Chapter 7: She Prayed For Someone To Disappear
The smile behind Mira did not belong to a face.
It belonged to the idea of one.
She felt it before she understood it. A widening. A confidence. A presence that grew stronger the more it was noticed. The hallway seemed to contract around that certainty, like a throat preparing to speak.
The lights flickered back on.
Nothing stood behind her.
Layla let out a broken sob. “I thought I saw something.”
“You did?” Mira whispered.
Her phone remained dark. Dead. No reflection. No glow. Yet she felt it watching her anyway, like an eye that had learned how to see without light.
The Devil’s voice returned, closer now, not loud, not theatrical. Intimate. Reasonable.
“You misunderstand me, Mira.
I do not arrive where I am unwanted.”
The injured girl turned slowly, as if listening to instructions only she could hear. Her pupils dilated until the whites of her eyes nearly vanished.
“The count is rising,” she said softly.
Layla shook her head. “Count of what?”
The hallway screens came alive again, not as walls this time but as every reflective surface. The fire extinguisher glass. The elevator panel. A laminated evacuation map.
Numbers appeared.
1,219
1,402
1,891
Mira’s breath shortened. “Those are people.”
The Devil corrected her gently.
“No.
Those are witnesses.”
The air thickened. Not with smoke. With expectation.
A new sound entered the space. The subtle clicking of cameras. Screenshots are being taken somewhere far away. Notifications chiming like distant bells.
The Devil spoke again, and this time his voice came layered, multiplied, as though spoken through thousands of mouths at once.
“Once, damnation required belief.
Now it requires only attention.”
The injured girl smiled. It looked painful, like her face was remembering how.
“They think this is content,” she said.
“They think it ends when they swipe.”
Mira felt something shift inside her. Not fear. Recognition.
“What happens if they stop watching?” she asked.
Silence.
Then the Devil laughed, low and sincere, like he had been waiting for the question.
“They never stop.”
The hallway doors burst open.
Students flooded in, drawn by noise, by curiosity, by phones already lifted. Their faces glowed blue and white. Some whispered. Some smiled. Some frowned in practiced concern.
No one helped.
A girl in a hoodie murmured, “Is this real?”
Someone else said, “Don’t get too close, it might be staged.”
The injured girl took a step toward the crowd.
They stepped back.
The Devil’s voice slid into Mira’s ear again, private now.
“Look at them.
They do not want blood.
They want proximity.”
The livestream counter reappeared, projected across the ceiling.
Viewers: 8,912
A comment flashed large enough for Mira to read.
“Why doesn’t she just explain?”
Her chest tightened.
Another comment.
“Main character syndrome.”
Another.
“Fake. Real evil wouldn’t look like this.”
The Devil sighed, almost fondly.
“You see?
They think evil announces itself.
They think it performs.”
He leaned closer. The heat returned. The smell of old smoke and something sweet beneath it.
“But evil adapts.”
The injured girl turned back to Mira, eyes shining with borrowed purpose.
“He wants you to speak,” she said.
“Say anything. Cry. Confess. Defend yourself.”
Layla grabbed Mira’s hand. “Don’t. Whatever he wants, don’t give it.”
Mira’s throat burned.
“What happens if I do?” she whispered.
The Devil answered without hesitation.
“They will love you.
They will tear you apart gently.
And I will grow.”
The screens changed.
A countdown appeared.
Truth Six: Pending
Below it, a prompt.
“Go live?”
The Devil’s final words of the chapter pressed into Mira’s mind like a thumb on a bruise.
“Your generation fears obscurity more than hell.
And you, Mira…
you are already afraid of disappearing.”
The countdown began.
5
4
3
The crowd leaned in.
The injured girl smiled wider than before.
The numbers pulsed overhead like a failing heartbeat.
Mira’s mouth tasted of metal. The crowd’s phones were raised higher now, arms locked, elbows tucked in. A hundred tiny red dots blinked in the dim light, recording, archiving, waiting.
Layla whispered, “Mira, please. Don’t say anything. Silence is the only thing that’s yours.”
The Devil laughed softly.
“Silence was yours.
You traded it years ago.”
2
The injured girl stepped closer to Mira, her shadow stretching impossibly long across the floor.
“He says confession is kindness now,” she murmured.
“He says it makes people feel clean.”
1
The countdown vanished.
The hallway lights dimmed to a theatrical glow.
A tone chimed. Bright. Cheerful.
LIVE
Mira’s phone turned on in her hand without her touching it. The front camera faced her. Her own face stared back, pale, eyes too large, expression caught between terror and apology.
Comments exploded instantly.
“She looks guilty.”
“Say something.”
“This is wild.”
“Is this a performance art thing?”
The Devil’s voice wrapped around her spine.
“Go on.
They forgive best when they believe they are superior.”
Mira swallowed. Her lips parted.
The moment she spoke, the air changed.
Not louder.
Closer.
“I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” she said.
The words felt wrong the instant they left her mouth. Too vague. Too practiced. The kind of sentence designed to survive screenshots.
The comments surged.
“Classic non-apology.”
“What did she do?”
“She’s deflecting.”
The injured girl tilted her head, listening to something only she could hear.
“He likes that,” she whispered.
“He likes it when they ask for more.”
The Devil murmured approvingly:
“Yes.
You see how hunger sharpens them?”
Mira’s chest tightened. “I was a child,” she said suddenly. “I didn’t understand—”
The crowd reacted as if it were a single organism inhaling.
“Here come the excuses.”
“Accountability matters.”
“Trauma isn’t a shield.”
