Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On this day, the 413th of the sweep, everything changed.

A game was played, and mistakes were made.

But that hasn't happened yet, so let's focus on something else.

The day, for example.

On this day, the 413th day of the sweep, it just so happens to be a young woman's wriggling day.

What is your name?

Smelly Dumbass

[Try again, dicknips]

Rattie Tanjay

[Bingo!]

Your name is Rattie Tanjay!

You have a variety of interests, such as SMITHING and SPARRING. You spend a good chunk of your time DOWN IN YOUR FORGE, keeping your AWESOME MUSCLES and SMITHING SKILLS toned. You enjoy DOGSHIT MUSIC and EATING TILL YOU PASS OUT. Your SLEEPING QUARTERS are decorated with a variety of POSTERS which, when looked at, reveal some of your interests.

This is all written, of course, so I'll describe them later, as not to distract us.

Uh, you

As not to distract you.

Anyways,

==>

You, along with your 11 friends, are patiently awaiting the release of the hit new game Sgrub.

(And by hit new game, you of course mean the game made by your pretentious matesprite who has yet to be introduced but probably will be soon).

Huh, your head felt funny for a sec there... Whatever!

He's amazing at coding and robotics in general, although you're usually the one to forge the casings and skeletons for the machines.

Actually, here's one now!

[A skeletal structure stands before you, at the far wall of your room. It clearly isn't finished, but the with the blueprints he gave you, you can get the mechanisms made no problem]

《Ping!》

Oh! Is that them?

You scamper over to your cocoon, which you left your communication screen inside of.

Diving into the slime, you wriggle around like a newborn until you find it.

Who could it be!

Oh.

It's not who you expected, but a good friend nonetheless!

This happens on the regularly.

That's probably going to take a while to resolve, so in the meantime you might as well get yourself all figured out before joining the game.

[looking around your room, there are a number of weapons and smithing tools laying around. Of these items is your patented (it isn't) forge module captchalogue deck.]

Oh man, this thing is great! If you captchalogue something, it's broken down into its base components, and you need to rebuild it back into itself!

Thankfully, most of the things you'd captchalogue anyway is stuff you've forged, so it's just broken down into whatever metal was used, and something called a 'ghost image'.

The ghost image looks exacly like whatever it was that was captchalogued, but see through and intangible.

Neat!

There's also a weird sort of 'hypothetical creation' part of the deck.

If you combine items into something you don't actually have, it makes a ghost image of what those things could hypothetically make.

These things cost something called 'grist', which you obviously have none of, because it doesn't seem to be real.

《Ping! Ping!》

Oh, looks like another one of your friends is trolling you!

Before you do that though, you think you'll look at all the stuff in your room for worldbuilding purposes.

[Built into the back-right corner of the room is a blacksmith's forge, signs of usage and repair evident. Clearly this forge is loved, and has been around for sweeps]
Ah, your forge! How you love this thing. You remember the day you ripped it out of the wall of your hive and installed it on the ship like it was yesterday. Friefa suggested a sort of pulley system, but you knew your way would work fine.

[Above what looks like a rectangular kiddie pool sized trough of slime are multiple posters, blueprints, and photographs.
Aw man now there's a story! Seeing a picture of the night it happened, you remember when Zirtul, Ganari, and Sev all came over a sweep or so ago. This was when you still lived in your hive, so you had to sneak them all in.
(them being "lowbloods")
But man oh man was it fun! You watched movies and played games till the sun set!
Those were the days...

Okay, enough fucking around, you should really troll your matesprite about this game.

Chapter Text

[We do a zoom out, revealing Rattie has been on a pirate shit this whole time. The wooden hull rests atop (or is built into?) a flying whale lusus. We zoom back in, down into the captains quarters. Just waking up, a young troll dons his captain's coat.]

What is your name?

Pompous Faggot

[Try again, shitlips.]

Friefa Skagit

[There we go!]

