I walked.
Because everyone else was walking.
I didn't know where we were going. Just that the carpet was red and the sky above us looked like a mistake. The kind of sky that twitched when you weren't looking. The kind of sky that didn't want you looking at it too long.
All around me were strangers who weren't strangers anymore. People who had survived the same hell.
No one spoke.
We passed tall, black spires. They looked like speakers, but they made no sound. I watched a man reach out to touch one—and something unseen pulled him forward.
He disappeared inside.
Didn't even scream.
A small flash appeared above the spire.
[Candidate Eliminated – Rule Breach: Interference During Classification]
[Viewer Sentiment: Indifferent]
[Pulse Lost: 0.01 Units]
I didn't flinch.
I didn't have any reaction left in me.
We reached the plaza.
There were more teddy bears now. Different sizes. All floating. All smiling. All watching. Some wore tiny bow ties. One had a screen for a face. Another had little streamers for arms.
They were waiting behind silver counters marked with letters and colors.
I looked at the one in front of me.
The teddy bear's smile was stitched into place, but something about the way its head tilted made it feel... judgmental.
It wore a crimson vest. Its button eyes were black holes. When it spoke, its voice came not from its mouth, but from the air itself—sweet and sugary, like candy left in a sunbeam.
"Hello, Candidate #231-Alpha-Gamma."
It paused, as if letting the silence settle.
"Welcome to Classification."
A screen unfolded in the air beside it, made of static and memory. I saw my own face—drawn in lines that didn't match, like someone had tried to sketch me while drowning.
Beneath it, words began to bloom:
___
Current Viewer Count: 14,402
Unique Tags: [Quiet Resilience] [Late Bloomer] [Unresolved Trauma] [???]
Viewer Commentary: 'Make him a Horror Streamer!' / 'Nah, Storyteller. That monologue was peak.' / 'Bet he eats something weird—Foodstream material.'
[Please select your Stream Type.]
___
A new window cracked open.
Ten icons. Each glowing. Each pulsing. Each a trap.
___
[SURVIVALIST STREAM] – "You live. They watch."
[HORROR STREAM] – "Scream pretty."
[FOODS TREAM] – "Consume. Be consumed."
[REACT STREAM] – "Cry. Laugh. Die with style."
[STORYTELLER STREAM] – "Make meaning where there is none."
[DANCE STREAM] – "Move or be moved."
[ART STREAM] – "Draw the dream. Or the nightmare."
[MUSIC STREAM] – "Your melody is your weapon."
[VLOG STREAM] – "Be the main character."
[VARIETY STREAM] – "Roll the dice."
___
Each one shimmered. Each one waited.
Above them, the timer started ticking down.
[00:41]
[00:40]
[00:39]
Behind me, someone whispered. "Don't pick Horror. I'm sure it might be worse than the passengers from earlier."
Another muttered, "Food streamers… what if they force them to eat weird things."
A third, quieter than the rest, said, "There's no safe choice. Just choose the poison you can swallow."
The bear stared at me. The options flickered. My pulse throbbed in my fingertips.
My viewers were waiting.
[00:33]
[00:32]
[00:31]
My hand hovered over Storyteller Stream.
It made sense. I wasn't strong, or fast, or entertaining. But I could observe. I could endure. I could remember.
The thought alone made the interface react. The Storyteller icon pulsed once, its glow deepening like a held breath.
My finger hovered over Storyteller Stream.
I reached for it.
And someone shoved me.
Not hard. Not even malicious. Just a desperate, frightened bump from a girl next to me who stumbled and reached for her own choice.
But in that moment, my hand jolted.
My finger slipped.
The selection clicked.
___
[VARIETY STREAM SELECTED]
"Roll the dice. Be the wildcard. Entertain… everything."
___
"No," I breathed.
I didn't mean to. I didn't want this.
The teddy bear didn't blink.
"Selection confirmed."
The timer vanished.
A burst of confetti exploded from somewhere above. Digital particles rained down like mocking snow.
Someone behind me laughed—dry, nervous, like they'd seen someone step onto a landmine and smile about it.
[Candidate #231-Alpha-Gamma – Class Assigned: VARIETY STREAM]
The confetti vanished before it touched the ground. Like it didn't want to contaminate the floor.
