Olivia [Ch. 1]

The Introduction

Content Warning: This story contains fictional depictions of violence, implied suicide, and morally complex actions. It includes psychological profiling, manipulation, and emotionally detached narration that may be unsettling for some readers.

All characters, events, and scenarios are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This is a work of dark fiction intended for mature audiences and does not condone or encourage real-world violence.

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The Introduction

Recency bias aside, I think that one of the worst things that has happened to this generation is awareness culture—calm down. Stay with me, now. The thing about surveillance, in any form, is that it often devolves from being productive… to the opposite.

For example: we stop protecting women and start teaching men how to hide, how to act, where to go, what to say, what not to do on a first date—you get the point. Awareness isn’t protection anymore. It’s curriculum. And, to the shock of absolutely everyone, men learn fast—when they want something.

They read the posts. They watch the TikToks. They study the warning signs. You post a list of red flags, they write a script to avoid them. You explain what abuse looks like, they rebrand. I’d laugh if it weren’t so depressingly effective.

Think it isn’t? Look at all of the men who have built their entire personality on “being a feminist”—aka “not like other guys”, aka worse than other guys. They built their entire platform on their objection to the mistreatment of women.

If the mistreatment of women ends…their whole plan goes the way of the dodo bird.

They’re quite literally betting their paycheck on it.

Photo by Samantha Sophia on Unsplash

When I was 12, I noticed that I didn’t see things the same way as everyone else. I just didn’t really…care. My parents, in denial, called it apathy. The doctors called it ASPD—antisocial personality disorder. A psychopath, if you need a societal label.

I don’t experience empathy the way most people do. Emotion is complex and often irrational–but cognitive empathy is a skill; it can be measured, and improved. When people say “I trust my gut,” what they’re referring to is their ability to recognize patterns, or shifts in behavior–measurable outputs. Distress triggers changes in posture, vocal pitch, blink rate, decision latency. Shame compresses speech patterns. Anxiety increases self-soothing gestures.

The only difference is that I didn’t get a short-cut. These signals and patterns–ones triggered by emotions–come naturally to most people. They’re familiar. Recognizable. To me, they’re a second language. So I studied–speech patterns, facial reactions, eye contact duration. Learned which words softened a blow, which ones made people feel heard.

It took years, but now I can pass for someone emotionally fluent. I still have a desire to do good…but that word has different meanings for everyone. As with every credible experiment, I started with a question: what would do the most statistical good? Then I ran the numbers.

Men commit 90% of all homicides in the U.S.
Ninety-eight percent of rapists are male.
Ninety-six percent of mass shooters are male.
And nearly 80% of murdered women knew their killer—usually a boyfriend, husband, or ex.

The conclusion: Men in power cause the most statistical harm with the least accountability. And before you accuse me of being impulsive or angry—wrong. I’m not doing this because I’m mad. I’m doing this because I’m right. Oh, wow, how rude of me. You have no idea what this is—

Murder.

Photo by Maan Limburg on Unsplash

I choose carefully. The process is data-driven, using my own system: RICM—Risk Index Calculation Model. Seven categories, each scored 0 to 5. I only act when a score is above 25.

Recidivism Risk. Most men who escalate don’t stop unless they’re forced to. Behavioral studies across correctional and digital surveillance systems show the same curve: a pattern of boundary testing followed by desensitization. Minor infractions become habits. Habits scale. Very few ever self-correct.

Network Damage. The internet made every man a potential broadcaster. Forums, group chats, private servers—they’re a pipeline. One post with the right angle or algorithm boost can radicalize thousands. The majority of online extremist recruitment originates in servers with fewer than 500 members.

Coverability. Harm is rarely obvious. It hides in tone, branding, posture. Men who cause the most damage usually quote feminist theory, link to therapy podcasts, use identity language fluently. It’s strategic. When exposure happens, their apology post—a screenshot from their notes app—is already preloaded: “You all know that’s not the kind of person that I am.”

That’s a tactic in itself. Language that assumes shared context—guidance disguised as familiarity. In other words: Objection, your honor—leading the witness.

Target Profiles. Power imbalance is the common denominator. Abusers select for low-coverage targets—financial instability, lack of community, chronic mental health conditions. These aren’t ‘preferences.’

Systemic Shielding. The more privilege a man has, the more the system protects him. White. Cis. Educated. No paper trail. Each factor adds friction to accountability. It’s social bias, legal inertia, institutional optics, risk management.

Self-Aware Malice. The worst ones know exactly what they’re doing. They exchange tactics like currency: how to pass vibe checks, how to stay beneath algorithmic thresholds, how to reframe abuse as miscommunication.

Gregory’s RICM Score: 26

Photo by Sigmund on Unsplash

Gregory Martin, twenty-nine.

