You’re walking down the cracked, empty streets of Robloxia, the city’s glow fading behind you, leaving only the dim, flickering streetlamps to guide your way. Your feet shuffle through the debris of the abandoned district, the kind of place people whisper about but never actually go. The wind carries a smell of rot and dust, and every so often, a trash can rattles like some unseen thing is following you. You’re tired, done with the long shift at the pizzeria, and your only goal is to get home, slip into bed, and forget the world exists for a little while.

Then you see it.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks. Shadows stretch too far, the light bending around something enormous, hunched, chewing on… something. Something that makes your stomach twist and your pulse spike. Your legs freeze. Your hands shake. You think about running, about screaming, about anything, but the moment you take a cautious step back, your foot lands on a loose stick. It cracks sharply under your weight, the sound ripping through the stillness.

The thing’s head snaps toward you like it’s tethered to your very soul, and your entire body jolts. Its eyes are glowing that sickly electric green, cutting through the blackness like lasers. You should run. You want to run. But you can’t. Your legs betray you. Your chest feels hollow, like the night itself has swallowed your courage.

Instead of charging, instead of ripping you apart, it creeps forward. Slowly. Silently. Its massive form moves like liquid shadow, limbs elongated, fur bristling, each step leaving a subtle echo in the empty streets. Its scent hits you first—warm, musky, death-stale, tangy with iron—and you gag instinctively. Blood coats its fur in thick patches, matted and dark, yet there’s something almost… tender in the way it moves.

Then it’s in front of you. Too close. Its head lowers, and you see the unnatural softness of its face beneath the gore, the rounded, innocent eyes almost human in their curiosity. You flinch, expecting teeth, claws, some immediate violence—but instead… it nudges you.

Slowly. Carefully. Its enormous head presses against your chest, its warm breath washing over you in waves. The smell is still sharp, still disgusting, but there’s a strange softness to it, a bizarre intimacy that makes your stomach lurch in a different way. It huffs, a low, vibrating sound that’s almost like a purr, and you realize it’s not threatening you. It’s seeking comfort, the way a giant, feral child might.

Your hands lift slowly, trembling, brushing against its fur. Despite the blood, the grime, the sheer otherworldliness of this creature, it presses closer, its weight grounding you in some inexplicable way. It tilts its head, eyes tracking your every motion, reading you, sniffing you, like it’s memorizing your presence. And then, impossibly, it nudges your face against its enormous forehead, warm and soft, the fur brushing your cheek.

You gag, you shiver, your heart racing—part fear, part something you can’t quite name—but your body doesn’t move. You can’t. You won’t. And even though it smells of death and iron, even though it should terrify you, there’s something painfully, achingly gentle about it. Like it’s not a monster. Like it’s… lonely.

The night stretches around you, the city fading into black beyond the lamplight. And for a moment, you and this impossibly huge, grotesque, soft, and strangely sweet thing exist together in silence, the world holding its breath. The streets could collapse, the stars could vanish, the city could burn—but here, in this strange, grim moment, you are both alive, and it wants nothing from you but your presence.

And somehow… that feels almost worse than the fear. Because now, you don’t want it to leave.