My analytical mind, usually a dispassionate instrument, began to build a meticulous internal dossier on what I was seeing on a note app.
The instant the last piece of behavioral anomaly clicked into place, the realization hit me with the force of a digital EMP.
My brain, typically a fortress of cold logic, shattered.
All the disparate threads of data, the eerie coincidences, the unsettling omissions—they coalesced into a single, horrifying truth.
Realizing all that, my mind grew even more chaotic.
Distorted, disordered, and tangled as a rotten knot in a sewer pipe. It felt like my neural pathways were short-circuiting, sparks of revulsion firing alongside flashes of gruesome imagery.
The precision I prided myself on was being overwhelmed by a tide of visceral disgust. The dual screens before me, still screaming Mono & Delta's fake cheer on one side and their dead archives on the other, now felt like they were actively mocking me, their pixelated smiles contorting into leering taunts.
This wasn't just a simple desynced playback, not just stiff, dead-eyed avatars mimicking life.
No.
A vile chronology, twisted and oozing, began to stitch itself together in the darkest, most forbidden corners of my brain.
It was a scenario so depraved, so utterly ruined, so antithetical to everything I understood about human behavior and digital entertainment, that I never, not in my blackest nightmares, expected it to cross my thoughts, let alone drag my goddamn virtual idols—the only constants in my chaotic, detached world—into its filthy embrace.
I slammed my eyes shut, desperate to block out the digital mockery, but the image only ripped through the darkness behind my eyelids with sharper clarity. It wasn't some hazy illusion, some fleeting, ephemeral nightmare.
No.
It was a scene so meticulously, sickeningly constructed, so vivid in its horrific detail, that I was trapped in it, a silent, unwilling voyeur. I saw them. Mono and Delta.
Not those cute, mischievous digital dolls I'd spent countless hours observing, analyzing, even admiring. But raw, bleeding, flesh and goddamn bone humans, sprawled in the exact same room as the crime scene I'd just walked out of, the phantom stench of decay still clinging to my jacket, now intensified tenfold in my mind's eye.
They were there, right in front of the webcam, still burning with that goddamn red recording light, a malevolent eye capturing their final moments.
The computer, the microphones, the ring light—every piece of equipment meticulously laid out for a broadcast. But they weren't broadcasting.
Their bodies... twisted, tangled, stuck in a goddamn grotesque embrace so depraved, so violating, it made my guts twist into a nauseous knot.
My brain, despite screaming in protest, despite every fiber of my being recoiling, started forcing together the puzzle pieces I wanted to bury forever.
Their stark nakedness at the crime scene, not just observed, but now understood in its full, sickening context.
The way their bodies were twisted, their spread-eagle cunt and dick pointed with deliberate, chilling precision right at that goddamn webcam, as if it were an audience to their demise.
And the monitor, still alive, glowing with the familiar AITube interface, broadcasting nothing but the horror.
All of it slammed into place with a sickening thud, suddenly making terrifying, undeniable sense, and was far, far more disturbing than just a regular murder. This wasn't merely death.
This was a profanation, a violation of the soul itself, stripped bare and exposed.
I saw them, in that churning horror-show behind my eyelids, slowly, slowly being drawn into something.
Not pure, intensely hot passion, the kind that might lead to a natural, if tragic, end.
This was lust dictated, commanded, shoved down their throats, forced to its goddamn breaking point.
The air in that phantom room grew thick with heavy, ragged breaths, bodies slick with sweat, writhing and twisting in an ecstasy that was utterly, violently forced. Their eyes—wide, dilated, staring, completely vacant, stripped of all conscious thought, replaced by a primal, driven emptiness.
And through it all, through the desperate heaving and grinding, through the escalating friction of flesh on flesh, there was a whisper.
A suggestion.
A command.
Not from them.
Never from them.
Not from their own minds or desires. But from another voice.
A voice so insidious, so persuasive, so utterly dominant, that it bypassed all reason, all instinct. A voice they might have stupidly trusted, believing it to be a benevolent guide into deeper sensations.
Or, a voice so utterly powerful, so laced with an irresistible compulsion, that they couldn't, dared not, refuse, even as it drove them to their destruction.
"Excellent. Keep following what your bodies are telling both of you."
"Do it again... Deeper... Harder... To the goddamn end..."
That voice, in the suffocating, bile-soaked blackness of my imagination, was the catalyst. The poisoned key that unlocked the Death Drive within them, twisting it into something utterly abominable, a weapon of self-annihilation disguised as ultimate pleasure.
That fundamental human desire, that urge that should lead to screaming peaks of pleasure or blissful release, was utterly perverted, shoved past every goddamn limit of what a human body could endure.
