"So I just watched the vod of the last fanart showcase and decided to do my own Joe fanart, an iteration on the "handheld console graveyard" fanart by @Daxtear with a weeb twist"

I gazed into the distance, mind dark and empty as the void overhead. I had no memory of how I got there, no memory of when or where I even was. Amnesia. If I wasn't so unnerved by my surroundings, I might have laughed at how cliche my situation was. Though my circumstances were a complete mystery, I could still remember who I was. How convenient.

My name is Joseph Anderson. I'm a weeb streamer.

Scanning my surroundings, I found a scrap of paper at my feet. It depicted a field of snapped electronics, planted in the ground. Mementos of better times, cut short. A Red Presence loomed overhead, silent. I felt as though it was staring at me through the page, somehow aware that I was viewing it. Was it watching me? Judging me? Did it bring me here?

It was then that I realized something - or rather, that I realized I hadn't realized anything at all. These words echoing in my skull, using my voice - they weren't my own. That overblown flair. That undying commitment to the bit. There was no way it was a coincidence. The narrator was Jelly.

Reeling, Anderson's mind settled on the only conclusion it could. He was in a JanArt showcase... and it had only just begun.

"one more animated Joe doodle before the big break!
starring Jelly as Gemini"

Thunder crackled as the black sky shifted to an ominous gray. Rain, an unexpected sensation, scalded the dragon's scales from sheer surprise.

The image before him churned to life, a mocking tableau of reality. He recognized the voices, recognized the words, but they sounded wrong. Twisted, spliced together for some unknown purpose. A ransom note of sound and circumstance.

"animated Joe doodle!
audio from Resident Evil 4 Remake"

Lightning flashed. A triumphant cry rang out before shrinking to a bashful whisper. He recognized this too, from his Resident Evil IV Remake streams. It was a painful, embarrassing memory. Was the showcase mocking him?

Anderson didn't understand. Why would someone commandeer his voice like this? How many utterances did the entity behind this have locked away for future use? For all he knew, they were listening right now.

His stomach tightened at the thought, like someone had tied a knot with his intestines.

"Better snail than never. i had this idea on the RE 4 stream and my friend drew this."

There, in the center of the final panel, Anderson found himself paralyzed with recognition. It was the Red Presence from earlier. Why was it there? What did it mean? Was it following him?

Wracked with paranoia, he began to spiral. He could feel his limbs growing weak, numb from the sheer weight of his panic. It was as if TV static flooded his veins from the outside in. He needed to ground himself in reality - or whatever facsimile of it he currently occupied. He strained his gaze towards Leon's ample posterior. He was an ass-man, and the sight had always brought him comfort, even in the darkest of times.

The numbness subsided. This would not be how his story ended.

"since this won't be shown until the context is long forgotten (if even), this is related to joe talking about one of his kids being a little monster and a chatter asking if he would use the silver sword on them, with this specific phrasing coming up eventually, thus the idea spawned"

"Steel for humans, silver for monsters." The words rang out in Anderson's head as he pondered the page. In it, he was a witcher, drawing his blade upon a defenseless child. He couldn't make heads or tails of the meaning, but he was certain the subreddit would have a field day with the symbolism.

If nothing else, it seemed like whoever had constructed this manuscript knew who he was - and what he was yet to do. He tried not to think too hard about what that could mean.

"insomnia noodles"

Anderson puzzled at the scroll which unfurled at his feet. It was unreasonably long, like a rambling conversation given physical form. A mad prophecy of paper, the page depicted all manner of potential futures from runaway success to the complete collapse of his identity. Only one constant was shared between the Delphic drawings - his Witcher 3 video.

Perhaps, he thought, that was his reason for being here. Perhaps the Red Presence held some grudge towards him for his creative inhibition. He quickly shrugged the thought off, however. If the Red Presence wanted the video to be completed, stranding him in the middle of nowhere certainly wouldn't hasten his creative process.

It just didn't make any sense.

"I unburrow out of my lurking cave to celebrate a year of excellent streams and community memes. And what better way to celebrate with the totally not ruined hobby of card collecting! So here is the spoiler season of the card set….. Legend of the Settled Dragon!!

Seriously, more than a year ago I joined the community and during that period I was thinking about making some drawings to commemorate some of my favorite streams of 2022 but I didn't have the time to finish them. Thanks to Latty for motivating me by presenting me with the JASB cards! As most of the drawings I already made fit perfectly in the new banner.

I took a break to make a few designs, a few terrible jokes and well here we are. It varied a bit from the current format so please don't expect the cards to look like this if they are ever imported to page, I just have so much fun with them c;

I really appreciate being a weeb with all of you, including you, Joe. Now with your permission I'm going to burrow and continue my fight with the gig economy. cheers!"

Cheap plastic crinkled under Anderson's foot, a strange sound to hear in the middle of the woods. Reaching towards the noise, he found a pack of collectible trading cards labeled "Yu-Gi-Joe! Legend of the Settled Dragon." The definition of "manuscript page" was certainly being stretched, but there was no denying that this was one of them.

