Moko proceeded to the first floor, his parents following behind. They left the production zone and entered the corridors. Lights shifted to a mellow gleam. The soft carpeting sailed his feet over the hall. His ears left the lively spark of machines and pipes and entered the serene tunnel. Passing through various doors, they entered the two-door entry.
A spacious room with sunlight peering through lofty windows awaited. Swinging wide, the cool atmosphere struck Moko as he passed the threshold. His parents proceeded before him, taking seats at a round table large enough to include a dozen people. They sat together, and Moko did the same, sitting beside his mother with an empty surface bare of food present.
Inquiring what the lunch would be, Moko faced his mother. However, she looked off into the distance awkwardly. His father, on the adjacent chair, behaved the same. With no words traded, their fingers began swirling and dancing in the air. They moved elegantly, appearing to interact with a force he couldn’t see.
After delicate tracings, the mother whipped her arm to the side. White gleaming orbs appeared and glued to the tip of her fingers. They looked like cotton balls flaring. The father had done the same, and at his fingertips basked in a white shine. Both veered their fingers across, sending the gleaming dots at the table’s surface before them. The balls glued firmly onto the wood, and they expanded.
One of the spherical lights flattened and its radius grew, taking its form and melding it into that of a plate. The glow faded, and out came a clean dish with contents displayed of food like ribs, beans, broccoli, and spinach. Another orb formed into a bowl comprising mixed vegetables. Another orb shifted into a glass cup filled with water—coated in droplets precipitating and sliding down onto the table. The remaining orbs transformed into forks, spoons, and knives.
The father brought out the same choice of menu. Delectable food waited to be consumed on their side, and Moko watched attentively. His eyes never looked away. The mother traced her fingers in the air and brought out another collection of orbs. She tossed them in his direction, striking the tabletop as they expanded. Thus, she presented food before his hungry eyes. Roasted beef and cut greens lay on the plates. Steam rose to coat the air, enticing his mouth to water and taste the delightful protein packed in those ribs.
“Applications, it’s what they are,” his mother said, bringing Moko’s attention to her. “The Lei Realm provides Applications like these that everyone could buy if they have a conventional System. Since yours is not, we can provide.”
She gave him a welcoming smile, stirring him to fare himself on the food placed on the table. He eagerly nodded. Grabbing knives and forks, the family feasted on their lunch.
----------------------------------------
Moko closed his bedroom door later that day and hopped onto his chair—the sun finally descending from its peak. He fiddled with the Cookie, causing the System to bring up the large screen he viewed.
162 Cookies
0.1 CpS
Owned: Buy: Upgrade: Cursor – 1
Cursor – 110 Cookies ??? – 100 Cursors
He leaned back against his rolling chair and spun around. Wherever Moko looked, the screen followed, fluently traversing in front of him by the slightest shifts of his eyes. It seemed like the screen refused to pass over his line of sight. Though it impaired the view partially, there was a transparency that allowed him to glance at the wall behind it.
Moko grabbed his Cookie, and with the other hand, pinched it. He plucked a chunk of light from the surface, and the melding figure gradually became a cookie. Standing from his chair, he nibbled on his extracted dough, dotted with chocolate chips.
(–1)
161 Cookies
The numbers changed when he pulled out a cookie from his System. He wondered, –The cursor has been making cookies for some time. It’s been about… 20 minutes? 20 minutes since I got the cursor. I really have 161 cookies in my System…
Moko walked in a circle, nibbling on his cookie while musingly watching the words placed before him. He observed the idle state of the screen. Nothing moved or got modified for a time. But seconds later, the numbers have been altered again:
[+1 cookie idly produced by an Asset → 162 cookies]
“Every 10 seconds, the System makes a cookie,” Moko said, taking another bite of his snack.
He focused on the Upgrades section. Question marks obscured the title, only revealing the requisite for it. The time to reveal the certain Upgrade was not felt under the anonymous title. After all, it required 100 cursors, and he has one. To his knowledge, he assumed the required numbers were needed to “buy” the unknown Upgrade, or it was the amount needed to unlock it with no sacrificed spending. It was like: “Give me 100 cursors and I’ll give you an Upgrade of something” or “Since you possess 100 cursors, you have automatically unlocked an Upgrade.”
Speaking of requirements, Moko looked at the section: Buy. As he bit the last remnant of his cookie, he lifted his arm and drew his finger closer to the screen. –It looks like I can buy a cursor.
Moko reached his hand out at the screen, aiming his pointer finger at the boxes with inviting words that provoked some interaction. When just an inch away, he felt a warm sensation emitting from the tip. He hovered right above the screen, and the surface shifted into a lighter brown. He moved his finger, but the highlighted circle followed. It seemed like it was aware of his presence. His eyes widened, drawing closer to the “Buy” box and pressing on it.
A bubbly pop sounded in his ears. A small ripple emitted from the sight he touched. It dispersed far until fizzling into a quiet front. It felt like touching a physical surface, but be it so soft and subtle, it felt nothing like one. Moko withdrew after pressing the box. Peering at the spot he pressed, he noticed an alteration. In fact, the entire screen changed.
