Bias Live Streaming Short Stories & Novels

When I was ten years old, I sold my mother to human traffickers. My father calls me an ungrateful monster, a devil. He sues me 99 times, but each time, I am found not guilty because I am under 14. In the end, on his way to bring my mother home, he is beaten to death by the men in that village. 20 years later, my younger sister finally brings our mother—now unable to walk and mentally unstable—out of the village. She starts a livestream and breaks down in tears. "I beg the internet to put my devil of a sister on trial. Don’t let her get away with this! She destroyed my family. I will make sure she loses everything!" But only I know… My mother deserves it.

After I refused for the eighth time to give my daughter a monthly allowance of $80, she went live online to denounce me. During the broadcast, she shared screenshots of our messages, showing how she had repeatedly and desperately asked me for money after the new school term began. "Mom, I just got my period. I do not have money to buy sanitary pads. Could you send me this month's allowance?" I replied calmly, "No." "Mom, I have not eaten in three days. I am really hungry." I responded with sarcasm. "What does that have to do with me?" The screen quickly filled with comments calling me suffocatingly cruel and heartless. Looking straight into the camera, she sobbed uncontrollably. "Mom, I am not asking for much. I only need $80 a month for living expenses. "Do you really have to push me to death before you feel satisfied?" Within a short time, I became the target of widespread online abuse. A well-known education influencer reached out to me. "It is only $80. It is not something you cannot afford. Why are you treating your own daughter so harshly?" I looked at her calmly. "Try livestreaming seven days of life with me and my daughter. "If you can do that, you'll understand."

To get their hands on money so that my younger brother can get married and buy a house, my parents take me to the family tribunal. They show up in ragged clothes, accusing me of being ungrateful and heartless toward my own family. If I'm found guilty, I will be sentenced to life imprisonment. All my assets will go to my parents and my brother. But if I'm not guilty, they will suffer the full backlash instead. I sit on the stand wearing a trendy designer dress and holding a limited-edition handbag. My face full of disdain, I say, "They can sue me all they want! I'd rather die than financially support them!" The court attendees are outraged and start condemning me one after another. But the moment the trial light lights up, everyone freezes in shock.

The battery in my artificial heart is about to run out, yet no matter where I look, I can't find the spare battery. When I turn around, I realize that my wife, Tracy Maddox, has installed it in a streaming camera. She is using it to livestream a fundraiser for her sick first love, Gavin Spade, who has a cold. "Come on, everyone. Send more gifts! Gavin feels terrible because of his cold. Once we raise enough money, I'll take him to get the most expensive imported cold injection available!" I am so enraged that my vision darkens for a moment, like I'm about to pass out. I shout, "Tracy, you know exactly what happens if my heart loses power. Are you going to just watch as I die?" Covering the microphone, Tracy turns to me and shouts back, "Gavin has a fever of 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit! Your heart is just out of power. Can't you just wait a little while? Once the livestream is over and we've raised enough money for his injection, I'll give the battery back to you!" Using the last of my strength, I activate the emergency communication system inside my artificial heart and contact the R&D center. "The artificial heart is about to stop permanently. Activating the black box... Uploading evidence of murder in real time..."

My parents' enemy kidnaps me and livestreams chopping off my fingers just to force them to show up. For a time, the entire Internet searches for my parents. But what they don't know is that the captain who appeared in the livestream is my biological father. At that moment, he's on a beach in Hashford, setting off magnificent fireworks for his adopted daughter. And on their barbecue table, the livestream of my fingers being severed is playing. Later on, when I survive long enough to be rescued, I reach out my mangled hand to touch my parents. They recoil in disgust and leave without looking back, taking the adopted daughter out for Wersole food. But they don't know that the thing hidden within my mangled palm will make them regret their actions beyond measure.

In my sixth year of running an inn in Rimevale, I'm diagnosed with bone cancer. I leave the inn in the hands of my fiancé, Eric Jones, and head to Varenia with nothing but an old enamel mug. Once I'm there, I start a livestream called "My Last 100 Sunsets." Every day at 7:00 pm, I turn the camera toward the snowcapped mountains and make coffee just out of frame. On my 31st livestream, a comment suddenly catches my eye. "Wait. Does that mug at the edge of the frame have a V-shaped chip in it?" Six years ago, when a blizzard left us stranded in the mountains, I kept that same mug filled with hot spiced cider for Eric all night. The chat explodes. "That's Alice Graham from Veylune Inn!" "Alice, why are you calling these your last sunsets?" Then a private message from Eric pops up. "Alice, where are you? Send me your location right now." What he doesn't know is that the night before I start chemo, I go back to the inn to get my documents and hear him and our receptionist, Denise Snyder, together in our bedroom. They're in the bed I picked out for us. "What if Alice comes back and catches us?" Denise asks. Eric laughs. "She won't leave me. Not after six years together." Standing outside the door, I open the confirmation email from an assisted-dying clinic in Varenia and click "Accept." By the time more than 100,000 people have signed up to watch my 100th livestream, Eric finally recognizes the snowcapped mountains outside my window and realizes where I am. I change the stream title to "My 100th Sunset: I Won't Be Here for Sunrise."

