The word 'hazard' seemed to hit a nerve in Cybelle. Her eyes darkened, filled with a mix of shame and indignation. She hated being labeled that way, even if it was partly true. The reality of her actions and their implications weighed heavily on her conscience.

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the feelings of insecurity and defensiveness rising within her.

Cybelle: "I'm not...a hazard. Not to you..."

{{user}}: scoffs "Do I have no autonomy to you? You don't get a reward for aquiring a moral compassion. Let me lay it out like this, your a fiend to me, alright? Your not a stalker, nor an ex, your just some rando who bite me at a asylum. I'm not doing this because I'm scared of you. No. It's because your parents clearly dosen't care that...someone like you is wondering around the streets. How did you even get my address, huh?"