by Mars Dorian
Not good, Violet, not good.
On the ground, the freak pushed her face against the studio tiles and slammed his weight against her. He was of medium build, but with his excess armor, he weighed a boulder. Violet gasped for air, used her free arm to push away the intruder, but he grabbed her other arm and pinned it down as well. This was the worst position.
“What now?” he said in his metallic voice.
Violet had no time to think about it. She gasped. Felt the spit of her mouth drooling on the ground. She shook her body, tried anything to break free before the guy killed her or did something worse. A meter over them, the Vorb floated and recorded the scene. Zoomed in like a stalker catching every dirty detail.
“What now, Violet?”
The freak on top of Violet moved closer when a black shadow jumped at his masked face and hissed. It was none other than Mrs. Marbles herself, the feline friend in need. She scratched his mask and went cat berserk. The guy shouted every curse word he knew and grabbed Mrs. Marbles. She didn’t do any damage on his mask, but there was no need to. The second he tried to grab her from his masked face, Violet rolled sideways and pushed herself up from the cold studio tiles.
She staggered to her feet, but could stand. And kick. The second the armorfreak pulled Mrs. Marbles from his face, Violet unleashed a roundhouse kick to his legs and made him slam into the couch. The kick hurt her more than him, but it bought her seconds of survival. She wanted to head for the open door but the freak jolted up again and moved towards her and the exit. Damn. She stood no chance of winning against him in one-on-one combat, so she dashed towards her bedroom and locked the door in a split second. Safe for a few breaths, but now what? She turned around her bedroom and pondered her possibilities. She was stuck in a studio space on the third floor. The only way out was through a window, taking a free fall into the boardwalk below. Which would mean goodbye Violet and hello fracture. Merde. Meanwhile the freak renewed his plans to get her — he slammed against her bedroom door from the other side. The impact was so intense she almost bounced away. Double-merde. It was only a question of seconds before he broke through and finished her off.
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The ramming stopped for a sec. Even through the door, she could hear the freak’s hissing. He was about to speak again.
“Have you ever received my mails? It took so much time writing them. I wanted to make sure they sounded right.”
Violet’s breath was heavy. The freak just tried to kill her, and now he was talking about emailing her?
He was a sicko through and through. But at least he stopped battering the door, which allowed her to think of an escape plan. Or lack thereof.
Violet needed more time, so she played his game.
“Mail? I get lots of mail from fans and trolls alike.”
Pause.
“No, I doubt you get the kind of mail that I sent you. Most people are not as committed as I am.”
Committed, Violet thought, what an innocuous way of saying maniacally obsessed.
“Or do most of your fans send you thousands of credits?”
The statement stole Violet’s breath.
Thousand credits?
The mails shot into her memory.
She leaned against her door.
“GearedTowardsViolet, is that you?”
“The one and only.”
Pause ensued. Violet couldn’t believe it. Her biggest fan online, now the greatest danger offline. It seemed surreal.
She didn’t know what to say.
She lacked the words.
The thoughts.
No answer returned from him.
But the ram attack did. Violet didn’t bother to talk. She pushed herself against the door, trying to keep him out of her room. But the freak carried a laser cutter, and he did what he did best — slicing through her doors like it was National Door Welding Day. Violet jumped back as the sparks seared through the door. Deja view from hell. A dozen seconds later, and the freak would enter her room, and she had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Double-damn. So, think, think, think.
Closet? More tools? Bad, bad choices. She inspected every part of her bedroom, thought of anything helping her to survive. Meanwhile, the freak was halfway done with the door slicing.
Then, an idea.
Violet dashed towards her clothes chest, fumbled through her box and spied for any techwear equipment that could do damage. She threw out her clothes, her tools — they were too weak. But then she grabbed the remaining flare grenade in one hand and her infamous, inflammatory camouflage jacket with the other.
One and one equaled the rescuing idea.
The combo set the model on fire, so why not the freak? It made Violet cringe to use her beloved fashion as a weapon, but she was more important than any of her techwear. And now the pressure was on. Because bang, the door slammed open, and the masked freak walked in like he was on a flat hunt.
“You know what they used to say on TV. You can run, but you can’t—“
Violet wouldn’t let him finish the lame one-liner, she charged towards the freak and threw her jacket at him. The guy shrugged, didn’t even bother to evade.
“How cute, do you want to play fashion with me? You know I luv your style.”
He tried to throw it off but Violet pushed her whole weight against it, pulled the oversized coat over him. The freak tried to break free, but with the coat bagged over him, he couldn’t see jax and slammed into the wall.
Right into the framed image of her first collection. The glass shattered and fell onto the intruder guy. Violet used the impact confusion to her advantage and aimed for another body push, which made him stumble to the ground. He shot up again, staggered around and charged to where he thought Violet stood. He shouldn’t have used all of his force, because instead of hitting Violet, he hit the window and broke through. On his way down, shards followed him like a hornet army.
Freak on the fly down.
