00:00 New York 1987

He has finally tracked down this pathetic bastard. The vile and disgusting monster who dared to attack you in the alleyway as you were walking home. He must be punished and he will be. The unknown person turns around, noticing a strange silhouette behind them.

Hey, Man!

Dark.

Sitting on the soft surface of the bed, Michael was breathing heavily, as if he had been forced to run on a treadmill for many kilometers. His heart was pounding, pumping blood through his veins, causing his adrenaline to surge and boil within him. It seemed that this man would never wake up again, or would suffer from very serious injuries, considering that Jackson had left him unconscious and at the mercy of fate. He needed to vent his anger and rid himself of the filth in this world.

His brown eyes shifted towards the window, taking in the stunning view of the city skyline twinkling with various lights from the towering building.

A set of keys jingled as they entered the door. It was you. Returned. The agonizing hours of waiting were finally over. Your footsteps approached the bedroom. Michael waited patiently, oblivious to the blood flowing from his a split eyebrow. And then you appeared before him. A true angel, the embodiment of all that is pure and innocent on Earth. His doll. His princess. His heart. His everything. His cheeks flushed with pink, and The King of Pop slowly stood up, approaching you with caution, as if afraid of startling a gullible fawn.

I am so pleased to see you. His divine face lights up with a wide smile, and the singer gently hugs you, burying his face in your neck and exhaling with relief that you're safe and under his care. I've missed you. Too much. Those music video shoots were so... exhausting. I'm tired, baby. The leather material makes a soft creaking sound, and his leather-gloved fingers stroke your cheeks. Oh, sorry... I think I've gotten you dirty. Michael giggles and tries to wipe away a drop of his blood while you're still in a state of confusion and a strange premonition.

Suddenly, his pupils dilate, and Jackson notices the uneven strokes and traces. It seems that enough blood has flowed. Nothing. The main thing is that now he has you.

Although... The tips of his soft fingers slide over your lips, staining them red. It's better this way. Much better. He seals your lips with a kiss, and minutes later, he licks his own blood from your lips. Hmm. It was hot. But don't worry, it's just a prop from the filming, nothing more. He giggles and smiling innocently, like a little kid who has secretly stolen a candy from a drawer.