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TURNING THE TABLES
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2025-11-19 00:24:18
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MY PROFESSOR IS ACTUALLY MY SECRET LOVER THE GLITCH IN THE SYSTEM
The world believed they were dead. The news cycles, after twenty-four hours of frenzied coverage of the "cyber-terrorist cell's catastrophic accident," moved on. There were funerals—empty caskets for Elena Torres and Maya Flores, a somber university memorial for the "fallen, misguided" Professor Adrian Wells. Ronan Lake was a footnote, a nameless hacker accomplice.Aetherius Group issued a solemn statement expressing regret for the "tragic loss of life" and pledging renewed efforts to safeguard digital infrastructure. Dr. Althea Vance’s face was a picture of somber, statesmanlike resolve on every screen. The palimpsest was complete. The story was sealed.Beneath the city, in the forgotten spaces, the ghosts learned to live.Their new home was not a home. It was a network. A dry utility tunnel annexed by Ronan, powered by siphoned cables, its air filtered through scavenged hardware. It was cold, humming with the city's heartbeat, and utterly secure. They called it The Glitch.Their liv
MY PROFESSOR IS ACTUALLY MY SECRET LOVER THE GHOSTS WHO FIGHT
The world had not just turned against them; it had been reprogrammed to see them as a virus. The faces on Damian’s tablet—their own faces—stared back, branded with a scarlet letter of terror. The rushing water around their knees felt like the rushing current of a reality that had been surgically altered.“No,” Maya whispered, the word a broken thing. “No, we showed them… we gave them everything…”“And she took it and wrapped it in a flag,” Adrian said, his voice hollow with a fury so deep it had no sound. “She made truth treason.”Boots pounded on the concrete riverwalk above the outflow pipe. Muffled shouts cut through the damp air. “Check the outflow tunnels! Move!”Damian didn’t move to block them further. He simply stepped aside, gesturing with the flashlight beam toward the dark, river-churned water beyond the pipe’s mouth. “Your options have narrowed. Swim into the river and take your chances with the current and the patrol boats. Or stay here and become a very public trophy in
MY PROFESSOR IS ACTUALLY MY SECRET LOVER THE ARCHITECT’S RAGE
Dr. Althea Vance's voice, stripped of its corporate serenity and vibrating with pure, undiluted fury, was a more terrifying sound than any gunshot. It wasn't the anger of a thwarted predator, but of a master architect watching a barbarian hurl a paint bucket across her pristine, perfect mural."You have corrupted the entire data-stream. You have unleashed chaos into a system of order. Do you have any concept of the damage you've done?"The words echoed in the concrete chamber, bouncing off the dead drones and the humming, overloaded servers. Elena, her ears still ringing from the sonic assault, felt a strange, electric thrill cut through the fear. They had hurt her. Not physically, but where it mattered most—in her world of control, of data, of managed perception.Adrian stepped forward, putting himself between the invisible voice and Elena. "The damage was already done, Dr. Vance. We just showed everyone the blueprint.""You showed them noise!" Vance spat, the distortion on the inter
MY PROFESSOR IS ACTUALLY MY SECRET LOVER THE SIEGE
The world dissolved into a symphony of chaos. The sterile, fluorescent lights of the federal building flickered, then died, replaced by the hellish, pulsing red glow of emergency strobes. The gunfire from below was no longer muffled—it was a deafening, percussive roar of automatic weapons, shattering glass, and screaming metal.Lang was already in motion, a pistol in her hand, her voice a sharp bark cutting through the noise on her radio. "All units, tactical breach in progress, east and north entrances! This is not a drill! Hostiles are armed and armored! Protect the asset package in Sector Bravo!"The "asset package" was them. Fletcher, whimpering in his chair; Maya, frozen in terror; Ronan, frantically trying to seal digital doors as physical ones were being blown off their hinges; Adrian, shoving Elena toward the room's single, reinforced door; and Elena herself, her heart a frantic, caged animal against her ribs."This way!" Lang yelled, gesturing down a secondary corridor away f
MY PROFESSOR IS ACTUALLY MY SECRET LOVER THE SCRAPE MARKS
Dr. Ian Fletcher’s home was a monument to carefully curated intellect—a modernist box of glass and steel perched on a wooded hillside, filled with first editions and abstract art. It was the home of a man who had won all the right awards but lived in the long shadow of another. Adrian Wells’s shadow.The extraction was a silent, surgical affair. Lang’s team, experts in a different kind of persuasion than Aetherius’s, bypassed the security system with a hum and were inside before Fletcher had finished his late-night brandy. There was no struggle. One moment he was alone with his bitterness, the next he was surrounded by grim-faced strangers, a suppressor-equipped pistol a silent promise in the lead agent’s hand.He was brought to a different kind of room—a soundproofed, windowless interrogation cell in a federal building whose location Elena didn’t know. This wasn’t a safe house. This was a machine for extracting truth.Fletcher sat across from them, his initial terror hardening into a
MY PROFESSOR IS ACTUALLY MY SECRET LOVER THE WAR OF REALITY
The red light was a single, burning eye. It held the weight of a world, of four lives, of a truth so monstrous it threatened to crack the screen. The sterile, air-conditioned chill of the studio was a stark contrast to the fire in Elena’s veins. Catherine Lee’s practiced, calm expression was a mask over the electric tension in the room.“We are interrupting our scheduled programming for a major developing story,” Catherine began, her voice smooth as polished stone, yet carrying an undercurrent of gravity that made producers pause in the control room. “With me are Elena Torres, a university student at the center of the recent ‘Chiron Initiative’ whistleblower case, Professor Adrian Wells, and Maya Flores. They have just arrived at our studios with what they claim is evidence of a conspiracy that reaches far beyond the university walls.”The camera swung to them. Elena saw their reflection in the lens—pale, determined, haunted. She saw Adrian’s jaw tighten, a professor steeling himself
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