1. A Wild Portal Appears!
On the third planet from the Sun, lived a young woman in her twenties, who live-streamed to thousands of viewers daily by piloting an anime-styled 2D avatar as her public-facing persona. She went by the name of Rippin' Rippa, or Rippa for short, and as was usual for this time of the day, she was streaming to her viewers.
"—chat, I don't like Nvidia. I hate this ray tracing bullshit. I hate updating my driver every week," Rippa the VTuber was ranting. She reached for the can of soda placed before the main monitor, but the can felt weightless and did not slosh when rattled.
"Hang on, chat, let me go grab something to drink." With that, she put down her headset on the keyboard and stood up. Her gaming chair rolled back a little. She leaned in and spoke to the mic held above the keyboard by an adjustable boom arm mounted on the desk. "I'll be right back. Don't type slurs while I'm gone."
Rippa turned away from her streaming setup and left her room. Her mind preoccupied with which soda to drink, she did not hear the strange noise coming from the wardrobe as she walked past.
On her way back, though, having grabbed a new can of soda and relieved herself in a short bathroom visit, Rippa finally heard the noise. She stood in front of the wardrobe for a few seconds, puzzled, but decided she must have heard wrong.
Sitting down, she put the headset back on. "Chat, there's a strange noise coming from my wardrobe."
'What noise?' a viewer asked in chat.
'Ghost, maybe?'
'Narnia!' another viewer suggested.
"Dunno. It was very faint, but it sounded like waves," Rippa elaborated. "AudioDued— dude? Dued. Thank you for the Super Chat! 'It could be your earbuds acting up?' Hmm, that might be it. I did put them in my hoodie pocket earlier today, so that might be it."
But then she checked her phone. Nothing was playing.
"But, chat, my phone isn't playing anything—" but before she could finish the sentence, the hero shooter game she had been queued for forever finally found enough players to start a match. “Ooh, I’m in! Let's go!"
And two minutes later, Rippa typed 'KSY LMAO' in her team chat and disconnected.
"Chat, I can't do it. The game has become too toxic," she lamented. "I can't experience tranquility when my team is literally full of toxic trolls."
'Why didn't you pick a healer?' a viewer asked.
"Fuck you, man, I'm not healing these dog-shit idiots."
Rippa then sighed. She had wanted to play one last match before ending the stream, but oh well… "Right, chat, I think that's it for today. I'll see you guys—, no, I'm not rage quitting! Shut up!"
Rippa ended the stream by playing the fan-made outro song over the 'stream ending' screen that showed a collage of various screen captures of memorable moments of her VTuber career.
"Tilde scampers away~ tilde~" the chorus faded, and Rippa clicked on the end broadcast button.
'Today was OK,' she thought to herself, closing the OBS broadcasting software. Three thousand viewers on YouTube, one thousand on Twitch, and fifty on Kick. Those numbers were very solid numbers for an indie VTuber like herself. Enough to allow her to be a full-time streamer.
Then something caught her eye. On the desk, a few inches to the left of the keyboard. Her earbuds.
'What the fuck?'
Rippa put down her headset and listened. There it was again. The waves.
She walked to the wardrobe and opened its double doors. The sound of waves hitting the beach immediately intensified. And there, behind her hoodies and coats and pants and onesies, on the back wall of the wardrobe, a large oval-shaped… something. Wobbling a little like a mirage.
"What the fuck?" Rippa pushed her garments away. A gentle yet warm breeze greeted her, with the distinct smell of the ocean. Inside the wardrobe, the oval-shaped image rippled as if somebody was tapping on a projector screen. It showed a place. A trail in the woods. Palm trees and cozy warmth under the clean blue sky.
"What the actual fuck?" Rippa muttered again. The image reacted, as if it was listening. Its edge turned bright orange.
"Ah, a portal, yes. Very subtle, thank you very much." Then Rippa slapped her forehead. 'Who am I talking to?'
This situation needed a grown man.
"Dad!" Rippa rushed out of her room.
