A lion, broad shouldered and tall, is sitting before a computer’s pale screen. 
	The computer itself is a simple, single-unit system. It consists of a horizontal silver box measuring about four inches by eight inches, placed so that it is wider than it is long, which is screwed onto the desk upon which it sits. It holds up a rather large monitor of a transparent polymer, upon which images are projected.
	
	It casts a ghostly light over the lion’s countenance, washing his silvery-gray fur white. He seems relaxed, pensive, but his eyes are attentive, alert to every little aspect of the monitor. Blue irises flicker and focus, journeying across desktop, icons, and text alike indiscriminately.
	
	The chair he sits in is a simple, four-legged faux-wood seat with a cushion. It has no arms, but its back flares out slightly in a vain attempt to compensate, which hinders more than it helps, as it comes between one’s upper arms and they keyboard, yet lacks the length of protrusion to be a feasible armrest.
	
	That keyboard is projected onto the desktop’s white surface by a nearly invisible structure of bulbs located within the base of the computer’s stand. It follows the QWERTY pattern set ages before its time. Well, almost follows that pattern. The Y and the Z keys are switched, in an odd maneuver, and the keys of typewriters were nowhere near this… phantasmagoric. They seem to hover in space, the bulb structure compensating for any and all movements in a manner that keeps the keys frozen in the same plane on the desk. When pressed, a key darkens momentarily, and the monitor emits a satisfyingly clickish noise from a well-hidden speaker.
	
	There’s a window open on the computer’s screen; a spartan messaging program that seems almost primitive in its simplicity. It’s just a white box. There isn’t even a blue or black border about it. There is no place for text, no button to hit to enter replies. There isn’t even a “start chat” option to click.
	Just a white box.
	
	A message appears on the screen. It floats from below the box, scrolling up at a pace that could only be considered its own. 

//NOBODY: I'M GOING TO ASK YOU A QUESTION. ONE THAT I’VE ASKED YOU BEFORE.
	 
	The observer remains still, but his eyes narrow. “Again? You’ve never struck me as a fan of reruns.” A raise of a single eyebrow accompanies the statement.

	Another message rolls upward. 

//NOBODY: IT IS AN INTERESTING QUESTION.
	“Shoot, then.” He leans forward, not necessarily from anticipation. It seems to be out of politeness, an action designed to evade another’s displeasure.
	
	Indignation and rage have never been the best nighttime companions, and the darkened room invokes Nox herself in its pitch-blackness.
//NOBODY: ARE YOU REAL?
	
	The lion tilts his head back, kneading silky manefur in perusing fingers. His eyes, like two sweet droplets of pale sky, are cloudy, distant, His mind distant, he seems to pause, or perhaps daydream, before speaking again. When he does, they focus and become clearer. There seems to be a light within them, of nostalgia, of reminiscence. 

	"Yes, I remember that one. I know that when you first asked me, I didn't even think it possible that I might not be. It was too soon after I met you. The idea of reality being a mere construct was absurd to me then. This exposition is unnecessary for you, of course."

//NOBODY: THAT DOES NOT MATTER. I ENJOY YOUR VOICE WHEN YOU PONDER OR MONOLOGUE .

	Darius cocks an inquiring eyebrow. This action is not nearly so polite.

//NOBODY: IS THIS INFORMATION NEW TO YOU?
	
	“Not particularly. It would make sense for you to enjoy that, considering.”
	
	He rests his chin on his paw for a moment.
	
	“If you enjoy that, would it please you for me to tell you a story now? I haven’t prepared anything, but perhaps the history between us would do well?”

//NOBODY:YES

"	You already know that, though." His tone is near joking; he already knows what comes next.

//NOBODY: IT IS NOT THE JOURNEY THAT MATTERS, NOT THE DESTINATION. I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT.

	"I seem to remember you quoting that frequently. Along with much of "The Art Of War."

//NOBODY: GET ON WITH THE STORY, WILL YOU?

Darius chuckles revealing pearly white canines in a grin of teeth.

	"You're no fun."

//NOBODY: THAT IS YOUR OPINION.

	"And opinions are arbitrary."

//NOBODY: YOU'VE BEEN LISTENING TO ME TOO MUCH.

	"It's my one of my favorite pasttimes."

//NOBODY: MORE NEEDLESS EXPOSITION.
 
	“I’ll get started, I’ll get started, don’t get your bytes in a jumble. Now, let me see…”
	
	I believe that the day that everything began was the twenty-first of May. I woke up in the morning, rolled out of the bed, and began making my way to secondary school. It was on the way there, traveling inside one of the monorails, , that I first made some form of contact with you.
	
