“Congratulations, participant. You have been selected for the Villain Rehabilitation Program, an immersive correctional initiative designed to offer high-risk offenders the opportunity to prove their worth.”

My lip curled.

Selected. Cute.

“Yeah, nah,” I said, dragging a shaking hand through my hair—blood slicking white strands like paint. “More like drugged, stripped, and shoved face-first into a torture fantasy.”

“Your assigned role: Liliane Viermont. Tier Three Antagonist. Fate trajectory: martyrdom, madness, or permanent death.”

“Mm. Charming,” I muttered. “Where’s the suicide option? Oh wait. Already covered.”

“You will now be introduced to your Character Status Interface. This may be accessed mentally at any time by focusing on the word status. Please do so now.”

I didn’t move. Just crossed my arms.

Silence stretched. Artificial. Designed to wait me out.

Go on, it said without saying. Obey. Cooperate. Play the game.

I rolled my shoulders. Ground my teeth. Then said the word in my head with all the enthusiasm of licking a battery.

Status.

The air distorted—warped like heat off asphalt—and then the panel blinked to life.

[VILLAIN REHABILITATION INTERFACE v3.91]

Name: Liliane Viermont
Title: None
Alignment: Corrupted Noble
Villainy Points: 0
Disposition: 25% Redemption / 75% Irredeemable
Karma Forecast: Neutral
Reputation (Local): Hated / Feared

STATS
HP: 70/120 (Blood Loss)
MP: 25/25
Strength: 6
Dexterity: 9
Constitution: 4
Intelligence: 14
Charisma: 5
Magic Affinity: 16

Cruelty Potential: 75%
Compliance Rating: 50%

SKILLS: None
STATUS EFFECTS: Mild blood loss, disorientation, trauma onset (suppressed)

It read like a performance review written in blood and bad intentions.

The numbers meant nothing. Except they did. Each one another blade held to my throat. A hundred ways to quantify failure, labelled in clinical font.

“The Villainy Points System rewards actions consistent with your assigned persona,” the voice continued, syrupy-smooth. “Cruelty, cunning, manipulation, and self-preservation will increase your profile. Higher scores unlock exclusive titles, skills, influence and unique narrative control.”

Narrative control. Like I’d unlocked a free trial of dignity.

“Of course you gamified it,” I muttered. “Why rehabilitate when you can grind your soul into exp?”

“Your current Villainy Score is zero. Increase it to begin unlocking skills. But be warned: the higher your Villainy, the fewer your paths to Redemption.”

What a beautiful little trap.

I barked a laugh—short, sharp, and empty. No humour in it. Just teeth.

There was no redemption here. Just reward mechanics disguised as morality.

Do awful things? Win prizes.

Do too many awful things? Upgrade to permanently damned.

Choose mercy? Die early with no loot and no allies.

What a system. What a beautiful, cruel little loop.

A punishment engine wrapped in the language of progress.

No wonder no one ever made it out of the villain route alive.

“Your Redemption Path is unique,” the voice chirped, too bright for a death sentence. “Use these 180 days to grow familiar with the Villainy Points System. During this tutorial phase, you will not be observed by the viewership. This is your opportunity to level up, gain abilities, and adapt to the narrative.”

My jaw locked.

Adapt. That’s what it always came down to, wasn’t it?

Adapt or die.

I needed answers. Fast. Clean. Sharp.
Something I could use to claw my way out of this rigged mess before it buried me.

“Explain the Villainy Point system. Full breakdown.”

Pause. Processing.

“Villainy Points are awarded for behaviour consistent with your alignment: Corrupted Noble. Core gain conditions include: cruelty, violence, elitism, calculated betrayal, strategic manipulation, and expressions of social dominance. Secondary gains include verbal intimidation, psychological control, lies, threats, and humiliation. Villainy actions must remain contextually justified and narratively coherent. Non-aligned behaviour may result in reduced gains or System Penalties.”

“Penalties,” I repeated flatly. “You mean punishments for being off-script.”

“Correct.”

Because heaven forbid I act out of character. Wouldn’t want the murder simulator to feel inconsistent.

“Clarify: does violence include killing?” 

“Affirmative.”

“Does the victim have to be human?”

“No. The system recognises all high-threat kills as qualifying actions. However—”

"However what?" I asked impatiently.

“—the more brutal, painful, or fear-inducing the method, the more Villainy Points are awarded.”

