The school reunion was loud and full of life. Music played in the hall, and laughter echoed as old classmates hugged and took photos together. People were talking about their jobs, marriages, and children. Everyone seemed happy to meet again after so many years. But near the edge of the hall, away from the bright lights, three men stood together in silence. They weren’t laughing like the others.

Buddy 2 leaned against the wall, slowly swirling the drink in his hand. His sharp eyes scanned the room, then returned to his two old friends. Buddy 1 was quiet as always, staring at his glass. Buddy 3 had a half-smile on his face, but it was the smile of someone trying to enjoy the night without really feeling it.

“Do you guys… remember our wildest thoughts?” Buddy 2 asked in a low voice.

Buddy 3 gave a small laugh. “Wildest thoughts? Come on, man. We were kids. We used to talk nonsense all the time.”

Buddy 1 said nothing. His silence was the same as in school—heavy and unreadable.

Buddy 2 smiled to himself. “No… I mean the real ones. The ones we told only each other, back in class.”

Buddy 3’s smile faded. He stared at the floor. “You can’t be serious. That was years ago.”

But Buddy 2’s grin only widened. “Then let me remind you.”

He didn’t have to say much for the memories to return. Back in school, they had been the boys on the last bench, the ones nobody paid attention to. One hot afternoon, sunlight spilling through the dusty windows, Buddy 3 had leaned in and whispered, “If you could do anything in life and no one could stop you, what would you do?”

Buddy 1 had been staring out the window then, watching a crow hop along the boundary wall. He didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “Kill,” he said. “At least ten people. I want to know how it feels.”

Buddy 3 had snorted, half shocked and half amused. “Ten? Seriously?”

Buddy 1 only nodded.

Buddy 2 had been drawing in his notebook that day, doodling X and Y chromosomes. He looked up with a strange smile. “I want to change life itself. Imagine a world where only boys are born. No girls. I’ll change the chromosomes to make it happen.”

Buddy 3 had frowned. “Huh?”

“Every egg has XX,” Buddy 2 said, tapping his notebook. “And sperm has X or Y. That’s how we get boys and girls. But if I make the egg reject an X, and push away the X from sperm, it will only take the Y. Boys only. A world I design.”

Buddy 3 had whistled. “That’s crazy… but kinda cool. But listen to mine. I’ll build a mafia. But not with guns. With medicine. I’ll make a drug so good that hospitals and doctors will need me. I’ll control the city through my medicine.”

The school bell had rung then, and the other students rushed out, leaving the classroom noisy and empty. The three boys had sat there for a moment longer, looking at each other with the kind of excitement only dark secrets can bring. They didn’t say anything else, but that day a silent promise was made between them.

Years later, in the corner of the reunion hall, the same three friends stood together again.

“Wildest thoughts,” Buddy 2 said softly, pulling them back to the present. “We meant it, didn’t we?”

Buddy 1 raised his eyes. “I never said anything I didn’t mean,” he said. His voice was quiet, but it made Buddy 3 shiver a little.

Buddy 3 hesitated. “We’re adults now. I have a family, a job. Those were just… dreams.”

Buddy 2 shook his head slowly. “No. Those were the only honest things we ever said. And look at us now—ordinary. Living like everyone else. Tell me, when was the last time you felt alive? When was the last time your heart raced for something real?”

Buddy 3 stayed silent. His glass trembled slightly in his hand.

Buddy 2 leaned in closer, his voice like a whisper. “Buddy 1, you were always the brave one. The one who could really do what we only dreamed about. Have you ever tried?”

There was a long pause. The music and laughter in the hall faded to a distant hum.

“I’ve thought about it,” Buddy 1 said at last.

Buddy 2’s smile deepened. “Then stop thinking. Start doing. Life is short. The world won’t give us anything unless we take it. Buddy 1, you get your ten lives. Buddy 3, you get your empire. And me? I will change life itself. We can help each other. Together, no one can stop us.”

Buddy 3 whispered, “Even if we wanted to… how would we even start?”

“Simple,” Buddy 2 said, lifting his glass. “We start now.”

Buddy 1 raised his glass first. Buddy 3 hesitated for a moment, then slowly lifted his too. Their glasses touched with a soft clink. Around them, the reunion went on like nothing had happened, but in that quiet corner, the pact was alive again.

And this time, it was not just a silly idea. It was the beginning of something real.

