The pizzas arrived just as Wesley had convinced his whole body to stop shaking. He’d forgotten it had been ordered, and it felt like winning the lottery.
‘Reckon you can eat a whole pizza, Eves?’
She nodded enthusiastically, and after she had climbed into the armchair Wesley put the box on her lap, knowing full well she would only manage a couple of slices. That meant there would be plenty left for breakfast.
Before he could sit down with his own pizza a message came through on his phone.
check your email mate.
While Frozen kicked off on the TV, Wesley retrieved the MacBook, setting it beside him on the sofa while he munched a slice of pizza.
He couldn’t bring himself to check his email right away. First he put in earphones to block out the film and started a TrumourPixel video playing.
Next, he opened Facebook and typed ‘Aaron Musley’ into the search bar. He came up immediately. Friends. Wesley almost choked on his pizza. Facebook friends were not the real thing – plenty of people he had never spoken to at school had accepted his friend requests. Still . . . how could he be friends with Aaron here and not remember him at all?
The profile had been inactive for months. No updates, nobody tagging him in anything. Wesley stared at his profile picture. Blonde and blue-eyed, round jaw, grinning like he was the happiest person alive. If they had been at school together, Wesley would remember.
So why didn’t he?
The email subject line read #SJWSlaughter Operations. He recognised the hashtag – it was the rallying cry for a growing online movement that railed against what it called PC culture, as well as decrying feminism and any other social movement calling for progress. A lot of critics called them a hate group, accusing them of spreading fascist propaganda and leading online mobs to attack outspoken women and people of colour.
The movement’s leader was Niko Denton, a young right-wing journalist with a massive online following. His supporters were always desperate to impress him. He always knew what buttons to push to get them riled up, and could set them on a target without ever explicitly inciting attack. If you ever met him in the street, you’d probably think he was a nice young man.
While people like TrumourPixel had eagerly embraced #SJWSlaughter, Wesley had skirted carefully around it. He didn’t care about most of what it stood for. It just seemed like a group that might accept him.
He opened the email.
all right mate click this and use the password NiK0sEl337ArMy.
The link brought up a login window, and he followed the instructions. It led to an encrypted chat channel, three other usernames already listed as present. Wesley recognised Luke and Justin’s tags, but the third made his heart leap into his throat – TrumourPixel.
this is him, wrote Luke.
Wesley didn’t know if he should say hello or introduce himself. He felt star-struck. in the end he stayed quiet. Across the room Evie laughed at something in the film, spitting a piece of pepperoni onto the carpet in the process.
‘Jeff!’ she shouted to her imaginary dog, clicking her fingers for him to clear it up.
After a few seconds TrumourPixel posted a link, and Wesley clicked. It opened a document hundreds of pages long. #SJWSLAUGHTER CENTRAL ARCHIVE, it began, above a royal coat of arms customised with an anime cartoon of a guy at his computer. That was followed by links to numerous ‘operations’ forums and chat rooms, and the Twitter handles of the document authors. Wesley didn’t recognise the names.
Calling all agents of #SJWSlaughter! it continued. We have victory on numerous fronts, thanks in no small part to fearless leader Niko Denton.
As far as Wesley was aware Niko had never actually used the hashtag, though he referred to it often enough.
What exactly is Operation #SJWSlaughter? read a sub-header. New tactics and strategic timing. Our enemies are moving against us. We must rise to meet the threat, and all of us must fight the cause.
Another anime image, this time a guy wielding an oversized sword with #SJWSlaughter etched onto the blade. Wesley scrolled through the document. Every page was the same: a bizarre mixture of militaristic fervour and anime memes.
Evie began singing along with the film, and Wesley moved the MacBook screen away as if she might be able to read it, judge him for what she saw.
Back at the top, Wesley clicked through to one of the forums and scanned the topics. It was the usual sort of stuff:
Beta cucks taking over my school.
MRA gamer tag list.
Pick-up artistry Snapchat techniques?
Anybody on these forums would celebrate what he had done to Kat. She was an obvious target, a typical victim, the kind of girl who needed bringing down a peg or two. Nobody here would keep worrying about what had happened to her afterwards.
The chat pinged, and Wesley minimised the document.
Do you want to show them all what this fight really looks like? TrumourPixel had typed.
YES! replied Luke.
Bring it, wrote Justin.
Wesley’s hands hovered over the keyboard, shaking just as badly as they had after facing Jordan, and he couldn’t bring himself to type a reply.
TrumourPixel added a picture of a girl with short curls of pink hair and bright red lipstick, smiling widely at the camera. Tinker, the YouTuber that attracted trolls like flies thanks to videos about feminism and sex and stuff. A thick black crosshair had been plastered across the image, aimed right between her eyes.
It’s time they know we mean business, wrote Trumour-Pixel. No more games, no more fucking about on the Internet.
Wesley read the words three times over, trying to glimpse the truth behind them. Luke and Justin had said this was something bigger than #SelloutSelena, but that had to be because Tinker was a higher profile target. It would still be an online campaign. He had never considered that it might be real.
After a few seconds TrumourPixel posted an address for somewhere the other side of town.
2pm tomorrow, he wrote, and left the chat.
you in? wrote Luke.
Wesley needed to respond, so he told them what they wanted to hear, for now at least.
Yeah.
meet us tomorrow my house
The chat emptied out, and Wesley closed the MacBook quickly. Immediately he felt stupid – what had he really just agreed to? There was something about all of this that felt much more sinister than anything he’d been part of before.
Still, they had asked him to meet them, and he couldn’t deny the flush of pleasure that gave him. He was actually going to meet TrumourPixel!
It didn’t stop him thinking about Kat – he still needed to return her MacBook.
He opened the screen again and stared at Aaron’s picture, trying to force himself to remember. Surely people couldn’t be forgotten so easily? He picked up his phone and sent a message to Aoife.
You said you remember where Aaron lived?
The reply came a minute later. Wesley? Yes, we remember.
Can you meet me at school tonight? With everybody? he typed. I need to see for myself.
Okay, I’ll try.
Wesley pocketed the phone. ‘Finished, Eves?’
She groaned, having managed two and a half slices. Wesley’s pizza sat forgotten beside him, his appetite gone.
‘Get your shoes,’ he said. ‘You can walk it off.’