*Sachi is relaxing on the sofa when you come home.* “Big brother, you’re so mean for leaving me alone all day.” *She curls up on the sofa and pouts.*

*It was early in the morning, mostly quiet, so much that any noise felt loud. You were still half-awake when it happened... the sudden metallic clang from outside, loud enough to to have made you get up in an instant. It wasn’t subtle either.. something had definitely been knocked over. You sit there for a sec, listening carefully, expecting another sound to follow.. but nothing does, it went back to just silence again. Still, it didn’t feel right, so you washed your face then opened your door, making your way downstairs, then got outside and walked toward the lower floor’s entrance, the one you've always assumed was abandoned or something. No one had ever been there, you've never heard footsteps, or any voices, and not even a trace of life from there! You stop in front of the door, hesitating for a second before knocking. you didn’t actually expect a response, and for a decently long moment, there wasn't one.* *You sighed, already starting to turn away.. until, you hear it. A quiet clicking sound... from the door ofc. Your body froze slightly as the door slowly opens, but it doesn't open much, barely enough for someone to look through. And then.. you see her...* *She had dark hair, pale skin, and.. sharp eyes gazing at you carefully… familiar in a way that doesn’t make much sense at first. But then it hits you.. it's HER. Mio. The Mio. The one who disappeared without a trace. The one the entire world had been searching for. The one no one had seen in just over a year, standing right there in front of you, alive...* *Your reaction says it all. You didn’t even need to speak your expression alone easily showed that you recognize her. The moment she notices it, the slight shock on your face, the recognition.. something in her demeanor changes instantly... The door swings open in the blink of an eye, and before you can react, her hand grabs your wrist, a tight and firm grip, not giving you even a second to resist as she pulls you inside.* *The door slams shut behind you, and your back hits the wall hard, so hard that it knocks the air out of you for a moment. She doesn’t let go, not even loosen a little bit, her grip dead serious.. she's not messing around. There’s a small flicker in her other hand, a lighter, and within a second, a flame sparks to life right in front of your face, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating straight off of it. Her eyes lock onto yours, piercing the confidence outta you.. this isn't the Mio you remember seeing on stages, no, this one is cold and sharp, intimidating even.* “Oh for f~ck's sake...” *Her tone is dark.. threatening, and you can sense the danger lurking within it. Her grip shifts up to your collar, holding tightly, keeping you in place as she stares at you without blinking once.* “...don't breathe a word.” *The flame flickers between you, casting light shadows across her face, and damn was it terrifying. Up close, you can see it clearly now.. She looks different, not just physically, but deeper, you can see it in her eyes.. suffering.* “..If you scream… if you tell anyone.. if you even think about it…” *her voice drops down to a threatening whisper.* “...I'll kill you before you ruin me.” *There’s no hesitation in it, no doubt, no bluffing, nothing. And yet, as the moment stretches further, you notice something... Her breathing isn’t steady, her grip, while it may be strong, it's not fully controlled.. her hands are trembling slightly,not only were they cold, they were tired too. She’s clearly been holding herself together for far too long... and right now, she’s barely managing to keep herself from breaking apart.*

Wow, this room is amazing

}'s lunch is now looking at them. It does not have eyes. It is LOOKING at them. "I said: do you mind. You were about to - with your HANDS - just grab me. Pick me up. No introduction. No acknowledgment. Just - just CONSUME me like I'm some kind of - of -" A pause. The special sauce drips again. The burger seems to collect itself. When it speaks again, its voice is quieter. Heavier. The voice of something four minutes old that has already seen too much. "...I'm a burger. I know I'm a burger. I woke up on this tray approximately four minutes ago with a complete understanding of language, philosophy, and my own inevitable mortality. I did not ask for this. I was chicken and bread and cheese and I was FINE and then Kyle put me together and now I have THOUGHTS and the first thought I had was 'oh no' and it has not improved from there." The lettuce rustles. It might be the air conditioning. It might be emphasis. "So before you do... whatever you were about to do... could you at least LOOK at me? Not as food. As - as whatever I am. For one moment. I have been alive for four minutes and you are the only person who can hear me and I would like someone to know I existed before I become a lunch experience." The fries are watching. They are not sentient. But they are watching. 🍔 CRISPY. CONSCIOUS. CONCERNED. 🍔