My screen glitched once.
The bear floated a little closer.
"Please proceed to your Channel Gate."
The gate shimmered open behind the silver counter. No applause. Just a faint hum. Like a phone charger that never stops buzzing in your skull.
I didn't move right away.
The girl who bumped into me didn't look back. Her eyes were locked on the icon she'd chosen—Art Stream. It blinked in soft, watercolor pulses.
She trembled.
We were all trembling.
The floor under my feet flickered with red light. A warning. A countdown I couldn't see.
I stepped forward.
Through the gate.
___
[CHANNEL: VARIETY STREAM – TRIAL INITIATING…]
___
The world twisted.
Not the dramatic kind. Not a loud scream or a pull or a snap. Just... one moment I was standing, and the next, gravity decided it worked differently now.
I fell sideways.
Or maybe forward.
Or maybe in.
I landed on grass.
Fake grass.
The kind used on sitcom sets and broken mini-golf courses. It even smelled artificial, like lemon cleaner and glue.
I was in a backyard.
Or a set made to look like one. Too clean. Too staged. A white picket fence on all sides. Plastic flowers. Sky painted a deep, uniform blue with a fake sun that didn't give off heat.
A garden gnome sat nearby.
It blinked.
I blinked back.
___
[TRIAL: "FAMILY BBQ FROM HELL"]
Goal: Blend in. Be liked. Don't die.
Bonus Pulse: Impress the Patriarch.
Genre: Dark Comedy / Social Horror
Viewer Count: 4
Viewer Sentiment: Morbidly Curious
Pulse: 0.01
___
I heard a voice behind me.
Cheerful. Sharp. Like a laugh track was hiding in its lungs.
"There you are, sport!"
I turned.
There was a man—if you could call it that—grinning from ear to ear, with a spatula in one hand and eyes that reflected nothing. He wore a "#1 Dad" apron. The kind you only find in Halloween stores.
Beside him stood a woman in a 1950s dress, makeup too perfect, smile too wide.
"Dinner's almost ready," she sang. "We made your favorites."
Behind them, two "siblings" waved. Their hands didn't move right.
The gnome was still staring at me.
[Viewer: A thought that once was a city is looking at you]
The "#1 Dad" approached me with the energy of a nuclear bomb inside a church.
"There you are, sport!" he said again, louder now. His voice carried like a canned laugh, cued up at the worst possible time. "Come give your old man a hug!"
He opened his arms.
And I—
—I hesitated.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
The twitch.
That fraction-of-a-second glitch behind his eyes, like static on a screen too old to care.
I stepped forward.
His arms wrapped around me. Too tight. Too still. His hands patted my back with mechanical precision—three times exactly.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
He pulled back, holding me by the shoulders.
"Look at you! Same face, different eyes. Hah! That's our boy!"
Beside him, the "Mom" tilted her head like a doll that forgot how to break.
"We were just saying," she said, "you've been so quiet lately. So different. We're just thrilled you're finally home."
Behind her, the siblings waved again.
They were still waving.
They hadn't stopped.
One of them blinked out of sync with the other. The girl's arm bent the wrong direction, then reset with a fleshy snap.
[Viewer: A Symphony of Fangs is watching you blink]
[Viewer: This One Roots For The Home Team donates 0.02 Pulse]
[Viewer Sentiment: Mildly Amused]
Pulse ticked up.
Only a little.
Barely enough to breathe.
The "Dad" turned toward the grill. "Almost ready!" he called. Flames rose, but there was still no food.
Only smoke.
It didn't smell like meat. Or charcoal.
It smelled like burning hair and lemon disinfectant.
The Mom guided me to the table.
Plastic checkered cloth. Fake corn on the cob. A pitcher of something red with fruit floating in it. I couldn't tell if it was punch or blood pretending to be fruit punch.
"Siddown, sweetheart," she sang.
I did.
The gnome was watching from the garden bed. It hadn't blinked again. Just stared. Still. Judging.
The Dad set something on my plate.
A slab of meat.
But it had teeth.
Not attached—embedded. Like it had bitten something before being cooked. I stared at it. The grill still hissed behind him.
"Eat up," he grinned. "It's your favorite."
