SmackDown: MadMike's Revenge!

Round 1, Team 1: Sometime in the Future - @H-A-Spade

Sometime in the Future

by H-A-Spade

"I don't believe this shit," the man mumbled to his computer monitor. He took a sip of his extra-large Watty and grimaced in disgust. Picked a stray orange pube from his tongue. "They didn't even read my fuckin' story! The fuck is this comment supposed to mean, anyway!? 'Loved the way Pixy Dust rode Unicron LOL!' There wasn't any Pixy Dust or Unicron in my fucking story, nor was there anything remotely funny in it! What the hell are you LOLing at, you dumbass!?"

He rubbed his temples, leaving orange Cheetos dust behind. His head killed right now. Had been hurting a lot lately, but this took the cake. Nobody understood his beautiful writing. Their comments were irrelevant. It made him sick. Made him want to teach them all a lesson.

A grin worked its way across his pale face.

Yeah. Teach 'em all. A lesson.

The man brought up the profile of the latest imbecile to comment on his riveting story. Got a good look. Memorized the name and the face.

He went to his gun rack. Grabbed his finest and most powerful weapon. Locked it and loaded it.

The hunt was on.

Danny squinted at his inbox. What is this shit? What do ChocoNut bars have to do with writing? Ugh.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Hey, I'm new here and I was wondering if you'd . . . Delete.

Delete.

@DanWritesStuff New and improved formula specifically designed to enhance . . . Delete.

God damn it, it was like Wattpad had become the virtual doorstep to his home, rather than his job. Yesterday he had literally gotten a private message from a Mormon missionary tempting him to read what the LDS church profile claimed to be the original Golden Plates from God.

He couldn't even go outside anymore. Not while the killing spree had Wattland on Code 3 lockdown. The entire city was in a state of emergency, with no one allowed to enter or leave city limits until the server gave notice. But damn, if he wasn't starting to really sympathize with those freaks. He wondered if that guy would ever get back to him.

An abrupt knock at his door shook him from his thoughts. Odd. No one was supposed to be outside after 9 P.M. He shoved away from his terminal and disconnected his feed; at least no one would bother him without that fucking green square under his profile. It would come out of his paycheck, but so be it.

He punched in the lock code and the front door came up. "Claire? The hell are you doing out?"

"Jesus, don't you have electricity? This place is so dark and creepy." She brushed past him and plopped into his terminal, already adjusting her headphones.

"You know, it's great to see you, too, Claire. You always know just the right thing to say at the right time."

"Shut up and listen. I killed someone. Wattpad hired me to do it." She was typing furiously and all three of his monitors were spazzing out between orange and white and green and black. "We can stop this terrorism but we're going to need your help."

Danny had paled a tangible three shades since she'd started talking. His mouth opened.

"What?" Claire stopped typing and gave him a look.