Irl Console - Volume 1 Chapter 1 Tilde

Dave’s internal monologue weakly protested as he walked through the supermarket aisle grabbing packets of ch.i.p.s and chocolate.

“I told myself to eat well for a while and get in shape so I can get a girlfriend… WTF am I doing?? Stop it!”

Cashier : “That’ll be $52.00 sir.”

Dave shot the cashier a brief look of reluctance and shame as he implored the universe and/or any nearby eavesdropping deities to decline his contactless credit card transaction.

*beep*

“Transaction Approved – The gods have abandoned me. What’s new?” thought Dave as he wished the cashier a good day and collected his bag.

Dave walked to his car in dejection as he pictured himself eating his newly aquired junk in his darkened room surrounded by the many empty beer cans that have cohabitated with him for the past two weeks. As he drove home he suddenly had a great urge to drive into oncoming traffic but yet again, his damn body didn’t listen.

For years the feeling had gotten stronger and stronger: This disgusting feeling of being a passenger in a body beholden to a silent pilot with completely clashing impulses to his own.

‘Willpower?’ – a laughable concept.

The only thing Dave had control over was his speech and even that was only while his blood alcohol levels were minimal.

Yet still he chose to speak, desperately trying to influence his obnoxious pilot with honeyed words about a glorious future full of possibilities.

Dave knew, however, that time was grinding him down like a millstone. Every second trapped in his body was more time for him to find himself actually enjoying the destructive behaviour of his corporal prison. Every moment he gave himself licence to immerse himself in a video game binge or begged for the sweet numbness of alcoholic stupor was another moment where he lost a little more of himself to the pilot.

What can he do about it? Nothing. His only means to enact force on the world around him was monopolised by the silent pilot. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Soon these were all Dave felt.

********

Hour 7 of a Sunday Skyrim binge:

~ ‘player.additem f 999999’ ~

Dave wanted to enjoy the challenge of working his way through the quests and exploring with substandard gear knowing that eventually his perseverance would be converted into elation after a hard fought victory. Unfortunately, his pilot wanted OP gear with no effort for some incomprehensible reason. Now (and for the last hour) Dave’s avatar jumped around ultra modded Whiterun spamming FUS RO DAH at guards and paying them off with spawned gold.

“WTF!?!! Why? Why do you even have to ruin a f.u.c.k.i.n.g single player sandbox game??” Dave cursed his pilot knowing full well the futility of his mental shouts.

7 hours later…

Dave begged the silent pilot to go to bed instead of running through dungeons channeling a flame cloak spell with a 28600% damage buff from an enchantment exploit and oneshotting the draugr dungeon residents before they leave their coffins.

“F.U.C.K!! PLEASE!!”

The silent pilot continued without pause. He always did.

6 hours later Dave felt his eyes close. Seems like the silent pilot was finally at the end of the wick. Dave felt his body flop then slowly freeze as sleep overcame him. This time though, something was different. He didn’t shut off like he always had before. Observing the red hue of the inside of his eyelids as the light from his monitor shone on his face Dave finally realised that, for the first time in forever, his pilot was absent.

“OK. This is it. This can’t be a dream! Open your eyes!” Dave screamed at himself and slowly the deep red veil lifted as he found himself staring at his keyboard. He then moved his fingers and then his arms.

“This feeling!! Control!!”

Dave basked in joy! The moment was cut short, however, as he suddenly felt his pilot stir in response to his emotion.

“NO! It can’t comeback! This body is mine!”

Dave’s eyes flicked to the screen. Skyrim was paused with the console open still. Rage flooded through Dave’s mind as he remembered the torture he’d endured for the last day.

“This f.u.c.k.i.n.g console! Well, let’s see how you like this motherf.u.c.ker!”

Dave felt his control fading as the pilot awoke. With a last burst of rage he forced his hands to the keyboard and pryed out the tilde key. Unsure of what to do to stop the pilot from merely replacing the key, he could only shove it in his mouth and swallow it.

“Haha! I hope you- er… we f.u.c.k.i.n.g choke!”

Dave’s consciousness was rammed back into the passenger seat as the pilot awoke, coughed heavily, drank the dregs of a beer can beside him, and shuffled off to bed.

A wave of weariness assaulted Dave as he savored the taste of being in control for those few fleeting seconds. As sleep overcame him, he swore to himself that he will persevere! Someday he’ll kill the silent pilot and truly live!

Some chances come sooner than expected…