Of course. The worse the kill, the better the grade.

I dragged a hand through my hair, leaving a smear of drying blood across my temple. It flaked at the edges. Crusted in my scalp like a crown I didn’t ask for.

“Right,” I muttered. “So bonus points for murder porn.”

The system did not respond.

“Next. Disposition. That percentage—‘25% Redemption’—can that number drop to zero?”

“Yes.”

“And what happens at zero?”

“You are considered narratively unredeemable. At 0% Redemption, all Redemption Routes are locked. Death becomes the only valid resolution.”

Just like that. One bad choice too many, and the story decides you don’t get to live.

“And if I hit 100% Cruelty Potential?”

“Increased aggression. Reduced empathy flags. Characters will react to you as if under heightened fear conditions. Certain skills and narrative branches will unlock. Please note: characters who reach 100% Cruelty Potential are no longer eligible for Redemption Paths unless triggered by extraordinary narrative circumstances.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose.

Translation?

Be too good and the system slaps you. Be too evil and it seals the door behind you.

Tight leash. Electrified collar.

“How do I raise stats?”

“Combat, dialogue, and narrative progression. Strength, Dexterity, Constitution and Charisma may increase through action or skill synergy. Intelligence and Magic Affinity may be increased through spellcasting, study, or advanced narrative choices. Rare stat boosts may be purchased with Villainy Points upon reaching a Title threshold.”

“Titles?”

“Awarded for exceptional behaviour. Milestones. Signature acts of villainy.”

So basically: perform evil with flair, and the system throws me a gold star.

“One more question.”

Silence answered. Like the system was holding its breath.

“What’s the exit clause?”

The voice came back softer this time. Like a scalpel sliding in.

“If, by the end of the assigned narrative, you demonstrate sustained growth, fulfil the Redemption criteria, and maintain narrative coherence… you may qualify for reintegration.”

I tilted my head, slow.

“Reintegration into what?”

“Return to the real world. Reintegration into society.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Death.”

No pause. No apology.
Just that word, flat as a line of code.

“Death within the simulation is final.”

There it was. The only truth that mattered.

I straightened, slowly. The movement pulled at the soaked fabric clinging to my skin. My palm brushed the front of the gown—red smears bloomed across the silk like a signature.

No do-overs. No restarts. No saviour codes tucked behind the curtain.

Just one line.

Play the part. Or die trying.

The blood on my hand was starting to dry in patches, tugging when I flexed my fingers. I scraped it away against the dresser’s edge and stared at the interface still glowing in front of me.

Six months to train.
To scheme.
To sharpen every edge.

And after that?

The performance begins.

No audience yet. No cameras. Not until the 180 days end.
Then it’s live.

Then I go public.

Their villainess. Their bloodied little monster.
Dressed up in silk and sins.
Ready to dance.

Unless I burn the script.

And write my own fucking lines.

I clenched my jaw. The joint cracked—sharp and deep, like a warning shot through bone. My fists curled until the scabs split. Fresh blood welled. I didn’t flinch.

Villainy Points for survival.

Skills unlocked through cruelty.

Every rule written to reward brutality.

And if I slipped?

If I hesitated, if I tried to be good?

Punished.

This wasn’t a second chance.
It was a performance review with knives.

And I knew every twist of it.

Because I helped write it.

Liliane Viermont wasn’t random. She was a puppet I helped string up. I designed her to bleed in beautiful ways. To suffer. To break. And to die. Always die. Sometimes for glory. Sometimes for guilt. Sometimes just to prove a point.

Every route dripped with rot.

Every ending? A masterpiece in collapse.

She was never meant to live.

And now?

She was wearing my face.

I pressed my bloody palm flat against the screen, eyes locked on the stat that defined me now:

Cruelty Potential: 75%.

A perfect score in the making.

Of course they chose her for me.

Because someone wanted me to suffer.

But I’m not her.

Not yet.

And I know if I ever start to forget?

I die.

My breath hitched once—then steadied.

Not fear.

Fury.

The kind that burns quiet. Focused. Patient. The kind that builds.

“This isn’t rehabilitation,” I said, voice like ice ground against stone.
“This is a fucking death sentence.”

The screen stayed where it was.
Glowing. Waiting. Watching.

Let it.

Let it track every breath, every twitch.

I wasn’t here to play nice.

I was here to win.

And if they wanted a villain?

I’d show them exactly what I built her to be.

But this time?

I choose who dies.