17/08/2023
Heartbeat stands frozen by the window.
Eyes locked onto a pulsating string—a volatile concoction of colours representing anguish, fear, and anger. This connection ties two people in the room: Watson and Mel "Melody".
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Sherl Holmes, always observant, catches both Heartbeat's distress and the string's erratic dance. "Heartbeat," they beckon in their characteristically calm voice, "What do you see?"
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Heartbeat hesitates, "It's... transformative. I've never witnessed a connection so tumultuous."
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Watson, unaware of his own emotional storm and the tie binding him to Melody, is inexplicably drawn to a mysterious box on the grand table. It's sealed with an unfamiliar emblem, yet emits a soft, yet chilling lullaby. As if in a trance, he's compelled to approach.
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Melody, always composed but with a hint of urgency, murmurs to Sherl, "That's the Pandora, an artifact I was tasked to secure."
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Suddenly, the room's atmosphere drops to a bone-chilling cold. The box's lullaby intensifies, becoming an irresistible siren song for Watson.
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Sherl tries to intervene, shouting, "Watson, STOP!" But Watson's hand is already on the lid.
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The instant it opens, a horrifying wail—resembling the cries of countless lost souls—floods the room. A vortex of nightmarish figures, grotesque with elongated, clawed limbs and indistinguishable faces, emerge. They seem to be drawn to the glowing strings that Heartbeat perceives, greedily feeding on the emotions.
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The bond between Watson and Melody blazes a fiery red, attracting one creature which lunges, ensnaring the connection. Watson's terrified screams pierce the air as he's lifted, the creature gorging on his palpable fear, with Melody's connection acting as a magnetic force.
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Finding inner strength, Heartbeat steps up, their own aura shining valiantly. "Focus on love, on the bonds! Repel the shadows!" they cry out, seeking to rally the group.
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Sherl, ever the strategist, quickly commands, "Melody, sing! Distract them with your voice!"
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Melody begins a riveting tune, their voice seeming to harmonize with the strings, making them shimmer and shine more intensely. The creatures recoil, the luminous bonds now acting as repellent barriers.
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Watson, struggling in the clutches of the ghoul, pleads, "Sherl... help me..."
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Heartbeat channels all their energy, intensifying the web of connections. The room becomes a dazzling display of colors, each bond fighting against the engulfing abyss.
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Sherl, without hesitation, wields a family heirloom—a dagger, rumoured to slice through the densest darkness. They lunge, severing the creature's hold on Watson.
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With Melody's enchanting vocals, Heartbeat's magnified connections, and Sherl's bold rescue, the room begins to clear. The menacing vortex is sucked back into the Pandora, which snaps shut on its own.
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A distraught Watson, now profoundly aware of his deep bond with Melody, surveys the aftermath of their battle. The once chaotic strings are now serene, the storm past, but its memory will forever haunt them.
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Holding the now-sealed Pandora, Sherl declares somberly, "This menace needs to remain hidden. Forever."
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Heartbeat, weary but resolute, nods, the burden of emotions ever present.
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Sherl: In this dimly illuminated penthouse, where LoveLink City's neon pulse interrupts the shadows, a riddle lays bare before me. Oh Heartbeat, you, a symbol of stability, why does your gaze linger upon that peculiar connection—vibrant and volatile—between Watson and young Melody?
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A box, seemingly innocuous, yet its melancholy tune beckons with an allure that even Watson, stalwart as he is, cannot resist. Ah, Melody, your whispered urgency reveals its name—the Pandora. The very utterance brings with it tales of doom, whispered in hushed corridors. "Beware," they said, "of that which you cannot fathom."
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Its siren song grows deafening; Watson's fate seems sealed. The darkness it spills forth—those grotesque forms, their wails echoing the pain of lost souls—is chillingly familiar. But every abyss has a glimmer, doesn't it? Melody, your dulcet tones, can they not weave a protective shroud against this onslaught? And Heartbeat, amplify their emotions; make them shine brighter, repel the shadows.
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Watson’s plight, his entrapment, is a sight most vexing. In my lineage, there lies a weapon—a dagger, whispered to cleave through the very fabric of the abyss. Can I not wield it, sever the cruel grip?
