The Glitch Princess
In the dark of night, a lone shadow waited at the window,
looking out upon a street that stretched into an endless abyss, crowned with a
single street light. Soft jazz spread over the air; it would grow silent and
then begin again.
The shadow, hand on her chin, stared wistfully upon the world. "Oh, Player. Will you pass me by? What a dear man. A detective, I imagine."
The handsome gent had no name, but he had a beautiful halo that read 'Player 1'. When she had first seen him, he was investigating a murder below her window. She remembered looking out one day to see if her detective might pass, but had instead, a woman's body laid out upon the asphalt. Multiple stab wounds and a face that was oddly blocky, as though someone had tried to cube her but hadn't been able to cut deep enough. The detective was examining her and listening to another inglorious detective explain the scene.
She had known the woman. Some lowlife tramp that cruised the streets, looking for Johns to take in the alleyway.
She had never even looked at her window.
Bitch.
"He doesn't need you," she had cried and pounded on the glass. "He's the best detective in the world!"
Neither looked up.
No one ever did.
They took the victim away and that was that. For a brief moment, her Player had looked up. Her heart quivered. She waved at him. An almost dismissive gesture was his response, and then he was gone.
He noticed me!
Her heart belonged to Player 1, no matter how absurd his name. She had pulled up the one chair, fought with it more so. It didn't want to move, but she made it. She stayed at the window, always on the lookout.
The jazz looped again. She wished the club would learn a new damned tune, but it was better than the ambient sounds of nothing.
She jumped as two pigeons landed on the window sill. "Oh!"
They didn't move much, even as she put her hand to the window.
"Pretty birdies. Nice birdies. I wish I could invite you in for tea," she cooed and pet the glass. One of them twittered, and the other exploded.
She blinked as her window turned red and looked down. The other pigeon flew off, but she didn't notice that it flew upside down and then vanished into nothing.
Down below, stood a man in a nice suit. His voice crackled with laughter as though much further away. She didn't understand what he said besides, "-Got it!"
He was joined by the detective, her detective.
"Nice," he said sarcastically. "We're meant to be progressing, not shooting birds."
"I wanted to see if the Glitch would happen," the suit man argued.
Glitch? She stopped her desperate waving.
"You mean the character they didn't finish?" Her detective asked, unimpressed.
"Dude, she was supposed to be like this crazy monster lady that lived in this building. There was going to be a whole quest around meeting her and her trying to eat you."
The woman in the window hadn't had a name before. "Glitch," she mouthed. "Glitch."
The crazy glitch in the unfinished building.
Despite Player 2, she smiled. "My detective. Now I know I can see you truly."
She peeled herself from the armchair and moved through the dust particles transformed into cubes. Her limbs stretched behind her where the very air seemed unwilling to let go. But she surged forward, her body become more distorted, thinner.
"My detective." She breathed and pressed her face into the door, the entry to her prison. It cubed, all the things around her cubed and her arms waved lime limp streamers. "My Player."
No matter what she passed through, it simple cubed itself. No more being stopped. No more being a ghost. She wove, serpentine, around the numbers breaking through the walls.
A bit more...
My detective.
