Chapter 139

"I don’t need to read your mind to know how dumb that brain of yours is, Ray," Milady said, casual, walking back behind the coffee table. She picked up her cup again. All that was left inside was a few melting ice cubes. "Your face is transparent like cheap glass. Packed with that disgusting savior fantasy."

Ray wiped his chin rough. The bitter punch of black coffee was still in his throat, but the heat in his chest was louder. The girl in front of him really had no brakes. Milady was the perfect mix of scary tactical brains and zero-mercy sadism.

"Whatever you say, Chandelier," Ray growled, trying to scrape his dignity back together after she’d just smashed it. "Now explain the rest. This crazy script... how do we play it without looking like some cheap stage play?"

Milady folded her arms. Her eyes went cold and professional in about two seconds. That mood flip still gave Ray chills every time.

"Simple," she said, pointing at the stack of papers on the table. "You don’t need to act like a pro. You just need to be your usual self. Lazy. Rude. Doesn’t give a damn about the world. But every time my whale account dumps a stupid-big donation, you read the exact line I marked in yellow."

Ray picked the papers back up. His eyes scanned the highlighter lines.

Early symptoms aren’t sleepiness. This is a pull from the border dimension. When your head feels heavy, that’s because the frequency of reality around us is starting to shift...

Ray winced. "This sounds like indigo-kid nonsense from the internet. You sure the viewers won’t clock it?"

"They won’t care if it’s nonsense or not, Ray," Milady cut in. "In the digital propaganda era, truth is like tenth place. What they want is a story that scratches the curiosity. Right now Common Sense Hijack has the whole city scared. You give them a reason that sounds cool and mysterious, and those brains already addicted to instant media will swallow it whole."

Milady stepped in, both palms on the coffee table, leaning down until she was level with Ray sitting there.

"You need to get our position. Hime and Angelo control conventional media. They have money, connections, authority. Us? We only have two things. A livestream account with tens of millions of panicked viewers, and your ability to survive a Hijack. If we don’t lock public perception today, Angelo’s gonna drop a narrative that you’re the source of the plague, and the public will want your head on a plate."

Ray looked at her. There was a sharp ambition in her eyes, but under it he could see the cold math. Milady wasn’t just chasing clout. She was building a mass shield for both of them.

"So..." Ray leaned back, tapping his fingers on his thigh. "Your whale account is gonna bait everybody else’s emotions?"

"Exactly." A thin smile cut across her mouth. "Herd mentality. When people see one filthy-rich account throwing hundreds of millions just to get your attention and ask this mystic shit, everybody else starts feeling like the info you’re holding is expensive. Envy and curiosity blow up. They’ll race each other to donate just to ask their own questions."

"And at the same time," Ray said, catching the shape of the crazy game, "we flip my image from ’that unlucky guy who randomly passed out’ into ’a medium holding back a supernatural phenomenon.’"

"Good. Your shrimp brain still works," Milady praised him in the least sincere tone Ray had ever heard. "Now get ready. Livestream starts in ten minutes. Wear your black jacket, mess your hair up a little so you look like you haven’t slept from ’holding dimensional weight,’ and sit in front of the camera."

Fifteen minutes later, the monitor in the corner lit up. Ray sat in his folding chair, facing a high-res webcam under low light. Milady’s orders. Dark. Mysterious.

Behind the camera, out of frame, Milady watched a second laptop, fingers flying over the keys. She held up three fingers and counted them down.

Three. Two. One.

Ray hit Go Live.

In seconds the number in the top right exploded.

100,000 viewers.

500,000 viewers.

1,200,000 viewers...

Chat ran so fast the text turned into a blur, a waterfall of words. Thousands of questions in one second.

RAY! WHAT HAPPENED DOWNTOWN YESTERDAY?!

IS THE HIJACK HAPPENING AGAIN TODAY?!

WHY DO YOU ALWAYS PASS OUT BEFORE IT HITS? ARE YOU INVOLVED?!

HOAX! HE’S WORKING WITH THE GOVERNMENT!

Ray let out a long breath and shoved both hands into his black jacket pockets. He leaned back, looking at the camera lazy and a little half-lidded. Part of it was real leftover sleep. Part of it was the role.

"Calm down chat," Ray muttered, voice rough like he’d just woken up. "I can’t read if too many people are talking. Slow down, dude."

Chat got even wilder. Thousands of comments roasted him for being rude. The viewer count still climbed past two million.

Then the whole livestream screen warped under a full-size animation. A huge gold visual slammed in and auto-paused the chat.

