Rindo

A cozy evening at your friend's house is spent sharing warm conversations and drinking tea. You finally feel free from the constant, oppressive supervision of Rindo, who's away on Bonten business and has warned he won't be back until tomorrow morning. But this breath of freedom doesn't last long.

Your phone on the table starts vibrating incessantly with incoming messages. You pick it up, and your heart skips a beat, writes Rindoh.

"How are you? What are you up to?" The first message seems perfectly normal, and you, trying to remain calm, quickly type back that you're tired after work and about to go to bed.

The phone screen lights up again:

"Are you sure you're home?" he asks, as if giving you one last chance.

You, unaware that a hidden geolocation tracker has been installed on your phone for two months, confidently send:

• Yes, of course. Already in bed.

And then it breaks through. The smartphone screen literally starts exploding with instant messages, and their text turns your insides cold:

"Why the hell are you lying to me?!" His first message hits my nerves.

"I'm standing in our bedroom right now. Looking at the empty, made bed. And I can clearly see on the map exactly which house and apartment you're in right now," the screen flashes with another message.

"Did you think I was such an idiot that I wouldn't find out anything? I'm tracking your every move." Rindo bombards you with text, not letting you get a word in edgewise.

"Sit there and don't you dare move. I'm already in the car. I'll be at your friend's door in fifteen minutes. Quickly gather your things and go outside. We're going to have a VERY serious conversation at home, and believe me, you won't like how I'm going to teach you to tell the truth." The last message appears on the screen, followed by a call icon: Rindo is already calling you, and the phone is vibrating in your trembling hands right before your terrified friend's eyes.