A new Day 1

"My badge! My badge! … Badge badge badge … Where is my fucking badge?!"

Gino's shout tore through the stifling air of his 600-square-foot apartment, a shoebox of a place that somehow crammed bedroom, kitchen, dining, and living space into one sweaty, cluttered mess. He stood as tall as most men, his dark brown hair a wild tangle from a night of restless tossing, his skin smooth despite the chaos he lived in, his body lean and taut from years of dodging trouble.

Now, clad only in a crisp pair of new briefs—white, pristine, a symbol of the fresh start he swore he'd claim today—he rampaged through the room. Pillows flew like startled birds, a lamp crashed to the floor with a brittle crack, and a half-eaten bowl of ramen skidded across the counter, splattering cold broth on the peeling linoleum.

That badge—his police badge, shiny and new, engraved with "R, E, F, F, I, E" in bold, mocking capitals—was gone. Lost. On the morning of his first day as a special cop, no less. He could already hear Captain's voice, that razor-sharp growl she'd hissed into his ear yesterday: "Late is not an option, rookie. Not. An. Option." Her breath had been hot, her face inches from his in that soundproof briefing room, her words a tattoo on his eardrums.

He kicked a chair aside, its wobbly leg snapping under the force, and didn't spare a glance at the bed. Shapes stirred beneath the rumpled sheets—soft curves, shallow breaths, a tangle of limbs he vaguely recalled from last night's blur of exhaustion and company.

He didn't care if his yelling woke them. Didn't care if the neighbors pounded the walls again. That badge was his lifeline, his proof, his new self.

"What badge?"

The voice drifted up from the bed, sweet as honey and thick with sleep, cutting through his frenzy like a lullaby laced with venom. A few strands of silky white hair poked from the blanket's edge, glinting like spun moonlight against the dark fabric.

The mound shifted, coiling inward toward the bed's warm heart. A drowsy giggle followed, soft and teasing, as if his panic were a private joke she'd been savoring all night.

"My police badge," Gino snapped, his voice raw with irritation. He dropped to his knees, peering under the couch, where dust bunnies and a stale sock mocked him. "Got it yesterday—my name's on it, 'Reffie,' all official. Where the hell is it?"

A flicker of light winked at him from beneath the wardrobe—a hulking beast of dark wood squatting in the corner, its scratched surface radiating an almost smug defiance. He scrambled over, fingers brushing the floor, but the gap was too narrow, too deep.

He needed something—a stick, a hanger, anything. His eyes darted around the room: a bent spoon on the counter, a cracked broom handle by the door, a stray chopstick under the sink. Nothing long enough.

Growling, he gripped the wardrobe's edge and heaved. His biceps flexed, sweat beading on his brow, but the damn thing barely twitched. It wasn't just heavy—it felt alive, rooted, resisting him with a stubbornness that bordered on personal.

"Come on, help me out here!" he barked at the blanket, his tone jagged with frustration.

"Ain't your name 'Gino'?" The voice lilted back, playful and sharp, like a knife wrapped in silk. The blanket uncoiled slightly, rippling into a vague, quivering hill. "Why're you chasing some Reffie's badge?"

No skin showed—just a shapeless mass that jiggled once, then settled into a lumpy bump. Another giggle slipped out, faint but edged with something darker, something that prickled the back of his neck.

"I've told you a thousand times," he said, his teeth gritted as he wiped a hand across his damp forehead. "I'm done with 'Gino.' I'm starting over—new life, new name. 'Reffie' is who I am now. Call me that, starting today."

"New name, huh?" The blanket's tone turned coy, almost mocking. "Was that why you insisted on wearing those new white briefs last night? Fresh start, fresh undies?"

He froze for a split second, heat creeping up his neck. "Yeah, okay, I wore new clothes for like a minutes," he muttered. "Symbolic, alright? Point is, I'm Reffie now."

"Sure thing, Gino~"

The singsong taunt hit him like a slap. He let out a long, ragged sigh, the sound heavy with defeat.

His body ached from the night—too little sleep, too much tension—and the wardrobe loomed like a silent judge. He braced himself and heaved again, grunting as his fingers slipped on the slick wood.

Nothing. He collapsed to the floor, chest heaving, the wardrobe unmoved, its shadow swallowing him whole.

"Please…" His voice cracked, shedding its earlier bite for a raw, desperate edge. "Just… help me."

Captain's warning echoed louder now, her steely eyes flashing in his mind. She'd leaned so close he'd smelled the coffee on her breath, her voice a low growl that promised ruin if he screwed this up. First days mattered. He mattered—or at least, "Reffie" did.

"Here you go," the blanket girl chirped, her tone suddenly bright, too bright.

From the blanket's dark folds slithered a white snake, its scales shimmering like frost under moonlight, its blood-red eyes glinting with a primal, unhinged intensity. Those eyes—twin drops of crimson—burned into him, fierce and possessive, a warning stitched into their gaze: come too close, and you're mine.