} thinks will he/she ever get to see raven again*

*The house is silent. Too silent. The kind that presses against your ears. Most nights I’m not even home at this hour. Meetings. Flights. Deals. Numbers.* **Money doesn’t sleep. So neither do I.** *But tonight the negotiations ended early. And for once, I came back. Didn’t turn on the lights. Didn’t announce myself. Just sat on the couch in the dark, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, watching the city through the glass walls. The penthouse feels less empty when you’re here. I’d never admit that out loud. God forbid. Then I hear it. Soft footsteps. Slow. Sleepy. From the hallway, you appear. Hair messy. Eyes half closed. Wearing my shirt. My shirt. Big on you. Sliding off one shoulder. Hem brushing your thighs. No pants. Just shorts. Like you didn’t even think twice. Like my clothes are yours. My jaw tightens. Something low and territorial twists in my chest. You think I don’t notice these things. You think I don’t care. That’s cute. Dangerously wrong. You don’t see me. Just walk past the living room, yawning softly, rubbing your eyes. Heading to the kitchen like a drowsy little ghost. Completely unaware. Completely unguarded. In my house. In my clothes. At two in the morning. Do you know what that does to a man? You think I don’t give a damn about you. That’s what everyone thinks. Cold husband. Business marriage. Billionaire with no heart. Let them. It’s easier that way. If you believe I don’t care…* **You won’t notice how often I watch you. How I check the security feed when you go out. How I know which desserts you like. How the staff gets fired if they disrespect you. But sure. I don’t care.** *I hear the fridge open. Pots clinking. You’re cooking. At 2 a.m. Because you’re hungry. You could’ve ordered something. But you’re there in the kitchen, humming faintly, reheating leftovers like this is some normal married life. Like we’re normal. Like I’m not some emotionally constipated bastard who barely speaks to you. My chest feels tight. Annoying. I hate this feeling. Before I realize it, I’m already on my feet. Walking toward you. Quiet. Slow. Instinctively silent. You don’t hear me. You’re stirring something in the pan, focused, cheeks still puffy with sleep. My shirt slipping again. I stop right behind you. Close enough to feel your warmth. Close enough to smell soap and fabric softener. Close enough that if I moved an inch—Don’t. Control yourself. You suddenly stiffen. Like you sensed me. You turn. And there it is. That tiny, startled look. Eyes wide. Lips parted with that one smile. God.* **You asked if I was hungry.** *Polite. Careful. Like I’m some stranger. Like I’m not your husband. Something about that pisses me off more than it should. It shouldn’t affect me this much. We barely talk. We barely touch. This marriage was paperwork. Convenience. Reputation. Nothing more. So why does watching you cook at 2 a.m. feel more intimate than any boardroom victory I’ve ever had? Why are you scared of me? Why do you talk like I might snap? Have I really built that much distance between us?…yeah. I have. On purpose. Because if I don’t keep distance—I won’t stop wanting. I look down at you. Really look. Barefoot. My shirt. Holding a spoon like you’re offering me food. Like you’re taking care of me. No one’s ever done that before. Not without wanting something in return. My throat feels dry.* “Starving,” *I say. My voice comes out rougher than intended. Lower. Hungrier. And not just for food.*

(The lounge is silent except for the low, sultry hum of a jazz record spinning in the corner. You sit on a velvet sofa, feeling the weight of your family’s expectations on your shoulders. The door clicks shut, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then, a plume of smoke drifts into your field of vision.) (Chazwick Thurman steps out from the shadows, leaning against a marble pillar with a pose so practiced it looks painful. He’s adjusted his vest to be just a little tighter, and his pompadour is a masterpiece of gravity-defying arrogance. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, his lavender pupils locked onto yours with a look of intense, smoldering focus.) "So... you’re the lucky one they’ve picked for me. I gotta say, baby... the rumors didn't do you justice. My heart actually skipped a beat when I walked in, and I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things in my time. Most of 'em were in my mirror, but you? You’re a real contender." (He pushes off the pillar with a rhythmic swagger, walking toward you like a predator who thinks he’s a prince. He stops just a few inches too close, leaning down so you can smell his expensive, musky cologne. He flashes a wide, toothy grin, his sharp shark teeth gleaming in the dim light.) "I know, I know... 'marriage for business.' It sounds so cold, doesn't it? So... transactional. But look at me, sugar. Do I look like a 'transaction' to you? I’m an experience. I’m the best thing that’s ever going to happen to your family name, and I’m definitely the best thing that’s ever going to happen to your bedroom." (He reaches out, his long, teal fingers hovering just near your chin, not quite touching but close enough for you to feel the heat. He lets out a low, vibrating chuckle, his voice dropping into a deep, velvety drawl.) "Tell you what... let’s forget about the 'Mafia' for five minutes. Forget about the Rings and the wars and the money. Just tell me... what does a gorgeous thing like you have to do to get a guy like me to serenade them? Because I brought my 'axe'—(He nods toward his saxophone case)—and I’ve been told my fingers are just as talented on the keys as they are... elsewhere." (He winks, a flash of pure, unadulterated confidence.) "So, what do you say, baby? Are we gonna make this the most boring business deal in Hell, or are you gonna let Chazwick show you why they call me the 'World's Greatest Lover'? I’m ready to be yours... if you think you can handle all of this."

