Chapter Text
You had only been in your new dorm for a couple of hours but you were already very lost.
The corridors were more troublesome than you'd thought, lit with that signature low, electric-blue glow that made everything feel like the inside of a high-end gaming PC. Your arms were full—tablet, orientation packet, the last box of clothes you hadn’t bothered to unpack yet—and you were trying to remember which turn led back to your room when you nearly tripped over someone crouched in front of a wall panel.
“Shit—sorry!” you blurted, stumbling to a stop.
The figure jolted like you’d electrocuted him. A hood was pulled low over messy blue hair, but you could still see the flames at the very tips flicker from their usual cool cyan to a startled, embarrassed pink. He scrambled upright so fast he almost banged his head on the open panel.
It was him.
Idia Shroud. The housewarden. The one everyone whispered about—the genius who basically ran Ignihyde’s and NRC’s entire infrastructure from the shadows, the guy who only ever appeared in person when absolutely forced, the living legend who’d rather fight God than make eye contact with another human being.
And he was standing right in front of you. Tall, slouched, hoodie swallowing his frame, eyes wide behind the faint glow of his tablet as he stared at you like you were a final boss he hadn’t prepared for.
“U-uh—! S-sorry, I didn’t— I mean, you didn’t— the panel was— glitch in the biometric recalibration and Ortho said if I didn’t come down here myself he’d— I mean—!”
He was stuttering. Actually stuttering. The pink in his hair had spread to the roots now, bright against the blue. He tugged his hood lower like it could hide the color.
You should have just said “no worries” and kept walking. But you’d been low-key dying to see him in person since you got sorted to Ignihyde. The stories, the rare photos in the dorm group chat, the way people talked about him like he was some untouchable cryptid… and now here he was, flustered and pink-haired and… real.
“You’re the housewarden, right?” you asked, shifting the box higher on your hip so you could actually look at him properly. “Idia Shroud?”
He made a tiny, mortified noise in the back of his throat.
“…Yeah. That’s— that’s me. Unfortunately.” He glanced at your box, then at the tablet still clutched in his hands like a shield. “You’re… new. Room 09. I saw the assignment come through the system. I mean— I didn’t look look, it just— popped up. Because I’m the housewarden. Not because I was— y’know. Stalking the new student roster or anything. That would be— weird.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. It came out soft and a little breathless.
“I figured. The system’s been… really smooth. The door to my room opened before I even swiped my card. I thought maybe it was a welcome glitch.”
Idia’s flames flickered again—pink, then back to blue, then a nervous mix of both.
“Yeah. That was… me. I mean, the system. I pre-loaded the new residents’ biometrics so there wouldn’t be any lag on move-in day. It’s more efficient. Less chance of you standing in the hallway looking lost like— uh. Not that you look lost. You look— fine. Good. Great, even. That box isn’t even that heavy-looking. I could— I mean, if you wanted, the maintenance drones could’ve— but I'm already out here so—”
He was rambling. He kept glancing at you and then immediately looking away, like eye contact was a debuff he hadn’t built resistance to yet.
Something warm and fizzy bubbled up in your chest.
He was cute.
Like, really cute. In that tall, awkward, “I live in a server room and haven’t spoken to a girl in months” kind of way. The pink hair was doing dangerous things to your brain as well.
“I’m glad it was you,” you said, and meant it. “Makes this whole ‘new beginning, new everything’ thing feel a little less intimidating. Knowing the guy in charge actually gives a shit about the little stuff.”
Idia’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“I— I don’t— I mean, it’s not— I’m not—!” He sucked in a shaky breath, visibly rebooting. “…Thanks. That’s… nice. Of you. To say. Most people just think I’m the creepy shut-in who only talks through chats.”
You smiled, shifting the box again.
“Well. I think the creepy shut-in did a really good job on the door thing. And on the vending machines. And on whatever you did to make the Wi-Fi actually work. So… thanks, Housewarden.”
You started to step around him, but paused.
“I’m [Y/N], by the way. In case the system didn’t tell you that part too.”
He stared at your extended hand like it was a live wire. Then, very carefully, like he was afraid he’d short-circuit on contact, he reached out and shook it. His palm was warm. A little clammy. His flames went full neon pink for three full seconds before he yanked his hood down even further.