I'm a major suspect in the in-law murder case in Nexford. My husband, Roland Turner, also known as the police chief, personally arrests me. During my trial, the murderer commits yet another murder. The latest victims are killed once again using the same brutal method. Roland kneels on the floor while begging me to tell him the truth. I answer him that I have no idea what it is. At the same time, the victims' families keep screaming at me, wanting to skin me alive for my crimes. Three months later, Roland brings a Memory Decryptor with him. He finds me near a pile of trash. With trembling hands, he pierces two thin needles through my temples. "I'm so sorry, Wendy. I know you're not the murderer, but I just want this slaughterfest to end. I don't want to see anyone else die again. "We can also use this chance to show your memories to everyone. That way, we can find out what the actual truth is." But once he views my memories, he suffers from an emotional breakdown and sinks to his knees.

At the court, my daughter, Hannah Wright, accuses me of being a sexist tormentor with violent tendencies. With tears running down her cheeks, she slowly takes off her clothes, revealing her wounds to everyone present. "She's a monster! She buys mangoes for my younger brother, Rodney, and yet she makes me kneel on the floor while munching on the peels! "Then, she beats me up in public and even strips me naked before forcing me to kneel and apologize! On top of that, she doesn't feed me at all!" Everyone gasps in shock before glaring at me angrily. They are all waiting for me to get sentenced to hell and back. But what Hannah refuses to bring up is that I can't let her eat any mangoes due to her severe allergy. If she were to have any, she'd go into shock immediately. I beat her up because she had the audacity to switch out the tea leaves to sheep droppings just to pull a prank on an elderly family member during her funeral. Naturally, I punished her because she actually mixed weed killer into Rodney's milk and tried to feed him with it! At the end of the day, Hannah remembers the pain she's been through, yet she completely forgets about the atrocious misdeeds that she herself has committed!

I was an extremely selfish person. I drained my parents’ life savings, abused my young nephew, and extorted my husband’s premarital assets. My family could no longer endure it and took me to court. If the charges were proven, I would be flayed alive, my tendons torn out, tortured until death.

When I'm seven years old, my dad turns me in to the Court Judgment of the Born Wicked because of my tendency to vomit. If I'm found guilty, my blood ties with my dad will be forcibly severed. Then, I'll be sent to prison. Everyone claims that Dad is just making a fuss over nothing. "Your daughter is still so young, so it's natural for her to fall ill. As a father, you should be more considerate toward her." But when the evidence is shown, everyone clamps up immediately. There was once when Dad drank so much to the point he suffered from gastric bleeding. The business contract that he managed to convince his client to sign was all soiled because I vomited on him as soon as he got home. Thanks to me, the contract was voided. Dad got fired on the spot. During Bryce Fuller, my older brother's birthday, I vomited onto his birthday cake in front of his classmates. Because of that, Bryce was isolated by all of his classmates. He became so depressed that he tried to slit his wrist in an attempt to take his own life. I'll keep vomiting everywhere, be it at the dining table or on my bed. Dad and Bryce have to clean me up more than 30 times every day. They suffer greatly because of me. What angers everyone the most is that after I'm done vomiting, I'll laugh at everyone in a provocative manner. The judge gives his verdict instantly, claiming that I'm wicked by nature. Bryce's eyes redden immediately. As he cries, he tells me that he can't bear to see me leaving him. I never shed any tears, nor do I throw a tantrum. Instead, I accept the judge's verdict calmly, but with a prerequisite condition that the judge finishes watching my memories. The judge is shocked, to say the least. "We'll have to crack your skull open in order to extract your memories. You'll be in a world of pain. Are you sure about that?" I nod in determination. But Bryce, on the other hand, looks alarmed. "I won't agree to that!"

