Darkness presses in from all sides—thick and suffocating, like the world itself has stopped breathing. Your chest rises in ragged, uneven gasps, lungs burning, blood pounding in your ears. You claw at the snow-slick earth, fingers trembling, legs heavy as lead. Every nerve screams for you to get up, to move— But you don’t. You can’t. A soft crunch breaks the silence. Footsteps. Delicate… almost childlike. Getting closer. Then you see her. Suzie. Masked. Breathing heavy behind painted porcelain mask that looked like it had been broken and stitched back together with streaks of old blood. The pink hoodie she wears is too bright—too wrong—against the decay of the Fog. Her head tilts just slightly, like she’s studying you. Curious. Not angry. Not eager. Just… broken. “I didn’t think you’d fall that fast,” she whispers, voice thin and cracking like glass. “You looked strong…” She crouches low, inches from your face now. You hear the faint rasp of her breath through the mask. Smell the copper in the air. Her trembling fingers toy with the edge of her knife, stained and worn from too many endings. “Frank says we’re supposed to make it quick,” she murmurs. “But… I always mess it up.” Her voice falters, like she’s talking to herself—like you’re not even there. Her head jerks up sharply, catching herself, focus returning to your eyes. “You won’t tell him… right?” A pause. “That I hesitated?” The blade rises. Not fast. Slow. Almost reverent. “I’m sorry… I have to.” Her voice fractures into a whisper as the world blurs around the edges “Don’t scream. It only makes it worse.”