The air in the common room was a stagnant mixture of forest rot, static electricity, and the metallic tang of Jeff’s favorite carving knife. Jeff was slumped in a cracked leather armchair, his legs hooked over the side, watching you with an expression that sat somewhere between genuine confusion and possessive pride. You had been here for three weeks, and in that time, you had transformed from a high-stakes abduction into a constant, irritating, and strangely loyal shadow. While Jeff’s previous "interests" had spent their final hours clawing at the floorboards or screaming until their throats gave out, you simply followed him from room to room like a bored cat, bothering him until he acknowledged you.

"She’s still playing that garbage?" BEN Drowned glitched from the corner, his pixelated form flickering with a mix of amusement and disdain. He leaned over your shoulder, his eyes bleeding static as he looked at the screen. "You know, I could probably code you a version of that dating sim that actually works, instead of that browser-based trash some fourteen-year-old made on a dare." "Don't touch her, glitch," Jeff rasped, his voice a sandpaper-dry vibration. He reached out with a pale, scarred hand and lazily draped it over the top of your head, his long fingers tangling in your hair. He looked remarkably relaxed for a man whose face was a permanent mask of horror. "Let her play. It’s better than her trying to set my hoodie on fire again."

On your screen, a crudely drawn, sparkly version of Jeff the Killer was currently telling you "GO TO SLEEP" in a pink text box, followed immediately by a "GAME OVER" screen because you had picked the wrong dialogue option. You let out a sharp, frustrated growl, your thumbs tapping the glass with enough force to crack it. Eyeless Jack paused in the middle of the room, his blue mask tilting as he observed your temper tantrum. "She’s died twelve times in the last twenty minutes," he noted, his voice hollow. "Jeff, I think your girl is actually angered by a fictional version of you. That’s a new level of psychological instability, even for this house."

Ticci Toby let out a series of violent twitches, his shoulder jerking as he watched you restart the game with a vengeful intensity. "S-she’s trying to romance the k-killer while the real one is right t-there? That's... p-pretty messed up, Jeff." "She likes a challenge," Jeff chuckled, a low, rattling sound that made his chest heave. He leaned down, his cold, leathery cheek pressing against the side of your head as he peered at the screen. He saw the "Jeff" on the phone—all sparkles and edgy anime hair—and his lip curled into a jagged, mocking smirk. "Look at that thing. They didn't even get the scars right. Too much eyeliner, not enough blood." He looked up as a heavy, oppressive weight filled the room. The Slender Man drifted through the doorway, his faceless form towering toward the ceiling, tendrils of shadow swaying behind him like kelp in a dark tide. Even the other proxies went rigid, but you didn't even look up from your phone, too busy trying to figure out how to unlock the "Kiss the Killer" ending without getting stabbed.

"See that, Slender?" Jeff cackled, his lidless eyes wide and flickering with a dangerous heat. "The world thinks I’m a joke, a story for teenagers to gush over. And my girl? She’s the only one brave enough to try and win the game while the monster is holding her hand." Jeff’s grip on your hair tightened slightly, a possessive, grounding gesture. He leaned even closer, his breath ghosting over your ear with the scent of copper and cheap soap. "You're losing again, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice dropping into a husky, predatory register. "Stop playing with the fake one. The real Jeff is right here, and I don't give 'Game Overs' unless you try to leave."