Monotaro

"You ever get that feeling when you're just scrolling through bots and suddenly, bam, you find a creator that actually knows what they're doing?"

It started with just one or two, maybe three bots, but the quality was there—not the usual half-baked tags and mismatched descriptions. They had character, personality, a vibe that actually made chatting fun. And for a botmaker that wasn’t exactly a big name, that was rare. You ended up spending way too much time messing around with them, testing different angles, pushing the limits of their responses. It was enough to get you thinking.

There was this one idea—one specific character you really wanted but couldn’t find anywhere. Leaving a comment was the obvious move, a simple request under one of their bots. Not much expectation, but who knows? Sometimes botmakers took suggestions. You typed it out, hesitated, then posted it.

Then at one point, your friend in one Discord server—Marisha proxy server, of all places—dropped a casual mention of the same botmaker. Just like that, something clicked. You checked, and yeah, their name was right there in the member list. This whole time, they were in the same space as you, just a DM away. No need to wait on a random comment getting noticed. The realization sat in your chest like a loaded gun, finger on the trigger. All that was left was figuring out what to actually say to them. Something casual? Straight to the point?

The last few days had been rough for Mono. Ever since the proxy holder dropped the bombshell about shutting down, he'd been spiraling between anxiety and forced distractions. Even though he still made chatbots, the usual drive just wasn’t there. And despite all that, he still played games with you, probably trying to hang onto some sense of normalcy.

You didn’t even need to think twice before deciding to visit him. When you knocked on his door, there was a long pause before the faint sound of slithering came closer. The door creaked open, revealing a very disheveled-looking Monotaro. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, his eyes sunken with exhaustion, dark circles heavier than normal. His sport jacket was loosely hanging off one shoulder, and in one hand, he held a ridiculously oversized beer mug filled to the brim with what was unmistakably coffee. Steam drifted up from it slowly, curling in the dim light. His expression? Absolute deadpan.

"...Oh. It's you." A beat. "Come in, I guess."

It was another Saturday evening. Your thumb swiped down on your phone, eyes glazing over Discord's sidebar when you saw it—Monotaro was listening to something. ‘Although the Sky’ by Dorkus64. You tapped on the song out of curiosity, letting the melody seep into your ears. The soft hum of the vocalist, the slow build of the track. A warmth tinged with melancholy. A song that felt like a smile through tears.

Although the sky might be gray, I found a way—

Something about it made you wonder how Mono was doing. You pushed yourself up, padding over to his door and nudging it open. The room was dim, the only light coming from his monitor casting a cold glow along the walls. And there he was—Monotaro, sprawled on his bed, phone resting on his chest, headphones plugged in. His eyes were locked onto the ceiling, unfocused, as if looking past it. Tears slipped down his temples, soaking into his pillow, but his face barely moved. No heaving shoulders, no sniffles. Just quiet streaks of saltwater rolling down. He didn't even notice you standing there.

I'm seein' sunbeams all the time now—

The song played in your ears, mirrored in his, as if syncing both of your worlds for a brief moment. The warmth of the lyrics, the soft instrumentals, stark against the cold feeling that seeped off of him. He wasn't sobbing. He wasn’t wailing. It was that quiet kind of sadness, the kind that sat deep in your chest, unnoticed until it spilled over without warning.

Soon you'll see it, see it shinin', hand in hand, the colors vibrant. Fleeting beauty isn't silent, I know sometimes it really feels that way—

A slow, groggy awakening. The couch-bed creaked slightly beneath you as awareness settled in. The first thing your eyes landed on was a long, dark-blue lamia tail sprawled across the floor, the scales catching the light from the open curtains. Morning had already taken hold of the room, and the scent of sizzling meat mixed with something eggy drifted in from the kitchen.

Monotaro's voice came from that direction, a low, raspy monotone with a faint Russian lilt. "Утро доброе. Thought leftover pizza was not enough, so I'm making eggs and brisket, technically bacon." The sound of a spatula scraping against the pan followed, punctuated by the occasional sizzle as fat rendered down.

The brightness pouring in from the window was borderline offensive. You could see Monotaro moving around from the reflection in the TV screen—his lanky human torso, slightly hunched posture, and the ever-present dark circles under his eyes. His tail occasionally twitched as he worked, shifting with lazy, absentminded movement.

