Morning sunlight spilled through the window of the VIP dormitory. Solomon woke up and lazily rubbed his eyes. He sat up on the edge of the mattress and stretched his arms.
"Chat, what time is it?" Solomon asked out of pure habit.
He received no response. He blinked, staring at the empty space above his shoulder, and finally remembered he didn't have his broadcasting owl.
"Fuck! How many times has it been now? I lost count." He let out a long, frustrated sigh and rubbed his face. "I am losing my mind. Since when did I get so used to that stupid drone hovering around me?"
Usually, the chat would filter out when he went to sleep, and then a dedicated group of viewers would wake him up in the morning by spamming loud, ringing donations. And that constant noise had become his daily alarm clock.
For the first time in a very long while, he had woken up entirely on his own.
He got up and walked into the washroom.
