Saturday left Nick with a hollow, acerbic taste in his mouth. He got up that day, brushed his teeth, showered, and changed into his clothes with the same, uninspired celerity. It was going to be an exciting day, one effaced from any mental deprecations. He went to pour himself some quick cereal and just when things started to look prim and hopeful, he received a random, tingling sensation on his watch. It was a text from Stephanie.

The hologram on his iTech watch blazed the confounding message: Nick, we need to talk.

Nick stirred unpleasantly, lips pursed, staring at it with strict ambivalence. Whatever emotions he had felt toward Stephanie had noxiously calcified and chipped away into organic matter. But, all the same, he couldn't help being hungry for another message...he couldn't help being curious. What the hell could you possibly want to talk about? Your sorry bitch ass ended things, remember?  Or maybe...just maybe, they could possibly get back together?

The hologram dinged: I know what you're thinking Nick, but whatever you do, do not play that game. Yes, I know you have the ticket, your name's everywhere on the news. I also know you're mad at me, but put your feelings aside and listen to me...

The air whistled as it fell into silent intermission. Nick blinked, teeth ground. Another ding: This game, Chaos or whatever it's called, is not what you think. I just have a bad feeling about it. Like a strange otherworldly feeling...as if the game was created to send a message. It's popular for a reason Nick, just think about it. I may sound corny for this but I think this game is demonic Nick. And if you go in there, you might not come back with your life. Please, please, sleep on this. Also-

But that's where Nick shut off his watch, snorting. A long, asperate snort. As if, Nick thought. She really had the gall to tell him to not play the only game that could change his life. As if he would just drop this opportunity just because she said so. No, in fact, it made him want to play Chaos even more. Nick was anticipating it, salivating for it. He wanted some fun and danger in his life for once. He wanted a change. What made the demand even more unbearable was that she had broken things with him and was crawling back with the weakest, enfeebled apology ever: don't die.

Nick felt another faint buzz on his watch. Oh, great, Stephanie again. But it wasn't her, it was a message from the game makers. The same ones who had sent the ceremonious text to meet Greshen on Sunday.

Nick Galloway, there's going to be a press conference today. Be ready.

A press what? Since when? Nick squinted double checking the message for any erroneous cracks he might've missed. Why hadn't they mentioned this two days prior? Who else would be at this press conference? Nick gulped down a tickling, whopping air of butterflies in his stomach. Did that mean...

The doorknob twisted and Jonathan's blonde profile crept into the room. "Boy, you're not going to believe this. There's a bumbling camera crew outside waiting to ask you questions and take your picture."

Nick gaped. "What?"

"Horses, right? It doesn't end there, there's also a limo too. The driver said he'd been waiting for over an hour, he kept on yapping about some press conference. Well?"

"But–But I–"

"What are you waiting for? Go!" Jonathan wrangled Nick to his feet and shoved him out the door.

Nick fled downstairs and opened the living room door. A stormy wind of flashing lights, shouting journalists, and quaking hands with microphones attacked Nick. Nick tried to gulp down the frenzied excitement but felt like he would throw up. Or worse, choke. The CNN and ABC vans crept into the background, bleeding into stationary stances. Through augmented vertigo, Nick pushed through the buzzing reporters and landmines of paparazzi until the appearance of the limo assailed his line of vision on the driveway. It was a long dove white vehicle with the infamous bloody A imprinted on its door. The passenger door was swung open and the windows were tinted black making it impossible to see the driver.

Blanched with unease, Nick entered the taciturn limousine and sat in silence until the engine roared to life and drove off. The driver didn't bother to meddle in small talk so Nick was completely encapsulated in his thoughts. He tried not to harken back to what Stephanie had said or think about her sweet perfume and her dirty ass. Nick trembled, bumps prickling out of his skin. The limo was cryogenically cold and the driver had thrown him a few bloodshot stares.

The limo arrived at a loaf shaped glass-paneled building. The sun danced off the blue shine of the glass giving the building a polished prismatic decor. There were sisters of lamposts lined up in the front entryway and tied to them were wind-lashed posters that read GameCon. Nick stared, eyes eagerly soaking the area. There were even more vans, camera crews, and reporters assembled on the spot. But the fanatic, crabby media crew appeared to be divided by two golden poles and a silver carpet that tongued all the way to the entrance. Gamers were known to use silver carpets when it came to interviews or premier showcases, unlike their movie counterparts who used the red carpet.

Nick stepped out of the limo and was attacked by the silent explosions of the shaky cameras and purple storms of shouts. Something among the blinding turmoil grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the four door entrance. 

