The day I was released early for good behavior, my three older sisters showed up at the state penitentiary gates holding a heavy leather dog collar. Virginia, the eldest, held it out to me. Her voice was flat, devoid of warmth. "Put it on. Keep it on from here to the front door of the estate." She didn't blink. "Consider it your final test. Pass it, and you're officially a Bradford." Mona, the middle sister, reached out and patted my shoulder, letting out a faint sigh. "Seven years... you've had it rough." She paused, her nose wrinkling slightly. "Though that prison stench on you... when we get home, scrub yourself three times before you even think about sitting at the dinner table." Clara, the youngest sister, looked me up and down with knitted brows. "How are you so skinny? Well, at least the collar won't look too tight on you." Seven years ago, they had used the exact same tone. Troy, the adopted golden boy the family took in before they found me, had spiked a classmate’s water bottle with poison. The boy had collapsed on the school track, clinging to life by a thread. That night, my sisters called my cell in a panic: "Take the fall for Troy. Do this, and you'll truly be our brother." I didn't think twice. In the interrogation room, I bit my tongue and swore I acted alone. The verdict came down: seven years. I was eighteen when the bailiffs cuffed my wrists and led me through the side exit. Not a single member of the Bradford family turned around to look at me. Now, at twenty-four, I stood outside the prison gates, staring at the cold metal buckle of the dog collar. Troy poked his head out of the black SUV’s window, his smile blindingly bright. "Jerry! Look at what the girls picked out for your welcome home present!" He beamed. "It's limited edition! Even Zeus doesn't have one this nice." Zeus was his purebred Doberman. I didn't argue. I didn't say a word. I simply took the collar, wrapped it around my neck, and buckled it tight. They thought seven years behind bars had broken me into an obedient pet. What they didn't know was that my withdrawal protocol had only twelve hours left on the clock. In twelve hours, I would leave this world entirely and reunite with my real family. … Mona pulled open the passenger door, smiling down at me. "Get in. Let's take you home." I took half a step forward before Troy leaned across the center console. "Wait!" He blocked the door, turning toward our sisters with a troubled pout. "Dad gave me this car for my birthday last year..." He eyed my stained, faded release clothes, grimacing. "The smell on Jerry... what if it seeps into the leather? It might never come out." My foot hovered in midair. I pulled it back. Virginia frowned. "Fine. Call him an Uber. Let him ride back alone." Troy immediately waved his hands in distress. "No, no, that's terrible! Jerry just got out after seven years. Making him take a cab makes us look like monsters!" He tilted his head, tapping his chin thoughtfully, before pointing toward the cargo hatch at the back of the SUV. He clapped his hands together. "He can sit in the trunk! It’s only a thirty-minute drive. It'll be cozy!" A flicker of awkwardness crossed my sisters' faces. Mona parted her lips to object, but Troy's eyes had already welled with tears. "Never mind... forget I said anything. Jerry can take my seat. I'll just call a cab myself." He sniffled, looking down. "It's fine. Every time Jerry's around, I'm the one who has to give things up anyway." Virginia’s expression hardened. She turned to me, her voice cold. "Get in the trunk. It's a short drive. Don't make a scene." I walked to the rear and lifted the heavy tailgate. A black blur exploded from the shadows. Razor-sharp teeth sank instantly into my forearm, tearing through skin and muscle. A muffled groan ripped from my throat as dark crimson dripped down my wrist, spattering the bumper. From the front seat, Troy let out an exaggerated gasp. "Oh no! I completely forgot Zeus was back there!" He leaned over the headrest, widening his eyes in innocent horror. "I'm so sorry, Jerry! He usually never bites!" He paused, tilting his head as he studied the collar around my neck, blinking ingenuously. "Zeus probably saw what you're wearing... maybe he thought you were another stray dog intruding on his space? He's very territorial." Before I could breathe through the throbbing pain, Mona's impatient voice drifted from the front. "What are you stalling for? Get in already!" Left with no choice, I curled my body into the cramped cargo space, pressing my bleeding arm beneath my ribs to stem the flow. In my mind, a mechanical chime echoed softly: [Extraction Countdown: 10 hours, 9 minutes remaining.] When we arrived at the Bradford estate, I climbed the winding stairs to my old bedroom. The moment I pushed the door open, my feet froze. Chewed-up rubber toys lay scattered across the hardwood. The bookshelves were lined with bags of premium dog kibble and rawhide bones. In the corner sat a massive, velvet dog bed embroidered in gold thread: "Zeus's Throne." My room had become a kennel. My gaze drifted to the far corner near the baseboard. A small, ragged stuffed lion. One of its felt ears had been gnawed off, and white polyester fluff spilled out of its ripped belly, discarded beside the dog's water bowl. The matron at the orphanage had sewn that for me the day the Bradfords came to take me away. On the back of its ear, she had carefully