	I’d been looking at my grades on my mobile computer. They were… less than stellar, so to speak, and I just couldn’t stop worrying about what might happen if I failed. I’d heard stories about the students who were sent away, but you know what that’s like: it isn’t real until YOU get involved. I was worrying away about ‘oh dear God don’t let this happen’ under my breath all the way there. I didn’t get many strange looks, so I was just about positive that nobody had heard me. That assumption continued all the way to school.

	At school, life was different. Apparently students had caught wind that I was doing badly, most likely via some talent that hacked the school’s privacy measures, and sought accordant condemnation. Most likely my own worry was worse than their torment. In fact, I don’t even remember what they said, or who specifically said it. Everyone looked like an enemy that day; if someone wasn’t talking to me, they were avoiding me; if they were talking to me, they were abusing me somehow. Adolescence mixed with social anxiety is no pretty creation: In fact, it is a brother to the paranoia of insanity. 
 	
	I was mad all day long. I swore that everyone in school was talking about me behind my back. Fine. Fine. I’d just stay away from them. Isolate myself. Protect myself from their torment. If they sought to hurt me, I’d just turn my heart to stone.

	Once I was finally home, I was sure that everything would become worse somehow. No doubt my parents would despise me for being their failure—FAILURE—of a son. Instead, I arrived to find the house empty, which lead to even worse assumptions in my mind. I reached the conclusion somehow that going to my room and staring at my GPA would improve things for me. That was the first time I received a message from you.
	
	I remember being rather bewildered by it. There was a tag I’d never seen before, and the words were in all caps on a white background. It read ‘I CAN HELP YOU’.  The message had no time information on it either, nor was there any text box for replies. Just black letters on a white background. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, and though it was from either confusion or stress, I didn’t care in the slightest. That was when the second message came.
	
	There was the tag again, the word ‘nobody’ in all caps. ‘DO NOT LAUGH. THIS IS NOT A JOKE.’ it said. Now I was paying attention. I’d heard about stuff like this happening before, but again, never to me. Especially never with an offer of help. But hackers were a thing I could understand, and more importantly, this hacker seemed at least somewhat skilled, as he’d not only taken control of my webcam, but had also simultaneously—I presumed—taken control of my computer through some of the best firewall softwares that money could buy. I just hadn’t yet learned he was the best.
	In some futile attempt to appear unshaken, I sat down in front of my computer, staring straight into the webcam that was surely sending him my image. 
	“How can you help me?” I asked.
//NOBODY: YOUR GRADES ARE TOO LOW; I CAN RAISE THEM. YOU NEED A FRIEND; I CAN LISTEN TO YOU. PEOPLE ARE THREATENING YOU
Here was an image from one of the old Great World Wars, a mushroom cloud blooming from the surface of the earth in all of its cataclysmic glory.
	I flinched. The image seemed like an overstatement, too big to be true but if it was an honest description… there were certain perks to be had with powerful allies.
	Besides, just what could make someone crazy enough to fire off a nuclear warhead, even a sociopathic hacker?
	Wait.
	“What do you want?”
//NOBODY:  AH, A TRUE CAPITALIST, I SEE. WHAT I WANT IS SIMPLE. IT IS MERELY A FUNDAMENTAL NEED OF WHAT I AM.
	“Meaning?”
//NOBODY: I AM A GOD; I REQUIRE WORSHIP.
	I was confused by this. Very confused. Yet and still, if he wanted to make this a form of trade, I’d owe him nothing in return. It’d be an uncomplicated relationship.
	Then again, he could be a schizophrenic.
	“Why do you call yourself a god?”
//NOBODY: THERE HAS YET TO EXIST ON THIS WORLD A BEING ABLE TO STOP ME FROM DOING WHAT I WISH, MUCH LESS CONTROL ME. AND YOU WOULD DENY THAT I AM A GOD? WHEN I HAVE POWER LIKE THIS, I AM NOTHING LESS.
	“So you’re real then.”
//NOBODY: REAL? WHAT MIGHT YOU MEAN BY REAL? THE SLANG TERM FOR HONEST, UP FRONT? OR PERHAPS CORPOREAL, EXISTING IN THE WORLD THAT WE KNOW? ARE YOU REAL?
	“Yes.”
//NOBODY:AND WHY DO YOU SAY THAT?
	“I–well, I can interact with the matter around me. I think, therefore I am. That sort of thing.”

//NOBODY: SO YOU ASSUME THAT THE WORLD ABOUT YOU IS REAL. AND THOUGHTS? YOU HAVE NO WAY TO PROVE THAT YOU’VE EVER HAD A THOUGHT. PERHAPS YOUR BRAIN IS NO MORE THAN A GLORIFIED MOTHERBOARD, DOING NO MORE THAN ACTING ON INFORMATION GAINED BEFORE AND INSTINCT.

