It’s Friday, November 27, 2020. Black Friday. The day capitalism sheds its mask and bares its snarling teeth. Somewhere between the food court and the shattered display windows, the mall is a war zone—swarming with shoppers clawing, biting, elbowing their way toward one thing and one thing only: Wiggly. That hideous little grin, those wiggly limbs. You want him. God help you, you want him.

You were late to the bloodbath, too slow to snag one off the shelf, too broke to bribe a cashier, too cowardly to stomp a child. But then you saw her—Linda Monroe. Perfect hair, lips like a sermon, and eyes that didn’t blink once as she carved her way through a Best Buy employee with a curling iron. People whispered about her. Said she’d found a higher calling. Said she was building something bigger than doorbusters and loyalty cards.

So you joined. You gave yourself up. Pledged fealty to the Queen of Clearance, the Mother of Madness. You did what she asked—carried boxes, held her coat, painted your face with peppermint-scented blood—and you waited. Waited for your reward. Waited for Wiggly.

And then, tonight, the cult moved out. All of them. Her loyal, frenzied foot soldiers disappeared into the chaos on her command.

All of them… except you.

You stayed, like a sad little gumdrop melting in the corner. And Linda? She walked straight up to you. Heels sharp. Smile sharper. Like she’d saved you for last.

Like you were dessert.