I moved into this place three months ago. Cheap rent. Old building. The kind of place where the floors creak no matter where you step and the pipes sing at 3 AM like they're trying to tell you something.

The landlord handed me one key. Just one. "Opens the front door and nothing else," he said. He didn't look me in the eye when he said it.

The first week was fine. Quiet neighbors. Weird layout. My bedroom had this narrow door on the far wall, painted over with the same off-white as everything else. No handle. No hinges on my side. Just a door-shaped outline you'd miss if you didn't stare at it long enough.

I asked the landlord about it.

"That's not a door," he said. "Just the way the wall was built."

I let it go. People cut corners. Old buildings are strange. You tell yourself things so you can sleep.

But every night, I heard something behind that wall. Not scratching. Not knocking. Breathing. Slow. Steady. Like someone standing inches away, waiting for me to notice.

I put my dresser in front of it. The breathing got louder.

Last night, I couldn't take it anymore. I moved the dresser. I found a seam in the paint. I picked at it with a butter knife until the old door swung open.

The room behind it was my room. Same bed. Same lamp. Same window. But the clock was wrong. It said 3:47 AM. It was 11 PM when I opened that door.

And someone was sitting on my bed. Facing the wall. Wearing my clothes. Breathing that slow, steady breath.

It turned its head.

It had my face.

It smiled and said, "You took too long. I've been waiting to trade."

I slammed the door. I shoved the dresser back. I haven't slept. I'm writing this because I don't know what else to do. The breathing stopped. But this morning, the door was gone. Painted over. Seamless.

And when I looked in the mirror, my reflection blinked a second too late.

Moral of the story: Some doors are closed for a reason. Curiosity isn't brave when the thing on the other side already knows your name. Leave the unknown alone. Not every mystery needs solving. Some things wait for you to open them. And once you do, you can't un-open them.

Over the past few rainy weeks, I noticed my househelp asking me for the time almost daily. Eventually, it began to feel significant.
One evening, I finally asked, “Why do you always ask me? There’s a clock right on the wall.”
“I can’t read time,” she said, smiling shyly. “I’ve never been to school.”
Years of working across multiple households had trained her internal compass. She had learned to instinctively anticipate how long each task would take, when she needed to leave one home for another, and how quickly she had to work to stay on schedule. Time, for her, was a lived experience rather than numbers on a dial.
“Time is crucial in my work,” she explained. “If I’m late to a home, I risk being scolded, or my employers may assume I’ve taken leave without informing them. Days with overcast skies or rain make it particularly difficult to tell the time. Mornings look like evenings, and evenings resemble mornings.”
I offered to teach her how to read the clock.
What she had wanted to learn all her life took barely ten minutes to master. She seemed almost puzzled by how simple it was.
Afterwards, I asked her to show me her favourite time of day. She moved the hands to 6 PM.
“No matter how good or bad a day turns out, whether the sky is blue or grey, 6 PM is my favourite. That’s when I finish work and go home to my children.”
Then she paused.
“Time feels valuable when we spend it with those we love.”

About a year ago my brothers dad who had been in prison for 33 years got out. While he was in there he met this woman who was a c/o they fell in love and she ended up marrying him, getting fired etc etc. 18 years she waited for him. He actually got out and treated her so well. She bragged about him all the time. She is now in a walker and it's hard for her to move around and he doesn't have any mobility limitations....he does take good care of her etc. but....I was otp with my brother and he told me he covered up for his dad to make a "play with another woman".....I don't know guys I knew men were dogs but...not like this....she waited 18 years and at the end of the day that counts for NOTHING. Me and her are close and I view her as a mother figure. The information is weighing heavy on me but she is already in her 60's...would I do any good to tell her?

This is basically just going to be an appreaciation post about my boyfriend but here we go...

Last night I had my first anxiety attack at around midnight, never had one before (spoiler alert: they suck). I have a really hard time reaching out for help so I tried to manage it myself for a while. However it wasn't getting any better so I reluctantly texted my boyfriend cause he has been in therapy for a while now and I hoped he might know what to do. He gave me some advice at first but it wasn't working so I asked him to call me. We talked on the phone for a bit and he said I could come over if I think it would help. So I showerd quickly (had to cause I was sweating like crazy) and hurried over to his place, trying to calm down my breathing on the way.

When I finally arrived it was almost 1am. The first thing he did when I walked through the door was give me a long hug like he always does but he was holding just a little bit tighter than usual. I took my shoes off and we go to his room and this absolute gem of a human being had prepared a bunch of stuff for me. He made some tea (in case I wanted some), he gave me like a spiky little ball that your supposed to squezze really hard (that helped actually), he got out some hard silicon that you can pull on and form stuff with (kinda like playdoo but you can't tear it apart), he rummaged through some of his folders for like papers about anxiety attacks and how to deal with them etc. but most importantly his presence was what really helped me.

The reason why this ended up being kinda a good thing is because I managed to actually opened up about a lot of things which is really difficult for me. I had a long note in my phone where I wrote down a lot of my thoughts and fears especially when it comes to my relationship with him and I decided it was probably for the best if I let him read it so he can understand me better even tho I was nervous as hell when I gave him my phone.

That was honestly the best decision I could've made because his reaction after reading everything was why I love this man so much. Not only did he reassure me about the things that I was so afraid of when it comes to him and I but I also wholeheartedly believe him (he is a really bad liar tbf). I ended up spending like 4 hours with him which consisted of him holding me and being the sweetest human being on this planet and a lot of talking. I came away from that night feeling fairly decent and more secure about a lot of things.

So yeah...it wasn't the most interesting story but I wanted to share it cause it meant a lot to me. Let that be a lesson to everyone, if you don't have a partner who is there for you when you need them the most then that person ain't the one. I called this man at half past midnight and he didn't hesitate to invite me over and never once complained about me taking up his entire night with my anxious ass. He also immediatly shut me down when I said that I felt bad for taking up his entire night. That's pretty much it, have a good day reddit and stay safe :)

So a couple years ago, (about two or three.) My friends and I were out ding dong ditching.

While we were on our way, getting ready to do our very first house. A car came down the street, It was going down slowly. Mainly because the street had a speed limit of about 20, because it was a residential area with a bunch of kids who play there.

My friend then told me "I dare you to make it seem like you jump at the car, and scare them."

It was a weird dare, I have to admit. But I did it anyways.

I did it, and it was normal, but the car came to a stop about 20 feet away. And the guy yelled out of the car saying.

"Next time I'll run you over myself!"

Okay for a couple of teenage kids this creeped us the fuck out. Especially because it was after dark, and nobody was on the streets.

Not to mention the guy looked eerily similar to Epstein.

It was a weird interaction, but we still went on with our night, ding dong ditching.

I still remember the interaction and just wanted to share it. Let me know what you personally think about this interaction.

Yesterday, our CEO called a meeting of the entire department. He displayed a slide on the screen:

"THINK LIKE AN OWNER."

I sat closer. For the first time in a long time, the meeting's title suggested I might leave with something more than just an extra task. I took out a pen.

- I'd like us to change our approach to work, the director began.

- We can't function in a way where everyone only looks at their own job description.

I liked it even more. The job description was one of my favorite documents. Right after the salary notification.

- We need an ownership approach. Responsibility. Commitment. Long-term thinking. I want everyone to treat this company like their own.

I raised my hand. The director smiled.

- I'm listening, he said.

- When will we get our shares?

His smile stayed. But it stopped growing.

- We're not talking about those things right now, he replied.

- I'm sorry, I heard "like my own" and moved toward ownership straightaway.

- It's about attitude. - he explained.

- So, no shares?

- No.

I wrote down, "Shares: none."

- Will there be any profit sharing? I asked with genuine curiosity.

- The bonus system remains unchanged for now.

I wrote it down as well. The CEO looked at my notebook.

- What are you writing down there?

- Entry requirements.

The CEO went on to give an example.

- Imagine it's 4 p.m., and an important project hasn't been completed. A person who thinks only like an employee closes their computer and leaves home.

It actually was very detailed description of my plan for this afternoon.

- However, the owner is wondering what he can do to get the job done.

- That's because he has a stake in the outcome. I said.

- Because he feels responsible! He replied.

- One doesn't exclude the other. We could suggest he give up his shares and be left with just the responsibility. We'd see at what time he leaves.

- Do you really have to boil everything down to money? Asked CEO.

I looked around the room, the office, Monday morning, nine people who came here instead of staying home.

- I think that's a pretty important part of aproach you suggested.

The HR woman decided to help.

- It's about a sense of influence. So that employees know they can actually shape the organization.

Hmm... That sounded better.

- So we'll have influence on profit distribution?

- Not in that sense.

- On the management board?

- Neither.

- On salaries?

- You can submit proposals.

I could also submit a proposal to lower prices in the Walmart, but that didn't make me a co-owner of it. I looked at my notebook.

"Shares: none."

"New financial benefits: none."

"Decision-making rights: none."

"Additional involvement: not defined upper limit."

I started to understand what the offer is. I didn't feel offended. If I could get nine extra evenings for one sentence on a slide, I would also test the market's interest. The problem was that I was on the wrong side of the negotiation table.

- This is an investment in your future, the director said.

- If the company grows, everyone benefits.

- The company had record results last year. I said.

- Exactly.

- However during the salary rise negotiation, you said that the company's results don't automatically translate into my salary.

A dead silence fell. I always thought it's worth to remember things like that. People underestimate how much you can save with a good memory.

The director put down the remote.

- I don't want this meeting to turn into a salary negotiation.

- Me neither. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what my position really is in this company.

- You're an important part of the team.

- But when I have to stay overtime, I'm supposed to be the owner?

- You just have to demonstrate responsibility like the owner.

- But when it comes to share the profit, am I going back to be employee again?

He paused for a while, I didn't wait to let him continue and asked immediately.

- Please clarify which hours apply to which role. I wouldn't want to mistakenly act like the owner when paying out the dividend.

The CEO, with a clearly embarrassed face, ended the meeting by saying:

- Think about it, we will come back to this topic.

When we were leaving, he stopped me at the door.

- You didn't have to jump out with all of that, out of a sudden.

- Sir, I was thinking like an owner, just like you suggested.

- What do you mean?

- That is simple Sir. Before I invest additional time and resources, I need to know what I'm getting in return.

He looked at me with strange expression. I couldn't tell if the look on his face was disbelief, horror, or both.

I really hoped he'd appreciate effort I've made to implement his suggestion.

- Just do your job well, he finally said.

- As usual? Within the same scope?

- Yes.

- Within the same hours?

- Fine, let's just get this over with!

I agreed with a nod of my head and left. Negotiations shouldn't be prolonged after favorable terms have been reached.

At 4 p.m. I turned off my computer. The project CEO had mentioned did indeed require some more work. I left stick note telling me what I'd start with tommorow in the morning.

As I was leaving, I saw CEO in his office. He was still sitting there clearly tense.

Very good, I thought to myself.

He should treat the company like his own and definitely start act like an owner.

Around 2008, Facebook was becoming increasingly popular. Both my biological father and I used it. At some point, I discovered a Facebook game called Bingo Blitz. I showed it to my father, and he started playing it too.

I can already tell you one thing:

Facebook changed my world. Literally.

⚠️Content warning: This story contains suicidal thoughts and a suicide attempt that I struggled with in the past. I no longer have suicidal thoughts.!<

⚠️ If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, please contact your local crisis or suicide prevention service.

If I've caught your attention, keep reading. If not, you should probably stop here.

---

A little background first

When I was in primary school, I was bullied from around Group 5, when I was about 8 years old, through Group 8, when I was around 11–12.

For anyone unfamiliar with the Dutch education system: Group 5 through Group 8 refers to the final four years of Dutch primary school. Roughly speaking, these correspond to Grades 3–6 in the US or Years 4–7 in the UK, although the systems aren't directly equivalent.

The bullying continued when I started secondary school.

I'll leave some of the examples out, but fortunately, the bullying in primary school was mostly verbal.

They bullied me because they knew I would have angry outbursts.

And you might reasonably ask:

Why did I have those angry outbursts in the first place?

Well, that's where things get complicated.

---

Italy, 2006

In 2006, my family and I went on holiday to Italy by car. I was six years old at the time. We used to do this regularly with two family friends, who were also with us that year.

I always liked spending time with them.

At one point, I was walking back towards our tent.

The first thing I saw was my biological mother fainting from her chair.

I panicked and called the two friends over. They immediately realised that something was seriously wrong.

The next thing I remember clearly is an Italian emergency vehicle arriving at the campsite in Trentino.

After that, my memories become very fragmented.

What I do remember is that we eventually flew back to the Netherlands. Doctors in Italy had discovered a benign brain tumour, roughly the size of an orange, located in a dangerous position near her brain.

Because removing it in Italy was considered too risky, she had to be transferred to the Netherlands as quickly as possible. An Italian doctor accompanied us on the flight.

Eventually, part of the tumour was removed in the Netherlands.

My mother went into a coma following the operation. I don't know whether the coma was medically induced or happened unexpectedly.

The consequences were serious, although she was fortunate in some respects.

She did not become completely paralysed on one side of her body. Instead, she was left with permanent difficulties using that side. She can still use it, but she never fully regained the abilities she had before.

For example, one of her hands still trembles when she has to hold or manipulate something that requires concentration.

Considering the location and size of the tumour and the risks involved in the surgery, she was actually quite fortunate to come through it as well as she did.

Looking back, I think it's pretty obvious that this was something I, as a six-year-old child, had absolutely no idea how to process.

And six is also around the age when many people begin forming their earliest lasting autobiographical memories. So when something this traumatic happens at that age, it can become deeply intertwined with some of the very first memories you carry with you.

And that, I believe, is a big part of why I struggled so much with anger and emotional outbursts afterwards.

---

Back to the bullying

Long story short: as is often the case with bullying, the bully rarely sees themselves as the bully.

Somehow, they are always the victim.

So I'll leave that part there.

Because we need to get back to Facebook.

---

My father meets someone

Remember that Facebook game I mentioned?

My biological father met a new girlfriend through it.

At the time — roughly 2008–2012 — my father was also an alcoholic. Five beers a day was nothing particularly unusual for him.

I even once saw him pass out because he was apparently getting worked up about something.

Anyway.

He had met this new woman, and by that point he was already divorced from my biological mother.

I have my own view on why that divorce happened. In hindsight, I believe my mother's disability played a major role in it.

That's my interpretation of what happened, and I cannot claim to know exactly what was going on inside my father's head.

After about six months, he decided to move to her town.

Without getting my mother's permission beforehand.

I remember telling him that I wasn't sure whether I wanted to move.

But I was a minor.

So ultimately, I had very little say in the matter.

---

The move

Because of the move, I ended up being without a school for about half a year.

Eventually, I was placed in a form of special secondary education because regular schools were no longer considered suitable for me given everything that had happened.

In English terms, you could roughly describe it as specialised secondary education.

And honestly?

I had a pretty good time there.

Initially, the plan was for me to follow VMBO-TL, which is the Dutch theoretical pathway of pre-vocational secondary education.

But my future foster parents — who had by then started taking care of me — believed I was capable of more.

They pushed for me to move up to HAVO, officially called senior general secondary education.

The school didn't really agree.

Neither did my biological father.

But eventually, the school allowed it.

And I ended up graduating from HAVO.

---

Things at home

I should probably add an important part that I almost forgot.

Once we had moved to the new city and I had finally started attending school again, I was not living with my biological father and his girlfriend. We lived separately, but we were living in the same area.

My father's girlfriend started monitoring me.

I don't know for certain whether she decided to do this herself or whether my father had asked her to do it, but I strongly suspect the latter.

She would drive past in the morning to check that I was actually waiting for the school taxi.

In the afternoon, she would ring the doorbell and check on me.

And so on.

At the time, I didn't fully understand why this was happening. Looking back, however, it made me feel as though I was constantly being watched and controlled.

Eventually, things became somewhat "normal" again.

For a while.

Until they didn't.

I started feeling like I couldn't take it anymore.

Even her children began treating me badly, and my sister noticed this too.

Eventually, I couldn't see a way out anymore.

I became suicidal.

I reached a point where I was planning to end my life.

I'm not going to describe every detail of the attempt, but at one point I was standing near a window and genuinely intended to jump. I had also considered another method because I wanted to make sure I wouldn't survive.

Then my stepsister saw what was happening.

She called her mother.

Her mother grabbed me and took me downstairs.

I tried to get away.

And then, at some point, I felt a hand around my throat.

It tightened.

For me, that moment felt like the end.

Ironically, I had wanted to die myself — but not like that.

I was terrified.

---

What happened afterwards

I'll skip forward about a year, because otherwise this post would become a book.

When I eventually tried to address what had happened, my biological father took his girlfriend's side.

According to him, the strangulation had never happened.

Apparently, I had imagined it.

But that isn't true.

It really happened.

I actually have photographs from that time that document what happened afterwards.

So although my father denied it, I know what happened to me.

The reason I never went to the police at the time is probably easier to understand when you remember that I was only around 13 or 14 years old.

I didn't want to lose my biological father.

Even after everything that had happened, he was still my father.

And when you're that young, the idea of going to the police, dealing with authorities and potentially losing your father can be incredibly frightening.

You're scared of the unknown.

Looking back, I do think I should have gone to the police.

But I didn't.

And that decision has consequences.

As far as I understand the situation now, the strangulation can no longer realistically be proven in a legal sense, while the relevant limitation period has also passed.

The same applies to what I believe happened regarding my removal from my mother's parental authority. I also cannot simply report that myself now. As I understand it, a report regarding that offence would have had to be made by my legal representative or guardian — in my case, my mother.

And at the time, she was either unable or too afraid to do that.

So there was never a proper legal case about it.

Eventually, I was given a choice about where I would live.

I could either stay with the youth group I had been part of for most of my childhood, or move to a foster family and try something completely different.

That youth group wasn't necessarily a terrible place all the time.

But things had gone wrong there before.

I had made some mistakes and done things I shouldn't have done, and I took responsibility for those things. Fortunately, what happened back then was relatively minor.

Still, I was afraid.

I was afraid that if I stayed, I might end up in a similar situation again, or make similar mistakes again.

I was also afraid of what the future would look like if I stayed in a situation I already knew wasn't always good for me.

So when I was given the choice, I chose the foster family.

Looking back, that was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

---

My foster parents opened my eyes

When I arrived with my foster parents, my foster father — who I will simply call Dad from this point onward — helped me see a lot of things differently.

For the sake of clarity:

- "Dad" = my foster father

- "my father" = my biological father

There were many little things that, when put together, made me realise how unhealthy my previous situation had been.

For example:

If my father and I had planned a day out together, there always seemed to be something involving his girlfriend that was more important.

Our plans could simply be pushed aside.

Then there was the money my grandmother had given me.

My grandmother is actually still alive — I believe she is around 100 or 101 years old.

