As the sperm who won the race, as the mud who woke up, as a blob of carbon currently taking the shape of humans. You who are alive yet you are not, consciousness incubates itself slowly into you.
Yeah, let's start with you closing your eyes. Go on, are they closed? You bloody better be. Now open your eyes. Now, ladies and gentlemen, that is called—drumroll.
'blinking'.
Okay, enough of the bad humor.
If you put everything else out in your mind. All your anxieties, the neuroses, all the sensations of your body. You will find that underneath all of that is nothing but awareness.
There's no obvious 'you' on the inside, there are no cute chibis pulling levers and pressing buttons, there's no center to being conscious. It's just presence. It's just awareness. There are sensations, awareness of sensations, and then processes—probably most of them are automatic in nature.
You, as a thing, don't seem to have a center if you look for one.
You, the conscious you, don't really exist, not concretely, to be very simple about it.
Fear is an automatic response in your brain to perceive scary shit, but fear itself is not under your conscious control. It's automatic, and if it's automatic, then that is not you.
It is a thing your brain does, but it's not a thing that 'conscious' you do. So presumably, there is stuff in your brain that you don't control and then there is stuff in your brain that you do control.
Stuff that is you.
Let's find out where the line is, then, shall we?
Well, for most of the day so far, you've been breathing and blinking automatically. Congratulations, keep it up—but now you're thinking about it and so now you're doing it manually.
Then you forget all of it in a few minutes and the process becomes fully automatic once again.
So that is not you.
Now what about the things you like? Surely you as a literate human being are able to choose those, let's say good music, for example. Good music activates the part of the brain dealing with euphoric reward responses or the bit that makes you feel nice. Okay, but do you 'choose' to prefer hip hop over heavy metal or over the fantastic curdling sounds of two cats banging outside while calling out your name in nyan language?
No, obviously not. Otherwise you would choose to prefer everything. Even though you can choose what to listen to, the preference itself—what presses your musical, food-ish, and social activities is out of your control.
So that is also not you.
Okay, so let's make the line clearer. You don't control what scares you, you don't control your basic survival stuff, you don't control what you enjoy—but how about others?
Balancing when you walk, falling asleep and then waking up, remembering who you are, where you're, when you're, or fetching memories in the first place, taking all the perceptions that are coming through your senses and turning them into coherent picture so that the world actually makes fucking sense.
Or even processing everything at the same time, comprehending texts, colors, or pretty much everything. Most of it is automatic, at least not mediated by your conscience. Is there anything in your brain that you control, then?
This is where the "Consciousness Strings" comes into play.
Tiny and long strings that makes up the soul of someone, a frequency, a metaphysical matter that makes an animal a living being and you, as you.
But it's possible that the strings you encompass to be actually not you. Such as this unknown soul over here, right infront of you. Invisible and weak, as it already disperse itself like a scattering sakura blossom. Gently, you connect your 'strings' into that weak consciousness to see what happened to her until you feel two suspicious entities judging you—or her.
"There have been numerous attempts, yet still to no avail," says the slumped down-to-earth one in kind motion. "It's still not enough."
"We wasted numerous cosmic eons for your forsaken feeble idea!" The outraged one smacks down the conceptual table. "There will be no Blue Wave!"
"I can feel it, we're close! We only need a little bit more—"
"No! We don't have enough time!" The being then approaches forward, "Stop running."
"I know."
The red dissipates, and the anger turns into a sigh. "This will be the last."
"I know. I'll promise that this will be the last"
"I'll use everything I have. But this person, this person's history has no glimmers and hope. This puny creature is pretty much a normal mortal."
"Even the people at the funeral don't exude much emotional conflict."
"How miserable, died as a feeble stone in-between."
You can feel the warmth, although forceful. Just like those social manipulations where you don't even know who your friend and who aren't.
'Life After Death' knowledge acquired.
"It was broken, but it still can go more."
"The primordial won't like us to tamper much, let's get it done."
"Yes."
The final bell holds onto the crumbling today.
Soon enough, you finally left behind your physical vessel. There is nothing but a dark void, and a warped space cultivating you with faith-induced energy. Now, you will never feel those judging eyes anymore.
It will be temporary, you promised yourself. You also promised yourself that if there is a second chance to live to the fullest, you will take it.
You will snatch it.
Make lemonade out of it.
And possibly, dethrone it.
Seems crazy, but all of it is just a tiny mindset that you plan because of the ever-living boredom. Slowly, your memory dissipates. It all becomes a blur to you.
12,000 years have passed by then.
After the ever longing eternal incubation, your shell blooms. The burden is gone, your soul is now free.
You think that you will be going to the cycle of reincarnation, but the path then branches before you.
The world is guiding you, you couldn't care less. The stream of life is trying to give you a new way.
Before you know it, you open your eyes.
