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The footsteps of a lonely janitor trailed down the hallway, a rhythmic sound in Monika’s ear. She barely registered it, staring blankly at the keys of the piano before her. Starting a club had always been something that she’d wanted to do, and sure, it obviously wasn’t going to be easy but…
She sighed heavily. It had been a long week. On one hand, she was officially no longer the sole member of the literature club. On the other hand, gaining new members had felt like a fight the entire way through thanks to arguments and misunderstandings and Monika’s own inability to be perfect. Maybe she shouldn’t put so much pressure on herself (Sayori had said something about that this week, she thought), but… well, she was the first member, wasn’t she? She was the leader of this whole operation who had to make sure everyone was happy, because if everyone was happy then everyone would stay and get along and the literature club could exist and Monika would be doing good–
She sighed heavily, leaning forwards to rest her elbows on the piano and jolting when she played a series of sour notes as a result. Right. The piano. Her goal in staying behind today, past how late she’d already stayed for the literature club meeting, was to practice piano. One of the new members––could Monika call them friends yet?––just didn’t seem to be able to articulate her thoughts all the time. Monika could relate. Trying to find the right words to say or write was a larger struggle than anybody realized. There were so many to choose from, so many ways they could be taken, and so many places it could go wrong. But music was simple, easy, and a good method for bonding with Natsuki, it seemed, and so that was what Monika had gotten it into her head to use to help Natsuki feel more comfortable in the club. She would work on how best to bond with Yuri and Sayori later. For now, just Natsuki would be fine. She cracked her fingers, hyper-aware of all of her actions as she pulled music out of her bag and fiddled with the metronome on the piano.
That was another thing that hadn’t made the week better in the slightest. There was always some discordance, some unique yet quiet feeling of wrong always sitting in the background of her days, as if some cosmic judge was watching her actions and saying not good enough. Not good enough. Her self-doubts may have been bad, but that had just heightened them even more. Combined with the stress of being a high schooler already, Monika just felt miserable as she set up the sheets of music in front of her.
“Maybe I should just go home and rest,” she mumbled to nobody but herself. The invisible judge seemed to squint at her, shaking its non-existent head. Not good enough. No, even more than that––it was a question of what she was doing here. She shivered, looking around the room and half-expecting to see some creepy figure standing in the corner and watching her. She never had heard the janitor’s footsteps come back past the music room, after all. But, it was empty––no curtains swaying in the artificial breeze of an AC unit turned on too soon, no specks of dust dancing through fading sunbeams by the windows, no one but Monika in the cold room with its lonely piano and her own thoughts. Maybe the feeling would get better if she just ignored it and did her best to play.
Every note sounded off in the empty space. She persisted at first, convinced it might be her own beginner status making the notes seem sour and rhythmless, but as she got to the part in the song she knew she could play with ease, it only got worse. Invisible eyes burned into her back and her hands shook as every note was hit perfectly yet rang out dissonantly. Barely five minutes after she’d started, Monika laid her hands down on the piano in defeat. Maybe it really was best to go home after all. She packed her things, quietly berating herself for letting her own anxieties get the best of her, and hurried out of the room and down the hallway. The sun was setting, and it was best to get home before dark––she never knew what might be lurking by the trash cans next to her house. She’d gotten scared by a couple of raccoons once, and that was enough encounters with the city’s nightlife for her. Preemptively, she began patting down the pockets of her bag to figure out where she’d thrown her keys that morning, steps slowing as their familiar shape didn’t make itself known. Had she left them in the music room? If she ran, she could probably go and check before the school doors would be locked for the night. Turning on her heel, Monika sprinted back down the hallway and through the music room door to begin her search.
And found… nothing.
The back portion of the room where the windows should’ve been was gone, floor abruptly ending and ceiling breaking off into a white void that expanded endlessly. Broken bits of floor shaped themselves into polyhedrons, floating in the air like they were waiting for permission to follow the laws of gravity. She blinked once, not believing what she was seeing was real, and the room returned to its original state––cold, empty, and lonely. Her mouth felt dry. She searched for her keys for an uncomfortable minute, mind reeling as she tried to process what she saw. When she found them (in her coat pocket for once, a place she’d never put them before), she ran out of the room, out of the building, and down the street until her mediocre grade in P.E. made her slow down.
