A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 23rd of October, 2009, is this young man’s birthday. Though it was fourteen years ago he was given life, it is only now that he will wake up with all of his memories intact! Anyway. Oh yeah, his name is Jim. Man, I’m already doing a really bad job at this, huh. Okay. Whatever. Anyway.

Jim stands up. He finds instinct guiding his meek body towards the horrible, terrifying torture device known as an alarm clock. He finds a hammer within the contents of his eugolahctpac, which is captchalogue backwards, which is a reference to a certain forbidden webcomic, which in turn means the author’s sanity is compromised. Wow, we su1q`re are getting off track. Shit. Anyway. Again.

Jim retrieves the hammer from his eugolahctpac, which also contains lighter, matchsticks, matchbox, flint and steel, candle, flamethrower, and weapon of mass destruction that also just so happens to be yet another flamethrower. He proceeds to smash the alarm clock with the hammer, in as clichèd a manner as possible. It does not shatter into infinitesimal pieces as the trope goes, however. It just leaves a large dent. Jim—oh look, he’s getting a message from his Golretsep, which is not a reference to anything when spelled backwards! He ambles on over to his computer to open his Golretsep. It reads:

INCOMING DIRECT MESSAGE FROM: dankPantolonez1

dP1: yo jim. wsg /// pyroticAsylum001: Shut the actual hell up with your bullshit internet conversation conventions. Saying wsg is a disgrace to humanity. /// dP1: you’re a disgrace to humanity then B) /// pA001: That checks out. Anyway, wtf do you want /// dP1: such hostility. i only wanted to tell you that i’ve mailed you this cryptic looking game, lEVIT. it doesn’t have like. a description. but i just thought it might be fun. /// pA001: Alright cool cool. When’s it going to be here? /// dP1: idk i mailed it like a week ago so it should be there soon /// pA0001: Okay. Ig I’ll tell you when it gets here. /// dP1: aight later loser

How humorous adolescent messaging is . . . and aggressive too. Also in the name of humor, I’d hope. Jim looks around at his room. It’s familiar, yet that familiarity feels oddly unfamiliar, in the most convoluted backwards way possible. Almost artificial. Except that’s not really the right word either. From a bird’s eye view: bed in the top-left corner, large storage vessel in the top-right corner, table in the bottom right corner with a computer setup and a narrow book stand directly to the left of it, with a closet-type container in the bottom left corner; various items scattered upon the closet, computer table, bed, and other shit I don’t care to describe.

Many posters are on the wall, many of them black and white, for Jim has an interest for terrible old movies from the 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s. He walks over to one of these posters. It reads, “The Incredible Paris Incident”. Wow, that movie sucked. It really was the epitome of “bad 60’s superhero movies.” He also rather frequently likes to play games with his friends, such as Pantalones. Although you might know him better as dankPantolonez1.

DING-DONG SON OF A BITCH. Oh, hey! That must be the game! Although there’s no real way of actually knowing that, because a character said there should be a package coming soon, that must mean that that’s the package. Jim hurries downstairs and to his front door as fast as his legs can carry him (Jim is 5’9, unlike the author, with unnaturally long legs. Just like Saitama, actually). He opens the door, and immediately gets distracted by something outside.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Well. Not anything. Just, the sun reflecting off a car in a peculiar way. The grass, somewhat trampled because of godknowswhat. The other few housing units in the street adjacent to his. A woman walking along the sidewalk, with her dog following closely behind. The few weeds in his neighbor’s small plot of lawn, how they wave at him, what with the breeze blowing it softly. Noise from a different house on the other side of street, looks like a party going on. The smoke stacks from a local high school, the smoke rising into the air. The large set of stairs that one creepy neighbor has, going upwards at a sharp incline. A cloud, shaped kind of like a tree. Jim momentarily feels the urge to move forward, to proceed, to go out into the world, but it fades soon thereafter. He feels stuck here sometimes.

Anyway (again again again) Jim jumps up with the joy of a toddler about to chug an inexplicably horrible and terribly expired bottle of milk. The package is a pale yellow, and has the word lEVIT on it . . . in Comic Sans? What the fuck? What horrible type of blasphemy is this? Jim is disgusted at seeing this, and almost drops it on the floor. Instead, however, he turns it around to see what other blasphemous war crimes this inanimate object is going to commit. He doesn’t see any other words though. Only a logo. And what a strange logo. It’s a gray disk at an angle, like Saturn’s ring.

But there isn't a planet the disk is around. It’s a two dimensional heart (the shape, not the organ). Very odd. He opens the package, which is very thin, and inside is the disk (the one meant to go into the computer). This disk is also a pale yellow with that odd logo in the center, partially blocked by the circular hole in the middle of the the disk.

Well. Better fire it up in the ol’ computer.

Jim walks back into his house, up the stairs, and into his room, which just so happened to be only one of two rooms on the second floor. Not that their house was very big—it was really more like a condo—but still. Jim went to his computer, and messaged Pantalones.

DIRECT MESSAGE TO: dankPantalonez1

pA001: Dude, I got the game. It came with utmost timing, that timing being directly after you said you’d mailed it to me a week ago. But that is besides the point. I’m about to fire it up, have you already put it in too? Do you even know what the hell this is supposed to be xd /// dP1: i did actually. i learned fuckin JACK SHIT :DDDD though because it just like opened the windows terminal and it said “INPUT SERVER PLAYER IP ADDRESS” so i guess i need your shitty ip address? /// pA001: Yeah sure it’s [REDACTED BOZO] /// dP1: alright ill put that shit in /// pA001: What’s wrong with my ip address :( /// dp1: it’s an issue of your perpetual skill. /// pA001: I bet that will be a common phrase, just worded differently in exactly 11 years or so. /// dP1: yeah something like “skill issue” or some shit. alright hurry up and put the damn thing in your computer /// pA001: Alright I’ll do it now. Also I’d assume i need your ip address too so /// dp1: ok its [REDACTED AGAIN BOZO NICE TRY]

Jim inserts the disk into his computer’s disk drive. The terminal popped up, with a similar message to Pantalones’: “INSERT SERVER PLAYER IP ADDRESS”. He put in his IP address, and shortly after a series of technobabble it disappears. After a couple minutes, still nothing has happened. He opens up Golretsep to message Pantalones again.

DIRECT MESSAGE TO: dankPantalonez1

pA001: So like is anything supposed to actually happen or /// dP1: literally no clue /// pA001 Okay. /// dP1: oh wait what the hell another thing just opened /// pA001: Wait seriously, what is it. /// pA001: Uh you there pantalones. /// pA001. Uh.

What in the actual hell just happened. Jim begins to worry about this software he’s installed. He’s heard of his other friends getting viruses on their machines before, but wasn’t Pantalones sent this software by someone through mail? If they wanted to infect Pantalones’ computer, aren’t there other, more effective and easier ways of doing so? Like . . . not mail?

It was then, in his state of wonder, in which an earthquake began.