Moe Touch

They threw me into some glass prison, a transparent cage that felt more like a display case in a bizarre museum of horrors. I looked around and saw fellow prisoners, each trapped in their own cages, their expressions varied from despair to utter confusion.

Inside my cell, there was a toilet, a bed, and a table—minimalist decor for a maximum security nightmare. I plopped down on the bed, my head spinning with thoughts of what had just happened.

They violated my mind, repeating those memory wipes like it was some twisted version of a bad sitcom. Each interrogation felt like a fresh assault on my sanity, erasing bits of me and leaving dark, gaping holes in my memories. I couldn’t even discern how much truth had come out of Caspar’s mouth; I was so tangled in lies and erasures that it felt impossible to find a single thread of reality. I could have checked by pushing the limits during those repeated interrogations, but the thought of those memory wipes actually killing me sent a shiver down my spine. There was a reason it ‘hurt’—a raw, gnawing pain that lingered in the back of my mind—and I could feel those dark spots widening, threatening to swallow me whole.

I was so pissed I could die right now.

“Great, just great,” I muttered to myself, the frustration bubbling up like a soda shaken too hard. “Here I am, a Level 2 Stranger, locked up like some kind of freak show attraction.” I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts racing.

Escape? It was impossible.

I glanced over at the other prisoners. Some were pacing, others sat with their heads in their hands, and a few were staring blankly into space. They looked just as lost as I felt. I considered calling out to them, but what would I say? “Hey, fellow captives, how’s it going? Got any plans for breaking out of here?”

Yeah, that’d go over well.

Moreover, I reckoned they wouldn’t even be able to hear me.

As I contemplated my options—or lack thereof—a low growl echoed through the room, making my heart leap. I shot upright, my senses on high alert. Was that a cryptid? My mind raced back to Caspar's warnings about the dangers of being a Level 2. I couldn’t just sit here and wait for whatever horrors awaited me.

“Okay, Robin,” I whispered to myself, channeling my inner motivational speaker. “You need a plan. First things first—figure out what you know and what you need to know.”

I took a deep breath, trying to focus. What did I remember about the DPO? They were supposed to protect humanity from cryptids, right? But if they were locking me up like this, maybe their definition of “protection” was more about control. I could almost hear Caspar’s voice in my head, urging me to cooperate for the greater good. But the greater good felt like a load of crap when I was sitting in a glass box, practically begging for an exit.

I tested to see if my fellow prisoners could hear me beyond the glass wall. “Hey! I don’t like your shirt, motherfucker!”

No response.

I tried the guards. “Your fly is out in the open, zip it, dumbass!”

Still no response.

The glass walls were soundproof. Great. Just great. I was trapped in this sterile prison with no way to communicate with anyone. I sighed, flopping back onto the bed, feeling the tension of the situation close in on me like a vice.

How about the air?

I checked for ventilation. The ceiling above me was just solid concrete—no grates, no vents. Just a flat surface that felt like it could cave in at any moment. I looked at the toilet. It was a simple affair, no sink or anything that might help me escape. Feeling defeated, I turned back to the toilet, hoping to find something useful. But all I found was a dull thud of disappointment; there was nothing there.

With nothing else to do, I explored the table. As I prodded at the surface, boredom gnawed at me. But then, I felt something give under my fingers. I managed to take out a screw from one of the legs! The guards didn’t seem to mind me fiddling with the table; they must have thought I was too defeated to cause any trouble.

I held the screw up, inspecting it in the dim light of my cell. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I tried to use it on the glass, but it was useless; the material was too strong, almost supernatural in its resilience. I couldn’t even leave a mark on it.

Frustrated, I sat back down, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I could at least keep track of how long I’d been in this hellhole with this thing. I decided to use the screw to mark down the days, scratching it against the concrete floor.

One. I etched a line into the rough surface.

Two. Another mark followed.

Three.

I lost track of how long I’d been there, but it felt like days had turned into weeks. I kept scratching lines into the concrete, a simple act that brought me a sense of control amid the chaos.

More weeks passed by, and I started to feel like a permanent resident of my glass prison. I spent my free time exercising, trying to keep my sanity intact. Who knew that being locked up could turn me into a fitness enthusiast? I could practically hear the infomercials: “Are you tired of being stuck in a glass cage? Well, now you can get ripped while you wait to be rescued!”

As I pushed through my daily regimen of squats and makeshift yoga poses, I realized Caspar never visited me again. I felt a mix of relief and disappointment—was he too busy with his mysterious government job, or did he just really not like me? Either way, I was left to my own devices, which meant I had to get creative.

After a grueling workout session, I turned my attention to the bed next. It looked perfectly ordinary, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to check for hidden treasures. You know, like a secret stash of chocolate bars or a magic lamp with a genie inside. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything in it—just a sad, lumpy mattress that seemed to mock my plight.

