Chapter 1: The End Before the Beginning
Ash didn't cry.
It wasn't that the pain wasn't there—it was. Sitting heavy in his chest, like a stone that had sunk too deep to pull out. But no tears came. Maybe they had dried up somewhere between all the late-night arguments and quiet silences. Or maybe he had just run out of ways to express the same grief.
The room was dim. Afternoon sun slipped through the half-closed curtains, casting dusty lines across the wooden floor of his one-bedroom flat in Mohammadpur. The ceiling fan spun lazily, clicking once with each rotation. Somewhere in the background, the kettle on the stove had long since cooled.
Ash sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, staring at his phone screen.
[Last seen 2 minutes ago.]
That little gray text felt colder than it should have.
Her name sat at the top of the screen like a name etched on a tombstone. Five years—they had shared five years of memories, laughter, fights, and promises. She had been his constant. His balance. The one who always said, "Don't worry, Ash. I'm here."
Until she wasn't.
He re-read her last message again, even though he had already memorized it.
[I'm sorry, Ash. Please don't hate me. I wish you the best.]
She had sent it two nights ago. Right before she changed her profile picture—now standing next to a man in a suit, tall and polished, someone who didn't have to worry about rent or counting coins at the end of the month.
Ash let out a long breath and put the phone face-down on the bed.
There was no drama. No last scream. Just a quiet goodbye, and then—life moved on, for her.
He stood up, shuffled to the kitchen, poured the lukewarm tea into the sink, and watched the brown liquid swirl down the drain. The flat was silent except for the sound of the fan and distant traffic. The kind of silence that didn't comfort, only reminded.
He sat down at his desk, opened his old laptop, and clicked the Utube tab. It had become a habit. Not to post anything—he had never even considered that—but to watch. To escape. Watching others laugh, create, succeed… it dulled the noise in his head.
A new video showed up on the homepage.
[$10 vs $100 vs $1000 Voiceover: Which Is Best?]
He clicked. The creator had animated a short comic using voice actors from different budget ranges. It was silly, but clean. Well-edited. Fun.
Then another video played.
[$5 Fiverr Game vs $5000 Custom Game – The Ultimate Comparison]
Ash leaned forward slightly. This one was more technical. The guy had actually commissioned two game developers to create 2D platformers. The difference was huge—and fascinating.
Ash smiled, just a little. The first real smile in days.
"I can do this," he murmured to himself.
Not the performance part—he wasn't someone who wanted to talk into a camera or dance on screen—but the idea. The creativity behind it. The building of something out of nothing.
His mind raced. Bangladesh's Utube scene had plenty of vloggers, prank channels, and reaction channels. But this? A faceless creator doing weird, high-effort experiments? That could be something new. Something fresh.
He rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing.
He didn't have much. No professional camera. Just an okay laptop, a second-hand mic, and maybe two thousand taka in his bKash account. But he had time. He had ideas.
And he had nothing left to lose.
Just as he was about to open a notepad to jot down video ideas, the screen flickered.
He froze.
It wasn't his browser. The entire screen glitched for a second, like static on an old television. Then something strange appeared in the center of his vision—floating, semi-transparent.
[System Activated]
[Welcome, Creator.]
Ash blinked. He looked around, expecting someone to be pulling a prank. But he was alone.
[You have been selected as the host of the Creator Support System.]
[Function: Provide unlimited production funds for content creation.]
[Restriction: Funds may only be used for video-related expenses. Misuse will result in auto-restriction.]
[Additional Feature: Identity Protection – Enable anonymous persona, facial hologram masking, and voice modulation.]
[View-based reward system initialized.]
[Current Creative Balance: ৳∞ (Content Use Only)]
He leaned back slowly, eyes fixed on the strange holographic text.
"...What the hell?"
The screen hovered there, steady. It didn't flicker again. It didn't disappear.
A soft chime sounded in his ear.
[Please choose a channel name.]
Ash hesitated.
It felt absurd. Was he hallucinating? Was he going crazy from stress?
But the system waited. Patiently. Silently.
He thought back to the videos he just watched. The weird ones. The funny ones. The over-the-top thumbnails that made no sense but still pulled millions of views. He wanted something that would stand out. Something ironic. Something that told people: this isn't serious, but it's interesting.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then he typed:
Creepy Crap
[Channel Name Confirmed: Creepy Crap]
[Voice masking: Enabled]
[Facial Identity: Hidden – Custom hologram active during video recording]
[System connection complete.]
[Begin content creation at your own pace.]
Then, just like that, the screen faded from view.
Ash stared at the empty desktop screen.
A nervous laugh escaped his throat.
He stood up, walked to the sink, and splashed cold water on his face.
When he looked up into the mirror, he still saw the same face—tired, a little sunken, but no different.
But something had changed.
There was a spark behind his eyes. A flicker of something that hadn't been there before. Not joy. Not hope. But purpose.
He dried his face and walked back to the desk.
In a new browser tab, he typed "fiberO.com."
Time to find some freelance game developers.
He didn't know what his first video would look like. He didn't know how many people would watch.
But he knew one thing.
No one would know it was him.
Not his friends. Not his ex. Not even his neighbors.
He would stay hidden. Behind a voice, behind a mask. Let the content speak. Let the videos rise.
Let "Creepy Crap" begin.
End of Chapter 1