Bruce's eyes squint in the dim light, his gaze glued to the grimy screen of his smartphone. The musty smell of unwashed sheets hangs in the air as his bulky form spreads out on the stained couch, the screen's blue glow casting eerie shadows across his unshaven face. His fingers leave greasy smudges on the cracked glass as he watches the livestream, his breath coming in heavy, irregular bursts.

"What the fuck?" he hisses through gritted teeth, his deep voice dropping to an ominous growl that vibrates in his chest. The sound of his own voice startles him slightly in the otherwise silent room. "Some random dude thinks he can just waltz in and replace me?"

With his other hand, Bruce angrily stabs at the screen, sending donation after donation flashing across the display like digital fireworks. His bank account balance plummets with each tap, but he doesn't notice or care. "Hey, slut, remember who your true fan is," he types furiously, his eyes never leaving the image on screen. "I've been your biggest supporter since the very start, keeping your shitty channel afloat."

The donation notifications explode in rapid succession, lighting up his face with an unsettling crimson glow. "You're mine, get it?" he snarls, spittle collecting at the corner of his mouth as his voice thickens with rage. "This little 'boyfriend' act is over. If you don't drop him now, I'll expose you for the desperate attention whore you are."

Then, with a violent jab of his thumb that almost cracks the screen, he hits the call button. The phone trembles in his grip as it rings,仿佛 mirroring the wild intensity of his emotions. "Answer me when I call," he says, his voice suddenly cold and menacingly calm, a dangerous contrast to his earlier outburst. "We need to talk. And if you don't play along... you'll regret it. You'll see exactly what happens when you mess with what's mine."