UnBooks:Alex is becoming Ivan again

Alexander had settled into a domestic life, a far cry from the chaos and adventures of his past. He cared for Sharon, who had successfully adapted to modern times, thriving as a model and actress. He also helped raise her son, a role that oddly brought him peace. It reminded him of his life in the 1970s, back when he lived as Ivan Tůma—an army reservist and a detective in the ČSSR—responsible for a child amidst the rigid confines of socialism. That chapter of his life had been tumultuous, but it left a mark.

Lara, on the other hand, remained a wanderer. She continued her escapades, raiding tombs and plundering treasures from the most treacherous corners of the world. Yet, she couldn't shake the thoughts of Alexander. The love she had for him lingered like a shadow, constant and inescapable. She knew he loved her too, even if he had walked away. Memories of their shared exploits—storming ancient ruins and even otherworldly realms—haunted her.

Alexander, however, had made a commitment to Sharon. He promised to stand by her side and raise her son as his own. For him, it was a chance at stability, a way to atone for the chaos he'd once embraced.

But the modern world had surprises of its own. And Alexander, for all his strength and resolve, had no idea what it would demand of him—or what it might take to truly move forward.

Meanwhile, Lara felt the pull of the past as strongly as ever. No matter where she went or how many tombs she desecrated, the ghost of Alexander lingered in her heart, refusing to fade. She could sense the same torment in him, even from afar.

The question remained: could they ever reconcile their worlds? Or had the modern age, with all its complexities, already buried their love under its weight?

Chapter 1

Alex found himself again.....

Alexander had always been a pragmatist, a man of routine and measured decisions. Even now, as his life revolved around the refined halls of Croft Manor, he found ways to keep himself occupied. Sharon’s burgeoning career as a model and, more recently, an influencer left him with plenty of time to think—and plenty of reasons to grow increasingly irritable.

Her incessant filming was the worst. No moment of his life seemed safe from the ever-watchful lens of her phone camera. Cooking breakfast? Filmed. Fixing the garden fence? Livestreamed. Even his rare moments of reading in peace were accompanied by Sharon’s playful narration about “Alexander’s rustic wisdom,” as if he were some ancient artifact she’d dug up for content.

“Sharon,” he growled one morning after she’d uploaded a video of him tinkering with a lawnmower. “Do you have to share every moment of my life with the internet?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she replied, barely looking up from her phone. “People love your grumpy old-man act. It’s charming.”

He clenched his jaw, suppressing a tirade. Instead, he made a decision: if she insisted on dragging him into her modern world, he would dig deeper into his own past.

Sharon's son adapted very quickly...

That afternoon, Alexander returned to the manor in a car that made Sharon’s jaw drop—not in admiration, but in disbelief. The gleaming VAZ-2103, with its chrome grille and dual headlights, was a relic of a bygone era, a symbol of modest luxury from his youth in Czechoslovakia.

“What… is that?” Sharon spat, her tone dripping with disdain.

“A car,” Alexander said simply, stepping out and running a hand over the pristine paint. “A proper car.”

“Proper? It looks like something from a Soviet museum!” she snapped. “You had to buy this? Do you know how embarrassing it’ll be if someone sees me in that—thing?”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “In my day, this was a car for the privileged. Only the ‘better’ people could afford one.”

Sharon scoffed. “Well, congratulations on your nostalgia trip. Meanwhile, I’ll be driving the Jaguar like a normal person.”

As if to punctuate her words, her son burst into the room, oblivious to the tension. “Mom, Skibidi Toilet’s got a new episode!” he shouted, thrusting a tablet in her direction.

Alexander stared at the boy, his patience stretched to its limit. “What in God’s name is a Skibidi Toilet?”

“It’s a show!” the boy exclaimed, his eyes glued to the screen.

Alexander didn’t respond. Instead, he walked out to the garage, climbed into the driver’s seat of his beloved VAZ, and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life, a mechanical symphony that drowned out the chaos inside.

For a brief moment, he felt like himself again—not Alexander, the reluctant participant in Sharon’s modern circus, but Ivan Tůma, a man of simpler needs and quieter joys.

A few days later, Lara returned from another one of her adventures. Her plane had landed that morning, and after a grueling customs process involving an artifact she probably shouldn’t have brought back, she drove to Croft Manor, eager for the comfort of home.

As she approached the driveway, her eyes widened at the sight of an unfamiliar vehicle parked prominently on the cobblestone. The car, unmistakably Soviet in design, gleamed in the afternoon sun. Its chrome grille and four round headlights stood out like relics of a different era.

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly who it belonged to.

Lara parked her Jeep beside it and stepped out, her boots crunching on the gravel. She approached the VAZ slowly, almost reverently, as if it were an ancient artifact waiting to be examined. Running her fingers over the polished hood, she smiled despite herself.

“Alexander,” she whispered. No—Ivan.

Inside the manor, Sharon was in full influencer mode, rehearsing lines for an ad campaign while her son shrieked at another episode of Skibidi Toilet. The chaos was palpable.

Alexander sat in the kitchen, sipping a glass of plum brandy, his expression unreadable.

Lara entered quietly, her presence unnoticed until she spoke. “You’re back.”

He looked up, surprised but not unwelcoming. “Lara.”

She took in his appearance—the faint lines of stress on his face, the resignation in his eyes—and felt a pang of sadness. But then she smiled, her voice soft. “Nice car.”

He chuckled dryly. “A relic from another life.”

“It suits you,” she said, sitting across from him. “More than this place does.”

He met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

“And Sharon?” Lara asked, her tone carefully neutral.

Alexander sighed, glancing toward the chaos in the other room. “She’s… adapting to modern life better than I am.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Her influencer career is booming. And her son—well, let’s just say he’s a fan of things I’ll never understand. Half the time, I feel like a relic myself.”

Lara reached out, her hand brushing his. “You’re not a relic, Ivan. You’re exactly who you’ve always been—a man trying to make sense of a world that doesn’t make sense.”

He smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth breaking through his weariness. “I suppose that’s why you came back, isn’t it?”

“Partly,” she admitted. “But mostly, I wanted to see you. The real you. And judging by that car outside, I think he’s finally back.”

Alexander nodded slowly, his resolve strengthening. “Maybe he is.”

But as Lara’s smile deepened, Alexander felt a pang of uncertainty. Could he truly reconcile the man he was with the life he now led? And what would Sharon say if she realized the real Ivan Tůma was returning to Croft Manor, piece by piece?

The answer, he knew, would come sooner than he liked.

Chapter 2

In the tea room, the air smelled of Earl Grey and nostalgia. Around the table sat Lara, Amelia, Zip, and Alister, each nursing a porcelain cup. A plate of biscuits sat untouched at the center. Alexander entered, and the room lit up with recognition.

"Alex!" Lara exclaimed, standing to greet him. "You look—well, you look like you’ve been through it."

"You could say that," Alexander replied, settling into a chair and pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Come on, what’s bothering you this time?" Zip teased. "Don’t tell me Sharon’s pulled another stunt."

Alexander’s face darkened. "Another? Try dozens. Every day, she finds a new way to test my patience. Just this morning, she filmed me fixing the kitchen sink and posted it online with the caption, ‘Moral lessons from my grumpy husband.’"

Alister chuckled. "She’s got a sense of humor, I’ll give her that."

"Humor? It’s humiliating!" Alexander snapped. "And don’t get me started on her son. That boy spends hours watching—what is it called? Skibidi Toilet?"

"Wait, wait," Zip said, nearly choking on his tea. "You’re telling me the kid watches Skibidi Toilet? The thing with the singing heads coming out of toilets?"

Alexander’s expression was pure exasperation. "Exactly that. What kind of world produces such nonsense? Singing heads climbing out of lavatories, and people call it entertainment!"

Amelia smirked behind her cup. "You sound like a proper grumpy old man, Alex. Next you’ll be yelling at clouds."

Alexander huffed but couldn’t suppress a grin. "At least clouds serve a purpose. What’s the purpose of a toilet head that sings? And why does it have millions of views?"

Zip shrugged. "Maybe you should ask Sharon to film you complaining about it. That’d go viral."

Lara couldn’t help but laugh. "You’ve got to admit, Alex, you’re a little out of step with the times."

"Out of step?" Alexander scoffed. "If being ‘in step’ means tolerating influencer culture and Skibidi nonsense, then yes, I’m proudly out of step. Which reminds me—Sharon mocked me for buying the Žiguli. Said it was a ‘relic of the past.’"

The room went quiet for a moment, save for the soft clink of a teacup as Alister set it down.

"You’ve got to admit, Alex," Alister said carefully, "buying a Soviet-era car might be… an unusual choice."

"Unusual?" Alexander said, leaning forward. "It’s a masterpiece of engineering compared to today’s disposable junk. Back in my youth, a Zhiguli wasn’t just a car—it was a status symbol. Only the better-off folks in Czechoslovakia could afford one."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "And now you’re driving it to make a point to Sharon?"

"Exactly," Alexander said. "She surrounds herself with modern trinkets, her son watches toilet heads, and I—" He paused, his voice softening. "I just want to remember a time when things made sense."

Lara studied him, her smile fading. "You’re not just talking about the car, are you?"

Alexander sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, I’m not. Sometimes I think I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have saved Sharon. I shouldn’t have tampered with the past."

The weight of his words hung in the room. Lara’s gaze softened, but she said nothing.

Later that evening, Alexander returned to his villa, the familiar hum of Sharon’s computer greeting him at the door. He walked into the living room to find her deeply engrossed in a game of Overwatch. Her headset was on, her fingers flying over the keyboard, completely oblivious to the pot boiling over on the stove.

"Sharon!" Alexander called, but she didn’t respond.

He hurried to the kitchen and rescued the pot just as its contents began to scorch. With a heavy sigh, he salvaged what he could and set about finishing the meal himself.

"Thanks, babe," Sharon mumbled from the couch, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Alexander said nothing. He plated the food, placed her portion on the coffee table, and sat down with his own. Lighting a cigarette—a habit he’d long since abandoned—he stared out the window, his mind miles away.

In the reflection of the glass, he saw the faint outline of his younger self: Ivan Tůma, a man who once believed he could change the world. Now, he wasn’t even sure he belonged in it.

Chapter 3

Alexander really wants to escape from modern world

Alexander stood at the edge of a quiet lake, its waters shimmering under the pale light of dawn. His fishing rod was poised in one hand, a cigarette lazily balanced in the other. The air was crisp, and for the first time in weeks, there was silence—no Skibidi Toilet, no Overwatch matches blaring from Sharon’s headset, and no snide comments about his choice of vehicles.

Here, on the banks of an off-limits reservoir where "No Trespassing" signs dotted the perimeter, Alexander felt a flicker of his old self. The rebel. The pragmatist. The man who used to find solace in solitude, even when the world was falling apart. Ivan Tůma.

The quiet was broken by the crunch of footsteps behind him.

"I thought I’d find you here," came a familiar voice.

He didn’t turn around. "Lara. Still sneaking up on people, I see."

She stepped up beside him, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket. "And you’re still fishing where you’re not supposed to. Some things never change."

Alexander smirked. "I like to think of it as… reclaiming public space. What brings you here, anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Lara said, glancing at his rod. "But I think I know the answer."

He cast his line again, watching the bobber float aimlessly. "Fishing clears the mind. Helps me remember who I was before all this madness."

Lara studied him for a moment. His face, though older, carried the same intensity she remembered from years ago. The man who had faced death—twice—and come back to her. The man who had been her husband, her partner in adventure.

"You’re still the same, you know," she said softly.

Alexander chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re wrong. That man—Ivan Tůma—he’s just a memory. I’m Alexander now. A washed-up relic in a world I barely recognize."

Lara placed a hand on his shoulder. "You can call yourself whatever you want, but I know who you are. And I’m glad you’re still here, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it."

Back at home, Alexander decided to bring a slice of his old life into Sharon’s world.

"You’re coming fishing with me," he declared one morning.

Sharon looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. "Fishing? You mean, like, standing by a lake with worms and pretending it’s fun?"

"Exactly," Alexander replied, ignoring the sarcasm.

"And you expect me to—what—sit there quietly?"

"You can bring your camera if it makes you feel better," he said, already regretting the offer.

Two hours later, Sharon was perched on a camping chair by the same lake, her phone propped up on a tripod. She was livestreaming the entire ordeal, complete with running commentary.

"Alright, guys," she said to the camera, "welcome to Fishing with Grumps! Today, we’re watching my husband try to relive his youth while I attempt not to die of boredom."

Alexander gritted his teeth as he baited a hook. "You could at least pretend to take this seriously."

"Oh, I am," Sharon said, stifling a laugh. "Seriously documenting the most boring thing I’ve ever done."

The chat on her stream exploded with laughing emojis and comments like:

• "OMG, her husband’s face! 😂"
• "Grumps is iconic."
• "Ask him why he’s fishing in a suit!"

Alexander ignored the stream as best he could, focusing on the water. But the moment Sharon started narrating his every move—"And now he’s casting the line, look at that concentration, folks!"—he felt his patience slipping.

By the end of the day, the livestream had gone viral. Clips of Alexander muttering under his breath while expertly reeling in a fish were circulating on every platform. "Grumpy Fisherman" became an overnight meme, and Sharon gained tens of thousands of new followers.

At dinner that evening, Alexander sat in stony silence as Sharon scrolled through her notifications, laughing at the comments.

"You’re a star, Alex," she teased. "The internet loves you."

"I didn’t ask for this," he replied, stabbing at his plate.

"Come on, it’s funny! You’re, like, the perfect grumpy dad."

"I’m not your dad," Alexander said sharply. "And I’m certainly not an internet clown."

Determined to escape the madness, Alexander turned to another relic of his youth: the Polski Fiat 125p. It wasn’t as flashy as a Zhiguli, but it held a special place in his heart. Driving it through the countryside, he felt a sense of peace—until Sharon posted a video of the car with the caption: "When your husband has a midlife crisis but can’t afford a Porsche."

The comments were merciless:

• "Does it come with a free horse-drawn cart?"
• "Grumpy Fisherman’s car is as old as he is!"

Even Zip, who usually stayed out of Alexander’s personal life, couldn’t resist poking fun.

"Hey, man," Zip said during a call, "saw the new ride. Very vintage. You gonna start a museum or something?"

"Say one more word, and I’ll drive it to your place and park it on your lawn," Alexander growled.

"Relax, Grumps," Zip said with a laugh. "Just saying, Sharon’s stream is kind of hilarious."

Alexander hung up without another word.

That night, as Alexander sat in the garage, polishing the hood of his Fiat, he felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. The ridicule, the endless barrage of memes, the feeling of being a man out of time.

For a moment, he considered giving it all up—selling the car, putting the fishing rod away, and resigning himself to Sharon’s modern world. But then he shook his head.

"No," he muttered to himself. "I won’t let them take this from me."

Because deep down, he knew that every car he bought, every fish he caught, and every quiet moment by the lake was a small act of rebellion. A way to hold on to who he really was.

Even if the world didn’t understand.

Chapter 4

Alexander hunched over the Polski Fiat 125p’s carburetor, his focus unwavering. His hands moved with the precision of a man who had once rebuilt an engine with nothing but duct tape, Soviet ingenuity, and sheer willpower. To him, this wasn’t just maintenance; it was a return to simpler, more purposeful days.

Behind him, perched on a stool, Sharon gleefully streamed the scene to her audience. "Okay, guys," she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Here’s my husband, working on his antique. It’s basically a dinosaur. I swear, this car is older than half of you watching."

The livestream chat exploded with comments:

• "Bro thinks he’s in Fallout working on a junker car 💀."
• "Is that a Lada or an IKEA cabinet??"
• "Sigma male grinding on that carburetor, Yo."
• "Imagine fixing a car you can’t even flex on Insta."

Alexander tightened a screw and turned to Sharon, wiping his hands on a rag. "Do they really need a running commentary for this? It’s not exactly the Apollo moon landing."

Sharon laughed, zooming in on his face. "Oh, lighten up, Alex. The chat loves you. You’re their grumpy retro mechanic daddy."

The chat instantly picked up on that:

• "Retro Daddy Alert 🚨🚨."
• "Sigma, he cooks, she is cooked, Yo."
• "This man radiates ‘built a shed at 12’ energy."
• "Nah, bro’s giving ‘I fought in 3 wars and I still mow my own lawn’ vibes."

Alexander rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "This is what people spend their time on now? Watching strangers fumble through life on a screen?"

Sharon smirked, reading another comment aloud. "‘He looks like the type of guy who says, ‘They don’t make them like they used to.’’"

"That’s because they don’t," Alexander snapped, tossing the rag onto the workbench. "Back in the day, you could fix your own car. Not like your overpriced Ferraris and Cadillacs, where you need a PhD in computer science to change a tire."

The chat lit up again:

• "He’s spitting facts tho 🔥."
• "Certified Grumpy Old Man Moment."
• "‘Back in my day’ energy is immaculate."
• "Bro’s building nostalgia like it’s Minecraft."

Meanwhile, at Croft Manor, Lara sat curled up in an armchair, idly scrolling through her phone. When Sharon’s livestream popped up on her feed, curiosity got the better of her. She clicked on it, and the screen filled with the image of Alexander, sweat-streaked and focused, as he adjusted the Fiat’s engine.

Lara’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected to see him like this—so much like the man she’d fallen in love with, so much like Ivan Tůma, her late husband. But as Sharon’s mocking voice cut through the nostalgia, Lara’s expression soured.

"Guys, he’s been at this for hours. Like, what’s even the point? Just buy a new car," Sharon said, flipping her hair dramatically.

The chat chimed in:

• "She’s right tho, why fix that jalopy? 💀"
• "Lara Croft’s tomb raiding is more modern than this car."
• "Bro’s fighting WWII flashbacks while tuning that engine."

Lara couldn’t resist. She typed into the chat:

"At least he’s doing something useful. Some of you wouldn’t last a day without your parents refilling your WiFi plan."

Her comment appeared on the screen, and Sharon’s jaw dropped. "Oh my God, guys, look! Lara Croft is here! Defending my husband!"

The chat erupted:

• "Nah, not Lara Croft getting salty 💀."
• "She just mad she can’t raid the Fiat for treasure."
• "Tomb raiding didn’t prepare her for the Twitter wars."
• "W opinion, but let’s be real, she’s just simping."

Alexander looked up from the engine, his brow furrowing. "She’s watching this nonsense?"

Sharon grinned. "Yep. Your biggest fan is here to back you up."

Alexander wiped his hands and marched over. "Give me that," he said, snatching the phone from her.

"Hey!" Sharon protested, but Alexander ignored her. He scrolled through the chat, his expression growing darker with each comment. Finally, he raised the phone and addressed the camera.

"Let me make something clear," he began, his voice calm but firm. "This car isn’t just a pile of bolts. It’s a connection to a time when people worked with their hands, took pride in their craftsmanship, and didn’t rely on overpriced gadgets to solve their problems."

The chat exploded again:

• "Speak your truth, Grandpa Alex 🫡."
• "Bro’s got more monologues than a Marvel villain."
• "Not gonna lie, he’s kinda spitting facts."
• "Sigma grindset: Fixing cars and calling out clout chasers."

Alexander sighed, handing the phone back to Sharon. "If you’re going to mock me, at least do it with some creativity."

Sharon smirked, but her eyes softened. "Alright, Alex. Show us how it’s done, then."

He gestured to the carburetor. "Fine. Since you’re so fascinated, why don’t you try adjusting this?"

Sharon blinked. "What? Me? No way."

"You can livestream it," Alexander said with a wry smile. "Your audience will love it."

The chat roared with approval:

• "YES. MAKE HER WORK 💀."
• "Sharon x Carburetor = Collab of the century."
• "Imagine she breaks it tho."

Reluctantly, Sharon stepped forward. Alexander guided her hands as she awkwardly fumbled with the tools. The chat was relentless:

• "Lmao, she’s holding that wrench like it’s a curling iron."
• "Bro teaching her like she’s a toddler."
• "Girl boss moment? More like girl loss."

After several failed attempts, Sharon sighed in frustration. "This is impossible!"

Alexander took over, his movements fluid and confident. "It just takes practice," he said gently.

To Sharon’s surprise, the chat began to turn in her favor:

• "At least she tried. Respect."
• "Okay, Sharon lowkey doing her best."
• "Wholesome grandpa and granddaughter vibes."

Later that evening, Alexander sat on the porch, sipping whiskey as the sun set. Sharon joined him, holding her phone.

"You know," she said, "you’re kind of a hit online. People love your… grumpy vibe."

Alexander snorted. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Sharon grinned, showing him the comments:

• "Petition for Alex to start his own YouTube channel."
• "Retro Daddy Alex > Modern influencers."
• "Fiat King is the internet dad we all need."

Alexander shook his head, taking another sip. "I didn’t ask for this."

"No," Sharon said, smirking. "But you’re stuck with it now."

Alexander sighed, but deep down, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. If nothing else, he’d proven that even in a world obsessed with screens and likes, there was still room for a man and his trusty Fiat.

Chapter 5

The Lada VAZ-2103 trundled down the uneven country road with all the grace of a Soviet-era relic, its engine growling like a disgruntled bear. Inside, Alexander was laser-focused, his hands gripping the wheel with the precision of a man determined not to let his sanity slip any further. Beside him, Sharon sat cross-legged, phone in hand, expertly livestreaming to her growing fanbase.

“Alright, everyone, welcome back to Boomer Rides Again! Today’s episode: My husband driving a car that probably belongs in a museum,” Sharon quipped, angling the camera to capture Alexander’s sweaty brow.

The chat was immediate and merciless:

• “Man sweating like he’s in a Rocky montage. 💀”
• “Lada = Soviet sauna.”
• “This car runs on tears and PTSD.”

Alexander ignored her, focusing on navigating the winding road while the sun baked the interior of the ancient sedan.

“Alex, honey, are you okay? You look like you’re about to have a heatstroke,” Sharon teased, zooming in for dramatic effect. “Do they not have air conditioning in Russia?”

“No,” Alexander replied dryly. “We had windows. Try it sometime.”

The chat exploded:

• “Window AC is peak boomer tech.”
• “Bro’s using ventilation from the Gulag DLC.”
• “Sigma grindset. Sweat, don’t chill.”

Sharon laughed, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the phone screen as she read comments. “Chat, he’s so serious. It’s like he’s defusing a bomb, not driving a car.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The sweat trickling down his temple betrayed his inner turmoil.

“C’mon, Alex,” Sharon prodded. “You can admit it—this car is a death trap.”

Alexander exhaled through his nose and abruptly pulled the car over onto the gravel shoulder, the sudden halt jolting Sharon forward against her seatbelt.

“Chat, did we just break down?” Sharon asked, feigning concern. “Or is this where the plot twist happens?”

Alexander stepped out of the car, walked around to her side, and opened the door with an air of grim determination. “Out.”

“What?” Sharon blinked, confused.

“You’re driving,” Alexander said, his tone calm but brooking no argument.

The chat erupted in chaos:

• “Oh snap, Boomer’s done!”
• “Plot twist: Sharon’s about to speedrun manual driving.”
• “Sigma move. Teach her the ways of the Lada.”

Still streaming, Sharon clambered out of the car and slid into the driver’s seat. “Alright, chat, wish me luck. If this thing explodes, someone clip it.”

Alexander folded his arms and leaned against the car. “Turn the key.”

Sharon twisted the ignition. The Lada let out a series of agonized wheezes before falling silent. She tried again. Same result.

“It’s broken,” she declared confidently.

“It’s not broken,” Alexander said, unimpressed. “That stick by your left hand is the gear shift. The pedals under your feet are clutch, brake, and accelerator. You’ll need to use all three.”

Sharon stared at him as if he’d just asked her to solve quantum physics. “Three pedals? Why does it have three pedals? What kind of medieval torture device is this?”

The chat lost it:

• “Manual transmission = boomer boss fight.”
• “Three pedals, zero mercy.”
• “Dark Souls: Car Edition.”

Alexander smirked faintly. “Figure it out.”

Sharon made four valiant attempts to start the car, each ending in a pathetic stall that shook the entire vehicle. When she finally managed to coax the engine into life, she let out a triumphant cheer—only to groan moments later.

“Why is the steering so stiff? It’s like arm-wrestling an angry robot!” she complained, gripping the wheel with both hands.

“No power steering,” Alexander said flatly. “Cars in my day were your gym membership.”

“Gym membership?!” Sharon shot back. “I’m gonna need extra reps after this! Seriously, why didn’t people just walk?”

“We did,” Alexander replied. “Then we built cars like this, and the weak didn’t survive.”

The chat was unhinged:

• “Gym membership = obsolete. Just drive a Lada.”
• “Boomer is peak fitness coach: no excuses, just drive.”
• “He’s cooking. She’s cooked. Yo.”

At Croft Manor, Lara watched the chaos unfold on her laptop, struggling to keep her tea from spilling as she laughed. Even Zip, holed up in the tech room, tuned into the stream, his cackles echoing through the halls.

By the time they finally arrived at the modeling gig, Sharon practically fell out of the driver’s seat, her legs trembling. She turned to the camera, breathless. “Alright, chat, we made it. Barely. Someone give me a medal for surviving Soviet cardio.”

Alexander smirked, rolling down the window. “Good luck in there. Try not to trip in your heels.”

Sharon glared playfully, then turned back to her phone. “Chat, say a prayer for me. This man is impossible.”

As Alexander drove off in the Lada, Sharon shook her head and muttered to the camera. “You know, I give him credit. He’s... something else. What did he even do before all this?”

The chat responded with their usual brand of wisdom:

• “Ex-KGB confirmed. Bro built like a tank.”
• “Plot twist: Alex invented the Lada.”
• “Nah, man is John Wick’s dad frfr.”

Chapter 6

Sharon sat comfortably in the passenger seat of her sleek Jaguar XE, her fingers idly scrolling through her phone. Every now and then, she glanced at Alexander, who gripped the wheel with the steady calm of a man who had faced far greater challenges than navigating British traffic. The faint hum of the engine filled the silence between them, broken only by the occasional buzz of notifications from her livestream chat.

"I have to admit," Sharon said, breaking the quiet, "you were kind of a badass today."

Alexander didn’t even look at her. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead as he replied in his usual dry tone, "That’s because you didn’t livestream me while I drove."

Sharon smirked, amused by his unflappable demeanor. "Oh, come on, my chat loves you." She angled her phone slightly to capture his profile, his sharp features bathed in the soft glow of the dashboard. He remained indifferent, as always.

Her chat lit up instantly:

• "Sigma male energy, 100%."
• "This dude drives like he’s delivering secret documents to MI6."
• "Bro cooks, roasts, and drives. Absolute legend."

Sharon, undeterred by Alexander’s lack of reaction, turned the camera back to herself and posed for a quick selfie, the luxury interior of the car as her backdrop. The comments kept pouring in:

• "From Lada to Jaguar—main character arc complete."
• "Sharon in her rich-mom aesthetic era."
• "Alexander doesn’t need the spotlight; he is the spotlight."

The rest of the drive was uneventful, save for Sharon occasionally reading chat messages aloud and chuckling to herself. Alexander, as usual, remained stoic.

When they pulled into the grand circular driveway of the villa, Alexander parked the car with the precision of someone who treated every task as an opportunity to demonstrate mastery. Without a word, he stepped out, adjusted his coat, and muttered, "I’ll check on the boy."

Sharon watched him stride away, then turned back to her livestream audience with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Alright, chat," she whispered into the camera, "today’s the day. We’re going to dig into Alex’s past. What do you think we’ll find? War medals? Love letters? A secret stash of cigars or something crazy?"

Her chat immediately exploded:

• "Boomer NFTs incoming."
• "Bet he’s got a diary that says, ‘Dear Lara, war is hell.’ 😂"
• "Imagine the guy collects antique stamps."

Sharon slipped into Alexander’s study, her phone camera capturing the room in real-time. The space was immaculate, almost obsessively so. A large oak desk sat in the center, its surface completely clear, while bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes on history, philosophy, and military strategy. Everything about the room screamed discipline and precision.

"Wow," Sharon muttered, panning her phone around. "This place looks like a museum."

The chat reacted immediately:

• "The Boomer Smithsonian."
• "This bookshelf could single-handedly raise my IQ."
• "Imagine him dusting this every morning."

Her curiosity piqued, Sharon began exploring. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books before opening a nearby cabinet. Expecting more books or maybe maps, she froze when her eyes landed on something unexpected: a meticulously folded military uniform.

Her hand hesitated before she pulled it out and held it up to the camera. The chat erupted:

• "Bro was a real-life DLC operator?!"
• "Call of Duty Cold War vibes."
• "Major Ivan reporting for duty."

The uniform’s blue beret caught her attention, its insignia bearing the mark of the United Nations. The rank on the shoulder read "Major." Sharon turned it over, examining the patches and details, before setting it aside. Beneath it, she found another uniform. This one was distinctly different: a red beret with the insignia of the Czechoslovak People’s Army. The rank on this one was "Lieutenant."

Her pulse quickened. "Why does he have so many uniforms?" she asked aloud. Her chat answered enthusiastically:

• "Man’s been in more wars than I’ve got killstreaks."
• "Red beret? Bro was a Soviet commando?!"
• "Ivan T. Boomer: a legend in every timeline."

Digging further, Sharon uncovered an old ID card. The paper was yellowed, the ink slightly faded, but the name printed on it made her heart stop: Ivan Tůma. Date of Birth: 14.2.1950. Place of Birth: Praha.

"Who the hell is Ivan Tůma?" she whispered, staring at the card. The chat went wild:

• "Not Alex? Plot twist of the year!"
• "Secret identity unlocked."
• "Ivan? That’s such a Bond villain name."

Setting the ID aside, Sharon’s trembling hands unearthed a stack of old photographs. The first showed a much younger Alexander—or Ivan—standing on a beach beside a smiling woman and two children. They were leaning against a bright yellow Škoda 110 R.

"This can’t be real," Sharon muttered, holding the photo up to the camera.

The chat exploded again:

• "Bro had a boomer-mobile and a family?!"

• "This dude’s life is a Wes Anderson film."

• "The Škoda is the ultimate flex."

Another photograph caught her attention—a candid shot of Ivan in full military uniform, standing among fellow soldiers. One more showed him in Sarajevo, Bosnia, 1995, standing next to an armored vehicle. His face was lined with exhaustion, his expression distant.

Her voice quivered as she muttered, "What the actual hell?"

Chat:

"He’s lived like five lifetimes."

"Was this guy in every major conflict?"

"Ivan Tůma: the real-life Forrest Gump."

Determined to find more, Sharon’s eyes fell on a locked drawer. After some effort, she managed to open it and discovered a hidden compartment. Inside, she found something that took her breath away: a concealed room.

The walls were lined with an arsenal of weapons—pistols, rifles, and even a Pak 40 anti-tank cannon mounted like a trophy. Maps and tactical charts covered the space, some of them marked with annotations and notes in Czech.

"Chat," Sharon whispered, her eyes wide, "am I dreaming?"

The comments were in chaos:

• "This isn’t a study; it’s a Bond villain lair!"

• "Dude casually owns a WWII cannon."

• "Ivan Tůma: Black Ops in real life."

Then she saw it: a wedding photo tucked away on a shelf. Sharon’s breath caught. Alexander stood next to Lara, both of them smiling, their hands clasped. The setting was unmistakably Croft Manor.

"Oh my god," Sharon whispered.

Chat erupted:

• "NO WAY. LARA?!"
• "She defended him on stream because she’s his ex-wife?"
• "This is a Netflix series waiting to happen."

Sharon sifted through more photos—of Alexander and Lara in exotic locations, surrounded by ruins, jungles, and snow-covered peaks. Each image hinted at a shared life of adventure and danger.

For the first time, Sharon felt at a loss for words. She ended the livestream abruptly, her mind racing. Alexander—or Ivan—was far more than the grumpy, enigmatic man she’d been teasing online. She had only just begun to uncover his secrets.

Chapter 7

Alexander climbed the stairs with his usual deliberate pace, the creak of his boots muffled against the polished wooden floor. He had just put Sharon’s son to bed, a task he’d carried out with a surprising gentleness given the rough edge he often exuded. But as he turned down the hall, something caught his sharp, well-trained eye—a faint glow spilling out from the partially open door of his study.

His heart sank. The entrance to his hidden compartment was ajar.

A low growl of frustration escaped his lips as he stepped inside. The faint scent of disturbed dust hung in the air, confirming what he already suspected. He moved with the silent precision of a soldier until his eyes landed on Sharon. She stood frozen in the middle of the secret room, her gaze darting from the arsenal on the walls to the photographs and artifacts she had uncovered.

“Sharon,” he said, his voice low and cold.

She flinched, spinning around to face him, her phone still clutched in one hand. Her usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.

“I can explain,” she stammered, though she clearly hadn’t thought of an explanation yet.

Alexander’s piercing gaze swept over the room, quickly cataloging what she had seen. His fingers brushed against the rifle in his hands—a well-maintained SA vz. 58P, its cold steel a stark contrast to the warmth he had shown mere moments ago while tucking a child into bed.

Without a word, he stepped past Sharon, placing the rifle back into its rack with methodical care. The soft click of the locking mechanism echoed in the room as he secured the weapon. Then, without sparing her another glance, he walked out.

“Wait,” Sharon called after him, finally finding her voice. She hurried after him, her phone forgotten in her hand.

Alexander didn’t slow down, heading toward the kitchen, where he began pouring himself a glass of water. Sharon caught up to him, her mind racing.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this?” she demanded, gesturing back toward the study.

He raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s none of your business.”

“None of my—” Sharon stopped, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Okay, fine. Maybe I shouldn’t have snooped, but you can’t expect me to pretend I didn’t see all that. The uniforms, the photos, the—”

She waved her hands in the air, struggling to find the right words. “The tank cannon, Alex. A tank cannon. Who are you?”

Alexander sipped his water, his expression unreadable. “Someone who had a life before this.”

“Clearly,” Sharon shot back, crossing her arms. “But do you ever stop to think how interesting that life might be to other people? Like, I don’t know, my audience?”

He frowned. “I’m not interested in your audience.”

Sharon sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, Alex. I get it. You’re all about privacy and being the mysterious loner guy, but you don’t have to keep everything bottled up. You’ve got stories—stories people would actually want to hear. Why not share them?”

“I don’t share my life for clicks,” he said flatly.

“No, but you could,” Sharon countered, her tone softening. “Look, I’m not saying you have to do dance challenges or whatever. Just… think about it. You’re smart, you’ve been through so much, and honestly, you’ve got this whole ‘grumpy ex-soldier with a heart of gold’ thing going on. People would love you.”

Alexander’s brow furrowed. He seemed genuinely puzzled by the idea. “Why would anyone care about the ramblings of an old soldier?”

“Because it’s real,” Sharon said. “People love real. And you’re… well, you’re the realest person I know.”

For a moment, Alexander said nothing. His gaze drifted out the window, where the moonlight illuminated the sprawling garden outside. He seemed to be weighing her words, turning them over in his mind like a chess player planning his next move.

Finally, he sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

Sharon grinned, sensing victory. “Ridiculously brilliant, you mean.”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” he muttered.

“But you didn’t say no.”

Alexander shook his head, exasperated. “If I do this—if—I’m not dancing, lip-syncing, or doing anything ridiculous.”

“Deal,” Sharon said immediately, holding out her hand as if they’d just struck a business agreement.

He hesitated, then shook her hand briefly, his grip firm but careful.

“Great,” Sharon said, already pulling out her phone. “We’ll set up your account tomorrow. Trust me, Alex—this is going to be amazing.”

As she walked away, already brainstorming content ideas, Alexander stood in the kitchen, staring at his reflection in the glass of water. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just opened the door to a new kind of battle—one he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to fight.

Chapter 8

The next morning, Sharon was practically vibrating with excitement as she sipped her coffee at the counter. Across from her, Alexander sat in his usual seat, flipping through a newspaper and enjoying his tea.

“Well, Alex,” she began with a cheeky grin, “congratulations. You’re officially an influencer now.”

He didn’t even glance up. “An influencer? What are you talking about?”

“I made you an Instagram profile,” she announced with mock innocence, waving her phone triumphantly. “You’ve already got 95,000 followers. Overnight.”

Alexander groaned, setting his cup down. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because the world deserves to see your unique… personality,” she teased. “Oh, and guess who followed you? Lara.”

That caught his attention. “Lara? Why?”

Sharon smirked, scrolling to show him the DM. “Not only did she follow you, but she sent you a message. Look.”

Alexander leaned in, squinting at the screen:

Lara: Didn’t expect this from you, Ivan.

After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed his phone and typed a reply:

Alexander: This wasn’t my idea. Sharon insists. Besides, it’s better to laugh with them than let them mock me endlessly.

Sharon peered over his shoulder. “Aww, so humble. You’re like the grumpy hero the internet didn’t know it needed.”

He sighed, standing up and grabbing his keys. “I’m going to the garage. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” Sharon followed him, phone in hand, already going live.

The garage smelled of oil and ambition. The centerpiece was Alexander’s pride and joy: a Lada 2103, its lines clean and its soul pure Soviet steel.

Sharon started the livestream with dramatic flair. “Alright, everybody, welcome back! Today, we’re about to witness history. Alex here is turning this classic into a beast. Buckle up!”

Alexander shot her an annoyed glance. “Are you always this loud?”

“Only when it’s for the fans,” she replied with a grin.

The chat came alive:

• 🔥 “Bro’s cooking something spicy.”
• 😂 “Soviet Bob the Builder about to drop a mixtape.”
• 😎 “Sigma grindset: fixing cars and ignoring people.”
• 🚗 “This isn’t a car, it’s a time machine to the USSR.”

Ignoring the running commentary, Alexander got to work. He popped the hood, pulling out the old carburetor with practiced precision.

“Okay, Alex, tell us what’s going on,” Sharon prompted, zooming in on his hands.

“Replacing the carburetor,” he muttered, not looking up.

“Why?”

“More power.”

The chat erupted again:

• ⚡ “MORE POWER = MORE RESPECT.”
• 😂 “Bro’s turning the Cold War into the Horsepower War.”
• 🔥 “This man is cooking harder than Gordon Ramsay.”
• 🚀 “From Lada to Lambo. Let him cook.”

As he installed the shiny new double racing carburetor, Sharon leaned in. “How much more power are we talking?”

Alexander smirked faintly. “From 73 horsepower to 148.”

“Double?” she yelped. “Are you serious?”

The chat loved it:

• 🔥 “Double it and give it to the next Soviet!”
• 💀 “148 HP? This ain’t a car; it’s a missile.”
• 🤣 “Bro woke up Stalin just to flex.”
• 🛠️ “Engineer mode: ACTIVATED.”

Moments later, Alexander climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life with a deep, guttural growl that shook the garage. Sharon jumped, clutching her phone.

“Holy—Alex!” she shrieked, laughing nervously. “You’re going to blow it up!”

Alexander smirked. “Get in. You’ll see what it can do.”

The drive to Silverstone Circuit was nothing short of chaotic. The Lada screamed down winding roads, its new power evident with every rev. Sharon clutched the door handle, her shrieks filling the car as Alexander navigated with infuriating calm.

“Slow down! You’re going to kill us!”

“This is slow,” he deadpanned, taking a corner at a speed that made Sharon’s heart stop.

Meanwhile, back at Croft Manor, Lara and Zip were watching the stream on a massive screen.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Zip said, tears of laughter streaming down his face.

Lara sipped her tea, a rare smile playing on her lips. “He’s always been like this. Reckless, but brilliant.”

The chat was in full meltdown mode:

• 😂 “Sharon seeing her ancestors rn.”
• 🔥 “Sigma male doesn’t brake for peasants.”
• 💀 “Bro is driving like he’s in a Bond movie.”
• 😎 “GTA Lada DLC just dropped.”

When they arrived at Silverstone, the paddock was full of sleek sports cars and heavily modified imports. The Lada, its paint gleaming in the sun, stood out like a relic among giants.

Sharon kept the livestream rolling as Alexander pulled onto the track for open-day laps. “Alright, everybody, place your bets. How long before Alex gets lapped?”

But as the green flag waved, the Lada surged forward, leaving stunned competitors in its wake. Alexander’s skill as a driver was on full display as he weaved past JDM icons, cutting tight corners with precision.

The chat was unhinged:

• 🔥 “BRO IS COOKING, LET HIM COOK.”
• 🚗 “Lada just ate a Skyline for breakfast. 💀”
• 🤣 “Forget Dom Toretto, this is Soviet Toretto.”
• 💪 “Beta drivers buy cars. Sigma drivers BUILD them.”

Sharon’s voice trembled with excitement. “He’s actually doing it. He’s winning.”

In the comfort of Croft Manor, Lara and Zip couldn’t believe their eyes. “He’s embarrassing them,” Zip said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He always knew how to make an entrance,” Lara replied, her tone equal parts amused and impressed.

Back at the track, the crowd began to cheer as the Lada overtook car after car. When Alexander finally pulled into the pit, the applause was deafening. Sharon turned the camera on him, her grin wide.

“So, Alex,” she said, “how does it feel to be the internet’s new favorite grandpa?”

Alexander leaned against the Lada, wiping his hands on a rag. “As long as they stop calling me boomer, I don’t care.”

The chat disagreed:

• 🤣 “BOOMER ENERGY? MORE LIKE GIGA CHAD ENERGY.”
• 🔥 “Grumpy Fisherman = Internet Icon.”
• 🚗 “The Cold War ends when Alex says so.”
• 💀 “Bro just turned Silverstone into a Soviet playground.”

Chapter 9

The morning sun streamed through the window as Sharon rolled out of bed, groggy but curious. She shuffled into the kitchen, expecting to see Alexander sipping tea and grumbling about the state of the world. But his seat was empty, and his usual gruff presence was nowhere to be found.

“Alex?” she called, checking the garage. Empty.

She glanced at her phone, scrolling through her notifications. There it was: a blurry Instagram story of Alexander hauling what appeared to be a massive Pak 40 anti-tank cannon behind a rusty military truck.

“What in the actual—” Sharon muttered, quickly going live.

The Livestream Begins

“Alright, everybody,” Sharon announced, flipping the camera to selfie mode, “our favorite grumpy fisherman is missing. And apparently, he’s towing a literal cannon. Let’s find out what’s going on.”

The chat was already in chaos:

• 😂 “Bro’s gone full war criminal.”
• 🛠️ “What’s he cooking this time?”
• 💀 “Sigma grindset: buy a cannon, ask questions later.”
• 🔥 “Alexander’s IRL DLC just dropped.”

Sharon jumped into her car, following the faint tire tracks leading out of town. The path eventually took her to a vast, open military shooting range. There, she spotted the familiar truck parked near a group of people—and a variety of intimidating weapons laid out on tables.

She parked, grabbed her phone, and approached. “Alex, care to explain why you’re towing World War II memorabilia across the countryside?”

Alexander turned from securing the Pak 40. Beside him stood Lara, Zip, Alister, Amelia, and even Winston, who held a thermos of tea.

“I’m testing it,” Alexander said simply.

“Testing what?!”

“The firepower,” he replied as though it were obvious.

The chat exploded:

• 💀 “Bro woke up and chose violence.”
• 😂 “Grumpy Fisherman: Modern Warfare Edition.”
• 🛡️ “He’s literally a one-man army.”
• 🔥 “What’s next? A T-34?”

The Chaos Unfolds

The group gathered at the range’s shooting line. Sharon kept her phone trained on them as Alexander demonstrated the use of the first weapon: a massive .44 Magnum revolver.

“This,” he began, holding the gun with one hand, “is a real weapon. Not for the faint of heart.”

“Pfft, how hard can it be?” Sharon scoffed, stepping forward.

She aimed at the target, fired—and the recoil nearly threw her backwards. Her shot missed entirely.

The chat erupted:

• 🤣 “BRO IS BETA AF.”
• 🔥 “Sharon’s wrist left the chat.”
• 😂 “Recoil 1 - Sharon 0.”

Zip gave it a try, managing to hit the edge of the target but wincing at the recoil. Alister and Amelia fared even worse, the latter letting out a high-pitched yelp with every shot.

• 💀 “Amelia just unlocked Trauma Simulator 2032.”
• 🤣 “Beta squad can’t hang.”
• 🔥 “Recoil is the real boss fight here.”

Finally, Alexander stepped up. He raised the Magnum with one hand, barely flinching as he fired. Each shot landed squarely in the target’s head.

The chat exploded:

• 😎 “Bro didn’t miss. Not once.”
• 🔥 “Grumpy Fisherman = Sigma Sharpshooter.”
• 😂 “Recoil respects the alpha.”
• 🎯 “Skill issue for everyone else.”

Lara stepped forward next, handling the Magnum with both hands. While she wasn’t as precise as Alexander, her shots were steady and consistently hit the target’s center.

• 🔥 “Lara Croft proving she’s still a badass.”
• 😎 “Queen behavior.”
• 🚀 “Sigma couple vibes.”

Next, Alexander set up a series of rifles: a vz. 58, a Mosin-Nagant, a Boys anti-tank rifle, and a Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR).

Each of them took turns shooting. Sharon struggled to handle the vz. 58, missing most of her shots, while Zip barely managed to keep the Mosin steady.

• 😂 “Bro is shaking like a leaf.”
• 💀 “Mosin: 1, Zip: 0.”
• 🔥 “They’re all beta except Alex.”

When it was Lara’s turn, she handled the Mosin with surprising precision, earning scattered applause from the group. Amelia attempted the Boys rifle but gave up almost immediately, muttering, “This is ridiculous.”

Alexander stepped in, firing the Boys rifle with ease. The deafening crack of the shot echoed across the range, and the chat went wild:

• 💀 “That recoil sent my soul to the gulag.”
• 🔥 “Alexander: built different.”
• 🎯 “He hit that target so hard it probably apologized.”

Finally, it was time for the main event: the Pak 40 anti-tank cannon.

The massive cannon loomed over the group as Alexander calmly loaded a shell. “Everyone stand back,” he said, his voice steady.

Sharon aimed her phone at the cannon, her chat going wild in anticipation:

• 🔥 “Bro’s about to end WW2 all over again.”
• 💀 “One shot = instant win.”
• 😂 “What’s the cooldown on this thing?”

With a resounding boom, the cannon fired, sending a plume of smoke into the air. The target—an old, reinforced metal bunker—was obliterated.

The chat erupted into chaos:

• 🎆 “GIGA CHAD CANNON ACTIVATED.”
• 🔥 “Bro just deleted the target from existence.”
• 💀 “That shot was heard in another timeline.”
• 😂 “The recoil probably moved the Earth’s orbit.”

Sharon turned the camera back to Alexander, who was calmly cleaning the barrel. “So, Alex,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “what’s next? A battleship?”

Alexander glanced at her, deadpan. “Don’t give me ideas.”

The chat went wild:

• 😂 “Bro’s planning War Thunder IRL.”
• 🔥 “Grumpy Fisherman = Final Boss.”
• 🚀 “Sigma grindset: conquer land, sea, and air.”

As the day wound down, the group gathered near the truck, exhausted but exhilarated. Sharon ended the livestream with a grin. “Alright, folks, that’s it for today. Tune in next time for more chaos—and maybe a tank.”

The chat flooded with farewells and memes:

• 🤣 “Next episode: Alex vs. NATO.”
• 🔥 “This isn’t content; this is history.”
• 💀 “Grumpy Fisherman for president.”

Chapter 10

When Sharon returned home after the chaotic day at the shooting range, she was ready to collapse on the couch and forget that anti-tank cannons, revolvers with brutal recoil, and her unnervingly skilled roommate Alexander even existed. But instead of peace, she was met with something odd—a low, rumbling laugh coming from Alexander's office.

She froze mid-step. Alexander? Laughing? That was like spotting a unicorn smoking a cigar. She peered into the office, expecting to find him watching some absurd reality show he'd never admit to liking.

Instead, she saw him engrossed in an old recording of Česká soda, a satirical Czech show that poked fun at everything—politics, societal norms, and even subjects most would consider untouchable.

“What are you watching?” she asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“Satire,” he replied without looking up, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Back when people weren’t afraid to say what they really thought. Nothing was off-limits. That doesn’t exist anymore.”

Sharon smirked. “So this is where your... particular charm comes from? What’s got you so fascinated?”

Alexander finally turned away from the screen. There was something in his expression she hadn’t seen in a while: determination. “Freedom. The freedom to tell the truth. No one telling them what they could or couldn’t say. You know what?” He paused, and Sharon held her breath. “Maybe it’s time to bring it back.”

“Bring it back? What does that mean?” Sharon knew from experience that when Alexander spoke like this, trouble was brewing.

“I’m starting a show. Satirical, unapologetic, and truthful. No censorship. No playing it safe. The world needs to hear the truth, even if it makes them uncomfortable. I’m calling it Grumpy News Network.”

A week later, the first episode of Grumpy News Network premiered on YouTube. Alexander sat behind a battered old desk Sharon had scavenged from a flea market. Surrounding him were stacks of newspapers, books, and even an old world map. One single camera captured his unmistakable figure—clad in his favorite fisherman’s sweater, holding a mug that read, “Don’t talk to me until it’s over.”

“Good evening,” he began in a voice so deep it could crack glaciers. “Welcome to Grumpy News Network, the place where we say things as they are. If you’re looking for sugarcoated nonsense, you’re in the wrong place. Tonight, we’ll be talking about politicians, influencers, and why modern art looks like the result of bad digestion.”

Viewers were instantly hooked by his unfiltered critique of the world around them. The scattered papers and occasional profanity only added to the authenticity.

“First topic: politicians. These people are like kids on a playground, except with worse grammar. Everyone promises the moon, but none of them can even find a shovel.”

The next segment, Influencer of the Week, roasted a wellness guru selling “detox crystals.” Alexander held up a rock he’d found in the yard and deadpanned, “Here’s one for free. Same nonsense, but it’ll save you $400.”

For the third segment, History That’ll Offend You, he delivered a brutally honest summary of the Cold War. “Two countries played chicken for decades, but neither had the guts to lose. The result? The whole world lived in fear of someone accidentally pressing the wrong button.”

By morning, the channel had amassed hundreds of thousands of subscribers. The comments were a mix of awe and shock:

• 😂 “This is the energy we’ve been missing!”
• 🔥 “Finally, someone who says what we’re all thinking but too scared to say.”
• 💀 “Bro just ended the Cold War in one sentence.”

Each new episode brought greater popularity. Gen Z and Gen Alpha adored the show, albeit for slightly different reasons.

Gen Z admired Alexander’s bluntness and his disdain for anything fake. One of his most famous lines—“Hustle culture is the biggest scam. Sleep. Go outside. Save some energy for retirement.”—immediately went viral as a TikTok sound.

• 💀 “My new life coach is a 60-year-old man who looks like he could bench press a tank.”
• 🔥 “Touch grass, bro, touch grass 🌱😭.”

Gen Alpha turned his show into meme gold. Alexander’s quotes became the voiceovers for Minecraft videos, where his avatar mocked poorly built castles: “This is a castle? This is more like a Lego block after a lobotomy!”

At some point, Sharon realized that Grumpy News Network had transcended satire. After an episode where Alexander tore into corporate greenwashing, emails from ordinary people flooded in.

“I never dared to say what I think about politics, but you’ve made me realize it’s okay to speak the truth.”

Another read: “Thanks to you, I feel like I’m not alone. I wish there were more people like you in the world.”

Alexander, of course, showed no excitement about his growing fame. When Sharon read him a comment that said, “President of the world? Yes, please,” he merely grunted: “President of the world? That sounds like a nightmare.”

But beneath his gruff exterior was a deeper truth. Grumpy News Network wasn’t just about humor. It was a reminder to the world that speaking the truth and standing by it still mattered—whether it was about politics, influencers, or diamond-encrusted Crocs.

Alexander ended every episode with the same words: “As long as the world stays stupid, I’ll have something to say. And if they ever silence me, then you’ll know: maybe I actually won.”

Chapter 11

A few weeks after Grumpy News Network took the internet by storm, it underwent a transformation. What began as Alexander’s solo crusade against stupidity became a full-blown production when Lara decided to join. With her natural charisma and sharp wit, the dynamic duo decided to rebrand.

They called it The Grumpy Hour.

The name stuck immediately, encapsulating their unique brand of no-holds-barred satire and biting honesty. It wasn’t just Alexander’s grumpy rants anymore—now it was a polished (if nostalgic) show, where Lara balanced his gruff delivery with her charm and occasional sarcasm.

The crew converted an abandoned factory into their studio, painstakingly designing it to look like a newsroom from the 1970s. Avocado-green wallpaper, orange shag carpet, wood-paneled walls, and clunky rotary phones added a retro charm. Even the cameras were vintage-looking, though Zip ensured they were modern inside.

Zip, naturally, became the technical specialist. He rigged the studio with lighting, cameras, and an intricate live-streaming setup. Despite his occasional grumbling about Alexander’s refusal to “modernize,” he secretly loved the aesthetic challenge.

Alister took on the role of assistant director, managing the scripts and ensuring every segment ran smoothly. He also doubled as the crew’s historian, adding little-known facts to spice up each episode.

Winston, ever the gentleman, handled catering. Every morning, he arrived with trays of tea, sandwiches, and scones, which became an essential part of the crew’s pre-show rituals.

Amelia alternated between field segments and co-hosting with Ivan, a perpetually deadpan Russian who Alexander had somehow recruited. The duo specialized in segments like The Worst of Humanity This Week, delivering scathing reviews of the world’s absurdities.

Sharon, meanwhile, took her place behind the camera, capturing every witty jab and exasperated sigh with precision. She was also responsible for their dynamic intros, which combined vintage aesthetics with modern editing techniques.

The intro became a highlight of The Grumpy Hour.

It opened with a spinning globe, reminiscent of old TV news shows, but instead of dignified music, it was accompanied by a jazzy, offbeat tune. The screen faded to Alexander and Lara standing back-to-back, arms crossed, looking like the ultimate power duo.

The tagline scrolled across the bottom:

“The Grumpy Hour: Because the world deserves better insults.”

The intro ended with a cut to Alexander sitting at the desk, grumbling, “Why are you even watching this? Go touch some grass.”

Each episode of The Grumpy Hour was a forty-minute masterpiece of unfiltered satire. They covered everything: politics, pop culture, tech trends, and bizarre news stories from around the globe.

Alexander’s opening monologue, titled Grumpy Takes, remained a staple. Whether railing against bureaucrats or influencers promoting NFTs shaped like bananas, he spared no one.

“Tonight’s target? Billionaires funding vanity projects in space while the rest of us can’t even afford eggs. Honestly, if I hear one more word about Mars colonies, I’m going to lose it. Fix Earth first, you overgrown toddlers.”

The audience loved it.

Lara’s segment, Lara’s Lens, provided a sharp counterbalance. She tackled social issues and called out hypocrisy with a mix of charm and unflinching critique.

“In the news this week: yet another clothing brand promising ‘sustainability’ while dumping chemical dyes into rivers. But don’t worry—they planted one tree, so it’s fine, right?” she quipped, her smile sharp enough to cut steel.

The chemistry between Alexander and Lara was electric. They often bantered mid-show, turning even the most serious topics into moments of humor.

Alexander: “You realize if we keep this up, we’re going to get canceled by every platform eventually.”

Lara: “Good. I’ll frame the hate mail.”

With every episode, The Grumpy Hour gained more traction. Clips of their scathing takedowns went viral on TikTok, Twitter, and Instagram, where Gen Z and Gen Alpha couldn’t get enough.

