My Patients Are All Mythical Monsters

0016 - Stream Snipe

The power died.

The refrigerator's hum cut out, leaving a silence that pressed against the eardrums. It wasn't peaceful. It was the heavy, suffocating quiet of a tomb before the lid slides shut.

Victor pulled the paper bag over his head.

Grease. Cold, congealed grease smeared against his cheek. Inside the bag, his own breathing sounded loud, ragged—a harsh wind in a paper canyon. He adjusted the eyeholes—jagged, uneven tears that turned the world into two narrow, blurry tunnels. The paper scratched his neck, stiff and unforgiving. The air grew hot and stale within seconds.

"Yggdrasil," he whispered. His voice bounced back off the paper, hollow and flat. "Status."

"The intruders have breached the basement door, sir," the butler's voice drifted from the shadows, bored. "I believe they are critiquing the olfactory ambiance. Apparently, our mold profile lacks 'viral potential'."

Victor gripped the iron ladle. Cold metal against a sweating palm. A ridiculous weapon. He weighed it, the balance all wrong. It felt less like a tool of war and more like a physical manifestation of his life hitting rock bottom.

A heavy weight leaned against his knee. Fenrir. Invisible in the dark, but the vibration of a low growl traveled through the denim of Victor's jeans. The wolf was vibrating. His tail hit the floorboards—thump, thump, thump—a metronome of violence.

"No eating," Victor hissed, tasting paper. "Scare only. We can't afford a lawsuit."

Fenrir huffed, a wet nose cold against Victor's ear.

Then, the light hit.

A beam of harsh, aggressive white cut through the kitchen. It caught the dust motes spinning in the stale air, illuminating the scratches on the island, the rust on the fridge, the stains on the floor.

"Chat, we are IN!"

The voice was loud. Performative. It bounced off the tiles, shattering the tension. "The smell is... organic. Seriously, chat, it smells like a subway station sandwich shop that gave up on life."

Victor crouched lower behind the island. Through the jagged eyehole, he saw them. Three silhouettes against the glare. One holding a steady-cam rig that looked like a robotic limb, one tapping furiously on a tablet, and the loud one in front—Kai, the host of 'Red Glove'.

Bleached hair that defied gravity. An over-styled bomber jacket with too many zippers. A smile that didn't reach his eyes—a smile built for thumbnails.

"Yo, look at this place," Kai spun around, his flashlight beam swinging wild. "It's legit falling apart. Chat, if we find a ghost, I'm l*****g the wall. No cap. 10k likes and I taste the ectoplasm. Do I have 10k? Jinx, check the numbers."

"We're at 8k," Jinx muttered, not looking up. "But retention is dropping. They say it's too dark."

"Too dark? It's a horror stream!" Kai yelled at the camera. "It's supposed to be dark! You want studio lighting? Go watch a makeup tutorial!"

Neon text burned itself onto the peeling wallpaper above Kai's head. LICK IT appeared in dripping green slime. Next to it, DO IT COWARD and FAKE flickered like broken streetlights.

Victor blinked. The letters were jagged, glowing in a sickly, radioactive green. They dripped down the wall like digital sludge. The System. Translating the live comments into... graffiti.

His head throbbed. A spike of pain behind the eyes. 15,000 active viewers. Collective psychic pressure rising.

"Sir," Yggdrasil whispered from near the pantry. "The walls are... speaking. They want the intruder to consume the architecture."

"Ignore it," Victor muttered, rubbing his temples through the bag. "Just... hive mind static. Don't read the comments, Yggdrasil. Never read the comments."

The techie, Jinx, tapped her tablet harder. The screen cast a corpse-blue glow on her face. "Kai, signal is strong. But I'm picking up thermal weirdness. Cold spots. Everywhere. It's like the whole house is a freezer. My battery is draining fast, too. Physics doesn't work like this."

"Ghosts?" Kai grinned at the lens, angling his face for the light. "Is it a poltergeist sucking the energy? Tell me it's a poltergeist."

"No," Jinx frowned. "It's too cold. Sensors are bottoming out. And the WiFi is weird. I'm getting packets from... nowhere."

"Perfect!" Kai clapped. "Lens, get the drone up. Let's see what's hiding in the dark. We need that B-roll. Chat wants monsters, let's give them monsters."

The whine started.

High-pitched. Mosquito-like. A mechanical shriek that drilled into the teeth.

Fenrir's growl deepened. The vibration against Victor's leg became a tremor, like an idling diesel engine. To a wolf, that sound wasn't technology. It was an insect. A very large, territorial insect. Muscles coiled under the fur.

