PANACEA

The day had begun like every other ordinary day, but ended as a unforgettable day.

Smoke curled through dim underground bars where exhausted men drowned themselves in cigarettes and cheap alcohol. In filthy alleyways, drug addicts sat against broken walls, needles beside their trembling hands, chasing one more escape from reality. Somewhere inside a rehabilitation center, recovering addicts stared blankly at white ceilings, fighting wars no one else could see.

In hospitals, nurses rushed through crowded corridors with sleepless eyes and aching feet, trying to save lives one heartbeat at a time. Police officers sat in noisy stations, buried beneath reports, crimes, and unanswered calls. Mafia men laughed around gambling tables, discussing deals worth blood and bullets. Street gangs roamed restless roads with bruised knuckles and hollow pride. Students scrolled through their phones during lectures they weren’t listening to. Office workers pretended to work while secretly drowning inside endless feeds of meaningless content.

The entire world was busy surviving itself and then, a notification appeared.

Rumi Roy is Live.

At first, it seemed insignificant. Just another live stream. Another moment of internet noise.

But within seconds…something changed when viewers saw the condition Rumi was in.

A boy in the middle of lighting his cigarette stopped mid-motion. A nurse froze outside an operation room. A gangster lowered the gun he was cleaning. A policeman looked up from his desk. Even inside rehab centers, patients quietly reached for their phones.

The world paused, not completely; just enough to listen.

Every eye drifted toward the same screen. Every heartbeat slowed beneath the same strange feeling.

Traffic lights changed unnoticed. Conversations died halfway through sentences. The sound of laughter faded from cafés. Even the addicts who had spent years escaping reality suddenly looked trapped inside it.

People forgot to blink and within minutes, millions had entered the livestream.

And there she was, Rumi Roy.

A woman the world could never decide how to feel about. To some, she was bold and fearless. To others, reckless and corrupted. Many loved her. Many hated her. Many secretly envied the power she carried simply by existing. She was the kind of woman people judged loudly yet watched obsessively.

But no matter what anyone felt about her; when Rumi Roy spoke, the world listened.

The camera of her laptop trembled slightly in front of her. Her makeup had long been ruined by tears. Her eyes looked swollen, exhausted ; the eyes of someone who had not slept peacefully in a very long time. The expression on the face that was usually filled with confidence, laughter, and easy conversation was completely different this time.

Yet beneath all that pain, there was something terrifyingly calm about her. The calm of someone who had already made peace with destruction. Then she spoke, softly and clearly. Every word heavy enough to crush bones.

“I, Rumi Roy… in my complete senses… declare that everything I said today is the truth. Every single word. And I have no involvement in any of this.”

The comments exploded instantly.

What happened?

Is she exposing someone?

This has to be fake.

No… look at her…

Someone help her!

A nurse in the hospital slowly covered her mouth. A recovering addict in rehab began crying silently. Even criminals sitting in smoke-filled rooms exchanged uneasy looks.

Because pain recognizes pain. And the entire world could hear death hidden inside her voice.

Then suddenly, Rumi screamed directly into the camera, rage tearing through her throat like shattered glass:

“Now do whatever you want to me, you cowards! Destroy my name! Tear me apart! I’ve spoken the truth today… and now all of you should start praying for yourselves!”

Her voice echoed violently through millions of devices. For one terrifying moment, nobody moved.

Then the anger inside her collapsed and she began to sob. Not beautifully but gracefully. These were raw, ugly sobs ripped straight from a dying soul. The kind that make strangers emotional without understanding why.

A drug dealer sitting in a dark car looked away from the screen. A policeman removed his glasses quietly. A teenage boy on the street whispered, “No… no… no…”

Rumi covered her face with trembling hands, trying to breathe through the pain crushing her chest. Then slowly… she wiped away her tears.

When she looked back at the camera; something inside her had changed. Fear was gone and only farewell remained.

With a voice barely holding together, she whispered: “Let the whole world witness this today… the only person responsible for my death… is that filthy monster… Mathew Montessori.”

The comment section turned insane.

STOP HER!

CALL THE POLICE!

TRACK HER LOCATION!

RUMI PLEASE!

But reality was faster than humanity.

Rumi took one final shaky breath.

And then, a broken smile appeared on her lips. “Goodbye, world. And take care of my final gift.”

And before millions of horrified eyes—

Rumi Roy stepped backward and hanged herself live on camera.

For a moment, silence swallowed everyone and everything.

Even the people screaming seconds ago became frozen statues.

The livestream shook slightly as her lifeless body remained hanging in frame. Somewhere in the background, a chair rolled slowly across the floor.

That sound, that tiny hollow sound, would haunt people for years.

Then the world erupted. A nurse burst into tears inside the hospital hallway. Someone in rehab threw their phone away in panic. A gangster cursed under his breath and turned off the screen. Police stations exploded with emergency calls. Social media became a warzone of grief, rage, horror, denial, and madness.

Some cried. Some stared blankly. Some replayed the video over and over, as if watching it again could somehow change the ending, but it never changed.

From the corner of the room, Dr. Onilla looked at Rumi and immediately made a call.

“Michelle… you saw this too, right? Now your work begins.”

She cut the call without hesitation. Her fingers didn’t stop—another number was already being dialed.

Moments later, moderators finally terminated the broadcast.

And within minutes, the image of Rumi Roy’s hanging body spread across the internet like wildfire.

No, faster than wildfire, because fire only burns cities.

But this…this burned through human souls.