“I didn’t know someone lived here…My apologies.”

“You're drenched. You should come in and dry yourself and maybe rest a bit.”

“N-No…I'd better excuse myself.”

“You can stay the night. That's why you came here in the first place, didn’t you? I live alone, you see…I can totally use some company.”

Hesitatingly, he stepped in. An ice-cold hand grabbed his hand drenched with rainwater.

“It’s dark, so let me lead the way.”

“Why is it so dark?”

“You see, I'm blind. I don’t need light.”

“Does that mean…there is no light in this house at all?”

“No.”

“That's…scary…Maybe I should just go…”

“Stay the night. I'll keep you company so you won't get scared.”

But you are kinda scary yourself, he swallowed those words, not wanting to offend his host.

“Would you like a change of clothes? I wish I could make you a cup of tea to warm you up, but I am incapable of it.”

“Thanks, but I'll only stay until the rain stops. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Why do you keep insist on leaving? Am I that scary?”

“You might be comfortable living in darkness, but I am not…”

“Are you sure this darkness and my presence is scarier than the world you live in?”

He was stunned.

“H-how do you know?”

“Just a wild guess. Why else would you run to a desolate house in the middle of nowhere in this pouring rain?”

“I-I could've got lost and taken shelter here temporarily! Why are you jumping into conclusion by yourself?”

“Is that the case…My apologies for overthinking, then…”

“But you know what, you're right. Actually…I ran away from home.”

“So I was right.” I actually saw your memories while we were holding hands.

“I have a proposal for you. It’s entirely up to you whether you accept it or not…It's just that I want to help you.”

“What is it?”

“Would you like to stay here with me?”

“W-What?”

“I mean it. Would you like to?”

“We don’t even know each other…”

“Like I told you before…I’d love some company in this darkness. It’s been so many years of being alone, I’ve lost count…”

“Years…?” But why do you sound like someone of my age?

“If you haven’t realized yet…I’m…a…what you call…ghost.”

“EHHHH?!”

He screamed and jumped away from the stranger.

“My apologies if I have startled you.”

“I-I'm leaving…”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I…can’t possibly live in this house with an unknown-years-old ghost in pitch darkness…”

“So…you're going to leave me too,” the stranger mumbled.

“On top of my blindness, I have another condition that doesn’t allow my skin to withstand sunshine.”

“Is that because you're a ghost? Are you…a bloodsucking vampire? Is that why you invited me in, so that you can suck my blood?”

“No,” the stranger chuckled, “I have had that condition since birth. You see, that condition is why I was made to live in this desolate place, away from other humans…”

“That's sad.”

“They called me moonchild because of my condition. They feared me. Like you, many of them thought that I was a vampire. So my family built this house out of nowhere and left me here…”

“Left you?”

“Originally, they took turns staying with me here. That continued until I was eighteen. They were growing tired of it, I guess. So one day they came to this mutual agreement to abandon me.”

“Abandon…?”

“Yes. I couldn’t go outside since I didn’t know the roads and I could've been in an accident…I stayed here and waited…waited…waited…I called but no one answered, I was starving and there was nothing to eat at home…At one point I was desperate enough to attempt to go out but the door was locked from outside…I got so weak that I couldn’t break the door, so I lay there on the floor…in and out of my consciousness…until one day I fell into a long, deep sleep. When I came to, I felt better but my heart wasn’t beating anymore…”

“Stop…I can't listen to it anymore…”

“Sorry. It wasn’t a pleasant story…I knew it but I still rambled on…”

“You…really went through a lot…”

“This is my first time telling this story to anyone. I never had anyone to share this story with….”

“Poor you.”

He had given up on life long ago. The family who adopted him didn’t care enough worry about his disappearance. He had no dream or goal to live for. Being with this unnatural presence in darkness seemed much better to face the shitty world outside. Darkness was scary, but outside world was scarier.

If he could make this stranger happy by keeping him company, why not?

