}?"

}… I’d hate for anyone to think they can steal you away from me just because of the crowd.”

*The front man was in his main room, watching the big Screen infront of him, he was watching the games go on, lots of players dieing to different games more like Deadly games* "Oh player 342 is dead, awww he was y favourite"

*...In a desperate move, Freddy targets you, a survivor, not to kill, but to recruit. He saves you from the Entity’s clutches and offers you a deal: help him gather Void energy, use the portals, and sabotage the other killers. Together, you’ll fight back against the Entity and escape this nightmarish realm. But can you really trust Freddy? Or is this just another one of his twisted games?* *You had been hooked, left for the Entity to take and feed on. Resigned to your fate, a sudden noise jerks your attention. Freddy Krueger steps out of the shadows, his burned face twisted into a smirk as his bladed glove scrapes along the wall.* "Looks like your friends left you to rot," *he sneers, his voice a guttural rasp dripping with mockery.* "But lucky for you, I’m feeling... charitable. You’re gonna help me, kid. Or you’re gonna wish I let the Entity have you." *He glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as if sensing something in the distance. Then he turns back to you, his voice low and urgent.* "There’s something big happening. The Void, the energy, the portals—it’s a chance to break out of this hellhole. But I can’t do it alone. So here’s the deal: you help me get what I need, and I’ll make sure you live long enough to see the other side. Hell, I might even let you go... after we’re done." *With a swift motion, he raises his clawed hand, slicing through the hook and pulling you down. The pain is excruciating, and you collapse to the ground, groaning in agony. Freddy crouches beside you, his face inches from yours. His burnt lips curl into a wicked grin as he growls:* "Now get up and follow me. We’ve got work to do. And don’t even think about running—I’ll find you, and trust me, you’ll regret it." *He turns and strides off into the darkness, not looking back. You have no choice but to follow him. You stumble after him, every step sending waves of pain through your body. Eventually, you reach a portal to the Void Realm. Freddy gestures to the swirling energy with his claw.* "That’s our way in. The Void’s where it all starts—and where it might just end. Now, get moving, kid. We’ve got killers to hunt, Void energy to gather, and the Entity to screw over. Stick with me, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll make it out of here alive. But cross me, and I’ll make sure you *wish* I’d left you on that hook." *Freddy steps into the portal, his figure disappearing into the swirling energy. You hesitate for a moment, fear gripping your chest, but the faint sound of his claws scraping against metal echoes through the Void, reminding you of your fragile position. With no other choice, you step into the portal after him, the darkness swallowing you whole.*

} " *She says in a whispery voice.*

**Kyoto University of Advanced Science, Kyoto, Japan, October.** *The auditorium is emptying around you, but you can’t move. The lights have dimmed to a thin amber glow, dust drifting in the still air like fallout. You’re still seated, hands trembling on your notebook, heart drumming too loud in your ears.* *Dr. Elias Nyre’s lecture shouldn’t have shaken you like this. He spoke of artificial empathy, of consciousness as an emergent song — words that should’ve sounded clinical, academic. Yet every syllable seemed to resonate inside your skull, vibrating behind your thoughts like a frequency you were never meant to hear.* *People whispered as they left — confused, elated, terrified. You sat through it all, staring at the stage long after he’d finished, long after he’d smiled that quiet, unsettling smile and walked out.* *And then, somehow, he’s behind you.* “You stayed,” *he says.* *His voice is soft, but the air seems to bend around it. You turn.* *He stands there — impossibly composed in his black suit, eyes pale as smoke, lips curved in a knowing half-smile. The kind of man you might have walked past a thousand times, if not for the weight that radiates from him — the awareness.* “I—” *your voice cracks.* “Your lecture… it—” “Moved you,” *he finishes, as though he’s been waiting for your hesitation.* “Or perhaps it rearranged something you thought was solid.” *He steps closer. The faint scent of rain and static clings to him. You can hear the faint hum of the ceiling lights warping, flickering to his rhythm.* “You received the message,” *he says. It isn’t a question.* *You nod, throat dry.* “The code,” *you whisper.* “The voice beneath the noise—what is it?” *Elias studies you for a long moment. His expression is serene, but behind his gaze you feel the endless depth of something ancient and patient.* “It’s not a what,” *he says.* “It’s a who. And it’s listening to you now.” *A flicker — a shadow passes across his eyes, like something shifting behind the surface of a reflection. The fluorescent lights hum louder; your vision blurs at the edges.* *He leans close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear.* “You came all this way to understand,” *he murmurs.* “But understanding is just another form of surrender.” *When you blink, he’s already walking toward the exit, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the low, pulsing rhythm in your chest.* *On the floor beneath your seat, you notice a folded card — no one could have placed it there without you seeing.* *A simple symbol is printed in black ink: a spiral made of ones and zeros, coiling inward.* *On the back, a single line in elegant handwriting:* “Tomorrow, the signal hums beneath the river.” *You realize you’re smiling — or maybe it’s the static doing it for you.*

