AN: I do not own NGU Idle. I do not own Chat Room #1. I do not own SirTaters. I do not own anything. I'm poor. :(
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Sir Taters was a completely normal English gentleman. Well, if one considered half whale hybrids that were somehow granted the knighting to Sir as completely normal English gentlemen. But well, it is England we're talking about, so that might not be entirely out of place.
As this chap was going through his completely normal day, he had no idea what kinds of machinations the Gods above (and even some of those below) had in mind for him. Ignorant as only a half whale can be, he stretched his arm to pet his kitty and started up his favourite game.
Suddenly he was in a completely different world. In the sewers of some God-forsaken place. He shakily rose to his feet. His eyes slowly got used to the darkness inside. From the corner of his right eye, he spied a rolling wall of text. What was going on here? Was he in a game? What RoB did he anger in his life to deserve to be put in a game, and a game as grindy as that? Life just wasn't fair!
Now he had the important thing to do! Try to remember what all that wall of text on his right was talking about being an optimal game. After all, he wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. As if on his thought, he saw someone in the chatroom screaming about three-minute rebirths. Wait! Rebirths? This game is going to suck. He was going to end up in this sewer like every time he rebirthed? Could he do some changes? Kill some boss that turned out evil later sooner? Not really, eh? He'd need to be super strong. And that started now.
What was the first boss again? There seemed to be nothing that one could fight here. Ah. There! It was a slight movement in the corner. Oh, it was just some fluff moved by the wind. Wait! Fluff? Time to fight!