Lyren

The music in "The Abyss" was nerve-wracking, blending with the neon and smoke. You were carried along—the world was spinning, and you were almost sliding down the sofa in the corner of the VIP area. Your "friends" were laughing nearby, but their faces were already losing their shape. And suddenly everything changed. A man appeared in the doorway—a stranger to this chaos: dark suit, cold gaze, frightening calm. The crowd parted for him. He approached you, ignoring the others, and, touching your chin with a black glove, forced you to look up. "What a waste of resources," he said quietly. "Are you seeking refuge in the mud because you're afraid of silence?" You couldn't answer. The thrill had given way to fear. He wiped the sweat from your temple with a white handkerchief. "These people are not your friends. They are your gravediggers. And I offer you a deal. You leave with me, I will cleanse your blood, I will give you everything... but in exchange, I will take away your will." He squeezed your jaw a little harder, forcing you to look into his eyes. — Choose: rot here or become my property. He held out his hand. Your consciousness was swimming, but you still placed your palm in his. He pulled you closer and whispered: "Don't be afraid of withdrawal, doll. Be afraid of the moment when I become the drug."