Tevun-Krus #80 - WattPunk 2.0

Part Three

8

Thinking a good movie would distract him from his problems, Rick Wickerman walked out of the theatre contemplating even more the conspiracies at work in WattLand. Though primarily fictional, Undercover had featured many historical facts, one of which was the overthrowing of Wattpad's original creators, @allenlau and @ivanyuen, and the social nadir that had followed. Rick knew hundreds of years ago Lord WattPad had emerged from the metaphorical rubble of a crumbled society and took control, his life artificially prolonged through heavy doses of the drug known as FAME.

After having seen the movie, Rick wondered if this @Zayxii character was actually the original name Lord WattPad had gone by long ago, back when he was a writer. Back when he required a username.

Food for thought, anyway.

Rick turned up his collar to lessen the wind's chill and moved through the streets toward his apartment. High-fluorescent adverts bombarded his senses from every direction. WattCity hadn't ever been pleasant—not as far as Rick remembered—but it had certainly gone downhill in recent years. Part of the problem was the increasingly tyrannical Wattpad government, but the anti-establishment gangs weren't much better, either... what with their infantile, anarchistic views. It was a constant tug-of-war, and only the elite ever came out the victor.

He passed flyers posted to walls—DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR CHILDREN ARE? they said, then showed a caricature of The Chosen One with a large, hooked nose and a raging hard-on; he wielded a bag overflowing with little arms and little legs, marked CHILDREN. A mural, painted by a local youth, showed a very different interpretation of The Chosen One: he stood half-naked, abs glistening, long bloody lashes across his chest and shoulders, arms spread wide, long hair flowing from a head turned up to the sky, a halo of light glowing behind his crown. Deified, or at least perceived as being some kind of saviour.

Decorating shop windows and signposts, the orange W of Wattpad had been spray-painted over with red paint and turned into the classic encircled A—for anarchy.

But was it any better? The WattCops had long ago left this area to its own devices, allowing it to self-govern. Rick passed darkened alleys where the young and the weak sold themselves to the strong so they could afford to fill their hungry stomachs for just one night.

He stopped at an emaciated husk of a woman with her back against the wall, needle in her arm, grinning to herself as the fingers of her limp-hanging hands simulated the act of typing. "Look, Ma, I'm writin' a real popper!" she mumbled, drool depending from her chin, staring at nothing at all.

Illegally manufactured FAME, Rick thought with certainty. Though not always the case, it tended to be of inferior quality, adulterated with household poisons to enhance the user's high and maximize profits for its maker. He shook his head and continued onward.

This was the reality of anarchy. But it wouldn't have been any better for most of these poor souls if Wattpad retook control of the neighbourhood. Not everyone in WattLand was destined to become a Star, and not everyone had the knack for high-paying non-writing jobs. Some people wanted more than nothing to write but knew they'd never be among the elite. What else was there, then, except the comfort of a needle and the delusions that followed?

9

"Hey, burddy," said a voice behind.

Rick turned to see a drunk stumble out of a liquor store with a bottle in hand. "I don't want any trouble."

"Yer see ther murvie?" the drunk asked. Raised his bottle towards the theatre down the street.