10 years after the prom massacre and the robot massacre...
The classroom hummed with eighth-grade energy, but Alice's hands trembled slightly as she gripped her whiteboard marker. A loud textbook slam made her flinch involuntarily. Jimmy, oblivious to her reaction, had simply dropped his book.
Her therapist's words echoed: "Triggers aren't failures. They're moments to breathe."
She inhaled deeply, willing her racing heart to slow. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, too harsh—like searchlights from memories she'd spent years burying. But here, surrounded by curious adolescent faces, she was safe. Here, she was Ms. Thompson. A teacher. In control.
"Okay, class," she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her, "today we're discussing narrative perspective."
A student raised her hand. Alice nodded, grateful for the predictable rhythm of classroom routine—a rhythm that helped anchor her in the present moment.
The staff break room felt suffocating. Alice's lunch—a wilted salad and lukewarm tea—sat untouched. Her fingers traced the rim of her mug, memories flickering behind her eyes.
Suddenly, a movement. A rabbit. Not a cute classroom mascot, but something monstrous—anthropomorphic, towering, with razor-sharp teeth and blood-matted fur. Its eyes locked with hers, predatory and knowing.
"No," Alice whispered.
The hallucination moved. Alice didn't see the staff member approaching—just a threat. She launched herself forward, tackling Mr. Rodriguez to the ground, her hands clutching, fighting an enemy only she could see.
"Get away!" she screamed, pinning him down, her PTSD transforming her into a desperate, terrified fighter.
Mr. Rodriguez struggled beneath her, shocked and confused, trying to understand the violent eruption from his usually composed colleague.
later In the courtroom, Alice stood silently as the judge reviewed the incident. Mr. Rodriguez testified about the break room assault, describing her unexpected attack. Despite her PTSD diagnosis, the court found her actions warranted disciplinary action.
The judge levied a $1,500 fine for assault and workplace misconduct. The firing would be a significant strain on Alice's limited salary, adding another layer of stress to her already complex mental health challenges.
As she left the courtroom, the weight of the fine and the professional consequences hung heavily around her.
---
Lorie stared at her suitcase, the weight of her past pressing down on her. The rabbit robot—her creation—had killed, and the guilt consumed her. Her friends chattered excitedly about the upcoming cruise, their laughter a stark contrast to her internal turmoil.
"You okay?" her best friend Mark asked, noticing her distant expression.
She managed a weak smile. "Just thinking."
The cruise was supposed to be an escape, a chance to forget. But Lorie knew some ghosts don't stay behind so easily. Her robotics background, once a source of pride, now felt like a curse—a reminder of the technological nightmare she'd unleashed.
As they loaded luggage into the car, Lorie wondered if she could ever truly run from what she'd done.
Alice returned home, the courtroom fine still weighing on her mind. During dinner, she scrolled through job listings on her tablet. A security position on an upcoming cruise ship caught her eye—maritime security, requiring someone with vigilance and crisis management skills.
The job description seemed almost tailored to her background: former teacher, high-stress training, ability to remain calm in challenging situations. She studied the details carefully, her finger hovering over the application button.
Not yet, she decided. But the possibility lingered.
The road wound through dense forest, hemmed by towering pine trees. Lorie's friend Mark was driving their rented SUV when the abandoned orphanage suddenly appeared—a decrepit Victorian structure, its paint peeling, windows like dark, vacant eyes.
"Should we stop?" someone asked.
Curiosity overrode caution. They pulled over, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. The orphanage stood silent, a monument to forgotten children. Overgrown weeds choked the front path, and a rusted swing set lurked in the side yard, barely visible through the wild vegetation.
"This looks creepy," Lorie muttered, her mind already spinning potential scenarios—her guilty imagination mapping the abandoned building with the technological horror of her past.
Mark was already stepping out of the car, smartphone camera ready. "We're just going to take a quick look."
