Brought to you by: Matt Bird MSci (Hons) AMRSC

The worst thing that could happen is to log on one day and find that everyone has left for no reason and you're left wandering the vast lonliness of an empty WdC wilderness with no one to talk to. Soon you go mad and start hallucinating members and you see a contest just at the horizon and you trek for days trying to find it, only to realise it was a mirage, a cruel taunt at just how lonely you are in this barren memberless wasteland.

After days and weeks and months of searching for someone to review your work or for someone you can review, you give up realising you search is hopeless and turn around to leave. Only in your dazed and confused state you cannot find a way out. Your brain shouts that you must continue your search for a companion, but no one is there.

A white feather drifts down. You pick it up and realise it is a Quill Award. Does that mean Andrew might still be around? Could you run to the pre-Quill ceremony and find members once again. You hurry toward where you think the Quill came from but only find an empty in/out stage all prepared for a ceremony but with no one around to give out awards. No one to accept them.

You collapse into the dust and scream so loud that someone must be able to hear you. But no one comes. You are utterly alone. The WdC Apocalypse has come and you were spared. But what good are you on in a land for writers with no other writers? You cannot assist, you cannot chat and laugh and play. There is no one here. Everyone is gone.

But, surely you can't be the only one? Where could everyone be? You scramble along the dusty ground until you reach a throne of melted down swords. This place, once a hub of activity is deathly silent. You are completely and utterly alone.

That, my friend, is the worst thing that could happen on WdC...

But, wait. A thought crosses your mind. You scan the desolate wasteland for life and see none. You turn back to the throne. A terrible idea begins to form. Could you possibly do this horrific thing you contemplate? You consider a moment the treachery such a act would be. But can you betray those who are no longer there?

You place a dry and desparate hand on the cold metal of the throne. You pull yourself up and close your eyes. You decide you will do it. It is your only chance. The only glimmer of hope in this hell you find yourself in. You sit down on the throne. You stare out at the lands that are now yours to rule...

'Get of my throne, you filfthy Targaryen,' Hannah says.

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