One day, during one of my usual workouts—this time involving a highly intricate sequence of squats, lunges, and grumbling—I stumbled upon a revelation: I could charge the screw I had in my possession. Maybe this was a manifestation of my Stranger Ability? I mean, charging up a screw sounded way cooler than it actually was, right?

So, I set to work. I focused all my energy into the screw, envisioning it glowing like a superhero’s power-up. I charged it until I was completely exhausted, feeling like I had just run a marathon while being chased by a pack of rabid raccoons. But when I finally opened my eyes and looked at my handiwork, the screw sat there, just as dull and unremarkable as ever.

I tried not to let it discourage me. ‘Maybe it’s like that scene in a movie where the hero struggles and struggles, and then—boom!—they unleash their ultimate power!’ So, I continued my routine, adding charging sessions to my daily workout. Every day I’d pump that screw full of whatever mystical energy I could muster until I was practically gasping for breath.

Months passed, or at least I thought they did. I couldn’t exactly tell the date anymore.

Time felt like it was caught in a slow-motion replay.

And then that day finally came—

The day the screw got supercharged. It just exploded—of course, not literally, because if it had, I’d probably be picking shards of metal out of my face. Instead, it felt like the screw hit its limit, and something finally clicked. I knew something had changed when I felt a surge of energy ripple through me. My pulse raced, my skin tingled, and for a split second, I thought, “This is it! My grand, heroic moment!”

And then, standing right in front of me, out of thin air, appeared… a girl. No, scratch that. An impossibly cute girl with proportions straight out of an anime fever dream. She had dark hair tied in a ponytail, deep eyes that somehow sparkled despite the fluorescent prison lights, and a gray jumpsuit that was struggling—really struggling—to contain her, uh, features. Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly standard-issue attire, considering the cleavage situation.

Also, no undershirt. Classy.

She wore black metal-plated boots, a white cap tilted at an angle, and a grin that screamed “trouble.” Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, she threw up a peace sign and exclaimed, “Hey hey hey! My name is Screw-chan, at your service!”

I blinked. "Screw… chan?"

She winked, striking a pose that would’ve made anyone blush. “Yep! You supercharged me, and poof here I am! Ain’t I cute?”

I stared at her for a solid ten seconds, my brain refusing to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened. I mean, I was in prison. A glass prison. And now, apparently, I had summoned a girl—named after a screw—who was making peace signs like she was at a photo booth.

"Uh... what the hell?" was all I managed.

Screw-chan pouted, putting her hands on her hips. “Aw, c’mon, don’t look so surprised! You’ve been charging me up for months, silly! What did you think was gonna happen?”

Honestly? Not this. Definitely not this.

“So... you’re, what, my Stranger Ability?” I asked, still in shock.

She twirled around, flashing a dazzling smile. “Ding ding ding! You got it! I’m here to help you out of this jam. Or... you know, any jam! You can count on me!”

Great. Just great. My big, heroic moment had arrived, and it came with an overly enthusiastic, cleavage-baring screw girl. Fantastic.

The guards outside my cell were losing it. I could see them scrambling, their hands fumbling with weapons, forming a line that looked about as stable as my mental state after summoning Screw-chan. They were clearly panicking, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them.

This was it. My do-or-die situation.

I pointed at the guards dramatically, adrenaline surging through me. “Screw-chan, screw them!”

With a gleeful salute, Screw-chan grinned. “Aye, aye, my master!”

And then she moved. She leaped toward the glass wall of my cell, spinning like a top mid-air, and—drilled right through it. I mean, full-on, 360-degree rotation, like some insane human power drill. The glass, which I thought was unbreakable, shattered in seconds, and before I could even process that, Screw-chan was on the guards.

It was pure chaos. Screws flew from her hands—tiny, sharp, deadly projectiles that embedded themselves in armor, flesh, and even their guns. They didn't even have time to react. One guard was reaching to flip the safety off his gun when a screw hit him square in the chest. He dropped like a stone. The rest of them barely fared better.

“Screw-chan is gonna screw you all!” she yelled in third person, twirling with this absurd, cheerful energy as she kept flinging screws like a demented, overly-cute tornado of death.

The sound of metal ripping through flesh, the horrified screams, the spurts of blood—it all unfolded like a scene from a nightmare. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. The guards didn't stand a chance. They fell, one by one, turning the white-tiled hallway into a gruesome crime scene.

It was a massacre. A slaughter.

And all I could do was stand there, frozen, watching the carnage unfold.

Screw-chan finished off the last guard with a flourish, turning to face me with a wide, innocent smile. “All done, Master! Now let’s get out of here, okay?”

I blinked, still in shock, trying to process the destruction she’d just caused. I had summoned her... and this is what she did? This was my Stranger Ability?

“Uh… yeah. Let’s… let’s go,” I mumbled, stepping over the bodies. Screw-chan skipped ahead, completely unfazed by the carnage she’d just unleashed.

