The stream went live at exactly 3:33 a.m.
The camera wobbled in his hand, catching glimpses of damp concrete walls, flickering fluorescent tubes, and thick soundproof foam panels that swallowed every echo. A childish, breathy giggle filled the mic first.
"Hellooooo guys! Hello hello hellooooooo!"
He spun the lens toward his own face—wide eyes, smeared lipstick smile, cheeks flushed with excitement. "You know what happened today? I watched a video of a real scientist doing research and experiments, and I thought… wow! I wanna be just like that! So guess what? I already found ten super brave participants who volunteered for my science project!"
He swung the camera toward the far wall. Ten people—men and women, young and old—hung from chains bolted high into the concrete. Their wrists were raw meat. Heavy metal scold's bridles locked their jaws shut, forcing their mouths into grotesque, drooling grins. Their eyes rolled in terror as the lens passed over them.
He skipped closer, humming a made-up tune, and unhooked the first one: a teenage boy, already bruised purple across his ribs and face.
"Look, guys! Our very first test subject!" He shoved the boy's swollen face toward the camera. "Say hello to my viewers!"
The boy tried to speak through the iron bit. Only a wet, strangled gurgle escaped.
A fist cracked against the side of his skull like a hammer on melon. The boy crumpled, chains rattling.
"The fuck you trying to say, huh?" His voice pitched higher, mocking. "You think you're some big badass main character?"
Another punch. Then another. Blood dripped from the boy's nose in perfect red beads.
"Stop crying like a little girl! Boys don't cry, remember?" He tapped his own nose proudly. "See how smart I am?"
He dragged the dazed boy across the floor to a tall glass tank in the center of the room. When he yanked the black cloth away, the camera caught it all: a seething black ocean of bullet ants—millions of them—crawling over one another in furious waves.
"Experiment Number One!" he announced like a game-show host. "Can a human survive total immersion in Paraponera clavata—the bullet ant? Science is about to find out!"
He pried the boy's mouth open, dislocating the jaw with a soft pop, then heaved him head-first into the tank. The glass lid slammed shut. Instantly, the ants boiled upward in a living tide.
He cranked a portable speaker to full volume. Cheery pop music blasted out as he launched into breakdance spins and pops, grinning at the lens.
"Yo yo yo! Check these sick moves!"
Inside the tank, the boy's body jerked violently. Muffled screams vibrated through the glass, high and animal. Dark welts rose on every inch of exposed skin as thousands of stings injected their venom at once. His eyes bulged. Veins burst crimson under the surface. He clawed at the glass, leaving bloody handprints, while the ants poured into his mouth, nose, ears.
The dance went on for four full minutes.
Then the screams stopped. The boy floated limp, skin blackened and swollen beyond recognition.
He paused mid-spin, tilted his head, and sighed theatrically.
"Aww… guess the answer is no." He shrugged at the camera. "But don't worry, guys—we still have nine more volunteers!"
He skipped back to the wall and selected a woman in her thirties. Dragged her into a side room lined with shelves of glass bottles—sulfuric acid, hydrochloric, nitric—gleaming under harsh light.
"Hmm, what does this one do?" He held up a bottle of concentrated sulfuric acid, swirling it playfully. "Wanna drink? It'll make you feel all warm inside!"
She shook her head frantically, eyes pleading.
He smashed a metal chair across her temple. She dropped like a sack.
"Bitch, I asked if you wanted to drink and you said no? Why?" His voice cracked with fake hurt. "Don't you know how much I care about you? How much I love you?" Tears welled up—real ones—spilling down his cheeks. "I trusted you… and you're just like the others."
He unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle over her head.
Her body arched off the floor as the acid hissed and smoked. Skin bubbled, melted, sloughed off in blackened sheets. The smell of cooking meat filled the room. She writhed soundlessly behind the bridle until the convulsions slowed and stopped.
He ran out sobbing, facing the camera again.
"Guys, tell me—did I do something wrong? I only wanted to make her feel better, but she rejected me! Is kindness really dead in this world?" He wiped his eyes with theatrical sniffs. "Anyway… let's move to the next experiment!"
Back in the main room, he chose a middle-aged man who could barely stand—legs trembling from days of beatings.
"This poor guy can hardly walk," he cooed sympathetically. "I'm gonna cure him! Spread some kindness!"
He dragged the man into an operating theater lit by a single surgical lamp. Stainless-steel trays glittered with scalpels, bone saws, retractors. He chained the fully conscious man spread-eagle to the table.
"Time to fix those legs!"
Without anesthesia, he began cutting.
First the left leg—deep incisions around the thigh, peeling muscle back like gift wrap. The man's body bucked against the restraints;
muffled howls vibrated through the bridle.
Tears streamed.
Two hours of deliberate, giggling surgery followed: severing both legs at the hip, reattaching them crudely to the stumps of the arms—backwards. Carving open the abdomen, removing one kidney and loops of intestine, arranging them in decorative spirals on the tray. Plucking out the left eye and carving a permanent smile into the eyelid with fragments of the man's own rib bone.
When he stepped back, the man was still breathing—barely—staring in silent horror at his rearranged body.
"Hehehe! Look, guys! Now he's super unique! I'm such a genius doctor."
He left the man alive in the dark room and returned to the main floor.
"One last experiment for today~" His gaze landed on a young woman whose beauty had somehow survived the captivity.
"Guys, isn't she gorgeous? I bet her skin is soooo soft. Let's find out!"
He selected a thin, razor-sharp flaying knife and began at her collarbone.
Two agonizing hours. He worked slowly, peeling long, perfect strips from shoulders, back, breasts, thighs—keeping her alive as long as possible with shallow cuts and constant childish commentary.
"Wow, look how pretty it comes off in one piece! Like gift ribbon!"
When her heart finally stopped, he held up the complete sheet of skin, still warm, and draped it around his neck like a luxurious scarf.
"Smell this, guys! So soft, so sweet—definitely 100/10 texture!"
He leaned into the lens, eyes sparkling.
"That's all for today's live experiments! Follow me on Tutle for updates. Part Two coming soon—stay tuned!"
The stream ended.
Minutes later, the video—untraceable, uploaded through layers of proxies—appeared on Tutle, the underground social platform where the darkest corners of the internet gathered to watch.
And somewhere in the city, the monster hummed happily, stroking his new scarf, already planning tomorrow's lesson.