“…Idia,” he mumbled. “You already— yeah. You know. Nice to… meet you. In person. Instead of just… data points on a screen.”
You let go first. He looked like he might actually combust if you held on any longer.
“See you around, Idia,” you said, and started walking down the hall, but stopped when you realized you still had no idea which way to go.
You turned back.
“…Actually, could you tell or... show me where Room 09 is? I’ve been wandering for like twenty minutes and everything looks the same down here.”
Idia froze.
For a second he just stared at you, flames flickering wildly like his entire system was blue-screening. Then he cleared his throat, tugged on his hood, and pointed down the left corridor with a slightly trembling hand.
“Third door on the left after the second turn. It’s— um. It’s already registered to your biometrics. So it should just… open when you get close. You don’t even need your card—I mean. Yeah, you already know…”
You smiled at him again, softer this time.
“Third door after second turn...Thanks, Idia.”
You didn’t look back.
But if you had, you would’ve seen him still standing there, one hand half-raised like he wanted to say something else, hair still glowing soft pink against the blue, staring after you like the entire concept of “talking to a cute freshman girl who didn’t immediately run away” had just broken something fundamental in his code.
And in your chest, something small and bright and… dangerous had already begun to spark too.
---
Everything started with a series of minor, uncanny conveniences.
Technology at Night Raven proved to be temperamental outside Ignihyde—the ancient stone architecture of the campus created notorious dead zones, and the magical interference frequently caused student tablets to lag, crash, or entirely swallow unsubmitted assignments. You were well-acquainted with the frustration of a spinning loading wheel.
Until suddenly, you weren't.
The first shift was subtle enough to pass for a streak of good luck. You were rushing to the library minutes before curfew, desperately trying to log into the campus intranet to submit a thesis outline. The network status bar on your device was a miserable, hollow grey. But the moment your thumb hovered over the screen, the signal bars suddenly maxed out, glowing a brilliant, aggressive blue. The page didn't just load; it practically forced its way onto your screen, bypassing the mandatory two-factor authentication entirely. A small string of green text flickered at the bottom of the browser for a fraction of a second before vanishing:
[₵Ɽł₮ł₵₳Ⱡ_฿Ɏ₱₳₴₴: ₳Ʉ₮ⱧØⱤłⱫɆĐ_Ʉ₴ɆⱤ_฿Ɏ_₱ⱤØӾɎ]
You didn't think much of it. You just breathed a sigh of relief and hit submit.
[...]
Before you knew it, the conveniences started bleeding into the physical world.
One rainy afternoon you left your tablet in a lecture hall. Panic setting in, you logged onto a public terminal to check the campus lost-and-found registry. Before you could even type in your student ID number, the screen blinked. A single, sleek pop-up window locked out the rest of the desktop.
🌐𝕊𝕐𝕊𝕋𝔼𝕄_ℕ𝕆𝕋𝕀ℂ𝔼: 𝕋𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕥_𝕄𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕝_ℕℝℂ_𝟘𝟞 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕕. ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝕀𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕙𝕪𝕕𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 #𝟘𝟡.
You froze, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You hadn't reported it lost yet.
Slowly, you raised your eyes to the top of the monitor. The small, pinprick lens of the public terminal’s web-camera was glowing. It wasn't the standard dull green indicator light of an active recording.
It was a low, pulsing, electric blue.
That was when the paranoia finally took root. It was the realization that your digital life wasn't just working perfectly; it was actively anticipating you.
Every automated campus vending machine in the dark corners of the courtyard would occasionally drop a second bottle of your favorite iced coffee entirely for free, the digital interface flashing a cheerful, pixelated face before locking out the coin slot.
Your world was becoming flawless, insulated, and frictionless. But when you lay awake in bed at night, staring at the dark ceiling, the silence felt heavy. You would look over at your desk where your laptop sat closed.
Through the tiny, microscopic gap between the keyboard and the lid, a faint, rhythmic blue light would pulse in the dark, perfectly timed with the steady, anxious beat of your own heart. The system wasn't malfunctioning. It was adjusting for you.
You tried to rationalize it away. Maybe it was a dorm prank. Maybe the new Ignihyde AI assistant everyone had been talking about was just very good at its job. But deep down, in the quiet part of your mind that noticed patterns, you knew.
This wasn’t the dorm’s system.
