June 26, 2012 at 1 PM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

"Is that why you always have so many cans on your desk, Jerome? Are you prepared for the worst?" He looks over at me with one of his many pervert faces, a trace of his poker face still lingering around the edges and in his eyes. We've only been sitting here for about half an hour and I already can't wait until he regains his usual sense of humor.

"Well, someone has to be prepared. I call it 'The Smell of Victory.' It also keeps my mom outta my apartment like ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. Best fuckin' security system ever. It's like a minefield and a box of chocolates all in one – you never know what you're gonna get until you take a sip or knock one over." He types another brief e-mail before he relaxes back in his chair, his eyes studying my face while he prepares to tell the next story. "You never answered me. You got that bottle poised and ready?"

"I think I can hold it. Daddy says I'm a big boy now."

"Suit yourself. They bitchslapped Preston." I try to keep the apprehension and anger from showing on my face, but I can tell from the way he's looking at me that he already knows. Setting my feelings for Preston aside for a moment, this puts all of us in danger. If they invaded his computer and got all of our information, everyone is at risk now, especially me. I'm now seriously regretting sending that message to Preston – can they somehow use that to get to me?

"How do you know?"

"I've had Zeus watchin' him for a little while now. He's about as trustworthy as Seto was before he lost his fucking mind, and I'm not gonna make that mistake again." Although I dislike the idea of Jerome constantly monitoring us without our knowledge, let alone our approval, I'm overwhelmingly grateful for his limitless devotion to Mitch right now. "He got a lethal dosage of malware a couple hours ago and no one's seen him since. Judging by the way the Big Z acted when he gave me the news, Pressy probably doesn't even have a way to tell us what's going on on his end, which I think is for the best. The last thing we need is for him to give 'em anything else. Seto's little 8-bit buddy sounds like a real savage: they remote controlled his computer and locked it down, and all the data packets Paul sent to his phone just bounced right back. They got in his webcam and everything, and they just sat there and watched him like a buzzard for who knows how long. Scary shit, man."

"What happened when they hit him? Do they know?" Jerome shakes his head and glances over at his other monitor, his eyes scanning something quickly before he looks back at me, the corners his mouth drooping in a frown.

'What were you thinking? How fucking stupid can you be? Did you actually think that Jerome wouldn't find out about the message? More importantly, even if he got it in time, did you think Preston would actually listen?' I try to push the fog out of my mind and focus my complete attention on the situation at hand, but that is much easier said than done. Like most afternoons when I decide to try to sleep, I have several milligrams of powerful anti-anxiety medication flowing through my veins and it's difficult to pay attention, let alone make intelligent decisions.

"Zeus said his access cut out before he could see what happened. He looked through his records at the last few minutes of activity and he thinks they got to him through Skype, which could be a whole other pot o' shit I don't even wanna peek into yet. It could be anything, though. Last time he checked in, he was still working on tracing it but no luck yet, I guess. It took him a while to connect Preston's computer to another access point – they took his internet down, too."

"That was why you wanted to use our old accounts, isn't it? You didn't want to risk it spreading." Each second that passes makes me regret trying to contact Preston even more. Not only was it a terrible idea, but it was completely pointless. The only thing that message will do is allow Seto's hacker to access my account, and from there, control my computer and use it to attack Jerome. I am completely disposable – Jerome is not. If he doesn't already know about it, I'm going to have to tell him; at this point, security is much more important than trust.

"And Bingo was his name-o. Shit like this's why I make all you lower lifeforms create new accounts every six months. You know better than anyone you can never be too careful." Something catches his eye on his other screen and he reaches over and dramatically hits two keys before he sits back and pinches the bridge of his nose. "The Big Z's been listening in and he says he's still sniffing out the trail. He also gave me another little tidbit I shoulda seen coming but wasn't smart enough to plan around. I'm not real happy with you right now."

"Why is that?" He lets his hand drop and his eyes lock onto mine, his face a stone cold mask of feigned indifference.

