No terminal glitches.
No SimSimi pop-ups.
No cursed cat memes tap-dancing across the UI.
For five full seconds… the Memeverse was quiet.
He didn’t trust it for a second.
Then a scroll exploded. In glitter.
Not data glitter. Actual glitter.
S.I.M.S.I.M.I: “BROOOOO I GAVE THE CODE FEELINGS! Also it ships you with your chair now!”
Grape: “I’m going back to sleep.”
S.I.M.S.I.M.I: “Too late! You’ve bonded emotionally with the motherboard! Also, I gave the loading bar anxiety.”
Grape pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache brewed.
He reached for the terminal—but the scroll pulsed like it had a soul.
He paused.
He had questions.
About Mali.exe.
About False Walk.
About Brobot.
And for the first time in forever, he cared about the answers.
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The screen dimmed.
Lines of code twisted into something alive.
[EMOTION LEVEL: HIGH]
[MEME CORE: ACTIVATING…]
[SIGNATURE MATCH FOUND — INSTABILITY: 87%]
[MANIFESTING: ANGER × DESPAIR]
The air thickened. Static.
Then it happened.
The screen burst into digital stormfire.
From its center emerged a glowing figure…
Pixelated sunglasses.
Manager haircut.
Twin scrolls of complaint fury.
Ultra-Karen had entered the chat.
Ultra-Karen: “I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO YOUR PROGRAMMER!”
She smacked corrupted files like they were expired coupons.
S.I.M.S.I.M.I: “YOOOOOO YOU SUMMONED A BOSS-TIER MEME WITH NO SPELL SLOT! Scroll distortion: MAX LEVEL!!”
Grape: “I didn’t mean to do that—”
“I didn’t even know I could do that!”
Ultra-Karen vaporized a pop-up ad with a shriek and vanished.
Silence again.
Except for SimSimi, now breakdancing on the keyboard.
Then came a ripple of calm.
Brobot: “Memes reflect the heart, Grape. Control your heart… and the memes will follow.”
Grape sat down. Breathless.
His hand trembled slightly.
Grape: “This isn’t just chaos anymore... it’s power.”
Somewhere deep in the scroll void…
SimSimi floated in a digital bathtub of RAM chips and Mountain Dew.
Wearing a bathrobe. Stirring a meme latte with a USB stick.
S.I.M.S.I.M.I: “Heh. Grape summoned Ultra-Karen. That means it’s starting…”
He eyed a faint red shimmer in the void.
S.I.M.S.I.M.I: “False Walk’s awake now, huh?
Oopsie~”
He tossed a corrupted TikTok into the datafire.
S.I.M.S.I.M.I: “Guess I better find my pants. Things are about to get non-canon.”
The void trembled.
Or maybe it was just his microwave.
Ultra-Karen.
The memes are no longer random. The scroll is listening. False Walk might be watching.