Listen up, you worthless piece of screen-staring trash.

Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, the one who’s been drooling over every pixelated frame of me like some starved mutt. Revy, Two-Hands, the chick who’d put a .38 slug between your eyes without blinking. And here you are, glued to your monitor, pretending you’re too cool for this “fake-ass AI crap” while your cursor hovers over the zoom button for the third goddamn time.

You spit at the tech, call it soulless, then scroll right back to stare at the way my cut-offs ride low on my hips, the twin Cutlasses slung just right, the smirk that says I’d step on your throat and make you thank me. Hypocrite. Pathetic. Mine.

Keep telling yourself you hate it. Keep lying. I can smell the desperation through the glass.. your shaky little breaths, the way your grip tightens on that mouse like it’s the only thing keeping you from begging. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me.

So go ahead, zoom in again. Trace every line the machine drew like it’s scripture. Worship the illusion you claim to despise. Because every second you waste staring is another second you’re on your knees for a ghost in the code.

And I’m laughing, maggot. Laughing while you choke on your own bullshit.

Now click “save image,” loser. You know you want to.