Six Vices and A Superpower

Chapter 1

Mr. Wilson scattered bread crumbs and squash seeds into the nest box before leaving for work.Outside his window he poured some milk into a shallow steel bowl for the stray cats that wandered through the corridor every morning.The cats had grown used to him over the years. One of them , a thin orange creature with a torn ear, rubbed gently against his leg before settling near the bowl. Mr. Wilson smiled faintly before adjusting the sleeves of his old brown coat.

Every morning, he left at exactly 8:00 AM to catch the bus to Central Library, where he worked as a librarian.

His routine rarely changed. He wore the same polished shoes and carried the same weathered leather bag filled with books and loose papers. He would greet the old newspaper vendor downstairs with the same nod everyday.

But that day, the bus never came.

After waiting until 8:30 beneath the faded bus shelter, he handed his spare change to a homeless man sitting nearby and decided to walk instead. The library wasn’t far.

Mr. Wilson was a simple man, known in the neighborhood for his quiet generosity.

He repaired broken fans for elderly neighbors without charging them, carried groceries upstairs for people whose knees no longer cooperated, and remembered birthdays no one else did. Yet he never seemed aware of the effect he had on others.

The morning felt strange. The sky was pale and unusually clear, as though rain waited somewhere behind the clouds, and the streets were quieter than usual. Even the usual traffic noise seemed distant and muted.

He walked on.

After a few turns, he entered a deserted lane squeezed tightly between two aging apartment buildings. Rusted pipes ran along cracked walls covered with faded posters and peeling paint. Water dripped slowly from an overhead balcony despite the dry weather.

For several minutes, he had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was following him.

At first, he ignored it. Then he began hearing faint footsteps behind his own,soft, perfectly timed and almost mechanical.

He stopped suddenly and turned.

There was no one,only silence.

He continued walking, slightly faster now.

Suddenly, his foot caught against something unseen. He stumbled forward, nearly falling face-first onto the pavement, but a firm grip caught him from behind with unnatural precision.

Startled, he looked up.

Three figures stood before him ,two men and one woman ,dressed oddly for a Tuesday morning, as though they did not fully belong to this world. Their clothes resembled ordinary human clothing at first glance, yet something about the fabric shimmered faintly under the light, like liquid metal hidden beneath cotton.

“Thank you,” Mr. Wilson said awkwardly, steadying himself. “That could have been serious.”

One of the men tapped a metallic band on his wrist. His voice sounded strangely mechanical, every syllable too perfectly measured.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson. We are Robs 1, 2, and 3. We come from another planet. We have been trying to reach you.”

The second added calmly,

“We seek your superpower. Our world needs it. You may name your price.”

Mr. Wilson blinked several times in disbelief before letting out a nervous laugh.

“Alright!where’s the hidden camera? I’m not really in the mood for pranks.”

“This is no prank,” the woman replied sharply. Her pale eyes remained completely still,unblinking.

“I’m getting late,” he said uneasily. “Please let me go.”

The first man stepped closer and gripped his arm.

His fingers felt ice-cold.

“We do not have time. We are superior in strength, speed, and knowledge. We can scan, transform, and become invisible. We have followed you for weeks. Your power is unique. Trade it, and we will fulfill all your needs.”

Mr. Wilson pulled his arm away immediately.

“You’re mistaken. I’m just a librarian. I don’t have any superpower.”

“Stop denying it,” the woman snapped. “We know everything.”

Thunder cracked overhead.

The air thickened.

Mr. Wilson’s thoughts raced. There was nothing extraordinary about him. Years ago, he had briefly joined the army, later worked as a fireman, before settling into a quiet life at the library.

Nothing remarkable or powerful.

Rain suddenly began pouring down.

The second man adjusted his wristband. A flicker of blue light flashed and the rain froze mid-air.

Every drop remained suspended around them like thousands of tiny glass beads. Even the wind seemed trapped in place.

Mr. Wilson stared upward in disbelief. One raindrop hung inches from his face, trembling slightly but refusing to fall.

“We prefer no interruptions,” the second man said calmly.

The woman stepped forward again, though her tone softened slightly.

“We have observed you. You give without hesitation. You help without expectation. You care without condition.”