(–110 Cookies)
+1 Cursor
0.1 CpS → 0.2 CpS
52 Cookies
0.2 CpS
Owned: Buy: Upgrade: Cursor – 2
Cursor – 121 Cookies ??? – 100 Cursors
“Oh,” Moko said, observing the new version of the display. Contentment rose in his head, though a tint of anti-climatic suspense left him wanting more. “Two cursors; 0.1 CpS per each. And there goes my 110 cookies.” –Not like I needed them, anyway.
With this fresh change, Moko hopped on the bed. He sat on the mattress and observed the System silently, being very patient with it. The clock hanging on the wall ticked by with each passing second. His legs draped, swinging in the open air. The screen stared back and presented Moko with the growing numbers.
[+2 cookies idly produced by Assets → 54 cookies]
About 10 seconds passed. It brought his total cookies up by 2. Moko exhaled through his nose and felt a bit dissatisfied. –A cookie should be made every 5 seconds now, not 10 seconds. But it doesn’t feel any different. He got up from the bed. He took out another cookie from his System as he thought, –I might as well not expect much in the number growth until days later.
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(–1)
53 Cookies
Moko began eating his second cookie of the day. Keeping his undivided attention on the System screen, he extended his arm toward the other boxes that encouraged the same interaction with the “Buy” box. Particularly, he stirred his sight to the “Owned Asset” and tapped on the surface. Though, nothing happened. Moko didn’t stop there, however. He aimed his finger at the “Cursor” box this time, hoping there was any reciprocated reaction. And to his surprise, there was.
A ripple emitted, dispersing far until fading into nothingness. Withdrawing his finger, a trail of light emerged beneath his fingertip. The light grew into a glowing ball—a puff of light; a fuzzy orb.
His muscles grew tense and his body stepped back. He gawked at the spherical light stuck to his finger and froze, staring as if he had picked on something he shouldn’t have touched. It didn’t feel warm or cold. There was no fuzzy or stinging sensation resonating from it. There was nothing. It was only a tiny fluff of light stuck to his skin.
Amidst the sudden appearance, he heard slight static in his System. Watching his screen, something got changed—along with the additional gain of one cookie from idle-makings…
[+1 cookie idly produced by Assets → 54 cookies]
(–1 Cursor)
0.2 CpS → 0.1 CpS
54 Cookies
0.1 CpS
Owned: Buy: Upgrade: Cursor – 1 (+1)
Cursor – 121 Cookies ??? – 100 Cursors
The number of Assets he owned decreased to one. The production decreased thereafter. Not only that, but another citing number appeared next to it. Moko was stumped as to the function of that number, but he assumed, –Most likely the “+1” stands for the cursor loss from the System. That means…
He looked at the dot affixed to his finger. –The thing I’m holding is a cursor. I just pulled my Asset out of my System. But why a ball?
An instance occurred when he witnessed something similar to this. And it wasn’t extensive until he realized the same gleaming orbs appeared when his parents extracted them from thin air—supposedly from their screen.
A wary state formed: the likely assumption brought by the time they tossed the orbs at the table. By chance, the same one on his hand would do the same. Moko questioned if he wanted to swing his arm like how they did. Yet he half-doubted if that was a smart idea. –What they tossed was food—supposedly an Application. What I got is an Asset. I don’t know if I should do anything about it. Maybe it’s best to ask my parents about this…
And thus, he journeyed out of his room, went down the corridor, and called his parents to ask—or so he wanted.
As he took the first step approaching his bedroom door, his ears picked up a high-pitched buzzing emitting from one side of his ear. Uncaring of the subtle noise, he took another step forward. He carefully lowered his hand with the ball of light so that nothing would happen. But elsewhere, the buzzing grew louder and louder. A fly, large and round—healthy and chunky—zipped across the air and invaded his ear.
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Lorace was in Moko’s room, lying on the mattress with a book in hand. Moko was on the chair, writing papers with his half-empty pen for his assignments to be submitted. The ceiling lights paved the sight for Moko, giving him full vision for concentration and attention. The light above Lorace was half-lit, giving enough whiteness to allow him to read the words on paper with leisure without intensive rays beaming at him.
The two studied and read silently late at night. Moko’s room was secluded with closed doors and opaque windows, and a faint sound of music filled the air.
After 30 minutes into their usual routine in Scholomark, Moko detected a slight disturbance in the air. Before he could react, that disturbance became a full-wrought raid upon his ear. A fly flew around and landed on his face. With immediate reaction, Moko thrust his arms away and pressed them against the tabletop. His chair rolled back and his body flung itself down. As if bracing for an explosion, he shot his torso low, almost bringing down his desk with him. The papers on the surface shot up. A loud thud echoed.
Lorace lifted his head, breaking his silence and dropping his book on Moko’s bed. The light above him flickered, becoming disoriented. Even the ceiling light cast upon Moko acted up. The bathroom door creaked open, the closet slid halfway out, and the windows tried becoming transparent, but couldn’t decide if they wanted to or not.