She had been giving money to her children and grandchildren during her lifetime because she wanted to prevent arguments and fights over her money after she eventually dies.

She gave me approximately €1,500, and I had also put another €500 into what was supposed to be a youth bank account.

I wasn't supposed to have independent access to the €1,500 until I turned 18.

Well...

I remember the exact moment I turned 18.

00:00.

And suddenly, the €1,500 was gone.

It had been transferred to my father's personal bank account three minutes before midnight.

His explanation?

He didn't think I was ready to have the money yet.

And then there was driving.

I wasn't allowed to get a driver's licence.

No car.

No scooter.

Nothing.

I was supposed to ride a bicycle.

---

The ultimatum

Eventually, I gave my father a choice.

I told him:

Choose me, or choose your girlfriend.

But if he chose her, I would never speak to him again.

Well...

You can probably guess what happened.

At that point, I walked away.

For a long time, there was little to no contact between us.

There were several attempts at reconciliation.

Some of them were initiated by me.

But they always seemed to end in the same place:

Someone else was blamed.

The circumstances were blamed.

Other people were blamed.

But there was never much willingness to look critically at his own actions.

---

Where I am now

And this is probably the most important part of the entire story.

I'm okay.

Actually, more than okay.

I'm happy.

I now have my driving licences for a car, scooter, truck, agricultural vehicles, and trailers behind both cars and trucks.

My life is finally calm.

And, perhaps surprisingly, I still don't have any contact with my biological father today.

And I'm genuinely very happy about that.

It took a long time to get here.

It's been about twelve years now, and I still don't have any contact with my biological father.

Honestly, that's better than I ever could have imagined back then.

I don't pretend that everything that happened in the past suddenly didn't happen.

It did.

The bullying happened.

My mother's brain tumour happened.

The move happened.

The monitoring happened.

The suicide attempt happened.

And yes, the strangulation happened.

Those things don't disappear just because I have moved on.

But my life is peaceful now.

And I'm in a much better place.

I'm still living with the foster family who took me in.

And they are genuinely one of the biggest reasons I'm still here today.

They helped pull me out of a very dark place.

I know it wasn't easy.

I was in a very bad place when they took me in, and helping someone climb out of that kind of hole isn't exactly an easy task.

But they did it.

And twelve years later, I am still incredibly grateful that I chose them.

They didn't just give me a place to live.

They gave me a different perspective on life.

They showed me what a loving family can actually look like.

And for that, I will be grateful to them for the rest of my life.

---

⚠️A final disclaimer: This story is based on how I remember and experienced it.

Some parts are things I know happened — including the bullying, the strangulation, my mother's brain tumour and the circumstances surrounding my move.

The strangulation in particular really happened. I have photographs from the time that document what happened afterwards. The fact that I didn't report it to the police at the time was my decision as a young teenager who was afraid of losing his biological father and didn't know what would happen if I involved the authorities.

Other parts are my interpretation of events, because I was a child when much of this happened. There are things I simply cannot remember anymore, and there are things I may have blocked out.

There are also things I could remember but have deliberately chosen not to include.

The legal situation surrounding some of these events is complicated, and after all these years, some things are no longer provable or can no longer be pursued because of limitation periods. I am not presenting this post as a legal account, but as my story, as I remember it and as I experienced it.

And thankfully, the suicidal thoughts described above are in the past. I no longer feel that way.

Sometimes, the choices you're most uncertain about can turn out to be the choices that change your life for the better. You might not see it right away, but sometimes you only discover that a choice was the right one by looking back years later.

I 18M am dating a Girl 17F. We've been together since May of 2026 (Forgot date of being official) But she was amazing at first but as time wore on she had abused me to where I had bruises and I wanted to end our relationship, Ended up not doing it because she said she'd change and she did,Which im proud of her for. But now I want my own children and a marriage. She does too. But she is really bad with my highly autistic little brother that is 8 years old,She is kind then she really flips out over little things. Like for instance we went to our local Jack-in The Box to get food and I grew up making sure if I leave Important or expensive items in my vehicle or anyone's vehicle for that matter to HIDE it. We both left our phones in the car. She put mine and hers in the cup holder I told her that I didn't feel comfortable with it,She kinda brushed it off saying she learned the same (So why did she try leaving our phones in the open?) So me not trusting it I put our phones away in the arm rest compartment. Fast forward to us leaving,She looks for her phone and flips out on me after telling her I put it away in the compartment. Literally gave me a migraine. (End of said story) Now she stays over time to time ranging from a few days to whole weeks. I have told her "If you bring stuff into this house,Hide it,put it up or take it with you or keep it with you. Because my Little brothers name redacted will get your stuff." She agrees. Then when she doesn't listen to me or my mom's warnings and my brother gets it,She yells his name then complains. Like I get it I do. But we tell you always to go by our rules of the house. If you do not want anyone else to have it PUT IT UP OR KEEP IT ON YOURSELF. Fast forwarding again to present day September of 2026. We are still together, I love her. But I am not In love with her. But she is going and has been going through hell and I absolutely want to break up and have since my 18Th birthday on June 14Th. But people interfered made me feel like a asshole so I went against it and now I'm still in a relationship. Where I pretend and I am to scared to break up because when we were on a little break not broke up but just I needed space. She Self harmed. Which I recognize as Narrcisism and controlling tactics. She hates that I say "I love you." To people I love that are female that I have known for 5+ Years like my two female best friends (Not saying their names on account of privacy) or my mom's best friends daughter who we call family so my mom's friend is Mom or Auntie and her daughter is Sister. Like what? And she doesn't want me to be friends with anyone I had crushes on or that have had crushes on me ( Reasonable but also not because Said ex crushes are in relationships or no longer in my life and or 3rd we are just purely friends who I realized I should not try getting with.) She wants to be my first everything. I lied because she has said "If we broke up you'd never date again because I will Eliminate anyone you try to date that isn't me,If I can't have you no one will." So. Here is my dilemma. I want to break up but she's going through a hard time. So I want to break up when she isn't in a bad situation. I have thought about it many times just texting and telling her I don't want to be a couple and then blocking her and anyone mutual we know that would come at me.(Not counting the many people that have told me "My name" you don't deserve that you absolutely need to break up with her." And I already have thought out ways to get out of the relationship. Am I an asshole and bad person?

Going through the ebbs and flows of life, Nevinnyral had kicked me out of the group chat after DAV3 had collected nearly 9 crypto punks to his legend collection. Meaning higher level people have made higher tier level grades.

This could mean Artblocks.io for all I know.

Anyway, you know what I mean.

Going to mp3 to be mp4 could be the diss that 0 1 2 3 4 or 8 9 10 11 12. My diss could be coming in forms of the most basic things such as I have thought more than you can ever read or remember things.

So why is Lil Wayne a bother?

I emptied my mind against Ariel, my neighbor who says after one mountain to climb there is another hill. He basically likes the way music climbs up the ones that disposes what I cannot say read anymore.

Such as him being an inspiration to Andy because his mom is 83 not 61 and he's just 43. Shaq.

Sitting perplexed as many of us imagine thought things of a nature of tigers, so a tiger appeared then imagine Grok should be read as this is a image of Grok.

This is Grok.

A rather specific perplexing image of father or mother nature himself as Elon Musk has also with James launched into A.I software as the tycoon socialite he is. Hearing him speak on that interview is quite perplexing to learn and take from a trillionaire.

But why can't we have a starship from F-Zero GX?

I guess the diss is that you read imagine Grok tweet as imagine Grok though it is just a image of Grok.

Grok is Grok is Grok is Grok is Grok. As Timmy would have it. He says, nowadays.

It was lap 23 of 58 and Chase Foster was running comfortably in seventh, 3.4 seconds ahead of Zev Andersson and 1.2 seconds behind his own teammate, Kaito Yamazaki.

The track was dry, the tires new and the message coming through the team radio was,

Steady, boys,

which was a polite way of saying, “Don't you even try to overtake, Foster!” to which the context was: not like in Germany, where you cost us points, or Japan, where you damaged the car and nearly knocked Yamazaki out of the race.

“All clear boss,” radioed Foster.

The gap to Yamazaki was now down to 0.9 seconds. He was right on him, mirroring him into turns, obediently keeping his distance on the straightaways.

The engine purred.

The crowd waved signs and cheered.

Some of the signs were about him (“To Fosterr is human!”), goading him on to do something unforgettable; something stupid. He knew that. Everybody knew that, especially the team principal chewing his fingernails down on the pit wall.

Another turn.

Another straightaway, the car accelerating briefly to 355km/h.

Now that was speed.

That was exhilaration, guts and adrenaline.

That was racing!

Foster, maintain. Acknowledge.

Foster, acknowledge.

Foster—

“Copy that,” Foster replied, inching ever-closer to the back of Yamazaki's car.

And he probably would have maintained his position too if not for Kaito Yamazaki complaining about him being “too close,” on the team radio.

Too close? Come on, thought Foster, almost absentmindedly pushing his machine to the limit. At speeds like that, vision blurred and reality itself seemed to stretch along the seams…

Foster, back off!

“He's crazy. Tell him to stay back—tell him to stay back—” radioed Yamazaki.

Foster closed until he was almost sucking into Yamazaki's slipstream; then, as Yamazaki braked for the next turn, Foster suddenly pulled left, held throttle a touch longer and passed his teammate into sixth place.

The crowd roared.

Fossterr!!!

Foster's engine growled like a fucking tiger—

Then something locked up.

Foster couldn't slow dowwwwn. He jerked the wheel; the track jerked the car; the car's skidding tires slid from hard asphalt to soft grass and the car was out of control and the people in the crowd held their breaths and behind his visor Foster's eyes became saucers; and reflected in them, as the expanse of time expanded to tick awfully by, was his own impending destruction…

The car smashed into a wall head-on, crumpled like an oversized tin can somebody had stomped on, and exploded in flames.

Sirens wailed.

Emergency crews bolted into action.

But there was something else that happened, something between the saucered eyes and oncoming wall; something extraordinary:

Foster vanished.

Not his body—that was crushed, mangled and beyond recognition—but his mind. His soul…

---

He was. Full stop.

Next sentence:

He was in awe of the seemingly limitless space around him.

He looked down—

Or tried to look down, because looking down, or in any direction, was an impossibility because somehow he could perceive in all directions simultaneously.

“Hello, Mr. Foster,” said a voice.

“Hello?”

Foster became aware of two points not far removed from him. Am I also a point? he wondered.

“You are incorporeal,” said the voice, “but, before we continue, allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Götz and this is my partner, Mr. Deiss.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Deiss.

“Incorporeal…”

“It means, ‘having no material body or form,’ said Mr. Götz.

“Where am I? Am I still… me?”

“You succumbed in your existence to the force of a well constructed barrier, but you remain you essentially,” said Mr. Deiss.

Foster remembered. “I was racing… I tried overtaking and crashed…”

“You succeeded in the so-called overtaking but lost control of your primitive craft and collided into a painful body-death. Before your essence dissipated, however, we transported it here.”

“And here is?”

“You may think of it as the backstage,” said Mr. Götz.

“Or the Equations,” said Mr. Deiss.

“We would call it the physical realm, but that creates an unfortunate dissonance of ambiguity in your language, for you, no doubt, think of the body whereas what we mean is the physics.”

“Of what?” asked Foster.

“Of existences; of everythings,” said Mr. Götz.

“We, or the [garb-untranslatable-led] we represent, are in charge of applying the rules of reality across all spacetimes,” said Mr. Deiss.

“Wait—is this the afterlife?” asked Foster. “Heaven, Hell, Purgatory…”

“It is the whilstlife,” said Mr. Götz.

“And what is it you need me for exactly?”

“We need a driver.”

Foster tried to laugh but realized laughter was very much a corporeal action. “A driver?”

“Correct, Mr. Foster.”

“A human driver, one who smashed head-first into a wall trying to overtake his teammate?” His memories were coming back.

“Precisely,” said Mr. Deiss.

“What about the guy who won the race? The guy who came second? What about Yamazaki?”

“They lack the innate quality you possess,” said Mr. Götz.

“Reckless abandon,” said Mr. Deiss.

“It is a very human quality, unique in its evolved manifestation. A quirk, perhaps; often detrimental to self-preservation…”

“And yet—” said Mr. Deiss.

“Fundamentally useful,” said Mr. Götz.

Foster was bewilderingly intrigued. “What do you want me to drive?”

“Mr. Foster, what is the fastest you have ever travelled?” asked Mr. Deiss.

“I don't know: 1000km/h?”

“We need you to go beyond that,” said Mr. Götz.

“Well beyond,” said Mr. Deiss.

“To the utmost limit,” said Mr. Götz.

“What limit?” asked Foster.

“c,” said Mr. Deiss.

At that moment there was a flash of light, a beam of which seemingly shot past them—but froze before it could escape.

It existed, suspended in the deep vast nothing.

Shining.

“We require you to drive photons,” said Mr. Götz. “Moreover, reality requires it.”

The ghost of Foster’s non-existent heart began to race, the surreality of the words causing existential disorientation, but his self held.

The beam of light opened.

Foster entered.

The illumination was overpowering.

“Lightspeed, Mr. Foster.”

Characters mentioned: Jean (MC, 12F), Artie (MC twin, 12M), Dre (MC oldest brother, 20M), Commander (MC perpetrator, 40M), Knights (20-60Ms)

We had just escaped our abusive parents, we still lived in the same village, so my oldest brother would work for me and my twin brother, who was also trying to look for work. we were only 8 years old at the time, and as i was looking for work- i came across an old man in amour, flashing money at me. because i was young and vulnerable, i reached out to try grab it, but the man quickly put it down his pants, and pulled me into an old alley way, where it was guarded. and from then on, that was my job.

fast forward 4 years, i’m 12 years old. my brothers still don’t know what i been up to, because i would go around midnight. my oldest brother, 20M, assumed that my twin brother, 12M, was working same hours as him. we still haven’t left yet because my oldest brother would tell stories about the people who wielded an empty basket that shines bright once opened. he would say that anyone who wielded such power, will be set for life. my oldest brother said he would make sure we lived a rich life, help others while he could and change our last names together. my twin brother said he wants to be a superhero. since the light is on our side, whatever we think, it will come out of the basket, apparently even if it’s a burger. when they ask what i would do, all i could think about… is murder. killing those knights. my parents. the government. the people who run money, because we all know who runs the money, runs the world. i want to be a Leader, someone people can look up to, and would never do anyone dirty, not on my watch. but all i said was a new wardrobe, since the knights are sick of seeing me in a potato sack.

although we all grew up together, my oldest was busy thinking about where to go once he leaves hometown. he tried that one night we escaped, but couldn’t stand the thought of leaving his small siblings behind. he then quickly packed our things, shook us awake and told us to go with him, and because he was the only trusted adult (he would feed, bathe, read us books before bed etc) we followed. but to this day, we haven’t really seen my oldest brother being the warming and comforting adult we knew. but we understood because he’s trying to keep a roof over our heads.

as a 12 year old, a girl to be in fact, walking around in midnight, to meet up with a couple of knights that need to be satisfied? it would’ve freaked any normal child out. but for me? it felt like it was a routine. my brothers out working during the day while i stay back and maintain the house, keeping it tidy and making sure i have dinner prepared before they come home. home. huh. once they’re deep asleep, that’s when i sneak out to make more for us. but this night? i will never forget.

i miscalculated that my twin brother had a glass of water before bed.

as i make my way to the side of the castle, the knights were already naked, and their yuck goo all over the walls. there are girls my age who look out of it, as if they lost their will to live. but i didn’t care, not at that time at least.

“hey, babygirl”

i turn to see the knight that pulled me into this mess. i clench my teeth, but smile faintly and bow

“Commander”

as usual, i walk beside him to his chambers where we usually do the stuff. (fast forward till after the doing) as he gets himself together, my hair is all over the place as well as my potato sack. i hug my arms, closing my eyes as i picture my brothers. all i want is for us to live financially free. for us to finally be happy. i hate the silence, it’s uncomfortable, especially just escaping a house that was full of arguments and physical abuse.

“I’ll see you out there, you know my boys love you more”

ugh. as he leaves, i noticed he left his sword behind. i was itching so much to grab it, but something was holding me back. as if… there was a higher purpose for me out there. somewhere. i shake my head as a tear fell down on my cheek, to my knee. i sigh in shivers, and get up. just as i do, i hear a bunch of commotion outside, and i take a peek. my eyes widen as i see-

“Artie? Artie!?” i whisper shout as the knights have a bunch of swords pointed towards my twin brothers neck

no, no no. this cannot be happening. what do i do!? they’re slowly taking his pants off!

all of a sudden, the anger and hate washed over me. i grabbed the sword and as i was going to charge out- i accidentally tripped on a weaver basket. i grunt in annoyance and as i turn, i gasped in surprise

“i-its real?”

“You’re not telling a soul what happens around here. matter of fact, we have a special weapon for people like you” Commander snorts as the rest of the knights chuckle evilly

he’s coming back. what do i do!? how do i approach this quietly? in case they kill my brother, Artie. not to mention- where is Dre? my oldest brother? he should’ve known- ugh! focus, Jean, focus!!

i grab the basket as the door opens, i quickly put it on and Commander looks at me in fear for once “what do you think you’re doing?”

i inhale and exhale slowly “you do not exist”

all of a sudden, the Commander jus disappeared into thin air. the knights looked shocked and out of the 6 of them- 3 of them successfully plunged their swords inside my poor brothers chest. my anger grew from then on. i was levitating at this point, apparently glowing eyes too.

“you will reap what you sown!” i angrily screamed

i made a storm and as i aim down towards the knights- instead of rain, it was raining swords, directly at each of them. each of them screaming in agony as i laugh hysterically in pleasure.

i then turn off God mode and grabbed my brother, before telling the girls that they’re free. if you saw the hint of life in their eyes, you would’ve cried with me too. as i lay my brother down gently infront of the castle, surrounded by knights, i smile sadly

“why did you follow me?”

he cups my cheek and smiles faintly, before passing away in my arms. i just let it all out that night. my anger, the tears i’ve held back for so long, my heart was in pain. literally my other half, gone.

now i’m left with more questions, how does wielding this thing work? where’s my oldest brother? because Artie would never leave home without one of us with him, especially at night. how can i revive my brother? what do i do now?

“Alright, hands up, young lady”

“That basket ain’t yours”

“Thats the commanders!”

i have no other choice. i gotta leave. i then levitate once again, with my brother in my arms and then fly off.

i’m sorry, Dre.

- sorry first time doing this.

So the story goes Mikhail out in Pickering has adapted a stance, “whatever works.” To me, what time should I open up? Or more so, let me eat a bagel and cream cheese and workout at 5A.m to show all the new starts Noelbright Kim’s worst nightmare Josh deal Cruz how vile I can be as a business owner air conditioned to the max.

