Alria was living through one of those turbulent nights that only the powerful can truly ignore the weight of.
The municipal loudspeakers played soft, supposedly soothing music, while behind the walls of upscale residential neighborhoods, families of high-ranking officials and polished nobles sipped their last drops of wine, eyelids heavy in front of the sanitised state TV.
Talk shows, lodramatic dramas, and heavily filtered news—designed like lullabies to put the masses to sleep, to tuck in a sick child so they won’t worry.
And then, suddenly, everything changed.
Every screen—giant billboards, holographic skyscraper projectors, tablets, phones, smartwatches—was seized by a crackling static.
Then an image appeared, dark so abruptly that a collective chill swept through streets and hos.
A face. Or rather—a mask. Pure white.
There were no lips—just a crude seam, black threads knotted as though to stop so truth from escaping.
No pupils visible behind the slits. Just an unfathomable void.
Behind it—red curtains. Whatever—or whoever—it was, it waited.
No words, no gesture. The figure simply stared and everyone stared back.
Then—he spoke, voice startlingly gentle.
— "Good evening, Alria. Good evening, sick world."
He straightened, his silhouette long and rigid, an elegance in its stillness.
— "You thought by killing the symptom, you could smother the disease. But stop breaking the thermoter instead of healing the fever."
He paused, as if gauging the reactions flickering behind those screens.
Inside hos, children cried. Parents went still.
In the streets, passersby froze—faces turned up to the screens, unable to look away.
— "I am Doctor C. And I’m here to make the diagnosis. The elite is cancer. An insatiable tumor feeding on the blood of the weak. You... watching this... you are cattle, fattened for the slaughterhouse."
A gloved finger traced the seam on his own mask—from brow down to chin—as though imagining slicing soone’s skin.
— "The Genesis convoy attack ? That was —your humble servant. A first jab. A test—just to see how the immune system would react. Spoiler : it failed. Inquisitors ? Too slow. The army ? Nowhere to be found. But rest assured... it’ll all be fine. I’m the doctor. And I will cure this world."
Without warning, the image switched—chaos on screen.
Students screaming, wounded, running through flaming train cars.
A severed hand clutching a phone. Then an explosion.
The feed returned to Doc C. Impossible to read his emotion behind that mask.
— "I present to you the Eraser Order. Not ’eraser’ as in the word—you understand . Eraser is dead. We are an anti-elite, anti-societal organization. We are here to erase what rots this world. Join us—if you still have a shred of lucidity. Or stay there—and rot alongside them."
His final words echoed across the city, and people shivered.
— "Behind your screens you probably call a terrorist. A monster. A hacker.
But have you ever asked yourself—you’re trembling not because of . You tremble because deep down... you know I’m right.
How long have you lived with that nausea? That morning vertigo when your eyes open?
It’s not fatigue. Not lack of sleep. It’s the buried truth surfacing.
You haven’t failed. You were built to fail.
Fed curated dreams—injecting them through schoolbooks, ads, political speeches.
Told : ’Work. Obey. And you will be rewarded.’
Lies.
The rewards were never ant for you. They never will be.
They belong to those who look down from their towers, calling you ’statistics,’ ’resources,’ ’consurs.’
But I don’t see you that way.
I see you :
• You, working fifteen hours a day to pay for a suffocating apartnt.
• You, studying for a degree no one wants.
• You, with a gift they branded ’corrupt.’
I’m here to offer more than a dream. I’m here to deliver it.
They have guns. The laws. The networks.
We have hunger. Rage. And truth.
And if you feel that itch at the back of your skull... it’s not fear.
It’s awakening.
Join .
Not to serve —I’m just a guide.
The Erasers are not a cult. Not an army. We’re the side‑effects of the global lie.
You were patient and docile. Now—be infectious.
Bombard the networks. Blanket the walls. Intercept the drones. Hijack the caras.
Don’t pray for a miracle. Beco the bug in the wealthy’s miracle.
We don’t ask for justice.
We co to get it.
I am Doc C. That’s all for now."
The screen went black.
---
Within seconds, panic ignited.
Citizens, stunned and frozen, surged into action.
Mothers pulled kids away from screens; fathers shut curtains as though they could block fear from entering.
Alarms wailed. Phones buzzed, flooding in with alerts and ssages.
Social networks erupted instantaneously.
Comnts exploded—each casting fear, fascination, hatred, or admission in a continuing stream.
@Walterwhite38: He spoke so well I thought he was a priest... or a demon
@ViveLempire: FAKE NEWS TO DIVIDE US
@MyMotherIsAnInquisitor: They’ll hunt him, mark my words
@DocCIsGod: Who’s more charismatic—Klein or Doc C ?
@PapaKlap: Don’t you dare blasphe Klein Illias Seraphiel’s na by comparing him to a demon !
---
Throughout Alria’s streets, so held up signs reading "We are the Erasers."
Military drones patrolled overhead, trying to quash the uprising—but their signals were scrambled by encrypted waves.
Luxury shops, corporate HQs, banks—all torched in live‑stread chaos.
The Newtube app shattered viewing records. Under every clip, hashtags flooded in :
#EraserUprising #DocCTruth #ClassRevolt
---
anwhile, in cooled VIP lounges high above... The elite dia raced to reassert control.
On "The Impact Point" — live across the Western orbit :
— "Tonight’s question is simple. Has the Global Governnt lost its grip ? Are our intervention forces still capable of protecting us ?"
— "This is not a military defeat—it’s psychological warfare. Doc C excels at insinuation. He has conquered nothing; he’s corrupted everything. We need ti to adapt defenses to this new kind of enemy." Said a General.
— "General, with all due respect... that’s loser rhetoric. Rember Duraand? A hundred dead, mob-controlled, army powerless. Now another massacre on the Genesis convoy—and a global hack. Citizens want answers, not excuses." Said a political analyst.
— "Doc C is the reincarnation of rebel Kang Soo Jin. He’s what erges when tens of millions feel unrepresented. You can kill him—but how many more will arise ?"
---
On "Chronik Chaos" — a much edgier talk show :
Influencer-turned-rebel, KrowX, stread live :
— "They lost Duraand. Let say it again—They. Lost. Duraand. An entire city swallowed by a cri family while the State played diplomat, and a demon mutated innocents. Now Doc C strikes—and we find out even the so-called secure systems aren’t secure. Who are the clowns? Us—or the ones running this circus ?"
Live chat exploded :
@MutantGrrl77: I love you, Doc C !
@GoDieGovScum: #EraserNation We’ll burn down their palaces
@Ophuchus: They all fell for it. He’s manipulating everyone, that psycho. But damn, he slapped the system in the face
@ImJustAKid: My brother died in Duraand. We never got answers. Maybe Doc C’s right...
@Also read Recall trials : Inquisitors ? Slow. Army ? Absent. Guilds ? On vacation. Eraser ? Present!
---
In Alria’s outer districts, graffiti began to bloom :
ERASE THIS WORLD
DOC C WAS HERE
EVEN THE GODS HAVE FORGOTTEN US
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