In a dimly lit room on a lower floor of a nearby building, a heavyset young man hunched over his computer. His fingers moved deftly across the mouse, clicking through photos he meticulously edited. The images, all doctored, depicted Carmen. A sleazy grin spread across his face as he leaned back, admiring his handiwork.
"Carmen," he muttered, his voice low and venomous. "I liked you so much. But you never even noticed me."
His grin twisted into a sneer. "How dare you ignore me? How dare you smile at others while pretending I don't exist?"
His eyes flickered back to the screen. "Well, you brought this on yourself. If I can't have you, then I'll destroy you."
Calvin Rivas licked his chapped lips and sent a message to his friends' group chat: "New photos are ready. Uploading now." The chat exploded with replies. Some barely knew Carmen; others relished the drama. A few eagerly anticipated sharing the photos, fueling the gossip and malice.
Calvin walked to his window, pushing aside heavy curtains to peer through a telescope aimed at Carmen's apartment across the street. The room was dark, the blinds tightly shut. He couldn't see her, but the act of spying sent a thrill down his spine. His hands trembled as he imagined her reaction.
News of Carmen's attempted suicide and rescue only increased his excitement. "She's almost broken," he muttered. "Just a little more, and she'll come crawling to me. She'll have no one else." Smirking, he returned to his desk, ready to unleash the photos.
But before he could upload, his screen flickered and went black.
"What the—" Calvin leaned forward, his brows furrowing.
Lines of red text appeared on the pitch-black background: "Calvin Rivas. Male. Age: 22. Occupation: IT Specialist, employed by a top 100 company for 2 years and 8 months. Pending promotion to junior supervisor next month. Address: 703, 22 Springvale Street, Khogend."
Calvin's heart pounded. His throat tightened as more details appeared—personal information, family details, even information about his colleagues and friends. It was all there, laid bare.
"Oh my God..." he whispered, his voice trembling. He frantically tried to close the window, but the keyboard was unresponsive.
New words appeared: "You're so ugly and pathetic. You'll never get what you want."
Calvin's face flushed with rage. He slammed his palms on the desk, roaring, "Who's doing this? Show yourself!"
The text vanished, replaced by something far worse. Doctored photos of Calvin, in humiliating scenarios, filled the screen. The editing was flawless, surpassing even his own work on Carmen's photos.
One after another, the photos scrolled. Then, the faces of his accomplices—the same men who had spread Carmen's photos and rumors—appeared. The photos told fabricated, vile stories that churned his stomach.
Sweat poured down his face. What if these photos were leaked? His parents, coworkers, and boss would see them. His impending promotion would vanish. His entire career would be over.