GAME OVER: a Be More Chill fic

Level 7

(A/N: TW for vomit towards the end)

How long had he been pacing back and forth across his room? Jeremy had no idea, but he knew it was too long to be normal. He'd been pacing and thinking and trying to figure out what his next move was going to be. Suppress his feelings? Probably. Ask out Michael? Unlikely. Seek therapy?

Jeremy collapsed onto his bed with a frustrated groan. He closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind, which was buzzing once more with thoughts of what he could possibly do at this point, when everything seemed to be crashing down around him. Christine loved Jake more than him, Michael loved girls more than him, Rich was always busy, his dad didn't care, his mom was gone, and there was nothing he could do about any of it.

Unless... He shook the little box in his hand, feeling the pill roll around inside. How did he end up here again? How did he sink so low as to think that this was the solution? After all that had happened the first time -- all of the problems it had caused, the pain it had put him through -- why would he want to come back to that?

Jeremy sat up, thinking hard. Why had this Squip fallen into his lap like that, anyway? The first one had cost him hundreds of dollars. The second one cost him peace of mind, sure, but he never had to buy it. No, this one just sort of... appeared. Jeremy had found it in his pocket the day after the play, and he had no idea where it came from, but he decided to keep it. Why?

Now, of course, he realized that it was probably put there by one of his Squipped classmates during the play. The Squips' goal had always been to spread like a virus ("That's just the beginning!" echoed in his mind). Maybe this was the plan all along; maybe the Squip knew that he'd find the pill in his pocket and torture himself over it until finally deciding to take it, and starting the revolution all over again. Jeremy did not want to be a part of that.

Then again, what was the worst case scenario? The worst thing he could think of was the Squip taking control like it did before, but even then, he knew he had access to Michael's Mountain Dew Red if he needed it. Especially if Jeremy's plan worked.

He sat up and held his face in his hands. This was too much thinking for one person. Jeremy took out his phone and dialed Michael with one hand, while the other fiddled with the source of his anxiety. Maybe his Player 1 could ease his conscience.

Michael answered almost immediately. "Hello?"

"Hey, Michael!" Jeremy began brightly.

"What's up, man? Everything okay?"

Jeremy tried to ignore how rushed Michael sounded. "Oh, yeah, everything's fine. I just wanted to say hi, maybe talk about that new game -- "

"Uh, Jer?" Michael interrupted. "I'm really sorry but now isn't a great time. I'm... I'm kinda on a date."

"Oh." Jeremy's heart sank. Without thinking, he asked, "With who?"

"Brooke." Michael laughed nervously.

"Oh. Okay, no problem. I'll see you later, man."

"Bye."

Jeremy hung up and hoped he had sounded a lot more casual than he felt. The last of his hopes vanished as he threw his phone against the opposite wall with a loud BANG. Why couldn't anything just be easy? Why couldn't Jeremy be straight? Why couldn't things have worked out with Christine? Why, why, why?

He could barely breathe due to the crushing weight on his chest, but he gathered his strength, slipped the matchbox in his pocket, and all but sprinted downstairs. Christine wasn't there, Michael wasn't there, Rich wasn't there, his father wasn't there, his mother wasn't there. Christine, Michael, Rich, Dad, Mom. None of them would care. Jeremy knew what he needed to do, and now was his chance.

He dug to the back of the refrigerator, past week-old Chinese takeout and empty pizza boxes (his dad was an awful cook) to a glass bottle, half-full of soda that was probably as flat as water at this point. Mountain Dew -- the good, old fashioned, regular green kind.

Jeremy paused as the memory of his first time taking a Squip hit him. Michael had tried so hard to talk him out of it, but Jeremy didn't listen. He wanted people to love him so badly he left his best friend behind.

This is ridiculous, Jeremy thought, setting the bottle on the counter. I can't do this again. I'm not that selfish, am I? He picked it up again. But is it really selfish? I know what I did wrong last time. I left Michael behind. But I won't do that this time. We can both be popular. And I won't feel so lost all the time, and he won't have to feel that way either. And maybe we can even be together and neither of us will feel lame anymore. 

Jeremy went up the stairs slowly, his thoughts becoming more tangled with every step. "Am I really doing this?" he wondered aloud as he entered his room.

Yes. He was. He had to.

Before he could think about it too much, Jeremy swallowed the pill and chugged the stale soda.

Immediately regretting his decision, he bolted to the bathroom. He knelt on the floor and stuffed his fingers down his throat. He choked and gagged. His mind raced. Shit shit shit what have I done what the fuck have I --

"Ow, fuck, no, no!" A familiar blinding pain sliced through Jeremy's skull.

"Target male inaccessible. Calibration in process. Please excuse some mild discomfort."

Jeremy clutched at his head, gasping for breath as he tried not to fall over. It felt as if someone was driving a knife through each of his temples and twisting them mercilessly.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the pain was gone.

"Calibration complete. Access procedure initiated."

Jeremy gulped down air, overwhelmed with relief for a split second before he remembered --

"Oh, sh -- "

"Discomfort level may increase."

Jeremy let out a piercing shriek. He gave up on staying upright and collapsed to the floor as tears squeezed from his eyes. The small part of him that was still coherent hoped none of his neighbors were calling the cops.

"Accessing neural memory. Accessing muscle memory. Access procedure complete."

The pain faded once more and Jeremy sat up, shaking violently. The familiar voice rang through his head.

"Jeremy Heere. Welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor: your Squip."

He hugged his knees and choked back a sob. This wasn't right, this was not what he wanted. Three words played on repeat through his mind:

I fucked up.