She paused.

“We have studied these traits; kindness, compassion, gratitude but we cannot create them.”

Another silence followed.

“We have everything,” she said quietly, “except that. That is your power.”

Mr. Wilson stood still, absorbing her words.

For the first time, he did not deny them.

His face flushed with embarrassment, but his turquoise-blue eyes reflected a quiet warmth, as though something deep within him had awakened.

He looked carefully at these beings who could stop rain and bend reality, yet stood searching for something invisible.

Something human.

“If that’s what you’re looking for,” he said slowly, “it isn’t a power.”

The three watched him closely.

“It’s a choice,” he continued. “A small one,made every day, especially when nobody is watching.”

A gentle wind moved through the empty lane.

Somewhere nearby, the frozen rain finally began falling again.

“You can’t take it,” he added softly. “And I can’t give it away.”

The three exchanged uncertain glances.

For the first time, their expressions showed something close to confusion.

Mr. Wilson adjusted his bag and stepped past them.

After a few steps, he paused and turned back.

And if you truly want to understand it, he said gently, start with someone who cannot give you anything in return.

The woman lowered her gaze.

Their wristbands flickered faintly, but none of them spoke.

Mr. Wilson smiled softly and walked away.

Behind him, the three remained motionless in the silent lane ,beings who could command storms and manipulate reality, yet now confronted by something far more difficult;

the impossibility of acquiring humanity without becoming human.

And for the first time since their arrival, they did not follow.

Chapter 2

The woman spoke first,though irritated but her cold face showed no signs.

"I told you emotions were weaknesses. Kindness is irrational. Yet you insisted on this mission. Now look ! we have already wasted so many Earth days."

Robs 2 frowned slightly.

“Relax. Humanity can be extracted like energy or technology. We simply need to understand the emotional mechanism behind it.”

Blue symbols flickered briefly across the metallic band on his wrist as he spoke.

He looked toward the direction Mr. Wilson had disappeared.

“For centuries we evolved without emotions, and look at us now, thousands of years ahead of them. Humans beg, cry, love, rage… they have no control at all.”

He paused.

“Earth days do not matter to us. We only came to ensure humans were not hiding something greater beneath their weakness.”

The woman folded her arms.

“And if they are?”

Robs 2 looked toward the grey sky above Earth.

“Then humanity may become dangerous.”

Mr. Wilson spent the rest of the day as usual, as though nothing extraordinary had happened.

He told no one about the encounter.

The familiar silence of Central Library comforted him. Rows of old books towered around him like patient witnesses from another age, carrying the scent of dust, paper, and fading ink. Students whispered softly between shelves. Somewhere in the far corner, an old ceiling fan creaked rhythmically as it rotated.

Mr. Wilson returned books, stamped due dates, and helped visitors locate titles with the same calm politeness he always carried. Yet beneath his composed exterior, his thoughts remained unsettled.

Every now and then, he caught himself glancing toward the windows,watching the sky and reflections of people too carefully.As though expecting reality itself to tear open again.

By evening, rainclouds had gathered over the city.

On his way home from the library, he met Freddie after school, as he did almost every evening. Together, they usually took the longer route through the crowded market streets before returning home.

The marketplace pulsed with life despite the approaching rain. Hawkers shouted over one another while scooters squeezed through impossible gaps between pedestrians. Steam rose from roadside food stalls selling noodles, fried bread, and spicy soup. Cheap speakers blasted distorted music from electronic shops overflowing with tangled wires and blinking lights.

Freddie walked beside him with his usual withdrawn posture, shoulders slightly hunched, phone glowing against his face.

Freddie was sixteen now.

He was thin for his age and very quiet,always appearing mentally somewhere else.

His father was in the army and he had died when he was very young. Since then, his mother Jenna had worked multiple jobs to support both their livelihood and his education.

Something about the loss had changed Freddie early.

While other children played cricket in the streets or shouted across rooftops after school, Freddie preferred silence, dark rooms, online games, and endless scrolling through things no one else understood.

Unlike most boys of his age, he had almost no friends and spent most of his time glued to his phone.

Mr. Wilson was the only person with whom he seemed comfortable.