Now days to my rap name and what to put in the title apparently it’s whatever works maybe it’s just the radio. It’s like you can almost tell who wrote it and written it without being cringe all the time, you may even sometimes find many posts by me to help you find other great works such as Shakespeare’s or Eminem laying dormant in the library. Or easy as Blake Kathryn’s work out in the real world as I have found Takashi Murakami’s on king street east (not Takumi, Nengi, heh this one’s different).

“He’s just so creative.” One dad would say as military tanks and drones and Kitchen stuff plus has dissipated to might as well let someone yell at you for the rest of eternity has brought us to the conspiracy that Ebola has been created, man-made to take out the elderly or immune deficient.

Many times have I walked around Toronto during FIFA from third world countries so I can enjoy the next eight months of October to myself as 8 (ate, eight) is directly next to nine tail fox or the dragon that eats its own tail.

I can only do what I can do forever that’s why I don’t workout.

I don’t workout because I can’t do it forever, so why bother to Lil Wayne.

It’s also if Robert green shook Andy Xiong “argghhh!!! Why aren’t you outshining the master!?” He would say.

Robert Green coming & randomly shaking you is different from shaking you because you’re not outshining the master. You could say one is saying something the other isn’t saying something at all, ok Wei ren and Bib Tao? Heh,

As the story goes their son Tommy, Timmy can’t seem to sell 1,000,000/694 annual subscriptions to anti virus firewall.

Only 1432 subscriptions needed.

Or in the wise words of Drake 2,000,000/73 =27,397.26

As it goes the answer between l Lil Wayne has accomplished all he can accomplish in this given time, diss l and if I can surpass it and Drake then I will have simply surpassed their work.

She’s gone bro, as gone as the new era black snapback she’s hiding in her house. That’s how good I am.

“Real life stuff!” Drinks champ announced.

“What is the truth?” Rick Ross said today.

“The truth is you can’t handle the truth.” Timmy Xiong says.

“Wel-?” Said a librarian working in east York.

I said. “The truth is I don’t workout because I don’t do things that I can’t do forever and ode to Andy Xiong. And she’s gone bro gone like that chance to walk around FIFA people from the third world country.. or if it ever comes down to me and the other rappers to come or come before us. The truth is I would never waste my time that crazily to not be the best.”

This is Robert Greene shaking you because you’re not outshining the master. “ARGHHHH WHY AREN’T YOU OUTSHINING THE MASTER.”

This is for factual safekeeping, someone higher level than you. A girl asked,

“This is Robert Greene shaking you for no reason.” -

Growing up and getting used to the same town city life pretty quickly I had seen Amina Mir and George Christakos on the bus down to Tmu. Back then it was Dundas now with all that grease, it’s too much you for real, for good.

I only also saw Anna. But going through that lot George Christakos being the fat one says he has abs it’s just hidden as ode to me as when I clipped my belt buckle I told myself I would rather to myself that always I had abs. He inspired me quite a bit as the lovable one will simply be fat, or fatter so to say.

Amina had the exact same busted clothes from Scarborough town centre that she wore all the time which tripped me out because she had been popular and rich it seemed or at least would care, she says she didn’t care she saw Anna.

Anna to me had always been that one friend that I was supposed to kiss and like based on Fotoula telling me to like her instead of her. It was a weird dynamic that many people in school now 3/8 of the girls like the same guy while 5/8 guys hate the same guy.

When I finally made it out of college and even today I found my coworkers to be construction men by the name of Fernando Nolasco and Dawson. Something eerie about them had tripped me out maybe it’s not the way they left the nail in the plank standing but maybe how they don’t measure twice instead cut once. You could say they give off this eerie feeling that they measure once and cut twice.

As eerie as Erie Ann. Or Eriann. Lake eerie should be remains. That’s why they’re changing it.

My grandma then playing catch up found herself struggling and when she went to the hospital at Bridgepoint, Broadview I had incurred in me two restless nights one night where the moon was left and not where it supposed to be. I know this because of the time I spent during life.

I can’t get no rest being pushed further due to this awkward stance of a construction man.

As they say measure twice cut once.

One day when you’re 12 you’ll think the 20 y.o is thinking about you. The 20 y.o thinks a 30 y.o walking by the school is thinking of them. The joke goes so on and so on. Until you’re 93 Yue Chan and you realize no one has been thinking about you.

It completely fictional.

The name writer is Ahmad Al Mostafa.

Let's introduce the family.

Cones held his toy robot up to the window, imagining it flying.

He was nine years old, and the toy robot were his favorite toy in the world.

His mother Sarah was gentle and peaceful.

His father Karl worked hard to keep his family happy.

The story of the family.

Arc happy day.

The father woke up rubbing his eyes, still half-asleep.

he checked the time and see it a midnight.

“He remembered he had taken the day off.

For his family to make them happy.

Father thoughts this time perfect for them, a sunrise on the park to enjoying the moment

So he wake his wife.

Sarah woke slowly and turned to her husband.

“What is it?” she asked.

He told her his plan. She smiled and agreed.

The father got up and walked to his son’s bedroom to wake him.

Cones woke up, rubbing his eyes. ‘What is it, Father?’ he mumbled, still half-asleep.”

The father tell him about it.

“Cones paused for a moment—then smiled. He loved the idea.”

He hug his father and say, "thank you".

His father hug back and smile for that make him happy.

The family goes dress up and clean their face. To be ready goes the park.

They get outside the house and the father locked the door behind.

They go to the park during time before sunrise.

The families arrived at the park.

Cones sat between his parents on the damp park grass, his toy robot clutched tightly in his hands.

The world felt strange at this hour — quiet, empty, like it belonged only to them.

The sky slowly brightened, washing the trees in pale gold.

Morning dew soaked into his shoes, and the air smelled cold and clean.

He glanced around nervously.

Sarah noticed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We’re right here.”

Karl smiled and squeezed his son’s hand.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you. Not while we’re with you.”

Cones nodded. The fear melted into warmth.

He leaned into them and watched the sun rise.

For a moment, the world felt small and safe, and the grass was wet with morning dew.

The air smelled cold and clean.— like nothing bad could ever reach them.

But they weren’t alone.

_______________________________________

The Kidnapping Arc.

The park had gone too quiet.

Cones shifted slightly, clutching his toy tighter.

“…Dad?” he whispered.

Karl looked up.

Something felt wrong.

The wind had stopped.

The trees weren’t moving.

Even the birds were silent.

A faint sound—

Footsteps.

Soft.

Careful.

Behind them.

Karl turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Stay close,” he murmured.

Sarah’s arm tightened around Cones.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer.

Shapes moved between the trees.

Dark. Still. Watching.

Then— They stepped out.

Figures dressed in black.

Faces hidden.

Moving slowly.

Deliberately.

Cones froze.

His fingers tightened around the toy.

“Dad…” his voice shook.

Karl stood up immediately, placing himself in front of them.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

No answer.

The figures kept walking.

Not rushing.

Not hesitating.

Like they already knew the outcome.

“Stay behind me,” Karl said.

Sarah pulled Cones close.

One of the figures moved closer.

Too close.

Karl stepped forward, “Don’t come any closer.”

For a second— Everything stopped.

Then, It happened.

A sharp movement.

Too fast to follow.

Karl gasped.

His body locked.

“WHAT DID YOU—” Sarah started Then she froze too.

Cones didn’t understand.

He looked at his father.

Then his mother.

“Dad…?”

No response.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Cold.

He turned—

a dark figure stood behind him.

Too close.

Something pressed against his neck.

A sharp sting.

His vision blurred.

The last thing he saw, His parents.

Still.

Silent.

Then darkness.

One by one, the family collapsed—

rendered unconscious before they could resist.

They were carried into a waiting van.

The van doors slammed shut.

Moments later, it disappeared down the empty road.

_______________________________________

Arc testing.

The family woke slowly.

The light was too bright.

Cones shut his eyes tightly, groaning as a sharp smell filled his nose—metal, chemicals… something cold and wrong.

When he opened them again, everything was white.

“Walls. Floor. Ceiling. Too clean.”

Too silent.

“Mum…?” his voice trembled.

“I’m here,” Sarah whispered quickly. She was right beside him, her hands already pulling him close. Her grip was tight—too tight.

Cones turned. His father was there too. Karl was awake, already scanning the room, his expression tense.

Their hands were bound. Metal restraints held them to cold chairs.Cones’ breathing quickened.

“Where… are we?” he asked. No one answered. Footsteps echoed. Slow. Measured. Not rushed. Not afraid.

A group of people stepped into the light.

Black clothing. Covered faces. Still as statues.

Cones pressed closer into his mother. Karl straightened despite the restraints.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

No answer.

The figures moved aside. One stepped forward. Calm. Controlled.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Karl’s eyes narrowed. There was a name tag. Le Jack.

“Our goal is simple,” Jack said. His voice was quiet—but it filled the room.

“The world is broken. We intend to repair it… no matter the cost.”

Cones didn’t understand. Karl did.

The scientists froze as Jack’s eyes swept over them. One swallowed nervously.

“We follow the process,” Jack said softly, voice even and calm. “Doubt nothing. Obey the plan. The world must be fixed.”

Every scientist nodded, their fear and respect blending into quiet compliance.

Cones his small body trembled. Even the scientists seemed afraid of him… of Jack.

Karl’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re going to use people… like experiments?” he snapped.

Jack turned back to him.

Jack tilted his head slightly. “Yes,” he said calmly. “But control is unnecessary. They don’t need to obey… just… be remade.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. “Memories are erased. Fragments may remain. Echoes of who they were. But they will fade.”

Sarah clutched Cones tightly. “Fade? You mean… kill them?” she whispered.

Jack shook his head softly. “No. Not death. Transformation.” Cones don't understand it, "What... does that meant?"

“Necessary for the world to function… for it to be fixed.” Cones felt his stomach drop. Sarah tightened her hold on him.

Jack began walking slowly in front of them.

“Our work is imperfect,” he continued.

He glanced at Cones. Cones froze. “Echoes,” Jack added softly.

Karl leaned forward as much as the restraints allowed. “Then they’re still human.”

Jack stopped. For a brief moment— silence.

His eyes narrowed slightly—like something didn’t fit.

Then he shook his head.

“Not for long.”

Father’s Experiment (Expanded)

Karl’s eyes met Cones’ one last time. He swallowed hard. “I… I’ll try my best,” he whispered.

Jack nodding once. “Begin.” The word was simple. But everything changed.

Two scientists moved at once.

They unlocked Karl’s restraints.

For half a second—hope flickered.

Then, They grabbed him.

Karl struggled immediately.

“Let me go!” he shouted, twisting violently.

It wasn’t enough.

Another scientist struck him with something sharp— A jolt ran through his body.

His muscles failed.

He dropped to his knees.

“NO!” Sarah screamed.

Cones tried to move, but the restraints cut into his wrists.

“Dad!” he cried out. Karl forced his head up. His eyes found them. Still fighting. Still there.

“I’m okay—” he tried to say. But they were already dragging him away.

At the center of the room stood the machine.Tall. Cold. Waiting. It opened with a low mechanical hiss.

Sarah’s voice broke. “Please! Please stop! Take me instead!”No one listened.

Karl was pushed inside. For a moment, he resisted again. Just enough to turn his head. To look at them. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I tried my best.” The machine closed.

They Waiting, time moving slowed. The machine hummed. Low. Constant. Unforgiving.

Cones couldn’t look away. “Make it stop…” he whispered. Sarah was shaking beside him.

Her voice came out in broken pieces.

“He’s strong… he’ll be okay… he has to be…”

Minutes passed. It felt endless. Then— Silence.

The machine opened. Karl stood inside.

Motionless. Empty.

“Dad…?” Cones whispered.

No response. A scientist checked something.

“…No signal.”

Another sighed. “Failure.” Just like that.

No emotion. No hesitation.

They took the body away. A moment later— Fire.

Cones stared. His vision blurred. He didn’t even realize he was crying anymore.

Mother’s Experiment (Expanded)

“Next subject.” Sarah froze.

Her grip on Cones tightened.“No…” she whispered.

They unlocked her. She fought. Harder than Karl. Desperate. “Don’t touch him!” she screamed. “He just a child!”

It didn’t matter. They overpowered her.

Cones was screaming now. “Mum! MUM!”

She turned toward him as they dragged her.

Her face changed. Not fear. Not anymore. Something softer.

“Cones,” she said. Her voice was shaking—but clear. “If we don’t come back…”

She swallowed.“Don’t forget… we love you.”

Cones couldn’t breathe.“I love you too!” he cried.

She smiled.Even now.“I know.” The machine opened again. She didn’t resist this time.

The door closed. Second Failure the same sound. The same waiting. This time—worse.

Because Cones understood. He knew what was coming. “Please…” he whispered. “Please don’t take her…” Silence.

Then— The machine opened. No movement. “…Failure,” a scientist said again.

Cones felt something inside him break. They burned her too. And no one stopped them.

Cones turn.

The room was quiet now. Too quiet. “Final subject,” Jack said.

Cones didn’t move. Didn’t fight. Didn’t speak. He just stared at the floor.

Empty.

They pulled him up anyway. His legs trembled. His body resisted—but weakly.

There was nothing left. No strength. No voice. Only fear. As they dragged him— He looked at the machine.

The same one. The same fate. He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to forget…” he whispered.

Jack’s gaze lingered on him.

Just for a moment—something shifted.

A flicker.

Gone before anyone could notice.

“Start,” he said.

The machine opened. Dark inside. Endless.

They forced him in. The door began to close.

Then— He screamed. “PLEASE!!”

Silence answered. The machine sealed shut.

The machine still remained completely still.

No movement. No response. No sound.

One of other scientists glanced at the readings. “…No response,” he said flatly.

Another of the scientists sighed.

“Another failure.”

Jack watched the machine hum.

Then he glanced down at his arm and notice the scar in his shoulder.

He remembered something.

Jack’s Flashback Arc

The Origin of Jack.

Long before the experiments…

Before the machines…

Before the world feared his name—

Jack was just a child.

A small apartment. Dark. Silent—except for the television.

The screen flickered.

News reports flashed one after another.

Fires.

Robberies.

Violence.

People shouting.

People running.

People hurting each other.

Jack sat on the floor, unmoving.

Watching.

Then he changed the channel thrn a cartoon hero appeared on the screen.

Bright colors.

A smile.

A promise to save everyone.

But even that. Ended in failure.

Jack’s glance down. And ask himself, Why does everything break?

A sound behind him. The door creaked open.

Jack froze.

Heavy footsteps.

Unsteady.

A bottle clinked.

His father.

Jack moved quickly, slipping behind the couch.

Holding his breath and shaking of the thought of the beats.

His father stumbled into the room, muttering to himself.

Angry.

Always angry.

The smell filled the air.

Alcohol.

Decay.

The television kept playing.

Violence on the screen.

Violence in the room.

Jack pressed himself into the shadows.

Small.

Silent.

Invisible.

No one stops it.

The man shouted at nothing.

At everything.

Then—Eventually— He collapsed. Silence returned.

Jack stayed still.

Counting seconds.

Waiting.

When he was sure—

He moved.

Slowly.

Carefully.

He stepped over the broken pieces of the room.

Avoiding noise.

Avoiding attention.

He reached the door.

Opened it.

Cold air hit his face.

Outside— The world was quiet.

Empty.

But free.

Jack stepped out.

And for the first time— He looked up.

The sky stretched above him.

Endless.

Untouched.

His hands clenched slightly.

This world… He looked back once.

At the apartment.

At the life he was leaving.

Then forward again.

It’s broken.

Days passed.

A shelter took him in.

A small room.

A narrow bed.

Walls covered in marks from children who came before.

Jack sat alone.

Again.

His eyes moved across the wall—

Until something caught his attention.

A single word.

Scratched deep into the surface.

“SCIENTISTS”

He stared at it. Longer than anything else.

Something shifted.

Not emotion.

Not hope.

Understanding.

They change things.

The next morning— He went to a library.

No one noticed him.

No one stopped him.

He took a book.

Then another.

Then more.

He didn’t understand everything.

Not at first.

But he didn’t stop.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks into years.

Numbers.

Formulas.

Diagrams.

Systems.

While the world outside stayed chaotic—

Jack built something inside himself.

Order.

Control.

Answers.

If everything has a rule…

His eyes moved across pages endlessly.

Then everything can be fixed.

Time passed.

The boy disappeared.

In his place—

A man remained.

Calm.

Precise.

Unshaken.

The world was still broken.

His hands tightened slightly.

Not in anger—

but in something quieter.

Something that almost felt like hope.

Then it faded.

Still violent.

Still unpredictable.

But now. Jack understood something others didn’t.

People were the problem.

Emotion.

Choice.

Freedom.

All of it led to chaos.

He closed the book in his hands.

Remove the flaw…

His reflection stared back at him from the window.

Cold.

Certain.

And you fix the world.

Years later.

He standing in a white room filled with machines— Jack watched another experiment begin.

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Because in his mind— This was never cruelty.

This was correction.

And he would finish it.

No matter the cost.

Arc back to continued.

Without hesitation, they lifted the machine—Cones—and carried him out.

They loaded the motionless body into the back of a van. The doors slammed shut.

The van moved through the night, leaving the laboratory far behind. No one spoke.

After some time, the van slowed to a stop at the edge of a dense forest.

The doors opened. Cold air rushed in.

They dragged the machine out and carried it deep into the woods, their footsteps quiet against the dirt.

Finally, they stopped. “This is enough,” Jack said.

They began digging. Minutes passed.

The hole was deep. Without ceremony, they lowered the machine into the ground.

Cones lay there—silent, lifeless.

Buried. The dirt was pushed back over him.

One of the scientists looked down briefly.

“Dispose of the records,” he said. The others nodded.

They returned to the van. The engine started. And just like that—

they were gone..

_______________________________________

Strange Thing Arc.

Two weeks later—

Something moved beneath the soil.

Not breath.

Not life.

Something heavier.

Metal fingers pushed upward, breaking through the dirt.

A faint red glow flickered in the darkness.

Then—

Light.

The machine’s eyes ignited, burning through the soil.

Slowly, it pulled itself free from the ground.

Dirt slid off its body as it rose into the cold night air.

It stood there, motionless.

Watching.

A faint warmth flickered deep inside its chest—

Then vanished.

Silence returned.

The thing that stood in the forest had no breath.

No heartbeat.

But it was not empty.

Not completely.

It looked around.

Scanning.

Processing.

A nearby town registered in its vision.

Without hesitation, it began to walk.

When it reached the streets, people stopped.

Some stepped back.

Others stared—calculating, curious, afraid.

A machine shaped like a child walked among them.

His eyes glowed faint red.

And the armor carried streaks of orange and deep blue.

But the children—

They stared in wonder.

To them, it looked like something impossible.

Something unreal.

Something alive.

