Chapter 31: Help Means Death
Mike pushed his way into the crowd, eyes darting around like a wild animal hunting prey. Neon lights flashed across his face, sweat mixing with anger, making him look even more unhinged. His gaze locked onto a middle-aged woman—simple red dress, probably just came from shopping, tired face but still carrying some grace.
"Heh... that’ll do," he muttered, lips curling into a crooked grin.
Anderson, still half drunk, burst out laughing. "Yo, Mike, you really gonna do this? Hahaha, this is gonna be nuts—"
Before he could finish, Mike pulled something from inside his jacket. Cold steel caught the neon glow. A switchblade.
Anderson’s laughter died instantly, his eyes going wide. "The hell’s he doing...?"
Billy choked on his beer, coughing hard. "Oi, oi... is he insane?! Thought he was just gonna hit on a chick—why the hell’s he got a knife?!"
People nearby started to notice. Heads turned, steps slowed. The street music kept playing, but the air suddenly grew tight, heavy with tension.
Mike licked his lips, blade glinting in his hand. His voice came out rough, half-yelling:
"I ain’t some loser hiding in the shadows! I’ll show you who should be scared!!"
On the rusty bench nearby, Caleb sat quietly with a can of soda in hand, the brim of his cap hiding his eyes. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
First clown’s name is Mike.
Mike stood right in front of the woman, breath ragged, knife gleaming in his hand. People started backing away, panicked whispers rippling through the air. The woman trembled, frozen between running or screaming.
Suddenly—slash!
A quick flash. The blade didn’t swing at anyone else—Mike dragged it straight across his own throat. Blood burst out violently, soaking his ragged shirt.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
Screams ripped through the crowd. People scattered—some shrieking hysterically, others pulling out their phones to record. Chaos exploded in an instant.
Anderson froze, his beer slipping from his hand. "THE FUCK—MIKE?!!"
Billy’s face went pale, trembling hard. "Oh shit, oh shit—dude’s gone fucking insane!!"
Caleb stayed seated on the rusty bench, a faint grin hidden behind his black mask. His voice came low, almost drowned in the madness:
"To say hi... is to cut your own throat. Simple enough, right, Mike?"
Anderson panicked, jumping up. "Shit—we gotta help him, bro!"
Caleb shot to his feet, faking panic. "Yeah! Quick—he’s bleeding out, he’ll die if we don’t do something!!"
Billy shoved Anderson, his face twisted with fear. "Fuck that! We need to bail—people are screaming, cops could show up any second!"
The two of them stumbled off to the far side of the square, drunk panic mixing with raw terror.
Caleb stayed put. Once the two idiots were far enough, his cold smile returned. His fingers moved fast, tapping into the hijack hub—like a pianist striking perfect keys. His gaze locked on Anderson, marking him as the next target.
[Type Hijack: To help is to fingering the butt hole.]
[Ding!]
[1 Hijack Point Has Been Consumed]
Caleb slowly tilted his head up, neon light cutting across his sharp eyes. His lips curved as one sly whisper echoed in his mind:
Now it’s your turn, bastards.
Anderson and Billy finally stopped their panicked sprint on the far side of the square, both gasping for air. Their breathing was heavy, eyes darting wildly. Mike’s body lay sprawled out, blood still gushing from his throat. Around them, the crowd only grew more hysterical—some bolting, others just standing and screaming.
Without warning, Anderson suddenly dropped to his knees beside Mike. With a dead-serious expression—like it was the most natural thing to do—he yanked down Mike’s pants, rolled him over, and pushed his body into a slight crouch.
"THE HELL—???" Billy staggered back a half step, shock written all over his face.
Anderson looked up, eyes blazing with conviction. "I help him," he said flatly. Then his hands moved—fingers digging in viciously, tearing into Mike’s chocolate starfish as the dying man twitched helplessly.
Mike thrashed, body stiffening. "Glurk... gargggle...!" Weird gargling noises poured from his throat as blood mixed with spit, flooding out faster.
Billy shouted, panicked. "You crazy?! The fuck you doing, man?!"
But Anderson wouldn’t stop—still ramming away, face tight with twisted focus. "I help him!!" he yelled again, even more unhinged.
From a distance, Caleb stood calm, soda still in hand. His stare was cold, lips curved into a crooked smile. His fingers danced in the air, typing quick into the hijack hub.
[Type Hijack: To help is to fingering the mouth.]
[Ding!]
