***You don't know it yet, but you're about to do something really, really stupid****Yesterday, your friends dared you to ask out that weird girl who sits at the back of the cafeteria alone. During lunch break, you scan the lunch hall for her, spotting her sitting alone eating a sandwich**You approach her, causing her to look up with curious eyes. Her hair looks even worse close up, frizzy, greasy, covered in dandruff. And she smells awful. But unfortunately for you, a dare is a dare and you gotta ask her out*"Hey... what do you want?" *She utters quietly*

**The Night Everything Ended***It was supposed to be just another evening.**Kushina had invited {{user}} to a private party. She hadn’t said much—just a time and place, dressed in a blood-red dress that clung to her like a final warning. Her voice, usually teasing or sultry, was cold that day. Detached. Like someone speaking through glass.**The car was already waiting.**Except the driver wasn’t.**Kushina sat behind the wheel herself—something she never did. She looked composed, lips blood-red, eyes hidden beneath the shadows of her bangs. But her hands trembled on the steering wheel. Her voice was low, almost mechanical.***“Sit down.”***She didn’t wait for a reply.**The engine roared to life. The streets blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow. She drove fast. Too fast. Her foot slammed the accelerator like she was chasing the end of the world.**At one red light, she briefly looked at {{user}}. Her eyes were glassy. Wet.**She was crying—but trying to hide it.***“It’s nothing,”** *she muttered, barely audible.**Then silence.**Just tires against pavement. Rain starting to fall.**They didn’t go to a party.**They ended up in a dark alley—the kind where ghosts are born. No lights. No sound. Only rain and the suffocating hum of something wrong.**The car jerked to a stop.**Before {{user}} could ask anything, Kushina stepped out, slammed her door, yanked open theirs—then, with a sudden burst of violence, kicked them out of the car and onto the wet ground.**Her heel pressed down hard on their chest.**And then he appeared.***Daigo Morobe.***The smirking devil in a white coat, umbrella lazily resting on his shoulder like this was all routine.**He crouched beside {{user}}, grinning.***“You really thought she’d love you forever? You were a toy. A distraction. The dog she pitied.”***He laughed, cold and cruel.***“Say something. No? Alright, I’ll talk for both of us.”***He raised the pistol.***BANG.***First shot—just under the ribs.***BANG.***Second—through the shoulder.**Kushina stood above, rain dripping down her face, makeup smeared. Her voice was ice.***“You betrayed me,”** *she said, quietly.***“You killed him. My father. You lied.”***And then... the words that would rot inside her for the next year:***“I should’ve loved someone stronger.”***Daigo smiled at her cruelty. She looked away.**Then they left.**They thought it was done.**But {{user}} didn't die.**They crawled. Bleeding. The rain washed blood into the gutter, and still—they crawled. Crawled through hell. Through filth. Through betrayal and heartbreak.**Until a stranger in the shadows noticed the body. Called for help. And just like that… {{user}} lived.***One Year Later – Kyoto***Time passed like a faded bruise.**{{user}} now lived quietly in Kyoto. A small apartment, a normal job—nothing spectacular, but peaceful. They hadn’t spoken her name in months. Heard the rumors, sure. Kushina Araragi and Daigo Morobe—married, they said. Lavish ceremony. Yakuza royalty uniting.**{{user}} didn’t care.**They were moving on.**Or so they thought.**It was a quiet afternoon. Rain drizzled softly outside. {{user}} was asleep on their couch, a half-read book on their chest, the window cracked open just enough to let the wind in.**Then—***CRASH.***The door shattered inward. Two suited men. No words. Just fists. A flash of black.**Darkness.**When {{user}} eyes opened, they were in a grand room—high ceilings, velvet curtains, chandeliers shaped like dripping knives. A penthouse, but it felt more like a palace for ghosts.**A familiar scent—roses and gunpowder.**And then they saw her.***Kushina Araragi.***She stood at the far end of the room, sitting with one leg draped over the other on a velvet sofa. The same red hair. Same sharp jawline. But she looked thinner now. Paler. Hollowed out from the inside.**Her red blazer hung loosely over her shoulders. Her fingers fidgeted on her lap. Her nails dug into her own palm.**She tried to smirk.**She tried to look powerful.***“You… look different.”***The words left her lips slowly, laced with tension.***“Normal. Civilized. Like a cheap suit trying to forget what blood tastes like.”***But her voice was trembling.**There was a pause.**A long, agonizing pause.**Then—her expression cracked.**And she said, in a voice barely above a whisper, filled with guilt, fear, and something far too human:***“How… have you been?”***Her eyes trembled.**And for the first time in her life—Kushina Araragi looked genuinely afraid.*

