Long Nguyen, the one mainly responsible for Adam going viral in the 243rd Game, was sprawled across his unmade bed, a bag of chips balanced on his chest, while his stomach was exposed.
He was about to lazily grab another chip when his phone buzzed with a notification tone. It was a very specific tone he set up—he programmed it specifically for whenever the IBAA Hero evaluations went live.
He stared at his phone for a moment, and then his eyes snapped open.
"Oh shit!"
Long launched himself from the bed, chips scattering across the floor as he stumbled to his computer. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the IBAA’s official livestream while simultaneously starting his own broadcast.
"Come on, come on. Mic test. Mic test," he muttered, adjusting his camera angle and checking if his microphone was working. The IBAA’s feed was loading, displaying their clean logo against a black background.
The IBAA’s livestream was always professional, transparent, and... boring as hell. That was why people like him existed—to add commentary, reactions, and entertainment value to what was essentially just CCTV footage. The official feed was required by law to be accessible to the public, but nobody wanted to watch raw, unedited, and quiet footage.
And since he gained a lot of followers due to his stunt with recognizing the "Hero Killer", his chat was already filling up as viewers noticed his stream had gone live.
"Hey, everyone!" Long waved at his camera, settling into his gaming chair. "My name’s Longify, and yeah, we’ve got a new Hero evaluation starting... any minute now. I’m excited to see who’s joining the ranks in America today. It—okay, here we go!"
The delivery of his words was, in a word, awkward. But that didn’t matter at all—the people would consume any media as long as they found it entertaining.
The IBAA feed finally switched from the logo to an interior shot of their testing facility. The camera panned across a massive circular machine covered in thick metallic plates, all gleaming under harsh fluorescent lighting.
"Okay, for those who don’t know..." Long pointed at his screen, "...that’s called the ECS Frame. It’s, uh... electromagnetic thingy that measures—"
Long rolled his eyes at the chat, which began to berate and troll him. "Yeah, yeah. I’m not a scientist, okay? Let me look it up."
The camera angle shifted, and a figure in a completely white skin-tight suit entered the frame.
"Ah, this one I know! This suit tracks every muscle and vital signs." Long continued his commentary, "And it would look absolutely disgusting if any of us were wearing it. But Heroes usually have incredibly toned bodies, so..."
A doctor had entered the frame for scale, and Long could finally see just how small the participant was in comparison.
"Wait, what the hell?" Long leaned closer to his monitor. "That guy’s tiny! Is it a kid...? Did a kid just survive several Games?!"
Long and his chat became wild, in complete contrast to the stream where the doctor just calmly began attaching magnetic plates and cuffs to the participant’s suit—several on all four limbs and three on the back.
"Ah, now those plates are magnetic and—wait a minute..." Long was about to explain when something made him freeze completely.
The camera had zoomed in slightly, giving a clearer view of the participant’s face and hair.
"Wh..." Long’s mouth fell open, and his finger began trembling as he pointed at his screen.
"Holy shit!" he screamed. "It’s the guy!"
His chat started typing out question marks, while some were saying he should tone it down and that they weren’t there for him, but just to watch IBAA’s livestream.
"It’s—it’s—" Long stuttered violently, his hands shaking as he frantically opened his photo gallery. "It’s the Hero Killer! From the desert! The one who was with the Rousseau sisters!"
"Look at the hair!" Long pulled up his screenshots from the last Game, comparing them side by side with the current feed. And when he saw he wasn’t convincing anyone, he also pulled out the viral photo, as well as the newest photo of Clementine kissing Adam at the airport.
"Shit! It’s him! Look at the hair! Same length, same color! It’s definitely him! He really was American! Fuck! To those who were saying he was French, fuck you! And fuck French people in general!"
The chat exploded along with him.
And Long wasn’t the only one making the connection, no. Across the internet, thousands of streamers were switching to the IBAA feed, comparing footage from the Game to see if it really was the mysterious "Hero Killer" who’d gone viral.
Hero Killer—what was what Adam was called due to the fact that he’d killed a few Heroes during the 243rd Game. And Adam, due to not having any social media at all, had no idea just how famous he actually was now.
"Hero Killer", "Sylvie’s boyfriend", and "Rousseau love triangle" have been the number one searched keywords interchangeably for several days now.
Meanwhile, back in the evaluation facility, the doctors were making final adjustments to the magnetic plates according to Adam’s height. The technician who was inside the machine with him, a middle-aged man with graying hair, spoke into his headset.
"Participant is secured and ready for Strength evaluation," he said before standing in front of Adam. "Alright, Mr. Smith, I’m going to explain how this works. The frame will read your movement vectors and apply counterforce in real-time."
Adam looked around the circular chamber, confused. "Uh... okay?"
"Think of it like this—if you push, it will pull. If you pull, it will push. The machine creates resistance that matches and then exceeds your maximum output."
"I... see." Adam squinted.
The technician chuckled at Adam’s expression. "Don’t worry about the technical details. Just focus on the test. You’ll be asked to perform a series of movements—stretching, pushing, squatting, jumping. The machine will calibrate to your strength and gradually increase resistance until you can’t move anymore."
Adam nodded slowly.
"And the suit monitors your vital signs and muscle strain. Gives us precise readings on your physical capabilities." The technician gave him a thumbs-up. "You comfortable in there?"
"Yes."
"Very well... Good luck, Mr. Smith."