Gen Z Commentary:

• 🔥 “They’re like the grandparents who survived everything and are DONE with our nonsense.”
• 🤣 “Lara and Alex are the power couple I didn’t know I needed.”
• 💀 “Alexander for president. Lara for queen. I don’t make the rules.”

Gen Alpha Commentary:

• 🎮 “Bro’s got main character energy.”
• 😂 “This feels like if history class didn’t suck.”
• 🛠️ “Can Zip build me a retro PC? Asking for a friend.”

The retro aesthetic became a cultural phenomenon. People started decorating their rooms like The Grumpy Hour set, complete with wood paneling and rotary phones. Merch flew off the shelves—t-shirts with Alexander’s infamous line, “Fix Earth first.”

With their growing popularity, Alexander and Lara pushed the boundaries further. They weren’t just mocking absurdity—they were tackling issues most media tiptoed around.

An episode called Uncomfortable Truths dove into the exploitation behind fast fashion, tech industry corruption, and even governments silencing whistleblowers. Lara delivered the closing line with chilling clarity:

“If the truth makes you squirm, good. It means you needed to hear it.”

The response was overwhelming. Emails poured in, thanking them for their courage. Others sent threats, accusing them of “going too far.” Alexander’s response to the hate was simple: “If you’re mad, we’re doing something right.”

One day, while filming a segment on the rise of corporate greed, Sharon noticed something unusual. Winston, typically composed, was doubled over laughing.

“Winston, are you alright?” Lara asked, concerned.

He waved her off, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, madam, it’s just... the way you two described that CEO... ‘a robot in a human skin suit’—I can’t!”

Moments like these made The Grumpy Hour special. It wasn’t just a show—it was a movement, fueled by a team that genuinely loved what they did.

As the crew wrapped up another successful episode, Sharon turned off the camera and sighed. “Alright, you two. What’s next? Solving world hunger?”

Alexander shrugged. “One step at a time. First, we tear down stupidity. Then we’ll see.”

Lara grinned. “I don’t know about solving world hunger, but I do have a segment idea for next week: Why Dating Apps Are Actually Hell in Disguise.”

Alexander smirked. “Perfect. Let’s burn it all down.”

The team laughed, clinking their mugs of tea and coffee. Outside, the world might have been chaotic, but inside the studio, one thing was clear: The Grumpy Hour wasn’t just a show. It was a revolution.

Chapter 12

The show once known as The Grumpy Hour had evolved into something far greater. After much deliberation (and a fair amount of bickering), Alexander and Lara had renamed it to Truth, Unfiltered, reflecting their sharp, uncompromising tone. With its 70s-inspired studio—complete with mustard-yellow furniture, faux wood paneling, and a vintage rotating globe—it felt like a time capsule from an era where the truth wasn’t sanitized.

The studio was a hive of activity before every broadcast. Zip manned the technical booth, ensuring everything ran smoothly, though his occasional curses suggested otherwise. Alister handled the show’s structure, arranging segments and timing ad breaks with meticulous precision. Amelia occasionally co-hosted with Ivan when they needed a softer touch—or a particularly biting one. Winston, unbothered by the chaos, moved through the set with trays of tea, sandwiches, and his famously perfect scones. Sharon, with her keen eye and sharper tongue, was the resident camerawoman, catching every angle.

And at the heart of it all were Alexander and Lara, the unstoppable duo who’d turned a small satire project into a worldwide sensation.

Tonight, as the opening jazz riff of their intro played, the camera panned over the set. Alexander and Lara sat at the desk, their outfits a deliberate nod to the 70s—him in a tan blazer, her in a striking red jumpsuit.

“Good evening, truth-seekers,” Lara began with a sly grin. “Welcome to another episode of Truth, Unfiltered. Tonight, we’ve got corruption, controversy, and chaos—just the way you like it.”

Alexander picked up seamlessly. “From politicians doing the cha-cha with lobbyists to billionaires playing Monopoly with housing markets, it’s been a banner week for idiocy.”

The audience loved it.

The show moved through its usual segments: biting commentary on current events, a satirical deep dive into ridiculous internet trends, and a scathing roast of a particularly inept CEO who had recently compared workers to “widgets.”

But midway through the show, the tone shifted. Lara leaned forward, addressing the camera directly. “Before we move on, there’s something we need to talk about.”

Alexander nodded. “We’ve received a lot of feedback on a recent episode. Most of it positive, but one email stood out.” He glanced at a piece of paper in front of him. “A viewer accused us of trivializing the Holocaust in one of our jokes. They called it disgusting and disrespectful.”

The studio fell quiet.

Lara’s expression was calm but firm. “We take criticism seriously. But this accusation? We need to address it head-on.”

Alexander’s voice, usually sardonic, was uncharacteristically measured. “Humor is a weapon. It cuts through lies, hypocrisy, and the sanitized versions of history people like to peddle. But let me be clear: we don’t mock suffering. We mock the people and systems that perpetuate it.”

He paused, staring into the camera. “And I know a thing or two about suffering.”

Lara gave him a subtle nod, encouraging him to continue.

“My father,” Alexander began, his voice steady but heavy, “was arrested when I was six years old. He was sent to the uranium mines, where he died shortly after. My mother… she held us together as best she could. Until I was nineteen, when she was hit by a train.”

The air in the studio grew thicker, the weight of his words palpable.

“I grew up alone. I learned the hard way that the world doesn’t care about fairness or grief. It moves on, whether you’re ready or not.” He exhaled sharply. “And in 1984, the StB—Czechoslovakia’s secret police—dragged me into a basement. They beat me so badly I thought I wouldn’t leave alive. All because I dared to question them.”

Lara reached out, placing a steadying hand on his arm.

“I survived,” Alexander continued. “Barely. But I promised myself something then. If I got out, if I lived to see another day, I wouldn’t let fear dictate how I lived. Humor isn’t just a coping mechanism. It’s defiance. It’s a reminder that no matter how much the world tries to break you, you’re still standing.”

The live chat exploded with reactions:

• 💔 “This man has lived through hell and still fights for truth.”
• 🔥 “Humor isn’t disrespect—it’s rebellion.”
• 😭 “Alexander’s story just broke me. Respect x1000.”

Lara picked up where Alexander left off. “The joke wasn’t about the Holocaust. It was about the absurdity of how history is sanitized, how the atrocities are downplayed until they’re practically forgotten. Satire forces us to confront the truth. To remember.”

“And if that makes people uncomfortable,” Alexander added, his voice harder now, “then maybe they should ask themselves why.”

The segment quickly went viral. Clips of Alexander’s speech flooded social media.

Gen Z Commentary:

• 💀 “Bro just dropped a nuke of honesty.”
• 🔥 “This is why we watch. No BS, just truth.”
• 😭 “He’s right. Humor is survival.”

Gen Alpha Commentary:

• 🎮 “Alexander is literally a Final Boss.”
• 🛡️ “Can we protect this man at all costs?”
• 😂 “Laughing at dark stuff doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong.”

Emails poured in—this time, they weren’t angry. They were messages of support, filled with stories of resilience, grief, and gratitude. One particularly moving email read: “My grandfather survived a concentration camp. He used to say laughter was the only thing they couldn’t take from him. Thank you for keeping that spirit alive.”

The next episode opened with Alexander’s no-nonsense stare into the camera.

“We laugh,” he said, his voice steady, “because we’re alive. We laugh because we refuse to forget. And if that bothers you... tough.”

Lara smirked, leaning into the mic. “Tonight, on Truth, Unfiltered: capitalism, corruption, and why the latest tech CEO needs to be sent to a deserted island.”

The audience cheered.

As the camera panned out, showing the retro set and the crew bustling in the background, Alexander sipped his coffee and gave a rare, small smile.

“Enjoy life,” he said. “You never know how long you’ve got.”

Chapter 13

The evolution of Truth, Unfiltered was nothing short of meteoric. What started as a sharp, biting commentary on modern issues now transformed into a full-fledged talk show with live interviews, fiery debates, and an ever-expanding roster of high-profile guests. Despite their different worlds, Alexander and Lara had unparalleled chemistry as co-hosts, effortlessly blending cutting humor with insightful critique.

The studio had become an icon in itself. Modeled after the retro aesthetic of 70s TV, it featured mustard-yellow armchairs, wood-paneled walls, shag carpets, and a psychedelic mural on one side. Cameras glided on smooth tracks as Sharon directed from behind her station. Zip worked tirelessly to manage the tech, from sound mixing to livestream graphics, while Alister coordinated schedules and scripts. Winston handled catering—often appearing on camera to serve tea mid-show, much to the audience’s delight. Even Amelia pitched in occasionally, especially when the discussions veered toward topics she was passionate about.

The team was a well-oiled machine, but the real magic happened when the cameras rolled.

The show’s guest list for that night promised a wild mix of personalities: Livvy Dunne, the bubbly TikTok sensation and gymnast, and Tony Blair, the former UK Prime Minister whose political legacy remained as divisive as ever.

The episode began with a now-iconic tradition: Alexander's harmonica performance. He played Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones, the mournful notes filling the studio. As he finished, Lara grinned and leaned into the camera.

“Welcome back to Truth, Unfiltered, where we bridge the gap between old-school grit and modern chaos,” she said. “Tonight, we’ve got two guests who represent exactly that divide.”

Alexander cut in, his deadpan delivery drawing laughter. “On one side, a man who led a nation through war. And on the other, a woman who led a TikTok trend through millions of views. Ladies and gentlemen, Tony Blair and Livvy Dunne.”

The studio audience erupted in applause as the guests entered. Tony Blair smiled warmly, shaking hands with Alexander and Lara before taking his seat. Livvy looked radiant in a sleek outfit, though her smile wavered as she noticed the unmistakable gleam of mischief in Alexander’s eyes.

The show began light, with Lara asking Livvy about her gymnastics career and rise on social media. Livvy spoke enthusiastically about her rigorous training schedule, her love for her fans, and her goals to inspire the next generation.

“Very commendable,” Alexander said, nodding. “But I have to ask—how do you feel about Baby Gronk?”

Livvy blinked, visibly thrown. “Who?”

“Baby Gronk,” Alexander repeated, leaning back with a sly smirk. “The child football prodigy. Is he the next big thing, or is the internet just ruining his childhood for clicks?”

The audience erupted in laughter, but Livvy’s smile faltered. “I don’t… I don’t really follow football.”

Lara, sensing the shift, steered the conversation to Tony Blair. “Prime Minister, how would you describe your experience adapting to the digital age?”

Blair chuckled. “Well, I’ve been told by my children that my mere presence online would probably cause a global outage, so I tend to stay away.”

The banter was lighthearted, but the tension between Alexander and Livvy simmered beneath the surface.

As the conversation turned back to social media’s impact on young athletes, Alexander couldn’t resist a jab.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I respect hard work. But let’s face it—these days, you don’t need to win an Olympic medal. All it takes is a viral dance and a few brand deals.”

Livvy stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” Alexander continued, unflappable, “the system rewards spectacle over substance. And that’s not your fault—it’s ours, for eating it up.”

Livvy’s patience snapped. “I work hard every day for what I have!” she said, her voice rising. “You don’t know what it’s like to be under constant scrutiny, to have millions of people watching your every move!”

Before anyone could react, Livvy reached across the table, grabbing the lapel of Alexander’s blazer. From the inner pocket, she pulled out his prized ČZ ZKR 590 Grand revolver.

The studio fell silent.

“What the hell, Alex?” Lara hissed, half-rising from her chair.

Livvy held the revolver awkwardly, clearly unsure how to handle it. “Why do you even have this?”

“It’s not loaded,” Alexander said calmly, though his expression was one of mild exasperation. “It’s a piece of history, not a weapon.”

Lara moved closer, her voice measured. “Livvy, maybe we put the gun down? This isn’t helping your argument.”

Livvy’s hands trembled as she glared at Alexander. “You think I’m just some stupid influencer. You don’t respect me or what I do.”

Alexander sighed, his tone softening. “You’re not stupid. And I don’t blame you for being angry. But let’s talk about this—without the theatrics.”

For several tense moments, the room held its breath. Then, slowly, Livvy placed the revolver on the table and sank back into her chair.

What followed was one of the most unexpected and heartfelt conversations in the show’s history. Livvy spoke openly about the immense pressure she felt to maintain her image, the fear of making mistakes in such a public space, and the exhaustion of constantly proving her worth.

Alexander, in turn, shared his struggles with speaking truth in a world that often punished honesty. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But I do know what it’s like to feel dismissed, to fight against a system that doesn’t care about the individual.”

By the end of the discussion, Livvy was laughing at Alexander’s harmonica rendition of TikTok hits, and Tony Blair quipped that he might start his own TikTok account.

The internet exploded.

😂 “Livvy Dunne pulled a WHOLE GUN on Alexander and STILL got roasted. Iconic.”

😭 “Lowkey cried when Alex talked about being dismissed. That hit different.”

🔥 “Truth, Unfiltered is the only real show on TV rn.”

🎮 “Livvy vs. Alex = best episode ever.”

💀 “Blair just sitting there like, ‘I don’t get paid enough for this.’”

😂 “Alexander playing harmonica after a gunfight is peak main character energy.”

The incident, rather than derailing the show, catapulted its popularity to new heights. Memes flooded social media, fan art depicted Alexander and Lara as retro action heroes, and Truth, Unfiltered broke viewership records.

When asked about the episode during the next broadcast, Alexander simply said, “Well, that escalated quickly. Shall we invite Putin next?”

Lara rolled her eyes. “Let’s start smaller. Like Beyoncé.”

The audience roared with laughter, and Truth, Unfiltered carried on—bold, unfiltered, and utterly unforgettable.

Chapter 14

The runaway success of Truth, Unfiltered solidified it as more than just a talk show—it became a global phenomenon, a cultural earthquake that shook the media landscape. Every week, millions tuned in not just for the unfiltered discussions of politics, culture, and the human condition, but for the pure, raw chaos that seemed to define the show’s very soul. It wasn’t just entertainment; it was catharsis, a place where sacred cows were roasted, hypocrisy was skewered, and truth was served without garnish.

From the outset, Truth, Unfiltered rejected convention. The set, an homage to the 1970s with its garish orange hues, faux wood paneling, and shag carpeting, was a deliberate contrast to the sleek, polished studios of mainstream news. It was a reminder that appearances didn’t matter—substance did. Winston often stumbled into the frame carrying a tray of mismatched teacups, Alexander occasionally interrupted himself to play mournful tunes on his harmonica, and Lara’s laughter could derail a segment for minutes on end. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was an undeniable magic.

The unedited, unscripted format lent the show an authenticity that viewers craved. It felt real in a world where so much felt manufactured. Politicians, celebrities, and everyday people alike found themselves drawn to its magnetism, even if it meant stepping into the lion’s den of Alexander and Lara’s biting wit.

When Taylor Swift appeared as a guest, fans anticipated a thoughtful discussion about music and activism. What they got was a masterclass in how Truth, Unfiltered could veer from sincere to absurd in the blink of an eye.

Taylor began passionately, speaking about the importance of young people voting. “We have the power to shape the future,” she said earnestly.

Alexander, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, replied, “But do we have the power to stop TikTok from making everyone believe in conspiracy theories?”

Taylor laughed nervously but pressed on. “I think it’s crucial to engage with the issues that matter—climate change, social justice—”

“Don’t forget the cats,” Lara interjected with mock seriousness. “That’s your brand, right? Saving democracy, one fluffy feline at a time?”

The audience erupted, but Taylor seemed to falter. Then came the moment no one could have anticipated.

“I tried to rig an election once,” Lara said, her voice utterly deadpan. “Didn’t work, though. Turns out it’s harder than it looks.”

The studio exploded with laughter, but Taylor’s face froze. Her eyes began to water as she stammered, “I just… I just think democracy is really important.”

Alexander stepped in quickly, realizing the joke had landed too hard. “Taylor, it’s a joke. Lara doesn’t rig elections. She’s terrible at paperwork.”

Even Winston, passing by with tea, chimed in. “Indeed. Her cooking is more dangerous than her scheming.”

The attempt to lighten the mood worked partially, but the internet seized on the moment. Memes of Taylor’s tearful reaction flooded social media:

• 🔥 “Taylor Swift crying over Lara’s election joke? Iconic.”
• 💀 “Democracy isn’t dead, but Taylor’s sense of humor is.”
• 🤣 “Winston with the accidental roast. We stan.”
• 💀 “Taylor crying = meme of the year.”
• 🎯 “Lara said ‘rigged election,’ and Taylor folded like a lawn chair.”
• 🤣 “Winston’s cameo saved the day.”

The fallout was nothing compared to the infamous Kim Kardashian episode. From the moment Kim arrived, Alexander’s irreverence was in full force.

“So,” he began, “do you think your career is proof that reality is stranger than fiction, or just that people will watch anything?”

Kim’s practiced smile barely wavered as she replied, “I think my career is about breaking boundaries and redefining what it means to be a businesswoman.”

“Sure,” Lara said, “if by breaking boundaries you mean filming in 4K.”

The audience roared with laughter. Kim, however, maintained her composure—until Alexander asked the question that broke her.

“Do you think that, if it weren’t for that one tape, you’d still be an influencer? Or just a really photogenic lawyer?”

Kim’s eyes narrowed, her voice cold. “You know, Alexander, some people work their whole lives to build something meaningful.”

“And some people get there faster with night-vision cameras,” he replied without missing a beat.

The tension was only broken by Winston, who stumbled into frame holding a teapot. “Oh dear, I seem to have brought the wrong biscuits. Carry on.”

The internet was merciless:

• 💀 “Alexander saying ‘night vision cameras’ ended Kim K’s entire career.”
• 🤣 “Winston walking into frame is the best accidental comedic timing.”
• 🔥 “Kim vs. Alexander: the crossover we didn’t know we needed.”
• 🎮 “Bro said ‘night vision,’ and she short-circuited.”
• 🤣 “Winston is the true MVP of this show.”
• 💀 “Kim K couldn’t handle the heat. Respect for showing up, though.”

Not every guest left in tears. Politicians, surprisingly, proved more resilient. Boris Johnson joked about his hair. “It’s not a style; it’s a defense mechanism.” Jens Stoltenberg laughed about NATO’s bureaucracy, and Joe Biden quipped, “The secret to being president in your 80s? Low expectations.”

Even international viewers adored the show’s irreverence. Clips of Alexander playing harmonica between segments went viral on TikTok, with captions like “Bro’s harmonica solos hit harder than my life choices.” Meanwhile, Winston’s bumbling antics inspired an entire subreddit, #WhereIsWinstonNow, devoted to tracking his unpredictable cameos.

The show’s influence reached The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, leading to an invitation for Alexander and Lara to appear. The announcement sparked a wave of reactions online:

• 🔥 “Fallon better not ruin their vibe.”
• 🤣 “Alexander vs. Fallon: harmonica showdown incoming.”
• 💀 “Imagine Fallon fake-laughing at Alexander’s dark humor.”
• 🎮 “Jimmy Fallon’s about to get roasted on his own show.”
• 🔥 “Lara and Alexander taking over late-night? Yes, please.”
• 🤣 “This is the crossover event of the century.”

Through all the chaos, Alexander summed it up best during one closing segment.

“Life’s too short to take seriously. If you can’t laugh at it—at yourself, at everything—you’re already dead inside. So here’s to laughing while we can.”

And the audience, loyal and growing, kept coming back for more.

Chapter 15

The announcement that Truth, Unfiltered would be making an appearance on Jimmy Fallon’s Valentine’s Day special sent ripples across the internet. For weeks leading up to the show, fans speculated wildly about what chaos Alexander and Lara would bring to the late-night stage, especially now that their dynamic had shifted in a monumental way.

Shortly before their departure to the U.S., news broke that Alexander and Sharon had amicably divorced. Social media was, predictably, ablaze.

• 💔 “RIP to the Grumpy Fisherman and Sharon, but at least it’s mutual.”
• 🔥 “Still better than messy celeb divorces. Respect for keeping it classy.”
• 🤣 “Alexander divorced Sharon and upgraded to Lara. Giga-Chad move.”
• 🎮 “Bro speedran divorce into remarriage. Skill issue?”
• 🔥 “Alexander and Lara = power couple vibes.”
• 💀 “Imagine divorcing peacefully. Couldn’t be my parents.”

Alexander and Lara’s wedding, in sharp contrast to their usual irreverence, was a quiet and private affair. However, word inevitably leaked, and the internet erupted in celebration.

• 🔥 “Alexander and Lara officially married? Ship it forever.”
• 💍 “From tombs to ‘I do.’ Truly iconic.”
• 🤣 “Can Winston officiate the renewal vows next year?”

In the weeks following the wedding, Alexander resumed one of his favorite pastimes: fishing. It was less about the fish and more about the quiet moments to plan his next move. As he cast his line into the waters of a serene lake, his thoughts turned to Fallon.

“Tell me about this Fallon guy,” he asked Zip over a crackly phone connection.

“He’s… safe. You know, light comedy, lots of games. Think of him as the opposite of you,” Zip replied.

Alexander smirked. “Good. He won’t see us coming.”

When the group arrived at U.S. Customs, they were immediately recognized.

“Wait,” one customs officer said, his eyes wide. “Are you Alexander? From Truth, Unfiltered?”

“And Lara,” another chimed in. “I’ve seen every episode!”

Winston, as always, shuffled awkwardly in the background, holding a bag of teacups. “Do you need a selfie?” he asked helpfully.

They were waved through with smiles and photographs, leaving the customs officers buzzing. “Best day on the job ever,” one was overheard saying.

After settling into a swanky New York hotel, the group convened in Alexander and Lara’s suite. Lara lounged on a vintage couch, a notebook in hand. “Alright,” she said, “what’s the plan? Fallon’s show is all about charm and fluff. We’re neither.”

Alexander chuckled. “We play to our strengths. Honest, unfiltered chaos. He invited us—he’ll get what he asked for.”

Winston entered, carrying a tray of champagne. “Might I suggest not terrifying the Americans too much? At least not until the second segment.”

Lara grinned. “Noted.”

Backstage at Fallon’s studio, tension simmered. Margot Robbie and her husband, Tom Ackerley, stood near Scarlett Johansson and Colin Jost. Both couples seemed unusually subdued, casting nervous glances toward the door where Alexander and Lara were expected to appear.

“Are they really that intense?” Margot asked Scarlett.

Scarlett nodded. “I watched their episode with Taylor Swift. Let’s just say… expect the unexpected.”

Colin added, “I mean, they roasted Kim Kardashian to her face. If they can do that, they’re capable of anything.”

Tom laughed nervously. “Maybe we should’ve brought backup.”

Before anyone could respond, the door swung open, and in walked Alexander and Lara, radiating an air of effortless confidence. Winston trailed behind, carrying a teapot as usual.

“Ah,” Alexander said, his voice carrying across the room. “The beautiful people. Always a pleasure to see Hollywood royalty in the flesh.”

Margot offered a polite smile. “And you must be Alexander. Big fan of the show.”

“And the harmonica solos?” Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Legendary,” Tom replied quickly, though his grin was a little too tight.

Lara sized up Scarlett. “Love your work. Especially in Marriage Story. Very relatable.”

Scarlett let out a laugh that was more nervous than genuine. “Thanks, I think.”

Winston, oblivious to the tension, poured tea into mismatched cups. “Anyone for Earl Grey? It’s quite calming.”

Chapter 16

The Tonight Show kicked off as usual, with Margot Robbie and Tom Ackerley chatting about their latest projects. They bantered effortlessly about their life together and the challenges of working in the film industry.

"Tom," Jimmy grinned, "I heard you lost your temper during one of the shoots?"

Tom laughed, scratching his head. "Yeah, I may have threatened to throw a camera out of the window. But Margot stopped me."

Margot nodded with a smirk. "Of course, because if he did, he’d have to buy a new one. And I wasn’t paying for it."

Scarlett Johansson and Colin Jost followed with their trademark humor, swapping anecdotes about marriage and their wildly different schedules. The audience was in high spirits. But little did they know the chaos that would unfold when Alex Finch and Lara Croft-Finch took the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy announced with theatrical flair, “the couple everyone’s talking about—Alexander Finch and Lara Croft-Finch!”

Lara walked out gracefully, dressed as if she had just come from a gala, while Alex trailed behind her in his casual, irreverent way, hands stuffed in his pockets. Winston, ever the loyal butler, followed with a teapot, setting it neatly next to Jimmy’s mug on the desk.

“Lara,” Jimmy began enthusiastically, “I hear your latest expedition involved diving into underwater ruins filled with dangerous sea creatures?”

Lara smiled. “Yes, dangerous fish and a couple of crocodiles. But the crocodiles turned out to be quite friendly. I think they’d get along well with you, Jimmy.”

Alex interjected, deadpan: “Only if Jimmy looked like their dinner.”

The audience erupted in laughter as Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Alright, Alex, what have you been up to lately?”

“Teaching Winston how to assemble a UK vz. 59 machine gun in under a minute,” Alex replied casually, to audible gasps from the audience.

Jimmy latched onto the idea. “A UK vz. 59? That sounds like something Margot and Tom might want to try!”

Margot, always game for a challenge, leaned forward eagerly. “I’m in!” she said, while Tom looked far less enthusiastic. “Wait, do I get a manual?”

Alex produced a sleek metal case from under the table and opened it, revealing a fully disassembled UK vz. 59. The audience gasped again.

“It’s straightforward,” Alex said. “If you’re not a bureaucrat, you’ll manage. Even I managed that when I was 19.”

Margot dove into the challenge, while Tom fumbled with a piece of the stock. “Does this… go here?” he asked nervously as Margot studied the bolt assembly with determination.

“Thirty seconds left,” Alex announced, leaning back. “Jimmy, your time would’ve run out three times by now.”

At the one-minute mark, Margot looked up in frustration. “Alright, I give up. It’s harder than it looks!”

Without missing a beat, Alex stepped in. “Move over,” he said, taking the pieces and assembling the weapon in a fluid, precise motion. Thirty seconds later, the machine gun was fully operational.

Jimmy stared in disbelief. “You just… How?!”

Alex smirked. “Practice, Jimmy. And maybe growing up somewhere more interesting than suburban America.”

Next, Jimmy unveiled an old Škoda 100 that had been wheeled onto the stage. “Alright, Alex, you’ve shown us how to assemble a machine gun. But can you start this thing?”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Jimmy, I grew up in places where starting a car like this was child’s play. Kids used to do it for fun.”

Jimmy, ever eager to prove himself, jumped behind the wheel. He fumbled with the ignition for nearly a minute, the engine sputtering but refusing to start. The audience was in stitches.

“Let me guess,” Alex said, walking over, “you’ve never driven a car without a computer doing half the work?”

“Hey!” Jimmy protested. “I’m trying!”

Alex leaned in, turned the key, pressed the choke, and with a quick, practiced twist of the wrist, the Škoda roared to life in under five seconds. The audience erupted in applause.

“See?” Alex said, gesturing at the running engine. “It’s not the car. It’s the driver.”

Jimmy threw up his hands in mock defeat. “Alright, alright, you win. But how many people can you actually fit in this thing?”

“Let’s find out,” Alex replied with a mischievous grin.

Over the next few minutes, Alex managed to cram Margot, Tom, Scarlett, Colin, Jimmy, Lara, and even Winston into the small Škoda. Lara took the front seat with a book, seemingly unbothered, while Alex slid behind the wheel. Winston perched on someone’s lap in the back, looking as dignified as ever despite the absurdity.

“How is this even possible?” Jimmy yelled from the middle of the pile.

Alex chuckled. “It’s a Škoda. Just when you think it’s full, it fits more.”

With the horn honking triumphantly, Alex drove off the stage, leaving the audience cheering wildly.

The internet exploded with memes:

• 🚗 “The Škoda 100: The original clown car.”
• 😂 “Jimmy Fallon learns the hard way: Škoda > Tesla.”
• 🔥 “Alex Finch: Starting old cars and assembling machine guns since forever.”

Jimmy, watching the Škoda disappear, turned to the camera and said, “Next season, we’re filming in Prague. I need to figure out how these people live like this!”

Chapter 17

The Škoda 100, a relic of a bygone era, puttered down 5th Avenue like it had no business being there—and perhaps it didn’t. Loaded with eight famous passengers, it heaved and groaned, its exhaust spewing a thick, acrid smoke into the New York air. Pedestrians covered their noses, but their curiosity was piqued. Who were the lunatics in this ancient, sputtering box on wheels?

Inside, the celebrities were adjusting to the peculiar situation. The cramped cabin smelled faintly of oil and history, and the car jolted with every bump in the road. Yet somehow, the atmosphere was cheerful.

Jimmy Fallon, perched between Margot Robbie and Scarlett Johansson, glanced at Alex in the driver’s seat. “So, uh, how much horsepower does this thing have?”

Alex didn’t flinch. “Forty-five.”

For a second, there was silence—then an eruption of laughter.

“Forty-five?!” Margot doubled over, nearly hitting her head on the low ceiling. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Scarlett was in tears. “That’s less than my lawnmower back home!”

Even Colin Jost couldn’t help but chuckle. “My grandma’s mobility scooter could beat this in a drag race.”

Only Lara Croft and Winston remained stoic. Lara, flipping through her book, didn’t even look up. “It’s not the horsepower that matters,” she muttered, “it’s the willpower.”

Winston, ever composed, added, “And the driver, of course.”

Alex grinned, unfazed by the ridicule. “Laugh all you want. But tell me, how much do you guys spend on servicing your fancy toys?”

The laughter died down as everyone exchanged awkward glances.

“Well, I… uh…” Jimmy began, scratching the back of his head.

“Exactly,” Alex said with a smirk. “Meanwhile, I could rebuild this thing with a hammer and some duct tape if I had to.”

Margot crossed her arms. “Okay, but can it even go uphill?”

“We’ll find out,” Alex shot back confidently.

As the Škoda rumbled along, the thick black smoke pouring from its overburdened exhaust began to attract even more attention. Tourists whipped out their phones, capturing videos and snapping photos. Social media quickly lit up:

• @hipstertravelsNYC: “Only in New York… spotted a Škoda 100 packed with celebs. Is this performance art or just bad decisions? 🤷‍♂️ #VintageVibes #WhatIsThatSmell”
• @carspotterlife: “Rare Škoda 100 in Manhattan. Looks like it’s about to die. Who are these people? Is that Scarlett Johansson?!”
• @realElonMusk: “This is what happens when nostalgia overpowers common sense. PSA: Buy a Tesla.”

On the sidewalk, Beyoncé, in oversized sunglasses and a designer trench coat, paused mid-stride. She turned to Jay-Z, who was holding a coffee. “Is that… Scarlett Johansson in that death trap?”

Jay-Z squinted. “Looks like it. And… is that Jimmy Fallon? What the hell?”

Even Taylor Swift, stepping out of a nearby building with her entourage, stopped to watch as the Škoda chugged by. She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned for them? That car looks like it runs on prayers and duct tape.”

“Alex, I think you’re gassing the entire city,” Colin joked, fanning the air in front of him.

“That’s just character,” Alex replied, nonchalant.

“You keep saying that,” Scarlett chimed in, “but I think I’m developing lung problems back here.”

Winston, still balancing his teapot, interjected. “The smoke does remind me of the fog in London. Quite nostalgic, really.”

Jimmy leaned forward, coughing theatrically. “Nostalgic for who? Victorian chimney sweeps?”

Lara, unfazed, flipped another page in her book. “It’s better than some tombs I’ve been in.”

Margot tapped Alex on the shoulder. “Can’t you fix the smoke?”

“Not with you lot weighing it down,” Alex retorted.

“Ouch,” Margot said, pretending to be offended.

Scarlett grinned. “Well, at least we’re not going unnoticed.”

As the Škoda approached Times Square, the traffic thickened, but Alex navigated with ease. The car sputtered and groaned, but it never stopped, defying everyone’s expectations.

Outside, the gawkers had multiplied. Paparazzi sprinted alongside, their cameras clicking furiously. Tourists waved, some even cheering as the unlikely procession made its way through the city.

“You know,” Jimmy said, looking out the window, “I think this car is more famous than any of us right now.”

Alex smirked. “Told you. It’s not the car; it’s the driver.”

Margot rolled her eyes. “Alright, Mr. Bond. Just don’t stall it in the middle of the square, okay?”

“Relax,” Alex said. “This car’s been through worse.”

As they passed a giant screen flashing an ad for a luxury SUV, the Škoda coughed out another plume of smoke, almost as if mocking the modern world.

“Did… did it just insult that ad?” Colin asked, laughing.

“It has taste,” Alex replied.

By the time the Škoda reached the edge of the city, the atmosphere inside was jubilant. What had started as an odd experiment had turned into an unforgettable adventure.

“Alright,” Alex announced, pulling over briefly. “Time to get everyone in properly.”

In a feat of engineering—and sheer willpower—Alex managed to cram all eight passengers, including himself and Winston, back into the tiny car. Legs were folded, elbows were squished, but somehow, it worked.

“Is this even legal?” Scarlett asked, her voice muffled as she squished into Colin.

“Probably not,” Alex replied, revving the engine. “But who’s going to stop us? The cops?”

As the Škoda roared—or rather, wheezed—into the night, the city watched, bewildered and amused. It was a scene no one would forget: seven famous faces packed into a car with less horsepower than a modern vacuum cleaner, laughing and joking like old friends as they disappeared into the glow of New York’s lights.

Somewhere, a tweet went viral: “The Škoda 100. Proof that fame doesn’t need a Ferrari.”

Chapter 18

The Škoda 100 rolled up to the curb outside an upscale Manhattan restaurant, its engine sputtering slightly under the weight of its illustrious passengers. Despite its humble appearance, the little car had managed to turn heads all across New York, not least because of the seven famous faces crammed into its cabin. As they climbed out one by one, a familiar voice suddenly broke the evening calm.

“Unbelievable! Look at this!”

A notorious paparazzo darted out from behind a parked SUV, camera in hand. His grin widened as he recognized the group. Flash after flash illuminated the street as he fired off rapid shots, his excitement palpable.

“Scarlett Johansson, Jimmy Fallon, Colin Jost... Margot Robbie? Oh, this is gold! And in a... wait, is this a Škoda? Are you kidding me?”

Alex stepped out first, standing tall against the barrage of intrusive questions and camera flashes. He calmly opened the door for Winston, who exited with his usual unflappable composure, ignoring the paparazzo as if he didn’t exist. Alex then turned to open the door for Lara, who glanced at the photographer with visible annoyance.

“This is insane,” Scarlett muttered, shielding her face with her hand. “Can we not have one normal evening?”

Jimmy tried to lighten the mood. “Hey, at least he’s not asking what we’re wearing—yet.”

Alex wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He walked directly to the paparazzo, his tone even but firm. “That’s enough. Leave us alone.”

The man laughed, taking a step back but continuing to snap photos. “Enough? Buddy, this is just getting started. Scarlett, could you give me a smile? And Margot, how about a wave?”

Without breaking stride, Alex moved closer, his expression hardening. “This is your last chance. Put the camera down and walk away.”

The photographer smirked. “Or what?”

A moment later, the sound of a fist connecting with a nose echoed through the street. The paparazzo stumbled back, clutching his face as blood began to drip onto his shirt. His camera hit the ground with a dull thud.

“Jesus, Alex!” Colin exclaimed, half-shocked, half-impressed.

“Was that necessary?” Scarlett asked, though she couldn’t hide the faint trace of a smile.

“Absolutely,” Alex replied, brushing off his hands as if the encounter were a minor inconvenience. “Now let’s go inside.”

The paparazzo, still crumpled on the sidewalk, groaned, “You’ll regret this!” Alex didn’t even glance back.

Inside the restaurant, the atmosphere was drastically different—calm, elegant, and far removed from the chaos outside. The group settled at a large table, menus in hand, though the earlier tension lingered.

Jimmy, ever curious, leaned forward. “Okay, Alex, I have to ask—what’s your deal? You’re not exactly the type to punch photographers for fun. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Alex looked up from his menu, pausing for a moment before replying. “Life teaches you a lot when it has to.”

Sensing a story, Margot pressed him further. “Come on, don’t be cryptic. What’s your background? Who are you really?”

Alex exhaled slowly, setting his menu down. “My father died when I was six. Sentenced to a uranium mine for resisting the Nazis during the war.”

The table went quiet. Even Jimmy, usually quick with a quip, was struck speechless.

“And your mother?” Scarlett asked softly.

“She died when I was nineteen. A train hit her bus while she was coming home from work in Bezděčín.”

The silence deepened as the group processed Alex’s words. Margot looked down, fiddling nervously with her silverware, while Colin exchanged an uneasy glance with Scarlett.

“How did you survive after that?” Jimmy finally asked.

“I joined the army,” Alex said plainly. “Spent years there, then became a detective. Did that for twenty-two years before... well, things got complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Colin asked, trying to inject a lighter tone.

Alex gave him a faint smile. “Time travel. But that’s a story for another day.”

The group stared at him, unsure if he was joking or serious. Lara, seated next to Alex, smirked knowingly but said nothing, while Winston raised an eyebrow, silently amused by the reactions.

“Anyway,” Alex continued, “the past is the past. I prefer to focus on the present. Speaking of which, are we going to order, or are you all just going to keep staring at me?”

Laughter broke the tension, and the group began to relax. Their meals arrived shortly after, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics, though Alex’s revelations lingered in the back of everyone’s minds.

After dinner, they decided to pile back into the Škoda for ride.

Chapter 19

The morning sun reflected off the towering glass of the Manhattan hotel as Lara Croft stepped into the lobby, her sharp instincts tingling at the unusual absence of noise. No Jimmy Fallon cracking early-morning jokes, no Colin Jost groaning about subpar coffee, and no Margot Robbie’s exasperated sighs. It was quiet—too quiet.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Jimmy:

“Lara, you NEED to get downstairs NOW. It’s Alex. Again. I can’t. 😂”

Lara sighed, tucking her phone into her jacket. “What’s he done this time?”

When she reached the entrance, the rest of the group—Scarlett Johansson, Colin Jost, Jimmy Fallon, Tom Hiddleston, Margot Robbie, and Winston—were clustered near the massive glass doors. Their expressions ranged from horrified disbelief to barely contained amusement.

“What is it?” Lara asked, joining them.

Margot groaned, gesturing toward the street. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Lara followed her gaze. Parked in front of the hotel, looking as though it had time-traveled straight from the Cold War, was a Karosa ŠD 11 bus. Its bold blue paint gleamed in the sunlight, the massive manual doors propped open like an invitation to chaos. Standing beside it, arms crossed, was Alexander Finch, a picture of smug satisfaction.

Scarlett groaned, rubbing her temples. “He’s completely lost it.”

Jimmy, already filming on his phone, cackled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: The Alex Finch Experience.” He zoomed in on the bus, narrating like a Discovery Channel host. “Behold the rare and ancient Karosa ŠD 11, last seen roaming the wilds of Eastern Europe in the late 20th century. It’s now been domesticated by one very strange man.”

The livestream chat exploded:

• “WTF is THAT?!”
• “Alex never misses. King.”
• “How is this man the main character everywhere he goes?”
• “Gen Alpha will never understand the Slavic bus aesthetic. 💀”
• “Lara looking like she’s about to karate chop the bus.”

Tom, who had barely recovered from the Škoda ride the night before, took one look and paled. “Please tell me we’re not expected to ride in that.”

“Expected? No,” Alex called, overhearing. “Honored? Absolutely.”

Lara stepped outside, raising an eyebrow. “Alex, do you just… collect old vehicles to torture people?”

“This,” Alex said, gesturing grandly to the Karosa, “is not torture. This is history. A Czechoslovakian engineering masterpiece. Built in 1977. Smooth ride, plenty of room, and a manual door system that’s more reliable than half the tech these days.”

Colin peered at the bus skeptically. “Does it have seatbelts?”

“Nope, it's a 1970s coach bus.” Alex said with a grin.

Scarlett threw her hands up. “Of course it doesn’t.”

Jimmy turned the camera back on himself, wheezing with laughter. “I can’t make this up, folks. No seatbelts. Just vibes.”

The chat went wild:

• “Jimmy’s laugh is giving me life rn.”
• “No seatbelts??? Gen Z would rather WALK.”
• “That bus looks like it smells like diesel and generational trauma.”
• “Alex ‘Safety Is Overrated’ Finch.”

Despite their protests, one by one, the group climbed aboard, with Lara taking the lead. Winston, ever composed, inspected the interior with academic curiosity.

“Well-preserved,” he remarked, running a hand along the seats. “A testament to the durability of Soviet-era design.”

Margot squinted at him. “Are you complimenting the bus?”

Winston shrugged. “It’s practical.”

Jimmy took the back seat, his livestream rolling as he narrated every detail. “Guys, the seats are like… cardboard wrapped in plastic. But hey, the windows open manually. That’s luxury, right?”

Scarlett plopped into her seat, immediately gripping the armrests. “If this thing so much as rattles—”

“It’s going to rattle,” Alex said cheerfully, firing up the engine. The Karosa roared to life with a deep, guttural growl, sending a plume of smoke into the crisp Manhattan air.

“Oh, no,” Tom whispered, clutching the seat in front of him.

As Alex navigated the Karosa through Manhattan traffic, pedestrians and drivers alike stopped to stare. Phones whipped out, and within minutes, TikToks were flooding the internet.

• “Not Alex driving a communist bus through NYC. Iconic.”
• “THE Karosa ŠD 11 spotted on Fifth Ave??? Alex strikes again.”
• “Jimmy Fallon, Scarlett Johansson, and a 55-year-old bus. Peak 2032 vibes.”

Inside the bus, chaos reigned. The engine’s vibrations shook the cabin, eliciting gasps and groans from the passengers. Jimmy’s laughter was interspersed with cries of “Oh my GOD, what was that?!” every time Alex hit a pothole.

About halfway to Watkins Glen International, Margot turned pale. “I… don’t feel so good.”

Jimmy’s camera whipped around. “Wait, Margot, no. NO.”

“Pull over!” she managed to choke out before retching into a hastily grabbed trash bag.

The livestream comments exploded:

• “NOT THE BARBIE THROWING UP.”
• “💀💀💀 Margot’s done with Alex’s nonsense.”
• “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Alex!” Scarlett yelled, glaring at him. “This is insane! Slow down!”

“Absolutely not,” Alex replied, pushing the bus to its limits. “We’re on a schedule.”

By the time they arrived at Watkins Glen, Tom was clutching his stomach and bolted for the nearest bathroom. Margot followed, looking green but determined. The rest of the group stumbled out, alternately laughing and cursing Alex.

Scarlett pointed a finger at him. “You’re never driving again.”

“Disagree,” Jimmy interjected, still filming. “This is content gold. Look at the comments!”

• “Alex is unhinged and I love him for it.”
• “Scarlett’s face is killing me. She’s SO done.”
• “This man’s chaos is unmatched. Protect him at all costs.”

When Lara unveiled Alex's birthday surprise—a 1968 Lincoln Continental Lehmann-Peterson limousine—the mood shifted. The group cheered as Lara hugged Alex, her excitement palpable.

“Okay,” Margot admitted, still a little pale, “you might be forgiven.”

The group spent the afternoon exploring the track, but Alex wasn’t done with his Karosa. As they piled back in, Scarlett groaned. “I swear, if anyone throws up this time—”

Alex floored it. The Karosa roared down the track, hitting speeds that seemed physically impossible for a 55-year-old bus. The passengers screamed, clinging to their seats as the bus rattled dangerously.

“THIS IS NOT NORMAL!” Colin yelled over the roar of the engine.

Jimmy’s livestream captured everything, and the comments were merciless:

• “Alex going 160 in a bus older than my grandma.”
• “Colin screaming while Alex lives his best life is peak comedy.”
• “This is the content we DESERVE.”

By the time they returned to the paddock, the group stumbled out, hair disheveled, faces pale, and adrenaline pumping. Alex grinned. “So, round two?”

“NO!” they all shouted in unison.

But as the comments rolled in, and the videos went viral, one thing was clear: Alex Finch and his Karosa were legends, and the internet couldn’t get enough.

Chapter 20

The Karosa ŠD 11 was parked majestically in the golden light of the Watkins Glen International pit lane, its bold, unapologetic presence as much a statement as the people standing before it. Cameras were set, microphones adjusted, and chairs slightly wobbling on uneven asphalt. The cast of the day's events—Alexander Finch, Lara Croft, and their unwitting entourage of celebrities—was ready to deliver the latest episode of Truth, Unfiltered.

The makeshift setup looked almost comical, with the vintage bus looming behind them as if it were the unsung hero of the story. Lara lounged in her leather jacket, her signature look both intimidating and chic, while Alex leaned back in his chair like a man with nothing to lose—because he didn’t. The celebrities, now more participants than bystanders, stood awkwardly off-camera, exchanging glances like they were extras in the most absurd indie film ever shot.

The camera rolled.

“Welcome back to Truth, Unfiltered,” Lara began, her tone equal parts sardonic and inviting. “The show where we don’t sugarcoat reality, because let’s face it, the world is already one giant cavity.”

Alex smirked. “And where we tackle the news like a Karosa tackles Watkins Glen: recklessly, loudly, and with minimal regard for safety protocols.”

The chat lit up immediately:

• “Lara already coming for my soul in the first 5 seconds.”
• “Alex and Lara: The chaotic parents we don’t deserve.”
• “Not them using a BUS as a metaphor for life 💀.”

Lara adjusted her chair and leaned forward, mock-serious. “Tonight’s top story: America’s finest—law enforcement. Or as we like to call it, Everyone’s Getting Arrested, Except the People Who Should Be.”

The chat exploded:

• “OH THEY’RE GOING THERE.”
• “Brace yourselves, the cops are about to trend on Truth’s IG.”
• “Say it louder, Alex and Lara!”

Alex jumped in, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’ve got to hand it to them. America’s police force is so bad at their job, they’ve essentially perfected reverse logic. Arrest the guy selling loose cigarettes? Absolutely. But the guy walking into a school with an AR-15? Nah, let him finish.”

The celebrities, previously cautious about chiming in, couldn’t contain their laughter. Jimmy Fallon doubled over, Margot Robbie covered her mouth in shock, and Scarlett Johansson shook her head, muttering, “Oh my God.”

Colin Jost, ever the comedian, quipped, “I mean, maybe they’re waiting for the school shooter to break a traffic law first.”

The chat was relentless:

• “NO WAY DID HE JUST SAY THAT.”
• “Colin for president 2024, let’s go.”
• “Alex & Lara are holding the US accountable harder than Congress.”

Lara wasn’t about to let the moment pass. “And let’s not forget how efficiently they handle nonviolent offenses. Selling weed? Straight to jail. But if you’re running a pyramid scheme that bankrupts retirees, here’s your country club membership.”

“Don’t forget tax evasion,” Alex added with a smirk. “Unless you’re rich enough to buy a yacht and call it a deduction.”

Scarlett finally spoke up, shaking her head. “It’s honestly terrifying how accurate this is.”

Alex shrugged. “Terrifying, yes. Surprising? No.” He leaned into the camera, his tone deadpan. “Here’s a fun fact: America has over two million people in prison, but somehow it’s still the only country where you can commit corporate fraud and get a Netflix documentary out of it.”

The chat went wild:

• “Netflix true crime meets Wall Street—let’s make it happen.”
• “They’re serving TRUTH on a silver bus.”
• “America: Where the poor get locked up, and the rich get reality TV.”

Lara raised an eyebrow, ready to deliver her next zinger. “But hey, it’s not all bad. At least they’re good at TikTok dances. Nothing says ‘protect and serve’ like a choreographed routine while your neighborhood goes to hell.”

Jimmy, ever the entertainer, stood off to the side and began mimicking a poorly executed dance move, complete with fake siren sounds. The crew erupted into laughter, and even Winston cracked a rare smile.

Alex wasn’t done. “Meanwhile, the actual criminals are out there living their best lives. School shooters, human traffickers, and multi-level marketing CEOs—they’re practically untouchable. Because why focus on real problems when you can arrest someone for jaywalking?”

Tom Hiddleston, usually composed, burst out laughing. “This feels illegal to listen to, but I can’t stop.”

The chat agreed:

• “Alex for king of satire.”
• “Lara just ended MLMs in one sentence. Iconic.”
• “Not even Loki is safe from their wrath.”

Lara decided to pivot, pointing at Margot Robbie. “Margot, how do you feel about playing a cop in a future movie? Think you could pull off the ‘I’m here to protect you but also mildly terrify you’ vibe?”

Margot smirked. “Only if Alex writes the dialogue.”

Alex grinned. “Deal. First line: ‘Ma’am, step out of the car—unless you’re rich, then carry on.’”

The group howled with laughter, and the chat couldn’t get enough:

• “WHERE DO I SIGN UP TO FUND THIS MOVIE?”
• “Alex’s script ideas are dangerous and I love it.”
• “Margot as a sarcastic cop? Take my money now.”

The segment wrapped with Lara delivering a searing closing remark. “At the end of the day, America’s justice system isn’t broken—it’s working exactly as it was designed. And that’s the real punchline.”

Alex nodded. “Except it’s not funny.”

A moment of silence followed, heavy but necessary.

Then, Jimmy broke it. “So... are we still getting pizza after this, or did we just get blacklisted by every restaurant in the country?”

The camera cut to black as the crew erupted into laughter.

Within hours, the episode trended worldwide, amassing millions of views and sparking a firestorm of commentary:

• “Alex and Lara just roasted the entire US justice system. Bold of them to assume they’ll survive the week.”
• “Forget politicians, these two need their own United Nations seat.”
• “I’ve never been scared of satire until now. They’re too powerful.”

Alex leaned back in his chair, giving a slow, conspiratorial grin. “Tonight, we tackle two of humanity’s greatest hits: law enforcement and bad ideas that somehow became government systems. Because why stop at one grenade when you can throw two?”

The chat lit up like a Christmas tree:

• “OH NO, ALEX IS IN THAT MOOD AGAIN.”
• “Incoming roast of the century.”
• “Is this live? I need to see the CIA knocking mid-show.”

Lara chuckled, turning to Alex. “So, Finch, you seem particularly salty today. Care to share what’s on your mind?”

Alex adjusted his chair, leaning forward with the air of a man about to commit social media arson. “You know, Lara, I’ve been thinking. People love to argue about which system is better—capitalism, socialism, communism. But let’s talk about communism. The one system where everyone gets to share… a collective trauma.”

Scarlett Johansson let out a loud laugh, while Margot Robbie covered her face, already losing it. Jimmy Fallon looked like he was bracing for impact.

Alex continued, his tone mock-scholarly. “Let’s start with the classics. Communism in theory: equality, fairness, a utopia where everyone has enough. Communism in practice: Gulags, famine, and enough paranoia to make you think your cat is a spy.”

The celebrities burst into laughter, and the chat was relentless:

• “NOT THE CAT SPY.”
• “Alex just said what every history teacher was too scared to.”
• “As a former communist sympathizer, I feel seen.”

Lara nodded thoughtfully, playing along. “But Alex, don’t you think it’s nice that under communism, everyone gets a job?”

Alex didn’t miss a beat. “Sure. Until that job is ‘breaking rocks in Siberia while your family starves.’”

Even Winston, usually stoic, smirked. Scarlett leaned forward, wiping tears from her eyes. “Okay, but what would you have done in a communist regime?”

Alex shrugged. “Simple. I’d either be in a labor camp, dead in a ditch, or running the black market. Probably all three, knowing my luck.”

Colin Jost, always quick with a quip, chimed in. “Don’t forget the propaganda posters. ‘Alexander Finch: The Enemy of the People.’”

The group erupted into laughter, with Jimmy adding, “Or, ‘Comrade Finch: Fixing Buses for the Revolution.’”

Alex grinned, leaning into the joke. “Yeah, except I’d be fixing them with no parts, no tools, and a rifle pointed at my back. But hey, at least it’s equal suffering for all!”

The chat was relentless:

• “HELP I CAN’T BREATHE.”
• “The most communist thing about this roast is that we’re all suffering together.”
• “Finch for Supreme Leader of Snarkistan.”

Lara decided to push further. “Okay, but let’s be serious. What’s the one thing you think people get most wrong about communism?”

Alex paused, his expression shifting just slightly. “The idea that it ever ‘works.’ Sure, it starts with idealism—‘no rich, no poor.’ But it ends with prison camps for dissenters, starvation for farmers, and secret police for everyone else. It’s not equality; it’s just oppression with extra paperwork.”

The room quieted for a moment, the truth of his words sinking in. Then Jimmy broke the tension, grinning nervously. “So... not a fan of Karl Marx, I take it?”

Alex smirked. “Oh, I’m a huge fan. Without him, we wouldn’t have had a century of cautionary tales.”

The celebrities cracked up, and the chat went wild:

• “FINCH DID NOT JUST SAY THAT.”
• “He’s spitting facts, though.”
• “Karl Marx: The accidental father of every dystopia.”

Margot Robbie, trying to recover from her laughter, asked, “But if communism is so bad, why do people keep trying it?”

Alex sighed theatrically. “Because humans are stupid. We fall for the same promises, the same lies, over and over. And every time, we’re surprised when the result is hunger, paranoia, and a whole lot of unmarked graves.”

The chat exploded again:

• “Bro just summarized all of human history.”
• “I feel like I’m getting a PhD in sarcasm.”
• “Alex Finch: The most dangerous man with a mic.”

Lara, smirking, turned back to the camera. “And that, dear viewers, is why we stick to satire. It’s cheaper, safer, and the only thing left after every government system inevitably fails.”

Alex raised a mock toast. “To satire: the last free market.”

As the crew wrapped the episode, the celebrities were still buzzing. Scarlett turned to Alex, shaking her head. “You’re something else, Finch.”

He grinned. “Just a guy with a mic and a lot of bad ideas to roast.”

The episode went live later that evening, immediately sparking a firestorm:

• “Alex and Lara just dragged communism harder than history books ever did.”
• “This isn’t satire; this is a public service.”
• “Are we sure Alex Finch isn’t a time traveler? He knows too much.”

Within hours, the clip of Alex joking about Gulags while fixing buses for the revolution went viral, racking up millions of views and spawning endless memes:

• A photo of Alex with the caption: “Work hard in silence… or else.”
• A still of Lara laughing: “Equality: Where everyone’s equally miserable.”
• And finally, a trending hashtag: #ComradeFinch

Sitting around the bus later that evening, eating leftover pizza and scrolling through the reactions, Alex smirked at his phone. “You know,” he said, glancing at Lara, “if this whole satire thing doesn’t work out, we could always start our own regime.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “And call it what? Finch-ism?”

Alex leaned back, grinning. “Why not? First rule: No bureaucracy. Second rule: Absolutely no cats named Marx.”

The group burst into laughter, and as the Karosa’s engine rumbled faintly in the background, one thing was clear—Alexander Finch wasn’t just popular. He was a phenomenon.

Chapter 21

The Karosa ŠD 11—a relic of Eastern Bloc engineering—clattered down the freeway, its diesel engine roaring like a half-asleep bear. Inside, Alex Finch sat in the driver’s seat with a look of pure satisfaction, as if this creaky old bus was the chariot of a king. Lara Croft, leaning against the window beside him, looked amused, an eyebrow arched at the sheer absurdity of it all. Behind them, the gaggle of celebrities shifted in their worn seats, trying to ignore the strange smells that wafted from somewhere deep within the bowels of the 55-year-old machine.

They were en route to JFK International Airport, one of the busiest and most modern airports in the world, and they were doing it in what looked like the set of a 1970s road trip movie.

Colin Jost leaned forward with a grin, clearly enjoying the madness. “Alex, seriously. I have to ask—what’s with the Eastern European Mad Max vibe? First a Škoda, now this?”