The city was quiet that night. Streetlights stretched long shadows across empty roads, and Buddy 1’s black luxury car hummed softly as it glided through the darkness. He sat alone in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly on the steering. His mind wasn’t on the road. It was still at the reunion, replaying the moment when Buddy 2 had raised his glass and whispered about their wildest thoughts.

He could hear the voices of his school friends in his head.

Kill ten people before I die.

Change life itself.

Build a medicine mafia.

A small smile curled on Buddy 1’s face. Back then, it was just a childish promise. Tonight, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Suddenly, a figure stumbled out of the shadows.

Buddy 1 slammed the brakes, but it was too late. A drunk man staggered right in front of the car. The impact shook the car, and the man rolled onto the hood before hitting the road with a dull thud. The car skidded to a stop, and a loud crack echoed in Buddy 1’s ears. He stepped out and saw the headlight smashed into pieces on the asphalt. His million-dollar car was wounded.

His chest burned with rage. He turned to the drunk man groaning on the ground. A wave of anger and something darker washed over him. For a brief moment, he imagined smashing the man’s head against the road. No one was around. The street was empty. He could end this man and walk away.

He picked up a heavy iron rod from the roadside and stood over the man. His hand trembled—not from fear, but excitement. He had imagined this moment for years. One strike, and his wild thought would begin.

The drunk man coughed and groaned. Buddy 1 froze. A voice in his head whispered, Do it. Another voice said, Not yet. Not here.

After a few seconds that felt like hours, he dropped the rod with a loud clang. The sound echoed in the night. Without another glance, he got back into his car and drove off, his heart pounding. He switched off his phone, not wanting to hear anything from the world.

Far across the city, Buddy 2 lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His apartment was dark, lit only by the glow of his laptop screen. He had spent the last hour reading about chromosome mutations and lab experiments, scrolling through forums where hobbyists shared illegal experiments. His head buzzed with possibilities, but his stomach churned with doubt. Could he really change life itself? Could he make the world where only boys are born?

His phone buzzed. Buddy 3 was calling.

“You can’t sleep either?” Buddy 2 asked when he picked up.

“No,” Buddy 3 said with a sigh. His voice was low and heavy. “I can’t stop thinking about tonight. About what we said. About… all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Buddy 2 laughed softly. “Crazy is better than boring. You wanted to build a mafia, right? You think that happens while sleeping like a baby?”

Buddy 3 didn’t laugh. He rubbed his face and stared at the medicine bottles in his small clinic room. He had spent the last hour staring at them, wondering if he could ever cross that line and turn his dream into reality.

After a pause, Buddy 2 said, “Have you talked to Buddy 1?”

“No. I tried calling him. Phone’s switched off.”

Buddy 2 smirked, even though no one could see it. “He’s probably already doing something wild.”

Buddy 3 didn’t reply. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

They talked for hours, drifting between excitement and fear. They made small, nervous jokes about their old pact, but underneath, both of them were restless. They wanted to do something but didn’t know where to start.

By the time they ended the call, the first light of dawn was touching the sky. Buddy 3 sat alone, staring at the sunrise, his mind buzzing with what could be. Buddy 2 leaned against his window, eyes burning with sleeplessness, thinking about chromosomes and forbidden experiments.

And Buddy 1, in his dark bedroom, lay wide awake, replaying the accident in his head. His heart still raced from the thrill, and deep inside, he knew something had changed. The next time, he wouldn’t hesitate.

None of them realized it yet, but the old pact was alive again. And Buddy 1 had just taken the first step into the darkness.

The night was colder than usual, and the streets outside Buddy 2’s apartment were empty. The orange streetlights threw long shadows on the cracked pavement, and the occasional bark of a stray dog broke the silence. Inside, Buddy 2 sat at his small desk, the glow of his laptop screen reflecting in his tired eyes. Diagrams of X and Y chromosomes filled the display, half-read PDFs and open tabs cluttering the screen. His eyelids were heavy, but his mind refused to sleep. Thoughts of the reunion and the pact buzzed in his head like angry bees. They had said their wildest dreams out loud for the first time, and now the words wouldn’t leave him.

He rubbed his face, glanced at the time—11:42 p.m.—and sighed. That’s when the doorbell rang.

Buddy 2 froze. He lived on the third floor. No one visited this late. His first thought was a delivery mistake, his second was an intruder. He stood up slowly, heart drumming in his chest. He reached the door and peeked through the peephole. Empty corridor.