************************************************************************
$̴(̴'͘.sele͟c҉ţor͜'͝).c͟h͟ang҉é(fun̶ct̀i͢o͡n̸(͢){͘
͝ $t̡1̢ ̢=͢ ͠$͞(͝'#͡ty͡pe̴1').v̷a͜l͢(͜)͞;
̸ ͝$̕t2 = ̴$(͡'#ty̧pe͜2').҉val̷()̢;͢
͢
//My Detective
̵$i͘m͟m̶un͜e̶s̶ ̢= ͢[͟];̶
$dS̕t̶ròng͞ ͜= [̡];͠
͡ ͝$̴s̨t̢r͠o̡ng̵ ͜= [҉]҉;
̢ ̢$nòrmal =҉ ̀[̴];͜
$̷weak =̷ ҉[͜];͘
̢ $d̶Weak ͢= ̀[̧];
for͏($͢i҉ =̶ ̸0;̢ $͝i̧ < ̨$ty͟p͏eL̵ist.l̸eng̕th; $̧i͟+͏+҉)̕{̕
$e1҉ = c͏hec͟kTy̛p̷e(͢$ty̡peL͏ist͡[҉$͢i͟]̶, $type̢Tab̷le[̸$͜t1]);̨ohgodwhatisit
͠ $e҉2 ͏=͏ ̷c͞h̡eck͜T͝ype͜(́$̨ty͜p̴e̡Li͏s̴t̛[̢$́i͏], ̴$̧ty͟p̵e͢T͠a̴bl̡e[$͢t͡2]);
͞
́ ҉ $st͠rèn҉g͠t̷h́ =͢ ̢$e1̀ + $e2;glitch.glitch.glitch.no.no.no.no.nononononononononononoo
̸ ̀ ͠
//Player 2 has been killed
͡ //̸If ̷immùn͏e.̸..͏
̕ /͏/͜el̀s͞è ̧s̸w͜i͡tc҉h
̸ ̶if($̧t̛y͏ṕeT͞able͝[͡$t͠1]͡[̨'̢i̴m͞m͢unes͟']͜.́in͡d͞e̴xOf($týpe̸L͜i͠st[̢$i]) ͏> ͜-̀1̕ |҉| ͏$҉t͠ypȩTa͞bl̀e[$t2̀][́'͡immu͡nes']̛.inde͝xO̢f(̶$͡ty͞p̧eList[$i]͞) ͢> -1){
͏ ̕ $̧i̴m͢m͟unes͟[͟$̸i͞mmu̧nęs̸.̶len̷ǵth] = ̡$t͏ypȩL҉ist[͏$i];҉
̶ ͘}̵
҉ ͏élse ̶świtc͝h($̷st̨ren͜gth)͞{̀
҉ ̨ c̵ase -͝2͠:̧
̕ ͘ ͡ $dWeak͝[$d̀We̡ak.le͏ńǵth͡] ̀= $̨typ̶eL̷is͘t[$i̢]̶;̶
͠ ̡ ͜b͠reak;͠
̡ ̷ ca̷s͞e̷ ͏-͞1̸:
̴ ͝ ̵ $̛w҉e̕a̡k[$̸we̷a̴k.l҉en͜gth]͠ ̷=҉ $̕t̨y͝peL͞iśt҉[̕$i];͟
̢ ̴ ̨ ͟b̀ręak;
͘ ͏ ̕ ҉cas͢e 0͠:
͠ ̴$̀no̷r҉m̶al[$͡n͝o҉rm̸al.̴l͏en̴g̵t̕h]̵ ̕= $typeLis͏t[͜$͠í];̨
͢ ͢ ̡ b̢r͠e̢ak̵;
̕case̡ 1̵:
̀ ͜ ͏$stro͢n̨g͜[̶$͘st̶r͏on̵g͠.le̕n͟g̨t͢h̨]͝ ҉= ͘$ty̸pe̶List͝[$̢i]̀;
͞ ͡ b̕reak͜;͞
͏ c̷as҉e͢ 2:
̀ ͏$dS͠t͠rong[͞$҉dStro̴ng.l͡e͠ngth̡]͟ = ́$̧t̨ypeL̶i҉st̷[̵$̀i͏];
̷ ҉ ̸b̛r͘ęak;̶
//Don'tscream
}͜
̸
}
//Don't scream
͞ ̡
͞ $̵da̷t̛a ͏= ̛[$dSt͟rong͢, ̢$͢s̶t̨ro̡n͠g͢,͝ $nơrmaļ, ͘$̕w̢e̸ak̴, $d͝Wea̧k, $̀im̀m̨une͘s͞];̶
̨ ҉dis҉p̀l̀ayD͞a̕t͡a(̢$d̡a̕ta)͝;
}͝);
//It'sstillhere
******************************************************************************
- We at Lexicon Studios would like to apologize to players within our community who have reported critical system failures within "Mean Streets".
We assure you that this glitch is with an unfinished character, and nothing more. This character will be taken out entirely and the character model of 'The Detective' will be returned to players that played as him ASAP.
While we cannot confirm why The Detective character has suffered such immense damage, we will be doing all we can to restore the character and to insure our loyal community can continue to enjoy "Mean Streets".
Thank you for your patience.
Amelia Cecille, President and CEO of Lexicon Studios.
*********************************************************************************
//It'sstillhere
//I'mstillhere
//m&8syde4tec89304Tive
Amber
E. Colyer is an aspiring novelist who loves all things horror, fantasy and
science-fiction. She has been writing since the age of eleven and is currently
writing about an action story about witches fighting in giant robots. Any spare
time she isn't writing, at work or in school is dedicated towards music, video
games and daydreaming.
Tags:
Short Fiction