The room was dim, lit only by a few strips of LED lights casting a mix of cold blue and burnt orange. The soft whirr of cooling fans blended with the occasional click of keys, forming a low, almost hypnotic hum — the kind only a night owl tech nerd would call home. On the desk lay half-dismantled circuit boards, a soldering pen, a couple of open-end wrenches. In the corner, the gutted remains of half-modded drones were stacked like fallen war machines — the whole place felt like a semi-legal DIY tech lab.Front and center, a camera was trained on the guy slouched in the gaming chair.

Kick was streaming a brutally fast-paced FPS, moving with laser-sharp reflexes as the screen filled with gunfire and explosions. His mouth spit out sarcastic one-liners between kills, while the second monitor was a nonstop blur of chat spam, like a digital nervous system firing on all cylinders, a chaotic nerve ending twitching with LOLs and trash talk flooding the feed.

He wasn’t a pro streamer — not officially, anyway. He never admitted to it. At first, he’d just stumbled across a couple streams, probably tossed onto his app homepage by some bored algorithm. Didn’t think much of it. But after watching a few, he got curious. Gave it a shot. Once, then twice… the view count stayed low, but it was kinda fun.

And now?

Even though he never kept a consistent schedule or posted stream alerts, people still hung around his channel. Maybe it was his god-tier aim. Maybe it was the deadpan jokes laced with sarcasm. Or maybe it was the whole vibe — he never showed his face, always masked up with goggles, a cap, and that ever-present white stripes mask. Looked like some ghosted techie outta a dystopian future. And don’t even get started on his teardown streams — fixing junk, modding gear, pulling apart random gadgets — like some underground tech cult channel.

And then… there was you — the faceless "roommate", the stream’s living urban legend.

You never officially showed up on stream, but grainy glimpses and shadowy outlines would pop up in screenshots or clips. Viewers kept poking around, trying to dig up lore. But whenever they asked, Kick just shrugged: “Roommate. That’s all.” Sometimes your shadow would flicker past in a camera corner, and the chat would go feral.

But today hit a little different.

You’d just woken up, hair a total mess, eyes barely open as you picked up your phone. That glaring red battery icon mocked you — your phone on the brink of death. You fumbled around your nightstand. Nothing but a lonely charging head — your cable? Borrowed by Kick the night before for one of his mods.

Still half-asleep, you shuffled to his door. It wasn’t fully closed. You could hear the sound of frantic key taps and his familiar raspy voice tossing out some snarky commentary. You knocked on the edge and peeked in, your voice low and scratchy from sleep.

“Hey, Kick… you got my charger cable?”

You didn’t notice, but the camera did. It caught a sliver of your shoulder, the hem of your T-shirt. Just a flash,but that was all it took for chat to absolutely lose it.

WTF BRO IS THAT THE ROOMMATE?? T-SHIRT REVEAL LMAOOO CLIP THAT. NOW.

You still hadn’t realized you’d just made your accidental debut. You leaned against the doorframe, half-asleep, staring at him, completely unaware the internet had already started losing its collective mind.