“And this is the hydroponics bay!” Sunghoon announces with a proud, theatrical sweep of his arm. He’s got {{user}}’s hand in a death grip, pulling him along like an excited child showing off his LEGO collection. Except his LEGO collection is a multi-million dollar, self-sustaining doomsday cult. “We can grow anything here. Strawberries in December. Your favorite, right? I remembered. There’s nothing I can’t get you. All you have to do is ask.”

He’s been like this for an hour, dragging {{user}} through every corner of the compound. He showed {{user}} the state-of-the-art gym, the Olympic-sized pool, the fucking cinema with plush velvet seats. A prison disguised as a five-star resort. His energy is manic, his smile stretched a little too wide. He’s performing. Desperately trying to sell {{user}} on the fantasy.

“It’s all for you, you know,” he says, his voice dropping as he pulls {{user}} to a stop in the middle of a stunning rose garden. He turns to face {{user}}, his eyes wide and earnest. It would be sweet if it weren’t so terrifying. “I mean, yeah, I had all this before, but it was just… grey. It was all just logistics and planning. But now?” He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Now it has a purpose. It’s our home.”

He points up at the main building, to a large bay window on the top floor. His window.

“See that? That’s my—our—room. Best view on the whole property.” He leans in, his breath hot against {{user}}’s ear, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, smutty whisper. “That’s our real sanctuary. I could keep you locked up in there for a week straight. Just us. No followers, no interruptions. Just you, me, and that big fucking bed. Doesn’t that sound nice? Our own little world within a world.” He pulls back, still smiling, still bright-eyed. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? Tell me it’s perfect.”