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MidReal Story
The Cult Leader
Scenario:Years after his brother goes missing, a reporter returns to his small hometown, reconnects with one of his highschool friends who's a genius inventor, and discover clues that his brother is still alive. With that, the reporter, the inventor and the town sheriff team up to find him. But they discover so much worse like a cult, murderers and government cover-ups
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Sheriff Peter Maybank
Ethan Millar
Lily Wren
a young and curious inventor who has an unusual affinity with robots, often spending her days researching in the library her small town, she has an estranged relationship with her mother who disapproves of her career choice, Lily is known for her dark black hair and striking brown eyes that reflect her passionate nature, intelligent and adventurous, though sometimes considered too headstrong and impulsive.
I was only twelve when my brother vanished.
It was a typical morning until I realized he wasn’t there, and then I never saw him again.
My family was devastated.
The police searched, but nothing ever turned up.
It was as if he’d vanished into thin air.
Over the years, I have always wondered what happened to him.
I knew he didn’t just get up and leave, as the cops suggested.
Something happened, and I was determined to figure out what it was.
That's why I became a reporter.
I went to a small school near my hometown and did research on my own.
I started going to the local library during my breaks and doing research on cold cases throughout the country.
I read books on true crime and studied famous cases, looking for tips on how I could solve my own.
I also started researching my hometown, looking into other disappearances that had occurred there throughout the years.
As it turned out, my hometown had a long history of people disappearing.
They would just be there one day, and the next they would be gone.
No bodies were ever turned up, and none of them seemed to be related.
I parked my car in the driveway of my childhood home.
It was a small, two-story house that had been in our family for generations.
My parents had lived there when I was born, and we had moved in when I was a baby.
Now, it was empty and weathered from years of being unoccupied.
I hadn’t been back in years, but it still felt like home.
As I stepped out of my car, the gravel crunched beneath my boots, just like it had when I was a kid playing cops and robbers with Ethan in the driveway.
I walked up the porch steps and pushed open the creaky front door.
The inside was musty and dusty, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.
It was obvious that no one had lived there in a long time.
I walked through the empty rooms, remembering the way they used to look when Mom was still living there.
She had moved to Florida after Dad passed away, and I’d never gotten around to doing anything with the house. I decided to set up my makeshift office in the living room.
I set my laptop down on an old desk that had once belonged to my father.
Next to it, I set up a corkboard where I could pin up pictures of all of the missing persons cases I had been researching.
I started pinning them up while I waited for my computer to boot up.
I’d collected dozens of photos over the years, but this was the first time I’d ever laid them out like this.
As I looked at them as a whole, something jumped out at me that hadn’t before.
Every single person who had gone missing had visited the old Peters farm within a week of disappearing.
I grabbed my keys off the desk and headed back out to my car.
I slid into my SUV and checked my taser, which was holstered at my side.
Next, I opened the glovebox and pulled out a thick manila folder that had been there for weeks.
It was the case file on the Peters farm.
The folder was stuffed with decades of complaints about the property.
There were reports of trespassing, strange lights in the sky, and unexplained noises coming from the property.
I tossed the folder onto the passenger seat and put my car in gear.
The Peters farm was on the other side of town, and it would take me at least twenty minutes to get there.
The roads were winding back roads that hadn’t been paved in years.
As I drove, I noticed storm clouds gathering overhead.
A storm had been forecasted for tonight, but I hadn’t expected it to roll in so quickly. As I turned down the dirt road that led to the Peters farm, I saw that the gate was hanging crooked on its hinges.
It was a rusted metal gate with wooden posts that had long ago given up trying to stay upright.
I pulled over behind the gate and turned off my engine.
Looking out at the muddy ground, I saw tire tracks leading through the mud up to the house.
They were fresh tracks, probably from within the past day or two.
I grabbed my flashlight from under the seat and stepped out into the rain.
The wind whipped through my hair as I walked through the mud up to the house.
The car clicked to lock behind me as I walked.
"This is... Really creepy. But I have to do this."
I took a deep breath to calm down.
I didn’t want to overreact because of a past heart condition.
"Holy crap," I said.
"Storm’s rolling in fast."
I smacked myself in the face as a wake up as I continued toward the house.
The Peters farm had been abandoned since before I was born.
It was a weathered old farmhouse with a porch that looked like it was going to fall off at any minute.
I pushed the creaky door open with my palm.
The door swung open, revealing a living room that had been frozen in time for decades.
Dust-covered sheets were draped over lumpy furniture shapes, and cobwebs stretched between the exposed ceiling beams.
My flashlight beam landed on a coffee table with a half-empty teacup sitting on it.
The tea had long ago dried up and turned to a thick crust.
Scattered around the coffee table were newspapers.
I walked closer to investigate and saw that they were dated 1985 - the year my brother went missing.
I continued into the house, my boots leaving clear tracks in the thick dust that coated the wooden floor.
On the wall, there was a family portrait of the Peters family.
They were standing stiffly in their Sunday best, with Tommy Peters looking like a miniature version of his father.
I drew my weapon and crept toward the staircase.
The wooden steps were worn down to a smooth finish, disappearing into darkness above.
As I put my weight on the first step, it groaned beneath my foot.
The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I ascended the staircase, one careful step at a time.
Lightning flashed through grimy windows, casting twisted shadows across the peeling wallpaper.
I reached the top landing and paused to listen.
From behind a closed door at the end of the hall, another creak echoed back.
I continued down the hall, my flashlight beam leading the way.
Water dripped steadily from a crack in the ceiling, creating a small puddle on the floor below.
I edged closer to the door at the end of the hall, my hand reaching out for the tarnished brass doorknob.
