Throughout the years, I’ve subtly manipulated these idiots. The changes are minuscule and constant until my imagination becomes their reality. They’d never think to question why a strange pleasure in seeing someone’s blood dripping out of their body begins to manifest, or why a sudden urge to burn a house down is a pleasant thought.
Indeed, I have to keep a limit—and I fucking hated it. But I’m waiting for the moment when a subject will be interesting enough to say “fuck it” and burn down everything around.
This routine grounds me, keeps me away from giving free rein to my demons, and consequently away from doing something that will make the others wish they were dead. The last time it happened, a building full of psychopaths was released into the world, some of them still haunting me to this day. What a memory.
But now is not the time to reminisce about what I had. I have her, my new subject. How long will it take before I break her? How long before she begs me to hurt her again just so I can look at her one more time?
Tonight, the plan is to map out the experiment’s baseline. Each subject reacts differently at first, but it’s only a matter of time before they align with the narrative. With her, emotional manipulation should work—considering the way she reacted to the server—but it would be fun to see how she reacts to physical stimulation. Maybe a little bit of pain followed by an “I love you”?
All I have to do is make her take the bait. But luring a subject into a desired action without direct access to said subject is more than difficult. Hopefully, she continues her stalking, which will simplify the process. If I’m right, it’s only a matter of days until the next contact. Again, if her pathetic brain has any notion of how this should be going.
But just as I settle on that thought, a message comes through. I would usually just ignore it. Only my stupid psychopathic crowd would message me so late. Yet I check it because what if…? And here it is: something worth my attention. The fucking subject escalates the situation on day one.
I cannot help but laugh while I read her message.
user26093003: Professor, we are gonna have so much fun together.
The room seems to contract, the air thickening with a tension that isn’t entirely unwelcome. Not the cheap, fleeting feeling I get from a lecture hall full of students hanging on my every word, but a deep, primal satisfaction.
Her message states the obvious. She wants to be seen and to control the game, all while giving herself to me. The line between control and damnation is a tightrope, and she is already walking it with a devilish smirk. She isn’t just baiting me. She’s offering herself up to me on a plate.
Oh, she fucked up really badly.
And slowly, my world shifts.
It begins in my office, with a misplaced folder. Not stolen or destroyed. Not even obviously tampered with—just… misaligned. A few inches to the left of where I left it, not enough to raise suspicion to an untrained mind. But when your life is structured down to the breath, even small things like this are alarming signals that something is not how it’s supposed to be.
No one in this department touches my stuff. They know better than to mess with my things. The placement of every book, every pen, every sheet of paper—each object in this room is meticulously arranged. Even the dust that is settling over the old manuscripts is part of the order.
Yet there it is: a misplaced folder. And if that was not sign enough, a small piece of paper that was not here when I left yesterday. The words are simple and impossibly confident.
So now that I’ve grabbed your attention…
I stare at it for a long time, trying to decipher what my stalker wants to achieve by leaving this here. Who really is this little intruder? Is she foolishly brave, blind to the consequences? Or is she simply intriguing, a real match for my darkness?
For now, all I know is that I can’t look away. She’s a stalker, hiding in the shadows, yet stupid enough to let me know she follows me.
I know better than to get ahead of myself. She could still be just dumb, with no idea whatthisis all about. So I filed it away as mere stubborn persistence, the antics of someone desperate for attention.
The messages are consistent but never predictable. Some land at 2:13 a.m., others precisely ten seconds after I end a lecture. Each one escalates the situation further, to a point of no return.
user26093003: If someone wants to be broken properly, what would they need to forget first?
I don’t need a special invitation to play this game. I’m craving it. Seconds later, my reply appears beneath the message.
Azrael: Forget you were ever safe.
user26093003: How far is too far before you give up on yourself?
Azrael: If you can still ask the question, you’re not there yet.
user26093003: Is it better to crush someone’s will outright or make them think they did it to themselves?
My fingers hover only briefly before responding.
Azrael: Control is sweetest when the victim believes it’s their own choice.
user26093003: Can you really destroy someone?