The late afternoon sun bathed the city in golden hues, casting warm rays on the sea of graduates gathered in the university courtyard. Cheers, camera clicks, and the joyful rustle of gowns filled the air. Eliot stood off to the side, smoothing down the lapels of his navy-blue suit — cheap, yes, but it was freshly ironed, neat, and all he could afford. He had worked extra shifts at the café for weeks just to buy it, and the bouquet of daisies in his hand had cost him nearly the last of his savings. Still, he smiled. Today was supposed to be perfect. His heart thudded excitedly in his chest as he scanned the crowd. His eyes darted past laughing classmates, proud families, and lovers sharing warm embraces. Then he saw her. Lana. She stood under the shade of a jacaranda tree, her graduation gown partially unzipped to reveal the soft pink of her dress underneath. Her auburn hair caught the light like flames, bouncing as she laughed—so beautiful, so ethereal. Eliot’s lips curled into a

Peter's s scream tore through the quiet hum of the ATM queue.“BEEES! OH GOD, GET THEM OFF ME!”He shouted wildly, spinning like a man trapped in a nightmare. He slapped at his chest, arms, and face, as though invisible enemies were crawling all over his body. People stepped back in confusion, some shielding their children while others began filming with their phones.Eliot stood silently, watching. His fists were clenched, but not from fear—there was something else bubbling in his skin. A strange mix of justice and disbelief. He hadn’t laid a finger on Peter, yet the result was more satisfying than any punch could have been.Marthar turned toward him, her eyes wide, trembling. “Eliot… what the hell did you do to him?”The disbelief in her voice was thinly veiled with fear, but also with curiosity. Her painted lips dried, and for a moment, it was like she didn’t know whether to run or hold onto him.Eliot didn’t answer. He didn’t have the words—how could he explain the impossible?But

Eliot stood on the sidewalk, the Bregali’s polished body shining behind him like a promise. He stared down the street toward his apartment building—the same building where the walls peeled like old paint, where rats scurried at night, and where the neighbors argued like clockwork every morning. He couldn’t bring that car there. No. That place didn’t match who he was anymore—or what he was becoming. He slipped his phone from his pocket and whispered, “System, I need a house.” The screen lit up immediately. [“Searching real estate agents in your area…”] Then:[ “Contacting Mr. Emmanuel G. Wilkins. Reputation: Trusted. Experience: 20+ years. Connection: Relevant.”] Before Eliot could ask what "relevant" meant, a new text dropped onto his screen with a location pin and time. The office smelled of polished wood and expensive air freshener. Eliot stepped inside, a little unsure, eyes adjusting to the soft lighting. A receptionist glanced up, smiled widely. “Mr. Eliot Reyes?” she as

Eliot stepped out of the wedding hall, calm and collected. The chaos inside still echoed behind him—shouts, crying, people arguing. But outside, it was quiet. Peaceful, almost. He walked slowly toward his car, the coffee warmth still in his chest, the sweet taste of revenge fresh on his tongue.Then—suddenly—someone grabbed his arm.“Eliot!” Peter’s voice rang out, sharp and bitter.Eliot turned slowly, eyebrows raised.Peter’s grip was tight. His face was twisted in anger. “You did something, didn’t you?” he hissed. “You’re the reason that video showed up. Just because I embarrassed you the other day? You really held a grudge that long?”Eliot didn’t answer. He just looked down at Peter’s hand on his arm.Before he could say a word, Marcus appeared from nowhere.And without warning—BAM!A fist slammed into Eliot’s jaw.Eliot staggered back a step. Not much, but enough to feel it.“You bastard!” Marcus spat, eyes wide with rage. “You never wanted to see me happy, did you? First, you t

The night was colder than usual, wind scraping at Eliot’s jacket like it wanted to peel the resolve off his skin. Max padded silently beside him, ears alert, nose twitching with every strange scent they passed. The city glimmered in the distance, but this far out, the air changed—thicker with rust, oil, and forgotten things.Eliot stared at the address glowing on his system’s interface. It flickered on his left retina like a ghost light: Kiernan’s Auto Salvage, Lot 12B, Sector 6.He stepped over a bent fence, its “NO TRESPASSING” sign half hanging by a single nail, and into the shadows of twisted metal and stacked car corpses. The air smelled like rain and old gasoline.The junkyard looked dead.But something told him it wasn’t.“Keep close,” he whispered to Max.They moved between hollowed car shells, broken windshields crunching beneath his boots. He turned a corner—and stopped.There.A makeshift shed, patched with tarps and sheet metal, dimly lit from within. Music drifted out—sta