Chapter Text
“What should I do, guys? Should I kill this guy and get the mace of Balam Hakar?” you ask the empty room. You don’t hear anyone reply, but then again, you weren’t expecting to.
You hear your chat notifications chime frantically.
MrKenta004: we can’t hear you! (´；д；`)
n01se_x your audio went out u_u
______dk: ur mic is off
Ugh. Just what you needed today. You sigh, stretch back, and rub the tense place between your brows, trying not to ruin your eye makeup. It had taken almost an hour to nail that dying-of-consumption look.
FLUX-V01L3R : ugh sorry guyssss gimme a sec to check my drivers
FLUX-V01L3R : i’m so sorry ﾉﾉ-________-ヽヽ
FLUX-V01L3R : hang tight!!!
MrKenta004 : it’s ok!!! ヽ(〃･ω･)ﾉ we can wait
After a few minutes of troubleshooting the problem, it’s clear: the USB jack on your ancient laptop is totally busted. There’s no workaround or quick fix until you can get to a repair shop, you realize with a groan.
FLUX-V01L3R : it’s totally shot ._.
MrKenta004 : nooooooo
MrKenta004 : fluxxy!! TT_______TT
FLUX-V01L3R : i can end the stream early or do text chat with you guys. What sounds better?
MrKenta004 : keep streaming pls!! ヽ(〃･ω･)ﾉ
n01se_x : ya this is fine for now
______dk : keep going
FLUX-V01L3R : ok that settles it! ヾ(≧∇≦)ゞ keep streaming!
****guest9304 has joined the chat****
guest9304 : show pussy
****guest9304 has been kicked from chat****
n01se_x : lol
FLUX-V01L3R : jeez. at least subscribe first… chivalry is dead
MrKenta004: xD
You smile softly. You have a small but loyal fanbase, and most of them you genuinely liked. Ero-streaming wasn’t your first choice of occupation, but with your quirk, any regular employment was out of reach. Even work-from-home positions usually required an in-person interview—which was totally out of the question.
The service, Streamurzz, straddles a gray area between camgirls and regular video game streamers—the outfits you wear are way more skimpy and enticing than the mainstream sites would tolerate, but unlike straight-up camsites, nothing overtly sexual happened on stream. Lonely guys just wanted to watch girls play video games while barely wearing anything, and were willing to pay for it.
It had been a solid six months, but not without its bumps: at first, you had tried to be ultra-cutesy, since that’s what most guys seemed to like, but couldn’t nail it at all. You felt phony and strange, having never felt sparkly in everyday life. Very few streamers seemed to be embracing the guro vibe—mostly they did schoolgirl stuff or hero cosplay—so you bought a few bandages, mixed up some fake blood, snagged the cheapest black lingerie you could find, and committed to the aesthetic. It ended up being more fun than you expected: costumey and over-the-top in a way that made you feel less vulnerable, more campy than overtly sexy, and—most importantly—you could keep part of your face covered at all times.
Your choice to play older horror games and RPGs was unusual, too, borne from necessity rather than strategy: your poor laptop couldn’t handle anything made in the last 10 years. But it ended up attracting a small but dedicated group of fans who were a bit more mature than the average streamer, less prone to trolling.
Between your most loyal patrons, you could just barely eke out a humble living: a tiny 1-room apartment in a run-down building in a sketchy part of town. The tatami was stained and ancient, the fridge smelled a bit like something died in it, but there were no intercoms, no scheduled lunch times, and you could (at least in theory) go outside whenever you wanted. The doors were only locked if you wanted them to be.
Plus, streaming meant you could talk to people, real people, without being worried about your quirk. It was more than you could have expected out of life.
It was enough.
This mic issue threatened to derail it all. Without voice chat, you worried, your tiny fanbase would move on, and you’d lose your tiny slice of the world you’d struggled so hard for. Most people don’t worry about being out on the street because of a broken mic. A familiar sludge of panic and anger makes it hard to breathe, but you push it down. Back to business.