The group moved cautiously through the orphanage's rotting hallways. Dust motes danced in fractured light streaming through cracked windows. Old cribs and broken furniture created a maze of decay.
Emily, the most adventurous of the group, spotted a tarnished necklace on a dusty dresser. Without hesitation, she slipped it into her pocket. The silver pendant caught a brief glint of light before disappearing.
"We shouldn't be here," Lorie whispered, her technological guilt merging with the building's oppressive atmosphere.
Mark continued taking photos, his phone's flashlight cutting through the gloom. Something felt wrong—a sense of watchfulness that went beyond abandoned architecture.
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A sudden scraping sound—like metal against wood—froze the group. Emily whispered, "Did you hear that?"
Lorie's heart raced. Something moved in the shadows at the end of the hallway.
"We need to go. Now." Mark's voice was urgent.
They bolted, footsteps echoing through the abandoned orphanage. The front door seemed miles away. Behind them, something dragged across the floor—a sound that didn't feel human.
They burst outside, lungs burning, not stopping until they reached the car.
---
The gas station flickered with harsh fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across the dusty forecourt. A lone attendant watched disinterestedly as Lorie and her friends filled up their SUV.
Emily's hand unconsciously touched the stolen necklace in her pocket, a nervous habit born from their recent trespass at the abandoned orphanage.
"We should grab some snacks," Mark suggested, breaking the tense silence that had followed their hasty exit.
As they moved toward the convenience store, none of them noticed the attendant's eyes—fixed intently and unnervingly on Emily's pocket.
As they approached the checkout, the gas station attendant—an older man with weathered hands—fixed his gaze on them.
"we don't get much kids around here ever since..." he said, his voice gravelly. "Ever heard about Joseph? The anthro rabbit killer who massacred an entire prom?"
Mark and Emily exchanged uncertain glances. Lorie listened intently.
"Only one survivor," the attendant continued. "A teacher named Alice. She watched as that monster tore through everyone. Hundreds dead in minutes. Some say Joseph wasn't just a killer—he was a nightmare."
The story hung in the air, heavy with unspoken horror. The necklace in Emily's pocket seemed to grow suddenly warm.
Alice sat across from her therapist, Dr. Reardon, discussing the cruise ship security job.
"It could be good exposure therapy," Dr. Reardon said. "Controlled environment. Professional setting. A chance to rebuild confidence after the Rodriguez incident."
He leaned forward. "Take the job."
Alice hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her court fine documentation.
"Structure," Dr. Reardon emphasized. "Predictability. Safety."
The job suddenly felt less like a risk and more like a calculated step toward healing.
Alice reviewed the security job contract in her apartment. After her conversation with Dr. Reardon, the opportunity felt like a path forward. Maritime security. Structured environment. A chance to rebuild her professional confidence.
She accepted the contract, her hand steady.
---
The cruise ship loomed large, a gleaming white behemoth against the harbor. Lorie and her friends approached the boarding area, their excitement tinged with the lingering unease from their orphanage adventure.
Emily clutched her bag, the stolen necklace hidden inside. Mark checked their tickets, while Lorie scanned the deck, her mind still processing the gas station attendant's story about Joseph.
As they prepared to board, they didn't notice Alice—the new security officer—watching from a discrete distance.
Alice patrolled the cruise ship's deck, her security uniform crisp and professional. Her eyes methodically scanned the passengers and corridors, her training from teaching subtly informing her observational skills.
She paused near a group of young travelers—Lorie and her friends—without fully registering their significance. Her mind remained alert, searching for any potential disruptions.
but something blended into the cruise ship's crowded spaces, watching, waiting, tracking the young travelers' movements with cold, calculated intensity.
---
a few days ago... The sterile hum of the hardware store, Sector B, usually lulled Jeff into a sense of quiet efficiency.
