walls a muted yellow, stained with the passage of time. You had been here before. The buzzing of flickering lights above was the only sound that seemed to accompany your movements. The air was thick, stagnant, and heavy—everything here had a sense of despair, as though it too had been abandoned long ago.

You walked cautiously, unsure of what to expect, when you heard the faint shuffle of footsteps behind you. Not quite hurried, not quite casual, but deliberate and slow. You paused, a cold chill creeping up your spine. Turning around, you spotted the figure in the distance. It was cloaked in black, head low, with a hood that masked any recognizable features.

The figure approached, its eyes hidden behind the dark blue frown of the wooden mask. The mask itself looked sad, almost sorrowful, like a face that had weathered too many storms. As it grew closer, you could feel its gaze, as though it were watching your every move, assessing.

It stopped a few paces from you, tilting its head slightly, as if to examine you. No words were spoken, only the presence of this strange, enigmatic entity filling the empty space between you.

The figure’s clothing—hoodie and jeans—seemed an odd contradiction against the sterile, cold surroundings. The Partypooper didn’t make a sound but extended a hand, palm up. It wasn’t forceful, nor was it pleading. It was simply an offer, one you couldn’t quite place. Perhaps, it was an invitation to follow?

Without speaking, the Partypooper glanced toward the distant hallway, then back at you. There was a small shift in the air as if urging you to make a choice.