I once met a man, on level designation 93, who was a little insane. His years if livin’ on that level of Arcadia had driven him to be somethin’ close to primal. He retained his humanity but he was just clingin’ on for dear life. Whilst passin’ through his level I got to know him a little. He told me about the “before times”, when it wasn’t just him, and he told me about the “after times”, when all but he had perished.
He had no viable way of earnin’ credits. He was destined only to live on what he had in front of him. Only livin’ from the fat of the land.
As he showed me his level – as much as a level can belong to anyone other than Zeus – it became clear to me that it was not sustainable. It had become a patchwork of of a place. There was no consistency. When things broke, the poor man had had to fix it with whatever was available, often leavin’ him with a difficult choice to make between two equally necessary things. But which meant more?
I saw gates mended with furniture, I saw roofs mended with blankets and waterproofed materials. This left the man very exposed when the elements came callin’.
He patched things up as best he could, trying to hold on to his sanity, but when I passed back through level designation 93 just months later, the man was no longer human. He had devolved into this thing. This inhuman shell. He was no longer able to hold on to his sanity and became a beacon of insanity surrounded by a castle built from spare parts.
When Olympus opened, I met a man who reminded me of the poor man I met back then.
Stubbins Doom.
Stubbins is already straddlin’ the blurred line between sane and insane, danglin’ close to that primal nature but just holdin’ on for dear life – even if he himself wouldn’t admit it. Doom is destined to live with the materials he has in front of him – a veritable haven of gadgets and gizmos at his fingertips! But these gadgets are all merely patchwork, and all a mirror of his own self. Each gadget built from the corpses of other failed gadgets, eventually the well will run dry.
His mind runs the same – each time he comes up with another hare-brained scheme he is just countin’ down the days until there is nothing left but a piecemeal collection of every idea he’s already tried and failed at.
He’ll mend the gates with furniture. He’ll surrender his health and comfort to patch the holes in the ceilin’, and eventually that last drip of sanity will disappear when the elements come callin’. He will become inhuman, lost to the annals of time with only his failures to show for it.
Stubbins Doom is a man built on a foundation of spare parts, just like my friend from level designation 93. And just like him, Stubbins’ castle is crumblin’. And one of these days we’ll pass through to see he’s just no man at all. Just a collection of spare parts.