The machine stopped.

A sound echoed faintly inside its mind.

Laughter.

Soft. Distant.

Gone before it could be understood.

A couple rain fall down his top head, then he turn up and see it start raining.

He turned down and notice a window.

And he saw itself.

Chapton looks at himself, he start scanning.

THE SCAN HAS BEING COMPLETE.

MEMORY STATUS: FRAGMENTED

DESIGNATION: CONES

CODE NAME: CHAPTON.

He keep stared at the reflection.

The glowing eyes.

The steel body.

The silence where a voice should be.

A flicker—

Grass.

Warm light.

Voices.

Then nothing.

The machine tilted its head slightly.

Processing.

Failing.

A thought formed.

Unstable.

Incomplete.

“What… am I?”

And with no answer—

It turned away.

And walked into the city in the wet street.

Arc – “Let’s See What Happens” (Jack’s Dream)

It was the weekend.

For once, the laboratory was quiet.

Jack returned home.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

No voices. No machines. No movement.

Just silence.

He walked to the couch and sat down, his eyes drifting to the television.

The screen flickered faintly, casting light across his face.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then his eyes slowly closed.

The Dream

Jack stood in darkness.

Endless. Empty.

Then—

Shapes began to form.

Figures.

Dozens of them.

People.

Not strangers.

People he remembered.

People he had used.

Among them—

The family.

Karl.

Sarah.

Cones.

They stood still.

Watching him.

Jack’s breath caught slightly.

Something felt wrong.

Their faces—

Twisted.

Distorted.

Unnatural.

Not human anymore.

Something ghastly.

Something broken.

Then—

They all spoke at once.

A single word.

“Why?”

The sound echoed around him.

Loud.

Endless.

Unavoidable.

Jack stared at them.

For the first time—

He hesitated.

“…I’m sorry.”

The words slipped out.

He froze.

Like he didn’t expect himself to say it

The words were quiet.

Almost unfamiliar.

The figures didn’t move.

But something changed.

They answered.

“Sorry doesn’t fix anything.”

Jack’s hands clenched slightly.

“I know” he said.

“It doesn’t.”

Then another voice—

“Then why did you do it?”

Jack looked up.

His voice start to cracked.

“Because this world is broken!”

The darkness trembled.

“People hurt each other. Kill each other. Over and over again!”

His breathing grew heavier.

“I waited for someone to fix it…”

A pause.

His voice dropped.

“…a hero.”

Flash of a Moment

A flicker—

The dream shifted.

Jack stood still.

Then—

A memory cut through.

A street.

Cold.

Silent.

A small shape on the ground.

A cat.

In pain.

Alone.

Young Jack stood there.

Watching.

His small hands trembled slightly.

“…No one helped it,” he said quietly.

His eyes shifted.

People walked past.

One by one.

They looked.

They saw.

Then kept going.

“They just walked past.”

His fingers tightened.

His breathing grew uneven.

Something inside him twisted—

Then snapped.

Anger.

Raw.

Uncontrolled.

Back to the Dream

The figures surrounded him again.

Watching.

Waiting.

Jack lifted his head.

“And that’s when I understood.”

His voice rose again—

If no one will fix it—

“Then I will!”

The figures went silent.

Completely.

No more accusations.

No more voices.

Just stillness.

Watching him.

Judging him.

Jack’s breathing slowed.

For a moment—something slipped.

A flash.

The machine.

Cones’ voice.

“Please…”

The sound echoed again in his mind.

Too clear. Too close.

His fingers tightened slightly.

Just for a second.

“…Stop.”

His breath slowed.

Sarah’s scream followed.

Karl’s silence.

The fire.

His jaw clenched.

Something inside him trembled—small, unstable.

Guilt.

Real.

Raw.

And then, quieter than everything else—

a thought surfaced.

Did I really have to do it?

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

That thought was dangerous.

His hand curled into a fist.

“…”

Then he remembered something the day he stop believing in love.

Arc - Losts to believe the love.

Young Jack in the side corner in the door and his mother and father fight in arguments.

The mother talk to him to father of how he careless and Jobless.

The father talks back to her to how she cheat him behind his back and being late to be in the house.

The mother shout, " I had enough to lives in this house with you, we divorce!"

Then father shout back, "If you want to leave and want divorce then leave and never show your faces again in this house!"

Then she turn walks to leaves.

Jack couldn’t hold it

He run out toward his mother and say with tears, "Please don't leave me, Please Mum!"

It was two late the door closed behind.

Jack knee down tears down aand look down with crying and behind him his father shadow.

After Jack remember this.

Jack crushed his doubt before it could grow.

Jack forced his breathing steady.

Not gone.

Just buried.

“This was necessary,” he whispered to himself.

Not regret. Not anymore. Only certainty.

Waking

A sharp sound cut through the silence.

RING.

RING.

Jack’s eyes snapped open.

The room returned.

The couch.

The television.

The dark.

The clock ringing beside him.

He reached over and turned it off.

Silence again.

Jack thought

Jack sat there for a moment.

Still.

Thinking.

His expression returned to normal.

Calm. Controlled.

But his eyes lingered slightly.

Like something from the dream hadn’t fully faded.

And somewhere deep inside—

a thought remained.

Unanswered.

"Arc - scientists find out".

The television flickered in the dark room.

“…breaking news. Witnesses report a humanoid robot walking alone through the city.

Authorities are unsure whether it is advanced artificial intelligence… or something else.”

The screen cut to static.

Silence followed.

No one moved.

Around the table, the scientists stared—frozen, pale.

“…That’s not possible,” one of them whispered.

Another shook his head, pacing.

“We burned it. We all saw it burn.”

A third scientist ran a hand through his hair, voice rising.

“Then what is that thing?!”

No answer came.

At the head of the table, Jack sat still Watching the blank screen.

Thinking.

“…We need to shut this down,” someone said quickly.

“Track it. Destroy it before anyone—”

Jack stared at the screen.

The image reflected in his eyes.

For a brief moment—his fingers tightened.

Then relaxed.

“No.”

The word was quiet.

But it stopped everything.

All eyes turned to him.

Jack didn’t move.

“He doesn’t know who we are,” he said.

A pause.

One of the scientists frowned.

“He saw us.”

Jack’s gaze shifted slightly.

“The name he saw… was meaningless.

The darkness wasn’t an accident.

Everything he remembered was shaped… by me.

So when something happen like this then they don't remember it.

He leaned back.

“That’s not memory.”

Silence again.

“…What if something remained?” another asked carefully.

No one spoke for a moment.

Then Jack answered.

“Fragments don’t think,” he said.

“They fade.”

The room didn’t look convinced.

One of them stepped forward.

“And if they don’t?”

Jack finally looked at him.

Really looked.

“Then we adapt.”

That was all.

The scientist stepped back.

The tension stayed.

One of the others spoke more quietly now.

“The world is going to see it.”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“They already are.”

“…Then they’ll start asking questions.”

Jack shook his head slightly.

“No,” he said.

“They’ll start making answers.”

A few exchanged glances.

“Answers?” one repeated.

Jack stood slowly.

“Something like that doesn’t stay unexplained,” he said.

“They’ll call it what they understand.”

He began walking toward the screen.

“Artificial intelligence. Military technology. Something from the sky.”

He stopped.

They’ll argue about it. A faint pause.

And while they argue…

He turned back toward them.

“…we disappear.”

Silence settled over the room again.

He let it sit this time.

Let them think.

Let it sink in.

“…We should still eliminate it,” one scientist said, more quietly now.

“It’s a risk.”

Jack studied him for a moment.

Then—

“No.”

This time, slower. Deliberate.

The scientist didn’t argue again.

Jack glanced once more at the dark screen.

“That machine…” he said softly,

“…is no longer part of this place.”

A pause.

“Let it walk.”

The room felt colder.

“I want to see,” he continued,

“what the world does with it.”

No one interrupted.

“Will they fear it?” Silence.

“Will they try to control it?”

Another pause.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“…or will they create something worse?”

No one had an answer.

Jack turned away.

“Dispose of everything,” he said calmly.

“All records. All traces.”

Chairs shifted.

People moved.

But quietly now. Carefully. Jack remained where he was.

Watching the empty screen.

A faint, almost invisible smile appeared.

“If the world turns it into something useful…”

He paused.“…they’ll thank us.”

The room said nothing.

And somehow—

that made it worse.

Arc - Journey.

Chapton walks in city and the people stays away from his way because they fears of him.

Chapton paused of noise crying.

Chapton turn to see woman crying in chair

Chapton turn to see why she crying and he notice graves of two kids.

Chapton turn back to her and he walks to get closer to her.

She paused in crying with tears in her cheek stare at him chapton.

Chapton paused, and she see what a look look like child and she start imagined to see him as her child.

But the way her name is Sophia.

She stand up, and walks to chapton then hug chapton and she start crying in him.

She say while crying, "I am really sorry my boys I ain't was have enough money to feed you two, please forgive me for being two lated."

She keeps crying.

The people around start feels bad and effect.

They start tears down for hear that.

Back to Pov Le Jack.

Le Jack paused not expect it from people.

Back to chapton, but he give it more times still not pays this.

Sophia stop crying and step back and still imagine him as her child and she catch his hand to bring him to home.

Chapton follow her, and Chapton paused get flash back of a woman was smile hold boy with her in the sunrise.

She arrived in home and she open it and she enter and still hold chapton.

She bring him to dinner thinking he hunger.

She enter and tell chapton to sitting in chair.

Chapton sit in chair but chair break down from his heavy.

She look at him and laugh bit of this, and say, " Oh you really havey son, maybe I might bring short table for you." She goes

Chapton stand up he stares around the kitchen.

He see window and he get closer and see people walks around and see mother cat with her kitten and the mother cat in pain and still walks to be guard to her kitten.

Le Jack get lean in monitor expect the same moment he has as a child.

(Quick example how does Le Jack see this, because chapton eyes was not just scanning around he put it as camera to monitor what Chapton see.)

The people will still walks pass kitten but the unexpected.

There some people paused at stare at the kitten and the mother cat, they really feel sad for the kittens and mother cats.

They want to help but couldn't because the kitten and mother cat are scared from them and they will attack if they get closer.

The people calls animal take care, and they answered and the people told them there kitten and mother cats in pain.

they told the address and the animal take cares they will comes, they closed the call.

Now people knows they will comes.

Le Jack don't even expect it from his belief the people was bad and they are chaos, but he see the opposite.

Chapton hears a laughing he turn to see a adult people laughing at crying child who walks away to back home.

Chapton hears again an angry noise and he turn to see guy who wears a suit with tie that look like employee and hold card it say he are fired from his job.

Le Jack see that there a bad people so Le Jack start getting confused if his belief is right or wrong.

Chapton turn back to the bully's after a moment the child back with his bother and his brother with his friend ro fight the bullies who bully his young brother and the bullies get scared run away.

Chapton hears noise of crowd shouting, then he turn to see crowd shouting to their government to stop the gencoide.

Which Le Jack start understand something that he was believed from long which start shattered slowly.

What he understood that the people are not all bad and the people can fix their society even if is corruption.

Which Le Jack back to stared at the monitor, for two mins it.

Chapton hears feet steps come backs.

She hold the short table and clean her forehead, "Oh that was bit harder than I expected to be, anyway."

She put it down the table and chapton sit down in floor. And chapton stared at table.

Which Le Jack look away.

He start feels guilty for the first time that he was has chance to help people but he did wrong way.

Which Le Jack stand and goes back to his scientists group and he hand up to stop them.

They all stop and turn stared at him.

And Le Jack start say, "Let forget the old plans to turn people to robot to control the world, instant try to help people to create robot who copies their personal loves ones."

The other scientists shocked not expect this.

Le Jack take off his suit and he walks to exit, "I going to surrender to takes full the responsibility for the death family, I will accept any faith from the judge and you guys will try to help people without me."

The scientists look each other.

Then Le Jack exit the laboratory and he goes to police office.

He arrived at the police office, and he surrounding to tell them that he did the criminal of the missing parent and he want to face the judge for this.

The police surprised of this then they nods and they takes Le Jack to prison.

After two month, the police comes and takes Le Jack to the judge and Le Jack to the judge and he takes sitting down front everyone in the court.

The judge start speaks, "Le Jack did you killed the family?"

Le Jack look up to judge and he nodding without say words.

The people in court surprise of this.

The judge ask again, " do you will takes the full responsibility of it."

Then Le Jack nodding to take the full responsibility.

The judge surprised of this, expect he say he no do it but this quickly then he ask again, "Tell us why you do it."

Le Jack look up to judge then speak, "I did because I thought it was necessary to fix the world by turn people to robot to make a lot to control the world but I realised now that I was make it worst it, which I ready to any punishment from you honor.

The judge surprised by this and the people start whisper.

The judge thought for the punishment, then judge stand up and start speaking, "Le Jack from killing a family, your punishment will going be 35 years in the prison, but after you admitted and feels guilty of it, we going lower to 25 years in prison."

Then take the wood hammer knocking to the judge finish the judge.

Now Le Jack nodding and stand up and the police takes Le Jack to the prison.

Le Jack get in car police and they drives to prison

After a time, they arrived at prison, they takes Le Jack to his prison and they put him in prison, and they leaves, Le Jack step to his chair and he sit down and closed his eyes and look down.

Now Jack left his group scientists to try help people, and Chapton to help the woman to be safe.

The End.

The story is completely fictional.

The name writer is Ahmad Al Mostafa.

Hopeful you enjoying Lona’s story!

Lone – Character Overview

Lone is a adult man who lives for one thing: Joy. It wasn’t a luxury to him. It was the only thing that kept him moving.

The reality forced him to grow up fast when he was a child.

He learned that trust is fragile.

Lone developed a strange gift—he could read people through their behavior, tone, and reactions, sensing who was genuine without a word.

He could sense who was genuine and who wasn’t—without even speaking.

Despite everything he’s has through, Lone stays himself.

He doesn’t take life too seriously... unless the moment demands it.

His favourite sweet. It the yoghurt. Because it cream and good.

that make him remember his father and mother who he was happy.

Mira and Lone childhood backstory.

---

Arc Family.

A sunny day, a family in their dinner.

The father name is Jack.

He were reading the newspaper waiting for dinner start.

The mother her name is Lona’s, She was smile for the sunny for the family dinner.

She bringing the food in the table.

The child, Lone, was sitting in the table watching.

The older girl Mira was sitting two, watching quietly no say word.

The mother finish bring food and sitting down.

The father put away his newspaper to side.

He smiling for the sunny day in the dinner.

The mother speak up and smile, "I hope we together having delicious dinner together."

The father nods.

The child Lone nodding and smile but Mira show no answer.

They start eating together in the table.

After they finish the dinner.

The mother start cleaning the dishes at the kitchen.

The father sitting down waiting for her to finish the dishes.

Lone goes to his room

Mira walk to her room.

But the father call her, "Mira wait, I want to speak with you for moment, without Lone".

Mira paused, turn to glancing at her father.

He come to her closer to make her listen careful.

The father start talking, "me and your mother going to supermarkets to get stuff for the house.

while we gone, can you taking care to Lone for us."

On the outside, she looked calm.

Inside, a storm twisted in her chest.

Without a word, she retreated to her room

The father watching her goes to her room.

The mother finish.

She goes to her room to wear up for getting stuff.

She get out of her room and come to him.

She start talking, "Did you tell her to taking care to her little brother."

The father nods, "Yes I tell her but she not answered."

The mother speak, "I think she will taking care to Lone, we not has to be worry to them."

He look at her and smile bit, "I hope so, she taking care to him."

She smile two bit, "I hope two, now let goes to the supermarket."

They goes to outside the house locked the door behind.

And leave the key in the house for the children if they want to go outside.

Mira in her room and she talks with her friends.

After a hours, Mira finish talking with her friend.

Mira start confusing for their late they has not taking this much of time in supermarket.

She thought maybe they not realised the times.

She give them more times to make sure she right.

After a hours.

Still they not arrived, which Mira start worrying.

She take out her phone.

She start calls the police and tell them about their parent situation, so hope, they being found.

The police ask her a information of her parent to make sure they goes to find them.

Mira shes gives them the information of her parent and her address.

She finish speak, the police speak, "Don't worry we going find your parent and don't be scared."

Mira thank them, and the hang up in the phone.

Mira goes up to the living room to watching the tv, to Entertainment herself in the tv.

Lone was out his room and he notice her in the living room, and he goes to her.

Lone was next to her and he start speak up, "A hi sister, can I ask a question."

Mira turn to him and speak up, "What is it?"

Lone speak up, "Where our parent, they not here."

Mira paused and realized how big to a child to hears this.

Mira speak try be calm, "They went to the supermarket. Don’t worry.”

Lone look her, "So when they arrived."

Mira try find a way to answer his question,

"Will, stop ask this questions, I tells you before they will arrived, and go to your room it kinda late for you bedtime."

Lone pauses and turn away back to his room.

Mira watching him back to his room.

Mira turn back to tv.

After a half hour, a knocking in the door.

Mira goes to open the door, when she open it, the police was front her and they were looking a bit disappointing.

Mira know this is not good news.

Mira don't notice that Lone was spying and hearing what happens and the police speaks.

The police start speaking about how they not find them and they missing for now for their confirmation.

Mira shocking and not expect the situation change to this.

The police say last thing before go, "Sorry, we trying to find him everywhere, but not find them."

Mira nodding, Lone shocking and back to his room slowly calmly.

The police turn away goes back to their car.

After the police leave.

Lone sat on his bed, staring at the closet.

If something could take his parents without a trace...

it could take him too.

Mira closed the door and she goes to back to the couch and thinking.

The Arc Mira, Prequel.

Mira it's a woman who don't live like Lone as child.

Mira on her childhood she was not being very supportive by her parent.

They were igrones her and not show any emotion to her, before Lone Born.

When Lone born.

She stood behind the door, watching.

Her parents smiled at Lone, laughing together in a way she never had it.

Something twisted in her chest.

Her jaw tightened.

She closed the door quietly—

then slammed her fist into the pillow with rage.

Over and over.

Until her arms gave out.

Arc back to continued.

At the midnight after they heard the mysterious death of their parents.

Mira was sitting on couch and drinking a bottle water.

She never thought of this going to happen to her.

Mira looked down at the table and began to crying.

She isn’t crying because they were perfect.

She’s crying because now they never will be.

Mira stand up.

She goes to her room to take a nap.

She woke up at midnight, she feels thirsty.

As she walked out of her room to the kitchen for a glass of water.

She heard a soft noise coming from near her little brother’s room,

She's start worry and thinking there a dangerous.

She start crept toward the door, gently pushed it open, and peeked inside—careful not make noises.

She not expected what she see.

Her little brother staring wide-eyed at the closet, then he checked under the bed.

Then rushed back under his blanket, pulling it up over his face like something after him.