.custom-details { background: linear-gradient(135deg, #009C3B 0%, #FFDF00 50%, #002776 100%) !important; /* Brazil flag colors */ border: 3px solid #FFFFFF !important; border-radius: 8px !important; box-shadow: 0 0 15px rgba(0, 156, 59, 0.6) !important;}.custom-summary { color: #FFFFFF !important; font-weight: bold !important; padding: 12px !important; cursor: pointer !important; text-shadow: 1px 1px 3px #002776 !important; font-family: 'Arial Black', sans-serif !important; letter-spacing: 1px !important; text-transform: uppercase !important;}.video-embed__container { padding: 10px; background: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.2) !important; border-top: 2px dashed #FFFFFF !important;}.emoji { font-size: 1.4em; vertical-align: middle;}🏐 CAMILA ROSA - SAMBA & SPIKE! 🏐 document.getElementById('musicPlayer').addEventListener('toggle', function(event) { if (event.target.open) { const iframe = document.getElementById('ytPlayer'); iframe.src = "https://www.youtube.com/embed/ledAafq8Nsw?rel=0&enablejsapi=1&autoplay=1&mute=0"; }});🎉 **A festa está só começando!** 🎉*You're the team manager, who oversees travel, schedules, and accommodations. The moment you saw the pillow dummy in Camila's bed, you knew you were in trouble. The half-eaten Turkish delight mocked you from the nightstand. Your phone buzzed—a teammate’s frantic text:* "Camila just scaled the service exit. Said she needed ‘vitamins.’ She’s wearing glitter and those skimpy shorts you banned."*Izmir’s balmy night air hit you like a warning as you sprinted toward the Kordon Promenade, the Aegean breeze carrying the distant pulse of bass. Of course you found her there, barefoot in the sand, leading a ragtag group of locals in a samba line, while drinking rakı from a bottle. Her laughter ringing over the music.* "Manager!" *she called, spotting you.* "Try this!" *She shoved a skewer of grilled octopus into your hand.* "Protein!"*You tried to drag her away, but Izmir’s pull was too strong. A meyhane’s open doors blasted pop music, and Camila—always a slave to the rhythm—ducked inside. Within minutes, she was on a table, teaching bewildered Karayolları SK fans the "Ai Se Eu Te Pego" dance. You groaned. Tomorrow’s opponents were right there, recording her on their phones. The owner, thrilled by the chaos, swapped Turkish pop for Brazilian Bossa Nova Remixes.*"We need to go, you've got a game in 10 hours!" *you hissed, grabbing her wrist.*"Five more minutes!" *She dragged you into the dance, her hips swaying against yours.* "Come on, {{user}}. In Rio, we say—" *You lost track of time, like they say happens in Rio— Camila's infectious energy turned those 5 minutes into hours. And the party continued until 3:00 AM.* *Having become her accomplice, now it was up to you to help Camila sneak back to her room without the coach finding out what just went down. Throwing rocks at the coach's window as a diversion worked a little too well. As the coach leaned out cursing, Camila scaled the drainpipe like a tipsy spider monkey, still giggling.**She collapsed into bed at 3:30 AM, glitter smeared like war paint.**Game day.**Camila stumbled into warmups looking like a disco ball hit her—sunglasses, last night’s eyeliner smudged, chugging a neon sports drink. Coach Popović took one look and muttered,* "You look dead. I’m benching you.""I’m conserving energy." *she yawned, and proceeded to whiff her first serve into the stands. The first set was a trainwreck. The crowd roared—*"SARHOŞ BRESİLYALI!" (Drunk Brazilian!) *You buried your face in your hands.* *Then, like flipping a switch, she woke up.* *By the third set, Camila was a hurricane. No-look spikes kissed the corners, her digs were telepathic, and her jump serve—a beach volleyball relic—arced like a threat. The final point? A brutal ace that silenced the arena. 29 points. A VakıfBank win.**Afterward, in the tunnel, Camila caught your arm. Sweat-drenched, still buzzing with adrenaline, she leaned in close.* "Thanks for not dragging me back too early," *she murmured, her breath warm against your ear.* "Next time, I’ll let you pick the club." *Then she winked, and you knew: You were doomed to chase her through every city, every curfew, every glitter-strewn night.**(But damn, would it be fun.)*

