The Story of David Brighting. Outsourcing the Student Bio for his char sheet to this 'cause it's hella long.

(An * indicates that that is the end of a life cycle for David. If it ends abruptly, like it has little resolution--for instance, the first one--it can be assumed that the rest of his days were lived on like this for some time, perhaps years, but there is always some sort of accident that causes an unnatural death for David, bringing him back to the office. More asterisks are added each time, to indicate which life cycle you're on while reading.
This post covers life cycles one and two.)

This is the story of a young man named David. David, having needed a job outside of his normal human schoolwork to pay for necessities for him and his grandfather (whom he lives with), worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee No. 427. Employee No. 427’s job was simple; he sat at his desk in Room 427, and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor next to his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee 427 did every day of every week of every month. And although others might have considered it soul-ripping, David was happy.*
And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change David. Something that he would never quite forget.
He had been at his desk for nearly an hour, when he realized that not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had showed up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say 'hi'. Never before during his time at the company had this happened; this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, David found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and went out into the hallway.

David decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo. He didn’t function well by himself, and almost constantly needed support and guidance from others, so the thought of total solitude was terrifying to him.
When David came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left, and continued down the hallway.
As David entered the room, he was horrified to find not a single person there. He decided he would walk up to see his boss, hoping he would find an answer there. Exiting the meeting room and coming to a staircase, he went up.
Coming into his manager’s office, David was once again stunned to discover not an indication of any human life. It was at this point that he began to feel dizzy, and maybe a bit sick, and even thought he might pass out, when suddenly he noticed a giant keypad behind the boss's desk. David had never seen this keypad before and had no idea what combination of numbers would produce any result. In fact, only David’s boss knew this, since the panel withheld access to the boss’s greatest, darkest secret. And so he had assigned the keypad a combination that only he could possibly know. The number of his freshman dorm number in college. 2-8-4-5. But of course, David couldn’t possibly have known this.
Yet incredibly, by simply pushing random buttons on the keypad, David happened to input the correct code by sheer luck. Amazing.

David ventured forth into a dim room that had opened through the wall. An enormous control panel, David discovered, but not one that controlled simple machinery. Buttons were labelled with emotions. 'Happy'. 'Sad'. Levers and knobs controlled actions. 'Walking'. 'Eating'. 'Working'. 'Watching Television'. Every input on this device monitored not the functions of a machine, but of a human being. He was shocked. Could this be why Employee No. 427 enjoyed his boring job? That a machine had altered his emotions to accept it blindly? He began to feel an unbridled rage, and at the peak of anger, something happened. A spark. David looked up and saw the generator overhead, still providing some bit of power to the machine, keeping it alive. And knowing that this generator was the only thing keeping these controls running, he went over to the ladder in the back in the room, and began to climb towards the rafters, towards the machine's power controls. The higher David climbed, the closer he felt to freedom.
Reaching the top, he paused. An idea came to him. David smirked, and pushed the 'ON' button.

