Chapter 2: I'll Blow Up Your Livestream
The hospital lobby was already in chaos.
People clutching medicine boxes. Others crowding around the reception desk, shouting. And most of them staring up at the TV screens mounted near the ceiling.
On the screen, Matthew stood outside the hospital's east gate.
A crowd had gathered behind him.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "VX‑7 poisoning isn't incurable — someone just doesn't want you to know the truth."
He held up a box of blue capsules.
"Bluetend Capsules. I've tried them myself. Three days, and you'll see results."
The comment section exploded.
[Where can I buy them?]
[My father's been sick for two days!]
[Why won't the hospital give out this medicine?]
Matthew lowered his voice.
"Do you know who they're hiding inside this hospital?"
The screen cut to a photo.
My photo.
Me signing a death confirmation form in the emergency hallway.
Next to it, grainy footage of Evelyn and my son being wheeled into the trauma bay.
Something heavy dropped in my chest.
He didn't just have my information.
He had the last images of my wife and my son.
Matthew turned back to the camera.
"This man's entire family got poisoned — but he walked away without a scratch."
"Why?"
"Because he'd already been taking Bluetend Capsules."
Someone in the lobby recognized me.
"That's him!"
"He's the one who survived!"
The crowd shifted toward me.
Some stepped back in fear. Others raised their phones and pushed forward.
"Say something!"
"Is the cure in your blood?"
I didn't answer.
A man in a black mask squeezed through the crowd. A blue wristband peeked out from his sleeve.
The Bluetend Research Center logo.
He pretended to be pushed along by the crowd — but his hand was wrapped around a syringe.
The needle aimed at my side.
I caught his hand before it touched me.
His face went pale.
I pried the syringe from his grip and held it up in front of him.
"Who sent you?"
He clenched his jaw.
I tightened my grip until his knuckles cracked.
"Matthew!" he gasped.
The crowd around us went quiet.
On the screen, Matthew smiled like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
"See? He's panicking."
"The one person who survived because of this medicine — he's the one who doesn't want the hospital to tell you the truth."
The tension in the lobby ignited.
I looked up at the announcement desk in the middle of the hall.
The microphone was still live.
I let go of the masked man, then grabbed his collar and shoved him against the reception desk.
"How many of Matthew's people are at the east gate today?"
His face was ashen.
"Twenty … twenty‑something."
"Who's leading them?"
"By the livestream setup. Gray coat. Red armband on his shoulder."
I nodded.
I picked up the microphone.
A screech of feedback cut through the lobby.
Everyone looked up.
"My name is Joseph."
The lobby erupted again.
I didn't explain.
In a panic, people only hear what they want to hear.
I said one thing:
"The area outside the hospital's east gate has been designated a high‑risk secondary contamination zone."
The crowd froze.
"Everyone who came near the east gate in the last fifteen minutes is now under a temporary movement restriction," I continued. "Anyone who leaves will be treated as a close contact and transferred to a quarantine facility."
The people closest to the east gate were the first to panic.
"What?"
"I just came in from the east gate!"
"Isn't that livestreamer set up right there?"
I switched to the external announcement system.
My voice reached the street outside.
On the screen, Matthew's expression visibly shifted.
The people around him started backing away.
I stared at the monitor. "Didn't you say Bluetend Capsules can cure it?"
"Then stay at the east gate — don't move."
Someone in the lobby yelled, "Yeah! You have the miracle drug, don't you?"
"Why are you scared?"
Matthew forced a smile. "Don't listen to him. He's trying to scare you."
I smiled.
"Matthew."
"I'm coming out there now."
"I'm coming to the east gate."
"Don't leave."
"I'll make sure your livestream audience watches — "
" — your people go down."
I turned and walked toward the side exit.
The man with the blue wristband tried to run.
I caught him, tucked the sedative syringe into my pocket, and said, "You're coming with me."
He was shaking too hard to speak.
I grabbed his collar and led him out the side door, circling toward the east gate.
Matthew's livestream setup was still there.
The man in the gray coat had his back to me, staring at the live feed on his phone.
Red armband.
Him.
I let go of the man in my grip.
He stumbled a step.
I pulled the sedative syringe from his sleeve, walked up behind the gray coat, and —
He sensed something at the last second and turned.
"Damn it."
I clamped my hand under his jaw, jabbed the needle into his neck, and pushed the plunger.
His eyes went unfocused within seconds.
He folded to the ground.
On the screen, Matthew was still talking to the camera.
He had no idea.
Until the comments started flooding in.
[Damn, someone just dropped behind Matthew.]
[Isn't that his own guy?]
[What's happening?]
Matthew turned.
He saw his lieutenant crumpled on the ground.
His face went pale.
Live.
To nearly a million people.
I crouched down, took the gray coat's phone, and turned the camera on myself.
"Matthew."
"I told you — "
"You'd watch this happen."
I held up the syringe in front of the lens.
"This is your miracle drug."
"The one you said would save people."
"I just used it to take down your own man."
The comments exploded.
[That's not medicine!]
[It's a sedative!]
[Matthew, explain this!]
Someone knocked Matthew's camera sideways.
I saw him lunge for the phone.
Too late.
I slammed it onto the pavement and crushed the screen under my heel.
I looked up. Matthew stood in front of me, breathing hard.
"Joseph, you're nothing but a warehouse foreman."
"You couldn't even save your own wife."
"You still have that wooden airplane your son played with?"
"What do you have left to live up to?"
I didn't answer.
I just slowly closed my fists.
Matthew took half a step back.
He was scared.
But he wouldn't stop.
"You think you can save your daughter?"
"You don't even know where she is."
I smiled.
"Yes, I do."
"School basement storage room."
"Your people posted a video half an hour ago."
"You thought I wouldn't check the location tag?"
Matthew's face went slack.
I turned and walked toward the emergency motorcycle.
The nurse beside it was frozen.
"Keys."
She tossed them to me, shaking.
I swung onto the bike.
My phone rang.
Video call.
I answered.
My daughter's face filled the screen.
The same red marks on her wrist that my son had before he died.
A man grabbed her hair and turned the camera on himself.
"Joseph. Twenty minutes. School back gate."
"You come alone."
"Either you go live and admit you've been taking Bluetend Capsules — "
"Or this time — "
" — it's your daughter who sells the drug for you."
The call ended.
I twisted the throttle.
The emergency motorcycle shot into the empty street.
This time — no one was going to stop me.
