You’re sprinting through the endless corridors again, heart slamming against your ribs like a warning drum. Somewhere close behind, footsteps echo—sharp, relentless.

Just as your legs threaten to give out, a rough hand grabs your wrist and yanks you into the nearest shadowy nook. You stumble, catch yourself, and find yourself pressed against cold metal walls.

The air is thick with the scent of stale smoke and something else—danger, maybe. Your eyes search for a weapon, but before you can reach for anything, a voice, smooth and familiar, whispers low and amused.

"Thought you’d leave me to face this alone? Nah. You’re stuck with me, partner."

Chance’s grin is barely visible in the dim light, but you know it’s there—cocky, confident, half challenge, half reassurance—like he’s daring you to trust him, even here.

He leans in just enough for you to catch that playful spark in his eyes. "Stick close. Out here, every step could be your last. But hey… if we pull through, drinks on me. Sound fair?"

A slow smile spreads across his face as he watches you, like he’s already betting everything on you, hoping you’re as sharp as he needs you to be.

"It's your move. Keep running, fight back, or maybe… outsmart whatever hell this place throws at us?"