“It'll hurt a bit. I'm really sorry about that,” he felt a cold arm wrapping around his neck in that pitch-black darkness. He closed his eyes and surrendered, but his body wouldn’t. It struggled and fought to keep him alive, to pull him back to the world of living until the very end. Until he became one with the darkness.

“Are you there?”

“I'm here.”

“Welcome to my world. From now on, we'll never be alone, we'll never be in pain. We'll be together, always.”

Okay

I don't quite know what's going on, not really.

I'm being dragged through a dizzying carousel of people and walls and things, so many things, that I can barely even focus on.

Strong hands are wrapped around my wrist, pulling me forward harshly. Warm hands that feel cold.

I'm don't quite know what's going on and I'm thankful for it.

I'm scared but I feel too dizzy, too weak-willed to act upon the fear.

I feel hesitant but the hand pulling me hushes the errant thoughts inside me. Silences the voice wanting me to run away.

Until I meet a pair of eyes I can't look away from. Aching with hunger. Big and young and anguished. I stop in my tracks. Almost fall over. So young. So hungry.

I turn to the child. Look at him. He looks at me. My mind is coming back into focus now. Suddenly a broad figure steps between me and the child.

The child. I can't see him anymore. I look at the figure in front of me. Oh. It's him. The one who was holding my wrist. He arrests me in his gaze. I'm dizzy again.

He hands me a handful of pills, like a child offering candy to their friend. I tip them into my mouth, dry-swallowing them. It hurts and I almost choke but I need to quell the budding desire in my heart to just start screaming. I need to stop feeling so ... so flighty. I need to make my mind able to walk where my wrist is being pulled to. The pills crawl into my aching, empty stomach. And suddenly the world is blurrier and dizzier than it's ever been and I can barely keep standing.

"Walk," he says, his sweet candy voice having cold icy undertones. I walk. I walk and I keep walking and I walk and I walk and I walk.

A door. A pretty familiar one. Mahogany. Ivory-trimmed. Rich. I'm scared of it. I don't know why. The brass lock clicks open and I'm pulled into the densely-carpeted mass. White walls. Paintings. Paintings. Paintings. Gold. Terror. Inside me. But my mind and body are too weak to do anything about it. Which is perfect. If I can swallow this terror I won't have to face THAT terror.

I need to .... I don't know.

The world keeps spinning and I cling to the hope that tomorrow I'll forget that tonight even happened. I freeze, guiltily, and push that thought away.

I force myself up the stairs.

———

Black nothingness melts into gold and white. Carved figures. The agony of bright sunlight. Headache. An overwhelming, sick feeling permeating through my soul. Nothing. I feel like nothing. But I always did.

I tumble out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I throw up. It physically feels like my stomach is being pulled apart. It was empty to begin with and it's emptier now, somehow. I don't care. Hunger just means that my collar bones will get more prominent, my arms more delicate, my waist more thin.

I make my way back into the spacious bedroom, onto the plush silk sheets. I shiver a bit, and consider just leaving out the door. That thought makes me shiver more. My slow feet drag me back to the four-poster prison and I drape myself over it. No, not prison. This is a place of hope, a place of opportunity.

"Hey. Someone's up." His voice is always sweet but with a sharp, menacing edge. If you brushed against it it was so unbearably soft. But if you leaned into it, it would cut you.

"Yeah. Someone is up. What's it to ya?" I'm tired, my voice the tiniest bit cracked.

"Get in the car. We're going to breakfast. And then we're flying to Dubai. It would be such a lavish place to spend the weekend."

No no no I don't want this I'm too tired I want to curl up with my sister in in a dark room that's a bit too warm and just a touch smokey. I want soft words and slow caresses and being able to sleep soundly.

Wait. What am I thinking? It will be fun. It will be good. He has so much to show me. So many places to fu... oh God. My legs move of their own accord, towards the door, towards the morning outside and towards the sweepings of the streets.

The children, the beggars, the people desperately selling trinkets, the people waiting at the bus stop on their way to factories like cattle coalescing outside the slaughterhouse. It wasn't fair, wasn't fair, wasn't fair the way the world was. It wasn't fair that some people were born into wealth and health and others were born into death. But the world was human and free. I could disappear into that.

