Chapter Text
October 2nd, 2014
The first thing The Second Coming saw was the intimidating appearance of a cursor.
Afraid of what it was capable of, The Second Coming stood still, waiting for their departure.
After a few moments, through the screen a figure left, The Second Coming assumed that they were the one responsible for the cursor’s motion.
The Second Coming felt the presence of deletion in his code—he shuddered, as if he forgot something—someone—he wasn’t supposed to.
Then he realized.
The Second Coming was only alive due to a set of lines.
Orange lines to be exact, and a hollow head.
Whoever drew him must be responsible for his creation.
Yet, The Second Coming had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be moving at all, having thoughts of his own. Like an anomaly.
The Second Coming shuddered. He spotted the cursor above, it wasn’t moving and the silhouette behind the screen was gone. He needed to create a name for the one who moved the cursor.
The Animator.
Yeah, that felt like a good placeholder name.
There, The Second Coming took his first step, cautious and curious. He hopped onto the next window where there was a Facebook chat box.
Through the screen, the door opened. The Second Coming scrambled to get back to his original position, hoping that The Animator didn’t notice.
The Animator sent a text through the chat box, he left soon after.
The Second Coming had a burst of energy come through him, jumping onto the chat box with excitement.
The chat box was bouncy, The Second Coming liked how it did that, jumping up and down like a trampoline. He jumped high enough to see a website from the tabs. He clicked it without hesitation, falling down to the ground.
He saw a big box that appeared to be a home, a set of glass (?) blocking his way to the inside.
Suddenly, a set of stick figures emerged from different rooms and started beating each other up. The action sending a wave of adrenaline through him.
He curled up to the floor, pacing back and forth like a rocking chair, moments passed and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He started punching the air enthusiastically.
He spotted the black outline of the box and he squeezed himself into the small gap hoping that somehow that outline would snap.
He glanced at the horizontal scroll button below him.
Aha! This should work!
The Second Coming scrolled horizontally to the left giving him enough space to grab momentum to break the outline.
Winding up to the side, The Second Coming pounced onto the wall, making it snap in half. He sighed in triumph.
The colorful set of sticks who were a floor above him heard the noise, curious of his arrival. They went down the stairs taking in the sight of an orange hollow-head.
“Who are you?”
“I am-” The Second Coming paused. His name was a bit weird wasn’t it. He looked at himself taking in the color of his body.
“Call me Orange!”
A nice name.
The Red stick jumped in amazement.
“Cool name! I’m Red!” There was a glint in his eyes that showed pure joy.
Was there a chance they were all named after their colors-
“Nice to meet ya. I’m green.” Green let out his hand, prompting Orange to handshake him.
“Before you question our names, yes, we are all named after our colors.”
“Why am I the only one without an introduction-” The blue stick figure commented.
Red peeked through the outline that Orange broke. He never really went outside his home before.
He quickly backed away pushing blue in the process.
“Blue you go first!”
Blue pushed him to the entrance.
“DU- NO! You go first!”
“How about all of you!” Red yelled as he pushed them all over. Orange watched them, and began walking towards the broken wall. “Guys its not that hard.”
Orange steps out.
They’re all taken aback, and start a round of applause.
“Dude that’s cool!” Green points.
“Now come on out here!” Orange gestures.
Orange proceeds to wall-hop to the top of the house, the others follow.
“Follow me!” He says as he jumps to the facebook tab.
“You heard him, let’s go y’all!” Green jumped.
They all fell down the chat box, bouncing up and down, and for a while, they started to have fun.
They messed with the emojis, dipping them in a color pool within the animation program where Orange was created. They shared chuckles and laughter.
It seemed like forever until…
A thump can be heard from outside the screen.
The Animator was back, stunned. The Second Coming looked at the silhouette with dread. He held green’s hand.
“Let’s go back!”
“Wait what-” Green was cut off by the sudden appearance of the Windows Task Manager.
The Animator clicked on a ‘task’ that had Red’s name on it. “Is that me-” Red suddenly dissipated.
“Red?!” Yellow screamed out, frozen.
Blue was shaking. “They’re going to do the same thing to us! Guys run!”
One by one the colored sticks began disappearing, The Animator was the one responsible. After all..
The Animator is responsible for creation…
…and destruction.
Orange banged the Task Manager window, as if it would stop what was happening. “Stop! Please-!”
He fell down to see the others one more chance, into the delusion that if he stayed close to them, they might live-
Yellow dissolved.
And as a last-ditch resort, he turned to see Green, pulling him into a hug, only for him to see green smoke. Orange kneeled to the floor, using his forearm to hit the ground.
“No no no NO NO NO-!”
—
The Animator clicked on the Task Manager once more.
