Weird Chat Novels & Stories

My company, my achievements, and some other things. I unlocked my phone and opened WhatsApp immediately before tapping on the guys group chat which held a good amount of messages under it in just an hour plus. These dudes are jobless. Mother-Fucking-Bois - 541 messages. Tristan; Don't y'all have things to do except blowing up my phone every God damn minute? I tapped on the send arrow and watch the message reliever before deciding to scroll through the previous messages in case I've missed out on something important. I got met with absurd and more absurd messages.

As for my mother-in-law and Doctor Ruby, they both groaned and sighed since this was something that happened almost every day. It's how we are like. It's how I'm like. I'm a Bizarre Wolf.

Pfff! Staring intently at my phone screen, an icon which looked like a chat bar appeared across the screen. It was framed with dripping bloods, dry bones and skulls perched around it, the bar was demarcating me and the creepy user. What’s with all these death signals? On the chat bar, appeared a text. “I invented it not for my own use. You bought it but don't want it. And he used it but doesn’t know how to feel or see it. What is it?”

I grinned at him before I pointed at a picture on his screen, "So, what's that?" "This is the window of a chat room on the dark web. People are more likely to talk about supernatural stuff here, though there is still a lot of false information." Kirsch pointed to a title on the screen-- The Middle Age: Final Chapter Of Magic. "You are looking into Magic in the human's chat room?" I rose an eyebrow, "I thought humans don't believe in that." "Not really. There are people who really believe in that actually, and sometimes they are really touching the edge of our secrecy."

Byron asked. “Yes, they do. I have no idea what the hell is going on or why they started this.” Chris groaned. *Group Chat* *What the hell is this? Brently* *It’s called a group chat. Kaelayni* *I thought he was smarter than that. I guess not. Poor Netaeylae. Danallae* *It’s ok, I am used to it. I keep him around because he is oh so pretty. Netaeylae*

SHIT! #TBC

she said angrily, shifting her position. "Me, what the fudge, you, what the fudge. You kicked me," Mr. Bad boy yelled gesturing to his torso. Trix rolled her eyes. "What do you want," she asked annoyed. "Can you take a picture for us," a soft voice asked. "Sweetheart have you never heard of a selfie before," Trix retorted rudely. A gruff sound came from Mr. Bad boy, which sound like a groan and a growl or it may have just been a growl.

"Maren was jealous that I could get everyone into Pemberton, so she went behind our backs and hacked into Babble! She made the AI transfer all forty-two of our Pemberton spots to herself! That's why she has a letter while we don't!" In any sane room, a theory that stupid and detached from reality would have been laughed into the ground. However, for a group of high school students who had spent an entire summer marinating their brains in AI nonsense, it was the only explanation that made sense. "Phoebe, ask Babble right now! Ask if that's what really happened!" Keira shouted frantically. Phoebe ducked her head and hammered out a message at lightning speed. Phoebe: [Did Maren Caldwell steal a

“Explain the zombie situation before I lose what’s left of my sanity!” Ashley sighed, gripping the wheel tighter. “Okay. So. Not zombies.” “Great. Love that. Then why do they look like rejected extras from a horror movie?” “It’s… worse,” she said. I blinked. “Wow. Fantastic. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” She took a breath. “There’s this new chat app. It just launched today and everyone’s been downloading it like crazy.” “Of course they have,” I muttered. “Because humanity collectively shares one brain cell.”

Me: Then what is it? The stuff came again and stayed longer this time. Then disappeared. No message. My brows pulled together deeper now. “What’s wrong with him?” I typed again before I could stop myself. Me: You’re being weird tonight. That one went through quickly. This time, the reply came almost immediately. B: I’m not. I let out a quiet breath again. “You are,” I whispered, more to myself than anything. My fingers moved again. Me: You are. Me: You’re giving me one-word answers. That’s not you.