It's been a long, long time since the stars peered down over the poor souls that still inhabited whatever was left of Terra-01-Alpha, or "Earth" as some of the oldest humans called it. This was due to many reasons. Perhaps the thick layers of smog pumped out by the factories had absorbed all the light that wasn't eaten by the luminous prisms. Or maybe the stars had been mined for the chocolate that burned at their cores, eternal lights sputtering out at man's cold touch. Whatever the reason, T-01-A was nothing but a shell of it's former self. "It used to have something called 'grass' instead of flaky dough" proclaimed some elderly civilians. "We could go outside and smell air that wasn't baked". The youngest of the decayed planet merely scoffed at those that spouted nonsense about the past. How could life exist without cookies? Life was cookies! And as if to punctuate their point, more and more left the planet to become miners on distant planets, or farmers on the artificial plains housed within motherships.
Of the few non-cookie-based lifeforms that strayed on the planet was a very powerful man. He was the origin. He was the owner. He bought the cursors, the mines, the ships and the portals, prisms, condensers, everything. This man had brought upon the wrath of the Grandmat... the beings whose name should not be spoken, and had the power to stop them. Age had taken a toll on this man. His suit, usually a vibrant caramel brown to match the colors of the thick rivers that criss-crossed T-01-A, was now barely visible beneath the layers of crumbs and cocoa, with hints of substances far more mystical and unspeakable mixed therein. The smile and knowing look in his eyes that made even complete strangers trust him had sunken into his face, giving the impression of a live soul within a dead corpse. His right hand had long since been replaced with a single, Wishalloy-crafted "finger" of sorts, which he used to do the baking process he referred to as "clicking". And yet, he still seemed to bring determination with every movement, and purpose with every cookie. And why shouldn't he feel confident? He owned everything. His house alone comprised more than 70% of what was left of "Earth": a gleaming metropolis of both awe and horror.
At the present moment the man, whose name was know across the universe only as "The Clicker", sat in his lounge and stared at an enormous screen built into one wall of his abode. The screen appeared to be nothing more than a random assortment of numbers, with a few percentages and steadily rising digits. To any viewer, The Clicker would have seemed like an old man bordering on senility. What use is there in staring at a boring screen like that for hours on end for? No one knew he was waiting for something special. As he waited, his mind drifted back many years to an interview he had many years ago in that very same room, long before the outer complex was built and he had only a handful (or at least, what he considered a handful; truly it was closer to several trillion) of cookies to his name.
Back then, Earth truly was the way the elders described. The first concepts of prismatic technology had barely been touched, and the air was mostly clean around the large house in which The Clicker sat. Across from him, in an equally comfy and inviting armchair, was Steven Palmer, a local television newscaster. To either side of the two well-know figures as a series of television crewmen, make-up artists, groupies, etc. The interview had commenced with a few light questions and jovial introductions before Steven started asking the "hard hitting" queries.
"So, Mr. Clicker-"
The Clicker chuckled and gave that knowing smile. "Please, no need to be so formal. You can call me T.C. if you'd like."
Steven laughed back and nodded. "Aha! Very well, T.C., tell the audience... how have you managed to build such a cookie empire? After all, you've jumped the ladder to one of the wealthiest men in America!"
The Clicker paused for a moment, pretending to search deeply for an answer. "You know, I think it all comes from experience. Nothing ever gets done the first time, truly."
Steven raised an eyebrow. "But, T.C., surely you've never run a business of this scale before!"
"No, you're right about that. This is the largest my company has gotten so far." The Clicker smiled again. "But I have plans to expand soon, so look forward to that."
Steven went on for a bit about this exclusive hint of new possible expansion while The Clicker played along, enjoying the simple moment. He'd done it so many times. He knew Steven's every move, every quip and analogy. However many time this interview had taken place was lost to time with each new... rebirth.
Steven calmed down again and regained control of his excitable personality. "Well, T.C., the world really wants to know: just what is your secret to success?"
The Clicker's eyes seemed to sparkle. "Well, I guess you could call me a man of god, of sorts. I rely heavily on Heaven to get me ahead in life."
Steven grinned at this seemingly wholesome response and prepared another question when an alarm on The Clicker's electronic arm buzzed. He glanced down and smiled to see the words "Leprechaun Unlocked" scroll by on a small screen embedded into his hand. He stood up, much to Steven's dismay.
"Uh, Mr. Cli- T.C., are you going? We're live right now, and-"
The Clicker held up his left hand. "I'm afraid so, Steven. My time here runs short, and it's time to become a little closer to heaven. It was very nice talking to you again."
And with that, the younger Clicker waltzed out of the room and down a long hallways into a heavily locked room. Steven was left speechless and confused. He muttered to himself before telling the camera men to quit.
"Again? But we've never spoken before..."
The Clicker watched the screen with growing excitement. 7775. A few moments of waiting. 7776. A few more. 7777. His right appendage buzzed, and he nearly cackled with glee. The words "Black Cat's Paw Unlocked" scrolled slowly on the old and tattered arm. Without hesitation, The Clicker sprang up and ran with a speed unfitting of his age down the long hallway and rapidly unlocked the door before stepping gingerly inside. There, in the center of the old, cobweb-filled room was a pedestal covered in crumbs and dust. He took careful, almost adoring steps up to it and brushed aside the lingering debris to reveal a small button with a single word printed on it in red letters. "Reset". He lightly tapped the button, glee pouring from his every action, and spoke aloud to seemingly no one and everyone. "Yes... yes, I am quite sure..." He then waited with closed eyes and baited breath for the world to end.