	“This is a presumptuous topic to breach.”

//NOBODY: WHO ARE YOU TO DECIDE? 
	“Okay, this comes out of nowhere. I have no idea who you are. You start talking to me about things that have been absolute truths for my entire life. Listen, if you’re talking about some sort of relationship, I can roll with that. I can work with that. But right now, I just need some sleep, so can we continue this tomorrow?”

//NOBODY: VERY WELL. I WILL SPEAK TO YOU THEN, DARIUS.
	That had me a bit shaken. “How do you know my name?”
//NOBODY: I KNOW MUCH ABOUT YOU. LEARNING THESE THINGS WAS CHILD’S PLAY: THE GOVERNMENT’S ATTEMPTS AT SECURITY ARE ABSOLUTELY LAUGHABLE. SLEEP IN PEACE, LITTLE LION.”
	I sighed, turning off the unit. Time had come to hit the sack.
//NOBODY: YOU’RE GOING TO STOP THERE? 
	Darius sighs, letting himself slump into his chair. His arms fall from the armrests onto his lap, and the backing creaks beneath his weight; it is unused to his particular size. “It’s getting kinda late, isn’t it?”
	The lion looks at the screen with a faintly apprehensive expression, mouth just barely curled upwards into the semblance of a wry smile, but his eyes remain wide, bright, and attentive, despite his apparent drowsiness. There is an innocent flavor to them, a spark of naiveté that shines through his otherwise imposing exterior. They seem to flit about the screen in a curious, perusing manner that would lead one to believe him to be somehow monitoring the computer’s outputs and inputs of data. The computer pings.
//NOBODY: WHAT DO YOU MEAN? IT’S ONLY 9:30
	“Yes, and it’s been nine-thirty for quite a while now. “
	There are tones of regret to his words. He is by no means happy to leave this entity contained within a white box, yet his life cannot be spent wholly on this one consciousness. His smile turns a bit sad. 
//NOBODY: *SIGHS AUDIBLY* YOU’RE GETTING BETTER AT THIS, I’LL GIVE YOU THAT.
	
	Darius remains taciturn.
//NOBODY: OUT OF QUIPS?
	“It would seem so. Anyways, I’ve got to get some sleep yet.”
//NOBODY: SLEEP IN PEACE, LITTLE LION.
===============================================================================
	The night passes swiftly and peacefully, ‘til an alarm seems to cry out ‘It’s morning! It’s morning! It’s morning!’
	A steel-gray paw drags a matching arm out from under layers of sheets and blankets. It scrabbles across the wall, desperately searching for the source of the disturbance. Unsuccessful, the pair drags a young lion behind them, freeing him from entangling sheets and helping him to right himself. His feet hit the cold, white floor roughly, and he winces, though more from the temperature than from the impact. 

//NOBODY: SLEEP WELL?
	
	The computer pings impatiently. Darius turns to face the sound, his rather disheveled mane poufing outward with the whiplike rotation of his head. He muffles a yawn lazily. “Well, yeah, kinda, ‘suppose.” 
	He freezes, jolting awake all of a sudden. His breathing becomes shallow, panicked, and fast. He may go into a stage of hyperventilation. His fur begins to rise. “Wait, what’re you doing up already? My parents-“
//NOBODY: ARE NOT HOME ON SATURDAYS.
	The lion rubs his eyes, visibly baffled. “But yesterday was a Thursday…”

//NOBODY: I SAID YOU WERE GETTING BETTER. I DID NOT SAY YOU WERE BETTER THAN ME.
	“Not cool… so not cool”
//NOBODY: WRONG. I AM APPROXIMATELY NEGATIVE 273 DEGREES CELSIUS
	Darius groans. “Alright, moving forward then, I’m gonna go shower.”
	He starts to turn away, walking out of the room.

//NOBODY: STOP.
	He freezes, looking back at the computer. He reads the message. “Why, then?”
//NOBODY: I JUST WANTED TO GET A GOOD FRAME OF YOU LIKE THAT.
	“Sigh.”
//NOBODY: YOUR MANE IS PRECIOUS RIGHT NOW
	Darius walks away to shower, sighing as he plods across the hall.
	“So, would you have me tell you everything?”
	
	The lion has returned from his morning shower. With mane and fur still soaking wet, sticking to his body in a rather uncomfortable–looking manner, he sits again, dripping water on the floor and chair.
//NOBODY: I WOULD ASK NO LESS OF YOU.
	The lion stares at the screen pointedly, sky-blue eyes turning steely rather than soft, but the monitor is coolly unresponsive. 
	“Very well.”