Your name is Friefa Skagit.
You have a variety of interests, such as TREASURE HUNTING and SAWSHBUCKLING. You live on your ship, THE BELUGA, with your MATESPRITE RATTIE. You have a fascination with CODING AND ROBOTICS and often use it to your advantage when PLUNDERING TOMBS. You have been known to STEAL, CHEAT, and LIE, to get what you want, earning yourself the title THE CUTTHROAT CAPTAIN. That being said, you would never betray your friends, so long as they don't betray you. You have BIONIC LIMBS on your left side, replacing an arm and a leg you lost as a result of an accident a sweep or so ago, caused by your kissmesis. You briefly STOPPED TALKING, before reaching out to them a dozen or so nights later. They took a VOW OF SILENCE, hoping to quench their MORE AGGRESSIVE TENDENCIES.

《Ping! Ping! Ping!》
The only person who'd be trolling you this early is Rattie!
You open your Captchalogue 'Horde' deck, pulling a card from it. Turning on your patented (it actually is!) Lootbox. The fans briefly whir, before the screen blips on.

duelingForger [DF]
began trolling
roboticPirate [RP]

DF: HEy.
DF: HEY FISh sticks.
DF: YOU AWake?
RP: H€¥ R@++¡£!
RP: Ju$+ ₩¤k£ up. (8{D
DF: HOW'S THE GAme coming along?
DF: PH ANd UP already trolled me about it heheh.
RP: ¤h ¡+'s @lm¤$+ d¤n£, @€++u@ll¥!!
RP: R£@ll¥ @ll +h@+$ l£f+ ¡$ +¤ $£nD +h£ f¡l£ +¤ £^£r¥¤n£.
DF: SWEet!
DF: I CAN'T WAit for the others to get their hands on it.
RP: €¤|d£n+ @gr££ m¤r£!!

roboticPirate [RP]
ceased trolling
duelingForger [DF]

That being said, you haven't actually finished it yet.
The code is written in a language you've never seen before, so you had to basically re-built it from the ground up. Naturally, it was child's play, but the final touches are more difficult to even out. The game seems to have some sort of reality altering effects...

See??
This code here, you aren't sure what it's hinting too, or why there's an error. You're best guess is that each player gets a planet, and that they start on their own respective planets, portaling to eachother after a certain goal is reached.
And that second part is also confusing. You assume a one person game would be some sort of really hard sixteen planet mission??
You'd be more concerned about the errors if you could figure out why they exist in the first place... I mean, you can't even change the color of the errors for some reason??
Ah, fuck it, you'll just send it as it.
You're pretty sure the code will work regardless.
Before that though, it's time to look around your room to help show off your character.

[this room is clearly built into the ship: slightly curved walls, a porthole or two, a hammock, and a treasure chest behind the captains table (Of which a large map is rolled out). The chest is covered in gold and other valuables]
You grin a cocky grin, opening the chest. The gold is really just for show, the real treasure is inside. Opening the chest, you see a mountain of relics, weapons, and of course: machines. The impossible amount of items aren't actually inside the chest, of course. The chest is actually a shortcut to the storage hull of the ship, and where all your captchalogued items go. Your deck (which you made yourself) is a 'hoard' captchalogue deck. All items picked up, without having an available card for said item, will be instead teleported to your hoard of treasure on your ship. Items that are on cards are hidden from you, the card displaying a map. The item is unaccessible until you find it again.
This of course is wildly inconvenient, so you only keep things you want hidden away in your actual cards.

Alright time to send the stupid fucking game already.

Now you just have to decide who to have join...

Wait okay hold the phone.
That's too many new characters at once.
We gotta introduce them one at a time!!
Hmmm...
Let's make things easy, go in order of first appearances!
You're up next, rust blood!

Chapter Text

There, that settles the matter of who the first six players are, at least.
Tch...
Such a shame your no good "kissmesis" is joining. You'd hoped this would be a chance to escape em once and for all.
BUT NOOOOOOOO, ey just HAD to join...
Tch...
You should have seen this coming, but ey always seems to mess up your divination abilities...
That, and the issue of your ancestor being AWOL for about 30 nights now...

Now,
Who might this young enby be?

What's your name?

Pretentious Bitch

[Nice try, cunt]

Godyar Phorio

[About time!]

