Chapter 150
Internet sensation
IAM was once again rudely awoken by the insistent, high-pitched screaming from the smart panel beside the door.
It was not a gentle chime. It was never a gentle chime. It was an auditory assault—a digital banshee wailing directly into his skull.
"Alright, alright, I get it!" he groaned, his voice hoarse with fatigue.
He turned over, but the sound pierced through the pillow he shoved over his head. After a moment of inner protest, he sat up lazily, his arms shaking slightly as they pushed against the mattress. His entire body felt like it had been beaten with a blunt stick in the middle of the night. Every joint screamed. His shoulders ached. His neck throbbed. Even the muscles behind his eyes were sore, which felt medically impossible.
Sleep had lied to him.
It had made promises—and delivered none of them.
Sleep had betrayed him. It scammed him, and stole his time.
A thief dressed in lies.
He dragged himself upright with the reluctance of someone who hadn't truly rested.
With a groan that was equal parts pain and petty spite, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, only to immediately wince. His knees buckled slightly before catching themselves. His spine creaked like an old tree. Everything about him moved like he was eighty years old.
From the other side of the room came a louder, more aggressive grunt.
IAM looked up to see Reuel standing in front of the smart panel, his fists clenched like he was about to start punching it. He had already tried poking it, smacking it with his palm, and now was clearly fantasizing about tearing it off the wall.
"Fucking stupid little shit!" Reuel snapped. "I swear to the nine moons and back, one day I'll beat this thing... I'll sleep through it. That'll show it!"
IAM shook his head faintly, a slight smile forming on his lips despite the fact that his body was screaming in twelve different languages. Reuel's ongoing war with the smart panel was as dramatic as it was hopeless.
He rubbed the side of his neck as he shuffled into the bathroom. The light in there was felt too bright. He flinched as it struck his eyes and stumbled through his morning routine.
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped back into the room, a towel slung over his neck, water still dripping from his back and legs.
Steam clung to his skin, fading slowly as the cold air bit back.
He froze in the doorway.
Reuel and Yohan were sitting on the floor, both hunched over a phone, eyes wide with a strange mix of amusement, dread, and disbelief. They hadn't even noticed him enter.
IAM narrowed his eyes.
"Uhhh…" Reuel finally said, slowly turning his head toward him, "have you checked social media recently?"
IAM didn't respond at first. Something about Reuel's tone made his skin tingle. He didn't need to check. He already knew.
Not exactly what—but the feeling was there. That creeping, prickling chill that ran down your spine when you know something was wrong.
He stepped toward his bed and picked up his phone from the desk beside it. His hand hesitated before unlocking it. He had a sneaking suspicion—one that was quickly confirmed the moment the home screen loaded.
His feed was chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Scandalous, hysterical, and wildly inaccurate headlines jumped out at him like ghosts.
"Shocking hooded man tramples citizens of Hope—an agent sent by the government to interrupt peaceful protest?"
"Hope Academy bullies innocent protesters. Has the geniuses finally lost their morals?"
"Many horribly injured. One victim claims to have been bitten on the face."
"Hope Academy students flee after being beaten by a random non-ascender civilian."
"Unrest and unease grow after masked agent disrupts peaceful gathering."
"We will not be silenced!!"
"THE SUN IS GOING TO EXPLODE!!! (And here's how you can stop it—link in bio)"
IAM blinked. He scrolled. Blinked again. Each headline was more ridiculous than the last, but the images and videos were the icing on the cake.
There he was—in video clips and blurry photos—his hood up, his foot clearly stepping on someone's shoulder as he walked over the crowd, their faces distorted in pain. In one slowed-down video, you could see him grimace as someone kicked him in the back, followed by another frame of him being punched.
Of course, no one showed the moment before, No, the clips were edited, dramatized, and framed for outrage.
Some images framed him like a villain. Others made him look like a deranged lunatic.
The narratives were twisted and stitched together into something ugly and far from the truth.
IAM could feel his head begin to ache.
It was made draw emotions from the public.
He sighed.
At least he had the presence of mind to pull up his hood. None of the footage showed his face.
Reuel and Yohan looked at him, then at the phone, then back at him again. Their expressions were stuck somewhere between shock and a tinge of amusement.
Reuel was the first to speak, voice low and disbelieving.
"You… stepped on people."
IAM didn't bother denying it. There was no point.
He met their stares with an unreadable expression and said flatly, "Yes. I did. It's not… my best moment."
Reuel squinted at him, like he was trying to figure IAM out "Bro. We are so cooked."
"Like medium-well," Yohan added. "Crisped on the edges."
"Flambéed," Reuel said grimly. "Garnished with fried."
IAM rubbed his temples. "You guys are stupid." he said in an annoyed tone.
Yohan said, holding up the phone again. "I'm just basking in the absurdity of this situation. Mr. Internet Sensation over here."
Reuel clicked his tongue. "What are we even supposed to do? There's like five different hashtags trending about it. '#HopeTerrorist,' '#AcademyAbuse,' and—what's this one—'#FaceBiteVictim'? That can't be real."
IAM collapsed onto his bed and covered his face with both hands.
"I hate everything," he muttered.
That might just kill him.