Prologue

"THIS PRICK!"

The dim glow of a monitor was the only source of light in a cluttered bedroom. Empty soda cans and half-eaten snacks littered the desk, the stale scent of unwashed laundry hanging in the air.

Slouched in his chair, a man glared at the screen, his fingers clenching into fists.

His reflection in the monitor was as unremarkable as his life—greasy black hair clinging to his forehead, an unkempt stubble shadowing his jaw, and deep bags under his eyes from too many sleepless nights spent doomscrolling.

"How is he gone again?" he muttered, his voice dripping with frustration.

His favorite web novel had been left on another cliffhanger, its author vanishing without a trace.

"He already took a break last week! And now he's fucked off again?!"

His pulse quickened as he clicked into the comments, expecting others to share in his outrage.

But instead of anger, all he saw was sympathy.

"Hope the author is doing okay.""Take all the time you need! Your mental health is more important.""Love your work, we'll wait for you!"

David's eye twitched.

"Am I the only person with standards? Why isn't anyone calling this lazy fucker out?"

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to unleash a tirade.

Before he could type, his phone rang.

The name on the screen made his stomach drop.

Mom.

His parents were supposed to be home by now. They had gone to a birthday party for their boss—some bigwig from Clean is Supreme, the company they worked for. They had promised to be back by 5:30.

David checked the time. 6:42 PM.

His gut twisted.

He hesitated, then answered.

"Hey, Mom. Everything okay?"

Her voice was warm but slightly hurried. "David, honey, we're going to be a bit late tonight. The boss wants to discuss some company expansion ideas with us."

A pause.

"No worries, Mom," he replied, masking the unease in his voice. "Any idea when you'll be back?"

"Probably midnight," she sighed. "There's lasagna in the fridge if you're hungry. And please, for the love of God, don't forget to feed Moon. I know you haven't done it yet."

David chuckled weakly. How does she always know?

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it."

"Alright, sweetheart. Love you."

He swallowed. "Love you too, Mom."

He wanted to say more—to apologize for being such a disappointment, for wasting his life in this tiny, suffocating room—but as always, the words got stuck in his throat.

They always did.

Even though his parents never said it outright, he could feel their sadness whenever they spoke to him. The way their voices held that quiet, unspoken pity. The way they looked at him, like he was made of glass, fragile and about to break at any moment.

They had every right to be disappointed.

His siblings had moved out, built lives for themselves, while he was still here. Still jobless. Still useless.

"Still living with my parents at 25."

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.

"No wonder they can barely look me in the eye."

A cold, unfamiliar voice cut through the room.

"Yet you always judge my work rate."

David froze.

His blood turned to ice.

His breath hitched as he slowly turned his head.

A man stood behind him.

Draped in a hood, a revolver in his gloved hand.

David's heart slammed against his ribs. His mind raced.

Is this a robbery? How did he get in? Does he know about my parents' safe?

The hooded figure took a step closer.

David could feel the man's stare—even though his eyes were hidden in the shadow of the hood, there was something there. A burning presence.

The man slowly reached up and pulled back his hood.

David's stomach dropped.

His breath caught in his throat.

He knew that face.

He had seen it before. Every single day.

On a certain profile.

On a certain website.

The author's profile picture.

"Shit."

A wicked grin spread across the man's face.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

David's instincts kicked in.

If there was one thing he was good at, it was running his mouth.

"B-Bro, I love your novels, man. You're an inspiration." His voice cracked as he forced a nervous laugh. "Seriously, don't take my comments to heart. Think of them as motivation! Your novel keeps me going, I swear."

For extra effect, he placed a trembling hand on his chest.

The author's expression didn't change.

His grip on the revolver tightened.

"Beg for your life."

The words were cold. Absolute.

David's blood ran cold.

"Wai—What?"

The gun was already raised.

BANG.