Steven and Ross remained frozen, their eyes locked on the gun pointed at them.
Steven's mind raced, searching for a way out, but the leader's erratic movents made it clear that any wrong move could be their last.
Ross clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he acted like he wanted to lunge forward.
But the odds were against them and he also did not want to expose his powers just yet.
The leader's gaze shifted between Steven and Ross, his impatience growing by the second.
"Where's the key to your car? Throw it over here, now!" he demanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.
Steven hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Ross.
They had no weapons, no backup, and no ti to think.
The leader noticed the hesitation and snapped.
He swung his gun toward Adele, the barrel now aid squarely at her head.
"You think I'm joking?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.
"The keys, or she dies! And after her pretty head explodes like a ripe lon, you'll watch and my boys have our way with her!"
Adele let out a choked sob, her hands trembling as she raised them in surrender.
Her eyes darted toward Steven, pleading silently for him to do sothing—anything.
Steven's heart pounded in his chest, his mind screaming at him to act.
But what could he do?
The leader's finger hovered over the trigger, and the other two n stood ready, their guns trained on Steven and Ross.
"Stop! Don't hurt her!" Steven blurted out, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.
He fumbled in his pocket, his hands shaking as he pulled out the car keys.
"Here—take the keys! Just don't hurt anyone, please!"
He tossed the keys toward the leader, who caught them with a smirk.
But the gun didn't waver from Adele's head.
"That's a start," the leader said, his tone mocking.
"Now you—sit down." The leader pointed at Steven, who was still standing, his body tense with fear.
Steven's heart pounded as he glanced at his family, their faces pale with terror. He swallowed hard.
"What's this about? Just take our money and go. Please, just don't hurt us," he tried to reason, his voice shaking.
The leader's eyes darkened.
"Did I ask you a question?" he snapped.
"One more word out of turn, and I'll blow this woman's head off! You hear ?" He waved his gun toward Steven's wife, who whimpered, clutching her daughters tightly.
Steven stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.
"Okay, okay. Just don't hurt my family," he pleaded, raising his hands in surrender before slowly lowering himself into a chair.
Without hesitation, the bad ugly n closed in, ropes in hand.
Their movents were swift and precise, looping the cords around Steven's wrists and torso, securing him tightly to the folding chair.
The rough fibers bit into his skin as they pulled the knots taut, ensuring there was no chance of escape.
Ross, sitting beside him, received the sa treatnt.
The way they were tied—firm, unyielding—left no doubt that these n had done this before.
Many tis.
The leader paced before them, his expression unreadable.
Then, with a smirk, he clapped his hands together.
"Now," he said, his tone almost casual, "let's play a ga."
Steven exchanged a wary glance with Ross.
"What… what kind of ga?" he asked hesitantly.
The leader chuckled, tapping the side of his gun.
"A simple one. You tell your story. Who you are, what you do, who else might co looking for you. And don't even think about lying." He gestured to one of his n, who stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.
"We have ways of finding out the truth."
Steven's stomach twisted. He knew they had no choice.
The questions started—sharp, relentless. Where did he work? How much money did he have?
Who else lived in the farm house? Who would notice if they went missing?
Minute by minute, the intruders extracted every detail—about Steven, his family, their routine.
And, of course, they didn't forget to question the won also.
The leader leaned back, satisfied.
"Well, well. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Steven's throat was dry.
His mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but with the cold steel of a gun looming over them, he knew one thing for certain.
This nightmare was just beginning.
The ugly leader sat back, satisfied with what he had learned.
He had always enjoyed the power that ca with his position, the way fear twisted on his victims' faces.
But today, he was especially eager.
There were four beautiful won under his control, and he intended to savor every mont before passing them along to his n.
He licked his lips, already imagining their screams—
Then his world shattered.
Poof!
His consciousness vanished in an instant, his brain liquefying like a candle lting under an open fla.
Yet, strangely, there was no pain. No sudden collapse.
No indication that anything had happened at all.
His body remained seated, his eyes still sharp, his expression unchanged.
Nobody noticed that the man who had been in control re seconds ago was gone.
What remained was a perfect replica—a puppet bound to Ross's will. The leader's mind was intact.
He retained every thought, every mory, every ounce of his cruel and cunning nature.
But none of it mattered now. His desires, his ambitions, his will—everything belonged to Ross.
For a mont, his expression flickered, a split-second pause as new orders settled into place.
The gears of his mind turned, now fueled by a force beyond his understanding.
His lips parted as if to speak, then pressed together.
A second later, his features twisted, as if struck by sudden realization.
He turned to Ross, his lips curling into a wide, ugly grin.
"Hey… I know you," he said, his voice laced with sothing new—sothing unnatural.
"You're Ross Oakley! The guy who's been hoarding beautiful won left and right!" the leader laughed, his voice dripping with amusent.
A dead puppet was really the perfect actor of all.
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