For three full seconds, the livestream was pure black.
No sound.
No subtitles.
No system notifications.
Just enough silence for forty-eight million people to ask the same question at the same time:
"Did my screen just die, or did Aria kill the lights on purpose?"
Then the feed snapped back.
Not smoothly—violently, as if the camera had been yanked into motion.
A dim cone of light shook across cracked concrete.
Breathing—hers, steady but low—filled the speakers.
And the internet detonated.
On every social platform, frantic comments shot upward by the millions per minute:
💬 "WHO TURNED OFF THE WORLD???"
💬 "I swear she's fighting demons in there."
💬 "This is no longer a show, this is a WAR DOCUMENTARY."
💬 "Did you all hear the metal scraping?? That was NOT a prop."
People were livestreaming themselves watching the livestream.
Reaction channels were melting.
News outlets cut into programming to cover the chaos.
A journalist on one network whispered on-air,
"Ladies and gentlemen… I think we're witnessing something unprecedented."
The anchor beside her murmured,
"Is that code for 'we have no idea what's going on'?"
Meanwhile, gaming forums were analyzing the environment like it was a tactical shooter.
Someone posted a warehouse map within sixty seconds.
Another user uploaded a frame-by-frame breakdown of Aria's breathing pattern:
💬 "Her inhale is too controlled. She's not scared—she's CALCULATING."
On a survival subreddit, a comment hit 100,000 upvotes:
"She's adapting to the acoustics. That's what elite operatives do."
*—Signed, someone who definitely did not learn this from YouTube"
Even conspiracy theorists chimed in:
💬 "Listen. I KNOW she's a sleeper agent but she's OUR sleeper agent so let's all relax."
Back in the livestream, Aria's camera jerked sharply to the left.
A shadow moved across the far wall.
The chat went hysterical.
💬 "WHO THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
💬 "ROLL BACK THE FOOTAGE ROLL BACK THE FOOTAGE—"
💬 "Why am I watching this at 2 a.m. alone please someone call my mom."
A second shadow appeared.
Bigger.
Closer.
Aria's voice—calm as stone—finally came through:
"Two of you? Generous."
The world collectively stopped breathing.
A teenage viewer somewhere in Brazil screamed into her mic during a watch party:
"THERE ARE TWO?! TWO?! SHE'S GOT THIS BUT ALSO—TWO?!"
Her grandmother off-screen shouted, "She'll be fine, menina! Let her work!"
Clips of the grandma went viral immediately.
A fan in South Korea posted a shaky video holding a frying pan like a weapon.
Caption:
"ARIA IF YOU NEED BACKUP SAY NOTHING."
The comments were unhinged:
💬 "SHE SAID NOTHING LET'S MOVE OUT."
💬 "Pack your snacks and meet me at the airport."
💬 "Her silence was the signal."
The global internet briefly convinced itself that Aria Lane had just mobilized a transcontinental militia.
Then the camera swung upward—fast.
A figure dropped from the rafters.
The audience didn't see his features.
Just the blur of motion, the heavy landing, the unmistakable outline of someone trained for violence.
Millions of viewers screamed in their living rooms.
Aria?
She didn't flinch.
"Late," she said.
The figure lunged.
The feed cut to static.
In a Paris café, someone fainted.
In a college dorm in California, a group of students threw their textbooks in the air like confetti.
In a Tokyo subway station, commuters crowded around public screens, collectively holding their breath.
The streaming platform logged the highest engagement spike in human history.
People weren't watching a show anymore.
They were witnessing what felt like a real-time spy confrontation in 4K.
And then—
The static faded.
The feed returned.
Aria walked into the frame, brushing dust off her sleeve as if she had simply leaned against a wall too roughly.
Behind her on the ground, just barely visible, was the body of a man—unconscious.
Audience:
💬 "OH MY GOD—OH MY GOD??? SHE WON?!"
💬 "She dropped him like a bad habit."
💬 "THE WAY SHE DIDN'T EVEN COMMENT ON IT???"
She glanced at the camera.
A tiny smirk ghosted across her lips.
"One down."
Pause.
"…Next."
The internet collectively lost consciousness.