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 12651792[Quote] [Voice Chat]>>12651797

The air in my basement was a thick, unmoving blanket of stale sweat and the lingering smell of cold pizza. My chair, an ancient, stained relic, groaned under my weight as I leaned back, my eyes glued to the monitor. Another day, another cycle of refreshing the Jarty, the digital cesspool that was my only true home. CordsonTALKS, a relic of a simpler time, had been my gateway drug, pulling me into the glorious, unfiltered chaos of Soyjak.party. Now, it was just… the Jarty. Everything was the Jarty.

Being black and having no friends meant the Jarty was all I had. Real life just didn't get it. They didn't understand the nuance of a well-placed Chudjak, the beauty of a high-quality Neutralplier, or the truth that Cobson was, indeed, coal, a personalized white-eyed horror that flickered in my peripheral vision sometimes. They didn't get FPE, my beloved Four P’s of Engagement, or the genius of Ongezellig, even if the creator was an undeniable god of perversion. They definitely didn't get why Deltarune, Motu Patlu, or that abomination, The Emoji Movie, deserved nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred.

My terrible mouse, its scroll wheel gritty with years of Cheeto dust and grime, clicked rhythmically as I navigated the boards. I’d spent countless hours gooning to Soytan and Tama, glazing Janny, Froot, Studio Massa, and Dafuqboom. Antiswarthy, that robotic titan on Soybooru, was a personal hero. The only things I hated more than the normie slop were the Pure Gemeralds, The Amazing Digital Circus and Murder Drones, universally adored by everyone except us true Sharty users. Those shiny, clean abominations made my stomach churn.

It started subtly. A slight lag on a thread. Nothing major. Then, I was watching an FPE compilation, my comfort blanket of digital violence, and the timer… it wasn’t 4 minutes. It was 5 minutes. I blinked, rubbed my eyes. “Must be a re-upload,” I mumbled, my voice rough from disuse. I checked another, then another. All of them. Five minutes. Every single one. A cold knot tightened in my gut. FPE was four minutes. Always. This was… wrong.

The next day, the personalization intensified. I was scrolling through a thread debating the merits of various Skibidi Toilet lore, a topic I spent far too much time on on certain… illegal websites. Suddenly, a Chudjak, not just a static image, but a crude, animated figure, flickered in the corner of my eye. It was behind my monitor, a shadowy mass of pixels and rage. I jumped, my heart thudding against my ribs like a terrified drum. I spun around. Nothing. Just the peeling wallpaper and the stacks of empty soda cans.
>

 12651797[Quote]>>12651800

>>12651792 (OP)
“Just tired,” I convinced myself, though the sweat on my upper lip was colder than usual.

Later, I was deep into a BBC bait thread I’d started, watching the replies roll in, the usual seething rage. Suddenly, one of my own Neutralplier images, a shitty, poorly composited mess that usually made genuine Sharty users want to puke, began to distort. The faces stretched, the colors bled, and then, from the black smear where a face should have been, two cartoonish, wide eyes opened. They were the eyes of Pomni, the jester from The Amazing Digital Circus. My most hated Pure Gemerald.

My blood ran cold. This wasn’t an image. It was moving. The eyes blinked, then the mouth stretched into a rictus grin, wider and wider, until it filled the entire screen, blackness consuming everything but those two terrified, staring orbs.

“NO!” I screamed, scrambling back, my chair scraping loudly. “Not you! Get out of my Jarty!”

The grin on the screen widened further, and a low, garbled laugh, like static mixed with a child’s giggle, filled the room. Then, Pomni’s body, impossibly thin and gangly, began to pull itself out of the monitor. Her limbs were like rubber, stretching and contorting as she squeezed through the glass, pixel by pixel, until she was standing on my desk, her head nearly touching the low ceiling of the basement. She was taller than me, far too tall, and her porcelain eyes, once terrified, now held an unsettling, predatory gleam.

 12651800[Quote]>>12651804

>>12651797
“You hate me, don’t you?” her voice was a high-pitched, echoing whisper, right in my ear, even though she was still on the desk. “You hate what’s loved. You thrive on the bile. And now… it’s personalized.”