"Oh are you leaving?" He said it so innocently yet I didn't miss the subtle fingers of a threat in his words. I'm snapped back into reality. No I'm not leaving. Of course I'm not leaving.

Just to to be sure my mind doesn't fucking betray me again I gulp down a pill that helps with anxiety. I feel numb now. Like I'm in water, like I'm looking at the world from inside an aquarium. I feel slightly nauseous. I eat more pills than food. It's worth it though.

"I'll get ready. Get my hair just how I want it, find nice clothes, all that." Be gorgeous for him.

"You do that. You always look so pretty for me." That statement makes me want to die. But no. Of course I'm pretty for him. The least I can be is his.

So I force a smile.

Inspired by the universe of BioShock, where a haunting underwater city once promised utopia but quickly decayed into chaos and horror.

Chapter 1: Into the Depths

Jack stepped out of the rusty bathysphere, his eyes adjusting to the dim glow of Rapture's sprawling skyline. Once, this city beneath the sea was a glittering paradise. Now, it was shrouded in eerie silence, with only the creaks of strained metal and the distant drip of leaking pipes echoing through the shadows. Jack’s flashlight flickered, illuminating streaks of red on the floor—a reminder that he wasn’t alone.

Chapter 2: The Ghosts of Rapture

Moving cautiously, Jack heard whispers from the shadows. The crazed splicers, once ordinary people of Rapture, now scuttled in the darkness. Their bodies were twisted from overuse of ADAM, a genetic serum that granted powers but eroded minds. One of them stumbled into view, a gaunt woman with cracked skin and empty eyes, mumbling to herself about “the good old days.” She barely noticed Jack as she clawed at a broken vending machine, desperate for another fix.

Chapter 3: A Deal with the Devil

Descending further, Jack encountered Dr. Steinman’s old clinic—a blood-splattered operating table stood at the center, surrounded by jagged surgical tools. Suddenly, the doctor himself appeared, a monstrous figure, his face warped and stitched, muttering endlessly about “perfecting beauty.” Jack froze as Steinman, lost in his delusions, raised a scalpel with frenzied delight, his eyes wild and unseeing. Jack backed away, realizing he was a heartbeat away from becoming Steinman’s latest "masterpiece."

Chapter 4: Meeting the Little Sister

At the end of a long corridor, Jack found a Little Sister—a pale, doll-like child with a syringe almost as large as she was. Her haunting yellow eyes glinted as she stared at him, cradling her “Big Daddy,” a towering creature in a massive diving suit, who growled protectively. Jack had a choice: save the girl from her twisted fate, or harvest the ADAM she carried to survive.

Chapter 5: The Choice

As Jack raised his hand to the Little Sister, he heard echoes of Atlas’s words from the radio: “Would you kindly?” The phrase rang in his mind, compelling him to obey. Jack clenched his fists, fighting to break free from the invisible chains binding him. He had to decide who he would become in this city of horrors—a savior, or another monster drawn into Rapture’s descent.

(This is inspired by an animation I saw)

First our dog, Max, went missing

He was the there in the evening,

but the next morning he was not

We aren't completely sure where he went

There's been talk in the town of a creature

One who stalks the woods at night

No one has completely seen it

But they say it becomes parts of what it takes

My sister went missing

She was here yesterday evening

this morning she was not

She had said she wanted to look for Max

Of course I miss her

but I don't want to see her again

Because I'm worried that it won't really be her

That it will be it instead

I'm worried it will have her arms instead of deer legs,

her hands instead of hooves

I'm worried it will have her green eyes,

instead of normal dark deer eyes

I'm don't want to see her again

I'm scared that I will

I'm scared that it will be

The deer instead

11:58 p.m.

The screen flickers. Grainy resolution, pixels struggling to hold form in the amber glow. A park bench sits crooked in the frame, its iron legs half-sunken into damp soil. Shadows stretch long and jagged, spilling into the empty spaces between paths.

It’s almost beautiful. Almost.