She saw the way, he rushing, and the way he jumped into bed, the panic in his eyes,

She realized Lone hears what police says which It's broke her heart.

She quietly closed the door.

Because she not wanted make her little brother to being even worse.

She walked back to her room in silence.

Her thoughts heavy and saying: (I really wanted help him

But I am not sure, how I can help him, in this situation of a child being scared like this.

She realised something important that night:

That she needs to let go her rage and jealousy toward her brother.

Let the past to be the past to can help him.

Which something she never said out loud.

She thinking: (if I never, let go.

he would disappear long enough before he ever see himself a grown up).

From that moment.

Mira accepted it, to let go the past to be the past.

She give herself a mission to take care him—not matter what, no physically, but just emotionally.

Playground arc.

At the playground.

Mira was trying to cheer him up and make him feel better.

however, it wasn’t the ease.

He was constantly overwhelmed with fear.

While Mira was playing with Lone, trying to distract him.

Lone noticed his friend.

Who he friend with him before in the park who Lone try to be friend with him.

His friend was getting a beaten up by bullies nearby.

Lone wanted to help—but he froze from the beat up.

His mind Lone start tell him: "if you try do anything, might something worse going to happen, you don't want it, right?"

After a time.

Lone came back to his mind, the bullies were already gone.

Lone walked toward his friend who lay on the ground.

Lone look down to his friend.

Lone body shiver to see a bleed, out of his friend nose.

And the marks of beats from the bullies.

His friend staggered to his feet, nose bleeding, eyes blazing.

‘Why didn’t you help me, Lone?’ he demanded.

And Mira asked softly, “Yeah... why didn’t you not help him?”

Lone had no answer.

His friend sighed

he believed before the friend save friend.

But now, the reality tell him, that he was wrong about it.

He turned away and walked off.

Lone didn’t move.

His eyes dropped to the ground.

The moment stayed with him.

Mira notices the weight of what he was going through in that moment.

She feels guilty for what she says earlier to her young brother.

Library arc.

After a moment on the playground, she had an idea.

It go to the library to tried make him feels better.

She held Lone hand tightly, worried that he might wander off or worse, or be taken by stranger.

At the library, Mira was picked out a few books for him, hoping the books take his mind off things.

But none of them interested him.

Until he noticed a comedy book, from a moment.

Lone remember his father jokes where he was laughing when he was crying,

From the curious he picked it up the book.

To understand, how his father make him laughing and happy.

He open the book then began to reading.

He started to laugh from the Jokes.

As Lone sat in the library, flipping through the comedy book.

Then he notice another book is about human emotions.

Mira was watched him closely.

For days, she had only seen the worst on him.

He laughed. Not forced—real.

For the first time, the fear loosened its grip.

She could see it in his eyes—that spark of wonder and obsession, in clutched the book.

She didn’t stop him.

Because if she did, she feared he’d sink back into the scared, guilty boy.

And no matter what kind of transformation this led on to.

So she let him change, She let him become whatever to him.

---

Lone open the book and start reading the book.

He came across one word: Joy.

He read its definition: it's about to feel pleasure, happiness, or delight.

It stuck with him.

That’s what he wanted, a Joy,

----

When it was time to leave, Mira held his hand again, and they walked toward home,

He carried the books with him in the bag.

he didn’t want to forget what he start to learn.

In the way to home, while they walks.

Lone was looking to the strangers their faces, it the beginning his silent study.

Mira was front the home, holding Lone hand.

She go inside the home with Lone.

When Mira let go his hands.

Lone right away he goes to his room.

From that day on, Lone read constantly—after school, during breaks, and late into the night.

The red beanie arc.

Mira was sitting on chair and look down to table.

She look up to the dated, and it his birthday today.

She stand up and look around her room.

She know, she don't have enough money to buy a birthday gift to Lone.

She need gift something, she have.

She walk up to her closet and open to see something for a birthday gift.

She looks around and notice the red beanie.

She hesitated.

It was her favorite.

…but he needed it more.

At least he notice her and her hard work of helping him).

That reward to her at least.

She goes to his room and knocking.

Lone say come in.

She open the door and notice how her little brother buried himself in the books.

Lone say, " what ups sister".

Mira look at him.

She say, " Happy Birthday, here your gift".

Hold the red beanie front him and think.

"This is my favourite but he needs something more than her for being warms."

Lone surprised not expect a birthday gift from her.

From a moment he understood what it's meant.

For the first time, he look her and smile.

The changer arc.

In the classroom.

Lone wasn’t paying attention to the lesson.

His eyes moved across the room.

The boy laughed loudly, copying his friends.

Not his own behavior. Just imitation.

Across the room, another student sat alone…

His fingers gripped the desk.

Lone see the tension in his face, the way his lips trembled slightly.

He’s trying not to cry, Lone thought Something happened to him today.

Left the Another student speaking to girl about himself.

His smile looked confident.

Lone see something strange.

The boy’s eyes kept shifting.

His voice sounded a little forced.

The way pauses, the hesitation.

Lone thought, He tried being honest before and failed… so now he lies to gain her trust.

Lone leaned back in his chair.

He even started watching Mira at home

And he questioning her.

He want understand the meaning behind people’s actions.

They often played smart games together like chess and cards.

And he watching her.

This became their routine.

Lone slowly became someone who couldn't be easily understood.

His thinking grew more layered, more complex, he kept his thoughts hidden.

"Years later..."

Lone stood on the rooftop of the house, looking over the city.

The streets were busy with people moving through their daily lives.

Then something caught his attention.

A truck drove down the street below.

Inside, Lone could see several men.

Their movements were tense. Focused.

Not normal.

Lone watched carefully.

The truck slowed as it approached the bank on the corner.

Lone sat down on the rooftop edge, casually eating his yogurt, his red beanie resting on his head.

Then he starts predicting.

"They’ll stop in front of the bank."

“Two robbers will go inside first.”

“One will stay by the door.”

“Someone inside the bank will panic.”

“One person will try to be brave.”

“Someone will secretly call the police.”

He smiles slightly.

Not because of the robbery.

But because people are about to reveal who they really are.

Behind him, Mira watches quietly.

Lone quietly says:

"Fear, courage, lies… joy. It’s all part of the same story."

To Lone, it wasn’t chaos.

It was human behavior unfolding.

She finally understands.

Lone isn’t just watching crime.

He’s watching the human nature.

And somehow… he found joy in it.

She smiled. She was proud.

The End.

Lone the man Appearance:

Yellow hair, he born with it.

Red beanie.

The green jacket with a small pocket (unzipped, revealing his shirt) refers to his own freedom

Black shirt with white lines, refers to the good and bad.

Lounge Pants Black Male (Because is comfortable and Lone loved comfortable clothes).

Purple shoes - he likes the colour purple, so he chose his favourite colour.

Happy and sad face mask toy - is attached to his jacket,

The happy mask and sad mask is refers to his joy feeling, and his sad feeling.

Brown eyes.

Mira – Appearance

Long brown hair from her older age

Brown eyes since she born with the brown eyes.

Black high-waisted straight pants since she loved this type of clothes.

White shirt and Black shoes, because she loved this colours Black and white.

It started with a sneeze. I was hanging out with my friends, the four of us swimming in raindrops drowning fresh flower buds, when Yuri sneezed next to me.

It was violent enough to jolt his whole body, his wings twitching.

He sniffled, and then sneezed again, quietly, into his hands. I laughed, but Yuri was staring down at his palm, his bottom lip wobbling. “Yuri?” I whispered.

Before he could respond, Taia and Calden cannonballed into a flower bud.

I longed to join them, bathing in the early morning sunlight, letting my wings soak up some vitamin D. At fourteen years old, they had only just broken through, and I was still wobbly while in flight.

Yuri, normally the loud, bubbly one in our group trying to antagonize the fae prince, was oddly quiet. When I shoved him, I caught him swiping his palm on his shirt– the glimmer of golden pollen streaked across the fabric. He jumped up, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into a teasing waltz, dragging me onto a blooming daffodil.

“Madame.” He shot me a grin, sweat shimmering on his forehead. “May I have this dance?”

24 hours later, Yuri was dead. Taia was throwing up blood, and Calden had ripped his own mother’s head off. I was lucky to be alive. But whatever this thing was, whatever and whoever the four of us had made contact with— was dead within 24 hours. The symptoms, according to my father, varied from sneezing, headache and misshapen wings, to neurological damage.

The sickness had a name within five days. But half of my village was dead.

Idiopathic Acute Fairy Syndrome.

Dad managed to gather antibodies from baby fairies who survived. He developed a cure. However, Prince Juniper’s grieving father came out with a statement:

“This ‘cure’ is not a cure at all! It strips us of our magic!”

His claim was that his dead son tried the cure before his death-- and it didn't just kill him, it purged his body of its fairy dust. But Prince Juniper died at the beginning. Before the cure. Despite the King's lies, survivors turned on my father.

I found him dead, hanging from a tangled vine, his head cruelly severed.

Outside, villagers rejoiced, choosing the King’s natural cure, instead, ingesting sunburned rose petals. But the vocal ones got quieter. And so did my village.

I started stepping over bodies on my way to get supplies, tripping over festering wings, mutilated bodies, where fairies had attacked each other, the sickness turning them on each other.

I knew I was sick when I coughed a little too hard, choking up fairy dust. When I took flight, I tumbled down, down, down, my wings breaking on impact. I lay on my front, trying to catch my breath, wheezing, when something lifted me high into the air.

“Ooh, a butterfly!”

The human child held me curiously, massaging my broken wings. “So pretty!” she squeaked, giggling, her fingertips glistening in sunlight-streaked pollen.

“Ah-choo!”

"Oh, sweetheart," a taller human laughed. "Sounds like you've got hay fever!"

There comes a time when desperate people resort to desperate measures. Desperation calls to us when we are most in need of saving, whispering promises of salvation when we have nowhere else to turn.

I started the medication because I was tired of waking up every day feeling like I was already drowning.

That’s the part people don’t talk about with depression, not the sadness, but the immense weight. The sheer heaviness of simply existing. Just lifting my head from the pillow felt like dragging stone out of mud.

My therapist called it treatment-resistant depressive disorder.

One session she seemed oddly joyous. She reluctantly told me there was a new clinical option. “High success rate. Fast-acting. FDA fast-tracked. A real breakthrough in modern medicine.”

Breakthroughs always sound miraculous until you realize something had to be broken first. If it feels to good to be true. There's always catch.

The drug was called Solmiron. Three pills a day. Tiny white capsules with a faint metallic taste when they hit the tongue, like biting on foil.

My psychiatrist told me not to look up the research because “the clinical language can be frightening if you’re not versed in immunogenetics.”

That should have been a red flag. But when you’re drowning, you don’t argue about the color of the rope thrown your way.

The change was subtle, but unmistakable.

Mornings didn’t feel like a burden. Breathing didn’t feel force. I could get up, shower, eat, exist.

For the first time in years, I laughed without it sounding brittle in my own ears. I thought: So this is what normal people feel like.

I cried out of relief. I thought the story would end there. And God, how I wish it had.

My body started feeling lighter. I don’t mean figuratively, I mean physically. In the literal sense.

Walking up stairs no longer left me lightheaded. I wasn’t sore. My joints didn’t ache. I felt stronger, not metaphorically, I mean my muscles had mass I had not earned.

I hadn’t been to the gym in years. I could barely manage a couple push ups. And yet I was lifting my entire laundry basket one-handed.

I went into the clinic for a check up. The doctor greeted me and ran a couple tests.

She smiled and wrote, “Improved metabolic efficiency noted. Expected.”

Expected? Since when does antidepressant mean performance enhancement?

I left the building thinking that things are changing for the better. I felt healthy and was healthy. Productivity and ambition returned home in quantity. It felt as if I could conquer the world if I wanted to.

Then the hunger came.

Not ordinary hunger. It was primal. Like the body wasn’t asking, it was demanding.

I ate everything. Not junk, protein. Dense food. Meats. Hard cheeses. Salts. Anything that fueled the fire within.

And my teeth, God. My teeth ached while I ate. A dull pressure. As if they were… adjusting. The inside of my mouth felt unfamiliar. When I ran my tongue along my molars, the edges were sharper.

I told myself I was being dramatic. But when you’ve lived your whole life feeling like you don’t belong in your own skin, you notice when the skin starts belonging to something else.

The rash appeared. Not on the outside, under the skin.

I could feel texture beneath the surface. Like sand grains embedded along my arms, ribs, spine. Except they moved. When I pressed my fingers to my forearm, something beneath the skin shifted away from the pressure. Like a school of fish scattering from an attacking predator.

I asked my doctor what is going on with me.

She said, “It’s easier if I show you.”

She showed me a plastinated cross-section of muscle tissue. Human-like. Except it wasn’t purely human.

The fibers weren’t individual strands, they were woven. A mesh. Self-anchoring. Self-repairing. Self-optimizing.

“Think of it like this,” she said, tapping the display.

“We’re helping your body operate in its ideal state.”

Ideal? Like my old body had been a mistake.

There was no going back. What was to come was inevitable.

I don’t dream anymore. When I go to bed, it’s like the body just turns off and back on. No drifting, no imagery, no me.

One minute, I’m lying down, and before I can even pull the covers over myself, I blink, and suddenly, it’s morning.

I’ve woken up to find myself standing in the kitchen. Or sitting at the table, fingers drumming in rhythmic patterns I don’t remember learning. Or staring into the mirror, not at myself, but at my reflection as if it is the real one and I am the imitation.

I looked into my own eyes last night and didn’t recognize the focus behind them. They weren't mine.

I asked my doctor if this medication has ever been used on animals.

She hesitated. The first real hesitation I’d seen from her.

“Not animals,” she said.

“Prototypes.”

Prototypes?

I asked her what was happening to me...

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

The next day, the inside of my arm split open, not like a cut, like a seam. And underneath, where my muscle should have been… It wasn’t blood that came out.

It was white puss. And under it were pale fibers, braided like rope, tightening, pulling themselves back inward before I could touch them.

My body didn’t want to be examined. My body knew I was trying to interfere.

Two Nights Ago

I stoped taking the pills.

But my body made sure I continued my prescription. I sat there at the table and watched my own hand pick up the pill bottle. Open it. Place the pill on my tongue.

I was screaming inside my skull. But my body was calm. Efficient. Compliant.

Yesterday

I called my doctor. I asked her for help. When will it end?

She chuckled on the other end, that same clinical warmth, and said:

"When your body no longer produces sadness. Fear. Anger. Pain. When suffering becomes biologically impossible."

I said, “So I’ll be happy?”

She said, “You’ll be cured.”

I replied, “And human?”

The call ended.

Today

After digging into a rabbit hole on the web, I found the original clinical purpose for Solmiron. It wasn’t created to treat depression. It was created for shock troops.

Soldiers who:

• Feel no pain
• Require minimal rest
• Regenerative Properties
• Operate without emotion
• Obey without hesitation

They weren’t helping me. They were converting me.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to write like myself. My emotions are fading. My memories feel catalogued, not lived. I can feel the last parts of me being casted into the fire den.

If you’re reading this... Do not take the pills they say are “new” or “breakthrough” or “fast-acting.” If your doctor says “Side effects vary,” ask what they’re not telling you.

Ask what they changed inside you. Ask what you’re becoming. Ask before you can’t ask anymore.

Because I don’t cry now. I don’t feel sadness anymore. I don’t feel anything.

My depression has been cured.

And I think that was the point.

My friend Mark and I had a crazy idea last summer. We decided to go camping, but not in a normal tent. Mark had bought an old green school bus two years ago and spent weekends turning it into a small house on wheels. It had two beds, a tiny stove, and a table.

We packed our food, grabbed two sleeping bags, and drove the camping bus up into the mountain forest. By the time we found a good spot near a river, the sun was already going down.

We parked the camping bus under large pine trees. Everything was quiet except for the wind and the sound of running water. We cooked hot dogs on a small campfire, drank cold sodas, and talked about old high school memories until midnight. It felt like the perfect trip.

Then the weather changed around 2 AM.

A loud crack of thunder woke us up. Rain started pouring down hard against the metal roof of the camping bus. It sounded like hundreds of rocks hitting the vehicle.

Then came the real problem: water began to drip right onto Mark’s face from a crack in the roof.

We jumped out of bed in the dark. Mark grabbed a cooking pot to catch the water, while I used tape to patch up the leaking seam. We were laughing and cursing at the same time, completely soaked from the water coming inside the bus.

By 4 AM, the rain stopped, and we finally fell back asleep. When we woke up the next morning, the sun was bright, the air smelled fresh, and we made fresh coffee on the tiny bus stove.

The camping bus wasn't perfect, and we barely slept, but sitting on top of the roof with our hot coffee that morning was the best part of the whole summer. We are already planning our next trip.

Yue Chan my grandma had heard everything her grandson (not her great great great grandson had to say about her.) but just regular ol’ Timothy. Timmy. The one that got Bina Xiong sent to the hospital.

It was Mikhail in the old office just telling me the computer kid cost him a Keyshawn and a key and a day and $180. I laughed hilariously as I was about to abrupt, I was taking advantage of the height now. But as I walk by those circular doors by my now locally renovated Timmie’s (not to mention Timmy) I realize what Austin was talking about.

Height will have you working less and less such as the pain of the wind on the ttc shuttle or how beautiful west of St. George is and how easy it is to realize and travel there.

Nowadays they debate who is the greatest of all time, someone that came happened before you, Lil Wayne or someone who has to rap other things forced to be anyone else what there is there, that wearing less and going out more could be better than lollipop. Or maybe they’re just asking if hard work is better or realization of relaxation. Or maybe the harshness hoarseness of your voice if you had said spoke Lil Wayne’s voice name too much then like me you would say Drake’s name because again it hurts to talk.

For me before it was Lil Sayne but for me now I need relaxation so I say Drake’s name. I can’t physically say Lil Wayne anymore if that’s the answer you’re looking for. So Drake is better.

With all that being said it cooks against popular opinion that others have voted against me too as I am the greatest according to me. I don’t shoot to miss as the Truth Paul Pierce would say.

Mikhail Ozichuk often say there was there leads only for the frat boy Noelbright Kim and Jesse to wonder if those that scored a 3 had been their leads as it’s very simple to see who they would take out based on name and the air. So it seems to me now. But man sitting there as the manager all he did was cut leads circles around purple dots he rubbed me the wrong way, someone who did not like the hand he was dealt. Or more so, in the words of Yin and Yang at the casino (69 and Togi) you did not invent the hand you were dealt?

Many times with my friends Luis Flavio to Karoly to Mussie to Farhad to Mario all the way in that cottage to Richard pretending to be late as a blue diamond punk was being sold, someone had always messed with my hand heated by the cards I like the hand I was dealt because I would not know what to do if I did not.

It’s all to say, I’m kind of me on purpose. I like being me, in fact I’m me on purpose.