FLUX-V01L3R : hmmmm what to do what to do…spare the priest, or sacrifice him for the mace?
n01se_x : it’s a good item
MrKenta004 : so evil (>﹏<) there’s no other way??
FLUX-V01L3R : haha balam hakar is a demon xDDDD think he’d let me bake him a cake instead? lolololol
n01se_x : get the mace
______dk : why are you even asking
______dk : do it
FLUX-V01L3R : guess my wood elf is going over to the dark side!
The priest screams in agony as Balam Hakar rips the flesh from his bones, committing his soul to eternal torment.
n01se_x : lol that rules
MrKenta004 : poor guy (╯•﹏•╰)
FLUX-V01L3R : i feel dirty...
______dk : lmao ur all soft
______dk : getting sad abt npcs
______dk : that item wrecks the hell knights ur gonna need 2 fight
Sure enough, dk is right. The next level is much easier than the previous ones with the mac of Balam Hakar. Eventually, you start to yawn. You tell everyone that the stream is about to end, and that you might start late tomorrow after the repair errand. It takes ages (and about six washcloths) to take all the guro makeup off. By the end, you look like a completely different person without it—some dark circles under your eyes, but basically fresh-faced.
A warm shower. A soft bed. People to talk to, who are as close as you’ve ever gotten to having friends.
You decide to bask in how lucky you feel today instead of worrying about tomorrow.
You wake up with a pit in your stomach. Today is going to suck. You just know it.
Carefully parting your hair so it obscures one of your eyes, you throw on a medical mask, sunglasses, and a baggy hoodie, looking like the very definition of a Very Suspicious Person. But it can’t be avoided.
After a few failed starts (first you left the building without your keys, then without your phone, then without your laptop) you head out right after rush hour is over, around 10am, and make your way to the train station, carefully avoiding any eye contact with passersby. It’s not easy to navigate a city while staring down at your shoes, but you have years of practice.
The first leg of your journey goes easily enough. It’s a breezy day, not too hot or humid. You get out to transfer at one of the smaller hubs, taking a seat while you wait for the next train, staring at your phone. Where were you headed again? Oh, right, Akiba. For your laptop.
The station is basically empty except for a few students playing hooky, a pair of hungover businessmen, and one guy a short distance away who’s also rocking the baggy-hoodie look. You can see all of them with your peripheral vision, forcing down the urge to steal a quick glance. You hum softly, listening to the groans of the salarymen and the chirping giggles of the truant kids. There’s a part of you that wants to scold the teenagers, tell them to relish their high school years or to be grateful to have normal lives—something corny like that. That part wants to tell the hungover salarymen to stop drinking, to treasure their memories, to spend time with their kids instead of chasing oblivion.
You shove that part down.
Finally, the train arrives… and it’s totally full. Shit.
You wait for the next one. The students and salarymen board, leaving you alone. Well, that’s not exactly true—there’s that slim guy with the red sneakers still leaning on the pole. He didn’t board either, and you get the feeling he’s watching you. Is he a cop? you wonder idly. Unfortunately, you can’t risk glancing in his direction to check to see if he really is looking at you suspiciously, or just spacing out.
The next train arrives with a rumble. Thankfully, it’s basically empty. You awkwardly stare upwards at the ceiling while taking your seat, painstakingly avoiding the gazes of other passengers who are eying you with concern. You hope to god they think you’re wearing this getup because you have a skin condition, or are hiding an affair, or literally anything other than being a criminal. Then, finally, you’re able to let your gaze drift downward to a more normal-seeming level. The few other passengers seem to conclude you’re not a threat, and go back to their phones. The tension in your belly eases somewhat.
Finally, the automated voice announces that the train has arrived at Akihabara station. Now comes the hard part…
The crowds aren’t overwhelming, but present enough. You make your way through them slowly but surely, eyes cast downward at your phone, which is giving you turn by turn directions. After about 20 minutes of twists and turns on side streets, you make it to your destination.
