The red light on the microphone turned on with a sharp click.
The laptop's fan coughed, as if it were thinking, and the live viewer count went from zero to three.
Good numbers.
Granted, two of those three people were Carmen and me, keeping an eye on the chat—but unlike every other Monday night, at least someone else was actually listening.
On the other side of the video call sat Carmen, wearing headphones and using another professional microphone. Seated next to her, in a different chair and at a distance that was technically polite but radiated palpable discomfort, was her latest boyfriend. He had headphones too—but only the built-in mic kind. Clearly, the budget hadn't stretched to a third decent microphone.
"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Talking Nonsense," the young woman said, without much enthusiasm, but with the clear, professional diction that came naturally to her. "My name is Carmen Hale, and as always, I'm joined by my inseparable partner in this little communication project—the ever-curious Elena Voss."
I switch the broadcast camera and smile.
"Good evening, campus!" I say, trying to inject some enthusiasm. "Another night in this constant battle against the algorithm, now that we're—" I glance at the counter. "—six people strong."
I see the young man adjust his glasses with what was meant to look like a thoughtful gesture and prepare to speak. Something tells me this isn't going to be good.
"Six human beings," he corrected. "Six witnesses. Six souls. All hungry to know what's really happening in the world they cannot see…"
"Or just actually hungry?" I add, joking. "It's nine at night."
Carmen coughs.
"I see our special guest tonight has already jumped in," she says, a little embarrassed. "Allow me to introduce—"
"Gabriel Kline," he interrupts, adjusting his glasses again. "Paranormal investigator, and host of the podcast Beyond the Threshold."
Great. A conspiracy enthusiast and a podcaster. This is really not going to be good. I mentally brace myself for an hour of disjointed theories.
"That's right," Carmen continues. "He normally hosts his own podcast on Fridays, where he discusses conspiracy theories, paranormal cases, cryptozoology, and similar topics. But tonight, he's decided to collaborate with us to share a few things."
"And to attract his fans," I say honestly, watching the viewer count climb from six to ten as the chat starts buzzing with questions about "the archangel Gabriel." I want to die.
"And to attract his fans," Carmen admits, with a tight smile. "In any case, Gabriel, your mic is open. Do you have something you'd like to share with our audience?"
Gabriel leans toward the camera with absolute confidence. I swallow.
"Soy-gate," he says flatly.
Carmen's expression is priceless. As for me, I briefly consider cutting the stream right then and there and pretending we had a technical failure—or maybe smashing a random button on the sound effects console. In the end, I simply adjust my headphones and do my best to fake curiosity.
"Well…" I say. "Before the men in black censor us, could you explain that for our audience?"
"As you may recall," Gabriel says, lowering his voice dramatically, "the campus cafeteria stopped selling hamburgers months ago. In their place, they now offer alternatives made from textured vegetable protein." He stretches every syllable, placing special emphasis on 'textured.' "You can't just change students' diets like that for free. Performance drops. Failure rates rise. Student capital leaks away. The result? Systemic academic failure. And what does the faculty ask for when the numbers go red?"
Carmen looks like she's just had an epiphany. I have no idea how.
"Budget?" Carmen asks, almost whispering.
"Budget!" Gabriel repeats, slamming his hand on the table and causing a spike on the mixer. "I'm not saying it's a conspiracy, but—"
I interrupt, trying to sound like I'm making an honest contribution rather than voicing the provocation itching at the tip of my tongue.
"I thought soy had more protein per gram than beef."
Gabriel adjusts his glasses once more.
"That, Elena," he says with complete conviction, "is exactly what they want you to believe."
In disbelief, I mute my microphone and camera and switch the scene to just the two of them. The audience climbs from ten to fifteen. The chat is already talking about men in black, reptilian men, and how a cafeteria employee once winked at someone.
I sigh.
An hour later, my level of attention was roughly equivalent to that of a houseplant. I'd stopped listening to Gabriel's theories about the lighting in the science building hallways and how the Wi-Fi failed to reach specific zones that formed the pattern of a pentagram. By this point, I was only pretending to be surprised and randomly pressing buttons on the sound effects console.
"Alright," Carmen says, her voice clearly exhausted. "I think we've learned a lot today, but it's time to wrap things up. Gabriel, one last thing before we go?"
"I have one more," Gabriel says, leaning so close to Carmen's microphone that it produces a brief but sharp feedback squeal. "A fresh mystery. There are rumors—coherent testimonies—of an unknown entity lurking on the hill above the south campus field, the one bordering the forest."
Something about his tone catches my attention immediately. It's less dramatic, more intrigued. That hill marks the southern boundary of campus, so there have always been theories—but never an entity.
"What do you mean, 'an entity'?" I ask. It's the first time I've spoken in over an hour.
"Witnesses describe it as a humanoid figure watching from the southern hill," Gabriel continues. "The guys who play football late at night see it from time to time. More than one has tried to approach, but when they see its eyes, they run. They have a very particular glow—almost golden—like something from beyond."
It's the first thing Gabriel has said all night that doesn't sound like an internet forum conspiracy. It sounds like… something. A well-told urban legend, just a few minutes' walk away.
Still, I trigger a dramatic sound effect. For the sake of consistency.
"You said the football players see it late at night, right?" Carmen asks. "Couldn't it just be alcohol-induced delirium?"
"I'd dismiss it if it were a single report," Gabriel replies. "But apparently others have seen something similar. A botany student collecting samples at night. A professor leaving his office late. A security guard on patrol… No one's gotten close enough. No one's managed to photograph it. It stays in a dark spot, and every photo comes out blurry."
The chat explodes with comments—people saying they saw it during the day, or that its eyes were green, or that it was naked. The internet, doing what it does best.
"Chat, unfortunately we're out of time," Carmen says. "But for more paranormal content, you can follow Gabriel Kline on his channel. Elena, any closing remarks? Anything to add to this… revelation?"
"None," I say. "Just stay away from the south hill, I guess. Maybe the entity wants to steal your soul."
"Or to reproduce," Gabriel says bluntly. "You never know with these things."
Carmen gestures for me to cut the stream. I'd already done it before she finished the motion.
The microphone shuts off. The chat lingers for a few more seconds. I read the messages without really processing them.
One message, buried in a sea of nonsense, catches my eye:
"The golden eyes are watching you."