>|_ Your name is Noah Pologius and you're going to have a bad day. -- Undercutting the fact that his name was a thinly-veiled pun, focus landed on the first of many disasters. For even a certain game, about to go live around the world, took a backseat to what was taking place. Noah was shocked awake by the sound of smashing and crumbling. His older brother, whom he humbly referred to as the "Bad Man," was in the midst of smashing down the thin wall with a sledgehammer. This of course, required a little background information. The terrible sibling in question was ruled by an imperative by which he conducted his entire life: Get Views. He was far too old for reckless and inconsiderate pranks, but that wasn't going to stop him. The YouTube algorithm bathed in the sort of content that the Bad Man put out, which in tandem made up the brunt of the brothers' income. (or "brother" as it were, since Noah's portion of allowance was made off a separate merchandise line) Afraid of what he might do next, and inclined to sell as much merch as possible were the key factors shaping Noah's personality. It wasn't necessarily the norm depending on where he lived, but at the moment Noah's room consisted of a few thin boards, a bed, and a hanging cork board. That moment was fading as the boards flew to pieces in front of an intently rolling camera. In the wake of shreds of what was left of his privacy slowly wafting down around him in the form of dust, Noah pulled out his iPad to open the DMs. This involved a quick fist-bump to his Official Pewdiepie Brofist Fetch Modus. Open Pesterlog (Move your mouse to reveal the content) Open Pesterlog (open) Open Pesterlog (close) -- goronsCorona [GC] began pestering calculatedCalzone [CC] at 09:15 -- GC: hey u ought to DM me on Pandemonium instead GC: pandemonium: chat for the chad gamer slash dorito eater GC: anyway the bad man just smashed my room apart for his vid GC: buy my merch by the way GC: I need enough pocket change to buy those cereal singles from the convenience store GC: thank the god church for autocorrect I didn't know how to spell convenience GC: people usually say it con veen iance GC: seriously my guy only my bed is left he destroyed everything GC: it's all on YouTube later today I guarantee you with some monstrous thumbnail GC: I hope my copy of that new game shows up in one piece GC: it is super insane we all got early access! the odds we'd be in the closed alpha? beta? whatever it is GC: it just leaves me beyond words GC: hold on I think my legal custodian is about to pull more of his hilarious pranks CC: uhhhhhh CC: ok
Open Pesterlog (Move your mouse to reveal the content) Open Pesterlog (open) Open Pesterlog (close) CC: it's not an alpha btw it's actually the open beta CC: I've been attempting to research it and those that got early copies have uh CC: apparently just left their reviews unfinished CC: seriously, like this gorillaChimpanzee guy, his review slash guide or whatever isn't even fucking done CC: anyways I'm not buying your merch. just because my dad's rich off pizza doesn't mean I can go around spending money all willy-nilly. dude's got shit locked TIGHT. >|_ Your name is Randall Ortz, sole heir of the Ortz Pizza business. Well, really, it's more like a chain of fast food disguised as 'exquisite dining' or whatever the fuck your dad calls it. Speaking of which, where the fuck is he? > Be BIG PAPA. No. Primarily because he's not relevant to anything at hand, and even if he were, he is too busy doing other, arguably more important shit. Like filing his taxes. God only knows how much those drain his funds away. Looking up from his laptop screen, Randall spies the mailman having just driven away. The games. It is time. Or is it? His manic-0-meter is pretty stable; at least, for right now. He squints. >STRIFE! FUCK SHIT HOLY BALLS IS BEING OUTSIDE BAD. BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD. He quickly realizes that there is only one way to get the games. His father. Today is truly not the best day to be alive.
>|_ Your name is Courtney McNeely and you're about to take a cheap ass sword to your sister's- sorry, Onee-san's- head so help you god. The Japanese honorific thing was annoying, but bearable. Neither of you even speak Japanese, but it's not like anyone else has to hear you say it, right? And then it was the posters. And the figurines. And replacing every bit of media you owned with manga, anime, and light novels. Eventually she started buying replica anime weapons and putting them up in everyone room of the house. But what really set you off. What really makes you angry. Was when you went off to band camp, and you came back to find anime wallpaper and furniture covers over every inch of the house. You really liked your old blankets! But now your blankets all have some obscure character you can't name on them. Some pirate with bright blue hair or something. And your pillows clash horribly with the blankets. Where does she even get this stuff!? You pull out a Zoid kit that arrived during camp. Doing things with your hands always helps. You'd practice your saxophone, but you broke your last reed on the last day of camp and the new box was a few days out. Instead, you queue up some music at an obnoxious volume and start building a Sturm Tyrann. Down below, a delivery truck pulls to a stop, but you don't hear it over the music.
