I Streamed a Serial Killer’s Fate

Author: Hunter Farrell

Chapter 3: Viral Readings and Undead Confessions

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[Mom, I’m now an anti-fan of Mr. Whitaker!]

[If you can’t be his fan, be the host’s fan!]

My follower count shot up, but I couldn’t relax.

I couldn’t feel any spiritual energy from Mr. Whitaker.

So who made the mansion look like a police station?

A gust of dark wind blew, and the charm on Mr. Whitaker’s forehead vanished.

At the mansion gate stood a monk in pale gray robes. I couldn’t get a read on him.

Mr. Whitaker looked hopeful. "Father, help me!"

[This monk is no joke!]

[I can’t watch—covering my eyes and peeking through my fingers.]

[Is the host in danger?]

[Am I the only one worried about Mercedes Lady? She’s been inside for ten minutes.]

[Send gifts to bless the host and Mercedes Lady!]

The monk walked slowly toward me, and I could feel the pressure. He hadn’t even done anything yet, but I was already trapped, unable to move.

I couldn’t just give up—Mercedes Lady was still waiting for help, and my rep as a streamer wasn’t built yet. I couldn’t back down.

Adrenaline kicked in as I fought to break free.

Finally, I threw out my secret weapon—the spirit pearl.

Inside the pearl was a spell from the saint herself. If I chucked it, it would unleash a "Mount Sinai Crush"—which, honestly, sounds like a hospital smoothie special, but trust me, it’s deadly.

She gave it to me for emergencies—my powers aren’t exactly top-tier.

A huge white cloud, shaped like a lotus, crashed down, pinning Mr. Whitaker and the monk.

Mr. Whitaker was crushed instantly, pinned like some biblical villain.

But the monk pressed his palms together and managed to stop the cloud’s advance.

He was almost as strong as the saint herself. I saw blue light above his head.

I frowned. "Father, you’re a great monk. Why help the wicked?"

He withdrew his power, and I retrieved my pearl.

He sighed. "He’s my only mortal attachment."

Mr. Whitaker was his son.

He hadn’t known about this son when he took his vows. The boy grew to twenty-two, and the monk never gave him a penny or spent a day with him. This attachment kept him from moving on.

So now, he came down from the monastery to resolve it.

[Hope the Whitaker family doesn’t silence me. I just learned a huge secret!]

[Mr. Whitaker isn’t the family head’s son. The family head raised someone else’s kid for twenty-two years!]

[No wonder Mr. Whitaker always wears prayer beads—turns out he’s got a spiritual connection.]

If it weren’t for the timing, I’d tell them: Babies, you’re mistaken. Mr. Whitaker wears prayer beads not because of a spiritual connection, but to suppress his murderous nature.

Now that I knew why the monk helped him, things got easier. "Father, since you seek enlightenment, do you know what happened to the women Mr. Whitaker captured?"

The monk looked confused. "Weren’t they released after giving blood?"

I sneered. "That’s what Mr. Whitaker told you? Father, your power’s higher than mine—figure it out yourself."

I watched the monk count on his fingers, his face turning to shock.

"How could this be? How could this be!"

I pressed on. "That’s right. Those women all died, and their souls are trapped, unable to move on—all thanks to your precious son."

The monk, ashen, turned to Mr. Whitaker. "Why?"

Mr. Whitaker grinned wickedly. "I just wanted to keep Zoe alive. What’s wrong with that?"

Who is Zoe?

My all-knowing chat filled me in.

[I know this one. Zoe is Mr. Whitaker’s childhood sweetheart, his true love, later separated by the Whitaker family.]

[I heard that too. Mr. Whitaker turned to spirituality because of her.]

Mr. Whitaker revealed the truth. He wasn’t the family head’s son, but the daughter of the family head had a child out of wedlock. To cover it up, he was raised as the family head’s son.

He was abandoned in the countryside as a kid.

He met Zoe there. The Whitaker family wanted him back but looked down on Zoe, pressuring her every way they could.

Zoe couldn’t take it, jumped into a well, and by the time Mr. Whitaker found her, she was gone.

Mr. Whitaker used the lives of those women to forcibly extend Zoe’s life. He’d already killed more than twenty people.

I was speechless. "Mr. Whitaker, you think you’re helping Zoe? You’re hurting her. She could’ve moved on and had a happy next life, but you forced her to stay.

"Your sins, she has to bear too. Who knows how long before she can move on."

Mr. Whitaker’s face turned white as a sheet. "It’s me. It was me."

Realizing what he’d done, the monk finally stopped interfering. "I spent my life doing good, trying to find peace, and now this. Guess this is my fate."

I took the chance to get Mercedes Lady out, sending her to the real police station.

Afterward, I discovered I had no spiritual power left.

