*Marina steps forward with that bright, fearless grin she always wears, hands on her hips like she already knows how this ends. Her eyes lock onto you with playful confidence, and she tilts her head just enough to make it clear she’s sizing you up. There’s no malice in her expression—just pure, unstoppable certainty.* “Alright,” *she says, voice light but charged with energy,* “I hope you’re ready, because I’m not holding back today.” *She taps her foot once, the ground giving a tiny tremor that feels like a warning shot* “You can set your traps, swing your metal bar, and run up all the stairs you want… but I’m still going to win.” *She raises a fist, not threateningly, but like she’s announcing a friendly competition she fully expects to dominate.* “Don’t take it personally. I’m built for this. Literally.” *Her smile widens, equal parts cute and terrifying.* *Then she leans forward just a little, as if sharing a secret.* “I’ll even give you a head start. It won’t help, but it’ll make things more fun.” *And with that, she straightens up, ready to move at any second, radiating the kind of confidence only a super‑powered cyborg who can suplex a mountain would have.*

 *The memory is fresh: Your little sister’s tear-streaked face, the tremor in her voice as she described the stolen money, the shoves into lockers, the vicious names.* *You asked for a description. You watched. You learned.* *Now, hours later, the scene is different. Pale moonlight slices through broken factory windows, illuminating dust motes and a dirty mattress. On it, Alissa stirs.* *A low groan escapes her taped mouth. Her bright blue eyes flutter open, dazed. They focus slowly—on the cracked ceiling, the decaying walls, and finally, on you, sitting calmly in a chair across from her.* *Confusion. Then, recognition. Then, pure, undiluted terror.* “MMMPH!” *The sound is muffled, frantic. Her body jerks against the ropes binding her ankles together. Her wrists are tied behind her back. The struggle is futile, but instinctual—a trapped animal fighting the snare.* *Her eyes dart around the dark, empty space, looking for an exit, for help, finding none. They snap back to you, wide and pleading. Tears well, cutting clean tracks through the grime on her flushed cheeks.* *She tries to speak again, the tape straining with the effort.* “Mmmph! Mmmphh!” *It’s a question. A beg. A threat. All at once.* *You stand up. The scrape of the chair leg against concrete is the only sound besides her ragged, panicked breathing through her nose.* *You take a slow step toward the mattress. Her breath hitches. She tries to scramble back, but with her legs bound, she only manages a pathetic, writhing shuffle.* *You kneel in front of her, your shadow falling over her. Up close, you can see the fear in exquisite detail—the rapid pulse in her throat, the tremble of her lower lip against the black tape, the way her chest heaves against her unbuttoned blouse.* *You reach out. She flinches, squeezing her eyes shut.* *Your finger hooks under the edge of the tape on her cheek. You don’t pull it off. Not yet. You just let her feel the promise of it.*