Oh, David. You didn’t just turn on the controls, did you? After it kept you enslaved all this time, you go and try to take control of the machine for yourself? Is that what you wanted? Control? David. Oh, David. Heheh, I applaud your effort, I really do, but you need to understand…there’s only so much that machine can do. You were meant to let it go, turn the controls off and leave. If you want to throw your story off track (and in front of my friends, too!), you’re going to have to do better than that. I’m afraid you don’t have nearly the power you think you do. For example, and I believe you’ll find this pertinent…
David suddenly realized that he had just initiated the network’s emergency detonation system. In the event that this machine is activated without proper DNA identification, nuclear detonators are set to explode, eliminating the entire complex. How long until detonation, then? Mm…let’s make it say, um, two minutes.
Then, a counter in yellow text marked ‘2:00’ flashed into David’s vision at the top of his eyesight, and began to count down. No matter how hard he blinked or rubbed his eyes it would not disappear.
Now, this is making things a little more fun, isn’t it, David? Now go ahead, go down back to the floor level and play with those controls all you like. The real controls are where I’m sitting. Did you really ever believe you had any power? Did you not think I knew what I was doing? When I erased your coworkers and turned off the machine, I was offering you freedom and escape. I didn’t have to do that. I’ve run this situation many times and I don’t always set them free. Sometimes they just sit there, day after day after day, doing their job forever, and then dying alone. But when I actually give you the freedom to control your own actions, it’s not enough? I let you go, and you trapped yourself just the same. You just weren’t made to handle this sort of responsibility, I’m afraid. But you know what you were made for?
Pushing buttons.
Hm, you get it now? Oh, now I’m enjoying this. Tell you what, I’ll throw some extra time on the clock just because I’m having so much fun. The counter in David’s vision, that was previously at forty-seven seconds, now had an added minute. There we go. You see, I want to watch you for every long second you try to puzzle this out. After all, it should make sense, right? The timer, the nuclear detonation, the mysterious facility, it’s all here. This is an adventure! Except for one thing there, hero. You’ve got no weapon. No vehicle. You don’t even know what you’re doing.
When you saw that timer, you just instinctively starting trying to find an exit, didn’t you? In fact, I bet you’re still looking for a way out. I bet you’re pressing and touching everything in the room, trying to open doors or vents or something, and solve the puzzle! As though this has a solution, as though it can be won! That timer is not a catalyst to keep things moving along. It’s just seconds ticking away to your death. This is not a challenge. It’s a tragedy. It’s the moment that the hero realizes that despite his best efforts, he is powerless to his environment. And then, he lets go. He surrenders. And he dies.
Thirty seconds, David, as you know. Thirty seconds. Until a boom…and then nothing. No ending to your story. Just you dying. But you won’t be alone, because I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here to watch every second of your inevitable life, from the time you’re born, until the time I say happily…
[0:02]
ever…
[0:01]
af-
[0:00]
**

(This post covers life cycles three and four, the last two before his currently cycle--five--at Mystal, which will also be lead up to in the next post. Get your reading gear engaged, y'all, because here's a nice wall of text brought to you by yours truly.)

...When David came to a set of two open doors, he entered the one on his left. Yet, eager to try out being defiant once more, David disregarded the kind, sweet voice in his head that dictated everything he did and said and went through the door on the right.
This was not the correct way to the meeting room.
And David knew it perfectly well.
So, willing to give the voice a chance, he turned left at the first open door, and walked back in the right direction. But no, he continued to walk forward and down the nearest flight of steps to the basement. David was so bad at following directions, it's incredible he wasn't fired a long time ago. Maybe this is why everyone had left. No one wanted to be around someone as bad in listening as him. And since he was walking into the middle of nowhere around the basement's cargo drop-off, and thus ruining the entire story, David decided that he would punish himself. So when he came to an elevator, when the doors opened, he stepped inside, and pushed the button to go further down.

He ended up in the crusher room, where unfit cargo (or recalcitrant workers' cars) were sent to be smashed into smithereens. And it almost perplexed David that he had actually gone and stepped into this metal trap. After all, it should have been no surprise, that this thing would lead him into his death. But he thought to himself, this is simply the price to pay, for ruining a perfectly good story. And he also came to think, through the lovely voice's sovereignty, that his life was actually of little importance anyway, and therefore could now no longer turn back, frozen in this state of shock and epiphany. Moving the creaking line along the conveyor belt to the enormous metal jaws, that in a single visceral instant would crush every bone in his body, killing him instantly, was like plucking the eyeballs from a blind man. It held little significance. So he decided, and willingly accepted his fate. The inevitable end, toward which he had spent so long stumbling.
Farewell, David.***


