Migraine. Headache. Tsunami. Earthquake. An alarm clock at 3am. A deranged child with two pot lids. Thumb tacks. 13-year-old Justin Bieber singing “baby”.

As painful as those things are, they were nothing compared to what went through my head that night. I’d decided to go cold turkey. I threw the pills into my toilet and flushed them down in a whirl of purple and performance-enhancing drugs. Seeing how hooked Lazy Cultivator had been made me realise that those purple pills were a void I couldn’t crawl out of.

After flushing the pills I pulled the sheet off my bed and used a kitchen knife to cut it in half. I filled a plastic jug with water, grabbed 36 bags of chips and then used the sheet to tie my right foot to the toilet.

“You can do this Eli.’ I whispered, throwing the knife out of my reach, ‘You can... you just gotta stay here until...’ sweat was pouring down my face, ‘until... it passes.’

My mind spun... I saw Astra – the way she’d looked that first time I saw her – soda can earrings – eyes like eclipses.

‘Sorry.’ I mumbled. ‘Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’

****

Three days passed. I was out of potato chips, there was a cut on my ankle where the sheet had dug into it, and the toilet stank. But it stank like freedom.

I got to my feet. Limped over to the computer, searched up the national anthem of the Soviet Union and blasted it through my speakers as loud as it would go.

Triumphantly, I limped over to the fridge. Pulled out a bottle of milk and downed it. The milk spilled down my chin, but it tasted like heaven. I stuck my fist in the air and sang along in Russian.

‘Ahhhh... Eli?’

I spun, but it was only Clive. He was standing at my front door with a bemused expression on his face.

I did a little fist pump, then got down on my knees and finished the rest of the song.

He walked over and stopped the Crusher Music programme from going on to the next song, ‘Why the Soviet Union anthem?’ He asked, ‘Why not the anthem of good old U.S.A? or China?’

I shook my head, tears were rolling down my cheeks, ‘Not epic enough.’

Clive laughed, ‘I’ve got something epic for you.’

‘Does it come in pill form? Because if so I’m not interested.’

‘No...’ He grinned, ‘It comes in Q form.’

‘Q? Like... the dude who hacks everything and communicates with the outside world and shit?’ I looked down at my tee-shirt, it was sweat-stained, with little flecks of potato chips sticking to the armpits, ‘I’m not sure if I’m ready.’

Clive patted me on the back, ‘The dude is single-handedly responsible for the creation of the resistance. He’s a tech wizard, who until now has refused to meet with anybody out of fear he’d be compromised. Until now I’ve only communicated with him through chapters and comments on web fictions. I don't think anyone's ready to meet him.’

‘So why does he want to meet me?’

Clive raised his hands, ‘Beats me. Maybe he thinks he can trust you?’

‘Me? The druggie who just spent three days chained to his own toilet? He can trust me?!’

Clive nodded, he pulled a laptop from his bag and placed it on my writing desk, ‘And he wants to do it now.’

‘Right now? Like... I don’t even have time to get a new shirt?’

‘No you don-’ Clive looked down at my tee, ‘actually, maybe go change your shirt.’ He clapped, ‘Quickly.’

When I came back with a fresh tee-shirt Clive was standing by my door, his laptop was open, and a strange webcam programme was on the screen.

I took a seat, ‘You’re not...’

‘...No, I’m not joining you. The less people that know Q’s identity, the better. I’m going to stand on your driveway and make sure no one disturbs.’

Clive reached for the door handle, his fingers were shaking, ‘Good luck... this is a first... like, no one's ever spoken to him.’

I let out a deep breath and nodded, ‘Okay... I got this...’

My palms were sweaty. My knees were weak and my arms were heavy. I hit enter and the call started. At first, all I could see was a grey. It was some sort of a ceiling or wall... it reminded me a lot of my four-dorm.

‘Ahhh, hi?’ I said.

‘Hello Eli.’ A voice said, it was deep – and kind of artificial, like Q was putting their voice through a voice-changing programme.

‘Hey Q... I... was told you want to talk to me?’

‘Yes...’ The voice said, ‘Eli. We don't have long so I'll cut to the chase. In two days time, I am going to cause a wave of traffic to your story.’

‘Whaa, how?’

‘Recommendations Eli. The Crusher Media sites use a complex algorithm to recommend stories to readers. I’ve been experimenting with stories for the past few months, and have recruited a team of writers who will change the tags, titles and descriptions of their stories in two days time. This will cause a spike in traffic to your book, enabling you to pay off your debt and escape.’

I rubbed my forehead, ‘In two days I could be free?’

‘Slightly longer than two days. But yes... you’ll have the reads to free yourself.’

‘And why me? Why hasn’t this been done before?’

‘That’s two questions in one.’

‘Sorry... why haven’t you done this before? You could’ve got heaps of people out of this shithole.’

The concrete shifted slightly, I could hear a woman speaking distantly in the background of the video, Q started to speak again, cutting her off, ‘The moment we force your story into the recommendations we’re dealing with a ticking clock. Crusher doesn’t like people playing with its algorithms. They’ll change the code on us and we’ll be back to square one... months of work gone.’

‘B-but, why me?’

‘Think Eli... think about what’s special about you.’

‘I don’t kn-’

There was a sigh on the other end, ‘Attention – you’ve got all Crusher Media’s scrutiny focussed on you. It’s like that scene in Narnia where the giant eye is focussed on the small people.’

I coughed, ‘That’s Lord of the Rings.’

‘What?’

‘The Lord of the Rings... the hobbits...’

‘Never mind – that’s not important. What’s important is that attention is focused on you. And that attention is going to reach a frenzy when we push those readers your way.’

‘Meanwhile, you’ll...’

‘Meanwhile, we’ll launch an attack on the Crusher mainframe. We’re going to destroy all the debt of readers outside these walls.’

My mouth fell open, ‘You’re going to...’

‘Yes. We’re going to stop the next generation of readers from being forced in here. This will not only save lives, it’ll also deprive Crusher of future revenue.’

I shook my head, it was... brilliant.

‘And Eli, there’s just one more thing.’

I nodded, ‘Yes... Q, anything.’

‘When you get out, when you get back on your feet. I need you to buy a house – we need somewhere for people to go when they leave Crusher Media. When you own that house there are two people whose debts you need to pay off.’

‘Who?’

I could hear the sound of Q swallowing, ‘I might be doing something very foolish right now Eli. But... but sometimes in life you have to have foolish moments to know you're alive.’

Q tilted the screen down to show his face and I started to choke. I let out a wheeze and thumped my chest, ‘W-wwwhat the hell?’

There, staring at me, was my former dormmate.

Victor.