>>13421202Nate, a grotesque, obese Black soyteen known as “NateTheGreat1488” on Soyjak Party, sat wheezing in his sweltering bedroom, a shrine to /soy/ culture. His chair groaned under his weight, surrounded by a landfill of Mountain Dew Code Red cans, half-eaten tendie crumbs, and a soyjak plushie with a torn arm, its beady eyes staring blankly. At 19, Nate was a /soy/ god, his greentexts about “>be me >chasing gems >eating 47 nuggies” earning him endless (You)s. Tonight, bored of reposting GigaChad edits, he lurked on /x/ and found a thread about “Nophono,” a cursed '80s VHS hosted by a faceless creep in a blue suit. “>sounds like shit nobaldi cares about,” Nate typed, his triple chin jiggling as he laughed off the spooky LARP. But a .onion link to “NOPHONO_SOYFUN.mkv” piqued his interest. Craving clout for a new /soy/ thread, he downloaded the 280 MB file.
The video loaded on his wheezing laptop, its fans screaming like a Dustjak in a coal mine. A distorted, ear-raping jingle blared, like a Soyjak Party animation left to fester in a digital void. The title card read, “Nophono’s Soytastic Funhouse!” in eye-searing Comic Sans, with a pixelated Cobson winking in the corner. “>coal tier bait,” Nate posted to /x/, but then Nophono appeared: a lanky, skeletal figure in a garish blue suit, swaying silently on a barren set straight out of a Soytanic-era public access nightmare. His face was a smooth, featureless void—no eyes, no mouth, just taut, unnatural skin. “>shit nobaldi cares about,” Nate muttered, smirking, but his room felt colder, the air heavy with the stench of burnt soy.
The video dragged on, silent except for a low static hum in Nate’s cheap headphones. Nophono moved like a broken Impjak puppet, holding up props: a greasy KFC bucket, a crumpled Soylent bottle, a “Crying Wojak” meme Nate swore he’d posted on /soy/ last week. “>be me >feeling unkeyed,” he typed, his sausage fingers shaking. Then Nophono held up a torn Impjak plushie—identical to the one on Nate’s shelf, down to the exact rip. His heart thudded like a Basedjak on a gem streak. The screen glitched, showing Nate’s own bedroom, his obese silhouette slumped in the chair, a sticky note on his monitor reading, “shit nobaldi cares about.” “>WTF IS THIS COAL,” Nate typed, but his laptop froze. The hum grew louder, now coming from behind him, like a thousand /soy/ anons whispering “gem” and “coal.”
His RGB lights flickered, casting shadows of his Funko Pops and Soylent crates. Nate’s phone buzzed—a /soy/ notification. His post, “>Nophono is shit nobaldi cares about,” had a reply: “HE’S IN YOUR THREAD NOW, SOYTEEN.” The webcam light blinked on. In the screen’s reflection, Nate saw his sweaty, terrified face—and a tall, blue-suited figure looming behind him, its blank head tilting. The hum became a deafening chant of “shit nobaldi cares about,” vibrating in his skull. Cold, bony fingers grazed his neck, smelling of burnt plastic and soy. Nate tried to scream, but his voice choked, like a Wojak drowning in coal.
The next morning, /soy/ exploded over a locked thread: “>be NateTheGreat1488 >gone after Nophono LARP.” The last post was a grainy webcam shot: Nate’s empty chair, his torn Impjak plushie on the floor, a greasy KFC bucket tipped over. In the corner stood Nophono, his featureless face tilted toward the camera, a faint smear of soy sauce on his suit. Scrawled on the wall in Nate’s handwriting was “shit nobaldi cares about.” Anons debated if it was a gemmy troll or pure coal, but Nate’s account was dead. His room, when checked, was empty—except for a charred outline on the carpet, shaped like a faceless head, and a crumpled Soyjak Party sticker reading, “Though I Walk Through the Valley of Coal, I Fear No Gem.”