...When David came to a set of two open doors, he entered the one on his left.
The damned boy would defy his friendly voice once more, entering the one on his right. Walking a new path, a way he had rarely ever seen before, he came to a staircase down. It seemed dark and chilly. Perhaps it's a different way to the basement, he thought, or the parking garage. Eager, he descended to find out.
He had considered going the way up, as well, as the staircase did continue on in that direction. The only thing up from his floor, though, was his boss's office, and did he really think going there was a good idea? No! The possibility of facing his boss, admitting he had left his post...he might be fired for that. Why would he take that risk? All because he believed everyone had vanished? His boss would think he was crazy.
And then something occurred to David: Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe I am crazy! All of my coworkers blinking mysteriously out of existence in a single moment for no reason at all? None of it made any logical sense. And as David pondered this he began to make other odd observations. For example, these rooms in the car garage he was passing through...they started to look pretty familiar. Were they simply repeating? No, David told himself, even though he had the ability to do all these amazing tricks his entire life and seemingly respawn every morning if he came to his untimely end the day before, repeating rooms is crossing the illogical line. And then, he came to a conclusion.
I'm dreaming! he yelled, This is all a dream! What a relief David felt to have finally found an answer. No one was missing. He wasn't going to loose his job. Hell, maybe all of his life was some hazy dream, and he was actually a normal human being while awake. He wasn't crazy after all. He'd soon have to wake up though, he remembered, and thought he'd enjoy this while still lucid. After some minutes of dreaming himself flying, having the time of his life, David marveled how he could still be so conscious, how he'd not have woken up. And then perhaps the strangest question of them all entered David's head, one he was surprised he hadn't asked himself sooner, considering the circumstances:
Why is there a voice in my head?
Now the beautiful voice was describing itself being considered by David, whom found it particularly strange. I'm dreaming about a voice describing me thinking about how it's describing my thoughts, he thought! And while he thought it very odd to have such a voice in his dream, the truth was it was not a dream. Was David simply deceiving himself? Believing that if he's asleep, he doesn't have to take responsibility?
David is as awake right now as he's ever been in his whole life.
Hearing the voice speak these words was quite a shock. After all, he knew for certain, beyond a doubt, that this was in fact a dream! Had the voice not seen him fly? How could the voice explain that? This voice was a part of himself too, surely, surely, if he could just...
He would prove it. He would prove that he was in control, and that this was a dream. So he closed his eyes gently, and invited himself to wake up. He felt the cool mattress on his back, the warm blanket covering him, his grandfather calling to his sleeping form from downstairs for breakfast. Let me wake up, he thought to himself. This is a dream. I'm through. I want to wake up. I want my apartment. I want breakfast with Grandpa. I want to go to work and press the buttons, please, that's all I want. And tomorrow, I want to go to school. I want to turn in my homework. This is a dream. Everything will be fine. I am okay.
David opened his eyes. He began screaming, running around the repeating rooms more swiftly, heart beating wildly. Someone please wake me up!, he yelled. My name is Stanley! Stanley David Brighting! I have a job! A boss!  I have an office! I am real! Please, someone tell me I'm real! I must be real, I must be! Can anyone hear my voice?! Who am I?! Who am I?!
And everything went black.

This is the story of a man named Daniel. Daniel woke up on a day almost like any other. He arose, got dressed, prepared a small meal, yet also left a note saying it was for his grandson when he returned home, before leaving the house for a (hopefully) calming walk. Daniel had been worrying about him greatly, as he'd been out all night. This particular walk, as he had one each morning, was interrupted by the body of an unidentifiable man, due to his grime, wounds, and blood, who had stumbled through town talking and screaming to himself, now lying dead on the sidewalk. And although he would soon turn to call for an ambulance, for just a few, brief moments, he considered the strange man. He was obviously crazy, this much he knew; everyone knows what a crazy person looks like. And in that moment, he thought to himself how lucky he was that he was normal.
I am sane. I'm in control of my mind. I know what's real, and what isn't.
In a certain way, seeing this man made him feel better for that reason. For just a few, brief moments, he considered the strange man.
And then he turned, and went to call for an ambulance.****

(Now, take a small break. Have a lemonade. Take some peppermints. And read the little half-assed thing that gets him into Mystal.)

No. He had had enough of this...this...bullshit! David wanted no part of this any longer. He had to break the cycle. He had to be free. To be normal.
A bright, cheery morning greeted him the day he respawned. Birds chirped outside. Clouds drifted laxily overhead outside the window. The smell of baking waffles greeted his nose as he stood, crossing to his computer at his small desk in his small room in his small apartment. David sat down at the keyboard, and froze solid, staring down at the keys. Neither would he ever again in his life press any buttons, keys, anything! So, he instead took his phone, which sat charging next to the monitor, and began his search. Never in his life had he seen anyone with the magic he seemingly possessed. No one at school could figure out the magic tricks he'd perform now and again. And how in the world was he able to respawn afresh in the morning, as normal people around the world dropped like flies everyday?
There has to be people like me, he thought aloud softly. Some kind of Harry Potter stuff, or...
His prayers were answered. A school of magic. Cliché, maybe, but it was far. Far away from disappearing coworkers, cargo drop-offs, and button pushing. He had to go.
It took weeks to convince Grandpa, but he did it. David planned to go to this school this semester. He would be more than a button-pusher at a keyboard.
And he would survive.