A Fallen Star: The Punch Of A Woman

33. About Betty (extra)

Betty's life had always been filled with simple joys. Growing up in a quiet suburban neighborhood, she was known for her bright smile and infectious laugh. Her friends often joked that she could find the fun in any situation, no matter how mundane. So, it wasn't surprising that she ended up working at a place that was practically synonymous with fun: a party entertainment center filled with colorful toys, video games, ball pits, and a constant hum of laughter.

The center was a haven for children and parents alike—a place where birthdays were celebrated with extravagant cakes, where kids ran wild through obstacle courses, and where Betty, in her early twenties, worked as a sort of jack-of-all-trades. She managed the front desk, supervised the play areas, and kept a watchful eye on everything through the CCTV cameras that lined the walls. Her job wasn't particularly glamorous, but she loved it. She loved seeing the kids' faces light up when they won a game or found a new friend in the ball pit.

It was at this lively center that Betty met her husband, Tom. He was one of the technicians who fixed the arcade machines and kept the place running smoothly. They hit it off almost immediately—Betty's bubbly personality was a perfect match for Tom's laid-back charm. After a whirlwind romance, they got married in a small ceremony surrounded by family and friends. Life was good. They didn't have much, but they had each other, and that was enough.

For a few years, Betty and Tom's life was blissfully uneventful. They worked together at the center, spent their weekends exploring the city or watching movies at home, and talked about starting a family someday. But as anyone who has lived long enough knows, life has a way of throwing curveballs when you least expect it.

One evening, after closing time, Betty was finishing up her shift, making sure everything was in order before locking up. The kids had all gone home, and the center was eerily quiet, the only sound being the hum of the air conditioning. She was about to shut down the surveillance system when something on the monitor caught her eye. One of the cameras, positioned near the back of the building, showed a door that she didn't recognize. It was partially hidden behind a stack of boxes, but Betty could see a faint light seeping out from underneath.

Curiosity piqued, she decided to investigate. She grabbed a flashlight from the desk and made her way through the dimly lit halls, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. When she reached the door, she hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should just leave it alone. But then, with a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

The room inside was not what she expected. Instead of a storage closet or utility room, she found herself in a small, sterile laboratory. The walls were lined with metal shelves filled with vials of strange liquids, stacks of paperwork, and various pieces of equipment that she couldn't begin to identify. In the center of the room was a table covered in charts and graphs, and next to it, a row of cages containing rats and other small animals.

Betty's heart raced as she took in the scene. This wasn't just some innocent research lab—there was something deeply wrong here. She spotted a computer screen on the far wall, its display showing a series of videos, each one labeled with a different date. Out of morbid curiosity, she clicked on one of the videos and watched as footage of a man, seemingly sedated, appeared on the screen. The video showed him waking up in a small room, looking disoriented. As the minutes ticked by, he grew increasingly agitated, his movements becoming erratic until he started banging on the walls, screaming to be let out.

Betty quickly shut off the video, her stomach turning. She didn't want to see any more. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't something she wanted to be involved in. She quietly backed out of the room, closing the door behind her as if she could somehow erase what she had seen. As she walked back to the front desk, her mind was racing. She knew she should report this—call the police, tell someone—but the fear of what might happen if she did kept her silent. After all, she was just a regular woman, not a hero. And she had a life she loved, a husband she adored. Getting involved in something like this could ruin everything.