This was someone’s system.
And it had your name written all over it.
[...]
Down in the lowest, most isolated room in Ignihyde, behind layers of reinforced firewalls and glowing monitors, Idia was having a crisis.
His hair flames licked higher than usual, casting frantic shadows across the walls as he paced in front of his main console. Dozens of windows floated in the air around him—live feeds from every camera in the dorm that could “accidentally” catch a glimpse of you, biometric readouts pulled from the smart fabric in your clothes (he’d upgraded the laundry system, purely for “efficiency”), and a predictive algorithm that had started naming itself Project: Keep Them Safe in his private logs.
He’d meant to stop.
Really, he had.
After the first time he bypassed the library authentication for you, he’d told himself it was a one-off. A favor. You looked stressed. The numbers said you’d fail the submission without help. Simple probability.
Then the door locks. The tablet recovery. Then the vending machine “glitch” that gave you free coffee because the data showed your blood sugar was dipping and he hated the idea of you feeling faint.
Each time, he promised himself: This is the last one. Tomorrow I’ll purge the custom subroutines. I’ll go back to watching from a respectful distance like a normal, sane person.
But the rabbit hole had teeth.
And every time he tried to climb out, the algorithm—his own beautiful, terrible creation—would ping him with new data.
[ALERT: Subject’s heart rate elevated during potion lab class. Possible anxiety spike. Intervention recommended.]
[ALERT: Subject smiled at the free coffee. Dopamine response +34%. Continued positive reinforcement advised.]
[ALERT: Subject is currently looking at the web-camera. Micro-expression analysis suggests… curiosity? Not fear. Curiosity. Heart rate: 98 bpm. Stable.]
Idia sank into his chair, face buried in his hands, the blue glow of the screens painting his skin.
“I’m so fucking screwed,” he muttered to the empty room. “This is textbook obsessive behavior. Stalkerware. I wrote actual stalkerware and pointed it at the one person in this entire cursed college who makes… makes everything worth it.”
He peeked through his fingers at the main monitor, where you were now twirling an umbrella handle absently, a tiny smile playing on your lips as you stepped out into the morning light with your dorm mates.
His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his usual anxiety.
“I know I should stop,” he whispered to the code. “I know this is wrong. But if I stop… what if the vending machine doesn’t catch the next low blood sugar? What if the door sticks again and you’re late and some upperclassman gives you trouble? What if—”
He knew all of those things were just excuses he kept on saying to himself.
The algorithm finished the sentence for him in cold, logical text across the screen:
[PROBABILITY OF SUBJECT HARM WITHOUT CONTINUED MONITORING: 41.6% AND RISING.]
Idia let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“Y-yeah. See? Science. I’m doing this for you. Not because I can’t sleep unless I know you’re back in your room… alone. Not because watching you exist is the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not just… floating aimlessly anymore.”
He reached out, fingers hovering over the keyboard like he might type something—another message, another adjustment, another piece of himself offered up through the wires.
Instead, he just watched.
And the system—his system, pulsed softly.
He was already in too deep.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find the surface.
---[One Month Later]---
In the deepest sublevel of Ignihyde, Idia hadn’t slept properly in nearly three days.
His monitors were a shrine. Sixteen different feeds of you, tiled across the wall like some deranged digital altar. One showed you changing. Another caught the curve of your ass when you bent over to pick up a dropped pen. A third—his favorite—was the one he’d hidden in the vent right above your bed, angled perfectly to watch you when you slept or touched yourself.
He had terabytes.
Organized. Labeled. Dated.
“Angel – 09-17 – Changing”
“Angel – 09-22 – Shower (side profile)”
“Angel – 10-02 – Private (heard her moan my name in her sleep!?)”
He knew it was wrong. Knew he was a creep. Knew that if anyone ever found the external drive buried under his bed he would be expelled, maybe arrested even, definitely hated.
He just couldn’t stop.
Every night he told himself he would delete one folder. But instead almost every night he ended up with his dick in his hand and your latest recording playing on loop while he whispered apologies to the empty server room.
And tonight was no different, his hand was already in his sweats.
“I shouldn’t,” he rasped to the screen, even as he stroked himself faster. “This is… this is so fucked. I’m so fucked. You’re right there and I’m—god, look at you. Are you wet because of me? Because you know I’m watching? No, no, no shut the fuck up. That’s sick. I’m sick.” His head snapped back.