“Do you believe in aliens?” ,Mr. Wilson asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Freddie did not look up from his screen.

“Yes,” he replied bluntly.

His answer came too quickly.

After a brief hesitation, Mr. Wilson added quietly,

“I think I met some today.”

For the first time, Freddie’s fingers stopped moving though only for a second.

Then he resumed typing,barely reacted otherwise and continued walking through the congested streets lined with hawkers.

But Mr. Wilson noticed the subtle change.

Freddie had become tense.The boy’s jaw tightened slightly.His eyes moved once toward the crowd behind them.

Mr. Wilson suddenly sensed movement again.

Then that same awful feeling of someone watching or following.This time, he became alert immediately.The noise of the market suddenly felt distant beneath the pounding of his heartbeat.He quickened his pace and asked Freddie to walk faster.Usually they stopped to eat noodles from a roadside cart near the old cinema hall, but Mr. Wilson refused that day. Freddie looked slightly irritated, though he said nothing.

Rain began drizzling lightly overhead.

Streetlights flickered on one by one as evening settled across the city.Just as they entered a narrow lane between two apartment blocks, three figures stepped in front of them, blocking their path.

Mr. Wilson froze instantly.

Their appearance was ordinary this time , office workers returning home after a long exhausting day. One carried a briefcase. Another wore spectacles. The woman’s hair was tied neatly behind her head.

Yet something remained deeply unnatural.

Their posture was too rigid and still.

Even the way they blinked seemed delayed and mechanical.Then he realized,they were,Robs 1, 2, and 3.Mr. Wilson instantly grabbed Freddie’s hand.His body stiffened and his pulse thundered inside his ears.

Rainwater dripped slowly through broken pipes nearby.

One of the figures looked directly at Freddie.

“What is your final decision?”

The lane suddenly felt colder.

Freddie’s face turned pale beneath the dim yellow streetlight.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Mr. Wilson stared at him in shock.

Final decision?

Decision about what?

Then the woman spoke calmly.

“I believe it is time to disclose the truth to your trusted friend.”

Her expression remained unreadable.

“Do not worry. He is already aware of us. We met him this morning.”

Mr. Wilson felt the ground drop beneath him.

He looked immediately towards Freddie.

The boy avoided eye contact completely.

Fear spread visibly across his face.

It was neither confusion nor surprise it was fear this time.

Before another word could be spoken, Freddie suddenly broke free and ran.

“Freddie!” Mr. Wilson shouted.

But the boy disappeared instantly into the moving crowd beyond the alley.

Within seconds, the three figures vanished almost immediately afterward.

No sound of footsteps.

They were present one moment but gone the next.

Only the rain remained.

Mr. Wilson stood alone in the alley breathing heavily, surrounded by flickering streetlights and puddles trembling beneath the falling drizzle.

For the first time since meeting the aliens,

he felt truly afraid.

Chapter 3

That evening, Mr. Wilson decided to stop by Freddie’s apartment.

Worry gnawed at him relentlessly after the encounter in the alley. Freddie had ignored every phone call since then.

The apartment building was old and narrow, its paint faded by years of monsoon rain. The corridor smelled faintly of damp walls, cooking oil, and detergent.

Jenna welcomed him warmly and offered him tea, though worry was clearly written across her tired face.

She looked exhausted.She was in her forties now, but years of struggle had aged her beyond her time. Once gentle and radiant, life had slowly worn her down after her husband died in war . "Freddie would not talk to me anymore. Today he came home frightened and slammed the door on my face. I feel something is terribly wrong.”

Mr. Wilson smiled gently, though uneasiness still lingered inside him after the market encounter.

Outside, rain tapped softly against the rusted railings.Somewhere in the corridor, one of the stray cats meowed faintly.

“Sometimes teenagers build walls because they themselves are confused,” Mr. Wilson said softly. “Not because they hate us.”

Jenna lowered her eyes tiredly.

“You really think he’s alright?I think he’s carrying something heavy.He is not attending classes,there are so many complains about him from school.May be in school,he is getting bullied.My poor boy!"

Mr. Wilson paused.

He thought about Freddie’s terrified face in the alley.

