He returns to see Sheldon

Aiden burst through the door to the Physics lab, a cocky grin plastered across his face. “Sheldon, you should’ve seen her. Ramsbottom, no the bitch goes by Rammie Bottoms now juggling in the hall like some circus escapee. It was perfect. The SMPD works like a dream.”

Sheldon spun around from his desk, his face pale, jaw tight. “Aiden, what the hell did you do?”

Aiden blinked, his grin faltering. “What?”

Sheldon held up his phone. “These. Look.”

He shoved the screen into Aiden’s face. Dozens of images—snapped by students, already circulating—filled the feed. The once-fearsome dean, now a garishly dressed clown, laughing manically with painted cheeks and butchered clothing. Some pictures were accompanied by mocking captions. Others were more concerned.

“You humiliated her,” Sheldon said, voice trembling. “This wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t harmless. You broadcasted it to the entire damn school.”

Aiden shrugged, brushing the images away with the back of his hand. “Come on, Sheldy. Lighten up. She loved it. She said she felt free.”

“She’s hypnotized, Aiden!” Sheldon snapped. “That thing you had me make—it’s not just a prank device. It’s dangerous. And it ends now.”

Before Aiden could respond, the door swung open with a sharp creak.

Three figures strode in, their shoes clicking against the tiled floor. The Student Council.

At the front was Chloe Masters, student council president—a tall, commanding blonde with piercing blue eyes and an expression of perpetual authority. At her side, Lena Rivers, the poised and calculating vice president, her hair a silky curtain of golden waves. And flanking them, the razor-sharp Mei Tanaka, secretary and strategist, a sleek, no-nonsense presence with jet-black hair and a reputation for dismantling troublemakers.

“We heard about what happened with Dean Ramsbottom,” Chloe said, her voice flat and hard. “And now thanks to Sheldon we know it was you.”

Lena folded her arms. “There are students talking about how she was acting out in the hall like some kind of deranged mime.”

Mei stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve crossed a line, Aiden. This isn’t student business anymore. We’re reporting this to the administration—and the authorities.”

Sheldon looked relieved. “Finally, someone with some sense.”

But Aiden just… smiled.

A slow, curling smile that made the air in the room feel suddenly colder.

“Sheldon,” he said, almost pitying, “how could you be so stupid?”

He reached into his bag and pulled out the SMPD.

Before anyone could react, he turned the dial Sheldon had installed while updating it to max, quickly putting on.

And then he shouted:

“FREEZE!”

The room snapped into silence. And stillness.

Sheldon, mid-turn, locked in place. Chloe, Lena, and Mei—arms raised, mouths parting to protest—frozen in time like statues. The only thing that moved were their eyes, wide and frantic, darting about as panic set in.

Aiden took a slow step forward, the device still humming. His smile deepened as he observed each of them. Sheldon’s eyes were full of horror. Chloe’s burned with rage. Lena’s darted around, calculating, trying to find an escape. Mei’s narrowed, glaring at him even in paralysis.

“You all really should’ve minded your own business,” Aiden said, circling them. “But don’t worry… we’re going to have so much fun figuring out who you really are underneath all that righteous crap.”

He leaned into Chloe’s frozen face.

“Let’s see how well the student council performs… when its leaders are reassigned.”

Then he turned and walked calmly to the center of the room.

He was the one writing the rules.

The air in the room was unnaturally still, thick with suspended breath and quiet panic. Aiden sauntered slowly between the frozen figures. He let the silence stretch for effect before finally speaking.

“I’m feeling generous today,” he murmured. “So, I’m going to let you speak.”

Their mouths unfroze—but only barely. Their limbs remained locked, but their lips twitched, jaws loosened just enough to move, just enough to speak. Aiden gave one condition.

“You may answer questions,” he said. “But only in a whisper. A hushed, reverent whisper—because that’s all the truth deserves.”