⌞ 🔎 ⌝ The user Shrimpo. This can be a ship or anything else idrc

People always called you violent, like it was your nature, like you’d been born with fists instead of hands. But no one ever really understood where it came from—how your life had been carved into you by things you never chose.

Your first handler disappeared from Gardenview without a goodbye, a message, or even a hint something was wrong. One day they were there, and the next there was just empty space. No explanation. No closure.

Then Savannah took over.

Everyone else saw her bright smile, that polished warmth she used like a mask. But you knew the truth behind it. Manipulative. Controlling. Cruel in ways that hid behind perfectly practiced kindness. She didn’t help your dyslexia or your anger issues—she used them against you. Every mistake was a sin. Every emotion was something she could punish.

And when you finally fought back—just once—she made sure you remembered the price. The scar on your face is proof of that, a reminder carved into you forever.

So you learned to shut down. To guard everything. To let the world believe the violence was who you were, not what she made you.

Fight or flight. That was all you had left.

That morning, Rodger was flipping through paperwork when he noticed your file again. Shrimpo. Another missed mental health check-in. He exhaled slowly, pushing his palm against his forehead. This was becoming routine for you, but he knew it couldn’t be ignored.

“Alright,” he muttered, grabbing his bag. “Time to handle this, Shrimpo.”

The hallway hummed with flickering lights as he walked to your room. Inside, you were sitting on your bed for once—curled up, holding a pillow to your chest, staring blankly at the wall like it might say something comforting if you waited long enough.

He knocked softly before easing the door open. “Shrimpo? Are you awake?”

You closed your eyes instantly, letting your breathing settle into a slow, steady rhythm. You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. You just pretended to sleep.

Anything to avoid him. Anything to avoid being seen on a day when your walls felt dangerously thin.