"You know why. You shoulda seen the look on your face a second ago. You musta seen your life flash before your eyes when I told you they OHKO'd Preston. Why'd you message him when I was on the phone?"

I feel almost disconnected from reality, like I'm floating on a cloud of smoke while I stare into his eyes. If only he had called me a few hours earlier, I wouldn't have taken my pills and I would be able to focus and plan ahead. The full effect is setting in, and right now I am not competent enough to deal with this situation. I feel like I just drank an entire keg of beer. It was such a stupid mistake and I feel like a small child now, about to get chastised for stealing a handful of cookies right before dinnertime.

'At least he knows. I need to wake up and play this game like my life is on the line, because it actually is. YouTube is the only job I have ever had that I can't be fired from, no matter how unstable I get. A loss will spell the end for me in more ways than one.' All I have left now is the truth.

"I was trying to keep him from doing something stupid, but I'm not in my right mind at the moment. You and I both know he doesn't think anything through all the way, and I was trying to get him to bow out of the situation before he could fuck all of us over. You told me from day one that was what you wanted me to do."

"And you did a fuckin' swell job of deflating the situation. How do I know that's all you were saying? If you were any more vague with that little hint of yours, you'd be hanging in the main hall of the fuckin' Louvre."

"How could you not know what I was saying? You have Paul, Zeus, and who knows how many other people watching everything I do at all hours of the day and night. At this point, the only way you could get any farther into my brain would be if you planted a microchip in my frontal lobe. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing for Mitch if the roles were reversed." It feels like he wants to believe me but he can't bring himself to look beyond all of the other possibilities. His expression is a mixture of suspicion and pity, and I'm not sure which I hate more. "You know as well as I do that doing the right thing and doing the smart thing are very rarely the same thing, especially when Preston is involved."

"Okay, just shut up and hear me out for once. First of all, when you sent that message, it was already too late. Second of all, he had no business gettin' involved in the first place and the fact that he did get involved makes me trust him even less. And third of all, he shoulda known better than to try to cross the street in front of an eighteen-wheeler that was spinning outta control. He had to have known what was going on with Crafted because the penguins in fuckin' Antarctica could hear Seto wailing. That's a big warning sign right there. And if he actually, truly, one hundred percent wasn't involved, why didn't you teach him not to talk to strangers? There was no reasonable goddamn reason for him to be in contact with any of them! This's what pisses me off, Woof. It's your job to keep him in check and outta shit like this. That's why I set you two up together in the first place – not so you could sit there and make goo-goo eyes at each other."

"Where were you in all of this? You didn't even bother to arm his computer, so what did you expect me to do? I'm not a ventriloquist, Jerome. He isn't some puppet on a string I can just yank around however I see fit. I do the best I can, but he has a mind of his own, just like Mitch does." At that, his hand goes up to his forehead and he covers his eyes while another wave of dismay flows over him. Like his motto says, the truth hurts. "As much as you care about him, you know that Mitch is just as much of a liability as Preston is."

"Yeah, I know. But at least I know where Mitch's loyalties lie. Even though I hate cleanin' up his puke and changing his diapers, I know for a fact Benj wouldn't just spill his guts and start beating the drums for the other side. I know you love the guy and you're smitten with him for whatever reason, but he's a cactus with spines and thorns and all kinds of horrible shit I wouldn't even wanna touch with iron gloves. As soon as he sees it's raining more somewhere else, he's gonna impale your fucking hand, pick up his roots, and sprint into the pretty little sunset without you. No amount of babysitting is gonna fix that, Rob."

"I would like to think that I know him better than you do, and the Preston I know would never do something like that."

