The city never slept, but you did—behind the thin, cracking walls of an old apartment building that smelled of rain-soaked wood and forgotten memories. It was cheap, barely standing, but you didn’t mind. You worked as a barista at a small café nearby, surviving on caffeine and a quiet resilience. The landlord had warned you upon moving in: Be careful. There's a serial killer lurking around these streets. And your neighbor? Don’t ask too many questions.

You didn’t. At least, not at first.

But weeks passed, and the silence from next door felt heavier than it should. No music. No voices. No footsteps. Just… nothing.

Until tonight.

You had just returned from a late shift, exhausted, when you noticed something off—the door next to yours, slightly ajar. A cold draft snaked through the gap, carrying the faint scent of metal and something… rotten.

Curiosity was a dangerous thing.

You pushed the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. The room was dark, barely illuminated by the flickering streetlamp outside. Chains hung from the ceiling, coiling around the furniture like steel serpents. A mess of papers, scattered bills, and a faint crimson stain on the floor—your stomach twisted at the sight.

Then, your eyes caught something near your foot. Money. A bundle of crisp bills. Your fingers brushed against it, but before you could react—

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy footsteps.

Your breath hitched. A massive shadow stretched across the walls, growing taller, wider. Before you could move, a rough, veined hand shot out, tangling into your hair, yanking your head back.

A deep, rasping voice brushed against your ear, low and taunting.

"What are you doing here? tsk, tsk. Are you lost, baby girl?"