In the darkest of rooms on the darkest of nights, a single programmer was awake. Room alit only with the LED lights hanging off the walls of her room, and the glow from a single, bright monitor. The sound of a computer running, clacking of a keyboard, and the slurping of an energy drink were the only sounds in the room for the longest time.
“Come on, come on! Oh, fuck you python. You were running this script just fine a second ago; why the shit did capitalizing the character tag make it stop working? Ughhhh.”
And, well, the occasional obscenities of a frustrated programmer.
Energy drinks from gas station brands decorated her desks, along with junk food and candy that would make for a horribly unhealthy meal.
The typing only got more rapid, a speed almost inhuman and just as unfollowablet to any bystander. If one were watching, they could swear they saw steam coming off her fingers.
“Anndddddddd,” It all came to a stop as she raised her hand, a single finger pointing to the sky. She slammed it down on a key, all sound stopping like the final note of a requiem. Well, to her at least. The computer was still running in the background. “Done! Now, just to cut the first section into its own game and upload it to a demo…”
“Now, to upload the full game. What should I price it as? Hmmm, it takes a handful of hours to play through once, but it's meant to be replayed multiple times; otherwise why the hell did I bother coding in those other routes? Eh, ten bucks sounds fair.”
There was a click, and then a long bar with a percentage beside it began filling up. Every few seconds, it would go up one; which wasn’t nearly fast enough for her.
She laid back in her chair, kicking her feet up on the desk and knocking over a few cans.
“Now, the oldest game known to man: waiting.”
“...”
“Gosh, I’m bored.”
“No way.”
On the screen, there was a single animated girl. Though, calling her human would have certainly been a stretch. Her features were far more animal-like; Tufted ears and leathery wings, and red eyes that were unnaturally big. Her skin was dark black, with bright green hair so long it went off screen.
Only the upper half of her body could be seen, wearing a maid outfit that covered almost every inch of her body except for the few sections where her fur stuck out.
“Get your finger off the shift key, chat. Life Of A Daredevil did not just shadowdrop.”
Dozens of messages went by in the chat by the seconds, Fluttershy not even trying to keep up. Every few seconds, one larger message would show up in the middle of the screen in bold letters, a few dollars donated alongside the message.
“Oh, yes! This is the maid outfit stream.”
Another donation. Well, there were quite a few donations. The issue was most of them were a few dollars, and if she responded to all of those, she’d never get anything done.
“Yes, I’m wearing a maid outfit irl too.”
She was not, but they didn’t need to know that.
“Anyway, I’m fact checking you right now. If you guys are trolling me, I will end the stream early. We’ve already been going for an hour.”
She watched the chat this time, waiting for any of her thousands of viewers to admit they were lying.
None of them did.
“Really?” Genuine excitement bled into her voice.“Yay. Then I’ll buy it right now!”
She navigated to the website, quickly seeing on the trending the game she was looking for; Life of A Daredevil. The title was in a times new roman font, under it was someone in a ful orange motorcycle outfit on. A leather jacket and pants that didn’t exactly look that comfortable to have on for stunt-driving. The helmet had streaks of fair going on the sides and top, each one a different color of the rainbow.
It was raining quite hard, though it was mostly pixelated so it was hard to say how much exactly. Dark enough to make out the smile spray-painted onto the front of the helmet, but not enough to make out any features. That is, except for the occasional flashes of lighting, which showed peeks into the grim expression said daredevil was actually hiding.
“Ohhhhhh, it gives me the same vibes as Birth of a Daredevil! I hope it's half as good.”
A donation came on the screen the biggest so far. The bat's eyes widened, her sharp fangs glinting.
“Yeah, I can say that!” The deep breath she took was audible on the mic, eventually culminating in silence that brimmed with anticipation. “Hi, Honey!”
The chat was aflame with responses, just a blur that the average person could only catch a word or two of.
The batgirl paid it no mind, putting in her payment information offscreen as she began to download the game.
“Ten gigs? Wow, that’s much smaller than I thought.” Knocking on the door which startled her, loud enough to be heard over her headphones. “Oh, one second chat! I gotta pee.”
She went to the door, opening it slightly to see her mom on the other side.