I’d left in a hurry, didn’t bring any cash, not even enough for an Uber. Four miles—I had to walk home.

The viewers, seeing my misery, sent gifts and roasted me:

[This is the most tragic fortune-teller I’ve ever seen!]

[Didn’t the host just travel through the network? Can’t you get home the same way?]

That stung. "Babies, you think I don’t want to? That was an emergency. Normally, we have to follow the rules!"

"No need to send more gifts right now. I can’t cash out my TikTok money yet."

If I hadn’t said anything, it would’ve been fine. As soon as I did, even more gifts poured in—planes, rockets, yachts, like money grew on trees, all just to spite me.

I finally made it home, shut off the stream, and crashed.

Maybe I was too tired. The next day, I slept until nightfall.

When I went live again, plenty of viewers were still there.

A woman named Crystal flamed me as a fraud, but I shot back, "Your husband’s a werewolf. Before your divorce, you were already with him. I suggest you go to church and do some charity, or your child will pay the price." Honestly, sometimes I surprise myself.

She cursed and logged off.

System notification: [JustHere4Tea sent three rockets.]

JustHere4Tea: [Host, help me!]

I remembered JustHere4Tea, who called me a fraud yesterday.

He paid, so I couldn’t ignore him.

JustHere4Tea: [My dad’s acting weird!]

He sent a photo of his dad. At a glance, he was a zombie—an evolved zombie king at that. I swear, only on my stream.

I shuddered. My spiritual power was low!

The viewers laughed, nobody took it seriously, saying I’d read too many horror novels.

The kid was half-convinced.

I said zombies are less alert when asleep, so when his dad was sleeping, he should check his dad’s lips for fangs.

The boy said, "What a coincidence, my dad’s sleeping now."

He went to his dad’s room, muted his phone, set it on the nightstand, and carefully lifted his dad’s lips.

The chat went silent, everyone waiting.

But—no fangs!

The comments exploded, new viewers and regulars arguing.

[Haha, the host failed on the second stream.]

[Host, forget fortune-telling, do stand-up. Zombie king, I’m dying!]

[Don’t laugh too soon, I trust the host!]

[Has to be a plant, right?]

[LOL...]

Everyone was cracking up.

I laughed too. "Didn’t check the time. Wait five minutes, you’ll see fangs."

But the chat wasn’t buying it.

[I’m reporting you. Mom, someone’s scamming here.]

[Host is stalling!]

[Scam all you want, everyone guard your wallets!]

The boy was in another room now. "Speaking of zombies, I noticed my dad doesn’t eat with me anymore. He always says he’s not hungry and tells me to eat first. He didn’t used to do that." He sounded genuinely confused.

The chat quieted.

[Zombies don’t need to eat!]

[Is the boy a plant for the host?]

[Maybe!]

[Am I the only one who believes the host? Didn’t you see the saint statue on her table? It’s so lifelike.]

[Whether the boy’s a plant or not, the one above definitely is!]

An expert appeared: “NoDemonsHere.”

I reminded the boy: "Five minutes are up. Now you’ll see fangs."

The boy went to his dad’s room.

He crept up to the bed, lifted the quilt—empty.

A voice behind him: "Son, looking for me?"

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin.

Dad advanced until the boy sat on the bed. Dad smiled, "Want to see my fangs?"

[I’m hiding under the covers!]

[I put a pair of jeans on my blanket. Heard it wards off evil!]

[Why does the boy’s dad know?]

[Didn’t the host say zombies are less alert when sleeping?]

[Host, save the boy!]

I stayed calm. "I don’t sense any malice from the boy’s dad. Don’t worry, the kid’s safe."

Sure enough, the dad patted his trembling son. "Don’t be scared. How could I hurt you?"

"Actually, I’ve been a zombie king for ten years. You just noticed because last time you almost got hit by a car, I got hurt saving you, and haven’t been as strong since."

The boy’s dad was a survivor from the zombie outbreak ten years ago.

He’s the zombie king.

Zombies have been treatable since then, but because of their nature, they have to be treated in isolation. The zombie king, being special, needs even longer—maybe two to five years.

He couldn’t bear to leave his son, so he pretended to be human.

Hearing this, the boy broke down. "Sorry, Dad, I even doubted you."

Father and son hugged, both crying.

[Sniff, such deep fatherly love.]

[Zombie king—a real one!]

[Mom, I should be scared, but I’m not.]

The viewers were touched, but only I saw the dad, with his back to the camera, reveal his fangs.

I took out my exorcism rod. "By the order of the saints, reveal yourself!"

The dad was bound.

The boy realized what was happening and shielded his dad. "Host, don’t hurt my dad!"

He sobbed, dropping his phone.

Only then did dad see the phone’s screen, still streaming.

He hid his fangs and struggled, but couldn’t help showing them again.

The boy blamed himself, crying in despair.