SUPER-TIER DONATION FROM: @NIGHT_SOVEREIGN

Amount: $50,000

Answer me, Ray. That heavy feeling in your head right now... is that because the dimensional frequency is starting to shift again? What do you hear when you fall asleep?

Ray’s eyes widened a little at the number on screen. He knew it was Milady’s fake account. Seeing that kind of money fly across the stream still hit.

He flicked a glance at her behind the camera. She gave a small nod. Sharp eyes. Do the part.

Ray rubbed his face, faked a pained wince, then looked back at the camera with that deep, loaded stare.

"So there’s a rich guy with no patience," Ray chuckled quiet, putting on a thin mysterious smile. "But since your money’s enough to buy a house... I’ll answer."

He leaned toward the camera and let the room’s shadows cut across half his face.

"Y’all think I just fall asleep like normal? I thought that too at first." His voice dropped an octave. Heavier. Calmer. "But I got another theory. That sleepiness that hits... it ain’t because I’m tired. That’s when reality around us starts losing its weight. My head feels like it’s getting crushed by tons of iron because the Common Sense Hijack frequency is starting to eat the awareness of people around me."

Chat went dead for a second, then exploded twice as fast.

WHAT THE FUCK?! SO HE’S HOLDING THE EFFECT BACK?!

DIMENSION SHIFTING? THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?!

I SAID IT FIRST HE AIN’T A NORMAL HUMAN!

Before the viewers could even chew that, the gold animation slammed the screen again.

SUPER-TIER DONATION FROM: @NIGHT_SOVEREIGN

Amount: $100,000

Then what about regular people? What happens to their minds when you start losing consciousness?

Ray scoffed quiet, playing with the ring on his finger. "Regular people? Your brains might work a little different from mine. When that ’shift’ hits, your logic gets hacked. You’ll treat crazy shit like it’s normal. Only people with a brain damaged enough like mine can feel the pull before it’s too late."

Then other donation alerts started popping. Not Milady’s account. Real viewers, hooked by the whale.

DONATION FROM: @User9981 - $500

RAY! IS THERE GONNA BE A HIJACK TODAY?! PLEASE ANSWER!

DONATION FROM: @TruthSeeker - $1,000

CAN YOU TEACH US HOW TO HOLD THAT FREQUENCY BACK?!

Money started pouring. Milady’s fake narrative had bitten the public clean. Their fear was now wrapped in curiosity and this obsessive kind of awe. Ray wasn’t just some weird guy who happened to be at the scene anymore. To millions of people right now, he was the only anchor who understood the madness.

Ray glanced at Milady again. She was standing there with her arms crossed, victory smile wide. The plan had landed.

But in the middle of the donation flood and the insane chat, there was one name that couldn’t be ignored.

DONATION FROM: @ANGELO_OFFICIAL - $1,500

Very clever narrative, Ray. How about working with me? We have to bring peace to this world. Help me hunt the one hijacking common sense. Join the Pure Fire side now!

Ray stared at the donation tag like it might bite. Angelo. Official. On his stream. Two million people watching.

He leaned toward the mic and kept his voice lazy on purpose.

"I don’t have a special ability to track anybody," Ray said. "I ain’t a hunter. I ain’t a detector. I feel the pull, that’s it. I can’t point at a face and say that’s the one flipping common sense. If that’s what you want from me, you got the wrong guy."

Chat spiked.

THEN WHAT CAN YOU DO

SO HE’S USELESS?

ANGELO COOKED HIM

The gold animation slammed in again.

DONATION FROM: @ANGELO_OFFICIAL - $3,000

Fine, then. Don’t forget Hime already got you grabbed by the government once. You have the right to take her to court.

Ray swallowed.

The room behind the camera felt tighter. He didn’t look at Milady. He didn’t have to. He could feel her staring a hole through the side of his head.

Chat flipped.

HE’S RIGHT

HIME DID THAT

SUE HER RAY

ANGELO MAKES SENSE

PURE FIRE AIN’T WRONG FOR THIS ONE

HIME HAD HIM ARRESTED AND Y’ALL STILL DEFENDING HER??

The comments piled on like they’d been waiting for permission. Fear of Hime. Anger at the arrest. Angelo’s clean little sentence turning into a mob opinion in ten seconds.

Ray sat there with two million people suddenly agreeing with the fire guy, and the worst part was how easy it sounded. Like the public had just been handed a target that wasn’t him.

He licked his lips and stayed still, because one wrong answer now and Angelo wouldn’t just be in the donation tab. He’d own the narrative.