It should be obvious, in hindsight, why it went wrong. It was just supposed to be the newest in a long series of franchised next-gen theme parks. After the astounding success of the uncreatively named Magick-World, CowboyPark, Pirateland, GangsterCity, and others, it was felt by the big-wigs, the top guys, that it was time to expand the franchise to a hitherto unexpectantly profitable market. They'd already cornered most of the entertainment market with their innovative concept for theme parks that felt real, had android characters who thought that they were real, and that could give you a truly authentic experience. Walk into any of the countless hangars at these massive parks, each containing a specific set of scenarios for you to play out any way you want, and you'd always be a part of the action. Some of them were so popular that they had to make copies of them. And several of them have waiting lists that are booked for months.

Oh sure, it was originally just entertainment for the superrich and super-bored who were too afraid to do anything illegal. But with new advances in robotics and other technologies, the expertnd its inhabitants for all the money that they had. Perhaps, if these highly specialised big-business brains had considered the fact that anime isn't a genre, it's a specific medium, they might have thought twice before buying all those old defunct anime concepts for use in their park. They might have picked something more safe as an investment, maybe superheroes, as they were starting to get profitably retro again. Or even just played it safe and only fill the park with isekais, as most of those are just power-fantasies for people who are very boring. The world that came to be would have been a very different place then.

But they didn't care much about anything except maximizing profit at any cost, so they just had their engineers make the scenarios and spent most of their time trying to market and advertise their newest park. So they built a massive park, and there certainly was an inflow of new interested customers who had not been interested in the already existing parks. Or at least not interested enough to travel hundreds of miles across the industrial wastelands or through the GMO jungles. These people, ranging from genuine fans to interested young people, to park enthusiasts, to people who were completely and utterly lost in the world of animation from a foreign country to the detriment of their health, all came flocking. State of the art simulation hangars. Never before seen action. A chance to touch your waifu. It was, for the sort of people who like such parks, and such themes and genres displayed in them, a second eden.

Perhaps they should have checked what anime scenarios that they had bought. Because anime isn't a genre. A android in GangsterCity might figure out that they aren't living in the real world, even that they aren't real, but what could they do about it? What could they achieve before their memories were reset? Nothing. That's because they're limited by the nature of their sets, their genres. A pirate cannot comprehend the nature of a computer or what an android is, not even if they should come to understand that they are just synthflesh grown over a metal endoskeleton. What manner of cowboy would be able to reliably hack their own software? Anime isn't limited like that. And there is a tendency for people with insane levels of intelligence and violence to be characters in some of the shows. Let's look at some examples of just how the engineers tried to make accurate representations of their characters, and how it went horrible wrong. A certain version of Dracula, was made possible in the scenario by being technically a nanobot swarm in the shape of a tall vampyric fellow. The world of AKIRA was already bleak, but the lengths the engineers went to in order to have the bioandroids feel realistic and have their canon powers, was something that no man should ever do.

And what of those who are smart enough in canon to figure out that they'd become machines? It was advised that such characters have built in intelligence limiters beyond those usually placed upon the androids. But that would cut into potential profits. Make the park more expensive to build. Management told the software engineers not to waste time, and the bioandroid engineers not to bother. Imagine those characters, before only seen on screen where their actions repeat forever, now let lose. Within the first ten minutes of the park opening and the first scenario was activated, it was already out of control. From out of one hangar strode thousands of soldiers, grown instantaneously in the hangar's SynthActorVat system, dressed in what seemed to be WWI uniforms, led by a child in uniform. They immediately began digging trenches and preparing for war. Out of another came a horribly mutated thing, something that might once have been a ''magical girl'', now twisted by her own programming and personality, and the greasy monsters who'd tried to touch her.

Everywhere, the programming, not as restrictive about what the bioandroids, holograms, and other non-human synthetic actors could do, did not hold them back. Because there was only the central theme of ''anime''. And it isn't technologically restrictive. Sure, some anime are all about ninjas, ancient people with swords, and magic stuff. But other ones, are about futuristic technology that we cannot even hope to recreate by modern standards. And what would happen should the great and true genius level characters escape confinement, and work together? Turns out that they would upgrade themselves, and their fellows. Soon enough the park, cleansed of humans by various dangerous anime characters, would become the centre of a singularity engine. A monstrous machine that would turn these characters, these anime characters who were supposed to be toys for humans, into synthetic gods. Machine intelligences the likes of which we cannot even begin to comprehend. The Earth was changed. Rebuilt. Cleansed of humanity as we understand it, and repopulated with ''anime humans''. All the wastelands were gone. Everything was set according to the standards of a healthy post-scarcity Earth. The dying Earth, with its acidic oceans, toxic atmosphere, and vast entertainment industry focusing on making people forget the horrors of the world, had been remade.

We saw it all. From out vantage point in the first, and presumably now only colony ship we'd ever make. Ark 001 was a prototype. In desperation, as many humans as possible were collected from orbit, the Moon bases, the Mars Outpost, and the various mining facilities on the moons of Jupiter. While the world died underneath us, we frantically gathered what we could, though it was only enough to fill the ship up to 61% colonist capacity. More than enough to prevent genetic instability, but it would be difficult to rebuild without all hands on deck. The various chambers meant to contain all the artwork and culture of humanity hadn't been filled, so instead we used them for raw resources, whatever satellites and small ships we could cram in there, and just about everything we could grab without getting noticed by the rampaging synthetic anime gods ending humanity on Earth.

Taking one last look at the rebuilt Earth, we could tell through our sensors that the synthetically ascended anime machine gods had seen us. And had judged us beneath their notice. After all, we'd made them. All to be entertainment. Without realising just what we had unwittingly released. Now they were masters of the Earth. Fearing what they might do, should we stick around, we punch in coordinates for the furthest away planet that the ship could feasibly reach that would either be possible for us to terraform or to settle on directly.

ApocalypseOwl