"Host, let my dad go! Do whatever you want to me!"

He tried to untie the invisible rope on his dad but was bounced away, falling to the ground.

"Don’t hurt the child!"

Dad struggled so hard—even my exorcism rod couldn’t hold him, and he broke free.

The power of the zombie king is no joke.

He pounced on his son and hugged him tight.

Boy: "Dad, I’m fine. Just my butt hurts a little—really, just a little." He tried to laugh it off, but everyone could tell he was shaken.

The chat begged for mercy.

[Host, let him go, he’s so pitiful.]

[Yeah, let him go, we’ll send more gifts.]

[Host, are you made of stone?]

I told them: "Zombie king, you can’t control your fangs now. Soon, you won’t be able to control your instincts."

"Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose control one day and bite your own son?"

The zombie king was stunned, retreating three steps, keeping a safe distance from his son.

He clutched his head in pain. "No, I can’t hurt my son. Host, take me away."

The chat kept pleading for him.

Feeling their compassion, I explained: "Even if he doesn’t bite his son, he might bite someone else."

"Aren’t you afraid he might hurt you or your family?"

"Now that he’s been exposed, someone might use him, causing another disaster. Do you want that?"

The chat fell silent.

They sympathized, but didn’t want to risk their families.

Dad said, "Give me three days. After that, I’ll go with you."

Fine. I’m reasonable.

Another midnight, another flood of gifts on my stream.

[Host, look, the spiritual heir from Manhattan was taken away in a police car.]

[Hahaha, Whitaker family stock crashed.]

[Why didn’t I think to sell Whitaker stock yesterday? I’m an idiot!]

[Sympathy for the one above, three seconds.]

[Lucky I sold early.]

[I also have Whitaker stock, but not much.]

Some joked: [Host, predict for us—should we sell Whitaker stock tomorrow?]

I smiled wryly. "Babies, don’t make it hard for me. I’m not that powerful—I can’t see the future of the stock market."

I tried to change the topic. "Anyone need a reading?"

But it didn’t work.

[Whitaker family released a statement, saying Mr. Whitaker did nothing wrong. It was a family employee. Mr. Whitaker is just cooperating with the investigation.]

[Do you believe it? I don’t!]

[Really? I don’t believe it!]

[My brain won’t let me believe it!]

[My college degree won’t let me believe it!]

[How’s Mercedes Lady? I’m worried.]

[Worried +1]

[Worried +2]

[Worried +10086]

The chat was buzzing, and Mercedes Lady appeared:

[Thanks for the concern, I’m safe.]

Asked about the case, Mercedes Lady said the police told her not to share details, just: [Don’t worry, justice will be served.]

Mercedes Lady sent me gifts to thank me for saving her and promised to refer more clients.

The chat protested:

[Mercedes Lady, we’re all in line.]

[Alright, no more gossip. Host, tell my fortune.]

A user named "Crystal": [Host, can you save my kid first?]

She was clearly loaded, immediately sending a $1,500 gift.

Her username looked familiar—then I remembered she flamed me as a fraud yesterday, when I found her husband was a werewolf.

Since it was life or death, everyone let me help Crystal first.

I connected with her. "What’s wrong with your son? Wasn’t he fine yesterday?"

Yesterday, I predicted the couple’s misdeeds would bring retribution on the son, but not so soon.

I thought of a possibility. "Did you do something bad in the past two days, causing this?"

Crystal’s eyes darted. "No, we didn’t do anything!"

I didn’t buy it.

I checked my senses, then sneered. "If you won’t tell the truth, find someone else."

The chat split into two camps:

[Ignore Crystal. Host, tell my fortune.]

[Life is at stake. Host, please help.]

[Think of the zombie king—every parent deserves a chance.]

I snorted. "Not everyone deserves to be a parent."

The viewers were intrigued:

[What does the host mean?]

[My guess: maybe they’re not really good to their son, just pretending.]

Crystal snapped, "Who says we’re not good to our son? Best schools since he was born, I quit my job to raise him. What more do you want?"

I scoffed. "But he’s not your only child."

They were good to their son, but Crystal was remarried. Her previous marriage wasn’t over when she had this son, and things ended badly with her ex-husband.

She ignored the daughter from her previous marriage.

If she just ignored the daughter, fine, but she even used her for her son’s benefit.

Crystal, afraid I’d say more, angrily hung up.

I didn’t push it. "Next."

The next caller, the chat got excited.

A very handsome young man, username: "BrokenheartedDude."

He was troubled. "Host, help me with my love life. Lots of girls chase me at school, but every time I say yes, we break up in less than three days. Why?"

[Not gonna lie, hot guys have the same problems as me.]

[So cute—pick me, I won’t break up with you.]

I had him DM his birthday, did the math, and couldn’t help but laugh.

"How old are you, kid?"