A young boy opened his eyes in a small house. His grandmother handed him a cookbook with a sweet smile. "You be a good boy, now, Thomas." The boy nodded and eagerly took the book. Once he assured the elderly woman that he could bake by himself, he took a moment to breath before rushing to the closet to see what had changed. In the small, shabby broom closet was a large potato sac, like one found on an old farm. He carefully oped the bag and was delighted to feel his face bathed in a blue, holy glow. Chocolate chips. Perfect, powerful, heavenly chocolate chips. And on top of the chips was a small piece of paper that conveyed the following message in immaculate typography.
"You earned 4,560 Heavenly Chips."
Of the few non-cookie-based lifeforms that strayed on the planet was a very powerful man. He was the origin. He was the owner. He bought the cursors, the mines, the ships and the portals, prisms, condensers, everything. This man had brought upon the wrath of the Grandmat... the beings whose name should not be spoken, and had the power to stop them. Age had taken a toll on this man. His suit, usually a vibrant caramel brown to match the colors of the thick rivers that criss-crossed T-01-A, was now barely visible beneath the layers of crumbs and cocoa, with hints of substances far more mystical and unspeakable mixed therein. The smile and knowing look in his eyes that made even complete strangers trust him had sunken into his face, giving the impression of a live soul within a dead corpse. His right hand had long since been replaced with a single, Wishalloy-crafted "finger" of sorts, which he used to do the baking process he referred to as "clicking". And yet, he still seemed to bring determination with every movement, and purpose with every cookie. And why shouldn't he feel confident? He owned everything. His house alone comprised more than 70% of what was left of "Earth": a gleaming metropolis of both awe and horror.
At the present moment the man, whose name was know across the universe only as "The Clicker", sat in his lounge and stared at an enormous screen built into one wall of his abode. The screen appeared to be nothing more than a random assortment of numbers, with a few percentages and steadily rising digits. To any viewer, The Clicker would have seemed like an old man bordering on senility. What use is there in staring at a boring screen like that for hours on end for? No one knew he was waiting for something special. As he waited, his mind drifted back many years to an interview he had many years ago in that very same room, long before the outer complex was built and he had only a handful (or at least, what he considered a handful; truly it was closer to several trillion) of cookies to his name.
Back then, Earth truly was the way the elders described. The first concepts of prismatic technology had barely been touched, and the air was mostly clean around the large house in which The Clicker sat. Across from him, in an equally comfy and inviting armchair, was Steven Palmer, a local television newscaster. To either side of the two well-know figures as a series of television crewmen, make-up artists, groupies, etc. The interview had commenced with a few light questions and jovial introductions before Steven started asking the "hard hitting" queries.
"So, Mr. Clicker-"
The Clicker chuckled and gave that knowing smile. "Please, no need to be so formal. You can call me T.C. if you'd like."
Steven laughed back and nodded. "Aha! Very well, T.C., tell the audience... how have you managed to build such a cookie empire? After all, you've jumped the ladder to one of the wealthiest men in America!"
The Clicker paused for a moment, pretending to search deeply for an answer. "You know, I think it all comes from experience. Nothing ever gets done the first time, truly."
Steven raised an eyebrow. "But, T.C., surely you've never run a business of this scale before!"
"No, you're right about that. This is the largest my company has gotten so far." The Clicker smiled again. "But I have plans to expand soon, so look forward to that."
Steven went on for a bit about this exclusive hint of new possible expansion while The Clicker played along, enjoying the simple moment. He'd done it so many times. He knew Steven's every move, every quip and analogy. However many time this interview had taken place was lost to time with each new... rebirth.
Steven calmed down again and regained control of his excitable personality. "Well, T.C., the world really wants to know: just what is your secret to success?"
The Clicker's eyes seemed to sparkle. "Well, I guess you could call me a man of god, of sorts. I rely heavily on Heaven to get me ahead in life."
Steven grinned at this seemingly wholesome response and prepared another question when an alarm on The Clicker's electronic arm buzzed. He glanced down and smiled to see the words "Leprechaun Unlocked" scroll by on a small screen embedded into his hand. He stood up, much to Steven's dismay.
"Uh, Mr. Cli- T.C., are you going? We're live right now, and-"
The Clicker held up his left hand. "I'm afraid so, Steven. My time here runs short, and it's time to become a little closer to heaven. It was very nice talking to you again."
And with that, the younger Clicker waltzed out of the room and down a long hallways into a heavily locked room. Steven was left speechless and confused. He muttered to himself before telling the camera men to quit.
"Again? But we've never spoken before..."
The Clicker watched the screen with growing excitement. 7775. A few moments of waiting. 7776. A few more. 7777. His right appendage buzzed, and he nearly cackled with glee. The words "Black Cat's Paw Unlocked" scrolled slowly on the old and tattered arm. Without hesitation, The Clicker sprang up and ran with a speed unfitting of his age down the long hallway and rapidly unlocked the door before stepping gingerly inside. There, in the center of the old, cobweb-filled room was a pedestal covered in crumbs and dust. He took careful, almost adoring steps up to it and brushed aside the lingering debris to reveal a small button with a single word printed on it in red letters. "Reset". He lightly tapped the button, glee pouring from his every action, and spoke aloud to seemingly no one and everyone. "Yes... yes, I am quite sure..." He then waited with closed eyes and baited breath for the world to end.
A young boy opened his eyes in a small house. His grandmother handed him a cookbook with a sweet smile. "You be a good boy, now, Thomas." The boy nodded and eagerly took the book. Once he assured the elderly woman that he could bake by himself, he took a moment to breath before rushing to the closet to see what had changed. In the small, shabby broom closet was a large potato sac, like one found on an old farm. He carefully oped the bag and was delighted to feel his face bathed in a blue, holy glow. Chocolate chips. Perfect, powerful, heavenly chocolate chips. And on top of the chips was a small piece of paper that conveyed the following message in immaculate typography.
"You earned 4,560 Heavenly Chips."
