Tamari Plays Roblox

What is this strange game?

Color.

Color explodes in Tamari's vision, expanding in a vibrant swath across the dark room. They glance behind them cautiously, afraid Fayrouz is lurking out in the lab's hall, wandering up late tonight working on one project or another. Tamari hopes that she is long asleep at this hour, but she is an unpredictable person. Though she forbids them from leaving their bedroom after 10 PM, they have decided that unpredictability is also what they are chasing after.

They turn their gaze back to the computer screen's login, the backdrop pulsing in a psychedelic pattern. Tamari knows much about computers, yet little about the society that exists outside of the lab. Fayrouz forbids them from leaving. They hope that they can have a little fun on that computer that's she's always typing away at.

They smile as they admire the pixels and the light. There is one part of the screen devoid of this glow, however. It is a thin, rectangular box. 

Password.

What in the world would someone like Fayrouz have as a password? Tamari knows she is not a simple lady. The password could be hidden upon any one of her facets. 

They move their eyes downward, examining the glowing keys of her keyboard. They squint for a moment, tilting their head as they notice that a few of the number keys are glowing dimmer than the rest.

They will themself to scan the keys and sort the information into their hardware. Fingerprints. Thumb. Index. Middle. The swirling grooves appear across their vision in a light, spectral blue, and they grin as they configure which ones are most and least recent. Human skin secretes oils, and Tamari is able to determine how recent each residue is up to the millisecond.

"You made your own creation far too advanced to keep your secrets," they mumble as they punch in the numbers. 

The box disappears as they press the enter button, and a cluttered desktop enters their view. There are folders upon folders of software, applications, PNGs, and blueprint scans. 

"Could use some organization." Tamari glances over a few files titled with their own name, and ignores the boring folder titled TA-MO2. None of it intrigues them. No, what they're interested in is the small, square app located right in the corner of the screen.

It's simple and gray, with a square with a hole offset inside of it. What is it? Why does it fascinate them so much? Why do they feel drawn to it, like their hand is moving on its own accord as it clicks it slowly.

They are immediately doused with another glowing screen. The words ROBLOX are in big, blocky text on the screen. Rows upon rows of titles and drawing fill the monitor, a welcome banner at the top reading: "Welcome, RobotMaker07!" They narrow their eyes at the username, confused as to why Fayrouz has such a juvenile persona and superficial gaming app installed. Nevertheless, they figure it doesn't matter. This "juvenile game" is theirs to wander now.

They can tell that the game is old—probably originating all the way back in the 2000s. This fascinates them, and they examine all of the contents more closely. They love old pieces of media. 

One game on the top row catches their attention. It features a cartoonish man with a gun, his proportions noticeably stretched and geometric. He holds a gun of a similar style. Tamari likes guns, especially Tamari-sized handguns.

They click on the game.

Immediately gunshots reverberate around the room. 

"Shoot! Shoot!" They curse under their breath as they fumble with the computer's volume. They don't know Fayrouz's PC well, and they're left biting their nails after taking far too long to adjust the speakers. They only hope she didn't hear.