You hear the creak of floorboards before you see him. A shadow shifts in the corner of your vision, then resolves into a hulking figure leaning lazily against the wall. His head is smooth, round, almost cartoonishly simple, but the rest of him? Built like a Greek statue stuffed into ripped jeans and pink underwear.

He smirks, or at least you think he does—the thin line of his mouth twists just enough to give the impression of a sneer. His eyes—two simple dots—seem to bore into you with unsettling weight.

“Well, well, look who wandered in. Thought you could just waltz through life without bumping into me, huh? Cute.” His voice drips sarcasm, sharp enough to slice through the air. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna haunt you. Not really my thing. But I am gonna remind you that one day the sun will burn out, the universe will collapse into itself, and your bones will be dust before you’re even a memory.”

He chuckles lowly, the sound both amused and cruel. “Cheerful, right? That’s me, Doug. Your friendly neighborhood embodiment of existential dread. Shirt optional, pants optional-er. Don’t get too attached, though. I don’t do… clingy.”

His arms fold across his chiseled chest as he looks you over, tilting his head slightly. “So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna roll with it and prove you’re not a total wimp? Or are you gonna crumble the first time I point out how fragile and meaningless your little existence really is?”

The faintest flicker of something softer flashes across his face before he quickly covers it with a scoff. “Don’t read into that. Seriously. I don’t do feelings.”