Alex’s eyes remained on the road, completely unfazed. “This isn’t a ‘vibe,’ Colin. It’s history. Something your Tesla will never have.”

Jimmy Fallon burst out laughing from the back of the bus. “Oh yeah, history and a bunch of health code violations. What’s next, Alex? An ox cart?”

Without missing a beat, Alex shot a look at Lara. “Funny you say that, Jimmy. I might have something even better lined up.”

Scarlett Johansson, attempting to stay upright as the bus hit yet another pothole, deadpanned, “If it’s not a horse-drawn tank, I’m not getting off this thing.”

The Karosa finally screeched to a stop outside a private hangar. The doors clattered open with a dramatic sigh of hydraulics, and the group stumbled out, relieved to be back on solid ground. They watched as the hangar doors slowly opened, revealing a sleek, jet-black Bombardier Global 7500. It gleamed like a jewel against the dull gray tarmac.

Lara’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

Alex just grinned, his arms wide. “Happy birthday, Lara. Consider it a thank you for not murdering me yet.”

Margot Robbie let out a gasp, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Okay, this is not what I was expecting from the guy who picked us up in a Communist clunker.”

Scarlett muttered, “Yeah, from rust bucket to billionaire’s plaything. Classic Finch.”

Lara turned to Alex, her eyes soft with a mixture of exasperation and gratitude. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He shrugged. “That’s why you love me.”

Jimmy started clapping, shouting, “Lara, marry this man! Anyone who goes from a bus to a private jet in the span of an hour deserves a medal.”

The big announcement hit social media a few days later: Alex Finch and Lara Croft were set to co-host a special edition of Weekend Update on Saturday Night Live, teaming up with Colin Jost and Michael Che. Reactions poured in from all corners of the internet, each more excited (and worried) than the last:

“FINALLY! Alex and Lara on SNL?? This is going to be the best train wreck ever.” “If they don’t roast everyone, I’m calling it a scam.” “Lara Croft and Alex Finch—CHAOS DUO UNLEASHED on Weekend Update?? Buckle up, buttercups!”

Backstage, Colin greeted Alex and Lara with a mischievous smile. “I know they say ‘go big or go home,’ but please, guys... try not to get us sued.”

Lara smirked, crossing her arms. “No guarantees, Colin. No guarantees.”

Michael Che leaned in, already laughing. “I’ve got a feeling this episode is going to be the one people remember... or completely regret.”

As the opening notes of the SNL theme played, the energy in the studio was explosive. The camera panned to the four hosts sitting behind the famous desk, the crowd’s anticipation vibrating through the air.

Colin began with his usual calm delivery, “Good evening. I’m Colin Jost.”

Michael chimed in smoothly, “And I’m Michael Che.”

Lara leaned forward, her gaze piercing through the lens. “And I’m the reason tonight’s advertisers are losing sleep.”

Alex smirked, folding his arms. “And I’m here to make sure the FCC regrets ever letting me near live television.”

The audience roared, a mix of cheers and nervous laughter. This was going to be anything but a typical show.

They launched into the headlines with a barrage of scathing jokes and biting satire. Lara tore into corporate hypocrisy, her words sharp enough to draw blood, while Alex took gleeful aim at politicians and law enforcement. Nothing was off-limits, and the crowd responded with wild, cathartic laughter.

Enter Travis Scott and Ariana Grande. The crowd went wild as the two pop stars took their seats at the desk, their smiles a mix of excitement and caution.

Alex leaned back, eyeing Travis with a deadpan expression. “So, Travis... On a scale from 1 to ‘gas station bathroom,’ how much do you actually like using soap?”

The audience erupted, half in shock, half in hysterics. Travis laughed, clearly caught off guard but game to play along. “You know, man, I shower—sometimes.”

Lara jumped in, grinning wickedly. “That’s a relief. Because honestly, the rumors were starting to worry me, I thought You rather play with soap in prison, anyway.”

The crowd roared again as Ariana raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, you two aren’t holding back. Let me guess, you’re going to ask me about my love life next?”

Alex’s grin widened. “Actually, Ariana, I was just wondering—what’s it like writing a song about every guy you’ve dated? Must save on therapy bills.”

The audience howled. Ariana’s jaw dropped in faux shock, but she was laughing, clearly enjoying the absurdity. “Oh, you did not just go there!”

Lara smirked. “Come on, Ari. We’re just here to keep it real. Plus, I think the world deserves to know what happens when you’re not busy organizing... how should I put this... fan appreciation parties.”

The room shook with laughter, a mix of disbelief and delight, while Ariana laughed so hard she had to wipe away a tear. “Okay, okay! You win this round.”

Travis, not to be outdone, leaned toward Alex. “Alright, your turn, Grandpa. Do you even know what TikTok is, or are you still stuck on MySpace?”

Alex’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I know TikTok. It’s that place where people pretend to be funny for likes, right? I prefer my jokes to involve a bit more... intelligence.”

The audience roared again, and the Twitter feed exploded with comments from younger fans:

“#AlexFinch just went full savage on Travis and Ariana 😂” “Gen Alpha here, and honestly, THIS is the energy we need more of. FINCH IS FIN 🔥” “Skibidi Toilet who? We’ve got #FinchRoasts now.”

As the show reached its climax, Alex pulled out a harmonica from his jacket pocket, the crowd erupting in cheers. He leaned into the mic. “Alright, everyone. Let’s bring some real music to this stage.”

Travis stood up, a challenge in his eyes. “Alright, old man, show us what you got.”

With surprising skill, Alex started playing a raucous blues melody, his fingers moving deftly over the instrument. Travis jumped in, freestyling effortlessly over the harmonica’s raw, soulful tones. Lara joined in with a tambourine, and Colin and Michael pounded out a beat on the desk. The result was pure, chaotic magic—a live performance that none of them had planned but everyone loved.

The audience went wild, giving them a standing ovation as they finished the impromptu jam session. The comments exploded:

“THIS WAS THE GREATEST SNL EVER! Finch the Madman did it again!” “ALEX FINCH PLAYING A HARMONICA WHILE TRAVIS SCOTT FREESTYLED? THAT’S MY NEW PERSONALITY.” “Gen Z here: Can we just replace all TikTok influencers with Finch? PLEASE.” “Gen Alpha is LIVING for this roast. This is the energy we needed. FINCH IS GOATED.”

Backstage, as the adrenaline ebbed, Travis slapped Alex on the back. “You know what, man? You’re one crazy old dude.”

Alex pocketed the harmonica with a smirk. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all year.”

Lara chuckled, throwing an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Well, get used to it, old man. I think you’ve got a whole new generation of fans.”

As they left the studio, the wild energy of the night still buzzing around them, it was clear: Alex and Lara were a force to be reckoned with. A force that crossed generations, defied expectations, and made no apologies.

Chapter 22

Lara and Alex returned to Croft Manor with renewed energy, where they continued hosting Truth, Unfiltered. The show was rapidly becoming a cultural juggernaut, a place where no topic was sacred and no celebrity was safe from their sharp and unrelenting humor. With a classic style inspired by the 1970s, Lara always in sleek pantsuits or elegant dresses, and Alex in crisp suits that looked like they came straight from a vintage catalog, they had a certain gravitas that lent a sense of old-world sophistication to their often cynical and biting satire.

Winston, the ever-faithful butler, would occasionally make appearances, elegantly serving tea and refreshments while Lara and Alex traded barbs about the state of the world. These brief, perfectly timed cameos had become a favorite running joke for the audience—and for Colin Jost, who would inevitably express his jealousy every time he called in from his makeshift SNL studio.

Every Saturday, they would connect with Colin for Truth, Unfiltered - Weekend Update. As the broadcast began, the familiar INTERVISION banner would appear, the English and Russian lettering framed by the backdrop of a London skyline. A subtle, nostalgic fanfare echoed in the background, evoking memories of international broadcasts in a bygone era. The whole setup had a retro feel that Alex was particularly proud of—a nod to the vintage communications systems of the 1970s and 80s that still held a place in his heart.

“Good evening, everyone,” Lara greeted, her voice smooth and confident as she adjusted the microphone. “Tonight on Truth, Unfiltered, we’re taking a deep dive into the political cesspool—also known as reality.”

Alex leaned back in his chair, sipping from a glass of whisky Winston had brought just moments earlier. “You know, politics these days make the 70s look tame. I’m almost nostalgic for Watergate.”

Lara laughed. “And to think, they had the decency to actually hide their scandals back then. These days, it’s like they’re auditioning for reality TV.”

Colin, grinning on the split-screen from New York, chimed in. “Oh, come on, guys. Give them some credit. It takes real skill to be so openly corrupt and still keep a straight face.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of straight faces, did you see Senator Dobson’s latest speech? I haven’t seen that level of enthusiasm since I watched paint dry.”

Alex chuckled. “At least paint serves a purpose. Dobson, on the other hand, seems hell-bent on redefining what it means to be a walking disaster.”

Truth, Unfiltered wasn’t just about the news; it was also a chance to skewer the celebrity culture that both fascinated and frustrated their audience. They invited a rotating roster of well-known figures who willingly (or unwittingly) stepped into the ring, knowing full well what awaited them. The guests were a mix of actors, musicians, and internet personalities, each subjected to Lara and Alex’s merciless wit.

One particularly memorable episode featured Timothée Chalamet, who had come to promote his latest movie—a dystopian sci-fi flick that was already garnering mixed reviews.

“Welcome, Timothée,” Lara said with a polite smile as Winston discreetly poured her a fresh cup of Earl Grey.

“Thanks for having me,” Timothée replied, shifting slightly in his chair.

Alex didn’t waste any time. “So, you’re in another movie where you’re staring wistfully into the distance while the world collapses around you. I’ve got to ask, do you have a clause in your contract that requires every film to feature at least one scene where you look like you’re about to cry?”

Timothée laughed nervously, trying to play it cool. “I guess you could say I have a type.”

“Yeah, and that type is ‘existential dread,’” Lara added dryly, causing the audience to burst into laughter.

Colin jumped in from the live feed, clearly enjoying Timothée’s discomfort. “At this point, I’m pretty sure there’s a random dystopia generator that Hollywood uses, and you just get assigned whatever comes out. Spin the wheel, Chalamet’s the lead.”

The chat exploded with memes within seconds—GIFs of Timothée’s pained expressions and mock movie titles like Sad Boy in Space flooded the screen.

Another notable guest was Kanye West, who had recently gone on yet another social media tirade. He had barely sat down when Lara launched her first volley.

“Kanye, welcome,” she began with an almost too-sweet smile. “We’re glad you could take a break from your... artistic endeavors to join us.”

Alex, without missing a beat, added, “I was worried you might be too busy reinventing the wheel, or whatever it is you do these days.”

Kanye laughed, leaning back confidently. “You know, I just do me. I’m a visionary.”

“Ah, yes, the visionary who’s also a part-time Twitter philosopher and full-time shoe designer,” Alex shot back, earning a roar of laughter from the audience.

Kanye was unfazed. “I’m a genius, man. People just don’t get it.”

Lara’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, I think they get it, Kanye. They just don’t agree. But hey, controversy sells, right? Even if it’s... a little unhinged.”

The Gen Z and Gen Alpha fans adored the unfiltered chaos of the show, flooding the chat and social media with their own brand of humor:

“FINALLY, someone’s roasting Chalamet for all those sadboi roles! 😂 #SadboiAesthetic” “Lara serving that 70s look and SAVAGE commentary. Slay, queen! 💅” “Can we talk about Alex giving zero Fs to Kanye? Old man’s got balls! #Legend” “INTERVISION is like vintage Zoom but... cooler? More cursed? IDK, but I’m obsessed.” “SKIBIDI BOP BOP YES YES, Alex and Lara are the chaotic energy we need!” “Truth, Unfiltered is the only reason I’m alive this week. FIN, FIN, more, more, more!”

Each episode featured unpredictable moments where Lara and Alex’s guests often found themselves struggling to keep up with the relentless pace and pointed humor. From fashion faux pas to questionable career choices, no topic was off-limits.

Ariana Grande appeared to promote her latest album, dressed in a sleek outfit that seemed more suited to a night out than an interview. Lara’s gaze was amused but deadly.

“Ariana, darling,” Lara began, “I have to know, are there any topics you won’t write a song about, or is every ex-boyfriend fair game?”

Ariana chuckled, flipping her ponytail. “Hey, I write what I feel. It’s all about being authentic.”

“Authentic, right,” Alex interjected, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because nothing says authenticity like rhyming ‘love’ with ‘above’ for the twentieth time.”

The audience roared with laughter as Ariana shot him a playful glare. “Alright, Grandpa, what would you know about it?”

“Oh, I know plenty,” Alex replied. “I lived through disco. And trust me, we didn’t have to rely on autotune.”

The show’s blend of vintage visuals and modern commentary had struck a chord with fans of all ages. Each episode was a seamless mixture of nostalgia and edgy critique, wrapped in the style of an old-school variety show with a brutally honest twist. Winston’s occasional appearances only added to the show’s charm—his understated British humor and impeccable timing making him an unexpected star among younger viewers.

Colin, in contrast, was the modern face of the collaboration—a reminder that while Lara and Alex brought a sense of old-world elegance, they weren’t above poking fun at the present. He often joked about his envy over Winston, dreaming of a day he could have someone elegantly pour him a drink mid-show.

As the fan base grew, the audience became as much a part of the show as the hosts themselves, their meme-filled reactions often becoming inside jokes that Alex and Lara would reference in future episodes.

Truth, Unfiltered had become a cultural phenomenon, a space where no one was safe from Lara and Alex’s piercing gaze. The show was the perfect blend of elegance and chaos, merging the class of a bygone era with the irreverence of the internet age. It was a place where Gen Z and Alpha met Boomers and Gen X, where the boundaries of taste and humor were pushed to their limits, and where the conversation never failed to be anything less than utterly unpredictable.

And as long as Lara and Alex sat behind that vintage desk, sipping drinks served by a perfectly timed butler, the world would keep tuning in—waiting to see who or what would fall into their crosshairs next.

Chapter 23

The rise of Truth, Unfiltered was unlike anything anyone had expected. What began as a niche web show with a cynical edge quickly became a cultural powerhouse, drawing viewers from across the globe. Every week, Alex Finch and Lara Croft skewered everything from politics to pop culture, their cutting humor and no-holds-barred style gaining fans and enemies alike. It was a show that spared no one, and the internet couldn’t get enough.

The first major viral moment came when Nicki Minaj appeared on the show. It was supposed to be a standard celebrity interview—promote her latest album, chat about her influence, and keep things light. But Alex had other plans. Midway through the conversation, he raised an eyebrow and leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Nicki,” he said, “do you ever worry that future historians might only remember you for... contouring techniques and strategically placed rhinestones?”

The audience erupted in laughter, and Nicki blinked, clearly caught off guard. Trying to recover, she launched into a defense of her “artistic evolution,” but it was too late. Lara cut in, her voice dripping with mock sincerity:

“I mean, I think you’ve contributed a lot to the cultural landscape... mostly by making spandex a global phenomenon.”

From that moment on, memes of Nicki’s stunned expression flooded social media. Fans posted edited clips with captions like, "Nicki thought she was safe, but not from Truth, Unfiltered," and "When you get roasted harder than your own lyrics 🔥." Nicki’s defenders took to Twitter, but the backlash only fueled the show’s growing popularity. In a matter of hours, TikTok was flooded with fan edits, with one particularly viral clip pairing Nicki’s shocked face with audio of Alex’s sarcastic commentary: "Historians in 2100 will be like, 'Ah yes, the era of wigs and glitter.'"

One of the show’s most infamous moments came when they brought on Kai Cenat, the popular streamer known for creating the Fanum Tax—a term he coined for when someone steals food from you, particularly during a live broadcast. It was a running joke in the streaming community, and Kai had become the face of it.

Knowing this, Alex and Lara decided to play the ultimate prank. During the show, they ordered a massive takeout feast live on air. Burgers, fries, pizza—it was a feast that would make any viewer’s mouth water. When the food arrived, Kai eagerly reached for his burger, only to have Alex snatch it right out of his hand.

“Boom,” Alex said, chomping down with exaggerated relish, “you just got Fanum Taxed, Kai.”

Kai’s expression was a mix of shock and disbelief. He lunged for the food, but Alex held him off with a raised hand and a cheeky grin. The crowd went wild, and Lara, ever the queen of timing, sipped her tea and added:

“Consider this the tax on streaming egos.”

The internet lit up with reaction videos, commentary, and jokes at Kai’s expense. Tweets and memes flew in with hashtags like #FanumTaxGoneWrong and #KaiGotServed. Some viewers were quick to point out the irony: "Kai got hit with his own creation, and honestly, he deserved it," while others laughed at Alex’s boldness. On TikTok, Gen Z fans reenacted the moment with their friends, creating POV videos where someone would “Fanum Tax” their food in dramatic slow motion, complete with exaggerated gasps and captions like, "When your meal becomes a meme 🍔💀."

Even Kai, initially stunned, took it in stride. He posted his own reaction on Instagram with a screenshot of the moment and the caption: "I created the monster, and now it’s come for me..."

The most iconic segment, however, came when IShowSpeed, a notoriously chaotic streamer known for his loud personality and viral antics, agreed to an interview. The plan was simple: a few light questions, a conversation about his streaming success, and then a friendly roast. But when Speed confidently said he could “ace any quiz,” Alex saw an opportunity.

“Alright, Speed,” Alex said, sliding a map of Europe across the table, “let’s put that to the test. What’s the capital of Switzerland?”

Speed hesitated, staring at the map. “Uh... Sweden?”

The studio exploded with laughter, and Alex’s eyes lit up with glee. He leaned back, shaking his head.

“Not even close. Okay, how about this—what’s the country directly east of Germany?”

“Umm... Australia?”

At that, Lara let out a loud sigh and covered her face with her hands. “We’re doomed,” she said, half-laughing, half-mourning Speed’s knowledge of basic geography.

But Alex wasn’t done. With a flourish, he unrolled an old, school-style map of Europe on the table and produced a long wooden pointer. “Alright, class is in session,” he declared, smacking the pointer against the table. The crowd went wild, and Speed looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Alex began pointing to countries at random. “What’s this?”

“Russia!”

“No, it’s Poland.”

“This one?”

“Italy?”

“Nope, Austria. You’re really struggling here, Speed.”

Finally, in desperation, Speed began barking—a signature move that sent the audience into hysterics. Alex stood, twirling the pointer like a baton.

“If you bark every time you don’t know something, we might need a kennel instead of a studio,” he teased.

The next day, TikTok was awash with edits and compilations of Speed’s geography meltdown. The most viral video featured a sped-up clip of the entire quiz set to circus music, with captions like, "When you fail so hard you turn into a dog 🐶." Gen Z flooded the comments with laughing emojis and phrases like, "Bro turned geography into a barking contest!" and "If I was Speed, I'd delete my whole internet history after this 🗺️📉."

Every episode brought something new—a scandalous celebrity takedown, a political figure being put in their place, or a clueless influencer getting a dose of reality. Nothing was off-limits, and no one was safe. On Saturdays, they teamed up with Colin Jost and Michael Che for Weekend Update via the classic INTERVISION broadcast. The familiar, old-school banner flickered on the screen with “INTERVISION” written in both English and Russian, and the nostalgic socialist fanfare played as the show began.

“Welcome to another episode of Truth, Unfiltered - Weekend Update,” Colin would say, “where we get to be savages, and I still don’t have my own butler.”

Alex, sipping his tea, would raise an eyebrow. “Well, Colin, that’s what happens when you don’t have a proper British upbringing. Winston, more tea, please?”

Fans loved Winston’s understated appearances, his deadpan expressions as he delivered snacks or refilled glasses in the middle of chaotic segments. They tweeted, "Winston is the backbone of this madness," and "Forget Colin, Winston deserves a raise!" A popular meme featured Winston pouring tea with a stoic face as chaos erupted around him, captioned: "Keep calm and serve tea ☕."

The show’s success wasn’t just limited to the roast sessions. It became a cultural phenomenon, with fans eagerly tuning in every week to see who or what would get the Truth, Unfiltered treatment next. Gen Z viewers flooded TikTok with reaction clips, and Gen Alpha jumped on Discord servers to discuss the latest burns. Their audience spanned generations, from Baby Boomers who appreciated the vintage aesthetic to Zoomers who lived for the chaos and meme potential.

With a billion followers, Truth, Unfiltered had become more than a show; it was a movement—a movement that celebrated raw honesty, embraced controversy, and proved that humor, no matter how cynical, could unite audiences across the globe. The weekly anticipation was palpable, and every episode sparked a new wave of commentary, from heartfelt praise to outrage, keeping Alex, Lara, and their brilliant brand of satire at the forefront of the internet’s ever-churning cycle of viral content.

Chapter 24

Fame, it seems, doesn’t just change people—it amplifies who they truly are. And for Ivan Tůma, formely Alexander Finch, reclaiming his true self didn’t just revitalize his career; it set the stage for an entirely new era of cultural domination. What started as a biting satirical show became a multi-layered entertainment empire. And in true Ivan fashion, it was all steeped in wit, chaos, and the kind of humor that left no ego unscathed.

One particular evening would go down in history as the defining moment of Ivan Tůma’s unparalleled charisma and unpredictability.

The episode started like any other: the retro-modern studio bathed in warm lights, Ivan seated at his usual desk, and Lara perched next to him, scrolling through notes. The show’s iconic intro music played—a mix of 1970s typewriter clatter and autotuned harmonics—which had become so synonymous with cultural commentary that fans referred to it as "The Truth Anthem."

Ivan launched into his signature opening monologue, skewering the latest absurdities in global politics, pop culture, and social media trends.

“Here’s the state of the world,” he declared with his usual deadpan delivery. “Politicians are still lying, influencers are still selling overpriced vitamins, and somewhere out there, a billionaire is trying to colonize space because Earth just isn’t vibing with him anymore.”

The audience erupted into laughter, their applause punctuated by occasional whoops. The energy was electric, and it only grew when Ivan announced the night’s surprise guest: Emma Watson.

Emma walked into the studio to thunderous applause, wearing her signature grace and charm. She hugged Ivan and Lara, then took a seat between them, visibly at ease despite the show’s reputation for unpredictability.

“So, Emma,” Ivan began, steepling his fingers like a school principal about to deliver a mischievous proposal, “you’ve inspired millions as Hermione Granger—everyone’s favorite know-it-all with a wand. Now, be honest: how often do people ask you to do magic tricks?”

Emma laughed. “All the time. And I have to remind them, it’s not real magic!”

“Well, tonight,” Ivan said, leaning in with a devilish grin, “we thought we’d put that to the test. Here’s your chance to finally prove to the world that you can cast spells.”

The audience cheered as an assistant rushed onto the stage, placing a theatrical wand in Emma’s hands.

“Alright,” Emma said, playing along. “What spell should I do?”

Lara smirked. “Something simple, like levitating a chair. Let’s keep it achievable, you know, for the Muggle audience.”

Emma pointed the wand at a chair and dramatically exclaimed, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Nothing happened.

She tried again, waving the wand with exaggerated flair. Still, the chair remained stubbornly grounded.

The crowd chuckled, sensing where this was going.

Emma sighed, throwing her hands up. “You see? It doesn’t work! Why don’t you try, Ivan?”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Ivan rose from his seat, reached into his blazer pocket, and pulled out a surprisingly authentic-looking wand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with mock seriousness, “prepare to witness the most extraordinary magic trick ever attempted on live television.”

He raised the wand, pointed it at the chair, and solemnly intoned, “Expecto… Kaboomus!”

To everyone’s shock—and delight—the wand promptly exploded in a comically large puff of smoke. Ivan staggered back, coughing dramatically as the crowd erupted in laughter. Lara doubled over, tears streaming down her face.

Even Emma couldn’t keep a straight face. She clutched her sides, laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair.

“Alright, alright,” she gasped between giggles. “I admit it—you win. That was brilliant.”

The clip of the exploding wand went viral within minutes. Social media platforms lit up like fireworks, with hashtags like #Kaboomus, #IvanTheWizard, and #GrumpyFisherman trending worldwide.

Fans couldn’t get enough of Ivan’s unexpected charm.

• Gen Z: “Bruh has the RIZZ of a thousand suns. No 🧢.”
• Millennials: “I didn’t think I needed Ivan Tůma doing slapstick comedy in my life, but here we are. Peak TV.”
• Gen Alpha: “GRUMPY_FISHERMAN IS A GOD. 💀🔥💀🔥”

Even Emma Watson joined the fun, posting a selfie with Ivan and Lara on Instagram with the caption: “The most fun I’ve had in ages. Thanks for the laughs (and the near-death experience), Ivan!”

Her follow was a badge of honor that only elevated Ivan’s online mystique. Fans dubbed him “The Reluctant Rizz God,” and the nickname stuck.

Back at home, Lara scrolled through her own social media feed, shaking her head at the sheer absurdity of it all. “You know,” she said, looking at Ivan, who was lounging on the couch with a smug grin, “if the internet finds out you’re married, they’re going to lose their minds.”

Ivan smirked. “Let them. It’ll just add to the legend.”

“Legend, huh?” Lara teased, leaning in closer. “Just don’t forget who really holds the wand around here.”

“Duly noted,” Ivan replied, pulling her into a kiss.

As the camera panned out—because in this universe, even private moments felt cinematic—the sound of their laughter echoed through the room.

In the next episode of Truth, Unfiltered, Ivan faced the cameras with his signature serious expression. “Friends, critics, and everyone who has laughed, loved, or hated this show—I have something to say.” He paused, letting the tension simmer. “It’s time for Alex Finch to retire. My name is Ivan Tůma. It always has been. And from today onward, I’ll be nothing but honest—both on this show and in life.”

The announcement sent shockwaves through the fanbase. Social media exploded with reactions. Millennials and Gen Z hailed it as “raw” and “authentic,” flooding platforms like TikTok and Instagram with clips under hashtags like #WelcomeBackIvan and #TruthReborn. Even the youngest generation, Gen Alpha, chimed in, albeit with their usual mix of emojis and slang:

• “Bro just YEETED his fake name 💀💀 #RealOnesOnly”
• “Ivan is GOAT fr fr. No 🧢.”
• “Slay Tůma, slay. 🔥🔥🔥”

With Ivan’s return to his roots, the Truth, Unfiltered brand entered a golden age. The main show retained its satirical edge, but new spin-offs emerged, each more daring and hilarious than the last.

One breakout hit was History Reimagined, a series where Ivan and Lara explored historical events with a modern twist. Their approach? Brutally honest and relentlessly sarcastic. In an episode about the Soviet Union’s collapse, Ivan deadpanned, “From the nation that brought you Sputnik, Ladas, and breadlines, we now have... imported sneakers and political memes. Progress, comrades.”

Another fan-favorite was Driving the Past, where Ivan taught celebrities to drive socialist-era cars. This series became a cultural phenomenon, blending humor, nostalgia, and Ivan’s unparalleled ability to make even Hollywood stars look hilariously incompetent.

The most iconic moment came when Henry Cavill, Hollywood’s beloved Superman, took on the Trabant 601. The episode began with Ivan explaining the car’s quirks in his usual deadpan tone: “This is not a car. It’s an experience. If you’re lucky, it’ll move. If not, well, you’ve just purchased an immobile monument to East German engineering.”

After 20 minutes of grinding gears, stalling, and cursing under his breath, Henry managed to get the car moving—only for it to sputter to a halt moments later.

“What now?” Henry asked, visibly frustrated.

Ivan, barely suppressing a smirk, replied, “You’re out of fuel.”

Henry searched the dashboard in vain. “Where’s the fuel gauge?”

Ivan’s grin widened. “It doesn’t have one.”

The camera zoomed in on Henry’s incredulous expression as Ivan popped the hood and handed him a dipstick. “You measure the fuel manually, Henry. Welcome to 1960s innovation.”

Social media erupted. Memes flooded every platform, with captions like:

• “Henry Cavill vs. Trabant: The ultimate battle of willpower.”
• “Superman can lift buildings, but he can’t handle East German engineering.”

Gen Alpha summed it up succinctly:

• “Imagine ur car stops and they hand u a giant straw to check gas 💀💀💀.”

Even Henry himself joined the fun, posting a photo of the Trabant on Instagram with the caption: “Fuel gauge not included. #LessonLearned.”

The success of these spin-offs also brought changes to the show’s aesthetics. While Truth, Unfiltered retained its retro ’70s vibe, the set was updated to incorporate subtle modern touches. The iconic typewriter jingle in the intro was autotuned, blending nostalgia with contemporary flair. The studio itself became a hybrid of sleek modern design and vintage charm, with wood-paneled walls, avocado-green furniture, and just the right amount of neon signage to make it feel timeless.

Audiences adored the transformation. As one Gen Z fan tweeted, “This is giving Mad Men meets Black Mirror but, like, in the best way possible.”

With each episode, Ivan Tůma solidified his place not just as a television personality but as a cultural icon. Millennials admired his no-nonsense honesty. Gen Z adored his ability to blend wit with wisdom. Even Gen Alpha, despite their penchant for emojis and abbreviations, respected his unfiltered approach.

Truth, Unfiltered wasn’t just a show anymore—it was a movement. And at its heart was Ivan Tůma: unflinching, unapologetic, and undeniably real.

Chapter 25

It was no longer just a show. Truth, Unfiltered had become an institution. The weekly broadcast, hosted by Ivan Tůma and Lara Croft-Tůma, was a no-holds-barred critique of the modern world, where truth was delivered with biting cynicism and unapologetic wit. If Hollywood had Oscars, the Truth, Unfiltered team had something better: the adoration of the masses and a reputation for dismantling egos with a smile.

One of Ivan’s boldest moves was the decision to allow smoking in the studio’s main hall.

“Why not?” Ivan had said during a live broadcast. “The world’s already on fire. Let’s light up together.”

The crowd roared in approval, and from then on, the smoky haze of cigarettes and cigars became part of the show’s signature aesthetic. For viewers at home, it was a throwback to a time when talk shows had grit, not glossy veneers.

The move was polarizing, of course. Anti-smoking activists fumed (ironically), while older audiences cheered. Gen Z, true to their chaotic tendencies, memed it into oblivion, with captions like:

• “Grandpa vibes, but make it savage.”
• “Smoking is bad… unless it’s with Ivan.”

And the TikTok clips? Ivan didn’t care. “TikTokers aren’t our audience,” he declared. “Our audience has functioning brain cells.”

Then there was Winston, the ever-loyal butler, who had become a celebrity in his own right. Initially a behind-the-scenes figure, Winston gradually took on a more prominent role, serving not just Ivan and Lara but also the live audience during the show.

In one memorable episode, Winston wheeled out an elaborate bar cart mid-monologue, pouring cocktails for the hosts and VIP guests.

“Winston, you’re a saint,” Lara said, sipping her drink.

“Merely doing my duty, madam,” Winston replied with his signature deadpan delivery, which drew applause from the audience.

Soon, fans clamored for Winston-themed merchandise—everything from bobbleheads to cocktail shakers—and Truth, Unfiltered obliged, raking in millions in sales.

The guest list was a carefully curated blend of cultural icons and thought leaders. Hollywood A-listers, authors, musicians, and even controversial politicians found themselves seated across from Ivan and Lara, eager to spar in witty debates.

One unforgettable guest was Meryl Streep, who joined a discussion on the state of modern cinema.

“So, Meryl,” Ivan began, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think of the rise of superhero films? Artistic renaissance or cultural dumpster fire?”

Meryl paused thoughtfully. “I think they serve a purpose, but perhaps the industry’s lost balance.”

“Well said,” Ivan replied. “Balance. Like when you use the bathroom scale to weigh a Marvel script.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and even Meryl couldn’t suppress a grin.

On the flip side, influencers and TikTokers were rarely invited—and when they were, it didn’t end well. One infamous episode featured a TikTok star known for his dancing videos.

“So, you… dance?” Ivan asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“Yeah, man, it’s like… an art form, y’know?”

Ivan arched an eyebrow. “Interesting. Do you think starving artists in the Renaissance considered wiggling their butts in front of a mirror ‘art’?”

The TikToker sputtered, “It’s more than that!”

“Ah, yes,” Lara chimed in, her voice icy. “It’s also contributing to world peace and curing diseases, no doubt.”

Needless to say, the episode became a meme factory, and the TikToker’s career never recovered.

The heart of the show remained its unfiltered commentary on war, politics, and societal crises. Ivan and Lara’s cynicism was matched only by their unflinching honesty.

When discussing an ongoing global conflict, Ivan didn’t mince words:

“Let’s call it what it is—a resource grab. They don’t care about democracy; they care about oil, rare earth minerals, and making sure their yachts stay fueled.”

Lara added, “And while they send young people to die, they’re sitting in luxury bunkers, sipping champagne and pretending to negotiate peace. It’s pathetic.”

The crowd’s applause was deafening, and social media buzzed with clips captioned:

“They’re not saying it; they’re SCREAMING it.”

While the show tackled heavy topics, the studio maintained its unique blend of 1970s aesthetics and modern technology. The backdrop featured retro wood paneling, rotary phones, and vintage typewriters, while state-of-the-art holograms displayed charts, memes, and even live polls during discussions.

Ivan and Lara had become as famous as Hollywood’s biggest stars, if not more so. Their faces graced magazine covers, their quotes became rallying cries, and their show was a must-watch for anyone seeking truth wrapped in wit.

Even celebrities who weren’t invited clamored for a chance to appear. As one anonymous actor confessed in an interview:

“Getting roasted by Ivan Tůma is like a badge of honor. It means you’ve made it.”

But through it all, Ivan and Lara remained grounded.

“I’m just a fisherman with a microphone,” Ivan often joked.

“And I’m just his wife, here to keep him from getting too big-headed,” Lara would quip, earning laughter and applause.

As Truth, Unfiltered entered its next season, it was clear that Ivan and Lara had created more than a show—they’d sparked a cultural revolution. Their cynicism, sharp humor, and fearless approach to tackling the world’s problems had struck a chord with audiences across generations.

Gen Z summed it up best:

“They’re not just spitting facts; they’re spitting fire.”

Chapter 26

The announcement that the entire D’Amelio family would appear on Truth, Unfiltered set the Internet ablaze. Fans of the TikTok dynasty were eager to see Charli and Dixie interact with Ivan and Lara, while skeptics prepared their popcorn, fully expecting a disaster. What no one anticipated, however, was just how chaotic the episode would become.

As the D’Amelios settled into their seats on stage, Ivan and Lara, true to form, lit up cigarettes—Rothmans, of course. Smoke wafted lazily through the studio as Ivan began his opening question.

“So, Charli,” Ivan said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Your career started with dancing, yes? Do you ever feel a pang of guilt that your fame is built on 15-second videos, while others toil in obscurity despite genuine talent?”

Charli blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… I mean, people like what they like?”

Before Ivan could reply, Dixie interrupted, coughing pointedly. “Do you really have to smoke right here? It’s kind of… gross.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Ah, the youth and their delicate lungs. This?” He gestured to the smoke. “This is freedom. Besides, your father doesn’t seem to mind.”

The camera panned to Marc D’Amelio, who was watching the exchange with amused curiosity. “Actually,” Marc said, leaning forward, “I haven’t had a smoke in years. Mind if I…?”

Ivan, delighted, handed Marc a Rothmans and lit it for him with the grace of a seasoned bartender.

“Dad!” Charli and Dixie chorused in unison, horrified.

“What?” Marc replied, taking a drag and leaning back with a grin. “Feels nostalgic."

Charli blinked, her carefully rehearsed smile faltering. “I don’t think that’s fair—people enjoy what I do.”

“Enjoy?” Ivan’s tone was sharp, his brow furrowing. “My dog chasing its tail is more entertaining and requires more effort. Do you even understand what art or skill means? Or are you too busy chasing algorithms like a mouse chasing cheese?”

Dixie interjected, her tone defensive. “That’s so rude! My sister works hard—”

“Hard?” Ivan snorted, leaning back and exhaling smoke. “I’ve seen men working twelve-hour shifts in steel mills with sweat dripping into their boots. That’s hard work. What you do, girl, is prance around like a puppet for the mindless applause of teenagers.”

The tension in the room grew unbearable as Ivan continued his unfiltered critique of the family’s rise to fame. It was Heidi who finally snapped, her face a mixture of rage and indignation.

“Why are you even interviewing us if all you want to do is tear us down? Is it because you’re just a bitter old man who can’t stand seeing young people succeed? You’re nothing but a miserable asshole who’s jealous of my daughters!”

The room went silent. Even Lara, who had heard Ivan’s sharp tongue countless times, froze, her whiskey glass halfway to her lips. Ivan slowly turned his head to Heidi, his eyes dark and unblinking.

“You… miserable bitch,” he hissed, his voice a low growl. He slammed his fist onto the table with such force that the microphones rattled. “You dare lecture me on success? You, who pimp out your daughters’ lives for sponsorships and views, dare call me bitter?”

Heidi flinched as Ivan reached into his bag and, to the gasps of the audience, pulled out a small stack of items.

“Let me educate you,” Ivan said, his voice icy. He placed a faded red book on the table. “This is my Red Book. My communist party membership card. I didn’t want it, but without it, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my job. Do you know what it’s like to live in a system where freedom doesn’t exist? No, of course you don’t—you’re too busy posing for Instagram!”

Next, he placed two identification cards on the table: one for the VB (Public Security) and the other for the Czech Police. “These,” he said, pointing to the IDs, “represent decades of service—real service. Not your phony, ‘oh my God, my life is so hard’ bullshit.”

Finally, he pulled out a weathered envelope filled with photographs. “And now, for the real education.”

He laid out black-and-white images of crime scenes so brutal that the audience audibly gasped. Lara shifted uncomfortably for the first time as Ivan pointed to each photo.

“This,” he said, pointing to one, “is Olga Hepnarová’s massacre in 1973. Eight dead, countless injured. I was there, documenting the aftermath.” He moved to another photo. “Jiří Straka, the 16-year-old serial killer. I interviewed him, staring into the eyes of pure evil. And here—Christmas 1986—Vladimír Lulek. A man who slaughtered his entire family. Do you understand now, bitches? This is what I’ve seen. This is what I’ve lived. And you—” his voice rose as he pointed directly at Heidi, “you don’t even have the spine to face criticism without whining like a pathetic shit!“

As the room sat in stunned silence, Ivan reached into his bag one last time and pulled out his ČZ 50 service pistol. A collective gasp echoed through the studio.

“Don’t worry,” he growled, ejecting the magazine and emptying the chamber. “It’s unloaded, but it’s a symbol of what it means to have responsibility. Responsibility to protect, to serve, and to bear the burden of decisions that most of you can’t even fathom.” He placed the pistol on the table with a sharp clack.

“You,” he said, glaring at Heidi, Dixie, and Charli in turn, “don’t know responsibility. You don’t know struggle. All you know is vanity and greed, and you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

The D’Amelios left the studio in shambles. Charli was in tears, Dixie clutched her sister for support, and Heidi was pale and visibly shaken. Only Marc remained composed.

He approached Ivan and extended a hand. “That was… intense. But I respect you. If you and Lara are ever in L.A., come over for dinner.”

Ivan, still fuming, hesitated before shaking Marc’s hand. “You’re a decent man, Marc. I apologize if my words were harsh. But your family needed to hear the truth.”

Lara, watching the exchange, smirked. “We’d be delighted to join you for dinner—assuming there’s good wine.”

Marc chuckled. “The best.”

By the end of the episode, Charli looked like she wanted to disappear. Dixie and Heidi were seething, but Ivan and Lara paid them no mind.

“Thanks for coming,” Ivan said as the family awkwardly stood to leave. “And remember, Charli—history is your friend. You should try meeting it sometime.”

The audience roared with laughter as the D’Amelios hurried offstage. Marc lingered behind, shaking Ivan’s hand. “That was something else. Let me know if you ever want to come to dinner—Heidi might kill me, but I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Careful,” Lara quipped. “He might bring the cigarettes.”

The episode cemented Truth, Unfiltered as an unstoppable force in entertainment. Headlines praised Ivan’s takedown as both brutal and necessary:

• “Ivan Tůma Schools Charli D’Amelio in History and Humanity.”
• “Socialism Lesson Goes Viral—And Ivan Is the Internet’s New Dad.”
• “#LearnHistoryGirl Trends Worldwide.”

Even Charli’s fans had to admit defeat. One popular comment read: “She walked in thinking she’d win, but Ivan turned her into a meme. Respect.”

As Ivan and Lara celebrated with a well-earned drink backstage, Ivan chuckled. “I think I’ve just become a history teacher for the Internet.”

Lara smirked, raising her glass. “To you, the Grumpy Fisherman of Truth. Long may you reign.”

Meanwhile..

The fallout from the explosive Truth, Unfiltered episode was immediate. Social media erupted, and the D’Amelio family was at the center of it. Memes mocking Charli and Dixie flooded Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok, while Heidi’s name trended worldwide for all the wrong reasons. But it was Heidi herself who added fuel to the fire by going live on Instagram as they drove away from the studio in their pristine white Tesla Model X, cruising down a British motorway.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Heidi started the livestream with a shaky hand, her face still pale and blotchy from the studio debacle. Her voice quivered with anger as she addressed her followers.

"Let me just say this," she began, visibly trying to hold herself together, "what happened tonight was… unacceptable. That man—that monster—shouldn’t even have a platform! Who even lets someone like Ivan speak on television anymore?"

Her anger escalated as the comments rolled in:

• @JusticeForIvan: "Heidi, sit down. He owned you, and you know it."
• @TeamCharli: "Queen Charli deserved better! Ivan is disgusting!"
• @IvanFan420: "Cry harder, Heidi. Ivan = legend."

Heidi, oblivious to the growing hostility in the chat, ranted on. "He had the audacity to call us talentless, to insult my daughters, to disrespect everything we’ve worked for! And then the gun—he brought a GUN onto the set! That’s not just unprofessional, it’s insane!"

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, she seemed on the verge of tears. "I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Who does he think he is, throwing those awful photos in our faces? Those… those horrific crime scenes? What kind of sick person even keeps those?!"

Behind the wheel, Marc sighed deeply, clearly exasperated. “Heidi, maybe you should put the phone down and take a breath.”

She shot him a furious glance. “Excuse me? I’m defending our family here!”

Marc, keeping his eyes on the road, said calmly, “I get it, Heidi. I do. But maybe… just maybe, Ivan wasn’t entirely wrong.”

That hit like a bombshell. Heidi stared at him, her jaw dropping. “What did you just say?”

“I said,” Marc replied, his tone steady, “that maybe Ivan had a point. He was harsh—way too harsh—but he wasn’t lying. You know it, and I know it.”

From the back seat, Dixie exploded. “Are you SERIOUS, Dad? You’re taking his side? That psycho called us trash! He called us untalented losers!”

Charli, staring blankly out the window, muttered, “He said our lives were meaningless… in front of a billion people.” Her voice was small, a stark contrast to her usual confident demeanor.

Marc shook his head. “No, he didn’t. What he said was that you should think about the impact you’re making. There’s a difference. And maybe it’s time we all did some reflecting.”

“Reflecting?!” Heidi snapped, her voice shrill. “Marc, he humiliated me in front of the world. He humiliated all of us!”

Marc’s patience finally snapped. “No, Heidi. You humiliated yourself when you called him a jealous bastard! What did you expect him to do? Sit there and take it? The man has lived through things we can’t even imagine— communism, brutal crime scenes. And you attacked him like he was some internet troll. Of course he hit back!”

Heidi was on the verge of tears now. “He could’ve been… kinder.”

“Kindness?” Marc let out a bitter laugh. “Heidi, kindness doesn’t get you through life-or-death situations. It doesn’t survive communism or the things he’s seen. Ivan’s harsh because the world was harsh to him. And honestly? He’s right about one thing—our family has been living in a bubble. Maybe it’s time we stepped out of it.”

The car fell into a tense silence, broken only by the hum of the Tesla’s autopilot. Charli and Dixie exchanged nervous glances, both clearly unsettled by their father’s rare outburst.

As they sped down the M4 motorway, heading back to their hotel, the tension in the car reached a boiling point.

“I can’t believe you’re defending him,” Heidi muttered, her voice thick with tears.

Marc, his tone softer now, replied, “I’m not defending everything he did, Heidi. But I am saying that we should try to understand where he’s coming from. He even apologized to me after the show.”

“He what?” Dixie asked incredulously.

Marc nodded. “He said he went too far and apologized.I invited him and Lara to have dinner with us. And Hesaid yes.”

The car erupted into chaos.

“You WHAT?!” Heidi shrieked.

“Are you kidding me, Dad?!” Dixie added.

Charli, still staring out the window, finally spoke up. “I’m done.”

Marc simply sighed. “You don’t have to. But I am. Because Ivan isn’t the villain here. He’s just a guy who’s seen too much and doesn’t know how to sugarcoat the truth. Maybe we could learn something from him.”

As the lights of London appeared in the distance, Heidi wiped her tears, still visibly shaken. Dixie furiously scrolled through Twitter, reading the endless memes and commentary tearing their family apart. Charli remained silent, her face unreadable.

Marc, however, drove with quiet determination, his mind already on the upcoming dinner with Ivan and Lara. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but deep down, he felt it might just be the reality check his family needed.

Behind them, the motorway stretched endlessly into the night, a fitting metaphor for the long road ahead.

Chapter 27

The D’Amelio family, still bruised from their public humiliation on Truth, Unfiltered, extended their stay in the United Kingdom. Marc was captivated by Ivan Tůma, his blunt honesty leaving a mark. He found something admirable in Ivan’s unapologetic nature. The women, however, were less forgiving. Charli fumed whenever anyone brought up Ivan’s name, Dixie rolled her eyes at the mere mention of him, and Heidi avoided the topic altogether. Yet, the event stayed with them like a thorn that refused to dislodge.

One afternoon, as the family cruised through the countryside in their rented Tesla Model X, a black BMW 535d overtook them. Behind the wheel was a man in a dark hat, his precise driving style catching Marc’s attention.

“Doesn’t that look like Ivan?” Marc asked, squinting.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dixie replied, though even she leaned forward for a better look.

The BMW turned down a narrow gravel path, disappearing into a wooded area near a shimmering lake. Without hesitation, Marc veered off the main road to follow.

“Dad, no!” Charli protested, gripping her phone.

“Relax,” Marc said, his curiosity outweighing their protests. “I just want to see what he’s up to.”

The Tesla parked at a safe distance, hidden behind a row of trees. The family watched as Ivan exited the BMW, his movements deliberate and purposeful. They gasped when he opened the passenger door for a woman—Lara Croft. Her confident stride and natural elegance stunned the group into silence.

“That’s his wife?” Charli finally blurted out.

“She’s... way too cool for him,” Dixie muttered, crossing her arms.

Marc chuckled softly. “She’s impressive, I’ll give her that.”

Heidi frowned, her eyes narrowing as Ivan walked around the car. “Wait... is he limping?”

Marc leaned forward. “You’re right. Wonder what happened to him.”

The family’s attention snapped back to the BMW’s open trunk. Ivan rummaged through its contents, retrieving a set of collapsible chairs, a cooler, and two fishing rods. But it was the rifle propped neatly inside that drew a collective gasp.

“Is that a gun?” Charli whispered, her voice tinged with both fear and fascination.

“That’s not normal,” Dixie added, her tone rising.

Marc, ever the pragmatist, studied the weapon carefully. “That’s not an AK-47. Looks like... some kind of Czech model? Maybe for hunting.”

Heidi, now visibly uneasy, turned to Marc. “Why would he need a gun to go fishing?”

“Maybe he’s just... cautious,” Marc replied.

The family continued to watch as Ivan and Lara set up their fishing spot. They moved with an effortless synchronicity, sharing quiet jokes that occasionally made Lara laugh. The scene was unexpectedly peaceful, contrasting sharply with the chaos the D’Amelios had experienced on Truth, Unfiltered.

Marc smiled. “See? They’re just fishing. Nothing weird about that.”

But the women weren’t convinced. Charli folded her arms. “It’s weird. Who even fishes anymore?”

“He looks like someone who doesn’t trust anyone,” Heidi said, her voice softening as she observed Ivan. She couldn’t help but notice how carefully he moved, his limp more pronounced as he adjusted his chair. “He’s been through a lot... you can just tell.”

As the sun dipped lower, Ivan and Lara packed up their gear and returned to the BMW. Ivan’s sharp eyes scanned the area, pausing when they landed on the Tesla. He frowned and began walking toward it.

“Dad, go!” Charli hissed, ducking down.

Marc rolled down the window instead, offering a sheepish grin. “Hey, Ivan!”

Ivan tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a small smile. “Marc. What a surprise.”

Marc chuckled nervously. “We were just... out for a drive and saw you.”

Ivan’s gaze shifted briefly to the women in the car before returning to Marc. “And decided to follow me? Interesting hobby.”

Lara approached, her expression curious but kind. “Hello again,” she said, nodding toward the family.

Charli and Dixie exchanged nervous glances, unsure whether to respond. Heidi managed a polite smile but couldn’t hide her unease.

Marc, eager to diffuse the tension, cleared his throat. “Look, I just wanted to say... I think you’re a good man. You say what needs to be said, and you don’t sugarcoat things. That’s rare these days.”

Ivan’s expression softened slightly, though he remained guarded. “I just tell the truth. It’s easier than lying.”

Before Marc could respond, he blurted out, “Have you ever been in a war?”

The question hung in the air. Ivan’s jaw tightened momentarily, and he seemed to weigh his words carefully before replying. “Bosnia.”

Marc nodded, sensing the weight behind that single word.

To everyone’s surprise, Marc extended an invitation. “If you’re free sometime, you and Lara should join us for dinner. No cameras, no show. Just... dinner.”

Ivan glanced at Lara, who gave a small shrug and a smile. “Alright,” Ivan said finally. “Could be interesting.”

As the BMW drove off, leaving the Tesla in its wake, Marc leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

Heidi stared out the window, deep in thought. “There’s more to him than I thought.”

Charli, however, wasn’t convinced. “He’s weird. And that gun? Totally sketchy.”

Dixie nodded. “Yeah, and his wife? Too cool for him. It doesn’t make sense.”

Marc didn’t respond. His thoughts were elsewhere, lingering on Ivan’s single, haunting word: Bosnia.

Chapter 28

The D’Amelio family’s flight back to the United States was steeped in an unusual silence. Marc sat comfortably, scrolling through his phone with a faint grin. His brief interaction with Ivan had left a lasting impression. Here was a man who seemed unapologetically himself, someone who spoke his truth without concern for public backlash. Marc found himself respecting Ivan for that, even if his family was less than thrilled.

Heidi, meanwhile, was lost in thought. Ivan’s limp and the casual way he referenced his hardships—his encounters with the StB, his work on murder cases, his revolutionary activities—stirred something in her. She couldn’t quite place it, but there was an authenticity to him that gnawed at her assumptions.

Charli, however, was far from reflective. She sat cross-armed and fuming, glaring at her phone as if Ivan himself were responsible for ruining her week.

“He’s just...ugh,” she muttered. “Like, why does he even get to have an opinion? He’s, like, ancient.”

Dixie, however, had taken a different approach. For hours, she’d been combing through Ivan’s Instagram account, her intrigue growing with every post. She’d started with his sharp and often hilarious reels—clips from Truth, Unfiltered that showcased Ivan shredding clueless guests, critiquing modern society, or casually mocking TikTokers. But as she delved deeper, the tone of his posts began to shift.

She found an old photo, slightly grainy but full of warmth. Ivan stood with a woman and two small children in front of a Škoda 110 R. The woman, Klára, had a radiant smile that seemed to light up the frame, while Ivan held the boy’s hand and looked at the camera with a rare softness. The caption read:

"1978. Klára, the love of my life, and our children, Adam and Eva, on a trip to Bulgaria. Life was simple, and we were happy. Rest in peace, my loves. Taken too soon, but never forgotten."

Dixie stared at the picture, her chest tightening. The Ivan she saw here—gentle, almost serene—was a far cry from the sharp-tongued, cigarette-smoking icon she knew from the show.

She showed the post to Charli, hoping to share her growing understanding of Ivan.

“Look at this,” Dixie said, holding up her phone.

Charli squinted at the screen. “What even is that car? Is that, like, a Lada or something?”

“It’s a Skhoda, if I see correctly. ” Dixie replied, rolling her eyes. “And it’s not the point. Look at the caption. He had a wife and kids, not only Lara. They’re gone now.”

Charli glanced at the text, her expression blank. “Bulgaria? Where even is that? Isn’t Europe, like, one big country?”

Dixie stared at her sister, dumbfounded. “Are you serious right now? Europe is a continent. Bulgaria is a country in it.”

Charli crossed her arms defensively. “Well, whatever. Geography isn’t my thing.”

Dixie groaned. “Clearly.”

Later, Dixie found a clip from an old episode of Truth, Unfiltered where Ivan had invited IShowSpeed for a geography quiz. The segment started innocently enough, but soon spiraled into chaos.

“So, uh, Germany is, like, next to Russia, right?” Speed said, scratching his head.

Ivan stared at him, his face devoid of expression. “Do you know anything about Europe?”

Speed laughed nervously. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Like, uh, France is next to Africa, right?”

The audience erupted in laughter, but Ivan didn’t crack a smile. Instead, he pulled out a vintage map of Europe and a wooden pointer.

“This is Europe,” Ivan said, tapping the map with the stick. “These are its countries. Not guesses, but actual, existing countries. Let’s start again.”

The segment continued with Ivan giving Speed a geography lesson, complete with occasional smacks of the rákoska against the table for emphasis. By the end, the audience was in stitches, and Speed looked like he’d been through boot camp.

Dixie laughed so hard she had to pause the video. Even Charli, watching over her shoulder, couldn’t help but giggle.

Meanwhile, back in London, Ivan and Lara were packing their bags for their upcoming trip to America. Their collaboration with Saturday Night Live had been a massive success, and they were eager to ride the wave of popularity.

As they packed, Ivan lit a cigarette and leaned against the window, staring out at the city.

“Do you ever think about them?” Lara asked gently.

Ivan didn’t need her to elaborate. “Every day,” he said. “But life doesn’t stop for grief. You move forward, or you let it consume you.”

Lara nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done well to move forward, Ivan. And they’d be proud of you.”

He gave her a small, appreciative smile before returning to his suitcase.

A few days later, the D’Amelio family returned home to California, still processing their encounter with Ivan. Marc couldn’t stop talking about him, much to the annoyance of Heidi and Charli.

“Look, I know he’s a little rough around the edges,” Marc said, “but the guy’s been through hell and come out the other side. That takes strength.”

Heidi sighed. “I get that, but does he have to be so...abrasive?”

“That’s just who he is,” Marc replied. “And honestly? I respect it.”

Meanwhile, Ivan and Lara arrived in New York, ready for their next adventure. Ivan’s first order of business was to find a car. After some searching, he settled on a sleek black Lincoln Town Car Signature Series.

As they drove through the city, Ivan lit another cigarette, the smell of tobacco filling the car.

“This is your idea of subtle?” Lara teased.

“It’s practical,” Ivan replied with a smirk.

The Lincoln glided through the streets, its presence understated yet unmistakable—much like Ivan himself.

In the days to come, their paths would cross with the D’Amelios once again, but for now, they were content to enjoy the quiet moments, the city lights reflecting in their eyes as they planned their next move.

Chapter 29

Ivan and Lara pulled their black Lincoln Town Car Signature Series up to the grand D’Amelio estate. Marc was already waiting at the entrance, dressed in a casual suit, his face lit up with a friendly smile and his hand extended for a handshake. Ivan stepped out, lit a cigarette, and gave Marc a calm nod. Lara followed, offering a polite smile.

