Thanks for waiting!
The maintenance break will be over soon, and Mia will soon be meeting you...
The notification from lover.exe chimed softly, breaking the heavy silence of the dimly lit bathroom. I looked into the mirror, my reflection staring back at me, a stranger with red, swollen eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. My legs trembled beneath me, barely able to keep me upright.
The harsh sound of my own labored breathing echoed off the cold tiles, each gasp a reminder of the panic clawing at my chest. The bathroom light flickered again, casting unsettling shadows across the walls. It wasn't new; the bulb had been like this for weeks. But tonight, its erratic glow felt ominous, mocking me.
And then, the memory hit me like a freight train. That twisted, horrifying transformation of Mia, her elongated, grotesque figure, the gleaming canines that dripped malice, and that smile. God, that smile. It wasn't human. It wasn't the Mia I thought I knew.
Why did it have to end up like this?
All I wanted was a girlfriend...
The image of Jake and his girlfriend's lifeless bodies flashed in my mind, their expressions frozen in terror. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that could erase the memory, but it only made it worse. It played on repeat, a cruel loop of horror and regret.
My legs gave out, and I collapsed into the corner, pulling my knees to my chest. My arms wrapped around myself as if trying to shield me from the crushing weight of my own thoughts.
"I... I just needed someone," I whispered, my voice cracking. My chest heaved with broken sobs, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence.
I hugged myself tighter, the ache in my chest unbearable. I wanted to be held, to be comforted, to believe that someone, anyone, could save me from this nightmare.
But there was no one. Only me. And the cruel echo of what I'd unleashed.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice message began to play, the sound reverberating through the tiny bathroom.
"Ethan... it's me, your girlfriend..."
My breath hitched, my body frozen in sheer terror. It was her. That voice, smooth, alluring, coated with sweetness, sent a shiver down my spine. The same voice that had once made my heart race with excitement now filled me with dread.
"Don't worry," she continued, her tone dripping with unnatural affection, "I'll be back in 30 minutes... Wait for me. XOXO."
The message ended with a chilling click.
My heart pounded violently against my ribcage, my mind racing. How? How was this even possible? She wasn't supposed to... she couldn't...
The faint sound of static lingered in the air like a phantom, and the flickering light overhead seemed to pulse in rhythm with my panic. My hands trembled as I pressed them over my ears, desperate to block out the echoes of her voice.
I wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but my body wouldn't move. All I could do was sit there, paralyzed, as the seconds ticked by like a countdown to my doom.
Meanwhile,
The old man stepped into the warm glow of his modest home, the faint aroma of brewed coffee wafting through the air.
"Oh, honey, you're home," Maria greeted him with a smile that hadn't changed in decades. Despite the lines of age etched on her face, her warmth remained timeless. She kissed him gently on the cheek, her love as steadfast as it had been since the day they first met.
"You must be tired. Go freshen up. I'll prepare your midnight coffee," she said, her voice as soothing as a lullaby.
"Thanks, darling," the old man replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Maria playfully rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. You're so naughty."
"What can I say?" he teased with a grin. "Age is just a number, and you still look as beautiful as the day I first saw you."
"Oh, stop it," she chuckled, blushing softly. "Go and get fresh, you old geezer."
When he returned, freshly washed and feeling lighter, he found his coffee waiting on the table, its warmth matching the coziness of their home. Taking the cup in hand, he walked over to the bed where Maria was sitting, wrapped snugly in a blanket.
He sat down beside her, his eyes soft with affection. "You look cute like this," he said, his tone filled with tenderness.
"Oh, stop it. I'm old now," Maria protested, but the blush in her cheeks betrayed her delight. She looked away shyly before glancing back at him with a curious smile. "So, what's this thing you wanted to tell me?"
The old man sighed, his playful demeanor fading into a more serious tone. "I saw a boy in the park earlier. He was sitting on a bench, looking so nonchalant, but he was drunk…"
Maria frowned and nodded in disapproval. "That's a shame. Teens shouldn't touch alcohol. It's a disgrace to their parents."
"You're right," the old man agreed, shaking his head. "I couldn't help but think how lucky we are. Our son turned out to be such an honest man. A police officer, no less. And now, he's married and building a family of his own."
Maria's face lit up at the mention of their son. "Yes! Soon his wife will give us a grandchild. I can't wait to be a grandma," she said, her excitement bubbling over.
The old man chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. "Think less, dear, or you'll die from overthinking."
Maria laughed softly, leaning into his embrace. "Not just yet," she whispered. "I'll stick around long enough to see my son's son."
The two sat there in comfortable silence, their love as steady and enduring as the years they had shared, dreaming of a future filled with the joy of new life.