The door chimes as you open it to enter the dingiest electronics shop in central Tokyo. Dust covers basically every surface. It smells stale, like body odor and mold, so thick it's hard to breathe. The clerk at the counter eyes you with suspicion. “You’re not plannin’ on stealin’ nothin, are ya?”
“Nope. Sorry. Skin condition,” you reply automatically, pointing at your face. The clerk grumbles, but seems to accept this answer.
You pull your laptop out of your bag and place it on the counter. “How much to replace a broken USB port?” You’re trying very very very hard to keep your eyes lowered, don’t look up, just look at the laptop…
The clerk examines the laptop for a moment, turning it over to assess the damage and look at the model number.
“Girlie, are you serious?” he sneers. “This laptop is damn near twelve years old! You’re wasting your money trying to fix this piece of shit!” He opens the laptop, booting it up. “I can tell by the way this thing is loading that your hard drive’s about to pass out n’ die.”
You hear a faint ding behind you as another customer enters. “Just a moment, sir, I’ll be right with ya,” the clerk calls out, lumbering over to grab something in the back room. He places another laptop next to your broken one, blowing dust off its cover. Your stomach sinks.
“Look, miss, I can cut you a deal. This machine is still pretty damn old, but it runs just fine. Slow, though, by today’s standards. Real slow.”
“How much?” you ask, already dreading the response. .
“32,000 yen. About as cheap as they come, while still running.”
“That’s twice my weekly rent!” you cry. “I can’t possibly—”
Your eyes flick up involuntarily, meeting his gaze. It takes only a momentary mistake for your world to shatter.
Oh. Oh no. The clerk’s eyes, which you are seeing for the first time, are a gentle almond shape, too pretty for the rest of his rough features. Those eyes are totally glazed over, locked on your face, but seem to be gazing a million miles beyond you.
Oh fuck. Oh no. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. FUCK!!
“Can I… help you… miss?” he mumbles, painfully slowly. This can’t be happening. At any moment, he could snap out of this daze, realize his current state is because of you .
You register the smallest of movements behind you. And there are fucking witnesses! your brain screams. Say something, you fucking idiot!
“You, uh, alright there?” you chuckle nervously, trying desperately to make this interaction seem normal. You realize you’ve been anxiously pulling at the hem of your hoodie this whole time, and shove your hands in your pockets as you continue to babble. “You were, uh… we were… selling me a laptop… um…. A really old one?” Now you’re just scrambling, trying to help the clerk piece together this interaction in a way that would make some shred of sense to his blurred brain.
“Selling… a laptop…” the clerk murmurs, transfixed on your face.
Your brain is scrambling, desperate, screaming for a way—any way—to salvage this. If you were alone, you could just grab your laptop and leave while walking backwards to maintain the thread—but that’s not worth thinking about right now. You’ve gotta come up with something for the witness.
Fuck it. Your old standby will have to do.
“What, am I not good enough to shop here now?” You snatch your laptop from the counter, shove it into your bag, and start ranting with as much righteous indignance as you can muster. You’re not a great actress, but it’ll have to do. “This is the worst customer service I’ve ever seen! Get it together, you damn space cadet!”
God, please let that be somewhat believable...
You squeeze your eyes shut, whirl around, and bolt to the exit. Unfortunately, there’s a body between you and the door. You slam into him, and he staggers back, crashing into a display. An acrid smell, like melting plastic, hits your nose for the briefest of moments before you make it out the door.
You don’t stop running until you get home.
After spending a few hours collapsed against your door, shivering and panicking, you’ve run out of tears and brace yourself to peek at the news. You scan the feeds, expecting the worst.
But it’s not as bad as you feared: no reports of a suspicious encounter in Akihabara. Thank god. The shopkeeper must have figured you for a kook—rude, a bit unhinged, but not dangerous. No point involving the police in a dispute with a crazy lady who threw a tantrum but ultimately left without stealing anything. No point involving the heroes.
