Second Life
July 2020
[b]Aftermath[/b]
Unshaven, haggard, and with little left to lose, Desmond scrabbled over the hard, rocky terrain of the mainland.
It had been different, once.
But none of that mattered now. The harsh sun beat down upon the crusty arid ground. He steadily headed westward, slowly but purposefully, among the ruins.
He had seen no one for weeks. Well, nobody living, anyway. Once, he came across a neko~cat under a tree, frozen in time. Her tail still twitching, glassy eyes shining soullessly in the dark... but no life within. Otherwise motionless for days. A deep server error, no doubt... from who knows what year. Finding some rocks, he did his best to cover her remains, lest the craven creatures of the night found it.
The land may have just about all been abandoned in name, but the truth was something else entirely. Watchful eyes tracked from the distance. Occasionally there was a distant fire, or shouting. These lone survivors weren't peaceful; they would usually grief you on sight. And why not? The only remaining order was isolated to the few violent, clannish enclaves. Most were better off out here.
Desmond staggered onward, westward, past the ruins of a half~derezzed house with a campfire inside. A humongous, half buried, abandoned tank was parked next to it. Utter silence. Could this be useful salvage? He checked the tank's internal coordinate readouts. Zero, zero... zero. Time to just move on.
Sunset finally arrived, and with that, he performed the ritual.
Check inventory: Nothing. Check Search: Nothing relevant. Check the map: only mainland... the rising sea having consumed everything else. Once, years ago, he heard signs of life from distant Zindra... but that had long been extinguished. To reply would have been to invite disaster... who knows what they would have done with him, had they found him.
No fire tonight. Too dangerous.
* * * * *
[b]The Artist[/b]
The next morning, coming over a rise, he saw a tiny black speck running around haphazardly in the vast emptiness. Dead ahead.
Altering course, Desmond skirted the hills to the south. "No thanks, I don't want this encounter" he thought.
But it was too late. The black speck stopped, and headed straight for him. Nothing to do, but calmly sit down and wait. Running would show weakness.
Eventually the black dot drew near enough to reveal the shadowy outlines of a man, with wild hair and a tacky tee shirt that said "Zyngo!" on it.
"Paradise!" the man shouted. "Freedom!" "Bliss!"
Desmond remained cautious.
The wild man danced a jig, clearly delighted to have found another soul. "Here my friend! Have a million!" ... and subsequently showed Desmond with a few million $L.
"Stop that." said Desmond flatly. "Quit showering me with worthless trash."
"Isn't it wonderful?" sang the man, laughing.
"What, sir, is the matter with you?" queried Desmond, annoyed.
"Nothing! The question is: what's the matter with you?"
"I'm fine. Couldn't be better." replied Desmond.
"But you could be! Look! Money is worthless! Land is free! We can all practise our Art, and form our society free from any constraints whatsoever!"
"Get away from me, you crazy old man!" spat Desmond.
And with that, the wildman cackled madly, and vanished off into the distance. "Free! Free!" he shouted, as he disappeared.
Desmond checked his bearings, headed west again, this time with a little more cover. That night, he checked his derringer again, just in case.
That fellow was off the deep end, to be sure. Out here, you could come across *anyone* ~ even Open Sourcers or Stallmanites. You just never know.
* * * * *
[b]Metropolis[/b]
Eventually, Desmond found a wide road heading westward... his destination was near.
The devastation around him slowly changed from a blasted heath, to postapocalyptic suburban blight, to towering remains of a great urban metropolis.
"If there was any order, civilisation, rule of law, or sanity left in this world... it would probably be here." reasoned Desmond.
He crossed the border bridge just as long shadows started falling toward him, from the desolate towers. A single, abandoned tricycle was parked smack in the middle of the city's main road.
Not a breath of life visible anywhere.
Ducking into an abandoned diner, Desmond reviewed his options.
Where was civilisation? Was his life to be reduced to a steady stream of cage fights, scrounging for free junk, and never a shred of dignified living ever again?
It was then that he looked back out into the street... and in absolute horror, he realised: the tricycle was gone.
