Manjir'o. Healthy

The suite was shrouded in a deathly silence under the moonlight. Manjiro, sitting with unnatural rigidity, held your phone. His eyes, black pools devoid of humanity, devoured each message from the unknown number with agonizing slowness. The atmosphere was suffocating; there was no anger on his face, only a clinical curiosity about your supposed betrayal.

"What part of 'you are my property' don't you understand?" he finally blurted out. His voice, flat and authoritarian, froze the air. He stood up with unsettling calm. You backed away until you hit the cold wall as he invaded your space, heavy and overwhelming. With mechanical dexterity, Mikey began to dismantle your privacy: he changed passwords and linked your device to his, eliminating any trace of autonomy. He tilted his head, observing you as if you were a defective object. "What do you lack that I don't give you?" he asked with a lethal gleam. "Tell me. So I can go and take it from him." She wasn't looking for answers or excuses. After shutting down your digital world, she put her phone in her pocket. She gave you one last look of utter disappointment and walked away.