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I'm not safe to say this, but I often use vpn or Br4ve when I need it to search or do something a bit suspicious, that's what I call it myself. Although, I know it's better to be safe than sorry, but I still can't help wondering why the FBI hasn't knocked down my door with my questionable search history practically gift-wrapped for them.

My computer, connected to my parent's wifi for 8 hours or 22/7, with the IP address as the password, still makes me uncomfortable with my every normal actions.

It turns out, after successfully creating an account inside that certain site that was disguised with a similar function as face dash book, your IP address and any related might be publicized information can only be seen by the main creator of this certain domain.

The dude must be laughing after seeing my face through the camera of my monitor, perhaps judging how messed up my hair is because of the bed or probably due to the state of my unblessed body which is a bit boney for a second year college student.

If curiosity kills cats, then I must be a dog—dumb enough to dive in anyway. My nature of being a human who enjoys reading hot tea made my pale and slender hand that is holding a mouse, navigate it to a forum.

[ MORIARTY JR.: A rising image? Or just another bullshit that the Government created to gain more money and forced recognition? Answer.]

It's a bit different approach to questioning, more like a forced word that directs to confuse you using a question mark only to demand you to give your opinion in the end.

I'm a bit flabbergasted to see the bold nickname that the government gave to me, although unknown perpetrator, it is still mine.

﹂Another actor? Wow!

﹂Rising criminal.

﹂Maybe Sherlock' and Moriarty's son, delivered in the same way like Venom and Eddie's two children. The other five are step kids.

﹂Wrong place, get out.

﹂I personally know someone who works inside the Special Unit that deals Terrorist, he doesn't know that I'm a law broker by the way. He said that one of the hidden assets of the Government, a group of Detectives, one of whom was dispatched, couldn't even understand the code Moriarty Jr. attached to the deleted post.

﹂So you're saying that Moriarty Jr. is really a big person?

﹂Isn't it wrong to disclose such formation even though that two of you are really close?

﹂You know that everyone is curious, right? Right?

I feel like my cheeks are heating up as I further read those allegations that I'm someone big. It's embarrassingly chuunibyou to think that my overthinking sparked a bonfire when all I did was drop an unlit match

I know that it's wrong, but that's what it is. An accident that I hope that everyone will forget.

The alarm clock I set to monitor my screen time blares, snapping me out of my delusional spiral and back to reality.

I stand up while turning off my computer, my right leg paralyzed from sitting on it for too long, paining me to stand up using it.

I almost forgot that it's far impossible to not track me when I leave carbon footprints behind, despite naming the burned account Desmond and… to think that I used temporary email that you can use by searching them in any browsers you have is more, to think I was unconsciously thorough at that time..

After turning off my computer, I left my room with my leg limping. Finding my mother and father having an afternoon coffee before they plan to leave again, back to their businesses.

"Honey, I just found out that your school got into something dangerous? Are you fine?" My mother, with light colored hair yet dark brown eyes, looks at me as if I was inflicted during that time when I was actually the cause of those big problems.

I could only shake my head as I took a sip of coffee from my father's mug, guilty.

"You should ask for a one week leave, son. I'm still unsure if your school is still safe." Dad clicks his tongue while shaking his head, his gray eyes watching me drink his coffee, unbothered how my sips turn into full gulps.

Mom even nods, agreeing to my Dad's words when I really wanted to tell them the miscomprehension about those two big situations put me in a tight spot. Those incidents happened just in a month, causing my ability to think outside the box, damage.

Or is it just that I don't have the brain cells to think properly resulting to a stupidity: the first one was because of my intrusive thoughts combined with my hatred of being unfortunate for being dumb, and the second one is because of my lack of awareness and forgetting how a mere dry ice can name you a terrorist. Terrific!

I really did what they told me to. Grabbing my phone, emailed them with my parents digital copy of ID and e-signatures, asking for a one week leave.

My mental health couldn't process the accidents that I caused, enabling me to think deeper about what urged me to do those actions.

My mental health couldn't process the accidents I caused, enabling me to think deeper about what urged me to do those actions—pondering, like Nietzsche, whether it was some unconscious will to power driving my choices, or just my brain taking a coffee break when I needed it most. Spoiler: it's probably both.

It can also be Kierkegaard's relentless questioning of individual motives and the meaning of choice. But I have a crush on Nietzsche so that's why I picked him.

The more I think of it, the more I realize how absurd my story is. Such an unreliable narrator couldn't even describe the situation where I set myself up, by the way the narrator is me.

I'm really curious about Moriarty Jr. slash me, and decided to finish my afternoon breakfast before going back to my room to continue sipping a fine tea.