Author's Note: Ah, this is such a weird thing to be seeing from me. A story with personifications of game genres? You're weird Hyper, you complete dumbass. Well, I decided to go with it anyway. This story will mainly have one-shots, but I might start an arc one day, who knows?
I'm really not sure whether this fits in Fanfiction or Fictionpress; in later chapters, I plan on the genres screwing around in some games, so I decided to put it in Fanfiction. I would appreciate it if somebody discusses this issue in a review or PM!
Now, enough prattle! Let's start with our first sucker!
a dumb thing by HyperInuyasha
1: Interactive Fiction in: The Voice
Interactive Fiction was a strange man. From birth, he had an incurable blindness; he wandered through the dark, avoiding grues, thieves and the like. He never knew what he actually looks like, but from what he heard from the other genres, he looks pretty damn good.
Unless they were lying. Which they probably were. Interactive didn't know what was true-or-false; only the Voice knew.
Oh yes, the Voice probably should have been mentioned first. Much more strange than blindness.
You wake up alone in a BED, having OVERSLEPT. To your left is a BEDSTAND with your ALARM on top of it, which went off 20 minutes ago. If you get out of BED and go directly forward, you'll enter the LIVING ROOM...
That damn Voice. Always been with him. Always inside his head. Always talking. Some people, like Puzzle, theorized that his other senses have ascended so much that he could hear a voice nobody else can hear; everybody else just thought that Interactive Fiction was a blind weirdo.
Sometimes, the Voice told him where these offenders were. They quickly received a punch to the gut, or wherever he punched them anyway. He really appreciated that.
He decided to appease the voice and left the bed. He briefly felt his own body...
You EXAMINE YOURSELF...
"Oh, will you not..." Interactive Fiction said to the source of the Voice. As helpful and guiding as the Voice was, it was a complete pain, as it always narrates his actions, with details included (some of them annoyingly lengthy). As always, the Voice just prattled on.
You're wearing a PLAIN T-SHIRT with SWEATPANTS. Oddly, you weren't wearing these clothes LAST NIGHT...
Another mystery of his Interactive Fiction's life: somebody's been taking care of him. The Voice always directed him to a fresh plate of breakfast and vital supplies were mysteriously refilled.
Also, somebody apparently regularly redresses him in the middle of the night.
He felt his way around the bed until he felt the wooden frame at the front of the bed. Using that as reference, he walked straight ahead through the door.
You are now in your LIVING ROOM, which is joined with a KITCHEN. Ahead of you is a WALL-
Interactive Fiction slammed into the wall and fell down on the soft carpet (which felt clean; as if somebody vacuumed). "You could have told me sooner."
You are now ANNOYED.
You are currently in your LIVING ROOM. If you hug the WALL and GO RIGHT, you'll enter the KITCHEN. If you hug the WALL and GO LEFT, you'll find the FRONT DOOR. If you 90 DEGREES TO THE LEFT and GO FORWARD, you'll find your COUCH. Your PHONE sits on a little table next to it.
The man caught a scent of something. It smelled absolutely delicious.
You are smelling a PLATE OF PANCAKES on the KITCHEN COUNTER. It already has MAPLE SYRUP and BUTTER piled on.
Interactive Fiction scuttled in like a bug, drawn in by the pancakes. There it was... he could not see it, but he could smell it, and boy, could he imagine the taste...
You do not have the UTENSILS REQUIRED (FORK AND KNIFE) to eat the PANCAKES!
"..." the blind man reached toward the pancakes with his hand...
You cannot EAT PANCAKES with YOUR BARE HANDS. YOUR HANDS would get STICKY!
Your ANNOYANCE LEVEL has INCREASED!
The cursed guy huffed. It was now the time of day where he was unfortunately forced to engage in weird puzzle nonsense. "Where are the utensils?"
There are THREE DRAWERS in FRONT OF YOU. The UTENSILS are IN ONE OF THEM.
He swiped his hands below the kitchen counter and found the drawer handles. He pulled open the middle drawer first...
There is NOTHING in the MIDDLE DRAWER.
The personified genre tried the one on the very left - he was shocked to discover that it was locked.
The LEFT DRAWER is LOCKED.
Your ANNOYANCE LEVEL has INCREASED!
Maintaining his patience, he opened the (thankfully unlocked) right drawer.
There is a PILE OF FORKS and a PILE OF METAL OBJECTS inside the RIGHT DRAWER.
Interactive Fiction actually gasped in joy as he grabbed fork. Oh, the pancakes have tempted his heightened senses so much...
You cannot EAT PANCAKES without a KNIFE.
Your ANNOYANCE LEVEL is now at MAX!
Interactive Fiction was pissed at his life. At his blindness. At the Voice. At the puzzle shit. He honestly suspects that the person who takes care of him pulls these kinds of things to test him, so that he may one day do things on his own.
They're really lousy tests.
However, some of his anger subsided; he was really curious about the pile of metal that was with the forks, for whatever reason. He dug his hands into the drawer again, curiosity replacing some of his rage.
You SEARCH the PILE OF METAL OBJECTS.
You find a KEY.
As tedious as these puzzles were, Interactive Fiction felt really great inside after solving one. It made him feel accomplished. It made him feel like a genius. It made him feel like anyone that's not a blind man with an omniscient Voice following him everywhere.
He fumbled around with the key, trying to get it in the lock of the unsearchable drawer. Finally, it went in, and he felt ecstatic.
This is not the KEY to the LEFT DRAWER!
MINUTES have PASSED. You are now CONTENT, SITTING on THE FLOOR. YOUR HANDS are STICKY. Your CARETAKER is sure to be DISAPPOINTED.
Author's Note: And with that, the first chapter of this thing is done! For the time being, Interactive Fiction's caretaker will be anonymous: is it another genre? Perhaps Puzzle, who was mentioned earlier? It's still a mystery. Especially since I've introduced nobody else.
...Welp, hope you liked the chapter. Please give reviews to tell me praise, grievances, and/or death threats.