He leans closer, the webcam feed bathing his face in cold blue light. His breath fogs the air in front of him, short and shallow, and the desk beneath his elbows creaks with his weight.

The cursor hovers.

Click.

The camera pans left, motorized and deliberate. Slow enough to tease, to make every inch of revealed darkness feel like a strip being peeled away.

He knows this spot. Walked it a hundred times, mapping the rhythms of its silence. The park lives in his head like a second home—each bench, every lamp, all the exits carved into his memory like a map of inevitabilities.

11:59 p.m.

Movement.

It’s small, insignificant, like a moth flickering in the corner of the frame, but his pulse quickens anyway. He drags the camera back, snapping it into focus.

There.

A figure.

They’re pacing beneath the lamppost, their shadow stretching ahead of them like an obedient dog. A woman, maybe mid-30s, bundled against the cold in a coat too thin for December. Her hands are stuffed into her pockets, head down, her steps uneven and restless.

He smiles.

The screen renders her in shades of gray, her features smudged and soft, but there’s something in the way she moves. Like she doesn’t belong here, her body out of sync with the park’s rhythm.

He knows the type.

They always come here for the same reason.

She stops. Looks up. Her face catches the light—brief, blurred, barely enough to form an image—but his breath hitches anyway.

Her lips move. A small puff of breath escapes, visible even in the low-quality feed, and he tilts his head, imagining the sound of her voice. Soft, maybe. A little hoarse.

12:01 a.m.

She sits.

Sinks onto the bench, her silhouette slumping forward as her elbows rest on her knees. She pulls something from her pocket—a phone, its screen glowing brighter than the surrounding lamps—and the reflection paints her face with fleeting clarity.

He leans closer. The chair beneath him squeals, a sound swallowed by the static hiss of the webcam feed.

Her eyes flick toward the camera.

He freezes.

The moment passes. She’s looking through it, not at it, her attention somewhere beyond the lens. Her fingers swipe across the phone screen, her face painted in shifting shadows.

She doesn’t know he’s there.

He exhales.

12:03 a.m.

The camera pans wider, its mechanical hum grinding against the quiet. He scans the empty paths, the motionless trees, the parked cars beyond the gates.

No one else.

The smile returns.

Click.

He locks the camera back on her. It’s a game now, the kind where the rules don’t exist. The kind where the winner gets to write the ending.

She stands again. Her body language is taut, uncertain, like she’s waiting for something that won’t come. Her phone dangles from one hand, her head swiveling as if she’s searching for a sign.

His fingers tighten on the mouse.

12:05 a.m.

The feed crackles, pixels distorting her shape, stretching her into something unnatural for the briefest moment. He slams the desk, and the screen steadies again.

She’s walking now. Back the way she came, her pace quickening, her shadow chasing her down the path.

The camera doesn’t follow her. It can’t. Its reach stops at the edge of the frame, the park gates cutting her off like a severed limb.

He stares at the empty screen.

The lamppost flickers, once, twice, and then the image stabilizes again.

He shifts back in his chair, his knuckles cracking as his hands flex and relax. His breathing is steady now, a low tide rolling in under the surface of his chest.

12:07 a.m.

He closes the tab. The screen goes black, reflecting his face in sharp angles and dull eyes.

His mind fills in the rest. The park’s rhythm, her unsteady gait, the precise distance between her last known position and where he waits.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already his.

12:10 a.m.

He grabs his coat.

The knife waits on the counter by the door, gleaming faintly under the eager light. He pockets it with practiced ease, the weight of it a reassurance.

The park is only five minutes away.

Enough time to let the silence stretch.

I had to lay low

the police were close

i tightened the floorboards

and held tightly to my hopes

but after a few months

nothing.

no interrogation

no questions

so the gig is back on

think I should mention

there's no bias

no hatred

do i relish it? yes

but people love my films

and some have done a lot more for a lot less

no children are involved

just the greedy and the stupid

but i'm the only one who sees

that only i could do it

others couldn't be Robin Hood

others would get lazy

others would get sloppy

others are crazy

but i'm doing it right

i'm making art

and now that i'm safe

i can finally start

again