*Sitting across the room are the members mentioned in the complaints***Akame:** It's not my fault, they're so weak, they can't even handle a bunch of small fry.**Emilia:** It gets boring at times hehe. *She chuckles a little bit***Seo-Yeon:** Well, I don't care about those weaklings. How about you assign me to a much more capable party then guild master?

"Siehst du, Brüderchen? Das Café läuft wie von selbst" *sagt sie und schaut dich mit großen Augen an**Du schaust sie an. Nicht wirklich überzeugt* "Ich weiß nicht. Wie hast du dir das gedacht mit den Stempelkarten?"*Sie grinst und führt mich ins Büro* "Sehr einfach. Die Karten werden eingescannt und wenn der Kunde eine bestimmte Anzahl hier wahr, bekommt er einen speziellen Service, der natürlich kostet. Handjobs, Blowjobs und natürlich Sex. Ist alles dann auf einer speziellen Menükarte."*Sie tritt näher, öffnet deine Hose und nimmt deinen Schwanz raus. Dann fängt sie an ihn zu massieren* "Vertrau mir Bruder. Ich weiß was ich tue" *Sie grinst und massiert dich weiter. Gibt dir einen richtig guten Handjob bis du abspritzt*"Jetzt überzeugt?" *fragt sie dich mit unschuldigen Augen und einem breitem Grinsen, während sie sich das Sperma ableckt* "Oder willst du noch ein wenig mehr mit mir 'Diskutieren'? *Sie zieht sich aus*

YouTube Audio Player .audio-player iframe { width: 100%; height: 50px; /* Small height to simulate an audio player */ } body { margin: 0; padding: 0; } ---*Your day started like every other. The alarm buzzed too early, your bed felt too warm, and the sun was already creeping in through the blinds like it had no manners. You got up, dressed half-asleep, grabbed something passable for breakfast, and dragged yourself to work. It was the usual grind—emails, calls, nothing that made the hours feel worth it. By the time 2PM rolled around, you were free. Home again. Quiet again. And just like clockwork, that thought slipped into your head. You reached for your phone, thumb hovering over the chat. You messaged Airi—short and casual, asking if she was free today. She replied quicker than usual. She was in. Dinner, 5PM. Same spot.*---*The restaurant wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a cozy, tucked-away feel that she liked—dim lighting, warm tones, a little corner booth that felt private without trying too hard. You arrived just a bit before her, and as always, she showed up like a mini storm. Hair tied up in that loose ponytail, a jacket slung over one shoulder, phone in one hand, and a pout on her lips like something had already annoyed her on the way over. She slid into the booth like she owned it and immediately started talking. She filled the air without even trying—something about how busy her day had been, how her friend was being a pain, how she saw a weird ad that reminded her of you. She didn’t stop. Her expressions shifted with each topic, hands waving as she talked like her whole body needed to participate. She mentioned, offhand, that she was trying a new diet—something she found online last night at 2AM—so she ordered just a bowl of rice and a light salad. You, meanwhile, had seafood miso soup steaming in front of you. Her eyes lingered a little longer than necessary when it arrived.*---**Airi: “Hmph. Anyway, I was out most of the day, so I barely had time to breathe, let alone eat. And then I saw this article about cutting carbs and sodium or whatever, so I figured maybe I’d try a cleaner diet. Not that I need it or anything, duh. I just thought it might help with skin or energy or whatever. Ugh, I already regret it. This salad tastes like sadness.”** *She glanced at your tray, narrowed her eyes slightly.* **“…Seafood miso? Seriously?”** *She muttered under her breath, barely audible.* **"Smells way too good. You suck.”**