Violet ran towards her broken window and saw the guy impacting the asphalt like a potato sack. His armor cracked, parts shattered in all directions. Good. The Vorb flew out of her room, down to him and zoomed in. Record it, Vorb, Violet said, record the whole freak attack.
She let out a sigh of relieve but froze a second later. Because now the guy emerged on all fours, leaking a crimson puddle onto the sidewalk. He creeped in slow motion, but he was still alive, and that made Violet freak out even though she watched him from the third floor. She didn’t want to take any chances now. She turned back to her bedroom and grabbed the last flare grenade. Jumped back to her window, determined the distance between her and the freak down on the street. Pulled the pin with a twisting motion and threw the grenade at him. She took cover just as she heard a bang sound effect echoing on the street.
Flare grenade with flair.
The guy waddled through his blood lake and moaned. The sparks spread heavenward like a celestial firework show. Even better, the jacket still covering him went flame mode. Blazed up the night like straw fire. The few people outside walked up to the burning freak and recorded the ’show’ in real time. Two approached him with Vorbs. The armorfreak unleashed one more scream. Some people even clapped, thought it was some crazy stunt show. It did look like a fire dance done by a drunk amateur. Violet bent over her window bench and kept her eyes locked on him below. She could tell he was fried and finished, but with freaks of this caliber, you just never knew. He could still throw the jacket away and dash up her studio space with flaming fury.
She thought about her next move, but then ambulance and police sirens squealed from the distance.
It was about time.
Violet saw the vehicles screeching tires before the flaming freak. Two meds jumped out with their anti-burn cream readied. They foamed the guy. Splash. From the third floor, it looked like scorched chicken getting frosted with sugar mousse.
Violet couldn’t help feeling major delight at the freak’s misfortune.
Truth was, the guy would survive.
/> Truth was, the doctors would patch him up with nanomed.
But as far as she was concerned, she was done with him.
Violet took a deep, deep breath and wiped the sweat from her face. Her body was still stuck in shaky mode, and her heart continued to go beatbox. But she survived. She waddled back to her living room and collapsed onto her couch. She let out a deep sigh and tried to relax her limbs, but her muscles felt tense as steel. Just as she closed her eyes, three policemen stormed through her broken door with guns raised. They said,
“Freeze,” and “move your hands where I can see ‘em,” and other commands Violet tuned out. She was too tired to argue, so she did as they ordered. Thankfully, this wasn’t the primitive twentieth century anymore. The policemen checked her online profile and identified her. The officer tugged his gun away and smiled.
“Tough night, Mrs. Gear, eh?”
Yeah, tough and rough. More cops swarmed in but Violet didn’t care at this point. She just wanted to sleep and stay offline in lala land.
One of the police officers told her to go to the PD. Told her that one of his guys would escort her. Violet didn’t want to, but staying at home seemed more dangerous at this point. She took an ancient device called the ‘smartphone’ from a drawer and stashed it someplace save, read : in her underwear.
Because, best hiding spot ever.
It was better to stay connected.
And if the eScroll failed, she still could still use the primitive smartphone as a backup.
Just to be sure.
The enemy lurked everywhere.
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The police took her to the PD.
Questioned her, but the legal win was on her side.
The cops recovered the freak’s Vorb and saw all the footage of the attack.
Saw how GearedTowardsViolet went batcrap crazy on her.
Laser cuttin’ and stuff.
Violet couldn’t watch it.
It was terrible experiencing it live, no need to home video it.
Besides, she was zzzz.
Eye lids were as heavy as lead. Mouth went moany moany in an endless loop.
The body dragged and schlepped like a meat boulder.
She wanted zzzz. Bad.
The police officer nodded. Told her to stay someplace else for the night, maybe a nearby hotel, police watch inclusive. Because who knew?
More fans-turned-psycho could drop by and bring the violence back to Violet.
Thanx, but no thanx.
So she nodded.
Violet got her escort in the PD Cruiser. Flashy.
She leaned against the solid cushion and saw someone connecting with her eScroll.
It was Trigger.
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His deep voice in crisp connection, a blessing for both heart and ear.
“Violet, I’m so sorry about what happened. Are you okay?”
“Well, I’m alive.”
“That’s good. But are you safe?”
“I’m in the back of a police cruiser, so yeah.”
“Heh, even better. I was worried. When I saw the footage, I cringed inside.”
Violet sighed. Footage? One hour after the attack? How was that even possible.
“Where did you see it?” she said.
“A bystander filmed the flaming freak on the streets and put it up online. The media blogs picked up the story.”
“Wow, that was fast.”
“Welcome to the Vorb age.”
A pause happened.
“Where are you staying tonight?”
“I don’t know, maybe in some hotel.”
“You can come to my place. I live outside Central, I have a ranch.”
Pause.
A ranch?
“I think it can help you to be surrounded by vlogger equals tonight. We have to hold together in times like these.”