Your name is Godyar Phorio!
You a variety of interests, and by a variety, you of course mean ONE AND ONLY ONE. You spend 97% of your time COMMUNING WITH ANCIENT SPIRITS, aiming to write history books as a means of PROGRESSING ALTERNIAN SOCIETY. Or at least that's what you tell everyone. It isn't technically untrue; it's just that your motives are more so fueled by a VISION OF THE PAST where Alternia WAS DESTROYED BY METEORS. It is of your understanding that this not only happened to your "ancestor" and her friends, but that it is ACTIVLY HAPPENING to you and your friends as well. All you know is what your informant tells you, and according to her these meteors are brought on by the game Friefa found. To quote your informant,

"...the.game.has.always.existed..and.always.will...that.is..until.a.group.of.people.actually.manage.to.beat.it...me.and.my.friends.failed..but.you.
.have.more.players.and.you're.much.stonger.than.we.were!.
.i.wish.you.luck..Godyar..."

You're not sure why she speaks so slowly, but then again, you always seem to say everything all at once.
《Rattle~ Rattle~》
Tch!
What is that infernal puppet up to now?!

hauntingHarlequin [HH]
began haunting
psychicHistorian [PH]

HH: Heeeeeyyy Godyaaarrr~
HH: H0w's it "hanging?"
PH:WordsCannotBeginToDescribeTheMeltingHotUnadulteratedHatred¡FeelTowardsYou.
HH: 0000h0h0h0h0h0h0h!!!
HH: H00 h00~
HH: 0h y0u're just t0 kind!~
HH: L00king forward t0 playing with y0uuuu~
HH: H00 h00!!~~☆

hauntingHarlequin [HH]
has ceased haunting
psychicHistorian [PH]

If e wasn't already dead you'd have killed em ages ago...
Ey were so much easier to deal with when e was alive.
You sigh, taking out your tarot cards. Shuffling them up, you close your eyes and draw a card at random. The card turns into a framed picture, of who you know to be your 'kissmesis' when e was alive.

Godyar WhyDidItHaveToTurnOutLikeThis...
Godyar: YouChangedWhenYouDied.
Godyar: ¡MissYou,
Godyar: Sev-#%@♤●◇•¥

HEY.
NO SPOILERS!!
The dead one has to be introduced organically, just like everyone else!
Ey won't be introduced for a while now, I have-
I mean,
The universe has big plans for em.
Anyway,

You look around your hive wistfully.
[Unlike most hives, this one is only one story tall, with two rooms and a 'bunker' of sorts underground. The toom you are currently in is your sleeping quarters, while the one just outside the doorway is the sort of room you train and 'play' in. Not that you have time to play games lately, what with the game being released soon]
[Tromping down the stairs into your bunker, you wake up your lusus, who follows you. It's a weird little fella; a mutant of a more common genus. It has a sort of insectoid build, and goes through the life cycle of a pheonix. It ages rapidly, dies, then a pupa rises from the ashes. You love this little dummy]
[Walking around, you start sorting your supplies, making sure everything is in place. You've been waiting for this day for sweeps.]
Or, years, as your informant would call then. Apparently two sweeps is roughly three years? You find it all fascinating, but the both of you are too busy to chat casually.

Everything is in order, and now all that needs to be done,
is to wait.

Chapter Text

DF: HEHEHe
UP: Buut yyeeaah ookaayy!
UP: Yyoouu shoouuld doo thaat.
UP: lool

unnamedPlaytime [UP]
ceased trolling
duelingForger [DF]

Hehe, Rattie is always so nice!
Even when she visits, her thoughts are positive...

Oh?
The teal blood?

What's your name?

Dislexic Moron

[Quit being a bitch!]

Zirtul Rhulen

[There, was that so hard?]

Your name is ZIRTUL RHULEN!
You enjoy CRAFTING and prefer the comfort of STUFFED TOYS over real people. Your mind is constantly BOMBARDED by THE THOUGHTS OF EVERYONE. Because of this you have ISOLATED YOURSELF in your tree-hive, with only your BEST FRIEND, your losus! No matter what happens, she's always doing her hardest to make you happy. You are a PACIFIST and as such have ZERO OFFENSIVE ABILITIES. That being said, you can see your opponents thoughts; which, when combined with your trusty shield, makes for AN AMAZING DEFENSE.

