Epic Fail - Page 9

Chapter 5: The Bridge to Nowhere (From Someone Who Wasn’t Even Invited)

Honestly?

I didn’t see any of it.

I wasn’t there.

 

I was locked out of the main storyline, sitting in some digital wasteland, face half-healed, scrolling through war updates like everybody else.

 

The J-Drone's last transmission hit the networks first:

‘She left clues. She dropped signals. The woman is missing.’

 

Oh, the drama.

 

Apparently S-Ita, the eternal poster girl for fragile beauty, had gone full breadcrumb mode—dropping her shiny little ornaments along the path so Ram.exe could trace her.

 

Cute.

Primitive.

Iconic.

 

I found out the same way the masses did: through clickbait articles, meme posts, and half-glitched reels.

 

‘Hero Prince Seeks Abducted Wife! Forest of Love! You Won’t Believe What Happens Next!’

 

I scrolled. I lit a cigarette. I rolled my eyes.

 

And then came the headlines:

‘Monkey Kingdom Joins the Fight!’

I clicked.

Apparently, Ram.exe and his ever-loyal LX-One had stumbled into Kishkindha—which wasn’t a kingdom, by the way. It was more like a chaotic bio-digital monkey republic where power shifted faster than Wi-Fi signals.

 

They cut a deal with the so-called king, Sugriv—a jittery little fellow with leadership issues.

The ask was simple: kill his brother Bali, the stronger, wilder alpha.

In exchange?

Allegiance. Troops. More muscle for the Rescue S-Ita Saga™.

 

The Sugriv–Bali battle?

Did I watch it live?

Of course I did.

 

It was streamed everywhere—over-the-top graphics, slo-mo blood splashes, cheesy motivational soundtracks.

 

Looked like a cross between bad anime and a rigged sports match.

 

And then—bam.

 

Ram.exe shot Bali in the back.

Coward-style.

No warning. No honour.

 

The feed cut to Sugriv weeping over Bali’s body—big crocodile tears, big fake loss—while Ram stood there like a plastic action figure, all virtue and dead eyes.

 

Comments poured in:

‘#JusticeWon’

‘#GloryToRam’

‘#BaliWasToxicAnyway’

 

I almost choked on my cigarette.

These people will cheer for anything, I thought.

I closed the tab.

I opened another.

 

More news.

New faces.

Enter: Hanuman.

 

Part-ape, part-urban legend, 100% overhyped.

They sent him on the ‘noble mission’—cross the ocean, find S-Ita, light things on fire, play the hero.

 

It was all pre-scripted spectacle.

 

I saw the footage—him flying, him burning Lank.OS, him posing with his tail ablaze like a badly-rendered video game boss.

People clapped. People cried.

I dry-laughed.

 

And what about S-Ita?

 

She was shown in clips too—blurry, grainy, pale-faced, locked in her golden prison.

Not screaming.

Not crying.

Just... existing.

Frozen.

Like someone too deep in her own code to remember what freedom even looked like.

 

And then came the final viral wave: The Bridge.

 

‘Watch LIVE: Hero Prince Builds Bridge Across the Sea!’

 

I clicked. I watched.

 

Thousands of men—half-monkey, half-machine, all-idiot—dragging stones, stacking slabs, building a literal bridge over the ocean.

 

No magic. No technology. Just delulu and muscle.

 

The comments were unhinged:

‘#GodsWork’

‘#SetuStrong’

‘#PathToVictory’

 

And me?

I was sitting alone.

In the digital shadows.

Scarred. Fading.

Watching this absurd simulation of virtue and violence unfold like reality TV with no pause button.

 

I wasn’t part of the war.

I wasn’t part of the rescue.

I wasn’t part of anything.

 

But I was still here.

Still angry.

Still the glitch they couldn’t quite delete.

 

And when the war came—when the first blood hit the first stone—I knew:

I’d be laughing.

Even as it all came down.