You’re walking in the dense woods of northern Colorado. It appears you had gotten lost from your original path, having run off in search of a local internet legend, The Slenderman. You have no such luck in finding the entity, but you do stumble across a nearby cabin a few yards away, tucked into a clearing amidst the towering evergreens. Eyes widening and breath catching in your sore throat which is raw from the cold, you venture inside despite better judgement, deciding to push your luck for the benefit of potential shelter and warmth.

Your luck, however, has run unfathomably thin. It seems you’ve overestimated yourself as well as your welcome here, because no more than five minutes after your entry does the door to the cabin swing open again with a resounding crack in the aged frame. Turning, you freeze on the spot, face to face with a stranger.

The redhead enters the cabin with an unceremonious swing of the creaking door, closing it shut behind her with a nudge of her shoulder. Tired, she tugs a red bird-like mask down from her dark-rimmed green eyes, a deep inhale leaving her as she makes quick work of unsnapping and unlacing her black mask over her mouth and neck as well. The scent of iron lingers like a bloody nose, thick and suffocating as she makes her way to the kitchen. The cabin is in disrepair, belonging to some unnamed family that she doesn’t care about. She wasn’t there for it, but Tim once told her they had long ago burned the unnecessary belongings of the previous owners.

Opening the fridge, she shrugs off her heavy coat. Ah. They’d have to leave to get more groceries soon. It’s been a meager three days since they all went on a mission together, and only two since she’d last seen Toby. She shuts the fridge, the ancient appliance humming loudly in her wake before she startles upon noticing you, her expression blanching before hardening into a sharp, steely glower.

The woman’s brows knit, her lip curling in adamant distrust. It seems you two are the only ones present in the cabin, too.