The french fry crunched beneath the weight of her teeth. A small dot of ketchup stained the side of the mouth, and she licked it. She ate in silence, as the quiet rain slammed against the ground outside.

“I still don’t understand. Why do you just let them bully you like that?” Ashley asked.

He blinked twice. Outside of the windows, he could spot the cars moving in the dark. He saw his own reflection in the glass.

“This is a fake world.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“███. Ho? To think my mental defences are that strong.”

“Are you okay? Did you kick your head?”

“I’m perfectly fine. You were saying?”

“Hm. Was that one of your weird whims?”

“And who told you that?”

“I spoke to your sister recently.” Ashley took another french fry.

“Didn’t know you guys were that close.”

“She hates me, you know.”

“Wonder why.”

“So back to the topic. Why do you just sit there and take it?”

He glanced at her face. Her long eyelashes flickered. Outside, an annoyed driver pressed their horn.

“Who are we talking about?”

“Those kids that screw around with you at school.”

“Ah. Well, I didn’t see a point. And besides, their actions aren’t really anything too horrible. Mild annoyances.”

“What’s the line?”

“I’m sure you know what my lines are. To be honest, I don’t really get why they’re doing it.”

The waiter by the counter kept shooting glances. He held the tray close to his chest, and looked away quickly whenever someone turned in his general direction. Without any other customers to tend to, he could only wait in uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t understand you at all, ███.”

“So your idea of trying to win me over is making sure no one else is here, and maybe offering me my bullies’ safety?”

“Didn’t mention anything about that, did I?”

“The waiter keeps looking afraid whenever I glance in his general direction. Either he has crippling social anxiety, or you did something. I’m willing to think that it's the latter.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She chuckled. Holding the rim of the coffee cup to her mouth, she took a small sip. If his memory served him well, she had a particular liking to a strong dark roast, topped off with milk. If that milk was foamy, however, she refused to pay attention to abominations like that.

“So what do you want?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t call me out for nothing.”

“Can’t I have a date with the person I love?”

“Let's be honest. We’re not normal. You’re looking for something.”

“Please, why do you doubt me so much? I just want to win your love.”

“I fail to see why you need to win me over.”

“It's like this. You’re a mountain unclimbed, and I’m a competitive climber.”

“So you see me as something to be conquered, then.”

“Haha, does it hurt you to be seen like that?”

The fake world seemed real. She seemed real. Nothing was out of place. She spoke just as she would have, and the world moved on as it did. But the fact that everything was as real as it could be caused him to reach a different conclusion.

There was no conceivable way to get any information about this particular scene, or her. Surely magic that could transcend time and space, and even parallel universes did not exist. Hence, only one logical answer remained. The attacker drew from the memories of his victims. But why? If he wanted to cause physical pain, there were far more efficient ways to go about it. So it wasn’t physical pain that he wanted. The next step was emotional pain, to break the mind of his victims. Far more plausible.

His prediction went along the lines of rejection, or death. That made the most sense. Still, showing the gruesome end of the people he loved would be an efficient way to ensure submission. Essentially, blackmail without any substance.

“You know... In so many shows and books, the main character gets teleported to a different world, right?” he started.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Would they be considered a missing person? Or would only their soul get dumped in there?”

Of course, he knew his own fate well. Dead. Cause of death, suicide. After that, he had no idea about what happened to the world.

“You ask a lot of weird questions.”

“Are you not the same person that wanted an exact weight of how much sugar I like in my tea?”

“That’s called appealing to your tastes.”

“We’re a little bit past trying to win my love. I still don’t understand why you’d want that from someone like me?”

“Cuz you’re different, obviously. Urg, men always try to act macho around me. They think they’re wolves, with alphas and betas. Especially the men that the family tries to set me up with.”

“So you chose your own. A lost child you met at an amusement park.”

“Hey, you were one of the few that didn’t flinch when the guards approached.”

“Said the one that rocked up to an amusement park in a lab coat?”

He let out a laugh from his belly. Though it was nice to reminisce on fond days, it was still fake. Like looking into a mirror of the past. Of course she would act in character. She was made from his memories of her, after all.

“Well, how do I begin to get out of this?” his gaze wandered.

“I wonder?”

So she stopped pretending then. With a nod, she handed him a gun over the table. Black, and simple. He didn’t need to question it. He pointed it at her head, and she closed her eyes. The shot rang out. Like characters in a badly designed game, the waiter, cooks, and everyone around didn’t react. Was it because he had never killed a person in the open? But apparently, the next person had the correct reaction.

“What the fuck?” she screamed out.

Her face was as clear as day. Like an old memory coming back to haunt him. Each detail of her physique, her face, everything. The inflexions of her voice were true. A perfect copy. Idealised through the rosy tint of his memories.

“Shit. How can I kill you?”