“Woah…” Lorace said, watching Moko on the floor. He was slapping one side of his face a few times. He then checked his palm to see if he had caught anything. When he didn’t, he searched around the room eagerly.
Lorace tilted his head. “Moko. Uh, are you okay?”
When Moko collected himself, his room followed suit. The bathroom door and the closet door closed by themselves. The lights suddenly blazed, and music stopped playing, leaving the place completely mute. Everything got brighter, causing Lorace to squint a little.
“There’s a fly,” Moko said, darting his gaze from one spot to the other. His attention was piercing like that of the ceiling lights. “It’s in my room. It’s a big one.”
“Ah, got it.” Lorace observed his friend walking around the place with absolute caution. To his amusement, he saw Moko’s hand in the shape of a flat surface. He was ready to hit something.
“Want to use my book? Maybe if you smack it in the air hard enough, you might paralyze it.”
“That’s what I’m intending to do, but I don’t need your book,” Moko replied resolutely. He hoisted his armed hand in the air, waiting for the fly to take flight again. “A hand is enough for a fly.”
Moko shut his lips. His hand was poised. The room flared, not leaving a minute spot in the room unlit. His ears were on full guard. Lorace closed his book and watched on the sidelines, holding his laughter and the urge to move from the bed.
He shifted his eyes to a sudden movement in the air. With alertness, he spotted a small black dot breezing through his room. It flew up to the ceiling, trying to touch the light shining down upon it. Moko didn’t waste any time. Stealthily, with his noticeably huge body, he trod forward and heaved his arm behind him. With his glare fixed on the insect, he held his breath and went for it.
----------------------------------------
Moko swung his hand with a mighty force. He whipped his palm toward the fly. Through the swing, he felt no subtle thud or impact on his skin—a mere traversing wind without any insect present. He missed. The instance he completed his swift move, the dot in his finger sprung outward with full throttle. The orb slashed through the air with an overwhelming speed.
In the middle of its course, the ball took the shape of the cursor. The gleam faded, leaving the physical appearance of his Asset moving across the room at terrifying speeds. With the index finger stretched out, the cursor reached the other side of the wall.
Striking the surface, it repelled, rebounding from the hard contact and leaving a small dent in the wall. It made its course due in a random direction. This time, the cursor shot itself toward a bookshelf half-filled with books. Its hard pointer finger smashed against them and the wooden tops. Papers ripped, and they snowed on the floor. The cursor flung away into a new direction without slowing down.
Moko knelt on the floor. He dropped his Cookie, immediately lifting his arms to cover his head. His eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched hard. The System screen faded, causing his sight to behold the chaos unfolding before him.
He watched the cursor move from one spot to the next with an unreactive pace—hitting one wall to the next, slamming onto an object and then another object, destroying a book and picture frames—falling down as shattered pieces, ripped pages, dismantled frames—and damaging everything in its sight. The sturdy window panels barely withstood the impacts. He grew overwhelmed, wanting to stop the cursor from its path but imagining it impossible with how fast it moved.
When the cursor changed its movement and directed itself to the mattress, upon contact, it ceased to advance its mindless attacks. The mattress foam sunk almost a foot deep. As the cursor jumped out, it left a permanent stretch on the bed. The cursor de-accelerated immensely. It fell to the ground and landed on the wooden floor.
The cursor began hopping, jumping up and down in random directions. Light tapping emitted from each bounce. Moko watched it move all across the room. With his Cookie resting beside him, he grabbed it and got up. The screen appeared again, yet his attention was on the cursor jumping around with such a springy characteristic. He cleared his throat, shifting his mind from shock to conflict. “Come here, you…”
Walking hastily, Moko leaned down and reached for the cursor. Its trajectory was arbitrary, prompting his arms to wander for a bit. When suspended in midair, he tried grabbing for it. The cursor grazed through his clasping hands—a miss. Falling back down, it went between his legs. He spun around, hoping it might bounce in that one direction. But to his realization, it bounced the opposite way, going past his legs and behind him again. Moko grunted and turned back around. The cursor hopped afar, hitting a wall and going off in a completely new direction. His feet scurried over to it.
Again, his hands went and grabbed for the Asset. Fortunately, the cursor went straight up this time. His hands were already in place, and he clamped his palms and caught it.
“Got you.” Moko panted, exhaling tiredly after a prolonged pursuit. Standing up, he let the cursor rest on his hand. He observed it and noticed nothing scratched it. Even the pointer finger that rammed through everything was unscathed. It was shining—glistening as if it was brand new. Compared to the cursor, he looked around his room and his eyes drooped.
His bedroom was wrecked. Three picture frames were on the floor. The glass shattered into pieces. The frame itself parted, and the picture slid out. Papers were scattered across one part of the room. One of the shelf tops was bent with small wooden chips jutting out. Books piled on each other. Small bruises dented the blue walls. Dozens of them were covering the place. And his bed had one steep crater. The bedsheet and the blanket couldn’t prevent the mattress foam from stretching.
“Great. Awesome,” Moko said in a defeated tone. He firmly grabbed his cursor and covered his face with it. He sighed obnoxiously. “At least… At least I know what the little ball does now...”