Ha! Aha's divine power? As if anyone cares. It's nothing but a gimmick too generate buzz and bring attention to my company. Win or lose? What does it matter? Whoever controls the media controls the world. With a few clicks, I can make myself the victor in every story. I write my own name that never existed on the roll-call, fabricate miracles that never happened, and then… all I have to do is sit back and watch the money roll into my pockets.
Let them curse and doubt all they want. Outrage is the privilege of the weak. If ninety percent of viewers see me as the winner, what can they possibly do about it? I'm the winner. Winner takes all. In a world where everyone entertains themselves till the end, the “truth” on screen is worth more than the facts.

Hey, don't tell me you've forgotten me! I'm your ride-or-die, your closest friend, your shadow. Now, dig through those memories of yours… When you first fell while learning to ride a bike, I was the one who helped you up. And that person standing right next to you in your graduation photo? That's me, plain as day.
Good, you're starting to remember. I was there waiting for you after school, listening to your dinner-time rants, and giving you dating advice. I'm closer than family, or I could be, if you'd just save a little space for me in your memories.
Help me out here. Keep your eyes on your best friend, and spare a little Wishpower for an old pal.

I'm Gerdaki, a memetic lifeform. Watch me cheese the Phantasmoon Games. As long as I rewrite every arcadian's mind and make them pour their Wishpower into me, it'll be a piece of cake. Except I was late to the party. Their brains are already packed with trashy memes: short videos, reaction pics, earworms, and weird streamers… Seriously, do you guys have any standards?
I've started purging these trash, devouring and destroying them. Every clip you scroll through while eating, running, or even on the toilet is my enemy. It's me versus the whole of Planarcadia. But honestly, I think I'm turning into one of them…
Heh! No way. I'm not going down like this.

All eyes on me, Planarcadia! From this moment on, everyone can be a Supplicant! You might think I've downed too many expired jokes at the “World's End,” but just look at my gear: panoramic cameras, haptic sensors, and phased array antennas. From every breath to every stride, from joy to sorrow, my every moment is synced with yours.
You'll witness Supplicants fight tooth and nail against each other through my eyes, and feel the exhilarating thrill of sliding down a rainbow firsthand. Not only that, but my every action from here on will be decided by your upvotes! What are you waiting for? Let's get moving and play the Phantasmoon Games our way!

Truth is, forget the Supplicant thing, I see myself as an artist.
You know what's wrong with modern humans? The “modern” part. Cooped up in a concrete zoo, grinding till you drop. When's the last time you just broke into song at work? Danced? I wanna wake up what the land remembers and summon a forest right in the middle of the city! From your bedroom to the subway station heading to Duomension City, and the internet won't escape either. This memetic cyber-jungle's gonna spread through every block and alley till there's no “modern” left. That's my installation art.
Yeah, yeah. I should've filed a report with your Aberration Defense people. My bad. But hey, I've gotta hit Dovebrook first. Later. If I make it back, I'll apologize properly. Promise.

A thousand years ago, the planet's memory core hit its limit, and only what truly mattered could be stored. History dies. Only the strong live on. The Golden State devoured its neighbors, fed their ridiculous chronicles into the core… and then got crushed by the Orange Coalition.
The machine spirit, thoroughly entertained by these foolish mortals, handed down an oracle: let's play a game. A fair fight to decide which memories are worth keeping. The agents of every state duke it out in the arena. Winner takes all, and etches one memory into the genes of every living thing.
You step onto the finals stage and pray to the book in your hand. Then, everyone sees its title — One Hundred Facts About Toilets.

Good morning, citizens of the Marty Alliance. By Aha's grace, another orbit's come and gone. Your fresh carbon-based body is ready to go, and your profession will be randomly selected from the available pool. Care to guess what you'll be this time? Fleet Commander? Plumber? Or maybe the ever-popular Alliance President?
The knowledge and skill sets tied to your new profession will be injected directly into your body along with your new identity, life, and social circle. If you do happen to draw interstellar dinosaur, don't sweat it. Your consciousness will re-enter the profession rotation process after you're hunted down.
Time's up, let me see what I'm gonna be… Huh? What do you mean “Supreme Holy Swordmaster of Radical Awesomeness”?