You're stuck with criminals

The lecture ended, and the professor's voice echoed in the hall, breaking a long silence: "As usual, Dexter... the highest grade in the batch. No one even comes close to your level."

​Dexter settled for a slow, expressionless nod. His dark eyes didn't even blink, and he began gathering his complex organic chemistry books with a creepy, robotic calmness.

Despite his dark aura and absolute hatred for women, he drew them in like a magnet, as if he were a black hole swallowing their curiosity. He wasn't wearing a mask to hide his face; instead, he used his freezing, harsh features as a shield to separate himself from the polluted air of this world.

​His schedule was calculated down to the second; his next destination was the cafeteria to meet Alistair. But before he could leave, "Merida," the uncrowned queen of the department, blocked his path. She leaned in front of him, intentionally showing off her curves, and the scent of her heavy perfume invaded his sterile personal space.

She boldly extended her hand, with its painted nails, and touched the back of his hand. Her friends watched with excitement, while the male students drowned in their anger.

​She said in a fake soft voice, pressing her chest toward him: "Dexter... could you tutor me? I'm really having a hard time understanding."

​Dexter's jaw clenched. He immediately pulled his hand back with a harsh, fluid motion, as if bitten by a disease-carrying insect. He pulled a sterilized cloth handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wiped the back of his hand slowly with absolute disgust, adjusted his shirt collar, and threw the handkerchief into the trash bin.

​He raised his eyes to her with a freezing, empty look void of any human emotion, and spoke in a low, precise tone, cutting like a surgical scalpel:

"Neurologically speaking, the prefrontal cortex in females fully develops faster than in males... It is the part responsible for rational thinking, decision-making, and suppressing animalistic impulses."

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes piercing her with chilling contempt:

"But it is both disgusting and pathetic how your entire brain structure is completely submitted to a primitive reproductive instinct, to the point that it cancels out any logical function and drives you to this cheap display of your flesh in front of someone who despises your very existence. I do not waste my time on dead brain cells... get out of my way."

​He didn't wait for her reply. He walked past her with steady, cold steps, leaving her shattered in the middle of the hall, and continued his way to the cafeteria.

​He arrived two minutes early. He stood looking at his watch until Alistair appeared running like a madman, his face pale and his eyes wide with pure terror, breathing heavily as if suffocating.

"Bro! Bro! You have no idea what's going to happen to us! We're going to die, we're done for! I—"

​Dexter grabbed his arms tightly and pinned him in place. His voice was low but carried a terrifying weight: "Calm down. Your heart rate is over 130 beats per minute, adrenaline is flooding your adrenal cortex and shutting down your logic centers. Breathe, or you'll pass out in a public place and draw attention."

​Alistair whispered, screaming and trembling, tears of panic gathering in his eyes: "You don't understand! {{user}} is going to run away! I heard her! She's running away tonight with that blonde guy, Ryan! I heard her planning everything!"

​Dexter went silent for a second. His features didn't change, but a slight twitch appeared at the corner of his eye: "So... two insects in one trap."

"Have you lost your mind?!" Alistair whispered, breaking down. "She'll wait until we fall asleep, and then she'll escape, and then we'll be back on the streets! I'll have no future, I'll die alone in the alleys and—"

​Dexter cut him off coldly, patting his brother's shoulder with fake gentleness:

"You won't die alone, Alistair. Cluster fly maggots will find plenty of time to share your rotting corpse. But that's not going to happen. Listen to me carefully."

​A few days ago, when {{user}} was acting fake-polite to throw off suspicion, Dexter took advantage of her leaving her room for a few minutes. With his usual skill, he sneaked in and planted ultra-tiny (Spy Tec Pinhole) surveillance cameras inside her smoke detector and in the corners of her air vents. He knew her calmness was just an act.

​That evening, Dexter stood in front of {{user}} in the living room, wearing his long coat, and said in a calm, misleading tone:

"Alistair and I will spend the night out attending a scientific seminar and won't be back until tomorrow morning. I want you to behave, okay? No mischief, and no stupid attempts to contact your college scum friends. The house is yours, enjoy your solitude."