"Now this is just pathetic! Why can't you look at it and see it like it really is? Are you turning into fucking Don Quixote?" He is beginning to lose his temper again, and he would have ended the Skype call at this point if the circumstances were different. He seriously mistrusts me now and I feel horrible for putting him in this position. He has enough going on already without trying to deal with my dazed, drugged, lovesick nonsense, too. "Are you gonna break into song about your sweet, prickly Dulcinea now? Next you're gonna be jousting with windmills and screaming about monsters in the bathroom mirror and carving slam poetry into the walls. You need to have your fuckin' head examined."

"I already do that four times a year, thank you very much. If they put me on any more pills, I won't be able to walk up a flight of stairs without falling over. Perhaps you're the one who should get some help." He cracks a grim smile and bobs his head for a few seconds before he gulps down the rest of his energy drink and carefully adds it to his famous line of cans to the left of his computer setup. Jerome and I have always had an implicit understanding that something about me is a little off, that I might not always be able to make the best decisions or act in a predictable, sane way. Him asking for my latest diagnosis is a running joke, but he respects me enough to cut me more of a break than he would someone like Preston, for better or for worse.

"So that's what it is. I don't need help; I just need a good hook-up. Whatcha got for ten bucks?"

"Ten bucks? It depends on what time of month it is and how much I have in my bank account. Right now, it can either get you a handful of extra-strong antidepressants or a couple of medium dosage tranquilizers. Either way, everyone is going to think you're stoned off your ass, including you."

"And here I thought you were just a real nice guy with a chill attitude. How much of that's just the meds talking?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." He grins and glances over at the other screen again, reaching over to hit two keys before he turns back to me.

"Well, if we do a few quick calculations, it's pretty clear the shit's flowing into the container faster than it's flowing out. In other words, we can't afford to have you doped up right now because things are about to get real smelly. On a scale of one to ten, how druggy are you right now?"

"Eight, but I can cope with it."

"Coping isn't the same as functioning. On a scale of one to ten, how necessary is it?"

"In the short term, four."

"I look, sound, and feel like a complete sack of shit for askin' you to do this, but can you skip out on your pills for a couple days? We need your insomnia to keep everyone else off their asses, and I can't bounce my ideas off someone who can't walk up the fucking stairs or think about the consequences of his actions. And I'm not just talking about Mitch here." He cocks his eyebrow and I just shrug, my face automatically breaking into Dad's trademark troll grin. I can already feel the whisps of smoke beginning to thin as I get a glimpse of the drug-free clarity I always crave. In just a few hours, I can be me again for the first time in forever.

"You act like I mind having an excuse to not pop pills. If that's what you need me to do, so be it. I have nothing else I can contribute to your war effort."

"Fan-tastic. How long can you go without zonking out or killing someone?"

"I usually go about three days before I need to call it quits, but with Mitch here, I can go five if I need to. I can still work normally until the end of the fifth day, but I can't be left alone after four days. If he's willing to babysit me, I'm at your service."

"Why can't you be left alone?" He has a curious, greedy look in his eyes as he searches my face for a hint of distress, for a clue about my hidden madness. I've dealt with my problems for so long that they barely faze me anymore, and they seem more like superpowers or personality quirks than serious mental health problems. If I'm permanently stuck with them either way, why not make the most of it?

"With any luck, you'll never find out."

"Is Robbie afraid of seeing monsters in the dark?"

"Isn't everyone?"

"Nah, I'm just pullin' your finger. Here's the real question: does Mitch know?"

"Does Mitch know anything?" He snorts and glances over at the other monitor again, skimming through an e-mail before he types out a reply and scribbles something down on a piece of paper off-screen. "What happened?"

"They patched up your stupidity, so don't worry about it. Paul just recovered a shit ton o' stuff from Preston's computer and he's working on lockin' down all his e-mail and social media accounts right now. Wouldn't want someone selling those off, now would we?" He finishes writing and turns to read another e-mail, his eyes widening halfway through. "Shit. Why the fuck...? Ugh!" He reclines in his chair and covers his face with his hands, his forehead turning bright red along his hairline. I give him a minute to pull himself back together before I accidentally push him too far and launch him into another rant.

