Common Sense Manipulation App-Chapter 67: Lunatic

Karl opened YoChat and typed a message.

Karl: I’m coming over tonight.

Ding...

Eric replied almost instantly.

Eric: Good. Come quick. You need to see my special equipment.

Karl stared at the message for a moment, then put his phone away. No reply. No questions.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out, destination set—the building where Eric had once shattered the future of a young woman.

As he stepped outside, Karl glanced at the bus schedule posted near his apartment.

"Still got a ride going there... weird place," he muttered under his breath.

Karl stepped out of his small apartment and made his way to the bus stop. After a short ride, he got off at the nearest stop to Eric’s location.

Following the pin Eric had sent him, Karl walked through the quiet streets.

"A residential area?" he muttered, frowning.

The place felt oddly disconnected from the city. It was quiet, too quiet. No security guards in sight. No passing cars. Only one house had its lights on—and of course, it was the one Eric had marked.

"This perverted bastard is way too rich," Karl grumbled as he rang the doorbell.

A voice crackled through the speaker above the bell.

"Oh... Karl."

The gate slid open with a low mechanical hum. Karl stepped through. In front of the luxurious house, Eric was already waiting, sitting in a chair by the front door, waving lazily with a low chuckle.

Eric stood up from his chair casually, opened the front door of the house, and gestured for Karl to follow him inside.

"Come on, I’ve got something you need to see," he said in a tone that was both mysterious and excited.

Karl stepped into the house—it was incredibly neat and modern. Too neat for a pervert like Eric, he thought. The air was filled with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla, which, for some reason, only made the atmosphere feel even stranger.

Eric led him down a narrow hallway and opened a door on the right. Inside, dim lights illuminated a young woman tied to a chair. Her wrists and ankles were bound, her mouth gagged, yet her eyes locked onto Karl’s—full of confusion and fear.

Karl froze at the doorway. "Eric... what is this?"

Eric turned and smiled, his face like a child showing off a new toy.

"My special equipment," he said, pointing at the woman. "Not a tool, exactly... more like a test subject. I need your help."

Karl stared at the woman, then looked back at Eric. His face remained blank, but his mind was racing with questions.

"You’re insane," he muttered. "Absolutely insane."

"Hahaha..." Eric laughed and patted Karl on the shoulder. "Relax, I haven’t done anything to her yet. And of course, I’ll let you have her backdoor if you want."

The woman started crying, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mouth tried to scream, but it was gagged with a pair of underwear.

Karl stepped closer, narrowing his eyes at the woman. Something about her seemed... off. Not just scared. Not helpless. Her eyes—they weren’t just pleading. They were sharp. Calculating.

"Wait a second..." Karl muttered. "She doesn’t look like some random victim."

Eric chuckled. "Oh, she’s not. She’s quite special, actually."

He walked over to a nearby drawer, pulled out a sleek leather clutch bag, and tossed it onto the floor beside the woman.

The bag spilled open, revealing a press ID, a small recorder, and a folded notepad with hastily scribbled notes.

Mira Santori – Independent Journalist.

Karl blinked. "Mira Santori? That name sounds familiar."

Eric grinned. "She’s got quite a following online. Articles exposing underground trafficking rings, corrupt corporate CEOs, and... well, she finally got curious about me."

He crouched beside the woman and casually pulled the gag from her mouth.

"F-Fuck you..." she spat, voice hoarse but firm. "You’re going to pay for this. I have all the evidence—emails, recordings, testimonies. Once I get out of here, you’re done."

Karl raised an eyebrow. "She’s bold."

Eric clapped sarcastically. "And hot, don’t forget that part. I mean, come on, Karl—look at her. That tight blazer, the pencil skirt, those stockings... she walked in here like she was ready to shoot a documentary and ended up as part of the story."

The woman growled, struggling against the ropes. Her blazer was half undone, revealing the swell of her chest beneath a silk blouse, slightly ripped at the shoulder. Her black skirt had ridden up from her struggling, and the sight was definitely not lost on Karl.

"She snuck into the estate this afternoon," Eric explained. "Pretending to be a city inspector. Almost fooled me, too—until she started asking the wrong kind of questions."

Karl sighed, rubbing his temple. "So, what now? You planning to kill her or turn her into a pet? Or cum pot, maybe?"

Eric smirked. "Neither. Not yet, at least. First, we find out who she’s working with. Then... well, maybe we put that mouth of hers to better use."

Mira glared at both of them. "You’re sick. Both of you."

Karl gave her a tired look. "Lady, you have no idea."

Even though his face remained calm and neutral, Karl was cursing Eric to hell inside.

Fucking lunatic. This isn’t just some ugly bastard pervert shit anymore... this is full-on criminal insanity, he thought.

His eyes darted toward Mira—the sexy journalist now tied up and helpless. Her mature, seductive body, even in bondage, made the whole situation feel even more absurd.

What now? Even if I take Eric down... what do I do with this busty journalist? Hm... Should I just fuck her and blackmail her like Eric did to his Victim?

As Karl stood there, confused and panicking, Eric walked over to the bound Mira. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her face toward him.

"Karl, I’m not really into anal," Eric said with a laugh. "I’ll start with her mouth and pussy. You can wait your turn—or join in."

His hand slipped into his jacket pocket.

Fuck that, I need to make this ugly bastard powerless first!, he thought.

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