1. What's your favorite: Spoiler food: ass drink: icelandic goat's blood color: the color of the last face of any mortal who dares stand up to me (red) movie: video game: the movie game: movie: the video game show: movie: the animated series animal: winged wolf 2. What brings you nostalgia: Spoiler N O S T A L G I A B L I N D S W E A K M I N D S . 3. What's your favorite year of your life and why: Spoiler The year was 900 BC. I lived in a small cave system under the village of my tribe. Every day I would go out into the wild to hunt, then return a few minutes later, for the cold snow could trap you. I only managed to create a fire once, yet the cave had kept enough warmth for me to stay conscious. My brothers had passed out when they were infants, when I was an infant. We were thrown out into the blizzard by the people of the village. I was the only one who could make it to the cave in time. Those who were lucky enough to stay in the village had prospered. They had enough food and water to stay conscious forever. They chose which infants would stay and which would be forgotten according to their strength. Unfortunately for them, they threw away one too many. I was not strong, but I was smart. And I knew how to destroy. One day the village's food ran scarce. It was traditionally agreed that one brave man, which they called the Keeper, would leave to hunt. I could hear the celebrations from the cave, and once they stopped, I began preparing my journey. I would not hunt for food; I would hunt the Keeper. I saw from afar the Keeper. He had long, white clothes and a professionally cut bow. If I managed to knock him out, I could get his equipment and I could prosper. I began packing my weapons and short clothes. When I finished, I took a look at the book I wrote. This was a special book I had created a few years ago. It had the power to keep anyone I wanted in unconsciousness forever. I simply had to write their name in it and they were gone, forever. I decided to bring it with me. Perhaps I could use it to destroy the Keeper easily. I left the cave, searching again for the Keeper. Once I found him, I began to slowly and quietly make my way down the snowy hill. The cold was threatening but I knew it wouldn't be for long. The Keeper was heading for the woods and I followed suit. The woods were warmer, but still very cold. I tried to keep my footsteps quiet, but this became more difficult as the floor of the woods began filling with leaves. The Keeper got his first kill. It was a giant deer, full of fat, satisfying meat. My stomach growled at the sound of the Keeper tearing apart the deer's limbs. His second kill was a small rabbit. It stared at me innocently when his arrow pierced through its tiny body. The Keeper turned to look at where it was staring, but I moved from sight quickly. Hours passed. The Keeper set up his camp and began a small fire. I wanted so badly to get near the fire, to absorb the warmth, but I knew the Keeper could knock me out in a second. I had to know his name. That would be the only way for me to defeat him. The Keeper fell asleep. I knew this would be my chance to grab some food from him so I wouldn't starve. I began slowly walking towards his camp but tripped on a branch. The Keeper woke up and immediately began packing up in panic. I tried to run after him but he was too fast. I lost him. This was the point where I thought I had lost all luck, that I would pass out here and stay here forever. It was only when I spotted the giant winged red hound when I realized that my nightmare had only begun. The beast noticed me and rushed towards me. I ran but it was too quick. It snarled and grabbed me, and began beating me. I thought, this is the end. This beast is going to eat my corpse. I won't even have a place to rest in peace. I was about to pass out, but then I heard footsteps and an arrow. It missed the beast but it ran away. I had only enough time to see the face above me before I passed out. I woke up lying near a fire. I was warm, but alert. I looked around and spotted the Keeper sitting next to me, observing me. He had long, blonde hair. