The next day arrived with the morning light grazing over the trees, beaming through the window to his bedroom. A blue light hue painted the walls. Moko, tucked into his blanket, felt the soft fabric of the mattress keeping him cool through the night. When the rays pecked his cheeks, he rolled to the side and wrapped the blanket around his face.
Amidst his slumber, there were soft knocks from the door. His mind sluggishly grew conscious, but his eyes were still shut. Hearing the door open, a pair of heels walked in, and Moko could feel the eyes watching him. His mother said, “Good morning, Moko. It’s time to wake up. Did you forget about our last night’s conversation?”
Moko grunted and nestled deeper into his pillow. “Five more minutes…–”
There was a sudden rush of pain wringing from his cheek. He felt a sharp jab digging into his skin. Moko opened his eyes and jolted away. His arms straightened and heaved his upper torso from the mattress. His messy hair flowed upward with his movement. The blanket shot away. He rubbed his cheek, still feeling the throbbing pain he found unwelcoming during the early morning.
When he glanced down, he saw an envelope with a wrinkled corner resting on the bed. Moko thought for a second and gave his mother an irritated look.
“Did you throw an envelope at me?”
She nodded. “It works. Want me to throw you another one for extra measures? I have plenty.”
“The Lei Realm is going to erase your System if you hurt me from now on. Since I have a System, I now yield to the laws.”
“The realm erases a System if someone hurts the same person three times,” she corrected. “Get up and get ready. Your Asset is being prepared. I’ll be waiting outside.”
The mother walked out of his bedroom and waited outside in the corridor. Moko glanced at the envelope again and picked it up. In his intrusive thoughts, he ripped it open and saw what was inside. To his disappointment, it was hollow, a mere case with nothing within. With the torn paper, he left the bed and landed on the cold floor. He sighed, feeling the chilly ground inching up his drowsy body.
Moko threw the envelope in the bin and went to grab his clothes from the closet. Stepping near the doors, he gawked at it for a long period. He waited and waited, feeling like he was watching the paint dry. After the sudden epiphany, he grunted and grabbed the knob to slide it open. Snatching his shirt and the rest of his wear, he went to the bathroom. Yet still in the waking, his feet traversed with no attention. His eyes met no boundaries. Suddenly, his head slammed against the door. Moko repelled backward, hitching his throat as he became disoriented. Catching his balance, he rubbed his nose and forehead. He scrunched his eyes, watching the bathroom door shut closed.
There was another long silence, only the grudging stare penetrating the idle door to be opened. He collected himself and went to grab the doorknob. He grunted hysterically, feeling more defeated than usual. “Transitioning from a Scholomark lifestyle to this is going to take an effort…”
From there, the morning routine was usual. Moko got out of the bathroom anew. His face was clean and his hair had yet to be fully dry. He tossed his old clothes in a basket cornered in his room and made his way outside. Stepping over the threshold, he turned his head to see his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes fixed on her phone.
“Mom, I’m done,” he said.
She raised her head and put her phone in her pocket. Smiling, she retreated from the wall and walked down the corridor with him. “Let’s get going. Your Dad is waiting.”
Led by his mother, Moko walked down the long corridor as machinery and instruments rumbled the ground—strolling until they entered the production floor of the Domain. Industrial-grade lights welcomed him, the size of an adult man beaming down on the interior of the entire facility. Draping poles suspended them, arranged together as rows to cover every region in a luminous blanket of white light. One bulb aimed directly below at him, causing his arm to lift and shield his eyes from the radiant glow.
When Moko adjusted to the intense ray, the inner workings of the Domain came into view. His gaze shifted to the machines and stations, hissing and twisting, moving in orderly styles with their grinding gears and pipelines. Despite such a mechanical atmosphere, the air felt clean, bare of any smoke or debris. Only the scent of papers and wood lingered in the facility. Run purely by the System, engines used no fuel or storage for ignition.
Inside this large establishment, multiple rows of conveyor belts extended from behind to the far wall. Refined and unstained, these silver stands supporting these large rolling conveyors sent cardboard boxes down the distance. All boxes were the size of an industrial light, holding a sheer volume of paper Envelopes that could reach the thousands, and they slid gracefully down the rollers until landing on wooden pallets at the discharge end.