All the panic leaves your lungs in one exhale, like a balloon.
Glancing at your laptop, you realize you’re still not in a state to stream. The makeup would take another hour and you’re just too exhausted. You open up your laptop, log in to Streamurzz, and send out a message to your subscribers.
FLUX-V01L3R : hey guys just got back, not feeling great. ヾ(｡>﹏<｡)ﾉﾞ i’ll do a bonus stream later this week.
FLUX-V01L3R : i’m sorry!! ＿|￣|○
MrKenta004 : oh no! are you sick? ;-;
FLUX-V01L3R : i’m feeling pretty nauseous (-﹏-。)
n01se_x : feel better
Right as you’re about to close your laptop, you hear a notification chime, and open your email.
Hey FLUX-V01L3R,
Great news! User _____dk has purchased a Premium Plus subscription to your channel.
Please reach out to them with your secure chat ID.
Happy streaming!
-The Streamurzz Team
You stare blankly at your screen. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting after having to cancel a stream, especially not from dk, who you were pretty sure barely had any interest in what you had to say during streams.
He’d comment on your game choices in chat, or opine on the relative strengths/weaknesses of enemies, but rarely did he actually seem engaged in what you were chatting about on-cam. Weirder, still, is that he chose a level of membership that included unlimited chat privileges: being able to PM you on an instant messaging service when you’re not logged on to Streamurzz. You had been assuming he was just there to give unsolicited opinions about your character builds while staring at your tits.
A wave of relief, then a wave of anxiety, crash over you as you mull over this new situation.
PROS:
- The extra income will be saving your ass right now.
- You very desperately need that extra income.
CONS:
- You know literally nothing about DK..
- with the extra access, sometimes guys get clingy... or pushy.
Money’s money. You bite your lip as you send the code over. Your phone buzzes almost instantaneously.
Chat request from “dk."
Accept?
You tap “yes.”
21:15
hi
hey!
thanks for
subscribing
A break. He’s typing. Then deleting. Then typing.
23:16
why did u hesitate
when?
the priest
You had no idea what to expect from this conversation, but as far as questions you could have anticipated…. This? This was not one of those questions. Maybe: “do u have a bf?” “whats ur bra size?” “what r u wearing?” Definitely not: “Why did you hesitate to sacrifice an NPC to a fictional demon?”
If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t know why you hesitated, either. The mace is one of the best items in the game, and you had heard that getting it required your character to make a human sacrifice. Hesitating is just human instinct, you guess, even though the NPC is just some code and pixels, the scene was written to make the player feel at least a bit bad about making the choice. Plus, you wanted to engage your viewers, involve them in the decisionmaking process, but you weren't exactly going to point your client to look closer at the man behind the curtain.
You’re also not sure why dk is asking this, or what type of answer he’s looking for. You have to say something, because he’s now one of your primary sources of income. That thought brings up a feeling you can’t quite place, as you scramble to craft an answer that doesn’t sound defensive.
23:19
the writing is so good!
I really felt like he was
my character’s friend
23:21
oh
u still killed him tho
You huff, irritated. What the fuck? Is he judging me? Why does he give a shit? You want to text back “dude, what’s it to you?” but decide against it. You’re not sure why you feel attacked. You really can’t afford to alienate this client. Instead, you opt to put on your Happy Streamer Persona.
23:22
gotta play an evil
route sometimes!
otherwise the playthru
isn’t complete ヽ(*≧л≦)ﾉ
not complete?
don’t u want the
winning ending?
23:23
sure, but sometimes
the bad outcomes
are written better
in the good endings
you just save the day
and that’s that
i just wanna see
all the endings!!
esp the ones
i don’t expect
A few minutes go by, and you wonder if you’ve offended him somehow.
After what feels like an eternity, dk responds.
23:30
me too