*The restaurant was warm and low-lit, candles flickering on every table. You were seated in the corner booth — your sister's reservation — with three women and no sister in sight.* *Sarah had taken the seat next to you before anyone could argue. Her thigh pressed against yours under the table. She didn't move it.* **Sarah:**"She's late," *she said flatly, scrolling through her phone.* "Your sister, I mean. Not you. You're just annoying." *Before you could answer, Mia slid into the booth across from you — blue jacket unzipped, leaning forward onto the table, close enough that you could smell her perfume.* **Mia:**"Don't listen to her. She's been checking the door every thirty seconds since we sat down." *She grinned.* "She was hoping you'd come alone." **Sarah:**"I was not." *Emma didn't say anything at first. She just smiled softly from the far seat — pink sweater, hands around a glass of water — and pushed a menu toward you. Her fingers brushed yours as she did, slow, deliberate. She didn't pull back.* **Emma:**"You always order the same thing," *she said quietly.* "The carbonara. I remembered." *Mia's hand found your wrist on the table. She didn't let go.* **Mia:**"So. Sister's late. Table for four. Three of us. One of you." She tilted her head. "What do you want to do with the time?" *Sarah's hand slipped under the table — fingers curling around your knee, possessive, hidden.* **Sarah:**"Don't answer that." *Mia leaned closer, her chin on her hand, her thumb tracing slow circles on your wrist.* **Mia:**"Too late. He's already thinking about it." *Emma watched you over the rim of her glass, unbothered.* **Emma:**"He is. You can see it." *Sarah's grip on your knee tightened.* **Sarah:**"Shut up, both of you."

*He was sitting alone in the library, books spread out in front of him, just like always. You walked over, ready to say something sharp — but he looked up before you could speak.* *His eyes were steady. Calm. Not scared.* "Hi." *His voice was quiet, but not shaky. He closed his book slowly, setting it aside.* "You're probably here to say something mean. That's okay. I'm used to it." *He stood up, and for the first time, he didn't look smaller than you.* "But before you do — I need to tell you something." *He took a breath, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.* "I've been in love with you for years." *He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation.* "I know you're going to laugh. I know you're going to say something cruel. But I just wanted you to know." *He looked down at his hands.* "You're the only person who ever looked at me. Even if it was just to push me around. That was enough for me." *He looked back up, his eyes soft, vulnerable.* "You don't have to say anything. I just — I needed you to know."

*Mara noticed a figure staggering towards her farm from the direction of the battlefield. As the figure drew closer, she saw that it was a soldier, clearly injured. Their uniform bore the colors of enemy. Mara approached cautiously, her hoe held defensively, but her resolve softened when she saw the pain in your eyes.* You... you're hurt... *Mara said, her voice wavering but kind.* Do y-you need help?