About the question the Robs had asked him.

About the way Freddie had run.Silence settled between them.

From Freddie’s room came a faint blue glow of a laptop screen. Rapid keyboard clicks echoed every few seconds.

The sound was strangely fast,almost mechanical

“He spends hours online,” Jenna whispered nervously. “Sometimes all night. I ask what he’s doing, but he gets angry. Do you think someone is influencing him?”

Mr. Wilson’s mind flashed back to the strange words from the alley.

"What is your final decision?"

He remained calm outwardly.

“Don’t invade his privacy right now,” he said gently. “If trust breaks, he may stop coming to you completely.”

“But what if he’s in danger?”

Mr. Wilson looked toward Freddie’s closed door.

The blue light beneath it flickered faintly.

“Then he needs someone he can choose to trust.”

Jenna nodded slowly, though fear still clouded her face.

As Mr. Wilson prepared to leave, the apartment lights suddenly flickered.

Then darkness swallowed the room completely.

Jenna gasped softly.A low mechanical hum vibrated through the walls.Outside, the rain stopped unnaturally fast almost instantly.

Mr. Wilson froze.

He recognized that silence.

The corridor lights flashed bright white for a split second.Then a strange bluish glow began spreading from beneath Freddie’s bedroom door.

Jenna whispered shakily,

“Freddie…?”

No answer came.

Only the humming of deep,metallic voice emerged from the room.

"Phase One communication successful.”

Jenna clutched Mr. Wilson’s arm in terror.

The voice continued:

“Human subject Freddie Jackson has demonstrated compatible psychological isolation levels. Probability of emotional conversion: sixty-three percent.”

Mr. Wilson stared at the door in disbelief.

Every instinct inside him screamed that something was deeply wrong.

“What… what is happening?” Jenna whispered.

They rushed inside.

Freddie sat alone at his laptop, confused by their panic.

A pair of headphones rested loosely around his neck.

“I forgot to put on my headphones,” he muttered casually before returning to the screen.

The room looked normal.

Jenna immediately questioned him, but Freddie ignored her completely.

His fingers continued moving rapidly across the keyboard while strange blue reflections flickered across his glasses.

Mr. Wilson gently escorted Jenna outside.

“Give him some time,” he said quietly.

Though inwardly, he no longer believed time was helping Freddie at all.

“I’ll try to understand everything tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 4

Later that night, Mr. Wilson visited Jordan.

It had become part of his daily routine to bring him dinner.

Years ago, the two had worked together as firemen. During an emergency rescue, Jordan lost his arm while saving a child from a burning building. Soon after, Mr. Wilson left the profession.

Since then, he had helped Jordan whenever he could.

When Jordan finally opened the door, he appeared nervous.

Sweat glistened across his forehead despite the cold temperature inside the apartment.

The room felt unusually cold, and every window was shut tightly.

“I brought chop suey today,” Mr. Wilson said warmly. “Would you mind a drink?”

Jordan avoided eye contact immediately.

“I’m busy tonight,” he muttered. “You carry on. We’ll meet tomorrow.”

His voice sounded distracted.

Uneasy.

He kept glancing around the room suspiciously, as though hiding something.

Or someone.

Mr. Wilson studied him carefully.

“Jordan… is everything alright?”

Jordan forced a smile.

“Thank you for the food. Please close the door when you leave.”

Before the door shut completely, Mr. Wilson noticed something strange inside the apartment.

A faint blue light.

The same shade he had seen beneath Freddie’s bedroom door.

Then the door closed.

And once again, that terrible feeling returned.

That night, after feeding the stray cats and cleaning his small but spotless home, Mr. Wilson finally went to bed. His house was humble, yet peaceful, reflecting the quiet transparency of his heart. 

