Rick[/@ch_1] and Bill—standing at the center of the gathering.]
Bill bounces a soccer ball off his knee, his cheeks flushed from play, while Rick polishes his glasses, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Around them, a half-dozen friends lean in: some skeptical, some grinning, all curious. "Telling you, hypnosis is real!" Rick insists, producing an old silver pocket watch from his backpack, its surface catching the last rays of sunlight. "No way, Rick. That’s just fake stuff from TV," one friend jeers, prompting laughter.
Rick[/@ch_1] steps closer to Bill, swinging the pocket watch gently before his twin’s face. The rest of the kids form a loose semicircle, shadows long across the field, their voices hushed in anticipation.]
"Each swing makes your eyes heavier, Bill. Each breath, your whole body relaxes," Rick intones, his voice slow and even. Bill tries to keep his gaze steady, but his eyelids droop, struggling against gravity. Murmurs ripple through the group as they watch Bill sway slightly, his arms limp at his sides.
Rick[/@ch_1] counts down, his voice a soft thread weaving through the stillness.]
"Three... two... one... sleep," Rick commands. Bill’s eyes close, his head nods forward, and his breathing deepens. A couple of kids snicker, unconvinced, while others exchange wide-eyed glances. "Give me a second," Rick says, his tone now steady with purpose, the group hanging on his every word.
Rick[/@ch_1] stands beside his entranced brother, his hand poised to snap.]
"Bill, when I snap my fingers, you’ll be under my control," Rick announces, pausing as Bill nods faintly. The snap echoes across the field. "Stand up and strip to your tighty-whites," Rick instructs. Without hesitation or embarrassment, Bill complies, peeling off his shirt and shorts down to his snug white briefs, standing tall in the cool air. Laughter erupts from the crowd, some kids doubled over, while Bill remains impassive, eyes unfocused.
Rick[/@ch_1] steps forward, the watch dangling forgotten at his side, his expression shifting to mischief.]
"Bill, when did you stop wetting the bed?" Rick asks, his tone gentle but probing. Bill, still deep in trance, answers without hesitation: "Two weeks after I turned thirteen. Sometimes I still wet the bed," he admits, his voice flat but honest. The group falls silent—some embarrassed, some sympathetic, a few nudging each other, unsure how to react.
Rick gently snaps his fingers again. Bill blinks, looking around, confused but unbothered by his state of undress. "You did great, Bill. Thanks," Rick says quietly, helping his brother gather his clothes. As the twins walk home together under the darkening sky, the air between them is full of silent understanding—of trust, mischief, and the strange power of belief.
