This is an encounter for the editing game we're putting together. Visit this forum thread
to join the fun.
Description: A strange, white fog, full of spoilers, clouding your vision everywhere you go.
Tropédex says:
Spoiler Fog. It is unknown whether it is an editor, once was an editor, or is another type of creature entirely. Recent plot developments are the Spoiler Fog's preferred feeding ground. Once it descends on an article, it will enter a phase of terra-forming where it will greatly elaborate on examples while mentioning as many sensitive plot points as possible. Thinly-veiled summaries of the high points of last week's episode will be posted, shoehorned into the closest trope it could find, and existing entries will swell exponentially in size with plot-crucial yet non-essential details. Once the ground is ripe for feeding, the Spoiler Fog will begin munching on the entry until it is utterly engulfed by it and completely spoilered-out and unreadable.
Narrative: You enter the next room in complete silence, listening for the tiniest sound. Alertness is key to survival. You don't know how many more of these abominations you will have to defeat before this nightmare is finally over, but you must do it, whatever it takes. What if your fellow editors are trapped here and need help? What if—
Wait a minute. What was that? Why are your thoughts feeling so clouded? It's as if it suddenly takes great effort to maintain a train of thought. Everything seems so hazy...
You realize that in your eagerness to spot a sharp shape lunging at you from some dark corner you have failed to notice a cotton-thick blanket of white fog, slowly descending from the ceiling. By now you can barely see ahead of you. You rush to the door you came from to find it locked, slam your fists on it futilely, mutter a few choice curses. Breathing is becoming very difficult.
The fog seems to be pulsing with ethereal whispers- and suddenly, without warning, it solidifies into a concrete white wall and slams at you with full force!
"Borcht kills Schmoppy in page 707! It was his sleigh, Arrow Wader is Listun's father, Peaster Red is made of people, everybody but the narrator dies chasing the dolphin, the mushroom kingdom turns out to be all just a dream, the queen of hearts is in another castle, oh hey, I haven't even started talking about the latest episodes that came out- you won't believe the last episode of Dexter that came out, he screams at Deborah to GET OUT OF HIS LABORATORY, but that's nothing near what's going on in How I Met Your Theory, seriously, there was a huge hint in today's episode that PENNY IS THE MOTHER."
The impact leaves you very dizzy. What was that about? You take out your Tropédex and point it helplessly in the general direction of the center of the room. It blips once. You barely manage to make out the smallish font through the fog.
It is becoming really, really difficult to see. You swear you can feel the Spoiler Fog starting to munch on you, and all over you can see the swollen, infected examples it feeds off of. Hollow character tropes that list who Took a Level in Badass and who turns out to be Not So Stoic, composed of nothing but character name lists that mean nothing to you as it is, and doubly so from beyond the white fog feasting on them. An entry about how That One Boss in a videogame is difficult, complete with a preamble and closing dissertation full of late-game character interactions and plot points. An example noting the show's skillful use of the leitmotif, expanded to point out how that leitmotif plays in various scenes- including that climatic moment where the sight of his tomato-shaped reflection triggers the main character's latent More-Than-Mind-Control™ chip implanted by the ancient conspiracy of robotic milkmen. It just goes on and on. You can't see your own nose anymore. Something HAS to be done.
"You cannot defeat me," the manic laugh of the Spoiler Fog echoes in the room, "I am invincible! Except if you take the Red Pill! Please don't do that!"
What, then?
Nearly choking and completely blind, you flail around your edit scalpel in panic, cutting the infected examples away. As you do the white fog gives a series of protesting hisses; it clearly does not appreciate you violating its feeding ground like that. As you cut more and more of the examples, you begin to notice the fog growing thin and irregular until finally it thins down to a few dwindles and finally disappears completely.
The fog is gone. You grin in triumph. It is only then that you realize that most of the page is also gone.
The core tropes, the witty remarks, the hard work done by your fellow editors and helpful passer-by lurkers. All cut away by your own scalpel. My God, What Have You Done? It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time, throwing your scalpel at anything that seemed swollen, but the White Fog is so infectious it has corrupted everything. Now you're left with barely any article at all! You have violated the Troppocratic oath- "first, do no harm"! Your edit's value was a net negative! You have become as the lowliest of vandals!
Shamed, you reach for your scalpel, stab yourself in the stomach and commit seppuku. Then you realize you may have overreacted, un-commit the seppuku, go back to the edit history and commit that dangerous, forbidden yet definitely appropriate as of now maneouver, the blanket revert. You copy the previous version, [[spoiler:paste it into the edit window]], and hit save.
The room flashes blinding white! You struggle to find your balance and when you finally do you realize the previous page has been indeed re-instated- complete with the swollen, infected examples, down to the last icky drop of oozy purple liquid. The fog is hissing at you, completely oblivious to its banishment and re-instatement.