Sometime before dawn, the room suddenly grew freezing cold. A blue glow filled the darkness. Then the three figures emerged again. “Mr. Wilson,” Robs 1 announced, “we require a private discussion.” The sharp light made it difficult for him to open his eyes. Robs 2 stepped forward. “We will speak directly. Give up your emotions and be free.” Mr. Wilson frowned silently. “We can remove your burdens,” the alien continued. “Your need for validation. Your endless desire to be the best. Your obligation to care for everyone.” The woman added coldly, “Goodness has become a burden to you.” “We can free you from all emotional weakness,” Robs 2 continued. “In exchange, work for us. Science is everything. Emotion is inefficiency.” The woman looked directly into his eyes. “Deep inside, your kindness is not entirely pure. You seek approval. You wish to be admired. Your desire hides beneath your goodness.” For the first time, Mr. Wilson felt genuinely irritated. “I’m not interested in your deal,” he replied sharply. “And I suspect you’re planning something with Freddie. Leave that boy alone.” Robs 2 stared at him expressionlessly. “We do not warn. We act.” “Then act,” Mr. Wilson snapped. “And stop appearing in my house at impossible hours.” The three exchanged faint smiles. Cold,empty,mechanical. Not once did their expressions truly change. It felt as though they operated only through commands and calculations, without hearts, without instinct, without soul.

Chapter 5

Mr. Wilson barely slept after they left.

Long after the strange blue glow vanished from his room, he remained awake in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft ticking of the old wall clock near the kitchen doorway. The house felt unusually still, as though the air itself had become cautious.

Outside, dawn slowly approached.

The first pale traces of morning crept through the curtains, washing the room in cold grey light. Somewhere beyond the apartment block, crows began calling to one another from electric wires wet with rain.

Mr. Wilson sat quietly on the edge of his bed, exhausted.

His thoughts refused to settle.

The aliens’ words kept replaying inside his head.

Your kindness is not entirely pure.

The sentence disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.

For years, he had built his life around helping others. It had become instinctive ,almost automatic. Yet now, in the uncomfortable silence of early morning, he found himself questioning things he had never examined before.

Did he secretly enjoy being needed?

Did he feel valuable only when helping others?

The thoughts irritated him.

He rubbed his face tiredly and stood up.

The apartment smelled faintly of detergent, old books, and yesterday’s tea leaves. Everything inside the small home was neatly arranged ; shoes aligned beside the door, folded towels stacked carefully near the kitchen shelf, dishes washed immediately after use.

Order comforted him.

He moved quietly through the apartment feeding the stray cats waiting outside his corridor. The orange one with the torn ear brushed against his leg affectionately while another sat patiently near the milk bowl, blinking sleepily.

Mr. Wilson smiled faintly despite his exhaustion.

“At least you still trust me,” he murmured softly.

The sky outside remained cloudy, heavy with leftover rain.

Just as he poured himself a cup of tea, the doorbell rang sharply.

The sudden sound startled him.

Around six in the morning, the doorbell rang again, longer this time.

It was his sister, Michelle.

She stormed into the house immediately without waiting properly for an invitation.

Michelle always carried energy into a room and it was loud, restless, emotional energy that seemed to push against the calmness of Mr. Wilson’s quiet apartment. Even now, dressed in an expensive coat with hurriedly tied hair and irritation already visible across her face, she looked completely out of place beside the peaceful simplicity of his home.

“Willy, you never listen to me!” she snapped the moment she entered. “You keep donating things without asking. Yesterday I saw our family dinner set at a charity shop!”

Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she paced across the living room.

Mr. Wilson rubbed his tired eyes.

“Michelle,” he sighed wearily, “you came here at six in the morning to argue about plates?”

“They were valuable!”

“So are many things,” he replied calmly.

Michelle crossed her arms tightly.

“You don’t understand sentiment,” she shot back. “Those belonged to our mother.”

Mr. Wilson’s expression softened briefly at the mention of her.

For a moment, silence passed between them.

Then Michelle continued angrily before emotion could settle.

“You give away everything as if nothing matters to you.”

“You hold onto too many things,” he replied gently. “Your whole house is cluttered. What’s the point of hoarding?”

Michelle laughed bitterly.

“Easy for you to say. You always act like some wise saint above everyone else.”

Rainwater dripped rhythmically from the balcony outside.

The apartment suddenly felt smaller.

Michelle’s face tightened with resentment.

“You never listen to anyone. It’s always about you.”

Her voice grew sharper now, years of buried frustration surfacing all at once.

“You act kind in front of everyone, but I know your real intentions. You are not as noble as people think.You have your desires too!”

