I throw a haymaker. It connects with a lag spike from 2023. Now we’re both riding a missile toward the mainframe, fur on fire, laughing in broken Unicode.
I dodge left— the firewall splinters into tuna cans. I dodge right— my own shadow does the floss dance. This is not a fighting game anymore. This is a prayer to a god who forgot to lock the door.
We weren’t breaking the game. We were teaching it how to dream in shitposts.
Nekonomeme watches from the server roof, flicking a coin that says “worth it.”