This day kept getting weirder.

Okay. Why didn’t I free the other prisoners?

Because I wasn’t confident I could protect them. Besides, I was fairly certain the Department of Paranormal Oversight would have them killed just for escaping, which was just as bad as dying to any cryptid. Maybe I’d save them if I was strong enough someday.

There was the coldhearted decision to use them as bait or to create chaos, but I wasn’t that kind of guy. I was a pessimist, not an anarchist.

“Uuuhhh… Screw-chan, do you have any idea where we are going?” I asked, hoping she had some kind of plan.

“Nope!” she said it with way too much pride, her grin stretching ear to ear.

We wandered around the facility until we inevitably hit a dead-end—a thick steel door with a keypad, taunting us with its uncrackable security. Before I could even think about what to do next, Screw-chan crouched low, took a dramatic stance, and unleashed a punch straight at the door.

There was this strange drilling energy I sensed through my ESP, something I hadn’t fully gotten used to yet. My only experience with this perception had been when I was charging that damn screw for days. But now, I could feel it radiating off Screw-chan, like a tangible force.

The door didn’t stand a chance. It collapsed into a heap of twisted metal, leaving behind a massive hole drilled clean through. Screw-chan stood there, dusting off her hands like it was no big deal.

“Onward, my master!” she exclaimed, marching through the wreckage with a skip in her step.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the mess she’d just made. "Well... that works too, I guess."

So, what did I know of my Stranger Ability?

It seemed I could transform inanimate objects into humanoid versions of themselves, with powers related to the function of the object. Screw-chan, for example, could drill, puncture, and probably hold things together—though that last part seemed less likely, considering her destructive tendencies.

We turned a corner and were immediately met with a hail of bullets. I barely had time to duck back, pressing my body against the wall as the sound of gunfire echoed through the hallway. Screw-chan, on the other hand, didn’t flinch.

She stood her ground, crossing her arms in a playful, almost mocking defensive stance. The bullets tore through her jumpsuit, exposing more of her skin with each shot, but she kept moving forward without hesitation. Her expression grew darker with each step.

“Screw-chan is angry!” she yelled, her voice carrying an unsettling blend of cuteness and fury.

Once she got within range, she unleashed her counterattack—a storm of screws flying in all directions. The screws were massive, each about the size of a hammer, spinning through the air with deadly precision. They punctured the small elite force that had ambushed us, embedding themselves into flesh, armor, and walls alike.

“DIE!” she screamed, her voice full of vengeance. “AND STAY DEAD!”

It was over in seconds. The elite force lay crumpled on the ground, bodies riddled with screws. I peeked around the corner, taking in the carnage. Screw-chan was already brushing her hands off as if she had just finished a minor chore.

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. "Remind me never to piss you off," I muttered under my breath.

Screw-chan flashed me a victorious grin. “Screw-chan protects her master!”

I gave her a thumbs-up, trying not to think about how surreal this all was. The chaos, the blood, the fact that my newly awakened ability had turned a literal screw into a killing machine with a cutesy personality.

"Alright," I said, forcing myself to focus. "Let me see the damage.”

I placed my palm on Screw-chan's shoulder, feeling the connection between us hum with energy. I could sense it—she was hurt, or at least damaged in some way. But when I tried to channel my ability into her, to charge her up and maybe heal whatever injuries she had, nothing happened. No spark, no surge of energy. Just… nothing.

“Screw-chan is perfectly fine, Master!” she chirped, her voice bright and cheery, like she hadn’t just taken a beating from bullets. I raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced.

She moved over to the fallen guards, picking up some of their weapons with ease. I watched in confusion as the guns literally unscrewed themselves, parts flying off and disassembling mid-air with a soft metallic clatter. Then, she did something even stranger: she started snacking on the pieces, casually munching on gun barrels and bolts like they were potato chips.

I stared, my mouth half-open. As she "ate," her jumpsuit slowly began to knit itself back together, the fabric repairing around her exposed skin. It was like she was using the metal to patch herself up. The implications of this were mind-boggling.

I glanced away, pretending I wasn’t wondering weird things like whether her clothes would disappear completely if she ran out of metal—or whether she had nipples under there. Yeah, my mind was going places I didn’t want it to go. Focus, Robin.

I looked around for something useful in the wreckage. Unfortunately, most of the guards' guns had been rendered useless thanks to Screw-chan's mental dismantling. I picked up what I could—a tough-looking dagger that had survived the carnage. It wasn’t much, but at least I had something sharp and pointy in case things got worse.

"Alright," I muttered, gripping the dagger. "Let’s keep moving before more of them show up."

Screw-chan finished her metallic snack with a satisfied hum, giving me a thumbs-up. "Lead the way, Master!"

We moved cautiously, navigating through the dimly lit corridors. I had no idea where we were going, but one thing was clear—I wasn’t going down without a fight. Not anymore.