Outrunning Our Afterlives: Cradle To Death

𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒

It opened it's eye to the world it created, stretching it's arms and legs in the oblivion of empty space.

It tried to think of something to create, for there was a strange itch urging the idea that it should be creating something. Yet, it couldn't think of anything. How peculiar, what good is a creator who can't create?

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the oblivion, quick and rushed, but malevolent in nature.

"Greetings, my creation. I shall name you Malware. That alright with you buddy?" He asked quickly. It nodded, creating a small sticky note and taking out a pen from its pocket to draw a smiling mouth. It stuck it to its "face," giving a thumbs up.

"Good, good. I wasn't going to give you a choice, but a compliant subject is an easy subject, am I right?" The voice chuckled. Malware chuckled back, despite it's extreme lack of amusement.

"Anywho, you should know how to address me, and 'creator' doesn't seem quite as original as I would like. So, call me The Consentist," he said, giving only a brief second for it to nod in response. It didn't mind though, if anything, it enjoyed the idea of not having to make its own decisions.

"I have wonders of ideas in mind, so how about we start with a basic pocket dimension? You could live in it. Just think about it, wouldn't that be cool?" He asked. It tried to imagine such, picturing the idea in its head. It briefly thought it were real.

Without even a second thought, the pocket dimension simply appeared before its eye. Though, rather than appalled, Malware was actually quite impressed with its own abilities. Or The Consentist's abilities, he wasn't sure who created that.

"There will be others, but the rest will be up to you, I won't be there, but don't worry about making decisions," The Consentist added. In that moment, Malware's brain net was bursting with ideas.

There were others, but none had the same creative spirit Malware did. None of them.