Jaxon collapsed onto his lumpy mattress, phone slipping from his hand, the screen glowing with notifications.
His eyes burned, lids heavy from pacing and counting to five hundred. The email—Monetization Pending—flashed in his mind. He knew he'd get it, but exhaustion won.
The hum of his dying laptop faded, the mildew stench of his apartment lulling him into a dreamless sleep. The screen's glow lingered behind his eyelids, a ghost refusing to fade.
He jolted awake, sunlight slicing through cracked blinds. His phone buzzed like a swarm, X screaming 500,000 followers, his other socials topping half a million too.
PayPal stacked: $500, $1,000, $2,500. His crypto wallet pinged—Bitcoins flooding in, numbers climbing. He scrolled, hands shaking, phone nearly slipping.
"Oh my God… I'm money!" He said as he scrolled. It suddenly became too much to handle. He'd been the type that would rejoice for a comment, now, he had thousands, hundreds of thousands.
Emails piled, hundreds unopened—fan GIFs of fire emojis, memes of Kayla's moans, Corey's smirk.
He pinched his arm, the sting sharp, but the room stayed real—peeling wallpaper, a roach skittering across the floor.
He stood, pacing, socks catching on frayed carpet, heart hammering, sweat beading on his neck. He laughed, a sharp sound, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting to the ceiling.
His stomach growled, but food could wait. He knew he couldn't just go out and get a snack like before. His face was there, emblazoned on his page.
"Oh my God! This street knows me!" He knew anytime, Corey could send thugs on him.
He opened his laptop, hands trembling, and searched for apartments in the heart of New Avalon, a gleaming city of steel and ambition. A penthouse popped up—glass walls, skyline views, $10,000 a month.
He clicked apply, fingers fumbling, heart pounding. He ordered a tailored suit, gold cufflinks, a pair of shoes, a black leather briefcase, and a sleek black mask, like a digital outlaw. The order confirmed, a rush hitting him.
He rushed through… he kissed the walls, lips brushing peeling paint, a goodbye to this life. He packed his ID, birth certificate, into the briefcase, fingers tracing the leather, smooth and alien.
He ordered an Uber Black, the app pinging. Waiting, he checked X. A retweet blazed: *Nasty Troll Lord came, saw, conquered. One post, game over.*
Comments erupted: *No way he stops now! Keep it coming, Lord!*
Others jabbed: *One-hit wonder, he's done.*
*Don't quit, Troll Lord!*
His stomach twisted, guilt clawing up. Doubt drowning him. They were right. "Oh my God! What will I post next?" He wiped the beads of perspiration on his forehead.
Death threats echoed—We'll find you—unsigned, but Corey's smirk haunted him. Negative comments stung: *Pathetic loser, exposing his girl.*
*Corey fucks better, that why*
*Let's see your dick. I'm sure Corey's bigger than you* Jaxon sneered. "Fuck you!" He wished he could reply, but he wanted to law low till he has a response.
*He'd posted out of heartbreak, and now what?*
He muttered, "What do I do?" Fingers hovered over the keyboard, wanting to respond. But he couldn't.
Uber honked. Jaxon slipped on the mask, its cool fabric hugging his face, and grabbed the briefcase. He stepped into the sleek black car, sinking into the leather seat, the driver glancing back, silent.
New Avalon blurred—neon signs, crowded sidewalks, a world he didn't fit. His phone buzzed, notifications piling—fans begging, brands offering deals.
His hands gripped the briefcase, knuckles white. He'd wanted to hurt Kayla, hurt Corey, but this beast was bigger, wilder. "I think you've gone far, Jaxon Vile. You're a bad bad guy!"
The Uber stopped at the New Avalon penthouse, glass towering into the sky. Jaxon stepped out, mask on, briefcase clutched.
The doorman's eyes widened, phone snapping a photo. "Troll Lord, right?" Jaxon nodded, throat tight, hurrying inside.
"Oh my God! You're the…"
The lobby gleamed—marble floors, chandeliers—but his shoes squeaked, out of place. He rode the elevator, mirrors reflecting his masked face, a stranger staring back. The penthouse door clicked open, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawling below. He dropped the briefcase, pacing the empty space, heart thudding. This was his now—him, the kid who'd eaten ramen for weeks.
His phone buzzed, relentlessly. Notifications flooded: 600,000 followers, a total of millions in all media accounts. PayPal hit $2.2 million, Bitcoins another million.
He sank to the bare floor, hands yanking hair, strands falling. A pauper yesterday, scraping rent. Today, a millionaire.
His breath came in gasps, chest tight, eyes darting to the glass walls, the city watching him. News emails poured in: StarPulse exclusive, sign now! Channel 7 tell-all, name your price! He muttered, "Over my dead body," voice shaking. They'd rejected his blog for years; now they wanted his soul.
He ordered pizza online, fingers fumbling. The delivery guy arrived, eyes glued to his phone, Kayla's moans looping on Instagram. He grinned, handing over the box. "Nasty Troll Lord's the most talked-about shit, man. That video? Savage."
Jaxon slammed the door, pizza unopened, stomach churning. He saw Kayla's necklace, the one he'd starved for, Corey's grin, built on his words.
Guilt clawed, but the money burned brighter. He checked his accounts again—$5,000 more in PayPal, fans sending crypto tips, DMs begging for chaos: *You're our king, Troll Lord! Burn it all down!*
He paced the penthouse, the skyline blurring outside. The mask sat on the counter, its black sheen glinting.
He wasn't ready—stardom, money, eyes on him. Death threats flashed—You're done, Jaxon. Comments stung: *Loser, airing his dirty laundry.*
*He'd wanted revenge, not this throne.*
*If he's the Nasty Troll Lord, let him drop another tea. Someone bigger this time around. Bigger than Corey."
Messages swamped in, but a sender was relentless. One message, repeated a hundred times: NEW POST! NEW POST! NEW POST!
He scrolled to the latest, hands trembling. The sender wrote: *Please keep me anonymous. I don't have the balls to post this, but yours are bigger.*
Jaxon swallowed hard. "Might be what I needed."
Attached was a video. Jaxon clicked play. A man in a tailored suit, pantless, unmistakably a prince of Cresthaven, neighboring city, tangled in a threesome with two palace maids, their uniforms half-off, moans echoing in a gilded room.
Jaxon's eyes widened, his breath stopping, the phone shaking in his grip. "I'm the fucking Nasty Troll Lord. Y'all are not ready!"