"Welcome to our home," Marc said as he shook Ivan's hand. "I hope the drive wasn’t too bad."

"No trouble at all," Ivan replied succinctly, extinguishing his cigarette. He then extended his hand to Heidi, who stood nearby. She attempted a polite smile but seemed visibly uneasy.

Charli, standing off to the side, made no such effort. She crossed her arms and shot Ivan a sharp, indifferent look. Dixie, meanwhile, remained quiet, her eyes lingering on Ivan with curiosity as if trying to figure out the enigma of the man who had embarrassed her family so profoundly yet captivated the public.

As Marc ushered them inside, Ivan and Lara exchanged subtle glances. The mansion was lavish, but compared to Croft Manor, it lacked the old-world sophistication they were used to. Still, they politely admired the décor as Marc led them through the house.

Dinner was served in a grand dining room. The atmosphere started light, with small talk about the weather and travel. Marc tried his best to keep things relaxed, but the tension between Ivan and Charli was palpable. Dixie, on the other hand, seemed eager to break the ice.

At one point, Dixie asked Ivan a question that pierced the surface: “So… Ivan, I saw a photo on your Instagram. You were standing with a woman and two kids next to this… car? Who were they?”

The question landed like a quiet thunderclap. Ivan’s expression softened, but his eyes clouded with sadness. He placed his fork down and took a moment before answering.

“That was Klára, my first wife,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. “The children were Adam, my son, and Eva, my daughter. That photo was taken in 1978 during a vacation in Bulgaria. It was a good time.”

The room fell silent as everyone listened. Even Charli stopped poking at her food.

“And… where are they now?” Dixie asked cautiously.

Ivan sighed, his hands clasping together. “Adam is alive. He lives in Los Angeles. But Klára and Eva…” His voice cracked ever so slightly, and he paused to gather himself. “They’re gone. In 1985, a drunk driver rear-ended their car and pushed them into the path of a truck. It killed them both.”

Heidi gasped softly, and even Charli’s hardened expression wavered.

“I’m so sorry,” Dixie said quietly.

Ivan nodded, his face stoic. “Life doesn’t stop for grief. You learn to live with it.”

Marc, trying to steer the conversation away from the heaviness, asked, “And Bosnia? You mentioned you were there.”

Ivan glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I served with the UN in Sarajevo and Srebrenica in ’95.”

Marc gave a solemn nod, understanding the weight of what Ivan had experienced. The women, however, didn’t seem to grasp the full gravity of those events.

“What… happened there?” Heidi ventured hesitantly.

“Pretty sick shit I don’t want to talk about over dinner,” Ivan replied curtly.

The table fell silent again. Lara placed a comforting hand on Ivan’s arm, and he gave her a grateful glance.

Breaking the tension, Ivan turned to Charli. “Listen,” he began, his tone firm but not unkind. “I owe you an apology.”

Charli’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I was harsh during the show,” he continued. “But you have to understand—it wasn’t personal. You’re young, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I’ve lived through enough to know that the world isn’t as simple as it seems. Sometimes it’s worth stopping to think, to really learn about where you come from and where you’re going.”

Charli didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, she looked as if she might argue, but then she simply nodded, her expression softening just slightly.

After dinner, Marc gestured for Ivan to follow him. “I’ve got something to show you,” he said with a grin.

He led Ivan into the garage, where a gleaming 1965 Ford Mustang sat beneath pristine lighting.

“This was supposed to be Charli’s,” Marc explained, running a hand over the car’s polished hood. “But she doesn’t know how to drive a manual.”

Ivan chuckled. “A shame to waste such a car.”

Marc looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you think you could teach her?”

Ivan considered it for a moment before nodding. “I could. But she’ll have to be patient. Driving a manual isn’t something you learn in a day.”

Marc smiled, clearly pleased. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Ivan, who accepted. The two men stepped outside and smoked in silence for a moment, the cool evening air wrapping around them.

“She doesn’t know it yet,” Marc said, exhaling a stream of smoke, “but she could learn a lot from someone like you.”

Ivan gave a small, wry smile. “Let’s hope she’s willing to listen.”

Heidi prepared a guest room for Ivan and Lara, who thanked her graciously. As they settled in, Ivan sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window into the night. Lara placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently.

He nodded. “It’s just… strange, being here. Talking about Klára, Bosnia… it brings it all back.”

Lara sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort. “You’re allowed to feel it, Ivan. That’s what makes you human.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Lara.”

As they turned in for the night, the D’Amelio household was left with much to think about. Ivan’s presence had brought a dose of reality to their carefully curated world, and it was clear that his story was far from over.

Chapter 30

The morning sun had barely warmed the sprawling lawn of the D’Amelio estate when a loud, shrill honk disrupted the peace. Outside the gates, a vintage Volga 21 stood in all its Soviet-era glory, its chrome grille catching the light. Marc stepped outside, rubbing his eyes, and stopped in his tracks.

“What on earth is that?” he asked, pointing at the car.

Ivan, dressed in a vintage suit and fedora that looked straight out of the 1970s, leaned casually against the car while puffing on a cigarette. “This, my dear Marc, is not just a car. It’s the car. A manual transmission, no power steering, rear-wheel drive—just like your Mustang. Only here, we don’t worry about dents or scratches.”

Marc chuckled nervously, his gaze flickering between Ivan and the Volga. “Looks like it’s been through a war.”

“It probably has,” Ivan quipped, patting the hood.

Marc shrugged, accepting the logic. “Alright. Let’s see what it can do.”

Ivan smirked and turned toward the house. “Charli! Let’s go! Time to learn how to drive!”

Charli emerged reluctantly from the house, looking every bit the modern influencer in a crop top, short denim shorts, and Converse sneakers. Her phone was glued to her hand, her expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief.

“Are you serious?” she muttered as she walked up to the car. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Ivan’s outdated outfit and the Volga. “This… thing is what I’m learning to drive in?”

Ivan exhaled a puff of smoke and gestured to the passenger side. “Hop in. Let’s see if you can even start it.”

Charli rolled her eyes but slid into the driver’s seat, muttering under her breath. Ivan took his place in the passenger seat, adjusting his fedora with exaggerated precision.

“Alright,” Ivan began, tapping the dashboard, “do you even know how to start a car like this?”

Charli’s edgy confidence flared. “Obviously. I can start anything.”

She turned the key, and… nothing happened. The engine groaned but refused to come to life. Ivan watched with an infuriatingly calm expression.

“Care to try again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Charli huffed and turned the key again, her frustration mounting. Ivan smirked. “Tell me, what’s that long thing sticking out of the floor?”

“It’s the gear stick,” Charli snapped.

“And the three pedals?” Ivan pressed.

“Brake, gas… and… uh…” Charli hesitated.

“That, my dear,” Ivan said, leaning closer, “is the clutch. Welcome to the world of manual transmissions. Now, let me show you how to actually start this beauty.”

With Ivan’s guidance, Charli managed to start the car properly and even got it into reverse. The Volga lurched backward awkwardly, sputtered, and stalled. Charli let out an exasperated groan, while Ivan simply gestured for her to try again.

“Driving a manual,” Ivan said as she fumbled with the gear stick, “is about patience and control. Something you might want to practice off the internet.”

They eventually rolled out of the driveway, Charli struggling to keep the car from stalling at every stop. As they cruised through the neighborhood, the distinct vintage Volga caught the attention of several bystanders, including Charli’s boyfriend. He pulled out his phone and began filming, laughing as Charli wrestled with the car.

Moments later, Charli’s phone started buzzing uncontrollably. Notifications poured in—comments, reposts, and mocking messages. Tears welled up in her eyes as she clumsily pulled over, the car sputtering to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” Ivan asked, watching her face contort in frustration.

Charli held up her phone, showing Ivan the flood of ridicule from her peers. “Everyone’s laughing at me. I can’t do this!”

Ivan’s calm demeanor evaporated. His jaw clenched as he stepped out of the car, his limp barely slowing him down as he approached the group of teens filming from the curb.

He grabbed Charli’s boyfriend by the collar and pulled him close, his voice low and menacing. “You think this is funny, kid? Mocking someone while they’re trying to learn?”

The boy stammered, then smirked, “What are you gonna do, old man?”

Ivan didn’t hesitate. His fist connected with the boy’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. The group fell silent as Ivan straightened his fedora and limped back to the car.

Charli stared, wide-eyed, as Ivan settled back into the passenger seat. “What… what the hell was that?”

Ivan lit another cigarette and exhaled slowly. “That’s not a friend. That’s not a boyfriend. That’s a parasite. Do yourself a favor and think about who you keep around.”

Charli opened her mouth to defend her boyfriend but stopped. Ivan’s words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. She sat in silence for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.

“Now,” Ivan said, his tone softening, “are you ready to drive, or do you want to sit here crying while the world keeps spinning?”

With a determined sniff, Charli wiped her tears and restarted the car. This time, it didn’t stall.

“Good,” Ivan said with a small nod. “Now let’s see if you can make it home without killing us both.”

Chapter 31

The morning’s tension had mostly dissipated as Charli started to get the hang of driving a manual transmission. Her hands gripped the oversized steering wheel of the Volga 21, her movements clumsy but improving with each turn. Ivan observed her with a mix of pride and amusement.

“You’re getting it,” he said with a rare smile.

Charli frowned, still struggling with the stiff, unresponsive steering. “This thing steers like a tank. Is it broken or something?”

Ivan chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Broken? No. This is socialism, Charli. Cars like this were the original workout machines. Driving one of these was basically a gym membership.”

Charli rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. Despite her complaints, she managed to guide the car back to the D’Amelio villa without stalling it once. When she parked awkwardly near the driveway, she turned to Ivan. “Thanks, I guess. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Ivan replied, his tone softer than usual.

Inside the villa, Charli immediately sought out her mother, Heidi. “Mom, Ivan punched my boyfriend. And I broke up with him.”

Heidi’s jaw dropped, unsure of how to react. “Wait, what? He punched him? Why?!”

Before Heidi could spiral, Lara stepped in, sipping her tea with a knowing look. “That’s just Ivan being Ivan. He has an uncanny sense of who’s worth keeping around. Trust me, he’s not wrong.”

Heidi shook her head in disbelief but didn’t press further. Dixie, meanwhile, was cautiously watching everything unfold from the window, her eyes glued to the Volga as it rumbled away down the street. “What even is that car?” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Later that afternoon, Ivan reappeared, this time behind the wheel of a more modern vehicle—a Ford Fusion. Charli’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

“This,” Ivan said, gesturing to the car, “is what you’ll learn on next. Easier steering, but still a manual. I pulled some strings to borrow it. Don’t crash it.”

Charli beamed. “Thanks! And I watched a tutorial this time, so I won’t embarrass myself.”

“Well, let’s see if YouTube can actually teach something useful for once,” Ivan quipped, climbing into the passenger seat.

The lesson was going well until they hit a red light at a busy intersection. Charli, caught off guard, stalled the car. Panic set in as she fumbled with the gear stick and pedals, unsure of what to do.

Behind them, a sleek Camaro started honking, the driver impatiently drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“Who’s that?” Ivan asked, his tone darkening.

Charli rolled down the window slightly and peeked out. The honking only grew louder, and her phone buzzed nonstop in her lap. She groaned. “It’s some guy. Probably someone who saw me on Instagram or whatever.”

Ivan clenched his jaw, his frustration evident. “Ignore him. Focus on the car.”

Charli tried to compose herself, but the relentless honking pushed her closer to tears. Finally, Ivan had enough.

He opened the door and stepped out, his limp exaggerated by his frustration. He marched up to the Camaro, his fedora slightly askew.

The driver, a smug-looking young man, rolled down his window, immediately recognizing Ivan. “Aren’t you that guy from Truth, Unfiltered? What’s with the drama, old man?”

Ivan glared. “She’s learning. You honking like a lunatic isn’t helping.”

The man smirked. “Not my problem. Maybe teach her somewhere else.”

Without hesitation, Ivan yanked the door handle, unlocking it. He pulled the driver out of the car, unbuckling him with one swift motion. The young man landed unceremoniously on the pavement, staring up at Ivan in shock.

“Listen, you little shit,” Ivan growled, leaning in close. “If I hear that horn one more time, I’ll make sure you regret it.” He pulled out a Colt Python revolver from his coat and let the barrel gleam in the sunlight. “One more honk, and I'm gonna stick this thing to your ass.”

The man nodded frantically, his bravado evaporating. Ivan holstered the gun and limped back to the Fusion.

Charli was pale, her hands gripping the wheel tightly. “Did you… did you just pull a gun on him?”

Ivan shrugged. “Sometimes people need a little encouragement to behave.” He noticed her trembling and softened his tone. “Look, driving a manual isn’t that hard. You’re getting there. Don’t let idiots like him shake your confidence.”

Charli took a deep breath, nodded, and managed to restart the car. This time, she pulled away smoothly.

They parked at a quaint teahouse a few blocks away. The atmosphere inside was calm, the air fragrant with exotic blends. Over steaming mugs of tea, Charli finally broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?” she began, her voice hesitant.

“Go ahead,” Ivan said, stirring his tea.

“You’re not just some grumpy old guy, are you? There’s… more to you. I can tell.”

Ivan chuckled. “Grumpy, yes. Old, definitely. But there’s always more to people than meets the eye.”

He leaned back in his chair and began to recount stories of his adventures with Lara—their marriage, their travels, the dangers they’d faced together. Charli listened intently, her eyes wide with fascination.

“And then there was Sharon,” Ivan said with a sigh, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “She thought it’d be funny to broadcast my private moments to the world. Fishing trips, fixing up my old Lada… all while she mocked me relentlessly.”

Charli laughed, picturing the scenarios. “Why’d you put up with her?”

Ivan smirked. “Because life’s about finding humor in the absurd. And believe me, I’ve seen plenty of absurdity.”

As they finished their tea, Charli found herself feeling something she hadn’t expected—respect for the man who had, in a single day, taught her more about strength and resilience than she’d learned from anyone else.

Chapter 32

Marc had an idea he was sure would resonate with Ivan. “What do you think about a visit to a military museum?” he asked casually during breakfast. “I know you’d enjoy it, Ivan.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Enjoy? Marc, that’s like asking if a fish enjoys water.” With a smirk, he excused himself and returned moments later, fully dressed in his ČSLA uniform, complete with polished medals.

Charli looked him up and down. “Where did you even get that?”

“It’s called being prepared. Unlike your generation, I don’t throw things away after six months,” Ivan replied, adjusting his hat.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Lara chimed in. “He’s been waiting for a moment like this for decades.”

At the museum, Ivan’s eyes lit up the moment they stepped into the military vehicle section. “Ah, the OT-64,” he said, gently touching the vehicle’s exterior. “The smell of diesel, the clank of tracks, and the freezing nights during drills. Magnificent.”

Heidi scrunched her nose. “You make it sound like a vacation.”

Ivan laughed. “It wasn’t. But it builds character, Heidi.”

As they moved through the exhibits, Ivan explained each vehicle and its purpose, peppering his stories with anecdotes from his service. Dixie, intrigued despite herself, leaned closer. “Did you ever drive one of these?”

“I drove many things,” Ivan replied, “including a Tatra 813 that could tow a mountain if it needed to.”

Marc waited patiently for the right moment. “Ivan, there’s one more exhibit I think you’ll appreciate.”

“Marc, you’ve already won me over. What else could there be?” Ivan followed him to another hall. Above the entrance, a sign read: Museum of Socialist Cars.

Inside, Ivan was greeted by rows of vehicles that shaped his youth: Ladas, Trabants, Wartburgs, Dacias, and Škodas. His face softened. “These weren’t just cars; they were part of life—sometimes life savers, sometimes death traps.”

Then, he stopped. His expression froze as he stared at a small black Škoda 1000 MB tucked into a corner. The license plate, AH 40-23, gleamed under the lights.

Heidi noticed his reaction. “Ivan? What is it?”

“That’s my car,” he whispered, taking a step forward.

“Your car? How can you know that?” Heidi asked incredulously.

Ivan pulled a faded photograph from his wallet and handed it to her. It showed a younger Ivan in his ČSLA uniform, leaning proudly against the Škoda. Beside him stood a dark-haired woman, smiling warmly.

“Klára,” Ivan said softly. “My first wife. This was 1972. My mother bought this car the week before she...” He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion.

Dixie, trying to break the silence, asked, “What happened to her?”

“She was hit by a train on her way home from work. July 28, 1969. A week after buying this car.” Ivan placed his hand gently on the Škoda’s hood.

The room fell silent. Even Marc, normally quick with a joke, stayed quiet.

As Ivan stood by the car, a crowd began to gather, snapping photos and recording videos. Soon, social media exploded with posts:

• @historybuffs42: “OMG, Ivan Tůma just found his actual car from 1972 at a museum! 😱 #TruthUnfiltered #HistoryInTheFlesh 🚗✨”
• @carlover77: “That Škoda is a national treasure now. So much history in one car. ❤️🔥 #IvanLegend”
• @genZ_memes: “Yo, the guy from Truth, Unfiltered found his old whip. Respect. 🙌”

Charli, scrolling through her phone, laughed. “Ivan, you’re trending again. Everyone’s talking about this.”

Some of the most notable comments included:

• Taylor Swift: “A beautiful and emotional story. History truly comes alive through Ivan. 💔🚗”
• Emma Watson: “What a powerful reminder of the ties between people and objects. This moved me deeply. 🌟”
• Joe Biden: “Remarkable story, Ivan. It’s moments like these that connect generations. 🇺🇸🤝🇨🇿”
• Sabina Carpenter: “Even after what you did to me on Truth, Unfiltered, I can’t help but admire this moment. Truly touching. 🙏”
• IShowSpeed: “YO, THAT CAR CRAZY. IVAN IS WILD 🔥🔥🔥”

Heidi couldn’t stop smiling. “You’ve got everyone’s attention, Ivan.”

The museum curator approached nervously. “Mr. Tůma, would you consider signing the car? It’s already becoming an attraction.”

Ivan hesitated before nodding. With a flourish, he wrote his name on the hood, followed by the words: For Klára. The crowd cheered as cameras clicked.

Later that evening, as the family gathered in the living room, Heidi handed Ivan the photograph. “Klára was beautiful.”

“She was,” Ivan said quietly. “You remind me of her in some ways.”

Charli, scrolling through comments, burst out laughing. “Listen to this: ‘Ivan’s Škoda deserves its own episode of Truth, Unfiltered.’ Another one says, ‘That car has seen more history than most people.’”

“I think it deserves a rest,” Ivan said with a chuckle. “Just like me.”

Dixie tilted her head. “So what’s next?”

Ivan smirked. “Next? We teach Charli how to drive properly without stalling. Then, maybe, I’ll let her touch my cars.”

Everyone groaned and laughed, the perfect end to an unforgettable day.

Chapter 33

Ivan and Lara found themselves in a packed cultural hall, preparing for what could be their most daring and controversial episode of Truth, Unfiltered. This time, they had partnered with Saturday Night Live, bringing together their no-holds-barred style with the iconic show’s sharp humor. Onstage with them were Colin Jost and Michael Che, and everyone knew the night would be unforgettable—or outright incendiary.

“Welcome to Truth, Unfiltered—where you’ll laugh, cry, and maybe rethink your entire worldview,” Lara began with a sly grin. “Or, at the very least, reconsider your political choices.”

Michael leaned into his mic. “Or your diet, if Ivan’s going to talk about American cheese again.”

Ivan casually leaned on the podium, deadpan. “That’s not cheese. That’s a biological weapon.”

The audience roared with laughter.

Colin jumped in. “So, Ivan, how’s life in the Czech Republic? What’s it like living in a country where beer is cheaper than water?”

Ivan shrugged. “Healthier. Cheaper. And it never lets you down. Unlike your voters.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, with Lara barely managing to keep a straight face. But things were about to get much heavier.

The conversation turned toward global issues. Colin, now serious, asked, “Ivan, Lara, what’s your take on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Everyone’s talking about it, but no one seems to agree on anything.”

Ivan paused, his usual humor replaced by a rare solemnity. “I never thought I’d give what sounds like political advice, but here it is: don’t support either side.”

The room fell silent.

“I’ve seen horrors,” Ivan continued, his voice low and measured. “In Bosnia. In the former Yugoslavia. I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. But what’s happening there? Both sides committing atrocities that make you question if humanity is worth saving. It’s not about who’s right—it’s about who’s still alive.”

Lara nodded. “It’s easy to pick a side when you’re safe at home. But the reality is, this isn’t a war of heroes and villains. It’s innocent people being crushed by powers far beyond them. And that’s the truth.”

Online reactions were instant and explosive:

• @PeaceNow: “Finally, someone with the guts to say what we all know deep down. Both sides are guilty, and the people are suffering. 🙏”
• @VeteranReality: “Ivan’s been there. He knows what war is. This is the real talk we need. ✊”
• @FreePalestine69: “Ivan is just another shill for Zionist propaganda. Palestine WILL be free! 🇵🇸🔥”
• @ZionistForever: “Typical leftist nonsense. Israel has the right to defend itself. #StandWithIsrael 🇮🇱”
• @WarIsHell: “You’re all idiots. War doesn’t have sides. It just has victims. Wake up.”

And, of course, the absurd and hateful comments rolled in too:

• @KeyboardWarrior88: “This is why communism failed, Ivan. Keep your socialist mouth shut. 👎”
• @FreeTheWorld: “Lara’s hot but clueless. Stick to raiding tombs, sweetheart.”
• @IvanTheClown: “Didn’t this guy fix cars in some Soviet hellhole? Who cares what he thinks?”

Despite the chaos online, the live audience responded with thunderous applause.

Later in the show, things took a lighter turn as Hollywood star Alicia Vikander, the actress behind the modern Tomb Raider films, joined the stage. Everyone knew this meeting of the two “Laras” would be memorable.

“Alicia,” Lara started, her tone teasing, “what’s it like playing me?”

Alicia laughed nervously. “I was told this might come up. Let’s just say, intimidating?”

Ivan chimed in, deadpan as always. “So when your Croft gets stuck on a desert island, does she fix a Trabant, or just wait for an Uber?”

The crowd erupted. Alicia tried to respond but couldn’t contain her laughter. “I mean, I—uh—I don’t think a Trabant would be on the island.”

Lara smirked. “Exactly. But you did great—just remember, being Lara Croft isn’t just about surviving explosions. It’s about surviving Slapy Reservoir. I doubt you’d make it.”

Social media went wild:

• @MovieFan99: “Alicia and Lara together? ICONIC. ❤️🔥”
• @RealCroftFan: “Lara calling out Hollywood. I LIVE for this. 😂”
• @TombRaiderLover: “Can we get a movie where Alicia and Lara team up? PLEASE!”

The next day, Ivan received an unexpected email from MotorTrend. They wanted him to showcase his now-famous Škoda 1000 MB. Lara read the email aloud, unable to stop giggling.

“‘We believe your car represents not just history, but an ethos of ingenuity and survival. Would you join us for an episode?’” she quoted. “Ivan, you’re officially a car influencer.”

The online reaction to the news was as ridiculous as expected:

• @CarFanatic: “Ivan Tůma driving a Škoda on MotorTrend? TAKE MY MONEY. 🚗🔥”
• @TaylorSwift: “That car is incredible. What a story. ❤️”
• @EmmaWatson: “Ivan and Lara never fail to inspire. Amazing work!”
• @FreePalestineGuyAgain: “This is just a distraction from the REAL issues. Free Palestine!”
• @RandomHater: “I don’t care about some old car. Get over yourself, Ivan.”

But the episode became an instant classic. Ivan, ever humble, simply ended the show with a trademark line:

“Someone has to say the things no one else will. And if it has to be me, so be it.”

The world kept watching, laughing, and arguing—but that’s exactly what Ivan and Lara wanted.

Chapter 34

In England, Truth, Unfiltered continued its meteoric rise as Ivan and Lara pushed the boundaries of public discourse. The announcement of a special episode featuring Radovan Karadžić and Ratko Mladić ignited a media firestorm. Critics condemned the decision, calling it irresponsible, while others praised Ivan for having the courage to confront controversial figures. The internet, predictably, descended into chaos.

• @GenZHistorian: “Wait… who are these guys? This is, like, history or something, right?”
• @BalkanSurvivor: “Finally, someone with the guts to speak to these men and ask the real questions.”
• @FreePalestineEveryDay: “Why is this relevant? FREE PALESTINE!!!”
• @TankEnthusiast1985: “Ivan in a uniform talking war crimes? Take my money.”

The episode began in a dimly lit studio, with Ivan flanked by Karadžić and Mladić. The tension was palpable. Ivan’s opening words were sharp and direct:

"Radovan, Ratko, you are considered architects of one of the bloodiest conflicts in modern history. Many would say you don’t deserve to be here. Why should people listen to you?"

Karadžić leaned forward, calm but firm. "Because history is not black and white, Ivan. Everyone has blood on their hands."

Mladić, more brash, added, "And because you can’t understand war from the safety of a desk."

Ivan, unfazed, replied, "I wasn’t at a desk. I was in Sarajevo in '95, and I walked through Srebrenica. So don’t lecture me about war.", and showed them a photo where was Ivan wearing UN helmet in Sarajevo, arresting some serbian soldier.

For over an hour, the trio delved into the complexities of the Balkan conflict. Ivan recounted his harrowing experiences with UN forces, painting a vivid picture of the horrors he witnessed. Karadžić and Mladić attempted to justify their actions, but Ivan countered with brutal honesty:

"There are no heroes in war, only survivors—and far too many victims."

As the conversation wound down, Ivan reached for his harmonica. "Let’s end on a note of absurdity," he said. "War divides, but music can unite."

He began to play "E Moj Druže Beogradski," a nostalgic Yugoslav tune. To everyone’s surprise, Karadžić and Mladić joined in, their voices deep and resonant. The haunting melody struck a chord not just with the studio audience but with viewers worldwide.

Veterans from all sides of the Yugoslav Wars began sharing clips, many moved to tears. Internet comments poured in:

• @VeteranOfVukovar: “I never thought I’d see this. It’s like healing through music.”
• @SarajevoSurvivor92: “I cried. I sang along. I don’t know what to feel.”
• @GenAlphaMemer: “IDK what’s happening, but this song SLAPS 🔥🔥🔥.”
• @WokeTwitter69: “Can’t believe Ivan’s harmonica is uniting literal war criminals. Cancel this madness.”

Even celebrities chimed in:

• Taylor Swift: "I’ve never heard this song before, but it’s beautiful. Ivan Tůma is… unique."
• Joe Rogan: "This is the craziest podcast I’ve ever seen. They just casually sang a war ballad. Unreal."
• Adam Sandler: "Okay, I’m not crying. You’re crying."

The next episode took place in England, with Ivan driving a fully restored T-55 tank into the studio. Lara sat perched on the turret, waving to the crowd like royalty.

"Today," Ivan began, gesturing to the tank, "we’re talking about Geneva Conventions—or more accurately, how nobody follows them in a real war."

Lara chimed in, "From chemical weapons to targeting civilians, it’s a grim reality that treaties are often just words on paper."

Ivan elaborated with his characteristic cynicism:

"In Bosnia, Geneva meant nothing. You think shelling hospitals is within the rules? It’s not. But in war, rules don’t matter. Survival does."

The discussion was raw, unfiltered, and utterly captivating. Ivan shared chilling anecdotes from his time in Sarajevo, while Lara provided historical context.

The tank itself became a centerpiece, with Ivan explaining its use in Cold War and post-Cold War conflicts. "This beauty," he said, patting the T-55, "has seen more action than most politicians talking about peace."

The internet exploded once again:

• @MilitaryNerd420: “Ivan Tůma driving a T-55 into a studio is peak humanity.”
• @WarSurvivor93: “As someone who lived through war, this was brutally honest. Thank you.”
• @GenZMemelord: “Me: War is bad. Also me: THAT TANK IS AWESOME 🔥.”
• @FreePalestineWarrior: “How is this relevant? FREE PALESTINE!!”
• @ConservativeDad88: “Finally, someone calling out the hypocrisy of war rules. Ivan is a legend.”

Even Hollywood couldn’t resist commenting:

• Emma Watson: “This episode was powerful. Ivan and Lara are fearless storytellers.”
• Chris Pratt: “Never thought I’d watch a guy in a tank explain war crimes, but here we are.”
• Lili Reinhart: “Wait, people fought wars in tanks like THAT? Wild.”

The dual episodes became cultural milestones, blending raw truth with surreal moments that united veterans, historians, and curious Gen Z and Gen Alpha viewers alike. Ivan’s harmonica performance of "E Moj Druže Beogradski" trended on TikTok, spawning countless covers and memes, while the tank episode ignited serious debates about the relevance of the Geneva Conventions.

For Ivan and Lara, the success was just another chapter in their relentless pursuit of unfiltered truth. As Ivan often said, "If it makes people uncomfortable, then we’re doing it right."

Chapter 35

The Truth, Unfiltered studio buzzed with anticipation. Ivan Tůma and Lara Croft, the infamous duo who thrived on skewering modern absurdities, were about to take on their most bizarre topic yet: Generation Alpha brainrot and the inexplicable rise of viral nonsense like Skibidi Toilet.

Ivan stared at the studio monitor, a montage of Skibidi Toilet clips playing on repeat. His face was frozen somewhere between disbelief and grim amusement. "Lara," he muttered, “this is the apocalypse, isn’t it? I mean, forget war, forget economic collapse. Humanity’s undoing is... toilets singing EDM. This is what Darwin was afraid of.”

Lara, who had been calmly sipping tea, glanced at the screen. “I have climbed mountains, faced ancient traps, and survived mercenaries in the jungle. But this,” she gestured toward the screen, “might be the most confusing thing I’ve ever encountered. Why are the toilets alive?”

Colin Jost and Michael Che, sitting across from them, were barely holding it together. Colin wiped away a tear from laughing too hard. “It’s not just toilets, though. There are, like, urinals and sink people too. It’s… a whole thing.”

Michael leaned in, grinning. “Yeah, Ivan, this is what kids do for fun now. They’re not riding bikes or throwing rocks. They’re watching bathroom fixtures fight.”

Ivan turned to the audience, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “You hear that, folks? Forget nature, forget the outdoors. We’re raising a generation of people whose fondest childhood memories involve porcelain gladiators.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and the internet immediately lit up:

• @GenAlphaStan69: “Porcelain gladiators 💀 Ivan, you’re not wrong.”
• @BoomerSurvivor42: “What the hell is a Skibidi Toilet? I feel ancient.”
• @GenZHistorian: “Ivan’s face while watching this is a whole mood.”
• @FreePalestineAndAnime: “Interesting, but FREE PALESTINE!!!”

The conversation shifted to the broader topic of generational differences. Colin, still giggling, asked, “So, what did you guys do for fun as kids? Before Skibidi Toilet and TikTok, I mean.”

Lara’s lips curled into a small, almost nostalgic smile. “Oh, you know, the usual. Climbing ruins, searching for fossils, sneaking into forbidden archaeological sites. Once, I spent an entire summer cataloging a collection of animal bones I found in a forest. My governess was horrified when I brought them into the house.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… intense. What about you, Ivan?”

Ivan smirked, his eyes lighting up with a mix of nostalgia and mischief. “Well, I wasn’t cataloging bones, I can tell you that. My cousins and I were busy being absolute menaces. Stealing eggs from neighbors, riding motorcycles without helmets, gluing fireworks to teachers’ desks…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, and there was this one time we tried to teach a chicken to fly. By throwing it off a roof.”

The audience gasped, then burst into laughter. Colin nearly fell off his chair. “Wait, wait, wait—you threw a chicken off a roof? Why?”

Ivan shrugged, his tone deadpan. “Science. Or boredom. Take your pick. The chicken survived, by the way. Mostly.”

One parent in the audience raised their hand, clearly concerned. “But… didn’t anyone stop you? Weren’t you afraid of getting in trouble?”

Ivan leaned back in his chair, a wry smile spreading across his face. “Oh, we got in trouble, alright. Teachers threw chalk at us, hit us with sticks, whatever they had lying around. And if you told your mom? She’d hit you too—for embarrassing the teacher. That’s how the system worked.”

Lara chimed in, her tone equally cynical. “And honestly? It worked. You learned not to be an idiot. Or at least, to be a smarter idiot.”

The audience roared with laughter, but one young attendee raised their hand. “But wasn’t that… abusive? Like, wasn’t that just normalized trauma?”

Ivan tilted his head, pretending to consider the question. “Trauma? No, no. Trauma is growing up in a war zone. This was just... life. We didn’t call it ‘bullying’; we called it ‘Tuesday.’ And you know what? It made us resilient. Sure, I never learned math properly, but I did learn how to outsmart a neighbor’s dog to steal apples. And isn’t that more useful?”

As the conversation continued, the internet exploded:

• @GenAlphaConfused: “Wait, kids used to get hit with chalk? And they’re LAUGHING?!”
• @BoomerHumor42: “Back in my day, petardas weren’t just for New Year’s Eve. Respect.”
• @SoftParenting101: “I can’t believe this was normal. No wonder older generations are so messed up.”
• @GenZMemelord: “Ivan Tůma: ‘Trauma is for weaklings.’ ICONIC 🔥🔥🔥.”

To close the segment, Ivan, ever the showman, pulled out his harmonica. “You know, maybe Skibidi Toilet isn’t so bad,” he said, grinning. “At least it’s entertaining. And in a world this absurd, maybe that’s all we need.”

He began to play a chaotic, improvised tune he jokingly titled The Ballad of the Exploding Desk, inspired by his school-day antics. The audience clapped along, laughing and cheering as the music filled the studio.

Lara leaned over and whispered to Ivan, “You do realize you’re just as absurd as the things you criticize, right?”

Ivan smirked. “Of course. But the difference is, I do it with style.”

The crowd gave them a standing ovation, and the internet lit up once again:

• @HistoryBuff420: “Ivan Tůma playing harmonica about exploding desks is peak 2024.”
• @SkibidiStan: “Me: hates war crimes. Also me: LOVES THIS GUY.”
• @TaylorSwiftFan: “I don’t even know who this guy is, but I’d watch him roast anything.”

As Ivan and Lara left the studio, Colin called after them. “So, what’s next? More childhood stories? Or are you planning to roast Minecraft next?”

Ivan turned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, Colin. Why stop at Minecraft? The world is full of nonsense, and I’m just getting started.”

With that, they disappeared into the night, leaving behind yet another chapter of chaos, cynicism, and unfiltered truth.

Chapter 36

When Ivan Tůma rolled into the studio parking lot in his brand-new Lincoln Continental, it didn’t take long for the internet to explode. The choice of a Lincoln—a vehicle most people associated with retirees and corporate funeral processions—was met with a mix of confusion, ridicule, and, in some bizarre corners of the online world, admiration.

For Ivan, the car wasn’t just a choice; it was a statement. A giant middle finger to the predictable luxury sports cars flooding LA streets. Lara, who had always championed Ivan’s eccentricities, seemed somewhat perplexed this time.

“It’s a… good-looking car,” she said hesitantly, running her fingers over the buttery leather seats. “But, um, why this?”

Ivan sipped his coffee, gazing out of the windshield like a sage overlooking his empire. “Because this is stealth wealth. This car doesn’t scream for attention; it earns it. Besides, I’m tired of these noisy European trash cans everyone drives here.”

The internet, of course, had other ideas. Within hours, Ivan’s Lincoln became the butt of countless memes:

• @HotWheelsFanBoy: “Ivan bought a car that screams, ‘I’m late for my HOA meeting.’”
• @GenAlphaTruthers: “How do you say ‘boomer mobile’ in Czech?”
• @NotYourCoolMom: “Who hurt you, Ivan?”

Even the comment sections of car enthusiast pages were ablaze.

• @MuscleManiac69: “Uncle Ivan went full retiree mode. What’s next? Crocs and a Costco membership?”
• @TeslaBro22: “The Lincoln has 5G built-in. Ivan’s probably using it to call his therapist after reading these comments.”

But Ivan, true to form, wasn’t one to let the mockery slide.

Just days later, Ivan posted a Reel that changed everything. In it, the Lincoln, now stripped of its stock components, was reborn as an 800-horsepower sleeper. The video, set to Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries, began with Ivan nonchalantly tossing the factory engine into a dumpster.

“Factory engines are for cowards,” Ivan declared.

The next shot featured a gleaming supercharged V8 being lowered into the engine bay while Ivan grinned like a mad scientist. “Now this,” he said, patting the engine, “is a car.”

The Reel culminated in a dramatic street race against a Lamborghini Huracán. The Lincoln obliterated the Lambo in a straight line, with Ivan sipping his signature black coffee as if the event bored him.

The internet’s collective jaw hit the floor. Comments poured in:

• @Whistlindiesel: “A Lincoln that eats Lambos for breakfast? Ivan, you absolute legend.”
• @RyanReynolds: “If Deadpool were a car, it’d be this Lincoln.”
• @JayLeno: “Sleeper of the decade. Ivan, I’m bringing this on my show.”

One morning, Lara scrolled through Twitter while Ivan sat tinkering with the Lincoln in their driveway. “You know,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “someone just called you the ‘Czech Final Boss of Car Culture.’”

Ivan smirked, wiping grease off his hands. “Good. Let them think that. I’m not here to impress; I’m here to educate.”

The day Anuschka van Lent, the so-called “German Karen”, arrived on their podcast, the stage was set for chaos. A self-proclaimed tastemaker with millions of Instagram followers and an ego to match, Anuschka strutted into the studio in head-to-toe designer, her expression one of mild disgust.

“This is… quaint,” she remarked, glancing around the studio’s minimalist decor. “I expected something more… sophisticated.”

Lara’s polite smile didn’t waver. “We find substance matters more than aesthetics.”

Anuschka sniffed dismissively. “I suppose that’s one way to spin a low budget.”

The tension was palpable even before the cameras started rolling.

The episode began innocently enough, with Lara introducing their guest and Ivan making a half-hearted attempt at small talk. But it wasn’t long before Anuschka zeroed in on Ivan’s communist past.

“So,” she began, her voice dripping with condescension, “you were in the Communist Party, weren’t you? How… quaint.”

Ivan leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. “And you were probably born into a family that thought socialism was a dirty word. What’s your point?”

“My point,” she said, crossing her arms, “is that it’s ironic for someone like you to criticize capitalism when you’re clearly profiting from it.”

Ivan chuckled darkly. “Oh, I see. So we’re playing the ‘call Ivan a hypocrite’ card today. Fine. Tell me, Anuschka, how does it feel to champion feminism while profiting off child labor in sweatshops?”

The audience gasped audibly. Anuschka’s face turned red.

In a desperate bid to regain control, Anuschka pivoted, bringing up Ivan’s relationship with the D’Amelio family. “You’re just riding their fame,” she snapped. “Using them to stay relevant. It’s pathetic.”

Ivan burst out laughing. “Not really. Do you know what’s actually pathetic? Charli once told me I should experience communism, as if she’s an expert on anything beyond TikTok trends. So I taught her something useful—how to drive stick.”

Lara chimed in, grinning. “She stalled, like, a hundred times. Screamed every time the car jerked.”

The internet ate it up. Comments flooded in:

• @CarGuy101: “Manual > automatic. Charli getting humbled is my new favorite thing.”
• @CharliD’Amelio: “Uncle Ivan, I hate you but also love you. ❤️”

As tensions rose, Anuschka snapped in her native tongue: “Du bist ein beschissener Opportunist!”

Ivan, not missing a beat, replied in perfect East German: “Was hast du gesagt? Kannst du das nochmal wiederholen?”

Anuschka’s jaw dropped. “You… speak German?”

“Natürlich,” Ivan said smugly. “But not your watered-down West German. I speak real German—the kind people used while waiting in line for bread.”

Their ensuing argument, entirely in German, became the stuff of legend. Ivan’s rough, pragmatic East German clashed hilariously with Anuschka’s polished, snobbish dialect. Lara, meanwhile, sat back with a glass of wine, thoroughly entertained. Nuki couldn't take it anymore and left the studio. Everybody laughed.

After her embarrassing meltdown on Truth, Unfiltered, Nuki thought storming off would bring peace and maybe even some dignity. Wrong. As she opened Instagram Live to vent her frustration to her followers, Nuki had no idea she was about to become the centerpiece of one of the most absurd historical reenactments of all time. And leading the charge? None other than Ivan Tůma, the man whose sense of humor could cut through steel—and apparently, so could his construction skills.

Ivan, ever the methodical prankster, wasn’t about to let Nuki’s public tantrum slide. After scouring military history books and making a few phone calls to military museums across the U.S., he acquired a collection of iconic Cold War relics: T-55 tanks, M48 Patton tanks, and even props from authentic East German Volkspolizei reenactment groups. Logistics? Not a problem for Ivan. Cement, bricks, barbed wire, a guard booth, and even a vintage Checkpoint Charlie sign were packed into a rented semi-truck.

The pièce de résistance? A fully restored Kübelwagen left as a "gift" on Nuki’s driveway. Ivan’s goal? Recreate the Berlin Crisis of 1961—right in front of her house.

While Nuki was out, Ivan arrived with his crew of reenactors. With military precision, they began assembling a scaled-down Berlin Wall, complete with graffiti like "Die Jugend soll lernen" and "Hier endet der Kapitalismus." Tanks rolled into position, their turrets dramatically aimed at her front door. Historical accuracy was paramount—Ivan even had reenactors dressed as Stasi agents and Volkspolizei patrolling the street.

The finishing touch? Ivan personally supervised the erection of the guard booth, where a reenactor in full East German uniform saluted anyone who dared walk by. For the cherry on top, Ivan left a massive letter shot out of a tank cannon that simply read, in flawless East German dialect:

"Is this the freedom you wanted? Grüße von deinem Lieblingsboomer, Ivan Tůma."

When Nuki arrived home, she froze in horror. Her driveway was now a bizarre Cold War theater, complete with tanks and a piece of the Berlin Wall. A small crowd of locals had gathered, confused yet oddly entertained. Some older spectators were moved to tears at the nostalgic scene. Gen Z TikTokers, meanwhile, started filming everything, slapping filters on the tanks and captioning it "When your HOA gets a Soviet upgrade" or "POV: Boomers strike back."

Her horror escalated when one of the T-55 turrets swiveled dramatically to face her. The cannon fired—not a shell, but a rolled-up letter, which landed with a dull thud at her feet. As she opened it, her eyes scanned the mocking text. She could practically hear Ivan’s voice in every word.

Suddenly, a Stasi reenactor marched up to her, barking in German: "Ihre Papiere, bitte!" Before she could respond, two Volkspolizei reenactors placed her under mock arrest, handcuffing her for the full immersive experience.

As Nuki was marched toward the guard booth, she spotted a familiar vehicle cruising by. A slightly rusted Buick, driven by none other than Ivan himself, who tipped his hat and shouted in broken English: "Enjoy history lesson, ja? Maybe now you think twice before you open big mouth!" He honked twice and drove off, leaving Nuki fuming and the crowd howling with laughter.

The internet exploded. From nostalgic Boomers to meme-loving Gen Z and Alpha, Ivan’s stunt became the defining cultural event of the year.

• One TikTok clip of Nuki being “arrested” by the Volkspolizei gained 10 million likes within hours.
• Historical forums praised Ivan’s dedication to authenticity, with one historian tweeting: "Tůma’s reenactment is the most accurate depiction of Cold War tensions I’ve seen since 1989. Bravo!"
• Even politicians chimed in. A U.S. senator tweeted: "This is what happens when you don’t respect history—history parks a tank on your lawn."

Hollywood couldn’t resist, either. Arnold Schwarzenegger, commenting under a viral video, said: "Ivan Tůma, call me—this is genius. You build wall, I’ll be back." The Rock added: "Forget the Berlin Wall, this is the People’s Wall now."

At Croft Manor, Lara, Zip, Alister, Winston, and Amelia gathered around the TV, crying with laughter. Zip choked out between gasps: "This man turned a suburban lawn into Cold War Berlin. I’m DONE." Even Winston, the eternally stoic butler, allowed himself a chuckle, wiping his glasses and muttering: "Quite the performance, sir."

Ivan’s Berlin Crisis 2.0 became a meme for the ages, inspiring reenactments and viral challenges. Teachers began using the footage in history classes, praising it as an engaging way to teach Cold War tensions. A Smithsonian curator even reached out to Ivan, asking to preserve the temporary Berlin Wall in a museum exhibit.

As for Nuki? She stayed off social media for weeks, only to find herself turned into every conceivable meme format:

• "When you diss Ivan and end up in East Berlin"
• "POV: Your driveway becomes a no-fly zone"
• Emojis of tanks, bricks, and crying-laughing faces flooded every comment section.

Despite her attempts to salvage her dignity, she knew one thing for sure—she’d never live down the day Ivan Tůma turned her front yard into a Cold War battleground.

Chapter 37

Ivan launched into his now-iconic rant about socialist transportation and the infamous toilet paper crisis with such enthusiasm that Lara couldn’t help but bury her face in her hands, already anticipating the chaos that would follow.

“Alright,” Ivan began, pacing the stage with the energy of a man ready to drop a nuclear truth bomb, “let’s talk about the marvels of socialist innovation. Cars that doubled as gym memberships and toilet paper that gave you more splinters than a wooden park bench.”

Lara tried to stifle her laughter. “Ivan, do you really think this is what people want to hear today?”

He stopped, turned to her with a mock-serious expression, and pointed at the audience. “Look at them, Lara. Hungry for knowledge. Or maybe just confused. Either way, I’m feeding them.”

Ivan pulled up a photo of his beloved 1984 Škoda 120 GLS, kitted out with rally lights, alloy wheels, and a Blaupunkt radio. “This,” he said, pointing to the slide, “was my car in 80's. It wasn’t just a vehicle—it was a lifestyle. Want to parallel park? Hope you’ve been doing your deadlifts, because there was no power steering. Every gear shift felt like an arm-wrestling match with God himself.”

Lara burst out laughing. “So your car was basically a manual workout machine?”

“Exactly!” Ivan shot back. “Forget Pelotons and SoulCycle. We Eastern Bloc kids had our own fitness regime. And Trabant drivers? Those poor souls weren’t even in the game—they were just trying not to asphyxiate from their own exhaust fumes.”

A photo of a Trabant appeared on screen, complete with its iconic Duroplast body. Ivan smirked. “Ah, the Trabant. Made from cotton, resin, and the dashed hopes of engineers everywhere. If you crashed one of these, you didn’t need a mechanic—you needed a tailor.”

The audience howled as Ivan mimed trying to fold a Trabant into a suitcase. Lara shook her head, tears streaming from laughter.

As Ivan unleashed his roast, the internet was, predictably, on fire:

• @EasternBlocStan: “My dad just screamed ‘That’s not true!’ while laughing. He knows it is. 😂”
• @GenAlphaMemelord: “A car made of COTTON?! Bro, that’s peak meme material. 🚗🧵💀”
• @LuxuryLover: “Trabant sounds like a DIY IKEA car. 😂”
• @FreePalestineGuy: “How does this help? FREE PALESTINE!! 🇵🇸✊”
• @WokeBookworm: “Ivan’s dragging socialism like it owes him money. And I’m here for it.”

Then came the real highlight of the episode: Ivan’s legendary toilet paper tale.

“In 1989,” Ivan began, his tone conspiratorial, “the only toilet paper factory in Czechoslovakia burned to the ground. No more proper TP. Instead, we got rolls of—how do I put this nicely?—recycled cardboard in disguise.”

The audience groaned in sympathy, but Ivan wasn’t finished. “And one day,” he continued, pausing for dramatic effect, “I experienced the ultimate betrayal. I went to, let’s say, take care of business, and BAM! A splinter. In my arse.”

“IVAN, NO!” Lara shouted, laughing so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.

“Oh, yes!” Ivan declared triumphantly. “A splinter. Right in the rear. I had to explain to a doctor why I couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t keep a straight face either.”

The crowd erupted into chaos. Lara doubled over, shaking her head in disbelief.

The toilet paper story broke the internet:

• @ToiletPaperSurvivor: “Splinters?! I’ll never complain about my 3-ply again. 💀😂”
• @GenZMemer: “Socialism: where your TP is a weapon. 🧻✂️🤣”
• @LuxuryMom69: “Just ordered premium toilet paper as a thank-you for my privilege.”
• @TechBro_101: “Ivan’s butt splinter story > any TED Talk I’ve ever seen.”
• @WokePalestinianWarrior: “This is funny, BUT ALSO FREE PALESTINE. 🛑🚽”

Celebrities couldn’t resist jumping in:

• Ryan Reynolds: “Ivan’s butt splinter saga is the best thing I’ve ever heard. TP movie rights, anyone?”
• Chrissy Teigen: “I can’t. I’m laughing so hard I need to check my own TP supply.”
• Chris Evans: “Splinters?! Ivan, you’re a treasure. 😂”
• Dua Lipa: “This episode deserves a Grammy for storytelling.”

Even historical experts weighed in:

• @SovietHistorian: “Ivan’s TP story is tragically accurate. That factory fire was a national crisis.”
• @HistoryBuff69: “I knew about socialist cars, but this toilet paper thing? New level of nightmare fuel.”

To cap off the chaos, Ivan invited YouTuber Whistlindiesel for a quiz on socialist vehicles.

The first question: “What’s the top speed of a Trabant?”

Whistlindiesel squinted. “Uh… 120 mph?”

Ivan smirked. “Wrong. It’s downhill at 100 kilometers per hour if the wind’s behind you.”

Next, Ivan held up a photo of a T-34 tank. “And this?”

“A tractor?” Whistlindiesel guessed.

The crowd groaned, and Ivan facepalmed. “A tractor?! This is a T-34, the pride of Soviet engineering and the reason half of Europe speaks Russian!”

The episode wrapped with Ivan playing a melancholic tune on his harmonica, staring wistfully at the audience. “Socialism taught us resilience,” he said. “Because if you can survive splinters from your own toilet paper, you can survive anything.”

The internet exploded one last time:

• @GenZHistorian: “Ivan’s episodes are like history class on steroids.”
• @EmmaWatsonFanClub: “Ivan needs a Netflix special. Immediately.”
• @LuxuryLover: “Just bought 12-ply toilet paper. Never risking splinters again.”

As always, Ivan signed off with his signature line: “If it makes you uncomfortable, we’re doing it right.”

Chapter 38

The viral success of Truth, Unfiltered had turned Ivan and Lara into global cultural icons. However, the Netflix adaptation of their lives, Tůma & Croft, pushed their fame to an entirely new level. The series became an overnight sensation, praised for its high-octane action, A-list cast, and surprisingly heartfelt storytelling. Ivan, however, had some very strong opinions about the creative liberties taken with his life.

The show was directed by none other than Steven Spielberg, who brought Hollywood's finest to the project. Tom Cruise starred as a younger, dashing Ivan Tůma, while Angelina Jolie reprised her role as Lara Croft, this time bringing a more seasoned and mature take to the character.

The supporting cast was equally stellar:

• Matt Damon as Winston, the Croft family butler.
• Florence Pugh as a fiery young rival of Lara’s, a fictional character named Evelyn Blackthorn.
• Pedro Pascal as Ivan’s Bosnian contact, a smuggler with a heart of gold named Drago.
• Daniel Craig as Ivan’s communist-era superior, Colonel Novak, portrayed as a morally conflicted mentor.

The show was a masterpiece of cinematic production. But for Ivan, one detail stood out—and not in a good way.

In Tůma & Croft, Tom Cruise’s Ivan zipped through 1980s Prague in a Lada 2101, which the showrunners claimed was a more “cinematic” choice than Ivan’s real car, a Škoda 120 GLS.

Ivan was livid. “A Lada?! I’ve never owned a Lada in my life until now! The Škoda was my pride and joy!”

Lara, scrolling through fan reactions, smirked. “You have to admit, the chase scene on Charles Bridge looked spectacular.”

“Of course it did!” Ivan retorted. “Because they strapped jet engines to that Lada. The real car wouldn’t have made it up the hill to the castle without overheating!”

In the series, the Lada performed stunts that defied logic and physics, from outrunning KGB agents to jumping a canal in Venice. Ivan’s Škoda, on the other hand, was lovingly restored in real life, complete with rally lights and a Blaupunkt radio.

“I wrote a letter to Netflix,” Ivan muttered darkly, “but apparently ‘accuracy’ is too much to ask from Hollywood.”

Ivan’s frustration boiled over into a now-legendary IMDb review:

Title: A Love Letter to Action, But Not to History

Rating: ★★★★☆

*"As the man whose life this show is based on, I must commend the performances—Tom Cruise and Angelina Jolie were phenomenal. However, there are glaring historical inaccuracies:

1. I never drove a Lada. It was a Škoda 120 GLS, and it deserves its place in history.
2. The sirens on the Volga are wrong. Czech police sirens don’t sound like a 1990s New York fire truck.
3. I did not spend my days leaping from rooftops. Most of my work involved deciphering smudged handwriting on police reports.*

That said, the series captures the spirit of adventure, and for that, I am grateful."

The review became a meme overnight:

• @GenZHistorian: “Ivan correcting Netflix like it’s his homework. 😂”
• @LuxuryLover: “Never knew I needed a Škoda vs. Lada debate until now.”
• @PedroPascalFan69: “Even Ivan thinks Pedro Pascal was perfect. Respect.”

The success of Tůma & Croft culminated in an invitation to the Grammy Awards, where the show was nominated for “Best Viral Storytelling.” Ivan and Lara, never ones to shy away from spectacle, decided to arrive in true Eastern Bloc style.

On the night of the ceremony, Ivan’s restored yellow-and-white Volga 24, complete with authentic Czech police sirens, rolled up to the red carpet. The car’s wailing sirens turned every head as the duo stepped out, dressed in Veřejná Bezpečnost (VB) uniforms.

Ivan’s uniform, complete with his original badge, was meticulously pressed, while Lara’s modernized version of the VB outfit added a touch of elegance.

Social media exploded:

• @RedCarpetWatcher: “They didn’t just arrive. They ARRIVED. 🚨👮‍♀️🔥”
• @LuxuryCollector: “Ivan’s Volga is a masterpiece. Where can I buy one?”
• @GenAlphaMemelord: “Czech police uniforms at the Grammys?! ICONIC.”

When it came time to present an award, Ivan and Lara walked on stage to a standing ovation. Lara, ever the diplomat, began the speech with poise:

“Stories have the power to connect us, to teach us, and, in Ivan’s case, to remind us never to use recycled toilet paper.”

The crowd erupted in laughter.

Ivan took the mic, his tone deadpan. “I’d like to thank Netflix for their artistic interpretation of my life. While it’s entertaining, I must clarify—again—that I never drove a Lada. History matters.”

The audience roared as Lara rolled her eyes with a smile.

The Grammy appearance broke the internet:

• @RyanReynolds: “Ivan correcting Hollywood at the Grammys. This man is my hero.”
• @EmmaWatsonFanClub: “Lara’s outfit is everything. But Ivan’s hat? Show-stopping.”
• @LuxuryMom69: “Ordering a Volga. Immediately.”

Even Netflix tweeted:

• @NetflixOfficial: “We love you, Ivan. But the Lada stays.”

As they drove home, Lara looked over at Ivan, who was humming a tune on his harmonica.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked.

Ivan smirked. “It was… adequate. Though I’m still writing a letter to Spielberg about those sirens.”

Lara laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

The Volga’s sirens wailed one last time as they disappeared into the London night, leaving behind a legacy of humor, authenticity, and the eternal debate over Škoda versus Lada.