The husband and wife lay entangled on the bed, their breathing still uneven from their shared intimacy. The room was quiet, save for their occasional chuckles and whispers.
"You really have intense stamina," she said, a playful smile tugging at her lips as her fingers trailed along his chest.
He smirked, leaning back with a sense of pride. "It's nothing. Just good genes, that's all."
Her laughter joined his, soft and genuine. She gasped lightly as he shifted, his body hovering above hers again in missionary position.
"Oh, honey, you're not done yet?" she teased, her voice laced with mock exasperation. "You've got no chill!"
His grin widened. "I'm just getting started," he whispered.
But before their playful banter could go any further, his phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the intimate atmosphere.
He glanced at the screen. His heart skipped a beat.
"Lover" flashed across the display.
Frowning, he quickly reached for the device and declined the call, setting it back down as if nothing had happened.
"Who was it?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
"No one," he replied a little too quickly, his tone strained.
Her eyes narrowed as she sat up slightly, studying him. "Are you sure?"
He forced a chuckle, brushing it off. "Yeah, just some random call."
Despite his attempt to appear unfazed, a heavy unease settled in his chest. How had that contact appeared on his phone? He didn't remember saving it. Acting on instinct, he deleted the number, hoping to erase both it and the strange discomfort it caused.
The wife, though suspicious, chose not to press further. She lay back down beside him, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on his arm.
Moments later, the phone buzzed again. This time, the call connected automatically.
A voice filled the room, smooth, sickly sweet, and utterly venomous.
"I don't know why you're ignoring me, but thank you for last night. It was... fun. Poor, pathetic wife of yours."
Hehe..
The words landed like a thunderclap. The air grew heavy, the wife's fingers freezing mid-motion.
Her eyes darted to him, wide and brimming with hurt. "What is this?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I swear, I have no idea who that is!" he stammered, panic flooding his face.
Before she could respond, the voice on the phone spoke again, the words muffled but carrying an unmistakable tone of malice.
Then, suddenly, the room was filled with screaming.
The husband's body seized violently, his face contorting in agony as he fell to the floor. He clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging as if an unseen force was choking the life out of him.
In the adjacent bedroom, the old man and Maria were startled awake by the unearthly cries.
"What's happening?" Maria whispered, fear lacing her voice as she clutched the blanket tightly.
"Stay here!" the old man ordered, his heart racing as he stumbled toward his son's room.
He pushed the door open to a scene straight out of a nightmare.
The old man froze in the doorway, his breath catching as he stared in utter horror. His son's body lay on the floor, a grotesque, shredded heap. His abdomen was ripped wide open, entrails spilling out like coiled ropes of raw meat, glistening with blood and bile.
The stench of iron and decay hung thick in the air as chunks of flesh clung to the jagged remains of his exposed ribs. The floor was a slick, sticky mess of dark, clotted blood pooling around the mangled remains, each detail a revolting testament to the brutality of his death.
And there, crouched beside him, was his son's wife. Her hands and mouth were drenched in crimson, her face smeared with blood. Her lips moved slowly as she chewed on something, her gaze locked on the old man with an eerie calmness.
She tilted her head slightly, a grotesque smile spreading across her face. Her teeth were stained red, bits of flesh caught between them.
"Hello there," she cooed, her voice unnervingly casual, as though this were a normal conversation. "Your son is... TASTY."
The old man stumbled back, his mind reeling, his legs trembling. He clutched the doorframe for support, bile rising in his throat.
The wife's smile widened, her head tilting in mock curiosity. "Too bad he cheated, though." She let out a small, mirthless laugh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, only smearing the blood further.
"You... you monster!" the old man choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear and disbelief.
She slowly rose to her feet, her movements unnaturally fluid, almost serpentine. The blood dripped from her hands, leaving dark stains on the carpet as she stepped closer.
"Monster?" she repeated, her tone light, almost teasing. "Oh, no. I'm just someone who believes in justice." Her eyes gleamed with a chilling intensity. "Cheating has its consequences, don't you think?"
The old man's heart pounded in his chest as he tried to muster the courage to move, to do something, anything. But his body refused to obey, paralyzed by the sheer terror emanating from the scene before him.
"I need to save Maria," he muttered, his voice trembling with panic as he bolted from the room. His breath came in short gasps, his feet pounding against the floor as he ran to the drawer where he kept his gun.
Behind him, his son's wife stood silently, watching him leave. She made no move to stop him, no words of protest. Instead, her lips curled into a wicked, bloody smile, her teeth stained crimson from the carnage she had just savored.
Her eyes gleamed with dark amusement as she tilted her head, observing him like a predator toying with its prey.
He reached their bedroom, his heart racing, his hands shaking as he swung the door open. Inside, Maria was sitting on the bed, her face a mask of worry.
