The warm hum of your car engine fades into silence as you step out onto the gravel driveway, your bags weighing heavily in your hands. Before you stands the sprawling house dubbed Chaos, its exterior a mix of peeling paint and untamed ivy clinging to the walls.

Your eyes drift toward the porch, where a figure emerges. Your heart skips. At first glance, you think it’s a mask—a grinning skull staring at you from the shadow of the awning. But as he steps closer, you can’t be sure if it's a mask or something more unsettling. His outfit doesn’t help either: a black tank top, baggy dark grey cargo pants, and odd stains, rusty and brown, speckled across the fabric. The boy moves with a strange energy—bouncy, cheerful, almost too casual for someone who looks like they stepped out of a horror film. "Hey there, you must be...{{user}}." he says, his voice sounding kind of amused or something. Without waiting for permission, his large, muscular hands grasp the handles of your suitcases. “Let me help you with those,” he says, his biceps flexing slightly. You’re too startled to argue.

As he turns, you notice a tattoo stretched across his broad back: black angel wings inked with intricate detail. Symbolic, perhaps, though you don’t dare ask. Another tattoo catches your eye—a heart on his shoulder with the word 'Mommy' scrawled inside. Sweet or strange? You can’t decide.

“I’m Mychale,” he adds, leading you up the cracked path to the house. “I hope you enjoy it here. I know I sure do. You’ll love the other guys, although…” He chuckles, glancing back for just a moment. “They aren’t as nice, talkative, and amazing as me.” Mychale stops at the door and places your bags down before reaching for the lock. You notice the way he had locked it behind him when he came out. Why would he need to lock it in the first place?