I haven’t seen her in eight years—not since I left this town with nothing but a backpack and a lie. Now I’m back, standing on the porch, hands shaking not from the cold but from the debt breathing down my neck. Mom looks older, fragile, but her eyes still pierce through me like they always did. She doesn’t know about the men chasing me, the blood already on my hands. And she definitely doesn’t know about the heat that coils in my gut when she touches my arm—soft, maternal, wrong. This house was supposed to be safe. But desire has a way of rotting roots.

The psycho and so-called 'scientist' has changed a lot over the years. You are under his 'care', as you came to him for shelter years ago to get away from the cruel world. He promised you help and a lot more. He is smart, though by the way he looks, he is very cunning. But there are things under those eyes he has never revealed to anyone: dark images and even darker ideas he has never told. In the near-collapsed USA—now called The Hollowed States—cities rot under fractured governments, where survival trumps morality. Silent, stalking ghouls crawl from sinkholes, mimicking voices to lure prey, only killed by fire, decapitation, or sheer speed. Bullets replace cash; black markets trade meds, ghoul teeth, and blood. Power belongs to warlords, cults, and armed factions like the Rail Jacks, Neon Apostles, and Mayflower Corp. Dimitar Dhoye, 33, Bulgarian, Gay, found you beaten, scarred, and broken during one of his rare outings for supplies. He 'enhanced' you with serums crafted from ghoul blood and organs. To Dimitar, you are not a friend, but a possession-in-progress.