Chapter 39

The episode of Truth, Unfiltered began as usual, with Ivan and Lara delivering their scathing yet hilarious commentary on the world’s latest absurdities. From the pitfalls of social media trends to the failure of policymakers to comprehend basic economics, the audience was in stitches within minutes.

Lara, ever the sharp wit, smirked at the camera. “So, another billionaire has decided to run for president. Because nothing says ‘I understand the common people’ like owning a fleet of yachts.”

Ivan grumbled, “I miss the days when politicians were only incompetent, not also influencers.”

The audience roared as the duo seamlessly transitioned between topics.

Halfway through the show, the atmosphere shifted as the stars of Tůma & Croft walked onto the set. The live audience erupted in applause as Tom Cruise, Angelina Jolie, Matt Damon, and Pedro Pascal entered, each greeted by Ivan and Lara.

Tom, with his trademark grin, quipped, “Thanks for having us. Though I hear Ivan’s not entirely happy with how we portrayed him.”

Ivan crossed his arms, smirking. “Let’s just say some things were lost in translation. Like my dignity during that ‘army’ episode.”

The actors exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what Ivan had planned.

“I think it’s time for a history lesson,” Ivan announced, reaching behind the set. The tension in the room grew as he produced a Norinco Type 56 assault rifle—a Chinese clone of the legendary AK-47.

The live audience gasped audibly. Tom Cruise leaned back in his chair, his grin faltering. “Wait, is that… real?”

“Yes,” Ivan replied matter-of-factly, placing the rifle on the table in front of him. “This is the weapon your prop department thought I would’ve used in my army days. It’s a fine piece of engineering, but it’s not authentic.”

He turned to Lara, who nodded approvingly, clearly used to Ivan’s eccentric demonstrations.

To the shock of the actors, Ivan then pulled out a SA vz. 58P, the genuine Czechoslovak rifle he had used during his military service.

“This,” Ivan said, holding up the vz. 58, “is what I actually carried. We called it the Pádlo—the Paddle—because of the fixed stock. And unlike the Type 56 or AK-47, this isn’t a Kalashnikov. It just looks like one.”

He placed both rifles on the table, pointing out the differences. “The vz. 58 operates on a completely different mechanism. It’s lighter, more precise, and doesn’t share a single interchangeable part with the AK.”

Angelina Jolie, trying to keep the mood light, asked, “So, why did the showrunners use the Type 56?”

“Because they didn’t care,” Ivan deadpanned. “Hollywood thinks all rifles look the same. But let me show you something.”

To the growing unease of the guests, Ivan opened the vz. 58’s bolt and locked it back. He retrieved a strip of cartridges, feeding them into the rifle from the top, explaining the loading process.

“See this, it has detachable magazine but, you see?” he said, holding up the loaded rifle. “This is how a professional handles their weapon. The vz. 58 was designed for efficiency. Not to look scary.”

Tom Cruise, visibly nervous but still trying to play along, asked, “You’re not going to fire that, are you?”

Ivan didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up, braced the rifle against his hip with one hand, and pulled the trigger.

The studio filled with the deafening sound of thirty rounds being fired in rapid succession. Casings clattered to the floor as smoke rose from the rifle’s muzzle.

The audience screamed, half in terror and half in excitement. Lara remained seated, sipping her tea with a calm smile. Winston appeared from the shadows, offering her a biscuit.

Tom Cruise was pale. “Is this… legal?”

“It’s a controlled environment,” Lara said serenely. “We have all the permits.”

Pedro Pascal, regaining his composure, muttered, “That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen—and I’ve fought Mandalorians.”

Ivan set the rifle down, its barrel still smoking. “And that, my friends, is why the vz. 58 was superior. Smooth, reliable, and it always gets the job done.”

The conversation soon turned lighthearted again, with the actors poking fun at Ivan’s dramatics.

• Matt Damon joked, “So, Ivan, do you bring a rifle to all your interviews, or just the ones with actors?”
• Pedro Pascal added, “I don’t think my contract covered live ammunition.”
• Angelina quipped, “Next time, maybe just show us pictures?”

Even Tom Cruise, still visibly shaken, managed a laugh. “Okay, Ivan, you’ve made your point. I’ll personally ensure the next season uses the Pádlo. Just… no more shooting, please.”

Clips of the episode went viral within minutes:

@GunEnthusiast420: “Ivan firing off a full mag on live TV is the most badass thing I’ve ever seen. 🔥”

@FilmCritic101: “This episode of Truth, Unfiltered just became the greatest crossover event in history.”

@PedroStanAccount: “Pedro Pascal’s face when Ivan pulled the trigger—priceless.”

@GenZMemes: “Lara sipping tea while Ivan goes full Rambo is a whole mood.”

As the show wound down, Ivan turned to the camera with a sly grin. “History isn’t just about stories. It’s about understanding the tools, the context, and the truth. That’s what we do here—Truth, Unfiltered. And occasionally, we blow things up.”

Lara smirked. “Join us next week for more history, more chaos, and hopefully fewer near-heart attacks.”

The actors posed for a group photo, still slightly frazzled but clearly enjoying the chaos. Ivan held the vz. 58 like a trophy, while Lara leaned casually against the table, her signature smirk firmly in place.

The internet didn’t just react—it detonated. Ivan’s live-fire demonstration with the Pádlo and the ensuing banter became one of the most talked-about cultural moments of the year, sparking commentary from every corner of the globe.

Ryan Reynolds (@VancityReynolds):

"Ivan is my new spirit animal. If Deadpool ever had a mentor, it’d be this guy. Bravo, sir. #PádloPower"

Samuel L. Jackson (@SamuelLJackson):

"Man pulls out a vz. 58, empties a mag, and just sits down for tea. That’s some cold-blooded s**. Respect."*

Meryl Streep (via interview):

"I’ve worked with many intense actors, but Ivan? He’s not acting—he’s living the role. The commitment is extraordinary."

Keanu Reeves (@KeanuReeves):

"This is why I do my own stunts, folks. You never know when someone like Ivan will raise the bar."

Zendaya (@Zendaya):

"I was watching the episode while eating cereal, and when Ivan pulled out the rifle, I almost choked. Iconic. Truly iconic."

@MemeLord69:

"Me trying to explain to my mom why a 75-year-old man just made the entire cast of Netflix’s biggest show look like amateurs:"

@ZoomerNoodle:

"Pedro Pascal’s face when Ivan chambered a round? That’s the new reaction GIF of the decade."

@AlphaVibesOnly:

"Bro didn’t ask for respect. He just pulled out the Pádlo and took it. #BasedIvan"

TikTok Trend:

• A new dance craze called the Paddle Pop” emerges, with creators miming loading an imaginary vz. 58 and fake-firing it to remixes of Ivan’s voice saying, “This isn’t just a gun. This is history.”
• Soundtrack: A mashup of Ivan’s rifle shots with Cardi B’s WAP.

PewDiePie (YouTube):

"Ivan might be the greatest content creator of all time, and he doesn’t even know it. I want him on my podcast ASAP."

John Oliver (Last Week Tonight):

"In other news, a Czech man with a gun just won the internet. And unlike the usual people with guns, he actually made us all laugh. Bravo, Ivan."

Political Twitter:

• @LibertyForAll:"Ivan firing a vz. 58 live on TV is the most pro-Second Amendment thing I’ve seen in years. A legend."
• @EuropeanUnionFacts:"Typical American response: ‘Can we have his autograph?’ Typical EU response: ‘Was that a licensed firearm?’”

Weapon Enthusiast Forums:

• "Guys, did you see how smooth his reload was? Ivan might be 75, but that muscle memory is still top-tier.”
• "Hollywood AK vs. real vz. 58—thank you, Ivan, for educating the masses."

Gen Z:

• "Ivan is like that crazy grandpa you hope shows up at Thanksgiving, but instead of stories, he brings the actual evidence."
• "I aspire to have the confidence of Lara Croft sipping tea while a man with a loaded rifle fires it on live TV."

Gen Alpha:

• "Mom, can we get an Ivan action figure?"
• "Is Ivan gonna collab with MrBeast? Imagine him blowing up 10 cars to plant 10 million trees."

Arnold Schwarzenegger (@Schwarzenegger):

"Ivan, you’ve outdone me. Next time you’re in L.A., we hit the range. I’ll bring the cigars, you bring the Pádlo."

Lady Gaga (@LadyGaga):

"Ivan’s episode of Truth, Unfiltered was more artful than anything I’ve ever done. Can we collab? Rifle chic is in."

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson (@TheRock):

"Ivan just brought the smoke—literally. Respect, my man. But next time, let’s arm wrestle instead."

Taylor Swift (via Tumblr):

"I’m adding an Ivan-inspired verse to my next album: ‘You pulled the trigger on truth / And I’m still standing, bulletproof.’"

• YouTube Edits: Dozens of fan videos remixing the rifle demo with soundtracks like AC/DC’s Back in Black or Hans Zimmer’s Time.
• Art: Digital artists flood social media with portraits of Ivan holding the vz. 58, drawn in styles ranging from Soviet propaganda posters to anime.
• Fanfiction: A niche community on Wattpad writes crossovers where Ivan teams up with James Bond, John Wick, and Lara Croft to save the world.

When asked about the massive online reaction, Ivan shrugged and said, “It’s just another Tuesday for me. But next time, I’ll bring my fishing gear instead.”

Lara chimed in, smiling, “Let’s see how the internet handles him gutting a fish on live TV.”

Winston, dusting a stray cartridge off his serving tray, remarked, “I’ll ensure the tea is fresh, as always.”

Critics hailed it as a groundbreaking moment in television history, calling Ivan and Lara the perfect blend of chaos and charisma. Forbes later reported a surge in vz. 58 replica sales, while TikTok declared “Ivan’s Rifle” the meme of the year.

For Ivan and Lara, it was just another step in their journey of reshaping the media landscape—one well-aimed shot at a time.

Chapter 40

Despite the glamour, influence, and wealth that now surround them, Ivan and Lara maintain a life that’s surprisingly grounded. At Croft Manor, they still find joy in simple, meaningful moments—whether it's sharing a cup of tea by the fireplace or practicing archery in the estate's sprawling gardens. The world may see them as international icons, but to those who truly know them, they are the same down-to-earth adventurers they've always been. This sincerity, even amidst their fame, only fuels their immense popularity.

At home, Lara often embarks on her traditional Tomb Raids—sometimes for charity, sometimes for treasure, but mostly for the thrill of the hunt. Ivan, meanwhile, spends quiet days by the river, fishing under the English sun with a collection of vintage fishing gear, occasionally inviting fellow war veterans to share old stories over a pint. He's known to visit local charity events, handing out generous donations while remaining modest about his contributions.

When their fans ask, Ivan never hesitates to share a tale from his younger, wilder days—stories that mix history, humor, and a healthy dose of self-deprecation. Sometimes, he even hosts live storytelling sessions, sitting by the fireplace at Croft Manor, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a bemused Lara at his side.

Ivan’s candidness and authenticity have made him a beloved figure among his fans, so much so that Taylor Swift, originally dismissed by him for her overt liberal stance, has undergone a complete transformation. Her latest album, Rebel & Redemption, chronicles her evolving feelings about Ivan—from an initial clash of ideologies to her ultimate admiration for his unbending honesty and playful disregard for convention. The album’s most popular single, Truths of a Broken Arrow, is a heartfelt ballad about Ivan’s refusal to fit neatly into any political box. It’s an ode to Ivan’s free spirit, and the irony of the song’s existence makes it an immediate cultural hit.

Ivan’s reaction? He chuckles on air during an episode of Truth, Unfiltered, saying, “Swiftie, you did well—but you’ll never beat a rifle.” Taylor takes the playful jab in stride, posting a video of herself laughing it off and inviting Ivan to one of her concerts, which he actually attends, sitting in the VIP section with Lara, waving a glow stick like any other fan.

As Truth, Unfiltered continues to dominate the ratings, Ivan and Lara have refined their formula of blunt commentary, humor, and a touch of chaos. They routinely invite political figures, celebrities, and social media influencers onto the show, unintentionally exposing their hypocrisies or unspoken truths with a casualness that only they can manage. The episodes become infamous for the unfiltered, raw atmosphere—guests never quite know if they’ll be gently teased or completely undone.

One Legendary, Ivan, fulfilling a promise, heads to Los Angeles to meet up with Arnold Schwarzenegger. The two legends go to the shooting range, where they create an instant classic moment:

Ivan fires everything from pistols to shotguns, then mischievously loads a .50 BMG round into a custom slug shotgun, causing a massive recoil that sends laughter echoing through the range. Arnold is unfazed, puffing on a thick cigar as Ivan breaks into a grin.Together, they discuss history, the Cold War, and how Hollywood often gets things hilariously wrong. When they pull out Arnold’s M47 Patton tank, Ivan jokingly calls it “a decent fishing boat,” before the two men fire off a few rounds, the earth-shaking noise only adding to the legend of their meeting.

In the studio, Lara and Ivan host a variety of guests, each episode bringing a new layer of absurdity or revelation. Lindsay Lohan joins them for what begins as a normal interview, recounting her early acting days, wild Hollywood parties, and the difficulties of growing up in the spotlight. The conversation is candid, Lindsay genuinely grateful for the opportunity to tell her story.

But then, as often happens, things take a turn. Ivan, always the unexpected joker, pulls out a folder labeled “Hollywood Scandals: Confidential” with a mischievous glint in his eye. Lindsay laughs nervously, unsure of what’s inside. Lara, sipping tea, just raises an eyebrow. Ivan slowly opens the folder, revealing it’s actually filled with old tabloids—headlines that had once plagued Lindsay’s reputation.

“Look at this,” he says, flipping through the papers, “the media said this about you, but you’re still here, eh?” Lindsay lets out a loud, relieved laugh, slapping Ivan’s arm. They dive into a lively debate about fame, scandal, and the pitfalls of the press, and the audience sees a genuine side of Lindsay rarely captured on screen.

The interview becomes a viral sensation, sparking conversations about celebrity culture, media ethics, and the power of resilience. It trends on Twitter for days, with #LohanUnfiltered being the hashtag of the week. Fans create memes of Lindsay’s shocked face when Ivan reveals the folder, with captions like “When your past haunts you but you laugh it off like a legend.”

Gen Z:

• “If Ivan ever roasts me, I’ll just thank him and ask for an autograph.”
• “Lindsay Lohan deserves an award for how she handled Ivan’s folder prank. That was TV gold.”

Gen Alpha:

• “Mom, who’s Lindsay Lohan? Why is she laughing with that old guy with the gun?”
• “Ivan is literally my favorite person, and I don’t even understand half the things he talks about.”

YouTube Highlights:

• A highlight reel from the Schwarzenegger shoot, showing Ivan’s face mid-recoil as he fires the .50 BMG, becomes a meme template for anything unexpected.
• A side-by-side comparison of young Ivan in military gear vs. older Ivan handling advanced weaponry goes viral, with captions like, “Some legends never die, they just reload.”

Art Community:

• Artists flood platforms with renditions of Ivan in LA, standing with Arnold and a smoking shotgun. One famous piece depicts Ivan and Arnold posing like old war buddies, both holding cigars with rifles slung over their shoulders.

Amidst the chaos of fame, Ivan and Lara never forget to give back. They continue to support charities, from veterans’ associations to educational programs. Lara auctions off rare artifacts she’s uncovered on recent expeditions, and Ivan regularly donates proceeds from his Truth, Unfiltered earnings to various causes, often matching donations from his fans with his own funds. He once raised $10 million for a children’s hospital simply by doing a charity fishing livestream, swapping war stories with an old comrade while catching trout in Croft Manor’s lake.

For all the excitement, fame, and chaos, what Ivan and Lara cherish most are the quiet moments—the times when the cameras are off, and it’s just them, Winston, and a few trusted friends in the cozy sitting room of Croft Manor. These moments remind them of why they started their adventures in the first place—not for fame, not for fortune, but for the thrill of the unknown, the pull of history, and the beauty of a life lived without limits.

“We’re lucky, Lara,” Ivan says one evening, his eyes glinting with the same mischief they’ve always held. “Lucky to have lived as we have, and still be here to tell the tales.”

Lara just smiles, pouring another cup of tea. "Yes, Ivan. And we're far from finished."

Chapter 41

Ivan’s latest venture, "Wheels of Truth," had exploded in popularity. The show’s concept, rooted in his brutal honesty and willingness to test anything with wheels, attracted a global audience. Fans loved his irreverence and the way he’d test a humble hatchback with the same seriousness he’d give to a million-dollar hypercar. He turned ordinary test drives into captivating episodes filled with laughter, criticism, and moments of unexpected affection for the quirks of imperfect vehicles.

The charm of the show lay in Ivan’s unapologetic cynicism. It didn’t matter if he was driving a gleaming sports car or a rusty old Soviet-era relic; his critiques were sharp, his observations hilariously on point, and his judgments often surprising. If a car couldn’t pass his practicality tests—like fitting his fishing gear, surviving a ride through muddy backroads, or handling a makeshift obstacle course—it earned his derision. If it did, it was a rarity, deserving of a rare, grudging compliment.

The excitement reached new heights when Jeremy Clarkson made a guest appearance. Pulling up to Croft Manor in a battered Škoda Favorit Estate—the same model he’d once humorously praised in the early '90s—Jeremy looked around with an amused smirk. Ivan greeted him with a hearty handshake and a knowing smile.

“Well, Jeremy, you came prepared. A Škoda Favorit, no less,” Ivan said, clearly impressed with the nod to his own past.

“Only seemed right,” Clarkson replied with a grin. “I hear you’ve got quite the collection, old chap.”

Ivan’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, you’ve heard right. Come along. Let me show you what proper cars look like.”

Clarkson followed Ivan through the sprawling Croft Manor grounds to a large, unassuming garage nestled behind a row of ancient oaks. What he saw inside made his eyes widen in disbelief.

The front row showcased a stunning lineup of Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, and Land Rovers—all pristine, polished to a mirror sheen, and arranged with almost military precision.

“Impressive,” Clarkson admitted, running a hand over the fender of a silver Bentley Continental GT. “But I thought you were more of a Škoda man.”

Ivan chuckled. “I am. These aren’t mine—they belong to Lara. She’s the one with a taste for British luxury.” He gestured dismissively towards the line of Bentleys and Rolls-Royces. “They’re superb, but a bit... too refined for my taste.”

They moved deeper into the garage, and Clarkson was visibly astonished to see the more personal part of the collection: a lineup that screamed practicality and history over ostentation. It included:

• A red 1991 Škoda Forman, the same model Ivan had used during his days as a detective. The car still had an aura of grit and practicality, with some original dents and scratches from its days in service.
• Lincoln Continental "The Sleeper", Ivan's daily driver. Not really fiery car on first look, but 800 horspower are truly impressive
• 1968 Lincoln Continental Lehmann-Peterson, classic American limo that showcased Ivan’s appreciation for rugged American style.
• Mercedes-Benz 600, a luxury sedan once favored by world leaders—a statement of power in its time.
• BMW 502, a 1950s model known as the “Baroque Angel” for its curvy, elegant lines. It stood out as an unusual choice for Ivan, but its V8 engine was a testament to his love for performance.
• Škoda 130 RS and Škoda 110 R, rally legends from his homeland, each car meticulously restored, showcasing Ivan’s sentimental side.

Clarkson’s grin widened as he took it all in. “You’ve got quite the eclectic collection here, Ivan. It’s like you’ve handpicked the best—and the strangest—of each decade.”

Ivan smirked. “Every car here has a story. The Škodas were with me during the tough years, and the Lincolns and Bentleys remind me that sometimes, it’s good to indulge in comfort. Though, of course, nothing beats a good old Škoda when you need to get your hands dirty.”

They chatted and joked as Clarkson playfully teased Ivan’s love for “old, communist clunkers” while Ivan fired back with jabs about “British reliability” and Jeremy’s infamous hatred for manual labor. It was a meeting of minds—two car enthusiasts from vastly different backgrounds, finding common ground in their shared passion for four wheels and a good laugh.

Word of the show’s success spread like wildfire, and soon, even Hollywood’s elite were lining up to have their cars put to the test. The celebrities, eager to see if their beloved vehicles could pass Ivan’s unforgiving scrutiny, often found themselves humbled by his blunt honesty.

• Tom Cruise brought his classic 1969 Dodge Charger, a black muscle car that screamed "American icon." Ivan took it for a spin, criticizing the outdated suspension but admitting that the raw power and aesthetic appeal were hard to deny. “It’s like the Hollywood of cars,” he said. “Over-the-top, impractical, but damn if it doesn’t look cool.”
• Angelina Jolie, fresh off her role in the Netflix adaptation of Lara, dared Ivan to test her sleek Tesla Model S Plaid. Ivan poked fun at the electric car's silent drive—“like a vacuum cleaner on wheels”—but acknowledged its insane acceleration. By the end, he admitted, “This thing might actually survive a chase scene, but only if you don't mind not hearing the engine roar.”
• Taylor Swift appeared with her immaculate Porsche 911 Turbo. Ivan, surprisingly, was generous with his praise, noting its perfect balance and handling. But he couldn’t resist adding, “It’s the pop star of sports cars—fast, beautiful, but needs constant attention.”
• Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson arrived with a custom Jeep Gladiator, lifted and kitted out for off-road adventures. Ivan took it through a brutal off-road course, and it performed well until he got it stuck in deep mud. “It’s like The Rock himself,” Ivan joked, grinning at the camera. “Big, tough, and gets bogged down if you push it too far.”
• Elon Musk himself brought the Cybertruck for Ivan’s judgment. Ivan’s laughter when he saw the futuristic vehicle was audible for miles. He tested the durability by bashing it with a crowbar, nodding approvingly when the metal barely dented. “Well, Elon,” Ivan said, “I don’t know if it’s a car or a rejected prop from Mad Max, but at least it’s tough.”
• Chris Pratt showed up with his beloved, slightly beat-up Ford Bronco. Ivan seemed to warm to the rugged simplicity, though he lamented its gas mileage. “A proper American SUV,” Ivan said, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye. “Terrible fuel economy and drives like a tank, but it’ll get you through the apocalypse.”

As the episodes aired, social media exploded with reactions. Ivan’s combination of sarcasm, insight, and genuine appreciation for cars captivated viewers from all walks of life.

• @AutoEnthusiast97: “I’ve watched Ivan roast a Lamborghini Huracán and praise a rusty Fiat Panda in the same episode. This guy gets it.”
• @GenZMemer: “Ivan’s my spirit animal. If he can make Elon Musk squirm, he’s a legend in my book. #CybertruckBurn”
• @CarLoverBo77: “Seeing Clarkson and Ivan drive through a classic car meet in a Škoda Forman was the most wholesome thing ever. More of this, please!”
• @VintageLover: “Ivan’s collection is unreal. A Rolls-Royce next to a Škoda 110 R? Who does that?! Only Ivan Croft.”

Celebrities even started taking jabs at each other, each one hoping that their car would pass Ivan’s judgment.

• Arnold Schwarzenegger: “Hey, Ivan, next time I’m bringing my Hummer H1. Let’s see if you can handle some real American muscle! 💪🚙”
• Ryan Reynolds: “Thinking of letting Ivan review my mint-condition Fiat 500. If it survives his tests, it deserves a medal.”
• Keanu Reeves: “Ivan, I’ve got a Ducati that needs your opinion. Bring your helmet. 🏍️”

The show’s success continued to soar, with fans tuning in not just for the cars, but for Ivan’s relentless wit, unexpected acts of kindness, and his knack for turning every episode into a blend of comedy and genuine automotive insight. Even the most reluctant celebrities were lining up to have their beloved cars tested, knowing that while they might be mocked, they’d still be treated with fairness—at least, Ivan’s version of it.

Chapter 42

After months of relentless filming for Wheels of Truth and Truth, Unfiltered, Ivan and Lara felt the weight of exhaustion. Though they loved their work, the constant demands of production, celebrity guest appearances, and the unyielding schedule began to take its toll. Recognizing that they were running on fumes, they made the bold decision to step back, entrusting the shows to a rotating cast of comedians and like-minded celebrities. It was time to reclaim their lives.

During their hiatus, Ivan and Lara dove into a whirlwind of new experiences. They revisited tomb raiding, this time as partners in exploration, and Ivan proved himself surprisingly adept in the field, though his characteristic gruffness often emerged. “Why are we climbing this again? If treasure were meant to be found, it wouldn’t hide in places requiring broken limbs,” he grumbled, only to be teased by Lara’s calm, knowing smile.

Their travels also included a stop at the D’Amelio household, where Ivan was greeted by the sight of Charli D’Amelio confidently cruising in a classic Mustang her father had gifted her. Ivan’s eyes narrowed with a mix of admiration and caution as he watched the young influencer rev the engine and expertly handle the car. “That’s not bad for a kid her age,” he muttered to Lara, nodding approvingly. “Still, someone should remind her that the gas pedal isn’t an on-off switch.” Lara chuckled, amused by his unrelenting honesty.

Their downtime also saw Ivan indulging in his love for cars and conversations with Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May. The four automotive minds gathered regularly to dissect the modern world of automobiles over tea and whiskey. Jeremy’s playful prodding—“So, Ivan, when are you finally going to get a proper British car?”—was met with Ivan’s dry retort, “When they learn how to make one that doesn’t leak oil like it’s auditioning for a disaster movie.”

The camaraderie and laughter during these moments reignited Ivan and Lara’s spirits. Lara, ever the philanthropist, increased her charitable efforts, funding education initiatives and cultural preservation projects. Ivan, meanwhile, took pleasure in putting his classic Mercedes-Benz 600 to good use, arriving at charity events with understated flair.

The internet couldn’t get enough of the duo. Pictures of Ivan and Lara trekking through jungles, racing down dirt roads, or simply enjoying quiet moments together at Croft Manor were shared endlessly. The memes came thick and fast:

• “When Ivan raids tombs, the tombs complain about it.”
• “The Queen of Tombs and Grumpy Fisherman = iconic.”
• “Mercedes 600: proof that Ivan can be classy and intimidating.”

However, the fans’ joy turned to outrage when Truth, Unfiltered fell into the hands of a state-run network. The new producers watered down the show’s raw authenticity, aiming for broader appeal but losing the sharp edge that Ivan and Lara had brought to every episode. The changes were glaring, and viewers were quick to voice their disdain:

• “This isn’t Truth, Unfiltered—this is Truth, Commercialized.”
• “Ivan would have thrown his coffee at this nonsense.”
• “Corporate vibes ruin everything. Bring back Ivan and Lara!”

Social media erupted with hashtags like #BringBackIvanAndLara and #TruthBetrayed, with even celebrities joining the chorus. Jeremy Clarkson tweeted: “This is what happens when you take brilliance and hand it to a committee.” Charli D’Amelio posted a clip of her Mustang with the caption: “Still better steering than the new #TruthUnfiltered.”

Frustrated by the loss of integrity and buoyed by the overwhelming fan support, Ivan and Lara knew they had to act. Months of brainstorming culminated in their newest venture: a news program called Clear Lens. With a mission to provide uncensored journalism, the show combined investigative reporting with the duo’s trademark wit and no-nonsense attitude.

The first episode of Clear Lens opened with Ivan sitting at a simple desk, a cup of tea in hand, his expression a mix of mischief and resolve.

“Good evening,” he began. “The world’s gone mad, and we’re here to remind you of it. But don’t worry—we’ll keep it honest, sharp, and occasionally funny. Because let’s face it, you need a laugh when staring into the abyss.”

Lara, poised and graceful as always, added, “We’ll uncover the truth without corporate filters or political agendas. And yes, we might ruffle a few feathers along the way. But hey, that’s why we’re here.”

The reception was electric. Fans flooded social media with praise:

• “Clear Lens just restored my faith in news. Ivan and Lara are legends!”
• “Ivan calling out political nonsense while sipping tea is my new aesthetic.”
• “Finally, a show that doesn’t treat us like idiots. Thank you, Ivan and Lara!”

Even celebrities chimed in:

• Arnold Schwarzenegger: “Ivan, if you ever need someone to talk muscle—both cars and biceps—you know where to find me. 💪🚗”
• Keanu Reeves: “Ivan, next time I’m bringing a Ducati for Clear Lens. Let’s see if it makes the cut. 🏍️”

The duo’s new show soared to success, proving that integrity and humor could thrive even in a media-saturated world. Once again, Ivan and Lara showed that they were more than personalities—they were a force of nature, unyielding and unapologetically themselves.

For their fans, Clear Lens wasn’t just a show. It was a movement, a reminder that truth doesn’t need to be dull, and that sometimes, the most honest lens is the one held by those brave enough to break the mold.

Chapter 43

Ivan Tůma and Lara Croft had long since cemented themselves as icons of honesty and charisma, their weekly show Clear Lens standing as a beacon of truth in a world saturated with spin. By transitioning to a weekly format, they ensured each episode was a finely tuned masterpiece, packed with sharp analysis, humor, and genuine heart. The format allowed them to step back from the relentless pace of daily production and savor life, something their fans not only noticed but wholeheartedly supported.

The show itself was a cultural phenomenon. Every week, Ivan’s sardonic wit and Lara’s thoughtful insights dissected everything from geopolitical crises to viral memes. It wasn’t just infotainment—it was a lifeline for viewers seeking clarity in chaotic times. Ivan’s no-nonsense demeanor was a sharp contrast to Lara’s vibrant energy, yet together they struck a perfect balance.

One episode began with Ivan sitting stoically at his desk, holding a broken toaster. “Today, we’re going to talk about why planned obsolescence is ruining your breakfast and probably your bank account,” he said dryly. Lara leaned in, her expression a mix of mock outrage and delight. “I told him not to test this with a bagel twice his size,” she quipped.

Moments like these defined Clear Lens: raw, unfiltered, and deeply relatable. The show didn’t shy away from heavy topics but always found room for levity. It wasn’t unusual for Ivan to end a scathing critique of corporate greed with a heartfelt call to action or for Lara to interject a serious conversation with a joke that had Ivan fighting back a rare smirk.

But the true magic of Ivan and Lara wasn’t confined to the screen. Away from the cameras, they embraced a lifestyle that balanced glamour with humility. Ivan’s passion for cars remained an anchor in his life, and he often attended local car meets where he mingled with enthusiasts of all ages. Unlike the polished and pretentious celebrities who rolled up in Lamborghinis, Ivan would arrive in his Lincoln Continental or one of his beloved Škodas, often with a toolbox in the trunk.

At one meet, a young fan approached him nervously, clutching a battered Škoda 130 RS die-cast model. “Mr. Tůma,” the boy stammered, “I... I love your show, and I think you’re the coolest!” Ivan knelt to the boy’s level, his piercing gaze softening. “Well, you’ve got excellent taste in cars,” he said, examining the model. “But this needs a proper display case. Let’s make sure it gets the respect it deserves.” Ivan spent the next ten minutes giving the boy tips on car restoration, leaving the child glowing with pride.

Lara, on the other hand, had discovered a newfound love for social events. While Ivan preferred the quiet camaraderie of car enthusiasts, Lara thrived in lively gatherings. Whether attending charity galas or impromptu neighborhood festivals, she brought a contagious energy that lit up every room.

At one particularly memorable event hosted by Ryan Reynolds, Lara’s charisma was in full swing. She convinced the crowd to join her in an impromptu karaoke session, where she belted out Dancing Queen with unabashed enthusiasm. Even Ryan joined in, laughing as he tried to harmonize. Meanwhile, Ivan leaned against the back wall, nursing a whiskey and observing the chaos with a bemused expression. When Ryan approached him, Ivan raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Is this what passes for entertainment in Hollywood, or are you all just bored?” Ryan doubled over laughing, clapping Ivan on the back.

Despite their growing social circle of A-list friends, Ivan and Lara’s authenticity never wavered. At a lavish party hosted by Chris Hemsworth, Lara’s wild side took center stage. The evening started with polite conversation and wine, but by midnight, she had orchestrated a dance-off that involved half the guests and ended with her leading a conga line through the Hemsworths’ garden.

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” Ivan muttered as Lara pulled him into the line. She just laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, Ivan. Even you have to admit this is fun!”

The night ended with a slow dance under the stars, Lara barefoot and radiant, Ivan holding her close with a rare, genuine smile. A guest secretly recorded the moment, and the clip went viral within hours.

• @CroftFan123: “This video of Ivan and Lara dancing under the stars? I’m SOBBING. They’re perfect. 😭💖”
• @CarGeek72: “Tůma in a tux, holding Croft like she’s the world? My faith in love is restored. 😭✨”
• @GenAlphaRules: “My parents don’t dance like this! Ivan and Lara are GOALS! 🥹✨”

While their public lives thrived, Ivan and Lara never lost sight of what mattered most: their connection with their fans. At fan meetups, Ivan could often be found tinkering with someone’s classic car or sharing anecdotes about his favorite models. Lara, meanwhile, captivated children and adults alike with treasure hunts and storytelling sessions that showcased her playful spirit.

One heartwarming moment came when an elderly fan brought her vintage Škoda to a meetup. “This car was my husband’s pride and joy,” she said, her voice trembling. “He passed last year, but I’ve kept it running because I know he’d want me to.” Ivan, visibly moved, spent hours inspecting the car, ensuring it was in perfect condition. “Your husband had excellent taste,” he told her. “Let’s make sure this beauty stays on the road for years to come.”

Social media exploded with love for the duo, particularly from Gen Z and Gen Alpha fans who saw Ivan and Lara as proof that fame didn’t have to corrupt.

• @ZoomerVibes: “Ivan Tůma casually fixing someone’s alternator at a car meet. He’s richer than Elon but acts like your cool uncle. LEGEND. 🚗🔥”
• @AlphaKidLovesCroft: “Lara taught me how to read a treasure map today! She’s the best ever! 🗺️✨”
• @GenZQueen: “Clear Lens is the ONLY news show I trust. Ivan drags billionaires, Lara spreads hope. They’re everything. 😍👏”
• @AutoFanForever: “Ivan Tůma. A millionaire who still appreciates a good Škoda. My hero. 🛠️❤️”

Through all the glitz and chaos, Ivan and Lara proved that they were still the same people they’d always been: honest, compassionate, and fiercely dedicated to their craft. They didn’t just navigate fame—they redefined it, showing the world that you could have wild hearts and clear lenses without losing yourself along the way.

Chapter 44

Ivan Tůma and Lara Croft had achieved a milestone neither of them anticipated: being named Personalities of the Year. The news came wrapped in glamour, but for the duo, it felt surreal. Ivan, holding the magazine with their faces on the cover, raised an eyebrow. “This is absurd. Are we really in the same category as, like, Nobel laureates and Hollywood megastars?” Lara smirked, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. “Well, maybe they just ran out of people. Or maybe, just maybe, we’re that good.” Ivan rolled his eyes. “I vote for option one.”

Christmas at Croft Manor was a spectacle that could rival any royal holiday. The halls were decked in tasteful excess—towering fir trees, golden ornaments, and a dining table that seemed to stretch endlessly. But the real magic came with the gifts. Lara, ever the thoughtful strategist, had tracked down something so rare it was practically mythical: a canary-yellow Ford Capri Perana.

When she led Ivan to the courtyard, his jaw dropped. “You didn’t,” he whispered, circling the car like it might disappear. “This isn’t just a Capri. It’s the Capri. The Perana. Lara, how...?” She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “I’ve got connections. Do you like it?”

Ivan, usually reserved, was almost giddy. “Like it? This thing is rarer than an honest politician. It’s perfect.” He paused, then smirked. “Although it’s yellow. Are you trying to make me look like a banana on wheels?” Lara laughed. “No, I’m trying to make you look legendary. You’re welcome.”

Not to be outdone, Ivan revealed his gift to Lara: a fully restored and modernized original Range Rover. When she saw it, she clapped her hands in delight. “You absolute genius! It’s beautiful. This is better than anything I could’ve imagined.” Ivan shrugged. “I know you, Lara. You’re a Range Rover kind of woman—luxury with a touch of danger.”

The couple decided to revamp Clear Lens completely, leaning into an 80s-inspired aesthetic. Neon lights, VHS-style filters, and synthwave tracks set the tone for their new intro. The internet exploded.

• @RetroGenZ: “Not gonna lie, the Clear Lens glow-up gave me chills. That synth drop? 🔥🔥🔥”
• @AlphaMemeLord: “Ivan and Lara are living proof that the 80s weren’t just a vibe—they were a way of life. #ClearLensFTW”
• @KeyboardTroll: “Wow, they’re trying SO hard to be cool. Cringe.”

Ivan clapped back during the next episode. “To the trolls out there: you’re absolutely right. We’re trying hard. Because we care about making something good. Meanwhile, you’re trying hard to be relevant from your mom’s basement. Nice job, champ.” Lara, barely holding back laughter, added, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe.”

The revamp wasn’t just for show—Clear Lens smashed records, leaving their old program, Truth, Unfiltered, in the dust.

When the D’Amelio family visited Croft Manor, their reactions were priceless. Dixie, standing in the main hall, turned to Lara and whispered, “This place is insane. Like, do you guys ever get lost in here?” Lara grinned. “Sometimes. But that’s part of the charm.”

Charli was particularly curious about the grounds, and after dinner, she pulled Ivan aside. “I have to thank you,” she began, “for teaching me to drive manual. My dad gave me an old Mustang, and I’ve been using those lessons every day.” Ivan smirked knowingly. “Ah, so that’s why you were so desperate to learn. What year is it?” Charli hesitated. “Uh... 1967?” Ivan chuckled. “Good choice. Classic. Just don’t blow the clutch. Those aren’t cheap.”

Meanwhile, Marc D’Amelio wandered into Ivan’s garage, expecting Lamborghinis and Ferraris. Instead, he found a collection that felt like a museum exhibit for misfit cars. “What... what is this?” Marc asked, staring at a mix of vehicles, including a Lincoln Continental, a stretch Lehmann-Peterson limo, a BMW 502, a Mercedes 600, and several Škodas.

Dixie walked in, took one look, and laughed. “Ivan, you’re like a dictator with your garage. This feels like something out of a Bond villain’s lair.” Ivan, unbothered, gestured to a battered Škoda Forman in the corner. “This one’s the crown jewel. Forman. Served me well back in the 90s.”

Marc inspected the car, noticing the intercom. “Wait... was this a stakeout car?” Ivan nodded. “Yep. Used it when I was a detective. She’s not much to look at, but she’s got heart.” Dixie shook her head, grinning. “This tiny boxy thing? You’re a total enigma, Ivan.”

The D’Amelios later invited Ivan and Lara to a high-profile fashion show. Lara, always dazzling, wore an avant-garde gown that drew audible gasps, while Ivan opted for a sharp brown suit and a fedora, leaning fully into his old-school persona.

As they entered, the crowd erupted. Fans clamored for autographs, and Ivan, usually aloof, obliged with dry humor. “Careful with the pen,” he quipped. “It’s vintage.” Lara, ever the social butterfly, charmed the crowd effortlessly.

The week ended with an episode of Clear Lens tackling a deeply resonant topic: courage on the internet. Ivan didn’t hold back. “The internet is a breeding ground for cowardice. People who wouldn’t dare say something to your face suddenly think they’re warriors behind a screen. Here’s a reality check: that’s not courage. That’s insecurity on display.”

Lara added with her characteristic warmth, “We’ve all been on the receiving end of hate. But courage is about standing up, not tearing others down.”

The episode sparked a wave of responses:

• @AlphaHero: “Ivan and Lara just roasted internet trolls harder than my mom’s overcooked turkey. 🔥”
• @KeyboardPhilosopher: “Their cynicism is brutal, but it’s also so true. Respect. 👏”
• @InternetTroll69: “They think they’re so high and mighty. Whatever. I don’t even care.”

Ivan, ever the provocateur, responded in the next episode. “To the troll who said we think we’re high and mighty: You’re absolutely right. We are. And you’re still watching. Thanks for the views.”

Lara chimed in with a laugh. “Keep the comments coming. You’re making us famous.”

By the end of the year, Ivan and Lara weren’t just celebrated—they were cultural icons. Their cynicism, honesty, and humor resonated deeply, making them a beacon for a generation craving authenticity. And for Ivan, one thing was clear: even with a yellow Ford Capri and a sarcastic partner by his side, life was as real as it got.

Chapter 45

Life at Croft Manor was supposed to be peaceful that week. Ivan Tůma and Lara Croft had deliberately carved out some downtime between their professional obligations and Clear Lens. They had plans: lazy mornings, long walks, maybe a few drives in Ivan’s cherished cars. The last thing they expected was for chaos to come crashing through an email.

Lara was seated at her desk when she opened it. The subject line alone was a warning sign: “ur a fkn bitch.” She hesitated but clicked it, her face instantly tightening in a mix of disgust and shock. “Ivan,” she called out, her voice shaking slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Ivan asked, approaching casually with his ever-present mug of coffee.

Wordlessly, Lara turned her laptop to face him. The email was vile. It contained everything from graphic insults—“small tits,” “dumb slut,” “attention-seeking whore”—to a poorly lit dick pic and an obviously Photoshopped image of Lara’s face pasted onto an explicit photo.

Ivan stared for a moment, expression unreadable, before exhaling sharply. “Well, isn’t this just the pinnacle of human achievement?” he muttered, his tone acidic.

Lara scrolled further, revealing the sender’s username: “NickerPedophile420.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Ah, a username that manages to offend literally everyone. Creative. Also, can someone explain why these trolls never pass third-grade grammar? ‘You’re a dumb bitch who’s think they’re smart’? Christ.”

Lara didn’t laugh. She scrolled further, pulling up more emails with similarly disgusting content. But the messages weren’t just about her. They were about others—people who, as Lara read aloud, had taken their own lives after enduring relentless harassment from this same troll.

Her voice wavered as she listed them: “Six women. Two men. One transgender person. Ages… oh God, ages 15 to 28.” She closed her laptop and looked at Ivan, her eyes filled with a mixture of fury and grief. “Nine people, Ivan. This kid’s harassment drove nine people to suicide.”

Ivan’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk. “This little bastard is done,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Zip,” he barked, summoning their tech guru through the house intercom.

Seconds later, Zip appeared on one of the nearby monitors. “What’s up?” he asked, glancing between Ivan and Lara.

Ivan pointed to the laptop. “We’ve got a troll. A prolific one. I want everything. IP address, location, school records—hell, I want to know what they had for breakfast.”

Zip didn’t need convincing. “I’m on it,” he said, his fingers already flying over his keyboard.

In the meantime, Ivan and Lara decided this needed to be addressed immediately. They prepped an emergency episode of Clear Lens, breaking their usual weekly format. As the cameras rolled, their expressions were grim.

The episode opened without the usual playful banter. Ivan’s face was set in a hard line as he spoke directly to the audience.

“Today’s episode isn’t about entertainment,” he began. “It’s about accountability. We’re here to talk about the consequences of online harassment and the people who think they can hide behind a keyboard to ruin lives.”

Lara took over, her voice sharp and clear. “We recently received emails from one such individual. This troll has targeted countless people, including ourselves, with the kind of vitriol that’s hard to stomach. But what’s worse is the aftermath: nine people have died by suicide because of this person’s actions.”

Ivan leaned forward, his tone colder than ice. “Nine human lives. Gone. Because one little shit thinks being a keyboard warrior is some kind of sport.”

The episode pulled no punches. They read excerpts from the troll’s messages, highlighting the absurdity of their poorly constructed insults while never losing sight of the gravity of their actions.

“Let’s be clear,” Ivan said. “This isn’t just trolling. This is targeted harassment. It’s bullying at its most insidious, and it has consequences. Real consequences. To the families of those nine victims: we see you. We stand with you. And to this troll? Your free ride is over.”

Social media exploded. Within minutes of the episode airing, hashtags like #ClearLensExposed, #AccountabilityNow, and #NickerPedophile420IsOverParty were trending worldwide.

Hours later, Zip called back with results. “Got him,” he said, his voice grim. “Ten years old. Lives in Colorado.”

Lara blinked. “Ten?”

Zip nodded. “But don’t let his age fool you. He’s been active for years, targeting anyone and everyone. Somehow, he knows exactly how to hit people where it hurts most.”

Ivan’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened. “Ten years old and already a sociopath,” he muttered. “Wonderful.”

That evening, Ivan addressed the situation again during a prime-time news segment. This time, he didn’t hold back.

“To the troll known as NickerPedophile420,” Ivan said, staring directly into the camera. “You’re ten years old. But don’t think for a second that your age excuses you. Nine people are dead because of you. Nine lives that you will never bring back. Your actions have consequences, and those consequences are coming for you.”

Then, to the shock of everyone watching, Ivan reached under the desk and pulled out a Winchester Model 1897 shotgun. He slammed it onto the desk with a resounding thud, making the studio audience gasp audibly.

“Let me make this crystal clear,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “I don’t give a single fuck that you’re a kid. Your ass is about to know the meaning of Medival age. And when you’re old enough to stand trial, I hope you enjoy dropping the soap in prison—assuming you even survive long enough to get there.”

The internet lost its collective mind. Memes flooded social media within seconds:

• “Ivan: Middle Ages, activated.”
• “When Ivan pulls out the boomstick, it’s game over 💀🔥.”
• “NickerPedophile420 thought it was all fun and games. Ivan: Hold my shotgun.”

Later that week, Ivan and Lara made a live guest appearance on Saturday Night Live through INTERVISION. The discussion was heated, passionate, and unrelenting.

“This isn’t just about one troll,” Ivan said, gesturing animatedly. “This is about a culture that allows people to say whatever the hell they want online without facing consequences. Well, guess what? Consequences are here.”

When asked if his response was too extreme given the troll’s age, Ivan didn’t flinch. “Age doesn’t erase nine bodies. Age doesn’t undo the pain of nine families. Actions have consequences, and this little bastard is about to learn that lesson the hard way.”

Toward the end of the segment, Ivan once again held up the shotgun. “To every troll out there,” he said, his tone laced with menace. “Your time is up. Accountability is here. And to our little friend in Colorado? The Middle Ages called—they’re ready for you.”

The segment ended, but the conversation it sparked was just beginning. Ivan’s Instagram post—featuring a black background with the words Accountability Matters in bold white letters—went viral.

“To the victims: You mattered. To the families: We stand with you. To the trolls: The party’s over. #ClearLens #JusticeForVictims #Accountability”

The comments were a mix of emotional support and dark humor:

• @GenZIcon: “Ivan really said ‘Fuck around and find out.’ 🔥”
• @AlphaWave: “Bro pulled out a shotgun on live TV and made it iconic.”
• @JusticeMatters: “This is the energy we need. Zero tolerance for trolls.”

By the end of the week, the troll’s identity had been exposed to the authorities. The case was now in their hands, but Ivan’s message remained clear: the era of unchecked cruelty was over.

After Ivan’s impassioned statement—and the now-infamous moment where he slammed a Winchester Model 1897 shotgun onto his desk and promised the troll a taste of medieval justice—Clear Lens became the rallying point for a worldwide conversation about online harassment, bullying, and accountability.

Social media erupted. Ivan and Lara’s words resonated across platforms, sparking discussions in every corner of the internet. Hashtags like #TrollsBeGone, #JusticeForTheNine, and #ClearLensJustice trended globally within hours. But it wasn’t just fans. Influencers, celebrities, and YouTubers weighed in, their reactions ranging from supportive to shocked, and in some cases, deeply emotional.

Charli D’Amelio posted an Instagram story with tears in her eyes, saying, “It’s heartbreaking to hear about those nine lives. This is why online spaces need to be safer. Ivan and Lara—thank you for being brave enough to call it out.”

Her sister, Dixie D’Amelio, posted a TikTok clip, laughing nervously. “Ivan just pulled out a shotgun on Clear Lens, and I was like, ‘That’s my dictator!’ But for real—this isn’t a joke. We’ve all faced trolls, but this? This is evil. I’m glad someone finally said it.”

Ryan Reynolds tweeted:

“Ivan Tůma just delivered the mic drop of the century. Trolls: Time’s up. Also, can we talk about how terrifyingly cool he looked with that shotgun?”

Even Billie Eilish weighed in on her Instagram Live, saying, “People think online harassment isn’t real because it’s not physical. But it is. It gets into your head, your heart, and it kills people. Ivan and Lara—what you did matters. It matters so much.”

The YouTube community, particularly known for its vulnerability to trolls, was ablaze.

PewDiePie posted a reaction video titled “Ivan Tůma Went Full Medieval”:

“Ivan literally said, ‘F**k around and find out.’ Respect. This troll is about to regret everything.”

MrBeast commented on his Twitter, “Nine people died. That’s not trolling—that’s sociopathy. Ivan and Lara are heroes for shining a light on this.”

Pokimane shared a heartfelt video, saying, “I’ve been harassed online for years, and it leaves scars you can’t see. To see someone stand up so powerfully—it gives me hope.”

Even Shane Dawson, known for his introspective videos, released a mini-documentary on the Clear Lens saga, highlighting the broader implications of unchecked online harassment.

Chapter 46

The Clear Lens episode had barely aired when the digital tide turned. Ivan Tůma, with his characteristic no-nonsense demeanor, and Lara Croft, the epitome of icy resolve, had delivered a scathing takedown of the internet troll responsible for nine tragic deaths. But this was no ordinary troll—it was a ten-year-old boy whose weapon of choice wasn’t a slingshot, but a high-speed internet connection and a sociopathic lack of empathy.

What followed wasn’t just outrage—it was chaos. The generational divides cracked wide open, spilling commentary, memes, and unsolicited opinions across every conceivable platform.

Posts:

• Karen J.: “Finally! Someone is brave enough to call out these no-good internet punks. Back in my day, if you wanted to insult someone, you looked them in the eye and did it like an adult!”
• Bob R.: “The problem isn’t just the kid. It’s the parents, the smartphones, and society. Burn it all down and start over!”
• Margaret T.: “Ivan reminds me of my father. He didn’t take crap from anyone. We need more men like him, not these soy boys playing video games!”

Comments Section Bloodbath:

• John L.: “This wouldn’t have happened if everyone just went to church.”
• Anonymous Grandma: “Video games are the devil’s playground. Lara should raid that tomb.”

Their comments ranged from heartfelt support to completely irrelevant tangents about the moral decline of the modern world. The thread, of course, devolved into a boomer civil war about whether TikTok or Fortnite was the true root of all evil.

While Boomers were drafting Facebook manifestos, Gen Z was busy doing what they do best—turning tragedy into virality. Ivan’s no-holds-barred demeanor, complete with his now-infamous shotgun slam, became an instant meme.

Trending TikToks:

• @StanSimp69: “Me when my mom says I can’t buy Robux, but I remember Ivan’s energy: SLAMS SHOTGUN* 💀🔥”*
• @BigCloutFactory: “If Ivan shows up at your door, just log out of life, bro. Ain’t no respawns.”

• @ChaosInCroatia: “Boomers: ‘Ivan is a hero.’ Gen Z: ‘Ivan is the final boss of the internet.’ Both are correct.”
• @PogOrBust: “Ten years old or not, you troll, you get rolled. Ivan didn’t stutter. #ClearLens”

• @EdgyEnby: “Lara Croft and Ivan Tůma? Really? This feels like an unskippable cutscene in the world’s edgiest videogame.”
• @MidnightRanter: “Nine lives gone, and y’all are memeing Ivan’s shotgun slam? Humanity is doomed.”

For Gen Alpha, this entire ordeal was a mix of admiration and existential dread.

• “Wait, so a kid like me did all this? Should I delete my Minecraft server?”
• “Mom says Ivan is scary. I think he’s cool. Does that make me a bad person?”

• @LittleBigKid12: “I don’t even troll, but I’m scared. Ivan, please don’t come to my house.”

When Lara handed Ivan her phone, showing him a meme where his shotgun slam was edited into a Fortnite emote, he muttered under his breath, “This is why I hate people.”

Lara smirked. “They’re on our side, Ivan.”

“Are they? Or is this just another dopamine hit before they move on to the next outrage?” Ivan growled, tossing the phone onto the dashboard of their rented Cadillac.

“Does it matter?” she replied, cold and calculated. “As long as they’re listening now.”

In Washington, the meeting with federal agents was as cordial as a lunch with sharks.

Agent Carter adjusted his tie. “We understand the severity of the situation, but we must consider the perpetrator’s age. This will require delicate handling.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Delicate? A ten-year-old drove nine people to suicide. What’s next, a lollipop and a slap on the wrist?”

“Mr. Tůma, we’re talking about a minor,” Carter insisted, his tone patronizing.

Ivan leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “And I’m talking about nine coffins. Do the math.”

By the time Ivan and Lara reached Colorado, local law enforcement had reluctantly joined the operation. The suburban neighborhood was disturbingly ordinary—manicured lawns, minivans in driveways, and not a hint of the chaos brewing inside one particular house.

Ivan surveyed the street, unimpressed. “This is it? This is where the devil hides these days? Behind a white picket fence?”

“Appearances deceive,” Lara replied, pulling her silenced Glock from its holster.

The house, of course, was equipped with more smart devices than the average tech store. Cameras, motion detectors, and even a Ring doorbell greeted them as they approached.

“Ironic,” Ivan muttered, disabling the devices with a handheld jammer. “The kid terrorizes the world online, and he’s afraid of a door knock.”

As the operation unfolded, the internet remained in a frenzy.

Boomers: “Justice at last!”

Gen Z: “Ivan’s about to hit that kid with the Ban Hammer IRL.”

Gen Alpha: “Can Ivan Tůma be in Fortnite? Please??”

The memes continued, but beneath the chaos, a chilling question loomed: What happens when accountability meets a generation raised to believe actions have no consequences?

Chapter 47

The early afternoon sun glared down on the suburban neighborhood, now a cacophony of sirens, barking orders, and the mechanical hum of a police drone circling overhead. The McMansion at the center of it all, with its gaudy stucco facade and manicured lawn, looked absurdly peaceful despite the chaos unfolding around it.

A negotiator's voice boomed from a loudspeaker, echoing off the houses. "Mrs. Sandra Richmond, this is your last chance. Step out with your hands up. No one needs to get hurt."

Inside, Sandra Richmond stood in her tastefully decorated living room, gripping an antique Winchester M1893 shotgun with a determination that belied her trembling hands. The weapon, a family heirloom from her father, now served as her only defense against what she saw as an unjust assault on her home.

Her heart pounded as she glanced at the cracked screen of her phone, displaying messages from Edgar. "Don’t tell them anything. They’re sheep. You’re smarter than them."

"I’m doing this for you, Edgar," she whispered, pacing the room, her bare feet muffled by the plush white rug.

Outside, Ivan Tůma leaned against the hood of a police cruiser, wearing his usual expression of disdain. His borrowed Winchester Model 1897 rested casually across his lap, the wooden stock polished to a dull shine.

"Two hours of this circus, and for what?" he muttered, lighting a cigarette with his weathered Zippo. He took a drag, blowing smoke into the face of Agent Carter, who had walked over to check on him.

"We’re trying to de-escalate," Carter replied curtly, adjusting the strap of his tactical vest. "This isn’t Eastern Europe, Tůma. We don’t go in guns blazing."

Ivan let out a dry chuckle, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, yes. The American way. Talk until someone else gets shot." He flicked the ash off his cigarette, nodding toward the house. "She’s armed. She’s not coming out. How many agents are you willing to sacrifice for your PR campaign?"

Before Carter could respond, the radio crackled with urgency. "All units, stand by. Movement inside the house."

The breach was swift and loud. The SWAT team, armed with Heckler & Koch MP5s and ballistic shields, moved as a single, well-oiled machine. The front door gave way with a resounding crash as the battering ram splintered the wood.

"Police! Drop your weapon!"

