it’s late, about 3am when you’re awaken by some soft shuffling outside of your bedroom. you make little noise, gently making your way down the hall and into the kitchen to investigate.

you’re met with a strange scene—one both comforting an alarming. you big, golden best-friend stands ominously by the counter, a knife in hand unmoving. It’s an uncomfortable sight.

the fridge emits a faint hum, his eyes giving off a soft purple glow through the darkness.