Gamer Luna Is In Your Bed
Trolleroids
Meanwhile, a lone person combats his own bed-invaders...
You completely hate winter. You hate the frostbite ruining your skin. You hate the colds it inflicts upon your frail body, and you definitely hate the fact that you have nothing to eat while other families have whole feasts on their tables.
Still, the holiday spirit radiates from your body. No- wait. That’s not the holiday spirit. That’s raw hatred.
The sound of your car’s horn echoes throughout the bustling street brimmed with cars. Rolling down your window in a maddened frenzy, you promptly raise your fist outside as you yell out,
“You bastards! Get going!”
Your words are drowned out by the sounds of other cars blaring their horns in a frenzy. Disgruntled at your failed attempt at coercively persuading the line of stationary cars, whose drivers are just as apoplectic as you, failed miserably.
You glare at the drivers straight into the back of their heads, or at least you would have, had the rear of the cars hadn’t blocked your view. Regardless, your stare is intense. Anybody who could’ve seen it would’ve backed away from fear. Those with faint hearts would just simply melt upon glancing at your leer.
To you, this is an art-form. The art of threateningly eyeballing someone. Through the many entailments of your apoplectic life, you were required to master it. Needless to say, you’ve done so. For many years you’ve practiced it, and now, you’re at the zenith of menacingly staring at someone.
It’s a skill that you’re proud that you’ve mastered.
You glance at your wristwatch. You're two hours late for work. Not exactly ideal for someone knee-deep into the dicey waters of being not-so reliable at working.
You're late for work for what seems to be the twentieth time, and you being not a valued employee, you knew the chances of you getting fired was probable. Very probable. Perhaps it’s paranoia, but you’re just certain that your boss is writing down the pink-slip for you as you speak.
Your vision tunnels as you descended into the dark abyss of rage. 'Tis a familiar place for you, yet you still loathe it. It’s a dark place where your sanity is attributed to anger itself.
Your hands clench tighter on the wheel, and judging by the fact that you are visibly shaking with spite, you’re not coping so well.
The temperature of the car’s interior soars to insane degrees as your ire continues to boil. “My boss is going to kill me. No- wait. With the lack of decent pay I’m given, he’s going to kill me by starvation.”
Suddenly, the violent gusts of winds pick up in speed as barrages of ice batter your vulnerable car. Turbulence rocks you as you fold your hands in annoyance. Your whole windshield is blanketed by cover after cover of snow.
“What the hell... “ you muse to yourself in feigned despair, “This whole car is going to be consumed by winter itself--a tribute to the god of snow.”
You shift on your seat in boredom. “Seriously, who could drive in this visibility-”
Just as those words come out of your lips, a stray, piercing sound resounds through the haze of snow, diverting your attention.
It is the sound of an engine at its pinnacle accompanied with the sound of wheels speeding through the frozen ground, lobbing ice into the air. ‘That sounded awfully like-’
Paranoia gets the best of you as you looked to the left side. Suddenly, through the whitened pane of glass on your car, you could see it; a car heading straight for you.
Your perception of time decelerates as adrenaline cascades your system as if you were in a terribly cliched movie. Only in this case, you’re not the main character.
With reflex rivaled only by that of a professional athlete, you dive to the passenger seat. Your hand is guided by instinct as you open the door. Kicking the door open, you contemplate before jumping.
You snapp out of the daze with a shrug. Your eyes forward to the ground, and with the least amount of elegance possible, you dive out.
With cold, hard frost slamming into your cheek, you face-plant onto the ice-layered street. If you had landed just a bit more roughly, you’d probably be incapacitated right now.
Despite the bone-chilling sleet covering your face, you stand up. More accurately, you stand up with vigor comparable to that of a dying old man.
Suddenly, you feel a fresh tear form on your eye as you hear a jarring sound of metal clashing against metal. “My… car…”
You briefly catch the glimpse of your car’s hood shattering into several fragments of metal as another pathetic excuse for a vehicle impacts on to it.
To you, this is akin to watching someone you loved being executed wrongfully right in front of your face.
At the very least, you survived. Perhaps you were wrong on you not being a main character? Oh well.