Your vision is full of stars waving beneath the dark blue sea above. You caress the residues of sands beside you. The harsh and cold texture jolts your conscience mild enough to make you wonder where you are.
You're finally awake.
It might only be your subconscious but you feel like your body has more weight than that of the average human body. Possibly because of the artificial burden from the slumber you've just ended, it could be an eternal rest as far as you know. Because to be honest, you don't know much about anything either.
Contradicting the overgrown slothiness, your muscles stiffen from the reaction of the current temperature as you stand jolted in a rush. Only the higher god knows what is in your mind right now. The good news is, you're in a desert just as you predicted—at the sub-zero deadly night time.
"Long Leggy!" shouts someone from afar behind the hills of sands right in your direction. You also notice that you're not in an extreme freezing rigid state of some sort.
The serene winds caress you, those thoughts are enough to make you wipe the yellow grains on your unfamiliar outfit. Touching the warmth of stiff fabric makes you instinctively bend down your vision to see a glimpse of your appearance, although something on your chest is blocking the view. Actually, it was two heavy masses strapped to your chest—a pair of mighty mountains, you couldn't care less about it.
'I forgot my gender from all of that isolation, having a body is already a blessing.'
While ignoring the obvious non-hostile lifeform approaching you in seconds, you analyze your apparel to find that you wore a multi-layered unknown jacket and flexible loose pants tucked into your boots. The colors is still unknown because the illumination from stars sure isn't enough to let you see every spectrum of hues with naked eyes.
A humanoid silhouette approaches you while gasping, tumbling left and right. You look down to see this person stop right in front of you, she then hunches down in fatigue and tries to sponge every available air into her cramped lungs.
The panting sounds feminine, a short lass or it's just you who's incredibly taller.
You couldn't really distinguish her whole appearance beside the neck-length hair, she equipped herself with the same unfamiliar clothing with numerous medium-sized square pouches attached to her belt, strapped with many protection from head to toe unlike you, although not in a paranoid way. Her pair of glinting wrist-guard strikes you with the most impression.
You glare at her, raising your left eyebrow.
"Leggy, huft. Damn, you ran faster than a Grigoullas during mating season," she rants as her face is facing up towards you, her complexion shapes like a mature and slender person, which means that you're just more towering than her, "I swear that you really need to chill! I see no goddamn spider! We're in the desert for god-sake!"
But Leggy? Who is that? Is it a name? A nickname? Codename? Decapitated limbs' insurance? You don't know anything or where in the hell this place is, to begin with. The longer you stay conscious, the more confused you'll be.
"Who are you?" A sentence slips from your lips. You're also surprised by your own snowflake-soft soothing voice.
"Haha, nice joke, Leggy. I also don't know who the hell I am." She grins in such a mocking manner to the point that you snap from your confusion and tries to compete on who is kidding who.
"You also don't know me then," you say, despite the dumb 'Long Leggy' could actually be your name.
She steps back. "I know you," she says while adjusting her neck angle. Probably trying to not torture herself from staring at your face at point-blank range, "Well, you actually never told me your name so—"
"How about me? Do I know your name?" you say.
"I think I've told you about mine a few months ago. Huh, I think I forgot."
You fold both of your arms across your chess, trying to act natural. "Ayaya, how come you're the one who is forgetful here?."
"Hah! You don't have much to say about this matter." She points out, while laughing at your abrupt curiosity. Although it was clear that she is not used to your newfound personality. "And since when would you even bother about small stuff such as names anyway? The last time you care about someone's name is when we're looking for a criminal called Larpdick."
You can only snicker away, leading the situation to a mutual confirmation of both relationships.
This conversation gives you a hint that this person is actually someone who knows you before you even came into this world, but this isn't the time to start the existential crisis. You need to take every bit of information that you can get, indirectly. Because admit it, a transmigration where you didn't get the person's memory is just a straight-up existential crisis.
Moreover, it seems like the former person in the past before you gained this body hasn't told their name yet. Which makes you go into a trance for a bit on why this woman trusted you.
You smirk, "So where are we?"
"Still playing around? Gosh, what-shit-doodling of the ever forming cretin. We're in area 678 currently doing a reconnaissance mission to search for a damned escaping Calamity." She then darts her eyes to the surroundings. "And possibly, trying to be successful at staying alive. You know, all of that scouting stuff."
Calamity, she said it like it was some sort of entity or beast.
Recalling her words, you try to structure some believable whimsical response, "Let's hope that you're not left behind when that Calamity appears."
'It's a bad effort but better than nothing'.
"Right." She then walks away, stops and then turns around, seeing an unmovable tower cluelessly admiring the night sky. A moment of silence ensues before she makes a whole wrinkle of annoyed face. "Really!?"
You can only grin, although clueless.
