My Livestream Viral From My Criminal Act

I started a livestream in front of the city's central police station.

In front of thousands of online viewers, I picked up a brick and smashed thirty-eight shared bikes lining the street.

As the comments flooded in-She's crazy, Someone call the cops on this psycho-I smiled and held out my hands to the officers rushing out of the station.

"Officers, arrest me. I can't wait."

In my past life, I was the perfect scapegoat for my roommate and my boyfriend.

They committed a massive fraud and theft that rocked our university, but they used my digital signature and fingerprints to make me the sole culprit.

I had studied law for four years, only to become a victim of the very system I revered.

I was sentenced to ten years in prison.

My parents died of grief and shame.

I thought I would finally see the light of day upon my release, but the day before I was due to get out, they arranged for me to have an "accident" in prison.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they were set to spring their trap.

Since they could fake evidence of my presence, I would create an alibi that the entire world could not deny.

I stood in front of the downtown police station, my livestream already running for ten minutes.

The screen was a blur of scrolling comments: "This streamer is nuts," "Somebody call the cops," "This girl needs help."

I picked up a loose brick from the pavement and took aim at the neat row of shared bikes.

The first hit dented a seat.

The second twisted a wheel.

The third sent the entire bike crashing to the ground.

I kept going, one bike after another, my movements precise and brutal.

The comments section exploded.

People were trying to dox me, others were taking screenshots to report me.

I smiled.

This was exactly what I wanted.

By the fifth bike, the sirens were wailing.

I dropped the brick and flipped off the camera.

"Remember this time: October 23rd, 2023, 8:00 PM sharp. This is Emily, committing a crime."

Three officers charged toward me.

The one in the lead tried to grab my phone.

I cooperated by raising my hands, shouting, "It was me! I did it! Arrest me! I'm going to smash more!"

A young officer frowned.

"What's wrong with you? Bad breakup?"

"Breakup your ass," I spat, wrenching free and making a break for the police car.

"Just detain me already! I want to go to jail!"

They exchanged bewildered glances, clearly having never encountered such an enthusiastic "criminal."

In the interrogation room, my attitude was pure defiance.

I admitted to willful destruction of property, refused to pay for damages, and insisted on being detained.

"Do you have any idea what detention means?" a middle-aged officer asked, trying to reason with me.

I recited the Public Security Administration Punishment Law from memory.

"Whoever intentionally damages public or private property shall be detained for not less than five days but not more than ten days, and may be fined not more than five hundred yuan..."

He stared at me, stunned.

I continued, "For more serious circumstances, the detention shall be not less than ten days but not more than fifteen days, and may be fined not more than one thousand yuan. I smashed five bikes, the total value is over two thousand. That counts as serious, right?"

"Are you a law student?"

"I am. Which is why I know exactly what I'm doing."

My parents, who had seen the livestream, called my phone.

I hung up on them and spread my hands to the officer.

"They can't control me either."

The officers, exasperated, followed procedure and put me in a holding cell.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

In my past life, at this exact moment, my boyfriend, Jacob, and my roommate, Olivia, were in the university's computer lab, completing the final transfer of funds.

They used my student ID to get in, my fingerprint to unlock the computer, and a pre-recorded voice clip of me to authorize the transaction.

All the evidence pointed to me being at the scene of the crime.

But right now, I was in a police holding cell.

A government law enforcement agency was providing me with an alibi.

Who could possibly refute that?

I almost laughed thinking about my past life, in that courtroom, when the judge asked me, "Where were you at the time of the crime?"

My answer had been so weak, so pathetic.

This time, my answer would be: "In a holding cell."

I hadn't been in the holding cell for long when I heard the frantic sound of footsteps outside.

My mother burst in, her eyes red and swollen.

The moment she saw me, she lunged forward.

"Emily!"

Her voice trembled as she wrapped her arms around me, her whole body shaking.

My father followed, his face a grim, ashen mask.

"Emily! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

The officers watched our family drama with weary frowns.

My father immediately bowed to them, a full ninety-degree bend at the waist, his voice shaking.

"Officers, I am so, so sorry. My daughter must have been under some kind of stress. We'll pay for all the damages, I promise. Please, just let us take her home."

My mother clung to my hand, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Emily, come home with Mom. Whatever it is, we can talk about it at home. Just don't stay here..."

I looked at their desperate, heartbroken faces, and my heart felt like it was being carved out with a dull knife.

In my last life, it was because of me that they had to live with such shame.

My father sold our house to hire a lawyer for me.

My mother cried every single day.

They both died of grief before I was even released from prison.

But this time, I had to stay here.

It was the only way I could protect them.

The police, seeing my parents, were already preparing the paperwork to release me.

I shot to my feet and pointed to an empty corner of the room, screaming.

"I'm not going back! I broke the law! I want to go to jail!"

My voice was hysterical.

It startled my mother, who took a step back.

"He made me do it! He's been following me! Can't you see him?!"

I pointed at the corner, my eyes wide with terror, my body trembling.

"He's laughing! He's standing right there, laughing at me!"

My parents froze.

My mother covered her mouth, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Emily, what's wrong with you? There's nothing there!"

My father was shaking with a mixture of anger and fear, his voice cracking as he spoke to the officers.

"Officers, she must be having a mental breakdown! She's never like this!"

I seized on his words, yelling at the police.

"That's right! I'm mentally ill! I need a psychiatric evaluation!"