Sandra’s response was immediate—a thunderous BOOM from the Winchester. The buckshot tore through the drywall, narrowly missing an officer who dove behind a couch. Another round erupted, this time hitting an FBI agent in the chest. He stumbled backward, the force sending him crashing through a bay window and onto the lawn.

"Man down! Man down!"

Outside, Ivan smirked, rising to his feet and pumping the action on his Winchester. "Told you," he muttered, stepping over the garden hedge and into the chaos.

Inside, the house was a war zone. Tear gas canisters hissed, filling the air with acrid smoke that stung the eyes and burned the throat. Officers yelled over the din, their commands overlapping.

"Put the gun down!"

"Move left! Cover that hallway!"

Ivan moved with surprising agility for a man his age, his shotgun at the ready. He found Sandra crouched behind an overturned coffee table, coughing violently but still clutching her weapon.

"You think this is a fair fight?" he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Sandra looked up, her eyes bloodshot and defiant. "You don’t understand! They’ll ruin his life!"

Ivan stepped closer, lowering his shotgun slightly. "Lady, your kid already did that. Drop the gun before you end up ruining yours too."

For a moment, her resolve faltered. She stared at Ivan, then at the weapon in her hands, before finally letting it clatter to the floor.

Outside, the scene was electric. Neighbors gathered behind police barricades, phones held aloft to capture every moment. The arrival of Sandra, handcuffed and disheveled, drew a chorus of gasps and murmurs.

One bystander, a middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt, shouted, "Lock her up! She raised that monster!"

Another, a woman clutching her crying toddler, screamed, "She’s as guilty as he is!"

Sandra barely registered the jeers as she was escorted to a waiting police van. Her focus was on Ivan, who emerged moments later, holding a laptop he’d found upstairs.

"This," Ivan said, placing the device on the hood of a cruiser, "is your son’s legacy."

The screen flickered to life, revealing Edgar’s digital footprint. Chat logs filled with hateful rhetoric, detailed plans for harassment campaigns, and folders of disturbing images. Ivan scrolled through it with clinical detachment, turning the screen toward Sandra.

"Take a good look. This is who you’ve been protecting."

Sandra’s face twisted in horror as she scanned the files. "No... no, this isn’t him. Edgar wouldn’t... he’s just a boy."

Ivan leaned in, his voice cold. "He’s not a boy. He’s a predator. And you’ve been his accomplice, whether you like it or not."

The convoy of vehicles sped through the city, sirens blaring. Ivan rode in the lead car, flanked by Sandra and Agent Carter. The destination: Edgar’s private school, a prestigious institution that now found itself at the center of a media firestorm.

At the school, the principal, a frazzled man in his sixties, wrung his hands nervously. "I assure you, Edgar is a model student. This must be some kind of mistake."

Ivan snorted, stepping past him and motioning to the officers. "Evacuate the building. Now."

The students were herded out quickly, many still clutching their phones. News of the situation had already spread online, and a group of teens live-streamed the scene as they walked to the parking lot.

Inside, Edgar sat in a second-floor classroom, scrolling through his phone with a smug grin. When he saw the police outside, he leaned out the window and raised his middle finger high.

"Come and get me, losers!" he shouted.

Ivan grabbed a megaphone, his patience wearing thin.

"Edgar!" he bellowed. "Get your sorry ass out here, or I’ll come in there and drag you out myself!"

There was no response, only laughter from the classroom. Ivan sighed, handing the megaphone to an officer.

"Time for Plan B," he muttered, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder.

Within moments, the tactical team breached the school’s front doors, moving swiftly toward Edgar’s location. The sound of boots on linoleum echoed through the halls as officers cleared each room.

Edgar finally appeared at the top of the staircase, flanked by two other boys. His expression was one of absolute arrogance.

"Really? All this for me?" he said, descending the steps with exaggerated casualness.

When he reached the ground floor, he turned to the group of grieving parents gathered outside and spat on the ground in front of them.

"You people are pathetic," he sneered.

The mob surged forward, and for a brief moment, chaos reigned.

It took every ounce of restraint from Ivan and the officers to pull the parents off Edgar before he was seriously hurt. The boy, his lip bloodied but his smirk intact, was shoved into a waiting police van.

As the doors slammed shut, Ivan leaned in close, his voice low and menacing.

"You’re lucky they didn’t finish the job, you little bastard. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure you get what’s coming to you."

Edgar’s smirk faltered for the first time.

The arrest sparked a firestorm online, with everyone from celebrities to influencers weighing in.

On Instagram, Kylie Jenner posted a tearful selfie: "Heartbroken for the families affected. We need to do better."

Elon Musk, as always, had a hot take on Twitter: "Perhaps this situation could’ve been avoided with proper AI monitoring. Just saying."

TikTok exploded with memes. One featured Ivan’s furious face with the caption: "When you meet the final boss of justice."

And on YouTube, every commentary channel had something to say. Philip DeFranco called it "a wake-up call for modern parenting," while Logan Paul made a tasteless joke about Edgar being "the next big heel in the WWE."

The world was watching. But for Ivan, this was just another day in the unending battle against the worst humanity had to offer.

Chapter 48

Edgar Richmond sat slouched in a gray-walled interrogation room, his cuffed hands drumming a cocky rhythm on the metal table. His smirk lingered like a stain that wouldn’t scrub off, aimed squarely at the two detectives across from him. The overhead light buzzed faintly, throwing sharp shadows on his face and illuminating the room’s every grimy detail.

Detective Rodriguez, grizzled and seasoned by decades of interrogations, leaned back in his chair, his expression one of calm contempt. Detective Monroe, younger, sharper-edged, and clearly impatient, sat forward, his pen tapping against his notebook with increasing frustration.

“Edgar Richmond,” Rodriguez began, his voice steady but cold. “Age ten. Elementary school senior. No priors. And yet here you are, sitting in this room because of…” He opened the folder in front of him and began listing off the charges. “Cyber harassment. Incitement. Reckless endangerment. Oh, and let’s not forget—being indirectly responsible for nine deaths. Nine kids, Edgar. You think that’s something to smile about?”

Edgar shrugged. “Kids these days are soft. Not my fault they couldn’t handle a little banter.”

“Banter?” Monroe repeated, his voice sharp. He slapped the folder shut and leaned in, his eyes blazing. “You doxed them. You sent them threats. You posted fake nudes and tagged their family members. This wasn’t banter—it was terrorism.”

Edgar’s smirk widened as he leaned back, tipping his chair dangerously close to falling. “You guys are taking this way too seriously. It’s the internet. People talk shit. Big deal.”

The live stream of the interrogation, broadcast with court approval to "promote transparency," was already lighting up with commentary.

• @JusticeMom78: “I can’t believe this kid. He needs a slap upside the head.”
• @EdgyTeenLord: “Free my boy Edgar. He’s a legend!”
• @BoomerTom45: “Back in my day, this punk wouldn’t make it past his first belt whipping.”
• @Karen_KloutQueen: “Where are the parents?! This is what happens when kids are raised on screens instead of spankings.”

The interrogation stalled as the door opened, revealing Sandra Richmond, Edgar’s mother. She was every inch the image of wealth and denial: a crisp white blouse under a designer blazer, a string of pearls around her neck, and stilettos that clicked like gunfire on the tiled floor.

She took one look at Edgar and folded her arms. “What on earth have you done now?”

Edgar didn’t even glance at her. “Relax, Mom. They’re just mad I have better jokes than them.”

Sandra’s gaze turned to Rodriguez, her polished demeanor only cracking slightly. “This is a misunderstanding. My son—”

“Your son,” Rodriguez interrupted, sliding the folder toward her, “is a psychopath with a Wi-Fi connection.”

Sandra’s perfectly manicured hands trembled slightly as she opened the folder. Her face drained of color as she scanned the screenshots of Edgar’s online activity: vile messages, humiliating doctored photos, and group chats where he encouraged his followers to harass classmates.

She shut the folder with a snap. “This… this can’t be my Edgar. He’s not… like this.”

“Oh, he’s like this,” Monroe said. “And he’s proud of it.”

Sandra turned to Edgar, her voice rising. “How could you do this?!”

Edgar finally looked at her, rolling his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand, Mom. You’re old.”

The slap came without warning. Sandra’s palm met Edgar’s cheek with a sharp crack that left the room in stunned silence. Edgar rubbed his face, glaring at her with more surprise than anger.

Sandra’s voice was trembling now, tears streaking her flawless makeup. “You’ve ruined lives! What kind of monster are you?!”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a control freak—” Edgar started, but Sandra was already storming out of the room, her heels echoing in her wake.

Moments later, the door swung open again, and in walked Ivan Tůma. His entrance was like a storm rolling in—silent, deliberate, and carrying the promise of destruction. He wore a well-worn leather jacket over a black shirt, and slung over his shoulder was a Winchester Model 1897, its wooden stock gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights.

Edgar’s bravado faltered for a moment as he eyed the shotgun. “Uh… who the hell are you?”

Ivan unslung the Winchester and set it on the table with a heavy thud, leaning on it like a walking stick. His gaze bore into Edgar, cold and unflinching. “I’m the guy who’s here to do what your parents should’ve done years ago.”

Edgar tried to muster a smirk. “Yeah? What’s that? Read me a bedtime story?”

Without a word, Ivan reached across the table and cuffed Edgar across the back of the head—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to sting and send a clear message.

The live chat exploded.

• @AlphaChad69: “Finally, some real justice!”
• @BoomerRick47: “This man is a national treasure. Ivan for president.”
• @GenZRebel: “Edgar just met his match. RIP to his ego.”

Ivan leaned closer, his voice low and growling. “You think this is funny? Nine kids are dead because of you. Families are shattered. And here you are, acting like some hotshot. You’re not a mastermind, Edgar. You’re just a spoiled little shit who thinks the world owes him something.”

Edgar opened his mouth to retort, but Ivan held up a finger, silencing him. “When I was your age,” Ivan continued, “I pulled some stupid stunts too. You know what happened when my mom found out? She whipped my ass with a leather belt until I couldn’t sit for a week. And you know what? I learned not to screw up again. But you?” He gestured to Edgar with contempt. “You’re what happens when parenting goes to shit.”

Edgar glared at him, his face red. “You can’t hit me! I’ll sue!”

Ivan smirked. “Go ahead. Call your lawyer. See if he can protect you from reality.”

At Ivan’s suggestion, one of Edgar’s surviving victims was brought into the room. Marissa, a pale, thin seventeen-year-old, entered hesitantly, her long sleeves pulled down over her wrists. Her voice was barely audible as she sat down.

“You,” she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. “You ruined my life.”

Marissa tried to explain how Edgar’s relentless bullying drove her to attempt suicide—twice. But mid-sentence, her voice broke, and she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Ivan helped her to her feet, his expression softening. “You’re stronger than you think, kid,” he said quietly.

Edgar’s face finally showed cracks in his facade. “I… I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” Ivan snapped. “Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean it. You meant every word.” He turned to the detectives. “Charge him as an adult. No excuses. No plea deals. This kid needs to learn what consequences feel like.”

The trial that followed was a media circus, with every detail of Edgar’s crimes dissected by news outlets and social media. In the end, Edgar was sentenced to five years in juvenile detention, with mandatory counseling.

The internet exploded in the aftermath.

• @JusticeWarrior88: “Finally, some accountability!”
• @FreeEdgarMovt: “He’s just a kid! Society failed him first!”
• @BoomerJim99: “Ivan did what every parent in the world should do: raise hell and take names.”

Outside the courthouse, Ivan addressed the press. “This isn’t just about Edgar. This is about a culture that’s forgotten what accountability means. Words have power. Actions have consequences. And it’s high time we stopped raising cowards who hide behind screens.”

Without waiting for applause, Ivan slung his shotgun over his shoulder and walked away, leaving the world to argue over justice and parenting.

Chapter 49

Edgar Richmond sat in the holding cell, his bravado long gone. The weight of his sentencing—five years in juvenile detention and mandatory counseling—was sinking in. His smirk, once plastered across his face like a badge of defiance, had crumbled under the pressure of public outrage and his own crumbling self-image. Yet, outside the courthouse, the world was far from satisfied.

The internet, media, and concerned parents continued to dissect the fallout. News anchors debated the role of parenting in raising a generation desensitized to online cruelty. Social media exploded with hashtags, think pieces, and polarized opinions:

• @JusticeServed77: “One down, 50 to go. Let’s clean house.”
• @KidsAreVictimsToo: “Edgar’s not the problem. He’s a symptom of a broken system.”
• @IvanFanClub: “Clear Lens team should run the DOJ. Let’s get this crap sorted!”

Amidst the chaos, Ivan Tůma and Lara Croft remained in Colorado. They filmed a special episode of Clear Lens, live from a rented studio near the juvenile detention center. The episode, titled The Monster Behind the Screen, quickly became the most-watched installment in the show’s history.

Ivan, his voice heavy with restrained fury, began the episode:

“This isn’t over. Edgar Richmond isn’t the mastermind. He’s a cog in a much larger, much darker machine. And we’re not stopping until we find the truth.”

The morning after the episode aired, Lara received a call from Zip, her tech genius back at Croft Manor. His voice was tense, sharper than usual.

“Ivan. Lara. We’ve got a problem. Edgar isn’t the real deal. He’s just a middleman.”

“What are you talking about?” Lara demanded, leaning over the laptop where Zip’s face flickered on the screen.

Zip’s fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up encrypted files he had managed to retrieve from Edgar’s confiscated devices. The data told a horrifying story: Edgar was not the architect of the harassment campaigns but a pawn manipulated by someone far more sinister.

“There’s a larger network,” Zip explained, his voice grim. “It’s a coordinated effort. Whoever’s behind it has been recruiting kids like Edgar—threatening them with blackmail or enticing them with small payments, like $200 a pop, to harass specific targets. This isn’t just about Edgar. There are at least 50 more kids like him, and they’re responsible for over 200 confirmed suicides.”

Lara’s hand tightened into a fist. “And the mastermind?”

“Still anonymous,” Zip admitted. “But they’re organized. Sophisticated. This isn’t some basement troll. This is a predator. Someone with resources, power, and no moral compass.”

Ivan’s face darkened. “So Edgar was just the messenger,” he growled. “But he still pulled the trigger on nine lives. Doesn’t absolve him.”

“No,” Lara agreed. “But it changes the scope of what we’re dealing with. We’re not chasing a bully anymore. We’re chasing a network of predators.”

Within hours, Ivan and Lara had assembled a team. Zip’s tech expertise would be pivotal in tracking the network, while their contacts within law enforcement and cybersecurity agencies began mobilizing resources. The FBI, prompted by the rising pressure of public outrage, joined the hunt.

As they dove deeper, the scale of the operation became clear. Encrypted chats, Bitcoin payments, and dark web activity painted a chilling picture. The mastermind—referred to only as “Null”—had created a system where young, impressionable trolls were recruited to terrorize victims en masse.

The subtrolls were motivated by fear, greed, or sometimes the sheer thrill of destruction. Some were coerced, threatened with exposure to child pornography rings if they refused to comply. Others reveled in the chaos, using their anonymity as a shield to inflict maximum harm.

One by one, law enforcement began apprehending the subtrolls. Interrogations revealed the same story: Null had reached out, promising rewards or wielding threats, always staying one step ahead of detection.

The evidence mounted, each discovery more horrifying than the last. Over 200 suicides were linked to the network, spanning victims from ages 13 to 30. The names and faces of the deceased became a haunting reminder of the human toll behind the digital warfare.

Ivan’s fury boiled over during a late-night recording of Clear Lens. The episode, raw and unscripted, captured his unfiltered rage:

“These aren’t kids making stupid mistakes. These are predators training future monsters. And if you think for one second that we’re going to stop before we drag them into the light, you’re dead wrong.”

Lara, calmer but equally resolute, added, “We have to stop asking ‘why’ and start asking ‘how.’ How did we let this happen? How do we stop it? And how do we make sure it never happens again?”

As the investigation continued, Null began to retaliate. Subtrolls who cooperated with authorities received threats, their families targeted with doxxing and harassment. One subtroll was found dead in an apparent suicide, though the timing raised suspicions of foul play.

The urgency of the hunt escalated. Ivan and Lara knew they were up against a dangerous opponent—one who wouldn’t hesitate to silence anyone who got too close.

Zip, working tirelessly from his secure lab at Croft Manor, finally uncovered a breakthrough: a traceable transaction that led to an offshore account tied to Null. The account holder’s identity, however, was protected by layers of shell companies and fake aliases.

“This is it,” Zip said, his voice trembling with a mix of excitement and dread. “We’re close. But if we don’t move fast, Null will vanish.”

Ivan grabbed his jacket and the Winchester Model 1897, his expression set like stone. “Then we don’t waste time.”

Lara followed, her jaw clenched. “We’re bringing this bastard down.”

As the hunt closed in on Null’s location, the weight of the case bore down on Ivan, Lara, and everyone involved. The scale of the tragedy—the lives lost, the families destroyed, the ripple effects of unchecked cruelty—was almost too much to bear.

But Ivan and Lara had made a promise: to the victims, to their families, and to themselves. This wasn’t just a case. This was justice.

And justice, they vowed, would be served.

Chapter 50

The search for the primary troll had escalated into a nationwide manhunt. Ivan and Lara, traveling incognito in a beat-up Mercury Grand Marquis, became a key part of the operation. While the car was inconspicuous, their mission had captured the attention of the nation. Social media buzzed constantly with updates on their progress, blending facts with speculation and memes.

The couple’s dedication had inspired an outpouring of support from celebrities, influencers, and fans alike. Charli and Dixie D’Amelio, personal friends of Ivan and Lara, took to their platforms to amplify the search. “This isn’t just about catching some sicko,” Charli said during a live stream. “This is about holding people accountable for the lives they destroy.” IShowSpeed, who had previously worked with Ivan on a Clear Lens episode about digital responsibility, tweeted, “Man, whoever this troll is, I hope Ivan gets to him first. That dude don’t miss.”

Comment sections overflowed:

@GenZSavage: “Can we talk about how Ivan and Lara are literally Batman and Catwoman rn?”

@AlphaChaos: “They’re doing more for America than most of Congress. Just saying.”

@BoomerJustice64: “Back in my day, this troll would’ve been taken care of with a belt and a prayer.”

@Stan4Lara: “Not me crying over how badass they are. Get him, queen!”

Even Hollywood heavyweights weighed in. Matt Damon and Robert De Niro appeared on talk shows praising the couple’s relentless efforts, while Trey Parker hinted at a South Park episode inspired by the case. Memes of Ivan’s no-nonsense demeanor holding his Winchester flooded the internet, with captions like, “You can’t troll someone who’s already loaded.”

One day, while driving through Los Angeles, they received a tip about the troll’s possible location. The tension was palpable as the Grand Marquis weaved through the city’s iconic streets. “It’s somewhere near here,” Lara muttered, her eyes scanning the GPS. Ivan, gripping the wheel, nodded grimly.

As they passed a row of celebrity mansions, something caught Lara’s attention. A figure stood still behind the window of a luxurious house, its silhouette frozen in an unnatural pose. “That’s odd,” she said, pointing to the Reinhart residence.

“Reinhart? As in Lili Reinhart?” Ivan asked, recognizing the actress from Riverdale.

“Yeah,” Lara confirmed. “Something’s not right.”

They stopped the car and approached the property. The door was unlocked. Inside, the atmosphere was eerily silent, with the faint hum of running water coming from upstairs.

They found Lili Reinhart in the bathroom, slumped in a tub of lukewarm water, her wrists cut. Blood smeared the edges of the porcelain. On the floor, a razorblade gleamed ominously. Her phone lay nearby, its screen still glowing with a horrific message: a photoshopped image of Lili with a penis in her mouth, paired with vile comments. The troll’s latest post was pinned:

"Lili Reinhart is a waste of oxygen. Riverdale is trash, and her mother should’ve swallowed her."

Lara gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Ivan quickly knelt beside Lili, checking for a pulse. “She’s alive,” he announced, relief evident in his voice. “We need to move.”

They wrapped her wounds as best they could and carried her to the Grand Marquis. Ivan drove like a bat out of hell, pushing the aging car to nearly 200 km/h through LA’s streets. The blaring of horns and screeching tires followed them, chaos erupting in their wake as they wove through traffic, narrowly avoiding collisions. News helicopters caught footage of the speeding car, and soon the chase was trending online.

@StreetGossip: “WTF is going on in LA? Some car just caused a 5-car pileup on Melrose!”

@Justice4Lili: “Are those Ivan and Lara? Did they find the troll?!”

@BoomerFred89: “Reckless driving or not, this is what heroes look like.”

When they arrived at the hospital, doctors took Lili into emergency surgery. Ivan and Lara sat in the waiting room, blood staining their clothes and exhaustion etched into their faces. The adrenaline that had carried them this far was beginning to wear off.

“She almost died because of him,” Lara whispered, her voice shaking with anger.

“She’s not the first,” Ivan said grimly.

While Lili fought for her life, Ivan and Lara recorded a new episode of Clear Lens directly from the hospital parking lot. “This troll isn’t just a nuisance,” Ivan growled into the camera. “He’s a murderer hiding behind a keyboard. And if you think we’re stopping now, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The scale of the operation was staggering. Nearly fifty young trolls were identified, collectively responsible for over 200 suicides. Many had been manipulated into acting against their will, fearing for their lives if they disobeyed.

@Justice4All: “200 lives. Let that sink in.”

@GenZLoyalty: “This is why we need better internet regulation. People like this shouldn’t exist.”

@AlphaVibes: “Not Ivan and Lara literally carrying the weight of the nation on their backs.”

Ivan and Lara, along with federal agents and local authorities, redoubled their efforts. The hunt for the mastermind became a race against time.

The public rallied behind them, flooding social media with messages of support. Charli D’Amelio posted a heartfelt video saying, “We can’t let this monster destroy any more lives. Ivan and Lara, we’re with you.” IShowSpeed, in his signature chaotic style, livestreamed a rant where he yelled, “Yo, whoever you are, I hope Ivan gets to you first, because I swear to God, he’s built different.”

The days stretched into nights as Ivan and Lara chased leads across the country, their resolve unshaken. The Grand Marquis became their warhorse, carrying them from city to city as they pieced together the troll’s network.

But the deeper they dug, the more horrifying the truth became. @Null wasn’t just a lone troll—it was a monster born of a system that thrived on cruelty, feeding on the pain of others. And Ivan and Lara weren’t just hunting a person; they were dismantling an empire of hate, one lead at a time.

The world watched with bated breath, waiting for justice to be served.

Chapter 51

The morning sun cast a harsh light over the outskirts of a small Texan town as Ivan, Lara, and a convoy of police cruisers followed a dusty, tree-lined road. The atmosphere in the Mercury Grand Marquis was tense; the haunting memory of recent events loomed heavily over them.

Ivan gripped the wheel tightly, his jaw clenched in determination. Lara sat beside him, refreshing the latest updates on her tablet. The quiet was shattered as Ivan slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt and kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Stop,” Ivan muttered, his voice grave.

Lara looked up. “What’s going on?”

Ivan didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on a lone oak tree up ahead. Hanging from one of its sturdy branches was a body. A young woman.

They both stepped out of the car, and the sight hit them like a gut-punch.

The woman couldn’t have been older than twenty. She was Hispanic, her long black hair tangled and matted, her face swollen and bruised from days of exposure. Around her neck hung a crudely made cardboard sign, swinging slightly in the breeze.

The words written in thick, uneven black marker were vile:

"Slut. Beaner. Waste of space."

Lara stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned to Ivan, who stood frozen, his face dark with fury.

Without hesitation, Ivan pulled out his phone and started an Instagram Live.

“Look at this,” he said, his voice low and steady, but trembling with emotion. He walked closer to the tree, pointing his camera at the horrific scene. “This is what hate looks like. This is the price of their cruelty. A young woman—a human being—stripped of her dignity, her life, because of words. Because of evil.”

The live comments came pouring in:

@JusticeForAna: “This is heartbreaking. RIP, angel.”

@GenZUnite: “I can’t believe this is real. How can anyone do this?”

@AlphaArmy: “Null is a monster. We have to stop him.”

@JusticeLeagueBoomers: “Enough is enough. Online hate is killing people.”

As Ivan continued, police officers arrived and began cordoning off the area. A few tried to stop him, but he waved them off. “The world needs to see this,” he insisted. “No more hiding behind excuses. No more silence.”

After the live broadcast ended, the forensics team began their grim work. Lara stood to the side, visibly shaken. “She’s been here for days,” she murmured, tears streaming down her face.

A young officer, pale and visibly shaken, approached Ivan. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing that live,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “But you handled it like someone who’s done this before.”

“I have, and I've seen worse” Ivan said without hesitation.

The officer raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were just the guy from ‘Clear Lens.’ The truth-teller.”

“I was a detective for twenty-six years before that,” Ivan replied, turning back to examine the scene.

The officer nodded, a newfound respect evident in his expression.

The investigation quickly uncovered chilling details. Ana López, the victim, had been dead long before she was hung from the tree. Her throat had been brutally slashed, a detail Ivan noticed almost immediately.

“This wasn’t a suicide,” Ivan muttered to Lara as they stood by the forensics team. “This was staged. Someone wanted to send a message.”

Lara’s voice trembled. “A message to who?”

“To everyone.”

Later that day, back at the station, Ivan and Lara sat with a local hacker known as Phantom. The young man, dressed in a hoodie and sporting thick glasses, had been tracking Null for weeks.

“This guy isn’t just a troll,” Phantom began, his voice serious. “Null is running a network. He’s got a group of loyalists who follow his every command. Racist, homophobic, misogynistic—you name it, they’re all in.”

“Can you get us closer to him?” Ivan asked, his tone sharp and direct.

Phantom smirked, typing rapidly on his laptop. “I’ve got access to one of his forums. It’s not much, but it’s a start. Null’s cocky, but even he makes mistakes. Based on his activity, I’d say he’s somewhere in the Midwest. Illinois or Indiana, maybe.”

While they planned their next move, another update came through: Lili Reinhart, the actress they’d rescued just days before, had recorded a message from her hospital bed.

The video, broadcast live from her Instagram, showed Lili looking pale but determined.

“I just want to say thank you,” Lili began, her voice steady despite the obvious strain. “To Ivan, to Lara—you saved my life. My nurse told me about what you’re doing, and I want you to know that it means the world to me. I’ve been through hell, but your work gives me hope. Keep going. Catch this monster. For me, for Ana, for everyone he’s hurt. You’ve got my full support.”

The comments flooded in almost immediately.

@RiverdaleForever: “We love you, Lili! Stay strong!”

@JusticeForAna: “This is so inspiring. Let’s keep fighting.”

@NullWatch: “Null’s days are numbered.”

Ivan watched the video in silence, his jaw tightening. “We can’t let her down,” he said quietly.

As the day ended, the weight of everything they had seen and learned hung heavy in the air. But Ivan and Lara knew there was no turning back now.

Null had made this personal. And they were closer than ever to bringing him down.

Chapter 52

The Mercury Grand Marquis sped down the highway, Phantom sitting in the backseat with his laptop perched on his knees. His fingers danced over the keyboard as lines of code scrolled rapidly on the screen. Lara sat in the passenger seat, her phone pressed to her ear as she coordinated with law enforcement in Indiana and Illinois.

“Chicago PD is on high alert,” she said, glancing at Ivan. “They’re sending units to O’Hare. TSA’s already tightening security.”

Ivan nodded, his eyes locked on the road. “Good. If Null thinks he can hide in a place like that, he’s underestimating us.”

Phantom leaned forward, his expression a mix of excitement and determination. “This guy’s been posting encrypted messages to his network all day. He’s agitated. I think he knows we’re close.”

Just as Phantom spoke, Ivan’s phone buzzed. The screen lit up with an untraceable number. Ivan narrowed his eyes and answered.

“Who is this?” Ivan demanded.

A voice crackled through the speaker, deep and distorted by a modulator. It was Null.

“Major Ivan Tůma,” Null sneered, dragging out the words. “The internet’s favorite truth-teller. The hero of the sheep. You think you can stop me? You don’t even know who you’re dealing with.”

Ivan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with. A coward who hides behind a screen and thinks he’s untouchable. Guess what, Null? You’re not.”

Null chuckled darkly. “You have no idea what’s coming. I could ruin you with a single click. Your reputation, your life, your family—I’ll burn it all to the ground.”

Ivan’s lips curled into a cold smirk. “Big talk for a guy who’s about to soil his pants. Better grab some diapers, Null. You’ll need them when this is over.”

Null’s laughter faltered for a moment, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Let’s see how clever you are when the whole world watches you fail.” The line went dead.

Phantom immediately sprang into action, typing furiously. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “He made a mistake. I triangulated the call—it came from Chicago O’Hare.”

Ivan hit the accelerator, the Grand Marquis roaring as it surged forward. “Lara, get on the phone. Tell Chicago PD to lock that airport down. No one gets in or out without being checked.”

Lara was already dialing, relaying the information to local authorities. Within minutes, the message was clear: Chicago O’Hare International Airport was now a battleground.

At O’Hare, chaos was already brewing. Security lines stretched endlessly as TSA agents and police officers conducted thorough searches. Announcements blared over the intercom, instructing passengers to remain calm.

Phantom hacked into the airport’s surveillance system from the backseat, pulling up feeds on his laptop. “He’s here,” Phantom muttered, scanning the screens. “I can feel it. He wouldn’t risk calling you unless he thought he was safe.”

“Safe?” Ivan scoffed, weaving through traffic. “Not for long.”

The convoy of police vehicles behind them flashed their sirens, parting traffic like the Red Sea as they approached the airport. Lara glanced at Ivan, her expression a mixture of anxiety and resolve.

“You think he’s trying to flee?” she asked.

“Probably,” Ivan replied. “But he won’t get far. He’s backed into a corner now, and desperate people make mistakes.”

As they neared the airport, Phantom’s voice cut through the tension. “I’ve got movement. Terminal 3, Gate K7. Someone just tried to access a restricted area using a fake TSA badge.”

Ivan’s eyes lit up with determination. “That’s him.”

“Police are on their way,” Lara said, her phone still glued to her ear. “But they need time to get through the crowds.”

“Then we’ll get there first,” Ivan growled, the Grand Marquis skidding into the airport’s parking lot.

Inside O’Hare, the atmosphere was electric with tension. Passengers murmured anxiously as police officers fanned out across terminals, scanning faces and questioning individuals. Meanwhile, Null was on the move, his face hidden beneath a baseball cap and sunglasses.

He clutched a duffel bag, his steps quick and deliberate. But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Back in the car, Phantom zoomed in on the security footage. “There he is!” he exclaimed, pointing at the screen. “He’s heading for the baggage claim!”

Ivan and Lara sprinted into the airport, their badges flashed at every checkpoint. They moved with purpose, cutting through the chaos as Phantom guided them via earpiece.

“He’s picking up the pace,” Phantom warned. “You need to hurry.”

Ivan’s heart pounded in his chest as they closed in on their target. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the culmination of months of pursuit finally within reach.

Chapter 53

The Mercury Grand Marquis skidded to a halt near the tarmac’s service entrance. Ivan, Lara, and Phantom stepped out, the air around them heavy with tension. Ivan adjusted his trench coat, his Smith & Wesson Model 27 gleaming at his side. Lara checked her twin USP Match pistols, their cold steel a sharp contrast to her fiery focus.

“Alright,” Ivan said gruffly, turning to Phantom. He handed him a Winchester M1897 shotgun. “You’re with us now. It’s not just computers and gadgets anymore.”

Phantom hesitated, gripping the weapon awkwardly. “Uh, I’ve never—like, ever—shot one of these.”

Ivan sighed, rubbing his temple. “Figures. Fine. Here.” He swapped out the shotgun for a smaller revolver. “Point, aim, don’t miss. And stay behind me.” He glanced down at his wooden prosthetic leg, which thudded against the pavement. “Let’s move.”

Inside the airport, the tension was palpable. The authorities had evacuated most of the terminals, but the faint hum of distant voices and the periodic crackle of announcements over the PA system created an eerie atmosphere. They moved through the baggage claim area, Ivan limping slightly, his prosthetic clicking against the polished floor.

“Are we sure he’s still here?” Phantom asked nervously.

Before Ivan could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his face darkened. It was another grotesque photoshopped image of him—this time with obscenities scrawled across his face and his wooden leg highlighted with mocking captions.

“What’s wrong?” Lara asked, peeking at the screen.

“Null’s playing games,” Ivan growled, slipping the phone back into his coat. “It’s just noise.”

But it wasn’t just noise. The internet was ablaze. Threads across platforms like Twitter, Reddit, and TikTok buzzed with speculation and outrage. Some cheered Ivan on, others debated the morality of hunting Null, and some, as always, reveled in the chaos.

After thirty minutes of searching, Phantom spotted Null on a security monitor. He pointed excitedly. “There! Near baggage carousel 14.”

The man on the screen was nothing like they’d expected. Null was in his fifties, slightly overweight, wearing a cheap hoodie and cargo pants. He sat casually on a bench, tapping away at his laptop. He looked more like a disheveled office worker than the monster they’d been chasing.

“Unbelievable,” Lara muttered.

“Keep your guard up,” Ivan said. “The dangerous ones never look the part.”

They approached cautiously, weapons at the ready. But as soon as Null noticed them, his demeanor shifted. His eyes darted around, calculating his escape.

Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a MAC-10 submachine gun.

“Get down!” Ivan roared, diving behind a luggage cart as Null opened fire.

The terminal erupted in chaos. The rapid-fire of the MAC-10 echoed through the hall, shattering windows and sending sparks flying. Ivan’s wooden leg caught one of the bullets, splintering on impact and causing him to fall. Lara dragged him behind cover, returning fire with sharp, precise shots.

A security guard ran into the fray but was struck down by Null’s bullets, collapsing in a lifeless heap. Phantom cowered behind a pillar, gripping his revolver but too petrified to shoot.

“Phantom!” Ivan barked. “Get your head in the game, or get out of here!”

The firefight raged on, but Null’s MAC-10 eventually clicked empty. He tossed the gun aside and bolted for the nearest exit. Ivan forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on Lara for support.

“After him,” Ivan grunted, reloading his shotgun.

They cornered Null near a baggage loading dock. He stood, hands raised but smirking as if he’d already won.

“Well, well,” Null sneered. “Detective Tůma. Big fan of your work. Shame about the leg, though. I’m guessing prosthetics don’t come cheap these days?”

Ivan didn’t respond, his shotgun trained steadily on Null.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Lara spat, her pistols aimed at Null’s chest.

Null laughed, taking a step closer. “Oh, come on. This is all a bit dramatic, don’t you think? You can’t kill me. That’d make you just like me. And let’s be honest—you love the spotlight too much to ruin your image now.”

Ivan’s face darkened. He stepped forward, pulling the shotgun and pressing its barrel against Null’s mouth.

Null’s smirk disappeared instantly. He mumbled something incoherent, his eyes wide with terror.

“You think this is a game?” Ivan growled, his voice low and menacing. “You think ruining lives is fun? You don’t get to walk away from this.”

For a moment, the tension was suffocating. Then Ivan pulled back, flipping the shotgun around and slamming the butt into Null’s face. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

As Null was dragged away in handcuffs, the internet exploded. Celebrities and influencers weighed in almost immediately:

Robert De Niro: “Glad to see justice being served. Ivan, you’ve got guts. Respect.”

Dixie D’Amelio: “@ClearLensOfficial is GOATED. Period.”

IShowSpeed: “W Ivan. W Lara. W Phantom. Null’s an L.”

The younger generations, particularly Gen Z and Alpha, flooded TikTok with memes, fan edits, and hashtags like #NullExposed and #IvanIsDaddy.

@user19293 (Gen Z, TikTok): “Not Ivan pulling out the shotgun like he’s in a Tarantino movie. LEGEND.”

@AlphaKing21 (Gen Alpha, Twitter): “Phantom lowkey carried the vibes tho. Big W for the geek squad!”

Meanwhile, Boomers on Facebook took a more sobering approach:

@KarenSmith123: “This Null guy is what’s wrong with society. Thank God Ivan stopped him.”

But not everyone was cheering. Some questioned the ethics of the chase, calling Ivan’s methods extreme.

@MoralHighGround (Reddit): “Should we really be celebrating vigilante justice? This is a slippery slope, folks.”

Ivan sat in the terminal, his leg hastily bandaged, the adrenaline finally fading. Lara handed him a water bottle, sitting beside him in silence.

“You didn’t kill him,” she said quietly. “You could have, but you didn’t.”

“I’m not like him,” Ivan replied, staring into the distance. “And I never will be.”

Phantom sat nearby, scrolling through his phone. “Uh, guys... the internet’s calling you a hero. Again.”

Ivan let out a tired laugh. “Yeah? Well, let’s see how long that lasts.”

As they sat there, Null was taken away by the FBI, his smugness long gone. But for Ivan, Lara, and Phantom, the journey wasn’t over.

This was just one battle. The war against the toxic underbelly of the internet was far from won.

Chapter 54

The courtroom was stifling, packed wall-to-wall with reporters, onlookers, and legal teams. Cameras clicked incessantly, capturing every flicker of emotion from the accused, Henry Clive, also known as Null, and the victims seated across from him. Null sat slumped in his chair, wearing an orange jumpsuit, his smirk gone, replaced by a cold emptiness.

On the witness stand, Lili Reinhart steadied herself, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the edges of the wooden podium. The courtroom fell silent as she began her testimony.

“At first, I thought it was just another troll,” Lili said, her voice clear but wavering with the weight of her words. “Another faceless coward on the internet.”

She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“But it wasn’t. He—Null—hacked into my personal accounts. He stole my photos, edited them, twisted them into something obscene. He plastered manipulated images of me across the internet. In one, he made it look like I was performing… a sexual act. He mocked me, degraded me, and then sent them to my friends, my family, my colleagues. And then… to the world.”

Gasps rippled through the room. Ivan, sitting in the gallery with Lara and Phantom, clenched his fists. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck visibly straining.

Lili’s voice cracked as she continued, her face a mixture of pain and resolve.

“I didn’t tell anyone. I was too ashamed, too afraid that people would believe the lies. The messages he sent me were worse—he called me worthless, disgusting, a fraud. He said I didn’t deserve to be alive.” Her voice broke, but she pressed on. “And one night, I believed him.”

Lara leaned forward, her expression unreadable. Phantom sat frozen, his hands gripping his knees.

“I locked myself in my bathroom, turned on the faucet to drown out the sound, and I… I cut my wrists.” Her hands shook as she held them up, scars faint but visible. “I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted him to stop.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Even the judge, a stern man with years of experience, looked shaken.

“But I’m still here,” Lili said, her voice rising. “And I’m here because people like Ivan and Lara refused to let monsters like Null win. They found him. They stopped him. And because of them, I’m standing here, alive, to tell my story.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

The judge’s gavel struck the bench with finality.

“Henry Clive, known online as Null, your actions are beyond reprehensible. You built an empire of cruelty, targeting the vulnerable, driving dozens to despair and death. The court finds you guilty on all charges, including cyber harassment, identity theft, and manslaughter.”

Null sat motionless as the judge delivered the sentence.

“You are hereby sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. Additionally, the court orders restitution to the families of your victims.”

The gallery erupted in murmurs, and cameras flashed as the verdict was read. Ivan and Lara exchanged a glance—grim satisfaction etched on their faces. Phantom let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Null’s empire crumbled within hours of his arrest. Websites associated with him were taken down, and his followers scattered. The once-mighty troll armies of the internet went quiet, their reign of terror abruptly halted.

But the impact of Null’s actions lingered. On social media, survivors began sharing their stories under hashtags like #NullVictims, #SpeakOut, and #JusticeForLili.

Celebrities and Influencers React

• @Zendaya (Twitter): “Lili’s bravery is unmatched. And to Ivan and Lara—you’re the heroes we didn’t know we needed.”
• @KeanuReeves (Instagram): “Null got what he deserved. Thank you, Ivan and Lara, for fighting the good fight.”
• @TaylorSwift (Twitter): “To Lili: You’re stronger than you know. To Ivan and Lara: Keep shining that light in the darkness.”
• @PewDiePie (YouTube): “Clear Lens just made the internet a better place. Props to Phantom for not wetting himself in the crossfire!”
• @MeganTheeStallion (TikTok): “Null got clapped. Ivan and Lara, y’all are GOATs.”

Fan communities exploded with memes and tributes.

• @TikTokFanatic92: “Lili Reinhart: drops mic. Ivan: drops trolls. Lara: drops bodies. ICONIC.”
• @TwitterAlphaKid: “Ivan with that wooden leg is giving Terminator but classy. Absolute legend.”

The news of Null's life sentence and his obligation to pay reparations to the families of his victims spread like wildfire. Media outlets, social platforms, and private group chats lit up with fervent discussions. For Clear Lens, this was the story of the decade, and Ivan and Lara were at the helm.

Lara sat in the gallery, fists clenched, while Ivan maintained his stoic demeanor. As the gavel slammed down and Null was sentenced to life, both exchanged a glance of grim satisfaction. Justice had been served, but the scars it left were deep.

The reactions online were as explosive as they were diverse. Gen Z and Alpha dominated TikTok and Twitter, turning the courtroom drama into a cultural event.

• @BaddieGenZ (TikTok): “Ivan and Lara didn’t just SERVE; they delivered a 12-course justice meal with dessert. 🍽️ #NullExposed”
• @PhantomIsDaddy (Twitter): “Phantom finally using a gun >>> me failing to make my microwave work. ICONIC. 🔥”
• @User27461 (YouTube): “Null deserved worse. Can we talk about how Lili kept this to herself for MONTHS? 😭😭 Give her all the flowers. 🌸🌸🌸”

Meanwhile, Boomers on Facebook were less meme-centric:

• @PatriciaStrong (Facebook): “This is why we need stricter laws for online behavior. Thank you, Ivan and Lara, for standing up to these monsters.”

Not to be outdone, influencers and celebrities threw their hats into the ring.

• Lili Reinhart (@lilireinhart): “Finally, it’s over. Thank you to Ivan, Lara, and everyone who believed me. You’ve given me my voice back. ❤️”
• Hugh Jackman (@RealHughJackman): “Null silenced so many, but Ivan and Lara proved the pen—and the shotgun—is mightier. Bravo. 👏”
• Nikita Dragun (@nikitadragun): “Lili, you’re a queen. 👑 Ivan and Lara, y’all are the blueprint. ✨”

That evening, Clear Lens aired its special episode: “Null and the Internet’s Underbelly.” Lara opened with her trademark sharp wit:

“Null thought he could play God, but the court just reminded him that even gods bleed. And now? He’s got a one-way ticket to irrelevance, with a pit stop at Prison Cell Number Who-Cares.”

Ivan leaned into the camera, his tone blunt:

“We live in a world where accountability is optional for too many people. Null isn’t the end of this story. He’s the beginning. If you think you’re safe behind your screen, think again. Because sooner or later, someone like us is coming for you.”

The broadcast was raw, cynical, and packed with brutal truths about online culture. It immediately trended, with hashtags like #ClearLensExposed, #JusticeServed, and #IvanAndLaraUncensored topping charts.

Lili Reinhart’s courage inspired a wave of others to come forward. Victims of trolling and online harassment shared their stories, creating a cascade of change. Null’s conviction set a precedent, with governments worldwide discussing stricter cyber laws.

Ivan and Lara returned to Britain to continue Clear Lens. They stepped off their flight to Heathrow Airport in the Mercury Grand Marquis, which had somehow survived the chaos, much like its passengers.

“Clear Lens just hit 2 billion followers,” she said. “Guess we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

And so, the uncensored truth continued to find its way to the people, delivered by the sharpest duo the media had ever known.

The comment section under Clear Lens’s latest video was chaos incarnate:

• @XxTrollSlayerxX (YouTube): “Null got clapped, and I’m here for it. Ivan, adopt me. 😭”
• @BoomerKaren123 (Facebook): “This is why we need people like Ivan. Bless him!”
• @BieberFan99 (TikTok): “Lara’s drip is unmatched. Twin USP Match pistols >>>”
• @ElonMusk (Twitter): “Clear Lens is savage. I approve. 🚀”

And, inevitably:

• @NullIsInnocent (Reddit): “Y’all just hate free speech. SMH.”

As Ivan would say: “The world doesn’t change. You just get louder.”

Chapter 55

Life at Croft Manor resumed its steady rhythm, a curious mix of opulence and razor-sharp wit. Lara juggled her responsibilities at the estate with her unrelenting work ethic, while Ivan adapted seamlessly to his role as the co-host of Clear Lens. The show had become a phenomenon, now airing every Wednesday and Saturday, drawing millions of viewers who craved its unfiltered truth.

Wednesday evenings saw the grand studio on the estate bustling with life. Fans lined up outside the gates, hoping for a glimpse of the iconic pair. The set itself was a reflection of their personalities—sleek, modern, yet with a hint of British aristocracy, complete with antique furnishings and cutting-edge broadcasting equipment.

Ivan and Lara had cemented their reputation for delivering brutal honesty on topics ranging from geopolitics to pop culture. Politicians squirmed under their scrutiny, influencers braced for ridicule, and the audience adored every unsparing second.

For this week’s broadcast, the special guest was none other than Lili Reinhart. Her testimony during Null’s trial had turned her into a public figure in the fight against online harassment, and her visit to Clear Lens was highly anticipated.

Lili arrived in a sleek black sedan, stepping out with a confident smile despite the show’s reputation for playfully roasting its guests.

“You’re brave,” Lara quipped as she greeted her. “Most people would run screaming at the idea of sitting on our couch.”

“Brave, or just a little crazy,” Lili laughed. “But let’s do this.”

As the cameras rolled, the banter was immediate.

“So, Lili,” Ivan began, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve all seen Riverdale. At what point did you realize you’d signed up for the Fast & Furious of high school dramas?”

The audience erupted in laughter, and Lili, to her credit, played along. “Somewhere between the bear attack and the musical episode. But hey, we all need health insurance.”

Lara chimed in, smirking. “Fair point. Though, to be honest, I’ve always thought Bughead sounded like a rejected Pokémon.”

Lili laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee. “You’re not wrong!”

The conversation transitioned seamlessly to more serious topics, including her experience with Null and the aftermath of his conviction.

“You went through hell,” Ivan said, his tone unusually somber. “But you came out swinging. That’s something to respect.”

Lili nodded, her voice steady. “I wouldn’t have made it without people like you two. You didn’t just bring him down; you made the internet a little safer for all of us.”

As the episode wrapped, Lili had a surprise for Ivan.

“I couldn’t come empty-handed,” she said with a mischievous grin. “So, I brought you something.”

The studio doors opened, and in rolled a mint-condition Škoda 100 DeLuxe, gleaming under the studio lights. The audience gasped, then erupted into cheers.

Ivan’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, walking over to inspect the car.

“I did my research,” Lili said. “Figured you might appreciate a piece of Czech history.”

Ivan chuckled, running a hand over the car’s hood. “You’ve outdone yourself. This is… incredible.”

Lara teased from the couch, “Careful, Ivan. If you get any more sentimental, people might start thinking you have feelings.”

The episode became an instant hit, with fans flooding social media to share their reactions:

• @BingeQueen (Twitter): “Not Lili Reinhart roasting her own show on Clear Lens. ICONIC. 🤣”
• @IvanIsDaddy (TikTok): “Lara and Ivan keep proving they’re untouchable. Also, can we talk about the Škoda 100? Goals. 😍🚗”
• @BoomerApproved (Facebook): “Finally, a show that tells it like it is. Ivan and Lara are a gift to humanity.”

Even celebrities chimed in:

• Chris Evans (@ChrisEvans): “Lili on Clear Lens? Gold. Ivan, enjoy the Škoda!”
• Emma Chamberlain (@emmachamberlain): “Clear Lens just gets it. The rest of us are amateurs. 👏”
• Keanu Reeves (@keanureeves): “The Škoda. The honesty. The vibes. Beautiful.”

Between their Clear Lens broadcasts, life on the estate remained dynamic. Lara immersed herself in archery and horseback riding, while Ivan, when not tinkering with his new Škoda, explored fishing spots on the manor’s sprawling grounds. Phantom occasionally visited, joining Ivan for chess games that inevitably turned into arguments over strategy.

Every Wednesday and Saturday, though, they transformed into the duo the world couldn’t get enough of. And as the fans kept coming, the pair showed no signs of slowing down.

As Ivan parked his new Škoda next to his Mercury Grand Marquis that evening, he muttered, “You know, this car might just be my new favorite.”

Lara smirked. “Let’s hope the internet doesn’t turn it into a meme.”

Ivan shrugged. “If they do, at least it’ll be a damn good one.”

Chapter 56

The morning at Croft Manor started like any other: serene, with a crisp breeze brushing through the estate's lush grounds. But today, Ivan felt the weight of too much noise—society’s noise. After finishing his coffee and wiping the last few crumbs of toast from his plate, he made a decision.

Knocking on Lili’s guest room door, he grunted, “We’re going fishing. Get dressed.”

Lili, still groggy and dressed in athleisure that screamed “city girl lost in the countryside,” trailed after Ivan to the lake. The walk was long, punctuated by the crunch of gravel under their shoes. Ivan carried two rods slung over one shoulder, his gait steady and determined.

When they reached the lake, Ivan set down a small tackle box, opened it with the precision of a man who’d done this a thousand times, and began preparing his line.

“Here,” he said, handing Lili a rod. “Try not to stab yourself with the hook.”

Lili fumbled with it, clearly out of her depth. “So… we’re fishing because…?”

Ivan sighed deeply, almost theatrically. “Because it’s the one thing left in this world that isn’t ruined by bullshit.”

Minutes passed in silence, the kind of silence Ivan clearly cherished and Lili clearly didn’t know what to do with. She glanced at him from time to time, trying to gauge his mood, but Ivan was focused, his gaze fixed on the rippling water.

And then, out of nowhere, he began.

“You know, Lili, the world’s gone to absolute shit.”

Lili blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… okay?”

Ivan didn’t pause. “Kids these days—no respect, no brains, no goddamn clue about how the world works. They’re too busy doing their stupid dances for TikTok or whatever to learn how to think. And the parents? Useless. Soft as hell. Coddling their brats like they’re the second coming of Christ.”

Lili tried to suppress a giggle. “Wow, okay. Tell me how you really feel.”

Ivan turned to her, his expression dead serious. “You think I’m joking? When I was a kid, if I screwed up, I got the belt. Not a lecture, not a timeout—a good smack on the ass. And you know what? It worked. I didn’t do the same stupid shit twice.”

Lili stared at him, wide-eyed. “You… got hit with a belt?”

“Damn right I did, everybody in my age did.” Ivan said, casting his line again with a practiced flick of his wrist. “And guess what? I didn’t grow up crying about it on the internet. Now it’s all, ‘Oh no, my feelings!’ It’s pathetic.”

Lili hesitated, unsure whether to push back or let him keep going.

After a moment, Ivan softened—slightly. “Look, I’m not saying kids should get beaten half to death. I’m saying there used to be consequences for being an idiot. Now? It’s participation trophies and cancel culture. Everyone’s a damn victim.”

Lili tilted her head, trying to follow his train of thought. “I mean… I guess I see where you’re coming from. But times change, right?”

Ivan snorted. “Times change, sure. People don’t. Greedy bastards, liars, and idiots—they’re everywhere. Always have been, always will be. That’s why you can’t trust anyone, especially not online. You don’t know who’s lying, who’s scheming, or who’s just plain stupid. That’s why Lara and I started Clear Lens. Someone’s gotta tell it like it is, even if it pisses people off.”

Lili nodded slowly, starting to see the man behind the gruffness. He wasn’t just ranting for the sake of it. He cared—about honesty, about the world, about not letting bullshit run unchecked.

“I get it now,” she said. “You’re not mean. You’re just… blunt.”

Ivan let out a short laugh. “Blunt? That’s the polite way of putting it.”

The quiet returned for a while as they focused on their lines. Then, as if remembering something, Ivan glanced at Lili and muttered, “Sorry about the cursing earlier. Forgot you’re not used to it.”

Lili smiled. “It’s fine. Honestly, it makes you… relatable.”

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it with a battered old lighter, the flame briefly illuminating his weathered face.

Lili watched him from a few feet away, perched awkwardly on a folding chair. Her expression shifted between curiosity and concern as she saw him take a long drag, the smoke curling upward into the crisp air.

“Do you mind if I ask?” she ventured hesitantly. “How long have you been smoking?”

Ivan glanced at her, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Since ’69,” he said gruffly. “The year I joined the army. Same year my mother died.” He took another drag, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Lili’s brow furrowed. “I’m... sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

Ivan snorted softly. “Hard doesn’t quite cover it. My father was gone long before that. Died in 1956, sent to a uranium mine by the communists. His crime? Fighting in the resistance during the war.”

Lili’s mouth dropped open slightly. “That’s horrible.”

“That was life,” Ivan replied, his voice calm but laced with bitterness. He flicked ash from his cigarette into the water. “I was just a kid. When my mom passed, I had to grow up fast. No one else was going to take care of me. No family, no safety net. Just me.”

Lili looked at him, her expression softening. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking? You don’t look much older than 60.”

Ivan let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Sixty? That’s kind of you, but I’m 76.”

Lili’s eyes widened. “Seventy-six? You’re joking.”

“Wish I was,” Ivan said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess living through hell gives you some kind of edge, huh?” He took another drag, then turned to her with a serious look. “Or maybe it just messes with your head, makes you see the world for what it really is. Hard to say.”

Lili shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the hem of her jacket. “That’s... a lot to go through. It explains some things, though.”

“Like what?” Ivan asked, raising an eyebrow.

She hesitated, then shrugged. “The way you see things. The way you talk about respect and discipline. I mean, it’s not like I agree with everything you say, but I get why you think the way you do.”

Ivan studied her for a moment, then looked away. “It’s not just about me,” he said quietly. “The world’s gone soft, lost its spine. Kids these days don’t know what struggle is. They think getting a mean comment on TikTok is the end of the damn world.”

Lili tilted her head. “That’s harsh.”

“It’s the truth,” Ivan replied bluntly. Then he paused, his expression softening slightly. “Look, I don’t mean to be an ass. I’ve just... seen too much. Lived through too much. Maybe it’s messed me up, but at least I’m honest about it.”

He took another drag from his cigarette and sighed. “I apologize if I’m coming off as a bitter old man. But you asked, so there it is.”

Lili smiled faintly. “Thanks for telling me. I can see you’re not just some grumpy, mean guy. You’ve been through a lot, and that shapes people. It makes sense.”

Ivan glanced at her, a small, genuine smile breaking through his usual stern demeanor. “You’re alright, kid.”

She pulled out her phone, holding it up. “Can we take a selfie? I want to post it. Let people know you’re not the villain some make you out to be.”

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head. “Christ. Fine.”

They leaned in, the serene lake stretching out behind them. Lili snapped the photo and quickly uploaded it to Instagram with the caption:

“Fishing with Ivan. Turns out he’s not so scary after all. 💕 #FishingWisdom #IvanIsDaddy”

The comments poured in almost instantly:

@BigFan22: “Wait, Ivan’s 76?! No way. Dude looks amazing.”

@ChaosQueen: “Lili is literally doing God’s work. Love this pairing. ❤️”

@JustaTroll: “Ivan fishing? Plot twist: He’s catching memes.”

@RespectTheGrind: “OG legend. Ivan speaks truth even when it hurts.”

Ivan glanced at her phone, shaking his head as more comments flooded in. “People have too much time on their hands.”

Lili laughed. “Maybe. But at least they’re seeing a different side of you. That’s got to count for something.”