The Devil leaned in, his voice warm, coaxing.
“They don’t want truth, Mira.
They want surrender.”
The screens around the hallway changed again.
A new graphic appeared, styled like a poll.
WHAT SHOULD MIRA CONFESS NEXT?
▶ Something illegal
▶ Something unforgivable
▶ Something sexual
▶ Something violent
Votes poured in.
Mira shook her head violently. “Stop this. I won’t—”
Her phone vibrated sharply.
Truth Six: Unlocked
The Devil spoke, not to her, but through her.
Her mouth moved.
“I watched someone suffer,” she heard herself say.
“And I did nothing.”
The words echoed.
Layla screamed, “That’s enough!”
But the crowd leaned closer.
“Who?”
“When?”
“Say their name.”
The Devil’s breath brushed Mira’s ear.
“See?
They don’t want redemption.
They want detail.”
The injured girl stepped into frame beside Mira, her face serene.
“She’s telling the truth now,” she said to the camera.
“That’s why you like her.”
Mira felt something tear inside her. Not pain. Ownership.
“What happens after nine truths?” she whispered.
The Devil answered gently.
“There will be nothing left to invite me.
Because I will already be inside.”
The viewer count surged again.
Viewers: 47,611
A new comment rose to the top, highlighted automatically.
“She deserves this.”
The hallway lights flickered violently.
The injured girl smiled for the camera.
The comment stayed pinned at the top of the screen.
“She deserves this.”
It glowed brighter than the others, framed in white, crowned with a small checkmark that meant nothing and everything.
Mira stared at it, her breathing shallow and uneven. That sentence had weight. It pressed against her ribs like a verdict.
Layla screamed again, hoarse now. “Turn it off! Someone turn it off!”
No one moved.
The crowd had ceased to be a crowd. They stood too still, phones held too steady, eyes fixed not on Mira but on the version of her framed by the screen. The better version. The simpler version. The one that could be judged.
The Devil spoke softly, and the hallway obeyed him.
“This is my favorite part.”
The screens shifted.
Not polls now.
Records.
Timelines.
Old posts.
Deleted comments.
Private messages resurrected without context.
Mira’s life unspooled around her, projected across the walls. Every careless joke. Every silence. Every moment, she looked away when something felt wrong.
The Devil narrated gently, like a documentary voiceover.
“Observe the modern soul.
It leaves footprints everywhere.
And then calls it privacy.”
Mira covered her ears. The sound didn’t stop.
The injured girl stepped forward, standing directly beside her now, perfectly framed for the livestream.
“She’s not special,” the girl said calmly.
“That’s why this works.”
Mira turned to her. “What are you?”
The girl blinked slowly.
“I’m what happens when pain gets an audience.”
The Devil laughed. Not loud. Not cruel. Appreciative.
“She understands.”
The viewer count jumped again.
Viewers: 103,884
A new system message appeared, large and official-looking.
COMMUNITY REVIEW IN PROGRESS
Below it, a timer began counting down.
Layla grabbed Mira’s shoulders. “Mira, listen to me. This isn’t real justice. It’s a game. They’ll move on. They always do.”
The Devil leaned in so close that Mira felt her thoughts slow, as if heat had entered her skull.
“She’s wrong.”
His voice dropped, thick with certainty.
“They don’t move on.
They pile on.
And when the body stops moving, they call it closure.”
The hallway doors locked with a metallic click.
Someone in the crowd finally spoke, loudly, proudly.
“Say the worst thing you did!”
Others joined in, emboldened.
“Yeah!”
“Just say it!”
“Own it!”
Mira shook her head. “You don’t even know me.”
The Devil answered through the speakers, his voice now everywhere.
“They don’t need to.”
The screens flashed.
Truth Seven: Selected by Audience
Mira’s stomach dropped. “Selected?”
A comment rose to the top, highlighted in gold.
“Ask her about the night she prayed for someone to disappear.”
Mira froze.
Her heart stuttered.
“No,” she whispered. “That wasn’t—”
The Devil’s voice sharpened, finally shedding its patience.
“Speak.”
Her mouth opened.
“I was angry,” she heard herself say.
“I didn’t mean it. I just… I wanted everything to stop.”
The crowd murmured, satisfied but not full.
The Devil pressed harder.
“And when it did?”
Tears streamed down Mira’s face. “I didn’t stop it.”
The injured girl nodded slowly.
“She’s learning,” she said.
“Confession doesn’t free you.
It teaches them where to cut next.”
The screens pulsed red.
Truth Seven: Accepted
A cheer rippled through the hallway. Not joy. Approval.
Mira collapsed to her knees.
“What happens after nine?” she sobbed. “You said—what happens after nine?”
The Devil crouched beside her. For the first time, she saw his eyes clearly. They weren’t red. They weren’t fire.
They were empty. Vast. Reflective.
“After nine,” he whispered,
“you will no longer be the subject.”
Her breath hitched. “Then what am I?”
The Devil smiled, wide and unmistakable now.
“The template.”
The injured girl raised Mira’s phone higher, angling it perfectly.
“Smile,” she said gently.
“They’re deciding who’s next.”
The timer hit zero.
COMMUNITY REVIEW COMPLETE
A verdict appeared.
CONTINUE STREAMING
The lights went out again.
Not all at once.
One by one.
Until only Mira remained illuminated, kneeling alone in a circle of attention.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, something cracked open that could never be closed.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Chapter 6: https://storylinespectrum.blogspot.com/2025/12/chapter-6-status-you-didnt-post-by.html
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