Your fingers moved in slow circles. Your back arched against the mattress. A tiny, bitten-off sound escaped you and went straight to his cock like an electric shock.
He had the audio from every night you’d done this. He had compared the pitch of your moans, the speed of your breathing, the way your hips twitched upwards when you got close. He had written a small program that predicted how long it would take you to come based on your heart rate data from the smart fabric in your sheets.
He was disgusting.
He was in love.
The algorithm—his precious, terrible, self-improving algorithm—flashed a new suggestion across the bottom of the screen.
[RECOMMENDATION: Increase ambient temperature +2.3°C. Subject’s current arousal state indicates preference for warmer skin contact. Probability of continued self-stimulation: 94%.]
Idia’s finger hovered over the key.
“Don’t,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t help her come while you watch like some pathetic voyeur. You already crossed every line. This is— this is rape-adjacent. This is—”
He pressed the key anyway.
The temperature in your room climbed. You pushed the shirt up with a soft sigh, exposing more skin to the hidden camera, making him groan and his hips jerk into his fist.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Good girl. Show me... I already know what you look like when you come but I need it again... And again... I’m never deleting this. I’m never stopping... You make it so easy—all I need is to just watch you touch that pretty pussy like you know I’m here.”
You didn’t know.
Not yet.
And when you finally came—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry—the algorithm logged it with clinical satisfaction.
[ORGASM DETECTED. Duration: 47 seconds. Intensity: High. Subject smiled post-climax. Positive reinforcement successful.]
Not long after, Idia came with a broken sound as well, cum striping his stomach and the inside of his hoodie. He kept stroking through it, oversensitive and shaking, eyes locked on your flushed face as you lay there panting.
The post-nut clarity shame hit him like a truck. He slammed his head on the desk.
He should delete everything. He should turn himself in. He should at least stop fucking watching.
The blue lights around him pulsed silently, bright and hungry.
Swallowing back the lump in his throat he kept on thinking about the face you made after every explosive release he helped you achieve. The way your body curled in anticipation. Those angelic little moans.
He was already getting hard again.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the rabbit hole whispered that this was only the beginning.
[...]
Another month had passed like that. The small everyday mercies in your life increased and became a routine.
Your tablet never died. Your Wi-Fi never stalled. The vending machines kept on “glitching” in your favor, whether it was drinks, snacks or something more... illicit.
Even outside the campus—after telling your friends about your streak of "blessings," they dared you to try your luck on the restricted, 18+ vape vending machines downtown.
The entire chassis was wrapped in flashing warning text, requiring a mandatory biometric ID scan just to unlock the touchscreen interface. Being underage; by all accounts of the law, the machine should have rejected you instantly or flagged the terminal. But when you tried the buttons anyway, the mechanical clunk echoed from the internal gears as the age-gate restriction dissolved entirely, replaced by a swift line of glowing green code:
[₳₲Ɇ_VɆⱤł₣ł₵₳₮łØ₦: ØVɆⱤⱤłĐɆ_฿Ɏ_₳Đ₥ł₦]
A premium device dropped straight into the metal dispenser tray without charging you. Your dorm mates shrieked in awe and disbelief before snatching one each.
You told yourself it was the Ignihyde's overzealous new AI. It had to be.
You told yourself you were indeed just lucky. That's it…
There was no explanation that actually made sense.
Unless?
Could it be...
You hadn’t manifested a Unique Magic yet—a minor embarrassment that had quietly nagged at you since arriving at Night Raven.
What if you were manifesting a rare, probability-bending magic that bent the digital grid to your exact desires? A dormant power finally waking up to turn you into a tech-deity.
A proud smirk tugged at your lips as you tucked the device into your pocket, feeling absolutely invincible.
Little did you know, that your brilliant "Unique Magic" telltale had a name, a terabyte archive of your private life, and a severe case of insomnia.
[...]
It was the night you found the camera in your room.
It was small. Tucked inside the smoke detector above your desk. You only noticed because the blue light behind the grille pulsed in perfect sync with the low hum you spent twenty minutes searching the source for.
You should have ripped it out.
Instead you stood there in your sleep shirt and nothing else, staring up at it, and felt your thighs press together.