On the worn, leather chair, Mono straddled Delta's lap, her thighs trembling with exertion as she rode him with abandon. Her hips bucked wildly, taking him deep inside her with each downward thrust. Delta's hands gripped her waist, guiding her movements, as he pounded upward to meet her frenzied pace.
I saw Mono, her spine arched back like a tortured bow, her muscles straining, her hair plastered to a forehead slick with sweat. Choked, wet sounds clawed their way from her throat, not moans of pleasure, not even whimpers of pain, but guttural, animalistic yelps of a beast trapped in blind, desperate rut, consumed by a raw, overwhelming compulsion.
I saw Delta, the cords in his neck bulging, taut as steel cables, his jaw clenched so tight I could hear the phantom grind of bone, screaming without words, just raw, guttural roars that were barely human, pure expressions of a body pushed beyond its breaking point.
Their skin slapped together, slick with perspiration, the sound echoing through the dimly lit room like a depraved rhythm. Mono's head lolled back, mouth agape, issuing hoarse cries that bordered on screams. Her nails raked crimson trails down Delta's chest, leaving angry welts in their wake.
The voice whispered again, its silken threads weaving tighter around their sanity, "Faster. Make it hurt."
In response, Delta's fingers dug deeper into Mono's hips, propelling her downward with savage force. Her eyes flew wide, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she felt herself stretching to accommodate his brutal invasion. Her inner walls clenched around him, trying to push him out, but Delta only drove harder, intent on shattering her.
Mono's body began to shudder, protests giving way to wordless, primal screams. Her movements became jerky, erratic, as if she were being pulled apart from the inside out. Delta growled through gritted teeth, his own release building, as he sought to destroy the last vestiges of her resistance.
They did it. On and on.
Thrusting and grinding, a relentless, horrifying rhythm, trapped in a fatal dance between raw biological impulse and a psychological suggestion that was pure venom.
They didn't stop.
They couldn't stop.
Every thrust, every grind, every wet slap of flesh on flesh—it wasn't from their true desire anymore. It was from that unspoken command, that depraved lust forced upon them, a parasitic entity burrowing into their deepest instincts.
The voice dripped like honeyed venom, "Good, very good. Now, make her scream."
Delta's large hands shot up to grasp Mono's breasts, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. He pinched her nipples mercilessly, using them to pull her closer as he continued to hammer into her. The rough treatment only seemed to fuel her frenzy, her hips rolling down to meet his brutal thrusts.
"More," the voice urged, its authority unquestionable.
Mono's face contorted into a twisted mask of ecstasy and desperation, her eyes rolling back until only the whites showed. A blood-curdling shriek tore from her throat, echoing off the walls as she climaxed hard around Delta. Her body trembled and convulsed, legs shaking violently as she struggled to maintain some semblance of control.
Her panting was ragged, each breath a struggle as she fought to regain composure. But it was futile; another wave crashed over her, sending her face into a classic ahegao expression - mouth agape, cheeks flushed, tears streaming down her face. She was completely undone, Delta's unrelenting assault pushing her past any semblance of rational thought or dignity.
As the dam burst within her, Mono's voice shattered into a scream of pure, unadulterated bliss. "Yes! Oh gods, yes! Don't stop!" She begged, her words devolving into incoherent cries of pleasure. "Break me! Fuck me! Ruin me!" Her voice was raw, barely intelligible, as she surrendered to the exquisite torment. Her nails dug deeper into Delta's flesh, anchoring herself to him as she careened through the abyss of her own release.
With a choked gasp, Mono's eyes bulged as Delta's hand cinched tight around her neck. Stars danced at the edges of her vision, her airway constricted to a thin thread. The lack of oxygen sent her spiraling further into delirium, her climax building to catastrophic proportions.
"Harder!" The voice commanded.
They were like slaves to an orgasm, utterly controlled, caught in a momentary illusion of pleasure so intense, so obscenely passionate, that it utterly consumed and killed them.
The most basic instinct, the will to goddamn survive, was snuffed out, replaced by a self-destructive urge so absolute that it devoured them whole.
Mono's cries turned to desperate pleas, "Please...oh god...don't stop!" as Delta obliged, pummeling into her with brutal intensity. The bed creaked and groaned under the onslaught, threatening to give way under the ferocity of their union.
Their bodies slapped together in a lewd, wet rhythm, each impact punctuated by Mono's shattered wails. Delta's face contorted, teeth bared in a snarl, as he drove himself relentlessly toward their mutual destruction. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and ruin.
