13: The Stream King
Gunfire echoed from below. Screams—sharp, panicked—rippled through the concrete bones of the building like tremors before collapse.
But I didn't move.
Not yet.
I stood still in the center of first-floor ruins, blood drying on my boots, pistol smoke cooling at my fingertips. The mission was complete. 250 dominance points now burned inside me like a second heartbeat—but something else stirred too.
**Awareness.**
Not just of this floor… but *beyond* it.
I could feel them coming—the heroine party above descending soon no doubt—but I wasn't afraid.
I was ready.
Slowly, silently—I pulled out a heavy machine gun from a dead commander's cache hidden beneath false flooring (location tagged by neural scan five minutes earlier). Mounted it on tripod ripped from surveillance drone wreckage nearby and aimed toward stairwell entrance where anyone emerging would be shredded mid-step into crimson confetti if they dared come uninvited…
Then—I sat down
A single steel chair scraped across blood-slick tiles as I lowered myself with calm only absolute power can bring
On one hand—a phone
On screen—the world
🌍 **YouTube Live: "Campus Siege – Unedited Feed"**
> 👁️ **Viewers:** 362M → trending #1 worldwide
> 💬 Comments per second: ~48K — bots banned but humans still screaming real-time chaos theory into digital void
And there… among thousands…
They were talking about *me.*
"Who IS that masked terrorist??"
"Bro he killed Lira right after sex??? Demon!!"
"He moves like an AI soldier…"
"I swear his eyes glow red when no one's looking…"
That's when it hit me—
They weren't just watching history unfold…
They were worshipping **performance.**
So I smiled beneath black balaclava—and made a decision:
> Time to go official.
With two taps and retinal unlock code stolen during bathroom hack session earlier (Commander Level Access granted via facial spoof using Ms. Lira's freshly harvested biometrics), I created:
📌 **Channel Name:** `GoodManyAssu` ✅ Verified Instantly via Crisis Algorithm Exception Clause (AI policy loophole for viral war content)
Profile picture? Me standing over fallen hero Abhinav—one foot on chest rifle smoking sky glowing orange behind me text overlay in bold white font:
> *"You fought well... for nothing."*
Banner image: Collage of every kill so far set against symphonic remix of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" titled *"The Art
2. 🌪️ "He's not just surviving—he's *branding* his war! #ContentOverChaos"
3. 💥 "From killer to influencer in 30 minutes?? Only in 2024!"
4. 🎮 "This isn't a campus siege—it's Season One of 'AssuVerse' dropping live!"
5. 🔮 "He sees us watching... and now he's playing for keeps."
All around the world, people were talking.
Opinions flooded through millions of mobile screens and desktop monitors like storm clouds building into digital hurricane.
362M viewers and climbing…
But I ignored it all.
My world narrowed to one focus.
That stairway—and the heroine party coming through it soon.
In the minutes before the heroine party descended on my floor, I quickly created several short videos to upload on my newly-minted channel.
Each was captured from my body-cam feed—unedited, raw, and brutal.
I made them because I wanted the world to see who I was... and why.
The first video was titled simply:
"The Beginning"
1. 🔥 "He's not just surviving—he's *curating*!"
2. 🎬 "From war crimes to content king in under an hour… this man has no limits."
3. 💀 "Imagine getting demonetized for less than this."
4. 😳 "This isn't a livestream—it's a cult initiation."
5. 🤯 "He's building a legacy in real time... and we're all witnesses."
In their safe zones, tucked away from campus battlefields, people commented on each video in real time. They were divided: some celebrated me as a new kind of icon, a symbol of power and rebellion against the status quo. Others condemned me as a monster, a monster beyond redemption, a force that had to be stopped at all costs. Yet some said nothing. They simply watched... and listened, their opinions still forming like storm clouds on the horizon.
And then the countdown ended…
And then the countdown ended...
From deep within the stairwell—footsteps.
Light flickered.
A shadow stretched across blood-smeared tiles.
They were coming.