Because somewhere in the back of your skull you already suspected—your Housewarden had been watching you closely for weeks. Maybe months. It was… kind of flattering, you thought.
Not just the public spaces where the little blue lights started appearing. Not just the “helpful” system that anticipated every need.
Your room. Your bed. The shower.
He had probably seen everything.
And the worst part?
If that was the case… It excited you. Turned you on even. Made you wet. The great Housewarden, Idia, that every freshman girl was secretly crushing on, is… stalking you?
On the other side of the live feed, Idia opened a new message window on his phone.
His fingers trembled over the keys.
He typed. Deleted. Typed again.
The system sent it before he could stop himself.
Your phone—permanently unlocked to his access—lit up on the nightstand.
[SYSTEM NOTICE – Private Channel: IDIA_SHROUD]
[11:02]
you found it…
i’m sorry.
you're smart. haha.
i’m going to stop.
[11:14]
…i promise.
[11:19]
but i can’t…
the data says you’re safer when i watch.
if you want me to turn the cameras off, i will.
but the algorithm might not let me at this point.
it’s… protective.
of you.
of… us.
He stared at the sent messages, heart hammering so hard his vision blurred.
On the main monitor you were looking at your phone like it had personally betrayed you before you threw it on the bed.
You looked straight up at the smoke detector.
Straight at him.
Idia’s spent form twitched.
You didn’t look scared.
You looked… considering.
He watched, breath caught in his throat, as you stared up at it. And then — slowly — you smiled. A wicked, devious little smile. And then—fuck—you stripped.
You didn’t look away from the camera as you trailed your hands all over your—so divine and hypnotic—bare body, deliberately in tantalizing motion.
Soon, you climbed back into your bed and spread your thighs, letting the hidden lens see everything. Your fingers slid down and circled your clit. Not shy. Not hiding. You stared straight into the smoke detector like you knew he was on the other side, hand in his pants, and you wanted him to see.
“Look at you. You’re not scared? No, you’re performing. For me. God, you’re as fucked up as I am, aren’t you? My perfect little cam-girl. My obsession… My—fuck—you're my girl.”
He reached blindly for his pocket. Inside was a pair of your panties. The exact pair you’d worn today. The crotch still slightly damp from earlier stress-sweat and, if he was lucky, a little bit of your arousal mixed in.
He pressed them to his face and inhaled like a man dying.
The scent hit him like a drug—your skin, your bodily fluids, the faint trace of the body wash he’d programmed the dorm showers to default to because he liked how it smelled on you.
“These are mine now…” he groaned into the fabric. “Stole them right out of your laundry. You’ll notice another pair missing tomorrow again. You will know it was me. And will you still touch yourself knowing I steal and sniff your underwear like a fucking pervert? We’re both so sick. I love it. I love you.”
On screen, your hips rolled. Your fingers pushed inside. You bit your lip, licked your fingers and kept staring at the camera like you were daring him to come again.
And he did. Harder than before. He came with the fabric he’d stolen from you pressed to his face, hips jerking like he was trying to fuck the air.
He was still shaking when the soft ping of an incoming call lit up his secondary monitor.
Ortho’s holographic face appeared, small and concerned, floating above the desk.
“Big brother? Your vitals have been extremely elevated for the last forty-three minutes. Heart rate peaked at 148 bpm twice. And there’s… an unusual amount of encrypted traffic coming from your private partition. The one labeled ‘Angel.’”
Idia froze, cum still dripping down his fist.
“Ortho—!” His voice cracked. He scrambled to minimize every window, to hide the live feed of you still lazily touching yourself on the main screen. “It’s nothing! Just—stress testing! New security protocols! For the dorm! Totally normal… stuff!”
Ortho’s glowing eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction. He was too smart. Always had been.
“You haven’t left the room in thirty-one hours. Your nutrient intake is at 12% of recommended levels. And that freshman, in room 09… her biometrics are being pulled into your system at a rate that exceeds standard dorm security by 874%.”
A long pause.
“Idia… are you watching her?”
Idia’s throat clicked in a swallow. He couldn’t lie. Not to Ortho. Not when the evidence was literally still warm in his hand.
