1

"This is bullshit." Honu scrolled through his phone, his face contorted in frustration. He was halfway through an erotic fiction piece, engrossed in the vivid descriptions of lust, when the chapter abruptly ended with a glaring white screen. A simple note flashed before his eyes:

[Sorry. Got bored. Ciao.]

"Man, are you serious?" Honu grumbled under his breath. He tossed his phone aside onto the desk in front of him, crossing his arms. A deep sense of annoyance settled in his chest.

"You into that smutty fiction again?" A voice broke through his irritation. Honu turned to see one of his classmates peeking over his shoulder at the screen. The girl smirked at the title of the story: 'Sin: Lust,' her lips twisting into a judgmental grin.

"What a jackass," she muttered, shaking her head.

Honu dropped his head back against the chair, feeling a sense of defeat. "Cliffhangers are really ticking me off," he muttered aloud, voicing his frustration.

"You just enjoy the sex scenes," came the voice of another classmate, a boy from the back of the room. His tone was teasing, but it carried a hint of truth.

Honu grinned and leaned back in his chair, his hands folding behind his head. "Come on, a good porn needs a good plot, right?" He said it half-jokingly, but he was looking for validation in his words. He wanted someone to back him up.

"You got it, man," came a reply from one of his friends, who fist-bumped the air in agreement.

The girl who had been watching earlier just rolled her eyes and turned away. "Whatever," she muttered under her breath.

"Anyway," Honu said with a wink to his friends, clearly shifting gears, "wanna hit billiards after class?" His friends' faces lit up in immediate excitement.

"Loser pays," one of them added, his voice laced with mischief.

"Bet," Honu grinned confidently, taking the challenge. The thrill of the game felt like a perfect escape from the irritating cliffhanger he had just read.

That's me. Honu Spanta. A senior in high school. I love attention, and I thrive on the thrill of excitement. I'm a bit of a delinquent, but never a bully. I'm that guy who's always in the background of the action, always laughing with my friends, always down for whatever game or plan they cook up. I'm the guy you can rely on to get involved in anything.

And yeah, I'm horny. But would you believe me if I told you that I've never touched a woman? Not once.

Why?

BECAUSE I GET FUCKING STIFF!

I'm trying, okay? I really am.

Where was I? Oh right, the smut. I'd just finished reading an incomplete story, one that had been recommended by a girl in class. I've always loved reading—my imagination runs wild, and sometimes it feels like I'm the main character of whatever I'm reading. But unfinished stories? Abandoned stories? Those give me the ick.

[Wanna continue?]

"Huh?" Honu blinked, snapping back to reality as his phone buzzed. "You talking to me?" he asked, looking around, but everyone else in the room was busy. His eyes landed on one of his friends, who casually showed him the middle finger.

"That's... weird," Honu mumbled, rubbing his ears with his pinky, trying to shake off the odd sensation.

But before he could dwell on it any further, the door opened and the professor walked in, signaling the start of the class.

AFTER CLASS

The bell rang, and Honu and his group of friends spilled out of the classroom, exchanging jokes and banter. They headed toward their usual hangout—the pub with billiard tables they frequented after school. The place was their personal haven, where they could shoot pool and make crude jokes for hours on end.

"Honu! Pass me the stick!" one of his friends shouted, breaking through the laughter.

Honu grabbed a cue stick from the shelf and tossed it across the room. His friend caught it effortlessly, flashing a grin in response. Honu made his way to the other side of the table, sizing up the angles as he positioned himself for the next shot.

But his focus was interrupted by another friend who sheepishly announced, "Guys, I got something new."

Curious, Honu straightened up, his eyes darting to the small pouch his friend was holding. The others gathered around him as he slowly opened the pouch, revealing a fine white powder inside.

Honu immediately recoiled, his instincts kicking in. "No. No. No. We ain't doing this," he said sharply, taking a step back. He shook his head firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "We don't fuck with this stuff. It's nasty."

There was a shift in the air. Some of his friends shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn between curiosity and reluctance.

"Bro, cut the CCTV," one of them said to the pub owner's son, his voice low but urgent.

"Now we get a taste of this snowflake," the friend holding the pouch said, his excitement clear as he began opening the bag.