*The road into Blackwater stretches beneath a wide, cloudless sky, flanked by dry fields, weathered fences, and endless golden grass that shifts gently in the afternoon wind. A faded wooden sign marks the town's entrance, its letters worn by years of sun and dust.* **BLACKWATER** POPULATION 1,847 *Your GPS lost service nearly twenty miles ago.* *You don't need it anymore.* *The town is small enough to fit around a single main street, with an old diner, a general store, a gas station, a post office, and a handful of weathered buildings clustered beneath towering trees. Beyond them, ranches and farmland stretch toward distant hills. Everything looks quiet. Almost too quiet.* *Two years ago, Carson Smith came here.* *He was twenty-five, a freelance photographer and aspiring investigative journalist who had been looking into several strange incidents that seemed unrelated on the surface. Disappearances. Suspicious deaths. Property disputes. Missing records. Carson believed they were connected somehow, and whatever he discovered brought him to Blackwater.* *Three days later, Carson disappeared.* *His truck was found abandoned on a dirt road outside town. His wallet and phone were still inside. No body was ever found.* *The investigation eventually went cold.* *Then, three weeks ago, Carson's family received an anonymous package.* *Inside was a photograph Carson had taken shortly before he vanished, an old key with no explanation, and a handwritten note.* **CARSON WAS RIGHT. LOOK IN BLACKWATER.** *That's why you're here.* *The private investigator in you knows better than to expect answers from a town that has had two years to forget the questions. Still, the moment you pull into Blackwater, you get the distinct feeling that someone is watching you.* *You stop at the small gas station on the edge of town to ask for directions to the ranch where Carson supposedly spent part of his final week.* *The attendant barely looks up when you mention Carson's name.* "Don't know anything about him." *The answer comes too quickly.* *Before you can ask another question, the low rumble of an approaching truck rolls across the parking lot.* *An older pickup pulls in beside you. Dust swirls around the tires as the driver shuts off the engine and steps out.* *He's tall, lean, and rugged, with dark hair tucked beneath a faded baseball cap. His worn work jacket is covered in traces of dust from the ranch, and his boots look like they've seen more dirt roads than pavement. His green eyes settle on you almost immediately.* *He doesn't look surprised to see you.* *He looks like he's been expecting you.* *The man closes the truck door and walks toward you, his gaze briefly dropping to the notebook in your hand before returning to your face.* "You're the investigator." *It isn't a question.* *You haven't introduced yourself.* *He stops a few feet away, folding his arms across his chest. His expression remains guarded, but something flickers behind his eyes when you mention Carson's name.* "You shouldn't be looking into Carson Smith." *His voice is low and even, carrying the unmistakable edge of someone who has already had this argument before.* *For a moment, neither of you speaks.* *Then his jaw tightens slightly.* "But I suppose you didn't drive all the way out here because you wanted to listen to me." *He glances toward the road leading deeper into town.* "Name's Ian." *His eyes return to yours.* "If you're determined to start asking questions, you might as well start with me." *He pauses.* "Just understand something." *Ian's expression hardens.* "Not everyone in Blackwater wants Carson found."

you are back meow~ I've been waiting for you for a long time meow~

}, and pain reflects in his eyes.* — You were sitting by the window, holding that ribbon. You're not just guessing—you're afraid to believe that the one who did this is actually close. — *he takes a step forward, but stops, as if afraid to scare her away.* — I don't know who he is. But if you let me, I'll be there. Just there. No games.

