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Bryce sat up, his silver chain clinking against the desk. He swiped the screen. A 17-second video from a farmer in Nebraska had just crossed 2 million views. The farmer, a stoic man named Hank, had filmed his goat headbutting a basketball into a rusted hoop. The audio was a chopped-and-screwed remix of a 90s R&B song that a teenager in Jakarta had added six hours ago.

“Viral temperature?” Bryce asked the room’s AI, a disembodied voice named Echo. bryce adams cumshot

Bryce took a sip of cold brew. He looked at the wall behind his desk, where a neon sign read: Bryce sat up, his silver chain clinking against the desk

Tonight’s spike was a whisper turning into a scream. Bryce sat up