[A lulling chirping noise can be heard; akin to an insect purring]

Zirtul: Ooh hii!! Iis soomeeboodyy reeaadyy foor aa miidniight strooll?
Dragon Losus:~Chiiiiirrpp!~

Hopping up onto your losus's scaly back, you hug her tight and prepare for lift off!
Your losus rears back, diving out of a window, gliding to the ground.
Stepping down, you grab an egg from your Captchalogue 'nest' deck, tossing it to the ground. The egg shatters, revealing a walking stick. Picking it up, you trek off towards your moirail's hive.
He's a bit of a nutjob, hehe, but you're glad you have them!

《*Pixelated explosion*》

AHHHH THATS HIM

==>

It appears your moirail has finished repairs on his hive, which he destroyed half of in his sleep a little while ago. His lusus (smartly) had relocated to an empty single unit hive a sweep ago, after accidentally maiming multiple of the residents of their previous communal hive. Since then, he and his lusus have spent much less time worried about wether or not he'd kill somebody on accident.

oh of course, his mask!

You almost forgot, it's been so long since you've seen eachother in person
He wears a mask due to issues with his lungs. According to his lusus, when they were a wriggler they were punctured through the chest by a separate (much more aggressive) lusus. Luckily wrigglers are sturdier then they look. Not that it didn't mess with his lungs, but the larvea of some speculative more fleshy ape-like species wouldn't have survived the encounter.

You hear a door opening and then closing, and you grin wide, turning to face your moirail.
He's covering his eyes with a cloth blindfold, and wearing his air purifying mask. Feeling his way towards you with a cane (one you must have forgotten at their place), you can only assume he smiles wide upon finding you.

Walking over to your moirail, you lean in for a hug, waiting for his permission.
In responce, he practically leaps onto you, hugging tight.
It's been far too long since you've met up in person.
They smell like gunpowder, various flowers, sweat. If you were blind you imagine you could find them from scent alone.
Luckily your eyes work perfectly fine, so you can see his sooty face for yourself.

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You fall to the ground, your head feeling like it's been struck by a burst of red hot information. This isn't like when you usually read minds...

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And as suddenly as it was there, it's gone.
You come to on the ground, and realize you must have fallen unconscious.
Your mind returning to normal, you feel your moirail's feelings of worry and of protecting you.
You sit up, and they start sobbing, overcome with both joy that you're okay and still, worry, about what happened. Gently you shoosh pat them, reassuring them you're fine.

Alright enough of these two chucklefucks, we've got more irons in the fire to deal with.

Chapter Text

...

[The Heir of Rage just stands there.]

...

What's their name?

. . .

[...]

Sylenc Tilmin

[...]

[The mime standing before you is wearing an expressionless full-face mask. Their name is Sylenc Tilmin. They have no real interests to show off. They spend the majority of their time meditating. Keeping her mind empty.]

==>

[She has taken a vow of silence, as their voice has led her to nothing but pain, and anger...]
[Always more anger...]

[They have been waiting for something. Something Ganari told her to wait for. Something only she could receive, apparently. A message, from their supposed 'ancestor', and said ancestor's team.]

Now here's somebody with a mission. This bitch knows how to brood.

...

Too bad she's such a snore to watch...

..............••••••••••••••○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●□□□□□□□□□□□□□□■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

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00100000 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01100110 01100001 01110101 01101100 01110100 00101110 00100000 01010111 01100101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01101101 01101001 01110011 01100101 00101110

[Sylenc looks up at her computer, and begins typing.]

[Typing out the ones and zeros, they relay all of the binary code she received to Friefa. Surely she'd know how to decode it.]

[They pause for a moment.]
[It's been... a while, since they had talked face to face...]
[They had made up after the accident she had caused, but they couldn't help but feel terrible.]
[This is something she took great pleasure in while doing, but the clarity felt after her blood-lust had cooled...]
[Never again.]

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

[A young troll stands at the base of their hive, chopping wood.]
[She wears a scarf, which covers his neck up to right above their mouth.]

What's your name?

Mute McGee

[What are you, a child?]

Edveet Fezlum

[Hmph]

Your name is EDVEET FEZLUM. You have a variety of interests, including WOODWORKING, FORAGING, and TAKING CARE of the NON-NATIVE FLORA you've accumulated through an associate of yours. You wield an AXE, both the CUTTING IMPLAMENT, and the INSTRUMENT. You've never been very social, and are generally VERY AWKWARD. Your friends seem to think you are SOME KIND OF COOL LONER, when in actuality you just think of yourself as BORING. You had AN ACCIDENT a while back that left you UNABLE TO SPEAK. Despite this, you DON'T REGRET WHAT HAPPEND IN THE SLIGHTEST, as you were injured SAVING YOUR LUSUS, who you LOVE.