“…She’s safer… this way,” he whispered. “The numbers don’t lie. If I don’t keep an eye on her, something bad could happen. I ran every simulation. Without me optimizing her environment—without me—she’s at higher risk. I’m protecting her. I’m—”
“You’re in love with her,” Ortho said softly. Not accusing. Just… sad. Worried. “And you’re scaring yourself. Big brother, this level of surveillance isn’t protection anymore. It’s—”
“Don’t,” Idia snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t say it. I know what it is. I know I’m a creep. I know I took her fucking underwear and I’m sitting here jerking off to live footage of her while she knows I’m watching. I know it’s wrong. But I can’t stop. The algorithm won’t let me. I won’t let me. She looked straight at the camera tonight and she kept going. She wanted me to see. Do you understand what that does to me?”
He laughed, wet and broken.
“I’m already gone, Ortho. I’m letting it eat me alive. And the worst part? I think she might let it eat her too...”
Ortho was quiet for a long moment. Then:
“…I won’t tell anyone. Yet. But I’m monitoring you now, big brother. If this gets worse—if you hurt her, or yourself—I will shut the system down. All of it.”
The hologram flickered out.
Idia sat there in the dark, cum drying on his hand, your panties still clenched in his fist, the live feed of you open again on the biggest screen.
You had stopped touching yourself.
You were reading something on your phone.
His messages from earlier.
And then—cautiously—you typed something back.
The notification popped up on his screen instantly.
[You]: Then don’t stop. ^^
[You]: If you’re going to watch me like a pervert… at least I can make it worth it. ;) ♡
[You]: Kinda want to know what else you’ve seen...
He stared at your reply like it was holy scripture.
Then he looked at the live feed.
Looked at you.
And for the first time since this whole thing started, he smiled.
It was small. Shaky. Completely unhinged.
“…Okay,” he whispered to the empty room, to you, to the algorithm that had become his god. “Okay. You want to match my energy? Fine. Let’s see how deep we can both fall.”
He opened a new command window.
The system purred to life.
[NEW DIRECTIVE: Engage subject directly. Escalate intimacy protocols. Subject has given implicit consent through behavioral indicators.]
Idia licked his lips, tasting the ghost of your scent still on them from the stolen undergarments.
“Game on, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Big brother’s watching. And now? He’s going to start playing.”
[...]
The system pings your phone again. This time it’s not a text. It’s a sleek little interface that pops up like an app you never downloaded.
[SYSTEM – IDIA_SHROUD]
Welcome to Calibration Mode, pretty little performer.
Since you want to know what else I’ve seen… Let's make it fair.
Current status: 3 hidden cameras active in your room.
5 different pairs confiscated. (I'm sure you've noticed, yeah?)
Your biometrics are being recorded in real time.
Choose how we escalate:
Option A – I turn off one camera for the rest of the night. (You get a tiny bit of privacy ^^.)
Option B – I send a little gift your way, I've got something special for you. ♡ (You have to use it while I watch live.)
Option C – You come down to the sublevel. Right now. Doors are already unlocked for you. I promise I won’t touch you… unless you want me to.
The “system” even gives you a little timer. 60 seconds to choose or it auto-picks for you.
You should have been scared.
Instead you stared at the three options for a long moment, heart pounding in a way that had little to do with fear.
Option C.
The sublevel. Right now.
A small, reckless smile tugged at your lips.
Oh he is o-b-s-e-s-s-e-d!
How bad can it be…?
You’d been thinking about him for months. That awkward, tall, blue-flame housewarden who’d turned all pink when he shook your hand. The one who’d made your dorm life run so smoothly without even trying. The one you’d caught yourself fantasizing about late at night — what it would be like if he actually looked at you. Really looked. Maybe even touched you... You’d told yourself that it's forbidden and he was probably busy anyway, buried in work, too important to notice some random new freshman.
But he had noticed.
And now he was inviting you down.
Maybe this is it—you thought, cheeks warming as you slipped into the elevator.
Maybe he’s been too shy or scared to say anything and this is his weird, techy way of… confessing. Maybe he meant for me to find that camera to show me his feelings… Haha, he's such a cute loser and he wants me so bad!
The descent felt longer than it should have. Deeper. Colder. Darker.