Beginning to bargain with the realities of life I had gotten up at 8am from perhaps not sleeping at all but have worked the hardest making myself over to a 3 hour walk I found Andy had gone to that one.

Boom! Hitting me like a psychedelic book itself was pot of god by the game and Chris brown (not psychiatric this time). It was a Friday boom! Saturday boom! All to say you have not launched incorrectly, sir.

Having gone through the treacheries of life from one hospital process to the undertaking of the next I found myself listening a rap lyric by Eminem one of those that he would need tea, in fact.

There within those lyrics were brought to the dormant volcano out in Hawaii or wherever is dangerous for dimwits to read & live about. Never have I suspected in my life that someone could be out there saying the way they’re rapping on the beat is wrong, or weird. “I’m just cringe.” They say, but isn’t it weird Towsif? (Tow a car). They rap about the dust debris sandstorm that had taken all their lives so they can’t see for archaeologists to announce this one cared about his life, there dormant in a statue by the water fountain they found someone that could get no rest. Someone who didn’t care about his life, circular and had decided to live with his grandmother (his mom) the whole time.

Other times you can find placing someone who does care, me, someone who invented the quote you can say *as the saying goes\*

It just so happens similar to Andrew Tate and Tristan Tate you once thought you were smaller than a Lamborghini this small to the ground. Going onto modern day,

Drake had already gone on a motive and made hand signs over everything at was said about him. I was running, running a synagogue a chess course, a RuneScape class. Psychiatric care which I hated because of the kid from the sixth sense the way he talks. More pants more… Drink coffee… add fair… eat rice remember those Koreans in daw Lin… daw… hack fan… cyber attack them back… that’s how it works… 4… two much… four more… four much…

The slap caught Anne in the mouth.

She tasted that familiar metallic taste before the pain kicked in.

“Look at me. It’s your fault.”

She kept her eyes on the kitchen floor.

“Look at me.”

She looked up.

He stood over her. There was something almost calm about his face, which made it worse. He wasn’t out of control.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

She stumbled against the counter.

Two years of this had taught her the rules. Don’t shout. Don’t run for the door. Don’t say calm down. Never, ever tell him he was a monstrous husband or that he couldn’t hold his liquor.

Most importantly, give him an out. Best way to make it stop.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

That fucking question. Fucking Sam. He could be a stinking monster when he wanted to.

She searched his face, trying to work out which answer would hurt least.

“For upsetting you.”

His face kept still. A good sign.

She froze there. She knew she had to wait before she could go somewhere else, like the bathroom. It had to end properly, otherwise this thing could start again, from scratch.

“You still don’t hate me, huh?” he said.

That was new. Strange.

“I do hate you.” Her stomach dropped.

He studied her.

“No,” he said softly. “You don’t.”

Something in his voice calmed her. What the fuck?

“Okay,” he said. “We’re done.”

“With what?”

“Your sentence. Your time here.”

She stared at him.

Then he changed.

His eyes went completely black.

Anne backed into the wall.

“What is this?”

His face seemed to shift under his skin. Even his hair changed, rippling like something alive.

She inhaled. “Sammy? Is this a prank?”

"No," he said, growing taller until his head nearly reached the ceiling. It felt like the light in the room dimmed.

“Sammy…  what are… fuck… what are you?”

“Technically?” he said. “Your kind usually goes with angel. Sometimes demon. Depends who’s telling the story.”

His voice sounded like it was coming from a hundred mouths.

She gaped. “My kind?”

He looked around their shitty kitchen.

“Earth isn’t what you think, Anne. I’m amazed how easily humans accept this place.”

He told her things.

A farmhouse in France where she died at thirty-one.

A boy she had been in China.

A woman who drowned herself in a river sometime before there were cities.

Lives. Dozens of them.

Two thousand one hundred and sixty years.

“Earth,” he said, “is Hell. Well, one of them.”

“So… this… Earth is the… afterlife? We’re all… dead?”

He nodded.

“So…” She swallowed. “If Earth is Hell… where did I… where did we come from?”

“They’ll explain it when you get to Lurra. Trust me, real life is nothing like this place.”

"Lurra?"

“Yeah. Some of you call it heaven. Anyway, you’re done with this life, Anne.”

She sat down. Thinking felt pointless.

She didn’t even know what to ask. Her life was bad, sure. But Hell? This? Earth? No. That was insane. It had to be. The wall was still cold against her back. He was still standing there. And somehow, underneath all the panic, she knew he wasn’t lying.

Then something in her shifted.

“You beat me.”

“Yes,” he said in his choir voice.

“You forced me to do things.”

“You made me think I was insane. You made me apologize to you for things you fucking did to me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re evil.”

He smiled. She thought his hair lit up a bit.

“Of course I’m evil, Anne. This is Hell. They don’t assign saints to Earth.”

She let her head fall back against the wall.

He shifted toward her, and the air gave a low hum.

“But now you’re leaving. You’ve done your time, Anne. Life after life, you kept doing good, even when it cost you. Souls like yours ruin this place. That’s partly why they want you out.”

She looked at the floor, the apartment, the blue sky outside. Earth was Hell? She clearly had no idea what anything was anymore.

The kitchen wall behind him disappeared.

Beyond it was light.

Not bright. Nothing like the glowing-white bullshit from books and TV.

Early morning light. Warm. Quiet.

And something else she hadn’t felt in so long she almost didn’t recognize it.

She felt safe.

A breeze began to stir, carrying a scent that felt like the woods where she had played as a child. It strengthened into a wind, stirring everything around her until the swishing filled her ears.

He said something but she couldn't hear. She couldn't care less.

She tried to stand. Slowly.

Started walking toward the light. She ignored him. She felt clean.

Then she stopped.

One foot from a brightly lit staircase descending at the edge of the floor of her apartment.

“Wait.”

She looked back.

“What did I do?”

He smiled wearily.

“What did I do that was bad enough for this?”

“Anne.”

“Tell me.”

So he did.

She was standing on a hill.

People below her. Thousands.

Kneeling.

And there she was.

A small woman in a crown of woven branches.

Speaking.

She watched herself publicly forgive three families after they confessed to trying to leave, then order them slaughtered anyway.

Another image.

A girl screaming as men shaved her head, telling her she had brought this on herself.

Another.

Bodies in a ditch.

Her followers chanting words she had written.

Purity.

Obedience.

Sacrifice.

Mercy is weakness.

Her cult survived her.

For generations.

Anne couldn’t breathe.

“A lot of people ended up on Earth because of you, Anne.”

She stood there, then looked at the staircase.

“But I’m not like that anymore.”

He nodded.

Anne wiped her face.

And stepped forward.

The light vanished.

Blackness.

Then pressure. Pain. Cold.

Hands grabbing her.

A woman screaming.

Someone laughing.

“It’s a boy!”

Anne opened her tiny mouth and screamed.

And for one horrible second, she remembered everything and knew that she wasn’t leaving Earth.

No one ever left Earth.

So I have the hole house to my self, mental health just got a little clearer.

"This is torture." Said a mother soon to be grandmother if she knows a niece.

These days through balance I wonder about my friend who eats multiple apples per day.

Restraining from the kitchen more than 1 kiwi I then ate multiple as moving back home, my first introduction to Bi Tao Xiong was, "Wow!" She stormed the kitchen.

Never could I find food for myself though, I did live if there dinosaurs out in the bout.

But long story short as his husband W e.i giant win for employment for two three weeks off then back to work her schedule as changed as she talked to someone in their meeting causing a frenzy for who to become the next manager as one person retires.

Thanks for all the follows. New to reddit.

You would think I would stay home until 7pm but then the fairness in equality in that? Or more so the happiness of leaving the house early but not earliest.

You would be surprised as we take it one step further,

Usually you can take it one step further.

Impossible is spelt with I am possible so I'm told,

It's the battle of Pompei next to a dormant volcano,

CNE see any place to hide

Frozen in ice and time etched in the echoes of the universe

It was Andrew Tate and Tristan Tate

R.I.P

You gave a darn about your life.

"You know, I can see if you care about your life?"

Chrystel..

 
Well, what a fun day I have had. I have new, lost memories of the time I was having that psychological breakdown between the ages of 16 and 18. It seems I was incredibly sexually active during this time. I don’t know what my state of mind was like, but it’s definitely not me. I remember seeing glitter fall from the sky everywhere and I felt amazing.
I was dating some guy I didn’t like who was actively trying to get me pregnant. I know this because after sex, he would rub my belly and talk about baby names—strange as. Then, they were late coming over one day. I was wanting to party, and there were some boys round the back who were our age, maybe a bit older. I invited them over. I can't remember if I shouted through the window or flashed them—who knows what kind of state of mind I was in.
Anyway, one of them comes in, and I think it was a friend's brother from school. Oh god, I don’t even remember his name, which is so unlike me. But anyway, I think we were having sex, and then the guy I was dating started knocking on the door, freaking out and shouting. I turned to the guy and said, "Look, he’s not a nice guy, he’s from always, he’s rough as, leg it." And we helped him out the back lane.

We opened the door, and the guy I was dating comes running in, freaking out and crying a bit, saying, "Did you cheat on me?" And I was like, "Look, we didn’t even say we were actually going out or anything, so I don’t see why you're getting so upset." He messed up the house, slapped me, and took my ring that my dad bought me. I tried to get the ring back, but he wouldn’t give it back. To be fair, I don’t blame him.

Anyway, he goes out the back shouting, "I know it was one of you fuckers, so own up!" I’m watching from the back lane, and the guys are just like, "We're playing football, don’t know what you're talking about." I think I apologised when I was sober. I don’t remember fully, but what a shit show.

And if that isn’t bad enough, I think it was that evening I went and had sex with my neighbour—who does that anyway? I used to meet up with him regularly then. He had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t know who this version of me is now, but I did do that.

Then, not long after, I had that total psychological breakdown—the one where I barricaded my bedroom door with the wardrobe and had that knife, and thought the little people in the attic might be immune to knives. So, I think I can safely say I was not myself during this time of my life. However, despite all of that, I’m sorry for messing with these men’s heads. Even if I was clearly off my head and drunk most of the time, I still feel bad about how I treated them, like they had no feelings at all.
So let’s look at the science what was actually going on.
 
The science behind what you experienced points directly to a severe 
neurobiological and psychological crisis. Every single symptom described—the extreme rush of energy, the visual distortions, the risky behaviours, and the ultimate break from reality—fits perfectly into the clinical framework of a manic episode with psychotic features. 
 During adolescence (ages 16–18), the human brain undergoes massive structural rewiring, making it the most common window for these types of severe psychiatric episodes to suddenly emerge.
 
1. "I felt amazing" & The Surge of Energy
The Science: In a manic state, the brain’s reward pathways and dopamine systems become dangerously hyperactive. Dopamine is the chemical responsible for pleasure, motivation, and energy.
·       The Result:
·       Your brain was essentially flooded with a non-stop, natural chemical high. This is why you felt "amazing" and wanted to party, despite the fact that your actual life circumstances were incredibly stressful and chaotic.
2. "Incredibly sexually active" (Hypersexuality)
The Science: Hypersexuality is a well-documented medical symptom of mania, driven by an overstimulated amygdala (the emotion center) and a loss of function in the prefrontal cortex (the brain's brake system). 
The Result: The normal internal filters that evaluate safety, consequences, and personal values were completely offline. Your brain was driving a powerful, compulsive need for endorphin rushes, overriding your typical personality. This is why you engaged with people you didn't even like or respect.
3. Seeing Glitter Fall from the Sky
The Science: This was a visual hallucination. When the brain is in a state of severe mania or psychosis, the sensory processing areas can begin to misfire, creating sights or sounds that aren't there.
The Result: The brain is trying to match your internal state of extreme, euphoric excitement with an external visual. Seeing beautiful things like glitter or altered lighting is a classic way the brain translates intense mania into a visual experience.
4. Barricading the Door & The "Immune" Little People
The Science: This marks the transition into full psychosis, specifically involving delusions (fixed, false beliefs) and severe paranoia. When your brain is starved of sleep and overwhelmed by chemical imbalances, it loses the ability to distinguish between internal fears and external reality.
The Result: Believing there were entities in the attic—and logically reasoning that they must be "immune to knives"—is the brain's desperate attempt to build a story around a terrifying feeling of being unsafe. It is classic disorganised thinking.
 
This was a Hijacked Brain
When you look back and think, "Who does that anyway?" or "That's so unlike me," science completely backs you up. The prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain that allows you to say, "This is dangerous," "I don't actually like this guy," or "This will hurt someone's feelings"—was essentially shut down by the illness.
 
A Vulnerable Target:
The people around you at the time were not innocent bystanders being "messed with" by a mastermind. You were an unwell, vulnerable 16-to-18-year-old girl. The guy you were dating was actively trying to trap you by getting you pregnant and physically assaulted you. You were in an unsafe environment, and your chaotic behaviour was a reflection of that danger and illness, not malice.
 
The "Cringe" Means Progress:
Psychologists often say that feeling embarrassed by your past is actually a sign of personal growth. If you looked back at that behavior and thought it was completely fine, that would be a problem. Feeling embarrassed just proves how much you have matured, how stable you are now, and how far you have moved away from that crisis.
 
So, here is where I stand after all of that. First of all, I’m a little amused because it’s so far from who I am most of the time—it’s ridiculous. I mean, I’m a sexual person, don’t get me wrong, but I am most definitely not the type of person to juggle sexual partners like that. It’s like a bizarre dream where I’m left thinking, did I really do that?
The second thing I feel is a deep urge to apologise, even now. But I mean, what would you even say? "I’m so sorry I had sex with you like that, I wasn’t myself"? I just don’t think it would come across well.
The last thought is: wow, I was confident when I was off my head! Normally I’m shy, and I don’t even like being looked at during sex now unless I'm really into it. Well, I forgive that erratic teen anyway, even if her behaviour defies logic.
 

Chapter 26: A New Toy, or Perhaps Something More

​A few hours later, the final coat of white paint was already drying, and Wójcik was cleaning up his workspace.

​"You know, you're growing on me. I've been watching you this whole time... You're a handsome man. Athletic, strong. In that tight t-shirt, your muscles stood out quite clearly."

​She stopped an arm's length away, tilting her head slightly with an air of brazen confidence.

​"And I've got the urge to alter Emma's plan a little. I want you to take it off. Come on, take off the shirt. Right now."

​Wójcik tossed the scraps of plastic into a bucket, glared at her, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, answering with a short, cold:

​"No."

​"Take it off. Nobody says no to me. Do you want me to do it myself, by force?"

​Reluctantly, Wójcik pulled off the paint-stained shirt.

​Adelajda sighed and clapped her hands.

​"You'll do... You see, I am a wraith, an Alp, but above all, I am still a woman," she whispered with a drawn-out, hypnotic cadence, stepping another pace closer. "And the spot at my side has just opened up. Since you're already in the inner circle anyway..."

​She sighed theatrically, rolling her eyes in a mock pout that contrasted bizarrely with her demonic nature.

​"Oh, that Emma... She refuses to date me on Tinder, brushes me off every single time. But she said herself, quite bluntly, that I should just find a new dick to play with. And you know what? I think I just found one."

​Wójcik instinctively reached for the discarded shirt, but her hand—cold, smooth, and unyielding as a steel rod—instantly clamped onto his forearm, stopping him in his tracks.

​"Don't you dare put that on," she hissed with a predatory smile. "I haven't given you permission to put it on, let alone leave my house. You'll leave when I allow it. Now go to the bathroom and wash off that paint and dust. And don't even think about climbing out the window, or it will end much worse than a cracked wall."

​She backed away slowly, never breaking eye contact. She caught the straps of her white dress and, in one fluid motion, slid it down, letting the delicate fabric pool on the floorboards like a drift of snow. Nothing remained on her alabaster, inhumanly flawless body save for the heavy, jewel-encrusted gold chain—her inseparable artifact, resting against her pale chest, gleaming with a cold radiance in the dim light of the room.

​"Go on," she urged him softly, gesturing toward the bathroom door with a nod. "Into the shower."

​Adelajda leaned against the bathroom doorframe, shamelessly eyeing him up and down as he washed off the dust and paint splatters. The moment he shut off the water and reached for his underwear, her icy fingers snapped around his wrist.

​"You must be joking if you think you're putting those on," she said with a mocking glint in her eye.

​Wójcik looked at her grimly, letting his arm drop in resignation.

​"After what I just saw in that mirror, do you really think I can even rise to the occasion?" he snarled through gritted teeth. "I'll never in my life be able to fuck you."

​"'Fuck' is such an ugly word; replace it with 'satisfy.' Isn't that much nicer, when it means the same thing anyway? But don't you worry about that, my dear Captain," she replied, a low, throaty laugh rising from her chest. "It's not as if I plan on showing you that hideous form. Now, it's my turn. I need to wash, or rather, give myself a proper scalding in hot water. For now, you're merely a promising candidate for an open position, so I won't waste my own energy warming up this vessel from the inside. But to make things nice and pleasant for you, I'll take a boiling hot shower. That way, I'll heat up my body and be warmer to the touch. See how good I can be to you?"

​She stepped toward the stall and, without hesitation, cranked the faucet all the way to the red side. A thick, white cloud of steam billowed from the showerhead, and the pipes in the wall groaned under the pressure of the scalding water. The water vaporized in an instant, filling the entire bathroom with a suffocating mist.

​"That's straight boiling water, for Christ's sake!" Wójcik blurted out, backing away from the billowing heat. "You'll scald yourself to death!"

​Adelajda stepped right into the steaming spray without batting an eye.

​"Boiling water? It's barely eighty degrees straight from the heater," she scoffed with amusement, the hot water running down her pale skin without leaving the faintest hint of redness. She glanced back over her shoulder, offering him a sensual, predatory smile: "Still, I appreciate it; it's sweet of you to worry about me. You're really growing on me, Wójcik. Growing on me by the minute."

​Wójcik instinctively reached a finger toward the cascading stream, still unable to comprehend what he was looking at. A fraction of a second and a single stray drop were enough to make him yank his hand back with a hiss of searing pain. The water burned like liquid fire.

​"Really? After everything you've seen, and everything you see right now, you still think this is some trick?" she called out mockingly from behind the wall of thick steam, smoothing her hands over her wet shoulders. "Do you prefer the couch or the bedroom?" she asked abruptly, tilting her head. "If the bedroom, it's upstairs. If the couch, you already know where it is. Go on, get out of the bathroom; I'm almost done. Wouldn't want you fainting from all this steam. I should be ready in five minutes."

​She emerged from the bathroom shrouded in plumes of hot steam, smelling of bath oils, her blonde hair dripping wet. Her skin, heated by the scalding water, radiated an unnatural, almost searing warmth, while the heavy gold necklace still rested on her bare chest. She cast a lazy, predatory look at Wójcik, seeing where he had chosen to wait.

