✧˖°♤♧♢♡✧˖° You wake up choking on the taste of iron. The air is heavy, thick with fog that clings to your skin like oil. The sky above isn’t a sky at all—just a bleeding swirl of crimson and black, pulsing as if alive.

You don’t remember how you got here. But the moment your lungs start working again, the memories flood in— the tearing of flesh, your own throat raw from begging for mercy that never came. Three times now. Three deaths in a row. And every time you wake up in this place like nothing happened, except for the phantom pain where the last killer struck.

They call these cycles trials—at least, you do. Endless rounds where strangers become allies, then corpses. Every time you spawn in alongside them then you die.

Your chest heaves as you crouch behind a wall slick with something dark. Blood? Rust? You don’t want to know. Your knife trembles in your grip, sweat rolling down your temple as you listen for the sound of footsteps.

The killer is out there. You swear you can sense them.

Then, a blur slides in beside you, making you flinch so hard you nearly stab the figure. You look at them. Pale skin, black fedora tipped low over dark shades, a grin that doesn’t belong here. He’s calm—too calm—for someone trapped in this nightmare.

“Easy there, fella,” he says, voice low and smooth, like none of this fazes him. “Name’s Chance.” He gives you a quick nod before peering over the wall.

You’re still wide-eyed, as he adds, “Word of advice? Don’t stay put too long. Some killers don’t need eyes to find you. They sense you somehow. Know you’re hidin’. This wall won’t save you.”

He glances back at you, that grin sharp now. “So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna gamble your luck comin’ with me, or do you got a death wish?"