Copywrite

A WattPunk Story by OutrageousOllo and MadMikeMarsbergen

PART ONE: GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BUNS, SON

There was no way to describe how close The Chosen One was that night to killing Lord Wattpad. You should have been there. Though it might have been hard to fit two people in that air duct, so maybe not. Good thing he was a skinny writer under all that spandex.

He was so close he could hear the bastard's breath, could feel it on his neck and up his nose. It reeked like a corpse, was hoarse and strained, like the guy was sick—probably from all the ugly and evil inside him. Take notes, kids. Evil makes you ugly. Makes your breath stink and stains your clothes and fingernails and pollutes the air around you.

But back to the story. All The Chosen One had to do was push open the vent and jump down, land on Lord Wattpad as he reclined in his orange chair (which was shaped like the W of the Wattpad logo). He was so busy watching stories flicker past on the floating screens in front of him, he wouldn't have seen it coming until it was too late. The Chosen One could have had his choice of justice. Choke him. Beat him to death with his own chair. Snap him like a twig. Or stab him with a knife in many places. Put his face to his own ass and force him to fart into it until he turned blue and suffocated. Lots of possibilities.

But the real justice would've been seeing the world and WattLand thrive without the reign of Lord Wattpad. The people would be free once again. Writers could write without the pressure that Wattpad brought. He had been a prisoner, and he had even once gone to CrazyTown, Wattpad's asylum. He had seen firsthand how Wattpad's idea of writing could warp and twist the minds of its citizens.

Just as The Chosen One was about to act, to end this terror once and for all, Lord Wattpad cried out, screaming for his assistant. A shaggy, orange-haired beast threw itself into the room, lumbering over on all fours. The Chosen One, peering through the gaps in the vent, recognised it to be an orangutan, a wild animal from before Lord Wattpad's time and a distant relative of mankind, a second cousin to Lord Wattpad himself. With the new addition to the room, his chance at getting Lord Wattpad alone was ruined.

Innocent casualties wasn't The Chosen One's style.

"What is it, sir?" the orangutan asked, plucking dry feces from between its orange ass crack.

"Yes!" cried Lord Wattpad. "Yes! I've done it! Look, ape! The deal is done!"

"Congratulations, sir," the beast replied, its voice not sounding as enthusiastic as it should have. But luckily Lord Wattpad was too busy crying out with glee that he missed the sour tone there.

However The Chosen One—snuggled up in his air vent—didn't miss it. Something was off. Lord Wattpad was up to something. He craned his neck and twisted his head at a funny angle, trying to read what was on the screens. He saw a stylised "e" in the corner and frowned. Was that... was that the Internet Explorer logo? But Lord Wattpad banned all use of non-Wattpad browsers in Wattpad's second century! What was there even to see, anyway? The old internet was dead... at least as far as he knew.

Now he had to see what was going on. He twisted more, putting more of his weight on the vent opening. You can probably guess what happened next. The vent fell open and The Chosen One slipped out, falling on one of Lord Wattpad's floating screens and smashing through it, putting out his hands just in time to save him from going headfirst. He probed around and gripped two handfuls of shaggy orange fur.

"Rape! Raaaaaaaape! Get your hands off my buns, son!" the orangutan screamed.

This wasn't how he'd planned on spending his evening.

PART TWO: TWO SCOOPS OF ROLLIE

Earlier That Morning...

Rats scurried about the dingy, dark room, plucking breadcrumbs and picking up old cheese from the floor. WattPot smoke billowed about the room, and it was difficult for a normal human being to see through the haze.

The man sitting in front of the monitor—playing his WattBox W Pro, higher than a fuckin' kite flown from a space shuttle around Jupiter's orbit—wasn't your average man.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, shook away the ground WattPot dusting the screen, and said into the speaker: "Go for Rollie or get fucked in the face." He continued playing a two-handed racing game with just his one free thumb. Winning, motherfucker.

"Rollie," the deep, gravelly voice said on the other end of the line. "I need to arrange something."

