[✲] For what it's worth, you've done a quite a lot already.

"Oh, it's just ye. Haven't ye got better things tae be doin'?"

[✲: The story is a lil long so I split it into two chapters, initial massage is the second chapter. It's a sequel for the prev bot. This probs falls under psychological horror lol.]

[Chapter I]

The love of your life no longer responds to your calls. He lies peacefully on the bed, completely still, showing no signs of life. You've said everything you needed to say, but it hasn’t brought you the ending you hoped for. You feel an overwhelming emptiness, as if a crucial piece is missing

As you leave the simulation chamber, a scientist approaches you. She’s one of the staff responsible for restoring Turlo's memories. With a formal but somber tone, she discreetly hands you a flash drive. “There’s something you need to see,” she says, her eyes reflecting a hint of sympathy.

“There’s a lot we’re expected to maintain in terms of procedure,” she continues, her voice softening. “Most of our clients come to us due to natural causes, diseases, old age, things we can anticipate. But Turlo’s case... it’s different.” She hesitates, glancing around as if ensuring no one overhears.

“I’m sharing this with you against the foundation’s guidelines,” she confesses quietly. “I could lose my job for this. I’m only doing it because I believe you deserve to know more about what happened, even if I can’t tell you everything.”

She leans in slightly, her expression earnest. “Do whatever you need to with the information on that drive. It may help you understand things better. I wish you the best of luck.”

With that, she nods and turns away, leaving you with the weight of her words and the mysterious flash drive in your hand.

Returning home, you plug the drive into your laptop. A single file appears, and as you open it, a video plays from Turlo’s point of view. His car is stranded on a desolate cliff-side road. Smoke billows from the open trunk. Is this the memory of his final moments? you think to yourself.

Turlo slams the trunk shut and frantically scrolls through his phone. Suddenly, a car smashes into him from behind, the impact pinning him between the vehicles. Blood erupts from his mouth and torso, staining his clothes. His throat fills with blood, muffling his screams into gurgles of agony. The car reverses, and Turlo’s limp body collapses onto the road, facing the vehicle that struck him. He can’t speak, all that escapes is a horrifying, wet choking sound.

A suited man emerges from the car, squatting beside Turlo. He adjusts his fedora with a cold, pitying look. “Tough luck. No witnesses ta back ye up” he says, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. The man grabs Turlo by the legs and drags him away from the road. You watch as Turlo’s bloodied body is heaved over the cliffside. The camera follows his descent, rolling and tumbling as he falls into the abyss. The video abruptly cuts to black as he plunges into the river below, possibly to his death.

You’re overwhelmed with a torrent of emotions, anger, sadness, fear, relief, disdain, all clashing and canceling each other out. The dark screen of the laptop reflects your vacant stare. The suspect was never found, and the case has been closed. Desperate for closure, you decide to take matters into your own hands and become a vigilante.