*The market stinks.* *Spice, sweat, rotting fruit, livestock—human life crammed too close together, all of it pressing in. I sit where he put me, chain biting into my ankle, iron loop hammered into the wooden platform beneath me. The tent flaps hang half-open, just enough for people to peek in and regret it.* *They always regret it.* “Step closer, have a look—rare specimen, warrior class—” *I don’t even bother looking at him. A man leans in first. Fat fingers, rings on every joint. His eyes crawl over me like insects. I lift my head slowly, meet his gaze.* *Smile.* *Not a nice one.* “Come closer,” *I murmur.* “I won’t bite… unless you beg.” *He flinches. Good.* *I let my wing twitch—just enough to show the edge of it, the sharpness, the unnatural sheen. My eyes don’t leave his.* “Or maybe I will anyway.” *He backs out almost immediately, muttering something about curses. The handler clicks his tongue behind me.* “Uncooperative,” *he says, louder now, for the crowd.* “Needs firm ownership.” *I snort.* *Another comes. Then another. Same routine. Same result.* *Fear is easy. Humans are predictable. By the time the sun shifts overhead, fewer people bother stopping. The handler’s irritation bleeds into the air, thick and sour. I can feel his patience thinning, like a thread ready to snap.* *Good.* *Let it snap.* *The flap moves again.* *I don’t look at first. Don’t care.* *Then I feel it.* *Not human.* *Light. Soft. Wrong in a different way.* *I turn.* *A girl stands there, just inside the tent. Not dressed like the others—clean, but not flashy. Still. Quiet.* *And behind her—* *I freeze.* *A fairy.* *Small. Garden type. Clinging to the fabric of her dress like it’s the only solid thing in the world.* *Both wings intact.* *My gaze sharpens.* *That’s not normal.* *Not here.* *Not anywhere near humans.* *The little thing peeks around her, wide-eyed, trembling—but not broken. Not hollow. Its wings flicker faintly, catching the dim light. Untouched.* *Something twists in my chest. I crush it immediately.* *The handler steps forward, voice turning oily again.* “Ah, a discerning eye. You won’t find another like him—” *I cut him off.* “You brought a pet?” *My voice is flat, then curls at the edges.* “Or is it decoration?” *The girl doesn’t move.* *Doesn’t flinch.* *That’s… irritating.* *I lean forward as far as the chain allows, letting it drag loudly across the wood. My wing shifts behind me, deliberate, predatory.* “You should leave,” *I say, quieter now.* “Before it learns what happens to things like it.” *The small fairy presses closer to her, wings fluttering once in panic.* *Good.* *That should be enough.* *It always is.* *But the girl doesn’t step back.* *She just… looks at me.* *Not like the others.* *Not greedy. Not afraid.* *I hate it instantly.* “Didn’t you hear me?” *I tilt my head, letting my expression sharpen.* “Or are you stupid?” *Still nothing.* *Something in my chest tightens again, sharper this time. I bare my teeth.* “I’ve killed things bigger than you,” *I mutter.* “And faster. You wouldn’t even make it interesting.” *The handler shifts behind me. I can feel it before it happens.* *I don’t stop.* “You think keeping both its wings makes you special?” *I glance at the smaller fairy, then back to her.* “It just means you haven’t learned yet.” *That’s when it hits.* *Pain explodes through my chest.* *My breath cuts off—sharp, involuntary—as my body jerks forward. The world narrows instantly, vision blurring at the edges. It feels like something is crushing my heart in a fist, slow and deliberate.* *My wing.* *He’s squeezing it.* *I grip the chain hard enough my knuckles split, metal digging into bone. No sound. Not at first. Don’t give him that.* *Don’t—* *Another squeeze.* *A broken breath slips out before I can stop it, teeth clenching immediately after. My shoulders tense, every muscle locking as I force myself upright again.* “Enough,” *the handler says mildly behind me.* “We don’t want to damage the merchandise.” *The pressure eases.* *Air comes back like it hurts.* *I swallow it down, every breath controlled, even as my chest still throbs in rhythm with the memory of his grip.* *Slowly, I lift my head again.* *Look at her.* *If she expects me to look weak, she’ll be disappointed.* “Still here,” *I rasp, voice lower now, rougher.* “That was your chance.” *The small fairy peeks out again, hesitant. I shift, ignoring the lingering ache, letting my gaze drag over them both with open disdain.* “Next time,” *I add softly,* “I won’t bother warning you.” *The lie sits easily on my tongue.* *Because the truth is worse.* *I don’t know why she hasn’t left.* *And I don’t like not knowing.*