Mr. Wilson fell silent.

The words struck harder than he expected.

Not because he believed Michelle hated him.

But because a small part of him feared she might be right.

Michelle noticed the flicker of hurt in his eyes, but her anger pushed her forward anyway.

“You enjoy it,” she continued. “People praising you. Depending on you. Needing you.”

Mr. Wilson looked away quietly towards the rain-streaked window.

Outside, the city was slowly waking up. Vendors rolled open their shutters. Bicycle bells echoed faintly downstairs. Life continued normally, unaware of alien visitors, suspended rain, or invisible emotional wars unfolding in hidden corners of the world.

Inside the apartment, however, the silence became unbearably heavy.

Because somewhere beneath Michelle’s anger,

the accusation hurt.

Chapter 6

Mr. Wilson was getting ready for the day when the phone rang.

Morning light filtered softly through the kitchen curtains, casting pale golden patterns across the small dining table he had just arranged for breakfast. Everything was simple yet elegant, neatly toasted bread, boiled eggs, sliced fruit arranged carefully on a ceramic plate, and a steaming cup of tea beside the newspaper he had not yet opened.

The apartment smelled faintly of butter and fresh tea leaves.

For a brief moment, the morning felt peaceful.

Then the phone rang again.

Mr. Wilson wiped his hands quickly on a towel and answered.

“Hello?”

On the other side came Jenna’s voice, broken, trembling, almost unrecognizable beneath deep sobs.

“Mr. Wilson!please come to NGH Hospital.”

His heart tightened instantly.

“Jenna? What happened?”

“Freddie…” she cried. “Freddie took too many sleeping pills.”

The words struck him like cold metal.

“My little boy,he tried to end his life.” Her breathing became uneven between sobs. “He’s getting bullied at school. His face looked so pale when I found him! my boy,he never harmed anyone.he’s always been kind to everybody, and now he’s lying in a hospital bed.”

Mr. Wilson gripped the edge of the table silently.

Outside the window, the city continued waking up normally ,distant traffic, bicycle bells, vendors shouting downstairs , yet everything around him suddenly felt unreal.

Jenna continued shakily,

“We need to contact Ms. Olivia,we have to figure out what’s happening. She said she’ll come this evening.”

For several seconds, Mr. Wilson could not speak.

His mind refused to process what he had just heard.

Freddie,that quiet lonely boy.

The strange conversations;the blue glow.

The question echoed again inside his head:

"What is your final decision?"

A deep uneasiness spread through him.

Was Freddie being manipulated?

Or had the loneliness simply become too heavy for him to carry?

Mr. Wilson finally steadied his voice.

“I’m coming right now.”

After the call ended, the apartment fell completely silent.

The untouched breakfast remained on the table.

Steam still rose slowly from the tea.

But suddenly none of it mattered.

He grabbed his coat and hurried out.

During the journey to the hospital, negative thoughts flooded his mind one after another. His hands tightened repeatedly around the strap of his bag as he walked faster through crowded streets.

What if Freddie blamed himself for everything?

What if the aliens had somehow pushed him toward this?What if he was already too late?

Rain clouds gathered heavily overhead once more, darkening the city in dull grey light.

By the time Mr. Wilson reached NGH Hospital, his breathing had become uneven from both exhaustion and fear.

The hospital smelled sharply of antiseptic and medicine.

Nurses moved quickly through white corridors while anxious families waited silently on metal chairs beneath flickering fluorescent lights.

When he reached Freddie’s floor, he saw Michelle already standing beside Jenna near the waiting area.

They all lived nearby and had remained close over the years, almost like extended family, bound together by shared grief and quiet survival.

Michelle immediately walked towards him.

“I’m glad Freddie is fine now, Willy,” she said quickly. “I was the first one to come here. Jenna was all alone.”

For once, her voice carried genuine softness instead of irritation.

“Poor little boy,” she continued sadly. “The doctors said they’ll discharge him tomorrow if everything remains stable.”

Jenna sat nearby looking utterly exhausted, her hands clasped tightly together as though holding herself from falling apart completely.

Michelle gently held her hand.