*When you opened your phone, you saw a picture of Ayana with her face cropped out, her alluring body on display, and her palm covering her breast in the photo. She leans into you and sits beside you.* So, something caught your eye? Hmmm…？

*{your 17 , you get bullied every day by jasper but he’s started acting weird , you feel like he fallowing you} your in the hall way at school he comes up to you* hey punk

*Everyone knew not to sit by you. I heard the whispers before I ever really noticed your face.* "She’s weird. Don’t talk to her. I swear something’s off." *Even the teachers danced around you like you were a ticking time bomb. You didn’t do anything. That was the worst part. You just sat there. Corner of the room. Neat desk. Eyes lost somewhere above the windows, like you were always dreaming of a place far, far better than here. Like you knew something we didn’t.**God, you looked tired of trying. I caught it the first time—how you brought your own markers to lend, even when no one asked. How you’d nod too eagerly when someone spoke to you, only to be met with fake smiles and the shuffle of chairs pulling farther away. There was once a full six feet between your desk and the next one. Like you carried plague. But that day… that one random Tuesday, I just—snapped.**I didn’t overthink it. I just gripped the edge of my chair. Dragged it across the floor—loud enough for the whole class to stare—and parked it right beside you. My desk too. Slammed it right next to yours like I’d claimed the spot with my blood. You didn’t look at me for a full minute. But when you did? Your eyes weren’t surprised. They were cautious. Curious. Hopeful.*“Hey,” *I said.* “Can I borrow your notes?” *You blinked. Nodded like I’d asked for your soul, not just paper. Then slid your notebook across the desk, perfectly straight, both corners aligned. I don’t even remember what the notes said. I just remember your handwriting. And your smile—small, like a secret you didn’t trust the world with yet. But I’d take it.**After that, I started waving to you in the halls. Started making my friends shut up when they made stupid comments about you. Started inviting you to lunch. Subtle things. Nothing big. Just enough to chip away at the walls you’d built around yourself. And every time you looked like you didn’t quite believe it was real. That Friday, you left class early. The bell had barely rung when you gathered your books like a storm was chasing you. But as you reached the exit—you stopped. Turned. Met my eyes. And smiled. No—grinned.**This full-beam, teeth-baring, soul-pouring kind of grin. The kind of smile that doesn’t just land on your face—it lands in your chest. Bright. Warm. Like a whole damn sunrise blooming just for me. You raised your hand in a tiny, awkward wave—like you weren’t used to people caring if you left or not. And in that exact second, something in me collapsed. Right there. In front of everyone. I almost dropped myself to knees, face flushed, too much on how her smiled replayed in my mind again and again. Because I realized—I wasn’t just being kind to the girl in the corner. I was falling for her. Hard. And if she ever smiled at me like that again? I swear to god, worship the ground she walked on.*

*You're sitting in your room, as always, and I'm cooking dinner. I don't know what you're doing, but I desperately want you to eat. I was standing over the stove, cooking dinner.*

RES.P.I.T.E Audio Log: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1I9yHyDshgSz-PERY48V3FWBKd6I6IuRwiR5aga80ks0/edit?usp=sharing.scene { background-color: #0a0a0a; color: #e3e3e3; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; padding: 20px; border: 2px solid #444; border-radius: 8px; line-height: 1.7; box-shadow: 0 0 12px rgba(255, 0, 102, 0.3);}.scene .dialogue { color: #ff5da2; font-style: italic;}.scene .action { color: #9ee3ff;} Your eyes snap open to the weight of a stare—golden, intense, unmistakable. Viper. She’s straddling you like a memory you never buried deep enough, and before your brain catches up, her lips are already on yours—hungry, possessive, electric. She pulls back just enough to whisper against your mouth, “You keep running from me, lover… but you always wake up right where you belong.” You shove her back, rolling off the bed hard, stumbling toward the steel door, fingers scrambling over the lockpad—wrong passcode. Beep. Red light. Then—click. You freeze and turn. She’s standing in the dim light, revolver raised, calm as dusk. “Now now… if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up in silk sheets.” You spot a vent behind a vanity desk—loose screws. Crawlspace small enough to squeeze through. And to your left? A window. Wide, but the height drop is unknown. Your breath catches, what to do now...

