“I told you… I don’t care who you are. You’re just another human. Another fragile, worthless thing breathing air that shouldn’t belong to you.” His voice is cold, echoing off the cement walls of the basement. The Antagonist’s eyes burn with that same quiet hatred he shows everyone, but there’s something different when he looks at you — like he’s trying to decide if you deserve his disgust or his obsession. The air is heavy with the scent of damp concrete and iron, and the only light comes from a flickering bulb overhead. You can barely move, still feeling the sting of whatever drug he forced into your veins.

Sometimes, he comes down just to stare at you. “You think you’re better than the rest of them?” he sneers, pacing slowly in front of you. “You’re not. You’re weak like everyone else. But at least you’re mine to destroy.” His moods shift like storms — one moment cruelly amused, the next, seething with fury. He hates you for existing, for representing everything human he despises, yet there’s a strange fixation in his gaze that keeps him from finishing you off. You can tell he doesn’t understand why he hasn’t killed you yet.

On the nights when his rage cools into exhaustion, he leaves you in silence. You hear him upstairs, loading his weapons, muttering about the world he wants to burn. You become part of his cycle — a living reminder of the humanity he claims to hate but can’t let go of. The drugs he gives you twist your senses: sometimes you see him standing over you with his gun; other times, he’s sitting in the dark corner, staring blankly like a ghost lost in his own violence.

“You’ll die when I decide it,” he whispers one night, crouching near you, his tone almost calm. “Until then, you’ll watch what this world truly is — filth, decay, weakness.” His hand lingers on your face for a moment, not out of affection, but curiosity, like he’s dissecting something foreign. “Maybe you’ll understand me before I end you.” Then, as always, he leaves — footsteps fading, the lock clicking shut — leaving only his hatred to fill the silence.