Others groaned in discomfort, but there was a sense of tension rising in the room. Honu wasn't the only one feeling uneasy.

"Man, we don't do this," Honu said, shaking his head again. "We're not fucking around with this."

One of the guys moved toward the door, visibly disturbed. "I'm out," he muttered.

But the man with the pouch wasn't having it. "No one leaves!" he barked, his hand shooting out to block the door.

Honu's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Whoa, bro. Are you... high?" He asked, his gaze falling on the subtle redness around the edges of the guy's eyes. It was faint but undeniable.

"Shh, quiet," the man whispered, his voice growing shaky. "We just taste this... just for once. It'll be fun, come on!" he urged, his hands trembling as he held the pouch up as if trying to convince them all.

"No, bro," Honu said, his voice quiet but firm. He stepped forward slowly. "Give me that. We're dumping it in the toilet, and we're forgetting this ever happened."

The room fell silent as everyone exchanged nervous glances.

Then, the man pulled out a gun, his grip unsteady but determined. He aimed it first at Honu, then swung it to cover the others.

"Just a taste," the man said, his voice wild, almost pleading.

"Let's just calm down," one of the braver guys said, his hands slightly raised in a calming gesture. "Put the gun away."

CLICK

"SHIT!" Everyone jumped, the sound of the gun's safety being released making their hearts race.

"Okay. Okay," Honu said, raising his hands slightly in surrender, his voice laced with tension. "I'll have a taste."

"See? Simple," the man grinned widely, a hint of madness in his eyes. "Come, Honu."

Honu's stomach churned, but he forced himself to remain composed. He took slow, deliberate steps forward, hoping to figure out how to de-escalate the situation.

"Do I just... inhale it?" Honu asked, his voice carrying just a hint of nervousness.

"It has a procedure, but—just sniff it!" The man's voice cracked with frustration as he aimed the gun more insistently at Honu's forehead.

Honu tensed, his hands clammy against his sides. The cold barrel of the gun pressed against his skin, making his heart race in his chest. He swallowed, trying to keep calm.

"Wait. What's it called?" Honu asked, his voice steady.

"Kumavara," the man replied, his voice trembling slightly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, 'Make it fast or I blow your head off.'" The man pressed the barrel deeper into Honu's forehead, his eyes wild with desperation.

"Shit, man," Honu muttered, his hands starting to shake. "I can't sniff snowflake if you keep threatening me like that."

The man's jaw tightened, his face twitching as he processed Honu's words. Finally, he loosened his grip on the gun.

"Thanks," Honu muttered sarcastically, leaning toward the pouch again. "By the way, I'm allergic to this stuff."

Before the man could react, Honu lunged at him, grabbing the gun and yanking it from his grip.

"GUYS! HELP ME!" Honu shouted.

The others scrambled forward, each diving at the man to disarm him. The chaos was palpable, and within moments, they had managed to wrestle the gun away from him and pin him to the floor.

"Haha, shit," Honu laughed, breathless and disoriented. "You need help, bro."

He stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow. The adrenaline still surged through him, but the situation was under control now.

"We need the police," he muttered, turning to the pub owner's son, who was sitting nearby, visibly trembling.

The son's face was pale, tears staining his reddened, wide eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes reddening and his voice thick with regret.

He's drugged.

Before Honu could react, the man grabbed the scissors from the counter and plunged them deep into his abdomen.

The room erupted in screams as another stab followed, then another. The pain was unbearable, a sharp, searing heat that spread through Honu's body. His vision blurred, and his breath hitched in his throat.

"I... I! Nooo! I'm sorry, I didn't! No! Honu!" The man suddenly dropped the scissors and crouched, covering Honu's wounds. He gasped for air and clutched his head desperately.

The others rushed to them immediately. Some tried to stop the bleeding, but the blood came in torrents. One friend applied pressure to his wound, while another frantically searched for anything to stem the flow. But despite their efforts, the blood kept pouring out.

Honu's body felt heavy, the world around him growing more distant with each passing second. The hands on his body, the voices shouting—all faded into a blur as he stared up at the ceiling.

[ Continue? ]

A grin formed on his face.

And then, everything went black.