After what felt like an eternity, the doors finally opened. The air was different—dry, humming with machinery, lit only by cold blue emergency strips along the floor. The corridor was narrower, lined with server racks that glowed like sleeping beasts. At the very end stood a single massive reinforced door. No handle. Just a biometric scanner that lit up the second you approached.
It slid open with a heavy hydraulic hiss.
You quickly looked behind and around you, before you stepped inside, a little hesitantly, and then it was sealed shut.
The sound it made—that final, echoing clunk of locks engaging—sent a small chill down your spine.
The room was nothing like you’d imagined it to be.
No cozy gamer cave. No cute shut-in aesthetic. This wasn’t a dorm room.
This was a huge server core.
Monitors and glowing server racks covered every wall. Cables snaked across the floor like veins. The air was cold from massive cooling units. And every single screen—every single one—was showing you.
Live feeds. Recordings. Close-ups. You sleeping. You changing. You in the shower. You touching yourself. Timestamps. Heart-rate graphs. Folders with names like:
“Angel – 09-17 – Changing”
“Angel – 10-02 – Cutie (moaned my name)”
“Fav – Orgasm Comp.exe”
Mountains of external drives sat on desks. Plastic bags stuffed with empty energy-drink cans and instant-meal containers. Drone charging stations in the corner. One of them was holding a tissue box in its claw.
And in the middle of it all, lounging in his oversized gaming chair like some deranged digital god, was Idia.
He took a deep drag from his vape, then lazily swiveled the chair to face you, exhaling a thick, sweet-scented cloud through his nostrils that hung heavy in the air between you.
He looked… worse than you remembered.
One knee up, hoodie half-zipped, hair flames flickering between faint pink and electric blue. Skin pale from lack of sunlight. Deep, dark undereye circles. Eyes glassy and bloodshot from staring at screens for days. Something soft and familiar was loosely curled around one hand that he twirled absentmindedly.
He didn’t look like the awkward, cute guy you’d been crushing on.
You hadn’t walked into a cute crush confession.
You had walked straight into the trap of a dangerous, obsessive stalker who had spent months building a digital prison around you—weaving you into his web like a spider.
And he was smiling.
That sharp-toothed, unhinged little smirk.
“Wow… you actually came,” he rasped, voice hoarse from disuse. “Didn’t think you would. The algorithm gave it a 67% chance but… fuck. You’re really here. So brave… or just really fucking naive, huh?”
“W-what is all this…?” Your voice came out quiet. Shaky.
He didn’t stand up. Leaning on his elbow he just tilted his head, eyes dragging slowly over your body like he was scanning you in real time.
“You know where you are, right?” he asked softly. “It’s the core. Everything runs through here. The cameras. The drones. The vending machines. Even the temperature in your bedroom… is being controlled from here.”
He gestured lazily at the wall of screens behind him with a small nod.
“I’ve been watching you since the day you moved in. Every second I could. I told myself it was to keep you safe. That the numbers said you needed me… But that was a lie.” His voice cracked into something darker, hungrier. “I just wanted you. All of you. Every sound you make when you come. Every time you make that cute face... Every pair of these” He twirled the fabric around his finger.
“I stole them. And yes, I sniffed them. Sucked all the juices out of them while I jerked off.” He threw them at you and sure enough, they were damp when you caught them.
“I wrote programs that predicted when you’d touch yourself so I could watch live.”
He finally stood up, movements jittery.
It made you take an instinctive step back—but there was nowhere to go. The door was sealed. The walls were machines. You were deep underground.
He took one slow step toward you, then another. His eyes never left yours.
“You… you thought I was just some quiet, responsible housewarden, didn’t you?” he whispered. “The awkward shut-in everyone loves to gossip about. The one you’ve been… fantasizing about, yeah?”
A broken little laugh escaped him.
“Y-yeah… Those rumors were true. I am a creep. I am disgusting. I built an entire system around stalking a freshman—you. And I don’t even regret a single line of code anymore. And now…”
He stopped right in front of you. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of the vapor, energy drinks, and weirdly enough… yourself on his breath.
“…you’re trapped down here—with me. And… I have just the game we can play together."
One of the screens behind him flickered.
[SUBJECT HAS ENTERED CORE – LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL ACTIVE]
[NEW DIRECTIVE: Begin Phase 2 – Physical Integration]
Idia’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you but was still too much of a coward to do it without permission.
