2026-02-05 15:42:15
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After hanging up, Michael stood by the window, staring at the sky as it slowly brightened over Los Angeles. His gaze was deep, unreadable.Morpheus.A name taken from myth, and from film, a guide who offered mortals the chance to see the truth behind the illusion of the Matrix.Was Ashley giving him the chance to see the truth? Or pushing him to become part of the system itself?Before Michael could dwell on the thought, his phone began vibrating nonstop.Notifications flooded the screen, news alerts, social media mentions, breaking headlines.The details of the “Rainy Night Butcher” case had been leaked to the media, distorted, exaggerated, sensationalized.According to the reports, the police had been powerless… until a mysterious expert stepped in. A man who studied criminals by portraying them. A man who could read minds. A man who set the perfect trap and drove the killer into a dead end.The articles never used Michael’s full name.They referred to him only as “Famous Actor Mr.
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Michael answered the phone but said nothing at first.“Are you okay?” Ashley’s voice came through the line. She sounded tired, bone-deep tired, and there were complicated emotions underneath that she couldn’t quite hide.“I’m fine,” Michael replied evenly. No emotion. No ripples.There was a brief silence on the other end.“William… lost his mind,” Ashley said quietly. “In the interrogation room, he refused to say anything. He just kept repeating one sentence.”She paused.“Director… how was my acting?”Michael’s expression didn’t change.He had expected that outcome.When a man’s faith is shattered by the very god he worships, madness is the only place left to go.“We searched his apartment,” Ashley continued, her tone growing more serious. “One entire wall was covered with your photos. Movie posters. Detailed analysis reports of every role you’ve ever played. He worshipped you like a god.”Michael listened in silence.“We also found a list,” she said.“Seven names. Cynthia was only
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Cynthia’s heart clenched. In that instant, she understood.The gesture Michael had made to her while she was tied to the chair, the look he gave her, had not been encouragement. He hadn’t been trying to comfort her or save her.He had been using her.She, the chair, even the criminal, just props in his script. Tools he had calculated and positioned with chilling precision to reach his objective.That realization frightened her more than the knife William had pressed to her throat.She struggled to her feet, stepping forward. She wanted to ask him what everything that had just happened meant to him.But after only one step, her body froze when she met Michael’s eyes.Cold. Bottomless.She instinctively took half a step back.That man made her feel a deeper fear than death itself.“All personnel clear the scene. Lock down every entrance and exit!” Ashley’s voice crackled over the radio, sharp and commanding.She strode down the concrete steps of the abandoned Los Angeles subway platform
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Cynthia caught the signal.For a split second, everything around her blurred, the walls, the scattered books, the cold industrial space they were trapped in. Dawn’s garbled voice still rang in her ears, but fear had already taken hold. Her eyes, wet with panic, suddenly flared with a desperate, determined light.She moved.Summoning every ounce of strength she had been holding back, Cynthia released it all at once.The sharp crash exploded through the abandoned maintenance platform beneath the old California rail yard. She kicked her feet back violently, throwing her weight into the chair behind her as she fell in a reckless, desperate motion.The wooden chair screeched harshly against the rough concrete before slamming onto the ground.The noise was loud, loud enough to snap William’s attention instantly.It was pure instinct. His head turned toward the sound before his mind could even process what was happening.In that razor-thin instant, Michael moved. He didn’t lean back. He didn
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“Michael, have you forgotten? This isn’t about being great!”William stepped forward excitedly, waving his arms as he completely slipped into the role of a director intoxicated by his own vision.“This is new life! It’s the new life that comes after ‘purification’!” he shouted, voice rising with fervor. “You’re giving her rebirth! Not some vague idea of greatness!”He launched into his interpretation of the scene, words pouring out in a frantic rush, saliva spraying as he spoke.“Look, your eyes should be softer, more compassionate. You’re not killing her. You’re pitying her!” William insisted. “You feel sorry for her, trapped in this filthy world, so you free her with your own hands!”The more he talked, the more worked up he became, until he was convinced that Michael’s performance still wasn’t right.In a few quick steps, he closed the distance between them, so close that Michael could smell the sharp mix of sweat and machine oil clinging to William’s clothes.William had completel
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“Michael,” William said, his voice suddenly rising with manic excitement, “the first four were nothing more than appetizers.”He spread his arms wide, his posture exaggerated and theatrical, like a conductor stepping onto the stage before a grand performance.“Now comes the real finale, your true graduation play.”His burning gaze locked onto Michael.“Please, take your seat, my protagonist.” He pointed to the empty chair opposite Cynthia. “Let us recreate the most classic scene from The Joker’s Monologue.”His voice was thick with temptation, every word carefully chosen to strike Michael’s nerves.“The protagonist persuades the final ‘sinner’ to willingly accept ‘purification.’”William’s eyes shifted to Cynthia. She was bound tightly to the chair, trembling so hard that the ropes creaked. Terror filled her wide eyes as tears streamed down her face. William looked at her with a warped kind of pity.“And she,” he said softly, “is the last, and most innocent, sacrifice in our grand dr
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