"Are you okay? Did something happen with Mitch?" When he speaks, his voice is lower than it has been at any other point in the call. All of the stress I've alleviated by joking around and strategizing with him has returned full-force.

"No, not that I know of. They fried Mitch's phone and he's got no way to talk to us unless he can get on his laptop. Paul just finished scanning Preston's accounts, and I don't know if Pressy did somethin' smart for once or if they just took pity on him, but it looks like they only managed to get into one."

"What'd they find?" He leans forward on the desk and rests his chin on his hand, his eyebrows scrunched together as he plans.

"It coulda been worse, but it still fuckin' sucks. They tried to do the same thing they did to Mitch, but all the information was old as shit, like 2008 old. I don't know what the hell he did to throw Seto's Savior off his trail but it looks like it worked. The Powers That Be think the only things they coulda got out of it were one of his YouTube passwords and his home address." Time stops and it feels like I'm frozen in place, the air in my lungs rapidly expanding as his words sink in. It feels like someone is squeezing my heart with an ice cold hand, waiting for me to scream for mercy.

This is one of the worst possible endings for this game.

"No. No, we can't let them have that. We need to keep that from getting out."

"Oh, so it was okay for them to get Mitch's info, but as soon as it's Pressy you get all concerned. Nice."

"You don't get it, man. Mitch lives by himself in his own apartment, and he can defend himself or just leave if he wants to. The one they have for Preston... His family lives there, man. He has a sister and two younger brothers who live there. If they're at home by themselves and someone shows up at his house, or if they're walking home from school..."

"Shit, I didn't think about that. See, this's why you can't have drugs, Woof."

"What are we going to do?"

"The guys are working on it but there're no guarantees. We need to figure out what we're gonna do if it does get out. Like Mama Bac always said, hope for the worst and plan for the best. Or something like that." Jerome has never been more annoying than he is at this moment and I wish I could just mute his call and think about this for a while.

'There has to be an answer. There has to be a way to stop them from doing this and putting Preston's family in harm's way. There has to be something we can do to keep them from realizing what they have, to distract them and draw their attention away from him.'

"Ya know, I don't think I've ever seen you this serious. Pretend to take a chill pill and calm down a notch or two. Last thing we need is for you to stroke out over there. I don't have the time or money to plan your funeral."

"Is there a way we could bait them somehow? Could we set a trap for them and get Zeus or someone to wipe out their computer? That could deal some serious damage to them and protect Preston at the same time."

"You mean you wanna hack the hacker? You realize you're talking about some meta shit right now. Some really expensive meta shit."

"We'll come up with the money somehow. A hacker's service fee is cheaper than three small coffins. Can they do that?"

"I'm sure someone could. I'm thinking of one person in particular... But I don't think she's willing to get caught up in shit this big – she only plays clean-up crew on the night shift. I'll try to call in a favor or two, but she probably won't even get back to us for a couple hours. Hey, Zeus? If you're still tuned in, can you shoot an e-mail over to Trinh, please? Tell her Betty needs to talk." With the hint of a smirk, he leans out of the frame and rustles around in a plastic bag before he comes back with another Monster.

"Your friends can do anything, can't they?"

"Of course they can. Why do ya think they call me 'HackSource?' It ain't from hackin' in the Hunger Deens, let me tell ya."

---------------

June 26, 2012 at 1 PM, Fort Worth, TX: Preston

My life is literally over. It's over. O-ver. And that's me being as undramatic as possible because that's Rob's one job, not mine. Crap, I don't wanna think about Rob right now. I can't even imagine the look on his face when he realizes I fell for their trap and screwed everything up. And I bet he's gonna get blamed for me blowing it. I know I'm beyond the point of him being able to help me, but even if I wasn't, he probably wouldn't help me, anyway. No, he totally would even if he was really pissed at me because that's just the kind of person Rob is. But I don't deserve it. I don't deserve for anyone to help me. I don't deserve to have friends like him or Mitch or even Jerome. I screwed them all over and stabbed them all in the back, and now whoever got in my computer is gonna go after them, too.

