So George says I have to write a “mission statement” for this blog, because apparently, our contract with Bridge Supporters says that I will. I am personally opposed to mission statements, since they’re basically one more way of sucking the fun out of everything. I tried telling George this, but all she said was that it’s her job to suck the fun out of everything. She then threatened physical violence of a type that I will not describe in detail, as it might unsettle and upset my theoretical readership. Suffice to say that here I am, writing a mission statement. So here it is:

I, Shaun Phillip Mason, being of sound mind and body, do hereby swear to poke dead shit with sticks, do stupid things for your amusement, and put it all on the Internet where you can watch it over and over again. Because that’s what you want, right?

Glad to oblige.

—From Hail to the King, the blog of Shaun Mason, June 20, 2035

One

My story ended where so many stories have ended over the course of the last two decades: with a man—in this case, my adoptive brother and best friend, Shaun—holding a gun to the base of my skull as the virus in my blood caused my body to betray me, transforming me from a living, thinking human being into something better suited for a horror movie. I remember the feeling of the hypodermic needle biting into my arm, and the cold, absolute dread as I watched the lights on the blood test unit as they went red, one after the other. I remember the look on Shaun’s face when he realized that this was it, this was really happening, and there wasn’t going to be any clever third-act solution that got me out of the van alive.

I remember the gun pressing against my skin. It was cool, and it was soothing, because it meant that Shaun was going to do his duty. No one was going to get hurt—no one who hadn’t been hurt already. This was something we’d never planned for. I always knew that one day he’d push his luck too far, and I’d lose him. Neither of us ever dreamed that he’d be the one losing I wanted to tell him it would be okay. I wanted to lie to him. I couldn’t. There wasn’t time.

I remember starting to write. I remember thinking that this was it; this was my last chance to say anything I wanted to say to the world. This was the thing I was going to be judged on, now and forever.

I remember feeling my mind start to go. I remember the fear.

I remember the sound of Shaun pulling the trigger.