Aaron Miles did not open the chat.
The chat opened him.
He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, when his phone vibrated once.
Not loudly.
Not urgently.
Casually.
Like someone tapping a glass to get attention.
The screen lit up.
El God Lounge
Unread messages: 27
Aaron closed his eyes.
"…I knew it."
The moment he tapped it, the messages began loading one after another, cascading like a crowd that had been waiting behind a door.
God of Trolls:
He survived today. Disappointing.
God of Misfortune:
Barely.
God of Wealth:
His heart rate spiked three times. Impressive.
God of Luck:
Statistically unlikely, but acceptable.
God of Love:
You're exhausting him.
Aaron sat up.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then he typed.
Aaron:
You're all enjoying this.
The response came instantly.
God of Trolls:
Oh, very much so.
Aaron's jaw tightened.
Aaron:
You nearly got me exposed today.
God of Trolls:
Nearly is the key word.
God of Misfortune:
He learns fast under pressure.
Aaron laughed softly.
A humorless sound.
"You think this is funny," he muttered aloud.
Aaron:
You stacked the system to overlap schedules.
God of Trolls:
I optimized them.
Aaron:
You tried to kill me.
God of Trolls:
Not tried. Tested.
Aaron leaned back against the headboard, fingers tightening around his phone.
Aaron:
People almost got hurt today.
A pause.
Longer than before.
Then—
God of Love:
They didn't.
Aaron stared at the words.
Aaron:
That's your excuse?
God of Love:
That is the boundary.
Something cold settled in Aaron's chest.
"So as long as no one breaks," he whispered, "you don't care how close it gets."
God of Trolls:
Now he understands.
Aaron scrolled.
Older messages surfaced.
Laughing.
Betting.
Commentary.
It hit him slowly.
They weren't just watching outcomes.
They were watching him.
Aaron:
You're treating this like a show.
God of Trolls:
Entertainment is an oversimplification.
God of Wealth:
Evaluation is more accurate.
God of Luck:
Selection.
Aaron's fingers paused.
Aaron:
Selection… for what?
The typing indicators appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally—
God of Love:
You are not the first.
The room felt quieter.
The air heavier.
Aaron:
What do you mean?
God of Misfortune:
Previous candidates.
Aaron's throat went dry.
Aaron:
Where are they?
The answer came from the one he least wanted to hear.
God of Trolls:
They failed.
No emojis.
No laughter.
Just that.
Aaron stared at the screen.
Failed.
He swallowed.
Aaron:
Failed how?
A moment passed.
Then—
God of Love:
Some refused.
God of Wealth:
Some broke mentally.
God of Luck:
Some died creatively.
Aaron exhaled sharply.
"Creatively," he repeated.
Aaron:
How many?
This time, no one answered immediately.
The silence stretched.
Then—
God of Misfortune:
Enough to know you are statistically interesting.
Aaron closed his eyes.
"So I'm not special," he said quietly. "I'm just… surviving longer."
God of Trolls:
You're more entertaining than most.
That word again.
Entertainment.
Aaron's hand trembled slightly.
Aaron:
Is that all I am to you?
The reply came not from the chat—but from the system itself.
A new interface slid open, uninvited.
System Update Available.
Aaron's pulse quickened.
"Of course," he muttered.
He accepted.
The screen darkened.
Then reassembled.
New Feature Unlocked: Observer Mode (Restricted)
Description:
Certain higher-level entities may observe your progress directly.
This does not affect free will.
This does not guarantee intervention.
Aaron stared.
"…Observe," he whispered.
The chat resumed.
God of Trolls:
Wave.
Aaron felt it then.
Not a presence.
Not eyes.
But attention.
Like standing on a stage you didn't know existed, lights just out of sight, silence thick with expectation.
Aaron:
How many are watching?
God of Love:
Enough.
Aaron:
From where?
God of Wealth:
Different layers.
God of Luck:
Different worlds.
Aaron's breath hitched.
Aaron:
Worlds?
The system chimed softly, as if confirming a casual fact.
System Hint:
Future targets may not be limited by geography, culture, or planet.
Aaron laughed.
Not hysterically.
Not loudly.
Just once.
Low.
"…Of course they won't be."
Lucy was just a college girl.
Emma was a CEO.
Those were only the beginning.
The system continued, merciless.
Affection parameters will scale.
Difficulty will escalate.
Attention will increase.
Aaron pressed his palm to his face.
"I'm not a hero," he said aloud. "I'm not some chosen savior."
God of Love:
No.
God of Trolls:
You're better.
Aaron looked up.
Aaron:
How?
God of Trolls:
You didn't volunteer.
The words settled strangely.
"You forced me," Aaron said quietly.
God of Trolls:
Yes.
Aaron:
And now you're watching me drown.
God of Trolls:
And swim.
Anger stirred.
Not explosive.
Not wild.
Quiet.
Dense.
The kind that sinks instead of flaring.
Aaron:
If this is entertainment…
He paused.
Then typed slowly.
Aaron:
What happens when I stop being entertaining?
The chat went still.
For the first time since he'd joined, no one answered immediately.
Then—
God of Misfortune:
That depends.
Aaron:
On what?
God of Love:
On whether you are still useful.
Aaron felt the anger settle deeper.
Harder.
So this was the truth.
The system.
The women.
The lies.
The pressure.
All of it was a test.
And he was a variable.
Replaceable.
He leaned back, staring into the dark.
"…You know," he said softly, "I used to think being single was the worst thing that could happen to me."
No one replied.
Aaron smiled faintly.
Not amused.
Not broken.
Something else.
A line had been crossed.
"You're watching," he said.
Then, quietly, "Then watch closely."
The system pulsed.
The chat remained open.
Somewhere beyond perception, observers leaned in.
And for the first time since the night everything began—
Aaron Miles wasn't just trying to survive.
He was starting to resent the audience.