All For the Camera is a story about the cost of performance when the performance never ends.

In a world where the camera is never off, reality itself becomes a stage. Smiles are drilled into masks, moments are choreographed like theater, and even silence is judged under the glow of a ring light. The line between truth and spectacle vanishes until every word, every breath, every look must serve the performance.

Families fracture when some refuse to play along. Neighbors turn on each other, whispering accusations of disloyalty, of silence, of not clapping loud enough. What once was private—love, grief, hunger, faith—becomes currency for the lens, and survival demands one thing only: devotion to the image.

What begins as harmless affirmation spirals into obsession, a grotesque ritual where food, blood, and loyalty are measured not in truth but in how convincingly you can perform. The cost of slipping—even for a moment—is exile. Or worse, erasure. Because once the camera is on you, there's no stepping out of frame. You either keep smiling, keep chanting, keep performing—or you disappear.

Chilling, unflinching, and disturbingly close to our own reflection, All For the Camera is not a distant nightmare but a mirror held up to now. It dares to ask a question that lingers like a shadow long after the book is closed:

When everything is a show, what happens when the lights go out?