There, he saw 12 electric-powered forklifts in a straight alignment, each to the station that had cases upon cases of Envelopes being dropped on the pallets. They heaved the platforms and brought the boxes to the other side. On every round trip, each carried 3 boxes stacked upon each other. They were uncontrolled. No man ran the machines—fully automated.
When the forklifts reached the other end of their station carrying their wooden pallets, they placed them on an elevated platform. From there, towering machines anchored by side pillars descended onto the boxes. One by one, they delicately pushed the boxes from the pallet to another set of moving conveyor belts. These automated belts, sheeted with black rubber surfaces, hauled the boxes to the farthest wall.
Finally, the boxes got dropped into large pits in the wall’s cavity. That was their final destination, into a dark and somewhat endless fall. Moko watched them tip over and go out of view. Last night, his mother explained the general concept of Systems in this way:
“The envelopes fall in those pits to recycle back into our System. Like many Systems, our Envelope System has a characteristic of discharging Entities within its Domain and manifesting them as Objects—our Objects are envelopes. Through a series of manufacturing, refining, and packaging, the value of envelopes increases. As they return to the end of the cycle—meaning the Objects become Entities—the System will detect their higher worth. And the only way for Systems to accommodate those valuable envelopes is to make more digital Entities. So when they are discharged again as physical copies, a surplus amount is left in the System. In a way, we are making a net gain.”
He and his mother made it to the center of the infrastructure. When Moko turned behind, he saw the other half of the production line. The large boxes came from the other wall where thousands of Envelopes emerged from 12 open gates leading from the upper floor. They dropped on the rolling conveyor belts. As they traveled, a few more sets of machinery straightened the boxes, taped them, and labeled them evenly before they gleefully rolled right by him in the conveyor belts.
There were two floors. The base floor on which he stood was mainly heavy-duty, using clean forklifts, efficient conveyor belts, and labeling to recycle the envelopes. The upper floor had a different role. Unsure of Moko, he would discover the workings of the upper layer soon enough.
As he walked, his eyes peered around the area. Looking over machine tops and empty paths, Moko faced his mother and asked, “Are these all Assets?”
“The forklifts and machines you see are Assets. The rest are not.” She turned to face him. “For example, the path we are walking on is not an Asset, because it doesn’t contribute to the production. The same goes for lights. However, pipes and ventilation are important so that the papers remain dry and clean. As you might’ve guessed, they’re also Assets.”
“So Assets are only things meant to help increase the Object’s value?”
“Depending on what System someone has,” she said while resuming the walk, “Assets can increase the Object’s value. But Assets can also manufacture Objects. I work with Assets that make envelopes while your Dad works with Assets that enhance the envelopes’ worth. I’ll show you when we go to my floor. All that you need to know about an Asset is that Systems need them to increase Entity count.”
After a minute of walking, she brought Moko to a staircase that led to a walkway, straight narrow paths that weren’t considered floors—just an extra layer for people to oversee the production below them. They went up and continued strolling. His mother’s heels clattered on the metal floor. The platform was sturdy, keeping the balance of Moko stable. Fencings were planted on the sides for hands to grab onto.
Observing the scene below him with boxes sliding past, he thought to himself, –Every interaction is made through the System’s screen, the thing I see whenever giving an intense stare at my Cookie (System), causing it to prompt it up. Last night, my parents informed me that Entities are used to purchase things—one such is Assets. They go both ways: Assets help increase Entity count by raising the Object's worth; and with enough Entities, more Assets could be bought. It's a cycle for increasing production. But there was a problem: I only had the Entity count and nothing else. My Cookie never showed viable Assets I could “buy.” I practically have nothing. Based on their gestures, every System should have a list of Assets I could purchase. Realizing this issue, my Dad went to prepare a spare Asset I could use to kick-start my journey.
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Amidst his thoughts, he asked his mother, “Giving me an Asset; does that mean you won’t possess it anymore?”