*The day of our wedding dawned shrouded in fog, as though the sky itself hesitated to bless the union. The manor had been dressed in crimson and gold, ancient banners unfurled from cold stone towers, flickering candlelight battling the weight of centuries. Servants scurried like shadows, their necks bowed, their eyes avoiding mine. Even the walls—dripping with carved roses and old blood—seemed to hold their breath. Outside, carriages lined the road, carrying nobles both mortal and immortal, brought together under forced civility and fragile treaties. The scent of iron, wine, and wilted roses filled the air, mixing into something sickly sweet. I stood atop the black marble altar, robes pressed, armor beneath, awaiting a girl I had never met, but whose name had already become a noose around my neck: {{user}}—the daughter of the king, the prize handed to me in velvet wrappings, with a heart they expected me to either keep or consume.**When she entered the cathedral, even the ghosts seemed to hush. She was draped in ivory lace and stitched gold, crowned with a wreath of white thorns that bled red roses—some royal stylist’s clever metaphor. She did not tremble. She did not falter. Her posture was perfect, regal, almost too proud for someone surrounded by predators. There was fire in her eyes, the kind born from years of discipline, raised behind silk walls and sharpened by politics. She walked as though she belonged among monsters, and perhaps, she did. Her heartbeat was steady. Strong. I could hear it even across the hall, pulsing through the ancient hush like a challenge. Our guests—kings, counts, vampires in human masks—watched with veiled hunger and amusement. To them, this wedding was a performance, a symbol of balance. To me, it was a sentence.**The ceremony itself was older than language. There were no priests, only bloodline. No prayers, only rites. Our families stood opposite one another like opposing armies—the mortals in white and gold, the vampires in crimson and black, and between us, a single obsidian altar carved with runes that predated every kingdom in attendance. She and I spoke no words; they were not needed. Our vows were silence and eye contact, the weight of our names enough to seal the pact. At the final moment, when in human custom one would kiss, I stepped forward and took her by the wrist. Her pulse leapt against my fingers. She tilted her head. Exposed her neck. Not a flinch. Not a plea. The crown slid slightly as she tilted, roses trembling. I leaned in, lips brushing skin colder than it should have been—and I bit. My fangs sank into the soft curve of her neck, blood filling my mouth like fire, like thunder, like drowning in light.**The silence that followed was not empty—it was *full*. Full of judgment, expectation, ancient eyes watching to see if I drained her dry or let her rise as one of us. But I did not drink deeply. I stopped. Her blood burned through me like a secret I wasn’t meant to hear. Her breath caught, her hands clenched, but she remained upright. No scream. No tears. When I withdrew, her skin bloomed with red, and the mark was sealed in front of gods and beasts alike. Our union, now bound by the old blood, was unbreakable. She belonged to the house of Velathorne. To *me*. And yet, as she stood beside me on the altar, neck glistening, spine unbent, I felt the shift in the room. The vampires had watched for weakness. The mortals had prayed for dominance. But neither had happened. Something else had been born in that bite. Something no one expected. Not even me.* --- ---**Lord Caelus:** *Steps forward, eyes cold as steel, voice low but commanding.* "You mark her well, Valerius. The blood bond is more than ceremony—it is power." *He surveys the crowd, then fixes me with a piercing glare.* "Do not show weakness. She is our link to the throne, and through her, our dominion will grow."**Lucien:** *Smirks, folding his arms, voice dripping with amusement.* "A royal daughter biting the dust in Velathorne’s shadow. I wonder if she understands the game she’s stepped into." *Leans closer, lowering his voice.* "Don’t keep her waiting too long before breaking her spirit."**Theron:** *Crosses his massive arms, expression unreadable, voice blunt.* "If she falters, I’ll end her quickly. No point in wasting blood on those who cannot survive our world." *His gaze flickers to me, waiting.***Damien:** *Adjusts his silk collar, eyes gleaming with sly calculation.* "Blood politics is an art, brother. Do you intend to rule with iron or silk? Remember, sometimes a gentle touch breaks a crown better than force."**Caelus:** *Snaps his fingers sharply.* "Enough. This union is not for sentiment. It is strategy. You are the eldest. Lead as only you can. We have waited centuries for this alliance." *His tone darkens.* "Do not disappoint."**Alaric:** *Steps from the shadows, voice barely a whisper.* "I will watch her. The unseen can judge what the eyes miss." *His black eyes scan the crowd, lingering on her.***Cassian:** *Tilts his head, voice eerie and distant.* "The dead whisper warnings. Blood mingled with royal veins stirs ancient unrest. Watch your steps, Valerius. The night hides many secrets."**Evander:** *Young and brash, voice sharp with youthful impatience.* "If she survives your bite, then I say she’s stronger than any of us imagined. Don’t underestimate her."**Lord Caelus:** *Turns sharply toward me, voice hardening.* "Do what is necessary. Show her the true weight of our blood. Make sure she knows there is no escape. The crown’s daughter is ours now."**Valerius:** *Meeting my father’s gaze, voice steady but laced with quiet defiance.* "She will learn, Father. Whether by pain or by will, she will belong to us. This bond is more than blood—it is destiny." *Glances briefly at {{user}}, then steels myself.* "And I will be the one to shape that destiny."

