Chapter 1

My name was Buck Turner. I was a small-time streamer who made a living filming urban exploration and adventure content.

These days, every viral stream followed the same formula—family feuds, messy affairs, or some outrageous relationship scandal.

But viewers weren't stupid. Nobody was going to buy a story just because some streamer said it was true.

For all anyone knew, the people on camera weren't related at all. That "other woman" in the thumbnail could just as easily have been the creator's actual wife.

Most of it was scripted anyway.

Once the viewer saw through the act, there wasn't much left to keep them interested.

So, I spent some time studying audience preferences and decided to go big.

After discussing it with a friend, we planned to find a location, stage everything, and recreate the hideout of a notorious serial killer.

We were going to stage a high-risk livestream called I Spent a Night in a Serial Killer's House!

My friend also hooked me up with some professional-grade equipment.

A portable fill light, a folding livestream tripod, a high-capacity power bank, a premium cooling fan...

Everything I could possibly need.

According to plan, I started the livestream at eleven o'clock that night.

Since it was an outdoor broadcast, I used a handheld stabilizer.

I held the stabilizer in my left hand and a long-range tactical flashlight in my right.

I swept the beam around and narrated for the audience.

"As you can see, this place has been abandoned for a very long time. It's completely desolate. Rumor has it that this was the legendary serial killer's hideout.

“Every time, the killer would drug a victim, bring them back here, and indulge in a thrilling feast of murder."

The camera slowly scanned the surroundings, revealing the full extent of the abandoned site.

Because it was an outdoor stream, the platform pushed additional traffic my way.

And unlike many creators, I actually came to a genuinely abandoned location.

Before long, my viewer count skyrocketed from two thousand to over nine thousand, closing in on ten thousand.

I pushed open a rust-covered metal door and stepped inside.

A sharp, nauseating odor immediately filled my nose.

It wasn't just foul.

There was a metallic tang mixed into it, like the smell of a dead rat, combined with the scent of blood.

The walls were covered in bloody handprints, and deep scratch marks scarred the floor.

Judging from the trails, it looked as though someone had lost the use of their lower body.

Maybe their spine was shattered.

Then, driven by desperation, they tried to escape by crawling while the killer dragged them along with a rope from behind.

The horrifying claw marks seemed endless.

There was no telling how many victims met their end here...

A few viewers sent gifts through the stream and complimented my deductions.

Honestly, I had no idea how to analyze crime scene evidence. I wasn't a forensic investigator.

I'd just watched a few documentaries about serial killers and pieced together a bunch of nonsense.

The whole point was to sound convincing.

If the audience bought it, the gifts and donations would follow.

Just then, as I reached the second floor via the staircase, I heard a noise coming from the far end of the hallway.

The screech of a damaged metal door.

A second later, another sound came from behind me.

A heavy door slamming shut.

It came from downstairs.

"Someone just came back from outside!"

The chat exploded instantly.

Viewers flooded the screen with messages, claiming the serial killer had returned and telling me to hide.

One viewer even sent ten yacht gifts in a row.

They were worth two thousand dollars each.

The donor told me not to leave and to stay long enough to see whether it was really the serial killer returning.

I knew that person was just an ordinary viewer, not a planted account.

My friend originally suggested using fake viewers to build hype.

But gift donations lost a percentage to the platform anyway, so what was the point of wasting money on that?

So, I never bothered arranging any fake accounts.

I quickly muted my phone and found a place to hide.

The heavy footsteps drew closer and closer.

Finally, through a narrow crack in the door, I saw the person.

The newcomer carried a lamp.

It looked like an old-fashioned oil lamp, except it was battery-powered.

He wore loose black clothing from head to toe, casual in appearance.

But in his left hand, he held a bloodstained knife.

This location was chosen by my friend and me.

We only wanted to fool the audience for a fun stream.

We never hired anyone to play the role of a serial killer.