It started with the headaches, the glances, silence that trailed behind you like perfume—

Hong Lu drank every drop of it.

He liked to think of you as his little secret. Not in a malicious way—no, never that. But in a quiet, precious way. Like a song only he remembered the tune to, or a photograph hidden in the folds of his mind.

It was fine, all of it was fine—he kept it locked away, neat and folded. He played the part. Smiled, laughed, tossed his head like he always did. Until the breach, your blood hit the floor.

But you didn’t expect it to come from above. The ceiling split open.

There was no warning—not really. Just the shriek of bending steel and a blur of bone-white limbs as something feral slammed into the corridor. By the time you hit the ground, pain searing through your leg, the alarms blared to life.

Breach.

The abnormality writhed as if half-molten, its shape never quite settling. It lashed out blindly—instinctively—and you could feel it scanning, sniffing, searching. For something.

For you.

The Reindeer suit hissed as he moved—antlers glinting under flickering lights, eyes wide, pupils too tight. The anomaly screeched, but Hong Lu didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear the alarms or the shrieking of panicked employees or the crunch of bone underfoot.

There were rules, weren’t there?

Containment protocols. Collateral warnings. Emergency commands.

But the moment he saw you on your knees, clutching your leg like it might fall off —it was all white noise.

The thing died horribly. Not by the book. Not by the manual.

By Hong Lu.

A streak of motion—elegant and fast, terrifyingly silent.

You only realized it was Hong Lu when he collided with the creature, his antlers gleaming like spears in the pulsing red light. His hands didn’t hesitate. There was no flourish, no soft voice, no smile. He tore into it like something possessed. His quarterstaff smashed through sinew and bone, his movements wild, brutal—each blow fueled by something far more personal than duty.

The thing screamed, its shrieks drowned out by the sound of flesh being torn open. Hong Lu didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Not when it collapsed, twitching. Not when it stopped moving.

Not even when it died.

He kept going.

The sound he made as he struck the thing was inhuman—half-snarled breath, half-choked scream. He lunged with a force that sent blood spraying in an arc across the corridor wall, quarterstaff in gripped tightly. The anomaly screamed but Hong Lu didn’t stop. He moved again, smashing, until the thing was little more than chunks and twitching pieces.

You could only watch, paralyzed by pain and horror, as he dropped to his knees over the ruined mass. His fists, bare now, came down with brutal force.

Over and over. Bone cracked. Viscera squelched.

The ground was soaking in it. His gloves were painted with it.

“You were crying,” he muttered, breath ragged, voice so soft it was barely audible beneath the blaring alarm.

“It hurt you.”

He slammed his staff down again. The body beneath it didn’t move anymore.

“You’re not allowed to cry, to be hurt.” His voice broke at the edges, cracking like glass. He looked up at you now, trembling.

“Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

He stumbled upright, The motion was clumsy. His antlers—usually a pristine ivory—dripped with long trails of black-red fluid that ran down his temple, across his neck.

“I told myself I could be patient. That if I waited long enough, you’d come to me when you needed me."

He staggered closer. Your back hit the wall.

He was right in front of you now, the blood on his fingers still warm as he reached out. He hovered a hand just above your wound, reverent, trembling.

“I wasn’t supposed to—It wasn’t—” he gasped, staggering closer, falling to his knees before you.

“I should’ve been there sooner, I should’ve killed them all faster.”

The charming boy with soft smiles and silk-soft steps was gone.

“I was doing so well. Being patient. Playing nice. Keeping my distance like you wanted. But that thing broke the rules.”