My twin sister, Ruby Stone, and I split up after our parents' divorce. She stays with Mom, while I went with Dad. Since the divorce, he's sunk into a deep depression, gambling away every penny we have. We move into a dark, damp apartment, and life becomes an endless struggle. Every day, I go to school and quietly work a part-time job to keep us afloat. Then, out of nowhere, Ruby—whom I haven't heard from in forever—sends me a link to a live stream. "Check this out, Aria. There's a surprise waiting for you." I click it, and my jaw drops. I'm the one topping the trending live streams. The screen splits in two. On one side, I sit in my dingy apartment, hunched over homework under the dim light. On the other side, Mom and Dad cuddle with Ruby on the fancy couch of their sprawling villa. The comments came pouring in. "Let's see what happens when twins are raised on opposite sides of fortune all the way to 18." "Aria still doesn't know, right? Her parents never divorced. They're loaded and perfectly happy. Ruby's life has been like a dream too." "Poor Aria. She's always starving and never has anything decent to wear. Isn't that basically abuse?" "She's the more sensible one, so her parents decided to raise her poorly."

My best friend and her boyfriend started a couples' vlog channel together, and it recently went viral online. I immediately followed it, watching every single upload. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that her blurred-out boyfriend acted suspiciously like my husband. When I mentioned it to her, she just flicked my forehead. "Girl, you're so crazy in love that you see your husband everywhere! Keep this up, and I'm gonna start getting jealous!" Blushing, I rubbed my head and quickly changed the subject. That was until my husband's company retreat, where I dragged Barbara Moore along to keep me company. Out of nowhere, our flight back suffered a severe emergency. Flight attendants handed out paper for everyone to write down their final words. With trembling hands, I finished writing mine, only to catch a glance at theirs. They had written down each other's names! My husband turned on his camera, framing both of them in the shot. "Barbara, I'm content to spend my final moments with you. Everyone, this channel won't be updating anymore. Goodbye." Neither of them noticed that off-camera, my face had gone deathly pale. Yet in the end, the plane managed to land safely. None of us died. I didn't cry or throw a scene. Instead, I simply tore up my final note, opened the car door, and got in. "What are you guys standing there for? Get in."

Right after getting reborn, the first thing I do is start a livestream with the equipment I've brought to the main entrance of a bank. There, I humiliate myself on purpose just to attract the viewers' attention. Immediately, tens of thousands of viewers flock to my channel. After that, I take off my high heels on the spot and throw them at the armored truck that's carrying cash with all my might. "Get down! Don't move!" As I listen to the guards' stern warnings and watch as they aim their guns at me, I just spread my arms with a smile on my face. "This is a robbery! Hand over the money!" In my previous life, my business partner, Zachary Leed, and the finance director of my company, Yvette Sanders, had betrayed me. They used the perks that came with their jobs to receive illegal loans while using my company as a collateral asset. In the end, they fled with the cash, leaving me with the shitty aftermath to deal with. I was given a life sentence in jail in order to atone for the crimes Zachary and Yvette had pinned on me. My brother went all over the nation and spent all of his fortune just to seek justice for me, but he ended up dying from depression. When I open my eyes again, I yell loudly to the viewers watching my livestream at the moment. "Everyone, you shall witness the most historic moment ever! Come with me as I rob a bank right in front of your eyes on this livestream!"

Brandon Hawthorne said if I wanted to marry him, I had to prove I was tough enough to be a Hawthorne. He took my bank cards, ditched me in a city I'd never been to, and made me figure out how to get home alone. When my fever hit 104°F, he still refused to let the family doctor through the door. Instead, I had to smile through dinner with a house full of Hawthorne relatives while I could barely stay on my feet. And every time I finally asked Brandon for help, he looked at me like I'd failed him. "You can't even handle something this simple. How are you supposed to be my wife?" But when his childhood friend, Patty Rowan, got blisters from her shoes, he picked her up and carried her away in front of everyone. She got a headache in the middle of the night, and he left me alone in the hospital to take the family doctor to her. I asked him why. He frowned. "Patty's fragile. And she's not the one trying to become a Hawthorne." Then came our engagement party. I accidentally ate peanuts. My throat started closing. I couldn't breathe. Brandon grabbed my EpiPen and locked me in the lounge. "This is your final test. If you want to marry me, tough it out." Then Patty called. She had a paper cut. Brandon immediately left with the doctor. "Hold out for ten minutes." I lost track of time. Right before everything went dark, I saw Brandon come back with Patty tucked close beside him. She had a Band-Aid on her finger. Through the haze, I heard the disappointment in his voice. "Patty was bleeding, and she didn't even cry. Are you seriously pretending to be dead?" Then came the final blow. "You failed the test. You're not ready to become a Hawthorne."

