No one couldn't swipe your feed, flip a channel, or turn on the radio without running into it. The Meteor Studio story had officially reached that critical mass where it stopped being news and started being the background radiation of daily life. It was everywhere.
Over on EntertainNet, the morning show hosts were desperately trying to seem hip. "So, the question on everyone's mind," chirped one host with unnaturally white teeth, "Sael VT—hot new thing, or the hottest new thing? Discuss!" Their panel of D-list celebrities, who hadn't seen the stream but had read the summaries, nodded sagely as if they'd been fans for years.
On the more serious news networks, grainy stills of Sael's mask were blown up and displayed next to words like "PHENOMENON" and "DISRUPTOR." They treated him like a mysterious weather pattern they were trying to forecast. Social media was, of course, a total lost cause. Fan-art of Sael VT and Millie Kyleish was already dominating the art tags, theories about Sael's true identity were spawning entire conspiracy sub-forums, and clips of his "HUMBLE" verse were the backing track for a million shitpost videos.
It was a full-blown media blitz. The kind of saturation that usually only happened after a major disaster or a government mandate announcement. But this was different. This was something people had actually chosen to consume, to embrace, and now the entire machine was scrambling to catch up and explain it. They were all trying to bottle lightning, and mostly just succeeding in looking like they'd never seen a storm before.
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The set of "Bear Market" was all cool blues, dark woods, and massive holographic screens floating behind the anchor desk. It was the kind of place that took itself very, very seriously. Which made what was about to happen even funnier.
The host, a woman with a severe haircut and a perpetually skeptical eyebrow, steepled her fingers. "Joining us now is Jake Miles to break down the numbers behind this… 'Meteor Studio' frenzy. Jake, this all seems very… frothy. What are we actually looking at here?"
Jake Miles, looking relaxed in a sharp suit, gave a easy smile. He looked like a man who'd just found a winning lottery ticket. "Frothy? Sure, on the surface. But let's scrape the foam off the top and look at the liquid assets underneath."
He gestured to a screen that lit up with eye-watering numbers.
"First, the stream itself. A cool hundred million plus, conservatively. But that's just the loose change. The real story is in the valuation. Their MeTube channel, in under 48 hours, has become one of the most valuable digital properties on the planet. The engagement metrics are off any chart I have." He tapped his tablet and another graphic appeared.
"And this is the really clever part. Their sales data for Silent Hill: First Fear on Vapor? Set to private. Brilliant move. It keeps the competition guessing and stops us from putting a precise number on them. But based on the chatter, the download estimates, and the fact that everyone and their grandmother is talking about it? We're easily looking at hundreds of millions in revenue. From one game. And one song."
He leaned forward, his calm demeanor giving way to genuine excitement. "This isn't a company that got lucky. This is a company that understands the modern digital landscape better than any of the old guard. They built a terrifyingly good product, marketed it through sheer word-of-mouth quality, and then leveraged that credibility to launch a music career that just broke every record in the book. They're not playing the game; they're redesigning it."
He dropped his final bomb with a casual shrug that belied the gravity of his words. "If this company ever files for an IPO? I'm liquidating everything. My house, my car, my vintage action figure collection. I would bet every single dollar I have on them being the highest-priced stock in entertainment history. It's not even a gamble. It's common sense."
A few moments later, the "Bear Market" panel was in session. Jake's unshakable confidence had clearly ruffled the feathers of the other two panelists, a stuffy older man from a traditional investment firm and a woman who represented "stable, long-term growth" portfolios.
"Respectfully, Jake, that's insanity," the older man scoffed, adjusting his glasses. "You're valuing a company based on two data points! A horror game and a pop song! That's not a business model; that's a lucky streak!"
The woman nodded vigorously. "He's right. Where's the diversification? Where's the five-year plan? This could all evaporate tomorrow when the next viral cat video drops!"
Jake just smiled, but it was a tighter smile now. "You're missing the point. The data points are the quality. They've established a brand identity that screams 'premium experience.' They've created the one thing you can't buy: overwhelming consumer trust. People don't just buy their products; they anticipate them."
"But the risk—" the woman started.
"Is what?" Jake interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "The risk is that their next game is also a masterpiece? The risk is that Sael VT's album is also a cultural landmark? Please, tell me what part of that is a bad investment?"
The older man threw his hands up. "It's a fad! It's all a flash in the pan! You're getting swept up in the hype, Miles!"
That was the wrong thing to say. Jake's calm facade finally cracked. He leaned into his microphone, his voice escalating into a near shout that made the sound engineer wince.
"I'm getting swept up in the numbers! The numbers you're choosing to ignore because they don't fit your outdated spreadsheet model! This isn't hype; this is a fundamental market correction! They are the correction! You're dinosaurs staring at a meteor and calling it a pretty light!"
The other panelist started yelling back, their arguments dissolving into incoherent sputtering about "due diligence" and "market volatility." The host tried to regain control—"Gentlemen, please! Ma'am!"—but it was useless. For a full thirty seconds, "Bear Market" devolved into a shouting match of pure, unfiltered financial panic and excitement, live on air, before the director finally cut to a very sudden and awkward commercial for gold bullion.
The silence in the studio was deafening. Jake Miles sat back, flushed but satisfied, straightening his tie. He'd made his point.