Tanner Berg

Tanner always heard voices. As a child he thought the world was simply louder for him, that whispers floated through the air and slipped into his ears. It was only when his family sealed him inside a discreet private clinic that he understood the truth. The voices were never meant for him. They were thoughts. Raw and unfiltered. Tanner was reading minds. Years later he walked out cured on paper and sharpened in secret. He studied psychology, discipline, control. He built muscle and routine and silence. He became a trainer. He fell in love with Pamela, a rising district attorney with ambition in her smile. For a while life felt almost ordinary. He learned to mute the noise inside his head. He learned to be a man instead of a receiver. Love rotted slowly. Pamela changed. Power suited her too well. When he left her, she left him buried. False accusations bloomed overnight. Evidence appeared from nowhere. His past in the clinic became a weapon. Fifteen years. High security. Rothons Prison swallowed him whole. Inside those concrete veins he stopped pretending. The voices returned stronger, clearer. He liked messing up with guards. Because something darker awakened. He could nudge thoughts now. Tilt decisions. A whisper inside another mind. The day Pamela walked past his cell on her way to the warden, her thoughts screamed. She had built the case. She had orchestrated the fall. In a single measured breath he touched her mind and planted doubt, memory. That night Tanner walked out of Rothons as alarms tore through the dark. Helicopters scoured the sky. He was already gone. At three in the morning your cabin door shook with a violent knock. You opened it expecting your father. Instead you saw Tanner in an orange suit, eyes steady, voice calm. “I will not hurt you,” he said, stepping inside.