Isaac stared at me in dead silence.
Then, slowly—like a man on the brink—he pinched the bridge of his nose, let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting years to escape, and muttered with the weariness of someone truly on the edge of spiritual collapse.
"Why… why is it always you?"
His shoulders slumped. He looked like he'd aged five years in five seconds.
"You once nearly blew up a tunnel because you thought a cursed rune was a 'fancy microwave symbol.' You lured a cryptid with instant noodles. And now you've almost burned down a haunted house—trying to roast a few pigeons."
I grinned, full of pride, as if he were listing my accomplishments.
"…And now you're standing there. Proud. As if you deserve a medal. For eating."
I beamed. "Exactly!"
Isaac pointed at me without even looking. "If she so much as breathes near the idea of cooking again, I want her monitored, sedated, or exiled. Preferably all three."
Ronald sheepishly raised a hand. "Um… I don't think that would work…"
Isaac buried his face in his hands. "I swear… I never had migraines until I met Llyne."
I bowed dramatically and flashed a wide grin. "Glad to be of service."
In a flash, Isaac jumped from his chair with murder in his eyes, hands outstretched and ready to strangle me. But Ronald and Rona were faster, tackling him mid-lunge and dragging him back with practiced urgency.
"Let me go! Just five seconds—five seconds is all I need!" Isaac roared, limbs flailing.
Ronald clung to his other side, wailing, "Not today, Isaac! Not today!"
I stood back with a smug smile, arms folded, nodding to myself. "Honestly, I'd say my culinary skills have leveled up—by a lot."
Given the way Isaac's death glare shifted toward the prototype weapon—conveniently and stupidly left out in the open by R&D—we decided swift preventative measures were in order.
So we tied him to the chair.
With reinforced straps.
And duct-taped his mouth.
Rona was appointed as the official "Isaac Monitor," a title she accepted with far too much enthusiasm.
Ronald eyed our handiwork nervously. "This… doesn't look good."
"We're committing a cri—" Rona began.
Before she could finish the word crime, Ronald clapped a hand over her mouth in panic. "No talking, Rona!"
She peeled his fingers away. "But Rona loves to talk."
I stepped in, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Let's play a game, Rona."
Her eyes lit up instantly. "A game?"
"Yup! Simple rules." I leaned closer to Ronald and stage-whispered, "Candy, please."
Without a word, Ronald reached into his inventory and handed over a crinkling bag of her favorite sweets.
I held it up like a golden prize. "For every second you keep your mouth shut, you earn a candy. The longer you last, the more you get."
Rona gasped, eyes huge and glittering. "That's my favorite kind!"
"I know." I gave the bag a tempting shake. "So… do we have a deal? You in?"
She nodded so fast her pigtails whipped around like propellers.
"Perfect." I glanced down at Isaac's watch and pointed dramatically. "The time… starts… now!"
Rona slapped both hands over her mouth and locked eyes with Isaac, her expression dead serious.
Isaac thrashed once more in his chair, letting out an indignant, muffled scream through the tape.
And so, the world's weirdest hostage situation began—under strict supervision… and a sugar-based reward system.
Ronald exhaled in relief, still slightly winded from wrestling Isaac into submission. He turned to me with a puzzled look. "By the way, Llyne… how do you even know all those torture devices from the haunted mansion?"
I grumbled, memories clawing their way up from the depths of my traumatic past. "One of my friends is obsessed with that stuff. She reads about it like it's poetry. Uses it for bedtime stories."
Ronald blinked. "You mean, like… fiction? Fantasy tales?"
I shuddered. "I thought so too. I once stayed over at her place. Couldn't sleep, right? So she offered to read me something to help. I assumed it'd be a fairytale or something innocent."
"And it wasn't."
"Definitely wasn't." I hugged myself. "She went on about iron maidens and flaying chairs like she was reading Cinderella. I didn't sleep properly for days after that."
Ronald turned pale. "That's… horrifying."
"I still wake up to the sound of rusty chains in my dreams," I muttered darkly.
He looked at me with a mixture of pity and secondhand trauma.
Just then, the door creaked open.
An officer stepped inside, clipboard in hand, his brow furrowing the moment he caught sight of Isaac tied to a chair like a hostage in a low-budget spy movie.