“Honey, dinner is ready. Are you coming down? You promised.”
“Oh, yeah mom of course. Just, uh,” she glanced over her shoulder, the wallpaper on her computer screen already showing. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be right down, ok?”
Her mother nodded, making her way down the hallway.
Batgirl put her headphones back on, still standing as she closed a few windows.
“Guys, I’m so hyped for this! It’s almost my bedtime though, so I think I’m going to let it download and start it up in the morning. Be there or get sucked like one of my fruits!”
She waved to her audience, quickly turning off her computer and standing up. She let out a sigh, adjusting her hair and making her way downstairs.
“Well, it was only half a lie. I really am exhausted.”
Lights.
Camera.
Dancing!
The club was full of people, of life, of a magical air unlike any other. Even concerts or frat parties were incapable of matching the energy. People were shoulder to shoulder, bumping, grinding, out of their mind on alcohol or drugs.
Maybe they’d regret it in the morning, or maybe they’d die tonight. But for now, they were living their life to the fullest.
And that was something worth respecting.
Suddenly, the music stopped. As did the dancing with it. Pacifiers were pulled out of mouths as people sighed and groaned, turning towards the front of the room where the DJ was.
“Ladies, gentleman, and non-binary fellas,”
In a room that was wrought of deafening noise, silence rang loudest of all. Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched in anticipation, frowns curling into smiles.
“We bring to you, at great expense to us, the best DJ modern rave culture has to offer.!”
Darkness encompassed all their senses, all lights went out and any ramblings of conversation ceased. In the front of the room, behind the dj booth, a platform raised with a single person standing on it. They were little more than a shrouded figure, wearing nothing more than the shadows.
Then came the lights.
First, their eyes, sparking with blue lights as fiery glasses came around them. Then, holographic wings sprouted from their back, with their hair sprouting upward and staying that way like a burning flame.
They walked forward, spreading their arms as far as they could manage.
“Midnight!”
With a resounding clap, music once more boomed throughout the room. The only thing louder was the rejoicing and screaming of the partygoers, dancing with newfound vigor and energy.
“I hope you all hate Golden Orange, cuz I made her good!”
The voice was garbled and indistuingshable, as male as it was female. In fact, every part of their ensemble made it impossible to see anything; wearing a full body costume like the most professional cosplayer that ever walked the earth.
Country music filled the room, but not the kind that most would hear on a car radio. There were added beats, waves, and changes in volume. If it weren’t for the occasional string of guitar or voice, it would be impossible to tell it was ever country to begin with.
Midnight watched as they enjoyed her creation, expressing themselves with her music as a muse.
“Excellent.”
“So, you’re telling me that people are liking the remixes of my songs more than my own?” Golden Orange, wearing a contrasting set of black clothes as she looked at her phone. “And that’s why I have to do something different this soon?”
“Correct.” Svengallop noted, using a comb to make his hair as poofy and yet straight as possible. “We were planning on making a genre change eventually regardless. Doing so sooner while attention is still mostly on you would be best for your career.”
“I mean, sure. But is that really gonna solve this problem? Aren’t they just gonna start making remixes of my new songs?”
Golden tossed their phone to the side, walking up to the mirror and adjusting her hair. Her clothes were all ripped intentionally, from the jeans to the cleavage. It was a miracle to her she was able to go on stage with so much of herself showing.
“Possibly. However, legally, there is nothing we can do. The only compromise is to find them and entice them with some kind of contract where we profit off the remixes. Of which, I’ve already delved into and should be able to arrange a meeting within a couple of months. Assuming they care about money, that is.”
“Hmmm.” She started applying make-up, an absurd amount of which. “As long as we don’t dip into my reserves, that’s fine. Now, do I need to know anything before I go out on stage?”
“Not this time around, my citrus celebrity.”
“Stop calling me that. You’re not hot enough for that to be cute.”
“And you’re not male enough for that to be me flirting with you.”
They shared a brief smile as he escorted her out of the backstage, soon coming to the area right behind the curtains. All the staff were doing their jobs, though some of which were exchanging whispers and glances at Golden for her appearance.
Which was to be expected, of course.
“Now, like we talked about; start off with something really heavy, then give a few lighter songs to ease the tension. You want the audience to end with relief, not worry.”