Opening the pack, he quickly flipped through to the final card - the only one which would actually be of any value. A holographic Jams of Greed greeted his avaricious eyes. The Red Presence gazed through him.

"Here's that Pokemon ✕ Hatsune Miku ✕ Joseph Anderson crossover everyone's been talking about!"

Shining his flashlight on the promotional poster, Anderson's gut lurched once more. The Red Presence was not even attempting to hide itself anymore. It stood proudly next to some... thing. Some peppy waifu, wearing a shirt with a crude drawing on it that resembled a penis. Scoffing, he turned his light towards the lettering on the poster. His breath hitched in his throat, saliva suddenly sharp like sandpaper. That was HIS name.

Was this what the Red Presence had planned? Was he fated to become this thing? It didn't have that kind of power, did it?

He had to get away. He had to run.

"New Alan Wake fanart, fresh from the oven (updated to include hidden Beacoi)"

Anderson frantically maneuvered up the stack of objects, balance unsure yet determined. He had always been one to take the road less traveled, and being stranded at the behest of some mysterious, assumedly malicious "Red Presence" wouldn't change that. Clambering to the top of the stack of logs, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He still had it. He was still in control.

Something in the distance caught his eye.

"ive been catching up w the starfield vods and an old buff space trucker that wears no clothes is such a funny goddamn character kinda living for it"

Over the range, Anderson spotted a man who boggled the mind. Clad in nothing but a trucker cap and his... skin-tight unmentionables, the figure gave him a sharp salute, seemingly undeterred by the elements. Mouth agape, Anderson could only watch as the trucker made his way towards him, effortlessly navigating the rocky terrain.

"I've got a package for you, Mr. Anderson," the trucker said. Anderson stiffened, desperately trying not to look down. "These chanuscripts hold the key. Study them closely. Only you know what must be done."

The trucker handed him an assortment of papers, a collection of the very same manuscript pages he had been finding over his travels. They felt lighter somehow, more pure. His face scrunched in confused realization. "Hold on, did you call these CHANuscripts? What kind of anime bullshit are you-" But when he whipped his head towards the trucker in accusation, he was greeted with nothing but dust. An infinite emptiness, filled only with more questions.

He slowly began to thumb through the chanuscript pages.

"Drew my first chan, based on the first Alan Wake stream! Remember: no object is too insignificant for chanification!"

Barrel-chan plodded along the dirt trail, wallowing in a mixture of misery and resignation. She knew all too well that it wasn't meant to be, but it just couldn't be helped. A barrel is meant to be filled with something, after all; it was just her rotten luck that she happened to be filled with hope.

Aimlessly walking, she thought of Anderson - thought of their short time together. She hoped he was alright.

"so, I .. tried to draw Faitow chan this time"

For as long as she could remember, Faitow-chan had always been the center of attention. It wasn't like she tried to steal the spotlight from Main Story-chan, but there was just something about her that pulled others in. Her very presence was refreshing, like a cool glass of water after groggily awakening at 3 AM. She didn't mind the love, of course, but she always worried that there were more important things people should be doing.

A ribbon-fairy flitted gently in her hand, pulling her out of her daydreams. Oh well! Moping like this wasn't going to help anyone. With a spring in her step, she followed wherever the wind took her next.

"when trying to complete every quest in a game, expect a few bumps along the way (Forced Into Accepting Every Quest-chan (FIAEQ-Chan for short) by Jelly)"

FIAEQ-chan was a people-pleaser, much to her own detriment. The thought of letting others down was a constant plague upon her mind, one she spent most of her days working to avoid. Not that she had much choice, mind you - her boss was very adamant about her accepting every assignment, regardless of how insignificant it may be. If they tell you to collect some eggs, you ask how many.

She found herself consumed with envy. At least Main Story-chan had a finite goal. At least Faitow-chan could pick and choose what caught her fancy. Hers was an endless deadline dictated by everyone but herself.

"Happy Halloween, Joe (poem by our local english major Jelly)"

Translated from an ancient poem, origin lost to time:

For in the eyes of all blind men,
Ambition seeks to plant the seed.
The promise of some far off when
If only you'll complete the deed.

"Aiat, aiat" I hear the church bells sing.
"Aiat, aiat" a wicked harvest she will wring.

"trolley (it was Caps' idea)"

Trolley-chan knew all along that she would never be there to see the end. It was the fate of all props - trifling things meant only to fill space and sell the illusion of reality. She knew it wouldn't work, and yet she foolishly tried anyway. What had it gotten her, in the end? She watched helplessly as Joe crawled through the vent, slinking around a corner and out of her vision forever. She savored the memories of their journey, of the sights she was never meant to see and the power she was never meant to wield.

This was enough, she told herself. It was more than she could have ever wanted.

"she's not the chan that jads needs or deserves, but the one that they'll probably forgot about again"

The-Sad-Banana-On-The-Back-Of-The-Beacoi-Shirt-From-The-Hatsune-Miku-Streams-That-Everyone-Forgot-About-chan wept, for she knew not what else to do. It felt as though the world itself had turned its back on her. The saddest part was that she was right. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much fanart she got... it was only a matter of time before they all forgot again.

