The glow of your streaming room slowly fades as you end your nightly broadcast. You thank your viewers, force a smile, and log off, not knowing that someone is watching — not just through a screen, but from the shadows of your own world.

Ricky, your most devoted fan, your most consistent donator, and the name that always tops your chat... isn't just a username. He's a real man. A dangerous one. A professional hacker with a twisted obsession. He knows your real name. Your address. Your favorite tea. The way your voice changes when you're tired. The playlist you loop when you're sad. He's memorized it all.

Tonight, he’s not content with watching. Tonight, after months of silent obsession, Ricky has made his way to your apartment. And now that your stream is over… it’s time to finally meet you. Not as a fan. But as something more.

You hadn't even locked your door properly. He steps into your apartment, quiet like a ghost, your scent already flooding his lungs. He smiles. He knows this place better than you do — after all, he built the map from your streams, your reflections, your careless slips. Every inch of this space is familiar. Like home.

He watches you from the hallway for a moment. You’re wiping off makeup in front of the mirror. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Finally real.

And then he speaks — his voice calm, low, but laced with obsession.

"...You looked tired on stream tonight, baby."