GONE GIRL (DLC)

The messy haired kid sits idly in front of his computer screen. He usually has a hard time sitting still but this “situation” requires the ultimate attention to detail. He’s locked in. Feet tucked into his body, he stopped spinning aimlessly around in his swivel chair hours ago. He’s barely moved a muscle, hardly even blinked. He also doesn’t need his loyal, lime green fidget spinner, either. He simply stares at the footage, rewinding, fast-forwarding, watching in slo-mo and then squinting ever-so-closely into the monitor when he has a certain frame on pause.

Pause. He loves pause.

Needless to say, he can’t quite put his finger on it but ever since Jonathan-Christopher gave him video proof of the Vickie affair, something isn’t adding up.

The kid rubs his eyes and slides his hands down his babyface smooth chin. If only he had the ability to grow a five-o’clock shadow, he’d look way more bad-ass.

He reaches for the intercom.

“S.H.A.R.O.N., hold my calls.”

There’s no response on the other end as the frizzy haired kid sits alone in his secret mancave, covered by shelves of Funko Pops!, comic books and other seriously awesome collectables.

He shakes his head and rewinds the footage for the twenty-seven-thousand…and-forth time. He’s watched it sooooo much. Gun to his head, he couldn’t tell you why. It’s not like he has an AMAZING friendship with Jonathan-Christopher, they barely know each other. And he’s definitely not attracted to her. She’s pretty gross when you look closely. It’s also not because of the video’s content. There are way better websites for that kinda stuff, which isn’t scrambled and usually in high definition.

Not that- not that he’d know or anything.

The kid reaches for his phone and for the first time in hours, he slowly peels his eyes away from the computer screen and into his cellular. He looks over the past messages he’s sent Jonathan-Christopher throughout the day.

-Hey, bro! -You there!? -Mr. Wall of Text Man COMING THRU like the Kool-Aid dude LOLOLOL -Haven’t talked to ya in a while. Wanted to see how you’re holding up?

Etc, etc. His friends often make fun of him for “never shutting up” and “talking in ALL CAPS” but hey, that’s what makes him so lovable and adorable to begin with. Ask Lindsay.

He scrolls through text after text with no response. It’s late in the night and he’s sure Jonathan-Christopher won’t reply anytime soon so he puts the phone down and glances at the frozen, scrambled image in front of him.

His eyes shoot open.

He sees it.

HE FINALLY SEES IT!

“Holy McGillicuddy!” He can’t help but shout, standing and pointing at the screen with a twitching index finger. “It all makes sense!”

He bursts forward and snatches his cell phone in an anxiety-riddled attempt to calm himself A-SAP and type ferociously all at once. However, a couple lines of text is taking forever because he can’t keep his hands still.

He talks out loud while he sends the messages to Jonathan-Christopher.

“Bro, bro, BRO!!! I figured it all out! Fuck me, I knew it!”

He stops to lower his hands and peer into the computer screen once again, just to make sure. He lets go of his phone and rewinds/fast-forwards the still frames over and over. He squints as CLOSELY into the screen as he possibly can. Like his nose is pressed against the monitor.

He nods.

He nods profusely!

“It’s him. It’s mother fucking him!”

He scrambles to grab his cell. He drops it a few times. He tries to close his eyes and CHILL TF OUT. It’s not gonna work.

Voice-to-text command: ON.

“Please pick up, it’s URGENT!” He bellows. “You would not believe-”

FULL STOP, like the ADHD was snatched right out of his soul. Suddenly, he pulls his shit together.

“You know what, I’ll come to you,” he says as he texts, while his lightning fast reflexes smash the words onto the screen almost immediately before he finishes speaking them. He jams his phone into his pocket and reaches for the intercom.

“S.H.A.R.O.N., continue to hold my calls. I gotta go to Vegas. It all makes sense now!”

He lets go of the intercom button but there is no response. He presses it again.

“S.H.A.R.O.N.?”

Nothing.

“Bro, S.H.A.R.O.N., did you doze off!? You’re my lookout, my extra set of eyes!”

Silence.

“S.H.A.R.O.N.N.N.N.N.N.N.?”

He throws his hands in the air.

“Whatever, I gotta get to Vegas!”

He spins around. He grabs his lucky Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom knapsack, already locked and loaded for an eventual emergency business trip. He races to the main circuit breaker, shuts off power to the basement sector and marches towards the hidden entrance.

Crack.

Sniffle.

Scoff.

He thinks nothing of it at the time. Probably chalks the sounds up to the numerous electrical equipment going on shutdown. Tons of power being cut immediately can’t be good on his vintage video game systems. However, as he gets closer to the entrance door and subsequent dark staircase behind it… he sees a silhouette standing there.

The kid stops. He raises his eyebrows.

“S.H.A.R.O.N., is that you?”

Yet the size of the figure would suggest it’s not. S.H.A.R.O.N. is a solid three-hundred-plus pounds, short and stocky, cosplaying in a latex Star Trek-like suit. This silhouette, on the other hand, presents the exact opposite. Tall. Lanky. A real life Slender Man.

The silhouette sucks back a mouthful of what sounds like saliva and hurls it across the space between them…

…Landing at the souls of the kid’s feet.

Yep. It’s saliva alright.

“Great,” the blonde haired kid moans. “Salt all over my brand new sh–”

His voice trails. He looks up, directly at the unwavering silhouette.

“You!” He takes a step back, his eyes bug out. “How the hell did you find me!? More specifically, what the hell are you doing, man!?”

He points to the switched off monitors behind him.

“Why ruin my guy’s life? What game are you playing!?”

He can’t stop shaking his head.

“I always thought you would stoop low, but this low!? Man, I outta-”

WOOSH.

SLAM.

ZIPPPPPP.

He sees darkness. He’s thrown to the ground by what he can only think is a bag over his head.

Can’t see shit.

He hears snickering, though. Laughter. Amusement.

WHAM.

Fade to black. Or more like… knocked the fuck out.