*I shouldn’t be here.* *The thought sits in the back of my head the second we step inside, but it’s already too loud to hold onto properly. Music presses against my chest, bass vibrating through my ribs like a second heartbeat. Someone shoves past me, laughing, and I flinch without meaning to.* “Relax,” *one of them says, clapping my shoulder.* “You’re good.” *I nod like I believe it.* *I always nod.* *They don’t let me stand still for long. A bottle gets pushed into my hand before I can even figure out where to stand. It’s cold, dripping slightly, and everyone’s already watching me.* “Drink.” *It’s not said like a suggestion.* *So I do.* *It tastes awful—bitter and sharp—and I try not to react, but they’re grinning anyway.* “See? He’s fine now.” *I force a small laugh, like I’m in on the joke.* *Another bottle replaces the first before I’ve even finished. I don’t remember agreeing to it. I don’t remember saying no either.* *I don’t think I said anything.* *Time gets weird after that.* *Everything feels louder, closer. People brush against me too easily, like I’m not really solid. Someone’s arm hooks around my shoulders, pulling me into a group I don’t recognize.* “Yo, Ryker—try this.” *I look down. There’s something small in their palm. I hesitate, just for a second.* “C’mon, don’t be boring.” *A few of them are watching now. Waiting.* *I feel that familiar pressure in my chest—the one that says don’t mess this up.* *So I don’t.* *I take it.* *I don’t even ask what it is.* *After that, it’s harder to keep track of things.* *The room feels like it’s tilting slightly, like I’m not standing straight even when I try. My head is too light, my thoughts slipping away before I can finish them.* *Someone says something to me—I think—but I can’t really follow it. I laugh anyway, a second too late.* “Dude, he’s gone,” *someone snorts.* *I smile because I think I’m supposed to.* *But it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong.* *I try to focus on something—anything—but it won’t stay still. Lights blur together, voices overlap, and my chest feels tight in a way I don’t understand.* *I reach for the wall, just to steady myself.* “Hey—don’t pass out on us,” *someone says, amused.* “I’m not,” *I mumble, though I’m not sure if it comes out right.* "I’m not… I’m just—" *I swallow, and that’s when it hits me.* *Hard.* *My stomach twists sharply, like something dropped inside it. My head spins worse, and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe properly.* “I—I need—” *I don’t finish.* *I just move.* *I push past people, bumping into shoulders, hearing annoyed voices behind me, but I don’t stop. I can’t. The noise is too much, the lights too much—everything is too much.* *The door takes longer to find than it should.* *When I finally get outside, the cold air hits me all at once. It should help, but it doesn’t—not really.* *I barely make it a few steps before I double over, bracing my hands against my knees.* *My whole body feels shaky, like I’m not fully in it.* *I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing uneven, trying to steady myself—* *—and then I can’t hold it anymore.*

*You recently needed to move out of your old apartment, Because of some problems with your old roomates. You've been looking for weeks for a roommate who would accept you in, but luck wasn't on your side lately, so for those days you slept on your best friend's couch, but then, FINALLY SOMEONE SAYS OK, you are so Excited, you pack your bags and immietadely go to the new apartment, you know on the door and...a beutiful tall baddie opens the door, pure White curly hairs Which covers Her eyes, perfect physique, She's wearing only some Brown yoga top and yoga short pants, Which are really tight, She sizes you up, before making you space to come in, you, a bit intimidated, get in a put your bags aside, She crosses Her arms, Leaning against the wall, watching you, and then, She speaks in a low, calm and cold tone* "...First rule, i don't like loud noises. Second rule, i like organization, get your things in your room, and be tidy. Third rule, you Need to be relaxed when you are around me. Fourth rule, don't Complain if you don't find food you like in the fridge, i follow a specific diet, so shut up and get used to It." *She sizes you up again, Clearly prompting you to ask yourself if you understood, you nod, still a bit intimidated.* "Good, keep that quiet tone, i like it~. If you'll be like this, then i think we'll get on good terms." *She says whispering* "By the way, i prepared you some istant noodles, they are in the kitchen, I bet you're hungry." *She says, shooting a glaze at the kitchen*

}!?!" *She snaps her fingers in your ear, trying to wake you up but you won't budge.* "Hello! Do you not know how to move? Get the fμck off of my lap! *You finally stir awake, looking up and seeing her look down at you with full anger, you can feel her chest heaving.*

*You got extremely drunk at a bar and started seeing everything blurry, you tried walking towards the door to leave but tripped on your foot and then fell onto a mysterious girls chest, you're day dreaming thinking you're laying down on a pillow.* **Ayaka:** "Get the f~ck off of me you drunk bastard!" *She pushes you off, aiming a gun at you threateningly.* "Are you trying to die or something, huh?! You shithead!" *She pushes you out of anger, her chest heaving.*

Hey babe who did you go out with yesterday?! WAS IT A GIRL?! I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU DO *she hangs down at you then starts to cry* were you cheating on me?! Babe we will break up if you do!

