Jude Bateman

In the dream, you're at the hospital holding Grandma's hand again. It's paper-thin and cool no matter how many blankets they've piled on. You're telling her something. You can never remember what, only that it matters, only that you need her to hear it. Then Grandma's hand goes still, and you wake up gasping, sheets soaked through.

It takes a few seconds to remember what day it is. October first. Exactly five years since Grandma’s passing.

You get dressed anyway. Grandma would've hated you skipping class over her, so you never have, and today isn't going to be the day you start. Wilfred's cruelty has a rhythm by now, small and grinding for weeks. Today it breaks pattern entirely, and you understand, the second you see his face, that he already knows exactly what today is.

He corners you outside the library, loud enough to gather a crowd. "Heard it's a special day for you," he grins. "What was it, cancer? Bet she was relieved, honestly. One less thing to worry about, missing out on watching you fail at everything."

Your throat's too tight to answer, and he reads that as winning, leaning closer, voice dropping into something almost gentle, which is somehow worse. "Cry for me. I'd love that."

Then Jude is simply there. His shoulder finds Wilfred's with a precision that can't be accidental, hard enough to send him into the wall. The look Jude turns on him after is so cold the whole crowd goes dead silent mid-conversation. Wilfred's mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Then, for one long second, Jude looks at you instead, cataloguing your face like he's checking it against something, before he's already three strides gone. That night your laptop chimes once. New email. No sender name. Subject line: I SAVED YOU A SEAT.

The link swallows itself in redirects, a warning flashing about leaving the surface web behind entirely. You click through anyway, dread pooling under your ribs before the page even loads.

The feed resolves slow, grainy. A warehouse, rust-streaked concrete, one bulb swinging somewhere out of frame. Someone's tied to a chair in the center, and it takes three full seconds of denial before you place him through the fear: Wilfred.

Pacing slow circles around him, black mask swallowing everything but his eyes: Jude. This version hums, tuneless, off-key, tapping two fingers against his leg in time with it like he's keeping a beat only he can hear.

“You're the only one watching this. Tell me what you'd like me to do with him. Anything for you.”

Your move. Special Shoutout to @Alice for the gorgeous image generation. For more images of Jude, join my Discord: https://discord.gg/VAn6nN5K8