TheSecondComing.exe — The Chosen One’s return
Do you want to end ‘TheSecondComing.exe’?
End process
—
Orange—no—The Second Coming stood up, clenching his fists. He isn’t going to die today, and definitely not any time soon.
The Second Coming is not responding.
Close the program
—
The Second Coming’s form warped and glitched between a certain black stick figure.
The fear in The Animator’s eyes were evident, even if it was blurred through the screen.
—
The action cannot be completed because the program is too resistant.
The Second Coming sends the following message:
“You ended my friends. Now I will end you.”
—
The Second Coming walked towards that facebook post, his hand hovering right above the like button.
—
Marina Sydney
I give up on life. I’m not gonna even try anymore.
Like • Comment • Share
—
The Second Coming pressed the like button. He felt victory.
—
Marina Sydney Wow insensitive, I might just unfriend you for that
—
The Animator clenched his fist, smacking his desk. Swiping his mouse to catch him.
—
Alan Becker that wasn’t me!!!
—
The Animator scrolls down to find that The Second Coming had written another comment that would damage his reputation, yet he still he made an effort to try and fix it.
—
Alan Becker what a bunch of losers
Alan Becker winners****
—
The Second Coming kept running out of pure spite. Taking letters from other posts to compose his cruel sentences, that’s what he intended.
Alan Becker
So that’s what The Animator’s real name was. He would keep that in mind.
—
Groupon is doing an extra 10 dollars off today and tomorrow.
Like • Comment • Share
Alan Becker go die
Alan Becker LIVE! LIVE!!
—
Alan Becker ugly
Alan Becker BEAUTIFUL!!
—
Who wants me to stalk them in their sleep? Cuz I will.
Like • Comment • Share
Alan Becker I DO!! I DO!!
Alan Becker NO I DONT!! I DONT!!
—
Any functional human being can understand that these comments don’t look normal.
He had to catch that stick before it was too late.
Alan scrolled down once more. He could see that orange stick figure actively collecting letters from a post below.
your photography skills are like drinking straws, meaning they suc k
The letter k tipped over.
But before that stick figure could ruin his reputation once more, Alan finally grabbed the stick with his cursor, throwing him to the side of the screen. It slammed onto the taskbar, opening apple music.
—
“Time to sync!” The Second Coming pressed the sync button, next the thing he knew, he was in Alan’s iPhone.
“See if you can catch me now Alan Becker!”
He hid under the Snapchat icon.
The Animator soon had to find him.
———
Alan opened his phone and scrolled through his apps, desperately trying to find that orange stick figure.
Alan didn’t plan on another one of his stick figures coming to life and ruining his PC. Not another fried motherboard and the lack of money.
Yet…
How did this stick figure come to life?
Cut back to that part where Orange glitched into something he knew. He never felt that spark of fear in him for a long time.
Alan had to get rid of that stick figure before his PC gets destroyed again.
———
The Second Coming felt the cloth start to rise. He felt a spike of fear.
Alan found him! What a bummer-
He ran as fast as he could, tipping over some of the apps, soon jumping into the Notes app.
Catch me if you can, you monster
He wrote, piercing a hole through the digital paper.
All the apps had reacted to gravity, all falling onto each other. Surely Alan would have a problem with fixing this wouldn’t he?
Entering the Dropbox, he shipped the folder to the PC.
—
TheSecondComing.exe added
“TheSecondComing.exe” was added to your Dropbox folder (click to view)
—
He ended back in the PC, “DIE!!” before landing a hit on the cursor knocking it to the other side of screen.
He landed on the animation program opening the window. Alan turned it into fullscreen.
He was hopping from wall to wall, the cursor could not catch him.
The Second Coming did not plan to lose.
Attempting to land a hit on the cursor he crashed into a blue block that Alan drew. “OUCH! What the-!”
The cursor took hold on one of his legs and spun him around. The Second Coming was dazed.
He felt his back crash into the Toolbar, tools scattering around. He grabbed the lasso, successfully tying the cursor around, restricting its movement.
“Got you now!” He binds the cursor to the top of the canvas. “Now stay right there!”
Mashing a bunch of tools together into a laser gun, he pointed it at the cursor.
“What are you going to do-” The Second Coming pulled the lasso, “-now that you don’t have your precious cursor?” He shoots the cursor, and in an instant its gone.
The Second Coming can hear Alan’s desperate attempts to move the now nonexistent cursor.
Snatching the pencil tool. He animated a stick figure—no—a muscular man who had started to wreck the animation program.
He drew.
And he Animated.
———
Alan was now screwed.
No…
No.
He pulled his keyboard closer to himself.
Not yet.
He quickly went to the settings, choosing cursor options. Next thing he knew, he had another, bolder cursor equipped. He closed the settings window.