stitched four crooked words: "For My Brave Jerry." She had told me to be like a little lion—brave, steadfast, carving out a sky of my own. During those early days in the Bradford mansion, everything was foreign, expensive, and cold. Nothing belonged to me. Except that little lion. Whenever I was scolded, whenever Troy framed me and I was sent to my room in tears, I would clutch it in the dark, pretending the matron was still holding my hand. Now, it lay shredded like a piece of worthless trash. Troy’s voice drifted softly from behind me. "I'm sorry, Jerry... after you went away, the room was empty for so long. Zeus needed a playroom, so I..." Virginia stepped up, adding casually, "We didn't expect you to be released a year early. We'll have someone redecorate it tomorrow. Make do for tonight." I knelt on the floor, picking up the mangled stuffed lion. Pinch by pinch, I pushed the loose cotton back into its torn belly. "There's no need to change it." I knew in my heart that I wouldn't have a tomorrow here. Virginia’s face darkened. "What is that supposed to mean?" Clara sneered from the hallway. "Seven years in a cell and your attitude hasn't improved one bit, has it?" Virginia inhaled deeply, her tone sharp with irritation. "Troy took the trouble to prepare the guest room for you! What are you throwing a tantrum for?!" Troy grabbed Virginia’s arm, rubbing his cheek against her sleeve like an affectionate cat. "Don't yell at him, Virginia... it's all my fault." He turned to smile at me, sweet and accommodating. "The guest room is on the second floor. I cleaned it myself two days ago. Go take a shower, Jerry. We're throwing you a welcome banquet tonight." He beamed. "Put on the clothes I laid out for you. Let's celebrate properly." Clutching the ruined toy to my chest, I walked into the guest room. The moment my eyes landed on the bed, my breath caught in my throat. Neatly folded on the mattress was a slate-gray servant's uniform. Resting on top of the fabric was a polished brass dog tag on a chain. It matched the collar around my neck perfectly. Virginia knocked twice on the heavy wooden door. "Are you dressed yet? The guests are arriving." I didn't answer. She knocked again, her voice softening just a fraction. "Just get through tonight's party, and you'll officially be a Bradford son again." I stared at the uniform on the bed. Then, slowly, I put it on. The mirror reflected a hollow stranger. A heavy leather dog collar around his neck, a servant's tunic on his frame, and a brass dog tag pinned to his chest. Engraved upon the brass was my name: "Jerry Bradford." When I walked down the grand staircase, the sprawling living room was already packed with high-society elites. Near the French doors, several lifestyle journalists and society bloggers had their heavy camera rigs set up, broadcasting the event live. "Look, everyone! My brother is here! Let's welcome the eldest son of the Bradford family!" Troy stood at the center of the room in a tailored ivory suit, clapping enthusiastically. Dozens of faces turned toward the stairs simultaneously. Some paused with champagne flutes halfway to their lips. Some covered their mouths in stifled amusement. Others brazenly raised their smartphones to record. A reporter thrust a microphone past the velvet ropes. "Mr. Bradford, how does it feel to step back into high society after serving seven years behind bars?" Virginia stepped in front of me, waving the microphone away with a tight frown. "This is a private family gathering. No interviews." Yet, she didn't ask a single camera to stop livestreaming. A wealthy socialite approached, flicking her jeweled fan against the brass tag on my chest as she looked me up and down. "Troy, darling, is this your family's new chauffeur?" Troy chuckled, waving his hands playfully. "Oh, stop teasing, Mrs. Robert! This is my biological brother." "Ah..." The woman dragged out the syllable, her smile dripping with condescension. "The one who went to prison?" Whispers rippled through the surrounding crowd, unbothered by my proximity. "I heard the crime was brutal back then. Nearly beat a boy to death on the field." "Tsk, what a shame. Handsome face, entirely wasted..." Virginia led me through the crowd, introducing me with carefully curated ambiguity. "This is my younger brother, Jerry. He took a bit of a wrong turn years ago, but he's home now." She never explicitly said "felon". Yet everyone understood. Someone asked, "What kind of wrong turn?" Troy leaned close to a cluster of socialites, whispering behind his manicured hand—just loud enough for the entire circle to hear. "He made a little mistake in high school... but my sisters are so forgiving. They brought him right back. We Bradfords never abandon family." Midway through the evening, the guests began chanting for Troy to perform. With practiced grace, he sat down at the Steinway grand piano and played a flawless rendition of "Clair de Lune". The notes drifted effortlessly through the hall. When the final chord faded, the room erupted into thunderous applause. Troy stood, offered a modest bow, and turned toward the corner where I stood. His smile was dazzling. "Jerry, it's your turn!" He chirped, "What did you prepare for everyone? We're all waiting!" I stood pinned against the wall, my fingers digging into the seam of my gray trousers. No one had told me about a performance. Troy tilted his head, feigning a sudden burst of