THE ATTIC CLEAR OUT: THE VIDEO CAMERA
The camera was listed as "Professional Vlogging Setup - Free. Barely Used." @bstumbelerr wasn't even looking for one. But when he saw the photo, a sleek black DSLR with a flip-out screen, and a shotgun mic perched on top, something in his brain itched. The description was vague too, "Got it as a gift, never got into filming. Sat in the attic for years, want rid."
It was definitely sketchy, a free professional quality setup easy worth multiple hundreds of dollars? But he figured what the hell, isn't like they can do much other than scam email him after all, so he typed out a message to the owner, and soon arranged a time to go collect it.
The guy lived a few towns over, a place where the streetlights flickered and everything seemed rough and dodgy. His apartment smelled like incense and old electronics. He didn't say much, just handed him the camera, allowing his fingers to brush against his hand for just a second too long. "You'll like it." He said matter-of-factly. Not 'Hope you enjoy it.' Not 'Good luck.'
"You'll like it."
Like he already knew.
He should've asked questions, but the camera felt right in his hands. Heavy, and important. He thanked the old owner and left.
That night, he set it up on his dresser, pointing at his bed. The red recording light glowed like an eye. He hit record, cleared his throat. "Uh... hey. So. Um... I guess I'm trying this whole vlogging thing?" His voice sounded different - deeper, smoother. His reflection in the flip-out screen looked... better. Sharper jaw. Brighter eyes.
He kept talking. About nothing. About his day, and how stupid it felt to film himself. But the more he spoke, the easier it got to keep going. And the weirder it got.
Because every time he glanced at that little red light, steadily staring at him, a rush of warmth spread through his chest. He felt proud, as if the camera was praising him. Like it wanted him to keep going.
He filmed again the next day, and the next. Soon it was just another part of his daily routine. At first, it was just dumb little updates - what he ate, what he watched, how work sucked and he hated his job as an office worker. But the more he recorded, the more he craved it. The thrill of the camera, the call of video. He wanted to do more. Maybe he should get into streaming, he absentmindedly thought. It was like the camera did something to him. When it was on, his alouch disappeared, his voice dropped, his jokes landed smoother. He started dressing better, standing taller. Smirking at his own reflection in the lens like he was some kind of star. And the best part? It felt natural. Like he'd always been this person. Like it was second nature. The camera was just reminding him of that.
Then came the night he forgot to stop recording. He left the camera running as he got ready for bed, stripping off his shirt, his pants, stretching. The camera, of course, dutifully captured every detail. His hairless chest, his weak skinny frame, his weak stature.
When he played it back the next day to review, his breath caught. Because the guy on screen wasn't him. At least, not quite. He moved differently. More fluid, more aware of the lens. And when he turned towards it, giving a cheeky flex and wink to it, his 'on-screen smile' was wider than he remembered. Hungrier. This was a man who knew he was hot, who felt like a god among men. They looked the same, but that confidence made him look so goddamn sexy. He should've been creeped out, but he felt thrilled, excited.
And that was scarier than anything he saw on the screen.
For the first time, he saw what the camera saw. And by god, it was better than the real thing in every way.
The next day, the camera's red light blinked at him like a challenge. "Go live." It seemed to whisper. "Let everyone see you." He swallowed hard, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He'd never streamed before, only even thought about it that one time as a joke. But that undeniable itch under his skin wouldn't go away - the same restless energy that had been endlessly building since he first hit record.
He clicked "Start Streaming".
"Yo! What's up chat?" His voice came out smoother than before, smoother even than on the recordings. It was as if the mic was tuning him to something better. But no-one was watching. YET.
Two hours in, his muscles ached, but not from gaming. It was a good ache, like he'd been working out for hours. His shoulders felt stronger, bulkier, and his grip on the controller was tighter. When he flexed his fingers and biceps between rounds subconsciously, they moved with a new kind of strength and precision.
He caught his reflection in the monitor. His hair was messier, but in that 'just-right' way that streamers always had. His eyes were brighter, green where they were once blue, locked onto the screen with an intensity he didn't recognise. And when he laughed at his own dumb jokes, it didn't feel forced lile usual. It felt... natural? Yeah, natural. Second nature.
Like he was finally becoming who he was always meant to be.
Like he was just reverting to his true form.
Around half-an-hour later, a new username popped up in chat.
xXGameMasterXx: yo u funny kek
His chest swelled. "Thanks, dude!" He grinned, leaning closer to the camera. "Stick around, I'm just gettin' started." The words spilled out without any thought. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Because the camera liked when he talked.
And so did he.
The next night, he streamed again. And again the next, every day for a week straight. Each stream, new followers, each day, new confidence. The more he did it, the better he felt. The more right he felt. He found himself responding faster to the games he played, his reflexes improving, becoming more honed. His aim imprived, headshits got easier to hit, his thumbs moving faster than he could think on the joysticks and buttons. Hus voice slowly over the days dropped into an even smoother, buttery, playful rhythm, like he'd been doing this for years.
Had he?