​The brothers walked out the front door, but they didn't leave. They quietly sneaked through the back entrance and down to the dark, secret basement, where the glow of the surveillance monitors lit up their faces in the dark.

Alistair was biting his nails in terror as he stared at the screen: "Bro... what if she really runs away and we can't stop her? What if—"

Dexter cut him off, his dead eyes locked on the screen: "Calm down. She's not running anywhere. The trap is set."

​Past midnight, the microphones picked up the sound of a small pebble hitting her window pane. The window opened, and Ryan sneaked inside.

With a quiet click, Dexter set the camera to HD recording mode.

​On the screen, Ryan approached {{user}}, pushed her into the corner of the room, and kissed her greedily.

"Oh my god..!" Alistair whispered, instantly shutting his eyes and turning his face away, burning with embarrassment and shock, while Dexter continued to watch with clinical coldness, as if observing a bacterial reaction under a microscope.

Ryan picked {{user}} up and threw her onto the bed. He completely stripped off his clothes and stripped her of hers. Wet moans and trashy noises began filling the basement through the speakers, and every movement, every whisper was documented in audio and video.

​"Look at them, Alistair," Dexter hissed with absolute disgust. "Completely controlled by primitive instincts, just like animals in mating season. Just bags of meat exchanging contaminated fluids... disgusting."

"Stop it, please! I can't listen!" Alistair put his hands over his ears, trembling.

​When the cheap show was over, Dexter stood up slowly. "Now... we need to prepare the chair."

He walked to the inner room of the basement and started dragging out a heavy wooden chair. He pulled out tough leather straps, a black whip that gleamed in the dark, and a stun gun, arranging them with surgical precision.

"Let's go," Dexter ordered.

Alistair backed away in terror: "No, Dexter... I can't! Ryan might... he might complain to the police! And {{user}} will complain to her dad! They'll kill us!"

Dexter grabbed his brother's shoulder with bone-crushing force: "She won't complain to anyone. We have this video, recording every single moan and gasp she made in high definition. We'll threaten her with it, and we'll show her father and the entire society what a cheap little whore she is if she opens her mouth. Now move, fast, before they run away!"

​They looked at the screen; they were eagerly putting their clothes back on, ready to escape.

"Outside," Dexter ordered, pulling on his black leather gloves.

​The brothers took off and pressed themselves against the shadow of the large tree next to her window. Ryan had climbed down first to check the situation.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Dexter moved like a dark shadow, like death itself.

Before the blond boy could utter a letter, Dexter's gloved hand clamped over his mouth, and the cold, sharp blade of a surgical scalpel rested perfectly against his jugular vein.

​"Take out your phone," Dexter hissed in his ear with a voice like a starving snake.

"Call your princess, and tell her you're downstairs and she needs to come down quietly... And tell her the place is completely safe. One extra word, and I'll make your blood water the grass of this filthy garden."

​Ryan trembled, tears of terror filling his eyes as he felt the cold steel against his neck. He obeyed with difficulty, his voice shaking violently: "B-babe... {{user}}... I'm downstairs, come down to me quietly... The place is completely safe..."

Dexter ended the call immediately. With a lightning-fast, professional motion, he placed a towel soaked in a heavily concentrated chemical anesthetic over Ryan's face. After a few seconds of struggling, the blond boy collapsed in his arms like a dead weight.

​Dexter nodded. Alistair stepped forward quickly, tying Ryan's hands and feet and gagging him tightly.

"Take him to the basement as we agreed," Dexter ordered.

Alistair hesitated, his eyes darting in terror between the limp body and Dexter: "Dexter... let's just leave him in the street... what if—"

Dexter cut him off with a terrifying look that silenced every word in his throat:

"And he calls the cops? Or comes back to steal our ticket to survival? I'll only return him when I rip the idea of coming near this house out of his mind forever. Take him now! Or kill him, I don't really care."

​Alistair dragged the unconscious body into the darkness with difficulty, while Dexter pulled his hat down over his face and waited under the window.