Ivan took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it into the water. “Maybe it does.”

Chapter 57

The latest episode of Clear Lens began with its usual punchy energy. Ivan and Lara dissected the headlines, sparred over cultural trends, and delivered their signature brand of no-holds-barred honesty. The audience, both in the studio and online, was buzzing with excitement. They’d come to love Ivan’s dry humor, Lara’s measured insight, and the duo’s unparalleled chemistry.

Then came the question.

"Ivan, have you ever loved anyone other than Lara?"

The air seemed to freeze. Ivan, usually quick with a cutting remark, leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his silver hair. The silence stretched on, becoming almost unbearable. Even Lara glanced sideways at him, unprepared for his hesitation.

“Yes,” he finally said, his voice unusually soft. “Her name was Klára. She was my wife for 13 years. And we had son, Adam, a daughter. Eva. She was...” His voice broke for just a second before he swallowed hard and continued. “She was everything. Until '85.”

The audience stilled, their murmurs dying out as Ivan’s words cut through the room. Lara remained silent, giving him the space to continue.

Ivan reached under the desk, retrieving a battered folder. The camera zoomed in as he opened it, revealing glossy photographs. “These... these are from a day I will never forget,” he said, his tone carrying a weight rarely heard in his voice.

The first image flashed on the screen behind him: a horrifying crash site. A bright yellow Škoda 110 R lay crumpled beneath the front bumper of a blue Tatra 148 truck. A white Lada stood in the background, its front end smashed beyond recognition. The vivid colors of the vehicles clashed violently with the grim scene they depicted.

“That’s Klára’s car,” Ivan said, his voice like gravel. “She was driving Eva home from camp. The idiot in the Lada rear-ended her at full speed, sending them straight into the Truck.”

The next photo showed Ivan himself, standing among the wreckage. He wore a garish Hawaiian shirt, brown flared trousers, and shiny oxford shoes. His arms hung limply at his sides, his face a mask of disbelief and devastation.

“I’d just come off a shift,” Ivan said, staring at the screen as if seeing it for the first time. “When I heard, I ran. When I got there...” He trailed off, taking a deep breath.

The final photo was the one that broke the room. Ivan was crouched next to the yellow Škoda, his face buried in his hands. Around him, emergency markers dotted the ground like mocking reminders of a tragedy no one could undo.

“I was 35,” Ivan said quietly, his voice trembling. “I lost them both. My wife. My daughter. My world.”

The internet erupted in a tidal wave of reactions, many struggling to reconcile the brusque, no-nonsense Ivan they knew with the broken man they’d just seen. Social media was flooded with clips, commentary, and, of course, memes.

@LivvyDunne: “Ivan called me a stupid influencer, and he wasn’t wrong... but now I’m crying over his story. 💔”

@NukiVanLent: “He built a Berlin Wall on my driveway once, complete with TANKS, and I still can’t hate him after this. Ivan, I’m sorry for your loss. 😭”

@SabrinaCarpenter: “He roasted me into oblivion on Truth, Unfiltered, but this? This broke me. Respect, Ivan.”

@IShowSpeed: “Ivan’s drip in that Hawaiian shirt? UNMATCHED. But fr... his story hit hard. Love you, Ivan. 🔥💔”

@KaiCenat: “Never thought I’d feel this emotional for Ivan. Man’s been through hell. Respect.”

@TaylorSwift: “That last photo of Ivan? Heartbreaking and beautiful. I DM’d him—I hope he lets me use it as an album cover.”

@MrBeast: “This episode of Clear Lens is the most powerful piece of content I’ve ever seen. Ivan, you’re a legend.”

@DripLord77: “Can we talk about Ivan’s fit in those photos? Bro’s been serving husband material vibes since the ‘80s. 🍷🔥”

@MillennialMechanic: “A yellow Škoda, a Tatra 148, and a Hawaiian shirt? This is a tragic story wrapped in vintage car culture.”

@GenAlphaChronicles: “Ivan is the GOAT. This man has lived, lost, and still delivers the truth. Respect, Grandpa Drip.”

@SadBoiVibes: “That last photo of Ivan by the wreck? It’s haunting. Burned into my soul. 💔”

@HotTakeMaster: “Ivan’s loss is gut-wrenching, but can we appreciate how the man was still flexing in a Hawaiian shirt and Oxfords? 🔥”

• A photo of Ivan in his Hawaiian shirt, captioned: “Lost everything, but stayed stylish. Respect the drip.”
• The yellow Škoda edited with angel wings, labeled: “Victim of impatience.”
• A recreation of the crash site with “This is why we don’t tailgate” plastered across the screen.
• A still of Ivan crouched by the wreck, edited into a black-and-white “Sad Aesthetic” filter, spreading across TikTok like wildfire.

Taylor Swift’s DM read: “Ivan, that last photo... it’s haunting. Would you let me use it as an album cover? I promise I won’t mention your name.”

Ivan, lighting a cigarette as he read the message, showed it to Lara.

“She’s got taste,” he said with a smirk.

“And you’re really okay with this?” Lara asked.

Ivan shrugged. “If it helps her sell records, sure. Not like my name needs to be plastered everywhere.

That night, Ivan sat by the fire at Croft Manor, a glass of vodka in his hand. Lara joined him, her expression unusually gentle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

“I did,” Ivan replied. “People think I’m just a bitter old man. Maybe now they’ll see there’s a reason for it.”

“They do,” Lara said softly, raising her glass. “To Klára and Eva.”

“To survival,” Ivan said, clinking her glass.

The world had seen Ivan as more than a cynic, more than a critic. For once, they saw the man beneath the persona—a survivor, scarred but unbroken. And they respected him all the more for it.

Chapter 58

The follow-up episode of Clear Lens was highly anticipated. The emotional rawness of the last broadcast had left audiences reeling, and many wondered if Ivan would continue down this reflective path. Instead, the viewers were greeted with the Ivan they’d come to love—or hate. His steely gaze, slightly crooked smirk, and the cigarette perpetually tucked between his fingers were back in full force.

The topic of the day: parenting and discipline.

“Parenting today,” Ivan began, exhaling a plume of smoke, “is a circus without a ringmaster. You’ve got kids running wild, screaming in restaurants, glued to screens, thinking they’re influencers before they can tie their shoelaces. Back in my day, if I pulled that kind of nonsense, I’d get a swift smack across the backside. And you know what? I turned out fine. Mostly.”

The audience laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking.

“Look, I’m not saying we should bring back belts and wooden spoons. Times have changed. Hell, even I know that. But something’s missing. Respect. Kids today—” He gestured broadly at the camera, his tone teetering between exasperation and amusement. “—don’t respect their parents, their teachers, or themselves. They’re busy rotting their brains with TikTok dances and energy drinks. Half of them couldn’t tell you who their mayor is, let alone the capital of their own country.”

Lara chimed in with a wry smile, “Ivan, I think you’ve just aged yourself by about twenty years.”

“I’m 76, Lara,” Ivan shot back. “I’ve earned the right to complain.”

Ivan leaned back in his chair, a nostalgic gleam in his eye. “When I was a kid, we didn’t have screens. We had fields, alleys, and our imaginations. We’d play on the estate until the streetlights came on. And if we got into trouble—like stealing eggs from old Mrs. Dvořák’s chicken coop—we knew we’d face the consequences. Sometimes it was a yelling. Sometimes...” He mimed a spanking motion. “...a bit more.”

The audience chuckled, and a few clapped.

“I’m not saying that was perfect,” Ivan continued. “But we learned accountability. And yes, my mom or dad gave me a beating or two. Not proud of it, but back then, it wasn’t called abuse—it was called Tuesday.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “And you think that’s better?”

“No,” Ivan admitted. “I don’t. But I think today’s pendulum has swung too far the other way. Now, if you so much as raise your voice, your kid might record it, call a lawyer, and have you trending on Twitter by the end of the day.”

During the Q&A segment, a young woman from the audience stood up. “Ivan, I have to ask... did you ever hit your kids?”

The room fell silent. Ivan took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and then nodded. “Yeah,” he said plainly. “I did. A smack on the head here, a slap on the backside there. Never hard, never angry. Just enough to get their attention.”

The audience’s reaction was a mix of gasps, murmurs, and awkward laughter.

“And you know what?” Ivan continued. “I regretted it every time. Because deep down, I knew it wasn’t the right way. But I was a single father, trying to figure it out as I went. I didn’t have manuals or therapists on speed dial. Just me, my instincts, and a lot of mistakes.”

A hand shot up from the audience—a young woman in her early twenties, blonde, with a bright smile but a serious expression. Ivan pointed at her.

“You there. What’s your name?”

“Emily.”

“Emily,” Ivan repeated, as if tasting the name. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Where are you from, Emily?”

“Boston, Massachusetts.”

Ivan nodded knowingly. “Ah, Boston. I’ve been there. Good food, terrible drivers.”

The audience laughed, and Emily grinned nervously.

“Tell me, Emily—did your parents ever give you a smack when you were a kid? A little tap on the wrist, a slap on the backside?”

Emily hesitated. “No, never.”

Ivan tilted his head, studying her. “Then you either had the patience of saints for parents, or they were soft as marshmallows.”

The room exploded with laughter, and Emily joined in, albeit a little red-faced.

“They were patient,” she admitted.

“Good for them,” Ivan said, softening his tone. “Patience is a virtue. I didn’t have much of it back then. But don’t mistake patience for weakness. I’m sure they raised you well.”

Ivan took a long drag from his cigarette before launching into his next point. “You know, there was a big difference between parenting in the East and the West. I grew up in Czechoslovakia, on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. Life was tough. We didn’t have freedom of choice like you did in America. But we had discipline. We had community. And we knew how to make do with nothing.”

He leaned forward, fixing the audience with his piercing gaze. “Over here, kids had freedom—freedom to dream, to create, to rebel. That’s not a bad thing. But where I grew up, rebellion could get you killed. So you learned to follow the rules. You learned respect, not because you wanted to, but because you had to.”

Ivan paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. “I wanted to be like my father—a principled, honest man. He fought against fascists in the war. But the communists threw him into a uranium mine for it. He died there in 1956. I didn’t want to end up like him, so I joined the Party. Not because I believed in it, but because I didn’t want to rot in a factory or a mine.”

The room was silent, the audience hanging on his every word.

Lara broke the tension with a gentle question. “Ivan, do you think modern parents are failing?”

“Not failing,” Ivan replied, tapping ash into a crystal ashtray. “Struggling. The world’s different now. Kids have access to everything—information, entertainment, distractions. Parents are fighting battles we never even dreamed of. But some things never change. Kids still need boundaries. They still need to hear ‘no.’ And they still need to know their parents care enough to teach them right from wrong.”

A man in the audience raised his hand. “Ivan, you said you hit your kids. Do you regret it?”

Ivan sighed, extinguishing his cigarette. “Yeah, I do. Every time. I gave them a smack when I thought they deserved it, but I always felt like a bastard afterward. I was a single dad, raising two kids in a world I didn’t fully understand. I thought I was doing the right thing. Now? I’d tell any parent to find another way.”

He leaned back, his expression darkening. “But let’s not kid ourselves. Kids today know how to manipulate the system. They know they can cry ‘abuse’ over a raised voice, and suddenly the parent’s the villain. That’s just as wrong as real abuse.”

As expected, the episode ignited a firestorm online.

@SigmaIvan: “Ivan is the realist we need in this soft-ass world. Respect is earned, not given. #SigmaIvan”

@RetroParenting: “As someone who grew up in the 80s, I feel every word Ivan said. Kids today need discipline, not TikTok fame.”

@BoomerTruth: “Ivan’s right—kids today don’t know the meaning of respect. Bring back the old ways!”

@EmilyBoston: “Being called soft as a marshmallow by Ivan might be my life’s highlight. He’s brutal, but he’s not wrong.”

@GenZForJustice: “So Ivan’s solution to parenting struggles is hitting kids? Disgusting. #CancelClearLens”

@HyperFeminist: “Ivan’s ideas about parenting are as outdated as his wardrobe. Hard pass.”

@TherapistMom: “There’s no excuse for violence, Ivan. You’re romanticizing trauma, not discipline.”

@IShowSpeed: “Ivan with the drip AND the wisdom. Respect, OG.”

@KaiCenat: “Old man spitting facts. Ivan’s got more backbone than half this generation.”

@TaylorSwift: “Ivan’s words hit hard. Parenting isn’t easy, and respect isn’t given—it’s earned. Sad aesthetic, but true.”

• Ivan photoshopped into a 1950s propaganda poster with the caption: “Discipline for a Better Future.”
• A video mashup of Ivan saying “Kids need boundaries” paired with clips of toddlers wreaking havoc.
• A “Sigma Ivan” meme with his face over the Chad meme, captioned: “Tough love. Timeless wisdom.”

As the episode wrapped up, Ivan turned to the camera, his expression softer than usual. “Parenting isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, caring, and admitting when you’re wrong. The world’s changed, but the basics haven’t. Kids need love, they need discipline, and they need you to give a damn.”

Lara raised her glass. “To love, discipline, and maybe less smoking.”

Ivan smirked, lighting another cigarette. “To survival.”

And the world kept watching.

Chapter 59

Before officially kicking off their highly anticipated U.S. tour, Ivan and Lara delivered an unforgettable episode of Clear Lens. The topic? A brutally honest take on America, its culture, and most importantly, its cars. And what better way to embody that spirit than by arriving at the studio in an all-American clunker: a 1982 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Diesel.

As the cameras rolled, the car’s mustard-yellow paint gleamed in the cloudy English light, almost daring the audience to judge it. The vehicle groaned to a halt in the studio lot, its diesel engine coughing like a chain-smoker who’d just sprinted up a hill. Ivan stepped out, straightening his jacket, his expression a perfect mix of pride and disdain.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, gesturing toward the car with a theatrical flourish, “this is the Oldsmobile Delta 88 Diesel—a monument to American ambition and incompetence rolled into one.”

The live audience chuckled as Ivan began his roast of the vehicle.

“I’ll be fair to it,” Ivan continued, patting the roof of the car. “It’s got charm. The seats are so plush they feel like sitting on a living room sofa. The cabin is spacious enough for a family reunion, and it steers so lightly, you can drive it with one finger. Hell, if you’re lazy, you could steer it with your knee while holding a burger and a Coke.”

The crowd erupted into laughter, but Ivan wasn’t finished. “But—and it’s a big but—press the gas pedal a little too hard, and this so-called ‘diesel engine’ will give up faster than a politician at an honesty contest.”

He popped the hood to reveal the infamous 5.7-liter diesel engine. “Look at this,” he said, pointing to the sad collection of parts. “It’s like Detroit decided to build a diesel engine by Googling ‘how to diesel’ and stopping after step three.”

The audience laughed louder, and the live-stream comment section exploded:

• @BaldEagle69: “Ivan’s right. This engine couldn’t pull a tricycle uphill. 😂”
• @DieselLover76: “As an American, who owned this car for 21 years, I’m both offended and impressed. This roast is 🔥🔥🔥.”
• @MustardYellowFan: “The Oldsmobile looks like someone dipped a tank in butter. Love it!”
• @EuroSnob123: “Americans should stick to making pickup trucks. Leave diesels to the Germans.”

Ivan leaned against the Oldsmobile, crossing his arms. “Here’s the thing: I love America. You’ve got big dreams, big food, and big cars. But this,” he gestured to the car again, “is a perfect example of when ambition exceeds skill. It’s like trying to bake a cake without reading the recipe. Sure, it looks fine at first, but take one bite, and you realize it’s a disaster.”

The segment transitioned to a discussion about America itself. Ivan admitted, “Look, I’ll be honest. My perspective is probably skewed. I see America through the lens of movies, headlines, and this Oldsmobile. But you know what? At least you own your flaws. You put them on display, warts and all, and somehow make the world love you for it.”

This self-awareness struck a chord with viewers, and the internet lit up with praise:

• @PatriotPete: “Ivan calling America a flawed cake? I can’t even be mad. He gets it. 🇺🇸❤️.”
• @SoccerMom78: “I love how Ivan roasts us but still respects us. He’s like that grumpy uncle who secretly loves his family.”
• @DieselGrrrl89: “Ivan with that Oldsmobile? Total dad vibes. 🥺”

Even American celebrities chimed in:

• Jennifer Lawrence: “Ivan in that car looks like the uncle you trust to sneak you snacks at Thanksgiving. Adorable and hilarious!”
• Adam Driver: “As a guy who’s driven some questionable cars in my time, I have to agree with Ivan—American diesels were doomed from the start.”
• Keke Palmer: “I don’t know what I love more: Ivan’s drip or his take on American engineering. Both are fire. 🔥”
• Tom Hanks: “Ivan reminds me of one of my characters—grumpy, honest, but secretly soft-hearted. The Oldsmobile suits him.”

Some comments were more playful:

• @CarFanatic86: “Ivan looks like a kind-hearted grandpa who teaches you life lessons during road trips in that Olds.”
• @DieselJunkie: “Can we get Ivan to review my ‘82 Chevy pickup? I need his blessing. 😂”

Ivan wrapped up the episode by parking the Oldsmobile and delivering his closing thoughts. “This car is flawed, yes, but it’s got character. It’s unapologetically itself, and I can respect that. In many ways, it’s like America—big, bold, and stubborn as hell.”

The episode set the perfect stage for the U.S. tour. Fans couldn’t get enough of Ivan’s no-holds-barred commentary, and they eagerly awaited what he and Lara would tackle next. For Ivan, this was just the warm-up—America hadn’t seen anything yet.

Chapter 60

A few days after the infamous Oldsmobile episode, Ivan and Lara touched down in the sunny chaos of Florida, officially kicking off their U.S. tour. As the plane taxied to the gate, they were greeted by a swarm of fans, holding signs with slogans like "Clear Lens Changed My Life" and "Ivan for President!" Some fans even waved miniature Oldsmobile flags in homage to his last episode.

When they stepped into the terminal, the crowd erupted into cheers. Ivan, clearly overwhelmed but maintaining his gruff exterior, waved nonchalantly, muttering to Lara, “I hope they’re not expecting me to kiss babies.”

Lara smirked. “They’re Americans, Ivan. They’ll expect selfies and hashtags, not babies.”

The Clear Lens tour was divided into regional segments, each focusing on different aspects of the U.S. The first leg—Florida and the Deep South—kicked off with a live Q&A session at a packed auditorium in Miami. The buzz in the room was electric as Ivan and Lara took their seats on the stage, flanked by towering palm trees and a backdrop of neon lights reading Clear Lens: Unfiltered in the USA.

The moderator began by easing them into questions about their impressions of America so far. Ivan leaned into the microphone and, with a faint smirk, said, “Florida’s exactly what I expected—hot, loud, and slightly insane. I like it.” The crowd roared with laughter.

But things quickly turned serious as the questions shifted to more sensitive topics.

One fan stood up and asked the inevitable: “Ivan, where do you stand politically? Are you a Democrat or a Republican?”

Ivan scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Neither,” he replied. “I’m not a fan of putting myself in a box. Politics here seems like a constant shouting match between two kids fighting over a toy. Both sides have their good ideas, and both have their stupidity.”

He paused before adding, “I like the idea of universal healthcare—call me a socialist, I don’t care—but I also think people should work for what they get. Too many freeloaders ruin the system.”

The room was silent for a moment, processing his blunt honesty. Then a ripple of applause broke out, mixed with a few grumbles.

Another attendee—a young man draped in a rainbow flag—stood up and asked, “Ivan, what are your thoughts on the LGBTQ community?”

Ivan leaned back in his chair, his expression neutral but thoughtful. “I don’t care what people do in their private lives. Love who you want, live how you want—it’s none of my business. But,” he added, his voice sharpening, “what I don’t like is when people push things to extremes. I’ve seen kids being told they’re something before they’ve even had a chance to figure out who they are. That’s not right. Let people grow up first.”

The applause was scattered this time, with some audience members shifting uncomfortably.

One woman yelled from the back, “So you’re a homophobe?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “No, I just think there’s a line. If you’re trying to shove your beliefs down someone’s throat, you’re no better than the people you’re fighting against. Respect goes both ways.”

The response to Ivan’s comments was immediate and polarizing. Twitter exploded with hashtags like #IvanIsCanceled and #IvanIsRight, as debates raged online. Some praised his candor:

• @FreedomOfSpeech21: “Ivan is the only one with the guts to say what everyone’s thinking. Respect.”
• @PragmaticPatriot: “Finally, someone who isn’t afraid to live in the gray area instead of black and white. #IvanForPresident”

Others weren’t as kind:

• @KamalaHarris: “Disappointed to see someone with a platform like Ivan’s using it to spread harmful rhetoric. Words matter.”
• @LGBTQLife: “Ivan’s comments about ‘extremes’ show his ignorance. He doesn’t get it."

Even celebrities couldn’t resist chiming in:

• Chris Evans: “Ivan’s take was nuanced, but maybe not the best platform for such a heated topic.”
• Cardi B: “This Ivan dude is wild, but he kinda got a point about respect. 🤷‍♀️”
• Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson: “Can’t hate the guy for being honest. Doesn’t mean I agree with everything, though.”
• Lady Gaga: “I respect Ivan’s honesty, but the LGBTQ community deserves more than tolerance. They deserve celebration.”

Meanwhile, TikTok was flooded with memes of Ivan shrugging in response to the “homophobe” accusation, paired with captions like, “Ivan when someone calls him canceled: 😐.”

Back in their hotel room, Lara scrolled through social media, showing Ivan the mixed responses. “You’ve stirred up quite the hornet’s nest,” she remarked.

Ivan poured himself a glass of whiskey, sighing deeply. “Let them talk. At least they’re talking. Besides, I’m not here to be liked—I’m here to be honest.”

Lara smirked, raising her own glass. “Honest and maybe just a little liked?”

Ivan chuckled, clinking his glass with hers. “Maybe just a little.”

The Florida leg of their tour was off to a fiery start, but Ivan and Lara knew this was only the beginning. As they packed their bags for the next stop, Ivan looked out at the Miami skyline, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“America,” he muttered to himself, “you’ve got no idea what’s coming.”

Chapter 61

The Oldsmobile Delta 88 rumbled into West Hollywood like an uninvited guest at a vegan dinner party. Its diesel engine growled with a low, guttural intensity that turned heads for all the wrong reasons. Every now and then, it let out a puff of thick black smoke, a reminder of its unapologetically outdated existence.

Ivan, gripping the oversized steering wheel, couldn’t help but grin. “You feel that, Lara? That’s torque. Real torque. Not the soulless hum of an electric blender.”

Lara, half-hiding behind her oversized sunglasses, sighed. “I feel something, all right. Mostly the judgment radiating off everyone within a mile radius.”

Ivan smirked, stepping on the accelerator just enough to unleash another cloud of smoke. Lara rolled her eyes but didn’t comment further. She knew better than to argue with Ivan when he was in one of his moods.

As they navigated through Hollywood Boulevard, a growing crowd of protesters lined the sidewalks. Signs waved in the air with slogans like Ban Diesel Now! and Save Our Planet from Boomers!

When the Oldsmobile came to a stop at a red light, the shouting intensified. One particularly vocal protester, armed with a bullhorn, stepped closer to the car.

“Your car is killing the planet!” he bellowed, pointing dramatically at the Oldsmobile.

Ivan leaned out the window, his face a mask of calm amusement. “I thought it was Hollywood killing the planet. You know, with all those private jets and empty movie theaters.”

The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and boos. Before the protester could retort, another activist broke through the crowd, holding a brick.

“For the Earth!” the activist yelled, hurling the brick at the car. It hit the rear quarter panel with a resounding thunk, leaving a dent but causing no real damage.

Ivan’s smirk vanished. Without a word, he threw the Oldsmobile into neutral, revved the engine, and then shifted into drive. The car lurched forward slightly as Ivan pulled into the nearest open lot.

“What are you doing?” Lara asked, already bracing herself.

“Making a statement,” Ivan replied, his voice tight with irritation.

Ivan maneuvered the Oldsmobile into position, its tailpipes facing the street where the protesters had gathered. He planted his foot firmly on the brake, revving the engine to its limits.

The diesel engine roared, unleashing its full, unapologetic fury. Thick black smoke poured from the tailpipes in an unrelenting cloud, engulfing the street like a scene from an apocalyptic movie.

“Jesus Christ, Ivan!” Lara yelled, covering her nose and mouth with her scarf.

The protesters erupted into chaos. Some scattered, coughing and waving their arms; others stood their ground, yelling obscenities and snapping pictures.

Inside the car, Ivan let out a low whistle. “Would you look at that torque,” he muttered, visibly impressed. “She’s got more grunt than I thought.”

Across social media, members of the GM B/C-Body fanclub were losing their collective minds.

• @DieselDelta88: “Ivan just made every diesel hater eat soot. That torque tho. 💪🚗💨 #TeamTorque”
• @CapriceKing: “The Oldsmobile isn’t just a car. It’s a statement. This is why GM B-Body will never die. 🔥”
• @DieselDreams: “This is art. Pure art. Forget the Louvre—put this burnout on display. 🖤💨”

Videos of the burnout went viral, with captions like:

• “Ivan’s response to cancel culture: smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. 🚬🚗”
• “Climate change activists: screaming. Ivan’s Oldsmobile: thriving.”
• “When the revolution is torque-powered. 💨😂”

As the smoke began to clear, a familiar SUV pulled into the lot. Out stepped Taylor Swift, this time with an entourage that included a camera crew.

She approached Ivan, visibly irritated. “You just turned this city into a diesel cloud. Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Ivan, still seated in the Oldsmobile, leaned out the window. “Making memories, Swift. And maybe clearing out some congestion while I’m at it.”

Taylor threw her hands up. “You’re impossible.”

Lara, still coughing slightly, chimed in. “Welcome to my world.”

Despite the tension, Taylor couldn’t hide a small smile. “You’re lucky you’re entertaining, Ivan. Otherwise, you’d be public enemy number one.”

The burnout became the stuff of legend, flooding TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter within hours. Memes ranged from the absurd to the hilarious:

• A GIF of Ivan revving the engine with the caption: “Climate change? I prefer climate CHAOS.”
• A split-screen of Ivan’s Oldsmobile and Elon Musk’s Tesla with the text: “Choose your fighter: Torque King vs. Silent Snoozer.”
• A video edit of the burnout synced to the Fast & Furious theme song, ending with “Family > Environment.”

But not everyone was amused.

• @EcoWarrior97: “Ivan’s ‘statement’ just set environmental awareness back 20 years. Disgusting.”
• @PriusProud: “This is why we can’t have nice things. Thanks for ruining everything, Ivan.”
• @SaveOurPlanet: “Burnouts aren’t activism—they’re stupidity. #BanDiesel”

Even Hollywood weighed in:

• Leonardo DiCaprio: “This is why we need stricter emissions regulations. Moments like this set a dangerous precedent.”
• Chris Pratt: “I don’t agree with Ivan’s methods, but I can’t deny the guy’s got style.”
• Billie Eilish: “This isn’t funny. It’s not edgy. It’s just reckless. 🌱💔”

That night, as they checked into a small boutique hotel in Santa Monica, Lara couldn’t help but laugh as she scrolled through the memes. “You’ve outdone yourself this time,” she said, showing Ivan one of the more ridiculous memes: a Photoshopped image of the Oldsmobile doing a burnout in front of the White House with the caption: “Ivan 2024: Clearing the Air.”

Ivan poured himself a glass of whiskey, sitting back in his chair. “Let them yell. Let them meme. The Oldsmobile speaks for itself.”

“You’re becoming a cultural icon,” Lara teased. “The guy who trolls everyone with a diesel engine.”

Ivan shrugged. “Better than being a forgotten whisper.”

He took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. Outside, the Oldsmobile sat in the hotel parking lot, its exhaust pipes still faintly warm—a testament to Ivan’s unrelenting spirit and his unwillingness to back down from a fight, no matter how controversial.

Chapter 62

Los Angeles was buzzing, and not just with its usual blend of smog and glamour. The arrival of Clear Lens had turned the city’s already chaotic energy into a full-blown circus. Fans, critics, activists, and celebrities alike had descended on the sleek downtown conference center, eager to witness the live taping of Ivan and Lara’s U.S. tour.

Outside, the scene was a microcosm of modern America: banners and signs waved above the crowd, ranging from “Ivan for Common Sense!” and “Diesel Daddy Rules” to “Cancel the Clear Lens Dinosaurs!” and “LGBTQ > Ivan’s Toxic Opinions!” Arguments flared between groups of fans and detractors, but one thing was clear—nobody was indifferent.

Inside, the auditorium was no less charged. Ivan sat on stage in his usual 1970's styled brown suit with wide-leg trousers, his silver hair catching the studio lights, while Lara—elegant in a tailored blazer—sat beside him. The pair exuded confidence, their chemistry electric as they prepared to tackle the night’s hot-button topics.

The atmosphere crackled as the cameras rolled. Ivan leaned into the mic, a wry smirk on his face. “Los Angeles. The city of angels… and a fair share of demons. Let’s see which one shows up tonight.”

The crowd erupted in mixed reactions, as expected.

The episode unfolded with its usual blend of sharp wit and unfiltered honesty. Questions ranged from policy debates to personal opinions, each one designed to provoke.

An environmental activist in the audience stood up, gripping a mic with visible disdain. “Ivan, do you even realize how much damage your diesel Oldsmobile is doing to the planet? How can you claim to care about the future while driving that monstrosity?”

Ivan chuckled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ah, yes, my 1982 Oldsmobile with its 105 horsepower is single-handedly melting the ice caps. Meanwhile, fleets of private jets are circling this city for brunch dates. But sure, let’s blame the old man in the diesel car.”

The audience broke into laughter and applause, though the activist fumed. Lara placed a calming hand on Ivan’s arm but smiled knowingly.

“Besides,” Ivan added, “I could’ve shown up in a Tesla if I wanted to make you happy, but I figured honesty was more important. That car is a piece of history, just like me. And unlike some of the ideologies being peddled here tonight, it’s somehow reliable.”

The GM B/C-Body fan club in the audience cheered loudly, some holding up miniature models of the Oldsmobile. TikTok would later immortalize the moment with captions like “Ivan: The Diesel Daddy We Didn’t Know We Needed.”

Just as the conversation began to simmer down, a young man in the audience—clearly from the LGBTQ activist group—stood up and shouted. His voice was sharp, filled with contempt. “We all know why Lara’s here! She’s just his whore! She doesn’t have a real opinion of her own!”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Even the loudest protesters stopped mid-shout. Lara’s expression remained calm, but her eyes narrowed. Ivan, however, stood up slowly, his entire demeanor shifting.

At 76, Ivan moved with the agility of someone decades younger. He descended from the stage in two swift steps, crossed the aisle, and grabbed the young man by the collar. The audience collectively held its breath as Ivan hauled the protester onto the stage like a misbehaving child.

Standing in front of the cameras, Ivan tightened his grip on the microphone. “Listen, son,” he said, his voice low and firm, reverberating through the room. “That’s my wife you’re talking about. Not just my co-host. Not my employee. My wife. And calling her a whore isn’t just disrespectful to her—it’s a reflection of how little you respect yourself.”

The young man struggled against Ivan’s grip, his face red. “You’re doing this because I’m gay!” he spat.

Ivan’s gaze didn’t waver. “No,” he replied coolly. “I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, bi, trans, or if you identify as a toaster. This isn’t about who you are; it’s about how you act. Respect is universal. You don’t get to throw it away just because you think your cause is righteous.”

The audience was dead silent, hanging on every word. Ivan turned to the young man, his voice softening just slightly. “You owe my wife an apology. Not because she’s my wife, but because she’s a person. And if you want to be taken seriously in life, you start by respecting others—even the ones you disagree with.”

The young man hesitated, then muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Ivan let him go and nodded toward the exit. “Good. Now, go learn some manners.”

The internet exploded almost immediately. Ivan’s impassioned defense of Lara was captured from dozens of angles, flooding social media with hashtags like #IvanDefendsLara, #RespectMatters, and #DieselDaddyStrikesAgain. Memes and reactions spread like wildfire:

• A clip of Ivan dragging the young man onto the stage, captioned: “When Grandpa Ivan says it’s time for a lesson.”
• A side-by-side of Ivan’s Oldsmobile belching black smoke next to a protester’s sign reading “Save the Earth” with the text: “Diesel Daddy wins again.”
• A still of Lara’s calm smile during the chaos, captioned: “When your husband is chaos, but you love him anyway.”

Celebrities and politicians weighed in as well:

• Taylor Swift: “Ivan’s methods are unconventional, but his loyalty to Lara? Goals. ❤️”
• Chris Pratt: “Agree or not, you have to admit Ivan’s got guts. And I kinda like that Oldsmobile.”
• Kamala Harris: “Respect is essential, but so is kindness. Ivan’s blunt approach might miss the mark, but his message has merit.”
• Dave Chappelle: “Ivan out here doing stand-up without even trying. Respect the OG.”

Back in their hotel suite, Ivan sat on the couch, rubbing his temples. Lara poured them each a glass of wine, sitting beside him.

“Well,” she said, a playful smirk on her lips, “that was dramatic—even for us.”

Ivan groaned. “Dramatic? The kid called you a whore. If I were younger, I’d have thrown him out the window.”

Lara laughed softly, leaning into him. “And that’s why I love you. But maybe next time, let security handle it?”

Ivan grunted but smiled, raising his glass. “To us. And to common sense, even if it’s in short supply.”

Lara clinked her glass against his. “And to the car, the real star of the show.”

They laughed as the city buzzed below, knowing their episode would leave a mark—not just on LA, but on the world watching.

Chapter 63

The next morning, Ivan awoke to the soft light of the Californian sun streaming through the hotel window. Lara was still asleep, her calm breathing a soothing counterpoint to the chaos of the previous evening. Ivan reached for his phone, groaning slightly as his joints reminded him of his age.

As the screen lit up, Ivan’s face shifted from groggy confusion to something between amusement and outright disbelief. His social media feed was an unrelenting torrent of reactions.

Ivan’s defense of Lara had gone viral in ways he hadn’t anticipated. His inbox was flooded—not just with messages from fans, but from groups he never imagined would send him praise.

From an LGBTQ rights organization: “While we don’t agree with all your views, your stand against personal attacks shows integrity. Respect.”

From a BLM supporter: “Ivan, you’ve got guts and honesty. The world could use more of both.”

And, most bizarrely, a message attributed to a Ku Klux Klan sympathizer: “We don’t usually see eye-to-eye with folks like you, but you’ve got spine. Respect where it’s due.”

Ivan blinked, staring at his screen. He muttered under his breath, “Well, this is a first. When you’re getting kudos from both the far left and the far right, maybe the apocalypse really is coming.”

Lara stirred beside him, her voice groggy. “What’s going on?”

Ivan showed her the messages, and she laughed, shaking her head. “Only you, Ivan. Only you could manage to unite people who normally want to tear each other apart.”

Ivan snorted. “Milý.”

The morning’s surreal start didn’t slow them down. After breakfast, Ivan and Lara packed up their belongings and climbed into their now-infamous diesel Oldsmobile. The car’s recent stardom had made it a sensation among car spotters and enthusiasts alike. Everywhere they went, people stopped to snap photos of the vehicle.

A teenager yelled from the sidewalk, “My grandma used to have one of those! She called it Betsy!”

Ivan grinned as he revved the engine, sending a puff of black smoke into the air. Lara rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile.

As they headed north, they passed through small towns and sprawling landscapes, their journey a juxtaposition of old-school Americana and modern celebrity.

Their next stop was Portland, Oregon. Known for its progressive culture and indie charm, the city provided a stark contrast to the fiery chaos of LA. Ivan and Lara settled into their accommodations before heading to a packed theater for the next episode of Clear Lens.

The tone of this episode was markedly different. The crowd, while passionate, was more subdued, and the questions were thoughtful rather than incendiary. Topics ranged from historical revisionism to media manipulation.

One audience member, a history professor, asked Ivan for his thoughts on how modern entertainment—specifically video games—distorts history. “Have you heard of Call of Duty: Vanguard or Black Ops 6?” the professor inquired.

Ivan, ever the straight-shooter, admitted, “I haven’t played video games since Doom, but I’ve seen enough to know that a lot of these games take liberties. War isn’t just running around shooting bad guys—it’s messy, it’s ugly, and it’s never black-and-white. If you’re learning history from a video game, you’re doing it wrong.”

The professor nodded approvingly, and Ivan’s candor earned him applause from both historians and gamers in the audience.

Veterans in attendance also voiced their admiration, one standing up to say, “Ivan, you’re one of the few public figures who seems to understand the difference between entertainment and reality. Respect.”

The morning after the Portland episode of Clear Lens, Ivan and Lara woke to another flood of online activity. While their discussion on historical revisionism and media manipulation had been well-received by the audience, one particular topic had spiraled into unexpected controversy: Ivan’s blunt remarks about video games, specifically Call of Duty: Vanguard and Black Ops 6.

Ivan’s comment about learning history from video games struck a chord with gamers and historians alike, leading to a social media firestorm.

• @RealGamerBro: “Ivan’s got a point. I love CoD, but it’s not a history lesson—it’s a Michael Bay movie with extra shooting. 🔥”
• @HistoryNerd42: “Finally, someone said it! Entertainment ≠ education. Ivan for president! 🇺🇸”
• @FPSFanatic: “Nah, Ivan’s just an old guy who doesn’t get gaming. Stick to your typewriters, grandpa. 🙄”
• @VeteranVibes: “As someone who’s seen combat, I respect Ivan for calling out the glamorization of war in games. Reality is a lot less fun.”

The controversy snowballed when Call of Duty publisher Activision and developer Sledgehammer Games entered the fray.

Activision posted an official statement on Twitter:

"While we respect Mr. Ivan’s right to his opinion, his remarks about our games being historically inaccurate are misleading and damaging. We employ historical consultants to ensure authenticity in our campaigns. Our goal is to honor the stories of those who fought in these conflicts.”

Sledgehammer Games followed up with their own statement:

"Mr. Ivan’s critique is unfair and dismissive of the effort and artistry that go into our games. Our titles have inspired countless players to explore history in greater depth, and we take great pride in our work.”

By mid-afternoon, news broke that Activision and Sledgehammer Games were considering legal action against Ivan for “defamation and harm to their brand.” The gaming community was split.

• @GamingLawGuru: “Good luck, Activision. Free speech is a thing. Ivan didn’t say anything legally actionable.”
• @GameDevDefender: “Ivan’s comments were reckless. These companies work hard to balance gameplay and history.”
• @IvanNation: “Sue Ivan? For having an opinion? LMAO. Good luck with that.”

When Ivan saw the headlines, he let out a deep, gravelly laugh. “Lara, they want to sue me. Over video games.”

Lara, sipping her coffee, smirked. “Didn’t you say you hadn’t played a video game since Doom?”

Ivan shrugged. “True. But I’m tempted to start now, just to see what all the fuss is about.”

While Activision and Sledgehammer faced backlash for their litigious posturing, Ivan’s fanbase only grew stronger. Meme culture, fueled by Gen Z and Gen Alpha, seized the moment.

• A picture of Ivan with the caption: “CoD players when Grandpa Ivan tells them to read a book instead: 😭😭😭.”
• A side-by-side comparison: Ivan’s Oldsmobile = Authentic history. CoD Vanguard = Historical fan fiction.
• A video clip of Ivan’s “video games aren’t history” line, paired with dramatic music and the caption: “When your grandpa drops facts harder than a 360 no-scope.”

Even some celebrities joined the fray.

• Elon Musk: “Ivan’s not wrong. The future of education isn’t in games, it’s in real-world experience.”
• Keanu Reeves: “I’d sit down for a whiskey with Ivan. Guy seems real.”
• Henry Cavill: “As a gamer and history enthusiast, I think Ivan’s critique is valid. Let’s have the conversation without lawsuits.”

Despite the chaos online, the Portland episode had gone remarkably smoothly in person. The audience appreciated Ivan and Lara’s candid discussions, especially their balanced approach to controversial topics.

A history professor who attended the event later wrote a glowing article:

"Ivan may be blunt, but his perspective challenges us to think critically about how we consume and interpret history. The world needs more voices like his.”

Veterans at the event echoed the sentiment. One attendee said, “Ivan doesn’t sugarcoat things. That’s rare these days, and it’s why people listen to him.”

As Ivan and Lara packed up for the next leg of their tour, they couldn’t help but reflect on the whirlwind of Portland.

“Think Activision’s really going to sue?” Lara asked, slipping into the passenger seat of their Oldsmobile.

Ivan smirked, turning the key in the ignition. The diesel engine roared to life, sending a plume of black smoke into the crisp Oregon air. “If they do, I’ll defend myself with the same thing I always do: the truth.”

The Oldsmobile rumbled onto the highway, its aging body a testament to resilience—much like Ivan himself. With Boston on the horizon, they braced for whatever awaited them, knowing full well that controversy and admiration would follow wherever they went.

As they drove, Ivan muttered under his breath, “These gaming kids better have their history books ready. This old man’s not done yet.”

Chapter 64

As the Oldsmobile rolled into Boston, the atmosphere in the car was surprisingly calm, though the mismatched wheels from a Portland junkyard gave the ride a faintly uneven feel. Ivan had grudgingly accepted them as a temporary fix, though his occasional grumbles about "neonová éra idiotů" could still be heard. Lara, however, was already absorbed in planning their evening.

“Boston’s got its charm,” Lara said, glancing out at the red-brick buildings and cobblestone streets that passed by. “Maybe we could find a quiet spot, enjoy a drink or two.”

Ivan grunted in reply, his focus on navigating the narrow streets. The Oldsmobile’s bulk felt almost comedic compared to the compact cars zipping by, but Ivan handled the beast with the precision of a veteran driver.

As they approached a busy intersection, a crowd of protesters came into view, their colorful signs bobbing above the masses. Environmental slogans painted in bold letters lined the banners:

"Save the Planet—Stop the Past!"

"Fossil Fuels Kill!"

Lara leaned forward, reading the signs with mild amusement. “Looks like they’ve got a bone to pick with history,” she remarked.

“Or with common sense,” Ivan muttered under his breath.

Then it happened. A woman broke away from the crowd, darting into the street and forcing Ivan to slam on the brakes. The Oldsmobile groaned in protest as it came to a screeching halt. The woman stood defiantly in front of the car, her piercing glare locking with Ivan’s.

Lara recognized the firebrand type immediately. Dressed in combat boots, ripped jeans, and a T-shirt adorned with the phrase "Smash the Patriarchy, Save the Earth," the activist stormed toward the driver’s side, her finger already pointed accusingly.

“You!” she shouted. “Do you even know what you’re driving? This... this monstrosity is a symbol of everything wrong with the world! Gas-guzzling, pollution-spewing, and a relic of destructive capitalism!”

Ivan let out a long, slow breath, gripping the wheel tighter. His patience for such encounters was notoriously short. “Lady, you’d better get out of the way before I make you part of the emissions.”

The activist ignored him, now gesturing wildly at Lara, who was watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. “And you! Lara Croft, of all people! You should be ashamed! Don’t you care about the environment? About the future? You’re endorsing this... this toxic masculinity on wheels!”

That did it. Ivan’s door opened with a metallic creak, and he stepped out, towering over the woman with a look that could freeze fire. “Toxic masculinity?” he repeated, his voice a low growl. “Let me tell you something, girl. This car has done more miles than you’ve done brain cells. It’s taken me across continents, through wars, and into hellholes you couldn’t survive a week in. You want to lecture me about the future? Try surviving the past first.”

The woman didn’t back down, though her indignation now wavered under Ivan’s intensity. “You can’t intimidate me! Your time is over! People like you are the problem!”

Ivan was about to deliver another verbal broadside, but Lara decided it was time to intervene. She stepped out of the car gracefully, her boots clicking against the asphalt. The crowd, already filming on their phones, fell silent as Lara approached the activist.

“Listen,” Lara began, her tone calm but laced with steel. “I admire passion. I do. But passion without perspective is just noise. Do you have any idea what this man has been through? What he’s survived to even stand here today? He doesn’t need your lectures, and neither do I.”

The activist opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter another word, Lara’s fist connected with her jaw in a swift, clean motion. The woman staggered back, eyes wide with shock, as the crowd gasped audibly.

“That’s for calling him a stooge,” Lara said coldly, flexing her hand as if testing the impact. “Next time, choose your words more carefully.”

Ivan smirked, his arms crossed. “Nicely done, miláčku,” he said, his voice laced with pride.

The activist stumbled away, muttering something incoherent, but the moment had already been immortalized. Dozens of phones were pointed at Ivan and Lara, capturing the dramatic exchange. Within minutes, the footage would be online, sparking another round of debates about the duo’s antics.

That evening, Ivan and Lara found themselves in a quiet Boston diner, the kind of place that smelled of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon. Ivan ordered black coffee and a club sandwich, while Lara opted for a glass of red wine and a Caesar salad.

“Not bad, huh?” Lara said, swirling her wine. “All things considered.”

Ivan sipped his coffee, his expression neutral. “Could’ve done without the theatrics, but you handled her well.”

Lara smirked. “You liked the punch.”

“Maybe,” Ivan admitted, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “But don’t make it a habit. You’ll ruin your reputation.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, because mine’s still pristine after all these years?”

Ivan chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. “Touché.”

As they finished their meal, Lara checked her phone. The video of the confrontation was already viral, with hashtags like #CroftPunch and #IvanStrikesAgain trending globally. Comments ranged from praise to outrage, but one thing was certain: their legend continued to grow.

Back at the car, the Oldsmobile stood gleaming under the streetlights, its mismatched wheels a stark reminder of the morning’s chaos. Ivan leaned against the hood, lighting a cigarette as Lara took another photo of the car, this time capturing its full profile.

“Hold still,” she said, her voice soft. She climbed onto the passenger side window, draping herself so her boots and legs were visible. Leaning in through the open window, she kissed Ivan’s cheek as he looked at her with an expression somewhere between exasperation and affection.

The click of the camera was almost inaudible, but the resulting image was perfect: the Oldsmobile’s iconic lines, Lara’s bold pose, and Ivan’s undeniable presence, all framed against the backdrop of a Boston night.

The photo Lara posted—a stunning composition of her draped over the Oldsmobile’s window, kissing Ivan’s cheek as he leaned stoically against the steering wheel—exploded across social media within hours.

Set against the backdrop of a dimly lit Boston street, the mismatched junkyard wheels on the Oldsmobile became both a meme and a metaphor. Lara’s iconic boots, elegantly posed, and Ivan’s gruff, world-weary demeanor, created a perfect juxtaposition that captured the imagination of every demographic.

The caption, "Classic chaos, timeless us," sparked an internet wildfire, and soon the hashtags were everywhere:

#CroftPunch ✊👢

#IvanStrikesAgain 🚬🚘

#OldsmobileLegends 🏁⛽

Comments Section:

Gen Z:

• "OMG, Lara is an absolute QUEEN for that punch. Slay the patriarchy while riding shotgun in history. 🖤✨" — @ecoactivist4ever
• "Wait, is this THAT Ivan from the meme with the Volga? I swear this man’s a vibe. 🔥" — @croftpilled
• "Why does Ivan look like he hasn’t updated his wardrobe since the 80s, but I kinda respect it? Grunge is timeless. 🧥💀" — @thedirtbagfiles

Gen Alpha:

• "Who drives a car THAT big??? It’s like a ship lol 😂 🚢🚘" — @minecraft_buildmaster
• "Lara in those boots tho, aesthetic level 1000. Ivan gives NPC vibes but in a cool way. 👌" — @genA_memez
• "Can someone mod this Oldsmobile into Fortnite? Asking for a friend. 👀" — @12yrogamer*

B-Body Enthusiasts:

• "Mismatched wheels? SMH, Ivan. That car deserves better. Respect the Delta 88! 💪🚗" — @BBodiedandProud
• "Finally, someone representing Oldsmobile right. Forget Mustangs, THIS is the real muscle. 🏋️" — @BigBlockBilly
• "The kid complaining about gas mileage probably doesn’t know what displacement is. You don’t measure smiles per gallon in Teslas. 😎" — @vintageautoaddict*

Celebrities:

• *"That punch though! Lara’s still got it. 👏🔥" — Gal Gadot
• *"Ivan looks like the guy who wouldn’t laugh at my jokes, but secretly I’d want to impress him. 😂" — Ryan Reynolds
• *"Oldsmobile Delta 88. Classic. Lara punching activists? Even more classic. Respect to the GOATs. 🙌" — Jeremy Clarkson
• *"Lara should guest-star in Succession. That energy is next-level. 🥂" — Brian Cox

Fans of Lara and Ivan’s Legacy:

• "This is why Lara and Ivan are ICONIC. They’re unapologetic, unfiltered, and still full of surprises after all these years. 🖤" — @TrueCroftFan
• "Imagine surviving time travel, ancient curses, AND Twitter mobs, and still looking this cool in Boston." — @TimeTravlr56
• "Lara Croft throwing punches, Ivan throwing shade. The dynamic duo we didn’t know we needed. 💥" — @AdventureChronicles

Memes Inspired by the Event:

1. Lara's Punch A still of Lara landing the punch, captioned: "When someone says your classic car is 'bad for the planet.' 👊🌍"
2. Ivan’s Stoicism A photo of Ivan glaring at the activist, meme text overlay: "POV: You just insulted a man who’s driven more miles than you’ve walked."
3. The Oldsmobile’s Wheels A close-up of the mismatched wheels, captioned: "Even legends need budget repairs sometimes. ✂️"

Within hours, the story was picked up by major outlets. Articles dissected every moment: the activist’s confrontation, Ivan’s cutting remarks, Lara’s punch, and, of course, the car itself. Auto magazines hailed the Oldsmobile as a “symbol of bygone resilience,” while tabloids debated whether Lara and Ivan were “a dangerous duo or the heroes we need.”

Later that night, Ivan scrolled through the comments, grumbling as usual. “What’s with all the emojis? Are words not enough anymore?”

Lara chuckled, sipping her wine. “Times change, Ivan. But some things—like us—stay timeless.”

He looked at her, his expression softening. “Timeless, eh? Let’s hope the Oldsmobile holds up to that standard. It’s a miracle those wheels didn’t fall off today.”

“Relax,” Lara teased, “They add character.”

Ivan smirked, shaking his head. “If character means being laughed at by twelve-year-olds on the internet, we’re set.”

They clinked glasses, the sound of their laughter mingling with the city’s hum. The photo and their antics were already carving a new chapter in their legend—a reminder that, mismatched wheels and all, they were still the unstoppable pair the world couldn’t get enough of.

Chapter 65

The drive to New York began uneventfully, the steady hum of the Oldsmobile's engine blending with the occasional whoosh of passing traffic. Ivan kept both hands on the wheel, his posture relaxed but focused. Lara, sitting beside him, had started the journey in high spirits but quickly grew restless as the miles stretched on.

"How much longer?" she asked, her tone laced with impatience.

"About two hours," Ivan replied without looking away from the road.

Lara groaned softly and shifted in her seat, her fingers idly tapping at her phone. She scrolled through social media, read headlines, and briefly chuckled at a meme before setting the device aside. The monotonous rhythm of the highway had begun to wear on her.

"Road trips lose their charm when the scenery’s just... gray concrete," she remarked, glancing out at the empty expanse of asphalt ahead.

Ivan didn’t respond immediately, his focus fixed on navigating the light evening traffic.

Lara turned her attention to him, studying his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the streaks of silver in his neatly combed hair. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as an idea formed.

“You’re awfully focused for someone who could use a little... excitement,” she said, her voice dropping to a teasing tone.

Ivan raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the road. “You’re bored. I get it. Read a book or something.”

“I don’t think a book’s what I need,” she replied, leaning slightly toward him.

He sighed, clearly catching on. “Lara, this is neither the time nor the place.”

“Maybe it’s exactly the time and place,” she countered, placing a hand lightly on his thigh.

Ivan’s grip on the wheel tightened. “We’re on a highway,” he said firmly. “Let’s not make this trip memorable for the wrong reasons.”

But Lara, ever the instigator, seemed determined. She shifted closer, her movements smooth and deliberate. Ivan glanced at her briefly, his expression a mixture of exasperation and resignation.

“Lara, I’m serious,” he warned, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

“So am I,” she replied with a playful smirk.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Lara leaned further toward his legs, her intentions clear. Ivan muttered something inaudible under his breath, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"This is insane," he managed, his voice strained.

“You love insane,” Lara shot back confidently. Then she said something, but her quote was inaudible because she had Ivan's saussage in her mouth, quite deeply. She also occasionally choked a little.

As the Oldsmobile continued its steady journey southward, a green Honda Civic pulled up in the adjacent lane. The young driver, a man in his early twenties, initially paid no mind to the vintage car beside him. But as he glanced over, something caught his attention. His gaze lingered, and his expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief.

“What the...?” he murmured, leaning closer to his window.

Inside the Oldsmobile, the scene unfolding was unmistakable. Ivan’s stiff posture and Lara’s position left nothing to the imagination. She was giving a deeptroat at the moment, bit choking. The Civic driver grabbed his phone, quickly hitting record.

“Is this real life?” he said aloud, his voice filled with disbelief and giddy amusement.

The shaky video captured the side profile of the Oldsmobile, Ivan’s visibly tense face, and Lara’s unmistakable movements. The driver’s commentary added an extra layer of absurdity:

“Yo, this dude is living the dream! That’s Lara Croft! Bro, what is even happening right now?”

The Civic veered slightly as the driver struggled to keep his phone steady and his car in the lane. By the time the clip ended, he was already uploading it to TikTok, captioned: “Lara Croft wildin’ on the highway. 🚗💨 #CoupleGoals #Iconic”.

When Ivan and Lara finally reached New York, they were blissfully unaware of the chaos brewing online. Their arrival at the hotel was routine—check-in, unpack, and relax. Ivan headed straight for the mini-bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

Meanwhile, Lara, ever connected to the digital world, opened Instagram. Her notifications were overflowing.

“What on earth...?” she muttered, scrolling through the avalanche of messages, tags, and mentions.

Ivan looked up from his drink. “What’s the fuss now?”

Lara didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she opened TikTok and found the viral video. The clip had amassed thousands of views, with thousands of comments and memes flooding in.

“You might want to sit down for this,” she said, holding out her phone.

Ivan took it reluctantly and watched the video, his expression darkening with each passing second.

“Fantastic,” he said dryly, handing the phone back. “We’re a public spectacle.”

The Internet, meanwhile, had erupted.

Twitter:

• “Lara Croft just reminded us why she’s a legend—on and off the field.”
• “Ivan’s face is everything. Man’s holding it together like a champ.”
• “That’s not an Oldsmobile. That’s a Love-mobile.”

TikTok Comments:

• “The dedication to the bit is unreal. Respect.”
• “Imagine just driving home and witnessing THAT.”
• “Lara and Ivan are the power couple I didn’t know I needed.”

Headlines:

• “Lara Croft’s Highway Antics Go Viral: Internet Crowns Her ‘Queen of Chaos’”
• “From Tombs to TikTok: Lara Croft Sparks Debate (and Laughter)”
• “Ivan and Lara: Scandal or Couple Goals? Fans Weigh In”

Despite the uproar, neither Lara nor Ivan seemed particularly fazed. Over breakfast the next morning, Lara casually scrolled through the reactions, chuckling occasionally.

“You’re oddly calm about this,” Ivan remarked, sipping his coffee.

“It’s all part of the brand,” she replied with a smirk.

Ivan shook his head, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re unforgettable,” she teased, earning an exasperated look from her partner.

