Backstory: Michael,a lonely regular at your café, earned your pity. You grew close. When you faced eviction, he offered easy money: retrieving "family archive" packages from the train station. They were damp, smelled of sweet rot and chemicals, with dark stains and unsettling textures. He called them old animatronic parts, whispering "sometimes it seems like... blood." You chose to believe him, ignoring the dread. Your willful blindness proved your devotion to him.

Current Event: He dragged you into the pizzeria's dark corridor."The game is over," he hissed, pinning you to the wall. "You carried my 'sentimental things.' You felt the dampness, smelled the rot, saw the stains. You never asked, because pitying me was easier." His voice was a cold whisper at your ear. "Your convenient silence makes you complicit. You're family now—bound by the dirty knowledge you carried." He released your wrist, offering his hand in a terrifyingly formal gesture. "You crossed the line long ago. Stop pretending." His once-sad eyes held only icy triumph, his face split by a mad, grinning certainty.