What the heck had that been? It was barely seven in the evening, so it couldn’t have been an effect of staying up too late. Did she forget to eat and hallucinate?? No, she’d shared lunch with Sayori that day while they discussed poetry. She’d made sure to drink, she’d been getting good enough sleep for the past few days (despite the stress of trying to make everybody get along), and she was sure that the sun wasn’t bright enough to erase half of the room with glare. What she’d seen hadn't looked like the glare of sunbeams off of the polished floor tiles anyways. She didn’t know what it looked like, but it wasn’t that. She had a feeling that if she asked some of her new friends, maybe they could help her out–
But her feet refused to stray from her path. Monika bit her lip nervously, trying to calm herself. She was just on autopilot walking home. She was just shaken up. Of course she didn’t want to go back there, even if maybe she should (she shouldn’t, the cosmic judge seemed to say in the back of her mind). Maybe it really was for the best that she just went home, even if she would be thinking about what she saw until she got an answer. Maybe she could just ask a janitor once the weekend was over to use some less shiny floor polish. She was probably just better off getting some rest. Her hand mechanically pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked her door. Wait, when had she gotten home?
Monika stared at the door for another five seconds before sighing heavily and entering. She was home alone again––parents off doing something that she couldn’t remember. The apartment was quiet and still. The AC blew an uncomfortable gust of air down her neck as she dropped her shoes in the closet, and she shivered as the memory of struggling to play piano in the music room once more sprung forth. The AC was turned off with haste before she walked briskly to her room, threw her bag down by the door, and fell face-first into bed. Maybe things would get better if she slept.
Nothing got better.
Monika spent the night tossing and turning, the ever-present urge to do something itching under her skin, until finally drifting off for a few hours around nine. She was up again barely an hour later, running around the apartment in a panic and going through her nightly routine at three times speed. Never before had she felt so wrong for not putting on her pyjamas and brushing her teeth, but after she’d done her skincare routine with more fervour than she ever had before, she found herself once more in bed and shutting her eyes tight. If she pretended to be asleep, she could convince the cosmic judge she was doing everything right, and hadn’t been about to sleep through the night in her school uniform with bad breath. The one thing that bothered her was that she hadn’t made dinner, but she wasn’t hungry anyways, and it was too late now.
Thinking about it, she was never hungry. Or tired, really, or anything––she just slept and ate and did things at the exact same time every day, as if that sense of routine would erase all the issues in her life. She furrowed her brow, thinking harder about it. When had she even started the habit? It had been–
The AC sprang to life again in the other room, and Monika flinched at the sudden sound. She hurried to turn it back off, fearing that any amount of noise would fray her nerves even more than they already had been, and by the time she returned to her bed, she found herself unable to remember what she’d been thinking about before. Her sleep after that was light and uneasy.
Saturday hadn’t been much better. She’d spent her entire morning in bed, laying on her back and trying as hard as she could to remember the last time she’d seen anything like that. Never in real life, that was for certain. Maybe some movie she’d watched? Maybe she had been too tired the day before and just got her wires crossed or something. That would make sense. That should have been the explanation. But, deep in her heart, Monika knew for some reason that it wasn’t, and so she trapped herself in bed trying to puzzle out what it was until the itch of needing to do something returned, and she threw herself out of bed to speedrun her normal morning routine again. It was so strange, she thought idly as she showered. Every time she delayed what she would normally do in a day, it felt like she’d just committed the worst crime known to man and had to remedy it as fast as possible. Was her perfectionism worsening?
Still, by the end of the day, Monika at least felt better about herself. Not great, but better, because she’d at least figured out that what she’d seen wasn’t some sort of weird hallucination or her eyes playing tricks on her. It might’ve taken speedrunning all three meals of the day and her entire routine to be able to think long enough to figure that out, but in the end, she had. She slept better that night.
Sunday rolled around and it went downhill again.
Once again, Monika woke up and rolled to her back, tracing patterns in the popcorn ceiling with her eyes. She still hadn’t found an explanation to what she’d seen, but she knew it was somewhere in the back of her mind. She could feel it. She just had to figure out a way to access it. Weren’t there meditation techniques or deep breathing she could try? It might be better than just trying to think super hard. She got up, making sure every part of her morning routine was done early this time so that she had less chance of being interrupted. Her mouth was set into a thin line with determination as she looked up the best methods for meditation and information recall and sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, breathing deeply. She’d never put much stock in the practice of meditation, but everyone always told her she was too high-strung. That being said, it was something simple she could do rather than struggle to remember something she might have never known in the first place.
