Titus had always known he was one bad decision away from becoming internet famous or internet dead, and tonight felt like the perfect night to roll the dice on both.
The storm was raging like some kind of angry god had decided to throw a tantrum over the city, rain hammering down in thick sheets that turned the old warehouse rooftop into a shallow lake, wind whipping around like it wanted to rip the skin right off his face.
He stood there in the middle of it all, boots sunk ankle-deep in a puddle that reflected the jagged flashes of lightning overhead, his cheap rain jacket already soaked through and clinging to his skin like a second layer of regret.
At twenty-eight, Titus was supposed to be past this kind of reckless crap, freelance cameraman gigs were meant to pay the bills, not get him killed chasing viral glory but here he was anyway, drone controller gripped tight in one hand, phone propped up on a rickety tripod nearby so he could livestream the whole stupid thing to his measly eight hundred followers who probably thought he was joking when he said he was going to nail the shot of a lifetime.
"Come on, you beautiful bastard," he muttered to himself, voice half-lost in the thunder, a grin splitting across his face despite the way his heart was pounding like a drum solo in his chest.
He'd spent the last three years grinding out wedding videos and corporate promos, the kind of soul-sucking work that left him scrolling through other people's highlight reels at 3 a.m., wondering why the hell everyone else was out there living the dream while he was stuck editing footage of some CEO pretending to care about team-building exercises.
But this? This storm had rolled in out of nowhere, the kind of rare freak weather event that only happened once every few years, and Titus wasn't about to let it slip away.
"One perfect 4K shot of those lightning veins cracking across the sky, reflected in the puddles down below, and boom, my channel blows up. Sponsors, collabs, maybe even a real network gig. No more begging for scraps, man. This is it. The shot that changes everything." His inner monologue kept rolling like that, a constant stream of hype and half-assed justifications, because if he stopped to think about how dumb it was to be standing in a puddle during an electrical storm with a metal drone humming in the air above him, he'd probably pack it up and go home like a sane person.
But sane didn't get you a million views. Sane didn't pay off the credit card debt from all those camera upgrades he'd bought on impulse.
He adjusted the drone's altitude with a flick of his thumb, the controller vibrating slightly in his palm as the machine fought against the gusts, its red LED lights blinking like it was trying to warn him.
The livestream chat on his phone was popping off already, a trickle of messages scrolling up the screen.
"Dude you're insane."
"LoL; don't die for clout bro."
"This is gonna be epic if you survive."
Titus barked out a laugh that got swallowed by another rumble of thunder. "You guys have no idea," he said aloud, talking to the camera like it was his best friend, which in a way it kind of was these days.
"I've been waiting for something like this my whole career. Remember that time I climbed the old radio tower for the sunrise timelapse? Yeah, well, that got me a thousand likes. This? This is gonna be the one that actually matters. Lightning, rain, the whole apocalyptic vibe, people eat that stuff up. I can already see the thumbnail: me standing here like a damn action hero, bolts exploding behind me. Viral gold. And if I nail the slow-mo on the strike… forget it. I'm quitting the day job tomorrow."
He shifted his weight, feeling the cold water seep deeper into his socks, but he didn't move out of the puddle because the reflection was everything, the way the sky lit up and bounced off the surface made the whole frame pop in a way no filter could fake.
His mind wandered back to the conversation he'd had with his buddy Mike earlier that evening, the one where Mike had tried to talk him out of it like always.
"Titus, seriously, you're gonna get yourself fried," Mike had said over the phone, voice crackling with that mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement that came from years of watching his friend chase one dumb idea after another.
"Remember the bridge jump last summer? You almost broke your ankle and the video only got like two hundred views. This storm's no joke, the weather app says lightning every thirty seconds. Just film it from the car like a normal person."
Titus had laughed it off then, same as he was laughing now in his head, replaying the whole exchange while he fine-tuned the drone's exposure settings.
"Mike, come on, normal doesn't pay the rent. You know how many drone guys are out there competing? I need something that stands out, something raw and real. This isn't just a shot; it's my ticket. Imagine the comments rolling in...'This guy's crazy but the footage is insane.' I'll edit it with some epic music, maybe throw in a voiceover about chasing the storm inside us all or whatever motivational garbage trends these days. Trust me, by morning I'll be the guy everyone's sharing. And hey, if I die, at least the last thing on my feed is me going out in a blaze of glory. You'll get the rights to the footage and make a killing on my behalf, right?"
