Interoids was a bizarre fanfiction project created by Natalie Neumann that helped launch her passion for passion for writing fiction. Natalie does not recommend that you try to read the original work due to its low quality, structural issues, and grammatical errors. Instead, she encourages you to read the summary included in Volume 05: Intertoids of The Saga of Vincent Dawn and Volume 01: Intertoids of Natalie Rambles About The Saga of Vincent Dawn to better understand the content of this novella.
It is always more than a bit aggravating to go through one game every week for five years without skipping a beat, but Ace Pillock couldn’t really think of anything else he’d rather be doing. It was certainly more fulfilling than being an office temp. And he had success beyond that as the author of two novels, being the primary reason for a convention, and helping to start up a shop known as the Mana Bar. Yet after 5 years of rearranging white stick figures against a yellow background, it started to lose some of the charm. Ace certainly didn’t mind the work, though it can get tedious. After all, coming up with cleverly craft analogies to describe how several billions 1s and 0s are not as good as he thinks they should be is not the easiest thing in the world.
Part of him longed for a way to get out of this, but due to the revenue he gets from the Escapist, that seems like an unlikely ambition. This being yet another holiday season where his reviews would come out just after people finish their run of the title, he felt his opinion being weighed down more as comedy than anything. Ace certainly did try to make the videos of his critics as humorous as he could as long as he got his point across.
His latest video was done ahead of schedule this time, after all not every game takes a week to get through. As he was fixing up the still images for the final cut of the episode, he suddenly felt exhausted. Well, more like someone kicked up in the gut at 2 in the morning, but same idea. He bent over at his desk, panting like a dog in an oven. Vision was fading, sounds were getting hard to differentiate, everything smelled of odd eggs, and his body went numb. Ace was panicking internally while his body entered a catatonic state as he felt his heart beat faster than he could ever recall. Then, nothing.
Ace woke up in what looked like a hospital, except it was old. And not just outdated equipment, it looked like it was built in the late 19th century with mold coated bricks lining the walls, creating a very eerie glow. As he looked around his surroundings, several realizations burst into his mind. He was strapped to a cot with leather harnesses that were torn on the ends, but still looked like they could restrain a bear with little difficulty. The ground was drenched with water that was nearly half a meter in height. Most unusual was how he could no longer feel anything. He body was stiff and his nerves were, well, no longer responding. He felt no oxygen come in or out of his mouth as he panted and panicked. Ace could no longer smell, his heEring was shot, and even things as simple as temperature and his skin were both devoid of any response when he tried to feel them.
Very oddly, he could still speak, not that he would have anything to say other than a panic filled scream followed by a plea for help. Only to be silenced as he went to gasp for breath that he no longer felt. It was very odd to speak without any sensation let alone being able to hear it, but part of him just knew that the cause for his second blackout was that he was heard.
Ace awoke in another unfamiliar place. It was a nearly featureless white room, although he was still in the same cot as before. There was a mildly overweight woman standing in front of him, dressed in a yellow dress that, quite frankly, did not look good on her at all. He could now feel his nerves again, but as he was scrunching his hand and gasping for air, he saw the woman’s previously half smirk sink into a look of pity. Like he just agreed to some kind of ritual that would have him lose his left toes. He tried talking to her, then she quickly leapt onto Ace’s cot to cover his mouth while holding her index finger up to her yellow gloss covered moth to indicated silence. Ace was not having any of this, he was straight up pissed about all of this shit that was happening to him. He was still strapped in the same cot, yet he noticed that his legs were free, and he proceeded to kick the woman upwards. And then things got strange.
The woman only went upwards a tad, more than you would assume given her build, but she did not fall down, and seemed to drift upwards and hit the wall. She moved like a balloon, and popped like one hitting a bed of needles when she touched the ceiling with her bottom. There was no blood and not really any remains. No splatter got on him, and it just hit his leather harnesses and the walls. However, Ace still instinctively shut his eyes, and when he opened them, the room was now yellow, and his cot was entirely gone. Or at least he thought that, since he had no real frame of reference with his current location, and instead of laying on his back or falling, he was floating, floating in a featureless yellow room.
And by featureless, he truly meant it. Ace did not see any walls, a ceiling, or even any ground in this landscape that was only definable by a color, yellow. He actually was unable to point out any other traits to this place, he didn’t actually feel any heat, any cold, any air, any- oh no! It was happening once more. Ace tried to run and ended up flying through the yellow, not having any sensations at all, not even that of motion. Like before, he could talk. However, he now heard his voice, and only his voice. His speech was faster than it normally was, but the inflection he said anything in and the yellow room made him realize that he was indeed within one of his videos. Upon this realization, as if a trick by some sort of deity, a large window appeared, with it was his apartment from the view of his laptop. He shouted for someone to help, and someone did come, the stick figure that he represented himself with in his videos.
He was baffled by this idea, how could that image be out in his apartment? How was it even real? All his questions came out like ones he would write, and he then realized something that shocked him, his hands were turning white. Not just pale, pure white, and his fingers were curling up. Meanwhile, just the opposite was happening for the figure on screen, he was obtaining more human features as Ace was losing them. It was not a very long process, within a minute he was having his arms and legs vanish, only to be replaced by pure nothingness, while the figure gained Ace’s former legs. He was shouting while the figure was emotionless. He moaned and begged, and nearly had several heart attacks due to the pure shock and horror of not only having his body vanish before his eyes, but lose all feeling within it. Could you even imagine not being able to feel, let alone smell or taste?
His head was the last to morph, and the most painful. His lips no longer moved, and he was just projecting his thoughts through a well worded monologue that the figure did not have any indication of heEring. But when it got to where his mind was, he felt empty, all of his memories suddenly popped away, with only his work involving this little stick man being what he knew, unless it was for a joke. His childhood and friend were no longer in his thoughts, he even lost the ability to recognize his name as his own, he was now one entity that was known as Diceman.
Diceman stayed motionless in the big yellow world, hoping for Ace to give him directions in order to please him. He was sure chipper that Ace found a way to control him by vocal commands, making him do the work, it was the better way, after all, Diceman was made for work, so he better go out and do it.
Videos lasted longer with uploads merely a day or two after the game was beaten. Diceman was happy to please Ace and to feel useful. As time moved on, years and years went by, he noticed that Ace was changing, he was getting grey. Diceman had no real sense of time, so he could have been doing these videos for five or fifty years, he couldn’t tell, he only existed to serve and he only did just that. One day, he could feel that he was not being called upon by Ace, and the time got longer, and longer, and longer. Until, he was gone.
Diceman no longer felt, he no longer breathed, he no longer lived, but that was for several years. Now Diceman no longer existed, he felt his yellow world vanish in a second, along with his final thoughts of seeing Ace Croshaw again. He could never do anything, for Diceman no longer existed and Ace was a carcass that finally lost all life.
He would be forgotten, he would be ignored, even the greatest legacy is destined to be brushed Aceeath the annals of time, especially ones from his time. Ace had thought of his legacy, but in the end, he came to the conclusion, that with thousands of Yottabytes coming into the world every few hours, there is no room for a stickman in a yellow backdrop, much less his predecessor.