Minus X Pro -

She blinked. Her eye returned.

At 3:00 AM, she made a decision. She walked to her kitchen sink, placed the Minus X Pro under the faucet, and turned the dial to .

She’d found it at a garage sale six months ago. The old man selling it had called it “the subtraction engine.” He’d warned her: “It doesn’t add anything to your life, kid. It removes. Perfectly. One variable at a time.” minus x pro

That night, she couldn’t sleep. The Minus X Pro pulsed on her nightstand. Its LED flickered: . The “X” stood for the unknown variable. The “Pro” meant it had no safety limits.

“That’s the third time this week,” she whispered. She blinked

She looked down. Her hands were gone. Then her arms. Then her torso. Not dissolving— un-existing , like a photo being cropped too close. The last thing she saw was her own face in the stainless steel faucet: a smooth, featureless oval where eyes, nose, and mouth used to be.

Mira opened her mouth to scream.

The Minus X Pro