The Dangerous Challenges of a Famous Internet Influencer

My cousin Agst, as he liked to be called, predicted he would never grow old when he was eleven.

We thought it was bravado.

Now we understand it was a prophecy.

Augustine (Agst) lived for thrills. Adrenaline was his high of choice, whether in the form of speed, jumping off cliffs or anything that would make the blood rush and flow. When the circus came to town, he was the first to ask if they were hiring, and it was the same for movie stunt companies that paid for accommodations. With that kind of drive, there was no way the kid wasn't going to have jobs in that industry, and it didn't take long before he made a name for himself. "Agst Knivell". His mother always wondered if a ride she took while pregnant on a rollercoaster could have been the culprit for the reasons why.

He loved life too much to treat it gently. That was the paradox. He chased adrenaline the way others chase affection. But it wasn’t only the rush. It was the applause. The reverence. The glow of being watched.

Dares. Challenges. Endurance trials. Pain thresholds.

He always signed up first.

If the risks grew stale, he invented new ones.

He posted them on his page, where hundreds of thousands followed him like disciples. The prizes were crowd-funded. The participants paid for the privilege of danger. Some flew in from Europe. That allowed him to rebrand events as "global". “International.” The words mattered. They multiplied the hype.

He understood momentum. Never let it dip. Never let silence settle.

He built an empire from it.

A clothing line branded King of Death sold hoodies, caps, scooters, and mountain bikes. Nothing was off limits. Parents were frantic. Schools held meetings. Authorities issued warnings that faded into the background.

Then a major television network proposed a reality show.

Within six months, he was a household name. The production company followed him and his “captains” through escalating stunts, packaging recklessness as aspiration. Drama was guaranteed. Ratings climbed.

The first major catastrophe came sooner than expected.

An eighteen-year-old from Hungary flew in to compete. During a one-hour kart endurance race, a pile-up sent him headfirst into a tree. Six others left with broken bones and concussions. Two slipped into comas.

The footage aired anyway.

News channels looped it. Panellists debated accountability. Sixty Minutes ran a feature that Sunday. Advertisers hesitated for exactly forty-eight hours.

Then the followers doubled.

That should have been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

An enterprise based on madness. Kids trampling on each other to see who will hurt themselves the most. And advertisers counting their profits on the misfortunes of others. But it was what someone called a trend. The world continued to be; not much else was taking place in nature. Birds sang their songs, and at the parks, dogs met and played with their buddies; the city thrived at night with music, and lovers prepared themselves for the much-coveted date on the Mississippi Queen. And the challengers test their endurance and gamble whether there will be another day... just like this one.

Another normal day in the city.

Agst lounged and stretched on his hammock as he adjusted his headphones for a better fit, but not for long. He was getting restless, antsy, and indecisive. The round table and his captains were seeking an internal business meeting of the highest order. Something interesting needed to be addressed with urgency. It turns out CBS is making a major move for a takeover of all the rights for broadcasting the King of Death's previous and future shows.

Even the ones already in production, signed by the current Co., BBC America. But the reason behind it was for another plan.

Parents.

They have decided to go to war against everything and anything to do with the King of Death and its industry. And then the worst news possible dropped from the sky, like a bad omen. Both his little sister and his younger brother had decided to join forces and join the latest challenge, the most savage of them all. Radioactive water from Russian waste sites. (Radioactive Deadly Water). RDW. This one was almost guaranteed to have serious casualties, and in its present incarnation, likely more.

24 hours earlier...

Trucks were coming and going with props for the show, materials for the filming and food for the crew. And the bottles. The refrigerated bottles contained shit that not even the dead would consume. Dirty, contaminated water, directing from Chernobyl, they said. We didn't believe it, but someone made a test with radioactive isotopes. That was the challenge?

OMG.

RDW.

Radioactive Deadly Water.

The concept was simple. Consume a measured quantity. Endure the symptoms. Document the resilience.

The marketing called it exposure therapy for fear itself.

The probability charts suggested otherwise.

