NOVEL WEB Prologue
In a realm of undefined existence, centered around a singular sphere of vibrant blue and a mixture of greens, sat an entity of amorphous design, an absence of color, and a mere outline of delineation between itself and the surroundings. This being had no fixed form, and had details which changed as it was continuously observed. The Watcher, an incomprehensible being of countless dimensions, continued to process the souls of the dead from its assigned planet of sapients. The job had been automated from an unquantifiable amount of experience and work, leaving the cosmic entity bereft with little more than to simply be while its workings ran without guidance. Soul after soul would float from the planet, each would be evaluated and tagged, cleaned and sanitized, and finally sorted into the appropriate bucket. While more akin to inter-dimensional and inter-spatial gateways and routes, they took the appearances of buckets, each with a unique coloring scheme to signify their outlet.
The tags were simple and in order of priority. Karma ranged from -1 to 1, reflecting the impact an individual had on their environment. They were rare, but individuals with a karma score of -1 were simply obliterated, while scores of 1 were directed towards the white bucket. In the current era, souls had lately floated closer to the range of -0.5 to 0.5, with only a few outliers beyond this bell curve. The Watcher had learned early on not to closely inspect those with too low or too high of a Karma score, as it was a designation based on parameters it did not fully comprehend.
The next tag was the Remaining Potential tag, ranging from 0 to 1, reflecting how much more a soul could accomplish. This tag was never either 0 or 1, always something in between. Even a newly born babe had a potential below 1. Souls with a score below 0.1 were directed towards the gray bucket. This was an attribute that was hard to describe, but was still one of great importance nonetheless.
After that came the Compatibility table, again with values ranging from 0 to 1, but this was much less defined and rigid. This table could be as short as two entries, or as varied as a matrix; the dimensionality was dependent on the world itself and the soul’s knowledge of other life forms. This table was where the bulk of the sorting came in, with different buckets each representing a singular attribute or combination from this table. Some souls would have a combination of metrics which made them more compatible with the aquamarine bucket, while others would be better fit to the pink bucket. On rare occasions, a soul would be designated for the ultraviolet bucket. Truly this tag held the bulk of the sorting influence, and had been the most difficult part when The Watcher first undertook the task.
Nothing changed, everything was the same, and The Watcher no longer needed to personally inspect any of the souls. Its powers did all the work, classification, and sorting while The Watcher awaited for the End. But as fables dictate all good things must come to an end, so too did The Watcher’s solitude, as an unwelcome and uninvited guest penetrated its domain. This invader was no more or less powerful, but the lack of decorum or courtesy painted them as the uncooperative type with little regard to the desires of others.
The mood, in so far as one existed, shifted to one of simmering adversity. The two eternal entities engaged in the equivalent of a staring contest, their powers gently waging for dominance.
The multidimensional entity rippled, as across indescribable planes and realities The Watcher shifted to give the invader an equivalent of a glare and verbal lashing. As time is not a factor here, the resulting gap between events can be likened to a pause or Mexican Stand-off.
Again another pause, before The Watcher moved and de-escalated the situation. In an unspoken, unconfirmed agreement, it focused its will on the mass of new souls, in particular one with a tang of energy matching the other being’s. Karma was acceptable, 0.25 was currently slightly above average. Remaining Potential was a solid 0.75, showing the soul to be early in its journey through existence. The Compatibility Table was, unusually extensive, possibly one of the largest in recent evaluations. With reluctance, The Watcher gently pulled the soul from the flow, moving it away and towards the guest. Its automatons suggested the soul would likely best belong to either the teal or chartreuse buckets, but this was beyond normal operating procedure. Right as the cleansing process was to begin, the invader interrupted.
The Watcher gave an impression of confusion, as it observed a new bucket among its collection. The newly-created bucket was indeed small, and placed at the edge of the random arrangement. It was relatively small, but in good company. With a glacial motion, The Watcher gradually moved the special soul right over the purple rim. With a flourish the bucket activates, connecting to somewhere wholly new. Carefully observing the intruder, The Watcher released the soul into the bucket as the plume of ectoplasm vanished with a swish and a pop.
The intruder was gone with a pop, before The Watcher could reprimand them further. Paying the events no further mind, The Watcher returned to its duties, this time spotting yet another soul of interest. This one, without the mark of the intruder, seemed to have been flagged by another entity, one who had been gracious enough to properly knock before entering The Watcher’s domain. She faced The Watcher with grace, and a soft smile, before making her request:
{Those two were meant to be a pair; may I request your assistance?}
A man and a boy were walking together along a stone sidewalk, the man holding the child’s right hand with his left. In the crook of the man’s right arm was a large white egg with green spots. The child had a neutral face, unreadable to any kind of emotion. The man seemed jubilant, with happy thoughts clearly illustrated by his soft smile and upright posture. He was of average height, sported short-cut chestnut hair, matching brown eyes, and a lean build decorated with what would be best described as ‘casual wear’ by someone who thought that a banana cost one-hundred Pokedollars. The boy was the appropriate height for his age, with medium-length blonde hair, unnaturally green eyes, and a slight pudge that betrayed an above-average weight, sporting a generic shirt and shorts which alluded to an active outdoor lifestyle.
Eric took a moment to glance down at Stanley, who was surprisingly calm despite being given his own pokemon. Several of their neighbors and the wild pokemon who lived in the town were giving appreciative nods, a congratulatory wave, or other signifiers of approval as the pair passed by. The egg was just that, a large egg with a firm shell and an unlimited number of possibilities just waiting inside.
As the daylight was coming to an end, and the sky began to shift from a vibrant blue to an aurora of oranges and purples, the pair arrived home. A window on the front was propped open, allowing the aroma of the night’s dinner to waft out and welcome them. A woman of similar age to Eric, wearing a light green and white sundress noticed the pair through the kitchen window; disappearing to open the front door and welcome her husband home with a smile. Her long auburn hair was straight and well-maintained, outlining her light brown eyes and supported by a lithe build.
<”Now Stanley, go wash up for dinner. We’ll make your pokemon a warm bed afterwards.” Eric instructed, closing the front door behind him. Stanley, hungry for his mother’s delectable pot pie, made a beeline for the washroom and cleaned his hands thoroughly; with soap this time. Knowing better than to leave the egg as it was, Eric pooled together a few blankets on the couch and swaddled his son’s new hope for normalcy. He leaned in and whispered to the egg, “You’re my son’s last chance, I know you can help him break out of his shell, just like you’ll do soon enough.”>
The egg remained still on the couch, too young to do much beyond serve as a decoration for the near future. Eric made his way to the kitchen table, where Diane was busy plating steaming hot casserole. With near-perfect timing, Stanley wandered from the bathroom and took his seat at the table, his expression unchanging.
Hey, Narrator, no spoilers.