Outcaste

Naivete

"If it seems too good to be true, it often is," that's what mothers say, isn't it? It is a person's naivete that often befalls them even when rationality dictates otherwise. People want to believe in the tiniest shred of hope offered to them if it helps them to continue. Mr. V knew a lot of things, and this was one of the greatest things he had learned in his younger years. It had become a vital tool in his quest for manipulation, for sadism, and for what he called his "social experiments."

"Did you send the invitations out?" he sniffed derisively without even looking away from his monitor. The mild-natured assistant raised his head for a moment and nodded. Mr. V inhaled deeply as if with pleasure at his own intricate plan.

"Y-yes Mr. V, but I d-don't understand why you'd want to do this," the assistant stammered back, avoiding the calculating gaze of his employer. Mr. V finally turned to acknowledge that an actual human being was stood beside him.

"Why would you? You're not paid to understand, or to ask questions," his voice bordered on menacing with every syllable. The assistant quickly swiped at his brow to remove the masses of sweat droplets before they stung his haunted eyes. He refrained from an out loud reply, and Mr. V narrowed his slick and malevolent eyes and drew his lips in thinly before speaking again.

"They're spreading so much...joy and inspiration, and if you allow people to inspire and motivate,  before you know it, my meek and pathetic friend, they are able to make changes to the world. You know how I feel about freedom of speech and...joy," he shuddered as if the very mention of joy left his tongue bitter, and his soul tainted. The assistant blinked and tried over and over in a futile attempt to contemplate the reasoning behind a war on joy. It escaped and disturbed his reason for being but as he had learned; speaking out was not an option.

Mark frowned at the rich parchment page with its opulent calligraphy and odd seal. It was an invitation to a new convention, with travel on a private jet for all of the YouTubers in attendance, food, accommodation, private green room. His eyes widened a little at the extravagance of the offer and yet he was cautious of how out of the blue this all was. He perused the included booklet, and as he came across names, hotels, venues, and travel companies, he raised an eye brow as each and every one of them checked out legitimately. He took the invitation over to his computer station and pulled up a new Skype window. He swiftly tapped in the names of some of his close friends and launched the initiate call button. It rang out for four rings before the first connection was made, and the gentle face of Jack showed up in the top right corner.

"Jack, did you get one of these in your mail?" Mark waved the parchment and booklet in front of his camera and frowned. Jack shook his head and chuckled;

"And hello to you too, Mark. Yeah, I did; it sounds fucking incredible! Did you look at the website yet? It looks fucking cool!" Jack chimed in his usual loud and sprightly tones.

"I did, I think I'm gonna give the event organiser a call just to work out the details and answer a few questions. I don't know what it is but something about this seems so odd to me. Since when do new organisers have this much cash to throw at an event?" Mark narrowed his eyes and caught a glimpse at Jack and saw his nose was stuck into the booklet.

"Says here they raised the money for the event on Kickstarter and GoFundMe as a charity event, and that everything we sign at the event will be auctioned to raise even more for a list of charities listed on page seven," Jack looked back up and smiled. The call froze for just a moment as Felix entered the conversation.

"'Sup losers," he grinned and put his hands behind his head as he put his feet up on his desk.

"Hey Felix, did you get the invite too?" Jack spoke with a sparkle in his eye and excitement in his voice. Felix nodded nonchalantly.

"Yup, Ken hit me up, so did Dan and Phil, they all got one too. You going?" he sipped a chai latte and awaited a response. Jack nodded enthusiastically, and Mark uncertainly gave a thumbs up.

"Bob and Wade got one too," Mark replied as he finished scrolling through his social media.

"Mark thinks there's something weird about it so he's being a sucky suck," Jack smirked as Mark rolled his deep brown eyes. Felix chuckled and shook his head;

"It seems pretty legit, but what's even the worst that could happen? We waste a little time? Get a break from solid work? It's like a poor man's Pax Prime from what I can gather, but it's all for charity. I mean, that's pretty cool isn't it?" Felix shrugged, his chilled and passive nonchalance pervading the whole chat room. Mark nodded and tipped his head to one side.

"I guess that's true, I'll call to confirm with the guy and start preparing content I guess. It's so short notice but it's doable in four weeks right?" Jack and Felix simultaneously nodded and with casual goodbyes they signed off.

~Four Weeks Later~

Jack pulled Evelyn into his arms and hugged her close to him, her perfume invisible but comforting. He kissed her softly and smiled at her warmly.

"I'll call you when I land, and I'll see you in a few days; don't be causin' trouble," he winked and she laughed gently.

"Shouldn't I be the one telling you that?" she smirked and kissed his cheek, her soft, blonde hair fell around her shoulders and tickled his neck as she did.

"Nah, I'm a rebel. I love you, " he grinned and intertwined his fingers with hers.

"I love you too," she smiled and waved as he headed out of their front door. Jack was impressed to discover his private car was already outside waiting for him. From what he understood, everyone was to get a first class flight to California, and when everyone was assembled, a private jet would take them to the convention's VIP housing for a day of settling in before the convention's opening the following day. He climbed into the car and was greeted by the driver. He smiled and took a small sigh as he prepared for the long day of travelling ahead.

"Everything is falling into place." Mr. V whispered and plucked a couple of stick dolls made of kindling and torn cloth. They had black hair and black clothes, one had painted blue eyes, the other brown. He stroked them in a way that could only be considered unnerving.

"They've all accepted, they're all on their way to my little trap; fools," he cackled softly and crushed the dolls within his large and vice-like hands. Their remains scattered upon the floor at his feet and he blew out the only candle lighting the room. The only things still alive and processing in the room were the screens that canvassed every available angle of the meeting point; the subtle glow somehow made the room almost buzz, and the air was heavy with wrong.