The Clean Slate Program

20XX.

Mid-summer.

Late at night, somewhere in Asia.

Some guy is hunched over his laptop, listlessly scrolling through his social media feed for something to fill his monotonous idle time. Despite the fluorescent lamp shining brightly from the ceiling, the room is dark, made claustrophobic by the piled up clothes everywhere and scattered school supplies. At least he still has the sense to throw his trash out... 

He sighs, lamenting his miserable state of being. The young man doesn't even know how he got to this point anymore, whether this was all brought on by others around him, or if he wanted this for himself. Honestly, it doesn't really matter to him anymore. That's what he likes to believe. 

The state of his body was no better than his bedroom. He'd showered yesterday, but that's only because he had to go outside to run errands, not wanting to feel completely guilty about existing. Just one day after, he's right back to feeling like a clump of refuse. 

His appearance? It wasn't all that terrible, but it's clear that he's seen better days. His choice of clothing was... interesting. He had plenty of good clothes to choose from, but he went for the ones with the thinnest fabric. They even had holes and tears in some places, but he didn't care. These were the only ones loose enough that he didn't have to worry about his sloppy figure. 

Maybe he wouldn't look so bad if he'd start running again, or pick up those dumbbells gathering dust in the corner of his room, but what's the point in that? He never lasted more than a few days before. It won't change now even if he tried again. 

He's even stopped shaving his facial hair. If he let his unkempt hair down, he'd look like a homeless man with an unfortunate addiction. The only reason he still looks like a relatively sane person is the headband that keeps his hair from going everywhere. 

We could ramble on and on about his reasons to despise himself, but you get the gist of it. 

Right now, his eyes are bloodshot. He wanted to cry, but people like him didn't get to do that. He's not supposed to cry. He's not allowed to.

Just then, scrolling through a video-sharing site, an odd advert started playing. 

'The fuck?' he questioned in his head. 'That's... not normal for this site...? What's going on? Did they do another shitty update to introduce popup ads?'

Playing in the middle of his screen was a video that looks like it came right out of a cheap video game or movie production. Glitchy static effects came overlaid on footage of a strange figure, hunched over a desk. It looks like the viewer is sitting in an interview room with the entity, which looked like a skin-and-bones humanoid with glossy, pitch dark skin and a porcelain head. It began to speak in a deep voice, the audio quality tinny and staticky. 

< Would you like a new lease on life? >

< A fresh start? >

< ... >

< The chance to mold yourself into an entirely new person? >

'That would be nice,' he thought to himself. 

< How about you join us in a new world? >

< Make a name for yourself. >

< Become the ideal version of you. >

'If only life could be so convenient...'

< What do you say, Mr. ------? >

< Would you give yourself a new life? >

A "yes/no" prompt popped up on the screen.

'Okay, this is getting too weird. No way in hell I'm clicking that shit,' he said in his head. Though he did genuinely want to take the offer if it weren't so blatantly a scam...

< So your answer is yes, then. Very, very good. >

"What? No, wait-" he whispered his thoughts out loud. 'I didn't even click on anything?!'

And then, the ad disappeared. Like it wasn't even there.

"The fuck...?"

The young man spent the better part of an hour sifting through his PC for anything amiss. Malware, viruses, things like that. He couldn't find anything. Eventually, he gave up and collapsed back into his bed, completely exhausted.

'Was that some sort of weird prank? Some collaboration promo material...?'

He let his mind wander. He figured, maybe he just hallucinated the entire thing. With how he's been feeling lately and not having slept consistently for a good few weeks, maybe his mind has finally started to break down. 

After a few minutes, he started to feel strange...

'Fuckin' hell... do I always have to piss just as I'm about to fall asleep?'

He forced himself up and hopped off his bed to relieve himself. Turning the lights on, he passed his parents' room, the living room, and the kitchen on the way to the only bathroom in the house. He spent a good minute just emptying his bladder. 'Did I seriously build up that much...? Maybe I just drank too much water again...'

On his way back, he went into the fridge for a cold glass of water. Just then, passing the kitchen mirror, he froze in his tracks. 'Let's hope you're just a hallucination. Now, let's try to be brave and stare this motherfucker in the face.'

Our young man could see something like a dark figure in the corner of his eye, within the mirror's frame, but couldn't make out any details. Taking a deep breath, he clenched both fists, ready to go swinging if there really was something there. He may want to die, but not to some physical attack, hallucinated shadow monster or otherwise. He knew to himself that it was kinda pussy, but he just wanted to spontaneously pass in his sleep. 

Finally, he turns to face the mirror, only to find...! It was his father's long, black jacket and favorite white hat hanging on a hook.