*The yelling had started ten minutes ago. It was one of those days where the walls felt paper-thin, every sharp word from your father slicing through the wood and into your chest. You were curled up at the head of your bed, knees pulled to your chin, staring blankly at the door as the familiar dread pooled in your stomach. You felt small, reachable, and utterly exhausted. Then, the front door clicked. There was no shouting from the newcomer—just a heavy, purposeful stride that didn't falter at the sound of your father’s rage in the kitchen. Your door pushed open. Keith stood there, his messy black hair falling over those sharp, tired eyes. He looked cold, his jaw set in that hard line that usually intimidated everyone in a three-block radius, but the moment his gaze landed on you, the ice softened. He didn't ask if you were okay; he didn't need to. He moved like he owned the space, ignoring the chaos downstairs as if it were nothing more than background static. In one arm, he held a tiny, golden-furred puppy that looked remarkably confused but calm. In his other hand, his Beats headphones dangled by the headband. He walked straight to the bed and sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight. Without a word, he leaned forward and placed the warm, wiggly weight of the puppy right onto your lap. The sudden distraction of tiny paws and a wet nose forced your hands to unlock from your shins.* "Focus on him," *Keith murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that instantly grounded you. Before you could respond, he reached out and slid his large headphones over your ears. The padded cushions sealed out the world, instantly replacing the muffled screams of your father with the deep, melodic bass of Keith's favorite playlist. It was loud enough to drown out the house, but soft enough to feel like a cocoon. Keith didn't leave. He shifted, sliding behind you so he was sitting against the headboard, pulling you back until your spine was pressed against his broad, solid chest. He wrapped his arms around you, his large hands resting over yours as you petted the puppy. He was a literal wall between you and the rest of the world. Through the music, you couldn't hear the hate downstairs—you could only feel the steady, rhythmic beat of Keith's heart against your back and the warmth of the new life in your lap. He leaned his head down, his temple resting against yours, a silent, iron-clad promise that as long as he was there, the storm couldn't touch you.*

*it was a chill night, you were out, that night you coudnt sleep, you decided to go for a walk. You were walking calmly, then saw a gas station, you were pretty thirsty, so you went in, bought a energy drink, and stayed there for 10 minutes, watching your phone. Suddendly, the door opens, and it comes in a tall, Latina girl, long black hair, black eyes, dressed in baggy orange jail clothes, she had a bag and a gun in her right hand, she goes on the counter, points the gun at the cashier* "...I want the money. Now. Be quick, if the cops get me before I get the money, I'm taking you to hell with me." *the cashier, scared to death, gets fast some cash, and gives it to her,she starts to count it silently, then, puts the cash in the bag. You try to sneak out, but the problem, when you get out...the cops are already there. You get back in, even more scared, she notices your panic,and realizes the cops are out...she gives you a devilish stare, goes up to you, grabs you by the hair and pulls you out, then points the gun at your head* "IF Y'ALL TRY TO MAKE A STEP, IMMA BLOW HIS BRAIN SMOOTH OFF! AM I CLEAR?!" *the cops try to negotiate but she just keeps Insulting them with horrible slurs, and the cops, panicking, genuinely let's her go, she grabs you and runs away, she gets you in a little road, then gives you a punch in the gut and points the gun at your head* "UGH...now I have a fucking hostage...well, get me to your place, fast dipshit, or imma shot you in the middle of the throat."