"Uh-oh," Ronald and I said in perfect sync.
The officer's finger shot toward us, his voice stammering as his brain scrambled to process the scene. "Tr-Trespass—"
I lunged forward and slapped a hand over his mouth. "Wait! We're friends! This is all just, uh… a big joke. Just fooling around, you know? Office prank!"
His eyes bulged with panic.
Before he could wriggle free, a second officer barged in from the hallway, the door swinging open like a scene from a dramatic courtroom drama.
"Trespassers!" he shouted, already reaching for his radio.
I sighed, exasperated. "Just our luck."
Without hesitation, I dropped both officers with swift, practiced movements—clean, efficient, and suspiciously well-rehearsed.
Ronald gaped at the unconscious bodies, his voice rising in panic. "What do we do now, Llyne?! We're going to jail for sure!"
"What else?" I said with a grin. "We'll become temporary kidnappers."
Ronald's eyes welled with tears. "I'm committing another sin…"
"Grab Isaac and run!" I yelled, already yanking Rona by the arm and dragging her toward the door.
Ronald sniffled, wiped his cheeks, and obeyed without further protest. He hefted Isaac—still bound, still taped, still seething—onto his shoulder like a glorified sack of potatoes.
Isaac, ever the unwilling participant, wriggled furiously in Ronald's grasp, muffled screams of rage echoing behind the tape as he flailed like a man possessed.
Ronald, desperate to calm him, patted his back. "Don't worry, Isaac. Llyne will fix everything."
Isaac let out a distorted, furious scream into the tape.
Which almost certainly meant: "She's the one who started this! And she never fixes anything—she only makes it worse!"
But, of course, none of us could understand him.
And so we ran—one skipping, one sobbing, one vibrating with fury—into the unknown, dragging chaos behind us like a very enthusiastic parade of bad decisions.
Boots thundered down the hallway behind us. Shouts echoed off the walls. Panic? Minimal. Chaos? Maximum.
I bolted down the corridor with Rona clinging to my arm like a backpack with legs, giggling wildly like this was some sort of school field trip.
Behind us, Ronald staggered along under the weight of a bound, wriggling Isaac slung over his shoulder like a very angry and extremely unwilling duffel bag.
"Stop them!" a voice roared from behind.
We rounded a corner—and there he was.
The chief guard.
He pointed a dramatically trembling finger at us, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "I knew they were criminals!"
"We're innocent until... just now!" I shouted as we skidded past him.
"Llyne, I can't feel my back anymore!" Ronald wheezed, nearly tripping as Isaac violently thrashed like a fish trying to karate-chop its way back to water.
"I can feel my soul leaving my body!" Isaac shouted, or would have, if not for the tape. Instead, it came out as "Mmrghf mffgh mrrrrrggh!!"
Rona laughed like this was the best amusement park ride ever. "Wheeeee!"
"Stop wheeing and start barricading!" I shouted, tossing a nearby potted plant behind us like it would slow anyone down. It shattered. No one flinched.
"The ventilation shaft!" Ronald panted, eyes lighting up with hope.
"You want to throw Isaac through a vent?!" I gasped.
"Oh! Right! He hates filthy places."
"Even more so, we'll go!"
"And you ask why Isaac always want to strangle you..." Ronald muttered.
Ronald tried to shove Isaac upward, only for Isaac to kick his legs furiously in protest. His muffled screams grew louder. We all ignored him, because democracy.
Meanwhile, Rona stood guard dramatically with a mop. "Back! Back, I say! In the name of candy and chaos!"
The guards were gaining.
I slapped the vent grate open, shoved Rona in first, then helped Ronald force Isaac's twitching body through the tight space.
"Just a little more!" Ronald strained.
With one final shove—and the most pitiful muffled scream—I kicked Isaac through. He disappeared into the darkness with a thud.
Then Ronald and I dove in after him, just as the guards rounded the corner.
We slithered through the vent, dust flying everywhere, Isaac flailing like a disgruntled ferret ahead of us.
Somewhere behind us, echoing faintly through the chaos and metal clangs, came the chief guard's triumphant shriek:
"I KNEW they were criminals!"
I groaned and rolled my eyes mid-slide. "How many times does he need to say that? We get it—you have trust issues."