inspiration. "How about you and Zeus do a little trick together? You could crawl on all fours like a good pup!" He clapped his hands, lifting Zeus down from the sofa. "Zeus loves playing with family!" A heavy silence descended over the grand salon. Virginia’s glass paused at her lips. Mona leaned in, whispering, "Troy... with all these guests and the live broadcast, isn't that a bit much?" Troy’s smile instantly vanished, replaced by quivering vulnerability. "Why is it too much? You always say Zeus is part of the family too!" His eyes shone with unshed tears. "Letting Jerry bond with our family pet—what's wrong with that?" He raised a trembling hand to wipe his eye. "Or... are you taking his side now? Am I just the outsider who can't do anything right anymore...?" Mona clamped her mouth shut. Virginia set her champagne flute down on a passing waiter’s tray. She looked directly at me. "Get on your knees." I took a slow, deep breath. Inside my mind, the digital timer chimed again. [Extraction Countdown: 8 hours, 34 minutes remaining.] I was leaving anyway. Fighting back held no meaning anymore. I bent my knees, preparing to drop to the polished marble. Just as my palms were about to touch the floor, a sharp, furious voice sliced through the room. "Don't you dare make him crawl!" Every head turned toward the grand foyer. Nina strode into the hall, her stilettos clicking sharply against the stone. She cut straight through the parting crowd, grabbed my wrist in an iron grip, and hauled me upward. "Virginia, your family has crossed the line." Nina glared at my eldest sister, her voice laced with venom. "If you brought him back, why are you humiliating him like this?" The room fell dead silent. The streaming cameras pivoted instantly, focusing entirely on her. I stood half a step behind her, staring at the sharp line of her shoulders. My mind drifted back twenty years. When I arrived at the orphanage at four years old, she was already there. She had been the scrawniest girl in the yard, her pigtails always crooked, her voice so faint it sounded like she was terrified of waking the world. When the older kids stole her lunch and tossed her favorite plastic hairpin into the drainage ditch, she would crouch by the brick wall, hugging her knees in silence. It was always me who charged in, snatched her tray back, and leaped into the muddy ditch to fish out her hairpin. The older boys shoved me hard into the gravel, tearing open both my knees. She had sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, clutching my shirt as she gently blew on my bloody cuts. "Jerry, let's never be apart, okay?" she had whimpered, her voice trembling. "No matter what anyone says about you, I'll always stand by your side." From that day on, she was my shadow. She had to sit next to me at meals. She dragged her little cot right against mine at night. When the other kids teased her for being an unwanted orphan, she hid behind my back, clutching my hem. Until the day a convoy of luxury sedans arrived at the gates, announcing she was the lost heiress of the powerful Robert family. Before they took her away, she had wept hysterically through the wrought-iron gate. She pressed that scratched old hairpin into my palm, refusing to let go. "Jerry, wait for me. I promise I'll find you." The following year, the Bradfords identified me as their long-lost son. The very day I returned to the city, Nina visited the estate and formalized our betrothal. During those seven brutal years in prison, there were countless nights I wanted to end it all. It was Nina who came to every single visitation, smiling through the reinforced glass. "Hold on just a little longer, Jerry. When you get out, we're getting married." If there was a single anchor holding me to this world, it was her. Virginia remained silent, her brow furrowed. Troy stood to the side, hanging his head, quietly dabbing at his eyes. "Nina... I didn't mean to make things hard for him," he murmured, his voice fragile and cracked. "It's just... earlier tonight, Jerry slipped into my dressing room and took my cufflinks." I froze. "Those were the last gift my biological mother left me... a custom heirloom. I've been looking everywhere for them..." He looked up at Nina, tears clinging to his long lashes. "I wasn't trying to be cruel. I was just... heartbroken." Nina’s posture stiffened. She turned her head slowly, looking directly at me. "Is that true?" Four words. Weightless, yet crushing. I looked into her eyes. At four years old, she had blown on my bloody knees, swearing through tears that she would always believe me over the rest of the world. Now, those same eyes held only one thing: Doubt. We had known each other for twenty years. And her first instinct was to ask if I was a thief. Did she truly believe I was the kind of person who would steal from someone else? I didn't utter a single syllable of defense. She waited three seconds. Five seconds. When I offered no explanation, something in her gaze snapped. Slowly, deliberately, she released her grip on my wrist and stepped back. Nina closed her eyes for a heartbeat. When she opened them, every drop of warmth had drained from her face. "It seems seven years behind bars really did ruin you." She stared down at me, enunciating every word like a hammer striking an anvil. "Crawling on all fours isn't enough." "Get on your knees. Bark like a dog, and apologize to Troy." I watched her lips