Chapter 2

The door to my cheap rental apartment burst open, no knock.

Mr. Harrison stormed in, his face red. Mrs. Harrison followed, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, a performance of grief.

"Ethan, how could you?" Mr. Harrison's voice was a low growl.

"Spreading lies on the internet? Trying to extort money from strangers using your brother's... situation?"

System Prompt: Gaslighting initiated. Objective: Discredit Subject Ethan's reality. Reinforce parental authority.

"I wasn't lying," I said, my voice flat, "Leo is dead. I just wanted to cremate him."

Mrs. Harrison sniffled.

"Oh, Ethan, darling, we know you're upset, but this is just too much. Dramatizing things, trying to make us look bad."

Her eyes were cold, despite the tears.

Mr. Harrison grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in.

"You will show your mother and me some respect. We are grieving too, you know. This is a difficult time for all of us."

His grip tightened. A physical reprimand, just like old times.

"I need two thousand dollars," I said, looking past them, at the peeling paint on the wall. "For the cremation. That's all."

The door opened again, and Ashton walked in.

He was perfectly dressed, his hair immaculate, a stark contrast to my own disheveled state.

He put a comforting arm around Mrs. Harrison.

"Mom, Dad, I'm so sorry you have to deal with this. Ethan's always been... emotional."

He gave me a look, a flicker of something like pity, but it was fake, I knew it.

System Prompt: Subject Ashton's support of parental narrative: successful. Subject Ethan's perceived instability reinforced. Parental gullibility exploited.

"He's not well," Ashton continued, his voice smooth and concerned. "I think this has all been too much for him."

My parents nodded, lapping up his words.

I closed my eyes. I'd seen this play out so many times.

Me, the problem. Ashton, the savior.

Leo and I were just stepping stones for Ashton's rise, for my parents' twisted idea of a perfect family.

I remembered all the times I tried to fight, to explain, to make them see.

It never worked. They always chose Ashton, and always believed his version of events.

Weary acceptance settled over me, heavy and suffocating.

"He's dead because you wouldn't pay for his medicine," I said, the words quiet but clear. "This was your 99th test, wasn't it? Another character-building exercise."

Mr. Harrison's face hardened. "Don't you dare speak to us like that."

Mrs. Harrison gasped, "How can you say such cruel things?"

Ashton stepped forward. "Dad, Mom, maybe I should handle this."