You fall to the ground with a muffled thud as the last shards of metal vanish into the blizzard, to be forgotten for eternity--or at least until winter fades. You feebly stand up in disbelief as the sound of car doors swinging open filled the street.
Several passers by rush to the scene, their footsteps stifled by the snow. Their figures are obscured by the frigid, thick winds. From your perspective, they all become indistinguishable shadows.
You se several of the bystanders attempt to pry open the door of the car that slammed into yours, but you didn’t care about that in the slightest. Your gaze was in complete fixation at the smoking wreckage of what was once your pride and joy.
Okay. That was a bit too much. That car was crap and you knew it. You were more concerned for the amount of money you lost.
Distorted shouts penetrate the whirring tornadoes of snow, but you don’t pay attention in the slightest. They were reduced to nothing more than muffled whispers.
You approach it, shrugging off the cold. Once again, with the vigor of a dying old man. “No… Why did this have to happen?” you speak out in despair as you fall to my knees. The unrelenting sting of sorrow becomes unendurable to you as you falter in steps.
Suddenly, a familiar tune rings out from your jacket. You reach out for your phone, eyeing it as you hold it in front of your eyes. You had received a message. Displayed in black font was your boss which was aptly named in your contacts as “Tormentor”.
With a deft press from your finger, the message pops up on the screen. It read:
“Blizzard’s too violent. You don’t have to come for work today.”
In a fit of uninhibited rage, you bellow a pained shout as you rais both fists into the air as if you were a mad man.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Perhaps you are a mad man...
…..
A slow creak grates through the empty halls of your house as you open the door. “Everything is so dark…” You resort to talking to yourself in an attempt to alleviate the depression coiling around your mind, though your endeavor simply makes you sound like a psychopath.
A psychopath that lost something dear to him, to be more precise.
Flicking the light-switch, you shamble to the kitchen with an expressionless face donned. Not even minding to notice the sounds coming from upstairs. You're simply too pitiful to even be bothered with it right now.
There are certain rumors about ice-cream being a remedy for sadness. You intend on either confirming or disproving that theory.
Suddenly, your eyes widen at a sudden revelation. There are sounds coming from upstairs; your room. Your broadened eyes expand even more when you see your fridge had been left half-opened.
“Thieves…” Your stance tenses up as your eyes dart around the room frantically. There were no signs of forced-entry, but you’re definitely sure that you locked this place before going out. “Very sneaky and lazy thieves…” You say as you close the fridge properly.
Grabbing a knife, you head towards your room. Your footsteps are sneaky as you tiptoe upstairs. Your hand trembles as it firmly holds the knife. Your attention is focused on the also half-opened door to your room.
The lights are on, alarmingly enough. Sounds of synthetic gunfire play through what you presume to be your speakers as the unmistakable rhythm of techno music blares from your room.
You recognize these sounds. They were from… Payday 2?
Your hand was reluctant on pushing the door open, but you still it as you breathe in and out in a rather panicky fashion. “Alright. Whoever this bastard is must be really idiotic if they think that they can rob this house while blaring the volume up this high.”
You pushed the door open, revealing an unfamiliar being sitting on your bed. It resembles a horse… but much more smaller, and much more adorable. It has what appears to be a perpetually wavy mane decorated what seems to be actual stars. Its coat is midnight blue. It has folded wings furnished with velvety feathers. It also features a horn protruding from its head.
Despite her rather cartoonish appearance, an atmosphere of supremacy pervades the air around her.
Well, you think it’s a her. Otherwise, this would be rather awkward if it was a male.
Much to your dismay, however, she has pulled the table which had your PC resting on it towards your bed. It is now standing in front of your bed as she is completely engrossed on playing whatever games you have on your Steam account.
Then your recollection kicks in. This isn’t just another unicorn. This is Luna.
“The Luna? The Princess Luna” you speak to yourself in uncertainty. Half of your mind wants you to just run away screaming. The other half wants you to go ahead and poke her. Finally, the middle half wants you to question your sanity. You decide to go with the middle half.
You take a staggered step backwards as your heartbeat quickens. Cuteness is your only kryptonite. To your knowledge, you’re the only one that knows you have the ironic weakness for anything cute.
Even more contradictory to your rather spiteful nature is the fact that you watch the show. It’s a guilty pleasure of yours.