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As the last of those malevolent entities are ensnared back into the Pandora, the weight of our ordeal lingers heavily in the silence. But let it be known, in LoveLink City, against the shadows that dare to rise, we shall always stand undeterred.
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Ah, but the game... the game is ceaselessly afoot.
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Heartbeat: Watson, darling, you've got that same forlorn connection when you run out of your moustache wax, only now it's magnified by a box playing the blues. Do you have an affair with every melodramatic object in town?
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Watson: Only the ones that promise me an exciting skirmish, Heartbeat. That box is like when I was stationed in the Sahara—looks empty and harmless but full of unexpected challenges. And let's be honest, you saw those shadows—it was practically a warzone in here.
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Sherl: Watson, your bravery, or dare I say, foolishness? It's like Kafka wrote a tragicomedy and you, my dear friend, are the unwitting protagonist. By the by, do you remember when you tried to 'deduce' what was inside a Kinder Surprise? The abyss of chocolate.
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Heartbeat: Oh Sherl, the only thing more complex than your deductions is your sense of humor. But honestly, Watson, next time you want to 'connect' with something, maybe try Tinder? At least those boxes come with clear warning labels. *Swipe left on Pandora.*
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Watson: I tell ya. First, the abyss, now dating apps? Maybe I should just start a support group. 'Objects That Tempt Watson Anonymous'. We’d meet at a decoy box on Tuesdays.
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Sherl: Ah, Watson, I once read about the allure of objects in a dusty tome. But this? This is like Dante's Divine Comedy, only you're stuck perpetually in Inferno, circling around insatiable curiosity.
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Heartbeat: Speaking of circles, Sherl, you ever notice how your deductions go round and round? It's like a merry-go-round, only the horse is your ego.
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Watson: Heartbeat, with the number of emotional connections you juggle, you could start your own circus. I'd pay to see 'Heartbeat: The Emotional Ringmaster'.
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Sherl: Heartbeat, if Watson's the ringmaster, does that make me the intellectual bearded lady? Wait, don't answer that.
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Heartbeat: Sherl, between your eclectic references and Watson's unwavering knack for finding trouble, it's a wonder I have any emotional bandwidth left. But then again, where would you two be without my vibrancy? Probably still figuring out that Pandora was, in fact, a box and not a music streaming service.
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Watson: Well, if it played better tunes and fewer doom songs, I might have subscribed.
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Sherl: Indeed, Watson, but remember, without the shadows, the light wouldn't have its poetic charm. Now, where's that dagger? I believe there's a subscription box we need to cancel...
You know, Watson, in all our convoluted adventures, you’ve certainly been the master of poor choices. I recall that time in the brothel when you tried to 'connect' with that blow-up doll named Delilah. Quite the spectacle.
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Watson: Oh, come off it, Sherl. At least I have the guts to venture out of my comfort zone. Not like you, who'd probably write a ten-page thesis on the pros and cons of a one-night stand. If you could even manage to get one.
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Heartbeat: Well, if we're airing our dirty laundry—Sherl, remember when I felt that flustered connection as you tried to impress that barista with your 'deductive skills'? 'Oh, based on the stain on your apron, you must have had oat milk for breakfast.' Really? You sounded like a third-rate magician.
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Sherl: For your information, Heartbeat, it worked! We had three dates. And I deduced she was cheating on me with a soy milk enthusiast. A travesty! Soy, of all things.
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Watson: Soy-rry to hear that, Sherl. But speaking of cheating, Heartbeat, don’t think I missed that little scarlet thread of romance between you and that villain, Lustrous. Talk about playing with fire. Or should I say, playing with heartstrings?
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Heartbeat: At least Lustrous *has* heartstrings. Unlike some emotionally constipated army doctors I know. And for the record, we broke it off after I found them connecting with four others simultaneously. Even I have my limits.
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Sherl: Multitasking, the bane of the modern romantic. But honestly, Watson, your dalliance with Pandora might've just topped all our escapades. Opening the bloody Pandora, releasing all sorts of horrors. Just so you could feel something, eh?
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Watson: You know, Sherl, your incessant need to prod and poke at every raw nerve—sometimes I wonder if you do it for the thrill or just to feel superior. And yet, deep down, beneath all those layers of arrogance, isn't there a lonely heart just yearning for a genuine connection?