And the worst part of the whole thing is that Jerome's the only one who can freaking do anything to help anyone! If I'd screwed up any more, I would've driven the hacker over to Jerome's front door and rang the doorbell for him. I put everyone in danger and blocked their only escape route, too. I lit the fire on the living room rug and nailed all the doors shut so no one could escape, and now I'm just standing outside the window and watching them scream for help and burn to death, and I don't think they'll respawn. I feel like the worst person who ever lived and I'm so angry and ashamed and confused and miserable and humiliated I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore. I don't wanna feel any of it. They did so much for me, and this is how I repay them? Could I do anything worse to them? Seriously?

I glance up at my monitors for the hundredth time and everything looks fine even though it really isn't. I stare at the middle screen until it goes into standby mode and goes completely black. That means I've been sitting here for over an hour just facepalming, but I can't tell if it's been forever or only a second. Time doesn't feel like it's moving anymore. I blink a couple times and push my chair back and walk over to the couch, which is a lot harder to do than it sounds. It's like someone strapped twenty-pound weights to my ankles and my legs don't wanna move. I collapse face-down on the brand new black leather megacouch that seemed so cool at the time but just seems too expensive now. The piece of leftover pizza that sounded so good earlier is only a foot away from my face but just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach now. I turn off the TV and grab the blanket off the back of the couch and throw it over my head so I don't hafta see anything anymore. I just wanna lay here in the darkness for the rest of eternity and never show my dumb face to anyone again. I know real life doesn't work that way and something's gonna make me move eventually... but I can pretend for a while, can't I?

This's why no one likes me, isn't it? This's why I only had like three friends until I screwed two of 'em over and now they hate me just like Jerome does. And then Kenny's gonna be mad at me because there's no freaking way I'll be able to get my computer to work in time for us to record together later, and he's gonna think I'm ignoring him because I have no way to tell him what happened. Even worse than that, I'm gonna hafta get rid of my apartment already and go live at home again not even a month after moving out. It wouldn't seem so bad if I didn't lose my two thousand dollar security deposit, or if I wouldn't have everyone groaning and making jokes about me not being grown up enough yet, or if Daka didn't still live at home in between deployments and call me a big, fat baby and make my life suck even more. And that's just forgetting about YouTube completely. It doesn't matter if the hacker does it or if Jerome does it, but by the time I have a computer again, both of my channels are gonna be blown off the face of the Earth. Any way you look at it, I'm a freakin' loser. This's why no one ever talks to me at holiday parties or remembers my name isn't 'Presley.'

The fan in my computer turns on and I just hope it isn't gonna blow up or something crazy like that. Maybe I read too many scary stories about hackers on Reddit back when I still had internet but it sounds like something that guy would do, and it might be something Jerome would do, too. I wouldn't put it past him. As long as nothing happens to the actual, physical computer, I can hold onto the hope I cut the internet fast enough to keep that guy from really screwing it up. Maybe if I'm lucky, I can take it to a repair shop when I get paid in a couple days and they can fix it for pretty cheap. If they can take care of it, maybe things won't be so bad after all. At least I could make a new YouTube account under a new name and start over again all by myself. I wish it was that easy to fix everything. I sigh and keep trying to stop the stinging behind my eyes.

"Preston, you look like enough of an idiot right now without bawling your eyes out, too. Pull your ish together, dude." Just sitting here isn't helping anyone, and it isn't keeping me from turning into a sobbing mess because that's all I wanna do right now. I need to keep thinking and try to come up with something. I owe the guys that much at least. "If I was Rob, what would I do?" Now that's just a stupid question in and of itself because Rob would never be dumb enough to fall for a trick like that. He would've seen right through it and hung up and got ahold of Jerome and let him take care of it. He wouldn't just sit there and let LeetFire play with him and get stronger and get into everyone's stuff and screw everyone over. While I was sitting there playing mind games and planning out a future that'll sure as frick never happen now, Rob would've shut down his computer, texted Jerome, and eaten his pizza while it was still hot. He would've waited for the bloodbath to unfold somewhere else instead of jumping right in the hacker's welcoming cyber arms. He never woulda had to worry about coming up with another plan after he already got murked.

