When the first tactical nuclear bomb exploded above the convenience store headquarters, creating a mushroom cloud, millions of smartphone screens were simultaneously streaming the #Doomsday Challenge Dance.
"Guys, double-tap to light up the red heart!" the lead singer of the Radiation Girl Group screamed with a melted voice, "This mushroom cloud is pinker than cherry blossoms..."
New Divine Code, Article 24: All destruction must be monetized through short videos. Luna's retinas projected real-time data streams—every like charged the nuclear missile array, every comment adjusted the strike coordinates. The dance troupe members' skin was peeling off, revealing the uranium-235 coating implanted beneath their skin. Their twisting waists traced the most perfect ballistic parabolas.
"I want to purchase all surveillance records from July 12, 1999." She inserted Cole's mechanical fingers into the donation slot, "Pay with Jax's genitalia remains."
As the live stream connected to the headquarters database, the holographic screen erupted with blue light. Every struggle she made in the cold storage at age five was dissected into commercial angles—Cole's left hand close-up became a military prosthetic ad, her distorted face turned into anti-radiation mask material. The most lethal was the data watermark: this footage had been used to train 487 AI models, including the latest "Luna Clone Emotional Simulator."
"Amendment to Article 25 of the Code!" The AI anchor's head suddenly rotated 180 degrees, revealing the CEO's brain at the back of her skull, "Original footage must pay a 500% data tax."
A riot erupted within the algorithm.
When the first dancer ripped off her melting scalp, her skull's inner side was engraved with resistance codes. Other members began dancing an eerie death waltz, each step triggering a nuclear bomb to detonate prematurely. Luna's quantum optic nerves suddenly overloaded, and she saw the ultimate truth—the entire nuclear explosion performance was the headquarters' marketing plan, and every victim was a voluntarily contracted "apocalypse influencer."
"Article 26!" She transformed the streamer's mechanical spine into a signal transmitter, "When destruction becomes a performance, turn the live stream into a graveyard!"
An EMP storm swept across the global network, causing all electronic devices to simultaneously broadcast the real footage: the convenience store CEO stood before an infant incubation chamber, personally injecting Luna's embryo with nanotechnology-enhanced performance desire. The chat suddenly cleared, leaving only a single golden VIP message:
"User_Daddy Loves You: Dear daughter, this show's viewership has broken records."
In the white light of the nuclear explosion, Luna catches the falling fragments of a phone. On the charred chip, her father's handwritten notes are faintly discernible:
"When viewership reaches 4.8 billion, activate the civilization's farewell Easter egg."