In a way, a miracle occurred.
Roland's website "The Song of Reason" has been a public resistance against Laura and her plague onto humanity. Here, Roland tries to formulate any sort of attack possible onto her and ruin her overrated (in his sole opinion) reputation. He collects newspaper articles, pictures of her, video clips that he edits down, posts she makes on social media, merchandise and products signed under her, and if you didn't know his intentions, you'd assume he was maybe Laura's biggest fan ever. He spends about fifteen dollars a month on keeping the domain name running, but in this last year hundreds per month just to stockpile evidence to use against her.
Look at this handwarmer marketed by Laura! I've tested it, and despite it claiming 24-hour efficiency, the heat dies down around 22-hours! It's a scam released from the biggest scam of our generation! By the way, why is a singer trying to sell us handwarmers? This isn't her forte! It's a grift, it's a marketing ploy, it's Laura trying to make a quick buck off of you!
To which, he would receive the following:
Roland, you again? Just die in your little shit hole already. Close down the site, idiot!
I've purchased three more packs because of your post, Roland. Thanks for reminding me to support Laura!
I've personally bought this product and it last me 25-hours. Don't listen to this guy, he has mental problems.
But this time Roland had real evidence - the most recent interview! Surely people would notice the objective observations he had this time! While uploading the recordings, he annotates his various notes turning the viewers attention to the lighting, the lack of blinking, the sharpness of her face in the dimming, the unnatural stillness of Laura. It kind of made Roland wonder why he never realized these details to begin with, but he wasn't usually focused on Laura's face all that much. She was always smiling anyways, in a sort of phony picturesque and permanent state of expressionism. Even when she "cried" (like she did during a tragic tsunami accident on March 11th, which Roland also documented on his website under the category of "Laura - March Evidence") she merely covered her mouth and made sobbing noises with the same curvature of her brows that suggested she was still grinning.
Look, everyone! She's smiling when there are victims out there still trying to pick up the pieces of the tsunami! This is the Laura that you've all been falling for these coming months!
But the responses were the same vitriol from the netizens online who, perhaps in an ironic show of solidarity, were willing to turn a blind on potential issues and valid arguments about Laura due to the persistence of Roland's incessant critiques of her. At first, people weren't sure why Roland was so adamantly against Laura - to be fair, they still aren't. Sure, her rise to fame did seem inorganic and sudden in nature, but there were no scandals tied to her, no problematic behaviorisms, no suggestion that there was a strand of evil in her. She donated to charities, she appeared on public television nonstop with her cheerful demeanor, she sang pretty family-appropriate songs that weren't controversial by any means, and it did seem that in spite of all of this Roland was the only person who hated her.
Up until now. Booting up his haggard computer with a fan that was wheezing its last moments of life, Roland read through the daily hate mail and reports made about his website to find a private message sent to him from an anonymous user.
"You're kind of right. Who doesn't blink for that long? Is she a robot?"
It had never happened before, this dissent from the mainstream view of Laura's infallibility. While it was unfortunate that Roland didn't know who had sent it, it suggested that his work was able to crack through the faux perfection presented by Laura's music empire. "It's all a conspiracy," Roland muttered to himself "some higher power is either using or created Laura for its own bidding. But for what, I don't know yet." Uploading six more photos of Laura travelling through Guam last month, Roland meticulously circles inconsistencies of Laura's makeup that appear smudged. Under each photo he types something along the lines of:
Angle A, slight turn to the left; Laura's foundation is melting. She is apparently not perfect after all.
Angle B, Laura, on time stamp 2:21 on video marked [greeting Guam citizens], mispronounces "håfa adai! (hello) in an act of bigotry and cultural appropriation.
It wasn't even a few seconds the angry retorts came in.
"Roland you fucking idiot, Guam is HUMID. You expect anyone's makeup to stay on perfectly, let alone someone as busy as Laura? She's on the move in life, unlike you!"
"I'm from Guam, and I think she pronounced it perfectly. Be quiet, Roland."
It was an almost symbiotic relationship between the two parties, and Roland was completely used to such receptions of his content. Only this time, in his insignificant form of defiance, Roland had scratched god for once and...
"Ding dong."
Roland turned around slowly in confusion. Why did the person outside say "ding dong" instead of ringing the doorbell. Chances are, it was another heckler. Now that he noticed, the apartment building was oddly quiet - it was a little after 4 PM, and on a weekday the kids would have returned from school loud in their daily release into freedom. Today, it was unnaturally dead silent. Without making too much sound, Roland crept to the peep hole that he was always so cautious of with flyswatter in hand. Outside, a man wearing a cheap looking blue suit, a pitch black bowler hat, and a balaclava mask that revealed the eyes, nose, and mouth areas (rendering it pointless if one was to keep anonymity). He looked dead set at the peep hole, as if he knew Roland was standing there holding his breath watching him. Then, from a plastic bag that he was holding, he retrieved a single item at a time to present to Roland as if it were a silent infomercial.
