The internet had barely cooled down from the Apocalypse Playground Incident before Aria Lane resurfaced — alive, unapologetic, and apparently starving.
She didn't release a press statement.
She didn't hold a conference.
She didn't even deny the rumors that she was a secret government experiment who could kill with a frying pan.
Instead, she opened a livestream.
The title?
"Making Breakfast. Please Don't Panic."
The stream went live at 7:03 a.m.
The screen flickered.
Then she appeared — messy ponytail, oversized hoodie, standing in a tiny rented kitchen.
No makeup. No filters. Just her and her infamous frying pan.
She tapped the camera lens. "Can everyone hear me?"
💬 "SHE'S ALIVE 😭😭😭"
💬 "Not her coming back with a cooking stream 😭💀"
💬 "The frying pan survived too?? ICONIC."
She grinned. "Of course it did. It's been through worse."
Aria turned to the counter, where a sad collection of canned food sat like guilty suspects: beans, sardines, instant noodles, and one suspicious tin labeled 'Mystery Protein.'
"Today's menu," she announced, "is desperation cuisine. The food of champions."
She cracked open the can with a knife — no can opener — then sniffed it.
"Still better than what catering gave us on set."
💬 "Not her roasting the film crew 😭😭😭"
💬 "'Desperation cuisine' is my new lifestyle."
💬 "Why does she make poverty look cool???"
She moved with calm precision, hands steady as she lit a portable gas stove.
Her motions were fluid — too fluid.
Even cooking looked like combat training.
She added oil, waited exactly three seconds, then dropped in the sardines with surgical grace.
The sizzle filled the mic.
"Smells like freedom," she said with a smile. "And maybe mercury poisoning."
The comments went feral.
💬 "She's feeding us AND insulting us at the same time 😭"
💬 "She makes sardines sound poetic."
💬 "The agency lost a weapon, the world gained a chef."
Ten minutes later, she plated her creation — sardines over instant noodles, sprinkled with crushed crackers.
She looked proud. "There. Michelin who?"
As she took her first bite, someone in chat donated $5000 with the message:
"The goddess eats!"
Aria choked on her noodles. "You people need hobbies."
Within an hour, the stream had over eight million viewers.
Clips flooded social media:
Aria flicking oil away from her face like she was deflecting bullets.
Aria glaring at a boiling pot and saying, "Simmer. I said simmer."
Aria saluting her frying pan with dead seriousness before cooking.
The hashtags trended worldwide:
#TheFoodieAwakens
#ChefOfChaos
#FryingPanSupremacy
At Rift Media headquarters, the PR team stared at the stream in disbelief.
"She's cooking," one whispered.
"On a survival stove," said another.
The director — still under suspension but somehow watching from a hospital bed — muttered, "She's mocking us."
Marcus, watching from his car, smiled faintly. "No. She's reinventing herself."
Halfway through the stream, Aria looked at the camera, slurping noodles.
"So, apparently, I'm trending again. You'd think the world would get bored of me by now."
💬 "Never."
💬 "You're the only person who can turn trauma into entertainment."
💬 "The noodles are trending in ten countries."
She laughed. "If you're all going to watch me eat, at least take notes. Rule number one: survive first, then season to taste."
After finishing, she leaned back, stretching like a cat.
"Thanks for breakfast, internet," she said. "Next time, maybe we'll do dessert — assuming I'm not arrested by then."
She waved.
The stream ended.
By nightfall, it had over 100 million replays.
Canned food brands sold out globally.
Cooking forums declared her a "culinary anarchist."
Even military accounts reposted her quote:
"Survive first. Then season to taste."
The world that once mocked her for being fragile was now obsessed with watching her feed herself.
Somewhere far away, Noah watched the replay on a cracked phone, shaking his head with a smile.
"She's really doing this," he said.
A voice replied from his comm.
"You sound proud."
He smiled faintly. "I'm terrified."
In her kitchen, Aria washed her pan, humming softly.
When she glanced at her reflection in the metal, the faint digital shimmer of her old encryption signature flickered across it — A-01.
Her eyes hardened, just slightly.
"Round three, then," she whispered.
💬 "She's unstoppable."
💬 "Cooking. Hacking. Conquering the world."
💬 "This isn't breakfast anymore. It's history."