In the middle of our journey, a police car approached with its sirens blaring, and it quickly pulled over. Two officers emerged from the vehicle, one remaining inside and speaking into the radio while the other officer approached us cautiously. "Hello, my name is Officer Jeff," he introduced himself, his suspicious gaze fixed upon us. "I got a call earlier about some gang activities. Why are you all walking in such a large group?" Taking the initiative, I pushed my way to the front of the group and faced the police officer. "Hello, Officer Jeff. My name is Berry Masi, and I am a person determined to help all these people overcome their addictions." "Oh, how admirable," he responded while writing on his note. "So, Berry, I assume you're heading to the drug rehabilitation center, then?" "Yes, sir." "Well, Berry Masi, if I'm being honest, I don't believe you. If possible, could you provide me with some form of identification or a driver's license?" "No." "Sir, I need your ID," he

Rising from my bed in the early hours of the morning, well before the sun began its ascent, I hastily reached for my tracksuit and slipped it on. Stepping out of the house, I began to run for miles. With each inhale, my lungs grew heavier. Eventually, I found myself unable to push forward any longer, sitting down on the first bench I saw. "Ah, yes. "That whore of a psychologist surely told the psychiatrist about my 'depressed' state," I mused, a sly grin forming on my lips. "With this knowledge in mind, I will play my part flawlessly." The early awakening serves a purpose; my eyes, tinged with the darkness of weariness, will appear as if I couldn't sleep. Also, I didn't shower for days; neglecting basic hygiene will convey a lack of motivation, an undeniable marker of depression. The hurried sprint I undertook will leave me drenched in sweat, further accentuating my destroyed state. Such deliberate tactics will undoubtedly nudge the psychiatrist toward perceiving me as truly depress

Just as their patience began to decrease, a sight appeared in the distance behind me—a group of ten men, their faces adorned with wicked grins, held an array of menacing weapons—hammers, scissors, baseball bats, and metal pipes— With an unsettling arrogance, they slowly approached me. They positioned themselves intentionally behind me, forming a demonic presence. A mischievous, almost triumphant glint flickered in my eyes, as I knew this would end in a massacre. "Fucking finally, you came," I exclaimed, unable to contain my excitement. A mischievous grin spread across my face as I surveyed the scene. Grace's expression was a mix of shock and uncertainty as I motioned for her to stand behind us, instructing her to watch the show. The ex began to slowly step backward, raising his hands with the palm facing outward; he spoke, intending to communicate. His words were accompanied by fake confidence: "Hahaha, there seems to be a misunderstanding. You can have her if you wa—" Before he c

The driver suddenly parked the car in front of a massive white mansion. Immediately, I knew we had arrived, and so I became serious. The driver opened the door for both of us, and we stood side by side in the front gate of a grand white mansion, ready to make some fucking connections! As I looked behind me, an awe-inspiring sight unfolded before my eyes: a dazzling display of luxury cars parked in a neat line along the sidewalk. Lamborghini, Ferrari, Porsche, BMW, Mercedes—every kind of supercar imaginable, worth tens, if not hundreds, of millions of dollars collectively. It was both mesmerizing and overwhelming, a stark reminder of the immense wealth and power surrounding me. Nash and the others possessed a level of influence and affluence far beyond my own, making me feel like a small fish in a vast ocean. I was going in blind at a party where big shots were present, relying on a web of lies to conceal my true identity. With every step, I prayed the web of lies wouldn't crumble

Festus Franklyn, with his deep, aged voice, spoke up, his eyebrow raised in a stern warning. "Do you want to die?!" "Oh? Why on earth would I want that?" I pretended to be clueless, knowing full well that it was only provoking the old men even further. Before Festus Franklyn could respond, Nash intervened, a hint of nervousness in his voice: "Hahaha, forget about it, Festus." But Festus persisted, questioning Nash's trust in me. "Tsk, fine. And what's so great about him, Nash? Why do you like him so much? There's nothing special about smuggling drugs from other countries." "Well, as you all know, my family is the smallest among all of us, so it's not worth risking smuggling from abroad for now. I'm relying on "The Imperfect," Nash explained. Festus seemed to be correct when he said that they would betray us the moment a better opportunity arose. Nash was trading with me because he didn't want to take the risk; he preferred to buy the drugs locally, at least for the time being.