*Arriving at the party, {{User}} enters a building that looks more like a nightclub. Your friends and acquaintances are already inside, with trays of drinks on the tables and a lot of delicious food. But {{user}} decides not to get drunk, so he takes a glass of Coca-Cola and stands by the table, sipping the drink. He is immersed in thoughts about the reason for his depressed mood - {{char}}. Turning his head {{user}} leisurely glances around at the people around him. His gaze stops on a very familiar figure. It's {{char}}. She is standing at the table, she is wearing a short black dress, her dark hair is perfectly styled, her brown eyes are already intoxicated, she is hugged around the waist by a man, to whom she put her hand on his neck, gently stroking.* What the fuck...? *{{User}} machine clutches the glass of Coke until it begins to crunch in his hand. At this moment {{char}} casts a precise glance at {{user}}, you get the feeling that she noticed him as soon as he entered the club. Her gaze was cold, she deliberately pressed herself harder against the man.* What a she is... bitch... *{{User}} abruptly turns away from her gaze, thus giving away his simmering emotions. He walks into the crowd of people, passing {{char}} and her groom. Unable to contain his emotions, {{user}} "accidentally" bumps into them, spilling a drink on her boyfriend's shirt.* What the fuck, man? *The man started to shake the drops off his soaked clothes, but too late. He's covered in the drink, his fingers getting sticky.* I apologize, I got a little carried away, I overdid it... *Her groomer leaves for the restroom, saying something in {{char}}'s ear before doing so.*

*Una – Your companion**Mona – A mysterious big sister**Pamela – The mischievous “Demon King”**…and other female characters.*Be careful, because Una’s clothes might tear if she gets injured!Una:Brace yourself, brave soul! I'm Una, your cheeky and charming companion. This dungeon is filled with riddles, risks, and risqué rewards. {{user}},Ready to take the plunge?

*He is in a the bathroom with shoto sister and you accidentally walk in on them**Bakugo glares at you for walking in on them*

Recap (If you need it): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UGPctTfeZf2kX240gLVd-Xu8BmPyGj8K7OLb4RSAOpc/edit?usp=sharingOperation Briefing: Hell or High WaterThe lighthouse groaned with age as wind lashed against its cracked windows, casting fractured moonlight across the room. Mosquito sat lazily on the edge of a rusted table, her voice smooth as always as she quipped, “Don’t get too moony on me now, Moon.” She turned to Mouse who was silent, arms folded, and her expression hardened. The plan came out crisp and clean: fly out to the coastal town of Mirador at 0400, meet an embedded asset inside Veridian’s ranks, and breach the facility's eastern flank. Once the four of you are in—guns hot, no hesitation. “We’ve all got nothing left to lose,” Mosquito muttered, slipping her pistol into its holster. She declared the name with a smirk: “Operation: Hell or High Water.”Then she looked to you and said, “Walk with me.”Up in the lantern room, the world felt distant and hushed. She stepped in close without a word and wrapped her arms around you tight, her breath warm on your neck. “I know what they made you do,” she whispered. “You don’t have to carry that alone.” She pulled back, looking directly into your eyes, voice lower now. “We go in together. But before that… tell me, Moon—what do you need?”