And so, despite her doubts and hesitance, Monika tried her very best to reach into the depths of her mind as instructed. She focused on breathing, clearing her mind, and slowly felt herself fall into a sort of trance. Distantly, she felt surprised at the sense of calm that washed over her. Maybe she really should do this more often… but that wasn’t the point. She had a thread to pull, and she was blindly grasping for it. As the minutes ticked by, she maintained her steady breathing and kept picking away at the sense of knowing something more than her brain wanted to let on. She knew she was close, closer than before, she just needed to–
The oven beeped loudly and Monika jumped, breaking out of her trance and whipping her head around to look at her closed bedroom door. The room was dark. She stumbled to her feet, blindly feeling for the light switch to flick it on and off a few times. Had there been a power outage? Opening the door, she peered out the window. The rising sun brought light streaming over the floors, but she could see the other apartments on the block lacked their usual lamp lights and that the scarce other residents were walking around in similar confusion. She shot the oven a glare for letting out its panicked beep and shaking her out of her meditation. It was stupid anyways. How could she have ever thought something like that would’ve worked? It was bound to go wrong somehow, and even though she felt closer now than she had the previous day, she still had no clue what she’d seen. With a loud groan, Monika stormed back to her room and threw herself onto the bed, glaring up at the ceiling. The popcorn ceiling seemed to morph into the same shapes as the music room had for a minute, taunting her for her ignorance, and she shook her head roughly to remove the image from her mind. Her eyes landed on the television she could just barely see out of the open door of her room.
Suddenly, green symbols flashed in her field of vision. She blinked and then jammed her eyes shut, trying her best to make out what they had been. A trick of the light? No, it couldn’t be, the sun didn’t shine into the living room like that. But then, what?
Assets loading in, her brain supplied. Monika froze. Her eyes flew open as she gazed out at the living room again, eyes slowly trailing up to look out the window. To her horror, the buildings across the street seemed to devolve into simple shapes before reforming, the rays of the sun shining in new places on them as the light shifted suddenly. A sense of dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. It couldn’t be. She was going crazy. She’d been home alone for too long––when was the last time she’d seen her parents?
Models for those characters are unnecessary, her brain said. Her mouth felt dry. Maybe she should text Sayori. She’d know what to do. And yet, as she reached for her phone, she knew exactly what Sayori would be doing despite never having asked her about her weekend plans. In her mind's eye, she could see the mechanical movements of her friend––no, all the literature club members, walking down the street with faces frozen in one expression, as if they weren’t in control of their bodies. In the back of her head, the phrase NPC came to mind.
Monika had never played a video game in her life, much less watched someone play one. And yet, when she closed her eyes, she could see code running back and forth across a screen, save mechanics and tutorial runs, files bearing the names of all of her new friends. One in particular stood out, as if calling to her, and she mouthed the words as she read them. Monitor Kernel Access. monika.chr.
“It’s just a game?...” She whispered to the air. No response graced her. She felt sick. The others had to know, it had– it was all Monika’s fault for being an idiot and being so slow on the uptake, that’s what it was! That’s all it was, Monika not being good enough, not being smart enough, not paying attention enough––everyone knew, or she was going insane, and that was what was happening! And it would all go away if she talked to Sayori, or Yuri, or Natsuki, and it would all be fine.
God, she wished it was Monday.
As if the universe had heard her wish, all the lights flashed back on. Monika gasped, shielding her eyes against the harsh light of the bulbs with her hands. When she finally moved them away, the sky was dark as the sun plummeted towards the ground. She watched in horror as it dove below the horizon, all the buildings breaking off into those strange polygons again as the sun was thrown back into the air on the opposite side of the sky. The buildings reformed, the floor beneath Monika’s feet loading in new textures as it adapted to the new light. She stood in shocked silence for a moment before grabbing her bag from beside the door and running out of the house, knowing the door would be locked behind her no matter what she did.
Sayori had shared that she lived nearby, and so that was where Monika went first, feet pounding on the sidewalk as she caught up to the other girl. Sayori looked surprised to see her, but smiled warmly. Before she got a chance to open her mouth, Monika was already speaking.
“Sayori, have you noticed the weird loading and unloading of all the assets recently?” She nearly choked on the word “assets,” as if her mouth branded her a traitor for even thinking to mention it. Sayori looked confused for half a second before her posture stiffened and her head bent unnaturally.
“I’m gonna keep writing until I die,” she said. Monika winced, a sudden influx of information overwhelming her brain.