“Yeah, yeah. Not my first rodeo.”
She poked out of the curtain, seeing her audience as large as usual. The initial stage fright had long left her, though it briefly returned tonight at the thought of how they may react to her change.
“Here she comes, the country girl with a big heart; Golden Apple!”
As she walked on to take her place, the cheering and screaming died down until nearly nothing but murmurs. Even the announcer lacked anything to say as he slowly backed off, unable to take her eyes off her.
Instead of a basic guitar, she had an electric one. Sitting at her stool with one foot on the bar like any other time.
“Alright, I know you guys have questions and inquiries about my appearance. But, please, save them for the end of the show. You came for music,” She adjusted the instrument in her lap, strumming it so loudly she could hardly here afterwards. “And thats what you came for. I wrote a little song titled ‘My Hearts a Rotting Tree’, now let's get started.”
“...our profits will increase exponentially, as will those who fear us. This only benefits us; I can not understand why you refuse to proceed with this. I can not be the first one who’s offered this to you.
Sombra, with two shadowy guards on both sides, walked forward. Wearing a suit and tie with hair so slicked back it was practically drawn on.
“Watch it, buddy.” Holder leaned forward on the desk, pressing her curled fist into the wood and making a creaking noise that echoed. She too, was wearing a suit. Though her face was only barely obscured by an old, amish style hat. “We agreed pandemic rules, and you explicitly agreed that if you broke that agreement I’m free to knock you on your ass.”
“My apologies, you’re absolutely correct.” Sombra stepped back, raising his hand to stop his guards who had walked forward with him. “Please, Miss Moneybags, explain to me why you refuse to work with this expansion. Or, at least propose an alternative.”
Moneybags was leaning in the back of her chair, wearing a suit and a mask that didn’t even give away the color of her eyes.
“And I can not understand why this is such an infuriating thing for you to understand. Surely, you’ve heard of my policy.” She leaned forward, holding the edges of ehr desk. “No kids, no teens, and no elderly people. I don’t care if it’ll make us the richest drug dealers known to history; I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I didn’t budge on this with Tirek, and I won’t with you.”
Sombra made a tsking noise, briefly clenching his jaw.
“What does it matter? If they’re a few numbers old that makes it ok for you to sell it to them, but you can’t do it now even if they’re going to regardless?”
“Congrats, it seems like you do grasp it.” Moneybags wave her hand, causing Holder to raise her arms and snort. “What was it you said before? ‘Morals are a weak mans quality?’. Well, I may be weak, but I am no man. If you are not willing to compromise on this, then we can not work together and will be rivals once again. Are you prepared for that?”
He scoffed.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then you are a fool.” Her and Holder exchanged a brief look. Holder stood tense, before going to the back of the room, opening a door and exiting the room. “And I do not make deals with fools. You may walk out now, but if you do, there will be no additional chance to change my mind. If you stay, I will give you a list of requirements your next adjusted proposition would have to meet, without extending into areas that will harm any of the demographic mentioned. And, if in a weeks time you’re still interested, I will listen. I owe you that much, at the very least.”
Like a cornered animal, Sombra growled, scowling with an intensity that almost burned. One of his guards walked up to him, whispering something in his ear that eased his rigidity.
“Very well; I thank you for your generosity. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be departing now. I bid you adeu.”
He bowed and, without another word, he left the building without another word. Holder was back, giving Moneybags the paper.
“Mumble.”
A figure came out from the shadows, covering vantablack clothing without even their face visible. Moneybags handed them the paper, which that took and stored on their body.
“Follow them and try to insert this paper on Sombra’s person without him knowing. If that’s not possible, leave it on his desk or whatever equivalent they have.”
Mumble nodded, vanishing once more in the darkness.
“Can’t believe that dumbass just left without your prerequisites.”
“He’s street smart, not really much else from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She scoffed, sitting on the edge of the desk. “What now? I don’t have any more plans for the night.”
“Hmmm,” Moneybags got a lollipop, slipping it under their mask and into their mouth. “Wanna watch sitcoms until Mumble gets back.”
“Depends,” They turned on the desk. “Can I choose the sitcom?”
“Sure.”
Crowds.