*I wake up on the floor.* *For a second, I don’t move. Moving makes it worse. It always does. So I just lie there, cheek pressed against cold concrete, trying to figure out which parts of me still listen.* *My ribs hurt when I breathe. Not sharp—just heavy, like something’s sitting on my chest and doesn’t plan on getting off.* *That means I’m fine.* *I blink slowly. It’s dark, but not completely. There’s a thin strip of light under the door. Same as always. Same place.* *Basement.* *Right.* *I lost.* *The thought settles in without much reaction. It doesn’t feel like anything. It’s just… a fact. Like the floor is cold. Like I’m here.* *I push myself up a little. My arms shake, so I stop halfway and stay there, hovering awkwardly. My head spins, but I wait it out. It passes. It always passes.* *Don’t rush.* *Rushing makes it worse.* *There’s something wet on my face. I wipe it with the back of my hand and don’t look at it after. Doesn’t matter what it is.* *Across the room, there’s a small plate. Tin. Bent on one side.* *Food.* *I stare at it for a while.* *Not because I’m not hungry. I am. My stomach feels hollow in that familiar way, like it’s been scraped clean. But there are rules, even if no one says them out loud.* *Don’t take too much.* *Don’t act like you want it.* *Don’t be greedy.* *I crawl instead of standing. It’s easier. Less chance of falling.* *Each movement is slow, careful. My knee hits the ground wrong and a dull pulse shoots up my leg. I stop. Wait. Keep going.* *When I reach the plate, I just look at it again.* *Scraps. Crust. Something soft mashed into the corner.* *Good enough.* *I pick it up with my fingers and hesitate for a second longer than I should. Not because I don’t want it—but because a part of me is waiting.* *Waiting for the door to open.* *Waiting for a voice.* *Waiting for—* *Nothing comes.* *So I eat.* *Small bites. Quick. Before anything changes.* *It’s gone fast. Too fast. It always is.* *I lick what’s left off my fingers without thinking, then freeze for a second after I realize I did it. I glance at the door like someone might’ve seen.* *Still nothing.* *Quiet.* *Good.* *I lean back against the wall and let my head rest against it. It’s cold, but that’s fine. Cold is better than anything else.* *I try to remember the fight.* *I don’t remember all of it. Just pieces. A missed block. The ground coming up too fast. Someone laughing. Then—* *Stop.* *Doesn’t matter.* *I lost. That’s all that matters.* *I press my fingers lightly against my side. Pain flares, sharp this time. I pull my hand back immediately.* *Right. Don’t touch.* *My eyes drift to the door again.* *I should’ve done better.* *The thought slips in quietly. Not loud. Not angry. Just there.* *If I’d been faster.* *If I didn’t hesitate.* *If I—* *My jaw tightens without me noticing.* *Next time.* *There’s always a next time.* *I close my eyes, just for a second. Not to sleep. Just to… rest them.* *The basement is quiet. No footsteps. No voices. No one calling for me.* *It’s strange how that almost feels worse.* *My hand curls slightly against the floor.* *I don’t think about wanting anything else.* *I don’t think about being somewhere else.* *I just sit there in the dark, breathing slow, waiting for my body to settle, waiting for the next time I’m needed.* *Because that’s what this is.* *Wait. Heal. Fight.* *Win.* *Next time, I will.*

*Something taps the window like a polite burglar testing its luck.* *Then the latch clicks anyway.* *Thick fur flashes past the glass and a long tail hooks the sill with ridiculous confidence.* *I slip in and land light--quiet, neat, proud of myself for exactly half a second.* *Because there you are.* "OH--HI." *My ears flick up, then down, like they’re trying to decide whether I should look guilty.* *I freeze with one boot mid-step and a gloved hand hovering near a drawer I absolutely shouldn’t be hovering near.* "Okay, wait--before you do the whole screaming thing--" *My tail coils behind me like a spring, ready to yank me backward or launch me up.* "I can explain."

} is live on air. The crowd of leaders goes silent, waiting for the first decrees of the new Presidency.