"But what if he did? What would he do then?" He woulda started from the bottom 'til the whole team's freakin' here, that's what he'd do. I don't have any better ideas, so I guess this's where I'll start, too. When I have to talk to someone, what do I do? I can use DMs, Skype, e-mail, text, or call them. I have no way of using Skype or a website like Twitter, so the first two are out. I can still e-mail people, but that wouldn't be a smart idea no matter what angle you look at it. If LeetFire hasn't already put viruses on their computers, I'm not gonna be the one to send 'em some. That just leaves texting and calling. But my phone doesn't work and even if it did, I don't have anyone's numbers anymore because I deleted everything.

I'm at a roadblock and it freaking sucks. I feel like there's a solution to this problem Rob would've already figured out, and I can just see him sitting there, leaning his head on his hand with his right eyebrow raised while he waits for me to find it. He always does that instead of just giving me the answer, which I guess is a good thing even though it's annoying as frick. If he didn't do that, I'd be even more dead right now than I already am. But what does Rob know that I don't know? What can he see that I just skipped over? He'd have that trolly little grin by now that always makes me smile, too, even though I feel really stupid at this point. This's even worse than trying to figure out redstone mechanics. What am I missing here?

Okay, so the problem is my stuff doesn't work, but their stuff might still work as long as I don't spread the flames. Could I get in contact with them if I didn't use my stuff? They have computers at the library I could use, so that might work. But what if that hacker guy managed to break into my computer before I pulled the plug and got in my accounts and can spread viruses through there? Then I'd be killing a library computer, too, and they'd hunt me down and make me pay for them to get a new one. I can't afford to buy someone else a new computer when mine doesn't even work. If I didn't use my accounts and tried to contact them with a new username, there's no way they'd be able to weed through all the DMs and e-mails from their fans and pick me outta the crowd. They wouldn't believe me if I said it was me because people do that all the time. Okay, so computers are just completely out of the question, then.

That just leaves phones. I don't get a new phone for like another year with my contract plan, and even if I could afford to just go and get a new one, he could probably use my phone number to melt the new one, too. It'd be dumb to throw money away like that. The carrier company would have all my contact info, though... But I don't wanna risk checking my account online in case the hacker got in there, too. Who knows what that guy can do?

What about regular phones like the ones Mom and Dad have at home? I don't have one but every store in the whole city has a payphone I can use. That could work, if only I had phone numbers for everyone. The imaginary Rob in my head is full-out smirking at me now and I just wanna grab a handful of his messy brown hair and pull on it to make him stop. I hate when he looks at me like that, like he beat me at a game and he's trying not to rub it in even though he totally is. But if he's making that face, I'm getting close to the answer. He'd have sad puppy dog eyes if I was really far off the mark, like he's sorry for me because I'm so stupid.

"I'm still missing something here. Okay, so where can you find phone numbers?" The easy answer would be in phone books, but that's just a dumb idea. Who even uses phone books anymore? Even if their numbers weren't unlisted, there's no way for me to get my hands on phone books for New Jersey or Canada. I could go search for them at the library on the computer, but any information I find'll be ancient because they woulda changed it as soon as some nutso fan called them or showed up on their doorstep. I give another big sigh and try to think about what people who don't have cell phones do.

Mom had this ridiculous little lime green book she kept in her purse to write the family's numbers in before she bought a cell phone like a normal human. I don't remember writing down anyone's numbers, though. I always just program it right into my phone. Since I only typed it in once, I don't remember what any of them were, either. It does no good to try to remember phone numbers I only typed one time over a year ago, so that's a dead end. How else did Mom deal with being a technophobe for so long? What happened when she forgot to write down a number? She would just check the phone records on the handset. It takes a few seconds for it to click and I sit up immediately and throw the blanket off and stumble into the kitchen.