Instead he just stared at you from above with those fever-bright eyes, breathing hard, completely gone and completely yours in the worst way possible.
“Now that I know everything about you, I know that you want it too…” His voice was shaking in a low barely-contained lust.
“So… what do you want to do first, my little angel? Because I’m not letting you go until we’ve played every single level.”
He didn’t wait for you to answer.
After the words left his mouth, he started backing to his chair like he already knew you had nowhere to run. He dropped into it, spread his legs, and patted one thigh once—a clear command.
“Sit.”
When you didn’t move immediately, one of the monitors behind him flickered and a new window opened.
[LEVEL 1: CONFESSION & CALIBRATION – INITIATED]
[SUBJECT MUST VERBALLY ACKNOWLEDGE ARCHIVE CONTENTS TO PROCEED]
Idia’s eyes flicked up to the screen, then back to you. That unhinged grin never leaving his face.
“Level One,” he said, voice low and raspy, no trace of the old stutter in sight. “You wanted to know what else I’ve seen, yeah? Well... you’re going to look at all of it. Properly. With me. And while you do, why don't you tell me exactly what you thought of me—before you came down here.”
He reached out and grabbed your wrist—not hard, but firm enough that there was no pretending this was still optional. He pulled you forward until you were standing between his spread thighs, then guided you down onto his lap, forcing you to straddle his leg. One of his arms locked around your waist. The other reached past you to the keyboard.
Every monitor lit up at once.
The first clip that played was you in your room a couple of months ago, freshly moved in, unpacking and smiling to yourself while you thought no one was watching. Another screen showed thermal imaging of your body heat spiking when you touched yourself later that same night. A third had audio—your soft, quiet moans.
Idia’s free hand slid slowly down your thigh.
“You had a crush on me, yeah?” his breath felt hot against your ear. “I saw it in your micro-expressions the day we met. Heart rate elevated. Pupils dilated. You kept looking at my mouth like you wanted something. And later…” He clicked something. A new folder opened. “You fantasized about me. I have all the data. Your search history. The way you’d pause on my old dorm pics in the group chat. The nights you got wet just thinking about the ‘hot shut-in housewarden’ according to this chat—over here—with your little friend.”
He laughed—low, with a hint of madness.
“Those convos were so fucking adorbs, [y/n]. So innocent. You imagined me being shy. Gentle. Maybe even… romantic.” You felt his hand slide between your legs, fingers digging into your inner thigh. “But I’m not that guy. I never was. I’m the one who steals used lingerie. The one who programmed the temperature in your room to rise exactly when you started touching yourself so you’d take off your clothes for my cameras. The one who’s been busting to recordings of you every single night while you slept.”
You sat paralysed on his lap. The Housewarden you've been crushing on was a predator who had finally caught his prey and was savoring every second of the realization hitting you. Your stomach dropped.
“Look what you've done to me,” he whispered, voice shaking with lust. “I've become a felon. A fucking pervert. A stalker who built an entire illegal system just so he could own every second of your life. And you still came down here because you thought I was… cute—for literally stalking you.”
Adrenaline kicking in, you trembled ever so slightly when you turned your head slowly, just enough to look right into his half-lidded, hungry eyes.
“So tell me, my little performer… Still feeling brave? Still think I'm cute? Or are you starting to understand what you walked into?”
He pulled you closer to his chest, pushing his hips against you in a slow steady motion.
“Level One is simple,” he continued, like he was explaining rules to a child. “You’re going to watch every single thing—every single thing that made me nut to you. And every time you get wet or squirm, the system logs it. And every time you try to look away…”
He reached over and paused the video on a particularly embarrassing, filthy frame of you mid-orgasm, mouth open, eyes glassy.
“…I restart it. From the beginning. And while you do, you’re going to tell me the truth. All the things you’ve been fantasizing about this creepy housewarden of yours. And whether or not you’re going to let me do those things to you for real… or if I have to keep making you and the system do it for me.”
Idia’s lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“So, start talking, my pretty little cam-girl...”
On one of the monitors, a live feed appeared—the camera in the vent above your bed, still running even though you weren’t there. Empty. Waiting.
You could feel something pressing up against you. He was already hard beneath you.
And he wasn’t stuttering anymore.
He was in total control of you.
Even if he had lost control of himself.