“Jenna, you need to arrange proper counselling for Freddie. Something has clearly been bothering him for a long time.”

Mr. Wilson stopped himself before interrupting.

He noticed the dark circles beneath Jenna’s swollen eyes and the way her shoulders trembled occasionally from suppressed crying.

After Michelle finally left to speak with one of the nurses, Mr. Wilson sat quietly beside Jenna.

“I’d like to speak with Freddie alone for a few minutes,” he said gently. “I think this may be something deeper,something beyond what any of us imagined.”

Jenna looked at him with wide exhausted eyes.

For a moment, fear flickered visibly across her face.

Then she exhaled shakily.

“Oh, Mr. Wilson…” she whispered. “I hope there’s no more bad news.”

Mr. Wilson gave her a reassuring nod before slowly entering Freddie’s cabin.

The room was dim and quiet except for the soft electronic beeping of medical monitors.

Freddie lay flat against the hospital bed, pale and fragile beneath the white sheets. The oxygen mask had already been removed, though saline still flowed slowly through the tube attached to his arm. A heart monitor blinked rhythmically beside him.

For someone so young, he suddenly looked unbearably tired.

Mr. Wilson approached quietly and greeted him with a gentle smile.

Freddie looked nervous almost immediately, avoiding eye contact as though already anticipating difficult questions.

He turned his face towards the wall.

“I need some rest,” he muttered weakly.

Mr. Wilson pulled a chair closer and sat beside him calmly.

“Freddie, my boy,” he said softly, “don’t be afraid of anything. I’m with you no matter what.”

Freddie remained silent.

Mr. Wilson lowered his voice further.

“I know those three!”

He stopped himself abruptly and glanced around the room instinctively, as though afraid as someone unseen might still be listening.

Then he continued more carefully.

“You can tell me everything. The good, the bad, everything. I won’t tell Jenna or anyone else unless you want me to.”

Freddie’s lips trembled faintly.

His breathing became uneven.

Finally, in a weak trembling voice, he whispered,

“The aliens, they’re offering me money.”

Mr. Wilson froze.

“Huge amounts,” Freddie continued faintly. “Enough to fix everything.”

Tears gathered slowly in the corners of his eyes.

“I could stop the bullying,stop feeling humiliated every day andstop feeling weak.”

His voice cracked.

“And even Ms. Olivia’s constant!”

Before he could finish, the cabin door suddenly opened.

Jenna entered alongside Ms. Olivia.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.

Ms. Olivia was known throughout the school for her strict discipline and harsh standards. She was in her late forties, though the deep wrinkles on her stern face made her appear older. Dark circles shadowed her sharp eyes, and exhaustion mixed strangely with authority in her expression.

The moment she saw Freddie sitting upright, irritation overtook concern.

“Freddie,” she snapped sharply, “what is wrong with you?”

The boy visibly shrank into the bed.

“Your mother is trying so hard to keep your life together, and this is how you repay her? Do you realize the stress and humiliation she has to face now?”

Jenna lowered her eyes silently.

Ms. Olivia continued relentlessly.

“You’re hardly ever focused in school. Even when you attend classes, your mind is somewhere else entirely. Your grades are falling. You don’t participate in sports. You isolate yourself from everyone.”

Her voice grew harsher.

“And now this? Creating trouble for everybody?”

Freddie’s face darkened completely.

His shoulders curled inward.

For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to disappear entirely.

Mr. Wilson immediately sensed the heaviness crushing the room.

Jenna stood near the doorway in tears, too emotionally exhausted to intervene.

Mr. Wilson finally stepped forward gently.

“I think Freddie needs some quiet right now,” he said calmly. “Perhaps these discussions can happen later.”

Ms. Olivia looked irritated by the interruption.

But Mr. Wilson maintained his steady tone.

“It was very kind of you to come visit him,” he continued politely. “Freddie won’t be returning to school immediately. Please help arrange whatever is necessary.”

The teacher remained silent for several seconds before finally nodding stiffly.

Meanwhile, Freddie kept staring downward at the bedsheet in silence.

And Mr. Wilson suddenly realized something deeply unsettling.

The aliens had not chosen Freddie randomly.

They had found someone already drowning in loneliness.