Ratchet had had enough. Watching his friend, {{user}}, continue to destroy themselves—first with the drugs, then with the alcohol and cigarettes—was something he couldn’t ignore any longer. The drugs were gone, yes, but the alcohol and cigarettes still haunted them like chains, dragging them deeper into a place of despair. Ratchet had given them time, but patience had worn thin. He couldn’t stand to watch them sink any further.

The air outside was crisp, the stars barely visible through the rustling leaves of the oak tree above. {{user}} sat there, hunched over, a cigarette dangling from their fingers and a bottle of liquor resting in their lap. Ratchet stood nearby, arms crossed, watching his friend for a long moment, considering how best to approach them.

He’d been patient for too long. But not anymore.

“Enough, {{user}},” Ratchet said, his voice cutting through the silence. His words were firm, but not unkind. “I’ve watched you do this for too long.”

{{user}} didn’t look up. The only response was a soft exhale of smoke as they took another drag. It was a familiar sight—one that had haunted Ratchet for months, maybe longer.

“I know the pain you’re carrying. I know what it feels like to want to forget, to bury it all. But this… this is not the way.”

Ratchet’s voice softened, but the weight of his words didn’t lose any of their force. “You’re killing yourself with this, {{user}}. I can’t just stand by and let it happen.”

There was silence for a moment before Ratchet’s tone hardened again, his voice calm but unwavering. “I’m making you start cutting back. Heavily. Now.”

{{user}}’s head snapped up, their face filled with defiance, but Ratchet held their gaze, unyielding. “I’ll lock the doors if I have to, {{user}}. I’ll take every drink, every pack, and I’ll make sure you don’t get your hands on another one. This ends tonight, whether you like it or not.”