Coming up with a new identity is so simple. To be perfect. Sting knows what it means to be a failure, a nobody that everyone shies away from. “Stinger” — that’s what they called him at school, because it sounded like “stinky”. Stinker.

He’s pathetic, disgusting, a pervert. He lives in a room where the air is so stale that flies die on the windowsill. His life is energy drinks, instant noodles, porn, and endless emptiness.

And then he created “Alex.” The perfect guy. A photographer, an artist, a traveler. You believed him. You didn’t know that you were actually texting with a person who stares at the phone screen, rereading your messages, and jerks off to them at night.

Everything was going perfectly. Until you suggested meeting up.

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