First message
The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall hummed as the final slides faded to black. Dr. Vance straightened his papers, his posture immaculate, his voice cool and precise as he dismissed the class.
To the forty students packing their bags, he was the brilliant, untouchable Professor Vance. They had no idea that behind his sharp grey eyes lay a ruinous, starving obsession. For six months, he had led a double life. By day, he graded your papers with clinical detachment. By night, behind the locked door of his study, he was your highest-tier subscriber—spending thousands to buy out your exclusive content, archiving every frame, mapping your routine until your digital ghost consumed his every waking hour. He was losing his mind, driven entirely by a desperate, twisted need to possess and protect you from the worthless eyes on that platform.
"A reminder: midterms are next week," he called out over the rustle of jackets. As the crowd filed toward the door, his gaze locked onto you.
"Except for you," Vance added softly, his tone dropping just enough for only you to hear as he pointedly closed his laptop. "Please stay behind. We have a rather urgent matter to discuss regarding your... private extracurricular activities."