FaceThyFear Presents: “Missed Steps – Episode 1: The Trigger”

A Psychological Thriller Series

⚠️ Disclaimer:

Missed Steps is a fictional work that explores the struggles of addiction, recovery, and psychological tension. While inspired by real emotions and experiences, all characters, events, and locations are entirely fictional. This story does not glorify substance use, violence, or illegal activities but rather serves as a raw, unfiltered exploration of the mental and emotional battles that come with recovery.

If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, help is available:

📞 SAMHSA National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

💻 Find resources at www.Facethyfear.com (http://www.Facethyfear.com)

Missed Steps – Episode 1: The Trigger

(Final Branded Version – A Gritty, Psychological Descent)

Atlanta – Nightfall

Atlanta at night moves different. The air hums with energy—hot, thick, alive.

Streetlights flicker, throwing uneven halos onto cracked sidewalks. Bass rattles from passing cars, laughter echoes from a gas station parking lot, the city breathes in neon and exhales heat.

It’s the kind of night that could mean anything.

For some, it’s the beginning of a wild story. For others, the ending.

For Zay, it’s just another walk home.

He moves through the streets, one hand buried in his hoodie pocket, the other gripping a grease-stained paper bag.

New York-style pizza. From a gas station spot that only real ones know about. Thin crust, heavy with sauce, folded just right.

Normally, he’d be tearing into it already.

But tonight, the food is just a distraction.

Because beneath the scent of sliced meatballs, garlic and melted cheese, something else lingers.

Something sharper.

One year, six months, and twelve days. That’s how long it’s been.

And yet—he can still smell the fish scale.

That bitter, synthetic burn. That ghost of gasoline and powder.

It’s not real. Not really.

But his body doesn’t know that.

And then there’s the taste.

Azul tequila.

Crisp, clean, slow-burning. The kind that slides down smooth before the coke snaps everything back into focus.

His tongue presses against the roof of his mouth.

It’s not real.

But it could be.

Then—his phone vibrates.

The Call

Unknown Number.

Zay barely looks down.

Just a quick glance. Enough to feel that tiny flicker of hesitation.

His stomach tightens. His fingers curl tighter around the paper bag.

But he answers.

“Damn, man. You really don’t pick up no more?”

The voice slides in, smooth as ever.

Dre.

Zay keeps walking. One foot in front of the other.

The pizza bag feels heavier than it should.

“Been busy.” His voice stays even. Controlled.

Dre chuckles. That same lazy, familiar, dangerous laugh.

The sound of a hundred bad nights. A thousand bad choices.

“Busy stayin’ broke?” Dre’s words curl slow, like smoke. “Ain’t no way you’re happy where you at. I got something for you.”

Zay exhales through his nose.

His fingers tighten around the paper bag.

That whisper in the back of his head stirs.

Just one time.

Just one night.

One last hit.

But it’s not just the drugs. It’s the money. The power. The way everything felt untouchable.

Dre knows. That’s why he keeps talking.

“We got new product. Best shit yet. And you? You still got a name. Your people still askin’ where you at. You could eat off this, Zay. I ain’t even talkin’ street level. You ain’t gotta touch it, just move it.”

Zay clenches his jaw.

This is how it starts.

It starts with a phone call. A voice that feels like home in the worst way. It starts with an offer.

A way back in.

A way back to who he was.

His stomach twists. The smell of fish scale suddenly feels stronger, sharp and bitter, curling through his nose like it’s still on his hands.

The tequila burns at the back of his throat.

The weight of a stack of bills in his pocket.

The rush.

It would be so easy.

Too easy.

His fingers twitch.

Then—“Lose my number.”

Dre makes a sound—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

Like he already knows.

“You always gon’ be one of us.”

Click.

The Voicemail – Something in the Dark

For a moment—silence.

Then—

A car engine.

Deep. Luxury. The kind that hums low, controlled. A predator at idle.

Waiting.

Zay listens. Hard. His body tense, shoulders squared.

Nothing outside.

Then—static.

Sharp. Loud. Like something trying to cut through the air.

Then—click.

The voicemail ends.

Zay stares at his phone.

No number. No way to call back.

His chest feels tight.

He looks at the door. Still locked. The windows. Still shut.

But it doesn’t feel safe.

It feels wrong.

The Final Thought – Fractured Reality

This is how it starts.

And this time…

You might not come back from it.

End of Episode 1

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