Caleb drew a breath, lifting his hands slightly.
"Calm down... chill..." his tone flat but firm. "If that’s what you ca for... I’ll hand it over."
He stepped slowly toward the busted couch in the corner. Every pair of eyes followed him, clubs and knives raised higher, ready to strike if he made a wrong move.
With steady motions, Caleb dug into the ripped stuffing. His fingers brushed cold tal, and slowly he pulled out Mike’s phone.
"This what you want?" He lifted it just enough for the eight girls to see. Their faces tightened instantly.
One of them edged a step forward, fingers trembling though her gaze was sharp with vengeance. But the girl holding the knife cut her off, eyes blazing at Caleb. The blade’s tip rose close to his face.
"Take off the mask," she demanded, voice cold as steel. "Now."
Caleb stood still, phone still in his grip. His eyes narrowed slightly.
If I comply, they’ll know exactly who I am... If I don’t, blood’s gonna hit the floor.
The knife pressed closer, nearly grazing his skin through the fabric. He could feel its chill even behind the mask. His breathing grew heavier, eyes locked tight.
"Do it! Take it off!" the girl barked.
Caleb let out a long sigh, then slowly tugged at the straps. The black mask slid down to his chin, exposing his pale face under the harsh morning light streaming through the cracked window.
"The cap too," the girl spat.
In one swift motion, Caleb pulled the worn cap off his head. Strands of ssy hair fell across his forehead.
The room fell silent. Eight pairs of eyes drilled into him. One girl frowned deeply, brows furrowed.
"You...?" she whispered, voice wavering with doubt. "Your face... it’s familiar..."
Suddenly, another girl yanked a phone from her own bag, quickly swiping it open. Her fingers shook as she scrolled, eyes widening the mont she found what she was looking for.
"You’re the ButtManiac..." her voice cracked into a half-scream.
Every head whipped toward Caleb. Their faces twisted—disgust, fury, hate.
Caleb froze for a fraction of a second, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. His lips moved, whispering a curse.
"...Ahh, shit..."
Inside his skull, alarms blared loud and rciless. They know. It’s blown wide open.
His breath grew heavier. But then, in the next beat, his expression shifted. A faint, bitter smile crept onto his lips.
Ti to play the part again... or this dump becos my grave.
Caleb raised his hands slightly, his tone softer, calr.
"Relax... I’ll explain. You... all of you were threatened by Mike, right? I—"
"STOP LYING!" one of the girls scread, her eyes red with fury. "You’re one of Mike’s crew! You have to be part of those bastards!"
Caleb shook his head quickly, his face tight.
"No... I’m not! I... I was threatened by Mike too! I’m not with them. I—" he swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "I’m not even... the type who likes groping asses..."
His words cut off. Caleb muttered under his breath, barely audible.
"...shit."
His eyes narrowed. This role won’t work... ti to switch.
He straightened, his gaze sharpening, voice turning cold and steady.
"You all know Mike... and those two idiot lackeys of his... died last night, don’t you?"
The woman holding the knife stiffened, her face tightening. "Yeah... we know."
A thin smile curled across Caleb’s lips—the kind that made the air in the room grow colder.
"You know why they died so pathetically?"
The won swallowed hard, exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to answer.
"No..." their voices ca out almost in unison.
Caleb leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting like a predator catching the scent of blood.
"It’s because of ."
Caleb held back the grin tugging at his lips, letting the laughter stay buried in his chest. This is gonna be fun.
The room was dead silent. Eight girls stared at each other, but none spoke—until the one with the knife finally broke the air, her voice trembling with rage.
"Explain! Now!"
Caleb lifted his chin, eyes sharp but calm.
"I’m a vigilante," he said firmly, each syllable cold as ice. "With the ability of mind control."
One girl imdiately scoffed, face twisting in disbelief. "Bullshit! You think we’re gonna buy that—"
Caleb cut her off quick, his tone slicing like a blade.
"Then how do you explain the way they died, huh?" His gaze swept across them. "You saw the video, didn’t you? There’s gotta be footage floating around."
A heavier silence fell. Faces stiffened. They all knew. They all knew.
The clip had already gone viral across Torkside. A shaky phone recording in the middle of the crowd—Anderson, one of those idiot lackeys, caught on cara. His face twisted in panic as he shoved his own fingers into Mike’s butthole—right after Mike slit his own throat.
The scene was bizarre, grotesque, unforgettable.
The short-haired girl in the corner slapped a hand over her mouth, her face going pale. "Y-You..." she whispered, her voice faint. Then she turned to the others. "Guys... it’s true..."
The rest exchanged frantic, wide-eyed glances.
Caleb finally allowed a thin smile to curl on his lips. A smile of satisfaction. Of certainty.
Damn... easy peasy.
His eyes narrowed, voice dropping low, like a snake hissing.
"One and all."
The room hung frozen. Eight young faces—anger tangled with fear. Caleb’s crooked smile widened inside his chest.
Eight victims? What a waste... but you’ll have to be victims again. Don’t worry though... this ti, it’s only lies. Not assault.
He lowered his hands slowly, voice slipping into calm again—almost like a teacher lecturing his class.
"Relax. Just relax..." he murmured.
Then Caleb strolled casually back to the busted sofa, dropping down like he owned the room. He crossed one leg over the other, leaning back, his stare drilling into each of them in turn.
"So..." Caleb exhaled, his voice cold but asured. "...this is what really happened to ."
The words hung in the stale air, like a door creaking open. The girls stayed frozen—so clutching their clubs tighter, others staring at the knife now trembling in their friend’s hand.
Caleb rubbed a hand down his face, then leaned forward, ready to spin a story that would bind them tighter than chains.
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