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Anonymous Guest asked:

hi. what does the microsoft mouse chost mean? i cant stop thinking about it

In a corner of the world that lay in what was once known as the Nevada desert, a vast, sprawling city floods its surroundings with light and sound.


To any unknowing outsider it might appear simply as a loud cube of concrete -- its walls stand high and mighty, throwing a mile long shadow up against the nearby dunes. To find such an outsider is a challenge, however; nearly everyone you could find would know of the city, perhaps merely due to its population. The old world died outside its walls, and the new world thrives inside it. Those who choose the rest of the natural world struggle in their environments while the lucky few able to make it on the inside lay in luxury. And so, a steady pilgrimage of survivors set away from their uneasy lives to make their way into the city limits, and find themselves awash in an environment entirely unfamiliar.

Flashing with blinking lights and electronic sounds, the city is the gambling capital of the world. It provides many other amenities, of course: many come for medical treatment, seeking the best doctors to cure their ails. Others come to see family or friends, or to provide theirs with a better life. And of course, just a few foolish ones come to claw their way towards the top of the societal order, fighting to stay balanced on the tip of the thin needle of success; and inevitably falling down, crashing hard, and taking others from all groups with them.

The city gladly swallows them all.
It is the very nature of its being.

The city's wildlife of course was nearly nonexistent, as most ecology had died out in the torment of the outside's rampage. You may occasionally see a bird flying overhead, some bugs crawling beneath your feet, or a rat skittering within the city's clockwork innards (if you happen to be near an active hole). Mice, however, were nearly unheard of. Most had forgotten their difference to rats anyways, simply believing them to be another breed. A shrinking few remembered, but wouldn't ever have the luck of being able to spot one in the wild.

So it was strange, then, that Leif found himself thinking about them on his way to work that morning. It wasn't that he'd encountered any recently, nor did he seem to have any conversations or dreams revolving around them. As a matter of fact it had unfortunately worked out that Leif was a creative one, and had come up with the very concept of a mouse all by himself. His idea was a little off; he was missing the claws, and the ears were a little too small compared to what you and I might know. Leif was simply channeling his creative energy into his work, after all. You see, most of the city's inhabitants lived in very small apartments; and though a pet was a luxury, Leif's team had figured that it was only that way because of the space required for one. So there was a market wide open for something the commons could live with: something small, something unneeding of much food or water, and something entertaining. His idea for something furry was novel among his peers. The rest of them had targeted bugs, and were attempting to enlarge them. Their labs were practically overrun with cages full of palm sized roaches, ants, or worms. Leif hated bugs. He kept to himself, mostly, avoiding most discussion with his peers unless unavoidable. This, combined with his unwillingness to attempt any live tests until he knew what to aim for, provided him a reputation of being an underachiever with his peers. It'd been months since the pet project was conceived and yet he had almost nothing but drafts to show for it.

Brewing in his thoughts, he rounded a corner and stepped into his favorite coffee shop, Le Haricot. It evidently wasn't french; its owner simply liked the sound of the name after translating it. The shop was never too busy at this time of day, since it usually laid nearer towards the heart of the city. Most of its usual customers were actively at work either under the city or scattered around it. Leif approached the counter to find his normal brew awaiting him. He smiled at the barista, put his money on the counter, and quickly walked out. He took a sip from the coffee. It was cold.

Stepping back outside, he continued his walk to work and almost immediately ran into one of his coworkers, Daryll. Daryll and Leif hadn't interacted with each other much before, but they were on amicable enough terms for Leif to wave a quick hello at him. Daryll did not respond. Leif supposed he was lost in thought, and hurriedly rushed back to meet him there. He hadn't yet thought of a good name for the animal. Something catchy, something short... it was in his head somewhere, but he wasn't sure where. He continued to ponder the issue as he walked, and he pondered so well, for so long, he failed to notice that his normal route laid upon city blocks that had shifted.

The city's infrastructure was designed by a man named Martin Albernochy. Albernochy was a curious man. He was highly praised in his time for his outlandish, intricate artwork and designs; always industrial in nature, always visually curious. So it was a great surprise to all when he was approached by a few noteworthy real estate investors to design a city "of the future." It was even more surprising when he undertook the challenge. Nobody was quite sure of whether the investors had any intention of seeing his design built, or if he would design anything remotely sane, or what the city's use would be, or where it would be built, or a thousand other whos or whats or whys. Nevertheless, Albernochy locked himself in a study for months, designing his perfect city.

What he ended up revealing to the world was polarizing. His proposal was as follows: a perfectly square city, stretching miles across in both directions, divided into equal blocks about a quarter of a kilometer each. To break up the monotony, a few squares were removed from the layout. Nothing filled their place; instead, they would periodically move around, entire city blocks shifting to fill the previous hole as a new one was created on the other side. It was meant that each block would never have any precise location. One could live in the same apartment and see every corner of the city over a long enough stretch of time. To support this, the entire city's underground was filled with a vast network of gears, rails, and cables; some workers lived entirely underground, maintaining vital infrastructure and ensuring all shifting operations went smoothly. The question of who controlled what shifted where was left entirely open, and most assumed the job would be randomized.

Most people disliked the concept. Critics ranted over its impracticality, its complexity, its absurdity. And yet, the idea appealed to the original group of investors so much that it was approved nearly instantly. The construction took decades. It turned out that Albernochy's original plans had a few issues; there were no considerations made for sewage, the rails sliding the city blocks had dozens of redesigns, and nobody was quite sure what to do to prevent pedestrians or cars from falling into a hole. Ultimately, these issues were all worked out before the city was finalized. Upon opening, millions flocked to the site and began setting up shop. It was quickly realized that real estate along the walls and especially near the corners was highly prized, as the layout would shift much less often. Thus, a gradient of wealth going outwards was unintentionally established. Wall blocks were typically populated by high profile, high status establishments such as luxury hotels, corporation headquarters, or of course, dozens of casinos. The city was later modified to allow for construction of additional buildings along the inside of the city walls, fetching eye-popping high prices for their static positions. The city fell into a steady rhythm, with most inner blocks shifting daily, and outer blocks seeing little movement.

So it shouldn't really have been a surprise, then, when Leif's walk was interrupted with a change. And yet, Leif found himself tripping over pavement that wasn't there; falling down into a pit the depths of which he had no knowledge of. Soon enough, however, he found himself hitting ground, which relieved him. The speed at which he found the ground, unfortunately, was less relieving; Leif had fallen about ten stories deep, hitting his head quite hard against the rocky floors below. His entire body ached with broken bones. His head was bleeding at a considerable rate. Leif wasn't sure what would happen; emergency services going into holes wasn't an unheard of phenomenon, but the patients they rescued were typically higher profile than him.

As he lay there, his head turned toward an unfamiliar sound, to him; something was squeaking. His eyes gradually focused on a smallish looking rat-thing that had been nearby. His coffee had spilled, and the rat was lapping it off the ground. Leif had never seen a rat with white fur before. He'd only ever seen a few rats in his life at all, and this one seemed smaller and softer than any of them. He used all the strength in his body to lift his arm towards the rat, which seemed unfazed by the motion. Gently, he stroked the rat's fur. It was indeed, quite soft. This was everything Leif had been dreaming of! The creature was nearly perfect to Leif's idea of a pet.

With the very last of his thoughts, Leif realized all along that a perfect name for something gave you all the information you needed to know about that thing. And so, with his few remaining seconds of consciousness, Leif whispered the creature's name aloud to nobody:

"Micros.. ssoft... mmmhoussep-"

Leif was unable to finish his sentence before his cognizance faded from his grasp.


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