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked me. I was confused. "What... Where am I?" "I saved you from Abaddon. It was about to rip your body apart. What are you doing in here, anyway?" Abaddon. That was the name of the beast. I checked my bag again. The book was gone. "Where's my book?" I asked him. "I took it. It's quite nice, I have to say," he replied. I was confused. This was the book that lead to the eternal unconsciousness of many people in the village. Why did he like it? "No one else made a memorial for the dead. It's quite respectful, now that I think about it." Dead. What did that word mean? Was that what they called the victims of my book? Did he think that it was not the cause of their deaths, but a memorial of those people? Either way, I decided to play along. "Thanks. I call it the Book of the Dead." I didn't, of course, but it seemed like a fitting name. "Anyways, what are you doing in here again?" he asked me. "I was really hungry and I couldn't wait for you to return, so I hunted myself." Truth was, if he returned, it wouldn't have mattered to me at all. I wanted to steal his equipment so I could hunt for myself, but after he saved me, I began rethinking that plan. "You shouldn't. It's much safer to be hungry in the village than to hunt in the woods," he said, grinning. I couldn't disagree. Abaddon could've brought me to my end. "Well, I'll guide you back to the village tomorrow. We should get some rest now." He took out his sleeping bag and handed it to me. "Oh, no, it's fine, you can sleep in it." "I can survive with these clothes. You'll freeze to death without this sleeping bag." Why was he so nice to me? Why did he save me in the first place? I crept into the sleeping bag and he lay on the cold grass. "Good night," he said. I almost forgot to ask him, "What's your name?" "George," he replied. Hours later, I heard George fall asleep. I crawled out of the sleeping bag and took my book from his grasp. The fire was still burning. I took out my pen and opened a page of the book. My hand was quivering at this point. I began writing his name, "George", in the book, but I only managed to write "Ge" before my pen fell from my grasp and I began weeping. The crying woke George up, and he asked me, "What's up?" I closed the book shut and turned around. He looked at me innocently, and I was reminded of the rabbit he had slayed. I couldn't kill him. I couldn't bring myself to do it. But I could still destroy him. I knew how this book worked. I knew how I could control it. And I knew how to control people. "George, I... I want to burn this book." "What? Why?" he asked, shocked. "I don't want to think of the dead anymore. I... I had a nightmare just now about my father dying." Of course, I never knew my father, but I knew he was still alive, and that he was responsible for throwing me away into the wilderness. He wouldn't be alive for much longer. Yet, even after that, nothing could forgive me for what I did next. George contemplated for a moment, and then told me, "Well, if it makes you sleep at night, go ahead." I dropped the book into the fire, and as I expected, the fire went out a few seconds later, and the book was slightly scorched. I took out the book from the fireplace and opened it, being careful not to look at it. "Hey, what happened to forgetting about the book?" he said, confused. I looked him in the eye, then opened the book in front of him. He was gone in a flash of light, and I took a look at the book again. Names. Names of people appeared on the pages of the book. I knew, these were the names of the dead. George was writing them. I looked around and spotted Abaddon. At this point, he couldn't make me pass out. He could kill me now. Anyone could die right now. But Abaddon didn't kill me. Instead, he walked forward. I handed him the Book of the Dead and he swallowed it, then ran away. I never returned to my cave. I never exited the woods. I stayed here, in this camp, and died. Not of hunger, but of guilt. I had realized what I'd done. I enabled death. Humans were now as mortal as animals. I left instructions for rituals on the book for people who, were they to live in my village, would be thrown away into the wild. Once someone slays Abaddon and reads the instructions, George will be replaced by someone else. That someone else will be replaced by another person. The Book of the Dead would continue throughout the ages, and I would be the person who created it. 4. What's your best and worst quality: Spoiler My best quality is that I make sure my victims don't know what lies in the dungeon and my worst quality is that I pity myself even though I have a great life. 5. Good and bad habits: Spoiler My best habit is searching for meaning in a place where there is none and my worst habit is glancing at 6. What's your dream job and why: Spoiler I wanna be an astronaut so I can prove once and for all that the moon is just a giant projection on the sky. 7. If you could have a superpower, would you, which, and why: Spoiler The superpower I'd like to have is being able to change my morals to fit those of people who dare argue with me, so I can understand where the hell they're coming from. 8. What's your nationality: Spoiler I'm Nowherian but I live in Everywhere. 