"Oh."

Mr. Depression's arms went slack.

'Well, now I feel stupid.'

He sighed and lazily made his way back to his room. When he opened his door, he found an entity sitting on his bed, hunched over and using his laptop. It had to bend like a shrimp since it was so tall, and it looks like it's dragged his desk all the way over to the bedside. 'It's the thing from the ad...!'

Seemingly detecting the young man's presence, "it" started to speak.

"Lack of drive to live. Sufficient will to survive. History of running from home. History of pushing away your friends. This is perfect," it said in a deep, rumbling voice. "It will still be a surprise when you disappear, but it won't be completely unexpected or illogical." It continued to ramble as it stood up, walking right over to our protagonist while still hunching so as not to scrape the ceiling.

"You are being drafted for my experiment. Please, do not resist."

Before he could even say anything, or give any reaction at all, the darkness took him. No, literally - the shadows around corners and beneath furniture reached out in the form of goopy hands, twisting and wrapping around his body to restrain him. 

"I shall mark you as my property," the entity said, "so you will have a place at my side after you've outlived your usefulness in this test."

The creature reached into its chest, its half-skeletal, half-chitinous hand sinking into its sternum. It's like it was pushing into cornstarch water. When it pulled its hand out, it had a strange object within its clawed grasp. 

A round thing of metal, kind of like a disk-bowl-plate thing. It had a hole in it, coming in the shape of a four-pointed star, with the points touching the rim/border. It was filled with darkness at first, then it started glowing in an orange-tinted golden light.

"Ah. You are directly compatible with my power. That is good," it said in amusement. "I won't have to work by using one of my children as a proxy. Very, very good."

It pressed the metal object into our protagonist's chest, and this time, it was the proverbial darkness' turn to take him.

---

< Notice. The "Clean Slate" program is initiating. Please stand by. >

A feminine robotic voice spoke in -----'s mind.

'Say wha...?'

< Initiation successful. Please state your name. >

'Slate...?'

< Acknowledged. Registered [ User ] as "Slate." >

'What does clean slate mean...?'

"Slate" is clearly not all there at the moment...

< ... >

< Constructing body according to [ User ]'s desires and standards. >

< Too many parameters detected. Not all conditions can be fulfilled. >

< Adapting... >

'What the fuck is going on...?'

< Adaptation successful. A suitable body has been created. Designated species: [ Black Sludge ] >

< [ User ] has been granted the following abilities: >

- Innate Skill: ⌈ Mimic ⌋

 - Subskills: ⌈Consume⌋; ⌈Assimilate⌋; ⌈Minor Shapechanging⌋

- Species Skill: ⌈ Rapid Regeneration ⌋

- Species Skill: ⌈ Inflict Decay ⌋

- Species Skill: ⌈ Amorphous ⌋

- Innate Skill: ⌈ Soulsmith ⌋

- Innate Skill: ⌈ Heartless ⌋

'Too tired... gunna go sleep...'

< Body creation complete. >

< Ability acquisition complete. >

< Integrating [ User ]'s soul into host body... >

< Testing compatibility with physical host... >

< Compatibility confirmed. >

< Testing compatibility with acquired abilities... >

< Compatibility confirmed. >

< Integration successful. >

< Reincarnation sequence complete. >

< To summon the program interface, simply will it to appear. >

---

[A/N] : Hey, hi, hello. It's Mr. Blorp. The third paragraph of this author's note is going to be very sappy and personal, and not very happy, so just er, skip past it and move on or something. It's just something I want to get out of my head. 

For the important stuff regarding this novel! Yes, this was inspired by TenSura. No, this is not a fanfiction, and won't be a blatant copy. There will be a lot of similarities, but I will not be copying the general story beats or whatever. I want to go in my own direction. While Rimuru's development was definitely something I enjoyed seeing, it's not something that I want for Slate. I want to go in a direction closer to Overlord's if anything. Again, not exactly like that - something in between Slime Time and Bone Daddy Diaries. That is to say, I want Slate to be more of an anti-hero or vigilante. Will it be edgy? Maybe. But I'll try not to make it overbearing. That's it for now, or else my ramblings here will get too long. See y'all next chapter~! Weekly updates, btw. 

There's... a few people out there that know me, though the chances of them reading this thing is pretty damn slim. If you're here, sorry for disappearing so suddenly. I know I made it seem like I quit at making art and writing, but I know that I can't completely stop myself from doing that. What I really quit was, I guess, having deeper connections than just being acquaintances. I just can't handle it right now, and doing this is my form of self-therapy, I guess.