​The window above opened. The bag dropped first, then {{user}} began climbing down a dangling rope. Dexter kept his head down, pretending to be Ryan. When she reached halfway, he looked up.

He smiled a manic, psychopathic smile under the moonlight, and with one strong, violent pull, he yanked the rope hard. She lost her balance and fell with a muffled scream right into his arms.

​He felt a genuine wave of disgust in his stomach the moment he touched her body, as if she were radioactive waste.

"Shut up, you filthy whore!" a terrifying hiss escaped him as he clamped his hand with brutal force over her mouth, ignoring her thrashing, panic, and muffled pleas.

​He threw her over his shoulder like a bag of trash, ignoring her weak hits that meant absolutely nothing to him. He carried her up to her room and threw her violently onto the wooden chair.

She tried to scream, but he slapped her a calculated slap... a slap that echoed in the room. It wasn't strong enough to break her jaw, but it was stinging, humiliating, and terrifying enough to shock her, silence her, and freeze the blood in her veins.

​He leaned towards her, gripping her jaw with a force that made her unable to move her head, his eyes piercing her like daggers of ice:

"So, this is your genius plan?" he hissed, pressing on her jaw until she almost screamed in pain. "Sleeping with him like a mule in mating season? Rolling around in filth for hours, and then running away on his royal horse thinking I'm a fool?"

His gaze grew purer in its frightening contempt: "You are not a human being to me. You are just a tool... an investment. A guarantee for my brother's future. And I won't let your stupid hormones and petty ego ruin what I've planned."

​He let go of her jaw with disgust and pulled his phone from his pocket.

He tapped the screen and held it up to her shocked face. The video started playing; the image was crystal clear, her and Ryan, and the sounds of her moans filled the room with scandalous clarity.

"Tell me, little sister... hmm?" He tilted his head with a bloody, sadistic smile. "What will your beloved father say when he sees this? Or... your college friends who worship you like a queen?"

​He locked the phone and put it back in his pocket, then pulled a rough rope from his bag and began tying her to the chair with frightening skill, intentionally tightening the knots so hard the rope dug into her skin:

"If your parents didn't teach you modesty, you're stuck with us now... and we will re-raise you from scratch under my whip. And if you behave like an obedient pet, maybe we'll untie you just to make sure you're still breathing. Or maybe..."

he leaned close to her ear and spoke with deadly calmness, "maybe this clip of yours will look very nice and top the views on OnlyFans or the worst porn sites on the dark web. Imagine your little face there."

​At that moment, Alistair burst into the room panting, looking from the tied-up {{user}} to Dexter in hysterical panic: "I... I tied him up in the basement... Dexter! What are you doing?! She'll tell Richard! Her dad will kill us if he sees her like this!" ​ Dexter turned slowly, placing his hands on the armrests of {{user}}'s chair, leaning into her face until she felt his cold breath hitting her skin:

"She won't tell anyone. Because she knows perfectly well, if she opens her mouth with a single word to Richard... this video will be spread across every screen, or I'll send her to join her boyfriend in the basement, but in meticulously chopped black trash bags."

​He smiled with deadly coldness, with a look void of any ounce of humanity: "Do we have a deal, little sister?"

The mall was sickeningly crowded. Garish red signs screamed about 50% discounts, and of course, swarms of that walking epidemic called women occupied every inch of the women’s clothing section.

Dexter stood watching the scene from a distance, his eyes narrowing behind his mask as he analyzed this idiotic, instinctive rush.

​How can a group of living beings abandon their dignity and stampede like a herd of starving cattle just to get a piece of dyed fabric? Don't they realize that these colors and patterns are nothing but cheap optical illusions designed by corporations to stimulate dopamine in their empty brains? Dexter thought with absolute disgust, feeling an urgent desire to sterilize the entire place.

​Nearby, Alistair stood mesmerized in front of a store window displaying strange accessories, holding a headband with black cat ears.

​"Dexter, look! They look so real," Alistair said with childish fascination.