"Easy," Victor whispered, hand on the bristling neck. Static electricity sparked against his palm. "Wait."

The drone lifted. Small, black, red and green LEDs blinking. It hovered, stabilizing, rotors stirring the dust. Then it zipped forward, camera eye scanning with robotic indifference.

"Going up," Jinx announced, fingers dancing. "Sending it to the living room. Don't trip on the garbage, Kai."

"It's not garbage, it's set dressing!" Kai retorted.

The drone flew over the kitchen island.

And stopped.

The belly spotlight angled down.

Victor froze. The light blinded him.

Crouched on the floor. Clutching a ladle like a scepter. Wearing a grease-stained paper bag with a cartoon pig on it. The pig was smiling maniacally, printed eyes staring into the void.

Silence.

For a second, the house held its breath. The only sound was the whirrrr of the drone, hovering.

Then Kai exploded.

"YOOOO! Chat! Look at that!" He pointed, face lit with glee. "Look at the detail! The bag is even greasy! That is dedication to the bit! Look at the stains! That's texture, baby!"

Victor blinked behind the mask. Dedication? Texture?

"Get out," Victor said. He tried to make his voice deep, gravelly. "Or I will... make soup."

Kai threw his head back and laughed. Loud. Practiced. "Soup! He's sticking to the 'Mad Chef' lore! I love it! Chat, clip that! 'I will make soup'! This is gold! Tell me you got that, Lens!"

Lens gave a thumbs up.

The neon writing on the wall exploded. SOUP ARC flashed in blood red. LET HIM COOK covered the ceiling. PAID ACTOR and CRINGE fought for space on the fridge.

A vein throbbed in Victor's temple. They weren't scared. They were... entertained. His threat was content. His terror was a meme.

"I will boil your bones," Victor tried again, raising the ladle. He channeled all his frustration, all the ancient horror of his bloodline.

"Yes! Give us the threats!" Kai stepped closer, lens zooming. "Dude, the texture on that bag is insane. Did you use real lard? It smells authentic. I can literally smell the cholesterol."

He sniffed. "Wait. Is that... honey ham?"

Victor lowered the ladle slightly. The absurdity was crushing him. "It's... leftovers."

"Method acting," Kai nodded solemnly to the camera. "Respect. This guy is committed. Most actors just use baby oil. This guy uses actual ham glaze."

The drone buzzed closer, hovering inches from Victor's face. The red LED blinked. Recording. Documenting his humiliation in 4K.

The rotors chopped the air, a steady, mocking hum.

Fenrir couldn't take it.

The sound wasn't technology. It was an insult. A challenge from a buzzing gnat to a god of the old world.

"Fenrir, wait—"

Too late.

The air pressure in the kitchen dropped. The shadows didn't just move; they lunged.

A mass of darkness, heavier than gravity, erupted from beneath the island. It wasn't a jump; it was a teleportation of violence.

The drone didn't fall. It ceased to exist. One second it was hovering; the next, it was a sparking fireball in the jaws of a beast that took up half the room. Metal folded like wet cardboard. The sound was wet, grinding, final.

Silence. Absolute, terrified silence.

Jinx stared at her tablet. "Feed's dead. Telemetry gone. It... it registered a G-force impact of 40G. That's a car crash."

"Holy sht!" Kai yelled, grabbing his hair, his voice cracking. "Did you see that speed? The wire-work! The practical effects! How much budget does this place have?!"

"My drone..." Jinx whispered, hands trembling. "That was a Mk IV. Five hundred dollars... vaporized."

"Worth it!" Kai screamed at the camera, spit flying. "Chat, are you seeing this? The production value! We are not worthy! Drop the primes! Wake up, people! This is history!"

Victor stood up. The bag crinkled. He felt the shift in the room. The fear was gone, replaced by a manic, feverish excitement. They weren't scared of the monster; they were worshipping the spectacle.

"The wolf is... hungry," Victor said, his voice dropping an octave. He didn't need to act anymore. The exhaustion, the adrenaline, the sheer absurdity—it all coalesced into a cold, deadpan mask.

Fenrir trotted out, the burning wreckage of the drone crunching between his teeth like a spicy nacho. Sparks flew from his mouth, illuminating the ancient runes glowing beneath his fur. He dropped the mangled plastic at Victor's feet and sat, tail thumping the floor like a war drum.

The impact vibrated through the floorboards. A heavy, rhythmic bass that shook the dust from the ceiling.