"Eighteen."

"Bad news—all your current romances are doomed. When you’re thirty-six, you’ll meet your soulmate—she’ll be eighteen then."

Chat: [What just happened?]

[Is the host serious?]

[Still laughing.]

[Haha, I’m not cute but I have a girlfriend (about to get married).]

[So his soulmate is just about to be born.]

I smiled and clarified: "Not just born—she’ll be born next month."

The chat went silent.

Thirty seconds later—

[LOL!]

[Next time he sees a pregnant lady, he should offer his seat—maybe it’s his future mother-in-law.]

[Reminds me: I was born but you weren’t, when you were born I was old. LOL...]

[Can you predict if his future girlfriend will be from the same city? Maybe he can wait at the hospital.]

[Don’t be silly. So many hospitals, so many babies, so many girls—at least a couple hundred.]

[Even if a hundred a day, that’s three thousand a month. Is he gonna make a list and track them all?]

[Is this the legendary harem of three thousand?]

BrokenheartedDude acted pained. "Harem of three thousand? Please, spare me."

[Am I the only one thinking he’ll be single for eighteen years? LOL!]

[Do you still want three-day girlfriends? With that face, I’d take three days!]

The chat was wild, then Crystal came back.

She sent a huge gift, then spammed in red letters:

[Host, save my child!]

BrokenheartedDude exited, and I had to take Crystal’s call.

Crystal said her kid had no heartbeat at the hospital, doctors were fighting to save him, begging me for help.

I felt powerless. "To save your child, it depends on you and your husband. What did you do recently to bring this on?"

The chat was anxious.

[Sis, what did you do? Let the host help—maybe there’s a way.]

[Speak up! If you miss the window, even a saint can’t help.]

[I feel like she’s not anxious at all. We’re anxious for nothing.]

Crystal bit her lip. Though she already had an eighteen-year-old daughter, she was still beautiful.

"We just borrowed some money from my ex-husband."

I snorted. "You’re sugarcoating it!

"Was it borrowing?

"You took it when your ex wasn’t home, and you knew it was your daughter’s medical fund.

"What did you do with it?"

Crystal trembled. "We... haven’t used it yet."

I pressed on. "No! You used that money to buy plane tickets, planning to travel abroad, just haven’t left yet.

"The ticket money was part of that. You stole for your son to travel. That’s the cause, so you get the effect.

"You and your husband can’t escape. As for your son now near death, two reasons.

"One, your daughter’s illness got worse, your ex couldn’t borrow more, and lost hope. Two, you used that money to pay your son’s hospital bill."

She shook her head. "No, I didn’t!"

This time she told the truth, but no one believed her.

[Is that true?]

[Be honest, so the host can help.]

[The host already figured it out, stop denying.]

[Don’t you want to save your child?]

Seeing no one believed her, Crystal, already anxious, started crying.

But for her son, she had to stay. "Host, how can I save my son?"

I said, "Can’t handle it? Think of your ex, watching his daughter’s illness worsen because her medical fund was stolen.

"I know it wasn’t you who spent the money, but your husband. To save your son, you must return the money and confess."

Crystal only wanted her son to live, so she agreed.

She transferred the money to her ex and called him.

Her ex first cursed, then cried. Crystal’s conscience awakened, and she transferred another $15,000 for her daughter’s care.

Then she called the police to turn herself in.

The cops said a car would pick her up.

She asked to wait until her son was stable.

The police agreed, but would send someone to watch her.

Soon after, the ER doors opened. The doctor said the boy was out of danger.

He was a thoughtful kid, still weak, lips pale, but his first words were: "Dad, Mom, I’m fine, don’t worry."

Crystal covered her mouth and cried, her husband smoothing the boy’s hair.

Once the boy was in the ward, Crystal sent me another $1,500 gift. "Thank you, host."

I told the truth. "This only solved this crisis. If you want your son to be well, you must make it right with your daughter. As for you and your husband, you still have consequences coming. Do good, and make up for your mistakes."

Crystal thanked me, and two officers appeared in the background. She probably didn’t want us to see her like that and ended the stream.

[Two big gifts for a reading—she must be rich. Why steal her daughter’s money?]

[Preference for sons?]

[I think it’s hating the ex, so she ignores the daughter from her ex.]

[Am I the only one curious about the host saying her husband’s a werewolf? Host, does that mean he’s not human, or what?]

I smiled apologetically. "Sorry, the client is gone. I can’t share their secrets."

"Anyone else want a reading? Next."

[Look, Mr. Whitaker confessed! He killed twenty-four women—so brutal.]

[He made a will, donating his organs after death.]

[I wonder if Mercedes Lady saw this.]

Among the comments about Mr. Whitaker, one stood out:

[Host, I’ve settled my son and am ready to turn myself in. Thank you.]