Mike had groaned on the other end, the sound long and drawn-out like he was rubbing his temples. "You're impossible. Fine, but if you end up in the hospital, I'm telling your mom it was my idea so she doesn't kill me instead. Just… don't stand in the damn water, okay? Basic physics, dude. Electricity plus puddle equals bad news."
Titus had promised he wouldn't, of course, but here he was breaking that promise five minutes later because the angle from the edge of the roof just wasn't hitting right, and the puddle in the center gave the shot that extra dramatic flair, like the sky was pouring right into the earth.
The wind picked up another notch, howling around the warehouse's old exhaust vents, and Titus felt a shiver run through him that wasn't entirely from the cold. Part of him knew Mike was right, this was pushing it even for him but the other part, the bigger part that had kept him hustling through years of rejected pitches and low-paying gigs, whispered that this was the moment.
The one where all the late nights editing in his tiny apartment, the endless scrolling for inspiration, the quiet fear that he'd never break out of the freelance rut, finally paid off. He checked the drone's battery, seventy-eight percent, plenty of time and zoomed the camera in on a particularly dark patch of clouds where the lightning seemed to be building.
"Alright, chat, here we go," he said, raising his voice so the phone mic could catch it over the rain. "I'm calling this one 'Storm's Fury.' If it hits a million views by sunrise, I'll do a live Q&A tomorrow where I answer whatever crazy questions you throw at me. No holds barred. Maybe even show the raw unedited file if you guys smash that like button hard enough."
The chat lit up with emojis and hype, fire symbols, rocket ships, a few skull heads for good measure and Titus felt that familiar rush, the one that made all the risk worth it, like he was the director of his own action movie and the world was just waiting for him to yell "action."
He lifted the controller higher, arms steady despite the shaking from the cold, and sent the drone climbing another twenty feet, positioning it so the frame would catch him in the foreground with the storm exploding behind.
The rain was coming down harder now, pelting his face and blurring his vision, but he blinked it away and focused on the screen, watching the live feed as the clouds churned like something alive.
Another flash lit up the sky, closer this time, and the thunder followed almost instantly, a deep boom that rattled the rooftop gravel under his feet. "Whoa, that was a good one," he said, half to himself and half to the audience.
"Did you see that bolt? Looked like it split the whole damn sky in half. Okay, positioning for the money shot now, stay with me, guys." He took a half-step forward in the puddle, feeling the water slosh around his calves, and adjusted the drone's gimbal for that perfect level horizon.
His mind was racing with edits already, cut to slow-mo on the strike, overlay some text like "One Man vs. Nature," maybe even a dramatic voiceover he'd record later about how life was all about chasing the lightning before it strikes you down. It was cheesy as hell, but cheesy sold.
He'd seen guys with half his talent blow up over less. This was his shot, literally and figuratively, and he wasn't about to waste it hiding under an awning like some amateur.
The wind gusted again, stronger, and the drone wobbled on the feed, but Titus compensated with quick thumb flicks, muttering encouragement under his breath like it was a living thing.
"Hold steady, baby. Just a few more seconds. We're gonna make history tonight." He glanced at his phone one last time, the chat a blur of encouragement and warnings, and then it happened, the sky lit up brighter than daylight, a massive fork of lightning tearing down from the clouds straight toward the drone like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
Time seemed to stretch out in that instant, the world narrowing to the bright white line connecting heaven to his stupid little machine, and Titus's eyes widened as he realized too late that the metal frame of the drone was basically a lightning rod hovering right above his head.
The strike hit with a deafening crack, the drone exploding in a shower of sparks and molten plastic that rained down around him, and the electricity surged through the controller in his hand like fire in his veins.
He felt the jolt race up his arm, through his body, and into the puddle at his feet, the water turning the whole rooftop into a conductor that amplified everything.
Pain exploded everywhere at once, white-hot and overwhelming, but in the middle of it all his brain still managed one last coherent thought, a stupid, defiant quip that summed up his entire ridiculous life.
"This shot is gonna go viral…"
The words slipped out as a gasp, barely audible over the thunder, and then everything went black, the rooftop, the storm, and the city lights fading away like a bad cut to black in one of his own videos.
[CONTRACT ACTOR REBOOT INITIATED – F-RANK EXTRA ASSIGNED].