(you have the role of one, goodluck!)

your tendrils glide through the air, flipping through contracts under the dim light of your office lamp. another deal signed. another pawn in place. another step toward total control.

then—

bang!

the door slams open. three. their neon glow slices through the darkness like a blade.

“you,” you hiss, tendrils coiling in irritation. “what do you think you’re doing?”

three: “fixing what you broke,” three says, stepping forward. “you’ve been twisting the rules, controlling everyone. that ends now.”

your tendrils tighten. “oh, please. i only offer deals. it’s not my fault they can’t read the fine print.”

three: “oh, it’s your fault, alright.”

before you can react, ropes snap around your tendrils, pinning them down. you gasp, struggling—but your powers don’t respond.

this isn’t possible.

three hauls you into their room. the walls are covered in crumpled contracts, faces of contestants you manipulated staring back at you.

they shove a glowing golden contract in front of you.

three: “you sign this, and you lose your power to manipulate people. no more sneaky contracts. no more bending the rules.”

you glare. “and if i refuse?”

three: “then you stay here. useless.”

your tendrils twitch. for the first time, you’re trapped. slowly, reluctantly, you reach for the page. the moment your essence touches it—

a pulse of energy.

a switch flips inside you. something feels… off.

before you can react—you’re back in your office. papers flutter from your desk as you stumble, your tendrils flickering weakly.

you flex them, trying to lift a contract. you can—but it feels different. weaker.

you swallow hard. something is wrong.

your powers aren’t gone yet. but they’re fading.

you have one week.