There is a club. Of course there is.
Not the fun kind with velvet ropes and bad decisions. No, this one meets in a subterranean lair probably built by underpaid geniuses and decorated in “midlife crisis colonial.”
Their hobby? Spending their unlimited wealth not on improving the world, but on micromanaging the life of one random human like they’re playing God on a slow Tuesday.
They call it: Expose the Hulk™.
Because nothing says “meaningful legacy” like emotionally torturing a civilian to see if he’ll snap.
Meet the subject: A nobody with boundaries.
Let’s call him You. A tragically average individual with dreams, dignity, and the foolish belief that “privacy” means something other than “optional setting we ignore.”
The Tribunal chooses you not because you’re special, but because they need someone not special. Someone real. Someone who owns socks with holes and tries to do the right thing before 9am.
Their excuse?
“We’re just checking if he deserves influence.”
As if you’re in a bizarre cosmic job interview you didn’t apply for, and failing means the entire world gets access to your deleted texts.
Step One: Surveillance.
Every device. Every mic. Every camera. They turn your life into a 24/7 Truman Show, minus the audience empathy.
They read your emails.
They leak your personal stuff “accidentally” to anyone bored enough to open it.
Your secrets become public goods, like potholes or disappointment.
Step Two: Psychological Warfare.
They promise you money. They tell everyone you’ll get money, but they do not tell how.
They say you’re about to be rewarded for your suffering.
They say, “He’s gonna be rich!” in the same tone villains use when they say, “He fell into our trap.”
You never get paid.
People stop trusting you.
Your name becomes shorthand for “that guy who lied about getting rich.”
Step Three: Wait for the Hulk.
They want rage. They want breakdown. They want meltdown so public it trends.
But instead of smashing, you do the unthinkable.
You ask. Politely.
“Can I have my privacy back?”
They laugh like you just asked if billionaires have souls.
So you go to the police.
You report the surveillance.
You say: “Surely, laws still apply, even to them.”
And then… you wait.
Not for justice.
But to see if that hope was the final act of self-destruction they were counting on.
Final Rule of the Game: If He Snaps, We Win. If He Doesn’t… We Wait.
Because in Expose the Hulk™, the game only ends when the player believes there was never a game at all.