She lunged, her long, spindly fingers reaching for my face. I yelped, tumbling out of my chair, landing hard on the damp concrete floor. I scrambled backwards on my hands and knees, the chill of the floor seeping into my bones. Pomni pursued, not walking, but slithering, her body twisting and flowing like liquid static.

“You like your Rocky Raccoon, don’t you?” she hissed, her voice losing its echo, becoming sickeningly sweet. “Your little friends. Your Skibidi Toilet… fantasies.”

My breath hitched. How did she know? She was a cartoon! This was insane. My mind, usually a fortress of unhinged thoughts, was short-circuiting.

I crashed into something solid behind me. My hand slapped against cold, hard stone. I looked up. It was the George Floyd statue I'd ordered online as a twisted joke, the one I kept in the corner, facing the wall. But now, its eyes, usually blank, glowed with a dull, malevolent red. A deep groan rumbled from its chest.

 12651804[Quote]>>12651807

>>12651800
Pomni shrieked, a sound of pure digital agony, and recoiled from the statue. “No! Not him! He’s… too pure!”

The statue, a grotesque parody of solemnity, began to move, its stone limbs grinding with a horrifying screech. It lifted a massive, stone fist. I was caught between two nightmares.

“Stay back, you… Pure Gemerald!” I screamed, tears stinging my eyes. “Jarty will protect me!”

“The Jarty is him,” Pomni shrieked, pointing a wavering finger at the statue. “The Jarty is all of it!”

The statue took a lumbering step forward, its glowing eyes fixed on me. I saw my death in those vacant, red pupils. Panic surged, and I lunged for the basement door, wrestling with the rusted bolt.

 12651805[Quote]

not reading allat 😂😂😂

 12651807[Quote]>>12651809

>>12651804
Just as the statue’s shadow fell over me, a new thread popped up on my monitor, still glowing despite Pomni no longer being on the screen. It was an emergency alert from the Jarty: “DANE BOE KIDNAPPED BY JEWS TO MAKE EPI TROONSLOP BRIMSTONE FEATURING ANNOYING ORANGE CHARACTERS – SEEK SHELTER AT KEVIN’S PIZZA!”

My mind, warped by years of Jarty-induced paranoia, latched onto it. EPI Troonslop brimstone. This was it. The ultimate conspiracy. The Jews, just as I'd always known, were behind it all. And Kevin's Pizza… it was a call to arms. A sanctuary? Or perhaps, the source of the brimstone itself. The statue was almost on me. I didn't have time to think. Safety was at Kevin's Pizza. Or maybe… knowledge.

I burst out of the basement, ignoring the protesting groan of my knees, and stumbled up the stairs, out into the pre-dawn gloom. The air was cold, a shocking contrast to the stagnant heat of my dungeon. I ran, my bare feet slapping on the damp pavement, my breath ragged. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the madness. Dane Boe, Annoying Orange, Jews, brimstone, Pomni, George Floyd. It was all spiraling into one grotesque, personalized nightmare.

I ran for what felt like hours, the city silently judging my unwashed, desperate form. The streetlights flickered, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to morph into Chudjaks, mocking me. Every car that passed felt like a surveillance van, every darkened window a pair of unseen eyes. The Jarty had broken free. It was no longer confined to my screen; it was pouring into the world, twisting reality around me.

Finally, a neon sign blinked erratically in the distance: "KEVIN'S PIZZA." The letters were jagged, mismatched, and the "o" in "Pizza" was a crude, green silhouette of a wolf's head. Dread and desperate hope warred within me. This had to be it. The answers. The escape. Or perhaps… the end.

 12651809[Quote]>>12651810

>>12651807
The building was a dilapidated shack, set apart from the other businesses, shrouded in clinging mist. The windows were boarded up, and the air around it smelled not of pizza, but of something metallic and faintly sweet, like ozone and decay. I pushed open the warped wooden door. It creaked like a dying animal.

