Chapter 5: Going Viral

Chapter 5: Going Viral

The private message glowed on the laptop screen, a digital beacon in the dimness of Alex’s apartment. “My name is Pieter De Smet. I’m a journalist with VRT NWS.” The letters seemed to hum with a dangerous energy. The party across the street, which had been the singular focus of their world, suddenly felt small and distant.

“A real journalist,” Alex whispered, his usual cynicism replaced by a note of awe. “National news. What do we do?”

Liam’s heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, but his mind was icily clear. This was the endgame. The unpredictable, powerful variable he had gambled on. He took a deep breath, the social worker in him instinctively shifting into crisis management mode.

“We talk to him,” Liam said, his voice low and steady. He began typing a reply. “We can talk, but we must remain anonymous. We live here. We can’t risk repercussions.”

The reply from the journalist was instantaneous. “Of course. Standard procedure. Send me a number. I’ll call in five minutes.”

Alex scrambled for a burner SIM card he kept for freelance clients who were slow to pay. “Never thought I’d use this for something like this,” he muttered, fumbling with his phone. They sent the number and waited. The five-minute silence was the most excruciating of Liam’s life. The party raged on across the street, its participants blissfully unaware that a spotlight was swiveling in their direction.

The phone buzzed, and Liam answered, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hello, this is Pieter De Smet,” the voice on the other end was professional, calm, and inquisitive. “Thank you for speaking with me. I saw your post. Can you tell me what’s been happening?”

Liam took the lead, his voice a carefully constructed blend of exhaustion and quiet dignity. He laid out the story, just as he had in the Reddit post, but with more detail. He described the initial parties in his own building, the humiliation of their confrontation with the bouncer, the dismissive police officers who had sided with a pretty, tearful law student. He told the journalist about the Dean’s empty threats and how the party had simply moved across the street, bolder than ever.

“And you mentioned your partner,” the journalist prompted gently. “She works in healthcare?”

This was it. The lie he had seeded. Liam closed his eyes, picturing the weary faces of the nurses he saw at the hospital where some of his clients received care. “Yes,” he said, his voice dropping with practiced solemnity. “She’s a nurse in the COVID ward at UZ Gent. She comes home after sixteen-hour shifts, utterly broken. She has to strip on the porch so she doesn’t bring the virus into the house. And while she’s trying to get a few hours of sleep before going back to the front line, this is what she has to listen to. It’s… it’s a slap in the face to her, to all her colleagues, to everyone who is making sacrifices.”

Alex gave him a wide-eyed, impressed look. The narrative was perfect. They weren’t just two grumpy guys who wanted some sleep; they were the silent guardians of a national hero’s rest.

“This is a powerful story,” the journalist said, a new energy in his voice. “We’ll run with it. The video is damning. We’ll blur any faces, of course, except for those clearly breaking the rules in public. It will be online by morning and on the evening news tomorrow.”

After they hung up, an electric tension filled the room. They had done it. They had loaded the cannon and aimed it. Now, all they could do was wait for the impact.

The impact arrived at 7 AM the next morning. Alex’s phone buzzed with a news alert. He held it up, his hand trembling slightly. The headline was stark, brutal, and beautiful: “‘SELFISH STUDENTS TORMENT HEALTHCARE HERO’: GHENT PARTIES DEFY LOCKDOWN.”

They watched the minute-long news clip attached to the article. It was their footage, professionally edited, set to grim, dramatic music. It showed the crowds, the cash changing hands outside their own building from a few nights ago, and the massive party across the street. The story was told entirely from their perspective, quoting their anonymous testimony. Their private hell had been validated and broadcast to the nation.

The story exploded. It was the lead item on every major news site in the country. On social media, the clip was shared tens of thousands of times, the comment sections a tidal wave of public fury. The university’s Facebook page was inundated with angry messages. The local police department’s was even worse.

By noon, the digital war had manifested in the physical world. The first news van arrived, a large white vehicle with a satellite dish on top. It parked down the street, a shark circling its prey. Then another arrived, from a rival network. By mid-afternoon, their quiet residential street looked like a movie premiere. Reporters with microphones stood on the sidewalks, cameras pointed at the frat house, which was now ominously silent and dark.

Liam and Alex watched the spectacle unfold from the window of apartment 5A, a pair of hidden gods watching the storm they had created. They saw curtains twitch in the frat house. The occupants were trapped, besieged by the very attention they had so desperately craved.

The climax arrived just before dusk, as the news crews were setting up for their live evening broadcasts. The front door of the frat house opened, and a young man swaggered out. He was tall, with an expensive jacket and the kind of confident smirk that suggested he’d never faced a single consequence in his life. It was one of the students who had mocked them in the hallway of their own building. His friends were cheering him on from the doorway.

A young, eager reporter immediately intercepted him. “Sir, can you comment on the allegations that you’ve been holding large, illegal parties here during the lockdown?”

The young man laughed, playing to the camera and his friends. This was his moment. He wasn’t going to be cowed. He was going to be a legend.

“Allegations?” he scoffed, a broad, arrogant grin spreading across his face. “Man, they’re not allegations. We’ve been having the best time! Someone’s got to keep the vibe alive, right? This lockdown is a total joke.”

The reporter’s eyes widened slightly. She couldn’t believe her luck. “So you’re admitting to breaking the rules?”

“Rules?” he sneered, puffing out his chest. “Look, you’re young once. Are we supposed to just sit in our rooms all day? We’re being safe, it’s just a bunch of friends having a good time. If some old guy across the street can’t handle a little music, that’s his problem, not mine.”

He had just confessed. On camera. To the entire nation. He had taken every anonymous claim Liam had made and validated it with a flourish of invincible arrogance. He grinned, gave a thumbs-up to his whooping friends, and strolled back inside, a conquering hero in his own mind.

That evening, Liam and Alex sat in front of the television, the volume low. The lead story on the national news was them. They played the clip of the reporter on their street, and then, the main event: the frat boy’s gleeful, damning confession.

The newscaster’s face was grim as she reappeared on screen. “An astonishing admission,” she said. “The university has just released a statement saying they have opened an immediate and urgent investigation…”

Liam didn’t hear the rest. He was watching the replay of the student’s arrogant face, the smug grin as he sealed his own fate. A feeling washed over Liam, something potent and unfamiliar. It wasn't the simple warmth of relief or the righteous glow of justice. It was a cold, sharp, and deeply satisfying thrill. The thrill of a perfectly laid trap not just being sprung, but of watching your target gleefully impale himself upon it.

They had tried to reason with them. They had tried the authorities. They had tried the institution. All had failed. But in the court of public opinion, with a weapon of pure, unadulterated shame, he had achieved what no official channel could.

He had achieved absolute victory.