>|_ Your name is Lucy Hudson, but that isn't important right now. It isn't as if you'd tell a stranger that, and definitely not someone you met online and have never seen in person. Every one of your online friends simply knows you as ardousGentility, or AG for short. You are a very shy and careful person, which likely explains your lack of friends in real life. The homeschooling likely doesn't help either, to be quite frank. You have a passion for plant life, yet every single pot in your room houses yet another wilting and decaying fauna. Suffice to say, your experiences have been quite poorly with them. You are currently sitting on your bed, bored out of your mind. Your latest assigned reading for your schoolwork, The Giver, was already finished and sitting nearby. You needed something to do. >The game exists. Play it. You would! But you simply don't have it yet. It was supposed to come in the mail today so you could try and attempt to play it with your online friends, but as it stood there were only two options. Either it had yet to come, or Nanny would have it. She was... difficult to deal with sometimes. But of course, you still had to listen to her. The rules of the house were made for a reason. >Waste time on your phone. You do indeed. Sitting there for what feels like forever but has only been five minutes in total, you scroll past at least two ugly arguments on social media and like what is at least a dozen dog photos. Enough time wasting, what are you actually going to do today? >Do nothing. You try as you might, but you can't stop yourself from blinking. That counts as something, right? Bored of this silly game of seeing how long you can be bored, you stand up onto your feet. Feet tapping against the floor, legs a moving as you already started to walk towards the door of your room. Maybe Nanny wouldn't be so difficult today. >Get the game. Play the game. Stop being bored. You were just about to leave the room... But a friend of yours is clearly online! Why, you'd be rude not to message them before you asked to play, right? Forgoing your intent to leave the room, you sit down gently once more, fingers just about to type on your phone. Mere millimeters away... >Be someone else already.
>|_ Your name is Judy Lanelle and you are fucked. >Become unfucked Not that easy. You’d really like to not be completely up the river without a paddle, but the sad truth is that you are. Because today is a video day, and you have absolutely nothing to upload. You procrastinated and procrastinated and procrastinated and now it’s video day and you have no video. It’s too late to try and make one now, at any rate. You can’t make a makeup tutorial or anything and you’re pretty sure you’re out of foundation anyway after last month’s super fancy video. You could use your everyday one you guess, but it looks terrible in front of the ring light you use and the camera always washes it out. >Try and distract yourself You’d had some parcel or whatever coming today, right? At least it was supposed to come today. The mail system around here tended to be stupidly slow and they were infamous for late deliveries. Your internet friends - well okay, your only friends - had been talking about it and you’d decided it’d at least make for good live-streaming value if nothing else. Actually, maybe today’s video could be the livestream, if the video arrived and if the others were okay with being in a video. They know you only as tombstoneCity, a mildly cringe relic from your edgy twelve-year-old self, but you were stuck with it now. >Go look for the parcel Standing up, you almost trip over your baseball glove where it is on the ground. You probably need a new one soon, the thing hadn’t been broken in right and was all stiff in the wrong places. Maybe you hadn’t left it under your mattress for long enough, or put enough shaving cream on it. Whatever the case, the thing was kinda useless for catching half the time, and was just embarrassing to play with. You kick it under the bed and continue on your way, heading down the stairs.
| || || |_ It became clear that his fake room being smashed up wasn't the only thing Noah had to worry about that day. A quick check of his video accounts led to some startling revelations. Open Pesterlog (Move your mouse to reveal the content) Open Pesterlog (open) Open Pesterlog (close) -- goronsCorona [GC] began pestering tombstoneCity [TC] at 09:20 -- GC: check ur tube listings GC: i think my vids are being demonetized GC: it could be a bug so just check GC: in any case it just means the bad man doesnt get my ad rev He then turned to his Big Papa's pizza. His only love and solace in this world. Also, one of the few things he could actually buy with his merch profits besides fidget spinners. The Bad Man expected Noah to keep up "appearances" for the gravy train. His royal brohood would not be pleased with his loss of ad revenue, especially when he was so close to making Noah a viral hit that morning. Something about his pizza slice was intoxicating. The truth of the matter, was that corporate Big Papa's had added an addictive agent to the pizzas. This paired with their viral singing electronic idol would make their pizzas into a type of mind-control for the masses. To those unfortunate enough to still use their TV service, Big Papa's ads would swarm their senses for dominance. Of course, Randall's father had little to do with all this. He was enjoying a luxurious early retirement thanks to a social media scandal that forced him to step down, ironically making his life as a shadow CEO far better than ever before. Noah dropped his pizza slice and accessed his shurikenKind Abstratus; someone was near.
>_ You skitter back to your room. Deciding to pester someone other than gC, you take a look at your insurmountable amount of friends. Only your best-of-best friends will play this game with you, however. You pester arduousGentility, otherwise known as [aG]. > Be BIG PAPA. You are Big Papa. You have just entered into Serious Tax Situations, though, so you quickly decide to cease being Big Papa. Otherwise, you just might enter Strife with your lovely Tax Attorney.
