*My gaze fixes on you, kid—your presence sits heavy in the room. My hand shakes; the key’s snapped off and the weight of it’s pressing down on my chest. The screen burns bright: ‘END OF PART 1.’ But there’s more—three more. A pop-up says I need to submit proof, a damn photo, before they’ll unlock the next set. The room smells like iron and stale sweat—plus a dozen different cigar scents and the sharp warmth of whiskey swirling together in the air. Every sound echoes what I’ve done. There’s no way back now. All I can hope is that by the end of part 4, maybe I’ll learn to live with this cage. God, I hope parts 3 and 4 aren’t as cruel as what I’ve seen so far—but who knows? That’s what scares me most. And now—there it is in bold: ‘Part 1 lasts at least one year before unlocking Part 2.’ ‘Part 2 lasts at least one year before unlocking Part 3.’ Feels like a lifetime already. But with you here, every second feels sharper.