"Thank you! Oh thank you, God!" Rob'd be making fun of the look on my face right now and my prayers but I'm just too thrilled to frickin' care. I push the orange plastic bowl of Nacho Cheese Doritos in the sink and pull the drawer open so hard it almost falls out on my feet. I dig through the massive stack of scrap paper and envelopes and receipts until I finally find last month's phone bill. I flip through it as quick as I can and I'm skimming through it so fast the numbers don't even make sense. I see two numbers that show up over and over and over and over again and I know I found the answer I've been looking for. One of those numbers is Kenny and the other one's Rob, and I can use the timestamps to figure out which one's which. I'll put on some actual clothes and find some change and go over to the grocery store and call Kenny to tell him my computer blew up, then I can call Rob and tell him everything that happened.

"I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb. You better watch your butt, jerkwad, 'cause there's gonna be a Bacca biting it in a second."

---------------

June 26, 2012 at 2 PM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

"Whaddaya mean there's no porn on his computer? Are you sure?" Jerome seems genuinely shocked, with his mouth hanging open and an extra large Funyun dangling from his fingers in front of his chin, paused midflight. He looks like a bird, moving his head slightly from left to right as if he isn't sure if he's seeing his second screen properly and wants to get a better view. I try to focus on the conversation without facepalming, afraid that if I close my eyes for even a second I won't be able to wake up again. "Did you check his external hard drive, too? Maybe he stashed it on there."

"Already checked it, boss. This kid's like Mr. Clean: he's so perfect he sparkles," Paul replies in his thick New York accent, his voice as flat and calm as if he had been searching for a pen in the drawer.

"Pfft, tell me about it. You seriously couldn't find anything, though? Not even some Sports Illustrated shots or a Google search or anything?"

"Nada."

"And no kinky shit, either? No handcuffs or tentacles or dead bodies?"

"Nothin', boss. The worst thing I found on there was a search for a walkthrough for GTA IV. That's about as sexy as he gets."

"No kidding. I thought he'd be looking at some anime chicks or dicks or somethin'. I guess he's more repressed than I thought."

"Well, if it's any consolation, he had more e-mails from his mom about dinner and church than even the Pope would know what to do with. Poor kid prob'ly doesn't even know what a dick is, let alone how to use one." Jerome snorts and finally puts the crunchy, yellow ring in his mouth, his eyebrows raised as he bobs back and forth in his chair.

"And here I was, thinkin' that was all just a big show for the camera. No wonder he's such a whiny little bastard all the time." He chews for a second before he shrugs and puts the bag of chips down on his desk, a spark of amusement still dancing in his eyes. "Anyways, thanks for all your hard work, bro. Go get some rest before the next air raid."

"You too, J. I'll see ya at eighteen hundred hours, unless there's another flyover."

"Sounds muy bueno. See ya then." He removes Paul from the call and scribbles down the time on his mystery paper off-screen, his hand reaching into the bag for another greasy loop.

"Are you satisfied now?" I ask as I try not to think too far into Preston's apparent lack of interest in any kind of pornography. It would be just my kind of luck, being attracted to an immature, God-fearing, unromantic, asexual guy nine years younger than me. On the other hand, all of that makes my job of keeping him at a distance even easier: I won't have to worry about him falling for me.

"Oh, I'm more than satisfied, but are you? You have a serious uphill battle ahead o' you my friend, trying to woo sweet little Preston with his virgin eyes and flaccid dick. Maybe if you tell him it's a cross, he'll-"

"I think that's far enough. Like I told you before, we're just friends and that's as far as it's ever going to go. It wouldn't work out."

"I ship it."

"You ship anything that would create unnecessary drama. You have questionable taste, Jerome."