They were loud, passionate, and all the support one person could handle.
Even in a wrestling arena, where people held up signs and chanted, the aura in the air was tangible.
It was like being a singer at a concert. Truly, they weren’t that different.
“In this corner, at 230 pounds and six foot seven, we’ve got the Rippedtillian!”
A large man stood in the ring, muscular to the point of grossity. He wore a lizard mask and spandex, all of his muscles painted green with drawn marks to resemble scales. He flexed like a body builder, to which some of the crowd applauded.
“And here’s his challenger, at an unspecified age, height, and weight, The Bedazzler!”
The Bedazzlar wore a cape that went down to their heels, which, ironically, went up to their upper thighs. White gloves for the arms, and a suit and tie with an overcoat that covered everything else. Even their hair was covered in a large porkpie hat that didn’t allow a single strain out.
Face obscured by two carnival mask that would fit in for a masquerade, one on the upperpart of their face, and one on the lower where the eye holes showed the corners of her lips. She twirled like a ballerina, flashing her gems and crystals which were embedded in every corner of their wardrobe.
“Green is not your color! Please, allow me to give you the makeover of your life!”
The Rippedtillian walked forward, towering over The Bedazzler.
“I’m going to rip you apart!”
“Oh dearie, haven’t you ever heard?” She smirked, curling her body and tensing her muscles. “Diamonds are only made under pressure.”
The bell rang, and the referee got as far away from them as possible.
Swing after swing, the Rippedtillian tried to hit his opponent, but the cost of being an absolute unit is you are not very fast. Added with the fact that The Bedazzlar was a league above light on their feet, it was clear from the start who the winner was going to be.
She danced back and forth, it was like they were doing some strange version of the waltz.
Sweat began to build up on every crevice of his body, so much so that the green paint was beginning to wear off in places. With a well placed cartwheel, The Bedazzler kicked them in their lower jaw, knocking them on their back. They laid their breathing, eyes closed as their chest inflated and deflated like a huge balloon.
In moments, The Bedazzler was on their chest, knees to their arms and holding them down. The referee was nearby in moments, counting down as the crowd joined in.
“8.”
“You’re…”
He whispered, his voice not nearly as exhausted as he looked.
“9.”
“Welcome.”
“10!”
The crowd erupted in applause and screams, holding all kinds of signs for them.
The Bedazzler reached into their suit, pulling out some sort of nail-gun like weapon that was just as covered in gems and glitter as she was.
She aimed the gun at his chest, shooting him with ease as gems and glittler were shot out and covered his chest.
“You’ve been Bedazzled!”
She got up, falling over her own feet and crouching down to The Rippedtillian’s ears.
“And you shall be thanked properly later.”
The Bedazzlar got to their feet, celebrating their victory once more.
Heat.
It was in her bones, in her muscles, beneath her very skin.
Her throat was dry, and no amont of water parched the thirst. She was wearing minimal clothing, no lights but the necessary, and yet it only got worse by the minute. The idea of cold was so disant, so foreign, that she would have welcomed an ice bath.
One minute remaining.
She could only watch, only wait, only hope things would work out the way she wanted it to. She counted down the seconds, and each one only seemed to make the degrees higher.
She wanted to run, but that wouldn’t make the problem go away; just put it on someone else.
Sunset put it in, and now she has to take it out.
Ding!
“Oh god, finally!”
She put on her oven mitts, opening the oven itself and pulling out her magnum opus; macarons! Everywhere she could find had it at least as a top five hardest things to bake.
And now, they are done!
The heat became more tolerable, as she placed the macarons on the counter and ran her hands under cold water. Letting out a slight moan as the cooling sensation came over her body. She took off her ‘Kiss the cook’ apron, tossing it to the side as she pulls a chair up to the counter; a single glass of milk on the side.
She knew that they were hot and she should ait, but she needed to know how they tasted.
While still wearing the oven mitts, she picked one up, biting off a tiny corner of it.
“Oh my god!” Sunset had to keep her mouth open, constantly blowing air in her mouth just to tolerate the heat. “That’s the best thing I've ever made.”
She waited for the others to cool down, reading a book in the meantime. Before she knew it, it was finished, and her macarons were ready.
“What a productive day!”
