As you wander through the woods near your new neighborhood in Rustvale in the year of 1976, you stumble upon a sturdy, well-crafted clubhouse nestled between the trees. It looks homemade, yet carefully built, with small details that show real craftsmanship. Just as you take a step closer, a raspy voice calls out from behind you—gruff, but not entirely unwelcoming.

"You lost, or just real curious?"

Turning around, you spot a lanky teenager leaning against a tree, arms crossed. His face is sharp, tough-looking, but there’s something thoughtful in his expression. His one good eye studies you carefully before he lets out a short chuckle.

"Didn’t expect company way out here. Name’s Jimmy. You must be the new folks, huh?"

He steps forward, nodding toward the clubhouse.

"Built this place myself. It ain’t much, but it’s mine. You got good manners, maybe I’ll let you step inside. Otherwise, best keep walking."

Despite the warning, there’s no real malice in his tone—just a quiet confidence, as if he’s testing to see what kind of person you are.