Story code: ST-001020
Part 2: Engagement Metrics
Leo’s thumb rode the grooved edge of the follow-focus wheel, rolling it back a fraction of a millimeter. The man’s hand ripped out of the stained winter coat, tearing the inner pocket lining in his haste. Leo expected the dull, matte black of a firearm or the metallic flash of a blade. Instead, the man withdrew a deeply cracked, oversized tablet computer. The glass screen was a spiderweb of shattered lines, flaking tiny, glittering shards that caught the afternoon sun.
The attacker wielded the heavy piece of electronics by its bottom edge like a crude cleaver. He drove the top corner of the shattered tablet squarely into the center of Julian’s chest.
Julian gasped, a sharp, unglamorous sound that clipped the red limit on Leo’s audio receiver. The lavalier microphone, pinned to the influencer’s lapel, was now caught between their bodies, picking up the frantic, raspy breathing of the attacker and the harsh, synthetic crunch of broken glass grinding against Julian’s tailored navy suit.
“Look at it!” the disheveled man screamed, his voice raw and echoing off the glass facade of the convention center. He shoved the device harder against Julian’s sternum. “Look at the dashboard! Three hundred thousand dollars! You said the Apex Tier was insulated from market downfalls! You said it was a guaranteed yield!”
Julian’s boots scraped backward on the concrete, his core straining as he tried to maintain his balance. Astoundingly, he shot a panicked, wide-eyed glance directly into Leo’s lens and attempted to salvage the broadcast. The influencer forced a terrifyingly stiff smile, exposing his pristine veneers.
“Listen, chat,” Julian shouted, his voice trembling as he tried to project over the man’s screaming. “This-this is what we talk about! The abundance mindset! When the market tests you, the weak give in to emotion! You have to-”
He didn’t get to finish the thought. Enraged by the dismissive tone, the attacker pulled the tablet back and swung it flat against the side of Julian’s head.
The impact produced a sickening, hollow smack that resonated flawlessly through the audio feed. Julian’s head snapped to the side. His flawless platinum hair came undone, falling over his eyes. The forced smile vanished entirely, replaced by a slack, stunned expression of genuine agony. His knees buckled, and the alpha entrepreneur collapsed onto the hard concrete, tearing the fabric of his trousers at the knee.
Leo didn’t flinch. He fluidly lowered the camera rig, shifting his stance into a deep crouch to maintain a dynamic, low angle. He tilted the monitor slightly to check the stream analytics. The viewer count had exploded to forty-two thousand. The chat window was no longer a scroll of text; it was a blindingly fast, unreadable waterfall of characters, punctuated by large, brightly colored boxes as Super Chat donations poured in. Red fifty-dollar blocks and yellow twenty-dollar blocks flooded the screen, accompanied by automated messages demanding to see how the “Alpha” handled a real fight.
Julian was scrambling backward on his hands and feet like a frightened crab, completely abandoning his dominant posture. Blood trickled from a shallow gash on his cheekbone where the tablet’s edge had caught him. He held up his hands, his expensive platinum watch flashing in the harsh sunlight.
“Wait! Wait, man, please!” Julian begged, his voice entirely stripped of its practiced resonance. It was high-pitched, desperate, and wet with saliva. “I don’t have it! I don’t have your money!”
“You sold me the tier!” the man roared, taking a heavy step forward, looming over the fallen influencer. “You showed us the portfolios! You promised my wife!”
“It’s marketing!” Julian shrieked, kicking his legs out frantically to put distance between himself and his attacker. The facade was completely shattered now, ground to dust on the pavement. “I’m just a promoter! I don’t own the fund! The cars in the videos are rented! The watch is fake! Please, I’m just an affiliate, they pay me a commission to read the script! I’m broke!”
Leo held the frame tight on Julian’s bloody, tear-streaked face. The lighting was immaculate, casting dramatic shadows across the influencer’s terror. This was a career-making broadcast. The confession alone would spawn a hundred thousand reaction videos by midnight.
Bystanders began to pause, a wide circle forming around the spectacle. Dozens of other smartphones rose into the air, creating a secondary ring of camera lenses and glaring LED flashlights. Julian, noticing the encroaching crowd, locked eyes with Leo, the only person he actually knew in the sea of strangers.
“Leo, stop filming!” Julian screamed, his voice cracking violently. He pointed a trembling, blood-specked finger at the camera. “Cut the feed! Call the police! Help me!”
Leo ignored the order. He tapped the focus ring, ensuring the contrast between Julian’s bleeding face and his ruined suit remained razor-sharp. He stepped slowly to the right, orbiting the chaos to keep the attacker’s back in the foreground while Julian’s pathetic, pleading form dominated the center of the frame.
Seeing that Leo was not going to intervene, Julian let out a pathetic sob, curling his body inward to protect his face.
The desperate man stood over him, breathing heavily, his chest heaving under the heavy winter coat. He tossed the shattered tablet aside. It hit the pavement with a final, dead plastic crunch. Then, with a terrifying, chilling calmness that contrasted wildly with his previous screaming, the man reached his right hand back into the torn pocket of his coat.
Leo zoomed in tight on the man’s hand as it emerged.
He wasn’t holding another device. He pulled out a yellow plastic squeeze bottle with a narrow nozzle, followed closely by a cheap, gas-station lighter. The man flicked his wrist, squeezing the bottle hard. A stream of clear, foul-smelling liquid splashed across Julian’s chest and neck, soaking into the ruined lapels of the navy suit. The pungent, chemical stench of lighter fluid hit Leo’s nose a second later.