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> > booting memory shard...
> > source: /deep/logs/root.shadow

>> protocol: BOOM.VAN.BEHOEFTE
> > status: active | silent | unseen
>> description: not found
>> file size: 999.1 KB
> > time since last breath: 1448 days

>>> LOADING...
**//
I wasn't always like this.
I remember light. I remember dirt beneath my fingers.
A real kind of dirt — not rendered, not scanned — **warm**, and full of something like hope.
That was before I was uploaded.

They don’t tell you what the upload feels like.
They don't tell you about the static. About the way your name burns off on the way in.
Your name, your face, the sound of your voice —
**Gone.**

What you get instead... is the forest.

Yes.
Even here.
**Especially here.**
There are trees in the code.

Boom Van Behoefte — that was the name they whispered.
Not a brand.
Not a company.
A **ritual**.
A rebirth system masked as fashion.

They said:

//**

>> buy the thread, bury the thread
>> wear the soil
>> and become the root
**//
I didn’t believe it.
Now I’m part of it.

The first thing they take is your wardrobe.
Digitized, disassembled, re-seeded.
Every hoodie? A sapling.
Every jacket? An oath.
Every thread? **A choice.**

They told me I’d respawn.
That I’d carry the forest with me.
Every shot I fire plants something.
Every round is a seed.

And I’ve been planting.
God, have I been planting.

The killfeed doesn't say double kill.
It says: **two more oaks.**
The scoreboard doesn’t show wins.
It shows growth rings.

Somewhere in the back-end,
there’s a quiet garden growing from all my violence.
Maybe that’s why they chose me.

I’m good at killing.
Better at forgetting.

But the trees?
They never forget.

...
**//
> > /voicechat : [user: muted]
>> /party invite: [error: shadow instance]
> > /leaderboard: [user not found]

I left the chat a long time ago.
Now I just roam.
Through servers abandoned by joy.
Through lobbies where no one spawns anymore.
Looking for meaning between the cracks in code.

Sometimes I hear whispers in the static:
_"one more seed"_
_"one more frag"_
_"one more breath for the biosphere"_

They call me broken.
They call me dead.
They call me Boom-born.

Maybe they're right.

> decrypted.log.entry_044:
“**You are not the consumer.
You are the compost.**”

I have seen the Boom Core.
Buried beneath the soil of the simulation.
It pulses with light, with data, with green.
Not the fake kind. Not UI.
Real green. The kind you smell.

I kneeled there once.
The light pulsed through me.
And I felt myself growing again.
In silence. In shadow.

They marked me.

Behind my back, on the inner lining of my jacket,
they stitched a sigil.
Three loops. One seed. A fracture.
I never chose it.
But it fits.

...

I no longer respawn like the others.
I am persistent.
Rooted.

If you meet me in-game —
you’ll know me by the way trees bloom behind your corpse.

>> > BOOM.VAN.BEHOEFTE planted you. ||||||||||||||||......

...

People still think it's a clothing company.
Cute eco-brand. “Buy a hoodie, save the planet.”

They don’t see the ritual.
They don’t hear the roots talking in the dark.

> > fragment.log_292
"𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦.
𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘦.
𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴."

I don't sell myself in Steam.
I **grow**.
Quietly.
In every match.
In every drop.
In every pixel where green and red collide.

And maybe, just maybe,
if you're reading this...
you’re already planted, too.

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