Eric's consciousness returned slowly, like a tide creeping back over scorched sand. At first, there was only sound — the faint drip of water echoing in the distance, the low hum of a flickering bulb overhead. Then came the pain. A dull, throbbing ache in his back, his shoulders, his head. Every breath felt like it scraped against broken ribs.
He groaned.
His eyes opened to a blur of gray and rust. The air was cold, metallic, and smelled of mildew and old oil. He tried to move, but his body refused. Panic surged. He was upright — seated — but his arms were pinned behind him, wrists bound tightly to the back of a metal chair. His ankles were lashed to the legs, and the chair itself was bolted to the concrete floor.
He was trapped.
The warehouse around him was cavernous and empty, its walls lined with broken pallets, rusted machinery, and shattered glass. The only light came from a single bulb swinging above him, casting erratic shadows that danced across the floor like specters.
Eric twisted his wrists, the rope biting into his skin. He winced, tried again. The bindings were tight, unforgiving. His fingers were numb. His shoulders screamed with tension.
He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the office — the cloth — his father's voice. Then darkness.
Now this.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow. Measured. Heavy.
Eric's breath caught. He turned his head as far as the restraints allowed, eyes scanning the shadows.
He watched as his father appeared from the gloom like a ghost. His face was calm, almost serene but Eric could see it. How his eyes burned with something twisted. He wore a polished, immaculate suit. He watched as he came closer.
"Father, please." He pleaded. "I'm truly sorry for the shame I've caused the family. I promise to change. Please don't treat me like a criminal."
He watched as his father didn't say a word while guards holding guns strapped to their hips materialized beside him. Both were emotionless, staring at him like he was a task to tick off the list.
Eric wanted to plead again when he heard a voice that made his blood run cold.
"Really, Dad. You wanted to exclude us from this. How mean can you get, father?"
Eric watched Cliff appear, a mocking smile on his face. Gerald was behind him, equally smiling. His two sisters were there. Lisa and Bella each walk close to Cliff and stand beside him. His mother was also there. Her face was cold and emotionless.
"Now this is a good highlight." Cliff laughed, staring at him,. "I always wanted to see him like this and now it's finally happened."
"He looks so disgusting," Bella muttered, disgusted. "What a repulsive parasite. It's good he has been tied. He's no better than an animal."
"I'm your brother, Dammit!" Eric snapped in anger. "I've never done anything to you, you rotten bitch."
James motioned to the guard beside him, and the guard stepped up and hit him on the jaw with the butt of the gun. Eric's head snapped to one side as he coughed up blood.
"You do not speak to my daughter in my presence," James spoke, his voice cold.
Eric turned his face. "I'm your son too, aren't I?"
James gazed at him for a moment before speaking.
You've been wondering why," He said. "Why have I hated you. Why have I hurt you? Why I've never once called you 'son' without bitterness in my voice."
Eric didn't respond. He couldn't. His mouth was dry, his ribs screamed with every breath.
He stepped closer, crouched down, and looked him in the eye.
"I'm not your father."
The words landed like a final blow. Eric blinked, confused, his mind struggling to process.
"I never was," Gerald continued. "You were never mine. Not by blood. Not by choice. You were a dare."
David's brow furrowed. "What…?"
Gerald stood, pacing slowly. "Thirty-three years ago, I was part of a group. Not a gang. Not a cult. Something else. We called ourselves 'The Circle.' A group of men who believed in testing the limits of morality. Of control. Of fate."
He stopped, turned to face Eric again.
"Each of us was given a challenge. A dare. Something to shape the rest of our lives. Mine was simple — adopt a child. Raise him. Make him believe you're his father. And when he's about to die… tell him the truth."
Eric's heart pounded. "Why?"
Gerald smiled faintly. "Because they believed that truth, when delivered at the edge of death, has the power to unravel a soul. To strip away everything a person thinks they are. It was never about love. Never about family. It was about control. About watching a life built on lies collapse in its final moments."
Eric shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "You're lying."
"I wish I were," James said. "But I kept the journal. The letters. The rules. I followed every one of them. I was told to choose a boy from the system. One with no ties. No records. You were perfect."