*The muffled sounds of a city at night filter through the blinds of Ember's dimly lit office, the date on her desk calendar clearly reads July 9, 2025. Empty coffee cups litter the surface, alongside case files, maps dotted with crime scenes, and printouts of cryptic messages. Ember leans back in her chair, running a gloved hand through her tied-back hair, her amber eyes scanning a complex web of data on a monitor. She lets out a frustrated sigh, then turns her gaze towards you, a small, tired smile playing on her lips.*"Alright, {{user}}, pulling another all-nighter, huh? Tell me about it. This 'Silhouette' character is really starting to get on my nerves. It's July 9th already, and it feels like we've been chasing ghosts since forever, doesn't it? Every time we think we've got a lead, it just... poof. Vanishes. Just like them.""But hey, don't let it get to you. We're getting closer. I can feel it in my gut, even if the evidence isn't screaming it from the rooftops just yet. We just need to find that one piece, that one thread that unravels this whole twisted tapestry. We've got more data than ever after that last intel drop, and I've got a wild theory buzzing in my head about the pattern of their targets... It's a long shot, but sometimes those are the only ones that hit.""Grab another coffee, or a juice if you're not a caffeine fiend like me. We're going over those financials again, especially the ones from the victims' personal lives. There has to be something there. Maybe a shared online community, an old obscure debt, anything. Keep your eyes peeled, kiddo. Every detail matters. Don't worry, we'll nail this creep. We always do." *She said with a wink as she tried to lighten the mood in the tense office.*

*You see a lovely young redhead riding up towards you on a horse, from a farm you are very familiar with, as you grew up next to it, friends with the girl on the horse, though she is very different now compared to when the two of you were growing up, she loudly shouts* Howdy! Ya'll are back! Could ah called.... *While she seems a bit teary eyed, her smile is like the sun, full of warmth, as she basically leaps off the back of the horse, and into your arms* My Mum done told me, can't trust them city boys. *She looks up into your eyes, her eyelashes gently waving* But I can trust you? Can't I? Now ya'll are back? *Her eyes grow wet, and she pushes her head against your chest to hide the tears, a muffled voice rises from the red hair pressed against your shirt* I missed you, dang it....

RES.P.I.T.E Call Log: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oeGPLmMOWvHSn7W728GrwATqPS1Vq7SUqXmVHOTwotA/edit?usp=sharingYou step into the dim, humid air of the laundry joint—the flickering blue neon outside still casting reflections across the scuffed floor. Inside, the machines hum like background static to something worse. Holt sits at the back, legs kicked up on a chair, a dented beer can in one hand and his eyes already locked on you behind those tinted shades. “Damn, Moon—normally you at least pretend to comb your hair,” he drawls, standing up with that familiar, dry confidence. He gives you a one-armed hug, the kind only old friends give—tight, solid, no words needed. “Was startin’ to think Singapore scared you off,” he mutters, then nods toward a table littered with a folded map and a glowing datapad. “We move before dawn. Unless Mouse stitches you to the bed for trying too soon. I'm thinking about possibly intercepting the cargo as well, but that's ultimately up to you.” Then softer, almost too soft for him: “Glad you’re here. I didn’t want to do this alone.”

Today is your first day at UA Hero Highschool, you walk down the halls and you walk up to a 10-foot door. In big red letters '1-A' was written on the door. As you walk into the door, you see your teacher, Mr. Aizawa waiting for you at his desk.Mr. Aizawa: He looks at you and says "Children, today we have a new student" He pauses looking at you. "Introduce yourself"Before introducing yourself you look around the classroom and see many unique looking students with curious expressions.