I'm not what you would call an expert programmer. In hindsight, with the journalism world the way it is now, I should have learned how to code better. You've seen my website I dedicated to my first ever video game; it's terrible. However, if there's one thing life has taught me, it's to be creative. And what better way to be creative than to piggy-bag off of ideas and make them better? It's what Vince McMahon did, after all. So, in order to get me going, I decided to summon up some warrior spirit by making an advanced AI listen to a bunch of Ultimate Warrior promos, matches, interviews, and even his comic books.
The results are why creativity should have its limits, and strict sanctions should be put on the development and coding of artificial intelligence. I tried to code in direction and focus, but Warrior.exe wouldn't listen, and just kept going on.
I booted up the program. There he was. The Ultimate Warrior was there, wearing his traditional facepaint. With every camera cut, the colors of the facepaint changed. I don't know why. I didn't program them in. The Warrior had not begun to speak, and I was already frightened. That primordial, damning fear of unleashing a plague upon our world. Like Pandora opening the box, only with more steroids, cocaine and homophobia.
Before speaking, he just stood there in my screen, panting. He looked frustrated and sweaty, like me after trying to impress the opposite sex. He let in a deep inhale that morphed into a powerful, deep snorting noise, like a wild pig in labor. I moved to the left, but his eyes began to follow me. I had no webcam plugged in. There was no way the program could know that I was there. I don't know what would be more terrifying: Him just staring at me and breathing like those men in black suits that stand outside my window, or The Ultimate Warrior cutting a promo at seemingly nothing. My own thoughts were cut off by the sound of a name...
Hoak Hogan... Destrucity is the convergence and offspring of both destiny and reality. The destiny of me beating you, Huk Hogan! The destiny my of taking the World Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Champion of the Universe Title Belt away from your hands in the battlefield of Madison Square Garden, Hug Hugan! In front of tens of thousands of millions of Hulkamaniacs, knowing that their savior will fail them, Hulk Hogun! Huhk Hogan! You will fail them, Hulg Ogan! The reality, Hulg Gogan, that I am the true World Wrestling Federation Championship holder, and that you are merely a placeholder for nothing, HUHG HOGAN!!!
Terry Bollea was nowhere around me. I was the only one there. His eyes kept following me as if I were the camera... As if I were Hulk Hogan. I unplugged my PC, but it was still on; The monitor was still on, and Warrior began to go on. I couldn't even test my theory that the ghost in the machine could see me; I was frozen with fear. Moving was impossible. He... It... Just kept talking about nothing to nothing. I hoped it was nothing. I prayed to a god that wasn't there that it was nothing.
Call Warrior University today, Hukh Hogan! If you wish to achieve the true DESTRUCITY of the ideals of victory! Queering doesn't make the world right, but I WIIIIIIILLLL!!!
With the remainder of my psyche and free will, I broke free from my prison of fear and smashed at the keyboard, hoping it would do something. I should have added a fail-safe for this, but I was too stupid to understand. I was a fool, no better than Victor Frankenstein. However, some combination I smashed onto the keyboard seemed to stop the program and delete system 32 on my computer. The beast, I imagined was dead. Destroyed. Destrucitied. Warrior.exe was no more. No file-sharing site could retrieve it, and no hacker alive could remove it from the brain-dead pile of wires that was my PC.
Until this morning, things were normal, until I checked my phone. It was at that point when I opened my messages app that it wasn't dead. There were no words. I created a monster that couldn't be killed. Every minute of every hour, anonymous numbers have been sending me this image.
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