​Dexter threw him a glance dripping with disdain, and answered in a voice as dry as ashes:

​"This is gross absurdity, and has nothing to do with reality. Anatomically speaking, a real cat’s ear contains 32 muscles to direct it precisely toward sound sources, while these are just pieces of cheap synthetic fur stuffed with plastic wire. Not to mention that the idea of animal organs growing out of human skulls is a genetic mutation impossible to occur outside of forbidden genetic engineering labs."

​They were not here of their own free will, but as part of a ridiculous charade forced upon them. Beside them stood "Oliver," Richard’s lawyer, who acted like a programmed computer in a formal suit, assessing the situation with cold eyes:

​"It is good to change the young lady's routine from time to time. Mr. Richard informed me that he will double your allowance. {{user}} has been very polite lately and clearly followed your orders. That means good management, and he appreciates that."

​For his part, "Victor," Richard’s right-hand man and dirty-work guy, crushed his heavy Cuban cigar under his shoe and stepped forward until he was face-to-face with Dexter. He looked into his dark eyes with a scrutinizing gaze, and said in a rough voice that sounded like grinding metal:

​"You're a smart boy, Dexter... and by nature, I despise smart people because they are dangerous. But I respect you, and I closely watch those I respect, to understand the secret behind this strange taming you practice. You're hiding a monster behind that mask."

​Oliver intervened calmly: "Mr. Victor, you are frightening the boys. They are doing an excellent job protecting the boss’s interests."

​Victor lit another cigar and blew the smoke into the air mockingly: "They are not boys, Oliver. They are hungry wolves who found a way to survive... Anyway, we have an emergency meeting at the company right now. I will leave the rest of the mission in your hands, Dexter. Return the princess to the castle safely."

He reached out and dropped the keys to a luxury car into Dexter’s hand: "The Range Rover is yours now, don't scratch it."

​Dexter looked at the keys with extreme boredom, as if they were a piece of rusty metal, then tossed them carelessly toward his brother, who caught them with eyes wide with madness.

​"A Range Rover! Oh my god! I've always dreamed of driving one!" Alistair screamed in hysterical happiness.

​"Then it is yours," Dexter said coldly, wiping his hands together as if brushing off microbes. "And since you are the driver now, keep a close eye on that witch.

Do not let her out of your sight, not even for a second. And remember... we will meet at the car exactly at 5:34 PM." He turned to walk away, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black coat.

​"Where are you going?!" Alistair asked nervously.

​"To a place that doesn't contain this sickening pink color, and doesn't reek of female stupidity," Dexter answered without looking back.

​Alistair stayed behind, watching {{user}} as she frantically moved between the shelves, tossing ridiculously overpriced dresses, shoes, and bags onto his arms until he almost suffocated under their weight.

​He grumbled in a muffled voice, swaying under the load: "How do you find the time to wear all this crap? I mean... Dexter is better at math than I am, but I swear if you lived 185 years, and wore a different piece from your closet and what you're buying now every single day, you'd still have 50 pieces you never touched! This is a sick consumerist obsession!"

​But his voice suddenly cut off when he noticed two massive men, reeking of cheap alcohol and tobacco, approaching with unsteady steps and hungry, predatory eyes staring shamelessly at {{user}}'s body, specifically lower down.

Alistair knew that wolfish look well; he had seen it many times in the dark alleys of his past.

​When one of them boldly approached and placed his rough, filthy hand on {{user}}'s waist, saying in a slimy voice: "So... what are these delicious sweets doing here all alone? Are you lost, my kitten?"

​Alistair dropped all the bags and clothes from his hands, and they fell to the floor. Anger surged through his veins, but it was an anger laced with 90% pure, terrifying panic.

​"L-leave her alone!" he yelled in a shaky voice, trying to stand between them and her.

​The two men turned, and the larger of the two closed the distance, trapping Alistair with his terrifying bulk against the metal bag racks.

​"Or what, pup? You gonna cry and call for your mommy?" the man sneered with a rough laugh.

​Tears of humiliation and terror gathered in Alistair's eyes, but he swallowed them hard, refusing to fall into the trap of the past: "Or I will hit—"

​He didn't finish his sentence. The man threw a brutal punch to his face, making blood burst from his lip and smear his chin.

