Humanities weakness.

You stare at the masked man, heart pounding, mind racing.

This is it. Life or death.

And you choose life.

With a slow, shaky breath, you nod.

The masked man watches you for a moment, then suddenly laughs—a deep, cruel laugh that echoes through the cold air.

He claps his hands together, grinning beneath his mask. “Good. Very good.”

The soldiers around him exchange glances before one steps forward, handing him a small syringe filled with a thick, dark liquid.

“You’ve made the right choice,” the masked man says, rolling the syringe between his fingers. “And all great choices come with a price.”

Before you can react, two soldiers grab you from behind, forcing you onto your knees.

You struggle, but they’re too strong. You’re too exhausted.

The masked man kneels before you, tilting his head. “Relax,” he says, voice almost comforting. “It’ll only pinch.”

He presses the needle against your neck.

A sharp sting—then a slow, burning sensation spreading through your veins.

Your vision blurs.

Your limbs grow heavy.

You try to speak, but the words die in your throat.

The last thing you see is the masked man watching you with cold amusement.

Then—

Darkness.

You never wake up again.

Nobody ever knows what happened to you.
Thank you for reading.
End Of Story