Twenty-four hours earlier, trucks had arrived in convoys. Equipment. Lighting rigs. Refrigerated containers.

And the bottles.

Clear, labelled, sealed.

Rumoured to contain contaminated water sourced from restricted zones near Chernobyl. Whether true hardly mattered. Independent tests confirmed measurable radioactive isotopes. Enough to frighten. Enough to entice.

The crew handled them with gloves.

The contestants signed waivers with trembling hands and shining eyes.

That was the challenge.

Not survival.

Spectacle.

Now, Agst has a huge conundrum....

How is he supposed to protect his siblings and throw them into shark-infested waters at the same time?

What other ways are there to prevent a tragedy that would have irreversible consequences?

The more he questioned the void, the more the void gave him empty answers.

This is an unbearable situation. His parents found out and are coming to town to try to stop them.

The clock is ticking; time is short.

Agst hears about an experimental compound. Quiet. Off-record. A lab in Nevada claims it can bind radioactive particles before systemic damage occurs.

They call it RDW-X.

The data is thin. The testimonials are glowing.

The lab suggests a partnership.

They propose a controlled broadcast:

1) The siblings ingest.

2) The symptoms begin.

3) The antidote is administered live.

The Results:

Miraculous recovery.

Ratings would detonate.

Agst understands instantly what it means.

A redemption arc.

A hero narrative.

From reckless king to protective brother.

He also knows it is unverified.

But he wants to believe.

Because if it works, he saves them.

And if it works on camera, he saves the brand.

That’s the knife-edge.

When they interviewed the siblings and others live, ready to broadcast, something magical happened.

The sister, Sophie-Ann, with tears in her eyes, expressed what no one else had expressed before. He thanked and praised her brother for disregarding the business aspect of it all and placing all his efforts in trying to save their lives, including begging not to participate in this challenge. But it was their choice to go for it. Perhaps, they felt they had something to prove to their big brother. They didn't. Through the tears, she did her best to pass that message across. It did resonate deeply with the audience, who erupted in loud applause.

The compound arrived in a silver case.

RDW-X.

The lab’s founder spoke in careful language. “Promising trials.” “Encouraging response.” “Preliminary data.” No guarantees. But the numbers were enough to calm investors.

Agst signed.

The season was marketed as the ultimate test. Exposure. Collapse. Redemption.

His siblings volunteered publicly. They insisted. They believed in him. They believed in the antidote more.

The broadcast shattered records.

The ingestion. The vomiting. The trembling.

The silence. Then the injection.

Minutes passed like centuries.

And then, their vitals stabilised.

The room erupted.

Headlines crowned Agst a visionary. A pioneer in “controlled risk innovation". The lab’s stock multiplied. Merch flew off the shelves. Sponsors returned with deeper pockets.

King of Death had evolved.

He told himself he had done the right thing. He had protected them. He had elevated the game. He had proven critics wrong.

For a while, he slept peacefully.

Then came the letters.

First, from advocacy groups. Then from parents. Then from attorneys.

Minor exposure statutes. Endangerment clauses. Fraudulent medical claims. Securities violations tied to the biotech surge. A federal inquiry followed.

Prosecutors used phrases he had only heard on crime documentaries.

“Reckless disregard.” “Manufactured consent.”

“Profiting from foreseeable harm.”

The antidote worked. That was not the issue.

The issue was intent.

And the fact that measurable radiation damage still lingered in the bloodstream of several participants.

Agst watched the news this time in silence.

No music. No hammock. And no metrics.

The same networks that crowned him now debated his indictment.

Ratings climbed again.

Only now, he was no longer directing the spectacle.

Karma did not arrive with thunder.

It arrived in envelopes. And in cause and effect.

Charles Dickens said, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair." -A Tale of Two Cities

At eleven, he said he would never grow old.

For the first time, he understood what he had meant.

*** The statute RH-4862/section C, signed by both Houses of Congress on Jan, 11, 2026 prohibits the promotion, advertising, and execution of so-called "challenges" for all 50 States and US territories.