Holy fuck how did it come up with the last part? (The two characters are supposed best friends) :
The air in the room was thick with the hum of the computer fan and the sudden, sharp sound of Axelle’s breathing. She stood paralyzed behind Jamie’s chair, staring at the screen. The page was a nightmare of black-and-red UI—an incel forum where Jamie’s username sat atop a post titled “The Foid Plague.”
The text beneath it was a vitriolic manifesto, detailing his hatred for her, her body, and her life, all wrapped in a pseudo-scientific rage about "genetic displacement."
“Jamie?” her voice was a ghost of a whisper. “What is this? ‘Foid’? ‘Sub-human’? Jamie, you wrote this about… about me?”
Jamie froze. Then, with a speed that made the chair screech against the hardwood, he spun around. His face wasn't the one she had known for ten years. It was a mask of pure, concentrated loathing.
“You weren't supposed to see that,” he said, his voice low and vibrating with a dangerous energy.
“You call me your best friend!” Axelle cried, her eyes welling up. “But you’re online talking about how I’m a ‘biological vessel’ for ‘alphas’? How you wish I’d get ra—”
“Shut up!” Jamie roared, lunging to his feet. He shoved her back, his palms slamming into her shoulders with a force that sent her reeling into the wardrobe. “You don't get it! You move through the world like a god because you were born with the right markers. You think you’re my friend? You’re a parasite. You’re the reason guys like me are dead before we’re even born!”
Axelle tried to push past him, her face contorted in fear. “You’re insane, Jamie! I’m calling your parents, I’m—”
He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back with a sickening jerk. The "dork" was gone; in his place was a frenzy of repressed malice. “You aren't calling anyone! You’re just a foid, Axelle! A genetic error! You’ve been looking down on me from your 5’8” pedestal for years, laughing at my descent, laughing at my eyes!”
“I never laughed!” she screamed, clawing at his wrists.
He didn't hear her. He was lost in the terminology of the boards, the buzzwords spilling out of him like poison. “You’re just a vessel for vanity! You’re part of the cull! You’re the reason the world is rotting!”
He swung a heavy, closed fist, catching her squarely in the jaw. The sound of the impact was dull and final. Axelle collapsed to her knees, dazed, blood blossoming in her mouth. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with a terrifying realization: there was no Jamie left in there.
“Please,” she wheezed.
“There is no ‘please’ for a sub-human like me, right?” Jamie’s voice was a high, hysterical pitch. He grabbed a heavy glass trophy from the desk—one they had won together in middle school. “You’re the one who turned me into this! Your existence is the insult!”
The first strike was a blur of glass and shadow. Axelle’s hands went up in a futile defense, but the rage behind the blow was absolute. He rained down strikes, each one accompanied by a shriek of "Foid!" or "Incel-justice!" until her protests turned to silence, and the silence turned to the heavy, rhythmic thud of glass hitting the floor.
When he finally stopped, the only sound was the hum of the computer. Jamie stood over her, his chest heaving, his hands stained. He looked down at what was left of his "best friend," his eyes darting back to the forum post on the screen.
“Finally,” he whispered, a terrifyingly calm smile spreading across his face. “Ascended.”
The air in the room was thick with the hum of the computer fan and the sudden, sharp sound of Axelle’s breathing. She stood paralyzed behind Jamie’s chair, staring at the screen. The page was a nightmare of black-and-red UI—an incel forum where Jamie’s username sat atop a post titled “The Foid Plague.”
The text beneath it was a vitriolic manifesto, detailing his hatred for her, her body, and her life, all wrapped in a pseudo-scientific rage about "genetic displacement."
“Jamie?” her voice was a ghost of a whisper. “What is this? ‘Foid’? ‘Sub-human’? Jamie, you wrote this about… about me?”
Jamie froze. Then, with a speed that made the chair screech against the hardwood, he spun around. His face wasn't the one she had known for ten years. It was a mask of pure, concentrated loathing.
“You weren't supposed to see that,” he said, his voice low and vibrating with a dangerous energy.
“You call me your best friend!” Axelle cried, her eyes welling up. “But you’re online talking about how I’m a ‘biological vessel’ for ‘alphas’? How you wish I’d get ra—”
“Shut up!” Jamie roared, lunging to his feet. He shoved her back, his palms slamming into her shoulders with a force that sent her reeling into the wardrobe. “You don't get it! You move through the world like a god because you were born with the right markers. You think you’re my friend? You’re a parasite. You’re the reason guys like me are dead before we’re even born!”
Axelle tried to push past him, her face contorted in fear. “You’re insane, Jamie! I’m calling your parents, I’m—”
He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back with a sickening jerk. The "dork" was gone; in his place was a frenzy of repressed malice. “You aren't calling anyone! You’re just a foid, Axelle! A genetic error! You’ve been looking down on me from your 5’8” pedestal for years, laughing at my descent, laughing at my eyes!”
“I never laughed!” she screamed, clawing at his wrists.
He didn't hear her. He was lost in the terminology of the boards, the buzzwords spilling out of him like poison. “You’re just a vessel for vanity! You’re part of the cull! You’re the reason the world is rotting!”
He swung a heavy, closed fist, catching her squarely in the jaw. The sound of the impact was dull and final. Axelle collapsed to her knees, dazed, blood blossoming in her mouth. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with a terrifying realization: there was no Jamie left in there.
“Please,” she wheezed.
“There is no ‘please’ for a sub-human like me, right?” Jamie’s voice was a high, hysterical pitch. He grabbed a heavy glass trophy from the desk—one they had won together in middle school. “You’re the one who turned me into this! Your existence is the insult!”
The first strike was a blur of glass and shadow. Axelle’s hands went up in a futile defense, but the rage behind the blow was absolute. He rained down strikes, each one accompanied by a shriek of "Foid!" or "Incel-justice!" until her protests turned to silence, and the silence turned to the heavy, rhythmic thud of glass hitting the floor.
When he finally stopped, the only sound was the hum of the computer. Jamie stood over her, his chest heaving, his hands stained. He looked down at what was left of his "best friend," his eyes darting back to the forum post on the screen.
“Finally,” he whispered, a terrifyingly calm smile spreading across his face. “Ascended.”
