Chapter 1: The Meme Apocalypse

Chapter 1: The Meme Apocalypse

The year was 2012, a time when the internet was a wilder, more chaotic place, and memes were pixelated artifacts passed from phone to phone like digital contraband. For thirteen-year-old Liam Carter, his phone was his lifeline and his biggest expense. It wasn’t a sleek, new iPhone, but a sturdy, second-hand Android with a physical keyboard he’d saved for three months to buy. More importantly, it ran on a strict pay-as-you-go plan, a digital leash held by his parents. Every text, every call, and especially every picture message, cost money. Real money.

Forty dollars. To an adult, it might be a meal out, a tank of gas. To Liam, it was a king’s ransom. It was eight weeks of his five-dollar allowance, meticulously saved. It was the price of the new video game he’d been coveting. It was a shimmering, glorious balance of credit on his phone account, a buffer that gave him a sense of security in the precarious social world of middle school.

That afternoon, the balance was the last thing on his mind. He was crammed onto a worn-out sofa in his friend Mark’s basement, surrounded by the usual crew. There was Mark, Sarah, and a few others. The air was thick with the smell of stale pizza and the sound of laughter. And then there was Derek Vance.

Derek was a recent, unwelcome addition to their group. He’d transferred to their school mid-year, armed with an easy confidence that charmed adults and a razor-sharp cruelty he reserved for his peers. He had the latest phone, the most expensive sneakers, and a casual disregard for consequences that stemmed from a family who treated problems as things money could solve.

“Check this out,” Derek said, his voice cutting through the chatter. He held up his phone, displaying a horribly compressed image of a cat with the caption “I CAN HAZ CHEEZBURGER?” It was ancient by their standards, but Derek wasn't sharing it for its humor.

“Boring,” Sarah Jenkins said, not looking up from her own phone. She had a knack for seeing through people, and her assessment of Derek had been swift and unforgiving.

Derek’s smirk didn’t falter. “Not the picture, genius. The idea.” He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a familiar, predatory light. “You know how Kevin is freaking out about his phone? His parents are super strict about his data.”

Everyone nodded. Kevin was home sick, but his digital paranoia was legendary.

“So,” Derek continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “what if we sent him a… meme apocalypse? All of us. We find the dumbest, most random pictures we can, and we all send them to him at the same time. His phone will blow up. It’ll be hilarious.”

A few nervous chuckles went around the room. It had the scent of a classic Derek prank: technically harmless, but designed for maximum annoyance and humiliation for the target.

Liam felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. “Picture messages cost money, though,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended. “Like, fifty cents each.”

Derek’s eyes slid to Liam. It wasn't a friendly gaze. It was the look of a scientist observing a slightly disappointing specimen. “Dude, who even cares about that? It’s fifty cents.”

“I care,” Liam said, a bit more firmly. “My plan is different.”

“Oh, right. The pay-as-you-go thing.” Derek waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away an inconvenient fly. “Don’t worry about it. If it’s a problem, I’ll cover you. It’s for the team. We all have to do it, or it won’t be funny.”

The pressure in the room shifted. Suddenly, it wasn’t about the prank anymore. It was a test of loyalty. To back out now would be to brand himself as cheap, as not a team player. Sarah shot him a worried look, a silent warning, but the weight of his male friends’ expectant gazes was heavier.

I’ll cover you. The words echoed in Liam’s head. Derek was rich. To him, this was nothing. Liam took a shallow breath. “Okay,” he said. “Fine.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of frantic energy. Phones were whipped out. Images were downloaded—Bad Luck Brian, Scumbag Steve, Grumpy Cat, a dozen different rage faces. The air crackled with giggles and whispered countdowns.

“Okay, everyone got at least ten pictures?” Derek commanded, acting as the general of their juvenile army.

Liam had dutifully saved ten images to his phone. Each one felt like a lead weight in his digital gallery.

“On three!” Derek shouted. “One… two… THREE!”

A chorus of clicks and screen taps filled the room. Liam hesitated for a fraction of a second before his fingers flew across his tiny keyboard, attaching and sending, one by one. He sent all ten. As the tenth picture-sent confirmation popped up, his phone vibrated with a different kind of notification.

[CARRIER ALERT]: Your account balance is low: $35.00

He’d done the math. Ten messages at fifty cents each. Five dollars. It stung, but it was manageable. Then his phone vibrated again. And again. And again. He stared in horror as a flood of incoming picture messages from the rest of the group—the prank they were pulling on Kevin—began to download automatically to his own phone. He’d forgotten. Receiving them also cost money.

[CARRIER ALERT]: Your account balance is low: $28.50 [CARRIER ALERT]: Your account balance is low: $19.00 [CARRIER ALERT]: Your account balance is low: $7.50

His heart hammered against his ribs. He fumbled with the settings, frantically trying to turn off mobile data, but it was too late. The digital onslaught was relentless. Dozens of messages. The others had sent twenty, thirty pictures each.

The final, fatal buzz came a moment later. [CARRIER ALERT]: Your account balance is $0.00. Data services have been suspended.

Forty dollars. Gone. In less than two minutes. The room was still ringing with laughter, but for Liam, all sound had been sucked into a vacuum. He felt cold, sick. The video game, the weeks of saving, the sense of security—all incinerated for a stupid, pointless joke.

He looked up, his face pale. The laughter died down as the others noticed his expression. “Whoa, you okay, man?” Mark asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Liam couldn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on Derek, who was leaning back on the sofa, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face.

“Derek,” Liam said, his voice trembling slightly. “It took all my credit. Everything. Forty dollars.”

Derek shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “Bummer.”

“You said… you said you’d cover me,” Liam managed, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Derek let out a short, barking laugh. It was a sound devoid of any humor, sharp and cruel. “Dude, seriously? It was a joke. I wasn’t being literal.”

“But it was forty dollars!” Liam’s voice cracked, a horrifying mix of desperation and anger. “That was all the money I had!”

The smugness on Derek’s face hardened into contempt. He stood up and looked down at Liam, his expression one of utter disdain. He reveled in this, in the power he held.

“Listen,” Derek said, his voice low and dismissive. “It sounds to me like that’s a you problem, not a me problem. Maybe you should get a better phone plan.”

He turned to the rest of the group. “C’mon, this is getting lame. Let’s go get slushies. My treat.”

He walked away, and after a moment of hesitation, the others followed, shuffling their feet, avoiding Liam’s gaze. Only Sarah remained behind, her expression a mixture of pity and fury.

But Liam barely registered her presence. He was frozen, staring at the spot where Derek had stood. The sting of the lost money was already fading, replaced by something far hotter, far more potent. It was the searing humiliation. It was the blatant injustice. It was the chilling realization that Derek hadn't just been careless; he had enjoyed it.

A you problem, not a me problem.

The words echoed in the sudden silence of the basement. They tattooed themselves onto his memory. In that moment, a quiet, cold certainty settled deep within Liam’s soul. This wasn't over. Derek had laughed today, had walked away without a care in the world. But one day, somehow, some way, Liam would make him pay. Not just the forty dollars. He’d make him pay for the laughter, for the humiliation, for the feeling of being utterly and completely powerless.

A grudge was born, not in a blaze of anger, but in the cold, dark ashes of his depleted phone credit. And Liam Carter was a very, very patient boy.