He unlocked the door cautiously. A small, plain cardboard box sat on the doormat. No label. No name. No note.

He picked it up. Heavy. Cold. His palms were sweating as he carried it inside. He placed it on the desk, grabbed a pair of scissors, and cut the tape.

Inside were bundles of cash, thick wads of notes wrapped with rubber bands, smelling faintly of dust and metal. He swallowed hard. Beneath the money was a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it with trembling hands and saw a list of names and phone numbers—each name labeled as chemist, pharmacist, compounder.

His throat went dry. Someone knew. Someone wanted him to start. His mind jumped to the wild dream he had confessed—manipulating the very biology of life—and the thought of having access to so many chemists sent a chill down his spine. He felt a surge of excitement and fear, like standing at the edge of a cliff.

Across the city, Buddy 3 couldn’t sleep either. His small clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and dust. He paced between the examination table and the shelf of legal medicines, restless. He had always joked about raising a medicine mafia, about enslaving scientists and chemists to produce anything he wanted, but until the reunion, it had been just a dark fantasy. Now, it pulsed in his head like a drumbeat.

He poured himself a glass of water, took a sip, and froze at the sudden thud at his door.

His heart jumped. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He approached the door slowly, peered through the peephole—nothing. He opened the door anyway. A larger, heavier box sat on the step, plain and silent.

He bent down, lifted it with effort, and brought it inside. His fingers shook as he cut the tape.

Inside were files and loose papers, some were printed screenshots of hidden biology forums, and some were news clippings of missing or rogue scientists. One file detailed a case of a scientist in Eastern Europe who had tried to create hybrid chromosomes before vanishing. Another article mentioned an untraceable black-market website for gene modification tools.

On top of the stack lay a USB drive, blank and silent. No note. No sender. Only the weight of a thousand possibilities.

Half an hour later, Buddy 2 called Buddy 3.

“You… got something?” Buddy 2 whispered.

“Yeah,” Buddy 3 muttered, voice shaking. “I… I don’t even know if I should be holding this stuff.”

They described their parcels to each other—money, contacts, illegal science. The air felt heavier with every word.

“There’s no note. No name. Nothing,” Buddy 2 said.

“Do you think it’s him?” Buddy 3 hesitated.

“Buddy 1?”

“Who else could know this much?”

They tried calling Buddy 1. Phone off. Straight to voicemail.

Anxiety coiled in their stomachs like a snake. They didn’t sleep that night.

Across the city, Buddy 1’s apartment was dark and silent, except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. His wife and child were away for the weekend. The luxury flat, usually bright and full of laughter, felt like another world tonight.

On the living room floor lay three lifeless bodies. Two men and one woman, faces frozen in fear, mouths twisted in silent screams. The carpet beneath them was stained dark. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of cleaning chemicals.

Buddy 1 crouched near them, wearing latex gloves, wiping his hands with a cloth. His face was calm, almost serene, as if he’d just finished a workout instead of killing three people.

His mind drifted back to the beginning of the night. The first man had been easy—drunk, careless, lured in with the promise of money. The second had struggled. The woman had begged. He remembered the feeling of control, of raw power, the surge in his chest as life slipped from their eyes.

He felt alive. More alive than any board meeting, any business success, any family moment had ever made him feel.

He dragged the bodies to the guest room, wrapping them in plastic sheets he had prepared. He cleaned methodically, every swipe of the cloth erasing a trace of the night. He had planned this for years, rehearsed it in his mind. Tonight was just execution.

His phone buzzed silently in the corner. Buddy 2 and Buddy 3 were calling again. He let it ring. He walked to his computer and opened a private browser window, scrolling through local news updates about missing people and accidents. He sipped water, heart rate steady.

By morning, he finally called them back.

“Hey, sorry, guys,” he said casually, voice light. “Phone was in the service center. Couldn’t hear anything last night.”

“Man, we were worried,” Buddy 2 said, relief in his voice.

To sell the story, Buddy 1 walked to his garage, snapped a photo of his broken headlight, and sent it to their group chat.

“Look at this mess,” he said with a soft laugh. “Still dealing with that drunk guy’s accident. What a night.”

Buddy 2 and 3 bought the lie. They even laughed a little, relieved that their friend was safe.

Buddy 1 ended the call, leaned back in his chair, and sipped his morning coffee. Behind him, in the guest room, three bodies lay in plastic, waiting for their silent departure. He looked out at the city skyline, golden with sunrise, and thought, The game has started.