC: Sorry.
GC: I just don't know if this is right.
AG: what?
GC: Umm...
AG: oh, right! silly me! X|
AG: yeah, you can see me, right? on my couch in my living room?
AG: i'm gonna wave.
GC: Holy shit. How exactly is this happening? I'm zooming out and I can see your whole house, and the edges of the next house over.
GC: Like a bird's eye view.
GC: How can Sburb be doing this? Like, a really, really powerful satellite, or something?
AG: a good guess, i suppose. it doesn't really matter, though, does it?
AG: the point is, the server can see inside the client's house, so that he can manipulate, and build.
GC: Why?
AG: i dunno. like i said, none of the walkthroughs ever really got very far.
GC: The power of technology continues to amaze me...
GC: So, basically, I'm viewing your house in real time.
GC: And I'm supposed to change things and build to help you achieve in the game?
AG: right. :)
AG: man, i can't wait until i'm the server player! i will construct the shit out their house. they won't even recognize it it'll be so good.
GC: According to your chain... Alex will be your client? Am I understanding this game right? Every player gets to be a server and client?
AG: absolutely right, mr. muckraker. you are one intuitive son of a bitch.
GC: Well, then. What should I do first?
AG: go to the 'deploy' section. up at the top.
GC: Okay.
AG: and, well.. deploy! :p the free ones, at least.
AG: according to the walkthroughs, they should be called the cruxtruder, totem lathe, and alchimeter. does that look right?
GC: Yeah, they're all here.
AG: just be careful where you deploy them. they need to be accessible later, alright?
GC: Yeah, no problem.
AG: you can move stuff around if you have to. just be careful.
GC: Okay, then.
AG: :)
It's another couple minutes of no messaging, and your excitement is making you bounce up and down. It's not until you realize that Topher can see you that you stop. Even if he's probably not looking at you right now. You hear (and feel) a loud thump as something big lands in the next room over. You jump up, running in to see the large machine that's been deployed where your family's dining room table used to be. All of the chairs have been stacked neatly on top of the table, which has been placed carefully in the corner, unharmed. This makes you smile. You head back into the living room to check the computer.
GC: Oh shit.
GC: Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
AG: what?
GC: Your toilet won't go back.
GC: Fuck.
AG: oh jesus my toilet?
GC: Yeah, in the bathroom down the hall. I figured I'd put the Totem Lathe in there, but, uh... yeah, never mind that idea.
AG: i don't get it. according to these walkthroughs players seem to do this a lot.
AG: it's kinda compact, isn't it?
AG: the totem lathe, i mean.
AG: why not just place it in here? and the alchimeter too while you're at it. so that they're close enough to each other to be accessible.
GC: Okay.
AG: i just feel like they're all supposed to work together. that's what the walkthroughs are saying.
GC: Pick up your laptop, I'm gonna move the sofa.
AG: right-o. :D
There's a lighter thump than before, as Topher moves your sofa over to the corner, just like the table and chairs. Off to the side, the Totem Lathe drops down on the floor. Your mom would be wincing at this if she were here. Finally, in the last corner, the Alchimeter drops down with a whump, making your entire house rattle from the impact. So much so that you almost lose your balance.
AG: now that's more like it.
GC: So what now, Miss O'Kelly?
AG: hold on, let me consult the walkthrough.
AG: okay, i've got it.
AG: you see that bust in the dining room?
GC: The Oprah Winfrey bust?
AG: no, the darth vader bust dumbass.
AG: of course i mean the oprah bust!
AG: take that and drop it on top of the cruxtruder.
You run into the dining room to watch, just in time to watch the hideous thing drop and shatter all over the top of the Cruxtruder. You shield your head from the debris, dust and pebbles showering over you. You wipe the grit from your face and hair and look up, grinning. Hovering just above the open Cruxtruder is a teal and white Spirograph, pulsating.
AG: meet the kernelsprite. B)