9. What is the worst/best experience of your life: Spoiler The worst experience of my life was probably the end of my SpakeMiner identity. Things were looking real bleak back then, but it turned out okay at the end. 10. Will you let me be gone: Spoiler "Will you let me be gone?" typed Ken, hoping for the end to present itself soon. He hit post, then waited patiently for the replies. The thread contained ten questions, but he only cared about the last one. The reactions to it were the last thing he needed. The replies did not take it seriously, just as Ken expected. The plan was working perfectly at this point. The only thing left to do was the ritual, after which Ken would ascend and join the spirits of the internet. He took out the parchment hidden deep within the old cupboards. It was dusty at this point and smelled of decay, but the words were still just as clear as they were all those years ago. Ken took to his monitor and began copying the address written sloppily across the parchment. The website that popped up had nothing inside, except a recipe for an odd liquid. He took out the ingredients, which he hid under his blood-stained bed ever since he found the parchment. Pouring them into a bucket one by one in the order of the recipe, then mixing them, Ken contemplated whether or not this decision was the right one. Of course, it didn't matter now. It was too late for him to go back. When all the recipes were fairly mixed, the liquid was steaming and bubbling, glowing a revolting shade of red. Ken forced a mouthful of it down his throat, then backed away from it. The liquid was now bubbling more violently, rising and filling the bucket. He poured it into a large suitcase, then rushed to his shower, to make sure he was completely clean for the transfer. Ken hadn't showered in years; he had only now noticed the dry stains of blood on his torso, and scrubbed them off completely. When he returned to the suitcase, still naked, it was completely full. The liquid ceased its bubbling. Ken reached for his wireless headset and dropped it into the liquid, making sure it was connected to his computer, then lay his naked body on the floor of the suitcase. The liquid was warm and comfortable, and made the rest of the world in comparison cold and dark. He didn't want anything to do with anything outside it. He closed the suitcase shut, and the liquid cast a gentle red glow in the darkness within. Placing the headset on his skull, he spoke into the microphone a phrase in a language he hoped to never learn. The website received the password and the confirmation sound played in his headphones. Ken knew that it would only take a few minutes for them to arrive at his room and transport the suitcase to the underground facility, but he was so comfortable in the red liquid that he fell asleep immediately. When Ken woke up, the ritual had already begun. He lay on a small pedestal, and knew he was miles below the surface, in some long-forgotten country in South America. A dozen old men were circled around him, singing a prayer, their faces hidden under masks. The prayer lasted for only a few seconds before the pedestal gave a powerful jerk, then began slowly descending towards the Database. Ken had only realized a few minutes later how unsure he was about this. He attempted to sit up, before noticing that his hands and feet were locked by metal cuffs. Ken began panicking. He tried to break free of the cuffs, but it was hopeless. He screamed for help, but no one would hear him. He regretted doing this. He wanted to go back, to fix everything, to change his path. The pedestal's surface was opening up, dropping Ken inside, then closing the opening. He was stuck inside the pedestal. The cuffs were gone now, but he had no way of getting out. Screaming for help once more and rolling around the pedestal's insides, punching their walls and crying, Ken eventually gave up and realized that this would be his coffin, and he wouldn't be able to change it. A few hours later, the pedestal opened from the other side. Strong beams of sun filled the insides. Ken rolled around and sat up to find himself half-buried in the sands of a beach. The gentle waves that came from the ocean nearby crashed into the shorelines, and the warm breeze soothed him. Besides him stood a surfboard. He immediately knew what to do. Ken surfed the waves of the Web for eternities to come, ignorant of the real world. The sun never set, which was quite lucky for him, as he still had no clothes. He could interact with his friends from the real world through the internet, but not in any other way. Would they ever know he was gone? He couldn't tell them. He himself didn't know that he was trapped in the Database, that there was a real world outside of this one. He thought this was the real world. And, who knows? Maybe he was right.