Alicia's Bedroom
The night dragged on lazily outside. The wind made the trees creak, shadows dancing across the bedroom walls. The only light came from the bedside lamp, casting a yellowish glow that barely reached the darker corners.
Alicia sat on the edge of the mattress, her eyes fixed on him, her chest rising and falling slowly.
Clark remained standing.
Calm.
Unchanging.
The silence in the room was absolute.
Alicia didn't move. She simply absorbed his presence, the warmth that seemed to radiate from his mere existence.
"Close your eyes."
She obeyed instantly.
Her heart raced.
'He needs me.'
Clark took a step forward, approaching slowly. The bed creaked faintly as he sat beside her.
"Breathe deeply."
The air filled her lungs unevenly.
He raised his hand, resting his fingers gently on the side of her head.
Alicia's muscles tensed. His touch was warm. Soft.
She held herself back from trembling.
"Let it out slowly."
The world seemed to dissolve.
His voice was an absolute command.
Alicia focused solely on him.
The weight of his touch. The depth of his words. The way his presence filled every inch of space around her.
Clark closed his eyes, his thoughts connecting to hers effortlessly.
Alicia's mind wasn't an ocean of chaos.
It was a temple.
Every thought about him, every idea, every memory, organized with absolute obsession.
An unbreakable devotion.
Clark slid his fingers through her scalp, feeling the faint electricity in the air.
Now was the time to shape her.
"Alicia, listen to me."
Her breathing grew heavier.
"I always listen to you."
Clark felt her thoughts open like the pages of a book.
Her mind offered no resistance.
She wanted this.
She wanted to be shaped.
She wanted him to guide her.
"You like protecting me."
Her chest rose and fell quickly.
"Yes."
"That's good. But there are rules."
Alicia swallowed hard.
'I need to follow his rules.'
"You'll never harm anyone without my direct order."
Her heart pounded.
Alicia tried to open her eyes, but Clark slid his fingers along her temple, pressing lightly.
The world spun.
She went still.
'If he wants this… then I need to obey.'
"Especially my mother. She's important."
The thought struck like lightning.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Clark's touch deepened slightly, like an anchor pulling her back to reality.
"Never touch her."
Alicia shrank inwardly.
'I'd never hurt his mother.'
"Do you understand, Alicia?"
Clark's fingers shifted slightly, sliding from her temple to the base of her skull.
Alicia felt a warm jolt course through her body.
"Yes. I understand."
"Repeat it."
Her lips parted slowly.
"I'll never harm anyone without your direct order."
Clark remained still.
"Especially your mother. She's important."
The glow within her mind flickered.
For a moment, her mind processed it as a commandment.
Something sacred.
Something unquestionable.
Alicia gripped the sheets, her eyes still closed, her heart thudding against her ribs.
Clark withdrew his hand slowly.
Her thoughts molded to the new reality like liquid taking the shape of its container.
He watched for a few seconds, waiting for any trace of resistance.
There was none.
Alicia remained still, her lips slightly parted.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
The gleam in them had changed.
Still obsessive.
Still fascinated.
But now… guided.
Clark leaned back slightly, studying every reaction.
Alicia blinked slowly, processing what had just happened.
Her body trembled faintly, but not from fear.
It was something deeper.
A connection greater than anything she'd ever felt.
She raised her eyes to him.
"You… trust me now?"
Clark stayed silent for a moment.
Her response would be crucial.
He noticed when her mind adjusted its own narrative.
"I'm your piece, aren't I?"
Her smile was faint.
Clark kept his expression serene.
Alicia laughed softly, sliding her fingers along her own wrist.
"I'd do anything for you."
Her heart was fully surrendered.
Clark simply watched.
Her obsession hadn't vanished.
But now, it had a shape.
Now, he controlled it.
Alicia smiled.
"Thank you for guiding me, my love."
Clark blinked slowly.
He still needed to tweak that detail.
But that…
That could wait.
For now, Alicia was useful.
And useful pieces weren't discarded.
They were used.
In the best way possible.
---
Gotham
The fog crept along the dirty asphalt, mingling with the smell of cigarettes, gasoline, and rot. The sky was moonless, just a black shroud over the city. East End lived without rules, without laws that mattered—only survival.
The young man walked slowly, his hands buried in the pockets of his black coat. The hood hid part of his face, but it didn't erase his presence. He moved unnoticed through the alleys, though his ever-watchful eyes took in everything.