She hurls down a heavy sigh, "Fine! I'll lead! Now hurry and grab your tits."
"They are still bigger than yours."
"Shut up!"
Amused, your first interaction and you handled it well. Even though this conversation isn't much of an event—but no, it's a fundamental action you've committed to stay natural while assessing the situation. You might be regretting this in the future but living your life as a completely new person and hiding your past in the sands of time is truly a golden ticket to all of the stress your past world has given you. Even though there hasn't any that can be dug from the sand of time, the burden was still there.
You're also being assured by her energetic and whimsical attitude towards you, making all of this possible. It seems like even though you can decide to sink into panic by pushing and being seriously agitating here, you actually wanted to be lowkey about everything.
The winds stroke against you once again. Lagging behind, you then follow suit, trampling down the sands along the way.
Although confident, you have so many questions on your mental projector left unanswered.
After a while trekking, she decides to converse, "We only have two hours left to find any sort of clues for accomplishing this boring mission. I really don't want to be a hunting target for any 'Angel' deserter in the daytime."
"An 'Angel'?"
"Hee, bold question for someone who had fought them before."
You almost break your mask, it's time to lay low for a while considering that you don't want your partner to start wondering if you're really the Long Leggy she is supposed to be.
You can actually tell your situation but you have your reason.
She abruptly hunch down in caution, alerting the situation. "Wait! Something is off—"
An earthquake. Grumble and tremor permeate your whole body, you then anchor yourself deep into the sands. "What in the world!?"
She hisses and then whispers in your direction "Don't make any sounds!"
"Ah, wokeh!" you whisper back, with a thumbs up.
You can see her ransacking her numerous pouches. She then pulls out a gas mask with two filter respirators and puts it on her face in such a hurry.
You pointed at yourself, trying to give her a hint if she has any more gas mask on her pouches because you're actually panicking on what in the oblivion is currently happening, you can even feel the beads from your forehead begin to fall down as if some bad omens will happen if you don't get that sort of breathing protection.
She only replies to you with two arms gesturing an X mark.
You examine your non-existent belongings.
You had nothing.
You're screwed.
An area around 50 meters from you starts to glow in dim green. The sands are tumbling up and down like popcorns on a comically large pan.
Your face is even paler than before, you don't know whether you want to keep your cool or stay rational to assess the situation—that is rather hard to comprehend because you can see some hostile intent emitted from behind. Possibly, your own partner.
Skies shudder, winds clobber; the sea of sands spews out a large entity with numerous hands, towering 100 meters into the sky, it has a white bark-like exterior looked from afar as it dimly emits a weak green source of light. One of the arms is larger than the other, branching from the middle part of its torso.
It emits a visible mist that smells really bad like some rotten potatoes. You pinch your nose hoping that you won't die from this even though you already inhaled some proportion amount of mist.
This must be the "Calamity." You think. It then spreads its wings and sets the windy trails against the gails. The thickness of the gusting winds are as dense as nails. It pierces the ground with its gargantuan arm, shaking the whole desert exponentially before extracting a massive skewering sword. The sword width is half the size of the morbid entity, and twice the length. You feel like this is something that only comes on a final boss area, definitely not on your first day of coming to this god-forsaken world.
The woman jumps due to your high stature to face-slam you into the ground, forcefully proning you. "Code red! This is not our target!"
You can still hear her voice clearly although muffled by the gas mask.
Gritty and painfully bitter, you spit out the sand in your mouth before talking, "What is even our target!?"
"Something that can't kill you instantly!"
"Then what is that mask for!?"
"To protect myself from the substances of Timoreia!"
"Timo-what!?"
"Grade Nine Calamity with a three-times history of causing Singularity, they release a gas-like molecular virus that will revert an individual historical progress to the juncture of the past and forcefully reassembling all of your—"
"Speak in my language!"
She pauses for a bit, then stares at your eyes. You can see her pinkish hair under the green illumination.
She then throws her gaze into the monster again, "You will be reverted into a child." A chuckle permeates the air afterward.
Alas, you're still confused about how to assess the situation. "What does that even mean!?" Your pale face tries to terrorize your partner with a glare. "You don't have any gas masks left!?"
"I do!"
Your eyes of disgust widen. "Then why didn't you give it to me earlier?"
"Hah! My true goal is out of your comprehension!!"
Just as she said, you can't comprehend her actions at all. Regrettable as it is, you can't see it through the gas mask but you feel like she is grinning the whole time.
Hemorrhaging, physical numbness, and your head feels like they are flying. It seems like the virus began to act up. You swear that you will pay this pettiness tens fold if you manage to survive. All worldly problems pale in comparison to your killing headache, both mentally and physically.
She interjects your brain cramping thoughts, playfully reminding you, "We only need to hide, tighten our buttcheeks, and pray."
And so, you prayed to the RNG.