Time for confrontation.

"Alright you little shit! You're gonna answer me now! What! Did! You! DO!!!"

Stacy's determined rage rang out through the dorm room before being absorbed by the soundproofing insulation courtesy of Zeus's Glory. It yielded no response, however. At least, not from Mack. Without warning, a wave of nausea crashed into her. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. She already knew that he was behind it, somehow. She just needed to figure out how. She needed answers.

She recovered and refocused on Mack. He was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, head leaned back on the headrest like he wasn't even watching. On the TV, instead of a random gameshow for background noise or an actual series for entertainment, he had put on a timer. She had seen this timer before. It was one of his old hobbies, to put on this specific video of a timer and snap his fingers in time to the clock ticking down. The particular video featured the constant tick-tock of a grandfather clock's pendulum, to really enunciate each second passing.

The first time she caught him doing it (and every time after), she ridiculed him for such absurd antics. To her, it was disturbing and creepy, comedically so. The novelty of watching him sit there and hearing the clock and fingers snapping in unison never ceased to give her a good laugh. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen him do it in a while now... had she managed to chase him away from it?

A sneer spread across her face upon that realization that was quickly wiped off by another jolt of unease. Any other time, and she would've loved to know that. But thanks to whatever he had done, it only made her sick to her stomach. But she couldn't let him control her. She was the predator, and he was the prey.

She stomped over to the couch to find him facing the ceiling with his eyes closed, satisfaction and comfort plastered on his face. He wasn't even looking, and yet his snapping was perfectly synced with the clock ticking down. She shouted at him some more. "Wake the FUCK up, shithead! I don't care what demented bullshit you're trying to pull, you're going to answer me NOW!"

He opened one eye to look at her just in time to see her recoil from a third shudder of distress, and let out a light chuckle. "Same old, same old. You never were one to defy expectations, were you?" He tilted forward to shake his head in mock disappointment, then tilted back to the headrest. This only made her angrier. She wasn't entirly sure what he meant by that, but she was certain it was an insult.

She was blindsided by a pang of arousal. It was the same as when she first woke up, when this all started mere minutes ago. The sudden waves of nausea had washed away most of what arousal remained from earlier, but now she risked it all coming back. Was it the same as before? How did this all work? Was it what he said, or was it because it was him? She didn't have the answers. She barely had the faculties to ask the questions. And she hated it. So, she pressed on in her futile interrogation. She grabbed him by his collar and got right in his face. "Listen to me, you son of a-"

Her berating was interrupted by Mack's free hand cupping her mouth as it put a tight grip on her cheeks, the other still keeping time. His content smile dropped into a frown, and his brows furrowed to form a stern expression. He spoke to her slowly, making sure to articulate every word. He wanted to make sure that he left nothing in question. He had been waiting for this opportunity for 18 months.