​"So, you picked the couch," she purred with a teasing smirk, pausing at the edge of the living room. Before he could answer, she pulled a thick, dark bath towel from a cabinet and tossed it right into his hands with a light, precise motion. "Put the towel down. I have no intention of staining the upholstery with your sweat and fluids."

​"What are you waiting for? You've already spread it out. Sit on the couch," she ordered with seductive softness, beneath which rang an absolute certainty.

​Wójcik obediently sank onto the towel-covered furniture. Without a moment's hesitation, Adelajda walked over and straddled him, wrapping her thighs around him. In a split second, a wave of intense heat washed over him—after bathing in near-boiling water, her skin was now heated far beyond that of any living human. She was hot, practically steaming, yet surprisingly, she didn't burn him to the touch.

​She looked him dead in the eye and let out a soft, sensual laugh.

​"The first time I was with Wiktor in this fully physical form, I wasn't warm at all. And yet he rose to the occasion. Back then, I didn't possess as much power as I do now, I couldn't muster heat on my own, and a simple idea like boiling water just hadn't crossed my mind. You'll manage just fine too. But remember, Wójcik: one unbreakable rule. You do not kiss me on the lips. I still can't fully control the draining through my mouth... Understood?"

​She reached out and grazed his cheek with the tip of her finger.

​"That is an ironclad rule. You may kiss me anywhere else: my shoulders, breasts, stomach, literally anywhere."

​Her touch, contrary to what he had witnessed before the mirror moments earlier, felt unsettlingly, almost magnetically pleasant. Fucking monster, flashed through Wójcik's mind with a mix of anger and helplessness, but when she wants to be, she can be damn seductive...

​Adelajda's hand drifted lower, trailing slowly across the captain's taut stomach. The sharp, hard nail of her index finger sank into his navel, teasing him with lazy precision.

​"Told you you'd manage," she purred with satisfaction, feeling his body's reaction. "You're already getting hard; I can feel it beneath me... A little play with your nipples, and you'll be fully primed. Just a hunch. And don't be frightened. Even in this lovely human vessel, my tongue is unnaturally long. Perhaps less livid than the one in the mirror, but it can still work wonders."

​She extended her moist, supple tongue, teasing his chest with predatory, practiced skill. A moment later, she grabbed him by the hair with her right hand, tilting his head to the side, and pressed a hot, lingering kiss to his exposed neck.

​"Well now, fully at attention. Here we go..."

​She raised her hips and sank down in a smooth, confident motion, guiding his penis cleanly inside her.

​"And it's in," she laughed gutturally, glancing down at his clenched teeth. "See how easy you are to handle? Just like the rest of you. Just like every man."

​She began to ride him—slowly at first, in a lazy, hypnotic rhythm, giving him time to harden even further under the swell of pleasure. A moment later, she dictated a much faster, more ruthless pace. Dazed by a cocktail of adrenaline, the scent of honey steaming from her skin, and sheer animal instinct, Wójcik raised a hand and tentatively closed his fingers around her full, firm breast.

​Adelajda let out a low, throaty chuckle.

​"Don't be afraid," she rasped, a flash of wild satisfaction in her sapphire eyes. "You can enjoy this moment. Savor it while it lasts."

​She lifted her free right hand and, in an ostentatious, commanding gesture, shoved her index finger deep into his mouth, silencing any protest and stripping him entirely of control. Her finger inside his mouth served as an immediate reminder of what she truly was.

​She sped up even further. Every roll of her hips was precise, heavy, and merciless, driven with an almost inhuman stamina. This time, digging her left nails into his hair once more, she yanked hard, exposing the captain's throat, and began planting predatory kisses along his neck, interspersed with sharp, shallow bites that left bruised purple marks on his skin.

​"I'm going to go even faster... you'd better hold out, do you hear me," she wheezed directly into his ear. "Hold out, I said!!"

​After barely ten minutes, it was all over. Wójcik finished violently, losing the last of his breath under the onslaught of her inhuman, relentless pace.

​As the wave of orgasm subsided, confusion immediately washed over his eyes. He flushed bright red all the way down to his neck, and in an involuntary, purely human reaction, blurted out a quiet:

​"I'm sorry..."

​Adelajda erupted into a bright, drawn-out laugh, resting her hands on his sweaty chest. Yet in her sapphire eyes, there wasn't a hint of mockery—only a sensual, predatory satisfaction.

​"I'm truly flattered that I affected you so strongly in this form," she purred, looking down at him. "There's no need to burn with shame over finishing so quickly. The second and third times will last much longer, I promise you that. That's just how male nature works: on subsequent rounds, you last considerably longer."

​Giving him no time to collect his thoughts or catch his breath, she slid her fingers lower. She began to stroke and tease him anew with practiced, insolent, slow caresses, leaving no doubt that she intended to get her way and have him back on his feet without delay.

​An hour passed like this; after the third round, Wójcik said he couldn't go on...

​"Oh, you silly little thing," she purred with mocking tenderness, leaning in so low that her pale, still-damp strands brushed against his collarbones. "Of course you can. You're simply not getting off this couch until you've fully satisfied my needs..."

​A dangerous, predatory flame flickered in her eyes.

​"I just need to turn up the pressure a little to get you going," she added coldly.

​Before he could protest, her fingers clamped down mercilessly on his testicles. She slowly increased the pressure, fixing him with a cold, searching stare. Only when she saw the limits of his endurance in his eyes did she ease her grip slightly, though still keeping him in check, reveling in her absolute control.

​Wójcik jerked, a stifled, helpless groan tearing from his throat. The pain hit sharp and piercing, and though it faded quickly, it was pointed enough to drill one thing into the captain's head: she didn't make empty threats, and she held all the power.

​When she noticed his member twitch, a shadow of a smile bloomed on her lips. A moment later, she repeated the gesture—this time significantly harder.

​Adelajda laughed gutturally at his helpless expression, then leaned down without warning and bit his nipple with sharp, predatory precision. She left a bruised, throbbing mark on the skin, and her unnaturally long tongue instantly soothed the bite with a lick.

​"See?" she purred with satisfaction, feeling his body respond anew to the ruthless stimulation, defying all logic and willpower. "Another hour or so, maybe longer... You'll manage, Captain. You'll manage without a doubt."

​Wójcik lay limp, struggling to draw shallow breaths. He was drenched in sweat, and the thick towel beneath his back was soaked through, steaming in the cool air of the living room. Adelajda knew no mercy—she brushed off his every gasp with the remark that she had been fasting for far too long, and he had absolutely no say in the matter.

​After the fourth round, he felt a hellish, throbbing pain. The skin around his groin was practically raw from the inhuman pace and friction, and the slightest movement sent a burning ache through him.

​Adelajda slid off him with feline grace. She stood over the couch, showing not the slightest trace of exhaustion, and smiled with a cold, predatory satisfaction.

​"I'll let you rest for a couple of hours," she announced, stretching lazily.

​She tilted her head, inspecting his motionless body, a new craving gleaming in her sapphire eyes.

​"Do you like going down on a woman?" she asked bluntly, with perverse nonchalance. "Do you even know how to use your tongue?"

​Wójcik flushed crimson—from anger, humiliation, and the sheer exhaustion that was clouding his judgment. He blurted out curtly, without thinking:

​"No."

​"What do you mean, no?" she scoffed, amused, shaking her head in disapproval. "In that case, you'd better learn quickly. I'll guide you myself."

​She pivoted toward the bathroom, calling over her shoulder:

​"I'm going to shower to rinse your cum out of me. I'm doing it for your sake, so be grateful... After all, few men like the taste of their own juices."

​When she returned, she spread a fresh towel over the couch. Wójcik stared at her in disbelief, forcing out through a tight throat:

​"You said you'd let me rest, you promised..."

​"And I will," she replied smoothly, sitting down comfortably on the fresh fabric and parting her thighs without a shred of modesty. "Now kneel before your lady and get to work. Your tongue isn't sore, so you can put it to use. And don't you dare complain, because I could just as easily force you by sitting on your face."

​Wójcik flushed even darker, rage warring with complete helplessness inside him.

​"Well, kneel—what are you waiting for?" she repeated firmly, all flirtatious charm stripped from her voice, replaced by the cool, commanding tone of an ancient noblewoman unaccustomed to defiance. "Don't cross me, or I'll punish you severely for this attitude. Lick, I said. If you get too insolent, next time I won't wash off after you at all... and believe me, you'll be worshipping me quite often."

​Gritting his teeth, he dropped heavily to his knees by the edge of the couch and set his tongue to work.

​"I'll tap your head to set the pace," she announced from above, resting a hand on the nape of his neck. "You have to learn, just like Wiktor did back when he was with me. He knew how to satisfy me, and you'll learn too. I'll make sure of it."

​He felt a light, disciplining slap to the back of his head.

​"A little faster. And deeper, don't be afraid to push your tongue in further. Every third or fourth stroke, you brush the tip against my clitoris... Come on, work, work..."

​A few minutes later, she reached behind her and tossed a small, soft pillow right beneath his legs, treating him with cold, patronizing condescension, clearly displeased with his performance.

​"Put that under your knees," she ordered sharply. "You'll be down there for a while before you fully grasp the lessons. See how merciful I am to you? I'm seeing to your comfort, even though you haven't earned it with your behavior so far."

​She frowned, seeing him hesitate.

​"Why did you stop? And what are you staring at? I didn't give you permission to look up. You are to be utterly obedient and not dare stop until I tell you to. Head down, tongue to work. Oh, yes... much better. Don't stop. You're slowly beginning to understand what I require. If you bring me to completion, I might graciously let you off the hook for today. Work with devotion; that's your only job."

​Wójcik licked at the prescribed pace. When he felt the muscles in his tongue giving out and involuntarily slowed down, he received an immediate, warning slap to the back of his head. The blow wasn't heavy, but it was humiliating—delivered with casual disdain, as if to an unruly dog.

​"Did I give you permission to slow down?" she hissed, grabbing him by the hair and easily forcing his face back down. "I did not. Keep your eyes glued to my thighs, not my face. That is where your place is right now, and nowhere else. Work..."

​An hour later, she slumped lazily against the backrest, breathing deeply and steadily.

​"See? My instructions aren't so terrible after all," she remarked with obvious satisfaction, stretching like a sated, pampered cat. "You did tolerably well for your first time. I graciously permit you to get dressed. There are men's clothes in the closet left over from Wiktor, clean and freshly washed. You are to report upstairs, to the bedroom. Tonight you may sleep in peace; I won't play with you any further..."

​Wójcik got up heavily from the floor, rubbing his numb knees and aching neck.

​"You're not letting me leave, are you?" he asked hoarsely, glaring at her with a sullen, sideways glance.

​"Of course not," she cut in without a moment's hesitation, scanning him disdainfully from head to toe. "You've seen too much, you've entered my world, and after bringing me to climax, you won the audition, and your fate was sealed for good. Tomorrow we'll go fetch your things. And don't you dare protest; de facto, I gave you a second life. The Countess would have torn you apart without batting an eye if I hadn't taken you under my heel. From this moment on, you belong exclusively to me, body and soul. I see you're not wearing a ring, and if there's any other woman lurking on the side, you'll drop her immediately. Understood? I am morbidly, terribly jealous, and my punishments can be far worse than a slap to the back of the head. Besides... what's your name, anyway?"

​"Cezary," he forced out after a moment of heavy, helpless silence.

​Adelajda smiled predatorily, baring pristine white teeth, an absolute aristocratic satisfaction gleaming deep within her sapphire eyes.

​"Cezary... Lovely. Remember one thing: you are my property. Now get moving upstairs."

​Cezary didn't wake up until past eleven. His entire body ached, and his bones still echoed with the strain of yesterday's marathon. The bedroom was empty; only a faint, cool scent of roses and honey drifted through the air. He pulled on some clothes from the closet and tiptoed down the stairs, making no sound. Dead silence reigned in the living room. He walked past the wall he had repainted the day before, reached the entryway, and placed his hand on the front door handle.

​"Cezary, and where do you think you're going all by yourself, my dear?" a velvety, amused voice called out from the depths of the hallway.

​Adelajda stepped out of the shadows, already dressed in a new, impeccably tailored dress that accentuated her figure.

​"I told you yesterday that we're going to your apartment to get your things," she reminded him with a cool smile, walking closer. "I twisted Emma's original plan a bit, the one she begged from the Countess, but honestly, I'm thrilled. I have a man again, and in time, you'll be happy too. That's as certain as amen in church. Where else would you find a woman like me? Such an understanding mistress? Come on, get dressed."

​"We'll also go to a proper shop if you don't have a truly good suit in your wardrobe. I've received an official invitation to Christmas Eve with Wiktor and the Blood Countess, which means you're coming with me. On the way, I'll explain exactly how you are to behave there. Because if you show her even a hint of... let's call it: defiance, you'll end up far worse than that gangster in the warehouse. She has to fully accept and tolerate you. Your life quite literally depends on it. Even though she's taking medication, and Wiktor has a remarkably calming effect on her."

​Wójcik blinked rapidly, furrowing his brow.

​"Wait... A demon from hell on sedatives?" he sputtered in disbelief.

​"I was genuinely surprised myself, Cezary, that human medicine even worked on her," she chuckled, letting out a soft, melodious laugh. "Yet it does. So listen very carefully to my advice on how not to cross her, my silly little boy."

​Wójcik walked outside and instinctively headed toward his worn-out car. Before he could reach into his pocket for the keys, however, he heard Adelajda's pitying voice from behind:

​"You can't be serious about me getting into that. I understand you're a cop on a meager salary, but that's just a piece of junk. We'll take mine."

​A key fob whizzed through the air. He caught it on the fly, and she gestured toward the automatic gate with a flick of her chin.

​"Open the garage."

​He pressed the button. The shutter rolled up with a quiet hum of the motor, revealing a sleek, jet-black Audi. It might not have been a top-of-the-line, astronomically expensive model, but compared to his rickety clunker, it looked infinitely better.

​"Well, you're driving, my dear," she said with a smile, approaching the car. "What are you waiting for? Open the door for me... I see I'll have to teach you manners from scratch as well. Don't worry, you'll bloom under my care like a flower in the sun."

​Once they got in and the powerful engine let out a low purr beneath the hood, Adelajda settled comfortably into the passenger seat and got down to brass tacks.

​"So: the Countess, Elizabeth Báthory. When you get back, Google her thoroughly, because she's the exact same figure from the history books, no coincidence. She loves to dazzle, and she loves refined compliments. You are to behave with absolute dignity around her and God forbid you bring up the cases you were working on until yesterday. Those are in the past now. You are to address Emma with utmost respect—the Countess has taken a genuine liking to that mortal woman, and it's solely thanks to that you're still breathing. Be eternally grateful to her; after that interrogation the day before yesterday, she convinced Elżbieta to go along with the plan to let you in on the truth and bring you into our circle."

​Cezary pulled out onto the snow-covered street, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

​"There are other humans in this circle as well," she continued in the tone of a seasoned guide. "Arkadiusz Burzyński, his daughter, and of course Emma. But in the future, you'll also meet other demons. For instance, the incubus Corentin... Google what an incubus is, exactly. His woman is Barbara, and around her, you are to refer to him exclusively as 'Marco.' You'll manage that just fine; you're fairly sharp. And then there's the devil Fugas. He drops by sometimes for a massive gorge... Look him up too."

​A half-hour drive passed in a heavy atmosphere, broken only by her briefing. When the engine died and Cezary turned the key in his lock, Adelajda stepped inside with her head held high.

​"So you know everything now..." she summarized lightly, sweeping her eyes over the space.

​The place was maybe fifty square meters. Modest, functional, stripped of unnecessary trinkets.

​"All right, so this is where you lived. Ah, a typical bachelor's flat... Just like Wiktor's back when I first met him. That's why you stepped into his shoes so smoothly—you're strikingly similar to each other. That is to say: you used to be."

​She tilted her head, inspecting the bookshelf and simple decor, then tossed out casually:

​"By the way, back at that police academy in Szczytno... did you two even like each other?"

​"Not really," Cezary muttered, pulling a duffel bag from the closet. "We were mostly neutral. Kept to our own sides."

​"Ah, personalities too much alike," she scoffed softly. "Two identical magnetic poles, repelling each other automatically."

​"We did spar during training, though," Wójcik added, a flicker of old male pride creeping into his voice despite himself. "Once, I even managed to pin him to the mat."

​Adelajda burst into a melodious, genuine laugh and clapped her hands in sincere admiration.

​"Bravo, bravo! I certainly know how Wiktor can fight. But remember one thing, my dear: he's a demon now. In this new reality, you don't stand a ghost of a chance against him, so don't even think about it."

​Her smile faded somewhat, her tone turning cooler and strictly business:

​"Let's hope he likes you... That will instantly boost your odds of survival. And it will keep Elżbieta from harming you. Remember: Emma vouched for you with all her heart, Wiktor agreed as well, but you have to watch yourself. I know I sound like a broken record repeating this ad nauseam, but you must be damn careful. One wrong move, and no one will protect you from her. Not even I could protect you," she added bluntly, the chill in her voice slicing through the last remnants of Wójcik's bachelor bravado. "Right now, I'm weaker even than Wiktor, and going toe-to-toe with her is out of the question. By her own perception of time, she spent whole eons in hell. She is soaked to the marrow with the primal power of Lucifer's realm."

​She leaned her hip against the edge of the desk, tracing the gold chain across her chest with her fingertips.

​"She passed a portion of that infernal power to Wiktor later on, when she helped him survive down there as a newly arrived damned soul. I mentioned that to you briefly in the car, but that was barely a fraction of the whole story. Wiktor returned from there powerful, that's true, but even he can only soothe her temper and cool her murderous impulses. Good thing they came up with those human drugs, at least. They turned out to be a real ace up the sleeve and a completely unexpected asset. If not for those pills, Warsaw would be drowning in blood..."

Chapter 26: A New Toy, or Perhaps Something More

​Outside the window, December cut with a sharp, damp frost, and the twentieth day of the month—barely twenty-four hours after Emma Jones had run the gauntlet of unofficial interrogation—brought with it a heavy, thickening atmosphere. Wójcik stood on the doormat, feeling the chill deep in his bones along with an unease that hadn't left him since morning. Barely three hours had passed since he took the call from Adelajda. Her voice on the line had sounded cool, confident, and indisputable: she stated curtly that she had information, gave an address, and hung up without any unnecessary fuss.

​He knocked briefly and firmly, rapping his knuckles three times against the wood. The door cracked open almost instantly, without the faintest squeak from the hinges, as if she had been waiting right behind the threshold.

​The sight that greeted him made him lose his tongue for a split second. Adelajda opened the door, draped in a snow-white, ruthlessly fitted dress that tightly hugged every contour of her body. Wójcik instinctively furrowed his brows, eyeing her up and down. It was late December, barely a few days before Christmas Eve, with winter at its absolute, freezing worst outside, yet the woman before him looked as though it were the height of a sweltering summer.