The humming intensified, a malevolent drone that seemed to seep into his very bones. He followed the sound, the air growing thick with a metallic tang. He passed rows of gleaming tools – push mowers, bowguns – each glinting menacingly under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Then he saw it: a crude campfire crackling in the center of the aisle, a figure hunched beside it. As Jeff approached, the smell hit him – a sickly sweet cloying scent of decay.
He reached out to touch the figure's shoulder, a jolt of fear coursing through him. The head slumped back, revealing a horrifying sight – skin completely absent, revealing the raw, pulsating flesh beneath.
"Shit!" Jeff swore, stumbling back.
The humming abruptly ceased. A gloved black hand erupted from a nearby tent, followed by a grotesque sight: a fox's head, eyes gleaming with unnatural sense.
The humming resumed, faster, more insistent, a terrifying symphony. The fox emerged fully, a monstrous 6-foot beast of white fur, its movements smooth, human. Its blue eyes from within its plastic fox mask, cold and predatory, locked onto Jeff.
Panic seized him. He sprinted towards the sliding glass doors, now inexplicably open. But the fox was too quick. It snatched up a bowgun and fired.
Jeff crumpled, the searing pain in his leg igniting a fresh wave of terror. He crawled towards the doorway, his body half-in, half-out.
Then, the doors slammed shut, crushing him against the metal frame. A sickening crunch, a burst of blood.
He heard a revving sound. The fox raised a monstrous push mower high above him. The blades whirred, a terrifying spectacle of impending doom.
"What are you?!" Jeff screamed, his voice a strangled croak.
The fox smiled from within the mask and spoke "Death" Then, it brought the mower down.
---
Alice entered the ship's locker room and donned her guard uniform. Upon entering the control room, she sensed something was amiss when she spotted Charles conversing with a police officer. She approached them, and Charles exclaimed, "I swear to God, if this causes the ship to shut down..." The officer replied,
"We may have to." Alice inquired,
"What is happening?" The officer retorted,
"Stay out of this situation." Charles interjected,
"Do you remember Mr. King?"
"Yes," Alice responded.
"Well, some maniac skinned him and affixed him to a mannequin at the Meadow Mall," Charles stated with an unsettling calmness.
"Oh..." Alice murmured. Charles turned back to the officer, insisting,
"I'm telling you, it's that convict who escaped last week." The officer then walked away. "Damn it!" Charles shouted, turning to Alice.
"Hey, are you ready for the trip?" he asked.
"Uh, sure?" she replied.
"Good," he said before walking off in another direction.
"Great," Alice muttered to herself. Having never worked on a cruise ship before, she had assumed the job would be straightforward. However, she was about to experience the worst night of her life. She continued her patrol of the ship until nightfall.
Rico was seated in his modest workshop, surrounded by an array of tools and various robot components. He was in the process of repairing a robot head when he heard a knock at the door. Before he could respond, the co-manager burst in. "Is it finished?" the co-manager inquired, scrutinizing the tools scattered about.
"First of all, it's a he, and his name is Thum—"
"Great, but is 'he' done?" he interrupted, nearly shouting.
"You cannot rush me," Rico replied.
"Yes, I can; we need him completed by the end of the week," the co-manager insisted.
"But—"
"Enough, you insufferable little brat," the manager retorted as he began to leave. In a sudden move, Rico seized a dead blow hammer.
"Hey, Matt," he called out, concealing the hammer behind his back as he approached.
"What—" Before he could finish, Rico struck Matt forcefully on the skull. Matt collapsed, but Rico continued to bring the hammer down repeatedly until there was nothing left but a bloody pulp. Dropping the hammer, Rico returned to the robot head and picked it up. He carried it to a curtain that concealed another object. Pulling the curtain aside, he attached the robot head to the body, which was covered in white fur, while the head remained hairless. Rico retrieved some white fur from a shelf and affixed it to the head, completing the robot. He adjusted the ears and pressed a button located at the back of its head, causing its eyes to glow a vivid red.
"Good morning, Love," Rico said as the rabbit began to survey its surroundings.
"We have work to do," he whispered.
