The entire town of Buckhannon was buzzing. A curious, hopeful energy filled the hot summer air, tempered with the deep-seated West Virginian skepticism that met any and all political promises. Mayor Bob Thompson had called a major press conference in Jawbone Park, promising a "bold new vision for the future of our proud community." It was the biggest political event of the season, and it felt like the whole town had turned out to see it.
Chris Day stood in the middle of the growing crowd, a reluctant participant in this grand civic spectacle. He had been dragged along by a civically-minded and quite persuasive Jessica Lange, who had insisted that it was his duty to stay informed.
"Isn't this exciting?" Jessica said, her voice filled with an un-ironic enthusiasm that Chris found both baffling and kind of endearing. "It feels like something is actually happening."
"Or something is about to be announced that will eventually lead to something happening," Chris countered, his own natural cynicism a well-worn coat he couldn't quite take off. "Political announcements are like game trailers. They always look way better than the final product."
A large, professionally printed banner was stretched behind a podium. It read: "The Buckhannon Gateway Initiative: Progress for a Proud Community."
Chris spotted Monika Moller in the crowd, standing with her parents near the front. She saw him and gave him a bright, friendly wave. He waved back, a small, awkward gesture, but the social interaction sent a pleasant feeling through his system. He was a normal person. In public. With friends. It was still a bit novel.
The mayor's press conference was a well-orchestrated piece of political theater. A local news van was parked on the grass, a reporter with a microphone looking serious and important. A small, designated area was filled with folding chairs for the town's more prominent citizens. Chris, Jessica, and the rest of the common folk stood on the lawn, a crawd of hopeful, sweaty faces.
Mayor Thompson finally took the stage to a smattering of polite, if unenthusiastic, applause. He had shed the approachable, folksy sweater of his last video and was now wearing a crisp, dark suit, and a power-tie. He was no longer the folksy grandpa; he was the decisive publicly-appointed official.
His voice, amplified by the speakers, boomed across the park with a practiced, false sincerity. He spoke of progress. He spoke of prosperity. He spoke of a brighter future for the children of Buckhannon. And then, he got to the point.
He unveiled a grand, ambitious plan. He gestured to a large, artist's rendering on an easel next to the podium. It showed a gleaming, modern shopping center. "I give you," he declared, his voice ringing with a manufactured passion, "the new Gateway Plaza!"
He explained his plan to demolish the "blighted and underutilized" block of old, historic buildings on South Kanawha Street—a block that included the old, single-screen movie theater that had been remodeled into a bar. In its place, he promised this modern shopping center and community hub, a shining beacon of commerce that would bring jobs and prosperity to their small town. He introduced a slick, smiling representative from the project's development partner, a woman in a sharp, expensive-looking business suit.
"Please join me in welcoming Aubree Valenti, a senior partner from the renowned and respected firm, Veridian Developments!"
Chris, standing in the crowd, felt a sense of unease. He had a pretty good idea of what was happening here. He used his [INSPECT (Tier 2)] ability, an invisible diagnostic in the middle of the cheering crowd. The data was, as he had suspected, damning.
[Name: Bob Thompson]
[Status: Deceptive, Desperate]
[Approval Rating: 18%]
[Name: Aubree Valenti]
[Class: Corporate Raider (LVL 45)]
[Status: Predatory]
He then focused his [Function: Analyze Contractual Integrity] on the glossy proposal pamphlet Jessica was holding. The entire document, from its cheerful, stock-photo cover to its fine-print-filled back page, began to glow in his vision with a faint, corrupt red aura. This wasn't a civic project. This was a heist.
Later that night, back in the familiar gloom of his bedroom, Chris was agonizing. He had the data. He knew the Mayor's grand, heroic plan was a corrupt, self-serving sham designed to funnel money into his brother-in-law's pockets. But what could he do? He couldn't just post his secret, magical findings on the community forum. "Hey everyone, my cosmic video game interface told me the mayor is a crook." He would be laughed out of town.
He was in the middle of this frustrating mental chess match when a new notification appeared on his HUD. It wasn't a quest. It wasn't a reward. It was his [MESSAGING] tab.
He opened it. The message was from the [SYSTEM KERNEL]. It was written in a sterile, passionless, and deeply corporate style. It was a memo. A memo from the universe's head office.
[MEMORANDUM
TO: All Users
FROM: System Kernel Stability Oversight Committee
RE: General Reminder on Project Etiquette
This is a general reminder to all Users regarding best practices for reality kernel manipulation. While the System encourages creative and dynamic interaction with local environmental parameters, please be mindful of the ongoing projects of other Users.
The mass destruction of a species, however localized or seemingly insignificant, is frowned upon. Many long-term "species projects" are multi-User pet projects, often scaled over millions of years of development. The sudden, unannounced, and unauthorized termination of another User's ongoing project is considered disrespectful and a violation of inter-User community standards.
Please be mindful of the ongoing projects of your fellow Users. When in doubt, file a cross-platform environmental impact report before executing any wide-scale, species-level commands.
Thank you for your cooperation. Have a productive day.]
Chris staring at the memo, stunned.
There were other Users.
The universe wasn't a single-player game. It was a massively multiplayer online game. And the other players were working on multi-million-year pet projects.
Oh, shit. The kudzu.
The memo wasn't just a general reminder. It was a passive-aggressive, corporate-speak complaint, directed squarely at him.
He had just been formally, and very politely, reprimanded by the server admins for griefing someone's multi-million-year-old weed project.
The scale of his reality had just expanded in a terrifying way. He wasn't just a player. He was a player in a shared, collaborative, and apparently very passive-aggressive sandbox. And he had stepped on someone else's cosmic sandcastle.