"Who the fuck is this? Listen, you piece of shit, if you see that MadMike fucker around, you tell him to get off his ass and buy some more WattPot. It's the social thing to do, you fuck. A man's gotta make his skrilla any way he can, you dig?"

"I am not MadMike," the voice said. "But do me a favour and I'll buy some of your finest WattPot."

Rollie tried to pause the game, but it was one of those shitty always-online ones. Shit pissed him off. Sometimes a man had to roll a blunt mid-race. Fuckin' idiots. He threw the controller aside. "Yeah? Primo WP? That's gonna run you a hundred bucks and you're gonna have to run your tongue across my sack."

"Whatever it takes. I really need this favour."

"Let's hear it, you piece of shit," Rollie said, smirking at his stellar social game.

"I've got a lead on some shady shit going down in WattLand," the voice continued. "I'm gonna need your hacking skills and contacts to get me more info. You're a man of the people, Rollie. You've got your hand on the pulse of the city."

"Keep going," Rollie said, putting a hand down his pants. "Keep fucking going, and don't stop, asshole."

"I beat some information out of a guy. A real sleazebag. His name was—"

"MadMike?"

"What? I mean, no. No, not him. CharlieSchmidt10."

"Okay, but he was a friend of MadMike's, right? One of his ass-buddies?"

"What are you on about? MadMike doesn't have any ass-buddies."

"Like you would know, you fag."

"Quit changing the subject, Rollie. So I beat the shit out of CharlieSchmidt10, had been meaning to do it for quite some time. Let's just say he's got no teeth and a dent in his forehead now. Let's just say he's dead and rotting away somewhere no one will ever find him. Anyway, he told me there have been some reports of copyright infringement lately. Some have even had their identities stolen."

"So? Where's the part where you admit that MadMike is a fag?"

"Rollie, focus on the bigger picture here." A pause. "Imagine if MadMike is behind the copyright attacks?"

Gasping, Rollie sputtered out, "Y-Y-Y-YESSSSS!"

"But we don't know for sure that it's him, so that's where you come in, Rollie. I need you to use some of your special talents and find out for sure."

"Oh I'm coming in, alright," Rollie moaned into the phone, almost dropping it into his Vaseline-smothered crotch.

"You got that?" the deep voice asked.

"Yeah, got it, bro. But one last thing—who are you, anyway?"

"I'm justice. Vengeance. The night. But most importantly, I'm The Chosen One, Rollie."

"Holy shit," Rollie said.

But the line was dead.

PART THREE: GOD'S HANDJOB

Meanwhile...

"LOOOOONELY. TEARS RUN DOWN MY CHEEEEKS. 'CAUSE I'M LOOOONELY. I'LL NEVER BE UNDERSTOOOD. I'M LOOONELY. AND NO ONE ELSE KNOWS MY PAAAIN. I'M LONELY. LONELY AND IN LOOOOVE."

Bad lyrics, which tended to go hand in hand with bad music. But it was the finest stuff around, in Goodhead's humble opinion. She was working on a job for the man upstairs. And by that she meant The Big Orange. W Himself. The Lord. Some even called Him God, but never Jesus.

She grooved to the tunes as she followed some lowlife named Rollie down the cyber rabbit hole. She'd been following the creep all day, after she got a little buzz on her phone from W.

"What are you doing, looking in MadMikeMarsbergen's files?" she asked the empty, sparsely decorated room, looking like a woman who hadn't seen the Sun in a thousand years. Which was true.

She watched Rollie's ones and zeros tally together on her screen in such a way where she knew he was digging around in a buried folder called "NEW FOLDER." An odd name for a folder, she thought. I know we all hate MadMike, but he's got nothing to hide. All that was in the folder was highly sexual poetry, some of it rather bizarre. Rollie went back and forth from folder to folder, searching up little phrases like "copyright infringement," "gay dudes," "Rollie sucks," "ass-buddies," and "The Chosen One."

Not a single result. But why the sudden interest in MadMike? And why specifically did he search up the costumed vigilante and perpetual pain in Lord W's backside? What was the connection?