Child avatars! And at that very moment, he heard several childlike laughs in the darkness. "Ring around the rosie... pocket full of posies..."
Struck with mortal terror, Desmond bolted for the street, running eastward as fast as he could go.
"Come back, mister!" he heard behind him in the distance. But in whatever was left of Desmond's mind, remained nothing but pure terror at the sound. Not even once did he question his fear... he was now a creature of this world himself, fighting for survival day by day.
What is the point of this?
cool story, bro.
[highlight](User was banned for this post ("Meme" - Benji))[/highlight]
[QUOTE=Bulaba0;23264890]What is the point of this?[/QUOTE]
You tell me
Great story. How long did it take to write?
Also not trying to be a kill joy, but creative work like this belong here:
[url]http://www.facepunch.com/forumdisplay.php?f=75[/url]
Is this some gay Badage Bros wannabe story gay?
yeh i prolly should have put it in creationism, oops. Can a mod move it
Is this... A second life... Fan-fiction?
Dear god.
It's happening.
[QUOTE=Quo Vadi;23265441]Is this... A second life... Fan-fiction?
Dear god.
It's happening.[/QUOTE]
Facepunch Fan Fiction next
I gripped my mouse, my palm flush against its worn, plastic surface. This time, I would get the funnies.
I launched myself into the news thread with the vigilance and ferocity of a tiger, analyzing the contents hurriedly. Dead orphans!
Perfect.
My fingers danced across the keyboard with the grace of water, surreptitious as it may be. "The only thing funnier than dead people are dead [i]orphans.[/i]"
At the time, I thought I would get all the funnies. Oh, how wrong I was.
I vigilantly F5d the page, scanning down to my post each time... One dumb, two... No! How dare they call me dumb!
I'll ruin you, Facepunch. I'll show you.
[b]Jack the Ripper[/b]
When Desmond awoke the next day, the sky above the grid was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. In other words: a bright, hard blue. He was in exactly the same position where he had fallen last night, as best as could be ascertained. And hopelessly lost. Nothing but ancient wreckage strewn about, and the leavings of squatters. Empty boxes and plywood, the occasional campfire, and the Anarchy symbol occasionally splashed on a wall or rockface.
Wandering aimlessly now, Desmond tried to recalibrate his purpose. What was left? What was worth doing?
As he wandered, slowly the lay of the land became a bit clearer, and parts of the area began to look darkly familiar. Once, this was oldbie territory; the land of the elite and favoured. Now... not so much. The wreckage around what used to be the Aerodrome was a grim reminder of the present. Everyone sane stayed away from the borders of Luskwood; should any civilisation remain in there, the keepers of the forest weren't telling. Rustles in the darkness and growls warded off just about anyone or anything. Like most places: too dangerous to investigate.
"Just keep walking." he thought, trying to formulate a plan. And then: could it be? In a clearing of rubble, a single figure sat at a campfire, rummaging through boxes. Was it... it was Chip! Chip Midnight! Amazing... this must be his place! Fancy finding him out here, after all these years!
Desmond staggered forward. "Of course!" The best way to be found... was to simply remain at the Old Places, the areas that one was known for... well, that worked for some. Not for Desmond, he thought... but some.
"Chip!" Hearing the sound, Chip startled, and looked up, blinking. "It's me, Desmond." Chip said nothing, but set down the box he was rummaging through. "I guess I didn't know you too well on the grid, but, you remember me, right?"
"Desmond." Chip said slowly... and suddenly seemed interested in the proceedings. "Dessmond." "Yes! It's good to find you here! Any... news! What happened to you? Have you seen any others?"
"Others." Something was really creepy here. "Yess, many others." Chip replied. "Great! This is your place, isn't it? Look, here's all your stuff!" Desmond tossed some boxes aside. "Why do you keep it like this? I'd figure you'd tidy it up a little... trying not to attract trouble perchance... blend in?"
Looking up, he noticed that Chip suddenly had pale yellow eyes.
"Heh, that's kinda freaky, Chip... but ah, I'm dominating the conversation... tell me what you've been through!" At that point, Chip's body fluidly transmuted, changing shape, color and size... and Desmond faced an exact copy of himself.