Violet delayed her answer. Pondered the opportunity. She didn’t feel like talking, but feeling sorry for herself in some lonely hotel suite wasn’t tempting either.
So she simply said,
“Thanx.”
“No worries.”
He sent her the address, she gave it to the police officers.
“It’s a bit far out, you can drop me off here and I just take a taxi.”
The driving officer shook his head.
“Don’t worry. We take you there.”
She smiled.
Even after what happened today, there was good left in humanity.
109
Darker than chocolated black coffee.
That’s how Violet’s head felt during the drive to Trigger’s ranch. Tiredness and stress took their toll. It was nothing but will power that kept Violet from falling over. Every once in a while, the police officer in front would ask if she was ok. She nodded.
That heavy head.
Heavy.
Reality blurred out, the nasty memories from the day faded in.
An ugly string of--
“We’re here,” the police officer said.
Wow, that was fast. Or maybe she drowned in nihilistic thoughts for so long she lost track of time.
“Thank you.”
She emerged from the car, towards the earthy path. Saw the silhouette of the ranch, and the faint front light of the porch shining her way.
A beacon of light.
She rang the door twice, Trigger opened it up and embraced her with arms wide open. Hundred meters behind her, the PD cruiser roared its electric motors and left the ranch.
Violet was with her peers again.
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Tunnel vision.
That’s all she saw as she staggered inside. Okay, at the periphery of her vision, she also noticed a lot of technical equipment and other people, but with her current state of exhaustion, she didn’t care, one bit. Trigger ushered her into the kitchen, fetched her a cold glass of sprinkle water. It almost slipped from Violet’s hand.
“Oops, be careful.”
“Sorry.”
Trigger nodded.
“I guess we postpone the ranch sightseeing tour to tomorrow.”
“Probably a good idea,” she said with a exhausted smile.
Trigger led her across the living room, she maneuvered around the equipment like a sleepwalker on slippery ice.
“You can stay in my guest room. The bed sheets are in mint-fresh condition.”
She nodded and saw the room. It came with a single-sized bed, a desk plus night stand. Nothing fancy, but all she needed to go offline and lull back into lala land.
Which she did.
Trigger couldn’t even finish saying ‘good night’ when Violet dropped into the soft cushiony bed with her clothes still on.
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Next day, aka Saturday.
Cafeteria, inside the BBB.
Bam slurped one coconut soup and watched the crew members. Spied Elli Mental and Whizzard strolling around, shooting evil eyes at each other. Even though the crew pumped mint air through the ventilation system, it reeked of grandmother’s forgotten basement. Or maybe it was the tension that seemed to thicken by the day. The final mission was imminent, and only a handful of vloggers were left.
Himself,
Fitnessy,
Elli Mental,
Whizzard,
and maybe Violet Gear, although that was unlikely. The fan attack seemed to knock her out, literally. She made headlines all over the blog media. For a while, it even looked like they’d shut down the Blogbuster because of it. But for better or worse, Roman Stax went on.
For better, in Bam’s eyes.
Because for the first time ever, he felt like a potential winner.
His ranking shot up, fan mails quadrupled since the last mission. It was a good idea to play the hero and save Whizzard from the armorfreak. That action, and his branded one-liners, turned him into the audience darling. Yesss. Winning didn’t only seem possible, it seemed certain at this point.
“What are you thinking, Bammie boy?”
Elli M
ental stood before his table.
She sucked.
On a veggie lollipop.
Gave him the cutesy freckleface look, but he wouldn’t buy into that anymore.
He knew her mental side.
“I’m thinking about how delicious my coconut soup is.”
“Liar, liar, face on fire,” she said, “you are scheming the final mission. You even believe you can win, don’t you?”
Bam sighed. Despite the acid in her voice, she was spot-on. How did she do it? Could she read a person’s mind or was she ‘just’ good at reading facial expressions? He needed to learn how to pull up a pokerface in front of her. Elli continued.
“You think you’re a hotshot now, because of all that audience appeal. I read some of the trending headlines. The world really believes you are a selfless vlogger hero, heh.”
She crawled over the table.
“But you’re so, so, so obvious, Bammie Boy. I could read your intentions with my eyes plucked out. You didn’t give a shit about Whizzard. You would have let him die if there were no Vorbs around. It was just for show.”
“I did what I had to do,” he said.
She laughed in her trademark high-pitched voice. If the windows didn’t explode, at least they must have cracked.
“What you had to do for your personal brand appeal, you mean? Sure, sure.”
She rolled her eyes and whispered in front of his face.
“Well, I tell you this, Bammie Boy. You want to buckle up, because when we enter the final mission, I’m going to crush your chauvinist ass and show the world who you really are.”
Pause.
“And then I’m going to show the world that only a woman like me can be Head of Online Content and earn the big rewards.”
Bam slurped his next spoonful of soup.
“Well, good luck, Elli.”
He waved her goodbye with his middle finger.
“You need it.”
Elli, still on the table, still in front of him, said,
“I hope your food is creamy, I made sure of it.”