Flypaper Con: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 4
Page 15
Nick gave it a moment to sink in. It’s not over yet. Not by a long shot. Corpse said we’ll never be ready. How does someone escape that? When does one’s luck finally run out?
Nick watched Corpse skip down the hallway. He took a step to follow her. Then another. Each one felt like a march toward doom.
“Fuck my life. Really. Fuck it.”
Chapter 23
The Administrator sat in front of the monitor, a cup of piping hot coffee to the side of the keyboard. It had been a long night. A long weekend, truth be told, but the previous had been particularly stressful.
It wasn’t easy watching the whole thing unfold in real time without any real way to intervene on Nick’s behalf, a situation that would need to be addressed in short order. It couldn’t be allowed to happen again.
Nick Dawkins was safe. That was all that mattered.
And DawkinsCon had been a roaring success.
The Administrator clicked a button and sent a copy of God Complex to the contest’s winner. Well earned, well deserved. Well played.
And thus ends another chapter in the Nick Dawkins saga, brought to you by—
A new post caught The Administrator’s eye.
It was titled: A Message from Nick.
Impossible. It was another imposter. Not the first and surely not the last. More spam to be deleted.
The Administrator opened the post. It read:
I don’t know where to begin.
Okay, basics first: my name is Nick Dawkins and this is my first direct contact with the Myiasis community.
I’ve never posted on the site before. I, and others, have always believed a position of non-engagement to be the appropriate stance to take regarding the site and its members. The reasons behind this should be obvious. I need two hands to count how many of you have tried to kill me at this point. I’m lucky to still have two hands to count on.
In the past forty-eight hours, however, events have occurred that have caused me to reconsider my previous stance.
As many of you will know, this weekend was GutsCon 2015. I had a great time right up until I was kidnapped. Again.
Interestingly enough, this time the primary instigator wasn’t a Maggot at all, though one was involved. The one who called himself Brundlefly. A cursory glance at the forums doesn’t show him to be a heavy-hitter in the community, though I suspect he’ll be well-known postmortem. I’ll give you that: You like to honor your fallen.
Anyway. Side-tracked.
I spent the weekend surrounded by Maggots and 99.9 percent of you didn’t try to eat me or anything. You wouldn’t believe how appreciative I am of that.
But that’s not why I’m reaching out to you now.
I’m reaching out now because when I was taken and tortured by Delbert Williams, who many of you know as Clark Abernathy’s Cancer Man, my companion and webmaster, CorpseFlower, didn’t know where to turn.
At the suggestion of a couple of extremely—and I do mean extremely—helpful Maggots, she turned to Myiasis.
She turned to you.
We’re in the car now, as I type this, on our way back to Forest Down. It’s a long drive. We have plenty of time to talk. And right now we’re talking about the hundreds—literally hundreds—of members in the Myiasis community who banded together in the dead of night to work toward my safe return.
Frankly, given the nature of my relationship with the Myiasis community over the past year, I’m not even sure how to react to that.
Thank you doesn’t seem to do it justice.
I know there are still plenty of members on these boards who would do me harm. I’ve read posts here I can never unread regarding what people would do with my testicles if given the chance. (For the record, I think they’re too large to make practical earrings).
That said, clearly there’s a bad apple/cart situation here, and I’m going to try and do better to remember that moving forward. I don’t know what that means yet in regards to how I interact with Maggots who have the courtesy to respect my privacy and personal space. I have a lot of thinking to do.
At any rate, to everyone who assisted with the Delbert situation last night, thank you again. I probably owe some of you my life.
Be in touch,
Nick Dawkins, a.k.a. RealNickDawkins.
The Administrator’s eyes moved down a line.
P.S. Buy God Complex, available exclusively on my site next month. Except for you, DerpySkull42. Congrats on your DawkinsCon win. Hope your kidney is ok. Corpse says she’s sorry. (If sorry were seven letters and rhymed with ‘duck stew’)
A debate had already ignited on the boards over whether the post was genuine, but there was no mistaking his voice. It was him. It was really him.
Nick Dawkins was on Myiasis.
It could be a game-changer.
A message popped up in the corner of the screen. It was from CaptainOnyx, the webmaster hired to maintain Myiasis and the crucial cloak of anonymity that surrounded the site.
Are you seeing this?
The Administrator furiously typed at the keyboard.
About fucking time. Where were you last night? I needed you. Nick Dawkins could have been killed.
A few seconds passed. The Administrator sipped at the coffee mug.
Distracted. By this.
A link appeared next to the text. The Administrator clicked it.
Video played. It had been recorded on a cell phone and showed a stage with a long table on it. The Nick Dawkins Q and A.
The Maggot in the skull mask leapt over the table and spewed a fantastic amount of fake blood onto Nick.
The Administrator typed to Captain.
I’ve seen it. So what?
A reply appeared.
The girl.
The video continued as a purple-haired girl charged in from off-stage and tackled the Maggot to the ground. She immediately proceeded to whip the hell out of him in full view of what must have been several hundred people.
Another line of text from Captain.
I know the girl.
The Administrator’s patience ebbed.
She’s Dawkins’ little pet. So?
A long minute passed before Captain Onyx responded again.
Going to Forest Down. Unfinished business. Talk soon.
Captain logged out of the chat.
The Administrator took another sip of coffee. It was a small world indeed. And with Captain on a collision course with Corpse, it was about to get smaller by at least one webmaster.
This would be something to watch.
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To be continued in Flypaper: Origins, coming within several weeks.