Selena sat at the coffee shop and worked on Canva to create her next flyer. She sipped her latte and enjoyed the smell of freshly ground coffee that permeated the shop. Conversations bustled throughout as well.
Out of habit, Selena picked up her phone and opened up Instagram. A reel was already loaded. The thumbnail was blurred, but even through the blur, she could make out red. Too much red.
She didn’t hit mute in time.
A scream tore through her phone—a wet, throat-shedding cry. It was followed by a deep, bone-rattling roar. Then the sound of meat tearing.
Selena let out a tiny scream. She dropped her phone as if it had turned into a serpent. A few people gave her confused looks, glanced at the reel, then returned to their conversations. Selena grabbed her phone and muted the clip. The screams were thankfully cut short. She looked at the post and saw some random account had posted the clip.
So why did Selena see it?
She peered closer at the caption and saw Greg’s profile tagged. Greg hadn’t posted anything since his first announcement. So was this real? Why was he tagged in it?
“Hey, are you Selena Moralez?”
The question derailed her train of thought. She looked up to see a bird-chested guy in a dingy black t-shirt. He was rail-thin, pale, maybe mid-twenties, with sun-bleached blonde hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. His smile was just a little too wide. His entire vibe was off—something about him felt…sus.
“Yes,” Selena answered hesitantly.
Nine out of ten times when someone—especially a guy from this particular demographic—approached Selena, he wanted to know one of three things: was she single, was she over Greg’s Valentine’s Day prank, or did she know when Greg was going to post his next video? She usually hoped it was the first since it was easier to shoot down.
“My name’s Jagger. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions for my Reddit post on Greg.”
This isn’t going to be good.
Selena motioned to pack her bags. “I really can’t. I have another meeting to get to.”
“Please, just one question,” Jagger pleaded. “And I’m not Greg’s handler.” Selena declared. “Let alone his girlfriend anymore.”
Selena stood up, waiting for the inevitable.
Jagger leaned forward, eyes bright with that same unsettling intensity. “How did Greg train a bear? Those special effects looked wicked. They must’ve been so high-quality Instagram couldn’t tell if it was real or not.”
Selena blinked. “I don’t follow. And I really gotta go.”
“T-the video,” he stammered. “The one you just watched. People don’t know if it’s real or not. I think it is. But everyone’s going bonkers. They think this is gonna be Greg’s biggest video ever.”
Selena’s stomach dropped.
Jagger spoke with the passion of someone who had watched Jesus get baptized in person. “Me and three buddies are gonna head into the woods tomorrow night to see if we can find him. That million dollars is definitely gonna be ours.”
His grin widened. For a split second, it almost looked like he was drooling.
Selena clutched her bag and rushed out of the coffee shop. She held a napkin to her mouth, hyperventilating as she tried to stifle her sobs.
Somehow, she knew the video was real.
Somehow, she knew Greg was in trouble.
Again.
