I highly doubt a one day temp ban would disqualify me, and this submission was already approved - so here it is.
Lost in thought, a mug of tea in his hand, Chill looked out over Armorcity from the bay window of his study. It was a sunny day, as usual - sparse clouds hung in the sky, above the usual hustle and bustle of the city, the only thing breaking the horizon Strop's tower. But. . .there was something wrong. It appeared to be snowing, but the sun was shining and the clouds weren't the type to drop precipitation - making it stranger still. He finished his tea, grabbing his hoodie from the hanger on the wall it clung to. He was going to do some investigating. Slipping down the stairs, he pushed through the door of his mansion deep within the Aristocrat Way out into the crime-ridden Top 100.
People pushed through the Aristocrat Way in a seething crowd, moving almost as if it were a hive mind. Cries of 'lol u have tons of ap' coming from the top 10 area pervaded the air as Chill pulled the hood over his head so as to be unrecognized. He felt sorry for the top 10 users - such bombardments of pointlessness. With this thought on his mind, he continued.
Exiting the Aristocrat Way, he took the eastern path to the Atrium. He walked down by the Cathedral, passing the mass or worshipers. He slipped through the Armor Bank, stopping to check his Ap levels.
"Hello, Chill! You're over 10,000 now," the bank teller said to him.
". . .good for me."
The teller opened his mouth to respond, but Chill kept walking.
His mind dwelled on the moment. Should I have stayed? No, it doesn't matter. . . .
The atrium and plaza stretched out before him. There were people playing video games, people slinging. . .mud, flaming being passed around, and heated debate going on. Just how he liked it. Equilibrium found in noise. . . .
He took a seat and relaxed in the Atrium. People were passing by in higher frequency than usual - among the regular users, he saw a phoenix darting through the air and the crowd. The bird looked as though she was heading towards the Ampitheatre - Chill wasn't sure why, but the general flow of the crowd seemed to gravitate in that direction. He got up, remembering why he went on this escapade in the first place - to see why it appeared to be snowing. He got up, a migraine brewing in his head, to go home.
He made a quick stop in the Imaginarium. Entering his own thread, he went ito the vault, coming out with framed fractals and a few books. Putting the books on the shelf to his left, and the fractal pictures on the wall, he left a note saying 'leave replies here, I'll get to them later :/' as he disappeared back into the Armorcity proper.
Arriving back at his home, he opened the window that made up most of his living room wall, with a nice view of the regular profile pages stretching out before him. He sat down, letting the breeze in. Then, he unintentionally found out what was falling from the sky.
A flyer hit him square in the face, obscuring his vision. He peeled it off, and it appeared to be some sort of recruitment poster.
"Hmmmm. . .a new moderator? August 6th? The Ampitheatre?" he mumbled as he examined the piece of paper.
Suppressing his migraine, he took the flyer, folded it up and stuck it in his pocket. The walk to the ampitheatre would take a while. . . .
Taking a bottle of pomegranate soda to drink on the way and some money, he departed.
Turning onto the Index Road, he weaved his way through the crowd. Bumping into ghosts, spammers, flamers and benign users, his hood over his head, he reached the construction zone, which he navigated through. He took his hood off to widen his field of vision - there were bugs, glitches, and unfinished graphics strewn throughout the place nonchalantly, the occasional ratespammer lurking in the shadows. The developers were working, but weren't present in the usual sense - games could be seen popping into existence and being modified, but the workers were more transparent then a 0 Ap ghost account locked in a clear glass box.
Careful not to pass through any of the phantasms, Chill continued. Traipsing through the network of alleys, he eventually came out into the courtyard outside the ampitheatre - Zoph was yelling announcements out of the something-awesometastic-blahblah1337-ItotallyforgotwhatthismegafoneiscalledsoI'mmakingitupasIgo-megafone [FORGIVE MEEEEEEE!!!!!] and there really weren't many people at the signup. huh, I'm actually early for something. . . .
Picking up a pen, Chill blessed (cursed?) the signup sheet with his scrawly excuse for handwriting in the shape of his name, hoping the tourney wasn't some lame joke like when Strop cross-dressed at Halloween. If something that happened a few months before I came here can have such a lasting impact, McNeely only knows what the hell's gonna happen if this is a gag.
