Simulated Genesis

He was a cheater, and how she detested cheaters.

How dare he. This was clearly something far beyond what she could comprehend—or so she thought. It wasn't the cheating even that so consumed her, that so drove her to madness. It was that he thought such an easy and simple act would go unnoticed, unpunished as well.

He was wrong.

She would be the punishment, she would bring him to the light of judgment—even if no one understood. She was doing him a favor, everyone a favor really. If what he desired was to simply win than she wondered, was it worth it? Was all of this worth it? He would suffer, how he would suffer greatly. No one stood before her, not now and not ever. Somewhere along the way, along the destinies, he had a price to pay.

Competition boiled in Taffyta's blood, and she felt its life coarse through her as she sped across the track. Race after race after race she consumed the catharsis of victory; she thrived on the doses of euphoria that put her at a high when she won time and time again. She was a natural competitor. To think that there were those who still, after all of these cycles, thought they could steal that from her drove her mad. All was safe and healthy in fair sport, at first—those many cycles ago, it didn't bug her. Yet her foundation grew, and so did her lust for winning. After so many victories she began to realize that it was her given job to take victory from those who were unworthy, who couldn't handle it. There were a few who stood a chance, a few who at least somewhat stood up to her; one who regularly beat her even-their late king. The corruption that had consumed him disappeared along with his form into the great abyss outside the matrix. Somewhere deep down this disturbed her beyond comprehension. The one who through example fed her the lust to continue racing, to continue beating those below her had dissolved into the infinite. What hell was this? If the one that she looked up to and so trusted in admiration as a leader turned out to be none other than a corruption, a virus—then where did she have any sort of idol to aspire to?

It was then that she began to realize with full force that it was her job to lead the rest of them. Or so she liked to think; in reality she now had a new competitor among the group, the new Queen, the new 'beacon', a wretch by the name of Vanellope.

She wouldn't do, she wouldn't do at all.

That—thing was the new leader. Her fake smile and cheerful demeanor around Vanellope could only barely hide the seething hatred inside of her. The deep and burning core of sheer disgust for this distortion as their "Queen" made her stomach churn, her face hot with envy and anger. It was to be her that was to attain the rightful place of queen within the matrix, not Vanellope, not that—glitch.

It ate at her day in and day out. Race after race, loss after loss it consumed her. The king was the only figure she could look up to, with him gone how was she to stand under the glitch's shadow? She didn't deserve that, especially considering she was the superior racer, the superior being.

But alas, what was she to do in reality?

There was no doubt, Vanellope was a fierce competitor—she was at least not to be underestimated. To worsen matters, she had this bizarre ability: she could briefly manipulate the very fabric of the matrix to her will; shifting positions in space in an instant. It was almost Godlike, to be expected of a "glitch" of course. She was reminded time and time again that Vanellope wasn't really a glitch—per se, moreso an "advanced" program. This without a doubt drove Taffyta closer and closer to sheer insanity with every utterance.


All of this groveling over a mutation—a failed program—It was simply pathetic. She was not advanced, no matter how much everyone spat out those words. What she could do, that willful manipulation of the matrix, that was not advanced, it was barbaric and it was sick. There was nothing advanced about her, and how she cheated to win the races day in and day out. Repugnant little devil. To think that their very own Queen was not only unworthy of her title, but a cheater—surely the matrix: the very framework of their existence here within the confines of this electric reality—acknowledged this unjust ruling. Yet cycle after cycle she carried on, she continued on with her win streaks. She continued to beat Taffyta.


So, Taffyta would grind her teeth, slowly simmering on hatred that surely matched the land itself in size. She couldn't beat Vanellope, this she knew full well. That monster would probably infect her with the bizarre properties.

Then she got an idea; if it is those same properties that give her God like abilities, perhaps she could use them to her advantage?

It all seemed maddening, she didn't even know if the powers worked like that—if they could be handed off like a sickness. It only seemed logical though, after all she had experienced it first hand through physical contact. It was abhorrent to feel any sort of desire for the vile characteristics of that witch. She would have to swallow her pride and not only continue being kind and friendly to the little runt, she would have to spend extended time with her; gain her trust, get close to her and obtain her deepest approval.

This would be a very difficult road, they had a very rocky history after all. Vanellope wasn't very bright, and Taffyta knew that it would only take some minor sweet talk and tongue biting to get on her best side.

No matter how many times she lost a race to Vanellope, she would simply smile and congratulate her on her victory, even if it was rightfully hers. She was reaching a point where she could barely withhold her brown-nosing though, where her sucking up was literally breaking her down from the inside out. She hated Vanellope, she hated her with every fiber of her being. How long would she need to waste being the monster's friend? When would she get her powers too? When would she take her place, her throne?

Then one day, a foolish boy got in her way.

Taffyta had never paid much attention to him, after all he was simply a back racer that got almost last every time. The ridiculous thing's name was Cottonuget Pepperswirl. Even his name she found to be ridiculous. Standing a bit taller than the rest of them, he had messy silver hair and a pitiful baby face. He wore a rather generic peppermint candy cane design racing suit with dark chocolate boots. In all honesty the boy was barely even noticeable really, she could barely choke out any remorse for the loser.

Yet one day, he beat her.

This was wrong, all wrong.