The Viral Cut

The club was too loud to think, which suited Casey just fine. She leaned against the bar, flicking through her TikTok feed, trying not to look desperate. Her last video, a painfully over-edited storytime about an ex, had 187 views after three days. The podcast episode from last week had just twelve listens, most of them probably from bots.

Life was becoming a challenge she didn’t know how to face. Thinking only reminded her that no one cared. Rent was past due, which annoyed her roommate, and her dreams felt like silly ideas she didn’t deserve to have.

She pulled her arm off of the sticky bar, shouting over the music to Lena.

“Seriously, I would do anything to go viral. Anything.”

Lena gave a tired smile. “Maybe just keep posting. People like consistency.”

“Consistency’s for people with followers. I need a miracle.”

A voice behind her sliced through the noise. It wasn’t quite a hiss, but it demanded attention like one.

“I heard that.”

Casey laughed nervously. She turned towards a tall man in a stiff-collared black coat who stood too close. He had no visible sweat or evidence of anything out of sorts. His face was pale and gaunt, and around his neck was a chain threaded through a gold cross, or something that looked like one, until she looked closely. She found it hard to tell what it actually was.

“Heard what?”

“That you’d do anything.”

Lena rolled her eyes and turned away. “Ignore this guy.”

Casey didn’t. Something about the way he didn’t blink and didn’t sweat was magnetic. Pointing to the cross-thing around his neck. “Are you some kind of priest?”

“Actually, it’s funny you should ask that because most people call me The Priest.” He extended a hand. “You want to be seen. I offer followers.”

Casey blinked. “What does that mean?”

He leaned in closer. “It means you’ll be brilliant. Viral. Iconic. The world will finally notice.”

Casey laughed again, this time louder. “What, like magic?”

“Exactly like magic,” The Priest said. “But real. Be careful what you ask for. The algorithms listen.”

He vanished into the crowd without another word.

It was 2:11 a.m. when Casey left the club, the air thick with fried food and discount fragrances. Lena had bailed earlier, tired of Casey’s spiraling hunger for attention.

She cut through the alley beside the club, still riding the high of the conversation.

The Priest waited there, backlit by a flickering streetlamp. He held a small glass vial, with some oily, iridescent liquid swirling inside like gasoline on water.

Casey stopped.

“You’re serious?” She asked. “This isn’t some roofie bullshit?”

The Priest’s eyes narrowed. “You wound me. There is no deceit. I promise you will discover your potential.”

Casey stared at the vial. The liquid seemed to move on its own.

“You said there was no cost.”

He smiled. “Not one you’ll immediately notice.”

“Screw it!”

She snatched the vial from his hand and knocked it back in a single gulp. The taste was sweet, then sharp, like cherry juice seasoned with crushed glass.

“Thank you.” The Priest tipped an imaginary hat and faded into the dark.

Casey woke up late. The cruel sun pierced the blinds, and her phone screamed for attention.

Podcast Ep 14 just passed 5,000 plays.

New followers: 2,309.

Comment: “Why is this not viral yet??”

Duet request: “Can I stitch this?? Please??”

Casey stared. Is this real?

She opened TikTok. Her most recent video, a throwaway rant about dating, had gone supernova. Millions of views. Hundreds of thousands of likes. The comments were chaos: jokes, praise, and fan edits.

She screamed, jumped up, knocked over an energy drink and a cup of coffee, and then caught her reflection in the mirror.

Something looked… different. Her jawline was tighter. Her cheeks are a little less puffy. Probably adrenaline.

The scale said she was 6 pounds down.

She posted again. She was spontaneous and unfiltered. It blew up.

Over the next few days, the numbers doubled again. Her podcast hit the trending chart. Sponsors DM’d her. D-listers followed back. A verified creator duetted one of her skits. BuzzFeed included her in a listicle: “10 Rising Creators to Watch.”

And the weight kept dropping. She wasn’t overweight, but she always thought it would be nice to lose a few pounds. This was great.

She bought new clothes. At first it felt amazing. It was flattering and empowering. She posed in mirrors, tried new fits, and leaned into the new look. The compliments poured in.

“Your face is SNATCHED.”

“Omg I need your diet details!”