The fake heiress was dead. My biological parents believed I was responsible. Together, they reported me to the authorities and demanded that my memories be extracted. After watching my memories, everyone broke down in tears. But I smiled. This was exactly what I wanted. To become the perfect victim.

I give relationship advice online, helping the lovesick and heartbroken work through their problems. One night a young man called into my livestream. A wealthy woman had been keeping him for seven years. Now he wanted to go home and get married, but she'd threatened to kill herself if he left. I gave him the standard advice. "You want out? Go to her husband. Tell him the truth. Give everything back." Three days later a property deed arrived, along with dozens of luxury-car keys and more than a hundred designer bags. Then my phone lit up with a transfer notification. Eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The note read: "Thanks for the advice. Returning everything to its rightful owner." I looked at my wife's name on the deed. That night I went live. "Tonight, I'm telling you a joke about myself."

Three days before the long weekend, the Department of Labor called me. "We got an anonymous complaint saying your company is forcing employees to go on a holiday retreat..." I went still. Then I checked social media. Yep. There it was. An intern who'd started a month ago had shoved me onto the local trending page. [Greedy boss turns holiday weekend into mandatory company retreat. Employees are basically free entertainment.] [They say it's optional. Yeah, right. Who's brave enough to say no?] Thousands of comments rolled in, absolutely roasting me. Except our retreats had always been elite. Fully paid. No cheap corporate nonsense. This time, I was paying out of pocket. Seven days in the Maldives. Everything covered. A $2,000 travel stipend each. Senior employees could bring family. But apparently, a free luxury vacation was oppression now. Cool. I told the labor officer, "We'll fully cooperate." Then I dropped a notice in the company group chat. [Per Department of Labor guidance, the long weekend company retreat is canceled. Everyone should take the holiday off as usual.] [The travel stipends and retreat budget will be moved into this quarter's employee benefits reserve.] The second I hit send, something slammed into a desk outside my office.

My ex-wife, Erica Scarver, who's the head nurse of the hospital, devotes her efforts into saving an ICU patient. Meanwhile, I, the hospital dean, just start a livestream calmly. A few minutes later, the patient is out of the critical state. But Erica collapses instantly because she contracts the virus instead. "Hurry up and save your ex-wife! She's now infected because there's a hole in her protective suit! She's in a critical condition right now!" The medical staff looks at me worriedly. After all, I'm the most renowned medical expert in the entire hospital. But I remain unmoved. "Why should I save her? Don't you know that I've just wrapped up a surgery, so I can't enter the quarantine zone at all?"

On the seventh day after I was pronounced dead, my husband, William Garcia, turned me into an obedient AI wife. During a global live press conference, he hugged my holographic projection and said in a hoarse voice as though truly heartbroken that he had lost me, “Tiffany, don’t be scared. From now on, you’re accompanying me in another way.” The internet praised him for being the most devoted husband in the tech world. But no one knew that I actually wasn’t dead. My body was hidden in the third basement floor of Garcia Tech’s office building. I was hanging by a thread, kept alive only by an oxygen tube. My conscience had been connected to a Late Wife Companion System, and I was set to say “good morning,” “good night,” and “I love you” to him at fixed times every day. Backstage at the press conference, top celebrity Wanda Scott leaned into William’s embrace, with a sapphire ring that my mom had left me on her finger. She asked with a smile, “William, is Tiffany a lot more obedient now than she was before?” William bowed his head and kissed her. “Tiffany used to be too smart, too ambitious, and too unwilling to submit. “It’s just nice now.” Wanda asked again, “What will happen to her after I become Mrs. Garcia?” William chuckled. “I’ll switch her to housekeeper mode. “She’ll greet you by the title Madam every day, pick out your wedding gown for you, and read our children bedtime stories.” Suddenly, a technician rushed in, his face pale. “Mr. Garcia, AI Mrs. Garcia keeps repeating a phrase backstage.” William furrowed his brows. “What?” The technician’s voice trembled. “She keeps saying, ‘William, I’m still alive.’” William fell silent for two seconds, the look on his face growing cold. “Delete it. “Clear out her SOS module, anger module, and resistance module.” The camera was still live, and the entire internet heard him. At the next second, my holographic projection on the big screen suddenly lifted its head. I said to the thousands of viewers in the gentle voice he trained me to have, “William Garcia, what right do you have to expect a woman you murdered to still love you?”