Finally discharged, free from the confines of the mental hospital, I thought I was ready to rejoin the world, a new woman, free from the shadow of my bipolar disorder. But barely two days back in my own apartment, I felt the familiar grip of my illness tightening its hold again. The reason? Some online streamer, who’d apparently moved into the apartment above mine, 702. She was raging, partying every single night, utterly oblivious to the misery she was causing me below. I’d gone upstairs a few times to politely ask her to quiet down. Each time, she’d offer a sickly sweet "Oh, absolutely, I won't do it again," only to crank up the volume the moment I left. She was a law unto herself. In the dead of night, the throbbing bass from her latest 'performance' ripped through my apartment, shaking the very walls. I jolted awake, my teeth aching from the vibration. That was it. I snapped. My hand closed around the cool, solid grip of my kitchen knife, and I started for the door, heading upstairs. Just then, my phone chimed. A notification from the building's resident group chat. It was Ashley from 702, tagging me directly. “Next week's my birthday, everyone else has already sent their gifts.” “When's yours coming?” “I'm not asking for much, just a couple of thousand dollars will do. Oh, and you're complaining about the noise, right? How about you buy me some decent noise-cancelling shoes? I wear a size 7, and my husband is a size 10.” I actually laughed. A choked, bitter laugh. Dr. Miller had drilled "stay calm, stay calm" into me before I left the hospital. If not for his persistent warnings, I couldn't guarantee what would have happened to them. After a moment of consideration, I put the knife down. In the group chat, I typed a single, stark question mark. Her reply was instant. “Looks like you just moved back in, so I'll let this month slide. But starting next month, I expect a payment of two thousand dollars from you. Every month. Transfer it to my account by the 6th. Be prompt, don't make me chase you.” I felt like I'd been struck by lightning, the shock rippling through me from head to toe. I’d heard of people asking for birthday gifts, but a monthly birthday? Did her mother give birth to her twelve times a year? I was about to unleash a furious retort when a verification message popped up – from Chloe, who’d just spoken in the group chat. I accepted. A voice note arrived almost immediately, filled with genuine concern. “Girl, you have to stay calm. Ashley from 702? You really don't want to mess with her. Just send her some money, pretend you're hard up, say some nice things. It’ll blow over.” “What do you mean?” I demanded, “She’s completely shameless. And you all just enable her?” “Sigh. You’ll understand later.” I put down my phone, my body trembling. A fire raged within me, barely held back by a fragile thread of reason. I let out a low, grim chuckle, the veins in my hands bulging. Enable her? That word wasn’t in my dictionary. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the impulse to lash out. In the group, I typed: “What kind of demonic entity, reincarnated a dozen times, made your mother give birth to you twelve times a year?” Her response was immediate, like a lit fuse. A piercing shriek erupted from my phone. It made me jump. Then, message after message, a torrent of them. Soon, the group chat hit '99+,' all voice notes from Ashley, each a full sixty-six seconds long. A joke. Did she really think I'd listen? When I didn’t reply, she typed out a message. “503, you just wait. You brought this on yourself.” “If anything happens, remember to go after 503! It has nothing to do with me!” The group chat fell silent. I turned off my phone, checked my 7 AM alarm, and lay down to sleep. Just as I was drifting off, it started. The entire building vibrated. Thump-thump-thump! It sounded like a drum kit, amplified. Several times louder than her usual streaming sessions. Great. Now it wasn't just me, but all the other neighbors suffering. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. I thought it would be neighbors ganging up on Ashley. Instead, they were all tagging me. “503, please, have a heart. Have pity on us! My daughter has school tomorrow!” “Seriously! It was only bothering you before, and now we're all suffering because of you. What kind of person are you?!” I genuinely laughed, a cold, humorless sound. So Ashley was waiting for me there, was she? I immediately tagged Ashley. “Your drumming sucks. Want me to come upstairs and give you some lessons?” Followed by a bloody kitchen knife emoji. The group went silent again. Luckily, I had noise-cancelling headphones. I put them on and managed to drift off. But the next morning, the building manager was at my door. Gary. He said I was disturbing the peace, that neighbors had complained about me. My temper flared instantly. I pulled out my phone and showed him the chat messages. “See? The one disturbing the peace is upstairs. You should be talking to her.” Gary, a slick operator who looked like he’d been doing this job for too long, and clearly had some shady connection with Ashley, sneered. “She's lived here a long time, never had any noise complaints. And she just said it, didn't she? You forced her hand.” “Are you blind, dude?” I snapped. “What did I force her to do? Do I even know her? She demanded money from me. So if I don't give it, it's my fault?” My nails were digging so deep into my palms it hurt, making me wince. He smirked, his stained teeth flashing as he spoke. “If she made an unreasonable request, you could have discussed it with her, couldn't you? Was it necessary to provoke her? If you ask me, this is still your fault.” I reached for my kitchen knife. My face was expressionless. “Get out.” He seemed to recognize the shift in my demeanor. He turned and closed the door behind him. Then, my water and electricity went out. I checked online – no overdue bills. I checked my circuit breaker – it hadn’t tripped. I was standing there, shampoo in my hair, my body sticky from not having rinsed properly. No choice but to towel off. I posted in the resident group. “Is anyone else experiencing a power and water outage?” Only Chloe replied. “No, everything's fine here.” I understood immediately. Gary. That rat. Without another word, I stormed down to the management office. They just kept denying it, insisting it wasn't them. Gary, the same guy who'd visited my apartment, tried to deflect the blame onto me. “Maybe your plumbing or electrical lines weren't handled properly during renovation?” Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone, pretending to call the police. “Alright, fine. Let the police come and sort this out.” At the mention of the police, Gary's face fell. He quickly said, “Alright, alright, I’ll send a technician to check it out. You can head back and wait.” Sure enough, as soon as I got back, the water and power were restored. This confirmed it: Gary and Ashley were definitely in cahoots. But while the utilities were back, the moment 11 PM hit, the wild singing and dancing started again upstairs. Even with my noise-cancelling headphones, I was woken up several times. Damn it, I wasn't going to sleep! I sat up, frantically rubbing my temples. A sleepless night. My ears were ringing, my nerves frayed, ready to snap. I glared at the ceiling, but a plan began to form in my mind. There’s an old saying: fight fire with fire. The next morning, dragging my exhausted body out for work, I found my doorstep piled high with trash. Even worse, there was a used sanitary pad. I was truly at my breaking point. Just the trash was infuriating enough, but then the building's cleaning lady, Agnes, came by and started scolding me for littering. “You're telling me you didn't throw this out?” she demanded, “Do you have proof? No proof, it's at your door, it's yours.” Her incessant lecturing made my head throb. Seeing my obvious irritation, Agnes sighed. “Alright, I'll let it slide this time. But if I catch you littering again, you'll be fined.” I was pressing my fingers to my temples, my brain aching, when I caught a glimpse of a figure lurking behind the wall, eavesdropping. It was Ashley. I clenched my jaw. At the office, I immediately ordered a discreet security camera online, opting for expedited delivery and installation. Damn it, she liked to eavesdrop and gloat, did she? She thought she could pick on me because I lived alone and had no proof, huh? Tonight, the technician would install the camera. Anyone shameless enough to dump trash at my door again would have the evidence shoved right into their smug face! During my lunch break, I applied to my boss for a dorm room. Ryan looked surprised. “Didn't you say you lived nearby?” I made up an excuse. “Living with family, it's not very convenient.” Ryan nodded and approved it immediately. But I couldn't move in until tomorrow afternoon. So tonight, I’d have to go back to my apartment. In the middle of the night, she was at it again upstairs. Booming, crashing. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to search for local live streams. Sure enough, I found her. Online name: 'AshleyCan'tSleep.' Stream title: 'Riverside City's Hottest Streamer.' In the stream, she was wearing a tight short skirt, dancing energetically to pulsating music. She was really giving it her all, occasionally speaking in a breathy voice to thank 'big brothers' for their gifts. I paid close attention to her viewer count. Over 10,000 live viewers. She actually had a lot of fans. Halfway through her dance, a viewer asked, “Miss, your dancing is amazing, but won't your neighbors complain?” Ashley saw the message, panting and wiping sweat. “Oh, how could they? My place has amazing soundproofing, it won't disturb anyone's rest.” I just scoffed when I saw that. But I also noticed something. Her fans clearly had no idea about her disruptive behavior. I’d overheard Agnes, the cleaning lady, gossiping about my neighbor, apartment 502, who had sold their place for a massive discount – sixty thousand dollars below market value. The reason? Ashley’s late-night disturbances. The family in 502 had an elderly parent with a heart condition. After several attempts to resolve the issue failed, the 502 resident, furious, threatened to beat Ashley. After that, 502’s family suffered intense retaliation from Ashley’s fans, and the elderly parent passed away from stress and illness, exacerbated by the constant harassment. Left with no choice, the family sold their apartment and moved away. Now it made sense. Ashley’s fans probably had no clue what she was truly like. Thinking this, I pulled out my phone and recorded the noise, gathering my evidence. Over the next few days, I specifically studied Ashley's online accounts and analyzed her routine. She basically stayed awake when everyone else was sleeping, going to bed around 4 AM and sleeping until noon. Perfect! That meant on weekday mornings, everyone would be at work or school. Very few people would be home. After moving all my belongings to the company dorm, I made a quick trip back to my apartment. I checked the newly installed camera by my door, then looked up at the ceiling. Then, I pulled out the 'Vibration Device' I’d ordered. Climbing onto a chair, I taped the device to the ceiling, specifically right below her bedroom. I wanted to ensure maximum sonic penetration. I was very pleased with this device; it was small, but incredibly powerful, and crucially, it could be controlled remotely. That day, I slept soundly in the company dorm until morning. I hadn't slept so comfortably in ages. I stretched, savoring the feeling. The thought of letting Ashley taste her own medicine, the torture of being unable to sleep, made me let out a grim, satisfied chuckle. At work, I glanced at the time. 10:30 AM. I pulled out my phone and opened the audio app. I passionately queued up 'The Hottest Square Dance Songs of the Century,' starting with a classic. After three days of this, Ashley couldn't take it anymore. She started wildly tagging me in the resident group chat. “503, are you insane?! Don't you know you're disturbing the peace?!” “Speak up! Why are you playing dead?!” I ignored her. She was so desperate, she actually came to my door and started pounding. On my camera feed, I saw her, furiously running her hands through her hair, banging on my door. “503, you have the nerve to disturb people's sleep but no nerve to open the door, do you?” “Oh, my apologies,” I said, my voice coming through the intercom. “I haven't been home these past two days. I forgot to turn off the stereo.” The sudden voice startled Ashley. She then put her hands on her hips and raged, “You weren't home, so you just left the stereo on?! You’re clearly doing this on purpose!” I replied, “Oh, if that’s what you want to believe, there’s nothing I can do.” Ashley froze for a moment, then flew into a tantrum. “This is disturbing the peace! Don't you have any public decency?!” When the pounding stopped, she was clearly frustrated, with nowhere to vent her anger. She kicked my door twice with all her might. But my door was sturdy. It was her who grimaced in pain, furious. “You just wait. If I can’t have peace, neither can you.” Two days passed, relatively peaceful. I thought the whole thing had blown over, but then Gary from property management called me. “Cassidy Chen from 503? This is Gary from property management. Your apartment is leaking, and it’s flooded the unit below. You need to come back and take a look.”
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