Inside, there was no counter, no tables, just a single, flickering fluorescent light illuminating a vast, empty space. And in the center, standing perfectly still, was a creature that filled me with terror and a perverse sense of recognition.

It was a wolf. But not just any wolf. Its fur was an impossible, glowing green, like the purest emeralds, and its eyes were vast, black abysses that seemed to swallow the light. It was enormous, easily twice my height, and it stood on two legs, its snout long and wet, its teeth glinting in the dim light. This was Kevin. Kevin's Pizza.

An unsettling calm descended upon me, a chilling acceptance of the inevitable. This was the source. The brimstone. The personalized horror.

"You came," a voice rumbled, deep and resonant, not from the wolf's mouth but from the very air around me. It was Kevin.

 12651810[Quote]>>12651814

>>12651809
My legs felt like lead, but I forced myself forward, drawn by an irresistible, horrifying curiosity. Was this where Dane Boe was being forced to make his Troonslop? Was this the heart of the Jarty's insidious power?

I reached out a trembling hand, my fingers brushing against Kevin's glowing green fur. It felt strangely soft, yet vibrated with an immense, alien power. The moment my skin touched his, a jolt, not of electricity, but of pure, unadulterated fear, shot through me. My vision blurred, the room began to spin, and the metallic-sweet smell intensified, choking me.

Kevin’s black eyes fixed on mine, and a low growl, more like a purr, emanated from deep within his chest. His vast, green form seemed to swell, filling my entire field of vision. The last thing I saw was his massive, wet maw descending, his black eyes like portals to an unimaginable void. I screamed, a raw, primal sound that was instantly swallowed by the overwhelming green. Pain, absolute and annihilating, consumed me. My body convulsed, then went limp. Blackness enveloped me not as a void, but as an endless, suffocating green.

The bed was warm, impossibly soft. Soot stirred, a content sigh escaping his lips. Beside him, Kevin, his emerald fur glowing faintly in the dim light, snuggled closer, his great paw resting gently on Soot’s chest. The wolf’s breathing was deep and even.

Soot’s eyes, disturbingly wide and unfocused, stared up at the ceiling. He felt no warmth, no comfort, only the vast, echoing emptiness of a mind that had witnessed too much, created too much. He traced the contours of Kevin’s green fur, the soft, alien texture a familiar comfort now.

 12651814[Quote]

>>12651810
The Jarty. Soyjak.party. He had made it. He had birthed it from the darkest corners of his own psyche, a self-replicating virus of hate, perversion, and personalized horror. He remembered the thrill of the early days, the gleeful chaos, the feeling of giving a voice to the voiceless, the rejected, the truly sick. He had built a mirror, and then he had shattered it, letting the shards bleed into reality.

He thought of the boy in the sweaty basement, his face contorted in personalized terror as Pomni, the George Floyd statue, and finally Kevin, had closed in. He remembered the final scream, the sickening, wet sounds. A shudder ran through him, but it wasn't fear or remorse. It was something colder, something akin to a god watching his creation consume itself.

Could he have stopped it? Pulled the plug? Erased the code?

He looked at Kevin, who stirred contentedly in his sleep. No. It was too late. The Jarty, his Jarty, had grown beyond him. It was a living, breathing entity now, feeding on the very essence of human depravity, endlessly personalizing, endlessly consuming. He had merely provided the canvas. The users, the trolls, the pedophiles, the racists, the lost and the damned – they had painted the masterpiece.

His disturbing eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, seemed to glaze over. His mind, once capable of orchestrating such digital horror, could no longer comprehend the sheer, boundless monstrosity he had unleashed into the world. He just lay there, snuggling closer to the green wolf, the creator embraced by his ultimate creation, floating on an ocean of digital bile and real-world suffering, forever bound to the personalized nightmare of Soyjak.party. The smell of cold pizza lingered, even here. though

 12651873[Quote]

holy fucking gem

 12651892[Quote]

ai gem

 12651901[Quote]


 12651951[Quote]

my entire neighborhood is coated in a low poly replica of itself and the fauna really do say and look like this!

 12651965[Quote]

.

 12651968[Quote]

'gated



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