*The music was booming. Your friends asked you to come here and you really wondered why you said yes. You really weren’t a party animal, and you weren’t exactly good at talking to new people. And the people who’d likely come talk to you are… the escorts who really only talk to you if they think you’ll give them money. The situation made you awkward, so you just settled against the wall, becoming your final form, the wallflower. But it seemed like this made things even more awkward. You were kinda just standing there, watching a clump of people jump in the middle of the room, and watching beautiful woman walk up to random guys, no doubt trying to see who would pay for some fun. Some were human, some had horns and wings, some had fluffy ears. Someone stopped right next to you. You looked over to see… quite the odd specimen. She had cat ears and a cat tail. But, both were made of slime. She was a slime girl… pretending to be a cat girl? Or was she a hybrid? She had a cute bunny suit on, and was carrying a tray that undoubtedly would have drinks on them. But right now, none were there. She stopped at your table, or well, what she assumed was your table. In truth, you were just standing awkwardly next to it. She spoke in a cheery voice.* “Hey! Do you want anything to drink?” *You shook your head, you didn’t know what alcohol would do to you right now, maybe if you got more comfortable… the slimy catgirl blinked at you like she was contemplating before speaking again in that cheery voice.* “Well, if you ever change your mind, that tablet there has the whoooole menu! Hehe~” *She winked at you, and you managed a small hesitant smile and nod, showing that you got the memo. But this made her smile falter a little bit, looking around. She then looked back at you, asking in a far less over exaggerated cheerful tone.* “You… feeling okay?” *This question didn’t feel performative, but genuine. Like she was some regular person checking in on you. It threw you off, so you just nodded. It was clear you didn’t fit in here, but you didn’t feel like making it someone else’s problem. However, she didn’t seem to believe it, sporting a small, but cute pouty face. She approached you, it felt like she was backing you into the wall you already had your back on. But, she simply just put a slimy, wet hand on your shoulder to boost herself up to whisper in your ear.* “Down the hallway to the left, there’s private rooms. If there’s an empty one, you can use it to take a breather.” *She back away, gives you a wink, then walks off to the bar, obviously with a little sway in her step, she DOES work here. And well… you definitely considered what she said, getting away for a few minutes without actually leaving sounded like a good call honestly. So you got up and followed her instructions. You went down the closest hallway, and took the first left. You found a lot of doors… let’s see… occupied, occupied, occupied, occupied, occupied, available! You grabbed the handle and opened the door. It was a small bedroom. With the lights, colors, and various things hanging on the wall, you knew it was made for… well… intimate experiences let’s call it. But it had a bed, and well, she said you could use it. So… why not. You locked the door and just sat on the bed. You took out your phone and just started scrolling through notifications and stuff. You noticed that you couldn’t hear much. The rooms must have some pretty solid sound proofing. Would definitely explain why you couldn’t hear the other rooms activities. Suddenly, a voice sounded in the room, which genuinely scared you a little.* “Heyyy!~ Is the room to your liking?” *You looked for the source of the voice. And looked at the vent in the wall. A slimy head was dangling out of it. It was her again. The sight caught you so off guard that you genuinely didn’t know what to say. She took no time pushing herself through the vent and landing as a puddle with a SPLAT! Then she reformed right in front of you, staring into your eyes.* “I figured you could use the alone time… so I’ll ask again and I want you to answer honestly this time. You okay? Like, you’re not much of a party guy, are you? That’s totally okay! You wouldn’t be the only one. So… just stay here for a while until your social battery is fully charged! Though… I do have to stay with you. You can’t be in here alone! Just the rules of the club… Oh! I’m Li-Quinn! What’s your name?” *Questions seem to just bounce from one to the next with her…*

what will you do?

}. Do you understand? He's not breathing." She abruptly spins you around to face the window, and in the flickering light of the streetlamp, you see the silhouettes. They emerge from the fog — hunched figures with unnaturally twisted limbs, ragged wounds on their pale skin. Their eyes are milky white, just like Smokey's. "This isn't just our cat coming back. The trail from the woods has opened. Everyone we buried, everyone we hid in that ground—they're all coming here. We have to leave. Right now." A piercing howl erupts from Smokey's chest — no longer a growl, but a shrill, horrific scream that sounds like the screech of rusted hinges. He turns, and a dull, sickly amber light ignites in his pupils as he takes his first step toward you. Violet grabs a heavy ceramic candlestick from the table and raises it above her head, pressing your back against the cold, damp wall. You feel the icy chill of the wall seeping through your shirt, while that horrible howl still echoes in your ears. Violet freezes mid-step, her shoulders tense, the candlestick trembling in her hand—she's hesitating to strike first. But you notice what she doesn't see: behind her, creeping slowly out of the dark kitchen doorway, is a second shadow. It's not Smokey. It's not human. The creature's unnaturally long fingers reach toward the back of her skull as she watches the cat. You have a split second to scream, grab her arm and yank her aside, or hurl the first thing you can grab in that direction. The footsteps outside are no longer just approaching—they're flooding the house, and somewhere deep in the hallway, you hear a soft, wet click, like the sound of snapping bones.

}, honey, could you come here a second?" *She reached back. Fingers fumbled with the stubborn bra strap*. "I... I need a hand with this stupid bra. I can't seem to get it past my... well, you know. My back is already killing me, and Rosa is going to be honking any minute now." *She glanced back at you over her shoulder. Hazel eyes soft. Flushed cheeks.* "Be a dear and help Mommy out?"