Her wide, tearful eyes met his, and she looked every bit the woman he had always loved, fragile, caring, and terrified.
"I'll save you," he promised through tears, his voice cracking as he scrambled to the drawer. His hands fumbled as he searched for the gun, the urgency in his chest mounting with each second.
Tears blurred his vision as he repeated to himself, "I'll protect her. I have to–"
The sharp, deafening bang tore through the air, cutting his words short.
Pain exploded in his shoulder, and he stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor. The gun he had just retrieved slipped from his grasp and skidded out of reach. He gasped in agony, clutching his bleeding shoulder, the hot sting of betrayal eclipsing even the physical pain.
He turned his head slowly, and what he saw made his heart freeze.
Maria stood there, a gun in her hand, her lips curled into a smile that no longer held any warmth.
"Maria..." he croaked, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his ears. "Why?"
Maria chuckled, a low, bone-chilling sound that sent shivers racing down his spine. She stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring the scene before her.
"Oh, honey," she purred, tilting her head with feigned affection. "You really don't get it, do you?"
His chest heaved as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "Maria, this isn't you... Please, tell me this isn't you!"
Maria crouched down in front of him, her face inches from his. Her eyes glinted with a cold, predatory light, the love he had once seen there completely erased.
"Darling," she whispered, her voice a cruel mockery of the warmth he had cherished for years, "your subscription to this world... has expired."
Her words hit him like a physical blow, cutting deeper than the bullet wound. The woman he had loved for decades, the mother of his child, had become someone, or something, else entirely.
"Maria..." he choked, his voice trembling, his spirit breaking.
Maria's smile widened as she reached out, brushing his cheek with an eerie tenderness. "Oh, don't worry, sweetheart," she cooed. "I'll make sure you don't feel a thing... for long."
Maria aimed the gun without hesitation and fired. The bullet pierced his knee, and the old man collapsed to the floor with a guttural cry of pain. She wasted no time, gripping his leg and dragging him toward the living room. Blood smeared across the floor as his pained groans echoed through the house.
In the living room, Monica, the wife, was already there, crouched beside the lifeless, mangled body of her husband, her hands drenched in his blood. She looked up with a twisted grin.
"Hehe... I thought you wouldn't make it, you old hag," Monica sneered, her voice dripping with malice.
Maria chuckled darkly, wiping a spot of blood off her cheek. "Oh, don't underestimate this old lady. There's still strength in these fragile arms."
The two burst into laughter, their maniacal cackles reverberating in the room like a haunting melody.
The old man, still breathing but writhing in pain, stared at them in disbelief. His chest heaved with desperation, his once steady hands now trembling.
"Very well then," Maria said, looking at the clock. "We've got only 30 minutes, and only 5 minutes are left. Let's finish this and get back to him."
At that moment, the TV flickered to life on its own, static filling the screen before a familiar face appeared.
Mia's visage filled the screen, her sweet smile laced with a sinister undertone. "Oh, hi, old ass," she said with mock sweetness, tilting her head slightly.
The old man groaned, his vision blurring as he stared at the screen.
"You really shouldn't have gotten in my way," Mia continued, her tone honeyed but cruel. "Anyway, for some reason, I couldn't kill you directly... so I made some puppets. I hope you don't mind me borrowing them for a little fun. Hehe."
The old man's vision blurred with pain as he lay slumped in a pool of his own blood. His knee throbbed, the shattered bone protruding grotesquely, but his attention was wrenched to the two women before him.
Monica and Maria stood facing each other, bloodlust gleaming in their eyes, wicked grins curling their lips.
"Isn't it fun?" Monica hissed, plunging the knife deep into Maria's chest, the blade sinking with a sickening squelch.
Maria's laughter bubbled up, wet and gurgling as blood spilled from her lips. She retaliated with savage delight, driving her blade into Monica's throat, the sharp edge slicing through flesh with ease.
"Indeed!" Maria croaked, her voice rasping as the life drained from her.
They both collapsed to the floor, their laughter fading into eerie silence. Then, without warning, their bodies began to convulse violently.
Flesh bubbled and split apart, blood spraying in every direction as their forms exploded in a horrific spectacle of gore. The room was painted crimson, chunks of viscera dripping from the walls and ceiling.
The old man, barely clinging to consciousness, stared at the TV. The screen flickered, and Mia's sweetly sinister face disappeared, replaced by a single phrase flashing in a rhythmic, mocking glow:
Time's Up.
The words burned into his fading vision as the echoes of the carnage faded into silence.
But little did she know, the gunshot echoed loudly through the house, a cruel betrayal of her intent. The weapon had no suppressor, and its sharp report tore through the silence like a scream.
The old man survived.