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Heartbeat: Enough! Both of you. Look around. We've faced the literal shadows of our past, the deepest recesses of our fears, right here in this damned penthouse. And yet, here we are, taking jabs at each other, tearing old wounds open. For what?
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Sherl: Because it's easier, Heartbeat. Easier than facing the truth. That despite all our intellect, wit, and abilities, we're just... flawed.
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Watson: We may be flawed, Sherl, but we have each other. Even when the world, or a bloody box, tries to tear us apart.
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Heartbeat: In LoveLink City, where connections can be seen and felt, it's ironic that the ones closest to us are often the most elusive. Isn't it time we faced the real Pandora's Box? Our own hearts.
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Sherl: Watson, you and that box—quite the conundrum. But hey, at least you didn't elope with it. Although, given your track record, I'd give it a fortnight.
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Watson: Oh, coming from someone whose deepest connection is with their own reflection? I noticed you staring forlornly into a spoon the other day. New love interest?
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Heartbeat: That’s rich, Watson. You know, I saw a green thread between you and a jar of pickles. Something you’re not telling us? A little... brine romance?
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Sherl: Oh please, Heartbeat. You once radiated rainbow colours when a feather brushed against you. Tickle fe**sh much?
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Watson: Now, now, we're all ticklish in our own ways. Sherl with their pride, me with... well, apparently jars, and Heartbeat when someone acknowledges they have emotions.
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Heartbeat: I’d rather glow like a Christmas tree than be as emotionally available as a potato, Watson.
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Sherl: That's rich! Mr. Tubers over here had more emotion when he couldn't find his favorite socks. Heartbreaking, really.
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Watson: Speaking of clothing, Sherl, I heard your last date was with a mannequin. She was quite taken with you, wasn't she? Stiff competition, I imagine.
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Heartbeat: At least mannequins are good listeners, unlike some deductive windbags we know.
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Sherl: I'll have you know, I can deduce a lot from silence. Like the silence after one of Watson's terrible jokes.
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Watson: Sherl, sometimes I wonder if your brain's just a big 'roast Watson' generator.
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Heartbeat: Oh no, it's also a 'flirt with inanimate objects' generator. Very advanced tech.
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Sherl: True, but on the plus side, they don't interrupt me.
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Watson: I'd interrupt you with a hug right now, but I'm afraid of what you'd deduce from it.
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Heartbeat: Probably that we're a trio of misfits who can't help but find solace in each other's peculiarities. And really, isn't that the essence of LoveLink City? Odd connections in odd places?
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Sherl: Like Watson and that jar?
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Watson: Exactly. And you, Sherl, with every reflective surface.
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Sherl: Touche. Well, shall we move on from these jabs and perhaps toast to our... unique bond?
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Heartbeat: Only if we can do it in front of a mirror, for Sherl's sake.
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Watson: Hear, hear! To reflections and connections!
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Mel: In this penthouse,
Cloaked...
Neon's goddamn glare,
They laugh.
They jest.
Oblivious to my despair.
Their fu***ng quips,
Jolly jibes,
I, Melody, drown in silent diatribes.
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The "heartbeat" of LoveLink City's seedy night
Mocks my own...
Fading, weak without respite.
Sherl spouts their verbose s**t,
Eloquent and raw,
Heartbeat sees all, but me?
A flaw, a flaw.
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Watson's drawn to that damned box's sly snare,
Their coarse humour the only shield from the nightmare.
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Here I stand,
Chorus they've forgot,
The melody dismissed,
Merely afterthought.
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They jest of shadows, crypts,
Tales they adore...
I'm the unheard verse,
In their uproarious uproar.
To be visible,
Yet cloaked in invisibility's curse,
Tales of blades,
Bewitching tunes,
And worse.
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Their deafening laughter,
My silent scream,
Is lost,
Hoping,
Just for once,
They'd know the fu***ng cost.
What's a melody,
Without its rightful due?
A stifled cry!
A lament that breaks through...
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All the connections...
The tangled, twisted heap...
I'm the forsaken secret they no longer keep.
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Inclusion?
Ain't about just filling a vacant space,
It's being seen, felt,
Not just another face.
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As they revel,
In joy's cruel decree,
Lies the shattered,
Fu**ed echo of Melody.
To be heard,
Be a part of the vibrant throng,
To belong,
Truly fu***ng belong.
