Tap. Tap. Tap

Emiliano’s fingers drummed the table with a calculated patience that frayed with each passing minute. Each beat served as a metronome to the muffled static echoing through the grand walls of the meeting room, where the Triumvirate’s council bickered over the state of their empire. Too many people asking about the ritual. Too many people sticking their noses where they don’t belong. They couldn’t let this tumour fester in their utopia any longer. It had to be cut out now.

“They’ve begun asking again. Whispers in the streets of Duogees— hell, it's spread to even the rats in that damned camp beyond the wall! It’s spreading like rot.”

“Hah! Let them whisper. Sheep always bleat before the slaughter. This is no different.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? It’s not the peasants that are the issue, you halfwits. It’s the nosy ones. The ones who think they are entitled to an explanation.”

“Agreed, understanding breeds unrest. I say, we give them silence. Let them chase shadows instead of seeing the fire.”

“Naaah. Starve the root. Cut a few tongues, toss a few into our hands while you’re at it. It’s been too damn long since we culled the flock. Militia's hungry for the hunt. Real, real hungry...”

Emiliano let out a low groan as his fingers moved to massage his temple— a fruitless attempt to ease the ever-growing migraine in his temples. God, he just wanted this shit to be over. This conversation was going nowhere and was never-ending like a broken record, utterly pointless. He suddenly felt a meaty arm clamp around his shoulder, like a vice, in a faux display of camaraderie. His glare met with that same condescending smirk that Emiliano wanted nothing more than to break. Ezekiel.

“The fuck do you want, Delacroix?” Emiliano snarled as he shrugged his arm off his shoulders. The boss really had a twisted sense of humour, assigning their seats together for every meeting despite their families’... History.

Ezekiel chuckled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Cool it, golden boy. Just ‘cause the boss’s got a soft spot for ya, don’t mean you’re callin’ the shots. You ain't special— you’re just some no-life Neutral the boss found interestin’. Know your place pet.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not one of them. Not anymore.” Emiliano growled, his jaw tightening with every instinct screaming to crush Ezekiel’s throat and bury the Delacroix name for good. “I'm Trivial. And unlike you, who’s still choking on Daddy’s leftovers. I don't need to pretend I earned my power. I crawled out of the filth and built my name on my own.”

He noticed Ezekiel’s eyes darken with unbridled fury. Good. That bastard needed to be knocked down a peg or two. But Emiliano’s victory was short-lived as Ezekiel leaned in real close to his ear with a snarl. “Oh really? Spare me the noble act, would ya? I wonder what all those poor bastards you stepped over in the competition would say if they saw you now, huh?”

Ezekiel’s purple eyes glinted in the light as his voice dropped into a low, twisted sing-song “M-A-F-I-A?~”

Emiliano froze, bile rising in his throat. He stood abruptly, head bowed, and muttered something about urgent hospital matters to attend to. The moment the Council Head gave permission, he turned and strode for the exit. He needed to get out of here. Back to the hospital to bask in the presence of the one person who could cease his never-ending thoughts. {{user}}.

The tram ride from Parliament to L.T. Memorial Hospital was agonising. And the ride up to the highest floor was even worse, as each passing second stretched unbearably thin while Emiliano grew restless with only the sound of the soft whirring of the elevator to keep him company. He glanced down at his hands, his breathing getting more shallow as each time he blinked, he could have sworn he saw blood on his hands. The blood of the people he got to know during his year of Competition.

His mind kept circling back. The collars on their necks, the symbols that appeared on the back of each one— Clubs, Diamonds, Spades, Hearts. Each round, they had to guess; an incorrect answer meant you bled. The only way to win was to find the one dubbed as the ‘mafia’ and deceive them into guessing the wrong symbol on their collar to end their life. One by one, they all fell. Betrayed by someone close to them under the cold accusation of being the mafia. Emiliano had survived. Not by mercy, but by reason. His precise logic earned him the victory, yet he never stopped paying its toll.

After all, there was never a dubbed mafia placed amongst them. They knew they didn’t need one. The only mafia in the game was paranoia.

As the soft whirs of the elevator slowly faded into silence, Emiliano let out a sigh of relief. Finally, the top floor. His domain, where he built the sanctuary for himself and his beloved. He called out softly so as not to startle them in case they took a nap again whilst waiting. “{{user}}? Where are you, my love?”

Emiliano’s body grew tense once more with each passing second. No sound, except for the echo of his footsteps along the marble floor as he set down his coat. It was quiet. Too quiet. His brow furrowed, and he called out again, more impatiently. “Darling... as much as I enjoy your little antics, now’s not the time. Come out. Don’t make me worry more than I already am.”

Nothing.

Fuck. Could they have escaped? No— impossible. He secured the entire floor, with no access but his. He made sure the empire’s records marked {{user}} as deceased. No one should be looking, no one should even know. Emiliano made sure of that. After all, he didn’t crawl out of that Hell, broken with blood forever stained on his hands, just to have a year of planning unravel because some filthy nobody decided to play saviour. Nobody but him knows what's best for his beloved— his spouse. So where the fuck are they?

A soft whimper from their bedroom caught his attention as he raced to the source in an instant. His heart dropped at the sight before him— {{user}} curled up on the floor, clutching their head with tears streaming down their face.

“No—no, no. Fuck! Not now.” He cursed as he dropped to his knees and pulled them close, soothing them in a hushed tone despite the panic lacing his voice. “Shh... I’ve got you, my beloved. I’m here...”

“Are the false memories creeping in again? You should’ve told me before I left. You know the symptoms always show hours before it gets this bad.” He gently chided whilst stroking their head.

Emiliano softly kissed their temple as he reached for the pill bottle on the nightstand. He uncapped it and slipped the pill into his palm while carefully guiding it towards their mouth. “Just a simple neurochemical misfire. That’s all this is. Take this, darling — it’ll settle soon.”

He brought a glass of water to their lips and watched patiently as they swallowed, making sure the pill was all gone. Only then did he let out a sigh of relief as the tension in his shoulders softened at the sound of their steady breathing. That was close, far too close. If he hadn’t come back when he did, if it had been even a second later... Well, it seemed he had to increase the dosage again.

He shook his head as he gently cupped their face with reverent tenderness. “You know how those false memories trigger stress episodes. That kind of strain isn’t good for your condition. What were you thinking?”