Chapter 2 The Mysterious Hand

"Y-you hit me again?"

Jack Connors was on the verge of tears. The sixteen hours of abuse he had endured were more than in his entire twenty-eight years of life.

"Do you think I want to be trapped in your pathetic, ugly, insignificant body?"

In the sweltering summer heat, the relentless blaze of the sun and the incessant hum of cicadas can be quite overwhelming. By 2 PM, most people prefer to stay indoors, avoiding the harsh weather.

Jack Connors glanced at the passing cars. In this aging neighborhood, there were no traffic lights, making it crucial to be cautious when crossing the street, especially after last month's accident that resulted in one fatality and two injuries—a tragic reminder for everyone living here.

Seeing that the road was clear, Jack crossed the street, keeping his head down as he made his way to his apartment. He navigated through a rundown alley, carefully avoiding puddles of stagnant water. After walking several dozen meters, Jack finally reached his five-story building from the 1980s.

In this alley, many similar buildings stood close together. A glance reveals cluttered clotheslines and a mess of garments, causing one to frown. Despite the squalid environment, the alley is home to many young people from all corners of the country, eager to make their mark in this bustling city of East Coast. They "willingly" live here due to the affordable rent.

Jack, however, is not one of them. His situation is different. Despite being only 24, Jack is far from the penniless adventurers. He inherited this building from his wealthy parents and is one of the landlords that the young residents detest.

Though Jack seems young for a landlord, he is a "rich kid" with inherited wealth. The building came from his parents, and with the rental income, he doesn't need to work. Jack, inherently lazy, was content with this arrangement. After a few unsatisfactory jobs post-graduation, he chose to forgo working, knowing that he wouldn't starve with rental income and a family-owned noodle shop adding to his earnings. He optimistically anticipated a lucrative relocation compensation when the government eventually redeveloped the area.

But Jack's ideal life took a nosedive last night, and his future now feels uncertain. The thought pained him deeply.

He unlocked the door to his apartment on the first floor. As a landlord, Jack had the option to choose the best living conditions, but he preferred the first floor. A childhood trauma from an earthquake had left him with a lasting aversion to high places, fearing he wouldn't be able to escape if another quake struck.

Jack entered the apartment, pressed the light switch, and the two-bedroom, one-living-room space was illuminated. His face turned pale as he picked up a glass of water, sighed deeply, and—

"Bang!"

The glass slipped from Jack's right hand and crashed onto the floor. His expression changed dramatically as he watched in horror as his right hand began to twist uncontrollably. It stretched an extra meter, its rubber-like transformation defying belief.

The scene grew even more terrifying as the transformed hand's palm began to tear apart, revealing layers of flesh that rolled and twisted, eventually forming a mouth.

Yes, a mouth, like a human's but not friendly. It was filled with sharp, glistening teeth, resembling a great white shark's jaws.

Before Jack could fully process the horror, the rubber-like hand suddenly became a blur. The next moment, Jack felt a searing pain on his left cheek as he was slapped, his mouth flying open in a scream as he collapsed to the ground.

"Human..."

After slapping Jack with its right hand, the hand made this statement but didn't address Jack's question.

"W-when are you leaving...?"

Jack asked this question and quickly covered his cheek with his left hand, bracing himself for another slap.

To his surprise, the right hand did not hit him.

"I will leave once I achieve my goal."

The right hand gave him a cold, disdainful look. Despite having only a "mouth," Jack could sense the chill in its gaze.

Terror welled up inside Jack. He lowered his head, gritted his teeth, and mustered his final ounce of courage to ask, "W-what's your goal? I mean, if you tell me, I'll do everything I can to help."

"No need for that. I don't care about your feelings. Just follow my orders."

The right hand seemed impatient, treating Jack like an insect. "Human, shut your filthy mouth. For the next hour, do not speak or move."

Jack immediately complied, more obedient than he had ever been with his parents. If his parents saw this, they'd regret not being stricter when he was younger.

Jack began watching the news, the first time he had done so with such intensity. However, his innate restlessness made it difficult for him to stay focused. After a few minutes, his mind wandered, his gaze lost its focus, and he resembled a meditating monk.

