The Master Of Deception's Richest Game

Kellen's apartment was a basement unit in a building that should have been condemned in the nineties. It smelled of damp earth and boiled cabbage from the neighbor upstairs. He unlocked the three deadbolts on the door-click, click, click.

He stepped inside. The room was small. A mattress on the floor, a hot plate, and a desk. The desk was the only thing of value. On it sat a high-end computer setup, the glowing monitors illuminating the dark room. Next to the keyboard was a small block of wood and a carving knife. A half-finished sculpture of a dog emerged from the wood.

Kellen sat down. He didn't take off his coat. The heating was broken again.

He logged into "NightWhisper." It was a platform for voice acting and companionship. He had a profile there under the name "Atlas."

A request was waiting. VIP user: InsomniacPrincess.

He clicked on the details.

Request: Roleplay. Strict Authority Figure. No pity. Make me sleep. Duration: 30 mins.

Kellen sighed. He put on his noise-canceling headset. He adjusted the microphone. He cleared his throat, dropping his voice into the lower register that the clients paid extra for.

He connected the call.

"Are you there?" A female voice whispered. It was soft, shaky. Young.

Kellen leaned into the mic.

"I told you to be in bed, didn't I?" he said. His voice was a commanding baritone.

He heard a whimper on the other end. The sound of rustling sheets.

"I... I am. I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Good," Kellen said. "Now close your eyes. Do not open them until I say so."

He began the script. He ordered her to relax her muscles, starting from her toes. He used imperative sentences. "Relax your feet. Do it now. Breathe in. Hold it. Obey me."

He heard her breathing hitch. It sounded like a gasp of pain. A sharp intake of breath that wasn't part of the relaxation.

Kellen paused. His hand hovered over the mouse. His "big brother" instinct, forged from years of protecting smaller kids in the system, flared up.

"Are you okay?" he asked, breaking character. His voice softened. "You sound... hurt."

Silence on the line. The static hummed.

Then, a sharp, angry whisper cut through.

"Don't ask me that. Stick to the script."

"I'm just checking," Kellen insisted gently. "If you're in pain-"

"I don't pay you to care! I pay you to control!" she snapped. Her voice cracked.

Kellen flinched. He pulled back from the mic. He looked at the carving on his desk. He picked up the knife and ran his thumb over the dull edge.

"Understood," he said. "Punishment for speaking out of turn."

He returned to the persona. Cold. Distant. Controlling.

He guided her through the rest of the session. Slowly, the tension in her voice faded. Her breathing became rhythmic. Deep. Even.

She was asleep.

Kellen sat in the silence of his basement, listening to the breath of a stranger on the other side of the city. He felt a pang of loneliness hit him in the chest. It was a physical ache, a hollowness behind his ribs.

He disconnected the call quietly.

A notification popped up on his screen.

Rating: 4/5. Note: Don't break character.

Kellen rubbed his temples.

"Empathy is bad for business," he whispered to the empty room.

He picked up the wood block. He began to carve. Shavings of wood curled and fell to the floor, joining the pile of his silent frustrations.