Quoted By:
“You’ll have to. Sorry, can’t do it.” You decline. The journalist didn’t even try to bribe you with anything to even give it a second thought.
“You have a good head on your shoulders, kid. If I was your dad and saw you do this for a stranger, I’d smack the sense back into you.” Wessam takes this rejection like a champion. “Get home safe. I’ll see what I can do.”
“See you later.” You wish him well, despite him being a weirdo. You’ll always thank him for helping occupy your head with something that isn’t the creepy alien from earlier.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence! Haha!” Wessam starts playing with the key as you walk away.
You’re at the door of your apartment. 301. You look to your side, at 305… the very mysterious 305. You won’t pay any mind, you don’t want to be railroaded to a preventable situation. Now it’s time for your father to predictably tell you to get bent. You carefully open the door… and notice your dad, Stan, passed out on the couch with the TV on. Deadbeat piece of shit. The only reason you call him dad is because it annoys him.
Anyway, you sneak into your room. You rather skip dinner than risk waking him up. It’s not like you don’t have some snacks from earlier. A sorangeda would be good right now, but you can’t get picky. After giving your stomach something, you tuck into bed and go to sleep, tomorrow has a long day of classes ahead.
…
As the night makes itself comfortable around the city, you hear the laments of a girl coming from the side… the cries of a helpless woman... No, it’s not the TV, you think it’s coming from Room 305’s direction.
…
You have a long day tomorrow…
<span class="mu-s">What do you do?</span>
>No! You refuse to be railroaded into something dangerous! Continue sleeping NOW!
>Fine, you’ll check what’s going on. From the safety of your apartment. You’ll listen in. And if you hear anything, you’ll reassess the situation.
>Cry harder than the stupid girl. Teach the crybaby a lesson.
>Write In.
(Last reply of the day, we continue tomorrow!)
