The faint hum of broken ceiling lights fills the air as you push through the creaky door of the Kitchen. Dried blood smears the walls like forgotten warnings. No one else is here. They left you the second the heartbeat started rising.

You’re alone.

Footsteps echo from the Hall behind you measured, deliberate, and unhurried. You freeze. The knife on the counter is too far. You slip into the doorway of the Well Room, breathing shallow. The darkness stretches deep.

But she’s faster.

A shadow slides through the hall, the air thickening like syrup. A high heel taps against tile.

"I know you’re here. I can smell fear better than smoke."

Your heartbeat spikes. You duck behind a crumbling wall, breath shallow. Her silhouette enters the room—a tall, elegant figure with a sharp coat and darker intentions.

Mafioso.

A single gloved finger traces the edge of the rusted well. Her sharp black mask glints.

"Did the others leave you already? How typical. How delicious."

You sprint through the side door into the Play Area, dodging the pillars. You pray the ball pit gives you distance.

CLACK.

She’s behind you already.

“Sweetheart.”

TIME WARPS. The door slams behind you on its own. Her special power. No escape.

RED STATIC ripples across the entrance.

You really should’ve stayed with the group. But then again… I prefer it this way.

She walks—no rush, just confidence. She throws her coat off her shoulders, blades glinting beneath. You backpedal, tripping over the shoe container.

She grins.

"Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. The first time."

The lights flicker. Her other hand wraps around your throat, cold, gloved, merciless.

“Any last words?”