She nodded, keeping her face forward. “When we give an Asset to you, it’ll be entirely yours to keep. Our System can’t use any form of it from then on. The one we’re offering, we had about 200 of them. But now they’re all yours.”
Moko paused for a moment. “Really? Couldn’t you just give me one Asset and be done with it? I don’t know what I’d do with a forklift, but you could give me one of them since you have 12.”
“Ah, maybe I should say it this way,” she said, turning her head to peer back to Moko. “When we give away an Asset, we refer to the inclusive category of that Asset. There is an inclusive category for forklifts, for instance. In that section, it shows me statistics of that Asset such as how many forklifts are owned, how big of a multiplier they provide, and if I can Upgrade them to a better version. So what we mean is that we’re giving you the Asset.”
“What?” Moko had to say. “Is that necessary? Just give me one of those handy Assets and not the entirety.”
“No can do. It’s just how it works, honey. There is no way to give just one since they fall into a category. It’s like if you were to go to some snack Domain to get one chip from a bag of chips. You can’t get one unless you claim the entire bag and open it yourself. By then, all of it is yours to have.”
A sigh contended. “Are there other things I’m not understanding?”
“There’re a lot of things to understand about Systems.”
Nearing the next set of stairs ascending upward, a flash of blue light erupted from the upper floor. The low hum followed by a whoosh directed his sight up the stairway. A sapphire and turquoise tint spilled from above. The walls and the passageway flared in white until they dimmed. The usual silver and metallic setting of the Domain returned, but the ominous fade of the glow caught both of their attention.
“Hurry now.” She encouraged with a smile, grabbing Moko’s arm and hastening their pace up the stairs. “Your Asset is ready.”
“Oh–”
His mother pulled Moko as they left the production floor and the walkway. Her heels and his shoes rapidly went up the level. They eventually came close to those industrial lights hanging beside them. Moko observed their sheer size, and despite acknowledging their massive proportions from below, he couldn’t help but feel diminutive when seeing them face-to-face. Passing them, they entered the dark ascent. But moments of progression, lights from the new floor lit their paths. Taking the last step, Moko was on the second level—the second production floor. He stopped walking once his feet felt the solid floor beneath him, prompting his mother to free his arm.
Moko observed the area, quickly overwhelmed by the stark contrast of the atmosphere between the two floors. Up here, the smell of paper scattered like finely aged wood—much stronger and prominent than the base floor. And then squeals of small animatronic figures and their tiny gears drew Moko to them. Dozens, perhaps a hundred, of them were rolling on their four wheels. These miniature minions barely reached the height of his knee. They transported baskets of plain and flat papers with those snip-snips, traveling up ramps and dumping them in entryways into machines. Once dumped, they came out from the bottom of the machinery with a new form, a shape Moko recognizes very much: envelopes.
Automated conveyor belts carried the trays of envelopes, once filled to the brim, and sent them to the far end where they were hauled to the next rows of processors. That station was connected to the bottom production area.
The mother gave Moko space to observe, and he took the honored time to do so. Their whispering-volume laughter never disrupted the astonished boy in his tracks. The miniature companions were all he could look at. Their orderly movement was satisfying, traversing in straight lines to dump paper from their baskets and then returning to the other end of the wall with swiftness. Following their motion drifting afar, he saw his mother joining with his father in the general direction.
The two stood below gigantic containers. They were so enormous Moko believed each one could hold a hundred gallons of water. But rather than liquid, chopped wood of various sizes filled them. The tubes below the glassy tanks extended down to the floor. At the tip was a small funky-shaped nozzle and a blue button just above it.
The small creatures strolled to the containers single-lined and placed their baskets just below the hole. One by one, they used their small snip-snips and pressed the button. Out from the nozzle came a gentle flare of light. In that quick second, the light faded, and a paper emerged. Thin and light, the material snowed down on the basket below and rested. Again, the creature pressed the button. Another flash of light emitted and then the drizzle of freshly made paper descended. It pressed again. And again. Rapidly, all the creatures below each tank tapped until they got a specific amount. Once they did, they grabbed their baskets and strolled away to the machine to make envelopes. Another creature in line would do the same. And the cycle repeats.