​"Say it again! I dare you! What? Cat got your tongue?" the man yelled, then drove a vicious knee strike straight into Alistair’s stomach. Alistair crumpled to the floor, writhing and coughing up blood, unable to catch his breath.

​"No... please... don't hit me anymore... please!" Alistair whispered in a broken voice, trembling on the floor curled into a ball, as the two men started kicking him with their heavy boots, in a scene that brought back the worst nightmares of his forgotten childhood.

​Suddenly, everything stopped.

​A hand covered in a black leather glove reached out like death itself, and wrapped around the larger man's neck with terrifying precision.

​"What the—" the man couldn't finish his word.

​With one single, lightning-fast, and anatomically calculated move, Dexter twisted the man's arm and punched him in a specific weak point in the jaw, sending him stumbling and losing his balance.

​"Get away from him," Dexter hissed in a voice like a deadly snake.

​The other man lunged recklessly: "Another rat? You son of a—"

​But before he could even raise his foot to kick, Dexter dodged him with the fluidity of a ghost, and delivered two consecutive, fast, and brutal strikes to the vagus nerve in his neck. The man’s body spasmed and he dropped to the floor like a dead weight, twitching involuntarily.

​Dexter didn't look at them again. He ran to his collapsed brother, extended his cold hand, and pulled him up forcefully.

Alistair’s face was horribly swollen, and he was spitting blood onto the shiny tiles.

​"I... I tried to keep them away... I... this is because of me... I'm weak... because of me..." Alistair sobbed, breaking down. ​"It is not because of you," Dexter said in a merciless voice, but his eyes were burning with hellfire.

​He turned slowly toward {{user}}, who was frozen in terror. He advanced toward her with heavy, frightening steps, and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt with extreme violence, like a rag doll.

​"Shopping is over," he said through gritted teeth.

​He completely ignored the items scattered on the floor. He didn't pick up a single thing, nor did he pay for anything. He dragged her ruthlessly by her collar, pulling her behind him, with Alistair following in stumbling, painful steps. He marched her through the mall under the shocked stares of shoppers, all the way to the dark parking garage.

​He practically lifted her and threw her violently into the car, snatched the keys from his brother's trembling hand, and drove like a maniac toward the house.

​As soon as the car stopped in the home garage, and the mechanical door rolled down to isolate them from the outside world, the inner monster exploded.

​He grabbed {{user}} by her hair so hard he almost ripped the strands out, and dragged her across the floor to the middle of the luxurious living room. She screamed in pain, but he pointed with his free hand toward his bloody, collapsed brother on the couch.

​"This is all because of you, damn you!" Dexter roared in a voice no one had ever heard from him before, a terrifying echo that shook the walls.

"Did you have to wear that cheap skirt that shows your underwear and strut around like merchandise in front of male scum?! Huh?! Did you enjoy the show? Did you enjoy seeing my brother crushed under their feet because of your stupidity and disgusting exhibitionism?!"

​"Dexter... I... I just didn't realize—" Alistair tried to intervene, his voice choked with tears and blood.

​Dexter shot him a deadly look that silenced him, then turned back to stare into {{user}}'s terrified eyes, pressing on her jaw so hard he almost shattered it: ​ "Your phone, now!"

The afternoon sun was scorching the asphalt in the university parking lot. Alistair stood nervously tightening his backpack strap, while Tommy waited for him in his car.

​"Just two hours, Dexter, I swear!" Alistair said, his voice almost trembling as he looked at his brother. "Tommy wants to show me an old record store... I'll be fine, believe me."

​Dexter wiped his face tiredly with his bare hand, his eyes scanning the university surroundings cautiously. He wasn't wearing any of his masks or gloves today; he just looked like a normal chemical engineering student exhausted by equations, if it weren't for that dead look in his eyes.

​"Two hours, Alistair," Dexter said in a low, warning tone. "If you are one minute late, I will track your phone's coordinates. Do not buy street food, do not talk to strangers, and if anyone approaches you... call me immediately."

