Chris sat in the cool darkness of his bedroom. On the main monitor, the WBOY 12 News election eve special was in full swing, and the news was dire.
"We are, of course, just hours away from the polls opening in what has become one of the most talked-about, and frankly, most unusual local elections in West Virginia history," a serious-looking anchor said. A graphic appeared over her shoulder, a pie chart that represented the poll percentages. "Our final pre-election poll shows the mysterious write-in candidate, 'Bucky Watcher,' holding what our analysts are calling a statistically insurmountable lead."
The blurry, low-resolution picture of the deer appeared on screen, next to a number that made Chris feel sick. 90%.
From the living room, he heard a loud, barking laugh. It was Pete. "Ninty-one percent!" his step-father's voice boomed, full of delighted disbelief. "They're going to elect a deer, Misty! I'm telling you, this is the most patriotic thing this town has ever done!"
Misty's confused reply was a faint murmur. "I just don't see the appeal, Pete. What if it eats the flowers at the courthouse?"
He stared at his HUD.
[Quest: Campaign Trail]
[Objective: Maintain a minimum of 10% [Voter Approval] until Election Day.]
[Reward: --]
[Failure Penalty: Massive loss of [Community Standing].]
He had spent the entire day in a state of panicked inaction, his brilliant "Strategy of Nothing" backfiring so badly that it had actually made him more popular. His silence had been interpreted as dignity. His absence had been hailed as a strength. He was failing at failing.
He had only a few hours left until the polls opened. A few hours to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. A final plan began to form in his mind, a Hail Mary of political self-destruction.
He had to commit political suicide. He couldn't attack Bucky Watcher directly; he had no platform to do so. But he could make Bucky Watcher attack himself. What did the supporters of the silent, deer-faced folk hero hate more than anything? The corrupt, self-serving, and unpopular political establishment. And who was the living embodiment of that establishment?
Ralph Hardwick. The blowhard councilman. The sycophant. The candidate currently polling at a pathetic 8%.
The plan was simple. If Bucky Watcher, the beloved anti-establishment champion, was suddenly and inexplicably revealed to be a secret supporter of his most hated establishment rival, the sense of betrayal would be immense. The public would feel like they had been played for fools. The support would not just fade; it would collapse overnight in a firestorm of righteous indignation. His approval rating would plummet far below the required 10%. He would fail the quest. He would be hit with the penalty. And then, finally, he would be free.
It was time to make a campaign donation.
The first step was to acquire an untraceable way to do it. He couldn't use his own debit card; the transaction would be a breadcrumb trail leading directly back to him. He needed anonymity. Like a thief, he slipped out of the house. He drove the beige SUV not into Buckhannon, but twenty miles north, to the neighboring town of Clarksburg. The drive felt like a clandestine mission.
Chris walked into the Sheetz convenience store, his hands shoved in his pockets, trying to look as normal and non-suspicious as possible. He felt like he was in a spy movie, about to make a dead drop. He approached the tired-looking cashier, a young man with a wispy mustache who looked like he would rather be anywhere else.
"Uh, hey," Chris mumbled, avoiding eye contact. "Can I get a pre-paid debit card? For, like, two hundred and fifty dollars."
The cashier gave him a look of disinterest. "Sure. There's a five-ninety-five activation fee."
Chris paid in cash, a stack of crumpled twenties. The transaction felt illicit, a shady, back-alley deal for a piece of untraceable plastic. He walked out of the store with his prize: a generic, anonymous pre-paid debit card with a balance of two hundred and fifty dollars. It was the seed money for his own political destruction, the the last of his lottery ticket winnings.
His next stop was the Upshur County Public Library. He didn't go inside. He sat in the SUV in the parking lot, and connected to the library's free public Wi-Fi. He opened a private browser window and navigated to the nearly defunct campaign website of Ralph Hardwick. It was a terrible website, with a pixelated American flag background and a font that was difficult to read. It had a "Donate" button, a feature Chris suspected had not seen much use.
He clicked it. He carefully entered the number from the pre-paid debit card. The website asked for a name and address, but the fields weren't mandatory. He left them blank. An anonymous donation.
Then, he saw it. A small, optional field at the bottom of the form. "Notes for the Campaign." This was the moment. His fingers, trembling slightly, typed the message that would, he hoped, end his political career.
"A donation from Bucky Watcher."
He stared at the words, a feeling of giddy, terrified excitement washing over him. He hit the "Submit Donation" button. A small, pixelated "Thank You!" message appeared on the screen. The bomb had been planted.
But the donation alone was not enough. The public needed to see it. They needed to see the betrayal before they went to the polls in the morning. He drove home, his mind racing. He had to get the story out.
Back in his command center, he got to work. He needed to find a journalist, someone who was obsessive enough to check for a last-minute story. He used his [INSPECT] ability, running a wide-area search on the local media landscape. He scanned the reporters at WBOY 12, the staff at the Record Delta. Most of them were offline, their statuses reading [Sleeping] or [Watching Netflix].
But then he found one. A local political blogger, a college student at Wesleyan who ran a small, influential blog called "The Upshur County Chronicle." His name was Daniel, and his blog was known for its deep dives into local politics and its obsessive, around-the-clock coverage.
[Name: Daniel Dorsey]
[Class: Blogger (LVL 6)]
[Status: Tired, Writing, About to Log Off]
[Dominant Thought: "Okay, one last proofread of the election preview post and then I'm going to bed. Nothing else is going to happen tonight."]
Chris smiled. He had his target. He activated [Minor Probability Manipulation]. He didn't try to control Daniel's actions. He just nudged the probability. A small, subtle push on the scales of journalistic curiosity. He nudged the chance that Daniel would feel a "sudden, intense, and professionally necessary urge" to check the public campaign finance disclosure website one last time before logging off for the night. It was a long shot, a whisper in the wind. He executed the Nudge, a small portion of his EP draining away.
With the plan in motion, a feeling of cleansing relief washed over Chris. He had done it. He had outsmarted the System. He had found a way to fail on his own terms. He leaned back in his gaming chair, a wide grin on his face. He pictured the morning headlines. "Bucky Watcher's Secret Donation to Establishment Crony Sparks Widespread Outrage!" He imagined the furious posts on the community forum, the cries of betrayal from his own supporters. He pictured his approval rating plummeting, the [Campaign Trail] quest flashing with a red "FAILED" message. He would be free.
Just as he was getting ready for bed, confident that his nightmare was finally over, his phone buzzed with a news alert from the Buckhannon Record Delta. His heart leaped. It was happening. It was working.
The headline was exactly what he had hoped for, yet it was tinged with an ominous quality he couldn't quite place. "MYSTERY DONATION ROCKS MAYORAL RACE ON ELECTION EVE."
Chris smiled, a smile of relief. He turned off his phone, silencing the impending storm of notifications he was sure would come. He climbed into bed, convinced his plan had worked perfectly. He fell asleep a happy man, a political saboteur who had just engineered his own defeat.