Blogbuster - A comedy-laced blogger sci-fi thriller

12 - What's a Blogbuster ?

It took Bam a handful of seconds to find his voice, but when he did, he said,

“249,000 credits ?”

That was two hundred and forty-nine thousand. That was at least two hundred thousand too much. Bam’s hand shivered, and the letter with it. 

“For a bit of nanomed and one day at the hospital ?”

The doc cleared his throat.

“First of all, it’s not one day, but three. And second of all, we went through a six hour surgery.”

“Surgery ?”

“Check your stomach,” the doc said.

Bam pulled up his ugly-green patient shirt and touched his tummy. Felt three bumpy lines covering his abs. A crust layer similar to burned pizza. 

“What the hell ?”

The doc smiled and fumbled with his glasses.

“Don’t worry, the scar will heal away. Give it a week and your abs will be as impeccable as before.”

He smiled.

“You can be glad you live in times like these.”

Bam swallowed, repeated the sentence in his mind. Six hours of surgery, and he couldn’t remember a minute. Couldn’t remember anything but the girl on the street smiling at him when he blacked out.

“How am I supposed to pay for this ? I’m not a millionaire.”

He crumpled the bill and tossed it away. 

“I didn’t call the ambulance. I didn’t ask for this.”

The doc’s smile vanished.

“Listen, I know this comes at a shock, but if it wasn’t for the surgery and the nanomed, you’d be dead now. Six feet under, once and for all. Surely, that wouldn’t be a pleasant alternative.”

Bam sighed. The doc continued. 

“Plus it’s hard to ask for permission if you’re unconscious and bleeding a red river on the ground.”

Bam frowned, but the doc was right. He couldn’t blame him for doing his job. And a dead Bam wasn’t of use to anyone.

“Sorry, doc, the last months haven’t been easy.”

The doc nodded, sat down next to him on the bed, giving a father-type pat on the shoulder.

“Listen, you’ll have at least a month to pay, maybe even two extra weeks if you make a compelling case. And didn’t you say you use the Internet for your career ? Kids nowadays make millions on the web. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

Yeah, right. Let’s jumpstart the Internet and make it spit out a few hundred thousand. Click, and you shall receive.

Bam wished.

“You’re damn optimistic, doc,” he said, and fell back into his hard pillow. The doc waved goodbye and left the room. Everything was silent again, except for the machines humming in the background. The sweet mechanical noise of the life support system. Bam closed his eyes and let his mind wander around the one and only question.

How in the world was he going to get two hundred and fifty thousand credits ?

He didn’t know, but he did need to relax. Every cell in his body shouted, go to sleep, buddy. Take a quiet one, relax. Except he couldn’t. His mind churned on. And on. And on.

Bam turned around in his hospital bed and mind-searched for solutions to his monetary predicament. Even if he left the hospital a week later, he’d need at least two weeks to set up another stunt to make the money he needed. And that still wouldn’t attract a quarter million credits unless he crashed into the International Space Station. Damn. He could ask his fans to donate money, people did it all the time. But no, that’s not the kind of person he was. Bam didn’t beg, he earned it. Leave the pleading to all the losers that only take but never give, he said to himself. He was going to earn his money himself, somehow.

So, the question remained. How in the world was he going to gather the sick sum of 249,000 credits ?

There’s only one place to find out. Bam accessed the almighty one, the holy web. Checked his network and asked for solutions. In a matter of seconds, a surge of comments appeared.

Bucking_Fastard wrote.

“Crash into a space ship. I’ve heard spacesuits & spaceflights are really affordable now. Maybe you can even get a sponsor, like that one dude who jumped from the capsule and broke a record or something. You will get lots of views and money.”

Bam replied.

“Thanx, Bucking_Fastard, but I’m looking for something more earth-based. Space radiation makes me dizzy.”

YourMomLastNight wrote.

“Suck someone dix. If you get 100 credits for day, and suck 100 dix, you make like 1000 credits for a whole day.”

Bam replied YourMomLastNight.

“Actually 100 times 100 is $10,000, but I appreciate your bad grammar.”

LucyLiberty wrote.

“I’m sorry for you. Darn, that stupid drone. It’s worse enough they are everywhere, but now they crash into us ? Bad bad. Anyways, I wish you all the best. I only have a hundred credits or so, but I can send it to you if it helps.” 

Bam replied LucyLiberty.

“Thanks Lucy, ‘appreciate the gesture. But I think I find a way without snapping money from my fans ;)”

LucyLiberty replied.

“BTW — Bam, have you checked out Roman Stax’ announcement ?

The Blogbuster event ? It’s trending on all channels now. I’m not sure you’re into that kind of stuff, but boy, check the prize money. It’s sicko.”

Bam read her comment twice.

“What the heck is the Blogbuster ?”