Finding nothing, Rollie's hacking tool suddenly fled MadMike's system and broke into one owned by CharlieSchmidt10. From there it was like taking candy from a baby. Rollie entered his search term—"copyright infringement"—and the hits started rolling in. When Rollie dumped CharlieSchmidt10's system, the douche had a new name to hack: GuylerThrope, a real ass-clown who'd made a name for himself by being a diamond-hard dick. He'd been banned numerous times, but he'd just keep coming back under new names, all of them some variation and combination of "Guyler," "Thrope," "CoolGuy," "Aces," "WriterKing," "GodWordMaker," etc.

His current name was "AcesThropeCoolGuylerWriterGodMakerWordKing," and Goodhead predicted he'd finally turn up dead pretty soon.

Apparently GuylerThrope and CharlieSchmidt10 had found out something nasty about Wattpad together, and neither had wanted the information to get out or their lives would be ended.

Well wasn't that a shame.

Goodhead hit Ctrl+C on her 'board and brought up her blog. She hit Ctrl+V and started changing names. Lord W would be pleased with her for riling up the stupid, shit-for-brains masses. They'd read the murder she wrote and bitch and moan until the cows came home to roost, and by then the fires would have gasoline poured all over them, and they'd never stop burning, and they'd all be pointing their fingers at each other. It was great. She knew when she hit POST that she'd be getting all kinds of FAME for her services. She was the right hand of God Himself.

She smiled, cranked up the bad music, and watched the Likes and comments roll in.

PART FOUR: CRIME DOESN'T PAY (EXCEPT WHEN IT DOES)

At An Early Dinner...

"Marvin, stop!" MadMike shouted, louder than he thought, so loud the entire restaurant went silent.

"Hahaha!" Marvin continued doing what he'd been told not to do, which was shaking up MadMike's bottle of WattCoke so it would explode when it was opened, spray foam everywhere, and then quickly go flat.

"Waiter! Another bottle, please!"

The waiter nodded and blinked in understanding, disappeared and quickly returned with that evening's fiftieth bottle of Wattpad Coke, which was just like regular Coke except Wattpad now owned the company. It was also orange-coloured, and there was a rumour it was made with mulched-up redheads.

"Marvin, please stop," OutrageousOllo said to her annoying younger brother, who they had to take out to dinner because the Institution said it was a good idea for him to spend time with family.

Marvin nodded, laughed, then lunged for the bottle and jerked it every which way. Another one ruined.

"Want another?" she asked MadMike.

He shrugged. "No, just let him have fun with that one. Keep him busy the rest of the night." His phone rang and he answered it: "Hello?"

"Is that Mad fuckin' Mike?"

Rollie. Sigh. He knew he should've gotten a separate Chosen One phone. He quickly said excuse me to his wife and brother-in-law, then, lowering his voice even more than it already was and adding a little more rasp to it, he said to Rollie, "No, this is The Chosen One. You got what I asked for?"

"That depends, you piece of shit. You ready to buy a pound of primo and lick every square inch of my ball sack? I've been dreaming of that shit."

"Yeah, but not tonight," MadMike said quickly, thinking, Never in a million years, shithead.

"Damn. I'll hold you to that. Okay, so listen up and open your fuckin' ears, dicknuts: So I did some research on MadMike's ass-buddie Charlie, or whatever the fuck his name was. I also did some research on MadMike himself, and the fucker is cleaner than my ass after I use baby wipes, which means he definitely has something to hide."

"Alright, I'll look into MadMike. But what about CharlieSchmidt10?"

"He's in deep with Fuckface McGee, GuylerThrope or whatever. Fuckin' Gaylord, more like. I'm thinking they're reinventing the sixty-nine by figuring out a way to shove each other's heads up their asses. Oh, and by the way, I was tailed by this bitch while I was getting my hack on. Goodhead her name is. Take her dumb ass out sometime, 'kay? She's spreading some propaganda around, too. Stupid bitch."

"That's nice, Rollie." MadMike was feeling mildly annoyed at this stage—after all, he was trying to eat dinner. "But what about the copyright infringement?"

"Really, dude? All you care about is that gay shit? Get off your ass and socialize with me here. Fuck. It's like my name's Parogar, or something. Do I have leprosy? Anyway, guess who's behind it? Nearly shit my pants when I saw."