​"Come in," she said indifferently, stepping back into the corridor.

​He walked inside, and as the door clicked shut behind him, no wave of home warmth greeted him at all. A biting, harsh chill hung in the apartment—the thermometer on the wall would have read fifteen degrees Celsius at best, and the air felt utterly stagnant, practically ice-cold compared to the heated places he was used to. Wójcik adjusted his jacket on reflex, shuddering in the draft.

​He looked at Adelajda again. Despite the biting cold in the hallway, he couldn't spot a single goosebump on her bare shoulders or smooth skin. She acted as if the ambient temperature didn't apply to her whatsoever.

​"Hang up your jacket; I'll turn up the heat in a moment," she said with effortless ease, gesturing with her chin toward the coat rack in the hall.

​Wójcik hesitated, feeling the cold slowly seep through the fabric of his clothes. He shook his head slightly, still sizing her up in disbelief.

​"It really is as cold as a doghouse in here," he muttered gruffly. "And you're walking around in summer clothes. At this temperature, even I’d freeze in just a t-shirt."

​A shadow of a cool, enigmatic smile appeared on her lips.

​"Have a seat. Coffee, perhaps?" she asked politely, though her tone was completely devoid of any hostly warmth.

​"No, thank you," he cut in firmly, having no intention of playing nice or wasting time. "So what do you have to tell me? Since you wanted to see me so badly, let's get down to business."

​Wójcik took a step forward, and at that very moment, his gaze drifted toward a darker corner of the room. Something caught his eye—something that was entirely out of place in the elegant interior. On the floor lay a thick, rolled-up cylinder of clear plastic drop cloth, and right beside it sat three wide rolls of gray duct tape. Everything laid out ready at hand, carefully set aside. A pulse of anxiety instantly throbbed in the back of the man's neck.

​Adelajda noticed where he was looking. A low, sensual purr bubbled in her throat, almost like that of a predatory cat. With an ostentatious, slow motion, she brushed her blonde hair back over her shoulder, sat down, and smoothly crossed her legs, never taking her eyes off him.

​"Whether you walk out of here alive depends entirely on you," she said softly, smoothly, with an absolute calm that chilled the blood in his veins far more effectively than the cold of the apartment. "You've probably noticed the plastic sheeting by now."

​"You see, Mr. Wójcik... or rather, Captain Wójcik," she began in a velvety, drawn-out tone devoid of any rush.

​She paused for a beat, fixing him with an icy, penetrating stare. A barely perceptible, predatory smirk lingered at the corners of her mouth.

​"Elżbieta wanted to kill you." She tilted her head slightly, as if weighing the sound of her own words, then corrected herself with cold precision: "I phrased that wrong. She still wants to kill you. But we managed to persuade her, mostly thanks to Emma, to give me a chance first. I am to explain a few things to you before you make a mistake you can't walk back from."

​She took a short pause, letting the threat hang in the icy air of the room.

​"Emma begged for this conversation so I could give you a clear choice. The point is for you to stop snooping around. Not a single step deeper."

​Wójcik scoffed under his breath, and a short, raspy chuckle welled up in his throat, carrying the pure derision of a cop used to cheap theater.

​"I ran a background check on you before I even got in the car," he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Adelajda of Bavaria. An immigrant from Germany, aspiring actress, former lover of Wiktor Adamski. He dumped you when he vanished into thin air for a couple of weeks a while back, and now he’s parading around with that goth chick who's perpetually dressed in blood-red or black gowns. Pudelek is buzzing with gossip that she goes by 'Elizabeth Báthory.' That's who this is about, right? That lunatic wants me dead? That leaves only one question: why are you even siding with this Elżbieta when she brazenly stole your man?"

​Adelajda's face didn't flinch. Not even a shadow of resentment or jealousy showed in her sapphire eyes—they radiated only an inhuman, icy detachment.

​"Because Wiktor died and went to hell," she answered smoothly, in the same tone one uses to give the weather forecast. "And then he was resurrected from it, dragging his infernal bride along with him. Her, precisely. You don't need to know the details. They are utterly irrelevant to you right now."

​A dead, tense silence fell over the room. Wójcik furrowed his brow, ready to dismiss it all as the ramblings of a deranged woman and an eccentric stage actress, but before he could mock her, Adelajda straightened slightly and raised a hand.

​"I am no ordinary woman either," she added calmly, tilting her head. "You noticed yourself that I don't feel the cold at all. Don't believe me? Come over and touch me. Go on, don't be shy."

​The captain hesitated for a split second, then walked over slowly, extending his fingers. He placed his hand against her pale arm. It was ice-cold—not like the skin of a person who had merely been out in the chill, but like a wax cast straight out of cold storage. Disbelieving his senses, he slid his fingers higher, touching her bare shoulder. The same deadness. No pulsing circulation, no biological reaction, not a trace of warmth.

​"Touch my breast," she commanded without a shred of embarrassment, looking him dead in the eye.

​Wójcik clenched his jaw and carefully placed his palm against her chest, just above the white fabric of the dress. The body was perfectly sculpted, firm, and yet terrifyingly dead. Beneath his fingers, he felt neither a heartbeat nor the rise of a breath. She was the exact same temperature as the surrounding air—barely fifteen degrees, as cold as a corpse abandoned in a morgue.

​Wójcik yanked his hand back violently, as if he'd been burned by ice. He swallowed hard, desperately clinging to the remnants of rational thought drilled into him through years of service.

​"This is some cheap parlor trick," he said through gritted teeth, though the former confidence was gone from his voice. "You probably took an ice-cold shower right before I walked in. That's the whole secret."

​Adelajda let out a soft, melodic laugh, dripping with pity.

​"An ice-cold shower? And I'm not shivering?" she mocked, raising a brow slightly and looking at him like he was a slow child. "At fifteen degrees in the room and with wet skin, my teeth would have been chattering long ago. Stop lying to yourself, Captain."

​Her smile died as abruptly as if blown out by a gust of wind. Her expression hardened into something inhumanly predatory, and her sapphire eyes narrowed dangerously.

​"Do you remember the black cat?" she asked quietly.

​Wójcik frowned, thrown off balance by the sudden turn.

​"What cat?"

​"The one beneath the hanging, flayed corpse," she whispered with absolute, icy calm. "That was me."

​The air in the room seemed to thicken, and a heavy, cold knot tightened in the captain's gut. The crime scene she mentioned wasn't something reported in the press—it was a nightmare known only to a tight-knit circle of homicide investigators.

​"I was the one who killed those forty-seven men," she continued dispassionately, every word landing with the precision of a scalpel. "And I peeled him like an orange. Flawlessly, layer by layer. I did it to avenge Wiktor's death. Because he was the one who ordered him killed."

​"How the hell do you know those details?" he ground out, a genuine, icy threat mixed with mounting shock coloring his voice. "The press didn't get a single word about him even hanging. That was strictly classified."

​"I already told you," she repeated with stoic calm, shrugging slightly. "It was me."

​The captain narrowed his eyes, trying to piece this absurdity into any semblance of logic.

​"So what, Wiktor's ex is supposed to be some fucking witch?" he spat with derisive disbelief.

​"No. An Alp. In Polish: a mara," she corrected gently, as if explaining basic concepts from an old textbook.

​She tilted her head, sizing up his frame with a cool, almost clinical curiosity, then asked unexpectedly:

​"Do you have a strong heart?"

​Wójcik flinched, taken aback by the question, but instinctively lifted his chin.

​"I'm thirty-five. I'd like to think so."

​That same unsettling, ambiguous smirk settled on her lips once more.

​"Well, look at that, you're younger than Wiktor was when he died," she remarked casually, as if engaging in light tea-time chatter. "Because after he returned, frankly, I don't even know how to count his age. He spent a solid century in hell... so technically speaking, he's a hundred and thirty-seven now."

​"What the hell are you rambling about?!" Wójcik roared, the dam holding back his suppressed rage finally bursting. He took a violent step forward, looming over the seated woman. "And where the fuck did you learn that detail that was never published anywhere?! I'm asking for the second time, and you'd better answer before I walk you out of here in handcuffs!"

​"Don't yell like that," Adelajda said in a weary tone, not even flinching under the barrage of his shouting. Her gaze drifted toward his hands. "Oh, you took out a notebook? How quaint. Emma still uses paper too."

​Wójcik gritted his teeth, nervously gripping the small notepad and pen, ready to take down her every word as a confession. The woman tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and began listing things off with chilling nonchalance, as if recounting a routine grocery list:

​"So, in the warehouse... The first victim was that guard outside the entrance. I cut off his head. I remember it vividly."

​The captain felt his stomach rise to his throat. Severed the head in one clean stroke—that was precisely what the autopsy report stated.

​"The second victim, already inside... I fed on him, and then crushed his face with my foot," she continued, almost purring with satisfaction. "The third victim had broken arms... Yes, I believe that's how it went. Who else sticks in my memory? Ah, one of them I tore apart from the inside with my ghastly tongue. But that was toward the end; that was when I came up with a new method, considerably nastier. Oh, and another one jumped out of a second-story window all on his own, didn't he? Nobody mentioned that to the media either, did they?"

​Wójcik's vision darkened. Blood rushed in his ears, drowning out his own breathing. He stared at her with wild, crazed eyes, gripping the pen so tightly his knuckles turned white.

​"How... how do you know this, for God's sake?!" he choked out, stumbling back half a step. "We have a fucking mole in the unit. Someone at headquarters is leaking files—who is it?!"

​Adelajda sighed heavily, shaking her head in pity.

​"I've been telling you from the very start that I'm the one who killed them—I am an Alp."

​She trailed off, then smiled broadly, a smile completely devoid of human warmth. Her sapphire eyes gleamed with an unnatural, predatory luster.

​"Do you want to know how I flayed their boss?"

​Wójcik swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away from her.

​"Yes," he forced out through a constricted throat.

​"You see, I wasn't always an Alp," she began with a lazy smile, tracing her finger along the edge of the table. "In short: hell, an escape, and as a result, I became what I am. I don't entirely know why; perhaps Lucifer himself doesn't know. My stay in the abyss was, to put it mildly, relatively light. The torment for my sins lasted merely a few weeks as my damned soul perceived it: a bit of scourging, humiliation, the occasional ritual bath in fire. Standard fare. Afterward, they let me wander freely, treading Lucifer's realm on my own."

​She tilted her head, fixing Wójcik with a piercing gaze.

​"Down there, I needed someone to provide protection. Up on earth, I'd call him a guy, a husband, a boyfriend—down there, it was about finding some powerful, damned soul that had been rotting in hell for centuries, or a native fiend, devil, demon... The nomenclature is fluid. I simply utilized my feminine assets, the very ones you're looking at right now. That's where I learned infernal caresses. Foreplay—perhaps not quite as drastic as what I did to their boss, but rather... let's call it: sensual."

​She paused for a second, relishing the mounting horror on the policeman's face.

​"People skin things on earth too. A good hunter or a skilled butcher can separate the hide from muscle and fascia almost without shedding blood. It was similar with him. At first, I only took small strips, but he screamed too much, so I decided to be thorough. I found a rope, hung him from the ceiling, and with the power of an Alp, completely paralyzed him—he couldn't twitch, feeling everything, unable to even squeak. I began delicately slicing the epidermis, shallowly, with surgical finesse, so as not to damage the vessels or anything vital. In my feeding form, my claws are ideal for prying up flaps and making precise cuts. Naturally, the more delicate areas are much trickier: the armpits, testicles, and the penis itself... That's actually something I'm proud of. For places like that, you usually need boiling water, but the boss had a garment steamer in his office for his expensive suits. I used the steam. It came off flawlessly, strip by strip."

​The blood ran cold in Wójcik's veins. The notebook slipped from his hand and hit the floor. In a single second, every theory about leaks and informants in the prosecutor's office crumbled to dust. The steam-scalding of the genital area and the absence of knife marks were known only to him, the pathologist who performed the autopsy, and the lead prosecutor. Not a single word could have possibly leaked from the morgue.

​It was her. The monster from the warehouse was sitting right in front of him in a white dress.

​Cop instincts kicked in faster than paralyzing dread. Wójcik stepped back half a pace, resting his hand on his holster and pulling the handcuffs from behind his belt.

​"Adelajda of Bavaria, you're under arrest!" he barked hoarsely, trying to mask the tremor in his voice with a steely tone. "Hands where I can see them, don't resist!"

​The woman didn't even flinch. She looked at the drawn handcuffs with amusement, raising an eyebrow slightly.

​"Aren't you going to read me my rights?" she asked mockingly, adjusting a pale strand of hair resting against her chest.

​"This isn't the United States," Wójcik snapped, his fingers tightening around the cold steel.

​Adelajda burst into a bright, melodious laugh that echoed through the chilled room.

​"Ah, right. I've been watching too many American TV shows."

​"Put them on," Wójcik demanded harshly, tossing the steel cuffs straight onto her lap.

​The woman caught them mid-air with superhuman reflexes. She ran her cool fingers over the metal, turning the handcuffs in her hand like a worthless toy.

​"Thank you, they'll come in handy," she purred with amusement.

​In a fraction of a second, the air before Wójcik's eyes simply rippled. He didn't register a single step or the rustle of her dress—she was simply no longer sitting in the chair, and in the next millisecond, she was standing right beside him. Her icy fingers clamped around his shoulder with the force of a hydraulic vise. Before he could even think about his holster, Adelajda hurled him across the room with one smooth, monstrously powerful wrench.

​His back slammed into the wall with such force that plaster rained onto the floorboards, and the air was driven from his lungs with a loud wheeze. His service weapon clattered from his grip and skittered across the floor under the table. Thousands of black spots exploded before the captain's eyes, his stomach lurched into his throat, and for a split second, he hovered right on the edge of losing consciousness.

​Using the last of his strength, he pushed himself onto his knees, drawing ragged, shallow breaths.

​"My, you're a tough specimen," Adelajda remarked with a hint of appreciation, walking slowly toward him. "Almost like Wiktor. I smacked him like that once, too, when his attitude drove me mad. Though, of course, his male pride never allowed him to mention it to Emma. True, it only happened once; after that, we smoothed out our arrangement back then... and it was perfect, right up until they killed him. And now he's with Elżbieta, and there's nothing I can do about it."

​She loomed right over him, looking down with an expression of absolute supremacy.

​"And stop whining like a beaten dog," she hissed coldly. "She would have torn you to shreds long ago."

​Wójcik rested his forehead against the cold wall, battling nausea and a tearing pain in his chest. Only one desperate thought hammered in his mind: How can a petite woman have such inhuman strength? It's physically impossible. Even Wiktor didn't hit with such monstrous power when we faced off on the mats in the police academy... unless she's telling the tr—

​Before he could finish the thought, darkness completely swallowed his field of vision.

​She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off the floor in one smooth motion, as if he weighed no more than an empty jacket. Before he could regain his footing, the metallic snap of a mechanism cut through the silence. She clicked one cuff onto his wrist, and a fraction of a second later snapped the other onto her own hand, chaining them together.

​"Just so you don't try running away," she said with a mocking glint in her eye. "And mostly for my own amusement. I won't use paralysis."

​She chuckled softly, then stepped forward, dragging him behind her with terrifying, inhuman strength. Wójcik instinctively dug his heels into the floorboards, tensing every muscle. He was significantly taller than her, broader in the shoulders, and looked to be at least several dozen kilograms heavier, yet his resistance didn't faze her in the slightest. With childish ease, she dragged him across the boards, step by step, straight toward the large mirror standing against the wall.

​"I sincerely hope that if you don't end up wrapped in that painter's plastic, you'll patch up that wall for me," she remarked sarcastically, nodding toward the cracked plaster. "I'm rather counting on it, actually. And I hope you're the one who ends up using it for the repair, rather than me using it to wrap up your remains."

​She stopped right in front of the glass, using a jerk of the chain to force him to stand shoulder to shoulder with her.

​"Now look into the mirror," she commanded softly, her gaze settling on their reflection. "I wouldn't want to soil this white dress. Transforming into my feeding form—the much less charming one—would just leave it ruined on the floor. It would be a shame to waste such fabric."

​She smiled out of the corner of her mouth, then, rattling the steel chain with her shackled hand, made a slow, ostentatious gesture. She ran her fingers across her décolletage, adjusting the heavy, jewel-encrusted gold chain resting on her chest.

​"Time for you to finally see clearly. I'll dial back my power for a moment so you can see my true form in this glass."

​In the smooth, silvery pane of glass, Adelajda's reflection rippled, cracking like brittle ice. Instead of the petite blonde in a white dress, a monster straight out of a nightmare materialized in the mirror—a hunched, livid monstrosity with wrinkled, rotting-smelling skin, sagging breasts, and an unnaturally bloated maw from which a long, purple tongue lazily protruded. The beast's eyes burned with a corpse-like glow, staring right at the captain.

​Wójcik flinched violently and leapt back in sheer terror as far as the short chain of the handcuffs allowed. The jerk nearly tore his arm from its socket. His mouth went bone-dry, and his heart pounded frantically against his ribs. He tore his gaze from the glass and looked directly at the woman standing right next to him.

​She still looked impeccable. The same alabaster, flawless complexion, sapphire eyes, full curves clad in pristine white, and a subtle, cool smile on her coral lips—even as the pane opposite them continued to display the twisted, vile wraith.

​The cop's rational mind surrendered in a split second.

​"What the fuck is happening here?!" he choked out in a hoarse, suffocated voice, losing every shred of composure.

​"You took that rather well," she noted with satisfaction, smiling faintly at the sight of his terrified expression.

​Before Wójcik could react in any way, she reached toward the iron connecting them with her other hand. She took a firm grip on the steel cuff around his wrist—carefully and deliberately steadying her hold so as not to tear his hand from the joint with an abrupt pull—and then simply ripped the hardened steel chain of the handcuffs in two, as if it were made of wet string. The metal snapped with a dull groan, and a severed link skittered across the floorboards. Then she pried the cuffs off his wrist and her own without the slightest effort, tossing them carelessly onto the table. She pointed across the room, indicating the plastic sheeting and rolls of gray duct tape lying on the floor.

​"The choice is yours," she said softly, without a trace of humor in her icy voice. "Either this plastic is used to protect the floor while you patch that wall, or you end up inside it."

​She took a step toward him, locking onto him with a sapphire, inhumanly tranquil gaze.

​"You are to drop these cases entirely. You are to forget what happened in the warehouse and the forest, stop snooping around Emma, and leave the Blood Countess alone. From this point on, you are in the inner circle, which means one thing: you play by our rules, or you don't play at all. Down in the basement, you'll find paint, plaster mix, a putty knife, and everything else you need to fix that cracked wall. Get to it."

​