APOCALYPSE LIVESTREAM: I GET RICH ON GLOBAL PANIC

Chapter 5: Broadcast war

POV: Gideon Vance

My hand was shaking as I adjusted the nylon strap on my tactical shoulder harness.

I hated that it was shaking. For three long years, I had lied to myself, pretending I was over it. I told myself the nightmare was buried forever in the charred rubble of Studio 4, right alongside my old crew’s ruined careers. But looking up at the massive, holographic broadcast feed projected high above 34th Street—seeing Victor Sterling’s pristine, unblemished face broadcast to twenty million terrified human souls—the knot in my chest pulled so tight I couldn't draw a full breath.

I wasn't an invincible action hero. My chest throbbed with every breath. My scorched left arm burned fiercely beneath my jacket sleeve—a sharp, constant reminder that I was just a bruised, bloodied guy running on pure spite, fractured bones, and desperate adrenaline.

Above us, Victor smoothed his silk tie, staring with practiced, paternal warmth straight into his camera lens.

"Survivors of Earth Sector 1," Victor’s voice boomed through the abandoned street speakers, resonant and dripping with rehearsed sincerity. "Apex Guild has secured Midtown. We hear your cries in the dark. But true order requires systemic sacrifice. Effective immediately, all independent resource drops and system loot must be surrendered directly to Apex logistics. Anyone broadcasting unauthorized feeds or withholding combat gear will be designated as a hostile element, stripped of guild status, and denied safe shelter access."

Beside me in the shadows of the subway entrance, Lyra stared up at the blue projection. Her fingers weren't tapping her diagnostic slate anymore. Her knuckles pressed white against the metal casing, her lower lip trembling slightly before she bit down hard to stop the shaking.

"He's doing it again," she whispered, her voice cracking just enough to shatter the cold, analytical armor she wore like a shield. "He called it 'resource conservation' when his officers locked my brother out of Shelter 4. They told us it was for the greater operational good of the sanctuary." She swallowed hard, turning her face away toward the dark tunnel so I wouldn't see the shine in her eyes. "Toby was seventeen, Gideon. He was just trying to bring me a bottle of uncorrupted water."

I looked from Lyra back up to the towering projection of Victor. The tight knot in my chest didn't vanish, but the nervous shaking in my fingers finally stopped.

"Nova," I said, my voice quiet and hard as iron. "Can we force a full broadcast channel override?"

"Warning, Host Gideon," Nova’s purple text box materialized close to my face, her usual upbeat demeanor softening into something hesitant. "An executive broadcast override will consume two hundred thousand Panic System Points and trigger an immediate signal conflict with Apex Guild's relay towers! Furthermore, Syndicate Administrator Xylar is actively monitoring this frequency. If this broadcast hijacking fails, your exact physical coordinates will be hard-pinned on every hunter map in Sector 1!"

"Do it," I said, my pulse holding steady at fifty-six. "Spend the points."

"Override sequence initiated!" Nova chimed softly. "Signal hijacking in three... two... one..."

Across the entire district, the giant holographic screen flickered violently. Victor’s polished speech stuttered into static, his image tearing apart into jagged red distortion before snapping directly to my face.

My floating camera Orb hovered six inches from my eyes, capturing every line of ash, sweat, and dried blood on my skin.

"Check your feeds, Victor," I said into my collar mic, my voice steady—carrying three years of suppressed rage finally breaking through the dam.

On the split-screen display, Victor’s head snapped toward his side monitor. The smooth, benevolent smile drained from his face so fast it looked as if he'd been struck across the jaw.

"Gideon?" Victor stammered, catching his composure a second too late. "This is an emergency defense frequency! Security, cut his feed!"

"You don't own the feed anymore, Victor!" I stepped out of the subway shadows into the middle of the rain-slicked street, looking straight into the floating camera lens. "And you don't own these people! You stand up there in your air-conditioned penthouse talking about 'sacrifice,' but you haven't taken a single scratch since the sky tore open!"

The global comment section erupted into a roaring waterfall of light.

User_709 (Human): "IT'S THE FLAME JUMPER! HE HIJACKED THE APEX BROADCAST!"

User_112 (Human): "Wait, is he calling out Sterling live on air?!"

Syndicate_Watcher_44 (Alien): "ANOMALOUS TRANSMISSION! EXCELLENT PRIMITIVE INTERFERENCE!"

Admin_Xylar (Syndicate): "Signal hijacking authorized under Reality-Show Clause 12. Proceed, Producer."

Apex_Official: "Turn off your screens! This man is an unranked criminal!"

User_441 (Human): "NO! LET HIM SPEAK!"

"Ten minutes ago," I continued, pointing my titanium knife toward the 34th Street shelter entrance, "your enforcers locked thirty unarmed civilians inside a cage with a Void-Crawler swarm to save their own skins. They stole their food, confiscated their medicine, and locked the iron gate! Is that your 'total order'?"

"He's lying!" Victor shouted, his corporate composure completely disintegrating as he slammed both palms onto his desk, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Gideon Vance is a blacklisted, unstable lunatic who got his own stunt crew killed years ago! He is inciting chaos!"

"I'm not inciting chaos, Victor," I said quietly, the heat in my chest settling into something cold and lethal. "I'm harvesting it."

[Current Live Viewers: 2,500,000... 5,000,000!]

[Panic System Points: +350,000 (PUBLIC EXPOSURE BONUS)]

Down the street, the heavy diesel hum of three Apex armored transport trucks rumbled through the purple fog. A dozen armed Guild enforcers spilled out, raising their Syndicate-issued shock rifles straight at me.

"Target acquired!" the lead officer bellowed through his helmet comms. "Kill the stream host! Neutralize the camera Orb!"

Lyra stepped up beside me, pulling a small, modified flare launcher from her tactical belt. She was terrified—I could see the sharp, rapid rise and fall of her shoulders—but she stood her ground, her dark eyes fixed on the advancing squad. "Gideon, those are high-yield armor-piercing rounds!"

"Let them come," I said.

I slammed my palm against the plasma turret interface console strapped to my forearm.

Behind us, the heavy S-Rank Plasma Turret whirred to life, its twin chrome barrels locking onto the center of the street with a high-pitched, deafening charge-up whine. A blinding blue glow illuminated the entire block, casting long, terrifying shadows across the armored Apex trucks.

The advancing enforcers froze mid-step, their rifles trembling violently in their gloved hands as the intense thermal radiation from the turret melted the asphalt right at their boots.

"You tell your boss," I called out to the guards, my voice echoing off the concrete canyon of ruined skyscrapers, "that every time he opens his mouth on this feed, I'm going to strip away another piece of his network. If you want my gear, come down here and try to take it yourself."

The lead officer stared at the glowing blue plasma barrels, looked back at his panicked squad, and slowly backed toward his transport vehicle. "Fall back! Retreat to the Midtown perimeter!"

As the armored trucks peeled away in a frenzy of screeching tires, I looked up at the giant holographic projection where Victor Sterling sat staring back at me—isolated, disgraced, and completely exposed in front of five million people.

I reached up, tapped my camera Orb, and smiled cold and sharp.

"End of broadcast, Victor."