Chapter 5: The Mask of Deception
Lopkinnf's blood boiled as he followed Pedro, the arrogant rich boy who had tormented him for years. Pedro was part of a clique of wealthy students who took pleasure in humiliating the less fortunate. Today, Lopkinnf decided that Pedro would pay.
Pedro, unaware of the shadow trailing him, excused himself from his group and walked toward the bathroom. Lopkinnf watched as the boy disappeared into the dingy school restroom, the sound of the door creaking shut igniting a sinister determination within him.
Lopkinnf stepped inside silently. The air was stale, the tiles cracked and grimy—a far cry from the luxurious surroundings Pedro was used to. Pedro was at the sink, fixing his hair in the broken mirror, too self-absorbed to notice the storm brewing behind him.
"Pedro," Lopkinnf called out, his voice cold.
Pedro turned, startled, and before he could respond, Lopkinnf lunged at him. Grabbing him by the collar, Lopkinnf slammed Pedro's head against the wooden door of a toilet stall. The sound of the impact echoed in the small space.
"W-what are you doing?" Pedro stammered, blood trickling down his forehead.
"You've had your fun long enough," Lopkinnf hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Now it's my turn."
Pedro's pleas turned to muffled cries as Lopkinnf repeatedly bashed his head against the wood. Each blow was a release of years of humiliation, anger, and pain. By the time Pedro's body slumped lifelessly to the floor, Lopkinnf's hands were trembling—not from regret, but from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He stared at the boy's lifeless body, his face pale and stained with blood. Then, without hesitation, Lopkinnf began stripping Pedro of his fine clothes: the tailored jacket, crisp shirt, polished shoes, and expensive watch. It all belonged to him now.
Dressing quickly, Lopkinnf slipped into the persona of the boy he had just killed. The clothes fit well enough, though the watch hung slightly loose on his wrist. He glanced at his reflection in the cracked mirror and smirked. The boy staring back at him was no longer a poor, beaten down student. He was one of them.
To complete the illusion, Lopkinnf placed his own tattered, dirt-stained clothes onto Pedro's lifeless body. He ruffled Pedro's bloodied hair and slumped him in the corner of the stall. Anyone who found him would assume he was just another nameless poor boy beaten and left for dead in Jex—a common sight in a city so deeply rotted.
With a final glance at his handiwork, Lopkinnf straightened his new jacket and left the bathroom.
When he approached the group of wealthy students Pedro had been with earlier, they barely looked up. One of them, a tall boy with slicked-back hair, gave him a smirk.
"Well, look who decided to join us," he said. "The rich newbie finally found his way back."
They laughed, pulling him into their circle as if he had always belonged. Lopkinnf smiled faintly, hiding the storm of emotions brewing beneath his calm exterior.
For the first time, he had infiltrated the world of the elites, wearing the guise of one of their own. They didn't know the truth. They didn't know that the boy standing among them was not their equal but their reckoning.
And as Lopkinnf blended in with his new "friends," he felt the weight of Pedro's watch on his wrist, a silent reminder of what he had done—and what he was capable of. This was just the beginning. The rich had built their lives on the backs of the poor, and now Lopkinnf would dismantle it all from the inside.