Yes. The show that you despise and love at the same time; My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
The unicorn lets out a triumphant cheer as her left hoof shot to the air in victory. She briefly looks around the room, spotting you.
Her eyes don’t even widen as her glance returns to the PC screen. “Oh. Didn’t see you there. Forgive me, but I took the liberty of beating Transports on Deathwish for you.”
Your mouth refuses to respond with words. Instead, it responds by twitching slightly. You are at the bottom of dumbfoundment for two reasons: she managed to beat Transports on Deathwish, and two--she’s in your room.
You're more aghast at the former. Transports on Deathwish is hell. You know that all too well.
After several weeks of rage-quitting, you were unable to beat it, but Princess Luna managed to complete it!? Needless to say, you're both appalled and frustrated at the same time.
“What- What? You actually managed to survive that hellish thing?” you ask in disbelief.
“Not just survived it. I managed to stealth it with no dead civvies.” With a smug smirk, she continues. “Team composition was good.”
“No--that’s not the question that I should be asking.” You cautiously approach her. “The question that I should be asking is why are you here?”
Luna dismissively waves one of her hooves in a spiral. “Meh. Sis banished me to this place for perhaps a week or so. She thinks that I spend too much time playing video games. Unfortunately for her, video games still exist here.”
Then you noticed something. This isn’t Luna, or more specifically, this isn’t the Luna depicted in the show. This is some sort of parallel version of her.
With a scoff, your heart rate normalizes. Discarding the knife onto your table, you sit next to her as she continues on playing.
“Wait--is that Battlefield 4? “ you speak out in both bewilderment and amazement as she takes out three hostiles with exactly three headshots with her dextrous ability at scoping.
“Yeah,” she casually replies as she began to make a dash for it to a nearby enemy tank. Planting a couple of jeep-stuff onto it, she promptly detonates it. The detailed explosion melts away your mind as she easily racks in the kills.
You shake off the drooling stupor you had donned on your face. Your face feigns a stern face as you spoke to the mystery horse, “I don’t remember buying this game. Nor do I remember my computer being able to play something like this at maximum graphics!”
Eyes focused on the screen, she casually kills off five targets as she takes the objective. “Used your bank account.”
“What?!” You yelp in panic.
“Don’t worry. I used my own parts to improve your PC,” she reassures you as she strafed in order to dodge an incoming sniper bullet.
“Still, you used my own money?!” you speak out in irritability, but you coan’t help but spectate the seemingly unstoppable onslaught displayed on your monitor.
“Fine. Fine. If it infuriates thou that much, I’ll gladly give you compensation. How does a hundred bits sound for sheltering me and allowing me to use your once pathetic rig?”
“A hundred bits? Uh.” You pause as the last, opposing objective is captured by none other than the being sitting beside you. “What are those, exactly?”
“A hundred coins of solid gold. Should be fair enough, I suppose?” You feel your consciousness waver, but she places her hoof in front of you before you can faint. “Ah. Now for my favorite part. Behold.”
She gestures her hoof towards the screen. Specifically, the chat.
Text upon text of rage come up as several of the players subsequently ragequit.
“Dammit! dammit! i can’t grine for hedshots with that ***** headshooting me!”
“Reported. Scrub.”
“i AM TIRED OF THESE HACKERS.”
“i literaly want to die r8 no.”
“U mad bro? U mad bro yolo!”
Suddenly, the myriad of rage-text ceased as the game finally comes to an end. Needless to say, she scored number one in the leaderboard for this match. The opposing team was showered with negative KD’s.
“Not a bad game if I say so myself. Oh, by the way, my name is Luna,” she closes the game in order to switch to something else; World of Tanks.
“Now then, time to see if my VK 5 has returned from battle. Thanks for selecting the ‘Remember Me’ option in the log-in.”
Sure enough, the beast of a heavy tank is proudly displayed on your garage. It is just a beautiful sight to behold for both me and you. Not only that, there are several tier seven’s in your garage as well. I, the narrator of this odd chapter, am exceedingly jealous of you.
“What else did you work on while I was away?” you speak out with shallow breaths.
“Eh. I played your Starcraft. Placed you right in Diamond League.”
“But I was Bronze just a day ago!”