Cannon Fodder No More: A Baby's Plan

Cannon Fodder No More: A Baby's Plan

Gavin

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My name is Madisyn, and my story began in a dirty alley in Los Angeles. I was just a baby, a "cannon fodder" character in someone else's tragic script, destined to be a footnote in the tragic ruin of Ethan and Nicole Clark, the self-destructive heirs to a Hollywood fortune. Their parents were absent figures, leaving them in a gilded cage, completely unaware they were about to be ensnared by Jennifer Chavez and Andrew Morris, two ambitious grifters ready to bleed them dry and turn them against each other. I knew their dark future, how Jennifer would prey on Ethan's buried hero complex, and Andrew on Nicole's desperate need for affection, ultimately leaving them broken and estranged. My tiny, innocent form was supposed to be irrelevant, easily discarded by these teenagers hardened by neglect. But I wasn't just any baby; I was a baby with a plan, a knowing narrator stuck in an infant's body. I screamed and cried to force their reluctant bond, giggled to melt their facades, and strategically withdrew my affection to expose the insidious poison the grifters were injecting into their fragile relationship. When an actress framed Nicole for assault and a musician's charade of heroism was revealed, everyone expected Ethan to side with the "victim." But he remembered my tiny cries of terror whenever the actress touched me, my pointed coldness towards the musician, and Nicole's sudden awareness after my clumsy toddler words: "No owe life, sissy." I had broken the script, and I wouldn't stop until their future was rewritten.

Introduction

My name is Madisyn, and my story began in a dirty alley in Los Angeles.

I was just a baby, a "cannon fodder" character in someone else's tragic script, destined to be a footnote in the tragic ruin of Ethan and Nicole Clark, the self-destructive heirs to a Hollywood fortune.

Their parents were absent figures, leaving them in a gilded cage, completely unaware they were about to be ensnared by Jennifer Chavez and Andrew Morris, two ambitious grifters ready to bleed them dry and turn them against each other.

I knew their dark future, how Jennifer would prey on Ethan's buried hero complex, and Andrew on Nicole's desperate need for affection, ultimately leaving them broken and estranged.

My tiny, innocent form was supposed to be irrelevant, easily discarded by these teenagers hardened by neglect.

But I wasn't just any baby; I was a baby with a plan, a knowing narrator stuck in an infant's body.

I screamed and cried to force their reluctant bond, giggled to melt their facades, and strategically withdrew my affection to expose the insidious poison the grifters were injecting into their fragile relationship.

When an actress framed Nicole for assault and a musician's charade of heroism was revealed, everyone expected Ethan to side with the "victim."

But he remembered my tiny cries of terror whenever the actress touched me, my pointed coldness towards the musician, and Nicole's sudden awareness after my clumsy toddler words: "No owe life, sissy."

I had broken the script, and I wouldn't stop until their future was rewritten.

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