Around him, floating screens flickered and pulsed, casting warped shadows across the cathedral of vanity he ruled. Scattered below his heels were piles of glimmering flex-glass dossiers—stacked like offerings at some grotesque altar. Each one bore the idealized face of a desperate hopeful: socialites craving eternal youth, influencers pleading for patented jawlines, CEOs requesting “predator eyes” for boardroom intimidation. Their holographic portraits shimmered faintly in the gloom.
Unread. Uncared for.
“Cancel them all,” he said, voice like poison poured through a crystal flute.
A delicate chime answered. “But MasterGin, tomorrow is your touch-up session with the American president.”
Gin’s pale, glossed lips barely moved. “Tell him I am otherwise engaged. An emergency of the highest aesthetic priority.”
“Sir,” the AI persisted, clipped and clinical, “He has waited five years. Protocol—”
“Then tell that spineless little statesman to pack a bib and a bucket,” Gin snapped, silk slithering as he leaned forward. “Because if he dares complain, I’ll melt his face off live during his precious State of the Union address.”
The AI hesitated, beeped in protest—then fell silent. Calendars shimmered, appointments evaporating as if scrubbed by invisible hands.
“Good,” MasterGin purred. “I don’t want to look at that hideous old fart anymore.”
The AI, ever rational, replied: “But sir, you are 2,281 years older than—”
A hidden button clicked beneath Gin’s long finger. The AI’s voice died mid-sentence.
Silence fell. A faint trace of clove cigarette curled through the air.
With a sigh, MasterGin reclined once more. His eyes slid toward the mirror.
“It’s showtime, Little Worm.”
His clawed fingers danced across the chaise's sleek interface. A screen blinked alive with liquid ripples as the system connected.
LOGIN: EVILQUEEN
PASSWORD: poisonedapple
The image stabilized. Jihoon’s dorm came into view.
The student stood alone in his dorm, wearing one of the latest deliveries: haute couture lingerie, designed to seduce. The fabric clung to him like a whisper, sinfully tailored, cruelly perfect. He moved awkwardly at first, guilty and confused, then slowly began to pose. One hand rose to the curve of his neck. His other hand, hesitating, hovered near his cheek. A flush crept up under his skin, darkening the angry red burn Minjo had left there, a bruise of guilt made visible. He tilted his chin. Bent a knee. Swayed a hip… exactly as MasterGin had on the red carpet.
And in that moment, something ancient smiled back from the mirror, as if it approved.
A low, pleased rumble stirred in MasterGin’s chest, like a king cobra purring.
“Oh, you delicious copycat,” he cooed, reclining on his chaise like a fallen god. “I didn’t even train you yet.”
He raised a flute of something red and unholy, toasting the mirror feed.
“I think it’s time for some positive reinforcement.”
Beside him, the white snakeskin box pulsed faintly, clinical and elegant, echoing the flicker of black snakeskin box Jihoon’s dorm. The signal link was alive and strong.
MasterGin tapped the screen to zoom in, eager to savor Jihoon’s expression as he pulled the new items from the box: a sleek skincare kit and a pale bottle labeled with shimmering text. SPF 100 Nano Enhanced Sunscreen. As Jihoon read the notecard tucked inside, confusion bloomed on his face.
“Nice sunburn, Little Worm.”
MasterGin roared with laughter, teeth flashing too sharp in the surveillance gloom.
“You’re welcome!” he cried across dimensions. “Mommy takes good care of her special baby.”
But his joy was short-lived.
From offscreen came the crash of the dorm door bursting open.
Jihoon spun in alarm, face flushing so hard the burn scar on his cheek darkened. He snatched up a bedsheet and clutched it to his chest, stumbling backward like a cornered animal.
Gin lurched forward in his chair, claws clicking over glass as he scrambled to reposition the surveillance feeds. The cameras pivoted with mechanical whines, zeroing in on the chaos.
“Temu Scully,” he snarled. “Don’t you know how to knock, bitch?”
Minjo stalked into view, eyes lit with fury, a crude homemade scanner already glowing in her hand. “You were going to hide this from me,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. “Where did this designer trash even come from, Jihoon?”
Her gaze swept the room with surgical precision. Jihoon babbled a string of excuses, half denial, half panic, as he backed away from her, feet tangled in the bedsheet.
Minjo ignored him entirely. Her scanner ticked like a Geiger counter as she moved with a predator’s focus. And then it shrieked. A full spike of interference, as if it had struck raw data. A cloaked signal detected.
She looked up.
Locked eyes with the mirror.
Across the glass, faint serpentine runes flickered, slithering like molten silver just beginning to boil.
“Wait,” Gin barked, straightening in alarm.
But Minjo was already moving fast.
She sprinted toward the mirror, arm raised.
The feed convulsed.
Then static.
Transmission severed.
“NO!”
MasterGin hurled his drink at the screen. The crystal exploded in a flash of sparks and smoke. Gin collapsed back into his throne, face twisted with rage, strangling a crushed velvet pillow like it owed him an apology.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the surveillance chamber.
The velvet pillow slipped from Gin’s fingers. His breathing slowed, caught between a growl and a gasp.
Not quiet. Dead. As if sound had been vacuumed out of the space, along with the air. The cyan glow from his chaise lounge sputtered, dimming like a dying ember.
Then came the hum.
Low. Inhuman.
It rolled through the walls like a slow avalanche, vibrating the glass, the screens, the bones of the room itself.
Gin turned slowly as the air turned cold.
Every surface in the surveillance chamber went completely black.
Then one monitor, dead just moments ago, flared to life.
A silhouette emerged. Towering. Cloaked in something darker than shadow, plated in ancient battle-armor that shimmered like wet obsidian.
The Ruler of the Night.
His gold eyes glowed like hellfire. Unblinking. Locked directly on Gin.
MasterGin’s breath hitched. He immediately averted his gaze, dropped to his knees, and bowed deeply.
“Caught me again, Darling?” he said with a trembling smirk. “Naked ambition. Always such a hazard in my line of work.”
All around him, the mirrored glass began to crack.
And that was when he knew, he was in very big trouble.
Glasses: Starlit Endeavor Optica Catwalk Glasses [mesh](Androgyny Event)(900L)
BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky. (Note: Female panty option shown)