He finished up the stream for the day, smiling proudly at his 30 follower count, and shuffled to the living room of his apartment. His roomate frowned at him. "Are you... working out?" He smirked around a mouth of food, "Nah. Just good genes I guess." The lie came easy. He supposed, it wasn't really a lie. He was changing, just not in the way hus roomate thought. His body was indeed bulkier, his arms filled out and toned from hours of animated gesturing. His posture was improved by his newly formed back muscles, supporting him comfortably even when slouched in a gaming chair all day. Even his face looked better, sexier, more rugged. The camera was sculpting him into something more watchable, more entertaining, or maybe he was, he didn't know. But he still loved it.
By the end of the next week, he had finally hit a milestone. 102 followers. The screen proudly displayed, as if praising him. They laughed at his jokes, cheered when he pulled off stupid plays. Validated him, encouraged him. Loved him. And the more they watched, the better he got. His reactions became louder, even more exaggerated. His gaming skills sharpened to near-pro level, and soon he was switching from boring games to something more fun and challenging, competitive queues and high elos that only a gamer of his mastery could achieve. His face in the preview looked like a real streamer's - confident, cocky, alive. He started thinking about clips, and about content, near constantly.
"This'll make a good moment. Better ask chat to clip it."
"Chat's gonna fucking love this."
"I should say that again, but funnier."
The camera's red watchful gaze pulsed approvingly.
Then, mid-way through a 36-hour subathon stream, it happened. He leaned back in his chair, stretching, and his shirt rode up - just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach. Chat. Exploded.
xXGameMasterXx: DAMN bro u been liftin?
LunaLuvr99: wait fuk ur jacked lol
ValoXander: DADDY SORRY DADDY SORRY DADDY
He blinked at the comments, then down at himself. His abs weren't ripped by any means, but they were there - defined in a way that only someone who hits the gym regularly and knows what they're doing can achieve. He curiously lifted his shirt more, revealing them, and flexed an arm experimentally, and chat lost their minds.
The camera's light seemed to burn brighter.
And for the first time, he understood.
This wasn't just confidence.
This wasn't just skill.
This was something else.
And it was only just beginning.
Mere seconds after the subathon stream finally ended (it ended up running for nearly 70 hours after that flexing incident, way over the expected 36 hour runtime he'd planned for) the email hit his inbox like a lightning bolt.
"Hey Kyle! Love your content! Wanna collab?"
He stared at the name on the email, not one he recognised. Kyle? But his fingers typed back instantly "Hell yeah dude! DM me the deets." It felt right. Like he'd always been Kyle. Right? It was almost like the quiet, awkward office worker who bought the camera weeks ago never existed. Almost, but not quite.
He woke the next morning after having a weird dream. It was a dream of his past, his childhood, but not the one he lived. A better one. In the dream, he'd grown up with a controller in his hands, remembered his first viral clip at sixteen. Remembered the years of grinding, building an audience, trying slowly but surely and succeeding at becoming someone. He remembered his name, the one his mother had given him, and his username that he'd given himself to make it online, the one chat screamed in joy and aodration.
Kyle.
TheJocKyGamer.
And when he looked in the mirror that's who looked back. Rugged jaw, bright eyes, sexy shit-eating grin that cane far too easy. The body of a man who'd spent years performing, posing, knowing exactly how good he looked on camera.
Because he had.
He always had.
As always was the case by now, he went live like it was second nature. "Yo chat! Guess who's back?" He leaned into the camera, winking, rolling his shoulders. His tank top clung to his chest, tight - far too tight - but he loved it that way. Chat loved it that way. The comments flooded in.
xXGameMasterXx: Yo my bro! Sup?
LunaLuvr99: Unfair how hot u r kek
He laughed, flexing just so he could watch them lose it. "What can I say, Gaming while lookin this good is a full body workout." He chuckled dumbly, the words slipping out with ease. He sounded good, deeper, smoother. Dumber.
He winked at the camera after a particularly good round of Valorant, where he'd aced with insane skill. "Bet you'd all love for me carry ya in ranked, huh chat?" The heart emojis poured in, the cries and chants of "POGGERS", "NICE ACE", "DADDY" all poured in. He ate it up, because this was him.
The real him.
The only him.
New follower! His stream alerts popped up.
AnnonymousUser332: I see that camera did some good eh?
Kyle was confused. "Yeah bro! Course it does, it captures my perfect bod! Bet you'd love to take it's place seein this every day!" He flexed, ripping off his shirt, causing chat to erupt into absolute fucking chaos.
But for a second, he remembered. His old self, the ad, the camera changing him.
The red light pulsed.
The thought pulsed with it.
The red light flickered.
The thought dissipated.
"Well chat, you want more of this? More shirtless streams of me, your god? Better make sure to smash that follow and subscribe button, and send me some donations while you're at it. God knows this body deserves that cash!" He laughed, loudly and dumbly, watching as instantly he got 40 new subs, and countless emails of his paypal filling up with donations from stream.
The camera's light flickered one last time, causing Kyle to moan in pleasure slightly, before settling down, no longer watching. But Kyle wasn't worried. He didn't need it anymore. He didn't need the light.
Because he was the god of his stream, and his show would never end.
