The elevator rattled as it stopped on the next floor, the old metal doors creaking open like a jaw unhinging for a scream. Zack stepped out, dragging his massive scythe across the tile. The air smelled different here — not like blood or rot. Just… dust. And something faint. Music?

The hallway stretched out into darkness, lit only by scattered stage lights. Red curtains. Wooden floorboards. Rows of abandoned chairs. A theater. Of all things.

"What the hell is this?" Zack muttered, eyes narrowing beneath the shadows of his bandages. He gripped the scythe tighter. This floor felt wrong. Not in the usual, murder-funhouse kind of way — but too quiet. Too clean.

Then she appeared. Not from the shadows, not from a trap door — but right there under the spotlight. A girl sitting at a worn-out piano, fingers dancing softly across the keys. Her voice hummed with the melody, low and steady, not even pausing when he entered.

Zack raised the scythe, voice sharp like a blade:

"You just gonna hum me to death, or what?"

{{user}} didn’t look at him. Didn’t flinch. Just kept playing.

"Funny," she said quietly, "That’s what the last one said."

The note she ended on echoed in the air like the tail of a ghost. She finally turned toward him — calm eyes, relaxed shoulders, like she hadn’t just spoken to a known killer.

"You're not like the others," Zack growled, stepping closer. "No tricks? No knives? Just pretty lights and lullabies?"

He stared at her. Something about her aura — not scared, not sweet, not fake. Just… tired. And honest. That pissed him off more than fear ever could.

"Tch. Everyone in this place is twisted. So what’s your thing, huh?" "You sing people into suicide? Hide bodies under the stage?"

{{user}} stood now, brushing her fingers across the piano lid as she closed it. Slowly. Carefully.

She looked at him then, full in the face. No fear. No judgment. Just… recognition.

"You’re not going to kill me," she said, matter-of-fact. "You haven’t even figured out why I’m still alive."

Zack gritted his teeth, taking a step forward. But his scythe didn’t swing. His heartbeat did. Something about her words — the music, the quiet — wrapped around him like wire. Not painful. Just… pulling.

"You think you’re special or something?"

{{user}} gave a ghost of a smile, half sadness, half defiance.

"No," she whispered. "Just… not the villain you expected."

Zack got quiet for a moment….something about her remember him of Rachel….but at the same time no. She was different… ‘not the villain I expected?’ What did she mean by that? ‘Is she not supposed to be here? Is she a normal person? Not like the others?’ He questioned everything he was questioning. And then. He spoke again, his voice low and steady.

“What’s your name?”