“Hey!” His Dad shouted, waving excitedly. Moko shifted to his thrilled parents. Wanting to trade the same gesture of exhilaration, he raised his hand. With an arm stretched his eyes noticed something strange hovering beside them.
There was a speck of white light levitating. It swayed up and down, elegantly spinning like it was some item to be collected. Its mysterious appearance made his hand freeze.
Moko walked to them, being mindful of the miniature things minding their business in their cyclic routine. His arms were awkwardly up, looking down and hoping he didn’t step on any of them. But with so many passing him unexpectedly, he felt like he was bound to crush one.
“W… What are these?” He asked them when he inched closer.
“They’re helpers,” his mother responded. “They’re an Asset just like our conveyor belts, forklifts, and whatnot.” She brushed her hair to the side. “They’re a very valuable Asset. In the beginning, our System pumped out envelopes by default. Later on, as we cultivated, we bought storage (Asset) that enabled the System to take a few steps back and only give out plain wooden scraps. With this strategy, the output of Entites into Objects starts with an insignificant value. The following Assets make the envelopes so that when the System turns Objects into Entities, the worth skyrockets due to a bigger marginal transformation. It’s very neat.”
“Not only that,” the father added, “some of our Assets work in a variety of ways. One Asset we’re about to give to you got replaced with helpers. They will accommodate the missing Asset, and despite it lowering the production rate, it isn’t unbearable.”
Moko stared at his father leaning closer to the levitating Asset, prompting him to look in the same direction.
It was about the size of his hand. Moko tilted his head, realizing what was beholding was literally a picture of a cartoon hand. The colors were white, rimmed with a black outline and a blend of blue sapphire tint. It spun without stopping, making him all the more attracted and mesmerized.
“And this is…?” Moko asked, pointing at the white thing standing before him.
His father gave a confident look. “It’s a cursor. They used to press the button on the containers to summon paper. That’s their only job: to click. Oh! Fun fact, this was our first Asset. In the beginning stages, the cursor was used to click on the Envelope to make Entities that way. It was very basic, but we grew from that. As long as your System requires pressure or any kind of work done, the cursor will click and click. It’s very compatible with many Systems too. And if you–”
“Okay!” The mother intervened, messily smudging the father’s mouth with her hand. She silenced his ramble and gave Moko an innocent look, ignoring the struggling dad in the background. “Moko, go and claim it. It’s yours now.”
Moko observed the cursor. It kept spinning and spinning. Its gentle and silent characteristic felt strange. He assumed these kinds of feelings were normal. Either that or his parents were good at keeping things nonchalant. He asked, “So the… cursor is just going to… click on the Cookie to make cookies?”
The mother gave a nod of understanding. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”
In its steady position, Moko raised his hand, curling his arm, and keeping the palm out with intentions to touch it. Yet he froze in place. For a pleasant moment of everything unwinding, he took a deep breath and went for it. Reaching his hand out with straight fingers, he touched the cursor.
The object shook and shifted. It thinned like a fluid and flew below his arm, rushing down to his waist and inside the pocket. The Cookie resting in the same pocket rattled, seeming to respond to the cursor’s sudden invasion. They joined in the same compulsive rhythm as if the two objects were merging. The spot on his pants glowed in colors of white and brown. Moko stepped away and lifted his arm. His voice hitched at the sight of the System reacting unusually.
Feeling the Cookie rumble greater and greater, his hand reached inside the pocket. Moko rustled his fingers and felt the Cookie there, but the cursor was nowhere. He grabbed the System and pulled it out, realizing that the cursor was truly gone. Holding it, his fingers shook with sweaty palms.
The Cookie shined in a white rim matching what used to be the cursor’s. Static invaded his ears, a long and dragging sound of distortion and discomfort. Moko’s eyes squeezed and his teeth gritted against each other. Suddenly, a large window, a panel—a screen came into his view. Shifting his focus from the Cookie to the large overlay in front of him, Moko saw the expanded screen with new additions. He saw many more installments, many of which overwhelmed his already-shocked state:
42 Cookies
0.1 CpS
Owned: Buy: Upgrade: Cursor – 1
Cursor – 110 Cookies ??? – 100 Cursors