The edge of the portal turned to neon blue, overdoing it.
***
“Filippa, what the hell is this?” Rippa’s dad asked, his head inside the wardrobe, examining the portal.
“I don’t know!” Rippa the VTuber snapped back, craning this way and that to see the portal over her dad’s head. “It just appeared.”
“Alright, gimme a hand,” said Dad. “Let’s pull this thing a bit and see what’s on the backside.”
“Perhaps move the clothes out of the way first?” Rippa’s mom suggested from the doorway. She, too, was craning her neck to have a better look inside the wardrobe.
Rippa and Dad spent a minute or two emptying the wardrobe, throwing Rippa’s clothes onto the bed. Mom sat down and folded the clothes and stacked them nicely, and as she did so, she would make some comments like “My god, you still have this?” or “You never wear this.”
Grunting, huffing and puffing, Rippa and Dad moved the wardrobe about a foot from the wall. They then poked their heads around to examine the backside of the furniture. There was nothing. No portal.
“OK, this is creeping me out,” said Dad.
He and Rippa returned to the front of the wardrobe and half-crawled inside, their shoulders rubbing against each other. The sky on the other side of the portal was sunny and bright enough to provide good lighting.
Rippa tried pushing a hand in, but Dad slapped it away.
“Careful, Filippa! What if it closes and cuts your hand off?”
“Good point, Dad.”
“Just wait here.” Dad then hurried out of Rippa’s room. Soon, he returned with a pair of 17-inch-long grill tongs. “Good thing we have these around,” said Dad as he crawled back inside the wardrobe.
Rippa watched nervously as her dad slowly inserted the tongs into the portal. Nothing happened. He then reached for the nearest leaf on the side of the trail. With a bit of effort, he managed to tear off a piece of the leaf. He then drew the tongs back to this side of the portal. Nothing happened. The piece of the leaf was green and smelled fresh and real.
Rippa and Dad exchanged looks.
“If the leaf is real, then whatever or whoever is on the other side must be real, too,” said Dad.
“Who?” Rippa demanded.
“Somebody who pokes a hole in my daughter’s room uninvited.”
He and Rippa backed out of the wardrobe. Dad went around and had a look at the backside once again.
“How long has it been here?”
“I don’t know. But the noise started when I was live.”
After a brief silence, Dad headed to the master bedroom, with Rippa on his heels. There, Dad opened the double doors to the walk-in closet. Rippa helped him take a cardboard box down from the top shelf.
Dad blew the dust off the box and opened it. Inside, two handguns and spare magazines, and a carton of 9mm bullets.
“You stay here with Mom, OK?” said Dad, taking a pistol and the magazines out of the box.
“No way!” Rippa protested and took the other gun. “I’m the better shot, remember?”
Dad looked at her for a few seconds, and knowing her, he gave up. He shook his head and handed over two magazines to his daughter. “Keep the safety on until I say otherwise, understood?”
Rippa nodded.
When they returned, Mom was examining the portal. The edge had since changed its color back to orange.
“Should we call the police?” Mom suggested.
“Should we?” Rippa looked at her dad.
Dad paused for a second, then shook his head. “What do we even say?”
Only then did Mom see the guns. Without a word, she snatched Rippa’s gun.
“OK, you stay here. Dad and I will go have a look.”
“Oh, no, you two stay here, I go,” Dad asserted.
“No, no. I’m the best shot of us three. I go with you,” Rippa insisted, but then she realized she was not suggesting going alone. ‘What a coward,’ she thought of herself, but then again, she wasn’t that brave enough to go in alone.
“Look,” Mom insisted, “if something happens, I don’t want to be the one sitting here alone, wondering whatever happened to my man and daughter for the rest of my life. OK?”
Dad sighed. Rippa bit her lip. Then the argument erupted again, only to end in silence.
Without a word, Dad checked his magazine. Mom checked her safety. Rippa ran to her desk, went through the drawers, and came back armed with a pepper spray. She looked at her parents defiantly.
“I guess we all go,” said Dad.