When they were inside, a round plump figure blinked into view. She had ginger hair, wrinkled skin, and square glasses. Nick stared around the foyer, dodging her toothy smile. The entrance hall was massive, illuminated by blue neon lights and embellished with variegated posters of virtual reality games such as Darkness Kills, Pink Laser, Japanese Moon, and Black Flowers. More posters of GameCon flashed here and there but the biggest one out of all of them hung in the center of the hall and read Chaos: Coming Soon

Nick tried to ignore the many questionable faces that walked by him, traversing to and from the upper floor.

"Oh boy! Welcome, my darlings, to the Chaos press conference. My little old name's Fiona, and I'll be your escort for the day!" cheered the plump woman with a fruity pinch in her step. She had a gay sort of buoyant voice which seemed out of character for her since she looked completely straight. "Lemme just check in with the dear host to make sure he's ready. Don't kill each other while I'm gone."

You two? Nick pondered. He certainly thought–

"Nick Galloway, that's a name I never thought I'd be saying again. Small world."

Nick spun around. His eyes glossed the gothic frame of a girl with wet muculent black hair, large sharp blue eyes, and a slim curvaceous figure dressed in black. She professed a black tank top, tight midnight leather pants, strapped black nylon boots, and black tactical fingerless gloves. Nick inhaled her nightlike combative nature. His jeans stiffened. The girl left an amorous fecal scent, one that could only be found in licentious sex.

The familiarity whirled in Nick's mind. "Diana Quire, right? You're from the newspapers."

Diana gave a hissing laugh, licking her lips. She moved closer to Nick, her nipples kissing Nick's chest. Her piercing witchlike blue eyes moved toward his ears and she whispered, "You really don't remember me, do you, Morning Eyes."

Nick shivered, cringing at that sobriquet with every fiber in his body, but the way she had said it... Did he remember her? Absolutely fucking not, which is why the damned familiarity sunk even deeper. Nick stared thirstily at her hair, fighting back the itch to touch it. Was it water, oil, or mucus? The mystery was troubling.

"Umm..." Nick said. As Diana's excrement scent grew stronger, his dick grew harder. He couldn't stand the lurid sexual thoughts. Did she know he had a problem? Luckily, Diana drew away from him in fashioned time.

"I was in Mrs. Ambrose's sixth grade English class with you. We used to talk a lot and hang out," Diana's eyes averted Nick's. "But then you ignored me. You acted like I wasn't there and you started to make new friends. Did-did I ever do something wrong?"

Sometimes Nick forgot how detestable he was. The truth was back in those days, Diana was a bit of a creep in school. She never talked much, her hair was always wet, and she always smelled like a toilet. It didn't help that she always stared at the other kids as if she were staring straight through their souls, about to murder them. They called her names and ostracized her. Nick, wanting to fit in, joined the rest of the class and taunted her. He could still remember the scathing, crawling words.

"Yuck! Why's your hair wet?"

"Why do you smell like poop?"

"Did you even shower?"

"Why do you never say anything? Did you lose your voice?"

Nick's own was, "Hey Diana Squid. Get it, squid? Squirt squirt!"

Nick blinked back at the grown Diana. "Sorry, I got caught up in my own life."

"In high school I got picked on everywhere I went," Diana muttered dolefully. Her eyes tremulous, glistened with pain. "Nobody wanted to be my friend. They all just made jokes about my condition and ignored me. I–"

"Is that what it is?" Nick interrupted, sounding more ruder than he already was. His eyes raked Diana's wet hair again, "a condition?"

"My scalp constantly gets wet which releases a profuse amount of slimy sweat on my hair."

"And the–" Nick sniffed her excretable air. "Smell comes with it?"

"We've got an Einstein over here..." she didn't grin. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Because I want to fuck you, motherfucker! Matter of fact, I want to stab you and fuck you dry right here and now! The best sex is the one where you don't feel it. Oh and the things I would do to that ass...I wanna smell that dirty ass. I wanna live in there. I wanna fuck your dirty scat smelling self you motherfucker! Come here... Nick shook his head, grunting himself back to reality. "Nothing."

Diana stared at him studiously. Was she concerned for him? Was she disgusted? Was she still resentful of his past actions? Nick felt like dirty, beige laundry looking at her. It made him kind of furious. Oh, like you're so pristine...

"Oh, skittles! They're ready for you guys," said Fiona suddenly emerging into the existential void. Nick had never been more relieved to see her. Fiona went up the spiral stairs and Diana followed her, but before she did she leaned in close to Nick, eyes daggering into his heart, and said, "I just wanted people to take me seriously. I just wanted you to take me seriously, Nick."

Nick stood there for a moment, numb. Then he clambered after them on the stairs.