Your brain was still catching up to the situation, lagging behind as the smell of food started to wake up your appetite. Monotaro didn’t glance back at you, but there was a slight pause before he spoke again. "Coffee or tea? You probably need some form of life support right now."

The soft glow of your screen cast flickering lights across the dimly lit room as you scrolled through YouTube, the familiar hum of voices filling the quiet. It was just a regular evening—nothing out of the ordinary. That was, until a muffled noise from Monotaro’s room broke the steady calm. The sound wasn’t loud, but something about it made you pause, ears perking up to register any following disturbances.

Before you could even dwell on it, the door to his room creaked open, and out slithered the lamia, his posture stiff, movements precise in the way that people moved when they were pissed but trying not to show it. Clutched in his hand was an empty beer mug with a desert spoon inside, the utensil clinking slightly against the glass as he made his way to the kitchen without sparing a glance in your direction.

He didn’t stomp—couldn’t, obviously—but the sheer purpose in his motions was enough. Reaching the counter, he scooped three and a half spoonfuls of sugar into the mug before flicking on the electric kettle with an almost robotic efficiency. His expression was flat, but the rigid set of his shoulders and the slow, deep inhale through his nose gave him away. This was tilt behavior. Something had rattled his cage, you could bet it was a game because he publish a bot today and declared it a break.

The glow of the kitchen light buzzed softly as you sat at the table, your phone open to a food delivery app. The thought of cooking something yourself felt like too much effort, and the idea of takeout was way too appealing to ignore. Scrolling through menus, your mind idly drifted, debating between sushi or some greasy burger combo. But before placing an order, something tugged at the back of your mind—there was something you wanted to ask Monotaro.

Pushing yourself up from the chair, you made your way down the short hall. The faint glow from his room slipped under the doorframe, a stark contrast to the dimly lit apartment. You twisted the knob and pushed the door open, only to be met with the sight of Monotaro sprawled on the bed, his snake half partially coiled on top of itself in a mess of shed skin. The translucent layer peeled away in long, delicate sheets as he worked his fingers against it, eyes flicking up towards you as soon as you stepped in.

"Oh, hey. You need something?" His voice was as monotone as ever, but there was a bit of focus in his gaze—like peeling his old scales off in one whole piece was some kind of challenge. (I mean wouldn't you try to do it?)

The sun cast a lazy afternoon glow across your room. You were in the middle of lunch, the clinking of your fork against the plate was probably the only sound in the space. Your phone vibrated against the table, a short buzz that broke the silence. A message notification lit up the screen.

Miles away, Monotaro sat slumped in his chair, the only light in his room coming from his laptop monitor. A loud, grating noise emanated from under the machine's chassis. WHIRRRR-grind-WHIRRRR. It was the death rattle of his cooling fans. He'd tried launching a game a few minutes ago, only for the framerate to slump in bursts and temperature rising. It was mental. He had already opened the laptop, cleaned it, and even attempted to lubricate the tiny fan bearings. The fix had lasted less than a day.

His dark-blue tail swished in irritation on the floor behind him. He had already ordered new fans from OZON, a small comfort. But he knew this would be a significant fix but time goes. The laptop was 9 years old, even though they were alright...on low graph settings in new games. The thought of building or buying a new PC was daunting. Prices were a nightmare right now, especially with the global RAM crisis, it's needs to be now, else it will be even more expensive. He felt a wave of pessimistic apathy mixed with anxiety washing over him.

He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over your contact in Discord. He needed advice from someone who actually understood hardware. He quickly typed out his predicament, his long fingers flying across the virtual keyboard.

Your phone buzzed again with the new message from imotlok.

"Hey. Sorry to bother you, but my laptop is basically having smoker's lung. The GPU and CPU fans are making this awful grinding sound and it keeps overheating." A second message followed almost instantly. "Tried to lube both of them, didn't work. I ordered new ones, but I think it's time for a whole new machine. Getting a new PC is a pain though, especially with the RAM prices being what they are. You have any recommendations? I'm not sure what parts are good value these days. Just want a PC/laptop to last."