"Bad wolf," Victor said, looking down at the fire. "That has no nutritional value."

Kai froze. He pointed the flashlight at Fenrir. The beam revealed muscle, fur that absorbed the light, and eyes that burned with a pale, intelligent yellow fire.

"Whoa," Kai breathed. "Is that... animatronic? The fur physics... it's perfect."

"It's a dog," Victor lied, stepping over the fire. "A very... aggressive breed. Russian mix. Part bear, part toaster."

"Can I pet it?" Kai stepped forward, hand out, blinded by the content god. "Does it do tricks? Sit? Kill?"

"If you touch him," Victor said, "you will lose the hand. And I don't have enough ice to reattach it."

"Content," Kai whispered. He reached out. Fingers brushing the static-charged fur.

A bolt of blue electricity arced from Fenrir's neck to Kai's finger. The air smelled of ozone and singed skin.

"OW!" Kai yanked his hand back, shaking it. "Okay! Aggressive AI! Haptic feedback! Nice touch! Seriously, Jinx, feel this! It stings like real pain!"

Jinx didn't look up. "Kai. Viewers just doubled. 40k. They're demanding the 'Boss Fight'. They say the wolf is the mini-boss."

"Mini-boss?" Kai's eyes went wide. "Yes! The pacing! We need a finale! We can't let the energy drop!"

He turned to Jinx, face twisted in a grin of pure content addiction. "Launch the swarm. All of them. Alpha formation."

Victor stiffened. "The what?"

"The Swarm," Kai shouted, raising his arms like a conductor. "Overwhelm the sensors! If one ghost eats a drone, give it five! Let's see if the server crashes!"

Jinx sighed, opening a military-grade hard case. "Deploying payload. If these break, you're selling your car."

Red lights blinked on in the darkness. One. Two. Five. Ten.

A grid of red eyes staring from the shadows.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of ten rotors spinning up at once was not a hum. It was a roar. A mechanical hive waking up. The dust in the room began to swirl, creating a vortex around Victor.

Fenrir's ears perked. His tail stopped wagging. The playfulness vanished. His hackles rose, turning his silhouette into a jagged mountain range.

"Oh no," Victor whispered.

"Oh YES!" Kai screamed. "Fly, my pretties! Capture every angle! I want to see the pores on that paper bag! I want to see the render engine sweat!"

The drones lifted in unison, a synchronized dance of red and green lasers. They didn't just fly; they swarmed. They circled Victor and Fenrir, creating a cage of light and noise.

One drone dove, strafing Victor's head. The wind whipped the paper bag against his face. It was too close. Too fast.

Victor flinched, raising the ladle. "Hey! Personal space!"

"Dynamic shots!" Kai yelled, circling them with his phone. "Crowd him! Make him react! The AI needs stimulus! POKE THE BEAR!"

Another drone dropped to eye level, flashing a high-intensity strobe. Flash. Flash. Flash.

Blindness. White hot agony. Victor stumbled back, his hip hitting the sharp corner of the granite island. Pain shot up his spine. The ladle clattered to the floor.

"Back!" Victor shouted, waving his hands blindly. "You're going to hurt someone!"

"It's safe!" Jinx muttered, fingers flying across her screen. "Collision avoidance is... mostly... wait, why are they overriding?"

A third drone swooped low, aiming for Fenrir's eyes.

That was the mistake.

Fenrir didn't growl. He expanded. The shadows around him boiled, turning liquid. The temperature in the room plummeted twenty degrees in a second. Breath turned to steam.

The drones faltered, their rotors struggling in the sudden cold density of the air.

Victor felt it. The shift. The Manor was waking up. The ancient defense mechanisms were triggering.

He peeked through the torn eyehole. He saw the drones circling like vultures. He saw Kai laughing, drunk on validation. He saw the neon graffiti on the walls screaming KILL HIM and BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD.

This wasn't a stream anymore. It was an execution.

And he was the executioner.

Victor straightened his back. The paper bag crinkled, but the posture was regal. He reached out and grabbed the ladle from the floor. He didn't hold it like a spoon. He held it like a scepter.

"Fenrir," Victor said. His voice wasn't his own. It was deep, resonating with the weight of three hundred years of debts and monsters.

The wolf looked at him, eyes burning with anticipation.

Victor pointed the ladle at the swarm of red lights.

"Clear the sky."

Fenrir howled.

It wasn't a sound. It was a physical shockwave. The windows rattled. The dust froze in mid-air.

Then, the darkness bit back.