She was on the back of the shirt, after all.

"I present Dude-Chan and Duuuuude-Chan, as was requested of me. (they are dating, to be clear)"

Dude-Chan and Duuuuude-Chan had been going steady for a couple months now. They met last semester in some meaningless gen ed class, and immediately hit it off with one another. Dude-chan loved her carefree attitude, and the cute way she'd always trail off while talking about whatever new game she was playing. Duuuuude-chan loved how blunt she was, and couldn't remember the second thing. It was a match made in chan heaven.

With the last of the chanuscripts completed, Anderson sighed. He wasn't sure exactly what these pages were meant to show him, but it was a nice reprieve if nothing else. Suddenly, he smelled smoke.

"I made a little animation alert to thanks subs on stream (:"

Flames engulfed the forest. Fierce sparks whipped from branch to branch, threatening to swallow the world whole. Even the furious rain that had persisted through the entire night did nothing to slake the fire's endless thirst.

Bursting through a cloud of smoke and into a clearing, Anderson spotted a large building. Desperately patting out the embers that clung to his clothing, he sprinted towards the shelter.

"The cutout survived the cliff™ This was Nodja's idea."

Pushing through the doors of the lodge, Anderson was met only with more mysteries. The lodge itself was empty, and behind the counter at the front desk was a carboard cutout of... himself. He remembered this day; he had just published his long awaited novel, "The Wizard and the Dragon," and had some cheesy merchandise made to celebrate the occasion.

The realization made his legs buckle. Long, long ago, before the Voting Game, before chans, before even Actraiser... he had been a writer. How could he have forgotten? He stumbled weakly through the halls of the lodge.

"ALAN 🦖

I actually thought that the Alan running joke was meant to be a reference to Jurassic park 3 and people just really found the scene where the guy falls asleep on the plane and a velociraptor shouts Alan at him very funny so everyone was just imagining a velociraptor was shouting Alan whenever a character fell asleep and that was the joke. I was disappointed."

Finding an empty room at the end of a long hallway, Anderson began to work feverishly. He scribbled endlessly on the walls, words overlapping words overlapping words overlapping words. He cobbled together a corkboard with twine and scraps of the manuscript pages he had found along his journey. He raved aloud, acting out scenes for a captive audience that did not exist. His mind was no longer his own.

The door closed behind him, locking with a loud click too distant to hear.

"'I have become this' - Joseph Anderson"

Anderson awoke to a prison of his own design, unaware of his own captivity. A creature of impulse, he dragged himself towards the mounting pile of equipment which cluttered the far corner of his confines. A veritable dragon's hoard indeed. Shaking off the night's rest, he began prepping for today's stream. Another anime visual novel - his favorite - this time about a man stuck in a time loop.

The man's circular struggle amused Anderson. Surely, he thought, you would notice if so many things kept repeating. The brain loves to find patterns, even when they don't exist. Surely so many similar sights and sounds would raise alarm bells, or at least invite suspicion. Waving off an audience that did not exist, he returned to his peaceful slumber.

Anderson awoke to a prison of his own design, unaware of his own captivity.

"I can’t believe we had Joe comeo in Alan Wank
Also fuck perspective. I can't draw that shit"

How much time had passed since then? Anderson no longer knew what the word meant. He scurried around his meager confinement, taking no heed of the objects within. A hovel of delusions, a monument to madness itself. A noise like hushed voices echoed from the room's door, and his body rushed towards it like a prehistoric predator. "+2? +2? +2? +2? +2?" His pleading added up to nothing.

He was trapped, within and without. Outside, the sky darkened.

"Joe doodle"

Anderson's vision blurred as the world around him fell to pieces, folding in on itself in a crescendo of light and noise. When his eyes finally focused, he was looking down upon himself from above, magnitudes larger than the forest that once surrounded him. At the same time, he gazed shakily up at himself, smaller than he had ever been in the face of the impossible made manifest. The Red Presence from the first manuscript - it had been him all long.

Fluttering through the wind, something caught his split attention. He watched as his smaller self lurched towards it, suddenly manic with focus. Beneath his maddeningly large gaze, he grasped the object from the air. It was a manuscript page. A chanuscript.

Like a cicada molting in the summer sun, reality shed a crumpled layer.

"It's infinite Coin Chan! Known for destroying friendships (She actually sucks at math btw)."

Time stretched out towards and away from him in all directions. Gasping for air that no longer existed, Anderson finally understood. In any practical sense, escape was a complete impossibility - but the JanArt Expanse, that was anything but practical.

His mind raced. Maybe he could never escape - not physically, at least - but he might just be able to survive. Over an infinite amount of time, any finite possibility will collapse into a guaranteed reality. He thought back to the chanuscripts from earlier in his journey, and of the trucker. If he was able to create even the smallest chance... he had to try.

He was going to live forever, or die in the attempt.