Aging sucks. He found that out the hard way.
The beer and liquor no longer flowed. The pills didn't do the trick anymore. A lifetime of crafting tales that thrilled a generation - gone. The well ran dry.
It's the fear of every writer. What happens when the ideas stop coming? No mere 'writer's block' - the reality outside his door was more terrifying than any fictional fear or foe he could cobble together from his own neuroses and phobias.
The government had come clean. It didn't give a damn about the people, the laws, or anything else it was supposed to. It came down to two things: money and power. Enough of either one assured the other. The people could live or die, it didn't matter. There would always be someone to take their place. Someone who had no choice, no say.
The Constitution had all but been abolished. Decades of embedding partisan plants in the judiciary had guaranteed it. The media, before it was forced into piracy, claimed that it all happened overnight. But no, it had been a well-played, long game.
There was no right or left wing. It was just one group, intent on ruling. Having the first and last word on everything.
Another virus was spreading. It looked ready to be immensely more damaging than the pandemic of 2020. The government did the only thing it could.
It shut down the hospitals.
The message was simple. "Don't get sick!"
Illness was for the weak, and there was no room for such slackers.
Those with other illnesses - pre-existing conditions, acute medical conditions, etc. - they were acceptable collateral damage.
As long as power was retained and the money flowed in, all was good at the top.
Doctors and nurses were rounded up under any number of false claims. Assisted suicides, abortions, practicing medicine outside of their particular field - and it worked every time. The best of the bunch were sentenced to work the private government clinics and hospitals serving those at the top. The rest?
Firing squads.
For a gun-loving nation, it was the best way. The only way.
The guns were proof of power.
The masses demanded answers.
They got one.
"You should have listened to us." That was it.
Like a group of petty, petulant children, those at the top collectively flipped the bird to everyone who wasn't part of their clique.
The people, alleged allies, alleged enemies - they all received the same message.
No more aid. No more assistance. No more weapons. No more talks.
A succession of fingers were in place to push the button and drop the bombs. That message was received loudly and clearly across the globe.
FAFO. It was that simple.
But the writer had one last message to send.
His own symptoms had already started.
High fever, fatigue, and muscle aches, particularly in the thighs, hips, and back.
He knew what it was.
Everyone did.
His stomach was already giving him problems. He was just waiting for the cough.
This gave him, maybe, a week to get his story out.
The fever left him too weak to type, so he sent private, encrypted video messages to those he could trust. He included instructions on how and when to upload them to media sources. There were so many recipients his messages were bound to be heard.
When the time came that no one had heard from him for over a week, the messages were leaked.
They began to appear on newsfeeds and social media, often being pulled within minutes of posting.
The government released its own messages on the subject. They insisted the writer's messages were the ravings of a dying lunatic.
But it was too late. His messages were getting out, often under the disguise of a music video.
One of his instructions was almost diabolical in its simplicity.
He'd devised a plan to intersperse his message in a video for Rick Astley's old hit song, "Never Gonna Give You Up".
It was the ultimate Rick-Roll.
When finally pieced together, the message was simple and damning.
Those at the top had destroyed everything for their own desires. There was only one solution.
Kill them all.
During the chorus of the song, an image of the old flag was shown, along with the words:
"Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you"
The message was received loud and clear. The people came together, one last time. The nation was united under one cause. Self-preservation.
Every authority figure imaginable was killed. Clergy, police, local politicians, bankers, anyone with any perceivable power.
The capitals were set ablaze. There were no survivors.
In what historians came to call The 49 Times, the citizens spent seven consecutive weeks rooting out and slaying those who dared enslave them.
The government was reformed with new, stronger, checks and balances. A global apology was sent. In time, order was restored and the nation began to heal.
There was too much blood shed to ever call it a happy ending. Blind trust became a myth. The old parties collapsed. The stock market was abolished.
Life became simpler. Less hurried. Quieter.
Social media still existed but even it was drastically different. It was no longer a hive for marketing and sales gimmicks. Gone was its polarizing nature.
In its place, a return to the old ways.
Posts about food.
Posts about cats.
And the occasional Rick Astley video.
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