Excerpts from "Sign the Line"
The contract was a simple one - physical wealth for metaphorical wealth.
In this case he traded a lottery fortune for his memories and forgot where he'd left the winning card every time. It took three weeks before someone spotted this and used his traded ability to amass one of the world's largest fortunes.
With their spare change they kept him drugged and hooked up to a life support system, prolonging the inevitable for ninety-seven years til all that was left of him was a memorial done by his last remaining sibling and a skeletal sack of meat that could point to all the winning numbers on any lottery.
The contract wouldn't let him die until he had gained wealth himself and so, he could never die.
There is little more terrifying than seeing the screaming face of your closest loved one over a poorly filmed video stream than watching the view counter double and triple each minute.
For every body part they lose, one hundred followers are gained.
They'll keep going until the debt is paid by you or by view.
As her pen crossed the final 't' the silence of the room was broken by applause that grew from a polite tapping to thunderous congratulations. Half of them didn't even understand why they were there or what they were witnessing but they knew the document signed had the power to condemn hundreds of thousands.
They didn't realise that it would begin with them and the small wires underneath their seats and in the cushions, primed to release over 500 volts straight to the base of their spines.
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