move, watching the cruelty spill effortlessly from her mouth. Suddenly, the last twenty years felt like nothing more than a hollow, pathetic dream. Inside my mind, the system chimed softly. [Extraction Countdown: 6 hours, 52 minutes remaining.] Without a moment's hesitation, I fell to my knees. That night, under the glare of studio lights and before dozens of mocking smartphones, I barked like a dog for the crowd. Nina sat on the velvet sofa nearby. Not once did she look in my direction again. By the time the gala ended, it was well past midnight. The guests trickled out in small groups, chuckling as they passed me in the corridor. "The Bradford heir makes quite a convincing mutt, doesn't he?" "Well, with the collar and the servant rags, you'd almost mistake him for one." I had knelt on the cold stone for so long that my lower legs were entirely numb. Using the wall for support, I dragged my throbbing, stiff limbs up the stairs and limped into the guest room. The second the heavy door swung shut, a crisp "click" sounded from the hallway. Someone had locked the deadbolt from the outside. Almost instantly, the central air conditioning unit above roared to life. A blast of frigid, biting air poured from the vents, driving the room's temperature down with unnatural speed. There were no quilts in the guest room. The single sheet on the mattress was as thin as paper. Whoever set the thermostat had cranked it down to freezing extremes. The chill penetrated straight into my marrow like ice picks. I curled into the corner of the bare mattress, clutching the mangled stuffed lion to my chest, my teeth chattering violently. One hour passed. Two hours. My fingertips turned a deep, bruised purple. My lips lost all sensation. My body shuddered uncontrollably, my consciousness slipping into a dark, foggy haze. The digital voice chimed within the fog of my mind: [Extraction Countdown: 28 minutes remaining.] [Warning: Host's core body temperature is dropping rapidly. Vital signs approaching critical failure.] "Almost there." I closed my eyes, relinquishing my grip on reality. "Let it end." I was leaving anyway. A few minutes early or late made no difference. Just as the darkness was about to swallow me whole, a sharp, crimson notification flashed violently across my vision: [Alert: If the host survives until dawn to complete the natural extraction cycle, the Retribution Protocol will be unlocked.] My heavy eyelids fluttered open. [Upon activation, every individual who inflicted harm or humiliation upon the host will suffer the exact pain, physical and psychological, magnified tenfold.] The freezing air continued to pour over me like liquid nitrogen. I stared at the dim ceiling, my eyes barely able to track movement. "Everyone?" I croaked internally. [Yes. Every single one.] I bit down savagely on my own tongue. A burst of hot, metallic blood flooded my throat. "Not enough." I dragged my left wrist against the sharp, unpolished iron corner of the bed frame, sawing the skin back and forth. I scraped until the flesh tore open, until warm blood welled from the laceration. Using my trembling right hand, I caught the blood and smeared it across my bare arms, my chest, my shivering legs. It was warm. Relying on those fleeting seconds of biological heat, I fought for every single minute. My consciousness flickered out multiple times, only to be dragged back by searing waves of agony. The wound on my tongue continued to bleed; the flesh on my wrist hung ragged and raw. I didn't know how I survived the night. I only knew that when the first golden sliver of sunrise cut through the gap in the blackout blinds, the voice chimed with absolute clarity: [Congratulations, Host. Mission completed. Retribution Protocol successfully activated.] [Extraction sequence initiated: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...] A wave of pure warmth washed over me. Suddenly, my entire being felt weightless. I felt myself lift off the mattress, floating upward through the ceiling, through the attic rafters, through the slate roof of the manor. I looked down. Curled in the corner of that frozen guest bed lay a lone figure. Drenched in dried blood, lips blackened, clutching a ragged little stuffed lion. It was me. Or rather, my empty shell. Downstairs, Nina’s voice drifted up from the marble foyer. "My chest has been aching terribly since I woke up... I don't know what's wrong with me." She paused, her tone slightly awkward. "I might have been a bit too harsh on him last night... but he passed the test. It's behind us now." She cleared her throat. "I came over early so we could finally set a date for the wedding." Virginia’s voice chimed in from the kitchen. "I felt it too. My heart’s been pounding erratically all morning, like something vital is missing." She added calmly, "We'll take him to the family shrine today and officially enter his name into the ancestral registry." Mona murmured, "He endured a lot last night. I'll make sure to make it up to him today." Clara called out to the butler, "Go fetch him from the guest room. Tell him the test is over." The elderly butler climbed the stairs, unlocked the deadbolt, and pushed the door open. "Master Jerry, the young ladies are requesting your presence downstairs—" The voice cut off sharply. Then, a blood-curdling scream tore through the entire manor: "Help! Oh God, someone help—!"
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