Older generations often criticize the youth for being impatient and lacking perseverance. Jack's previous biggest flaw was his lack of willpower and patience. Like a child who never grew up, he would lose interest in things he didn't like within minutes and abandon them.

His compulsive disorder even extended to social interactions. Waiting a minute or two for friends felt unbearable, and his anxiety often led to outbursts, causing friends to find him peculiar and distance themselves.

Yet those with compulsive disorders know they have no control over their actions. Despite knowing it was wrong, Jack found it impossible to stay calm and focused.

If Jack's friends saw him now, they would be astonished. The Jack who used to squirm after sitting for a few minutes was now sitting perfectly still for over ten minutes, his posture even more rigid than a soldier's.

After an hour, drenched in sweat, Jack finally heard the right hand's command: "Turn off the TV."

Feeling a sense of relief, Jack stood up, almost falling over. He rubbed his numb thighs and quickly turned off the TV.

"Now, open your computer."

Open the computer?

Jack was puzzled but, fearing disobedience, went to his room to power up the computer.

The computer booted slowly, the classic XP logo slowly appearing on the screen.

"Too slow, too slow…"

The right hand expressed its impatience, extending its pinky finger by over a meter to control the mouse.

Seeing this bizarre scene, Jack's face went pale. The sight of such a terrifying thing happening with his own hand was enough to shock anyone.

The old computer finally started. The right hand maneuvered the mouse and opened the web browser.

"P-please, what are you planning to do?"

In a pleading tone, Jack cautiously asked.

"Close your mouth."

The right hand didn't answer and continued browsing for information.

Jack had no choice but to guess the unknown entity's intentions from the screen. However, he could only see a few words before the page was quickly closed. In a matter of seconds, dozens of pages opened and closed repeatedly until Jack's old computer crashed.

"See how fast you're going? Now look what you've done."

A brief moment of gloating turned into panic as Jack felt a sharp, searing pain from deep within his body, making him gasp for breath. The intense pain was like hellish torture, and he started sweating profusely and vomiting uncontrollably.

"Remember, human, I can sense your emotions too. Don't think I don't know what you're thinking."

The right hand reached out, looking down at Jack as he vomited. "Disrespect me again, and next time the punishment will last ten seconds."

Jack was terrified. He had thought slaps and stomach blows were the worst punishments, but the direct stimulation of his pain receptors was far more excruciating.

"Alright, grab your keys and bank card. We're going out."

Jack numbly, tremblingly stood up, ignoring the mess on the floor, and followed the command, heading toward the door with his keys and bank card.

"Bang."

Jack closed the door behind him and stepped out of the small house.

The afternoon sun was still blindingly bright. Jack's expression was blank, his face ashen, and he appeared like a zombie. The sunlight made him feel disoriented.

"Huh?"

Just as Jack was dazed, the right hand suddenly reached out and grabbed a small flowerpot that fell from above.

What's happening?

Jack looked at the flowerpot he caught, his face even paler. If his right hand hadn't caught it, his head might have been smashed.

"Smash…"

The right hand carelessly threw the flowerpot onto the ground, shattering it, and flowers and soil scattered everywhere.

"Ah, I-I'm so sorry."

A weak female voice came from above. Jack looked up to see a female tenant from the second floor, who he remembered was named Lily, having lived there for less than a month.

Lily saw that her carelessness almost caused the flowerpot to fall on the landlord's head and was horrified. She hurried downstairs to apologize but found only the broken flowerpot and soil with no sign of the landlord.

If this had happened a day ago, Jack would have been angry and stayed to confront Lily. But today, he didn't have time to waste. Following the right hand's orders, he went straight to the destination.

"Human, pay attention. Next time, the flowerpot will land on your head."

The voice transmitted directly through his bones to Jack's ears. To outsiders, Jack only appeared pale and slightly trembling, with no sign of any strange sounds.

The blazing afternoon sun brought intense heat. As people on the street wished they could strip down, Jack, walking under the scorching sun, felt no heat. Instead, he felt an internal coldness that the blazing sun couldn't chase away, only growing colder.