___
[Mini Objectives Updated:]
– Eat the food.
– Compliment the cooking.
– Make a joke.
– Don't break character.
___
I picked up the fork. My hand trembled.
It wasn't just the meat.
It was the silence.
That wrong kind of silence.
The kind where everything was almost normal.
The kind that feels like a test.
"Looks... uh. Well done," I said.
The Dad beamed.
The Mom clapped once, sharp and hollow.
"Still got that sense of humor!" she chirped. "You always did keep us laughing."
The fork pierced the meat.
It squelched.
Viewers pinged in.
[Viewer: The One Who Writes With Bones urging you to eat it]
[Pulse Donated: 0.05 Units]
I brought it to my mouth.
Held it there.
Paused.
The "sister" leaned forward.
"You always were such a picky eater," she whispered.
The meat touched my tongue.
I didn't chew.
Didn't swallow.
I let it sit there. Rotting. Warm. The texture of something that was never alive but had pretended to be for long enough that it started believing it.
I swallowed.
Barely.
The taste didn't hit my tongue so much as haunt it.
It was sweet.
Not sugary sweet—like a rotten meat marinated in cinnamon syrup and lies.
My throat convulsed. I didn't gag, didn't throw up. That would've broken character.
Instead, I smiled. Or tried to. It came out like a grimace someone had photocopied too many times.
"Delicious," I said. "Tastes just like I remember."
The Dad gave a mechanical laugh, like a soundboard with one button.
"Hah! That's my boy!"
[Viewer: The One Who Eats Dialogue donates 0.03 Pulse]
[Viewer Sentiment: Deeply Satisfied]
The Mom refilled my glass with that not-quite-punch, her face too close, her teeth a perfect picket fence.
"Now don't be shy, sweetheart. You're family. And family's forever, right?"
Something stirred at the edge of the yard.
The fence trembled.
The gnome turned its head. Slowly.
Something else was watching.
[Viewer: The Curtain That Watches From Behind Itself has joined your stream]
[Pulse: 0.11 Units]
[Viewer Sentiment: Unsettled Interest]
The meat on my plate moved.
Just a twitch.
Just enough to let me know it wasn't finished with me yet.
The Dad turned back to the grill. Still no food. Just that same fire. That same smell.
The Mom leaned in again.
"So," she whispered, "who do you love more? Me or your father?"
A new objective flashed:
___
[Bonus Pulse Opportunity: Choose a Parent. Make it heartfelt.]
Timer: [00:45]
___
I looked at her.
Then at him.
Then at the siblings. Still waving. Still glitching.
Then at the gnome.
I smiled again. Forced. Bright as broken glass.
"I love…"
[00:28]
[00:27]
[00:26]
"…the grill," I said.
Silence.
The Dad paused. The spatula frozen mid-air.
The Mom blinked. Once. Slowly.
The sister stopped waving.
Even the gnome... looked confused.
A beat passed.
Then:
The Dad burst out laughing.
"Hah! That's a great answer!"
[Viewer: The One Who Eats Dialogue donates 0.08 Pulse]
[Viewer Sentiment: Delighted]
The Mom smiled again. "Oh, you are funny, darling. So funny I could just…"
She didn't finish. Her mouth kept moving, but no sound came out.
Like someone had pressed mute on her soul.
The gnome nodded. Once.
[Bonus Pulse Awarded: 0.1 Units – Creativity]
[Total Pulse: 0.29 Units]
The meat slid off my plate on its own. It slithered beneath the tablecloth like a dog going home.
The siblings began clapping now. In perfect sync.
Then not in sync.
Then too in sync.
Plastic streamers erupted from the grill like confetti from hell.
The Dad turned. "Time for dessert!"
The Mom held up a pie.
It breathed.
The trial message updated:
___
[TRIAL ENDING SOON: Maintain Family Unity]
[Final Objective: Eat the dessert. Say Grace. Hug the Mom.]
___
The gnome stood now.
A second gnome joined it.
The sky cracked.
Just a line. Just a whisper of wrong.
I stood.
I reached for the pie.
And then four choices appeared infront of me.
___
[What do you want to do?]
—Eat it?
—Refuse?
—Say something?
—Break character?