[Thwack!]
[Thwack!]
[Thwack!]

...
You wonder if any of your friends are busy, and contemplate messaging one of them.
...
They're probably busy setting up for the game.
You look through your captchalogued items.
...
Nothing of note, really.
You captchalogue the log you were chopping, to bring inside for carving.
You wonder about changing up your horn prosthetic, but end up thinking otherwise. You'd look lame, probably.

《Ping!》

Oh, who's that?

Chapter Text

YOUR NAME IS PRIMSY MINDET, RESIDENT FOUR-EYES, AND YOU TALK IN AN ANNOYING AND GRATING WAY. YOU SUCK IN EVERYWAY, MUCH LIKE ALL OTHER LIVING THINGS, BUT ARE ESPECIALLY BAD BECAUSE YOU'RE BOTH A TROLL AND A WOMAN. TROLLS REPRODUCE IN A WEIRD WAY WHERE YOUR SEX 'I.E.' YOUR NARDS DON'T EFFECT ACTUAL "LOVE" MAKING. OR "HATE" MAKING, EITHER. ANY KIND OF SEX DOESN'T MATTER BECAUSE IT ALL ENDS UP MIXING TOGETHER ANYWAY, SO YOU BEING TRANS DOESN'T MATTER. YOU ARE INFERIOR FOR BEING A WOMAN BECAUSE OF THE WAY HUMANS REPRODUCE. HUMAN WOMEN GET 'PREGNANT' AFTER HAVING SEX, WHICH LEADS TO EVEN MORE AWFUL LITTLE HUMAN GRUBS CALLED 'BABIES'. LIKE MOST LIVING THINGS THEY DISGUST YOU. CHOOSING TO BE A WOMAN IS APPALLING AND A TRUE SHAME. MEN ARE BASICALLY BETTER IN EVERY WAY, ESPECIALLY HUMAN MEN, BECAUSE THEY CAN'T MAKE MORE BABIES WITHOUT WOMEN. YOU REGRET EVER BECOMING A WOMAN, EVEN IF YOU AREN'T CAPABLE OF GETTING PREGNANT BECAUSE OF YOUR SPECIES NOT HAVING A WOMB. YOU CONSIDER KILLING YOURSELF EVERY DAY WHEN YOU WAKE UP, AND YOU PROBABLY SHOULD BEFORE YOU RUIN MORE PEOPLE'S LIVES.
tOwOt

Ugh...
Your head is pounding.
This is nothing unusual, headaches are a constant for you, but this one is especially bad for some reason.
You get out of bed, and slink over to your alchemizer to make some painkillers.
...
Might as well make some estradiol as well.
Grabbing the meds (being careful not to captchalogue them), you take a half empty bottle of disgusting sugary caffinated swill from your desk, one of several you've forgotten to deal with. You take a sip, tasting the luke-warm soda. Feeling the bubbly sugar eating away at your teeth, you pop the pills into your maw, swallowing.
...

What's your name?

Ugly Freak

[Right back attcha]

Primsy Mindet

[Yup]

You're name is PRIMSY MINDET, and you are clinically depressed. You have the latent ability to see all of the different possible outcomes of your decisions, causing you massive stress. You've been effectively 'groundhog day'-ing for the past 2 months, trying to fix your session, as well as the session of the universe created by you're team. You have no idea why it went wrong, and no matter how many times you search for it, you can't find a reality where you succeeded.
Timeline hopping has helped somewhat; doomed alternate versions of you and your team helping you make progress. Your leading theory is that, since you don't have a space player, it glitched the session somehow.
Opal, the Knight of Mind
Minerva, the Sylph of Soul
Valentine, the Heir of Life
You, Primsy, the Witch of Time
Four player sessions are generally well balanced, but with no space player there wasn't a proper forge; nowhere to breed the genesis frog.
You had to...
"Get creative", when making it.
Clearly it didn't work right.