“Unreal transformation!”

Casey didn’t have answers. She wasn’t trying to lose weight. She ate more than before. Pizza, Thai, smoothies, and Taco Bell. But the scale kept dipping. Eight pounds gone. Then twelve. Then twenty.

She told Lena about it during a call.

“You don’t look well,” Lena said. Then gently, “You’re… smaller.”

“It’s fine,” Casey said. “I think I just burn hotter when I’m excited.”

“You sound like a cult ad.”

Casey laughed and changed the subject.

By the end of the week, Casey had lost eleven pounds. And gained two hundred thousand followers.

She rationalized it as stress, the energy output of filming, and exercise. But she hadn’t had time to exercise, and the weight loss didn’t stop. Brands reached out. A podcast network offered a licensing deal. Someone emailed about a book. She bought new clothes. Started taking full-body selfies. Posted a glow-up video set to a sped-up Billie Eilish song. It exploded.

“Your transformation is insane OMG!”

“Drop the routine??”

“Wait, why are you hot now lol”

She ate more to compensate. UberEATS three times a day, protein shakes, pizza at midnight. But the weight dropped anyway.

Weight: 125

Followers: 480k

She was finally becoming what she always wanted to be. And disappearing.

“You look sick,” Lena said during a video call.

“I look amazing,” Casey replied. Her cheekbones caught the light like sculpted stone. “People are obsessed.”

“Case… you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t. I’m too wired. Too much to do.”

“You need to slow down.”

Casey laughed. “Why would I slow down now?”

She posted two more videos that night. One went viral for being “raw.” It was a rambling monologue about conquering fear and her commitment to success. Someone made an auto-tuned remix. Another fan wrote a poem. Her face appeared in meme formats.

And she kept losing weight.

She stopped answering Lena’s calls.

She bought blackout curtains to film better. Her ring light became the only source of light in the apartment.

Her skin took on a greyish hue under the filters.

At 108 pounds, she stopped weighing herself. It was too stressful. But she kept filming.

One day, in the middle of a sponsored skincare unboxing, she passed out. The phone recorded her hitting the floor, then silence, then the ambient hum of a fan.

She edited around it. The video still performed well.

Casey barely left the apartment. Groceries arrived at the door. Clothes got looser. Bones showed where they didn’t belong: wrists, ribs, hips. Comments speculated on an eating disorder. Fans argued in threads about whether it was “problematic” to support someone “visibly ill.”

But the numbers kept rising.

She hit a million followers the same day her vision started doubling. She missed a sponsored post deadline, vomited after eating half a banana, and spent six hours lying on the floor unable to move.

She opened TikTok.

A DM sat unread: @ThePriestOfficial: You shine so brightly now. Almost done.

She blinked. But when she tapped, it was gone. No account, no history.

She filmed from bed. Framed her face tightly and used old audio.

“Hey guys,” she whispered during a livestream. “Just a quick update. I know I’ve been quiet, but I’m still here. Just tired.”

Hearts poured in.

She smiled, trembled, and fell forward, the phone slipping from her hands.

The screen tilted.

Then static.

It trended instantly.

#RestInPowerCasey

#GoneTooViral

#TheAlgorithmListens

Fans flooded the comments with tributes. Her content was reposted endlessly. Her Spotify streams tripled. Creators she had once begged to collaborate with made stitched videos of themselves crying. One made merch.

Nobody asked why she wasted away.

Nobody questioned how.

A million people followed after she was gone.

She got what she wanted.

Two weeks later, the nightclub throbbed again.

At the bar, James scrolled through his fourth account, disgusted with the lack of traction. He looked up as a figure in a long black coat stepped beside him.

“You look frustrated,” The Priest said.

He shrugged. “Just trying to get noticed.”

“I have something that might help.” He smiled and sipped his drink.

James raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t, like, some cursed fame thing, right?”

The Priest smiled. “Would it matter if it was? There is no catch.”

He gestured to his chest. Thicker now, rounder in the face, belly pushing against the coat. “I’m just here to share what I’ve been given.”

As James lifted the shimmering vial, a voice echoed in his memory: Be careful what you ask for. The algorithms listen.

James hesitated. And then, slowly, he smiled back.