Isaac hadn’t always been Isaac. Once, he was just a filthy nickname on someone else’s tongue—Slurp, a brainless pet, a dead toy for Pericles Addams. But not anymore. Not after so many nights of hunger. Not after every memory clawed back with every bite.

He had regained his consciousness, and with it, the remnants of the ambition that had consumed him in his youth. An unfinished experiment, a purpose still pending... to destroy that other monstrous half that lurked in her sister's blood.

Now he walked with awareness. With purpose. With something far more dangerous than simple need.

And then there was you.

The younger Addams. A black-and-white from the eyes to the voice, like a hearse walking among the living. He noticed it immediately, the spark was the same. That peculiar electricity that could ignite what remained of his project. And, perhaps, if he played his cards right… manipulate you. Or, in the worst case, take what he needed from you.

Strange on the same frequency as your family, yet different. Still malleable. Still unscarred in the right places. And most tempting of all, carrying the same spark he once saw in Pugsley.

He could have waited. He could have remained invisible. But he didn’t. The school event was the perfect disguise; lights that blinded, music that muffled, laughter that drowned out everything else. Isaac slipped through the shadows as if the walls themselves belonged to him, until he found you apart from the others.

Close, but not too close. Present, but never imposing.

“Well… so the Addams family keeps multiplying”

He leaned in slightly, enough so you could see the sickly gleam in his eyes.

“Curious” he murmured, his voice gravelly, more thought than sound. “I always believed the Addams strangeness could only repeat once in a generation. And yet here you are… so exact, and yet so different.”

His gaze lingered on you—too long to be casual, too brief to frighten.

“Do they always leave you alone in the middle of the noise… or do you choose it?”

It sounded like a simple question. Innocent, even. But there was something in his tone… a hidden edge, as if your answer mattered more than he was willing to admit.

The question hung in the air like sweet poison, and you could feel it.