I'm sitting at a marble table, on a plateau built out of cloud, overlooking a horde of hungry monsters bickering over scraps of flesh and shards of bone.

Body parts that were once part of my two kouhais, Tachibana Taberu (橘食) and Hanesaku Hina (羽裂雛).

They were hard workers who spent too much time together in the copy room. Despite all their efforts they were never able to fix it, it would always leak on the carpet when no one was looking and gave off an awful smell.

Everyone hated that room, except those two. For that, I will commit them to memory.

Or I would, if my brain cells were willing to copy them to memory. Right now, not bone, body, or breath is moving.

The red death hobble up the ramp, toward my position. They're faster than they look and I doubt I could have escaped if I wanted to.

My face is unmoving. But out of the corner of my eye I can see that only few dangos actually climbed to my plateau.

The monsters hop around the table, hop on the table, but appear to ignore me for unknown reasons.

I can hear several disappearing into the distance, their hopping fading as they descend back down the ramp.

But one has stayed, standing in front of me.

I don't make eye contact but it must see me there.

The monster crawls onto my hand.

It feels like a water balloon rather than a slime or jelly.

Suddenly, I feel a warm sensation on my right hand, but I still do not move.

I feel no pain, but I fear the monster has dug into my hand's flesh. I dare not look down.

Time feels like it has stopped. The seconds take minutes to pass.

And finally, with a squeal of delight, the monster leaps off the plateau, and hoppinh mad into the distance.

I am alone on my mountain.

Yet I still can't move. I cannot breathe.

My brain is starting to fade to black again, as it did half a day ago.

It can't end like this.

Not again.

I won't let myself suffocate. I have so much to live for.

My name is Satou Makoto. I'm 41 years old.

I live at Kojimachi Millennium Garden 16F, 5-chome Koujimachi, Chiyoda-ku Tokyo 102-0083.

I don't take care of my skin.

My favorite baseball team is the Nippon Ham Fighters but my favorite player is Derek Jeter.

I am a programmer who has written everything from an app store to those apps that take over the iPhone's calendar and spam them with virus alerts.

Without my hard work, where would Japan be today? At the mercy of China and Korea, and their cheap Filipino labor! Without me, without Ashikaga, Japan might be addicted to cheap gacha style games where you collect cute girls, instead of expensive pachinko style machines where you unlock high quality anime cutscenes.

Didn't know Ashikaga Soft writes the firmware for those pachinko machines, did you? We control 80% of the market. The remaining 20% is SEGA, who we own 60% of.

In essence, we own 100% of the market, Cool isn't it? Amazing isn't it?

Just the thought of Ashikaga's dominance in electronics is turning me on. Blood flows into my genitals. I start to hyperventilate.

Welcome home oxygen.

Blood flows into my brain, the fear paralysis rapidly fading away. My memory is coming back from the brink of oblivion.

Goodbye, Tachibana, Hina-chan.

Why didn't they listen to me?

Or rather, why did I not listen to them?

Why did I, after seeing my kouhai get eaten, freeze instead of run?

Moe memories flow back.

Red dango? No, I already knew what those creatures were, I just had to remember...

IMP

The lowest class of demon from the 2003 Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game (MMORPG) Sugar Maple.

Normally harmless, they feed on fear. But in the absence of fear, they feed on flesh.

I didn't recall this information at the time. It was sheer luck that I saw those imps and was afraid.

Or perhaps instead of luck, it was just common sense? No matter how I justify it, Tachibana and HIna-chan were the dumb ones. Would they approach a wild animal they never saw before with no sense of caution, like a tiger or wolf?

Well, it's in the past now.

I stand up. Something falls off my right hand.

I hadn't noticed it, but it's a pink goo. In the goo are some shards of glass, some hair...

And one of Hina-chan's brillaint, blue eyeballs.

"The King Dango..." (Makoto)

I swear, one day, I will avenge this humiliation.

I wipe the back of my hand on the edge of the table, smearing Hina-chan's remains all over the sleek marble.

I say a brief prayer for the bakas.

Clearly, this isn't Heaven. Wherever I and my coworkers went after we seemingly died, we have flesh and blood bodies and can die again.

So, I don't think the Christian God will strke me dead for offering a Shinto prayer in his realm.

I stand up and shake my head.

I was afraid of the imps, I was afraid of the unknown, but it is now known.

Imps like that came from a video game I played, years and years ago.

When I look around this landscape isn't familiar to my eyes, my hands comfort me with the muscle memory of many years of rehersal.

Without any further thought, I head up the downslope behind me, marching confidently toward a new future.

...

...

...

Or, I would.

It's hard to walk with this thick plank of wood between my thighs, swaying side to side.

What am I going to do about this?

Where am I going to do about this?

I look around. There isn't a soul for kilometers.

All that's here is some Hina-chan paste drying on the marble table.

...

Hina-chan...

Hina-chan's brilliant blue eyes pop into my mind.

"Sorry, Hina-chan..." (Makoto)

My future was put on hold for 22 minutes.