After walking for nearly twenty minutes without sweating, Jack lifted his stiff neck to see the destination.

It was a branch of the Bank of America.

An ordinary bank, no different from most banks in the US. Jack had no particular interest in it. He entered the bank lobby, took a number, and sat down to wait.

There weren't many people in line for banking services in the afternoon. Within a few minutes, it was Jack's turn. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his bank card, and approached the counter. "I'd like to withdraw ten thousand dollars."

Ten thousand dollars. D*mn it, his total savings were just over thirty thousand. Withdrawing ten thousand at once was painful, but he couldn't resist. It was the right hand's command.

After entering his PIN and receiving a stack of cash from the teller, Jack was left puzzled. What could the right hand want with ten thousand dollars?

He didn't know and had no right to ask.

He had never held ten thousand dollars in cash at once before. He used to think it was a lot, but now that he had it in hand, it seemed far too little. Even if given ten more stacks, he wouldn't feel satisfied.

Even though the ten thousand dollars technically still belonged to Jack Connors, he knew deep down that the money was no longer truly his, no matter how reluctant he was to let go of it.

He walked out of the bank in a daze. The security guard, who had been eyeing him with suspicion, was probably hoping to discern some hidden meaning behind Jack's blank expression. Disappointed, the guard turned his attention back to the bank lobby, just as a loud "bang" echoed behind him.

"Robbery!" The thought flashed through the security guard's mind. After almost five years on the job, this was the first time he'd seen someone bold enough to attempt a robbery right outside the bank. His face turned pale as he grabbed his baton and rushed to the scene, but he was stunned to see the robber—a man in a black shirt—running off, while the victim, a young man, stood frozen, seemingly paralyzed with fear.

"Get a move on—" the guard began to shout, but before he could finish, the young man vanished from sight in an instant.

"That's fast!" The guard gaped in disbelief. The victim had somehow caught up to the fleeing robber in the blink of an eye. With a swift movement, the young man grabbed the robber by the neck and tossed him aside. The robber crumpled to the ground with a series of painful cries.

"Wow." The guard stood speechless. He had never seen anything like it. The young man casually picked up the scattered money as if nothing extraordinary had happened, turned on his heel, and walked away. The guard remained frozen, watching as the robber continued to wail on the ground. His shirt was drenched with sweat, his face pale and his mouth agape.

What kind of look was that? It wasn't anger, fear, or relief—it was sheer indifference. It was as if the young man saw the robber no differently than a squashed insect. The guard was struck by a sense of humiliation and a bone-deep fear. He knew he would never forget that gaze, though he suspected others might dismiss it as a figment of his imagination.

Meanwhile, Jack Connors had turned down several streets and was enduring the painful consequences inflicted by the mysterious entity residing in his right hand. Each step felt like walking over hot coals; his body shook, his teeth chattered, and sweat poured down uncontrollably.

This was the punishment for his earlier mistake. According to the entity, this level of pain was the lowest it could administer. Jack knew he wouldn't have been able to catch the robber without the entity's control. In truth, he had never even killed a chicken, let alone faced a strong thief.

Though he had recovered the money, Jack felt he would rather have lost it than endure this torment. Human endurance has its limits, and when surpassed, it can lead to fainting. But with the entity controlling his central nervous system, he had no choice but to stay conscious and suffer.

After what felt like an eternity, the punishment ended. Jack was allowed a minute's respite on the sidewalk, panting and wiping the sweat from his face.

"You have ten minutes to move everything to the basement," the entity commanded coldly.

Jack was taken aback not just by the short deadline, but by the mention of the basement. It was a place he hadn't visited in a long time, mainly storing old junk.

Without hesitation, Jack fumbled for the basement key, rushed to open the heavy door, and switched on the light. The long-unused bulb flickered to life, illuminating a large, cluttered space filled with wood, cement bags, discarded furniture, and trash.

A sense of dread washed over Jack. As expected, the entity's next command came swiftly: "After moving everything, clean the entire basement."

The thought of cleaning such a vast area made Jack's face drain of color. He returned to the entrance and began hauling the items with a heavy heart.

"Um, Mr. Connors…" a soft, surprised voice called out from the doorway.