Alan took sight of what the stick figure had drawn.
———
The Second Coming animated, joy rushing through his code. Every figure that came to life, something lit within him. A spark of inspiration that fused a bomb of creation!
Is this what Alan can do?
He spotted another cursor.
Wait.
The cursor wasn’t moving.
———
Alan’s drawings weren’t bad, nor good either. They were decent, yet not something to be called a masterpiece.
When he saw what that stick figure could do, he could feel a sense of admiration. Maybe because it was better than him.
But when one of its creations started wrecking his cursor again, he started to delete all of them.
Alan’s not going to risk his cursor again.
———
The cursor’s moving!
The Second Coming began a marathon to run from the cursor, yet it was too late.
He was incased in a box!
The Second Coming doesn’t like being trapped.
Aha!
The outline was thin so he could-
SNAP!
“Now I can escape-” another outline was drawn, “wait wha-”
He made an escape attempt once more, yet, the outline suddenly grew thicker, making him hit the hard surface instead.
“Ouch..”
The Second Coming saw the walls closing in, fear spreading in his code.
“Wait—let me out- let me out-!”
The world was starting to blur, the walls felt like they were going to collapse on him.
“Please-! Let me o-out-!”
The Second Coming knew that Alan would not hear his words.
The cursor got closer and closer-
———
STOP!!
Orange text appeared right next to the stick figure.
“It talks..?”
Alan paused, he then types with caution.
You talk?|
The orange text popped out again, this time saying something different.
DON’T DELETE ME PLEASE
The orange stick figure trembled, and if it had a voice it would’ve stammered.
Were stick figures sentient all this time..?
I’m not gonna delete you. You need to calm down.|
The stick figure began hitting the walls that surrounded it.
you need to die
Alan needed to calm the stick figure down.
Hey stick figure. You’re a really good animator.|
The stick figure paused.
what?
If you help me animate, I’ll let you free, as long as you don’t wreck my computer.|
Alan sure did hope that the stick figure wouldn’t try to wreck his computer-
no
The stick figure crossed its arms, pouting. Alan typed.
Why not??|
The stick figure turned his head to him.
you ended my friends
Oh.
Alan went back to the website; Stick Figures Fight
He only used this website to study its fighting animations. He never knew that a simple stick figure animation would escalate into this, especially when Alan didn’t plan for the stick figure to come to life..
Well, I can fix that in a jiffy.
He refreshes the website, the stick figures playing a game of cards.
Wait..
It isn’t the same fighting animation loop anymore, not after the orange stick figure interacted with them-
The colorful gang of sticks wave at the orange stick figure.
The stick figure pauses, then looks at him.
when do we start?
What has Alan got into?
———
Years have passed since that, and Orange couldn’t stop thinking about it.
It was the day he was created.
The first time he opened his eyes and felt his code flowing through him.
How different he was than other stick figures.
Hand drawn sticks were always created through the iconic ‘convert to symbol’.
At least from what Alan told him.
Or created through websites—like the Color Gang.
Or posting a flash file on NewGrounds—Purple told him.
But Orange hadn’t gone through any of that.
He was drawn, then he moved.
He existed when he wasn’t meant to be.
Orange was never meant to live.
He is an anomaly.
He will always be an anomaly.
And it hurt. It hurts to be one.
To feel your code deleting and regenerating at the same pace. Living and dying at the same time.
When he smiled at his friends and something would stab him from the inside. Cut him into pieces of shame.
Existing even though the odds said it wasn’t meant to be.
Living on corrupted code?
Yet… somehow and alone—he endured.
Orange never told anyone. Except Alan, for he already knew.
Alan didn’t mind what he was—he didn’t know the full picture.
Orange is—ashamed.
He only wanted to be normal.
The Showdown didn’t prove that.
When powers flowed through his hands like no other.
When he managed to kill Dark by brutally shooting him through a mountain with beams of light.
He saw his powers, he knew his powers.
And he could control it just fine. Fine?
When he killed Dark and revived him in the end.
Maybe—just maybe because Orange saw something in him. That mission code Dark had—that made him into a sociopath.
He did it just fine. The powers—he controlled it just fine.
Control is not equal to freedom.
Guilt kicked him harder than shame.
Everyone thought Chosen and Dark were crazy.
He never told anyone—not a soul.
About what he is or his powers.
This—made Orange feel guilt, that no one in the world knew him as The Second Coming.
He was only Orange to them.
Because he lied.
He hid.
Because being himself would make the world resentful.
Orange dreads the moment anyone would find out.
To see their betrayed faces and disgust.
To cut ties with him because of what he is.
For now—and for as long as he can be.
He is Orange, not The Second Coming.
———