Set in a vague world based on otome games, your mission, as the antagonist, is to make the protagonist happy. You and your posse of stereotypical good looking love interests must overcome crappy character designs and cliche storytelling, while simul...
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"Sir, we simply cannot take in another protagonist at this time," the man spoke clearly into the phone. Monitors and electrical cables surrounded him like little puppets, waiting to be used and manipulated. 4 AM— that was what the clock read. The man sighed as he swiveled in his gamer chair; being responsible was such a pain. "My antagonist and two of my love interests are still recovering. Not to mention, another love interest was dismissed. We are heavily understaffed."
Empty coffee cups littered the floor with another one already in his hands. "Yes, we are short on money. However, it is not a necessity yet."
The man took a sip of his coffee, while the receiver on the phone continued negotiating. After all of this, he was going to have a nice, lavender, bubble bath. "I'll only accept the offer if you accept some of my conditions."
Outrage erupted from the phone, yet the man was unprovoked.
"Preposterous? You think my conditions are 'preposterous?' Who knew HQ had such a terrible sense of humor?" The man released a condescending laugh as he leaned back. "Listen, I don't mind if my group sinks and burns. However, I know HQ still values some of my love interests. So accept my measly conditions, pretty please?"
The other side went quiet. By now, it was half-past 5 AM. The early bird of the house typically woke up at 6 AM, meaning no bubble bath. Damn.
Both sides remained at a standstill— stubborn to the other's demand. A smile crept up the man's faces as he triumphed in his higher up's reluctant agreement.
Immediately after hanging up, a notification popped onto every monitor and screen. Slumping in his seat, the man sighed; his eyes flitted over the question: 'Commence world alteration?'
While yawning, he pressed enter.
_____
Something was off.
The surface of her bed suddenly felt smooth— too smooth to be cloth. There was a distinct firmness that was hazily familiar. If she had to guess, the texture was akin to leather.
Strange. Why did her bed feel like leather?
The antagonist blinked twice, preparing for the dazzling rays from her bedroom window to blind her. However, there was no light, just musty darkness.
"I must be dreaming," [Name] mumbled while rubbing her eyes. She glanced at the antique, grandfather clock in the corner which read 5:50 AM. "I still have some time..." Then, she drifted to sleep again, not noticing how her bed also transformed into a leather loveseat.
Wait a second, a grandfather clock?
While rolling to her side to look at the clock again, the girl did not fall off. Unfortunately, Lady Luck never really liked her. The antagonist clutched her stomach as a searing pain radiated from the wound. Lumi was going to kill her if her stitches came undone. That was not the way she wanted to leave this world.
"Ow, ow, ow, that hurt like a little bi—" Now fully awake, [Name] sat up and allowed her eyes to properly adjust to the dimly lit room. That was when she realized the sudden change.
The layout of the room was the same; however, all of the decors changed. No longer did her quaint bedroom exist. Instead, a mahogany office room replaced it. Her cream walls became wooden panels, and a dark wood office desk sat in the middle of everything. Paper and pens scattered the floor, and bullet holes decorated the walls. Everything soft and round sharpened into harsh corners and edges. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes invaded her nostrils. It felt muddy as if the life was drained from it— as if a lingering hostility was still present in this room.
Her bedroom— no, this office— was sinful. This was the office the devil worked in.
[Name] wanted to cry. What's going on now?!
Now on high alert, the antagonist carefully stepped around the scattered paper as if they were land bombs. Unfamiliarity could only be met with hesitance, after all. [Name] peeked out the door, only to be greeted by the same situation. The layout was the same, but the decor changed. Everything felt mature— darker.
This was not the welcoming house she came to love.
[Name] crept around the house with light steps, not wanting to disturb the others (or accidentally set off an alarm, whichever came first). She was on the prowl and answers were her prey. A rare window displayed a sea of evergreen trees surrounding the house. Isolation washed the antagonist like a great tidal wave. Even if she screamed, she doubted anyone would hear. The only beacon of hope was a burning city in the distance; ember orange harshly contrasted the cool greens of the forest.
What. The. Hell.
Their house was supposed to be in a quaint neighborhood, not a forest! What happened to the pastel colors? What happened to other life forms? Did she eat something bad yesterday? Was she tripping?
Scampering down the grand staircase, [Name] entered the living room. Similarly, the living room was splendidly lavish: a flat-screen tv, a crystal chandelier, a plush sofa, etc. As enticing as it was, she couldn't shake off the feeling that it was nothing more than a beautiful cage.
"Good morning, [Name]. Didn't expect you to be the first to wake up." A lackadaisical voice came from the couch. There, sat Aidyn with a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Dark circles clung to his face like vengeful ghosts who preyed on the weak.
"What the hell is going on, Aidyn?" [Name] accused. "What happened to the house? Where are we?" She glanced at the newspaper heading which read 'SPOOKY STRAWBERRIES WINS TURF WAR AGAINST WOBBLY WATERMELONS.'
Glancing up from his newspaper, Aidyn gave a tired smile and said:
