Based on the prompt: “Your character discovers a secret society and conspiracy.”
Ray Clark Olsen couldn’t believe it. His pre-order had shipped. Wal-Mart preorders never shipped. What a slap in the face to true fans. But it shipped. It really did. The Masters of the Universe Origins figure of Terroar, a toy planned but not produced for the cancelled 1987 Powers of Grayskull line. Painted purple and cobbled together from parts of pre-existing toys – Whiplash, Rattlor, Trap-Jaw, and Mosquitor – it was a cheap, garish eyesore. But he had missed out on the Masters of the Universe Classics convention exclusive Terroar in 2015, and he’d be damned if this one slipped through his grasp as well. He had waited early in the morning, surrounded by bathroom stink as he delayed his shower to place the order. But even though it had sold out in two minutes, he had gotten it and Wal-Mart hadn’t canceled his pre-order in the months since. But now the USPS tracking had an alert.
CUSTOMER ACTION REQUIRED: PICK UP ONSITE AT FACILITY.
“That’s annoying. Another slap in the face,” Ray muttered as he got in his car, cleared away the empty boxes from last week’s Target Haulathon toy run, and got on the road. The address took him to an unmarked warehouse downtown – not belonging to Wal-Mart or USPS. So he assumed that there was a locker somewhere. It worked for Amazon, right?
“Hello?” Ray called out as he entered the empty building, a vast dark room lit only by the beams of a few isolated lightbulbs. “I’m here for the package? My package? I’ve got my tracking number and everything.”
A slender, shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, light glinting from eyeglass lenses like flashes of dark starfire.
“So you’ve come. Welcome. I am The Guru.”
Ray blinked in confusion. “Scott?”
“Guru,” The Guru collected. “We use titles here. Welcome, Ray C. Olsen, to the Illuminati.”
“The what?” he asked, still confused at what the guy from all the online forums was doing here. Hadn’t The Guru worked for Mattel? Was this a Mattel thing?
“The Illuminati,” Guru repeated. “We are the movers and shakers, the elite behind the scenes, the rulers in darkness. The shadow government. We have seen your coded communications, and the Council has voted to allow you in our inner circle.”
Ray stared blankly.
Guru adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been using our code words for years. ‘A slap in the face,’ ‘This raped my childhood,’ ‘they’re just pandering, not real fans,’ and many others. Come with me, Ray, and I will take you on a tour of our facility.”
“Wait, but–” Ray began to say before The Guru led him further into the warehouse and more lights turned on, illuminating the vast room and everything inside.
Warehouse? No, it was a temple. A muscular skull-faced god carved of stone, its eye sockets filled with gems, overlooked the chamber. Hooded and robed cultists, each decorated with a symbol of a spiky red sun, bowed in worship.
“This is where we control the world through coded messages,” Guru said. “‘Slap in the Face’ means to start a war. ‘Raped my Childhood’ means that it’s time to fix an election. We’ve got codes for overthrowing governments, inventing viruses, inventing vaccines, lacing the water supply with nanites – you name it. Every time you hear ‘another cheap cash grab,’ it means we’re about to collapse an economy. ‘Just another woke remake’ is our signal to replace more politicians with robot clones. Remember when we released that Roboto figure in 2010 with the wrong arms? That wasn’t bad quality control, it was the signal to send more chemtrails.”
“So uh, about Terroar.”
“And you’ve been following all our coded conversations, agreeing with the consensus, and even making valuable suggestions,” Guru said as he paused by an eldritch altar and lifted a dark chalice. “We’ve performed ten assassinations under your prospective advice and strengthened our hold over the world a hundredfold.”
“The tracking said–”
“And now, here we are in our sanctuary,” Guru said as he held the chalice high. “In this cup is the Black Blood of the Earth, mined from the Hollow World by the Deros and Lizard People. It is the source of the Illuminati’s power and influence. Once you drink of it you will be of one kin with Dagon and shall live forever, ruling the Earth with unlimited power and influence! All that you desire shall be yours! This world shall be crushed beneath our iron scepter! Ray Clark Olsen, are you prepared to join our Shadow Order?”
“Yeah, speaking of an order, just to make sure,” Ray said. “You have the figure here, right? It didn’t get lost in the mail?”
Silence fell across the dark temple, broken only by the sloshing of dark liquid in the chalice.
“Wait, you’re really a toy collector?” The Guru asked, adjusting his glasses. “You were actually trying to buy Terroar?”
“Uh, yeah,” Ray said.
“And you genuinely meant all those things you said on the forums?”
“Yup.”
“You’re just here for the toys?”
“Yes.”
The Guru stared at him and set the chalice back down on the altar. The liquid inside sloshed one more time.
The silence was more than palpable.
Ray returned home that night, confused, his new Terroar figure in his hands. Well, the Wal-Mart preorder had shipped, and that was good. All of the other stuff was pretty confusing, and he understood that he had to decide whether he truly believed it or not. Would he ignore it and live like nothing had happened? Or could he use this secret knowledge to change the world? Could they reinvite him in the future? Might he someday return to that dark temple?
“I probably wouldn’t be good at ruling the world, anyway,” Ray said as he opened his front door and went home. Come to think of it, the new toy would look great on his display shelf. Maybe it wasn’t such a slap in the face after all.