Surviving Sunday w/ CandyGirl and Mr Rippers

Meg’s fingers drummed against the WASD keys, her headset snug against her ears. The Rumble.com chat scrolled in a blur on her second monitor—donations pinging, trolls jeering, and loyal fans spamming “LET’S GO MEG!” in bright neon emotes.

“Alright, squad,” she whispered, the in-game darkness swallowing her words, “we just need three more gens.”

Her teammates—Claudette, Dwight, and Jake—breathed nervously into comms. Somewhere in the cornfield, a low metallic scrape echoed, followed by the guttural hum of the Killer’s lullaby. The stream chat exploded:

[DONO]: $10 – RUN MEG RUN!
[USER1337]: He’s behind you!
[XXX_PAIN_XXX]: bet u die first lol.

Meg clenched her jaw. She juked left, vaulting a pallet as the Huntress’s axe cleaved the air behind her. A shrill laugh rang through her headset as the Rumble chat spammed clips of her close call.

“Dwight, pop that gen, now!” she barked.

Static crackled as Dwight squeaked, “I’m trying! She’s—oh god—” His voice cut off with a scream as the Huntress buried her axe in his back.

The screen flared red. The chat went wild. Donations poured in like blood.

Meg’s heart raced. She looped the killer around a shack, adrenaline and audience pressure tangling together. Claudette whispered she was working another gen, Jake swore under his breath as he tried to pull Dwight from the hook.

Then, betrayal. A misclick. Jake vaulted the wrong window and left Dwight screaming on the hook.

The Huntress sang louder. Meg’s own breathing became ragged.

“Meg, save me!” Dwight begged.

The chat spammed: #SAVETHENERD.

But Meg hesitated. Her thumb hovered over the spacebar. She could see the Rumble donations spike every second she ran, every time she nearly fell to the killer’s axe. The thrill wasn’t in survival anymore—it was in spectacle.

Her camera caught her faint smirk as she sprinted past Dwight, leaving him to struggle.

“Sorry, chat wants blood,” she muttered, vaulting into the night, the roar of the livestream drowning out Dwight’s final screams.

The Huntress followed, humming her lullaby, and Meg knew win or lose—it didn’t matter. The audience was here for the chase, and she was their star.