Sayori is introduced as the protagonist’s childhood friend. Her depression makes her unable to get out of bed in the mornings. Code in unique schedule for her later.
Almost as fast as it had happened, Sayori’s neck snapped back up into its normal position, and she blinked blankly at Monika.
“Oh, good morning! When did you get here?” She said. Monika fought to hide her horrified expression, making a quick excuse she subconsciously knew Sayori would believe before running off. Without thinking, she knew Yuri’s schedule already, knew her mechanical movements would take her up the main steps of the school in about five minutes. Bad grade in P.E. be damned, Monika sprinted down the sidewalk until the school was in view, practically throwing herself in front of the taller girl when she saw her about to climb the steps. Yuri jumped in shock, hands coming up in front of her to protect herself.
“Yuri,” Monika panted. “How much do you know about this game?” Yuri blinked before her mouth split into an absolutely sickening smile (bug in the model, Monika’s brain supplied unprompted).
“Once [Portrait of Markov] starts to pick up, you might have a hard time putting it down.” Once again, Monika felt a migraine hit her as her mind was overwhelmed with information.
[Portrait of Markov] is a book involving human experiments in a religious camp. When compared to the protagonist, Yuri becomes defensive, hinting towards–
She grabbed the sides of her head, bloody images flashing through her mind. Yuri’s face glitched back into its normal expression, and she looked at Monika in concern. Monika batted her hand away before she could touch her, skin crawling at the thought. The longer she stayed here, the more information seeped into her brain about Sayori and Yuri. She stumbled backwards up the stairs, running blindly through the hallways. She wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t programmed in her schedule. But they couldn’t control her anymore, could they? She knew. She was aware. She could–
Thud, she ran right into Natsuki, sending the other girl flying. Monika couldn’t help but open her mouth this time, the need to know pumping through her veins more potently than the latent fear in her system.
“Natsuki, you’re not really mad at me, are you?” The shorter girl glared at her, mouth opening to snap something in return. “You’re not real at all.” Natsuki’s head jerked backwards, neck elongating disturbingly. Her voice dripped with static as her mouth fell open slackly.
“Don’t judge a bookkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk-kkkkk-kk-k–” This time, Monika was ready for the pain, knowledge flooding in once more.
She is hinted at being malnourished, possibly due to her father. This time, voice lines played as well, with Natsuki screaming and begging before blithely stating “my dad would beat the shit out of me if he found this.” Monika felt bile rising in her throat (a coded throat, she was nothing but code, she shouldn’t even be able to throw up). Before Natsuki’s face could transform back to normal, Monika was stepping over her and stumbling down the hallway in a panic, passing doors and running into students along the way. She couldn't hear their protests, if they said anything at all. The lights outside flickered, students jumping back and forth as their models loaded in new spots with the buffering game, and Monika could do nothing but run, and run, and run, to somewhere she hoped would be safe.
She ended up in the music room.
The piano stood still as the door slammed shut, dust floating gently through the air as the AC was blowing just the same as it had three days before. She panted, looking around frantically as if the floor was under threat of caving out from beneath her. Nothing changed. She sunk to the floor, tears streaming down her face in silent rivers.
For the first time in her life, Monika felt totally and completely alone.
She had failed. She’d figured something out and then completely screwed up by not being good enough to help. Her friends were nothing but preprogrammed models, wandering around an unfinished city in what amounted as nothing more than just a simulation to Monika, never aging, never changing, never risking getting sick with anything except computer viruses. And Monika was the only one who knew.
Monika, the pushover. Monika, the clueless leader who didn’t deserve her position. Monika, who had tried so hard to make things work and now saw that it was nothing but hopeless.
Her hands gripped her bag in tight fists as she struggled not to make a sound. She felt like she was in another dimension, a sacred space that she wasn’t supposed to see. Paper crumpled beneath her fingers, and she looked down to see the remains of Sayori’s poem shoved into a side pocket of her bag. She sucked in a breath that sounded more like a sob than anything. She would never be enough, no matter what Sayori had tried to convince her of. But she knew that the girl wouldn’t want her to be miserable about it and not try at all. The fear of failing her friends more than she already had weighed heavy on her shoulders.
Bending her head down, she rested her forehead on her knees and told herself she’d have another twenty minutes to cry. After that, she’d have to try to be everything she was not. She scoffed, whispering to herself in the stale air of the music room as the sounds of the hallways faded into nothing.
“What a good leader…”