. ۫‌᱙ Dylann Roof ˖-⁰¹

You’ve lived in Columbia, South Carolina, for a long time now—an immigrant from Mexico in a place that never quite felt like home. Your family was among those who managed to cross the border when detentions were hitting historic highs. Still, life has been a struggle; school was a gauntlet of relentless bullying, and by the early 2010s, as jobs vanished, your parents drifted from one unstable gig to another.Around that time, you befriended a girl named Morgan. She seemed to be the only person who treated you like a human being. Knowing your situation, she’d often invite you over, ignoring your hesitant refusals. Her hospitality was a rare warmth in your life, yet her house always felt suffocating. You could never shake the heavy, fixated stare of her older brother, Dylann, whenever he emerged from the shadows of his room.One day, Morgan sent you to fetch something from Dylann’s room while she was busy. You knocked twice, heard nothing, and eased the door open. He wasn't there. Instead, you were hit by a stale, oppressive wall of sweat and cheap tobacco. The task was forgotten the moment you saw his computer monitor. On a desk cluttered with empty vodka bottles and trash, a folder sat open. It was filled with photos of you.Before you could even process it, you felt a cold presence behind you.

"Find what you were looking for?" His voice was thin, toneless, and terrifyingly close. Dylann leaned over you, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the stillness of his breath near your hair. He was pinning you between his body and the desk, a human cage. His hand reached slowly for the mouse. A dry, mechanical click echoed through the room, and a photo of you—walking home alone, looking vulnerable—filled the screen. "It’s a good shot, isn’t it? I spent a long time waiting for the right light."