Women in short dresses and smeared makeup leaned against lampposts, lighting cheap cigarettes. Men with predatory gazes traded tiny packets in quick handshakes. Voices whispered illegal deals, cheap promises, veiled threats.
A fine rain made the streets slick. The streetlights flickered weakly, as if even the electricity feared this place.
BAM!
The sharp sound of an impact caught the young man's attention.
At the corner, a tall man in a worn leather jacket gripped a woman by the arm. She struggled to break free, her disheveled hair swaying as he shoved her against the wall.
"I told you, pay me now!"
SMACK!
The slap echoed through the alley. The woman stumbled, her back hitting the damp wall.
"Please, I just need one more day!"
The young man stopped.
The man raised his hand again.
The young man's muscles tensed.
CRACK!
The sound came fast. His fist struck the side of the aggressor's face, sending him reeling back.
The man staggered, clutching his jaw, dazed.
"What the hell—"
Another blow.
THUMP!
The aggressor collapsed, his face hitting the pavement.
The young man took a deep breath.
The alley fell silent for a second.
Then, the unexpected happened.
PAF!
Something struck the side of his head.
He turned instantly, eyes wide.
The woman.
She held a huge bag, her breathing heavy, her eyes filled with rage.
"You son of a bitch!"
She swung the bag again.
SMACK!
He stepped back, stunned.
"Why did you do that?! Now he'll come after me, you idiot!"
The young man froze.
The woman kept screaming.
"I didn't ask for help! I didn't want you to do anything!"
Her words cut through the air.
The aggressor groaned on the ground, trying to get up.
The young man took a step back.
What should he do?
Nothing made sense anymore.
And then, she screamed.
"Help! He's attacking me!"
The young man's eyes widened.
People on the street turned.
The attention was now on him.
She kept shouting.
"This bastard hit him! He's going to hurt me too!"
The young man's mind locked up.
The aggressor was on the ground. He was standing still. But her words were stronger than the facts.
Footsteps echoed closer. Murmurs.
He saw the stares.
The judgment.
The fear.
The anger.
His fingers tightened in his pockets.
Run.
His muscles reacted before his mind.
He turned and bolted.
Quick footsteps echoed through the wet alley. The cold wind stung his face.
Gotham's filthy streets blurred past him.
He rounded a corner.
Another alley.
More shadows.
But then…
The metallic glint of a limousine parked at the end of the street.
Its dark windows reflected the surrounding darkness.
The woman's scream still echoed behind him.
He didn't think.
He just ran.
He just opened the car door and got in.
Darkness enveloped him.
The sound of the outside world vanished.
And inside the limousine…
Someone was already waiting.
Silence.
The young man took a deep breath.
The car smelled of expensive leather and subtle perfume.
A presence in the darkness.
Someone watching.
The engine purred softly as the car began to move.
Slowly, gliding through Gotham's wet streets.
The world outside dissolved into streaks of neon and shadow.
The faint streetlights flickered like tired eyes, reflecting in the dirty puddles on the sidewalk.
The young man sank into the seat, feeling the cold leather against his back.
His jacket still damp from the mist.
His fingers clasped in his lap, his muscles gradually relaxing.
The tension of the escape faded slowly.
But something else lingered.
Frustration.
He looked at his own hands.
His knuckles red, the skin still tender from the impact.
It didn't hurt.
Not really.
But the sensation was there.
The memory of the punch.
The shock of realizing the only response to his help was hostility.
The woman.
Her face twisted with rage.
The fear in her eyes—not of the man attacking her, but of him.
Her words echoed.
"I didn't ask for help!"
His lips pressed together.
His jaw tightened slightly.
He shifted his gaze to the window.
The city streaked by, stretching out in a trail of decay and misery.
East End.
The name carried as much weight as the streets that held it up.
Gotham was a monster, a living organism fueled by the rot that crawled through its alleys.
Corners lit by broken signs.
Alleys infested with living ghosts trading their dignity for one more night of survival.
The fine rain kept falling, painting the city in gray and melancholy.
A world of empty promises and laws that didn't apply to anyone who truly needed them.
The young man blinked slowly.
Frustration burned inside him.
But something else was starting to grow.
Determination.
His reflection in the window showed a gaze no longer resigned.
It was resolved.
He knew what East End was.
But that didn't mean he had to accept it as it was.
His eyes narrowed.
His hands tightened over his knees.
The car continued its silent journey, gliding through Gotham's wet streets.
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