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My Big Responsibility

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You hate Sburb. You really fucking do. Every task was so frustratingly difficult, and no matter what you do, you or one of your teammates die. Not only that, but it’s damn near impossible to beat this fucking game.

Taking in a deep breath, you put down your controller.

Reader ===> Introduce yourself.

You suppose you should.

Your name is (Y/N) (L/N). As was previously mentioned, you absolutely hate SBURB, whereas a few of your BUDDIES absolutely love the damned game. You have a passion of PLAYING VIDEO GAMES, and you are the best at it. When playing SBURB, you are known as the (GOD TIER), but outside of SBURB, you are a COLLEGE STUDENT with ABSOLUTELY NO LIFE. (Y/N), what will you do?

Reader ===> Respond to your friends.

Oh, you didn’t even notice the message notifications flashing on the screen through your rage. With a slightly irritated expression, you click open Pesterchum.

EB: (y/n) where are you?
EB: i know you died and all, but we need your help!
CH: Sorry, John. I need a minute.
TG: well hurry up man
TT: Dave, please don’t rush (Y/N). She has every right to “cool down” after getting killed the umpteenth time.
TG: ok ok fine whatever
CH: Brb.
TT: Take your time.

You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. When you had first received the game for your twentieth birthday, you were excited to run around the world, killing monsters and collecting those weird Gusher grist things you need to upgrade your weapons and to build with. Now, you’re tired of flying through space as a god with a handful of friends you had met along the way.

There was Rose, the Seer of Light. She kinda creeps you out at times, but she’s promised to be your drinking buddy. Pretty fucking sweet.

Dave, the Knight of Time. The cool dude’s shared some of his sick beats with you, and although you don’t particularly like rap, you find his music to be pretty awesome. Not that you’d tell him that, of course. His ego’s large enough as it is.

The Heir of Breath, aka John, is probably your nerdiest friend, like, ever. He likes all of these stupid, shitty movies, like Con Air (you’ve told him you’ve seen it. You were lying.), and he absolutely hates clowns. You do, too, but for your own reasons.

Jade did her job as the Witch of Space pretty well, but lately, she’s been too busy sleeping to help beat the game. You can’t really blame her.

Dirk, Dave’s older brother, has momentarily quit the game. The Prince of Heart had been decapitated for the second time, which you find pretty ironic because how many times can a guy get decapitated? You guess he’s pretty mad at the situation, but getting his head cut off by his younger brother probably irked him. Things have been tense between them.

Roxy doesn’t really care, though. She finds it pretty amusing her brothers are arguing over such stupid things, and she doesn’t hold back the details on their arguments at home. Either way, she’s pretty cool, if you overlook her wizard obsession. The Rogue of Void is an alcoholic in recovery, and you tell her every day that damn, you’re proud of her. You like to think this helps keep her motivated.

The lad off on an adventure is known as the Page of Hope. By the way, when you say adventure, you really mean he’s off on a hunting trip with his and Jade’s grandpa. Jake is well known to anyone who’s sat through his blabbering for more than five seconds (inside and outside the game) to be pretty trigger happy. He’s tried to convince you to visit their little island so he can bring you on an adventure, but you passed on that. You quite like the indoors, thank you very much.

One of your closest friends is Jane. As the Maid of Life, or the Healer of the group, she’s saved your ass too many times to count. Without her, you’d probably be knocked so far back, your god tier would’ve been stripped from you. In the real world, she started out as your penpal. You needed some help baking a cake for your grandmother and asked around on numerous different sites for any good recipes. Jane quickly responded, sending you a recipe of her own creation. Well, after a while, you two became good friends, and she convinced you to get Sburb. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

The twins are a completely different story, and with the two bickering so much, Rose blocked them both for a week. Caliborn and Calliope are complete opposites. The Lord of Time was constantly killing everyone, trying to be the best player and literally the lord of the game, and the Muse of Space spends her time either trying to help everyone, drawing everyone in their god tiers, or running from her brother. To say they were an interesting duo was a severe understatement.

A small ding catches your attention, and you notice it’s a private message from… you don’t really know, to be honest. You can’t see their chum handle, and the page’s empty. Raising an eyebrow, you message your friends.

CH: Guys, I just got a message from some random asshole.
GG: :o
GG: Oh? What does it say?
CH: I have no idea. There’s no chum handle, no message, nothing. It’s blank.
TG: dirk says to highlight everything
TT: Are you two finally talking again?
TG: oh hell no
TG: he walked by and read the message over my shoulder
TG: then he flashstepped away like he was on fire
EG: well, his raps ARE pretty lit
--tentacleTherapist[TT]has blocked ectoBiologist[EB].--
CH: Hey now, that pun was pretty funny.
TT: Do I need to block you, too?
CH: No thanks.
TT: I thought so.
CH: I’m gonna try highlighting the text. I’ll be on in a bit.
--chumHandle[CH] has left the chat.--

Reader ===> Highlight the text.

You already did. You’re looking at the message right now.

Open your door and retrieve the package.

That sounds like something you shouldn't do. However, you’re bored with your life, and you’re currently angry at Sburb, so why not?

Pushing yourself away from your desk, you get up from the rolly spinny chair (you don’t really care about the actual name of it. Desk chair sounds way too boring.) and walk to the front door. You look through the peephole and see no one standing there (at least, not from what you can see) and decide to test your chances by opening the door. A quick glance reveals no one hiding, but at your feet, there’s a box with holes carved in the sides and a note taped to the top.

There’s movement inside.

Taking in a breath, you pick up the box with little difficulty, bringing it inside before the poor creature can freeze. After all, it’s pretty chilly for mid-September. The door slams closed due to your foot kicking it, and whatever’s in the box is startled. Poor creature. You set the box on the table.

It doesn’t look like very much, and it’s too dark for you to see inside of it without taking the top off. It vaguely reminds you of one of those boxes they put a bird or a mouse or something in when you purchase one at a petstore. Glancing at the note, you carefully peel it off and read it.

Take good care of this little fella. They’ve been through a lot.

Uh huh. Okay. It’s not like you have much of a choice. Besides, you were thinking of getting a pet to keep you company, and to keep you sane. College sucks ass.

With another deep breath, you pull the top off the box.

And you scream.