First, a "Laura™ miniature pillow" Second, a bag of "Laura™ sweet potato crisps." Third, Laura toothbrushes that had prints of her smiling teeth on the handle. Lastly, a copy of Laura's new album. What was very awkward about his presentation of each item was this full smile he'd make as he held out the items for a few seconds without saying anything. The cuts on his mask accentuated the facial expressions he had, but Roland did not recognize the man from anywhere. He did a nearly ninety-degree bow, as if in respect, and then walked away. Roland opened his door and stared out to the man heading towards the stairs. "Huh? What do you want?" Roland calmly interrogated. But the question was casually ignored, as if the man came strictly for that task and nothing else.
It became hard to tell what was real or not at times, and Roland has sort of accepted the peculiar visits to his room due to his infamy. Plus, Roland is no alien to the absurd.
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"You know, if you drop all your items, press ALT and F4 together, the items on the ground will duplicate as many times as you can press it."
When Roland was twelve, he was playing his first MMORPG "Final Dungeon" where players had to traverse through a series of floors to fight an unknown demon that was plaguing the entire kingdom and save the day. He didn't really have experience with video games growing up, but the game was simple like the premise of most games - kill monsters, collect loot, and repeat until the end. But a sleek player far beyond his level camped at the end of the twenty-fourth floor and messaged him to follow him into a corner of the map. He told Roland that the path onwards was astronomically harder and that most players would have to come back here anyways to farm better gear: often, for weeks.
"Have you travelled beyond that floor?" Roland asked, while looking at weapon and armor outside of his knowledge.
"Yes, but I had to do something I'm not proud of. I had to abuse a glitch."
"A glitch?"
"Hold on, don't talk on the public channel. Whisper me and keep this a secret."
The text became purple and the player continued. "What you have is good, but it's far below the recommended power needed. I was in the same position as you, and another player taught me how to progress..."
"But what if I drop my items and you pick them up?"
"Don't worry. Remember, there's a timer for items when you drop them. I can't touch them for at least sixty seconds, right?"
And with a heart full of reassurance, Roland started to drop everything he'd possess up until this point. It was an easy opportunity at greatness - why shouldn't he take the chance? As he held down his ALT key, he noticed that the player's pixelated character smirked uncannily. Or so he thought, at least...
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Everyone was out to get him, Roland believed. There were various systems and institutions who were conspiring to drain all of his assets and toy with his existence. Yet even with this conviction, year after year Roland found himself subjugated to an endless onslaught of scams: each, in essence, not much different from the first time he was ever tricked. He's donated to fake charities that promised he'd be immortalized through plaques and titles; he's bought lotteries from stores that wagered he was just one scratch away from winning; he voted for local politician candidates who have shaken his hand and cut funding for his job; he joined a mega church to find some sort of solace, buying holy water every month to purify himself from the cursed energies following him; he was entranced by a variety of "companies" each praising him for his abilities and characteristics.
In fact, he thought about it, and Zhou was right. He did know most everybody in this city, and it felt like each person was out to get him. How was it possible that everyone knew of Roland, yet they kept allowing him to fall into failure? Surely the case was obvious: it was a group conspiracy. Just like the Laura situation at hand, everyone is part of a cult to make his life miserable. While the intention is unclear, such as what the end goal was of all of this, it only made sense that there was a punchline he was not aware of surrounded by code and coverups.
"I am the sole song of reason in all of this madness!" Roland professed while crossing his arms and chuckling. "You all can't keep tricking me forever, count your days, Laura. I already have one follower, and this is the beginning of my revolution."
"Ding dong."
"Why you little bastard, you're back again I see!" Roland ran to the door, expecting the same odd man from earlier. "I was in the middle of planning my next attack, and you..."
A rather large cardboard box was next to Roland's door and on it spelled the words "Laura's Shop" with a heart at the end of it. Admittedly to him, it was a very clean looking cardboard box, and appeared to be able to house a person in it.
"No doubt about it, that weirdo from earlier is probably sitting inside there. What's his deal? He's the most persistent heckler I've had in awhile." But he was afraid to check what was actually inside the box, in the off chance that the man might attack him or do something uncomfortable. So as a work around, Roland placed a camera on the opposite end of the box which would survey it 24/7. It became like a Schrodinger's box for him, which in some ways was kind of "helpful" because it actually took his attention off of Laura for a moment and occupied his time in different ways. He started to get into cameras, smartwatches, alarm systems, and other tech that might allow him to catch his intruder slipping up getting in or out of the boxes. A few days later, after having assembled a little police state outside of the box and rewinding the tapes over and over again, he concluded that it was impossible for the man to have stayed in there that long without food, water, or movement.
He stood before "Laura's Shop" and stared at the crudely drawn door on it. He was still hesitant to simply lift the box, so he thought the most polite thing was to knock and ask for permission to enter. Upon a soft tapping of his back hand, he felt something hard and was filled with dread suddenly - the man was still inside this box, it seemed.
"Hey, I'm getting really tired of you...why are you doing this?"
But even if it's a prank, the man dying inside would be no laughing matter. Roland went back into his room to retrieve a broomstick to push the box over from afar. What he thought about as he went for the first push was: why, in the span of time recording this hallway, did he cease to see or hear his neighbors at all from the tapes?