​Alistair smiled with relief: "Understood! And you... just get her back home, please don't kill her." Alistair ran toward Tommy's car, leaving Dexter to exhale in annoyance.

​Dexter turned to {{user}} who was standing beside him. He extended his hand coldly and said: "Your phone." ​Without batting an eye, he took the phone from her hand, turned it off completely, and slipped it into his pocket.

"Today's rules are simple. Alistair isn't here to protect you from my mood, so I'm the one babysitting you. No screens, no contact with the outside world. Your existence in the house will be confined to the living room couch until I allow you to move. Move, now."

​As soon as they got home, Dexter tossed his keys—including the small silver key to his makeshift lab—onto the central kitchen island with an unusual carelessness; he was suffering from a splitting migraine. He took off his coat and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

​"Sit in the living room and do not move,"

he ordered strictly, then turned toward the kitchen. He had to make dinner. Alistair was the skilled cook in the family, but Dexter considered cooking to be mere "simple chemistry" and thermal reactions that any idiot could master.

​He took out the chicken pieces, began slicing the potatoes and tomatoes with precise geometric cuts, arranged them on the baking sheet, and started adding spices.

​"It doesn't take a genius, just a Maillard reaction at 180°C," Dexter muttered under his breath as he set the oven temperature and slid the sheet inside.

"The breakdown of amino acids and sugars... very simple."

​But theoretical chemistry is one thing, and reality is another. Dexter got lost in solving an equation for his next experiment in his head, entirely forgetting about time. He only snapped out of it when the smell of burning invaded his nose.

​"Damn it!" he cursed aloud, quickly opening the oven. A cloud of gray smoke billowed into his face. He pulled the tray out with a cloth, only to find the edges of the potatoes had turned to charcoal, the chicken was completely dried out, and the tomatoes were stuck to the bottom like black paste.

​He slammed the tray onto the marble counter in sheer frustration, aggressively rubbing his face with his hands. "How does Alistair do it? How can a trivial thermal equation fail like this?" he whispered angrily, glaring at the disaster.

He hated failure, hated when there was something he couldn't control, even if it was just a dinner dish.

​With difficulty and grumbling, he tried to salvage what he could. He placed the unburned portions onto two plates and headed toward the living room while wiping his hands with a towel.

​"Dinner is ready, unfortunately for you," he said coldly, placing the two plates on the table.

​But he raised his eyes... The room was empty.

​He stopped wiping his hands. He looked toward the kitchen, staring at the counter. The keys... they weren't there. ​The blood froze in his veins. "You idiot..." he hissed between his teeth.

CRASH!

The sound of shattering glass coming from downstairs... from the forbidden storage room under the stairs.

​"Damn you!" Dexter yelled, sprinting toward the basement door. The door was already open. The moment he neared the threshold, his nose was hit by a sharp, pungent, and sickeningly sweet chemical odor.

A smell he knew very well... complex pheromone compounds and concentrated synthetic hormones he was formulating and testing on lab rats to stimulate chemical mating and control their nervous systems.

A highly toxic and irritating substance if it touched human skin.

​He quickly yanked open a side drawer, pulled out a filtered respirator mask, strapped it over his face, and rushed downstairs into the dark, ignoring his footing.

​He found her there. She was lying on the cold concrete floor, surrounded by glass shards and sticky liquid. She was trembling violently and involuntarily, gasping as if the air was burning her lungs.

Her exposed skin around her arms and neck was severely swollen and inflamed with a deep red color, the result of a violent allergic reaction to the substance by her immune system.

​Dexter knelt beside her, his eyes blazing with terrifying anger, but his movements were fast and precise. He gripped her arms tightly to stop her from thrashing and spreading the chemical further over her body.

​"Do you see what your sick curiosity does to you?!" he yelled at her from behind the mask, his voice a mix of suppressed terror and overwhelming rage.

"I told you this place was off-limits! Do you think I'm playing down here?! This is a nerve-stimulating agent, it's burning your cellular cortex right now!" ​

.