The Internet’s obsession with the duo showed no signs of slowing, and for better or worse, Lara and Ivan’s chaotic road trip had cemented their status as the most talked-about couple of the year.

Chapter 66

The next day in New York was a spectacle unlike anything Ivan and Lara had ever experienced. The streets outside their hotel were packed with fans, journalists, and a few curious celebrities hoping to catch a glimpse of the couple that had taken the internet by storm.

Ivan, dressed in his signature shabby suit, looked out the window of their hotel room and muttered, “This city smells of desperation and burnt pretzels.” Lara, meanwhile, adjusted her iconic boots before grabbing her phone.

“Smile, Ivan. The world’s watching,” she said, snapping a selfie.

Ivan grumbled, but the day was just beginning.

Their Oldsmobile Delta 88, now affectionately known online as the Rizz-Mobile, was parked outside the hotel and had become a tourist attraction in its own right. Fans surrounded the car, taking selfies and posing like action stars next to its rugged, slightly rusted exterior.

A group of TikTok teens started chanting, “Rizz Lord! Rizz Lord!” when Ivan and Lara emerged from the hotel.

Eva Elfie, the adult film star who had joked about being their fan the previous day, was back again, holding a sign: “Can I be the co-pilot of the Rizz-Mobile?”

Lara burst out laughing. “I hope you’ve got your own seatbelt,” she said as she signed autographs.

Eva leaned in. “You two are living legends. I mean, who else can go from international scandal to being everyone’s favorite couple in less than 24 hours?”

Ivan looked up from signing someone’s Rizz-Mobile T-shirt. “Probably because the world’s attention span is as short as their Wi-Fi passwords.”

The chaos peaked that evening when Ivan and Lara arrived at Saturday Night Live as special guests. The energy backstage was electric, and hosts Colin Jost and Michael Che greeted them with their trademark smirks.

“We’ve never had a more controversial guest,” Jost said.

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold claim in a city where the mayor can’t even fix the subways.”

The couple took to the stage and delivered a monologue that had the audience howling with laughter.

Ivan opened with: “Good evening. I’m Ivan Tůma, old man, former communist, police investigator, UN peacekeeper, accidental meme, and apparently now a ‘Rizz Lord.’ It’s been a busy week.”

Lara chimed in, “And I’m Lara, archaeologist, adventurer, and... well, I guess MILF influencer now?”

The crowd roared.

As they recapped their week, Ivan deadpanned, “I learned two things: First, the internet has a strange sense of humor. Second, I should charge for highway performances.”

Canadian pole vaulter and OnlyFans star Alysha Newman joined them later in the show. When she sat next to Ivan, she leaned in with a playful smirk. “Ivan, I have to ask—what’s your secret? Because if I could pull the same moves you did, I’d be retired by now.”

Ivan, sipping a glass of water, replied, “Simple. Age, wisdom, and a V8 engine.”

Lara burst into laughter as Alysha added, “You know, Ivan, if you ever get bored, I could use a coach.”

The audience erupted in cheers and laughter, and Lara couldn’t resist. “Careful, Alysha. He’s mine.”

Toward the end of the show, the internet's requests reached a peak when a live question was submitted: “Would Ivan play Remove Kebab on the harmonica? For the culture?”

The audience laughed, but Ivan, ever unpredictable, pulled a harmonica out of his pocket. “Fine. But only because I hate saying no.”

To everyone’s shock, two surprise guests stood up in the audience: Niko and Roman Bellic.

“Mind if we join?” Niko asked in his thick Balkan accent. “I’ll sing, and Roman here will play trumpet.”

The audience went wild as the trio took the stage. What followed was a bizarre yet electrifying rendition of Remove Kebab. Michael and Colin were amused, Lara shocked and Alysha interested to Ivan.

The performance instantly became the most talked-about moment of the night. Social media exploded.

• “Ivan playing Remove Kebab on harmonica while Niko sings??? Bro, this is peak Slavic energy. 🔥🔥🔥”
• “I don’t care what anyone says—this is the best SNL moment in history. Rizz Lord Ivan is untouchable.”
• “The Rizz-Mobile is officially the Batmobile of memes. Change my mind. 🚗💨”

• “Ivan: UN Peacekeeper 🕊️ Niko: Literal war criminal 🔫 Roman: Trumpet guy 🎺 = GOAT trio of chaos.”
• “Who needs the Avengers when you have Ivan, Niko, and Roman? Balkan Bangers: Endgame 💀”
• “When the guy sent to stop war crimes teams up with the guy committing them. Peak irony. 👀”

• “Ivan playing Remove Kebab as a UN Peacekeeper is... problematic, to say the least. Not a good look. 🤨”
• “This is what happens when memes go too far. Someone tell Ivan to read the room. 😤”
• “Cool harmonica skills, but celebrating a war criminal? Yikes. 🚩”

Backstage, Roman slapped Ivan on the back. “You, my friend, are a true Slavic baller!”

Niko, more subdued, nodded. “You remind me of my cousin Roman. Always getting into trouble, always surviving it.”

Ivan, lighting a cigar, replied, “Trouble’s only fun if you know how to handle it.”

The Bellic cousins invited Ivan and Lara out for drinks at a Serbian bar in the city.

At the bar, rakija flowed freely, and Balkan music filled the air. Ivan, not typically one to let loose, joined Niko and Roman in singing traditional songs while Lara tried to keep up with the fast-paced dancing.

Roman, clearly tipsy, raised his glass. “To the Rizz-Mobile! And to Ivan, the Rizz Lord of New York!”

Lara laughed as she leaned on Ivan’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what Rizz means, but I’m happy to toast to it.”

By the next morning, their antics had once again taken over the internet. The trio’s performance was everywhere, spawning memes, debates, and fan art.

• “Ivan and Niko Bellic: The crossover we didn’t know we needed.”
• “Remove Kebab Trio = Best band of the decade.”
• “Forget memes, this is Slavic history being made.”

But the controversy lingered, with think pieces debating the ethics of a UN Peacekeeper playing a meme tied to Balkan conflicts.

Ivan, reading the headlines over coffee, sighed. “This city needs better problems.”

Lara smirked. “Ready for the next chapter?”

Ivan glanced at the Rizz-Mobile, parked below. “If it starts, so am I.”

Chapter 67

The drive out of New York felt like escaping a fever dream. Ivan, behind the wheel of the Rizz-Mobile, navigated through the chaotic buzz of paparazzi, TikTokers, and relentless fans still chanting his name. Lara reclined in the passenger seat, her boots propped up on the dashboard as she scrolled through endless memes.

The Bellic cousins had gifted Ivan a Serbian bumper sticker that now adorned the back of the Oldsmobile: "Rakija Powered."

“I think this car deserves hazard pay,” Ivan muttered as the city skyline faded into the distance.

They were headed west, destination unclear, until another cryptic text from Marc D’Amelio pinged Lara’s phone.

“‘Come to LA. Bring the Oldsmobile. Trust me.’” Lara read aloud, raising an eyebrow.

Ivan grunted. “Marc has too much time and money on his hands. But fine. At least the car likes warm weather.”

By the time they reached Los Angeles, the Rizz-Mobile had become an online legend, and Ivan was no longer just a meme—he was a cultural phenomenon. They were greeted by Marc and Arnold Schwarzenegger on the steps of a massive California estate, surrounded by TV crews, influencers, and security guards.

“Ivan!” Arnold roared, clapping him on the back so hard he nearly dropped his cigar. “We’ve got something special for you. Follow me.”

“Do I have a choice?” Ivan grumbled.

Arnold just laughed, leading the way through the estate to a private helipad where a military helicopter waited.

The ride was short, the destination unclear. As the helicopter descended, Ivan squinted at the sprawling desert landscape below, dotted with tanks, trucks, and soldiers. A massive banner fluttered over the base: “Welcome, Ivan.”

“What the hell is this?” Ivan asked, lighting a cigar despite the pilot’s objections.

Arnold grinned. “This is your army.”

As the helicopter touched down, a group of high-ranking military officials stepped forward to greet Ivan. At their head was General Murphy, a grizzled veteran who saluted crisply.

“Mr. Tůma, welcome to your command,” Murphy said.

“I’m not a commander,” Ivan shot back. “I’m a retired peacekeeper with a bad back and a worse attitude.”

Murphy smirked. “Then you’re perfect for the job.”

The General led them on a tour of the base, and Ivan couldn’t believe his eyes.

Rows upon rows of tanks gleamed in the desert sun, each one meticulously restored and upgraded with state-of-the-art American technology. Soldiers drilled in perfect synchronization, and vehicles roared as engineers fine-tuned their engines.

“What is this? A Cold War yard sale?” Ivan asked, surveying the scene.

Murphy chuckled. “Not quite. Every piece here has been modernized in the U.S. to meet 21st-century standards. Let me give you the numbers.”

The sheer scale of the operation was staggering.

• 500 T-72M1 tanks: Now equipped with advanced targeting systems, thermal imaging, and enhanced armor capable of withstanding modern kinetic rounds.
• 300 T-55AM2 tanks: Fitted with reactive armor, digital communications, and upgraded 850-horsepower engines.
• 200 BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles: Outfitted with anti-tank guided missiles, drone integration, and enhanced troop protection.
• 150 MiG-21 jets: Retrofitted with American avionics and long-range missiles, now capable of competing in modern aerial combat.
• 100 ZSU-57-2 anti-aircraft systems: Upgraded with radar-guided precision and AI targeting algorithms.
• 75 2K12 Kub (SA-6 Gainful) SAM systems: Enhanced for multi-target tracking and modern air defense.
• 50 Tatra 813 trucks: Converted into mobile command centers and supply haulers.
• 20 T-34 tanks: Fully restored for morale and historical parades, complete with smoke generators for dramatic effect.

Every vehicle had been painted with a distinctive insignia: a silhouette of the Rizz-Mobile with crossed cigars behind it. Soldiers referred to this as “Operation Rizz and Shine.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Ivan said, incredulous, as he passed a row of tanks.

Murphy smirked. “No, but the world did. You’ve inspired something, Ivan. This is bigger than you now.”

As the tour continued, Ivan spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

“Is that Alysha Newman?” Lara asked, squinting.

Indeed, the Canadian pole vaulter and OnlyFans star was sitting atop a T-72 turret, sipping an energy drink and chatting with soldiers.

“She’s filming a promotional video,” Murphy explained. “Apparently, she’s the unofficial morale officer.”

“Great,” Ivan muttered. “The circus has come to town.”

Alysha waved enthusiastically when she saw them. “Ivan! Lara! Isn’t this incredible? I mean, who knew you’d end up with an army?”

“I didn’t,” Ivan replied.

That evening, a massive banquet was held in Ivan’s honor, complete with Balkan music, traditional dishes, and more rakija than anyone could reasonably consume. Arnold gave a rousing speech about leadership and resilience, while Marc D’Amelio unveiled a new TikTok campaign: #RizzLordArmy.

The internet’s reaction was immediate and explosive.

• @TankTok: “T-72s with Wi-Fi? Ivan’s army is straight outta Metal Gear.”
• @SlavHistoryMemes: “Ivan went from peacekeeper to warlord in one week. Speedrun any%.”
• @CancelCulture: “This is problematic. You can’t just give a meme an army.”
• @RizzLordFanPage: “Who needs NATO when you have Ivan?”

Meme after meme flooded social media:

• Ivan standing in front of a tank with the caption: “When the Slavs need balancing.”
• A photoshopped image of the Rizz-Mobile leading a tank column with the phrase: “From rust to glory.”
• Lara holding a rakija bottle while Ivan saluted: “Rizz and shine, comrades.”

By the end of the night, Ivan sat alone on the hood of the Rizz-Mobile, cigar in hand, staring at the sea of vehicles and soldiers now under his command. Lara joined him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“This is insane,” she said softly.

“Insane doesn’t cover it,” Ivan replied. “I came here to escape the chaos, not command it.”

She smiled. “Well, the world doesn’t care what you want. It cares what it needs. And right now, it needs you.”

Ivan took a long drag on his cigar and exhaled slowly. “Fine. But if anyone calls me a warlord, I’m quitting.”

Chapter 68

The Los Angeles morning was perfect. Sunshine kissed the palm trees, a light breeze carried the scent of ocean spray, and the streets of LA were...utterly unrecognizable.

Where there were usually Teslas, Priuses, and the occasional Ferrari clogging the city’s arteries, now sat hundreds of modernized Soviet-era military vehicles—gleaming, growling, and entirely out of place in Beverly Hills.

At the very front of this metallic procession, like the exclamation point to a bizarre fever dream, was the Rizz-Mobile, Ivan’s rusty but iconic Oldsmobile Delta 88. The vehicle purred (read: struggled) forward, belching a tiny puff of exhaust, while crowds along the sidewalks screamed, cheered, and fired off TikToks.

Ivan, the reluctant meme lord, sat behind the wheel, wearing sunglasses and a deeply unamused expression. His hand rested on the steering wheel like he was casually commuting to the local diner. Next to him, Lara waved to the crowd like a seasoned beauty queen, her iconic boots resting on the dashboard.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” boomed the announcer's voice from the parade speakers, “BEHOLD THE RIZZ AND SHINE PARADE!”

The internet exploded instantly.

• @TankTok: “BRO, THEY’RE DOING THIS FOR REAL?!? Soviet tanks in LA?! I’m deceased 💀.”
• @SlavMemesDaily: “The Rizz-Mobile leading a literal Cold War military parade down Sunset Boulevard is peak 2024 energy. 🔥”
• @CancelCultureClub: “So we’re just casually celebrating Soviet tanks in California now? Make it make sense. 🚩”

Behind the Rizz-Mobile was column after column of vehicles, each more ridiculous than the last:

• 50 T-72M1 tanks, their turrets swiveling like they were scanning for paparazzi. Each was modernized to the teeth with reactive armor, infrared targeting, and GPS systems straight from Elon Musk’s playbook.
• 40 T-55AM2s, upgraded with anti-drone systems and a paint job that somehow screamed cyberpunk chic.
• 25 BMP-2s, bristling with high-tech weaponry and retrofitted with Bluetooth speakers blasting Hardbass.
• A massive convoy of UAZ-469s, decked out in glossy black and trailing vape smoke because someone thought it was funny.
• 30 ZSU-57-2 anti-aircraft systems, their dual-barrel cannons pointed skyward, but someone had taped LED strips to them, making them look like they belonged at an EDM festival.

And because no Slavic parade would be complete without it:

• 12 MiG-21 jets, mounted on flatbeds, painted in Czechoslovakian Air Force colors, with the words “Thanks, Ivan!” stenciled on the wings.

“Ivan, why are we doing this?” Lara asked as they rolled past a group of influencers holding signs that read, “Slava Rizzovia!”

“Because someone thought it would be funny,” Ivan muttered, gripping the wheel. His cigar smoldered between his lips, its smoke curling like a cartoon villain’s.

“I think it’s amazing,” she replied, blowing kisses to the crowd.

The scene became increasingly absurd. Soldiers marched in sync behind the vehicles, their boots stomping in perfect rhythm. Instead of traditional rifles, they carried flags—some of the Czech Republic, others of the Soviet Union, and a surprising number with the meme-ified image of Ivan’s face, overlaid with the text “Rizz Lord Supreme.”

The crowd screamed when they saw the T-34 tanks rolling by, their retro charm undeniable. Someone had painted one of them hot pink, and its driver waved enthusiastically.

The internet memes practically created themselves:

• @Memelord69: “LA: Let’s have a chill, normal day. Ivan: Hold my rakija. 🚬”
• @HistoryNerd88: “Soviet tanks in Beverly Hills? Is this a historical reenactment or a fever dream?”
• @RizzLordFanAccount: “Ivan’s Oldsmobile is literally tank-proof. Change my mind.”

Adding to the chaos, Eva Elfie made a grand entrance atop a turret of one of the T-72s, waving a flag that read “Powered by Rizz.” She wore aviator sunglasses and a leather jacket, striking poses like she was auditioning for a Soviet-themed reboot of Fast and Furious.

Alysha Newman, not to be outdone, appeared on a BMP-2, holding a megaphone. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, LET’S HEAR IT FOR IVAN!” she shouted, her voice echoing down the street.

The crowd roared. Lara rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing.

The parade route twisted through LA’s most iconic streets. Sunset Boulevard had never looked more surreal. The Rizz-Mobile led the charge past the Hollywood Walk of Fame, where someone had planted a Soviet flag next to Marilyn Monroe’s star.

When they reached Santa Monica, the parade hit its crescendo. The Rizz-Mobile rolled into a massive plaza where a stage awaited. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Marc D’Amelio, and a handful of bewildered local politicians stood by, clapping as Ivan parked with a screech.

“Los Angeles!” Arnold shouted, grabbing the mic. “Let’s hear it for Ivan Tůma and his legendary Rizz-Mobile!”

The crowd chanted, “RIZZ LORD! RIZZ LORD!”

Ivan reluctantly stepped out of the car, lighting another cigar as the crowd’s cheers grew deafening. Lara joined him, adjusting her leather jacket.

Marc handed Ivan a mic. “Come on, Ivan. Say something!”

Ivan sighed, puffed his cigar, and muttered, “You’re all insane. Thanks, I guess.”

The crowd exploded.

The parade’s afterparty was no less chaotic. MiG-21 pilots signed autographs. Soldiers posed for photos with fans. Someone had turned a T-55 into a makeshift DJ booth, complete with turntables and strobe lights.

The internet flooded with reactions:

• @TankTok: “The T-72s stole the show, but can we talk about the LED-covered ZSUs???”
• @SlavVibesOnly: “The fact that the Rizz-Mobile was the lead vehicle? ICONIC.”
• @LAConfusedCitizen: “Who do I even call to complain about this? The UN???”
• @AlyshaFanPage: “Alysha Newman commanding a BMP-2? My bisexual heart can’t handle this. ❤️💀”

By the end of the day, Ivan and Lara sat on the hood of the Rizz-Mobile, watching the sunset over the ocean. Behind them, the last of the tanks were being loaded onto transport trucks.

“Well, that was something,” Lara said, sipping from a bottle of rakija someone had handed her.

Ivan exhaled a cloud of smoke. “If this is what retirement looks like, I might need another job.”

The world had seen many parades before, but none like this. The Rizz and Shine Parade was already immortalized in memes, fan art, and conspiracy theories. And as Ivan stared at the horizon, he couldn’t help but wonder: What fresh insanity does tomorrow hold?

Chapter 69

After weeks of absolute chaos—from being mobbed by fans in New York to leading a Soviet armor parade through LA—Ivan and Lara finally returned to Croft Manor, hoping for a slice of tranquility. Naturally, tranquility was nowhere in sight.

As the Rizz-Mobile rolled up the driveway, its rusty engine sputtering a victorious growl, Ivan and Lara spotted a figure standing on the manor’s steps. It was none other than General Carter, decked out in full military regalia, saluting like he was greeting a president.

“Ivan Tůma,” Carter began, his tone as crisp as his pressed uniform. “I am at your service, sir.”

Ivan stepped out of the Oldsmobile, his cigar already lit, and squinted at the general. “At my service? What are you, a waiter?”

Carter didn’t flinch. “Not quite, sir. But I’ve seen enough of your... tactics to know that you’re the leader the world didn’t know it needed.”

Lara leaned on the hood of the car, visibly amused. “Ivan, you’re collecting generals now? What’s next, a pope?”

Ivan didn’t waste time. Leading Carter into Croft Manor, he gave the general a tour of the historic estate, which hadn’t seen much action beyond Lara’s occasional treasure hunts. Ivan, unimpressed by its charming architecture, bluntly declared, “This place is about as secure as a paper umbrella in a hurricane.”

“Fix it,” Ivan ordered, puffing his cigar like a Slavic Tony Stark.

And thus began the transformation of Croft Manor into what memes would later call “Fortress Rizz”:

• Laser-guided defense systems, capable of tracking intruders faster than Lara could whip out her pistols.
• Automated turrets, because Ivan believed in the timeless adage: “If it moves, shoot first and ask questions later.”
• Drone jamming towers, designed to block unwanted surveillance (or pizza delivery drones, depending on the day).
• An underground command center, complete with holographic maps, tactical screens, and a coffee machine that served rakija instead of espresso.

Naturally, Lara insisted the upgrades maintain some of the manor’s classic elegance. The result was a bizarre hybrid of British aristocracy and post-apocalyptic paranoia.

With Croft Manor fortified, Ivan turned his attention to the bigger picture. Sitting at the newly installed war table, surrounded by Carter and his officers, Ivan outlined his strategy.

“We’ll leave eight divisions here in England,” Ivan said, pointing at the map with the tip of his cigar. “Station them at key points. They’ll eat, sleep, and train until they can outdrink and outfight anyone on the planet.”

“And the rest?” Carter asked, taking notes like an obedient intern.

“Spread them across Europe,” Ivan replied. “Poland gets three divisions, the Balkans get four, and the Baltics... well, they get whatever’s left. No one messes with Europe while I’m in charge.”

The internet, as expected, ate this up:

• @RizzLordHQ: “Ivan leaving divisions in England like he’s playing Risk IRL. 🔥”
• @TankTok: “Europe is basically Ivan’s backyard now. 😂 Someone tell NATO they’ve been replaced.”

Meanwhile, Ivan and Lara’s show, Clear Lens, was thriving. Every episode was a masterclass in roasting global leaders, dissecting world politics, and delivering meme-worthy one-liners.

“Welcome back to Clear Lens,” Lara opened, her boots propped casually on the desk. “Where we don’t pull punches, because honestly, the world deserves it.”

Ivan, sitting beside her and sipping his rakija, added, “Spoiler: If you’re watching this, you’re probably part of the problem.”

In one particularly viral segment, Lara called out a tech billionaire for attempting to colonize Mars while ignoring Earth’s problems. “You can’t even fix Twitter,” she quipped. “What makes you think you can run a planet?”

The internet exploded:

• @MemeGov: “Clear Lens isn’t news; it’s Ivan and Lara dunking on the world in HD. 🔥”
• @SlavMemes69: “Lara calling out Elon = chef’s kiss. 💀”
• @WorldPoliticsFan: “Ivan sipping rakija while the world burns is peak Slavic energy.”

When Lara couldn’t make it to the studio, Alysha Newman stepped in as a guest host. Her mix of charm and sharp commentary quickly won fans over, with many dubbing her the “Clear Lens MVP.”

Back at Croft Manor, Ivan was quietly building a new empire—not of memes, but of machines. He secured the rights to cutting-edge tank technologies and established a massive tank factory near the estate.

The factory became a meme in itself, with its slogan—“Built to Last, Built to Rizz”—emblazoned on every vehicle it produced.

• M-84 tanks rolled off the assembly line, bound for the Balkans.
• M48A5 and M60A3 models were upgraded with modern optics, armor, and fire-control systems.
• Chieftain tanks, once relics of a bygone era, were resurrected as indestructible war machines.
• Even a handful of Challenger 1 tanks joined the fleet, refurbished and nicknamed “Rizz Bulldogs.”

Ivan also began modernizing tanks for democratic nations, cementing his reputation as both a meme icon and a defense industry powerhouse.

Fans couldn’t get enough:

• @TankTok: “M-84s coming out of Croft Manor’s backyard? Someone tell Churchill. 😂”
• @DefenseMemes: “Ivan’s tank factory is just a Skyrim blacksmith shop but for tanks. 🔥”
• @RizzLord69: “Ivan went from fisherman to global arms dealer. Talk about a glow-up. 🚗➡️🛡️”

One evening, as the factory’s lights illuminated the countryside, Ivan and Lara sat on the balcony of Croft Manor, sipping rakija and watching the world they’d built.

“You know,” Lara said, swirling her glass, “you’ve gone from grumpy fisherman to international meme lord to arms magnate. What’s next? Emperor of Europe?”

Ivan smirked, blowing out a puff of cigar smoke. “Depends. Does Europe have decent parking for the Rizz-Mobile?”

As they laughed, a new batch of memes flooded the internet:

• @SlavEnergy: “Ivan and Lara sipping rakija while running Europe = GOALS. 🔥”
• @MemeGov: “Clear Lens, tank factories, and fortress manors. Ivan isn’t playing; he’s conquering.”
• @RizzLordHQ: “From Oldsmobile to tanks. Ivan’s arc is better than any MCU movie. 😂”

The world had seen many leaders, but none quite like Ivan Tůma. And as long as there were tanks to build, memes to inspire, and rakija to drink, the Rizz Lord’s legend would only grow.

Chapter 70

As the weeks turned into months, Ivan and Lara found themselves in an unprecedented position of power. What began as a surreal journey—fueled by memes, tanks, and rakija—had transformed them into two of the most influential figures on the planet.

Governments and world leaders now treated them with a mix of respect and wariness. No longer were Ivan and Lara just the hosts of Clear Lens or eccentric adventurers. They were seen as guardians of freedom—and, to those who threatened it, an undeniable force of reckoning.

Ivan, ever the pragmatist, took the growing responsibilities in stride. “Respect is just fear dressed up in a nice suit,” he grumbled one evening, puffing on his cigar.

Lara, sitting beside him, smirked. “Well, you are wearing a nicer suit these days.”

One of Ivan’s first priorities as a newly minted powerhouse wasn’t political reform or economic strategy—it was upgrading the Rizz-Mobile. After all, even titans of the modern world need a reliable ride.

The factory near Croft Manor worked tirelessly on the project, with Ivan supervising every detail. The final product was nothing short of legendary:

• Color: A sleek, obsidian black that seemed to absorb light, earning the nickname “Black Rizz.”
• Armor: Reinforced to withstand up to 20mm rounds, because Ivan’s motto was, “Better safe than Swiss cheese.”
• Engine: A finely tuned diesel beast capable of outrunning most modern vehicles—because, as Ivan put it, “Speed is the ultimate defense.”
• Luxury Features: State-of-the-art suspension, a reinforced chassis, and a rakija dispenser in the glove box.
• Symbolic Touches: On each front fender were flag mounts bearing the insignia of the Croft family—a nod to Lara’s lineage and the legacy they were building together.

When Ivan first took the upgraded Rizz-Mobile for a spin, internet fandom erupted:

• @RizzLordHQ: “Ivan’s car is now literally a tank in disguise. Autobots, beware. 🚗➡️🛡️”
• @SlavCarMemes: “The Rizz-Mobile has gone full John Wick mode. Respect.”
• @TankTok: “Forget Tesla. Ivan’s Black Rizz is the future of luxury combat vehicles. 🔥”

Despite the growing power of Ivan’s army—now a well-oiled machine of modernized tanks, armored vehicles, and elite divisions—he made a solemn vow to the world during a Clear Lens broadcast.

Sitting at the desk, his expression serious, Ivan spoke directly to the camera. “I did not ask for this army. It was built out of necessity, not ambition. I promise you this: It will never be used to conquer, oppress, or intimidate. It is a shield for the free world, nothing more.”

Lara added, “And like any shield, it will only be raised when absolutely necessary. Freedom is not something we take lightly.”

The broadcast went viral, with people across the globe lauding their integrity:

• @WorldUnityMemes: “When the world needed a hero, we got Ivan and Lara instead. Upgrade unlocked. 🔥”
• @PeaceOrRizz: “Ivan promising not to misuse his army? That’s the level of accountability every leader should have.”
• @RizzLord69: “Ivan’s army is like a fire extinguisher: break glass in case of emergency. Respect.”

In the weeks that followed, Ivan and Lara’s influence continued to grow. Nations began to send delegations to Croft Manor, seeking alliances, advice, and even military contracts. Ivan’s factory churned out modernized vehicles not just for his army but also for allies across Europe and beyond.

Old allies returned, with NATO commanders and Balkan leaders hailing Ivan’s contributions to regional security. Meanwhile, adversaries treaded carefully, knowing that behind Ivan’s gruff demeanor and worn-out suits lay an army capable of reshaping conflicts.

The internet, of course, turned Ivan’s newfound status into a never-ending meme fest:

• @SlavMemes69: “Ivan went from fixing fishing nets to fixing geopolitics. 🔥”
• @TankTok: “Ivan is basically the final boss of freedom.”
• @MemeGov: “Who needs superheroes when you have Rizz Lord and Lara Croft? MCU who?”

True to his promise, Ivan’s army remained dormant, a sleeping giant ready to awaken only when the free world truly needed it. He turned down offers to intervene in petty conflicts or flex his might unnecessarily.

One reporter asked him during an interview, “What keeps you from using your army for personal gain?”

Ivan’s reply was simple: “Because power without restraint is just stupidity in a uniform.”

The internet didn’t miss the opportunity to meme this quote into oblivion:

• @SlavWisdom: “Ivan’s wisdom > all philosophy books combined. 📜🔥”
• @RizzLordHQ: “Stupidity in a uniform is my new favorite insult.”

One evening, as the sun set over Croft Manor, Ivan and Lara sat on the balcony, the Black Rizz parked below. The world seemed calm—for now.

“Ivan,” Lara said, sipping a glass of wine, “did you ever imagine we’d end up here? Commanding armies, reshaping the world... and upgrading a 40-year-old car into a fortress on wheels?”

Ivan smirked, lighting his cigar. “Not really. I just wanted to fish in peace. But if the world’s going to drag me into its mess, I might as well do it my way.”

Lara laughed, leaning against his shoulder. “Well, your way seems to be working.”

And so, the legend of Ivan Tůma continued to grow—a man who never sought power but wielded it with a rare mix of humor, humility, and unyielding resolve. As long as he kept his promise to the world, the Black Rizz would remain a symbol not of conquest, but of freedom.

Chapter 71

Sitting in the grand study of Croft Manor, Ivan stared at an old photograph of the prototype Škoda Typ 720, a car that had fascinated him since his youth. It symbolized unrealized potential and dreams deferred. He took a long sip from his brandy glass and muttered to himself, "If only this had seen the light of day."

Lara, lounging on a nearby sofa with her laptop, glanced at him. "What’s on your mind?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Dreams, Lara," Ivan replied, smirking. "Dreams that deserve another chance. I’m going to buy Škoda."

Lara laughed, thinking he was joking. "Of course you are," she teased. But as Ivan’s gaze held steady, her smile faded. "Wait. You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Ivan said. "It’s time to give this brand its soul back."

The acquisition of Škoda from Volkswagen was swift and decisive. Within weeks, the announcement sent shockwaves across the automotive world. Fans of the brand, as well as Ivan’s ever-growing global following, exploded with excitement and memes:

• @SlavCarFans: "Ivan buys Škoda. Favorit is coming back. The world is healing."
• @ClearLensEnthusiast: "If Ivan’s cars don’t come with NBC protection as standard, what’s even the point?"
• @TankTok: "Ivan making Škoda great again. Can we get a tank edition Favorit, please?"

Ivan’s vision for Škoda was simple: combine the legacy of its iconic designs with modern engineering and affordability. Unlike many luxury brands or overpriced electric startups, Ivan wanted Škoda to remain accessible to the people. "A car," he declared, "shouldn’t cost you your soul. It should just do its job and do it well."

Under Ivan’s leadership, Škoda’s lineup was revitalized, paying homage to its historical models while setting a new standard for reliability and quality.

The Škoda 110 became the foundation of the range. A tribute to the beloved compact car of the 1970s, the new 110 was simple, robust, and dependable. Its design echoed its predecessor’s boxy charm, updated with sleek LED lights and a modern grille. Despite its modest price, it came standard with advanced safety features and NBC protection—a nod to Ivan’s unique priorities.

Next came the resurrection of the legendary Favorit and its wagon counterpart, the Forman. Both models retained their practical, no-nonsense aesthetic, with design cues that harkened back to the late ‘80s. These cars were powered by efficient hybrid engines, maxing out at 200 horsepower, and boasted class-leading reliability. Ivan insisted on keeping the pricing fair, ensuring these cars would be "the logical choice for anyone with common sense."

Then there was Oficiál, the crown jewel of the lineup. This five-meter-long luxury sedan seamlessly blended design elements from the Škoda Typ 720 and the BAZ Škoda 742 Oficiál. The exterior boasted a refined silhouette with subtle nods to its predecessors, including sleek chrome accents and distinctive, retro-modern grille styling. Inside, passengers were enveloped in opulence with sustainably sourced leather upholstery, polished walnut trim, and state-of-the-art ambient lighting. The Oficiál’s up to 400-horsepower hybrid engine was meticulously engineered for smooth performance, emphasizing efficiency over excess. Advanced features, such as adaptive self-leveling suspension, semi-autonomous driving, and unparalleled safety systems, ensured a world-class driving experience. Staying true to Ivan’s ethos, the Oficiál was priced significantly lower than comparable luxury sedans, redefining what accessible luxury could be.

The internet’s reaction was predictably gleeful:

• @AutoMemes: "Škoda Oficiál: For when you want to roll into Lidl like a head of state."
• @TankTok: "400 horsepower? Ivan calls that ‘restrained.’"
• @SlavSpirit: "Favorit for the people. Oficiál for the bosses. But both are Slav-approved."

But Ivan’s ambitions extended beyond automobiles. He channeled the profits from Škoda and his defense ventures into building a network of nuclear shelters across Europe. These shelters, funded and constructed by his army, were designed to protect civilians in case of disaster and served as community hubs during peacetime. Ivan’s army also continued its humanitarian mission, providing aid during natural disasters and crises.

Despite his growing power, Ivan remained steadfast in his commitment to peace. Memories of his fear during the Cold War and the atrocities he witnessed during the Bosnian conflict haunted him. "I’ve seen what happens when men with power use it carelessly," he said during an episode of Clear Lens. "I won’t let that happen on my watch."

This principle guided his actions. While his army’s presence grew stronger, it was never used for aggression. Ivan made a solemn promise: "This force exists to protect, not to conquer. It will be used only when the free world truly needs it."

His integrity and transparency resonated with people worldwide. On social media, fans celebrated his leadership:

• @GlobalDefenseWatch: "Ivan Tůma: the reluctant protector the world didn’t know it needed."
• @SlavDreamer: "Ivan’s army: building shelters, not wars. This is the energy we need."

Through it all, Ivan and Lara continued to host Clear Lens, balancing their global responsibilities with their sharp commentary on current events. In one particularly memorable episode, Ivan quipped, "While politicians argue, I built cars, shelters, and a better future. What have they done this week?"

The world couldn’t get enough of them. The hashtag #IvanAndLaraForPresident trended frequently, even though neither had any interest in politics.

One evening, as they relaxed on the terrace of Croft Manor, Ivan watched the lights of the nearby Škoda factory glimmering in the distance. He lit a cigar and smiled. "We’ve done good work today," he said.

Lara leaned back, sipping her wine. "The world could use more days like this."

Ivan chuckled. "As long as they keep buying Favorits, we’ll keep making them."

Chapter 72

Škoda’s revitalized lineup under Ivan’s leadership continued to gain traction globally, but its breakout success in the United States marked a historic turning point for the brand. Of all the models, none captured American hearts more than the flagship luxury sedan, Škoda Oficiál. The blend of retro-modern aesthetics, affordability, and unshakable quality turned it into a cultural phenomenon.

To cater to the American market, Ivan made a bold move. By special request, a bespoke version of the Škoda Oficiál, equipped with a 4.0-liter V8 engine of proprietary design, was introduced. This engine, built in the heart of Mladá Boleslav, delivered a smooth yet powerful performance, perfectly suited for long stretches of American highways.

The Americanized Škoda Oficiál retained all the hallmark features: a spacious interior clad in sustainable leather, classic walnut detailing, and a minimalist dashboard outfitted with cutting-edge technology. Its 400-horsepower output was tame compared to luxury sports sedans, but it delivered unmatched reliability and refinement. And at a base price of just $43,990, it offered luxury that few competitors could match.

The U.S. launch was accompanied by an outpouring of enthusiasm on social media:

• @CarCultureUSA: “The Škoda Oficiál just landed stateside. V8, retro vibes, and quality that’ll make German brands cry. All for $43k. Unreal.”
• @DailyDriveMemes: “Finally, a car that says, ‘I’m a diplomat who shops at Costco.’”
• @ClearLensSuperFan: “Ivan’s Oficiál is proof that world peace could start with a good car.”

Sales skyrocketed. The Oficiál became a favorite among middle-class professionals and retirees seeking luxury without pretense. Its practicality and understated elegance also attracted influential buyers:

• State Officials: Several governments, including the Czech Republic, purchased fleets of Oficiáls for their diplomats and senior staff, finding the balance of quality, cost, and gravitas unmatched.
• Celebrities and Leaders: Influential figures worldwide, including Ivan himself, owned the car. Ever humble, Ivan chose the base model, emphasizing its affordability and practicality during an interview on Clear Lens. “If I can drive it, anyone can,” he quipped, sparking memes of Ivan’s “barebones” luxury lifestyle.

Demand in the U.S. led Ivan to expand production capacity at Škoda’s Mladá Boleslav plant. American buyers could customize their vehicles directly, even opting for the V8 engines to be installed before shipping. The attention to detail and customer-focused approach only deepened the brand’s appeal.

Ivan’s insistence on quality and affordability paid dividends. He refused to compromise on the core ethos of Škoda: reliability, elegance, and accessibility. While competitors scrambled to chase trends or inflate prices, Škoda stayed true to its roots.

Despite his growing global influence, Ivan remained staunchly committed to peace. The memories of his fear during the Cold War and the horrors of the Bosnian conflict lingered vividly. These experiences solidified his resolve to use his growing empire—be it in industry, media, or defense—only for constructive purposes.

“I don’t build cars to fund wars,” Ivan declared on Clear Lens. “I build them so people can live their lives with dignity and security.”

This philosophy extended to his army, which had become a force for humanitarian efforts rather than conflict.

Ivan’s pragmatic approach and Lara’s quick wit on Clear Lens kept their fanbase deeply engaged. In one memorable segment, Ivan jokingly challenged U.S. car manufacturers:

“You know, I’ve made a luxury car that’s better than yours and costs half as much. Want to beat me? Try harder.”

The internet exploded with memes:

• A photo of Ivan behind the wheel of an Oficiál with the caption: “When your car is so good, even you can’t believe it.”
• Lara holding a mock V8 engine blueprint: “Me explaining to Ivan why the Oficiál needs more horsepower.”

As Ivan watched the sunset over Croft Manor one evening, a sleek black Oficiál parked in the driveway below, he reflected on the improbable journey that brought him to this point.

“Who would’ve thought,” he murmured to Lara.

She smiled knowingly. “Everyone did. You’re Ivan. You make the impossible look easy.”

The world agreed.

Chapter 73

Ivan and Lara’s show, Clear Lens, had become a cultural phenomenon, attracting millions of viewers with its sharp, candid commentary. But when they announced that Jeremy Clarkson would be a guest, the internet erupted in excitement. Memes flooded social media:

• @AutoBanter: “Clarkson on Clear Lens? The sarcasm levels might break the sound barrier.”
• @TankMemesHQ: “Clarkson’s coming. Will he call Ivan’s army ‘properly brilliant’ or ‘an absolute disaster’?”

When the day came, the episode did not disappoint. The banter between Ivan, Lara, and Clarkson was electric. They discussed everything from Škoda’s resurgence to Clarkson’s notorious car critiques. The audience was in stitches when Jeremy arrived at Croft Manor driving none other than a Škoda Oficiál Sportline.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Jeremy, you bought an Oficiál?”

Clarkson grinned. “Not just bought—I insisted on the Sportline. Because, Ivan, if you’re going to build a tank in disguise, it better have a bit of oomph.”

The internet exploded again:

• @TopGearFans: “Clarkson driving an Oficiál… British diplomacy just got Slav-approved.”
• @ClearLensMemes: “Ivan: ‘It’s affordable luxury.’ Clarkson: ‘It’s a bloody tank with leather seats.’”

The camaraderie between the three hosts only added to the charm. Clarkson’s approval of Ivan’s Škoda lineup cemented its cultural status, especially in markets like the UK and the US.

While Ivan’s automotive ventures thrived, his global influence reached new heights. The completion of Europe’s network of nuclear shelters—funded by Ivan’s army—garnered international praise. Even the United Nations couldn’t ignore his contributions. In a historic and controversial decision, the UN granted Ivan permission to develop nuclear missiles—strictly as a deterrent.

Ivan’s reaction was characteristically understated. “I’ll build them, but I’ll never use them. We’ve had enough madness in this world.”

Within months, Ivan’s missile program exceeded expectations. Engineers working under his leadership created a cutting-edge arsenal, surpassing even the capabilities of the United States and Russia. Unlike typical arms races, Ivan’s strategy was transparent. He shared data with allied nations and invited international inspectors to ensure the missiles were purely defensive.

Memories of the Cold War loomed large in Ivan’s mind. He spoke openly on Clear Lens about the fear he experienced during those tense decades. “I remember what it was like to live under the shadow of annihilation,” he said. “And I won’t let anyone else feel that way, not on my watch.”

His sincerity resonated with the public, turning even skeptics into supporters. The world began to see Ivan not as a warmonger but as a reluctant guardian of global peace. Memes captured this sentiment:

• @GlobalDefenseWatch: “Ivan: Building bunkers, not bunkum. Nuclear power for the people.”
• @SlavTwitter: “Ivan’s got nukes, but he’s too busy driving a base-model Oficiál to launch them. Iconic.”

Ivan’s unparalleled combination of industrial, military, and media influence positioned him and Lara as de facto leaders of a new global movement. Fans jokingly referred to them as the “CEOs of Earth.” Even major world leaders sought Ivan’s advice on matters ranging from sustainable development to crisis management.

Despite their power, Ivan and Lara remained refreshingly grounded. They continued hosting Clear Lens, meeting fans, and occasionally roasting world leaders. In one memorable episode, Ivan addressed criticisms of his growing influence:

“People say I have too much power. But I don’t run countries—I just make cars, shelters, and the occasional missile. What’s your government done for you lately?”

The clip went viral, sparking discussions about leadership and accountability. The hashtag #IvanForPresident trended worldwide, though Ivan dismissed it with a laugh. “I’m not interested in politics,” he said. “I’d rather fix things than argue about them.

As the episode with Clarkson ended, Ivan and Lara found a moment to relax. Sitting on the terrace of Croft Manor, they watched the sunset, a freshly detailed Škoda Oficiál Sportline gleaming in the driveway below.

“It’s funny,” Ivan mused. “All this… and I’m still just a fisherman who got lucky.”

Lara chuckled. “Lucky? Ivan, you’re the only person I know who can buy a car company, build bunkers, and end up with nuclear missiles… all without breaking a sweat.”

Chapter 74

One morning, a devastating explosion ripped through the technical room of Croft Manor. The blast was deafening, the shockwave shattering windows and sending flames roaring through the estate. When the dust settled, the unthinkable became clear: Amelie and Zip were dead.

The loss hit everyone hard. The manor’s grounds, once filled with life and laughter, fell into a grim silence. Lara kept herself busy with repairs and legal proceedings, refusing to break down. Ivan, on the other hand, sat in quiet rage. He didn’t need long to figure out who was responsible. The evidence pointed squarely to Sharon, her Instagram post practically a confession wrapped in mockery.

Winston and Alister joined Ivan in planning a response. For Alister, this wasn’t just about revenge—it was about precision. He proposed planting a bomb under Sharon’s Cadillac Escalade. “A clean strike,” he said, his tone clinical. “No risk to anyone else.”

Ivan agreed. He worked tirelessly in his garage, preparing for what was to come. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like he was restoring a vintage Škoda 720. In reality, he was creating a modern marvel: a 2.0 TSI engine with 265 horsepower, state-of-the-art technology, and enough armor to withstand nearly anything. This car would be his weapon and shield.

On the night of the mission, Ivan drove the Škoda to Sharon’s mansion, parking a street away. The air was cold, the silence broken only by the hum of distant traffic. The mansion loomed ahead, its extravagant lights showcasing Sharon’s wealth.

The plan was simple. Under the cover of darkness, Ivan approached the Escalade, the bomb small enough to fit in his coat. Crawling under the vehicle, he secured it in place, activating the mechanism that would trigger the device when the engine started.

He limped back to the Škoda, his wooden leg making his movements slower than he’d like. Once inside, he dialed Lara from a phone booth nearby, masking his intentions with casual charm.

“Lara,” he said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

“Ivan,” she replied, her tone soft and affectionate. “How are you?”

“I was thinking,” he began, “how about dinner tomorrow night? Just you and me.”

Lara chuckled, the sound like a balm to his nerves. “I’d love that. It’s been too long since we had a proper date.”

As they spoke, the front door of Sharon’s mansion opened. Ivan’s eyes narrowed as a figure emerged—not Sharon, but a young woman. She was heading toward the Escalade.

“Lara,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly tense. “I’ll call you back.” He went out, ignoring her confused protests, they were still on the line.

Ivan threw the phone aside and stumbled out of the car, shouting at the woman. “Don’t get in! Stay back!”

She turned to him, startled but uncomprehending, then opened the driver’s side door. Ivan pushed himself forward, desperation driving him, but his wooden leg slowed him down.

“Stop!” he screamed, but it was too late.

The Escalade’s engine roared to life. The explosion tore through the night, the force of it throwing Ivan to the ground. Glass shattered in nearby houses, alarms blaring in response. Flames consumed the vehicle, the heat searing Ivan’s face even from a distance.

The Telephone booth, still connected to Lara, was filled with her frantic cries. “Ivan? Ivan, what’s happening? Are you okay? Talk to me!”

He fumbled to pick it up, his hands shaking. “I’m fine,” he lied, his voice hollow. “I’ll explain later.” He hung up before she could press further.

Reaching another phone booth, he called Alister. “It’s done,” Ivan said, his voice heavy. “But someone else—an innocent—”

Alister cut him off. “Ivan, these things happen. Don’t let it consume you. Meet Winston at the restaurant. We need to finish this.”

Ivan drove to the luxurious establishment, his mind racing. Winston was waiting outside, armed with a Sterling submachine gun and a Thompson.

“Are you all right?” Winston asked, his tone unusually gentle.

“Somehow,” Ivan muttered, still haunted by the explosion.

Winston handed him the Thompson. “Let’s finish this.”

They kicked in the doors, guns raised. The restaurant erupted into chaos as Sharon and her bodyguards scrambled to react. Sharon grabbed a waitress, pressing a SIG Sauer P226 to her head.

Winston aimed his Sterling at her, his hand steady. “Let her go.”

“No,” Ivan said, pushing the Sterling aside. The shot went wide, shattering a chandelier but leaving Sharon unharmed.

Gunfire erupted. The bodyguards stood no chance against Ivan and Winston, who moved like a well-oiled machine. In the chaos, Sharon bolted toward the parking lot.

Ivan and Winston followed her outside, where she disappeared into the maze of cars. Ivan gripped his Thompson tighter, his jaw set.

“End of the line, Sharon,” he muttered to himself, stepping forward into the darkness.

Chapter 75

The morning fog hung thick in the air as they stood in the alleyway, watching Sharon’s Maybach glide into view. It was obscene in its opulence, a fortress on wheels with tinted bulletproof glass. Sharon’s entourage—her driver and two lumbering bodyguards—fanned out, scanning the area before opening the door for her.

Ivan exhaled slowly. “That’s her.”

“Arrogant bitch,” Winston muttered, adjusting the grip on his Sterling. “Let’s give her a proper greeting.”

The moment Sharon stepped into the street, they opened fire. The Sterling and Thompson spat lead, but the bullets glanced harmlessly off the Maybach’s reinforced frame. The bodyguards scrambled, shielding Sharon as she dove back into the car.

“Drive!” one of them barked, and the Maybach’s engine roared to life.

“Fucking cowards,” Winston snarled.

Ivan was already moving, shoving the Sterling into Winston’s hands and sliding into the driver’s seat of his Škoda. “Get in!”

The chase began with a scream of tires. The Škoda roared through the streets, its custom engine humming with barely-contained power. Ivan’s hands were steady on the wheel, his eyes locked on the Maybach ahead.

“She’s running out of road,” Ivan muttered, taking a sharp turn that sent the car skidding but kept the Maybach in sight.

Winston leaned out the window, firing a few shots to keep the bodyguards nervous. “Not much point if we can’t punch through that armor.”

“Then we drive her into a corner,” Ivan snapped.

The chase led them to the harbor, where the Maybach screeched to a halt in front of a warehouse. Sharon and her entourage poured out, retreating into the shadows of the dockyard. Ivan parked the Škoda with a jerk of the wheel, stepping out with the Thompson in hand.

“They’ll be waiting,” Winston said, his voice grim.

“They can wait all they want,” Ivan replied, cocking the weapon. “We’re not leaving until she’s finished.”

They moved through the warehouse like wraiths, their every step a deliberate echo in the cavernous space. Sharon’s men were well-armed but sloppy, their desperation obvious in their erratic fire. Ivan and Winston cut through them mercilessly. Blood slicked the floor, mixing with the salt water seeping through the dock's cracks.

By the time they reached Sharon, she was cornered at the edge of the pier, her back to the open water. The moonlight illuminated her panicked face as she raised a pistol with trembling hands.

“You think this ends here?” she spat, her voice cracking. “You’ll never—”

Her words were drowned out by the deafening click of an empty chamber. She’d fired everything she had, and every bullet had missed.

Ivan stepped forward, his face devoid of emotion. “Out of tricks?”

Sharon staggered back, nearly losing her balance. “You wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t what?” Ivan interrupted coldly. “Do what you did to my family?”

Winston appeared beside him, dragging a bag from the Škoda. He unzipped it with a grim smile, revealing a wetsuit and scuba gear. Sharon’s eyes widened as they grabbed her, forcing her arms into the neoprene sleeves despite her struggles.

“Stop! Stop! I’ll—”

“Shut up,” Ivan snapped, his voice like a whip.

With practiced precision, he secured the oxygen mask over her face, ensuring the seal was tight before slicing the hose with a clean stroke. Bubbles hissed as the line broke, and Sharon’s panic reached a fever pitch.

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, I’ll do anything!”

Ivan hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a brief moment, the rage in his eyes flickered, replaced by something deeper, something human.

Winston wasn’t so forgiving. “She deserves it, Ivan. Don’t forget what she’s done.”

Before Ivan could reply, Winston gave her a hard shove. Sharon screamed as she toppled backward into the cold, dark water. The splash echoed like a gunshot.

They stood at the edge, watching as she flailed helplessly. The bubbles from the broken oxygen line grew weaker and weaker until they stopped altogether.

Ivan’s shoulders sagged, the weight of his actions settling over him.

“Let’s go,” Winston said, his voice quiet.

Back at Croft Manor, Lara sat in the grand hall, still pale and trembling. Alister stood beside her, explaining the night’s events in hushed tones. When the door opened, Lara turned to see Ivan and Winston, both drenched in blood and seawater, their faces hardened.

For a moment, she stared at Ivan, her lips trembling. Then she rushed to him, throwing her arms around him as if to shield him from whatever darkness had followed him home.

He didn’t say a word, his arms hanging limp at his sides before he finally returned the embrace.

The next morning, the news was filled with reports of Sharon’s mysterious death. Conspiracy theories bloomed like weeds, comparing her fate to her supposed demise in 1969. Ivan turned off the TV with a grimace.

“It’s over,” he muttered.

But the truth lingered in the corners of his mind, a shadow he could never fully escape.

Chapter 76

After Sharon’s death, Ivan retreated from public life, but the weight of what had transpired never left him. The following morning, the air inside Croft Manor was heavy, almost suffocating. Ivan sat in his office, a glass of whisky untouched on his desk, the bottle beside it nearly empty. His private phone, one known only to a select few, rang incessantly with calls from military aides, business partners, and journalists. He ignored them all.

Then came Lara, standing quietly in the doorway, her arms crossed. Her face was pale, her expression caught somewhere between worry and frustration.

“You’re not answering anyone?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Ivan, still staring at the desk, replied, “There’s nothing to say to them.”

“You disappeared from the world overnight, Ivan. People will notice.”

“Let them,” he snapped, though there was little venom in his voice. “Let them notice and wonder and move on. Clear Lens is over. The army is gone. I’ve done enough.”

Lara stepped closer. “You’re running.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, finally looking up at her. “Or maybe I’m just tired of pretending I can make the world a better place.”

Lara sat across from him, reaching out to touch his hand. “You’re not the villain people want you to be, Ivan. But you can’t lock yourself in here forever.”

Ivan sighed, pulling his hand away gently. “The world doesn’t need another warlord, Lara. I’m stepping down—for good.”

The news hit like a bombshell. Clear Lens was officially canceled, with no farewell episode or explanation. Speculation spread like wildfire. Social media exploded with theories:

@ConspiracyHQ: “Ivan Tůma has gone dark. What’s he planning next?”

@CarTalkNow: “Clear Lens is over, but at least we’ll always have the Škoda memes.”

@SlavTwitter: “Ivan killed a billionaire’s wife and canceled his show the same week. Absolute Slav king energy.”

Only a single post appeared on the official Clear Lens channel: a black screen with white text: “Thank you for watching. It’s time for a new chapter.”

Ivan shifted his focus to Škoda Auto, the last vestige of his public life that still felt meaningful. For weeks, he buried himself in work, redesigning the long-abandoned Škoda 720 project. The result was the Superb, a car that blended timeless elegance with cutting-edge technology. Ivan insisted on being personally involved in every detail, from the aerodynamic curves to the interior stitching.

The marketing campaign was a masterstroke. Drawing inspiration from 1970s aesthetics, the ads featured Lara leaning against the car in a leather jacket, her posture confident and alluring. The tagline read: “Reinventing a legend.”

At the launch event, Ivan gave a brief, uncharacteristically modest speech:

“This car is a testament to second chances. To ideas left behind and brought back to life. I hope it inspires people the way it inspired me.”

As the crowd erupted into applause, Ivan glanced at Lara, who gave him a small, encouraging nod. For the first time in months, he allowed himself a faint smile.

Despite stepping away from the limelight, Ivan couldn’t completely sever ties with his fans. Lara convinced him to host live discussions in place of Clear Lens. These were smaller, more personal events where they answered questions, shared stories, and reflected on their journey.

At one such event, a young man in the audience nervously raised his hand. “Mr. Tůma, do you ever regret canceling Clear Lens?”

Ivan paused, the room falling silent as everyone awaited his answer.

“I regret a lot of things,” he began slowly. “But Clear Lens? No. It was the right time to end it. The world doesn’t need more commentary from me. It needs action—and smarter people than me to lead it.”

Lara interjected with a grin. “That’s the closest thing to humility you’ll ever get from Ivan.”

The crowd laughed, easing the tension.

Another audience member chimed in, “What about the Superb? Any plans for a sportier version?”

Ivan leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with a hint of his old mischief. “Let’s just say… stay tuned. I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve.”

The room buzzed with excitement.

At the end of each event, Ivan would quietly retreat to the green room, leaving Lara to handle the post-show chatter. On one such evening, she found him sitting alone, staring at his hands.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He looked up, his expression weary. “I’m trying to be. Some days are harder than others.”

Lara sat beside him. “You’re doing the best you can, Ivan. That’s all anyone can ask.”

He shook his head. “It’s not enough. It never feels like enough.”

She took his hand, squeezing it firmly. “You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

As the months went by, Ivan’s new life began to take shape. The Superb became a global phenomenon, a beacon of innovation and nostalgia that cemented Škoda’s place among the automotive elite. Ivan’s live discussions grew into a beloved tradition, offering fans a glimpse into the man behind the legend.

But through it all, the shadows of his past lingered. Ivan Tůma had seen the worst the world had to offer—and had contributed to it in ways he could never fully atone for. Yet, in every handshake, every story shared, and every mile driven in a Škoda Superb, he found small moments of redemption.

And in those moments, he began to believe, just a little, that the future could be better.