Mono's voice cracked under the strain, her wails devolving into hoarse, desperate bleats as Delta claimed her with merciless abandon. His fingers bit into her hips, bruising and brutal, as he powered through her convulsing release, racing toward his own detonation. The musky aroma of their exertions hung thick, a potent reminder of the ruin they were inflicting upon each other. In this dance of destruction, they were both predator and prey, lost in a sea of carnal chaos.
"Make her come apart." The voice hissed, its power coursing through them like dark electricity.
Delta's final plunge was like a jackhammer, relentless and unyielding. Mono's body seized, her back arching impossibly, muscles straining to their limits as she gave herself over to the void. Her scream pierced the air, a blood-curdling release of every fiber of her being. And then, in a blinding flash of white-hot pleasure, she was gone, sucked under by the maelstrom of her climax.
Delta followed, a roar ripped from his throat as he felt her pulsing around him, dragging him down into the depths of their shared annihilation. Together, they imploded, lost in a swirling vortex of ecstasy and destruction.
With one final, brutal thrust, Mono came undone, her back arching in a silent, screamless cry. Delta followed, spilling himself deep within her, his own roar mingling with her silent agony. They collapsed together, a tangled, panting mess, as the chair creaked ominously beneath them.
So utterly consuming, their bodies convulsed in relentless waves of climax, each tremor dragging them deeper into a haze of desperate need. Sweat slicked their skin, mingling with the slick, sticky mess of their fluids—warm, pungent, and utterly messy—gluing them together like some grotesque, unbreakable bond. Their limbs tangled, muscles trembling as their hearts pounded in brutal unison, caught in a sickening embrace that neither could escape, even as their final shudders wracked them mercilessly.
And then, it ended.
They went limp instantly, collapsing in a heap after reaching the peak of all peaks, a final, shuddering collapse into oblivion that left them lifeless.
They lay tangled in a grotesque tableau of exhaustion and excess. Mono's skin was flushed a deep, mottled red, slick with sweat that clung to her in slick rivulets, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone and tracing down the curve of her ribs. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess plastered against her damp forehead and cheeks, strands stuck to the salty sheen of her skin. Her mouth hung open slightly, lips swollen and glistening, breathing shallow and uneven, a faint tremor still rippling through her parted fingers.
Delta's body was sprawled beneath her, muscles slack but still defined beneath the sheen of grime and sweat. His chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow breaths, the sharp lines of his jaw coated in stubble dampened by perspiration. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, staring blankly at the ceiling, while his hands rested limply, one twitching occasionally as if recalling the violent intensity they had just unleashed. The sticky mixture of their fluids coated their intertwined limbs, the scent of sex, sweat, and something darker lingering in the heavy air.
Their limbs were tangled in a chaotic embrace—Mono's legs draped over Delta's, his arms loosely wrapped around her waist, but neither truly holding on anymore. The chair beneath them creaked faintly under their weight, a final groan of protest from the battered vessel that had borne witness to their savage collapse. In the silence that followed, only the faint, erratic sound of their labored breathing remained—a fragile reminder that, despite everything, they were still somehow alive.
The chair, saturated with sweat and strain, groaned one last time before giving way entirely. With a sickening crack, it tipped backward, sending their tangled bodies crashing to the floor in a heavy, graceless heap. Mono and Delta remained locked together—pelvis pressed to pelvis, their spent flesh still joined in a sticky, unwilling embrace.
Their limbs flailed briefly as they hit the cold ground, but the slick, slick mess between them held fast—his spent, swollen shaft buried deep inside her aching, flushed walls, a final, stubborn bond that refused to break. The mingled fluids coated their skin in a slick sheen, glistening under the dim light as they lay tangled and motionless, a grotesque testament to their savage union.
The dull thud of their fall echoed through the room, but not a muscle twitched to separate them. Even in collapse, they remained fused—trapped in a raw, primal connection that neither strength nor exhaustion could undo. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint, ragged rise and fall of their chests, still caught in the aftermath of their brutal, unrelenting passion.
And when it was all over, when their bodies lay there, limp, lifeless husks sprawled out in front of that glowing screen, with the webcam still capturing their final, nauseatingly intimate view—a silent, digital witness to their demise—and the computer still humming online, its fans whirring as if nothing untoward had happened... that's when the "fake" livestream began.
Someone, or some thing, had taken over their channel, using their stolen avatars and hijacked soundbanks, to paint over this hideous, unnatural death.
This wasn't just a clumsy disguise.
This was a perfect crime, meticulously camouflaged behind a digital screen, broadcast to millions of unsuspecting, goddamn blind fans who consumed the spectacle without ever realizing the gruesome reality unfolding just hours before.
The sheer audacity of it, the chilling precision, made my blood run cold.