LOOK AT THAT DUMB BITCH, PACING AROUND LIKE A RAT IN IT'S CAGE. I CAN'T WAIT TO GET YOUR HANDS ON HER, AND TO MOLD HER INTO ONE OF MY THRALLS; A PEON TO BE DISMEMBERED AND REBUILT.
I'LL TURN HER INTO A MEANS OF CURRUPTION; MAKE IT SO EVERYTHING SHE TOUCHES TURNS TO AN INKY SLUDGE!

Chapter Text

[A troll works a field, in the middle of the desert. Luscious, and dangerous, fuana surrounds him.]
[Her lusus flies about, enjoying her last moments before her early death.]
You look up at your lusus sadly. While this day has been a long one coming, it still hurts to say goodbye.

What's your name?

Bitchin Cowgirl

[What the fuck is a cow?]

Uli--- Krakin

[Mhm]

Your name is Uli Krakin! You live on your farm with your lusus, who you expect to die within the hour. As a virgin mother grub, her life-span is much shorter then a proper mother grub, but nonetheless her life is one equally as important. To you, at least.
You spend the vast majority of your time growing edible flora, and tending to the strange mutated lusii you sometimes come acrossed. Despite being (seemingly) semi-aquatic, they survive just fine with you in the desert. You've always liked it here, in the desert. Warmth, sunlight, solitude; you have it all. Being out here with just your lusii and plants for companionship definetly gets lonely, but (as you understand), playing this game will soon change this; giving way too new planets entirely.
You look back over at your precious lusus, taking in her beauty before her untimely death.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[A troll stares at the ceiling of it's room. It is trying to get some rest before the game starts, and with it, the carapacein uprising. An uprising against the black queen and king; in an attempt to secure the survival of all life as it knows it.]
You roll over in your dream-bed, wishing you were dream dead.
...
Okay maybe not actually.
You really do quite like your life, and you care for your gang tremendously, but...
You're scared.
You've always been...
Weak.
A mutant, much like your 'twin', but of a completely different type.
Them, a rainbow-drinker; what your gang would call a 'vampire'. You, an anomaly; candy red blood flowing through your veins.
Here, on derse, you fit right in, minus the horns.
But on alternia? You would've have lasted a minute. You wouldn't have had a lusus to care for you (you assume).
It's not like you had one here, on derse, in the dreamself of Uli.
[it quickly and lightly smacks it's cheeks.]
No, no.
You can't think like that. You are as much of your own person as she is. Just because you woke up early, independently of him, doesn't mean you aren't real.

What is your name?

Fake Italian Dumbass

[What the fuck is an Italian??]

---Ova Krakin

[Bitchin']

Your name is Ova Krakin!

You're part of a GANG, who call themselves the SUNSET MOB. They (with you) are leading an uprising against the dersian rulers; the black king and queen. You were originally the DREAM SELF of your 'twin', Uli, but for whatever reason woke up separately on your own, perhaps because of your GENETIC MUTATION; candy red blood. When you first woke up, you were sick, and your skin was flaky and yellowed. After crawling out of your tower, you found yourself in the possession of the Sunset Mob, who took you in and nursed you back to health. It turns out you were 'jaundiced', whatever that means.

You grab a cigarette, taking the one you'd been smoking before and stomping it out.
You take a deep drag, feeling the warmth inside you, then breath out.
...
Fucking hell are you lonely...

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You pet the cheek of your now deceased lusus, trying (and failing) to not tear up.
Breathing shakily, you plant a kiss on her forehead, then close her eyes.

You take your shotgun, aiming at her stomach.
Firing, a wide gash opens, your gun's blast tearing through her skin, giving easy access to the matriorb. You pick it up, being careful not to captchalogue it, and slide it into your satchel. It takes up the majority of the bag, and you sigh.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The gang are all gathering in the tunnels, and so you join them. Not much to do besides preparing, regardless...
《Pop!》
Oh, something was added to your captchalogue deck.
Looking into your 'shared' captchalogue deck, you find a box of Alternian fruits and vegetables.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

You hope that's enough produce to fuel a revolution...
...
You let out a sigh, exhausted.
You really didn't want to have to play this game.
You mean, of course you're excited! You just can't help but shake the feeling...
That something will go wrong. You're worried about your friends.
And even if you hate them (platonically), you're worried about your enemies too.