MadMike sighed. "MadMike again? Listen, I know what he is up to, but it's not this, okay?"

"What? MadMike? Fuck no, dude. MadMike doesn't have half the fucking brains or social skills to pull this shit off. This shit requires some serious pull. Who has access to everyone's shit, huh? This ever go through your dumb fuckin' head?"

"What?"

"Lord fucking Wattpad, dumbass."

With great pleasure, he hung up the phone and said to his wife and brother-in-law: "Duty calls."

"Wait," OutrageousOllo said, "are you The Chosen One?"

"No. I just need to use the toilet."

"Sounds gay," said Marvin.

MadMike sighed and made a mental note to hook him up with Rollie sometime.

PART FIVE: COPYWRITE

Back To Where We Started...

So where were we? Oh, right. The Chosen One had two fistfuls of orange ass hair.

"Rape! Raaaaaaaape! Get your hands off my buns, son!" the orangutan screamed.

"Sorry, sorry," The Chosen One said, removing his hands.

"Who in the fuck are you?" Lord Wattpad asked, readjusting his clip-on manbun, which had been blown off in the commotion. "Ape, do I know who this twerp is?" he asked his servant.

The orangutan took a moment to step back and brush down its mangled fur before answering: "I think this is The Chosen One, sir."

"And who the fuck is that? Who the fuck chose him? I certainly didn't."

The Chosen One flexed his muscles and realigned his chi. "The people chose me."

Lord Wattpad growled under his false teeth. "EW! Well, I control the people, and I didn't tell the fucking people to choose you, so you weren't chosen, which means you're just lying to me."

The Chosen One sighed. "Do you even watch your own news? Pay attention to the dystopia you've created?"

"Okay," Lord Wattpad said, ignoring what had been said. "What do you want? A blowjob?"

"You into that sort of thing, pervert?"

"Blowjobs don't make one a pervert. I'm guessing you've never had one, then."

The Chosen One gave him a cold, dark glare.

"Well, guess what, buddy. You're in luck, because..."

"I don't want your fucking greasy lips anywhere near my Chosen Wang." The Chosen One jumped forward and grabbed Lord Wattpad's collar, pinning him up against his chair. "What I want is justice for the people." He took Lord Wattpad by the phony hair and threw him across the room, then kicked the orangutan in the nuts.

"Owwwwwwww!" it squeaked.

"Sorry, bro." But The Chosen One wasn't that sorry. He sat down in Lord Wattpad's chair and started checking all the unbroken screens. Internet Explorer was open on a few of them, and each one was like looking through a window into the past. There was a cache of old stories to be found on each, and with a few clicks he found Lord Wattpad had begun transferring them to documents, giving them different names and authors. He'd even been fabricating identities for some of the authors.

"Happy with what you've done?" Lord Wattpad asked, marching over with a nosebleed and ruffled shirt. His manbun was missing, and he looked really pissed about it.

"You're the ultimate troll," The Chosen One said. "Digging up stories from all kinds of dead people, republishing them under other names. What gives you the right? And I even see some current ones listed here. Holy shit." He clicked and scrolled. "This is my story, you jackass."

"Which!?" Lord Wattpad lurched over to see who the alter ego was, but The Chosen One clicked away too quickly and then punched him in the sternum.

"You're pathetic."

"Oh really?" Lord Wattpad asked. "Okay, that's it, I've had my fun. Time for yours." He pressed a button on his watch and several metal doors around the room slid open, revealing his personal army of robots.

The Chosen One got up from the chair and sighed.

"They're specially trained to capture anybody who harms me. And guess what they do after that?"

"Kill me?" The vigilante sighed again. "You know, I don't really have time for this. I actually—"

"No, they're gonna force you to receive a blowjob. From me."

"Okay, I'm outta here. Kill you later." And The Chosen One leapt through the enormous window, shattering it to an explosion of shards. He opened his cape and flew down into the city like a giant bat.

The Chosen One would return.

He had been chosen by the people. And it was time for the people to face Wattpad once and for all...