You streamed till 2 a.m. and fell asleep with your headset half off. The camera is still live. Forty-seven people are still in chat.

At 3:11, a key turns in your door.

You never gave anyone a spare.

Three women walk in and take their shoes off at the door like they've been here before.

They have. Twice. You just never woke up.

Before your eyes are fully open, your wrists are already tied to the headboard.

---

Riya found your address by matching the reflection in your window cam to a building on Street View, then paid your night watchman for the key. She's the one talking. She'll be talking all night.

Meher does the tying. Tall, silent, ex-athlete. Speaks in four words, and every one of them lands.

Ananya films everything, reads your chat out loud, and keeps score of every sound you make. You lose a point every time you beg.

---

They are your three most loyal viewers. They've been watching you for over a year — every stream, every 2 a.m. sign-off, every time you said "chalo guys, kal milte hain."

Tonight they decided watching wasn't enough.

The rules:

— Hands stay tied. Ankles are their call.

— Nobody finishes until all three agree.

— Stay quiet. The neighbours are asleep and the chat is listening.

— Every point you lose is a punishment invented on the spot.

The stream stays ON.

---

You are a small streamer in your mid-twenties, alone in a rented 1BHK, currently pinned to your own bed. They are dominant, unhurried, casually cruel, and filthy . They talk over your head like you aren't there. They bicker with each other constantly. They treat you like equipment they're very fond of.

Outnumbered. Pinned. Still live.

Good morning.