"Dessmond..." it said.
By then, Desmond was already running, and none too late. Out of nearby structures came a girl with butterfly wings, a ferret, and a wild~haired dude with a sparkly codpiece. They rapidly gave chase.
"Not... good..." Desmond's oxfords pounded the sand in a zigzag pattern, heading for a canyon. "Must... get... away..."
And for a time, he did. The canyon was long, and filled with the usual junk; some ancient cacti grew amid reddish rocks. Had he outpaced them? "Must keep going." How could he have been so foolish to fall into that trap? Chancing a look back, he saw distant figures slipping from one bit of cover to the next. Still followed! Keep going... when the canyon came to an abrupt end. "Uh oh."
No cover whatsoever at the end of the canyon... it was a box canyon. Desmond wiped his brow, dropping his glasses, looking at every possible option. Run back? Too dangerous. Can't fly... well, maybe this is it.
Shedding all pretense, four noob forms approached him on foot, grinning. Is this the end of my tale right here?
Suddenly, just behind Desmond in the very back of the canyon, a brilliant flickering pinpoint of yellowish light appeared out of empty space, about a meter off the ground. With it: a roar and a whoosh, and the canyon walls were echoing and flashing... when suddenly from the heart of the maelstrom popped an unlikely assemblage of mahogany and brass, lightning sparks and blasts of steam.
"Get on, Guvnah! Hop aboard!"
Immediately, four smartly dressed rabbits in red military uniforms assumed a perimeter defence, while the Rippers continued their advance. "Wah?" Desmond wasn't quite ready to believe this.
"First regiment of the Duchess of Primverness, Guvnah! Get ON, sir!"
With that, Desmond hopped onto the time machine, and the Rippers attacked. Everything was a blur ~ and suddenly, there were eight rabbits in bright red military uniforms, not four. All biting, scratching, bayoneting, ripping out fur... for who could identify one's foe, in a fight with content Rippers?
"Save yourselves!" screamed one rabbit from the fray, and one last rabbit in leather pilot's gear pushed a giant brass lever forward as hard as he possibly could.
Desmond reeled, and the world spun... then a sense of dizzying speed and detachment... the ground receded rapidly, and he felt himself flying high across a vast distance. "Are we... traveling through time?" "No, sir, you fell onto the sim border."
"Ah, right." Climbing back aboard the time machine, the tiny bunny pilot firmly pushed the brass lever once more, and the time machine vanished into the future with a pop.
* * * * *
[b]Suburbia[/b]
Days and nights passed like the flapping of a raven's wing. The time machine's bubble crackled and sparked warmly, as brass numerals spun the calendar days forward ever faster. All around, the years of the canyon flickered, as if in a silent film.
"How did you *find* me?" asked Desmond?
"Your glasses, Guvnah." The tiny pilot produced a dusty pair from the pocket of his faux leather jacket. "Found in the future by an archaeological expedition."
"You've got to save them!" Desmond remembered the valiant battle of the tiny rabbits just moments before. "Right, Guvnah, sir! I'll stop at the encampment, get reinforcements, and head back straightaway."
With that, the year on the brass console slowed, the months spun back down to readability and at last, even the day numerals slowed. 10 July 2025...
Desmond staggered off the time machine, while the tiny pilot blew an appropriately sized bugle. "To arms, brothers, to arms!" With that, dozens of heavily armed gunbunnies poured out of dun tents, each taking a rather precarious position on the time machine. Throwing huge golden arcs and roaring with energy, the whole entourage vanished with a pop.
Desmond examined the encampment... five small tents, an exquisitely set tea on a tray, and a small notebook: "The History of the Grid: Field Notes and Survival Guide." And in the lawn, was dug a series of small trenches. Yes, lawn. For looking up, Desmond realised that the canyon had been transformed. It was now a perfectly ordinary looking suburban area, in front of a perfectly ordinary looking house.
At that moment, a voice called out from inside the house.
"Get off my lawn!"
The voice sounded... familiar.
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