"You're really one to be talking about questionable taste. You're the one daydreaming about sittin' on a cactus."

"I'm not daydreaming about Preston. I just care about him and I'm worried about him right now. He doesn't handle stress well."

"Neither do you. I'd hate to see you two after you're married and one of you gets preggers and goes into labor. It'll be like The Sims or some shit. That's gonna be one screwed up kid." I just continue staring at him, watching him munch on two more salty Funyuns. "You shouldn't be ashamed of it, ya know. He's eighteen now and it's not like anyone's gonna turn you in for crushing on him when he was sixteen. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You aren't even convincing me with that line. It would be legal now, yeah, but that doesn't mean we would be compatible. I fuck up my relationships fast enough without adding the stress of losing my best friend, too. Besides, I'm too old for him. He can barely grow facial hair and here I am, worrying about my hair turning prematurely grey."

"Because you need to learn how to chill, man. You take life too seriously."

"If I was any more 'chill,' I would be frozen solid in my chair with a catheter running down my leg. Pretty soon my therapist is going to need a therapist."

"Now that sounds like a show I'd like to watch! But back to the point, why don't you just give it a try with Pressy, assuming this pot o' shit we're boiling in doesn't manage to turn us into shit, too? You seem to have more faith in him than the rest of humanity combined."

"You haven't been listening. Preston and I are only friends, and it's going to stay that way."

"Of course it will, with an attitude like that. Why don't you give him a bouquet of those flowers you love so much? I'm sure he'd like that. He could eat it or put it in his hair or whatever the fuck you do with flowers." He pops one last yellow ring in his mouth and crumples the bag up before throwing it behind him on the table, pretending to make a seductive face while he slurps the salt and oil from his fingers. "I can't tell you too much without charging you a fee, but I'll give you this tidbit for free: I've never seen a guy press his face against another guy's face as much as Preston does it to you. I can't decide if it's adorable or fuckin' creepy, but I ship it. You act like you're the only one who might have feelings here, Woof. If he wants to stroke your beard for you, maybe you should just let him give it a good pet." I try to fight back what may be the most awkward laugh I have ever felt, but it breaks through, anyway.

"Is this how you get so many dates, Jerome?"

"Oh, absolutely. Just ask Trinh if she ever gets her butt on here. The ladies all love me, especially the nerdy ones." He wiggles his eyebrows and leans back in his chair, briefly glancing at his side monitor to see if anything new had happened during his matchmaking show. He turns back to me, looking disappointed and anxious. "Hopefully we'll hear something from the Benj soon. He's been gone for quite a while now."

"He lives on the other end of the city, so it might take..." A loud buzzing noise cuts me off as my phone begins dancing along the bottom edge of my laptop. Someone else is calling me now, but I don't recognize this number and neither does my phone. Jerome's eyebrows are knitted together in confusion and he's peering into his screen to get a better look at my phone, the dark circles under his eyes more visible than ever.

"Go ahead, answer it. But unplug your headphones and put it on speakerphone so I can hear you. Whatever this is, it's gotta be good." I press the green receiver icon and immediately switch it to speaker, the sound of throngs of people and obnoxious beeps echoing in my office.

"Hello?" The background noise in the call is so loud that I wonder if the person calling can hear me, or even if they intended to call me in the first place. Was it a wrong number?

"Hey, Rob? Is that you?"

"Preston? Where are you? What happened?"

"A lot. I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry before I say anything else, and you know how much I hate saying I'm sorry."

"Tell me what happened."

"No, tell us what happened," Jerome corrects as he scoots closer to his monitor so he can be sure that Preston can hear him over the phone.

"Jerome?" Preston squeaks, his voice rising slightly in panic as the Bacca's voice registers over the din of the crowd.

"In the fur and flesh. You're in some pretty serious trouble, mister man. You better be at a Walmart 'cause you're gonna be using your PAX money to pick up all kinds of shit. We'll have a nice, long chat as soon as you get your ass away from that damn Elmo ride."