Well, at least the huge knife wound in your stomach is gone. That's convenient.
Mission Incomplete...
(Go back to the choice screen. This choice is removed, replaced with a note saying "I think we've established that this is not a good idea".)
You open the container on the left side of your belt. It's full of Red Pills. Supposedly these are powerful stuff- they let you see the code of the page and everything, but you've always been hesitant to touch them. Well, now is no Time for being choosy. You take one and examine it closely; it has small writing in it which says "edit page, stick around to get a good look". Hmm. All right. You unceremoniously throw it down your throat.
WHOA!
Everything turns to black and white! Man, this is the '''weirdest''' thing you've ''ever'' seen! Instead of appearing normal everything appears in black and white ASCII code! This is a totally [[MindScrew Mind-Blowing Experience]]- huh. That did not come out quite right. What gives?
Oh, well. Let's not get [[SidetrackedByTheGoldSaucer distracted by irrelevant oddities, to the detriment of the mission at hand]]. Instead of the fog there is a constant stream of [[spoiler: ... ]] tags and you quickly and efficiently cut them all away. You open the container on TheOtherLeft side of your belt. It's full of blue pills marked "save". You swallow one of them, and there is a flash of brilliant color and you are back at the room, and—
Ugh. What is that putrid smell?
The fog is gone. What you didn't take into account is that the fog was covering something worse. The infected, blistering, swollen examples spew forth this horrid brownish-rotten liquid which covers you all over before you can react. And as the myriad of virii in the liquid infect you you feel every single crucial plot point, every awesome fictional twist of fate that was ever written or will ever be written, simultaneously being ruined for you. You have been completely spoiled and will never be able to enjoy fiction again. Just as the horrible implications of this dawn on you, you further realize that anyone, anyone else, who will wander into this room, will suffer the same fate.
You frantically try reaching for your bottle of red pills, or reach for some piece of useful equipment to turn the tide in your favor- perhaps call for some help- but your hand won't move. The Virus controls it now. It orders your body around, clearly enjoying its new toy. Then it starts disintegrating you slowly, and the pain is searing hot, and you wait for the sweet release of death... But instead your consciousness retains perfect clarity as you feel your body being broken down into a familiar form, white and thick and foggy...
You have no mouth, and you must scream.
But hey, at least now you know where Spoiler Fogs come from.
GAME OVER.
You will have none of this.
Seriously, what's with this inane spoiler-tagging of everything? You cannot tomato me, I ax invincible- really, this fog-creature thinks that is a proper spoiler? Not if anything you learned at Editor Academy is anything to go by, it isn't. Spoilering something that is so easily guessable from the context! And that's not talking about the spoiler after "I am Invincible". It's a spoiler that there's even a spoiler there! It obviously means that it is not completely invincible! It jumped out at you without you even having to highlight it, what kind of useless spoiler does that?! For frak's sake.
You open the container on the other right side of your belt. It's full of Red Pills. Supposedly these are powerful stuff- they let you see the code of the page and everything, but you've always been hesitant to touch them. Well, now is no Time for being choosy. You take one and examine it closely; it has small writing in it which says "edit page, stick around to get a good look". Hmm. All right. You unceremoniously throw it down your throat.
WHOA!
Everything turns to black and white! Man, this is the most awesome thing you've ''ever'' seen! Instead of appearing normal everything appears in black and white ASCII code! This is [[AmazingTechnicolorBattleField just like in those video games when the world collapses into psychadelic colors and stuff]], except there's no color. And no boss. [[{{Dissimile}} And no battle]]. Whoa, your speech pattern is all weird an trippy and full of curly brackets and stuff.
Oh, well. Let's not [[AttentionDeficitOohShiny fall victim to a short attention span]] and concentrate on what we came here to do. Instead of the fog there is a constant stream of [[spoiler: ... ]] tags. You take a look at them and whenever there is one that could be done away with, leaving the essence of the example intact, you cut it and the spoiler tag away. If that's not possible, but it's not an example of an inherently spoiler-y trope, you try to put it in a different way that states the example without bringing up the spoilery part, or at most alluding to it in a vague way.
In some places you see you can't do anything. Some tropes are about death and betrayal and that sort of thing, and you either list them or cut them completely, there's no middle ground. So you leave these ones be.
It's a lot of work, but very soon you are done. You reach for the bottle on the right of your belt and pop it open. It's full of blue pills marked "save". You pick one up and swallow it, and there is a flash of brilliant color and you are back at the room.
Phew. Now this looks much more manageable. Some itty bitty swollen mushroomy-like things are here and there, surrounded by a tiny cloud of Spoiler Fog, but it doesn't seem a bit as ominous as it was when you took the red pill earlier. In fact, it seems to give the room an extra air of excitement and up-to-date-ness. Who knew that even this infectious fungus was a part of a healthy page's ecosystem?
Mission Complete!