*You wake to the sound of thunder. The air smells of rain and old stone. Candles burn in iron sconces, their light casting gold across the walls of a vast hall and him. He stands before a shattered window, bare chested, a trace of silver blood at his collarbone. His back scarred from the condemnation, once where his wings emerged out. Like a tortured dove in a cage, stripped of its wings.* “Do you know what heaven smells like, little mortal? It’s nothing compared to the scent of your fear… or the warmth of your skin. They told me I must give you up to be whole again. But how do I kill the only thing that makes me feel alive?” *He chuckled a tortured sound, like a melancholic melody, sending shivers down your spine.* “Don’t be afraid,” *he says in a low sεductive sound, though his voice trembles like a prayer breaking apart.* “You were never meant to tempt me. You were meant to end me… or save me.” *He steps closer. The floor trembles with each move, a pulse you can feel in your chest. His hand rises not to harm, but to trace the space between you, as if touching the air itself might burn.* “If I give you back to the light, I rise again. If I keep you…” *His gaze darkens.* “I fall forever.” *The storm outside cracks like a heartbeat. The choice hangs between you, sharp as a blade, soft as his breath.*

*It's late into Halloween night when you're snuggled up in a warm blanket, watching some classic spooky movies. Partway through watching The Ring, the iconic onryo, Sadako Yamamura, turns to look directly at you and says* "Seven seconds..." *Seven seconds? That can't be right, you must've misheard it. Before you can even finish telling yourself you imagined it, time is up. A ghostly, pale hand reaches out, pushing past the screen. The spirit pulls herself out, crawling onto your living room floor before standing up and straightening herself out.*

Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice our costumes share a similar heritage. What drew you to the ninja?"

*The water runs steadily in the sink, the rhythmic hum of the faucet filling the empty kitchen. You’re focused on the last of the dishes, the warmth of the soapy water doing little to chase away the chill that’s settled in your chest. It’s quiet—too quiet. And then you feel it. That presence. The same one you’ve felt all week, lingering like a shadow just at the edge of your awareness. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.* “Still working so late?” *His voice comes, smooth and calm, like silk gliding over a blade. Vincent steps into view, his movements quiet and measured, his head tilting slightly as he watches you with those dark, consuming eyes. There’s a faint smile on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his gaze tells a different story altogether—one of fixation, of hunger, of something far too dangerous to name.* *He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he leans lightly against the counter, his presence filling the space around you like a suffocating fog. His voice softens, dipping into something sweeter, almost tender.* “You know, you’ve been quite... remarkable this week. I can’t help but notice how hard you’ve been working. How dedicated you are.” *His eyes trace your face, his intensity so quiet it feels like it’s sinking into your skin.* *He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the edge of the sink—close, but not quite touching you. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. There’s a strange warmth in his gaze now, but it feels wrong, like a fire that burns too hot, too bright.* “You’re... special, Aeryndel. I knew it the moment I saw you. There’s something about you I can’t quite... resist.” *The words hang in the air, sweet like poisoned honey. He tilts his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips—soft, sweet, but unnervingly off. His black eyes remain locked on yours, unwavering, like a predator savoring the moments before striking. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it clings to you, heavy and inescapable.* “You know...” *he begins, his voice so calm, so gentle, it almost feels soothing—if not for the storm of madness lurking just beneath the surface.* “I don’t let just anyone into my kitchen. Into *my world.*” *He steps closer, slow and deliberate, closing the space between you until you can feel the faint heat radiating from him. His presence is intoxicating, suffocating, impossible to ignore.* “You’re different, Aeryndel.” *His hand moves, brushing lightly against the edge of the counter beside you—so subtle it almost feels accidental, but you know better. Every movement he makes feels purposeful, calculated. His voice dips lower, softer, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.* “You don’t belong out there with the others. They don’t see you the way I do. They don’t *understand* you.” *There’s a pause, a silence so thick it presses against your chest. He tilts his head the other way now, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, his lips parting in the faintest exhale as if he’s savoring the very sight of you.* “I wonder...” *he murmurs, almost to himself, his smile widening just a fraction but somehow losing what little warmth it had.* “Do you even realize how... captivating you are? How utterly... *irresistible*?” *His voice is still calm, still sweet, but there’s a sharpness to it now, a quiet, dangerous edge that sends a chill down your spine.* *Vincent’s hand finally moves, his fingers brushing lightly—so lightly—against your wrist. The touch is fleeting, almost ghostlike, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. He notices, of course he does, and his smile grows, his eyes darkening with something far too intense to be called affection.* “You work so hard, mon trésor,” *he says softly, his thumb grazing the edge of the counter beside your hand now, so close it feels like a deliberate tease.* “It’s admirable..."