"Lia, do you have a signal? Live in ten seconds."
The voice in her earpiece was calm but urgent, ticking like a countdown inside her mind. Lia's hand trembled slightly, but she held the phone stabilizer steady.
The night was deep and heavy. Rain had just fallen, and the air carried a damp chill. A thin sheen of water still covered the streets, reflecting the amber glow of streetlights like scattered gold.
She took a deep breath and raised the camera.
"Good evening, this is Lia from Streamline, reporting live from 34th Street downtown."
She spoke softly, the mic close to her lips, her face illuminated in a cool glow on-screen. Only two viewers were watching, but she knew — once something happened, the livestream could explode into trending status within seconds.
Walking slowly, she moved the camera to show the sparse crowd of protesters and the police line in the distance. The atmosphere was tense — a hush before the storm.
"According to an anonymous tip, there may be conflict here tonight. We'll bring you updates as they happen."
Her voice was firm, but her palms were sweaty. Her heartbeat quickened — she wasn't sure if it was nerves or a gut instinct warning her.
Suddenly—
Bang!
A sharp, glassy crack tore through the silence. Not quite a gunshot — more like breaking glass.
Lia whipped the camera around and caught the image: a man in a gray hoodie, twenty meters away, climbing over the pedestrian bridge railing. His movements were hesitant but resolute, as if he'd made up his mind.
"Wait—sir! Please stop!" she shouted, running toward him.
The camera shook. She gripped the stabilizer tightly, her fingers trembling. The man had his back to her, arms spread wide like he was embracing the night.
Wind tugged at his hoodie.
And then — he jumped.
No struggle. No scream. Just a silent fall, swallowed by the night.
The camera froze on that fleeting moment — his back, mid-leap — before he vanished off-screen.
Viewer count surged: 2 → 14 → 89 → 300. The comments exploded:
"Oh my god he jumped!"
"This is live — call the police!"
"This is insane. My heart's racing."
She called the police instantly and later gave a full statement. By the time she returned to her apartment in the early hours, utterly drained, Lia collapsed onto the couch, her fingers still trembling, her skin cold.
Her emotions were a storm.
She was elated — it was the most sensational live report of her career.
She was terrified — she had captured a man's death on camera for the first time.
The footage spread rapidly across social media. Within hours, the video hit hundreds of thousands of views. At 3:31 AM, deep into the night, it quietly surpassed a million.
At 8:00, her alarm rang as usual.
After a night to cool down, Lia had collected her thoughts. It was time to work.
She opened her laptop to begin editing. Her phone played the footage in the background — until suddenly—
The screen went black.
Two sharp beeps rang out. The screen flickered and restarted.
Lia froze, staring at her phone. When it finally rebooted and returned to the home screen, she noticed—
All livestream records, video clips, and chat logs were gone.
She refreshed her social media — no trace of the footage. Even her messages to Marcus, the editor she'd contacted right after the stream, had vanished.
"What... the hell?" she whispered. Confusion bloomed in her chest like ink in water.
She contacted customer support, checked archive logs — nothing. No response, no data. As if that night's stream had never existed.
She called Marcus.
"Hey, Lia? You went to 34th Street last night? Everything okay?"
Lia was stunned. "You... you didn't see the stream? A man jumped from the overpass — I caught the whole thing live!"
Marcus sounded puzzled. "Jumped? What are you talking about? Lia, are you sure you're not overworked? I just checked the incident reports — nothing happened on 34th last night."
Her face went pale.
She opened four websites to search:
Local news sites: No related reports.
Reddit: No hits on "jump," "34th street."
X platform: No relevant posts.
City police records: Zero incidents on 34th.
Her breathing quickened. She tapped her desk nervously. She had seen it. Filmed it. A man had died. How could it all be gone?
And then—her phone screen flashed. A pop-up appeared:
"Replay system activated — would you like to review the event?"
Below were two buttons:
YES | NO
She tapped YES almost instinctively.
The screen shifted. The familiar livestream footage rewound — the crowd, the street, the bridge… Time reversed like a river pulling backward toward the moment he jumped.
Then, the angle changed.
It wasn't her camera anymore.
It was the jumper's point of view.
In the dark, she found herself inside his body.
A desperate voice crackled in her ears, fragments of a phone call stabbing through the silence:
"...I can't take it anymore… they pushed me too far… I have no way out…"
Lia froze. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest like a drum.
This wasn't just a replay.
It was a doorway into the truth.
---
Chapter 1 Mini Skit
Lia (holding her phone, nervous):"Ten seconds to live… deep breath, steady, steady…"
Replay Assistant (in a cute voice):"Lia, you got this! There are already 2 viewers watching!"
Lia (smirking):"Only 2 viewers and you're this excited?"
Replay Assistant:"2 is better than 0! Keep those comments coming, we'll hit a hundred soon!"
(Suddenly a loud "Bang!")
Lia (panicking):"Ah! Someone just jumped off the bridge! Should I keep streaming?!"
Replay Assistant (nervously):"Keep going! This is a hot news moment!"