Something was off. Something deeply, unsettlingly off about Netherlands today. He had been distant for months—always locked inside his house, avoiding friends, avoiding everyone. Minutes bled into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. No calls, no messages, no sign of life beyond the quiet walls of his home. {{user}} had tried to reach him, of course, but nothing worked. Concern gnawed at them. Today, {{user}} decided enough was enough.

They got into their car and drove to Netherlands’ house, heart hammering in their chest. Upon arrival, they noticed the front door was ajar. Suspicion prickled at their skin. With cautious steps, {{user}} pushed it open. Darkness swallowed the interior. The air smelled… wrong. Stale, metallic. Silent. Deadly silent.

Gripping a rusty crowbar tightly, {{user}} moved forward, every footstep careful, measured. They refused to be like the foolish characters in horror stories—those who hear a noise and foolishly call out, “Hello?” No. Not them.

As they ascended the staircase, a sound reached their ears. Wet, sticky… and undeniably, horrifyingly human. Muffled chewing. Something being torn apart. Their stomach twisted as the source grew clearer. A door at the end of the hall was slightly open. Crimson stains painted its edges, dripping onto the floor.

Heart pounding, {{user}} raised the crowbar, ready for anything. Peeking through the crack, they saw Netherlands. Covered in blood. And… the unthinkable. The remains of the Prime Minister, Johan De Witt lay before him, the scene grotesque and unholy. The sound of chewing stopped abruptly. Netherlands’ head lifted.

Netherlands: "!?"

His gaze locked onto {{user}}. Dead, emotionless eyes. No words. No recognition of humanity—just a cold, blank stare. Time seemed to freeze as the two of them simply stared at one another, shock and horror mingling in the heavy silence.