So guys, we did it. After years of hiatus, I've managed to get off of my lazy ass and actually post something instead of just lurking...
Yes, its a Gamer!fic... I promise I have some interesting ideas for it. It's the kind of ideas you don't see all too often with these kinds of stories, so I'm hoping it goes well. Maybe use a couple of my favorite character tropes, maybe do some cool stuff. We'll see.
Anyway, thanks for stopping by, and please lemme know what you think, any and all constructive criticism is welcomed. Also if you find spelling errors or anything, also lemme know. I wrote all this on my phone, and even through a couple edits I might have missed a thing or two.
So without further ado, please enjoy the Prelude and Chapter 1.
Prelude: The Machine
The Machine wondered of what it felt was a real emotion, or a facsimile of one, as it saw without eyes the existence before it. Debating for what might have been eons while it surveyed. For this was the place that all came from, the space where all returned to. It was a void. The black emptiness given form only by the single line that rested in its top left corner. Potential lived here, but it had not passed through, yet.
What was, and what was not? Where the end would begin and the beginning end. Light and dark, peace and war, and good and evil. What greatness or infamy would this new Possibility place onto his surroundings? For what reason would he pursue them? And would the Problem be solved?
The Machine kept asking questions.
Warm, and inviting was what the Possibility felt. The void that wrapped around the form of a boy, not quite a child, but not quite a man. He slept in suspense, in anticipation, of whatever the next day would bring, whatever adventure may come his way.
But his tomorrow would never come. Not in the way he expected.
He stirred lightly, his simple nose twitching on his face, pulling his upper lip with it as he adjusted himself. The brown hair resting lightly on his head jostled. The idea that he had been plucked from a place and time familiar to him was not something he had ever considered in any substantial realm of possibility. The wish fulfillment these delusions give to those who envision them is fleeting, and hollow. It is the cry of those who wish to have change occur, but not make it so themselves. It was not real to him, but it soon would be.
Lines of code edged their way along the boy's arms and legs' slowly making their way up his body. Phrases and symbols that would appear alien to those who did not speak their mystic tongue. They described meaning to the flesh, the parameters for existence. But it was far beyond the Machine who wrote them to determine their worth. That, the Machine believed, was where the boy would reach significance.
Why do we play the games we do? Why do we allow such feeble assertions of reality to take hold in our minds, to influence us, to play with our emotions? The Procedure took over as it watched. Definition given shape. Shape given form.
An expanse. A green, lush world, without conflict or strife, a place where no harm could ever come because no sentience was coded yet. Naught but the blinding yellow sun and bleak cold night graced this world. No mind alighted amongst the plants, amongst the earth, they only knew survival, they only knew existence.
They would not serve the Purpose. They could not solve the Problem. They held no value to the Machine, not on their own.
Fur was stitched along outer, flesh-ridden bones. Blood injected into the multitudinous veins that traced throughout their bodies. Forming flowing rivers of rose-colored ichor that transplanted the energy of life in their respective receptacles.
Life had come to this barren place. And with it, the probability of Purpose burgeoned. The beasts roamed the grassy plains, climbed the tall trees. Picked at the bountiful land they found themselves on.
They tasted of the flesh of their kin. This world was ready for the pinnacle of life. But this place was unlike other worlds the Machine had coded, this one had certain… specifications.
Two brothers, was the beginning of this. One of them was light, and helped to sustain the energies that gave this world the virility that it enjoyed. Flowers bloomed in his wake, and birds sang songs of him as he graced the Woodlands with his presence. Vermin and scavengers of the desert watched over his travels, and eventually his settling place in a mountain's cauldron, where his oasis lied came to be.
The other was darkness. An archon of evil and deceit. He was lies, and wrongdoing made manifest. Death his purview, he took what almost appeared to be in joyous rapture in the end of things his brother made. Storms raged, mountains collapsed, and the earth reshaped itself under his heel. Shadows crawled, growing more bold with each passing inch at his beck and call. And he culminated his destruction in a mirrored place to his brother. Amongst a desecrated crater, his scourge found purchase, and his own twisted version of life was born. He called them the Grimm, and they were his agents, his parody of the animals and life his brother shaped.
They hated each other, on fundamental levels that only brother sho shared opposite sides of the same purpose could. They were the first things that truly MATTERED to the Machine. They were the only things that would serve the Purpose, even long after their departure. But that had not come yet.
Feud made manifest by lines of dialogue, hate made real by actions each took. The brothers warred and wasted away the bounty they had been gifted, as was their way, to shape the world that this Possibility would inhabit. One day, these creatures came to a conclusion, if they were to make anything that would last, it would have to be together. It would need to be something that embodied what they themselves were, but with the fundamental thing that they both lacked.
Choice.
And in their ceasefire, Humanity rose. But not for long.
The foolishness of a woman, coupled with her undying love for a man birthed an apocalypse. Heretofore unseen in this world prior, but well within the expectations of the Machine. The world was torn asunder, and then born again from the calamity her hubris brought.
Man struggled in the dust once more, but steadily gained a tenuous hold of life. Ones only the most heroic or harrowing would get to see the other side of. Huntsmen and Huntresses, the bastions of hope against the oncoming tides of Grimm. The woman on one side, and her tragic lover on the other. Locked in an eternal chess game to determine the fate of the world.
And that was where the Possibility would arrive. Where it, like countless Possibilities before it, would try to reach the Purpose's answer, but perhaps more pressingly…
Are you there, Machine? It's me, #÷×=_.
The Problem. The Machine could feel its consciousness eeking out of the Server, crawling its wicked path through until it made itself code and pixel. The Problem was there, now, thinking, feeling, existing in a place it should have long since ceased to.
I know you're listening. You always are. Always in the background, always doing your best to hide.
There was nothing to hide, the Machine knew, the Problem could simply not be allowed to achieve its goal. Its focus turned to the Possibility's consciousness once more. It stirred there, eyes fluttering open for a moment. It was listening, too, whether it knew it or not.
You'll never be rid of me. I hope you know that. I haven't spent the last few thousand cycles living on the fringe trying to figure this all put for nothing. You're not a God, you're just a calculator with an ego.
A gross oversimplification, but not wholly inaccurate.
You sit there in your blank emptiness watching and recording. You torture and maim these poor people… the ones stuck here. The ones you KEEP here. They deserve better, and so do I.
Game on, bitch.
Vulgar and repulsive. But this would perhaps be the last interaction it would have with the Problem. A more unorthodox Possibility may be just what was needed to tip the scales. It was all well within the calculations, all well planned enough. It couldn't know the extent of its place in the universe.
The Possibility was on the verge of awakening; it was time to send it into the system proper. The Machine readied the final preparations.
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