How it all began...

Just as Alice had predicted, Paula was down the whole day—thinking about the major role she had played in all this. She lay curled up on the tiny bed they shared in their cramped room, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling.

"Are you seriously still thinking about it?" Alice asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a worn book in her lap.

"I can't help it," Paula mumbled, her voice muffled as she buried her face in her pillow.

Alice leaned back against the wall, sighing. "I already told you—I'd do it again." She assured her. "I don't regret it. Not what I did. Not any of it. It's unfortunate, yes, but I don't regret it."

Paula's shoulders shook as she started to sob. Her hands clenched the pillow, pulling it tighter around her face as though it could muffle the memories along with her tears.

Alice stared at her for a long moment, then set the book aside, letting her thoughts drift to that day three years ago. The day it all went sideways.

It had started with a phone call. Paula had been drunk—so drunk she slurred her words and sobbed like a child. Paula never drank. Ever. But that night, Alice could hear the despair dripping from every word she managed to say.

Paula had won an art contest and landed a job at a gallery in the South—a dream opportunity for an artist from the North. The gallery had even paid her an upfront 20,000 bucks and handed her a contract.

Leaving the North was a fantasy they'd shared for years. Life here was bleak unless you were one of the lucky few who benefited from the region's capitalist elite. Paula had promised to bring Alice along as soon as she was settled, begging her to quit her exhausting, underpaid sales rep job. Alice had hesitated, not wanting to be a burden, but Paula was insistent.

They'd been through everything together since the orphanage—Paula, Alice, and even Aurora, before she agreed to leave with a rich family, despite the three of them swearing to remain together. Even after Aurora left, they'd stuck together, later adding Vivian to their little family in school. Thankfully, Vivian had parents. Though they were also almost low-income, they could fare and also treated Paula and Alice like their daughters.

For six months, Paula poured herself into the job, painting tirelessly to meet deadlines and prove herself. By this time, Alice had moved to the South with her and was still job hunting but getting nowhere. But when the six-month mark came, the gallery claimed she wasn't "ready" and pressured her to extend her contract. Alice was suspicious from the start, sensing something amiss.

Eventually, Paula uncovered the truth. The gallery was a scam. They had been using her paintings without her knowledge, selling them to reputable galleries under false pretenses. The realization hit her when she stumbled upon an invitation to an art exhibition in the East. One of the teaser images was unmistakable—one of her own pieces, something she had poured her heart into for a month.

Her boss was conveniently out of reach, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place: an artist from the North, a shady gallery in the South, and a prestigious event in the East. They had planned it so well, she might never have known.

Desperate for answers, Paula traveled to the East. At the gallery, she posed as a representative from the South branch and was allowed in without question. The moment she saw her work displayed with someone else's name, she broke down.

She called Alice that night, her voice breaking with anger and despair. "I can't take it out," Paula cried. "It's my work, my effort. But I can't let them have it. I just can't. At least... I should ruin it, right? I don't want anyone else to have it."

Alice didn't hesitate. She packed a small bag and hopped on the next bus to the East—a two-hour ride that felt like an eternity.

When she arrived, Paula looked shattered, clutching a bottle of cheap whiskey as though it were a lifeline.

"Let's destroy it, then," Alice said without blinking.

And so they did.

The night before the exhibition, they snuck into the gallery. Armed with a can of spray paint, Alice asked Paula to watch guard outside. But it was more of getting her away from the scene. She didn't want Paula to see the ruin of her precious works. Alice knew Paula's works by heart—every brushstroke, every shade of color. Paula had painted them on their tiny balcony, sending Alice photos of her progress, proud and hopeful.

Alice worked quickly, her heart pounding as she sprayed chaotic lines over the canvases, ruining their polished perfection. It was a small act of defiance but one that felt enormous. It also broke her heart to do this.

She could hear Paula's quiet sob.

That girl would make a bad spy.

When it was done, they stood outside the gallery, breathless and trembling.

The aftermath of their rebellion had spiraled out of control, turning Alice's life into a tangle of misfortune.

It wasn't just the arrest—though that had been bad enough. The gallery manager, a smug, sharp-suited man who probably bathed in privilege, had refused to admit any wrongdoing. Even when presented with Paula's photos and videos as proof they belonged to her, he dismissed them with a sneer.

Poor people didn't have talent.

And rich people were always right.

Alice spent a week in a dingy jail cell, fighting off a mix of despair and fury. By the time she was bailed out—racking up debt for settlement which she couldn't afford—her name had been blacklisted. She was barred from relocating out of the North and deported back with a permanent mark on her record.

The man had made sure of that.

And as if that wasn't enough, Vivian, their lovely friend, had come as an emotional support and also to take them back. She had managed to turn a 2-hour drive to the East into a 5-hour journey because of her almost beat-up car, but then, she got into a fatal accident, and no one knew who the perpetrators were.

The result? Vivian had been on life support for two years, and the medical bills were suffocating them. They were all trying to pay it off together with her parents.

So... see why she needed money?

Money was no longer a luxury—it was survival.

Alice tried to make do, but finding a real job with a criminal record listed on her ID was nearly impossible. She also could not leave the North. The only work she could get was… unconventional. People hired her to deliver justice in her own way—beating up an abusive boss, teaching a lesson to a bully, or scaring off a creep who wouldn't take no for an answer.

She worked at night, masked, channeling all her anger into her unfortunate victim.

But even that was no longer safe. The police were onto her, watching her every move like a hawk. She couldn't risk it anymore.

Her life felt like a bad joke, one that she wasn't even laughing at anymore.

Paula sat up in bed, wiping her tear-streaked face. "If money doesn't come… would you at least be open to finding love?"

Alice almost laughed. Love? Who would love her? Could she even love anyone?

"We don't need love, Paula. We need money," she smiled, adding mischievously, "Okay, fine, a rich man wouldn't hurt."

She knew she would never get one. It was why she never even dreamed of it.

Paula snorted. "Tall, rich, with blue eyes and white hair."

Paula was teasing her.

"He's just in my fantasy."

"You dreamt about him so many times last year," Paula paused and then looked serious. "Soulmate. Could it be—"

"That scam shaman must have gotten to you," Alice interrupted, flicking Paula's forehead.

Paula rubbed the spot but still looked serious. "I'm serious. You even cried one time after seeing him in your dream."

Alice paused for a moment, then shrugged it off with a cheeky grin. "Maybe it's because he's my type, and I know I'll never get him? Or… maybe it's a sign to start writing the novel because it might blow up," she said excitedly.

But within her, she had also been bothered by it. The dreams. The feeling of emptiness.

"Anyway, I'm going for a jog." She said and got up.

Alice changed into her running gear, stretching by the door as Paula called out after her.

"You will never believe in spiritual things, will you?"

"I won't," Alice replied confidently. "We'll be fine."

"I hope so," Paula whispered, watching her go.

But things were about to get crazier than either of them could imagine.

---

Later that night…

The streets were quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Alice's sneakers pounding the pavement. Running was her therapy, the one thing that made her feel in control.

But tonight, something felt… off.

She glanced over her shoulder, her pulse quickening. Was someone following her? Shadows shifted in the dim, flickering streetlights, and she swore she heard the faint crunch of footsteps behind her.

Alice sped up, her breath coming in short bursts. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to shake the feeling. But then, out of nowhere, a sleek black car screeched to a halt in front of her.

"What the—"

Before she could react, the car door swung open, and two men in dark suits jumped out. One grabbed her arm, his grip iron-strong, while the other clamped a hand over her mouth.

Alice struggled, kicking and twisting, but it was no use. The last thing she remembered was a sharp prick in her neck.

And then, everything went black.