Terminated from his job as a high school security officer in 2022 after an “incident” involving a seventeen-year-old student—one that never made it past internal review. He had two Facebook profiles.

The public one was curated: gym selfies, dad jokes, recycled memes about rescuing dogs. The other, locked down after his firing, was more honest—reposts from manosphere forums, conspiracy hashtags, reaction clips defending “men falsely accused,” and grainy screenshots of women he claimed had “ruined his life.”

His Reddit history made it easier. At least a dozen throwaway accounts, linked by grammar tells and a compulsive fondness for ellipses. He used emojis wrong. Capitalized entire sentences. I flagged him in under an hour—so it wasn’t hard to find his favorite bar. He always sat on the same bar stool. Ordered the same IPA. Didn’t talk unless the person next to him looked pretty and a little too polite.

I chose that specific night because the bartender had the kind of face that said she’d stopped tolerating bullshit two shifts ago. It was late enough that no one gave a shit if someone passed out at the bar. It happened often. Thursday nights were better than Fridays—less traffic, less attention, easier cleanup—which is exactly what his specific genre of piece-of-shit-human looked for.

I sat two stools down. Not close enough to seem interested. Not far enough to miss my cue. I pulled my notebook from my tote and opened it to the profile page. I didn’t need to reread it, but it helped me look preoccupied. He noticed me before I looked up.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was louder than it needed to be, like he could never have enough attention. “Are you actually reading that, or pretending so no one talks to you?”

I didn’t respond right away. Just closed my notebook, tucked the elastic band across the cover, and met his eyes. “A bit of both.”

He laughed. Not a real laugh. Just a social reflex. “Yeah, I get that…Well, you looked kinda intense over here. Thought I’d help, maybe lighten the mood.”

Gag.

I raised my voice 1.5 octaves—just enough to trigger the auditory cues associated with submission and approachability—2015 University of Sussex study. Men feel more in control. They don’t even know why.

“Oh?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “And how do you plan to do that?”

We are rapidly approaching the point of no return. In every situation, you should become familiar with where that is. It’s man—and moment—dependent. Think of it like an exponent to risk factor.

How do you calculate risk factor? Good question;
Statistically speaking, every polite sentence you exchange with a man increases your risk of being victimized by 3%—Crime Survey for England and Wales, 2021.

The more comfortable he feels, the more dangerous he becomes.

Compounded with prior contact, known history, and proximity, my risk was 11.2%. Based on the average emotional pacing of entitled men in controlled social settings—plus the statistical sweet spot for perceived intimacy without perceived threat—the target window for conversation was twenty-three minutes and forty-eight seconds.

I asked about his job—he lied. I asked about his politics—he dodged. I mentioned that I liked to be challenged intellectually, and he said something about “the war on masculinity” and Ben Shapiro “not being terrible.”

He said it softly, like a secret he wanted to be rewarded for sharing. I just smiled.

At 23 minutes and forty seconds, I told him I had an early morning. He was very understanding.

See, men like Greg don’t dominate with strength. They use patience. Comfort. Charm. They make you think they’re safe. That’s what makes them dangerous.

He offered to pay for my Uber, cover my tab—all of which I politely declined. If you bite too early, you’re automatically categorized as a short term dopamine hit rather than a goal—a prize. Then he finally asked for my number—and I gave it to him.

He sent me four texts that night. One to thank me, two to say he couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation (that he spoke for eighty-seven percent of), and one with a song he thought I’d “appreciate.”

I didn’t respond to a single one.

I waited exactly 26 hours—enough time to create scarcity, not enough to create insecurity. We went on two more “dates.” If you could call them that.

I asked about his past—he deflected. I told him I like an old soul—he started bragging. By the third night, everything that I had learned about Gregory—sixty-seven percent of it being against my will—was very informative.

Survival Tip #1: Rehearse the Violence that You’re Capable Of.

You hesitate because you’ve never imagined doing harm. He doesn’t hesitate because he’s already done it. So practice. Visualize gouging an eye. Biting off a finger. Breaking a nose with your forehead. Not because you want to—but because you might have to. Men fantasize about violence. You should, at minimum, fantasize escape. Reflex saves. Not kindness.

Gregory Martin went missing three days later.

His phone had three voice recordings scheduled for auto-upload. Each one stitched together from real conversations, edited carefully. Enough to imply confessions he would never have actually made—and wouldn’t be around to deny.

It didn’t take long for the narrative to solidify. How he must have just been so humiliated and thought there was no other way…

If the police would have questioned me, I would have told them everything.

But how could they have even known to?

I mean, poor Gregory; he never told any of his friends or family about the random girl he met at the bar.

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Until the next story,

—The Narrator

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