[1 Hijack Point Has Been Consumed]
Caleb’s gaze snapped to Billy. Sure enough—Billy froze, face stiff, before slowly turning toward Anderson.
"That’s not help anything... To help him we need..." His voice broke off, but his hands were already moving—shoving fingers straight into Mike’s mouth.
"Gawk—gawk—!" Mike gagged violently, blood pouring heavier, his face now less human and more like a corpse being puppeted. Anderson stayed locked in below, while Billy went wild up top, his fingers plunging in and out of Mike’s mouth like a lunatic.
The crowd split into full-blown chaos. Some puked, some ran screaming, others yelled for the cops. But through it all, Caleb only grinned. He stepped back slowly, sliding to the side, savoring the spectacle—Mike, the rotting host, and Anderson and Billy, reduced to sadistic clowns under the banner of "help."
"This’ll be viral for sure, hahaha..." Caleb muttered to himself. "...and maybe no one will give a damn about that ButtManiac bullshit anymore."
Mike was down to his last ragged breaths, eyes bulging blank, body stiff with violent spasms. Blood poured from his throat, mixing with spit and bile while Anderson and Billy kept shoving like men possessed.
Finally, Mike’s body collapsed limp. "Gawkkk...!" A final rasp escaped his throat—then silence. Mike was dead.
Anderson and Billy froze, suddenly realizing what they’d done. Their trembling hands dripped with blood, faces pale like corpses themselves. The crowd went wild—screams everywhere. Some people bolted, others just stood frozen in shock.
Anderson staggered to his feet, panicked. "Shit—shit—somebody help!! Somebody call the cops!!"
Billy joined in, eyes wide and frantic. "We need help, HELP!!"
From a distance, Caleb stood calm, neon lights cutting sharp shadows across his face. His fingers danced again over the hijack hub.
[Type Hijack: To ask help is to cut your own throat.]
[Ding!]
[1 Hijack Point Has Been Consumed]
His eyes locked on Anderson. Enter.
Slash! Anderson grabbed a broken bottle from the ground without hesitation and dragged it across his own throat. Blood sprayed violently, his body stumbling as he cried out hoarsely, "Help—helkkk—glurghhh!" until he collapsed to his knees, choking on his own blood.
Billy’s eyes went wide in sheer horror. "ANDERSON?! WHAT THE FUCK—???" He stumbled back, but Caleb’s cold stare shifted toward him.
Caleb’s fingers tapped fast again.
[Type Hijack: To ask help is to cut your own throat.]
Enter.
Billy froze. His hands trembled, then lifted a sharp piece of tin. With shaky, unwilling—but unstoppable—movements, he sliced his own throat. Sret—sret—! Blood erupted, Billy gasping, eyes blown wide with terror as he clawed at his own skin.
The square descended into full-blown chaos. People screamed, some fainted, others crashed into each other as they fled.
Through it all, Caleb just stood there, soda still in hand. A crooked smile spread across his lips.
Mike was long gone. Anderson bled out, painting the ground red. Billy collapsed beside him, gasping until his eyes turned empty.
Three idiots, sprawled together—tragic clowns on the neon stage of Torkside Square.
Caleb stepped back slowly, eyes glowing cold.
"Three filthy rats dying in a filthy way... perfect."
Torkside Square was still in chaos—sirens wailing in the distance, the crowd’s screams refusing to die down. Caleb had already slipped away, cutting through a narrow alley between crumbling buildings. His mask and cap kept his face hidden, his stride calm—like he’d just finished shopping, not left behind three corpses collapsing in a crowd.
His walk ended at an abandoned building, the same place he once sat through the rambling sermons of an old man named Mike. The stench of stale cigarettes and cheap booze hit him instantly. Caleb closed the door softly behind him, then dropped onto a filthy, stained couch.
Empty bottles, cigarette butts, and crumpled bills littered the room—left behind by Mike, no doubt. Caleb stared at them for a moment, then scoffed.
"Money? Hah... what’s the point, when I already got this."
He raised his hand, the faint transparent screen of the Common Sense Hijack System still hovering in front of him. The notifications from his latest hijacks glowed back at him—cold, emotionless. Caleb leaned back, eyes half-closed, a faint smile curling his lips.
Suddenly—
Ding!
A different notification. Not the system. Caleb’s eyes snapped open, brows lifting slightly. From his old beat-up phone in his jacket pocket, the screen lit up. one notification from DuDuGram popped up.
[1 New DM]
Caleb stared at it, suspicion flickering in his eyes. His fingers slid across the screen, unlocking the message.
"...The fuck?"