The subway stairwell smelled like old metal and panic.
Hanson took the steps two at a time until his ankle turned wrong on a wet patch and pain flashed up his leg. He caught the railing, teeth clenched, and forced himself onward.
A kid in a Mets hoodie tried to keep his little sister's headphones on, fumbling the band twice before getting it right.
Behind him, the pressure followed.
Not footsteps—something quieter. Something that made the air feel dense, like the world was deciding to become a different material.
The chat on the right side of his vision surged with new messages the moment the subway swallowed him.
NYC SUBWAY?? ARE YOU CRAZY
DON'T GO DOWN THERE
GO GO GO
LIKE HIM MORE
WE'RE WITH YOU
"Who are you?" Hanson whispered, not sure if he was talking to the chat or the voice that had announced Earth's termination with the tone of a game show host.
His interface answered with another tooltip, cheerful as a tutorial.
Your stream quality improves with movement.
Audience engagement increases during high-risk decisions.
He stumbled on a laugh that came out as a cough. "So I'm content."
A ping sounded—bright, friendly, wrong.
✨ DONATION! ✨
From: ⟟⟟⟒⟟⟟⟟⟟⟟ (Tier-7 Patron)
Gift: "Spectator Starter Pack"
A glossy cube icon appeared at the bottom of his vision, hovering like a loot box that had been skinned to look like a channel reward. Beneath it: a single button.
OPEN?
Hanson stared at it as he ran. "I don't have—"
The stairwell widened into the platform level. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, trying and failing to decide whether they were on.
And the platform was full.
Not empty, not abandoned—packed with hundreds of people, pressed shoulder to shoulder like a storm shelter that had become a cage. Some were crying. Some were filming. Some were frozen into silence, eyes fixed on Hanson as if he'd brought the apocalypse down the stairs with him.
Hanson stumbled out onto the platform and nearly collided with a man clutching a child against his chest.
"Hey!" the man barked. "You— you're on the screens. You're the guy. Are you—"
The man's words died as the air turned colder.
Everyone felt it.
Every head turned toward the stairwell.
The creature arrived without hurrying.
It stepped down the last stair, and the fluorescent lights above it dimmed like ashamed witnesses. Its glass plating caught the sickly station light and threw it back in razor glints. The seam in its head opened, and a low pressure hum rolled across the platform like a bass note tuned to break morale.
A woman screamed. A wave of bodies surged away from the stairs, compressing toward the far end of the platform.
Hanson was pushed with them, trapped by the mass.
The red ● LIVE badge pulsed.
Above it, the countdown continued.
08:12… 08:11…
His heart icon climbed again.
♥ 38,409 → 52,117
Warmth spread through his torso. Not strength exactly—stability. The shaking in his hands eased. His breathing found a rhythm.
A small panel flickered into existence near the bottom-left, minimalist, as if the system understood that too much UI would ruin the aesthetic:
BASE (EARTH LIKES)
VIT ↑
Then it vanished.
The crowd surged again. Someone fell. Feet crushed forward. A stroller tipped. Hanson's stomach turned.
The interface chimed again.
POLL (EARTH) — 00:12
LIGHTS?
A) FULL BRIGHT
B) FLICKER
C) BLACKOUT
Percentages already moved.
A) 21%
B) 46%
C) 33%
Hanson's throat tightened. "No," he whispered. "Don't—"
The poll timer dropped.
00:03… 00:02…
The creature on the stairs tilted its head as if it was also watching the poll, patient as a professional.
The crowd's screams rose.
Hanson's view count surged, digits blurring, and with it the heart count jumped.
♥ 52,117 → 70,004
His skin prickled as if electricity crawled under it.
The poll ended.
RESULTS FINAL.
B) FLICKER — 54%
The station lights began to pulse.
Near the far pillar, a stroller had tipped in the surge. Hanson hooked a foot under it and kicked it upright without looking, eyes still on the stairwell.
On. Off. On. Off.
In the dark beats, Hanson saw movement that wasn't the glass-armored creature.
Shapes on the ceiling. Shadows in the tunnel mouth. Something crawling between the beams of light like insects made of static.
The crowd didn't see it yet. They only felt the dread.
A pinned message slid into the chat, different in tone—clinical, unemotional.
CORTISOL LEVELS: ACCEPTABLE.
SUBJECT'S DECISION LATENCY: HIGH.
INCREASE STIMULUS.
"Stop," Hanson said, voice cracking. "Stop messing with—"
Another notification chirped.
NEW OBJECTIVE (AUTO):
DELIVER FIRST BLOOD — 00:02:00
Bonus: +Exposure / +Likes
First blood.
Hanson looked at the creature on the stairs. It wasn't attacking. It was… waiting.
The world waited with it.
The station lights flickered again. In the half-dark, something dropped from the ceiling and landed with a wet thunk on the far end of the platform.
A second entity.
Smaller. Faster. Made of tendon and wire and rotating lenses that clicked as they searched. It turned toward the crowd.
The crowd screamed.
Hanson's body moved without permission. He scanned for anything—anything he could use.
A maintenance sign had snapped off its pole during the surge, leaving behind a length of metal pipe, jagged at one end.
He grabbed it.
The moment his fingers closed around cold metal, the "Starter Pack" cube icon pulsed insistently.
OPEN?
Hanson's breath came in ragged bursts. The lens-creature began to move toward the densest cluster of people—toward children.
Hanson stared at the cube.
Then at the monster.
Then at the red ● LIVE badge.
He slammed his thumb in the air where the OPEN button hovered.
The cube unfolded into a small menu, like a creator reward list.
ITEM 1: "Kinetic Anchor" (basic impact modifier) — LOCKED
Requirement: Donation (OFFWORLD) or First Blood (ON CAMERA)
ITEM 2: "Halo Disk" (temporary shield) — LOCKED
Requirement: Donation (OFFWORLD)
ITEM 3: "Emergency Ping" (signal flare) — AVAILABLE
Effect: boosts exposure for 10 seconds
Hanson didn't understand half of it.
But he understood this: the system wasn't going to hand him a weapon unless the audience paid.
Or unless he paid in blood.
The lens-creature reached the first row of people. A man raised a backpack like a shield. The lenses clicked, and a pale beam swept across the man's face, mapping him.
Hanson lifted the metal pipe with both hands.
The heart count surged as the camera zoomed in.
♥ 70,004 → 88,901
Warmth hit his muscles, tightening them like someone had pulled strings.
He ran at the lens-creature.
The crowd's screams turned into a roar of chat.
DO IT
HIT IT
LIKE LIKE LIKE
Hanson swung the pipe with everything he had—fear, anger, the borrowed heat of a million thumbs—and the metal connected with the rotating lenses.
Glass shattered.
The creature recoiled, emitting a burst of static that made Hanson's vision flicker.
The screen inside his skull chirped like an alert:
FIRST BLOOD: PENDING…
CONFIRMATION REQUIRED: KILL
Behind him, the glass-armored creature descended one slow step onto the platform.
Not rushing.
Watching.
As if the true show was not the monster.
It was what Hanson would become under pressure.
Hanson tightened his grip on the pipe, lungs burning, and stepped between the lens-creature and the crowd.
The countdown above his vision ticked down.
06:59… 06:58…
And the red ● LIVE badge pulsed like a heartbeat that did not belong to him.