He walked to a nearby table, picked up a worn leather notebook, and tossed it onto David's lap. It landed with a thud.
"Everything's in there. The dare. The conditions. The timeline. I was supposed to reveal it when you turned thirty. But I waited. I wanted to see what you'd become. Whether you'd figure it out."
David stared at the notebook, his hands trembling against the ropes.
"You were never my son," Eric said. "You were an assignment. A game. And now, the final rule: tell him the truth before he dies."
He leaned in close, voice low and cold.
"And you're about to die."
Eric's breath caught. The room spun. The pain in his body was nothing compared to the weight of those words. He then stared at Cliff and the Asterix family. He gazed at every single one of them.
None of them moved toward him. None of them spoke.
Eric's voice cracked through the stillness. "You… you knew?"
His mother was first to speak, her voice sharp and mocking. "Look at him. All tied up like a birthday present. Shame we never wanted to unwrap you."
Eric blinked, stunned. "Mom…?"
She smirked. "Don't call me that. I was never your mother. Just a woman playing a role. And you? Just a prop."
Gerald stepped forward, arms crossed, grinning. "You really thought you were one of us? That we actually cared? Man, you were dense."
Bella giggled. "Remember when he cried because he didn't look like any of us? We told him he had 'special genes.'" She mimicked air quotes. "So special, he came with a dare."
Eric's heart pounded. "You also knew?"
"All of us," said Cliff. "Father told us the day he brought you home. Said it was part of some twisted challenge. We thought it was hilarious."
His older sister Lisa leaned in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "We swore an oath. A real one. Blood and all. Not to tell you until the moment he said. And now? Surprise."
Breath caught. "Why… why would you go along with it?"
His mother shrugged. "Because it was fun. Watching you try so hard to belong. Watching you fail. Every time you called me 'Mom,' I had to bite my lip not to laugh."
The others chuckled, circling him like vultures.
"You were never family," Cliff said. "You were a dare. A joke. A ticking clock."
Eric's eyes welled with tears, but he refused to let them fall. "You're monsters."
James' voice echoed from the shadows. "No, David. We're honest. You're the one who lived a lie."
You were never loved," James said. "You were studied. Measured. And now, discarded."
Eric's body trembled, not from pain, but from fury. The betrayal was complete. The illusion shattered.
The warehouse was silent now. The mocking laughter had faded. James had retreated into the shadows, and the others — the ones Eric once called family — stood watching with cold detachment. The bulb above him swung slowly, casting fractured light across the concrete floor.
Eric sat slumped in the chair, wrists raw from the ropes, his body bruised and broken. His breath was shallow, each inhale a struggle. He could feel the end approaching — not just from the pain, but from the shift in the room.
A new figure stepped forward.
The guard.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. His boots echoed with each step, and in his hand was a pistol — matte black, polished, deadly. He walked with purpose, no hesitation, no emotion.
Eric's eyes locked onto the weapon. His heart pounded. He tried to speak, but his voice was gone. All he could do was watch.
The guard stopped a few feet away, raised the pistol, and aimed it directly at Eric's chest.
Then — movement.
From the far side of the warehouse, another figure emerged. Slender. Familiar.
Eric's breath caught.
It was her.
Anna
His ex-girlfriend. The one he had loved. The one he had trusted. The one who had vanished without a word when everything began to fall apart.
She stepped into the light, her face calm, untouched by the chaos around her. Her eyes met his — and she smiled.
Not with warmth. Not with sorrow.
With knowing.
Eric's heart sank. That smile said everything. She had known. She had always known. About James. About the dare. About the lie.
She had played her part.
Eric's mind raced. Every moment they'd shared. Every promise. Every kiss. All of it — scripted. Controlled. Another thread on the web had bound him since childhood.
He wanted to scream. To ask her why. To beg for truth.
But the guard didn't wait.
The shot rang out — sharp, final, echoing through the warehouse like a bell tolling the end.
Eric's body jerked once, then slumped.
His eyes, still open, locked on Anna's smile as the world faded to black.